provided by the internet archive jack and jill and old dame gill by anonymous note: this is a dummy file used in preparation of the accompanying html file which contains only images. please view the html file. [illustration: 0001] [illustration: 0001] [illustration: 0002] [illustration: 0003] [illustration: 0004] [illustration: 0005] [illustration: 0006] [illustration: 0007] [illustration: 0008] [illustration: 0009] [illustration: 0010] [illustration: 0011] [illustration: 0012] [illustration: 0013] [illustration: 0014] [illustration: 0015] [illustration: 0016] [illustration: 0017] [illustration: 0018] new colored toys little sarah [illustration: front cover] [illustration] little sarah she stood by her grandmother's bed, "and what shall i get for your breakfast?" she said; "you shall get me a johnny-cake: quickly go make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it." so sarah she went to the closet to see if yet any meal in the barrel might be. the barrel had long time been empty as wind; not a speck of the bright yellow meal could she find. [illustration] but grandmother's johnny-cake--still she must make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it. she ran to the shop; but the shopkeeper said, "i have none--you must go to the miller, fair maid; for he has a mill, and he'll put the corn in it, and grind you some nice yellow meal in a minute; but run, or the johnny-cake, how will you make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it?" [illustration] then sarah she ran every step of the way; but the miller said, "no, i have no meal to-day; run, quick, to the cornfield, just over the hill, and if any be there, you may fetch it to mill. run, run, or the johnny-cake, how will you make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it?" [illustration] she ran to the cornfield--the corn had not grown, though the sun in the blue sky all pleasantly shone. "pretty sun," cried the maiden, "please make the corn grow." "pretty maid," the sun answered, "i cannot do so." [illustration] "then grandmother's johnny-cake--how shall i make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it?" then sarah looked round, and she saw what was wanted; the corn could not grow, for no corn had been planted. [illustration] she asked of the farmer to sow her some grain, but the farmer he laughed till his sides ached again. "ho! ho! for the johnny-cake--how can you make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it?" the farmer he laughed, and he laughed out aloud,-"and how can i plant till the earth has been ploughed? run, run to the ploughman, and bring him with speed; he'll plough up the ground, and i'll fill it with seed." [illustration] away, then, ran sarah, still hoping to make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it. [illustration] the ploughman he ploughed, and the grain it was sown, and the sun shed his rays till the corn was all grown; it was ground at the mill, and again in her bed these words to poor sarah the grandmother said: "you shall get me a johnny-cake--quickly go make it, in one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it." [illustration: back cover] the story of the two bulls with original engravings new york: daniel burgess & co. 1856 the story of the two bulls. in former times, my story tells, there lived one deacon r., and not the worst man in the world, nor best was he, by far. his fields were rich, his acres broad, and cattle were his pride; oxen and sheep, and horses, too, and what you please, beside. his brindle cow, the highest prize won at the county fair, for taper limbs and rounded form, and short and shining hair. old bonny gray, a noble steed of sure, majestic pace, before the deacon purchased him, was famous at a race. this story he would sometimes tell, and at the end would say, "alas! such sports are far from right; but bonny won the day!" still, more than all, the spotted bull had filled the deacon's mind; his back so straight, his breast so broad, so perfect of his kind. and when 'twas said that moses grimes, a justice of the peace, had got the likeliest bull in town, the deacon had no ease. so off he rode to see the squire, and put this question straight: "say, don't you want another bull, and don't yours want a mate?" the squire, perceiving at a glance all that the man was after, "just forty pounds will buy my bull," quoth he, with ready laughter. and when the beast was brought to view, and carefully surveyed, of deepest red, its every point of excellence displayed. "i'll take him at your price," said he- "please drive him down to-morrow, and you shall have the money, sir, if i the cash can borrow." so saying, turned he on his steed, the nimble-footed bonny; to-morrow came, and came the bull- the deacon paid the money. the sun was hid behind the hills- the next day would be sunday; "you'll put him in the barn," said he, "and leave him there till monday." the deacon was a man of peace, for so he claimed, albeit when there was war among the beasts, he always liked to see it. "how will the bulls together look, and which will prove the stronger? 'twere sin to wish the time to pass- 'twould only make it longer." such thoughts as these, on sabbath morn, like birds of evil token, flew round and round the deacon's mind- its holy peace was broken. beyond the hills the steeple rose, distant a mile or two. our deacon's house and barns and bulls were well concealed from view. "be ready all, to meeting go; perhaps i may not come-a curious fluttering near my heart calls me to stay at home." as thus he spake, his careful wife replied with anxious tone, "i'll stay with you; 'twere dangerous to leave you all alone." "no," answered he--"go, every one; i've had the same before, and, with a little medicine, no doubt 'twill soon be o'er. "run, peter, run for bonny gray, nor tarry till you find him; i've often heard his own or say he'd carry all behind him." the carriage stands before the door; they enter--one, two, three; the deacon says, "there's room for more- enough for parson g." the parson was a portly man- the deacon loved to joke; but afterwards, as it befell, was sorry that he spoke. they move to join the gathering throng within the house of prayer. now ceased the bell its solemn peal- the deacon was not there. where was he, then? perhaps you'll say in easy chair reclining, the glimmer of his spectacles, upon his bible shining. ah, no! see you that earnest man, with air so bold and free, driving a spotted, warlike bull?- that very man is he. left to himself, the deacon grave tarried not long within, and, thinking of his sturdy beasts, forgot his medicine. "i hope the meeting will be full, and i shall not be missed," softly he breathed, and, looking round, he murmured, "all is whist!" thus on he drove that spotted bull, and near the gateway placed him, and when the other one came out, it happened so, he faced him. "when greek meets greek," the deacon said, "then comes the tug of war;" but such another tug, i ween, the deacon never saw. like sudden thunderbolts they met, the spotted and the red. those bulls will never fight again- the spotted one is dead. all gored and prostrate in his blood, he lies upon the ground, while the unsated red one toward the deacon made a bound. down from the bars where he was perched. aghast, the good man sprung, and if you'd seen him go it, _then_, you'd said that he was young. still after him with fury the bull did rush and roar, and was very near the deacon when he reached the outer door. through kitchen and through parlor fine, breathless, the poor man flew, and lo! the bull is at his heels and in the parlor too. a flight of stairs is all that's left between him and despair; he springs to gain the top, and falls, a sober deacon, there. but to his ears terrific sounds rise from the room below-tables and glasses, chairs and all, crash, crash, together go! upon the wall a mirror hung, of massive, gilded frame, which had reflected many a squire and many a worthy dame. there last, not least, the raging beast descried his form at length, and deemed it was another bull coming to try his strength. he plunged to meet his threatening foe, but fought himself, alas! while all around in fragments flew the shattered looking glass! "what will come next?" the deacon cries; "this is too much for one day: my rifle's loaded, and i'll try to stop this noise on sunday." with trembling hand he seized the gun, with wary step descended; he aimed, he fired, he killed the bull, and thus the battle ended. to yonder house we turn again, and to the quiet throng the preacher now has said, amen! now ends the choral song. and friendly speech and courtesies and shake of hands go round, and each inquires the other's health, all as in duty bound. "how is your spouse?" the parson said; "i see he's not at meeting." "this morning, sir," the wife replied, "his heart was strangely beating. "i hope you'll call and see him soon" "that i shall gladly do." "ride down with us--the carriage waits; there's room enough for you." all seated now, with solemn air, and with a placid smile, such words of truth the parson spoke as might their fears beguile. lo! they alight, the gate in sight- "what's that?" the matron said. says peter, "it's the spotted bull, and i believe he's dead." thus all, amazed, a moment gazed, and quickly turn about; in doleful plight, the deacon sighs, "murder will surely out! "where shall i go? what shall i do? i'm caught--i am a sinner! my wife, good soul--my wife has brought the parson home to dinner!" and with a little spice of wit, to which he was inclined, though none to spare the deacon had, he thus relieved his mind: "i've often heard the preacher say that good may come of evil; still every hour, with all our might, we must resist the devil. "if horn and hoof be any proof, and if the foot be riven, surely i am the very man that with the beast has striven!" now hurried steps without are heard, and earnest voices blend; "i'm in a vice," the deacon groans- "when will this torture end?" young peter, being first within, for he had run ahead, loudly exclaims, "another bull lies in the parlor, dead!" they enter all, with hands upraised and faces filled with wonder-there stood confessed the deacon's case, and all were struck with thunder. the tale flew quickly round, and woke much pity and more laughter; but not a word the deacon spoke of his two bulls thereafter. listen! listen to my song, there is meaning in it; you may know it sha'nt be long- only half a minute. have you ever read the tale- have you heard the story-how two bulls together fought on the field of glory? and how a famous hero thought it was so cunning, how he became a master of the art of running? and how he was so frightened, in getting up the stairs; and how he heard the breaking of all his china-wares? and how his heart was swelling up like a pot of yeast; and how he took a rifle, and fired it at the beast? and how the parish preacher had heard that he was sick, and losing not a moment, did come to see him quick? and how the rumor flourished, 'mongst people young and old, and how they sighed, and how they laughed to hear the story told? if you have read, remember the moral of this book-whoever takes the devil's bait, is sure to feel the hook. proofreading team the diverting history of john gilpin one of r. caldecott's picture books 1878 [illustration: the diverting history of john gilpin] [illustration] ==the diverting history of john gilpin:== _showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again._ [illustration: written by william cowper with drawings by r. caldecott.] john gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown, a train-band captain eke was he, of famous london town. john gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "though wedded we have been these twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. "to-morrow is our wedding-day, and we will then repair unto the 'bell' at edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. "my sister, and my sister's child, myself, and children three, will fill the chaise; so you must ride on horseback after we." [illustration: the linendraper bold] he soon replied, "i do admire of womankind but one, and you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. "i am a linendraper bold, as all the world doth know, and my good friend the calender will lend his horse to go." quoth mrs. gilpin, "that's well said; and for that wine is dear, we will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear." john gilpin kissed his loving wife. o'erjoyed was he to find. that though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. [illustration] [illustration] the morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed to drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. so three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all get in; six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so glad! the stones did rattle underneath, as if cheapside were mad. john gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane, and up he got, in haste to ride, but soon came down again; for saddletree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, when, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in. so down he came; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. [illustration: the 3 customers] [illustration] 'twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, when betty screaming came downstairs, "the wine is left behind!" "good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise, in which i bear my trusty sword when i do exercise." now mistress gilpin (careful soul!) had two stone bottles found, to hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound. each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew, and hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. then over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, his long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. [illustration] but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. [illustration] "so, fair and softly!" john he cried, but john he cried in vain; that trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. so stooping down, as needs he must who cannot sit upright, he grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. his horse, who never in that sort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got, did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig; he little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. the wind did blow, the cloak did fly like streamer long and gay, till, loop and button failing both. at last it flew away. [illustration] then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; a bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung. the dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all; and every soul cried out, "well done!" as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin--who but he? his fame soon spread around; "he carries weight! he rides a race! 'tis for a thousand pound!" and still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view how in a trice the turnpike-men their gates wide open threw. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] and now, as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, the bottles twain behind his back were shattered at a blow. down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, which made the horse's flanks to smoke, as they had basted been. [illustration] but still he seemed to carry weight. with leathern girdle braced; for all might see the bottle-necks still dangling at his waist. [illustration] thus all through merry islington these gambols he did play, until he came unto the wash of edmonton so gay; and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. [illustration] at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. "stop, stop, john gilpin!--here's the house!" they all at once did cry; "the dinner waits, and we are tired;" said gilpin--"so am i!" [illustration] but yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there; for why?--his owner had a house full ten miles off, at ware. so like an arrow swift he flew, shot by an archer strong; so did he fly--which brings me to the middle of my song. [illustration] away went gilpin, out of breath, and sore against his will, till at his friend the calender's his horse at last stood still. [illustration] the calender, amazed to see his neighbour in such trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate. and thus accosted him: "what news? what news? your tidings tell; tell me you must and shall- say why bareheaded you are come, or why you come at all?" now gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke; and thus unto the calender in merry guise he spoke: "i came because your horse would come; and, if i well forebode, my hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road." the calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, returned him not a single word, but to the house went in; whence straight he came with hat and wig, a wig that flowed behind, a hat not much the worse for wear, each comely in its kind. [illustration] he held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit: "my head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit." [illustration] "but let me scrape the dirt away, that hangs upon your face; and stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case." said john, "it is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware." so turning to his horse, he said "i am in haste to dine; 'twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast! for which he paid full dear; for while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear; whereat his horse did snort, as he had heard a lion roar, and galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. [illustration] away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig; he lost them sooner than at first, for why?--they were too big. [illustration] now mistress gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down into the country far away, she pulled out half-a-crown; and thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the "bell," "this shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe and well." [illustration] the youth did ride, and soon did meet john coming back amain; whom in a trice he tried to stop, by catching at his rein. but not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run. away went gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels, the postboy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels. [illustration] six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing gilpin fly, with postboy scampering in the rear. they raised the hue and cry. "stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!'" not one of them was mute; and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] and now the turnpike-gates again flew open in short space; the toll-man thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race. and so he did, and won it too, for he got first to town; nor stopped till where he had got up, he did again get down. now let us sing, long live the king, and gilpin, long live he; and when he next doth ride abroad. may i be there to see. [illustration] [illustration] randolph caldecott's picture books "the humour of randolph caldecott's drawings is simply irresistible, no healthy-minded man, woman, or child could look at them without laughing." _in square crown 4to, picture covers, with numerous coloured plates._ 1 john gilpin 2 the house that jack built 3 the babes in the wood 4 the mad dog 5 three jovial huntsmen 6 sing a song for sixpence 7 the queen of hearts 8 the farmer's boy 9 the milkmaid 10 hey-diddle-diddle and baby bunting 11 a frog he would a-wooing go 12 the fox jumps over the parson's gate 13 come lasses,and lads 14 ride a cock horse to banbury cross, &c. 15 mrs. mary blaize 16 the great panjandrum himself _the above selections are also issued in four volumes, square crown 4to, attractive binding, red edges. each containing four different books, with their coloured pictures and numerous outline sketches_ 1 r. caldecott's picture book no. 1 2 r. caldecott's picture book no. 2 3 hey-diddle-diddle-picture book 4 the panjandrum picture book _and also_ _in two volumes, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, each containing eight different books, with their coloured pictures, and numerous outline sketches._ r. caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. 1 r. caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. 2 miniature editions, _size 5-1/2 by 4-1/2 art boards, flat backs_ four volumes entitled r. caldecott's picture books nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4 _each containing coloured plates and numerous outline sketches in the text._ _crown 4to picture covers_ randolph caldecott's painting books. three volumes _each with outline pictures to paint, and coloured examples._ _oblong 4to, cloth._ a sketch book of r. caldecott's. _containing numerous sketches in colour and black and white._ london. frederick warne & co. ltd. & new york. _the published prices of the above picture books can be obtained of all booksellers or from the illustrated catalogue of the publishers_ printed and copyrighted by edmund evans, ltd., rose place, globe road, london, e.1. provided by the internet archive jack and the bean-stalk english hexameters by hallam tennyson illustrated by randolph caldecott london macmillan and co. and new york 1886 preface in his last letter to me caldecott wrote: 'i have been making several attempts at the giant, and have been cogitating over the illustrations to "jack" generally. during the winter i shall be able to show you some of my ideas.' the following unfinished sketches are the 'ideas,' which, with mrs. caldecott's kind permission, have been reproduced. h. t. to my father, in recognition of what this booklet owes to him, and to my nephews, 'golden-hair'd' ally, charlie, and michael, who have so far condescended as to honour it with their approbation. jack and the bean-stalk |jack was a poor widow's heir, but he lived as a drone ```in a beehive, `hardly a handstir a day did he work. to squander her ```earnings `seem'd to the poor widow hard, who raved and scolded ```him always. `nought in her house was left; not a cheese, not a loaf, ```not an onion; `nought but a cow in her yard, and that must go to the ```market. `"sell me the cow," cried she; then he sold it, gad! for a ```handful---`only to think!------of beans. she shied them out thro' ```the window, `cursing him: hied to her bed, there slept, but awoke in ```amazement, `seeing a huge bean-stalk, many leaves, many pods, many ```flowers, `rise to the clouds more tall than a tall california pine```tree; `high as a lark was jack, scarce seen, and climbing away ```there. `"where an' o where," * he shrill'd; she beheld his boots ```disappearing; * "<i>where an' o where is my highland laddie gone?</i>" `pod by pod jack arose, till he came to a pod that alarm'd ```him. `bridge-like this long pod stretch'd out, and touch'd on an ```island `veil'd in vapour. a shape from the island waved him a ```signal, `waved with a shining hand, and jack with an humble ```obeisance `crawl'd to the shape, who remark'd, "i gave those beans ```to ye, darling. `i am a fairy, a friend to ye, jack; see yonder a giant `lives, who slew your own good father, see what a fortress! `enter it, have no fear, since i, your fairy, protect you." `jack march'd up to the gate, in a moment pass'd to the ```kitchen `led by the savoury smell. this giant's wife with a ladle `basted a young elephant (jack's namesake shriek'd and ```turn'd it). `back jack shrank in alarm: with fat cheeks peony-bulbous, `ladle in hand, she stood, and spake in a tone of amuse```ment: . `"oh! what a cramp'd-up, small, unsesquipedalian object!" `then from afar came steps, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring; `out of her huge moon-cheeks the redundant peony faded, `jack's lank hair she grabb'd, and, looking sad resolution, `popt him aghast in among her saucepans' grimy recesses. `then strode in, with a loud heavy-booted thunder of heel```taps, `he with a tiger at heel--her giant, swarthy, colossal: `"i smell flesh of a man; yea, wife, tho' he prove but a ```morsel, `man tastes good." she replied, "sure thou be'est failing ```in eyesight; `'tis but a young elephant, my sweetest lord, not a biped." `down he crook'd his monstrous knees, and rested his hip```bones, `call'd for his hen, said "lay so she, with a chuck cock```a-doodle, `dropt him an egg, pure gold, a refulgent, luminous ```oval,-`that was her use:--when he push'd her aside, cried, ```"bring me the meat now," `gorged his enormous meal, fell prone, and lost recollection. `jack from a saucepan watch'd his broad chest's monstrous ```upheavals: `then to the chamber above both dame and tiger ascended. `"now for it, hist!" says jack--"coast clear, and none to ```behold me," `airily jack stole forth, and seized the plump, money```laying, `priceless, mystical hen; ran forth, sped away to the bean```stalk, `heard from afar, then near, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring, `sprang down pod by pod, with a bounding, grasshopper ```action, `left the colossus aghast at an edge of his own little ```island, `lighted on earth, whom she, that bare him, fondly ```saluting, `dropt a maternal tear, and dried that tear with her ```apron, `seeing him home and safe; and after it, all was a hey-day, `lots of loaves, and tons of cheeses, a barnful of onions; `cows and calves, and creams, and gold eggs piled to the ```ceilings: `horses, goats, and geese, and pigs, and pugs by the ```hundred. `ah! but he found in a while his life of laziness irk```some. `"climb me," the bean-stalk said with a whisper. jack, ```reascending, `swarm'd to the wonderful isle once more, and high ```habitation; `led by the fairy return'd to the fortress, pass'd to the ```kitchen, `unseen, hied him again to the saucepans' grimy recesses, `peep'd out into the room. the plump wife, peony```bulbous, `toasted a constrictor, which roll'd in vast revolutions. `then strode in, strong-booted again, with a roar, the ```colossus: `call'd for his harp, said "play." so this, with a sharp ```treble ting-tong, `play'd him an air, a delightful, long-drawn, national ```anthem, `play'd him an air, untouch'd, (the strings, by a fairy ```magician `wrought, were alive). then he shouted aloud, "wife, ```bring me the meat now," `gorged his elongate meal; the snake in warm revolutions, `making his huge bulk swell, disappear'd like man's ```macaroni: `after, he yawn'd and snored, fell prone, and lost recol```lection. `so jack seized the melodious harp, and bolted. a ```murmur `"master, master, a rascal, a rascal!" rang thro' the harp```strings. `quickly the monster awoke, and wielding a cudgel,-```an oak tree,-`chased little jack with a shout of mighty, maniacal ```anger; `jack to the beanpod sprang with a leap, and desperate ```hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, furious, headlong pre-cipitation, `but for a wink up-glanced; his foeman's ponderous ```hob-nails `shone from aloft: down crash'd big pods, and bean ```avalanches. `"haste mother, haste mother, oh! mother, haste, and ```bring me the hatchet!" `cried jack, alighting on earth. she brought him an ```axe double-handed. `jack cleft clean thro' the haulm; that giant desperate ```hurl'd his. `limbs in a downward, roaring, thund'ring pre-cipitation, `crash'd to the ground stone-dead with a crash as a crag ```from a mountain. `"i'm your master now," said jack to the harp at his ```elbow; `"there's your old 'un! of him pray give your candid ```opinion!" `sweetly the mystical harp responded, "master, a rascal!" [illustration: 0019] jack and the bean-stalk `jack was a poor widow's heir, but he lived as a drone in ```a beehive, `hardly a handstir a day did he work. to squander her ```earnings `seem'd to the poor widow hard, who raved and scolded ```him always. [illustration: 0023] `nought in her house was left; not a cheese, not a loaf, ```not an onion; `nought but a cow in her yard, and that must go to the ```market. `"sell me the cow," cried she; then he sold it, gad! for ```a handful---`only to think!------of beans. [illustration: 0025] [illustration: 0026] ````she shied them out thro' the window, `cursing him: hied to her bed, there slept, but awoke in ```amazement, `seeing a huge bean-stalk, many leaves, many pods, many ```flowers, `pod by pod jack arose, till he came to a pod that alarm'd ```him. `bridge-like this long pod stretch'd out, and touch'd on ```an island `veil'd in vapour. [illustration: 00237] ````a shape from the island waved him a signal, `waved with a shining hand, and jack with an humble ```obeisance `crawl'd to the shape, who remark'd, "i gave those beans ```to ye, darling. `i am a fairy, a friend to ye, jack; ````see yonder a giant `lives, who slew your own good father, see what a ```fortress! `enter it, have no fear, since i, your fairy, protect you." `jack march'd up to the gate, [illustration: 0029] ````in a moment pass'd to the kitchen `led by the savoury smell. this giant's wife with a ```ladle `basted a young elephant (jack's namesake shriek'd and ```turn'd it). `back jack shrank in alarm: with fat cheeks peony```bulbous, `ladle in hand, she stood, and spake in a tone of amuse```ment: `"oh! what a cramp'd-up, small, unsesquipedalian object!" [illustration: 0031] `then from afar came steps, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring; `out of her huge moon-cheeks the redundant peony faded, `jack's lank hair she grabb'd, and, looking sad resolution, `popt him aghast in among her saucepans' grimy ```recesses. `then strode in, with a loud heavy-booted thunder of ```heel-taps, `he with a tiger at heel--her giant, swarthy, colossal: [illustration: 0033] [illustration: 0034] [illustration: 0035] `"i smell flesh of a man; yea, wife, tho' he prove but a ```morsel, `man tastes good." ``she replied, "sure thou be'est failing in eyesight; `tis but a young elephant, my sweetest lord, not a biped." `down he crook'd his monstrous knees, and rested his hip```bones, [illustration: 0037] `call'd for his hen, said, "lay so she, with a chuck cock```a-doodle, `dropt him an egg, pure gold, a refulgent, luminous oval,-`that was her use:--when he push'd her aside, cried, ```"bring me the meat now," `gorged his enormous meal, fell prone, and lost recollection. [illustration: 0039] `jack from a saucepan watch'd his broad chest's monstrous ```upheavals: `then to the chamber above both dame and tiger ascended. `"now for it, hist!" says jack--"coast clear, and none to ```behold me," `airily jack stole forth, and seized the plump, money```laying, `priceless, mystical hen; [illustration: 0041] [illustration: 0042] ``ran forth, sped away from the bean-stalk, `heard from afar, then near, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring, [illustration: 0044] [illustration: 0045] ````with a bounding, grasshopper action, `left the colossus aghast at an edge of his own little island, [illustration: 0047] `lighted on earth, whom she, that bare him, fondly saluting, `dropt a maternal tear, and dried that tear with her ```apron, `seeing him home and safe; and after it, all was a hey-day, [illustration: 0049] [illustration: 0050] `lots of loaves, and tons of cheeses, a barnful of onions; `cows and calves, and creams, and gold eggs piled to the ```ceilings: `horses, [illustration: 0051] [illustration: 0052] [illustration: 0053] [illustration: 0054] [illustration: 0055] and pigs, "idle jack" `ah! but he found in a while his life of laziness irksome. `"climb me," the bean-stalk said with a whisper. jack, ```reascending, `swarm'd to the wonderful isle once more, and high ```habitation; `led by the fairy return'd to the fortress, pass'd to the ```kitchen, `unseen, hied him again to the saucepans' grimy recesses, ```peep'd out into -the room. the plump wife, peony`bulbous, `toasted a constrictor, which roll'd in vast revolutions. `then strode in, strong-booted again, with a roar, the ```colossus: `call'd for his harp, said "play." [illustration: 0057] ````so this, with a sharp treble ting-tong, `play'd him an air, a delightful, long-drawn, national ```anthem, `play'd him an air, untouch'd, (the strings, by a fairy ```magician `wrought, were alive). [illustration: 0059] [illustration: 0060] `then he shouted aloud, "wife, ``bring me the meat now," `gorged his elongate meal; the snake in warm revolutions, `making his huge bulk swell, disappear'd like man's ```macaroni: [illustration: 0061] `after, he yawn'd and snored, fell prone, and lost ```recollection. [illustration: 0062] [illustration: 0063] ```and bolted. a murmur `"master, master, a rascal, a rascal!" rang thro' the harp```strings. `quickly the monster awoke, and wielding a cudgel,-```an oak tree,-`chased little jack [illustration: 0065] `with a shout of mighty, maniacal anger; [illustration: 0067] `jack to the beanpod sprang with a leap, and desperate ````hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, furious, headlong pre-cipitation, `but for a wink up-glanced; his foeman's ponderous ```hob-nails `shone from aloft: [illustration: 0069] `````down crash'd big pods, and bean ```avalanches. `"haste mother, haste mother, oh! mother, haste, and ```bring me the hatchet!" `cried jack, alighting on earth. she brought him an ```axe double-handed. `jack cleft clean thro' the haulm; that giant desperate ```hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, roaring, thund'ring pre-cipitation, [illustration: 0071] `crash'd to the ground stone-dead, with a crash as a crag ```from a mountain. `"i'm your master now," said jack to the harp at his ```elbow; `"there's your old 'un! of him pray give your candid ```opinion!" `sweetly the mystical harp responded, "master, a rascal!" [illustration: 0073] [illustration: 0074] plish and plum _by the author of_ max and maurice plish and plum. from the german of wilhelm busch, author of "max and maurice." by charles t. brooks. boston: roberts brothers. 1895. _copyright, 1882_, by roberts brothers. university press: john wilson and son, cambridge. plish and plum. chapter i. with a pipe between his lips, two young dogs upon his hips, jogs along old caspar sly; how that man can smoke,--oh, my! but although the pipe-bowl glows red and hot beneath his nose; yet his heart is icy-cold; how can earth such wretches hold! "of what earthly use to me can such brutes," he mutters, "be? do they earn their vittles? no! 'tis high time i let 'em go. what you don't want, fling away! them's my sentiments, i say!" o'er the pond he silent bends, for to drown them he intends. with their legs the quadrupeds kick and squirm,--can't move their heads and the inner voice speaks out: how 't will end we gravely doubt. _hubs!_--an airy curve one makes; _plish!_--a headlong dive he takes. hubs!--the second follows suit; _plum!_--the wave engulfs the brute. "that's well ended," caspar cries, puffs away and homeward hies. but, as often happens, here too things don't go as they appear to. paul and peter,--so 'twas fated,- naked in the bushes waited for a swim; and they descry what was done by wicked sly. and like frogs they dove, _kechunk_, where the poor young dogs had sunk. quickly each one with his hand drags a little dog to land. "plish, i'll call my dog," cried paul; "plum," said peter, "mine i'll call." paul and peter then with pleasure, tenderly took each his treasure, and, with speed and joy past telling, steered for the parental dwelling. chapter ii. papa fittig, calm and cosy, mamma fittig, round and rosy, arm in arm sit peaceful there- troubled by no speck of care- on the bench before the door; for the summer day is o'er, and the supper hour is near, and the lads will soon be here. soon they burst upon the view, plish and plum are with them too. fittig thinks a dog a plague: "nah!" he cries,--"excuse, i beg!" but mamma with soft looks pleaded: "let them, fittig!"--and succeeded. evening milk, fresh and delicious, on the table stood in dishes. joyfully they haste indoors; plish and plum ahead, of course. mercy! look! right in the sweet cream each wretch has set his feet; and the noise their lapping makes shows what comfort each one takes. at the window peeps old sly, chuckles loud and says: "my eye! this is very bad, he! he! very bad, but not for me!!" chapter iii. when night came, all worn and tired, as if nothing had transpired, paul and peter in their chamber lay there, wrapt in peaceful slumber, a soft snoring through their noses shows how tranquilly each dozes. but not so with plish and plum! they sit ill-at-ease and glum, not being lodged to suit their mind, to turn in they too inclined. plish, the dog's old rule to follow, turns round thrice, his bed to hollow; plum, however, shows a mind more affectionately inclined. when we dream of perfect rest comes full many a troublous guest. "march!" with this harsh word the pets. turn their outward summersets coolness wakes activity; time well-filled glides pleasantly. means of sport are handy too, here a stocking--there a shoe. these, before the morning glow, curious changes undergo. when he comes the boys to wake, and beholds the frightful wreck, pale the father cries: "this will be a monstrous heavy bill!" vengeful claws are in the air; feigning sleep, the rogues lie there; but the mother begs: "i pray, fittig dear, thy wrath allay!" and her loving words assuage the stern father's boiling rage. paul and peter never care how they look or what they wear. peter two old slippers gets, paul his infant pantalets. plish and plum, in morals blind, to the dog-house are confined. "this is bad!" says sly, "he! he! very bad, but not for me!" chapter iv. caught at last in wiry house, sits that most audacious mouse, who, with many a nightly antic, drove poor mamma fittig frantic,- rioting, with paws erratic, from the cellar to the attic. this event to plish and plum was a long-sought _gaudium_; for the word was: "stu-boys! take him! seize the wicked grinder--shake him!" soft! a refuge mousey reaches in a leg of peter's breeches. through the leg-tube plish pursues him, plum makes sure he shall not lose him. nip! the mousey with his tooth stings the smeller of the youth. plish essays to pull him clear; nip! the plague's on plish's ear. see! they run heels over head, into neighbor's garden-bed. _kritze_-_kratze_! what will be- come, sweet flower-plot, of thee? at that moment madam mieding, with fresh oil, her lamp is feeding; and her heart comes near to breaking, with those pests her garden wrecking. indignation lends her wings, and the oil-can, too, she brings. now, with mingling joy and wrath, she gives each a shower-bath- first to plish and then to plum, shower-bath of petroleum! of the effect that might be wrought, madam mieding had not thought. but what presently took place, right before this lady's face, made her shut her eyes, so dazed that she smiled like one half crazed,- drew a heavy sigh, and soon gasped and sank down in a swoon. paul and peter, hard and cool, heed not much the golden rule. suffering, stretched beside the way never once disturbs their play. "bad enough!" says sly; "he! he! shocking bad! but not for me!" chapter v. breeches short and long surtout, crooked nose and cane to suit, gray of soul and black of eye, hat slouched back, expression sly- such is old sol shuffleshins; how complacently he grins! fittig's door he's passing now; hark! a furious, _row-wow-wow_! scarcely has the echo gone, when the following scene comes on. turn and twist him as he will, plish and plum stick to him still; underneath his long surtout tugs and tears each crazy brute. shall that happen twice? not quite! mind shall triumph over might! presto! what strange dog is there, hat in mouth? the young ones stare. what queer quadruped can he, backing toward the doorway, be? mrs. fittig hears the clatter, comes to see what _is_ the matter. soft as on a mossy bank, in her lap sol backward sank. fittig also came in view. "ow!" cried sol, "i'm torn in two! herr von fittig pays me for 't, or i'll carry it to court!" he must pay; that makes him pout worse than having ten teeth out. in despair he casts askance at that youthful pair a glance,- seeming plainly to confess, "i've no words your shame to express" little care the hardened creatures for their parent's play of features. "bad enough!" says sly, "he! he! awful bad! but not for me!" chapter vi. plish and plum, their deeds declare, are a graceless, low-lived pair. yet they live in close communion; and for that, in my opinion, they deserve some commendation; but will 't be of long duration? "rogue & co."--such firm, be sure, cannot many days endure. in the sunshine, vis-a-vis, sits a lap-dog, fair to see. to our pair this lovely sight is a rare and keen delight. each would gain the foremost place to behold that beauteous face. if the front is gained by plish, plum looks glum and dismalish; then if it is seized by plum, that makes plish exceeding glum. soon low-muttering thunders growl, paws scratch gravel, eyeballs roll, and the furious fight begins; plum cuts dirt, his brother wins. mamma fittig stands and makes chicken salad and pancakes,- those well known and favorite dishes, every child devoutly wishes. whirr! right through the window come, helter-skelter, plish and plum. pot and pan and stove and stew mingle in one grand ragout. "wait! you vile plish!" peter holloos, and the word instanter follows with a well-aimed blow; but paul doesn't relish that at all. "what d' ye mean, to strike my creatur'?" cries out paul, and lashes peter; who, inflamed with pain and passion, winds up paul in curious fashion. now the battle desperate grows; each the costly salad throws, in a frenzy, at his brother, and they poultice one another. in comes papa fittig, hasting to inflict on them a basting. mamma fittig, full of kindness, fearing anger's headlong blindness, cries, "best fittig! pray consider!" but her zeal for once undid her. her lace cap, so nice and new, fittig's cane has bored quite through. laughs the wicked sly, "he! he! all are done for, now, i see!" he who laughs at others' woes makes few friends and many foes. hot and heavy the old chap finds, i guess, the pancake cap. "bad," said sly, "as bad can be, and this once, too, bad for me!" chapter vii. so now there sit plish and plum, very dull and very glum. two strong chains, and short, did hem the activity of them. fittig seriously reflected: "this must somehow be corrected! virtue needs encouragement; vice gets on by natural bent." paul and peter now began schooling with herr buckleman. at the first day's session he thus addressed them pleasantly: "dear lads,--i assure you, i am very glad you have come to this seminary; and, as i hope, with all your powers intend to improve these precious hours. and first, the things most important to mention, reading, writing, and ciphering will claim our attention; for these are the arts by which man rises to honor and wealth, and wins great prizes. but, secondly, what good would all this do, unless politeness were added thereto? for he who is not polite to all into trouble will certainly fall. finally, therefore, bending before you, as you see, i entreat and implore you, if in good faith you have made up your mind to follow the rules i have now defined, then lift up your hands and look me in the eye, and say, 'herr buckleman, we will try!'" paul and peter thought: "old man, d'ye think us greenhorns? is that your plan?" they give no answer, but inwardly they grin and giggle, and say, "he! he!" whereat old master buckleman gave a low whistle, and thus began: "since, then, you've resolved to be hardened reprobates," said he, "i am resolved, face down, to lay you both across my desk straightway, applying the stick to your hinder parts in hopes of softening your hard hearts." drawing out then from beneath his coat, like sabre from its sheath, his good hazel rod, of stuff flexible and tight and tough,- he with many a sturdy thwack laid it on each urchin's back. nay, he trounced two backs in one, till he deemed the work was done. "now then," he spoke in a tranquil way, "belovèd children, what do you say? are you content and are we agreed?" "yes, yes, herr buckleman,--yes, indeed!" such was the method of buckleman; we see the good effects of his plan. 'twas the talk of the people, one and all,- "charming children--peter and paul!" and so _they_ tried it on plish and plum: they too, also, to school must come. and the buckleman plan's applied faithfully to each one's hide. masters of arts, they're soon approved, and universally beloved; and, as one might well expect, art shows practical effect. conclusion. one day travelling through the land, with a field-glass in his hand, a well-dressed man of fortune came; mister peep, they called his name. "can't i, as i pass," said he, "view the distant scenery? beauty reigns elsewhere, i know, whereas here 'tis but so-so." here he pitched into the pond, viewed the mud and naught beyond. "paul and peter,--look and see where the gentleman can be!" so said fittig, who just then walked forth with the little men; but fu'l soon it was made plain where the gentleman had lain, when he, minus hat and glass, stood all dripping on the grass. "_allez!_ plish and plum, _apport!_" came the order from the shore. strictly trained to fetch and carry,- not a moment did they tarry,- fetched the lost goods from the deep. "very well," cried mister peep. "nice dogs, friend, i'll buy the two; how'll a hundred dollars do?" papa fittig's head inclined: "the gentleman is very kind." on new legs he seems to stand, such a pile of cash in hand. "ah, you darlings, plish and plum! we must part--the hour has come- on this very spot, right here, where we four, this time last year, were united, by the pond, in a sweet and solemn bond. may your life in peace be led, with beefsteak for daily bread." now all this was seen by sly, just then happening to pass by. "very pleasant," mutters he, "yes, no doubt, but not for me." envy, like a poisoned dart, stung him to the very heart. all before him misty grows; legs give way and back he goes, down into the oozy damp; quenched forever is life's lamp! left alone upon the shore, quickened by his breath no more, faintly gleams the expiring soul of the pipe within the bowl; one blue cloud i see ascend, _futt!_ the tale is at an end. university press: john wilson & son, cambridge. team sugar and spice comical tales comically dressed by james johnson london: dean & son, 160a, fleet street, e.c. factors and christmas card manufacturers. [illustration: front cover] [illustration: sugar and spice] _a knock at the door! a visitor more._ sugar and spice. our dear children gave a party, not one grown person there; and the laughter, it was hearty, without a servant's care. "one must," said they, "a servant be," and quick they cried, "one should." so they cast lots, did that par--ty: the lot fell on t. good. they rang the bell, he never came; they called, he would not hear; they stamped, but it was all the same, t. good would not appear. they coaxed him in with marmalade, to take a letter out. he said that he was scarcely made "to post and run about!" said he, "i've seen rich people do kind acts for servants' good; but seldom have i known, its true, them act as e'er they should! "that is, you know, quite to a t, and sure as eggs are eggs, men-servants in a family, care mostly for their legs!" oh! tommy was quite rated high by all the children fair. he pardon begged, and quick did fly to run both here and there. * * * * * now mind and do as you are bid, or you'll come in for blame; and never let your joy be hid beneath some passing shame. [illustration: the little bootmaker] _knock, knock, knock! paste, paste, paste! use wax, and thread, and awl each day while there's light to work we'll haste, for health and time soon pass away._ the little bootmaker. young franky's boots were sent to be mended. the girl came back and said they would not be done for a week; the cobbler was so busy. annie, of the same family, who knew nothing of this, sent hers, and said they must be done by the next day. the cobbler said if they brought him two pairs again to do at once, he'd knock their heads together with his lasts, and then give them a good "welting." he was the only cobbler in the village, or he would not have been so independent. franky had often watched the boot-maker at his work; so he coaxed his father to let him have some money to buy tools and leather, in order that he and his sisters might play at making boots and shoes. he set to work, and they had such fun! annie came and asked young master cobbler what time it was; and franky pretended to hit her on the head with a last, and said it had "just struck one." then he measured her, and cut out his vamps, sides, linings, welts, soles, and heels. next he made a soft-like sock of leather. this he turned inside out, and did his best to sew on a welt. the boot was turned out right again, and then he sewed on a thin sole, and over this nailed another. the heel he formed by fastening little bits of leather one upon the other. after all this, he took a piece of common glass, and scraped the sides and bottoms of the soles, and heel-balled the sides of the soles and heels, and the boots were made. he did not try any other ornamental work. of course the young lad could not do this without the help of a cobbler, to shew him what and how to do each portion of his boot-making; but the man was frightened at having so apt a pupil, and begged pardon for his former neglect; for though they were not all they might have been; they were boots. "i see," said he, "if some people neglect their work, there are sure to be others about who will soon leave them no business to do." after this, he would sit for quite half a day at his work without going round to the "cobbler's arms." some people said it was the wax that got on his seat that made him do it; but i do not think it was. [illustration: the little gardener] _a flower lives, a flower dies, and we so stand and fall; some flowers waft scent to the skies, and pleasure give to all._ the little gardener. there was no nicer garden in all surrey than mr. woffle's. a funny name you'll say, but he couldn't help that. one day he came home, and after first kissing his three children, who were all fairly good ones--you know what i mean, neither better nor worse than most little children you and i know--said, the governess, before he went to business, had mentioned that they had of late attended to their lessons, and he should be pleased to grant them anything in reason. they all blushed,--eva, a soldier's coat colour! james, a light red! and edwin, a rose-lozenge hue! the fact was, they had all been saying how they should like to gather some flowers and have a game at playing at lady and gentleman and gardener. they spoke right out and told their father what was in their minds. he said "by all means, my dears." tom became gardener. you can guess who were the others. a very gentlemanly one he was, too. full of nice bows and smiles. as for eva, she looked quite the grown lady, and acted so well, that when she put her hand in her pocket for her purse, edwin was quite surprised to find that only threepenny and fourpenny pieces came out of it. "now what sort of bouquets would your ladyship like me to cut?" asked tom, holding up a very pretty rose before his sister. "i have consulted his lordship, here," answered, eva, very grandly, "and i'll have ten dozen in five minutes, like this one in my hand!" "i'm pleased, your ladyship," said tom, respectfully, "that you give me plenty of time to execute so large an order, or i might not have been able to have come up with them to time!" "oh! great people are never in a hurry," quietly remarked edwin. tom cut all the flowers he knew could be spared from the greenhouse, and her ladyship and his lordship took them and gave them to a poor girl whose sick mother wanted some little pleasure; and the girl sold the flowers for gentlemen's button-holes. when mr. woffles heard all about it, he was very pleased, and kissed the little woffles all round. wasn't it a nice game for rich children to play at; to do good to poor ones? [illustration: the little cooks] _when children try their best to please, it makes them good and kind, and gives to those they love some ease, and ev'ry comfort find._ the little cooks. everybody who knew frank green, liked him. he was always trying to do something to make those around him comfortable. his brothers, george and edwin, were nice little fellows enough; but franky, as people loved to call him, was the favourite. and he was generally so careful in all he undertook, that his parents let him do nearly everything in reason he desired. so, one fine morning, when his mother and father were about to start for the crystal palace, frank, who had been sitting on his thumbs and thinking very deeply, jumped up all of a sudden and said, (he tried to speak in an off-hand manner); "i suppose you couldn't say to a minute, could you, when you'll be back?" father laughed, and mother turned aside her head for an instant "and mother's laughing, too," cried little edwin. you can see him; but i'd better introduce them. 1st--frank: right hand, near oven. 2nd--george: holding bird. 3rd--edwin: bearing tray and cover. now we can go on. "i know mother's laughing," said edwin, "because the back of her neck's red!" mother kissed him, and said she'd be back at five o'clock, exactly; and father shook the boys by the hand, and said he'd be home at five, too. the moment they were gone, frank beckoned his brothers to him, and said in whispers; "let's ask the cook to give us leave, and then treat mother and father to a jolly good dinner, and cook it ourselves!" george clapped his hands with delight, and edwin danced for a moment or two quite on his own account. "let's have some shrimps and marmalade," said he, about to run out of the room. frank and george laughed at him and told him he might buy some shrimps for a sauce and the marmalade would do for the pastry. they went to work, and frank gave his orders quite like a grand cook. he tried the cookery book, but, boy as he was, he threw it away in disgust. "for," said he, "if you live in one town, you'd have to send to another to get all the things named in it." they had two nice birds and a joint, and many other things. when their parents came home, and saw the table laid out with what the children had paid for out of their pocket money, they were very pleased; and, mind, i won't be sure; but i don't think the boys lost anything by their generosity. one thing i must tell, you as a secret--edwin nearly shed a tear when he found he had eaten so much of the meat, which his money had bought, that he couldn't find room for his marmalade-tart. [illustration: the young sportsman] _a hare runs away, and little boys play; and girls they have skippers, while maidens work slippers._ the young sportsman. henry downing's father was a gamekeeper; so you will not be surprised to hear that he was very fond of playing at hunting and shooting. his dearest friend was little minnie warren. he ran up to her one fine september day, and said, "oh! minnie, father has been so kind; he has given me a hare, and after you and i have had a game at hunting it, i'm to give it to you, and you're to give it to your mother to jug. there! what say you to that?" minnie _was_ pleased. it was fun to see how they made believe. minnie tied, oh! such a long string to the hare's hind legs, and walked off a good way; and just as henry cocked his gun and pretended to fire, she gave the string a pull, and off she ran, henry after her. they played at this till they were quite tired, and then our little friend at last made a pretence of shooting very carefully; and then minnie quite gravely let him come and pick miss hare up. "now," said henry, "walk home first and stand at the door with your arms crossed, and look quite seriously at me when i come up and give it to you. my gun will be in my left hand, and the hare in the other; so i shan't be able to take my hat off; but i'll bow twice, and make it up that way." he gave it to her; and mrs. warren was pleased when her daughter handed her henry's gift. you may be sure he was asked to dine with them when it was cooked. minnie said the hare turned out tender, on purpose; and henry added he believed he enjoyed the _game_. mrs. warren said it was the knocking about that made it so soft. but it came out all right, jugged; and with the black currant jelly it was really,--but there! i dare say you know what it was. [illustration: the little dauber] _lazy people think they're clever. so won't work like common folk; but in life they'll prosper never, if all's true that i've heard spoke._ the little dauber. mr frampton was a fashionable portrait painter; and, one day when he was out with his wife, young richard, his son, who was quite a spoiled boy, fetched in some of his little acquaintances--two young gentlemen and one lady. "now," said he, trying to look wise, "miss fanny, just stand with flowers in your hand while i paint you like a grand lady; and one of you quiz the work as it goes on, and the other pretend to be in raptures with the portrait." "will you write her name under it, when it's done?" asked bobby butt, who was always ready with his fun. "no," answered richard, laughingly; "i shall make it a speaking likeness." "well, i'm glad of that," returned the lady; "for i shouldn't like to be taken with my mouth shut." so they went to work. richard looked at the lady very sharp, particularly with his right eye,--you can see him; and bob took a penny out of his pocket and held it in front of him as if it were an eye-glass; and frank put his right leg out, and bent forward and said every now and then, "to a t!" "charming!" "nature improved!" and other such flatteries. it was very well to say all this; but the truth must be told: when richard had painted the lady's head and neck, he had no more room on the canvas; and what was done was so ugly, that the subject threw her bouquet at it. then richard sent it back again, at which she boxed his ears. "it certainly is like nothing in the world," said bob, putting his hands before his eyes as he looked at the smudges. "of course not," retorted richard; "it's in the high school of art, and is not therefore meant to be natural!" "oh! that alters the case," said frank. after a bit they began to throw the things about, and a terrible mess and rout they made. when they were quite tired, richard said, "now i'll show you all my toys!" and he was about to go out of the studio to fetch them,-"stay where you are!" cried his father, slyly entering. "you have been spoiling my things, and romping where you have no business; i must set you a task as a punishment, and your friends must go home at once." all the boys turned red enough without being painted; and richard's father said, quite sternly, "next time, before you, children, play with, and destroy property, just ask yourselves how you would like your playthings meddled with and broken?" [illustration: the busy bees] _oh! boys and girls can useful prove, if they will only try; and smile and work in some slight groove, as well as play or cry._ the busy bees. little bob he fetched a board, and then began to saw, and mary jane said she'd afford him help to do much more, while he used his--saw! saw! saw! young dick he held his mallet high, and struck the wedge quite bold, until it made the wood quick fly like feathers with no hold, blown by the wind quite--cold! cold! cold! and john and james sawed up and down, john sawed up; james sawed low; the birds they flew all o'er the town to tell the folks these things were so, as if they did--know! know! know! they made some boxes, tops, and hoops, they fashioned bowls and chairs, they sold a thousand million scoops, and seven hundred stairs; and this bob--declares! declares! declares! eleven hundred sticks they cut, and all of them good size; with a five mile long water-butt, "in which to float," tom cries, and "time," they said--"flies! flies! flies!" oh! work and play are very good, work number one, you know; play number two has ever stood the best in this world's show and it should be--so! so! so! hence these young children played at work, and thus learnt to work well, and now their duties they ne'er shirk, which is all i've to tell, and you to--spell! spell! spell! or, maybe, read and then to write, until you know it through; which will to you give great delight, and mem'ry strengthen too, as you ought to--do! do! do! and, who knows, one day you may give some stories to the young, to make your name through ages live and loud your praises sung. keep your life well--strung! strung! strung! [illustration: the little soldiers] _'tis said 'that he who fights and runs away is sure to live to fight another day;' but better to clear keep of ev'ry brawl, and then you'll never have to fight at all._ the little soldiers. robert and henry graham were handsome, rich little fellows; but very fast and fond of imitating. indeed, they were more like little men than young boys. and as their parents gave them plenty of pocket-money, they did many things that otherwise they would not have done. added to this, they were spoiled by their father. you see, it's generally 'mother' who does this; so for a wonder we'll have a change. well, one day the two boys went to the family tailor, and robert said, very big, "haw! measure us for two suits of military clothes, officers' ones, haw! and see that you send home with them at the same time--swords, muskets, canes, sentry box, tents, and all, haw! necessarythings for playing at soldiers!" now, don't let it slip out of your mind that a bit before this, the boys' rich uncle had bought them some beautiful sets of boxes of soldiers. when the clothes and other things came home, these young fellows, followed by the dog, which they called their army, dressed themselves, cleverly set up their tents, and went to work in good earnest. billy, the dog, sniffed at the butt of the musket to make quite sure that it was not loaded. robert put his glass to his right eye, and having posted henry as a sentry, began to officer over, him, commanding him rather more than his brother liked. it's not a nice thing to see a soldier cry; but if you look at harry, you will find that he feels hurt very much. "haw! hem! sir!" roared robert, "with, haw! the help of my glass i see, haw! a speck of rust on one of your buttons, haw! as big as the tip of a fly's eyelash!" the dog at this set up a howl. the howl called their mother's attention to the garden, and then she saw them. with a funny smile she took all their toy soldiers and walked to her children. "haw! pre-sent, fire!" cried bob. "certainly," said his mother; and almost before they knew what she was about, all the soldiers were set out, just like two armies, and mrs. graham called the gardener to lay a train of gunpowder, and called--mimicking robert--"present, fire!" and set fire to it, and there was heard a tremendous "pop," followed by a "puff," and then; no! there wasn't a bit of one of all those soldiers and horses left large enough to make a match of. the boys began to cry. "now," said their mother, "others, you see, can play at soldiers. what right had you to go to the tailor and order clothes of him! neither i nor your father gave you permission; i have a great mind to make you go to school in those soldiers' suits; and nice fun your play fellows would make of you!" file was produced from images generously made available by the university of florida digital collections.) [illustration: lith. emrik & binger, haarlem.] [illustration] _the world turned upside down._ by e. c. clayton. london: dean & son, 160a, fleet street, e.c., publishers and christmas card manufacturers. the foolish coat. the coat was in a downright rage. "to be beaten, and caned, and cuffed, and shaken, two or three times a-day," cried he, whisking his tails about like an angry lion, "i say it's a shame." "if you were not well thrashed," said the cane, "you'd soon get thick with dust, and _then_ i'd like to know how you'd look." "so _i_ say," remarked the hat. "it's all very well for you to talk, mr. cane," said the coat, still more in a rage. "nobody ever hits you, and if they did, you could hit back. and as for you, mr. hat, nobody ever thinks of punching you, except in fun. you have a nice soft brush all to yourself." "well, are you not brushed as well?" asked the hat. "i don't mind being brushed," said the coat, "but the next time mr. valet comes along, and hits me, i'll--i'll--" then he growled something to himself, whisked his tails, and added, "_see_ if i don't." in came the valet, and bustled about. the coat eyed him, and when he came close, caught him up with _such_ a clutch. "hallo, hallo, hallo!" cried the valet. "what are you doing?" but the coat hung the valet on a nail, and snatched up the cane. "now, look here, mister valet," said he. "i'm not going to be dusted and beaten and thumped. i'm just going to show you what it feels like, mister valet." "what are you talking about, you stupid old coat?" said the valet. "i'll let you see," said the coat, flourishing the cane. the cane could not help himself, for he was thin. thump, thump, thump, went the coat, blowing out such clouds and clouds of dust from the valet's clothes, never remembering he was covering himself with dust, and making himself look shockingly shabby. the valet called out as loud as he could for help, but nobody heard him, and the coat kept on thumping till his sleeves fairly ached. then he dropped the cane, fell on the dirty floor, and whisked his tails with great satisfaction. the cane jumped up, and lifted down the valet, who went off to his own room. a few days after, the master came in, and looked at the coat, which he had meant to wear at a jolly garden party. "oh," said he, "how dreadfully shabby that coat looks." "yes, sir," said the valet, "he won't allow himself to be brushed or dusted." "oh, won't he?" said the master, "that's all very fine, but it won't do for me." so he seized the cane, and gave the coat one good thump. but such a cloud of dust came out of the coat that the master threw down the cane, and ran to the door. "oh," cried he, "i can't wear that frightful old thing any more. it is disgracefully shabby and dusty. sell it to the first 'ole clo'' man that comes along." but he took the hat, and went to the nice party. and what do you think became of this foolish coat? why, he was hung on a stick in a field to make a scare-crow. and serve him right, a stupid thing. alf and the parrot. the old poll parrot was in a rage; he bounced and spluttered about in his cage. the reason he felt so much displeased was because young alf had worried and teased. he pecked, and bobbed, and knocked with his beak, too much enraged to be able to speak. to tease him was a scandalous shame: alf was a bad boy, and much to blame. "i tell you, young alf," at last poll said, "if you don't leave off, i'll snap off your head. "you think you're allowed to tease a bird. now, that idea's extremely absurd. "one thing, young alf, is certain and sure- your worry and bother no more i'll endure. "another thing, alf, is also clear: i mean to walk out, and lock you in here." poor alfy screamed and bawled with rage when poll marched out, and put _him_ in the cage! cried alf, "i think this horrible bird is going to be as good as his word." laughed old poll, as he perched on a chair, "you thought to punish you i'd never dare. "you may bawl or howl, or scream and rage- i'm going to lock the door of the cage!" alfy did cry out--oh! didn't he shout, when he found the parrot would not let him out! said poll, "my dear boy, it's now _our_ turn; the world's upside down, as you have to learn." so alf was forced to make up his mind in the cage of the parrot to be confined. [illustration] the clever hare. "to be hunted, and trapped, and watched for by night, and--and--i don't know what, is most abominable!" said the hare. some dogs had frightened him, and he had run--run like a hare, in fact, and then sat down upon his form to think. the dogs had not stood upon ceremony, so he didn't choose to stand upon forms, but sat down comfortably. he twitched his ears, and scratched his wig, and thought. "and i won't put up with it--_there_," said he, aloud. "it's only cowardice putting up with things. i'll get some fellows to help me, and we'll hunt the dogs." at that moment he heard a sound. "wow! bow, wow, wow!" barked some dog, a little way off. the hare jumped up again, and flew off as quick as his legs would carry him. after running some distance, he sat down again, but this time he found neither forms nor ceremonies. but he found something that was better. a gun and a sportsman's bag were lying near, and he eyed them. "i wonder if that gun would go off if i touched it!" he said to himself. he walked round and round it, and then cautiously pawed it. no: it didn't seem to have the least idea of going off. then he lifted it up, and grew quite bold. "i wonder if i could shoot anything?" thought he. he aimed at a bird, and brought it down. [illustration] "bravo, bravo, bravo!" cried he. "i'll take this gun, and then if anybody tries to torment or to catch me, i'll--i'll kill them." he hung the bag round his waist, and put the gun on his shoulder, then walked off to his home. on the way, a boy ran at him, and cried "bo!" but he just pointed the gun, and the boy ran away. the hare lived all by himself, but he was very comfortable. nobody could bother him, and he would have been quite content only for the men and the dogs. every day he practised with his gun till he got to be very skilful. "just let them come along and they shall all soon see, that they're all in the wrong to plague and bother me. although i'm but a hare, i think i'm very smart, and can--let them beware- right well take my own part." so he sang, as he sat one day polishing up his gun. as he was busily at work, he heard a noise, and cocked his ear. tramp, tramp, tramp, came along some one--a man. it was a poacher, who said to himself he was going to catch a fine fat hare. the man cast an eye round, but the hare hid, and watched. then the man stole nearer, and peeped round a tree. "aha!" said the hare. "you want to catch me, and eat me, don't you? but i am going to catch you, and boil you for my supper." the man only laughed, for it was preposterous the idea of a hare catching a man, instead of a man catching a hare. and the hare just cocked his gun, put it to his shoulder, and fired. then he did kill the poacher, and took him home, and stewed him with mushrooms for supper. [illustration] the strong man and the invalid "where's the good of going on grumble, grumble, grumble, all the day long?" said the strong man to the invalid. "why, you get petted and have extra nice things to eat, beautiful bunches of grapes, and boiled chickens, and i don't know what." "if you were _me_, you would not talk like that," said the invalid, in a poor sick weak voice. "i'd eat dry bread, and never ask to be petted at all if i were strong, like you." the strong man laughed, as if he didn't believe the invalid. "i have to work hard all day, and nobody seems to care a bit whether i'm tired or not," said he. "but if you only have a finger ache, everybody is running about trying to find something to do you good. and they come and read to you, and bring you flowers, and--and--" "you just take my place for a day or two, and see how you'd like it," said the invalid. "um--well, i shouldn't like to be ill, you know," said the strong man. "i shouldn't like to lie in bed, nor have the doctor coming to see me, because he'd give me nasty stuff to take." "i'll be your doctor," said the invalid. "but you must lie in bed. come, take my place." the strong man was ashamed to refuse. "well, now you are comfortable, i suppose," said the invalid, tucking him in. "you must try to doze a little." [illustration: lith. emrik & binger, haarlem.] "but i'm not sleepy," said the strong man. "you'll soon be tired, and go to sleep," said the invalid. "i'm going away, but shall be back in an hour or two." when he went away, the place seemed dreadfully dull. not a sound was to be heard except the barking of a dog in a farm-yard near, and the cluck cluck of some hens. "dear, dear," said the strong man, "this is very tiresome." presently an old lady looked in. "poor dear, poor dear," said she, "i will read a nice book to you." so she sat down and read out of a book. but the strong man didn't care about the book, and he thought the old lady stupid. then she went away, and by-and-by, a kind old gentleman came in with some chicken, and a glass of wine, and some beautiful white bread. "here," said he, "take this, it will do you good." but the strong man didn't feel hungry, and he was tired and cross by this time, so he wouldn't have any of it. then some more people came in, and talked to him, and told him the invalid had gone to see the reapers, and tried to be kind to him. then at last everybody stole away on tiptoe, and left him alone. then the invalid came back. but by that time the strong man had had quite enough of being shut up in a sick room, so he jumped up, and ran to the door. "i see you are not much to be envied," said he to the invalid. "i don't think i shall ever envy anybody again so long as i have health and strength." the kite's little game the kite laughed and chuckled to himself until his paper fairly crackled. "we shall have such a game," said he to his paper tails. "we mostly do," squeaked the tails. there were eighteen of them, and they were all very frisky. the kite first winked one eye, then the other, then winked both together. i'm afraid he was rather a vulgar sort of a kite, but he was very jolly. his eyes were inclined to be goggly, yellow round the outside, with red in the middle. he was not a particularly good-looking kite--in fact, he was really ugly--but he was very funny, and loved a joke. the string suddenly wakened up out of a nap, hearing talk going on, "eh, what's that?" said he. "don't know," said the tails. the kite laughed again, and shook his round ears, and showed all his teeth in one wide grin. "we'll have a game this afternoon," said he, once more. "oh," said the string. "we mostly do." the kite stuck up his pointed chin, and shook his red paper beard. "i mean a different sort of game to what _you_ mean," said he. "you mean, we have a game when young walter takes us out. but i don't mean _that_." "then what _do_ you mean?" said the string, who didn't care about guessing. "when he takes us out, we have to go where _he_ likes, and fly when he chooses us to fly," said the kite. "now _i_ mean, we'll fly young walter." "eh?" said the string. [illustration] the string was rather sleepy-headed, and didn't take in new ideas very quickly. he was so astonished now that he unrolled himself several yards, and wriggled about round the kite, to look at him, as if he must be out of his mind. "eh?" said all the tails, after a flutter of surprise. but they thought it was a joke, and that the kite only meant to be funny. the kite straightened himself, and looked very important. "when i say a thing, i mean it," said he, in a dignified manner. "well, but--" said one tail, timidly. "_well_, but what?" snapped the kite. "you don't know what you're talking about. i say we'll fly--" at that minute up came walter. he took hold of the kite, and was winding up the string, when the kite said-"master walter, let's fly _you_ to day!" walter stared and laughed. "you couldn't," said he. "you're only made of paper." "let us try," said the kite. "i mustn't go far, then," said walter, "because my mother would wonder where i was." so the string was tied about walter, and up he flew. it was very jolly, and he flew here and there like a bird. the kite and the string were delighted, and the tails kept on a chatter, chatter, chatter, like eighteen little magpies all in a row. but the kite found it hard work after a time. he had to mind the string, and watch lest walter should tumble down, and keep on doing this and doing that, instead of pleasantly fluttering about. he got cross and grumpy at last. "i think the old way's the best," said he. "next time i'll go up. old ways are best, after all." [illustration] the birds and the fishes. i think you will own that it is very rare to see fishes and frogs sail about in the air, while the birds and the poultry are swimming about like so many mackerel or pikes, sprats, or trout, in old times, the fishes, and birds, were content to remain all their lives in their _own_ element. things are different now: they have changed the old times, turned the world topsy-turvy, with no reasons or rhymes. but i think you'll agree it is simply absurd for a fish to pretend he is just like a bird. but for birds to be fishes is really as bad: one would fancy they all had surely gone mad. for fishes cold water, for birds a warm nest, of all places, truly, is _the_ very best. [illustration] [illustration: lith. emrik & binger, haarlem.] the wonderful show. one fine summer's afternoon, the lion went trotting home in high good humour. as he went along, he kept muttering and grinning to himself, as if mightily pleased. when he got home, he banged at the door of his den with his tail. a lion's tail is very strong and hard, you know, stronger and harder than any bell rope. the lioness, his wife, was out at the back, combing out the manes of her young lions, but presently she came and opened the door. "my dear," cried the lion, "_such_ a piece of news!" "oh, indeed?" said the lioness. "have you found some travellers to eat?" "better than _that_," said the lion, all a-glow, rubbing his paws. "oh, in-_deed_," said the lioness, smiling. "then it must be very good indeed." "yes," said the lion. "just guess, my love." "how _can_ i guess? i never was good at guessing. besides, you could tell me quicker than i could guess," said the lion's wife. "how clever you are," said the lion, putting his tawny head on one side, and looking admiringly at his queen. "perhaps telling _is_ the quickest way after all. well--" then he stopped, as if to tantalize. "well--what? how tiresome you are," said the lioness. "they have brought a cageful of humans to the town, and all the beasts and all the birds are going to see the show." "_what!_" cried the lioness, so astonished that she could hardly believe her ears. the lion skipped right round the parlour three times, snapping his claws like castanets. "yes," said he, gleefully, "they used to lock _us_ up, and let people pay to see us, and call us wild beasts, and carnivora, and all sorts of ugly names. but times are changed. i wonder how they'll like it? we'll take our little beasts of children to see the show." "you _shouldn't_ call the little ducks beasts," said the lioness. "i wonder you don't call them a parcel of cubs." "well, they _are_ beasts and cubs, ain't they?" said the lion. "well, never mind, i won't have them spoken of like that," said his wife. "when will you take me and the darling pets to see this wonderful show?" "come now," said the lion, jingling his money in the purse he carried in the end of his tail. "oh, i'm not dressed," said the lioness. "you never are," said the lion. "that's true," said his wife. "well, here! children! come along and see the tame humans." the young cubs came rolling in, all tumbling over one another, like jolly little brutes as they were, and set up a wild roar of delight at hearing they were going out for the day. when they got half way, the lion suddenly stopped and considered. "i think," said he, "as we are going to change places with the humans, we ought to have all the fine things they used to have, so we'll buy some clothes." "all right, my dear," said the lioness. [illustration] so they went into a shop, which they found belonged to a very civil elephant. they were quickly fitted out with nice suits, and then trotted contentedly on. a large crowd of beasts and birds was going the same way, and at the door it was hard to get in. the greatest excitement prevailed--which means, you know, that people--animals, i mean--were laughing and talking, and wondering, and squeezing, and pushing, and treading on one another's toes, and saying "where are you shoving to?" and "there's plenty of room," and "don't be disagreeable," and "don't lose your temper, pray," and asking questions, and all that kind of thing. the lion and his wife were afraid to take in the children, so left them outside with an old cow, who was herself too frightened to venture, and too fat to squeeze through the throng. inside, the animals were all staring their hardest. the humans in the cages didn't at all relish being shown, and were very cross. a wolf with a long stick was telling about all their ways, and poking them up to make them roar. one young man in a blue coat howled with rage, until a good-natured old rhinoceros, with a red shawl, threw him a bun. he was so ungrateful as to kick it out of his cage, which offended the old rhinoceros, as you may imagine. "times are changed, ain't they?" said a jolly old bear to the lion, chuckling. "quite time too," answered the lion. the ostrich craned his long neck, and stared as hard as he could, as did all the animals. the lioness was very well pleased, but she hurried out to see after her children, while the lion stayed to have a good look. in fact, there never had been such a sight seen in beastland before, and i don't suppose there ever will be such a one again. [illustration] the unkind trees. "you know it's ridiculous, and we mustn't put up with it any longer," said the plane tree. he wasn't called the plane tree because he was not good looking, but because he always spoke his mind. "that's what _i_ say," grumbled the elm. "to be sure," cried the oak, in a deep, deep, deep voice--you would have fancied it came out of his boots. but i forgot: of course oaks don't wear boots--but that does not signify. the aspen and the sycamore sighed, and shook their leaves, and looked wise. the chestnut and the beech whispered to one another, and waved their boughs indignantly. "yes," said the poplar, a tall, straight, stiff tree, with a squeaky voice, "i _do_ think it's a shame the wood-cutters should be allowed to come here and cut us up whenever they choose. the government, or the parish, or the local authorities, or--or--_somebody_, ought to hinder them." "everybody encourages them to do it," said the box tree, angrily. the box tree was rather fond of fighting, and that's how he came by his name. "i know what we ought to do," said the birch, "whip them." "chop them up," cried the plane tree, who was fond of carpentry. the trees all fluttered their leaves. they were rather frightened at the ideas of the birch and plane. "well," growled the oak. but he couldn't think of anything to say, so was obliged to stop. the ivy had not said a word, but listened to everything. now she lifted up her head, and spoke--so softly that it seemed as if the summer wind was rustling through her leaves. [illustration: lith. emrik & binger, haarlem] "i think," said the gentle ivy--and though she spoke so sweetly, her voice could be heard by every tree--"i think when there are so many branches to spare, and when it is an improvement to the trees to be lopped and pruned a little bit, it is foolish to object. and when we know the poor wood-cutters make their living by cutting wood in the forest, and when poor children are often shivering in the winter for want of fire, it is selfish to grumble about a few fagots of wood." there was a deep stillness. not a word did any tree speak, till the elm said, with a bit of a sneer, "ivy does not know what she is talking about." "she means well," said the cedar, "but she does talk nonsense." "so she does," murmured some other trees. ivy hung her head, and heard with grief and displeasure that the very next wood-cutter who came through the forest should be chopped up, as an example. in the afternoon, hans came along, singing gaily to himself. he looked about, and noticed some branches that might be cut off without spoiling the trees, for he loved the trees, and would not have hurt them for the world. but as he laid down his saw on his wooden horse, it was snatched by the birch with its long arms, and he felt himself whipped up. "oh, oh, oh," cried hans. "ho, ho, ho," cried the trees, maliciously. ivy covered herself with her own leaves, for she could not bear to see so sad a sight, and she cried. so hans was cut up, and his poor children had nobody to earn any money to buy them food, for their mother was dead. and the wood-cutters were afraid to come near the forest, lest they should be served like hans. and what happened? why, there was nobody to prune the trees, and they grew so thick that their branches all got entangled and twisted, and they smothered one another. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. word "too" added to text (was herself too frightened) "chesnut" changed to "chestnut" (the chestnut and the beech) word "not" added to text on final paragraph, (for she could not bear) the royal picture alphabet of humour and droll moral tales or words & their meanings illustrated [illustration] london: ward and lock, 158, fleet street. [illustration: laugh and learn] [illustration: the royal picture alphabet.] poetical preface to the royal picture alphabet. to preceptors. with learning may laughter be found, "'tis good to be merry and wise;" to gaily get over the ground, as higher and higher we rise. some children their letters may learn, while others will surely do more, as the subjects suggestively turn to matters not thought of before. descriptions and pictures combined are here made attractive and clear; so suited that children may find from error the truth to appear. [illustration] a a. +-----------------------+ | ablution, | |_the act of cleansing_.| +-----------------------+ the little sweep has washed his face, but not as we advise: for black as soot he's made the soap, and rubbed it in his eyes. [illustration] b b. +-------------------+ |barter, _exchange_.| +-------------------+ here's master mack presenting fruit, of which he makes display; he knows he'll soon have lucy's rope, and with it skip away. [illustration] c c. +----------------------------+ |catastrophe, _a final event_| | (_generally unhappy_). | +----------------------------+ "oh here's a sad catastrophe!" was mrs. blossom's cry- then--"water! water! bring to me- or all my fish will die." [illustration] d d. +-------------------+ | delightful, | |_easant, charming_.| +-------------------+ these boys are bathing in the stream when they should be at school: the master's coming round to see who disregards his rule. [illustration] e e. +----------------------------+ | eccentricity, | |_irregularity, strangeness_.| +----------------------------+ we often see things seeming strange; but scarce so strange as this:- here everything is mis-applied, here every change amiss. [illustration] f f. +---------------------------------+ | fraud, | |_deceit, trick, artifice, cheat_.| +---------------------------------+ here is pat murphy, fast asleep. and there is neddy bray: the thief a watchful eye doth keep until he gets away. [illustration] g g. +------------------------+ | genius, | |_mental power, faculty_.| +------------------------+ a little boy with little slate may sometimes make more clear the little thoughts that he would state than can by words appear. [illustration] h h. +----------------+ | horror, | |_terror, dread_.| +----------------+ this little harmless speckled frog seems lady townsend's dread: i fear she'll run away and cry, and hide her silly head. [illustration] i i. j j. +----------------------------+ | ichabod at the jam. | | | |ichabod, _a christian name_.| |jam, _a conserve of fruits_.| +----------------------------+ enough is good, excess is bad: yet ichabod you see, will with the jam his stomach cram, until they disagree. [illustration] k k. +-------------------------+ | knowing, | |_conscious, intelligent_.| +-------------------------+ tho' horses know both beans and corn, and snuff them in the wind; they also all know jemmy small, and what he holds behind. [illustration] l l. +-----------------------------+ | lucky, | |_fortunate, happy by chance_.| +-----------------------------+ we must admire, in lovebook's case. the prompt decision made: as he could not have gained the wood if time had been delayed. [illustration] m m. +-----------------------+ | mimic, | |_imitative, burlesque_.| +-----------------------+ the gentleman, who struts so fine, unconscious seems to be of imitation by the boy who has the street-door key. [illustration] n n. +-----------------------------+ | negligence, | |_heedlessness, carelessness_.| +-----------------------------+ the character tom slowboy bears would much against him tell- for any work that's wanted done, or even play done well. [illustration] o o. +----------------------------+ | obstinacy, | |_stubbornness, waywardness_.| +----------------------------+ the obstinacy of the pig is nature--as you see: but boys and girls who have a mind should never stubborn be. [illustration] p p. +-------------------------------+ | pets, | |_favourites, spoilt fondlings_.| +-------------------------------+ some people say that aunty gray to animals is kind; we think, instead, they are over fed, and kept too much confined. [illustration] q q. +------------------------+ | quandary, | |_a doubt, a difficulty_.| +------------------------+ dame partlet's in difficulty and looks around with doubt: let's hope, as she some way got in, she may some way get out. [illustration] r r. +-------------------------+ | rivalry, | |_competition, emulation_.| +-------------------------+ in every competition prize this should be kept in view- whoever wins should be the one who does deserve it, too. [illustration] s s. +---------------------------+ | sluggard, | |_an inactive, lazy fellow_.| +---------------------------+ to lie so many hours in bed you surely must be ill- and need some physic, master ned, as birch, or draught, or pill! [illustration] t t. +--------------------------+ | topsy-turvy, | |_upside down, bottom top_.| +--------------------------+ here's topsy-turvy, upside down, the ceiling seems the base: reverse the ground and 'twill be found the things are out of place. [illustration] u u. v v. +----------------------------------+ | uncommon vegetation. | | | |uncommon, _rare, not frequent_. | |vegetation, _the power of growth_.| +----------------------------------+ th' uncommon vegetation, here, with art has much to do: the trees are nature, but the fruit uncommon and untrue. [illustration] w w. +---------------------------+ | wonder, | |_admiration, astonishment_.| +---------------------------+ the wise may live and wonder still, however much they know, but simple giles has wonder found within the penny show. [illustration] x x. +----------------------------------------+ |no english word begins with this letter.| | xantippe, | | _a greek matron, wife of socrates_. | +----------------------------------------+ here's socrates and xantippe- philosopher and wife- for gentleness renowned was he; she, better known for strife. [illustration] y y. +--------------------+ | yearn, | |_to grieve, to vex_.| +--------------------+ miss cross has tried to reach the grapes, she's tried and tried again- and now she's vexed to think that all her efforts are in vain. [illustration] z z. +----------------------------+ | zany, | |_a buffoon, a merry andrew_.| +----------------------------+ here's zany reading in a book- with heels above his head- and, judging by his laughing look, finds fun in what he's read. moral tales. ablution.--poor little fellow, you are certainly making comical faces: i fear the soap has got into your eyes, and that you will make that towel very black indeed. all boys, when they wash themselves, should take care to rinse off the soap and dirt before using the towel. to make the poor little sweep quite clean would take much washing. i should like to see the soap and water a little cleaner. many of us have nice wash-stands and baths of marble, but this poor little fellow must make the best of what he can get. see how cleverly he has put a brick under the broken leg of the stool to prop it. i like to see boys clever and ingenious. barter.--miss lucy hart was a nice girl, but rather thoughtless, little regarding any time but the present--new things in her eyes being the prettiest and the best;--thus, she would cast away old toys for new ones, as if she were not likely to want them again. see, master george mc gregor is bartering for her skipping-rope; offering some fruit in exchange for it. the fruit he has picked off the tree without permission. i know lucy's mamma will be vexed; for not only will the fruit soon be gone, and the skip-rope wanted again, but it was a present from papa. the plaything cost far more than a little fruit, which will be quickly eaten, and possibly make lucy unwell after so much as she has had to-day. catastrophe.--poor dear lady! has the cat tried to help himself to a gold fish, and overturned the handsome glass vase? naughty tom! greedy puss! i am sure kind mrs. blossom always feeds you well; and i think you know that you have done wrong, or you would not run so fast over the rails into admiral seaworth's garden, where he keeps his large dog neptune, who may bark and send you back in a fright. poor fish, see how they gasp!--run and fetch some water, or they will die. men drown in water, but fish cannot live out of it. it is the nature of cats to catch mice and birds--so that we should keep our little favourites out of their reach. delightful.--these boys, i fear, are bathing without their parents' consent, which is very wrong, indeed. it is very pleasant in the water on a fine day; but little boys should not go there, as it might be deep, and they might become cramped in their limbs, and be drowned when no one was near, as many naughty boys have been before now. it is proper that boys should learn to swim, when with papa or some kind friend, but not as these boys have. i feel just sure they have played the truant--as i see the village school-master, with his little dog, coming over the rustic bridge to catch them. i think that the letter d might, in this case, stand for disobedient as well as delightful. eccentricity.--what have we here?--a very odd, comical picture, indeed! what a strange fellow, to put his hat upon the fire, and a saucepan on his head. i do declare he has his trowsers and waistcoat on wrong side before. see, he has taken the poker for a walking-stick, put a greasy candle in the book, and the eggs upon the floor. why a small baby-boy would not do this: the poor fellow must be out of his right mind. you may laugh at this odd picture for it is very ridiculous, and will hurt no one; but good children should never make sport of those who are deformed in mind or body, for it is not a fault but a misfortune to be so. fraud.--patrick murphy--commonly called, for shortness, pat--was a very stupid little man; he reared pigs, and had he been sober, would have by this time saved a little property; but, no, pat liked beer and strong drink: so that upon market-days he was far less sensible than his own jackass--which did know its way home--and for a long time took back foolish tipsy pat safely; until one day, the roads being very bad, the cart came to a stop, and neddy could pull no further. a rogue passing, seeing pat asleep, unloosed the donkey from the cart, leaving pat to awake, and much wonder what could have become of neddy bray, the donkey. it was very wrong of the man to take pat's donkey, although pat was a drunken fellow. genius.--bravo! my little artist. i dare say if you try again you will improve upon your first attempt. all people should learn to draw, that they may be able to describe a form in a very few lines, making things intelligible at sight which could not be described in any other way. a little knowledge of drawing will lead to a love of pictures and delight in the beautiful works of nature. giotto, a great painter, who lived many hundred years ago, was but a poor shepherd-boy, who amused himself by drawing portraits of his sheep as he tended them on the hills; from rude attempts he rose to be a great artist, whose works are treasured by kings and princes. i dare say you may some day see some of the works of giotto, the great italian painter. horror.--this drawing represents little lady selina jemima townsend as she appeared when afraid. afraid--of what? why, a poor tiny reptile, a harmless frog, that had jumped into her hat full of daisies, with a croak, as much as to say--"how do you do? good morning, lady townsend; i am glad to see you down in the country." but what do you think she did? why, the little lady scampered away as fast as she could to her governess, in whose dress she hid her face, crying,--saying she had seen "a nasty horrid thing." for this her governess reproved her, saying, "god created nothing in vain." frogs are harmless and beautiful when in the water, through which they can swim and dive with wonderful ease. ichabod at the jam.--ichabod is an odd name, but such is the name of the little boy in the picture. he was much pampered by his parents, and never knew when he had had enough. ichabod would cry for things to eat, then cry again because he could eat no more, and after all cry, because eating made him feel sick and ill: but that was not all; ichabod was, i am ashamed to say, a thief. he stole the jam when his mother thought he was asleep in bed. see, betty the maid has heard a noise, and caught the rogue in the act. to-morrow and for many days ichabod will be ill in bed, and have to take much nasty physic. i wish he had _mis_-taken the mustard for honey, and burnt his naughty, fibbing tongue. knowing.--ah! ah! jemmy small. i fear the steeds are too knowing for you to-day. they appear conscious: they would like the beans and corn you have in the sieve, but do not like the halter you are hiding behind your back. more than one has kicked up his heels, as much as to say--"catch me if you can!" you seem to think, as you bite the straw in your mouth, that they may give you a pretty run. i know bob, the pony, will not be soon caught. horses and other animals like play much better than work, but good boys and girls ought to love both, and not require sweetmeats to induce them to do their duty--for they have intellects of a high order, and may become clever men and women. lucky.--master lovebook was indeed lucky in his escape from the bull--and i will tell you how it happened: in going to school, this young gentleman had to go round by the wood and across the meadows, when one day he observed a savage bull making towards him; alarmed, he did not run crying anywhere, but considered one moment, and made back the shortest way to the wood, with all speed for the posts, just as the savage animal was going to toss him high in the air. master lovebook was unfortunate in meeting the bull, but fortunate in having the posts between him and the infuriated animal. in danger, brave little boys never cry, but think what is the best to be done. mimic.--to be vain of anything is not right, and to be proud of fine clothes very silly indeed. the young gentleman in the picture, i think, is vain. see, he is smoking a cigar, and if we may judge by the expression of his face, we may presume that he does not fully enjoy it. as he struts along the rude boys ridicule him. see the boy behind mimicking his airs and graces--using the handle of the door-key for an eye-glass. i fear that lad's mirth will soon be changed into sorrow--for the jug must be broken against the post, and the beer spilled--so that in turn he will be laughed at. we cannot help smiling at the little coxcomb, although at the same time we pity him. negligence.--here is tommy slowboy, the lowest boy in the day-school, too idle to learn or even play. see how vacantly he stands gaping at the men clearing the snow from the house-tops, with his hand in his pocket because he has lost his glove, having placed the hot shoulder of mutton down in the cold snow. no wonder the first dog passing helps itself to the joint. tom will not only be chid, but have to go without his dinner. yet, what cares tom for scolding or anything else, he who is so neglectful of duty? mind that you strive to learn early, that you may become wise and happy hereafter. look at the picture of tommy slowboy, and avoid apathy and indolence. obstinacy.--obstinacy is a sad thing. see the naughty pig in the picture, how he pulls in the opposite direction. master pig will be obliged to go into the sty, and very likely get the whip for his pains; like a wayward child that gets chid for disobedience. i hope there are very few disobedient young ladies and gentlemen, like the perverse pig. the pig is a stupid animal: but i have heard of a learned pig that could tell his letters, pointing to them with his snout; but most swine are dirty in their ways, and not at all particular--little caring so long as they can eat, grunt, and sleep. the pig will often lie in the dirtiest corner of his house, and stand in its trough of food. pets.--here is a portrait of aunt gray feeding her pets, or rather stuffing the poor monkey. some people say miss gray is kind to animals, but i do not think so, for she keeps her pets prisoners--feeding them too much, and all for her own pleasure, until they become like spoilt children, peevish, and always wanting sweet things. kind children love animals, and delight to see them free. in the zoological gardens animals are not pets; they have there plenty of room, and are nicely kept for our instruction. see, poor jacko, the monkey, has grown too fat to leap, as in his native woods he used, from bough to bough. the poor gold fish have hardly room to turn in their glass prison: how they would enjoy a swim in the garden pond! quandary.--poor dame partlet having got into the back yard cannot get out again. she is in a quandary, for she fears the dogs will bite her--though their chains are not long enough. keeper, the mastiff, is a noble fellow, and would not hurt women or children; neither would nero, the bull-dog; he would rather face a lion or a wild ox: whilst snap, the terrier, barks and snarls in the company of his brave companions. little boys and girls should not touch strange dogs, for they sometimes snap at those who are not familiar to them. to take food from dogs is not prudent, for they growl, bite, and are ill-tempered, like a little fellow would be if deprived of his dinner, after he had tasted the first morsel. rivalry.--to compete for good is famous--such as little boys rivalling one another in a race up the ladder of learning--that is exercise of the mind. here we have a picture of country boys exercising their strength--climbing up a pole covered with grease, for a prize of food for the body. the boy that wins the leg of mutton will be the hero of the fair, and be carried round the place on the shoulders of the men. see how they strive and tear to win the prize. i should not wonder if they all slipped down together, notwithstanding the encouraging cheers of the crowd. see how the man on the housetop swings his hat in the air, and the people applaud. a few inches higher, and the prize is won. sluggard.--heavy-headed, sleepy ned, awake, arise! you lazy fellow! look at the clock! eight hours' rest is enough for any little boy--and here you have taken nearly fourteen. all sluggards should get their slates, and calculate how much time they waste every year--weeks that can never be regained. if you only lie in bed two hours later than you should every day, you lose more than one day in a week, or sixty-four days in the course of the year: which, at the end of seventy years, would be awful indeed! twelve whole years lost! lazy, idle people, never seem to have time for anything: industrious ones, time for anything and everything. i hope when little ned sees his portrait he will be shocked with his appearance, and reform his ways. topsy-turvy.--well, of all the funny pictures in this droll book i think this the drollest--a big letter t resting on its top on the ceiling, like in an overturned doll's house, or a view taken by an artist standing upon his head. turn it over, and see how comical it looks--everything appears to have lost its gravity. _gravity_ means the power that holds us to the earth (as papa's loadstone attracts the needle): if it were not for gravity, we could not move about. some day you shall read in that nice book called the "evenings at home," about gravity, and why an apple falls to the ground. a great philosopher, sir isaac newton, discovered why, as he lay under a tree. at a future time you will learn about gravity and many other things. uncommon vegetation.--uncle periwinkle was very kind; he loved nature and his nephews dearly. he wore green spectacles, a dressing-gown all covered with leaves, and a large straw hat; in fact he was very fond of gardening, and reared all kinds of odd plants--this his nephews knew, and determined to play a joke upon him--not a cruel, heartless joke, that would hurt or destroy anything: no! they were too kind for that. they only carefully tied the carpenter's planes upon the plane-tree, as if it were fruit--and some little boxes of all colours upon the box-tree, like blossom; so that when the old gentleman beheld it, he exclaimed--"uncommon vegetation!" upon which john and walter came laughing out of the greenhouse to receive a bunch of fine grapes for their pleasant joke. wonder.--so, master ploughboy giles, you are spending your penny and your holiday at the fair. you seem not a little astonished at what you have seen in that peep-show. surely you cannot imagine that they are real; it is the magnifying power of the glasses that makes the pictures appear so large. the pyramids of egypt are the largest stone buildings in the world, and the oldest; the behemoth, a huge animal that existed thousands of years ago (but i do not think it had wings like a butterfly, as in the showman's picture); daniel lambert was an enormously fat man, who died a long time back. all these things must be in miniature if they are to be seen in that small box, very little larger than a dog's house. xantippe.--the comical event pictured here occurred more than two thousand years ago: xantippe, the wife of the great and good philosopher socrates, continually tormented him with her ill-humour--using him very cruelly--one day emptying a vessel of dirty water over her celebrated husband, whom she ought to have loved: he only remarked, that "after thunder there generally falls rain." socrates lived in the refined city of athens; he was one of the most eminent philosophers of greece; he was very plain in person, as you perceive by the picture: but a man may be great and good, yet ugly, as socrates was. the philosopher had enemies who sought his destruction; he was killed with poison. after his death his accusers were despised, as you will read in ancient history some day. yearn.--what have we here? little miss cross vexed, just because she cannot get at the grapes. i am sure i should not like to have my portrait drawn with such a sullen face. she has been trying to take fruit without her aunt's permission, that very likely is unripe and improper for her. the walk in a delightful garden ought not to make her long to eat all the fruit she sets eyes upon, or wish to pick the sweet flowers, that last much longer upon the plants than when plucked. i perceive that the peevish young lady in the picture has been picking the flowers. see, they are strewn upon the seat beside her, under those dirty feet that have trodden down the beds of mould. i am afraid miss cross cannot be a joyous, happy child, because disobedient. zany.--finis is the latin word for finish, and here it is the last droll picture--a zany laughing at his portrait in this comical book, which he seems vastly to enjoy. what a droll fellow, to read with his head where his heels should be, like the clown in the pantomime. look at his staff, the cock and bells, with which he dances, making a jingling noise. a zany is not an idiot, but often a funny clever fellow, paid to make people laugh. we all like a good laugh sometimes. many years ago kings used to keep jesters to amuse the company; king henry the eighth had a clever jester, called will somers, whose portrait was painted by a great artist named holbein, which is now in the palace at hampton court, and may be seen by those who love pictures. illustrated popular educational works, published by ward and lock, 158, fleet street, london. messrs. ward and lock have much pleasure in announcing that they have just purchased the copyrights of many of the valuable illustrated educational works lately published from the office of the _illustrated london news_. the new editions of these popular books have been most carefully revised, and in their present state arrive as near perfection as possible. it is the intention of the present proprietors of these educational books to continue the series, and they have already made arrangements to this effect. the object of the publishers is to supply a series of illustrated volumes, adapted both for schools and private study, which shall be accurate and complete text-books, _and at a price within the reach of every one_. the old system of instruction, by which the names of things only were presented to the mind of the pupil, has been long admitted to have been imperfect and unsuccessful. with the young it is necessary to speak to the eye, as well as to the mind--to give a picture of an object as well as a description; and the adoption of such a plan of tuition is not only far more effective than that which is confined to words, but is at the same time much less irksome to the teacher, and more pleasant to the pupil. a greater interest is excited, and the representation of the object remains clear and distinct in the mind of the child long after the verbal description has passed away. --> for particulars of the "illustrated popular educational works," see catalogue. * * * * * just ready, the illustrated webster spelling book. demy 8vo, embellished with upwards of 250 splendid engravings by gilbert, harvey, dalziel, and other eminent artists. 128 pp., new and accented type, upon the principle of "webster's dictionary of the english language." cloth, gilt lettered, price 1s.; coloured, 2s. *.* the "illustrated webster spelling book" has been most carefully compiled by an eminent english scholar, who is daily engaged in the tuition of youth, and, therefore, knows exactly what is really useful in a spelling book. the reading lessons are arranged upon a new progressive principle, exceedingly simple, and well adapted for the purpose. the accented type has been adopted, so as to ensure correct pronunciation. the old system of mis-spelling words is dangerous in the extreme, and, therefore, very justly, has now fallen into disuse. in a word, the "illustrated webster spelling book," whether considered in respect to its typography, binding, or beauty of its illustrations, must take the highest position as a school-book, entirely setting aside the old-fashioned, and, in most instances, unintelligible--so called--helps to learning. n.b.--be careful to order "the illustrated webster spelling book." * * * * * in preparation, the illustrated webster reader, series i., the illustrated webster reader, series ii., and other educational works. * * * * * johnson and walker superseded. containing 10,000 more words than walker's dictionary. webster's pocket pronouncing dictionary of the english language; condensed from the original dictionary by noah webster, ll.d. with accented vocabularies of classical, scriptural, and modern geographical names. revised edition, by william g. webster (son of noah webster). royal 16mo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d.; or strongly bound in roan, gilt, 3s. *.* the public will do well to be on their guard against unfair statements in reference to "dr. webster's" principle of pronunciation by accents. the old system of pronunciation by mis-spelling words has become obsolete, and dr. webster's method is universally acknowledged and adopted. * * * * * webster's dictionary of the english language for the million! now ready, royal 16mo, bound in cloth, price eighteenpence, webster's dictionary of the english language. the extraordinary success attendant upon the publication of the half-crown edition of webster's pocket pronouncing dictionary of the english language,--in the face of a most obstinate and inveterate opposition on the part of the proprietors of the out-of-date and worthless compilations, so called dictionaries, printed from old stereotype plates, which have remained unaltered for years,--has induced messrs. ward and lock to issue a cheaper edition for the million, price only =one shilling and sixpence!!!= *.* the new edition at =1s. 6d.= will, of course, be printed on thinner paper, but still the type will appear perfectly distinct. it is almost unnecessary to state, that only an enormous sale can reimburse the publishers in issuing an edition at so low a price as =1s. 6d.=; still, messrs. ward and lock feel assured that their good intentions will be appreciated by an extensive and continually increasing sale. "webster" is now the only reliable authority on the english language, and it is only right that every englishman, however humble his sphere, should be able to purchase the best english dictionary. whilst the cheaper edition, at =1s. 6d.=, is well adapted for national and british schools, the half-crown edition, on superior paper, and bound in cloth, gilt lettered, will be always in demand for schools of a higher grade. * * * * * third edition, revised. the illustrated drawing book. comprising a complete introduction to drawing and perspective; with instructions for etching on copper or steel, &c. &c. by robert scott burn. illustrated with above 300 subjects for study in every branch of art. demy 8vo, cloth, 2s. *.* this extremely popular and useful "drawing book" has been thoroughly revised by the author, and many new illustrations are added, thus rendering the =third edition= the most perfect handbook of drawing for schools and students. "this is one of those cheap and useful publications lately issued by ward and lock. it is what it professes to be--an elementary book, in which the rules laid down are simple and few, and the drawings to be copied and studied are easily delineated and illustrative or first principles."--_globe._ "we could point to a work selling for twelve shillings not half so complete, nor containing half the number of illustrations. perhaps of all the books for which the public are indebted to messrs. ward and lock this one will be found most extensively and practically useful. it is the completest thing of the kind which has ever appeared."--_tait's magazine._ "this is a very capital instruction book, embodying a complete course of lessons in drawing, from the first elements of outline sketching up to the most elaborate rules of the art."--_bristol mercury._ * * * * * just ready, second edition, revised by the author. the illustrated architectural, engineering, and mechanical drawing book. by robert scott burn. with 300 engravings. demy 8vo, cloth, 2s. 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"one of the best-considered and most judiciously-illustrated elementary treatises on mechanics and mechanism which we have met with. the illustrations, diagrams, and explanations are skilfully introduced, and happily apposite--numerous and beautifully executed. as a handbook for the instruction of youth, it would be difficult to surpass it."--_derby mercury._ * * * * * second edition, revised by the author. the steam engine: its history and mechanism. being descriptions and illustrations of the stationary, locomotive, and marine engine. by robert scott burn. demy 8vo, 200 pp., cloth, 3s. *.* a most perfect compendium of everything appertaining to the steam engine. mr. burn treats his subjects in a thoroughly practical and popular manner, so that he who runs may read, and also understand. "mr. burn's history of the steam engine treats an interesting subject in an admirably intelligible manner, and is illustrated by some excellent diagrams. this is a book for the general reader, and deserves a wide circulation."--_leader._ * * * * * third edition, revised. the illustrated practical geometry. edited by robert scott burn, editor of the "illustrated drawing book." demy 8vo, cloth, 2s. "suited to the youthful mind, and calculated to assist instructors, filled as it is with really good diagrams and drawings elucidatory of the text."--_globe._ * * * * * london: ward and lock, 158, fleet street and all booksellers. by the internet archive jack the giant killer. by percival leigh the author of "the comic latin grammar." with illustrations by john leech 1853 [illustration: 013] {001} the argument. i sing the deeds of famous jack, the doughty giant killer hight; how he did various monsters "whack," and so became a gallant knight. in arthur's days of splendid fun (his queen was guenever the pliant),- ere britain's sorrows had begun; when every cave contained its giant; when griffins fierce as bats were rife; and till a knight had slain his dragon, at trifling risk of limbs and life, he did n't think he'd much to brag on; {002} when wizards o'er the welkin flew; ere science had devised balloon; and 'twas a common thing to view a fairy ballet by the moon;- our hero played his valiant pranks; earned loads of _kudos, vulgô_ glory, a lady, "tin," and lots of thanks;- relate, oh muse! his wondrous story. of giants in general. a giant was, i should premise, a hulking lout of monstrous size; he mostly stood--i know you 'll laugh- about as high as a giraffe. his waist was some three yards in girth: when he walked he shook the earth. his eyes were of the class called "goggle," fitter for the scowl than ogle. his mouth, decidedly carnivorous, like a shark's,--the saints deliver us! he yawned like a huge sarcophagus, for he was an anthropophagus, and his tusks were huge and craggy; his hair, and his brows, and his beard, were shaggy. {003} i ween on the whole he was aught but a cupid, and exceedingly fierce, and remarkably stupid; his brain partaking strongly of lead, how well soe'er he was off for head; having frequently one or two crania more than i or you. he was bare of arm and leg, but buskins had, and a philabeg; also a body-coat of mail that shone with steel or brazen scale, like to the back of a crocodile's tail; a crown he wore, and a mace he bore that was knobbed and spiked with adamant; it would smash the skull of the mountain bull, or scatter the brains of the elephant. his voice than the tempest was louder and gruffer- well; so much for the uncouth "buffer." jack's birth, parentage, education, and early pursuits. of a right noble race was jack, for kith and kin he did not lack, whom tuneful bards have puffed; the seven bold champions ranked among that highly celebrated throng, and riquet with the tuft. {004} jack of the beanstalk, too, was one; and beauty's beast; and valour's son, sir amadis de gaul: but if i had a thousand tongues, a throat of brass, and iron lungs, i could not sing them all. his sire was a farmer hearty and free; he dwelt where the land's end frowns on the sea, and the sea at the land's end roars again, tit for tat, land and main. he was a worthy wight, and so he brought up his son in the way he should go; he sought not--not he!--to make him a "muff;" he never taught him a parcel of stuff; he bothered him not with trees and plants, nor told him to study the manners of ants. he himself had never been bored with the saturday magazine; the world might be flat, or round, or square, he knew not, and he did not care; nor wished that a boy of his should be a cornish "infant prodigy." but he stored his mind with learning stable, the deeds of the knights of the famed round table; legends and stories, chants and lays, of witches and warlocks, goblins and fays; how champions of might defended the right, {005} freed the captive, and succoured the damsel distrest till jack would exclaim- "if i don't do the same, an' i live to become a man,--_i'm blest!_" jack lightly recked of sport or play wherein young gentlemen delight, but he would wrestle any day, box, or at backsword fight. he was a lad of special "pluck," and strength beyond his years, or science, gave him aye the luck to drub his young compeers. his task assigned, like giles or hodge, the woolly flocks to tend, his wits to warlike fray or "dodge" wool-gathering oft would wend. and then he'd wink his sparkling eye, and nod his head right knowingly, and sometimes "won't i just!" would cry, or "at him, bill, again!" now this behaviour did evince a longing for a foe to mince; an instinct fitter for a prince than for a shepherd swain. {006} how jack slew the giant cormoran.-- i. where good saint michael's craggy mount rose venus-like from out the sea, a giant dwelt; a mightycount in his own view, forsooth, was he; and not unlike one, verily, (a foreign count, like those we meet in leicester square, or regent street), i mean with respect to his style of hair, mustachios, and beard, and ferocious air,- his figure was quite another affair. this odd-looking "bird" was a richard the third, four times taller and five as wide; or a clumsy punch, with his cudgel and hunch, into a monster magnified! in quest of prey across the sea he'd wade, with ponderous club; for not the slightest "bones" made he of "boning" people's "grub." there was screaming and crying "oh dear!" and "oh law when the terrified maids the monster saw; [illustration: 019] {007} as he stalked--tramp! tramp! stamp! stamp! stamp! stamp! coming on like the statue in "don giovanni." "oh my!" they would cry, "here he comes; let us fly! did you ever behold such a horrid old brawny? - a--h!" and off they would run like "blazes," or "fun," followed, pell-mell, by man and master; while the grisly old fellow would after them bellow, to make them scamper away the faster. ii. when this mountain bugaboo had filled his belly, what would he do? he'd shoulder his club with an ox or two, stick pigs and sheep in his belt a few,- there were two or three in it, and two or three under (i hope ye have all the "organ of wonder"); then back again to his mountain cave he would stump o'er the dry land and stride through the wave. iii. what was to be done? for this was no fun; and it must be clear to every one, the new tariff itself would assuredly not have supplied much longer the monstrous pot of this beef-eating, bull-headed, "son-of-a-gun." {008} iv. upon a night as dark as pitch a light was dancing on the sea;- marked it the track of the water witch? could it a jack-a-lantern be? a lantern it was, and borne by jack; a spade and a pickaxe he had at his back; in his belt a good cow-horn; he was up to some game you may safely be sworn. saint michael's mount he quickly gained, and there the livelong night remained. what he did the darkness hid; nor needeth it that i should say: nor would you have seen, if there you had been looking on at the break of day. v. morning dawned on the ocean blue; shrieked the gull and the wild sea-mew; the donkey brayed, and the grey cock crew; jack put to his mouth his good cow-horn, and a blast therewith did blow. the giant heard the note of scorn, and woke and cried "hallo!" he popped out his head with his night-cap on, to look who his friend might be, and eke his spectacles did don, that he mote the better see. [illustration: 023] {009} "i'll broil thee for breakfast," he roared amain, "for breaking my repose." "yaa!" valiant jack returned again, with his fingers at his nose. vi. forward the monster tramps apace, like to an elephant running a race; like a walking-stick he handles his mace. away, too venturous wight, decamp! in two more strides your skull he smashes;- one! gracious goodness! what a stamp! two! ha! the plain beneath him crashes: down he goes, full fathoms three. "how feel ye now," cried jack, "old chap? it is plain, i wot, to see you 're by no means up to trap." the giant answered with such a roar, it was like the atlantic at war with its shore; a thousand times worse than the hullaballoo of carnivora, fed, ere going to bed, at the regent's park, or the surrey "zoo." "so ho! sir giant," said jack, with a bow, "of breakfast art thou fain? for a tit-bit wilt thou broil me now, an' i let thee out again? " gnashing his teeth, and rolling his eyes, the furious lubber strives to rise. "don't you wish you may get it?" our hero cries {010} [illustration: 027] and he drives the pickaxe into his skull: giving him thus a belly-full, if the expression is n't a bull. vii. old cormoran dead, jack cut off his head, and hired a boat to transport it home. on the "bumps" of the brute, at the institute, a lecture was read by a mr. combe. their worships, the justices of the peace, called the death of the monster a "happy release:" sent for the champion who had drubbed him, and "jack the giant killer" dubbed him; and they gave him a sword, and a baldric, whereon for all who could read them, these versicles shone:- 'this is ye valyant cornishe man who slewe ye giant cormoran" {011} [illustration: 028] jack suprised once in the way i. now, as jack was a lion, and hero of rhymes, his exploit very soon made a noise in the "times;" all over the west he was _fêted_, caressed, and to dinners and _soirees_ eternally pressed: though't is true giants did n't move much in society, and at "twigging" were slow, yet they could n't but know of a thing that was matter of such notoriety. your giants were famous for _esprit de corps_; and a huge one, whose name was o'blunderbore, from the emerald isle, who had waded o'er, revenge, "by the pow'rs!" on our hero swore. ii. sound beneath a forest oak was a beardless warrior dozing, by a babbling rill, that woke echo--not the youth reposing. what a chance for lady loves now to win a "pair of gloves!" {012} iii. "wake, champion, wake, be off, be off; heard'st thou not that earthquake cough! that floundering splash, that thundering crash? awake!--oh, no, it is no go!" so sang a little woodland fairy; 't was o'blunderbore coming and the blackguard was humming the tune of "paddy carey." [illustration: 030] iv. beholding the sleeper, he open'd each peeper to about the size of the crown of your hat; "oh, oh!" says he, "is it clear i see hallo! ye young spalpeen, come out o' that." so he took him up as ye mote a pup, or an impudent varlet about to "pop" him: "wake up, ye young baste; what's this round your waist? och! murder! "--i wonder he did n't drop him. he might, to be sure, have exclaimed "oh, law!" but then he preferred his own _patois_; and "murder!" though coarse, was expressive, no doubt, inasmuch as the murder was certainly out. he had pounced upon jack, in his cosy bivouack, and so he made off with him over his back. {013} v. still was jack in slumber sunk; was he mesmerised or drunk? i know not in sooth, but he did not awake till, borne through a coppice of briar and brake, he was roused by the brambles that tore his skin, then he woke up and found what a mess he was in he spoke not a word that his fear might shew, but said to himself--"what a precious go!" vi. whither was the hero bound, napping by the ogre caught? unto cambrian taffy's ground where adventures fresh he sought. vii. they gained the giant's castle hall, which seemed a sort of guy's museum; with skulls and bones 'twas crowded all- you would have blessed yourself to see 'em. the larder was stored with human hearts, quarters, and limbs, and other parts,- a grisly sight to see; there jack the cannibal monster led, "i lave you there, my lad," he said, "to larn anatomy!-[illustration: 033] {014} i'm partial to this kind of mate, and hearts with salt and spice to ate is just what plases me; i mane to night on yours to sup, stay here until you 're aten up he spoke, and turned the key. "a pretty business this!" quoth jack, when he was left alone; "old paddy whack, i say! come back- i wonder where he's gone?" [illustration: 035] {015} in ghastly moans and sounds of wail, the castle's cells replied; jack, whose high spirits ne'er could quail, whistled like blackbird in the vale, and, "bravo, weber!" cried. when, lo! a dismal voice, in verse, this pleasant warning did rehearse:- see page image: ==> {015} ix. "haste!" quoth the hero, "yes, but how? they come, the brutes!--i hear them now.' he flew to the window with mickle speed, there was the pretty pair indeed, arm-in-arm in the court below, o'blunderbore and his brother o. "now then," thought jack, "i plainly see i 'm booked for death or liberty;- hallo! those cords are 'the jockeys for me.' x. jack was nimble of finger and thumb- the cords in a moment have halters become {016} deft at noosing the speckled trout, so hath he caught each ill-favoured lout: he hath tethered the ropes to a rafter tight, and he tugs and he pulls with all his might, "pully-oi! pully-oi!" till each yahoo in the face is black and blue; till each paddy whack is blue and black; "now, i think you're done _brown_," said courageous jack. down the tight rope he slides, and his good sword hides in the hearts of the monsters up to the hilt; so he settled them each: o'blunderbore's speech, ere he gave up the ghost was, "och, murder, i'm kilt!" xi. the dungeons are burst and the captives freed; three princesses were among them found- very beautiful indeed; their lily white hands were behind them bound: they were dangling in the air, strung up to a hook by their dear "back hair." their stomachs too weak on bubble and squeak, from their slaughtered lords prepared, to dine (a delicate rarity); with horrid barbarity, the giants had hung them up there to pine. [illustration: 039] {017} xii. jack, the monsters having "licked," had, of course, their pockets picked, and their keys and eke their riches had abstracted from their breeches. "ladies," he said, with a chesterfield's ease, permit me, i pray you, to present you with these," and he placed in their hands the coin and the keys: "so long having swung, by your poor tresses hung, sure your nerves are unhinged though yourselves are unstrung; to make you amends, take these few odds and ends, this nice little castle, i mean, and its wealth; and i 've only to say, that i hope that you may for the future enjoy the most excellent health." said the ladies--"oh, thank you!--expressions we lack "- "don't mention it pray," said the complaisant jack. xiii. jack knelt and kissed the snow-white hands of the lovely ladies three; oh! who these matters that understands but thinks, "would that i'd been he! " then he bids them adieu; "au revoir," they cry. "take care of yourselves," he exclaims, "good bye!" {018} xiv. away, like bonaparte in chase, o'er mount and moor goes jack; with his trusty sword before his face, and its scabbard behind his back. away he goes, and follows his nose; no wonder, then, that at close of day, he found himself out in his whereabout;- "dash my buttons," he cried, "i have lost my way before him stretched a lonely vale- just the place for robbing the mail ere that conveyance went by "rail"- on either side a mount of granite outfaced indignant star and planet; its thunder-braving head and shoulders, and threatening crags, and monstrous boulders, ten times as high as the cliffs at brighton, uprearing like a "bumptious" titan, very imposing to beholders. now the red sun went darkly down, more gloomy grew the mountains' frown, and all around waxed deeper brown,- jack's visage deeper blue; said he, "i guess i'm in a fix,"- using a phrase of mr. slick's,- "what _on_ earth shall i do?" {019} he wandered about till late at night, at last he made for a distant light; "here's a gentleman's mansion," thought jack, "all right." he knocked at the wicket, crying, "that's the ticket!" when lo! the portal open flew, and a monster came out, enormously stout and of stature tremendous, with heads for two. jack was rather alarmed, but the giant was charmed, he declared with both tongues, the young hero to see: "what a double-tongued speech! but you wo n't overreach _me_" thought jack; as the giant said--"walk in, to tea." but he saw that to fly would be quite "all his eye," he could n't, and so it was useless to try; so he bowed, and complied with the monster's "walk in!" with a sort of a kind of hysterical grin. now this giant, you know, was a welshman, _and so_, 't was by stealth he indulged in each mischievous "lark his name was ap morgan, he had a large organ of "secretiveness," wherefore he killed in the dark. "he was sorry that jack was benighted," he said, "might he fenture to peg he'd accept of a ped?" {020} and he then led the way, all smiling and gay, to the couch where his guest might rest his head; and he bade him good night, politely quite, jack answered--"i wish you a very good night." xv. though his eyes were heavy, and legs did ache, jack was far too wide awake to trust himself to the arms of sleep;- i mean to say he was much too deep. stumping, through the midnight gloom, up and down in the neighbouring room, like a pavior's rammer, ap morgan goes. "i shouldn't much like him to tread on my toes!" thought jack as he listened with mind perplexed;- "i wonder what he's up to next?" xvi. short was our hero's marvelling; for, deeming him in slumber locked, the monstrous oaf began to sing: gracious, how the timbers rocked! from double throat he poured each note, so his voice was a species of double bass, slightly hoarse, rather coarse, {021} and decidedly wanting _a little_ in grace: a circumstance which unluckily smashes a comparison i was about to make between it and the great lablache's,- just for an allusion's sake. thus warbled the gigantic host, to the well-known air of "giles scroggins' ghost: see page image: ==> {021} xvii. "ha! say you so," thought jack; "oh, oh! " and, getting out of bed, he found a log;- "whack that, old gog! he whispered, "in my stead." xviii. in steals the giant, crafty old fox! his buskins he'd doffed, and he walked in his socks, and he fetches the bed some tremendous knocks with his great big mace, i' th' identical place where jack's wooden substitute quietly lay; and, chuckling as he went away, he said to himself, "how. griffith ap jones will laugh when he hears that i've broken his bones! [illustration: 045] {022} xix. the morning shone brightly, all nature was gay; and the giant at breakfast was pegging away: on pantomime rolls all so fiercely fed he, and he ate hasty-pudding along with his tea. oh, why starts the monster in terror and fright? why gapes and why stares he when jack meets his sight? why mutters he wildly, o'ercome with dismay, "how long have ghosts taken to walking by day?" [illustration: 047] {023} xx. "pless us!" he cried, "it can't be;--no! " "'tis i," said jack, "old fellow, though." "how slept you?" asked the monster gruff. "toi lol," he answered;--"well enough: about twelve, or one, i awoke with a rat,- at least, i fancied it was that,- which fetched me with its tail a ' whop; ' but i went off again as sound as a top." xxi. jack's feet the giant did n't scan, because he was a pagan man; and knew no more than a mining lad what kind of a foot apollyon had; but he thought to himself, with a puzzled brow, "well, you're a rum one, any how." jack took a chair, and set to work,- oh! but he ate like a famished turk; in sooth it was astounding quite, how he put the pudding out of sight. thought the giant, "what an appetite!" he had buttoned his coat together o'er a capacious bag of leather, and all the pudding he could n't swallow he craftily slipped into its hollow. {024} xxii. when breakfast was finished, he said, "old brick, see here; i 'll show you a crafty trick; you dare not try it for your life:" and he ripped up the bag with a table-knife. squash! tumbled the smoking mess on the floor, but jack was no worse than he was before. "odds splutter hur nails!" swore the monster welch, and he gashed his belly with fearful squelch; let the daylight in through the hole in his skin,- the daylight in and the pudding out, with twenty gallons of blood about; and his soul with a terrific "oh!" indignant sought the shades below. [illustration: 049] {025} [illustration: 050] jack scrapes and acquaintance with the prince of wales i. safe and sound o'er leagues of ground jack so merrily capers away, till arthur's son (he had but one) he runs against at the close of day. the prince, you know, was going to blow a conjuror's castle about his ears, who bullied there a lady fair, and i don't know how many worthy peers. said jack, "my lord, my trusty sword and self at your princely feet i lay; 't is my desire to be your squire:" his royal highness replied "you may." the prince was _suave_, and comely, and brave, and freely scattered his money about; "tipped" every one he met like fun, and so he was very soon "cleared out." then he turned to jack, and cried "good lack! i wonder how we 're to purchase 'grub?'" {026} said jack so free, "leave that to me, your royal highness's faithful 'sub.'" now night came on, and arthur's son asked "where the dickens are we to lodge?" "sir," answered jack, "your brain do n't rack, you may trust to me for a crafty 'dodge:' a giant high lives here hard by; the monster i've the pleasure to know: three heads he's got, and would send to pot five hundred men!" the prince said, "oh!" "my lord," jack said, "i 'll pledge my head to manage the matter completely right. in the giant's nest to-night we 'll rest, as sure as a gun, or--_blow me tight!_" off scampers jack, the prince aback with his palfrey waits beneath a rock; at the castle-gate, at a footman's rate, jack hammers and raps with a stylish knock. ii. rat-tat-tat-tat, tat-tat,- "rather impudent that," said jack to himself; "but _i_ do n't care!" the giant within, alarmed at the din, roared out like thunder, "i say, who's there!" "only me," whispered jack. cried the giant, "who's _me?_" pitching his voice in a treble key. "your poor cousin jack," said the hero. "eh!" said the giant, "what news, cousin jack, to-day?" {027} "bad," answered jack, "as bad can be." "pooh!" responded the giant; "fiddle-de-dee! i wonder what news can be bad to me! what! an't i a giant whose heads are three, and can't i lick five hundred men? do n't talk to me of bad tidings, then!" iii. "alas!" jack whimpered, "uncle dear, the prince of wales is coming here, yourself to kill, and your castle to sack,- two thousand knights are at his back. if i tell you a lie never credit me more." the giant replied, "what a deuce of a bore! but i 'll hide in my cellar, and, like a good 'feller,' you'll lock it and bolt it, and bar it secure." jack answered, "i will; only keep yourself still." said the giant, "of that, my boy, be sure." iv. while the stupid old giant, locked up with the beer, lies shivering and shaking in bodily fear, young jack and young arthur enjoy themselves--rather, blowing out their two skins with the best of good cheer. their banquet o'er, to roost they creep, and in the dreamy world of sleep eat all their supper o'er again. {028} such blissful fancies haunt the brain of aldermen of london town, when, after feed on lord mayor's day, their portly bulk supine they lay on couch of eider-down. v. the morning comes; the small birds sing; the sun shines out like--anything; jack speeds the son of britain's king, the heavier by full many a wing and leg of pullet, on his way, and many a slice of ham and tongue, whereon the heroes, bold and young, as by good right, i should have sung, did breakfast on that day. and then he seeks the giant's cell, forgetting not to cram him well, how he had plied the foe with prog, disarmed his wrath by dint of grog, and, at the head of all his men, had sent him reeling home again. the giant was pleased as punch might be, and he capered about with clumsy glee (it was a comical sight to see),- very like unto a whale when he founders a skiff with his frolicksome tail. [illustration: 054] {029} then he cocked his big eye with a playful wink, and roared out, "what 'll you take to drink?" "well," jack replied, "i 'll tell you what, i think i should n't mind a pot; but, nunky,--could you be so kind? i wish i had those traps behind the nest wherein you take your nap: that seedy coat and tattered cap; that ancient sword, of blade right rusty; and those old high-lows all so dusty, that look as though for years they'd been in pop-shop hung, or store marine; no other meed i ask than those, so _may_ i have the sword and clothes? " "jack," said the giant, "yes, you may, and let them be a keepsake, pray; they 're queer, and would n't suit a 'gent;' but what to use is ornament? the sword will cut through hardest stuff, the cap will make you up to snuff,- worth something more than 'eight and six,'- the shoes will carry you like 'bricks,' at pace outspeeding swiftest stalkers (they were a certain mr. walker's); the coat excels art's best results, burckhardt outvies, out-stultzes stultz; no mortal man, whate'er his note, was ever seen in such a coat; for when you put it on your shoulders you vanish, straight, from all beholders!" "well, hang it! surely you, old chap, had not got on your knowing cap when you proposed last night to hide, or _you_ the magic coat had tried: you might have strapped it on your back so thought, but said not, cunning jack, thanked his three-headed relative, and toddled, whistling "jack's alive." vi. his cap of wit, the giant's gift, informed him where the prince to find; and he has donned his "walker's" swift, and, leaving chough and crow behind, his royal highness soon has joined. "jack," said the prince, for fun agog, "get up behind, you jolly dog!" [illustration: 058] so up he jumps, and on they jog. they soon have gained the secret bower, where, spell-bound by the warlock's power, was kept in "quod" that lady bright: she was remarkably polite, displayed before them such a spread! oh! gracious goodness, how they fed! no lack of turtle-soup was there, of flesh, and fowl, and fish, of choicest dainties, rich and rare; turbot and lobster-sauce, and hare; and turtle, plenty, and to spare; and sweets enough to make you stare, and every sort of dish. and there were floods of malvoisie, champagne, and hock, and burgundy, sauterne, and rhein-wine, and moselle; it was a bouquet, sooth, to smell; and there was port and sherry;--well; and more liqueurs than i can tell. vii. when the banquet was ended the lady arose, and her cherry lips wiped, and her lily white nose; and she gazed on the gallant young prince with a sigh, and a smile on her cheek, and a drop in her eye. "my lord," she addressed him, "i beg you 'll excuse what i'm going to say, for alas! i can't choose; you must guess who this handkerchief pockets to-night to-morrow, or die if you don't guess aright!" she poured out a bumper, and drank it up half, and gave the bold prince the remainder to quaff; wherewith through the "back-flat" her exit she made, and left the young gentleman rather afraid. viii. when the prince retired to bed, he scratched, and thus bespoke his head:{032} "where, oh! where, my upper story, wilt thou be to-morrow night? into what a mess, for glory, rushes bold and amorous wight!" jack dons, meanwhile, his "knowing tile,"- how ripe he looked for a regular "lark;" he asks about, and soon finds out, that the lady was forced to go out in the dark every night, by the pale moon light, to give the magician, fierce and fell, all so late, a _tête-à-tête_, in the gloomy depth of a forest dell. in his coat and his shoes at mail-train pace, he hies him to the trysting place. he travels so fast that he does n't get there too late, as the saying is, for the fair; but he has to wait before she comes, cooling his heels and biting his thumbs. ix. at length appears the warlock, dight in dressing gown of gramarye; and, like a spirit of the night, elegantly dressed in white, approaches now the fair ladye, and gives him the handkerchief, you see; {033} "now!" 'cried courageous jack, "or never! die, catiff, die! " (and he lets fly) "thus from its trunk thy head i sever." x. to be a conjuror, 'tis said, in sooth a man requires a head; so jack, by this decapitation, dissolved, of course, the conjuration. the damsel fair, bewitched no more, becomes bewitching as before; restored to virtue's blooming grace, which so improves the female face- a kalydor of high perfection, that beautifies the worst complexion. xi. the licence was bought, and, the bells ringing gay, the prince and the lady were married next day, all decked out so smart in their bridal array. the happy pair, the nuptials o'er, start in a handsome coach-and-four for good king arthur's court; jack, on the box in easy pride, sits by the portly coachman's side- oh, my! what bows they sport. the train behind that followed--oh! it far outshone the lord mayor's show; {034} and e'en the grand display when, to our prince to give a name, his majesty of prussia came to england t' other day. xii. now arthur's seat they reach: not that where royal arthur never sat- dun edin's famous mound. loud shouts of joy the welkin crack, and arthur dubs our hero jack, knight of the table round. and now, in pleasure's syren lap, sir jack indulges in a nap i crave his grace--sir john! flirts with the fairest dames at court, and drinks, noblest lords, the port- this comes of "getting on." [illustration: 063] {035} [illustration: 064] jack settles the remaining giants and settles down i. "tantara tara, tantara tara, tantara tara,--ra! tara tara, tara, tara, tara, tantararan ta--ta!" ii. hark to the warlike trumpet blast, the clarion call of fame! bounds not the hero's heart if he is worthy of the name? what time the trump and kettle-drum at glorious drury lane, call bold king dick to bide the brunt of bosworth's battle plain; so, to the soul of stout sir jack, adventure's summon spoke, and from her dream of luxury his martial spirit woke. before king arthur's royal throne he knelt upon his knee, and thus with courtly speech addressed his gracious majesty:- iii. "illustrious arthur, king of trumps, my duty bids me stir my stumps; fell giants yet, your country's pest, your faithful liegemen much molest; 't is my intention, if you will, their uncouth _highnesses_ to kill. {036} i crave some loose cash and a cob, and trust me, sire, i 'll do the job, as sure as fate, for every snob." "why," said the king, "your plan's romantic and yet't is true those rogues gigantic have wrought my subjects much annoy:- well; go and prosper, jack, my boy; i hope and trust you 'll put them down; so here's a horse, and--half-a-crown. iv. with cap and brand,- you understand well what their virtues were, and shoes so swift, his uncle's gift, jack canters off like air: like air as fleet, and as viewless too, intent on doing "deeds of do." "over hill and over mountain, thorough forest and by fountain," jack flies by day, gallant and gay. jack flies by day, though none can spy him- learn every one bored by a dun, and take a lesson, debtors, by him- jack flies by night, in the moonlight, no "four-year-old" could have come nigh him. {037} at length he came to a forest vast, through which his journey led; when shrieks arose upon the blast,- "hallo," said jack, "who's dead? " like a fern owl he flits through the forest trees, and, as he expected, a giant he sees, dragging a couple along by the hair- they were a knight and a lady fair, and theirs was the row that rent the air. the heart of jack, no way slack, was melted by their tears and cries; benevolent lad! so he jumps off his prad, and unto an oak the animal ties: so hampshire squire, when, at the din, of hare entrapped in poacher's gin, his gentle pity melts; dismounts him from his gallant steed, murmuring, "a purty joak, indeed!" and to the rescue pelts. v. jack approached the giant nigh, but the monster was so deucedly high, he could n't reach to his philabeg; but he cut him a little about the leg. the giant, swearing, roared, "this is a twinge of that beastly 'rheumatis.' {038} i 'll take a dose of 'blair' to-night; if i don't, i'm ------!" said sir jack, "you 're right!" and he fetched him a blow with all his might; the ham-strings gave, the monster fell. did n't he screech, and did n't he yell! did n't the trees around him shake! did n't the earth to the centre quake! jack lent him a kick on his loggerhead, and trod on his brawny neck, and said "oh, barbarous wretch! i'm jack--jack ketch; i am come for thy crimes to serve thee out; take this, and this, iss! iss! iss! iss!" and he riddled the heart of the prostrate lout- dear me! how the blood did spout! vi. the lady fair, and the gentle knight, scarcely could believe their sight, when they beheld the giant "kick;" unseen the hand that struck the blow, and one cried "ha!" the other "o--h!" both making sure it was old nick. but joy illumes their wondering mien, when, doffing his coat of "invisible green," sir jack appears before their eyes. "thanks!" cried the knight, "thou valour's pink!" "well!" said the lady, "only think! {039} oh! thank you, saviour of our life!" "come home, sir, with myself and wife:- after such work," the knight pursued- "a little ale--" "you 'll think me rude," said jack, "but know, oh worthy peer! i thirst for glory--not for beer. i must rout out this monster's den, nor can i be at ease till then." "don't," begged the knight, "now don't, sir, pray, nor run another risk to-day; yon mount o'erhangs the monster's lair, and his big brother waits him there, a brute more savage than himself; then lay your courage on the shelf." "no!" sir jack answered, "if i do, may i be hanged! now, mark me, you! were there twice ten in yonder hole, ere sinks behind yon crag the sun, the gory head of every one before my feet should roll! farewell--i 'll call as i come back." "adieu," the knight replied; "alack! i had forgotten; here's my card." "thank you," said jack, and "bolted hard." vii. away, away, to the mountain cave, rides jack at a spanking trot; no knight of the poll-axe, all so brave, could have distanced him i wot! {040} the gorgon's head you ne'er have seen- nor would it much avail, to marble ears, ï rather ween, the bard to sing his tale. but oft the saracen's, i know, hath horrified your sight on london's famous hill of snow, which is n't often white. such was the visage, but four times its size, with a trunk to match, that our champion spies. by the mouth of the cave on a chopping-block sitting, grinding his teeth and his shaggy brows knitting, was the giant;--and rolling his terrible eyes like portentous meteors, they glimmered, glowed, and flashed away; his cheeks and nose were fiery too; like wire on his chin the bristles grew; and his tangled locks hung down his back, like the legs of a brobdignag spider so black; ready, the thickest skull to crack that ever county member wore, his iron club beside him lay. he was in a terrible way, for he voted his brother's not coming a bore. viii. the hero, jack, dismounts to dress- what was his toilet you may guess; {041} so may i be ever dight when i bow me for the fight. ix. like a cliff o'er ocean lowering, or some old and cross curmudgeon waiting, dinnerless, in dudgeon, sits the giant glumly glowering. hears he not a whisper say, "so there you are, old rascal, eh? " hears he not a step approaching, though he may n't the comer see? no; like rogue by streamlet poaching, creeps jack near him stealthily. [illustration: 071] x. as when some school-boy--idle thief- with double-knotted handkerchief, what time his comrade stooping low, with tightened skin invites the blow; with sundry feints, delays to smite, and baulks, to linger out delight; so jack, with thorough-going blade, stood aiming at the giant's head. at last the champion cried, "here goes struck, and cut off the monster's--nose. like a thousand bulls all roaring mad, was the furious giant's shout, {042} with the iron club, which i said he had, oh! how he laid about! "oho! if that's your way, old cock, we must finish the game," quoth jack; so he vaulted upon the chopping-block, and ran him through the back. the giant howled; the rocks around thrilled with his demon squall, then flat he fell upon the ground, as the monument might fall. xi. the giants slain, the cornish man despatched their gory heads by van to great king arthur;--gifts more queer have ne'er been sent to our sovereign dear. she gets gigantic cheeses, cakes, which loyal-hearted subject makes; gigantic peaches, melons, pumpkins, presented by her faithful bumpkins; and giant heads of brocoli--not the heads of giants sent to pot- long may such heads, and such alone, be laid before her stainless throne! xii. now jack the darksome den explores, and through its turns and windings pores, 'till to a spacious hall he comes, where, o'er the hearth, a cauldron hums, much like a knacker's in the slums; {043} hard by, a squalid table stood, all foul with fat, and brains, and blood; the two great ogres' carrion food. through iron grate, the board beside, pale captive wretches he descried; who, when they saw the hero, cried, "alas! here comes another, booked, like us, poor pris'ners, to be cooked." "thank you," said jack; "the giants twain have _had_ their bellyful of me; to prove i do not boast in vain, behold, my bucks of brass, you 're free!" and he brast the bars right speedily. to meat they went, and, supper done, to the treasury they hied each one and filled their pockets full of money. what giants could want with silver and gold, in sooth tradition hath not told:- 't is a question rather funny. xiii. the very next day the rest went away, to their dear little wives and their daughters, but jack to the knight's repairs with delights to recruit himself after his slaughters. the lady fair and the gentle knight were glad to see sir jack "all right;" {044} resolved to "do the handsome thing," they decked his finger with a ring of gold that with the diamond shone- this motto was engraved thereon:- see page image==> {044} xiv. the feast is spread in the knightly hall, and the guests are uproarious, one and all, drinking success to the hero stout who larruped the giants out-and-out; when, lo! all their mirth was changed to gloom, for a herald, all whey-faced, rushed into the room. oh, the horrified wight! what a terrible sight! he spoke--five hundred jaws were still; eyes, twice five hundred, staring wide- "mac thundel's coming, bent to kill you, valiant champion--hide, sir, hide!" the cry of the crowd without they hear, "mac thundel is coming, oh dear! oh dear!" "and who the deuce is this mac thundel, that i," sir jack replied, "should bundle?" "mac thundel, sir knight, is a two-headed beggar, you have slain his two kinsmen, the giants mac gregor: that he 'll kill you and eat you he swears, or 'de'il tak' him,'" "ha, ha, ha!" laughed bold jack, "let him come--i shall whack him." {045} "gentles and ladies, pray walk below to the castle yard with me; you don't object to sport i know, and rare sport you shall see." "success to gallant jack!" they shout, and follow, straight, the champion stout. the knight's retainers he summons, all hands, and thus with hasty speech commands: "ho! merrymen, all, to the castle moat, cut the drawbridge well nigh through; while i put on this elegant coat the knaves his bidding do. the form of the hero dissolves in air, and the ladies exclaim and the gentlemen stare. xv. [illustration: 076] stumping, thumping, blundering, lo! comes the giant scot in sight; all the people screaming "oh!" fly before him in affright. look, he snorts and sniffs, as though his nose had ken'd an unseen foe; and hearken what he thunders forth, in gutteral accent of the north! see page image==> {045} {046} xvi. "indeed!" replied the giant killer; "old fellow, you 're a monstrous miller!" disclosing his form to mac thundel's sight, who foamed at the mouth with fury outright. "are ye the traitor loon," he cried, "by wham my twa bauld brithers died? then 'a will tear thee wi' my fangs, and quaff thy bluid to quit thy wrangs!" "you must catch me first, old stupid ass!" said jack--he quoted mrs. glass; and he scampers away in his nimble shoes: like a walking ben lomond, mac thundel pursues. in and out, round about, jack dodges the giant apace, round the castle wall, that the guests may all enjoy the stirring chase. o'er the drawbridge he courses, mid shouts of laughter mac thundel heavily flounders after, whirling his mace around his head:- the drawbridge groans beneath his tread- it creaks--it crashes--he tumbles in, very nearly up to his chin, amid the assembled company's jeers, who hail his fall with "ironical cheers." {047} he roars, rolls, splashes, and behaves much like some monster of the waves, when "sleeping on the norway foam," the barbéd harpoon strikes him home. by the side of the moat jack, standing safe, begins the giant thus to chafe;- "just now, old chap, i thought you said you'd grind my bones to make your bread." mac thundel plunged from side to side, but he could n't get out although he tried; sooth to say, he was thoroughly done- "now," said jack, "we 'll end the fun. yon cart rope bring, ay--that's the thing!" and he cast it o'er the heads so big; a team was at hand, and he drew him to land, while all the spectators cried, "that's the rig!" his falchion gleams aloft in air, it falls; the monster's heads, i ween, are off as quick as frenchmen's e'er were severed by the guillotine. with shouts of joy the castle rang, and they hied them again to the festal cheer long life to brave sir jack they sang, and they drank his health in floods of beer. {048} xvii. awhile the hero now reposes, in knightly hall an honoured guest; his brow by beauty crowned with roses, and filled his belly with the best. but soon the life of idlesse palls, for daring deeds his heart is "game;" "farewell," he cries, "ye lordly walls!" and starts anew in quest of fame. over hill and dale he wends; fate no fresh adventure sends to reward him for his pains, till a mountain's foot he gains. underneath that hill prodigious dwelt an anchorite religious: he batter'd the door with divers knocks; he didn't make a little din; and the hermit old, with his hoary locks, came forth at the summons to let him in "reverend sire," cried jack, "i say, can you lodge a chap who has lost his way? the grey-beard eremite answered "yea- that is if thou cans't take 'pot luck.'" "i rather think i can, old buck!" the hero answer made, and went to supper with no small content. {049} xx. when jack had eaten all he could, bespoke him thus the hermit good, "my son, i think i 'twig' the man who 'slew the giant cormoran.' on yonder hill-top a regular bad 'un dwells in a castle just like haddon (haddon!--thou know'st its time-worn towers, drawn by ascertain friend of 'ours'); that giant's name is catawampus; and much i fear he soon will swamp us, unless that arm--" cried jack "enow; he dies!" the hermit said, "allow me to remark--you wo n't be daunted- but know his castle is enchanted; him aids a sorcerer of might slockdollagos the villain's hight; they crossed the main from western climes; and here, confederate in crimes (they term them 'notion's'), play their tricks; bold knights (to use their slang) they 'fix,' transforming them, at treacherous feasts, with stuff called 'julep,' into beasts. they served a duke's fair daughter so, whom they transmuted to a doe; hither they brought the maid forlorn, on car by fiery dragons borne; to free her, champions not a few have tried, but found it would n't do; {050} two griffins, breathing sulph'rous fire, destroy all those who venture nigh her; but thee thy coat will keep secure." jack answered gaily, "to be sure; " and swore that when the morning came, he 'd lose his life or free the dame. xxi. now night o'er earth her pall had spread, and dauntless jack repaired to bed. o'er the hero as he slumbers, spirits hymn aerial numbers; in a chorus manifold, of the deeds and days of old; fairy dreams his rest beguile, till he feels aurora's smile. xxii. "hallo!" cries jack, as he awakes, just as the early morning breaks, and rubs his eyes,- "'tis time to-rise." and ready for mischief he gaily makes. xxiii. with the mist of the morning, a little bit more transparent, i trow, than it, he climbs the mountain's craggy side; anon the castle's lordly pride {051} he braves with free and fearless brow, and mutters, "now then for the row! " before the gates on either side, a "formidable shape" he spied; a monstrous griffin right and left, like to an antediluvian eft; green of back and yellow of maw, forked of tongue, and crooked of claw; belching and snivelling flame and fire,- a regular pair of chimeras dire. "oh!" said jack, and he made a face, "i never saw such a scaly brace!" unharmed he 'scaped, because unseen, those monsters all so fierce and green; through files of reptile guards he passed, scolopendras black and vast; many a hydra, many a lizard, heros' tomb its filthy gizzard; dragon with mouth like ætna's crater, crocodile and alligator; huge spiders and scorpions round him crawled, monstrous toads before him sprawled; great rattle-snakes their fangs displayed- "hurrah!" he shouted, "who's afraid?" and now upon the inner gate he reads these mystic words of fate:- see page image==> {051} {052} xxiv. above the distich hung the trump: the hero got it with a jump, and shouting gallantly, "ya--hips!" applied the mouth-piece to his lips. a blast he blew, asunder flew the portals with a brazen clang: windows were smashed, and chains were clashed, while a thousand gongs in discord rang. a voice within, that seemed the note of some prodigious magpie's throat, in ranc'rous tone cried, "hallo, now! i say, what means this tarnel row?" and out came catawampus, cross; behind him slunk slockdollagos; the great sea serpent, trailing slim his coils tremendous, after him. xxv. six of the tallest men that e'er raised in old kentucky were, each standing on the other's head, had scarce o'ertopped the monster dread; the brim of his hat, so considerate, was half as big round as the king's round table; his massive club was a maple's trunk: he might have made great arthur "funk." {053} arthur the first, or arthur the second, as arthur oe wellington may be reckoned. slockdollagos was rather less, but he was n't very short, i guess:- he was fashionably drest, in the style of a wizard of the west. xxvi. "clear off, now," was the giant's cry; "the oldest man in all kentucky my father whopp'd--my father, i:- absquotilate, and cut your lucky!" catawampus looked on every side, but not a single soul espied; to the right and left he grimly grinned, till the trunks of the very trees were skinned. "come out!" he bawled, "or i swear i 'll dash your brains into an immortal smash! don't raise my dander; if you do, you won't much like me,--_i_ tell you." xxvii. jack laughed this bootless brag to hear, and thus he sang in the giant's ear: "yankee doodle doodle doo, yankee doodle dandy; prepare your knavish deeds to rue, for know, your fate is handy!" {054} xxviii. slockdollagos turned green and blue, but catawampus in fury flew, and brandished at random his maple stick, smashing the nose of the wizard "slick who fetched him in return a kick, crying, "hallo! i wish you'd mind; i rather speculate you 're blind." xxix. catawampus bellowed "oh! i say, tarnation sieze your toe!" rubbing the part as he limped and hopped: jack his legs in sunder chopped. he fell with an astounding sound, and his castle tottered to the ground. in faith, the most "tremendous fall in tea," to this, was nothing at all. no wallop'd nigger, to compare small things, for the nonce, with great, ever so dismally the air rent with shrieks, i estimate. the monstrous yankee thus laid low, jack settled his hash with another blow; so he gave up the ghost, and his dying groan had a "touch of the earthquake" in its tone. [illustration: 088] xxx. biting his nails, and shaking with fear, the wizard vile was standing near; {055} when he saw catawampus fall and die, he knew that the end of his course was nigh. "my flint," he cried, "is fixed, i snore!" he rent his hair and his garments tore, blasphemed and cursed, and vowed and swore. jack felt half frightened and greatly shocked, when, behold! the mountain rocked: sudden night overspread the sky; pale blue lightnings glimmered by; roared the thunder, yawned the earth; and with yells of hideous mirth, mid serpents and skeletons ghastly and dire, the spirits of evil came in fire; beelzebub and zatanai, asdramelech and asmodai, zamiel and ashtaroth, with legions of frightful shapes from pluto's regions; and, the sorceror shrieking with frantic dismay, on the wings of a whilwind they bore him away. when once again the daylight broke, the castle had vanished away like smoke. xxxi. "my eye!" said jack, a little serious; "upon my word, that _was_ mysterious!" but cheers and joyous gratulations cut short the hero's meditations; the "deformed transformed" round him press, knights and ladies numberless; who each, as jack, you know, had heard, the warlock had changed to beast and bird; and who straight had recovered their pristine condition when old nick flew away with the wicked magician. xxxii. hurrah! jack's labours now are done, he hath slain the giants all, save one; i mean his great uncle; and he's bound o'er to keep the peace for evermore. xxxiii. to ancient yenta's city fair forthwith the champion makes resort; for arthur kept his castle there (still, in the _nisi prius_ court, the table round of his famous hall gaily flaunts upon the wall). through the king's gate he took his way (he had come by sea to hampton town, where he called, just "how d' ye do?" to say, on bevis, knight of high renown). as he passed through the close, all the friars, to see him, came out in canonicals, singing "te deum;" as he rode up the high street, the little boys followed, and they flung up their caps, cheered, and shouted, and halloed. the windows were crowded with ladies so bright, all smiling and waving their kerchiefs of white. jack with dignity bowed right and left to the crowd, gracefully mingling the humble and proud. {057} xxxiv. he now before king arthur's throne, knelt with obeisance grave; a thousand bright eyes on him shone, as they shine upon the brave. [illustration: 092] {058} "rise up," the noble arthur said, "sir jack, a baron bold;" and he placed upon the champion's head a coronet of gold. "this princess fair shall be thy bride, our cousin, by my fay; and let the nuptial knot be tied this morn without delay." xxxv. the holy wedding mass was sung, and the cathedral's bells were rung; a banquet was made in the royal hall, and after that there was a ball. there waltzed sir lancelot du lac, and eke sir tristram bold; likewise the stout sir caradoc, "that won the cup of gold." but none among king arthur's court, for style, and grace, and air, and noble mien, and knightly port, could with sir jack compare. xxxvi. together with a beauteous mate the king gave jack a great estate: in bliss the hero, with his wife, lived the remainder of his life. "in story shall he live for aye such is the say of merlin, sage; and by saint george! fair england's stay, his name, till time shall pass away, shall never fade from glory's page. for all your march of intellect, your pumps so prim, and blues so clever, the useful-knowledge-mongering sect,- jack, famous jack, shall live for ever! [illustration; 094] [illustration: the children giving gawow a dance.] the sock stories, by "aunt fanny's" daughter. funny little socks: being the fourth book of the series. by "aunt fanny's" daughter, the author of "the little white angel." new york: leavitt & allen, 21 & 23 mercer st. 1863. entered, according to act of congress, in the year 1862, by s. l. barrow, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of new york. john t. trow, printer, stereotyper and electrotyper, 60 greene street, new york. to darling little allie baby, these funny little socks are affectionately dedicated. contents of vol. iv. page little mother, 7 dolls at housekeeping, 40 the fairy wish, 102 little mother. one day kitty's mother called her little daughter to her, and taking both her dimpled dots of hands in her own soft white ones, said, "kitty, my darling, i am going to new york this morning, to see your dear grandma', and i shall have to leave the house in your charge until i come back. do you think you can be my little housekeeper for to-day?" "oh yes, mamma! i should like that so much! i will keep house as well as you--that is, 'most, not quite!" and kitty jumped up and down for joy at being trusted with such important affairs. "you must take care of dear little luly and walter, you know; see that they have their dinners fixed right, and go out walking with them and nurse; and if any company comes, you must go down and see them, and say that mamma has gone to new york, will you?" "yes, mamma; i will be just as good as pie!" said kitty, earnestly; "luly and wawa will like to have me for a mother, i guess." "yes; you are their little mother for to-day," said her mamma. "i know you love me, kitty, and want to save me all the trouble you can; it will be a great comfort to me, while i am away, to feel that i can trust you perfectly;" and she kissed the little, rosy cheek, i'm sure i can't tell how many times, and kitty felt so proud and happy that she only wished she had been trusted with a much larger family of little brothers and sisters, instead of two; that she might show the more what an excellent little mother she intended to be. you would wish so too, wouldn't you! yes, of course! kitty may lived with her papa and mamma, luly and walter, mary the nurse, and betty the cook, three brown horses, two red cows, a black dog, and a white kitten, at a beautiful country seat up the hudson river. she was only eight years old, but her obedience to her parents, and tender, loving care of her little brother and sister, were beautiful to see, and a shining example to some little girls i know. on the day that i am telling you about, her papa had gone to town, as usual, early in the morning, and now here was mamma going too, and kitty would be left to play lady of the house as grand as anything. well, the carriage was brought to the door, and mamma got in, after kissing her little family all round about twenty times. everybody rushed to the front piazza to bid her good-by in their own fashion. trip, the black dog, jumped and barked around the horses, until they nearly kicked him, when he sprang away, snapping out, "no, you don't! no, you don't!" dody, the white kitten, so called by walter for "daisy," mewed as hard as she could from luly's arms. walter crowed and chuckled, and said, "boo-bi!" meaning good-by; luly lisped, "dood-by, dear mamma, _div_ my _yove_ to gan'ma;" and kitty said, "good-by, mamma; i'll be a famous little mother--see if i'm not!" and so the carriage drove away. when it was quite out of sight, the little girls skipped and climbed, and wee walter was carried by nurse up stairs into the nursery; and kitty said, "now, mary, you can just go on with your sewing; you needn't mind us a bit. i'm going to take care of _the children_; mamma said so." "very well, miss kitty," said mary; "i'll sit in the window here, and if you want me, you can call." so mary fixed little walter in his chair, and luly got hers, and kitty sat down in her mamma's rocking chair, to be grander. walter's chair had a little tray fastened before it, on which his toys were put. his dearest plaything was a ridiculous old doll, with no eyes, half a wig, such a dilapidated pair of kid arms that the stuffing came bursting through in every direction, making her look as if she had a cotton plantation inside her, and the bolls were sprouting out; and such an extremely short pair of legs in proportion to her body, that it seemed as if they must shut into her like a pair of telescopes. besides this, there was a stale sugar peacock without a tail, a monkey that ran up and down a stick, and a woolly dog that could open his mouth and bark when you pressed him underneath; but the doll was the prime favorite, after all. walter called her gawow, and as nobody in the house could imagine what he meant by it, it was supposed to be a pure piece of invention, and a very fine sort of thing. the children played on peaceably together for some time, when all at once there came a ring at the bell. "dear me!" cried kitty, springing up and smoothing down her little black silk apron in a great flurry. "there comes company, and i'm to go and see them." "ou!" said luly; "me want to see tompany too!" "and so you shall, you little darling!" said kitty, kissing her; and, sure enough, up came ellen, the waiter, to say that the good minister, mr. lacy, was down stairs; for mrs. may had smilingly told her, before she went, that "miss kitty would see any one who called." in high glee, yet somewhat awed by her grown-up dignity, kitty let mary brush her soft brown braided wig and luly's golden curly one; then she rushed into her mother's room in a hurry, called luly out into the entry, and the little sisters took hold of hands and went down stairs to see the company. mr. lacy was sitting by the window, looking out on the beautiful garden, and did not know the children had entered until he felt a mite of a hand put softly on his, and heard two little pipy voices saying, "how do you do, mr. lacy?" the minister turned round and burst right out laughing! for kitty, when she ran into her mother's room, had put on--what do you think?--why, one of mamma's caps, which was lying on the dressing table! and the queer little thing looked so funny with the lace cap perched on top of her head, that mr. lacy laughed heartily, and said, "why, kitty! are you the old woman that lived in a shoe? or have you got bald all of a sudden, that you have taken to caps?" "oh, i'm little mother!" said kitty; "mamma has gone to the city, and left me to take care of _the children_, and the house, and dody, and trip, until she comes back; and i'm little mother to all of them." "well, little mother," said mr. lacy, who was none of your cross, crabbed old ministers, with faces as sour as vinegar, and voices as sharp as a needle, who frighten children half out of their wits, forgetful that "of such is the kingdom of heaven;" "i hope your children will be well brought up, and learn all they should. what does this one know?" lifting luly to his knee. "i know 'ittle hymn," said luly, smiling up confidently in his face. "can't you say it for me?" asked the minister. "what is it all about?" "'bout 'at a 'ittle child can do," lisped luly. "say it, luly," said kitty. luly folded her cunning fat hands over each other, and crossed her feet. then she looked up sideways in mr. lacy's face, and sucked her tongue a little bit, and at last, all at once, in a little singing voice, she began: "i'm a very 'ittle maid; hardly can i talk, 'tis true; yet mamma i'd love to aid- what can 'ittle luly do? "i can go, on busy feet, errands for her all day through; work for her, i feel, is sweet- this can 'ittle luly do! "i can hold the gate long skein when 'tis tangled and askew; never wanting to _compain_[a]- this can 'ittle luly do! "i can search, her book to find, and be _glad_ to do it, too! i can always _quickly mind_- this can 'ittle luly do! "i can ever go up stairs cheerfully, when falls the dew; and with _yev'yence_[b] say my prayers- this can 'ittle luly do! "god will help me, if i try; he good children loves to view; dear lord jesus, from on high, _pease_ tell luly what to do!" "ah! that is a beautiful hymn," said the good minister. "don't you know any, little mother?" "i am learning a beautiful hymn," said kitty, "but i don't know it yet--not quite." "no?" said mr. lacy. "then i shall have to tell you something myself, i declare. here, sit down beside me, and listen very attentively." now, what do you think the minister told them? "some dreadful, dismal story, full of dreadful, wicked children, who were sent to prison, i suppose; or an account of how, if _they_ ever dared to run down stairs, or look out of the window, or sneeze in church, on sundays, they never would get to heaven!" perhaps you will say. not a bit of it. he just trotted luly up and down on his knee, and told them these funny verses: "three little kittens from home ran away, oh dear! oh dear! and did you not hear all that befell them on that day? dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly- did you ever hear, in your life, of such folly! "out they ran from their mother's door, and skipped, and tripped, and danced, and dipped, way down the road, where they'd ne'er been before! dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly, oh deary! what _will_ be the end of their folly? "'come let us go into this barn for mice!' 'oh don't!' 'oh stuff! i'm hungry enough to eat anything that is sav'ry and nice!' so quoth little dolly and poppledy-polly, while dilly looked on, quite aghast at their folly! "so in it they went, quite full of their fun, and stared, and glared, and meauoed, and scared the poor little mice till they made them all run! dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly; for dilly, i'm sorry to say, shared their folly. "but, alas! while the kittens were hunting up mice, and munching, and crunching their smoking-hot _lunching_, a boy came and caught them all up in a trice! dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly; _oh!_ oh! oh! what a shocking cli_max_ to their folly! "oh, how they struggled and mewed in their fright! and scratched, and snatched at the dismal old patched bag they were thrust into, twisted up tight! dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly; i warrant, they felt bad enough for their folly. "soon to a stranger house they came; 'oh, ma'! oh, ma'! now, only see _thar_!' their captor cried out to an elderly dame; while dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly pricked up their ears, and lamented their folly. "'what, have you brought in a parcel of cats? go straight to the pond and get 'em all drowned!! i won't have them here, i can tell you; now s'cats!' poor dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly set up a loud howl of distress at their folly! "off scampered the boy till he came to the bank of a very deep pool; oh, wasn't it _cruel_! and tossed in the bag!! to the bottom it sank!!! with dilly (oh!), and dolly (oh!), and poppledy-polly (oh! oh!), and that was the end of their fun and their folly!" moral. "so, children, i solemnly beg and implore, whatever you do, (and you're torments a _few_,) you'll never slip out of your dear mother's door; or, like dilly, and dolly, and poppledy-polly, you'll surely be made to repent of your folly!" the children were very much amused with this woful history, bursting out laughing without any kind of fail when poppledy-polly, of comical memory and name, was mentioned. luly said, "oh, me _yike_ that name! me want to call dody popply-polly." this made kitty laugh more than ever, and they had a great time chasing dody round the hall, and catching her, to bawl in her ears "poppledy-polly!" by way of kindly informing her that was to be her new name. dody didn't seem to like it much, for she jumped out of luly's arms with a squeal and a flourish of her long tail, and scampered off faster than ever each time. after watching them, and laughing for a while, mr. lacy rose to go, saying: "good-by, little mother; i must go and see some of the big mothers now. don't forget me on any account, and tell your mamma, when she comes home, that i approve your style of housekeeping very much indeed." "good-by, mr. lacy," said kitty. "thank you for your funny story." "tank 'ou--funny 'tory!" repeated luly after her sister. mr. lacy lifted the little thing up to his shoulder, and held her there a minute, saying, "good-by, poppledy-polly! i hope, when i come again, you will know another hymn to say." luly didn't like much to be called poppledy-polly, and she said, with an air of considerable displeasure, "my name luly may;" but when the minister kissed her, and called her "his little lamb," she relented, and cooed, "me _yove_ 'ou, miniter!' then something quite sorrowful happened; for two great tears gathered in the minister's eyes, and came slowly rolling down his kind face. ah! he thought of his own little pet lamb, who once lisped, too, "me yove 'ou;" who said so now to the dear jesus; and with that last thought came comfort. floy was only "sleeping"--and setting little luly gently down, mr. lacy laid a hand on each childish head, saying, "god bless you, my little lambs," and went quietly away. the children watched him drive off, and then capturing dody once more--by the end of her tail this time--kitty popped her in her apron; and lugged her up stairs in triumph. there they found wawa, sitting on the floor, with an immense pair of scissors held in both hands, and an expression of extreme horror on his face. mary had left the room, and kitty, running up to her baby brother, pulled away the scissors in a great fright, exclaiming, "why, wawa! where did you get those?" wawa stared astonished for a moment, his great blue eyes opened very wide indeed; then he bubbled out, "on yer fore (floor); yook! gawow all poil!" (spoiled); and poor wawa puckered up his little rosy mouth, and began to cry most piteously. [illustration: kitty popped her into her apron] luly popped on the floor beside him in a minute, and pulling his curly head down on her breast, she murmured, "there--don't _c'y_, never _matter_, dear _bedder_--s'eel get well!" while kitty lifted up poor gawow, who was indeed in a pitiable condition. walter had ornamented her face with several deep digs of the scissors, which made her look as if she had been to the wars and come home with a number of bullet holes in her. then, not satisfied with this--what does that monkey wawa do but rip up her whole body from the neck to the waist, and shake out every bit of the bran all over the carpet! leaving the wretched gawow with not the least particle of insides. did you ever hear of such a piece of mischief? but then walter was such a little fellow--not quite two years old; of course he didn't mean to do anything wrong, and nobody thought of blaming him; so kitty called mary to come and sweep up the bran, and luly and walter were soon happily engaged in stuffing gawow with rags, making her look as good as new--or as good as old, i might say; for she was such a direful object in the first place, that it seemed as though she must have been bought in that condition, and never could have been otherwise; after which they dressed her in her very best bonnet and frock, and treated her to a nice dance in the garden, all taking hold of hands; until mary looked out of the window and called them to come up to dinner. kitty was old enough, now, to dine with the grown folks, and behaved like a perfect little lady, too; but on this occasion she was going to take early dinner in the nursery. she and luly helped mary pull out the nursery table, and set the three little plates upon it. walter's dinner was some mashed potato, with just a tiny mite of chicken among it, minced very fine, and made into an elegant hill on his plate, and a "wishing bone" to suck. luly had the same, only with more chicken; and kitty cut up her own wing and slice of breast, with her particular knife and fork, as nice as you please. there was a great deal of merriment over the dinner, when walter would look away just as mary gave him a spoonful of potato, watching her out of the corner of his eye, though, and then bob round again and say "feed!" just as she had put it down, thinking he didn't want any more. then he insisted on making gawow taste the wishing bone, and poked it into both her eyes in succession, as if that was the usual way for people to eat things. after they had finished the chicken and potato, they had some nice custard pudding; and when dinner was over, kitty went right to the wash stand and _cleaned her teeth_, while luly held up her mouth to have mary brush her little pearly teeth. do you always do this, little reader? if not, let me beg you to begin right away. are they done now? very well, then let us go on with the story. pretty soon after, the children were dressed to go out walking; for it was in the early spring time when all this happened, and still pleasant, in the cold country, to take the middle of the day for going out. so kitty and luly had their little blue poplin "coat-dresses" buttoned on, and the soft white woollen hoods tied under their rosy faces, and walter was decked out in _his_ new blue coat; which pleased him so much that he distinguished himself immediately afterward by walking all alone away from the door to the window, quite across the room, and there sitting down suddenly on the floor, much to his astonishment. at last they were all ready and started off, kitty and luly hand in hand, and walter in his little carriage. the road they liked best led along the top of a high bank, and was called "buena vista" terrace. there were very pretty houses built along here, shaded by tall trees; and if the children peeped cautiously over the iron fence that guarded the edge of the bank, they could sometimes see the steam cars rushing along the shore below. they were very fond of watching the hurrying train go by, though it frightened them a little, particularly when the engine gave a shrill scream before stopping at the station about a quarter of a mile further on. kitty and luly couldn't help squealing too when that happened, and then laughing very much, and scampering on, playing they were steam engines. just as they were passing by the prettiest house on the terrace, out came a young lady that kitty and luly knew and loved dearly, with a "tremendous dog" stalking slowly after her. "why, kitty!" she cried, "is that you? nurse, do bring the children in. i want to see them so much!" so mary went to open the gate; but before she could do so, up marched buffo, the "tremendous dog," and lifted the latch with his nose! oh, how kitty and luly did laugh and clap their hands! but their enjoyment and surprise were at full height when the kind young lady, whom they called miss ella, lifted luly, and mary held wawa, on buffo's shaggy back, and the good fellow carried them both safely to the house. wawa crowed and laughed, and drummed with his heels against the side of his charger; but the brave dog never tried to shake him off, and just walked gravely along, looking as trustworthy as possible. then, when the little children got off, kitty mounted somewhat fearfully on buffo's broad back, and rode all around the grass plot, laughing with delight. after that, miss ella made them sit down in a great rocking chair on the porch, wide enough for all three to get in at once, and asked them what they had been doing that morning; and then kitty told about her being little mother, and luly said, so funny, "miniter tome see luly and kitty, and tell funny 'tory 'bout dilly, and dolly, and popply-polly; and 'en--and 'en i talled dody popply-polly, and s'e wan away!" that amused miss ella very much, and pretty soon she opened her work-box, took out a paper of lemon drops, and gave luly, and kitty, and wawa each a handful. luly was a generous little puss, and wanted every one to share her "goodies;" so she even offered a lemon drop to buffo, when, what do you think the great black fellow did? he just put his great fore paws on luly's lap, opened his wide red mouth, and eat up every one of the drops at a mouthful! poor luly opened _her_ mouth in rueful astonishment, and looked very much as if she was going to burst out crying; but miss ella consoled her by giving her some more drops, and wawa thrust one of his into her mouth, saying, "dog eat luly's d'ops; wawa torry." so they talked away till it was time to go; and then miss ella kissed her little visitors; and buffo wanted to kiss them too, with his warm red tongue; but luly took good care to be out of the way this time. i expect the little thing thought he would eat her up like a lemon drop; so kitty let him lick her hand instead; and then buffo let miss ella put luly and wawa on his back again, and rode them down to the gate, where they bid good-by to their kind friend. tea was ready for them when they came back, and "when fell the dew" luly and kitty went "cheerfully up stairs" to bed. and now a sweet, serious expression came over little mother's face, and her great brown eyes were filled with loving reverence, as luly, in her little white night gown, bent her golden curls on the lap of her sister, and lisped out "now i _yay_ me down to s'eep"--that dear, precious little verse that i think all the children in the world must say; and prayed "dear jesus" to "b'ess papa and mamma, and dear sister, and 'ittle bedder, and mate luly dood 'ittle child;" and as little mother's lips were murmuring those words after her, the door opened, and there stood her own dear mamma and papa, just home from the city; and oh! i can't tell you half how much they loved their darling ones when they saw that sweet little scene. and then there was a merry frolic with papa, who rode luly and wawa on both shoulders as well as buffo did; and a happy time with dear mamma, who brought them three great oranges from grandma', and ever so many kisses for her share; and a holy, blessed time when that dear mamma knelt by her precious kitty's bedside, and prayed god to bless and keep little mother. footnotes: [footnote a: complain] [footnote b: reverence.] dolls at housekeeping. of all the sweet little ten-year old maidens that ever laughed and danced through their happy lives, i don't suppose one had such a wonderful doll's house, or such a fine family of dolls, as lina. let me describe the family and their residence. in one of the upper rooms of lina's house you would see, if you happened to walk in, another whole house built. it is two stories high: its front is red brick; and a flight of brown stone steps, made of sand-paper glued over wood, leads up to the entrance. it has real sashes in the windows, which open french fashion; a silver door-plate, with the name of "montague" upon it; and a little mat, about as large as a half dollar, on the upper step! if we could make ourselves as small as dolls, we might walk in, and find out that the hall has a dark wood floor, some cunning little pictures hanging on the wall, a noble black walnut staircase, and is lighted with a real little hall lamp. the parlor, on one side of this hall, has a velvet carpet on the floor, satin chairs and sofas, a centre table covered with tiny books, an ã©tagere full of ornaments, and a wicker-work flower stand filled with flowers. real little mantel and pier glasses are over the fire place, and between the front windows, which are hung with elegant lace curtains; and there is, besides, a piano-forte, a gold chandelier stuck full of china wax-candles, and a little clock that can wind up--though as to its going, that has to be imagined, for it obstinately represents the time as a quarter to twelve, morning, noon, and night! on the opposite side of the hall is the dining-room. it is furnished with a fine side-board, holding a silver tea-set and some tiny glass goblets and decanters; a round table, which is abominably disorderly, it must be confessed, being spread with a table cloth all awry, and covered with a grand dinner of wooden chickens and vegetables of various sorts; a mould of yellow-glass jelly, and a pair of fancy fruit dishes, made of cream candy. the dining-room chairs, with real leather seats, are scattered about, and there is even the daily newspaper thrown down on the floor, where the master of the house may have left it! up stairs there are three bedrooms, furnished in the same fashionable style; and, in short, such an elegant doll's house is not to be found anywhere but in a french toy shop. this one was brought from paris by lina's elder brother, and set up in this very room last christmas as a surprise for his dear little sister. but it is time i should describe the family who lived in this elegant mansion. so, little reader, if you will only take fast hold of the end of the author's pen, shut up your eyes tight, and then open them very quick on this page, heigh! presto! you and she will be turned into little personages just the size of dolls, able to walk up the brown stone steps, enter the house, and take a peep at the montague family. on a lounge by the parlor fire sits an elegant lady, who is rather skimpy about the wig, and therefore holds the honorable post of mamma to the family; as this circumstance, combined with her looking excessively inky about the nose, gives her a somewhat aged and anxious appearance. she wears a blue silk dress with five flounces, a lace cap, and a watch and chain; and her name is mrs. charles augustus montague. her husband, _mr._ charles augustus, is a china doll with a crop of rather scrubby flaxen hair, which can be combed and brushed as much as lina chooses. although he is so rich, he has only one suit of clothes, and must even go to parties in a pair of checked gingham trowsers, a red vest, and a blue coat with brass buttons! he is supposed to be down town at present, which circumstance is represented by his being unceremoniously thrust into a corner upside down. several smaller wax and china boys and girls represent the family of the ill-used mr. montague; but the belle of the whole doll-community is his eldest daughter, miss isabella belmont montague. she is a waxen young lady of the most splendid description; her hair is arranged like the empress', whom, indeed, she greatly resembles; her feet and hands are of wax, and she has more dresses than i can possibly count. i am afraid you will scarcely believe me, but she actually has a real little ermine muff and tippet, a pair of india-rubbers, an umbrella, a camels' hair shawl, and _real corsets_! and was won, with all her wardrobe, at one of the raffles in the great union bazaar. you went there, didn't you--you cunning little kitten? and saw all the dolls? i hope you got one too, so i do, certainly! [illustration: lina making dolls' clothes.] besides the montague family, there is a numerous colony of other dolls; but they, poor things, live in any corner where lina chooses to put them; and all day sunday are shut up in a dark closet, with nothing to do but count their fingers and toes, if they can contrive to see them; though they have nearly as fine a wardrobe--for lina's great amusement, next to playing with the whole colony, is to make new dresses for them. one saturday afternoon, lina was playing with her dolls in the baby house, with two of her little neighbors, minnie and maggie elliott, to keep her company. it was a dark, rainy sort of day; but what difference did that make to the children? _they_ never wanted to make a parcel of stupid morning calls, or go out shopping and spend all their money on silly finery; no--they were full of their play in the house, and didn't care a doll's shoe-string how hard it rained. "oh, dear!" said lina at last; "seems to me this play is getting very stupid! i wish we knew something else to play at but everlasting 'house!'" "i'll tell you what would be great fun!" said little minnie, looking wise. "you know, lina, we spent a week once in the country with 'alice nightcaps;' and her sister, 'aunt fanny's' daughter, showed us such a nice, funny play! instead of our being mothers, and aunts, and fathers, and the dolls our children, the dolls were all the people themselves, and we moved them about and spoke for them." "yes, it was such a nice plan!" said maggie; "you can't think, lina. suppose we divide these dolls into families, and play that miss isabella belmont montague was going to be married, and all about it." "oh, yes! yes! that will be splendid!" cried lina. "whom will you manage, maggie?" "i'd rather have miss isabella," said maggie. "and i want mr. morris," said minnie. "he shall be the lover." "very well, then i'll make the father and mother talk," said lina, generously taking the less splendid dolls, without a word of mean complaint, such as "there, you hateful thing, you always want the best;" or, "i _do_ wish i could do as i like with _my own_ dolls!" forgetting that company must be allowed to take the best always. the other dolls were equally divided between the children, and then lina exclaimed, with a delighted little skip in the air, "now, we are all ready to begin! come, girls, what time shall it be?" "oh, have them at breakfast!" chimed both the little visitors; and so, in defiance of the parlor clock, the time of day was supposed to be eight in the morning. the children, with many little chuckling pauses, while they considered what to do next, twitched the unlucky table cloth straight, put the tea-set on the table, and gave the family a wooden beefsteak for breakfast, and a large plateful of wooden buttered toast, which came from a box full of such indigestible dainties. then they fished mr. charles augustus montague out of the corner, and set him upright in a chair at the head of the table, with his newspaper fastened in his hands, by having a couple of large pins stuck through it and them. the points of the pins showed on the other side, and looked as if he had a few extra finger nails growing on the backs of his hands. quite a curiosity he'd have been for barnum's museum, wouldn't he? you precious little old toad. mrs. montague was seated behind the tea-tray, and miss isabella was reclining on a sofa up stairs, as if she was too lazy to come down when the rest of the family did. as the front door was only large enough for the dolls, the whole back of the house came away. lina and her visitors delightedly sat down cross-legged on the floor behind it, and the play began, the children talking for the dolls. * * * * * mrs. montague. (lina speaks for her in a fine voice.) i wish you would lay down your paper a moment, charles; i want to speak to you. mr. m. well, my dear, i am listening. mrs. m. no, you are not; put down the paper! [as this couldn't very well be done by the gentleman himself, maggie twitched it away for him, and threw it under the table.] mrs. m. now, charles, i must say i think it is high time isabella was married. she is most six months old, i declare! and it strikes me we had better see if we can find her a husband. mr. m. what you say is very sensible, my dear; so i will call to-day on my friend mr. morris, and invite him to dinner. perhaps they will fall in love with each other. mrs. m. oh! but is he handsome, mr. montague? mr. m. handsome! i should rather think so! why, he is nearly two feet high, with curly black hair; a nose that can be seen at the side--which is more than yours can be, mrs. montague--and eyes which open and shut of themselves when he lies down or sits up. then he is a seventh regimenter, too, and always wears his uniform; which makes him look very genteel. mrs. m. oh, i am sure he must be lovely! do bring him to dinner this very day. here maggie made the dining-room door open, and in walked miss isabella. she wore a pink merino morning dress, open in front, to show her embroidered petticoat, a pair of bronze slippers with pink bows, and a net with steel beads in it. maggie set her down hard in one of the chairs, and pushed her up to the table; while minnie, who moved the nigger boy doll, who waited on table, picked him up by his woolly top-knot, from the floor, where he had tumbled, and made him hand the young lady a cup of tea. then maggie began: miss isabella. dear me, mamma! this tea's as cold as a stone! i wish you would have breakfast a little later; as i'm so tired when i come home from a party, that i can't think of getting up at seven o'clock. mrs. m. but you must get up, my love. besides, we want plenty of time to-day, so's we can be ready; for we are going to have company to dinner. isabella. who is coming, mamma? mrs. m. mr. morris, my dear. isabella. oh, i am so glad! mrs. m. yes, you're going to be married to-morrow, my dear; we will invite all our relations and friends, and you must have a white satin wedding dress; you certainly must. isabella. how nice! s'pose we go out and buy it now. mrs. m. we can't go to-day; it's our _eceptin_ (reception) day, you know. mr. m. well, i 'spect i must go down town. good-by, my dears. i shall certainly ask mr. morris to dinner. he's a very nice young man for a small dinner party. so the children made mr. montague kiss his wife and daughter; which they did by bumping his china nose against their cheeks, until it nearly made a dent in the wax; and then pranced him down the front steps, and put him in his corner again. then minnie's doll came in. she took up mr. morris, a composition doll, in a seventh regiment uniform, who had been bought at a fair, and began moving him across the floor until he was opposite the door. then she commenced talking. mr. morris. why, i declare! here is mr. montague's house. i think i will go in and make a call. and he ran up the steps, and pretended to ring the bell; but as it was only a handle, lina rang the dinner bell instead. mr. morris. it's very funny they don't answer the bell! (ting-a-ling-ling.) come! make haste, i want to get in. here minnie took up toby, the black boy, carried him to the front door, and kindly opened it for him. toby. laws, massa! is dat you? i was jus' tastin' de jolly, to be sure it was good for dinner! so i couldn't come no sooner. mr. morris. is miss isabella belmont montague at home? toby. yes, massa, de ladies is to hum; walk in de parlor. so mr. morris came in (with minnie's hand behind him), and sat down on the sofa. it was rather small for him, and he covered it up so much that there wasn't a bit of room for miss isabella, when she came down. maggie had dressed her meanwhile in her green silk skirt, which had real little three-cornered pockets, with an embroidered pocket handkerchief sticking out of one, and her white tucked waist. up jumped mr. morris, and made her such an elegant bow, that his cap, which he was obliged to keep on all the time, in consequence of the strap being glued fast under his chin, fell all to one side; and looked as if the top of his head had accidentally come off and been stuck on crooked. mr. morris. good morning, miss isabella; how do you do? _isabella_. very well, thank you. how do you do, mr. morris? mr. morris. oh, miss isabella, i should be quite well if i hadn't _sitch_ a pain in my heart! isabella. a pain in your heart! what makes you have that, mr. morris? mr. morris. you! isabella. i! mr. morris. oh, miss isabella, you can't think how i adore you! i love you so much that it makes my eyes shut up when i don't want them to; and my heart beats so that it shakes my cap all to one side! isabella. dear me, mr. morris, you are quite _afflitted_! but never mind--papa is going to have you to dinner to-day; you'd better go right down town, so he can ask you. mr. morris. but i can't eat any dinner, miss isabella, without you will marry me! here minnie tried to make mr. morris pop down on his knees; but as he wasn't a jointed doll, he lost his balance, and tumbled flat on his face instead. miss isabella. here, what are you doing? get up, do, and stop your noise! [for minnie couldn't help a long-sounding o--h! when her doll flopped down. so maggie made the young lady catch hold of mr. morris's shoulder straps and help twitch him on the sofa again, to go on with his proposal.] mr. morris. will you marry me, miss isabella? i'm such a nice young man--you don't know--and we'll live in a real pretty house. miss isabella. no, i can't marry you till after you have come to dinner; mamma said so. mr. morris. well, then, i must wait; but only say that you will have me. isabella. oh, yes! at this point the children laid down the dolls and broke into such a merry trill of laughter, that it would have done anybody's heart good to hear them. it seemed so funny to have the dolls making love in this fashion, they couldn't help it. as soon as they were sober again, the play went on thus: mr. morris. well, miss isabella, i b'lieve i must go now; i've got an old sister at home, who will scold me if i don't come back. can't you 'vite her too? she has a pretty bad time, poor thing! 'cause she is so oldy that she is kept on a shelf till she's all dusty. her wig is dreadful fuzzy, and some of it comes out and stands up at the top. but i'll dust her well and stick a pin in her wig to keep it on, and make her look real nice, if you'll only ask her. isabella. well, i guess she can come; but she must have a new dress for the wedding. mr. morris. yes, she shall, certainly. good-by, miss isabella. i'm going down town pretty soon, so your father can ask me to come. miss isabella. oh yes, do! i want you to come _velly_ much. * * * * * "now, maggie, we must stop the play a little while," said lina, "and fix the dinner for them." "yes, do," cried maggie; "let's see, what shall be for dinner?" "oh, chicken, that's the nicest!" said minnie. "no, they had chicken yesterday," said lina; "let them have roast beef." "very well," went on maggie, who was looking over the dishes in the box of "eatables," as lina called them. "roast beef, mashed potatoes, and macaroni." "oh, not macaroni," cried minnie; "the cheese will bite their tongues." "oh, yes! mr. morris likes macaroni," said her sister. "well, macaroni, then; and plum-pudding for dessert--and apples." "ah, make them have jelly," said lina; "that's the prettiest thing in the box." so the dinner was hunted out, and the three children set the table in fine style; while toby, the black boy, whose business it certainly was to have done it, sat coolly in mr. montague's armchair, with his master's newspaper in his lap, and goggled at the table without moving an inch. then lina dressed mrs. montague, and maggie and minnie together dressed miss isabella; and nobody dressed poor mr. morris, or mr. charles augustus montague; because they unluckily had but one suit a piece, sewed fast on to them at that. this time miss isabella wore a pink silk frock, with a deep puffing round the bottom, finished at each edge with black velvet. then she had a long pink sash, edged with two rows of narrow black velvet; a pointed belt encircled her waist, and the body of her dress was a mass of puffs, with narrow black velvet between. on her head was a pink wreath, with long ribbon ends hanging down her back; and tied fast to her wrist was a pink feather fan with gold sticks. in fact, miss isabella looked rather as if she were going to a party than coming down to dinner; but the children thought the pink silk so charming, that she must wear it, whether or no. mrs. montague wore a purple silk, a black lace shawl, and a head-dress of pink rosebuds and black lace. when the ladies were fairly seated in the parlor, lina rang the bell, and minnie and maggie made mr. morris come in, leading his sister by the hand. she was a dismal object to behold, sure enough! and if she could have blushed for herself, i think she certainly would. she wore a green barã¨ge dress, trimmed with flaming red ribbons; some of the gathers were out at the waist, and her petticoat showed at the bottom. mr. morris, or minnie--i don't know which--had stuck the ends of her wig down for her once, but they had come up again, and looked as if her hair had taken to growing with the roots uppermost. the end of her nose was blacker than mrs. montague's, and her eyes, which moved with a wire like other wax dolls, had got out of order somehow, and remained stationary, with nothing but the whites showing; and, altogether, poor miss morris looked like a two-legged rag-bag come home from the wars, with both eyes out, half a nose, and no hair worth mentioning. lina made mr. montague come home as soon as she was rid of the dinner bell; and after they had all shaken hands until their wax and kid and china wrists must have ached, the company rather unceremoniously marched right into the dining-room. i suppose mr. montague was tremendously hungry, and gave his wife's hand a good pinch when he shook it, to make her hurry things up; but, however that may be, they were walked in to dinner in straight order. mr. morris sat by miss isabella, with his forlorn old sister on the other hand, and as the opposite side of the table looked rather bare, minnie proposed that some of the children should come down to fill up. "oh, yes--and let them be dreadfully naughty and do all sorts of mischief," said maggie. so miss angelina seraphina montague, and master algernon pop-eyes montague (so called because he had glass eyes, which stuck out in a lobster-ish fashion), were sent for in a hurry and brought down by their nurse, a beautiful doll dressed as a french bonne, and maggie. algernon wore the costume of a sailor boy, and angelina was no other than a nun in a black robe! but never mind, they did very well to fill up, and sat smirking at the company very genteelly. so, then, lina made mr. montague begin. mr. mont. will you take some roast beef, miss morris? algernon. no, papa, help me first! mr. m. algy pop-eyes montague! be still! here, toby, hand miss morris her plate. algy. don't you do it, toby! mrs. m. hush up, you naughty boy! mr. m. mr. morris, here's some meat for you. mrs. m. take some macaroni, mr. morris; it's real good. mr. morris. thank you, ma'am; i think i will. so the company were helped; though, as the meat and vegetables were glued fast to the dishes they were on, i'm afraid they must have had rather a slim dinner. then maggie went on. miss isabella. mr. morris, i think i am rather tired of that uniform of yours; it makes you look too high in the neck. when we are married, you ought to have a dress coat. angelina. h-a! h-a-a-a! he hasn't got any other coat! _i_ wouldn't marry an old goose with only one suit! mrs. m. for shame, miss! your father hadn't but one when we were married; but, bless me! what _is_ algernon doing? sure enough, master algy _was_ doing something extraordinary, for maggie had made him overset the dish of potatoes in the middle of the table, and then jump up and sit on the back of his chair, with both legs in the air! mrs. m. my pasence! _what_ a naughty boy! toby, take this bad boy right up stairs; i am socked! (shocked.) algy. oh, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! please let me stay! mrs. m. well, then, behave yourself. miss morris. mrs. montague, i think you had _better_ send your children away; they are too bad for anything. angelina. oh! oh! i wouldn't be your child for a dollar! ("that's just what i say to my big sister!" put in maggie in her proper person.) mrs. m. oh, they are dear little things; they only do it in fun, miss morris. mr. morris. well, i don't see it. if they were my children, i should lock them up in a dark closet. miss morris. so should i. angelina. h-a! h-a-a-a! that's just where you are kept yourself! miss morris. oh, i _shall_ faint! mrs. m. angelina! you sha'n't have any pudding for being so bad. there, i guess it's time for dessert,"--and without condescending to ask if the company were through dinner, mrs. montague, with a wave of her lily-white kid hand, ordered toby to clear away the dishes; and, the pudding and jelly being put on the table, lina went on: mr. m. miss morris, have some plum-pudding? toby. no, take some ob de jolly, missis; he so _jolly_ good! _i_ taste um! mr. m. toby, i am _astonissed_! i shall have to discharge you to-morrow. "and have an irishman come!" cried minnie; "and talk funny, like our patrick!" "yes, that will be real fun!" said lina. "there, they have had dinner enough; let them go in the parlor now." accordingly, the company had their chairs pushed back for them and were taken into the parlor, all but the naughty children, who had to be sent straight to bed, they were so bad. mr. and mrs. montague took possession of the arm chairs, as they were the oldest; miss morris was accommodated with an uncommonly hard ottoman without any back, in the corner; mr. morris plumped down on the sofa, as that was the only seat large enough for him, and the play went on (minnie speaking). mr. morris. miss isabella, i wish you would sing us a song. isabella. oh, really, i have _sitch_ a bad cold. i don't think i can. mr. morris. oh, please do, miss isabella! sing that pretty song about the little milkmaid. isabella. well, i'll see if i can. so maggie made the young lady take a funny little scrap of music out of the stand (called a canterbury), and put it on the piano. the title of the piece on the outside was, "souvenirs de l'opera," which means in english "recollections of the opera," but it did just as well for a song. miss isabella was seated at the piano, and maggie moved her hands up and down the keys, to look as if she were playing; while in her own sweet bird-like voice she sang for her this song: "'where are you going, my pretty maid? where are you going, my pretty maid?' 'i'm going a milking, sir,' she said, 'i'm going a milking, sir,' she said. "'may i go with you, my pretty maid? may i go with you, my pretty maid?' 'yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said, 'yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said. "'what is your father, my pretty maid? what is your father, my pretty maid?' 'my father's a farmer, sir,' she said, 'my father's a farmer, sir,' she said. "'oh, then may i marry you, my pretty maid? then may i marry you, my pretty maid?' 'yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said, 'yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said. "'what is your _fortune_, my pretty maid? what is your _fortune_, my pretty maid?' 'my _face_ is my fortune, sir,' she said, 'my _face_ is my fortune, sir,' she said. "'oh, then i _can't_ marry you, my pretty maid! but then i _won't_ marry you, my pretty maid!' 'nobody asked you, sir!' she said, 'nobody asked you, sir!!' she said!" the dolls all clapped their hands very hard when miss isabella finished singing, as if they liked it "first rate." mr. morris leaned back so far in his seat, either from admiration or because he was slipping off, that his eyes suddenly shut up, and opened with a queer little pop inside of him when minnie righted him. as to miss morris, she glared at the company with her old white eyeballs as if she was looking down inside of herself to see how the pudding had agreed with her. then maggie went on. miss isabella. there! how do you like _that_? mr. morris. oh, thank you, miss isabella; it's the sweetest song i ever heard. mrs. montague. won't you sing us a song, mr. morris? mr. m. no, i believe i must go now. i have all my things to pack up, so we can start off travelling right away. come, sister, stick the roots of your hair in, and open your distressed looking eyes, and let us be off home. "i wonder if her eyes _will_ open?" said maggie. "let's try!" said lina. "give the wire a good, hard pull." as she spoke, she caught hold of the wire and gave a tremendous jerk, when, dreadful to relate, pop! out came poor miss morris's eyes completely! and tumbled down somewhere inside of her! leaving two great holes in her head of the most fearful description! the children stared at her in round-eyed astonishment. now she was certainly too hideous to come to the wedding; and the little girls tried to look as sorry as they could for her, but it was no use; miss morris was such a ridiculous object, that they all three burst into fits of laughing. lina, who had hold of the poor thing, shook so with glee, that the eyes rattled up and down inside her head like a pack of crackers going off, which made the children laugh still more. at last minnie contrived to check herself, and made the brother say, rather unfeelingly: mr. morris. there you go with your eyes out! a pretty figure you've made of yourself. miss isabella. oh! _oh!!_ oh!!! oh!!!! mrs. m. goody, isabella's got the hysterics! get some water, quick! what shall i do? miss morris. oh, my eye! my eye! it's _sich_ a pain! mr. montague. toby, bring some water this minute. toby. (_minnie brings him in with a pitcher._) here, massa, here de water. my! see de ole woman wid her eye out! ha! ha! mrs. m. toby, put down that water, and go 'way. minnie accordingly made believe that toby was pouring water right on the floor; then she turned the pitcher upside down in his hand, and spoke for him. toby. dere de water, missis. mrs. m. oh! it's all over the carpet! how dare you, toby? toby. why, missis, you _told_ me to put down de _water_! mrs. m. oh, i shall go distracted! mr. morris. come, sister, i 'spect you'd better go home and send for doctor bumpstead! maybe he can fish up your eyes again, and stick them in right side out. a--h! good-by, miss isabella, good-by, mrs. montague! all the dolls in chorus. good-by, a--h! "oh! did ever anybody have such a funny play before!" cried lina, fairly dropping miss morris, and clapping her hands with delight. "i mean always to play in this way." "yes, it is so nice!" said minnie. "but, come, lina, how shall we dress miss isabella to get married?" "oh, she has a wedding-dress all ready," replied lina; "white silk with lace over." "splendid!" cried both the sisters. "now, if mr. morris could only have a plain suit, he would look so much more like a bridegroom." "well, perhaps sister will make him one," said lina; "but what shall we do with poor miss morris?" the recollection of miss morris's mishap set them off again laughing; and finally they decided that she might come to the wedding, but must keep her handkerchief to her eyes all the time, as if she were quite overcome by having her brother married; as well she might be, for how would her two holes instead of eyes compare with miss isabella belmont montague's charms? this point settled, lina and her little visitors were just beginning to review the other dolls, to see who would look best at the wedding, when a knock came at the door, and in walked mary, lina's nurse, to say that minnie and maggie were sent for! "oh, what a pity!" cried lina. "i wish you could stay all day, and all night, and all the rest of the time. it's too bad!" "oh, that the afternoons were forty-'leven times as long!" said maggie. "well, we must go, i suppose. good-by, lina; we'll come monday afternoon, if mamma will let us; and finish the play." so the children kissed each other, and minnie and maggie were bundled up in their warm coats and hoods, and went home. as soon as they were gone, lina ran to her sister alice with mr. morris, and begged her to make him a suit of black to get married in, as miss isabella had expressed her preference for that style of dress. alice kindly promised she would, and that very evening she hunted up some black cloth that was left from a cloak of her mother's, and in a few hours mr. morris was rigged out in the last style of fashion. here is his carte de visite, taken in his wedding clothes. you see, the photograph man left his own hat on the table by mistake; doesn't it look funny? [illustration: portrait of mr. morris.] it was past lina's bedtime before mr. morris was completely dressed; but she was allowed to sit up "just this once," and when he was finished, she kissed alice a great many times, carried him off in triumph, and shut him up tight in a box, for fear his clothes should get tumbled. monday afternoon, minnie and maggie came again, bringing with them a dear little wax doll of minnie's, and a great paper of sugar-plums, to "play party" with. when mr. morris had been sufficiently admired in his new clothes, the children collected the other dolls, and put the montague family in their house again. mr. montague was left all alone in the parlor to receive the company, and the ladies were up stairs in the front bed room. miss isabella's wedding dress was spread out on the elegant french bed, all ready for her to wear; and as it is a well-known fact that a fashionable lady cannot possibly get dressed in less than three hours, the time was put at nine o'clock, as the wedding would take place at twelve. lina then began the play: mrs. montague. come, my dear, it is time for you to dress; you've only got three hours to get all ready in. miss isabella. yes, mamma, i am putting on my shoes now. (that is, maggie was putting them on.) oh, dear! they are a great deal too tight! they hurt me _dreadfully_. please let me take them off. mrs. m. no, they are not; they are a beautiful fit; don't be silly, isabella. isabella. i think you are real mean! there, they are on; now i must put on my dress. here maggie made her stand up, and lina put on her dress and fastened it. isabella. oh, my! what a beautiful dress! can't i keep it on all the time, mamma? mrs. m. why, no; of course not! this is your wedding dress. isabella. well, then, i mean to get married over again next year, so i can wear it some more. mrs. m. now i must put on your veil, my dear, and then you will be all ready. here maggie clapped her hands to express miss isabella's joy, while lina put on the veil. isabella. oh, how pretty i look! mrs. m. don't be vain, isabella. there, you are dressed; sit down now, while i get ready. so miss isabella sat down with her new frock sticking out all around her, like a perfect balloon, a most magnificent creature to behold! her dress was made of white silk, trimmed all round the bottom with deep blonde lace, which was finished at the top with narrow silver cord. it was looped up on one side with a bouquet of white flowers, with silver leaves, and her waist was covered with a blonde lace bertha, and had a bouquet of the same flowers on the front, called a _corsage_. she wore a lace veil and a wreath of orange blossoms, and in her hand, tied fast there, was another large bouquet, and a lace-bordered pocket handkerchief. as to mrs. montague, she was hardly less splendidly attired, in a mauve silk with eleven flounces, a lace collar and sleeves, and a superb diamond breastpin--made of glass. well, dear me, i don't know how i can find room enough to describe all the splendid ladies that came to the wedding. they were none of them quite as elegant as miss isabella belmont montague, but they all had on their sunday-go-to-meeting, fourth-of-july, christmas-and-new-year's best clothes, and looked as fine as fiddles. poor miss morris came, with her handkerchief up to her eyes, and stayed so all the time, crying as if her heart would break, i presume. she was so dismal, in her old green barã¨ge, that minnie kindly dressed her in mrs. montague's purple silk, which fitted her quite well; so she didn't look so _very_ bad, after all. aren't you glad? i am. pretty soon in came the minister, who was no other than angelina! as her black nun's robe was the most like a gown that could be found; and when she was set up with her back against the centre table, the parlor door opened, and in marched the bride and bridegroom. minnie and maggie held them in their proper places, and the minister married them in rhyme; which, it strikes me, was a new style. this was what he said: "now you're married, you must obey; you must be true to all you say, and live together all your life; and i pronounce you man and wife!" when the marriage ceremony was over, the children set mr. and mrs. morris down side by side on the sofa, and leaving them to entertain the company, and talk for themselves if they could, got the supper ready. it was such a grand supper that they were obliged to have a table from up stairs besides the dining table. everything in the box of eatables was brought out, even the roast beef and buttered toast, two dishes not ordinarily seen at suppers. the sugar-plums were disposed around wherever room could be found, and when everything was ready, minnie took toby to the parlor door and made him say: toby. ladies and gentlemens, please to come to supper, plum cake, and cream cake, and white bread and butter. up jumped mr. morris in such a violent hurry that he nearly tumbled over, and offered his arm to his bride; which minnie made him do by bending it round, and pinning his kid hand fast to his waistcoat. maggie and lina made the rest of the company walk after them in procession, as fast as they could lift them up; and they all pranced and paraded round by the back of the house into the dining room. only poor miss morris was left out, and she had tumbled off her chair, and was lying behind the piano, on the top of her head, with one leg sticking straight up in the air like an awning post, and the other foot apparently boxing her ears, as it was turned back in a most extraordinary manner, till it touched her head. meanwhile, there were fine times going on in the dining room. mr. montague took the foot of the table, and the bride and groom the head. as soon as they were all seated, mr. montague said: mr. montague. ladies and gentlemen, don't you think we'd better drink the bride's health? here, toby, give the company some wine glasses. mrs. m. dear me, ladies, what a pity! there's only six goblets; so the rest will have to drink out of teacups! all the dolls (or all the three little girls, whichever you please). oh, never mind; that doesn't make any _difference_. mr. mont. the bride, ladies and gentlemen! all the dolls. mrs. morris! hurray! hurree! hurror! mrs. m. now, isabella, it's time for you to change your dress, my dear. you are going travelling, you know. isabella. oh, what a pity! i don't want to take it off a bit! but, of course, she had to. it wouldn't have done to go travelling in a white silk dress, would it, you dear little poppet? so maggie took miss isabella (for they called her either that or mrs. morris by turns, indifferently), away from table, and dressed her in her gray travelling dress, which was trimmed with black velvet and small steel buttons. then she put on her second best bonnet, with a blue veil, and her india-rubbers, in case it should be damp, and locked up the wedding dress in her trunk, which was about as large as a candle box, had a real little lock and key, and her initials painted on the side. when she was all ready, down she came again, to take leave of her relations and friends, who had eaten up all the wooden refreshments by this time (though, strange to say, the dishes seemed as full as ever), while minnie, maggie, and lina eat up the sugar plums; and poor miss morris sucked her thumbs, i suppose, for not a speck of anything else did she get. there was a great time bidding good-by, and so many hard noses were bumped against the bride's cheek this time, that they made a dent, which looked quite like a dimple, and improved her appearance very much indeed. as to mr. morris, nobody took the slightest notice of him, as is usually the case with the bridegroom, but he didn't seem to mind it in the least; for he went on smirking at the company as blandly as ever. perhaps he didn't want people's noses making holes in _his_ face; you wouldn't want them made in _yours_, would you? you dear little pinkey winkey! bless your heart! there's dimples enough in that cunning face already. but now the carriage was brought round to the door, for mr. and mrs. morris to go on their travels. it was made of--ahem!--tin, and was drawn by two dashing tin horses, with tails like comets, and manes like waterfalls, and such a great number of bright red spots painted all over them, that they looked as if they had broken out with a kind of scarlet measles. the bride and bridegroom were put in their places, the big trunk was hoisted up in front, and away they went! and travelled all the way down the entry to the head of the stairs, and through sister alice's room to the fireplace! my! what a long journey! 'most a hundred miles, i should think! that is, it would seem so to dolls. thus ended the grand play of miss isabella belmont montague's wedding, which had taken two whole afternoons to finish, and which the children thought the most _interestingest_ play that ever was. if you want to know what became of her after that, i advise you to go right to lina's house and ask how mr. and mrs. morris come on with their housekeeping! that's all there is of this story--boo!! the fairy wish. once upon a time there lived a little old man, with his little old wife, in a little old house that ran on wheels. did you ever? well, i never did. the reason why the little old house ran on wheels was, that the little old man used to keep a monkey show in it, and drove it about for a caravan; with an old white horse, that had a blind eye, to draw it; but now the monkeys were all dead and buried, and the little old man and woman lived all alone-ty-donty. it had bright green blinds, bright red sides, a bright blue door, and bright yellow steps. on the bright blue door there was a bright brass knocker, which was polished up at such a rate that you could see your face in it, looking as l-o-n-g as anything; and underneath that was a bright brass door plate, with the old showman's name, "timmy timmens," on it, which was also polished up until you could see your face in it, looking as b-r-o-a-d as anything. did you _ever_? well, i _never_ did! inside there was a rag carpet of all the colors of the rainbow; a little old four-post bedstead, with a patchwork counterpane; two high-backed rocking chairs, with patchwork covers over the backs; a table with an oil cloth cover, that had a little old tea tray on it, set up against the wall; two bright brass candlesticks, and a china tea set; and in one corner was a glass cupboard, which contained the other plates and dishes. hung against the wall over the mantlepiece was a sampler worked by mrs. timmy timmens when she was a girl, which represented noah's ark, with all the animals, of exactly the same size, done in cross stitch, in such bright grass-green worsted that it quite set your teeth on edge to look at it. besides these, there was a little round stove, with a long stove pipe, that came out on top of the caravan, and ended with a flourishing weathercock, representing a fat old woman in a high gale, with her umbrella turned inside out; which moved when the smoke came puffing up harder than usual, and had no connection whatever with any wind that blew. now, mr. timmy timmens and his wife, being mighty simple old people, were fond of reading fairy stories, and believed entirely in every word of them. they hadn't the smallest doubt that sprites and fairies were as common as peas this very minute, and would have thought it quite a matter of course if a wonderful gift had suddenly tumbled down the very stove pipe, or a beautiful lady come bursting through the wall, and offered to carry them off to fairy land in a mother-of-pearl chariot, drawn by milk-white doves. if a cat looked hard at her and mewed piteously, the little old woman would sigh, "well, this _is_ fairy work, i'll bet a crooked sixpence! she looks like an enchanted princess, poor thing! don't she, timmy, dear?" if a donkey brayed louder than usual, and seemed more obstinate than ever before, the little old man would exclaim, "there, i told you so! an unfortunate young man, of surpassing beauty, enchanted in this dreadful shape by a wicked fairy! that's plain to be seen! no wonder he utters such cries of distress!" and then they both groaned together, and waggled their heads, and blew their noses so exactly in time with two yellow silk pocket handkerchiefs, that people thought two fishmen must be blowing their horns at once. did _you_ ever? well, _i_ never did! [illustration: the old man and woman looking for fairies.] one fine morning the little old man and woman went out to take a walk on the common; for the house stood right beside the road, in an empty field of scrubby grass, with no fence round it. just behind the house, to be sure, was a paling, which enclosed a garden about as big as a good-sized dining table, where the little old man and woman grew one or two cabbages, two or three tomatuses, three or four potatuses, and four or five radishes, for their own eating; but all the rest was just open common. the old woman had a large basket in her hand, all ready to pop down over any fairies she might see lying asleep in a bluebell, and the old man was leaning heavily on his stick, as he was rather feeble, and, besides, had the rheumatism in his big toe. "dear me, timmy," said the old woman, "what a good thing it would be, now, if we could only find a kind fairy who would move our house for us somewhere nearer the village. now that poor old dobbin is dead--killed, i've no doubt, by a wicked enchanter--we can no longer get around from place to place without stirring a step from the house; and we are so far away, that we can't walk over to take tea with any of our neighbors. do let us keep a sharp lookout as we walk along, and see if we can't find a fairy ring or a fairy flower." "with all my heart!" said tim; and so they tottered along, peering very hard into all the bushes, and hurrying to examine every little patch of grass that looked greener and brighter than the rest, in the hope that it was a fairy ring. all at once, the little old man stopped short, and pointed with his stick at a beautiful spray of foxglove. "there!" cried mr. timmens. "where?" cried mrs. timmens. "right before your eyes!" said the little old man. "don't you see it? a fairy foxglove, as my name is timmy timmens!" "my goodness gracious, stars, and what's-his-names!" cried the little old woman; "so there is! as sure as my name is polly timmens!" so the little old man and woman hurried up to the flower, and after trying a great many times to stoop down, making their old joints crack like so many torpedoes, mrs. polly succeeded in plucking it, and off they went, pell-mell, hurry-scurry, to the little old house that ran on wheels, to consult their fairy story books, and see what was the right thing to be done in such a case! _did_ you ever? well, i never _did_. down sat the little old man in _his_ rocking chair with the patchwork cover, and down sat the little old woman in _her_ rocking chair with the patchwork cover; and after a long consultation of the "sorrows of prince popinjay," and the "wonderful history of the princess lillie bulero and the fairy allinmieyeo," they discovered that the proper way to do was to hold the fairy foxglove in your hand exactly as the clock struck twelve, at noon, and say "rorum corum torum snoram, highcum tickleme cockolorum!" seven times; then shut your eyes tight and wish, stand on one leg and turn round three times, and, presto! you would find, when you opened your eyes, that your wish was accomplished! "dear me!" cried mrs. polly timmens when her husband had finished reading this wonderful charm; "how lucky it is that we should be the ones to find the fairy foxglove! just as we were wishing, too, for something of the sort. let me see, it is half past eleven now, i declare! timmy, my dear, i'll go into the garden and gather two or three tomatuses and three or four potatuses for dinner, for it would be a shame to leave our fine vegetables behind; and then, as the clock strikes twelve, we'll try the fairy spell, wish that our house was in the village, and see what comes of it." so the little old woman, taking a small basket off a nail, and a sharp knife in her hand, went into the garden to gather the vegetables. down she plumped beside the bed, and began to dig and cut at the potatuses to get them up. her back was turned to the house, and the tall stalks and thick leaves of the tomato bushes quite hid it from her view when she sat on the ground, for she was a teeny-tawny little old woman. while she was thus engaged, the little old man was sitting inside with the book open in one hand, for fear he should forget the charm, and the fairy foxglove tight in the other, waiting impatiently for her return. the hands of the clock kept getting nearer and nearer to twelve, and at last there was only one moment wanting to the time. "why, goodness gracious me!" cried mr. timmy timmens; "has polly forgot all about the fairy wish? i declare, i have a great mind to begin alone." just as he said these words, the clock began to strike! and at the same moment a tremendous hullabaloo arose on the road. "there come the fairies!" squeaked the little old man; and without waiting another second, he stood straight up in the middle of the floor, and said, in a trembling voice: "rorum corum torum snorum, highcum tickleme cockolorum!" seven times over; then, shutting up his eyes as tight as possible, stood on one leg, and cried, "please, good fairy, polly and i wish our house was in the middle of the village!" hardly had he said these words, than a long red object, that looked wonderfully like a cow's tail, suddenly whisked in at the half open door; the wind caught the door, and shut it to, slam! bang! and with a jerk that made the bright brass knocker give a tremendous double knock on the bright blue door, and sent the bright tin saucepans scattering in every direction, the house started suddenly down on the road on a double-quick trot! did you ever?! well, i never did!! it happened that a large drove of cows and oxen were going down to market that day, and being very hot, and tired, and thirsty, they naturally objected to being driven in that way any longer, and commenced cutting a variety of capers that were enough to frighten you out of your wits. at last one irascible little bull, who had been riding on the other ones' backs, charging at all the innocent ducks, geese, and pigs he could find on the road, and finally had tossed one of the men who were driving him right up in the air, dashed on ahead, and, seeing the little house with the bright red sides, took the color as a personal insult to himself. down went his head and up went his heels, and in another minute he would have bounced right into poor mr. timmy timmens' dwelling, when one of the drivers saw him, and rushing up, gave him a good whack with his whip. master bull turned round to see what was to pay; in an instant his tail was caught in the door as i told you, and, frightened half out of his wits, he galloped off, dragging the little house on wheels after him, and roaring with pain, while the drivers looked on, roaring with laughter. [illustration: the mad bull.] meanwhile, the little old man remained standing on one leg, not daring to open his eyes, for fear the charm would be broken, and only wishing that the little old woman were with him. at last the house stopped, moving with another jerk, that sent the little old man toppling back in his rocking chair, and a moment afterward the door was opened a little bit, and a strange voice said, "well, here we are at the village, old gentleman, begging your pardon," and then all was silent. up jumped the little old man, opening his eyes very wide this time, hobbled to the door, and looked out. there, sure enough, he was, in the pleasant, shady village street, with the church directly opposite, so nice for sundays, and nothing to be seen but a drove of cows and oxen going down the road at some distance! "well, was there ever anything known like this?" cried mr. timmy timmens. "if this isn't the most wonderful fairy doings i ever heard of! i must go right off to find polly, and tell her the happy news." so saying, he went down the bright yellow steps, carefully shut the bright blue door behind him, and toddled off as fast as he could to the common. now the little old woman, before she had finished digging up the potatuses, found the sun very warm and herself very sleepy, and thinking her husband would be sure to call her when twelve o'clock came, she just got under the shade of the tomatuses, and went off in a nice nap. when she woke, she jumped up in a hurry, exclaiming, "why, bless me--how could i have forgotten about twelve o'clock? i must make haste into the house this minute." but where was the house? the little old woman stared all around until she nearly stared her eyes out, but it was nowhere to be seen. "why, my goodness gracious, stars, and what's-his-names!" squealed the little old woman, letting fall her knife and basket; "where has the house runned to? timmy must have tried the fairy charm without ever telling me! i mean to go right to the village and see if it is there." so she gathered up her basket and knife, stuffed the basket, and her apron, and her pockets with all the vegetables she could carry, and started off for the village. before she was half way there, however, she met her husband. "where is it?" "there it is!" they called at the same moment, and falling into each other's arms and a mud puddle, they stood for a long time, saying by turns: "did you ever?" "no, i never!" "would you believe it?" "not 'less i see'd it!" and then they took hold of hands and trotted off to the little house that ran on wheels. there they found it, all high and dry, under a big apple tree, looking as nice as ninepence. with joyful hearts they hurried inside, picked up the saucepans, and cooked all the tomatuses and potatuses for dinner, with an apple dumpling for dessert, made of some of the apples that had fallen off the tree; and after that, the little old man and the little old woman, and the bright green blinds, and the bright red walls, and the bright blue door with the bright brass knocker, and the bright yellow steps, all lived in peace and the middle of the village, believing more firmly than ever in the existence of fairies, and never doubting that their house had been moved solely by the miraculous power of the fairy spell, "rorum corum torum snorum, highcum tickleme cockolorum!" and if they're not dead they live there still! don't you believe it? well i never did! the end of the fourth book. * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page 18, the indentation of the third line on the stanza that begins, "i can go, on busy feet" was adjusted to match the rest of the poem's layout. the original looked like: "i can go, on busy feet, errands for her all day through; work for her, i feel, is sweet- this can 'ittle luly do! page 50, "_himed" changed to "chimed" (chimed both the little) page 68, "barege" changed to "barã¨ge" (barã¨ge dress, trimmed) page 74, there is a closing quote after mrs. montague speaks. although there is no opening quote, the closing quote indicates that she's no longer speaking so it was retained. page 76, "acommodated" changed to "accomodated" (miss morris was accomodated) page 104, "litle" changed to "little" (little old tea tray) page 105, "throught" changed to "through" (through the wall) [illustration: the zankiwank & the bletherwitch] the zankiwank and the bletherwitch an original fantastic fairy extravaganza "_imagination is always the ruling and divine power, and the rest of the man is only the instrument which it sounds, or the tablet on which it writes._" john ruskin. [illustration] the zankiwank & the bletherwitch by s.j. adair fitzgerald with pictures by arthur rackham [illustration] london j.m. dent & co. aldine house e.c. 1896 _all rights reserved_ to my blanche i affectionately inscribe this little book contents part i a trip to fable land 1 part ii the fairies' feather and flower land 33 part iii a visit to shadow land 91 part iv the land of topsy turvey 119 list of illustrations page everybody made a rush for the train _frontispiece_ the zankiwank and the bletherwitch _title page_ the jackarandajam 5 mr swinglebinks 7 they were run into by a demon on a bicycle 17 birds, beasts and fishes were hurrying by in confusing masses 19 the frogs ... playing "kiss in the ring" 24 they were glued to the earth 27 the elfin orchestra 37 i have dispatched the jackarandajam and mr swinglebinks in a four-wheeled cab 41 a company of fairies ... leapt from the petals of the flowers 45 the sly jackdaws and the ravens ... evidently plotting mischief 51 one of the prettiest dances you ever saw 55 titania arrived ... with a full train of fairies and elves 61 willie pinched his exceedingly thin legs, making him jump as high as an april rainbow 64 peaseblossom and mustard seed 71 queen titania and her court of fairies were eating puddings and pies 75 the two children tumbled off nothing into a vacant space 79 "keep the pot a-boiling," bawled the zankiwank 83 so into shadowland they tumbled 87 a whole school of children following madly in their wake 95 the goblins started off on horseback 101 "the unfortunate doll" 103 the winny weg was dancing in a corner all by herself 106 maude and willie were reclining peacefully on a golden couch with silver cushions 107 a game of leap-frog 108 a great red cavern opened and swallowed up everything 117 "now then, move on!" 123 the wimble and the wamble 126 jorumgander the younger ... approached them with a case of pens 133 "why, here he is!" 138 the zankiwank arguing with the clerk of the weather and the weather cock 145 time was meant for slaves 151 children with the oddest heads and faces ever seen 158, 159 it was a sort of skeleton 163 the griffin and the phoenix 170 they sprang into the hash 173 dr pampleton 177 no one individual got his own proper limbs fastened to him 183 there was john opening the carriage door for them to get out 187 part i a trip to fable land _by the queen-moon's mystic light, by the hush of holy night, by the woodland deep and green, by the starlight's silver sheen, by the zephyr's whispered spell, brooding powers invisible, faerie court and elfin throng, unto whom the groves belong, and by laws of ancient date, found in scrolls of faerie fate, stream and fount are dedicate. whereso'er your feet to-day far from haunts of men may stray, we adjure you stay no more exiles on an alien shore, but with spells of magic birth once again make glad the earth._ philip dayre. a trip to fable land "well," said the zankiwank as he swallowed another jam tart, "i think we had better start on our travels at once." they were all standing under the clock at charing cross station when the station was closed and everybody else had departed, except the train which the zankiwank had himself chartered. it was all so odd and strange, and the gathering was so very motley, that if it had been to-morrow morning instead of last night, willie and maude would certainly have said they had both been dreaming. but, of course, they were not dreaming because they were wide-awake and dressed. besides, they remembered charing cross station quite well, having started therefrom with their father and mother only last summer when they went to the sea-side for their holidays--and what jolly times they had on the sands! so maude said promptly, "it is not night-mare or dreams or anything. we don't know what it is, but we must not go to sleep, willie, in case anything should happen." willie replied that he did not want to go to sleep any more. "i believe it's a show," he added, "and somebody's run away with us. how lovely! i'm glad we are lost. let us go and ask that tall gentleman, who looks like the parlour-tongs in a bathing-suit, to give us some more buns." for, being a boy, he could always eat buns, or an abundance of them, only i hope you won't tell the nursery governess i told you. [illustration] it was the zankiwank, who was doing some conjuring tricks for the benefit of the jackarandajam and mr swinglebinks, to whom willie referred. the zankiwank was certainly a very curious person to look at. he had very long legs, very long arms, and a very small body, a long neck and a head like a peacock. he was not wearing a bathing suit as willie imagined, because there were tails to his jacket, hanging down almost to his heels. he wore a sash round his waist, and his clothes were all speckled as though he had been peppered with the colours out of a very large kaleidoscope. the jackarandajam was also rather tall and thin, but dressed in the very height of fashion, with a flower in his coat and a cigarette in his mouth, which he never smoked because he never lit it. he was believed by all the others--you shall know who all the others were presently--to know more things than the man-in-the-moon, because he nearly always said something that nobody else ever thought of. and the man-in-the-moon knows more things than the old woman of mars. you have naturally heard all about mars--at least, if you have not heard all about her, you all have heard about her, which is just the same thing, only reversed. there was an old woman of mars who'd constantly say "bless my stars, there's the sun and the moon and the earth in a swoon, all dying for par-tic-u-lars-u-lars! of this planet of mine called mars!" mr swinglebinks, unlike his two companions, was short, stout, and dreadfully important. in fable land, where we are going as soon as we start for that happy place, he kept a grocer's shop once upon a time. as nobody cared a fig for his sugar and currants, however, he retired from business and took to dates and the making of new almanacks, and was now travelling about for the benefit of his figures. he was very strong on arithmetic, and could read, write, and arith-metise before he went to school, so he never went at all. [illustration] while the zankiwank was talking to his friends an unseen porter rang an unseen bell, and called out in an unknown tongue:- "take your seats for fableland, which stands upon a tableland, and don't distress the guard. and when you pass the cableland say nothing to the gableland because it hurts the guard." "we must put that porter back in the bottle," said the jackarandajam, "we shall want some bottled porter to drink on the road." "well," said maude, "what a ridiculous thing to say. we don't bottle railway porters, i am sure." "i wish the bletherwitch would come," exclaimed the zankiwank, "we shall miss the next train. she is most provoking. she promised to be here three weeks ago, and we have been waiting ever since." this astounding statement quite disturbed willie, who almost swallowed a bun in his excitement. had he and maude been waiting there three weeks as well? what would they think at home? you see maude and willie, who were brother and sister, had been on a visit to their grandmama; and on their way home they had fallen asleep in the carriage, after having repeated to each other all the wonderful fairy tales their grandmama had related to them. how long they had slept they could not guess, but when they woke up, instead of finding themselves at home in st george's square, they discovered that they were at charing cross station. mary, their nurse, had disappeared, so had john the coachman, and it was the zankiwank who had opened the door and assisted them to alight, saying at the same time most politely-"i assist you to alight, because it is so dark." then he gave them buns and chocolates, icecreams, apples, pears, shrimps and cranberry tarts. so it stands to reason that after such a mixture they were rather perplexed. however, they did not seem very much distressed, and as they were both fond of adventures, especially in books, they were quite content to accept the zankiwank's offer to take them for a ride in the midnight-express to fable land, over which, as everybody knows, king æsop reigns. maudie was nine and a half and willie was eight and a quarter. very nice ages indeed, unless you happen to be younger or older, and then your own age is nicer still. "i think," said the zankiwank, "that we will start without the bletherwitch. she knows the way and can take a balloon." "if she takes a balloon she will lose it. you had better let the balloon take her," exclaimed the jackarandajam severely. "take your places! take your places!" cried the unseen porter. so everybody made a rush for the train, and they all entered a pullman car and sat down on the seats. "dear me! how very incorrectly that porter speaks. he means, of course, that the seats should take, or receive us." the zankiwank only smiled, while mr swinglebinks commenced counting up to a hundred, but as he lost one, he could only count up to ninety-nine--so, to keep his arithmetic going, he subtracted a time-piece from his neighbour's pocket, multiplied his foot-warmers, and divided his attention between the wimble and the wamble, who were both of the party, being left-handed and deaf. maudie and willie took their places in the car with all the other passengers amid a perfect babel of chattering and laughing and crying, and then, as the train began to slowly move out of the station, the zankiwank solemnly sang the following serious song:-off to fable land. the midnight train departs at three, to fable land we go, for this express is nothing less than a steamer, don't you know! we're sailing now upon the thames, all in a penny boat, and we soon shall change for a mountain range, in the atmosphere to float! so off we go to fable land- (speak kindly to the guard!) which many think a babel-land, but this you disregard. you'll find it is a stable-land, with stables in the yard- a possible, probable, able-land, so do not vex the guard! we've left behind us charing cross, and all the town in bed; for it is plain, though in this train, we're standing on our head! we're riding now in bedfordshire, which is the land of nod; and yet in the sky we are flying high, which seems extremely odd! so off we go to fable land- (speak kindly to the guard!) which many think a babel-land, but this you disregard. you'll find it is a stable-land, with stables in the yard- a possible, probable, able-land, so do not vex the guard! maudie and willie found themselves joining lustily in the chorus when the zankiwank pulled the cord communicating with the guard, and, opening the window, climbed out on to the top of the carriage calling all the time:- "guard! guard! guard! don't go so hard, just give the brake a hitch! to charing cross return- nay, do not look so stern- for i would not tell a cram, i must send a telegram, to my darling little bletherwitch." so the guard turned the train round, and they went back to charing cross as quick as lightning. "it's my fault," moaned the jackarandajam, "i ought to have reminded you. never mind, we will put on another engine." so the zankiwank got out and sent a telegram to the bletherwitch, and desired her to follow on in a balloon. again they started, and everybody settled down until the train reached the british channel, when it dived through a tunnel into an uninhabited country, where the post-office clerk popped his head into the carriage window and handed in a telegram. "_from the bletherwitch, to the zankiwank._ don't wait tea. gone to the dentists." "extremely thoughtful," exclaimed everybody. but the zankiwank wept, and explained to the sympathetic maude that he was engaged to be married to the bletherwitch, and he had been waiting for her for fourteen years. "such a charming creature. i will introduce you when she comes. fancy, she is only two feet one inch and one third high. such a suitable height for a bride." "what," expostulated willie and maude together, "she's no bigger than our baby! and you are quite----" "eight feet and one half of an inch." "how disproportionate! it seems to me to be a most unequal match," answered maude. "what does her mother say?" "oh, she hasn't got any mother, you know. that would not do. she has been asleep for two thousand years, and has only just woke up to the fact that i am her destiny." "she is only joking," declared maude. "two thousand years! she _must_ be joking!" "no," replied the zankiwank somewhat sadly, "she is not joking. she never jokes. she is of scottish descent," he added reflectively. "i hope she will keep her appointment. i am afraid she is rather giddy!----" "giddy! well, if she has waited two thousand years before making up her mind to go to the dentists she must be giddy. i am afraid you are not speaking the truth." before any reply could be given the guard came to the window and said they would have to go back to charing cross again as he forgot to pay his rent, and he always paid his rent on monday. "but this is _not_ monday," said willie. "yesterday was monday. to-day is to-morrow you know, therefore it is tuesday. pay your landlady double next monday and that will do just as well." the guard hesitated. "don't vex the guard," they all said in chorus. "i am not vexed," said the guard, touching his hat. "do you think it would be right to pay double? you see my landlady is single. she might not like it." "write 'i. o. u.' on a post-card and send it to her. it will do just as well, if not better," suggested mr swinglebinks. so the guard sent the post-card; but in his agitation he told the engineer driver to go straight ahead instead of round the corner. the consequence was that they were run into by a demon on a bicycle, and thrown out of the train down a coal mine. luckily there were no coals in the mine so it did not matter, and they went boldly forward--that is to say, willie and maude did, and knocked at the front door of a handsome house that suddenly appeared before them. [illustration] nobody opened the door, so they walked in. they looked behind them, but could not see the zankiwank or any of the passengers in the train; therefore, not knowing what else to do, they went upstairs. they appeared to be walking up stairs for hours without coming to a landing or meeting with anyone, and the interminable steps began to grow monotonous. presently they heard a scuffling and a stamping and a roaring behind them and something or somebody began to push them most rudely until at last the wall gave way, the stairs gave way, they gave way, and tumbled right on to the tips of their noses. "out of the way! out of the way!" screamed a chorus of curious voices, and maude and willie found themselves taken by the hand by a weird-looking dwarf with a swivel eye and an elevated proboscis, and led out of danger. the children could not help gazing upon their preserver, who was so grotesquely formed, with a humped back, twisted legs, very long arms, and such a funny little body without any neck. but his eyes atoned for everything--they sparkled and glinted in their sockets like bright brown diamonds--only there are no brown diamonds, you know, only white and pink ones. [illustration] the dwarf did not appear to mind the wondering looks of the children at all, but patted them on the cheeks and told them not to be frightened. but whether he meant frightened of himself, or of the birds, beasts, and fishes that were hurrying by in such confusing masses, they could not tell. one thing, however, that astonished them very much was the deference with which they greeted their quaint rescuer, as they passed by. for every creature from the lion to the mouse bowed most politely as they approached him, and then went on their way gaily frisking, for this was their weekly half-holiday. "how do you like my menagerie," enquired the dwarf. "rough and ready, perhaps, but as docile as a flat-iron if you treat them properly." "it is just like the zoo," declared willie. "or the animals in æsop's fables," suggested maude. this delighted the dwarf very much, for though he looked so serious, he was full of good humour and skipped about with much agility. "good! good!" he cried. "æsop and the zoo! ha! ha! he! he! anybody can be a zoo but only one can be æsop, and i am he!" "æsop! are you really mr æsop, the phrygian philosopher?" cried maude. "_king_ æsop, i should say," corrected willie. "i am glad we have met you, because now, perhaps, you will kindly tell us what a fable really is." "a fable," said the merry æsop, with a twinkle in his witty eyes, "is a fictitious story about nothing that ever happened, related by nobody that ever lived. and the moral is, that every one is quite innocent, only they must not do it again!" "ah! that is only your fun," said willie sagely, "because of the moral. why do they give you so many morals?" "i don't know," answered æsop gravely. "but the commentators and editors do give a lot of applications and morals to the tales of my animals, don't they?" "i like a tale with a moral," averred maude, "it finishes everything up so satisfactorily, i think. now, mr æsop, as you know so much, please tell us what a proverb is?" "ah!" replied mr æsop, "i don't make proverbs. there are too many already, but a proverb usually seems to me to be something you always theoretically remember to practically forget." neither of the children quite understood this, though maude thought it was what her papa would call satire, and satire was such a strange word that she could never fully comprehend the meaning. willie was silent too, like his sister, and seeing them deep in thought, king æsop waved a little wand he had in his hand, and all the birds and beasts and fishes joined hands and paws, and fins and wings, and danced in a circle singing to the music of a quantity of piping birds in the trees:- if you want to be merry and wise, you must all be as bright as you can, you never must quarrel, or spoil a right moral, but live on a regular plan. you must read, write and arith-metise, or you'll never grow up to be good; and you mustn't say "won't," or "i shan't" and "i don't," or disturb the indicative mood. so round about the knowledge tree, each boy and girl must go, to learn in school the golden rule, and duty's line to toe! if you want to be clever and smart, you must also be ready for play, and don't be too subtle when batting your shuttle, but sport in a frolicsome way. with bat and with ball take your part, or with little doll perched on your knee, you sing all the time, to a nursery rhyme, before you go in to your tea! so round about the sunset tree each boy and girl should go to play a game of--what's its name? that is each game--you know! after merrily joining in this very original song, with dancing accompaniment, maude and willie thanked king æsop for permitting his animals to entertain them. "always glad to please good little boys and girls, you know," he replied pleasantly, "even in their play they furnish us with a new fable and a moral." "and that is?" "all play and no work makes the world stand still." [illustration] before they could ask for an explanation, their attention was once more drawn to the animals, who had commenced playing all kinds of games just the same as they themselves played in the play-ground at school. the toads were playing leap-frog; the elephants and the bears, fly the garter; the dromedaries, hi! spie! hi! while the snakes were trundling their hoops. the lions and the lambs were playing at cricket with the donkeys as fielders and the wombat as umpire. the frogs were in a corner by themselves playing "kiss in the ring," and crying out:- "it isn't you! it isn't you! we none of us know what to do," in a very serio-comic manner. then the storks and the cranes and the geese and the ganders were standing in a circle singing:- sally, sally waters, sitting in the moon, with the camel's daughters, all through the afternoon! oh sally! bo sally! where's your dusting pan; my sally! fie sally! here is your young man! in another part the crabs, the sheep, and the fox, were vowing that london bridge was broken down, because they had not half-a-crown, which seemed a curious reason. then all the rest of the wild creatures, birds, beasts, and fishes, commenced an extraordinary dance, singing, croaking, flapping their fins and spreading their wings, to these words:- we are a crowd of jolly boys, all romping on the lea; we always make this merry noise, when we return from sea. so we go round and round and round, because we've come ashore; for topsy turvey we are bound, so round again once more. go in and out of the coppice, go in and out at the door; and do not wake the poppies, who want to have a snore. it was too ridiculous; they could recognise every animal they had read about in æsop, and they were all behaving in a manner they little dreamed could be possible, out of a night-mare. but it certainly was not a night-mare, though they could distinguish several horses and ponies. [illustration] they never seemed to stop in their games, and even the ants and the gnats were playing--and above all a game of football,--though as some played according to association and some to rugby rules, of course it was rather perplexing to the on-lookers. when they grew tired of watching the animal world enjoying their holiday, they turned to consult king æsop, but to their astonishment, he was not near them--he had vanished! and when they turned round the other way the animals had vanished too, and they were quite alone. indeed everything seemed to disappear, even the light that had been their guide so long, and they began to tremble with fear and apprehension. not a sound was to be heard, and darkness gradually fell around them. they held each other by the hand, and determined to go forward, but to their dismay they could not move! they were glued to the earth. they tried to speak, but their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths, and they were in great distress. "where, oh where was the zankiwank?" they wondered in their thoughts. and a buzzing in their ears took up the refrain:- the zankiwank, the zankiwank, oh where, oh where is the zankiwank? he brought us here, and much we fear his conduct's far from franky-wank! the zankiwank, the zankiwank, he has gone to seek the bletherwitch, oh the zankiwank, 'tis a panky prank to leave us here to die in a ditch. "a telegram, did you say? for me, of course, what an age you have been. how is my blushing bride? let me see- '_from the bletherwitch, nonsuch street, to the zankiwank, nodland._ forgot my new shoes, and the housemaid's killed the parrot. put the kettle on.'" then the children heard some sobbing sound soughing through the silence and they knew that they were saved. also that the zankiwank was weeping. so with a strong effort maude managed to call out consolingly, "zankiwanky, dear! don't cry, come and let me comfort you." but the zankiwank refused to be comforted. however, he came forward muttering an incantation of some sort, and maude and willie finding themselves free, rushed forward and greeted him. "hush, my dears, the nargalnannacus is afloat on the wild, wild main. we must be careful and depart, or he will turn us into something unpleasant--the last century or may be the next, as it is close at hand, and inexpensive. follow me to the ship that is waiting in the bay window, and we will go and get some floranges." carefully maudie and willie followed the zankiwank, each holding on by the tails of his coat, glad enough to go anywhere out of the blackness of the dark. soon they found themselves in window bay, and climbing up the sides of a mighty ship with five funnels and a red-haired captain. "quick," called the captain, "the nargalnannacus is on the lee scuppers just off the jibboom brace. make all sail for the straights of ballambangjan, and mind the garden gate." then the zankiwank became the man at the wheel, and the vessel scudded before the wind as the two children went off into a trance. [illustration] part ii the fairies' feather and flower land _faëry elves, whose midnight revels, by a forest side or fountain, some belated peasant sees, or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon sits arbitress._ milton. _o then i see queen mab hath been with you: she is the fairies' midwife; and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate-stone on the fore-finger of an alderman, drawn with a train of little atomies, athwart men's noses as they lie asleep._ shakespeare. the fairies' feather and flower land how long maude and willie had been rocking in the cradle of the deep they could not tell, nor how long it took them to steam through the straits of ballambangjan, for everything was exceptionally bleak and blank to them. by the way, if you cannot find the straits of ballambangjan in your geography or on the map, you should consult the first sailor you meet, and he will give you as much information on the subject as any boy or girl need require. both children experienced that curious sensation of feeling asleep while they were wide awake, and feeling wide awake when they imagined themselves to be asleep, just as one does feel sometimes in the early morning, when the sun is beginning to peep through the blinds, and the starlings are chattering, and the sparrows are tweeting under the eaves, outside the window. they were no longer on the vessel that had borne them away from fableland, and the approach of the nargalnannacus, a fearsome creature whom nobody has yet seen, although most of us may not have heard about him. the obliging zankiwank was with them, and when they looked round they found themselves in a square field festooned with the misty curtains of the elfin dawn. "of course," said the zankiwank, "this is midsummer day, and very soon it will be midsummer night, and you will see some wonders that will outwonder all the wonders that wonderful people have ever wondered both before and afterwards. listen to the flower-fairies--not the garden flowers, but the wild-flowers; they will sing you a song, while i beat time--not that there is any real need to beat time, because he is a most respectable person, though he always contrives to beat us." [illustration] both children would have liked to argue out this speech of the zankiwank because it puzzled them, and they felt it would not parse properly. however, as just at that moment the elfin orchestra appeared, they sat on the grass and listened:-the elfin dawn. this is the elfin dawn, when ev'ry fay and faun, trips o'er the earth with joy and mirth, and pleasure takes the maun. night's noon stars coyly peep, o'er dale and dene and deep, and fairies fair float through the air, love's festival to keep. we dance and sing in the welkin ring, while heather bells go ding-dong-ding! to greet the elfin dawn. the flower-fairies spread each wing, and trip about with mincing ging, upon the magic lawn. and so we frisk and play, like mortals, in the day; from acorn cup we all wake up titania to obey. we never, never die, and this the reason why, of fancy's art we are the part that lives eternalie. we dance and sing in the welkin ring, while heather bells go ding-dong-ding! to greet the elfin dawn. the flower-fairies spread each wing, and trip about with mincing ging, upon the magic lawn. "they keep very good time, don't they?" said the zankiwank to the children, who were completely entranced with pleasure and surprise. "lovely, lovely," was all they could say. [illustration] every wild flower they could think of, and every bird of the air, was to be seen in this beautiful place with the purling stream running down the centre, crossed by innumerable rustic bridges, while far away they could see a fountain ever sending upward its cooling sprays of crystal water. "i think i shall spend my honeymoon here," said the zankiwank. "i have already bought a honeycomb for my bride. i am so impatient to have her by my side that i have dispatched the jackarandajam and mr swinglebinks in a four-wheeled cab to fetch her. when the bletherwitch arrives i will introduce you, and you shall both be bridesmaids!" "but i can't be a bridesmaid, you know," corrected willie. "oh yes, you can. you can be anything here you like. you only have to eat some fern seeds and you become invisible, and nobody would know you. it is so simple, and saves a lot of argument. and you should never argue about anything unless you know nothing about it, then you are sure to win." "but," interrupted maude, "how can you know nothing about anything?" "'tis the easiest thing out of the world," said the zankiwank. "what is nothing?" "nothing." "precisely. nothing is nothing; but what is better than nothing?" "something." "wrong! wrong! wrong! where is your logic? nothing is better than something! i'll prove it:- "nothing is sweeter than honey, nothing's more bitter than gall, nothing that's comic is funny, nothing is shorter than tall." "that is nonsense and nothing to do with the case," exclaimed maude. "nonsense? nonsense? did you say nonsense?" "of course she did," said willie, "and so do i." "nonsense! to me? do you forget what my name is?" "oh, no, nothing easier than to remember it. you are the great zankiwank." "thank you, i am satisfied. i thought you had forgotten. i am not cross with you." maude and willie vowed they would not cross him for anything, let alone nothing, and so the zankiwank was appeased and offered to give them the correct answer to his own unanswerable conundrum. do you know what a conundrum is though? i will tell you while the zankiwank is curling his whiskers:-a conundrum is an impossible question with an improbable answer. think it over the next time you read "robinson crusoe." "nothing is better than a good little girl; but a jam tart is better than nothing, therefore a jam tart is better than the best little girl alive." "what do you think of that?" said the zankiwank. "i have heard something like it before. but that is nothing. anyhow i would much rather be a little girl than a jam tart--because a jam tart must be sour because it's tart, and a little girl is always sweet," promptly replied willie, kissing his sister maude on the nose--but that was an accident, because she moved at the wrong moment. "you distress me," said the zankiwank. "suppose i were to try to shoot folly as it flies, and hit a fool's cap and bells instead, what would you say?" "i should say that you had shot at nothing and missed it." [illustration] at this maude and willie laughed girlsterously and boysterously, and the zankiwank wept three silent tears in the teeth of the wind and declared that nothing took his fancy so much as having nothing to take. so they took him by the arm and begged him, as he was so clever and had mentioned the name, to take them to fancy's dwelling-place. "i think fancy must dwell amongst the wild flowers--the sweet beautiful wild flowers that grow in such charming variety of disorder." saying this, maude took willie's hand and urged the zankiwank forward. before the zankiwank could reply, a company of fairies, all dressed in pink and green, leapt from the petals of the flowers and danced forward, singing to the buzz of the bees and the breaking note of the yellow-ammer with his bright gamboge breast:-where is fancy bred. o would you know where fancy dwells? and where she flaunts her head? come to the daisy-spangled dells, and seek her in her bed. for fancy is a maiden sweet, with all a maiden's whims; as quick as thought--as magic fleet- like gossamer she skims. o seek among the birds and bees, and search among the buds; in babbling brook, in silver seas, or in the raging floods. gaze upward to the starry vault; or ask the golden sun: though ever you will be at fault before your task is done. o would you know where fancy dwells? it is not in the flow'rs; it is not in the chime of bells, nor in the waking hours. it is not in the learnëd brain, nor in the busy mart; it lives not with the false and vain, but in the tender heart. as mysteriously as they had appeared, the fairies vanished again, and only the rustling of the leaves and the twittering of the birds making melody all around, reminded the children that they were on enchanted ground. now and then the bull-frogs would set up a croaking chorus in some marshy land far behind, but as no one could distinguish what they said it did not matter. o to be here for ever, with the fairy band, o to wake up never from this dreamy land! for the humblest plant is weighted with some new perfume, and the scent of the air drops like some prayer and mingles with the bloom. o to be here for ever, and never, never wake. was that the music of the spheres they wondered? somehow it seemed as though their own hearts' echo played to the words that fell so soft, like a fair sweet tender melody of fairies long ago. the zankiwank had left them again, to send another telegram, perhaps, and maude and willie went rambling through the meadow and down by the brook, where they gathered nuts and berries and sat them down to enjoy a rural feast. tiny elves and fairies were constantly coming and going, some driving in wee chariots with ants for horses and oak leaves for carriages. and while all the other flowers seemed quite gay and merry in the sunshine, the poppies were nodding their scarlet heads and gently dozing, what time some wild holly hocks beat to and fro murmuring- sleep! sleep! sleep! while the corn is ready to reap. sleep! sleep! sleep! and the lightest hours a-creep. sleep! sleep! sleep! on the edge of the misty deep. as they lay upon the bank, to their surprise a procession of birds came along, the two foremost being fine handsome thrushes, carrying a large banner of ivy leaves, on which was inscribed, in letters of red clover, the following legend:- bean-feast of birds from london and the suburbs. "fancy," said maude, "all the birds of london town come to fairy-land for a change of air!" "and why not?" asked a saucy cock-sparrow. "we can't be always singing the same song, so we come here for a change of air, and of course when we get a change of air we return with new melodies. if you were to reed your books properly you would know that the pipes of our organs--our vocal organs--want tuning occasionally." then, without any warning, they all struck up a new song, and marvel of marvels, instead of merely singing like ordinary birds, they sang the words as well. but before giving you the lyric that they voiced so melodiously i must tell you the names of some of the birds they saw, and if you live in london or any large town you will perhaps know several of them by sight, as well as by cognomen. first in the throng were the mistle-thrushes and the song thrushes; the redwing and the fieldfare, the blackbird and the redstart, and the redbreast with faithful jenny wren; the large family of titmouse and the merry chiff-chaff, with his pleasant little song of "chiff-chaff; chiff-chaff; chiv-chave." the humoursome wagtails and that rare visitant the waxwing, hopped along together, followed by the swallows and the martins, and a whole posse of finches of various orders, particularly the chaffinches who were joking with the linnets. [illustration] then came the noisy starlings, the magpies and the sparrows chattering incessantly and evidently talking scandal. the sly jackdaws and the ravens looking as sleek as sunday sextons, but evidently plotting mischief, were also present, in close proximity to the rooks and the crows, who were well able to take care of their own caws. afterwards came the swifts and the larks up to all sorts of games. a few woodpeckers joined their feathered friends, and one cuckoo was there, because willie heard him, but he kept somewhere in the background as usual. owls and bats and millards with wigeons and pigeons brought up the rear with a few plovers, including the lapwing. jack snipe came tumbling after in a hurry, with a stranger called the whimbrel and a puffin out of breath. there were other birds as well, but i don't think you would know them if i mentioned them. maude and willie did not, and they were quite authorities on ornithology, and perhaps you are not. the song of the birds. we are the birds of london town, come out to take the air, to change our coats of grey and brown, and trim our feathers rare. for london fogs so very black our tempers disarrange, and so we skip with piping trip, to have our yearly change. pee wit! tu! whoo! how do you do? tweet! tweet! chip! chip! chiff! chaff! chiff chay! weet wee! weet weet! sweet way! cuckoo! we sing our songs in london town, to make the workers gay; and seeds and crumbs they throw us down- 'tis all we ask as pay. we make them think of fields all green and long-forgotten things; of far-off hopes and dreams a-sheen and love with golden wings. pee wit! tu! whoo! how do you do? tweet! tweet! chip! chip! chiff! chaff! chiff chay! weet wee! weet weet! sweet way! cuckoo! after this very entertaining song each bird stood on one leg, spread one wing, and joined partners for one of the prettiest dances you ever saw. it was called the birds' quadrille, and was so charmingly executed that even the flowers left their beds and borders to look on--the fairies peeping meanwhile from the buds to join in the general enjoyment. the voices of the flowers were lifted in gentle cadences to the rhythm of the feathered dancers' featly twists and turns. [illustration] how happy the children felt in this beautiful place with all nature vieing to show her sweetest charms. and how rich and rare were the gems of foliage and tree and humble creeping plants. how easy to forget everything--but joy--in this fairy paradise that fancy so deftly pictured for them! could there be anything sad in flower land? they could not believe it possible, and yet when a tiny little fairy stepped from a cluster of wild flowers and sang them the song of the lily and the rose, diamond tears stole down the cheeks of the little lass and the little lad. the rose and the lily. a tender rose, so pretty and sleek, loved a lily pure and white; and paid his court with breathings meek- watching o'er her day and night. while the lily bowed her virgin head, the rose his message sent; the lily clung to her lover red, and gave her shy consent. the violets cooed, and the hare-bells rang, and the jasmine shook with glee; while the birds high in the branches sang, "forget not true to be." dear flora came the wedding to see,- the cowslips had decked the bride, the red rose trembled so nervously- his blushes he could not hide. the daisies opened their wee white eyes, the pinks came down in rows; "forget-me-not!" the lily cries, "my own, my sweet moss rose!" the violets cooed, and the hare-bells rang, and the jasmine shook with glee; while the birds high in the branches sang, "o may you happy be!" the flower-fairies were gathered there, and every plant as well, to attend the wedding of this pair so sweet that no pen can tell. but a cruel wind came sweeping by- the lily drooped and died.... then the red rose gave one tearful sigh, and joined his lily bride. the violets wept, and the hare-bells sobbed, the myrtle and jasmine sighed; the birds were hushed as their hearts all throbbed at the death of the rose's bride. before the children had time to grow too sorrowful, there was a fluttering in the air and a rushing among the plants and flowers as the zankiwank bounded into their presence, cutting so many capers that they were glad they were not to have mutton for dinner, as certainly all the capers would be destroyed. the zankiwank was in very high spirits, and gleefully announced that the court of the fairies, with the queen, was coming, as sally who lived in somebody's alley had just informed him. then he burst out singing to a tune, which i daresay you all know, the following foolish words:- of all the flowers that are so smart, there's none like daffydilly! she'd be the darling of my heart, but she has grown so silly! there is no wild flower in the land that's half so tame as daisy; to her i'd give my heart and hand, but fear i'd drive her crazy! and then there is the cabbage rose, also the china aster; but buttercup with yellow nose would cause jealous disaster. forget-me-not, o violet dear! primrose, you know my passion! for all the plants afar--anear i court in flowery fashion! "oh, please be serious!" cried willie. "_what_ is the matter with you, mr zankiwank?" you will perceive that willie and maude were quite at home in their new surroundings, and nothing seemed to surprise them one whit, not even the unexpected which they constantly anticipated. [illustration] the zankiwank only asked permission to send one more telegram to the bletherwitch, and then he condescended to inform them that queen titania was about to pay a visit to the flowers and the birds, and sure enough, before he had done speaking, titania arrived all the way from athens, with a full train of fairies and elves, accompanied by a fairy band playing fairy music. robin goodfellow skipped in advance, while peaseblossom, cobweb, moth, and mustard-seed attended on the lovely queen. "indeed, indeed this must be a midsummer night's dream!" "indeed and indeed then it is," mocked the impudent robin goodfellow. "the fairies are not dead yet; and they never will die while good little girls and boys, and poets with sweet imaginations, live. but quick, let not the queen see you! eat of these fern seeds and you will become invisible even to the fairies. they are special seeds of my own growing and warranted to last as long as i choose." so maude and willie ate of the fern seeds and became invisible, even to the zankiwank, who was dreadfully distressed and went about calling them by name. in a spirit of mischief willie pinched his exceedingly thin legs, making him jump as high as an april rain-bow, and causing him to be called to order by the court usher. [illustration] "and now," said titania, waving her wand and calling the flowers and birds to her court, "let the jackdaw sing his well-known war song." [illustration] "if you please, your majesty, i have left the music at home and forgotten the words," pleaded the jackdaw. "very well, then sing it without either or you shall not have a new coat until the spring." so the jackdaw stepped forth and sang as below, while the rook irreverently cleared his throat above for his friend, and cried "caw! caw!" the jackdaw's jest. if peaches grew on apple trees, and frogs were made of glass; and bulls and cows were turned to bees, and rooks were made of grass; if boys and girls were made of figs, if figs were made of dates, upon the sands they'd dance like grigs with bald and oval pates. if mortals had got proper sense and were not quite so mad; their mood would make them more intense, to make each other glad: if only they would understand the things that no one knows, they'd live like fairies in the land, and never come to blows. "that's a very nice war song--it's so peaceful and soothing," spake the queen. "and now call the poets from freeland. this is the time for them to renew their licences, though i greatly fear that they have been taking so many liberties of late that any licence i can give them will prove superfluous." "superfluous! superfluous! that _is_ a good word," muttered the zankiwank. "i wonder what it means?" whereupon he went and asked robin goodfellow and all the other fairies, but as nobody knew, it did not matter, and the poets arriving at that moment he thought of a number and sat on a toadstool. maude recognised several of the poets who came to have their licences renewed--she had heard of "poetic licence" before, but never dreamed that one had to get the unwritten freedom from fairyland. but so it was. several of the poets seemed to be exorbitant in their demands, and wanted to make their poems all licence, but this titania would not consent to, so they went away singing, all in tune too, a little piece that robin goodfellow said was a rondel:- life is but a mingled song, sung in divers keys; sweet and tender, brave and strong, as the heart agrees. naught but love each maid will please when emotions throng; life is but a mingled song, sung in divers keys. youth and age nor deem it wrong, sing with joyous ease, that your days you may prolong freed from care's decrees. life is but a mingled song sung in divers keys. so on their way they went rejoicing--saying pretty things to the fairies, the flowers and the birds, for they are their best friends you know, and they love all nature with a vast and all-embracing, all-enduring love. one singer as he went along chanted half-sadly:- to tell of other's joys the poet sings; to tell of love, its sweets and eke its pain; the tenderest songs his magic fancy strings, of love, perchance, that he may never gain. hearts may not break and passion may be weak, but o the grief of love that dare never speak! a light-hearted bard then took up the cue and carolled these lines:- there's so much prose in life that now and then, a tender song of pity stirs the heart, a simple lay of love from fevered pen, makes in some soul the unshed tear-drops start. sing, poets! sing for aye your sweetest strain, for life without its poetry were vain! then they all sang together a song of may, although queen titania had declared that it was midsummer. perhaps her midsummer lasts all the year round:- when winter's gone to rest, and spring is our dear guest; the merry may, at break of day, comes in gay garlands drest. the brightest smiles she brings- of sweetest hopes she sings and trips a-pace with dainty grace and lightest fairy wings. joy is the song all nature sighs, love is the light in maidens' eyes, may is love alway: the budding branch and nodding tree join in the revels and bow with glee to greet the virgin may. while songsters choose and mate, and woo their brides in state, the youth and maid stroll through the glade the birds to emulate! then comes the queen of may, to hold her court and sway, while gallant blades salute the maids, and whisper secrets gay. love is the song all nature sighs, while peace gleams in each maiden's eyes, youth is for joy alway! the laughing rose and lily fair their fragrance shed upon the air, as though 'twere ever may. as the poets went on their happy way, the last one to depart turned to where maude was standing, and though he could not possibly see her, said gently:- o grant you, little maiden, your thoughts be aye sincere, your dreams turn into actions, your pleasures know no sear: your life be flowers and sunshine, your days be free from tear. how happy it made her! and what beautiful things these poets always thought of and said! "now, peaseblossom and mustard seed, you may sing that little song that i made for you when we were floating up near the moon, and then we shall soon have to depart as we have so many calls to make this midsummer night." [illustration] neither willie nor maude could understand how it could be midsummer night, because midsummer day was such a long way off--quite six weeks, for this was only yet the month of may. but they did not say anything, because robin goodfellow was looking at them, and they knew they were invisible, because they could not even feel themselves--which is a curious sensation, when you come to think of it. now, this is the song that peaseblossom and mustard seed sang together in unison--the fairies, led by robin good fellow, joining in the chorus:-will you walk into the garden. will you walk into the garden? said the poppy to the rose, your tender heart don't harden,- do not elevate your nose. for the gilly-flower has sent us all because of your perfume, and the box a case has lent us, to make a little room. so rosey! rosey! sweet little posy come to our garden fête, and our little cock-roaches will lend you their coaches, so that you mayn't be late. all the waterblinks are waiting, just beneath the dogwood's shade; while the teazle's loudly prating to the madder's little maid! the old cranberry grows tartish all about a goosefoot corn, but the primrose, dressed quite smartish, will explain it's but a thorn. so rosey! rosey! sweet little posy come to our garden fête; our naughty young nettles shall be on their fettles, all stinging things to bate. now for tea there's perrywinkles and some butterwort and sedge, house-leeks and bird's-nest-binkles, with some sundew from the hedge, there is sorrel, balsam, mallow, some milk wort and mare's tail too, with some borage and some sallow, figworts and violets blue. so rosey! rosey! sweet little posy, come to our garden fête, and the iris and crocus shall sing us and joke us some humorous things sedate. "that's all very well," exclaimed the zankiwank. "roses are always delightful, especially the cabbage roses, because you can eat them for breakfast, but every rose has its drawback.... ho! and it's thorn," he added, dancing with pain, for at that moment several rose bushes he was passing by gave him a good pricking. "ah!" said queen titania, "that is not the way to look at the beautiful things of life. it is because the thorns have roses that we should be thankful, and not find fault because the roses have thorns." "that is a sentiment that i can endorse--it is a true bill, and almost as good as one of my own," replied robin goodfellow saucily; "and now let us wander through the florange grove and gather some moranges and lemons." [illustration] neither maude nor willie had heard of floranges or moranges, and wondered what sort of fruit they could be, when their attention was drawn once more to queen titania and her court of fairies, who were all seated beneath the greenwood tree eating puddings and pies that mustard seed and peaseblossom and cobweb were making for them, chanting, as they cooked the pastry by the fire of their own eloquence, this doggerel:- first you take a little orange, and you squeeze out all the pips; then you add a crimson florange, which you cut up into chips. then you stir them in a porringe, with your tiny finger tips; and you have the finest morange ever known to mortal lips. how willie and maude longed to taste a morange! the zankiwank evidently enjoyed the one he had, for he said it tasted just like mango, ice cream, blackberries and plum tart all mixed up together, so that it must have been nice. after the feast titania said she must be going, as she felt certain that there were some invisible mortals present. she could hear them breathing! at this robin goodfellow grew nervous, and the children got frightened lest the queen should discover and punish them for their temerity. "where christmas pudding's bliss 'tis folly to eat pies," cried robin goodfellow to divert attention and the fairies at the same time, but the queen was not satisfied, and ordered a special dress train to carry them away again. [illustration] at this moment the two children tumbled off nothing into a vacant space, making the zankiwank scream out--"it must be the bletherwitch in the clutches of the nargalnannacus." but it wasn't, and if it had not been for robin goodfellow's presence of mind, i am sure i do not know what would have happened. that lively rascal, however, guessing that he had used the wrong seeds, at once stepped forward, and taking maude and willie each by the hand, boldly presented them to her majesty as being favoured mortals who were friends of the zankiwank, and so the queen received them and asked them more questions than you could find in any school book. none of which they answered, because when they turned round the queen and all her court had vanished, and only the zankiwank was to be seen. the zankiwank took no notice of them whatever, and behaved just as though he could not see them. they called him by name without arousing his attention, for he was once more writing a telegram, only he did not know where to send it. in the distance maude could hear the sound of voices, and she declared she could recognise the queen singing, though willie said it must have been her imagination because he could not. however, this is what maude said she heard:- dear little maid, may joy be thine as through your life you go; let truth and peace each act design, that hope turn not to woe. dream if you will in maiden prime, but let each dream be true; for idle hopes waste golden time, that won't return to you. in after years when ways divide, and love dispels each tear, know in some breast there will abide a thought for you sincere. so strive, dear maid, to play your part, with noble aim and deed; let sweetness ever sway your heart, and so i give you speed. [illustration] while maudie was pondering over the meaning of these words, she was suddenly lifted off her feet, and, when she recovered from the shock, found herself with willie in a balloon, while down below the zankiwank was fondly embracing the jackarandajam, who had just arrived with a whole army of odd-looking people, including jack-the-giant-killer, tom thumb, blue beard, and all his wives, with sister anne, dick whittington, and his black cat, and tom tiddler, and about three thousand four hundred and five goblins and sprites, who all commenced running a race up and down the valley from which they were fast speeding. "keep the pot a-boiling; keep the pot a-boiling," bawled the zankiwank, and away they all went again, helter skelter, in and out, and up and down, like skaters on a rink. gradually the balloon altered its course, and instead of going up it went straight ahead to a large inpenetrable wall that seemed to threaten them with destruction; while, to the annoyance of both maude and willie, they could hear the revellers down below dancing and singing as though they were in no jeopardy. and if the words had been correct they would have declared that it was the mariners of england who were singing their own song:- you sleepy little mortals, high up in a balloon, you soon will pass the portals, beyond the crescent moon. then shadowland will come in view, a dream within a dream; so keep in your sleep while we keep up the steam; while the midnight hours are all a-creep, and we are all a-beam. the spirits of the fairies this eve are very bright, for in your nest the mare is who only rides by night. into a magic sphere you go, a dream within a dream. so keep in your sleep, while we keep up the steam, for shadow land is deep and steep, and we are all a-beam. with a bump, and a thump, and a jump, the balloon burst against the wall, and maude and willie felt themselves dropping, dropping, dropping, until the zankiwank bounced up and caught them both in his arms, saying as he rushed forward:-[illustration] "quick, the gates are only open for five seconds once a week, and if we don't get inside at once we shall be jammed in the door-way." so into shadow land they tumbled as the porter mumbled and grumbled and shut the gate with a boom and a bang after them. [illustration] part iii a visit to shadow land _swift as a shadow, short as any dream; bright as the lightning in the collied night, that, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, and ere a man hath power to say "behold!" the jaws of darkness do devour it up: so quick bright things come to confusion._ shakespeare. _there's a crushing and a crashing--there's a flaring and a flashing, there's a rushing and a dashing, as if crowds were hurrying by- there's a screaming and a shouting, as a multitude was routing, and phantom forms were flouting the blackness of the sky, and in mockery their voices are lifted wild and high, as they lilt a merry measure while they fly._ j. l. forrest. a visit to shadow land "this," cheerily explained the zankiwank, "is shadow land, where everything is mist, though nothing is ever found, because nothing is ever lost, for you cannot lose nothing unless you have nothing to gain. consequently i shall leave you to find out everything else," with which nonsensical introduction the zankiwank caught hold of the wings of a house, sprang on to the gables, and flew down the nearest chimney, followed by all the dancers they had seen below, including the jackarandajam and all the residents from story-book land of whom you can think. but if you cannot think of all of them yourself, ask your sisters to think for you. it certainly was a land of shadows, where revolving lights like flashes from a lighthouse sent all sorts of varying rays right through the mists, presenting to them a fresh panorama of views every other minute or so. the shadows danced all through the place, which seemed like a large plateau or table-land, near a magnificent stretch of ocean which they could see before them with ships passing to and fro incessantly. and all the time, goblins, hob, nob and otherwise, red, blue, and green, kept rushing backwards and forwards, sometimes with a whole school of children following madly in their wake. such a dashing and a crashing was never seen or heard before, and as each creature carried his shadow with him, you can just imagine what a lot of lights and shades there must have been. occasionally there would be a slight lull in the excitement, and the racing and the rushing would cease for awhile. each time that there was a pause in the seemingly endless races, a quaint round-faced little person, dressed in short petticoats, sky blue stockings and a crimson peaked hat, stepped from nowhere in particular, and either sang a song herself or introduced a small girl spirit, or boy spirit, who did so for her. [illustration] the first time, she descended on to the plateau on a broom, and introduced herself by throwing a light from the magic lantern which she carried, on to a sheet of water which she unfolded, and thereon appeared this announcement:- i am the great little winny weg. but as neither willie nor maude knew what a winny weg was, they were necessarily compelled to await further developments. however, as none came, they listened carefully to her song, which, as far as i can remember, was like this:-the funny little man. i am going to tell a story of a little girl i knew, she had a little sweetheart no bigger than my shoe; she used to sit and sew all day--he used to run and play, and when she tried to chide him, this is all that he would say: o my! here's such a jolly spree! sally water's coming with jack sheppard into tea, she's bringing baby bunting with old mother hubbard's dog, and little jacky horner with the roly poly frog. o my! it fills my heart with glee! the house that jack is building isn't big enough for me! in time these two got married and they took a little house, and soon a tiny baby came, no bigger than a mouse; but still the little husband played at skipping rope and top with all the little girls and boys, and drank their ginger-pop. o my! this funny little sam thought the world was bread and cheese, and all the trees were jam; he stood his baby on its head, and played at shuttlecock, and then he rocked himself to sleep with cakes of almond-rock. o my! he was a sniggadee! he went to bed at one o'clock and rose at half-past three. now once they gave a party, and sweet cinderella came with blue beard and red riding hood and little what's-his-name; and nelly bly who winked her eye and greedy tommy stout, bo-peep and tam o'shanter, and likewise colin clout. o my! it was a jolly spree! ev'ry one from fairy land and fiddle faddle fee, and mary brought her little lamb, from which they all had chops, while puck and cupid served them with some hot boiled acid drops. o my! it was a happy spread, they all sat down on toadstools and in mushrooms went to bed. as time went on, and he grew grey, he took to flying kites, and then he took to staying out so very late o' nights! one day he thought he was a bird and flew up in the air, and if you listen you will hear singing now up there:- o my! i'm such a funny coon, i'm going to get some green cheese away up in the moon; i'm going to see the evening star, to ask him why he blinks, also the sun to ascertain about the things she thinks. o my! i feel so gay and free, i'm going to call on father time and then return to tea. [illustration] the two children were so absorbed in listening to this rhyming rigmarole that they did not observe the winny weg depart, though, when they came to think of it, the last verse was sung in the clouds, and presumably by the funny little man himself, and they quite longed for him to pay them a call. but he didn't, so the goblins started off once more on their wild career, this time on horseback, making such a hammering and a clattering as almost to deafen them. [illustration] quickly in the rear of the white horses and the spirits, who all wore little round caps with tassels at the top, came a procession of dolls--wax dolls, wooden dolls, and saw-dust dolls, very finely dressed, with here and there a doll who had lost a leg, or an arm, or a head, while some were quite cripples, and had to be carried by a train of tiny girls in very short frocks and very long sashes. at the head of these appeared the winny weg again, and just as they were vanishing in the shadows, a regular shower of broken dolls came down in dreadful disorder, causing the children to break from their ranks to gather up their property, as the dolls, it was evident, were their own old companions which they had discarded when new ones were given to them. one particularly disreputable doll, with a broken nose and a very battered body, was claimed by the prettiest child of all, and as she picked it up, she stepped into the centre of a ring formed by her school-fellows, and recited to them this pathetic poem:-the unfortunate doll. o poor dolly! o pitty sing! an' did um have a fall? some more tourt plaster i must bling or else oo'll squeam and squall! i never knew a doll like oo- oo must have been made yong; i don't fink oo were born twite new- oo never have been stwong! i held oo to the fire one day to make oose body warm; and melted oose poor nose away- and then oo lost oose form. yen some yude boy, to my surplise, said oo had dot a stwint; and yen he painted both oose eyes and wapped oo up in lint. your yosey cheeks were nets to fade, oose blush bedan to do; and now i'm welly much aflaid oose lost oose big yight toe. oose left leg is no longer left, oose yight arm's left oo too; and of your charm oo is beyeft, and no doll tums to woo! and oose a hollow little fing, oose saw-dust has yun out; your stweak is gone, oo cannot sing, oose lips tan't form a pout. oose hair is dyed, an' all is done, oose ears are in oose neck; an' so my dolly, darling one, oo _is_ a fearful weck. it is too bad--i loved oo so- that oo should die so soon, an' to the told, told drave must do this velly afternoon! [illustration] after this affecting recital they all took out their "hankelwiches," as the owner of the unfortunate doll said, and placing themselves in line, they followed, as mourners, the remains of the deceased doll to the end of a back garden, which some of the goblins had brought in with them. then everything faded away again, and more shadows danced on the land and the sea, until nothing was to be seen but the galloping sprites and the winny weg, who was dancing in a corner all by herself. [illustration] [illustration] a pink light now burst through the haze, the goblins rode off, and a perfect fairy-land nursery was unfolded before maude and willie, who were reclining peacefully on a golden couch with silver cushions. they had no desire to talk, but were content to drink in all that they saw rapturously and silently. the nursery was crowded, wee baby-kins were crawling about everywhere, with a dozen coy cupid-like dots with bows and arrows. and right away at the back a beautiful garden was disclosed, in which happy young couples were seen perambulating arm-in-arm, talking soft nothings to each other. meanwhile the crawling babies in the universal nursery began to stand up; and then commenced such a game of leap-frog by these tiny mites, that made even the cheshire cat smile. it was so funny to hear these dots call out to each other to tuck in their "tuppennies," and to see them flying, without stopping to take breath, over each other's backs. even the little pink and blue cupids laughed until the babies crept back to their cribs once more, and were rocked off to sleep as the winny weg waved her wand, and an unseen choir of little girls and boys was heard singing this lullaby:-o we are so sleepy! o we are so sleepy! blinky, winky eyes: why are you so peepy ere the twilight dies? see! the dustman calleth as the shadows creep; eve's dark mantle falleth, and we long to sleep. to sleep! to sleep! o we are so sleepy! blinky, winky eyes: why are you so peepy ere the twilight dies? o we are so sleepy: nodding is each head, playing at bo-peepy, now the day is sped. birdies in their nesties rest in slumber deep; nodland's full of guesties when we go to sleep. to sleep! to sleep! o we are so sleepy! blinky, winky eyes: why are you so peepy when the twilight dies? the slight mist that had descended went up just like a gauze curtain, bringing into view again the lovely garden reposing in the rear in a beautiful green bath of light. then the merry winny weg caught hold of the cupids and incited them to dance a slow gavotte, and as they danced they warbled lusciously:-cupid's garden. o chaste and sweet are the flowers that blow in cupid's garden fair; shy pansies for thoughts in clusters grow, and lilies pure and rare. violets white, and violets blue, and budding roses red, with orange-bloom of tend'rest hue their fragrance gently spread. other voices, which seemed to belong to the lads and lasses in the garden, joined in the chorus:- love is born of the lily and rose, love in a garden springs; with maidens pure and bright it grows, and in all hearts it sings. love lies bleeding with maiden's blush, sighing forget-me-not; while the gentle heart with crimson flush peeps from its cooling grot. and love lies dreaming in idleness to gain its own heart's-ease; the zephyrs breathe with shy caress, each youthful breast to please. love is born of the lily and rose, love in a garden springs; with maidens pure and bright it grows, and for all hearts it sings. how delicious and soothing shadow land was! shadow land! the land of yesterday, to-day and to-morrow. the land of hope, and joy and peace. the two children wandered off, as it were, into a dream for a time, and when they gazed again, the garden was more delightful than ever--a joyous blend of spring and summer seemed to invade the grounds, while many of the flowers and trees showed slight signs of autumn tinting. in one corner of the garden a magnificent marble and bronze fountain unexpectedly sprang up through the ground and played unceasingly to the ethereal skies. merry children danced and played around its base, and lovers young and old promenaded affectionately up and down the innumerable groves, stopping now and then to offer each other a draught of the sparkling water that fell so deliciously into the amber cups. there were no shadows now. all was bright and glorious; sunlight and pleasure reigned supreme. from the clouds unseen singers sang softly to the people as they passed and repassed, and this was the story of their song:- in a garden stood a fountain, sparkling in the noon-day sun, rising like a crystal mountain- never ceasing--never done! happy children came there playing, laughing in their frolic glee; 'mong the flow'rs and brambles straying, tasting life's sweet ecstasy. o fountain pure and bright, dance in the joyous sun; and sparkle in your might, until all life is done. in the summer came the lovers, plighting troth beneath its shade; warm heart's secret each discovers- happy youth and happy maid! plays the fount so soft and featly in the breeze of waning day, as the lovers whisper sweetly, "i will love you, love alway." o fountain pure and bright, dance in the joyous sun; and sparkle in your might until all life is done. in the winter, cold and dreary, cease the waters in their play; but the lovers, grey and weary, seek the tryst of yesterday! time and tide flow on for ever, heedless of man's joy or pain; but beyond the tideless river trusting hearts will meet again. o fountain pure and bright, dance in the joyous sun; and sparkle in your might, until all life is done. the voices faded and died away; the scene changed and a purple curtain descended, hiding everything and everybody except the winny weg. an extraordinary commotion outside warned the half-dozing children that a fresh flight of goblins might be expected. and sure enough in stalked an army of giants from one side, who were met by an army of dwarfs from the other, the latter on stilts. but the curious thing about them was that the giants had only got one eye, which was stuck on the ends of their noses, while the dwarfs had their eyes where their ears ought to be, and their ears in the place usually reserved for the eyes. besides which they each had a large horn fixed in the middle of their foreheads. both armies expressed surprise at seeing each other, the leaders of which said quite calmly, as though they were asking one another to have a penny bun cut up in four between them--both said quite calmly-"i suppose we must fight now we have met?" upon hearing this the winny weg mounted her broom-stick and flew up out of harm's way. and then commenced the most terrible battle ever seen on land or sea. they fought with penknives and darning-needles, the battle lasted half an hour, and only one stilt was injured. so they began again, using coal scuttles and tongs, and the din was so fearful, and the giants and the dwarfs got so mixed up that a railway train filled with shadows of the past rushed on and sent both armies flying. then the shadows deepened and deepened, and the lightning flashed, the thunders crashed, the sea roared, and a great red cavern opened and swallowed up everything, including maude and willie, who certainly were not quite awake to what was going forward, and all they could recollect of the occurrence was that they saw the winkles and the shrimps on the sea-shore playing at bowls with the cockles. [illustration] part iv the land of topsy turvey _in the noon of night, o'er the stormy hills the fairy minstrels play; and the strains replete with fantastic dreams, on the wild gusts flit away. then the sleeper thinks, as the dreamful song on the blast to his slumber comes, that his nose as the church's spire is long, and like its organ hums!_ r. d. williams. _wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, are played by one, the merry little sprite? i wing through air from the camp to the court, from king to clown, and of all make sport, singing i am the sprite of the merry midnight who laughs at weak mortals and loves the moonlight._ thomas moore. the land of topsy turvey if maude and willie had been in a state of somnolency during their sojourn in shadow land, they felt themselves very much awake on reaching the land of topsy turvey. they knew they were in topsy turvey land because they were greeted with a jingling chorus to that effect immediately they opened their eyes:- o this is topsy turvey land, where ev'ry one is gay and bland, and day is always night. we welcome to all strangers give, for by their custom we must live, because we're so polite. o this is topsy turvey land, and all our goods are in demand, by mortal, fay and sprite. our novelties are warranted, and through the land their fame is spread, because we're so polite. [illustration] surely they had been whisked back to charing cross again without knowing it? the long wide thoroughfare in which the children now found themselves was just like one of the main shopping streets in london. some parts reminded them of regent street, some of the strand, and some of oxford street. yes, and there was the lowther arcade, only somehow a little different. it was odd. toy shops, novelty stores, picture shops, and shops of all sorts and sizes greeted them on either hand. moreover, there were the shopkeepers and their assistants, and crowds of people hurrying by, jostling the loungers and the gazers; and the one policeman, who was talking to a fat person in a print gown who was standing at the area steps of the only private house they could see. they were wondering what they should do when the policeman cried out:-"come along there! now then, move on!" how rude of him. however, they "moved on," and were nearly knocked down by the zankiwank, who darted into the post-office to receive a telegram and to send one in reply. they followed him, of course; they knew the telegram was from the bletherwitch, and the zankiwank read it out to them:- "fashions in bonnets changed. have ordered six mops. don't forget the cauliflower. postpone the wedding at once. no cards." "now what does that mean," murmured the expectant bridegroom. "my bletherwitch cannot be well. i'll send her some cough lozenges." so he wrote a reply and despatched it:- "take some cough drops every five minutes. have ordered cucumber for supper. pay the cabman and come by electricity." "that certainly should induce her to come, don't you think so? she is so very sensitive. well, i must not be impatient, she is exceedingly charming when you catch her in the right mood." [illustration] maude scarcely believed that the bletherwitch could possess so many charms, or she would not keep her future husband waiting so long for her. but she knew it was useless offering any advice on so delicate a subject, so she and willie begged the zankiwank to be their guide and to show them the lions of topsy turvey, which he readily agreed to do. and now, as they left the post-office, they turned their attention to the shops and were surprised to read the names over the windows of several individuals they had already met in the train. for instance, the wimble lived next door to the wamble, and each one had printed in the window a very curious legend. this is what the wamble had:- good resolutions bought, sold and exchanged. a few bad, and some slightly damaged, to be disposed of--a bargain. _no connection with the business next door._ while the wimble stated the nature of his wares as follows:- bad resolutions bought, sold and exchanged. a few good, and some slightly indifferent, to be disposed of--a bargain. _no connection with the business next door._ "no connection with the business next door," repeated willie. "why, you told us that they were brothers--twins," indignantly cried maude. "so they are! so they are! don't you see they are twins from a family point of view only. in business, of course, they are desperately opposed to each other. that is why they are so prosperous," explained the zankiwank. "are they prosperous? i never heard of such a thing as buying and selling resolutions. how can one buy a good resolution?" enquired maude. "or exchange bad resolutions," said willie. "it is quite wicked." "not at all. not at all. so many people make good resolutions and never carry them out, therefore if there were no place where you could dispose of them they would be wasted." "but bad resolutions? nobody makes bad resolutions--at least they ought not to, and i don't believe it is true!" "pardon me," interrupted the zankiwank. "if you make a good resolution and don't carry it out--doesn't it become a bad resolution? answer me that." this, however, was an aspect of the question that had never occurred to them, and they were unable to reply. "it seems to me to be nonsense--and worse than nonsense--for one brother to deal in bad resolutions and the other in good resolutions. why do not they become a firm and mix the two together?" responded maude. "you horrify me! mix the good and the bad together? that would never do. the best resolutions in the world would be contaminated if they were all warehoused under one roof. besides, the wimble is himself full of good resolutions, so that he can mingle with the bad without suffering any evil, while the wamble is differently constituted!" the children did not understand the zankiwank's argument a bit--it all seemed so ridiculous. a sudden thought occurred to willie. "who, then, collects the resolutions?" "oh, a person of no resolution whatever. he commenced life with only one resolution, and he lost it, or it got mislaid, or he never made use of it, or something equally unfortunate, and so he was christened want of resolution, and he does the collecting work very well, considering all things." no doubt the zankiwank knew what he was talking about, but as the children did not--what did it signify? therefore they asked no more questions, but went along the street marvelling at all they saw. the next shop at which they stopped was kept by jorumgander the younger, dealer in magic and mystery. "jorumgander the younger is not of much use now," said the zankiwank sorrowfully. "he chiefly aims at making a mystery of everything, but so many people not engaged in trade make a mystery of nothing every day, that he is sadly handicapped. and most sensible people hate a mystery of any kind, unless it belongs to themselves, so that he finds customers very shy. once upon a time he would get hold of a simple story and turn it into such a gigantic mystery that all the world would be mystified. but those happy days are gone, and he thinks of turning his business into a company to sell original ideas, when he knows where to find them." "i don't see what good can come of making a mystery of anything--especially if anything is true," sagaciously remarked maude. "but _anything_ is not true. nor is _anything_ untrue. there is the difficulty. if anything were true, nothing would be untrue, and then where should we be?" "nowhere," said willie without thinking. "exactly. that is just where we are now, and a very nice place it is. there is one thing, however, that jorumgander the younger--there he is with the pink eye-brows and green nose. don't say anything about his personal appearance. what i was going to say he will say instead. it is a habit we have occasionally. he is my grandfather, you know." "your grandfather! what! that young man? why, he is not more than twenty-two and three quarters, i'm sure," replied maude. "you are right. he _is_ twenty-two and three quarters. you don't quite understand our relationships. the boy, as you have no doubt heard, is father to the man. very well. i am the man. when he was a boy on my aunt's side he was father to me. that's plain enough. he has grown older since then, though he is little more than a boy in discretion still, therefore he is my grandfather." "how very absurdly you do talk, mr zankiwank," laughed willie; "but here is your grandfather," and at that moment jorumgander the younger left his shop and approached them with a case of pens which he offered for sale. "try my magic pens. they are the best in the market, because there are no others. there is no demand for them, and few folk will have them for a gift. therefore i can highly recommend them." [illustration] "how can you recommend your pens, when you declare that nobody will buy them?" demanded willie. "because they are a novelty. they are magic pens, you know, and of course as nobody possesses any, they must be rare. that is logic, i think." "buy one," said the zankiwank, "he has not had any supper yet." "in what way are they magic pens?" enquired maude. "ah! i thought i should find a customer between michaelmas and may day," cried jorumgander the younger, quite cheerfully. "the beauty of these pens is that they never tell a story." "but suppose you want to write a story?" "that is a different thing. if you have the ability to write a story you won't want a magic pen. these pens are only for every-day use. for example: if you want to write to your charwoman to tell her you have got the toothache, and you haven't got the toothache, the magic pen refuses to lend itself to telling a--a----" "crammer," suggested willie. "crammer. thank you. i don't know what it means, but crammer is the correct word. the magic pen will simplify the truth whether you wish to tell it or not." "i do not understand," whispered maude. "let me try to explain," said jorumgander the younger politely. "the magic pen will only write exactly what you think--what is in your mind, what you ought to say, whether you wish to or not." "a very useful article, i am sure," said the zankiwank. "i gave six dozen away last christmas, but nobody used them after a few days, and i can't think why." "ah!" sighed jorumgander the younger, "and i have had all my stock returned on my hands. the first day i opened my shop i sold more than i can remember. and the next morning all the purchasers came and wanted their money back. they said if they wanted to tell the truth, they knew how to do it, and did not want to be taught by an evil-disposed nib. but i am afraid they were not speaking the truth then, at any rate. here, let me make you a present of one a-piece, and you can write and tell me all about yourselves when you go home. meanwhile, as the streets are crowded, and our policeman is not looking, let us sing a quiet song to celebrate the event." we sing of the magic pen that never tells a story, that in the hands of men would lead them on to glory. for what you ought to do, and you should all be saying, in fact of all things true this pen will be bewraying. so let us sing a roundelay- pop goes the weazel; treacle's four pence a pound to-day, which we think should please all. what the chorus had to do with the song nobody knew, but they all sang it--everybody in the street, and all the customers in the shops as well, and even the policeman sang the last line. you take it in your hand and set yourself a-writing; no matter what you've planned, the truth 'twill be inditing. and thus you cannot fail, to speak your mind correctly, and honestly you'll sail, but never indirectly. so let us sing a roundelay- pop goes the weazel; treacle's four pence a pound to-day, which we think will please all! again everybody danced and sang till the policeman told them to "move on," when jorumgander the younger put up his shutters and went away. * * * * * "a most original man," exclaimed the zankiwank; "he ought to have been a postman!" "a postman!--why?" "because he was always such a capital boy with his letters. he knew his alphabet long before he could spell, and now he knows every letter you can think of." "i don't see anything very original in that," said willie. "there are only twenty-six letters in the english language that he can know!" "only twenty-six letters! dear me, why millions of people are writing fresh letters every day, and he knows them all directly he sees them! i hope you will go to school some day and learn differently from that! only twenty-six letters," repeated the zankiwank in wonderment, "only twenty-six letters." then he cried suddenly, "how convenient it would be if everybody was his own dictionary!" [illustration] "that is impossible. one cannot be a book." "oh yes, nothing simpler. let everybody choose his own words and give his own meaning to them!" "what use would that be?" asked willie. "none whatever, because if you always had your own meaning you would not want anybody else to be meaning anything! what a lot of trouble that would save! i'll ask the jackarandajam to make one for me--why, here he is!" the children recognised the jackarandajam immediately and shook hands with him. "i am so glad to see you all. i have just been suffering from a most severe attack of inspiration." "how very inexplicable--i beg your pardon," moaned the zankiwank. "it is a little difficult, but it is, i believe, a strictly proper word--though i do not pretend to know its meaning." the jackarandajam accepted the apology by gracefully bowing, though neither felt quite at ease. "what is the use of saying things you don't mean?" asked maude. "none at all, that is the best of it, because we are always doing something without any reason." to attempt to argue with the zankiwank maude knew was futile, so she merely enquired how the jackarandajam felt after his attack of inspiration, and what he took for it. "nothing," was the simple rejoinder. "it comes and it goes, and there you are--at least most of the time." "what is inspiration?" said willie. the zankiwank and the jackarandajam both shook their heads in a solemn manner, and looked as wise as the sphinx. then the former answered slowly and deliberately-"inspiration is the sort of thing that comes when you do not fish for it." "but," said willie, who did not quite see the force of the explanation, "you can't fish for a great many things and of course nothing comes. how do you manage then?" this was a decided poser, beating them at their own game, so the zankiwank sent another telegram, presumably to the bletherwitch, and the jackarandajam made a fresh cigarette, which he carefully refrained from smoking. then he turned to the two children and said mournfully-"have you seen my new invention? ah! it was the result of my recent attack of inspiration. come with me and i will show you." thereupon he led the way to a large square, with a nice garden in the centre, where all the houses had bills outside to inform the passers by that these desirable revolving residences were to be let or sold. "all my property. i had the houses built myself from my own plans. come inside the first." so they followed the jackarandajam and entered the first house. "the great advantage of these houses," he declared, "is that you can turn them round to meet the sun at will. they are constructed on a new principle, being fixed on a pivot. you see i turn this handle by the hall door, and hey presto! we are looking into the back garden, while the kitchen is round at the front!" and such was the fact! the house would move any way one wished simply by turning the electric handle. "it is so convenient, you see, if you don't want to be at home to any visitor. when you see anyone coming up the garden path, you move the crank and away you go, and your visitor, to his well-bred consternation, finds himself gazing in at the kitchen window. and then he naturally departs with many misgivings as to the state of his health. especially if the cook is taken by surprise. you should never take a cook by surprise. it always spoils her photograph." "oh dear! oh dear!" cried maude, "why will you say such contradictory things! i don't see the sense of having such a house at all. it would upset things so." "besides," chimed in willie, "you would never have any aspect or prospect." "are they both good to eat?" said the jackarandajam, eagerly. "of course not. i meant that your house would first be facing the east, and then south, and then west, and then north, and what would be the use of that?" "no use whatever. that's why we do it. oh, but do not laugh. we are not quite devoid of reason, because we are all mad!" "are you really mad?" "yes," was the gay response, "we don't mind it a bit. we are all as crooked as a teetotaler's corkscrew! i am glad you do not like the revolving houses, because i am going to sell them to the clerk of the weather and his eight new assistants!" "i did not know the clerk of the weather required any assistance," exclaimed willie, though personally he did not know the clerk of the weather. "oh yes, he must have assistants. he does things so badly, and with eight more he will, if he is careful, do them worse." here was another one of those contradictions that the children could not understand. i hope you can't, because i don't myself, generally. the jackarandajam went on reflectively:-"it is bound to happen. the clerk of the weather has only one assistant now, and it takes the two of them to do a prog--prog--don't interrupt me--a prog--prognostication!--phew, what a beautiful word!--prognostication ten minutes now. therefore it stands to reason, as the sun dial remarked, that nine could do it in much less time!" "you will excuse me," halloed the zankiwank down the next door dining-room chimney, "i beg to differ from you. that is to say on the contrary. for instance:--if it takes two people ten minutes to do a prog--you must fill in the rest yourself--prog--of course, as there are so many more to do the same thing, it must take them forty-five minutes." "what a brain," exclaimed the jackarandajam, ecstatically; "he ought to have been born a calculating machine. he beats euclid and that fellow named smith on all points. i never thought of it in the light of multiplying the addition." [illustration] "more nonsense," observed willie to maude. "what does it all mean?" they looked out of window and saw the zankiwank arguing with the clerk of the weather and the weather cock on top of the vane of a large building outside. every minute they expected to see them tumble down, but they did not, so to cheer them up the jackarandajam stood on his head and sang them this comic song:-the clerk of the weather. the clerk of the weather went out to walk all down victoria street; of late his ways had caused much talk, and chatter indiscreet. so he donned a suit of mingled sleet, with a dash of falling snow, a rainy tie, and a streaky skye which barked where'er he'd go. then, to the surprise of willie and maude, the jackarandajam began to dance wildly, while the weather cock sang as follows:- o cock-a-doodle-doo! the weather will be fine- if it does not sleet or hail or snow, and if it does not big guns blow, and the sun looks out to shine. the jackarandajam stood on his head again and sang the second verse:- wrapt up in his thoughts he went along, his manner sad and crossed; with a windy strain he hummed a song, of thunderbolts and frost. he strode with a barometrical stride, with forecasts on his brow; till he tripped up short upon a slide, which made him vow a vow. the weather cock at once sang the chorus and the jackarandajam danced as before. o cock-a-doodle-doo! the weather will be fine- if there is no fog, or drenching rain, and thunder does not boom again, and the sun looks out to shine. now came the third and last verse:- his prophesies got all mixed and mulled, the moon began to blink; and all his faculties were dulled when he saw the dog star wink! and up on the steeple tall and black the weather cock he crew! he crew and he crowed till he fell in the road, o cock-a-doodle-doo! and sure enough the weather cock did tumble into the road, and the clerk of the weather and the zankiwank tumbled helter skelter after him. immediately they got up again and rushed through the window, and catching hold of the children, they whirled them round and round, singing the final chorus all together:- o cock-a-doodle-doo! the weather will be fine- if lightning does not flash on high, nor gloomy be the azure sky, and the sun peeps out to shine. after which they all disappeared except the zankiwank, and once again they found themselves in the street. "they were both wrong," muttered the zankiwank to himself, "and yet one was right." "how could they both be wrong then? one was right? very well. then only one was wrong," corrected maude. "no, they were both wrong--because i was the right one after all. besides, you can't always prove a negative, can you?" "how tiresome of you! you only mentioned two and now say three. i do not believe you know what you do mean." "not often, sometimes, by accident, you know--only do not tell anybody else." "you are certainly very extraordinary persons--that is all i can say," said willie. "you do not do anything quite rationally or naturally." [illustration] "naturally. why should we? we are the great middle classes--neither alive nor dead. betwixt and between. half and half, you know, for now we are in the spirit world only known to poets and children. but do come along, or the bicycles will start without us, and we have an appointment to keep." now, how could one even try to tell such an eccentric creature as the zankiwank that he was all wrong and talking fables and fibs and tarra-diddles? neither of them attempted to correct these erroneous ideas, but wondering where they were going next, maude and willie mounted the bicycles that came as if by magic, and rode off at a terrific rate, though they had never ridden a machine before. they were almost out of breath when the zankiwank called out "stop," and away went the bicycles, and they found themselves standing in front of an immense edifice with a sign-board swinging from the gambrel roof, on which was painted in large golden letters- time was meant for slaves. there was no opportunity to ascertain what the sign meant, for all at once there darted out of the shop mr swinglebinks with whom they had travelled from charing cross. "don't waste your time like that! make haste, let me have five minutes. i am in a hurry." "have you got five minutes to spare?" asked the zankiwank of maude. "oh yes," she replied. "why?" "let me have them at once then. a gentleman left twenty-five minutes behind him yesterday and i want to make up half-an-hour for a regular customer!" screamed mr swinglebinks to the bewildered children. "but--but--o what do you mean? i have got five minutes to spare and i'll devote them to you if you like, but i _can't_ give them to you as though they were a piece of toffee," answered maude with much perplexity, while willie stood awe-struck, not comprehending mr swinglebinks in the least. "time is a tough customer, you know. he is here, he is there, he is gone! he is, he was, he will be. yet you cannot trap time, for he is like a sunbeam," muttered the zankiwank as though he never was short of time. "there, that five minutes is gone--wasted, passed into the vast vacuum of eternity! with my friend shakespeare of stratford-on-avon i can tell you all about time! 'time travels in divers paces with divers persons. i'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal!' oh, i know father time and all his tricks. i have counted the sands of time. i supply him with his hour glass. don't you apprehend me?" they certainly did not. mr swinglebinks was more mystifying than all the other persons they had encountered put together. so they made no reply. "i am collecting time. time, so my copy books told me, was meant for slaves. i always felt sorry for the slaves. they have no time, you know, because it is meant for them. lots of things are meant for you, only you won't get them. britons never will be slaves, so they'll never want for time. however, as time was meant for slaves, i mean to let them have as much as i can. so every spare minute or two i can get, i of course send them over to them." "it is ridiculous. you cannot measure time and cut off a bit like that," ventured willie. "oh yes, you can. a client of mine was laid up the other day--in fact he was in bed for a fortnight, so, as he had no use for the time he had on hand before him, he just went to sleep and sent ten days round to me!" "oh, mr zankiwank, what is this gentleman saying?" said maude. "it's all perfectly true," answered the zankiwank. "you often hear of somebody who has half an hour to spare, don't you?" "of course." "very good. sometimes you will hear, too, of somebody who has lost ten minutes." "i see," said willie. "and somebody else will tell you they do not know what to do with their time?" "go on," cried both children, more puzzled than ever. "well, instead of letting all the time be wasted, mr swinglebinks has opened his exchange to receive all the spare time he can, and this he distributes amongst those who want an hour or a day or a week. but they have to pay for it----" "pay for it?" "time is money," called out mr swinglebinks. "there you are. if time is money you can exchange time for money and money for time. is not that feasible?" did anybody ever hear of such queer notions? maude and willie were quite tired through trying to think the matter out. time was meant for slaves.--time is money.--time and tide wait for no man.--take time when time is.--take time by the forelock.--procrastination is the thief of time.--killing time is no murder.--saving time is no crime. as quick as thought mr swinglebinks exhibited these statements on his swinging sign, one after the other, and then he came to them once again. "are you convinced now? let me have a quarter of an hour to send to the poor slaves. time was meant for them, you know, and you are using their property without acknowledgment!" the zankiwank looked on as wise as an owl, but said nothing. "dear me, how you are wasting your time sitting there doing nothing!" said mr swinglebinks distractedly. "time is money--time is money. give me some of the time you are losing." [illustration] "let us go, willie," said maude. "do not waste any more time. we have no time to lose, let alone time to spare! shall we kill time?" she had barely finished speaking when mr swinglebinks and his time exchange disappeared, and they were alone with the zankiwank. but not for long, for almost immediately a troop of school children came bounding home from school, but children with the oddest heads and faces ever seen. they were all carrying miniature bellows in their hands, which they were working up and down with great energy. [illustration] "oh, mr zankiwank, what is the matter with those children in short frocks and knickerbockers? look at their heads!" the zankiwank gazed, but expressed no surprise, and yet the children, if they were children, certainly looked very queer, for the boys had got aged, care-worn faces with moustaches and whiskers, while the little girls, in frocks just reaching to their knees, had women's faces, with their hair done up in plaits and chignons and grecian knot fashion, with elderly bonnets perched on the top. "that," said the zankiwank, "is the force of habit." "what habit, please? it does not suit them," said maude. "you are mistaken. good habits become second nature." "and what do bad habits become?" queried willie. "bad habits," answered the zankiwank severely, "become no one." "and these must be bad habits," exclaimed willie, pointing to the children, "for they do not become them." "i thought their clothes fitted them very well." "we don't mean their clothes," cried maude. "we mean their general appearance." "ah! you are referring to the unnatural history aspect of the case. you mean their heads, of course. they do _not_ fit properly. i have noticed it myself. it comes of expecting too much, and overdoing it; it is all the result of what so many people are fond of doing--putting old heads on young shoulders." so the mystery was out. the old heads were unmistakably on young shoulders. and how very absurd the children looked! not a bit like happy girls and boys, as they would have been had they possessed their own heads instead of over-grown and over-developed minds and brains. old heads never do look well on young shoulders, and it is very foolish of people to think they do. it makes them children of a larger growth before their time, and is just as bad as having young heads on old shoulders. the moral of which is, that you should never be older than you are nor younger than you are not. "but what are they doing with those bellows?" enquired willie and maude together. "raising the wind," promptly responded the zankiwank, "or trying to. when folk grow old before their time you will generally find that it is owing to the bother they had in raising the wind to keep the pot boiling." "but you don't keep the pot boiling with wind," they protested. "oh yes you do, in topsy-turvey land, though personally i believe it to be most unright!" "un--what?" exclaimed maude. "unright. when a thing is wrong it must be unright. just the same as when a thing is right it is unwrong." while the zankiwank was giving this very lucid explanation the "old heads on young shoulders" children went sedately and mournfully away, just as a complete train of newspaper carts dashed up to a large establishment with these words printed outside- atnagagdlintit ralinginginarmik lusaruminassumik. "good gracious, what awful looking words! it surely must be welsh?" the two children put the question to the zankiwank. "no, that is not welsh. that is the way the esquimaux of greenland speak. it is the name of their paper, and means something to read, interesting news of all sorts. but in this newspaper they never print any news of any sort. they supply the paper to the topsy-turveyites every morning quite blank, so that you can provide yourself with your own news. being perfectly blank, the editors succeed in pleasing all their subscribers." [illustration] "well, i do not see any advantage in that." "there you go again!" cried the zankiwank. "you always want something with an advantage. what's the use of an advantage, i should like to know? you can only lose it. you cannot give it away. do try to be original. but listen, nobody's coming." they both looked round wondering what the zankiwank meant by his strange perversities, but could not see anyone. "we can see nobody," they said. "of course. here he is!" well! was it a shadow? something was there without a doubt, and certainly without a body. it was a sort of skeleton, or a ghost, or perhaps a mahatma! but it was not a mahatma--it was in fact nobody, of whom you have of course heard. "at last, at last!" screamed the delighted zankiwank, "with your eyes wide open and your faculties unimpaired you see nobody! and what a memory nobody has!" "how can nobody have a memory? besides, we can see nobody!" said maude, more perplexed than she had ever been. "exactly, nobody has a charming memory. memory, as you know, is the sense you forget with it!" "memory," corrected willie, "is the sense, if it is a sense, or impression you remember with." "oh, what dreadful grammar! remember with! how can you finish a sentence with a preposition? what do you remember with it?" demanded the zankiwank reprovingly. "anything--everything you want to," replied willie. "another preposition! ah, if we could only remember as easily as we forget!" "you are wandering from the subject," suggested maude. "the subject is nobody, and you have told us nothing about it." "h'm," said the zankiwank. "you have confessed that you can see nobody, therefore i will request him to sing you a topical song. now keep your attention earnestly directed towards nobody and listen." knowing from past experience that the zankiwank would have his own way, maude and willie, having no one else to think about, thought of nobody, and to their amazement they heard these words sung as from a long way off, in a very hollow tone of voice:-nobody's nothing to nobody. o nobody's nothing to nobody, and yet he is something too; though no-body's no-body it yet is so odd he always finds nothing to do! when nobody does nothing wrong, they say it is the cat; though nobody be long and strong and very likely fat. his name is heard from morn till night, he's known in ev'ry place; he does the deeds that are unright, though no one sees his face. nobody broke the dresden vase, nobody ate the cream; nobody smashed that pipe of pa's,- it happened in a dream. nobody lost sophia's doll, nobody fired jim's gun; nobody nearly choked poor poll- nobody saw it done! nobody cracks the china cups, nobody steals the spoons; nobody in the kitchen sups, or talks of honeymoons! nobody courts the parlour-maid, she told us so herself! that nobody, i'm much afraid, is quite a tricky elf. for nobody is any one, that must be very clear; yet nobody's a constant dun, though no one saw him here. as nobody is ever seen in anybody's shape, nobody must be epicene and very like an ape! for nobody's nothing to nobody, and yet he is something too; though no-body's no-body it yet is so odd he always finds nothing to do! just as the song was finished, the zankiwank cried out in alarm-"there's somebody coming." and nobody disappeared at once, for the children saw nobody go! "and now," said the zankiwank, "we may expect the griffin from temple bar and the phoenix from arabia." a dark shadow enveloped the square in which they were standing; then there was a weird perfume of damp fireworks and saltpetre, and before any one could say guy fawkes, the phoenix rose from his own funeral pyre of faded frankincense, mildewed myrrh, and similar luxuries, and flapped his wings vigorously, just as the griffin jumped off his pedestal, which he had brought with him, and piped out-"here we are again!" "once in a thousand years," responded the phoenix somewhat hoarsely, for he had nearly swallowed some of his own ashes. the griffin, as everybody knows, is shaped like an eagle from its legs to the shoulder and the head, while the rest of his body is like that of a lion. the phoenix is also very much like an intelligent eagle, with gold and crimson plumage and an exceptionally waggish tail. it has the advantage of fifty orifices in his bill, through which he occasionally sings melodious songs to oblige the company. as he never appears to anyone more than once in five hundred years, sometimes, when he has the toothache for instance, only once in a thousand years--which is why he is called a rara avis--if you ever meet him at any time take particular notice of him. and if you can draw, if it is only the long bow, make a sketch of him. he lives chiefly on poets--which is why so many refer to him. he has been a good friend to the poets of all ages, as your cousin william will explain. if you have not got a cousin william, ask some one who has. [illustration] not having the gift of speech, neither of them spoke, but they could sing, and this is what they intended to say, duet-wise:- i am a sacred bird, you know, and i am a griffin bold; in arabia the blest we feather our own nest, to keep us from the cold. and we're so very fabulous- oh, that's the griffin straight! we rise up from the flames, to play old classic games, like a phoenix up-to-date! then they spread out their wings and executed the most diverting feather dance ever seen out of a pantomime. i am a watchful bird, you know, and i am a phoenix smart; from shakespeare unto jones- the welsh one--who intones, we have played a striking part. for we're so very mystical, both off-springs of the brain; the mongoose is our _pere_, and the nightmare is our _mere_, and we thrive on fiction plain! they repeated their dance and then knocked at the door of the nearest house and begged pantomimically for money, but as it was washing day they were refused. so they went into the cook shop and had some irish stew, which did not agree with them. consequently they sprang into the hash that was simmering on the fire, and were seen no more. whereupon the zankiwank looked gooseberrily out of his eyes and murmured as if nothing out of the way or in the way had happened, or the phoenix or the griffin had existed--"the bletherwitch will send me a telegram to say that she will be ready for the ceremony in half-an-hour." "but where is the bletherwitch, and how do you know?" asked maude, somewhat incredulously. "she is being arrayed for the marriage celebration. at present she is in spain gathering spanish onions." "but spanish onions don't come from spain!" "you are right. it is pickled walnuts she is gathering from the boot tree in the scullery. however, that is of no consequence. let us be joyful as befits the occasion. who has got any crackers?" [illustration] before any reply could be given a voice in the air screamed out:--"beware of the nargalnannacus!" at which the zankiwank trembled and the whole place seemed to rock to and fro. "what _is_ the nargalnannacus?" "it's a noun!" "how do you mean?" "a noun is the name of a person, place or thing, i believe?" "it was yesterday." "it is to-day. and that is what the nargalnannacus is. he, she, or it is a person, place or thing, and it travels about, and that is all i know of it. nobody has ever seen a nargalnannacus, and nobody ever will, not a real, proper, authen----" "authenticated," assisted maude. "thank you--authenticated one. directly they do they turn yellow and green, and are seen no more." "what are we to do then?" anxiously enquired willie. "the best that offers. we have been expecting an outbreak for a long time, and here comes the court physician, dr pampleton, to happily confirm my worst suspicions!" the children thought it extremely odd that having one's worst suspicions confirmed should make any person happy. but they were accustomed to the zankiwank's curious modes of speech and lack of logic, so that they wisely held their tongues in silence. the newcomer was of very remarkable appearance. he was tall and slim like the zankiwank, but instead of having the ordinary shaped head and face, he carried on his shoulders a sheep's head, and in his veins (so they heard afterwards) ran sheep's blood. at one period of his existence he had been well-known for his wool-gathering propensities, and he was now strongly recommended as being able to commit more mistakes and blunders in half-an-hour than a school boy could in a whole school term. he had one great virtue, however, and that was that he would always instantly apologise for any error he might make. [illustration] he never travelled without his medicine chest, which he carried by straps over his shoulders, and was prepared to give anybody a dose of physic without the slightest provocation at double charges. "there is danger ahead," he whispered to the zankiwank, "and a lot of visitors are coming to fight to the bitter end." "tell me their names," cried the zankiwank excitedly. whereupon, dr pampleton recited them as follows, the zankiwank groaning as each cognomen was uttered:- "the wollypog" (_groan_) "the fustilug" (_groan_) "what's-his-name" (_groan_) "thing'um-a-bob" (_groan_) and "the woogabblewabble bogglewoggle and all his court." the last was too much for the zankiwank, for he immediately climbed to the top of the tallest steeple in the town, saying with much discretion:-"i will see that all is fair. i will be the judge." maude had only just got time to eat some of the fern seeds she had saved from what robin goodfellow had given her, and to give some to willie, when a rushing as of many waters and a roaring as of the bursting of several gasometers were heard, and a noise of some two or three hundred tramping soldiers smote upon their ears, and they knew that something dreadful was going to happen. as the bogglewoggle and the wollypog and all the others came upon the scene, both the children recognised them, from what they had once read in a fairy book, as being the monsters of the secret cavern. it was not going to be a battle, as they could see--it was only to be a quiet fight between the important folk of the secret cavern and topsy turvey land. the jorumgander was there, and so was the jackarandajam and mr swinglebinks and all the others they had been introduced to. the bogglewoggle was particularly noisy in calling out for the zankiwank, but as he was engaged to be married, of course he could not risk his life just for the mere whim of a dragon, who was setting everything alight with his torch-like tail. and then they all commenced to fight--cutting, slashing and crashing each other with double-edged swords, while the inhabitants applauded and the bands played the "conquering hero," although there was not any creature who conquered, that one could distinguish. it was a terrible sight. they never ceased for a minute, but went on cutting each other to pieces until at last they all lay dead upon the ground. no one was left alive to tell the awful news but the zankiwank and dr pampleton. and what was most remarkable about the fight was that it was all done out of pure friendship--but friendship does not seem to be much good when all your friends are scattered about, as these were. heads and arms and legs everywhere, and there certainly did not appear to be much hope of their ever being able to do any more damage. the zankiwank crept cautiously down from his pinnacle and joined dr pampleton. "our friends are very much cut up," said dr pampleton. "what is to be done?" the zankiwank enquired. "done? why, with my special elixir i shall bring them all to life again," said the court physician promptly. "will you? can you?" "of course. you get all the bodies and lay them in a line. i'll gather up the heads and stick 'em on with elastic glue. then you find the arms and legs and we will soon have them ready for another bout." so the zankiwank sent the rest of the populace, that had been looking on, indoors to get their tea, while he set to work and did as that absurd old doctor instructed him. [illustration] willie and maude could scarcely keep their eyes open, but they were so interested in the proceedings that they managed to see that the court physician with his usual foresight was sticking the heads on the wrong bodies, and the arms and legs he put on just as they were handed to him, left on the right, and right on the left, and no one individual got his own proper limbs fastened to him. it was the funniest thing they had ever seen--better than any pantomime, for sure enough they all came to life again, and naturally, seeing another person's arms and legs on their bodies, they imagined themselves to be somebody else entirely. and then ensued the most deafening confusion conceivable, each one accusing the other of having robbed him in his sleep, for they were under the impression that they had been to bed in a strange place--and so they had. it was the grandest transformation scene ever witnessed. the zankiwank was in deep distress, but dr pampleton was in high glee and laughed immoderately. "such a funny mistake to make!" he crowed hysterically to the hopping, hobbling, jumping crowd of monsters and dwarfs, who were glaring at each other in a very savage manner. "i beg your pardon--my fault--all lie down again, and i will cut you up once more and put you together correctly this time," said the court physician pleasantly. "so!" they all bellowed in chorus, "it is you who have done all this mischief. come on! we will soon rectify your blunder," and with a swish and a swirl they made one simultaneous movement towards the unfortunate pampleton, and once again pandemonium was let loose, when high above the din the voice of the zankiwank was heard calling upon them to have patience and not to disturb the harmony, as the bletherwitch had arrived at last. meanwhile everybody rushed madly down the street after the court physician. but the children could see nothing now. everything was growing dim and dimmer, and the scene was fading, fading away into a blue light. and the last they heard was the zankiwank speaking tenderly to the bletherwitch, whom they were not destined to see after all, and saying:-"oh, my sweet blethery, blethery bletherwitch! what a bletherwitching little thing you are!" then there was a rumbling and a tumbling, and something stopped suddenly. a light was flashed before their eyes, and hey presto! there was john opening the carriage door for them to get out, and wonder of wonders, there were their dear mother and father standing in the hall of their own home waiting to receive them. and presently they were being kissed and caressed and petted because, as mary their nurse said, they had slept in the carriage all the way home from the visit to their grandmama. [illustration] this, however, they stoutly denied. they knew better than that, and told their parents of all their adventures, which, as they declared, if they were not true they ought to be, and so they said goodnight and dreamt their dreams, if they were dreams, all over again. the end. turnbull & spears, printers, edinburgh. file was produced from images generously made available by the university of florida, the internet archive/children's library) the adventures of a dog, and a good dog too by alfred elwes [illustration: cover] [illustration: a family party] the adventures of a dog, and a good dog too. by alfred elwes, author of "the adventures of a bear," "ocean and her rulers," etc., etc. with eight illustrations by harrison weir. london: george routledge and co., farringdon street, and 18, beekman street, new york. 1857. london: thomas harrild, printer, 11, salisbury square, fleet street. contents. page introduction by miss minette gattina 7 early days 12 changes 18 ups and downs 25 the inundation 37 pains and pleasures 46 duty 55 illustrations. page a family party (frontispiece) 8 lady bull 17 good dog! 22 a canine butcher 36 afloat 45 a worthy subject 54 a severe blow 60 consolation 62 preface. i love dogs. who does not? it is a natural feeling to love those who love us; and dogs were always fond of me. thousands can say the same; and i shall therefore find plenty of sympathy while unfolding my dog's tale. this attachment of mine to the canine family in general, and their affection towards myself, have induced me, like the vizier in the "arabian nights," of happy memory, to devote some time to the study of their language. its idiom is not so difficult as many would suppose. there is a simplicity about it that often shames the dialects of man; which have been so altered and refined that we discover people often saying one thing when they mean exactly the reverse. nothing of the sort is visible in the great canine tongue. whether the tone in which it is uttered be gruff or polished, sharp or insinuating, it is at least sincere. mankind would often be puzzled how to use it. like many others, its meaning is assisted by gestures of the body, and, above all, by the expression of the eye. if ever language had its seat in that organ, as phrenologists pretend, it lies in the eye of the dog. yet, a good portion finds its way to his tail. the motion of that eloquent member is full of meaning. there is the slow wag of anger; the gentle wag of contentment; the brisker wag of joy: and what can be more mutely expressive than the limp states of sorrow, humility, and fear? if the tongue of the dog present such distinctive traits, the qualities of the animal himself are not less striking. although the dispositions of dogs are as various as their forms--although education, connections, the society they keep, have all their influence--to the credit of their name be it said, a dog never sullies his mouth with an untruth. his emotions of pleasure are genuine, never forced. his grief is not the semblance of woe, but comes from the heart. his devotion is unmixed with other feelings. it is single, unselfish, profound. prosperity affects it not; adversity cannot make it swerve. ingratitude, that saddest of human vices, is unknown to the dog. he does not forget past favours, but, when attached by benefits received, his love endures through life. but i shall have never done with reciting the praises of this noble animal; the subject is inexhaustible. my purpose now has narrower limits. from the archives of the city of caneville, i lately drew the materials of a bear's biography. from the same source i now derive my "adventures of a dog." my task has been less that of a composer than a translator, for a feline editoress, a miss minette gattina, had already performed her part. this latter animal appears, however, to have been so learned a cat--one may say so deep a puss--that she had furnished more notes than there was original matter. another peculiarity which distinguished her labours was the obscurity of her style; i call it a peculiarity, and not a defect, because i am not quite certain whether the difficulty of getting at her meaning lay in her mode of expressing herself or my deficiency in the delicacies of her language. i think myself a tolerable linguist, yet have too great a respect for puss to say that any fault is attributable to her. the same feeling has, naturally, made me careful in rendering those portions which were exclusively her own. i have preferred letting her say little to allowing her to express anything she did not intend. her notes, which, doubtless, drew many a purr of approval from her own breast, and many a wag of approbation from the tails of her choice acquaintance, i have preferred leaving out altogether; and i have so curtailed the labours of her paw, and the workings of her brain, as to condense into half-a-dozen pages her little volume of introduction. the autobiography itself, most luckily, required no alteration. it is the work of a simple mind, detailing the events of a simple but not uneventful life. whether i have succeeded in conveying to my readers' intelligence the impression which this dog's adventures made on mine, they alone can decide. a. e. lyndhurst road, peckham. introduction. by miss minette gattina. it may seem peculiar to any but an inhabitant of this renowned city of caneville, that one of _our_ nation should venture on the task of bringing to the notice of the world the memoir i have undertaken to edit. but, besides that in this favoured place animals of all kinds learn to dwell in tolerable harmony together, the subject of this biography had so endeared himself to all classes and to every tribe by his kindness of heart, noble devotion, and other dog-like qualities, that there was not a cat, in spite of the supposed natural antipathy existing between the great feline and canine races, who would not have set up her back and fought to the last gasp in defence of this dear old fellow. many a time has he saved me from the rough treatment of rude and ill-conducted curs, when i have been returning from a concert, or tripping quietly home after a pleasant chat with a friend. often and often, when a kitten, has he carried me on his back through the streets, in order that i might not wet my velvet slippers on a rainy day: and once, ah! well do i remember it, he did me even greater service; for a wicked tom of our race, who had often annoyed me with his attentions, had actually formed a plan of carrying me off to some foreign land, and would have succeeded too, if dear doggy had not got scent of the affair, and pounced on that treacherous tom just as he was on the point of executing his odious project. i can speak of these things _now_ without the slightest fear of being accused of vanity. if i say my eyes were beautifully round and green, they are so no longer. if i boast of the former lightness of my step, it drags, alas! but too heavily now. if i dwell on the sweetness of my voice and melody of my purr at one period, little can be said in their favour at the present day, and i feel therefore less scruple in dilating on the elegance of my figure, and the taste of my _toilette_, as, when speaking of them, i seem to be referring to another individual puss, with whom the actual snuffy old tabby has little or no connection. but, it will be said, these last matters have not much to do with the object i have in hand. i must not attempt to palm off on my readers any adventures of my own under the shadow of a dog. i must rather allow my cat's-paw to perform the office for which it has become noted, namely, that of aiding in the recovery of what its owner is not intended to participate. i must endeavour to place before the world of caneville, to be thence transmitted to the less civilized portions of the globe, those incidents in our dog's life which he has been too modest to relate himself, in order that after-generations may fully appreciate all the goodness of his character. to _greatness_, he had no pretension, although few animals are aware how close is the relation between these two qualities. i think i see the dear old dog now, as it has been often my privilege to behold him, seated in his large arm-chair, his hair quite silvered with age, shading his thoughtful, yet kindly face, his pipe in his paw, his faithful old friend by his side, and surrounded by a group of attentive listeners of both sexes, who seemed to hang upon every word of wisdom as it dropped from his mouth; all these spring to my mind when i recal his image, and if i were a painter i think i should have no difficulty in presenting to my readers this pleasant "family party." the very room in which these meetings were held comes as strongly to my recollection as the various young and old dogs who were wont to assemble there. plainly furnished, it yet boasted some articles of luxury; works of statuary and painting, presented to old job by those who admired his goodness, or had been the objects of his devotion. one of these, a statuette representing a fast little dog upon a tasteful pedestal, used often to excite my curiosity, the more because job showed no inclination to gratify it. i managed, however, at last to get at the incident which made job the possessor of this comical little figure, and as the circumstance worthily illustrates his character, i will relate it as the anecdote was told to me. it was once a fashion in caneville, encouraged by puppies of the superior classes, to indulge in habits of so strange a nature as to meet on stated occasions for the express purpose of trying their skill and strength in set combats; and although the most frightful consequences often ensued, these assemblies were still held until put down by the sharp tooth of the law. the results which ensued were not merely dangerous to life, but created such a quarrelsome disposition, that many of these dogs were never happy but when fighting; and the force granted them by nature for self-defence was too often used most wantonly to the annoyance of their neighbours. it one day happened that job was sitting quietly on a steep bank of the river where it runs into the wood at some distance from the city, at one moment watching the birds as they skimmed over the water, at another following the movements of a large fish, just distinguishable from the height, as it rose at the flies that dropped upon the stream; when three dogs, among the most celebrated fighters of the time, passed by that way. two of them were of the common class, about the size and weight of job; the other was a young puppy of good family, whose tastes had unfortunately led him into such low society. seeing the mild expression of job's face, and confident in their own prowess, they resolved to amuse themselves at his expense, and to this end drew near to him. unobserved by their intended victim, with a rapid motion they endeavoured to push him head foremost into the river, master puppy having dexterously seized hold of his tail to make the somersault more complete. job, although thus unexpectedly set upon from behind, was enabled, by the exertion of great strength, to defeat the object of his assailants. in the struggle which ensued, his adversaries discovered that, in spite of their boasted skill, they had more than found their match. one of them got rolled over into the stream, out of which he managed to crawl with considerable difficulty half a mile lower down; the second took to his heels, with his coat torn, and his person otherwise disordered; and the fashionable pup, to his great horror, found himself seized in the formidable jaws of the unoffending but own angry dog. imagine how much his terror was increased when job, carrying him, as i would a mouse, to the edge of the precipitous bank, held him sheer over the roaring river. the poor fellow could not swim, he had a perfect antipathy to the water, and he felt himself at that moment on the point of being consigned to certain death without a chance of safety. but he did not know the noble heart of the animal he had offended. job let him feel for a few dreadful seconds the danger to which he had been so thoughtlessly and in joke about to consign himself, and then placed him in safety on the bank, with the admonition to reflect for the future on the probable result of his diversions before he indulged in them, and to consider whether, although amusing to himself, such games might not be fatal to the animals on whom they were played off. the shivering puppy was too much alarmed at the time to attend either to the magnanimity of his antagonist or the wisdom of his advice, but they were evidently not lost upon him. many can bear testimony to the change which that hour wrought in his character; and some weeks after the event, job received that statue of his little adversary, which had so often struck me, executed by a native artist, with a long letter in verse, a beautiful specimen of doggrel; indeed, gifts both equally creditable to the sculptor and the writer, and most honourable to the animal in whose favour they had been executed. my task will scarce be thought complete without a few words concerning the personal appearance of my old friend; although, perhaps, few things could be more difficult for me to describe. dogs and cats are apt to admire such very different forms of beauty, that the former often call beautiful what we think just the reverse. he was tall, strong, and rather stout, with a large bushy tail, which waved with every emotion of his mind, for he rarely disguised his feelings. his features were considered regular, though large, his eyes being particularly bright and full, and the upper part of his head was broad and high. but none who knew job ever thought of his being handsome or otherwise. you seemed to love him for something more than you could see, something which had little to do with face, or body, or tail, and yet appeared in them all, and shone clearly out of his eyes; i mean the spirit of goodness, which made him so remarkable, and was so much a part of job, that i do believe a lock of his hair worn near one's own heart would help to make it beat more kindly to one's fellow creatures. this idea may be considered too fanciful, too cat-like, but i believe it notwithstanding. such was the dog whose autobiography i have great pleasure in presenting to the world. many may object to the unpolished style in which his memoirs are clothed, but all who knew him will easily pardon every want of elegance in his language; and those who had not the honour of his acquaintance, will learn to appreciate his character from the plain spirit of truth which breathes in every line he wrote. i again affirm that i need make no apology for attaching my name to that of one so worthy the esteem of his co-dogs, ay, and co-cats too; for in spite of the differences which have so often raised up a barrier between the members of his race and ours, not even the noblest among us could be degraded by raising a "mew" to the honour of such a thoroughly honest dog. minette gattina. the upper mews, caneville. early days. i was not born in this city of caneville, but was brought here at so young an age, that i have no recollection of any other place. i do not remember either my father or my mother. an old doggess,[a] who was the only creature i can recal to mind when i was a pup, took care of me. at least, she said she did. but from what i recollect, i had to take most care of myself. it was from her i learnt what i know about my parents. she has told me that my father was a foreign dog of high rank; from a country many, many miles away, called newfoundland, and that my mother was a member of the mastiff family. but how i came to be under the care of herself, and how it happened, if my parents were such superior animals, that i should be forced to be so poor and dirty, i cannot tell. i have sometimes ventured to ask her; but as she always replied with a snarl or a bite, i soon got tired of putting any questions to her. i do not think she was a very good temper; but i should not like to say so positively, because i was still young when she died, and perhaps the blows she gave me, and the bites she inflicted, were only intended for my good; though i did not think so at the time. [footnote a: i have preferred adopting this word in speaking of female dogs, as it comes nearer to the original, _zaã¯yen_.] as we were very poor, we were forced to live in a wretched kennel in the dampest part of the town, among dogs no better off than ourselves. the place we occupied overhung the water, and one day when the old doggess was punishing me for something i had done, the corner in which i was crouched being rotten, gave way, and i fell plump into the river. i had never been in the water before, and i was very frightened, for the stream was so rapid that it carried me off and past the kennels i knew, in an instant. i opened my mouth to call out for help; but as i was almost choked with the water that got into it, i shut it again, and made an effort to reach the land. to my surprise i found that, by moving my paws and legs, i not only got my head well above the water, but was able to guide myself to the bank, on to which i at length dragged myself, very tired and out of breath, but quite recovered from my fear. i ran over the grass towards the town as fast as i could, stopping now and then to shake my coat, which was not so wet, however, as you would suppose; but before i had got half way home i met the doggess, hopping along, with her tongue out of her mouth, panting for breath, she having run all the way from the kennel, out of which i had popped so suddenly, along the bank, with the hope of picking me up somewhere. she knew, she said, that i should never be drowned. but how she _could_ know that was more than i could then imagine. when we met, after i had escaped so great a danger, i flew to her paws, in the hope of getting a tender lick; but as soon as she recovered breath, she caught hold of one of my ears with her teeth, and bit it till i howled with pain, and then set off running with me at a pace which i found it difficult to keep up with. i remember at the time thinking it was not very kind of her; but i have since reflected that perhaps she only did it to brighten me up and prevent me taking cold. this was my first adventure, and also my first acquaintance with the water. from that day i often ventured into the river, and in the end became so good a swimmer, that there were few dogs in caneville who could surpass me in strength and dexterity afloat. many moons came and passed away, and i was getting a big dog. my appetite grew with my size, and as there was little to eat at home, i was forced to wander through the streets to look after stray bones; but i was not the only animal employed thus hunting for a livelihood, and the bits scattered about the streets being very few and small, some of us, as may be imagined, got scanty dinners. there was such quarrelling and fighting, also, for the possession of every morsel, that if you were not willing to let go any piece you had seized upon, you were certain to have half-a-dozen curs upon your back to force you to do so; and the poor weakly dog, whose only hope of a meal lay in what he might pick up, ran a sad chance of being starved. one of the fiercest fights i have ever been engaged in occurred upon one of these occasions. i had had no breakfast, and it was already past the hour when the rich dogs of caneville were used to dine. hungry and disconsolate, i was trotting slowly past a large house, when a side-door opened, and a servant jerked a piece of meat into the road. in the greatest joy i pounced upon the prize, but not so quickly but that two ragged curs, who were no doubt as hungry as myself, managed to rush to the spot in time to get hold of the other end of it. then came a struggle for the dainty; and those who do not know how hard dogs will fight for their dinner, when they have had no breakfast, should have been there to learn the lesson. after giving and receiving many severe bites, the two dogs walked off--perhaps they did not think the meat was worth the trouble of contending for any longer--and i was left to enjoy my meal in peace. i had scarcely, however, squatted down, with the morsel between my paws, than a miserable little puppy, who seemed as if he had had neither dinner nor breakfast for the last week, came and sat himself at a little distance from me, and without saying a word, brushed the pebbles about with his ragged tail, licked his chops, and blinked his little eyes at me so hopefully, that, hungry as i was, i could not begin my meat. as i looked at him, i observed two tears gather at the side of his nose, and grow bigger and bigger until they would no longer stop there, but tumbled on to the ground. i could bear it no longer. i do not know even now what ailed me; but my own eyes grew so dim, that there seemed a mist before them which prevented my seeing anything plainly. i started up, and pushing to the poor whelp the piece of meat which had cost me three new rents in my coat and a split ear, i trotted slowly away. i stopped at the corner to see whether he appeared to enjoy it, and partly to watch that no other dog should take it from him. the road was quite clear, and the poor pup quite lost in the unusual treat of a good meal; so i took my way homewards, with an empty stomach but a full heart. i was so pleased to see that little fellow enjoy his dinner so thoroughly. this sort of life, wherein one was compelled either to fight for every bit one could get to eat or go without food altogether, became at last so tiresome to me that i set about for some other means of providing for my wants. i could not understand how the old doggess used to manage, but though she never had anything to give me, she did not seem to be without food herself. she was getting so much more cross and quarrelsome, perhaps on account of her age and infirmities, that i now saw but little of her, as i often, on a fine night, preferred curling myself up under a doorway or beneath a tree, to returning to the kennel and listening to her feeble growls. she never seemed to want me there, so i had less difficulty in keeping away from her. chance assisted me in the choice of my new attempt at getting a living. i was walking along one of the narrow streets of caneville, when i was stopped by an old dog, who was known to be very rich and very miserly. he had lately invented a novel kind of match for lighting pipes and cigars, which he called "a fire-fly," the composition of which was so dangerous that it had already caused a good deal of damage in the town from its exploding; and he wanted some active young dogs to dispose of his wares to the passers-by according to the custom of caneville. as he expected a good deal of opposition from the venders of a rival article, it was necessary to make choice of such agents as would not be easily turned from their purpose for fear of an odd bite or two. i suppose he thought i was well fitted for the object he had in view. i was very poor--one good reason, for his employing me, as i would be contented with little; i was strong, and should therefore be able to get through the work; i was willing, and bore a reputation for honesty--all sufficient causes for old fily (that was his name) to stop me this fine morning and propose my entering his service. terms are easily arranged where both parties are willing to come to an agreement. after being regaled with a mouldy bone, and dressed out in an old suit of clothes belonging to my new master, which, in spite of a great hole in one of the knees, i was not a little proud of, with a bundle of wares under my arm and a box of the famous "fire-flies" in my paw, i began my commercial career. but, alas! either the good dogs of caneville were little disposed to speculate that day, or i was very awkward in my occupation, but no one seemed willing to make a trial of my "fire-flies." in vain i used the most enticing words to set off my goods, even going so far as to say that cigars lighted with these matches would have a very much finer flavour, and could not possibly go out. this i said on the authority of my employer, who assured me of the fact. it was of no use; not a single "fire-fly" blazed in consequence, and i began to fear that i was not destined to make my fortune as a match-seller. at length there came sweeping down the street a party which at once attracted me, and i resolved to use my best efforts to dispose, at least, of one of my boxes, if it were only to convince my master that i had done my best. the principal animal of the group was a lady doggess, beautifully dressed, with sufficient stuff in her gown to cover a dozen ordinary dogs, a large muff to keep her paws from the cold, and a very open bonnet with a garden-full of flowers round her face, which, in spite of her rich clothes, i did not think a very pretty one. a little behind her was another doggess, not quite so superbly dressed, holding a puppy by the paw. it was very certain that they were great animals, for two or three dogs they had just passed had taken off their hats as they went by, and then put their noses together as if they were saying something about them. [illustration: lady bull] i drew near, and for the first time in my life was timid and abashed. the fine clothes, no doubt, had something to do with making me feel so, but--i was still very young. taking courage, i went on tiptoe to the great lady, and begged her to buy a box of "fire-flies" of a poor dog who had no other means of gaining his bread. now, you must know that these matches had not a pleasant smell--few matches have; but as they were shut up in the box, the odour could not have been _very_ sensible. however, when i held up the article towards her ladyship, she put her paw to her nose--as though to shut out the odour--uttered a low howl, and, though big enough and strong enough to have sent me head over heels with a single blow, seemed on the point of falling to the ground. but at the instant, two male servants, whom i had not seen, ran to her assistance, while i, who was the innocent cause of all this commotion, stood like a silly dog that i was, with my box in the air and my mouth wide open, wondering what it all meant. i was not suffered to remain long in ignorance; for the two hounds in livery, turning to me, so belaboured my poor back that i thought at first my bones were broken; while the young puppy, who, it appears, was her ladyship's youngest son, running behind me, while i was in this condition, gave my tail such a pull as to cause me the greatest pain. they then left me in the middle of the road, to reflect on my ill success in trade, and gather up my stock as i best could. i do not know what it was which made me so anxious to learn the name and rank of the lady doggess who had been the cause of my severe punishment, but i eagerly inquired of a kind mongrel, who stopped to help me collect my scattered goods, if he knew anything about her. he said, she was called lady bull; that her husband. sir john bull, had made a large fortune somehow, and that they lived in a splendid house, had about thirty puppies, little and big, had plenty of servants, and spent a great deal of money. he could hardly imagine, he said, that it was the odour of the "fire-flies" which had occasioned me to be knocked down for upsetting her ladyship, as she had been a butcher's daughter, and was used to queer smells, unless her nose had perhaps got more delicate with her change of position. he said much more about her and her peculiarities than i either remember or care to repeat; but, imagining he had some private reasons for saying what he did, i thanked him for his trouble, and bid him good day. whatever the cause of my failure, it seemed that i was not fitted for the match-business. at all events, the experience of that morning did not encourage me sufficiently to proceed. so, returning the unsold "fire-flies" to old fily, i made him a present of the time i had already spent in his service, and, with a thoughtful face and aching bones, took my way towards the kennel by the water-side. changes. the sun was just going down as i came in sight of the river and the row of poor kennels which stood on the bank, many of them, like our own, projecting half over the water. i could not help wondering at the pretty effect they made at a distance, with the blue river dancing gaily by their side, the large trees of the wood on the opposite bank waving in beauty, and the brilliant sun changing everything that his rays fell upon into gold. he made the poor kennels look so splendid for the time, that no one would have thought the animals who lived in them could ever be poor or unhappy. but when the rich light was gone,--gone with the sun which made it to some other land,--it seemed as if the whole place was changed. the trees shivered as though a cold wind was stirring them. the river ran dark and sullenly by the poor houses; and the houses themselves looked more wretched, i thought, than they had ever appeared before. yet, somehow, they were more homelike in their dismal state than when they had a golden roof and purple sides, so, resuming my walk, for i had stopped to admire the pretty picture, i soon came near the door. it was open, as usual. but what was _not_ usual, was to hear other sounds from within than the voice of the old doggess, making ceaseless moans. now it seemed as if all the doggesses of the neighbourhood had met in the poor hut to pass the evening, for there was such confusion of tongues, and such a rustling sound, as told me, before i peeped inside, that there was a large party got together, and that tails were wagging at a fearful rate. when i stood before the open door, all the scene broke upon me. on her bed of straw, evidently at the point of death, lay my poor doggess. her eyes had almost lost their fierce expression, and were becoming fixed and glassy--a slight tremor in her legs and movement of her stumpy tail, were all that told she was yet living; not even her breast was seen to heave. i had not much reason to bear love to the old creature for any kindness she had ever shown me, but this sight overcame me at once. springing to her aide, and upsetting half a dozen of the gossips by the movement, i laid my paw on hers; and, involuntarily raising my head in the air, i sent forth a howl which shook the rotten timbers of the old kennel, and so frightened the assembled party as to make them scamper out of the place like mad things. the sound even called back the departing senses of the dying doggess. she drew me to her with her paws, and made an effort to lick me. the action quite melted me. i put down my head to hers and felt a singular pleasure mixed with grief whilst i licked and caressed her, i could not help thinking then, as i have often thought since, of how much happiness we had lost by not being more indulgent to each other's faults, forgiving and loving one another. she also seemed to be of this opinion, if i might judge by the grateful look and passive manner in which she received my attentions. perhaps the near approach of her end gave a softness to her nature which was unusual to her; it is not unlikely; but, of a certainty, i never felt before how much i was losing, as when i saw that poor doggess's life thus ebbing away. night had come on while i sat watching by her side. everything about the single room had become more and more indistinct, until all objects were alike blended in the darkness. i could no longer distinguish the shape of my companion, and, but that i _knew_ she was there, i could have thought myself alone. the wind had fallen; the water seemed to run more gently than it was wont to do; and the noises which generally make themselves heard in the streets of caneville appeared to be singularly quieted. but once only, at another period of my life, which i shall speak of in its proper place, do i ever remember to have been so struck by the silence, and to have felt myself so entirely alone. the moon appeared to rise quicker that night, as though it pitied the poor forlorn dog. it peeped over an opposite house, and directly after, shone coldly but kindly through the open door. at least, its light seemed to come like the visit of a friend, in spite of its showing me what i feared, that i was _indeed_ alone in the world. the poor doggess had died in the darkness between the setting of the sun and the moon's rise. i was sure that she was dead, yet i howled no more. my grief was very great; for it is a sad, sad thing when you are young to find you are without friends; perhaps sadder when you are old; but that, i fortunately do not myself know, for i am old, and have many friends. i recollect putting my nose between my paws, and lying at full length on the floor, waiting till the bright sun should come again, and thinking of my forlorn condition. i must have slept and dreamed--yet i thought i was still in the old kennel with the dead doggess by my side. but everything seemed to have found a voice, and to be saying kind things to me. the river, as it ran and shook the supports of the old kennel, appeared to cry out in a rough but gay tone: "job, job, my dog, cheer up, cheer up; the world is before you, job, cheer up, cheer up." the light wind that was coming by that way stopped to speak to me as it passed. it flew round the little room, and whispered as it went: "poor dog, poor dog, you are very lonely; but the good need not be so; the good may have friends, dear job, however poor!" the trees, as they waved their heads, sent kindly words across the water, that made their way to my heart right through the chinks of the old cabin; and when morning broke, and a bright sky smiled beautifully upon the streets of caneville, i woke up, sad indeed, but full of hope. some ragged curs arrived, and carried the old doggess away. she was very heavy, and they were forced to use all their strength. i saw her cast into the water, which she disliked so much alive; i watched her floating form until the rapid current bore it into the wood, and i stayed sitting on the brink of the river wondering where it would reach at last, and what sort of places must lie beyond the trees. i had an idea in my own mind that the sun rested there all night, only i could not imagine how it came up again in the morning in quite an opposite quarter; but then i was such a young and ignorant puppy! after thinking about this and a good many other matters of no importance to my story, i got upon my legs, and trotted gently along the bank, towards a part of the city which i did not remember to have seen before. the houses were very few, but they were large and handsome, and all had pretty gardens in nice order, with flowers which smelt so sweet, that i thought the dogs who could always enjoy such advantages must be very happy. but one of the houses, larger than all the rest, very much struck me, for i had never an idea of such a splendid place being in caneville. it was upon a little hill that stood at some distance from the river, and the ground which sloped down from the house into the water was covered with such beautiful grass, that it made one long to nibble and roll upon it. while i was quietly looking at this charming scene, i was startled by a loud noise of barking and howling higher up the river, and a confused sound, as if a great many dogs were assembled at one place, all calling out together. i ran at once in the direction of the hubbub, partly out of curiosity and in part from some other motive, perhaps the notion of being able to render some help. a little before me the river had a sudden bend, and the bank rose high, which prevented me seeing the cause of the noise; but when i reached the top, the whole scene was before me. on my side of the river a great crowd had assembled, who were looking intently upon something in the water; and on the opposite bank there was a complete stream of dogs, running down to the hill which belonged to the beautiful house i had been admiring. every dog, as he ran, seemed to be trying to make as much noise as he could; and those i spoke to were barking so loudly, and jumping about in such a way, that i could at first get no explanation of what was the matter. at last i saw that the struggling object in the water was a young puppy, which seemed very nicely dressed, and at the same moment the mongrel, who had helped me to pick up my matches the day before, came alongside of me, and said: "ah, young firefly, how are you? isn't this a game? that old lady bull who got you such a drubbing yesterday, is in a pretty mess. her thirty-second pup has just tumbled into the water, and will certainly be drowned. isn't she making a fuss? just look!" one rapid glance showed me the grand lady he spoke of, howling most fearfully on the other side of the stream, while two pups, about the same size as the one in the water, and a stout dog, who looked like the papa, were sometimes catching hold of her and then running about, not knowing what to do. i stopped no longer. i threw off my over-coat, and running to a higher part of the bank, leapt into the water, the mongrel's voice calling after me: "what are you going to do? don't you know its the son of the old doggess who had you beat so soundly? look at your shoulder, where the hair has been all knocked off with the blows?" without paying the least attention to these words, which i could not help hearing they were called out so loudly, i used all my strength to reach the poor little pup, who, tired with his efforts to help himself, had already floated on to his back, while his tiny legs and paws were moving feebly in the air. i reached him after a few more efforts, and seizing his clothes with my teeth, i got his head above the water, and swam with my load slowly towards the bank. as i got nearer, i could see lady bull, still superbly dressed, but without her bonnet, throw up her paws and nose towards the sky, and fall back into the arms of her husband; while the two pups by her side expressed their feelings in different ways; for one stuffed his little fists into his eyes, and the other waved his cap in the air, and broke forth into a succession of infantile bow-wows. [illustration: good dog!] on reaching, the bank, i placed my load at the feet of his poor mother, who threw herself by his side and hugged him to her breast, in a way which proved how much tenderness was under those fine clothes and affected manners. the others stood around her uttering low moans of sympathy, and i, seeing all so engaged and taken up with the recovered dog, quietly, and, as i thought, unseen by all, slid back into the water, and permitted myself to be carried by the current down the river. i crawled out at some short distance from the spot where this scene had taken place, and threw myself on to the grass, in order to rest from my fatigue and allow the warm sun to dry my saturated clothes. what i felt i can scarce describe, although i remember so distinctly everything connected with that morning. my principal sensation was that of savage joy, to think i had saved the son of the doggess who had caused me such unkind treatment. i was cruel enough, i am sorry to say, to figure to myself her pain at receiving such a favour from me--but that idea soon passed away, on reflecting that perhaps she would not even know to whom she owed her son's escape from death. in the midst of my ruminations, a light step behind me caused me to raise my head. i was positively startled at the beautiful object which i beheld. it was a lady puppy about my own age, but so small in size, and with such an innocent sweet look, that she seemed much younger. her dress was of the richest kind, and her bonnet, which had fallen back from her head, showed her glossy dark hair and drooping ears that hung gracefully beside her cheeks. poorly as i was dressed, and wet as i still was from my bath, she sat herself beside me, and putting her little soft paw upon my shoulder, said, with a smile-"ah, job!--for i know that's your name--did you think you could get off so quietly without any one seeing you, or stopping you, or saying one single 'thank you, job,' for being such a good noble dog as you are? did you think there was not one sharp eye in caneville to watch the saver, but that all were fixed upon the saved? that every tongue was so engaged in sympathizing with the mother, that not one was left to praise the brave? if you thought this, dear job, you did me and others wrong, great wrong. there are some dogs, at least, who may forget an injury, but who never forget a noble action, and i have too great a love for my species to let you think so. i shall see you again, dear job, though i must leave you now. i should be blamed if it were known that i came here to talk to you as i have done; but i could not help it, i could not let you believe that a noble heart was not understood in caneville. adieu. do not forget the name of fida." she stooped down, and for a moment her silky hair waved on my rough cheek, while her soft tongue gently licked my face. before i could open my mouth in reply--before, indeed, i had recovered from my surprise, and the admiration which this beautiful creature caused me, she was gone. i sprang on to my legs to observe which way she went, but not a trace of her could i see, and i thought it would not be proper to follow her. when i felt certain of being alone, i could hardly restrain my feelings. i threw myself on my back, i rolled upon the grass, i turned head over heels in the boisterousness of my spirit, and then gambolled round and round like a mad thing. did i believe all the flattering praises which the lovely fida had bestowed on me? i might perhaps have done so then, and in my inexperience might have fancied that i was quite a hero. time has taught me another lesson. it has impressed upon me the truth, that when we do our duty we do only what should be expected of every dog; only what every dog ought to do. of the two, fida had done the nobler action. she had shown not only a promptness to feel what she considered good, but she had had the courage to say so in private to the doer, although he was of the poorest and she of the richest class of caneville society. in saving the little pup's life, i had risked nothing; i knew my strength, and felt certain i could bring him safely to the shore. if i had _not_ tried to save the poor little fellow i should have been in part guilty of his death. but she, in bestowing secret praise and encouragement upon a poor dog who had no friends to admire her for so doing, while her action would perhaps bring blame upon her from her proud friends, did that which was truly good and noble. the thought of returning to my solitary home after the sad scene of the night before, and particularly after the new feelings just excited, was not a pleasant one. the bright sky and fresh air seemed to suit me better than black walls and the smell of damp straw. resolving in my mind, however, to leave it as soon as possible, i re-crossed the river, and, with a slower step than usual, took the road which led thither. ups and downs. i should not probably have spoken of these last incidents in my life, as the relation of them savours rather too much of vanity, but for certain results of the highest importance to my future fortunes. when i reached the old kennel i found, waiting my return, two terrier dogs in livery, with bulls' heads grinning from such a quantity of buttons upon their lace coats that it was quite startling. they brought a polite message from sir john and lady bull, begging me to call upon them without delay. as the servants had orders to show me the road, we set off at once. i was very silent on the journey, for my companions were so splendidly dressed that i could not help thinking they must be very superior dogs indeed; and i was rather surprised, when they spoke to each other, to find that they talked just like any other animals, and a good deal more commonly than many that i knew. but such is the effect of fine clothes upon those who know no better. we soon reached the grounds of the mansion, having crossed the river in a boat that was waiting for us; and after passing through a garden more beautiful than my poor dog's brain had ever imagined, we at last stood before the house itself. i need not describe to you, who know the place so well, the vastness of the building or the splendour of its appearance. what struck me more even than the palace, was the number of the servants and the richness of their clothes. each of them seemed fine enough to be the master of the place, and appeared really to think so, if i could judge by the way they strutted about and the look they gave at my poor apparel. i was much abashed at first to find myself in such a company and make so miserable a figure; but i was consoled with the thought that not one of them that morning had ventured, in spite of his eating his master's meat and living in his master's house, to plunge into the water to save his master's son. silly dog that i was! it did not enter my head at the same time to inquire whether any of them had learnt to swim. if the outside of the mansion had surprised me by its beauty, the interior appeared of course much more extraordinary to my ignorant mind. every thing i was unused to looked funny or wonderful; and if i had not been restrained by the presence of such great dogs, i should have sometimes laughed outright, and at others broken forth into expressions of surprise. the stout sir john bull was standing in the middle of the room when i entered it, while the stouter lady bull was lying on a kind of sofa, that seemed quite to sink beneath her weight. i found out afterwards that it was the softness of the sofa which made it appear so; for sitting on it myself, at my lady's request, i jumped up in the greatest alarm, on finding the heaviest part of my body sink lower and lower down, and my tail come flapping into my face. sir john and lady bull now thanked me very warmly for what i had done, and said a great many things which it is not worth while to repeat. i remember they were very pleasing to me then, but i am sure cannot be interesting to you now. after their thanks, sir john began to talk to me about myself--about my parents--my wishes--what i intended to do--and what were my means? to his great surprise he learnt that parents i had none; that my only wishes were the desire to do some good for myself and others, and earn my meat; that i had no notion what i intended doing, and had no means whatever to do anything with. it may be believed that i willingly accepted his offer to watch over a portion of his grounds, to save them from the depredations of thieves, on condition of my receiving good clothes, plenty of food, and a comfortable house to live in. it was now my turn to be thankful. but although my heart was full at this piece of good fortune, and i could _think_ of a great many things to say to show my gratitude, not a single word could i find to express it in, but stood before them like a dumb dog, with only the wave of my tail to explain my thanks. they seemed, however, to understand it, and i was at once ordered a complete suit of clothes and everything fitted for my new position. i was also supplied with the most abundant supper i had ever had in my life, and went to rest upon the most delightful bed; so that before i went to sleep, and i do believe afterwards too, i kept saying to myself, "job, job, you have surely got some other dog's place; all this good luck can't be meant for you; what have you done, job, that you should eat such meat, and sleep on so soft a bed, and be spoken to so kindly? don't forget yourself, job; there must be some mistake." but when i got up in the morning, and found a breakfast for me as nice as the supper, and looked at my clothes, which, if not so smart as some of the others, were better and finer than any i could ever have thought i should have worn, i was at last convinced, that although i was poor job, and although i did not, perhaps, deserve all the happiness i felt, that it was not a dream, but real, plain truth. "as it is so," i said again, "i must do my duty as well as i am able, for that is the only way a poor dog like me can show his gratitude." after breakfast, i accompanied sir john to the place of my future home. a quarter of an hour's walk brought us to a gentle hill, which, similar to the one whereon the mansion itself was situated, sloped downwards to the water. one or two trees, like giant sentinels, stood near the top, and behind them waved the branches of scores more, while beyond for many a mile spread the dark mass of the thick forest of which i have more than once made mention. nearly at the foot of the hill, beneath a spreading oak, was a cottage, a very picture of peace and neatness; and as we paused, sir john pointed out the peculiarities of the position and explained my duties. it appeared that this part of his grounds was noted for a delicate kind of bird, much esteemed by himself and his family, and which was induced to flock there by regular feeding and the quiet of the situation. this fact was, however, perfectly well known to others besides sir john; and as these others were just as fond of the birds as himself, they were accustomed to pay nightly visits to the forbidden ground, and carry off many of the plumpest fowl. the wood was known to shelter many a wandering fox, who, although dwelling so near the city, could not be prevailed on to abandon their roguish habits and live in a civilised manner. these birds were particularly to their taste, and it required the greatest agility to keep off the cunning invaders, for, though they had no great courage, and would not attempt to resist a bold dog, they frequently succeeded in eluding all vigilance and getting off with their booty. often, too, a stray cur, sometimes two or three together, from the lowest classes of the population, would, when moved by hunger, make a descent on the preserves, and battles of a fierce character not seldom occurred, for, unlike the foxes, they were never unwilling to fight, but showed the utmost ferocity when attacked, and were often the aggressors. but those were not all. the grounds were exactly opposite that part of the city of caneville known as the "mews," and occupied by the cat population, who have a general affection for most birds, and held these preserved ones in particular esteem. fortunately, the water that interposed was a formidable barrier for the feline visitors, as few pussies like to wet their feet; but, by some means or other, they frequently found their way across, and by their dexterity, swiftness, and the quiet of their movements, committed terrible ravages among the birds. when sir john had told me all this, he led the way down the hill to the small house under the tree. it had two rooms, with a kennel at the back. the front room was the parlour, and i thought few places could have been so neat and pretty. the back was the sleeping-room, and the windows of both looked out upon the soft grass and trees, and showed a fine view of the river. "this," said sir john, "is your house, and i hope you will be happy in it yourself, and be of service to me. you will not be alone, for there"--pointing to the kennel at the back--"sleeps an old servant of the family, who will assist you in your duties." he then called out "nip," when a rumbling noise was heard from the kennel, and directly after a lame hound came hopping round to the door. the sight of this old fellow was not pleasant at first, for his hair was a grizzly brown and his head partly bald; his eyes were sunk, and, indeed, almost hidden beneath his bushy brows, and his cheeks hung down below his mouth and shook with every step he took. i soon found out that he was as singular in his manners as in his looks, and had such a dislike to talking that it was a rare thing for him to say more than two or three words at one time. sir john told him who i was, and desired him to obey my orders; commanded us both to be good friends and not quarrel, as strange dogs were rather apt to do; and after some more advice left us to ourselves, i in a perfect dream of wonderment, and "nip" sitting winking at me in a way that i thought more funny than agreeable. after we had sat looking at one another for some time, i said, just to break the silence, which was becoming tiresome-"a pretty place this!" nip winked. "have you been here long?" i asked. "think so," said nip. "all alone?" i inquired. "almost," nip replied. "much work to do, eh?" i asked. the only answer nip gave to this was by winking first one eye and then the other, and making his cheeks rise and fall in a way so droll that i could not help laughing, at which nip seemed to take offence, for without waiting for any farther questions he hopped out of the room, and i saw him, soon after, crawling softly up the hill, as if on the look out for some of the thieves sir john had spoken of. i, too, went off upon the watch. i took my way along the bank, i glided among the bushes, ran after a young fox whose sharp nose i spied pointed up a tree, but without catching him, and finally returned to my new home by the opposite direction. nip came in shortly after, and we sat down to our dinner. although this portion of my life was, perhaps, the happiest i have ever known, it has few events worth relating. the stormy scenes which are so painful to the dog who suffers them, are those which are most interesting to the hearer; while the quiet days, that glide peacefully away, are so like each other, that an account of one of them is a description of many. a few hours can be so full of action, as to require volumes to describe them properly, and the history of whole years can be written on a single page. i tried, as i became fixed in my new position, to do what i had resolved when i entered it; namely, my duty. i think i succeeded; i certainly obtained my master's praise, and sometimes my own; for i had a habit of talking to myself, as nip so rarely opened his mouth, and would praise or blame myself just as i thought i deserved it. i am afraid i was not always just, but too often said, "well done, job; that's right, job;" when i ought to have called out, "you're wrong, job; you ought to feel, job, that you're wrong;" but it is not so easy a thing to be just, even to ourselves. one good lesson i learned in that little cottage, which has been of use to me all my life through; and that was, to be very careful about judging dogs by their looks. there was old nip: when i first saw him, i thought i had never beheld such an ugly fellow in my life, and could not imagine how anything good was to be expected from so cross a looking, ragged old hound. and yet nothing could be more beautiful, more loveable than dear old nip, when you came to know him well. all the misfortunes he had suffered, all the knocks he had received in passing through the world, seemed to have made his heart more tender; and he was so entirely good-natured, that in all the time we were together, i never heard him say an unkind thing of living or dead animal. i believe his very silence was caused by the goodness of his disposition; for as he could not help seeing many things he did not like, but could not alter, he preferred holding his tongue to saying what could not be agreeable. dear, dear nip! if ever it should be resolved to erect a statue of goodness in the public place of caneville, they ought to take you for a model; you would not be so pleasant to look on as many finer dogs, but when once known, your image would be loved, dear nip, as i learned to love the rugged original. it can be of no interest to you to hear the many fights we had in protecting the property of our master during the first few moons after my arrival. almost every night we were put in danger of lives, for the curs came in such large numbers that there was a chance of our being pulled to pieces in the struggle. yet we kept steady watch; and after a time, finding, i suppose, that we were never sleeping at our post, and that our courage rose with every fresh attack, the thieves gradually gave up open war, and only sought to entrap the birds by artifice; and, like the foxes and cats, came sneaking into the grounds, and trusted to the swiftness of their legs rather than the sharpness of their teeth when nip or i caught sight of them. and thus a long, long time passed away. i had, meanwhile, grown to my full size, and was very strong and active: not so stout as i have got in these later years, when my toes sometimes ache with the weight which rests on them, but robust and agile, and as comely, i believe, as most dogs of my age and descent. the uniformity of my life, which i have spoken of as making me so happy, was interrupted only by incidents that did not certainly cause me displeasure. i renewed my acquaintance with "fida," no longer _little_ fida, for she had grown to be a beautiful lady-dog. our second meeting was by chance, but we talked like old friends, so much had our first done to remove all strangeness. i don't think the next time we saw each other was quite by accident. if i remember rightly, it was not; and we often met afterwards. we agreed that we should do all we could to assist one another, though what _i_ could do for so rich and clever a lady-dog i could not imagine, although i made the promise very willingly. on her part, she did for me what i can never sufficiently repay. she taught me to read, lending me books containing strange stories of far-off countries, and beautiful poetry, written by some deep dogs of the city; she taught me to write; and in order to exercise me, made me compose letters to herself, which nip carried to her, bringing me back such answers as would astonish you; for when you thought you had got to the end, they began all over again in another direction. besides these, she taught me to speak and act properly, in the way that well-behaved dogs ought to do; for i had been used to the company of such low and poor animals, that it was not surprising if i should make sad blunders in speech and manners. i need not say that she taught me to love herself, for that you will guess i had done from the first day i saw her, when i was wet from my jump in the river, and she spoke to me such flattering words. no; she could not teach me more love for herself than i already knew. that lesson had been learnt _by heart_, and at a single sitting. our peaceful days were drawing to a close. sir john died. lady bull lived on for a short time longer. many said, when she followed, that she ate herself to death; but i mention the rumour in order to deny it, for i am sure it was grief that killed her. it is a pity some dogs will repeat everything they hear, without considering the mischief such tittle-tattle may occasion--although it has been asserted by many that in this case the false intelligence came from the cats, who had no great affection for poor lady bull. whatever the cause, she died, and with her the employment of poor nip and myself. the young bulls who came into possession of the estate, sold the preserves to a stranger; and as the new proprietor intended killing off the birds, and did not require keepers, there being no longer anything for them to do, we were turned upon the world. the news came upon us so suddenly, that we were quite unprepared for it; and we were, besides, so far from being rich, that it was a rather serious matter to find out how we should live until we could get some other occupation. i was not troubled for myself; for, though i had been used to good feeding lately, i did not forget the time when i was often forced to go the whole day with scarce a bit to eat; but the thought of how poor old nip would manage gave me some pain. having bid adieu to the peaceful cottage, where we had spent such happy times, we left the green fields and pleasant trees and proceeded to the town, where, after some difficulty, we found a humble little house which suited our change of fortune. here we began seriously to muse over what we should do. i proposed making a ferry-boat of my back, and, stationing myself at the waterside near the "mews," swim across the river with such cats as required to go over and did not like to walk as far as where the boat was accustomed to be. by these means i calculated on making enough money to keep us both comfortably. nip thought not. he said that the cats would not trust me--few cats ever did trust the dogs--and then, though he did not dislike cats, not at all, for he knew a great many very sensible cats, and very good ones too, he did not like the idea of seeing his friend walked over by cats or dogs, or any other animal, stranger or domestic. besides, there were other objections. strong as i was, i could not expect, if i made a boat of myself, that i could go on and on without wanting repair any more than a real boat; but where was the carpenter to put _me_ to rights, or take out _my_ rotten timbers and put in fresh ones. no; that would not do; we must think of something else. it must not be imagined that nip made all this long speech in one breath, or in a dozen breaths. it took him a whole morning to explain himself even as clearly as i have tried to do; and perhaps i may still have written what he did not quite intend, for his words came out with a jump, one or two at a time, and often so suddenly that it would have startled a dog who was not used to his manner. nip himself made the next proposal, and though i did not exactly like it, there seemed so little choice, that i at once agreed to do my part in the scheme. nip was the son of a butcher, and though he had followed the trade but a short time himself, he was a very good judge of meat. he, therefore, explained that if i would undertake to become the seller, he would purchase and prepare the meat, and he thought he could make it look nice enough to induce the dogs to come and buy. our stock of money being very small, a house-shop was out of the question, so there was no chance of getting customers from the better class,--a thing which i regretted, as i had little taste for the society of the vulgar; but, again, as it could not be helped, the only thing to do was to make the best of it. a wheelbarrow was therefore bought by nip, with what else was necessary to make me a complete "walking butcher," and having got in a stock of meat the day before, nip cut, and contrived, and shaped, and skewered, in so quiet and business-like a way as proved he knew perfectly well what he was about. with early morning, after nip had arranged my dress with the same care as he had bestowed upon the barrow and its contents, i wheeled my shop into the street, and amid a great many winks of satisfaction from my dear old friend, i went trudging along, bringing many a doggess to the windows of the little houses by my loud cry of "me-eet! fresh me-eet!" as i was strange in my new business, and did not feel quite at my ease, i fancied every dog i met, and every eye that peeped from door and casement, stared at me in a particular manner, as if they knew i was playing my part for the first time, and were watching to see how i did it. the looks that were cast at my meat, were all, i thought, intended for me, and when a little puppy leered suspiciously at the barrow as he was crossing the road, no doubt to see that it did not run over him, i could only imagine that he was thinking of the strange figure i made, and my awkward attempt at getting a living. feelings like these no doubt alarm every new beginner; but time and habit, if they do not reconcile us to our lot, will make it at least easier to perform, and thus, after some two hours' journeying through the narrow lanes of caneville, i did what my business required of me with more assurance than when i first set out. one thing, however, was very distasteful to me, and i could so little bear to see it, that i even spoke of it aloud, and ran the risk of offending some of my customers. i mean the _way_ in which several of the dogs devoured the meat after they had bought it. you will think that when they had purchased their food and paid for it, they had a right to eat it as they pleased: i confess it; nothing can be more true; but still, my ideas had changed so of late, that it annoyed me very much to see many of these curs, living as they did in the most civilized city in this part of the world, gnawing their meat as they held it on the ground with their paws, and growling if any one came near as though there was no such thing as a police in caneville. i forgot when i was scolding these poor dogs, that perhaps they had never been taught better, and deserved pity rather than blame. i forgot too that i had myself behaved as they did before i had been blessed with happier fortune, and that, even then, if i had looked into my own conduct, i should have found many things more worthy of censure than these poor curs' mode of devouring their food. the lane i was passing along was cut across by a broad and open street, the favourite promenade of the fashionables of caneville. there might be seen about mid-day, when the sun was shining, troops of well-dressed dogs and a few superior cats, some attended by servants, others walking alone, and many in groups of two or three, the male dogs smoking cigars, the ladies busily talking, while they looked at and admired one another's pretty dresses and bonnets. by the time i had got thus far, i had become tolerably used to my new work, and could imagine that when the passers-by cast their eyes on my barrow, their glances had more to do with the meat than with myself. but i did not like the idea of crossing the road where such grand dogs were showing off their finery. after a little inward conversation with myself, which finished with my muttering between my teeth, "job, brother job, i am ashamed of you! where is your courage, brother job? go on; go on;" i went on without further delay. i had got half-way across, and was already beginning to praise myself for the ease with which i turned my barrow in and out of the crowd without running over the toes of any of the puppies, who were far too much engaged to look after them themselves when a dirty little cur stopped me to buy a penn'orth of meat. i set down my load just in time to avoid upsetting a very fat and splendidly dressed doggess, who must, if i had run the wheel into her back, and it was very near it, have gone head foremost into the barrow. this little incident made me very hot, and i did not get cooler when my customer squatted down in the midst of the well-dressed crowd, and began tearing his meat in the way i have before described as being so unpleasant. at the same moment another dog by his side, with a very ragged coat, and queer little face, held up his paw to ask for "a little bit," as he was very hungry, "only a little bit." i should, probably, have given him a morsel, as i remembered the time when i wanted it as much as he seemed to do, but for an unexpected meeting. turning my head at a rustling just behind me, i saw a well-dressed dog, with a hat of the last fashion placed so nicely on his head that it seemed to be resting on the bridge of his nose, the smoke from a cigar issuing gracefully from his mouth, and his head kept in an upright posture by a very stiff collar which ran round the back of his neck, and entirely prevented his turning round his head without a great deal of care and deliberation, while a tuft of hair curled nicely from beneath his chin, and gave a fine finish to the whole dog. but though i have spoken of this caneville fashionable, it was not he who caused the rustling noise, or who most attracted my attention. tripping beside him, with her soft paw beneath his, was a lady-dog, whose very dress told her name, at least in my eyes, before i saw her face. i felt sure that it was fida, and i wished myself anywhere rather than in front of that barrow with an ill-bred cur at my feet gnawing the penn'orth of meat he had just bought of me. before i had time to catch up my load and depart, a touch on my shoulder, so gentle that it would not have hurt a fly, and yet which made me tremble more than if it had been the grip of a giant animal, forced me again to turn. it _was_ fida; as beautiful and as fresh as ever, who gave me a sweet smile of recognition and encouragement as she passed with her companion, and left me standing there as stupid and uncomfortable as if i had been caught doing something wrong. [illustration: a canine butcher] you will say that it was very ridiculous in me to feel so ashamed and disconcerted at being seen by her or any other dog or doggess in my common dress, and following an honest occupation. i do not deny it. and in telling you these things i have no wish to spare myself, i have no excuse to offer, but only to relate events and describe feelings precisely as they were. the inundation. that evening it seemed as if nip and i had changed characters. it was he who did all the talking, while i sat in a corner, full of thought, and answered yes or no to everything he said, and sometimes in the wrong place, i am sure; for once or twice he looked at me very attentively, and winked in a way which proved that he was puzzled by my manner. the reason of his talkativeness was the success i had attained in my first morning's walk, for i had sold nearly all the meat, and brought home a pocket full of small money. the cause of my silence was the unexpected meeting with fida, and the annoyance i felt at having been seen by her in such a position. this was the first time i had set eyes on her for several days. when we left our pretty country lodging, i wrote her a letter, which nip carried as usual to her house, but he was told that she had gone on a visit to some friends at a distance, but that the letter should be given to her on her return. i had not, therefore, been able to inform her of what we had been compelled to do, as i would have wished; but thus, without preparation, quite unexpectedly, i had been met by her in the public street, acting the poor dogs' butcher, with the implements of my business before me, and a dirty cur growling and gnawing his dinner at my feet. what made the matter more serious, for serious it seemed to me, though i can but smile _now_ to think why such a thing should have made me uncomfortable, was, that the whole scene had taken place in so open a part, with so many grand and gay dogs all round, to be witnesses of my confusion. i did not reflect that, of all the puppies who were strutting past, there was probably not one who could have remembered so common an event as the passing of a butcher's barrow; and if they looked at me at all, it was, doubtless, for no other reason than to avoid running against my greasy coat and spoiling their fine clothes. these confessions will prove to you that i was very far from being a wise dog or even a sensible one; all the books i had read had, as yet, served no other purpose than that of feeding my vanity and making me believe i was a very superior animal; and you may learn from this incident, that those who wish to make a proper figure in the world, and play the part they are called on to perform in a decent manner, must study their lesson in the world itself, by mingling with their fellows, for books alone can no more teach such knowledge than it can teach a dog to swim without his going into the water. nip and i had our dinner; and when it was over, my old friend went out to procure a supply of meat for the next day's business. i sat at the window with my nose resting on the ledge, at times watching some heavy clouds which were rolling up the sky, as if to attend a great meeting overhead; at another moment, looking at the curs in the streets, who were playing all sorts of games, which generally turned into a fight, and often staring at the house opposite without seeing a single stone in the wall, but in their place, fidas, and puppies with stiff collars, and barrows with piles of meat, ready cut and skewered. i was awoke from this day-dream by the voice of an old, but very clean doggess, inquiring if my name was mr. job? i answered that i was so called, when she drew from her pocket and gave me a pink-coloured note, which smelt like a nice garden, and even brought one to my view as plainly as if it had suddenly danced before me, and saying there was no reply, returned by the way she had come. i did not require to be told by whom it was sent. i knew the writing too well. the neat folding, the small but clean address assured me that a lady's paw had done it all, and every word of the direction- +---------------------------------------+ | master job, | | | | in the little dogs' street, | | | | f. lower caneville. | +---------------------------------------+ spoke to me of fida, and did not even need the f. in the corner to convince me of the fact. with her permission, i here give you the contents:- "my dear job, "i am sorry i was away from home when your letter arrived, and would have told you i was going, but that i thought the news might cause you pain, as i, by some mischance, had got my tail jammed in a door, and was forced to leave home in order to visit a famous doctor, who lives at some distance. he fortunately cured me after a few days' illness, and the tail wags now as freely as ever, although it was very annoying, as well as ridiculous, to see me walking up and down the room with that wounded member so wrapped up that it was as thick as my whole body, and was quite a load to drag about. "but, dear job, i do not write this to talk about myself, though i am forced to give you this explanation of my silence: what i wish is to say something about _you_. and to begin, as you have always been a good, kind dog, and listened to me patiently when i have praised, you must now be just as kind and good, and even more patient, because i am going to scold. "dear job, when i met you this morning in your new dress and occupation, i had not then read your letter. i had but just returned, and was taking a walk with my brother, who had arrived from abroad during my absence. i knew you at once, in spite of your change of costume, and though i did not particularly like the business you had chosen, i felt certain you had good reasons for having selected it. but when i looked in your face, instead of the smile of welcome which i expected from you, i could read nothing but shame, confusion, and annoyance. why? dear job, why? if you were _ashamed_ of your occupation, why had you chosen it? i suppose when you took it up, you resolved to do your duty in it properly; then why feel _shame_ because _your friend_ sees you, as you must have thought she would one day see you, since the nature of your new business carries you into different parts of the city? "but, dear job, i feel certain, and i would like you to be equally sure, that there is no need of _shame_ in following any busines which is _honest_, and which can be carried on without doing injury to others. it is not the business, believe me, dear job, which lowers a dog; _he himself_ is alone capable of _lowering_ himself, and one dog may be truly good and noble, though he drive a meat-barrow about the streets, while another may be a miserable, mean animal, though living in a palace and never soiling his paws. "i have a great deal more to say, my dear job, upon this subject, but i must leave the rest till i see you. i have already crossed and recrossed my note, and may be most difficult to understand where i most want to be clear. here is a nice open space, however, in the corner, which i seize on with pleasure to write myself most distinctly, "your friend, "fida." a variety of feelings passed through my mind as i read these lines. but they were all lost in my wonder at fida's cleverness in being able to read my face, as if it had been a book. i was grateful to her for the good advice she gave me, and now felt ashamed for having been ashamed before. the best way i thought to prove my thankfulness would be to act openly and naturally as fida had pointed out, for i could not help confessing, as my eyes looked again and again over her note, that she was quite right, and that i had acted like a very silly animal. i was interrupted during my reflections by the bursting of rain upon the house-roofs, and the stream which rose from the streets as the large drops came faster and faster down. i went to the door to look for my old friend, but not a dog was to be seen. i was surprised at the sight of the sky where i had observed the clouds rising a little while before, for now those same clouds looked like big rocks piled one above another, with patches of light shining through great caverns. as i stared eagerly down the street, torrents of water poured from above, which, instead of diminishing, seemed to be growing more terrible every moment. i had never seen so fearful a storm. it did not appear like mere rain which was falling; the water came down in broad sheets, and changed the road into a river. i got more and more anxious about old nip. it was getting dark, and i knew he was not strong. my hope was that he had taken shelter somewhere; but i could not rest, for i was sure he would try and get home, if only to quiet me. while running in and out in my anxiety--the water having meanwhile risen above the sill of the door, and poured into our little house, where it was already above my paws--i spied a dark figure crawling along the street, and with great difficulty making way against the beating of the storm. i at once rushed out, and swimming rather than running towards the object, i found my poor friend almost spent with fatigue, and scarcely able to move, having a heavy load to carry besides his own old limbs, which were not fit to battle with such a tempest. i caught up his package; and assisting him as well as i was able, we at length got to our cottage, though we were forced to get upon the bench that stood by the wall to keep our legs out of the water. the rain had now become a perfect deluge. a stream of water went hissing down the street, and rushed in and out of the houses as if they had been baths. when nip recovered breath, he told me that terrible things were happening in the parts of the city by the waterside. the river had swollen so much, that some kennels had been carried away by the current, and it was impossible to learn how many poor dogs had been drowned. this news made me jump again from the bench where i had been sitting. "what is it?" said nip. "i am going out, nip," replied i. "i must not be idle here, when i can, perhaps, be of use somewhere else." "that is true," said nip; "but, job, strong as you are, the storm is stronger." "yes, nip," answered i; "but there are dogs weaker than myself who may require such assistance as i can give them, and it is not a time for a dog to sit with his tail curled round him, when there are fellow-creatures who may want a helping paw. so good-bye, old friend; try and go to sleep; you have done your duty as long as your strength let you, it is now for me to do mine." without waiting for a reply, i rushed out at the door. it did not need much exertion to get through our street or the next, or the next after that, for as they all sloped downwards, the water more than once took me off my legs, and carried me along. sad as nip's news had been, i was not prepared for the terrible scene which met my eyes when i got near the river. the houses at the lower part of the street i had reached had been swept away by the torrent, and a crowd of shivering dogs stood looking at the groaning river as it rolled past in great waves as white as milk, in which black objects, either portions of some kennel or articles of furniture, were floating. every now and then, a howl would break from a doggess in the crowd, as a dead body was seen tossed about by the angry water; and the same dolorous cries might be heard from different quarters, mixed up with the roar of the river. while standing with a group of three or four, staring with astonishment at the frightful scene, uncertain what to do, a howl was heard from another direction, so piercing that it made many of us run to learn the cause. the pale light showed us that the torrent had snapped the supports of a house at some distance from the river's bank, but which the swollen stream had now reached, and carried away at least half the building. by some curious chance, the broken timbers had become fixed for the moment in the boiling water, which, angry at the obstruction, was rushing round or flying completely over them; and it was easy to see that in a very short time the mass would be swept away. upon the timbers thus exposed were three little pups scarce two months old, yelping most dismally as they crouched together, or crawled to the edge of their raft; while on the floor of the ruin from which this side had been torn away, was their poor mother, whose fearful howl had attracted us thither, and who was running from side to side of the shattered hut as if she was frantic. great as the danger was, i could not bear to think the wretched mother should see her little ones swallowed up by the stormy water, before her very eyes, without a single attempt being made to save them. although i could scarcely hope even to reach them in safety, and in no case could bring more than one of them to land at once, if i even got so far, i resolved to make the trial. better save one, i thought, than let all die. holding my breath, i launched into the current in the direction of the raft, and soon found that i had not been wrong in calculating the difficulties and dangers of the undertaking. it was not the water alone which made the peril so great, though the eddies seemed at every moment to be pulling me to the bottom, but there were so many things rushing along with the stream as to threaten to crush me as they flew by; and had they struck me, there is no doubt there would have been an end of my adventures. avoiding them all, though i know not how, i was getting near the spot where the little pups were crying for their mother, when i felt myself caught in an eddy and dragged beneath the water. without losing courage, but not allowing myself to breathe, i made a strong effort, and at last, got my head above the surface again; but where was the raft? where were the helpless puppies? all had gone--not a trace was left to tell where they had been--the river foamed over the spot that had held them for a time, and was now rushing along as if boasting of its strength. seeing my intentions thus defeated, i turned my head towards the shore, resolving to swim to land. to my surprise, i found that i made no progress. i put out all my strength--i fought with the water--i threw myself forward--it was in vain--i could not move a paw's breadth against the current. i turned to another point--i again used every exertion--all was useless--i felt my tired limbs sink under me--i felt the stream sweeping me away--my head turned round in the agony of that moment, and i moaned aloud. my strength was now gone--i could scarce move a paw to keep my head down the river. a dark object came near--it was a large piece of timber, probably a portion of some ruined building. seizing it as well as my weakness would permit me, i laid my paws over the floating wood, and, dragging my body a little more out of the water, got some rest from my terrible labours. [illustration: afloat] where was i hurrying to? i knew not. every familiar object must have been long passed, but it was too obscure to make out anything except the angry torrent. on, on i went, in darkness and in fear--yes, great fear, not of death, but a fear caused by the strangeness of my position, and the uncertainty before me; on, on, till the black shores seemed to fly from each other, and the river to grow and grow until all land had disappeared, and nothing but the water met my aching eyes. i closed them to shut out the scene, and tried to forget my misery. had i slept? and what was the loud noise which startled me so that i had nearly let go my hold? i roused myself--i looked around--i was tossing up and down with a regular motion, but could see nothing clearly, i was no longer carried forward so swiftly as before, but the dim light prevented me making out the place i was now in. suddenly, a flash broke from the black clouds, and for a single moment shed a blue light over everything. what a spectacle! all around, for miles and miles and miles, was nothing but dancing water, like shining hills with milky tops, but not a living creature beside myself to keep me company, or say a kind word, or listen to me when i spoke, or pity me when i moaned! oh! who could tell what i then felt, what i feared, and what i suffered! alone! alone! when i think, as i often do now, of that terrible scene, and figure to myself my drenched body clinging to that piece of timber, i seem to feel a strange pity for the miserable dog thus left, as it seemed, to die, away from all his fellows, without a friendly howl raised, to show there was a single being to regret his loss--and i cannot help at such times murmuring to myself, as if it were some other animal, "poor job! poor dog!" i remember a dimness coming over my eyes after i had beheld that world of water--i have a faint recollection of thinking of fida--of poor nip--of the drowning puppies i had tried in vain, to save--of my passing through the streets of caneville with my meat-barrow, and wondering how i could have been so foolish as to feel ashamed of doing so--and then--and then--i remember nothing more. pains and pleasures. when i again opened my eyes after the deep sleep which had fallen upon me, morning was just breaking, and a grey light was in the sky and on the clouds which dotted it all over. as i looked round, you may well think, with hope and anxiety, still nothing met my view but the great world of water, broken up into a multitude of little hills. i now understood that i was on the sea, where i had been borne by the rushing river; that sea of which i had often read, but which i could form no idea about till this moment. the sad thought struck me that i must stop there, tossed about by the wind and beaten by the waves, until i should die of hunger, or that, spent with fatigue, my limbs would refuse to sustain me longer, and i should be devoured by some of the monsters of the deep, who are always on the watch for prey. such reflections did not help to make my position more comfortable, and it was painful enough in itself without them. it was certain, however, that complaint or sorrow could be of no service, and might be just the contrary, as the indulging in either would, probably, prevent my doing what was necessary to try and save myself should an opportunity offer. the grey light, in the meantime, had become warmer and warmer in its tone, until the face of every cloud towards the east was tinged with gold. while i was admiring the beautiful sight, for it was so beautiful that it made me forget for a time my sad position, my eyes were caught by the shining arch of the rising sun, as it sprang all of a sudden above the surface of the sea. oh! never shall i forget the view! between me and the brilliant orb lay a pathway of gold, which rose, and fell, and glittered, and got at last so broad and dazzling, that my eyes could look at it no longer. i knew it was but the sun's light upon the water, but it looked so firm, that i could almost fancy i should be able to spring upon it, and run on and on until i reached some friendly country. but alas! there seemed little chance of such a thing happening as my ever reaching land again. as the sun got high up, and poured his rays on to the sea, i began to feel a craving for food, and, though surrounded with water, yet the want of some to drink. when the thirst came upon me, i at first lapped up a few drops of the sea-water with avidity, but i soon found that it was not fit to drink, and that the little i had taken only made my thirst the greater. in the midst of my suffering, a poor bird came fluttering heavily along, as if his wings were scarce able to support his weight. every little object was interesting to me just then, and as i sat upon my piece of timber i looked up at the trembling creature, and began comparing his fate with my own. "ah, job," i said, half-aloud, "you thought, perhaps, that you were the only unhappy being in the world. look at that poor fowl; there he is, far away from land, from his home, from his friends, perhaps his little ones (for many birds have large families), with tired wings, and not a piece of ground as broad as his own tail for him to rest upon. he must go on, fatigued though he may be, for if he fall, nothing can prevent his death; the water will pour among his feathers, clog his wings, and not only prevent him ever rising more into the air, but pull him down until his life is gone. so, job, badly off as you are just now, there is another, as you see, whose fate is worse; and who shall say that in other places, where your eye cannot reach, there are not others yet so very, very miserable, that they would willingly, oh! how willingly! change places with you, or with that poor fluttering bird?" this talk with myself quieted me for a time, and i felt a certain joy when i saw the bird slowly descend, and having spied my uncomfortable boat, perch heavily on the other end of it. he did not do so until he had looked at me with evident alarm; and, worn out as he was, and his heart beating as though it would burst through his yellow coat, he still kept his eyes fixed upon me, ready to take wing and resume his journey, wherever he might be going, at the least motion i should make. some time passed over in this way; myself in the middle, and dicky at the end of the beam. we did not say a word to each other; for, as i spoke no other language but my own, and he seemed about as clever as myself, we merely talked with our eyes. a thought now came into my head. my thirst returned, and i felt very hungry. what if i should suddenly dart on little dicky, and make a meal of him? i did not consider at the instant that, by so doing, i should be acting a very base part, for dicky had placed confidence in me; and killing him for trusting to my honour, and eating him because he was poor and unfortunate, would be neither a good return nor a kind action. luckily for dicky, and even for myself, although he was not able to speak foreign languages, he could read my meaning in my eyes; for when i turned them slowly towards him, just to see my distance, he took alarm, and rose into the air with a swiftness which i envied. i am sorry to say my only thought at first was the having lost my dinner: but as i watched him through the air, flying on and on, until he diminished to a misty speck, and then disappeared, my better feelings came back to me and said, "oh, job! i would not have believed this of you!" "but," replied my empty stomach, "i am so hungry; without food, i shall fall in, and job will die." "let job die," said my better self again, in a cold, firm tone; "let job rather die, than do what he would live to feel ashamed of." as the day wore on, i began to think that death only could relieve me; and the thought was very, very painful. nothing before and around but the salt waves--nothing above but the blue sky and hot sun--not even a cloud on which to rest my aching eyes. the want of water which i could drink was now becoming terrible. when i thought of it, my head began to turn; my brain seemed to be on fire; and the public basins of caneville, where only the lowest curs used to quench their thirst, danced before me to add to my torture; for i thought, though i despised them once, how i could give treasures of gold for one good draught at the worst of them just then. there is not a misfortune happens to us from which we may not derive good if our hearts are not quite hardened, and our minds not totally impenetrable. great as my sufferings were during this incident of my life, i learnt from it much that has been useful to me in after years. but even if it had taught me no other truth than that we should despise nothing which is good and wholesome, merely because it is ordinary, i should not have passed through those sad hours in vain. we dogs are so apt, when in prosperity, to pamper our appetites, and, commonly speaking, to turn up our noses at simple food, that we require, from time to time, to be reminded on how little canine life can be preserved. all have not had the advantage of the lesson which i was blessed with; for it _was_ a blessing; one that has so impressed itself on my memory, that sometimes when i fancy i cannot eat anything that is put before me, because it is too much done, or not done enough, or has some other real or supposed defect, i say to myself, "job, job, what would you have given for a tiny bit of the worst part of it when you were at sea?" and then i take it at once, and find it excellent. as the sun got lower, clouds, the same in shape that had welcomed him in the morning, rose up from the sea as if to show their pleasure at his return. he sunk into the midst of them and disappeared; and then the clouds came up and covered all the sky. i suffered less in the cool evening air, and found with pleasure that it was growing into a breeze. my pleasure soon got greater still, for, with the wind, i felt some drops of rain! the first fell upon my burning nose; but the idea of fresh water was such a piece of good fortune, that i dared not give loose to my joy until the drops began to fall thickly on and around me, and there was a heavy shower. i could scarcely give my rough coat time to get thoroughly wet before i began sucking at it. it was not nice at first, being mixed with the salt spray by which i had been so often covered; but as the rain still came down, the taste was fresher every moment, and soon got most delicious. i seemed to recover strength as i licked my dripping breast and shoulders; and though evening changed to dark night, and the rain was followed by a strong wind, which got more and more fierce, and appeared to drive me and my friendly log over the waves as if we had been bits of straw, i felt no fear, but clung to the timber, and actually gave way to hope. i must have slept again, for daylight was once more in the sky when i unclosed my eyes. where was i now? my sight was dim, and though i could see there was no longer darkness, i could make out nothing else. was i still on the rolling water? surely not; for i felt no motion. i passed my paw quickly across my eyes to brush away the mist which covered them. i roused myself. the beam of wood was still beneath me, but my legs surely touched the ground! my sight came back to me, and showed me, true, the sea stretching on, on, on, in the distance, but showed me also that _i_--oh, joy!--_i_ had reached the shore! when my mind was able to believe the truth, i sprang on to the solid land with a cry which rings in my ears even now. what though my weakness was so great that i tumbled over on to the beach and filled my mouth with sand? i could have licked every blade of grass, every stone, in my ecstacy; and when forced to lie down from inability to stand upon my legs, i drove my paws into the earth, and held up portions to my face, to convince myself that i was indeed on shore. i did not trouble myself much with questions as to how i got there. i did not puzzle my brain to inquire whether the wind which had risen the evening before, and which i felt driving me on so freely, had at length chased me to the land. all i seemed to value was the fact that i was indeed _there_; and all i could persuade myself to say or think was the single, blessed word, saved! i must have lain some time upon the sand before i tried again to move, for when i scrambled on to my legs the sun was high and hot--so hot, that it had completely dried my coat, and made me wish for shelter. dragging myself with some trouble to a mound of earth, green and sparkling with grass and flowers, i managed to get on top of it; and when i had recovered from the effort, for i was very weak, looked about me with curiosity to observe the place where i had been thrown. the ground was level close to where i stood, but at a little distance it rose into gentle grassy hills, with short bushes here and there; and just peeping over them, were the tops of trees still farther off, with mountains beyond, of curious forms and rich blue colour. while considering this prospect, i suddenly observed an animal on one of the hills coming towards me, and i lay down at full length on the grass to examine who he might be. as he drew nearer, i was surprised at his form and look (i afterwards learnt that he was called an ape), and thought i had never beheld so queer a being. he had a stick in his right hand, and a bundle in his left, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he walked along. when he was quite close, i rose again, to ask him where i could procure food and water, of which i felt great want. the motion startled him; and stepping back, he took his stick in both hands as if to protect himself. the next moment he put it down, and coming up to me, to my surprise addressed me in my own language, by inquiring how i came there. my astonishment was so great at first that i could not reply; and when i did speak, it was to ask him how it happened that he used my language. to this he answered, that he had been a great traveller in his day, and among other places had visited my city, where he had studied and been treated kindly for a long time; that he loved dogs, and should be only too happy now to return some of the favours he had received. this speech opened my heart; but before he would let me say more, he untied his bundle, and spread what it contained before me. as there were several savoury morsels, you may believe i devoured them with great appetite--indeed, i hope master ximio's opinion of me was not formed from the greediness with which i ate up his provisions. after i had refreshed myself at a spring of water, we sat down, and i told him my story. he heard me patiently to the end, when, after a pause, he exclaimed-"come, job, come with me. a few days' rest will restore your strength, and you can return to your own city. it is not a long journey over land; and with stout limbs like those, you will soon be able to get back and lick old nip again." i need not dwell upon this part of my story, although i could fill many pages with the narration of master ximio's dwelling, and above all of his kindness; he kept me two or three days at his house, and would have detained me much longer, but, besides that i was anxious to return to nip, i felt certain pains in my limbs, which made me wish to get back to caneville, as i did not like the idea of troubling my good friend with the care of a sick dog. he was so kind-hearted, however, and showed me such attention, that i was afraid to say anything about my aches, lest he should insist on keeping me. he seemed to think it was quite natural i should desire to get home; and when he saw my impatience to depart, he assisted to get me ready. having supplied me with everything i could want on my journey, and pressed upon me many gifts besides, he led me by a little path through the wood, until we came to the sea. "along this shore," he said, "your road lies. follow the winding of the coast until you reach the mouth of a broad river, the waters of which empty themselves into the sea. that river is the same which runs through your city. keep along its banks and you will shortly arrive at caneville, where i hope you may find everything you wish--for i am sure you wish nothing that is unreasonable. if pleasure awaits you there, do not, in the midst of it, forget ximio. if, against my hopes, you should find yourself unhappy, remember there is a home always open to you here, and a friend who will do his best to make you forget sorrow. farewell!" i was greatly moved at his words and the memory of his kindness. we licked each other tenderly--murmured something, which meant a good deal more than it expressed--and then we parted. i turned my head often as i went, and each time beheld ximio waving his hand in the air; at last a dip in the ground hid him from my sight, and i continued my journey alone. it was fortunate i had been well furnished with provisions by my good friend, for as i proceeded, i found the pains in my limbs so great that i could scarce drag one leg after the other, and should probably have died of hunger, as i had no strength left to procure food, and did not meet with any more ximios to assist me had i stood in need. with long rests, from which i rose each time with greater difficulty,--with increasing anxiety as i drew near my home, to learn all that had taken place during my absence,--and yet with legs which almost refused to carry me; after many days that seemed to have grown into months,--they were so full of care and suffering,--i toiled up a hill, which had, i thought, the power of getting steeper as i ascended. at length i reached the top, and to my joy discovered the well-known city of caneville, lying in the plain beneath me. the sight gave me strength again. i at once resumed my journey, and trotted down the hill at a pace which surprised myself. as i got warm with my exertions, the stiffness seemed by degrees to leave my limbs; i ran, i bounded along, over grass and stone through broad patches of mud which showed too plainly to what height the river had lately risen, out of breath, yet with a spirit that would not let me flag, i still flew on, nor slackened my speed until i had got to the first few houses of the town. there i stopped indeed, and fell; for it then seemed as if my bones were all breaking asunder. my eyes grew dim; strange noises sounded in my ears; and though i fancied i could distinguish voices which i knew, i could neither see nor speak; i thought it was my dying hour. from the mouths of nip and others i learnt all which then occurred, and all that had passed after my supposed loss on the night of the inundation. how my noble conduct (for so they were kind enough to call it, though i only tried to do my duty, and failed) had been made known to the great dogs of caneville, and how they had sought after me to thank me for it;--how they had offered rewards to those who assisted in my recovery;--how, when it was supposed that i was dead, they took nip from our modest home, and placed him in this present house, fitted with everything that could make him comfortable for life;--how, when all hope was gone, my unexpected appearance brought a crowd about me, each one anxious to assist me in my distress, though some maliciously said, in order to lay claim to the reward;--and how i was finally brought again to my senses through the care of our clever canine doctors, and the kind nursing of dear old nip. it was long, however, before i recovered my legs sufficiently to be able to use them without support. my long exposure at sea, the want of food, and the trouble i had gone through, during my involuntary voyage, had all assisted to weaken me. but my anxiety to enjoy the fresh air again, took me out into the streets directly it was thought safe for me to do so, and with a pair of crutches beneath my arms, i managed to creep about. never shall i forget the first time this pleasure was allowed me. the morning was so fresh and bright; the sun shone so gaily upon the houses; the river, now reduced to its usual size, ran so cheerily along, that i got into my old habit, and began to think they were all talking to me and bidding me welcome after my long illness. kind words were soon said to me in right earnest, for before i had got half-way down the street, with old nip just behind me,--his hat still adorned with the band which he had unwillingly put on when he thought me dead and gone, and which he had forgotten to take off again,--the puppies ran from different quarters to look up in my face and say, "how do you do, job? i hope you are better, job." many a polite dog took off his hat to bid me good morrow; and praises more than i deserved, but which i heard with pleasure, came softly to my ear, as i hobbled slowly along. nip told me afterwards, that there had been another in the crowd who kept a little back, and who, though she said nothing, seemed to be more glad to see me than all the rest. i had not seen her, nor did he mention her name, but that was not necessary. my heart seemed to tell me that it could only have been fida. [illustration: a worthy subject] duty. the idle life which i was compelled to spend gave me time for reflection, and i believe my mind was more active during the few months my body was on crutches than it had been for years previous. my thoughts received little interruption from nip, who, after having recounted the events which had taken place during my absence, had little more to say. the kindness of the great city dogs having removed all fear of want, or even the necessity of labour, from our comfortable home, produced at first a pleasing effect upon me; but as my strength returned, and i managed to walk about the room without assistance, a desire for active employment became quite necessary to my happiness. "what have i done, nip?" i would often say, as i took my usual exercise in our modest parlour; "what have i done, nip, that i should be clothed, and fed, and housed, without labouring for such advantages, like the rest of dog-kind? these paws, large and strong as they are, were never intended for idleness; this back, broad as it is, was meant for some other purpose than to show off a fine coat; this brain, which can reflect and admire and resolve, had not such capabilities given to it in order that they might be wasted in a life of ease. work, nip, work; such work as a dog _can_ do should be sought after and done, for nothing can be more shocking than to see an animal's powers, either of body or mind, wasted away in idleness." nip replied but little, although he winked his eyes very vigorously. i was used to his manner now, and could understand his meaning without the necessity of words. both his looks and gestures told me that he thought as i did, and i only waited till i could use my own legs freely, to set about a resolution i had been forming in my mind. it was a happy day when i could again mix in the bustle of the streets, and find my strength once more restored. the first use i made of it was to go to the great house where the chief dogs of caneville are accustomed to sit during a certain time of the day to judge matters relating to the city. when i arrived, they were almost alone, and i was therefore able to present myself without delay, and explain my business. i began by thanking them for what they had done for me and my old friend nip, in providing us with a house and with so many comforts. i told them, although the goodness of nip rendered him worthy of every attention, as he had grown old in a useful and laborious life, i had no such claims. i was still young--my strength had come back to me--i had no right to eat the food of idleness where so many dogs, more deserving than i, were often in want of a bone, but whose modesty prevented them making known their necessities. i would still thankfully enjoy the home, which the kindness of the great animals of caneville had furnished me, but they must permit me to work for it--they must permit me to do something which might be useful to the city in return, for i should devour the fare provided for me with a great deal more appetite, if i could say to myself when i felt hungry, "job, brother job, eat your dinner, for you have _earned_ it." the assembly of dogs heard me with great attention to the end; not a bark interrupted my little speech, not a movement disturbed my attention. i was pleased to see that tails wagged with approbation when i had concluded, and was charmed to hear the chief among them, who was white with age, express himself _delighted_, yes, that was the word, delighted with my spirit. "we are pleased, job," he said, at the end of his reply, "we are pleased to observe that there are yet _true dogs_ in caneville; there have been animals calling themselves so, whose character was so base, and whose manner was so cringing, that they have brought disrepute upon the name; and we are sorry to say that in many countries the title of a _dog_ is given to the vilest and most worthless creatures. all the finer qualities of our race have been lost sight of, because a few among us have been mean or wicked; and a whole nation has been pointed at with scorn, because some of its members have acted badly. we are happy, job, to find in you a 'worthy subject,' and we shall be glad to give you all assistance in choosing an occupation in which you may employ your time, and be of use to your fellow-creatures." i should not have repeated this to you, as it is not, perhaps, necessary for my story, but that i wished to correct an error, which many have made, concerning the character of this very dog. he has been described by several as cold, and proud, and sometimes cruel; and yet to me he was warm, and friendly, and most kind. do not you think when we hear animals grumbling against their fellows, it would be just as well to think who the grumblers are, before we form our opinions? or, at least, hear the opinions of many before we decide ourselves? i need not tell you all that passed between us, and what was said by this dog and by that, about the choice of my occupation. it was agreed at last that i should be appointed chief of the caneville police, as the place had become vacant through the death of a fine old mastiff some days previous. i wonder whether he was a relation of my own, for i have already told you my mother belonged to that great family. he had received some severe wounds when trying to capture a fierce beast of the name of lupo, the terror of the city, and he had died from the effects of them in spite of all the care of the doctors. what made the matter worse, was the fact that lupo was yet at liberty, and many dogs were afraid to go out at night for fear of meeting with this terrible animal. to tell the truth, i was rather pleased than otherwise that lupo had still to be taken. it was agreeable to me to think that work, difficult work, was to be done, and that _i_ was called upon to do it. i felt proud at the idea that the animals of the great city of caneville would look up to me, _to me_, poor job, as the dog chosen to releive them of their fears, and restore security to their streets. "job," i cried out to myself, in a firm tone, "job, here is a chance of being useful to your country; let no danger, no fear, even of death, stop you in the good work. job, you are called upon to perform a duty, and let nothing, mind _nothing_, turn you from it." after i had become acquainted with all the dogs who were under my command, i spent much time each day in exercising them, and in endeavouring by kind words, and by my own example, to make them attend strictly to their work. i was pleased to observe that i succeeded. some, who were pointed out to me as difficult to manage, became my most faithful followers, and i had not been two months in my employment before all were so devoted to me, that i believe they would have died to serve me. in all this time, nothing had been heard of the terrible lupo, and all my inquiries procured no information concerning where he was to be found. i learned that he was not a native of caneville, although his father once belonged to the city. he was born in a country beyond the great wood, and his mother came from a fierce tribe of wolves, who, although they a little resemble dogs in appearance, and speak a very similar language, are much more ferocious, and seem to look upon the whole canine family as natural enemies. the opinion began to spread in caneville that lupo had at length left the city, and the inhabitants, by degrees, recovered their usual quiet; when, suddenly, the alarm spread more widely than before; as, two nights in succession, some rich dogs were robbed and ill-treated, and one of them was lamed by the ferocity of the chief of the terrible band who had attacked them, and whose description convinced me it was lupo. these accounts caused me much pain, as i had neither been able to prevent the attacks, nor discover the animals who had made them. in my desire to find out and capture the robbers, i could scarcely take food or rest. i managed to sleep a little in the day-time, and at night, dressed in the simplest manner, so as to excite no attention, i wandered quietly from street to street, stopping to listen to the slightest noise, and going in any direction that i heard a murmur. one or two of my dogs generally followed at a distance, ready to assist me if i called for help. it was a fine night. the moon and stars were brilliant in the sky, and made the blue all the deeper from their own bright rays. i had been already two hours crawling through the lower parts of the city, and was mounting the hill which led to a fine building where my steps often carried me--sometimes without my intending it--in order to watch over the safety of those who slept within. it was the house of fida--that fida who had been to me so kind, so tender; that fida, who so patiently softened down my rudeness, and had tried to teach me to know what was good by letting me become her friend. i had nearly reached the top of the hill, and paused an instant to observe the bright light and dark shadows which the house displayed, as the moon fell upon it, or some portion of the building interposed. profound sleep had fallen upon the city. the river might be seen from the spot where i was standing, running swiftly along; and so deep was the silence that you could even hear the gush of the water as it fretted round some large stones in the centre of the stream. suddenly there rose into the air from the ground above me, the sharp, clear howl of a female voice, and at the same instant the sound of a rattle broke upon my ear as a signal of alarm. i sprang up the few feet which were between me and the house with the speed of lightning, and turning rapidly the corner of the building, reached the principal entrance. one look told me everything: at an upper window, in a loose dress, was fida herself, springing the rattle which she held in her paw, with a strength that fear alone could have given her; and below, where i myself stood, were four or five dogs differently engaged, but evidently trying to get into the house. a kick from my right leg sent one of them to the ground, and, with my clenched paw, i struck a blow at the second. never do i remember feeling such strength within me, such a resolution to attack twenty dogs if it were necessary, although the next minute i might be torn in pieces. i have sometimes asked myself whether the presence of fida had anything to do with it, or if a sense of duty only inspired me. i have never been able to reply to the question in a satisfactory manner. i only know that the fact was as i say, and that the blow i gave was surprising even to myself; my paw caught the animal precisely under his chin, and sent him flying backwards, with his nose in the air and his hat behind him; and as the moon shone brilliantly upon his upturned face, i recognised the features described to me as those of lupo. he lay so still upon the ground that i thought he must be killed; so, leaving him for a moment, i pursued some others who were running off in the distance, but did not succeed in catching them. i said a few cheering words to fida at the window, and returned to the spot of my encounter with lupo; but instead of that terrible beast, found some of my own followers, the father of fida, and one or two servants, who had been roused by the tumult, and had come out to learn the cause. lupo was nowhere to be seen. he had either partly recovered from the blow, and had managed to crawl away, or had been dragged off by some of his troop. nothing could have been more fortunate to me than this night's adventure. the father of fida, who had seen the attack from his window, was the head of one of the best families of dogs in caneville, and being, besides, very rich, he enjoyed great power. he was so pleased with what i had done, that he not only took a great liking to me himself, but he spoke of my conduct in the highest terms to the great assembly. i received public thanks; i was admitted to the honour which i now hold, that of forming one of the second assembly of the city; i was loaded with rich presents, and equally rich praise; and i may also date from that night, the obtaining the richest gift of all, the gift which has made the happiness of my best years; i mean the possession of my wife, the beautiful fida. [illustration: a severe blow] it is true that i did not procure that felicity at once. there were many difficulties to be got over before the noble spaniel would think of allowing his daughter to become the wife of plain mr. job. his son, also, of whom i have spoken previously, could not bear, at first, the idea of his sister not marrying some one as noble as herself, and thought, very naturally, that she was far too good to have her fortunes united with mine. fida herself, however, was so firm, and yet so tender; so straightforward, and yet so modest, that she finally broke down all opposition. she persuaded her father that no title could be more noble than the one i had acquired, that of "honest job;" she won over her brother, by slily asking him, which among his grand companions could have met a whole band of fierce dogs, with lupo at their head, and, single-pawed, could have conquered them all? by degrees, every objection was cleared away, and fida became mine. the chief interest of my life terminates here; for although, in my position as head of the police, i had many other adventures, they were too much alike, and of too common an order, to be worth relating. before i close, however, i must mention a circumstance which occurred shortly after my battle with the robbers, as it is curious in itself, and refers to an animal of whom i have before spoken. i was quietly walking along a bye-street of caneville, when a miserable, thin, little puppy came behind me, and gently pulled my coat. on turning round to ask him what he wanted, he begged me in the most imploring tone to come and see his father, who was very ill. "and who is your father, little pup?" i inquired. "his name is lupo," said the thin dog, in a trembling voice. "lupo!" i cried out in surprise. "but do you not know who i am, and that i am forced to be your father's greatest enemy?" "i know, i know," the pup replied; "but father told me to come and seek _you_, for that you were good, and would not harm him, if you knew he was so miserable." and here the little dog began howling in a way which moved me. "go on," i said, after a moment; "go on; i will follow you." as the little dog ran before, through some of the low and miserable parts of the city, the idea once came into my head that perhaps this was a scheme of lupo's to get me into his power. but the puppy's grief had been too real to allow me to believe, young as he was, that he could be acting a part; so with a stout resolution i went forward. we arrived at a low and dirty kennel, where only the greatest misery could bear to live. we passed through a hole, for so it appeared, rather than a doorway, and i found myself in a little room, lit by a break in the wall. on the single poor bed lay a wretched object, gasping for breath, while a ragged pup, somewhat older than my little guide, had buried his face in the clothes at the bottom of the bed. three other tiny creatures, worn to the bone with poverty and want of food, came crowding round me, in a way that was piteous to behold; and with their looks, not words, for they said nothing, asked me to do something for their miserable parent. i procured from a neighbouring tavern a bason of broth with which i succeeded in reviving the once terrible lupo; but it was only a flash before life departed for ever. in broken words, he recommended to my care the poor little objects round. bad as he was, he still had feeling for them, and it was easy to observe that at this sad moment his thoughts were more of _them_ than of himself; for when i promised to protect them, he pressed my paw with his remaining strength to his hot lips, moaned faintly, and expired. [illustration: consolation] my tale is over. would that it had been more entertaining, more instructive. but the incidents of my career have been few, and my path, with the one or two exceptions i have described, has been a smooth one. i have heard it said that no history of a life, however simple, is without its lesson. if it be so, then perhaps some good may be derived from mine. if it teach the way to avoid an error, or correct a fault; if any portion of it win a smile from a sad heart, or awake a train of serious thought in a gay one, my dog's tale will not have been unfolded in vain. the end. london; thomas harrild, printer, 13, salisbury square, fleet street. new juvenile publications. routledge's new two-shilling present or gift-books, _in fcap. 8vo, cloth gilt, with illustrations by gilbert, warren, corbould, &c.; or with gilt edges, price two shillings and sixpence._ list of the series, viz.: 1. tales for my children. guizot. 2. ten moral tales. guizot. 3. juvenile tales & stories. m'intosh. 4. conquest & self-conquest. m'intosh. 5. evening at donaldson manor. m'intosh. 6. praise and principle. m'intosh. 7. grace and isabel. m'intosh. 8. charms & counter-charms. m'intosh. 9. gertrude and eulalie. hulse. 10. robert and harold. anon. 11. story of an apple. campbell. 12. cabin by the wayside. campbell. 13. memoirs of a doll. besset. 14. the black princess. besset. 15. emigrant's lost son. g. h. wall. 16. robinson the younger. hick. 18. amy carlton; or, first days at school. anon. 19. laura and ellen. allen. 20. robinson crusoe. defoe. 23. laura temple. bowman. 24. little foundling. mrs. myrtle. 25. spirit of the holly. mrs. owen. 26. poetry of the best authors. bowman. 27. harry and his homes. anon. 28. violet. m'intosh. 29. the lamplighter. cummins. 30. the lofty and lowly. m'intosh. 31. our native land. wilson. routledge's two-and-sixpenny reward or gift-books. _or, with gilt edges, price three shillings. fcap. 8vo. illustrated by the best artists. cloth extra, and gilt._ 1. arbell. by jane w. hooper. illustrated by godwin. 2. eda morton and her cousins. by m. bell. illustrated by birket foster. 3. allen's life of nelson. with steel portrait. 4. macfarlane's life of wellington. illustrated by john gilbert. 5. macfarlane's life of marlborough. illustrated by john gilbert. 6. osler's life of lord exmouth. with steel portrait and maps. 7. gilbert the adventurer. by peter parley. with engravings. 8. kaloolah: or, african adventures. with coloured plates. routledge's eighteenpenny juveniles. _square 16mo, cloth gilt. illustrated by john gilbert, absolon, foster, etc._ 1. peasant and the prince, by harriet martineau. 2. crofton boys, by harriet martineau. 3. feats on the fiord, by harriet martineau. 4. settlers at home, by harriet martineau. 5. holiday ramblers, or the school vacation, by elizabeth grant. 6. little drummer, a tale of the russian war. 7. frank, by maria edgeworth. 8. rosamond, by maria edgeworth. 9. harry and lucy, little dog trusty, the cherry orchard, etc. by maria edgeworth. 10. a hero, or philip's book, by the author of olive. london: george routledge and co., farringdon street. transcriber's notes: no changes to the original spelling were made. the following duplicated words were corrected. page 16: who who corrected to who. page 44: near near corrected to near. tom finch's monkey, and how he dined with the admiral and other yarns. by john c. hutcheson ________________________________________________________________ this is quite a short book, containing five short late victorian stories. the first of these concerns a monkey on board ship, which was dressed up as an officer, and as such introduced to a visiting admiral, who invites all the officers to dinner, stressing that he hoped to entertain the one who didn't speak much. the second story is an informative one about icebergs. the third concerns a yachting cruise in the aegean sea, among the greek islands, in which they save the live of a greek. there is an encounter with bandits, from which they are surprisingly released without further harm. why would that be, i wonder. the fourth concerns a "sighting of a sea-serpent of extraordinary dimensions", by hms daedalus in 1848. and the fifth is a story about the curious events at a cricket match. ________________________________________________________________ tom finch's monkey, and how he dined with the admiral and other yarns. by john c. hutcheson chapter one. and how he dined with the admiral. we were cruising off callao on the pacific station when it all happened, and i daresay there are a good many others who will recollect all about it as well as myself. but to explain the matter properly i must go back a little in my dates; for, instead of callao at the commencement of my yarn, you must read calabar. you see, i was in the _porpoise_ at the time, a small old-fashioned, paddle-wheel steamer that had been ordered across from the west coast of africa by "my lords" of the admiralty to reinforce our squadron in south american waters on account of a war breaking out between chili and peru. being a "sub" on board of her, and consequently subject to the authorities that be, when the _porpoise_ was obliged to abandon the fragrant mangrove swamps at the mouth of the congo river, where we had been enjoying ourselves for over a twelvemonth amidst the delights of a deadly miasma that brought on perpetual low fever, and as constant a consumption of quinine and bottled beer to counteract its effects, i was of course forced to accompany her across the atlantic and round the horn to her allotted destination. thence "this plain unvarnished tale," which is as clear as mud in a ditch, although you needn't believe it if you don't like--there is no compulsion required to make hungry people eat roast mutton! tom finch, the lieutenant in command of the _porpoise_, who had got his promotion through the death vacancy of his senior at cape coast castle-he was just ahead of me on the roster, luckily for him--was one of the jolliest fellows i ever sailed with or under, since i entered the service; and i'm sure i've known a few "swabs" in my time! unlike some junior officers i could name, when suddenly intrusted with the reins of power, there was nothing of the martinet about tom, even on the first day he assumed his new rank, when a little extra pomposity might have been excusable. but no, he gave himself no airs or graces whatever. he was the same tom finch who had chaffed and larked and talked confidence with me in the gunroom, now that he trod the quarter-deck "in all his war paint," as i told him somewhat impudently, the "skipper" of hms _porpoise_, "paddle sloop, 6 guns," as she was described in the _navy list_--the same unaffected, jovial, good-natured sailor whom everybody liked, men and messmates alike. his only weakness was a love for practical joking, which he would carry out sometimes, perhaps, to a rather ticklish extent--for his own good, that is, as he never knowingly did anyone else an injury by it. "what will you do with your monkey?" i said, when the mail brought in our orders from the commodore on the west coast for us to sail for monte video at once, and there await our further instructions--which would be sent on from england; "what will you do with him when we go?" "take him with me of course," answered tom; "why shouldn't i?" "well, i don't see any reason against it certainly," i replied; "now that you are captain of the ship, and can do as you please without asking anybody's leave." "poor griffin," said tom, "he _did_ object to jocko's society; that was the reason i always used to keep the dear fellow ashore; however, as you say, gerald, i am my own master and can do as i like now. you don't think the crew dislike my monkey, do you?" he added eagerly. he was such a kind-hearted obliging chap, that if he thought that even the loblolly boy objected to the presence of jocko on board, he would have banished him from the ship for ever, especially from the very fact of his being the commander and having no one to dispute his authority. "oh dear, no, certainly not," i replied at once, with "effusion," as the french say in their idiom. "the men like him better than you do, if that is possible; and i don't know what they would do without him, i only thought the change of climate might be deleterious to his health, that's all!" "deleterious indeed, gerald! wherever did you pick up such a fine word? i suppose you have been interviewing old jalap about your liver, eh, you hypochondriacal young donkey! why, monte video is a regular paradise for the monkey tribe, and jocko will be in his element there!" "but i don't suppose we'll stop there, tom; didn't you say that you thought it probable that we would have to go round cape horn and join the squadron at callao?" i may here explain that while on the quarter-deck, i invariably addressed tom finch as "sir," for was he not my commanding officer? but, while below, or when off duty, he insisted on my retaining my old custom of calling him by his christian name, the same as when we were together in the gunroom, and he only a "sub." "and if we _do_ go round the horn, what then, mr sub-lieutenant follett?" said he. "won't jocko find it cold: you know it's winter time there now?" "and can't i have him clothed like a christian, stupid, and keep him by the fire, or in the cook's cabin, where he will be so warm, that he'll fancy himself in his native clime?" "oh, yes," said i, "i quite forgot that his dearest friend next to you was pompey!" alluding to the ship's cook, a sable african, who came very probably from the same locality as the monkey; the two being very much alike, not only in the colour of their complexions, but in their features and facial development. "yes," said tom reflectively, "pompey will take care he doesn't freeze. he could not be fonder of him than his own brother would be; he might, indeed, _be_ his relative, if darwin's theory should prove to be true! however, i must see about getting jocko rigged out properly in a decent sailor's suit so that he may get accustomed to the clothing before we come to the cold latitudes. i daresay my marine, who is a smart fellow, can manage to cut down a guernsey frock and a pair of canvas or serge trousers to fit the brute: i will give an order on the paymaster for them at once and smith can set to work on them without delay;" and he bustled out of his cabin to carry his intentions into effect. not being intimately acquainted with even the rudimentary elements of natural history, i cannot say to what order or genus of the monkey family jocko belonged; but, roughly speaking, i think he was a specimen of chimpanzee or small gorilla, as he had no tail, and when he walked erect, which was his favourite position, he looked uncommonly like the "superior animal." tom finch had shot the monkey's mother in the bush when on a hunting excursion up the interior of the country, which he indulged in on first coming to the coast; and having captured and nursed the youngster with the utmost solicitude, jocko repaid his master's attention by learning so many tricks and imitating the deportment, of those with whom he was brought in contact so carefully, that he was now, at the time of which i speak, such a thoroughly educated and well-bred monkey as to be "um purfit genelman," as pompey, the cook, said--one "fit to shine in any circle," especially on ship-board, where he was an endless source of amusement to us all, from the lieutenant-commander down to the loblolly boy aforesaid. pursuant to tom finch's directions and the exertions of his marine servant smith, before we left the mouth of the congo our friend jocko was decorously habited in a smart seafaring costume; and, long ere we had crossed the atlantic and arrived at monte video, the intelligent animal had got so habituated to his new rig that the difficulty would have been to persuade him to go about once more in his former unclothed state--and yet some sceptics say that monkeys aren't human! you should only have seen him walking up and down the quarter-deck, or on the bridge by tom's side, he looked for all the world like a juvenile "reefer!" it was in the cabin, however, that jocko's acquirements came out in the strongest relief. tom had taught him to sit at table and use a spoon or fork in helping himself from his plate as naturally as possible; and, as for drinking, you should only have seen him pour out a tumbler of bottled stout, for which he had an inordinate relish, and tossing it down his throat, give a sigh of the deepest satisfaction when he had finished it, when, replacing his glass on the table, he would lean back in his chair as if overcome by the exertion. before he had been clothed in sailor fashion, jocko used to be very fond of skylarking with the men forward, stealing their mess utensils and scampering up and down the rigging to evade pursuit when his mischievousness had been found out; but, after that period, he seemed to become possessed of a wonderful amount of dignity which made him give up his wild frolicsomeness, and leave off his previous habits, for he never went to the forecastle again, but restricted himself to the officers' quarters aft. this he did, too, in spite of the coaxings of the crew, who were very fond of him, and the fact of tom often kicking him out of his cabin, where he would take possession of his sofa whenever he had the chance, wrapping himself in tom's boat-cloak and reclining gracefully on the cushions. one of jocko's chief amusements also was in watching the machinery when in motion; and he would spend hours in looking down at it through the engine-room hatch. once, when the skylight was up, he had a narrow squeak for his life; for, carried away by his excitement, in trying to put his hands--paws i should say--on the revolving shaft, he tumbled through; and, but for the chief engineer seeing him in time and stopping the engines, which were just then going slow, poor jocko would have come to grief. this accident, however, never broke him of the habit of inspecting the machinery. it had a sort of weird attraction for him which he could not resist. possibly, he might have been a sort of incubating watt or brunel, who knows? but, alas, he never became sufficiently developed or "evolved" from his quadrumanous condition to answer the question in person, as the engines which were his hobby in the end compassed his untimely death! those paddle-wheel steamers that were built for the navy some forty years ago, although designed for capturing cuban slavers, were certainly not remarkable for their speed, and the _porpoise_ was no exception to her class; so, what with her naturally slow rate of progression through the water, and the strict admiralty circular limiting the consumption of coal even on special service like ours, we did not make a very rapid passage across the south atlantic to monte video. this place is charmingly situated on the estuary of the rio de la plata, and very appropriately named; for it can be seen far away off, for miles at sea, and itself commands magnificent views of its own beautiful harbour and the surrounding inland scenery. here despatches awaited us, as tom finch had previously been informed at cape coast castle would be the case, ordering the _porpoise_ to proceed immediately to the pacific and join the admiral on that station at callao; and, accordingly, after one of the briefest of stays at a port which i have always longed since to have a more extended acquaintanceship with, we up anchor and paddled away to our assigned rendezvous--not by way of the "horn," which we did not go round, as i had imagined we would, for it was far too stormy; but, through the straits of magellan, which are easy enough of passage to a steamer, independent almost of winds and currents, although somewhat perilous to sailing vessels, especially during the winter months. jocko seemed to feel the cold as soon as we began to run down towards terra del fuego, and had some additional garments placed round him; but true to what he evidently thought was his new and proper position, he would not take up his quarters with his "old friend and brother," pompey, in the cook's caboose, preferring to shiver in tom's cabin till he almost turned blue. "bress dat massa jocko!" pompey would say after a vain attempt to coax him to share his hospitality. "i can't make he out nohow! guess he tinks himself buckra ossifer and bery fine genelman, now de captin take um into cabin, sure; but, he no rale genelman to turn up nose at um ole frens! no, sah, i no spik to him no more!" and the negro cook would retire with ill-suppressed anger, which was all the more amusing to us from its having been occasioned by a monkey! on our getting round into the pacific, and sighting the coast towards valparaiso, where we had to stop and coal once more, the _porpoise_ not having much storage room in her old bunkers, jocko got more on friendly terms with the thermometer, making faces and jabbering away in his lingo, which unfortunately no one but himself could understand, just as if he were still in his native clime on the african continent. occasionally, too, as if his spirits carried him away on his restoration to warmer latitudes, he would indulge in one of his old skylarking bouts with the crew, and even made advances to pompey in his caboose, which that worthy, in spite of his indignation at the manner in which he had been treated by jocko when he assumed the dignity of the _toga virilis_, was only too glad to welcome and reciprocate; but, after one of these unusual unbendings, the monkey grew even more dignified and inapproachable than before, except to tom and myself, who could do anything with him, and he then confined himself exclusively to the cabin and quarter-deck. at valparaiso we got further despatches hurrying us up to the peruvian coast, where the admiral much wanted to use us as a despatch vessel; so, taking in as much coal as our old tub, the _porpoise_, could cram into her, we started for callao, steaming hard day and night all this time-but it took us no less than ten days to reach our port at last. the admiral's ship was in the offing as we entered the harbour; and, without the slightest warning or time for preparation after we had made our muster, the old gentleman signalled, much to tom's discomposure, that he was coming on board of us for inspection at once. "a pretty kettle of fish!" exclaimed tom; "just as if he couldn't give a fellow time to paint up a bit and look tidy after sweltering all the pitch off her for eighteen months on the coast, and scuttling across the atlantic as if the deuce were after us, and not a day allowed us to overhaul and make the old ship look presentable--why, it's too bad!" "you needn't grumble, sir," said i--we were both on the quarter-deck now, and the _friend_ had, of course, to yield to the _office_--"i'm sure the admiral won't be able to find much fault with the _porpoise_, even if he were predetermined to do so, as she's in apple-pie order!" and so she was; while her crew, who almost worshipped tom and would have followed him to a man anywhere, were in the highest state of discipline and health, the african fever having disappeared almost as soon as we lost sight of the pestilential west coast and got into blue water. "do you think so, follett?" he said more calmly. "certainly," i answered, "i would back her against any other vessel on the station for being in the highest state of efficiency." "i'm glad you think so, gerald," he said to me aside, so that the middies who went to man the side ropes for the admiral at the gangway could not hear him. "you know these big guns are always sharp on a fellow who holds a first command; and, as i have no interest to back me up at the admiralty board, i don't want a bad report to go in against me, and a black mark be set before my name for ever!" "don't you fear, tom," said i cheerfully, "you'll pass muster with flying colours!" well, the admiral came on board and the inspection turned out just as i expected. not only was the gallant chief satisfied with the condition of the _porpoise_; but, after having mustered the men at quarters, and having them exercised at gun-drill and cutlasses, he was so pleased that he publicly complimented tom finch on the state of his ship and crew, saying that they were not only creditable to him, but to the service generally. so far, so good. when the admiral, however, descended presently to tom's cabin to sign papers, and perhaps to give a look around him, too, to see how such an efficient officer comported himself when "at home" so to speak, tom's evil genius placed master jocko in the way. there he was, seated on the sofa, dressed up in some nondescript sort of uniform with which the youngsters had invested him during tom's absence on deck--the young imps were always up to some of their larks--and being of a kindred disposition himself, tom was never hard on them for their tricks. the monkey had on a blue coat and trousers with a red sash across his chest and a turkish fez on his head, which gave him the appearance of one of the many chilian field marshals, and generals, and colonels whom we had seen at valparaiso, his wizened, dried-up face adding to the delusion. as luck would have it, too, what should jocko do, as the admiral and tom entered the cabin, but rise from the sofa; and taking off the cap from his head with one of his paws, while the other was laid deferentially on his chest, he made a most polite bow, in the manner he had always been used to do, when either of us greeted him on coming in. "who's this gentleman?" said the admiral pleasantly, taking off _his_ cocked hat likewise, and returning the salute--"i suppose someone you've given a passage to on the way, eh?" tom was at his wit's end, as he told me afterwards, for the moment; but his native "nous" came to the rescue, and, combined with his love of a practical joke, suggested a loophole of escape. "oh, sir," said he, "this is one of the aides-de-camp of the chilian generalissimo, a senor carrambo, who begged me to land him at callao on some urgent private business. of course, i know, sir, of the hostilities between his native state and peru, and that as a neutral i ought not to offer any means of communication between the two powers; but, sir, as you see for yourself, he's a very harmless sort of fellow, and--" "hush!" said the admiral, apparently shocked at tom's speaking out in such an off-hand way his opinion of the foreign gentleman, as he took jocko to be. "oh, bless you," went on tom, forgetting for the moment to whom he was speaking--"he cannot understand a word of english, and i can't make out a single word of his chilian spanish--but he's very polite." "so i see," replied the admiral affably, as master jocko made another obeisance at this juncture; "pray ask him to accompany you on board the flagship with me to dinner. tell him i shall feel honoured by his company, as indeed i shall be by yours." to say he was thunderstruck at the admiral's request would not convey the slightest idea of tom's mental condition when he found himself in such a dilemma. he could have bitten off his tongue for its having got him into such a scrape, by telling the fib about the monkey in the first instance; but it was too late now, for the admiral had turned to leave the cabin, and the marine was at the door, besides others, who would hear any explanation he might make. tom determined, therefore, with a courage that was almost heroic, to carry the thing through to the bitter end--giving me a pathetic wink to instruct everybody to "keep the thing dark" on board--for none knew about jocko excepting our ship's company. furtively shoving the fez down over the monkey's head, so that it almost concealed its features, he threw the boat-cloak that rested on the sofa around him; and, taking hold of his paw, marched in the admiral's wake to the gangway, and thence down into the chief's barge alongside, where the admiral and he and jocko took their seats in state in the sternsheets and were rowed off to the flagship--our crew manning the rigging as they left and giving three hearty cheers! "i like to see that proof of affection in your men," said the admiral, as he witnessed this unofficial performance. "they are proud of their commander, and, i am sure, you have a crew to be proud of!" tom bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment. he knew well enough what had occasioned the enthusiasm of the blue-jackets, and bit his lips to restrain his laughter, which so suffocated him that he felt he would burst if he had to keep it in much longer! all he could do now was to brazen out the imposture, and he huddled the boat-cloak round jocko so as to conceal his form. "poor senor carrambo is suffering fearfully from the ague," he said in explanation to the admiral of this little attention on his part--"i'm afraid he should not have ventured out of the cabin." "a good glass of sherry will soon warm him," said the admiral smiling, "and i think i shall be able to offer him one." "he's rather partial to bottled ale or stout," suggested tom, "and he may possibly prefer that." "rather a queer taste for a spaniard," said the admiral, as the barge reached the side of the flagship; "but i think i can also gratify on board my ship this predilection of senor--" "carrambo," prompted tom. "yes, carrambo," added the admiral as he mounted the accommodation ladder of the flagship--tom finch with jocko on his arm following in his wake, as before, amidst the mutual salutes of the admiral and the officers, to the state cabin of the chief. seated at the dinner-table, to which all were summoned with all proper ceremony to the exhilarating tune of the "roast beef of old england," jocko, who had a chair alongside of tom, behaved with the utmost decorum. he indeed appeared to eat little but bread, biscuit, tart, and fruit; but, beyond a grimace, which must have caused the admiral to reflect that of all the ugly persons he ever beheld in his life, this chilian officer was certainly the ugliest, nothing particularly happened, and the dinner passed off without an exposure. tom, the admiral observed, frequently helped "the generalissimo's aidede-camp," especially in pouring out his wine, which he limited in a marked degree; but the jocular lieutenant-commander passed this off by saying that his distinguished friend--whom he exchanged a word with occasionally, of some outlandish language, a mixture of spanish and high dutch, with a sprinkling of the chinese tongue--was in the most feeble health and acting under the doctor's directions regarding his diet:-that was the reason also, he explained, of his remaining cloaked and with his head-covering on at the admiral's table, for which he craved a thousand pardons! after dinner, tom would have given worlds to have beaten a retreat to his own ship, as several officers came into the saloon while coffee was handed round, and he dreaded each moment that jocko would disgrace himself and the bubble would burst; but no, there the admiral, would keep him, talking all the time, and directing most of his attention towards the pseudo "senor carrambo," for whose benefit tom had to translate, or pretend to translate, what was said. tom said he never got so punished for a joke in his life before, and he took very good care not to let his sense of the ridiculous put him in such a plight again, as for more than two mortal hours he suffered all the tortures of a condemned criminal; as he said, he would rather have been shot at once! but when the admiral shook hands with him on his departure, tom felt worst of all. "good-bye, lieutenant," said the admiral, "and thanks for your introduction to `senor carrambo.' i admired the condition and discipline of your ship to-day, mr finch, and, in forming my opinion of your character i must say that you carry out a joke better than anyone i ever met. _but you should remember, lieutenant, that those who have the end of the laugh, enjoy the joke best_. good-night, i shall communicate with you to-morrow!" poor tom! after believing that the admiral had suspected nothing up to the last moment, to be thus undeceived. it was heartrending! gone was his commission, he thought, at one fell blow, with all the pleasant dreams of promotion that had flashed across his brain after the admiral's encomiums on him that afternoon; and he would have to think himself very lucky if he were not tried by court-martial and dismissed the service with disgrace. it was paying dearly for a practical joke, played off on the spur of the moment, truly! when he reached the _porpoise_ he felt so disgusted that he kicked poor jocko, boat-cloak, fez and all, down the main hatch, gruffly ordered his gig to be triced up to the davits, and went below to brood over his anticipated disgrace in the solitude of his own cabin, where i presently found him. after a great deal of persuasion, i got him to indite a letter of apology to the admiral, detailing all jocko's perfections, and how he had been constantly an inmate of his cabin; while assuring him that the passing off the monkey as a "foreigner" had not been a planned thing, but was only the result of an accident and his own unaccountable love of fun, although the falsehood he had been guilty of was most reprehensible. indeed, as i made him observe, if it had not been for the admiral himself suggesting the imposture, he, tom, would never have dreamt of it; but, he concluded, he would regret it all his life, for he had not only told a lie, but the whole matter appeared like a deliberately contemplated insult to his superior officer. this letter tom, still acting under my advice, sent off immediately to the flagship, as it was yet not late, and within half an hour he received an answer which made him dance an indian war-dance of delight around the cabin table, where he and i were awaiting the news that was to make or mar poor tom's future life. the admiral's ran thus:- "flag, at sea, july, 18---. "dear commander, "i accept your apology, and forgive the joke which i enjoyed, i believe, more than you did, having discovered master jocko's identity from the first moment when he took his turkish fez off to salute me in the cabin, on my entering--you young rascal! i would not have missed for a hundred pounds the agony you were in all the time you were sitting at my table, and, i really think, i had the best of the joke! "come and breakfast with me and i will tell you the reason _why i address you as_ above--i suppose he never told you, but your father was one of my dearest friends. "yours, with best compliments to `senor carrambo,' "anson." "by george, tom," said i when we had both perused this letter, "you are in luck! he doesn't call you _commander_ for nothing!" "no, i suppose not," said he, "at all events, gerald, he's a trump! i recollect my old father saying something once about asking him to put in a good word for me; but, i daresay he forgot all about it: but i am none the worse for it now, eh?" "no," said i, "thanks to jocko!" the next day tom finch had his commission made out by the admiral's secretary as commander of the _blanche_, while i was promoted to his place in the _porpoise_, owing to the good word he put in for me when he breakfasted with the jolly old chief; and we both of us were busy enough the next few months on the station, protecting british interests and stopping would-be privateers from having such a festive time as they expected during the period that hostilities lasted between the two rival south american republics at the time of which i speak; then wars between chili and peru, and the rest of these very independent states, being of as periodic occurrence of the yellow fever in the gulf of mexico! poor jocko, as i hinted at before, came finally to grief in a very sad way. we were chasing a suspicious looking blockade-runner, a short time after he had his remarkable invitation to dine with the admiral; our engines were moving a little more rapidly than usual; and, jocko, who was perched on the skylight above, was looking at them with the most intense interest. all at once, the platform on which he was resting slipped, and the talented monkey fell into the engine-room, in the midst of the machinery--there was one sharp agonised squeak, and the last page of poor jocko's history was marked with the word _finis_. chapter two. escape of the "cranky jane." a story about an iceberg. one day, some three years ago or so, i chanced to be down at sheerness dockyard, and, while there, utilised my time by inspecting the various vessels scattered about this naval repository. some of the specimens exhibited all the latest "improvements" in marine architecture, being built to develop every destructive property--huge floating citadels and infernal machines; while others were old, and now useless, types of the past "wooden walls of old england," ships that once had braved the perils of the main in all the panoply of their spreading canvas, and whose broadsides had thundered at trafalgar, making music in the ears of the immortal nelson and his compeers. amongst the different craft that caught my eye--old hulks, placidly resting their weary timbers on the muddy bosom of the medway, dismantled, dismasted, and having pent-houses like the roofs of barns over their upper decks in lieu of awnings; armour-plated cruisers, in the first class steam reserve, ready to be commissioned at a moment's notice; and ships in various degrees of construction, on the building slips and in dry dock--was a vessel which seemed to be undergoing the operation of "padding her hull," if the phrase be admissible as explaining what i noticed about her, the planking, from which the copper sheathing had been previously stripped, being doubled, apparently, and protected in weak places by additional beams and braces being fixed to the sides. of course, i may be all wrong in this, but it was what seemed to me to be the case. on inquiry i learnt that the vessel was the _alert_, which it may be recollected was one of the two ships in the arctic expedition commanded by sir george nares. i wondered why so many workmen were busy about her, hammering, sawing, planing, riveting, fitting and boring holes with giant gimlets, so i asked the reason for this unwonted activity, when it might have been reasonably supposed that the vessel had played her part in the service, and might have been allowed to pass the remainder of her days afloat, in an honourable retreat up the estuary on which the dockyard stands. but, no. i was informed that the _alert_ had yet many more days of arctic experience in store for her, our government having placed her at the disposal of the united states authorities to take part in the relief of lieutenant greeley's polar expedition.--i may here mention in parenthesis that the vessel subsequently successfully performed the task committed to her substantial frame; and it was mainly by means of the stores deposited by her in a _cache_ in smith sound that the survivors of the expedition were enabled to be transported home again in safety.-i, really, only mention the vessel's name on account of the man who told me about her--a gentleman who entered into conversation with me about the cold regions of the north generally, and of the escapes of ships from icebergs in particular. he was a seafaring man. i could see that at a glance, although he was not one i should have thought who had donned her majesty's uniform, for he lacked that dapper look that the blue-jackets of the service are usually distinguished by; but he was a veritable old salt, or "shellback," none the less, sniffing of the ocean all over, and having his face seamed with those little venous streaks of pink (as if he indulged in a dab of rouge on the sly occasionally) which variegate the tanned countenances of men exposed to all the rigours of the elements, and who encounter with an equal mind the freezing blast of the frozen sea or the blazing sun of africa. i told this worthy that once, when on a voyage in one of the inman line of steamers from halifax to liverpool, i had gone--or rather the vessel had, to be more correct--perilously near an iceberg, when my nautical friend proceeded to give vent to his own exposition of the "glacial theory," saying that a lot of nonsense was written about the ice in the arctic regions by people who never went beyond their own firesides at home and had never seen an iceberg. it made him mad, he said, to read it! "i daresay you've read a lot of rubbish on the subject?" said the old gentleman, getting excited about the matter, as if he only wanted a good start to be off and away on his hobby. "i daresay i have," i replied. "well, what with all the fiction that has been written and the fabulous stories told of the arctic and its belongings, the `green hand' who makes the voyage for the first time is full of expectations concerning all the wonderful sights he's going to see in `the perennial realms of ice and snow'--that's the phrase the newspaper chaps always use-expectations which are bound to be disappointed,--and why?" "i'm sure i can't tell!" said i. "because the things that he fancies he's going to see don't really exist, nor never yet did in spite of what book-learned people may say! the voyager who goes north for the first time is bound, let us say for illustration, for baffin's bay; and, from what he has learnt beforehand, bears and walruses, seals and sea-lions, whale blubber and the esquimaux who eat it, all occupy some considerable share of his imagination. but, above all these, the first thing that he looks forward to see are the icebergs, or floating mountains of ice, which are so especially the creation of the cold regions, to which he is sailing. these icebergs, sir, form the staple background of every arctic view, without which none would be deemed for a moment complete. their gigantic peaks and jagged precipices are familiar to most, in a score of pictures and engravings drawn by artists who were never beyond the lizard lights; and really, i believe that if one was sketched that wasn't at least a thousand feet high or more, and didn't have a polar bear perched on top and a full rigged ship sailing right underneath it, why, the generality of people would think it wasn't a bit like the real thing!" "and what is the `real thing' like?" i asked with some curiosity. "there you have me," said the old sailor, who had from his speech evidently received a good education; and if once "before the mast" had now certainly risen to something much higher. "to men whose minds have been wrought up to such a pitch of fancy and expectation, the first sight of a real iceberg is a complete take-down to their imagination. your ship is pitching about, say, in the cross seas near the mouth of davis strait, preparatory to entering within the smooth water of the arctic circle, when in the far distance your eye catches sight of a lump of ice, looking, as it rises and falls sluggishly in the trough of the sea, not unlike a hencoop covered with snow, after it had been pitched overboard by some passing ship, or like a gigantic lump of foam tossed on the crest of a wave. if the day is sunless, the reflection of light which gives it that glistening appearance, so remarkable as the midnight sun glances among an array of these objects, is wanting to add dignity to the contour of what it is a rude dissipation of life's young dream to learn is an iceberg--though on a very small scale. it is simply a waveworn straggler from the fleet which will soon be met sailing southward out of the greenland fjords. the warm waters of the atlantic will in the course of a few days be too much for it. the sun will be at work on it; it will get undermined by the wash of the breakers, until, being top-heavy, it will speedily capsize. then the war between the ice and the elements will begin afresh, until the once stately ice-mountain will become the `bergy bit,' as whalers call the slowly-lessening mass of crumbling, spongy ice, until it finally disappears in the waters; but only to rise again in the form of vapour, which the cold of the north will convert into snow, the parent of that inland ice about the polar regions which forms the source of subsequent icebergs afresh--the process being always going on, never ending!" "why, you are quite a philosopher," i observed. "a bit of a one, sir," said the old gentleman with a smile. "those who go down to the sea in ships, you know, see wonders in the deep! but, to continue what i was telling you about the icebergs. as your ship proceeds further north they become more numerous and of larger dimensions, until, as you pass the entrance of some of those great fjords, or inlets, which intersect the greenland coast-line, they pour out in such numbers that the wary mariner is thankful for the continuous daylight and summer seas that enable him so easily to avoid these floating rocks. here are several broken-up ones floating about in the waigat, a narrow strait between the island of disco and the mainland of greenland, and in close vicinity to several fjords noted for sending big bergs adrift in the channel way to float southward. these are the `icemountains' of the fancy artist. one ashore close into the land, and yet not stranded or on account of its depth in the water getting into any very shallow soundings, you may see in your mind's eye, as i've seen them scores of times in reality. it presents to your notice a dull white mass of untransparent ice--not transparent, with objects to be seen through it on the other side, as i have noticed in more than one picture of the north pole taken by an artist on the spot! this mass is generally jagged at the top with saw-like edges, and it doesn't so very much resemble those gothic cathedral spires as arctic writers try to make out. still, on the whole, the shape of this monster floating mass of ice is very striking to those seeing it for the first time; and when you come to look at it more closely, its size and general character lose nothing by having the details ciphered down, as a yankee skipper would say." "are the icebergs very big?" i inquired. "well," said the old gentleman, quite pleased at being asked for information on the subject, and evidently wishing to convert me to his own practical way of thinking in opposition to arctic fiction-mongers, "they may sometimes be seen of a hundred and fifty feet high, occasionally reaching to a couple of hundred, while sometimes i've seen an iceberg that towered up more than double that height; but the majority of them do not exceed a hundred feet at most. the colour, as i've said, is not emerald green, as most folks think--that is, not unless it is seen under what science-folks call the prismatic action of light--but a dull white that is almost opaque. the sides are, generally, dripping with the little streams of water formed by the melting of the ice, and glistening in the rays of the sun; but a dull white is the principal colour of the mass. its base is broader than its summit, and is here and there hollowed into little caverns by the action of the waves. the pinnacles seen in the pictures of the illustrated papers i've spoken of are not very plain. indeed, both the one we are supposing and the other bergs, that are always, like the `birds of a feather' of the proverb, to be seen close together, are flattened on the top; and if here and there worn into fantastic shapes by the weather, they mostly go back to a shape which may be roughly described as broader at the base than the top; otherwise the berg would speedily capsize. when this happens, they go over with a tremendous splash, rocking and churning up the sea for miles round, and sending wave circles spreading and widening out as from the whirlpool in the centre, in the same way as when a child pitches a stone into a pond. "on some of the bergs are masses of earth, gravel and stone, proving that they must lately have been connected with the land; for owing to the old bergs becoming undermined by the waves, they soon turn over, and so of course send _their_ load to the bottom. an examination of the sides of the ice-mass also shows to the eye some other peculiarities. the greater part of the ice is white and thoroughly full of air-bubbles, which lie in very thin lines parallel to each other; but throughout the white ice there are numerous slight cracks or streaks, of an intensely blue and transparent ice, which, on being exposed to heat, before melting, i've been told by the surgeon of the ship i was in, dissolve into large angular grains. these blue cracks cross and cross over again in the mass of the berg, and may possibly be water which has melted and been frozen again either on the surface of the berg, or in its crevasses or cracks, when it was a part of the glacier from which it first came. but, besides the blue ice, in some icebergs may be seen a kind of conglomerate of ice-blocks of various sizes, the spaces between them being filled up with snow or crumbled ice. this conglomerate exists usually in cracks, though it is found also in layers, and even forms large masses of the larger bergs, mixed up with stones and earthy lumps." "did you ever have any adventure amongst the icebergs?" i asked the old gentleman at this juncture, thinking i had quite enough of the scientific aspect of the subject, and dreading lest he might dive further into the original composition of ice. "not in the arctic ocean," he replied; "but once, when i was only a common sailor before the mast and aboard a vessel in the australian trade, i came across icebergs in the southern latitudes which were mighty perilous; and one of these bergs was, by the way, bigger than any i ever saw in northern seas." "tell me all about it," i said, glad to get him on to a regular sea yarn. the old gentleman was nothing loth; and i noticed that the moment he began to speak of his old experiences as a merchant seaman, he dropped the somewhat affected phraseology in which he had previously been expounding his theories for my information concerning the polar regions and the formation of icebergs--thenceforth speaking much more naturally in the ordinary vernacular of jack tars. "i suppose it's forty years ago, more or less," he began, "since i shipped in the brig _jane_, john jiggins master, bound from london to melbourne with an assorted cargo. "she was a decent-sized brig enough, and handy to manage when she had plenty of sea-room, and a wind right aft; but on a bowline, or when the wind was on the quarter, and there was a bit of a sea on, she kept such a stiff weather-helm, and was such a downright cranky vessel, never bending down to a breeze or lifting to the swell, that it was no wonder that as soon as the hands got used to her ways, and tumbled to her contrary points--and she was that contrary sometimes as to remind you of a woman's temper on washing days, most ladies then being not particularly pleasant, and feeling more inclined to drive a man mad, rather than to coax and wheedle him--as soon as we all got used to her ways, i say, we christened her the `_cranky jane_,' and that she was more or less, barring when she had a fair wind, with an easy sea and everything agreeable for her, as i said before. "old cap'en jiggins, however, wasn't of our way of thinking. "he was the part owner as well as master of the vessel; and loved the old brig--the `janey' he called her, the old fool!--like the very apple of his eye, always praising her up to the nines and not allowing anybody to say a word against her sea-going qualities. "sometimes, when the man at the wheel would be swearing at the lubberly craft in a silent way, so that you could see he was suffocating himself with passion and ready to burst himself, for the way in which she would fall off, or bowse up into the wind's eye, and try to go her own way, like a horse that gets the bit between his teeth and sets his ears back, then you'd hear old jiggins a-talking to himself about the blessed old tub. "`that's it, my beauty! look how she rides, the darling, like a duck! what a clipper she is, to be sure; so easy to handle! a child could steer her with a piece of thread!' "when, p'raps it took all one man's strength, and perhaps two, to bring up the beast a single point to the wind! "in spite of cap'en jiggins' praise, i never sailed in such an out-andout obstinate craft as that identical _cranky jane_. she seemed to have been laid down on the lines and constructed, plank by plank, especially to spile a man's temper! somehow or other, with the very lightest of breezes--except, as i've said before, we had the wind right dead aft--we could never get her to lay to her course and keep it. she was always falling off and breaking away in every way but the right one, and wanting to go just in the very opposite direction, to what we did; exactly like paddy's pig when he's taking it to market, and he has to whisper in its ear that he's going to cork, when he really wants to meet the dealer at bandon! "this peculiarity of the brig, of course, very naturally set the men against her; as, although what is usually called a `dry ship'--that is, the hands could sleep comfortably in the forecastle, instead of being drenched through day and night, by the seas she took in over the bows, as is the case in some clippers i've sailed in--she was so dreadfully hard to steer that a man's trick at the wheel was like going on the treadmill! and yet, that very peculiarity and contrariness that made us cuss and swear too, only induced captain jiggins to say occasionally when she was most outrageous wide in her yawing, `pretty dear!' or some such trash--this very peculiarity, i say, saved all our lives from the most dreadful fate, and brought us home safe to england after encountering one of the most deadly perils of the deep. curious, isn't it? but i'll tell you all about it. here goes for the yarn. "we had done the voyage out in pretty fair time from london to port philip; for, most of the way, the wind was fair and almost dead aft from the meridian of the cape of good hope, down in the `roaring forties,' till we got to the heads. consequently, the brig couldn't help herself but go straight onward, when the trades were shoving her along and while nobody wanted her to tack, or beat up, or otherwise perform any of those delicate little points of seamanship which a true sailor likes to see his ship go through, almost against his own interest, sometimes, as far as hard work is concerned in reefing and furling and taking in sail, or piling on the canvas and `letting her rip.' so long as nothing of this sort was wanted from her the brig was as easy-going as you could wish and all probably that cap'en jiggins thought her; but, you had only just to try to get her to sail up in the wind's eye or run with the breeze a bit ahead of the beam, and you'd soon have seen for yourself how cantankerous she could be! "no, it was all plain sailing to port philip heads; and even after we had unloaded our home cargo, and went round, first to sydney, and afterwards to the fiji islands--i shan't forget suva suva bay in a hurry, i can tell you. so far, everything went serene; for, no matter where we wanted to go--and you see, the skipper wasn't tied to any especial port to seek a cargo, but being part owner, could please himself by going to the best market; which, being a shrewd man, with his head screwed on straight, you can bet he did!--no matter where we wanted to go, as i say, the wind seemed to favour us, for it was always right astern, and everything set below and aloft, and the wind blowing us there beautifully right before it all the way--just as the old _jane_ liked it, sweet and not too strong! "so far, going out to australia, and looking in at sydney and fiji and the islands for cargo, and loading up choke-full with just everything that our skipper counted at the highest freight, with no dead weight to break the brig's back--so far, everything went `high-falutin'' as the yanks say; but when we came to leave polynesia--it ought to be christened magnesia, i consider, for it contains a bigger continent, with a larger number of islands than europe--and shape a course homewards to the white cliffs of old albion, that we longed to see again after our long absence, for we were away good two years in all, the cap'en thinking nothing of time, being his own charterer, so long as he got a good cargo from port to port, and we were engaged on a trading voyage, and not merely out and home again directly--then it was that the _cranky jane_ came out in her true colours, and made us love her--oh yes! just as the skipper did--over the left! "why, sir, she was that aggravating, that, as bill the boatswain and i agreed, we should have liked to run her ashore on the very first land we came to, beach her and chop her up there and then for firewood; and we wouldn't have been content till we had burned up the very last fragment of her obstinate old hull! "after leaving suva suva bay, fiji, where we filled up the last remaining space in the _cranky jane's_ hold with copra--which is a lot of cocoa-nuts smashed up so as to stow easy, out of which they make oil at home for moderator lamps--we went south further than i ever went before in any ship. captain jiggins, as i heard him explaining to the first officer when i was taking my trick at the wheel, and blessing the brig as usual for her stiff helm, intended making the quickest passage that ever was made, he said, by striking down into them outlandish latitudes before he steered east and made the horn; and i suppose he knew what he was about, as he was as good a navigator as ever handled a sextant. _he_ called it great circle sailing; but _i_ called it queersailing; and so did most of the hands, barring bill the boatswain, who said the captain was right; but anyways, right or wrong, it led us into an ugly corner, as you shall hear. "well, we went down the latitudes like one o'clock, the brig, running free before the north-east monsoon as if she were sailing for a wager in a barge-race on the thames; and the weather as fine as you please, warm and sunny--too much so, sometimes--so that a man hadn't to do a stroke of work on board, save to take his turn at the wheel. watch on deck, and watch below, we had nothing to do but loll about, with a stray pull at a brace here and a sheet there, or else walk into our grub and then turn into our bunks; for cap'en jiggins was the proper sort of skipper. none of your making work for him when there was nothing to do; but when the hands were wanted, why he did expect them to look alive, and have no skulking--small blame to him, say i, for one! "we had run down below the parallel of cape horn, pretty considerable i should think, when we at last had to ask the old brig to bear up eastwards to lie her proper course; and then you should have seen the tricks she played--confound her! why, we had to treat her as gingerly as if she were a yacht rounding a mark-boat to make her bear up a point or go to the wind; although i'll give her the credit of saying, if she were cranky--and she was that, and no mistake--she made no leeway, which was a blessing at all events. "it was some days after we had altered our course to east south east, with as much more easterly as we could get out of her--and that wasn't much, try all we could, with as much fore and aft sail as we could get on her--when the weather began to change, and the wind, which had been steadily blowing from the north-east, chopped round a bit more ahead, the sea getting up, and a stray squall coming now and again, which made us more alert trimming the sails, and taking in and letting out canvas as occasion arose. it was no use, however, trying to drive the brig to the eastward any longer with this wind shifting about, humour her as we might; so the skipper altered her course again more to the south, although we were then as far down as we ought to have gone. "`the darling,' says he to the first officer when he gave the order to lay her head south south east, `she's a little playful with the heavy cargo we've got on board, and wants to keep warm as long as she can! let her run a hundred miles or so more south, and then we'll fetch up to the horn, and be able to spin along like winking, just as the beautiful creature wants!' "well! it did make us mad to hear the old man talk like this about the clumsy old tub; but of course we couldn't help ourselves, so we only grinned, and said to each other,--`catch us coming again in the _cranky jane_ when once we're safe ashore!' "would you believe it? the blessed brig, although the new course she was on brought the wind aft instead of on her beam, she was that spiteful over it, that, as it was blowing much stronger than it had been, it took two of us to keep her head from deviating from her proper track, and we had hard work to prevent her from breaking off more than she did. "the wind came on towards the afternoon to blow harder and harder; and by nightfall--you know it gets dark as soon as the sun goes down in those latitudes--we had to shorten sail so much that the _cranky jane_ was staggering along at the rate of nearly fourteen knots an hour with reefed top-sails and jib and main-sail besides the stay-sails. "the weather got wilder and wilder as time went on, the heavens quite dark overhead, except an occasional glint of a star which didn't know whether he ought to show or not; but still, although we were pretty far below the equator, the night was warm and even sultry, so that we expected a hurricane, or cyclone, or something of that sort, for it was quite unnatural to feel as if in the tropics when fifty degrees south! "the cap'en, i know, thought it would blow by and by, for before he turned in he caused even the reefed top-sails and stay-sails to be taken in, and left her snug for the night, with only a close-reefed main-sail and the jib on her. "`keep a good look-out, mr stanchion,' says he to the chief officer, as he went down the companion-ladder to his cabin, `and call me if there's the slightest change.' "`ay, ay, sir,' says mr stanchion; and so the skipper goes below with a cheerful good-night, in spite of the weather looking dirty and squalls being handy before morning. "now, as luck would have it--as some folks say, although others put it down to something more than luck--mr stanchion wasn't like one of those jolly, devil-may-care, slap-dash sort of officers, that your regular shell-backs like best. he was a silent, quiet, reflective man, who looked and spoke as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; and yet he thought deeper and further than your dash-and-go gentlemen, who act on the spur of the moment without cogitating. "as soon as the skipper had turned in, he did a thing which perhaps not one officer in a hundred would have done in his place, considering we were on the open ocean out of the track of passing vessels, and that it wasn't much darker than it is on most nights when there's no moon, and the sky is cloudy. "what do you think it was? why, he put a man on the look-out on the forecastle, just as if we were going up channel, or in a crowded seaway! the skipper had meant him to look-out himself, but another wouldn't be amiss, he said. "providentially, too, the very man whom he accidentally selected was the very best person he could have placed as look-out, if he had picked the whole crew over from the captain downward; although the mate did not know this when he sang out to him to go on the forecastle. "this was pat o'brien--`paddy,' as all the hands called him--an irishman, of course, as you would judge from his name, who had been in one of the arctic expeditions, which we were speaking of just now. he went out with sir leopold mcclintock i think; but all i know is, that he once was up a whole winter in the polar sea, and there had got laid on his back with scurvy, besides having his toes frost-bitten, as he frequently told us when yarning amongst the crew of an evening. "generally speaking, he was a careless, happy-go-lucky fellow, and one might have wondered that mr stanchion called him from out the watch that had just came on deck; but, as i said before, the mate could not possibly have made a better selection, as it turned out afterwards. "pat o'brien was a comic chap, full of fun, and always making jokes; so that as soon as he opened his mouth almost to say anything the other fellows would laugh, for they knew that some lark was coming. "`be jabers,' says pat, as he goes forward in obedience to the chief officer's order, `it's a nice pleasant look-out i'll have all by meeself! while you're coilin' the ropes here, i'll be thinkin' of my colleen there!' and he went out on the foc'sl. "by and by we could hear him muttering to himself. `wurrah, wurrah! holy mother, can't you let me be aisy!' he sang out presently aloud as if he was suffering from something, or in pain. "`look-out, ahoy!' hails mr stanchion from aft; `what's the matter ahead--what are you making all that row about?' "`sure an' it's my poor feet, save yer honour, that are hurting of me, they feels the frost terrible!' "the first mate naturally thought master paddy was trying to play off one of his capers on him--for it wouldn't be the first time he tried the game on; so this answer got up his temper, making him shout back an answer to the irishman that would tell him he wasn't going to catch him napping. "`nonsense, man,' he calls out--`frost? why, you are dreaming! the thermometer is up to over sixty degrees, and it's warm enough almost for the tropics.' "the hands, of course, thought too that pat was only joking in his usual way and endeavouring to make fun of mr stanchion; and they waited to hear what would come next from the irishman, knowing that he was not easily shut up when once he had made up his mind for anything. however, they soon could tell from the tone of voice in which pat spoke again that he wasn't joking this time, or else he was acting very well in carrying out his joke on the mate; for as we were laughing about his `poor feet,' which was a slang term in those days, paddy calls out again in reply to the mate:-"`faix,' says he, `it's ne'er a lie i'm telling, yer honour. be jabers! my feet feel as if they were in the ice now, and frost-bitten all over!' "another officer in mr stanchion's place would, as likely as not, have consigned poor pat to a warmer locality in order to warm his limbs there; but mr stanchion, as i've said, was a man of a different stamp, and a reflective one, too; and the words of the irishman made him think of something he had read once of a frost-bitten limb having been discovered by a well-known meteorologist to be an unfailing weathertoken of the approach of cold. instead, therefore, of angrily telling pat to hold his tongue and look-out as he ought, mr stanchion went forward and joined him; we on deck, of course, being on the look-out at once. "presently, we could see the chief officer and the irishman on the forecastle, peering out together over the ship's bows as if looking for something. "`i'm certain, sir,' i heard pat say earnestly, `we're near ice whenever my feet feels the cold, yer honour; and there, be jabers, there's the ice-blink, as they calls it in the arctic seas, and we're amongst the icebergs, as sure as you live!' "at the same moment, the atmosphere lightened up with a whitish blue light--somewhat like pale moonshine--and mr stanchion shouted out at the top of his voice, louder than we ever dreamt he could speak--`hard a-starboard! down with the helm for your life!' "bill, the boatswain, and i, who were together at the wheel, jammed down the spokes with all our strength; but the blessed brig wouldn't come up to the wind as we wanted her. she wouldn't, although we both almost hung on the wheel and wrenched it off the deck. `hard up with the helm, men, do you hear?' again sings out the chief officer, rushing aft as he spoke. `hard up, men! all our lives are at stake!' "and the brig wouldn't come up, try all we could. bill and i could have screamed with rage; but in another minute we were laughing with joy. "the light got clear; and there, to our horror, just where we wanted the dear old brig to go--and she wouldn't go, like a sensible creature, although we cursed her for not obeying the helm--was an enormous iceberg rising out of the depths of the ocean, and towering above the masts of the poor _jane_, which i feel loth to call `cranky' any longer--as high almost as the eyes could see, like the cliffs at dover, only a hundred yards higher, without exaggeration! if the brig had come up to the wind, as mr stanchion sang out for us to make her, why, two minutes after, she would have struck full into the iceberg, and running, as she was, good fourteen knots and more under her jib and main-sail, her bows would have stoved in, and we'd all have been in davy jones's locker before we could have said jack robinson! "as it was, we weren't out of danger by any means. there were icebergs to the right of us; icebergs astern of us, by which we had passed probably when pat first complained of feeling the cold; icebergs ahead of us, through which we would have gingerly to make our way, for we had no option with the gale that was blowing but to keep the same course we were on, as to lie to amidst all that ice would be more dangerous even than moving on; and the big, enormous berg we had just escaped was on our left, or port side properly speaking--looking, for all the world, like a curving range of cliffs on some rock-bound coast, as it spread out more than five or six miles in length. it was certainly the biggest iceberg i ever saw in my life, beating to nothing all that i afterwards noticed in the arctic seas when i went north in the _polaris_; and perhaps that is the reason why all the ice mounds i saw there became so dwarfed by comparison that they looked quite insignificant. "pat kept on the forecastle, looking out and directing the course of the vessel, as the cap'en, who had just come on deck, roused by the noise, thought the irishman's experience in the arctic seas would make him more useful even than himself in coursing the ship. "the skipper was right as usual; and pat had soon a chance of showing that his choice had not been misplaced. "`kape her away! kape her away!' pat shouted out in a minute or two after the cap'en had come on deck `the top of the berg is loosenin', yer honour; and sure it's falling on us it will be in a brace of shakes! kape her away, or, be jabers, it's lost we'll be for sartin!' "the old brig, although she wouldn't come up to the wind when we wanted her, and thus saved our lives by disobeying orders, now answered her helm promptly without any demur, and dashed away from the mass of ice before the gale at, i should be ashamed to say what speed. "bless the old _cranky jane_! how could we ever have reviled her and despised her? she seemed almost as if she had human intelligence and a kind of foresight. "we only just weathered the berg when the summit toppled over with a crash, missing the after-part of the brig by a very few yards, and churning up the sea far around with a sort of creamy surf, that dashed over our decks, and swept us fore and aft. "it was a marvellous escape, and only second to that we had just before had in avoiding running on to the same gigantic mass of floating ice, which had probably come up from the antarctic regions for the summer season--at least, that was pat o'brien's explanation for our meeting with it there. "all that night and next morning we were passing through bergs of every size, big and little, although none were so large as the one which had been so risky to us--bergs that in their splendid architecture and magnificence, with fantastic peaks and fine pinnacles, that glittered in the rising sun with all the colours of the rainbow, flashing out rays and lights of violet and purple, topaz blue and emerald green, blush rose and pink and red, mingled with shades of crimson and gleams of gold, with a frosting over all of silver and bright white light--those who haven't seen an iceberg at sea at sunrise have no idea of the depth and breadth of beauty in nature, though i, one who has served his time before the mast, says so. but, avast with such flummery and wordage!" "good gracious me!" i exclaimed, aghast at the old gentleman turning round so completely from the statement he had made when we first entered into conversation. "i thought you said just now that all icebergs were a dull white without any other colour, save a streak of blue sometimes running through them like a vein; and yet, here you are painting them in all the varied tints of the rainbow!" he was not a bit put out, however, by this accusation of inconsistency. "this was how they looked at sunrise, which, like a brilliant sunset, as you know, makes a very great difference in the appearance of objects, causing even the most common things to look brilliant, and dignifying the common so as to make it look sublime! but, with your permission," added the old gentleman courteously, "i will finish my story of the brig's escape. "after we passed all the ice, the wind came round, as the captain said it would, right favourable for our course; and the _cranky jane_ behaved like a good one. we made all our easting on one tack, and passed the cape still a good distance to the south, but in as good a latitude as we could have passed it in for the weather we had, which was first-rate. "and when we began to mount northwards again, towards the little island which we all prize so much, although it is but a little spot on the map of europe, why, the wind changed too, still almost due aft as the dear old _cranky jane_ liked, much to the delight and joy of everybody on board, especially the skipper, who exclaimed, as he rubbed his hands together in joy, and walked up and down the poop,--`bless the darling, she's a walker! and i wouldn't swop her for the best clipper in the china trade!' "we had a good land-fall all right, entering the channel shortly after sighting the lizard, making the quickest passage ever known for a sailing brig from fiji; and, in spite of all the dear old craft's shortcomings and temper and weather-helm, myself and the rest of the crew, including of course pat o'brien and his `poor feet,' were willing, even after all the perils we had passed through, and the dangers we had escaped, every mother's son of us, with captain jiggins' permission, and the chief officer's favour, to sign articles, and ship for another voyage in the old _cranky jane_; and, what is more, we did too, sticking to the brig till she went to pieces off cape lewis to the south of new zealand in her last voyage out. that's all!" so saying, the old gentleman, bowing to me politely, took his departure from sheerness dockyard, which i also left soon afterwards, pleased with all that i had seen and more than glad of having visited the place if only for the chance it afforded me of hearing his yarn. chapter three. the greek bandit. a reminiscence of a yachting cruise in the aegean sea. some few years ago, when i was a youngster, i had what was then the great desire of my heart gratified by being allowed to accompany a party on a yachting cruise to the mediterranean. how i enjoyed myself, and how tragically our cruise nearly terminated, i will now proceed to tell. there were six of us in all on board the yacht. there was dad, one; captain buncombe, two; mr joe moynham, three; bob, four; myself, charley, five; and dog rollo, six--though i think, by rights, i ought to have counted rollo first, as he was the best of us all, and certainly thought the least of himself--brave, fine, black, curly old fellow that he was! just as you fellows in england were having the nastiest part of the winter, when there is no skating or snowballing, and only drenching rain and easterly winds, that bring colds and coughs and mumps, we were enjoying the loveliest of blue skies and jolly warm weather, that made swimming in the sea a luxury, and ices after dinner seem like a taste of nectar. we did enjoy ourselves; and had a splendid cruise up the old mediterranean, going everywhere and seeing everything that was to be seen. oh, it was jolly! the yacht stopped at gibraltar, where we climbed the rock and saw the monkeys that lived in the caverns on the top; at malta, where we went up the "nothing to eat" stairs mentioned in _midshipman easy_: and then, sailing up the levant, the _moonshine_--she was eighty tons, and the crack of the rys--was laid up at anchor for a long time at alexandria, while we went ashore, going through the suez canal, across the desert to cairo, and thence to the pyramids, after which we started for greece. you must know, before we get any further, that bob and i didn't want to go anywhere near greece at all! we had good reasons for this dislike. there were dad and captain buncombe--who was what people call an archaeologist, fond of grubbing up old stones and skeletons, and digging like an old mole amongst ruins--continually talking all day long about marathon and hymettus, the parthenon and chersonese, the acropolis, and theseus and odysseus and all the rest of them, bothering our lives out with questions about homer and the _iliad_, and all such stuff; so, i put it to you candidly, whether it wasn't almost as bad as being back again at school, making a fellow feel small who was shaky in his greek and had a bad memory for history? however, we had scarcely anchored in the piraeus when some events happened which drove the classics out of the heads of our elders; and i may say that thenceforth we heard no more about the ancients. there had been a sharp squall shortly before, in which we had been amused by seeing the smart little zebeques, with their snowy white lateen sails, flying before the wind like a flock of small birds frightened by a hawk; and the _moonshine_ was just coming up to the wind in order to let go her anchor, when bob and i, who were close together on the forecastle, watching the men preparing for running out and bitting the cable, saw, almost at the same moment, a man's head in the water right in front of the yacht's forefoot; then--it all happened as suddenly as a flash of lightning--his hands were thrown up as if in entreaty, although we heard no cry, and he disappeared. "man overboard!" sang out one of the crew, who was pulling away at the jib down-haul in order to stow the sail, the halliards having been cast loose, "man overboard!" in a voice which rang through the vessel fore and aft, and attracted everybody's attention. "hi! rollo, good dog!" cried out bob, turning round sharp to where the brave old fellow had been lying on the deck not a moment before, flopping his tail lazily, and with his great red tongue lolling out, as though he laughed cheerily at everything going on around him. "hi! rollo!" said i too, in almost the same breath with bob. "fetch him out, good dog!" and i turned round also. but the dog was gone. bob and i were "nonplussed." we had both seen rollo there not--why, not a second before. and now he was gone. however, we soon discovered the noble fellow and the cause of his absence. the cry of "man overboard!" had startled everybody, so that the anchor had not been let go; and the steersman's attention, naturally, having been taken up, the yacht had paid off again instead of bringing up, and her head had swung; consequently, what had been ahead of us just before was now astern, and we were quite confused as to our bearings. while we were looking in perplexity in every direction but the right one, captain buncombe, who was at the wheel, and perhaps anxious to atone for his carelessness in letting the _moonshine_ swing round, shouted out "bravo!" waving his hat like a madman. of course all our several pairs of eyes were turned on him at once. "there he is--there he is--the brave old fellow!" cried the captain, letting go the helm in his eagerness, and pointing with his hat--waving hand to the water under the stern. "look aft, you duffers! where are your eyes? bravo, rollo! good dog! hold up, old fellow! i'm coming to help you!" and with these words, before you could say "jack robinson," captain buncombe had thrown off his coat, pitched away the hat he had been waving, jumped over the taffrail of the yacht into the bosom of the blue aegean sea, and was rapidly swimming to where we could see dear old rollo's black head and splashing paws as he supported a man in the yacht's wake, and tried to drag him towards us in the _moonshine_. we gave a "hooray!" which you might have heard at charing cross if you had been listening! captain buncombe and rollo, with their burden, were so near the yacht that there was no necessity for lowering the gig as we had hastened to do; and in a very little time we hauled them on board--rollo jumping about in the highest spirits, as if he had been just having a quiet lark on his own account; but the rescued person was limp and insensible, though he presently came to by the aid of hot-water bottles and blankets. the _moonshine_ then made another start, and succeeded better in anchoring in a respectable fashion, as she had always been accustomed to do. the man was a handsome young fellow, with black hair and piercing eyes-a greek, he told us in french which he spoke fluently--although he had not that treacherous cast of countenance which most of his countrymen possess. he was profuse in the thanks which he bestowed broadcast for our saving him from drowning, although rollo had really all the credit of it. his name was stephanos pericles, he said, and he was crossing to salamis, when the squall came on, and his boat was upset. he had been dragged under water by the boat and almost suffocated before he could get to the surface, being quite exhausted when the dog gripped him. for rollo had seen him before any of us, and had not waited for our directions as to what to do. "i'm a soldier," he said, proudly tapping his chest, and looking round at dad and the captain, and mr moynham. "i've eaten your bread,"--he had dinner with us after he had got all right again, and we had settled down into that general routine in which our meals were attended to with the strictest punctuality--"and i shall never forget you have saved my life. by that bread i have eaten, i will repay you, i swear!" then turning to bob and i, who were sitting on each side of him, and rollo, who stuck close to him, as if under the idea that having saved him he was now his property--"and much thanks to you, little englishmen, and your dogs i vill nevare forget, no nevare!" he couldn't speak english as well as french. the evening had closed now, so captain buncombe told the crew to get the boat ready, and the greek with many more fervent expressions of gratitude, was rowed ashore. the next morning we had landed and after pottering about the port proceeded up to athens, which much disappointed all of us, especially dad and the captain. it had a garish and stucco-like appearance; while the people looked as if they were costumed for a fancy ball, being not apparently at home in their national dress, picturesque though it was. it was quite nightmarish for bob and me to read the names on the shop fronts in the streets, and see the newspapers printed in the old greek characters. fancy "modiste," and "perruquier," as they will have the french terms spelt, in the letters sacred to euripides and xenophon. it seemed like walking in a dream! we had inspected athens, as i've said, and visited the plain of marathon, which was offered by the greeks to lord byron for sixteen thousand piastres, or about eight hundred pounds--alas for glory!--and returned on board the yacht for dinner again, when we were told that a messenger had been off in our absence and left a parcel for us. what do you think it contained? guess. well, there was a splendid shawl, worth more than a hundred guineas, for captain buncombe, and a handsome jewelled pipe for dad; while mr joe moynham had a case of greek wines for his special self! bob and i were not forgotten either. he had a fine gun, with the stock inlaid with ivory, and carved beautifully; and i, a yataghan, decorated with a jewelled hilt, that was even more valuable than dad's pipe. rollo was presented with a grand gold collar, which mr joe moynham said was like the one that malachi, one of the irish kings, wore in the days of brian boru; and, if you please, a lot of little purses, each containing a handsome present, were sent also in the parcel--a good big one, you may be sure--for distribution amongst the crew. it was princely gratitude, wasn't it, in spite of the slighting way in which mr moynham had spoken of the modern greeks and their ways? however, he had to "take it all back," as he said, when he drank the health of monsieur pericles--who seemed, by the way, to be much better off than his illustrious ancestor, and whom we put down as the sultan haroun el raschid in disguise--in a glass of the very wine that he had sent on board the yacht. but that wasn't the end of it all, by any means:-why, i am only just coming to my real story now. time rolled on--when i say "time," of course, i only mean hours and days as we mean, not years and centuries as the ancients calculated the lapse of time--and we managed to see everything that sight-seers see in the city of minerva. having nothing else to look at close at hand, therefore, we determined to go on our travels, like ulysses; not amongst the islands, which we had already visited, but towards the mountains, captain buncombe having made a vow ere he left england to see the ruins of thebes, after which, he said, he would have no further object in life, and would perform the japanese feat of the "happy despatch!" we had horses, and mules, and donkeys for the journey; that is, dad and the captain rode horses, there were mules for our traps and food, which we had to take along with us, thanks to the hospitality of the regions we were going to, while the donkeys were for bob and me and mr moynham. that gentleman, who would be very positive when he liked, declared that no earthly consideration should compel him to mount the bucephalus that was provided for him. he said that a horse was expressly stated by king david to be "a vain thing to save a man," and so why should he go against that ruling? the first part of our journey went off as jolly as possible: the way was good; the scenery--although i confess i didn't trouble my head very much about it--though dad and the captain were in raptures with it-magnificent; the halts, just at the right time, although all in classic places, whose names bob and i hated the sound of; the food was firstrate, and mr moynham so funny, that he nearly made me roll off my donkey every now and then with laughter. but towards evening, when we were all ascending a steep hill, with rocks and thick shrubbery on each side of it, through a narrow defile, a harsh voice suddenly exclaimed through the gloom, something that sounded like the greek imperative statheets! _stop_! and then again another monosyllable, which we certainly understood better, "halt!" a gun was also fired off at the same time; and, by the flash of the discharge we could see several long gleaming rifle barrels peering out from the bushes on either side of the way. "brigands!" ejaculated the guides together, tumbling prostrate on the ground pell-mell, as if they had been swept down. "fascia a terra! ventre a terre!" shouted out the same hoarse voice again, and a volley was fired over our heads. "pleasant!" said mr moynham, throwing himself down with his face to the ground like the cowardly guides. "but i suppose we'd better do as these gentry require, or else they'll be hitting us under the fifth buttonhole; and, what would become of us then?" "fascia a terra!" repeated the leader of the brigands, emerging from a clump of shrubbery at the head of the pass, motioning his arms violently at dad and the captain, who were inclined to show fight at first; but discretion proved the better part of valour, and they both dropped the pistols they had hurriedly drawn from their pockets, seeing that the rifle barrels covered them, sinking down prone on the earth like the rest of us. rollo, however, poor brave old fellow, made one dash at the ruffian as he threatened dad; and, seizing him by the throat, dashed him to the ground. poor fellow, the next moment he had a stiletto jammed into him, which made him sink down bleeding, with a faint howl, to which bob and i responded with a cry, as if we felt the blow ourselves! the moment dad and captain buncombe heard rollo's howl and our cry, they jumped up again like lightning, and began hitting out right and left at the brigands who now surrounded us; and mr moynham was not behind, i can tell you! he butted one big chap right in the pit of the stomach, and sent him tumbling down the defile, his body rattling against the stones, and he swearing like mad all the time. bob and i scrambled at them as best we could, catching hold of their legs and tripping them up; but they were too many for us, for the cowardly guides did not stir hand or foot to help us, but lay stretched like logs along the ground, although they were unbound. we were certain that they were in league with the robbers; and so, without doubt, they were, for, if they had only assisted us, now that their assailants had dropped their firearms, and were engaged in a regular rough-and-tumble fight, we could have mastered them, i'm sure, as, counting bob and myself in, we were nearly man for man as many as they were. the struggle did not last long, although dad and the captain held out bravely to the last, flooring the brigands one after another, and knocking them down as if they had been nine-pins. they were presently tied securely, with their arms behind them, and menaced with death if they stirred, by a brawny ruffian touching each of their heads with a pistol barrel. as for bob and me, they did not think it necessary to tie us. "well, this is a delightful ending to our picnic," said mr moynham in lugubrious tones, as we all lay on the ground, with the exception of the guides, who appeared to mingle freely with the robbers, who were grouped in picturesque attitudes around us, leaning on their carbines. "i wonder what's their little game?" the leader presently gave an order, and our seniors were then each lifted on to a horse or mule, and tied securely there. "at all events," said mr moynham, who kept up his spirits still wonderfully, "we sha'n't fall off, that's one comfort, and so we'll have the less bruises after the scrimmage!" although the chief brigand scowled at me, he allowed me to lift poor rollo, who was not dead as i had feared, and i bandaged his neck where the wound was with my handkerchief, and took him up in front of me. the leader then spoke vehemently in his own language to one of the treacherous guides, who approached dad as if to speak. "away, scoundrel!" said dad, wrathfully. "don't speak to me; i would kill you if i were free, for leading us into this ambush!" the man, however, urged again by the chief, who raised his pistol ominously at dad, approached him once more. "the albanian chief says that if twenty thousand piastres apiece, or one hundred thousand piastres in all, are not paid for you by sunset here to-morrow evening, you shall all be shot in cold blood, and your doom be on your own heads." "tell your chief, or thief, or whatever ruffian he is, that none of us will pay a penny. our friends at athens will miss us, and you'll have the palikari after you all in hot haste if i'm not back to-night safe." "the english lord forgets that he left word that he might remain for two days on the mountains, and his friends will not think him missing before to-morrow night: at that time, the english lord and his friends, and the little lords, will be all dead men if the ransom be not paid." "what on earth shall i do, buncombe?" asked dad of the captain. "shall i write an order on my bankers for the money to be sent? one hundred thousand piastres will be about five thousand pounds--i don't know whether my credit will be good for that amount?" "your credit and mine will be sufficient," captain buncombe said; "one can't trifle with these fellows, for the villains keep their word, i'm told." the guide again spoke by the chief's order to dad, as if the tenor of the captain's words were understood. "the albanian chief declares that if the ransom be not paid by sunset to-morrow at latest, every one of you shall be shot, and your heads cut off and sent back to athens in token of your fate." "ugh!" said mr moynham, shuddering; "i certainly have been a tory throughout all my life, but i should not like to follow charles the first's example." "i declare it's disgraceful," said captain buncombe; "i'll apply to the ambassador. this brigandage is the curse of greece. i'll--" "that won't help us now," said dad. "i suppose we must write for the ransom, although under protests; for, however much we have to pay, we must remember that our lives are in jeopardy; and that's the main consideration." the advice was good; so, a joint letter was despatched to certain influential friends, as well as dad's banker at athens, urging that the ransom should be sent in a certain way, to be handed over, as the brigand chief arranged, as we were given up, so that there should be no treachery on either side. the false guides then went off cheerfully down hill towards the plains, whilst our cavalcade, encompassed by the brigands, moved towards those mountain fastnesses, "where they resided when they were at home," as mr moynham said. up and down hill and dale, we seemed in the darkness to be penetrating miles into the country; until, at last, passing, as well as we could see from the gloom, which was almost impenetrable, through a narrow glen between steep peaks, we suddenly turned a corner of a projecting rock, and found ourselves on an elevated plateau on the top of the mountains, where a strange scene awaited us. a number of ruddy watch-fires were burning with red and smoky light, and around these sat, reclined, or moved about, in a variety of active employments, a number of dark forms, most of which were robust arnauts, clad in their national dress, which in the distance is not unlike that seen among highlandmen, consisting as it does of a snowy white kilt, green velvet jacket, and bright-coloured scarf wound round the waist. here and there, the glare from the firelight was reflected from the barrels of guns, rifles, and matchlocks, which the owners were cleaning or examining; while, before several of the fires cooking operations were going on. kids, whole sheep, and pieces of raw flesh, were being slowly broiled, hanging from bits of stick stuck in the ground, or suspended by pieces of string attached to the branches of the overhanging trees that encircled the plateau. this added to the "effect" of the scene. "quite operatic, and better than old drury," i heard mr moynham say; but we were all too depressed and uncomfortable from our constrained attitudes to feel inclined to appreciate the picturesque, the brigands having taken us off the horses, and flung us down on the ground, having this time bound even bob and myself; indeed, they treated us with even less attention than they would have bestowed on anything eatable, judging by the care they evinced in their cuisine, although they did not offer us anything either to eat or drink, much to mr moynham's great chagrin especially, nor did they give us the slightest covering to protect us from the night air when the waning watch-fires told us that bedtime--save the mark--had arrived. i suppose they thought that it did not much matter if we did catch cold, considering that we were going to be shot within twenty-four hours! tired out with fatigue, we finally sank to rest in the same place where we were first pitched down, not awaking till late the next morning, when we found most of the brigands had departed--to look-out for other "welcome guests" like ourselves, i suppose! only three were left to guard us, but they were quite enough, considering that we were tied up fast, and couldn't move if we wished. how slowly that day dragged out! we thought it would never end. they gave us some hard coarse dry bread to eat and water to drink, nothing else; and the hours dragged themselves slowly along, as if they would never end. our hopes gradually sank, as the sun declined in the heavens, for we watched the progress of the glowing orb with almost the devoted zeal of the followers of zoroaster. at last, just as it was within half an hour of sunset as nearly as we could calculate, we heard a tumult as of many voices in the ravine leading to the plateau; and, presently, the man whom we had conceived to be the leader of the brigands advanced towards us, in company with his band, now largely reinforced by others. at a word from him our bonds were untied, and we were assisted to our feet, on which we could not stand firmly for some little time, on account of the want of circulation of our blood during the long time we had been in such constrained attitudes. the guide who had previously acted the part of interpreter after betraying us--although, by the way, he told us before he left us that he belonged to the band, and thus, perhaps, had only acted honourably according to his creed--then translated what the leader had to say. our ransom had been paid, and we were free to go down the mountains. the horses, mules, and everything belonging to us would be restored, and a trusty guide--the speaker, of course--would put us in the direct route to athens, but as near the city as possible; and, finally, the chief begged that we would excuse the rough treatment to which we had been subjected, as he had a great regard for us! "it was all very well to dissemble his love," quoted mr moynham; "but,--why did he kick us down-stairs?" "the chief!--which chief, or thief?" said dad sternly. he did not feel particularly pleased with the arnauts or their leader. "i've had enough of the scoundrels already, and the sooner i lose sight of them the better! what do you mean by the chief?" "he means me!" said a gorgeous individual, all green velvet jacket, and gold braid, and red sash, with a cap set rakishly on the side of his head, in the front of which glittered a diamond of surpassing brilliancy. we had noticed this individual before, but not especially, and he had been rather hidden by the figure of the man we looked upon as the leader: now he stepped forward, and we could see his face plainly, as we recognised the voice. who do you think it was? why, stephanos pericles, the man whom we had saved from drowning, and who had sent us those handsome presents! "why have we met with this treatment at your hands?" said papa, puzzled at the greek's behaviour. "you have nothing to complain of," said stephanos, with an air of courteous nobility which exasperated the captain to that degree that i saw him clenching and unclenching his fists, and dancing about, as mr moynham said afterwards, "like a hen on a hot griddle." "my dear sir, you have nothing really to complain of," said the greek. "you saved my life, i admit, and i think i politely expressed my obligations at the time. in return i now present you with five lives, independently of that of the dog, which, i am sorry to see, has been hurt." "but the ransom?" said dad. "oh, i'm sorry i had to insist on that," said stephanos, placidly; "but it is one of our rules to enforce such in all cases, and i'm sorry that i could not let you off, although my friendship yearned to set you free without it. you must really please excuse the treatment you have met with. if i had known who honoured me with their company, i'm sure you would have had no reason to be dissatisfied with my hospitality. the _next_ time you favour me with your presence, my lord--" "the next time you catch me here, or anywhere else on greek ground," laughed my father in a hearty "ho! ho!" in which all of us joined, "you may cut me up into kabobs and cook and eat me, and welcome; for i know i'll then deserve it!" we got back safe aboard the _moonshine_ all right, setting sail from the piraeus next day; but it was a good trick of the brigand chief, wasn't it--though i can't say much for his gratitude after all, spite of those magnificent presents, which there was little reason to wonder at his offering us, considering the easy manner in which he got his money? the cut in rollo's neck healed soon, and he is now as right as ever he was, excepting a slight scar which tells where the stiletto or dagger went, and he wears still the collar of gold that stephanos pericles presented him with. as for the rest of our party, all of us got home safe with the _moonshine_, which is now fitting out at ryde for the coming regatta, where i hope she'll come off as successfully in carrying off prizes as "the greek bandit." chapter four. jim newman's yarn: or, a sight of the sea serpent. "was you ever up the niger, sir?" "why, of course not, jim! you know that i've never been on the african station, or any other for that matter. but why do you ask the question?" "don't know 'xactly, sir. p'raps that blessed sea-fog reminds me of it, somehow or other--though there's little likeness, as far as that goes, between the west coast and portsmouth, is there, sir?" "i don't suppose there is," i said; "but what puts the niger, of all places in the world, in your head at the present moment?" "ah, that'd tell a tale, sir," he answered, cocking his left eye in a knowing manner, and giving the quid in his mouth a turn. "ah, that'd tell a tale, sir!" jim newman, an old man-of-war's man--now retired from the navy, and who eked out his pension by letting boats for hire to summer visitors--was leaning against an old coal barge that formed his "office," drawn up high and dry on the beach, midway between southsea castle and portsmouth harbour, and gazing out steadily across the channel of the solent, to the isle of wight beyond. he and i were old friends of long standing, and i was never so happy as when i could persuade him--albeit it did not need much persuasion--to open the storehouse of his memory, and spin a yarn about his old experiences afloat in the whilom wooden walls of england, when crack frigates were the rage instead of screw steamers with armour-plates. we had been talking of all sorts of service gossip--the war, the weather, what not--when he suddenly asked me the question about the great african river that has given poor sambo "a local habitation and a name." although the gushing tears of april had hardly washed away the traces of the wild march winds, the weather had suddenly become almost tropical in its heat. there was not the slightest breath of air stirring, and the sea lay lazily asleep, only throbbing now and then with a faint spasmodic motion, which barely stirred the shingle on the shore, much less plashed on the beach; while a thick, heavy white mist was steadily creeping up from the sea, shutting out, first the island, and then the roadstead at spithead from view, and overlapping the whole landscape in thick woolly folds, moist yet warm. jim had said that the sea-fog, coming as it did, was a sign of heat, and that we should have a regular old-fashioned hot summer, unlike those of recent years. "ah, sir," he repeated, "i could tell a tale about that deadly niger river, and the gaboon, and the whole treacherous coast, if i liked, from lagos down to the congo--ay, i could! it was that 'ere sea-fog that put afriker into my head, master charles; i know that blessed white mist, arising up like a curtain, well, i do! the `white man's shroud,' the niggers used to call it--and many a poor beggar it has sarved to shroud, too, in that killing climate, confound it!" "well, jim, tell us about the niger to begin with," said i, so as to bring him up to the scratch without delay; for, when jim once got on the moralising or sentimental tack, he generally ended by getting angry with everybody and everything around him; and when he got angry, there was an end to his stories for that day at least. "all right, your honour," said the old fellow, calming down at once into his usual serenity again, and giving his quid another shift as he braced himself well up against the old barge, on the half-deck of which i was seated with my legs dangling down--"all right, your honour! if it's a yarn you're after, why i had best weigh anchor at once and make an offing, or else we shan't be able to see a handspike afore us!" "heave ahead, jim!" said i impatiently; "you are as long as a threedecker in getting under way!" with this encouragement, he cleared his throat with his customary hoarse, choking sort of cough, like an old raven, and commenced his narrative without any further demur. "it's more'n twenty years now since i left the service--ay, thirty years would be more like it; and almost my very last cruise was on the west african station. i had four years of it, and i recollect it well; for, before i left the blessed, murdering coast, with its poisonous lagoons covered with thick green slime, and sickly smells, and burning sands, i seed a sight there that i shall never forget as long as i live, and which would make me recklect afrikey well enough if nothing else would!" "that's right, jim, fire away!" said i, settling myself comfortably on my seat to enjoy the yarn. "what was it that you saw?" "steady! let her go easy, your honour; i'm a-coming to that soon enough. it was in the old _amphitrite_ i was at the time--she's brokenup and burnt for firewood long ago, poor old thing!--and we was a-lying in the bight of benin, alongside of a slaver which we had captured the day before off whydah. she was a brazilian schooner with nearly five hundred wretched creatures on board, so closely packed that you could not find space enough to put your foot fairly on her deck in any place. the slaves had only been a night on board her; but the stench was so awful, from so many unfortunate niggers being squeezed so tightly together like herrings in a barrel, and under a hot sun too, that we were longing to send the schooner away to sierra leone, and get rid of the horrid smell, which was worse than the swamps ashore! well, i was in the morning watch after we had towed in the slaver to the bights, having carried away her foremast with a round shot in making her bring to, and was just going forward to turn in as the next watch came on deck, when who should hail me but my mate, gil saul, coming in from the bowsprit, where he had been on the look-out--it was him as was my pardner here when i first started as a shore hand in letting out boats, but he lost the number of his mess long ago like our old ship the _amphitrite_. "as he came up to me his face was as white as your shirt, and he was trembling all over as if he was going to have a fit of the fever and ague. "`lor', gil saul,' sez i, `what's come over you, mate? are you going on the sick list, or what?' "`hush, jim,' sez he, quite terror-stricken. `don't speak like that; i've seen a ghost, and i knows i shall be a dead man afore the day's out!' "with that i burst into a larf. "`bless your eyes, gil,' sez i, `tell that to the marines, my bo'! you can't get over me on that tack. you won't find any respectable ghosts leaving dear old england for the sake of this dirty, sweltering west coast, which no christian would come to from choice, let alone a ghost!' "`but, jim,' he sez, leaning his hand on my arm to detain me as i was going down below, `this wasn't a h'english ghost as i sees just now. it was the most outlandish foreign reptile you ever see. a long, big, black snake like a crocodile, only twice the length of the old corvette; with a head like a bird, and eyes as big and fiery as our side-lights. it was a terrible creature, jim, and its eyes flamed out like lightning, and it snorted like a horse as it swam by the ship. i've had a warning, old shipmate, and i'll be a dead man before to-morrow morning, i know!' "the poor chap shook with fright as he spoke, though he was as brave a man as we had aboard; so i knew that he had been drinking and was in a state of delirium tremendibus, or else he was sickening for the african fever, which those who once have never forget. i therefore tried to pacify him and explain away his fancy. "`that's a good un, gil saul,' i sez. `don't you let none of the other hands hear what you've told me, that you've seen the great sea sarpint, or you'll never get the end of it.' "gil got angry at this, forgetting his fright in his passion at my doubting his word like. "`but it was the sea sarpint, i tells you, or its own brother if it wasn't. didn't i see it with my own eyes, and i was as wide awake as you are, and not caulking?' "`the sea sarpint!' i repeated scornfully, laughing again in a way that made gil wild. `who ever heard tell of such a thing, except in a yankee yarn?' "`and why shouldn't there be a big snake in the sea the same as there are big snakes on land like the bow constreetar, as is read of in books of history, jim newman? some folks are so cocksure, that they won't believe nothing but what they sees for themselves. i wonder who at home, now, would credit that there are some monkeys here in afrikey that are bigger than a man and walk upright; and you yourself, jim, have told me that when you were in australy you seed rabbits that were more than ten foot high when they stood on their hind-legs, and that could jump a hundred yards at one leap.' "`so i have, gil saul,' sez i, a bit nettled at what he said, and the way he said it, `and what i says i stick to. i have seen at port philip kangaroos, which are just like big rabbits with upright ears, as big as i've said; and i've seen 'em, too, jump more than twice the distance any horse could.' "`and why then,' sez he, argumentifying on to me like a shot, `and why then shouldn't there be such a thing as the sea sarpint?' "this flummuxed me a bit, for i couldn't find an answer handy, so i axed him another question to get out of my quandary. "`but why, gil, did you say you had seed a ghost, when it was a sarpint?' "this time _he_ was bothered for a moment. "`because, jim,' sez he, after a while, `it appeared so awful to me when i saw it coming out of the white mist with its glaring red eyes and terrible beak. it was a ghost i feels, if it wasn't the sea sarpint; and whether or no it bodes no good to the man wot sees it, i know. i'm a doomed man.' "i couldn't shake him from that belief, though i thought the whole thing was fancy on his part, and i turned into my hammock soon after we got below, without a thought more about the matter--it didn't stop my caulk, i know. but, ah! that was only in the early morning. before the day was done, as gil had said, that conversation was recalled to me in a terrible way--ah, a terrible way!" the old sailor repeated impressively, taking off his tarpaulin hat, and wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, as if the recollection of the past awed him even now. he looked so serious that i could not laugh, inclined as i was to ridicule any such story as that of the fabled sea serpent, which one looks for periodically as a transatlantic myth to crop up in dull seasons in the columns of american newspapers. "and did you see it too?" i asked; "and gil saul's prophecy turns out true?" "you shall hear," he answered gravely; "i'm not spinning a yarn, as you call it, master charles; i'm telling you the truth." "go on, jim," said i, to reassure him. "i'm listening, all attention." "at eight bells that day, another man-of-war come in, bringing an empty slaver she had taken before she had shipped her cargo. in this vessel we were able to separate some of the poor wretches packed on board our brazilian schooner, and so send them comfortably on to sierra leone, which was what we were waiting to do, as i've told you already; and now being free to go cruising again, we hove up anchor and made our way down the coast to watch for another slaver which we had heard news of by the man-o'-war that came in to relieve us. "we had a spanking breeze all day, for a wonder, as it generally fails at noon; but towards the evening, when we had made some eighty miles or so from the bights, it fell suddenly dead calm, as if the wind had been shut off slap without warning. it was bright before, but the moment the calm came a thick white mist rose around the vessel, just like that which came just now from seaward, and has hidden the island and spithead from view; you see how it's reminded me now of the west coast and the niger river, master charles, don't you?" "ay," said i, "jim, i see what you were driving at." "those thick mists," he continued, "always rise on the shores of afrikey in the early mornings--just as there was a thick one when gil had seen his ghost, as he said--and they comes up again when the sun sets; but you never sees 'em when the sun's a-shining bright as it was that arternoon. it was the rummiest weather i ever see. by and by, the mist lifted a bit, and then there were clumps of fog dancing about on the surface of the sea, which was oily and calm, just like patches of trees on a lawn. sometimes these fog curtains would come down and settle round the ship, so that you couldn't see to the t'other side of the deck for a minute, and they brought a fearful bad smell with them, the very smell of the lagoons ashore with a dash of the niggers aboard the slave schooner, only a thousand times worse, and we miles and miles away from the land. it was most unaccountable, and most uncomfortable. i couldn't make it out at all. "jest as i was a-puzzling my brains as to the reason of these fog banks and the stench they brought with them, gil saul came on deck too, and sheered up alongside of me as i was looking out over the side. his face was a worse sight than the morning; for, instead of his looking white, the colour of his skin was grey and ashy, like the face of a corpse. it alarmed me so that i cried out at once-"`go down below, gil! go down and report yourself to the doctor!' "`no,' sez he, `it ain't the doctor an will cure me, jim; i feel it coming over me again as i felt this morning. i shall see that sarpint or ghost again, i feel sure.' "what with his face and his words, and the bad smell from the fog, i confess i began to feel queer myself--not frightened exactly--but i'd have much rather have been on southsea common in the broad daylight than where i was at that moment, i can tell you." "did you see anything, jim?" i asked the old sailor at this juncture. "i seed nothing, master charles, _as yet_ but i felt something, i can't tell what or how to explain; it was a sort of all-overish feeling, as if something was a-walking over my grave, as folks say, summat uncanny, i do assure you. "the captain and the first lieutenant was on the quarter-deck, the latter with his telescope to his eye a-gazing at something forward apparently, that he was trying to discern amongst the clumps of fog. i was nigh them, and being to leeward could hear what they said. "the first lieutenant, i hears him, turns to the captain over his shoulder speaking like, and sez he-"`captain manter, i can't make it out exactly, but it's most curious;' and then turning to me, he sez, `newman, go down to my steward and ax him to give you my night-glass.' "i went down and fetched the glass and handed it to him, he giving me t'other one to hold; and he claps the night-glass to his eye. "`by jove, captain manter,' sez he presently, `i was right, it is the greatest marine monster i ever saw!' "`pooh!' says the captain, taking the glass from him and looking himself. `it's only a waterspout, they come sometimes along with this appearance of the sea!' but presently i heard him mutter something under his voice to the lieutenant, and then he said aloud, `it is best to be prepared;' and a moment after that he gave an order, and the boatswain piped up and we beat to quarters. it was very strange that, wasn't it? and so every man on board thought. "a very faint breeze was springing up again, and i was on the weather side of the ship, which was towards the land from which the wind came, when suddenly gil saul, who was in the same battery and captain of my crew, grips my arm tight. `it's coming! it's coming!' he said right in my ear, and then the same horrible foul smell wafted right over the ship again, and a noise was heard just as if a herd of wild horses were sucking up water together. "at this moment the fog lifted for a bit, and we could see clear for about a couple of miles to windward, where the captain and first lieutenant and all the hands had their eyes fixed as if expecting something. "by george! you could have knocked me down with a feather, i tell you! i never saw such a sight in my life, and may i never see such another again! there, with his head well out of the water, shaped like a big bird, and higher in the air than the main truck of the ship, was a gigantic reptile like a sarpint, only bigger than you ever dreamt of. he was wriggling through the water at a fearful rate, and going nearly the same course as ourselves, with a wake behind him bigger than a lineof-battle ship with paddle-wheels, and his length--judging by what i saw of him--was about half a mile at least, not mentioning what part of his body was below the water; while he must have been broader across than the largest sperm whale, for he showed good five feet of freeboard. "the captain and first lieutenant were flabbergasted, i could see; but captain manter was as brave an officer as ever stepped, and he pulled himself together in a minute, as the fog, which had only lifted for a minute, came down again shutting out everything from view so that we could not see a yard from the side. `don't be alarmed, my men,' he sings out in his cheery voice, so that every hand could hear him, `it's only a waterspout that is magnified by the fog; and as it gets nearer we'll give it the starboard broadside to clear it up and burst it.' "`ay! ay!' sez the men with a cheer, while the smell grew more awful and the snorting gushing sound we had heard before so loud that it was quite deafening, just immediately after the captain spoke, when it had stopped awhile. "as for poor gil, he had never lost the grip of my arm since we sighted the reptile, although he had the lanyard of his gun in his right hand all the same. "`fire!' sez the captain; and, in a moment, the whole starboard broadside was fired off, point blank across the water, in a line with the deck, as captain manter had ordered us to depress the guns, the old _amphitrite_ rocking to her keel with the explosion. "well, sir, as true as i'm standing here a-talking to you, at the very instant the guns belched out their fire and smoke, and the cannon-balls with which they were loaded, there was a most treemenjus roar and a dash of water alongside the ship, and the waves came over us as if we were on a lee shore; and then, as the men stood appalled at the things going on around them, which was what no mortal ever seed before, gil clasped my arm more tightly, loosening his right hand from the lanyard of the gun which he had now fired, and shrieked out, `there! there!' "master charles, it were awful! a long heavy body seemed to be reared up high in the air right athwart the vessel, and plunged far away in the sea to leeward; and, as the body passed over our heads, i looked up with gil, and saw the fearful fiery eyes of the biggest snake that ever crawled on the earth, though this was flying in the air, and round his hideous head, that had a long beak like a bird, was a curious fringe or frill all yellowish green, just like what a lizard puffs out under his throat when in a rage. i could see no more, for the thing was over us and gone a mile or more to leeward in a wink of the eye, the fog drifting after it and hiding it from sight. besides which, i was occupied with gil, who had sank down on the deck in a dead swoon. "whatever it was, the thing carried away our main topmast with the yards, and everything clean from the caps as if it had been shot away, and there wasn't a trace of them floating in the sea around, as we could see. "`a close thing that!' said the captain, after the shock was over, speaking to the lieutenant, although all hands could hear him, for it was as still as possible now. `a close thing, mr freemantle. i've known a waterspout do even more damage than this; so let us be thankful!' "and then all hands were piped to clear the wreck, and make the ship snug; for we had some bad weather afterwards, and had to put into sierra leone to refit. "gil was in a swoon for a long time after; and then he took the fever bad, and only recovered by the skin of his teeth; but he never forgot what he had seen, nor i either, nor any of the hands, though we never talked about it. we knew we had seen something unearthly; even the captain and lieutenant freemantle, though they put down the damage to a waterspout for fear of alarming the men, knew differently, as we did. we had seen the great sea sarpint, if anybody had, every man-jack of us aboard! it was a warning, too, as poor gil saul had declared; for, strange to say, except himself and me, not a soul as was on board the _amphitrite_ when the reptile overhauled us, lived to see old england again. the bones of all the others were left to bleach on the burning sands of the east coast of africa, which has killed ten thousand more of our own countrymen with its deadly climate than we have saved slaves from slavery!" "but, jim," said i, as the old sailor paused at the end of his yarn. "do you think it was really the sea serpent? might it not have been a waterspout, or a bit of floating wreck, which you saw in the fog?" jim newman got grumpy at once, at the bare insinuation of such a thing. "waterspouts and bits of wreck," said he sarcastically, "generally travel at the rate of twenty miles an hour when there is no wind to move them along, and a dead calm, don't they? waterspouts and bits of wreck smell like polecats when you're a hundred miles from land, don't they? waterspouts and bits of wreck roar like a million wild bulls, and snort and swish as they go through the water like a thousand express trains going through a tunnel, don't they?" i was silenced by jim's sarcasm, and humbly begged his pardon for doubting the veracity of his eyesight. "besides, master charles," he urged, when he had once more been restored to his usual equanimity; "besides, you must remember that nearly in the same parts, and about the same time--in the beginning of the month of august, 1848--the sea sarpint, as people who have never seen it are so fond of joking of, was seen by the captain and crew of hms _daedalus_ and the event was put down in the ship's log, and reported officially to the admiralty. i suppose you won't go for to doubt the statement which was made by a captain in the navy, a gentleman, and a man of honour, and supported by the evidence of the lieutenant of the watch, the master, a midshipman, the quartermaster, boatswain's mate, and the man at the wheel--the rest of the ship's company being below at the time?" "no, jim," said i, "that's straight enough." "we was in latitude 5 degrees 30 minutes north, and longitude about 3 degrees east," continued the old sailor, "when we saw it on the 1st of august, 1848, and they in latitude 24 degrees 44 minutes south, and longitude 9 degrees 22 minutes east, when they saw it on the 6th of the same month; so the curious reptile--for reptile he was--must have put the steam on when he left us!" "stirred up, probably, by your starboard broadside?" said i. "jest so," went on jim. "but, he steered just in the direction to meet them when he went off from us, keeping a southward and eastward course; and i daresay, if he liked, he could have made a hundred knots an hour as easy as we could sail ten on a bowline with a stiff breeze." "and so you really have seen the great sea serpent?" said i, when the old man-of-war's man had shifted his quid once more, thus implying that he had finished. "not a doubt of it, sir; and by the same token he was as long as from here to the spit buoy, and as broad as one of them circular forts out there." "that's a very good yarn, jim," said i; "but do you mean to say that you saw the monster with your own eyes, jim, as well as all the rest of you?" "i saw him, i tell you, master charles, as plain as i see you now; and as true as i am standing by your side the sarpint jumped right over the _amphitrite_ when gil saul and i was a-looking up, and carried away our maintopmast and everything belonging to it!" "well, it must have been wonderful, jim," said i. "ay, ay, sir," said he, "but you'd ha' thought it a precious sight more wonderful if you had chanced to see it, like me!" i may add, that, shortly afterwards, i really took the trouble to overhaul a pile of the local papers to see whether jim's account of the report made by the captain of the _daedalus_ to the lords of the admiralty was substantially true; and, strange to say, i discovered amongst the numbers of the _hampshire telegraph_ for the year 1848, the following copy of a letter forwarded by captain mcqubae to the admiral in command at devonport dockyard at the date mentioned:- "her majesty's ship _daedalus_ "hamoaze, october 11th, 1848. "sir,--in reply to your letter of this day's date, requiring information as to the truth of a statement published in the _globe_ newspaper, of a sea serpent of extraordinary dimensions having been seen from her majesty's ship _daedalus_, under my command, on her passage from the east indies, i have the honour to acquaint you, for the information of my lords commissioners of the admiralty, that at five o'clock, pm, on the 6th of august last, in latitude 24 degrees 44 minutes south, and longitude 9 degrees 22 minutes east, the weather dark and cloudy, wind fresh from the north west, with a long ocean swell from the south west, the ship on the port tack heading north east by north, something very unusual was seen by mr sartons, midshipman, rapidly approaching the ship from before the beam. the circumstance was immediately reported by him to the officer of the watch, lieutenant edgar drummond, with whom and mr william barrett, the master, i was at the time walking the quarter-deck. the ship's company were at supper. "on our attention being called to the object it was discovered to be an enormous serpent, with head and shoulders kept about four feet constantly above the surface of the sea, and as nearly as we could approximate, by comparing it with the length of what our main-topsail yard would show in the water, there was at the very least sixty feet of the animal _a fleur d'eau_, no portion of which was, to our perception, used in propelling it through the water, either by vertical or horizontal undulation. it passed rapidly, but so close under our lee quarter that had it been a man of my acquaintance i should have easily recognised his features with the naked eye; and it did not, either in approaching the ship or after it had passed our wake, deviate in the slightest degree from its course to the south west, which it held on at the pace of from twelve to fifteen miles per hour, apparently on some determined purpose. "the diameter of the serpent was about fifteen or sixteen inches behind the head, which was, without any doubt, that of a snake, and never, during the twenty minutes that it continued in sight of our glasses once below the surface of the water; its colour a dark brown, with yellowish white about the throat. it had no fins, but something like the mane of a horse, or rather a bunch of sea-weed, washed about its back. it was seen by the quartermaster, the boatswain's mate, and the man at the wheel, in addition to myself and officers above mentioned. "i am having a drawing of the serpent made from a sketch taken immediately after it was seen, which i hope to have ready for transmission to my lords commissioners of the admiralty by to-morrow's posts. "i have, etcetera, "peter mcqubae, captain. "to admiral sir wh gage, gch, devonport." consequently, having this testimony, which was amply verified by the other witnesses at the time, i see no reason to doubt the truth of jim newman's yarn about the great sea serpent! chapter five. "our scratch eleven." this all happened a year or two before i went to sea, and so doesn't come under the ordinary designation of a "yarn," which, i take it, should only be about the doings of seafaring men and those who have to toil over the ocean for a living; still, as it concerns myself, i give it in pretty nearly the exact words i told it the other day to a party of youngsters who had just come in from cricketing and asked me for a story. i never played in such a match in my life before or since, i began; but, there, i had better commence at the right end, and then you'll be able to judge for yourselves. charley bates, of course, was dead against it from the first. "i tell you it's all nonsense," he said, when we mooted the subject to him. "how on earth can we get up a decent eleven to play chaps like those, who have been touring it all over the country, and licking professionals even on their own ground? it's impossible, and a downright absurdity. we can't do it." "but, charley," suggested sidney grant, a tall, fair-haired fellow, and our best bat--he could swipe away at leg balls; and as for straight drives, well, he'd send 'em over a bowler's head, just out of his reach, and right to the boundary wall, at such a rate, like an express train going through the air, that they defied stopping. "but, charley," he suggested, "we've got some good ones left of our team, and i daresay we can pick up some fresh hands from amongst the visitors to make up a fair scratch lot." "it would be a scratch lot," sneered charley--"a lot that would be scratched out with duck's eggs, and make us the laughing-stock of the place." "oh, that's all nonsense!" sidney said, decisively. besides being our best bat, he was the captain of the little peddlington cricket club, which, as it was far into the month of august, had got somewhat dispersed through some of the team having gone off on those cheap excursions to london, to the continent, and elsewhere, that are rife at most of the seaside places on the south coast during the season. but now that the great travelling team of the "piccadilly inimitables" purposed paying a passing visit to our rural shades, it of course behoved the little peddlington cricket club to challenge the celebrated amateurs to a match, albeit we were so woefully weak from the absence of many of our best members, or else be for ever disgraced amongst the patrons of the noble game. it was this very point we were debating now, our captain having collected the remnants of the club together in solemn caucus, to deliberate on the situation and see what was to be done. "i don't see why we shouldn't challenge the inimitables," he went on. "the worst that can happen to us is to get licked; but we might make a good fight for it, and if vanquished we should not be covered with dishonour. there are five of us here of the first eleven to form a nucleus with: charley bates--whom i mention first, not by reason of his superior skill with the willow," the captain slily put in, "as that is known to all of us, but on account of his being the oldest member of the little peddlington cricket club present, with the exception of myself-jack limpet, who is a very good all-round player if he didn't brag quite so much,"--this was one at me--"tom atkins, john hardy, and last, though by no means least, my worthy self. thus we've five good men and true, whom we have tried already in many a fray, to rely on; and i daresay we can pick out two or three likely youngsters from the juniors, while some of those new fellows amongst the visitors that came down last week would lend us a hand. there were three of them especially that i noticed yesterday practising, whom i should certainly like to have in the eleven if i could get them to join us." "they'd be glad enough if you'd ask them," grumbled charley bates, who always seemed to prefer looking at the disagreeable side of things; "but i don't think much of their play. and as for the juveniles, there isn't one worth his salt." "yes, there is," said john hardy, who seldom spoke; but when he did open his mouth, generally did so to the purpose. "that young fellow james black is first-class both at batting and bowling. i've watched him many a time. he ought to have been in the eleven long ago." "do you think so?" said sidney inquiringly. "i'm afraid i've overlooked him. i'll make a note of his name, even if we don't have him with us to play against the inimitables." without much further demur, sidney grant proceeded to settle that he and john hardy should form themselves into a deputation and wait upon the committee of the visitors' cricket club, requesting them to furnish the assistance of the three members whom our captain had specified, to the little peddlington eleven, which would be also duly recruited from the ranks of its junior team, not forgetting young james black, in order to enable them to challenge the piccadilly inimitables, and try to stop their triumphal progress round the south coast. charley bates objected, naturally, as might have been imagined from the position he took at first. he objected not only to the visitors being asked to join our scratch team and represent the little peddlingtonians, but also specially--just because john hardy mentioned his name, and for no other earthly reason--to the fact of young black's being selected from the junior eleven. he was over-ruled, however, on both points, much to his chagrin, as he was in the habit generally of getting his own way by bullying the rest, and he left the meeting in the greatest disgust, saying that he wouldn't play, and thus "make himself a party to the disgrace that was looming over the club," in their defeat by the inimitables, which he confidently expected. "he's too fond of figuring in public to care to take a back seat when we are all in it, and bite off his nose to spite his face!" said tom atkins when he went away from us in his dudgeon, shaking off the dust from his cricketing shoes, so to speak, in testimony against us. "master charley will come round and join us when he sees we are in for the match, you bet!" and so he did, at the last moment. the other members having cordially supported the captain's several propositions, they were carried unanimously by our quorum of four, and immediately acted upon. young black, with two other juniors, and three of the best men we could pick out from the visitors that were at little peddlington for the season that year--and there were some first-rate cricketers, too, amongst them--made up our scratch eleven, charley bates relenting when he found that we would have played without him. and a challenge having been sent to the piccadilly inimitables without delay, which they as promptly accepted, the match was fixed to come off, on our ground, of course, on the opening days of the ensuing week--provided, as the secretary of our opponents' club, very offensively as we thought, added in a postscript to his communication, the contest was not settled on the first day's play. but they reckoned without their host when they tackled the little peddlingtonians, as you will see. we fellows who formed the little peddlington cricket club were for the most part studying there under a noted tutor, who prepared us for the army, woolwich, or india; but we admitted a few of the townspeople. a cricket match at such a retired spot opened a field of excitement to both residents and summer tourists alike. even an ordinary contest, such as we sometimes indulged in with the hammerton or smithwick clubs, or the bognor garrison, would have aroused considerable interest in the vicinity of little peddlington; but when it became known that we were going to play the celebrated piccadilly inimitables, who had licked lancashire and yorkshire, and almost every county eleven they had met in their cricketing tour from the north to the south of england, there was nothing else talked about from one end of our seaside town to the other, the news spreading to the adjacent hamlets, and villages beyond, until it reached the cathedral city twenty miles away. under these circumstances it cannot be wondered at that when monday, the opening day of the match--which turned out beautifully fine for a wonder, as it always rained on the very slightest provocation at little peddlington--arrived, there was such a crowd of carriages and drags, filled to their utmost capacity, as to astonish even the memory of that far-famed individual "the oldest inhabitant." these were drawn up in a sort of semicircle around our cricket ground--a charmingly situated spot with a very wide area, and nicely sheltered by rows of waving elms from the hot august sun--and besides the "carriage folk," as the rustics termed them, came on foot everybody in the neighbourhood, besides all little peddlington itself. the piccadilly inimitables arrived early in the morning, having stopped overnight at brighton, where they had scored their last victory over the sussex eleven, and which place was not so remote from little peddlington as you might suppose, consequently we were able to commence the match in good time, and as our club won the toss for first innings we buckled to at once for the fray, sending in john hardy, who had the reputation with us of being a "sticker," and the grumbling charley bates, to the wickets punctually at eleven o'clock. the bowling at the beginning was rather shady, the inimitables not being accustomed to the ground, which our batsmen, of course, were perfectly familiar with; so runs got piled on in a way that raised our hopes pretty considerably, especially when sidney grant took charley bates's place--that worthy having in his second over skied a ball that was immediately caught, sending him out for five runs, two singles and a three, or two more than he had totalled in his last match. it was a sight to see sidney as he cut and drove the slow and fast bowlers of our opponents' team for four almost every over; whilst john hardy backed him up ably by remaining, as he was instructed, strictly on the defensive, and blocking every ball that came at all near his wicket sidney was the run-getter; he had simply to run. we had scored thirty-eight for the loss of only one wicket, and the captain seemed to be well set and good to make the century--as he had done a month before in our match with the smithwick club--when a new bowler went on at the lower end of the ground, and "a change came over the spirit of our dream." "i don't like the way that chap walks up to the wicket," said tom atkins to me. "i saw him taking sidney's measure when he was serving as longstop, and if he doesn't play carefully, he'll bowl him out almost with his first ball." "not he," said i sanguinely. "he seems too confident." "ah well! we'll see," replied tom. that new bowler was something awful. he sent in the balls at such a pace that they came on the wicket like battering-rams, and their twist was so great that they would pitch about a mile off and appear to be wides, when all of a sudden they would spin in on a treacherous curve, right on to a fellow's leg-stump. john hardy stood them well enough, blocking away with a calm sense of duty, and never attempting to strike one. but poor sidney lost his head in a very short time, and hitting out wildly at what he thought was a short ball, it rose right over the shoulder of his bat and carried off his bails in the neatest manner possible--two wickets for forty-one runs, as the captain had only managed to put on three runs since that fiend in human form had come on to bowl. of course there was a wild shout of victory from the inimitables when our best bat was disposed of, and corresponding woe in our camp, which was sympathisingly shared in by all the little peddlingtons around, and in the midst of the excitement i went to the wicket to fill the lamented vacancy. "mind, jack," said sidney, who did not allow the sense of defeat to overcome his duty, "and be certain to play those balls well back. it was all through my stepping out to them that caused my collapse. only be cautious and take things coolly, and you and prester john will tire him out." "oh, yes," sneered charley bates, whose temper had not been improved by his getting out for five, when, in spite of his assurances of the superiority of our antagonists, he had looked forward to getting the highest score against them,--"oh, yes. tire him out! why, the chap hasn't got into the use of his arm yet. he'll send jack limpet's stumps flying presently. but i shall laugh when tom atkins faces his balls! our comic man won't have anything to joke about then, i'll warrant." he was a nasty fellow that charley bates! i don't know anything more ungenerous than to try and dishearten a fellow just when he is going to the wicket, and knows what a responsibility he has resting on him! but, then, what can you expect from such a chap? i'm glad he got out for five. i wish he had been bowled for nix. with these pleasant thoughts in my mind i walked leisurely up the ground, from where i had been standing by the scoring tent watching the game, and with an inward sinking at my heart faced the "slogger," as we had christened our opponents' terrible bowler. for a couple of overs i got on very well. acting on the captain's advice i stopped in my own ground, playing all the slogger's balls carefully back, and by this means managed to score two good leg hits in the fourth over, that sent up six to my account, in addition to three singles, which i had put on by careful watchfulness at first. just then, however, prester john made a hit for a wonder--a straight drive for five; and fired with emulation i let out at the next ball i received. throwing all caution and the captain's commands to the winds, i did "let out with a vengeance," as tom atkins said on my return to the tent, for i "let in" the ball, which, coming in with a swish, snapped my leg-stump in two, sending the pieces flying sky high in the air! three wickets for fifty-seven runs, two for byes; so far, the scoring was not bad; but in a very short time pelion was piled on ossa in the history of our disasters. prester john got run out through the absurd folly of tom atkins, who stopped actually in mid-wicket to laugh at some nonsense or other that had at that moment flashed across the vision of what he called his "mind;" and with his fall our chances sank rapidly to zero, wicket after wicket being taken without a run being scored, until the whole of us were out for a total still under sixty. it was maddening! but what annoyed john hardy even more than that ass tom atkins having run him out was that the captain had never given young james black any opportunity of showing his batting skill, as, being persuaded by charley bates, who pooh-poohed the youngster's abilities _in toto_, he had only sent him in as "last-man," and black hadn't, of course, the chance of playing a ball. sidney, however, promised to right the matter in our second innings, should our opponents give us time to play one, and not occupy the wickets, as seemed very probable, for the two days over which the match could only extend: and with this promise prester john and his protege, young jemmy black, were fain to be content. the three recruits we had engaged from amongst the visitors to join our scratch eleven had, up to the present, done nothing to warrant our captain's encomiums on their skill--at least in the batting line, which they had only essayed as yet; it remained to be proved whether they were worth anything in the field; if not, then our chances of receiving a hollow licking were uncommonly bright, as charley bates pointed out with his customary cheerful irony. well, after luncheon, when we entertained them in the most hospitable manner, as if we loved them instead of feeling sentiments the reverse of amicable towards them, the inimitables went in for their first innings; and the way they set to work scoring from the moment they commenced to handle the bat, prognosticated that charley bates' evil surmise as to our defeat would be speedily realised. i think i have already hinted that i somewhat prided myself on my bowling, being celebrated amongst the members of the little peddlington cricket club for sending in slows of such a judicious pitch that they generally got the man caught out who attempted to drive them, while, should he contemptuously block them, they had such an underhand twist that they would invariably run into the wickets, although they mightn't seem to have strength to go the distance? from this speciality of mine i was looked upon as a tower of strength in the bowling line to the club; and, consequently, i and one of our visitor recruits, tomkins by name, were intrusted with the ball at the first start. tomkins bowled swift with a pretty fair pitch, and i bowled slow, dead on to the wicket every time; but the two men of the inimitables who began the batting on their side-men who have gained almost a european reputation in the handling of the willow, and i wouldn't like to hurt their feelings by mentioning their names now--seemed to play with us as they liked, hitting the ball to every part of the ground, and scoring threes and fours, and even sixes, in the most demoralising manner possible. they hadn't been in a quarter of an hour when they passed our miserable total, amidst the cheers of their own party--in which the fickle little peddlingtonians now joined, and the blue looks of our men--and it appeared as if their scoring would, like tennyson's brook, "go on for ever." "we must put a stop to this," said sidney, when seventy went up on the scoring-board, "and change the bowling," which he did, by going on himself at my end and putting one of the other visitors, who was also supposed to be a dab with the ball, in the place of tomkins. for a time, this did a little good, as it stopped the rapidity of the scoring; but after an over or two, the batsmen, neither of whom had been yet displaced, began putting up the runs again, even quicker than they had done with us; and the hundred was passed almost within the hour from the time they started. "by george, limpet," said the captain, calling me to him out of the field, "you must go on again at the upper end, changing places with that chap. try a full pitch, and we'll catch that long-legged beggar out; he's so confident now that he would hit at anything." going on again, as sidney had directed, i tried a full-pitched ball after a short delivery or two, and the "long-legged beggar" skied it, amidst the breathless suspense of our team. unfortunately, however, no one was there to catch it when it fell to the ground a long way beyond cover-point, and the inimitables scored six for it--disgusting! "that atkins deserves to be expelled the club!" said the captain in a rage. "he can't put on a bit of steam when it's necessary to use his legs, although he could run prester john out for a ball that wasn't worth moving for. play!" and the game went on again. giving my opponent another brace of short balls to take him off his guard, i watched my opportunity again and treated him again to a full one, which he skied, as before, to the same point. this time, however, he did not escape scatheless. young black, whom i had strangely missed from his position at long-stop since i commenced to bowl the over, stepped out from beneath the shadow of the trees, where he had concealed himself in the meantime, and amidst the ringing plaudits, not only of our lot but of the spectators as well--who turned round in our favour at the first breath of success--caught the ball with the utmost _sangfroid_, sending it a moment afterwards spinning in the air triumphantly, in the true cricketonian manner, as an acknowledgment of the feat and accompanying cheers. it wasn't much to brag of, getting out the long-limbed one, as it was only one wicket for one hundred and seventeen runs; but when the second man went shortly after without increasing the score, our hopes began to rise. they were hopes based on sand, however. the two newcomers began making runs just like their predecessors, and completely mastered the bowling. every member of the club had now been tried with the ball, besides the three visitors, who certainly bowled fairly well, but nothing hysterically brilliant. even charley bates had a turn, although i don't believe he had ever hit the wicket in his life; and on his surrendering the ball, after presenting our opponents with three wides and any number of byes, our captain was at his wits' end. he didn't know who he could set on to bowl. "try young black," suggested hardy at this juncture, when we were having a short interval of rest from our exhilarating game of leather-hunting, which had now been going on for two hours and more. "young black, indeed!" repeated charley bates with intense scorn. "well," said prester john, "he can't possibly do worse than you." and the remark was so painfully true that even charley could not but see the point of it, and he said no more. on being called, jemmy black came up with a broad grin on his face, which looked exactly like one of those public-house signs you sometimes see in country villages, of "the rising sun," or "the sun in splendour." he was otherwise a dapper little fellow, although scarcely five feet in height, and strongly built, his legs and arms being very muscular. he endeavoured to receive with proper gravity and dignity the ball from sidney, who gave him a few words of appropriate advice, but he failed utterly in the attempt. that grin would not leave his face: it was as much a part of his physiognomy as his nose, i believe! little chap as he was, however, his advent produced a change at once. his first three overs were maidens, balls that were dead on to the wicket, and so true and ticklish that the inimitable champions did not dare to play them. in the next, bang went one of the two stickers' legstump at young black's first ball; with the second he caught and bowled the fresh man who came in, before he scored at all--four wickets for a hundred and fifty runs, not one of which had been put on since he came on to bowl. things began to look up, or, at all events, did not appear in so sombre a light as they had done previously. "bravo, black!" resounded from every part of the field; but the little fellow took no notice of the applause, beyond grinning more widely than ever, "his mouth stretching from ear to ear," as charley bates said, green with envy and jealousy of the other's performance. the new bowler seemed to demoralise the batsmen even as they had previously demoralised us, for i had a bit of luck a little further on, taking one wicket by a low-pitched ball, and getting another man out with a catch; and then black, as if he had been only playing with the inimitables hitherto, braced himself up to the struggle, and began laying the stumps low right and left. it was a wonder that such a small chap could send in the balls at the terrific speed he did, balls that set leg-guards and pads at defiance, and splintered one of the batsmen's spring-handled bats as if it had been match wood; but he did it. his last over in that first innings of the inimitables, however, was the crowning point in his victorious career. with four consecutive balls he took the four last wickets of our opponents, and sent them off the ground without putting up a run--the whole eleven being out for one hundred and fifty-six runs--or not quite the century beyond us; and the principal feature of black's triumph was, that from the moment he handled the leather, the inimitables only scored six to the good, but one run of which was off his bowling. i should like you to beat that analysis, if you can! with the disposal of our antagonists so easily at the end, we began our second innings with more sanguine expectations than could have been imagined from our previous prostration. "black had better go in as first man along with you, hardy, and see what he can do," our captain said. the two accordingly went to the wickets at the beginning of the innings; and there they remained without giving a single chance until the conclusion of the day's play, when the stumps were drawn at seven o'clock in the evening. young black had scored by that time no less than eighty off his own bat, and hardy forty-one, after being in to their own cheek exactly as long as the inimitables' whole innings lasted. it was glorious, one hundred and eighteen without the loss of a wicket, and the bowling and fielding must have been good, as there were only seven extras all that long while our men had been in. why, that placed us thirty-one runs to the good at the close of the first day's play. who would have thought it? the next morning play began as punctually as on the first day, and the crowd to witness the match was even greater than before, many coming now who had stayed away previously, expecting our wholesale defeat in one innings; and "young ebony," as black was called affectionately, and prester john resumed their places at the wickets amidst the tremendous cheering from the whole of the hamlet and twenty miles round. the bowlers of the inimitables were on their metal now if they never were; but they bowled, and changed their bowling, in vain, for young jemmy black continued his brilliant hitting without any cessation, while prester john remained on the defensive, except some very safe ball tempted him, until our score turned the two hundred in our second innings. prester john here retired by reason of his placing a ball in shortslip's hands; but on our captain taking his place and facing black, the run-getting went steadily on until we were considerably a hundred over our antagonists. young black had not given a chance, save one close shave of a run out, when he got clean bowled for one hundred and fiftyone. fancy that; and off such first-class bowling, too! it was as much as hardy and i could do to prevent him being torn in pieces by the excited spectators, who rushed in _en masse_ when he abandoned the wicket he had defended so well, his face all the time expanding into one huge grin, which appeared to convert it into all mouth and nothing else. sidney and i, and one or two others, scored well, although nothing like what our two champion stickers had done; and the whole of our second innings terminated for two hundred and eighty-eight runs, thus leaving the inimitables no less than a hundred and ninety-one to get to tie us, and one more to win. i fancy that was something like a feather in the cap of the little peddlington cricket club, although it was all owing to young jemmy black, whose bowling, when the inimitables went in to make their final effort, was on a par with his magnificent batting. we had finished our second innings just before lunch time; so immediately after that meal the great travelling team, who were going to do such wonders when they came to annihilate the little peddlingtonians--i can't help crowing a little now it is all over--went to the wickets to finish the match, or spin it out, if they could, so that it might end in a draw. young black was all there, however, and so was i, too, for, whether by his example or what, i know not, i never bowled so well before or since in my life. really, between us two, and the efficient assistance of our fieldsmen, who seemed also spurred up to extra exertions, even charley bates and tom atkins distinguishing themselves for their quickness of eye and fleetness of foot, the piccadilly inimitables got all put out long before time was called, for the inglorious total of our own first innings--fifty-nine. hurrah! we had conquered by a hundred and thirty-two runs, and licked the most celebrated amateur club in england. it would be a vain task to try and recount our delighted surprise, so i'll leave it alone. thenceforward the rest of the chronicles of the little peddlington cricket club are they not written in gold? at all events, i know this, that we never forgot what happened to us in that ever-memorable match, with only "our scratch eleven." [illustration: book cover] [illustration: unexpected results of jimmy's efforts to trap pigs. [_page_ 182]] the adventures of jimmy brown _written by himself_ and edited by w. l. alden illustrated [illustration] new york and london harper & brothers publishers 1902 copyright, 1885, by _harper & brothers_. _all rights reserved._ contents page mr. martin's game 5 mr. martin's scalp 10 a private circus 14 burglars 20 mr. martin's eye 24 playing circus 28 mr. martin's leg 35 our concert 40 our baby 46 our snow man 50 art 57 an awful scene 63 screw-heads 67 my monkey 71 the end of my monkey 77 the old, old story 83 bee-hunting 89 prompt obedience 93 our ice-cream 97 my pig 103 going to be a pirate 107 rats and mice 111 hunting the rhinoceros 117 down cellar 124 our baby again 131 studying wasps 135 a terrible mistake 139 our bull-fight 143 our balloon 150 our new walk 156 a steam chair 162 animals 168 a pleasing experiment 174 traps 180 an accident 184 a pillow fight 190 sue's wedding 196 our new dog 203 lightning 209 my camera 215 freckles 222 santa claus 228 illustrations. page _unexpected results of jimmy's efforts to trap pigs_ frontispiece _"oh, my!"_ 17 _the trapeze performance_ 31 _there was the awfullest fight you ever saw_ 43 _we built the biggest snow man i ever heard of_ 53 _the moment they saw the baby they said the most dreadful things_ 59 _screw-heads_ 68, 69 _my monkey_ 72-76 _the end of my monkey_ 78-82 _wasn't there a circus in that dining-room!_ 85 _sue's ice-cream party_ 99 _sue had opened the box_ 113 _then he fell into the hot-bed, and broke all the glass_ 119 _they thought they were both burglars_ 127 _he went twenty feet right up into the air_ 147 _presently it went slowly up_ 153 _prying the boys out_ 159 _it had shut up like a jack-knife_ 165 _"we've been playing we were pigs, ma"_ 171 _he lit right on the man's head_ 177 _he pinched just as hard as he could pinch_ 187 _i never was so frightened in my life_ 193 _she gave an awful shriek and fainted away_ 199 _how that dog did pull!_ 205 _we hurried into the room_ 211 _i did get a beautiful picture_ 219 _mother and sue made a dreadful fuss_ 225 _they got harry out all safe_ 233 the adventures of jimmy brown. mr. martin's game. what if he is a great deal older than i am! that doesn't give him any right to rumple my hair, does it? i'm willing to respect old age, of course, but i want my hair respected too. but rumpling hair isn't enough for mr. martin; he must call me "bub," and "sonny." i might stand "sonny," but i won't stand being called "bub" by any living man--not if i can help it. i've told him three or four times "my name isn't 'bub,' mr. martin. my name's jim, or jimmy," but he would just grin in an exhausperating kind of way, and keep on calling me "bub." my sister sue doesn't like him any better than i do. he comes to see her about twice a week, and i've heard her say, "goodness me there's that tiresome old bachelor again." but she treats him just as polite as she does anybody; and when he brings her candy, she says, "oh mr. martin you are _too_ good." there's a great deal of make-believe about girls, i think. now that i've mentioned candy, i will say that he might pass it around, but he never thinks of such a thing. mr. travers, who is the best of all sue's young men, always brings candy with him, and gives me a lot. then he generally gives me a quarter to go to the post-office for him, because he forgot to go, and expects something very important. it takes an hour to go to the post-office and back, but i'd do anything for such a nice man. one night--it was mr. travers's regular night--mr. martin came, and wasn't sue mad! she knew mr. travers would come in about half an hour, and she always made it a rule to keep her young men separate. she sent down word that she was busy, and would be down-stairs after a while. would mr. martin please sit down and wait. so he sat down on the front piazza and waited. i was sitting on the grass, practising mumble-te-peg a little, and by-and-by mr. martin says, "well, bub, what are you doing?" "playing a game," says i. "want to learn it?" "well, i don't care if i do," says he. so he came out and sat on the grass, and i showed him how to play. just then mr. travers arrived, and sue came down, and was awfully glad to see both her friends. "but what in the world are you doing?" she says to mr. martin. when she heard that he was learning the game, she said, "how interesting do play one game." mr. martin finally said he would. so we played a game, and i let him beat me very easy. he laughed lit to kill himself when i drew the peg, and said it was the best game he ever played. "is there any game you play any better than this, sonny?" said he, in his most irragravating style. "let's have another game," said i. "only you must promise to draw the peg fair, if i beat you." "all right," said he. "i'll draw the peg if you beat me, bub." o, he felt so sure he was a first-class player. i don't like a conceited man, no matter if he is only a boy. you can just imagine how quick i beat him. why, i went right through to "both ears" without stopping, and the first time i threw the knife over my head it stuck in the ground. i cut a beautiful peg out of hard wood--one of those sharp, slender pegs that will go through anything but a stone. i drove it in clear out of sight, and mr. martin, says he, "why, sonny, nobody couldn't possibly draw that peg." "i've drawn worse pegs than that," said i. "you've got to clear away the earth with your chin and front teeth, and then you can draw it." "that is nonsense," said mr. martin, growing red in the face. "this is a fair and square game," says i, "and you gave your word to draw the peg if i beat you." "i do hope mr. martin will play fair," said sue. "it would be too bad to cheat a little boy." so mr. martin got down and tried it, but he didn't like it one bit. "see here, jimmy," said he, "i'll give you half a dollar, and we'll consider the peg drawn." "that is bribery and corruption," said i. "mr. martin, i can't be bribed, and didn't think you'd try to hire me to let you break your promise." when he saw i wouldn't let up on him, he got down again and went to work. it was the best fun i ever knew. i just rolled on the ground and laughed till i cried. sue and mr. travers didn't roll, but they laughed till sue got up and ran into the house, where i could hear her screaming on the front-parlor sofa, and mother crying out, "my darling child where does it hurt you won't you have the doctor jane do bring the camphor." mr. martin gnawed away at the earth, and used swear-words to himself, and was perfectly raging. after a while he got the peg, and then he got up with his face about the color of a flower-pot, and put on his hat and went out of the front gate rubbing his face with his handkerchief, and never so much as saying good-night. he didn't come near the house again for two weeks. mr. travers gave me a half-dollar to go to the post-office to make up for the one i had refused, and told me that i had displayed roaming virtue, though i don't know exactly what he meant. he looked over this story, and corrected the spelling for me, only it is to be a secret that he helped me. i'd do almost anything for him, and i'm going to ask sue to marry him just to please me. mr. martin's scalp. after that game of mumble-te-peg that me and mr. martin played, he did not come to our house for two weeks. mr. travers said perhaps the earth he had to gnaw while he was drawing the peg had struck to his insides and made him sick, but i knew it couldn't be that. i've drawn pegs that were drove into every kind of earth, and it never hurt me. earth is healthy, unless it is lime; and don't you ever let anybody drive a peg into lime. if you were to swallow the least bit of lime, and then drink some water, it would burn a hole through you just as quick as anything. there was once a boy who found some lime in the closet, and thought it was sugar, and of course he didn't like the taste of it. so he drank some water to take the taste out of his mouth, and pretty soon his mother said, "i smell something burning goodness gracious the house is on fire." but the boy he gave a dreadful scream, and said, "ma, it's me!" and the smoke curled up out of his pockets and around his neck, and he burned up and died. i know this is true, because tom mcginnis went to school with him, and told me about it. mr. martin came to see susan last night for the first time since we had our game; and i wish he had never come back, for he got me into an awful scrape. this was the way it happened. i was playing indian in the yard. i had a wooden tomahawk and a wooden scalping-knife and a bownarrow. i was dressed up in father's old coat turned inside out, and had six chicken feathers in my hair. i was playing i was green thunder, the delaware chief, and was hunting for pale-faces in the yard. it was just after supper, and i was having a real nice time, when mr. travers came, and he said, "jimmy, what are you up to now?" so i told him i was green thunder, and was on the war-path. said he, "jimmy, i think i saw mr. martin on his way here. do you think you would mind scalping him?" i said i wouldn't scalp him for nothing, for that would be cruelty; but if mr. travers was sure that mr. martin was the enemy of the red man, then green thunder's heart would ache for revenge, and i would scalp him with pleasure. mr. travers said that mr. martin was a notorious enemy and oppressor of the indians, and he gave me ten cents, and said that as soon as mr. martin should come and be sitting comfortably on the piazza, i was to give the warwhoop and scalp him. well, in a few minutes mr. martin came, and he and mr. travers and susan sat on the piazza, and talked as if they were all so pleased to see each other, which was the highest-pocracy in the world. after a while mr. martin saw me, and said, "how silly boys are! that boy makes believe he's an indian, and he knows he's only a little nuisance." now this made me mad, and i thought i would give him a good scare, just to teach him not to call names if a fellow does beat him in a fair game. so i began to steal softly up the piazza steps, and to get around behind him. when i had got about six feet from him i gave a warwhoop, and jumped at him. i caught hold of his scalp-lock with one hand, and drew my wooden scalping-knife around his head with the other. i never got such a fright in my whole life. the knife was that dull that it wouldn't have cut butter; but, true as i sit here, mr. martin's whole scalp came right off in my hand. i thought i had killed him, and i dropped his scalp, and said, "for mercy's sake! i didn't go to do it, and i'm awfully sorry." but he just caught up his scalp, stuffed it in his pocket, and jammed his hat on his head, and walked off, saying to susan, "i didn't come here to be insulted by a little wretch that deserves the gallows." mr. travers and susan never said a word until he had gone, and then they laughed until the noise brought father out to ask what was the matter. when he heard what had happened, instead of laughing, he looked very angry, said that "mr. martin was a worthy man. my son, you may come up-stairs with me." if you've ever been a boy, you know what happened up-stairs, and i needn't say any more on a very painful subject. i didn't mind it so much, for i thought mr. martin would die, and then i would be hung, and put in jail; but before she went to bed susan came and whispered through the door that it was all right; that mr. martin was made that way, so he could be taken apart easy, and that i hadn't hurt him. i shall have to stay in my room all day to-day, and eat bread and water; and what i say is that if men are made with scalps that may come off any minute if a boy just touches them, it isn't fair to blame the boy. a private circus. there's going to be a circus here, and i'm going to it; that is, if father will let me. some people think it's wrong to go to a circus, but i don't. mr. travers says that the mind of man and boy requires circuses in moderation, and that the wicked boys in sunday-school books who steal their employers' money to buy circus tickets wouldn't steal it if their employers, or their fathers or uncles, would give them circus tickets once in a while. i'm sure i wouldn't want to go to a circus every night in the week. all i should want would be to go two or three evenings, and wednesday and saturday afternoons. there was once a boy who was awfully fond of going to the circus, and his employer, who was a very good man, said he'd cure him. so he said to the boy, "thomas, my son, i'm going to hire you to go to the circus every night. i'll pay you three dollars a week, and give you your board and lodging, if you'll go every night except sunday; but if you don't go, then you won't get any board and lodging or any money." and the boy said, "oh, you can just bet i'll go!" and he thought everything was lovely; but after two weeks he got so sick of the circus that he would have given anything to be let to stay away. finally he got so wretched that he deceived his good employer, and stole money from him to buy school-books with, and ran away and went to school. the older he grew the more he looked back with horror upon that awful period when he went to the circus every night. mr. travers says it finally had such an effect upon him that he worked hard all day and read books all night just to keep it out of his mind. the result was that before he knew it he became a very learned and a very rich man. of course it was very wrong for the boy to steal money to stay away from the circus with, but the story teaches us that if we go to the circus too much, we shall get tired of it, which is a very solemn thing. we had a private circus at our house last night--at least that's what father called it, and he seemed to enjoy it. it happened in this way. i went into the back parlor one evening, because i wanted to see mr. travers. he and sue always sit there. it was growing quite dark when i went in, and going towards the sofa, i happened to walk against a rocking-chair that was rocking all by itself, which, come to think of it, was an awfully curious thing, and i'm going to ask somebody about it. i didn't mind walking into the chair, for it didn't hurt me much, only i knocked it over, and it hit sue, and she said, "oh my get me something quick!" and then fainted away. mr. travers was dreadfully frightened, and said, "run, jimmy, and get the cologne, or the bay-rum, or something." so i ran up to sue's room, and felt round in the dark for her bottle of cologne that she always keeps on her bureau. i found a bottle after a minute or two, and ran down and gave it to mr. travers, and he bathed sue's face as well as he could in the dark, and she came to and said, "goodness gracious do you want to put my eyes out?" [illustration: "oh, my!"] just then the front-door bell rang, and mr. bradford (our new minister) and his wife and three daughters and his son came in. sue jumped up and ran into the front parlor to light the gas, and mr. travers came to help her. they just got it lit when the visitors came in, and father and mother came down-stairs to meet them. mr. bradford looked as if he had seen a ghost, and his wife and daughters said, "oh my!" and father said, "what on earth!" and mother just burst out laughing, and said, "susan, you and mr. travers seem to have had an accident with the ink-stand." you never saw such a sight as those poor young people were. i had made a mistake, and brought down a bottle of liquid blacking. mr. travers had put it all over sue's face, so that she was jet black, all but a little of one cheek and the end of her nose; and then he had rubbed his hands on his own face until he was like an ethiopian leopard, only he could change his spots if he used soap enough. you couldn't have any idea how angry sue was with me--just as if it was my fault, when all i did was to go up-stairs for her, and get a bottle to bring her to with; and it would have been all right if she hadn't left the blacking-bottle on her bureau; and i don't call that tidy, if she is a girl. mr. travers wasn't a bit angry; but he came up to my room and washed his face, and laughed all the time. and sue got awfully angry with him, and said she would never speak to him again after disgracing her in that heartless way. so he went home, and i could hear him laughing all the way down the street, and mr. bradford and his folks thought that he and sue had been having a minstrel show, and mother thinks they'll never come to the house again. as for father, he was almost as much amused as mr. travers, and he said it served sue right, and he wasn't going to punish the boy to please her. i'm going to try to have another circus some day, though this one was all an accident, and of course i was dreadfully sorry about it. burglars. some people are afraid of burglars. girls are awfully afraid of them. when they think there's a burglar in the house, they pull the clothes over their heads and scream "murder father jimmy there's a man in the house call the police fire!" just as if that would do any good. what you ought to do if there is a burglar is to get up and shoot him with a double-barrelled gun and then tie him and send the servant out to tell the police that if they will call after breakfast you will have something ready for them that will please them. i shouldn't be a bit frightened if i woke up and found a strange man in my room. i should just pretend that i was asleep and keep watching him and when he went to climb out of the window and got half way out i'd jump up and shut the window down on him and tie his legs. but you can't expect girls to have any courage, or to know what to do when anything happens. we had been talking about burglars one day last week just before i went to bed, and i thought i would put my bownarrow where it would be handy if a robber did come. it is a nice strong bow, and i had about thirty arrows with sharp points in the end about half an inch long, that i made out of some big black pins that susan had in her pin-cushion. my room is in the third story, just over sue's room, and the window comes right down on the floor, so that you can lie on the floor and put your head out. i couldn't go to sleep that night very well, though i ate about a quart of chestnuts after i went to bed and i've heard mother say that if you eat a little something delicate late at night it will make you go to sleep. a long while after everybody had gone to bed i heard two men talking in a low tone under the window, and i jumped up to see what was the matter. two dreadful ruffians were standing under sue's window, and talking so low that it was a wonder i could hear anything. one of them had something that looked like a tremendous big squash, with a long neck, and the other had something that looked like a short crowbar. it didn't take me long to understand what they were going to do. the man with the crowbar was intending to dig a hole in the foundation of the house and then the other man would put the big squash which was full of dynamighty in the hole and light a slow-match and run away and blow the house to pieces. so i thought the best thing would be to shoot them before they could do their dreadful work. i got my bownarrow and laid down on the floor and took a good aim at one of the burglars. i hit him in the leg, and he said, "ow! ow! i've run a thorn mornamile into my leg." then i gave the other fellow an arrow, and he said, "my goodness this place is full of thorns, there's one in my leg too." then they moved back a little and i began to shoot as fast as ever i could. i hit them every time, and they were frightened to death. the fellow with the thing like a squash dropped it on the ground and the other fellow jumped on it just as i hit him in the cheek and smashed it all to pieces. you can just believe that they did not stay in our yard very long. they started for the front gate on a run, yelling "ow! ow!" and i am sorry to say using the worst kind of swear-words. the noise woke up father and he lit the gas and i saw the two wretches in the street picking the arrows out of each other but they ran off as soon as they saw the light. father says that they were not burglars at all, but were only two idiots that had come to serenade sue; but when i asked him what serenading was he said it was far worse than burglary, so i know the men were the worst kind of robbers. i found a broken guitar in the yard the next morning, and there wasn't anything in it that would explode, but it would have been very easy for the robbers to have filled it with something that would have blown the house to atoms. i suppose they preferred to put it in a guitar so that if they met anybody nobody would suspect anything. neither mother nor sue showed any gratitude to me for saving their lives, though father did say that for once that boy had showed a little sense. when mr. travers came that evening and i told him about it he said, "jimmy! there's such a thing as being just a little too smart." i don't know what he meant, but i suppose he was a little cross, for he had hurt himself some way--he wouldn't tell me how--and had court-plaster on his cheek and on his hands and walked as if his legs were stiff. still, if a man doesn't feel well he needn't be rude. mr. martin's eye. i've made up my mind to one thing, and that is, i'll never have anything to do with mr. martin again. he ought to be ashamed of himself, going around and getting boys into scrapes, just because he's put together so miserably. sue says she believes it's mucilage, and i think she's right. if he couldn't afford to get himself made like other people, why don't he stay at home? his father and mother must have been awfully ashamed of him. why, he's liable to fall apart at any time, mr. travers says, and some of these days he'll have to be swept up off the floor and carried home in three or four baskets. there was a ghost one time who used to go around, up-stairs and down-stairs, in an old castle, carrying his head in his hand, and stopping in front of everybody he met, but never saying a word. this frightened all the people dreadfully, and they couldn't get a servant to stay in the house unless she had the policeman to sit up in the kitchen with her all night. one day a young doctor came to stay at the castle, and said he didn't believe in ghosts, and that nobody ever saw a ghost, unless they had been making beasts of themselves with mince-pie and wedding-cake. so the old lord of the castle he smiled very savage, and said, "you'll believe in ghosts before you've been in this castle twenty-four hours, and don't you forget it." well, that very night the ghost came into the young doctor's room and woke him up. the doctor looked at him, and said, "ah, i perceive: painful case of imputation of the neck. want it cured, old boy?" the ghost nodded; though how he could nod when his head was off i don't know. then the doctor got up and got a thread and needle, and sewed the ghost's head on, and pushed him gently out of the door, and told him never to show himself again. nobody ever saw that ghost again, for the doctor had sewed his head on wrong side first, and he couldn't walk without running into the furniture, and of course he felt too much ashamed to show himself. this doctor was mr. travers's own grandfather, and mr. travers knows the story is true. but i meant to tell you about the last time mr. martin came to our house. it was a week after i had scalped him; but i don't believe he would ever have come if father hadn't gone to see him, and urged him to overlook the rudeness of that unfortunate and thoughtless boy. when he did come, he was as smiling as anything; and he shook hands with me, and said, "never mind, bub, only don't do it again." by-and-by, when mr. martin and sue and mr. travers were sitting on the piazza, and i was playing with my new base-ball in the yard, mr. martin called out, "pitch it over here; give us a catch." so i tossed it over gently, and he pitched it back again, and said why didn't i throw it like a man, and not toss it like a girl. so i just sent him a swift ball--a regular daisy-cutter. i knew he couldn't catch it, but i expected he would dodge. he did try to dodge, but it hit him along-side of one eye, and knocked it out. you may think i am exaggelying, but i'm not. i saw that eye fly up against the side of the house, and then roll down the front steps to the front walk, where it stopped, and winked at me. i turned, and ran out of the gate and down the street as hard as ever i could. i made up my mind that mr. martin was spoiled forever, and that the only thing for me to do was to make straight for the spanish main and be a pirate. i had often thought i would be a pirate, but now there was no help for it; for a boy that had knocked out a gentleman's eye could never be let to live in a christian country. after a while i stopped to rest, and then i remembered that i wanted to take some provisions in a bundle, and a big knife to kill wolves. so i went back as soon as it was dark, and stole round to the back of the house, so i could get in the window and find the carving-knife and some cake. i was just getting in the window, when somebody put their arms around me, and said, "dear little soul! was he almost frightened to death?" it was sue, and i told her that i was going to be a pirate and wanted the carving-knife and some cake and she mustn't tell father and was mr. martin dead yet? so she told me that mr. martin's eye wasn't injured at all, and that he had put it in again, and gone home; and nobody would hurt me, and i needn't be a pirate if i didn't want to be. it's perfectly dreadful for a man to be made like mr. martin, and i'll never come near him again. sue says that he won't come back to the house, and if he does she'll send him away with something--i forget what it was--in his ear. father hasn't heard about the eye yet, but if he does hear about it, there will be a dreadful scene, for he bought a new rattan cane yesterday. there ought to be a law to punish men that sell rattan canes to fathers, unless they haven't any children. playing circus. the circus came through our town three weeks ago, and me and tom mcginnis went to it. we didn't go together, for i went with father, and tom helped the circus men water their horses, and they let him in for nothing. father said that circuses were dreadfully demoralizing, unless they were mixed with wild animals, and that the reason why he took me to this particular circus was that there were elephants in it, and the elephant is a scripture animal, jimmy, and it cannot help but improve your mind to see him. i agreed with father. if my mind had to be improved, i thought going to the circus would be a good way to do it. we had just an elegant time. i rode on the elephant, but it wasn't much fun for they wouldn't let me drive him. the trapeze was better than anything else, though the central african chariot races and the queen of the arena, who rode on one foot, were gorgeous. the trapeze performances were done by the patagonian brothers, and you'd think every minute they were going to break their necks. father said it was a most revolting sight and do sit down and keep still jimmy or i can't see what's going on. i think father had a pretty good time, and improved his mind a good deal, for he was just as nice as he could be, and gave me a whole pint of pea-nuts. mr. travers says that the patagonian brothers live on their trapezes, and never come down to the ground except when a performance is going to begin. they hook their legs around it at night, and sleep hanging with their heads down, just like the bats, and they take their meals and study their lessons sitting on the bar, without anything to lean against. i don't believe it; for how could they get their food brought up to them? and it's ridiculous to suppose that they have to study lessons. it grieves me very much to say so, but i am beginning to think that mr. travers doesn't always tell the truth. what did he mean by telling sue the other night that he loved cats, and that her cat was perfectly beautiful, and then when she went into the other room he slung the cat out of the window, clear over into the asparagus bed, and said get out you brute? we cannot be too careful about always telling the truth, and never doing anything wrong. tom and i talked about the circus all the next day, and we agreed we'd have a circus of our own, and travel all over the country, and make heaps of money. we said we wouldn't let any of the other boys belong to it, but we would do everything ourselves, except the elephants. so we began to practise in mr. mcginnis's barn every afternoon after school. i was the queen of the arena, and dressed up in one of sue's skirts, and won't she be mad when she finds that i cut the bottom off of it!--only i certainly meant to get her a new one with the very first money i made. i wore an old umbrella under the skirt, which made it stick out beautifully, and i know i should have looked splendid standing on mr. mcginnis's old horse, only he was so slippery that i couldn't stand on him without falling off and sticking all the umbrella ribs into me. tom and i were the madagascar brothers, and we were going to do everything that the patagonian brothers did. we practised standing on each other's head hours at a time, and i did it pretty well, only tom he slipped once when he was standing on my head, and sat down on it so hard that i don't much believe that my hair will ever grow any more. the barn floor was most too hard to practise on, so last saturday tom said we'd go into the parlor, where there was a soft carpet, and we'd put some pillows on the floor besides. all tom's folks had gone out, and there wasn't anybody in the house except the girl in the kitchen. so we went into the parlor, and put about a dozen pillows and a feather-bed on the floor. it was elegant fun turning somersaults backward from the top of the table; but i say it ought to be spelled summersets, though sue says the other way is right. we tried balancing things on our feet while we laid on our backs on the floor. tom balanced the musical box for ever so long before it fell; but i don't think it was hurt much, for nothing except two or three little wheels were smashed. and i balanced the water-pitcher, and i shouldn't have broken it if tom hadn't spoken to me at the wrong minute. [illustration: the trapeze performance.] we were getting tired, when i thought how nice it would be to do the trapeze performance on the chandeliers. there was one in the front parlor and one in the back parlor, and i meant to swing on one of them, and let go and catch the other. i swung beautifully on the front parlor chandelier, when, just as i was going to let go of it, down it came with an awful crash, and that parlor was just filled with broken glass, and the gas began to smell dreadfully. as it was about supper-time, and tom's folks were expected home, i thought i would say good-bye to tom, and not practise any more that day. so we shut the parlor doors, and i went home, wondering what would become of tom, and whether i had done altogether right in practising with him in his parlor. there was an awful smell of gas in the house that night, and when mr. mcginnis opened the parlor door he found what was the matter. he found the cat too. she was lying on the floor, just as dead as she could be. i'm going to see mr. mcginnis to-day and tell him i broke the chandelier. i suppose he will tell father, and then i shall wish that everybody had never been born; but i did break that chandelier, though i didn't mean to, and i've got to tell about it. mr. martin's leg. i had a dreadful time after that accident with mr. martin's eye. he wrote a letter to father and said that "the conduct of that atrocious young ruffian was such," and that he hoped he would never have a son like me. as soon as father said, "my son i want to see you up-stairs bring me my new rattan cane," i knew what was going to happen. i will draw some veils over the terrible scene, and will only say that for the next week i did not feel able to hold a pen unless i stood up all the time. last week i got a beautiful dog. father had gone away for a few days and i heard mother say that she wished she had a nice little dog to stay in the house and drive robbers away. the very next day a lovely dog that didn't belong to anybody came into our yard and i made a dog-house for him out of a barrel, and got some beefsteak out of the closet for him, and got a cat for him to chase, and made him comfortable. he is part bull-dog, and his ears and tail are gone and he hasn't but one eye and he's lame in one of his hind-legs and the hair has been scalded off part of him, and he's just lovely. if you saw him after a cat you'd say he was a perfect beauty. mother won't let me bring him into the house, and says she never saw such a horrid brute, but women haven't any taste about dogs anyway. his name is sitting bull, though most of the time when he isn't chasing cats he's lying down. he knows pretty near everything. some dogs know more than folks. mr. travers had a dog once that knew chinese. every time that dog heard a man speak chinese he would lie down and howl and then he would get up and bite the man. you might talk english or french or latin or german to him and he wouldn't pay any attention to it, but just say three words in chinese and he'd take a piece out of you. mr. travers says that once when he was a puppy a chinaman tried to catch him for a stew; so whenever he heard anybody speak chinese he remembered that time and went and bit the man to let him know that he didn't approve of the way chinamen treated puppies. the dog never made a mistake but once. a man came to the house who had lost his pilate and couldn't speak plain, and the dog thought he was speaking chinese and so he had his regular fit and bit the man worse than he had ever bit anybody before. sitting bull don't know chinese, but mr. travers says he's a "specialist in cats," which means that he knows the whole science of cats. the very first night i let him loose he chased a cat up the pear-tree and he sat under that tree and danced around it and howled all night. the neighbors next door threw most all their things at him but they couldn't discourage him. i had to tie him up after breakfast and let the cat get down and run away before i let him loose again, or he'd have barked all summer. the only trouble with him is that he can't see very well and keeps running against things. if he starts to run out of the gate he is just as likely to run head first into the fence, and when he chases a cat round a corner he will sometimes mistake a stick of wood, or the lawn-mower for the cat and try to shake it to death. this was the way he came to get me into trouble with mr. martin. he hadn't been at our house for so long (mr. martin i mean) that we all thought he never would come again. father sometimes said that his friend martin had been driven out of the house because my conduct was such and he expected i would separate him from all his friends. of course i was sorry that father felt bad about it, but if i was his age i would have friends that were made more substantial than mr. martin is. night before last i was out in the back yard with sitting bull looking for a stray cat that sometimes comes around the house after dark and steals the strawberries and takes the apples out of the cellar. at least i suppose it is this particular cat that steals the apples, for the cook says a cat does it and we haven't any private cat of our own. after a while i saw the cat coming along by the side of the fence, looking wicked enough to steal anything and to tell stories about it afterwards. i was sitting on the ground holding sitting bull's head in my lap and telling him that i did wish he'd take to rat-hunting like tom mcginnis's terrier, but no sooner had i seen the cat and whispered to sitting bull that she was in sight than he jumped up and went for her. he chased her along the fence into the front yard where she made a dive under the front piazza. sitting bull came round the corner of the house just flying, and i close after him. it happened that mr. martin was at that identicular moment going up the steps of the piazza, and sitting bull mistaking one of his legs for the cat jumped for it and had it in his teeth before i could say a word. when that dog once gets hold of a thing there is no use in reasoning with him, for he won't listen to anything. mr. martin howled and said, "take him off my gracious the dog's mad" and i said, "come here sir. good dog. leave him alone" but sitting bull hung on to the leg as if he was deaf and mr. martin hung on to the railing of the piazza and made twice as much noise as the dog. i didn't know whether i'd better run for the doctor or the police, but after shaking the leg for about a minute sitting bull gave it an awful pull and pulled it off just at the knee joint. when i saw the dog rushing round the yard with the leg in his mouth i ran into the house and told sue and begged her to cut a hole in the wall and hide me behind the plastering where the police couldn't find me. when she went down to help mr. martin she saw him just going out of the yard on a wheelbarrow with a man wheeling him on a broad grin. if he ever comes to this house again i'm going to run away. it turns out that his leg was made of cork and i suppose the rest of him is either cork or glass. some day he'll drop apart on our piazza then the whole blame will be put on me. our concert. there is one good thing about sue, if she is a girl: she is real charitable, and is all the time getting people to give money to missionaries and things. she collected mornahundred dollars from ever so many people last year, and sent it to a society, and her name was in all the papers as "miss susan brown," the young lady that gave a hundred dollars to a noble cause and may others go and do likewise. about a month ago she began to get up a concert for a noble object. i forget what the object was, for sue didn't make up her mind about it until a day or two before the concert; but whatever it was, it didn't get much money. sue was to sing in the concert, and mr. travers was to sing, and father was to read something, and the sunday-school was to sing, and the brass band was to play lots of things. mr. travers was real good about it, and attended to engaging the brass band, and getting the tickets printed. we've got a first-rate band. you just ought to hear it once. i'm going to join it some day, and play on the drum; that is, if they don't find out about the mistake i made with the music. when mr. travers went to see the leader of the band to settle what music was to be played at the concert he let me go with him. the man was awfully polite, and he showed mr. travers great stacks of music for him to select from. after a while he proposed to go and see a man somewheres who played in the band, and they left me to wait until they came back. i had nothing to do, so i looked at the music. the notes were all made with a pen and ink, and pretty bad they were. i should have been ashamed if i had made them. just to prove that i could have done it better than the man who did do it, i took a pen and ink and tried it. i made beautiful notes, and as a great many of the pieces of music weren't half full of notes, i just filled in the places where there weren't any notes. i don't know how long mr. travers and the leader of the band were gone, but i was so busy that i did not miss them, and when i heard them coming i sat up as quiet as possible, and never said anything about what i had done, because we never should praise ourselves or seem to be proud of our own work. now i solemnly say that i never meant to do any harm. all i meant to do was to improve the music that the man who wrote it had been too lazy to finish. why, in some of those pieces of music there were places three or four inches long without a single note, and you can't tell me that was right. but i sometimes think there is no use in trying to help people as i tried to help our brass band. people are never grateful, and they always manage to blame a boy, no matter how good he is. i shall try, however, not to give way to these feelings, but to keep on doing right no matter what happens. the next night we had the concert, or at any rate we tried to have it. the town-hall was full of people, and sue said it did seem hard that so much money as the people had paid to come to the concert should all have to go to charity when she really needed a new seal-skin coat. the performance was to begin with a song by sue, and the band was to play just like a piano while she was singing. the song was all about being so weary and longing so hard to die, and sue was singing it like anything, when all of a sudden the man with the big drum hit it a most awful bang, and nearly frightened everybody to death. people laughed out loud, and sue could hardly go on with her song. but she took a fresh start, and got along pretty well till the big drum broke out again, and the man hammered away at it till the leader went and took his drum-stick away from him. the people just howled and yelled, and sue burst out crying and went right off the stage and longed to die in real earnest. [illustration: there was the awfullest fight you ever saw.] when things got a little bit quiet, and the man who played the drum had made it up with the leader, the band began to play something on its own account. it began all right, but it didn't finish the way it was meant to finish. first one player and then another would blow a loud note in the wrong place, and the leader would hammer on his music-stand, and the people would laugh themselves 'most sick. after a while the band came to a place where the trombones seemed to get crazy, and the leader just jumped up and knocked the trombone-player down with a big horn that he snatched from another man. then somebody hit the leader with a cornet and knocked him into the big drum, and there was the awfullest fight you ever saw till somebody turned out the gas. there wasn't any more concert that night, and the people all got their money back, and now mr. travers and the leader of the band have offered a reward for "the person who maliciously altered the music"--that's what the notice says. but i wasn't malicious, and i do hope nobody will find out i did it, though i mean to tell father about it as soon as he gets over having his nose pretty near broke by trying to interfere between the trombone-player and the man with the french horn. our baby. mr. martin has gone away. he's gone to europe or hartford or some such place. anyway i hope we'll never see him again. the expressman says that part of him went in the stage and part of him was sent in a box by express, but i don't know whether it is true or not. i never could see the use of babies. we have one at our house that belongs to mother and she thinks everything of it. i can't see anything wonderful about it. all it can do is to cry and pull hair and kick. it hasn't half the sense of my dog, and it can't even chase a cat. mother and sue wouldn't have a dog in the house, but they are always going on about the baby and saying "ain't it perfectly sweet!" why, i wouldn't change sitting bull for a dozen babies, or at least i wouldn't change him if i had him. after the time he bit mr. martin's leg father said "that brute sha'n't stay here another day." i don't know what became of him, but the next morning he was gone and i have never seen him since. i have had great sorrows though people think i'm only a boy. the worst thing about a baby is that you're expected to take care of him and then you get scolded afterwards. folks say, "here, jimmy! just hold the baby a minute, that's a good boy," and then as soon as you have got it they say, "don't do that my goodness gracious the boy will kill the child hold it up straight you good-for-nothing little wretch." it is pretty hard to do your best and then be scolded for it, but that's the way boys are treated. perhaps after i'm dead folks will wish they had done differently. last saturday mother and sue went out to make calls and told me to stay home and take care of the baby. there was a base-ball match but what did they care? they didn't want to go to it and so it made no difference whether i went to it or not. they said they would be gone only a little while, and that if the baby waked up i was to play with it and keep it from crying and be sure you don't let it swallow any pins. of course i had to do it. the baby was sound asleep when they went out, so i left it just for a few minutes while i went to see if there was any pie in the pantry. if i was a woman i wouldn't be so dreadfully suspicious as to keep everything locked up. when i got back up-stairs again the baby was awake and was howling like he was full of pins; so i gave him the first thing that came handy to keep him quiet. it happened to be a bottle of french polish with a sponge in it on the end of a wire that sue uses to black her shoes, because girls are too lazy to use a regular blacking-brush. the baby stopped crying as soon as i gave him the bottle and i sat down to read. the next time i looked at him he'd got out the sponge and about half his face was jet-black. this was a nice fix, for i knew nothing could get the black off his face, and when mother came home she would say the baby was spoiled and i had done it. now i think an all black baby is ever so much more stylish than an all white baby, and when i saw the baby was part black i made up my mind that if i blacked it all over it would be worth more than it ever had been and perhaps mother would be ever so much pleased. so i hurried up and gave it a good coat of black. you should have seen how that baby shined! the polish dried just as soon as it was put on, and i had just time to get the baby dressed again when mother and sue came in. i wouldn't lower myself to repeat their unkind language. when you've been called a murdering little villain and an unnatural son it will wrinkle in your heart for ages. after what they said to me i didn't even seem to mind about father but went up-stairs with him almost as if i was going to church or something that wouldn't hurt much. the baby is beautiful and shiny, though the doctor says it will wear off in a few years. nobody shows any gratitude for all the trouble i took, and i can tell you it isn't easy to black a baby without getting it into his eyes and hair. i sometimes think that it is hardly worth while to live in this cold and unfeeling world. our snow man. i do love snow. there isn't anything except a bull-terrier that is as beautiful as snow. mr. travers says that seven hundred men once wrote a poem called "beautiful snow," and that even then, though they were all big strong men, they couldn't find words enough to tell how beautiful it was. there are some people who like snow, and some who don't. it's very curious, but that's the way it is about almost everything. there are the eskimos who live up north where there isn't anything but snow, and where there are no schools nor any errands, and they haven't anything to do but to go fishing and skating and hunting, and sliding down hill all day. well, the eskimos don't like it, for people who have been there and seen them say they are dreadfully dissatisfied. a nice set the eskimos must be! i wonder what would satisfy them. i don't suppose it's any use trying to find out, for father says there's no limit to the unreasonableness of some people. we ought always to be satisfied and contented with our condition and the things we have. i'm always contented when i have what i want, though of course nobody can expect a person to be contented when things don't satisfy him. sue is real contented, too, for she's got the greatest amount of new clothes, and she's going to be married very soon. i think it's about time she was, and most everybody else thinks so too, for i've heard them say so; and they've said so more than ever since we made the snow man. [illustration: we built the biggest snow man i ever heard of.] you see, it was the day before christmas, and there had been a beautiful snow-storm. all of us boys were sliding down hill, when somebody said, "let's make a snow man." everybody seemed to think the idea was a good one, and we made up our minds to build the biggest snow man that ever was, just for christmas. the snow was about a foot thick, and just hard enough to cut into slabs; so we got a shovel and went to work. we built the biggest snow man i ever heard of. we made him hollow, and tom mcginnis stood inside of him and helped build while the rest of us worked on the outside. just as fast as we got a slab of snow in the right place we poured water on it so that it would freeze right away. we made the outside of the man about three feet thick, and he was so tall that tom mcginnis had to keep climbing up inside of him to help build. tom came near getting into a dreadful scrape, for we forgot to leave a hole for him to get out of, and when the man was done, and frozen as hard as a rock, tom found that he was shut up as tight as if he was in prison. didn't he howl, though, and beg us to let him out! i told him that he would be very foolish not to stay in the man all night, for he would be as warm as the eskimos are in their snow huts, and there would be such fun when people couldn't find him anywhere. but tom wasn't satisfied; he began to talk some silly nonsense about wanting his supper. the idea of anybody talking about such a little thing as supper when they had such a chance to make a big stir as that. tom always was an obstinate sort of fellow, and he would insist upon coming out, so we got a hatchet and chopped a hole in the back of the man and let him out. the snow man was quite handsome, and we made him have a long beak, like a bird, so that people would be astonished when they saw him. it was that beak that made me think about the egyptian gods that had heads like hawks and other birds and animals, and must have frightened people dreadfully when they suddenly met them near graveyards or in lonesome roads. one of those egyptian gods was made of stone, and was about as high as the top of a house. he was called memnon, and every morning at sunrise he used to sing out with a loud voice, just as the steam-whistle at mr. thompson's mill blows every morning at sunrise to wake people up. the egyptians thought that memnon was something wonderful, but it has been found out, since the egyptians died, that a priest used to hide himself somewhere inside of memnon, and made all the noise. looking at the snow man and thinking about the egyptian gods, i thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to hide inside of him and say things whenever people went by. it would be a new way of celebrating christmas, too. they would be awfully astonished to hear a snow man talk. i might even make him sing a carol, and then he'd be a sort of christian memnon, and nobody would think i had anything to do with it. that evening when the moon got up--it was a beautiful moonlight night--i slipped out quietly and went up to the hill where the snow man was, and hid inside of him. i knew mr. travers and sue were out sleigh-riding, and they hadn't asked me to go, though there was lots of room, and i meant to say something to them when they drove by the snow man that would make sue wish she had been a little more considerate. presently i heard bells and looked out and saw a sleigh coming up the hill. i was sure it was mr. travers and sue; so i made ready for them. the sleigh came up the hill very slow, and when it was nearly opposite to me i said, in a solemn voice, "susan, you ought to have been married long ago." you see, i knew that would please mr. travers; and it was true, too. she gave a shriek, and said, "oh, what's that?" "we'll soon see," said a man's voice that didn't sound a bit like mr. travers's. "there's somebody round here that's spoiling for a thrashing." the man came right up to the snow man, and saw my legs through the hole, and got hold of one of them and began to pull. i didn't know it, but the boys had undermined the snow man on one side, and as soon as the man began to pull, over went the snow man and me right into the sleigh, and the woman screamed again, and the horse ran away and pitched us out, and-but i don't want to tell the rest of it, only father said that i must be taught not to insult respectable ladies like miss susan white, who is fifty years old, by telling them it is time they were married. art. our town has been very lively this winter. first we had two circuses, and then we had the small-pox, and now we've got a course of lectures. a course of lectures is six men, and you can go to sleep while they're talking, if you want to, and you'd better do it unless they are missionaries with real idols or a magic lantern. i always go to sleep before the lectures are through, but i heard a good deal of one of them that was all about art. art is almost as useful as history or arithmetic, and we ought all to learn it, so that we can make beautiful things and elevate our minds. art is done with mud in the first place. the art man takes a large chunk of mud and squeezes it until it is like a beautiful man or woman, or wild bull, and then he takes a marble gravestone and cuts it with a chisel until it is exactly like the piece of mud. if you want a solid photograph of yourself made out of marble, the art man covers your face with mud, and when it gets hard he takes it off, and the inside of it is just like a mould, so that he can fill it full of melted marble which will be an exact photograph of you as soon as it gets cool. this is what one of the men who belong to the course of lectures told us. he said he would have shown us exactly how to do art, and would have made a beautiful portrait of a friend of his, named vee nuss, right on the stage before our eyes, only he couldn't get the right kind of mud. i believed him then, but i don't believe him now. a man who will contrive to get an innocent boy into a terrible scrape isn't above telling what isn't true. he could have got mud if he'd wanted it, for there was mornamillion tons of it in the street, and it's my belief that he couldn't have made anything beautiful if he'd had mud a foot deep on the stage. as i said, i believed everything the man said, and when the lecture was over, and father said, "i do hope jimmy you've got some benefit from the lecture this time" and sue said, "a great deal of benefit that boy will ever get unless he gets it with a good big switch don't i wish i was his father o! i'd let him know," i made up my mind that i would do some art the very next day, and show people that i could get lots of benefit if i wanted to. i have spoken about our baby a good many times. it's no good to anybody, and i call it a failure. it's a year and three months old now, and it can't talk or walk, and as for reading or writing, you might as well expect it to play base-ball. i always knew how to read and write, and there must be something the matter with this baby, or it would know more. last monday mother and sue went out to make calls, and left me to take care of the baby. they had done that before, and the baby had got me into a scrape, so i didn't want to be exposed to its temptations; but the more i begged them not to leave me, the more they would do it, and mother said, "i know you'll stay and be a good boy while we go and make those horrid calls," and sue said, "i'd better or i'd get what i wouldn't like." after they'd gone i tried to think what i could do to please them, and make everybody around me better and happier. after a while i thought that it would be just the thing to do some art and make a marble photograph of the baby, for that would show everybody that i had got some benefit from the lectures, and the photograph of the baby would delight mother and sue. i took mother's fruit-basket and filled it with mud out of the back yard. it was nice thick mud, and it would stay in any shape that you squeezed it into, so that it was just the thing to do art with. i laid the baby on its back on the bed, and covered its face all over with the mud about two inches thick. a fellow who didn't know anything about art might have killed the baby, for if you cover a baby's mouth and nose with mud it can't breathe, which is very unhealthy, but i left its nose so it could breathe, and intended to put an extra piece of mud over that part of the mould after it was dry. of course the baby howled all it could, and it would have kicked dreadfully, only i fastened its arms and legs with a shawl-strap so that it couldn't do itself any harm. [illustration: the moment they saw the baby they said the most dreadful things.] the mud wasn't half dry when mother and sue and father came in, for he met them at the front gate. they all came up-stairs, and the moment they saw the baby they said the most dreadful things to me without waiting for me to explain. i did manage to explain a little through the closet door while father was looking for his rattan cane, but it didn't do the least good. i don't want to hear any more about art or to see any more lectures. there is nothing so ungrateful as people, and if i did do what wasn't just what people wanted, they might have remembered that i meant well, and only wanted to please them and elevate their minds. an awful scene. i have the same old, old story to tell. my conduct has been such again--at any rate, that's what father says; and i've had to go up-stairs with him, and i needn't explain what that means. it seems very hard, for i'd tried to do my very best, and i'd heard sue say, "that boy hasn't misbehaved for two days good gracious i wonder what can be the matter with him." there's a fatal litty about it, i'm sure. poor father! i must give him an awful lot of trouble, and i know he's had to get two new bamboo canes this winter just because i've done so wrong, though i never meant to do it. it happened on account of coasting. we've got a magnificent hill. the road runs straight down the middle of it, and all you have to do is to keep on the road. there's a fence on one side, and if you run into it something has got to break. john kruger, who is a stupid sort of a fellow, ran into it last week head-first, and smashed three pickets, and everybody said it was a mercy he hit it with his head, or he might have broken some of his bones and hurt himself. there isn't any fence on the other side, but if you run off the road on that side you'll go down the side of a hill that's steeper than the roof of the episcopal church, and about a mile long, with a brook full of stones down at the bottom. the other night mr. travers said-but i forgot to say that mr. martin is back again, and coming to our house worse than ever. he was there, and mr. travers and sue, all sitting in the parlor, where i was behaving, and trying to make things pleasant, when mr. travers said, "it's a bright moonlight night let's all go out and coast." sue said, "oh that would be lovely jimmy get your sled." i didn't encourage them, and i told father so, but he wouldn't admit that mr. travers or sue or mr. martin or anybody could do anything wrong. what i said was, "i don't want to go coasting. it's cold and i don't feel very well, and i think we ought all to go to bed early so we can wake up real sweet and good-tempered." but sue just said, "don't you preach jimmy if you're lazy just say so and mr. travers will take us out." then mr. martin he must put in and say, "perhaps the boy's afraid don't tease him he ought to be in bed anyhow." now i wasn't going to stand this, so i said, "come on. i wanted to go all the time, but i thought it would be best for old people to stay at home, and that's why i didn't encourage you." so i got out my double-ripper, and we all went out on the hill and started down. i sat in front to steer, and sue sat right behind me, and mr. travers sat behind her to hold her on, and mr. martin sat behind him. we went splendidly, only the dry snow flew so that i couldn't see anything, and that's why we got off the road and on to the side hill before i knew it. the hill was just one glare of ice, and the minute we struck the ice the sled started away like a hurricane. i had just time to hear mr. martin say, "boy mind what you're about or i'll get off," when she struck something--i don't know what--and everybody was pitched into the air, and began sliding on the ice without anything to help them, except me. i caught on a bare piece of rock, and stopped myself. i could see sue sitting up straight, and sliding like a streak of lightning, and crying, "jimmy father charles mr. martin o my help me." mr. travers was on his stomach, about a rod behind her, and gaining a little on her, and mr. martin was on his back, coming down head-first, and beating them both. all of a sudden he began to go to pieces. part of him would slide off one way, and then another part would try its luck by itself. i can tell you it was an awful and surreptitious sight. they all reached the bottom after a while, and when i saw they were not killed, i tried it myself, and landed all right. sue was sitting still, and mourning, and saying, "my goodness gracious i shall never be able to walk again my comb is broken and that boy isn't fit to live." mr. travers wasn't hurt very much, and he fixed himself all right with some pins i gave him, and his handkerchief; but his overcoat looked as if he'd stolen it from a scarecrow. when he had comforted sue a little (and i must say some people are perfectly sickening the way they go on), he and i collected mr. martin--all except his teeth--and helped put him together, only i got his leg on wrong side first, and then we helped him home. this was why father said that my conduct was such, and that his friend martin didn't seem to be able to come into his house without being insulted and injured by me. i never insulted him. it isn't my fault if he can't slide down a hill without coming apart. however, i've had my last suffering on account of him. the next time he comes apart where i am i shall not wait to be punished for it, but shall start straight for the north-pole, and if i discover it the british government will pay me mornamillion dollars. i'm able to sit down this morning, but my spirits are crushed, and i shall never enjoy life any more. screw-heads. i'm in an awful situation that a boy by the name of bellew got me into. he is one of the boys that writes stories and makes pictures for harper's young people, and i think people ought to know what kind of a boy he is. a little while ago he had a story in the young people about imitation screw-heads, and how he used to make them, and what fun he had pasting them on his aunt's bureau. i thought it was a very nice story, and i got some tin-foil and made a whole lot of screw-heads, and last saturday i thought i'd have some fun with them. father has a dreadfully ugly old chair in his study, that general washington brought over with him in the _mayflower_, and mr. travers says it is stiffer and uglier than any of the pilgrim fathers. but father thinks everything of that chair, and never lets anybody sit in it except the minister. i took a piece of soap, just as that bellew used to, and if his name is billy why don't he learn how to spell it that's what i'd like to know, and made what looked like a tremendous crack in the chair. then i pasted the screw-heads on the chair, and it looked exactly as if somebody had broken it and tried to mend it. [illustration] i couldn't help laughing all day when i thought how astonished father would be when he saw his chair all full of screws, and how he would laugh when he found out it was all a joke. as soon as he came home i asked him to please come into the study, and showed him the chair and said "father i cannot tell a lie i did it but i won't do it any more." [illustration] father looked as if he had seen some disgusting ghosts, and i was really frightened, so i hurried up and said, "it's all right father, it's only a joke look here they all come off," and rubbed off the screw-heads and the soap with my handkerchief, and expected to see him burst out laughing, just as bellew's aunt used to burst, but instead of laughing he said, "my son this trifling with sacred things must be stopped," with which remark he took off his slipper, and then-but i haven't the heart to say what he did. mr. travers has made some pictures about it, and perhaps people will understand what i have suffered. i think that boy bellew ought to be punished for getting people into scrapes. i'd just like to have him come out behind our barn with me for a few minutes. that is, i would, only i never expect to take any interest in anything any more. my heart is broken and a new chocolate cigar that was in my pocket during the awful scene. i've got an elegant wasps' nest with young wasps in it that will hatch out in the spring, and i'll change it for a bull-terrier or a shot-gun or a rattlesnake in a cage that rattles good with any boy that will send me one. my monkey. there never was such luck. i've always thought that i'd rather have a monkey than be a million heir. there is nothing that could be half so splendid as a real live monkey, but of course i knew that i never could have one until i should grow up and go to sea and bring home monkeys and parrots and shawls to mother just as sailors always do. but i've actually got a monkey and if you don't believe it just look at these pictures of him that mr. travers made for me. it was mr. travers that got the monkey for me. one day there came a woman with an organ and a monkey into our yard. she was an italian, but she could speak a sort of english and she said that the "murderin' spalpeen of a monkey was just wearing the life of her out." so says mr. travers "what will you take for him?" and says she "it's five dollars i'd be after selling him for, and may good-luck go wid ye!" [illustration] what did mr. travers do but give her the money and hand the monkey to me, saying, "here, jimmy! take him and be happy." wasn't i just happy though? jocko--that's the monkey's name--is the loveliest monkey that ever lived. i hadn't had him an hour when he got out of my arms and was on the supper-table before i could get him. the table was all set and bridget was just going to ring the bell, but the monkey didn't wait for her. [illustration] to see him eating the chicken salad was just wonderful. he finished the whole dish in about two minutes, and was washing it down with the oil out of the salad-bottle when i caught him. mother was awfully good about it and only said, "poor little beast he must be half starved susan how much he reminds me of your brother." a good mother is as good a thing as a boy deserves, no matter how good he is. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] the salad someway did not seem to agree with jocko for he was dreadfully sick that night. you should have seen how limp he was, just like a girl that has fainted away and her young man is trying to lift her up. mother doctored him. she gave him castor-oil as if he was her own son, and wrapped him up in a blanket and put a mustard plaster on his stomach and soaked the end of his tail in warm water. he was all right the next day and was real grateful. i know he was grateful because he showed it by trying to do good to others, at any rate to the cat. our cat wouldn't speak to him at first, but he coaxed her with milk, just as he had seen me do and finally caught her. it must have been dreadfully aggravoking to the cat, for instead of letting her have the milk he insisted that she was sick and must have medicine. so he took bridget's bottle of hair-oil and a big spoon and gave the cat such a dose. when i caught him and made him let the cat go there were about six table-spoonfuls of oil missing. mr. travers said it was a good thing for it would improve the cat's voice and make her yowl smoother, and that he had felt for a long time that she needed to be oiled. mother said that the monkey was cruel and it was a shame but i know that he meant to be kind. he knew the oil mother gave him had done him good, and he wanted to do the cat good. i know just how he felt, for i've been blamed many a time for trying to do good, and i can tell you it always hurt my feelings. [illustration] the monkey was in the kitchen while bridget was getting dinner yesterday and he watched her broil the steak as if he was meaning to learn to cook and help her in her work, he's that kind and thoughtful. the cat was out-doors, but two of her kittens were in the kitchen, and they were not old enough to be afraid of the monkey. when dinner was served bridget went up-stairs and by-and-by mother says "what's that dreadful smell sure's you're alive susan the baby has fallen into the fire." everybody jumped up and ran up-stairs, all but me, for i knew jocko was in the kitchen and i was afraid it was he that was burning. when i got into the kitchen there was that lovely monkey broiling one of the kittens on the gridiron just as he had seen bridget broil the steak. the kitten's fur was singeing and she was mewing, and the other kitten was sitting up on the floor licking her chops and enjoying it and jocko was on his hind-legs as solemn and busy as an owl. i snatched the gridiron away from him and took the kitten off before she was burned any except her fur, and when mother and susan came down-stairs they couldn't understand what it was that had been burning. this is all the monkey has done since i got him day before yesterday. father has been away for a week but is coming back in a few days, and won't he be delighted when he finds a monkey in the house? the end of my monkey. i haven't any monkey now, and i don't care what becomes of me. his loss was an awful blow, and i never expect to recover from it. i am a crushed boy, and when the grown folks find what their conduct has done to me, they will wish they had done differently. [illustration] it was on a tuesday that i got the monkey, and by thursday everybody began to treat him coldly. it began with my littlest sister. jocko took her doll away, and climbed up to the top of the door with it, where he sat and pulled it to pieces, and tried its clothes on, only they wouldn't fit him, while sister, who is nothing but a little girl, stood and howled as if she was being killed. this made mother begin to dislike the monkey, and she said that if his conduct was such, he couldn't stay in her house. i call this unkind, for the monkey was invited into the house, and i've been told we must bear with visitors. [illustration] a little while afterwards, while mother was talking to susan on the front piazza, she heard the sewing-machine up-stairs, and said, "well i never that cook has the impudence to be sewing on my machine without ever asking leave." so she ran up-stairs, and found that jocko was working the machine like mad. he'd taken sue's gown and father's black coat and a lot of stockings, and shoved them all under the needle, and was sewing them all together. mother boxed his ears and then she and sue sat down and worked all the morning trying to unsew the things with the scissors. they had to give it up after a while, and the things are sewed together yet, like a man and wife, which no man can put asunder. all this made my mother more cool towards the monkey than ever, and i heard her call him a nasty little beast. [illustration] the next day was sunday, and as sue was sitting in the hall waiting for mother to go to church with her, jocko gets up on her chair, and pulls the feathers out of her bonnet. he thought he was doing right, for he had seen the cook pulling the feathers off of the chickens, but sue called him dreadful names, and either she or that monkey would leave the house. [illustration] [illustration] father came home early monday, and seemed quite pleased with the monkey. he said it was an interesting study, and he told susan that he hoped that she would be contented with fewer beaux, now that there was a monkey constantly in the house. in a little while father caught jocko lathering himself with the mucilage brush, and with a kitchen knife all ready to shave himself. he just laughed at the monkey, and told me to take good care of him, and not let him hurt himself. of course i was dreadfully pleased to find that father liked jocko, and i knew it was because he was a man, and had more sense than girls. but i was only deceiving myself and leaning on a broken weed. that very evening when father went into his study after supper he found jocko on his desk. he had torn all his papers to pieces, except a splendid new map, and that he was covering with ink, and making believe that he was writing a president's message about the panama canal. father was just raging. he took jocko by the scruff of the neck, locked him in the closet, and sent him away by express the next morning to a man in the city, with orders to sell him. the expressman afterwards told mr. travers that the monkey pretty nearly killed everybody on the train, for he got hold of the signal-cord and pulled it, and the engineer thought it was the conductor, and stopped the train, and another train just behind it came within an inch of running into it and smashing it to pieces. jocko did the same thing three times before they found out what was the matter, and tied him up so that he couldn't reach the cord. oh, he was just beautiful! but i shall never see him again, and mr. travers says that it's all right, and that i'm monkey enough for one house. that's because sue has been saying things against the monkey to him; but never mind. first my dog went, and now my monkey has gone. it seems as if everything that is beautiful must disappear. very likely i shall go next, and when i am gone, let them find the dog and the monkey, and bury us together. [illustration] the old, old story. we've had a most awful time in our house. there have been ever so many robberies in town, and everybody has been almost afraid to go to bed. the robbers broke into old dr. smith's house one night. dr. smith is one of those doctors that don't give any medicine except cold water, and he heard the robbers, and came down-stairs in his nigown, with a big umbrella in his hand, and said, "if you don't leave this minute, i'll shoot you." and the robbers they said, "oh no! that umbrella isn't loaded" and they took him and tied his hands and feet, and put a mustard-plaster over his mouth, so that he couldn't yell, and then they filled the wash-tub with water, and made him sit down in it, and told him that now he'd know how it was himself, and went away and left him, and he nearly froze to death before morning. father wasn't a bit afraid of the robbers, but he said he'd fix something so that he would wake up if they got in the house. so he put a coal-scuttle full of coal about half-way up the stairs, and tied a string across the upper hall just at the head of the stairs. he said that if a robber tried to come up-stairs he would upset the coal-scuttle, and make a tremendous noise, and that if he did happen not to upset it, he would certainly fall over the string at the top of the stairs. he told us that if we heard the coal-scuttle go off in the night, sue and mother and i were to open the windows and scream, while he got up and shot the robber. the first night, after father had fixed everything nicely for the robbers, he went to bed, and then mother told him that she had forgotten to lock the back door. so father he said, "why can't women sometimes remember something," and he got up and started to go down-stairs in the dark. he forgot all about the string, and fell over it with an awful crash, and then began to fall down-stairs. when he got half-way down he met the coal-scuttle, and that went down the rest of the way with him, and you never in your life heard anything like the noise the two of them made. we opened our windows, and cried murder and fire and thieves, and some men that were going by rushed in and picked father up, and would have taken him off to jail, he was that dreadfully black, if i hadn't told them who he was. but this was not the awful time that i mentioned when i began to write, and if i don't begin to tell you about it, i sha'n't have any room left on my paper. mother gave a dinner-party last thursday. there were ten ladies and twelve gentlemen, and one of them was that dreadful mr. martin with the cork leg, and other improvements, as mr. travers calls them. mother told me not to let her see me in the dining-room, or she'd let me know; and i meant to mind, only i forgot, and went into the dining-room, just to look at the table, a few minutes before dinner. i was looking at the raw oysters, when jane--that's the girl that waits on the table--said, "run, master jimmy; here's your mother coming." now i hadn't time enough to run, so i just dived under the table, and thought i'd stay there for a minute or two, until mother went out of the room again. it wasn't only mother that came in, but the whole company, and they sat down to dinner without giving me any chance to get out. i tell you, it was a dreadful situation. i had only room enough to sit still, and nearly every time i moved i hit somebody's foot. once i tried to turn around, and while i was doing it i hit my head against the table so hard that i thought i had upset something, and was sure that people would know i was there. but fortunately everybody thought that somebody else had joggled, so i escaped for that time. it was awfully tiresome waiting for those people to get through dinner. it seemed as if they could never eat enough, and when they were not eating, they were all talking at once. it taught me a lesson against gluttony, and nobody will ever find me sitting for hours and hours at the dinner-table. finally i made up my mind that i must have some amusement, and as mr. martin's cork-leg was close by me, i thought i would have some fun with that. there was a big darning-needle in my pocket, that i kept there in case i should want to use it for anything. i happened to think that mr. martin couldn't feel anything that was done to his cork-leg, and that it would be great fun to drive the darning-needle into it, and leave the end sticking out, so that people who didn't know that his leg was cork would see it, and think that he was suffering dreadfully, only he didn't know it. so i got out the needle, and jammed it into his leg with both hands, so that it would go in good and deep. [illustration: wasn't there a circus in that dining-room!] mr. martin gave a yell that made my hair run cold, and sprang up, and nearly upset the table, and fell over his chair backward, and wasn't there a circus in that dining-room! i had made a mistake about the leg, and run the needle into his real one. i was dragged out from under the table, and-but i needn't say what happened to me after that. it was "the old, old story," as sue says when she sings a foolish song about getting up at five o'clock in the morning--as if she'd ever been awake at that time in her whole life! bee-hunting. the more i see of this world the hollower i find everybody. i don't mean that people haven't got their insides in them, but they are so dreadfully ungrateful. no matter how kind and thoughtful any one may be, they never give him any credit for it. they will pretend to love you and call you "dear jimmy what a fine manly boy come here and kiss me," and then half an hour afterwards they'll say "where's that little wretch let me just get hold of him o! i'll let him know." deceit and ingratitude are the monster vices of the age and they are rolling over our beloved land like the flood. (i got part of that elegant language from the temperance lecturer last week, but i improved it a good deal.) there is aunt eliza. the uncle that belonged to her died two years ago, and she's awfully rich. she comes to see us sometimes with harry--that's her boy, a little fellow six years old--and you ought to see how mother and sue wait on her and how pleasant father is when she's in the room. now she always said that she loved me like her own son. she'd say to father, "how i envy you that noble boy what a comfort he must be to you," and father would say "yes he has some charming qualities" and look as if he hadn't laid onto me with his cane that very morning and told me that my conduct was such. you'll hardly believe that just because i did the very best i could and saved her precious harry from an apple grave, aunt eliza says i'm a young cain and knows i'll come to the gallows. she came to see us last friday, and on saturday i was going bee-hunting. i read all about it in a book. you take an axe and go out-doors and follow a bee, and after a while the bee takes you to a hollow tree full of honey and you cut the tree down and carry the honey home in thirty pails and sell it for ever so much. i and tom mcginnis were going and aunt eliza says "o take harry with you the dear child would enjoy it so much." of course no fellow that's twelve years old wants a little chap like that tagging after him but mother spoke up and said that i'd be delighted to take harry, and so i couldn't help myself. we stopped in the wood-shed and borrowed father's axe and then we found a bee. the bee wouldn't fly on before us in a straight line but kept lighting on everything, and once he lit on tom's hand and stung him good. however we chased the bee lively and by-and-by he started for his tree and we ran after him. we had just got to the old dead apple-tree in the pasture when we lost the bee and we all agreed that his nest must be in the tree. it's an awfully big old tree, and it's all rotted away on one side so that it stands as if it was ready to fall over any minute. nothing would satisfy harry but to climb that tree. we told him he'd better let a bigger fellow do it but he wouldn't listen to reason. so we gave him a boost and he climbed up to where the tree forked and then he stood up and began to say something when he disappeared. we thought he had fallen out of the tree and we ran round to the other side to pick him up but he wasn't there. tom said it was witches but i knew he must be somewhere so i climbed up the tree and looked. he had slipped down into the hollow of the tree and was wedged in tight. i could just reach his hair but it was so short that i couldn't get a good hold so as to pull him out. wasn't he scared though! he howled and said "o take me out i shall die," and tom wanted to run for the doctor. i told harry to be patient and i'd get him out. so i slid down the tree and told tom that the only thing to do was to cut the tree down and then open it and take harry out. it was such a rotten tree i knew it would come down easy. so we took turns chopping, and the fellow who wasn't chopping kept encouraging harry by telling him that the tree was 'most ready to fall. after working an hour the tree began to stagger and presently down she came with an awful crush and burst into a million pieces. tom and i said hurray! and then we poked round in the dust till we found harry. he was all over red dust and was almost choked, but he was awfully mad. just because some of his ribs were broke--so the doctor said--he forget all tom and i had done for him. i shouldn't have minded that much, because you don't expect much from little boys, but i did think his mother would have been grateful when we brought him home and told her what we had done. then i found what all her professions were worth. she called father and told him that i and the other miscurrent had murdered her boy. tom was so frightened at the awful name she called him that he ran home, and father told me i could come right up-stairs with him. they couldn't have treated me worse if i'd let harry stay in the tree and starve to death. i almost wish i had done it. it does seem as if the more good a boy does the more the grown folks pitch into him. the moment sue is married to mr. travers i mean to go and live with him. he never scolds, and always says that susan's brother is as dear to him as his own, though he hasn't got any. prompt obedience. i haven't been able to write anything for some time. i don't mean that there has been anything the matter with my fingers so that i couldn't hold a pen, but i haven't had the heart to write of my troubles. besides, i have been locked up for a whole week in the spare bedroom on bread and water, and just a little hash or something like that, except when sue used to smuggle in cake and pie and such things, and i haven't had any penanink. i was going to write a novel while i was locked up by pricking my finger and writing in blood with a pin on my shirt; but you can't write hardly anything that way, and i don't believe all those stories of conspirators who wrote dreadful promises to do all sorts of things in their blood. before i could write two little words my finger stopped bleeding, and i wasn't going to keep on pricking myself every few minutes; besides, it won't do to use all your blood up that way. there was once a boy who cut himself awful in the leg with a knife, and he bled to death for five or six hours, and when he got through he wasn't any thicker than a newspaper, and rattled when his friends picked him up just like the morning paper does when father turns it inside out. mr. travers told me about him, and said this was a warning against bleeding to death. of course you'll say i must have been doing something dreadfully wrong, but i don't think i have; and even if i had, i'll leave it to anybody if aunt eliza isn't enough to provoke a whole company of saints. the truth is, i got into trouble this time just through obeying promptly as soon as i was spoken to. i'd like to know if that was anything wrong. oh, i'm not a bit sulky, and i am always ready to admit i've done wrong when i really have; but this time i tried to do my very best and obey my dear mother promptly, and the consequence was that i was shut up for a week, besides other things too painful to mention. this world is a fleeting show, as our minister says, and i sometimes feel that it isn't worth the price of admission. aunt eliza is one of those women that always know everything, and know that nobody else knows anything, particularly us men. she was visiting us, and finding fault with everybody, and constantly saying that men were a nuisance in a house and why didn't mother make father mend chairs and whitewash the ceiling and what do you let that great lazy boy waste all his time for? there was a little spot in the roof where it leaked when it rained, and aunt eliza said to father, "why don't you have energy enough to get up on the roof and see where that leak is i would if i was a man thank goodness i ain't." so father said, "you'd better do it yourself, eliza." and she said, "i will this very day." so after breakfast aunt eliza asked me to show her where the scuttle was. we always kept it open for fresh air, except when it rained, and she crawled up through it and got on the roof. just then mother called me, and said it was going to rain, and i must close the scuttle. i began to tell her that aunt eliza was on the roof, but she wouldn't listen, and said, "do as i tell you this instant without any words why can't you obey promptly?" so i obeyed as prompt as i could, and shut the scuttle and fastened it, and then went down-stairs, and looked out to see the shower come up. it was a tremendous shower, and it struck us in about ten minutes; and didn't it pour! the wind blew, and it lightened and thundered every minute, and the street looked just like a river. i got tired of looking at it after a while, and sat down to read, and in about an hour, when it was beginning to rain a little easier, mother came where i was, and said, "i wonder where sister eliza is do you know, jimmy?" and i said i supposed she was on the roof, for i left her there when i fastened the scuttle just before it began to rain. nothing was done to me until after they had got two men to bring aunt eliza down and wring the water out of her, and the doctor had come, and she had been put to bed, and the house was quiet again. by that time father had come home, and when he heard what had happened-but, there! it is over now, and let us say no more about it. aunt eliza is as well as ever, but nobody has said a word to me about prompt obedience since the thunder-shower. our ice-cream. after that trouble with aunt eliza--the time she stayed up on the roof and was rained on--i had no misfortunes for nearly a week. aunt eliza went home as soon as she was well dried, and father said that he was glad she was gone, for she talked so much all the time that he couldn't hear himself think, though i don't believe he ever did hear himself think. i tried it once. i sat down where it was real still, and thought just as regular and steady as i could; but i couldn't hear the least sound. i suppose our brains are so well oiled that they don't creak at all when we use them. however, mr. travers told me of a boy he knew when he was a boy. his name was ananias g. smith, and he would run round all day without any hat on, and his hair cut very short, and the sun kept beating on his head all day, and gradually his brains dried so that whenever he tried to think, they would rattle and creak like a wheelbarrow-wheel when it hasn't any grease on it. of course his parents felt dreadfully, for he couldn't go to school without disturbing everybody as soon as he began to think about his lessons, and he couldn't stay home and think without keeping the baby awake. as i was saying, there was pretty nearly a whole week that i kept out of trouble; but it didn't last. boys are born to fly upward like the sparks that trouble, and yesterday i was "up to mischief again," as sue said, though i never had the least idea of doing any mischief. how should an innocent boy, who might easily have been an orphan had things happened in that way, know all about cooking and chemistry and such, i should like to know. it was really sue's fault. nothing would do but she must give a party, and of course she must have ice-cream. now the ice-cream that our cake-shop man makes isn't good enough for her, so she got father to buy an ice-cream freezer, and said she would make the ice-cream herself. i was to help her, and she sent me to the store to order some salt. i asked her what she wanted of salt, and she said that you couldn't freeze ice-cream without plenty of salt, and that it was almost as necessary as ice. i went to the store and ordered the salt, and then had a game or two of ball with the boys, and didn't get home till late in the afternoon. there was sue freezing the ice-cream, and suffering dreadfully, so she said. she had to go and dress right away, and told me to keep turning the ice-cream freezer till it froze and don't run off and leave me to do everything again you good-for-nothing boy i wonder how you can do it. i turned that freezer for ever so long, but nothing would freeze; so i made up my mind that it wanted more salt. i didn't want to disturb anybody, so i quietly went into the kitchen and got the salt-cellar, and emptied it into the ice-cream. it began to freeze right away; but i tasted it, and it was awfully salt, so i got the jug of golden sirup and poured about a pint into the ice-cream, and when it was done it was a beautiful straw-color. [illustration: sue's ice-cream party.] but there was an awful scene when the party tried to eat that ice-cream. sue handed it round, and said to everybody, "this is my ice-cream, and you must be sure to like it." the first one she gave it to was dr. porter. he is dreadfully fond of ice-cream, and he smiled such a big smile, and said he was sure it was delightful, and took a whole spoonful. then he jumped up as if something had bit him, and went out of the door in two jumps, and we didn't see him again. then three more men tasted their ice-cream, and jumped up, and ran after the doctor, and two girls said, "oh my!" and held their handkerchiefs over their faces, and turned just as pale. and then everybody else put their ice-cream down on the table, and said thank you they guessed they wouldn't take any. the party was regularly spoiled, and when i tasted the ice-cream i didn't wonder. it was worse than the best kind of strong medicine. sue was in a dreadful state of mind, and when the party had gone home--all but one man, who lay under the apple-tree all night and groaned like he was dying, only we thought it was cats--she made me tell her all about the salt and the golden sirup. she wouldn't believe that i had tried to do my best, and didn't mean any harm. father took her part, and said i ought to eat some of the ice-cream, since i made it; but i said i'd rather go up-stairs with him. so i went. some of these days people will begin to understand that they are just wasting and throwing away a boy who always tries to do his best, and perhaps they'll be sorry when it is too late. my pig. i don't say that i didn't do wrong, but what i do say is that i meant to do right. but that don't make any difference. it never does. i try to do my very best, and then something happens, and i am blamed for it. when i think what a disappointing world this is, full of bamboo-canes and all sorts of switches, i feel ready to leave it. it was sue's fault in the beginning; that is, if it hadn't been for her it wouldn't have happened. one sunday she and i were sitting in the front parlor, and she was looking out of the window and watching for mr. travers; only she said she wasn't, and that she was just looking to see if it was going to rain, and solemnizing her thoughts. i had just asked her how old she was, and couldn't mr. travers have been her father if he had married mother, when she said, "dear me how tiresome that boy is do take a book and read for gracious sake." i said, "what book?" so she gets up and gives me the _observer_, and says, "there's a beautiful story about a good boy and a pig do read it and keep still if you know how and i hope it will do you some good." well, i read the story. it told all about a good boy whose name was james, and his father was poor, and so he kept a pig that cost him twenty-five cents, and when it grew up he sold it for thirty dollars, and he brought the money to his father and said, "here father! take this o how happy i am to help you when you're old and not good for much," and his father burst into tears, but i don't know what for. i wouldn't burst into tears much if anybody gave me thirty dollars; and said, "bless you my noble boy you and your sweet pig have saved me from a watery grave," or something like that. it was a real good story, and it made me feel like being likewise. so i resolved that i would get a little new pig for twenty-five cents, and keep it till it grew up, and then surprise father with twenty-nine dollars, and keep one for myself as a reward for my good conduct. only i made up my mind not to let anybody know about it till after the pig should be grown up, and then how the family would be delighted with my "thoughtful and generous act!" for that's what the paper said james's act was. the next day i went to farmer smith, and got him to give me a little pig for nothing, only i agreed to help him weed his garden all summer. it was a beautiful pig, about as big as our baby, only it was a deal prettier, and its tail was elegant. i wrapped it up in an old shawl, and watched my chance and got it up into my room, which is on the third story. then i took my trunk and emptied it, and bored some holes in it for air, and put the pig in it. i had the best fun that ever was, all that day and the next day, taking care of that dear little pig. i gave him one of my coats for a bed, and fed him on milk, and took him out of the trunk every little while for exercise. nobody goes into my room very often, except the girl to make the bed, and when she came i shut up the trunk, and she never suspected anything. i got a whole coal-scuttleful of the very best mud, and put it in the corner of the room for him to play in, and when i heard bridget coming, i meant to throw the bedquilt over it, so she wouldn't suspect anything. after i had him two days i heard mother say, "seems to me i hear very queer noises every now and then up-stairs." i knew what the matter was, but i never said anything, and i felt so happy when i thought what a good boy i was to raise a pig for my dear father. bridget went up to my room about eight o'clock one evening, just before i was going to bed, to take up my clean clothes. we were all sitting in the dining-room, when we heard her holler as if she was being murdered. we all ran out to see what was the matter, and were half-way up the stairs when the pig came down and upset the whole family, and piled them up on the top of himself at the foot of the stairs, and before we got up bridget came down and fell over us, and said she had just opened the young masther's thrunk and out jumps the ould satan himself and she must see the priest or she would be a dead woman. you wouldn't believe that, though i told them that i was raising the pig to sell it and give the money to father, they all said that they had never heard of such an abandoned and peremptory boy, and father said, "come up-stairs with me and i'll see if i can't teach you that this house isn't a pig-pen." i don't know what became of the pig, for he broke the parlor window and ran away, and nobody ever heard of him again. i'd like to see that boy james. i don't care how big he is. i'd show him that he can't go on setting good examples to innocent boys without suffering as he deserves to suffer. going to be a pirate. i don't know if you are acquainted with tom mcginnis. everybody knows his father, for he's been in congress, though he is a poor man, and sells hay and potatoes, and i heard father say that mr. mcginnis is the most remarkable man in the country. well, tom is mr. mcginnis's boy, and he's about my age, and thinks he's tremendously smart; and i used to think so too, but now i don't think quite so much of him. he and i went away to be pirates the other day, and i found out that he will never do for a pirate. you see, we had both got into difficulties. it wasn't my fault, i am sure, but it's such a painful subject that i won't describe it. i will merely say that after it was all over, i went to see tom to tell him that it was no use to put shingles under your coat, for how is that going to do your legs any good, and i tried it because tom advised me to. i found that he had just had a painful scene with his father on account of apples; and i must say it served him right, for he had no business to touch them without permission. so i said, "look here, tom, what's the use of our staying at home and being laid onto with switches and our best actions misunderstood and our noblest and holiest emotions held up to ridicule?" that's what i heard a young man say to sue one day, but it was so beautiful that i said it to tom myself. "oh, go 'way," said tom. "that's what i say," said i. "let's go away and be pirates. there's a brook that runs through deacon sammis's woods, and it stands to reason that it must run into the spanish main, where all the pirates are. let's run away, and chop down a tree, and make a canoe, and sail down the brook till we get to the spanish main, and then we can capture a schooner, and be regular pirates." "hurrah!" says tom. "we'll do it. let's run away to-night. i'll take father's hatchet, and the carving-knife, and some provisions, and meet you back of our barn at ten o'clock." "i'll be there," said i. "only, if we're going to be pirates, let's be strictly honest. don't take anything belonging to your father. i've got a hatchet, and a silver knife with my name on it, and i'll save my supper and take it with me." so that night i watched my chance, and dropped my supper into my handkerchief, and stuffed it into my pocket. when ten o'clock came, i tied up my clothes in a bundle, and took my hatchet and the silver knife and some matches, and slipped out the back door, and met tom. he had nothing with him but his supper and a backgammon board and a bag of marbles. we went straight for the woods, and after we'd selected a big tree to cut down, we ate our supper. just then the moon went under a cloud, and it grew awfully dark. we couldn't see very well how to chop the tree, and after tom had cut his fingers, we put off cutting down the tree till morning, and resolved to build a fire. we got a lot of fire-wood, but i dropped the matches, and when we found them again they were so damp that they wouldn't light. all at once the wind began to blow, and made a dreadful moaning in the woods. tom said it was bears, and that though he wanted to be a pirate, he hadn't calculated on having any bears. then he said it was cold, and so it was, but i told him that it would be warm enough when we got to the spanish main, and that pirates ought not to mind a little cold. pretty soon it began to rain, and then tom began to cry. it just poured down, and the way our teeth chattered was terrible. by-and-by tom jumped up, and said he wasn't going to be eaten up by bears and get an awful cold, and he started on a run for home. of course i wasn't going to be a pirate all alone, for there wouldn't be any fun in that, so i started after him. he must have been dreadfully frightened, for he ran as fast as he could, and as i was in a hurry, i tried to catch up with him. if he hadn't tripped over a root, and i hadn't tripped over him, i don't believe i could have caught him. when i fell on him, you ought to have heard him yell. he thought i was a bear, but any sensible pirate would have known i wasn't. tom left me at his front gate, and said he had made up his mind he wouldn't be a pirate, and that it would be a great deal more fun to be a plumber and melt lead. i went home, and as the house was locked up, i had to ring the front-door bell. father came to the door himself, and when he saw me, he said, "jimmy, what in the world does this mean?" so i told him that tom and me had started for the spanish main to be pirates, but tom had changed his mind, and that i thought i'd change mine too. father had me put to bed, and hot bottles and things put in the bed with me, and before i went to sleep, he came and said, "good-night, jimmy. we'll try and have more fun at home, so that there won't be any necessity of your being a pirate." and i said, "dear father, i'd a good deal rather stay with you, and i'll never be a pirate without your permission." this is why i say that tom mcginnis will never make a good pirate. he's too much afraid of getting wet. rats and mice. it's queer that girls are so dreadfully afraid of rats and mice. men are never afraid of them, and i shouldn't mind if there were mornamillion mice in my bedroom every night. mr. travers told sue and me a terrible story one day about a woman that was walking through a lonely field, when she suddenly saw a field-mouse right in front of her. she was a brave woman; so after she had said, "oh my! save me, somebody!" she determined to save herself if she could, for there was nobody within miles of her. there was a tree not very far off, and she had just time to climb up the tree and seat herself in the branches, when the mouse reached its foot. there that animal stayed for six days and nights, squeaking in a way that made the woman's blood run cold, and waiting for her to come down. on the seventh day, when she was nearly exhausted, a man with a gun came along, and shot the mouse, and saved her life. i don't believe this story, and i told mr. travers so; for a woman couldn't climb a tree, and even if she could, what would hinder the mouse from climbing after her? sue has a new young man, who comes every monday and wednesday night. one day he said, "jimmy, if you'll get me a lock of your sister's hair, i'll give you a nice dog." i told him he was awfully kind, but i didn't think it would be honest for me to take sue's best hair, but that i'd try to get him some of her every-day hair. and he said, "what on earth do you mean, jimmy?" and i said that sue had got some new back hair a little while ago, for i was with her when she bought it, and i knew she wouldn't like me to take any of that. so he said it was no matter, and he'd give me the dog anyway. i told sue afterwards all about it, just to show her how honest i was, and instead of telling me i was a good boy, she said, "oh you little torment g'way and never let me see you again," and threw herself down on the sofa and howled dreadfully, and mother came and said, "jimmy, if you want to kill your dear sister, you can just keep on doing as you do." such is the gratitude of grown-up folks. mr. withers--that's the new young man--brought the dog, as he said he would. he's a beautiful scotch terrier, and he said he would kill rats like anything, and was two years old, and had had the distemper; that is, mr. withers said the dog would kill rats, and of course mr. withers himself never had the distemper. of course i wanted to see the dog kill rats, so i took him to a rat-hole in the kitchen, but he barked at it so loud that no rat would think of coming out. if you want to catch rats, you mustn't begin by barking and scratching at rat-holes, but you must sit down and kind of wink with one eye and lay for them, just as cats do. i told mr. withers that the dog couldn't catch any rats, and he said he would bring me some in a box, and i could let them out, and the dog would kill every single one of them. the next evening sue sent me down to the milliner's to bring her new bonnet home, and don't you be long about it either you idle worthless boy. well, i went to the milliner's shop, but the bonnet wasn't done yet; and as i passed mr. withers's office, he said, "come here, jimmy; i've got those rats for you." he gave me a wooden box like a tea-chest, and told me there were a dozen rats in it, and i'd better have the dog kill them at once, or else they'd gnaw out before morning. when i got home, sue met me at the door, and said, "give me that bandbox this instant you've been mornanour about it." i tried to tell her that it wasn't her box; but she wouldn't listen, and just snatched it and went into the parlor, where there were three other young ladies who had come to see her, and slammed the door; but the dog slipped in with her. in about a minute i heard the most awful yells that anybody ever heard. it sounded as if all the furniture in the parlor was being smashed into kindling wood, and the dog kept barking like mad. the next minute a girl came flying out of the front window, and another girl jumped right on her before she had time to get out of the way, and they never stopped crying, "help murder let me out oh my!" [illustration: sue had opened the box.] i knew, of course, that sue had opened the box and let the rats out, and though i wanted ever so much to know if the dog had killed them all, i thought she would like it better if i went back to the milliner's and waited a few hours for the bonnet. i brought it home about nine o'clock; but sue had gone to bed, and the servant had just swept up the parlor, and piled the pieces of furniture on the piazza. father won't be home till next week, and perhaps by that time sue will get over it. i wish i did know if the dog killed all those rats, and how long it took him. hunting the rhinoceros. we ought always to be useful, and do good to everybody. i used to think that we ought always to improve our minds, and i think so some now, though i have got into dreadful difficulties all through improving my mind. but i am not going to be discouraged. i tried to be useful the other day, and do good to the heathen in distant lands, and you wouldn't believe what trouble it made. there are some people who would never do good again if they had got into the trouble that i got into; but the proverb says that if at first you don't succeed, cry, cry again; and there was lots of crying, i can tell you, over our rhinoceros, that we thought was going to do so much good. it all happened because aunt eliza was staying at our house. she had a sunday-school one afternoon, and tom mcginnis and i were the scholars, and she told us about a boy that got up a panorama about the _pilgrim's progress_ all by himself, and let people see it for ten cents apiece, and made ten dollars, and sent it to the missionaries, and they took it and educated mornahundred little heathens with it, and how nice it would be if you dear boys would go and do likewise and now we'll sing "hold the fort." well, tom and i thought about it, and we said we'd get up a menagerie, and we'd take turns playing animals, and we'd let folks see it for ten cents apiece, and make a lot of money, and do ever so much good. we got a book full of pictures of animals, and we made skins out of cloth to go all over us, so that we'd look just like animals when we had them on. we had a lion's and a tiger's and a bear's and a rhinoceros's skin, besides a whole lot of others. as fast as we got the skins made, we hung them up in a corner of the barn where nobody would see them. the way we made them was to show the pictures to mother and to aunt eliza, and they did the cutting out and the sewing, and sue she painted the stripes on the tiger, and the fancy touches on the other animals. our rhinoceros was the best animal we had. the rhinoceros is a lovely animal when he's alive. he is almost as big as an elephant, and he has a skin that is so thick that you can't shoot a bullet through it unless you hit it in a place that is a little softer than the other places. he has a horn on the end of his nose, and he can toss a tiger with it till the tiger feels sick, and says he won't play any more. the rhinoceros lives in africa, and he would toss 'most all the natives if it wasn't that they fasten an india-rubber ball on the end of his horn, so that when he tries to toss anybody, the horn doesn't hurt, and after a while the rhinoceros gets discouraged, and says, "oh, well, what's the good anyhow?" and goes away into the forest. at least this is what mr. travers says, but i don't believe it; for the rhinoceros wouldn't stand still and let the natives put an india-rubber ball on his horn, and they wouldn't want to waste india-rubber balls that way when they could play lawn-tennis with them. last saturday afternoon we had our first grand consolidated exhibition of the greatest menagerie on earth. we had two rows of chairs in the back yard, and all our folks and all tom's folks came, and we took in a dollar and sixty cents at the door, which was the back gate. i was a bear, first of all, and growled so natural that everybody said it was really frightful. then it was tom's turn to be an animal, and he was to be the raging rhinoceros of central africa. i helped dress him in the barn, and when he was dressed he looked beautiful. the rhinoceros's skin went all over him, and was tied together so that he couldn't get out of it without help. his horn was made of wood painted white, and his eyes were two agates. of course he couldn't see through them, but they looked natural, and as i was to lead him, he didn't need to see. [illustration: then he fell into the hot-bed, and broke all the glass.] i had just got him outside the barn, and had begun to say, "ladies and gentlemen, this is the raging rhinoceros," when he gave the most awful yell you ever heard, and got up on his hind-legs, and began to rush around as if he was crazy. he rushed against aunt eliza, and upset her all over the mcginnis girls, and then he banged up against the water-barrel, and upset that, and then he fell into the hot-bed, and broke all the glass. you never saw such an awful sight. the rhinoceros kept yelling all the time, only nobody could understand what he said, and pulling at his head with his fore-paws, and jumping up and down, and smashing everything in his way, and i went after him just as if i was a central african hunting a rhinoceros. i was almost frightened, and as for the folks, they ran into the house, all except aunt eliza, who had to be carried in. i kept as close behind the rhinoceros as i could, begging him to be quiet, and tell me what was the matter. after a while he lay down on the ground, and i cut the strings of his skin, so that he could get his head out and talk. he said he was 'most dead. the wasps had built a nest in one of his hind-legs as it was hanging in the barn, and they had stung him until they got tired. he said he'd never have anything more to do with the menagerie, and went home with his mother, and my mother said i must give him all the money, because he had suffered so much. but, as i said, i won't be discouraged, and will try to do good, and be useful to others the next time i see a fair chance. down cellar. we have had a dreadful time at our house, and i have done very wrong. oh, i always admit it when i've done wrong. there's nothing meaner than to pretend that you haven't done wrong when everybody knows you have. i didn't mean anything by it, though, and sue ought to have stood by me, when i did it all on her account, and just because i pitied her, if she was my own sister, and it was more her fault, i really think, than it was mine. mr. withers is sue's new young man, as i have told you already. he comes to see her every monday, wednesday, and friday evening, and mr. travers comes all the other evenings, and mr. martin is liable to come any time, and generally does--that is, if he doesn't have the rheumatism. though he hasn't but one real leg, he has twice as much rheumatism as father, with all his legs, and there is something very queer about it; and if i was he, i'd get a leg of something better than cork, and perhaps he'd have less pain in it. it all happened last tuesday night. just as it was getting dark, and sue was expecting mr. travers every minute, who should come in but mr. martin! now mr. martin is such an old acquaintance, and father thinks so much of him, that sue had to ask him in, though she didn't want him to meet mr. travers. so when she heard somebody open the front gate, she said, "oh, mr. martin i'm so thirsty and the servant has gone out, and you know just where the milk is for you went down cellar to get some the last time you were here do you think you would mind getting some for me?" mr. martin had often gone down cellar to help himself to milk, and i don't see what makes him so fond of it, so he said, "certainly with great pleasure," and started down the cellar stairs. it wasn't mr. travers, but mr. withers, who had come on the wrong night. he had not much more than got into the parlor when sue came rushing out to me, for i was swinging in the hammock on the front piazza, and said, "my goodness gracious jimmy what shall i do here's mr. withers and mr. travers will be here in a few minutes and there's mr. martin down cellar and i feel as if i should fly what shall i do?" i was real sorry for her, and thought i'd help her, for girls are not like us. they never know what to do when they are in a scrape, and they are full of absence of mind when they ought to have lots of presence of mind. so i said: "i'll fix it for you, sue. just leave it all to me. you stay here and meet mr. travers, who is just coming around the corner, and i'll manage mr. withers." sue said, "you darling little fellow there don't muss my hair;" and i went in, and said to mr. withers, in an awfully mysterious way, "mr. withers, i hear a noise in the cellar. don't tell sue, for she's dreadfully nervous. won't you go down and see what it is?" of course i knew it was mr. martin who was making the noise, though i didn't say so. "oh, it's nothing but rats, jimmy," said he, "or else the cat, or maybe it's the cook." "no, it isn't," said i. "if i was you, i'd go and see into it. sue thinks you're awfully brave." well, after a little more talk, mr. withers said he'd go, and i showed him the cellar-door, and got him started down-stairs, and then i locked the door, and went back to the hammock, and sue and mr. travers they sat in the front parlor. pretty soon i heard a heavy crash down cellar; as if something heavy had dropped, and then there was such a yelling and howling, just as if the cellar was full of murderers. mr. travers jumped up, and was starting for the cellar, when sue fainted away, and hung tight to him, and wouldn't let him go. i stayed in the hammock, and wouldn't have left it if father hadn't come down-stairs, but when i saw him going down cellar, i went after him to see what could possibly be the matter. [illustration: they thought they were both burglars.] father had a candle in one hand and a big club in another. you ought to have been there to see mr. martin and mr. withers. one of them had run against the other in the dark, and they thought they were both burglars. so they got hold of each other, and fell over the milk-pans and upset the soap-barrel, and then rolled round the cellar floor, holding on to each other, and yelling help murder thieves, and when we found them, they were both in the ash-bin, and the ashes were choking them. father would have pounded them with the club if i hadn't told him who they were. he was awfully astonished, and though he wouldn't say anything to hurt mr. martin's feelings, he didn't seem to care much for mine or mr. withers's, and when mr. travers finally came down, father told him that he was a nice young man, and that the whole house might have been murdered by burglars while he was enjoying himself in the front parlor. mr. martin went home after he got a little of the milk and soap and ashes and things off of him, but he was too angry to speak. mr. withers said he would never enter the house again, and mr. travers didn't even wait to speak to sue, he was in such a rage with mr. withers. after they were all gone, sue told father that it was all my fault, and father said he would attend to my case in the morning: only, when the morning came, he told me not to do it again, and that was all. i admit that i did do wrong, but i didn't mean it, and my only desire was to help my dear sister. you won't catch me helping her again very soon. our baby again. after this, don't say anything more to me about babies. there's nothing more spiteful and militious than a baby. our baby got me into an awful scrape once--the time i blacked it. but i don't blame it so much that time, because, after all, it was partly my fault; but now it has gone and done one of the meanest things a baby ever did, and came very near ruining me. it has been a long time since mother and sue said they would never trust me to take care of the baby again, but the other day they wanted awfully to go to a funeral. it was a funeral of one of their best friends, and there was to be lots of flowers, and they expected to see lots of people, and they said they would try me once more. they were going to be gone about two hours, and i was to take care of the baby till they came home again. of course i said i would do my best, and so i did; only when a boy does try to do his best, he is sure to get himself into trouble. how many a time and oft have i found this to be true! ah! this is indeed a hard and hollow world. the last thing sue said when she went out of the door was, "now be a good boy if you play any of your tricks i'll let you know." i wish mr. travers would marry her, and take her to china. i don't believe in sisters, anyway. they hadn't been gone ten minutes when the baby woke up and cried, and i knew it did it on purpose. now i had once read in an old magazine that if you put molasses on a baby's fingers, and give it a feather to play with, it will try to pick that feather off, and amuse itself, and keep quiet for ever so long. i resolved to try it; so i went straight down-stairs and brought up the big molasses jug out of the cellar. then i made a little hole in one of mother's pillows, and pulled out a good handful of feathers. the baby stopped crying as soon as it saw what i was at, and so led me on, just on purpose to get me into trouble. well, i put a little molasses on the baby's hands, and put the feathers in its lap, and told it to be good and play real pretty. the baby began to play with the feathers, just as the magazine said it would, so i thought i would let it enjoy itself while i went up to my room to read a little while. that baby never made a sound for ever so long, and i was thinking how pleased mother and sue would be to find out a new plan for keeping it quiet. i just let it enjoy itself till about ten minutes before the time when they were to get back from the funeral, and then i went down to mother's room to look after the "little innocent," as sue calls it. much innocence there is about that baby! i never saw such a awful spectacle. the baby had got hold of the molasses jug, which held mornagallon, and had upset it and rolled all over in it. the feathers had stuck to it so close that you couldn't hardly see its face, and its head looked just like a chicken's head. you wouldn't believe how that molasses had spread over the carpet. it seemed as if about half the room was covered with it. and there sat that wretched "little innocent" laughing to think how i'd catch it when the folks came home. now wasn't it my duty to wash that baby, and get the feathers and molasses off it? any sensible person would say that it was. i tried to wash it in the wash-basin, but the feathers kept sticking on again as fast as i got them off. so i took it to the bath-tub and turned the water on, and held the baby right under the stream. the feathers were gradually getting rinsed away, and the molasses was coming off beautifully, when something happened. the water made a good deal of noise, and i was standing with my back to the bath-room door, so that i did not hear anybody come in. the first thing i knew sue snatched the baby away, and gave me such a box over the ear. then she screamed out, "ma! come here this wicked boy is drowning the baby o you little wretch won't you catch it for this." mother came running up-stairs, and they carried the baby into mother's room to dry it. you should have heard what they said when sue slipped and sat down in the middle of the molasses, and cried out that her best dress was ruined, and mother saw what a state the carpet was in! i wouldn't repeat their language for worlds. it was personal, that's what it was, and i've been told fifty times never to make personal remarks. i should not have condescended to notice it if mother hadn't begun to cry; and of course i went and said i was awfully sorry, and that i meant it all for the best, and wouldn't have hurt the baby for anything, and begged her to forgive me and not cry any more. when father came home they told him all about it. i knew very well they would, and i just lined myself with shingles so as to be good and ready. but he only said, "my son, i have decided to try milder measures with you. i think you are punished enough when you reflect that you have made your mother cry." that was all, and i tell you i'd rather a hundred times have had him say, "my son, come up-stairs with me." and now if you don't admit that nothing could be meaner than the way that baby acted, i shall really be surprised and shocked. studying wasps. we had a lecture at our place the other day, because our people wanted to get even with the people of the next town, who had had a returned missionary with a whole lot of idols the week before. the lecture was all about wasps and beetles and such, and the lecturer had a magic lantern and a microscope, and everything that was adapted to improve and vitrify the infant mind, as our minister said when he introduced him. i believe the lecturer was a wicked, bad man, who came to our place on purpose to get me into trouble. else why did he urge the boys to study wasps, and tell us how to collect wasps' nests without getting stung? the grown-up people thought it was all right, however, and mr. travers said to me, "listen to what the gentleman says, jimmy, and improve your mind with wasps." well, i thought i would do as i was told, especially as i knew of a tremendous big wasps' nest under the eaves of our barn. i got a ladder and a lantern the very night after the lecture, and prepared to study wasps. the lecturer said that the way to do was to wait till the wasps go to bed, and then to creep up to their nest with a piece of thin paper all covered with wet mucilage, and to clap it right over the door of the nest. of course the wasps can't get out when they wake up in the morning, and you can take the nest and hang it up in your room; and after two or three days, when you open the nest and let the wasps out, and feed them with powdered sugar, they'll be so tame and grateful that they'll never think of stinging you, and you can study them all day long, and learn lots of useful lessons. now is it probable that any real good man would put a boy up to any such nonsense as this? it's my belief that the lecturer was hired by somebody to come and entice all our boys to get themselves stung. as i was saying, i got a ladder and a lantern, and a piece of paper covered with mucilage, and after dark i climbed up to the wasps' nest, and stopped up the door, and then brought the nest down in my hand. i was going to carry it up to my room, but just then mother called me; so i put the nest under the seat of our carriage, and went into the house, where i was put to bed for having taken the lantern out to the barn; and the next morning i forgot all about the nest. i forgot it because i was invited to go on a picnic with mr. travers and my sister sue and a whole lot of people, and any fellow would have forgot it if he had been in my place. mr. travers borrowed father's carriage, and he and sue were to sit on the back seat, and mr. travers's aunt, who is pretty old and cross, was to sit on the front seat with dr. jones, the new minister, and i was to sit with the driver. we all started about nine o'clock, and a big basket of provisions was crowded into the carriage between everybody's feet. we hadn't gone mornamile when mr. travers cries out: "my good gracious! sue, i've run an awful pin into my leg. why can't you girls be more careful about pins?" sue replied that she hadn't any pins where they could run into anybody, and was going to say something more, when she screamed as if she was killed, and began to jump up and down and shake herself. just then dr. jones jumped about two feet straight into the air, and said, "oh my!" and miss travers took to screaming, "fire! murder! help!" and slapping herself in a way that was quite awful. i began to think they were all going crazy, when all of a sudden i remembered the wasps' nest. somehow the wasps had got out of the nest, and were exploring all over the carriage. the driver stopped the horses to see what was the matter, and turned pale with fright when he saw dr. jones catch the basket of provisions and throw it out of the carriage, and then jump straight into it. then mr. travers and his aunt and sue all came flying out together, and were all mixed up with dr. jones and the provisions on the side of the road. they didn't stop long, however, for the wasps were looking for them; so they got up and rushed for the river, and went into it as if they were going to drown themselves--only it wasn't more than two feet deep. george--he's the driver--was beginning to ask, "is thishyer some swimmin' match that's goin' on?" when a wasp hit him on the neck, and another hit me on the cheek. we left that carriage in a hurry, and i never stopped till i got to my room and rolled myself up in the bedclothes. all the wasps followed me, so that mr. travers and sue and the rest of them were left in peace, and might have gone to the picnic, only they felt as if they must come home for arnica, and, besides, the horses had run away, though they were caught afterwards, and didn't break anything. this was all because that lecturer advised me to study wasps. i followed his directions, and it wasn't my fault that the wasps began to study mr. travers and his aunt, and sue and dr. jones, and me and george. but father, when he was told about it, said that my "conduct was such," and the only thing that saved me was that my legs were stung all over, and father said he didn't have the heart to do any more to them with a switch. a terrible mistake. i have been in the back bedroom up-stairs all the afternoon, and i am expecting father every minute. it was just after one o'clock when he told me to come up-stairs with him, and just then mr. thompson came to get him to go down town with him, and father said i'd have to excuse him for a little while and don't you go out of that room till i come back. so i excused him, and he hasn't come back yet; but i've opened one of the pillows and stuffed my clothes full of feathers, and i don't care much how soon he comes back now. it's an awful feeling to be waiting up-stairs for your father, and to know that you have done wrong, though you really didn't mean to do so much wrong as you have done. i am willing to own that nobody ought to take anybody's clothes when he's in swimming, but anyhow they began it first, and i thought just as much as could be that the clothes were theirs. the real boys that are to blame are joe wilson and amzi willetts. a week ago saturday tom mcginnis and i went in swimming down at the island. it's a beautiful place. the island is all full of bushes, and on one side the water is deep, where the big boys go in, and on the other it is shallow, where we fellows that can't swim very much where the water is more than two feet deep go in. while tom and i were swimming, joe and amzi came and stole our clothes, and put them in their boat, and carried them clear across the deep part of the river. we saw them do it, and we had an awful time to get the clothes back, and i think it was just as mean. tom and i said we'd get even with them, and i know it was wrong, because it was a revengeful feeling, but anyhow we said we'd do it; and i don't think revenge is so very bad when you don't hurt a fellow, and wouldn't hurt him for anything, and just want to play him a trick that is pretty nearly almost quite innocent. but i don't say we did right, and when i've done wrong i'm always ready to say so. well, tom and i watched, and last saturday we saw joe and amzi go down to the island, and go in swimming on the shallow side; so we waded across and sneaked down among the bushes, and after a while we saw two piles of clothes. so we picked them up and ran away with them. the boys saw us, and made a terrible noise; but we sung out that they'd know now how it felt to have your clothes carried off, and we waded back across the river, and carried the clothes up to amzi's house, and hid them in his barn, and thought that we'd got even with joe and amzi, and taught them a lesson which would do them a great deal of good, and would make them good and useful men. this was in the morning about noon, and when i had my dinner i thought i'd go and see how the boys liked swimming, and offer to bring back their clothes if they'd promise to be good friends. i never was more astonished in my life than i was to find that they were nowhere near the island. i was beginning to be afraid they'd been drowned, when i heard some men calling me, and i found squire meredith and amzi willetts's father, who is a deacon, hiding among the bushes. they told me that some villains had stolen their clothes while they were in swimming, and they'd give me fifty cents if i'd go up to their houses and get their wives to give me some clothes to bring down to them. i said i didn't want the fifty cents, but i'd go and try to find some clothes for them. i meant to go straight up to amzi's barn and to bring the clothes back, but on the way i met amzi with the clothes in a basket bringing them down to the island, and he said, "somebody's goin' to be arrested for stealing father's and squire meredith's clothes. i saw the fellows that stole 'em, and i'm going to tell." you see, tom and i had taken the wrong clothes, and squire meredith and deacon willetts, who had been in swimming on the deep side of the island, had been about two hours trying to play they were zulus, and didn't need to wear any clothes, only they found it pretty hard work. deacon willetts came straight to our house, and told father that his unhappy son--that's what he called me, and wasn't i unhappy, though--had stolen his clothes and squire meredith's; but for the sake of our family he wouldn't say very much about it, only if father thought best to spare the rods and spoil a child, he wouldn't be able to regard him as a man and a brother. so father called me and asked me if i had taken deacon willetts's clothes, and when i said yes, and was going to explain how it happened, he said that my conduct was such, and that i was bringing his gray hairs down, only i wouldn't hurt them for fifty million dollars, and i've often heard him say he hadn't a gray hair in his head. and now i'm waiting up-stairs for the awful moment to arrive. i deserve it, for they say that squire meredith and deacon willetts are mornhalf eaten up by mosquitoes, and are confined to the house with salt and water, and crying out all the time that they can't stand it. i hope the feathers will work, but if they don't, no matter. i think i shall be a missionary, and do good to the heathen. i think i hear father coming in the front gate now, so i must close. our bull-fight. i'm going to stop improving my mind. it gets me into trouble all the time. grown-up folks can improve their minds without doing any harm, for nobody ever tells them that their conduct is such, and that there isn't the least excuse in the world for them; but just as sure as a boy tries to improve his mind, especially with animals, he gets into dreadful difficulties. there was a man came to our town to lecture a while ago. he had been a great traveller, and knew all about rome and niagara falls and the north pole, and such places, and father said, "now, jimmy, here's an opportunity for you to learn something and improve your mind go and take your mother and do take an interest in something besides games." well, i went to the lecture. the man told all about the australian savages and their boomerangs. he showed us a boomerang, which is a stick with two legs, and an australian will throw it at a man, and it will go and hit him, and come back of its own accord. then he told us about the way the zulus throw their assegais--that's the right way to spell it--and spear an englishman that is mornten rods away from them. then he showed a long string with a heavy lead ball on each end, and said the south americans would throw it at a wild horse, and it would wind around the horse's legs, and tie itself into a bow-knot, and then the south americans would catch the horse. but the best of all was the account of a bull-fight which he saw in spain, with the queen sitting on a throne, and giving a crown of evergreens to the chief bull-fighter. he said that bull-fighting was awfully cruel, and that he told us about it so that we might be thankful that we are so much better than those dreadful spanish people, who will watch a bull-fight all day, and think it real fun. the next day i told mr. travers about the boomerang, and he said it was all true. once there was an australian savage in a circus, and he got angry, and he threw his boomerang at a man who was in the third story of a hotel. the boomerang went down one street and up another, and into the hotel door, and up-stairs, and knocked the man on the head, and came back the same way right into the australian savage's hand. i was so anxious to show father that i had listened to the lecture that i made a boomerang just like the one the lecturer had. when it was done, i went out into the back yard, and slung it at a cat on the roof of our house. it never touched the cat, but it went right through the dining-room window, and gave mr. travers an awful blow in the eye, besides hitting sue on the nose. it stopped right there in the dining-room, and never came back to me at all, and i don't believe a word the lecturer said about it. i don't feel courage to tell what father said about it. then i tried to catch mr. thompson's dog, that lives next door to us, with two lead balls tied on the ends of a long string. i didn't hit the dog any more than i did the cat, but i didn't do any harm except to mrs. thompson's cook, and she ought to be thankful that it was only her arm, for the doctor said that if the balls had hit her on the head they would have broken it, and the consequences might have been serious. it was a good while before i could find anything to make an assegai out of; but after hunting all over the house, i came across a lovely piece of bamboo about ten feet long, and just as light as a feather. then i got a big knife-blade that hadn't any handle to it, and that had been lying in father's tool-chest for ever so long, and fastened it on the end of the bamboo. you wouldn't believe how splendidly i could throw that assegai, only the wind would take it, and you couldn't tell when you threw it where it would bring up. i don't see how the zulus ever manage to hit an englishman; but mr. travers says that the englishmen are all so made that you can't very well miss them. and then perhaps the zulus, when they want to hit them, aim at something else. one day i was practising with the assegai at our barn-door, making believe that it was an englishman, when mr. carruthers, the butcher, drove by, and the assegai came down and went through his foot, and pinned it to the wagon. but he didn't see me, and i guess he got it out after a while, though i never saw it again. but what the lecturer taught us about bull-fights was worse than anything else. tom mcginnis's father has a terrible bull in the pasture, and tom and i agreed that we'd have a bull-fight, only, of course, we wouldn't hurt the bull. all we wanted to do was to show our parents how much we had learned about the geography and habits of the spaniards. tom mcginnis's sister jane, who is twelve years old, and thinks she knows everything, said she'd be the queen of spain, and give tom and me evergreen wreaths. i got an old red curtain out of the dining-room, and divided it with tom, so that we could wave it in the bull's face. when a bull runs after a bull-fighter, the other bull-fighter just waves his red rag, and the bull goes for him and lets the first bull-fighter escape. the lecturer said that there wasn't any danger so long as one fellow would always wave a red rag when the bull ran after the other fellow. pretty nearly all the school came down to the pasture to see our bull-fight. the queen of spain sat on the fence, because there wasn't any other throne, and the rest of the fellows and girls stood behind the fence. the bull was pretty savage; but tom and i had our red rags, and we weren't afraid of him. as soon as we went into the pasture the bull came for me, with his head down, and bellowing as if he was out of his mind. tom rushed up and waved his red rag, and the bull stopped running after me, and went after tom, just as the lecturer said he would. [illustration: he went twenty feet right up into the air.] i know i ought to have waved my red rag, so as to rescue tom, but i was so interested that i forgot all about it, and the bull caught up with tom. i should think he went twenty feet right up into the air, and as he came down he hit the queen of spain, and knocked her about six feet right against mr. mcginnis, who had come down to the pasture to stop the fight. the doctor says they'll all get well, though tom's legs are all broke, and his sister's shoulder is out of joint, and mr. mcginnis has got to get a new set of teeth. father didn't do a thing to me--that is, with anything--but he talked to me till i made up my mind that i'd never try to learn anything from a lecturer again, not even if he lectures about indians and scalping-knives. our balloon. i've made up my mind that half the trouble boys get into is the fault of the grown-up folks that are always wanting them to improve their minds. i never improved my mind yet without suffering for it. there was the time i improved it studying wasps, just as the man who lectured about wasps and elephants and other insects told me to. if it hadn't been for that man i never should have thought of studying wasps. one time our school-teacher told me that i ought to improve my mind by reading history, so i borrowed the history of _blackbeard the pirate_, and improved my mind for three or four hours every day. after a while father said, "bring that book to me, jimmy, and let's see what you're reading," and when he saw it, instead of praising me, he-but what's the use of remembering our misfortunes? still, if i was grown up, i wouldn't get boys into difficulty by telling them to do all sorts of things. there was a professor came to our house the other day. a professor is a kind of man who wears spectacles up on the top of his head and takes snuff and doesn't talk english very plain. i believe professors come from somewhere near germany, and i wish this one had stayed in his own country. they live mostly on cabbage and such, and mr. travers says they are dreadfully fierce, and that when they are not at war with other people, they fight among themselves, and go on in the most dreadful way. this professor that came to see father didn't look a bit fierce, but mr. travers says that was just his deceitful way, and that if we had had a valuable old bone or a queer kind of shell in the house, the professor would have got up in the night, and stolen it and killed us all in our beds; but sue said it was a shame, and that the professor was a lovely old gentleman, and there wasn't the least harm in his kissing her. well, the professor was talking after dinner to father about balloons, and when he saw i was listening, he pretended to be awfully kind, and told me how to make a fire-balloon, and how he'd often made them and sent them up in the air; and then he told about a man who went up on horseback with his horse tied to a balloon; and father said, "now listen to the professor, jimmy, and improve your mind while you've got a chance." the next day tom mcginnis and i made a balloon just as the professor had told me to. it was made out of tissue-paper, and it had a sponge soaked full of alcohol, and when you set the alcohol on fire the tumefaction of the air would send the balloon mornamile high. we made it out in the barn, and thought we'd try it before we said anything to the folks about it, and then surprise them by showing them what a beautiful balloon we had, and how we'd improved our minds. just as it was all ready, sue's cat came into the barn, and i remembered the horse that had been tied to a balloon, and told tom we'd see if the balloon would take the cat up with it. [illustration: presently it went slowly up.] so we tied her with a whole lot of things so she would hang under the balloon without being hurt a bit, and then we took the balloon into the yard to try it. after the alcohol had burned a little while the balloon got full of air, and presently it went slowly up. there wasn't a bit of wind, and when it had gone up about twice as high as the house it stood still. you ought to have seen how that cat howled; but she was nothing compared with sue when she came out and saw her beloved beast. she screamed to me to bring her that cat this instant you good-for-nothing cruel little wretch won't you catch it when father comes home. now i'd like to know how i could reach a cat that was a hundred feet up in the air, but that's all the reasonableness that girls have. the balloon didn't stay up very long. it began to come slowly down, and when it struck the ground, the way that cat started on a run for the barn, and tried to get underneath it with the balloon all on fire behind her, was something frightful to see. by the time i could get to her and cut her loose, a lot of hay took fire and began to blaze, and tom ran for the fire-engine, crying out "fire!" with all his might. the firemen happened to be at the engine-house, though they're generally all over town, and nobody can find them when there is a fire. they brought the engine into our yard in about ten minutes, and just as sue and the cook and i had put the fire out. but that didn't prevent the firemen from working with heroic bravery, as our newspaper afterwards said. they knocked in our dining-room windows with axes, and poured about a thousand hogsheads of water into the room before we could make them understand that the fire was down by the barn, and had been put out before they came. this was all the professor's fault, and it has taught me a lesson. the next time anybody wants me to improve my mind i'll tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself. our new walk. for once i have done right. i always used to think that if i stuck to it, and tried to do what was right, i would hit it some day; but at last i pretty nearly gave up all hope, and was beginning to believe that no matter what i did, some of the grown-up folks would tell me that my conduct was such. but i have done a real useful thing that was just what father wanted, and he has said that he would overlook it this time. perhaps you think that this was not very encouraging to a boy; but if you had been told to come up-stairs with me my son as often as i have been, just because you had tried to do right, and hadn't exactly managed to suit people, you would be very glad to hear your father say that for once he would overlook it. did you ever play you were a ghost? i don't think much of ghosts, and wouldn't be a bit afraid if i was to see one. there was once a ghost that used to frighten people dreadfully by hanging himself to a hook in the wall. he was one of those tall white ghosts, and they are the very worst kind there is. this one used to come into the spare bedroom of the house where he lived before he was dead, and after walking round the room, and making as if he was in dreadfully low spirits, he would take a rope out of his pocket, and hang himself to a clothes-hook just opposite the bed, and the person who was in the bed would faint away with fright, and pull the bedclothes over his head, and be in the most dreadful agony until morning, when he would get up, and people would say, "why how dreadful you look your hair is all gray and you are whiternany sheet." one time a man came to stay at the house who wasn't afraid of anything, and he said, "i'll fix that ghost of yours; i'm a terror on wooden wheels when any ghosts are around, i am." so he was put to sleep in the room, and before he went to bed he loosened the hook, so that it would come down very easy, and then he sat up in bed and read till twelve o'clock. just when the clock struck, the ghost came in and walked up and down as usual, and finally got out his rope and hung himself; but as soon as he kicked away the chair he stood on when he hung himself, down came the hook, and the ghost fell all in a heap on the floor, and sprained his ankle, and got up and limped away, dreadfully ashamed, and nobody ever saw him again. father has been having the front garden walk fixed with an askfelt pavement. askfelt is something like molasses, only four times as sticky when it is new. after a while it grows real hard, only ours hasn't grown very hard yet. i watched the men put it down, and father said, "be careful and don't step on it until it gets hard or you'll stick fast in it and can't ever get out again. i'd like to see half a dozen meddlesome boys stuck in it and serve them right." as soon as i heard dear father mention what he'd like, i determined that he should have his wish, for there is nothing that is more delightful to a good boy than to please his father. that afternoon i mentioned to two or three boys that i knew were pretty bad boys that our melons were ripe, and that father was going to pick them in a day or two. the melon patch is at the back of the house, and after dark i dressed myself in one of mother's gowns, and hid in the wood-shed. about eleven o'clock i heard a noise, and looked out, and there were six boys coming in the back gate, and going for the melon patch. i waited till they were just ready to begin, and then i came out and said, in a hollow and protuberant voice, "beware!" they dropped the melons, and started to run, but they couldn't get to the back gate without passing close to me, and i knew they wouldn't try that. so they started to run round the house to the front gate, and i ran after them. when they reached the new front walk, they seemed to stop all of a sudden, and two or three of them fell down. [illustration: prying the boys out.] i didn't wait to hear what they had to say, but went quietly back, and got into the house through the kitchen-window, and went up-stairs to my room. i could hear them whispering, and now and then one or two of them would cry a little; but i thought it wouldn't be honorable to listen to them, so i went to sleep. in the morning there were five boys stuck in the askfelt, and frightened 'most to death. i got up early, and called father, and told him that there seemed to be something the matter with his new walk. when he came out and saw five boys caught in the pavement, and an extra pair of shoes that belonged to another boy who had wriggled out of them and gone away and left them, he was the most astonished man you ever saw. i told him how i had caught the boys stealing melons, and had played i was a ghost and frightened them away, and he said that if i'd help the coachman pry the boys out, he would overlook it. so he sat upon the piazza and overlooked the coachman and me while we pried the boys out, and they came out awfully hard, and the askfelt is full of pieces of trousers and things. i don't believe it will ever be a handsome walk; but whenever father looks at it he will think what a good boy i have been, which will give him more pleasure than a hundred new askfelt walks. a steam chair. i don't like mr. travers as much as i did. of course i know he's a very nice man, and he's going to be my brother when he marries sue, and he used to bring me candy sometimes, but he isn't what he used to be. one time--that was last summer--he was always dreadfully anxious to hear from the post-office, and whenever he came to see sue, and he and she and i would be sitting on the front piazza, he would say, "jimmy, i think there must be a letter for me; i'll give you ten cents if you'll go down to the post-office;" and then sue would say, "don't run, jimmy; you'll get heart disease if you do;" and i'd walk 'way down to the post-office, which is pretty near half a mile from our house. but now he doesn't seem to care anything about his letters; and he and sue sit in the back parlor, and mother says i mustn't go in and disturb them; and i don't get any more ten cents. i've learned that it won't do to fix your affections on human beings, for even the best of men won't keep on giving you ten cents forever. and it wasn't fair for mr. travers to get angry with me the other night, when it was all an accident--at least 'most all of it; and i don't think it's manly for a man to stand by and see a sister shake a fellow that isn't half her size, and especially when he never supposed that anything was going to happen to her even if it did break. when aunt eliza came to our house the last time, she brought a steam chair: that's what she called it, though there wasn't any steam about it. she brought it from europe with her, and it was the queerest sort of chair, that would all fold up, and had a kind of footstool to it, so that you put your legs out and just lie down in it. well, one day it got broken. the back of the seat fell down, and shut aunt eliza up in the chair so she couldn't get out, and didn't she just howl till somebody came and helped her! she was so angry that she said she never wanted to see that chair again, and you may have it if you want it jimmy for you are a good boy sometimes when you want to be. so i took the chair and mended it. the folks laughed at me, and said i couldn't mend it to save my life; but i got some nails and some mucilage, and mended it elegantly. then mother let me get some varnish, and i varnished the chair, and when it was done it looked so nice that sue said we'd keep it in the back parlor. now i'm never allowed to sit in the back parlor, so what good would my chair do me? but sue said, "stuff and nonsense that boy's indulged now till he can't rest." so they put my chair in the back parlor, just as if i'd been mending it on purpose for mr. travers. i didn't say anything more about it; but after it was in the back parlor i took out one or two screws that i thought were not needed to hold it together, and used them for a boat that i was making. that night mr. travers came as usual, and after he had talked to mother awhile about the weather, and he and father had agreed that it was a shame that other folks hadn't given more money to the michigan sufferers, and that they weren't quite sure that the sufferers were a worthy object, and that a good deal of harm was done by giving away money to all sorts of people, sue said, "perhaps we had better go into the back parlor; it is cooler there, and we won't disturb father, who wants to think about something." so she and mr. travers went into the back parlor, and shut the door, and talked very loud at first about a whole lot of things, and then quieted down, as they always did. i was in the front parlor, reading "robinson crusoe," and wishing i could go and do likewise--like crusoe, i mean; for i wouldn't go and sit quietly in a back parlor with a girl, like mr. travers, not if you were to pay me for it. i can't see what some fellows see in sue. i'm sure if mr. martin or mr. travers had her pull their hair once the way she pulls mine sometimes, they wouldn't trust themselves alone with her very soon. all at once we heard a dreadful crash in the back parlor, and mr. travers said good something very loud, and sue shrieked as if she had a needle run into her. father and mother and i and the cook and the chambermaid all rushed to see what was the matter. [illustration: it had shut up like a jack-knife.] the chair that i had mended, and that sue had taken away from me, had broken down while mr. travers was sitting in it, and it had shut up like a jack-knife, and caught him so he couldn't get out. it had caught sue too, who must have run to help him, or she never would have been in that fix, with mr. travers holding her by the waist, and her arm wedged in so she couldn't pull it away. father managed to get them loose, and then sue caught me and shook me till i could hear my teeth rattle, and then she ran up-stairs and locked herself up; and mr. travers never offered to help me, but only said, "i'll settle with you some day, young man," and then he went home. but father sat down on the sofa and laughed, and said to mother, "i guess sue would have done better if she'd have let the boy keep his chair." animals. i should like to be an animal. not an insect, of course, nor a snake, but a nice kind of animal, like an elephant or a dog with a good master. animals are awfully intelligent, but they haven't any souls. there was once an elephant in a circus, and one day a boy said to him, "want a lump of sugar, old fellow?" the elephant he nodded, and felt real grateful, for elephants are very fond of lump-sugar, which is what they live on in their native forests. but the boy put a cigar instead of a lump of sugar in his mouth. the sagacious animal, instead of eating up the cigar or trying to smoke it and making himself dreadfully sick, took it and carried it across the circus to a man who kept a candy and cigar stand, and made signs that he'd sell the cigar for twelve lumps of sugar. the man gave the elephant the sugar and took the cigar, and then the intelligent animal sat down on his hind-legs and laughed at the boy who had tried to play a joke on him, until the boy felt that much ashamed that he went right home and went to bed. in the days when there were fairies--only i don't believe there ever were any fairies, and mr. travers says they were rubbish--boys were frequently changed into animals. there was once a boy who did something that made a wicked fairy angry, and she changed him into a cat, and thought she had punished him dreadfully. but the boy after he was a cat used to come and get on her back fence and yowl as if he was ten or twelve cats all night long, and she couldn't get a wink of sleep, and fell into a fever, and had to take lots of castor-oil and dreadful medicines. so she sent for the boy who was a cat, you understand, and said she'd change him back again. but he said, "oh no; i'd much rather be a cat, for i'm so fond of singing on the back fence." and the end of it was that she had to give him a tremendous pile of money before he'd consent to be changed back into a boy again. boys can play being animals, and it's great fun, only the other boys who don't play they are animals get punished for it, and i say it's unjust, especially as i never meant any harm at all, and was doing my very best to amuse the children. this is the way it happened. aunt sarah came to see us the other day, and brought her three boys with her. i don't think you ever heard of aunt sarah, and i wish i never had. she's one of father's sisters, and he thinks a great deal more of her than i would if she was my sister, and i don't think it's much credit to anybody to be a sister anyway. the boys are twins, that is, two of them are, and they are all about three or four years old. well, one day just before christmas, when it was almost as warm out-doors as it is in summer, aunt sarah said, "jimmy, i want you to take the dear children out and amuse them a few hours. i know you're so fond of your dear little cousins and what a fine manly boy you are!" so i took them out, though i didn't want to waste my time with little children, for we are responsible for wasting time, and ought to use every minute to improve ourselves. the boys wanted to see the pigs that belong to mr. taylor, who lives next door, so i took them through a hole in the fence, and they looked at the pigs, and one of them said, "oh my how sweet they are and how i would like to be a little pig and never be washed and have lots of swill!" so i said, "why don't you play you are pigs, and crawl round and grunt? it's just as easy, and i'll look at you." you see, i thought i ought to amuse them, and that this would be a nice way to teach them to amuse themselves. well, they got down on all fours and ran round and grunted, until they began to get tired of it, and then wanted to know what else pigs could do, so i told them that pigs generally rolled in the mud, and the more mud a pig could get on himself the happier he would be, and that there was a mud puddle in our back yard that would make a pig cry like a child with delight. the boys went straight to that mud puddle, and they rolled in the mud until there wasn't an inch of them that wasn't covered with mud so thick that you would have to get a crowbar to pry it off. [illustration: "we've been playing we were pigs, ma."] just then aunt sarah came to the door and called them, and when she saw them she said, "good gracious what on earth have you been doing?" and tommy, that's the oldest boy, said, "we've been playing we were pigs ma and it's real fun and wasn't jimmy good to show us how?" i think they had to boil the boys in hot water before they could get the mud off, and their clothes have all got to be sent to the poor people out west whose things were all lost in the great floods. if you'll believe it, i never got the least bit of thanks for showing the boys how to amuse themselves, but aunt sarah said that i'd get something when father came home, and she wasn't mistaken. i'd rather not mention what it was that i got, but i got it mostly on the legs, and i think bamboo canes ought not to be sold to fathers any more than poison. i was going to tell why i should like to be an animal; but as it is getting late, i must close. a pleasing experiment. every time i try to improve my mind with science i resolve that i will never do it again, and then i always go and do it. science is so dreadfully tempting that you can hardly resist it. mr. travers says that if anybody once gets into the habit of being a scientific person there is little hope that he will ever reform, and he says he has known good men who became habitual astronomers, and actually took to prophesying weather, all because they yielded to the temptation to look through telescopes, and to make figures on the black-board with chalk. i was reading a lovely book the other day. it was all about balloons and parachutes. a parachute is a thing that you fall out of a balloon with. it is something like an open umbrella, only nobody ever borrows it. if you hold a parachute over your head and drop out of a balloon, it will hold you up so that you will come down to the ground so gently that you won't be hurt the least bit. i told tom mcginnis about it, and we said we would make a parachute, and jump out of the second-story window with it. it is easy enough to make one, for all you have to do is to get a big umbrella and open it wide, and hold on to the handle. last saturday afternoon tom came over to my house, and we got ready to try what the book said was "a pleasing scientific experiment." we didn't have the least doubt that the book told the truth. but tom didn't want to be the first to jump out of the window--neither did i--and we thought we'd give sue's kitten a chance to try a parachute, and see how she liked it. sue had an umbrella that was made of silk, and was just the thing to suit the kitten. i knew sue wouldn't mind lending the umbrella, and as she was out making calls, and i couldn't ask her permission, i borrowed the umbrella and the kitten, and meant to tell her all about it as soon as she came home. we tied the kitten fast to the handle of the umbrella, so as not to hurt her, and then dropped her out of the window. the wind was blowing tremendously hard, which i supposed was a good thing, for it is the air that holds up a parachute, and of course the more wind there is, the more air there is, and the better the parachute will stay up. the minute we dropped the cat and the umbrella out of the window, the wind took them and blew them clear over the back fence into deacon smedley's pasture before they struck the ground. this was all right enough, but the parachute didn't stop after it struck the ground. it started across the country about as fast as a horse could run, hitting the ground every few minutes, and then bouncing up into the air and coming down again, and the kitten kept clawing at everything, and yowling as if she was being killed. by the time tom and i could get down-stairs the umbrella was about a quarter of a mile off. we chased it till we couldn't run any longer, but we couldn't catch it, and the last we saw of the umbrella and the cat they were making splendid time towards the river, and i'm very much afraid they were both drowned. tom and i came home again, and when we got a little rested we said we would take the big umbrella and try the pleasing scientific experiment; at least i said that tom ought to try it, for we had proved that a little silk umbrella would let a kitten down to the ground without hurting her, and of course a great big umbrella would hold tom up all right. i didn't care to try it myself, because tom was visiting me, and we ought always to give up our own pleasures in order to make our visitors happy. after a while tom said he would do it, and when everything was ready he sat on the window-ledge, with his legs hanging out, and when the wind blew hard he jumped. [illustration: he lit right on the han's head.] it is my opinion, now that the thing is all over, that the umbrella wasn't large enough, and that if tom had struck the ground he would have been hurt. he went down awfully fast, but by good-luck the grocer's man was just coming out of the kitchen-door as tom came down, and he lit right on the man's head. it is wonderful how lucky some people are, for the grocer's man might have been hurt if he hadn't happened to have a bushel basket half full of eggs with him, and as he and tom both fell into the eggs, neither of them was hurt. they were just getting out from among the eggs when sue came in with some of the ribs of her umbrella that somebody had fished out of the river and given to her. there didn't seem to be any kitten left, for sue didn't know anything about it, but father and mr. mcginnis came in a few minutes afterwards, and i had to explain the whole thing to them. this is the last "pleasing scientific experiment" i shall ever try. i don't think science is at all nice, and, besides, i am awfully sorry about the kitten. traps. a boy ought always to stand up for his sister, and protect her from everybody, and do everything to make her happy, for she can only be his sister once, and he would be so awfully sorry if she died and then he remembered that his conduct towards her had sometimes been such. mr. withers doesn't come to our house any more. one night sue saw him coming up the garden-walk, and father said, "there's the other one coming, susan; isn't this travers's evening?" and then sue said, "i do wish somebody would protect me from him he is that stupid don't i wish i need never lay eyes on him again." i made up my mind that nobody should bother my sister while she had a brother to protect her. so the next time i saw mr. withers i spoke to him kindly and firmly--that's the way grown-up people speak when they say something dreadfully unpleasant--and told him what sue had said about him, and that he ought not to bother her any more. mr. withers didn't thank me and say that he knew i was trying to do him good, which was what he ought to have said, but he looked as if he wanted to hurt somebody, and walked off without saying a word to me, and i don't think he was polite about it. he has never been at our house since. when i told sue how i had protected her she was so overcome with gratitude that she couldn't speak, and just motioned me with a book to go out of her room and leave her to feel thankful about it by herself. the book very nearly hit me on the head, but it wouldn't have hurt much if it had. mr. travers was delighted about it, and told me that i had acted like a man, and that he shouldn't forget it. the next day he brought me a beautiful book all about traps. it told how to make mornahundred different kinds of traps that would catch everything, and it was one of the best books i ever saw. our next-door neighbor, mr. schofield, keeps pigs, only he don't keep them enough, for they run all around. they come into our garden and eat up everything, and father said he would give almost anything to get rid of them. now one of the traps that my book told about was just the thing to catch pigs with. it was made out of a young tree and a rope. you bend the tree down and fasten the rope to it so as to make a slippernoose, and when the pig walks into the slippernoose the tree flies up and jerks him into the air. i thought that i couldn't please father better than to make some traps and catch some pigs; so i got a rope, and got two irishmen that were fixing the front walk to bend down two trees for me and hold them while i made the traps. this was just before supper, and i expected that the pigs would come early the next morning and get caught. it was bright moonlight that evening, and mr. travers and sue said the house was so dreadfully hot that they would go and take a walk. they hadn't been out of the house but a few minutes when we heard an awful shriek from sue, and we all rushed out to see what was the matter. mr. travers had walked into a trap, and was swinging by one leg, with his head about six feet from the ground. nobody knew him at first except me, for when a person is upside down he doesn't look natural; but i knew what was the matter, and told father that it would take two men to bend down the tree and get mr. travers loose. so they told me to run and get mr. schofield to come and help, and they got the step-ladder so that sue could sit on the top of it and hold mr. travers's head. i was so excited that i forgot all about the other trap, and, besides, sue had said things to me that hurt my feelings, and that prevented me from thinking to tell mr. schofield not to get himself caught. he ran ahead of me, because he was so anxious to help, and the first thing i knew there came an awful yell from him, and up he went into the air, and hung there by both legs, which i suppose was easier than the way mr. travers hung. then everybody went at me in the most dreadful way, except sue, who was holding mr. travers's head. they said the most unkind things to me, and sent me into the house. i heard afterwards that father got mr. schofield's boy to climb up and cut mr. travers and mr. schofield loose, and they fell on the gravel, but it didn't hurt them much, only mr. schofield broke some of his teeth, and says he is going to bring a lawsuit against father. mr. travers was just as good as he could be. he only laughed the next time he saw me, and he begged them not to punish me, because it was his fault that i ever came to know about that kind of trap. mr. travers is the nicest man that ever lived, except father, and when he marries sue i shall go and live with him, though i haven't told him yet, for i want to keep it as a pleasant surprise for him. an accident. aunt eliza never comes to our house without getting me into difficulties. i don't really think she means to do it, but it gets itself done just the same. she was at our house last week, and though i meant to behave in the most exemplifying manner, i happened by accident to do something which she said ought to fill me with remorse for the rest of my days. remorse is a dreadful thing to have. some people have it so bad that they never get over it. there was once a ghost who suffered dreadfully from remorse. he was a tall white ghost, with a large cotton umbrella. he haunted a house where he used to walk up and down, carrying his umbrella and looking awfully solemn. people used to wonder what he wanted of an umbrella, but they never asked him, because they always shrieked and fainted away when they saw the ghost, and when they were brought to cried, "save me take it away take it away." one time a boy came to the house to spend christmas. he was just a terror, was this boy. he had been a district telegraph messenger boy, and he wasn't afraid of anything. the folks told him about the ghost, but he said he didn't care for any living ghost, and had just as soon see him as not. that night the boy woke up, and saw the ghost standing in his bedroom, and he said, "thishyer is nice conduct, coming into a gentleman's room without knocking. what do you want, anyway?" the ghost replied in the most respectful way that he wanted to find the owner of the umbrella. "i stole that umbrella when i was alive," he said, "and i am filled with remorse." "i should think you would be," said the boy, "for it is the worst old cotton umbrella i ever saw." "if i can only find the owner and give it back to him," continued the ghost, "i can get a little rest; but i've been looking for him for ninety years, and i can't find him." "serves you right," said the boy, "for not sending for a messenger. you're in luck to meet me. gimme the umbrella, and i'll give it back to the owner." "bless you," said the ghost, handing the umbrella to the boy; "you have saved me. now i will go away and rest," and he turned to go out of the door, when the boy said, "see here; it's fifty cents for taking an umbrella home, and i've got to be paid in advance." "but i haven't got any money," said the ghost. "can't help that," said the boy. "you give me fifty cents, or else take your umbrella back again. we don't do any work in our office for nothing." well, the end of it all was that the ghost left the umbrella with the boy, and the next night he came back with the money, though where he got it nobody will ever know. the boy kept the money, and threw the umbrella away, for he was a real bad boy, and only made believe that he was going to find the owner, and the ghost was never seen again. but i haven't told about the trouble with aunt eliza yet. the day she came to our house mother bought a lot of live crabs from a man, and put them in a pail in the kitchen. tom mcginnis was spending the day with me, and i said to him what fun it would be to have crab races, such as we used to have down at the sea-shore last summer. he said wouldn't it, though; so each of us took three crabs, and went up-stairs into the spare bedroom, where we could be sure of not being disturbed. we had a splendid time with the crabs, and i won more than half the races. all of a sudden i heard mother calling me, and tom and i just dropped the crabs into an empty work-basket, and pushed it under the sofa out of sight, and then went down-stairs. i meant to get the crabs and take them back to the kitchen again, but i forgot all about it, for aunt eliza came just after mother had called me, and everybody was busy talking to her. of course she was put into the spare room, and as she was very tired, she said she'd lie down on the sofa until dinner-time and take her hair down. [illustration: he pinched just as hard as he could pinch.] about an hour afterwards we heard the most dreadful cries from aunt eliza's room, and everybody rushed up-stairs, because they thought she must certainly be dead. mother opened the door, and we all went in. aunt eliza was standing in the middle of the floor, and jumping up and down, and crying and shrieking at the top of her voice. one crab was hanging on to one of her fingers, and he pinched just as hard as he could pinch, and there were two more hanging on to the ends of her hair. you see, the crabs had got out of the work-basket, and some of them had climbed up the sofa while aunt eliza was asleep. of course they said it was all my fault, and perhaps it was. but i'd like to know if it's a fair thing to leave crabs where they can tempt a fellow, and then to be severe with him when he forgets to put them back. however, i forgive everybody, especially aunt eliza, who really doesn't mean any harm. a pillow fight. we've been staying at the sea-shore for a week, and having a beautiful time. i love the sea-shore, only it would be a great deal nicer if there wasn't any sea; then you wouldn't have to go in bathing. i don't like to go in bathing, for you get so awfully wet, and the water chokes you. then there are ticks on the sea-shore in the grass. a tick is an insect that begins and bites you, and never stops till you're all ettup, and then you die, and the tick keeps on growing bigger all the time. there was once a boy and a tick got on him and bit him, and kept on biting for three or four days, and it ettup the boy till the tick was almost as big as the boy had been, and the boy wasn't any bigger than a marble, and he died, and his folks felt dreadfully about it. i never saw a tick, but i know that there are lots of them on the sea-shore, and that's reason enough not to like it. we stayed at a boarding-house while we were at the sea-shore. a boarding-house is a place where they give you pure country air and a few vegetables and a little meat, and i say give me a jail where they feed you if they do keep you shut up in the dark. there were a good many people in our boarding-house, and i slept up-stairs on the third story with three other boys, and there were two more boys on the second story, and that's the way all the trouble happened. there is nothing that is better fun than a pillow fight; that is, when you're home and have got your own pillows, and know they're not loaded, as mr. travers says. he was real good about it, too, and i sha'n't forget it, for 'most any man would have been awfully mad, but he just made as if he didn't care, only sue went on about it as if i was the worst boy that ever lived. you see, we four boys on the third story thought it would be fun to have a pillow fight with the two boys on the second story. we waited till everybody had gone to bed, and then we took our pillows and went out into the hall just as quiet as could be, only charley thompson he fell over a trunk in the hall and made a tremendous noise. one of the boarders opened his door and said who's there, but we didn't answer, and presently he said "i suppose it's that cat people ought to be ashamed of themselves to keep such animals," and shut his door again. after a little while charley was able to walk, though his legs were dreadfully rough where he'd scraped them against the trunk. so we crept down-stairs and went into the boys' room, and began to pound them with the pillows. they knew what was the matter, and jumped right up and got their pillows, and went at us so fierce that they drove us out into the hall. of course this made a good deal of noise, for we knocked over the wash-stand in the room, and upset a lot of lamps that were on the table in the hall, and every time i hit one of the boys he would say "ouch!" so loud that anybody that was awake could hear him. we fought all over the hall, and as we began to get excited we made so much noise that mr. travers got up and came out to make us keep quiet. it was pretty dark in the hall, and though i knew mr. travers, i thought he couldn't tell me from the other boys, and i thought i would just give him one good whack on the head, and then we'd all run up-stairs. he wouldn't know who hit him, and, besides, who ever heard of a fellow being hurt with a pillow? so i stood close up by the wall till he came near me, and then i gave him a splendid bang over the head. it sounded as if you had hit a fellow with a club, and mr. travers dropped to the floor with an awful crash, and never spoke a word. [illustration: i never was so frightened in my life.] i never was so frightened in my life, for i thought mr. travers was killed. i called murder help fire, and every body ran out of their rooms, and fell over trunks, and there was the most awful time you ever dreamed of. at last somebody got a lamp, and somebody else got some water and picked mr. travers up and carried him into his room, and then he came to and said, "where am i susan what is the matter o now i know." he was all right, only he had a big bump on one side of his head, and he said that it was all an accident, and that he wouldn't have sue scold me, and that it served him right for not remembering that boarding-house pillows are apt to be loaded. the next morning he made me bring him my pillow, and then he found out how it came to hurt him. all the chicken bones, and the gravel-stones, and the chunks of wood that were in the pillow had got down into one end of it while we were having the fight, and when i hit mr. travers they happened to strike him on his head where it was thin, and knocked him senseless. nobody can tell how glad i am that he wasn't killed, and it's a warning to me never to have pillow fights except with pillows that i know are not loaded with chicken bones and things. i forgot to say that after that night my mother and all the boys' mothers took all the pillows away from us, for they said they were too dangerous to be left where boys could get at them. sue's wedding. sue ought to have been married a long while ago. that's what everybody says who knows her. she has been engaged to mr. travers for three years, and has had to refuse lots of offers to go to the circus with other young men. i have wanted her to get married, so that i could go and live with her and mr. travers. when i think that if it hadn't been for a mistake i made she would have been married yesterday, i find it dreadfully hard to be resigned. but we ought always to be resigned to everything when we can't help it. before i go any further i must tell about my printing-press. it belonged to tom mcginnis, but he got tired of it and sold it to me real cheap. he was going to write to the young people's post-office box and offer to exchange it for a bicycle, a st. bernard dog, and twelve good books, but he finally let me have it for a dollar and a half. it prints beautifully, and i have printed cards for ever so many people, and made three dollars and seventy cents already. i thought it would be nice to be able to print circus bills in case tom and i should ever have another circus, so i sent to the city and bought some type mornaninch high, and some beautiful yellow paper. last week it was finally agreed that sue and mr. travers should be married without waiting any longer. you should have seen what a state of mind she and mother were in. they did nothing but buy new clothes, and sew, and talk about the wedding all day long. sue was determined to be married in church, and to have six bridesmaids and six bridegrooms, and flowers and music and things till you couldn't rest. the only thing that troubled her was making up her mind who to invite. mother wanted her to invite mr. and mrs. mcfadden and the seven mcfadden girls, but sue said they had insulted her, and she couldn't bear the idea of asking the mcfadden tribe. everybody agreed that old mr. wilkinson, who once came to a party at our house with one boot and one slipper, couldn't be invited; but it was decided that every one else that was on good terms with our family should have an invitation. sue counted up all the people she meant to invite, and there was nearly three hundred of them. you would hardly believe it, but she told me that i must carry around all the invitations and deliver them myself. of course i couldn't do this without neglecting my studies and losing time, which is always precious, so i thought of a plan which would save sue the trouble of directing three hundred invitations and save me from wasting time in delivering them. i got to work with my printing-press, and printed a dozen splendid big bills about the wedding. when they were printed i cut a lot of small pictures of animals and ladies riding on horses out of some old circus bills and pasted them on the wedding bills. they were perfectly gorgeous, and you could see them four or five rods off. when they were all done i made some paste in a tin pail, and went out after dark and pasted them in good places all over the village. i put one on mr. wilkinson's front-door, and one on the fence opposite the mcfaddens' house, so they would be sure to see it. [illustration: she gave an awful shriek and fainted away.] the next afternoon father came into the house looking very stern, and carrying one of the wedding bills in his hand. he handed it to sue and said, "susan, what does this mean? these bills are pasted all over the village, and there are crowds of people reading them." sue read the bill, and then she gave an awful shriek, and fainted away, and i hurried down to the post-office to see if the mail had come in. this is what was on the wedding bills, and i am sure it was spelled all right: miss susan brown announces that she will marry mr. james travers at the church next thursday at half past seven, sharp. all the friends of the family with the exception of the mcfadden tribe and old mr. wilkinson are invited. come early and bring lots of flowers. now what was there to find fault with in that? it was printed beautifully, and every word was spelled right, with the exception of the name of the church, and i didn't put that in because i wasn't quite sure how to spell it. the bill saved sue all the trouble of sending out invitations, and it said everything that anybody could want to know about the wedding. any other girl but sue would have been pleased, and would have thanked me for all my trouble, but she was as angry as if i had done something real bad. mr. travers was almost as angry as sue, and it was the first time he was ever angry with me. i am afraid now that he won't let me ever come and live with him. he hasn't said a word about my coming since the wedding bills were put up. as for the wedding, it has been put off, and sue says she will go to new york to be married, for she would perfectly die if she were to have a wedding at home after that boy's dreadful conduct. what is worse, i am to be sent away to boarding-school, and all because i made a mistake in printing the wedding bills without first asking sue how she would like to have them printed. our new dog. i've had another dog. that makes three dogs that i've had, and i haven't been allowed to keep any of them. grown-up folks don't seem to care how much a boy wants society. perhaps if they were better acquainted with dogs they'd understand boys better than they do. about a month ago there were lots of burglars in our town, and father said he believed he'd have to get a dog. mr. withers told father he'd get a dog for him, and the next day he brought the most beautiful siberian blood-hound you ever saw. the first night we had him we chained him up in the yard, and the neighbors threw things at him all night. nobody in our house got a wink of sleep, for the dog never stopped barking except just long enough to yell when something hit him. there was mornascuttleful of big lumps of coal in the yard in the morning, besides seven old boots, two chunks of wood, and a bushel of broken crockery. father said that the house was the proper place for the dog at night; so the next night we left him in the front hall. he didn't bark any all night, but he got tired of staying in the front hall, and wandered all over the house. i suppose he felt lonesome, for he came into my room, and got on to the bed, and nearly suffocated me. i woke up dreaming that i was in a melon patch, and had to eat three hundred green watermelons or be sent to jail, and it was a great comfort when i woke up and found it was only the dog. he knocked the water-pitcher over with his tail in the morning, and then thought he saw a cat under my bed, and made such an awful noise that father came up, and told me i ought to be ashamed to disturb the whole family so early in the morning. after that the dog was locked up in the kitchen at night, and father had to come down early and let him out, because the cook didn't dare to go into the kitchen. we let him run loose in the yard in the daytime, until he had an accident with mr. martin. we'd all been out to take tea and spend the evening with the wilkinsons, and when we got home about nine o'clock, there was mr. martin standing on the piazza, with the dog holding on to his cork-leg. mr. martin had come to the house to make a call at about seven o'clock, and as soon as he stepped on the piazza the dog caught him by the leg without saying a word. every once in a while the dog would let go just long enough to spit out a few pieces of cork and take a fresh hold, but mr. martin didn't dare to stir for fear he would take hold of the other leg, which of course would have hurt more than the cork one. mr. martin was a good deal tired and discouraged, and couldn't be made to understand that the dog thought he was a burglar, and tried to do his duty, as we should all try to do. the way i came to lose the dog was this: aunt eliza came to see us last week, and brought her little boy harry, who once went bee-hunting with me. harry, as i told you, is six years old, and he isn't so bad as he might be considering his age. the second day after they came, harry and i were in tom mcginnis's yard, when tom said he knew where there was a woodchuck down in the pasture, and suppose we go and hunt him. so i told harry to go home and get the dog, and bring him down to the pasture where tom said the woodchuck lived. i told him to untie the dog--for we had kept him tied up since his accident with mr. martin--and to keep tight hold of the rope, so that the dog couldn't get away from him. harry said he'd tie the rope around his waist, and then the dog couldn't possibly pull it away from him, and tom and i both said it was a good plan. [illustration: how that dog did pull!] well, we waited for that boy and the dog till six o'clock, and they never came. when i got home everybody wanted to know what had become of harry. he was gone and the dog was gone, and nobody knew where they were, and aunt eliza was crying, and said she knew that horrid dog had eaten her boy up. father and i and mr. travers had to go and hunt for harry. we hunted all over the town, and at last a man told us that he had seen a boy and a dog going on a run across deacon smith's corn-field. so we went through the corn-field and found their track, for they had broken down the corn just as if a wagon had driven through it. when we came to the fence on the other side of the field we found harry on one side of the fence and the dog on the other. harry had tied the dog's rope round his waist, and couldn't untie it again, and the dog had run away with him. when they came to the fence the dog had squeezed through a hole that was too small for harry, and wouldn't come back again. so they were both caught in a trap. how that dog did pull! harry was almost cut in two, for the dog kept pulling at the rope all the time with all his might. when we got home aunt eliza said that either she or that brute must leave, and father gave the dog away to the butcher. he was the most elegant dog i ever had, and i don't suppose i shall ever have another. lightning. mr. franklin was one of the greatest men that ever lived. he could carry a loaf of bread in each hand and eat another, all at the same time, and he could invent anything that anybody wanted, without hurting himself or cutting his fingers. his greatest invention was lightning, and he invented it with a kite. he made a kite with sticks made out of telegraph wire, and sent it up in a thunder-storm till it reached where the lightning is. the lightning ran down the string, and franklin collected it in a bottle, and sold it for ever so much money. so he got very rich after a while, and could buy the most beautiful and expensive kites that any fellow ever had. i read about mr. franklin in a book that father gave me. he said i was reading too many stories, and just you take this book and read it through carefully and i hope it will do you some good anyway it will keep you out of mischief. i thought that it would please father if i should get some lightning just as franklin did. i told tom mcginnis about it, and he said he would help if i would give him half of all i made by selling the lightning. i wouldn't do this, of course, but finally tom said he'd help me anyhow, and trust me to pay him a fair price; so we went to work. we made a tremendously big kite, and the first time there came a thunder-storm we put it up; but the paper got wet, and it came down before it got up to the lightning. so we made another, and covered it with white cloth that used to be one of mrs. mcginnis's sheets, only tom said he knew she didn't want it any more. we sent up this kite the next time there was a thunder-storm, and tied the string to the second-story window where the blinds hook on, and let the end of the string hang down into a bottle. it only thundered once or twice, but the lightning ran down the string pretty fast, and filled the bottle half full. it looked like water, only it was a little green, and when it stopped running into the bottle we took the lightning down-stairs to try it. i gave a little of it to the cat to drink, but it didn't hurt her a bit, and she just purred. at last tom said he didn't believe it would hurt anything; so he tasted some of it, but it didn't hurt him at all. the trouble was that the lightning was too weak to do any harm. the thunder-shower had been such a little one that it didn't have any strong lightning in it; so we threw away what was in the bottle, and agreed to try to get some good strong lightning whenever we could get a chance. it didn't rain for a long time after that, and i nearly forgot all about franklin and lightning, until one day i heard mr. travers read in the newspaper about a man who was found lying dead on the road with a bottle of jersey lightning, and that, of course, explains what was the matter with him my dear susan. i understood more about it than susan did, for she does not know anything about franklin being a girl, though i will admit it isn't her fault. you see, the cork must have come out of the man's bottle, and the lightning had leaked out and burned him to death. the very next day we had a tremendous thunder-shower, and i told tom that now was the time to get some lightning that would be stronger than anything they could make in new jersey. so we got the kite up, and got ourselves soaked through with water. we tied it to the window-ledge just as we did the first time, and put the end of the string in a tin pail, so that we could collect more lightning than one bottle would hold. it was so cold standing by the window in our wet clothes that we thought we'd go to my room and change them. [illustration: we hurried into the room.] all at once there was the most awful flash of lightning and the most tremendous clap of thunder that was ever heard. father and mother and sue were down-stairs, and they rushed up-stairs crying the darling boy is killed. that meant me. but i wasn't killed, neither was tom, and we hurried into the room where we were collecting lightning to see what was the matter. there we found the tin pail knocked into splinters and the lightning spilled all over the floor. it had set fire to the carpet, and burned a hole right through the floor into the kitchen, and pretty much broke up the whole kitchen stove. father cut the kite-string and let the kite go, and told me that it was as much as my life was worth to send up a kite in a thunder-storm. you see, so much lightning will come down the string that it will kill anybody that stands near it. i know this is true, because father says so, but i'd like to know how franklin managed. i forgot to say that father wasn't a bit pleased. my camera. i had a birthday last week. when i woke up in the morning i found right by the side of my bed a mahogany box, with a round hole on one side of it and a ground-glass door on the other side. i thought it was a new kind of rat-trap; and so i got out of bed and got a piece of cheese, and set the trap in the garret, which is about half full of rats. but it turned out that the box wasn't a rat-trap. mr. travers gave it to me, and when he came to dinner he explained that it was a camera for taking photographs, and that it would improve my mind tremendously if i would learn to use it. i soon found out that there isn't anything much better than a camera, except, of course, a big dog, which i can't have, because mother says a dog tracks dirt all over the house, and father says a dog is dangerous, and sue says a dog jumps all over you and tears your dresses a great good-for-nothing ugly beast. it's very hard to be kept apart from dogs; but our parents always know what is best for us, though we may not see it at the time; and i don't believe father really knows how it feels when your trousers are thin and you haven't any boots on, so it stings your legs every time. but i was going to write about the camera. you take photographs with the camera--people and things. there's a lens on one end of it, and when you point it at anything, you see a picture of it upside down on the little glass door at the back of the camera. then you put a dry plate, which is a piece of glass with chemicals on it, in the camera, and then you take it out and put it in some more chemicals, the right name of which is a developer, and then you see a picture on the dry plate, only it is right side up, and not like the one on the ground-glass door. it's the best fun in the world taking pictures; and i can't see that it improves your mind a bit--at least not enough to worry you. you have to practise a great deal before you can take a picture, and everybody who knows anything about it tells you to do something different. there are five men in our town who take photographs, and each one tells me to use a different kind of dry plate and a different kind of developer, and that all the other men may mean well, and they hope they do, but people ought not to tell a boy to use bad plates and poor developers; and don't you pay any attention to them, jimmy, but do as i tell you. i've got so now that i make beautiful pictures. i took a photograph of sue the other day, and another of old deacon brewster, and you can tell which is which just as easy as anything, if you look at them in the right way, and remember that deacon brewster, being a man, is smoking a pipe, and that, of course, a picture of sue wouldn't have a pipe in it. sue don't like to have me take pictures, but that's because she is a girl, and girls haven't the kind of minds that can understand art. mr. mcginnis--tom's father--don't like my camera either; but that's because he is near-sighted, and thought it was a gun when i pointed it at him, and he yelled, "don't shoot, for mercy's sake!" and went out of our front yard and over the fence in lessenasecond. when he found out what it was he said he never dreamed of being frightened, but had business down-town, and he didn't think boys ought to be trusted with such things, anyway. i made a great discovery last week. you know i said that when you look through the camera at anything you see it upside down on the ground glass. this doesn't look right, and unless you stand on your head when you take a photograph, which is very hard work, you can't help feeling that the picture is all wrong. i was going to take a photograph of a big engraving that belongs to father, when i thought of turning it upside down. this made it look all right on the ground glass. this is my discovery; and if men who take photographs could only get the people they photograph to stand on their heads, they would get beautiful pictures. mr. travers says that i ought to get a patent for this discovery, but so far it has only got me into trouble. saturday afternoon everybody was out of the house except me and the baby and the nurse, and she was down in the kitchen, and the baby was asleep. so i thought i would take a picture of the baby. of course it wouldn't sit still for me; so i thought of the way the indians strap their babies to a flat board, which keeps them from getting round-shouldered, and is very convenient besides. i got a nice flat piece of board and tied the baby to it, and put him on a table, and leaned him up against the wall. then i remembered my discovery, and just stood the baby on his head so as to get a good picture of him. [illustration: i did get a beautiful picture.] i did get a beautiful picture. at least i am sure it would have been if i hadn't been interrupted while i was developing it. i forgot to put the baby right side up, and in about ten minutes mother came in and found it, and then she came up into my room and interrupted me. father came home a little later and interrupted me some more. so the picture was spoiled, and so was father's new rattan. of course i deserved it for forgetting the baby; but it didn't hurt it any to stand on its head a little while, for babies haven't any brains like boys and grown-up people, and, besides, it's the solemn truth that i meant to turn the baby right side up, only i forgot it. freckles. after the time i tried to photograph the baby, my camera was taken away from me and locked up for ever so long. sue said i wasn't to be trusted with it and it would go off some day when you think it isn't loaded and hurt somebody worse than you hurt the baby you good-for-nothing little nuisance. father kept the camera locked up for about a month, and said when i see some real reformation in you james you shall have it back again. but i shall never have it back again now, and if i did, it wouldn't be of any use, for i'm never to be allowed to have any more chemicals. father is going to give the camera to the missionaries, so that they can photograph heathen and things, and all the chemicals i had have been thrown away, just because i made a mistake in using them. i don't say it didn't serve me right, but i can't help wishing that father would change his mind. i have never said much about my other sister, lizzie, because she is nothing but a girl. she is twelve years old, and of course she plays with dolls, and doesn't know enough to play base-ball or do anything really useful. she scarcely ever gets me into scrapes, though, and that's where sue might follow her example. however, it was lizzie who got me into the scrape about my chemicals, though she didn't mean to, poor girl. one night mr. travers came to tea, and everybody was talking about freckles. mr. travers said that they were real fashionable, and that all the ladies were trying to get them. i am sure i don't see why. i've mornamillion freckles, and i'd be glad to let anybody have them who would agree to take them away. sue said she thought freckles were perfectly lovely, and it's a good thing she thinks so, for she has about as many as she can use; and lizzie said she'd give anything if she only had a few nice freckles on her cheeks. mother asked what made freckles, and mr. travers said the sun made them just as it makes photographs. "jimmy will understand it," said mr. travers. "he knows how the sun makes a picture when it shines on a photograph plate, and all his freckles were made just in the same way. without the sun there wouldn't be any freckles." this sounded reasonable, but then mr. travers forgot all about chemicals. as i said, the last time i wrote, chemicals is something in a bottle like medicine, and you have to put it on a photograph plate so as to make the picture that the sun has made show itself. now if chemicals will do this with a photograph plate, it ought to do it with a girl's cheek. you take a girl and let the sun shine on her cheek, and put chemicals on her, and it ought to bring out splendid freckles. i'm very fond of lizzie, though she is a girl, because she minds her own business, and don't meddle with my things and get me into scrapes. i'd have given her all my freckles if i could, as soon as i knew she wanted them, and as soon as mr. travers said that freckles were made just like photographs, i made up my mind i would make some for her. so i told her she should have the best freckles in town if she'd come up to my room the next morning, and let me expose her to the sun and then put chemicals on her. lizzie has confidence in me, which is one of her best qualities, and shows that she is a good girl. she was so pleased when i promised to make freckles for her; and as soon as the sun got up high enough to shine into my window she came up to my room all ready to be freckled. i exposed her to the sun for six seconds. i only exposed my photograph plates three seconds, but i thought that lizzie might not be quite as sensitive, and so i exposed her longer. then i took her into the dark closet where i kept the chemicals, and poured chemicals on her cheeks. i made her hold her handkerchief on her face so that the chemicals couldn't get into her eyes and run down her neck, for she wanted freckles only on her cheeks. i watched her very carefully, but the freckles didn't come out. i put more chemicals on her, and rubbed it in with a cloth; but it was no use, the freckles wouldn't come. i don't know what the reason was. perhaps i hadn't exposed her long enough, or perhaps the chemicals was weak. anyway, not a single freckle could i make. [illustration: mother and sue made a dreadful fuss.] so after a while i gave it up, and told her it was no use, and she could go and wash her face. she cried a little because she was disappointed, but she cried more afterwards. you see, the chemicals made her cheek almost black, and she couldn't wash it off. mother and sue made a dreadful fuss about it, and sent for the doctor, who said he thought it would wear off in a year or so, and wouldn't kill the child or do her very much harm. this is the reason why they took my chemicals away, and promised to give my camera to the missionaries. all i meant was to please lizzie, and i never knew the chemicals would turn her black. but it isn't the first time i have tried to be kind and have been made to suffer for it. santa claus. the other day i was at tom mcginnis's house, and he had some company. he was a big boy, and something like a cousin of tom's. would you believe it, that fellow said there wasn't any santa claus? now that boy distinctly did tell--but i won't mention it. we should never reveal the wickedness of other people, and ought always to be thankful that we are worse than anybody else. otherwise we should be like the pharisee, and he was very bad. i knew for certain that it was a fib tom mcginnis's cousin told. but all the same, the more i thought about it the more i got worried. if there is a santa claus--and of course there is--how could he get up on the top of the house, so he could come down the chimney, unless he carried a big ladder with him; and if he did this, how could he carry presents enough to fill mornahundred stockings? and then how could he help getting the things all over soot from the chimney, and how does he manage when the chimney is all full of smoke and fire, as it always is at christmas! but then, as the preacher says, he may be supernatural--i had to look that word up in the dictionary. the story tom mcginnis's cousin told kept on worrying me, and finally i began to think how perfectly awful it would be if there was any truth in it. how the children would feel! there's going to be no end of children at our house this christmas, and aunt eliza and her two small boys are here already. i heard mother and aunt eliza talking about christmas the other day, and they agreed that all the children should sleep on cot bedsteads in the back parlor, so that they could open their stockings together, and mother said, "you know, eliza, there's a big fireplace in that room, and the children can hang their stockings around the chimney." now i know i did wrong, but it was only because i did not want the children to be disappointed. we should always do to others and so on, and i know i should have been grateful if anybody had tried to get up a santa claus for me in case of the real one being out of repair. neither do i blame mother, though if she hadn't spoken about the fireplace in the way she did, it would never have happened. but i do think that they ought to have made a little allowance for me, since i was only trying to help make the christmas business successful. it all happened yesterday. tom mcginnis had come to see me, and all the folks had gone out to ride except aunt eliza's little boy harry. we were talking about christmas, and i was telling tom how all the children were to sleep in the back parlor, and how there was a chimney there that was just the thing for santa claus. we went and looked at the chimney, and then i said to tom what fun it would be to dress up and come down the chimney and pretend to be santa claus, and how it would amuse the children, and how pleased the grown-up folks would be, for they are always wanting us to amuse them. tom agreed with me that it would be splendid fun, and said we ought to practise coming down the chimney, so that we could do it easily on christmas-eve. he said he thought i ought to do it, because it was our house; but i said no, he was a visitor, and it would be mean and selfish in me to deprive him of any pleasure. but tom wouldn't do it. he said that he wasn't feeling very well, and that he didn't like to take liberties with our chimney, and, besides, he was afraid that he was so big that he wouldn't fit the chimney. then we thought of harry, and agreed that he was just the right size. of course harry said he'd do it when we asked him, for he isn't afraid of anything, and is so proud to be allowed to play with tom and me that he would do anything we asked him to do. well, harry took off his coat and shoes, and we all went up to the roof, and tom and i boosted harry till he got on the top of the chimney and put his legs in it and slid down. he went down like a flash, for he didn't know enough to brace himself the way the chimney-sweeps do. tom and i we hurried down to the back parlor to meet him; but he had not arrived yet, though the fireplace was full of ashes and soot. we supposed he had stopped on the way to rest; but after a while we thought we heard a noise, like somebody calling, that was a great way off. we went up on the roof, thinking harry might have climbed back up the chimney, but he wasn't there. when we got on the top of the chimney we could hear him plain enough. he was crying and yelling for help, for he was stuck about half-way down the chimney, and couldn't get either up or down. we talked it over for some time, and decided that the best thing to do was to get a rope and let it down to him, and pull him out. so i got the clothes-line and let it down, but harry's arms were jammed close to his sides, so he couldn't get hold of it. tom said we ought to make a slippernoose, catch it over harry's head, and pull him out that way, but i knew that harry wasn't very strong, and i was afraid if we did that he might come apart. then i proposed that we should get a long pole and push harry down the rest of the chimney, but after hunting all over the yard we couldn't find a pole that was long enough, so we had to give that plan up. all this time harry was crying in the most discontented way, although we were doing all we could for him. that's the way with little boys. they never have any gratitude, and are always discontented. as we couldn't poke harry down, tom said let's try to poke him up. so we told harry to be patient and considerate, and we went down-stairs again, and took the longest pole we could find and pushed it up the chimney. bushels of soot came down, and flew over everything, but we couldn't reach harry with the pole. by this time we began to feel discouraged. we were awfully sorry for harry, because, if we couldn't get him out before the folks came home, tom and i would be in a dreadful scrape. then i thought that if we were to build a little fire the draught might draw harry out. tom thought it was an excellent plan. so i started a fire, but it didn't loosen harry a bit, and when we went on the roof to meet him we heard him crying louder than ever, and saying that something was on fire in the chimney and was choking him. i knew what to do, though tom didn't, and, to tell the truth, he was terribly frightened. we ran down and got two pails of water, and poured them down the chimney. that put the fire out, but you would hardly believe that harry was more unreasonable than ever, and said we were trying to drown him. there is no comfort in wearing yourself out in trying to please little boys. you can't satisfy them, no matter how much trouble you take, and for my part i am tired of trying to please harry, and shall let him amuse himself the rest of the time he is at our house. [illustration: they got harry out all safe.] we had tried every plan we could think of to get harry out of the chimney, but none of them succeeded. tom said that if we were to pour a whole lot of oil down the chimney it would make it so slippery that harry would slide right down into the back parlor, but i wouldn't do it, because i knew the oil would spoil harry's clothes, and that would make aunt eliza angry. all of a sudden i heard a carriage stop at our gate, and there were the grown folks, who had come home earlier than i had supposed they would. tom said that he thought he would go home before his own folks began to get uneasy about him, so he went out of the back gate, and left me to explain things. they had to send for some men to come and cut a hole through the wall. but they got harry out all safe; and after they found that he wasn't a bit hurt, instead of thanking me for all tom and i had done for him, they seemed to think that i deserved the worst punishment i ever had, and i got it. i shall never make another attempt to amuse children on christmas-eve. the end the last of the peterkins, with others of their kin. by lucretia p. hale. * * * * * boston: little, brown, and company. 1906. _copyright, 1886_, by roberts brothers. printers s.j. parkhill & co., boston, u.s.a. to the lady from philadelphia, beloved by the peterkin family, this book is dedicated. * * * * * preface. the following papers contain the last records of the peterkin family, who unhappily ventured to leave their native land and have never returned. elizabeth eliza's commonplace book has been found among the family papers, and will be published here for the first time. it is evident that she foresaw that the family were ill able to contend with the commonplace struggle of life; and we may not wonder that they could not survive the unprecedented, far away from the genial advice of friends, especially that of the lady from philadelphia. it is feared that mr. and mrs. peterkin lost their lives after leaving tobolsk, perhaps in some vast conflagration. agamemnon and solomon john were probably sacrificed in some effort to join in or control the disturbances which arose in the distant places where they had established themselves,--agamemnon in madagascar, solomon john in rustchuk. the little boys have merged into men in some german university, while elizabeth eliza must have been lost in the mazes of the russian language. * * * * * contents. the last of the peterkins. chapter i. elizabeth eliza writes a paper ii. elizabeth eliza's commonplace-book iii. the peterkins practise travelling iv. the peterkins' excursion for maple sugar v. the peterkins "at home" vi. mrs. peterkin in egypt vii. mrs. peterkin faints on the great pyramid viii. the last of the peterkins others of their kin. ix. lucilla's diary x. jedidiah's noah's ark xi. carrie's three wishes xii. "where can those boys be?" xiii. a place for oscar xiv. the first needle * * * * * the last of the peterkins. i. elizabeth eliza writes a paper. elizabeth eliza joined the circumambient club with the idea that it would be a long time before she, a new member, would have to read a paper. she would have time to hear the other papers read, and to see how it was done; and she would find it easy when her turn came. by that time she would have some ideas; and long before she would be called upon, she would have leisure to sit down and write out something. but a year passed away, and the time was drawing near. she had, meanwhile, devoted herself to her studies, and had tried to inform herself on all subjects by way of preparation. she had consulted one of the old members of the club as to the choice of a subject. "oh, write about anything," was the answer,--"anything you have been thinking of." elizabeth eliza was forced to say she had not been thinking lately. she had not had time. the family had moved, and there was always an excitement about something, that prevented her sitting down to think. "why not write out your family adventures?" asked the old member. elizabeth eliza was sure her mother would think it made them too public; and most of the club papers, she observed, had some thought in them. she preferred to find an idea. [illustration: elizabeth eliza writes a paper.] so she set herself to the occupation of thinking. she went out on the piazza to think; she stayed in the house to think. she tried a corner of the china-closet. she tried thinking in the cars, and lost her pocket-book; she tried it in the garden, and walked into the strawberry bed. in the house and out of the house, it seemed to be the same,--she could not think of anything to think of. for many weeks she was seen sitting on the sofa or in the window, and nobody disturbed her. "she is thinking about her paper," the family would say, but she only knew that she could not think of anything. agamemnon told her that many writers waited till the last moment, when inspiration came which was much finer than anything studied. elizabeth eliza thought it would be terrible to wait till the last moment, if the inspiration should not come! she might combine the two ways,--wait till a few days before the last, and then sit down and write anyhow. this would give a chance for inspiration, while she would not run the risk of writing nothing. she was much discouraged. perhaps she had better give it up? but, no; everybody wrote a paper: if not now, she would have to do it sometime! and at last the idea of a subject came to her! but it was as hard to find a moment to write as to think. the morning was noisy, till the little boys had gone to school; for they had begun again upon their regular course, with the plan of taking up the study of cider in october. and after the little boys had gone to school, now it was one thing, now it was another,--the china-closet to be cleaned, or one of the neighbors in to look at the sewing-machine. she tried after dinner, but would fall asleep. she felt that evening would be the true time, after the cares of day were over. the peterkins had wire mosquito-nets all over the house,--at every door and every window. they were as eager to keep out the flies as the mosquitoes. the doors were all furnished with strong springs, that pulled the doors to as soon as they were opened. the little boys had practised running in and out of each door, and slamming it after them. this made a good deal of noise, for they had gained great success in making one door slam directly after another, and at times would keep up a running volley of artillery, as they called it, with the slamming of the doors. mr. peterkin, however, preferred it to flies. so elizabeth eliza felt she would venture to write of a summer evening with all the windows open. she seated herself one evening in the library, between two large kerosene lamps, with paper, pen, and ink before her. it was a beautiful night, with the smell of the roses coming in through the mosquito-nets, and just the faintest odor of kerosene by her side. she began upon her work. but what was her dismay! she found herself immediately surrounded with mosquitoes. they attacked her at every point. they fell upon her hand as she moved it to the inkstand; they hovered, buzzing, over her head; they planted themselves under the lace of her sleeve. if she moved her left hand to frighten them off from one point, another band fixed themselves upon her right hand. not only did they flutter and sting, but they sang in a heathenish manner, distracting her attention as she tried to write, as she tried to waft them off. nor was this all. myriads of june-bugs and millers hovered round, flung themselves into the lamps, and made disagreeable funeral-pyres of themselves, tumbling noisily on her paper in their last unpleasant agonies. occasionally one darted with a rush toward elizabeth eliza's head. if there was anything elizabeth eliza had a terror of, it was a june-bug. she had heard that they had a tendency to get into the hair. one had been caught in the hair of a friend of hers, who had long luxuriant hair. but the legs of the june-bug were caught in it like fish-hooks, and it had to be cut out, and the june-bug was only extricated by sacrificing large masses of the flowing locks. elizabeth eliza flung her handkerchief over her head. could she sacrifice what hair she had to the claims of literature? she gave a cry of dismay. the little boys rushed in a moment to the rescue. they flapped newspapers, flung sofa-cushions; they offered to stand by her side with fly-whisks, that she might be free to write. but the struggle was too exciting for her, and the flying insects seemed to increase. moths of every description--large brown moths, small, delicate white millers--whirled about her, while the irritating hum of the mosquito kept on more than ever. mr. peterkin and the rest of the family came in to inquire about the trouble. it was discovered that each of the little boys had been standing in the opening of a wire door for some time, watching to see when elizabeth eliza would have made her preparations and would begin to write. countless numbers of dorbugs and winged creatures of every description had taken occasion to come in. it was found that they were in every part of the house. "we might open all the blinds and screens," suggested agamemnon, "and make a vigorous onslaught and drive them all out at once." "i do believe there are more inside than out now," said solomon john. "the wire nets, of course," said agamemnon, "keep them in now." "we might go outside," proposed solomon john, "and drive in all that are left. then to-morrow morning, when they are all torpid, kill them and make collections of them." agamemnon had a tent which he had provided in case he should ever go to the adirondacks, and he proposed using it for the night. the little boys were wild for this. mrs. peterkin thought she and elizabeth eliza would prefer trying to sleep in the house. but perhaps elizabeth eliza would go on with her paper with more comfort out of doors. a student's lamp was carried out, and she was established on the steps of the back piazza, while screens were all carefully closed to prevent the mosquitoes and insects from flying out. but it was of no use. there were outside still swarms of winged creatures that plunged themselves about her, and she had not been there long before a huge miller flung himself into the lamp and put it out. she gave up for the evening. still the paper went on. "how fortunate," exclaimed elizabeth eliza, "that i did not put it off till the last evening!" having once begun, she persevered in it at every odd moment of the day. agamemnon presented her with a volume of "synonymes," which was of great service to her. she read her paper, in its various stages, to agamemnon first, for his criticism, then to her father in the library, then to mr. and mrs. peterkin together, next to solomon john, and afterward to the whole family assembled. she was almost glad that the lady from philadelphia was not in town, as she wished it to be her own unaided production. she declined all invitations for the week before the night of the club, and on the very day she kept her room with _eau sucrée_, that she might save her voice. solomon john provided her with brown's bronchial troches when the evening came, and mrs. peterkin advised a handkerchief over her head, in case of june-bugs. it was, however, a cool night. agamemnon escorted her to the house. the club met at ann maria bromwick's. no gentlemen were admitted to the regular meetings. there were what solomon john called "occasional annual meetings," to which they were invited, when all the choicest papers of the year were re-read. elizabeth eliza was placed at the head of the room, at a small table, with a brilliant gas-jet on one side. it was so cool the windows could be closed. mrs. peterkin, as a guest, sat in the front row. this was her paper, as elizabeth eliza read it, for she frequently inserted fresh expressions:-the sun. it is impossible that much can be known about it. this is why we have taken it up as a subject. we mean the sun that lights us by day and leaves us by night. in the first place, it is so far off. no measuring-tapes could reach it; and both the earth and the sun are moving about so, that it would be difficult to adjust ladders to reach it, if we could. of course, people have written about it, and there are those who have told us how many miles off it is. but it is a very large number, with a great many figures in it; and though it is taught in most if not all of our public schools, it is a chance if any one of the scholars remembers exactly how much it is. it is the same with its size. we cannot, as we have said, reach it by ladders to measure it; and if we did reach it, we should have no measuring-tapes large enough, and those that shut up with springs are difficult to use in a high place. we are told, it is true, in a great many of the school-books, the size of the sun; but, again, very few of those who have learned the number have been able to remember it after they have recited it, even if they remembered it then. and almost all of the scholars have lost their school-books, or have neglected to carry them home, and so they are not able to refer to them,--i mean, after leaving school. i must say that is the case with me, i should say with us, though it was different. the older ones gave their school-books to the younger ones, who took them back to school to lose them, or who have destroyed them when there were no younger ones to go to school. i should say there are such families. what i mean is, the fact that in some families there are no younger children to take off the school-books. but even then they are put away on upper shelves, in closets or in attics, and seldom found if wanted,--if then, dusty. of course, we all know of a class of persons called astronomers, who might be able to give us information on the subject in hand, and who probably do furnish what information is found in school-books. it should be observed, however, that these astronomers carry on their observations always in the night. now, it is well known that the sun does not shine in the night. indeed, that is one of the peculiarities of the night, that there is no sun to light us, so we have to go to bed as long as there is nothing else we can do without its light, unless we use lamps, gas, or kerosene, which is very well for the evening, but would be expensive all night long; the same with candles. how, then, can we depend upon their statements, if not made from their own observation?--i mean, if they never saw the sun? we cannot expect that astronomers should give us any valuable information with regard to the sun, which they never see, their occupation compelling them to be up at night. it is quite likely that they never see it; for we should not expect them to sit up all day as well as all night, as, under such circumstances, their lives would not last long. indeed, we are told that their name is taken from the word _aster_, which means "star;" the word is "aster--know--more." this, doubtless, means that they know more about the stars than other things. we see, therefore, that their knowledge is confined to the stars, and we cannot trust what they have to tell us of the sun. there are other asters which should not be mixed up with these,--we mean those growing by the wayside in the fall of the year. the astronomers, from their nocturnal habits, can scarcely be acquainted with them; but as it does not come within our province, we will not inquire. we are left, then, to seek our own information about the sun. but we are met with a difficulty. to know a thing, we must look at it. how can we look at the sun? it is so very bright that our eyes are dazzled in gazing upon it. we have to turn away, or they would be put out,--the sight, i mean. it is true, we might use smoked glass, but that is apt to come off on the nose. how, then, if we cannot look at it, can we find out about it? the noonday would seem to be the better hour, when it is the sunniest; but, besides injuring the eyes, it is painful to the neck to look up for a long time. it is easy to say that our examination of this heavenly body should take place at sunrise, when we could look at it more on a level, without having to endanger the spine. but how many people are up at sunrise? those who get up early do it because they are compelled to, and have something else to do than look at the sun. the milkman goes forth to carry the daily milk, the ice-man to leave the daily ice. but either of these would be afraid of exposing their vehicles to the heating orb of day,--the milkman afraid of turning the milk, the ice-man timorous of melting his ice,--and they probably avoid those directions where they shall meet the sun's rays. the student, who might inform us, has been burning the midnight oil. the student is not in the mood to consider the early sun. there remains to us the evening, also,--the leisure hour of the day. but, alas! our houses are not built with an adaptation to this subject. they are seldom made to look toward the sunset. a careful inquiry and close observation, such as have been called for in preparation of this paper, have developed the fact that not a single house in this town faces the sunset! there may be windows looking that way, but in such a case there is always a barn between. i can testify to this from personal observations, because, with my brothers, we have walked through the several streets of this town with notebooks, carefully noting every house looking upon the sunset, and have found none from which the sunset could be studied. sometimes it was the next house, sometimes a row of houses, or its own wood-house, that stood in the way. of course, a study of the sun might be pursued out of doors. but in summer, sunstroke would be likely to follow; in winter, neuralgia and cold. and how could you consult your books, your dictionaries, your encyclopædias? there seems to be no hour of the day for studying the sun. you might go to the east to see it at its rising, or to the west to gaze upon its setting, but--you don't. * * * * * here elizabeth eliza came to a pause. she had written five different endings, and had brought them all, thinking, when the moment came, she would choose one of them. she was pausing to select one, and inadvertently said, to close the phrase, "you don't." she had not meant to use the expression, which she would not have thought sufficiently imposing,--it dropped out unconsciously,--but it was received as a close with rapturous applause. she had read slowly, and now that the audience applauded at such a length, she had time to feel she was much exhausted and glad of an end. why not stop there, though there were some pages more? applause, too, was heard from the outside. some of the gentlemen had come,--mr. peterkin, agamemnon, and solomon john, with others,--and demanded admission. "since it is all over, let them in," said ann maria bromwick. elizabeth eliza assented, and rose to shake hands with her applauding friends. ii. elizabeth eliza's commonplace-book. i am going to jot down, from time to time, any suggestions that occur to me that will be of use in writing another paper, in case i am called upon. i might be asked unexpectedly for certain occasions, if anybody happened to be prevented from coming to a meeting. i have not yet thought of a subject, but i think that is not of as much consequence as to gather the ideas. it seems as if the ideas might suggest the subject, even if the subject does not suggest the ideas. now, often a thought occurs to me in the midst, perhaps, of conversation with others; but i forget it afterwards, and spend a great deal of time in trying to think what it was i was thinking of, which might have been very valuable. i have indeed, of late, been in the habit of writing such thoughts on scraps of paper, and have often left the table to record some idea that occurred to me; but, looking up the paper and getting ready to write it, the thought has escaped me. then again, when i have written it, it has been on the backs of envelopes or the off sheet of a note, and it has been lost, perhaps thrown into the scrap-basket. amanda is a little careless about such things; and, indeed, i have before encouraged her in throwing away old envelopes, which do not seem of much use otherwise, so perhaps she is not to blame. * * * * * the more i think of it, the more does it seem to me there would be an advantage if everybody should have the same number to their houses,--of course not everybody, but everybody acquainted. it is so hard to remember all the numbers; the streets you are not so likely to forget. friends might combine to have the same number. what made me think of it was that we do have the same number as the easterlys. to be sure, we are out of town, and they are in boston; but it makes it so convenient, when i go into town to see the easterlys, to remember that their number is the same as ours. * * * * * agamemnon has lost his new silk umbrella. yet the case was marked with his name in full, and the street address and the town. of course he left the case at home, going out in the rain. he might have carried it with the address in his pocket, yet this would not have helped after losing the umbrella. why not have a pocket for the case in the umbrella? * * * * * in shaking the dust from a dress, walk slowly backwards. this prevents the dust from falling directly on the dress again. * * * * * on carving duck.--it is singular that i can never get so much off the breast as other people do. perhaps i have it set on wrong side up. * * * * * i wonder why they never have catalogues for libraries arranged from the last letter of the name instead of the first. there is our italian teacher whose name ends with a "j," which i should remember much easier than the first letter, being so odd. * * * * * i cannot understand why a man should want to marry his wife's deceased sister. if she is dead, indeed, how can he? and if he has a wife, how wrong! i am very glad there is a law against it. * * * * * it is well, in prosperity, to be brought up as though you were living in adversity; then, if you have to go back to adversity, it is all the same. on the other hand, it might be as well, in adversity, to act as though you were living in prosperity; otherwise, you would seem to lose the prosperity either way. * * * * * solomon john has invented a new extinguisher. it is to represent a turk smoking a pipe, which is to be hollow, and lets the smoke out. a very pretty idea! * * * * * a bee came stumbling into my room this morning, as it has done every spring since we moved here,--perhaps not the same bee. i think there must have been a family bee-line across this place before ever a house was built here, and the bees are trying for it every year. perhaps we ought to cut a window opposite. there's room enough in the world for me and thee; go thou and trouble some one else,--as the man said when he put the fly out of the window. * * * * * ann maria thinks it would be better to fix upon a subject first; but then she has never yet written a paper herself, so she does not realize that you have to have some thoughts before you can write them. she should think, she says, that i would write about something that i see. but of what use is it for me to write about what everybody is seeing, as long as they can see it as well as i do? * * * * * the paper about emergencies read last week was one of the best i ever heard; but, of course, it would not be worth while for me to write the same, even if i knew enough. * * * * * my commonplace-book ought to show me what to do for common things; and then i can go to lectures, or read the "rules of emergencies" for the uncommon ones. because, as a family, i think we are more troubled about what to do on the common occasions than on the unusual ones. perhaps because the unusual things don't happen to us, or very seldom; and for the uncommon things, there is generally some one you can ask. i suppose there really is not as much danger about these uncommon things as there is in the small things, because they don't happen so often, and because you are more afraid of them. i never saw it counted up, but i conclude that more children tumble into mud-puddles than into the ocean or niagara falls, for instance. it was so, at least, with our little boys; but that may have been partly because they never saw the ocean till last summer, and have never been to niagara. to be sure, they had seen the harbor from the top of bunker hill monument, but there they could not fall in. they might have fallen off from the top of the monument, but did not. i am sure, for our little boys, they have never had the remarkable things happen to them. i suppose because they were so dangerous that they did not try them, like firing at marks and rowing boats. if they had used guns, they might have shot themselves or others; but guns have never been allowed in the house. my father thinks it is dangerous to have them. they might go off unexpected. they would require us to have gunpowder and shot in the house, which would be dangerous. amanda, too, is a little careless. and we never shall forget the terrible time when the "fulminating paste" went off one fourth of july. it showed what might happen even if you did not keep gunpowder in the house. to be sure, agamemnon and solomon john are older now, and might learn the use of fire-arms; but even then they might shoot the wrong person--the policeman or some friends coming into the house--instead of the burglar. and i have read of safe burglars going about. i don't know whether it means that it is safe for them or for us; i hope it is the latter. perhaps it means that they go without fire-arms, making it safer for them. * * * * * i have the "printed rules for emergencies," which will be of great use, as i should be apt to forget which to do for which. i mean i should be quite likely to do for burns and scalds what i ought to do for cramp. and when a person is choking, i might sponge from head to foot, which is what i ought to do to prevent a cold. but i hope i shall not have a chance to practise. we have never had the case of a broken leg, and it would hardly be worth while to break one on purpose. then we have had no cases of taking poison, or bites from mad dogs, perhaps partly because we don't keep either poison or dogs; but then our neighbors might, and we ought to be prepared. we do keep cats, so that we do not need to have poison for the rats; and in this way we avoid both dangers,--from the dogs going mad, and from eating the poison by mistake instead of the rats. to be sure, we don't quite get rid of the rats, and need a trap for the mice; but if you have a good family cat it is safer. * * * * * about window-curtains--i mean the drapery ones--we have the same trouble in deciding every year. we did not put any in the parlor windows when we moved, only window-shades, because there were so many things to be done, and we wanted time to make up our minds as to what we would have. but that was years ago, and we have not decided yet, though we consider the subject every spring and fall. the trouble is, if we should have heavy damask ones like the bromwicks', it would be very dark in the winter, on account of the new, high building opposite. now, we like as much light as we can get in the winter, so we have always waited till summer, thinking we would have some light muslin ones, or else of the new laces. but in summer we like to have the room dark, and the sun does get round in the morning quite dazzling on the white shades. (we might have dark-colored shades, but there would be the same trouble of its being too dark in the winter.) we seem to need the heavy curtains in summer and the light curtains in winter, which would look odd. besides, in winter we do need the heavy curtains to shut out the draughts, while in summer we like all the air we can get. i have been looking for a material that shall shut out the air and yet let in the light, or else shut out the light and let in the air; or else let in the light when you want it, and not when you don't. i have not found it yet; but there are so many new inventions that i dare say i shall come across it in time. they seem to have invented everything except a steamer that won't go up and down as well as across. * * * * * i never could understand about averages. i can't think why people are so fond of taking them,--men generally. it seems to me they tell anything but the truth. they try to tell what happens every evening, and they don't tell one evening right. there was our free evening cooking-school. we had a class of fourteen girls; and they admired it, and liked nothing better, and attended regularly. but ann maria made out the report according to the average of attendance on the whole number of nights in the ten weeks of the school, one evening a week; so she gave the numbers 12-3/5 each night. now the fact was, they all came every night except one, when there was such a storm, nobody went,--not even the teacher, nor ann maria, nor any of us. it snowed and it hailed and the wind blew, and our steps were so slippery amanda could not go out to put on ashes; ice even on the upper steps. the janitor, who makes the fire, set out to go; but she was blown across the street, into the gutter. she did succeed in getting in to ann maria's, who said it was foolish to attempt it, and that nobody would go; and i am not sure but she spent the night there,--at ann maria's, i mean. still, ann maria had to make up the account of the number of evenings of the whole course. but it looks, in the report, as though there were never the whole fourteen there, and as though 1-2/5 of a girl stayed away every night, when the facts are we did not have a single absence, and the whole fourteen were there every night, except the night there was no school; and i have been told they all had on their things to come that night, but their mothers would not let them,--those that had mothers,--and they would have been blown away if they had come. it seems to me the report does not present the case right, on account of the averages. i think it is indeed the common things that trouble one to decide about, as i have said, since for the remarkable ones one can have advice. the way we do on such occasions is to ask our friends, especially the lady from philadelphia. whatever we should have done without her, i am sure i cannot tell, for her advice is always inestimable. to be sure, she is not always here; but there is the daily mail (twice from here to boston), and the telegraph, and to some places the telephone. but for some common things there is not time for even the telephone. * * * * * yesterday morning, for instance, going into boston in the early train, i took the right side for a seat, as is natural, though i noticed that most of the passengers were crowding into the seats on the other side. i found, as we left the station, that i was on the sunny side, which was very uncomfortable. so i made up my mind to change sides, coming out. but, unexpectedly, i stayed in till afternoon at mrs. easterly's. it seems she had sent a note to ask me (which i found at night all right, when i got home), as mr. easterly was away. so i did not go out till afternoon. i did remember my determination to change sides in going out, and as i took the right going in, not to take the right going out. but then i remembered, as it was afternoon, the sun would have changed; so if the right side was wrong in the morning, it would be right in the afternoon. at any rate, it would be safe to take the other side. i did observe that most of the people took the opposite side, the left side; but i supposed they had not stopped to calculate. when we came out of the station and from under the bridges, i found i was sitting in the sun again, the same way as in the morning, in spite of all my reasoning. ann maria, who had come late and taken the last seat on the other side, turned round and called across to me, "why do you always take the sunny side? do you prefer it?" i was sorry not to explain it to her, but she was too far off. it might be safe to do what most of the other people do, when you cannot stop to inquire; but you cannot always tell, since very likely they may be mistaken. and then if they have taken all the seats, there is not room left for you. still, this time, in coming out, i had reached the train in plenty of season, and might have picked out my seat, but then there was nobody there to show where most of the people would go. i might have changed when i saw where most would go; but i hate changing, and the best seats were all taken. * * * * * my father thinks it would be a good plan for amanda to go to the lectures on physics. she has lived with us a great many years, and she still breaks as many things as she did at the beginning. dr. murtrie, who was here the other night, said he learned when quite a boy, from some book on physics, that if he placed some cold water in the bottom of a pitcher, before pouring in boiling-hot water, it would not break. also, that in washing a glass or china pitcher in very hot water, the outside and inside should be in the hot water, or, as he said, should feel the hot water at the same time. i don't quite understand exactly how, unless the pitcher has a large mouth, when it might be put in sideways. he told the reasons, which, being scientific, i cannot remember or understand. if amanda had known about this, she might have saved a great deal of valuable glass and china. though it has not always been from hot water, the breaking, for i often think she has not the water hot enough; but often from a whole tray-full sliding out of her hand, as she was coming up-stairs, and everything on it broke. but dr. murtrie said if she had learned more of the laws of physics she would not probably so often tip over the waiter. the trouble is, however, remembering at the right time. she might have known the law perfectly well, and forgotten it just on the moment, or her dress coming in the way may have prevented. still, i should like very well myself to go to the lectures on physics. perhaps i could find out something about scissors,--why it is they do always tumble down, and usually, though so heavy, without any noise, so that you do not know that they have fallen. i should say they had no law, because sometimes they are far under the sofa in one direction, or hidden behind the leg of the table in another, or perhaps not even on the floor, but buried in the groove at the back of the easy-chair, and you never find them till you have the chair covered again. i do feel always in the back of the chair now; but amanda found mine, yesterday, in the groove of the sofa. * * * * * it is possible elizabeth eliza may have taken the remaining sheets of her commonplace-book abroad with her. we have not been able to recover them. iii. the peterkins practise travelling. long ago mrs. peterkin had been afraid of the mohammedans, and would have dreaded to travel among them; but since the little boys had taken lessons of the turk, and she had become familiar with his costume and method of sitting, she had felt less fear of them as a nation. to be sure, the turk had given but few lessons, as, soon after making his engagement, he had been obliged to go to new york to join a tobacconist's firm. mr. peterkin had not regretted his payment for instruction in advance; for the turk had been very urbane in his manners, and had always assented to whatever the little boys or any of the family had said to him. mrs. peterkin had expressed a desire to see the famous cleopatra's needle which had been brought from egypt. she had heard it was something gigantic for a needle, and it would be worth a journey to new york. she wondered at their bringing it such a distance, and would have supposed that some of cleopatra's family would have objected to it if they were living now. agamemnon said that was the truth; there was no one left to object; they were all mummies under ground, with such heavy pyramids over them that they would not easily rise to object. mr. peterkin feared that all the pyramids would be brought away in time. agamemnon said there were a great many remaining in egypt. still, he thought it would be well to visit egypt soon, before they were all brought away, and nothing but the sand left. mrs. peterkin said she would be almost as willing to travel to egypt as to new york, and it would seem more worth while to go so far to see a great many than to go to new york only for one needle. "that would certainly be a needless expense," suggested solomon john. elizabeth eliza was anxious to see the sphinx. perhaps it would answer some of the family questions that troubled them day after day. agamemnon felt it would be a great thing for the education of the little boys. if they could have begun with the egyptian hieroglyphics before they had learned their alphabet, they would have begun at the right end. perhaps it was not too late now to take them to egypt, and let them begin upon its old learning. the little boys declared it was none too late. they could not say the alphabet backward now, and could never remember whether _u_ came before _v_; and the voyage would be a long one, and before they reached egypt, very likely they would have forgotten all. it was about this voyage that mrs. peterkin had much doubt. what she was afraid of was getting in and out of the ships and boats. she was afraid of tumbling into the water between, when she left the wharf. elizabeth eliza agreed with her mother in this, and began to calculate how many times they would have to change between boston and egypt. there was the ferry-boat across to east boston would make two changes; one more to get on board the steamer; then liverpool--no, to land at queenstown would make two more,--four, five changes; liverpool, six. solomon john brought the map, and they counted up. dover, seven; calais, eight; marseilles, nine; malta, if they landed, ten, eleven; and alexandria, twelve changes. mrs. peterkin shuddered at the possibilities, not merely for herself, but for the family. she could fall in but once, but by the time they should reach egypt, how many would be left out of a family of eight? agamemnon began to count up the contingencies. eight times twelve would make ninety-six chances (8 × 12 = 96). mrs. peterkin felt as if all might be swept off before the end could be reached. solomon john said it was not usual to allow more than one chance in a hundred. people always said "one in a hundred," as though that were the usual thing expected. it was not at all likely that the whole family would be swept off. mrs. peterkin was sure they would not want to lose one; they could hardly pick out which they could spare, she felt certain. agamemnon declared there was no necessity for such risks. they might go directly by some vessel from boston to egypt. solomon john thought they might give up egypt, and content themselves with rome. "all roads lead to rome;" so it would not be difficult to find their way. but mrs. peterkin was afraid to go. she had heard you must do as the romans did if you went to rome; and there were some things she certainly should not like to do that they did. there was that brute who killed cæsar! and she should not object to the long voyage. it would give them time to think it all over. mr. peterkin thought they ought to have more practice in travelling, to accustom themselves to emergencies. it would be fatal to start on so long a voyage and to find they were not prepared. why not make their proposed excursion to the cousins at gooseberry beach, which they had been planning all summer? there they could practise getting in and out of a boat, and accustom themselves to the air of the sea. to be sure, the cousins were just moving up from the seashore, but they could take down a basket of luncheon, in order to give no trouble, and they need not go into the house. elizabeth eliza had learned by heart, early in the summer, the list of trains, as she was sure they would lose the slip their cousins had sent them; and you never could find the paper that had the trains in when you wanted it. they must take the 7 a.m. train into boston in time to go across to the station for the gooseberry train at 7.45, and they would have to return from gooseberry beach by a 3.30 train. the cousins would order the "barge" to meet them on their arrival, and to come for them at 3 p.m., in time for the return train, if they were informed the day before. elizabeth eliza wrote them a postal card, giving them the information that they would take the early train. the "barge" was the name of the omnibus that took passengers to and from the gooseberry station. mrs. peterkin felt that its very name was propitious to this egyptian undertaking. the day proved a fine one. on reaching boston, mrs. peterkin and elizabeth eliza were put into a carriage with the luncheon-basket to drive directly to the station. elizabeth eliza was able to check the basket at the baggage-station, and to buy their "go-and-return" tickets before the arrival of the rest of the party, which appeared, however, some minutes before a quarter of eight. mrs. peterkin counted the little boys. all were there. this promised well for egypt. but their joy was of short duration. on presenting their tickets at the gate of entrance, they were stopped. the gooseberry train had gone at 7.35! the mattapan train was now awaiting its passengers. impossible! elizabeth eliza had repeated 7.45 every morning through the summer. it must be the gooseberry train. but the conductor would not yield. if they wished to go to mattapan they could go; if to gooseberry, they must wait till the 5 p.m. train. mrs. peterkin was in despair. their return train was 3.30; how could 5 p.m. help them? mr. peterkin, with instant decision, proposed they should try something else. why should not they take their luncheon-basket across some ferry? this would give them practice. the family hastily agreed to this. what could be better? they went to the baggage-office, but found their basket had gone in the 7.35 train! they had arrived in time, and could have gone too. "if we had only been checked!" exclaimed mrs. peterkin. the baggage-master, showing a tender interest, suggested that there was a train for plymouth at eight, which would take them within twelve miles of gooseberry beach, and they might find "a team" there to take them across. solomon john and the little boys were delighted with the suggestion. "we could see plymouth rock," said agamemnon. but hasty action would be necessary. mr. peterkin quickly procured tickets for plymouth, and no official objected to their taking the 8 a.m. train. they were all safely in the train. this had been a test expedition; and each of the party had taken something, to see what would be the proportion of things lost to those remembered. mr. peterkin had two umbrellas, agamemnon an atlas and spyglass, and the little boys were taking down two cats in a basket. all were safe. "i am glad we have decided upon plymouth," said mr. peterkin. "before seeing the pyramids of egypt we certainly ought to know something of plymouth rock. i should certainly be quite ashamed, when looking at their great obelisks, to confess that i had never seen our own rock." the conductor was attracted by this interesting party. when mr. peterkin told him of their mistake of the morning, and that they were bound for gooseberry beach, he advised them to stop at kingston, a station nearer the beach. they would have but four miles to drive, and a reduction could be effected on their tickets. the family demurred. were they ready now to give up plymouth? they would lose time in going there. solomon john, too, suggested it would be better, chronologically, to visit plymouth on their return from egypt, after they had seen the earliest things. this decided them to stop at kingston. but they found here no omnibus nor carriage to take them to gooseberry. the station-master was eager to assist them, and went far and near in search of some sort of wagon. hour after hour passed away, the little boys had shared their last peanut, and gloom was gathering over the family, when solomon john came into the station to say there was a photographer's cart on the other side of the road. would not this be a good chance to have their photographs taken for their friends before leaving for egypt? the idea reanimated the whole party, and they made their way to the cart, and into it, as the door was open. there was, however, no photographer there. agamemnon tried to remember what he had read of photography. as all the materials were there, he might take the family's picture. there would indeed be a difficulty in introducing his own. solomon john suggested they might arrange the family group, leaving a place for him. then, when all was ready, he could put the curtain over the box, take his place hastily, then pull away the curtain by means of a string. and solomon john began to look around for a string while the little boys felt in their pockets. agamemnon did not exactly see how they could get the curtain back. mr. peterkin thought this of little importance. they would all be glad to sit some time after travelling so long. and the longer they sat the better for the picture, and perhaps somebody would come along in time to put back the curtain. they began to arrange the group. mr. and mrs. peterkin were placed in the middle, sitting down. elizabeth eliza stood behind them, and the little boys knelt in front with the basket of cats. solomon john and agamemnon were also to stand behind, agamemnon leaning over his father's shoulder. solomon john was still looking around for a string when the photographer himself appeared. he was much surprised to find a group all ready for him. he had gone off that morning for a short holiday, but was not unwilling to take the family, especially when he heard they were soon going to egypt. he approved of the grouping made by the family, but suggested that their eyes should not all be fixed upon the same spot. before the pictures were finished, the station-master came to announce that two carriages were found to take the party to gooseberry beach. "there is no hurry," said mr. peterkin, "let the pictures be finished; they have made us wait, we can keep them waiting as long as we please." the result, indeed, was very satisfactory. the photographer pronounced it a remarkably fine group. elizabeth eliza's eyes were lifted to the heavens perhaps a little too high. it gave her a rapt expression not customary with her; but mr. peterkin thought she might look in that way in the presence of the sphinx. it was necessary to have a number of copies, to satisfy all the friends left behind when they should go to egypt; and it certainly would not be worth while to come again so great a distance for more. it was therefore a late hour when they left kingston. it took some time to arrange the party in two carriages. mr. peterkin ought to be in one, mrs. peterkin in the other; but it was difficult to divide the little boys, as all wished to take charge of the cats. the drive, too, proved longer than was expected,--six miles instead of four. when they reached their cousin's door, the "barge" was already standing there. "it has brought our luncheon-basket!" exclaimed solomon john. "i am glad of it," said agamemnon, "for i feel hungry enough for it." he pulled out his watch. it was three o'clock! this was indeed the "barge," but it had come for their return. the gooseberry cousins, much bewildered that the family did not arrive at the time expected, had forgotten to send to countermand it. and the "barge" driver, supposing the family had arrived by the other station, had taken occasion to bring up the lunch-basket, as it was addressed to the gooseberry cousins. the cousins flocked out to meet them. "what had happened? what had delayed them? they were glad to see them at last." mrs. peterkin, when she understood the state of the case, insisted upon getting directly into the "barge" to return, although the driver said there would be a few moments to spare. some of the cousins busied themselves in opening the luncheon-basket, and a part led the little boys and agamemnon and solomon john down upon the beach in front of the house; there would be a few moments for a glance at the sea. indeed, the little boys ventured in their india-rubber boots to wade in a little way, as the tide was low. and agamemnon and solomon john walked to look at a boat that was drawn up on the beach, and got into it and out of it for practice, till they were all summoned back to the house. it was indeed time to go. the gooseberry cousins had got out the luncheon, and had tried to persuade the family to spend the night. mrs. peterkin declared this would be impossible. they never had done such a thing. so they went off, eating their luncheon as they went, the little boys each with a sandwich in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. mrs. peterkin was sure they should miss the train or lose some of the party. no, it was a great success; for all, and more than all, were found in the train: slung over the arm of one of the little boys was found the basket containing the cats. they were to have left the cats, but in their haste had brought them away again. this discovery was made in a search for the tickets which elizabeth eliza had bought, early in the morning, to go and return; they were needed now for return. she was sure she had given them to her father. mrs. peterkin supposed that mr. peterkin must have changed them for the kingston tickets. the little boys felt in their pockets, agamemnon and solomon john in theirs. in the excitement, mrs. peterkin insisted upon giving up her copy of their new photograph, and could not be satisfied till the conductor had punched it. at last the tickets were found in the outer lappet of elizabeth eliza's hand-bag. she had looked for them in the inner part. it was after this that mr. peterkin ventured to pronounce the whole expedition a success. to be sure, they had not passed the day at the beach, and had scarcely seen their cousins; but their object had been to practise travelling, and surely they had been travelling all day. elizabeth eliza had seen the sea, or thought she had. she was not sure--she had been so busy explaining to the cousins and showing the photographs. agamemnon was sorry she had not walked with them to the beach, and tried getting in and out of the boat. elizabeth eliza regretted this. of course it was not the same as getting into a boat on the sea, where it would be wobbling more, but the step must have been higher from the sand. solomon john said there was some difficulty. he had jumped in, but was obliged to take hold of the side in getting out. the little boys were much encouraged by their wade into the tide. they had been a little frightened at first when the splash came, but the tide had been low. on the whole, mr. peterkin continued, things had gone well. even the bringing back of the cats might be considered a good omen. cats were worshipped in egypt, and they ought not to have tried to part with them. he was glad they had brought the cats. they gave the little boys an interest in feeding them while they were waiting at the kingston station. their adventures were not quite over, as the station was crowded when they reached boston. a military company had arrived from the south and was received by a procession. a number of distinguished guests also were expected, and the peterkins found it difficult to procure a carriage. they had determined to take a carriage, so that they might be sure to reach their own evening train in season. at last mr. peterkin discovered one that was empty, standing at the end of a long line. there would be room for mrs. peterkin, elizabeth eliza, himself, and the little boys, and agamemnon and solomon john agreed to walk behind in order to keep the carriage in sight. but they were much disturbed when they found they were going at so slow a pace. mr. peterkin called to the coachman in vain. he soon found that they had fallen into the line of the procession, and the coachman was driving slowly on behind the other carriages. in vain mr. peterkin tried to attract the driver's attention. he put his head out of one window after another, but only to receive the cheers of the populace ranged along the sidewalk. he opened the window behind the coachman and pulled his coat. but the cheering was so loud that he could not make himself heard. he tried to motion to the coachman to turn down one of the side streets, but in answer the driver pointed out with his whip the crowds of people. mr. peterkin, indeed, saw it would be impossible to make their way through the throng that filled every side street which they crossed. mrs. peterkin looked out of the back window for agamemnon and solomon john. they were walking side by side, behind the carriage, taking off their hats, and bowing to the people cheering on either side. "they are at the head of a long row of men, walking two by two," said mrs. peterkin. "they are part of the procession," said elizabeth eliza. "we are part of the procession," mr. peterkin answered. "i rather like it," said mrs. peterkin, with a calm smile, as she looked out of the window and bowed in answer to a cheer. "where do you suppose we shall go?" asked elizabeth eliza. "i have often wondered what became of a procession," said mr. peterkin. "they are always going somewhere, but i never could tell where they went to." "we shall find out!" exclaimed the little boys, who were filled with delight, looking now out of one window, now out of the other. "perhaps we shall go to the armory," said one. this alarmed mrs. peterkin. sounds of martial music were now heard, and the noise of the crowd grew louder. "i think you ought to ask where we are going," she said to mr. peterkin. "it is not for us to decide," he answered calmly. "they have taken us into the procession. i suppose they will show us the principal streets, and will then leave us at our station." this, indeed, seemed to be the plan. for two hours more the peterkins, in their carriage, and agamemnon and solomon john, afoot, followed on. mrs. peterkin looked out upon rows and rows of cheering people. the little boys waved their caps. "it begins to be a little monotonous," said mrs. peterkin, at last. "i am afraid we have missed all the trains," said elizabeth eliza, gloomily. but mr. peterkin's faith held to the last, and was rewarded. the carriage reached the square in which stood the railroad station. mr. peterkin again seized the lapels of the coachman's coat and pointed to the station, and he was able to turn his horses in that direction. as they left the crowd, they received a parting cheer. it was with difficulty that agamemnon and solomon john broke from the ranks. "that was a magnificent reception!" exclaimed mr. peterkin, wiping his brow, after paying the coachman twice his fee. but elizabeth eliza said,-"but we have lost all the trains, i am sure." they had lost all but one. it was the last. "and we have lost the cats!" the little boys suddenly exclaimed. but mrs. peterkin would not allow them to turn back in search of them. iv. the peterkins' excursion for maple sugar. it was, to be sure, a change of plan to determine to go to grandfather's for a maple-sugaring instead of going to egypt! but it seemed best. egypt was not given up,--only postponed. "it has lasted so many centuries," sighed mr. peterkin, "that i suppose it will not crumble much in one summer more." the peterkins had determined to start for egypt in june, and elizabeth eliza had engaged her dressmaker for january; but after all their plans were made, they were told that june was the worst month of all to go to egypt in,--that they would arrive in midsummer, and find the climate altogether too hot,--that people who were not used to it died of it. nobody thought of going to egypt in summer; on the contrary, everybody came away. and what was worse, agamemnon learned that not only the summers were unbearably hot, but there really was no egypt in summer,--nothing to speak of,--nothing but water; for there was a great inundation of the river nile every summer, which completely covered the country, and it would be difficult to get about except in boats. mr. peterkin remembered he had heard something of the sort, but he did not suppose it had been kept up with the modern improvements. mrs. peterkin felt that the thing must be very much exaggerated. she could not believe the whole country would be covered, or that everybody would leave; as summer was surely the usual time for travel, there must be strangers there, even if the natives left. she would not be sorry if there were fewer of the savages. as for the boats, she supposed after their long voyage they would all be used to going about in boats; and she had thought seriously of practising, by getting in and out of the rocking-chair from the sofa. the family, however, wrote to the lady from philadelphia, who had travelled in egypt, and whose husband knew everything about egypt that could be known,--that is, everything that had already been dug up, though he could only guess at what might be brought to light next. the result was a very earnest recommendation not to leave for egypt till the autumn. travellers did not usually reach there before december, though october might be pleasant on account of the fresh dates. so the egypt plan was reluctantly postponed; and, to make amends for the disappointment to the little boys, an excursion for maple syrup was proposed instead. mr. peterkin considered it almost a necessity. they ought to acquaint themselves with the manufactures of their own new country before studying those of the oldest in the world. he had been inquiring into the products of egypt at the present time, and had found sugar to be one of their staples. they ought, then, to understand the american methods and compare them with those of egypt. it would be a pretty attention, indeed, to carry some of the maple sugar to the principal dignitaries of egypt. but the difficulties in arranging an excursion proved almost as great as for going to egypt. sugar-making could not come off until it was warm enough for the sun to set the sap stirring. on the other hand, it must be cold enough for snow, as you could only reach the woods on snow-sleds. now, if there were sun enough for the sap to rise, it would melt the snow; and if it were cold enough for sledding, it must be too cold for the syrup. there seemed an impossibility about the whole thing. the little boys, however, said there always had been maple sugar every spring,--they had eaten it; why shouldn't there be this spring? elizabeth eliza insisted gloomily that this was probably old sugar they had eaten,--you never could tell in the shops. mrs. peterkin thought there must be fresh sugar occasionally, as the old would have been eaten up. she felt the same about chickens. she never could understand why there were only the old, tough ones in the market, when there were certainly fresh young broods to be seen around the farm-houses every year. she supposed the market-men had begun with the old, tough fowls, and so they had to go on so. she wished they had begun the other way; and she had done her best to have the family eat up the old fowls, hoping they might, some day, get down to the young ones. as to the uncertainty about the weather, she suggested they should go to grandfather's the day before. but how can you go the day before, when you don't yet know the day? all were much delighted, therefore, when hiram appeared with the wood-sled, one evening, to take them, as early as possible the next day, to their grandfather's. he reported that the sap had started, the kettles had been on some time, there had been a light snow for sleighing, and to-morrow promised to be a fine day. it was decided that he should take the little boys and elizabeth eliza early, in the wood-sled; the others would follow later, in the carry-all. mrs. peterkin thought it would be safer to have some of the party go on wheels, in case of a general thaw the next day. a brilliant sun awoke them in the morning. the wood-sled was filled with hay, to make it warm and comfortable, and an arm-chair was tied in for elizabeth eliza. but she was obliged to go first to visit the secretary of the circumambient society, to explain that she should not be present at their evening meeting. one of the rules of this society was to take always a winding road when going upon society business, as the word "circumambient" means "compassing about." it was one of its laws to copy nature as far as possible, and a straight line is never seen in nature. therefore she could not send a direct note to say she should not be present; she could only hint it in general conversation with the secretary; and she was obliged to take a roundabout way to reach the secretary's house, where the little boys called for her in her wood-sled. what was her surprise to find eight little boys instead of three! in passing the school-house they had picked up five of their friends, who had reached the school door a full hour before the time. elizabeth eliza thought they ought to inquire if their parents would be willing they should go, as they all expected to spend the night at grandfather's. hiram thought it would require too much time to stop for the consent of ten parents; if the sun kept on at this rate, the snow would be gone before they should reach the woods. but the little boys said most of the little boys lived in a row, and elizabeth eliza felt she ought not to take the boys away for all night without their parents' knowledge. the consent of two mothers and two fathers was gained, and mr. dobson was met in the street, who said he would tell the other mother. but at each place they were obliged to stop for additional tippets and great-coats and india-rubber boots for the little boys. at the harrimans', too, the harriman girls insisted on dressing up the wood-sled with evergreens, and made one of the boys bring their last christmas-tree, that was leaning up against the barn, to set it up in the back of the sled, over elizabeth eliza. all this made considerable delay; and when they reached the high-road again, the snow was indeed fast melting. elizabeth eliza was inclined to turn back, but hiram said they would find the sleighing better farther up among the hills. the armchair joggled about a good deal, and the christmas-tree creaked behind her; and hiram was obliged to stop occasionally and tie in the chair and the tree more firmly. but the warm sun was very pleasant, the eight little boys were very lively, and the sleigh-bells jingled gayly as they went on. it was so late when they reached the wood-road that hiram decided they had better not go up the hill to their grandfather's, but turn off into the woods. "your grandfather will be there by this time," he declared. elizabeth eliza was afraid the carry-all would miss them, and thought they had better wait. hiram did not like to wait longer, and proposed that one or two of the little boys should stop to show the way. but it was so difficult to decide which little boys should stay that he gave it up. even to draw lots would take time. so he explained that there was a lunch hidden somewhere in the straw; and the little boys thought it an admirable time to look it up, and it was decided to stop in the sun at the corner of the road. elizabeth eliza felt a little jounced in the armchair, and was glad of a rest; and the little boys soon discovered an ample lunch,--just what might have been expected from grandfather's,--apple-pie and doughnuts, and plenty of them! "lucky we brought so many little boys!" they exclaimed. hiram, however, began to grow impatient. "there 'll be no snow left," he exclaimed, "and no afternoon for the syrup!" but far in the distance the peterkin carry-all was seen slowly approaching through the snow, solomon john waving a red handkerchief. the little boys waved back, and hiram ventured to enter upon the wood-road, but at a slow pace, as elizabeth eliza still feared that by some accident the family might miss them. it was with difficulty that the carry-all followed in the deep but soft snow, in among the trunks of the trees and over piles of leaves hidden in the snow. they reached at last the edge of a meadow; and on the high bank above it stood a row of maples, a little shanty by the side, a slow smoke proceeding from its chimney. the little boys screamed with delight, but there was no reply. nobody there! "the folks all gone!" exclaimed hiram; "then we must be late." and he proceeded to pull out a large silver watch from a side pocket. it was so large that he seldom was at the pains to pull it out, as it took time; but when he had succeeded at last, and looked at it, he started. "late, indeed! it is four o'clock, and we were to have been here by eleven; they have given you up." the little boys wanted to force in the door; but hiram said it was no use,--they wouldn't understand what to do, and he should have to see to the horses,--and it was too late, and it was likely they had carried off all the syrup. but he thought a minute, as they all stood in silence and gloom; and then he guessed they might find some sugar at deacon spear's, close by, on the back road, and that would be better than nothing. mrs. peterkin was pretty cold, and glad not to wait in the darkening wood; so the eight little boys walked through the wood-path, hiram leading the way; and slowly the carry-all followed. they reached deacon spear's at length; but only mrs. spear was at home. she was very deaf, but could explain that the family had taken all their syrup to the annual festival. "we might go to the festival," exclaimed the little boys. "it would be very well," said mrs. peterkin, "to eat our fresh syrup there." but mrs. spear could not tell where the festival was to be, as she had not heard; perhaps they might know at squire ramsay's. squire ramsay's was on their way to grandfather's, so they stopped there; but they learned that the "squire's folks had all gone with their syrup to the festival," but the man who was chopping wood did not know where the festival was to be. "they 'll know at your grandfather's," said mrs. peterkin, from the carry-all. "yes, go on to your grandfather's," advised mr. peterkin, "for i think i felt a drop of rain." so they made the best of their way to grandfather's. at the moment they reached the door of the house, a party of young people whom elizabeth eliza knew came by in sleighs. she had met them all when visiting at her grandfather's. "come along with us," they shouted; "we are all going down to the sugar festival." "that is what we have come for," said mr. peterkin. "where is it?" asked solomon john. "it is down your way," was the reply. "it is in your own new hall," said another. "we have sent down all our syrup. the spears and ramsays and doolittles have gone on with theirs. no time to stop; there's good sleighing on the old road." there was a little consultation with the grandfather. hiram said that he could take them back with the wood-sled, when he heard there was sleighing on the old road; and it was decided that the whole party should go in the wood-sled, with the exception of mr. peterkin, who would follow on with the carry-all. mrs. peterkin would take the arm-chair, and cushions were put in for elizabeth eliza, and more apple-pie for all. no more drops of rain appeared, though the clouds were thickening over the setting sun. "all the way back again," sighed mrs. peterkin, "when we might have stayed at home all day, and gone quietly out to the new hall!" but the little boys thought the sledding all day was great fun,--and the apple-pie! "and we did see the kettle through the cracks of the shanty!" "it is odd the festival should be held at the new hall," said elizabeth eliza; "for the secretary did say something about the society meeting there to-night, being so far from the centre of the town." this hall was so called because it was once a new hall, built to be used for lectures, assemblies, and entertainments of this sort, for the convenience of the inhabitants who had collected about some flourishing factories. "you can go to your own circumambient society, then!" exclaimed solomon john. "and in a truly circumambient manner," said agamemnon; and he explained to the little boys that they could now understand the full meaning of the word, for surely elizabeth eliza had taken the most circumambient way of reaching the place by coming away from it. "we little thought, when we passed it early this morning," said elizabeth eliza, "that we should come back to it for our maple sugar." "it is odd the secretary did not tell you they were going to join the sugar festival," said mrs. peterkin. "it is one of the rules of the society," said elizabeth eliza, "that the secretary never tells anything directly. she only hinted at the plan of the new hall." "i don't see how you can find enough to talk about," said solomon john. "we can tell of things that never have happened," said elizabeth eliza, "or that are not likely to happen, and wonder what would have happened if they had happened." they arrived at the festival at last, but very late, and glad to find a place that was warm. there was a stove at each end of the hall, and an encouraging sound and smell from the simmering syrup. there were long tables down the hall, on which were placed, in a row, first a bowl of snow, then a pile of saucers and spoons, then a plate of pickles, intended to whet the appetite for more syrup; another of bread, then another bowl of snow, and so on. hot syrup was to be poured on the snow and eaten as candy. the peterkin family were received at this late hour with a wild enthusiasm. elizabeth eliza was an especial heroine, and was made directly the president of the evening. everybody said that she had best earned the distinction; for had she not come to the meeting by the longest way possible, by going away from it? the secretary declared that the principles of the society had been completely carried out. she had always believed that if left to itself, information would spread itself in a natural instead of a forced way. "now, in this case, if i had written twenty-nine notifications to this meeting, i should have wasted just so much of my time. but the information has disseminated naturally. ann maria said what a good plan it would be to have the circumambients go to the sugaring at the new hall. everybody said it would be a good plan. elizabeth eliza came and spoke of the sugaring, and i spoke of the new hall." "but if you had told elizabeth eliza that all the maple syrup was to be brought here--" began mrs. peterkin. "we should have lost our excursion for maple syrup," said mr. peterkin. later, as they reached home in the carry-all (hiram having gone back with the wood-sled), mr. and mrs. peterkin, after leaving little boys at their homes all along the route, found none of their own to get out at their own door. they must have joined elizabeth eliza, agamemnon, and solomon john in taking a circuitous route home with the rest of the circumambients. "the little boys will not be at home till midnight," said mrs. peterkin, anxiously. "i do think this is carrying the thing too far, after such a day!" "elizabeth eliza will feel that she has acted up to the principles of the society," said mr. peterkin, "and we have done our best; for, as the little boys said, 'we did see the kettle.'" v. the peterkins "at home." might not something be done by way of farewell before leaving for egypt? they did not want to give another tea-party, and could not get in all at dinner. they had had charades and a picnic. elizabeth eliza wished for something unusual, that should be remembered after they had left for egypt. why should it not be a fancy ball? there never had been one in the place. mrs. peterkin hesitated. perhaps for that reason they ought not to attempt it. she liked to have things that other people had. she however objected most to the "ball" part. she could indeed still dance a minuet, but she was not sure she could get on in the "boston dip." the little boys said they would like the "fancy" part and "dressing up." they remembered their delight when they browned their faces for hindus, at their charades, just for a few minutes; and what fun it would be to wear their costumes through a whole evening! mrs. peterkin shook her head; it was days and days before the brown had washed out of their complexions. still, she too was interested in the "dressing up." if they should wear costumes, they could make them of things that might be left behind, that they had done wearing, if they could only think of the right kind of things. mrs. peterkin, indeed, had already packed up, although they were not to leave for two months, for she did not want to be hurried at the last. she and elizabeth eliza went on different principles in packing. elizabeth eliza had been told that you really needed very little to travel with,--merely your travelling dress and a black silk. mrs. peterkin, on the contrary, had heard it was best to take everything you had, and then you need not spend your time shopping in paris. so they had decided upon adopting both ways. mrs. peterkin was to take her "everything," and already had all the shoes and stockings she should need for a year or two. elizabeth eliza, on the other hand, prepared a small valise. she consoled herself with the thought that if she should meet anything that would not go into it, she could put it in one of her mother's trunks. it was resolved to give the fancy ball. mr. peterkin early determined upon a character. he decided to be julius cæsar. he had a bald place on the top of his head, which he was told resembled that of the great roman; and he concluded that the dress would be a simple one to get up, requiring only a sheet for a toga. agamemnon was inclined to take the part which his own name represented, and he looked up the costume of the greek king of men. but he was dissatisfied with the representation given of him in dr. schliemann's "mykenæ." there was a picture of agamemnon's mask, but very much battered. he might get a mask made in that pattern, indeed, and the little boys were delighted with the idea of battering it. agamemnon would like to wear a mask, then he would have no trouble in keeping up his expression. but elizabeth eliza objected to the picture in dr. schliemann's book; she did not like it for agamemnon,--it was too slanting in the eyes. so it was decided he should take the part of nick bottom, in "midsummer night's dream." he could then wear the ass's head, which would have the same advantage as a mask, and would conceal his own face entirely. then he could be making up any face he pleased in the ass's head, and would look like an ass without any difficulty, while his feet would show he was not one. solomon john thought that they might make an ass's head if they could get a pattern, or could see the real animal and form an idea of the shape. barnum's circus would be along in a few weeks, and they could go on purpose to study the donkeys, as there usually was more than one donkey in the circus. agamemnon, however, in going with a friend to a costumer's in boston, found an ass's head already made. the little boys found in an illustrated paper an accurate description of the hindu snake-charmer's costume, and were so successful in their practice of shades of brown for the complexion, that solomon john decided to take the part of othello, and use some of their staining fluid. there was some discussion as to consulting the lady from philadelphia, who was in town. solomon john thought they ought to practise getting on by themselves, for soon the atlantic would lie between her and them. mrs. peterkin thought they could telegraph. elizabeth eliza wanted to submit to her two or three questions about the supper, and whether, if her mother were queen elizabeth, they could have chinese lanterns. was china invented at that time? agamemnon was sure china was one of the oldest countries in the world and did exist, though perhaps queen elizabeth did not know it. elizabeth eliza was relieved to find that the lady from philadelphia thought the question not important. it would be impossible to have everything in the house to correspond with all the different characters, unless they selected some period to represent, such as the age of queen elizabeth. of course, elizabeth eliza would not wish to do this when her father was to be julius cæsar. the lady from philadelphia advised mrs. peterkin to send for jones the "caterer" to take charge of the supper. but his first question staggered her. how many did she expect? they had not the slightest idea. they had sent invitations to everybody. the little boys proposed getting the directory of the place, and marking out the people they didn't know and counting up the rest. but even if this would give the number of invitations, it would not show how many would accept; and then there was no such directory. they could not expect answers, as their invitations were cards with "at home" on them. one answer had come from a lady, that she too would be "at home" with rheumatism. so they only knew there was one person who would not come. elizabeth eliza had sent in circumambient ways to all the members of that society,--by the little boys, for instance, who were sure to stop at the base-ball grounds, or somewhere, so a note was always delayed by them. one circumambient note she sent by mail, purposely omitting the "mass.," so that it went to the dead-letter office, and came back six weeks after the party. but the peterkin family were not alone in commotion. the whole town was in excitement, for "everybody" had been invited. ann maria bromwick had a book of costumes that she lent to a few friends, and everybody borrowed dresses or lent them, or went into town to the costumer's. weeks passed in preparation. "what are you going to wear?" was the only question exchanged; and nobody answered, as nobody would tell. at length the evening came,--a beautiful night in late summer, warm enough to have had the party out-of-doors; but the whole house was lighted up and thrown open, and chinese lanterns hung in the portico and on the pillars of the piazzas. at an early hour the peterkins were arrayed in their costumes. the little boys had their legs and arms and faces browned early in the day, and wore dazzlingly white full trousers and white turbans. elizabeth eliza had prepared a dress as queen elizabeth; but solomon john was desirous that she should be desdemona, and she gave up her costume to her mother. mrs. peterkin therefore wore a red wig which ann maria had found at a costumer's, a high ruff, and an old-fashioned brocade. she was not sure that it was proper for queen elizabeth to wear spectacles; but queen elizabeth must have been old enough, as she lived to be seventy. as for elizabeth eliza, in recalling the fact that desdemona was smothered by pillows, she was so impressed by it that she decided she could wear the costume of a sheet-and-pillow-case party. so she wore a white figured silk that had been her mother's wedding-dress, and over it draped a sheet as a large mantle, and put a pillow-case upon her head, and could represent desdemona not quite smothered. but solomon john wished to carry out the whole scene at the end. as they stood together, all ready to receive, in the parlor at the appointed hour, mr. peterkin suddenly exclaimed,-"this will never do! we are not the peterkins,--we are distinguished guests! we cannot receive." "we shall have to give up the party," said mrs. peterkin. "or our costumes," groaned agamemnon from his ass's head. "we must go out, and come in as guests," said elizabeth eliza, leading the way to a back door, for guests were already thronging in, and up the front stairs. they passed out by a piazza, through the hedge of hollyhocks, toward the front of the house. through the side windows of the library they could see the company pouring in. the black attendant was showing them upstairs; some were coming down, in doubt whether to enter the parlors, as no one was there. the wide middle entrance hall was lighted brilliantly; so were the parlors on one side and the library on the other. but nobody was there to receive! a flock of guests was assembling,--peasant girls, italian, german, and norman; turks, greeks, persians, fish-wives, brigands, chocolate-women, lady washington, penelope, red riding-hood, joan of arc, nuns, amy robsart, leicester, two or three mary stuarts, neapolitan fisher-boys, pirates of penzance and elsewhere,--all lingering, some on the stairs, some going up, some coming down. charles i. without his head was entering the front door (a short gentleman, with a broad ruff drawn neatly together on top of his own head, which was concealed in his doublet below). three hindu snake-charmers leaped wildly in and out among the throng, flinging about dark, crooked sticks for snakes. there began to be a strange, deserted air about the house. nobody knew what to do, where to go! "can anything have happened to the family?" "have they gone to egypt?" whispered one. no ushers came to show them in. a shudder ran through the whole assembly, the house seemed so uninhabited; and some of the guests were inclined to go away. the peterkins saw it all through the long library-windows. "what shall we do?" said mr. peterkin. "we have said _we_ should be 'at home.'" "and here we are, all out-of-doors among the hollyhocks," said elizabeth eliza. "there are no peterkins to 'receive,'" said mr. peterkin, gloomily. "we might go in and change our costumes," said mrs. peterkin, who already found her elizabethan ruff somewhat stiff; "but, alas! i could not get at my best dress." "the company is filling all the upper rooms," said elizabeth eliza; "we cannot go back." at this moment the little boys returned from the front door, and in a subdued whisper explained that the lady from philadelphia was arriving. "oh, bring her here!" said mrs. peterkin. and solomon john hastened to meet her. she came, to find a strange group half lighted by the chinese lanterns. mr. peterkin, in his white toga, with a green wreath upon his head, came forward to address her in a noble manner, while she was terrified by the appearance of agamemnon's ass's head, half hidden among the leaves. "what shall we do?" exclaimed mr. peterkin. "there are no peterkins; yet we have sent cards to everybody that they are 'at home'!" the lady from philadelphia, who had been allowed to come without costume, considered for a moment. she looked through the windows to the seething mass now crowding the entrance hall. the hindu snake-charmers gambolled about her. "_we_ will receive as the peterkin family!" she exclaimed. she inquired for a cap of mrs. peterkin's, with a purple satin bow, such as she had worn that very morning. amanda was found by a hindu, and sent for it and for a purple cross-over shawl that mrs. peterkin was wont to wear. the daughters of the lady from philadelphia put on some hats of the little boys and their india-rubber boots. hastily they went in through the back door and presented themselves, just as some of the wavering guests had decided to leave the house, it seeming so quiet and sepulchral. the crowd now flocked into the parlors. the peterkins themselves left the hollyhocks and joined the company that was entering; mr. peterkin, as julius cæsar, leading in mrs. peterkin, as queen elizabeth. mrs. peterkin hardly knew what to do, as she passed the parlor door; for one of the osbornes, as sir walter raleigh, flung a velvet cloak before her. she was uncertain whether she ought to step on it, especially as she discovered at that moment that she had forgotten to take off her rubber overshoes, which she had put on to go through the garden. but as she stood hesitating, the lady from philadelphia, as mrs. peterkin, beckoned her forward, and she walked over the ruby velvet as though it were a door-mat. for another surprise stunned her,--there were three mrs. peterkins! not only mrs. bromwick, but their opposite neighbor, had induced amanda to take dresses of mrs. peterkin's from the top of the trunks, and had come in at the same moment with the lady from philadelphia, ready to receive. she stood in the middle of the bow-window at the back of the room, the two others in the corners. ann maria bromwick had the part of elizabeth eliza, and agamemnon too was represented; and there were many sets of "little boys" in india-rubber boots, going in and out with the hindu snake-charmers. mr. peterkin had studied up his latin grammar a little, in preparation for his part of julius cæsar. agamemnon had reminded him that it was unnecessary, as julius cæsar in shakspeare spoke in english. still he now found himself using with wonderful ease latin phrases such as "e pluribus unum," "lapsus linguæ," and "sine qua non," where they seemed to be appropriate. solomon john looked well as othello, although by some he was mistaken for an older snake-charmer, with his brown complexion, glaring white trousers, and white shirt. he wore a white lawn turban that had belonged to his great-grandmother. his part, however, was more understood when he was with elizabeth eliza as desdemona; for they occasionally formed a tableau, in which he pulled the pillow-case completely over her head. agamemnon was greeted with applause as nick bottom. he sang the song of the "ousel cock," but he could not make himself heard. at last he found a "titania" who listened to him. but none of the company attempted to carry out the parts represented by their costumes. charles i. soon conversed with oliver cromwell and with the different mary stuarts, who chatted gayly, as though executions were every-day occurrences. at first there was a little awkwardness. nuns stood as quiet as if in their convent cells, and brave brigands hid themselves behind the doors; but as the different guests began to surprise each other, the sounds of laughter and talking increased. every new-comer was led up to each several mrs. peterkin. then came a great surprise,--a band of music sounded from the piazza. some of the neighbors had sent in the town band, as a farewell tribute. this added to the excitement of the occasion. strains of dance-music were heard, and dancing was begun. sir walter raleigh led out penelope, and red riding-hood without fear took the arm of the fiercest brigand for a round dance. the various groups wandered in and out. elizabeth eliza studied the costumes of her friends, and wished she had tried each one of them. the members of the circumambient society agreed that it would be always well to wear costumes at their meetings. as the principles of the society enforced a sort of uncertainty, if you always went in a different costume you would never have to keep up your own character. elizabeth eliza thought she should enjoy this. she had all her life been troubled with uncertainties and questions as to her own part of "elizabeth eliza," wondering always if she were doing the right thing. it did not seem to her that other people had such a bother. perhaps they had simpler parts. they always seemed to know when to speak and when to be silent, while she was always puzzled as to what she should do as elizabeth eliza. now, behind her pillow-case, she could look on and do nothing; all that was expected of her was to be smothered now and then. she breathed freely and enjoyed herself, because for the evening she could forget the difficult role of elizabeth eliza. mrs. peterkin was bewildered. she thought it a good occasion to study how mrs. peterkin should act; but there were three mrs. peterkins. she found herself gazing first at one, then at another. often she was herself called mrs. peterkin. [illustration: the ass's head proved hot and heavy, and agamemnon was forced to hang it over his arm.] at supper-time the bewilderment increased. she was led in by the earl of leicester, as principal guest. yet it was to her own dining-room, and she recognized her own forks and spoons among the borrowed ones, although the china was different (because their own set was not large enough to go round for so much company). it was all very confusing. the dance-music floated through the air. three mrs. peterkins hovered before her, and two agamemnons; for the ass's head proved hot and heavy, and agamemnon was forced to hang it over his arm as he offered coffee to titania. there seemed to be two elizabeth elizas, for elizabeth eliza had thrown back her pillow-case in order to eat her fruit-ice. mr. peterkin was wondering how julius cæsar would have managed to eat his salad with his fork, before forks were invented, and then he fell into a fit of abstraction, planning to say "vale" to the guests as they left, but anxious that the word should not slip out before the time. eight little boys and three hindu snake-charmers were eating copiously of frozen pudding. two joans of arc were talking to charles i., who had found his head. all things seemed double to mrs. peterkin as they floated before her. "was she eating her own supper or somebody's else? were they peterkins, or were they not?" strains of dance-music sounded from the library. yes, they were giving a fancy ball! the peterkins were "at home" for the last time before leaving for egypt! vi. mrs. peterkin in egypt. the family had taken passage in the new line for bordeaux. they supposed they had; but would they ever reach the vessel in new york? the last moments were terrific. in spite of all their careful arrangements, their planning and packing of the last year, it seemed, after all, as if everything were left for the very last day. there were presents for the family to be packed, six steamer-bags for mrs. peterkin, half a dozen satchels of salts-bottles for elizabeth eliza, apollinaris water, lunch-baskets. all these must be disposed of. on the very last day elizabeth eliza went into boston to buy a bird, as she had been told she would be less likely to be sea-sick if she had a bird in a cage in her stateroom. both she and her mother disliked the singing of caged birds, especially of canaries; but mrs. peterkin argued that they would be less likely to be homesick, as they never had birds at home. after long moments of indecision, elizabeth eliza determined upon two canary-birds, thinking she might let them fly as they approached the shore of portugal, and they would then reach their native islands. this matter detained her till the latest train, so that on her return from boston to their quiet suburban home, she found the whole family assembled in the station, ready to take the through express train to new york. she did not have time, therefore, to go back to the house for her own things. it was now locked up and the key intrusted to the bromwicks; and all the bromwicks and the rest of the neighbors were at the station, ready to bid them good-by. the family had done their best to collect all her scattered bits of baggage; but all through her travels, afterward, she was continually missing something she had left behind, that she would have packed and had intended to bring. they reached new york with half a day on their hands; and during this time agamemnon fell in with some old college friends, who were going with a party to greece to look up the new excavations. they were to leave the next day in a steamer for gibraltar. agamemnon felt that here was the place for him, and hastened to consult his family. perhaps he could persuade them to change their plans and take passage with the party for gibraltar. but he reached the pier just as the steamer for bordeaux was leaving the shore. he was too late, and was left behind! too late to consult them, too late even to join them! he examined his map, however,--one of his latest purchases, which he carried in his pocket,--and consoled himself with the fact that on reaching gibraltar he could soon communicate with his family at bordeaux, and he was easily reconciled to his fate. it was not till the family landed at bordeaux that they discovered the absence of agamemnon. every day there had been some of the family unable to come on deck,--sea-sick below. mrs. peterkin never left her berth, and constantly sent messages to the others to follow her example, as she was afraid some one of them would be lost overboard. those who were on deck from time to time were always different ones, and the passage was remarkably quick; while, from the tossing of the ship, as they met rough weather, they were all too miserable to compare notes or count their numbers. elizabeth eliza especially had been exhausted by the voyage. she had not been many days seasick, but the incessant singing of the birds had deprived her of sleep. then the necessity of talking french had been a great tax upon her. the other passengers were mostly french, and the rest of the family constantly appealed to her to interpret their wants, and explain them to the _garçon_ once every day at dinner. she felt as if she never wished to speak another word in french; and the necessity of being interpreter at the hotel at bordeaux, on their arrival, seemed almost too much for her. she had even forgotten to let her canary-birds fly when off shore in the bay of biscay, and they were still with her, singing incessantly, as if they were rejoicing over an approach to their native shores. she thought now she must keep them till their return, which they were already planning. the little boys, indeed, would like to have gone back on the return trip of the steamer. a son of the steward told them that the return cargo consisted of dried fruits and raisins; that every stateroom, except those occupied with passengers, would be filled with boxes of raisins and jars of grapes; that these often broke open in the passage, giving a great opportunity for boys. but the family held to their egypt plan, and were cheered by making the acquaintance of an english party. at the _table d'hôte_ elizabeth eliza by chance dropped her fork into her neighbor's lap. she apologized in french; her neighbor answered in the same language, which elizabeth eliza understood so well that she concluded she had at last met with a true parisian, and ventured on more conversation, when suddenly they both found they were talking in english, and elizabeth eliza exclaimed, "i am so glad to meet an american," at the moment that her companion was saying, "then you are an englishwoman!" from this moment elizabeth eliza was at ease, and indeed both parties were mutually pleased. elizabeth eliza's new friend was one of a large party, and she was delighted to find that they too were planning a winter in egypt. they were waiting till a friend should have completed her "cure" at pau, and the peterkins were glad also to wait for the appearance of agamemnon, who might arrive in the next steamer. one of the little boys was sure he had heard agamemnon's voice the morning after they left new york, and was certain he must have been on board the vessel. mr. peterkin was not so sure. he now remembered that agamemnon had not been at the dinner-table the very first evening; but then neither mrs. peterkin nor solomon john was able to be present, as the vessel was tossing in a most uncomfortable manner, and nothing but dinner could have kept the little boys at table. solomon john knew that agamemnon had not been in his own stateroom during the passage, but he himself had seldom left it, and it had been always planned that agamemnon should share that of a fellow-passenger. however this might be, it would be best to leave marseilles with the english party by the "p. & o." steamer. this was one of the english "peninsular and oriental" line, that left marseilles for alexandria, egypt, and made a return trip directly to southampton, england. mr. peterkin thought it might be advisable to take "go-and-return" tickets, coming back to southampton; and mrs. peterkin liked the idea of no change of baggage, though she dreaded the longer voyage. elizabeth eliza approved of this return trip in the p. & o. steamer, and decided it would give a good opportunity to dispose of her canary-birds on her return. the family therefore consoled themselves at marseilles with the belief that agamemnon would appear somehow. if not, mr. peterkin thought he could telegraph him from marseilles, if he only knew where to telegraph to. but at marseilles there was great confusion at the hôtel de noailles; for the english party met other friends, who persuaded them to take route together by brindisi. elizabeth eliza was anxious to continue with her new english friend, and solomon john was delighted with the idea of passing through the whole length of italy. but the sight of the long journey, as she saw it on the map in the guide-book, terrified mrs. peterkin. and mr. peterkin had taken their tickets for the marseilles line. elizabeth eliza still dwelt upon the charm of crossing under the alps, while this very idea alarmed mrs. peterkin. on the last morning the matter was still undecided. on leaving the hotel, it was necessary for the party to divide and take two omnibuses. mr. and mrs. peterkin reached the steamer at the moment of departure, and suddenly mrs. peterkin found they were leaving the shore. as they crossed the broad gangway to reach the deck, she had not noticed they had left the pier; indeed, she had supposed that the steamer was one she saw out in the offing, and that they would be obliged to take a boat to reach it. she hurried from the group of travellers whom she had followed to find mr. peterkin reading from his guide-book to the little boys an explanation that they were passing the château d'if, from which the celebrated historical character the count of monte cristo had escaped by flinging himself into the sea. "where is elizabeth eliza? where is solomon john?" mrs. peterkin exclaimed, seizing mr. peterkin's arm. where indeed? there was a pile of the hand-baggage of the family, but not that of elizabeth eliza, not even the bird-cage. "it was on the top of the other omnibus," exclaimed mrs. peterkin. yes, one of the little boys had seen it on the pavement of the court-yard of the hotel, and had carried it to the omnibus in which elizabeth eliza was sitting. he had seen her through the window. "where is that other omnibus?" exclaimed mrs. peterkin, looking vaguely over the deck, as they were fast retreating from the shore. "ask somebody what became of that other omnibus!" she exclaimed. "perhaps they have gone with the english people," suggested mr. peterkin; but he went to the officers of the boat, and attempted to explain in french that one half of his family had been left behind. he was relieved to find that the officers could understand his french, though they did not talk english. they declared, however, it was utterly impossible to turn back. they were already two minutes and a half behind time on account of waiting for a party who had been very long in crossing the gangway. mr. peterkin returned gloomily with the little boys to mrs. peterkin. "we cannot go back," he said, "we must content ourselves with going on; but i conclude we can telegraph from malta. we can send a message to elizabeth eliza and solomon john, telling them that they can take the next marseilles p. & o. steamer in ten days, or that they can go back to southampton for the next boat, which leaves at the end of this week. and elizabeth eliza may decide upon this," mr. peterkin concluded, "on account of passing so near the canary isles." "she will be glad to be rid of the birds," said mrs. peterkin, calming herself. these anxieties, however, were swallowed up in new trials. mrs. peterkin found that she must share her cabin (she found it was called "cabin," and not "stateroom," which bothered her and made her feel like robinson crusoe),--her cabin she must share with some strange ladies, while mr. peterkin and the little boys were carried to another part of the ship. mrs. peterkin remonstrated, delighted to find that her english was understood, though it was not listened to. it was explained to her that every family was divided in this way, and that she would meet mr. peterkin and the little boys at meal-times in the large _salon_--on which all the cabins opened--and on deck; and she was obliged to content herself with this. whenever they met their time was spent in concocting a form of telegram to send from malta. it would be difficult to bring it into the required number of words, as it would be necessary to suggest three different plans to elizabeth eliza and solomon john. besides the two they had already discussed, there was to be considered the possibility of their having joined the english party. but mrs. peterkin was sure they must have gone back first to the hôtel de noailles, to which they could address their telegram. she found, meanwhile, the ladies in her cabin very kind and agreeable. they were mothers returning to india, who had been home to england to leave their children, as they were afraid to expose them longer to the climate of india. mrs. peterkin could have sympathetic talks with them over their family photographs. mrs. peterkin's family-book was, alas! in elizabeth eliza's hand-bag. it contained the family photographs, from early childhood upward, and was a large volume, representing the children at every age. at malta, as he supposed, mr. peterkin and the little boys landed, in order to send their telegram. indeed, all of the gentlemen among the passengers, and some of the ladies, gladly went on shore to visit the points of interest that could be seen in the time allotted. the steamer was to take in coal, and would not leave till early the next morning. mrs. peterkin did not accompany them. she still had her fears about leaving the ship and returning to it, although it had been so quietly accomplished at marseilles. the party returned late at night, after mrs. peterkin had gone to her cabin. the next morning, she found the ship was in motion, but she did not find mr. peterkin and the little boys at the breakfast-table as usual. she was told that the party who went on shore had all been to the opera, and had returned at a late hour to the steamer, and would naturally be late at breakfast. mrs. peterkin went on deck to await them, and look for malta as it seemed to retreat in the distance. but the day passed on, and neither mr. peterkin nor either of the little boys appeared! she tried to calm herself with the thought that they must need sleep; but all the rest of the passengers appeared, relating their different adventures. at last she sent the steward to inquire for them. he came back with one of the officers of the boat, much disturbed, to say that they could not be found; they must have been left behind. there was great excitement, and deep interest expressed for mrs. peterkin. one of the officers was very surly, and declared he could not be responsible for the inanity of passengers. another was more courteous. mrs. peterkin asked if they could not go back,--if, at least, she could not be put back. he explained how this would be impossible, but that the company would telegraph when they reached alexandria. mrs. peterkin calmed herself as well as she could, though indeed she was bewildered by her position. she was to land in alexandria alone, and the landing she was told would be especially difficult. the steamer would not be able to approach the shore; the passengers would go down the sides of the ship, and be lifted off the steps, by arabs, into a felucca (whatever that was) below. she shuddered at the prospect. it was darker than her gloomiest fancies had pictured. would it not be better to remain in the ship, go back to southampton, perhaps meet elizabeth eliza there, picking up mr. peterkin at malta on the way? but at this moment she discovered that she was not on a "p. & o." steamer,--it was a french steamer of the "messagerie" line; they had stopped at messina, and not at malta. she could not go back to southampton, so she was told by an english colonel on his way to india. he indeed was very courteous, and advised her to "go to an hotel" at alexandria with some of the ladies, and send her telegrams from there. to whom, however, would she wish to send a telegram? "who is mr. peterkin's banker?" asked the colonel. alas! mrs. peterkin did not know. he had at first selected a banker in london, but had afterward changed his mind and talked of a banker in paris; and she was not sure what was his final decision. she had known the name of the london banker, but had forgotten it, because she had written it down, and she never did remember the things she wrote down in her book. that was her old memorandum-book, and she had left it at home because she had brought a new one for her travels. she was sorry now she had not kept the old book. this, however, was not of so much importance, as it did not contain the name of the paris banker; and this she had never heard. "elizabeth eliza would know;" but how could she reach elizabeth eliza? some one asked if there were not some friend in america to whom she could appeal, if she did not object to using the ocean telegraph. "there is a friend in america," said mrs. peterkin, "to whom we all of us do go for advice, and who always does help us. she lives in philadelphia." "why not telegraph to her for advice?" asked her friends. mrs. peterkin gladly agreed that it would be the best plan. the expense of the cablegram would be nothing in comparison with the assistance the answer would bring. her new friends then invited her to accompany them to their hotel in alexandria, from which she could send her despatch. the thought of thus being able to reach her hand across the sea to the lady from philadelphia gave mrs. peterkin fresh courage,--courage even to make the landing. as she descended the side of the ship and was guided down the steps, she closed her eyes that she might not see herself lifted into the many-oared boat by the wild-looking arabs, of whom she had caught a glimpse from above. but she could not close her ears; and as they approached the shore, strange sounds almost deafened her. she closed her eyes again, as she was lifted from the boat and heard the wild yells and shrieks around her. there was a clashing of brass, a jingling of bells, and the screams grew more and more terrific. if she did open her eyes, she saw wild figures gesticulating, dark faces, gay costumes, crowds of men and boys, donkeys, horses, even camels, in the distance. she closed her eyes once more as she was again lifted. should she now find herself on the back of one of those high camels? perhaps for this she came to egypt. but when she looked round again, she found she was leaning back in a comfortable open carriage, with a bottle of salts at her nose. she was in the midst of a strange whirl of excitement; but all the party were bewildered, and she had scarcely recovered her composure when they reached the hotel. here a comfortable meal and rest somewhat restored them. by the next day a messenger from the boat brought her the return telegram from messina. mr. peterkin and family, left behind by the "messagerie" steamer, had embarked the next day by steamer, probably for naples. more anxious than ever was mrs. peterkin to send her despatch. it was too late the day of their arrival; but at an early hour next day it was sent, and after a day had elapsed, the answer came:- "all meet at the sphinx." everything now seemed plain. the words were few but clear. her english friends were going directly to cairo, and she accompanied them. after reaching cairo, the whole party were obliged to rest awhile. they would indeed go with mrs. peterkin on her first visit to the sphinx, as to see the sphinx and ascend the pyramid formed part of their programme. but many delays occurred to detain them, and mrs. peterkin had resolved to carry out completely the advice of the telegram. she would sit every day before the sphinx. she found that as yet there was no hotel exactly in front of the sphinx, nor indeed on that side of the river, and she would be obliged to make the excursion of nine miles there and nine miles back, each day. but there would always be a party of travellers whom she could accompany. each day she grew more and more accustomed to the bewildering sights and sounds about her, and more and more willing to intrust herself to the dark-colored guides. at last, chafing at so many delays, she decided to make the expedition without her new friends. she had made some experiments in riding upon a donkey, and found she was seldom thrown, and could not be hurt by the slight fall. and so, one day, mrs. peterkin sat alone in front of the sphinx,--alone, as far as her own family and friends were concerned, and yet not alone indeed. a large crowd of guides sat around this strange lady who proposed to spend the day in front of the sphinx. clad in long white robes, with white turbans crowning their dark faces, they gazed into her eyes with something of the questioning expression with which she herself was looking into the eyes of the sphinx. there were other travellers wandering about. just now her own party had collected to eat their lunch together; but they were scattered again, and she sat with a circle of arabs about her, the watchful dragoman lingering near. somehow the eastern languor must have stolen upon her, or she could not have sat so calmly, not knowing where a single member of her family was at that moment. and she had dreaded egypt so; had feared separation; had even been a little afraid of the sphinx, upon which she was now looking as at a protecting angel. but they all were to meet at the sphinx! if only she could have seen where the different members of the family were at that moment, she could not have sat so quietly. she little knew that a tall form, not far away (following some guides down into the lower halls of a lately excavated temple), with a blue veil wrapped about a face shielded with smoke-colored spectacles, was that of elizabeth eliza herself, from whom she had been separated two weeks before. she little knew that at this moment solomon john was standing looking over the edge of the matterhorn, wishing he had not come up so high. but such a gay young party had set off that morning from the hotel that he had supposed it an easy thing to join them; and now he would fain go back, but was tied to the rest of his party with their guide preceding them, and he must keep on and crawl up behind them, still farther, on hands and knees. agamemnon was at mycenæ, looking down into an open pit. two of the little boys were roasting eggs in the crater of mount vesuvius. and she would have seen mr. peterkin comfortably reclining in a gondola, with one of the little boys, in front of the palaces of venice. but none of this she saw; she only looked into the eyes of the sphinx. vii. mrs. peterkin faints on the great pyramid. "meet at the sphinx!" yes; these were the words that the lady from philadelphia had sent in answer to the several telegrams that had reached her from each member of the peterkin family. she had received these messages while staying in a remote country town, but she could communicate with the cable line by means of the telegraph office at a railway station. the intelligent operator, seeing the same date affixed at the close of each message, "took in," as she afterward expressed it, that it was the date of the day on which the message was sent; and as this was always prefixed to every despatch, she did not add it to the several messages. she afterward expressed herself as sorry for the mistake, and declared it should not occur another time. elizabeth eliza was the first at the appointed spot, as her route had been somewhat shorter than the one her mother had taken. a wild joy had seized her when she landed in egypt, and saw the frequent and happy use of the donkey as a beast of travel. she had never ventured to ride at home, and had always shuddered at the daring of the women who rode at the circuses, and closed her eyes at their performances. but as soon as she saw the little egyptian donkeys, a mania for riding possessed her. she was so tall that she could scarcely, under any circumstances, fall from them, while she could mount them with as much ease as she could the arm of the sofa at home, and most of the animals seemed as harmless. it is true, the donkey-boys gave her the wrong word to use when she might wish to check the pace of her donkey, and mischievously taught her to avoid the soothing phrase of _beschwesch_, giving her instead one that should goad the beast she rode to its highest speed; but elizabeth eliza was so delighted with the quick pace that she was continually urging her donkey onward, to the surprise and delight of each fresh attendant donkey-boy. he would run at a swift pace after her, stopping sometimes to pick up a loose slipper, if it were shuffled off from his foot in his quick run, but always bringing up even in the end. elizabeth eliza's party had made a quick journey by the route from brindisi, and proceeding directly to cairo, had stopped at a small french hotel not very far from mrs. peterkin and her party. every morning at an early hour elizabeth eliza made her visit to the sphinx, arriving there always the first one of her own party, and spending the rest of the day in explorations about the neighborhood. [illustration: every morning at an early hour elizabeth eliza made her visit to the sphinx.] mrs. peterkin, meanwhile, set out each day at a later hour, arriving in time to take her noon lunch in front of the sphinx, after which she indulged in a comfortable nap and returned to the hotel before sunset. a week--indeed, ten days--passed in this way. one morning, mrs. peterkin and her party had taken the ferry-boat to cross the nile. as they were leaving the boat on the other side, in the usual crowd, mrs. peterkin's attention was arrested by a familiar voice. she turned, to see a tall young man who, though he wore a red fez upon his head and a scarlet wrap around his neck, certainly resembled agamemnon. but this agamemnon was talking greek, with gesticulations. she was so excited that she turned to follow him through the crowd, thus separating herself from the rest of her party. at once she found herself surrounded by a mob of arabs, in every kind of costume, all screaming and yelling in the manner to which she was becoming accustomed. poor mrs. peterkin plaintively protested in english, exclaiming, "i should prefer a donkey!" but the arabs could not understand her strange words. they had, however, struck the ear of the young man in the red fez whom she had been following. he turned, and she gazed at him. it was agamemnon! he, meanwhile, was separated from his party, and hardly knew how to grapple with the urgent arabs. his recently acquired greek did not assist him, and he was advising his mother to yield and mount one of the steeds, while he followed on another, when, happily, the dragoman of her party appeared. he administered a volley of rebukes to the persistent arabs, and bore mrs. peterkin to her donkey. she was thus carried away from agamemnon, who was also mounted upon a donkey by his companions. but their destination was the same; and though they could hold no conversation on the way, agamemnon could join his mother as they approached the sphinx. but he and his party were to ascend the pyramid before going on to the sphinx, and he advised his mother to do the same. he explained that it was a perfectly easy thing to do. you had only to lift one of your feet up quite high, as though you were going to step on the mantelpiece, and an arab on each side would lift you to the next step. mrs. peterkin was sure she could not step up on their mantelpieces at home. she never had done it,--she never had even tried to. but agamemnon reminded her that those in their own house were very high,--"old colonial;" and meanwhile she found herself carried along with the rest of the party. at first the ascent was delightful to her. it seemed as if she were flying. the powerful nubian guides, one on each side, lifted her jauntily up, without her being conscious of motion. having seen them daily for some time past, she was now not much afraid of these handsome athletes, with their polished black skins, set off by dazzling white garments. she called out to agamemnon, who had preceded her, that it was charming; she was not at all afraid. every now and then she stopped to rest on the broad cornice made by each retreating step. suddenly, when she was about half-way up, as she leaned back against the step above, she found herself panting and exhausted. a strange faintness came over her. she was looking off over a beautiful scene: through the wide libyan desert the blue nile wound between borders of green edging, while the picturesque minarets of cairo, on the opposite side of the river, and the sand in the distance beyond, gleamed with a red and yellow light beneath the rays of the noonday sun. but the picture danced and wavered before her dizzy sight. she sat there alone; for agamemnon and the rest had passed on, thinking she was stopping to rest. she seemed deserted, save by the speechless black statues, one on either side, who, as she seemed to be fainting before their eyes, were looking at her in some anxiety. she saw dimly these wild men gazing at her. she thought of mungo park, dying with the african women singing about him. how little she had ever dreamed, when she read that account in her youth, and gazed at the savage african faces in the picture, that she might be left to die in the same way alone, in a strange land--and on the side of a pyramid! her guides were kindly. one of them took her shawl to wrap about her, as she seemed to be shivering; and as a party coming down from the top had a jar of water, one of her nubians moistened a handkerchief with water and laid it upon her head. mrs. peterkin had closed her eyes, but she opened them again, to see the black figures in their white draperies still standing by her. the travellers coming down paused a few minutes to wonder and give counsel, then passed on, to make way for another party following them. again mrs. peterkin closed her eyes, but once more opened them at hearing a well-known shout,--such a shout as only one of the peterkin family could give,--one of the little boys! yes, he stood before her, and agamemnon was behind; they had met on top of the pyramid. the sight was indeed a welcome one to mrs. peterkin, and revived her so that she even began to ask questions: "where had he come from? where were the other little boys? where was mr. peterkin?" no one could tell where the other little boys were. and the sloping side of the pyramid, with a fresh party waiting to pass up and the guides eager to go down, was not just the place to explain the long, confused story. all that mrs. peterkin could understand was that mr. peterkin was now, probably, inside the pyramid, beneath her very feet! agamemnon had found this solitary "little boy" on top of the pyramid, accompanied by a guide and one of the party that he and his father had joined on leaving venice. at the foot of the pyramid there had been some dispute in the party as to whether they should first go up the pyramid, or down inside, and in the altercation the party was divided; the little boy had been sure that his father meant to go up first, and so he had joined the guide who went up. but where was mr. peterkin? probably in the innermost depths of the pyramid below. as soon as mrs. peterkin understood this, she was eager to go down, in spite of her late faintness; even to tumble down would help her to meet mr. peterkin the sooner. she was lifted from stone to stone by the careful nubians. agamemnon had already emptied his pocket of coins, in supplying backsheesh to his guide, and all were anxious to reach the foot of the pyramid and find the dragoman, who could answer the demands of the others. breathless as she was, as soon as she had descended, mrs. peterkin was anxious to make for the entrance to the inside. before, she had declared that nothing would induce her to go into the pyramid. she was afraid of being lost in its stairways and shut up forever as a mummy. but now she forgot all her terrors; she must find mr. peterkin at once! she was the first to plunge down the narrow stairway after the guide, and was grateful to find the steps so easy to descend. but they presently came out into a large, open room, where no stairway was to be seen. on the contrary, she was invited to mount the shoulders of a burly nubian, to reach a large hole half-way up the side-wall (higher than any mantelpiece), and to crawl through this hole along the passage till she should reach another stairway. mrs. peterkin paused. could she trust these men? was not this a snare to entice her into one of these narrow passages? agamemnon was far behind. could mr. peterkin have ventured into this treacherous place? at this moment a head appeared through the opening above, followed by a body. it was that of one of the native guides. voices were heard coming through the passage: one voice had a twang to it that surely mrs. peterkin had heard before. another head appeared now, bound with a blue veil, while the eyes were hidden by green goggles. yet mrs. peterkin could not be mistaken,--it was--yes, it was the head of elizabeth eliza! it seemed as though that were all, it was so difficult to bring forward any more of her. mrs. peterkin was screaming from below, asking if it were indeed elizabeth eliza, while excitement at recognizing her mother made it more difficult for elizabeth eliza to extricate herself. but travellers below and behind urged her on, and with the assistance of the guides, she pushed forward and almost fell into the arms of her mother. mrs. peterkin was wild with joy as agamemnon and his brother joined them. "but mr. peterkin!" at last exclaimed their mother. "did you see anything of your father?" "he is behind," said elizabeth eliza. "i was looking for the body of chufu, the founder of the pyramid,--for i have longed to be the discoverer of his mummy,--and i found instead--my father!" mrs. peterkin looked up, and at that moment saw mr. peterkin emerging from the passage above. he was carefully planting one foot on the shoulder of a stalwart nubian guide. he was very red in the face, from recent exertion, but he was indeed mr. peterkin. on hearing the cry of mrs. peterkin, he tottered, and would have fallen but for the support of the faithful guide. the narrow place was scarcely large enough to hold their joy. mrs. peterkin was ready to faint again with her great excitement. she wanted to know what had become of the other little boys, and if mr. peterkin had heard from solomon john. but the small space was becoming more and more crowded. the dragomans from the different parties with which the peterkins were connected came to announce their several luncheons, and insisted upon their leaving the pyramid. mrs. peterkin's dragoman wanted her to go on directly to the sphinx, and she still clung to the belief that only then would there be a complete reunion of the family. yet she could not separate herself from the rest. they could not let her go, and they were all hungry, and she herself felt the need of food. but with the confusion of so many luncheons, and so much explanation to be gone through with, it was difficult to get an answer to her questions. elizabeth and her father were involved in a discussion as to whether they should have met if he had not gone into the queen's chamber in the pyramid. for if he had not gone to the queen's chamber he would have left the inside of the pyramid before mrs. peterkin reached it, and would have missed her, as he was too fatigued to make the ascent. and elizabeth eliza, if she had not met her father, had planned going back to the king's chamber in another search for the body of chufu, in which case she would have been too late to meet her mother. mrs. peterkin was not much interested in this discussion; it was enough that they had met. but she could not get answers to what she considered more important questions; while elizabeth eliza, though delighted to meet again her father and mother and brothers, and though interested in the fate of the missing ones, was absorbed in the egyptian question; and the mingling of all their interests made satisfactory intercourse impracticable. where was solomon john? what had become of the body of chufu? had solomon john been telegraphed to? when had elizabeth eliza seen him last? was he chufu or shufu, and why cheops? and where were the other little boys? mr. peterkin attempted to explain that he had taken a steamer from messina to the south of italy, and a southern route to brindisi. by mistake he had taken the steamer from alexandria, on its way to venice, instead of the one that was leaving brindisi for alexandria at the same hour. indeed, just as he had discovered his mistake, and had seen the other boat steaming off by his side in the other direction, too late he fancied he saw the form of elizabeth eliza on deck, leaning over the taffrail (if it was a taffrail). it was a tall lady, with a blue veil wound around her hat. was it possible? could he have been in time to reach elizabeth eliza? his explanation only served to increase the number of questions. mrs. peterkin had many more. how had agamemnon reached them? had he come to bordeaux with them? but agamemnon and elizabeth eliza were now discussing with others the number of feet that the great pyramid measured. the remaining members of all the parties, too, whose hunger and thirst were now fully satisfied, were ready to proceed to the sphinx, which only mrs. peterkin and elizabeth eliza had visited. side by side on their donkeys, mrs. peterkin attempted to learn something from mr. peterkin about the other little boys. but his donkey proved restive: now it bore him on in swift flight from mrs. peterkin; now it would linger behind. his words were jerked out only at intervals. all that could be said was that they were separated; the little boys wanted to go to vesuvius, but mr. peterkin felt they must hurry to brindisi. at a station where the two trains parted--one for naples, the other for brindisi--he found suddenly, too late, that they were not with him; they must have gone on to naples. but where were they now? viii. the last of the peterkins. the expedition up the nile had taken place successfully. the peterkin family had reached cairo again,--at least, its scattered remnant was there, and they were now to consider what next. mrs. peterkin would like to spend her life in the dahabieh,[1] though she could not pronounce its name, and she still felt the strangeness of the scenes about her. however, she had only to look out upon the mud villages on the bank to see that she was in the veritable "africa" she had seen pictured in the geography of her childhood. if further corroboration were required, had she not, only the day before, when accompanied by no one but a little donkey-boy, shuddered to meet a strange nubian, attired principally in hair that stood out from his savage face in frizzes at least half a yard long? [footnote 1: a boat used for transportation on the nile.] but oh the comforts of no trouble in housekeeping on board the dahabieh! never to know what they were to have for dinner, nor to be asked what they would like, and yet always to have a dinner you could ask chance friends to, knowing all would be perfectly served! some of the party with whom they had engaged their dahabieh had even brought canned baked beans from new england, which seemed to make their happiness complete. "though we see beans here," said mrs. peterkin, "they are not 'boston beans'!" she had fancied she would have to live on stuffed ostrich (ostrich stuffed with iron filings, that the books tell of), or fried hippopotamus, or boiled rhinoceros. but she met with none of these, and day after day was rejoiced to find her native turkey appearing on the table, with pigeons and chickens (though the chickens, to be sure, were scarcely larger than the pigeons), and lamb that was really not more tough than that of new hampshire and the white mountains. if they dined with the arabs, there was indeed a kind of dark molasses-gingerbread-looking cake, with curds in it, that she found it hard to eat. "but _they_ like it," she said complacently. the remaining little boy, too, smiled over his pile of ripe bananas, as he thought of the quarter-of-a-dollar-a-half-dozen green ones at that moment waiting at the corners of the streets at home. indeed, it was a land for boys. there were the dates, both fresh and dried,--far more juicy than those learned at school; and there was the gingerbread-nut tree, the dôm palm, that bore a nut tasting "like baker's gingerbread that has been kept a few days in the shop," as the remaining little boy remarked. and he wished for his brothers when the live dinner came on board their boat, at the stopping-places, in the form of good-sized sheep struggling on the shoulders of stout arabs, or an armful of live hens and pigeons. all the family (or as much of it as was present) agreed with mrs. peterkin's views. amanda at home had seemed quite a blessing, but at this distance her services, compared with the attentions of their maltese dragoman and the devotion of their arab servants, seemed of doubtful value, and even mrs. peterkin dreaded returning to her tender mercies. "just imagine inviting the russian count to dinner at home--and amanda!" exclaimed elizabeth eliza. "and he came to dinner at least three times a week on board the boat," said the remaining little boy. "the arabs are so convenient about carrying one's umbrellas and shawls," said elizabeth eliza. "how i should miss hassan in picking up my blue veil!" the family recalled many anecdotes of the shortcomings of amanda, as mrs. peterkin leaned back upon her divan and wafted a fly-whisk. mr. peterkin had expended large sums in telegrams from every point where he found the telegraph in operation; but there was no reply from solomon john, and none from the two little boys. by a succession of telegrams they had learned that no one had fallen into the crater of vesuvius in the course of the last six months, not even a little boy. this was consoling. by letters from the lady from philadelphia, they learned that she had received solomon john's telegram from geneva at the time she heard from the rest of the family, and one signed "l. boys" from naples. but neither of these telegrams gave an address for return answers, which she had, however, sent to geneva and naples, with the fatal omission by the operator (as she afterward learned) of the date, as in the other telegrams. mrs. peterkin therefore disliked to be long away from the sphinx, and their excursion up the nile had been shortened on this account. all the nubian guides near the pyramids had been furnished with additional backsheesh and elaborate explanations from mr. peterkin as to how they should send him information if solomon john and the little boys should turn up at the sphinx,--for all the family agreed they would probably appear in egypt together. mrs. peterkin regretted not having any photographs to leave with the guides; but elizabeth eliza, alas! had lost at brindisi the hand-bag that contained the family photograph-book. mrs. peterkin would have liked to take up her residence near the sphinx for the rest of the year. but every one warned her that the heat of an egyptian summer would not allow her to stay at cairo,--scarcely even on the sea-shore, at alexandria. how thankful was mrs. peterkin, a few months after, when the war in egypt broke out, that her wishes had not been yielded to! for many nights she could not sleep, picturing how they all might have been massacred by the terrible mob in alexandria. intelligence of solomon john led them to take their departure. one day, they were discussing at the _table d'hôte_ their letters from the lady from philadelphia, and how they showed that solomon john had been at geneva. "ah, there was his mistake!" said elizabeth eliza. "the doolittles left marseilles with us, and were to branch off for geneva, and we kept on to genoa, and solomon john was always mistaking genoa for geneva, as we planned our route. i remember there was a great confusion when they got off." "i always mix up geneva and genoa," said mrs. peterkin. "i feel as if they were the same." "they are quite different," said elizabeth eliza; "and genoa lay in our route, while geneva took him into switzerland." an english gentleman, on the opposite side of the table, then spoke to mr. peterkin. "i beg pardon," he said. "i think i met one of your name in athens. he attracted our attention because he went every day to the same spot, and he told us he expected to meet his family there,--that he had an appointment by telegraph--" "in athens!" exclaimed mrs. peterkin. "was his name solomon john?" asked elizabeth eliza. "were there two little boys?" inquired mrs. peterkin. "his initials were the same as mine," replied the englishman,--"s.j.p.,--for some of his luggage came by mistake into my room, and that is why i spoke of it." "is there a sphinx in athens?" mrs. peterkin inquired. "there used to be one there," said agamemnon. "i beg your pardon," said the englishman, "but that sphinx never was in athens." "but solomon john may have made the mistake,--we all make our mistakes," said mrs. peterkin, tying her bonnet-strings, as if ready to go to meet solomon john at that moment. "the sphinx was at thebes in the days of oedipus," said the englishman. "no one would expect to find it anywhere in greece at the present day." "but was solomon john inquiring for it?" asked mr. peterkin. "indeed, no!" answered the englishman; "he went every day to the pnyx, a famous hill in athens, where his telegram had warned him he should meet his friends." "the pnyx!" exclaimed mr. peterkin; "and how do you spell it?" "p-n-y-x!" cried agamemnon,--"the same letters as in sphinx!" "all but the _s_ and the _h_ and the _y_" said elizabeth eliza. "i often spell sphinx with a _y_ myself," said mr. peterkin. "and a telegraph-operator makes such mistakes!" said agamemnon. "his telegram had been forwarded to him from switzerland," said the englishman; "it had followed him into the dolomite region, and must have been translated many timed." "and of course they could not all have been expected to keep the letters in the right order," said elizabeth eliza. "and were there two little boys with him?" repeated mrs. peterkin. no; there were no little boys. but further inquiries satisfied the family that solomon john must be awaiting them in athens. and how natural the mistake! mrs. peterkin said that if she had known of a pnyx, she should surely have looked for the family there. should they then meet solomon john at the pnyx, or summon him to egypt? it seemed safer to go directly to athens, especially as mr. peterkin and agamemnon were anxious to visit that city. it was found that a steamer would leave alexandria next day for athens, by way of smyrna and constantinople. this was a roundabout course; but mr. peterkin was impatient to leave, and was glad to gain more acquaintance with the world. meanwhile they could telegraph their plans to solomon john, as the english gentleman could give them the address of his hotel. and mrs. peterkin did not now shrink from another voyage. her experience on the nile had made her forget her sufferings in crossing the atlantic, and she no longer dreaded entering another steamboat. their delight in river navigation, indeed, had been so great that the whole family had listened with interest to the descriptions given by their russian fellow-traveller of steamboat navigation on the volga--"the most beautiful river in the world," as he declared. elizabeth eliza and mr. peterkin were eager to try it, and agamemnon remarked that such a trip would give them an opportunity to visit the renowned fair at nijninovgorod. even mrs. peterkin had consented to this expedition, provided they should meet solomon john and the other little boys. she started, therefore, on a fresh voyage without any dread, forgetting that the mediterranean, if not so wide as the atlantic, is still a sea, and often as tempestuous and uncomfortably "choppy." alas! she was soon to be awakened from her forgetfulness: the sea was the same old enemy. as they passed up among the ionian isles, and she heard agamemnon and elizabeth eliza and their russian friend (who was accompanying them to constantinople) talking of the old gods of greece, she fancied that they were living still, and that neptune and the classic waves were wreaking their vengeance on them, and pounding and punishing them for venturing to rule them with steam. she was fairly terrified. as they entered smyrna she declared she would never enter any kind of a boat again, and that mr. peterkin must find some way by which they could reach home by land. how delightful it was to draw near the shore, on a calm afternoon,--even to trust herself to the charge of the boatmen in leaving the ship, and to reach land once more and meet the tumult of voices and people! here were the screaming and shouting usual in the east, and the same bright array of turbans and costumes in the crowd awaiting them. but a well-known voice reached them, and from the crowd rose a well-known face. even before they reached the land they had recognized its owner. with his american dress, he looked almost foreign in contrast to the otherwise universal eastern color. a tall figure on either side seemed, also, each to have a familiar air. were there three solomon johns? no; it was solomon john and the two other little boys--but grown so that they were no longer little boys. even mrs. peterkin was unable to recognize them at first. but the tones of their voices, their ways, were as natural as ever. each had a banana in his hand, and pockets stuffed with oranges. questions and answers interrupted each other in a most confusing manner:-"are you the little boys?" "where have you been?" "did you go to vesuvius?" "how did you get away?" "why didn't you come sooner?" "our india-rubber boots stuck in the hot lava." "have you been there all this time?" "no; we left them there." "have you had fresh dates?" "they are all gone now, but the dried ones are better than those squeezed ones we have at home." "how you have grown!" "why didn't you telegraph?" "why did you go to vesuvius, when papa said he couldn't?" "did you, too, think it was pnyx?" "where have you been all winter?" "did you roast eggs in the crater?" "when did you begin to grow?" the little boys could not yet thoroughly explain themselves; they always talked together and in foreign languages, interrupting each other, and never agreeing as to dates. solomon john accounted for his appearance in smyrna by explaining that when he received his father's telegram in athens, he decided to meet them at smyrna. he was tired of waiting at the pnyx. he had but just landed, and came near missing his family, and the little boys too, who had reached athens just as he was leaving it. none of the family wished now to continue their journey to athens, but they had the advice and assistance of their russian friend in planning to leave the steamer at constantinople; they would, by adopting this plan, be _en route_ for the proposed excursion to the volga. mrs. peterkin was overwhelmed with joy at having all her family together once more; but with it a wave of homesickness surged over her. they were all together; why not go home? it was found that there was a sailing-vessel bound absolutely for maine, in which they might take passage. no more separation; no more mistakes; no more tedious study of guide-books; no more weighing of baggage. every trunk and bag, every peterkin, could be placed in the boat, and safely landed on the shores of home. it was a temptation, and at one time mrs. peterkin actually pleaded for it. but there came a throbbing in her head, a swimming in her eyes, a swaying of the very floor of the hotel. could she bear it, day after day, week after week? would any of them be alive? and constantinople not seen, nor steam-navigation on the volga! and so new plans arose, and wonderful discoveries were made, and the future of the peterkin family was changed forever. in the first place a strange stout gentleman in spectacles had followed the peterkin family to the hotel, had joined in the family councils, and had rendered valuable service in negotiating with the officers of the steamer for the cancellation of their through tickets to athens. he dined at the same table, and was consulted by the (formerly) little boys. who was he? they explained that he was their "preceptor." it appeared that after they parted from their father, the little boys had become mixed up with some pupils who were being taken by their preceptor to vesuvius. for some time he had not noticed that his party (consisting of boys of their own age) had been enlarged; and after finding this out, he had concluded they were the sons of an english family with whom he had been corresponding. he was surprised that no further intelligence came with them, and no extra baggage. they had, however, their hand-bags; and after sending their telegram to the lady from philadelphia, they assured him that all would be right. but they were obliged to leave naples the very day of despatching the telegram, and left no address to which an answer could be sent. the preceptor took them, with his pupils, directly back to his institution in gratz, austria, from which he had taken them on this little excursion. it was not till the end of the winter that he discovered that his youthful charges--whom he had been faithfully instructing, and who had found the gymnasium and invigorating atmosphere so favorable to growth--were not the sons of his english correspondent, whom he had supposed, from their explanations, to be travelling in america. he was, however, intending to take his pupils to athens in the spring, and by this time the little boys were able to explain themselves better in his native language. they assured him they should meet their family in the east, and the preceptor felt it safe to take them upon the track proposed. it was now that mr. peterkin prided himself upon the plan he had insisted upon before leaving home. "was it not well," he exclaimed, "that i provided each of you with a bag of gold, for use in case of emergency, hidden in the lining of your hand-bags?" this had worked badly for elizabeth eliza, to be sure, who had left hers at brindisi; but the little boys had been able to pay some of their expenses, which encouraged the preceptor to believe he might trust them for the rest. so much pleased were all the family with the preceptor that they decided that all three of the little boys should continue under his instructions, and return with him to gratz. this decision made more easy the other plans of the family. both agamemnon and solomon john had decided they would like to be foreign consuls. they did not much care where, and they would accept any appointment; and both, it appeared, had written on the subject to the department at washington. agamemnon had put in a plea for a vacancy at madagascar, and solomon john hoped for an opening at rustchuk, turkey; if not there, at aintab, syria. answers were expected, which were now telegraphed for, to meet them in constantinople. meanwhile mr. peterkin had been consulting the preceptor and the russian count about a land-journey home. more and more mrs. peterkin determined she could not and would not trust herself to another voyage, though she consented to travel by steamer to constantinople. if they went as far as nijninovgorod, which was now decided upon, why could they not persevere through "russia in asia"? their russian friend at first shook his head at this, but at last agreed that it might be possible to go on from novgorod comfortably to tobolsk, perhaps even from there to yakoutsk, and then to kamtschatka. "and cross at behring's strait!" exclaimed mrs. peterkin. "it looks so narrow on the map." "and then we are in alaska," said mr. peterkin. "and at home," exclaimed mrs. peterkin, "and no more voyages." but elizabeth eliza doubted about kamtschatka and behring's strait, and thought it would be very cold. "but we can buy furs on our way," insisted mrs. peterkin. "and if you do not find the journey agreeable," said their russian friend, "you can turn back from yakoutsk, even from tobolsk, and come to visit us." yes--_us_! for elizabeth eliza was to marry the russian count! he had been in a boat that was behind them on the nile, had met them often, had climbed the ruins with them, joined their excursions, and had finally proposed at edfu. elizabeth eliza had then just written to consult the lady from philadelphia with regard to the offer of a german professor they had met, and she could give no reply to the count. now, however, it was necessary to make a decision. she had meanwhile learned a few words of russian. the count spoke english moderately well, made himself understood better than the professor, and could understand elizabeth eliza's french. also the count knew how to decide questions readily, while the professor had to consider both sides before he could make up his mind. mrs. peterkin objected strongly at first. she could not even pronounce the russian's name. "how should she be able to speak to him, or tell anybody whom elizabeth eliza had married?" but finally the family all gave their consent, won by the attention and devotion of elizabeth eliza's last admirer. the marriage took place in constantinople, not at santa sophia, as elizabeth eliza would have wished, as that was under a mohammedan dispensation. a number of american residents were present, and the preceptor sent for his other pupils in athens. elizabeth eliza wished there was time to invite the lady from philadelphia to be present, and ann maria bromwick. would the name be spelled right in the newspapers? all that could be done was to spell it by telegraph as accurately as possible, as far as they themselves knew how, and then leave the papers to do their best (or their worst) in their announcements of the wedding "at the american consulate, constantinople, turkey. no cards." the last that was ever heard of the peterkins, agamemnon was on his way to madagascar, solomon john was at rustchuk, and the little boys at gratz; mr. and mrs. peterkin, in a comfortable sledge, were on their way from tobolsk to yakoutsk; and elizabeth eliza was passing her honeymoon in the neighborhood of moscow. * * * * * others of their kin. * * * * * ix. lucilla's diary. monday.--i spent some time this morning watching for the rag-man. i wish i had taken down a note which day it was i saw him before. i remember it was washing-day, for i had to take my hands out of the tub and wipe the suds off when johnnie came to tell me that the rag-man was on the street. he was just turning the corner by the wylies when i got to the front gate. but whether we washed on monday i can't think. it rained that monday, or the week before, and we had to wait till tuesday; but which it was i couldn't say. i was in such a whirl fitting artemas off, and much as ever i made him hear; and he wasn't the right man after all, for he wouldn't give more than a cent and a half a pound for the papers, and mrs. carruthers got two cents. she could not remember what was his day for coming, but agreed to send him if she should see him again. * * * * * mrs. carruthers sent the rag-man to-day; but i can't say much for the bargain, though he was a different man from the one that came monday, and it seems it was monday. he agreed to give me the same he gave mrs. carruthers,--two cents a pound. and i had a lot of newspapers,--all the papers artemas has been taking through the winter; for he doesn't like me to take them for kindlings, says he would rather pay separate for kindlings, as i might burn the wrong one. and there were the papers that came around his underclothes and inside the packing boxes he has taken away. so i expected to make something; but he gave me no more than forty-five cents! he weighed them, and said himself there were thirty pounds. that ought to have come to sixty cents at least, according to my arithmetic. but he made out it was all right, and had them all packed up, and went off, though i followed him out to the gate and told him that it didn't amount to no more than i might have got from the other man at a cent and a half. he said it was all they were worth; that he wished he could get as much for them. then i asked him why he took the trouble to come for them, under the circumstances. but by that time he was off and down the street. * * * * * i was just sitting at the window this morning, and there were mr. and mrs. peebles walking down the street,--he on one side and she on the other. i do wonder why they didn't go on the same side! if they hadn't got so far past the gate, i'd have asked them. i never heard there was any quarrel between them, and it was just as muddy this side of the street as that. they have been spending their winters in the city lately, and perhaps it's some new fashion. i declare it's worth while to sit at the window now and then, and see what is going on. i'm usually so busy at the back of the house, i don't know. but now lavinia has taken to going to school with the boys, and they are willing to take care of her, half my work seems taken out of my hands. not that she was much in the way for a girl of four, but she might slip out of the gate at any time, as there are so many of those grinding organs around with their monkeys. * * * * * mrs. carruthers was in yesterday afternoon, and she said the peebles were looking up the numbers on the doors to find the wylies. they got puzzled because the numbers go up one side of the street and down the other, and they haven't but just been put on. and it seems that up in the city they have them go across. it does appear to me shiftless in our town officers, when they undertook to have the streets numbered as they do elsewhere, that they didn't number them the same way. but i can't see but our way is as good, and more sensible than having to cross a muddy street to look up the next number. * * * * * artemas has been gone a whole week. i told him i would put down the most important things in a diary, and then he can look at it, if he has time, when he comes home. he thinks it is a more sensible way than writing letters every week. he expects to be up and down in texas, and perhaps across the mountains; and in those lawless countries letters would not stand much chance,--maybe they wouldn't ever reach him, after i'd had the trouble of writing them. there's the expense of stamps too,--not so very much for one letter, but it counts up. nothing worries me more than getting a letter, unless it's having a telegraph come,--and that does give one a start. but even that's sooner over and quicker read; while for a letter, it's long, and it takes a good while to get to the end. i feel it might be a kind of waste of time to write in my diary; but not more than writing letters, and it saves the envelopes and hunting them up. i'm not likely to find much time for either, for the boys are fairly through their winter suits; if i can only keep them along while the spring hangs off so. * * * * * mrs. norris was in yesterday, just as i was writing about the boys' suits, to know if i would let martha off to work for her after the washing is over. i told her i didn't like to disoblige, but i couldn't see my way clear to get along without martha. the boys ought to be having their spring suits this very minute, and martha was calculating to make them this week; and they'd have to have their first wear of them sundays for a while before they start on them for school. i never was so behindhand; but what with fitting off artemas and the spring cleaning being delayed, i didn't seem to know how to manage. martha is good at making over, and there are two very good coats of artemas's that she would do the right thing by; while there was a good many who could scrub and clean as well as she,--there was that nora that used to live at patty's. but mrs. norris did not take to nora. the wylies tried her, but could make nothing out of her. i said i thought it would be hard to find the person mrs. wylie could get on with. not that i ever knew anything about her till she came to live on our street last winter, but they do say she's just as hard on her own family; for there's a story that she won't let that pretty daughter of hers, clara, marry bob prince's son, larkin. mrs. norris said she didn't wonder, for larkin prince hadn't found anything to do since he came home. i thought there was enough to live upon in the wylie family, even if larkin didn't find something the first minute he'd got his education. * * * * * i can see that mrs. norris didn't take it well that i was not willing to give up martha; but i don't really see why i should be the one to give up. but i must say i haven't got on as well with the work as i had hoped, lavinia's going with the boys so much keeps her clothes half torn off her back, and i can't seem to see how to make her tidy. i was real ashamed when i went to lift her out of a mud-puddle yesterday outside the gate; and there was clara wylie looking as clean as a white lily, and she stopped to help her out. it seemed that lavinia had left her boot in the last mud-puddle, and i would have liked to have gone through the ground. i hope it will be a lesson to lavinia, for miss wylie oughtn't to have touched her with her hand. but she did, yellow gloves and all, and said it was dreadful walking now, the frost so late coming out of the ground, and she had quite envied lavinia running across the fields after the boys. but lavinia has taken to envying miss wylie, and wishes she could wear that kind of boots she has, with high heels that keep her out of the mud-puddles. * * * * * i am thinking of having my ruby cashmere colored over. i don't seem to feel like ripping it all up, pleatings and all; but mrs. peebles says it can be dipped just as well made up, and i needn't take out a seam. i might have it a kind of dark olive, like mrs. carruthers' dress. * * * * * i have had a start! it is a letter from artemas; nothing particular about himself, only i should say he was well. but he wants to take out a young man farther west with him,--somebody with something of an education, who understands chemicals or engineering, and he wants me to pick out somebody. there's my brother sam, of course. i thought of him the first thing. but artemas never took to sam, though he is my brother. still, i dare say he would do right by him. and sam don't seem to find the work here that suits, and i hate to have him hanging round. but he don't know more than i about chemicals, as much as even what they are, though i dare say he could find out, for sam is smart and always could make out if he chose to lay his hands to anything. and i dare say artemas thought of sam, and that is why he sent to me to give him a chance. from what he says it must be a pretty good chance, exactly what sam would like if he knew anything about the business. i dare say he'd do quite as well as half the fellows who might go. he can be steady if he's a mind to. but i can't but think of larkin prince; how he's taken all the pains to get an education, and his father for him laying up money for the very purpose, and that pretty clara wylie waiting to be married till he should get something fit to do, and maybe her father wanting to marry her off to some rich man while she's waiting, when her heart is set on larkin. and he'd be just the man for artemas, seeing as he's been studying just such things. * * * * * it wasn't no use taking up the time writing in my diary, as artemas must have a telegraph before night, and the boys home from school to know if they might go to the swamp after checkerberries, and lavinia with them, and i let her go, clean apron and all, and i put on my bonnet to go over to mrs. prince's. it made my heart bump to think how much sam would set on having the situation, and artemas kind of expecting him; but i said to myself, if larkin should be out of town, or anything, that would settle the matter for sam. as it happened, who should i meet but larkin just at the gate! and i asked him if he would turn back and step in with me for a minute. he looked kind of provoked, and i shouldn't wonder if he hadn't expected to meet clara wylie coming out of her gate just below, as it's natural she should at this time. but he came in, and i gave him artemas's letter to read, for there wasn't anything in it except particulars of the work. he quite started as he read it, and then he looked at me inquiring, and i asked him if he had the kind of knowledge artemas wanted. i supposed he might have it, as he'd been to the new schools. it told in the letter about the expenses, and what the pay would be, and where he would find the free pass, and that he'd have to telegraph right off, and perhaps he noticed he'd have to start to-night. well, i guess he needn't care even to thank me; for that look in his face was enough, and i shan't forget it. he wanted to know was it artemas thought of him. but before i could answer, he saw somebody out in the street, and went to rushing out, only he gave me another of those looks as he went, and said he'd see me before he sent the telegraph, and would take any message from me to artemas. * * * * * i hadn't more than time to write this yesterday, when mrs. norris came in to inquire about some garden seeds, but i guess she expected to find out what larkin prince had been in for, for she was calling over at mrs. carruthers'. i offered her some squash seeds, and took her out the back way, through the garden, to show her how the squashes were likely to spread. last summer they were all over the garden. it seems the only thing the boys let to grow. she hadn't more than gone when larkin came in. it was all settled, and other things seemed to be settled too; for who should come in with him but clara wylie, crying and smiling all at once. she had to come and help larkin to thank me because he had got the place. after he was gone she came back for a little cry. she didn't seem to wonder that larkin was the one chosen, and supposed artemas must have known all about him, she said, as well as the company he is working for. they probably had seen his name in the papers, she thought, when he graduated so honorably from the school. i didn't tell her that there wasn't any company; that artemas never had time to read that kind of thing in the newspapers, and would not have noticed it if he had; and that he'd left it all to me. i can't but say after it was all settled i had a kind of a turn myself, to think that sam might have gone just as well, and i had been standing in his way. * * * * * i shall have to let down lavinia's gowns full two inches this summer. lucky i put tucks in them all last year. mrs. carruthers wanted me to finish them off with a frill; lucky i didn't, it would have been up to her ears this summer. as for the boys, i can take them in turn,--last year's clothes for the next boy all the way down, and cyrus can have his father's. but it seems harder to fit out lavinia. the ruby cashmere is as good for me as new; it is dipped. * * * * * i'm real sorry about the jones's losing their cow; it comes hard for them. it's better for our potato patch, particularly if they do not have another. cyrus ought to fence it in. sam came in last night. he had heard that larkin prince was summoned off by a company out west, for work that would pay, and would set him up for years, and he had a free pass, and old wylie had given his consent to his marrying clara. some people, he said, had luck come to them without trying for it, just standing round. there was he himself had been looking for just such work last year, and nobody had thought of him. * * * * * i hope i wasn't hard on sam. i couldn't help telling him if he'd gone up to the schools, as larkin prince did, and he might have done, he could have made himself fit for an engineer or a chemical agent. well, it took him kind of surprised, and i agreed to go round this evening, when father is at home, and talk to father and mother about sam's going to some of them schools. at least he might try; and, anyhow, it would get him out of the kind of company he's taken a fancy to. i must say i didn't think of how he'd feel about clara wylie; but, of course, her father would never have given sam any encouragement more than larkin. and as for clara wylie--well, i saw her look at larkin that night. * * * * * i don't know but i made a mistake in sending so many of his woollen socks to artemas by larkin prince. perhaps i had better have sent more of the cotton ones. larkin said he would tell him we were all well, and how he found us. lavinia had gone up to bed, and was hollering to me to come up to her, and cyrus slung silas's cap into the window, and it most hit larkin; silas came in after it through the window, and the rest of the boys were pounding on the barn door, where they were having a militia meeting, or some kind of a parade, with half the boys in town. so artemas will know things goes on about as usual. * * * * * an excellent sermon from mr. jenkins today. i can't seem to think what it was about, to put it down; but we are all of us more and more pleased with him as a minister. you can't expect all things of any man; and if a minister preaches a good sermon twice a sunday and perhaps at evening meeting, and goes around among the people as much as mr. jenkins, and holds meetings through the week, and bible class every friday evening, and sits by the bedside of the sick and the dying, and gives a hand in his own farming or a neighbor's, and stands on the committee for the schools, i don't know as you can expect much more of him. mrs. carruthers says there's a talk of the peebles moving up to the city for good and all. i should think they might as well go as careening back and forth, spring and fall; though she says they will still go down to the seashore or up to the mountains, summers. when i had a home, i will say, i liked to stay in it. there, now! i do believe that i have not mentioned in my diary that our house is burned down, and much as ever we all got out alive, coming in the night so. i suppose i ought to have put it in as being one of the principal events; but somehow i have been so unsettled since the fire, i haven't seemed to think to write it down. and, of course, artemas would see from the depot, the minute he arrived, that the house wasn't there, and he wouldn't need to wait and read about it in my diary; and i have been pretty busy getting set to rights again. everything being burnt, there 's all the summer clothes to be made over again, except a few things i brought off in a bundle along with the diary. still, it might have been better than writing about my neighbors, as i did about the peebles. * * * * * mr. jenkins came in as i was writing. he says that diaries are good things, and if you didn't put in only your thoughts in a sentimental kind of way, they'd be useful for posterity. i told him i didn't write for posterity, but for artemas, instead of a letter. he was surprised i hadn't written him about the fire, as the news might reach him exaggerated. i could not help from laughing, for i don't see how it could be made out much worse,--the house burnt down, and the barn with the horse in it, and cyrus's crop of squashes. much as ever we got out alive, and i had to come to rooms--two pair, back. i did bring the diary out in my apron. mr. jenkins spoke of the insurance, and maybe artemas might have something to say about that; but we talked it all over the night before he went away, and he spoke of the insurance being out, and he didn't think it worth while to renew; there never had been a fire, and it wasn't likely there would be. * * * * * mrs. carruthers came in to inquire when was a good time to try out soap. i told her i managed generally to do it when artemas wasn't at home, as he was not partial to the smell in the house. but mr. carruthers never does go away, and she doesn't believe he'd notice it. i don't know but i'd rather have my husband coming and going like artemas, instead of sticking around not noticing, especially if he was mr. carruthers. * * * * * clara wylie has been with letters in her hands, and it seems she wrote to larkin prince all about our fire; how our boys dropped matches in the hay, and the fire spread to the house from the barn, and how we were waked up, and had to hurry out just as we were. i don't believe she told how the wylies took us in that night, and found us these rooms at their aunt marshall's till artemas comes home. but it seems that artemas has told larkin it ain't no kind of consequence, the house burning down, because he never liked it facing the depot, and he'll be glad to build again, and has money enough for it, and can satisfy the neighbors if there's a complaint that our boys burned down all that side of the street, with being careless with their matches. and there was a note inclosed to me from artemas. he says he'd had a kind of depressed time, when things were going wrong, but matters began to look up when larkin prince came, who had just the information needed. so it's just as well i didn't write about the fire. i hope artemas don't talk too large about his earning so much; anyhow, i shall try to get along spending next to nothing, and earning what i can making buttonholes. * * * * * i've made over my ruby cashmere for lavinia, and i'm sorry now that i had it dyed over so dark, the olive is kind of dull for her; but i can't seem to lay my hand on anything else for her, and she must have something. lucky it was lying on the chair, close by the door, so i brought it off from the fire. * * * * * artemas has come home. x. jedidiah's noah's ark. i. "i don't see how we can ever get them back again," said mr. dyer. "why should not we ask the 'grateful people'?" asked jedidiah. to explain what jedidiah and his father meant, i shall have to tell how it was jedidiah came to have a noah's ark, and all about it, for it was a little odd. jedidiah was the son of poor parents. his father lived in a small, neat house, and owned a little farm. it was not much of a place; but he worked hard, and raised vegetables upon it, mostly potatoes. but mrs. dyer liked string-beans and peas; so they had a few of these, and pumpkins, when the time came; but we have nothing to do with them at present. if i began to tell you what mrs. dyer liked, it would take a great while, because there are marrow-squashes and cranberry-beans, though she did not care so much for tomatoes; but vegetables do help out, and don't cost as much as butcher's meat, if you don't keep sheep; but hens mrs. dyer did keep. it was the potatoes that were most successful, for it was one summer when everybody's potatoes had failed. they had all kinds of diseases, especially at spinville, near which mr. dyer lived. some were rotten in the middle, some had specks outside; some were very large and bad, some were small and worse; and in many fields there were none at all. but mr. dyer's patch flourished marvellously. so, after he had taken in all he wanted for himself, he told his wife he was going to ask the people of spinville to come and get what they wanted. "now, mr. dyer!" said his wife. she did not say much else; but what she meant was, that if he had any potatoes to spare, he had better sell them than give them away. mr. dyer was a poor man; why should not he make a little money? but mr. dyer replied that he had no cart and horse to take the potatoes to spinville with, and no time either. he had agreed to mow the deacon's off-lot, and he was not going to disappoint the deacon, even if he should get a couple of dollars by it; and he wasn't going to let his potatoes rot, when all spinville was in want of potatoes. so mr. dyer set to work, and printed in large letters on a sheet of paper these words: "all persons in want of potatoes, apply to j. dyer, cranberry lane, wednesday, the fifteenth, after seven o'clock, a.m. gratis." the last word was added after mr. dyer had pasted the notice against the town hall of spinville; for so many people came up to bother him with questions as to how much he was going to ask for his potatoes, that he was obliged to add this by way of explanation, or he would never have got to the deacon's off-lot tuesday morning. wednesday morning, mrs. dyer sat by the front window, with her darning. she had persuaded mr. dyer to wait till wednesday; for as for having all the people tramping through the yard when the clean clothes were out, she couldn't think of it; and she might as well get through the ironing, then she could have an eye on them. and how provoked they'd all be to come down all that way to cranberry hollow, to find only a bin of potatoes to divide among them all. the little shed was full of potatoes, mr. dyer answered. and he had no idea many people would come, just the poorer ones; and as long as he had any potatoes to spare, he was willing they should take them. but, sure enough, as mrs. dyer said, what a procession came! poor mrs. jones's little girl, with a bag; tom scraggs, with two baskets; the minister's son, with a wheelbarrow; and even rich mr. jones, the selectman, with a horse and cart. boys and girls, and old women, and middle-sized men, and every kind of a vehicle, from a tin tipcart to mrs. stubbs's carry-all. well, let them come, thought mrs. dyer. it would just show mr. dyer she was right, and he didn't often find that out. she should be disturbed by them soon enough when they found out that there was not more than half a potato apiece, and like enough, not that. pretty business of mr. dyer, to take to giving away, when he had not more than enough to put into his own mouth, to say nothing of jedidiah's! so she went on darning and thinking. what was her surprise, all of a sudden, to hear only shouts of joy as the people returned round the corner of the house! poor mrs. jones's little girl gave a scream of delight as she held up her bag full of potatoes; the minister's son had hard work to push along his full wheelbarrow; rich mr. jones was laughing from the top of his piled-up cart; tom scraggs was trying to get help in carrying his baskets. such a laughing, such fun, was never heard in spinville, which is a sober place. and they all nodded to mrs. dyer, and gave shouts for mr. dyer, and offered jedidiah rides in all their carts, those that had them, and asked mrs. dyer what they could do for her in spinville. and jedidiah tried to tell his mother, through the open window, how the more they took the potatoes out of the bin, the more there were left in it; and how everybody had enough, and went away satisfied, and had filled their pockets; and even one of the boys was planning a quill popgun for sliced potato, such as the worst boys had not dreamed of all summer. he was a bad boy from the meadow. "well, mr. dyer!" said mrs. dyer, all day, and again when he came home at night. of course the spinville people thought a great deal from this time of mr. dyer; and there was a town council held to consider what they should do to express their feelings to him. he had declined six times being made selectman, and he did not want to ring the bell as sexton. there did not seem to be anything in the way of an office they could offer him that he would accept. at last mr. jones suggested that the best way to please the father was to give something to the son. "something for jedidiah!" exclaimed mr. jones. "the next time i go to new york, i'll go to a toy-shop; i'll buy something for jedidiah." so he did. he came home with the noah's ark. it was a moderate-sized ark, painted blue, as usual, with red streaks, and a slanting roof, held down with a crooked wire. it was brought to jedidiah, one evening, just as he was going to bed; so the crooked wire was not lifted, for mrs. dyer thought he had better go to bed at his time and get up early and look at his ark. but he could not sleep well, thinking of his ark. it stood by his bedside, and all night long he heard a great racket inside of it. there was a roaring and a grunting and a squeaking,--all kinds of strange noises. in the moonlight he thought he saw the roof move; if the wire had not been so crooked it surely would have opened. but it didn't, not till he took it downstairs, and mrs. dyer had got out her ironing-board, that the animals might be spread out upon it; then jedidiah lifted the roof. what a commotion there was then! the elephant on the top, and his trunk stretched out; in a minute or two he would have unfastened the wire; the giraffe's long neck was stretched out; one dove flew away directly, and some crows sat on the eaves. mr. and mrs. dyer and jedidiah started back, while the elephant with his trunk helped out some of the smaller animals, who stepped into rows on the ironing-board as fast as they were taken out. the cows were mooing, the cats mewing, the dogs barking, the pigs grunting. presently noah's head appeared, and he looked round for his wife; and then came shem and ham and japheth with their wives. they helped out some of the birds,--white, with brown spots,--geese, and ducks. it took the elephant and noah and all his sons to get the horses out, plunging and curvetting as they were. some sly foxes got out of themselves, leaping from the roof to the back of a kneeling camel. jedidiah's eyes sparkled with joy. mrs. dyer sat with folded hands, and said, "why, mr. dyer!" and mr. dyer occasionally helped a stray donkey, whose legs were caught, or a turkey fluttering on the edge. at last a great roaring and growling was heard at the bottom of the ark. the elephant nodded his trunk to the giraffe; the camel was evidently displeased; noah and his sons stood together looking up at the roof. "it's the wild animals," said jedidiah. "if they should get out," thought mrs. dyer; "all the wild tigers and the lions loose in the house!" and she looked round to see if the closet door were open for a place of retreat. mr. dyer stepped up and shut the roof of the ark. it was in time; for a large bear was standing on his hind legs on the back of a lion, and was looking out. noah and his family looked much pleased; the elephants waved their trunks with joy; the camels stopped growling. "i don't wonder they are glad to get out," said jedidiah. "i do believe they have been treading down those wild animals all night." mrs. dyer wondered what they should do with the rest. come tuesday she would want her ironing-board,--perhaps baking-day, to set the pies on. "they ought to have some houses to live in, and barns," said jedidiah. then it was mr. dyer had said they could never get them back into the ark; and jedidiah had said, "we might ask the 'grateful people,'"--for this was the name the inhabitants of spinville went by in the dyer family ever since the time of the potatoes. the story of their coming for the potatoes had been told over and over again; then how the "people" felt so grateful to mr. dyer. mr. dyer said he was tired of hearing about it. mrs. dyer thought if they meant to do anything to let mr. dyer see they were grateful, they had better not talk so much about it. but jedidiah called them the "grateful people;" and it was he that caught the first glimpse of the procession when it came up with the ark, mr. jones at the head. he had some faith in them; so it was he that thought there ought to be a village built for noah and his family; and when mr. dyer had some doubts about building it he suggested, "let's ask the 'grateful people.'" what they did will be told in another chapter. ii. about the grateful people and the wild beasts. that very afternoon there was a great rush to see jedidiah's noah's ark, and there was immense enthusiasm about it. some brave ones opened the roof and looked in upon the growling wild animals. the girls liked the lambs the best; the boys were delighted with the foxes that jumped on the edge of the boat that formed the ark. in a day or two there was a flourishing little village built on a smooth place on the other side of mr. dyer's house. the minister's daughter had brought a little toy village she had with red roofs, and one of the men scooped out the houses, which were made of one block of wood, but could now accommodate noah and his family, and each one picked out a house to match the color of his garments. tom stubbs built a barn of wooden bricks for the larger animals, and lucy miles brought a pewter bird-cage, with a door that would open and shut, for the birds. the elephant knocked out a brick with his trunk as soon as he went into the barn, but that made a good window for him to look out of. jedidiah himself made the loveliest coop for the hen; and the boys had a nice time over a pond they dug in the mud, for the ducks. indeed, it occupied spinville for some time; and noah, shem, and ham did not sit down much, but looked very busy. there was a fence built round the whole village, high enough to keep in the elephants and the giraffes, though they could look over. there was a bit of pasture-land shut in for the cows, who fell to nibbling as soon as they were put in it. a clover-leaf lasted one of the sheep two days. the tinman sent some little tin dippers no bigger than a thimble, and the children were delighted to see the animals drink. the boys handed one of the dippers into the ark for the tigers. the giraffes found a bush just high enough for them to eat from. the doves sat on the eaves of the ark, and agamemnon brought some pickled olives, as he had no olive-branch for them. the children were never tired of seeing the camels kneel and rise. they made them carry little burdens,--stones that were to be cleared from the field, chips from the henhouse. sometimes the camels growled; then the children took off a chip or two from their burdens,--the last ounce, they thought. the "grateful people" sent a large umbrella, used by the umbrella-maker for a sign, that could be opened over the whole village in case of a rain; and the toy-shop man sent a tin teapot, though mrs. dyer did not venture to give noah and his family any real tea; but it was a very pretty teapot, with a red flower upon it. mrs. noah liked it, though it was almost large enough for the whole family to get into. all this was not the work of a day, by any means. first, all spinville had to come and look at the things, and then it had to discuss the whole affair. mrs. dyer's knitting got on bravely, for so many of her friends came in to sit in her best parlor, and talk it all over. mrs. dyer agreed with them; she thought it was all very strange. she should be thankful if only the tigers would never get out. she did not like having tigers running in and out of the house, even if they were no bigger than your thimble. she thought it quite likely some of the boys would let them out some day; but it was no use looking forward. so, day by day, the people came to look at the wonderful village. there was always something new to see. at last, one of the deacons declared jedidiah ought to charge so much a sight. it was as good a show as the menagerie, any day; and everybody was willing to give ten cents for that, children half-price. this made great talk. should jedidiah charge for the show, or not? mr. dyer would have nothing to say about it. mrs. dyer thought they might as well; then there would be fewer children in her front yard picking at the currants. at last it was settled that spinville should pay two cents a sight, children half-price, and strangers could see the village for nothing; but all those who had contributed anything towards the ark should have a right to visit it with their families, without paying. there was a great rush after this to see who was going to pay. it turned out only the schoolmaster's and doctor's families had to buy tickets; and when it came to that, mr. dyer said he would not let them pay anything. so jedidiah did not gain much by it; but he and a few of his friends made some tickets, all the same, printing on them "noah's ark. admittance, two cents; children, half-price;" and a good many children bought tickets for the fun of it. at last there came a crash. one afternoon, tim stubbs, in setting up a new pump, gave a knock to the ark, and sent the whole thing over. the roof snapped open, and out came all the wild beasts. the hyenas laughed, the lions roared, the bears growled, and the tigers leaped about to see whom they could devour; noah jumped up on top of the pump; the elephant knocked out a side of the barn, to see what was the matter; all the wives ran for the houses, and there was a general confusion. a leopard seized a young chicken. mrs. dyer came out with a rolling-pin in her hand. tim and tom stubbs declared they would catch the animals, if jedidiah would only find something safe to put them in. "if we only had a cave!" exclaimed lucy miles, who had hidden behind the kitchen door. tim and tom stubbs caught one of the tigers, just as jedidiah appeared with his mother's bandbox. he had thrown his mother's caps and her sunday bonnet on the spare-room floor. they shut the tiger up in the bandbox, then found one of the bears climbing up the pump after noah. jedidiah brought a strong string, and tied him to a post. all the rest of the boys ran away at first, but ventured to come back and join in the search for the rest of the beasts. the hunt grew quite exciting. one of the boys, who had read african travels, prepared a leash of twine, and made a lasso, and with this he succeeded in catching the two hyenas. then no one knew if all the beasts were caught or no. the boy who had read the travels could tell a long list of wild animals that ought to be in the ark. there was the rhinoceros, the hippopotamus, the jaguar; there was the leopard, the panther, the ocelot. mrs. dyer put her hands up to her ears in dismay. she could not bear to hear any more of their names; and to think she might meet them any day, coming in at the wood-house door, or running off with one of the chickens! but the stubbses thought very likely all these animals never were in this ark at all, though they might have been in the original noah's ark. this was only a play ark, after all, and you could not expect to find every animal in it. the minister's wife said she did not know what you should expect. the ark was quite a different one from any she had seen. she had bought them for her children, year in and year out, and she had never seen anything of the sort. you might expect a hippopotamus, or any kind of beast. those she had bought were always of wood, and the legs broke off easily. you could mend them with spalding's glue; but even spalding was not as good as it used to be, and you could not depend upon it. meanwhile the hunt went on. the spinville people began to be sorry they had ever bought a noah's ark. they had expected nothing of the sort. at last the two leopards were found,--beautiful creatures, who lashed their tails wildly; and before long, two hippopotami were discovered in the duck-pond, wallowing in their native element. they were very fierce and wild, and were caught with great difficulty. these were put in the bandbox with the others. it was a strong, old-fashioned box; but it was feared it would not last long for the wild beasts. jedidiah tied it up with some twine, and it was put for the present in the spare-room closet. mrs. dyer did not sleep well that night, though her doors had been shut all day. she dreamed she heard lions all the night long, and was sure a rhinoceros could get in at the window. why had mr. dyer ever been so generous with his potatoes? why had he invited all the people to come? of what use had the noah's ark been? jedidiah had got along without toys before; now his head was turned. better for him to amuse himself digging potatoes, or seeing to the squashes, than meddling with the beasts. and there were the spinville boys round before breakfast. they were there, indeed, and began again their search for the beasts. the girls sat at the chamber windows, watching the chase. under a cabbage-leaf, fast asleep, the stray tiger was found. the boy learned in natural history went over the terrible list of all the fierce animals. "yes, there were ocelots and cougars and jaguars, peculiarly shy and stealthy in approaching their prey," so the book said. "there was the chibiguasu----" but jedidiah said he didn't believe _his_ noah cared for such out-of-the-way beasts; they must have come in since his ark. they had enough to do to catch the regular wild animals, and these at last they found in some number. they were all seized, and with difficulty put into a wooden lozenge-box. there was great delight; there must be all; the ark surely could have held no more. lions, tigers, leopards, panthers, lynxes, wildcats,--all the animals necessary for a respectable ark, all in twos. but, oh horror! a jaguar was discovered, also, at the last moment just before school. one jaguar, and there must be another somewhere. the one found answered the description completely: "the body yellow, marked with open black figures, considerable variety in the marking." a stray jaguar in spinville! so fierce a beast! no one could be sure of his footsteps. noah, his sons and their wives, had not been unmoved. their satisfaction had been great. they had carried water to the bears, and had looked much pleased; and now they shook their heads at seeing only one jaguar. "i think they must be all caught but that one jaguar," said jedidiah. "they look satisfied, and are going about their daily work; and it is time we found some place for the wild beasts. they will come through mother's bandbox before long." the boys went to school. there was great consultation all that day, which ended in tom stubbs bringing a squirrel-cage. it was just the thing, for the wires were near enough to keep the animals in, and everybody could have a look at them. but how were they to be got into the squirrel-cage? there came a new question. tim stubbs remembered he had often caught a butterfly under his hat, and a very handsome butterfly, too, and he was sure he had him; but just as he lifted the brim of the hat to show the other fellows that he was really there, the butterfly would be off. happily there was no afternoon school, and a grand council of the boys was held, assisted by some of the selectmen. the beasts in the lozenge-box were easily disposed of, for it had a sliding cover, which was dexterously raised high enough to let the beasts all into the squirrel-cage. then handy tim stubbs punched a hole in the bandbox opposite to the entrance of the squirrel-cage, and one by one the leopards and the rest were allowed to make their way into the wiry prison. the tiger made a dash, but in vain; he was imprisoned like the rest. this is our last news from spinville. it is more than a month since the spinville stage set out on its weekly trip for that place. it was an old stage; the horses were old, the harness was old, the driver was old. it is not then to be wondered at that in crossing the bridge on the old road, which is so little travelled that it is never kept in repair, the old wheel was caught in a chink between the boards, the old coach tumbled over, the driver was thrown from his seat and broke his leg, the horses fell on their knees, and the whole concern was made a complete wreck. now, the stage-driver was the owner of the old coach and team. he had always said the thing did not pay; he would give it all up. indeed, he only had driven to spinville once a week to see the folks himself. nobody ever went there, and nobody ever came away, except once a year mr. jones, and he had a team of his own. so there is no communication with spinville. that a jaguar is loose is the latest news. xi. carrie's three wishes. carrie fraser was a great trouble to her mother, because she was always wishing for something she had not got. "the other girls always have things that i don't," she complained to her mother. her mother tried to explain to carrie that she had a great many things the other girls didn't have. "but they are not always wishing for my things, just as i wish for theirs." "that is because they are not such 'teasers' as you are," her mother would reply. "you do not hear them from morning till night teasing for things they have not got." another thing in carrie troubled her mother very much. she used a great many extravagant phrases. she was not satisfied with saying even "perfectly lovely," "splendid," "excruciatingly jolly." her mother might have permitted these terms, and was used to hearing the other girls use them; but carrie got hold of the strangest expressions and phrases, i am afraid to put them into this story; for every boy and girl is perhaps already too familiar with such, and i might only spread the use of them. i will mention that "bang-up" and "bumptious," and that class of expressions were her favorites, and the best-educated boy or girl will be able to imagine the rest. this story will show how a careless use of words brought carrie to grief, and taught her a severe lesson. one day, as usual, she had been complaining, and wishing she could have everything she wanted. her mother said: "you remember the old story of the old couple who had their three wishes granted, and how they never got any good from it." "but that was because they acted like such geese," exclaimed carrie. "i could never have been so elephantinely idiotic! first, they wasted one wish, for a black pudding." "that is a sausage," said her mother. "yes, they asked for a common, every-day sausage to come down the chimney; then they got into a fight, and wished it would settle on one of their noses; and then they had to waste their last wish, by wishing it off again! it is too bad to have such luck come to such out-and-out idiots." mrs. fraser was just setting out for the village street, to order the dinner. the governor was expected to pass through the place, and was to be met at the town hall. jimmy, the only son in the family, had gone off to see the show. "now, if he were a real, genuine governor," said carrie, "like a prince in a fairytale, you would go and beseech him to grant your wishes. you would fall on your knees, or something, and he would beg you to rise, and your lovely daughter should have all that she wished." "i am afraid you are very foolish," sighed mrs. fraser; "but i will see the governor. perhaps he can advise what is best." it seemed to carrie as if her mother were gone a great while. "she might have got six dinners!" she exclaimed to herself. "how tiresome! i wish i had gone down myself, anyway. all the girls and boys have gone, and i might have seen the governor." but she passed the time in rocking backward and forward in a rocking-chair; for to her other faults carrie added that of laziness, and when the other girls had gone down town, and had urged her to go with them, she had been quite too lazy to go for her hat or to hunt up her boot button-hook. "it seems as if jimmy might have come back to tell about things," she went on. "oh dear me! if i had only a chariot and four to go down with, and somebody to dress me and find my boots and my hat and my gloves, then it would have been worth while to go. i mean to make out a list of wishes, in case somebody should grant me the power to have them." she took out a little blank-book from her pocket, and began to write down:-"1. a chariot and four, man to drive, striped afghan, etc. "2. maid to find and put on hat, boots, etc. "3. plenty of hats, boots, and gloves for the maid to put on, and so that they could be found when wanted." "that would be bully!" said carrie, interrupting herself. "if i had gloves in every drawer and on every shelf, i should not have to be looking for them. i might have a hat on every peg in the house except what jimmy uses. i might have a sack over the back of every chair, and gloves in the pockets of each. the boots could be in each corner of the room and on all the top shelves. but boot-hooks! there's the stunner! where could one find boot-buttoners enough? they do get out of the way so! i should have six in every drawer, one in each pocket, half a dozen in mamma's basket, a row on the mantelpiece--on all the mantelpieces. then perhaps i could do without a maid; at least, save her up till i grow older. let's see. that makes three wishes. they generally have three. if i strike out the maid, i can think of something else. suppose i say something to eat, then. chocolate creams! i never had enough yet." at this moment mrs. fraser returned, looking quite heated and breathless. she had to fling herself into a chair by the window to recover strength enough to speak, and then her words came out in gasps. carrie did leave her rocking-chair and tried fanning her mother, for she saw she had something to say. "what is it? what have you seen? have you got something slam-bang for me? is the governor coming here? couldn't you raise any dinner?" carrie's questions came out so fast that her mother never could have answered them, even with the breath of a corliss engine; much less, panting as she was now. "yes, i saw him; i managed to see him," she gasped out. "the guns were firing, the cannon were booming, the bells were ringing----" "oh! i dare say! i dare say!" cried carrie, eager to hear more. "i could hear them up here. that was not worth going to town for. what did the governor say?" "my dear! my dear!" panted mrs. fraser, "he said you could have your three wishes." "what! the chariot and four (that means horses), the maid, and the boot-hooks,--no, the maid was scratched out,--not the chocolates?" asked carrie, in wonder. "no, no! i don't know what you mean!" said mrs. fraser; "but you can have three wishes; and i have hurried home, for they are to be told as the clock strikes twelve,--one to-day, one to-morrow, one the next day,--the moment the clock strikes, and i am only just in time. you are to wish, and you will have just what you wish." both carrie and her mother looked at the clock. the hand was just approaching twelve. carrie could hear a little "click" that always came from inside the clock before it struck. "i have written out my wishes," she hurried to say; "but i don't want the chariot yet, because everybody is coming back from town. and i don't want any more hats and boots just now. but, oh! i do want some chocolate creams, and i wish this room was 'chock full of them.'" as she spoke the clock struck; and when it stopped she could speak no more, for the room was as full of chocolate creams as it could hold. they came rattling down upon her head, filling in all the crannies of the room. they crowded into her half-open mouth; they filled her clutching hands. luckily, mrs. fraser was sitting near the open window, and the chocolate creams pushed her forward upon the sill. there were two windows looking upon the piazza. one was made of glass doors that were shut; the other, fortunately, was quite low; and mrs. fraser seated herself on the edge, and succeeded in passing her feet over to the other side, a torrent of chocolate creams following her as she came. she then turned to see if she could help carrie. carrie was trying to eat her way toward the window, and stretched out her arms to her mother, who seized her, and with all her strength pulled her through the window. "they are bully!" exclaimed carrie, as soon as she was free. "they are the freshest i ever ate. golumptious!" "oh, carrie," said her mother, mournfully, "how can you use such expressions now, when you have wasted your opportunity in such an extravagant wish?" "what! a whole roomful of chocolate creams do you consider a waste?" exclaimed carrie. "why, we shall be envied of all our neighbors; and, mamma, you have been sighing over our expenses, and wishing that jimmy and i could support you. do not you see that we can make our fortune with chocolate creams? first, let us eat all we want before telling anybody; then let us give some to choice friends, and we will sell the rest." all the time she was talking carrie was putting in her hand for chocolate creams and cramming one after another. mrs. fraser, too, did not refuse to taste them. how could they ever get into the parlor again, unless they were eaten up? "i am sure we can make quite a fortune," carrie went on. "as soon as jimmy comes home we can calculate how much it will be. the last time i was in boston i gave fifteen cents for a quarter of a pound, and there were just thirteen chocolate creams. now, see. in my two hands i can hold fourteen; now, how many times that do you suppose there are in the room?" mrs. fraser could not think. carrie was triumphant. "jimmy will know how to calculate, for he knows how many feet and inches there are in the room. if not, he can measure by the piazza; and we can row the chocolate creams out, and see how many go to a foot, and then we can easily find out. of course, we shall sell them cheaper than they do in boston, and so there will be a rush for them. it will be bully!" "i am glad we happened to take this rocking-chair out on the piazza this morning," said mrs. fraser, languidly seating herself. "i don't see how we shall ever get into the parlor again." "jimmy and i will eat our way in fast enough," said carrie, laughing; and jimmy at that moment appeared with two boy friends, whom he had brought home to dinner. they were all delighted when they understood the situation, and had soon eaten a little place by the window, inside the room. "i quite forgot to buy any dinner," exclaimed mrs. fraser, starting up. "i meant to have ordered a leg of mutton as i went down, and now it is too late; and eggs for a pudding. jimmy will have to go down----" "oh, the chocolate creams will do!" exclaimed carrie. "don't you see, there's our first saving, and my wish does not turn out so extravagant, after all. the boys will be glad to have chocolate creams for dinner, i'm sure." the boys all said they would, as far as they could, when their mouths were so full. "we must put out an advertisement," said carrie, at last, as soon as she could stop to speak: "'chocolate creams sold cheap!' i guess we won't give any away. we may as well make all we can. it will be geminy! suppose we look up some boxes and baskets, jimmy, to sell them in; and you boys can go to the gate and tell people there are chocolate creams for sale." but all the boxes and baskets were soon filled, and only a little space made in the room. jimmy pulled out the other rocking-chair that carrie had been sitting in, and she rested herself for a while. "i declare, i never thought before i could eat enough chocolate creams; but they are a trifle cloying." "my dear," said mrs. fraser, "if you had not said 'chock full;' if you had said 'a great many,' or 'a trunkful,' or something of that sort." "but i meant 'chock full,'" insisted carrie. "i did not mean quite up to the ceiling. i didn't suppose that was what 'chock' meant. now we know." a great shouting was heard. all the boys of the town were gathering, and quite a crowd of people seemed coming near. mrs. fraser was a widow, and there was no man in the house. jimmy was the nearest approach to a man that she could depend upon; and here he was, leading a band of boys! she sent one of the boys she knew the best for mr. stetson, the neighboring policeman, who came quickly, having already seen the crowd of boys flocking to the house. carrie was trying to sell off her boxes for fifteen, ten, even five cents; but the crowd could not be easily appeased, for the boys could see across the windows the chocolate creams closely packed. "the room is chock full!" they exclaimed. mr. stetson examined the premises. "you'll find it hard work to get them chocolates out in a week, even if you set all the boys on them. i'd advise letting them in one by one to fill their pockets, each to pay a cent." even carrie assented to this, and a line was formed, and boys let in through the window. they ate a way to the door that led into the entry, so that it could be opened and the room could be entered that way. the boys now went in at the window and came out at the door, eating as they went and filling their pockets. carrie could not but sigh at thought of the boston chocolates, more than a cent apiece! but the boys ate, and then the girls came and ate; but with night all had to leave, at last. it was possible to shut the window and lock it, and shut the door for the night, after they had gone. "i don't see why the chocolates should not stay on there weeks and weeks," said carrie to her mother. "of course, they won't be so fresh, day after day; but they will be fresher than some in the shops. i'm awfully tired of eating them now, and feel as if i never wanted to see a chocolate cream again; but i suppose i shall feel different after a night's sleep, and i think mr. stetson is wrong in advising us to sell them so low." mrs. fraser suggested she should like to go in the parlor to sit. "but to-morrow is the day of the picnic," said carrie, "and we shall be out-of-doors anyhow. i will take chocolate creams for my share. but, dear me! my dress is on the sofa,--my best dress. you were putting the ruffles in!" "i told you, my dear, one of the last things, to take it upstairs," said mrs. fraser. "and there it is, in the furthest corner of the room," exclaimed carrie, "with all those chocolates scrouching on it. i'll tell you. i'll get ben sykes in early. he eats faster than any of the other boys, and he shall eat up toward my dress. he made a great hole in the chocolates this afternoon. i will have him come in early, and we don't go to the picnic till after twelve o'clock." "and at twelve o'clock you have your second wish," said mrs. fraser. "yes, mamma," said carrie; "and i have already decided what it shall be,--a chariot and four. it will come just in time to take me to the picnic." "oh, my dear carrie," said her mother, "do think what you are planning! where would you keep your chariot and the four horses?" "oh! there will be a man to take care of them," said carrie; "but i will think about it all night carefully----" at that very moment she went to sleep. the next morning early, carrie was downstairs. she found she could eat a few more chocolate creams, and jimmy was in the same condition. she proposed to him her plan of keeping the chocolates still for sale, but eating a way to the sofa in the corner, to her best dress. ben sykes came early, and a few of the other boys. the rest were kept at home, because it turned out they had eaten too many and their parents would not let them come. a good many of the older people came with baskets and boxes, and bought some to carry away, they were so delicious and fresh. meanwhile ben sykes was eating his way toward the corner. it was very hard making any passage, for as fast as he ate out a place others came tumbling in from the top. carrie and jimmy invented "a kind of a tunnel" of chairs and ironing-boards, to keep open the passage; and other boys helped eat, as they were not expected to pay. but the morning passed on. mrs. fraser tried to persuade carrie to wear another dress; but she had set her mind on this. she had a broad blue sash to wear with it, and the sash would not go with any other dress. she watched the clock, she watched ben; she went in under the ironing-boards, to help him eat, although she had begun to loathe the taste of the chocolate creams. ben was splendid. he seemed to enjoy more the more he ate. carrie watched him, as he licked them and ate with glowing eyes. "oh, ben," carrie suddenly exclaimed, "you can't seem to eat them fast enough. i wish your throat were as long as from one end of this room to the other." at this moment the clock was striking. carrie was ready to scream out her second wish; but she felt herself pushed in a strange way. ben was on all fours in front of her, and now he pushed her back, back. his neck was so long that while his head was still among the chocolates, at the far corner of the room, his feet were now out of the door. carrie stood speechless. she had lost her wish by her foolish exclamation. the faithful ben, meanwhile, was flinging something through the opening. it was her dress, and she hurried away to put it on. when she came down, everybody was looking at ben. at first he enjoyed his long neck very much. he could stand on the doorstep and put his head far out up in the cherry trees and nip off cherries, which pleased both the boys and himself. [illustration: he enjoyed his long neck very much.] instead of a chariot and four, carrie went off in an open wagon, with the rest of the girls. it made her feel so to see ben, with his long neck, that she got her mother's permission to spend the night with the friend in whose grounds the picnic was to be held. she carried baskets of chocolate creams, and she found numbers of the girls, who had not eaten any, who were delighted with them, and promised to come the next day, to buy and carry away any amount of them. she began to grow more cheerful, though she felt no appetite, and instead of eating everything, as she always did at picnics, she could not even touch mattie somers's cream-pie nor julia dale's doughnuts. she stayed as late as she could at her friend mattie's; but she felt she must get home in time for her third wish, at twelve o'clock. would it be necessary for her to wish that ben sykes's neck should be made shorter? she hoped she might find that it had grown shorter in the night; then she could do as she pleased about her third wish. she still clung to the desire for the chariot and four. if she had it, she and her mother and jimmy could get into it and drive far away from everybody,--from ben sykes and his long neck, if he still had it,--and never see any of them any more. still, she would like to show the chariot and four to her friends; and perhaps ben sykes would not mind his long neck, and would be glad to keep it and earn money by showing himself at a circus. so she reached home in the middle of the morning, and found the whole sykes family there, and ben, still with his long neck. it seems it had given him great trouble in the night. he had to sleep with his head in the opposite house, because there was not room enough on one floor at home. mrs. sykes had not slept a wink, and her husband had been up watching, to see that nobody stepped on ben's neck. ben himself appeared in good spirits; but was glad to sit in a high room, where he could support his head. carrie suggested her plan that ben should exhibit himself. he, no doubt, could earn a large sum. but his mother broke out against this. he never could earn enough to pay for what he ate, now his throat was so long. even before this he could swallow more oatmeal than all the rest of the family put together, and she was sure that now even mr. barnum himself could not supply him with food enough. then she burst into a flood of tears, and said she had always hoped ben would be her stay and support; and now he could never sleep at home, and everybody looking after him when he went out, and the breakfast he had eaten that very morning was enough for six peoples' dinners. they were all in the parlor, where the chocolate creams were partially cleared away. they were in a serried mass on two sides of the room, meeting near the centre, with the underground passage, through which ben had worked his way to carrie's dress. mrs. fraser had organized a band to fill pasteboard boxes, which she had obtained from the village, and she and her friends were filling them, to send away to be sold, as all the inhabitants of the town were now glutted with chocolate creams. at this moment carrie heard a click in the clock. she looked at her mother, and as the clock struck she said steadily, "i wish that ben's neck was all right again." nobody heard her, for at that moment ben sykes started up, saying: "i'm all right, and i have had enough. come along home!" and he dragged his family away with him. carrie fell into her mother's arms. "i'll never say 'chock full' again!" she cried; "and i'll always be satisfied with what i have got, for i can never forget what i suffered in seeing ben's long neck!" xii. "where can those boys be?" this was the cry in the wilson family as they sat down to dinner. "it is odd," said aunt harriet. "i have noticed they are usually ready for their dinner. they may be out of the way at other times, but they always turn up at their meals." "they were here at breakfast," said jane, the eldest daughter. "i helped jack about his latin before he went to school," said the mother of the family. "they are probably at the pentzes'," said gertrude. "if our boys are not there, the pentzes are here; and as long as the pentzes are not here, i suppose our boys are there." "i should say they were not likely to get so good a dinner at the pentzes' as we have here," said aunt harriet, as a plate was set before her containing her special choice of rare-done beef, mashed potato, stewed celery, and apple-sauce. "who are the pentzes?" said mr. wilson, looking round the table to see if everybody was helped. "he is a painter and glazier," said aunt harriet, "and the mother takes in washing." "they are good boys," said mrs. wilson. "jonas pentz stands high in his class, and is a great help to our sam. don't you remember him? he is the boy that came and spent a night with sam a week ago. they have their first lesson in 'cæsar' this afternoon; perhaps they are studying up." "jack always has to go where sam does," said gertrude. this was the talk at the wilsons' table. the subject was much the same at the pentzes'. there was a large family at the wilsons'; so there was at the pentzes'. mrs. pentz was ladling out some boiled apple-pudding to a hungry circle round her. but she missed two. "where are jonas and dick?" she asked. a clamor of answers came up. "i saw jonas and dick go off with sam wilson after school, and jack wilson, and john stebbins," said will, one of the small boys. "you don't think jonas and dick both went to dine at the wilsons'?" said mrs. pentz. "i should not like that." "i dare say they did," said mary pentz. "you know the wilson boys are here half the time, and the other half our boys are at the wilsons'." "still, i don't like their going there for meal-times," said mrs. pentz, anxiously. "jonas had a new lesson in 'cæsar,'" said mary pentz. "i don't believe they planned to spend much time at dinner." but at supper-time no boys appeared at the wilsons'. mrs. wilson was anxious. george, the youngest boy of all, said the boys had been home since afternoon school; he had seen jack in the kitchen with john stebbins. "jack came to me for gingerbread," said jane, "and i asked him where they had been, and john stebbins said, with the pentz boys. he said something about to-morrow being a holiday, and preparing for a lark." "i don't like their getting all their meals at the pentzes'," said mrs. wilson, "and i don't much like john stebbins." again at the pentzes' the talk was much the same. mary pentz reported the boys went through their 'cæsar' recitation well; she had a nod of triumph from jonas as he walked off with sam wilson. "they had their books, so i suppose they are off for study again." "i don't like their taking two meals a day at the wilsons'," said mrs. pentz. "there's no school to-morrow," said mary, "because the new furnace is to be put in. but i dare say the boys, sam and jonas, will be studying all the same." "i hope he won't be out late," said mrs. pentz. "he's more likely to spend the night at the wilsons'," said mary. "you know he did a week ago." "the boys were round here for a candle," said will. "then they do mean to study late," said mrs. pentz. "i shall tell him never to do it again; and with dick, too!" mr. wilson came hurrying home for a late supper, and announced he must go to new york by a late train. "a good chance for you," he said to his wife, "to go and see your sister. you won't have more than a day with her, for i shall have to take the night train back, but it will give you a day's talk." mrs. wilson would like to go, but she felt anxious about the boys. "they have not been home for dinner or supper." "but they came home for gingerbread," said aunt harriet. "i suppose they didn't have too hearty a dinner at the pentzes'." "joanna says they went off with a basket packed up for to-morrow," said gertrude. "if the pentzes did not live so far off, i would send up," said mrs. wilson. "they will be in by the time we are off, or soon after," said mr. wilson. "it looks like rain, but it won't hurt us." mrs. wilson and he went, but no boys appeared all the evening. aunt harriet, who had not been long in the family, concluded this was the way boys acted. jane sat up some time finishing a novel, and hurried off to bed, startled to find it so late, and waking up gertrude to say, "it is odd those boys have not come home!" why hadn't they? they couldn't. this is what happened. wednesday afternoon, after school, the younger boys had gone to play at the old wilson house, far away at the other end of the main street, beyond the pentzes'. this was an old deserted mansion, where the wilsons themselves had lived once upon a time. but it had taken a fortune and two furnaces to warm it in winter, and half a dozen men to keep the garden in order in summer, and it had grown now more fashionable to live at the other end of the town; so the wilson family had moved down years ago, where the girls could see "the passing" and mr. wilson would be near his business. of late years he had not been able to let the house, and it had been closely shut to keep it from the tramps. the boys had often begged the keys of their father, for they thought it would be such fun to take possession of the old house. but mr. wilson said, "no; if a parcel of boys found their way in, all the tramps in the neighborhood would learn how to get in too." still, it continued the object of the boys' ambition to get into the house, and they were fond of going up to play in the broad grassy space by the side of the house; and they kept good oversight of the apple crop there. on this wednesday afternoon they were playing ball there, and lost the ball. it had gone through a ventilation hole into the cellar part of the house. now, everybody knows that if a boy loses a ball it must be recovered, especially if he knows where it is. there is not even a woman so stony-hearted but she will let in a troop of muddy-shoed boys through her entry (just washed) if they come to look for a ball, even if it has broken a pane of glass on its way. so the boys got a ladder from the pentzes', and put it up at one of the windows where the blind was broken. jack went up the ladder. the slat was off, but not in the right place to open the window. there could not be any harm in breaking off another; then he could reach the middle of the sash and pull up the window. no; it was fastened inside. john stebbins tried, but it was of no use. "it would not help if we broke the window by the fastening," said john; "for the shutters are closed inside with old-fashioned inside shutters." here was the time to ask for the key. they must have the key to find that ball, and the boys trudged back to meet sam just going home from the pentzes'. but sam refused to ask for the key again, he didn't want to bother his father so soon, and he didn't want the bother himself. he had his new "cæsar" lesson to study; to-morrow, after school, he and jonas would look round at the house, and find some way to recover the ball, for even the stern and studious sam knew the value of a ball. so thursday noon the boys all hurried up to the wilson house,--sam, jonas, and all. they examined it on every side. they came back to the hole where the ball was lost. "there's the cold-air box," said jonas. "could not dick crawl in?" now, dick was a very small pattern of a boy, indeed, to be still a boy. really he might crawl into the cold-air box. he tried it! he did get in! he had to squeeze through one part, but worked his way down fairly into the cellar, and screamed out with triumph that he had found the ball close by the hole! but how was dick to get out again? he declared he could never scramble up. he slipped back as fast as he tried. he would look for the cellar stairs, only it was awful dark except just by the hole. he had a match in his pocket. jack ran to the pentzes' and got a candle, and they rolled it in to dick, and waited anxiously to see where he would turn up next. they heard him, before long, pounding at a door round the corner of the house. he had found the cellar stairs, and a door with bolts and a great rusty key, which he succeeded in turning. the boys pulled at the door and it opened; and there stood dick with the ball in one hand, picking up the candle with the other! what a chance to enter the house! down the cellar stairs, up into the attics! strange echoes in the great halls, and dark inside; for all the windows were closed and barred,--all but in one room upstairs that opened on a back veranda. it was a warm late-autumn day, and the sun poured down pleasantly upon a seat in the corner of the veranda, where a creeper was shedding its last gay leaves. "what a place to study!" exclaimed sam. "let's come and spend to-morrow," said john stebbins; "there's no school." "no school friday, on account of the furnace!" exclaimed jack. "let's bring a lot of provisions and stay the whole day here." "we might lay it in to-night," said john stebbins; "we'll come up after school this afternoon!" "and i'll tell father about the key this evening," said sam; "he won't mind, if he finds we have got one." "jack and i will see to the provisions," said john stebbins, "if the rest of you boys will come here as soon as school is over." it was all so interesting that they were too late for dinners, and had to content themselves with gingerbread as they hurried to school. "be sure you tell mother," was sam's last warning to jack and john stebbins, as they parted for their separate schoolrooms. after school the party hastened to the old house. sam took the entry key from his pocket and opened the door, leaving dick to wait for jack and john stebbins. they appeared before long with a basket of provisions, and were ready for a feast directly, but delayed for a further examination of the house. it was dark soon, and sam would not let them stay long in any one room. they must just take a look, and then go home,--no waiting for a feast. "i'll talk to father this evening, and ask him if we may have it if we keep the whole thing secret." they fumbled their way down to the lower back door, but could not get it open. it was locked! "we left the key in the door outside," said dick, in a low whisper. "you ninnies!" exclaimed sam, "somebody saw you and has locked us in." "some of the boys, to plague us," said john stebbins. "mighty great secrecy, now," said sam, "if half the boys in town know we are here. it all comes of that great basket of provisions you saw fit to bring round." "you'll be glad enough of it," said john stebbins, "if we have to spend the night here." "let's have it now," said jack. "we may as well occupy ourselves that way," said sam, in a resigned tone, "till they choose to let us out." "suppose we go up to the room with the bed and the sofa," said john stebbins; "and we've got a surprise for you. there's a pie,--let's eat that." they stumbled their way back. the provident john stebbins had laid in more candles, and they found an old table and had a merry feast. sam and jonas had their books. when sam had hold of a fresh latin book he could not keep away from it. jonas's mind was busy with a new invention. the boys thought he would make his fortune by it. he was determined to invent some use for coal ashes. they were the only things that were not put to some use by his mother in their establishment. he thought he should render a service to mankind if he could do something useful with coal ashes. so he had studied all the chemistry books, and had one or two in his pockets now, and drew out a paper with h o, and other strange letters and figures on it. the other boys after supper busied themselves with arranging the room for a night's sleep. "it's awful jolly," said dick. "this bed will hold four of us. i'll sleep across the foot, and sam shall have the sofa." but sam rose up from his study. "i've no notion of spending the night here. the door must be open by this time." he went to the window that looked out on the veranda. there was a heavy rain-storm; it was pouring hard. it was hard work getting down to the door in the dark. the candle kept going out; and they found the door still locked when they reached it. "why not spend the night?" said jonas. "they'll have got over their worries at home by this time." "nobody could come up here to see after us in this rain," said sam. "i suppose they think that as we have made our bed we may as well sleep in it." sleep they did until a late hour in the morning. all the windows but the one upon the veranda closed with shutters. they woke up to find snow and rain together. they went all over the house to find some way of getting out, but doors and windows were well closed. "it's no use, boys," said sam. "we've tried it often enough from outside to get in, and now it is as hard to get out. i was always disgusted that the windows were so high from the ground. anyhow, father or some of the folks will be after us sometime. what was it you told mother?" sam asked. john stebbins had to confess that he had not seen mrs. wilson, and indeed had been vague with the information he had left with jane. "i told them we were with the pentz boys," he said; "i thought it just as well to keep dark." "mighty dark we all of us are!" said sam, in a rage. he was so angry that john stebbins began to think he had made jane understand where they were, and he tried to calm sam down. jonas proposed that dick should be put through the cold-air box again. with a little squeezing from behind he must be able to get through. everybody but dick thought it such a nice plan that he was obliged to agree. but what was their horror when they reached the place to find some boards nailed across the outside! "a regular siege!" said sam. "well, if they can stand it i guess we can." his mettle was up. "we'll stay till relief forces come. it is some trick of the boys. lucky there's no school. they can't hold out long." "a state of siege! what fun!" cried the boys. "i only wish we had brought two pies," said john stebbins. "but there's plenty of gingerbread." now they would ransack the house at their leisure. there was light enough in the attics to explore the treasures hidden there. they found old coal-hods for helmets, and warming-pans for fiery steeds, and they had tournaments in the huge halls. they piled up carpets for their comfort in their bedroom,--bits of old carpet,--and jonas and sam discovered a pile of old worm-eaten books. the day seemed too short, and the provender lasted well. the night, however, was not so happy. the candles were growing short and matches fewer. sam and jonas had to economize in reading, and told stories instead, and the stories had a tendency to ghosts. dick and jack murmured to john stebbins it was not such fun after all; when, lo! their own talk was interrupted by noises below! a sound of quarrelling voices came from the rooms beneath. voices of men! they went on tiptoe to the head of the stairs to listen. tramps, indeed! how had they got in? was it they who had locked the door? did they come in that way? "suppose we go down," said sam, in a whisper. but john stebbins and the little boys would not think of it. the men were swearing at each other; there was a jingle of bottles and sound of drinking. "it's my opinion we had better keep quiet," said jonas. "it is a poor set, and i don't know what they would do to us if they saw we had found them out and would be likely to tell of them." so they crept back noiselessly. in a state of siege, indeed! john stebbins, with help of the others, lifted the sofa across the door and begged sam to sleep on it. but that night there was not much sleep! the storm continued, snow, hail, and rain, and wind howling against the windows. toward morning they did fall asleep. it was at a late hour they waked up and went to peer out from the veranda window. there was a policeman passing round the house! * * * * * meanwhile there had been great anxiety at the wilsons'. "if it were not for the storm," said aunt harriet, "i should send up to the pentzes' to inquire about those boys." "i suppose it's the storm that keeps them," said jane. "if it were not for the storm," mrs. pentz was saying to mary, "i should like you to go down to the wilsons' and see what those boys are about." as to mrs. stebbins, john was so seldom at home it did not occur to her to wonder where he was. but when saturday morning came, and no boys, aunt harriet said, "there's a little lull in the storm. i can't stand it any longer, jane. i am going to put on my waterproof and go up to the pentzes'." "i will go too," said jane; and gertrude and george joined the party. half-way up the long street they met the pentz family coming down to make the same inquiries,--mr. and mrs. pentz, mary, sophy, will, and the rest. "where are the boys?" was the exclamation as they met half-way between the two houses. mr. johnson, one of the leading men of the town, crossed the street to ask what was the commotion in the two families. "our boys are missing," said mr. pentz. "five boys!" "we haven't seen them since thursday morning," said aunt harriet. "they were at home thursday afternoon," said mary pentz. "i must speak to the police," said mr. pentz. "he is up at the wilson house," said mr. johnson. "there were tramps in the house there last night, and the police came very near catching them. he found the door unlocked night before last. the tramps kept off that night, but turned up last night in the storm. they have got off, however. there is only one policeman, but we've sworn in a special to keep guard on the house." "i'll go up and see him," said mr. pentz. "we'll all go up," said harriet. "perhaps the tramps have gone off with the boys," said gertrude. quite a crowd had collected with the party as they moved up the street, and all together came to the front of the house. the policeman was just disappearing round the other side. they turned to the back to meet him, and reached the corner where the veranda looked down upon the yard. at this moment mr. and mrs. wilson appeared. they had arrived at the station from new york, and heard there the story of the disappearance of the boys, and of tramps in the house. they hastened to the scene, mrs. wilson almost distracted, and now stood with the rest of the wilsons and the pentzes awaiting the policeman. they heard a cry from above, and looked up to the veranda. there were all the boys in a row. xiii. a place for oscar. "i don't like tiresome fables," said jack, throwing down an old book in which he had been trying to read; "it is so ridiculous making the beasts talk. of course they never do talk that way, and if they did talk, they would not be giving that kind of advice but then they never did talk. did you ever hear of a beast talking, ernest, except in a fable?" ernest looked up from his book. "why, yes," he said decidedly; "the horses of achilles talked, don't you remember?" "well, that was a kind of fable," said jack. "our horses never talked. bruno comes near it sometimes. but, hester, don't you think fables are tiresome? they always have a moral tagged on!" he continued, appealing to his older sister; for ernest proved a poor listener, and was deep in his book again. "i will tell you a fable about a boy," said hester, sitting down with her work, "and you shall see." "but don't let the beasts speak," said jack, "and don't let the boy give advice!" "he won't even think of it," said hester; and she went on. "once there was a boy, and his name was oscar, and he went to a very good school, where he learned to spell and read very well, and do a few sums. but when he had learned about as much as that, he took up a new accomplishment. this was to fling up balls, two at a time, and catch them in his hands. this he could do wonderfully well; but then a great many other boys could. he, however, did it at home; he did it on the sidewalk; he could do it sitting on the very top of a board fence; but he was most proud of doing it in school hours while the teacher was not looking. this grew to be his great ambition. he succeeded once or twice, when she was very busy with a younger class, and once while her back was turned, and she was at the door receiving a visitor. "but that did not satisfy him: he wanted to be able to do it when she was sitting on her regular seat in front of the platform; and every day he practised, sometimes with one ball and sometimes with another. it took a great deal of his time and all of his attention; and often some of the other boys were marked for laughing when he succeeded. and he had succeeded so well that the teacher had not the slightest idea what they were laughing at. "all this was very satisfactory to him; but it was not so well for him at the end of the year, because it turned out he was behind-hand in all his studies, and he had to be put down into a lower room. but coming into another room with a fresh teacher, he had to learn his favorite accomplishment all over again. it was difficult, for she was a very rigid teacher, and seemed to have eyes in every hair of her head; and he sat at the other side of the room, so that he had to change hands somehow in throwing the balls and getting them into his desk quick without being seen. but there were a number of younger boys in the room who enjoyed it all very much, so that he was a real hero, and felt himself quite a favorite. he did manage to keep up better in his arithmetic, too, in spite of his having so little time for his books. perhaps from having to watch the teacher so much, he did learn the things that he heard her repeat over and over again; and then he picked up some knowledge from the other boys. still, all through his school term, he was sent about more or less from one room to another. the teachers could not quite understand why such a bright-looking boy, who seemed to be always busy with his lessons, was not farther on in his studies. "so it happened, when they all left school, oscar was himself surprised to find that the boys of his age were ahead of him in various ways. a large class went on to the high school; but oscar, as it proved, was not at all fitted. "and his father took him round from one place to another to try to get some occupation for him. he looked so bright that he was taken for an office-boy here and there; but he never stayed. the fact was, the only thing he could do well was to fling balls up in the air and catch them in turn, without letting them drop to the ground; and this he could only do best on the sly, behind somebody's back. now this, though entertaining to those who saw it for a little while, did not help on his employers, who wondered why they did not get more work out of oscar. "a certain mr. spenser, a friend of oscar's father, asked him to bring his boy round to his office, and he would employ him. 'he will have to do a little drudgery at first, but i think we can promote him soon, if he is faithful.' "so oscar went with his father to mr. spenser's office. mr. spenser started a little when he saw oscar; but after talking awhile, he went to his table, and took from a drawer two balls. 'my little boy left these here this morning,' he said. 'how long do you think,' turning to oscar, 'you could keep them up in the air without letting them drop?' "oscar was much pleased. here was his chance; at this office the kind of thing he could do was wanted. so he dexterously took the balls, and flung them up and down, and might have kept at it all the morning but that mr. spenser said at last, 'that will do, and it is more than enough.' he said, turning to oscar's father: 'as soon as i saw your boy i thought i recognized him as a boy i saw one day in the school flinging balls up in the air on the sly behind his teacher's back. i'm sorry to see that he keeps up the art still. but i felt pretty sure that day that he couldn't have learned much else. i should be afraid to take him into my office with a propensity to do things on the sly, for i have other boys that must learn to be busy. perhaps you can find some other place for oscar.' "but oscar could not find the kind of place. "his friend, seth clayton, had been fond of collecting insects all through his school years. oscar used to laugh at his boxes full of bugs. but seth used to study them over, and talk about them with his teacher, who told him all she knew, and helped him to find books about them. and it was when she was leaning over a beautiful specimen of a night-moth that oscar had performed his most remarkable feat of keeping three balls in the air for a second and a half. this was in their last school year. "and now, after some years more of study, seth was appointed to join an expedition to go to south america and look up insects along the amazon and in brazil. "'just what i should like to do,' said oscar; for he had studied a little about the geography of south america, and thought it would be fun catching cocoanuts with the help of the monkeys, and have a salary too. 'that is something i really could do,' said oscar to seth. but seth went, and oscar was left behind. "will leigh had the best chance, perhaps. he used to be a great crony of oscar. he went through the latin school, and then to harvard college. 'he was always burrowing into latin and greek,' said oscar; 'much as ever you could do to get an english word out of him.' "well, he was wanted as professor in a western college; so they sent him for three years to a german university to study up his hebrew. but he was to travel about europe first. "'i wish they would send me,' said oscar. 'travelling about europe is just what i should like, and just what i could do. it is a queer thing that just these fellows that can work hard, and like to work too, get the easiest places, where they have only to lie back and do nothing!' "even some of the boys who were behind him in school and below him in lower classes came out ahead. sol smith, whom oscar always thought a stupid dunce, had the place in mr. spenser's office that he would have liked. "'mr. spenser took sol out to his country place in the mountains,' oscar complained, 'where he has boats and plenty of fishing. i know i could have caught a lot of trout. it is just what i can do. but that stupid sol, if he looked at a trout, he probably frightened it away.' "it was just so all along through life. oscar could not find exactly the place he was fitted for. one of his friends, tracy, went out west as engineer. 'i could have done that,' said oscar; 'i could have carried the chain as easy as not. it is a little hard that all the rest of the fellows tumble into these easy places. there's tracy making money hand over hand.' "the next he heard of him tracy was in the legislature. 'that i could do,' said oscar. 'it is easy enough to go and sit in the legislature, with your hands in your pockets, and vote when your turn comes; or you needn't be there all the time if you don't choose.' "so they put oscar up for the legislature; but he lost the vote, because he forgot to sign his name to an important note, in answer to one of his 'constituents.' he tried for congress, too, but without success. he talked round among his friends about running for president. there was the great white house to live in. he would be willing to stay all summer. he felt he should be the right person, as he had never done anything, and would offend no party. "but even for president something more is needed than catching half-a-dozen balls without letting them fall to the ground. "once, indeed, he had thought of joining a circus; but he could not equal the chinese juggler with the balls, and it tired him to jump up and down. his father got him the place of janitor at an art building; but he made mistakes in making change for tickets, and put wrong checks on the umbrellas and parasols, so that nobody got the right umbrella. he was really glad when they dismissed him, it tired him so. it was harder work than flinging balls----" "look at here, you need not go on," said jack, interrupting his sister. "i never did it but just once in school, and that was when you happened to come in and speak to miss eaton. i was real ashamed that you caught me at it then, and i have never had the balls at school since, or thought of them." "the beast has spoken," said ernest, looking up from his book. jack made a rush at his brother. "oh! stop," said ernest; "let us find out what became of oscar." "he has married," said hester, "and his wife supports him." xiv. the first needle. "have you heard the new invention, my dears, that a man has invented?" said she. "it's a stick with an eye, through which you can tie a thread so long, it acts like a thong; and the men have such fun to see the thing run! a firm, strong thread, through that eye at the head, is pulled over the edges most craftily, and makes a beautiful seam to see!" "what! instead of those wearisome thorns, my dear, those wearisome thorns?" cried they. "the seam we pin, driving them in; but where are they, by the end of the day, with dancing and jumping and leaps by the sea? for wintry weather they won't hold together, seal-skins and bear-skins all dropping round, off from our shoulders down to the ground. the thorns, the tiresome thorns, will prick, but none of them ever consented to stick! oh, won't the men let us this new thing use? if we mend their clothes, they can't refuse. ah, to sew up a seam for them to see,- what a treat, a delightful treat, 't will be!" "yes, a nice thing, too, for the babies, my dears,- but, alas, there is but one!" cried she. "i saw them passing it round, and then they said it was only fit for men! what woman would know how to make the thing go? there was not a man so foolish to dream that any woman could sew up a seam!" oh, then there was babbling and screaming, my dears! "at least they might let us do that!" cried they. "let them shout and fight and kill bears day and night; we'll leave them their spears and hatchets of stone if they'll give us this thing for our very own. it will be like a joy above all we could scheme, to sit up all night and sew such a seam!" "beware! take care!" cried an aged old crone, "take care what you promise!" said she. "at first 't will be fun, but, in the long run, you'll wish that the men had let the thing be. through this stick with an eye i look and espy that for ages and ages you'll sit and you'll sew, and longer and longer the seams will grow, and you'll wish you never had asked to sew. but nought that i say. can keep back the day; for the men will return to their hunting and rowing. and leave to the women forever the sewing." ah! what are the words of an aged crone, for all have left her muttering alone; and the needle and thread they got with such pains. they forever must keep as dagger and chains. voyages and travels of count funnibos and baron stilkin, by william h g kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ this book is definitely intended for the younger ones. kingston does not really show how humorous he can be in most of his books, but this book is definitely meant to be funny and succeeds. two elderly minor nobles agree that they will set out on a voyage to see the world. they set out on it, but their adventures take them no farther than holland, which is where they already are. they have various mishaps, and even at one point get separated, only coming together again by chance. the whole thing is so absurd that we can relax and laugh at the adventures of the two noblemen. it is curious, the different mindset one has to have when reading the exploits of a couple of plainly idiotic buffoons, compared with that taken on when reading practically any other book. the book is illustrated profusely, and we feel you will enjoy reading or listening to it. ________________________________________________________________________ voyages and travels of count funnibos and baron stilkin, by william h g kingston. chapter one. "what shall we do with ourselves, my dear stilkin?" exclaimed count funnibos, yawning and stretching out his legs and arms, which were of the longest. "do! why, travel," answered baron stilkin, with a smile on his genial countenance. "travel! what for?" asked the count, yawning again. "to see the world, to be sure," answered the baron. "the world! why, don't we see it by looking out of the window?" asked the count. "that's what many people say, and fancy they know the world when they have looked out of their own windows," observed the baron. "ah, yes, perhaps you are right: you always are when i happen to be wrong, and you differ from me--unless you are wrong also," replied the count. "but where shall we go?" "why, round the world if we want to see it;--or as far round as we can get," said the baron, correcting himself; "and then we shall not have seen it all." "when shall we start?" asked the count, brightening up; "next year?" "next fiddlesticks! this afternoon, to be sure. don't put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day, still less till next year. what's to hinder us? we have no ties." "yes, there are my neck-ties to come from the laundress," said the count, who was addicted to taking things literally; "and i must procure some new shoe-ties." "never mind, i'll get them for you in good time," said the baron. "you have plenty of money, so you can pay for both of us, which will simplify accounts." "yes, to be sure, i hate complicated accounts," remarked the count, who thought the baron the essence of wisdom, and that this was an especially bright idea. "and what luggage shall we require?" "let me see: you have two valises--one will do for you and the other for me," said the baron, putting his fore-finger on his brow in a thoughtful manner. "all, yes; besides the ties you will require a shirt-collar or two, a comb to unravel those hyacinthine locks of yours, a pair of spectacles, and a toothpick. it might be as well also to take an umbrella, in case we should be caught out in the rainy season." "but shouldn't i take my slippers?" asked the count. "what a brilliant idea!" exclaimed the baron. "and that reminds me that you must of course take your seven-league boots." "but i have only one pair, and if i put them on i shall be unable to help running away from you, and we could no longer be called travelling companions." "ah, yes, i foresaw that difficulty from the first," observed the baron. "but, my dear funnibos, i never allow difficulties to stand in my way. i've thought of a plan to overcome that one. you shall wear one boot and i'll wear the other, then hand in hand we'll go along across the country almost as fast as you would alone." "much faster--for i should to a certainty lose my way, or stick in a quagmire," observed the count. "then all our arrangements are made," said the baron. "i'll see about any other trifles we may require. now let us pack up." "you have forgotten my ties," observed the count. "ah, yes, so i had," observed the baron, and he hurried off to the laundress for them. he soon returned, and the valises being filled and strapped up, the baron tucked one under each arm. "stop," said the count, "i must give directions to my housekeeper about the management of my castle and estates during my absence." "tell her to bolt the windows and lock all the doors of the castle, so that no one can get in; and as for the estates, they won't run away," said the baron. "thank you for the bright idea; i'll act upon it," answered the count. "still, people do lose their estates in some way or other. how is that?" "because they do not look properly after them," answered the baron. "but mine are secured to my heirs," said the count. "then they cannot run away unless your heirs run also, therefore pray set your mind at rest on that score; and now come along." the baron as he spoke took up the two portmanteaus, which were patent lilliputians, warranted to carry any amount of clothing their owners could put into them, and they set off on their travels. "in what direction shall we go?" asked the count. "that must depend upon circumstances," answered the baron. "wherever the wind blows us." "but suppose it should blow one day in one direction and another in the opposite, how shall we ever get to the end of our voyage?" inquired the count, stopping, and looking his companion in the face. "that puzzles me, but let us get on board first, and see how things turn out," observed the baron. "ships do go round the world somehow or other, and i suppose if they do not find a fair wind in one place they find it another." "but how are they to get to that other place?" asked the count, who was in an inquisitive mood. "that's what we are going to find out," observed the baron. "but must we go by sea?" asked the count. "could not we keep on the land, and then we shall be independent of the wind?" "my dear count, don't you know that we cannot possibly get round the world unless we go by sea?" exclaimed the baron. "i thought that you had received a better education than to be ignorant of that fact." "ah, yes, to be sure, when i have condescended to look at a map, i have observed that there are two great oceans, dividing the continent of america from europe on one side, and asia on the other, but i had forgotten it at the moment. however, is it absolutely necessary to go all the way round the world? could we not on this excursion just see a part of it, and then, if we like our expedition, we can conclude it on another occasion." "but how are we to see the world unless we go round it?" exclaimed the baron, with some asperity in his tone. "that is what i thought we set out to do." "ah, yes, my dear baron, but, to tell you the truth, i do not feel quite comfortable at the thoughts of going so far," said the count, in a hesitating tone. "could not we just see one country first, then another, and another, and so on? we shall know far more about them than if we ran round the globe as fast as the lightning flashes, or bullet or arrow flies, or a fish swims; or you may choose any other simile you like to denote speed," observed the count. "in that case we should only see things on our right hand, and on our left, and i do not think we should know much about the countries towards either of the poles." "your remark exhibits a sagacity for which i always gave you credit," observed the baron, making a bow to his friend. "but i tell you what, if we stop talking here we shall never make any progress on our journey. let us go down to the quay and ascertain what vessels are about to sail, and we can accordingly take a passage on board one of them." "we could not well take a passage on board two," observed the count. "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the baron; "very good, very good; but come along, my dear fellow; stir your stumps, as the english vulgarly express it; let us be moving; _allons donc_, as a frenchman would say." and arm in arm the two travellers proceeded to the quay. on reaching it they observed an individual of rotund proportions, with a big apron fastened up to his chin, seated on the end of a wall smoking a long clay pipe, and surrounded by chests, bales, casks, and packages of all descriptions. he looked as if he was lord of all he surveyed: indeed there was no other individual in sight except a person coming up some steps from the river and bringing several buckets suspended from a stick over his shoulders, but he was evidently a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, and therefore of no account in the eyes of the burly gentleman. "friend," said the baron, making a bow to the latter individual, "can you inform me where we shall find a vessel about to sail round the world, and when she is likely to proceed on her voyage?" the latter individual took a sidelong glance at the baron, and then at the count, and blew a puff of smoke, but made no answer. "the poor man is perhaps deaf," suggested the count. whereon the baron in louder tones exclaimed, "can you tell me, friend,"--the burly individual blew another cloud of smoke--"where shall we find a vessel about to sail round the world, and when she commences her voyage?" continued the baron. the burly individual opened his eyes as wide as his fat cheeks would allow him, then blew a fresh cloud of smoke, and with the end of his pipe, evidently not wishing to fatigue himself by speaking, pointed along the quay, where the masts of numerous vessels could be seen crowded together. "thank you, friend," said the count, making a bow, for he always piqued himself on his politeness. the baron felt angry at not having his question answered more promptly, and only gave a formal nod, of which the burly individual took not the slightest notice. the two travellers continued on, picking their way among the casks, cases, bales, packages and anchors, and guns stuck upright with their muzzles in the ground, and bits of iron chain and spars, and broken boats, and here and there a capstan or a windlass, tall cranes, and all sorts of other articles such as encumber the wharves of a mercantile seaport. as they went along the baron asked the same question which he had put to the burly individual of several other persons whom he and his friend encountered; some laughed and did not take the trouble of replying, others said that there were vessels of all sorts about to sail to various lands, but whether they were going round the world was not known to them. "we must make inquiries for ourselves," said the baron. "remember that those who want a thing go for it, those who don't want it stay at home; now, as we do want to know where those ships are about to sail to, we must go." "but, my dear baron, a dreadful thought has occurred to me. i quite forgot to speak to johanna klack, my estimable and trustworthy housekeeper, to give her directions as to her proceedings during my absence. i really think i must go back, or she will not know what to do." "no, no, my dear count, i cannot allow you to do so foolish an act. i know johanna klack too well for that," said the baron, with some bitterness in his tone. "she'll not let you go away again; she'll talk you to death with arguments against your going; she'll lock you up in the blue room, or the brown room, or in the dungeon itself, and i shall have to proceed alone. more than half the pleasure of the voyage will be lost without your society; besides which, i have no money to pay for my passage, for you will remember that you undertook to do that." "then, i will leave my portmanteau and my umbrella with you as a security," said the count, trying to get his arm free from that of his friend. "ha, ha, ha! that will be no security at all," observed the baron. "why, it would be the cause of my destruction. just see how i should be situated. johanna klack will shut you up, and you will disappear from this sublunary world for a time, at all events. it is already known that we set out on our travels. i shall be discovered with your portmanteau as well as my own, and accused, notwithstanding my protestations of innocence, of having done away with you, and before johanna klack allows you to reappear i shall to a certainty be hung up by the neck, or have my head chopped off, or be transported beyond seas. johanna klack may be a very estimable and charming individual, but i know her too well to trust her. let her alone; she and your steward being, as you say, thoroughly honest, will manage your affairs to your satisfaction. when we are once away--two or three hundred miles off-you can write and tell her that you are gone on your travels, and give such directions as you may deem necessary. come along, my dear fellow, come along; i fear even now that she may have discovered our departure and may consider it her duty to follow us." "if she does, she had better look out for the consequences," said the baron to himself. the count yielded to his friend's arguments, and they continued their course. as they reached the more frequented parts of the quay, where the larger number of vessels were collected, they observed a party of jovial sailors assembled in front of a wine-shop door; some were seated at their ease on benches, either smoking or holding forth to their companions, who were standing by listening. they looked perfectly happy and contented with themselves. one lolling back with his legs stretched out, who was evidently the orator of the party, and thought no small beer of himself, was spinning an interesting yarn or making some amusing jokes. "those are the sort of mariners i should like to sail with," observed the baron. "they are stout fellows, and probably first-rate seamen. let us draw near and hear what they are talking about." the sailors took no notice of the count and baron as they approached. "i tell you i've been to the north sea and to the south seas, to the red sea and the black sea, and the yellow sea too, and crossed the atlantic, pacific, and indian oceans scores of times; and i've sailed to the north pole and south pole, and all the world round, and i have seen stranger sights than have most men, from the day they were born to the day they died. the strangest spectacle i ever beheld was once in the indian ocean. we were sailing along with a fair breeze and studding sails set below and aloft, when we saw coming towards us five water-spouts, just like so many twisted columns: dark clouds seemed to come from the sky, and piles of water rose out of the ocean. it was a bad look-out for us, for we expected to have them aboard our ship, when they would have sent her to the bottom in no time. but our skipper was not a man to be daunted by difficulties. as soon as he saw them coming he ordered the guns to be loaded and run out. as the first came near he fired, and down fell the waterspout with a rushing sound into the ocean. `it is your turn next,' he sang out, pointing a gun at another, which he treated in the same fashion; but three came on together, when he blazed away at them and all were knocked to pieces in a moment; and the ocean was as calm as it had been before we saw them. you may well say that was curious. i have heard of water-spouts doing much damage, but i never saw a ship swamped by one." the count and baron were much interested, and got still nearer, that they might not lose a word. "i told you, mates, that i had been to the north pole and south pole, and i've seen wonderful sights there also. what do you think of an iceberg a mile long, two or three hundred feet high? i have been among such, and surrounded by them too, in a way which seemed as if it was impossible we should ever get free again. when the sun is shining they're beautiful to look at: some with great caverns below, with icicles hanging down from the roof, and the top of the berg covered with what one might fancy to be towers, steeples, and ruined castles and arches, all glittering and shining just as if they were made of alabaster and precious stones; and the sea a deep purple, or sometimes blue, with streaks of yellow and red. you'd think it was cold enough there, but the summer up in the north is one long day, with the sun in the sky all the time; and i have known it pretty hot there--hot enough to set the icebergs melting, and the water rushing down their sides in fountains. now and then, when the under part is worn away, they get top-heavy, and over they go, just like a porpoise making a somersault. it does not do to be near them on those occasions, for they'd send the stoutest ship to the bottom in a moment; and even at a distance i have known bits of ice come down on the deck big enough to crack a blackamoor's head, though we were many fathoms off it. "as i said, the summer is short, and that is the only time ships can sail about, and make their way among the ice. then comes the winter, and terribly long that is; it lasts well-nigh ten months, and for all that time the ship is shut up just as fast as if she was in a dock with the entrance closed by stone. there she lies, housed over, with topgallant-masts struck, and if it was not for the stoves below, which must be kept alight at all hours of the day and night, people would be frozen to death: i have heard, indeed, of a whole ship's company being turned into ice. for many days during the time the sun is below the horizon, and there is one long night; the stars, however, when the sky is clear, shine brightly, and sometimes the northern lights blaze up and sparkle, and people can see their way over the ice, but it is not pleasant travelling, and one has to wear wonderfully thick clothing, and mits on the hands, and to cover up all but the eyes, nose, and mouth, or a man would get frost--bitten very quickly. then bears come prowling about, and they are awkward customers to meet alone, for they have powerful jaws and sharp claws, and one hug is enough to squeeze the breath out of a person. they have carried off many a poor fellow who has wandered away from his ship. besides the bears there are arctic foxes, with white fur, and though they do not attack a fellow on his feet with a thick stick in his hand, yet i do not know how they would treat him if they found him lying down unable to defend himself. "sometimes ships, before they can get into harbour, are caught in the ice, and have to pass the winter out in the sea, if they have time to cut a dock before the ice presses on them. they may thus be tolerably secure, but i have known ships to be crushed to atoms before they have had time to do that, and their crews have had to get on board other ships, or make for the land, and spend the winter there in snow huts; or they have perished. still, many people have passed two and three winters together in the arctic regions, and have kept their health and been happy, when they have had sufficient firing and good food. on one of those occasions i learned to read and write, which i did not know how to do before, and much use it has been to me ever since. "then we had amusements of all sorts. we rigged a theatre on board, and acted plays and recited, and had a masquerade, and funny sort of dresses we appeared in. but we had work to do also; we had to build a wall of snow round the ship, so that in cold weather we were protected from the wind when we took our exercise, running round and round inside it. the worst part of the business was the long night and the bitter cold, for it was cold, i can tell you; and glad enough we were when we saw the sun rising just above the hillocks of ice far away to the southward, and though for some time it was for a very short period above the horizon, yet day after day at noon it appeared higher and higher, and its rays shed some warmth down upon us. "still the winter was not over, and our captain arranged to make some journeys to explore the country. in that part of the world dogs are often used to draw sleighs, but as we had no dogs we were compelled to drag them ourselves, about five men to each sleigh, which is a sort of long carriage without wheels, with iron runners like two skates placed under it, and the goods lashed along on the top. we carried our provisions, tents, and cooking utensils. when the ice was smooth it was pretty easy travelling, but we often had to drag the sleighs up steep places, over hillocks, and rough ground, and then it was heavy work, and we could only make good a few miles a day. "a man need be pretty strong and hardy to go through that sort of work. at night we slept inside our tents, as close together as we could pack, the only warmth we could obtain being from the spirit lamps we carried, which served also to warm up our cocoa and cook our food. i was not sorry when the journey was over, though we were merry enough during it. at length we got out of harbour, but we had still not a few dangers to encounter. sometimes we were nearly driven on shore by the floes of ice pressing on us; at others we ran a great risk of being nipped by getting between two floes which approached each other; then there was the chance of the icebergs falling down on us. we several times had to cut our way with saws through the ice to get into open water. we were heartily glad when we were free altogether, and sailing along with a fair wind over the ocean to the southward, leaving the world of ice astern. however, i should be ready to go again, and so would most fellows who were with me, i have a notion." "that's more than i should, after what i have heard," observed the count to the baron. "i object excessively to take a trip to the north pole, wherever else we may go. i have no fancy, either, to be sent to the bottom by a waterspout." "wherever we go we may expect to meet with some danger or other," said the baron. "it adds zest to the pleasure of travelling." "i would rather avoid the zest," said the count. "but shall we ask these brave fellows what ship they belong to. perhaps she's not going to the north pole or the indian seas on this occasion, and they evidently form a sturdy crew. will you speak to them or shall i?" "i'll address them," said the baron, and stepping up to the seamen, he said-"brave sailors, i have heard the account your shipmate has been giving you of his adventures, and as we are desirous of sailing round the world, we should be glad to take a passage on board the ship to which you belong." "unless you were to chop yourselves up into a good many portions you'd find that a hard matter, master," answered one of the seamen. "we all happen, do ye see, to belong to different ships, and some don't belong to any ship at all, and when we do sail, the chances are we go to as many parts of the world." "then, most gallant sailors, will you have the kindness to inform us what ship is likely next to sail from this port, and whither is she bound?" said the baron. "as to that, i heard old jan dunck, skipper of the galiot _golden hog_, saying that he was about to sail for amsterdam with the next tide. it wants but an hour or so to that time, and if you look sharp about it you may get on board and make your arrangements with him before he trips his anchor," answered the sailor. "thanks, brave sailors, for the information you have afforded us," said the baron. "you will confer a further favour if you will show us where the said galiot _golden hog_ lies at anchor. among this vast fleet of shipping we should otherwise have considerable difficulty in discovering her, and my friend count funnibos will, i am sure, reward you handsomely." "reward is neither here nor there, but i don't mind showing you old dunck's craft, if you will come along with me." thus saying, the sailor, getting up, put his hands in his pockets, and led the way along the quay. on one side it was bordered by high houses, with curious gables; the floors projecting one beyond the other, and little terraces and balconies and excrescences of all sorts, carved and painted in gay colours, and cranes and beams, with blocks and ropes hanging from their ends. on the other side appeared a forest of masts, yards, and rigging, rising out of vessels of all shapes and sizes, in apparently such inextricable confusion that it seemed impossible they should ever get free of each other, and float independently on the ocean. on the opposite side was an old castle with four towers, looking very glum and gloomy; and more vessels and boats below it, leaving the centre of the river tolerably clear for other craft to pass up and down. the sailor rolled along with an independent air, not looking to see whether those he had offered to guide were following him; now and then, when passing an old shipmate it might be, or other nautical acquaintance, he gave a nod of recognition without taking his hands from his pockets or his pipe from his mouth. "who have you got in tow there?" asked one or two. "don't know: they want to see the skipper, jan dunck, and i'm piloting them to where his galiot lies." "they look remarkably green, but they'll be done considerably brown before old dunck lands them," he said in an under tone, so that the count and baron did not hear him. as they were going along the sailor stopped suddenly, and pointed to a black-whiskered man, wearing a tarpaulin hat on his head, with high boots, and a flushing coat. "there's the skipper, jan dunck, and there's his craft just off the shore. i'll tell him what you want, and wish you a good voyage," said the seaman, who then went up to the skipper. "if they pay for their passage, and do not complain of the roughness of the sea, or blame me for it, i'll take them," said the skipper, eyeing the count and the baron as he spoke. the arrangement was soon concluded. "but you promised that i should reward the sailor," observed the count to his friend. "i will return him our profuse thanks. such will be the most simple and economical way of paying the debt," answered the baron; and turning to the seaman, he said, politely lifting his hat, "most brave and gallant mariner, count funnibos and baron stilkin desire to return you their most profuse thanks for the service you have rendered them, in conducting them this far on their journey, and making known to them this, i doubt not, worthy, stout, and sturdy captain, with whom they are about to commence their voyages over the treacherous ocean." "that's neither here nor there; i was happy to do you a service and you're welcome to it, only in future don't make promises which you cannot pay in better coin than that you have treated me with; and so good day, count fuddlepate and baron stickum, or whatever you call yourselves," answered the sailor; who, sticking his pipe in his mouth, which he had taken out to make this long speech, and putting his hands in his pocket, rolled back to where he had left his companions, to whom he failed not to recount the liberal treatment he had received in the way of compliment from the two exalted individuals he had introduced to captain jan dunck. chapter two. "well, mynheers, the sooner we get on board the galiot the better," said captain jan dunck, addressing the count and baron. "she's a fine craft--a finer never floated on the zuyder zee; she carries a wonderful amount of cargo; her accommodation for passengers is excellent; her cabin is quite a palace, a fit habitation for a king. she's well found with a magnificent crew of sturdy fellows, and as to her captain, i flatter myself--though it is i who say it--that you will not find his equal afloat; yes, mynheers, i say so without vanity. i've sailed, man and boy, for forty years or more on the stormy ocean, and never yet found my equal. i will convey you and your luggage and all other belongings to amsterdam with speed and safety, always providing the winds are favourable, and we do not happen to stick on a mud-bank to be left high and dry till the next spring-tide, or that a storm does not arise and send us to the bottom, the fate which has overtaken many a stout craft, but which by my skill and knowledge i hope to avoid. however, i now invite you to come on board the _golden hog_, that we may be ready to weigh anchor directly the tide turns, and proceed on our voyage. there lies the craft on board which you are to have the happiness of sailing;" and captain jan dunck, as he spoke, pointed to a galiot of no over large proportions which lay a short distance from the wharf, with her sails loosed ready for sea. "well, we are fortunate in finding so experienced a navigator," observed the count to the baron, as they followed captain jan dunck towards the steps at the bottom of which lay his boat. "he'll carry us as safely round the world as would have done the brave captains schouten and le maire, or christofero columbo himself." "if we take him at his own estimation he is undoubtedly a first-rate navigator; but you must remember, my dear count, that it is not always safe to judge of men by the report they give of themselves; we shall know more about them at the termination of our voyage than we do at present," observed the baron. "however, there is the boat, and he is making signs to us to follow him." the count and baron accordingly descended the steps into the galiot's boat, in the stern of which sat the captain, his weight lifting the bows up considerably out of the water. a sailor in a woollen shirt who had lost one eye, and squinted with the other, and a nose, the ruddy tip of which seemed anxious to be well acquainted with his chin, sat in the bows with a pair of sculls in his hand ready to shove off at his captain's command. "give way," said the skipper, and the one-eyed seaman began to paddle slowly and deliberately, for the boat was heavily weighted with the skipper and the count and baron in the stern, and as there was no necessity for haste, greater speed would have been superfluous. "is this the way boats always move over the water?" asked the count, as he observed the curious manner in which the bow cocked up. "not unless they have great men in the stern, as my boat has at present," answered the skipper. "ah, yes, i understand," said the count, looking very wise. the boat was soon alongside the galiot, on board which the skipper stepped. as soon as he was out of her the bow of the boat came down with a flop in the water. he then stood ready to receive the count and baron. as he helped them up on deck, he congratulated them on having thus successfully performed the first part of their voyage. "and now, mynheers," he continued, "i must beg you to admire the masts and rigging, the yellow tint of the sails, the bright polish you can see around you." "you must have expended a large amount of paint and varnish in thus adorning your vessel," observed the count. "i have done my best to make her worthy of her captain," answered the skipper, in a complacent tone, "and worthy, i may add, of conveying such distinguished passengers as yourselves." the count bowed, and the baron bowed, as they prepared to follow the skipper down through a small square hole in the deck with a hatch over it. "why, this is not as grand as i had expected," observed the count. "not quite a palace, as you described it, captain." "but it is as comfortable as a palace, and i find it far more so in a heavy sea," observed the skipper. "for you must understand that if the vessel gives a sudden lurch, it is a great blessing not to be sent fifty feet away to leeward, which you would be if you were in the room of a palace. see what comfort we have got here--everything within reach. a man has only to rise from his chair and tumble into bed, or tumble out of bed, and sit down in his chair to breakfast. then, when he dresses he has only to stretch out his hand to take hold of the things hanging up against the bulkhead." while the skipper was pointing out to his passengers the super-excellence of the accommodation his vessel afforded, a female voice was heard exclaiming, in shrill tones-"i must see him, i must see my master, the count! he has bolted, decamped, run off without so much as saying why he was going, or where he was going, or leaving me those full and ample directions which i had a right to expect." "hark!" exclaimed the count, turning pale. "that must be johanna klack; if she once sees me, she'll take me back, to a certainty. oh dear me, what shall i do?" "i know what i will do," cried the baron, beginning to ascend the companion-ladder. "captain jan dunck, keep the count down here below; don't let him show himself on any account. i will settle the matter. this female, this termagant, will carry off one of your passengers, and, as an honest man, you are bound to protect him." "ja, ja," said the captain; "slip into one of those bunks and you will be perfectly safe, and if she manages to get down below, my name isn't jan dunck." saying this, the skipper followed the baron up on deck, and, clapping on the hatch, securely bolted it. the baron had grasped a boathook, the skipper seized a broomstick, and in a loud voice shouted to his crew, "boarders! repel boarders!" in a boat alongside stood a female, her countenance flushed and irate, showing by her actions her intention of climbing up the vessel's side. the crew obeyed their commander's call, and from the fore hatchway appeared the small ship's boy, holding a kettle of boiling water in his hand, while the rest had armed themselves with various weapons. "who are you, and what do you want?" asked captain jan dunck, in a loud voice. "i am that most ill-used person, johanna klack, the housekeeper, once honoured, respected, and trusted, of the noble count funnibos, who has been inveigled away with treachery and guile by that false friend of his, the baron stilkin. i've proof positive of the fact, for as i hurried along searching for the truants i met a brave mariner, who told me that he had not only spoken with them, but had seen them go on board this very vessel, and that, if i did not make haste, i should be too late to catch them. there's the baron; i know him well, and i am very sure that my master is not far off. i must have him, i will have him back!" and, making a spring, she endeavoured to mount the side of the vessel. "will you?" exclaimed the skipper, bestowing a rap on her knuckles which made the poor woman let go her hold of the rigging. "give it her," cried the baron, lunging at her with his boathook, at which the small ship's boy rushed forward with the steaming kettle in his hand. the unfortunate johanna klack, alarmed at what might be the consequences, sprang back to the other side of the boat, and, losing her balance, overboard she went, amid the jeers of the hard-hearted skipper and crew of the galiot _golden hog_. the hapless vrouw, as she descended into the far from limpid water, screamed loudly for help, the waterman who had brought her off being too much astonished at first to render it. "shove off," cried the skipper, "and hook the woman out of the water, but do not bring her alongside this vessel again, if you value your skull." the man obeyed, and, stretching out his boathook, got hold of the vrouw's garments and hauled her on board. the moment she had recovered her breath she insisted on being taken back to the galiot; but the old boatman was suddenly seized with a fit of deafness, and wisely pulled away in an opposite direction. "take me back! take me back!" cried johanna klack. "i am rowing as hard as i can," answered the boatman. "take me back to the vessel, on board which my honoured master is a prisoner," shouted johanna klack. "we shall soon be at the shore; you can then run home and change your wet garments," answered the old boatman. "i tell you i want to go back to that vessel," cried the housekeeper, getting more and more angry and excited. "ja, ja, vrouw; ja, ja, i will land you presently." all this time the boatman was observing the threatening gestures of captain jan dunck and baron stilkin. at last he disappeared with his fare behind a crowd of vessels. "now, captain," said the baron, "the sooner we put to sea the better, for i know johanna klack well enough to be certain that, if she does not come herself, she will send a _posse comitatus_, or a party of constables, or some other myrmidons of the law to arrest us under some false accusation or other, and we shall be carried on shore ignominiously as prisoners, and your voyage will be delayed." "ja, ja, i understand all about that," answered captain jan dunck. "you boy, with the kettle of boiling water, go and carry it below, and help to get the galiot under weigh. mate, turn the hands up and make sail." the crew consisted of the mate, the one-eyed mariner, and the small ship's boy. the mate and the one-eyed mariner were on deck; they had only to turn up the small ship's boy, who quickly made his appearance on being summoned, and they set to work to turn round the windlass, which soon won the anchor from its oozy bed. the sails were set, and as a light breeze had just then sprung up, the galiot began to move slowly down the canal towards the open ocean, which was yet, however, a good way off. as the breeze freshened the galiot moved faster and faster, and soon the town, with its church steeples and old towers and its crowd of shipping, was left behind. "i think we might venture to let the count up on deck," observed the baron. "he must be pretty well stifled by this time down in the hot cabin." "ja, ja," answered captain dunck; "let him up. no fear of the vrouw klack coming after him now; if she does, we shall see her at a distance, and make preparations for her reception." "but if she comes with a _posse comitatus_" asked the baron; "what shall we do then?" "send the _posse comitatus_ about their business," answered captain dunck, flourishing a handspike. "i am skipper of this vessel, and no one shall step on board without my leave, or if they do i will trundle them overboard without their leave. oh, oh, oh; let them just come and try it." on receiving this assurance from captain jan dunck, the baron, withdrawing the hatch, called to the count to come on deck, and enjoy the fresh air and the beauty of the scenery. as no answer was returned, the baron, beginning to feel alarmed, fearing that his friend had been truly suffocated, descended into the cabin. a loud snore assured him that the count was fast asleep, forgetful of his castle, forgetful of the vrouw klack, forgetful where he was, and of all other sublunary matters. "count funnibos, come and see the beautiful scenery," shouted the baron. whereon, the count starting up, hit his head such a blow against the woodwork close above, that he fell back almost stunned. he, however, soon recovered, and in a low voice asked the baron what had happened. "the last thing that has happened is that you gave your head a tremendous thwack," said the baron; "but my object is to invite you on deck to enjoy the beautiful scenery we are passing through, before we put out into the open ocean, when we shall see no more green fields." thus summoned, the count, getting out of the bunk, accompanied the baron on deck. then taking out his note-book he wrote: "green fields, green trees, windmills pretty numerous, cows white and black still more so, sky and sea as usual, with here and there a vessel or other craft on the calm surface of the latter." "i see nothing more to describe," he said, as he closed the book and returned it to his pocket. still the galiot glided on. "it strikes me that there is some monotony in this kind of scenery," observed the count to the baron; "but it's pleasing, charming, and soothing to one's troubled soul." at last the wind dropped, and the galiot lay becalmed. "what are we going to do now?" asked the count, finding that the vessel no longer moved through the water. "drop our anchor and wait till the ebb makes again, unless we wish to be driven up by the flood all the way we have come," observed the skipper. "what, and run the risk of meeting johanna klack!" exclaimed the count, in a voice of alarm. "by all means do come to an anchor, my dear captain." "that's what i intend to do," he answered; and he ordered the anchor to be let go. other vessels were in the same condition as themselves, so they had no reason to complain. the scenery was not particularly enlivening, though there were a few trees on the shore; but they were generally stunted in their growth, and bent by the winds. here and there a small boat appeared, the occupants being engaged either in fishing, or in rowing across the river. one or two people were enjoying the luxury of bathing, and a man came down to fill a jar with salt water, probably to bathe the limbs of one of his children. "how long are we likely to remain here, captain jan dunck?" inquired the count. "as i said before, and say it again, till the tide turns or the breeze springs up," answered the skipper. "what a hurry you appear to be in. the mariners in these seas have to learn patience--a valuable quality under all circumstances. if we grumbled every time we had a calm, or a foul wind, or stuck on a mud-bank, we should never cease grumbling." "suppose, captain, as we have nothing else to do, you or one of your crew would be good enough to spin us a yarn," said the count. "one-eyed pieter will spin you a yarn which will last into the middle of next week," said the skipper. "then i think that he had better not begin," observed the count; "for i hope before that time we shall be indulging in fresh milk and eggs on shore." "you do, do you, noble sir?" said the one-eyed mariner, winking at the mate, or rather intending to do so, for he winked in an opposite direction, as was his custom, though he was unconscious of it. "we're not out of the scheldt yet, and if we don't get a fair wind, it will be a pretty long time before we reach the texel and get into the zuyder zee." "ja, ja; one-eyed pieter speaks but the truth. you must be prepared, when navigating the changeful ocean, to meet with foul winds as well as fair ones," said the captain. "remember that i undertook only to convey you to your destination wind and weather permitting. no skipper ever takes passengers on any other terms." "i am prepared for whatever fate wills," said the count, folding his hands. "and so am i," said the baron. "and now i propose, as it is getting late, and i feel sleepiness stealing over my eyelids, that we turn into our bunks and resign ourselves to the keeping of the drowsy god." "i don't know what you mean by talking of the drowsy god," said the skipper. "as far as i can make out, you intend to take a snooze; that's the best thing you can do." the count and the baron accordingly turned into their berths (not knocking their heads more than half-a-dozen times as they did so), and were very soon snoring away in concert. so ended the first day of their voyages and travels. chapter three. "a fair wind, mynheers! a fair wind!" shouted captain jan dunck down the cabin skylight. "rouse up, rouse up; come on deck and see how the _golden hog_ is walking along." "walking along, what does he mean? do ships walk?" asked the count, as, having turned out of his bunk and rubbed his eyes and yawned and stretched himself, he was beginning to dress. "i suppose it is a nautical expression describing the rapid way a ship moves through the water," observed the baron. "but we will inquire of the worthy skipper when we get on deck." "yes, and i will enter the expression in my note-book," observed the count. the travellers were soon on deck. the galiot was gliding rapidly though smoothly through the somewhat yellow waters of the scheldt. land could be seen on both sides, but at a considerable distance, for it was here very broad, with villages, towers, curiously-formed landmarks, and here and there a few trees scattered about, just rising above the surface. "we shall soon come off vlissingen on our right, which the english call flushing. it is the last place where, should you be tired of voyaging, i can land you," said the skipper. "you must make up your mind therefore at once, as i shall not touch at another till we come off brill, at the mouth of the maas." "no, no; the count and i are determined to continue our voyage," answered the baron; who, having discovered that captain jan dunck had a store of good things on board, had no intention of leaving the vessel, and therefore did his best to dissuade his friend from setting foot on shore even when the galiot dropped her anchor off one of the quays of flushing. not far off was a landing-place, and people were hurrying up and down, and some even came off and endeavoured to persuade the travellers to come on shore and take up their abode at one of the hotels, where they were assured every comfort and luxury could be obtained at the most moderate prices. the baron, however, declined for himself and his friend, being somewhat suspicious that, should they leave the galiot, captain jan dunck might become oblivious of their existence and sail without them. in a short time the skipper himself returned, bringing off a quarter of mutton, a round of beef, several baskets of vegetables, half-a-dozen round, cannon-ball-like cheeses of ruddy complexion, bread, and other articles capable of supplying the wants of the inner man. the baron's eyes glistened, and the count gazed with satisfaction at the supply of food handed up on deck. "why, captain, you seemed anxious just now to induce us to quit your vessel, and now you bring this magnificent supply of good things," said the baron, patting his back. "i was anxious to be rid of you," answered the skipper, frankly. "judging by the appetite you exhibited at breakfast this morning, you would have very soon eaten up all the provisions intended for the voyage; and one of two things i had to do--either to get rid of you and your companion, or to obtain sufficient food for your nourishment. i tried the first without success--go you would not, and i have now therefore been compelled to adopt the other alternative; hence this stock of provisions. ja, ja, you understand. but here comes the breeze, we must not lose it. up anchor, pieter!" pieter, the mate, and small ship's boy, went to the windlass, while the skipper stood at the helm. the galiot was soon got under weigh, and off she glided, not very fast at first, with her head towards the north sea. in a short time flushing, with the masts and yards of its shipping, was lost to sight, and the galiot began ploughing the waters of the north sea. fortunately, the wind being off the land, it was tolerably smooth, and she glided on without inconveniencing her passengers. "what is out there?" asked the count, pointing across the apparently boundless waters towards the west. "thereabouts lies that little island i spoke of inhabited by the english people," answered the skipper. "i hope they may keep to their island, and not come bothering us as they used to do in days of yore. all we want now is to be let alone, and to be allowed to carry on our commercial affairs like peaceable and well-disposed people--to build our dykes and to cultivate the soil. think what we have done! we have won half of our country from the sea, and have converted the other half, once no better than a marsh, into dry land. look at our magnificent towns, our canals, our green fields, our gardens and orchards, and just think what our industry has accomplished. a dutchman has a right to be proud of his country, and so we are, and intend to defend it, as we always have done, to the last drop of our blood." the skipper, who grew enthusiastic, was standing at the helm, and he puffed away at his pipe till from the clouds of smoke that ascended the galiot might have been taken at a distance for a steamer. "holland is but a small country, though," observed the count. "yes, granted; but it has a large soul. every inch of its soil is cultivated, or made to produce something. think of the countless herds of cattle it feeds, and the mountains of cheeses shipped every year to all parts of the world, its ingenious toys, its gorgeous tulips, and the oceans of schiedam it supplies to thirsty souls, not to speak of its many other manufactures, which you will have the opportunity of inspecting during your travels. other people inhabit fertile countries which they found ready prepared for them, we hollanders have formed ours; we have won it after a fierce battle of long years from the greedy ocean, which is always endeavouring to regain the ground it has lost, but we keep the ocean in check with our wonderful dykes, and make it subservient to our requirements. you showed your wisdom, mynheers, in determining to visit it before proceeding to other parts of the world. in my opinion, you'll not wish to go further; it contains amply sufficient to satisfy the desire of your hearts. ja, ja." captain jan dunck emitted a vast column of smoke, and was silent for some minutes. he then had to take a pull at the main-sheet, for the wind was heading the galiot; he took another and another, and his countenance wore a less satisfactory aspect than it had done lately. the galiot began to pitch, for the seas were getting up, while she heeled over as much as galiots ever do, they being sturdy craft, loving upright ways and sailing best before the wind. if the skipper looked dissatisfied, his passengers were evidently much more so; their visages grew longer and longer, their eyes assumed a fleshy hue, their lips curled, and it needed no experienced physiognomist to pronounce them unhappy; conversation ceased, they spoke only in ejaculations such as "oh! oh! oh! oh dear! oh dear! oh dear!" at last the baron managed to say, "ca-a-a-p-tain, i-i-i-i-sn't there a harbour into which we can put till this storm is over?" "storm, do you call it," laughed the skipper. "it is only a head wind, and we shall have to stand out to the eastward into the north sea for a few leagues or so, till we can fetch the texel." "oh dear! oh dear! into the north sea, did you say?" cried the count. "how dreadful!" "horrible!" exclaimed the baron. "detestable!" cried the count. "well, mynheers, to please you, remember, seeing that the galiot is likely to make as much leeway as she does headway, we will put into brill, a town just now on our starboard hand, a short distance up the maas. hands about ship!" the mate, the one-eyed mariner, and the small ship's boy started up at their captain's call. the helm was put down, the jib-sheet let fly, and the galiot, after exhibiting some doubt as to whether she would do as was wished, came slowly round, her head pointing to the eastward. "why, what has become of the wind?" asked the count, his visage brightening. "the sea is much more quiet than it was, because we have just got under the land. see that bank away to windward, that keeps it off us. we shall soon be running up the maas." in a few minutes the water became perfectly smooth, the count and baron recovered their spirits, and in a short time they arrived off a seaport town on the right bank of the maas. "there's nothing very grand to boast of," observed the count, as he surveyed it through his binoculars. "it has a history, notwithstanding," observed the skipper. "it was here the first successful blow was struck for liberty, by those daring fellows `the beggars of the sea,' under their gallant leader de la marck. it is a town of pilots and fishermen, and as brave sailors as ever explored the ocean. here, also, were born our gallant admirals van tromp and de witt, and its harbour is as fine a one as any along the coast. say what you like, mynheers, brill has as good a right to be proud of itself as many a place with greater pretensions. do you feel disposed to go on shore and survey its advantages?" "thank you," said the baron, "taking all things into consideration, we will remain where we are; dinner will soon be ready, i think; our appetites are wonderfully sharpened by the sea air, and, remembering the store of provender you brought on board, it would be a bad compliment to you not to stay and help you consume it." "ja, ja," said the skipper, "do as you please, i am happy to have your company." the baron, at all events, did ample justice to the skipper's dinner, and all three spent the remainder of the day on deck, puffing away with their long pipes in their mouths, till it was difficult to say whether they or the galley fire forward sent forth the thickest wreaths. notwithstanding this, the baron declared that he was perfectly ready for supper at the usual hour, after which the two passengers turned into their berths and went to sleep. they were awakened by finding the vessel once more pitching and tumbling about, and, thinking that something was about to happen, they crawled up on deck. "what's the matter, captain," exclaimed the count, in an agitated voice; "is there any danger?" "no, but there's no small amount of fear among some of us," answered the skipper in a gruff voice. "we have got a fair wind, and are once more at sea." "what is that bright spot up there," asked the count, pointing to a light which streamed forth on the right hand. "that, why that's the maas lighthouse," answered the skipper. "it marks the entrance to the river, and we shall soon round it, and be in the open sea. you'll then have the satisfaction of once more bounding over the heaving wave." "from previous experience i must own that i would rather escape that satisfaction," observed the count, making a long face. "couldn't we manage to make our way through some of the numerous canals which i have heard intersect holland in all directions?" "we should have been a week or two, or even a month about it, if we had made the attempt," answered the skipper. "we cannot tack in the canals as we can in the open sea. now we can stretch away from the land as far as we like and then go about again, till we can head up again for the helder." "oh dear, oh dear, i suppose we must submit to our fate," groaned the count. "baron, you have much to answer for, dragging me away from my castle and home comforts and the watchful care of that estimable person johanna klack." "why, you were in a great hurry to escape from her not long ago," answered the baron, "and now you find fault with me because the sea happens to be a little rough." "when i wanted to escape from johanna klack we were in smooth water, and i would rather endure the clatter of her tongue than the roaring waves and the howling of the winds." "it is too late to complain now, count; regrets are vain things at the best," said the baron. "let us be content with the present; see, we're getting close to the lighthouse." "so we are, i can distinguish it clearly," said the count. "and, hilloa, look up there at those gnats or moths, or what are they, fluttering about the light?" "ha, ha, ha! moths or gnats," laughed the skipper; "why those are birds, sea-birds and land birds of all descriptions, who come there for the charitable purpose of being turned into pies and puddings and stews by the light-keepers. all the keepers have to do is to go out and catch them by their legs as they alight on the rails and wring their necks. our friends up there need have no fear of starving; when the wind blows from the land they get land birds, and when from the ocean sea-birds, and as they are nowise particular--not objecting to the fishy flavour of the wild fowl--their pots and kettles are sure to be well supplied." "under those circumstances i should not object to be a light-keeper," observed the baron. "the household expenses must be small, as they have no butcher's bills to pay or taxes either." "it is a somewhat solitary life," said the skipper. "each man to his taste, i prefer sailing over the free ocean, with my stout galiot under my feet and plenty of sea room." "couldn't we stop and get some of the birds?" asked the baron, who from habit was constantly thinking of the best way to supply his larder. "they would be a welcome addition to our sea-stock of provisions." "the lighthouse-men would consider that we were poaching on their preserves," said the skipper; "besides which, if we were to go nearer than we now are, we should run the galiot ashore. see, we are already leaving the lighthouse astern, and are now clear of the river." "so i perceive," groaned the count, as the vessel had heeled over and began to pitch and tumble. "never fear, count," said the skipper, in an encouraging tone; "we shall soon be going free, and the galiot will then only roll pleasantly from side to side, and assist to rock you to sleep when you turn in your bunk." "i'd rather not be rocked to sleep in that fashion," said the count. "ever since i was a baby i have been able to sleep perfectly well in my bed or arm-chair after dinner without being rocked. couldn't you manage to keep the galiot quiet, just to please me?" "i could not keep her quiet to please the king of the netherlands, or the burgomaster of amsterdam or rotterdam; no, not if you paid ten times the sum you have for your passage-money," answered the skipper, in a gruff tone. "then i suppose that i must submit to my hard fate," groaned the count. "though i do wish--i cannot help wishing--that i had not come to sea; and i here register the firm resolution i now form, that of my own free will i will never--when once i set foot on shore--venture again on the stormy ocean." "then i must observe, my dear count, that we shall never manage to get round the world, as you led me to suppose, when we started on our travels, it was your desire to do," observed the baron. "yes, but i did not take into consideration that we should have to encounter so rough, ill-mannered, and boisterous a sea, and such howling winds," answered the count. "i had bargained to find the water as smooth as the scheldt, and i still should have no hesitation about going round the world, providing you can guarantee that the ocean will keep perfectly quiet till we come back again." "as to that, i will guarantee that as far as my influence extends it shall remain as calm as a mill-pond," said the baron, in a confident tone. "will that satisfy you, count? if so, notwithstanding your unjust complaints, we will continue our travels." "perfectly, perfectly," said the count. "i always take your word for what it is worth." "ho! ho!" laughed the skipper, who overheard the conversation. "look out there, pieter. are you keeping your weather eye open?" he shouted to the one-eyed mariner who was forward. "ja, ja, captain; there's a fleet of fishing boats ahead, we must keep to the eastward of them. port the helm a little." presently the count and the baron heard the tinkling of bells, and as they looked over the side of the vessel the count exclaimed, "what are those will-o'-the-wisps dancing away there?" "ho! ho! ho!" laughed the skipper. "those are the lights from fishing boats. we shall see them more clearly presently." as the galiot sailed on, the count and baron observed that the lights proceeded from lanterns hung up in the rigging, and that some vessels had huge beams with black nets attached to them which they had just hoisted up out of the water, and that the crews were turning out the fish caught in the pockets of the nets. others, under easy sail, were gliding on slowly with stout ropes towing astern. "they are trawlers catching turbot, brill, plaice, and other flat fish," observed the skipper. "our country has numberless advantages; we make as much use of the sea as many other nations do of the land, though, as i before said, we are carrying on a constant warfare with it, trying to turn it away from its ancient boundaries, and doing our best to keep it from encroaching on the soil we have once gained. holland would never have become what she is, unless dutchmen had been imbued with a large quantity of those valuable qualities, patience and perseverance." "ah, you dutchmen are indeed a wonderful people," exclaimed the count. "i am very glad that we thought of visiting your country before proceeding to other parts of the world. at the same time, if we had gone by land we should certainly have seen more of it than we are likely to do now." "wait till daylight," said the skipper, "and then you shall see what you shall see. i would advise you to go below and obtain some sleep, as at present, i will allow, the landscape is somewhat limited." "you are right; the chief objects we can distinguish are the tip of your nose and pieter's one eye, which i see blinking away when the light of the binnacle lamp falls on it," observed the baron. "we will follow your advice," and he descended the companion-ladder. the count also commenced his descent into the cabin, but just before his head disappeared, he said: "you will oblige me greatly, captain, by keeping the vessel as steady as you can; i find it very inconvenient to be tumbled and tossed about in the way we have been since we left the maas." "ja, ja," answered the skipper, with a broad grin on his countenance, which, being dark, the count did not observe. chapter four. "come on deck, mynheers! come on deck!" cried the skipper, calling down the skylight. "the sun will soon rise, you can enjoy a sight of the land." the count and the baron were soon dressed, and made their appearance on deck. "there's the land, mynheers, and you will soon see the sun rising from behind it," said the skipper, pointing with no little pride in his countenance to a long unbroken line of shore rising not many feet above the level of the ocean, with here and there a windmill towering above it; its arms just beginning to revolve as the morning breezes filled its sails. "there is holland; look and admire." while he was speaking, the sun, throwing a ruddy light on the dancing waves, rose behind the long line of coast and its countless windmills. the wind was fair, and the vessel was still steering northward. "how soon are we likely to get into the zuyder zee?" asked the count. "that depends on the continuance of the breeze," answered the skipper. "if it blows fair for a few hours more, we shall be up to the helder before noon; but if it shifts ahead, or a calm comes on, i shall have the pleasure of your company for some time longer." "with due respect to you, captain jan dunck, i sincerely hope that the breeze will continue fair," said the count, making a polite bow, as he had no wish to offend the skipper, but felt constrained to speak the truth. "it is not of you or your galiot that i'm tired, but of this fidgetty sea which rolls and tumbles her about so thoughtlessly, to say the best of it." "but are you aware, count," said the skipper, "that the zuyder zee can roll and tumble in no gentle fashion? for your sakes it is to be hoped that we shall not have a storm till you land safely in amsterdam." "then i sincerely pray that the winds may be in a gentle mood," said the count. "and in the meantime, captain jan dunck, i propose that we go down to breakfast," said the baron, who had showed signs of impatience for some time past. the count and the baron and the skipper sat down to breakfast. the two latter did ample justice to the good things placed before them; but the count, after several heroic attempts to swallow a big sausage, had to confess that his appetite had vanished, and that he thought that the fresh air on deck would restore it. he there found the one-eyed mariner steering. "oh tell me, brave sailor, when are we likely to get to the helder?" he asked in a tone which showed that he was but ill at ease. "if you open your eyes wide enough, you will see it right ahead," answered the one-eyed mariner. "that point of land out there, that's the helder; we shall sail close to it, if the wind holds fair, and the tide does not sweep us out again. there's water enough there to float a seventy-four. on the other side is the island of texel, and a very fine island it is for sheep; many thousands live on it; and if you wish to taste something excellent, i would advise you to obtain one of the green cheeses which are made from the milk of the sheep living on the island." "i will tell the baron, who thinks more of eating than i do," answered the count. "but is that actually the helder i see before me?" "i told you it was," answered the one-eyed mariner, in a gruff tone, as if he did not like to have his word doubted. this was indeed joyful news to the count, who already began to feel his appetite returning; and he could not resist the temptation of shouting through the skylight to the baron, inviting him to come up and see the place. "sit quiet till you have finished your breakfast, there will be time enough then, and to spare," observed the skipper, who knew very well that the tide was running out, and that the galiot could not stem it for some time to come. in half-an-hour after this the galiot began to move ahead, and arrived off a huge sea wall, two hundred feet from the foundation to the summit, and built of norwegian granite, a work constructed to protect the land from the encroachments of the ocean. beyond it could be seen the tops of the houses and the steeples of a large town. sailing on, the galiot came off the town of nieuwe diep, and the tall masts and yards of a number of large ships could be distinguished in the royal dockyard inside the bank. "we dutchmen are proud of this place," observed the skipper. "two hundred years ago a fierce naval battle was fought off here between the english and french, and our brave admirals de ruyter and van tromp, who gained the victory." after the galiot had passed nieuwe diep the wind shifted to the northward, and she ran on rapidly in smooth water till she came off enkhuisen. bounding that point she reached hoorn, off which she brought up. "the place is worth seeing," observed the skipper; "and you may spend an hour or two on shore while i transact some business. you will remember that it was once the capital of north holland, but it is now what some people call a dead city, and you will acknowledge that it is very far from being a lively one; however, it has something to boast of. it was here that captain schouten was born--he who sailed with le maire and discovered the southern end of america, to which he, in consequence, gave the name of his birthplace. you have heard of cape horn, i suppose." "oh, yes; as to that, the baron knows all about it," said the count. "we will follow your advice, captain, and will be down on the quay again within the time you mention." "well, this is a dead city," said the baron, as he and the count walked through its ancient streets. "everything about it seems to indicate that if it ever were alive it must have been a long time ago. what curious old houses, how quaint in form; many of them also are decorated with sculpture of all sorts, and, on my word, excessively well executed too." "i should be very unwilling to pass many days here," remarked the count, as passing along street after street they scarcely met a creature, quadruped or biped. the houses seemed untenanted--not a voice, not a sound was heard; yet they were all clean, in good preservation, and well painted, mostly of a yellow colour with red roofs, many of them with gable ends, one story being smaller than the other, so that towards the summit they presented an outline of steps. there were also numerous gateways, some handsomely carved, but they led nowhere, and indeed no one was seen to go in or out at them. "i cannot stand this," said the count. "let us go back to the port." here a certain amount of trade was going on. hoorn is engaged largely in the curing of herrings; some vessels also were building, and it was evident from the number of cheeses stacked up ready for exportation that it must carry on a considerable commerce in that article. floors above floors were piled with round red cannon-balls, emitting an odour powerful if not pleasant. "after all, hoorn is not so dead as i supposed," observed the baron. finding the skipper they embarked. "you intend, i hope, to land us at amsterdam to-night," said the count to the skipper. "don't think there's the slightest chance of it," was the answer. "the wind has fallen, it will be stark calm in a few minutes; for what i can see it will be a calm all the night through and to-morrow also." "then i propose that we go to dinner," said the baron. "i hope that it will be ready soon." "dinner is it you want?" exclaimed the skipper. "what, did you not dine at hoorn?" "certainly not," said the baron. "we were employed in seeing the town. we fully expected that you would have had dinner ready on our return on board. what has become of all the provisions you shipped, may i ask?" "i landed them at hoorn, where i took my own dinner," answered the skipper. "you must manage to rough it on bread and cheese. there's not much bread, but you may eat as much cheese as you like." "this is abominable treatment, captain jan dunck," exclaimed the baron. "i insist that you obtain provisions at the first place you can reach, or else that you land us where we can obtain them. i am sure the count agrees with me." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed the skipper. "who do you think is master of this ship? did you ever hear the old song? "mynheer jan dunck, though he never got drunk, sipped brandy and water gaily; he quenched his thirst with a quart of the first, and a pint of the latter daily. "that's just what i have been doing, although i'm as sober as a judge. i am ready for anything. you want to be landed, do you? suppose i put you on shore on the island of marken? it is not far off, and my boat will carry you there. what then will you say for yourselves? it is your own doing, remember." "this treatment is abominable," exclaimed the baron. "i appeal to your crew for their assistance, and ask them if they will stand by and see your passengers insulted in this fashion." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed the skipper. "hoist the boat out. we will soon see if my crew dare to disobey me. pieter, there, be smart about it." the one-eyed mariner started up and eyed the count and the baron with his single blinker, making a grimace as much as to say he could not help it. he and the mate and the small ship's boy soon got the boat into the water. "step in," cried the skipper. "you said you wanted to be put on shore, and i am going to put you on shore. pieter, you're to row. if you want your dinners you'll embark, if not you'll go without them." "and are you going too, captain jan dunck?" asked the baron. "certainly, it is my intention," answered the skipper, and the count and the baron, with their valises, got into the boat. "look after the vessel," shouted the skipper to the mate and small ship's boy, as he stepped into the boat and seated himself in the stern sheets, with the count on one side and the baron on the other and pieter pulling. as there was not a breath of wind the water was perfectly smooth. the baron's hunger increased, the count also had regained his appetite, and they were eager to reach the shore in the hopes of getting a dinner. the skipper said nothing, but looked very glum. at last the island appeared ahead, with a few huts on it and a tiny church in the midst, but it was green and pleasant to look at. "that does not look like a place where we can get dinner," observed the baron, eyeing it doubtfully. "and he does not intend to give you any dinner either," whispered the one-eyed mariner, whose good-will the count and baron had evidently won. "take my advice, tell him to go up and obtain provisions, and say that you will eat them on board." "what's that your talking about?" exclaimed the skipper. "silence there, forward!" the one-eyed mariner rowed slower and slower, and managed to carry on the conversation alternately with the count and the baron. suddenly the skipper, who had been partly dozing, though he had managed to steer the boat, aroused himself. "pull faster, pieter," he shouted out: "i have heard what you have been talking about, and will pay you off." "i was merely giving the gentlemen good advice, captain," answered pieter. "and there's one thing i have to say to you; if you can get provisions at marken, you had better do so in a hurry, for there's a storm brewing, and it will be upon us before long. the mate and the boy won't be able to manage the galiot alone, and she to a certainty will be wrecked." "a storm brewing, is there?" cried the captain. "well, then, the sooner we land at marken the better. pull away, pieter, pull away." pieter did pull, and in a short time the beach was reached. an old fisherman, with a pipe in his mouth and a red cap on his head, came down to see what the strangers wanted, as the count and baron stepped on shore. "friend," exclaimed the baron, "can you tell us where a good dinner is to be obtained in a hurry, for we are famishing." "a good dinner can undoubtedly be obtained in marken," answered the ancient fisherman with the red nightcap on his head; "but we are not accustomed to do things in a hurry in our island. poultry have to be caught and their necks wrung, and the sheep have to be slaughtered and skinned and cut up, potatoes have to be dug, and the other vegetables gathered, the bread has to be made; but we have cheese, and you can eat as much of that as you like." "plenty of cheese on board, we do not come on shore to obtain it!" exclaimed the baron. "captain jan dunck, you have grossly deceived us; you brought us onshore with the expectation of speedily obtaining a good dinner." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed the skipper. "i said nothing of the sort; i undertook to land you, if you no longer wished to remain on board." "but you led us to suppose that you intended to go yourself and obtain a fresh supply of provisions at marken," said the baron with emphasis; "and that is what we expected you to do." "then, baron stilkin, you are very much mistaken," answered the skipper. "you left my vessel of your own free will, and you have landed on this island of your own free will. i have fulfilled my engagement; if you want a dinner you must go and find it as best you can. i heard what pieter was saying to you, and i intend to pay him off. take up your portmanteaus, unless the old fisherman will carry them for you, and go your way; the storm, as pieter observed, will be down upon us before long, and i must put off and return to the galiot." "i again say that you are treating us shamefully!" exclaimed the baron. "pieter, my brave friend, will you stand by us?" "ja, ja, that i will," answered pieter, who had stepped out of the boat. "if the captain likes to go off, he may go by himself." the discussion had been going on for some time when pieter said this. not only had the wind risen, but the rain had begun to fall, and the count and baron were preparing to put up their umbrellas. "it is very fortunate we brought them," observed the count. "baron, your advice was sound when you suggested that we should do so." meantime the skipper had been getting his boat ready; he had stepped the mast, and hoisted the sail. "pieter!" he exclaimed, "i want to say something to you." "what is it, captain?" asked the one-eyed mariner, cautiously drawing near. "why, this!" cried the skipper. "that you are a treacherous old rascal, and that i intend to pay you off." as he spoke he hove a noose at the end of a rope over pieter's body, and before the one-eyed mariner was aware of what was going to happen, he was dragged off his feet into the water, while the skipper, hauling aft the main-sheet, sailed away, dragging poor pieter through the foaming waters astern. in his struggles pieter had moved the rope up to his neck, and was now in danger of being throttled. "stop, stop!" shouted the count and the baron in chorus. "let that man go! what are you about to do with him? you'll throttle him, or drag off his head, or drown him--you'll be guilty of murder. we'll report your conduct to the burgomaster of amsterdam, and all the other authorities of holland. release him, let him go!" captain jan dunck, who never looked back towards his victim, disregarding their threats and their cries sailed on, till he and his boat and the hapless pieter disappeared amid the thick sheets of rain and the driving spray which surrounded them. chapter five. "is there no chance for poor pieter?" asked the count, looking in the direction captain jan dunck, his boat, and his unfortunate victim had gone. "none, unless the skipper relents and drags him on board; and then i don't think it likely that they will be on the best of terms," answered the baron. "do dutch skippers generally treat their crews in the way captain jan dunck has treated poor pieter?" asked the count of the ancient fisherman. "it depends very much on the amount of schiedam they have taken aboard," answered the ancient fisherman. "we of marken do not behave in that fashion." "i am very glad to hear it," said the count, "as there seems a probability, till the storm is over, of our having to spend some time with you; if you were to do anything of the sort, we should undoubtedly report your conduct to the burgomaster of amsterdam, as we intend to report the conduct of captain jan dunck, when we get there. and now, baron, since it seems to be all up with the one-eyed mariner, and as at present we can do nothing to punish the perpetrator of the cruel deed, what shall we do with ourselves?" "i propose that we request this ancient fisherman to conduct us to some hostelry, where we can obtain those creature comforts which we so much need, and wait in quiet and security till the storm is over. worthy friend," he continued, turning to the ancient fisherman, "i beg that you will have the goodness to conduct us to some inn, where we may obtain a dinner and rest after our adventures on the stormy ocean." "an inn," ejaculated the ancient fisherman. "we have no inns in marken, as few travellers are in the habit of visiting us. if, however, you will accept such hospitality as i can offer, you shall be welcome to it." "with all our hearts," answered the count and the baron in chorus, and they followed the ancient fisherman, who led the way into the interior of the island. after passing through several narrow and dirty lanes they emerged into a more open space, where they found themselves surrounded by neat cottages, among which a number of people were moving about. the men were all dressed as sailors--a brown knitted waistcoat and wide knickerbockers tied at the knees, thick black or blue woollen stockings, and wooden sabots or shoes, these sabots, the count and the baron observed, were taken off when the men entered a hut, so that it could be known how many people were inside by the number of sabots at the door. the women wore brown or chintz waistcoats, and short dark petticoats; many of them had their hair hanging down on either side of the face in long thick curls; their head-dresses were high white caps rounded at the summit and lined with some coloured material. "here is my house," said the ancient fisherman, opening the door of one of the neatest cottages in the place, "and there is my vrouw." as he spoke an old lady got up and welcomed the travellers. she wore the dress which has been described, especially clean and picturesque, and in addition several gold ornaments. the cottage contained many marks of thrift; two carved oaken wardrobes stood one on either side, there was a clock of elaborate workmanship, and china plates of a curious pattern. a cheerful fire burned on the hearth, and the ancient fisherman's wife soon busied herself with her highly-polished pots and pans in preparing a meal, the very odour of which made the baron's mouth water. freshly-caught fish and a stew with potatoes and vegetables were quickly ready, and the baron did ample justice to each dish placed on the table. the ancient fisherman informed them that the population of the island was about nine hundred; the men are all fishers, and pass the greater portion of their days on the water. on sunday night, or rather as soon as monday is commenced, the whole population go down to the port; the men embark in their boats, put to sea, and pass the week in fishing. the women return to their daily avocations till another saturday afternoon comes round, when the men return home for their day of rest. "month after month, and year after year, we live the same style of life; the world wags on around us, but we hear little or nothing of its doings. we are contented and happy in our way, and wouldn't change our island of marken for any part of the netherlands, or the whole of europe to boot," said the ancient fisherman. "i am much inclined to stop among you," observed the count. "only i should not like to have to go out fishing every day, especially in cold and wintry weather; but to sit here, for instance, with one's feet before the fire, is very pleasant." the ancient fisherman laughed. "you must remember, mynheer, that in order to obtain these comforts, my father and i have toiled on year after year, each adding a little; this cottage and what it contains, represents the labour, i may say, of centuries. few things worth having are to be obtained without working. i can enjoy my ease and these comforts with a clear conscience, for i have laboured on for fifty years or more, adding to the store my father left me, and he laboured for more than fifty years, and my grandfather before him." "what examples you and your family are of patience and perseverance," observed the count. "no, mynheer, nothing wonderful," answered the ancient fisherman, in a modest tone. "all the inhabitants of our part of the town have done much the same, and we bring up our children in the hope that they will follow our example. this, mynheer, is the secret of our contentment and prosperity." "then, when i marry and have children, i must bring them up to follow my example, and the same result will, i hope, follow," said the count. "that depends upon the example you set them," answered the ancient fisherman. "ah, yes; i must see about it, then," said the count. "i don't know that as yet i have ever done anything very industrious. perhaps, like me, they will become great travellers." "perhaps, my dear count, the less you say about it the better, at present," observed the baron. "we have not proceeded very far on our voyage round the world. in the meantime, i will thank our hostess for another cup of her excellent tea." as there seemed no probability of the storm abating, the count and the baron accepted the invitation given them by the ancient fisherman and his dame, to spend the night in their cottage. they had no beds to offer, but they had comfortable arm-chairs, pipes, tobacco, and a blazing fire. "we might be worse off," observed the baron, as he extended his legs and folded his arms to sleep. it being impossible to reach the mainland without a boat, the baron suggested, that after their experience, it would be safer to have one of their own than to entrust themselves again to strangers, and the count agreeing, they settled to buy one. the next morning, therefore, after breakfast, having wished their ancient host and hostess farewell, and the count having slipped a coin into the hand of the latter as a remembrance, they purchased a boat, which the ancient fisherman recommended, and helped them to launch: they then together set forth to prosecute their travels. neither of them were very expert navigators, though the ancient fisherman gave them a shove off to assist them in their progress, which was remarkably slow. sometimes they rowed one way, and sometimes another, and the boat consequently went round and round. "you pull too hard," cried the count. "you don't pull hard enough," answered the baron. "that is the reason we don't go as straight as we should." "then perhaps if you take the two oars we shall go straighter," said the count. to this the baron objected, as he had no desire to undertake all the labour of the voyage. somehow or other they managed, notwithstanding, to get to a distance from marken: perhaps the tide was carrying them along in the direction of the helder; that this was the case, however, did not occur to them. they saw the land clearly enough stretching out to the westward: there lay monnickendam, there edam, and, further to the south, uitdam. "experience makes perfect:" after some time they did manage to row in a fashion. "i think we must be approaching the shore," observed the count. "it looks nearer than it did." "so it ought, since we have been rowing with might and main for the last two hours," said the baron, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "i wish that we had waited at marken till we should have found a passage on board some vessel, or obtained the assistance of one of the islanders; this is heavy work, especially as we have come away without provisions." "so we have," cried the count. "oh dear! oh dear! if we ever reach the shore, i shall be very much inclined to register a vow never again to tempt the stormy ocean." "regrets are useless at present; let us get to the shore," said the baron. but they rowed and rowed away in vain. evening was approaching, and, though they had enjoyed a good breakfast, they were desperately hungry, and there appeared every probability that they would have to spend the night on the water. fortunately it was calm, or they would have been in a still worse condition. looking up, they at length saw an island, or a point of land with a tower on it. "that must be one of the places on the coast," observed the count; "let us try to reach it." "but if we sit with our backs to the bows, as we have been hitherto doing, we shall not see it," observed the baron. "let us stand up and row forward; then, perhaps, we shall go straighter than we have been doing." the count agreed, and they rowed thus for some time. suddenly they were startled by a voice which in mournful accents said: "oh, take me on board; take me on board!" so great was the baron's alarm that he nearly sank down to the bottom of the boat, when on looking over his shoulder, what should he see but the countenance of the one-eyed mariner, who was endeavouring to haul himself on board. "are you yourself, or are you a ghost?" asked the baron, in trembling accents. "can it be? can it be our former shipmate?" cried the count. "i am indeed, most noble gentlemen, that unfortunate and ill-used individual," answered the one-eyed mariner; for it was he himself, though his countenance was as pale as if he had really been a ghost, and his visage was elongated, the result of the sufferings he had gone through. satisfied that he was a mortal being like themselves, the count and the baron at length assisted him to get into the boat. "how did you escape?" asked the baron eagerly. "by a wonderful circumstance," answered the one-eyed mariner. "i managed to get my hands free, and slipped my neck out of the noose, just as i was on the point of being strangled. i held on to the boat, however, and allowed myself to be dragged along at the stern. i knew that if i had attempted to get in captain jan dunck would very soon have quieted me by a blow on my crown. at length i saw that we were passing yonder island, and, silently letting go the rope, i swam towards it; while he, unconscious of my escape, sailed on. i there landed, but it is a barren spot, where neither food nor fresh water is to be obtained. i thought that i should have perished; for after the strain on my throat i felt dreadfully thirsty, and capable of drinking up the zuyder zee itself, if it had been fresh water mixed with a due allowance of schiedam. at length i observed your boat, noble gentlemen, drifting by; i cannot compliment you by saying you were rowing, for you were going round and round in all directions. i guessed that you were land-lubbers--excuse my frankness--and that i might render you assistance in return for the service you would do me by enabling me to reach the shore. not till you spoke, however, did i recognise you as my late shipmates, and now mynheers, the best thing you can do is to let me take the oars and row steadily to the land; for, though hungry and thirsty, i have still some strength left in my battered frame." "by all means, worthy mariner, take the oars," said the baron, handing his to the sailor, while the count followed his example. "we are ourselves nearly starving, and will promise you the best supper to be obtained wherever we may land, should we be fortunate enough to reach some hospitable part of the globe." the one-eyed mariner took the oars, and bending lustily to them, made the boat move along very much faster than she had done since the count and the baron had commenced their voyage. "i was inclined, when we were rowing, to suppose that she was among the slowest that ever floated, or that there was something the matter with the oars," observed the count. "people are very apt to find fault with the tools they employ, instead of laying the blame on themselves," remarked the baron, sententiously. the one-eyed mariner cocked his one eye, as much as to say, "you are right, gentlemen;" but without speaking he rowed and rowed, now bending forward, now leaning back with all his might, every now and then looking over his shoulder to see that they were going in the right direction. it was getting darker and darker, and no friendly lights beamed forth from cottages or houses to indicate that they were approaching the inhabited part of the country. "shall we soon reach the shore," asked the baron, with a groan; "i am getting desperately hungry." "we shall not get there the sooner by talking about it," answered the one-eyed mariner, who was beginning to lose his temper as he became more and more fatigued. "if you, mynheers, had learned to row, you might have relieved me for a short time, till i had recovered my strength; but as we should never get there if i gave you up the oars, i must keep at it; only do not be continually asking me when we shall get there. i tell you we shall get there, wherever that may be, some time or other, if i keep rowing long enough." after this remark, the count and the baron thought it prudent to say nothing more to the one-eyed mariner. he rowed and he rowed. the land became more distinct, but no lights indicated the cheerful habitations of men. the baron groaned, for he saw no prospect of obtaining a supper, yet it was better to be on dry land than in a small boat on the zuyder zee, with an individual of so uncertain a temper as the one-eyed mariner. at length they found themselves with banks on either side. "i thought so," said the one-eyed mariner, "we have reached the neighbourhood of yollendam; this must be the yoll--a better landfall than i expected. i do not know that provisions are to be obtained at the village, which is a mile or so off; but we will see." and he rowed up the river, which had a more attractive appearance than might have been expected, for there was a small island covered with trees, and a mound several feet high on the opposite side, on which the eye could rest with pleasure. before they had gone far the moon burst forth from behind some clouds, and shed along the waters of the stream its silvery light, which showed them a small vessel drawn up on the shore, and two or three people near her. "perhaps these persons have provisions on board," exclaimed the baron. "i could sup off a dry crust of bread and a piece of dutch cheese with greatest willingness in the world. we will ask those strangers if they will kindly relieve our necessities. brave sailor, good pieter, old and worthy shipmate, have the goodness to pull in for the shore, and we will throw ourselves on the charity of those strangers." the one-eyed mariner gave a grunt, as if he valued but little the compliments paid him; but he obeyed, notwithstanding, and the boat soon reached the shore. the baron and the count then scrambled out, and made their way to where the crew of the vessel were seated. "worthy mariners," began the baron, in his usual style; "we are shipwrecked individuals, or rather, i should say, we have just come a long and perilous voyage in yonder small boat, without food or liquid with which to renew our strength, and we are well-nigh starving. we ask you forthwith to supply our necessities." "what's the stout gentleman talking about?" asked one of the sailors of his companion. "i cannot make out what he says." "so far as i can understand, he and his friend are hungry, and want some grub," observed the latter. "food is it you want?" he continued, turning to the count and the baron. "our vessel there, which we hope to get off at high tide, is laden with cheese, and you shall have one apiece if you like at cost price, with as much biscuit as you can eat and some schnapps into the bargain." "by all means, let us go on board at once," cried the baron. "i am grateful to you." "but we must not forget poor pieter," cried the count. "here pieter, pieter, we have got some food for you." pieter had hauled up the boat, and, moving as fast as he could stagger, he accompanied the count and the baron and the crew of the sloop on board. the sailors were as good as their word, and produced a couple of round ruddy cheeses and a basketful of biscuits. "let us attack one first," said the baron, nearly breaking his knife in the attempt to make an incision in the rind; he succeeded in getting off some slices, and all three fell to. pieter, who was the most hungry of the party, swallowed one huge lump after another, then held out his cup for a supply of schiedam. "never mind the water," he observed. "this dry biscuit and cheese requires something potent to get it down." the count, who had never tasted schiedam before, though he took his diluted with water, made wry faces at what he considered its nauseous taste, but he said nothing for fear of offending the captain and crew of the sloop. at length he declared that he could eat no more. "i think i can go on a little longer," said the baron, who had attacked the second cheese. "and i do not expect to leave off till midnight," said the one-eyed mariner, helping himself to an additional slice. at last their meal came to a conclusion. "where are you bound for?" asked the count of the skipper of the sloop. "for amsterdam," answered the skipper. "then, baron, don't you think that it would be as well if we were to proceed on board this vessel, supposing the captain is willing to give us a passage?" said the count. "as to that, we might do worse," answered the baron. "we shall thus at all events accomplish our passage to amsterdam by water as we intended, and the zuyder zee is not likely to prove as boisterous as the northern ocean." the skipper of the sloop having no objection to take the count and the baron, the arrangement was at once concluded. "by-the-by, my friend," said the baron, "i hope you will manage to obtain some more nutritious and palatable provender than these red cheeses and hard biscuit for the voyage: they are all very well once in a way for supper, but i should not like to have nothing else to live on." the skipper promised to send to yollendam, or if not to edam, to obtain provisions for his passengers. "and pray, mynheers, what are you going to do with your boat," asked the one-eyed mariner. "i forgot all about her," exclaimed the count. "we will present her to you, my worthy friend," he said. "you shall become her skipper, and, if you please, you are welcome to sail round the world in her, provided we are not compelled to accompany you." the one-eyed mariner gratefully accepted the gift. "i am a made man," he said, "and need no longer be at the beck and call of captain jan dunck, supposing he and the _golden hog_ are still afloat. i will obtain fishing lines, and go out and fish and sell my fish, and build a cottage, and marry a wife, and live happy and independent to the end of my days." a bright idea seemed to strike the count. "friend, if you happen not to have found a wife in these parts, pray come over to belgium, and i will there introduce you to a charming person, johanna klack by name, and you can take her away with you and settle at marken or urk, or any other island in or about the zuyder zee." "excellent! the brightest idea, my dear count, to which you ever gave birth," exclaimed the baron. "by all means, worthy pieter, come. don't trouble yourself to look out for a wife here; they're all very good in their way, but johanna klack is super-excellent, and she probably has saved up a whole stockingful of guilders. i feel very much inclined to go back with you at once to assist you in your wooing." "mynheer," said the one-eyed mariner, putting his finger to his nose, "`good wine needs no bush.' i have an idea or two. if this dame is so very charming, somebody with more personal attractions than i possess will have won her before i have the happiness of making her acquaintance; and you forget that, though i have got the boat, i have to obtain the fishing lines to catch the fish, to sell the fish, to go on doing that for some years, and then to build the house, and when the house is built it will be time enough for me to come in search of vrouw johanna klack." "well, well, we'll talk about that to-morrow morning," said the baron, who did not feel very sanguine as to the speedy disposal of johanna klack's fair hand. pieter, wishing them good night, went to sleep on board his boat, while they turned into two bunks in the small cabin of the sloop and slept soundly. chapter six. when the count and the baron awoke, they found to their surprise that the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the waters of the zuyder zee. the skipper, who was short and broad, had a crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient for navigating the sloop. "we shall not reach amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected, mynheers," he said; "for i purpose putting in at monnickendam for a few hours. it is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy city, one of the twenty great towns of holland, but its glory has passed away." as the object of the count and the baron was to see the world, they willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the zuyder zee. they were accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop's boat. "well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants, if there are any, have gone to sleep," observed the baron, as he and the count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. the houses were all red, and the venetian shutters green--one house was almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one long thoroughfare they met not a single person--not a cat, nor a dog, nor a sign of life. they went through street after street--every street was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats, their coats and umbrellas. "well, gentlemen," said the baron, making them a profound bow, "you will remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city another visit." he and the count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on board the sloop. whatever other business the skipper transacted at monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing himself which showed what he had been about. the count and the baron, however, did not at first discover this. when the sloop was got under weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which one of the crew had prepared. the wind was light, and the sloop glided steadily on. "after all, i really do think i like the sea," said the count. "this style of navigation suits me--no trouble, no fatigue. we can eat and drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. when, captain, do you think we shall reach rotterdam?" "reach rotterdam, mynheers, why when the sloop gets there," answered the skipper. "i cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know more about that than i do. we have uitdam and durgerdam to pass first, and the wind may fail us or become contrary. it was not in our agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, mynheers, have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience." this was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the count and the baron were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. the skipper sat in his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water; one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates, the other was at the helm. presently there came a loud cry, and the cutter heeled over. the count, who was the most active of the party, jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the same. "we're run into by a big, lubberly ship," cried the man at the helm. the fact was very clear. the bowsprit of the big ship had caught the rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over. "what is going to happen?" asked the count, in a state of no small trepidation. "we shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried away," answered the man at the helm. the crew of the big ship were rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that seemed no easy matter. "can't you cut the rigging, my friends?" shouted the count, who at a glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free. "but we shall lose our mast if they do that," said the man at the helm. "better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom," answered the count. again he shouted, "cut, my friends, cut." the sailor who had sprung to the end of the jibboom, supposing the count to be the captain, did as he was bid, and with a few strokes of an axe quickly severed the rigging, and the shrouds fell down on deck, while the sloop, gliding on, was quickly free of the ship. "why didn't you keep a better look-out?" shouted the captain of the ship. "it was your own fault in getting in our way." "ja, ja," answered the man at the helm, who like the skipper had been indulging in potations of schiedam. the skipper himself now came on deck, to which the baron had just before made his way, and began storming and raging. the crew of the big ship only laughed at him and sailed proudly on, while the sloop lay helpless on the water. "the sooner we repair the rigging the better," observed the count, who never put himself out, whatever happened. the only man who was capable of doing this was the one who had been forward; he at once lowered down the mainsail and saved the mast from being carried away, which it might have been had a slight puff of wind come on. "put the vessel to rights, you lubbers," cried the skipper. "i am going below to finish my bottle of schiedam." "ja, ja," answered the sober man of the crew. "mynheers, will you help me, and we shall be able to do it," he said, addressing the count and the baron. they consented to do their best to pull and haul as much as was required. "that's all i want," he said, fixing a rope to the severed rigging and going aloft with it. having passed it through a block he told them to haul away. when the upper end had reached the masthead he lashed it there as securely as he could. "that will do, provided we do not get a strong breeze. now, mynheers, help me to set the mainsail." the count and the baron hauled away right lustily, and the sail was soon set. "now," said the sober sailor to the man who had been at the helm, "go forward and sleep; it is the only thing you're fit for at present." the seaman obeyed, and disappeared down the fore hatchway. the sloop sailed on and on. the count looked into the cabin and saw that the skipper was fast asleep; the baron went forward and found half his crew employed in the same way. "never mind," said the sober sailor; "the wind is fair, and provided no other big ship runs us down we shall get safely to amsterdam soon after nightfall." this was cheering news to the travellers, and they promised a handsome reward to the sober sailor if he would take them in safely. "glad to do that for my own sake," he answered. "it won't be my fault if we do not." still, as the wind was light the sloop sailed slowly; yet it was very evident, from the number of vessels they encountered, that they were approaching the great emporium of commerce; but the evening was drawing on, and darkness would increase the dangers of the voyage. at length they could only see lights glittering here and there, ahead and on every side, and tall masts rising out of the water. now and then shouts warned them to get out of the way of some vessel, and the sober sailor shouted in return. "now, mynheers, whichever of you can steer the best take the helm, and we will bring the sloop to an anchor. we must wait till daylight to get through the outer drawbridge." "i never steered in my life," answered the count. "nor i either," said the baron. "then do one of you take the tiller and do as i tell you," said the sober sailor. "baron, i leave that honour to you," said the count; "i do not feel quite up to it." the baron, who would have been ready to steer a seventy-four if he had been asked, at once took the tiller in hand, and, as the sailor sang out, "pull the tiller towards you," or "put it away from you," he did as he was bid. they glided on in the darkness, the lights round them twinkling like fireflies. at last the sailor hauled down the jib and foresail. "now put it from you," he sang out, "as far as you can." then there came a splash, and the cable ran out, and the sober sailor requested the count and the baron to help him lower the mainsail. "now i have you all snug," he said, "i can put you on shore, or you can remain on board till morning if you wish it." "i think we had better remain on board," said the baron; "i do not fancy going into a strange town at midnight without knowing an inch of my way, or what hotel to go to." "i agree with you," observed the count, "though i cannot say that i anticipate much pleasure in passing the night in a close cabin with a tipsy skipper snoring as loud as a grampus." "not pleasant, certainly," remarked the baron; "and i am ready to sacrifice myself for your benefit, if our friend here will take me on shore and wait for me while i search for an hotel; whether i find one or not, i will come back to you." the count gladly agreed to this proposal; and the sober sailor, launching the boat, at once put off with the baron, intending, as he said, to land him at a quay at no great distance. the count walked the deck impatiently waiting his return; and, as he heard the skipper and the man forward snoring, he began to regret that he had not himself also gone. the sober sailor and the baron were a long time absent. "what can have become of them?" exclaimed the count, over and over again. he had sat down to rest in the after part of the vessel, when he saw some one moving forward; and, going in that direction, he discovered the sailor who had been asleep. "what are you about there?" he asked. "giving more scope to the cable," was the answer. "the tide has risen, and the sloop wants it." "all right, i suppose," thought the count, and he went aft, while the sailor descended, and was soon again fast asleep. the count heard a noise such as rope makes when running over wood. presently he observed that the objects, dimly seen through the gloom of night, were moving. "what can have happened?" he thought. faster and faster they moved. the vessel appeared to be in a rapid current. "oh, dear! oh, dear! what is happening?" he cried out; and he shouted to the skipper and the man forward, but neither answered him. presently the vessel struck against the side of a house which rose out of the water, then against a pier, then she bounded off, then once more she came with tremendous force against another house, which appeared to be a store, carrying away her bowsprit. "she will go to the bottom, and i shall be drowned," thought the count; and he scrambled up the rigging just as the head of the mast poked its way in at a large opening in the wall. climbing the shrouds of a vessel was a feat the count had never before accomplished, and was very contrary to his habits; but he exerted himself to the utmost. the unpleasant recollection came upon him, as he was doing so, that these were the shrouds which had been severed when the ship ran into the sloop, and he feared, naturally, that they would give way at the very moment that he was upon them. this made him climb the faster. now, as the vessel heeled over, his feet touched the wall of the building, and he feared that he might be jammed against it. the darkness prevented him from seeing clearly what was befalling the hull, but his impression was that it was going down into the deep canal, and that the skipper and the remaining portion of his crew would be drowned; but he had no desire to share their fate, and was utterly unable to help them. he shouted, however, loud enough to arouse them out of any ordinary slumber; but the schiedam they had drunk had so completely lulled their senses that they heard not his shouts, or the bumping of the vessel against the wall. he therefore continued his ascent till he reached the top of the mast, when, getting hold of a beam which projected from the opening in the building, he hauled himself up. just as he did so the mast cracked; the vessel with a jerk heeled over to the opposite side; he was left clinging to the beam while she was borne away by the tide into the darkness. again he shouted to try and arouse the skipper, but no human voice replied to his cries. chapter seven. the count felt about with his feet till they touched the floor of the loft into which he had scrambled. "here i am landed at last, at all events," he said to himself; "but this, though dry enough, is not a pleasant place in which to pass the night; and besides, my friend stilkin will be searching for me, and be very much alarmed at not finding the vessel, or if he does find her--supposing she has not gone to the bottom--when he discovers that i have absconded. what can i do? i must try and get down into the street, and then, perhaps, i shall meet him and relieve his anxiety. i wish that i had a light, though, as i shall run the risk of tumbling down some trap-door and breaking my neck. i must move cautiously. this appears to be a lumber loft of some sort; it cannot contain valuable merchandise, or the opening through which i made an entrance would have been closed. well, i am of opinion that this is the least pleasant of my adventures." the count stopped. looking back, he observed the outline of an opening through which came a small amount of light--such light as exists at night. this assisted him to direct his course across the floor of the loft: he moved cautiously, for every moment he knocked his feet against pieces of plank, and broken chests, and casks, and heaps of old sails, and fragments of rope piled up to be turned into oakum, and broken chains, and scraps of iron, and worn-out brooms and brushes. "i suppose there is an outlet somewhere, though i cannot yet distinguish it," he said to himself. "these things have probably been brought up from below; but suppose they have been only hoisted in through the window, i shall be imprisoned as effectually as if i had been shut in by bars and bolts, for i certainly cannot make my escape through the opening by which i entered; i should only fall into the canal. dear me! dear me! this is unpleasant. i wish that i had stayed at home in my old castle. however, wishes are vain things. i must try to get out somehow or other." again he began to grope about, feeling with his hands and feet, but in spite of all efforts could discover no outlet. "probably, after all, it will be wiser to sit down and wait till daylight," he thought. he accordingly sat himself down on a pile of rope, but he had not sat there long before he heard strange noises, a clattering and clambering of some creatures or other, and presently two or three came bounding over his feet. "those must be rats," he said to himself. "i have heard of a species which comes from norway, great savage creatures, a few dozen of which would eat up a man at a meal; if i go to sleep they may eat me up, and that will be objectionable in the highest degree. it is very clear that i must get out of this if i wish to keep a whole skin in my body. come! arouse thee, brave funnibos! let it not be said that the last of thy race was eaten up by rats." he once more got up and resumed his search; as he was feeling about his hands struck against a large ring: "this perhaps is a trap-door," he thought. standing on one side, he pulled with all his might; it yielded, and he found that he was lifting it up. "yes, this is a trap-door, and the means of escape presents itself, but i must take care that there is a ladder by which to descend, or i may pitch down head foremost and crack my skull." stooping over, he discovered to his satisfaction that there was a ladder, and he accordingly descended, holding on very tight with his hands, while he felt with his feet. at last he reached the bottom, and found himself on a lower story; the windows, however, if there were any, were closed. he was not much better off than he had been on the story above; still, having succeeded thus far, he was determined not to be defeated, and again he began to search about. the chamber appeared to have but little in it; now and then he knocked against a chest or a box, and stumbled over other articles, till suddenly he nearly fell head foremost down a stair. "this must lead somewhere, at all events," he thought; and by a banister which he discovered on one side he began cautiously to descend, feeling with one foot before he lifted up the other. down and down he went till he got into a passage between some stone walls. "come, perhaps this will conduct me to the street, or to the street door, and, if it is only closed with bolts and bars, i may withdraw them and set myself free. i only hope that there may be no inhabitants who may take me for a burglar, and shoot me before i have time to explain matters. i must go cautiously, so as to make no noise." he was going on feeling the walls on both sides, and putting one foot slowly before the other, when he observed a faint light streaming up from an opening on one side. the opening was a doorway; as he reached it the light became stronger, and he saw some stone steps leading to yet a lower story. "this seems strange," he muttered, "i understood that the houses in amsterdam were built on piles to keep them out of the water, and i should have supposed that a flight of steps so low as this would lead one into it; but there must be some one down there, or this bright light would not be coming up. perhaps i had better go back to try and find my way to the street door, as i had intended, lest that somebody should consider that i am intruding; however, having got thus far, i will try and solve the mystery." he, therefore, again descended step by step. he found himself in a small vaulted chamber, in the centre of which was a table covered with retorts, jars, glasses of all shapes and sizes, and other chemical apparatus, while at a chair was seated a tall, grey-headed old gentleman, stirring the contents of a clay bowl with a glass tube; his eyes were so intently fixed on the bowl that he did not discover the presence of a stranger. a lamp burning on the table shed the light around on the wizen countenance of the aged alchemist, on the walls of the chamber, and on the roof, from which hung suspended several iron chains, and stuffed birds and beasts and other creatures of curious form, unlike anything the count had before seen. he stood for some time watching the proceedings of the unknown alchemist and considering what he should do; at last he gave a cough to attract attention. the old man looked up, and regarded him with a fixed stare. "who are you, and whence do you come?" he asked in a hollow voice. "are you a spirit from the vasty deep, or have you risen from the nether world?" "though i am not a spirit, i have come from the vasty deep, for i am a shipwrecked traveller," answered the count. "in a most extraordinary manner i was landed in a loft above this building, and have found my way down here. my object at present is to get out into the street of amsterdam, for i presume i am in that city, and to discover my friend and companion, baron stilkin, who had, fortunately for himself, gone on shore before the catastrophe occurred, which nearly cost me my life; and i shall be very, very much obliged to you, most reverend seignor, if you will show me the door." "at present i cannot on any account do that," answered the alchemist. "it might prove the destruction of my hopes were i to leave this crucible for a moment. know that i am on the point of making the great discovery which is the object of my life," and the old man went on stirring as before. "what is that discovery, may i ask?" inquired the count. "the means of converting tin into silver, and copper into gold; or rather, i may say, the discovery of the philosopher's stone, for which the sages of past centuries have searched in vain, but which i firmly believe it has been reserved for me to find out. i shall then become the richest individual in amsterdam, and i have resolved to employ my wealth in rebuilding the city. i purpose to lay the foundations with granite instead of wooden piles, on which it now stands; to increase the width and depth of its canals, and double their present dimensions; to erect a church in the centre which shall surpass that of saint peter's or saint paul's; to make the inhabitants the most wealthy and healthy, the best and most contented people on the face of the globe. these are grand designs, you will allow, most noble stranger, for i perceive you are capable of appreciating them: these are sufficient to induce a man to burn the midnight oil, to spend his days in ceaselessly labouring at his allotted task." "perhaps you will be good enough to make haste and discover this philosopher's stone, and then let me out at your street door; for i am desperately hungry, and wish to find a hotel where i may obtain a supper and bed, in case i should not meet with baron stilkin, who landed for the express purpose of looking for one." "wait a few moments longer, my friend," said the alchemist, still stirring on. "you would not surely have me throw away the labour of years to gratify your selfish object. just step aside in the meantime into that recess, as i am not quite certain what is about to happen. there may come an explosion, such has occurred before now, and then at the bottom of this crucible i firmly believe that i shall discover the philosopher's stone. it has never appeared yet, but, once in my possession, i shall leave this cold vault for ever, and emerge into the upper world, to commence the great undertaking i have designed. stand aside! stand aside! at any moment there may be an explosion." the count at first thought that the wisest plan would be to escape up the stone steps, as he had no wish to be exposed to the effects of the expected explosion; but, curious to see the result, he stepped aside, as the old alchemist advised him, into a recess of the vault. still the alchemist stirred on, but nothing occurred. the count was losing patience when he heard the sound of feet descending the steps. "here comes my familiar spirit," muttered the alchemist; "he always does come just when i am about to make my grand discovery." "he treads very heavily for a spirit!" thought the count. at that moment a remarkable and unattractive-looking person came into the light of the lamp; he was a short, thick-set man, with a huge head, almost a dwarf, dressed in a long coat and high boots, carrying in his hand a kettle. the alchemist as he saw him started up. "why have you come? why hast thou come, thou enemy of science? thou who, night after night, hast prevented me from making the grand discovery, the aim of my existence, thou disturber of my studies, thou foe of the human race!" "you know well enough, mynheer bosch, that what you say is all nonsense, and that i will not allow you to abuse me in this fashion," exclaimed the dwarf, lifting up the kettle as if he were about to throw it at the philosopher's head. "come along, and leave your old bottles and jars; it is high time that you were in bed, and my business is to see you safe there, and to lock you up till to-morrow morning." "but i have a visitor," said the philosopher, calming down, and looking perfectly resigned to his fate. "a visitor who may become my pupil, and aid me in making my grand discovery, which has, through your interference, been so long delayed." "any one who desires to become your pupil must be a remarkably silly fellow," observed the dwarf. "if he is there, let him show himself. come out, whoever you are, and i'll know how you ventured into this house without leave." the count, on hearing this, stepped forth from his hiding-place. "honest man, pray understand, in the first place, that i have no desire to become the pupil of this philosophical gentleman, that i most unintentionally entered the house, and shall be extremely obliged to you if you will let me out as soon as possible," he said; and he briefly explained how he had happened to get into the loft. "that being the case, as soon as i have secured this poor old man for the night, i will show you out into the street," answered the dwarf; and taking hold of the lamp with one hand and with the other grasping the arm of the philosopher, who moved on as meekly as a lamb, he led the way up the steps, the count following close behind. after proceeding along several passages he reached a door, when, producing a key from his pocket, he opened it. "go in," he said to the philosopher, "and wait till i come back." the latter obeyed, and the dwarf locked him in. "now, mynheer," he said, "having disposed of that poor old fellow for the present, i will show you the way out into the street; but take care you do not fall into the canal. you will not find any hotel in this part of the town fit for a gentleman of your rank; but if you go on straight before you and then turn to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, you may possibly meet with your friend whom you desire to find; if not, a watchman will take charge of you, should he not lock you up, and will help you to find an hotel." this was not altogether satisfactory, for the count doubted very much whether he should be able to follow the directions he had received; but he wanted to get into the open air, and he hoped that he should somehow or other find his way. he was not in the best possible mood, and had little expectation of finding the baron; he was desperately hungry, and was afraid that his portmanteau was lost, which would certainly be the case if the sloop had gone to the bottom. however, finding himself in the open air, he went along what appeared to be a narrow road, with houses on one side and a canal on the other. the odour which rose from the latter in the night air was far from pleasant, but he soon got accustomed to it. he was inclined to shout out the baron's name as he went along, but it occurred to him that some of the watchers of the night might accuse him of being a disorderly person, and carry him off to prison, though whenever he saw anyone approaching he asked in a subdued tone, "is that you, baron stilkin?" but no one acknowledged himself to be the baron. thus the count went on, no one impeding his progress. according to the dwarfs advice, he did turn to the left and then to the right, then to the left again, and turned several times, till he forgot how many times he had turned or where he was. for a long time he met no one of whom to inquire the way. at last he heard footsteps approaching. "is that you. baron stilkin?" he asked, as he had done before. "what, whose voice is that?" exclaimed some one. the count, hoping that it was the baron, replied, "count funnibos." "what, my dear count, is it you yourself?" exclaimed baron stilkin, for he it was, and, rushing into each other's arms, they wept, overcome by their feelings. the count narrated the extraordinary adventures he had met with. "and what about our portmanteaus and umbrellas? what will become of them?" exclaimed the baron. "they are on board the sloop, and, for what i can tell, at the bottom of the zuyder zee," said the count. "we must endeavour to regain them forthwith if they are afloat, or fish them up if they are at the bottom," said the baron. "come along. i left the sober sailor waiting for me. we may possibly find him, and at once put off in search of our property." "but i should prefer having some supper first," exclaimed the count. "i am well-nigh starving." "never mind, my dear count," said the baron, "i have eaten enough for two, and there's no time to be lost. it is of the greatest importance that we should forthwith recover our portmanteaus and umbrellas. why, we have all the money in them, and our note-books and journals." "and my ties and tooth-brush," put in the count. "of course, of course. i will still the cravings of my appetite and sacrifice my feelings for the common weal." "eight, right; a noble principle," said the baron. "i shall be able to enjoy a second supper with you when we return." and the baron acting as guide, they set off for the quay where, to the best of his belief, he had left the sober sailor. wonderful to relate, the sober sailor was there, waiting patiently, smoking his pipe with his arms folded, a picture of resignation. as far as could be perceived in the gloom of night, he did not appear to be much surprised at hearing of the accident which had befallen the sloop. "cheer up, mynheers, we will find her," he said. "she's not likely to have got far. there's a bit of a current round that point, but after that the tide runs slowly, and she will have been brought up by some other vessel across which she's been driven, or is still floating slowly out towards the zuyder zee." saying this, he bent to his oars and pulled away down the canal. the lights glittered from the upper windows of many houses, showing that the inhabitants were not yet in bed, and the tall masts of numerous vessels towered up towards the sky, with yards across seen indistinctly in the gloom of night. the moon shone forth and shed her pale light on the smooth surface of the water, which looked bright and silvery, very different to the hue it is apt to wear in the daytime. "if i were not so hungry and so anxious about our portmanteaus and umbrellas i should enjoy this," observed the count. "i do enjoy it," said the baron, stroking his waistcoat. "as to our portmanteaus and umbrellas, my mind is greatly relieved by the assurances of our friend the sober sailor here." "i hope you are so with sufficient reason," observed the count, who was in low spirits, as people often are when they are hungry. "i told you so, i told you so; there's the sloop," shouted the baron. "i am right, am i not, friend mariner?" "ja, ja, that's she," answered the sober sailor, pulling towards the sloop, which was, as he had asserted would be the case, floating leisurely along, like a snail on a garden path. he soon pulled up alongside, when the count and the baron scrambled on board. the tipsy skipper and his tipsy crew were still both fast asleep in their respective bunks. "now i consider that it would be right and proper to let them float on after we have recovered our portmanteaus and umbrellas," said the baron. "it would be more kind and charitable to anchor the sloop, or to take her alongside the nearest vessel we can reach," said the count. "what do you say, worthy mariner?" "we cannot anchor her, because my messmate slipped her cable and left the anchor in the canal," answered the sober sailor. "but we will tow her alongside another vessel and make her fast, where she will remain safe enough till i have conveyed you, mynheers, and your luggage to the shore. we sailors make it a point of honour to look after our shipmates when they get overtaken by too abundant potations of schiedam or any other liquor." "but you do not mean to say that you ever get overtaken?" asked the count. "not unless it is my turn to enjoy that pleasure," answered the sober sailor. "it was my turn to-night to keep sober, as it would never do for the whole crew to get drunk together." having said this, the sober sailor stepped into the boat, and towed the sloop up to a vessel which lay conveniently near. having secured her, and informed her skipper and crew of the condition of his skipper and crew, he pulled away up to the landing-place, carrying the count and baron, with their portmanteaus and umbrellas. they were not long, after landing, in finding a hotel, on entering which the first words the baron uttered were, "supper for two." "i thought that you had supped," remarked the count. "my dear count, do you think i should be so uncourteous as not to eat a second to keep you company?" said the baron, smiling blandly. they, were soon seated at table, and the baron did ample justice to his second supper. chapter eight. "then here we are in amsterdam," said the count to the baron, as they sauntered out of their hotel after breakfast. "i wonder whether all these people have come to do us honour on hearing of our arrival." "they probably have not heard of our arrival," said the baron. "they are, as you will perceive, market people, and others who have come in these boats surrounding the landing-slips;" and he pointed across the crowd which thronged the quay to the canal, on which boats of various sizes were coming and going, mostly laden with cheeses and other merchandise to supply the city of amsterdam. "ah, yes; you are probably correct," remarked the count. "now let us set forth and inspect this great city." a guide, who had noticed them leaving the hotel, offered his services to conduct them through the streets, and to give them the information which as strangers they would naturally require. "thank you," said the baron, who, thinking him a very polite gentleman, made him a bow. "we accept your services." "come then, mynheers, come then," said the guide; "with me as your conductor, you will see more of the city in a few hours than you would by yourselves in as many days. you will understand that amsterdam is the largest town in holland," he commenced. "it is built in the shape of a crescent, or horse-shoe, and is situated at the influx of the amstel into the y; the latter, though it is called a river, is in reality an arm of the zuyder zee, and forms our harbour; hence the name of amsterdam--the dam of the amstel, or amster. now i will lead you to the docks, close to which we now are--they are capable of accommodating a thousand vessels; the locks, you will observe, are of enormous strength, which it is necessary they should be, so as to resist the inroads of the sea. we take great precautions to keep it out, and with good reason, for our streets are much below its level, and were it to break in they would be completely flooded. our city is nine miles in circumference, while canals of various sizes intersect it in every direction, and divide it into ninety islands, which are connected by means of nearly three hundred bridges. a broad moat, or canal, also runs almost completely round it, a portion of which is flanked with avenues of elms, which have a handsome and picturesque appearance. our houses are constructed on foundations of piles, and as some of these give way, either destroyed by worms or becoming rotten by age, the houses are apt to lean about in various directions, which artists say look very picturesque, but are not so pleasant to the inhabitants, who, however, live on in them, hoping that, as they have been in that condition for some years, they will not tumble down just yet. now and then they do come down, but people get accustomed to that sort of thing. many years ago our great corn magazine sank into the mud, the piles on which it stood being unable to support the weight of three thousand five hundred tons of grain, which were stored in the building at that time. you will observe the style of the houses, many of them built of dutch brickwork, which foreigners justly admire. our canals are not quite as deep as they should be, although we have dredging machines constantly engaged in removing the mud, which is thus apt to be stirred about in an unpleasant manner as every barge comes up, and strangers declare that an excessively offensive odour rises from them, especially on hot days; but we who live here are not inconvenienced, in fact we rather doubt the statement; there may be a smell, but it surely cannot be an unpleasant one." "as to that," answered the count, holding his pocket-handkerchief to his nose, "it must depend upon what people consider unpleasant; for my part, i prefer the scent of orange blossoms or eau de cologne to it." the guide, who seemed anxious to fulfil his promise of enabling them to see the city in a brief period of time, trotted them along the quays at a rapid rate, pointing out to them the great dyke which prevents the zuyder zee from washing into the town; then he conducted them up one street and down another, over bridges and along banks of canals innumerable, till they had not the slightest idea of where they were going or what they were seeing. he poured out his information also at so rapid a rate that the count could with difficulty make the shortest notes. museums and picture galleries of various sorts were pointed out to them. "you will be able to see those by and by," observed the guide; "at present my object is to exhibit to you the outside of the city." the whole day was expended in viewing the city, and even then a large portion remained to be seen, which they flattered themselves they should do on another occasion. they then, pretty well tired, returned to their hotel. "now, count, in what direction shall we next bend our steps?" asked the baron. "if we were at sea the wind might settle that point, but on shore the matter is more complicated." "come with me, mynheers, to zaandam," said a gentleman, who was seated opposite to them at table and heard the baron's question. "i suppose there's something to be seen there?" the baron asked. "certainly there is something to be seen," said the gentleman. "there's the house of peter the great, who lived there while he was working as a shipwright, and there are windmills." "there are a good many windmills in other parts of holland," observed the count. "but the windmills of zaandam beat them all hollow," answered the gentleman. "there are no fewer than four hundred in and about zaandam, employed in all sorts of labour: some grind corn, some saw timber, others crush rape-seed, while others again drain the land, or reduce stones to powder, or chop tobacco into snuff, or grind colours for the painter. those of zaandam are of all shapes and descriptions, and many of them are of an immense size--the largest in the world." "we will go to zaandam," said the count; and the next morning he and the baron accompanied their new friend, whom they took care to ascertain was not a professional guide, down to the quay, whence a steamboat was about to start to their intended destination. in little more than an hour having crossed the waters of the y, they landed at zaandam. they were not disappointed with respect to the windmills, which, as there was a fair breeze, seemed to be all very busy, the sails whirling round and round and doing their duty with all earnestness, as duty ought to be done. when the wind slackened it was not their fault if they did not go as fast. they could distinguish the flour mills, which generally had a balcony running round half-way up; but the draining mills were smaller, and had no balcony. zaandam, however, did not look like a town, it more resembled a straggling village; the houses--small, painted a bright green, with red roofs-peeping out on the banks of the river amid the trees in all directions. suddenly the count began whirling his arms about in a way which made the baron fancy he had gone mad. "what is the matter?" he exclaimed. "i cannot help it," answered the count, still looking up at the windmills. "how they go round and round and round in all directions; it is enough to turn one into a windmill. i feel inclined already to become one." "don't, don't!" cried the baron, seizing his friend's arms and holding them down. "don't look at those whirlabout sails, but come let us go and see the house of peter the great, which was the chief object of our visit to this place." "peter the great, ah, i have heard of him; how long did he live here?" asked the count. "not very long," said their friend. "zaandam was in those days a great ship-building place, and he came here to instruct himself in the art; but the people found out who he was, and shocked his modesty by staring him out of countenance, so he went away to amsterdam, where among the crowd he was less likely to be discovered." proceeding along a canal bordered by a few dilapidated houses, they arrived before a zinc building, which has been erected to cover the hut in which peter the great lived. an ancient individual, who had charge of it, admitted them within the outside covering. "peter of russia was a great man, there's no doubt about that," observed the baron. "but from the appearance of this edifice he must have been contented with a very inferior style of accommodation; for there appear to be but two small rooms, and every plank of the walls is out of the perpendicular, and every beam far off the horizontal, while the floors resemble the surface of a troubled sea." the hut was constructed of wood, old planks nailed roughly together, some running in one direction, some in another. as the travellers entered they rolled about as if they had suddenly become giddy. the furniture too was limited; it consisted of a couple of curiously shaped old chairs, a table and a bedstead of antique form and simple construction. the walls were adorned with portraits of peter the great and his wife, who certainly, judging by her picture, was no beauty. "i observe that a number of persons of celebrity have carved their names on the walls; i think we ought to do the same, to let it be known to all the world, who come after us, that we have been here," said the baron, taking out his penknife. "here are some names, great persons undoubtedly, and, as far as i can judge, english; let me see, one is jones, the other is smith, and a third brown--we will add ours." "have the kindness to put mine, then," said the count. "i should wish to appear in such excellent company, but carving on wood is not one of my talents." the baron accordingly with the tip of his penknife wrote, or rather carved, "count funnibos and baron stilkin," putting the date of their visit. well satisfied with his performance, he took another glance round the room, about which the count had been staggering, looking at the various corners and crevices, as if he expected to find the great peter in one of them, sawing or planing, or perhaps supping off a bowl of porridge. the ancient keeper informed them that the building was erected by a former queen of holland--a princess of russia--to prevent this relic of her ancestor being swept off the face of the earth. on one of the walls was a marble tablet, placed there by the emperor alexander to commemorate a visit he paid to the hut, which showed to the count and baron that another great person had been there before them. chapter nine. on returning to the town of windmills, they encountered the gentleman who had advised them to pay a visit to the place. "i am going on to alkmaar," he observed, "and should be rejoiced to have your company; it is a place well worth seeing, and you will have further experience of dutch scenery on the way." "we will go, by all means," said the count, who, as it saved him the trouble of thinking, was glad to receive suggestions regarding their route. they accordingly went on board the steamer, which was already pretty well filled with country people, butter-sellers, peddlers, gardeners, and others, very clean and respectable and picturesque in their costume. there was a vast amount of shouting and holloaing and talking as the boat passed through a narrow lock, which conducted them into the direct line of canal navigation to the place they purposed visiting. as they glided on, they observed the banks on either side lined with windmills; here and there were small houses painted green with red roofs--indeed, red roofs were seen everywhere, like british soldiers skirmishing, as the colour was toned down and mellowed by time and weather. on and on they went, sometimes looking down from the canal to the country below them, for the water was on a higher level than the land. "it would be an awkward business if a breach were to be made in the banks, and the water were to run out over the country," observed the count. "we take precautions against that, by making the banks broad and strong, as you will observe," remarked their friend. "but such an event has occurred more than once, sometimes by accident, and at others purposely, to prevent the approach of an enemy, when in a few hours a whole district has been laid under water." "when that occurs, the fields and the orchards and the cottages of the inhabitants must be destroyed," observed the count. "undoubtedly," answered his companion. "but we dutchmen are patriotic, and willingly sacrifice our own interests for the good of the country; besides which the chief sufferers have seldom been consulted--our leaders have decided that it was necessary, and it has been done. in this way alkmaar was defended against the spaniards, and leyden was relieved by a fleet of the `beggars of the sea,' which, sailing across the submerged land, brought provisions and reinforcements to the starving garrison." league after league was passed over by this watery way; trees there were, but they were scarcely of sufficient height to break the uniform appearance of the level country. "my dear baron," said the count, taking his friend by the button-hole, "i have at length settled a point in my mind which has long puzzled me; i have heard that philosophers differ as to whether the earth is round or flat, and now you will agree with me that we have proof positive that it is flat. look round on every side--the country is as level as a billiard table, the water in the canals does not run one way more than another, there's not a single elevation between us and the distant horizon. yes, i am convinced of the fact: one does learn something by travelling." the baron, who was seldom in an argumentative mood, smiled blandly, and replied, "yes, my dear count, you are probably right as far as holland is concerned. when we reach other parts of the world we may be compelled, against our better judgment, to change our opinion, but time enough for that when we get there; let us at present side with those who hold to the opinion that the world is flat, but not with those who pronounce it stale and unprofitable, for holland is certainly not unprofitable, or the people would not look so wealthy, fat, and comfortable." after the canal had made several turnings, the tall steeples of alkmaar, quaint and ancient, appeared in sight, but it was some time before the steamer reached the quay of that picturesque town. leaving the steamboat, the count and the baron at once going to an hotel, ordered dinner to be prepared, having invited their new friend to join them. "though alkmaar is a place of no great importance at present," observed their friend, "it can boast of three things--its heroic defence against the spaniards, of which i will give you an account by-and-by as we walk round the ramparts; of its cleanliness, of which you have ocular proof; and of the vast amount of excellent cheese which it exports; indeed, it is said to do more business in cheese than any other town in the world. there are also two or three quaint and curious buildings which are worthy of a visit." "we will visit them in their turn," observed the baron. as he descended the steps of the hotel he evidently created some sensation among the market people, fishwives, the butter-sellers, and others who thronged the streets. perceiving this, he stopped short and looked about him with a benignant air. "perhaps, if i were to take up my residence here, i might be elected burgomaster," he thought to himself, "though at home it might be beneath my rank to enter into commerce. i should have no objection to deal in cheese, they look so clean, and taste so nice, and have so fragrant an odour. a million cheeses exported by baron stilkin and company would sound well, and even though i were to make a profit of only a styver per cheese, would come to a good sum annually--i will see to it." his cogitations were interrupted by the appearance of the count and their friend, who now invited him to accompany them round the town. their friend was an enthusiastic patriot, and having shown them alkmaar, and described its heroic defence against the spaniards, advised them as to the course they should afterwards pursue. they accordingly set off and visited haarlem and leyden, the hague--the royal capital--and rotterdam, the great commercial city rivalling amsterdam, gouda, and utrecht, which possesses a cathedral and a fine old tower rising to the height of three hundred and twenty feet above the ground. "and now i propose that, as we have seen all these towns, we go forth and enjoy something of the country, before we leave holland," said the count. "agreed," answered the baron, and so it was settled. chapter ten. once more the count and the baron were in the country. as yet they had made but little progress in their journey round the world, but they were not disheartened. "we shall do it in time," remarked the count. "and it strikes me that if we were to put on my seven-league boots we should go much faster." "but, my dear count, have you seen them lately?" asked the baron. "a dreadful idea has occurred to me. i am afraid that i left one of them on board of the _golden hog_, and if she has gone to the bottom your seven-league boot has gone also, and with only one it is very clear that we shall not go ahead with the desirable rapidity." "then i suspect we must do without them," said the count, who always took matters easily. "we must depend upon our own legs and such means of conveyance as present themselves. with the help of the railways, steamboats, trackboats, and horse carriages, we may still manage to get along. by-the-by, could we not manage to engage a balloon? we might get over the country at greater speed than even with my seven-league boots." "we should not see much of it in that way, i suspect," observed the baron. "oh, yes! a fine bird's-eye view, such as an eagle enjoys," exclaimed the count. "i decidedly object to aerial travelling," said the baron. "it does not suit my figure, and i always feel giddy if i look down from a height. sailing on the treacherous ocean is bad enough, and even railways are not altogether satisfactory. give me the firm ground, a nice easy chaise on four wheels, steady horses, and an experienced coachman, and i can enjoy travelling. but here we are at nighterecht, a pleasant, rural-looking place. it boasts of an inn, though not a large one, but we can enjoy the primitive simplicity of the inhabitants." on reaching the inn, having announced themselves, they were received by the landlady with all the courtesy and respect due to persons of their exalted rank. "we must ask you, good vrouw, to direct us to any objects worthy of inspection in this neighbourhood, that we may visit them while you are preparing dinner," said the baron. "objects worthy of inspection," said the vrouw; "there are the houses, and the fields, and the canals, we have two--one passing close to the village, the other a little way in the rear--and five windmills, all in sight without the trouble of going in search of them. we expect that there will be something too which will take place to interest your lordships this afternoon. a stranger arrived this morning with a cart containing a large cask, the contents of which he proposes to exhibit to all those who will pay him a guilder each; the guilders are to remain with him, the contents of the cask are to be divided among the spectators. you will, of course, mynheers, remain to witness the spectacle, and to enjoy the benefits which may be derived from the contents of the cask. some say it is full of one thing, some of another, but no one knows what. notices have been sent round in all directions, and we expect to have a numerous gathering, which will, at all events, prove profitable to my establishment." the count and the baron, not being hurried, agreed to remain. as soon as dinner was over they observed a number of persons collecting under the trees in front of the inn, which stood, as the landlady assured them, on the top of a mountain, though the descent to the canal was scarcely more than twenty feet, comparing it with the level region around. in a short time a burly individual appeared, and, with the aid of two or three others, placed a huge cask on a central spot under the trees with the head facing down the hill. he then forthwith took his seat astride on the top of it. "now, noble mynheers and lovely vrouws, you have come to see something very wonderful; but before i exhibit the mystery i must request you to hand me in the guilders, for unless i obtain a sufficient number the cask remains closed." the people were flocking in from all parts, for at that time of the evening they had nothing in particular to do. the count and the baron drew near. the burly personage astride of the cask continued his address, while two or three attendants who had come with him went round to collect the coin. "you will understand, brave hollanders, that any one who is disposed to give two guilders or three guilders is welcome to do so, and will, i hope, reap a proportionate reward," he cried out at the top of his voice. the count, who had become much interested, wondering what was coming out of the cask, proposed putting in five guilders. "as you like," observed the baron, "but it is wise, as a rule, to know what you are going to get for your money, and i suggest that we promise the individual on the cask an ample reward should we be satisfied. it would be as well not to pay more than anybody else." "but then we can scarcely claim the privilege of standing in the front rank," observed the count. "come, he shall have two guilders." "as you like, it will save me the necessity of putting my hand in my purse," said the baron. the attendants having collected all the money they were likely to get, the individual on the cask, in a sonorous voice, announced his intention of exhibiting its contents. for some time past there had been strange noises proceeding from it, the cause of which no one could understand. "are you prepared to see what you shall see?" cried the stout individual, riding astride on the cask. "make ready, then. one, two, three;" and by some contrivance or other, he suddenly caused the head of the cask to fall out to the ground, when a chorus of mews and feline shrieks and cries as if long pent up burst forth, followed by an avalanche of cats with labels fixed to their tails; who, gazing for a moment at the assemblage, dashed frantically forward, some in one direction, some in another, blinded by the light suddenly let in on their eyes: one made a rush at the baron, and had almost seized his chin, while her claws stuck into his shirt-front before he could knock her off; another made a dash at the count, who fled precipitately. each cat, perhaps with the impression that she was ascending a tree, sprang first at one of the bystanders, and then at another; and then, if driven aside, dashed frantically forward down the slope, upsetting half a dozen of the spectators as they endeavoured to make their escape. "i told you, mynheers and lovely vrouws, that i should astonish you," exclaimed the stout individual on the cask. "each of you shall be welcome to the cats you can catch." a few boys and girls, who seemed to consider it great fun, made chase after the cats. the count and the baron, and not a few other persons, being considerably irate at the hoax that had been practised upon them, turned furiously towards the burly individual, who still kept his seat on the cask. "how dare you sit there laughing at us!" exclaimed one. "you impudent fellow! you deserve to be ducked in the canal," cried another. "you will only receive your due if we kick you out of the village," cried a third. "a very proper way to treat him," exclaimed a fourth. "then let us begin!" exclaimed a fifth. the stout individual, finding the tide of public favour had decidedly turned against him, leaped off his cask, and fought his way through the angry crowd, who had, fortunately for him, been somewhat dispersed by the cats. some tried to catch him, others tried to trip him up; but he was a stout fellow, and was not to be easily caught. dodging in and out among them, till seeing a narrow lane which no one at the moment was guarding, he dashed down it, hoping to make his escape from the village; but instead of leading him to the outside, as he had hoped, it conducted him to the very centre. on he ran, followed by the whole crowd, the count and baron joining in the hue and cry. the village resounded with shouts of "stop thief! stop thief!" but these only made the burly individual run the faster. a few of the inhabitants had made a short cut, hoping to meet him in front; but they only arrived in time to catch him by the skirts of his coat, which gave way as he sprang by them; several others made a grab at him, some at the collar, some on one side, some on the other, till the coat was reduced to shreds, when slipping his arms out of it he again sprang forward. the count and the baron, who had been rushing on with the crowd, were by some means or other separated. the count having lost sight of the chase, thinking after all that it was no business of his, returned to his inn. it would have been well for the baron if he had done the same; but as he was running on at a more rapid rate than he was wont to move, he tripped and fell; the rest of those engaged in the pursuit, in their eagerness scarcely perceiving what had happened, passed him by, leaving him to regain his legs as best he could. as soon as he had got up, he went on again at less speed, and in a more cautious manner. "i should like to see that fellow castigated," he said to himself. "never was served a more abominable trick. where can he have gone? if i don't make haste i shall not see what happens." he accordingly ran on again; now he turned up one narrow lane, now down another, till he had completely lost himself. "it cannot be a large place, however," he thought, "and i shall easily find my way back to the inn. ah! i think i hear the shouts of the people." he began to run on; presently he distinguished cries of, "there he is, there he is! that must be he, just his size! well catch him now!" "i hope they will," thought the baron, and on he went; but as he happened to turn and glance over his shoulder, to his surprise, he saw that the people were following him. "we shall have him now! we shall have him now!" he heard the mob shouting. "that must be he! he is up to all sorts of tricks. take care he does not escape us. stop thief! stop thief!" the baron not liking the sounds, and fearing that there might be some mistake, thought it best to keep ahead of the mob, and bolted down the first opening he discovered. to his great satisfaction, at the further end, he saw not only the inn, but the count standing at the door of it. the mob were close behind him, now excited more than ever by their running, uttering all sorts of threats, and making unpleasant gestures with their fists, sticks, and staves. the count looked astonished, scarcely comprehending what was happening. never had the baron run so fast, puffing and blowing as he went, and expecting every moment to drop from fatigue. several persons were collected about the door of the inn, who seemed to be amused at watching him as he ran. at that moment two baker's boys, carrying between them a large basketful of pies and cakes and loaves, and some paper bags of flour, happened to be passing the inn door. the baron, in his hurry not seeing them, ran against the basket, when over he went with his legs in the air, his arms and shoulders and the larger part of his body into the very middle of the pies and cakes and bags of flour. the boys with looks of alarm held on firmly to the handles, without making any attempt to assist him, while he, overcome by his unusual exertions, was utterly unable to help himself. the count, for the moment, was too much astonished to do anything, but stood with arms uplifted exclaiming, "my dear baron, what has happened? do get out of that;" while other persons who stood by only cruelly grinned at his misfortune. at length the count, recovering his presence of mind, descended the steps to the assistance of the hapless baron, who certainly was more frightened than hurt, though covered from head to foot with flour and dough and the contents of the meat pies and fruit tarts, producing an extraordinary and ludicrous effect. the mob, who had by this time come up, shouted, "we have him at last. now where shall we carry him to? what shall we do with him? he has given us a pretty long chase, and deserves to be well ducked, or tarred and feathered!" "my dear people," exclaimed the count, "you have made a mistake; this is my friend, baron stilkin, who joined you in the chase of that roguish fellow who let the cats out of the cask, and whom i am afraid you let go as well as the cats." the mob still insisted that the baron was the man of whom they were in chase, and it required all the count's eloquence to persuade them to the contrary; but his pitiable plight rather amused them than excited their compassion. some of them had even the cruelty to beg him to start again, and give them another chase. at length the kind-hearted landlady of the inn, coming out, begged him to enter, undertaking to wash his waistcoat and shirt-front, and to put him to rights. "thanks, my good vrouw, thanks; and if you will prepare some supper for me, i shall be doubly grateful, for i am terribly hungry after my long run," answered the baron. "first let me get off the paste and flour, jam and grease," said the vrouw, bringing a brush and a towel and water; and she rubbed and scrubbed for some minutes with such good effect that the baron's garments were restored to their primitive lustre. "and now my outward appearance has been polished up, pray look after the interests of my inner man," said the baron, placing his hands to his heart. "i shall ever bear in mind the polite attention with which you have treated me, though it will take some time to forget the want of discernment your townsmen have exhibited in mistaking me for that abominable cat-man. what could have induced him to play such a trick?" the landlady admitted that she had met no one who could solve the mystery. "nor have i," said the count. "i have been making inquiries in all directions, but not a person has been able to give me the wished-for information." while the vrouw went off to prepare supper for the count and baron, they seated themselves at a table in the neat little guest room to wait for it. directly afterwards in came one of the bakers' boys, demanding payment for the pies and tarts, the puddings and flour, injured and scattered by the baron. "pay you for getting in my way and causing me to fall over your abominable basket, to the great injury of my waistcoat and shirt-front, breeches and coat; not to speak of the undignified position i was compelled to assume amid the jeers and laughter of the surrounding populace!" exclaimed the baron, eyeing the small baker's boy. "i am told by my master to demand payment, and payment he says he must have," answered the small baker's boy. "our wisest course will be to pay the demand made on us, and i would advise you in future not to tumble into a baker's basket if you can help it," said the count. the count, who was always open-handed, paid the demand made on the baron, to the infinite satisfaction of the small baker's boy. the baron's spirits revived after he had done justice to the supper prepared by the kind-hearted vrouw. "in what direction shall we next bend our steps?" asked the count. "i have a fancy to visit the province of guelderland, the region of roses; and afterwards friesland, celebrated throughout holland for the beauty of its fair dames and its ancient and interesting cities," answered the baron. "how shall we travel?" asked the count. "i have been giving the matter my earnest consideration," answered the baron, "and i have arrived at the conclusion that the easiest, the pleasantest, if not the most expeditious, mode of travelling will be by _trek-schuit_, or canal-boat, where we can sit at our ease or sleep and eat while we are dragged smoothly on over the placid water." "certainly, the idea is an excellent one," said? the count, who was always ready to do what the baron proposed. accordingly the next morning, as the _trek-schuit_ was passing the village, they took their seats on board, and proceeded on their journey. chapter eleven. the _trek-schuit_ is a long canal-boat, divided into two compartments, forming a first and second class, and is drawn by a trotting horse along the towing-path. it contains seats well cushioned for sleeping, a table for meals, and every other convenience for ease-loving people who are not in a hurry. a pleasanter mode of conveyance cannot be conceived; there is no shaking or vibration; in rainy weather the cabin is warm and comfortable, and in fine weather the passenger can sit on deck and watch the fast receding landscape. such was the character of the boat in which the count and baron were now travelling. the scenery need not be minutely described; but it presented a pleasing level on every side, and the canal being in many places raised above the surrounding country, they could look down from their seat on the deck of the boat on the corn-fields and broad green meadows, scattered over with farmhouses and cottages, and occasionally with a few trees. windmills of course very often made their appearance, and cows, generally black and white, but mixed sometimes with a few red ones, were to be seen on every hand. the scenery, though unvaried, was not wearisome, especially when the sun shone brightly; and the fields looked fresh and green, and the water sparkled, and everywhere marks of man's industry were to be seen. sometimes locks had to be passed, and the boat either ascended or descended a few feet, but it was not often she left the usual level. the particulars of the journey need not be detailed, as no adventures of especial interest were met with. leaving the _trek-schuit_ they continued their journey on land, having engaged a vehicle of antique form, the box handsomely sculptured, highly coloured and gilt, and the harness well burnished. it was drawn by a fine black horse ornamented with red bows. they stepped in, and away they dashed at a rapid rate along the well-kept road. at length, early one afternoon, they alighted at a small inn, where they resolved to remain for a day or two, that they might become better acquainted with the country and its inhabitants than they could be either by gliding through it on board a _trek-schuit_, or galloping along the road in a vehicle. "now," said the baron, after he and the count had satisfied the cravings of the inner man, "let us go forth in search of adventures." they walked along arm-in-arm, as was their wont, looking about them. "ah, what do i see!" exclaimed the count. "a pretty villa, embowered by trees! a rarity in these regions. i wonder whether the inhabitants are as attractive as their residence: so lovely a spot may be the abode of the most graceful of sylphs. even at this distance we can see what pretty creepers adorn its trellised porch; how green the lawn, how bright are the flowers; and see, yonder, how the blue river dotted by white sails sparkles in the sunlight!" "ah, very beautiful, but i should not be surprised to find it inhabited by some stout double-fisted vrouw or surly old bachelor," said the baron. the count and the baron walked on till they reached the garden, which was separated from the road by a light paling. on more level ground it would have been by a moat or ditch. "ah!" exclaimed the count. "my dear baron, there are two young ladies seated among the roses, charming and graceful, instead of the old vrouw you predicted we should find; and there is a little girl with her doll on the grass, and in the porch i see an elderly lady with a young boy. what a beautiful family picture!" "ah! but do you not observe that elderly gentleman with spectacles, smoking his pipe," said the baron, as they advanced a few steps, and the individual spoken of came into sight. "he regards us with no friendly gaze through those spectacles of his, as if he already looked on us with suspicion." "we will hope that his thoughts are of a more amiable character," said the count. "at all events, let us approach, and show him that we are worthy of any attentions he may be disposed to bestow on us." "come along, then; bashfulness is not among the list of my vices," said the baron. and together they advanced to the palings, when, simultaneously taking off their hats, they each made a profound bow to the two ladies, when the old gentleman, with spectacles on his nose and pipe in his hand, standing near the flower basket, turned round his head and regarded them with an inquiring glance. "this is my friend, count funnibos," said the baron; whereon the count, making another bow towards the old gentleman with the spectacles, said, "and this is my friend and travelling companion, baron stilkin," on which the baron made a bow towards the old gentleman in spectacles and another towards the young ladies seated among the roses, who gracefully bent their heads in recognition of the compliment. the old gentleman, not to be outdone in civility, advancing a few paces, made two polite bows in return. "come, we have produced some impression," whispered the baron to the count. "we must not let the grass grow under our feet. i will speak to them. most excellent and esteemed mynheer," he said, "count funnibos and i are travellers round the world, imbued with a desire to see everything interesting, beautiful, wonderful, and strange on our way, and especially the habits and customs of the inhabitants of the countries we visit. we shall therefore esteem it a favour if you will allow us to make your acquaintance, and that of your charming family. those young ladies are, i presume, your daughters, and your excellent vrouw, seated under the porch, is, i conclude, affording instruction to one of the younger members of your family." "you are perfectly right, mynheers. as you have announced you names, i am bound to inform you that mine is hartog van arent, those three ladies are my daughters, and the elder lady is my vrouw, to whom i shall have the happiness of introducing you if you will come through the gate you will find a little further on near the house." again the count and baron bowed, and expressed the honour they should feel at being introduced to the vrouw van arent and her charming daughters. the young ladies, on hearing this, smiled sweetly, and rising from their seats approached the house to be in readiness to be introduced to the strangers. the vrouw welcomed them cordially, as dutch ladies are accustomed to receive guests, and the young ladies were not behind their mother in that respect, while the little girl ran up with her doll, which she held up to be admired, thinking more of it than herself. in a few minutes the count and the baron made themselves perfectly at home, as if they had known the family all their lives. mynheer van arent invited them to enter the house, and after partaking of an early supper, they spent a pleasant evening. the young ladies played the piano and sang, if not artistically, with sweet voices, so that the count and the baron professed themselves completely captivated. they were considering it time to take their departure, when another guest was announced, and a gentleman entered who was received by mynheer van arent and his vrouw in as cordial a manner as they had been. he was introduced to the count and the baron as mynheer bunckum. he made them a somewhat stiff bow, which they returned with, their usual politeness. he evidently was taking great pains to make himself agreeable to the young ladies, who seemed, however, not over-inclined to encourage his attentions. at last, pulling out his watch, he observed that it was getting late, looking at the count and the baron at the same time as a hint to them to take their departure; but they waited till he had made his bow and retired, then, after some more agreeable conversation, they also bowed themselves out of the house. "truly," observed the count, "this has been the pleasantest evening we have spent since we started on our travels." "so pleasant that i presume you will wish to spend some more of the same character," remarked the baron. "indeed i do," said the count. "for, to confess the truth, i have lost my heart." "have you, indeed!" exclaimed the baron. "to which of the fair ladies, may i ask?" "that remains as yet a secret unknown to myself," said the count. "they are both so charming." "pray, as soon as you can discover the secret, do not conceal it from me," said the baron. "i have particular reasons for asking." all this time they were not aware that they were closely followed by some one, who must have heard every word they said. suddenly the sound of a footfall reached their ears, and turning they saw a figure, who, finding that he was discovered, rapidly retreated. "stop!" cried the count, "whoever you are; we wish to have a few words with you." "stop, i say!" repeated the baron. but their shouts were unheeded, and neither of them felt inclined to give chase. "who can that be?" asked the count. "that is the question," answered the baron. "what do you say to mynheer bunckum? he cast a jealous eye at us, as if he considered we were rivals." "then he should have come up and spoken to us like a man," said the count. "we must be on our guard, at all events, for he evidently has no friendly feeling towards us." the count and the baron met with no further adventures till they reached the inn. chapter twelve. the next morning the count and the baron rose from their downy slumbers and took breakfast, to which the baron paid due attention, as he did, in truth, to all his meals. "now, my dear baron, what do you say--shall we continue our journey, or again pay our respects to the estimable family of van arent?" asked the count. "at this hour, i fear, from what i know of the habits of the people, that our visit would not be welcome," said the baron. "the young ladies are probably engaged in milking the cows, or making butter, or superintending the manufacture of cheese. we should catch them in their working-dresses, and be considered intruders." "then the best thing we can do is to sally forth and see the country," said the count. "but yet i should not like to leave this part of it without again having the happiness of basking in the smiles of those charming young ladies, vrouw margaret and vrouw isabelle." "i think you may be content with basking in the smiles of one of the two," remarked the baron, "i flatter myself that the smiles of the other are directed towards me." "we won't quarrel on the matter," said the count, who greatly disliked to dispute. "i was going to tell you that i have an idea." "have you, indeed!" exclaimed the baron. "it is not often you indulge in anything of the sort, tray let me know what it is." "my idea is this," said the count. "you know that i am an exquisite player on the violin, though i did not bring one with me; for i might have been mistaken, had i done so, for an itinerant musician. the idea that has occurred to me is that i will purchase one, so that i may be able to accompany the fair vrouws when they play the piano. they are sure to be delighted, and i shall be raised still higher in their good graces." "you are only thinking of yourself," muttered the baron. "but suppose," he added aloud, "no violin is to be found in this rural district, how can you obtain one?" "i propose that we proceed to the nearest town, where such instruments are sure to be on sale; and we can return by the evening, when we are more likely to be admitted into mynheer van arent's family circle," said the count. "you, baron, surely play on some instrument, and you might obtain it at the same time." "the only instruments i play are the jew's harp and the kettle-drum, and i am afraid that neither are very well suited to entertain ladies in their drawing-room," said the baron. "not exactly. the latter would be rather too cumbersome to carry about," said the count. "however, let us set forth, or we shall not have time to return before the evening." fortunately they found a _trek-schuit_ just starting for the far-famed town of sneek. occasionally the boat passed between some of the small towns and villages they had seen afar off, composed of neat houses with yellow and blue blinds. the housewives, in golden casques, the usual headdress, standing at the doors often exhibited a bright copper jug glistening in the sun. the travellers frequently passed numerous boats, the men on board of which saluted them politely. they appeared good-natured, happy fellows, with ruddy countenances, light hair, and rings hanging to their ears. they were mostly dressed in red shirts, blue and white knickerbockers fastened at the knee, and thick brown woollen stockings. the boat, as she glided on, was generally accompanied by sea-gulls, storks with long legs and outstretched necks, flights of lapwings, and other species of the feathered tribe, uttering their plaintive cries, and ever and anon as they skimmed the waves diving below the water to bring some hapless fish in their long slender beaks. "here we are," cried the count, as they glided into the picturesque little town of sneek, with its houses of white woodwork and painted window-frames, its winding streets and high-arched bridges, its trees and shady walks along the canals, its gaily-painted canal-boats, and its picturesque water-gate. the town itself was soon inspected, while the count and the baron on their way made inquiries for the instrument the former was anxious to purchase. they were almost giving up the search in despair, when they heard of a manufacturer who was said to have produced violins which, in the hands of an artist, were capable of giving forth such touching sounds that many who heard them were moved to tears. "that is just the description of instrument i require," exclaimed the count. he and the baron hastened on to the shop of the manufacturer. it was an ancient building, the front of which looked as if, before long, it would become acquainted with the roadway. there were not only violins, but other musical instruments and curiosities of all sorts. "before i part with the violin i must hear you play," said the vendor; "i never allow my instruments to go into unskilled hands." the count eagerly took the violin, and played a few notes. the baron produced his pocket-handkerchief, and placed it to his eyes. "touching, very touching!" he exclaimed. "you will do," said the vendor. the count, well pleased with his purchase, asked the baron if he could find any instrument to suit him. the baron shook his head, mournfully. "i must depend on my voice; and, provided i do not catch a cold, that will, i hope, produce as much effect as your fiddle." "we shall see," said the count. leaving the shop, they hastened back to the _trek-schuit_, which was about to return the way they had come. the journey occupied so long a time that the shades of evening were already stealing over the landscape when they reached their inn. though the count was eager at once to set out for the house of mynheer van arent, the baron declared that, without his supper, he could not sing at all. by the time that was finished it was dark. "now," said the count, "let us go; even for you, baron, i cannot wait longer." the count, of course, carried his violin. "as it is too late to present ourselves, we will remain outside among the trees. you shall play an air, and i will sing a song, and we will then go in and ascertain the effect," said the baron. they soon got to a part of the shrubbery where they could effectually conceal themselves. overhead they observed a tall tree--one of the branches of which extended to the walls of the house. "now," whispered the baron, "shall i sing, or will you commence an air on your violin?" "i will begin," said the count, who was on the point of drawing the bow across the strings, when the baron grasped his arm. "hark!" he said; "look up there." what was their astonishment to observe a figure climbing the ancient tree they had remarked close above them. they, at all events, had not been discovered. higher and higher the person climbed, till he gained a bough extending towards the house. along it he made his way. when near the end, he stopped and threw several pieces of a branch he broke off against the shutter of a window, which was at no great distance from where he stood. the count, thus interrupted in his intended serenade, with jealous eyes watched the proceedings of the stranger, fully expecting that either vrouw margaret or vrouw isabelle would appear at the window. at length it opened, when, instead, the more portly form of vrouw van arent herself came into view. she gazed with open eyes at the stranger standing up on the bough of the tree. "who are you, who thus, in so unseemly a way, ventures to disturb the quiet of our abode?" she asked, in somewhat angry tones. "hist, hist, vrouw van arent! i am ten dick bunckum. not wishing to appear in the presence of your fair daughters, i have taken this method of warning you of a danger which threatens your family. yesterday evening two persons were received in your house, who pretend to be a count and a baron. i have strong evidence, if not proof positive, that they are strolling musicians, who are travelling about the country to prey on the unwary. my great desire is to put you on your guard against them." "i am much obliged to you for your good intentions, mynheer bunckum, but would rather you had taken some other method of warning me, instead of throwing sticks at this window." "i could not tell whether those pretended count and baron were already in your house; and, as my object was to avoid meeting them, i climbed into this tree that i might wait till i saw you approach the window." "the count and baron have not come to the house this evening, and i would advise you, mynheer bunckum, to descend from your perilous position, and allow my husband and me to arrange our family affairs as we think right and best; and i must again beg you to get off that tree, and take care, as you do so, that you do not fall down and break your neck." "i obey you, vrouw van arent," answered mynheer bunckum, cautiously retracing his steps along the branch, while the lady of the mansion shut the window, and closed the shutter over it, which completely excluded the light. the count and the baron meantime waited in their place of concealment, fully believing that mynheer bunckum, on reaching the ground, would discover them. they had no wish that he should do this, as it would show him that they were aware of his malignant designs. they therefore drew close under the bushes, scarcely venturing to to breathe. they could hear him, as he reached the ground, threatening vengeance on their heads. he passed so close to them that the baron, by catching hold of his leg, might have tripped him up, and punished him for his false accusations; but they wisely allowed him to go on, as they considered that such a proceeding would not be calculated to raise them in the estimation of mynheer van arent and his family. they waited till he had got to some distance when, coming out of their place of concealment, they followed him to ascertain in what direction he was going. he was evidently too much put out to venture that evening into the presence of the ladies. on the way to their inn they naturally looked about them to the right hand and to the left, as well as occasionally behind, to be certain that their jealous rival, as they considered mynheer bunckum, was not following them. he all the time was engaged in forming a design against their liberties of which they had no notion. on reaching the inn, they found a note on pink paper in a delicate female hand purporting to come from mynheer van arent, inviting them to accompany his family to a picnic on the banks of the meer on the following morning. "by all means we will go," exclaimed the count. "i will take my violin, and who knows what may happen." in the course of conversation they made inquiries about the various people in the neighbourhood of the landlady, whose good graces they had won. "what sort of a person is mynheer bunckum?" asked the count. "he owns the castle of wykel, not far from this. it is said that he is trying to win the hand of one of the daughters of mynheer van arent, but whether or not he will gain her is a question. i desire to put you on your guard against him, mynheers, for he is not a man to be trifled with." proceeding at an early hour the next morning to the house of mynheer van arent, they found the family prepared for their excursion. the distance to the lake was not great, and on reaching the pier, running out a short distance into the shallow water, a large boat of substantial build was seen alongside. she of course was round-sterned, drawing but little water, but had tolerably sharp bows; her poop was gilded and carved, as was her stern, while every part was either varnished or brilliantly coloured. she was indeed the family yacht. instead of white canvas her sails were of a dark red hue, though of fine material; she had a comfortably fitted-up cabin, with every luxury on board. numberless other vessels, broad and shallow, were sailing here and there over the lake, their sails either red brick or saffron-coloured, reflected on the violet-tinted waters, which contrasted with the silvery hue of the sky, and a green ribbon of land bordering the lake. these flat-bottomed, bulging round vessels were employed in distributing the produce of the neighbouring farms to all parts of the country around. a short sail on board the yacht took the party to the point which had been selected for their picnic, at which other yachts of a similar construction quickly arrived, and the viands they had brought were then carried on shore, and spread under the shade of the trees. mynheer bunckum before long made his appearance, looking gloomy and morose, as he observed the strangers. the count and the baron were introduced to a number of persons, who did their best to make themselves agreeable. the feast having concluded, at which if there was not much wit there was a great deal of laughter, the party retreated to a more shady spot, where the count was requested to favour them with an air on his violin. he gladly complied, and elicited general applause, greatly to the annoyance of mynheer bunckum, who, getting up, retired to a distance, and sat himself down, fishing-rod in hand, on a point which projected into the lake, as if such music was not worth listening to. meantime a boat had arrived on the beach containing three or four urchins from a neighbouring village, one of whom climbed up on a bank overlooking the spots where the party were collected, and the dinner cloth was spread. he had so placed himself that he could make a signal to his companions: two of these shortly afterwards getting out of their boat, and seeing him beckon, cautiously crept along the shore towards where the party had been enjoying their meal. there was no doubt about their object: they filled not only their capacious pockets, but some large handkerchiefs which they had brought, with everything on which they could lay their hands, especially the silver spoons and forks and other plate. then at a sign from their companion they rapidly retreated, he quickly following, unnoticed by mynheer bunckum or any one else. on reaching their boat, away they pulled with their booty, and were soon out of sight. the baron and two or three other gentlemen, whose appetites had not been fully satisfied, returned shortly after this to the table, if so it could be called, and though they observed that some of the things had been disarranged, it did not occur to them that the spot had been visited by robbers. the baron was the last to leave and return to the ladies. not till the servants came to pack up the plates and dishes, and knives and forks, was the robbery discovered. just then mynheer bunckum, who had got tired of fishing, and had returned to the table, on hearing that several articles were missing, exclaimed: "i know who is the robber, i saw what that baron was about. i shall now be able to prove that my suspicions were correct!" he, however, made no further remark at the time, so that the harmony which had prevailed during the picnic was not disturbed. on the approach of evening the various parties separated to their different homes. the count and the baron accompanied mynheer van arent and his family to theirs, whence after a friendly farewell they returned to their inn. chapter thirteen. the day following the picnic on the meer, the count and the baron set out to pay a visit to the van arent family. as yet, however, they could not tell whether the courteous treatment they had received was simply owing to their being strangers of rank. the count fancied that his performances on the violin, and the baron supposed that his fascinating powers of conversation, and other attractive qualities, had something to do with it. on reaching the house they were told that the ladies had gone to take a walk at some distance. "perhaps we may meet them," said the count to the baron. they inquired of the servant in what direction the ladies had gone. he pointed to the northward, and they set out; they walked on and on till they arrived at a wood, such as is not often found in that part of the country, and they observed an ancient tower with battlements rising up amid the trees. "this looks like an interesting place," observed the count, "let us explore it." "by all means," answered the baron. and they walked on with that air of curiosity generally exhibited by strangers when arriving at a place worth seeing. "fine trees and shady walks, really my castle scarcely exhibits anything finer; if i marry the fair isabelle, it's just the sort of place i should like to possess; but we may pay it a hurried visit," said the count. "then it is the vrouw isabelle on whom your regards are fixed?" observed the baron. "it was but a slip of my tongue," said the count. "i did not intend to betray my secret." "all right, my dear count; to say the truth, my heart has been captivated by the vrouw margaret, so that we shall not be rivals." "that is a fortunate circumstance," observed the count, in a somewhat supercilious tone. "however, you must remember that we, both of us, have to ascertain the feelings of the ladies; at present we are left somewhat in the dark on that subject." "i cannot say that i think so," answered the baron, drawing up his shirt-collar. "i flatter myself that the vrouw margaret regards me with peculiar distinction." "did i possess more vanity in this case, i might have said the same with regard to vrouw isabelle," said the count. "you do, do you!" exclaimed a voice from among the bushes, which made the count and the baron start. "who could that have been?" exclaimed the count. "where did it come from?" cried the baron. "let us try to discover the eavesdropper," said the count. "we had better not," whispered the baron. "depend upon it the person, whoever he is, is prepared for us. we had better move on, and not in future talk so loudly of our private affairs." "your advice is good," said the count; "we will follow it." and they moved on a short distance, paying much less attention than before to the beauties of the scenery. they had just reached the neighbourhood of what appeared to be an old summer-house, now neglected and disused, for it was thickly overgrown with ivy and various creepers. looking up close to it they observed a board, on which was painted in large letters, "whoever is found trespassing in these grounds will be punished with the utmost rigour of the law." scarcely had they read this unpleasant announcement, when they observed at the farther end of the walk a party of men, who from their costume were evidently huntsmen or gamekeepers, led by a person whom they recognised at a glance as mynheer bunckum, their jealous rival. "there are the robbers! there are the impostors! there are those thieves and vagabonds, who have come here pretending to be noblemen travelling for their pleasure. on! on! seize them, my men! treat them with no ceremony." mynheer bunckum, though he shouted, did not move himself, and his followers appeared to hesitate for a few moments. this gave time to the count and baron to retreat behind the summer-house. "come along, count, we must trust to our legs to escape from these fellows," cried the baron, and he set off running as fast as he could go. "stop! stop!" cried the count. "you will be seen to a certainty and overtaken; come in here, i perceive an opening, and we shall be able to lie hid, while our jealous rival passes by." the baron, however, did not hear him, but still rushed on. "i shall be seen if i attempt to run," thought the count. without more ado he slipped through an opening in the side of the wall, in his hurry forgetting to feel his way. he had made but a few steps when, to his dismay, he found himself descending, and fully believed that he was about to be precipitated down a well. greatly to his relief he reached the bottom sooner than he had expected. "here, at all events, i shall be secure while our jealous rival and his men are hunting about for me; but i am afraid the baron has very little chance of escaping. i might have got into rather a pleasanter place; it is somewhat damp; i hear the frogs croaking, and feel the slippery efts and other creatures crawling about. i only hope that there are no venomous snakes; but, by the by, how am i ever to get out again? we should have acted more wisely had we walked up boldly to mynheer bunckum, and apologising for having entered his grounds, wished him good morning. it is entirely owing to the baron's cowardice that i am placed in this very unpleasant position." such were the thoughts which passed through the count's mind, for he did not speak them aloud. he heard the voices of mynheer bunckum and his men, as they searched round and round the building, but none of them looked into the well, or if they did, failed to discover him. at length, to his great relief, their voices grew less and less distinct, and he was satisfied that they were moving on. "at all events this delay will have enabled the baron to make his escape, and i hope that by and by, when these people have given up the search, i shall be able to rejoin him," he thought. meantime the baron had continued his course. not being much accustomed to running, he soon began to puff and blow, and wish that he could find some place in which to hide himself, and recover his wind. instead of taking the direct path along which he and the count had come, rightly suspecting that if he did so he should quickly be observed, he turned aside to a wilder part of the wood; he stopped every now and then to try and recover his breath, and to ascertain if the count was following. having no landmark to direct him, he completely lost himself, and became very uncertain whether he was making his way out of the wood, or only getting further into it. "it was very selfish and unmannerly in count funnibos not to accompany me," he said to himself. "we might have helped each other out of this difficulty; and, indeed, at any moment mynheer bunckum and his myrmidons may overtake me, and in the vicious mood they are in, i do not know how i shall be treated. ah! there i see a large hollow tree. yes, there is an opening at the bottom, i will creep in and try to conceal myself within the stem till the hue and cry is over." suiting the action to the word, the baron knelt down, and was about to crawl into the opening when he saw a movement of the bushes at a little distance off, and presently a head popped up above them. "i hope that i was not observed," he thought, and he quickly crawled in at the hole, unfortunately, as he did so, knocking off his hat, which rolled away on one side; he dared not crawl out again to look for it, and could only hope that it would be concealed by the tall grass and underwood which grew around. the baron stood trembling and quaking in his boots, every moment expecting to be discovered, while he felt sure that the face of which he had caught a glimpse was no other than that of the jealous rival. he listened anxiously; he could hear the cracking of the boughs, and then the sound of footsteps approaching. nearer and nearer drew the footsteps; presently he heard an exclamation of surprise. "why, this is the hat of one of them," said a voice. "yes; it is that of the fat, ridiculous little man who pretended to be a baron," answered a female voice. was it possible? yes, the baron felt sure that the voice was that of the fair vrouw margaret on whom he had placed his affections. "little doubt whose hat it is," observed the first speaker. "very likely his pockets are even now full of your father's and mynheer baskerville's plate. what shall we do with him if we catch him?" "i must leave him to your tender mercies," said vrouw margaret. "as he deceived us so grossly i cannot plead for him. punish him as you think fit, and then let him go, if he will promise not to come near our house again." "we have not caught him yet, though," observed mynheer bunckum. "but here come my men, and we'll make a thorough search in the neighbourhood." the baron at this trembled more and more; while mynheer bunckum and vrouw margaret were speaking he heard several other persons approaching, who had, he judged by the remarks they let fall, been searching in vain for the count. no one seemed to remark the hole in the tree; indeed, probably judging by the baron's figure, they did not suppose that he could have crawled into it. "the chances are the two went off together," remarked one of the keepers, "and by this time they are well out of the park." "but what about this head-piece?" said mynheer bunckum, holding up the baron's hat. "he may have dropped it in his flight," said the keeper. "if that is the case, we ought to be still pursuing them," said mynheer bunckum. "on, my men, and bring them back to me dead or alive! come, vrouw margaret, we will continue our ramble; really, it is scarcely worth while to take so much trouble about the capture of these contemptible people, were it not to recover your father's and mynheer baskerville's plate." they had gone but a short distance when they observed one of the keepers returning. "i must hurry on the others," said mynheer bunckum. "stay but a moment, my fair vrouw, and i will return to you," he said, and hastened away. just then a shout fell on the ear of vrouw margaret, and she made her way in the direction from which it proceeded, when looking over the bushes she caught sight of the keeper dragging on the unfortunate baron by the collar of his coat. the keeper was a knowing fellow, a strong, sturdy frieslander. suddenly it struck him that the baron, in spite of his rotund figure, might have crept into the hole at the bottom of the old oak; and as the baron's hat had been found near it, he divined, and truly, that it had been knocked off while the baron was creeping in. he accordingly had gone back for the purpose of ascertaining whether his suspicions were correct. putting in his hand, he felt one leg, then he felt another. the baron in vain tried to draw them up out of the way; the sturdy frieslander hauled and hauled much in the same way as he would have pulled a snake out of its hole, and dragged the hapless baron out of the hollow tree. "i have got you, mynheer, have i?" he said, looking at the baron's pale countenance. "why did you hide? honest men do not try to conceal themselves. come along, and answer for yourself to mynheer bunckum, and tell us what has become of your companion." the baron was too much alarmed to reply or to offer any resistance; indeed, in the grasp of the sturdy frieslander it would have been useless, so like a lamb he accompanied his captor. suddenly, however, he saw a fair face looking over the bushes--it was that of the vrouw margaret. the sight aroused all the manhood within him; he knew himself to be innocent, he knew that the treatment he was receiving was owing to the ill-feeling of a jealous rival. he determined to show that he would not submit tamely to be ill-treated, and suddenly starting forward he endeavoured to free himself from the grasp of his captor. a fatal resolution--the frieslander in a moment tripped up his heels, and down he fell with his face on the ground, while the frieslander knelt over him exclaiming-"you will escape me, will you! you are mistaken, mynheer;" and, his anger aroused, seizing the baron by the hair, he rubbed his face in the muddy ground. in vain the baron tried to free himself, in vain he tried to cry out; the moment he opened his mouth, down went his face again into the mud till he was well-nigh suffocated. "will not you, vrouw margaret, have pity on me? will you not interfere to save me from this cruel indignity?" he exclaimed, but the vrouw margaret calmly watched the proceedings of the sturdy frieslander as if she highly approved of them. "will you go along quietly?" asked the frieslander, after he had subjected the baron for some minutes to this disagreeable treatment. "say `yes,' or `no;' for, if you say `no,' be prepared for another mouthful of mud." "yes, yes; i will go!" cried the baron, the conduct of the fair vrouw cutting him to the heart. "well, then, i will let you get up; but remember, the instant you attempt to release yourself, down you go again, and perhaps in a less pleasant place than the last." saying this the sturdy frieslander placed the baron on his legs. "come, you must wash the mud off your face in yonder pool," said the frieslander, "for you look more ridiculous than you can well imagine." the baron accepted his captor's offer, for not only his mouth and nostrils, but his very eyes were filled with mud. "come, you look a little less ridiculous now," said the frieslander with a taunting laugh, as he led the baron past the spot where, vrouw margaret was standing. in vain the baron stretched out his hands and entreated her to plead for him, but she turned aside her head, and his captor dragged him along till they met mynheer bunckum and the rest of his men. "i have got one of them!" cried the frieslander. "what is to be done with him? i have not yet examined his pockets, so cannot say whether the stolen plate is in them." "we will soon ascertain that," said mynheer bunckum. the unfortunate baron stilkin was subjected to the indignity of being searched. only such ordinary things as a gentleman carries about with him were discovered in the baron's pockets, but certainly no silver forks or spoons. "and where is your companion?" asked mynheer bunckum in an authoritative tone. "i know no more than the man in the moon. i parted from him when we read the notice that trespassers on this estate would be prosecuted; till then we did not know that we were trespassing, but on discovering that such was the case, we were retiring when, your shouts alarming us, we proceeded farther than we should otherwise have done." "then you say you know nothing about the so-called count funnibos?" "i know nothing about the real count funnibos, for real he is, as i am a real baron!" cried the ill-treated noble, his spirits rising once more. "i conclude that he is by this time out of these grounds, and on his way to the inn where we are residing; and i must beg you to understand, mynheer, that we shall forthwith proceed to the hague, and lay a formal complaint before our ambassador of the way in which we distinguished foreigners have been treated." "i will take the consequences," answered mynheer bunckum; and turning to his servants, he said, "we have no evidence against the man; conduct him to the confines of the estate, and with such kicks as you feel disposed to bestow, let him go his way." "i protest, i loudly protest against this treatment!" cried the baron. but the sturdy frieslander with his companions, utterly regardless of all the baron could say, dragged him along till they reached the outskirts of the estate, when, placing him before them, they bade him run for his life, which to the best of his power he endeavoured to do to save himself from the kicks they had threatened to bestow. on he ran, not once looking behind him, followed by the derisive laughter of the sturdy frieslander and his companions. chapter fourteen. mynheer bunckum's head butler or steward, a person who was looked upon with great respect on account of the embroidered coat he wore, was passing, shortly after the events narrated in our last chapter, the ruined building in which the count, unable to release himself, still lay concealed, when a groan reached his ear. not being a believer in ghosts or goblins, on hearing it he exclaimed, "oh, oh! that's a human voice; somebody must have tumbled down the well. whoever that somebody is, i will get him out; but how that is to be done is the question." he hunted about till he discovered a hay-rake with a long handle. "this will serve me as a fishing-rod, and i should not be surprised to find a fish at the end of it." the steward accordingly went to an opening in the wall just above the well; he plunged down the rake and quickly brought it up without anything at the end. "i must try again," he said, and he passed it round the wall. "i have got something now," he exclaimed, and he began to haul away. "a heavy fish at all events," he cried out. though a muscular man, as most frieslanders are, he had a hard job to haul up the rake. at last, stooping down, his hand came in contact with the collar of a man's coat. he hauled and hauled away; his rake had caught in the hyacinthine locks of count funnibos, whose countenance of a cadaverous hue now came in sight. "ho, ho!" cried the steward. "who are you, may i ask?" the count was too much exhausted and alarmed to make any answer, and even when the steward set him on his legs, he had to lean against the ivied wall to support himself. "you are the person, i have a notion, who has been giving us all this trouble," said the steward, looking the count in the face. "if so, come along with me, and my master, mynheer bunckum, will know what to say to you." "i had no intention of giving you or any one else any trouble," answered the count, when he at last found words to express himself. "i am much obliged to you for pulling me out of that dreadful hole, and shall be still further obliged if you will brush my clothes, and then conduct me through these grounds so that i may return to my hotel, which i am anxious to reach this evening." the steward on hearing this, instead of acceding to the count's request, burst into a loud fit of laughter. "ho, ho, ho! very likely indeed," he answered. "you must come along with me into the presence of mynheer bunckum, and he will settle how to dispose of you." "but i have no wish to see mynheer bunckum," said the count; "indeed, i have a decided objection to do so. he has allowed the most unjust suspicions to take possession of his mind." "i care not a pin for your objections," said the steward. "come along with me, i can waste no further time: come along, i say;" and the steward laying hold of the count by one arm, and the collar of his coat with the other hand, walked him along the path towards the castle in the fashion policemen are wont to treat offenders in the streets of london. the count was too weak from hunger, alarm, and fatigue to offer any resistance, and allowed himself to be conducted in the direction the steward chose to go. they soon reached the castle; the steward, on inquiring for mynheer bunckum, was informed that he had gone out with the fair daughters of mynheer van arent. "then there is but one thing to be done," observed the steward. "we must lock up this stranger in the dungeon till our master returns. where are the keys?" they were quickly brought to him, and aided by the domestics of the establishment, he led the count down a flight of stone steps to the dungeon. "my friend," said the count, who was beginning to recover, "this is very extraordinary treatment, but i presume you are acting under orders. i have a request to make. i am very hungry, and shall feel grateful if you will bring me some food; and, as i scarcely know otherwise how to pass the period of my incarceration, i shall be still further obliged if you will supply me with a violin, should you have such an instrument in the castle." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed the steward. "then you are a strolling musician, as we have heard it reported. well, we happen to have a violin, for i play it myself, and you shall be supplied with food, as i conclude mynheer bunckum would not wish to starve you to death." "thank you, my good friend, i am much obliged to you for your promise; at the same time, i beg leave to remark that i am not a strolling musician, but am as i represent myself, count funnibos." "that is neither here nor there," said the steward, "you shall have the food and you shall have the violin; now please go down those steps, and make yourself as much at home as you like." finding resistance useless, the count descended the steps into a large vaulted chamber, which appeared from the contents on which the light fell through the open door, to be used as a lumber-room or store-room rather than as a prison. "is this a fit place in which to thrust a gentleman?" said the count, feeling his dignity considerably hurt. "had it been a dungeon, with chains and bolts and bars, it would have been only such as many an unfortunate nobleman has been compelled to inhabit. but to be treated as if i were a piece of lumber is unbearable." "we have no such refined opinions in this country, mynheer," said the steward, with a grin on his countenance. "but make yourself happy, there is a chest for you to sit on and another on which your supper shall be placed. as to your bed and bedding we will see about that by-and-by, and the violin you ask for shall be brought forthwith. perhaps in return you will favour me with a tune, as i am a lover of music, and shall be pleased to hear you play." the count, who, though not very wise in all matters, made the best of everything, sat himself down on the chest with folded arms to consider how, under the disagreeable circumstances in which he was placed, it would be best to act. "one thing is very clear, that mynheer bunckum has got the upper hand of me. the best thing i can do as soon as i obtain my liberty is to take my departure. the fair isabelle may or may not care a stiver for me, and if she does not i must wish her farewell and try to forget her charms." just as he had arrived at this wise resolution the door opened, and the steward reappeared with a violin in his hand, followed by a servant bringing a very respectable supper. "thank you, my friend, thank you," said the count, getting up; "i should be happy to show you my gratitude at once by playing a tune, but i think that i shall play with more spirit after i have partaken of this food, for, as you may suppose, i am pretty well starved." "i shall be happy to await your pleasure," said the steward, who was struck by the count's polite manner, and lifting up the dish-covers he helped him liberally to the contents of the dishes. the count, considering all things, did ample justice to the meal set before him, as well as to a bottle of rhenish wine. "i might have been worse off," he observed, greatly revived. "and now you shall have a tune." whereon, taking the fiddle and screwing up the keys, he began to play in a way which astonished the friesian steward. "really, you are a master of the art, mynheer," he observed. "such notes have never before proceeded from that violin." "i am happy to please you," answered the count, "and now i must beg you, as soon as your master returns, to request that he will either set me at liberty and have me conveyed safely back to my hotel, or else give me better accommodation than this vault offers for the night." the steward faithfully promised to carry out the count's wishes, and, observing that he had duties to attend to, took his leave. the count then, resuming his violin, once more began to play; the tunes he chose were such as especially suited his present feelings; they were of a gentle, pathetic character, often mournful and touching. he played on and on. little was he aware who was listening to them. could he have looked through the thick walls of his dungeon, he would have beheld a female form, her handkerchief to her eyes, leaning on the parapet of a terrace which ran along one of its sides. the lady whose tender feelings he had excited was no other than isabelle van arent, who, with her sister and father and mother, had come that afternoon to pay a visit to mynheer bunckum. at length the count ceased playing, and the lady tore herself away from the spot to rejoin her family, to whom she could not refrain from speaking of the pathetic music to which she had been listening. "oh, that must have been my steward, hans gingel. i know he plays the fiddle," observed mynheer bunckum, "and he sometimes goes to some out-of-the-way corner that he may not disturb the rest of the household, who are not generally inclined to be enraptured by his music." "but he must, i assure you, be a very good player," urged the fair isabelle. "i dare say he can manage to produce a few good notes sometimes," said mynheer bunckum, in a careless tone. "probably distance lent enchantment to the sound. i will not advise you to allow him to play very near at hand." vrouw isabelle looked puzzled, and began to fancy that her ears had deceived her; at all events, the count had not obtained the advocate he might have gained, had she known who was the hidden musician to whom she had been listening. mynheer bunckum waited till his guests were gone, when he summoned his steward, hans gingel. "has anything been heard of the other stranger?" he asked. "i have him safe enough in the dungeon," answered the steward. "he is not a bad fellow after all, as he takes the way he has been treated with wonderful good humour." and the steward described the mode in which he had hauled the count out of the well. "he is a rare player, too, on the violin, and i lent him mine to amuse himself with." "then it was not your music with which vrouw isabelle was so delighted just now," observed mynheer bunckum. "no, no, no!" answered the steward laughing, "my strains are not calculated to draw tears from a lady's eyes; to tell you the truth, mynheer, i believe he is a count after all." "his playing only agrees with the story of his being a travelling musician," observed mynheer bunckum. "but travelling musicians are not as polite and well-mannered as our prisoner," said the steward. "i know a gentleman when i meet him." "but supposing he is a real count, and the other fellow who was so unceremoniously kicked out of the place is a baron, i may be somewhat in a scrape," said mynheer bunckum. "i will enable you to get out of it, then," said hans gingel. "let me visit the prisoner, and propose to him to make his escape. he has really won my regard, and i should be glad, were it not displeasing to you, to set him at liberty. he will only be too happy, i suspect, to get away, and will probably not trouble you, or the family of mynheer van arent, any longer by his presence." "but i accused him and his companion of stealing the plate at the picnic, and i certainly do not know who else could have taken it," said mynheer bunckum. "as to that, i am sure he is incapable of such an act, and he would not associate with any person who was. i am, therefore, of opinion that neither he nor the baron stole the plate; indeed, one of the men on board the yacht told me that he observed a boat with several boys approach the shore during the picnic, and that they climbed up the bank, as he supposed, to amuse themselves by watching what was going forward, or to obtain a few cakes or sweetmeats which any of the party might be disposed to give them. now, since the plate is missing, it is much more than probable that those young monkeys took it, and, if search is made in the village, probably it will be found that they were the thieves." "that alters the whole complexion of affairs," observed mynheer bunckum. "i am satisfied that the baron, if such he is, will not become my rival, and vrouw isabelle is free to choose whom she will; therefore by all means set the count at liberty as you propose, only don't let him know that i am aware of what you are doing, and advise him and his companion to take their departure from this part of the country as soon as possible." "i will carry out your orders, mynheer," was the answer. the steward waited, however, till night closed in, when, with a lantern in hand, he repaired to the dungeon. "count funnibos," he said, "for such i believe you truly are, your music, and your manners, and your gentle behaviour have completely won my heart; and as i took you prisoner under what, you will allow, were somewhat suspicious circumstances, i must give myself the privilege of setting you free; and if you will consent to leave as i advise, you may do so without difficulty or danger, and by to-morrow morning be far beyond the reach of those whom you may look upon as enemies." the count thought for some moments before he replied. he recollected that he had been unjustly imprisoned, accused of robbery, and insulted by the lord of the mansion; but it would save a vast deal of trouble to himself and everybody else if he were to go away and let the matter drop. he quickly, therefore, decided on the latter course. "i accept your offer, my friend," he answered. "when shall we set out?" "i would advise you, count, to wait for some hours, till everyone is in bed, and there is no risk of your being discovered and followed. i will then come for you, and conduct you down to the river, where you will find numerous boats in which you can cross the meer, and soon make your way to the seaboard; and thence either proceed to amsterdam by water, or go across the zuyder zee to hoorn, or any other place on its shore." "your plan just suits my fancy," said the count. "but my friend and companion, baron stilkin, what will become of him?" "you can write and tell him to join you at whatever place you may happen to reach," said hans gingel. "it would cause considerable delay were you to go back to your inn." the count thought the matter over, and reflected that it would be very pleasant to enjoy a few days of independent action. "i have an idea," he said to the steward. "i will write a note to baron stilkin desiring him to return to amsterdam, and to wait for me there, if you will undertake to have it delivered." "very gladly, mynheer," answered hans gingel. "i will get you paper and pens. now, if you can rest in tolerable comfort propped up between these chests, i will come for you at the hour named, and as you may grow hungry, bring you some more food to stay your appetite." the note to the baron was written, the count discussed the second supper, and, having recovered from his fatigue, was perfectly ready, when the steward appeared, to make his escape from the castle. "tread softly," said the steward, as he led the way up the steps. "it is important not to awaken mynheer bunckum or any of the servants. i have shut up the dogs, so that they will not bark unless they hear a noise." cautiously they proceeded, the steward holding a lantern and the count following close at his heels. they were soon out of the dungeon, when the steward, turning to the right, led the way along a narrow passage which conducted them to the opposite side of the building. the steward then, producing a key from his pocket, opened a door, the lock gliding back smoothly as if it had been well oiled, they passed on, and the count found himself in the open air. "we are now outside the castle," whispered the steward; "but should mynheer bunckum look out of his window he might perhaps fancy that we are thieves, and fire off his blunderbuss at our heads; so be cautious, and do not speak above a whisper till we get to a distance." "i am afraid that i shall not be able to find my way in the dark," whispered the count. "do not be anxious on that subject," answered the steward. "i intend to accompany you till day breaks, and see you safe on the high road." they walked on and on till day began to dawn. the fresh morning air revived the count's spirits, and he was more than ever satisfied with himself at the thoughts of starting on an independent tour without the company of the baron. "i will buy a gun, and a knapsack, and a telescope, and a shooting-dress, and will trudge across the country, living on the produce of the chase. i saw a vast number of birds as we came along on the canals and borders of the meers, and i shall have no lack of sport. such a life suits my present mood." "a very excellent plan," observed the steward; "but i would advise you to employ some more rapid means of locomotion than your own legs afford till you get to a distance from this. mynheer bunckum may be wandering about in the neighbourhood, and should he fall in with you the consequences may be disagreeable." "i will take your advice, my friend," said the count; "but i must first procure the gun and the telescope, the knapsack and the shooting-dress." "certainly, and i shall be happy to assist you in that object. we can at once proceed to sneek, which being one of the chief places of the province of friesland, everything you require can be procured." "i am overwhelmed by your kindness, and i accept your offer," said the count. and they proceeded on their way, having stopped to breakfast at a house of a friend of the steward. they reached sneek about noon. the articles the count required were speedily procured. "and now farewell, my friend," he said, taking the steward's hand. "we are brothers of the bow, and i look upon you as a friend who has rendered me an essential service, although you did haul me out of the well in a somewhat rough fashion." the steward made an appropriate answer, and they parted--he to return to bunckum castle, the count to proceed to the southward. chapter fifteen. the count, as evening approached, reached the borders of a meer a short distance from the zuyder zee. it was fringed by trees and by tall reeds almost as high as the trees, which grew partly in the water and partly out of it. "if i could find a boat i might take a passage in her to the other side of the meer, and thus continuing my journey obtain rest at the same time," he thought. he hunted about, and at last found a path, at the further end of which he observed a barge with her bows run into the bank. having left his knapsack and gun on the bank, he stepped on board, thinking that some of the crew might appear. seeing no one, he was again going on shore, when the after hatch was flung open and three huge heads adorned by nightcaps, with big staring eyes expressive of wonder, popped up, each face being more ugly than the other. "who are you?" asked the first. "what business have you on board here?" inquired a second. "where do you come from, where do you want to go?" asked a third, the ugliest of all three. "really, gentlemen," said the count, bowing, for he was always polite, "you overwhelm me with questions. my object is to cross the meer, or to get to some inn or farmhouse where i may pass the night in comfort." "ho, ho, ho!" exclaimed the last speaker. "you will not find any inn or farmhouse where you can pass the night on the borders of this meer, but we'll give you a passage to the other end, for which we are bound when we have had our suppers, always provided you are willing to pay for it." "certainly," replied the count. "i am willing to pay for everything i obtain. your barge looks like a very safe one, and i will therefore engage a passage." "safe! i should think she was safe," answered the ugly individual. "it would require a gale to upset her with all sail hoisted. trust captain jan dunck for that." upon this the count looked harder than before at the ugly man's countenance. "what, are you captain jan dunck?" he inquired. "no doubt about that, though i do not command so large a craft as formerly," said the ugly man. "if i mistake not, you are count funnibos, whom i, once upon a time, brought round from antwerp, and landed at amsterdam." "no, you did not land me at amsterdam," answered the count; "you landed me on the island of marken, when you played that scurvy trick upon poor pieter. i thought that you had been lost." "so i nearly was, for the _golden hog_ went down, but my mate and small ship's boy were saved. here is one of them." the mate gave a wink of recognition. "so you want me to carry you across the lake--is that it?" continued the skipper. "such is my wish," said the count, though, at the same time, he felt very doubtful about trusting himself and his fortunes to captain jan dunck. "well, we'll get under weigh immediately," said the skipper. "though there is no wind, we can pole the barge a considerable part of the distance." "but i must first get my luggage, my fowling-piece, my knapsack, and telescope," said the count. "well, be sharp about it," answered the skipper. "time and tide wait for no man." "but there is no tide in this lake, and you did not appear to be in a hurry when i came on board," said the count. "for the best of reasons, we were fast asleep," answered the skipper, as the count went for his luggage, which neither the skipper, the mate, nor the crew offered to carry for him. he therefore brought it on board himself, for he had become wonderfully independent during his travels. he sat himself down on his knapsack, expecting that the skipper would at once get under weigh; but that individual, instead of doing so, dived again below, followed by his mate and his crew, to discuss some supper which they had stowed away in a locker. while the count sat awaiting the return of the skipper and his crew on deck, he observed another boat in the distance, in which was a single man. the person appeared to have been watching the barge, and now cautiously approached, using a paddle, so as to make as little noise as possible. he was apparently about to address the count when the skipper popped up his head, with his mouth full of food, on which the stranger immediately began to row away in an opposite direction. "hilloa, you! have you anything to say to me? if not, keep your distance, or you will have to smart for it!" shouted the skipper. the stranger made no reply, but rowed slowly away, and captain jan dunck again dived into the cabin. the stranger then stopped, and made a sign to the count. soon afterwards the mate and the crew, returning on deck, cast off the rope which secured the barge to the bank, and taking up some long spars, began to pole out into the lake, while the skipper sat at the helm smoking his pipe. he smoked and smoked as he used to do on board the _golden hog_, but did not invite the count to join him. after some time the water became too deep for poling, and the mate and the crew took to their oars. the water was calm, and there appeared to be no possibility of danger; but yet the count did not feel altogether comfortable. "and so you say that one-eyed pieter threatened to bring me to justice?" growled captain jan dunck. "i said nothing of the sort," answered the count; "i told you that the baron and i took one-eyed pieter on board our boat. had he been drowned, you would have been guilty of his death; and you ought to be thankful to me for saving you from committing so great a crime." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed the skipper, and his mate and crew laughed in chorus. after the crew had rowed for some time, an island appeared in view, with dunes, or sandhills, rising over a considerable portion. it was a barren-looking spot, as far as the count could judge in the fast increasing gloom of night. "we are going to put into the shore there," said the skipper, pointing to it. "if you take my advice, you will land." "but that is not the sort of place to which i wish to go," said the count. "my object on board your barge was to take a passage to some habitable region, where i could obtain food, rest, and shelter." "the sea-gulls will afford you plenty of food; as to rest, you can lie down on the sand; and as for shelter, your pocket-handkerchief will afford you as much as you are likely to find." "i protest against being so treated," said the count, naturally growing indignant. "to whom do you protest," asked the skipper, "to me or my crew? there's no one else to hear you, and we do not care the snuff of a candle for your protestations." the mate and the crew uttered not a word. "i must submit to my hard destiny," thought the count; "i have not made a very brilliant commencement of my sporting adventures, but i set out with the intention of shooting birds, and apparently the island abounds with them." in a short time the barge touched the sandy beach. "you will step on shore, count funnibos," said the skipper, with an ill-favoured grin on his countenance. "but i have paid my passage-money, and i protest." "we settled that point some time ago," said the skipper; "you will step on shore, as i have just remarked." the count looked at the mate and the crew. their countenances wore the same ill-favoured expression as did that of the skipper. they merely placed a plank from the bow of the barge to the beach. "you will walk along the plank, count funnibos," said the skipper. the count took up his knapsack, his gun, and his telescope, and, shrugging his shoulders with as dignified an air as he could assume, obeyed. the moment he had set foot on the island, the plank was withdrawn and his retreat cut off. directly afterwards the mate and the crew shoved the barge away from the shore, and began rowing as before, while the skipper resumed his seat at the helm, and puffed calmly from his pipe, as if he had just performed some meritorious act. a few sea-birds came flying in with loud cries and shrieks from their daily fishing excursions over the waters, but they would not have afforded him a palatable meal even if he had shot one of them. "the sand is soft, that is one comfort," he thought; "and there are no wild beasts, wolves, or bears to trouble me; it might have rained, or there might have been a strong cold wind, or i might have been more hungry than i am; so i might have been worse off. a boat of some sort will probably be passing during the day and take me off. i may at present consider myself very like that great hero, robinson crusoe, or any other mariner who has been wrecked or marooned on a desert island." these sort of thoughts occupied his mind till he fell fast asleep. having had a long walk the previous day, he was more tired than usual, and did not once wake during the whole night. the rays of the rising sun glaring into his eyes aroused him, and he sprang to his feet, feeling rather stiff and somewhat chilled, for the night had been cold. he climbed to the top of a sand-hill, that he might take a wider survey. scarcely had he reached it than he observed a boat approaching the shore. putting down his gun and knapsack, he took out his telescope, and that he might steady it, stretched himself on the side of the sand-hill. having adjusted the focus, he directed it towards the boat. she came nearer and nearer. he saw that she contained several people, who seemed to have the intention of landing. "i shall now be able to escape from this," he thought. as the boat approached he could clearly distinguish the features of those in her. he could not be mistaken; three were ladies--the vrouw van arent and her two daughters; three were gentlemen--mynheer van arent, mynheer bunckum, and a stranger. they helped the ladies out of the boat, and then all six walked along the beach. the stranger offered his arm to the fair isabelle, which she took with evident willingness. mynheer bunckum walked on with vrouw margaret, and the old couple followed. "no, i cannot join them. i cannot so demean myself as to ask for a passage to the shore," muttered the count. "i only hope that they will not discover me. i shall certainly not discover myself, if i can help it." if curiosity had brought the party to the island, they were soon satisfied, for in a short time they re-embarked, and the count had lost his chance of escaping for that time. "it is better that it should be so," he said. "i should only have had to answer disagreeable questions, and perhaps have subjected myself to further indignities." hunger now compelled him to seek for food, and loading his gun, he looked out for a bird which might come within range, but the birds all kept at a wary distance. he observed, further to the south, that the island was very much lower, and that the birds frequented it in greater numbers; he accordingly bent his steps in that direction. it appeared level, and, as far as he could judge, easy to walk over. on reaching it, however, he found that it was sprinkled with so many shallow pools that he would speedily wet his boots through, therefore, sitting down on the first dry spot he came to, he pulled them off and hung them over his shoulders. "come, i feel something like a sportsman now," he said to himself. immediately afterwards a duck came quacking by within range. he fired, and, to his infinite satisfaction, brought it to the ground. he rushed eagerly forward to secure his prize, and although it went fluttering on for some distance, he succeeded in catching it, and, wringing its neck, hung it behind him. "i need no longer fear dying of starvation, even although i may have to spend a day or two on this desert spot," he said to himself. to his delight he brought down, before long, another duck, and was now thinking of returning to the higher ground, when he saw a boat passing near the further end of the low part of the island. he rushed forward to make a signal, hoping to attract the attention of those on board, but by the time he had got to the point to which he was directing his steps, the boat was at such a distance that his signals could not be seen. on and on he went; the sea-fowl came shrieking and quacking round him, when, to his dismay, he observed that dark clouds were gathering in the sky, threatening a storm of no gentle nature. "this sort of work is all very well in fine weather, but i have no fancy to be exposed to drenching rain and howling wind," he said to himself. "i must get back, at all events, to the higher ground." he had got so far from it, that this was no easy matter. before he had walked for many minutes, down came the rain like a sheet of water, driven against him by the fierce wind. he had now good reason to be seriously alarmed. the water in the pools, before scarcely up to his ankles, now reached almost to his knees. "can the dykes have been burst through?" he thought. "if so, my fate is sealed--not only mine, but that of numbers of the inhabitants of the surrounding district." from the rapid way in which the surface of the meer rose he felt convinced that this must be the case. still the love of life compelled him to try and save himself, and he did not despair; although, as far as he could see, no means of making his escape were likely to present themselves. chapter sixteen. as he was hurrying on along the shore, he saw what looked to him like a wheelbarrow, with a heap of gourds or inflated skins, or some other roundish objects, though he could scarcely at the distance distinguish what they were. he reached the spot. "come, at all events, if the waters rise, as i fear they will, these things will enable me to construct a raft on which i may manage to float on the troubled waters," he said to himself. lashing them together, he took his seat on the top of this curiously constructed raft. scarcely had he done so, when the waters came rushing over the island, and carried him and his raft far away as they swept onward in their course. on and on he went, his very natural fear being that he should be carried into the zuyder zee; he soon, however, came in sight of land raised above the waters, on which he could distinguish cottages and other buildings. "well, this is a new style of navigation, but i ought to be thankful that i have got something to keep me above water," he said to himself. he of course, as he glided on, was looking about in all directions, and he now caught sight in the distance of what he hoped was a boat. again and again he cast his eager gaze at the object. yes, it was a boat, and a man was in her; he waved his hat and shouted. as he approached, the count looked at him; yes, he was, there could be no doubt about it, the one-eyed mariner, old pieter, who shouted-"hold on, mynheer! hold on! and i will soon be up to you." "what, don't you know me?" asked the count, as pieter got near. "bless me, of course i do; and glad i am to have come to take you on board, or you might have been carried away into the zuyder zee, or somewhere else, for aught i can tell. when i saw you on board captain jan dunck's vessel, i tried to get near enough to warn you that you must beware of him, as i felt sure that he would play you some scurvy trick or other. he has been going on from bad to worse, all owing to the oceans of schiedam he has poured down that ugly mouth of his." this was said when the count was comfortably seated in the stern of pieter's boat. there was another person on board whom the count recognised as the small ship's boy, who had long been pieter's faithful companion. he nodded and smiled his recognition, and seemed highly delighted at again meeting with the count. "and now where shall we go?" asked pieter. "to the nearest shore where i can obtain food and shelter, and change my wet garments," answered the count. "well, you do look dampish," observed pieter. "damp! i have been wet to the skin for these hours past, and almost starved to death in the bargain," said the count. "then i will lose no time in taking you to meppel, or any other place we can most easily reach." and bending his back to the oars, the one-eyed mariner pulled away. "`one good turn deserves another,' as the old saying is," observed pieter, for he wanted to say something to keep up the count's spirits. "you saved my life and gave me this boat, and now i have the satisfaction of saving yours." "you are an honest fellow, pieter, and as i prize honest men, of whom i have not discovered as many as i desire in the world, i should be glad if you and the small ship's boy will accompany me, and i will endeavour to obtain some post which i consider suited to your merits." old pieter gladly accepted the count's offer, and it did not make him pull the less vigorously. all night long they rowed on, till they arrived at a part of the country which the flood had not reached. here pieter took the count to the house of a farmer to whom the honest boatman was well known, having been on various occasions employed by him. the good farmer treated the count with the utmost hospitality and kindness. it was some days, however, before the count had sufficiently recovered to be once more himself, and able to extend his walks beyond the precincts of the farm. he had gone one day to some distance, when he saw a large and picturesque house rising amid an extensive shrubbery; an open gate invited him to enter. as he walked along he caught the sound of voices, and presently found himself in the presence of a party of gentlemen, seated round a table with books and papers before them. conspicuous on one side was a large easel supporting a handsome picture. "ah! this is something out of the way," thought the count, and advancing he made a bow and introduced himself. "you are welcome, noble count, to our revels," said one of the gentlemen, who appeared to be the president. "but ours is a feast of reason and the flow of soul, and we are met here to discuss works of art, to hear read the practical effusions of our members, and to enjoy the society of men of intellect and erudition." "a very praiseworthy and satisfactory mode of passing time, and i am fortunate in having fallen into such good company," remarked the count. the various members of the society individually welcomed him. a poet had just read some verses he had composed, which were received with thundering applause, one of the excellent rules of the society being that every one was to praise the works of the rest. the artist now exhibited his paintings; when the others had admired them to their fill, the count looked at them through his spectacles, and if he did make a mistake, and suppose that a horse was a cow, or a sheep a pig, he wisely kept his opinion to himself, merely exclaiming: "beautiful! how true to nature. what exquisite colouring; what elegant outlines! yet all are equalled by the composition." as no one asked him to point out the individual excellencies of which he spoke, he was looked upon as a first-rate judge of art. "now, gentlemen, as our friend scrubzen has not been able to-day to complete his grand picture, i am deputed to invite you to inspect it to-morrow, when it will be in a more forward state. we shall, i hope, be favoured by your presence, count funnibos?" "by all means," answered the count, who was highly pleased with the society into which he had fallen; and he parted from them to return to the house of his hospitable entertainer. the next morning he set out to repair to the house of which the president had given him the address. "several of scrubzen's admirers have already arrived," said the president, whom he met at the door; "and with them a distinguished foreigner." as the count and the president entered, they saw at the further end of the room a large picture on an easel representing a coast scene. on one side stood the artist explaining the details of his painting; a number of ladies and gentlemen were gazing at it with admiring glances; but one figure especially attracted the attention of the count. it was, there could be no doubt about it, baron stilkin, whom he thought had long since reached amsterdam, or had returned to his family mansion. yes, it was the baron, not decreased in rotund proportions since they parted. "grand, very grand!" he exclaimed in sonorous tones, approaching the picture. "it reminds me forcibly of the best of claude's productions; exquisite colouring!" "and what is your opinion, count funnibos?" asked the president. "he has grown wonderfully fat," answered the count, who was thinking of the baron. "i fear that no carriage can be found strong enough to take him home." "i beg your pardon, count, i was speaking of the picture," remarked the president. the baron, however, had heard the count's voice; turning round, he opened his arms to give him a friendly embrace. "what, my dear count! is it you, yourself?" "i think you ran away and left me to my mysterious fate," said the count, with a slight degree of stiffness. "i conclude that you did not receive my letter requesting you to meet me at amsterdam, and stating the reasons for my not rejoining you sooner; however, i am very glad to see you again." "no, indeed, i received no letter," answered the baron. "had i done so, it would have saved me a world of anxiety." "we must remember that we are in the presence of strangers," said the count. "our friend here desired to know my opinion of that magnificent picture. i may add that it surpasses my utmost expectations." his opinion highly pleased the artist as well as the spectators, who were delighted to find their countryman's production so highly praised by two distinguished foreigners. "and now, count," said the baron, as they walked away arm in arm, "i am compelled to return home. my son, the hope of my house, is about to marry a lady whose magnificent fortune will retrieve the fallen fortunes of our family. will you accompany me?" "by all manner of means," answered the count. "i have met with sufficient adventures, or rather misadventures, to satisfy me for the rest of my life. i have seen a large portion of holland, if not the whole of it, and i am satisfied that it is as well worth seeing as any country in the world." "your decision gives me infinite satisfaction," answered the baron. "we will go back to-morrow, and i hope that you will be present at the wedding of my beloved son. i would rather he married the lady himself, though she is of an age which might have been considered suitable to me." the count and the baron travelled back, accompanied by pieter and the small ship's boy, at a far greater speed than that at which they had performed their outward journey. the count was greatly relieved that his castle and estates had not run away during his absence, although johanna klack, at the very hour of his arrival, gave him notice that she must give up his service. "to-morrow is the day fixed for my dear son's wedding," said the baron, who had called on the count. "you will, i trust, honour him and me by your presence, and that of your household." "by all means," said the count. "i will come myself, and bring one-eyed pieter and the small ship's boy. it will be a novel and interesting spectacle to them." the count and his attendants arrived. the happy bridegroom appeared dressed in the height of fashion, the hour for the nuptial party to set out had struck. "i must go in and bring forth the bride," he said; and he soon reappeared with a female, holding a large bouquet in her hand. she wore a wreath of roses and a white veil over her head; her neck was long, so was her nose; her figure was the reverse of stout, but that in a youthful female is to be admired. "is that a mop-stick with clothes hung on it?" whispered the small ship's boy, as he gazed at the future baroness. "my dear baron," said the count, after he had made a profound bow to the lady, "how did your son manage to make up his mind?" "i made it up for him," answered the baron. "he is a dutiful son, and does whatever i tell him. suppose we change the subject, and when the nuptials are over, what do you say to setting out again on our travels? i shall be as ready as before to keep the accounts, and i hope to put a fair share into the common fund." "i will think about it," said the count. "at present, i have had travelling enough to satisfy me for some time to come; and as johanna klack has left my service, i do not know into whose hands i can satisfactorily leave the charge of my castle and estates during my absence." the end. transcriber's note: table of contents added. * * * * * [illustration: the wallypug in london by g. e. farrow.] the wallypug in london [illustration: his majesty arrives at windsor. see page 143] the wallypug in london by g. e. farrow author of "the wallypug of why," "the missing prince," etc illustrated by alan wright methuen & co. 36 essex street, w.c. london 1898 contents chant royal preface i his majesty and suite arrive ii the next day's adventures iii sundry small happenings iv lost v an 'at home' and the academy vi the jubilee vii more adventures viii his majesty is interviewed ix the wallypug's own x the wallypug goes to windsor xi his majesty at the seaside xii the departure chant royal addressed to her most gracious majesty queen victoria in commemoration of 22nd june, 1897 victoria! by grace of god our queen, to thee thy children truest homage pay. thy children! ay, for mother thou hast been, and by a mother's love thou holdest sway. thy greatest empire is thy nation's heart, and thou hast chosen this the better part. behold, an off'ring meet thy people bring; hark! to the mighty world-sound gathering from shore to shore, and echoing o'er the sea, attend! ye nations while our paeans ring- victoria's children sing her jubilee. the grandest sight the world hath ever seen thy kingdom offers. clothed in fair array, the majesty of love and peace serene, while hosts unnumbered loyalty display, striving to show, by every loving art, the day for them can have no counterpart. lo! sixty years of joy and sorrowing for queen and people, either borrowing from other sympathy, in woe or glee, hath knit their hearts to thine, wherefore they sing- victoria's children sing her jubilee. with royal dignity and gracious mien thine high position thou hast graced alway; no cloud of discord e'er hath come between thy nation and thyself; the fierce white ray that beats upon thy throne bids hence depart the faintest slander calumny can dart. thy fame is dear alike to churl and king, and highest honour lies in honouring the sovereign to whom we bend the knee; "god save the queen," one strain unvarying- victoria's children sing her jubilee. what prophet, or what seer, with vision keen, reading the message of a far-off day, the wonders of thy reign could have foreseen, or known the story that shall last for aye? a page that history shall set apart; peace and prosperity in port and mart, honour abroad, and on resistless wing a steady progress ever-conquering. thy glorious reign, our glorious theme shall be, and gratitude in every heart upspring- victoria's children sing her jubilee. behold, ye tyrants, and a lesson glean how subjects may be governed. lo! the way a woman teaches who doth ne'er demean her office high. hark! how her people pray for blessings on the head that doth impart so wise a rule. for them no wrongs do smart, no cruelties oppress, no insults sting, nor does a despot hand exaction wring; though governed, britain's subjects still are free. gaze then--ye unwise rulers wondering- victoria's children sing her jubilee. envoy. queen mother, love of thee doth ever spring within thy children's hearts, a priceless thing, nor pomp nor state that falleth unto thee can ever rival this grand carolling- victoria's children sing her jubilee. g. e. farrow [illustration: preface] my dear little friends, you will no doubt be surprised to find this book commencing with a perfectly serious poem, and one which probably some of you will find a little difficulty in understanding. when you have grown older, however, and happen to look at this little book again, you will be glad to be reminded of the historic event which the poem commemorates. now, about ourselves, when i asked in my last book, _the missing prince_, for letters from my little readers, i had no idea that i had so many young friends, and i can hardly tell you how delighted i have been at receiving such a number of kind letters from all parts of the world. i do hope that i have answered everyone, but really there have been so many, and if by mistake any should have been overlooked, i hope my little correspondents will write again and give me an opportunity of repairing the omission. such charming little letters, and all, i am happy to find, really written by the children themselves, which makes them doubly valuable to me. and how funny and amusing some of them were to be sure! and what capital stories some of you have told me about your pets. some pathetic incidents too; as, for instance, that of 'shellyback,' the tortoise, whose little owner wrote a few months after her first letter to say that poor 'shellyback' was dead. i have been very happy to notice how fond you all seem of your pets, for i have always found that children who make friends with animals invariably have kind and good hearts. and the poor dumb creatures themselves are always so ready to respond to any little act of kindness, and are so grateful and affectionate, that i am sure it adds greatly to one's happiness in life to interest oneself in them. one of my correspondents, aged eight, has embarrassed me very much indeed by suggesting that i should "wait for her till she grows up," as she should "so like to marry a gentleman who told stories." i hope she didn't mean that i did anything so disgraceful; and besides, as it would take nearly twenty-five years for her to catch up to me, she _might_ change her mind in that time, and then what would become of me. some of my letters from abroad have been very interesting. one dear little girl at darjeeling, in india, wrote a very nice descriptive letter, and concluded by asking me to write "something about the stars," and speaking of new stories brings me to another subject that i wish to talk to you about. you know that i spoke in my last book about writing a school story, and one about animals. well, when i found that so many of you wanted to hear "more about the wallypug," i was obliged to put these two books aside in order to gratify your wishes. i hope that you will be as interested in hearing about his majesty this time as you were last. you will be sure to notice that the pictures are by another artist, but mr. harry furniss has been away from england for some months, and so it has been impossible for him to illustrate this volume. some other time, perhaps, dorothy and he will give us more of their work; but in the meantime mr. alan wright has been very interested in drawing pictures for this book, and i hope you will be pleased with his efforts. now, about writing to me next time. when i asked you to address me under care of my publishers, i did not realize that in the course of business i might find it necessary to change them sometimes, and so to avoid any possibility of confusion, will you please in future address all letters to mr. g. e. farrow, c/o messrs. a. p. watt & son, hastings house, norfolk street, strand. what am i to do with all the beautiful christmas and new year's cards which i have received? will you be vexed if, after having enjoyed receiving them as i have done so much, i give them to the poor little children at the hospitals to make scrap books with? i happen to know how much they value and appreciate gifts of this kind, and by allowing me to bestow them in this way, your pretty presents will be giving a double happiness. well, i must conclude this rather long letter now, or i shall be accused of being tedious; but really it gives me almost as much pleasure to write to you, as it does to receive your letters. good-bye. don't forget that many of you have promised to write to me again, and that i am always more than glad to welcome any new friends. believe me, dear children, yours affectionately, g. e. farrow [illustration: the wallypug in london.] chapter i his majesty and suite arrive a most extraordinary thing has happened; the wallypug has been to london! but there, i am forgetting that possibly you have never read _the wallypug of why_, in which case you will, of course, know nothing about his majesty, and so i had better explain to you who, and what, he is. to begin with, then, he is a kind of king of a place called why, which adjoins the mysterious kingdom of zum. i am afraid, though, that if you searched your atlases for a very long while you might not find either of these places, for the geographers are so undecided as to their exact position that they have not shown them on the maps at all. some little friends of mine, named girlie and boy, have been there, however, and i can tell you, if you like, the way they went. this is the way to why: just go to bed and shut your eyes and count one hundred, one by one; perhaps you'll find to your surprise that you're at why when this is done. i say _perhaps_, because this only happens when you have been particularly good all day, and _sometimes_ boys and girls are not quite as good as they--but there, i won't say what i was going to, for i am quite sure that it would not apply to you. this is the way to zum: not when the moon is at its full, but just a tiny boat-shaped thing, you _may_ see pierrot sitting there and hear the little fellow sing. if so, just call him, and he'll come and carry you away to zum. there, now, i've told you the way to go to both places, so that, if you wish to, you can go there whenever you please. i am telling you all this because one day in the spring girlie and boy, who live in another part of london, came to see me, and we had been talking about these things for about the hundredth time, i should think: for these children are never tired of telling me of all the strange things which happened to them when they journey to these wonderful places. in fact they were just arguing as to which was the most interesting place to go to, why or zum, when my housekeeper, mrs. putchy, came to the door with the unwelcome news that the carriage had come for my little friends, and that it was time to say good-bye. after they had gone i sat staring into the fire wondering where why could be, and if there was really such a person as the wallypug, when my little dog dick, who had been lying on the rug before the fire, suddenly jumped up, and barking excitedly, ran to the other end of the study, where a picture, which i had bought the day before at an auction sale, stood leaning against the wall. now this picture had been sold very cheap, because no one could tell at all what it was about, it was so old and dusty, and the colours were so dark and indistinct. i had bought it hoping that it might prove valuable, and there it stood till it could be sent to be cleaned and restored. imagine my surprise then, when, on following dick across the study, i discovered that the colours in the picture had all become bright, and were working one into the other in the most remarkable way, red running into green, and blue into yellow, while a little patch of black in the centre of the picture was whirling round and round in quite a distracting manner. what could it all mean? i stared and wondered, till, out of the confusion, there gradually grew shapes which bore some resemblance to human beings, and, presently, i could recognize quite distinctly, first a young man in knee breeches, smiling in a particularly self-satisfied way, and escorting a large fish, who was walking upright, with slippers on his tail, and who wore a waistcoat and necktie. then an amiable-looking old gentleman, carrying a wand, who was followed by a curious little person, wearing a crown and carrying an orb and sceptre. a particularly stiff and wooden-looking soldier stood at the back of this strange group. judge of my amazement when, quite as a matter of course, the whole party deliberately stepped out of the picture into the room, and, before i could realize what had happened, the old gentleman with the wand came forward with a flourish and an elaborate bow, and announced: "a-hem! his majesty the wallypug of why and suite." [illustration: with slippers on his tail] i was so astonished that for the moment i could not think what to say, but at last i managed to stammer, as i made a low bow to the wallypug: "i am delighted to make your majesty's acquaintance." the wallypug smiled very affably, and held out his hand. "i have come up for the jubilee, you know," he said. "_we've_ come up, you mean to say, wallypug," corrected the old gentleman with the wand, frowning somewhat severely. "i am the wallypug's professional adviser," he continued. "i am called the doctor-in-law--allow me to introduce the rest of our party. this," he went on, bringing the young man with the self-satisfied smile forward, "is the jubilee rhymester from zum; he hopes to become a minor poet in time. and this," indicating the wooden-looking soldier, "is sergeant one-and-nine, also from zum." here the doctor-in-law took me aside and whispered in my ear, "slightly cracked, crossed in love; speaks very peculiarly; capital chap though." then crossing to where the fish was standing, he said, "and this is a. fish, esq., the celebrated lecturer on the 'whichness of the what as compared with the thatness of the thus.' he desired to accompany us here in order to find material for a new lecture which he is preparing upon the 'perhapness of the improbable.' he's awfully clever," he whispered impressively. [illustration: "his majesty the wallypug"] "i'm sure i'm delighted to see you all," i said, shaking hands with each one till i came to the fish, who held out a fin. "er-er-how do you do?" i stammered, somewhat taken aback by this strange proceeding. "quide well with the egscebtiod of a slide cold id by head," said the fish. "i'b subjecd to theb, you doe. it's beig id the water so butch, i fadcy," and he _smiled_. i don't know if you have ever seen a fish smile, but if not i may tell you that it is a very curious sight. "i suppose you can manage to put us up here for a month or two?" calmly suggested the doctor-in-law after a pause. "dear me," i exclaimed in alarm, "i don't think my housekeeper could possibly--" "why not ask her?" suggested the doctor-in-law, touching the bell. a moment or two afterwards a knock at the door announced that mrs. putchy was there. "oh, mrs. putchy," i said, stepping just outside, "these gentlemen, er--that is to say, his majesty the wallypug of why and suite, have honoured me with a visit, and i am anxious if possible to offer them such hospitality as my poor home affords. do you think that we could manage anyhow to find room for them, for a few days at any rate?" now mrs. putchy is a very remarkable woman, and i have never known her to show the slightest surprise at anything, and, so far from seeming alarmed at the prospect of having to entertain such notable visitors, she seemed positively delighted. "his majesty of why, sir? how charming! of course we must do our best, and how fortunate that i put on my best gown to-day, isn't it? dear me, and shall i be presented to his majesty?" "certainly, mrs. putchy, if you wish it," i said. "in fact, if you will call general mary jane, i will introduce you both, as you represent my entire household." mrs. putchy disappeared, returning almost immediately, followed by the servant, general mary jane, with her mouth wide open, and accompanied by the cat, who rejoices in the extraordinary name of mrs. mehetable murchison. these members of my household were duly presented to the wallypug. mrs. putchy made her curtsey with great dignity, but general mary jane was so overcome at the thought of being presented to royalty that she fell flat on her hands and knees in her humility, while mrs. mehetable murchison, realizing, no doubt, the truth of the old saying that "a cat may look at a king," went up and sharpened her claws on the wallypug's legs in the most friendly manner possible. it was when the cat caught sight of a. fish, esq., that she completely lost her presence of mind, and with arched back and bristling fur glared at him in amazement. "priddy pussy, cub alog thed," said the fish, stooping down and trying to stroke her with one of his fins; but mrs. mehetable murchison, with a startled glance, tore out of the room, showing every sign of alarm. "and she's so fond of fish too, as a rule, ain't she, mum?" remarked general mary jane, who had somewhat overcome the awe with which she had at first regarded the presence of royalty. "fod of fish?" repeated a. fish, esq., inquiringly. "what do you mead?" "why, you see, sir," explained mrs. putchy, "we often have fish for dinner--er--that is to say--er--a-hem!" [illustration: "priddy pussy"] the fish was glaring at her in a horrified way, and mrs. putchy had become quite nervous. "let's change the subject," suggested the doctor-in-law, to our great relief. "the most important question for the moment is, where are we all going to sleep?" this gave mrs. putchy an opportunity for exercising her wonderful ability for management, and after arranging for the wallypug to have the spare bedroom, and the doctor-in-law to have my room, i was to have a bed made up in the study, while the jubilee rhymester was to sleep in the attic, one-and-nine was to have a box under the stairs, and there only remained a. fish, esq., to dispose of. "there is the bathroom, mum," suggested general mary jane brilliantly; "we could put a lid on the bath and make up a bed there." "bedder sdill, fill id with wadter, ad thed i could sleeb _in_ id," suggested the fish. "oh yes, of course!" said mrs. putchy, "and now i must go and see about the supper." and, with a low curtsey to the wallypug, the admirable little woman hurried out, followed by general mary jane, who gave a nervous little bob when she reached the door. they had scarcely disappeared before one-and-nine came up to me and whispered: "i am muchly impressionated by that lady with the most militaryish name who has just gone out. can you kindly inform me is she detached?" "detached?" i inquired in bewilderment. "what ever do you mean?" "if a person is not attached to anyone else, they are detached, i suppose, are they not?" said one-and-nine rather impatiently. "well, if you put it that way, i suppose they are," i replied, laughing. "you mean, has she a sweetheart? well, really i don't know. i have an idea though that mrs. putchy does not allow followers." "then i shall considerize my prospectuousness with great hopefulosity!" remarked the soldier with considerable dignity, walking back to the wallypug's chair. "what does he say?" asked the jubilee rhymester. "he is a little bit cracked, you know. could you make out what he was driving at?" "oh, yes, i could understand within a little what he meant," i replied. "he seems to have fallen in love with general mary jane at first sight, from what i can gather." "really! dear me! he is always doing that sort of thing, do you know, and he generally asks me to write poems for him when he gets into that state. i have written as many as 137 odes in one month on his behalf." "good gracious," i replied, "and does he pay you well for them?" "pay me!" exclaimed the jubilee rhymester, staring at me in surprise. "of course not. do people ever get paid for writing poetry?" "why, yes, to be sure they do," i answered. "well, i've never heard of such a thing in all my life," said the jubilee rhymester; "i always thought that poets had to pay to have their verses used at all, and that that was why they were always so poor while they were alive. of course i knew that people sometimes made a fuss about them after they were dead, but i have never heard of such a thing as a live poet being paid for his work." "nonsense," i replied; "i believe that quite a lot of money is sometimes paid by the magazines and other papers for poems and verses." "well, i am delighted to hear it," said the jubilee rhymester, "and i shall certainly start writing to-morrow. i have no doubt whatever that i shall make my fortune before i go back to zum." shortly after this mrs. putchy announced that supper was served, and a little later my guests retired to rest, being thoroughly tired out with their long journey. i sat up in my study a little while longer to smoke a pipe, but was just thinking of going to bed when there was a tap at the door and the doctor-in-law entered. "i say, i thought i had better come and arrange with you about money matters," he said; "i didn't like to mention such things before the others. now then," he continued, "how much are you going to pay us for staying with you?" "pay _you_!" i gasped. "what on earth do you mean?" "well, you see, it will be a great thing for you to have such distinguished visitors, don't you know, and you ought to be quite willing to pay liberally for the honour," said the doctor-in-law, smiling amiably. now girlie had told me what a greedy, avaricious person the doctor-in-law really was, despite his benevolent appearance, but this cool cheek almost took my breath away. i was determined, however, to let him see at once that i was not to be imposed upon, so i said as firmly as i could, "now, look here, mr. doctor-in-law, please understand once and for all, that as you were all so kind to my little friend girlie when she was at why, i am quite willing to entertain his majesty the wallypug, and the rest of you, to the very best of my ability, but as for paying you for being here, the idea is absurd--impossible!" [illustration: "id quide gave be a turn"] just then a terrific hullabaloo in the passage caused us both to run to the door. we could hear that the noise proceeded from the bathroom, and, hurrying to the door, we found a. fish, esq., sitting up in the water shouting for help, while mrs. mehetable murchison and a whole group of her feline friends were out on the tiles, glaring through the window. "dear be, dear be," panted the fish, when he saw us, "i'b so frighteded, just look at all those cats. i had beed to sleeb ad was just dreabig that sobeone was sayig, 'mrs. behetable burchison is _so_ fod of fish, and we ofted have fish for didder,' whed i woke ub and saw all those horrible cats lookig id ad the widdow; id quide gave be a turn. do drive theb away please." we soon did this, and, pulling down the blinds, we left a. fish, esq., to his dreams and soon afterwards retired to rest ourselves. chapter ii the next day's adventures when i entered the breakfast room the next morning i found that the wallypug and the doctor-in-law had been up for some time, and were both gazing out of the window with the greatest of interest. "i hope your majesty slept well," i remarked to the wallypug as i approached them. "very well indeed, thank you," he replied smilingly. "the doctor-in-law and myself have just been saying that we are sure to have an enjoyable visit here. we have been greatly interested in the man-machines going past. we have never seen anything like them before." "the man-machines!" i exclaimed, puzzled to know whatever he could mean. "yes, the men with wheels instead of legs, you know." "oh, you mean the bicyclists," i replied, laughing. "have you really never seen any before?" "no, indeed," replied his majesty. "are they born with wheels on, or do they grow afterwards?" i laughed, and fortunately just then the youngster opposite, who always rides to school on his bicycle, came out of doors wheeling his machine, and i was able to explain to the wallypug the principle upon which they worked. "dear me; the doctor-in-law told me that the machinery was part of the man, but now i see that it is separate. and he charged me sixpence for the information too," he complained, looking reproachfully at the doctor-in-law. "charged you sixpence!" i cried. "yes," replied the poor wallypug. "he offered to tell me all about them for sixpence, and as i was really very curious to know i gave it to him, and then he informed me that they were a peculiar race of people who came from coventry, and who were all born with wheels instead of legs." "take your old sixpence then, if you are going to make all that fuss about it," said the doctor-in-law, crossly, throwing the coin down on the table and walking out of the room in a huff. "i'm sure i did read somewhere that they came from coventry," he added, popping his head in at the door and then slamming it violently after him. the boy opposite was still riding up and down the road, and i made up my mind that although i had never spoken to him before, i would ask him to let the wallypug examine his bicycle more closely. "with pleasure," he replied, raising his hat politely to the wallypug, when i had explained who he was; "and if his majesty would like to try it he is quite welcome to do so." the doctor-in-law's curiosity had so far overcome his ill-humour that, when he saw us talking to the boy, he came forward and offered to help the wallypug to mount. "i really don't think he had better," i said, "he might damage the machine." "oh no, he won't hurt it, i'm sure," said the boy generously; and so with our united assistance the wallypug got on to the bicycle, and after a few preliminary wobblings started off in fine style. faster and faster he went, clinging desperately to the handle-bars, till we, who were running beside him, could no longer keep pace with him. [illustration: the start] "i can't stop," we heard him shout; and a moment later he charged straight at a large stone and half a brick which lay in the middle of the roadway. poor wallypug! the sudden impact threw him right over the handle-bars, and he landed in a huddled heap on his hands and knees in the gutter. the machine flew in half, and the front portion careered madly away by itself till stopped by the kerb. we hurried up to his majesty to discover if he was much hurt, but, with the exception of a few scratches on his hands and knees and a thorough shaking, he seemed to have come off pretty well. [illustration: the finish] "i suppose we can't stick it together again?" he inquired, gazing ruefully at the broken bicycle, and i was obliged to tell him that there was not much chance of our doing so. the boy to whom it belonged bravely made the best of the matter, especially when i told him that the next half-holiday he had i would take him to holborn to choose another one in its place. and when i discovered that he had a half-holiday that very afternoon, it was arranged that general mary jane should order a carriage at the livery stable, and that we should all drive to the city after luncheon. the wallypug, after a good wash and a hearty breakfast, went to his room to lie down for an hour or two to recover from the effects of his accident, and i was just answering my morning letters when there was a knock at the study door, and the rhymester entered. [illustration: hippety-hoppety-plop] "i sat up most of the night writing poetry," he remarked, "and i have just brought you one or two specimens. the first one is called 'the ode of a toad.' perhaps i had better read it to you. my writing is rather peculiar," and he began as follows: the ode of a toad. there was once an old toad who lived under a tree, hippety hop--flippety flop, and his head was as bald as bald could be, he was deaf as a post and could hardly see, but a giddy and frivolous toad was he, with his hippety-hoppety-plop. and he gambolled and danced on the village green, hippety hop--flippety flop, in a way that had never before been seen, tho' he wasn't so young as once he had been, and the people all wondered whate'er he could mean, with his hippety-hoppety-plop. but the old chap kept bobbing about just the same, hippety hop--flippety flop, till everyone thought he _must_ make himself lame, and not a soul ever could find out his aim, in keeping up such a ridiculous game, as his hippety-hoppety-plop. some said he was mad, tho' as mild as a dove, hippety hop--flippety flop, and as the result of a push or a shove, was a little bit cracked in the storey above, _but i fancy myself the old boy was in love_, with his hippety-hoppety-plop. "there! what do you think of it?" he asked when he had finished. "well, candidly, i'm afraid not very much," i replied; "and what on earth do you call it an ode for?" "why, you see, ode went so well with the word toad. i was going to call it 'ode to a toad,' but it isn't _to_ a toad at all, though it's about a toad. ah! by the bye, i might call it 'a toad's ode,' mightn't i? i think that sounds very jolly." he altered the title in pencil. [illustration: "i love but thee"] "i have another which i think you will say is very touching." and after getting his handkerchief out in case he should be moved to tears, he began: the ballade of a bun. don't talk to me of "sally lunn," or toasted tea-cake nice and hot, i do not care for either one a single solitary jot; my heart is fixed and changeth not, in all the world--whate'er i see, and rich or poor--whate'er my lot- oh! penny bun, i love but thee. for thy dear sake all cakes i shun smeared o'er with jam. no apricot or greengage tart my heart hath won; their sweetness doth but cloy and clot. what marmalade in fancy pot or cream meringue, though fair it be, thine image e'er can mar or blot? oh! penny bun, i love but thee. i vowed to cherish thee, or none (such love thy simple charms begot), when first i saw thee, precious one; and now to some sweet lonely spot, some shady dell or mossy grot, come let us hasten, you and me, and i will eat you like a shot; oh! penny bun, i love but thee. _envoy._ small boys or girls that homeward trot from school in time for early tea, this moral ne'er must be forgot: "love penny buns, and they'll love thee." "isn't it affecting?" he inquired, wiping his eyes when he had finished. "well, perhaps i didn't quite appreciate the pathos of it as i might have done," i answered, trying hard not to laugh. "you see i was paying so much attention to the scansion. i find that you have altered the refrain in the envoy. surely that's not correct, is it?" "oh, you are a great deal too particular," remarked the rhymester crossly. "why, i should think from the doctor-in-law's description of a critic that you must be one." "what did he say a critic was?" i asked. "why, he said a critic was a person who found fault with another, for not doing what he was unable to do himself. and he charged me fourpence three-farthings for the information, and as i only had fourpence halfpenny i have to pay him the odd farthing when i sell some of my poems. can you tell me how i can set to work about it?" "well, i hardly know," i replied, "unless you send them to the editors of the various magazines. they may take them, but you must not be disappointed if some of them are rejected. you see they cannot possibly print everything that is sent to them." there were several magazines in the study, and i suggested that the rhymester should make a list of the addresses of the various editors, and he was busy about that till luncheon time. at half-past two the carriage came to the door, and goodness only knows what general mary jane must have told the livery stable people about the wallypug, for, evidently anxious to send an equipage worthy of royalty, they had painted an enormous monogram in gold on the sides of the carriage, while the coachman was resplendent in blue plush and gold lace, with silk stockings and a powdered wig. [illustration: "equipageous grandiosity"] the wallypug was delighted when he saw this elaborate turn-out, and so were the others, for i overheard one-and-nine murmuring something about "equipageous grandiosity," as he climbed up to the seat beside the coachman. when the wallypug, the doctor-in-law, a. fish, esq., and the rhymester, were seated, there was no room left for the boy and myself, so we followed behind in a modest dog-cart, which was hurriedly procured from the livery stable. many were the wondering glances bestowed upon the carriage, with its somewhat remarkable burden, as we drove along through kensington to the gardens. and everywhere our appearance was hailed with enthusiasm, people being evidently under the impression that the wallypug was one of the royal guests invited to the jubilee festivities. who could he be? that was decidedly the question which everyone was asking, and i could not quite determine who was causing the greater sensation, the wallypug or a. fish, esq. these two individuals, however, comported themselves with the calmest dignity, only the doctor-in-law seemed flurried by the attention which they attracted, and smiled and bowed right and left, whether the people took any notice of him or not. as we approached hyde-park corner attention was diverted from the wallypug's carriage by the fact that _another_ royal equipage had entered the park gates; and as the princess passed us, an amused glance and a whispered conversation with the other occupant of the carriage showed that the wallypug's extraordinary party had not escaped her royal highness's attention. after going once round the park we went out at the marble arch and along oxford street to holborn, our progress through the crowded streets everywhere attracting the most excited interest. and when we stopped before one of the large bicycle _depã´ts_ in holborn the crowd around the carriage was so large that the policeman had quite a difficulty in preventing a block in the traffic. our business was soon transacted, and, having secured an excellent machine for the boy in place of the one which his majesty had damaged in the morning, we drove back to kensington without further adventure. the wallypug's curiosity, however, was so awakened by what he had seen that, as soon as we had been refreshed by a cup of afternoon tea, he suggested that we should go out for a walk; accordingly the whole party proceeded to kensington gardens, followed by a curious and somewhat derisive crowd of small boys, who would insist upon advising the wallypug to "get his hair cut." now, i happened to know, from what girlie had told me about her adventures in why, that the wallypug, though a kind of king, had to do as his people directed and not as he liked, and that when he had presented a petition in parliament to be allowed to have his hair cut, they had divided upon the subject, and so he had only been allowed to have _half_ of it cut, and as the long half had by this time grown very long indeed, he certainly did look rather remarkable; that was no excuse though for the street boys' rudeness, and his majesty very wisely took no notice of them. a. fish, esq., came in for the greatest amount of attention, and when a few drops of rain began to fall, and he put up an umbrella for fear that he should get wet, the crowd became so excited that the doctor-in-law wisely suggested that a return should be made. his majesty, however, was bent upon sight-seeing, and so the party separated, the doctor-in-law, a. fish, esq., and one-and-nine going home, while the rest of us continued our walk. when we reached the gardens, the wallypug was greatly interested in seeing the palace where the queen was born, and said that he should certainly petition his parliament to allow him to have soldiers walk up and down before the gates of his palace, like those which he saw here. he admired greatly princess louise's statue of the queen, which stands in front of the palace, and said he couldn't imagine where-ever they could have got all the white sugar from to make it with, and i think that he was inclined to disbelieve me when i told him that it was not made of sugar at all, but of white marble; for he said that if that were the case he couldn't think why they wanted to put such high railings around it, as no one would wish to carry away a marble statue of that size, whereas, if it were sugar, as he suggested, why, of course, the railings were there to prevent the children from climbing up and breaking off little pieces to eat. [illustration: for fear he should get wet] the round pond and the little model ships interested his majesty most of all though, i fancy, and he spent quite a long time admiring them, until, while assisting a small boy to get his ship ashore, he had the misfortune to slip into the water himself, and had to be fished out with the assistance of a boathook. his majesty certainly did not look either dignified or regal as he stood on the bank saturated with water, and his royal robes clinging about him in the most woe-begone manner--and as the crowd had greatly increased, i was very glad to get the poor wallypug into a cab and drive home. [illustration: his majesty has an accident] on our way there, the rhymester, being very much afraid of getting his clothes wet, sat in the furthest corner of the cab and amused himself by writing a verse on the subject of his majesty's misfortune, which read somehow like this: "king george i've heard is king of greece, but since this luckless slipping, the wallypug i do declare should be the king of _dripping_." i think his majesty thought it rather unkind of the rhymester to make fun of him in this way, but before he had time to think much about the matter, we had arrived at our destination, and to my great surprise i could see a vast crowd collected at the doors of the building in which my flat is situated. chapter iii sundry small happenings whatever could it all mean? the doctor-in-law stood on the steps, calling out, "walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and see the talking fish," while large posters were pasted on the walls, bearing the words, "admission sixpence" and "one day only." the commissionaire who usually stands at the door was looking very surprised and angry, while the page boy was grinning all over his face. whatever was happening? i hastily paid the cabman, and followed by the wallypug made my way through the crowd to the entrance. "admission sixpence each," said the doctor-in-law, holding out his hand. [illustration: "walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen"] "what do you mean?" i replied, "and what is all this crowd doing here?" "admission sixpence each!" repeated the doctor-in-law stubbornly, not taking the least notice of my questions, and holding his wand across the doorway so that i could not get in. "nonsense!" i cried; "i'm not going to pay to go into my own house." "pay for the wallypug then and i'll let you in free," said the little man insinuatingly. "i shall do nothing of the sort," i cried, pushing past him and hurrying up the stairs. to my surprise i found my rooms occupied by strangers. sergeant one-and-nine was reciting some of the rhymester's poems in the dining room to three deaf old ladies, two of whom had ear trumpets, while a. fish, esq., was holding a kind of _levã©e_ in my study, seated in a chair placed on the writing table, and was surrounded by an admiring crowd of people who were asking all sorts of questions. mrs. putchy met me at the door. "oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "i'm so glad you've come home. i haven't known what to do with all these people." "but what does it all mean, putchy?" i inquired. "what are they doing here at all?" "why, you see, sir!" said mrs. putchy, "mr. doctor-in-law found that a. fish, esq., was attracting a good deal of attention out of doors, and he thought that it would be a capital idea to have a kind of show here and charge sixpence admission to see him; and if there's been one, i'm sure there's been a hundred people up here this afternoon. the remarks they've been making too, and the questions they've been asking. why, one old lady, sir, wanted to know how much you paid a. fish, esq., a week, and if i was _quite_ sure that you gave him enough to eat. they've broken three chairs too, and that little venetian glass vase that stood on the bracket in the corner. and just now i caught some little boys tearing pictures out of one of those illustrated books you brought home last week." here was a pretty state of affairs. the strangers had by this time left a. fish, esq., and had collected around the poor wallypug, who had been waiting in his wet clothing in the hall, and i was obliged to politely but firmly insist upon them at once leaving the house, telling them that their money would be returned at the door. "i should think so, indeed," said one angry-looking stout lady. "why, the whole thing is a fraud and you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself. talking fish indeed! i don't believe he's a fish at all--at any rate, not what i call a 'fish,'" and she flounced down the stairs only to return a moment or two afterwards to say, "i thought you said that we were to have our money back." "so you are, madam," i replied. "well, why don't you see that we get it then? that man downstairs refuses to give me any money. the whole thing is a swindle. but i don't mean to be defrauded in this way, i can tell you." i went downstairs and told the doctor-in-law that he must at once return everyone their money, and this after a great deal of grumbling he did, while the commissionaire and the page boy tore down the posters outside the door at my request. i explained to the doctor-in-law that this sort of thing must not occur again, and made him promise that he would never again use my rooms as a place in which to hold a show. i really felt rather annoyed about it, for i could not imagine whatever the neighbours would think of me for permitting such a scene to take place in my rooms, but it evidently was useless now to say anything more about it. the next morning, despite the wetting which the wallypug had received at the round pond, his thoughts still ran upon boating, and nothing would satisfy his majesty but that he should go for a row. i suggested richmond as the best place to start from, and so we drove over hammersmith bridge and across barnes common. arrived at richmond we had no difficulty in securing a nice boat. "i'll row for one," said his majesty. "and i for another," said the rhymester. "very well then," i replied. "perhaps the doctor-in-law will steer, and so we will manage very nicely." quite a large crowd had collected to see us start, and perhaps that is what made the wallypug so nervous; as it was, as soon as we pushed off, his majesty fell backwards with his feet sticking up above the seat, while the rhymester stuck one oar deep down into the water and pulled it with all his might, while the other flourished about in the air. [illustration: his majesty fell backwards] the doctor-in-law's idea of steering consisted in pulling first one string and then the other, and so we did not get along very well just at first. when the wallypug had picked himself up from the bottom of the boat, however, and the rhymester and he made another attempt, i think we should have got along fairly well if the doctor-in-law, in trying to get out of the way of a passing boat, had not steered us into the bank, where we stuck fast in the mud till someone on the footpath very kindly pushed us off again. after that i thought it best to take the oars myself, and his majesty steered under my direction. in this way we managed to get a little way past teddington lock by luncheon time, and having found an _eyot_ with no one on it we went ashore and unpacked the hamper of good things which we had brought with us. it was a beautiful day, and i think that we all enjoyed the picnic immensely. i know that i did for one, and so, i think, did his majesty, for after the meal he laid aside his crown and royal robes and made himself comfortable on the grass under the trees, and looked thoroughly happy with a big cigar in his mouth. [illustration: his majesty enjoys himself] a. fish, esq., busied himself in preparing notes for his lecture on the "perhapness of the improbable," and the doctor-in-law, having piled all the cushions in the boat at one end, threw himself upon them and read the newspaper. in this way the afternoon passed very comfortably, and the rhymester, after scribbling upon several pieces of paper, came and read to me a poem which had been inspired by our beautiful surroundings; he called it soul yearnings. the water's as wet as wet can be, and the trees, and the grass, are green, while the little birds sing and the fishes swim; 'tis a most delightful scene. it makes me yearn for i don't know what, to come from i don't know where, and take me away to the thingummybob and the what-you-may-call-'ems there; and he told me that beautiful scenery always affected him in that way. [illustration: an unfortunate volley] it was now time for us to be thinking about getting back, especially as i should have to do all of the rowing. so we got into the boat again, and i rowed back as far as twickenham, where we stopped at eel-pie island to have some tea. while we were waiting for it to be prepared, we began a game of tennis, but were obliged to leave off, as an unfortunate volley of the doctor-in-law's caught the wallypug on the nose, and so his majesty declined to play any more. we persuaded him to join us at cricket, though, having found some stumps and a bat and ball in an outhouse on the island, and got on very well for some time till, at a shout of "out, leg before wicket," the wallypug (who had caught the ball very nicely on his shin) fell forward on to the doctor-in-law, crushing his hat well over his eyes, and ruffling his temper considerably. [illustration: "out"] in fact, i was very glad that tea was announced just then, for i feared that there was going to be a bother, and, as it was, the doctor-in-law kept scowling at his majesty very fiercely. "i shall make him pay for it," declared the little man, and, during tea, which we had at wicker tables by the river's edge, he was busy making out an account, which later he handed with great solemnity to the wallypug. his majesty apparently could not understand it, and passed it on to me. on examination, i found it to be worded as follows: his majesty the wallypug of why, in account with the doctor-in-law. to damage of one hat, â£0 7 6 " physical injury, 0 2 0 " moral deterioration, 15 6 9 -------- â£22 17 8 " 3 per cent. discount for cash, 3 6 2 -------- â£26 4 11 "what do you mean by moral deterioration?" demanded the wallypug. "oh, i don't know. same as other people do, i suppose," said the doctor-in-law. "it's always charged now, i believe. i read something about it in the papers this afternoon." "but the addition is all wrong," i expostulated. "no, it isn't," replied the doctor-in-law, rudely snatching the document from me and putting it into his pocket-book, "and if it is, it's nothing to do with you. i shall charge it in our expenses, which the people of why have undertaken to pay, so there." and the avaricious little fellow ran off to the boat, which we afterwards found he had been letting out on hire to small boys at a penny a head. the return journey was accomplished without any remarkable incidents, and on reaching home i found a very pressing invitation from girlie's mother for the whole party to attend her "at home" the next day. it appears that this lady had called upon me while we were out, and mrs. putchy had told her of the wallypug's arrival. his majesty was good enough to say that he should be delighted to accept, and so i wrote off at once to say that she might expect us. chapter iv lost we had a terrible fright the next morning, for the poor dear wallypug got lost, and for some time we could not imagine what had become of him. it happened in this way: directly after breakfast his majesty said that he should like to go for a walk and look at the shops. "i'm not going," declared the doctor-in-law. "i have some _very_ important letters to write." we all looked up in surprise, for we did not know that the doctor-in-law had any other acquaintances in london. "letters from which i hope to derive a princely income," continued the little man grandly; "and, therefore, i have no time for such foolishness as looking into shop windows." "he's afraid thad he bight have to sped sub buddy," remarked a. fish, esq. "nothing of the sort," replied the doctor-in-law, turning very red though. "well, don't waste time talking about it; let's go if we are going," said the rhymester; and so, as i also had some correspondence to attend to, it was arranged that the wallypug, the rhymester, and a. fish, esq., should go for a little stroll by themselves. i had some doubts in my own mind as to the advisability of letting them go alone, but they promised not to go beyond kensington gardens, and to wait for me there just inside the gates. after they had gone i settled down to my letter-writing, and was getting along nicely when the doctor-in-law interrupted me with: "i say, i wish you would let me have about twenty sheets of note-paper, will you, please?" "twenty!" i exclaimed in surprise. "yes, twenty," said the doctor-in-law. "or you had better make it a quire while you are about it." i thought the quickest way to get rid of him was to give him the paper, so i got up and got it for him. "and a packet of envelopes, please," he said, as i handed it to him. "anything else?" i asked rather sarcastically. "stamps!" he replied, calmly holding out his hand. "well, really--" i expostulated. "oh, halfpenny ones will do. you're surely not so mean as to mind tenpence, are you?" "i don't think i'm mean, but--" "hand them over then, and don't waste so much time talking," said the little man impatiently, and so, just to get rid of him, i gave him the stamps and sat down to my letters again. i had hardly begun when he came back. "don't you take any other newspapers than these?" he demanded, showing me a handful. "no, i don't, and i think it's rather extravagant of me to have those," i replied. "well, then, how do you suppose that i am going to manage? i want at least five other papers, and it's _most_ important that i should have them." "you might buy them," i suggested. "they are so dear," he grumbled. "well, why don't you go to the public library then?" i suggested. "you know where it is, and you could see all of the papers there, you know." "ah, a capital idea," he said, putting on his hat and going out. "now," i thought, "i shall have peace at last." i was not left undisturbed long though, for a few minutes later mrs. putchy came to the door. "oh, please, sir, will you go down? mr. doctor-in-law is having such a bother with the postman." i hurried out, and found the little man very angry indeed. "this postman won't give me a letter," he cried when he saw me. "perhaps he hasn't one for you," i answered. "but i saw him giving them away all down the street for nothing," persisted the doctor-in-law. "and when i asked him in a civil way for one, he refused to give it to me. it's no use for him to say he hasn't one, when he has a whole packet in his hand now, and a lot more in his bag, no doubt. are you going to give me a letter or not?" he continued, turning to the postman. [illustration: "are you going to give me a letter or not?"] "no, sir," continued the man, smiling. "i haven't any for you." "very well, then," said the doctor-in-law decidedly, "i shall certainly write to the queen and tell her that if she employs you any longer i shall take all my custom away, and i shall not send the twenty letters, that i intended writing to-day, off at all." i endeavoured to explain to the little man that the postman could not possibly give him a letter if he had not one addressed to him. "oh, that's all nonsense," he exclaimed, going off in a huff. "of course you would take his part." before i could settle down to work again the rhymester and a. fish, esq., returned. "where's the wallypug?" i demanded. "oh, he's coming by the next 'bus," said the rhymester. "haven't you had any rain here?" "no," i replied. "oh, we had quidt a sharb shower," said a. fish, esq., "ad i was afraid of gettig wet, so we stopped a 'bus--there was odly roob for two though, ad the wallypug said thad he would cub od by the dext." "i hope he will get home all right," i said anxiously. "i don't think you ought to have left his majesty by himself." "oh! it's only a little way," said the rhymester; "he's sure to get home all right." [illustration: "so we stopped a 'bus"] an hour passed and there was no signs of the wallypug. i now began to get seriously anxious. it would, of course, be the easiest thing in the world for his majesty to take the wrong 'bus, and be taken goodness knows where. i couldn't think what was best to be done. the rhymester suggested sending the crier out, but i never remembered having seen one at kensington, and at last, after searching for some time ourselves in kensington gardens, and making inquiries in high street, and failing to glean any tidings of his majesty, i thought it best to go to the police station. here i found a very important-looking official in uniform, with a big book in front of him. "what is it?" he inquired, glaring at me fiercely. "i've called to know if you could assist me in finding a friend who, i fear, has lost his way," i replied. the official did not answer me, but reached down another large book. "what's his name?" he inquired gruffly. "his name? oh--er--his name is--er--that is to say he is the--" i had not the least idea what the wallypug's name really was, so i couldn't very well say. "what's his name?" shouted the official. "i'll ask you what he _is_ presently." "well, i'm very sorry, but i really do not know his name." the man glanced at me very suspiciously. "you said he was a friend of yours--it's a very odd thing that you don't know his name. what is he?" "he's a--a--wallypug," i stammered. "that is to say he--er--" "wallypug!" exclaimed the man contemptuously. "what's that?" "why, it's a kind of king, you know," i explained, feeling that the explanation was rather a lame one. "a _kind_ of king!" exclaimed the police officer. "explain yourself." "well, i'm afraid i can't explain more clearly than that," i replied. "this gentleman has been staying with me for a couple of days, and went out this morning and lost his way." "where did he come from?" asked the man. "why," i answered. "why? because i want to know," he shouted. "don't let me have any further prevarication. where did the man, or wallypug, or whatever you call him, come from?" "from why. from a place called why, you know," i repeated. "i _don't_ know," said the officer. "i've never heard of such a place. where is it?" "well, really," i said, "i'm very sorry, but i cannot tell you. i don't know myself." "this is _very_ remarkable," said the man, glaring at me through his glasses. "you don't know your friend's name; you call him a wallypug, and can't explain what that is, you don't know where he comes from--perhaps you can tell me how he reached your house?" i was now really in a fix, for how could i tell this man that his majesty had stepped out of a picture. i thought the best thing to do was to hold my tongue. "how did he come?" repeated the officer. "by train?" i shook my head. "by steamer?" i shook my head again. "did he drive?--or come on a bicycle, or walk?" i remained silent. the police officer stared at me for a moment or two, waiting for my answer. "look here, young man," said he at last, evidently very angry indeed. "it strikes me that you are having a game with me. you had better go away quietly or i shall be obliged to take you in charge as a lunatic." "but i assure you that--" "how was your friend dressed?" "oh, he wore a somewhat battered gold crown, and carried an orb and sceptre, and was dressed in knee breeches and a velvet cloak with an ermine collar." the man gave me a keen glance and then rang a bell. a policeman appeared a moment or two afterwards, and the officer whispered something to him, of which i only caught the words, "harmless lunatic." "lunatic, sir; yes, sir. step this way, please," said the policeman, and before i could realize what had happened i was bundled into a small bare room, and the key was turned in the lock and i was a prisoner. here was a pretty state of affairs. the stupid people had mistaken me for a lunatic, and i was no doubt to be locked up here till a doctor arrived. of course the only thing for me to do was to sit still and wait as patiently as i could. fortunately the police people thought of telegraphing to the other stations to find out if anything was known of an escaped lunatic; and from fulham came the reply, "we have found one ourselves. he calls himself a wallypug, and is dressed like a second-hand king." this caused inquiries to be made, and eventually i was taken in a cab to fulham, where we found his majesty in the charge of the police, he having been found wandering about the fulham road quite unable to give what they considered a satisfactory account of himself. it was most unfortunate that his majesty should have taken the wrong 'bus, for, not having any money with him, he was set down in a totally strange neighbourhood, and had quite forgotten my address. of course, now that we had been brought face to face, we had no difficulty in convincing the police people that we were what we represented ourselves to be, and were soon, to our great relief, on our way home again. "i don't think that i should like to be a policeman," remarked the wallypug, on our way there. "no?" i answered. "why not?" "they have to catch dogs for a living?" remarked his majesty solemnly. "there were several brought in while i was waiting, and the policeman who had caught them seemed so pleased about it." i explained to the wallypug as well as i was able about the muzzling order, and his majesty was highly indignant, and when i pointed out several dogs with muzzles on he was more indignant still. "and are they always obliged to wear those horrible wire cages over their heads?" he inquired. i told his majesty that in london the order for wearing them had been in force for some considerable time, and we had a long talk over the matter, his majesty declaring that he should try and invent a new muzzle which should be more comfortable for the poor dogs. [illustration: unable to give an account of himself] "oh, here we are at last," he exclaimed, as we turned the corner near my house. "and there are the others on the steps!" "here they are! here they are!" shouted the rhymester to the others, and everyone rushed forward to assist his majesty to alight, seemingly very glad to see us back again. we were quite as delighted to get back, i can tell you, and i was so relieved at having found the wallypug that i hadn't the heart to refuse the doctor-in-law's request that i would give him ten shillings worth of penny stamps to put into the letters which he had been writing while we had been away, although he would not give me the slightest clue as to what they were wanted for. chapter v an 'at home' and the academy we were quite ready for luncheon, as you may imagine, after our morning's adventures, and directly afterwards his majesty set to work on the new dog's muzzle which he had promised to invent. in about half an hour he had constructed one with which he was intensely delighted, and he persuaded a. fish, esq., to try it on that we might see the effect. it certainly was very simple, but as there was nothing whatever to go over the mouth, i felt sure that it could not possibly be very useful. i did not like to tell his majesty so though, for he seemed so thoroughly proud of his achievement. it was now time to go to the 'at home,' so, wishing to do honour to the occasion, our 'state coach,' as we called it, was sent for, and we drove off in fine style. there were a great many people invited to meet us, and i could see that there was quite a little flutter of excitement when the wallypug entered. [illustration: it certainly was very simple] his majesty, however, in his simple, good-natured way soon put everybody at their ease, and laughed and chattered with the utmost affability. girlie and boy had both been allowed to come into the drawing-room, and girlie quite claimed the wallypug as her own particular guest, while boy renewed his acquaintance with the rhymester, whom he had met before at zum, and despite their mother's protests they carried these two members of our party off in triumph to show them their play-room and toys and to talk over old times. while they were away the doctor-in-law made himself very agreeable to the ladies, and i watched him bowing and smiling and chatting, first with one group, then with another, with great amusement. i found out afterwards that he had promised several of them portraits of his majesty and suite for 2s. 6d. each as soon as they should be taken, and in every case had asked for the money in advance; but the great event of the afternoon was when a. fish, esq., wrapped up in mrs. putchy's pink woollen shawl, borrowed for the occasion, and surrounded by a group of young ladies, consented after much pressing to deliver part of his lecture on the "perhapness of the improbable." "you bust sed for the rhymebster though to help be to read id, for by cold is still so bad thad i can'd do id by byself," he explained. [illustration: a. fish, esq., obliges] so the rhymester was sent for, and his majesty also came down to hear the wonderful lecture. it had been turned into verse by the rhymester, who, after an affected attempt to clear his throat, read as follows: the perhapness of the improbable. if _this_ were that, and _these_ were those, and _hither_ nearer thither, why, _which_ might be whate'er it chose, and _there_ be any whither. somehow 'twould be the simpler way to _dearer_ be than cheaper, and that's why _when_ (each other day) would _higher_ be than _deeper_. so _worst_ would be the _best_ of all, and _far more less_ than either; while _short_ would certainly be _tall_, and therefore thus be neither. [illustration: absent-mindedly spilt his tea] "beautiful! charming!" echoed all the young ladies at once when he had finished, while one lady sitting near me exclaimed, "how sweetly simple!" for my own part i thought that it was anything but simple, and caught myself trying to follow the line of argument with the most brain-confusing results. the wallypug was greatly distressed when he discovered that while listening to the reading, and looking at the charming young lady with whom he had been conversing, he had absent-mindedly spilt the whole of his cup of tea over her dress. "you see, they didn't give me a plate to put my cake on," i heard him explain apologetically, "and it _was_ so awkward, for my cup would keep slipping about on the saucer." the young lady smiled very sweetly and assured his majesty that it didn't matter in the least, and shortly afterwards we left, having stayed, as it was, far beyond the regulation time. when we arrived home we found a letter addressed to the rhymester in the letter-box, which in a state of great excitement he tore open with trembling fingers. upon reading the contents he burst into tears. "poor man, poor man!" he sobbed. "i am so sorry to have caused him so much trouble." "it is a letter from an editor," he explained through his tears, "and he is in great distress through not being able to publish my poem. he says he greatly regrets his inability to make use of it! poor man, he evidently feels it very keenly. i must write and tell him not to be too unhappy about it." i had some letters to write too, one to a photographer in regent street, asking for an appointment the next morning, for i was determined that the doctor-in-law should send the promised photographs to the young ladies without delay. the first thing in the morning came a telegram to say that we could be photographed at eleven o'clock, so, after my guests had made themselves as spruce as possible, we started off and reached there in good time. it was suggested that the wallypug should be taken by himself, but when he saw the camera pointed directly at him while the operator disappeared beneath the black cloth, he came to the conclusion that it was too dangerous a machine to be faced with impunity, so he suddenly turned his back upon it, and nervously fled from the room. it was only by promising that the others should be taken with him that we could get him to sit at all, and even then there was a strained and nervous expression upon his face, which suggested that he was in momentary fear that the thing would "go off." the rhymester insisted upon being taken with one of his poems in his hand, the doctor-in-law wore his usual complacent smile, and altogether the group was quite a success. as soon as the "operation," as the wallypug would insist upon calling it, was over, we went downstairs, his majesty leading the way, while the doctor-in-law stayed behind for a moment to make some arrangements with the photographer about commission. we had intended going home by 'bus, but when we got to the door his majesty was nowhere to be seen. what could have become of him? we looked up and down the street, but could see no signs of him anywhere; and at last, after hunting about for a considerable time, he was discovered calmly sitting inside a furniture removal van, waiting for it to start, under the impression that it was an omnibus. "i'm sure this is the right one," he explained, "for it has 'kensington' printed in large letters on it. come along, there's plenty of room inside; the conductor and the driver will be here presently, i suppose." i laughingly explained to his majesty the mistake which he had made, and we walked on as far as piccadilly circus, where we found a 'bus to take us to the academy, which we intended visiting on our way home. we had not gone far though, when i suddenly remembered that the 22nd june was very close at hand, and that i had better make arrangements for seats to view the jubilee procession or i should be too late. so it was arranged that the doctor-in-law should take charge of the party while i went on to the agents to see about the seats. they would have no difficulty in getting home by themselves for the 'buses ran from just outside the academy doors straight to kensington, so i felt sure that they would be all right. "how much is the entrance fee to the academy?" asked the doctor-in-law, as i was getting down from the 'bus. "a shilling each," i replied, and i saw the little man collecting the money from the others as the 'bus disappeared from view. [illustration: waiting for it to start] i was very fortunate at the agents in being able to secure a capital window in piccadilly, and some stores in the neighbourhood undertook to provide a luncheon and to suitably decorate the window for us. these arrangements being satisfactorily concluded, i hurried home, and was greatly relieved to find my guests there before me. "how did you enjoy the academy?" i inquired. [illustration: could not understand the catalogue] "not at all!" said his majesty decidedly. "waste of money, i call it," said the rhymester, sniffing contemptuously. "i was dever so disappointed id edythig id all by life!" declared a. fish, esq. "besides, the catalogue was no good at all," complained his majesty. "we could make neither head nor tail of it." the doctor-in-law was silent, and it was only by very careful inquiry that i found out that, after pocketing their money, he had taken them to an immense hoarding covered with advertisement posters, and had gammoned them into believing that _that_ was the academy, while it was no wonder that the poor wallypug could not understand the 'catalogue,' for it was nothing more nor less than an old illustrated stores price list. it was really too bad of the doctor-in-law. chapter vi the jubilee the few days which elapsed before the memorable 22nd of june passed very quickly, and we were all more or less busy making preparations for the festival. his majesty would insist upon polishing up his regalia himself in order to do honour to the occasion, and spent hours over his crown with a piece of chamois leather and some whitening till, though somewhat battered by the rough usage it had sustained, it shone quite brilliantly. mrs. putchy herself suggested making his majesty some new red silk rosettes for his shoes, which he very graciously consented to accept. the doctor-in-law was always so spick and span that we scarcely noticed any change in his appearance, but the rhymester had made arrangements with general mary jane to wash, starch, and iron his lace collar, and he remained in his room one entire day while it was being done up. a. fish, esq., purchased a necktie of most brilliant colouring, and one-and-nine touched himself up here and there with some red enamel where his tunic had become shabby in places, so that altogether our party looked very smart as we drove at a very early hour to our seats in piccadilly. to avoid the crowd we went by way of bayswater road, and then passed down park lane and through berkeley square, in order to reach the back entrance to the house in piccadilly where i had booked seats. our gorgeous carriage was everywhere hailed with great delight, being of course mistaken for a portion of the jubilee procession, and many were the conjectures heard on all sides as to who the wallypug could possibly be. [illustration: with some red enamel] our window was in the centre of the building on the first floor, and we had it all to ourselves. a table at the back of the room was tastefully set out with an excellent cold collation, and in front of the window, which was most elaborately decorated with velvet curtains, flags, and trophies, and which was surmounted by a device which was understood to be the wallypug's coat-of-arms, a gorgeous, gilded, high-backed chair was placed as a throne for his majesty, and comfortable seats were also provided for the rest of the party. the crowd outside greeted our appearance with quite a demonstration, as by the enormous placard outside announcing the name of the decorators, and stating that they were by appointment to his majesty the wallypug of why, of course everybody knew who we were. indeed, one learned-looking person in the crowd was holding forth to an eager audience, and explaining exactly where why was situated, and pretending that he had been there, and had seen the wallypug before, ever so many times. as the time approached for the procession to pass, the wallypug became very excited and nervous. "shall i really see the queen of england?" he kept asking over and over again. "do you think she will see me? will she bow to me? what must i say? must i keep my crown on or take it off?" and innumerable other questions of the same nature. presently the excitement and enthusiasm reached their height, as amid a confused shouting of "here they are," the guards in advance came in sight. slowly the mighty procession, with its innumerable squadrons and bands passed, and at last, after the english and foreign princes and eastern potentates, the eight cream-coloured hanoverian horses, drawing the jubilee landau, made their appearance, and the queen was seen, smiling and bowing graciously to the cheering populace. the doctor-in-law, in his excitement, scrambled on to the window ledge in order to obtain a better view; the wallypug loyally waved his crown; while the rhymester, hurriedly unrolling a lengthy ode which he had written especially for the occasion, began reading it in a loud voice, and, though nobody paid the slightest attention to him, did not desist until long after the procession had passed. [illustration: the wallypug loyally waved his crown] the wallypug was very thoughtful for some time after the queen had gone by, and, during the drive home, expressed his great surprise that her majesty had not worn a crown, and apparently could not understand why it should not be worn on all occasions. "i suppose her majesty has a crown of her own, hasn't she?" he asked anxiously. "oh yes, of course!" i replied. "where is it then?" persisted his majesty. "i believe all of the regalia is kept carefully locked up and guarded in the tower of london," i said. "well, i think it's very unkind of them not to let her majesty have them out on an occasion like this. i shall see what i can do about it." the dear wallypug's intentions were evidently so good that i did not say anything in reply to this, though i wondered to myself whatever his majesty thought that _he_ could do in the matter. there were so many people about that we considered it best to spend the rest of the day quietly at home, though we did venture out in the evening to see the illuminations, which delighted his majesty exceedingly. the next afternoon the whole party, with the exception of one-and-nine, drove over the route taken by the procession, in order to see the street decorations. i remained at home, and late in the afternoon there was a knock at my door, and general mary jane entered. she was nervously wringing a handkerchief wet with tears, and her eyes were quite red with weeping. "please, sir," she began, sniffing pathetically, "i want to gi--gi--give no--notice." "why! what ever for?" i asked in surprise, for general mary jane was an excellent servant, and mrs. putchy had always been very pleased with her. "please, sir, it's sergeant one-and-nine; he's broken my 'art, sir, and i can't bear it no longer," and the poor girl burst into a flood of tears. "bless me!" i cried, "whatever do you mean?" "well, sir, you see ever since he's been 'ere, sir, he's been a making hup to me; leastwise that's what i thought he meant, sir; but this afternoon bein' my day hout, i went up to kensington gardens for a walk (him a saying as he would be there), and what should i see when i gets there, but him a walkin' about with half-a-dozen of them nursemaids in white frocks a followin' of him. not that i says as it's altogether his fault; they will run after the military; but it's more than i can stand, sir, me bein' that proud at 'avin' a soldier for a sweetheart, and all," and she began to cry again. [illustration: they will run after the military] i hardly knew what to do, but suggested that she should not think too seriously about it, and general mary jane, saying she hoped i would excuse her troubling me in the matter, decided to go to her married sister at barnes and spend the rest of her day out there, and talk the matter over with her. i had a lot of writing to do all the afternoon, and the time passed so quickly that until the gong sounded for dinner i did not realize that the wallypug and his party had not returned. it was now past seven, and they should have been home hours since. i was so anxious about them that i could scarcely eat any dinner, and as soon as the meal was over i hurried to the livery stables to hear if they knew anything about the matter. the first person i encountered when i arrived there was the coachman, now divested of his fine livery, and busy in the yard. "bless you, sir, yes, back hours ago," said he. "i set his majesty and the others down at your door about five o'clock, and i did hear them say something about going down to hammersmith for a walk." "to hammersmith?" i echoed in surprise. "yes, sir--they wanted to see the suspension bridge and the river again, so i told them the way to get there. they're all right, sir, i'll be bound. the doctor-in-law is too wide awake for anything to happen to them while he is with them." i walked home somewhat easier in my mind now that i knew the party had returned safely, though still somewhat anxious as to their whereabouts. about nine o'clock it began to get quite dark, and i was just setting out to see if i could find any trace of them when general mary jane returned. [illustration: "and donkey rides"] "oh, sir!" she exclaimed directly she saw me, "what do you think? his majesty and the doctor-in-law and the others are down at the fair by hammersmith bridge, and they are 'aving such a lark. i see them all 'aving a roundabout as i was coming past on my way 'ome from my sister's just now; such a crowd there was a cheering and a hollering. cocoa-nut shies, too, a boy told me they had been 'aving, and old aunt sally, and donkey rides along the towing path." [illustration: "they are 'aving such a lark"] i hurriedly put on my hat and rushed off to hammersmith, for i didn't know what might happen to my guests among the rough crowd which i knew usually gathered there. when i arrived on the scene i found the whole party on the roundabout, and when they alighted i learned that the doctor-in-law had arranged with one of the show people to share the proceeds of exhibiting the wallypug and a. fish, esq., in separate tents, at 3d. a head. i met with considerable opposition from the show people in my endeavours to persuade my guests to come home, as they had evidently been a source of considerable profit to them, though the man with the cocoa-nut shies declared that the doctor-in-law had claimed a great many more nuts than he was properly entitled to. the crowd made quite a demonstration when we departed in a four-wheeler, and the rhymester evidently considered it a compliment that the contents of so many "ladies' tormentors," as the little tubes filled with water are called, were directed at him. altogether the whole party had evidently been delighted with their evening's amusement, though, as i explained to them while we were driving home, it was highly inconsistent with the dignity of his majesty's position, and calculated to cause him to be treated with a certain amount of disrespect. i could see, however, that all i said had very little effect on any of the party, and that they were one and all highly delighted with their adventure. chapter vii more adventures "it's the most contraryish place i've ever seen," declared one-and-nine. "yes," agreed the wallypug. "there was no water in the moat." "the drawbridge didn't draw," echoed the rhymester. "ad the beefeaters didn't eat beef," chimed in a. fish, esq., while the doctor-in-law declared that for his part he "considered the morning spent there had been entirely wasted." they were talking about the tower of london, and were telling girlie and boy, who were spending the afternoon with us, all about their visit there on the previous day. i was sitting in an adjoining room--but the door being open i could hear all that was said. "how did you go?" asked boy. "oh!" exclaimed the wallypug, "in the most extraordinary way you can possibly imagine. we went into a house in high street, kensington, and bought some little tickets, and then we handed them to a man at a barrier, who cut a little piece out of each one as we passed through." "to rebebber us by," chimed in a. fish, esq. "yes," continued the wallypug; "and then we went down two flights of stairs, and by-and-bye a lot of little houses on wheels came rushing into the station, and we got into one of them and before you could say 'jack robinson' we were rushing through a big black tunnel under the ground." "why, you mean the underground railway," declared girlie. "yes," agreed his majesty. "and the little room we sat in had beautiful soft cushions and a big light in the middle of the roof, and little texts printed on the wall--" "texts!" exclaimed both of the children. "texts," repeated the wallypug. "what were they? do you remember?" he asked of the others. "oh, one was, 'you are requested not to put your feet on the cushions,'" said the rhymester. "oh, yes, and 'to seat five,' and 'wait till the train stops'--i remember now," continued the wallypug. "well, we kept rushing through the tunnel till we came to 'holman's mustard,' and a lot of people got out, and then we went on again till we came to 'smears' soap.'" [illustration: "holman's mustard again"] "it wasn't 'smears' soap,'" contradicted the doctor-in-law. "it was somebody's ink." "well, there were such a lot of names," declared the wallypug, "it was impossible to really tell which was which. i always took the name opposite to my window to be the right one. the funniest part of it all was, we kept coming to 'holman's mustard' over and over again. i can't think how on earth the people know when to get out." "why, those weren't the names of the stations at all," laughed boy. "they were advertisements!" "well, where were the names of the stations then?" demanded his majesty. "why, in big letters on the walls of course," was the reply. "they couldn't have been much bigger than those of 'holman's mustard,'" persisted the wallypug somewhat ungrammatically. "never mind about that; get on with your story," remarked the doctor-in-law impatiently. "well, after going through a lot of tunnels and stopping ever so many times, we got out at one of the stations and went upstairs into the light again, and almost opposite the station we could see a lot of grey stone buildings with towers and battlements." "i know! you mean the tower. we've been there," interrupted girlie. "did you see the lions?" asked the wallypug eagerly. "lions! no!" exclaimed the children. "there weren't any; you didn't see any, did you?" "no, we didn't," admitted the wallypug, "but the doctor-in-law told us that there were some there." "i read it in a book," declared the doctor-in-law. "but i daresay it was all a pack of stories, like the rest of the things they said. look at the crown jewels for instance--bits of glass and rubbish. that's why they put them in an iron cage, so you can't get at them to see if they are real." "oh! i think they _are_ real," said boy. "the guide told us that they were worth ever so many thousands of pounds." "yes, he may have _said_ so," remarked the doctor-in-law, "but i'll be bound he wouldn't let you take them away and examine them for yourself. i asked them to let me have one or two of the crowns and things to take home and test, but they positively refused, although i promised to return them within a week. they are afraid that we should find out that they are only imitations--that's what's the matter." "there weren't any kings or queens executed either the day we were there," he continued, grumbling. "well, i'm sure i'm very glad that _that_ fashion has died out," declared his majesty. "i don't mind admitting now that i was rather nervous about going at all, for fear that i should have _my_ head chopped off, and i should feel so very awkward without one, you know." "pooh! you needn't have been alarmed, for there wasn't a lord high executioner on the premises, because i asked," declared the rhymester. "no, but do you know," said his majesty, "i've found out since, that he lives at the bottom of our street, and mends shoes for a living--he does a little executing still on the sly, for i have seen his bill in the window, 'orders _executed_ with promptness and dispatch.' i asked him one day what class he executed most, and he said that his connection was principally amongst the 'uppers.' he seems a very kind man though, and not only executes orders, but heals them too, poor souls! he charges 1s. 3d. for healing. his education has been sorely neglected, i am afraid, however, for he spells it 'heeling.'" "did you see the armoury at the tower?" asked boy. "yes, and there was another instance of deception," declared the doctor-in-law. "what do you mean?" asked boy. "well, what is an armoury?" inquired the doctor-in-law. "a place where arms are kept, i suppose," replied boy. "just so, and there wasn't an arm in the place except our own," said the doctor-in-law wrathfully. "why, they call guns and things arms," said boy, laughing. "oh! do they?" remarked the doctor-in-law sarcastically. "why don't they call things by their proper names then? they might as well call them legs, or turnips, or paraffin oil--bah! i've no patience with such folly!" [illustration: "they went for by calves"] "i think they bight feed the raveds[1] bedder," complained a. fish, esq. "they went for by calves, and if wud of those beefeaters hadn'd cub and driven theb away i shouldn't have had a leg left to stand up od." [1] he meant the tame ravens which are kept at the tower. "beefeaters, yes!" remarked the rhymester, "and a pretty lot they were. i tried several of them with a piece that i had brought with me in a little paper bag, and not one of them would touch it." "madame tussaud's was better; we went there in the afternoon," said his majesty. "yes, but who was to know which were wax figures and which were not?" asked the doctor-in-law. "well, you made a pretty muddle of it anyhow," said the wallypug. "do you know," he went on, "the doctor-in-law made us all pay sixpence each towards the catalogue, and then went around with us explaining the various groups. he had just finished telling us that several ladies, who were standing together, were henry the eighth's wives, when they all marched off looking highly indignant." "well, how was i to know?" remarked the doctor-in-law pettishly. "i'd never met a single one of henry the eighth's wives in my life, and how was i to recognize them?" "i don't think they would have binded so butch if the rhymebster hadn't pinched wud of theb to see if they were alive or dot," remarked a. fish, esq. "did you see the sleeping beauty?" asked girlie. [illustration: he could get no answer] "oh, yes! isn't it cruel to keep her shut up in that case," cried the wallypug. "i'm sure she's alive, for we could see her breathing quite distinctly. i was so concerned about it that i asked the doctor-in-law to speak to a policeman who was standing near by about it. but he could get no answer from him, and we found out afterwards that he was only a wax figure." "the best thig of all," remarked a. fish, esq., "was whed we all pretended that we--" "dear me, it's very warm!" interrupted the doctor-in-law. "let's change the subject." "pretended that we--" continued a. fish, esq. "hush--sh--sh--!" cried the doctor-in-law in a warning voice. "the fact of the matter is," explained the rhymester, "the doctor-in-law got us all to pretend that we were wax figures ourselves, and he tied little money boxes in front of us with the words: 'put a penny in the slot and the figure will move,' written on them, and when anyone put a penny in we all moved our heads and rolled our eyes about." "i didn't!" said the wallypug. "no, i know you didn't," replied the rhymester. "and the doctor-in-law had to explain that you were out of order, and that's how we were found out, for the people wanted their money back and he wouldn't give it to them, so they called the attendant, and we had to go out as quickly as we could." "ad wasn't id beade?" said a. fish, esq. "there were four shillings ad threepedce id the boxes, ad the doctor-id-law wouldn't give us a penny of id." "well, i let you pay my fare home. that amounted to the same thing," replied the little man. just then mrs. putchy came in with afternoon tea, and i joined my guests in the drawing-room. chapter viii his majesty is interviewed the next morning we were all seated around the breakfast table laughing over our adventures of the evening before, when we had visited the earl's court exhibition together. we had been up in the great wheel, and having passed through the pretty old english village were walking around the artificial lake listening to the band playing in their little pavilion on the island in the middle, when the doctor-in-law declared that he heard a strange trumpeting sound, and asked me what it could be. i had not heard it and so could not tell him, and we were just discussing the matter when the wallypug clutched wildly at his crown, and turning around we saw a huge elephant lifting it gracefully off his head with its trunk. directly his majesty realized what it was, he gave a wild scream and took to his heels, as did all the others, with the exception of the rhymester, who tripped against a stone and lay with his head buried in his arms for some time, kicking and screaming for help. of course it was only the tame elephant that carries the children on its back, but to the unaccustomed eyes of the wallypug and his party it seemed, so they told me afterwards, some strange and awful monster ready to devour them. as i said, we were laughing merrily over this adventure when the postman arrived, and the doctor-in-law, without asking to be excused from the table, rushed out to meet him, and returned a few minutes later with his arms loaded with a number of little packages and one rather large box, which had arrived by carter paterson. "dear me, what a lot of letters," remarked his majesty. "yes. wouldn't you like to know what they are all about, eh?" inquired the doctor-in-law. "yes, i should," admitted the wallypug; while the faces of the others all expressed the same curiosity. [illustration: a strange and awful monster] "well, i'll tell you what i'll do," said the doctor-in-law. "if you'll all pay me fourpence halfpenny each, i will let you open them and see for yourselves." there was a little grumbling at this, but eventually the money changed hands, and, the breakfast things having been removed, the little packages were opened with great eagerness. besides a printed circular, each one contained some little article--a pencil case, a pen knife, a comb, a sample tin of knife polish, a card of revolving collar studs, and so on. "ah!" remarked the doctor-in-law complacently as these articles were spread about the table; "i told you that i expected to derive a princely revenue from my correspondence, and now i will explain to you how it is done. i observed a great number of advertisements in the daily papers, stating that 'a handsome income could be earned without the slightest trouble or inconvenience, and particulars would be forwarded to any one sending six stamps and an addressed envelope'; so i sent off about twenty, and here is the result. i see by these circulars that i have only to sell two hundred of these little pencil cases at half-a-crown each in order to earn 1s. 6d. commission, and for every dozen tins of knife polish i sell, i shall be paid 1-1/2d., besides being able to earn 6d. a thousand by addressing envelopes for one firm, if i supply my own envelopes." "what's in the big box?" inquired the rhymester. "a dittig bachede," replied a. fish, esq., who had been busily engaged in opening it. "a what?" exclaimed the others. "a dittig bachede for dittig socks," repeated a. fish, esq. "oh yes, of course!" explained the doctor-in-law, "a knitting machine. i was persuaded to buy it on the understanding that i was to have constant work all the year round, and be paid so much per pair for knitting socks with it. it's a most interesting and amusing occupation, and, i'll tell you what, i don't mind letting any one of you use the machine for sixpence an hour, if you find your own worsted and give me the socks when they are finished. there now! nothing could be fairer than that, could it?" [illustration: the "dittig bachede"] and positively a. fish, esq., was so infatuated with the charms of the "dittig bachede," as he called it, that he actually agreed to these terms, and sent out for some worsted, and commenced "dittig" with great enthusiasm. the doctor-in-law then set the rhymester to work, addressing the envelopes on the understanding that he was to share the sixpence per thousand to be paid for them. and, having bothered the wallypug and myself into buying a pencil-case and a knife each, in order to get rid of him, he started off to the kitchen to see if he could do any business with mrs. putchy in the knife-polish or black-lead line. his majesty and myself were just saying what an extraordinary little man he was, when he burst in upon us again. "heard the news?" he inquired, his face beaming with importance. "no. what is it?" inquired the others eagerly. "ah! wouldn't you like to know?" exclaimed the doctor-in-law. "how much will you give me for telling you?" "how much do you want?" asked the rhymester dubiously. "a penny each," was the reply. "come on then, let's have it," said the rhymester, collecting the pennies from the others and handing them to the doctor-in-law. "why--er--er--queen anne is dead, and the dutch have taken holland--yah!" and the little man burst out laughing. "oh! i say, that's _too_ bad," grumbled the wallypug. "isn't it now?" he cried, appealing to me. "well, really," i replied, "you shouldn't be so silly as to give him money. you ought to know by this time what to expect from him." "no, but truly," said the doctor-in-law, pulling a serious face, "i _have_ got some news, the other was only my fun. a lady is going to call on us at eleven, to interview the wallypug. i had almost forgotten it." "a lady!" i exclaimed. "whoever do you mean?" "oh, she's the duchess of something. i forget her name," answered the doctor-in-law nonchalantly. "she called the other day while you were out, and explained that she was a contributor to one of the latest society magazines, and was anxious to send an illustrated interview with the wallypug, to her paper; so--a-hem!--after we had come to terms, i arranged for her to come to-day and see him. you had better go and make yourself tidy, hadn't you?" he continued, turning to the wallypug. "well, really," i interposed, "i think you might have consulted his majesty first, before making these arrangements." "oh! do you?" said the doctor-in-law rudely. "well, i don't see that it's any business of yours, my good sir--so there!" and he bounced out of the room again, rattling his sample tins. it was nearly eleven then, and a few minutes afterwards a beautifully-appointed carriage drew up to the door, and mrs. putchy brought up a card inscribed: [illustration: _her grace the duchess of mortlake._] and immediately ushered in a fashionably-dressed lady, who smilingly offered me the tips of her fingers. "oh, _how_ do you do? you are the gentleman, i think, who is to introduce me to his majesty, are you not?" "well, really, your grace, we have only just heard of the appointment, but his majesty the wallypug will be very pleased to receive you i am sure." "and is that his majesty at the other end of the room?" whispered the duchess. "pray present me." i made the necessary introduction, and the duchess gave the regulation court 'dip,' which the wallypug gravely imitated, and then in his usual simple manner offered his hand with a smile. [illustration: in the most approved fashion] her grace made a deep presentation curtsey and bowed over it in the most approved fashion; but the wallypug, evidently unused to being treated with so much ceremony, withdrew it hastily and remarked nervously but politely: "won't you take a seat, madam?" "say, 'your grace,'" i whispered. "what for?" asked his majesty blankly. "because this lady is a duchess, and you must always say 'your grace' when speaking to her," i replied. "oh!" said the wallypug vaguely--then going up to the duchess he solemnly said, "i'm grace." "no, no!" i explained. "you don't understand me. i mean, when you speak to this lady you must call her 'your grace.'" "dear me, how stupid of me, to be sure!" said his majesty. "i understand now. i beg your pardon. i meant to say, 'you are my grace,' madam," he continued, addressing himself to the duchess. her grace amiably laughed away this little mistake, and was soon busy asking questions. the wallypug, however, got very nervous, and made a shocking lot of mistakes in his answers. he couldn't even say how old he was. "i know i've been in the family for years," he remarked, "and i fancy i must have come over with william the conqueror. such a lot of people did that, you know, and it's so respectable. i don't remember it, of course; but then i've been told that i was born very young, and so naturally i shouldn't do so." "does your majesty remember any of the incidents of your early life?" asked the duchess. "i was considered remarkably bald for my age as an infant," replied the wallypug simply. "and i believe i had several measles, and a mump or two as a child. but i don't wish to boast about them," he added modestly. "where were you educated, your majesty?" was the next question. "i wasn't," replied the wallypug with a sigh. "does your majesty mean that you received no education at all?" asked the duchess in surprise. "oh! i was taught reading, and writing, and arithmetic, and the use of the globes, and latin and greek, and all that rubbish, of course," replied the wallypug. "but i mean there were no universities at why, where i could receive a higher education, and be taught cricket, and football, and rowing, and all those classical things taught at oxford and cambridge, you know. i was considered the best boy in my form at marbles though," he added proudly. "and i could beat any of the masters at hop scotch." "what is your favourite diet, your majesty?" came next. "oh! jumbles, i think--or bull's eyes. i'm very fond of hardbake too, and i love cocoa-nut ice." a few more questions such as these, and her grace took her departure, after taking several snap-shot photographs of various articles in the drawing room. i felt convinced that with such a scanty amount of information at her disposal the duchess would have great difficulty in writing an article on the wallypug, and was therefore the more surprised a few days later to receive a copy of the magazine which her grace represented, with a long and particular account of the interview, under the heading of, "'why wallypug and wherefore of why?' by a lady of title." into it her grace had introduced the most preposterous and extravagant statements about his majesty. we learned with amazement that "the wallypug came of a very ancient family, and had early been distinguished for many remarkable accomplishments. while at school his majesty displayed such a natural aptitude for learning as to readily out-distance his instructors." "i suppose that's because i said i played hop scotch better than the masters," commented his majesty, to whom i was reading the account aloud. [illustration: the faithful hound] photographs of various articles in the drawing-room, which had no connection whatever with the wallypug, were reproduced with the most extraordinary and absolutely untrue stories attached to them. dick and mrs. mehetable murchison appeared as "the wallypug's favourite cat and dog," while pathetic stories were told of how the dog had on several occasions saved his royal master from an untimely and watery grave, while the cat had prevented him from being burned to death while reading in bed by gently scratching his nose when he had fallen asleep, and the candle had set fire to the bed curtains. sensational illustrations were also given depicting these incidents, which of course were purely imaginary. it was very remarkable to notice though, that directly the article of the duchess's appeared, invitations from all sorts of grand people poured in upon us--and the daily papers suddenly woke up to the fact that the wallypug and his suite were very important personages, and devoted whole columns to "our mysterious foreign guests," as they called them. [illustration: the sagacious pussy] there was always more or less of a crowd outside the house now, and when his majesty drove in the park, the people all stood up on the little green seats to get a better view of him as he passed. chapter ix the wallypug's own it was shortly after this that the doctor-in-law, hearing what a vast fortune might be made in literature, decided to start a magazine of his own. [illustration: the doctor-in-law was editor] after a lot of argument it was thought best to call it _the wallypug's own_, as the name was considered a striking one. the first number was to be a very elaborate affair, and, for weeks before it appeared, all of my guests were busily engaged in its production. "there will be a good opportunity for some of your poems appearing at last," hinted the doctor-in-law to the rhymester, which so delighted the poor little fellow that he set to work at once upon a number of new ones. a. fish, esq., contributed a very learned article on the subject of "the prevalence of toothache amongst fish: its cause and treatment"; while the great attraction of the number was an historical article by the wallypug on the subject of "julius caesar," illustrated by his majesty himself. as a special favour, the original drawing was presented to me by his majesty, and i am thus enabled to reproduce it for your benefit. his majesty confided to me that parts of it were traced from a picture which appeared in the _boys' own paper_ some time ago, but of course we did not tell everybody that. [illustration: from "the wallypug's own"] the essay itself was quite original, and was worded somehow like this: "_julius caesar was a man, and he lived in rome. he came over to conquer britain because he heard there was a lot of tin here, and when he arrived he said in latin_, 'veni, vidi, vici,' _which means, 'i have come, and thou wilt have to skedaddle', which has been the british motto ever since. but the ancient britons who lived here then, didn't understand latin, and so they went for julius caesar, and shook their fists in his face, and tried to drive him and his followers away. but julius caesar and the romans were civilized, and had daggers and things, and shields, and wore firemen's helmets, and kilts like scotchmen, so they soon overcame the ancient britons; and they built london wall, and made a lot of combs, and glass tear-bottles, and brooches, and sarcophaguses, that you can see in the museum at the guildhall; and then they went back to rome, and julius caesar was stabbed by his friend brutus, to show how much he liked him; and caesar, when he found out he was stabbed, cried out in latin_, 'et tu, brute,' _which means 'oh, you brute,' and lived happy ever after. i have drawn the picture of julius caesar landing in britain--that's him waving things, and calling to the others to come on._" the doctor-in-law was editor, and arranged a number of competitions, and in order to enter for them you had only to send two shillings in stamps, while the prizes were advertised as follows: first prize, â£1000 a year for life; second prize, thirty-six grand pianos and fourteen bicycles; third prize, a sewing machine and six cakes of scented soap. the prizes were to be awarded for the first correct answers received by post, but the doctor-in-law took good care to write three sets of answers himself, and put them in our letter-box a half-an-hour before the first post arrived, so that nobody got prizes but himself. he made a good deal of money, too, by pretending to tell your fortune by the creases in your collar. all you had to do was to send an old collar and fourteen penny stamps, and you would receive a letter in reply similar to this: "you are probably either a male or a female, and will no doubt live till you die. you like to have your own way when you can get it, and when you can't you get very cross and irritable. you are not so young as you were a few years ago, and you dislike pain of any kind. you will remain single until you marry, and whichever you do you will probably wish you hadn't." the greatest novelty, however, which the doctor-in-law introduced in his new magazine was his system of telling your character by your watch and chain. there was no fee charged, and all you had to do was to send your watch and chain (gold preferred), and the doctor-in-law would tell your character, quite correctly. it generally was as follows: "you are a silly donkey, for no one but a donkey would think of sending his watch and chain to a stranger, and if you imagine that you will ever see it again, you are greatly mistaken." the rhymester only had one poem in after all, as, when it came to the point, the doctor-in-law charged him a guinea a verse for printing it, and the poor rhymester could not afford more than one poem at that rate. this is what he sent: [illustration] the new robin. the north wind doth blow, and we ought to have snow, if 'tis true what my nurse used to sing, poor thing. yet up in yon tree robin redbreast i see as happy and gay as a king, poor thing. look! as true as i live, there's a boy with a sieve and a stick and a long piece of string, poor thing. but the bird doesn't care, for i hear him declare, "pooh! the old dodge he tried in the spring, poor thing." "what ridiculous cheek," and he turns up his beak ere he tucks his head under his wing, poor thing. [illustration] the poor rhymester was very disappointed at not being able to publish more of his poems, so the doctor-in-law, to console him, allowed him to contribute an article on "fashions for the month by our paris model." he made a frightful muddle of it though, not knowing the proper terms in which to describe the various materials and styles. here is an extract, which will show you better than i can tell, the stupid blunders which he made: "_hats this season are principally worn on the head, and may be trimmed with light gauzy stuff wobbled round the crown mixed up with various coloured ribbons, and bunches of artificial flowers and fruit._ "_artificial vegetables are not much worn, although a cauliflower or two and a bunch of carrots, with a few cabbages, would form a striking and novel decoration for a hat. if this trimming is considered insufficient, a few brightly coloured tomatoes stuck round the brim might be added, and would render the head-gear particularly 'chic.'_ "_hats for the theatre should be worn large and handsomely trimmed, but for the economically inclined--a last year's clothes basket trimmed with art muslin, which may be purchased of any good draper at 1-3/4d. a yard, cut on the cross and tucked with chiffons, would form a sweetly simple hat, and if tied beneath the chin with an aigrette, and the front filled in with sequins, it would readily be mistaken for one of the new early victorian bonnets which continue to be worn by the upper housemaids in most aristocratic families._ _"i hear that dresses are to be worn again this year by ladies. the most fashionable ones will be made of various sorts of material._ _"a charming walking costume suitable for the autumn may be made of shaded grenadine, trimmed with buckram pom-poms, made up on the selvedge edge."_ there was a lot more nonsense of this kind which i did not at all understand, but which some lady friends who understood these things made great fun of. you will be surprised, no doubt, to hear that in a weak moment i allowed myself to be persuaded into contributing a little experience of my own. the rhymester told me that it was shockingly bad rhyme, but i think that he was jealous because the doctor-in-law published it. anyhow, here it is, so you can judge for yourself. i call it he and i and it. oh he was a publisher and i was a publishee, and it was a book which the publisher took and pub-l-i-s-h-e-d. the publisher's smile it was bland, 'twas a beautiful smile to see, as again and again he took pains to explain how large my "half-profits" _might_ be. it had a capital sale, well reviewed by the _times_ and _d.t._, and a great many more, so my friends by the score came around to congratulate me. [illustration: it had a capital sale] and people i scarcely had met, just "dropped in" to afternoon tea; while my aunt, who's a swell, _now_ remembered quite well that i was related to she. and girls that were rich and plain, or pretty and poor, did agree to let me suppose that i'd but to propose to be m-a-r-r-i-e-d. [illustration: my friends all turned tail] yes, he published it in the spring, that season of frolic and glee; "in the autumn," he said, gravely nodding his head, "'half-profits' will mean l.s.d." but autumn has come and gone, and i'm so to say, "all at sea," for he sobs and he sighs and he turns up his eyes when i ask what my "half-profits" be. there are "charges for this, and for that," and for "things that he couldn't foresee," and he "very much fears," so he says twixt his tears, "that there won't be a penny for me." oh! rich is the publisher and poor is the publishee; of the profits of it i shall touch not a bit, they are all swallowed up by he. the girls now all treat me with scorn- aunt turns up her n-o-s-e, and my friends all turn tail, while my book they assail and call rubbish and twad-d-l-e. even one-and-nine and general mary jane were smitten with a desire to rush into print, and i overheard them concocting a tragic love story in the kitchen, and they were highly indignant later on, because the doctor-in-law would not accept it. you can hardly wonder at it though, for it really was too bad for anything. it was called "the viscount's revenge," and in it several characters who had been killed in the first part of the book kept cropping up all through the story in a most confusing manner, while one-and-nine and general mary jane could not agree as to whether the heroine should be dark or fair, so in one part of the book she had beautiful golden hair and blue eyes, and in another she was described as "darkly, proudly handsome, with a wealth of dusky hair and eyes as black as night." [illustration: the literary housemaid] at the last moment it was found necessary to include another poem in the magazine, and, as all of the rhymester's were too long, the doctor-in-law decided to write one himself, which he called commercial problems. why doth the little busy bee not charge so much an hour, for gathering honey day by day from every opening flower? and can you tell me why, good sir, the birds receive no pay for singing sweetly in the grove throughout the livelong day? why flow'rs should bloom about the place and give their perfume free, in so unbusinesslike a way, seems very odd to me. i cannot meet a single cow that charges for her milk, and though they are not paid a sou, the silkworms still spin silk. while ducks and hens, i grieve to find, lay eggs for nothing too, which is a most ridiculous and foolish thing to do. these problems often puzzle me; i lie awake at night, and think and think what i can do to set this matter right. i've found a way at last, and though it may at first seem funny, it cannot fail--'tis this: _you_ pay, and _i'll_ collect the money. chapter x the wallypug goes to windsor while they were all busy in the preparation of _the wallypug's own_, i thought it an excellent opportunity to run down to folkestone in order to make arrangements for hiring a house, as i intended taking my guests to the seaside for a few weeks. i felt a little anxious about leaving them to themselves, but hoped that they would be too busy and interested in the new magazine to get into trouble. it was most unfortunate that i should have gone just then though, for directly i had left the wallypug received a polite letter from one of the court officials to say that the queen would be pleased to receive his majesty and suite at windsor on the following day. [illustration: a royal invitation] of course, as you may imagine, the wallypug was in a great state of excitement at receiving this royal invitation, and wished to telegraph at once for me to return and advise them how to act and what to do, on this important occasion; however, the doctor-in-law, so i have been given to understand, persuaded his majesty not to do anything of the sort, and added that i "was always poking about and interfering, and was better out of the way"; so his majesty, who was very anxious to do the right thing, consulted mrs. putchy as to the proper costume to be worn, and the etiquette to be observed. "well, your majesty," remarked mrs. putchy in reply, "i scarcely know what to advise. when in my younger days, i acted as lady's maid to the countess of wembley, i know her ladyship wore a court train and carried a bouquet when she was presented to the queen." "where did the engine go?" asked his majesty curiously. "the engine!" exclaimed mrs. putchy. "yes; you said she wore a train, didn't you?" said the wallypug. "oh! but i didn't mean that kind of train," laughed mrs. putchy; "i meant a long sort of cloak fastened on to the shoulders and trailing along the ground at the back--they are generally made of satin and velvet, and are decorated with flowers and feathers and lace, and that sort of thing. your majesty's cloak would do nicely if i trimmed it for you." "but are you sure that gentlemen wear these sort of things?" inquired the wallypug. "well, i couldn't rightly say, your majesty, but i'm sure i've seen pictures of kings and such like wearing trains which were borne by pages, so i feel sure your majesty would be safe in wearing one." so it was arranged that, after having been carefully brushed, his majesty's velvet cloak was to be gaily decorated with lace and large bunches of flowers, and, to make the thing complete, a large bouquet was tied around his sceptre, and, at the rhymester's suggestion, little knots of flowers were attached to the knobs of his majesty's crown. the little man was highly delighted with his appearance when all these arrangements were concluded, and could get but very little sleep that night for thinking of the great honour which was to be his the next day. the whole household was early astir in the morning, and at about eleven o'clock the carriage came to take the royal guests to the station. arrived at waterloo, the doctor-in-law, after making various inquiries as to the price of the tickets, etc., actually had the meanness, despite the remonstrance of the railway officials, to insist upon the whole party travelling down third-class, remarking that he "found the third-class carriages reached there quite as soon as the first, and a penny saved was a penny gained." the station master at windsor was particularly put out about it, as, in honour of his majesty's visit, the station had been gaily decorated and a carpet laid down to the carriage door. his majesty, however, made a brave show as he walked up the platform preceded by the doctor-in-law, his gaily decorated train borne by the rhymester, and followed by a. fish, esq., and one-and-nine, the latter carrying a mysterious bandbox, which contained a present from the wallypug to her majesty. (see frontispiece.) inside and out the station was crowded with curious spectators, all eager to catch a glimpse of his majesty and his remarkable retinue, and cheer after cheer resounded as the station master, bare-headed and bowing, ushered the party to the royal carriage with the red and gold-liveried servants, which had been sent from the castle to meet them. the bells were ringing, and the streets were crowded as they drove through the old town, and his majesty thoroughly enjoyed the drive, while the doctor-in-law was quite in his element amidst all this fuss and excitement. i did not care to inquire too fully into the details of his majesty's interview with the queen, but i was given to understand that the whole party was treated with the utmost kindness. her majesty graciously accepted at the wallypug's hands a gilded crown, an exact copy of the one he wore himself, and which he had had made expressly for her majesty, having been struck by the fact that her majesty's real crown was always kept locked up in the tower, and hoping that perhaps this one would do for second best. i could not gather that her majesty had actually promised to wear it, but i do know that the wallypug was made exceedingly proud and happy by the gift of a portrait of her majesty herself, with the royal autograph attached, and that he will always remember the occasion of his visit to windsor, and the kindness with which he was treated by everyone, particularly by the little princes and princesses, her majesty's great grand-children, who led him about the castle grounds, and showed him their pets, and the flowers, and conservatories, and all the wonderful sights of that wonderful place. in the evening there was a dinner party, at which her majesty did not appear, and early the next morning a royal carriage again drove them to the station _en route_ for london. all this i learned on my return from folkestone. i also heard of an extraordinary evening party which had been given at my house during my absence. it appears that the invitations had been sent out by the doctor-in-law the very day upon which i left, and about thirty guests, including the duchess of mortlake, had been invited. unfortunately, however, this visit to windsor had entirely driven the matter from the wallypug's mind, and the others had forgotten about it too, and so a pretty confusion was the result. it appears that one evening about seven o'clock they were all in the kitchen making toffee, having persuaded mrs. putchy to let them have the frying-pan and some sugar and butter, and it having been cooking for some time the doctor-in-law had just told the wallypug to stick his finger in and see if it was done, when mrs. putchy came in to say that some ladies and gentlemen had arrived, and were waiting in the drawing-room. [illustration: to see if it was done] all of a sudden it flashed upon their minds that _this_ was the evening upon which they had invited their visitors to the party. whatever was to be done? not the slightest preparation had been made--and his majesty and the others were all more or less in a sticky condition, and quite unfit to be seen by company. a hurried consultation took place, during which they could hear more and more guests arriving, and at last, by a brilliant inspiration, the doctor-in-law thought of making it a surprise party, similar to those given in america. "it won't cost us anything either," he remarked complacently. "but what is a surprise party?" asked the others. "never mind, you'll see presently," remarked the little man. "run and wash your hands now and make yourselves tidy." a few minutes later the whole party filed into the drawing-room, the wallypug looking rather blank and nervous, and the doctor-in-law full of profuse apologies for having kept the guests waiting so long. "by the way," he remarked airily, "i suppose you all know that it's a surprise party." "dear me, no," said the duchess of mortlake, speaking for the others. "whatever is that; i don't think it was mentioned on the cards of invitation, was it?" "ah! a trifling oversight," remarked the doctor-in-law. "a surprise party," he continued in explanation, "is one at which each guest is expected to contribute something towards the supper--some bring one thing and some another. what have you brought, may i ask, your grace?" "well, really," said the duchess, "i've never heard of such a thing in my life before. i've not brought anything at all, of course; i'm surprised at your asking me such a question." "ah, yes, just so," remarked the doctor-in-law triumphantly, "just what i told you--a _surprise_ party, don't you see! now, what i would advise is that you should all go out and order various things to be sent in for supper; we, for our part, will provide some excellent toffee, and then you can come back and help us to set the tables and all that sort of thing, you know--it's the greatest fun in the world, i assure you." and really the little man carried it off with such gaiety, that entering into the spirit of the thing the guests really did as he suggested, and went out and ordered the things, and afterwards came back, and, amidst great laughter and fun, the tables were laid, every one doing some share of the work, with the exception of the doctor-in-law, who contented himself with directing the others and chatting to the ladies. [illustration: the wallypug helps] the poor dear wallypug amiably toiled backward and forward between the kitchen and dining-room with great piles of plates and other heavy articles, and a. fish, esq., in his eagerness to help, was continually treading on his own tail, upsetting himself and the various dishes entrusted to his charge. [illustration: a. fish, esq., upset] at last, however, the supper was set, and the merriest evening you can possibly imagine was spent by the guests. his majesty was in capital spirits, and after supper suggested a little dancing, which suggestion was hailed with delight by the others, and, having moved some of the furniture out of the drawing-room and pushed the rest away into corners, the wallypug led off with her grace the duchess of mortlake, and quite distinguished himself in "sir roger de coverley." afterwards there was a little singing and music, several of the guests contributing to the evening's entertainment. amongst other items was a song by a. fish, esq., rendered as well as his bad cold would permit, of which the first lines ran: i'b siddig here ad lookig at the bood, love, ad thinkig ov the habby days of old, wed you ad i had each a wooded spood, love, to eat our porridge wed we had a cold. altogether the evening was such a success that her grace declared that it should not be her fault if surprise parties were not the fashion in society during the coming winter. chapter xi his majesty at the seaside i sent mrs. putchy and general mary jane down to the house, which i had engaged on the "lees" at folkestone, the day before we were to go, in order to see that everything was ready for us. "the only thing that is wrong is the kitchen chimney, and that smokes, sir," said mrs. putchy, in answer to my inquiry on the night of our arrival. "i think that we had better have the sweep in the morning, sir." "very well, mrs. putchy, i'm sure you know best," i replied, and thought no more of the matter. early in the morning, however, i was awakened by screams and cries proceeding from the lower part of the house. "help! help! burglars! fire and police! thieves!" screamed a voice, and hastily dressing myself, i rushed out into the passage, and was confronted by the rhymester, who had evidently just jumped out of bed, and who, though it was broad daylight, bore a lighted candle in one hand, and a pair of fire tongs in the other. his teeth were chattering with fright, and his knees were knocking together from the same cause. "what's the matter," i asked in alarm. "oh! oh! there are burglars in the house," he cried excitedly, "and the others have gone down to them; i'm sure they'll be killed--i told them not to go, but they would. let's go and hide under a bed somewhere. oh! oh, what will become of us?" "don't be such a coward," i cried, hurrying down stairs, while the poor little rhymester, afraid to be left alone upstairs, tremblingly followed. sure enough there was a sound of struggling going on, and voices raised in loud dispute. "oh, that story won't do for me," i heard the doctor-in-law exclaim. "but i tell yez, sor," chimed in another strange voice, "i waz only going to----" "never mind what you were going to do, give up the sack," said the doctor-in-law. then there were sounds of struggling, and amidst the confusion a voice saying: "hold him down! sit on him! that's right! now for the sack." and, bursting the door open, a curious sight met my eyes. a poor sweep lay flat upon the floor, with the wallypug sitting upon him, and one-and-nine keeping guard; while the doctor-in-law and a. fish, esq., examined his bag of soot in the corner. the poor little rhymester summoned up sufficient courage to peep in at the doorway, and stood there making a piteous picture, with his white face and trembling limbs. "whatever is the matter," i inquired as soon as i entered. "we've caught him!" exclaimed his majesty, complacently wriggling his toes about. "but what's he been doing," i asked. [illustration: "we've caught him!"] "av ye plaze, sor," groaned the man, panting beneath the wallypug's weight, "i have been doing nothing at all, at all. i waz just a-finishin' me warrak of swapin' the chimneys, wen one ov the ould gintleman came up an' poked me in the nose with a sthick, and the other ould gintleman knocked me over and sthole me bag, while the soger hild me down till the other gintleman sat on me--it's among a lot of murtherin' thaves i've got entoirely, savin' yer presince, sor." "the man is a burglar," declared the doctor-in-law emphatically. "i happened to hear a very suspicious noise down here, and calling to the others, rushed down just in time to catch this man making off with a bag of things. i think he was trying to escape up the chimney, for his head was half-way up when we entered, and this bag, which evidently contains plunder of some kind, is covered with soot too." "why, the man is a sweep, and was sweeping the chimney," i cried, pointing to his brushes and sticks; and after a lot of explanations the man was told to get up and his majesty, followed by the others, retired to his bedroom, evidently greatly disappointed that it was not a real burglar that they had been combating. the sweep, who was a very good-natured irishman, took it in very good part, and the present of half-a-crown sent him away quite reconciled to his assailants. the rhymester afterwards made a great boast that he had not taken any part in the mã©lã©e. "of course i knew all along that he wasn't a burglar," he declared, "and that's the reason why i wouldn't interfere." "you managed to do a good deal of screaming though, i noticed," remarked the doctor-in-law grumpily. "ah! that was only for fun," asserted the rhymester. this was really about the only remarkable incident which occurred during our holiday at folkestone, which passed very pleasantly and very quietly. we went for a sea bathe nearly every day, and his majesty would insist upon wearing his crown in the water on every occasion. "no one will know that i am a king if i don't," he declared; and i am bound to admit that his majesty did not look very regal in his bathing costume, particularly when he was dripping with water and his long straight hair hung half over his face, and even when he wore his crown he was continually catching bits of seaweed in it, which gave him a singularly untidy appearance for a king. [illustration: his majesty did not look very regal] a. fish, esq., with the assistance of a lifebuoy, nearly learned to swim while we were down there; but the doctor-in-law thought that hiring bathing machines was a foolish waste of money, and contented himself with taking off his shoes and stockings and paddling, which he could do without having to pay. one day, however, he was knocked completely over by an incoming wave, and got wet to the skin. we could never persuade the rhymester either, to go out further than just to his knees; but i rather fancy that that was because he was afraid of wetting his bathing costume, of which he was particularly proud, and which was decorated with smart little bows of ribbon wherever they could be conveniently put. fear may have had something to do with it though, for i noticed that he always clung very tightly to the rope, and never by any chance went beyond its length. the switchback railway was a source of infinite amusement, and a great deal of time was spent on it. boating was not much indulged in, as it made one or two of the party, particularly a. fish, esq., very ill; but we all enjoyed the beautiful drives in the neighbourhood. there was an excellent punch and judy show in the town too, which so fascinated his majesty that we could scarcely tear him away whenever he joined the admiring crowd which daily surrounded it. the fickle one-and-nine, while we were here, fell in love with a wax figure exhibited in a hair-dresser's window in sandgate road. it represented a beautiful lady with her hair dressed in the latest fashion, and the wooden soldier was greatly infatuated. he spent hours gazing through the window, watching the lady slowly revolve by clockwork; and he became frightfully jealous of the hair-dresser, whom he caught one morning rearranging the drapery around the lady's shoulders. eventually, with the assistance of the rhymester, he composed the following piece of poetry--which he stuck, by means of six gelatine sweets, on to the hair-dresser's window with the writing inside, in order that the lady might see it. to the beautiful lady in the hairdresser's window. i love you, oh! i love you, and i beg you to be mine; i'm a gallant wooden soldier, and my name is 1/9. if you will only marry me, 'twill be the greatest fun to puzzle folks by telling them, that we're both 2/1. 'twill be the truth, for man and wife are one, i beg to state, this fact's as clear as 4/4, or 2/6 make 8. they tell me, dear, you have no feet; but what is that to me? 2 feet be 4/2 behind on animals you see. that you have none, is 0 to me, dear 1/4 your sake, no trifles such as these shall e'er my true affections shake. i bought some penny tarts for you, but i am much distrest to tell you by mistake i sat on 1/8 the rest. one-and-nine was quite happy in finding that the paper had disappeared from the shop window when he passed by a little later, and declared that it must mean that the lady had accepted him and his poetry. i think the funniest incident of all though, in connection with our visit to folkestone, was when his majesty and the others went into carlo maestrani's for some ices. they had never tasted any before, and were very much surprised to find them so cold. i shall never forget the expression on the wallypug's face when, having rather greedily taken a very large mouthful, he could not swallow it, or dispose of it in any way. a. fish, esq., declared that it gave him a violent toothache; while the doctor-in-law called for the waiter, and insisted upon him taking it away. [illustration: "it's not properly cooked"] "it's not properly cooked," he declared angrily. "it's cold." "cook, sare, no, sare, it is not cook," agreed the waiter. "very well, then, take it away and bring us some that is. have it warmed up; do something with it. it's disgraceful bringing us stuff like that." and no argument or persuasion would convince the little man that the ices were as they should be. chapter xii the departure we remained at folkestone till the latter part of september, and then returned to london just about the time that the first number of _the wallypug's own_ made its appearance. it caused quite a sensation in literary circles, and was mentioned by most of the papers; but it did _not_ turn out a monetary success, and so the doctor-in-law declared that he must devise some other means of making money. we had been once or twice to the circus, and i fancy that it must have been his intention to start something of the sort himself, for i caught him one day trying to teach his majesty to walk the tight-rope; but as he had only tied the rope between two very light chairs the result was not very satisfactory, particularly to the poor wallypug, who came to the ground with a terrific crash. a. fish, esq., dressed as a clown, and certainly looked very funny; but his bad cold prevented him from speaking his jokes distinctly, and so the idea was given up. [illustration: the result was not satisfactory] in fact it was not till november that the doctor-in-law hit upon a plan which seemed to give him any great satisfaction. we had been talking a great deal about guy fawkes' day and the fireworks at the crystal palace, which we intended going to see in the evening, and the doctor-in-law had been particularly curious to know all about the day and its customs. he did not say much about his plans, but i felt sure that he was up to some of his tricks, for i caught him several times whispering mysteriously to the rhymester and a. fish, esq., and i noticed that they were all particularly kind and respectful to his majesty, as though they wished to keep him in a good humour. on the morning of the fifth, when i came down to breakfast, i was greatly surprised to find that the whole party had gone out about an hour previous, after borrowing from mrs. putchy a kitchen chair, four broomsticks, and a long piece of clothes-line. whatever were they up to? i asked mrs. putchy if they had left any message, but no--they had said nothing as to where they were going, what they were going to do, or when they would be back; and the only thing that had struck mrs. putchy as being at all remarkable about their appearance, was the fact that the rhymester had added little bows of coloured ribbon to his costume, and wore a tall pointed cap gaily decorated with streamers, and a deep white frill around his neck--the others were dressed as usual. i felt sure that some mischief was brewing, and could not settle down to my work for thinking of them. about eleven o'clock i went out to see if i could find any traces of my guests. i had been walking about unsuccessfully for about an hour, when i heard some boys shouting, and turning to look in their direction, i beheld his majesty calmly seated in a chair which, by means of long poles attached to it, was being carried along by the rhymester and a. fish, esq. they were followed by a crowd of people who were cheering lustily, and the doctor-in-law was rushing about collecting money in his hat, and entreating the people "not to forget the fifth of november," and repeating some doggerel verse about: "guy fawkes guy, stick him up high; stick him on a lamp-post, and there let him die," while several little boys were dancing about in great excitement, and shouting, "holler, boys! holler! here's another guy." [illustration: a triumphal procession] his majesty evidently regarded it as a great compliment to himself, and complacently bowed right and left with considerable dignity. and i found out that the doctor-in-law had persuaded him into believing that this triumphal procession had been arranged solely in his majesty's honour. i was naturally very vexed at the poor wallypug being imposed upon in this manner, and spoke very plainly to the doctor-in-law about it on our way home, and i think the little man must have taken it very much to heart, for he seemed quite subdued, and actually himself suggested sharing the proceeds of the collection with the others. we went to see the fireworks in the evening, and i don't ever remember seeing the party in such excellent spirits as they were that night. mrs. putchy had prepared a capital supper for us on our return, and i love to remember my friends as they appeared sitting around the supper table talking over the adventures and excitements of the day. i can see them now whenever i close my eyes--the dear old wallypug at the head of the table, with one-and-nine in attendance, and the others all talking at once about the jolly time they had had at the skating rink in the afternoon, when a. fish, esq., had vainly tried to get along with roller-skates fastened on to his tail. [illustration: a capital story] i say i love to remember them thus, for it was the last occasion upon which we were all together. early the next morning mrs. putchy came to my room, and in a very agitated voice said, "please sir, i'm afraid that there is something wrong; i have knocked at his majesty's door and can get no answer, and the doctor-in-law's room is empty too." i hurried down, and on the breakfast table i found a letter addressed to me, in which his majesty, on behalf of the others, thanked me very heartily for my hospitality, and explained that state matters of the utmost importance had necessitated their immediate return to why. how they went i have never been able to discover. the outer door of my flat was found to be locked on the inside as usual, and the windows were all fastened; besides which, as they were some distance from the ground, the royal party could scarcely have got out that way. altogether the whole affair was involved in a mystery which i have never been able to solve to this day. of course i miss my strange, but withal lovable visitors, very much, and i value very highly the several little mementoes of their visit which remained behind. amongst others is a cheque of the doctor-in-law's for a considerable amount; which, however, i shall never be able to cash, as it is drawn upon the bank of, "don't-you-wish-you-may-get-it," at why. general mary jane was inconsolable for some time after the departure of her soldier hero, but eventually married our milkman, a very steady and respectable man in the neighbourhood. girlie and boy and many other friends of the wallypug greatly regretted that they were unable to say good-bye to his majesty before he left; and often and often, as i sit alone in my study, i think about the simple-natured, good-hearted little fellow, and his remarkable followers, and wonder if i shall ever see them again. who knows? [illustration: i often think of them] the end glasgow: printed at the university press by robert maclehose and co. * * * * * a catalogue of books and announcements of methuen and company publishers: london 36 essex street w.c. contents page forthcoming books, 2 poetry, 10 belles lettres, 11 illustrated books, 13 history, 14 biography, 16 travel, adventure and topography, 18 general literature, 19 science, 21 philosophy, 22 theology, 22 leaders of religion, 24 fiction, 25 books for boys and girls, 34 the peacock library, 35 university extension series, 35 social questions of to-day, 36 classical translations, 37 educational books, 38 november 1897 november 1897. messrs. methuen's announcements #poetry# shakespeare's poems. edited, with an introduction and notes, by george wyndham, m.p. _crown 8vo._ _buckram. 6s._ this is a volume of the sonnets and lesser poems of shakespeare, and is prefaced with an elaborate introduction by mr. wyndham. english lyrics. selected and edited by w. e. henley. _crown 8vo._ _buckram. 6s._ also 15 copies on japanese paper. _demy 8vo._ _â£2, 2s. net._ few announcements will be more welcome to lovers of english verse than the one that mr. henley is bringing together into one book the finest lyrics in our language. nursery rhymes. with many coloured pictures. by f. d. bedford. _small 4to._ _5s._ this book has many beautiful designs in colour to illustrate the old rhymes. the odyssey of homer. a translation by j. g. cordery. _crown 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ #travel and adventure# british central africa. by sir h. h. johnston, k.c.b. with nearly two hundred illustrations, and six maps. _crown 4to._ _30s. net._ contents.--(1) the history of nyasaland and british central africa generally. (2) a detailed description of the races and languages of british central africa. (3) chapters on the european settlers and missionaries; the fauna, the flora, minerals, and scenery. (4) a chapter on the prospects of the country. with the greeks in thessaly. by w. kinnaird rose, reuter's correspondent. with plans and 23 illustrations. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a history of the operations in thessaly by one whose brilliant despatches from the seat of war attracted universal attention. the benin massacre. by captain boisragon. with portrait and map. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this volume is written by one of the two survivors who escaped the terrible massacre in benin at the beginning of this year. the author relates in detail his adventures and his extraordinary escape, and adds a description of the country and of the events which led up to the outbreak. from tonkin to india. by prince henri of orleans. translated by hamley bent, m.a. with 80 illustrations and a map. _crown 4to._ _25s._ the travels of prince henri in 1895 from china to the valley of the bramaputra covered a distance of 2100 miles, of which 1600 was through absolutely unexplored country. no fewer than seventeen ranges of mountains were crossed at altitudes of from 11,000 to 13,000 feet. the journey was made memorable by the discovery of the sources of the irrawaddy. to the physical difficulties of the journey were added dangers from the attacks of savage tribes. the book deals with many of the burning political problems of the east, and it will be found a most important contribution to the literature of adventure and discovery. three years in savage africa. by lionel decle. with an introduction by h. m. stanley, m.p. with 100 illustrations and 5 maps. _demy 8vo._ _21s._ few europeans have had the same opportunity of studying the barbarous parts of africa as mr. decle. starting from the cape, he visited in succession bechuanaland, the zambesi, matabeleland and mashonaland, the portuguese settlement on the zambesi, nyasaland, ujiji, the headquarters of the arabs, german east africa, uganda (where he saw fighting in company with the late major 'roddy' owen), and british east africa. in his book he relates his experiences, his minute observations of native habits and customs, and his views as to the work done in africa by the various european governments, whose operations he was able to study. the whole journey extended over 7000 miles, and occupied exactly three years. with the mounted infantry in mashonaland. by lieut.-colonel alderson. with numerous illustrations and plans. _demy 8vo._ _12s. 6d._ this is an account of the military operations in mashonaland by the officer who commanded the troops in that district during the late rebellion. besides its interest as a story of warfare, it will have a peculiar value as an account of the services of mounted infantry by one of the chief authorities on the subject. the hill of the graces: or, the great stone temples of tripoli. by h. s. cowper, f.s.a. with maps, plans, and 75 illustrations. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ a record of two journeys through tripoli in 1895 and 1896. the book treats of a remarkable series of megalithic temples which have hitherto been uninvestigated, and contains a large amount of new geographical and archã¦ological matter. adventure and exploration in africa. by captain a. st. h. gibbons, f.r.g.s. with illustrations by c. whymper, and maps. _demy 8vo._ _21s._ this is an account of travel and adventure among the marotse and contiguous tribes, with a description of their customs, characteristics, and history, together with the author's experiences in hunting big game. the illustrations are by mr. charles whymper, and from photographs. there is a map by the author of the hitherto unexplored regions lying between the zambezi and kafukwi rivers and from 18â° to 15â° s. lat. #history and biography# a history of egypt, from the earliest times to the present day. edited by w. m. flinders petrie, d.c.l., ll.d., professor of egyptology at university college. _fully illustrated._ _in six volumes._ _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ vol. v. roman egypt. by j. g. milne. the decline and fall of the roman empire. by edward gibbon. a new edition, edited with notes, appendices, and maps by j. b. bury, m.a., fellow of trinity college, dublin. _in seven volumes._ _demy 8vo, gilt top._ _8s. 6d. each._ _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ _vol. iv._ the letters of victor hugo. translated from the french by f. clarke, m.a. _in two volumes._ _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d. each._ _vol. ii._ 1835-72. this is the second volume of one of the most interesting and important collection of letters ever published in france. the correspondence dates from victor hugo's boyhood to his death, and none of the letters have been published before. a history of the great northern railway, 1845-95. by c. h. grinling. with maps and illustrations. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ a record of railway enterprise and development in northern england, containing much matter hitherto unpublished. it appeals both to the general reader and to those specially interested in railway construction and management. a history of british colonial policy. by h. e. egerton, m.a. _demy 8vo._ _12s. 6d._ this book deals with british colonial policy historically from the beginnings of english colonisation down to the present day. the subject has been treated by itself, and it has thus been possible within a reasonable compass to deal with a mass of authority which must otherwise be sought in the state papers. the volume is divided into five parts:--(1) the period of beginnings, 1497-1650; (2) trade ascendancy, 1651-1830; (3) the granting of responsible government, 1831-1860; (4) _laissez aller_, 1861-1885; (5) greater britain. a history of anarchism. by e. v. zenker. translated from the german. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ a critical study and history, as well as a powerful and trenchant criticism, of the anarchist movement in europe. the book has aroused considerable attention on the continent. the life of ernest renan. by madame darmesteter. with portrait. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a biography of renan by one of his most intimate friends. a life of donne. by augustus jessopp, d.d. with portrait. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this is a new volume of the 'leaders of religion' series, from the learned and witty pen of the rector of scarning, who has been able to embody the results of much research. old harrow days. by j. g. cotton minchin. _crown 8vo._ _5s._ a volume of reminiscences which will be interesting to old harrovians and to many of the general public. #theology# a primer of the bible. by prof. w. h. bennett. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ this primer sketches the history of the books which make up the bible, in the light of recent criticism. it gives an account of their character, origin, and composition, as far as possible in chronological order, with special reference to their relations to one another and to the history of israel and the church. the formation of the canon is illustrated by chapters on the apocrypha (old and new testament); and there is a brief notice of the history of the bible since the close of the canon. light and leaven: historical and social sermons. by the rev. h. hensley henson, m.a., fellow of all souls', incumbent of st. mary's hospital, ilford. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ _devotional series_ the confessions of st. augustine. newly translated, with an introduction, by c. bigg, d.d., late student of christ church. with a frontispiece. _18mo._ _1s. 6d._ this little book is the first volume of a new devotional series, printed in clear type, and published at a very low price. this volume contains the nine books of the 'confessions' which are suitable for devotional purposes. the name of the editor is a sufficient guarantee of the excellence of the edition. the holy sacrifice. by f. weston, m.a., curate of st. matthew's, westminster. _18mo._ _1s._ a small volume of devotions at the holy communion. #naval and military# a history of the art of war. by c. w. oman, m.a., fellow of all souls', oxford. _demy 8vo._ _illustrated._ _21s._ vol. ii. mediã�val warfare. mr. oman is engaged on a history of the art of war, of which the above, though covering the middle period from the fall of the roman empire to the general use of gunpowder in western europe, is the first instalment. the first battle dealt with will be adrianople (378) and the last navarette (1367). there will appear later a volume dealing with the art of war among the ancients, and another covering the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries. the book will deal mainly with tactics and strategy, fortifications and siegecraft, but subsidiary chapters will give some account of the development of arms and armour, and of the various forms of military organization known to the middle ages. a short history of the royal navy, from early times to the present day. by david hannay. illustrated. _2 vols. demy 8vo._ _7s. 6d. each._ vol. i. this book aims at giving an account not only of the fighting we have done at sea, but of the growth of the service, of the part the navy has played in the development of the empire, and of its inner life. the story of the british army. by lieut.-colonel cooper king, of the staff college, camberley. illustrated. _demy 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ this volume aims at describing the nature of the different armies that have been formed in great britain, and how from the early and feudal levies the present standing army came to be. the changes in tactics, uniform, and armament are briefly touched upon, and the campaigns in which the army has shared have been so far followed as to explain the part played by british regiments in them. #general literature# the old english home. by s. baring-gould. with numerous plans and illustrations. _crown 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ this book, like mr. baring-gould's well-known 'old country life,' describes the life and environment of an old english family. oxford and its colleges. by j. wells, m.a., fellow and tutor of wadham college. illustrated by e. h. new. _fcap. 8vo._ _3s._ _leather._ _4s._ this is a guide--chiefly historical--to the colleges of oxford. it contains numerous illustrations. voces academicã�. by c. grant robertson, m.a., fellow of all souls', oxford. _with a frontispiece._ _fcap. 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this is a volume of light satirical dialogues and should be read by all who are interested in the life of oxford. a primer of wordsworth. by laurie magnus. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ this volume is uniform with the primers of tennyson and burns, and contains a concise biography of the poet, a critical appreciation of his work in detail, and a bibliography. neo-malthusianism. by r. ussher, m.a. _cr. 8vo._ _6s._ this book deals with a very delicate but most important matter, namely, the voluntary limitation of the family, and how such action affects morality, the individual, and the nation. primã�val scenes. by h. n. hutchinson, b.a., f.g.s., author of 'extinct monsters,' 'creatures of other days,' 'prehistoric man and beast,' etc. with numerous illustrations drawn by john hassall and fred. v. burridge. _4to._ _6s._ a set of twenty drawings, with short text to each, to illustrate the humorous aspects of prehistoric times. they are carefully planned by the author so as to be scientifically and archã¦ologically correct and at the same time amusing. the wallypug in london. by g. e. farrow, author of 'the wallypug of why.' with numerous illustrations. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ an extravaganza for children, written with great charm and vivacity. railway nationalization. by clement edwards. _social questions series._ _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ #sport# sporting and athletic records. by h. morgan browne. _crown 8vo._ _1s. paper;_ _2s. cloth._ this book gives, in a clear and complete form, accurate records of the best performances in all important branches of sport. it is an attempt, never yet made, to present all-important sporting records in a systematic way. the golfing pilgrim. by horace g. hutchinson. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ this book, by a famous golfer, contains the following sketches lightly and humorously written:--the prologue--the pilgrim at the shrine--mecca out of season--the pilgrim at home--the pilgrim abroad--the life of the links--a tragedy by the way--scraps from the scrip--the golfer in art--early pilgrims in the west--an interesting relic. #educational# evagrius. edited by professor lã�on parmentier of liã©ge and m. bidez of gand. _demy 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ _byzantine texts._ the odes and epodes of horace. translated by a. d. godley, m.a., fellow of magdalen college, oxford. _crown 8vo. buckram._ _2s._ ornamental design for woven fabrics. by c. stephenson, of the technical college, bradford, and f. suddards, of the yorkshire college, leeds. with 65 full-page plates, and numerous designs and diagrams in the text. _demy 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ the aim of this book is to supply, in a systematic and practical form, information on the subject of decorative design as applied to woven fabrics, and is primarily intended to meet the requirements of students in textile and art schools, or of designers actively engaged in the weaving industry. its wealth of illustration is a marked feature of the book. essentials of commercial education. by e. e. whitfield, m.a. _crown 8vo._ _1s. 6d._ a guide to commercial education and examinations. passages for unseen translation. by e. c. marchant, m.a., fellow of peterhouse, cambridge; and a. m. cook, m.a., late scholar of wadham college, oxford: assistant masters at st. paul's school. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this book contains two hundred latin and two hundred greek passages, and has been very carefully compiled to meet the wants of v. and vi. form boys at public schools. it is also well adapted for the use of honour men at the universities. exercises in latin accidence. by s. e. winbolt, assistant master in christ's hospital. _crown 8vo._ _1s. 6d._ an elementary book adapted for lower forms to accompany the shorter latin primer. notes on greek and latin syntax. by g. buckland green, m.a., assistant master at the edinburgh academy, late fellow of st. john's college, oxon. _cr. 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ notes and explanations on the chief difficulties of greek and latin syntax, with numerous passages for exercise. a digest of deductive logic. by johnson barker, b.a. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ a short introduction to logic for students preparing for examinations. test cards in euclid and algebra. by d. s. calderwood, headmaster of the normal school, edinburgh. in a packet of 40, with answers. _1s._ a set of cards for advanced pupils in elementary schools. how to make a dress. by j. a. e. wood. illustrated. _crown 8vo._ _1s. 6d._ a text-book for students preparing for the city and guilds examination, based on the syllabus. the diagrams are numerous. #fiction# lochinvar. by s. r. crockett, author of 'the raiders,' etc. illustrated by frank richards. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ byeways. by robert hichens, author of 'flames,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ the mutable many. by robert barr, author of 'in the midst of alarms,' 'a woman intervenes,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ the lady's walk. by mrs. oliphant. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a new book by this lamented author, somewhat in the style of her 'beleagured city.' traits and confidences. by the hon. emily lawless, author of 'hurrish,' 'maelcho,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ bladys. by s. baring gould, author of 'the broom squire,' etc. illustrated by f. h. townsend. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a romance of the last century. the pomp of the lavilettes. by gilbert parker, author of 'the seats of the mighty,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ a daughter of strife. by jane helen findlater, author of 'the green graves of balgowrie.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a story of 1710. over the hills. by mary findlater. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a novel by a sister of j. h. findlater, the author of 'the green graves of balgowrie.' a creel of irish stories. by jane barlow, author of 'irish idylls.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ the clash of arms. by j. bloundelle burton, author of 'in the day of adversity.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a passionate pilgrim. by percy white, author of 'mr. bailey-martin.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ secretary to bayne, m.p. by w. pett ridge. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ the builders. by j. s. fletcher, author of 'when charles i. was king.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ josiah's wife. by norma lorimer. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ by stroke of sword. by andrew balfour. illustrated by w. cubitt cooke. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a romance of the time of elizabeth. the singer of marly. by i. hooper. illustrated by w. cubitt cooke. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a romance of adventure. kirkham's find. by mary gaunt, author of 'the moving finger.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ the fall of the sparrow. by m. c. balfour. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ scottish border life. by james c. dibdin. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ a list of messrs. methuen's publications #poetry# rudyard kipling's new poems #rudyard kipling.# the seven seas. by rudyard kipling. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _buckram, gilt top._ _6s._ 'the new poems of mr. rudyard kipling have all the spirit and swing of their predecessors. patriotism is the solid concrete foundation on which mr. kipling has built the whole of his work.'--_times._ 'full of passionate patriotism and the imperial spirit.'--_yorkshire post._ 'the empire has found a singer; it is no depreciation of the songs to say that statesmen may have, one way or other, to take account of them.'--_manchester guardian._ 'animated through and through with indubitable genius.'--_daily telegraph._ 'packed with inspiration, with humour, with pathos.'--_daily chronicle._ 'all the pride of empire, all the intoxication of power, all the ardour, the energy, the masterful strength and the wonderful endurance and death-scorning pluck which are the very bone and fibre and marrow of the british character are here.'--_daily mail._ #rudyard kipling.# barrack-room ballads; and other verses. by rudyard kipling. _twelfth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'mr. kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character.... unmistakable genius rings in every line.'--_times._ 'the ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. we read them with laughter and tears; the metres throb in our pulses, the cunningly ordered words tingle with life; and if this be not poetry, what is?'--_pall mall gazette._ #"q."# poems and ballads. by "q.," author of 'green bays,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _3s. 6d._ 'this work has just the faint, ineffable touch and glow that make poetry. 'q.' has the true romantic spirit.'--_speaker._ #"q."# green bays: verses and parodies. by "q.," author of 'dead man's rock,' etc. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ 'the verses display a rare and versatile gift of parody, great command of metre, and a very pretty turn of humour.'--_times._ #e. mackay.# a song of the sea. by eric mackay, author of 'the love letters of a violinist.' _second edition._ _fcap. 8vo._ _5s._ 'everywhere mr. mackay displays himself the master of a style marked by all the characteristics of the best rhetoric. he has a keen sense of rhythm and of general balance; his verse is excellently sonorous.'--_globe._ #ibsen.# brand. a drama by henrik ibsen. translated by william wilson. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ 'the greatest world-poem of the nineteenth century next to "faust." it is in the same set with "agamemnon," with "lear," with the literature that we now instinctively regard as high and holy.'--_daily chronicle._ #"a. g."# verses to order. by "a. g." _cr. 8vo._ _2s. 6d. net._ a small volume of verse by a writer whose initials are well known to oxford men. 'a capital specimen of light academic poetry. these verses are very bright and engaging, easy and sufficiently witty.'--_st. james's gazette._ #belles lettres, anthologies, etc.# #r. l. stevenson.# vailima letters. by robert louis stevenson. with an etched portrait by william strang, and other illustrations. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _7s. 6d._ 'few publications have in our time been more eagerly awaited than these "vailima letters," giving the first fruits of the correspondence of robert louis stevenson. but, high as the tide of expectation has run, no reader can possibly be disappointed in the result.'--_st. james's gazette._ #henley and whibley.# a book of english prose. collected by w. e. henley and charles whibley. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a unique volume of extracts--an art gallery of early prose.'--_birmingham post._ 'an admirable companion to mr. henley's "lyra heroica."'--_saturday review._ 'quite delightful. a greater treat for those not well acquainted with pre-restoration prose could not be imagined.'--_athenã¦um._ #h. c. beeching.# lyra sacra: an anthology of sacred verse. edited by h. c. beeching, m.a. _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _6s._ 'a charming selection, which maintains a lofty standard of excellence.'--_times._ #"q."# the golden pomp: a procession of english lyrics from surrey to shirley, arranged by a. t. quiller couch. _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _6s._ 'a delightful volume: a really golden "pomp."'--_spectator._ #w. b. yeats.# an anthology of irish verse. edited by w. b. yeats. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ 'an attractive and catholic selection.'--times. #g. w. steevens.# monologues of the dead. by g. w. steevens. _foolscap 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ a series of soliloquies in which famous men of antiquity--julius cã¦sar, nero, alcibiades, etc., attempt to express themselves in the modes of thought and language of to-day. the effect is sometimes splendid, sometimes bizarre, but always amazingly clever.--_pall mall gazette._ #victor hugo.# the letters of victor hugo. translated from the french by f. clarke, m.a. _in two volumes._ _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d. each._ _vol. i._ 1815-35. this is the first volume of one of the most interesting and important collection of letters ever published in france. the correspondence dates from victor hugo's boyhood to his death, and none of the letters have been published before. the arrangement is chiefly chronological, but where there is an interesting set of letters to one person these are arranged together. the first volume contains, among others, (1) letters to his father; (2) to his young wife; (3) to his confessor, lamennais; (4) a very important set of about fifty letters to sainte-beauve; (5) letters about his early books and plays. 'a charming and vivid picture of a man whose egotism never marred his natural kindness, and whose vanity did not impair his greatness.'--_standard._ #c. h. pearson.# essays and critical reviews. by c. h. pearson, m.a., author of 'national life and character.' edited, with a biographical sketch, by h. a. strong, m.a., ll.d. with a portrait. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ 'remarkable for careful handling, breadth of view, and knowledge.'--_scotsman._ 'charming essays.'--_spectator._ #w. m. dixon.# a primer of tennyson. by w. m. dixon, m.a., professor of english literature at mason college. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ 'much sound and well-expressed criticism and acute literary judgments. the bibliography is a boon.'--_speaker._ #w. a. craigie.# a primer of burns. by w. a. craigie. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ this book is planned on a method similar to the 'primer of tennyson.' it has also a glossary. 'a valuable addition to the literature of the poet.'--_times._ 'an excellent short account.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'an admirable introduction.'--_globe._ #sterne.# the life and opinions of tristram shandy. by lawrence sterne. with an introduction by charles whibley, and a portrait. _2 vols._ _7s._ 'very dainty volumes are these; the paper, type, and light-green binding are all very agreeable to the eye. _simplex munditiis_ is the phrase that might be applied to them.'--_globe._ #congreve.# the comedies of william congreve. with an introduction by g. s. street, and a portrait. _2 vols._ _7s._ 'the volumes are strongly bound in green buckram, are of a convenient size, and pleasant to look upon, so that whether on the shelf, or on the table, or in the hand the possessor is thoroughly content with them.'--_guardian._ #morier.# the adventures of hajji baba of ispahan. by james morier. with an introduction by e. g. browne, m.a., and a portrait. _2 vols._ _7s._ #walton.# the lives of donne, wotton, hooker, herbert, and sanderson. by izaak walton. with an introduction by vernon blackburn, and a portrait. _3s. 6d._ #johnson.# the lives of the english poets. by samuel johnson, ll.d. with an introduction by j. h. millar, and a portrait. _3 vols._ _10s. 6d._ #burns.# the poems of robert burns. edited by andrew lang and w. a. craigie. with portrait. _demy 8vo, gilt top._ _6s._ this edition contains a carefully collated text, numerous notes, critical and textual, a critical and biographical introduction, and a glossary. 'among the editions in one volume, mr. andrew lang's will take the place of authority.'--_times._ #f. langbridge.# ballads of the brave: poems of chivalry, enterprise, courage, and constancy. edited, with notes, by rev. f. langbridge. _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _3s. 6d._ _school edition._ _2s. 6d._ 'a very happy conception happily carried out. these "ballads of the brave" are intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit the taste of the great majority.'--_spectator._ 'the book is full of splendid things.'--_world._ #illustrated books# #jane barlow.# the battle of the frogs and mice, translated by jane barlow, author of 'irish idylls,' and pictured by f. d. bedford. _small 4to._ _6s. net._ #s. baring gould.# a book of fairy tales retold by s. baring gould. with numerous illustrations and initial letters by arthur j. gaskin. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _6s._ 'mr. baring gould is deserving of gratitude, in re-writing in honest, simple style the old stories that delighted the childhood of "our fathers and grandfathers." as to the form of the book, and the printing, which is by messrs. constable, it were difficult to commend overmuch.'--_saturday review._ #s. baring gould.# old english fairy tales. collected and edited by s. baring gould. with numerous illustrations by f. d. bedford. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _buckram._ _6s._ 'a charming volume, which children will be sure to appreciate. the stories have been selected with great ingenuity from various old ballads and folk-tales, and, having been somewhat altered and readjusted, now stand forth, clothed in mr. baring gould's delightful english, to enchant youthful readers.'--_guardian._ #s. baring gould.# a book of nursery songs and rhymes. edited by s. baring gould, and illustrated by the birmingham art school. _buckram, gilt top._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the volume is very complete in its way, as it contains nursery songs to the number of 77, game-rhymes, and jingles. to the student we commend the sensible introduction, and the explanatory notes. the volume is superbly printed on soft, thick paper, which it is a pleasure to touch; and the borders and pictures are among the very best specimens we have seen of the gaskin school.'--_birmingham gazette._ #h. c. beeching.# a book of christmas verse. edited by h. c. beeching, m.a., and illustrated by walter crane. _crown 8vo, gilt top._ _5s._ a collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of christ from the middle ages to the present day. a distinction of the book is the large number of poems it contains by modern authors, a few of which are here printed for the first time. 'an anthology which, from its unity of aim and high poetic excellence, has a better right to exist than most of its fellows.'--_guardian._ #history# #gibbon.# the decline and fall of the roman empire. by edward gibbon. a new edition, edited with notes, appendices, and maps, by j. b. bury, m.a., fellow of trinity college, dublin. _in seven volumes._ _demy 8vo._ _gilt top._ _8s. 6d. each._ _also crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ _vols. i., ii., and iii._ 'the time has certainly arrived for a new edition of gibbon's great work.... professor bury is the right man to undertake this task. his learning is amazing, both in extent and accuracy. the book is issued in a handy form, and at a moderate price, and it is admirably printed.'--_times._ 'the edition is edited as a classic should be edited, removing nothing, yet indicating the value of the text, and bringing it up to date. it promises to be of the utmost value, and will be a welcome addition to many libraries.'--_scotsman._ 'this edition, so far as one may judge from the first instalment, is a marvel of erudition and critical skill, and it is the very minimum of praise to predict that the seven volumes of it will supersede dean milman's as the standard edition of our great historical classic.'--_glasgow herald._ 'the beau-ideal gibbon has arrived at last.'--_sketch._ 'at last there is an adequate modern edition of gibbon.... the best edition the nineteenth century could produce.'--_manchester guardian._ #flinders petrie.# a history of egypt, from the earliest times to the present day. edited by w. m. flinders petrie, d.c.l., ll.d., professor of egyptology at university college. _fully illustrated._ _in six volumes._ _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ vol. i. prehistoric times to xvi. dynasty. w. m. f. petrie. _third edition._ vol. ii. the xviith and xviiith dynasties. w. m. f. petrie. _second edition._ 'a history written in the spirit of scientific precision so worthily represented by dr. petrie and his school cannot but promote sound and accurate study, and supply a vacant place in the english literature of egyptology.'--_times._ #flinders petrie.# egyptian tales. edited by w. m. flinders petrie. illustrated by tristram ellis. _in two volumes._ _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d. each._ 'a valuable addition to the literature of comparative folk-lore. the drawings are really illustrations in the literal sense of the word.'--_globe._ 'it has a scientific value to the student of history and archã¦ology.'--_scotsman._ 'invaluable as a picture of life in palestine and egypt.'--_daily news._ #flinders petrie.# egyptian decorative art. by w. m. flinders petrie, d.c.l. with 120 illustrations. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ 'professor flinders petrie is not only a profound egyptologist, but an accomplished student of comparative archã¦ology. in these lectures, delivered at the royal institution, he displays both qualifications with rare skill in elucidating the development of decorative art in egypt, and in tracing its influence on the art of other countries.'--_times._ #s. baring gould.# the tragedy of the cã�sars. the emperors of the julian and claudian lines. with numerous illustrations from busts, gems, cameos, etc. by s. baring gould, author of 'mehalah,' etc. _fourth edition._ _royal 8vo._ _15s._ 'a most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying interest. the great feature of the book is the use the author has made of the existing portraits of the cã¦sars, and the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing with this line of research. it is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are supplied on a scale of profuse magnificence.'--_daily chronicle._ 'the volumes will in no sense disappoint the general reader. indeed, in their way, there is nothing in any sense so good in english.... mr. baring gould has presented his narrative in such a way as not to make one dull page.'--_athenã¦um._ #h. de b. gibbons.# industry in england: historical outlines. by h. de b. gibbins, m.a., d.litt. with 5 maps. _second edition._ _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ this book is written with the view of affording a clear view of the main facts of english social and industrial history placed in due perspective. beginning with prehistoric times, it passes in review the growth and advance of industry up to the nineteenth century, showing its gradual development and progress. the book is illustrated by maps, diagrams, and tables. #a. clark.# the colleges of oxford: their history and their traditions. by members of the university. edited by a. clark, m.a., fellow and tutor of lincoln college. _8vo._ _12s. 6d._ 'a work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the standard book on the colleges of oxford.'--_athenã¦um._ #perrens.# the history of florence from 1434 to 1492. by f. t. perrens. translated by hannah lynch. _8vo._ _12s. 6d._ a history of florence under the domination of cosimo, piero, and lorenzo de medicis. 'this is a standard book by an honest and intelligent historian, who has deserved well of all who are interested in italian history.'--_manchester guardian._ #j. wells.# a short history of rome. by $1, fellow and tutor of wadham coll., oxford. with 4 maps. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this book is intended for the middle and upper forms of public schools and for pass students at the universities. it contains copious tables, etc. 'an original work written on an original plan, and with uncommon freshness and vigour.'--_speaker._ #e. l. s. horsburgh.# the campaign of waterloo. by e. l. s. horsburgh, b.a. _with plans._ _crown 8vo._ _5s._ 'a brilliant essay--simple, sound, and thorough.'--_daily chronicle._ 'a study, the most concise, the most lucid, the most critical that has been produced.'--_birmingham mercury._ #h. b. george.# battles of english history. by h. b. george, m.a., fellow of new college, oxford. _with numerous plans._ _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'mr. george has undertaken a very useful task--that of making military affairs intelligible and instructive to non-military readers--and has executed it with laudable intelligence and industry, and with a large measure of success.'--_times._ #o. browning.# a short history of mediã�val italy, a.d. 1250-1530. by oscar browning, fellow and tutor of king's college, cambridge. _second edition._ _in two volumes._ _crown 8vo._ _5s. each._ vol. i. 1250-1409.--guelphs and ghibellines. vol. ii. 1409-1530.--the age of the condottieri. 'a vivid picture of mediã¦val italy.'--_standard._ 'mr. browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense labour and learning.'--_westminster gazette._ #o'grady.# the story of ireland. by standish o'grady, author of 'finn and his companions.' _cr. 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ 'most delightful, most stimulating. its racy humour, its original imaginings, make it one of the freshest, breeziest volumes.'--_methodist times._ #biography# #s. baring gould.# the life of napoleon bonaparte. by s. baring gould. with over 450 illustrations in the text and 12 photogravure plates. _large quarto._ _gilt top._ _36s._ 'the best biography of napoleon in our tongue, nor have the french as good a biographer of their hero. a book very nearly as good as southey's "life of nelson."'--_manchester guardian._ 'the main feature of this gorgeous volume is its great wealth of beautiful photogravures and finely-executed wood engravings, constituting a complete pictorial chronicle of napoleon i.'s personal history from the days of his early childhood at ajaccio to the date of his second interment under the dome of the invalides in paris.'--_daily telegraph._ 'the most elaborate account of napoleon ever produced by an english writer.'--_daily chronicle._ 'a brilliant and attractive volume. never before have so many pictures relating to napoleon been brought within the limits of an english book.'--_globe._ 'particular notice is due to the vast collection of contemporary illustrations.'--_guardian._ 'nearly all the illustrations are real contributions to history.'--_westminster gazette._ 'the illustrations are of supreme interest.'--_standard._ #morris fuller.# the life and writings of john davenant, d.d. (1571-1641), president of queen's college, lady margaret professor of divinity, bishop of salisbury. by morris fuller, b.d. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ 'a valuable contribution to ecclesiastical history.'--_birmingham gazette._ #j. m. rigg.# st. anselm of canterbury: a chapter in the history of religion. by j. m. rigg. _demy 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ 'mr. rigg has told the story of the great primate's life with scholarly ability, and has thereby contributed an interesting chapter to the history of the norman period.'--_daily chronicle._ #f. w. joyce.# the life of sir frederick gore ouseley. by f. w. joyce, m.a. with portraits and illustrations. _crown 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ 'this book has been undertaken in quite the right spirit, and written with sympathy, insight, and considerable literary skill.'--_times._ #w. g. collingwood.# the life of john ruskin. by w. g. collingwood, m.a., editor of mr. ruskin's poems. with numerous portraits, and 13 drawings by mr. ruskin. _second edition._ _2 vols._ _8vo._ _32s._ 'no more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time.'--_times._ 'it is long since we had a biography with such delights of substance and of form. such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.'--_daily chronicle._ #c. waldstein.# john ruskin: a study. by charles waldstein, m.a., fellow of king's college, cambridge. with a photogravure portrait after professor herkomer. _post 8vo._ _5s._ 'a thoughtful, impartial, well-written criticism of ruskin's teaching, intended to separate what the author regards as valuable and permanent from what is transient and erroneous in the great master's writing.'--_daily chronicle._ #w. h. hutton.# the life of sir thomas more. by w. h. hutton, m.a., author of 'william laud.' _with portraits._ _crown 8vo._ _5s._ 'the book lays good claim to high rank among our biographies. it is excellently, even lovingly, written.'--_scotsman._ 'an excellent monograph.'--_times._ #clark russell.# the life of admiral lord collingwood. by w. clark russell, author of 'the wreck of the grosvenor.' with illustrations by f. brangwyn. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a book which we should like to see in the hands of every boy in the country.'--_st. james's gazette._ 'a really good book.'--_saturday review._ #southey.# english seamen (howard, clifford, hawkins, drake, cavendish). by robert southey. edited, with an introduction, by david hannay. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'admirable and well-told stories of our naval history.'--_army and navy gazette._ 'a brave, inspiriting book.'--_black and white._ #travel, adventure and topography# #r. s. s. baden-powell.# the downfall of prempeh. a diary of life with the native levy in ashanti, 1895. by colonel baden-powell. with 21 illustrations and a map. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ 'a compact, faithful, most readable record of the campaign.'--_daily news._ 'a bluff and vigorous narrative.'--_glasgow herald._ #r. s. s. baden-powell.# the matebele campaign 1896. by colonel r. s. s. baden-powell. with nearly 100 illustrations. _second edition._ _demy 8vo._ _15s._ 'written in an unaffectedly light and humorous style.'--_the world._ 'a very racy and eminently readable book.'--_st. james's gazette._ 'as a straightforward account of a great deal of plucky work unpretentiously done, this book is well worth reading. the simplicity of the narrative is all in its favour, and accords in a peculiarly english fashion with the nature of the subject.'--_times._ #captain hinde.# the fall of the congo arabs. by sidney l. hinde. with portraits and plans. _demy 8vo._ _12s. 6d._ 'the book is full of good things, and of sustained interest.'--_st. james's gazette._ 'a graphic sketch of one of the most exciting and important episodes in the struggle for supremacy in central africa between the arabs and their europeon rivals. apart from the story of the campaign, captain hinde's book is mainly remarkable for the fulness with which he discusses the question of cannibalism. it is, indeed, the only connected narrative--in english, at any rate--which has been published of this particular episode in african history.'--_times._ 'captain hinde's book is one of the most interesting and valuable contributions yet made to the literature of modern africa.'--_daily news._ #w. crooke.# the north-western provinces of india: their ethnology and administration. by w. crooke. with maps and illustrations. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ 'a carefully and well-written account of one of the most important provinces of the empire. in seven chapters mr. crooke deals successively with the land in its physical aspect, the province under hindoo and mussulman rule, the province under british rule, the ethnology and sociology of the province, the religious and social life of the people, the land and its settlement, and the native peasant in his relation to the land. the illustrations are good and well selected, and the map is excellent.'--_manchester guardian._ #w. b. worsfold.# south africa: its history and its future. by w. basil worsfold, m.a. _with a map._ _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'an intensely interesting book.'--_daily chronicle._ 'a monumental work compressed into a very moderate compass.'--_world._ #general literature# #s. baring gould.# old country life. by s. baring gould, author of 'mehalah,' etc. with sixty-seven illustrations by w. parkinson, f. d. bedford, and f. masey. _large crown 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ _fifth and cheaper edition._ _6s._ '"old country life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and movement, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be published throughout the year. sound, hearty, and english to the core.'--_world._ #s. baring gould.# historic oddities and strange events. by s. baring gould. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. the whole volume is delightful reading.'--_times._ #s. baring gould.# freaks of fanaticism. by s. baring gould. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'mr. baring gould has a keen eye for colour and effect, and the subjects he has chosen give ample scope to his descriptive and analytic faculties. a perfectly fascinating book.'--_scottish leader._ #s. baring gould.# a garland of country song: english folk songs with their traditional melodies. collected and arranged by s. baring gould and h. fleetwood sheppard. _demy 4to._ _6s._ #s. baring gould.# songs of the west: traditional ballads and songs of the west of england, with their traditional melodies. collected by s. baring gould, m.a., and h. fleetwood sheppard, m.a. arranged for voice and piano. in 4 parts (containing 25 songs each), _parts i., ii., iii.,_ _3s. each._ _part iv.,_ _5s._ _in one vol.,_ _french morocco,_ _15s._ 'a rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.'--_saturday review._ #s. baring gould.# yorkshire oddities and strange events. _fourth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ #s. baring gould.# strange survivals and superstitions. with illustrations. by s. baring gould. _crown 8vo._ _second edition._ _6s._ 'we have read mr. baring gould's book from beginning to end. it is full of quaint and various information, and there is not a dull page in it.'--_notes and queries._ #s. baring gould.# the deserts of southern france. by s. baring gould. with numerous illustrations by f. d. bedford, s. hutton, etc. _2 vols._ _demy 8vo._ _32s._ 'his two richly-illustrated volumes are full of matter of interest to the geologist, the archã¦ologist, and the student of history and manners.'--_scotsman._ #g. w. steevens.# naval policy: with a description of english and foreign navies. by g. w. steevens. _demy 8vo._ _6s._ this book is a description of the british and other more important navies of the world, with a sketch of the lines on which our naval policy might possibly be developed. it describes our recent naval policy, and shows what our naval force really is. a detailed but non-technical account is given of the instruments of modern warfare--guns, armour, engines, and the like--with a view to determine how far we are abreast of modern invention and modern requirements. an ideal policy is then sketched for the building and manning of our fleet; and the last chapter is devoted to docks, coaling-stations, and especially colonial defence. 'an extremely able and interesting work.'--_daily chronicle._ #w. e. gladstone.# the speeches and public addresses of the rt. hon. w. e. gladstone, m.p. edited by a. w. hutton, m.a., and h. j. cohen, m.a. with portraits. _8vo._ _vols. ix. and x._ _12s. 6d. each._ #j. wells.# oxford and oxford life. by members of the university. edited by j. wells, m.a., fellow and tutor of wadham college. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ 'we congratulate mr. wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account of oxford as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a close acquaintance with the system and life of the university.'--_athenã¦um._ #l. whibley.# greek oligarchies: their organisation and character. by l. whibley, m.a., fellow of pembroke college, cambridge. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'an exceedingly useful handbook: a careful and well-arranged study of an obscure subject.'--_times._ 'mr. whibley is never tedious or pedantic.'--_pall mall gazette._ #l. l. price.# economic science and practice. by l. l. price, m.a., fellow of oriel college, oxford. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the book is well written, giving evidence of considerable literary ability, and clear mental grasp of the subject under consideration.'--_western morning news._ #c. f. andrews.# christianity and the labour question. by c. f. andrews, b.a. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ 'a bold and scholarly survey.'--_speaker._ #j. s. shedlock.# the pianoforte sonata: its origin and development. by j. s. shedlock. _crown 8vo._ _5s._ 'this work should be in the possession of every musician and amateur, for it not only embodies a concise and lucid history of the origin of one of the most important forms of musical composition, but, by reason of the painstaking research and accuracy of the author's statements, it is a very valuable work for reference.'--_athenã¦um._ #e. m. bowden.# the example of buddha: being quotations from buddhist literature for each day in the year. compiled by e. m. bowden. with preface by sir edwin arnold. _third edition._ _16mo._ _2s. 6d._ #science# #freudenreich.# dairy bacteriology. a short manual for the use of students. by dr. ed. von freudenreich. translated from the german by j. r. ainsworth davis, b.a., f.c.p. _crown 8vo._ _2s. 6d._ #chalmers mitchell.# outlines of biology. by p. chalmers mitchell, m.a., f.z.s. _fully illustrated._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a text-book designed to cover the new schedule issued by the royal college of physicians and surgeons. #g. massee.# a monograph of the myxogastres. by george massee. with 12 coloured plates. _royal 8vo._ _18s. net._ 'a work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this group of organisms. it is indispensable to every student of the myxogastres. the coloured plates deserve high praise for their accuracy and execution.'--_nature._ #philosophy# #l. t. hobhouse.# the theory of knowledge. by l. t. hobhouse, fellow and tutor of corpus college, oxford. _demy 8vo._ _21s._ 'the most important contribution to english philosophy since the publication of mr. bradley's "appearance and reality." full of brilliant criticism and of positive theories which are models of lucid statement.'--_glasgow herald._ 'an elaborate and often brilliantly written volume. the treatment is one of great freshness, and the illustrations are particularly numerous and apt.'--_times._ #w. h. fairbrother.# the philosophy of t. h. green. by w. h. fairbrother, m.a., lecturer at lincoln college, oxford. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ this volume is expository, not critical, and is intended for senior students at the universities and others, as a statement of green's teaching, and an introduction to the study of idealist philosophy. 'in every way an admirable book. as an introduction to the writings of perhaps the most remarkable speculative thinker whom england has produced in the present century, nothing could be better.'--_glasgow herald._ #f. w. bussell.# the school of plato: its origin and its revival under the roman empire. by f. w. bussell, m.a., fellow and tutor of brasenose college, oxford. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ 'a highly valuable contribution to the history of ancient thought.'--_glasgow herald._ 'a clever and stimulating book, provocative of thought and deserving careful reading.'--_manchester guardian._ #f. s. granger.# the worship of the romans. by f. s. granger, m.a., litt.d., professor of philosophy at university college, nottingham. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a scholarly analysis of the religious ceremonies, beliefs, and superstitions of ancient rome, conducted in the new instructive light of comparative anthropology.'--_times._ #theology# #e. c. s. gibson.# the xxxix. articles of the church of england. edited with an introduction by e. c. s. gibson, d.d., vicar of leeds, late principal of wells theological college. _in two volumes._ _demy 8vo._ _15s._ 'the tone maintained throughout is not that of the partial advocate, but the faithful exponent'--_scotsman._ 'there are ample proofs of clearness of expression, sobriety of judgment, and breadth of view.... the book will be welcome to all students of the subject, and its sound, definite, and loyal theology ought to be of great service.'--_national observer._ 'so far from repelling the general reader, its orderly arrangement, lucid treatment, and felicity of diction invite and encourage his attention.'--_yorkshire post._ #r. l. ottley.# the doctrine of the incarnation. by r. l. ottley, m.a., late fellow of magdalen college, oxon., principal of pusey house. _in two volumes._ _demy 8vo._ _15s._ 'learned and reverent: lucid and well arranged.'--_record._ 'accurate, well ordered, and judicious.'--_national observer._ 'a clear and remarkably full account of the main currents of speculation. scholarly precision ... genuine tolerance ... intense interest in his subject--are mr. ottley's merits.'--_guardian._ #f. b. jevons.# an introduction to the history of religion. by f. b. jevons, m.a., litt.d., principal of bishop hatfield's hall. _demy 8vo._ _10s. 6d._ mr. f. b. jevons' 'introduction to the history of religion' treats of early religion, from the point of view of anthropology and folk-lore; and is the first attempt that has been made in any language to weave together the results of recent investigations into such topics as sympathetic magic, taboo, totemism, fetishism, etc., so as to present a systematic account of the growth of primitive religion and the development of early religious institutions. 'dr. jevons has written a notable work, and we can strongly recommend it to the serious attention of theologians, anthropologists, and classical scholars.'--_manchester guardian._ 'the merit of this book lies in the penetration, the singular acuteness and force of the author's judgment. he is at once critical and luminous, at once just and suggestive. it is but rarely that one meets with a book so comprehensive and so thorough as this, and it is more than an ordinary pleasure for the reviewer to welcome and recommend it. dr. jevons is something more than an historian of primitive belief--he is a philosophic thinker, who sees his subject clearly and sees it whole, whose mastery of detail is no less complete than his view of the broader aspects and issues of his subject is convincing.'--_birmingham post._ #s. r. driver.# sermons on subjects connected with the old testament. by s. r. driver, d.d., canon of christ church, regius professor of hebrew in the university of oxford. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a welcome companion to the author's famous 'introduction.' no man can read these discourses without feeling that dr. driver is fully alive to the deeper teaching of the old testament.'--_guardian._ #t. k. cheyne.# founders of old testament criticism: biographical, descriptive, and critical studies. by t. k. cheyne, d.d., oriel professor of the interpretation of holy scripture at oxford. _large crown 8vo._ _7s. 6d._ this book is a historical sketch of o. t. criticism in the form of biographical studies from the days of eichhorn to those of driver and robertson smith. 'a very learned and instructive work.'--_times._ #c. h. prior.# cambridge sermons. edited by c. h. prior, m.a., fellow and tutor of pembroke college. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a volume of sermons preached before the university of cambridge by various preachers, including the archbishop of canterbury and bishop westcott. 'a representative collection. bishop westcott's is a noble sermon.'--_guardian._ #e. b. layard.# religion in boyhood. notes on the religious training of boys. with a preface by j. r. illingworth. by e. b. layard, m.a. _18mo._ _1s._ #w. yorke faussett.# the _de catechizandis rudibus_ of st. augustine. edited, with introduction, notes, etc., by w. yorke faussett, m.a., late scholar of balliol coll. _crown 8vo._ _3s. 6d._ an edition of a treatise on the essentials of christian doctrine, and the best methods of impressing them on candidates for baptism. 'ably and judiciously edited on the same principle as the ordinary greek and latin texts.'--_glasgow herald._ _devotional books_ _with full-page illustrations._ _fcap. 8vo._ _buckram._ _3s. 6d._ _padded morocco, 5s._ the imitation of christ. by thomas ã� kempis. with an introduction by dean farrar. illustrated by c. m. gere, and printed in black and red. _second edition._ 'amongst all the innumerable english editions of the "imitation," there can have been few which were prettier than this one, printed in strong and handsome type, with all the glory of red initials.'--_glasgow herald._ the christian year. by john keble. with an introduction and notes by w. lock, d.d., warden of keble college, ireland, professor at oxford. illustrated by r. anning bell. 'the present edition is annotated with all the care and insight to be expected from mr. lock. the progress and circumstances of its composition are detailed in the introduction. there is an interesting appendix on the mss. of the "christian year," and another giving the order in which the poems were written. a "short analysis of the thought" is prefixed to each, and any difficulty in the text is explained in a note.'--_guardian._ 'the most acceptable edition of this ever-popular work.'--_globe._ #leaders of religion# edited by h. c. beeching, m.a. _with portraits, crown 8vo._ a series of short biographies of the most prominent leaders of religious life and thought of all ages and countries. 3/6 the following are ready- cardinal newman. by r. h. hutton. john wesley. by j. h. overton, m.a. bishop wilberforce. by g. w. daniel, m.a. cardinal manning. by a. w. hutton, m.a. charles simeon. by h. c. g. moule, m.a. john keble. by walter lock, d.d. thomas chalmers. by mrs. oliphant. lancelot andrewes. by r. l. ottley, m.a. augustine of canterbury. by e. l. cutts, d.d. william laud. by w. h. hutton, b.d. john knox. by f. m'cunn. john howe. by r. f. horton, d.d. bishop ken. by f. a. clarke, m.a. george fox, the quaker. by t. hodgkin, d.c.l. other volumes will be announced in due course. #fiction# six shilling novels marie corelli's novels _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ a romance of two worlds. _sixteenth edition._ vendetta. _thirteenth edition._ thelma. _seventeenth edition._ ardath. _eleventh edition._ the soul of lilith. _ninth edition._ wormwood. _eighth edition._ barabbas: a dream of the world's tragedy. _thirty-first edition._ 'the tender reverence of the treatment and the imaginative beauty of the writing have reconciled us to the daring of the conception, and the conviction is forced on us that even so exalted a subject cannot be made too familiar to us, provided it be presented in the true spirit of christian faith. the amplifications of the scripture narrative are often conceived with high poetic insight, and this "dream of the world's tragedy" is, despite some trifling incongruities, a lofty and not inadequate paraphrase of the supreme climax of the inspired narrative.'--_dublin review._ the sorrows of satan. _thirty-sixth edition._ 'a very powerful piece of work.... the conception is magnificent, and is likely to win an abiding place within the memory of man.... the author has immense command of language, and a limitless audacity.... this interesting and remarkable romance will live long after much of the ephemeral literature of the day is forgotten.... a literary phenomenon ... novel, and even sublime.'--w. t. stead in the _review of reviews._ anthony hope's novels _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ the god in the car. _seventh edition._ 'a very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, but not elaborated; constructed with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers to whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure.'--_the world._ a change of air. _fourth edition._ 'a graceful, vivacious comedy, true to human nature. the characters are traced with a masterly hand.'--_times._ a man of mark. _fourth edition._ 'of all mr. hope's books, "a man of mark" is the one which best compares with "the prisoner of zenda."'--_national observer._ the chronicles of count antonio. _third edition._ 'it is a perfectly enchanting story of love and chivalry, and pure romance. the outlawed count is the most constant, desperate, and withal modest and tender of lovers, a peerless gentleman, an intrepid fighter, a very faithful friend, and a most magnanimous foe.'--_guardian._ phroso. illustrated by h. r. millar. _third edition._ 'the tale is thoroughly fresh, quick with vitality, stirring the blood, and humorously, dashingly told.'--_st. james's gazette._ 'a story of adventure, every page of which is palpitating with action and excitement.'--_speaker._ 'from cover to cover "phroso" not only engages the attention, but carries the reader in little whirls of delight from adventure to adventure.'--_academy._ s. baring gould's novels _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ 'to say that a book is by the author of "mehalah" is to imply that it contains a story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic possibilities, vivid and sympathetic descriptions of nature, and a wealth of ingenious imagery.'--_speaker._ 'that whatever mr. baring gould writes is well worth reading, is a conclusion that may be very generally accepted. his views of life are fresh and vigorous, his language pointed and characteristic, the incidents of which he makes use are striking and original, his characters are life-like, and though somewhat exceptional people, are drawn and coloured with artistic force. add to this that his descriptions of scenes and scenery are painted with the loving eyes and skilled hands of a master of his art, that he is always fresh and never dull, and under such conditions it is no wonder that readers have gained confidence both in his power of amusing and satisfying them, and that year by year his popularity widens.'--_court circular._ arminell: a social romance. _fourth edition._ urith: a story of dartmoor. _fifth edition._ 'the author is at his best.'--_times._ in the roar of the sea. _sixth edition._ 'one of the best imagined and most enthralling stories the author has produced.'--_saturday review._ mrs. curgenven of curgenven. _fourth edition._ 'the swing of the narrative is splendid.'--_sussex daily news._ cheap jack zita. _fourth edition._ 'a powerful drama of human passion.'--_westminster gazette._ 'a story worthy the author.'--_national observer._ the queen of love. _fourth edition._ 'you cannot put it down until you have finished it.'--_punch._ 'can be heartily recommended to all who care for cleanly, energetic, and interesting fiction.'--_sussex daily news._ kitty alone. _fourth edition._ 'a strong and original story, teeming with graphic description, stirring incident, and, above all, with vivid and enthralling human interest.'--_daily telegraph._ noã�mi: a romance of the cave-dwellers. illustrated by r. caton woodville. _third edition._ '"noã©mi" is as excellent a tale of fighting and adventure as one may wish to meet. the narrative also runs clear and sharp as the loire itself.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'mr. baring gould's powerful story is full of the strong lights and shadows and vivid colouring to which he has accustomed us.'--_standard._ the broom-squire. illustrated by frank dadd. _fourth edition._ 'a strain of tenderness is woven through the web of his tragic tale, and its atmosphere is sweetened by the nobility and sweetness of the heroine's character.'--_daily news._ 'a story of exceptional interest that seems to us to be better than anything he has written of late.'--_speaker._ the pennycomequicks. _third edition._ dartmoor idylls. 'a book to read, and keep and read again; for the genuine fun and pathos of it will not early lose their effect.'--_vanity fair._ guavas the tinner. illustrated by frank dadd. _second edition._ 'mr. baring gould is a wizard who transports us into a region of visions, often lurid and disquieting, but always full of interest and enchantment.'--_spectator._ 'in the weirdness of the story, in the faithfulness with which the characters are depicted, and in force of style, it closely resembles "mehalah."'--_daily telegraph._ 'there is a kind of flavour about this book which alone elevates it above the ordinary novel. the story itself has a grandeur in harmony with the wild and rugged scenery which is its setting.'--_athenã¦um._ gilbert parker's novels _crown 8vo._ _6s. each._ pierre and his people. _fourth edition._ 'stories happily conceived and finely executed. there is strength and genius in mr. parker's style.'--_daily telegraph._ mrs. falchion. _fourth edition._ 'a splendid study of character.'--_athenã¦um._ 'but little behind anything that has been done by any writer of our time.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'a very striking and admirable novel.'--_st. james's gazette._ the translation of a savage. 'the plot is original and one difficult to work out; but mr. parker has done it with great skill and delicacy. the reader who is not interested in this original, fresh, and well-told tale must be a dull person indeed.'--_daily chronicle._ the trail of the sword. _fifth edition._ 'everybody with a soul for romance will thoroughly enjoy "the trail of the sword."'--_st. james's gazette._ 'a rousing and dramatic tale. a book like this, in which swords flash, great surprises are undertaken, and daring deeds done, in which men and women live and love in the old straightforward passionate way, is a joy inexpressible to the reviewer.'--_daily chronicle._ when valmond came to pontiac: the story of a lost napoleon. _fourth edition._ 'here we find romance--real, breathing, living romance, but it runs flush with our own times, level with our own feelings. the character of valmond is drawn unerringly; his career, brief as it is, is placed before us as convincingly as history itself. the book must be read, we may say re-read, for any one thoroughly to appreciate mr. parker's delicate touch and innate sympathy with humanity.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'the one work of genius which 1895 has as yet produced.'--_new age._ an adventurer of the north: the last adventures of 'pretty pierre.' _second edition._ 'the present book is full of fine and moving stories of the great north, and it will add to mr. parker's already high reputation.'--_glasgow herald._ the seats of the mighty. _illustrated._ _eighth edition._ 'the best thing he has done; one of the best things that any one has done lately.'--_st. james's gazette._ 'mr. parker seems to become stronger and easier with every serious novel that he attempts.... in "the seats of the mighty" he shows the matured power which his former novels have led us to expect, and has produced a really fine historical novel.... most sincerely is mr. parker to be congratulated on the finest novel he has yet written.'--_athenã¦um._ 'mr. parker's latest book places him in the front rank of living novelists. "the seats of the mighty" is a great book.'--_black and white._ 'one of the strongest stories of historical interest and adventure that we have read for many a day.... a notable and successful book.'--_speaker._ #conan doyle.# round the red lamp. by a. conan doyle, author of 'the white company,' 'the adventures of sherlock holmes,' etc. _fifth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the book is, indeed, composed of leaves from life, and is far and away the best view that has been vouchsafed us behind the scenes of the consulting-room. it is very superior to "the diary of a late physician."'--_illustrated london news._ #stanley weyman.# under the red robe. by stanley weyman, author of 'a gentleman of france.' with twelve illustrations by r. caton woodville. _twelfth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a book of which we have read every word for the sheer pleasure of reading, and which we put down with a pang that we cannot forget it all and start again.'--_westminster gazette._ 'every one who reads books at all must read this thrilling romance, from the first page of which to the last the breathless reader is haled along. an inspiration of "manliness and courage."'--_daily chronicle._ #lucas malet.# the wages of sin. by lucas malet. _thirteenth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ #lucas malet.# the carissima. by lucas malet, author of 'the wages of sin,' etc. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ #arthur morrison.# tales of mean streets. by arthur morrison. _fourth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'told with consummate art and extraordinary detail. he tells a plain, unvarnished tale, and the very truth of it makes for beauty. in the true humanity of the book lies its justification, the permanence of its interest, and its indubitable triumph.'--_athenã¦um._ 'a great book. the author's method is amazingly effective, and produces a thrilling sense of reality. the writer lays upon us a master hand. the book is simply appalling and irresistible in its interest. it is humorous also; without humour it would not make the mark it is certain to make.'--_world._ #arthur morrison.# a child of the jago. by arthur morrison. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ this, the first long story which mr. morrison has written, is like his remarkable 'tales of mean streets,' a realistic study of east end life. 'the book is a masterpiece.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'told with great vigour and powerful simplicity.'--_athenã¦um._ #mrs. clifford.# a flash of summer. by mrs. w. k. clifford, author of 'aunt anne,' etc. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the story is a very sad and a very beautiful one, exquisitely told, and enriched with many subtle touches of wise and tender insight. it will, undoubtedly, add to its author's reputation--already high--in the ranks of novelists.'--_speaker._ #emily lawless.# hurrish. by the honble. emily lawless, author of 'maelcho,' etc. _fifth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ a reissue of miss lawless' most popular novel, uniform with 'maelcho.' #emily lawless.# maelcho: a sixteenth century romance. by the honble. emily lawless. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a really great book.'--_spectator._ 'there is no keener pleasure in life than the recognition of genius. good work is commoner than it used to be, but the best is as rare as ever. all the more gladly, therefore, do we welcome in "maelcho" a piece of work of the first order, which we do not hesitate to describe as one of the most remarkable literary achievements of this generation. miss lawless is possessed of the very essence of historical genius.'--_manchester guardian._ #j. h. findlater.# the green graves of balgowrie. by jane h. findlater. _fourth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a powerful and vivid story.'--_standard._ 'a beautiful story, sad and strange as truth itself.'--_vanity fair._ 'a work of remarkable interest and originality.'--_national observer._ 'a very charming and pathetic tale.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'a singularly original, clever, and beautiful story.'--_guardian._ '"the green graves of balgowrie" reveals to us a new scotch writer of undoubted faculty and reserve force.'--_spectator._ 'an exquisite idyll, delicate, affecting, and beautiful.'--_black and white._ #h. g wells.# the stolen bacillus, and other stories. by h. g. wells, author of 'the time machine.' _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the ordinary reader of fiction may be glad to know that these stories are eminently readable from one cover to the other, but they are more than that; they are the impressions of a very striking imagination, which, it would seem, has a great deal within its reach.'--_saturday review._ #h. g. wells.# the plattner story and others. by h. g. wells. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'weird and mysterious, they seem to hold the reader as by a magic spell.'--_scotsman._ 'such is the fascination of this writer's skill that you unhesitatingly prophesy that none of the many readers, however his flesh do creep, will relinquish the volume ere he has read from first word to last.'--_black and white._ 'no volume has appeared for a long time so likely to give equal pleasure to the simplest reader and to the most fastidious critic.'--_academy._ 'mr. wells is a magician skilled in wielding that most potent of all spells--the fear of the unknown.'--_daily telegraph._ #e. f. benson.# dodo: a detail of the day. by e. f. benson. _sixteenth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a delightfully witty sketch of society.'--_spectator._ 'a perpetual feast of epigram and paradox.'--_speaker._ #e. f. benson.# the rubicon. by e. f. benson, author of 'dodo.' _fifth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'an exceptional achievement; a notable advance on his previous work.'--_national observer._ #mrs. oliphant.# sir robert's fortune. by mrs. oliphant. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'full of her own peculiar charm of style and simple, subtle character-painting comes her new gift, the delightful story before us. the scene mostly lies in the moors, and at the touch of the authoress a scotch moor becomes a living thing, strong, tender, beautiful, and changeful.'--_pall mall gazette._ #mrs. oliphant.# the two marys. by mrs. oliphant. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ #w. e. norris.# matthew austin. by w. e. norris, author of 'mademoiselle de mersac,' etc. _fourth edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ '"matthew austin" may safely be pronounced one of the most intellectually satisfactory and morally bracing novels of the current year.'--_daily telegraph._ #w. e. norris.# his grace. by w. e. norris. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'mr. norris has drawn a really fine character in the duke of hurstbourne, at once unconventional and very true to the conventionalities of life.'--_athenã¦um._ #w. e. norris.# the despotic lady and others. by w. e. norris. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a budget of good fiction of which no one will tire.'--_scotsman._ #w. e. norris.# clarissa furiosa. by w. e. norris, author of 'the rogue,' etc. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'one of mr. norris's very best novels. as a story it is admirable, as a _jeu d'esprit_ it is capital, as a lay sermon studded with gems of wit and wisdom it is a model which will not, we imagine, find an efficient imitator.'--_the world._ 'the best novel he has written for some time: a story which is full of admirable character-drawing.'--_the standard._ #robert barr.# in the midst of alarms. by robert barr. _third edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'a book which has abundantly satisfied us by its capital humour.'--_daily chronicle._ 'mr. barr has achieved a triumph whereof he has every reason to be proud.'--_pall mall gazette._ #j. maclaren cobban.# the king of andaman: a saviour of society. by j. maclaren cobban. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'an unquestionably interesting book. it would not surprise us if it turns out to be the most interesting novel of the season, for it contains one character, at least, who has in him the root of immortality, and the book itself is ever exhaling the sweet savour of the unexpected.... plot is forgotten and incident fades, and only the really human endures, and throughout this book there stands out in bold and beautiful relief its high-souled and chivalric protagonist, james the master of hutcheon, the king of andaman himself.'--_pall mall gazette._ #j. maclaren cobban.# wilt thou have this woman? by j. m. cobban, author of 'the king of andaman.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'mr. cobban has the true story-teller's art. he arrests attention at the outset, and he retains it to the end.'--_birmingham post._ #h. morrah.# a serious comedy. by herbert morrah. _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'this volume is well worthy of its title. the theme has seldom been presented with more freshness or more force.'--_scotsman._ #h. morrah.# the faithful city. by herbert morrah, author of 'a serious comedy.' _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'conveys a suggestion of weirdness and horror, until finally he convinces and enthrals the reader with his mysterious savages, his gigantic tower, and his uncompromising men and women. this is a haunting, mysterious book, not without an element of stupendous grandeur.'--_athenã¦um._ #l. b. walford.# successors to the title. by mrs. walford, author of 'mr. smith,' etc. _second edition._ _crown 8vo._ _6s._ 'the story is fresh and healthy from beginning to finish; 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science master, bradford grammar school. _in two vols._ part i. chemistry; part ii. physics. general knowledge examination papers. by a. m. m. stedman, m.a. _third edition._ key issued as above. _7s. net._ printed by t. and a. constable, printers to her majesty at the edinburgh university press sir toady lion [illustration: "as the highlanders had clung to the cavalry stirrups at balaclava."] the surprising adventures of sir toady lion with those of general napoleon smith an improving history for old boys, young boys, good boys, bad boys, big boys, little boys, cow boys, and tom-boys by s. r. crockett author of "sweetheart travellers", "the raiders", &c. illustrated by gordon browne new york frederick a. stokes company copyright, 1897 by frederick a. stokes company [illustration: too good boys not allowed to read this book by order field marshal napoleon smith] contents i. prissy, hugh john, and sir toady lion, ii. the gospel of dasht-mean, iii. how hugh john became general napoleon, iv. castle perilous, v. the declaration of war, vi. first blood, vii. the poor wounded hussar, viii. the familiar spirit, ix. put to the question, x. a scouting adventure, xi. enemy's country, xii. mobilisation, xiii. the army of windy standard, xiv. the battle of the black sheds, xv. toady lion plays a first lone hand, xvi. the smoutchy boys, xvii. before the inquisition, xviii. the castle dungeon, xix. the drop of water, xx. the secret passage, xxi. the return from the bastile, xxii. mutiny in the camp, xxiii. cissy carter, boys' girl, xxiv. charity begins at home--and ends there, xxv. love's (very) young dream, xxvi. an imperial birthday, xxvii. the bantam chickens, xxviii. the gipsy camp, xxix. toady lion's little ways, xxx. saint prissy, peacemaker, xxxi. prissy's picnic, xxxii. plan of campaign, xxxiii. toady lion's second lone hand, xxxiv. the crowning mercy, xxxv. prissy's compromise, xxxvi. hugh john's way-going, xxxvii. the good conduct prize, xxxviii. hugh john's blighted heart, xxxix. "girls are funny things," illustrations "as the highlanders had clung to the cavalry stirrups at balaclava," sir toady lion, hugh john had a sister, the highway lies deserted, mr. dick turpin, late of york and tyburn, he stood on the roadside, it could not have been better done for a field-marshal, castle perilous, at the end of the stepping-stones, janet sheepshanks awaited this sorry procession with a grim tightening of the lips, "i couldn't help getting beaten," success often bred envy, sambo, a fearful black countenance nodded at him, hugh john took his way down the avenue, "wait till the next time," he was obliged to climb a tree, hugh john tugged her hair, deposited general-field-marshal smith in the horse-pond, generals of division, equal in rank, the army was finally mustered, the black sheds, the battle of the black sheds, cautiously he returned through the hedge, "oh, the bonnie laddie!" "surrender!" cried nipper donnan, the head smoutchy, "got you at last!" "will ye say now that the castle is your father's?" "but i won't cry--even to myself," he bent the weight of his body this way and that, the pining captive, the secret passage, he saw a stretch of rippled river, he floundered through, "i create you general of the comm'sariat," "don't you speak against my father," sammy carter mutinous, "one, two, three--and a tiger," "look at him, madam," said mrs. baker, toady lion sat plump down, "let me look at him," she said, love's young dream, "hit hard, brave soldier," "wasn't it splendid?" toady lion preferred to sleep in the most curious positions, bantam chickens, the gipsies' wood, she carried a back load of tinware, the oldest implements invented for the purpose, she went on her way, "oh, please don't, sir!" welcomed by the enemy, the return of the two swift footmen, hydraulic pressure, the plan of campaign, trotting steadily through the town, the bounding brothers, the living chain, sixpence for admission, "then," said prissy, "i think it can be managed," toady lion stood looking on, a slim bundle of limp woe, the good conduct prize, "smell that," a blighted being, he sprang over the stile, "it looks like half of a sixpence which somebody has stepped upon. how quaint!" as if her heart were light within her, sir toady lion. chapter i. prissy, hugh john, and sir toady lion. it is always difficult to be great, but it is specially difficult when greatness is thrust upon one, as it were, along with the additional burden of a distinguished historical name. this was the case with general napoleon smith. yet when this story opens he was not a general. that came later, along with the cares of empire and the management of great campaigns. but already in secret he was napoleon smith, though his nurse sometimes still referred to him as johnnie, and his father--but stay. i will reveal to you the secret of our soldier's life right at the start. though a napoleon, our hero was no buonaparte. no, his name was smith--plain smith; his father was the owner of four large farms and a good many smaller ones, near that celebrated border which separates the two hostile countries of england and scotland. neighbours referred to the general's father easily as "picton smith of windy standard," from the soughing, mist-nursing mountain of heather and fir-trees which gave its name to the estate, and to the large farm he had cultivated himself ever since the death of his wife, chiefly as a means of distracting his mind, and keeping at a distance loneliness and sad thoughts. hugh john smith had never mentioned the fact of his imperial descent to his father, but in a moment of confidence he had told his old nurse, who smiled with a world-weary wisdom, which betrayed her knowledge of the secrets of courts--and said that doubtless it was so. he had also a brother and sister, but they were not, at that time, of the race of the corporal of ajaccio. on the contrary, arthur george, the younger, aged five, was an engine-driver. there was yet another who rode in a mail-cart, and puckered up his face upon being addressed in a strange foreign language, as "was-it-then? a darling--goo-goo--then it was!" this creature, however, was not owned as a brother by hugh john and arthur george, and indeed may at this point be dismissed from the story. the former went so far as stoutly to deny his brother's sex, in the face of such proofs as were daily afforded by baby's tendency to slap his sister's face wherever they met, and also to seize things and throw them on the floor for the pleasure of seeing them break. arthur george, however, had secret hopes that baby would even yet turn out a satisfactory boy whenever he saw him killing flies on the window, and on these occasions hounded him on to yet deadlier exertions. but he dared not mention his anticipations to his soldier brother, that haughty scion of an imperial race. for reasons afterwards to be given, arthur george was usually known as toady lion. then hugh john had a sister. her name was priscilla. priscilla was distinguished also, though not in a military sense. she was literary, and wrote books "on the sly," as hugh john said. he considered this secrecy the only respectable part of a very shady business. specially he objected to being made to serve as the hero of priscilla's tales, and went so far as to promise to "thump" his sister if he caught her introducing him as of any military rank under that of either general or colour-sergeant. "look here, pris," he said on one occasion, "if you put me into your beastly girl books all about dolls and love and trumpery, i'll bat you over the head with a wicket!" "hum--i dare say, if you could catch me," said priscilla, with her nose very much in the air. "catch you! i'll catch and bat you now if you say much." "much, much! can't, can't! there! 'fraid cat! um-m-um!" "by jove, then, i just will!" it is sad to be obliged to state here, in the very beginning of these veracious chronicles, that at this time prissy and napoleon smith were by no means model children, though prissy afterwards marvellously improved. even their best friends admitted as much, and as for their enemies--well, their old gardener's remarks when they chased each other over his newly planted beds would be out of place even in a military periodical, and might be the means of preventing a book with mr. gordon browne's nice pictures from being included in some well-conducted sunday-school libraries. general napoleon smith could not catch priscilla (as, indeed, he well knew before he started), especially when she picked up her skirts and went right at hedges and ditches like a young colt. napoleon looked upon this trait in prissy's character as degrading and unsportsmanlike in the extreme. he regarded long skirts, streaming hair, and flapping, aggravating pinafores as the natural handicap of girls in the race of life, and as particularly useful when they "cheeked" their brothers. it was therefore wicked to neutralise these equalising disadvantages by strings tied round above the knees, or by the still more scientific device of a sash suspended from the belt before, passed between prissy's legs, and attached to the belt behind. but, then, as napoleon admitted even at ten years of age, girls are capable of anything; and to his dying day he has never had any reason to change his opinion--at least, so far as he has yet got. * * * * * "all right, then, i will listen to your old stuff if you will say you are sorry, and promise to be my horse, and let me lick you for an hour afterwards--besides giving me a penny." it was thus that priscilla, to whom in after times great lights of criticism listened with approval, was compelled to stoop to artifice and bribery in order to secure and hold her first audience. whereupon the authoress took paper from her pocket, and as she did so, held the manuscript with its back to napoleon smith, in order to conceal the suspicious shortness of the lines. but that great soldier instantly detected the subterfuge. "it's a penny more for listening to poetry!" he said, with sudden alacrity. "i know it is," replied prissy sadly, "but you might be nice about it just this once. i'm dreadfully, dreadfully poor this week, hugh john!" "so am i," retorted napoleon smith sternly; "if i wasn't, do you think i would listen at all to your beastly old poetry? drive on!" thus encouraged, priscilla meekly began- "_my love he is a soldier bold, and my love is a knight; he girds him in a coat of mail, when he goes forth to fight._" "that's not quite so bad as usual," said napoleon condescendingly, toying meanwhile with the lash of an old dog-whip he had just "boned" out of the harness-room. priscilla beamed gratefully upon her critic, and proceeded- "_he rides him forth across the sand_----" "who rides whom?" cried napoleon. "didn't the fool ride a horse?" "it means himself," said priscilla meekly. "then why doesn't _it_ say so?" cried the critic triumphantly, tapping his boot with the "boned" dog-whip just like any ordinary lord of creation in presence of his inferiors. "it's poetry," explained priscilla timidly. "it's silly!" retorted napoleon, judicially and finally. priscilla resumed her reading in a lower and more hurried tone. she knew that she was skating over thin ice. "_he rides him forth across the sand, upon a stealthy steed._" "you mean 'stately,' you know," interrupted napoleon--somewhat rudely, priscilla thought. yet he was quite within his rights, for priscilla had not yet learned that a critic always knows what you mean to say much better than you do yourself. "no, i don't mean 'stately,'" said priscilla, "i mean 'stealthy,' the way a horse goes on sand. you go and gallop on the sea-shore and you'll find out." "i shan't. i haven't got any sea-shore," said napoleon. "but do hurry. i've listened quite a pennyworth now." "_he rides him forth across the sand, upon a stealthy steed, and when he sails upon the sea, he plays upon a reed!_" "great soft _he_ was," cried napoleon smith; "and if ever i hear you say that i did such a thing----" priscilla hurried on more quickly than ever. "_in all the world there's none can do the deeds that he hath done: when he hath slain his enemies, then he comes back alone._" "that's better!" said napoleon, nodding encouragement. "at any rate it isn't long. now, give me my penny." "shan't," said priscilla, the pride of successful achievement swelling in her breast; "besides, it isn't saturday yet, and you've only listened to three verses anyway. you will have to listen to ever so much more than that before you get a penny." "hugh john! priscilla!" came a voice from a distance. the great soldier napoleon smith instantly effected a retreat in masterly fashion behind a gooseberry bush. "there's jane calling us," said priscilla; "she wants us to go in and be washed for dinner." "course she does," sneered napoleon; "think she's out screeching like that for fun? well, let her. i am not going in to be towelled till i'm all over red and scurfy, and get no end of soap in my eyes." "but jane wants you; she'll be _so_ cross if you don't come." "_i_ don't care for jane," said napoleon smith with dignity, but all the same making himself as small as possible behind his gooseberry bush. "but if you don't come in, jane will tell father----" "_i_ don't care for father--" the prone but gallant general was proceeding to declare in the face of priscilla's horrified protestations that he mustn't speak so, when a slow heavy step was heard on the other side of the hedge, and a deep voice uttered the single syllable, "_john!_" "yes, father," a meek young man standing up behind the gooseberry bush instantly replied: he was trying to brush himself as clean as circumstances would permit. "yes, father; were you calling me, father?" incredible as it seems, the meek and apologetic words were those of that bold enemy of tyrants, general napoleon smith. priscilla smiled at the general as he emerged from the hands of jane, "red and scurfy," just as he had said. she smiled meaningly and aggravatingly, so that napoleon was reduced to shaking his clenched fist covertly at her. "wait till i get you out," he said, using the phrase time-honoured by such occasions. priscilla smith only smiled more meaningly still. "first catch your hare!" she said under her breath. napoleon smith stalked in to lunch, the children's dinner at the house of windy standard, with an expression of fixed and byronic gloom on his face, which was only lightened by the sight of his favourite pigeon-pie (with a lovely crust) standing on the side-board. "say grace, hugh john," commanded his father. and general napoleon smith said grace with all the sweet innocence of a budding angel singing in the cherub choir, aiming at the same time a kick at his sister underneath the table, which overturned a footstool and damaged the leg of a chair. chapter ii. the gospel of dasht-mean. it was on the day preceding a great review near the border town of edam, that hugh john picton smith first became a soldier and a napoleon. his father's house was connected by a short avenue with a great main road along which king and beggar had for a thousand years gone posting to town. now the once celebrated highway lies deserted, for along the heights to the east run certain bars of metal, shining and parallel, over which rush all who can pay the cost of a third-class ticket--a roar like thunder preceding them, white steam and sulphurous reek wreathing after them. the great highway beneath is abandoned to the harmless impecunious bicyclist, and on the north road the sweeping cloud dust has it all its own way. but hugh john loved the great thoroughfare, deserted though it was. to his mind there could be no loneliness upon its eye-taking stretches, for who knew but out of the dust there might come with a clatter mr. dick turpin, late of york and tyburn; robert the bruce, charging south into england with his galloway garrons, to obtain some fresh english beef wherewithal to feed his scurvy scots; or (best of all) his majesty king george's mail-coach highflyer, the picture of which, coloured and blazoned, hung in his father's workroom. people told him that all these great folks were long since dead. but hugh john knew better than to believe any "rot" grown-ups might choose to palm off on him. what did grown-ups know anyway? they were rich, of course. unlimited shillings were at their command; and as for pennies--well, all the pennies in the world lived in their breeches' pockets. but what use did they make of these god-like gifts? did you ever meet them at the tuck-shop down in the town buying fourteen cheese-cakes for a shilling, as any sensible person would? did they play with "real-real trains," drawn by locomotives of shining brass? no! they preferred either one lump of sugar or none at all in their tea. this showed how much they knew about what was good for them. so if such persons informed him that robert the bruce had been dead some time, or showed him the rope with which turpin was hung, coiled on a pedestal in a horrid dull museum (free on saturdays, 10 to 4), hugh john picton looked and nodded, for he was an intelligent boy. if you didn't nod sometimes as if you were taking it all in, they would explain it all over again to you--with abominable dates and additional particulars, which they would even ask you afterwards if you remembered. [illustration: "mr. dick turpin, late of york and tyburn."] for many years hugh john had gone every day down to the porter's lodge at the end of the avenue, and though old betty the rheumaticky warder was not allowed to let him out, he stared happily enough through the bars. it was a white gate of strong wood, lovely to swing on if you happened to be there when it was opened for a carriageful of calling-folk in the afternoon, or for hugh john's father when he went out a-riding. but you had to hide pretty quick behind the laurels, and rush out in that strictly limited period before old betty found her key, and yet after the tail of agincourt, his father's great grey horse, had switched round the corner. if you were the least late, betty would get ahead of you, and the gates of paradise would be shut. if you were a moment too soon, it was just as bad--or even worse. for then the voice of "he-whom-it-was-decidedly-most-healthy-to-obey" would sound up the road, commanding instant return to the sandheap or the high garden. so on these occasions hugh john mostly brought sir toady lion with him--otherwise arthur george the sturdy, and at yet other times variously denominated prince murat, the old guard, the mob that was scattered with the whiff of grapeshot, and (generally) the whole grand army of the first empire. toady lion (his own first effort at the name of his favourite hero richard coeur-de-lion) had his orders, and with guile and blandishments held betty in check till the last frisk of agincourt's tail had disappeared round the corner. then hugh john developed his plans of assault, and was soon swinging on the gate. "out of the way with you, betty," he would cry, "or you will get hurt--sure." for the white gate shut of itself, and you had only to push it open, jump on, check it at the proper place on the return journey, and with your foot shove off again to have scores and scores of lovely swings. then betty would go up the avenue and shout for her husband, who was the aforesaid crusty old gardener. she would have laid down her life for toady lion, but by no means even a part of it for hugh john, which was unfair. old betty had once been upset by the slam of the gate on a windy day, and so was easily intimidated by the shouts of the horseman and the appalling motion of his white five-barred charger. such bliss, however, was transient, and might have to be expiated in various ways--at best with a slap from the hand of betty (which was as good as nothing at all), at worst, by a visit to father's workroom--which could not be thought upon without a certain sense of solemnity, as if sunday had turned up once too often in the middle of the week. but upon this great day of which i have to tell, hugh john had been honourably digging all the morning in the sand-hole. he had on his red coat, which was his most secret pride, and he was devising a still more elaborate system of fortification. bastion and trench, scarp and counter-scarp, lunette and ravelenta (a good word), hugh john had made them all, and he was now besieging his own creation with the latest thing in artillery, calling "boom!" when he fired off his cannon, and "bang-whack!" as often as the projectile hit the wall and brought down a foot of the noble fortification, lately so laboriously constructed and so tenderly patted into shape. suddenly there came a sound which always made the heart of hugh john beat in his side. it was the low thrilling reverberation of the drum. he had only time to dash for his cap, which he had filled with sand and old nails in order to "be a bomb-shell"; empty it, put it on his head, gird on his london sword-with-the-gold-hilt, and fly. as he ran down the avenue the shrill fifes kept stinging his ears and making him feel as if needles were running up and down his back. it was at this point that hugh john had a great struggle with himself. priscilla and toady lion were playing at "house" and "tea-parties" under the weeping elm on the front lawn. it was a debasing taste, certainly, but after all blood was thicker than water. and--well, he could not bear that they should miss the soldiers. but then, on the other hand, if he went back the troops might be past before he reached the gate, and betty, he knew well, would not let him out to run after them, and the park wall was high. in this desperate strait hugh john called all the resources of religion to his aid. "it would," he said, "be dasht-mean to go off without telling them." hugh john did not know exactly what "dasht-mean" meant. but he had heard his cousin fred (who was grown up, had been a year at school, and wore a tall hat on sundays) tell how all the fellows said that it was better to die-and-rot than to be "dasht-mean"; and also how those who in spite of warnings proved themselves "dasht-mean" were sent to a place called coventry--which from all accounts seemed to be a "dasht-mean" locality. so hugh john resolved that he would never get sent there, and whenever a little thing tugged down in his stomach and told him "not to," hugh john said, "hang it! i won't be dasht-mean."--and wasn't. grown-ups call these things conscience and religion; but this is how it felt to hugh john, and it answered just as well--or even better. so when the stinging surge of distant pipes sent the wild blood coursing through his veins, and he felt his face grow cold and prickly all over, napoleon smith started to run down the avenue. he could not help it. he must see the soldiers or die. but all the same _tug-tug_ went the little string remorselessly in his stomach. "i must see them. i must--i must!" he cried, arguing with himself and trying to drown the inner voice. "_tug-tug-tug!_" went the string, worse than that which he once put round his toe and hung out of the window, for tom cannon the under-keeper to wake him with at five in the morning to go rabbit-ferreting. hugh john turned towards the house and the weeping elm. "it's a blooming shame," he said, "and they won't care anyway. but i _can't_ be dasht-mean!" and so he ran with all his might back to the weeping elm, and with a warning cry set prissy and sir toady lion on the alert. then with anxious tumultuous heart, and legs almost as invisible as the twinkling spokes of a bicycle, so quickly did they pass one another, hugh john fairly flung himself in the direction of the white gate. chapter iii. how hugh john became general napoleon. even dull betty had heard the music. the white gate was open, and with a wild cry hugh john sprang through. betty had a son in the army, and her deaf old ears were quickened by the fife and drum. "come back, master hugh!" she cried, as he passed through and stood on the roadside, just as the head of the column, marching easily, turned the corner of the white road and came dancing and undulating towards him. hugh john's heart danced also. it was still going fast with running so far; but at sight of the soldiers it took a new movement, just like little waves on a lake when they jabble in the wind, so nice and funny when you feel it--tickly too--down at the bottom of your throat. the first who came were soldiers in a dark uniform with very stern, bearded officers, who attended finely to discipline, for they were about to enter the little town of edam, which lay just below the white gates of windy standard. so intently they marched that no one cast a glance at hugh john standing with his drawn sword, giving the salute which his friend sergeant steel had taught him as each company passed. not that hugh john cared, or even knew that they did not see him. they were the crack volunteer regiment of the grey city beyond the hills, and their standard of efficiency was something tremendous. then came red-coats crowned with helmets, red-coats tipped with glengarry bonnets, and one or two brass bands of scattering volunteer regiments. hugh john saluted them all. no one paid the least attention to him. he did not indeed expect any one to notice him--a small dusty boy with a sword too big for him standing at the end of the road under the shadow of the elms. why should these glorious creations deign to notice him--shining blades, shouldered arms, flashing bayonets, white pipe-clayed belts? were they not as gods, knowing good and evil? but all the same he saluted every one of them impartially as they came, and the regiments swung past unregarding, dust-choked, and thirsty. then at last came the pipes and the waving tartans. something cracked in hugh john's throat, and he gave a little cry, so that his old nurse, janet sheepshanks, anxious for his welfare, came to take him away. but he struck at her--his own dear janet--and fled from her grasp to the other side of the road, where he was both safer and nearer to the soldiers. swinging step, waving plumes, all in review order on came the famous regiment, every man stepping out with a trained elasticity which went to the boy's heart. thus and not otherwise the black watch followed their pipers. hugh john gave a long sigh when they had passed, and the pipes dulled down the dusky glade. then came more volunteers, and yet more and more. would they never end? and ever the sword of hugh john picton flashed to the salute, and his small arm waxed weary as it rose and fell. then happened the most astonishing thing in the world, the greatest event of hugh john's life. for there came to his ear a new sound, the clatter of cavalry hoofs. a bugle rang out, and hugh john's eyes watched with straining eagerness the white dust rise and swirl behind the columns. perhaps--who knows?--this was his reward for not being dasht-mean! but now hugh john had forgotten prissy and toady lion, father and nurse alike, heaven, earth--and everything else. there was no past for him. he was the soldier of all time. his dusty red coat and his flashing sword were the salute of the universal spirit of man to the god of war--also other fine things of which i have no time to write. for the noble grey horses, whose predecessors napoleon had watched so wistfully at waterloo, came trampling along, tossing their heads with an obvious sense of their own worth as a spectacle. hugh john paled to the lips at sight of them, but drew himself more erect than ever. he had seen foot-soldiers and volunteers before, but never anything like this. on they came, a fine young fellow leading them, sitting carelessly on the noblest charger of all. perhaps he was kindly by nature. perhaps he had a letter from his sweetheart in his breastpocket. perhaps--but it does not matter, at any rate he was young and happy, as he sat erect, leading the "finest troop in the finest regiment in the world." he saw the small dusty boy in the red coat under the elm-trees. he marked his pale twitching face, his flashing eye, his erect carriage, his soldierly port. the fate of hugh john stood on tiptoe. he had never seen any being so glorious as this. he could scarce command himself to salute. but though he trembled in every limb, and his under lip "wickered" strangely, the hand which held the sword was steady, and went through the beautiful movements of the military salute which sergeant steel of the welsh fusiliers had taught him, with exactness and decorum. the young officer smiled. his own hand moved to the response almost involuntarily, as if hugh john had been one of his own troopers. the boy's heart stood still. could this thing be? a real soldier had saluted him! but there was something more marvellous yet to come. a sweet spring of good deeds welled up in that young officer's breast. heaven speed him (as doubtless it will) in his wooing, and make him ere his time a general, with the victoria cross upon his breast. but though (as i hope) he rise to be commander-in-chief, he will never do a prettier action than that day, when the small grimy boy stood under the elm-trees at the end of the avenue of windy standard. this is what he did. he turned about in his saddle. [illustration: "it could not have been better done for a field-marshal."] "_attention, men, draw swords!_" he cried, and his voice rang like a trumpet, so grand it was--at least so hugh john thought. there came a glitter of unanimous steel as the swords flashed into line. the horses tossed their heads at the stirring sound, and jingled their accoutrements as the men gathered their bridle reins up in their left hands. "_eyes right! carry swords!_" came again the sharp command. and every blade made an arc of glittering light as it came to the salute. it could not have been better done for a field-marshal. no fuller cup of joy was ever drunk by mortal. the tears welled up in hugh john's eyes as he stood there in the pride of the honour done to him. to be knighted was nothing to this. he had been acknowledged as a soldier by the greatest soldier there. hugh john did not doubt that this glorious being was he who had led the greys in the charge at waterloo. who else could have done that thing? he was no longer a little dusty boy. he stood there glorified, ennobled. the world was almost too full. "_eyes front! slope swords!_" rang the words once more. the pageant passed by. only the far drum-throb came back as he stood speechless and motionless, till his father rode up on his way home, and seeing the boy asked him what he was doing there. then for all reply a little clicking hitch came suddenly in his throat. he wanted to laugh, but somehow instead the tears ran down his cheeks, and he gasped out a word or two which sounded like somebody else's voice. "i'm not hurt, father," he said, "i'm not crying. it was only that the scots greys saluted me. and i _can't_ help it, father. it goes _tick-tick_ in my throat, and i can't keep it back. but i'm not crying, father! i'm not indeed!" then the stern man gathered the great soldier up and set him across his saddle--for hugh john was alone, the others having long ago gone back with janet sheepshanks. and his father did not say anything, but let him sit in front with the famous sword in his hands which had brought about such strange things. and even thus rode our hero home--hugh john picton no more, but rather general napoleon smith; nor shall his rank be questioned on any army roster of strong unblenching hearts. but late that night hugh john stole down the hushed avenue, his bare feet pattering through the dust which the dew was making cool. he climbed the gate and stood under the elm, with the wind flapping his white nightgown like a battle flag. then clasping his hands, he took the solemn binding oath of his religion, "_the scots greys saluted me. may i die-and-rot if ever i am dasht-mean again!_" chapter iv. castle perilous. in one corner of the property of hugh john's father stood an ancient castle--somewhat doubtfully of it, however, for it was claimed as public property by the adjoining abbey town, now much decayed and fallen from its high estate, but desirous of a new lease of life as a tourist and manufacturing centre. the castle and the abbey had for centuries been jealous neighbours, treacherous friends, embattled enemies according to the fluctuating power of those who possessed them. the lord of the castle harried the abbot and his brethren. the abbot promptly retaliated by launching, in the name of the church, the dread ban of excommunication against the freebooter. the castle represented feudal rights, the abbey popular and ecclesiastical authority. and so it was still. mr. picton smith had, indeed, only bought the property a few years before the birth of our hero; but, among other encumbrances, he had taken over a lawsuit with the town concerning the castle, which for years had been dragging its slow length along. edam abbey was a show-place of world-wide repute, and the shillings of the tourist constituted a very important item in the finances of the overburdened municipality. if the council and magistrates of the good town of edam could add the castle of windy standard to their attractions, the resultant additional sixpence a head would go far towards making up the ancient rental of the town parks, which now let for exactly half of their former value. but mr. picton smith was not minded thus tamely to hand over an ancient fortress, secured to him by deed and charter. he declared at once that he would resist the claims of the town by every means in his power. he would, however, refuse right-of-way to no respectable sightseer. the painter, all unchallenged, might set up his easel there, the poet meditate, even the casual wanderer in search of the picturesque and romantic, have free access to these gloomy and desolate halls. the townspeople would be at liberty to conduct their friends and visitors thither. but mr. smith was resolved that the ancient fortalice of the windy standard should not be made a vulgar show. sandwich papers and ginger-beer bottles would not be permitted to profane the green sward of the courtyard, across which had so often ridden all the chivalry of the dead lorraines. "those who want sixpenny shows will find plenty at edam fair," was mr. picton smith's ultimatum. and when he had once committed himself, like most of his stalwart name, mr. smith had the reputation of being very set in his mind. but in spite of this the town asserted its right-of-way through the courtyard. a footpath was said to have passed that way by which persons might go to and fro to kirk and market. "i have no doubt a footpath passed through my dining-room a few centuries ago," said mr. smith, "but that does not compel me to keep my front and back doors open for all the rabble of edam to come and go at their pleasure." and forthwith he locked his lodge gates and bought the largest mastiff he could obtain. the castle stood on an island rather more than a mile long, a little below the mansion house. a wooden bridge led over the deeper, narrower, and more rapid branch of the edam river from the direction of the abbey and town. across the broader and shallower branch there could be traced, from the house of windy standard, the remains of an ancient causeway. this, in the place where the stream was to be crossed, had become a series of stepping-stones over which hugh john and priscilla could go at a run (without falling in and wetting themselves more than once in three or four times), but which still constituted an impregnable barrier to the short fat legs of toady lion--who usually stood on the shore and proclaimed his woes to the world at large till somebody carried him over and deposited him on the castle island. affairs were in this unsettled condition when, at twelve years of age, hugh john ceased to be hugh john, and became, without, however, losing his usual surname of smith, one of the august and imperial race of the buonapartes. it was a clear june evening, the kind of night when the whole landscape seems to have been newly swept, washed down, and generally spring-cleaned. all nature spoke peace to janet sheepshanks, housekeeper, nurse, and general responsible female head of the house of windy standard, when a procession came towards her across the stepping-stones over the broad edam water from the direction of the castle island. never had such a disreputable sight presented itself to the eyes of janet sheepshanks. at once douce and severe, sharp-tongued and covertly affectionate, she represented the authority of a father who was frequently absent from them, and the memory of a dead mother which remained to the three children in widely different degrees. to priscilla her mother was a loving being, gracious alike by the tender sympathy of her voice and by the magic of a touch which healed all childish troubles with the kiss of peace upon the place "to make it well." to hugh john she had been a confidant to whom he could rush, eager and dishevelled, with the tale of the glorious defeat of some tin enemy (for even in those prehistoric days hugh john had been a soldier), and who, smoothing back his ruffled hair, was prepared to join as eagerly as himself in all his tiny triumphs. but to toady lion, though he hushed the shrill persistence of his treble to a reverent murmur when he talked of "muvver," she was only an imagination, fostered mostly by priscilla--his notion of motherhood being taken from his rough-handed loving janet sheepshanks; while the tomb in the village churchyard was a place to which he had no desire to accompany his mother, and from whose gloomy precincts he sought to escape as soon as possible. chapter v. the declaration of war. but, meanwhile, janet sheepshanks stands at the end of the stepping-stones, and janet is hardly a person to keep waiting anywhere near the house of windy standard. over the stepping-stones came as leader priscilla smith, her head thrown back, straining in every nerve with the excitement of carrying sir toady lion, whose scratched legs and shoeless feet dangled over the stream. immediately beneath her, and wading above the knee in the rush of the water, there staggered through the shallows hugh john, supporting his sister with voice and hand--or, as he would have said, "boosting her up" whenever she swayed riverward with her burden, pushing her behind when she hesitated, and running before to offer his back as an additional stepping-stone when the spaces were wide between the boulders. janet sheepshanks waited grimly for her charges on the bank, and her eyes seemed to deceive her, words to fail her, as the children came nearer. never had such a sight been seen near the decent house of windy standard. miss priscilla and her pinafore were represented by a ragged tinkler's lass with a still more ragged frill about her neck. her cheeks and hands were as variously scratched as if she had fallen into a whole thicket of brambles. her face, too, was pale, and the tatooed places showed bright scarlet against the whiteness of her skin. she had lost a shoe, and her dress was ripped to the knee by a great ragged triangular tear, which flapped wet about her ankles as she walked. sir toady lion was somewhat less damaged, but still showed manifold signs of rough usage. his lace collar, the pride of janet sheepshanks' heart, was torn nearly off his shoulders, and now hung jagged and unsightly down his back. several buttons of his well-ordered tunic were gone, and as to his person he was mud as far above the knees as could be seen without turning him upside down. but hugh john--words are vain to describe the plight of hugh john. one eye was closed, and began to be discoloured, taking on above the cheekbone the shot green and purple of a half-ripe plum. his lip was cut, and a thin thread of scarlet stealing down his brow told of a broken head. what remained of his garments presented a ruin more complete, if less respectable, than the ancient castle of the windy standard. neither shoe nor shoe-string, neither stocking nor collar, remained intact upon him. on his bare legs were the marks of cruel kicks, and for ease of transport he carried the _dã©bris_ of his jacket under his arm. he had not the remotest idea where his cap had gone to. [illustration: "no wonder that janet sheepshanks awaited this sorry procession with a grim tightening of the lips."] no wonder that janet sheepshanks awaited this sorry procession with a grim tightening of the lips, or that her hand quivered with the desire of punishment, even while her kind and motherly heart yearned to be busy repairing damages and binding up the wounded. of this feeling, however, it was imperative that for the present, in the interests of discipline, she should show nothing. it was upon priscilla, as the eldest in years and senior responsible officer in charge, that janet first turned the vials of her wrath. "eh, priscilla smith, but ye are a ba-a-ad, bad lassie. ye should ha'e your bare back slashit wi' nettles! where ha'e ye been, and what ha'e ye done to these twa bairns? ye shall be marched straight to your father, and if he doesna gar ye loup when ye wad raither stand still, and claw where ye are no yeuky, he will no be doing his duty to the almichty, and to your puir mither that's lang syne in her restin' grave in the kirk-yaird o' edom." by which fervent address in her native tongue, janet meant that mr. smith would be decidedly spoiling the child if on this occasion he spared the rod. janet could speak good enough formal english when she chose, for instance to her master on sabbath, or to the minister on visitation days; but whenever she was excited she returned to that vigorous ancient early english which some miscall a dialect, and of which she had a noble and efficient command. to janet's attack, priscilla answered not a word either of explanation or apology. she recognised that the case had gone far beyond that. she only set sir toady lion on his feet, and bent down to brush the mud from his tunic with her usual sisterly gesture. janet sheepshanks thrust her aside without ceremony. "my wee man," she said, "what have they done to you?" toady lion began volubly, and in his usual shrill piping voice, to make an accusation against certain bad boys who had "hit him," and "hurted him," and "kicked him." and now when at last he was safely delivered and lodged in the well-proven arms of janet sheepshanks his tears flowed apace, and made clean furrows down the woebegone grubbiness of his face. priscilla walked by janet's side, white and silent, nerving herself for the coming interview. at ordinary times janet sheepshanks was terrible enough, and her word law in all the precincts of windy standard. but priscilla knew that she must now face the anger of her father; and so, with this in prospect, the railing accusations of her old nurse scarcely so much as reached her ears. hugh john, stripped of all military pomp, limped behind--a short, dry, cheerless sob shaking him at intervals. but in reality this was more the protest of ineffectual anger than any concession to unmanly weakness. chapter vi. first blood. ten minutes later, and without, as jane sheepshanks said, "so muckle as a sponge or a brush-and-comb being laid upon them," the three stood before their father. silently janet had introduced them, and now as silently she stood aside to listen to the evidence--and, as she put it, "keep the maister to his duty, and mind him o' his responsibilities to them that's gane." janet sheepshanks never forgot that she had been maid for twenty years to the dead mother of the children, nor that she had received "the bits o' weans" at her hand as a dying charge. she considered herself, with some reason, to be the direct representative of the missing parent, and referred to priscilla, toady lion, and hugh john as "my bairns," just as, in moments of affection, she would still speak to them of "my bonnie lassie your mither," as if the dead woman were still one of her flock. for a full minute mr. picton smith gazed speechless at the spectacle before him. he had been writing something that crinkled his brow and compressed his lips, and at the patter of the children's feet in the passage outside his door, as they ceremoniously marshalled themselves to enter, he had turned about on his great office chair with a smile of expectation and anticipation. the door opened, and janet sheepshanks pushed in first sir toady lion, still voluble and calling for vengeance on the "bad, bad boys at the castle that had striked him and hurted his dear prissy." priscilla herself stood white-lipped and dumb, and through the awful silence pulsed the dry, recurrent, sobbing catch in the throat of hugh john. mr. picton smith was a stern man, whose great loss had caused him to shut up the springs of his tenderness from the world. but they flowed the sweeter and the rarer underneath; and though his grave and dignified manner daunted his children on the occasion of any notable evil-doing, they had no reason to be afraid of him. "well, what is the meaning of this?" he said, his face falling into a greyer and graver silence at the sound of hugh john's sobs, and turning to priscilla for explanation. meanwhile sir toady lion was pursuing the subject with his usual shrill alacrity. "be quiet, sir," said his father. "i will hear you all one by one, but let priscilla begin--she is the eldest." "we went to the castle after dinner, over by the stepping-stones," began priscilla, fingering nervously the frill of the torn pinafore about her throat, "and when we got to the castle we found out that our pet lamb donald had come after us by the ford; and he was going everywhere about the castle, trying to rub his bell off his neck on the gate-posts and on the stones at the corners." "yes, and i stooded on a rock, and donald he butted me over behind!" came the voice of sir toady lion in shrill explanation of his personal share in the adventure. "and then we played on the grass in the inside of the castle. toady lion and i were plaiting daisy-chains and garlands for donald, and hugh john was playing at being the prisoner of chillyon: he had tied himself to the gate-post with a rope." "'twasn't," muttered hugh john, who was a stickler for accuracy; "it was a plough-chain!" "and it rattled," added sir toady lion, not to be out of the running. "and just when we were playing nicely, a lot of horrid boys from the town came swarming and clambering in. they had run over the bridge and climbed the gate, and then they began calling us names and throwing mud. so hugh john said he would tell on them." "didn't," interrupted hugh john indignantly. "i said i'd knock the heads off them if they didn't stop and get out; and they only laughed and said things about father. so i hit one of them with a stone." "then," continued priscilla, gaining confidence from a certain curious spark of light which began to burn steadily in her father's eyes, "after hugh john threw the stone, the horrid boys all came and said that they would kill us, and that we had no business there anyway." "they frowed me down the well, and i went splass! yes, indeedy!" interrupted toady lion, who had imagination. "then donald, our black pet lamb, that is, came into the court, and they all ran away after him and caught him. first he knocked down one or two of them, and then they put a rope round his neck and began to take rides on his back." "yes, and he bleated and 'kye-kyed' just feeful!" whimpered toady lion, beginning to weep all over again at the remembrance. but the smith of the imperial race only clenched his torn hands and looked at his bruised knuckles. "so hugh john said he would kill them if they did not let donald go, and that he was a soldier. but they only laughed louder, and one of them struck him across the lip with a stick--i know him, he's the butch----" "shut up, pris!" shouted hugh john, with sudden fierceness, "it's dasht-mean to tell names." "be quiet, sir," said his father severely; "let your sister finish her story in her own way." but for all that there was a look of some pride on his face. at that moment mr. picton smith was not sorry to have hugh john for a son. "well," said priscilla, who had no such scruples as to telling on her enemies, "i won't tell if you say not. but that was the boy who hurt donald the worst." "well, i smashed him for that!" muttered napoleon smith. "and then when hugh john saw them dragging donald away and heard him bleating----" "and 'kye-kying' big, big tears, big as cherries!" interjected toady lion, who considered every narrative incomplete to which he did not contribute. "he was overcome with rage and anger"--at this point priscilla began to talk by the book, the dignity of the epic tale working on her--"and he rushed upon them fearlessly, though they were ten to one; and they all struck him and kicked him. but hugh john fought like a lion." "yes, like wichard toady lion," cried the namesake of that hero, "and i helpted him and bited a bad boy on the leg, and didn't let go though he kicked and hurted feeful! yes, indeedy!" "and i went to their assistance and fought as hugh john showed me. and--i forget the rest," said priscilla, her epic style suddenly failing her. also she felt she must begin to cry very soon, now the strain was over. so she made haste to finish. "but it was dreadful, and they swore, and said they would cut donald's throat. and one boy took out a great knife and said he knew how to do it. he was the butch----" "shut up, pris! now don't you dare!" shouted hugh john, in his most warning tones. "and when hugh john rushed in to stop him, he hit him over the head with a stick, and hugh john fell down. and, oh! i thought he was dead, and i didn't know what to do" (priscilla was crying in good earnest now); "and i ran to him and tried to lift him up. but i could not--he was so wobbly and soft." "i bited the boy's leg. it was dood. i bited hard!" interrupted toady lion, whose mission had been vengeance. "and when i looked up again they had taken away p-p-poor donald," priscilla went on spasmodically between her tears, "and i think they killed him because he belonged to you, and--they said he had no business there! oh, they were such horrid cruel boys, and much bigger than us. and i can't bear that don should have his throat cut. i was promised that he should never be sold for mutton, but only clipped for wool. and he had such a pretty throat to hang daisy-chains on, and was such a dear, dear thing." "i don't think they would dare to kill him," said mr. smith gravely; "besides, they could not lift him over the gate. i will send at once and see. in fact i will go myself!" there was only anger against the enemy now, and no thought of chastisement of his own in the heart of mr. picton smith. he was rising to reach out his hand to his riding-whip, when general napoleon smith, who, like most great makers of history, had taken little part in the telling of it, created a diversion which put all thought of immediate action out of his father's head. he had been standing up, shoulders squared, arms dressed to his side, head erect, as he had seen sergeant steel do when he spoke to his colonel. once or twice he had swayed slightly, but the heart of the buonapartes, which beat bravely in his bosom, brought him up again all standing. nevertheless he grew even whiter and whiter, till, all in a moment, he gave a little lurch forward, checked himself, and again looked straight before him. then he sobbed out once suddenly and helplessly, said "i couldn't help getting beaten, father--there were too many of them!" and fell over all of a piece on the hearthrug. at which his father's face grew very still and angry as he gathered the great general gently in his arms and carried him upstairs to his own little white cot. chapter vii. the poor wounded hussar. it is small wonder that mr. picton smith was full of anger. his castle had been invaded and desecrated, his authority as proprietor defied, his children insulted and abused. as a magistrate he felt bound to take notice both of the outrage and of the theft of his property. as a father he could not easily forget the plight in which his three children had appeared before him. but in his schemes of vengeance he reckoned without that distinguished military officer, general-field-marshal napoleon smith. for this soldier had been promoted on his bed of sickness. he had read somewhere that in his profession (as in most others) success quite often bred envy and neglect, but that to the unsuccessful, promotion and honour were sometimes awarded as a sort of consolation sweepstakes. so, having been entirely routed and plundered by the enemy, it came to hugh john in the watches of the night--when, as he put it, "his head was hurting like fun" that it was time for him to take the final step in his own advancement. so on the next morning he announced the change in his name and style to his army as it filed in to visit him. the army was on the whole quite agreeable. "but i'm afraid i shall never remember all that, mr. general-field-marshal napoleon smith!" said priscilla. "well, you'd better!" returned the wounded hero, as truculently as he could for the bandages and the sticking-plaster, in which he was swathed after the fashion of an egyptian mummy partially unwrapped. "what a funny smell!" piped toady lion. "do field-marshals _all_ smell like that?" "get out, silly!" retorted the wounded officer. "don't you know that's the stuff they rub on the wounded when they have fought bravely? that's arnicay!" "and what do they yub on them when they don't fight bravely?" persisted toady lion, who had had enough of fighting, and who in his heart was resolved that the next time he would "yun away" as hard as he could, a state of mind not unusual after the _zip-zip_ of bullets is heard for the first time. "first of all they catch them and kick them for being cowards. then they shoot at them till they are dead; and may the lord have mercy on their souls! amen!" said general smith, mixing things for the information and encouragement of sir toady lion. presently the children were called out to go and play, and the wounded hero was left alone. his head ached so that he could not read. indeed, in any case he could not, for the room was darkened with the intention of shielding his damaged eyes from the light. general napoleon could only watch the flies buzzing round and round, and wish in vain that he had a fly-flapper at the end of a pole in order to "plop" them, as he used to do all over the house in the happy days before janet sheepshanks discovered what made the walls and windows so horrid with dead and dying insects. "yes; the squashy ones _were_ rather streaky!" had been the words in which hugh john admitted his guilt, after the pole and leathern flapper were taken from him and burned in the washhouse fire. thus in the semi-darkness hugh john lay watching the flies with the stealthy intentness of a red indian scalper on the trail. it was sad to lie idly in bed, so bewrapped and swathed that (as he mournfully remarked), "if one of the brutes were to settle on your nose, you could only wait for him to crawl up, and then snatch at him with your left eyelid." suddenly the disabled hero bethought himself of something. first, after listening intently so as to be quite sure that "the children" were outside the bounds of the house, the wounded general raised himself on his elbow. but the effort hurt him so much that involuntarily he said "outch!" and sank back again on the pillow. "crikey, but don't i smell just!" he muttered, when, after one breath of purer air, he sank back into the pool of arnica vapour. "i suppose i'll have to howl out for janet. what a swot!" "janet!--ja-a-a-a-net!" he shouted, and sighed a sigh of relief to find that at least there was one part of him neither bandaged nor drowned in arnica. "deil tak' the laddie!" cried janet, who went about her work all day with one ear cocked toward the chamber of her brave sick soldier; "what service is there in taking the rigging aff the hoose wi' your noise? did ye think i was doon at edam cross? what do ye want, callant, that ye deafen my auld lugs like that? i never heard sic a laddie!" but general smith did not answer any of these questions. he well knew janet's tone of simulated anger when she was "putting it on." "go and fetch _it_!" he said darkly. chapter viii. the familiar spirit. now there was a skeleton in the cupboard of general napoleon smith. no distinguished family can be respectable without at least one such. but that of the new field-marshal was particularly dark and disgraceful. very obediently janet sheepshanks vanished from the sick-room, and presently returned with an oblong parcel, which she handed to the hero of battles. "thank you," he said; "are you sure that the children are out?" "they are sailing paper boats on the mill-dam," said janet, going to the window to look. hugh john sighed a sigh. he wished he could sail boats on the mill-dam. "i hope every boat will go down the mill lade, and get mashed in the wheel," he said pleasantly. "for shame, master hugh!" replied janet sheepshanks, shaking her head at him, but conscious that he was exactly expressing her own mind, if she had been lying sick a-bed and had been compelled to listen to some other housekeeper jingling keys that once were hers, ransacking her sacredest repositories, and keeping in order the menials of the house. hugh john proceeded cautiously to unwrap his family skeleton. presently from the folds of tissue paper a very aged and battered "sambo" emerged. now a "sambo" is a black woolly-haired negro doll of the fashion of many years ago. this specimen was dressed in simple and airy fashion in a single red shell jacket. as to the rest, he was bare and black from head to foot. janet called him "that horrid object"; but, nevertheless, he was precious in the eyes of hugh john, and therefore in hers. though twelve years of age, he still liked to carry on dark and covert intercourse with his ancient "sambo." in public, indeed, he preached, in season and out of season, against the folly and wickedness of dolls. no one but a lassie or a "lassie-boy" would do such a thing. he laughed at priscilla for cleaning up her doll's kitchen once a week, and for organising afternoon tea-parties for her quiet harem. but secretly he would have liked very well to see sambo sit at that bounteous board. nevertheless, he instructed toady lion every day with doctrine and reproof that it was "only for girls" to have dolls. and knowing well that none of his common repositories were so remote and sacred as long to escape priscilla's unsleeping eye, or the more stormy though fitful curiosity of sir toady lion, hugh john had been compelled to take his ancient nurse and ever faithful friend janet into his confidence. so sambo dwelt in the housekeeper's pantry and had two distinct odours. one side of him smelt of paraffin, and the other of soft soap, which, to a skilled detective, might have revealed the secret of his dark abode. but let us not do our hero an injustice. it was not exactly as a doll that general smith considered sambo. by no means so, indeed. sometimes he was a distinguished general who came to take orders from his chief, sometimes an awkward private who needed to be drilled, and then knocked spinning across the floor for inattention to orders. for, be it remembered, it was the custom in the army of field-marshal-general smith for the commander-in-chief to drill the recruits with his own voice, and in the by no means improbable event of their proving stupid, to knock them endwise with his own august hand. but it was as familiar spirit, and in the pursuit of occult divination, that general napoleon most frequently resorted to sambo. he had read all he could find in legend and history concerning that gruesomely attractive goblin, clothed all in red, which the wicked lord soulis kept in an oaken chest in a castle not so far from his own father's house of windy standard. and hugh john saw no reason why sambo should not be the very one. spirits do not die. it is a known fact that they are fond of their former haunts. what, then, could be clearer? sambo was evidently lord soulis' red imp risen from the dead. was sambo not black? the devil was black. did sambo not wear a red coat? was not the demon of the oaken chest attired in flaming scarlet, when all cautiously he lifted the lid at midnight and looked wickedly out upon his master? yet the general was conscious that sambo soulis was a distinct disappointment in the part of familiar spirit. he would sit silent, with his head hanging idiotically on one side, when he was asked to reveal the deepest secrets of the future, instead of toeing the line and doing it. nor was it recorded in the chronicles of soulis that the original demon of the chest had had his nose "bashed flat" by his master, as hugh john vigorously expressed the damaged appearance of his own familiar. worse than all, hugh john had tried to keep sambo in his rabbit-box. but not only did he utterly fail to put his "fearful head, crowned with a red night-cap" over the edge of the hutch at the proper time--as, had he been of respectable parentage, he would not have failed to do, but, in addition, he developed in his close quarters an animal odour so pungent and unprofitable that janet sheepshanks refused to admit him into the store-cupboard till he had been thoroughly fumigated and disinfected. so for a whole week sambo soulis swung ignominiously by the neck from the clothes line, and hugh john went about in fear of the questioning of the children or of the confiscation by his father of his well-beloved but somewhat unsatisfactory familiar spirit. it was in order to consult him on a critical point of doctrine and practice that hugh john had now sent for sambo soulis. he propped him up before him against a pillow, on which he sat bent forward at an acute angle from the hips, as if ready to pounce upon his master and rend him to pieces so soon as the catechism should be over. "look here," said general-field-marshal smith to the oracle, "supposing the governor tells me to split on nipper donnan, the butcher boy, will it be dasht-mean if i do?" sambo soulis, being disturbed by the delicacy of the question or perhaps by the wriggling of hugh john upon his pillow, only lurched drivellingly forward. "sit up and answer," cried his master, "or else i'll hike you out of that pretty quick, for a silly old owl!" and with his least bandaged hand he gave sambo a sound cuff on the side of his venerable battered head, before propping him up at a new angle with his chin on his knees. "now speak up, soulis," said general smith; "i ask you would it be dasht-mean?" the oracle was understood to joggle his chin and goggle his eyes. he certainly did the latter. "i thought so," said soulis' master, as is usual in such cases, interpreting the reply oracular according to his liking. "but look here, how are we to get back donald unless we split? would it not be all right to split just to get donald back?" sambo soulis waggled his head again. this time his master looked a little more serious. "i suppose you are right," he said pensively, "but if it would be dasht-mean to split, we must just try to get him back ourselves--that is, if the beasts have not cut his throat, as they said they would." chapter ix. put to the question. in the chaste retirement of his sick room the field-marshal had just reached this conclusion, when he heard a noise in the hall. there was a sound of the gruff unmirthful voices of grown-ups, a scuffling of feet, a planting of whips and walking-sticks on the zinc-bottomed hall-stand, and then, after a pause which meant drinks, heavy footsteps in the passage which led to the hero's chamber. hugh john snatched up sambo soulis and thrust him deep beneath the bedclothes, where he could readily push him over the end with his toes, if it should chance to be "the doctor-beast" come to uncover him and "fool with the bandages." i have said enough to show that the general was not only frankly savage in sentiment, but resembled his great imperial namesake in being grateful only when it suited him. before general napoleon had his toes fairly settled over the back of sambo soulis' neck, so as to be able to remove him out of harm's way on any sudden alarm, the door opened and his father came in, ushering two men, the first of whom came forward to the bedside in an easy, kindly manner, and held out his hand. "do you know me?" he said, giving hugh john's second sorest hand such a squeeze that the wounded hero was glad it was not the very sorest one. "yes," replied the hero promptly, "you are sammy carter's father. i can jolly well lick----" "hugh john," interrupted his father severely, "remember what you are saying to mr. davenant carter." "well, anyway, i _can_ lick sammy carter till he's dumb-sick!" muttered the general between his teeth, as he avoided the three pairs of eyes that were turned upon him. "oh, let him say just what he likes!" said mr. davenant carter jovially. "sammy is the better of being licked, if that is what the boy was going to say. i sometimes try my hand at it myself with some success." the other man who had come in with mr. smith was a thick-set fellow of middle height, with a curious air of being dressed up in somebody else's clothes. yet they fitted him very well. he wore on his face (in addition to a slight moustache) an expression which somehow made hugh john think guiltily of all the orchards he had ever visited along with toady lion and sammy carter's sister cissy, who was "no end of a nice girl" in hugh john's estimation. "this, hugh," said his father, with a little wave of his hand, "is mr. mant, the chief constable of the county. mr. carter and he have come to ask you a few questions, which you will answer at once." "i won't be dasht-mean!" muttered napoleon smith to himself. "what's that?" ejaculated mr. smith, catching the echo of his son's rumble of dissent. "only my leg that hurted," said the hypocritical hero of battles. "don't you think we should have the other children here?" said mr. chief constable mant, speaking for the first time in a gruff, move-on-there voice. "certainly," assented mr. smith, going to the door. "janet!" "yes, sir!" the answer came from immediately behind the door. the field-marshal's brow darkened, or rather it would have done so if there had been no white bandages over it. this is the correct expression anyhow--though ordinary brows but seldom behave in this manner. "prissy's all right," he thought to himself, "but if that little fool toady lion----" and he clenched his second sorest hand under the clothes, and kicked sambo soulis to the foot of the bed in a way which augured but little mercy to sir toady lion if, after all his training, he should turn out "dasht-mean" in the hour of trial. presently the other two children were pushed in at the door, toady lion trying a bolt at the last moment, which janet sheepshanks easily foiled by catching at the slack of his trousers behind, while prissy stood holding her hands primly as if in sunday-school class. both afforded to the critical eye of hugh john complete evidence that they had only just escaped from the greater pain of the comb and soaped flannel-cloth of janet sheepshanks. prissy's curls were still wet and smoothed out, and toady lion was trying in vain to rub the yellow soap out of his eyes. so at the headquarters of its general, the army of windy standard formed up. sir toady lion wished to get within supporting distance of prissy, and accordingly kept snuggling nearer all the time, so that he could get a furtive hold of her skirts at awkward places in the examination. this he could do the more easily that general field-marshal smith was prevented by the bandages over his right eye, and also by the projecting edges of the pillow, from seeing toady lion's left hand. "now, priscilla," began her father, "tell mr. davenant carter and mr. mant what happened in the castle, and the names of any of the bad boys who stole your pet lamb." "wasn't no lamb--donald was a sheep, and he could fight," began toady lion, without relevance, but with his usual eagerness to hear the sound of his own piping voice. in his zeal he took a step forward and so brought himself on the level of the eye of his general, who from the pillow darted upon him a look so freezing that sir toady lion instantly fell back into the ranks, and clutched prissy's skirt with such energy as almost to stagger her severe deportment. "now," said the chief constable of bordershire, "tell me what were the names of the assailants." he was listening to the tale as told by prissy with his note-book ready in his hand, occasionally biting at the butt of the pencil, and anon wetting the lead in his mouth, under the mistaken idea that by so doing he improved its writing qualities. "i think," began prissy, "that they were----" "_a-chew!_" came from the bed and from under the bandages with a sudden burst of sound. field-marshal napoleon smith had sneezed. that was all. but prissy started. she knew what it meant. it was the well-known signal not to commit herself under examination. her father looked round at the open windows. "are you catching cold with the draught, hugh john?" he asked kindly. "i think i have a little cold," said the wily general, who did not wish all the windows to be promptly shut. "don't know all their names, but the one that hurted me was----" began toady lion. but who the villain was will never be known, for at that moment the bedclothes became violently disturbed immediately in front of sir toady lion's nose. a fearful black countenance nodded once at him and disappeared. "black sambo!" gasped toady lion, awed by the terrible appearance, and falling back from the place where the wizard had so suddenly appeared. "what did i understand you to say, little boy?" said mr. mant, with his pencil on his book. "ow--it was black sambo!" toady lion almost screamed. mr. mant gravely noted the fact. "what in the world does he mean?" asked mr. mant, casting his eyes searchingly from prissy to general napoleon and back again. "he means 'black sambo'!" said prissy, devoting herself strictly to facts, and leaving the chief constable to his proper business of interpreting them. "what is his other name?" said mr. mant. "soulis!" said general smith from the bed. the three gentlemen looked at each other, smiled, and shook their heads. "what did i tell you?" said mr. davenant carter. "try as i will, i cannot get the simplest thing out of my sammy and cissy if they don't choose to tell." nevertheless mr. smith, being a sanguine man and with little experience of children, tried again. "there is no black boy in the neighbourhood," said mr. smith severely; "now tell the truth, children--at once, when i bid you!" he uttered the last words in a loud and commanding tone. "us is telling the troof, father dear," said toady lion, in the "coaxy-woaxy" voice which he used when he wanted marmalade from janet or a ride on the saddle from mr. picton smith. "perhaps the boy had blackened his face to deceive the eye," suggested mr. mant, with the air of one familiar from infancy with the tricks and devices of the evil-minded of all ages. "was the ringleader's face blackened?--answer at once!" said mr. smith sternly. the general extracted his bruised and battered right hand from under the clothes and looked at it. "i think so," he said, "leastways some has come off on my knuckles!" mr. davenant carter burst into a peal of jovial mirth. "didn't i tell you?--it isn't a bit of use badgering children when they don't want to tell. let's go over to the castle." and with that the three gentlemen went out, while napoleon smith, prissy, and sir toady lion were left alone. the general beckoned them to his bedside with his nose--quite an easy thing to do if you have the right kind of nose, which hugh john had. "now look here," he said, "if you'd told, i'd have jolly well flattened you when i got up. 'tisn't our business to tell p'leecemen things." "that wasn't a p'leeceman," said sir toady lion, "hadn't no shiny buttons." "that's the worst kind," said the general in a low, hissing whisper; "all the same you stood to it like bricks, and now i'm going to get well and begin on the campaign at once." "don't you be greedy-teeth and eat it all yourself!" interjected toady lion, who thought that the campaign was something to eat, and that it sounded good. "what are you going to do?" said prissy, who had a great belief in the executive ability of her brother. "i know their secret hold," said general-field-marshal smith grandly, "and in the hour of their fancied security we will fall upon them and----" "and what?" gasped prissy and toady lion together, awaiting the revelation of the horror. "destroy them!" said general smith, in a tone which was felt by all parties to be final. he laid himself back on his pillow and motioned them haughtily away. prissy and sir toady lion retreated on tiptoe, lest janet should catch them and send them to the parlour--prissy to read her chapter, and her brother along with her to keep him out of mischief. and so the great soldier was left to his meditations in the darkened hospital chamber. chapter x. a scouting adventure. general smith, having now partially recovered, was mustering his forces and arranging his plans of campaign. he had spoken no hasty word when he boasted that he knew the secret haunt of the robbers. for, some time before, during a brief but glorious career as a pirate, he had been brought into connection with nipper donnan, the strongest butcher's boy of the town, and the ringleader in all mischief, together with joe craig, nosie cuthbertson, and billy m'robert, his ready followers. hugh john had once been a member of the comanche cowboys, as nipper donnan's band was styled; but a disagreement about the objects of attack had hastened a rupture, and the affair of the castle was but the last act in a hostility long latent. in fact the war was always simmering, and was ready to boil over on the slightest provocation. for when hugh john found that his father's orchards, his father's covers and hencoops were to be the chief prey (being safer than the farmers' yards, where there were big dogs always loose, and the town streets, where "bobbies" mostly congregated), he struck. he reflected that one day all these things would belong to himself. he would share with prissy and sir toady lion, of course; but still mainly they would belong to him. why then plunder them now? the argument was utilitarian but sufficient. though he did not mention the fact to prissy or sir toady lion, hugh john was perfectly well acquainted with the leaders in the fray at the castle. he knew also that there were motives for the enmity of the comanche cowboys other and deeper than the town rights to the possession of the castle of windy standard. it was night when hugh john cautiously pushed up the sash of his window and looked out. a few stars were high up aloft wandering through the grey-blue fields of the summer night, as it were listlessly and with their hands in their pockets. a corn-crake cried in the meadow down below, steadily, remorselessly, like the aching of a tooth. a white owl passed the window with an almost noiseless whiff of fluffy feathers. hugh john sniffed the cool pungent night smell of the dew on the near wet leaves and the distant mown grass. it always went to his head a little, and was the only thing which made him regret that he was to be a soldier. whenever he smelt it, he wanted to be an explorer of far-off lands, or an honest poacher--even a gamekeeper might do, in case the other vocations proved unattainable. hugh john got out of the window slowly, leaving sir toady lion asleep and the door into prissy's room wide open. he dropped easily and lightly upon the roof of the wash-house, and, steadying himself upon the tiles, he slid down till he heard cã¦sar, the black newfoundland, stir in his kennel. then he called him softly, so that he might not bark. he could not take him with him to-night, for though cã¦sar was little more than a puppy his step was like that of a cow, and when released he went blundering end on through the woods like a festive avalanche. hugh john's father, for reasons of his own, persisted in calling him "the potwalloping elephant." so, having assured himself that cã¦sar would not bark, the boy dropped to the ground, taking the roof of the dog-kennel on the way. cã¦sar stirred, rolled himself round, and came out breathing hard, and thump-thumping hugh john's legs with his thick tail, with distinctly audible blows. then when he understood that he was not to be taken, he sat down at the extremity of his chain and regarded his master wistfully through the gloom with his head upon one side; and as hugh john took his way down the avenue, cã¦sar moaned a little, intoning his sense of injury and disappointment as the parson does a litany. at the first turn of the road hugh john had just time to dart aside into the green, acrid-scented, leathery-leaved shrubbery, where he lay crouched with his hands on his knees and his head thrust forward, while tom the keeper went slowly by with his arm about jane housemaid's waist. [illustration: "wait till the next time you won't lend me the ferret, tom cannon! o-ho, jane housemaid, will you tell my father the next time i take your dust scoop?"] "aha!" chuckled hugh john; "wait till the next time you won't lend me the ferret, tom cannon! o-ho, jane housemaid, will you tell my father the next time i take your dust scoop out to the sand-hole to help dig trenches? i think not!" and hugh john hugged himself in his pleasure at having a new weapon so admirably double-barrelled. he looked upon the follies of love, as manifested in the servants' hall and upon the outskirts of the village, as so much excellent material by which a wise man would not fail to profit. janet sheepshanks was very severe on such delinquencies, and his father--well, hugh john felt that tom cannon would not wish to appear before his master in such a connection. he had a vague remembrance of a certain look he had once seen on his father's face when allan chestney, the head-keeper, came out from mr. picton smith's workroom with these words ringing in his ear, "now, sir, you will do as i tell you, or i will give you a character--_but_, such a character as you will carry through the world with you, and which will be buried with you when you die." allan was now married to jemima, who had once been cook at the house of windy standard. hugh john went over to their cottage often to eat her delicious cakes; and when allan came in from the woods, his wife ordered him to take off his dirty boots before he entered her clean kitchen. then allan chestney would re-enter and play submissively and furtively with patty pans, their two-year-old child, shifting his chair obediently whenever cook jemima told him. but all the same, hugh john felt dimly that these things would not have happened, save for the look on his father's face when allan chestney went in to see him that day in the grim pine-boarded workroom. so, much lightened in his mind by his discovery, hugh john took his way down the avenue. at the foot of it, and before he came to the locked white gate and the cottage of betty, he turned aside through a copse, over a little green patch of sward on which his feet slid smooth as velvet. a hare sat on the edge of this, with her fore-feet in the air. she was for the moment so astonished at hugh john's appearance that it was an appreciable period of time before she turned, and with a quick, sidelong rush disappeared into the wood. he could hear the soughing rush of the river below him, which took different keys according to the thickness of the tree copses which were folded about it; now singing gaily through the thin birches and rowans; anon humming more hoarsely through the alders; again rustling and whispering mysteriously through the grey shivery poplars; and, last of all, coming up, dull and sullen, through the heavy oak woods, whose broad leaves cover all noises underneath them as a blanket muffles speech. hugh john skirted the river till he came to the stepping-stones, which he crossed with easy confidence. he knew them--high, low, jack, and game, like the roofs of his father's outhouses. he could just as easily have gone across blindfold. then he made his way over the wide, yellowish-grey spaces of the castle island, avoiding the copses of willow and dwarf birch, and the sandy-bottomed "bunkers," which ever and anon gleamed up before him like big tawny eyes out of the dusky grey-green of the short grass. after a little the walls of the old castle rose grimly before him, and he could hear the starlings scolding one another sleepily high up in the crevices. a black-cap piped wistfully among the sedges of the watermarsh. hugh john had often heard that the ruin was haunted, and certainly he always held his breath as he passed it. but now he was on duty, and, if need had been, he would that night have descended to the deepest dungeon, and faced a full banquo-board of blood-boltered ghosts. chapter xi. enemy's country. he presently came to the wooden bridge and crossed it. he was now on the outskirts of the town, and in enemy's country. so, more from etiquette than precaution, he took the shelter of a wall, glided through a plantation, among the withy roots of which his foot presently caught in a brass "grin," or rabbit's snare. hugh john grubbed it up gratefully and pocketed it. he had no objections whatever to spoiling the egyptians. he was now in butcher donnan's pastures, where many fore-doomed sheep, in all the bliss of ignorance, waited their turns to be made into mutton. very anxiously hugh john scrutinised each one. he wandered round and round till he had made certain that donald was not there. at the foot of the pasture were certain black-pitched wooden sheds set in a square, with a little yard like a church pew in the midst. somewhere here, he knew, slept donnan's slaughterman, and it was possible that in this place donald might be held in captivity. now it was an accomplishment of our hero's that he could bleat like any kind of sheep--except perhaps an old tup, for which his voice was as yet too shrill. in happy, idle days he had elaborated a code of signals with donald, and was well accustomed to communicating with him from his bedroom window. so now he crouched in the dusk of the hedge, and said "maa-aaa!" in a tone of reproach. instantly a little answering bleat came from the black sheds, a sound which made hugh's heart beat faster. still he could not be quite sure. he therefore bleated again more pleadingly, and again there came back the answer, choked and feeble indeed, but quite obviously the voice of his own dear donald. hugh john cast prudence to the winds. he raced round and climbed the bars into the enclosure, calling loudly, "donald! donald!" but hardly had his feet touched the ground when a couple of dogs flew at him from the corner of the yard, and he had scarcely time to get on the top of a stone wall before they were clamouring and yelping beneath him. hugh john crouched on his "hunkers" (as he called the posture in which one sits on a wall when hostile dogs are leaping below), and seizing a large coping-stone he dropped it as heavily as he could on the head of the nearer and more dangerous. a howl most lamentable immediately followed. then a man's voice cried, "down, towser! what's the matter, grip? sic' them! good dogs!" it was the voice of the slaughterman, roused from his slumbers, and in fear of tramps or other midnight marauders upon his master's premises. hugh ran on all fours along the wall to the nearest point of the woods, dropped over, and with a leaping, anxious heart sped in the direction of home. he crossed the bridge in safety, but as he ran across the island he could hear the dogs upon the trail and the encouraging shouts of his pursuer. the black looming castle fell swiftly behind him. now he was at the stepping-stones, over which he seemed to float rather than leap, so completely had fear added to his usual strength wings of swiftness. but at the farther side the dogs were close upon him. he was obliged to climb a certain low tree, where he had often sat dangling his legs and swinging in the branches while he allowed prissy to read to him. the dogs were soon underneath, and he could see them leaping upward with snapping white teeth which gleamed unpleasantly through the darkness. but their furious barking was promptly answered. hugh john could hear a heavy tread approaching among the dense foliage of the trees. a dark form suddenly appeared in the glade and poised something at its shoulder.--flash! there came a deafening report, the thresh of leaden drops, a howl of pain from the dogs, and both of them took their way back towards the town with not a few bird shot in their flanks. hugh john's heart stood still as the dark figure advanced. he feared it might prove to be his father. instead it was tom cannon, and the brave scout on the tree heaved a sigh of relief. "who's up there?" cried the under-keeper gruffly; "come down this moment and show yourself, you dirty poacher, or by heaven i'll shoot you sitting!" "all right, tom, i'm coming as fast as i can," said hugh john, beginning to clamber down. "heavens and earth, master hugh--what be you doing here? whatever will master say?" "he won't say anything, for he won't know, tom cannon." said hugh john confidently. "oh yes, he will," said the keeper. "i won't have you bringing a pack of dogs into my covers at twelve of the clock--blow me if i will!" "well, you won't tell my father, anyway!" said hugh john calmly, dusting himself as well as he could. "and why not?" asked the keeper indignantly. "'cause if you do, i'll tell where i saw you kissing jane housemaid an hour ago!" now this was at once a guess and an exaggeration. hugh john had not seen all this, but he felt rather than knew that the permitted arm about jane housemaid's waist could have no other culmination. also he had a vague sense that this was the most irritating thing he could say in the circumstances. at any rate tom cannon fairly gasped with astonishment. a double-jointed word slipped between his teeth, which sounded like "hang that boy!" at last his seething thoughts found utterance. "you young imp of satan--it ain't true, anyway." "all right, you can tell my father that!" said hugh john coolly, feeling the strength of his position. tom cannon was not much frightened for himself, but he did not wish to get jane housemaid into any trouble, for, as he well knew, that young woman had omitted to ask for leave of absence. so he only said, "all right, it's none of my business if you wander over every acre, and break your neck off every tree on the blame estate. but you'd better be getting home before master comes out and catches you himself! then you'd eat strap, my lad!" so having remade the peace, tom escorted hugh john back to the dog kennel with great good nature, and even gave him a leg up to the roof above the palace of cã¦sar. hugh john paused as he put one foot into the bedroom, heavy and yet homelike with the night smell of a sleeping house. toady lion had fallen out of bed and lay, still with his blanket wrapped round him like a martial cloak, half under his cot and half on the floor. but this he did every other night. prissy was breathing quietly in the next room. all was safe. hugh john called softly down, "tom, tom!" "what now?" returned the keeper, who had been spying along the top windows to distinguish a certain one dear to his heart. "i say, tom--i'll tell jane housemaid to-morrow that you're a proper brick." "thank'ee, sir!" said tom, saluting gravely and turning off across the lawn towards the "bothy," where among the pine woods he kept his owl-haunted bachelor quarters. chapter xii. mobilisation. generally speaking, hugh john despised sammy carter--first, because he could lick him with one hand, and, secondly, because sammy carter was a clever boy and could discover ways of getting even without licking him. clever boys are all cheeky and need hammering. besides, sammy carter was in love with prissy, and every one knew what that meant. but then sammy carter had a sister, cissy by name, and she was quite a different row of beans. furthermore, sammy carter read books--a degrading pursuit, unless they had to do with soldiering, and especially with the wars of napoleon, hugh john's great ancestor. in addition, sammy knew every date that was, and would put you right in a minute if you said that bannockburn happened after waterloo, or any little thing like that. a disposition so perverse as this could only be cured with a wicket or with hugh john's foot, and our hero frequently applied both corrections. but cissy carter--ah! now there was a girl if you like. she never troubled about such things. she could not run so fast as prissy, but then she had a perfect colt's mane of hair, black and glossy, which flew out behind her when she did. moreover, she habitually did what hugh john told her, and burned much incense at his shrine, so that modest youth approved of her. it was of her he first thought when he set about organising his army for the assault upon the black sheds, where, like hofer at mantua, the gallant donald lay in chains. but it was written in the chronicles of oaklands that cissy carter could not be allowed over the river without sammy, so sammy would have to be permitted to join too. hugh john resolved that he would keep his eye very sharply upon prissy and sammy carter, for the abandoned pair had been known to compose poetry in the heat of an engagement, and even to read their compositions to one another on the sly. for this misdemeanour prissy would certainly have been court-martialled, only that her superior officer could not catch her at the time. but the wicked did not wholly escape, for hugh john tugged her hair afterwards till she cried; whereat janet sheepshanks, coming suddenly upon him and cornering him, spanked him till _he_ cried. he cried solely as a measure of military necessity, because it was the readiest way of getting janet to stop, and also because that day janet wore a new pair of slippers, with heels upon which hugh john had not been counting. so he cried till he got out of janet's reach, when he put out his tongue at her and said, "hum-m! thought you hurt, didn't you? well, it just didn't a bit!" and sir toady lion, who was feeding his second-best wooden horses with wild sand-oats gathered green, remarked, "when i have childwens i sail beat them wif a big boot and tackets in the heel." which voiced with great precision janet sheepshanks' mood at that moment. the army of windy standard, then, when fully mustered, consisted of general-field-marshal napoleon smith, commander-in-chief and regimental sergeant-major (also, on occasions of parade, big big-drummer); adjutant-general cissy carter, promoted to her present high position for always agreeing with her superior officer--a safe rule in military politics; commissariat-sergeant sir toady lion, who declined any other post than the care of the provisions, and had to be conciliated; together with privates sammy carter and prissy smith. sammy carter had formerly been adjutant, because he had a pony, but gallantly resigned in order to be of the same rank as prissy, who was the sole member of the force wholly without military ambition. at the imposing review which was held on the plains of windy standard, the commander-in-chief insisted on carrying the blue banner himself, as well as the big-big drum, till sammy carter, who had not yet resigned, offered him his pony to ride upon. this he did with guile and malice aforethought, for on the drum being elevated in front of the mounted officer, polo promptly ran away, and deposited general-field-marshal smith in the horse pond. [illustration: "deposited general-field-marshal smith in the horse pond."] but this force, though officered with consummate ability, was manifestly insufficient for the attack upon the black sheds. this was well shown by sammy carter, who also pointed out that the armies of all ages had never been exclusively composed of those of noble birth. there were, for example, at bannockburn, the knights, the esquires, the sturdy yeomanry, the spearmen, the bowmen, and the camp-followers. he advised that the stable boys, mike and peter, should be approached. now the head stable boy, mike o'donelly by name, was a scion of the noblest bourbon race. his father was an exile, who spoke the language with a strong foreign accent, and drove a fish cart--which also had a pronounced accent, reputed deadly up to fifty yards with a favourable wind. "foine frish hirrings--foive for sixpince!" was the way he said it. this proved to demonstration that he came from a far land, and was the descendant of kings. when taxed directly with being the heir to a crown, he did not deny it, but said, "yus, masther smith, wanst i had a crown, but i lost it. 'twas the red lion, bad scran to ut, that did the deed!" now this was evidently only a picturesque and regal way of referring to the bloody revolution by which king michael o'donowitch had been dethroned and reduced to driving a fish-cart--the old, old story, doubtless, of royal license and popular ingratitude. but there was no such romantic mystery about peter greg. he was simply junior stable boy, and his father was general utility man--or, as it was more generally called, "odd man," about the estate of windy standard. peter occupied most of his time in keeping one eye on his work and the other on his father, who, on general utility principles, "welted" him every time that he caught him. this exercise, and his other occupation of perpetual fisticuffs with prince mike o'donelly, had so developed his muscles and trained his mind, that he could lick any other two boys of his size in the parish. he said so himself, and he usually had at least one black eye to show for it. so no one contradicted him, and, indeed, who had a better right to know? prince michael o'donowitch (the improvement in style was sammy carter's) put the matter differently. he said, "i can lick peter greg till he can't stand" ("shtand" was how the royal exile pronounced it), "but peter an' me can knock the stuffin' out of any half-dozen spalpeens in this dirthy counthry." both mike and peter received commissions in the army at the same moment. the ceremony took place at the foot of the great hay mow at the back of the stable yard. in view of his noble ancestry, prince michael o'donowitch was made a major-general, and peter a lieutenant of marines. the newly appointed officers instantly clinched, fell headlong, rolled over and over one another, pommelled each other's heads, bit, scratched, and kicked till the hay and straw flew in all directions. when the dust finally cleared away, peter was found sitting astride of prince michael, and shouting, "are you the general-major, or am i?" then when they had risen to their feet and dusted themselves, it was found that the distinguished officers had exchanged commissions, and that peter greg had become major-general, while prince michael o'donowitch was lieutenant of marines, with a new and promising black eye! [illustration: "generals of division, equal in rank."] but at the first drill, upon general peter issuing some complicated order, such as "attention! eyes right!" lieutenant o'donowitch remarked, "me eyes is as roight as yours, ye dirthy baste av a scotchy!" whereupon, as the result of another appeal to arms, the former judgment was reversed, and prince michael regained his commission at the price of another black eye. indeed he would have had three, but for the fact that the number of his eyes was somewhat strictly limited to two. now it was felt by all parties that in a well-disciplined army such transitions were altogether too sudden, and so a compromise was suggested--as usual by sammy carter. prince michael and peter greg were both made generals of division, equal in rank, under field-marshal smith. the division commanded by general peter was composed of cissy and sir toady lion. the command of this first division proved, however, to be purely nominal, for cissy was much too intimate with the commander-in-chief to be ordered about, and as for toady lion he was so high minded and irresponsible that he quite declined to obey anybody whatsoever. still, the title was the thing, and "the division of general peter greg" sounded very well. the other division was much more subordinate. prissy and sammy carter were the only genuine privates, and they were quite ready to be commanded by general mike, prissy upon conscientious non-resistance principles, and sammy with a somewhat humorous aside to his fellow-soldier that it wouldn't be very bad, because mike's father (the royal fish-hawker) lived on sammy's ancestral domain, and owed money to mr. davenant carter. thus even the iron discipline of a british army is tempered to the sacred property holder. the immediate advance of the army of windy standard upon the black sheds was only hindered by a somewhat serious indisposition which suddenly attacked the commander-in-chief. the facts were these. attached to the castle, but lying between it and the stepping-stones on the steep side of the hill, was an ancient enclosed orchard. it had doubtless been the original garden of the fortress, but the trees had gone back to their primitive "crabbiness" (as hugh john put it), and in consequence the children were forbidden to eat any of the fruit--an order which might just as well not have been issued. but on a day it was reported to janet sheepshanks that prissy and hugh john were in the crab orchard. on tip-toe she stole down to catch them. she caught hugh john. prissy was up in one of the oldest and leafiest trees, and hugh john, as in honour bound, persistently made signals in another direction to distract attention, as he was being hauled off to condign punishment. he had an hour to wait in the study for his father, who was away at the county town. during this time hugh john suffered strange qualms, not of apprehension, which presently issued in yet keener and more definitely located agony. at last mr. picton smith entered. "well, sir, and what is this i hear?" he said severely, throwing down his riding-whip on the couch as if he meant to pick it up again soon. hugh john was silent. he saw that his father knew all there was to know about his evil doings from janet sheepshanks, and he was far too wise to plead guilty. "did i not tell you not to go to the orchard?" hugh john hung his head, and made a slight grimace at the pattern on the carpet, as a severer pang than any that had gone before assailed him. "now, look here, sir," said his father, shaking his finger at him in a solemnising manner, "if ever i catch you again in that orchard, i'll--i'll give you as sound a thrashing, sir, as ever you got in your life." hugh john rubbed his hand across his body just above the second lowest button of his jacket. "oh, father," he said plaintively, "i wish dreadfully that you had caught me before the last time i was in the orchard." the treatment with pills and rhubarb which followed considerably retarded the operations of the army of windy standard. it was not the first time that the stomach of a commander-in-chief has had an appreciable effect on the conduct of a campaign. chapter xiii. the army of windy standard. at last, however, all was ready, in the historical phrase of napoleon the little, "to the last gaiter-button." it was the intention of the commander-in-chief to attack the citadel of the enemy with banners flying, and after due notice. he had been practising for days upon his three-key bugle in order to give the call of childe roland. but private sammy carter, who was always sticking his oar in, put him upon wiser lines, and (what is more) did it so quietly and suggestively that general napoleon was soon convinced that sammy's plan was his own, and on the second day boasted of its merits to its original begetter, who did not even smile. the like has happened in greater armies with generals as distinguished. sammy carter advised that the assault should be delivered between eight and nine in the morning, for the very good reasons that at that hour both the butcher's apprentice, tommy pratt, and the slaughterman would be busy delivering the forenoon orders, while the butcher's son, nipper donnan, would be at school, and the black sheds consequently entirely deserted. at first hugh john rebelled, and asserted that this was not a sportsmanlike mode of proceeding, but sammy carter, who always knew more about everything than was good for anybody, overwhelmed his chief with examples of strategies and surprises from the military history of thirty centuries. "besides," said he, somewhat pertinently, "let's get donald back first, and then we can be chivalrous all you want. perhaps they are keeping him to fatten him up for the odd coons' bank holiday feast." this, as the wily sammy knew, was calculated to stir up the wrath of his general more than anything else he could say. for at the annual bean feast of the honourable company of odd coons, a benefit secret society of convivial habits, a sheep was annually roasted whole. it said an ox on the programme, but the actual result, curiously enough, was mutton and not beef. "we attack to-morrow at daybreak," said field-marshal smith grandly, as soon as sammy carter had finished speaking. this, however, had subsequently to be modified to nine o'clock, to suit the breakfast hour of the carters. moreover saturday was substituted for tuesday, both because cissy and sammy could most easily "shirk" their governess on that day, and because mr. picton smith was known to be going up to london by the night train on friday. on such trivial circumstances do great events depend. when the army was finally mustered for the assault, its armament was found to be somewhat varied, though generally efficient. but then even in larger armies the weapons of the different arms of the service are far from uniform. there are, for example, rifles and bayonets for the line, lances for the light horse, carbines, sabres, and army biscuits, all deadly after their kind. so it was in the campaigning outfit of the forces of windy standard. the historian can only hint at this equipment, so strange were the various kits. the commander-in-chief wished to insist on a red sash and a long cut-and-thrust sword, with (if possible) a kettle-drum. but this was found impracticable as a general order. for not only did the two divisional commanders decline to submit to the sash, but there were not enough kettle-drums intact to go more than half round. so general smith was the only soldier who carried a real sword. he had also a pistol, which, however, obstinately refused to go off, but formed a valuable weapon when held by the barrel. cissy was furnished with a pike, constructed by prince michael's father, the dethroned monarch of o'donowitch-dom, out of a leister or fish-spear--which, strangely enough, he had carried away with him from his palace at the time of his exile. this constituted a really formidable armament, being at least five feet long, and so sharp that if you ran very hard against a soft wooden door with it, it made a mark which you could see quite a yard off in a good light. prissy had a carpet-broom with a long handle, which at a distance looked like a gun, and as prissy meant to do all her fighting at a distance this was quite sufficient. in addition she had three pieces of twine to tie up her dress, so that she would be ready to run away untrammelled by flapping skirts. sir toady lion was equipped for war with a thimble, three sticky bull's-eyes, the haft of a knife (but no blade), a dog-whistle, and a go-cart with one shaft, all of which proved exceedingly useful. the two generals of division were attired in neat stable clothes with buttoned leggings, and put their trust in a pair of "catties" (otherwise known as catapults), two stout shillelahs, the national batons of the exiled prince, manufactured by himself; and, most valuable of all, a set a-piece of horny knuckles, which they had kept in constant practice against each other all through the piping times of peace. both mike and peter knowingly chewed straws in opposite corners of their mouths. the forces on the other side were quite unknown, both as to number and quality. hugh john maintained that there were at least twenty, and toady lion stoutly proclaimed that there were a million thousand, and that he had seen and counted them every one. but a stricter census, instituted upon evidence led by private sammy carter, could not get beyond half-a-dozen. so that the disproportion was not so great as might have been supposed. still the siege of the sheds was felt to be of the nature of a forlorn hope. it was arranged that all who distinguished themselves for deeds of valour were to receive the victoria cross, a decoration which had been cut by hugh john out of the tops of ginger-beer bottles with a cold chisel. as soon, however, as sir toady lion heard this, he sat down in the dust of the roadside, and simply refused to budge till his grievances were redressed. "i wants victowya cyoss _now_!" he remarked, with his father's wrinkle of determination between the eyes showing very plain, as it always did when he wanted anything very much. for when toady lion asked for a thing, like the person in the advertisement, he saw that he got it. in vain it was pointed out to him that this ill-advised action constituted rank mutiny, and that he was liable to be arrested, tried by court-martial, and ignominiously shot. toady lion knew all about mutiny, and cared nothing about courts-martial. besides, he had had some experience, and he knew the value of "making oneself a nuisance" in army matters. equally in vain was sammy carter's humorously false information that he had better run, for here was janet coming up the road with an awful biggy stick. "don't care for janet," reiterated toady lion. "i wants victowya cyoss--i wants it _now!_" so there upon the roadside, at the very outset of the campaign, sir toady lion was decorated with the much coveted "for valour" cross. and he would be a bold man who would say that he did not deserve it. chapter xiv. the battle of the black sheds. this much being settled, the army of windy standard advanced upon the enemy's entrenchments. prissy was the only soldier in the force with any religious convictions of a practical kind. on this occasion she actually wanted to send a mission to the foe with an offer of peace, on condition of their giving up donald to his rightful owners. she instanced as an example of the kind of thing she meant, the verses about turning the other cheek. but general napoleon had his answer ready. "well," he said, "that's all right. that's in the bible, so i s'pose you have got to believe it. but i was looking at it last sunday in sermon time, and it doesn't say what you are to do _after_ you turn the other cheek. so yesterday i tried it on tommy pratt to see how it worked, and he hit me on the other cheek like winking, and made my eyes water. so then i took off my coat, and, jove!--didn't i just give him billy-o! texts aren't so bad. they are mostly all right, if you only read on a bit!" "but," said prissy, "perhaps you forgot that a soft answer turneth away wrath?" "don't, nother," contradicted sir toady lion, whose pronunciation of "wrath" and "horse" was identical, and who persistently misunderstood the scriptural statement which janet sheepshanks had once made him learn without explanation. "tried soft answer on big horse in the farm-yard, yesterday, and he didn't turn away a little bit, but comed right on, and tried to eat me _all_ up!" toady lion always had at least one word in italics in each sentence. prissy looked towards her ally and fellow-private for assistance. "love your----" suggested sammy, giving her a new cue. prissy thanked him with a look. "well," she said, "at least you won't deny that it says in the new testament that you are to love your enemies!" "i don't yike the new test'ment," commented toady lion in his shrill high pipe, which cuts through all other conversation as easily as a sharp knife cleaves a bar of soap; "ain't never nobody killed dead in the new test'ment!" "hush, arthur george," said prissy in a shocked voice, "you must not speak like that about the new testament. it says 'love your enemies!' 'do good to them that hate you!' now then!" hugh john turned away with a disgusted look on his face. "oh," he said, "of course, if you were to go on like that, there would never be any soldiers, nor bloody wars, nor nothing nice!" which of course would be absurd. * * * * * during this discussion the two generals of division had been wholly silent. to them the new testament was considerably outside the sphere of practical politics. peter greg indeed had one which he had got from his mother on his birthday with his name on the first page; and mike, who was of the contrary persuasion as to the advisability of circulating the written word in the vulgar tongue, could always provoke a fight by threatening to burn it, to which peter greg invariably replied by a hasty and ungenerous expression of hope as to the future welfare of the head of the catholic religion. but all this was purely academical discussion. neither of them knew nor cared one jot about the matter. prissy alone was genuinely distressed, and so affected was she that two big tears of woe trickled down her cheeks. these she wiped off with her pinafore, turning away her eyes so that hugh john might not see them. there was, however, no great danger of this, for that warrior preoccupied himself with shouting "right-left, right-left," as if he were materially assisting the success of the expedition by doing so. at the entrance to the pastures tenanted by butcher donnan, the army divided into its two divisions under their several commanders. the commander-in-chief placed himself between the wings as a central division all by himself. it was peter greg who first reached the door, and with his stout cudgel knocked off the padlock. he had already entered in triumph, and was about to be followed by his soldiery, when a loud shout was heard from the edge of the park. "here they are--go at them! give them fits, boys! we'll learn them to come sneaking into our field." and over the stone dikes, from the direction of the town of edam, came an overpowering force of the enemy led by nipper donnan. they seemed to arrive from all parts at once, and with sticks and stones they advanced upon the slender array of the forces of windy standard. their rude language, their threatening gestures, and their loud shouts intimidated but did not daunt the assailants. field-marshal napoleon smith called on his men to do or die; and everyone resolved that that was just what they were there for--all except prissy, who promptly pulled up her skirts and went down the meadow towards the stepping-stones like a jenny-spinner driven by the wind, and sir toady lion, who, finding an opening in the hedge about his size in holes, crept quietly through and was immediately followed by cã¦sar, the "potwalloping" newfoundland pup. the struggle which raged around those who remained staunch to the colours was grim and deadly. general-field-marshal napoleon smith threw himself into the thickest of the fray, and the cry, "a smith for merry england," alternated with the ringing "scotland for ever!" which had so often carried terror into the hearts of the foe. prince michael o'donowitch performed prodigies of valour, and personally "downed" three of the enemy with his national weapon. peter greg fought a pitched battle with nipper donnan, in which double-jointed words were as freely used as tightly clenched fists. cissy carter "progged" at least half-a-dozen of the enemy with her pike, before it was wrested from her by the united efforts of several town lads who were not going to stand being punched by a girl. sammy carter stood well out of the heady fray, and contented himself with stinging up the enemy with his vengeful catapult till they howled again. [illustration: "the battle of the black sheds."] but the struggle of the many against the few, the strong against the weak, could only end in one way. in ten minutes the forces of law and disorder were scattered to the four quarters of heaven, and the standard that had streamed so rarely on the braes of edam was in the hands of the exulting foe. prince michael was wounded on the nose to the effusion of blood, general peter greg was a fugitive with a price on his head, and, most terrible of all--field-marshal napoleon smith was taken prisoner. * * * * * but sir toady lion was neither among the slain, nor yet among the wounded or the captives. what then of toady lion? chapter xv. toady lion plays a first lone hand. sir toady lion had played a lone hand. we left him sitting behind the hedge, secure as the gods above the turmoil of battle. but he could not be content to stay there. he thought of richard coeur-de-lion, his great namesake and hero; and though he wanted to do nothing rash, he was resolved to justify the ginger-beer label victoria cross which he wore so proudly on his breast. so he waited till the forces of the town had swept those of windy standard from the field. he saw on the edge of the wood hugh john, resisting manfully to the death, and striking out in all directions. but toady lion knew that he had no clear call to such very active exertions. cautiously he returned through his hole in the hedge, and crawling round the opposite side of the black sheds, he entered the door which peter greg had forced with his cudgel, before he had been interrupted by the arrival of the enemy. toady lion ran through a slippery byre in which calves had been standing, and came to an inner division with a low door and a causewayed floor like a pig-pen. he opened this gate by kicking up the hasp with the toe of his boot, and found himself at once in the inmost sanctuary. and there, right before him, with a calf's halter of rope about his neck, all healthy and alive, was donald, his own dear, black, pet lamb donald, who gave a little bleat of pure delight upon seeing him, and pulled vigorously at the rope to get loose. "quiet now, donald! or they will come back. stand still, 'oo horrid little beast 'oo, till i get the rope off!" and so, easing the noose gradually, toady lion slipped it over donald's head and he was free. then, very cautiously, his deliverer put his head round the door to see that the coast was clear. not a soul was to be seen anywhere on the pastures; so toady lion slid out and made for the gap in the hedge, sure that donald would follow him. donald did follow, but, as luck would have it, no sooner was he through than cã¦sar, who had been scraping for imaginary rabbits at the other side of the field, came barking and rushing about over the grass like a runaway traction engine. now donald hated big dogs--they rugged and tugged his wool so; as soon therefore as he saw cã¦sar he took down the lea towards the island as hard as he could go. he thundered across the wooden bridge, breaking through the fleeing forces of windy standard, which were scattered athwart the castle island. he sprinted over the short turf by the orchard, cã¦sar lying off thirty yards on his flank. at the shallows by the stepping-stones donald sheepfully took the water, and was not long in swimming to the other side, the edam being hardly deep enough anywhere at this point to take him off his feet. in a minute more he was delightedly nuzzling his wet nose into the hand of janet sheepshanks, on the terrace of windy standard house. "wi beast, whaur hae ye come frae?--i declare i am _that_ glad to see ye!" but had she known the price which had been paid for donald's liberty, her rejoicing would quickly have given place to sorrow. it was mid-afternoon on the day of battle and defeat when toady lion straggled home, so wet and dirty that he could only be slapped, bathed and sent to bed--which, in the absence of his father, was felt to be an utterly inadequate punishment. prissy had long ago fled home with a terrible tale of battle, murder, and sudden death. but she knew nothing of her brother hugh john, though she had nerved herself to go back to the black sheds, suffering grinding agonies of fear and apprehension the while, as also of reproach for deserting him in his hour of need. mike and peter were quietly at work in the stable, in momentary dread of being called upon to give evidence. the carters, sammy and cissy, had run straight home, and were at that moment undoubtedly smelling of arnica and slimy with vaseline. but there was no trace of the commander-in-chief anywhere. general-field-marshal napoleon smith had vanished from the face of the earth. [illustration: "oh, the bonny laddie!"] tea-time came and went. he had been known to be absent from tea. supper-time arrived and overpassed, and then the whole house grew anxious. ten o'clock came, and in the clear northern twilight all the household were scattered over the countryside seeking for him. midnight, and no hugh john! where could he be? drowned in the edam water--killed by a chance blow in the great battle--or simply hiding from fear of punishment and afraid to venture home? it must have been some stranger entirely unacquainted with general napoleon smith who advocated the last explanation. the inmates of windy standard cherished no such foolish hopes. the sun rose soon after two on as glorious a summer morning as ever shone upon the hills of the border. as his beams overshot brown gattonside to the east they fell on janet sheepshanks. her decent white cap was green-moulded with the moss of the woods; the drip of waterside caves had grimed it, the cobwebs of murky outhouses festooned it. her abundant grey hair hung down in untended witch locks. she had not shut an eye nor lain down all night. now she leaned her head on her hands and sobbed aloud. "oh, the bonny laddie! whatever will i say to his faither when he comes hame? his auldest son and the aipple o' his e'e! my certie, if the ill-set loon were to come up the road the noo, i wad thresh the very skin aff his banes! to think that he should bide awa' like this. oh, the dear, dear lamb that he is; and will thae auld e'en never mair rest on his bonnie face? cauld, cauld noo it looks up frae the bottom o' some pool in the edam water!" and janet sheepshanks, like one of the mothers in ramah, lifted up her voice and wept with the weeping which will not be comforted; for oft-times bairns' play brings that which is not bairns' play to those who love them. chapter xvi. the smoutchy boys. general napoleon smith had been taken captive by the comanche cowboys. now it is fair to say in this place that they also had their side of the question. their fathers were, in their own opinion, striving for the ancient rights of the town against an interloping smith. why should not they against the son of that smith and his allies? the denunciations of the edam town council were only transformed into the blows which rained down so freely upon hugh john's bare and curly head, as he stood at bay that saturday morning in the corner of the dike. "surrender!" cried nipper donnan, whose father had moved that the town of edam take the case up to the house of lords. "'a smith dies but does not surrender'!" replied the son of the man who had declared his intention of fighting the matter out though it took his last copper. in the calm atmosphere of the law-courts this was very well, and the combatants stood about an equal chance; but not so when translated into terms to suit the black sheds of edam and the links of the castle island. so the many-headed swarmed over the wall from behind; they struck down the last brave defender of privilege, and hugh john picton smith was borne away to captivity. now there are many tongues and many peoples on the face of the earth, and doubtless the one lord made them all. but there is one variety which appears among all nations, and commentators disagree as to what particular power is responsible for his creation. he is the smoutchy boy. this universal product of the race is indeed the chief evidence that we are lineally connected with the brutes that perish; for there is no doubt that the smoutchy boy is a brute among brutes. he is at once cruel and cowardly, boastful and shy, ready to strike a weaker, and equally ready to cry out when a stronger strikes him. he is not peculiar to any one class of society. he frequents the best public-schools, and is responsible for the under-current of cruelty which ever and anon rises to the surface there and supplies a month's free copy to enterprising journals in want of a sensation for the dull season. he makes some regiments of the service a terror. he understands all about "hazing" in the navy. happily, however, among such large collections of human beings there is generally some clear-eyed, upstanding, able-bodied, long-armed other product who, by way of counterpoise, has been specially created to be the defender of the oppressed, and the scourge of the smoutchy boy. i have seen one such scatter a dozen smoutchies, who were employed after their kind in stoning to death a nestful of fluffy, gaping, yellow-billed young blackbirds. i have heard the sound of his fists striking most compactly and satisfactorily against smoutchy flesh. also i know the jar with which a foot stops suddenly in mid-air, as the scourge pursues and kicks the fleeing smoutchy--kicks him "for keeps" too. yet for all this smoutchy boy is a man and a brother. his smoutchiness generally passes off with the callowness of hobble-de-hoyhood. the condition is indeed rather one for the doctor than for the police court. it is pathological rather than criminal; for when the smoutchy is thrown for some time into the society of men of the world--drilled for instance in barrack yards, licked and clouted into shape by the regiment or the ship's crew, he sheds his smoutchiness from him like a garment. it is on record that smoutchies ere now have led forlorn hopes, pierced africa to its centre, navigated strange seas, and trodden trackless polar snows. the worst smoutchy of my time, the bully who, till the biceps and _tendo achilles_ muscles hardened to their office, made life at a certain school a terror and an agony, afterwards sprang from a steamer in order to save the life of a man who had fallen overboard in a high-running sea. [illustration: "the head smoutchy."] but of all smoutchies the worst variety is that reared in the vicinity of the small manufacturing town. he thrives on wages too early and too easily earned. foul language, a tobacco pipe with the bowl turned down, and the rotten fagends of association football, are the signs by which you may know him. in such a society there is always one smoutchy who sets the fashion, and a crowd who imitate. in edam the head smoutchy of the time was nipper donnan. he was the son of a fighting butcher, who in his day, and before marrying the widow of the deceased publican of the "black bull," had been a yet more riotous drover, and had almost met the running expenses of the sheriff court by his promptly paid fines. the only things nipper donnan feared were the small, round, deep-set eyes of his father. the police were a sport to him. the well-brought-up children of the grammar school trembled at his name. the rough lads at work in the mills on the edam water almost worshipped him; for it was known that his father gave him lessons in pugilism. he sported a meerschaum pipe; a spotted handkerchief was always knotted knowingly round his throat, and a white bull-dog, with red sidelong eyes and lips drawn up at the corners, followed close at his heel. great in edam and on all the banks of the edam water was nipper donnan, the king of the smoutchies. and it was into his hard, rough, unclean hands that our brave general napoleon had fallen. now nipper had been reared in special hatred of the smiths of windy standard. mr. picton smith it was who, long ago at edam fair, as a young man, had interfered with drover donnan, when he was just settling to "polish off" a soft, good-natured shepherd of the hills, whom he had failed to cheat out of the price of his "blackfaces." mr. picton smith it was who on the same occasion had sentenced the riotous drover to "thirty days without the option of a fine." he it was in times more recent who had been the means of getting the black bull shut up, upon the oft-repeated complaint of the chief constable. and so all this heritage of hatred was now to be worked off on the son of the gentleman by the son of the bully. of course it might just as well have been the other way about, for there is no absolute heredity in smoutchydom. the butcher might easily have been the gentleman, and the landlord's son the smoutchy bully; only to hugh john's cost, on this occasion it happened to be the other way about. the lads who followed nipper donnan were mostly humble admirers--some more cruel, some less, but sworn smoutchies to a man, and all afraid to interfere with the fierce pleasures of their chief. indeed, so absolute was captain nipper donnan, that there never was a time when some of his band did not bear the marks of his attentions. chapter xvii. before the inquisition. with this excursion into the natural history of the smoutchy boy, which perhaps ought to have come somewhat earlier in the history, we continue the tale of the adventures of general napoleon smith. beaten down by numbers, the hero lay on the ground at the corner of the butcher's parks. nipper donnan stood over him and held him down with his foot. they were just the right ages for bully and bullied. hugh john smith was twelve, slim, and straight as an arrow; nipper donnan sixteen, short, hard, and thick set, with large solid hands and prominent knuckles. "got you at last, young prig! now i'll do you to rights!" remarked nipper, genially kicking hugh john in the ribs with his hobnailed boots. hugh john said not a word, for he had fought till there was no more breath left in him anywhere. "sulky, hey?" said nipper, with another kick in a more tender spot. hugh john winced. "ah, lads, i thought that would wake the young swell up. oh, our father is the owner of this property, is he? so nice! he owns the town, does he? nasty pauper he is! too poor to keep a proper carriage, but thinks us all dirt under his feet. yaw, yaw, we aw-w so fine, we aw-w, we a-aw!" and nipper donnan imitated, amid the mean obsequious laughter of his fighting tail, the erect carriage of his father's enemy, mr. picton smith, as he was accustomed to stride somewhat haughtily down the high street of edam. then he came back and kicked hugh john again. "you wouldn't dare to do this if my father were here!" said general napoleon, now sitting up on his elbow. "_your_ father, i'll show you!" shouted furiously nipper the tyrant. "who asked you to come here anyway to meddle with us? who invited you into our parks? what business have you in our castle? fetch him along, boys; we'll show him something that neither he nor his father know anything about. they and the likes of them used to shut up people in the castle dungeons, so they say. we are just the boys to give 'em a taste of what it is like theirselves." "hooray," shouted the smoutchy fighting tail; "fetch him along, lads!" so with no gentle hands hugh john was seized and hurried away. he was touched up with ironbound clogs in the rear, his arms were pinched underneath where the skin is tender, as well as nearly dragged from their sockets. a useless red cravat was thrust into his mouth by way of a gag--useless, for the prisoner would sooner have died than have uttered one solitary cry. and all the time hugh john was saying over and over to himself the confession of his faith: "i'm glad i didn't tell--i'm glad i wasn't 'dasht-mean.' i'm a soldier. the scots greys saluted me; and these fellows _shan't_ make me cry." and they didn't. for the spirit of many generations of stalwart smiths and fighting pictons was in him, and perhaps also a spark from the ancestral anvil of the first smith had put iron into his boyish blood. so all through the scene which followed--the slow mock trial, the small ingenious tortures, pulling back middle fingers, hanging up by thumbs to a beam with his toes just touching the ground, tying a string about his head and tightening it with a twisted stick--hugh john never cried a tear, which was the bitterest drop in the cup of nipper donnan. they removed the gag in order that they might question him. "say this is not your father's castle, and we'll let you down!" cried nipper. "it _is_ my father's and nobody else's! and when it is mine, i shan't let one of you beasts come near it." the smoutchies tried another tack. "promise you won't tell on us if we let you go!" "i shan't promise; i will tell every one of your names to the policeman, and get you put in jail--so there! my father has gone to london to see the queen, and have you all put into prison--yes, and whipped with a cat-o'-nine-tails as soon as ever he comes back!" answered hugh john, shamelessly belying both his father and his own intentions. but he comforted himself and excused the lie, by saying to himself, "it is none of their business whether i tell on them or not. they shan't think that i don't tell because i am afraid of them!" and the great heart of the hero (aged twelve) stood high and unshaken. at last even nipper donnan tired of the cruel sport. it was no great fun when the victim could not be made to cry or appeal for mercy. and even the fighting tail grew vaguely restive, perhaps becoming indistinctly conscious, in spite of their blind admiration for their chief, that by comparison with the steadfast defiance and upright mien of their solitary victim, the slouching, black-pipe-smoking smoutchiness of nipper donnan did not appear the truly heroic figure. "let's put him in the dungeon, and leave him there! i can come and let him out after, and then kick the beggar home the way he came! that will learn him to let us alone for ever and ever!" the fighting tail shouted agreement, and hugh john was promptly haled to the mouth of the prison-house; a rope was rove about his waist, his hands were tied behind his back, and he was lowered down into the ancient dungeon of the castle of windy standard. this place of confinement had last been used a hundred and fifty years ago for the stragglers of the bonny prince's army after the retreat northward. the dungeon was bottle-necked above, and spread out beneath into a circular vault of thirty or forty feet in diameter. its depth was about twelve feet; and as the boys had not rope enough to lower their prisoner all the way, they had perforce to let hugh john drop, and he lighted on his feet, taking of course the rope with him. "come on, lads," cried nipper donnan, "let's go and have a smoke at the black sheds, and then go up to the market hill to see the shows. the proud swine will do well enough down there till his father comes back from london with the cat-o'-nine-tails!" he looked over the edge and spat into the dungeon. "that for you!" he cried. "will ye say now that the castle is your father's, and that we have no right here!" hugh john tried to give the required information as to ownership, but it was choked in the folds of the red cravat. nipper went on tauntingly, all unchallenged. [illustration: "'will ye say now that the castle is your father's, and that we have no right here!' said nipper donnan."] "there's ethers (adders) down there--and weasels and whopper rats that eat off your fingers and toes. yes, and my father saw a black beast like an otter, but as big as a calf, run in there out of the edam water; and they'll bite ye and stang ye and suck your blood! and we are never coming back no more, so ye'll die of starvation besides." with this pleasing speech by way of farewell and benediction, nipper donnan drew off his forces, and hugh john was left alone. chapter xviii. the castle dungeon. for some time after hugh john was thus imprisoned, he stood looking up with a face of set defiance through the narrow aperture above, where he had last seen the triumphant countenances of his foes. "who's afraid? they shan't say hugh john picton smith is afraid!" were the words in his proud and angry heart, which kept him from feeling insult and pain, kicks and buffetings. gradually, however, as the sound of retreating footsteps died away, the rigid attitude of the hero relaxed. he began to be conscious that he was all one great ache, that the ropes were drawn exceedingly tight about his wrists, that the gag in his mouth hurt his cheeks, that he was very tired--and, oh! shame for a hero of battles and martyr in secret torture-chambers, that he wanted badly to sit down and cry. "but i won't cry--even to myself!" said hugh john. yet all the same he sat mournfully down to consider his position. he did not doubt that he had been left there for altogether, and he began at once (perhaps to keep himself from crying) to argue out the chances. "first," he said, "i must wriggle my hands loose, then i can get the gag out of my mouth easy enough. after that i've got to count my stores, and see if i can find a rusty nail to write my name on the wall and the date of my captivity." (hugh john wanted to do everything decently and in order.) "then i must find a pin or a needle (a needle if possible--a pin is poisonous, and besides it is so much more easy to prick blood from your thumb with a needle), and then i have got to write an account of my sufferings on linen like the abbã©, or on tablets of bread like latude. as i have no bread, except the lump that was left over at breakfast, i suppose it will need to be written on linen; but bread tablets are much the more interesting. of course i could make one or two tablets, write secret messages on them, and eat them after." general smith would have gone on to make still further arrangements for the future, but the present pain of the blood in his hands and the tightness of the rope at his wrists warned him that he had better begin the practical work of effecting his release. now general smith was not one of that somewhat numerous class of persons who take all day to do nothing, and as soon as he was convinced by indisputable logic of the wisdom of any course, he threw himself heart and soul into the accomplishment of it. on his hands and knees he went half round the circuit of the wall of his prison, but encountered nothing save the bare clammy stones--with the mortar loose and crumbly in the joints, and the moist exudations of the lime congealed into little stony blobs upon the surface which tasted brackish when he put his lips to them. so hugh john stood up and began a new search on another level. this time he did find something to the purpose. about three feet from the ground was a strong nail driven firmly into a joint of the masonry. probably it owed its position to one of the highland prisoners of the forty-five, who had used it to hang his spare clothes on, or for some other purpose. but in his heart hugh john dated it from the days of the black douglas at least. either way it proved most useful. standing with his back to the wall, the boy could just reach it with his wrists. he had long thin hands with bones which, when squeezed, seemed to have a capacity for fitting still more closely into one another. so it was not difficult for him to open the palms sufficiently to let the head of the nail in. then biting his teeth upon his lip to keep the pain at a bearable point, he bent the weight of his body this way and that upon the iron pin, so that in five or six minutes he had worked nipper donnan's inartistic knots sufficiently loose to slip over his wrists. his hands were free. [illustration: "he bent the weight of his body this way and that."] his first act was to take the red cravat out of his mouth, and the next after that to lie down with all his weight upon his hands, holding them between the floor of the dungeon and his breast, for the tingling pain of the blood returning into the fingers came nearer to making the hero cry than all that had happened that day. but he still refrained. "no, i won't, i am a napoleon--smith!" he added as an afterthought, as if in loyalty to the father, whose legal and territorial claims he had that day so manfully upheld. but suddenly what was due to his dignified position as a state prisoner occurred to him. casanova had struck at the wall till his fingers bled. latude had gnashed his teeth, howled with anguish, and gnawed the earth. "i have not done any of these things," said hugh john; "i don't like it. but i suppose i've got to try!" however, one solid rap of his knuckles upon the hard limestone of the dungeon wall persuaded him that there were things more amusing in the world than to imitate casanova in that. and as at the first gnaw his mouth encountered a tiny nettle, he leaped to his feet and declared at the pitch of his voice that both latude and casanova were certainly "dasht fools!" the sound of his own words reminded him that after all he was within a mile of home. he wondered what time it might be. he began to feel hungry, and the cubic capacity of his internal emptiness persuaded him that it must be at least quite his usual dinner-time. so hugh john decided that, all things being considered, it would be nothing against his manhood if he called for help, and took his chance of any coming. but he remembered that the mouth of the dungeon was in a very retired part of the castle, in the wing nearest to the river, and shut off from the road across the island by a flanking tower and a thirteen-foot wall. so he was not very sanguine of success. still he felt that in his perilous position he could not afford to neglect any chance, however slight. so he shouted manfully, "help! help! murder! police! fire!" as loud as he could bawl. then he tried the "coo-ee" which sergeant steel had taught him, under the impression that it would carry farther. but the keep of a fourteenth century castle and thirteen feet of shell lime and rubble masonry are proof against the most willing boyish voice in the world. so general napoleon made no more impression upon his friends than his great original would have done had he summoned the old guard from the cliffs of st. helena. but the younger warrior was not discouraged. he had tried one plan and it had failed. he sat down again to think what was the next thing to be done. he remembered the thick "hunk" of bread he had put in the pocket of his jacket in the morning. he could not eat it at breakfast, so greatly had he been excited by the impending conflict; so, to prevent waste, and to make all safe, he had put it in his pocket. besides, in the absence of his father, it was not always possible to be in for meals. and--well, one never knew what might happen. it was best to be prepared for all emergencies. with trembling hand he felt for the "hunk." alas! the jacket pocket was empty, and hung flat and limp against his side. the staff of life must have fallen out in the progress of the fray, or else one of the enemy had despoiled him of his treasure. a quick thought struck his military mind, accustomed before all else to deal with questions of commissariat. it was just possible that the bread might have fallen out of his pocket when the smoutchies were letting him down so roughly into the dungeon of the castle. he went directly underneath the aperture, from which a faint light was distributed over the uneven floor of hard trampled earth whereon a century's dry dust lay ankle deep. there--there, almost under his feet, was his piece of bread! hugh john picked it up, blew the dust carefully off, and wiped the surface with his handkerchief. it was a good solid piece of bread, and would have served cã¦sar the potwalloper for at least two mouthfuls. with care it might sustain life for an indefinite period--perhaps as much as twenty-four hours. so, in accordance with the best traditions, the prisoner divided his provision with his pocketknife, as accurately as possible under the circumstances. he cut it into cubes of about an inch square, exactly as if he had been going to lay down rat poison. napoleon smith was decidedly beginning to recover his spirits. for one thing, he thought how very few boys had ever had his chances. a latude of twelve was somewhat unusual in the united kingdom of great britain and ireland, and even in the adjacent islands. he began at once to write his memoirs in his head, but found that he could not get on very well, because he could not remember which one of his various great-grandmothers had danced with bonny prince charlie at edinburgh. this for a loyal prisoner was insuperable, so he gave the memoirs up. chapter xix. the drop of water. from fruitless genealogy he turned to the further consideration of his supplies. he wanted water, and in a dungeon surrounded by lime-stone walls and founded upon a rock, it seemed likely he would continue to want it. but at the farthest corner, just where the roof approached most closely to the floor, hugh john could hear a _pat_, _pat_ at regularly recurring intervals. he put his hand forward into the darkness, and immediately a large drop of water fell on the back of it. he set his tongue to it, and it tasted cool and good after the fustiness of the woollen gag. hugh john thrust forward his hand again, palm upwards this time, and was rewarded by finding that every time he counted ten slowly a large drop, like those in the van of a thunder storm, splashed into the hollow. it was tedious work, but then a dungeon is a slow place, and he had plenty of time. he crawled forward to be nearer to the source of supplies, and while trying to insinuate his head sideways underneath like a dog at a spout, to catch the drop in his mouth without the intervention of a warm hand, he felt that his knee was wet. he had inadvertently placed it in a small natural basin into which the drop had been falling for ages. hugh john set his lips to it, and never did even soda-water-and-milk, that nectar of the meagre and uncritical gods of boyhood, taste sweeter or more refreshing. after he had taken a good solid drink he cleaned the sand from the bottom carefully, and there, ready to his hand, was a stone cup hollowed out of a projecting piece of the rock on which the castle was built. this well-anchored drinking-cup was shaped like the pecten-shell of pilgrimage, and set with the broad fluted end towards him. thus fortified with meat and drink, for he had devoured the first of his rat-poison squares, or rather bolted it like a pill, general napoleon sat down to reckon up his resources. he found himself in possession of some ten feet of fairly good cord, which had evidently been used for bringing cattle to the fatal black sheds of butcher donnan. the prisoner carefully worked out all the knots, in order to get as much length as possible. he did not, indeed, see how such a thing could help him to escape, but that was not his business, for in the authorities a rope was always conveyed into the cell of the pining captive, generally in an enormous pie. hugh john felt that he was indeed a pining captive, but it was the pie and not the rope he pined for. his dungeon was downstairs, and he did not see how a rope could possibly help him to get out, unless there was somebody at the top of the bottle ready to haul him up. he tried his voice again, and made the castle ring in vain. alas! only the echoes came back, the pert jackdaws cried out insolently far above him and mocked him in a clamorous crowd from the ruined gables. then his mind went off all of itself to the pleasant dining-room of the house of windy standard, where prissy and sir toady lion would even now be sitting down to tea. he could smell the nice refreshing bouquet of the hot china pot as janet sheepshanks poured the tea into the cups in a golden brown jet, and then "doused" in the cream with a liberal hand. "i declare i could drink up the whole tea-pot full without ever stopping," said hugh john aloud, and then started at the sound of his own voice. he waited as long as possible, and then ate the second of his squares of bread. then he drank the mouthful of water which had gathered in the stone shell. while he was in there underneath the dungeon eaves, he put out his hand to feel how far off the wall was. he expected easily to reach it, but in this he failed entirely. his hand was merely stretched out into space, while the drop fell upon his head, and then upon his neck, as he leaned farther and farther over in his efforts to find a boundary wall. he had noticed from the first that the floor immediately beneath the cup was quite dry all round, but it had not occurred to him before that if the drop fell constantly and regularly the basin must overflow in some direction. hugh john was not logical. it is true that he liked finding out things by his five senses, but then that is a very different affair. sammy carter tried to argue with him sometimes, and make matters clear to him by pure reason. the first time hugh john usually told him to "shut it." the second he simply hammered the logician. finally, to solve the mystery, hugh john crawled completely over his drinking fountain and kneeled in the damp sand at the back of the basin. still he could discover no wall. next, he put his hand forward as far as it would reach out, and--he _could feel no floor_. very gingerly he put his foot over the edge, and at once found himself on the top step of a steep, narrow, and exceedingly uneven stair. the explorer's heart beat fast within him. he knew what it was now that he had found--a secret passage, perhaps ending in an enchanted cave; perhaps (who knew) in a pirate's den. he thought of nipper donnan's last words about the beast as big as a calf which his father had seen going down into the dungeon. it was a lie, of course; it must be, because nipper donnan said it; but still it was certainly very dark and dismal down there. hugh john listened with his ear pointed down the stair, and his mouth open. he certainly did hear a low, rushing, hissing sound, which might be the edam water surrounding the old tower, or--the breathing of the black beast. if hugh john had had even toady lion with him, he would have felt no fears; but to be alone in silence and darkness is fitted to shake stronger nerves than those of a twelve-year-old boy. it was getting late, as he knew by the craving ache in his stomach, and also by the gradual dusking of the hole twelve feet above his head, through whose narrow throat he had been let down in the forenoon. * * * * * now at first the smoutchy boys had not meant to leave hugh john in the dungeon all night, but only to give him a thorough fright for his hardihood in daring to attack their citadel. but nipper donnan's natural resolution was ever towards cruelty of all sorts, and it was turned to adamant upon discovering that donald, the captured hostage and original cause of conflict, had in some mysterious way escaped. this unexpected success of the attacking party he attributed, of course, to hugh john, whom, in spite of his youth, he well knew to be the leading spirit. sir toady lion was never so much as suspected--a fact which would have pleased that doughty warrior but little had he known it. in the afternoon nipper had gone to halkirk tryst to bring home two bullocks, which butcher donnan had bought there the day before; but his father becoming involved in some critical cattle-dealing transaction, for which he was unable to obtain satisfaction in cash, resolved that nipper should wait till the next day, when he hoped to be able to accompany him home in person. so engrossed was nipper with the freaks of the fair, the aunt-sallies, the shooting-galleries, and miscellaneous side-shows and ghost illusions, that he quite forgot all about our hero immured in the dungeon of the castle of windy standard. even had he remembered, he would certainly have said to himself that some of the other boys would be sure to go and let him out (for which interference with his privileges he would assuredly punch their heads to-morrow!)--and that in any case it served the beggar right. probably, however, his father (had nipper thought fit to mention the matter to him), would have taken quite a different view of the situation; for the butcher, with all his detestation of the owner of the windy standard estate, held mr. picton smith in a wholesome awe which almost amounted to reverence. so it came about that none approached the castle all that afternoon; for the boys of nipper's band were afraid to venture upon the castle island in the absence of their redoubtable chief, while the servants of windy standard house sought for the vanished in quite other directions, being led astray by the innocent assertions of toady lion, who had last seen hugh john defending himself gallantly against overwhelming numbers in the corner of the field nearest to the town, and at least half a mile as the crow flies from the castle on the island. chapter xx. the secret passage. for a full hour hugh john sat on the top step of the stairs, or went back and forward between these and the narrow circular opening so high above his head, which was now filled with a sort of ruddy haze, the sign that the sun was setting comfortably and sedately outside, behind the smooth green hills in which the cheviots broke down into the solway marshes. it was not so much that the boy dared not descend into the secret passage. rather he did not wish to confront the blankness of disappointment. the steps might lead nowhere at all. they might drop off suddenly into the depths of a well. to prove to himself that he was quite calm, and also that he was in no hurry, hugh john ate the third of his bread-squares and drank the water which had meantime collected in the stone shell. heroes always refreshed themselves thus before an adventure. "'none knoweth when our lips shall touch the blessed bread again!' this prog's too hanged dry for anything!"--that was what hugh john said, quoting (partly) from the "life and death of arthur the king." then feeling that mere poetry was off and that the time for action had definitely come, he tied to his rope a large fallen stone which lay in a corner, and crawling over the shell to the head of the steps, he threw it down. it did not go far, appearing to catch in some projection. he tried again with a like result. he pulled it up. the stone was dry. the opening was not, then, a well with water at the bottom. so hugh john cautiously put his foot upon the threshold of the secret passage, and commenced the perilous descent. he clutched the edge of the top step as he let himself down. it was cold, wet, and clammy, but the stones beneath seemed secure enough. so he continued to descend till he found himself in a narrow staircase which went down and down, gradually twisting to the left away from the light. his heart beat fast, and there was a curious heavy feeling about his nostrils, which doubtless came from the damp mists of a confined place so close to the river. the adventurous general had descended quite a long way when he came to a level stone-flagged passage. he advanced twenty yards along it, and then put out his hands. he found himself in a narrow cell, dripping with wet and ankle deep in mud. the cell was so small, that by making a couple of steps hugh john could feel it from side to side. at the farther end of it there was evidently a door or passage of some sort, but it was blocked up with fallen stones and rubbish; yet through it came the strangest muffled noises. something coughed like a man in pain. there was also a noise as of the feet of animals moving about stealthily and restlessly, and he seemed even to hear voices speaking. a wild unreasoning fear suddenly filled the boy's heart. he turned and fled, stumbling hastily up the stairs by which he had so cautiously descended. the thought of the black beast, great as a calf, of which nipper donnan had spoken, came upon him and almost mastered him. yet all the time he knew that nipper had only said it to frighten him. but it was now dark night, even in the upper dungeon. he was alone in a haunted castle, and, as the gloaming settled down, hugh john cordially agreed with sir david brewster, who is reputed to have said, "i do not believe in ghosts, but i am afraid of them." in spite of all his gallantry of the day, and the resolutions he had made that his prison record should be strictly according to rule, hugh john's sudden panic took complete hold of him. he sat down under the opening of the dungeon, and for the first time cried bitter tears, excusing himself on the ground that there was no one there to see him, and anyway he could easily leave that part out when he came to write his journal. about this time he also slipped in a surreptitious prayer. he thought that at least it could do no harm. prissy had induced him to try this method sometimes, but mostly he was afraid to let her know about it afterwards, because it made prissy so unbearably conceited. but after all this was in a dungeon, and many very respectable prisoners quite regularly said their prayers, as any one may see for themselves in the books. "you see," said hugh john, explanatorily afterwards, "it's very easy for them. they have nothing else to do. they haven't to wash, and take baths, and comb their hair, and be ordered about! it's easy to be good when you're leading a natural life." this was hugh john's prayer, and a model for any soldier's pocket-book. "our father witch-charta-nevin" (this he considered a christian name and surname, curious but quite authoritative), "help me to get out of this beastly hole. help me to lick nipper donnan till he can't stand, and bust sammy carter for running away. for we are all miserable sinners. god bless father and prissy, arthur george (i wonder where the little beast went to--guess he sneaked--just wait!), janet sheepshanks, mary jane housemaid, and everybody about the house and down at the stables, except bella murdoch, that is a clash-bag and a tell-tale-tit. and make me a good boy. for jesus' sake. aymen." that the last petition was by no means a superfluous one every reader of this history will agree. hugh john very carefully said "ay-men" now, because he had said "a-men" in the morning. he noticed that his father always said "ay-men" very solemnly at the end of a prayer, while prissy, who liked going to church even on week days (a low dodge!), insisted upon "a-men." so hugh john used "ay-men" and "a-men" time about, just to show that there was no ill-feeling. thus early in life does the leaven of gallio (who "cared for none of these things") begin to show itself. hugh john was obviously going to be a very pronounced broad churchman. the prayer did the captive general much good. he was not now nearly so much afraid of the beasts. the hole did not seem to yawn so black beneath him; and though he kept his ear on the cock for anything that might come at him up the stairs, he could with some tolerable composure sit still and wait for the morning. he decided that so soon as it was even a little light, he would try again and find out if he could not remove the rubbish from the further door. the midsummer morn was not long in coming--shorter far indeed to hugh john than to the anxious hearts that were scattered broadcast over the face of the country seeking for him. scarcely had the boy sat down to wait for the daylight when his head sank on his breast. presently he swayed gently to the side, and turning over with a contented little murmur, he curled himself up like a tired puppy and went fast asleep. when he awoke, a fresher pink radiance than that of eventide filled the aperture above his head--the glow of the wide, sweet, blushful dawn which flooded all the eastern sky outside the tall grey walls of the castle of windy standard. hugh john rose, stretched himself, yawned, and looked about him in surprise. there was no toady lion in a little white ship on four iron legs, moored safe alongside him; no open door through into prissy's room; no birch-tree outside the window, glimmering purest white and delicatest pink in the morning light--nothing, in short, that had greeted his waking eyes every morning of his life hitherto. but there were compensations. he was a prisoner. he had endured a night in a dungeon. his hair would almost certainly have turned pure white, or at least streaky. what boy of his age had ever done these things since the little dauphin, about whom he was so sorry, and over whose fate he had shed such bitter tears? had sammy carter? hugh john smiled a sarcastic and derisive smile. sammy carter indeed! he would just like to see sammy carter try it once! _he_ would have been dead by this time, if he had had to go through the tenth of what he (hugh john) had undergone. had mike or peter? they were big and strong. they smoked pipes. but they had never been tortured, never shut up in a dungeon with wild beasts in the next compartment, and no hasp on the door. the staircase--the secret passage! hugh john's heart fluttered wildly. he might even yet get back in time for breakfast. there would be porridge--and egg-and-bacon--oh! crikey, yes, and it was kidney morning. hugh john's mouth watered. there was no need of the cool fluid in the shell of limestone now! could there indeed be such dainties in the world? it did not seem possible. and yet that very morning--he meant the morning before--no, surely it must have been in some other life infinitely remote, he had grumbled because he had not had cream instead of milk to his porridge, and because the bacon was not previously crisp enough. he felt that if ever he were privileged to taste as good bacon again, he would become religious like prissy--or take some such extreme measure as that. [illustration: "over the closely packed woolly backs he saw a stretch of rippled river."] hugh john had no appetite for the "poison squares" now. he tried one, and it seemed to be composed in equal parts of sawdust and the medicament called "rough-on-rats!" he tried the water in the shell, and that was somewhat better; but just to think of tea from the urn--soft ivory cream floating on the top, curded a little but light as blown sea-foam! ah, he could wait no longer. the life of a prisoner was all very well, but he could not even get materials with which to write up his diary till he got home. for this purpose it was necessary that he should immediately make his escape. also it was kidney morning, and if he did not hurry that little wretch toady lion would have eaten up every snatch. he resolved to lose no time. so with eager steps he descended the steep wet stairs into the little stone chamber, which smelt fearfully damp and clammy, just as if all the snails in the world had been crawling there. "i bet the poor chap down here had toothache," said hugh john, shivering as he went forward to attack the pile of fallen stones in front of the arched doorway. for an hour he worked most manfully, pulling out such as he could manage to loosen, and tossing others aside. thus he gradually undercut the mass which blocked up the door, till, with a warning creak or two the whole pitched forward and inward, giving the daring pioneer just time to leap aside before it came toppling into the narrow cell, which it more than half filled. as soon as the avalanche had settled, hugh john staggered over the top of the fallen stones and broken _dã©bris_ to the small door. as his head came on a level with the opening he saw a strange sight. he looked into a little ruined turret, the floor of which was of smoothest green sward--or, rather, which would have been of green sward had it not been thickly covered with sheep, all lying placidly shoulder to shoulder, and composedly drawing in the morning air through their nostrils as if no such word as "mutton" existed in the vocabularies of any language. beyond and over the closely packed woolly backs he saw a stretch of rippled river, faceted with diamond and ruby points, where the rising sun just touched the tips of the little chill wavelets which were fretted by the wind of morning, that gust of cooler air which the dawn pushes before it round the world. hugh john was free! chapter xxi. the return from the bastile. he stepped down easily and lightly among the sheep. they rose without surprise or disorder, still with strict attention to business continuing to munch at the grass they had plucked as they lay, for all the world as if a famous adventure-seeking general had been only the harmless but boresome shepherd who came to drive them out to pastures new. for all the surprise they showed they might have been accustomed from their fleeciest infancy to small, dirty, scratched, bruised, infinitely tattered imps of imperial descent arriving suddenly out of unexplored secret passages in ancient fortresses. the great commander's first instinct was to rush for home and so make sure that cook mary the second had done enough kidneys for breakfast. his second idea, and one more worthy of his military reputation, was carefully to conceal the entrance to the doorway, by which he had emerged from the passage he had so wonderfully discovered. no one knew how soon the knowledge might prove useful to him. as a matter of attack and defence the underground passage was certainly not to be neglected. then hugh john drove the sheep before him out of the fallen tower. as he did so one of them coughed, stretching its neck and holding its head near the ground. he now knew the origin of the sound which had--no, not frightened him (of course not!), but slightly surprised him the evening before. and, lo! there, immediately in front of him as he emerged, was the edam water, sliding and rippling on under its willows, the slim, silvery-grey leaves showing their white under-sides just as usual. there, across the river, were the cattle, standing already knee-deep in the shallows, their tails nervy and switchy on the alert for the morning's crop of flies. there was mike going to drive them in to be milked. yonder in the far distance was a black speck which must be peter polishing straps and buckles hung on a pin by the stable door. "horrid beasts every one of them!" said hugh john indignantly to himself, "going on all as comfortable as you please, just as if i had not been pining in a dungeon cell for years and years." then setting his cramped wet legs in motion, general napoleon commenced a masterly retreat in the direction of home. he dashed for the stepping-stones, but he was in too much of a hurry to make sure of hitting them. he slipped from the first and went above the knee into the clear cool edam water. after that he simply floundered through, and presently emerged dripping on the other side. along the woodland paths he scurried and scampered. he dashed across glades, scattering the rabbits and kicking up the dew in the joy of recovered freedom. he climbed a stone dyke into the home park, because he had no time to go round by the stile. he brought half of the fence down in his haste, scraping his knee as he did so. but so excited was he that he scarcely felt the additional bruise. he ran up the steps. the front door was standing wide open, with the disreputable and tell-tale air of a reveller who has been out all night in evening dress. all doors have this look which have not been decently shut and locked during the dark hours. there was no one in the hall--no one in the dining-room--no one in the schoolroom, where the children's tea of the night before had never been cleared away. hugh john noticed that his own place had been set, and the clean cup and plate and the burnished unused knife struck him as infinitely pathetic. but he was hungry, and had no time to waste on mere feelings. his inner man was too insistent. he knew well where the pantry was (trust him for that!), and he went towards it at the rate of twenty miles an hour. he wished he had remembered to add a petition to his prayer that it might be unlocked. but it was now too late for this, so he must just trust in an unjogged providence and take his chances. the gods were favourable. they had evidently agreed that for one small boy he had suffered enough for that day. the pantry was unlocked. there was a lovely beefsteak pie standing on a shelf. hugh john lifted it off, set it on the candle box, ungratefully throwing sambo soulis on the floor in order to make elbow room, and then with a knife and fork he proceeded to demolish the pie. the knife and fork he first put his hands on had obviously been used. but did general napoleon stop to go to the schoolroom for clean ones? no--several thousand times no! those who can, for a single moment, entertain such thoughts, are very far from having yet made the acquaintance of general smith. why, he did not even wait to say grace--though he usually repeated half-a-dozen the first thing in the morning, so as to have the job well over for the day. it is all right to say grace, but it is such a fag to have to remember before every meal. so hugh john went into the wholesale business. he was half through the pie before he looked about for something to drink. lemonade, if it could be found, would meet the case. hugh john felt this keenly, and, lo! the friendly fates, with a smile, had planted a whole case of it at his feet. he knocked in the patent stopper with the handle of his knife (all things must yield to military necessity), and, after the first draught, what more was there left to live for--except a second bottle and the rest of the pie? he was just doing his best to live up to the nice cool jelly, which melted in a kind of lingering chill of delight down his throat, when janet sheepshanks appeared in the doorway. wearily and disheartenedly, she had come in to prepare for a breakfast which no one in all windy standard would eat. something curious about the feeling of the house had struck her as she entered. she had gone from room to room, divided between hope and apprehension, and, lo! there before her, in her own ravished pantry, tuck-full of beefsteak pie and lemonade, sat the boy for whom they were even then dragging the deepest pools of the edam. "oh, thank the lord, laddie!" cried janet, clasping her hands in devout thankfulness, "that he hath spared ye to your widowed faither--and to me, your auld unworthy nurse!" the tears were running down her cheeks. somehow her face had quite suddenly grown grey and worn. she looked years older than she had done yesterday. hugh john paused and looked at her marvelling. he had a heavily laden fork half-way to his mouth. he wondered what all the fuss was about. "do get me some mustard, janet," he said, swinging his wet legs; "and where on earth have you put the pickles?" * * * * * in the cross-examination which naturally followed, hugh john kept his own counsel, like the prudent warrior he was. he left janet and the others to suppose that, in trying to escape from his foes, he had "fallen" into the castle dungeon, and none of the household servants knew enough of the topography of the ancient stronghold to know that, if he had done so, he would probably have broken his neck. he said nothing about nipper donnan or any of the band by name. simply and truthfully he designated them as "some bad boys," which certainly was in no way overstating the case. perhaps if his father had been at home he could not have hoodwinked his questioners so easily and completely. mr. picton smith would certainly have gone deeper into the business than janet sheepshanks, who alternately slapped and scolded, petted and spoilt our hero all day long. for some time hugh john smelt of araby the blest and spicy ind; for he had ointments and liniments, rags and plasters innumerable scattered over his person in all directions. he borrowed a cigarette (it was a very old and dry one) from the mantelpiece of his father's workroom, and retired to the shelter of the elm-tree to hold his court and take private evidence upon the events of yesterday. as he went across the yard black donald ran bleating to him, and playfully butted at his leg. hugh john stopped in astonishment. "who found him?" he asked. sir toady lion proudly stepped forward. he had a garden rake in his hand, with which the moment before he had been poking donald in the ribs, and making his life a burden to him generally. [illustration: "i create you general of the comm'sariat."] he began to speak, but hugh john stopped him. "salute, you little beast!" he said sternly. slowly toady lion's hand went up. he did not object to salute, but he had a vague sense that, as a matter of personal dignity, not even a general had a right to speak to a private thus--much less to a commissariat sergeant. however, what he had to say was so triumphant and overpowering that he waived the point and touched his forehead in due form. "_i_ did--nobody but me. i d'livered him, all by mineself. i cutted the rope and d'livered donald. yes, i did--prissy will tell 'oo. i wented into the black sheds all alone-y--and d'livered him!" his words came tumbling over each other in his haste. but he laid strong emphasis upon the word "delivered," which he had just learned from prissy. he meant to use it very often all that day, because it was a good word, and nobody knew the meaning of it except quite-grown-ups. general napoleon smith put on his most field-marshalish expression, and summoned sir toady lion to approach. he tapped him on the shoulder and said in a grand voice, "i create you general of the comm'sariat for distinguished conduct in the field. from this time forth you can keep the key of the biscuit box, but i know just how many are in. so mind out!" this was good, and toady lion was duly grateful; but he wished his good fortune put into a more concrete form. "can i have the biggest and nicerest saucer of the scrapings of the preserving-pan to-night?" hugh john considered a moment. an impulse of generosity swept over him. "yes, you can," he said nobly. then a cross wave of caution caused him to add--"that is, if it isn't rasps!" now the children of the house of windy standard were permitted to clean out the boiling-pan in the fruit-preserving season with worn horn spoons, in order not to scratch the copper or crack the enamel. and rasp was hugh john's favourite. "huh," said toady lion, turning up a contemptuous nose. "thank 'oo for nuffin! i like wasps just as much as 'oo, hugh john picton smiff!" "don't answer me back, sir!"--hugh john was using his father's words and manner. "sall if i like," said toady lion, beginning to whimper. "sall go and tell janet sheepshanks, and she'll give me yots of wasps! not scrapin's neither, but weal-weal wasps--so there!" "toady lion, i shall degrade you to the ranks. you are a little pig and a disgrace to the army." "don't care, i wants wasps--and i d'livered donald," reiterated the disgrace of the army. hugh john once more felt the difficulty of arguing with toady lion. he was altogether too young to be logical. so he said, "toady lion, you little ass, stop snivelling--and i'll give you a bone button and the half of a knife." "let's see them," said toady lion, cautiously uncovering one eye by lifting up the edge of the covering palm. his commanding officer produced the articles of peace, and toady lion examined them carefully, still with one eye. they proved satisfactory. "all yight!" said he, "i won't cry no more--but i wants three saucers full of the wasps too!" chapter xxii. mutiny in the camp. hugh john was holding his court under the weeping-elm, and was being visited in detail by his army. the carters had come over, and, after a vigorous engagement and pursuit, he had even forgiven sammy for his lack of hardihood in not resisting to the death at the great battle of the black sheds. "but it hurts so confoundedly," argued sammy; "if it didn't, i shouldn't mind getting killed a bit!" "look at me," said hugh john; "i'm all over peels and i don't complain." "oh! i dare say--it's all very well for you," retorted sammy, "you like to fight, and it was you that began the fuss, but i only fight because you'd jolly-well-hammer me if i didn't!" "course i would," agreed his officer, "don't you know that's what generals are for?" "well," concluded sammy carter, summing the matter up philosophically, "'tain't my castle anyway." * * * * * the review was over. in the safe quiet of the elm-tree shelter general napoleon might have been seen taking his well-earned repose. he was surrounded by his entire following--except, of course, the two generals of division, who were engaged in sweeping out the stable-yard. but these were considered socially supernumerary at any rate, except (a somewhat important exception) when there was fighting to be done. "i don't see that we've done so very much to make a brag about anyhow," began sammy carter. general smith dexterously caught him on the ear with a young turnip, which in company with several friends had wandered in of its own accord from the nearest field on the home farm. "i should say _you_ didn't do much!" he sneered pointedly; "you hooked it as hard as you could after the first skirmish. why, you haven't got a single sore place about you to show for it." "yes, i have!" retorted sammy in high indignation. [illustration: "sammy carter mutinous."] "well, let's see it then!" commanded his general in a kindlier tone. "can't--ladies present!" said sammy succinctly, into the retreating rear-guard of whose division the triumphant enemy had charged with the pike snatched from his sister's hands. "all _my_ wounds are in front. _i_ fought and died with my face to the foe!" said hugh john in his noblest manner. "and i d'livered donald!" contributed toady lion complacently. "oh, _that_ ain't anything," sneered sammy carter, who was not in a good humour. his tone roused general napoleon, who had the strong family feelings of all the buonapartes. "shut up, sammy, or i'll come and kick you. none of us did anything except toady lion. you ran away, and i got taken prisoner. toady lion is the only man among us!" "i runned away too--at first," confessed the candid toady lion, who felt that he had so much real credit that he did not need to take a grain more than he deserved. "but i comed back quick--and i d'livered donald out of prison, anyway--i did!" sammy carter evidently had a sharp retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but he knew well the price he would have to pay for uttering it. hugh john's eye was upon him, his right hand was closing on a bigger turnip--so sammy forbore. but he kicked his feet more discontentedly than ever into the turf. "well," he said, changing the venue of the argument, "i don't think much of your old castle anyway. my father could have twice as good a castle if he liked----" "oh, 'course he could"--hugh john's voice was distinctly ironical--"he might plant it on a peaty soil, and grow it from seed in two years; or perhaps he would like a cutting off ours!" mr. davenant carter was a distinguished agriculturist and florist. "don't you speak against my father!" cried sammy carter, glowering at general napoleon in a way in which privates do not often look at their commanders-in-chief. "who's touching your father?" the latter said, a little more soothingly. "see here, sammy, you've got your coat on wrong side out to-day. go home and sleep on it. 'tisn't my fault if you did run away, and got home before your sister--with a blue place on your back." sammy carter flung out from under the shelter of the elm and went in search of prissy, from whom in all his moods he was sure of comfort and understanding. he was a somewhat delicate boy, and generally speaking hated quarrelling as much as she did; but he had a clever tongue, which often brought him into trouble, and, like most other humorists, he did not at all relish a jest at his own expense. as he went, he was pursued and stung by the brutally unrefined taunts of hugh john. "yes, go on to prissy; i think she has a spare doll. go and play at 'house'! it's all you're good for!" thus encouraged by their general, the rest of the company--that is, cissy and sir toady lion, joined in singing a certain stirring and irritating refrain popular among the youth of bordershire. "_lassie-boy, lassie-boy, fie for shame! coward's your nature, and jennie's your name!_" sammy carter stood poised for flight with his eyes blazing with anger. "you think a lot of your old tumble-down castle; but the town boys have got it in spite of you; and what's more, they've a flag flying on it with 'down with smith!' on it. i saw it. hooray for the town boys!" and with this parthian arrow he disappeared at full speed down the avenue. for a moment hugh john was paralysed. he tried to pooh-pooh the matter, but he could not but admit that it might very well be true; so he instantly despatched toady lion for prissy, who, as we know, was the fleetest runner of them all. upon her reporting for duty, the general sent her to bring back word if the state of affairs was as reported. it was. a large red flag was flying, with the inscription in white upon it, "down with smith!" while above the inscription there was what looked like a rude attempt at a death's head and crossbones. hugh john knew this ensign in a moment. once upon a time, in his wild youth, he had served under it as a pirate on the high seas; but of this he now uttered no word. * * * * * it was in such moments that the true qualities of the born leader came out in general napoleon smith. instantly he dismissed his attendants, put his finger to his forehead, and sat down to draw a map of the campaign in the genuine napoleonic manner. at last, after quite a while, he rapped upon the table. "i have it," he cried, "we must find an ally." the problem was solved. chapter xxiii. cissy carter, boys' girl. now prissy smith was a girls' girl, while cissy carter was a boys' girl. that was mainly the difference between them. not that prissy did not love boys' play upon occasion, for which indeed her fleetness of foot particularly fitted her. also if hugh john teased her she never cried nor told on him, but waited till he was looking the other way and then gave him something for himself on the ear. but on the whole she was a girls' girl, and her idea of the way to fight was slapping her dolls when they were naughty. now, mr. picton smith said that most religion was summed up in two maxims, "don't tell lies," and "don't tell tales." to these hugh john added a third, at least equal in canonicity, "don't be dasht-mean." in these you have briefly comprehended all the law and the prophets of the house of windy standard. cissy carter, however, was a tom-boy: you could not get over that. there was no other word for her. she never played with girls if she could better herself. she despised dolls; she hated botany and the piano. her governess had a hard but lively time of it, and had it not been for her brother sammy coaching her in short cuts to knowledge, she would have been left far behind in the exact sciences of spelling and the multiplication-table. as it was, between a tendency to scramble for scraps of information and the run of a pretty wide library, cissy knew more than any one gave her credit for. on one memorable occasion it was cissy's duty to take her grandmother for a walk. now the dowager mrs. davenant carter was the dearest and most fairy-like old lady in the world, and cissy was very proud to walk into edam with her. for her grandmother had not forgotten how good confections tasted to girls of thirteen, and there was quite a nice shop in the high street. their rose-drops especially were almost as good as doing-what-you-were-told-not-to, and their peppermints for use in church had quite the force of a religious observance. but mrs. davenant carter had a weak eye, and whenever she went out, she put a large green shade over it. so one day it happened that cissy was walking abroad with her grandmother, with a vision of rose-drop-shop in the offing. as they were passing one of the villas nearest to their house, a certain rude boy, wedgwood baker the name of him, seeing the lame old lady tripping by on her stick like a fairy godmother, called out loudly "go it, old blind patch!" he was sorry the minute after, for in one moment cissy carter had pulled off her white thread gloves, climbed the fence, and had landed what hugh john would have called "one, two, three--and a tiger" upon the person of master wedgwood baker. i do not say that all cissy carter's blows were strictly according to queensberry rules. but at any rate the ungallant youth was promptly doubled up, and retreated yelling into the house, as it were falling back upon his reserves. that same evening the card of mrs. baker, laurel villa, edam, was brought to the diningtable of mrs. davenant carter. "the lady declines to come in, m'am. she says she must see you immediately at the door," said the scandalised housemaid. cissy's mother went into the hall with the card in her hand, and a look of gentle surprised inquiry on her face. there, on the doorstep was mrs. baker, with a young and hopeful but sadly damaged wedgwood tagging behind her, like a weak-minded punt in tow of an ancient threedecker. [illustration: "'look at him, madam,' said mrs. baker."] the injured lady began at once a voluble complaint. "look at him, madam. that is the handiwork of your daughter. the poor boy was quietly digging in the garden, cultivating a few unpretending flowers, when your daughter, madam, suddenly flew at him over the railings and struck him on the face so furiously that, if i had not come to the rescue, the dear boy might have lost the use of both his eyes. but most happily i heard the disturbance and went out and stopped her." "dear me, this is _very_ sad," faltered little mrs. carter; "i'm sure i don't know what can have come over cissy. are you sure there is no mistake?" "mistake! no, indeed, madam, there is no mistake, i saw her with my own eyes--a great girl twice wedgwood's size." at this point mr. davenant carter came to the door with his table-napkin in his hand. "what's this--what's this?" he demanded in his quick way--"cissy and your son been fighting?" "no indeed, sir," said the complainant indignantly; "this dear boy never so much as lifted a hand to her. ah, here she comes--the very--ahem, young lady herself." all ignorant of the trouble in store for her, cissy came whistling through the laurels with half-a-dozen dogs at her heels. at sight of her mrs. baker bridled and perked her chin with indignation till all her black bugles clashed and twinkled. "come here, cissy," said her father sternly. "did you strike this boy to-day in front of his mother's gate?" "yes, i did," quoth the undaunted cissy, "and what's more, i'll do it again, and give him twice as much, if he ever dares to call _my_ grandmother 'old blind patch' again--i don't care if he is two years and three months older than me!" "did you call names at my mother?" demanded cissy's father, towering up very big, and looking remarkably stern. master wedgwood had no denial ready; but he had his best boots on and he looked very hard at them. "come, wedgwood dear, tell them that you did not call names. you know you could not!" "i never called nobody names. it was her that hit me!" snivelled wedgwood. "now, you hear," said his mother, as if that settled the question. "oh, you little liar! wait till i catch you out!" said cissy, going a step nearer as if she would like to begin again. "i'll teach you to tell lies on me." mrs. baker of laurel villa held up her hands so that the lace mitts came together like the fingers of a figure of grief upon a tomb. "what a dreadful girl!" she said, looking up as if to ask heaven to support her. mr. davenant carter remembered his position as a county magistrate. also he desired to stand well with all his neighbours. "madam," he said to mrs. baker, in the impressive tone in which he addressed public meetings, "i regret exceedingly that you should have been put to this trouble. i think that for the future you will have no reason to complain of my daughter. will you allow me to conduct you across the policies by the shorter way? cissy, go to bed _at once_, and stop there till i bid you get up! that will teach you to take the law into you own hands when your father is a justice of the peace!" this he said in such a stern voice that mrs. baker was much flattered and quite appeased. he walked with the lady to the small gate in the boundary wall, opened it with his private key, and last of all shook hands with his visitor with the most distinguished courtesy. some day he meant to stand for the burgh and her brothers were well-to-do grocers in the town. "sir," she said in parting, "i hope you will not be too severe with the young lady. perhaps after all she was only a trifle impulsive!" "discipline must be maintained," said mr. davenant carter sternly, closing, however, at the same time the eyelid most remote from mrs. baker of laurel villa. "it shows what a humbug pa is," muttered cissy, as she went upstairs; "he knows very well it is bed-time anyway. i don't believe he is angry one bit!" when her father came in, he looked over at his wife. i am afraid he deliberately winked, though in the interests of morality i trust i may be mistaken. for how could a justice of the peace and a future member of parliament demean himself to wink? "jane," he said to mrs. carter, "what does cissy like most of all for supper?" "a little bit of chicken and bread-sauce done with broiled bacon--at least i think so, dear--why do you ask?" he called the tablemaid. "walbridge," he said sternly, "take that disgraceful girl up the breast and both wings of a chicken, also three nice pieces of crisp bacon, four new potatoes with butter-sauce, some raspberrytart with thick cream and plenty of sugar--and a whole bottle of zoedone. but mind you, _nothing else_, as you value your place--not another bite for such a bold bad girl. this will teach her to go about the country thrashing boys two years older than herself!" he looked over across the table at his son. "let this be a lesson to you, sir," he said, frowning sternly at him. "yes, sir," said sammy meekly, winking in his turn very confidentially at a fly which was having a free wash and brush-up on the edge of the fingerbowl, after completing the round of the dishes on the dinner table. chapter xxiv. charity begins at home--and ends there. now all this has nothing to do with the story, except to show what sort of a girl cissy carter was, and how she differed from prissy smith--who in these circumstances would certainly have gone home and prayed that god would in time make wedgwood baker a better boy, instead of tackling missionary work on the spot with her knuckles as cissy carter did. it was several days later, and the flag of the smoutchy boys still flew defiantly over the battlements of the castle. the great general was growing discouraged, for in little more than a week his father might return from london, and would doubtless take up the matter himself. then, with the coming of policemen and the putting up of fences and notice-boards, all romance would be gone forever. besides which, most of the town boys would have to go back to school, and the carters' governess and their own would be returning to annoy them with lessons, and still more uncalled for aggravations as to manners. cissy carter had given sammy the slip, and started to come over by herself to windy standard. it was the afternoon, and she came past the gipsy encampment which mr. picton smith had found on some unenclosed land on the other side of the edam water, and which, spite of the remonstrances of his brother-landlords, he had permitted to remain there. the permanent ishmaelitish establishment consisted of about a dozen small huts, some entirely constructed of rough stone, others of turf with only a stone interposed here and there; but all had mud chimneys, rough doorways, and windows glazed with the most extraordinary collection of old glass, rags, wisps of straw, and oiled cloth. dogs barked hoarsely and shrilly according to their kind, ragged clothes fluttered on extemporised lines, or made a parti-coloured patch-work on the grass and on the gorse bushes which grew all along the bank. there were also a score of tents and caravans dotted here and there about the rough ground. half-a-dozen swarthy lads rose silently and stared after cissy as she passed. a tall limber youth sitting on a heap of stones examining a dog's back, looked up and scowled as she came by. cissy saw an unhealed wound and stopped. "let me look at him," she said, reaching out her hand for the white fox-terrier. "watch out, miss," said the lad, "he's nasty with the sore. he'll bite quick as mustard!" "he won't bite me," said cissy, taking up the dog calmly, which after a doubtful sniff submitted to be handled without a murmur. "this should be thoroughly washed, and have some boracic ointment put on it at once," said cissy, with the quick emphasis of an expert. "ain't got none o' the stuff," said the youth sullenly, "nor can't afford to buy it. besides, who's to wash him first off, and him in a temper like that?" "come over with me to oaklands and i'll get you some ointment. i'll wash him myself in a minute." the boy whistled. "that's a good 'un," he said, "likely thing me to go to oaklands!" "and why?" said cissy; "it's my father's place. i've just come from there." "then your father's a beak, and i ain't going a foot--not if i know it," said the lad. "a what--oh! you mean a magistrate--so he is. well, then, if you feel like that about it i'll run over by myself, and sneak some ointment from the stables." and with a careless wave of the hand, a pat on the head and a "poo' fellow then" to the white fox-terrier, she was off. the youth cast his voice over his shoulders to a dozen companions who were hiding in the broom behind. his face and tone were both full of surprise and admiration. [illustration: "'let me look at him,' she said."] "say, chaps, did you hear her? she said she'd 'sneak' the ointment from the stables. i tell 'ee what, she'll be a rare good plucked one that. and her a beak's daughter! her mother mun ha' been a piece!" it was half-an-hour before cissy got back with the pot of boracic dressing and some lint. "i had to wait till the coachman had gone to his tea," she explained, "and then send the stable boy with a message to the village to get him out of the way." the youth on the stone heap secretly signalled his delight to the appreciative audience hiding in the broom bushes. then cissy ordered him to get her some warm water, which he brought from one of the kettles swinging on the birchen tripods scattered here and there about the encampment. whereupon, taking the fox-terrier firmly on her knee and turning up the skirt of her dress, she washed away all the dirt and matted hair, cleansing the wound thoroughly. the poor beast only made a faint whining sound at intervals. then she applied the antiseptic dressing, and bound the lint tightly down with a cincture about the animal. she fitted his neck with a neat collar of her own invention, made out of the wicker covering of a chianti wine flask which she brought with her from oaklands. "there," she said, "that will keep him from biting at it, and you must see that he doesn't scratch off the bandage. i'll be passing to-morrow and will drop in. here's the pot of ointment. put some more on in the morning and some again at night, and he will be all right in a day or two." "thank'ee, miss," said the lad, touching his cap with the natural courtesy which is inherent in the best blood of his race. "i don't mean to forget, you be sure." cissy waved her hand to him gaily, as she went off towards windy standard. then all at once she stopped. "by the way, what is your name? whom shall i ask for if you are not about to-morrow?" "billy blythe," he said, after a moment's pause to consider whether the daughter of a magistrate was to be trusted; "but i'll be here to-morrow right enough!" "why did you tell the beak's daughter your name, bill, you blooming johnny?" asked a companion. "you'll get thirty days for that sure!" "shut up, fish lee," said the owner of the dog; "the girl is main right. d'ye think she'd ha' said 'sneaked' if she wasn't. g'way, bacon-chump!" cissy carter took the road to windy standard with a good conscience. she was not troubled about the "sneaking," though she hoped that the coachman would not miss that pot of ointment. at the foot of the avenue, just where it joined the dusty road to the town of edam, she met sir toady lion. he had his arms full of valuable sparkling jewellery, or what in the distance looked like it as the sun shone upon some winking yellow metal. toady lion began talking twenty to the dozen as soon as ever he came within cissy's range. "oo!" he cried, "what 'oo fink? father sented us each a great big half-crown from london--all to spend. and we have spended it." "well," said cissy genially, "and what did you buy?" "us all wented down to edam and boughted--oh! yots of fings." "show me what you've bought, toady lion! i want to see! how much money had you, did you say?" toady lion sat plump down in the thickest dust of the road, as he always did just wherever he happened to be at the time. if there chanced to be a pool there or a flower-bed--why, so much the worse. but whenever toady lion wanted to sit down, he sat down. here, however, there was only the dry dust of the road and a brown smatter of last year's leaves. the gallant knight was in a meditative mood and inclined to moralise. "money," said toady lion thoughtfully, "well, dere's the money that you get gived you, and wot janet sez you muss put in your money-box. that's no good! money-box locked! janet keeps money-box. 'get money when you are big,' she sez--rubbage, i fink--shan't want it then--lots and lots in trowsies' pocket then, gold sixpences and fings." toady lion's eyes were dreamy and glorious, as if the angels were whispering to him, and he saw unspeakable things, "then there's miss'nary money in a round box wif a slit on the top. that's lots better! sits on mantlepiece in dining-room. can get it out wif slimmy-jimmy knife when nobody's looking. hugh john showed me how. prissy says boys who grab miss'nary's pennies won't not go to heaven, but hugh john, he says--yes. 'cause why miss'nary's money is for bad wicked people to make them good. then if it is wicked to take miss'nary money, the money muss be meaned for us--to do good to me and hugh john. hugh john finks so. me too!" toady lion spoke in short sentences with pauses between, cissy meantime nodding appreciation. "yes, i know," she said meditatively, "a thinbladed kitchen knife is best." but sir toady lion had started out on the track of right and wrong, and was intent on running them down with his usual slow persistence. "and then the miss'nary money is weally-weally our money, 'cause janet _makes_ us put it in. onst hugh john tried metal buttons off of his old serge trowsies. but janet she found out. and he got smacked. an' nen, us only takes a penny out when us is _tony-bloke_!" "is which? oh, stone-broke," laughed cissy carter, sitting down beside toady lion; "who taught you to say that word?" "hugh john," said the small boy wistfully; "him and me tony-bloke all-ee-time, all-ee-ways, all-ee-while!" "does prissy have any of--the missionary money?" said cissy; "i should!" "no," said toady lion sadly; "don't you know? our prissy's awful good, juss howwid! she likes goin' to church, an' washing, an' having to wear gloves. girls is awful funny." "they are," said cissy carter promptly. the funniness of her sex had often troubled her. "but tell me, toady lion," she went on, "does hugh john like going to church, and being washed, and things?" "who? hugh john--him?" said toady lion, with slow contempt. "'course he don't. why, he's a boy. and once he told mr. burnham so--he did." mr. burnham was the clergyman of both families. he had recently come to the place, was a well-set up bachelor, and represented a communion which was not by any means the dominant one in bordershire. "yes, indeedy. it was under the elm. us was having tea. an' mist'r burnham, he was having tea. and father and prissy. and, oh! such a lot of peoples. and he sez, mist'r burnham sez to hugh john, 'you are good little boy. i saw you in church on sunday. do you like to go to church?' he spoke like this-a-way, juss like i'm tellin' oo, down here under his silk waistcoat--kind of growly, but nice." "hugh john say that he liked to go to church--'cos father was there listenin', you see. then mist'r burnham ask hugh john why he like to go to church, and of course, he say wight out that it was to look at sergeant steel's wed coat. an' nen everybody laugh--i don't know why. but mist'r burnham he laughed most." cissy also failed to understand why everybody should have laughed. toady lion took up the burden of his tale. "yes, indeedy, and one sunday _i_ didn't have to go to church--'cos i'd yet up such a yot of gween gooseb----" "all right, toady lion, i know!" interrupted cissy quickly. "of gween gooseberries," persisted toady lion calmly; "so i had got my tummy on in front. it hurted like--well, like when you get sand down 'oo trowsies. did 'oo ever get sand in 'oo trowsies, cissy?" "hush--of course not!" said cissy carter; "girls don't have trowsers--they have----" but any injudicious revelations on cissy's part were stopped by toady lion, who said, "no, should juss fink not. girls is too great softs to have trowsies. "onst though on the sands at a seaside, when i was '_kye-kying_' out loud an' kickin' fings, 'cos i was not naughty but only fractious, dere was a lady wat said 'be dood, little boy, why can't you be dood?' "an' nen i says, 'how can i be dood? could 'oo be dood wif all that sand in 'oo trowsies?' "an' nen--the lady she wented away quick, so quick--i can't tell why. p'raps _she_ had sand in her trowsies! does 'oo fink so, cissy?" "that'll do--i quite understand," said cissy carter, somewhat hastily, in dread of toady lion's well-known license of speech. "an' nen 'nother day after we comed home i went into the park and clum up a nice tree. an' it was ever so gween and scratchy. 'an it was nice. nen father he came walking his horse slow up the road, n' i hid. but father he seen me. and he say, 'what you doing there, little boy? you break you neck. nen i whip you. come down, you waskal!' he said it big--down here, (toady lion illustrated with his hand the place from which he supposed his father's voice to proceed). an' it made me feel all queer an' trimbly, like our guinea pig's nose when father speak like that. an' i says to him, 'course, father, you never clumb up no trees on sundays when _you_ was little boy!' an' nen he didn't speak no more down here that trimbly way, but laughed, and pulled me down, and roded me home in front of him, and gived me big hunk of pie--yes, indeedy!" toady lion felt that now he had talked quite enough, and began to arrange his brass cannons on the dust, in a plan of attack which beleaguered cissy carter's foot and turned her flank to the left. "where did you get all those nice new cannons? you haven't told me yet," she said. "boughted them!" answered toady lion promptly, "least i boughted some, and hugh john boughted some, an' prissy she boughted some." "and how do you come to have them all?" asked cissy, watching the imposing array. as usual it was the battle of bannockburn and the english were getting it hot. "well," said toady lion thoughtfully, "'twas this way. 'oo sees prissy had half-a-crown, an' she boughted a silly book all about a 'lamplighter' for herself--an' two brass cannons--one for hugh john an' one for me. and hugh john he had half-a-crown, an' he boughted three brass cannon, two for himself and one for me." "and what did you buy with your half-crown?" said cissy, bending her brows sweetly upon the small gunner. "wif my half-a-crown? oh, i just boughted three brass cannons--_dey was all for mine-self_!" "toady lion," cried cissy indignantly, "you are a selfish little pig! i shan't stop with you any more." "little pigs is nice," said toady lion, unmoved, arranging his cannon all over again on a new plan after the removal of cissy's foot; "their noses----" "don't speak to me about their noses, you selfish little boy! blow your own nose." "no use," said toady lion philosophically; "won't stay blowed. 'tis too duicy!" cissy set off in disgust towards the house of windy standard, leaving toady lion calmly playing with his six cannon all alone in the white dust of the king's highway. chapter xxv. love's (very) young dream. cissy found our hero in a sad state of depression. prissy had gone off to evening service, and had promised to introduce a special petition that he might beat the smoutchy boys; but gen'l smith shook his head. "with prissy you can't never tell. like as not she may go and pray that nipper donnan may get converted, or die and go to heaven, or something like that. she'd do it like winking, without a thought for how i should feel! that's the sort of girl our priss is!" "oh, surely not so bad as that," said cissy, very properly scandalised. "she would, indeed," said hugh john, nodding his head vehemently; "she's good no end, our prissy is. and never shirks prayers, nor forgets altogether, nor even says them in bed. i believe she'd get up on a frosty night and say them without a fire--she would, i'm telling you. and she doats on these nasty smoutchies. she'd just love to have been tortured. she'd have regularly spread herself on forgiving them too, our priss would." "i wouldn't have forgived them," cried the piping voice of toady lion, suddenly appearing through the shrubbery (his own more excellent form was "scrubbery"), with his arms full of the new brass cannons; "i wouldn't have forgived them a bit. i'd have cutted off all their heads." "go 'way, little pig!" cried cissy indignantly. "toady lion isn't a little pig," said hugh john, with dignity; "he is my brother." "but he kept all the cannons to himself," remonstrated cissy. "'course he did; why shouldn't he? he's only a little boy, and can't grow good all at once," said hugh john, with more christian charity than might have been expected of him. "you've been growing good yourself," said cissy, thrusting out her upper lip with an expression of bitter reproach and disappointment; "i'd better go home." "i'll hit you if you say that, cissy," cried hugh john, "but anyway you shan't call toady lion a little pig." "i like being little pig," said toady lion impassively; "little piggie goes '_grunt-grunt!_'" and he illustrated the peculiarities of piglings by pulling the air up through his nostrils in various keys. "little pigs is nice," he repeated at the end of this performance. cissy was very angry. things appeared to be particularly horrid that afternoon. she had started out to help everybody, and had only managed to quarrel with them. even her own familiar hugh john had lifted up his heel against her. it was the last straw. but she was resolved to not give in now. "good little boy"--she said tauntingly--"it is such a mother's pet! it will be good then, and go and ask nipper's pardon, and send back donald to make nice mutton pies; it shall then----!" hugh john made a rush at this point. there was a wild scurry of flight, and the gravel flew every way. cissy was captured behind the stable, and hugh john was about to administer punishment. his hand was doubled. it was drawn back. "yes," cried cissy, "hit a girl! any boy can beat you. but you can hit a girl! hit hard, brave soldier!" hugh john's hand dropped as if struck by lightning. "i never did!" he said; "i fought ten of them at once and never even cried when they--when they----" and the erstwhile dauntless warrior showed unmistakable signs of being perilously near a descent into the vale of tears. "when they what?" queried cissy softly, suddenly beginning to be sorry. "well, when they tortured me," said hugh john. [illustration: "'hit hard, brave soldier.'"] cissy went up suddenly and kissed him. it was only a peck which reached land at the top corner of his ear; but it made hugh john crimson hotly, and fend cissy off with his elbow as if she had been a big boy about to strike. "there, now," she said, "i've done it. i promised i would, and what's more, i'll say it out loud--'i love you!' there! and if you don't mind and behave, i'll tell people. i will, now then. but all the same, i'm sorry i was a beast to you." "well, don't do it again," said hugh john, somewhat mollified, slightly dropping the point of his defensive elbow. "anybody might have seen you, and then what would they think?" "all right," said cissy soothingly, "i won't any more." "say 'hope-you-may-die!'" cissy promptly hoped she might come to an early grave in the event of again betraying, even in private, the exuberance of her young affection. "now, hugh john," said cissy, when peace had been restored in this manner, and they were wandering amicably across the back meadow where they could not be seen from the house windows, taking alternate sucks at a stick of brown toffee with crumbs stuck firmly on it, the property of cissy, "i've something to tell you. i've found the allies for you; and we can whop the smoutchies and take the castle now--any time." the eyes of general napoleon smith glistened. "if that's true," he said, "you can kiss me again--no, not now," he added hastily, moving off a little, "but after, when it's all over, you know. there's a good place behind the barn. you can do it there if you like." "will _you_ say 'i love you, cissy'?" but this was more than hugh john had bargained for. he asked time for consideration. "it won't be till the smoutchy boys are beaten and the castle ours for good," pleaded cissy. hugh john felt that it was a great price to pay, but after all he did want dreadfully to beat the smoutchy boys. "well, i'll try," he said, "but you must say, 'hope-you'll-die and double-die,' if you ever tell!" again cissy took the required oath. "well?" said he expectantly, his mind altogether on the campaign. cissy told him all about the gipsy encampment and the history of the meeting with billy blythe. hugh john nodded. of course he knew all about that, but would they join? were they not rather on the side of the smoutchies? they looked as if they would be. "oh, you can't never tell a bit beforehand," said cissy eagerly. "they just hate the town boys; and bill blythe says that nipper donnan's father said, that when the town got the castle they would soon clear the gipsies off your common--for that goes with the castle." hugh john nodded again more thoughtfully. there was certainly something in that. he had heard his father say as much to his lawyer when he himself was curled up on the sofa, pretending to read froissart's "chronicles," but really listening as hard as ever he could. "you are a brick," he cried, "you are indeed, cissy. come on, let's go at once and see billy blythe." and he took her hand. she held back a moment. they were safe behind the great ivy bush at the back of the stables. "couldn't you say it now?" she whispered, with a soft light in her eyes; "i wish you could. try." hugh john's face darkened. he unshipped his elbow from his side to be ready for action. "well, i won't ask you till after," she said regretfully. "'tain't fair, i know; but--" she looked at him again yet more wistfully, still holding him by the hand which had last passed over the mutual joint-stock candy-stick; "don't you think you could do the other--just once?" "what other?" grumbled hugh john, sulking. he felt that cissy was taking an unfair advantage. "oh, _you_ know," said cissy, "what i did to you a little while ago." "'twasn't to be till after," urged our hero, half relenting. like a woman, cissy was quick to see her advantage. "just a little one to be going on with?" she pleaded. hugh john sighed. girls were incomprehensible. prissy liked church and being washed. cissy, of whom he had more hopes, liked kissing. "well," he said, "goodness knows why you like it. i'm sure i don't and never shall. but--" he ran to the corner and looked round into the stable-yard. all was quiet along the potomac. he walked more sternly to the other corner, and glanced into the orchard. peace reigned among the apple-trees. he came slowly and dejectedly back. in the inmost corner of the angle of the stable, and behind the thickest of the ivy bush, he straightened himself up and compressed his lips, as he had done when the smoutchies were tying him up by the thumbs. he felt however that to beat nipper donnan he was ready to undergo anything--even this. no sacrifice was too great. "all right," he said. "come on, cissy, and get it over--only don't be too long." cissy was thirteen, and tall for her age, but though fully a year younger, hugh john was tall also, so that when she came joyously forward and put her hands on his shoulders, their eyes were exactly on a level. "you needn't go shutting your eyes and holding your breath, as if it were medicine. 'tisn't so very horrid," said cissy, with her hands still on his shoulder. "go on!" said hugh john in a muffled voice, nerving himself for the coming crisis. cissy's lips just touched his, rested a moment, and were gone. hugh john let out his breath with a sigh of relief like an explosion; then he stepped back, and promptly wiped off love's gage with the sleeve of his coat. "hold on," cried cissy; "that isn't fair. you know it ain't!" hugh john knew it and submitted. cissy swept the tumbled hair from about her eyes. she had a very red spot on either cheek; but she had made up her mind, and was going through with it properly now. [illustration: "'wasn't it splendid?'"] "oh, i don't mind," she said; "i can easily do it over again--for keeps this time, mind!" then she kissed him once, twice, and three times. it was nicer than kissing janet sheepshanks, he thought; and as for prissy--well, that was different too. a little hammer thumped in his heart, and made it go "jumpetty-jump," as if it were lame, or out of breath, or had one leg shorter than the other. after all ciss was the nicest girl there was, if she did behave stupidly and tiresomely about this. "just once?" he would do it after all. it wasn't much to do--to give cissy such a treat. so he put his arms about her neck underneath her curls, pulled her close up to him, and kissed her. it felt funny, but rather nice. he did not remember doing that to any one since he was a little boy, and his mother used to come and say "good-night" to him. then he opened his arms and pushed cissy away. they walked out through the orchard yards apart, as if they had just been introduced. cissy's eyes were full of the happiness of love's achievement. as for hugh john, he was crimson to the neck and felt infinitely degraded in his own estimation. they came to the orchard wall, where there was a stile which led in the direction of oaklands. cissy ran up the rude steps, but paused on the top instead of going over. hugh john was looking the other way. somehow, do what he would, his eyes could not be brought to meet hers. "are you not coming?" she said coaxingly. "no," he answered, gruffly enough; "to-morrow will do for billy." "good-night," she said softly. her voice was almost a whisper. hugh john grunted inarticulately. "look here!" she said, bending down till her eyes were on a level with his chin. he could not help glancing up once. there was a mischievous smile in them. it had never struck him before that cissy was very pretty. but somehow now he was glad that she was. prissy was nice-looking too--but, oh! quiet different. he continued to look at cissy carter standing with the stile between them. "wasn't it splendid!" she said, still keeping her shining eyes on his. "oh, middling," said hugh john, and turning on his heel he went into the stable without even saying "good-bye." cissy watched him with a happy smile on her face. love was her fetish--her sambo soulis--and she had worshipped long in secret. till now she had let the worm concealment prey upon her cheek. true, it had not as yet affected her appetite nor kept her a moment awake. but now all was different. her heart sang, and the strangest thing was that all the landscape, the fields and woods, and everything seemed to be somehow painted in brighter colours. in fact, they looked just as they do when you bend down and look at them through between your legs. you know the way. chapter xxvi. an imperial birthday. the next day was general napoleon smith's birthday. outwardly it looked much like other days. there were not, as there ought to have been, great, golden imperial capital n's all over the sky. nature indeed was more than usually calm; but, to strike a balance, there was excitement enough and to spare in and about the house of windy standard. very early, when it was not yet properly light, but only sort of misty white along the wet grass and streaky combed-out grey up above in the sky, prissy waked sir toady lion, who promptly rolled over to the back of his cot, and stuck his funny head right down between the wall and the edge of the wire mattress, so that only his legs and square sturdy back could be seen. toady lion always preferred to sleep in the most curious positions. in winter he usually turned right round in bed till his head was far under the bed-clothes, and his fat, twinkly, pink toes reposed peacefully on the pillow. nothing ever mattered to toady lion. he could breathe through his feet just as well as through his mouth, and (as we have seen) much better than through his nose. the attention of professors of physiology is called to this fact, which can be established upon the amplest evidence and the most unimpeachable testimony. in summer he generally rolled out of bed during the first half hour, and slept comfortably all the rest of the night on the floor. "get up, toady lion," said his sister softly, so as not to waken hugh john; "it is the birthday." "ow don' care!" grumbled toady lion, turning over and over three or four times very fast till he had all the bed-clothes wrapped about him like a cocoon; "don' care wat it is. i'se goin' to sleep some more. don't go 'prog' me like that!" "come," said prissy gently, to tempt him; "we are going to give hugh john a surprise, and sing a lovely hymn at his door. you can have my ivory prayer-book----" "for keeps?" asked toady lion, opening his eyes with his first gleam of interest. "oh, no, you know that was mother's, and father gave it to me to take care of. but you shall have it to hold in your hand while we are singing." "well, then, can i have the picture of the anzel michael castin' out the baddy-baddy anzels and hittin' the bad black man o-such-a-whack on the head?" prissy considered. the print was particularly dear to her heart, and she had spent a happy wet saturday colouring it. but she did want to make the birthday hymn a success, and toady lion had undeniably a fine voice when he liked to use it--which was not often. "all right," she said, "you can have my 'michael and the bad angels,' but you are not to spoil it." "shan't play then," grumbled toady lion, who knew well the strength of his position, and was as troublesome as a _prima donna_ when she knows her manager cannot do without her--"shan't sing, not unless 'michael and the bad angels' is mine to spoil if i like." "but you won't--will you, dear toady lion?" pleaded prissy. "you'll keep it so nice and careful, and then next saturday, when i have my week's money and you are poor, i'll buy it off you again." "shan't promise," said the obstinate brat--as janet, happily inspired, had once called him after being worsted in an argument, "p'rhaps yes, and p'rhaps no." "come on then, toady lion," whispered prissy, giving him a hand and deciding to trust to luck for the preservation of her precious print. toady lion was often much better than his word, and she knew from experience that by saturday his financial embarrassments would certainly be such that no reasonable offer was likely to be refused. toady lion rose, and taking his sister's hand they went into her room, carefully shutting the door after them. here prissy proceeded to equip toady lion in one of her own "nighties," very much against that chorister's will. "you see, pink flannel pyjams are not proper to sing in church in," she whispered: "now--you must hold your hymn-book so, and look up at the roof when you sing--like the 'child samuel' on the nursery wall." "mine eyes don't goggle like his," said toady lion, who felt that nature had not designed him for the part, and who was sleepy and cross anyway. birthdays were no good--except his own. it happened that janet sheepshanks was going downstairs early to set the maids to their morning work, and this is what she saw. at the closed door of hugh john's chamber stood two quaint little figures, clad in lawny white, one tall and slim, the other short and chubby as a painted cherub on a ceiling. they had each white hymn-books reverently placed between their hands. their eyes were raised heavenwards and their lips were red and parted with excitement. the stern scotswoman felt something suddenly strike her heart. "eh, sir," she said, telling the tale afterwards, "the lassie priscilla was sae like her mither, my puir bairn that is noo singing psalms wi' the angels o' god, that i declare, my verra heart stood still, for i thocht that she had come back for yin o' the bairns. and, oh! i couldna pairt wi' ony o' them noo. it wad fairly break my heart. and there the twa young things stood at the door, but when they began to sing, i declare i juist slippit awa' doon to the closet and grat on the tap o' a cask o' paraffeen!" and this is what janet sheepshanks heard them sing. it was not perhaps very appropriate, but it was one of the only two hymns of which toady lion knew the words; and i think even mr. charles wesley, who wrote it, would not have objected if he had seen the angelic devotion on prissy's face or the fraudulent cherub innocence shining from that of sir toady lion. "now, mind, your eyes on the crack of the door above," whispered prissy; "and when i count three under my breath--sing out for your very life." toady lion nodded. "one--two--three!" counted prissy. "_hark! the herald angels sing, glory to the new-born king, peace on earth and mercy mild, god and sinners reconciled._" "what is 'weconciled'?" asked toady lion, who must always ask something on principle. "oh, never mind now," whispered prissy hastily; "keep your eyes on the top crack of the door and open your mouth wide." "don't know no more!" said toady lion obstinately. "oh yes, you do," said prissy, almost in tears; "go on. sing _la-la_, if you don't, and we'll soon be at the chorus, and you know that anyway!" then the voice of prissy escaped, soaring aloft in the early gloom, and if any human music can, reaching the seventh sphere itself, where, amid the harmonies of the universe, the eternal ear hearkens for the note of sinful human praise. the sweet shrill pipe of toady lion accompanied her like a heavenly lute of infinite sweetness. it was at this point that janet made off in the direction of the paraffin barrel. "_joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies: universal nature, say, 'christ the lord is risen to-day!'_" the door opened, and the head of hugh john appeared, his hair all on end and his pyjama jacket open at the neck. he was hitching up the other division of the suit with one hand. "'tain't christmas, what's the horrid row? shut it!" growled he sleepily. prissy made him the impatient sign of silence so well understood of children, and which means that the proceedings are not to be interrupted. "your birthday, silly!" she said; "chorus now!" and hugh john himself, who knew the value of discipline, lined up and opened his mouth in the loud rejoicing refrain:- "_hark! the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king!_" a slight noise behind made them turn round, and there the children beheld with indignation the whole body of the servants grouped together on the landing, most of them with their handkerchiefs to their eyes; while jane housemaid who had none, was sobbing undisguisedly with the tears rolling down her cheeks, and vainly endeavouring to express her opinion that "it was just beautiful--they was for all the world like little angels a-praisin' god, and--_a-hoo!_ i can't help it, no more i can't! and their mother never to see them growed up--her bein' in her grave, the blessed lamb!" "_i_ don't see nuffin to kye for," said toady lion unsympathetically, trying to find pockets in prissy's night-gown; "it was a nice sing-song!" at this moment janet sheepshanks came on the scene. she had been crying more than anybody, but you would never have guessed it. and now, perhaps ashamed of her own emotion, she pretended great scandal and indignation at the unseemly and irregular spectacle, and drove the servants below to their morning tasks, being specially severe with jane housemaid, who, for some occult reason, found it as difficult to stop crying as it had been easy to begin--so that, as hugh john said, "it was as good as a watering-can, and useful too, for it laid the dust on jane's carpets ready for sweeping, ever so much better than tea-leaves." chapter xxvii. the bantam chickens. when hugh john met cissy carter the first time after the incident of the stile, it was in the presence of the young lady's father and mother. cissy smiled and shook hands with the most serene and chilling dignity; but hugh john blushed, and wore on his countenance an expression of such deep and ingrained guilt and confusion, that, upon catching sight of him, mr. davenant carter called out, in his jolly stand-before-the-fire-with-his-hands-in-his-pockets' manner, "hillo, boy! what have you been up to--stealing apples, eh? come! what is it? out with it!" which, when you think of it, was not exactly fitted to make our hero any more self-possessed. mr. davenant carter always considered children as a rather superior kind of puppy dogs, which were specially created to be condescended to and teased, in order to see what they would say and do. they might also be taught tricks--like monkeys and parrots, only not so clever. "oh, davenant," said his wife, "do let the boy alone. don't you see he is bashful before so many people?" now this was the last thing which ordinarily could be laid with justice to the charge of our hero; yet now he only mumbled and avoided everybody's eye, particularly cissy's. but apparently that young lady had forgotten all about the ivy bush at the back of the stable, for she said quite loud out, so that all the room could hear her, "what a long time it is since we saw you at oaklands, hugh john--isn't it?" this sally added still more to hugh john's confusion, and he could only fall back upon his favourite axiom (which he was to prove the truth of every day of his life as he grew older), that "girls are funny things." presently cissy said, "have you seen sammy, mother; i wonder if he has fallen into the mill-dam. he went over there more than an hour ago to sail his new boat." mild mrs. carter started up so violently that she upset all her sewing cotton and spools on the floor, to the delight of her wicked little pug, which instantly began pulling them about, shaking them, growling at them, and pretending they were rats that had been given him to worry. "oh, do you think so?--run cissy, run hugh, and find him!" whereat cissy and hugh john removed themselves. as soon as they were outside our hero found his tongue. "how could you tell such a whopper? of course he would not fall into the water like a baby!" "goos-ee gander," said cissy briskly; "of course not! i knew that very well. but if i had not said something we should have had to stay there moping among all those grown-ups, and doing nothing but talking proper for hours and hours." "but i thought you liked it, cissy," said hugh john, who did not know everything. "like it!" echoed cissy; "i've got to _do_ it. and if they dreamed i didn't like it, they'd think i hadn't proper manners, and make me stop just twice as long. mother wants me to acquire a good society something-or-other, so that's why i've to stop and make tea, and pretend to like to talk to mr. burnham." "oh--him," said hugh john; "he isn't half bad. and he's a ripping good wicket-keep!" "i dare say," retorted cissy, "that's all very well for you. he talks to you about cricket and w. g.'s scores--i've heard him. but he speaks to me in that peeky far-away voice from the back of his throat, like he does in the service when he comes to the bit about 'young children'--and what do you think the _creature_ says?" "i dunno," said hugh john, with a world-weary air, as if the eccentricities of clergymen in silk waistcoats were among the things that no fellow could possibly find out. "well, he said that he hoped the time would soon come when a young lady of so much decision of character (that's me!) would be able to assist him in his district visiting." "what's 'decision of character' when he's at home?" asked hugh john flippantly. "oh, nothing--only one of the things parsons say. it doesn't mean anything--not in particular!" replied the widely informed cissy. "but did you ever hear such rot?" and for the first time her eyes met his with a quaintly questioning look, which somehow carried in it a reminiscence of the stile and the ivy bush. cissy's eyes were never quite (hugh john has admitted as much to me in a moment of confidence)--never quite the same after the incident of the orchard. on this occasion hugh john instantly averted his own, and looked stolidly at the ground. "perhaps mr. burnham has heard that you went with medicine and stuff to the gipsy camp," he said after a pause, trying to find an explanation of the apparently indefensible folly of his cricketing hero. cissy had not thought of this before. "well, perhaps he had," she said, "but that was quite different." "how different?" queried hugh john. "well, that was only dogs and billy blythe," said cissy, somewhat shamefacedly; "that doesn't count, and besides i like it. doing good has got to be something you don't like--teaching little brats their duty to their godfathers and godmothers, or distributing tracts which only make people stamp and swear and carry on." "isn't there something somewhere about helping the fatherless and the widow?" faltered hugh john. he hated "talking good," but somehow he felt that cissy was doing herself less than justice. "well, i don't suppose that the fox-terrier's pa does much for him," she said gaily; "but come along and i'll 'interjuce' you to your ally billy blythe." so they walked along towards the camp in silence. it was a still, sunday-like evening, and the bell of edam town steeple was tolling for the six o'clock stay of work, as it had done every night at the same hour for over five hundred years. the reek of the burgesses' supper-fires was going up in a hundred pillar-like "pews" of tall blue smoke. homeward bound humble bees bumbled and blundered along, drunk and drowsy with the heady nectar they had taken on board--strayed revellers from the summer-day's feast of flowers. delicate little blue butterflies rose flurriedly from the short grass, flirted with each other a while, and then mounted into a yet bluer sky in airy wheels and irresponsible balancings. "this is my birthday!" suddenly burst out hugh john. cissy stopped short and caught her breath. "oh no--it can't be;" she said, "i thought it was next week, and they aren't nearly ready." whereat cissy cartar began most incontinently and unexpectedly to cry. hugh john had never seen her do this before, though he was familiar enough with prissy's more easy tears. "now don't you, ciss," he said; "i don't want anything--presents and things, i mean. just let's be jolly." "hu-uh-uh!" sobbed cissy; "and janet sheepshanks told me it was next week. i'm sure she did; and i set them so nicely to be ready in time--more than two months ago, and now they aren't ready after all." "what aren't ready?" said hugh john. "the bantam chickens," sobbed cissy; "and they are lovely as lovely. and peck--you should just see them peck." "i'd just as soon have them next week, or the next after that--rather indeed. shut up now, ciss. stop crying, i tell you. do you hear?" he was instinctively adopting that gruff masculine sternness which men consider to be on the whole the most generally effective method of dealing with the incomprehensible tears of their women-kind. "_i_ don't care if you cry pints, but i'll hit you if you won't stop! so there!" cissy stopped like magic, and assumed a distant and haughty expression with her nose in the air, the surprising dignity of which was marred only by the recurring spasmodic sniff necessary to keep back the moisture which was still inclined to leak from the corners of her eyes. "i would indeed," said hugh john, like all good men quickly remorseful after severity had achieved its end. "i'd ever so much rather have the nicest presents a week after; for on a regular birthday you get so many things. but by next week, when you've got tired of them all, and don't have anything new--that's the proper time to get a present." "oh, you _are_ nice," said cissy impulsively, coming over to hugh john and clasping his arm with both her hands. he did not encourage this, for he did not know where it might end, and the open moor was not by any means the ivy-grown corner of the stable. cissy went on. "yes, you are the nicest thing. only don't tell any body----" "i won't!" said hugh john, with deepest conviction. "and i'll give you the mother too," continued cissy; "she is a perfect darling, and won a prize at the last edam show. it was only a second, but everybody said that she ought by rights to have had the first. yes, and she would have got it too--only that the other old hen was a cousin of the judge's. that wasn't fair, was it?" "certainly not!" said hugh john, with instant emphasis. chapter xxviii. the gipsy camp. at this point a peculiar fragrance was borne to them upon the light wind, the far-blowing smell of a wood-fire, together with the odour of boiling and fragrant stew--a compound and delicious wild-wood scent, which almost created the taste by which it was to be enjoyed, as they say all good literature must. there was also another smell, less idyllic but equally characteristic--the odour of drying paint. all these came from the camp of the gipsies set up on the corner of the common lands of windy standard. the gipsies' wood was a barren acre of tall, ill-nurtured scotch firs, with nothing to break their sturdy monotony of trunk right up to the spreading crown of twisted red branches and dark green spines. beneath, the earth was covered with a carpet of dry and brown pine-needles, several inches thick, soft and silent under the feet as velvet pile. ditches wet and dry closed in the place of sanctuary for the wandering tribes of egypt on all sides, save only towards the high road, where a joggly, much-rutted cart track led deviously in between high banks, through which the protruding roots of the scotch firs, knotted and scarred, were seen twisting and grappling each other like a nest of snakes. suddenly, between the ridges of pine-trees, the pair came in sight of the camp. "i declare," cried hugh john, "they are painting the waggons. i wish they would let me help. i can slick it on like a daisy. now i'm telling you. andrew penman at the coach-works in church street showed me how. he says i can 'line' as well as any workman in the place. i'm going to be a coach-painter. they get bully wages, i tell you." "i thought you were going to be a soldier," commented cissy, with the cool and inviting criticism of the model domestic lady, who is always on hand with a bucket of cold water for the enthusiasms of her men-folk. hugh john remembered, saw his mistake, and shifted his ground all in the twinkling of an eye; for of course a man of spirit ought never to own himself in the wrong--at least to a girl. it is a bad precedent, occasionally even fatal. "oh yes, of course i am going to be a soldier," he said with the hesitation of one who stops to think what he is going to say; "but i'm to be a coach-painter in my odd time and on holidays. besides, officers get so little pay now-a-days, it's shameful--i heard my father say. so one must do something." "oh, here's the terrier--pretty thing, i declare he quite knows me--see, hugh john," cried cissy, kneeling with delight in her eye, and taking hold of the little dog, which came bounding forward to meet her--stopping midway, however, to paw at its neck, to which the chianti wicker-work still clung tightly round the edge of the bandage. billy blythe came towards them, touching his cap as he did so in a half-military manner; for had he not a brother in the county militia, who was the best fighter (with his fists) in the regiment, the pest of his colonel, but in private the particular pet of all the other officers, who were always ready to put their money on gipsy blythe to any amount. "yes, miss," he said; "i done it. he's better a'ready, and as lively as a green grass-chirper. never seed the like o' that ointment. 'tis worth its weight in gold when ye have dogs." a tall girl came up at this moment, dusky and lithe, her face and neck tanned to a fine healthy brown almost as dark as saddle-leather, but with a rolling black eye so full and piercing that even her complexion seemed light by comparison. she carried a back load of tinware of all sorts, and by her wearied air appeared to be returning to the encampment after a day's tramp. "ah, young lady and gentleman, sure i can see by your eyes that you are going to buy something from a poor girl--ribbons for the hair, or for the house some nice collanders, saucepans, fish-pans, stew-pans, patty-pans, jelly-pans----" [illustration: "she carried a back load of tinware."] "go 'way, lepronia lovell," growled billy; "don't you see that this is the young lady that cured my dog?" "and who may the young gentleman be?" said the girl. "certain i am i've seen him before somewhere at the back o' beyant." "belike aye, lepronia, tha art a clever wench, and hast got eyes in the back o' thee yead," said billy, in a tone of irony. "do you not know the son of master smith o' t' windy standard--him as lets us bide on his land, when all the neighbours were on for nothing else but turning us off with never a rest for the soles of our feet?" "and what is his name?" said the girl. "why, the same as his father of course, lass--what else?" cried billy; "young master smith as ever was. did you think it was blythe?" "'faith then, god forbid!" said lepronia, "ye have lashin's of that name in them parts already. sure it is lonesome for a poor orphan like me among so many blythes; and good-looking young chaps some o' them too, and never a wan o' ye man enough to ask me to change my name, and go to church and be thransmogrified into a blythe like the rest of yez!" some of the gipsies standing round laughed at the boldness of the girl, and billy reddened. "i'm not by way of takin' up with no paddy," he said, and turned on his heel. "paddy is ut," cried the girl indignantly after him, "'faith now, and it wad be tellin' ye if ye could get a daycent single woman only half as good lookin' as me, to take as much notice av the likes o' ye as to kick ye out of her road!" she turned away, calling over her shoulder to cissy, "can i tell your fortune, pretty lady?" quick as a flash, cissy's answer came back. "no, but i can tell yours!" the girl stopped, surprised that a maid of the gentiles should tell fortunes without glass balls, cards, or even looking at the lines of the hand. "tell it then," she said defiantly. "you will live to marry billy!" she said. then lepronia lovell laughed a short laugh, and said, "never while there's a daycent scarecrow in the world will i set up a tent-stick along with the likes of billy blythe!" but all the same she walked away very thoughtful, her basketful of tinware clattering at her back. after the fox-terrier had been examined, commented upon, and duly dressed, billy blythe walked with them part of the way homeward, and hugh john opened out to him his troubles. he told him of the feud against the town boys, and related all the manifold misdeeds of the smoutchies. all the while billy said nothing, but the twitching of his hands and a peculiarly covert look about his dusky face told that he was listening intently. scarcely had hugh john come to the end of his tale when, with the blood mounting darkly to his cheeks, billy turned about to see if he were observed. there was no one near. "we are the lads to help ye to turn out nipper donnan and all his crew," he said. "him and his would soon make short work of us gipsies if they had the rights of castle and common. why, nipper's father is what they call a bailie of their burgh court, and he fined my father for leaving his horses out on the roadside, while he went for a doctor when my mother was took ill a year past last november." hugh john had found his ally. "there's a round dozen and more of us lads," continued billy, "that 'ud make small potatoes and mince meat of every one of them, if they was all nipper donnans--which they ain't, not by a long sight. i know them. a fig for them and their flag! we'll take their castle, and we'll take it too in a way they won't forget till their dying day." the gipsy lad was so earnest that hugh john, though as much as ever bent upon conquering the enemy, began to be a little alarmed. "of course it's part pretending," he said, "for my father could put them out if we were to tell on them. but then we won't tell, and we want just to drive them out ourselves, and thrash them for stealing our pet lamb as well!" "right!" said billy, "don't be afraid; we won't do more than just give them a blazing good hiding. tell 'ee what, they'll be main sore from top to toe before we get through with 'em!" chapter xxix. toady lion's little ways. thus it was finally arranged. the castle was to be attacked by the combined forces of windy standard and the gipsy camp the following saturday afternoon, which would give them the enemy in their fullest numbers. notice would be sent, so that they could not say afterwards that they had been taken by surprise. general napoleon smith was to write the letter himself, but to say nothing in it about his new allies. that, as cissy put it, "would be as good as a sixpenny surprise-packet to them." so full was hugh john of his new plan and the hope, now almost the certainty, of success, that when he went home he could not help confiding in prissy--who, like a model housewife, was seated mending her doll's stockings, while janet sheepshanks attended to those of the elder members of the household. she listened with quick-coming breath and rising colour, till hugh john thought that his own military enthusiasm had kindled hers. "isn't it prime?--we'll beat them till they can't speak," said hugh john triumphantly. "they'll never come back to our castle again after we finish with them." but priscilla was silent, and deep dejection gnawed dully at her heart. "poor things," she said thoughtfully; "perhaps they never had fathers to teach them, nor godfathers and godmothers to see that they learned their catechism." "precious lot mine ever did for me--only one old silver mug!" snorted hugh john. just then toady lion came in. "oh, hugh john," he panted, in tremulous haste to tell some fell tidings, "i so sorry--i'se broked one of the cannons, and it's your cannon what i'se broked." "what were you doing with my cannon?" inquired his brother severely. "i was juss playin' wif it so as to save my cannons, and a great bid stone fell from the wall and broked it all to bits. i beg'oo pardon, hugh john!" "all right!" said hugh john cheerfully; "you can give me one of yours for it." toady lion stood a while silent, with a puzzled expression on his face. "that's not right, hugh john," he said seriously; "i saided that i was sorry, and i begged 'oo pardon. father says then 'oo must fordiv me!" "oh, i'll forgive you right enough," said hugh john, "after i get the cannon. it's all the same to me which cannon i have." "but _your_ cannon is broked--all to little bits!" said toady lion, trying to impress the fact on his brother's memory. "well, another cannon," said hugh john--"i ain't particular." "but the other cannons is all mine," explained toady lion, who has strong ideas as to the rights of property. "no matter--one of them is mine now!" said his brother, snatching one out of his arms. toady lion began to cry with a whining whimper that carried far, and with which in his time he had achieved great things. it reached the ear of janet sheepshanks, busy at her stocking-mending, as toady lion intended it should. "i declare," she cried, "can you not give the poor little boy what he wants? a great fellow like you pestering and teasing a child like that. think shame of yourself! what is the matter, arthur george?" "hugh john tooked my cannon!" whimpered that young machiavel. "haven't got your cannon, little sneak!" said hugh john under his breath. "won't give me back my cannon!" wailed toady lion still louder, hearing janet beginning to move, and knowing well that if he only kept it up she would come out, and, on principle, instantly take his part. janet never inquired. she had a theory that the elder children were always teasing and oppressing the younger, and she acted upon it--acted promptly too. "i wants--" began toady lion in his highest key. "oh, take the cannon, sneak!" said hugh john fiercely, "chucking" his last remaining piece of artillery at toady lion, for janet was almost in the doorway now. toady lion burst into a howl. "oo-oo-ooooh!" he cried; "hugh john hitted me on the head wif my cannon----" "oh, you bad boy, wait till i catch you, hugh picton smith," cried janet sheepshanks, as the boy retreated precipitately through the open french window,--"you don't get any supper to-night, rascal that you are, never letting that poor innocent lamb alone for one minute." in the safety of the garden walk hugh john shook his fist at the window. "oh, golly," he said aloud; "just wait till toady lion grows up a bit. by hokey, won't i take this out of him with a wicket? oh no--not at all!" now toady lion was not usually a selfish little boy; but this day it happened that he was cross and hot, also he had a tooth which was bothering him. and most of all he wanted his own way, and had a very good idea how to get it too. that same night, when hugh john was wandering disconsolately without at the hour of supper, wondering whether janet sheepshanks meant to keep her word, a small stout figure came waddling towards him. it was toady lion with the cover of a silver-plated fish-server in his hand. it was nearly full of a miscellaneous mess, such as children (and all hungry persons) love--half a fried sole was there, three large mealy potatoes, green peas, and a whole boiled turnip. "please, hugh john," said toady lion, "i'se welly solly i broked your cannon. i bringed you mine supper. will 'oo forgive me?" "all right, old chap," said the generous hero of battles instantly, "that's all right! let's have a jolly feed!" so on the garden seat they sat down with the fish-cover propped between them, and ate their suppers fraternally and happily out of one dish, using the oldest implements invented for the purpose by the human race. chapter xxx. saint prissy, peacemaker. this is the letter which, according to his promise, general napoleon smith despatched to the accredited leader of the smoutchy boys--or, as they delighted to call themselves, the comanche cowboys. windy standard house, bordershire. _mistr. nippr. donnan, esqr.,_ _dear sir,--this is to warn you that on saturday the 18th, between the hours of ten in the morning and six in the evening, we, the rightful owners of the castle of windy standard, will take possession of our proppaty. prevent us at your peril. you had better get out, for we're coming, and our motty is 'smith for ever, and no quarter!'_ _given under our hand and seal._ (_signed_) _napoleon smith_, _general-feeld-marshall-commanding._ _p.s.--i'll teach you to kick my legs with tacketty butes and put me in nasty dunguns. wait till i catch you, nipper donnan._ the reply came back on a piece of wrapping paper from the butcher's shop, rendered warlike by undeniable stains of gore. it had, to all appearance, been written with a skewer, and contrasted ill with the blue official paper purloined out of mr. picton smith's office, on which the challenge had been sent. it ran thus:--- _matthew donnan & co., butchers and cattle salesmen, 21 high street, edam, bordershire._ _dear sir.--yours of the 13th received, and contents noted. come on, you stuck-up retches. we can fight you any day with our one hand tied behind us. better leave girls and childer at home, for we meen fightin' this time--and no error.--we'll nock you into eternal smash._ _hoping to be favoured with a continuance of your esteemed orders,--i have the honour to remain, sir, your obedient servant to command,_ _n. donnan._ the high contracting parties having thus agreed upon terms of mutual animosity, to all appearance there remained only the arbitrament of battle. but other thoughts were working in the tender heart of prissy smith. she had no sympathy with bloodshed, and had she been in her father's place she would at once have given the town all their desires at any price, in order that the peace might be kept. deeply and sincerely she bewailed the spirit of quarrelling and bloodshed which was abroad. she had her own intentions as to the enemy, hugh john had his--which he had so succinctly summed up in the "favour of the 13th," acknowledged with such businesslike precision by mr. nipper donnan in his reply to general napoleon's blue official cartel. without taking any one into her confidence (not even sammy carter, who might have laughed at her), priscilla smith resolved to set out on a mission of reconciliation to the comanche cowboys. long and deeply she prepared herself by self-imposed penances for the work that was before her. she was, she knew, no joan of arc to lead an army in battle array against a cruel and taunting enemy. she was to be a st. catherine of siena rather, setting out alone and unfriended on a pilgrimage of mercy. she had read all she could lay her hands on about the tanner's daughter, and a picture of the great barn-like brick church of san dominico where she had her visions, hung over the wash-stand in prissy's little room, and to her pious eyes made the plain deal table seem the next thing to an altar. prissy wanted to go and have visions too; and so, three times a day she went in pilgrimage to the tool-house where the potatoes were stored, as being the next best thing to the unattainable san dominico. this was a roomy place more than half underground, and had a vaulted roof which was supported by pillars--the remains, doubtless, of some much more ancient structure. here prissy waited, like the scholar gipsy, for the light from heaven to fall; but, alas, the light refused to come to time. well, then, she must just go on without it as many another eager soul had done before her. there only remained to make the final preparations. on the morrow therefore she waited carefully after early dinner till general smith and toady lion had gone off in the direction of the mill-dam. then she took out the little basket which she had concealed in the crypt of san dominico--that is to say in the potato house. it stood ready packed and covered with a white linen cloth. it was a basket which had been prepared upon the strictest missionary models. she had no printed authorities which went the length of telling her what provision for the way, what bribes and presents saint catherine carried forth to appease withal the enemies of her city and country. but there was on record the exact provision of the mission-chest of a woman, who in her time went forth to turn to gentleness the angry hearts of brigands and robbers--one abigail, the wife of a certain churl of maon, a village near to the roots of mount carmel. true, prissy could not quite make up the tale of her presents on the same generous and wholesale scale. she had to preach according to her stipend, like the glasgow wife of the legend, who, upon the doctor ordering her husband champagne and oysters, informed a friend that "poor folk like us couldna juist gie tammas champeen-an'-ighsters, but we did the next best thing--we gied him whelks-an'-ginger-beer." so since it might have attracted some attention, even on pastures so well stocked as those of mr. picton smith of windy standard, if prissy had taken with her "five sheep ready dressed," she had to be content with half of a sheep's-head-pie, which she had begged "to give away" from janet sheepshanks. to this she added a four pound loaf she had bought in edam with her own money (abigail's two hundred being distinctly out of her reach)--together with the regulation cluster of raisins and cake of figs which were both well within her means. in addition, since prissy was a strict teetotaler, she took with her a little apparatus for making tea, some sugar and cream from the pantry, and her largest and best set of dolls' cups and saucers. all this occupied a good deal of room and was exceedingly heavy, so that prissy had very often to rest on the way towards the castle. she might have failed altogether, but that she saw mike raking the gravel of the path near the edge of the water, and asked him to carry the basket for her over the stepping-stones. prince michael, who as he often remarked was "spoiling for another taste of donnybrook," conveyed the basket over edam water for his young mistress, without the least idea of the strange quest upon which the girl was going. he laid it down and looked at the linen cover. "faix," he said, "sure 'tis a long road to sind a young lady wid a heavy load like that!" now, this was his mode of inviting an explanation, but prissy was far too wise to offer one. she merely thanked him and went on her way towards the castle. "don't go near thim ruins till after saturday, when we will clean every dirty spalpeen out of the place like thunder on the mountains," cried mike, who, like some other people, loved to round off his sentences with sounding expressions without troubling himself much as to whether they fitted the place or not. "thank you!" cried prissy over her shoulder, with a sweet and grateful, but quite uninforming smile. she continued on her way till mike was out of sight, without altering her course from the straight road to the wooden bridge which led into the town of edam. then at the edge of the hazel copse she came upon a small footpath which meandered through lush grass meadows and patches of the greater willow herb to the castle of windy standard. the willow herb flourished in glorious red-purple masses on the ancient masonry of the outer defences, for it is a plant which loves above all things the disintegrating lime of old buildings from which its crown of blossom shoots up three or four, or it may be even six feet. she skirted the moat, green with the leaves of pond-weed floating like small veined eggs on the surface. from the sluggish water at the side, iris and bog-bean stood nobly up, and white-lilies floated on the still surface in lordly pride among the humbler wrack and scum of duckweed and water buttercup. the light chrome heads of "go-to-bed-john" flaunted on the dryer bank beyond. prissy eyed all these treasures with anxious glances. "i want just dreadfully to gather you," she said. "i hope all this warring and battling will be over before you have done blooming, you nice waterside things." and indeed i agree with her, for there is nothing much nicer in the world than wayside and riverside flowers--except the little children who play among them; and nothing sweeter than a bairns' daisy-chain, save the fingers which weave it, and the neck about which it hangs. prissy had arrived within sight of the castle now. she saw the flaunting of the red republican flag which in staggery capitals condemned her parent to instant dissolution. she stood a moment with the basket on her arm in front of the great ruined gate. a sentry was pacing to and fro there. bob hetherington was his name, and there were other lads and boys lounging and pretending to smoke in the deep embrasures and recesses of the walls. clearly the castle was occupied in force by the enemy. prissy stopped somewhat embarrassed, and set down her basket that she might have a good look, and think what she was to do next. as she did so she caught the eye of nosie cuthbertson, a youth whom nipper donnan permitted in his corps because his father had a terrier which was undoubtedly the best ratter in edam. but the privilege of association with such a distinguished dog was dear at the price, for no meaner nor more "ill-set" youth than nosie cuthbertson cumbered honest bordershire soil. nosie was seated trying to smoke dry dock-leaf wrapped in newspaper without being sick, when his eye caught the trim little figure on the opposite side of the moat. "hey, boys!" he cried, "here's the smith lass. let's go and hit her!" now master nosie had not been prominent on the great day of the battle of the black sheds, but he felt instinctively that against a solitary girl he had at last some chance to assert himself. so he threw away his paper cigar, and ran round the broken causeway to the place where prissy was standing. [illustration: "'oh, please don't, sir!'"] "if you please, sir," began prissy sweetly, "i've come to ask you not to fight any more. it isn't right, you know, and god will be angry." nosie cuthbertson did not at all attend to the appeal so gently and courteously made to him. he only caught prissy by the hand, and began twisting her wrist and squeezing her slender fingers till the joints ground against each other, and prissy bit her lips and was ready to cry with pain. "oh, _please_ don't, sir!" she pleaded softly, trying to smile as at a famous jest. "i came because i wanted to speak to your captain, and i've brought a lot of nice things for you all. i think you will be sure to like them." "humbug," cried nosie cuthbertson, performing another yet more painful twist, "the basket's ours anyway. i captured it. hey, bob, catch hold of this chuck, while i give the girl _toko_--i'll teach her to come spying here about our castle!" chapter xxxi. prissy's picnic. but just at this moment an important personage stalked through the great broken-down doorway by which kings and princes most magnificent had once entered the ancient castle of the lorraines. he stood a moment or two on the threshold behind nosie cuthbertson, silently contemplating his courageous doings. presently a little stifled cry escaped from prissy, caused by one of nosie's refinements in torture, which consisted in separating her fingers and pulling two in one direction and two in the other. nosie was a youth of parts and promise, who had already proceeded some distance on his way to the gallows. but the important personage, who was no other than nipper donnan himself, did not long remain quiescent. he advanced suddenly, seized nosie cuthbertson by the scruff of the neck, kicked him several times severely, tweaked his ear till it looked as if it had been constructed of the best india-rubber, and then ended by tumbling him into the moat, where he disappeared as noiselessly as if he had fallen into green syrup. "now, what's all this?" cried the lordly nipper, whose doings among his own no man dared to question, for reasons connected with health. at the first sight of him bob hetherington had quietly shouldered his musket, and begun pacing up and down with his nose in the air, as if he had never so much as dreamed of going near prissy's basket. "what's all this, i say--you?" demanded his captain. "i don't know any bloomin' thing about it----" began bob, with whom ignorance, if not honesty, was certainly the best policy. "salute!" roared his officer; "don't you know enough to salute when you speak to me? want to get knocked endways?" sulkily bob hetherington obeyed. "well?" said nipper donnan, somewhat appeased by the appearance of nosie cuthbertson as he scrambled up the bank, with the green scum of duckweed clinging all over him. he was shaking his head and muttering anathemas, declaring what his father would do to nipper donnan, when within his heart he knew that first of all something very painful would be done to himself by that able-bodied relative as soon as ever he showed face at home. "this girl she come to the drawbridge and hollered--that's all i know!" said the sentry, disassociating himself from any trouble as completely as possible. bob felt that under the circumstances it was very distinctly folly to be wise. "i don't know what she hollered, but nosie he runs an' begins twisting her arm, and then the girl she begins to holler again!" "i didn't mean to," said prissy tremulously, "but he _was_ hurting so dreadfully." "come here, you!" shouted nipper to the retiring nosie. whereupon that young gentleman, hearing the dreadful voice of his chief officer, and being at the time on the right side of the moat, did not pause to respond, but promptly took to his heels in the direction of the town. "run after him and bring him back, two of you fellows! don't dare come back without him!" cried nipper, and at his word two big boys detached themselves from the doorposts in which the guard was kept, and dashed after the deserter. "oh, don't hurt him--perhaps he didn't mean it!" cried the universally sympathetic prissy. "he didn't hurt me much after all, and it is quite better now anyway." nipper donnan could, as we know, be as cruel as anybody, but he liked to keep both the theory and practice of terror in his own hands. besides, some possible far-off fragrance from another life stirred in him when he saw the slim girlish figure of prissy smith, clad all in white with a large sun-bonnet edged with pale green, standing on the bank and appealing to him with eyes different from any he had ever seen. he wanted, he knew not why, to kick nosie cuthbertson--kick him much harder than he had done before he saw whom he was tormenting. he had never particularly noticed any one's eyes before. he had thought vaguely that every one had the same kind of eyes. [illustration: "the return of the two swift footmen."] "well, what do you want?" he said gruffly. for with nipper and his class emotion or shamefacedness of any kind always in the first instance produces additional dourness. prissy smiled upon him--a glad, confident smile. she was the daughter of one war chief, the sister of another, and she knew that it is always best and simplest to treat only with principals. "you know that i didn't come to spy or find out anything, don't you?" she said; "only i was so sorry to think you were fighting with each other, when the bible tells us to love one another. why can't we all be nice together? i'm sure hugh john would if you would----" "gammon--this is our castle," said nipper donnan sullenly, "my father he says so. everybody says so. your father has no right to it." "well, but--" replied prissy, with woman's gentle wit avoiding all discussion of the bone of contention, "i'm sure you would let us come here and have picnics and things. and you could come too, and play at soldiers and marching and drills--all without fighting to hurt." "fighting is the best fun!" snarled nipper; "besides, 'twasn't us that begun it." "then," answered prissy, "wouldn't it be all the nicer of you if you were to stop first?" but this nipper donnan could not be expected to understand. a diversion was caused at this moment by the return of the two swift footmen, with the culprit nosie between them, doing the frog's march, and having his own experiences as to what arm-twisting meant. "cast him into the deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat!" thundered the brigand chief. "can't," said the elder of the two captors, one joe craig, the son of the carlisle carrier; "can't--we couldn't get him out again if we did!" "well then,"--returned the great chief, swiftly deciding upon an alternative plan, as if he had thought about it from the first, "chuck him down anywhere on the stones, and get fat sandy to sit on him." [illustration: "hydraulic pressure."] joe craig obediently saluted, and presently sundry moans and sounds of exhausted breath indicated that nosie cuthbertson was being subjected to hydraulic pressure by the unseen tormentor whom nipper donnan had called fat sandy. prissy felt that nothing she could say would for the present lessen master nosie's griefs, so she went on to accomplish her purpose by other means. "if you please, mr. captain," she said politely, "i thought you would like to taste our nice sheep's-head-pie. janet makes it all out of her own head. besides, there are some dee-licious fruits which i have brought you; and if you will let me come in, i will make you some lovely tea?" nipper donnan considered, and at last shook his head. "i don't know," he said, "'tisn't regular. how do we know that you aren't a spy?" "you could bind my eyes with a napkin, and----" "that's the thing!" cried several of nipper's followers, who scented something to eat, and who knew that the commissariat was the weak point in the defences of the castle of windy standard under the consulship of donnan. "well," said the chief, "that's according to rule. here, timothy tracy, tell us if that is all right." whereupon uprose timothy tracy, a long lank boy with yellowish hair and dull lack-lustre eyes, out of a niche in the wall and unfolded a number of "the wild boys of new york." he rustled the flaccid, ill-conditioned leaves and found the place. "'then bendigo bill went to the gateway of the stockade to interview the emissary of the besiegers. with keen unerring eyes he examined his credentials, and finding them correct, he took from the breast of his fringed buckskin hunting-dress a handkerchief of fine indian silk, and with it he swathed the eyes of the ambassador. then taking the envoy by the hand he led him past the impregnable defences of the comanche cowboys into the presence of their haughty chief, who was seated with the fair luluja beside him, holding her delicate hand, and inhaling the fragrance of a choice havanna cigar through his noble aquiline nose.' "that's all it says," said timothy tracy, succinctly, and straightway curled himself up again to resume his own story at the place where he had left it off. "well, that's all pretty straight and easy. nobody can say fairer nor that," meditated bob hetherington. "shut up!" said his chief; "who asked for your oar? i'll knock the bloomin' nut off you if you don't watch out. blindfold the emissary of the enemy, and bring her before me into the inner court." and with this peremptory command, nipper donnan disappeared. but the order was more easily given than obeyed. for not only could the entire array of the comanche cowboys produce nothing even distantly resembling indian silk (which at any rate was a counsel of perfection), but what was worse, their pockets were equally destitute of common domestic linen. indeed the proceedings would have fallen through at this point had not the ambassadress offered her own. this was knotted round her brows by joe craig, with the best intentions in the world. immediately after completing the arrangement, he stepped in front of prissy and said, thrusting his fist below her nose, "tell me if you see anything--mind, true as 'hope-you-may-die!'" "i do see something, something very dirty," said prissy, "but i can't quite tell what it is." "she _can_ see, boys," cried joe indignantly, "it's my hand." every boy recognised the description, and the handkerchief was once more adjusted with greater care and precision than before, so that it was only by the sense of smell that prissy could judge of the proximity of joe craig's fingers. "please let me carry my basket myself--i've got my best china tea-service in it--and then i will be sure that it won't get broken." a licentious soldiery was about to object, but a stern command issued unexpectedly from one of the arrow-slits through which their chief had been on the watch. "give the girl the basket! do you hear--you?" and in this manner prissy entered the castle, guarded on either side by soldiers with fixed (wooden) bayonets. and at the inner and outer ports, the convoy was halted and asked for the pass-word. "_death!_" cried joe craig, at the pitch of his voice. "_vengeance!_" replied the sentry. "pass, '_death_'!" at last prissy felt the grass beneath her feet, and the handkerchief being slipped from her eyes, she found herself within the courtyard of the castle. the captain of the band sat before her with a red sash tied tightly about his waist. by his side swung a butcher's steel, almost as long and twice as dangerous as a sword. prissy began her mission at once, to allow captain donnan no time to order her out again, or to put her into a dungeon, as he had done with hugh john. "i think we had better have tea first," she said. "have you got a match-box?" she could not have taken a better line. nipper donnan stepped down from his high horse at once. he put his hand into his pocket. "i have only fusees," he said grandly, "but perhaps they will do. you see regular smokers never use anything else." "oh yes, they will do perfectly," returned prissy sweetly, "it is just to light the spirit-lamp. see how nicely it fits in. isn't it a beauty? i got that from father on my birthday. wasn't it nice of him?" nipper donnan grunted. he never found any marked difference between his birthday and any other day. nevertheless he stood by and assisted at the making of the tea, a process which interested him greatly. "i shall need some more fresh spring water for so many cups," said prissy, "i only brought the full of the kettle with me." the chief slightly waved a haughty hand, which instantly impelled joe craig forward as if moved by a spring. "bring some fresh water from the well!" he commanded. joe craig took the tin dipper, and was marching off. prissy looked distressed. "what is it?" said the robber chief. now prissy did not want to be rude, but she had her feelings. "oh, please, mr. captain," she said, "his hands--i think he has perhaps been working----" nipper donnan had no fine scruples, but he respected them in such an unknown quantity as this dainty little lady with the green trimmed sun-bonnet and the widely-opened eyes. "tracy, fetch the water, you lazy jaundiced toad!" he commanded. the sallow student rose unwillingly, and moved off with his face still bent upon the thrilling pages of "the wild boys of new york," which he held folded small in his hand for convenience of perusal. presently the tea being made, the white cloth was laid on the grass, and the entire company of the smoutchy boys crowded about, always excepting the sentinels at the east and west doors, who being on duty could not immediately participate. the sheep's-head-pie, the bread, the butter, the fruits were all set out in order, and the whole presented such an appearance as the inside of the castle of windy standard had never seen through all its generations. prissy conducted herself precisely as if she had been dispensing afternoon tea to callers in the drawing-room, as, since her last birthday, her father had occasionally permitted her to do. "do you take sugar?" she asked, delicately poising a piece in the dolls' sugar-tongs, and smiling her most politefully conventional smile at nipper donnan. the brigand chief had never been asked such a question before, and had no answer of the usual kind at hand. but he replied for all that. "_rather!_" he cried in a burst, "if the grocer's not lookin'!" "i mean in your tea! do you take sugar in your tea?" prissy was still smiling. nipper appeared to acquiesce. two knobs of sugar were dropped in. the whipped cream out of the wide-mouthed bottle was spooned delicately on the top, and with a yet more charming smile the cup was passed to him. he held it between his finger and thumb, as an inquiring naturalist holds a rare beetle. then he put it down on a low fragment of wall and looked at it. "one lump or two?" queried prissy again, graciously transferring her attentions to joe craig. "eh, what?" ejaculated that warrior. prissy repeated her question. "as many as i can get!" cried the boy. so one by one the brigands were served, and the subdued look which rests upon a sunday-school picnic at the hour of refreshment settled down upon them. the smoutchy boy is bad and bold, but he does not like you to see him in the act of eating. his instinct is to get behind a wall, or into the thick of a copse and do it there. a similar feeling sends the sparrow with a larger crumb than the others into the seclusion of his nest among the ivy. nevertheless the bread and jam, the raisins, and the sheep's-head-pie disappeared 'like snow off a dyke.' the wonder of the thimbleful cups, continually replenished, grew more and more surprising; and, winking slyly at each other the smoutchies passed them in with a touch of their caps to be filled and refilled again and again. prissy kept the kettle beside her, out of which she poured the water brought by timothy tracy as she wanted it. the golden colour of the tea degenerated, but so long as a few drops of milk remained to mask the fraud from their eyes, the smoutchies drank the warm water with equal relish. "besides it's so much better for your nerves, you know!" said prissy, putting her action upon a hygienic basis. at first the boys had been inclined to snatch the viands from the table-cloth, and there was one footprint on the further edge. but the iron hand of nipper donnan knocked two or three intruders sprawling, and after that the eatables were distributed as patiently and exactly as at a lord mayor's banquet. "please will you let that boy get up?--i think he must have been sat upon quite long enough now," said prissy, who could not bear to listen to the uneasy groaning of the oppressed prisoner. the chief granted the boon. the sitter and his victim came in and were regaled amicably from one plate. "pieces" and full cups of tea were despatched to the distant sentinels, and finally the whole company was in the midst of washing up, when prissy, who had been kneeling on the grass wiping saucers one by one, suddenly rose to her feet with a little cry. "oh, it is so dreadful--i _quite_ forgot!" the smoutchies stood open-mouthed, some holding dishes, some with belated pieces of pie, some only with their hands in their pockets, but all waiting eagerly for the revelation of the dreadful thing which their hostess had forgotten. "why, we forgot to say grace!" she cried--"well, anyway i am glad i remembered in time. we can say it now. who is the youngest?" the boys all looked guiltily at each other. prissy picked out a small boy of stunted aspect, but whose face was old and wizened. he had just put a piece of tobacco into his mouth to take away the taste of the tea. "you say it, little boy," she said pointedly, and shut her eyes for him to begin. the boy gasped, glanced once at his chief, and made a bolt for the door, through which he had fled before the sentinels had time to stop him. at the clatter prissy opened her eyes. "what is the matter with that boy? couldn't he say grace? didn't he remember the beginning? well, you say it then----" nipper donnan shook his head. he had a fine natural contempt for all religious services in the abstract, but when one was brought before him as a ceremony, his sense of discipline told him that it must somehow be valuable. "better say it yourself," he suggested. whereat prissy devoutly clasped her hands and shut her eyes. there was a smart smack and something fell over. prissy opened her eyes, and saw a boy sprawling on the grass. "right," said nipper donnan cheerfully, "go ahead--joe craig laughed. i'll teach him to laugh except when i tell him to." so prissy again proceeded with a grace of her own composition: "_god bless our table, bless our food; and make us stable, brave and good._" after all was over prissy left the castle of windy standard, without indeed obtaining any pledge from the chief of the army of occupation, but not without having done some good. and she went forth with dignity too. for not only did the robber chieftain provide her with an escort, but he ordered the ramparts to be manned, and a general salute to be fired in her honour. prissy waved her hand vigorously, and had already proceeded a little way towards the stepping-stones, when she stopped, laid down her basket, and ran back to the postern gate. she took her little tortoise-shell card-case out of her pocket. "oh, i was nearly forgetting--how dreadfully rude of me!" she said, and forthwith pulled out a card on which she had previously written very neatly: +---------------------------------------+ | | | _miss priscilla smith_ | | | |_at home every day_ | +---------------------------------------+ she laid it on the stones, and tripped away. "i'm sorry i have not my brother's card to leave also," she said, looking up at the brigand chief, who had been watching her curiously from a window. "oh," said nipper donnan, "we shall be pleased to see him if he drops in on saturday--or any other time." then he waited till the trim white figure was some distance from the gateway before he took his cap from his head and waved it in the air. "three proper cheers for the little lady!" he cried. and the grim old walls of the castle of windy standard never echoed to a heartier shout than that with which the smoutchy boys sped miss priscilla smith, the daughter of their arch enemy, upon her homeward way. prissy poised herself on tiptoe at the entrance of the copse, and blew them a dainty collective kiss from her fingers. "thank you so much," she cried, "you are very kind. come and see me soon--and be sure you stop to tea." and with that she tripped swiftly away homeward with an empty basket and a happy heart. that night in her little room before she went to sleep she read over her favourite text, "blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called the children of god." "oh dear," she said, "i should so like to be one some day." chapter xxxii. plan of campaign. saturday morning dawned calm and clear after heavy rain on the hills, with a sabbath-like peace in the air. the smoke of edam rose straight up into the firmament from a hundred chimneys, and the lias coal mine contributed a yet taller pillar to the skies, which bushed out at the top till it resembled an umbrella with a thick handle. hugh john had been very early astir, and one of his first visits had been to the gipsy camp, where he found billy blythe with several others all clad in their tumbling tights, practising their great bounding brothers' act. "hello," cried hugh john jovially, "at it already?" "the mornin's the best time for suppling the jints!" answered billy sententiously; "ask lepronia lovell, there. she should know with all them tin pans going clitter-clatter on her back." "i'll be thankin' ye, billy blythe, to kape a tight holt on the slack o' that whopper jaw of yours. it will be better for you at supper-time than jeerin' at a stranger girl, that is arnin' her bite o' bread daycent. and that's a deal more than ye can do, aye, or anny wan like ye!" and with these brave words, lepronia lovell went jingling away. the bounding brothers threw themselves into knots, spun themselves into parti-coloured tops, turned double and treble somersaults, built human pyramids, and generally behaved as if they had no bones in any permanent positions throughout their entire bodies. hugh john stood by in wonder and admiration. "are you afraid?" cried billy from where he stood, arching his shoulders and swaying a little, as one of the supporters of the pyramid. "no?--then take off your boots." hugh john instantly stood in his stocking soles. "up with him!" and before he knew it, he was far aloft, with his feet on the shoulders of the highest pair, who supported him with their right and left hands respectively. from his elevated perch he could see the enemy's flag flaunting defiance from the topmost battlements of the castle. as soon as he reached the ground he mentioned what he had seen to billy blythe. "we'll have it low and mean enough this night as ever was, before the edge o' dark!" said billy, with a grim nod of his head. * * * * * the rains of the night had swelled the ford so that the stepping-stones were almost impracticable--indeed, entirely so for the short brown legs of sir toady lion. this circumstance added greatly to the strength of the enemy's position, and gave the smoutchies a decided advantage. "they can't be at the castle all the time," said billy; "why not let my mates and me go in before they get there? then we could easily keep every one of them out." this suggestion much distressed general smith, who endeavoured to explain the terms of his contract to the gipsy lad. he showed him that it would not be fair to attack the smoutchies except on saturday, because at any other time they could not have all their forces in the field. billy thought with some reason that this was simple folly. but in time he was convinced of the wisdom of not "making two blazes of the same wasps' byke," as he expressed it. "do for them once out and out, and be done with it!" was his final advice. hugh john could not keep from thinking how stale and unprofitable it would be when all the smoutchies had been finally "done for," and when he did not waken to new problems of warfare every morning. according to the final arrangements the main attack was to be developed from the broadest part of the castle island below the stepping-stones. there were two boats belonging to the house of windy standard, lying in a boat-house by the little pier on the way to oaklands. for security these were attached by a couple of padlocks to a strong double staple, which had been driven right through the solid floor of the landing-stage. the padlocks were new, and the whole appeared impregnable to the simple minds of the children, and even to mike and peter greg. but billy smiled as he looked at them. "why, opening them's as easy as falling off a stool when you're asleep. gimme a hairpin." but neither prissy nor cissy carter had yet attained to the dignity of having their hair done up, so neither carried such a thing about with them. business was thus at a standstill, when hugh john called to prissy, "go and ask jane housemaid to give us one." "a good thick 'un!" called billy blythe after her. the swift-footed dian of windy standard had only been away a minute or two before she came flying back like the wind. "she-won't-give-us-any-unless-we-tell-her-what-it-is-for!" she panted, all in one long word. "rats!" said hugh john contemptuously, "ask her where she was last friday week at eleven o'clock at night!" the divine huntress flitted away again on winged feet, and in a trice was back with three hairpins, still glossy from their recent task of supporting the well-oiled hair of jane housemaid. with quick supple hand billy twisted the wire this way and that, tried the padlock once, and then deftly bent the ductile metal again with a pair of small pincers. the wards clicked promptly back, and lo! the padlock was hanging by its curved tongue. the other was stiffer with rust, but was opened in the same way. the besiegers were thus in possession of two fine transports in which to convey their army to the scene of conflict. it was the plan of the general that the men under billy blythe should fill the larger of the two boats, and drop secretly down the left channel till they were close under the walls of the castle. the enemy, being previously alarmed by the beating of drums and the musketry fire on the land side, would never expect to be taken in the rear, and probably would not have a single soldier stationed there. indeed, towards the edam water, the walls of the keep rose thirty or forty feet into the air without an aperture wide enough to thrust an arm through. so that the need of defence on that side was not very apparent to the most careful captain. but at the south-west corner, one of the flanking turrets had been overthrown, though there still remained several steps of a descent into the water. but so high was the river on this occasion, that it lapped against the masonry of the outer defences. to this point then, apparently impregnable, the formidable division under billy blythe was to make its way. there was nothing very martial about the appearance of these sons of the tent and caravan. the bounding brothers wore their trick dresses, and as for the rest, they were simply and comprehensively arrayed in shirt and trousers. not a weapon, not a sash, not a stick, sword, nor gun broke the harmonious simplicity of the gipsy army. yet it was evident that they knew something which gave them secret confidence, for all the time they were in a state of high glee, only partially suppressed by the authority of their leader, and by the necessity for care in manning the boat with so large a crew. there were fourteen who were to adventure forth under billy's pennon. to the former assailants of the black sheds there had been added a stout and willing soldier from the gardens of windy standard,--a boy named gregory (or more popularly gregory's mixture), together with a forester lad, who was called craw-bogle tam from his former occupation of scaring the crows out of the corn. sammy carter had been cashiered some time ago by the commander-in-chief, but nevertheless he appeared with three cousins all armed with dog-whips, which sammy assured hugh john were the deadliest of weapons at close quarters. altogether it was a formidable array. the boat for the attack on the land side was so full that there remained no room for toady lion. that young gentleman promptly sat down on the landing-stage, and sent up a howl which in a few moments would certainly have brought down janet sheepshanks and all the curbing powers from the house, had he not been committed to the care of prissy, with public instructions to get him some toffy and a private order to take him into the town, and keep him there till the struggle was over. prissy went off with sir toady lion, both in high glee. "i'se going round by the white bwidge--so long, everybody! i'll be at the castle as soon as you!" he cried as he departed. hugh john sighed a sigh of relief when he saw them safely off the muster-ground. cissy, however, was coming on board as soon as ever the boat was ready to start. she had been posted to watch the movements of the household of windy standard, and would report at the last moment. "all right," she cried from her watch-tower among the whins, "prissy and toady lion are round the corner, and janet sheepshanks has just gone into the high garden to get parsley." "up anchors," cried hugh john solemnly, "the hour has come!" mike and billy tossed the padlock chains into the bottom of the boats and pushed off. there were no anchors, but the mistake was permissible to a simple soldier like general napoleon smith. chapter xxxiii. toady lion's second lone hand. edam water ran swiftly, surging and pushing southward on its way to the sea. it was brown and drumly with a wrack of twigs and leaves, snatched from the low branches of the hazels and alders which fringed its banks. it fretted and elbowed, frothing like yeast about the landing-place from which the two boat-loads were to set out for the attack. general napoleon smith, equipped with sword and sash, sat in the stern of the first, in order to steer, while prince michael o'donowitch stood on the jetty and held the boat's head. the others sat still in their places till the general gave the word. the eager soldiery vented their feelings in a great shout. cissy carter took her place with a flying leap just as the rope was cast off, and the fateful voyage began. at first there was little to be done save in the way of keeping the vessel's head straight, for the edam water, swirling and brown with the mountain rains, hurried her towards the island with almost too great speed. with a rush they passed the wide gap between the unsubmerged stones of the causeway, at which point the boldest held his breath. the beach of pebbles was immediately beyond. but they were not to be allowed to land without a struggle; for there, directly on their front, appeared the massed forces of the enemy, occupying the high bluff behind, and prepared to prevent the disembarkation by a desperate fusillade of stones and turf. it was in this hour of peril that the soldierly qualities of the leader again came out most strongly. he kept the boat's head straight for the shore, as if he had been going to beach her, till she was within a dozen yards; then with a quick stroke of his steering oar he turned her right for the willow copses which fringed the island on the eastern side. the water had risen, so that these were sunk to half their height in the quick-running flood, and their leaves sucked under with the force of the current. but behind there was a quiet backwater into which hugh john ran his vessel head on till she slanted with a gentle heave up on the green turf. "overboard every man!" he cried, and showed the example himself by dashing into the water up to the knees, carrying the blue ensign of his cause. the enemy had not expected this rapid flank movement, and waited only till the invaders had formed in battle array to retreat upon the castle, fearful perhaps of being cut off from their stronghold. general-field-marshal smith addressed his army. "soldiers," he said, "we've got to fight, and it's dead earnest this time, mind you. we're going to lick the smoutchies, so that they will stay licked a long time. now, come on!" this brief address was considered on all hands to be a model effort, and worthy of the imitation of all generals in the face of the enemy. the most vulnerable part of the castle from the landward side was undoubtedly the great doorway--an open arch of some six feet wide, which, however, had to be approached under a galling cross fire from the ports at either side and from the lintel above. "it's no use wasting time," cried the general; "follow me to the door." and with his sword in his hand he darted valiantly up the steep incline which led to the castle. cissy carter charged at his left shoulder also sword in hand, while mike and peter, with gregory's mixture and the craw bogle, were scarcely a step behind. stones and mortar hailed down upon the devoted band; sticks and clods of turf struck them on their shoulders and arms. but with their teeth clenched and their heads bent low, the storming party rushed undauntedly upon their foes. the smoutchies had built a breast-work of driftwood in front of the great entrance, but it was so flimsy that mike and his companions kicked it away in a moment--yet not before general smith, light as a young goat, had overleaped it and launched himself solitary on the foe. then, with the way clear, it was cut and thrust from start to finish. first among the assailants general smith crossed swords with the great nipper donnan himself. but his reserves had not yet come up, and so he was beaten down by three cracks on the head received from different quarters at the same time. but like witherington in the ballad, he still fought upon his knees; and while prince michael and gregory's mixture held the enemy at bay with their stout sticks, the stricken hugh john kept well down among their legs, and used his sword from underneath with damaging effect. "give them the point--cold steel!" he cried. "cowld steel it is!" shouted prince michael, as he brought down his blackthorn upon the right ear of nipper donnan. "cauld steel--tak' you that!" cried peter greg the scot as he let out with his left, and knocked nosey cuthbert over backwarks into the hall of the castle. thus raged in front the heady fight; and thus with their faces to the foe and their weapons in their hands, we leave the vanguard of the army of windy standard, in order that for a little we may follow the fortunes of the other divisions. * * * * * yes, divisions is the word, that is to say billy blythe's gipsy division and--sir toady lion. for once more toady lion was playing a lone hand. so soon as prissy and he had been left behind, we regret to be obliged to report that the behaviour of the distinguished knight left much to be desired. "don't be bad, toady lion," said his sister, gently taking him by the hand; "come and look at nice picture-books." "will be bad," growled toady lion, stamping his little foot in impotent wrath; "doan want t' look at pitchur-books--want to go and fight! and i will go too, so there!" and in his fiery indignation he even kicked at his sister prissy, and threw stones after the boat in which the expedition had sailed. the gipsy division, which was to wait till they heard the noise of battle roll up from the castle island before cutting loose, took pity on sir toady lion, and but for the special nature of the service required of them, they would, i think, have taken him with them. "that's a rare well-plucked little 'un!" cried joe baillie. "see how he shuts his fists, and cuts up rough!" "a little man!" said the leader encouragingly; "walks into his sister's shins, don't he, the little codger!" "let me go wif you, please," pleaded toady lion; "i'll kill you unless!--kill you every one!" and his voice was full of bloodshed. "last time 'twas me that d'livered donald, when they all runned away or got took prisoner; and now they won't even take me wif them!" billy regretfully shook his head. it would not do to be cumbered with small boys in the desperate mission on which they were going. the hope was forlorn enough as it was. "wait till we come back, little 'un," he said kindly; "run away and play with your sister." toady lion stamped on the ground more fiercely than ever. "shan't stop and play wif a girl. if you don't let me come, i shall kill you." and with sentiments even more discreditable, he pursued their boat as long as he could reach it with volleys of stones, to the great delight of the gipsy boys, who stimulated him to yet more desperate exertions with cries of "well fielded!" "chuck her in hard!" "hit him with a big one!" while some of those in the stern pretended to stand shaking in deadly fear, and implored toady lion to spare them because they were orphans. "shan't spare none--shall kill 'oo every one!" cried the angry toady lion, lugging at a bigger stone than all, which he could not lift above three inches from the ground. "will smass 'oo with this, billy blythe--bad billy!" he exclaimed, as he wrestled with the boulder. "oh, spare me--think of my family, toady lion, my pore wife and childer," pleaded billy hypocritically. "'oo should have finked of 'oo fambly sooner!" cried toady lion, staggering to the water's edge with the great stone. but at this moment the noise of the crying of those warring for the mastery came faintly up from the castle island. the rope that had been passed through the ring on the landing-stage and held ready in the hand of billy blythe, was loosened, and the second part of the besieging expedition went down with the rushing spate which reddened edam water. and as they fell away billy stood up and called for three cheers for "little toady lion, the best man of the lot." but toady lion stood on the shore and fairly bellowed with impotent rage, and the sound of his crying, "i'll kill 'oo! i'll kill 'oo dead!" roused janet sheepshanks, who was taking advantage of her master's absence to carry out a complete house-cleaning. she left the blanket-washing to see what was the matter. but toady lion, angry as he was, had sense enough to know that if janet got him, he would be superintended all the morning. so with real alacrity he slipped aside into the "scrubbery," and there lay hidden till janet, anxious that her maids should not scamp their house-work, was compelled to hurry back to the laundry to see that the blankets were properly washed. after this there was but one thing to do, and so the second division, under sir toady lion, did it. he resolved to turn the enemy's flank, and attack him with reinforcements from an entirely unexpected quarter. so, leaving prissy to her own devices, he took to his heels, and his fat legs carried him rapidly in the direction of the town of edam. difficulties there were of course, such as the barrier of the white lodge gate, where old betty lay in wait for him. but toady lion circumnavigated betty by going to the lodge-door and shouting with all his might, "betty, come quick, p'raps they's some soldiers comin' down the road--maybe tom's comin', 'oo come and look." "sodjers--where?--what?" cried old betty, waking up hastily from her doze, and fumbling in her pocket for the gate-key. toady lion was at her elbow when she undid the latch. toady lion charged past her with a yell. toady lion it was who from the safe middle of the highway made the preposterous explanation, "oh no, they isn't no soldiers. 'tis only a silly old fish-man wif a tin trumpet." "come back, sir, or i'll tell your father! come back at once!" cried old betty. but she might shake her head and nod with her nut-cracker chin till the black beads on her lace "kep" tinkled. all was in vain. toady lion was out of reach far down the dusty main road along which the scots greys had come the day that hugh john became a soldier. toady lion was a born pioneer, and usually got what he wanted, first of all by dint of knowing exactly what he did want, and then "fighting it out on that line if it took all summer"--or even winter too. the road to the town of edam wound underneath trees great and tall, which hummed with bees and gnats that day as toady lion sped along, his bare feet "plapping" pleasantly in the white hot dust. he was furtively crying all the time--not from sorrow but with sheer indignation. he hated all his kind. he was going to desert to the smoutchies. he would be a comanche cowboy if they would have him, since his brother and cissy carter had turned against him. nobody loved him, and he was glad of it. prissy--oh! yes, but prissy did not count. she loved everybody and everything, even stitching and dollies, and putting on white thread gloves when you went into town. so he ran on, evading the hay waggons and red farm-carts without looking at them, till in a trice he had crossed edam bridge and entered the town--in the glaring streets and upon the hot pavement of which the sunshine was sleeping, and which on saturday forenoon had more than its usual aspect of enjoying a perpetual siesta. the leading chemist was standing at his door, wondering if the rustic who passed in such a hurry could actually be on the point of entering the shop of his hated rival. the linen-draper at the corner under the town clock was divided between keeping an eye on his apprentices to see that they did not spar with yard sticks, and mentally criticising the ludicrous and meretricious window-dressing of his next-door neighbour. none of them cared at all for the small dusty boy with the tear-furrowed countenance who kept on trotting so steadily through the town, turned confidently up the high street, and finally dodged into the path which led past the black sheds to the wooden bridge which joined the castle island to the butcher's parks. as he crossed the grass toady lion heard a wrathful voice from somewhere calling loudly, "nipper! nipper-r-r-r! oh, wait till i catch you!" for it chanced that this day the leading butcher in edam was without the services of both his younger assistants--his son nipper and his message boy, tommy pratt. mr. donnan had a new cane in his hand, and he was making it whistle through the air in a most unpleasant and suggestive manner. "get away out of my field, little boy--where are you going? what are you doing there?" the question was put at short range now, for all unwittingly sir toady lion had almost run into butcher donnan's arms. "please i finks i'se going to mist'r burnham's house," explained toady lion readily but somewhat unaccurately; "i'se keepin' off the grass--and i didn't know it was your grass anyway, please, sir." at the same time toady lion saluted because he also was a soldier, and mr. donnan, who in his untempered youth had passed several years in the ranks of her majesty's line, mechanically returned the courtesy. "why, little shaver," he said not unkindly, "this isn't the way to mr. burnham's house. there it is over among the trees. but, hello, talk of the--ahem--why, here comes mr. burnham himself." toady lion clapped his hands and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the clergyman. mr. burnham was very tall, very soldierly, very stiff, and his well-fitting black coat and corded silk waistcoat were the admiration of the ladies of the neighbourhood. he was never seen out of doors without the glossiest of tall hats, and it was whispered that he had his trousers made tight about the calves on purpose to look like a dean. it was also understood in well-informed circles that he was writing a book on the eastward position--after which there would be no such thing as the low church. nevertheless an upright, good, and, above all, kindly heart beat under the immaculate silk m. b. waistcoat; also strong capable arms were attached to the armholes of the coat which fitted its owner without a wrinkle. indeed, mr. burnham had a blue jacket of a dark shade in which he had once upon a time rowed a famous race. it hung now in a glass cabinet, and was to the clergyman what sambo soulis was to general-field-marshal smith. but as we know, the fear of man dwelt not in sir toady lion, and certainly not fear of his clergyman. he trotted up to him and said, "i wants to go to the castle. you come." now hitherto mr. burnham had always seen sir toady lion as he came, with shining face and liberally plastered hair, from under the tender mercies of janet sheepshanks--with her parting monition to behave (and perhaps something else) still ringing in his ear. so that it is no wonder that he did not for the moment recognise in the tear-stained, dust-caked face of the barefooted imp who addressed him so unceremoniously, the features of the son of his most prominent parishioner. he gazed down in mildly bewildered surprise, whereupon toady lion took him familiarly by the hand and reiterated his request, with an aplomb which had all the finality of a royal invitation. "take me to the castle on the island. i 'ants to go there!" "and who may you be, little boy?" "don't 'oo know? 'oo knows me when 'oo comes to tea at our house!" cried toady lion reproachfully. "i'se mist'r smiff's little boy; and i 'ants to go to the castle." "why do you want to go to the castle island?" asked mr. burnham. "to find my bruvver hugh john," said toady lion instantly. the butcher had come up and stood listening silently, after having, with a certain hereditary respect for the cloth, respectfully saluted mr. burnham. "this little boy wants to go on the island to find his brother," said the clergyman; "i suppose i may pass through your field with him?" "certainly! the path is over at the other side of the field. but i don't know but what i'll come along with you. i've lost my son and my message-boy too. it is possible they may be at the castle. "there is some dust being kicked up among the boys. i can't get my rascals to attend to business at all this last week or two." and mr. donnan again caused his cane to whistle through the air in a way that turned toady lion cold, and made him glad that he was "mr. smift's little boy," and neither the son nor yet the errand-boy of the butcher of edam. presently the three came to the wooden bridge, and from it they could see the flag flying over the battlements of the castle, and a swarming press of black figures swaying this way and that across the bright green turf in front. "hurrah--yonder they'se fightin'. come on, mist'r burnham, we'll be in time yet!" shouted toady lion. "they saided that i couldn't come; and i've comed!" suddenly a far-off burst of cheering came to them down the wind. black dots swarmed on the perilous battlements of the castle. other black dots were unceremoniously pitched off the lower ramparts into the ditch below. the red and white flag of jacobin rebellion was pulled under, and a clamorous crowd of disturbed jackdaws rose from the turrets and hung squalling and circling over the ancient and lofty walls. the conflict had indeed joined in earnest. the embattled foes were in the death grips; and, fearful lest he should arrive too late, toady lion hurried forward his reinforcements, crying, "come on both of you! come on, quick!" butcher donnan broke into a run, while mr. burnham, forgetting all about his silk waistcoat, clapped his tall hat on the back of his head and started forward at his best speed, toady lion hanging manfully on to the long skirts of his coat, as the highlanders had clung to the cavalry stirrups at balaclava till they were borne into the very floodtide of battle. there were now two trump-cards in the lone hand. chapter xxxiv. the crowning mercy. we must now take up the story of the third division of the great expedition, the plan and execution of which so fully reflects the military genius of our distinguished hero; for though this part was carried out by billy blythe, the credit of the design, as well as the discovery of the means of carrying it out, were wholly due to general napoleon smith. when the second boat swept loose and the futile anger of sir toady lion had ceased to excite the laughter of the crew, the gipsy lads settled down to watching the rush of the edam water as it swept them along. they had, to begin with, an easier task than the first boat expedition. no enemy opposed their landing. no dangerous concealed stepping-stones had to be negotiated on the route they were to follow. leaving all to the action of the current, they swept through the entrance to the wider branch, and presently ranged up alongside the deserted water-front of the ancient defences. they let the castle drop a little behind, and then rowed up into the eddy made by the corner of the fallen tower, where, on the morning of his deliverance, hugh john had disturbed the slumbering sheep by so unexpectedly emerging from the secret passage. billy stepped on shore to choose a great stone for an anchor, and presently pulled the whole expedition alongside the fallen masonry, so that they were able to disembark as upon a pier. the bounding brothers immediately threw several somersaults just to let off steam, till billy cuffed them into something like seriousness. "hark to 'em," whispered charlie lee; "ain't they pitching it into them slick, over there on the other side. it's surely about our time to go at it." "just you shut up and wait," hissed billy blythe under his breath. "that's all your job just now." and here, in the safe shelter of the ruined tower, the fourteen listened to the roar of battle surging, now high, now low, in heady fluctuations, turbulent bursts, and yet more eloquent silences from the other side of the keep. they could distinguish, clear above all, the voice of general smith, encouraging on his men in the purest and most vigorous saxon. "go at them, boys! they're giving in. sammy carter, you sneak, i'll smash you, if you don't charge! go it, mike! wire in, boys! hike them out like billy-o!" and the bounding brothers, in their itching desire to take part, rubbed themselves down as if they had been horses, and softly squared up to each other, selecting the tenderest spots and hitting lightly, but with most wondrous accuracy, upon breast or chin. "won't we punch them! oh no!" whispered charlie lee. but from the way that he said it, he hardly seemed to mean what he said. just then came a tremendous and long continued gust of cheering from the defenders of the castle, which meant that they had cleared their front of the assailants. the sound of general smith's voice waxed gradually fainter, as if he were being carried away against his will by the tide of retreat. still at intervals he could be heard, encouraging, reproving, exhorting, but without the same glad confident ring in his tones. flags of red and white were waved from the ramparts; pistols (charged with powder only) were fired from embrasures, and the smoutchies rent their throats in arrogant jubilation. they thought that the great assault had failed. but behind them in the turret, all unbeknown, the bounding brothers silently patted one another with their knuckles as if desirous of practising affectionate greetings for the smoutchies. perhaps they were; and then, again, perhaps they weren't. * * * * * "now's our time," cried billy blythe; "come on, boys. now for it!" and with both hands and feet he began to remove certain flag-stones and recently heaped up _dã©bris_ from the mouth of a narrow passage, the same by which hugh john had made his escape. his men stood around in astonishment and slowly dawning admiration, as they realised that their attack was to be a surprise, the most complete and famous in history, and also one strictly devised and carried out on the best models. though the rank and file did not know quite so much about that as their commander-in-chief, who was sure in his heart that froissart would have been glad to write about his crowning mercy. it is one of the proofs of the genuine nobility of hugh john's nature, and also of his consummate generalship, that he put the carrying out of the final _coup_ of his great scheme into other hands, consenting himself to take the hard knocks, to be mauled and defeated, in order that the rout of the enemy might be the more complete. the rubbish being at last sufficiently cleared, billy bent his head and dipped down the steps. charlie lee followed, and the fourteen were on their way. silently and cautiously, as if he had been relieving a hen-roost of its superfluous inhabitants, billy crept along, testing the foothold at every step. he came to the stairway up to the dungeon, pausing a moment, to listen. there was a great pow-wow overhead. the smoutchies were in the seventh heaven of jubilation over the repulse of the enemy. suddenly somebody in the passage sneezed. billy turned to charlie lee. "if that man does that again, burke him!" he whispered. then with a firm step he mounted the final ascent of the secret stair. his head hit hard against the roof at the top. he had not remembered how hugh john had told him that the exit was under the lowest part of the bottle dungeon. "bless that roof!" he muttered piously--more piously, perhaps, than could have been expected of him, considering his upbringing. "if billy blythe says that again, burke him!" said a carefully disguised gruff voice from the back--evidently that of the late sneezer. "silence--or by the lord i'll slay you!" returned billy, in a hissing whisper. there was the silence of the grave behind. billy blythe made himself much respected for the moral rectitude and true worth of his character. one by one the fourteen stepped clear of the damp stairs, and stood in the wide circuit of the dungeon. but the narrow circular exit of the cell was still twelve feet above them. how were they to reach it? the walls were smooth as the inside of the bottle from which the prison-house took its name, curving in at the top, without foothold or niches in their smooth surface, so that no climber could ascend more than a few feet. the bounding brothers stepped to the front, and with a hitch of their shoulders, stood waiting. "ready!" said billy. in a moment charlie lee was balancing himself on the third storey of the fraternal pyramid. he could just look over the edge of the platform on which the mouth of the dungeon was placed. he ducked down sharply. [illustration: "the living chain."] "they are all at their windows, yelling like fun," he whispered, with the white, eager look of battle on his face. "up, and at 'em!" said billy, as if he had been the great duke. and at his word the bounding brothers arched their shoulders to receive the weight of the coming climbers. one after another the remaining eleven scrambled up, swift and silent as cats; and with charlie lee at their head, lay prone on the dungeon platform, waiting the word of command. close as herrings in a barrel they crouched, their arms outstretched before them, and their chins sunk low on the masonry. billy crept along till his head lay over the edge of the bottle dungeon. he extended his arms down. the highest bounding brother grasped them. his mate at the foot cast loose from the floor and swarmed up as on a ladder. the living chain swayed and dangled; but though his wrists ached as if they would part from their sockets, billy never flinched; and finally, with charlie lee stretched across the hollow of his knees to keep all taut behind, by mere leverage of muscle he drew up the last brother upon the dungeon platform. the fourteen lay looking over upon the unconscious enemy. the level of the floor of the keep was six feet below. the smoutchies to a man were at their posts. with a nudge of his elbow billy intimated that it was not yet time for the final assault. he listened with one ear turned towards the great open gateway, till he heard again the rallying shout of general napoleon smith. "_now then! ready all! double-quick! char-r-r-ge!_" with a shout the first land division, once repulsed, came the second time at the foe. the smoutchies crowded to the gateway, deserting their windows in order to repel the determined assault delivered by hugh john and his merry men. "now!" said billy blythe softly, standing up on the dungeon platform. he glanced about him. every bounding brother and baresark man of the gipsy camp had the same smile on his face, the boxer's smile when he gives or takes punishment. down leaped billy blythe, and straight over the floor of the keep for the great gateway he dashed. one, two--one, two! went his fists. the thirteen followed him, and such was the energy of their charge that the smoutchies, taken completely by surprise, tumbled off their platforms by companies, fell over the broken steps by platoons, and even threw themselves in their panic into the arms of hugh john and his corps, who were coming on at the double in front. never was there such a rout known in history. the isolated smoutchies who had been left in the castle dropped from window and tower at the peril of their necks in order that they might have a chance of reaching the ground in safety. then they gathered themselves up and fled helter-skelter for the bridge which led towards the town of edam. but what completed their demoralisation was that at this psychological moment the third division under sir toady lion came into action. mr. burnham, with his coat-tails flying, caught first one and then another, and whelmed them on the turf, while the valiant butcher of edam, having secured his own offspring firmly by the collar, caused his cane to descend upon that hero's back and limbs till the air was filled with the resultant music. and the more loudly nipper howled, the faster and faster the smoutchies fled, while the shillelahs of the two generals, and the fists of the bounding brothers, wrought havoc in their rear. the flight became a rout. the bridge was covered with the fugitives. the forces of windy standard took all the prisoners they wanted, and butcher donnan took his son, who for many days had reason to remember the circumstance. he was a changed smoutchy from that day. the camp of the enemy, with all his artillery, arms, and military stores, fell into the hands of the triumphant besiegers. at the intercession of mr. burnham the prisoners were conditionally released, under parole never to fight again in the same war--nor for the future to meddle with the castle of windy standard, the property, as hugh john insisted on putting it, of mr. picton smith, esq., j. p. but mr. burnham did what was perhaps more efficacious than any oaths. he went round to all the parents, guardians, teachers, and employers of the smoutchy army. he represented the state of the case to them, and the danger of getting into trouble with a man so determined and powerful as mr. picton smith. the fists of the bounding brothers, the sword of general napoleon, the teeth and nails of sir toady lion (who systematically harassed the rear of the fleeing enemy) were as nothing to the several interviews which awaited the unfortunate smoutchies at their homes and places of business or learning that evening, and on the succeeding monday morning. their torture of general smith was amply avenged. the victorious army remained in possession of the field, damaged but happy. their triumph had not been achieved without wounds and bruises manifold. so mr. burnham sent for half-a-crown's worth of sticking-plaster, and another half-crown's worth of ripe gooseberries. whereupon the three divisions with one voice cheered mr. burnham, and toady lion put his hand on the sacred silk waistcoat, and said in his most peculiar toady-leonine grammar, "'oo is a bwick. us likes 'oo!" which mr. burnham felt was, at the very least, equivalent to the thanks of parliament for distinguished service. it was a very happy, a very hungry, a very sticky, and a very patchy army which approached the house of windy standard at six o'clock that night, and was promptly sent supperless to bed. hugh john parted with cissy at the stepping-stones. her eyes dwelt proudly and happily upon him. "you fought splendidly," she said. "we all fought splendidly," replied hugh john, with a nod of approval which went straight to cissy's heart, so that the tears sprang into her eyes. "oh, you _are_ a nice thing, hugh john!" she cried impulsively, reaching out her hands to clasp his arm. "no, i'm not!" said hugh john, startled and apprehensive. then without waiting for more he turned hastily away. but all the same cissy carter was very happy that night as she went homeward, and did not speak or even listen when sammy addressed her several times by the way upon the dangers of war and the folly of love. chapter xxxv. prissy's compromise. after the turmoil and excitement of the notably adventurous days which ended with the capture of the castle, the succeeding weeks dragged strangely. the holidays were dwindling as quickly as the last grains of sand in an hourglass, and there was an uneasy feeling in the air that the end of old and the beginning of new things were alike at hand. mr. picton smith returned from london the day after the great battle. that afternoon he was closeted for a long time with mr. burnham, but not even the venturesome sir toady lion on his hands and knees, could overhear what the two gentlemen had to say to each other. at all events mr. smith did not this time attempt to force any confession from the active combatants. his failure on a former occasion had been complete enough, and he had no desire once more to confess himself worsted by hugh john's determination to abjure all that savoured even remotely of the "dasht-mean." but it is certain that the smoutchy ringleaders were not further punished, and mr. smith took no steps to enforce the interdict which he had obtained against trespassers on the castle island. for it was about this time that prissy, having taken a great deal of trouble to understand all the bearings of the case, at last, with a brave heart, went and knocked at her father's study door. "come in," said the deep grave voice instantly, sending a thrill through the closed door, which made her tremble and rather wish that she had not come. "saint catherine of siena would not have been afraid," she murmured to herself, and forthwith opened the door. "well, little girl, what is it? what can i do for you?" said her father, smiling upon her; for he had heard of her ambassadorial picnic to the smoutchies, and perhaps his daughter's trustful gentleness had made him a little ashamed of his own severity. prissy stood nerving herself to speak the words which were in her heart. she had seen peace and kindly concord bless her mission from afar; and now, like paul before king agrippa, she would not be unfaithful to the heavenly vision. "father," she said at last, "you don't really want to keep people out of the castle altogether, do you?" "certainly not, if they behave themselves," said her father, "but the mischief is that they don't." "but suppose, father, that there was some one always there to see that they did behave, would you mind?" "of course not," replied her father, "but you know, prissy, i can't afford to keep a man down on the island to see that sixpenny trippers don't pull down my castle stone by stone, or break their own necks by falling into the dungeon." prissy thought a little while, and then tried a new tack. "father"--she went a little nearer to him and stroked the cuff of his coat-sleeve--"does the land beyond the bridge belong to you?" mr. picton smith moved away his hand. her mother used to do just that, and somehow the memory hurt. nevertheless, all unconsciously, the touch of the child's hand softened him. "no, prissy," he said wonderingly, "but what do you know about such things?" "nothing at all," she answered, "but i am trying to learn. i want everybody to love you, and think you as nice as i know you to be. don't you think you could let some one you knew very well live in the little lodge by the white bridge, and keep out the horrid people, or see that they behaved themselves?" "the town would never agree to that," said her father, not seeing where he was being led. "don't you think the town's people would if you gave them the sixpences all for themselves?" her father pushed back his chair in great astonishment and looked at prissy. "little girl," he said very gravely, "who has been putting all this into your head? has anybody told you to come to me about this?" prissy shook her head quickly, then she looked down as if embarrassed. "well, what is it? go on!" said her father, but the words were more softly spoken than you would think only to see them printed. "nobody told me about anything--i just thought about it all myself, father," she answered, taking courage from a certain look in mr. smith's eyes; "once i heard you say that the money was what the town's-people cared about. and--and--well, i knew that jane housemaid wanted to get married to tom cannon, and you see they can't, because tom has not enough wages to take a house." prissy was speaking very fast now, rattling out the words so as to be finished before her father could interpose with any grown-up questions or objections. "and you know i remembered last night when i was lying awake that catherine would have done this----" "what catherine?" said her father, who did not always follow his daughter's reasoning. "saint catherine of siena, of course," said prissy, for whom there was no other of the name; "so i came to you, and i want you to let tom and jane have the cottage, and jane can take up the sixpences in a little brass plate like the one mr. burnham gets from the churchwardens on sunday. and, oh! but i would just love to help her. may i sometimes, father?" "well," said her father, laughing, "there is perhaps something in what you say; but i don't think the provost and magistrates would ever agree. now run away and play, and i will see what can be done." * * * * * but all the same prissy did not go and play, and it was not mr. picton smith who saw what could be done. on the afternoon of the same day the provost of the good town of edam entered the council chamber wiping his face and panting vigorously. he was a stout man of much good humour when not crossed in temper, the leading chemist and druggist in the town, and as the proprietor of more houses and less education than any man in edam, of very great influence among the councillors. "well, billies," he cried jovially, "what do you think? there's a lass has keep'd me from the meetin' of this council for a full half-hour." "a lass!" answered the senior bailie, still more hilariously, "that's surely less than proper. i will be compelled to inform mrs. lamont of the fact." "oh, it was a lassie of twelve or thirteen," answered the provost. "so none of your insinuations, bailie tawse, and i'll thank you. she had a most astonishing tale to tell. it appears she is picton smith's lassie from windy standard; and she says to me, says she, 'provost, do you want to have the tourist folk that come to edam admitted to the castle?' says she. 'of course,' says i, 'that is what the law-plea is about. that dust is no settled yet.' 'then,' says she, brisk as if she was hiring me at yedam fair, 'suppose my father was willing to let ye charge a sixpence for admission, would you pay a capable man his wages summer and winter to look after it--a man that my father would approve of?' 'aye,' says i, 'the council would be blythe and proud to do that'--me thinking of my sister's son peter that was injured by a lamp-post falling against him last new year's night as he was coming hame frae the blue bell. 'then,' says she, 'i think it can be managed. my father will put tom cannon in the lodge at the white bridge. you will pay him ten shillings in the week for his wife looking after the gate and taking the parties over the castle.' 'his wife,' says i; 'tom is no married that ever i heard.' 'no,' says she, 'but he will be very quick if he gets the lodge.' then i thocht that somebody had put her up to all this, and i questioned her tightly. but no--certes, she is a clever lass. i verily believe if i had said the word she would hae comed along here to the council meeting and faced the pack o' ye. but i said to her that she might gang her ways hame, and that i would put the matter before the council mysel'!" [illustration: "'then,' said prissy, 'i think it can be managed.'"] the provost, who had been walking up and down all the time and wiping his brow, finally plumped solidly into his chair. there was a mighty discussion--in which, as usual, many epithets were bandied about; but finally it was unanimously agreed that, if the offer were put on a firm and legal basis and the interdict withdrawn, the "smith's lassie" compromise, as it was called for brevity, might be none such a bad solution of the difficulty for all parties. thus by the wise thought and brave heart of a girl was the great controversy ended. and now the tourist and holiday-maker, each after his kind, passes his sixpence into the slot of a clicking gate, instead of depositing it in the brazen offertory salver, which had been the desire of prissy's heart. "for," said one of the councillors generously, when the plate was proposed, "how do we know that mrs. cannon might not keep every second sixpence for herself--or maybe send it up to mr. smith? we all know that she was long a servant in his house. no, no, honesty is honesty--but it's better when well looked after. let us have a patent 'clicker.' i have used one attached to my till for years, and found it of great utility in the bacon-and-ham trade." but the change made no difference to hugh john and no difference to toady lion; for they came and went to the castle by the stepping-stones, and cissy carter took that way too, leaping as nimbly as any of them from stone to stone. on the sunday after this was finally arranged, mr. burnham gave out his text:-"blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of god." and this is the way he ended his sermon: "there is one here to-day whom i might without offence or flattery call a true child of god. i will not say who that is; but this i will say, that i, for one, would rather be such a peacemaker, and have a right to be called by that other name, than be general of the greatest army in the world." "i think he must mean the provost--or else my father," said prissy to herself, looking reverently up to where, in the front row of the upper seats, the local chief magistrate sat, mopping his head with a red spotted handkerchief, and sunning himself in the somewhat sultry beams of his own greatness. as for hugh john, he declared that for a man who could row in a college boat, and who worshipped an old blue coat hung up in a glass case, mr. burnham said more drivelling things than any man alive or dead. and toady lion said nothing. he was only wondering all through the service whether he could catch a fly without his father seeing him.--he found that he could not. after this failure he remembered that he had a brandy ball only half sucked in his left trousers' pocket. he got it out with some difficulty. it had stuck fast to the seams, and finally came away somewhat mixed up with twine, sealing wax, and a little bit of pitch wrapped in leather. but as soon as he got down to it the brandy ball proved itself thoroughly satisfactory, and the various flavours developed in the process of sucking kept toady lion awake till the blessed "amen" released the black-coated throng. toady lion's gratitude was almost an entire thanksgiving service of itself. as he came out through the crowded porch, he put his hand into his father's, and with a portentous yawn piped out in his shrillest voice, "oh, i is so tired." the smile which ran round the late worshippers showed that toady lion had voiced the sentiments of many of mr. burnham's congregation. at this moment mr. burnham himself came out of the vestry just in time to hear the boy's frank expression of opinion. "never mind, toady lion," he said genially, "the truth is, i was a little tired myself to-day. i promise not to keep you quite so long next sunday morning. you must remind me if i transgress. nobody will, if you don't, toady lion." "doan know what 'twansguess' is--but shall call out loud if you goes on too long--telling out sermons and textises and fings." as they walked along the high street of edam, prissy glanced reverently at the provost. "oh, i wish i could have been a peacemaker too, like him," she sighed, "and then mr. burnham might have preached about me. perhaps i will when i grow up." for next to saint catherine of siena, the provost was her ideal of a peacemaker. as they walked homeward, mr. burnham came and touched prissy on the shoulder. "money cannot buy love," he said, somewhat sententiously, "but you, my dear, win it by loving actions." he turned to toady lion, who was trotting along somewhat sulkily, holding his sister's hand, and grumbling because he was not allowed to chase butterflies on sunday. "arthur george," said mr. burnham, "if anybody was to give you a piece of money and say, 'will you love me for half-a-crown,' you couldn't do it, could you?" "could just, though!" contradicted toady lion flatly, kicking at the stones on the highway. "oh no," his instructor suavely explained, "if it were a bad person who asked you to love him, you wouldn't love him for half-a-crown, surely!" toady lion turned the matter over. "well," he said, speaking slowly as if he were thinking hard between the words, "it might have to be five sillin's if he was _very_ bad!" chapter xxxvi. hugh john's way-going. the secret which had oppressed society after the return of mr. picton smith from london, being revealed, was that hugh john and sammy carter were both to go to school. for a while it appeared as if the foundations of the world had been undercut--the famous fellowship of noble knights disbanded, prissy and cissy, ministering angel and wild tomboy, alike abandoned to the tender mercies of mere governesses. strangest of all to prissy was the indubitable fact that hugh john wanted to go. at the very first mention of school he promptly forgot all about his noblest military ambitions, and began oiling his cricket bat and kicking his football all over the green. mr. burnham was anxious about his pupil's latin and more than doubtful about his vulgar fractions; but the general himself was chiefly bent on improving his round arm bowling, and getting that break from the left down to a fine point. every member of the household was more or less disturbed by the coming exodus--except sir toady lion. on the last fateful morning that self-contained youth maundered about as usual among his pets, carrying to and fro saucers of milk, dandelion leaves cut small, and other dainties--though hugh john's boxes were standing corded and labelled in the hall, though prissy was crying herself sick on her bed, and though there was even a dry hard lump high up in the great hero's own manly throat. his father was giving his parting instructions to his eldest son. "work hard, my boy," he said. "tell the truth, never tell tales, nor yet listen to them. mind your own business. don't fight, if you can help it; but if you have to, be sure you get home with your left before the other fellow. practise your bowling, the batting will practise itself. and when you play golf, keep your eye on the ball." "i'll try to play up, father," said hugh john, "and anyway i won't be 'dasht-mean'!" his father was satisfied. then it was prissy who came to say good-bye. she had made all sorts of good resolutions, but in less than half a minute she was bawling undisguisedly on the hero's neck. and as for the hero--well, we will not say what he was doing, something most particularly unheroic at any rate. janet sheepshanks hovered in the background, saying all the time, "for shame, miss priscilla, think shame o' yoursel'--garring the laddie greet like that when he's gaun awa'!" but even janet herself was observed to blow her own nose very often, and to offer hugh john the small garden hoe instead of the neatly wrapped new silk umbrella she had bought for him out of her own money. and all the while sir toady lion kept on carrying milk and fresh lettuce leaves to his stupid lop-eared rabbits. yet it was by no means insensibility which kept him thus busied. he was only playing his usual lone hand. yet even toady lion was not without his own proper sense of the importance of the occasion. "there's a funny fing 'at you wants to see at the stile behind the stable," he remarked casually to hugh john, as he went past the front door with an armful of hay for bedding, "but i promised not to tell w'at it is." immediately hugh john slunk out, ran off in an entirely different direction, circled about the "office houses," reached the stile behind the stable--and there, with her eyes very big, and her underlip quivering strangely, he discovered cissy carter. he stopped short and looked at her. the pressure of having to say farewell, or of making a stated speech of any kind, weighed heavily upon him. the two looked at each other like young wild animals--or as if they were children who had never been introduced, which is the same thing. "hugh john picton, you don't care!" sobbed cissy at last. "and i don't care either!" she added haughtily, commanding herself after a pathetic little pause. "i do, i do," answered hugh john vehemently, "only every fellow has to. sammy is going too, you know!" "oh, i don't care a button for sammy!" was cissy's most unsisterly speech. hugh john tried to think of something to say. cissy was now sobbing quietly and persistently, and that did not seem to help him. "say, don't now, ciss! stop it, or you'll make me cry too!" "you don't care! you don't love me a bit! you know you don't!" "i do--i do," protested the hero, in despair, "there--there--_now_ you can't say i don't care." "but you'll be so different when you come back, and you'll have lost your half of the crooked sixpence." "i won't, for true, cissy--and i shan't ever look at another girl nor play horses with them even if they ask me ever so." "you will, i know you will!" a rumble of wheels, a shout from the front door--"hugh john--wherever can that boy have got to?" "good-bye, ciss, i must go. oh hang it, don't go making a fellow cry. well, i _will_ say it then, 'i love you, ciss!' there--will that satisfy you?" [illustration: "a slim bundle of limp woe."] something lit on the end of cissy's nose, which was very red and wet with the tears that had run down it. there was a clatter of feet, and the lord of creation had departed. cissy sank down behind the stone wall, a slim bundle of limp woe, done up in blue serge trimmed with scarlet. the servants were gathered in the hall. several of the maids were already wet-eyed, for hugh john had "the way with him" that made all women want to "mother" him. besides, he had no mother of his own. "good-bye, master hugh!" they said, and sniffed as they said it. "good-bye, everybody," cried the hero, "soon be back again, you know." he said this very loudly to show that he did not care. he was going down the steps with prissy's fingers clutched in his, and every one was smiling. all went merry as a marriage bell--never had been seen so jovial a way-going. "_ugh--ugh--ugh!_" somebody in the hall suddenly sobbed out from among the white caps of the maids. "go upstairs instantly, jane. don't disgrace yourself!" cried janet sheepshanks sharply, stamping her foot. for the sound of jane's sudden and shameful collapse sent the other maids' aprons furtively up to their eyes. and janet sheepshanks had no apron. not that she needed one--of course not. "come on, hugh john--the time is up!" said his father from the side of the dog-cart, where (somewhat ostentatiously) he had been refastening straps which mike had already done to a nicety. at this moment toady lion passed with half a dozen lettuce leaves. he was no more excited "than nothing at all," as prissy indignantly said afterwards. "good-bye, toady lion," said hugh john, "you can have my other bat and the white rat with the pink eyes." toady lion stood with the lettuce leaves in his arms, looking on in a bored sort of way. prissy could have slapped him if her hands had not been otherwise employed. he did not say a word till his brother was perched up aloft on the dog-cart with his cricket bat nursed between his knees and a new hard-hat pulled painfully over his eyes. then at last toady lion spoke. "did 'oo find the funny fing behind the stable, hugh john?" before hugh john had time to reply, the dog-cart drove away amid sharp explosions of grief from the white-capped throng. jane housemaid dripped sympathy from a first-floor window till the gravel was wet as from a smart shower. toady lion alone stood on the steps with his usual expression of bored calmness. then he turned to prissy. "why is 'oo so moppy?" "oh, you go away--you've got no heart!" said prissy, and resumed her luxury of woe. if toady lion had been a gallic boy, we should have said that he shrugged his shoulders. at all events, he smiled covertly to the lettuces as he moved off in the direction of the rabbit-hutches. "it was a _very_ funny fing w'at was behind the stable," he said. for sir toady lion was a humorist. and you can't be a humorist without being a little hard-hearted. only the heart of a professional writer of pathos can be one degree harder. chapter xxxvii. the good conduct prize. it was three years after. sometimes three years makes a considerable change in grown-ups. more often it leaves them pretty much where they were. but with boys and girls the world begins all over again every two years at most. so the terms went and came, and at each vacation, instead of returning home, hugh john went to london. for it so happened that the year he had left for school the house of windy standard was burned down almost to the ground, and mr. picton smith took advantage of the fact to build an entirely new mansion on a somewhat higher site. the first house might have been saved had the bounding brothers been in the neighbourhood, or indeed any active and efficient helpers. but the nearest engine was under the care of the edam fire brigade, who upon hearing of the conflagration, with great enthusiasm ran their engine a quarter of a mile out of the town by hand. then their ardour suddenly giving out, they sat down and had an amicable smoke on the roadside till the horse was brought to drag the apparatus the rest of the distance. but alas! the animal was too fat to be got between the shafts, so it had to be sent back and a leaner horse forwarded. meantime the house of windy standard was blazing merrily, and when the edam fire company finally arrived, the ashes were still quite hot. * * * * * so in this way it came about that it was three long years before hugh john again saw the hoary battlements of the ancient strength on the castle island which he and his army had attacked so boldly. there were great changes in the town itself. the railway had come to edam, and now steamed and snorted under the very walls of the abbey. chimneys had multiplied, and the smoke columns were taller and denser. the rubicund provost had gone the way of all the earth, even of all provosts! and the leading bailie, one donnan, a butcher and army contractor, sat with something less of dignity but equal efficiency in his magisterial chair. hugh john from the station platform saw something of this with a sick heart, but he was sure that out in the pure air and infinite quiet of windy standard he would find all things the same. but a new and finer house shone white upon the hill. gardens flourished on unexpected places with that appearance of having been recently planted, frequently pulled up by the roots, looked at and put back, which distinguishes all new gardens. here and there white-painted vineries and conservatories winked ostentatiously in the sun. what a time hugh john had been planning they would have! for months he had thought of nothing but this. toady lion and he would do all over again those famous deeds of daring he had done at the castle. again they would attack the island. other secret passages would be discovered. all would be as it had been--only nicer. and cissy carter--more than everything else he had looked forward to meeting cissy. prissy had seen her often, and even during the last week she had written to hugh john (prissy always did like to write letters) that cissy carter was just splendid--so much older and _so_ improved. cissy was now nearly seventeen, being (as before) a year and three months older than hugh john. now the distinguished military hero had not been much troubled with sentiment during his school terms. soldiers at the front never are. he was fully occupied in doing his lessons fairly. he got on well with "the fellows." he was anxious to keep up his end in the games. but, for all that, during these years he had sacredly kept the half of the crooked sixpence in his box, hidden in the end of a tie which he never wore. now, however, he had looked it out, and by dint of hammering his imagination, he had managed to squeeze out an amount of feeling which quite astonished himself. he would be noble, generous, forbearing. he remembered how faithfully cissy had loved him, and how unresponsive he had been in the past. he resolved that all would be very different now. it was. then again he had brought back a record of some distinction from st. salvator's. he had won the school golf championship. he possessed also a fine bat with an inscription on silver, telling how in the match with st. aiden's, a rival college of much pretension, he had made 100 not out, and taken eight wickets for sixty-nine. besides this presentation cricket bat hugh john had brought home only one other prize. this was a fitted dressing-bag of beautiful design, with a whole armoury of wonderful silver-plated things inside. it was known as the good conduct prize, and was awarded every year, not by the masters, but by the free votes of all the boys. prissy was enormously proud of this tribute paid to her brother by his companions. the donor was an old gentleman whose favourite hobby was the promotion of the finer manners of the ancient days, and the terms of the remit on which the award must be made were, that it should be given to the boy who, in the opinion of his fellow-students, was most distinguished for consistent good manners and polite breeding, shown both by his conduct to his superiors in school, and in association with his equals in the playing fields. at first hugh john had taken no interest whatever in this award, perhaps from a feeling that his own claims were somewhat slender--or thinking that the prize would merely be some "old book or other." but it happened that, in order to stimulate the school during the last lax and sluggish days of the summer term, the head-master took out the fittings of the dressing-bag, and set the stand containing them on his desk in view of all. there was a set of razors among them. instantly hugh john's heart yearned with a mighty desire to obtain that prize. how splendid it would be if he could appear at home before toady lion and cissy carter with a moustache! that night he considered the matter from all points of view--and felt his muscles. in the morning he was down bright and early. he prowled about the purlieus of the playground. at the back of the gymnasium he met ashwell major. "i say, ashwell major," he said, "about that good conduct prize--who are you going to vote for?" "well," replied ashwell major, "i haven't thought much--i suppose sammy carter." "oh, humbug!" cried our hero; "see here, sammy will get tons of prizes anyway. what does he want with that one too?" "well," said the other, "let's give it to little brown. butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. he's such a cake." hugh john felt that the time for moral suasion had come. "smell that!" he said, suddenly extending the clenched fist with which a week before he had made "bran mash" of the bully of the school. [illustration: "smell that!"] reluctantly ashwell major's nostrils inhaled the bouquet of hugh john's knuckles. ashwell major seemed to have a dainty and discriminating taste in perfumes, for he did not appear to relish this one. then ashwell major said that now he was going to vote solidly for hugh john smith. he had come to the conclusion that his manners were quite exceptional. and so as the day went on, did the candidate for the fitted dressing-bag argue with the other boarders, waylaying them one by one as they came out into the playground. the day-boys followed, and each enjoyed the privilege of a smell at the fist of power. * * * * * "i rejoice to announce that the good conduct prize has been awarded by the unanimous vote of all the scholars of saint salvator's to hugh john picton smith of the fifth form. i am the more pleased with this result, that i have never before known such complete and remarkable unanimity of choice in the long and distinguished history of this institution." these were the memorable words of the headmaster on the great day of the prize-giving. whereupon our hero, going up to receive his well-earned distinction, blushed modestly and becomingly; and was gazed upon with wrapt wonder by the matrons and maids assembled, as beyond controversy the model boy of the school. and such a burst of cheering followed him to his seat as had never been heard within the walls of st. salvator's. for quite casually hugh john had mentioned that he would be on the look-out for any fellow that was a sneak and didn't cheer like blazes. * * * * * moral.--_there is no moral to this chapter._ chapter xxxviii. hugh john's blighted heart. on the first evening at home hugh john put on his new straw hat with its becoming school ribbon of brown, white and blue, for he did not forget that prissy had described cissy carter as "such a pretty girl." now pretty girls are quite nice when they are jolly. what a romp he would have, and even the stile would not be half bad. he ran down to the landing-stage, having given his old bat and third best fishing-rod to his brother to occupy his attention. toady lion was in an unusually adoring frame of mind, chiefly owing to the new bat with the silver inscription which hugh john had brought home with him. if that were toady lion's attitude, how would it be with the enthusiastic cissy carter? she must be more than sixteen now. he liked grown-up girls, he thought, so long as they were pretty. and cissy was pretty, prissy had distinctly said so. the white punt bumped against the landing-stage, but the brown was gone. however, he could see it at the other side, swaying against the new pier which mr. davenant carter had built opposite to that of windy standard. this was another improvement; you used to have to tie the boat to a bush of bog-myrtle and jump into wet squashy ground. the returned exile sculled over and tied up the punt to an iron ring. then with a high and joyous heart he started over the moor, taking the well-beaten path towards oaklands. suddenly, through the wood as it grew thinner and more birchy, he saw the gleam of a white dress. two girls were walking--no, not two girls, prissy and a young lady. "oh hang!" said hugh john to himself, "somebody that's stopping with the carters. she'll go taking up all cissy's time, and i wanted to see such a lot of her." the white dresses and summer hats walked composedly on. "i tell you what," said hugh john to himself, "i'll scoot through the woods and give them a surprise." and in five minutes he leaped from a bank into the road immediately before the girls. prissy gave a little scream, threw up her hands, and then ran eagerly to him. "why, hugh john," she cried, "have you really come? how could you frighten us like that, you bad boy!" and she kissed him--well, just as prissy always did. meanwhile the young lady had turned partly away, and was pulling carelessly at a leaf--as if such proceedings, if not exactly offensive, were nevertheless highly uninteresting. "cissy," called priscilla at last, "won't you come and shake hands with hugh john." the girl turned slowly. she was robed in white linen belted with slim scarlet. the dress came quite down to the tops of her dainty boots. she held out her hand. "how do you do--ah, mr. smith?" she said, with her fingers very much extended indeed. hugh john gasped, and for a long moment found no word to say. "why, cissy, how you've grown!" he cried at length. but observing no gleam of fellow-feeling in his quondam comrade's eyes, he added somewhat lamely, "i mean how do you do, miss--miss carter?" there was silence after this, as the three walked on together, prissy talking valiantly in order to cover the long and distressful silences. hugh john's usual bubbling river of speech was frozen upon his lips. he had a thousand things to tell, a thousand thousand to ask. but now it did not seem worth while to speak of one. why should a young lady like this, with tan gloves half-way to her elbows and the shiniest shoes, with stockings of black silk striped with red, care to hear about his wonderful bat for the three-figure score at cricket, or the fact that he had won the golf medal by doing the round in ninety-five? he had even thought of taking some credit (girls will suck in anything you tell them, you know) for his place in his class, which was seventh. but he had intended to suppress the fact that the fifth form was not a very large one at st. salvator's. but now he suddenly became conscious that these trivialities could not possibly interest a young lady who talked about the hunt ball in some such fashion as this: "he is _such_ a nice partner, don't you know! he dances--oh, like an angel, and the floor was--well, just perfection!" hugh john did not catch the name of this paragon; but he hated the beast anyhow. he did not know that cissy was only bragging about her bat, and cracking up her score at golf. "have you seen 'the white lady of avenel' at the sobriety theatre, mr. smith?" she said, suddenly turning to him. "no," grunted hugh john, "but i've seen the drury lane pantomime. it was prime!" the next moment he was sorry he had said it. but the truth slipped out before he knew. for so little was hugh john used to the society of grown-up big girls, that he did not know any better than to tell them the truth. "ah, yes!" commented cissy carter condescendingly, "i used quite to like going to pantomimes when i was a child!" a slight and elegant young man, with a curling moustache turned up at the ends, came towards them down the bank. he had grey-and-white striped trousers on, a dark cutaway coat, and a smart straw hat set on the back of his head. he wore gloves and walked with a pretty cane. hugh john loathed him on sight. "good-evening, courtenay," said cissy familiarly, "this is my friend, prissy smith, of whom you have heard me speak; and this is her brother just home from school!" ("what a beast! i hate him! calls that a moustache, i daresay. ha, ha! he should just see ashwell major's. and i can lick ashwell major with one hand!") "aw," said the young man with the cane, superciliously stroking his maligned upper lip, "the preparatory school, i daresay--lord, was at one once myself--beastly hole!" ("i don't doubt it, you look it," was hugh john's mental note.) aloud he said, "saint salvator's is a ripping place. we beat glen fetto by an innings and ninety-one!" mr. courtenay carling took no notice. he was talking earnestly and confidentially to his cousin. hugh john had had enough of this. "come on, priss," he said roughly, "let's go home." prissy was nothing loath. she was just aching to get him by himself, so that she might begin to burn incense at his manly shrine. she had had stacks of it ready, and the match laid for weeks and weeks. "good-night," said cissy frigidly. hugh john took hold of her dainty gloved fingers as gingerly as if each had been a stinging nettle, and dropped them as quickly. mr. courtenay carling paused in his conversation just long enough to say over his shoulder, "ah--ta-ta--got lots of pets to run round and see, i s'pose--rabbits and guinea-pigs; used to keep 'em myself, you know, beastly things, ta-ta!" and with cissy by his side he moved off, alternately twirling his moustache and glancing approvingly down at her. cissy on her part never once looked round, but kept poking her parasol into the plants at the side of the road, as determinedly as if it had been the old pike manufactured by the exiled king o'donowitch. such treatment could not have been at all good for such a miracle of silk and lace and cane; but somehow its owner did not seem to mind. "what an awful brute!" burst out hugh john, as soon as prissy and he were clear. "oh, how _can_ you say so!" said prissy, much surprised; "why, every one thinks him so nice. he has such lots of money, and is going to stand for parliament--that is, if his uncle would only die, or have something happen to him!" her brother snorted, as if to convey his contempt for "everybody's" opinion on such a matter; but prissy was too happy to care for aught save the fact that once more her dear hugh john was safe at home. "do you know," she said lovingly, "i could not sleep last night for thinking of your coming! it is so splendid. there's the loveliest lot of roses being planted in the new potting house, and i've got a pearl necklace to show you--such a beauty--and----" thus she rattled on, joyously ticking off all the things she had to show him. she ran a little ahead to look at him, then ran as quickly back to hug him. "oh, you dear!" she exclaimed. and all the while the heart of the former valiant soldier sank deep and ever deeper into the split-new cricketing shoes he had been so proud of when he sallied forth to meet cissy carter by the stile. "come on," she cried presently, picking up her skirts. "i'm so excited i don't know what to do. i can't keep quiet. i believe i can race you yet, for all you're so big and have won a silver cricket bat. how i shall love to see it! come on, hugh john, i'll race you to the gipsy camp for a pound of candy!" but hugh john did not want to race. he did not want _not_ to race. he did not want ever to do anything any more--only to fade away and die. his heart was cold and dead within him. he felt that he would never know happiness again. but he could not bear to disappoint prissy the first night. besides, he could easily enough beat her--he was sure of that. so he smiled indulgently and nodded acquiescence. he had not told her that he had won the school mile handicap from scratch. they started, and hugh john began to run scientifically, as he had been taught to do at school, keeping a little behind prissy, ready to spurt at the last and win by a neck. doubtless this would have answered splendidly, only that prissy ran so fast. she did not know anything about scientific sprinting, but she could run like the wind. so by the time they reached the partan burn she had completely outclassed hugh john. with her skirts held high in her hand over she flew like a bird; but her brother, jumping the least bit too soon, went splash into the shallows, sending the water ten feet into the air. like a shot prissy was back, and reached a hand down to the vanquished scientific athlete. "oh, i'm so sorry, hugh john," she said; "i ought to have told you it had been widened. don't let's race any more. i think i must have started too soon, and you'd have beaten me anyway. here's the gipsy camp." the world-weary exile looked about him. he had thought that at least it might be some manly pleasure to see billy blythe once more, and try a round with the bounding brothers. after all, what did it matter about girls? he had a twelve-bladed knife in his pocket which he intended for billy, and he knew a trick of boxing--a feint with the right, and then an upward blow with the left, which he knew would interest his friend. but the tents were gone. the place where they had stood was green and unencumbered. only an aged crone or two moved slowly about among the small thatched cottages. to one of these hugh john addressed himself. "eh, master--billy blythe--why, he be 'listed for a sodger--a corp'ral they say he be, and may be sergeant by this time, shouldn't wonder. eh, dearie, and the boundin' brothers--oh! ye mean the joompin' lads. they're off wi' a circus in ireland. nowt left but me and my owd mon! thank ye, sir, you be a gentleman born, as anybody can see without the crossin' o' the hand." sadly hugh john moved away, a still more blighted being. he left prissy at the white lodge-gate in order that she might go home to meet mr. picton smith on his return from the county town, where he had been judging the horses at an agricultural show. he would take a walk through the town, he said to himself, and perhaps he might meet some of his old enemies. he felt that above everything he would enjoy a sharp tussle. after all what save valour was worth living for? wait till he was a soldier, and came back in uniform with a sword by his side and the scar of a wound on his forehead--would cissy carter despise him then? he would show her! in the meantime he had learned certain tricks of fence which he would rather like to prove on the countenances of his former foes. so with renewed hope in his heart he took his way through the town of edam. the lamps were just being lighted, and hugh john lounged along through the early dusk with his hands in his pockets, looking out for a cause of offence. presently he came upon a brilliantly lighted building, into which young men and women were entering singly and in pairs. a hanging lamp shone down upon a noticeboard. he had nothing better to do. he stopped and read- +--------------------------------------------------------+ | edam mutual improvement society. | | _season_ 18- | | | | _hon. president._--rev. mr. burnham. | | _hon. vice-president._--mr. n. donnan. | | _hon. sec. and treasurer._--mr. nathaniel cuthbertson. | | debate to-night. | | | | _subject._--"is the pen mightier than the sword?" | | _affirmative._--mr. n. donnan. | | _negative._--mr. burnham. | | ------------------- | | all are cordially invited. | | _bring your hymn-books._ | +--------------------------------------------------------+ hugh john did not accept the invitation, perhaps because he had no hymn-book. he only waited outside to hear mr. n. donnan's opening sentence. it ran thus: "all ages of the world's history have borne testimony to the fact that peace is preferable to war, right to might, and the sweet still voice of reason to the savage compulsions of brutal force." "oh, hang!" ejaculated hugh john, doubling his fist; "did you ever hear such rot? i wish i could jolly well fetch nipper donnan one on the nob!" and he sauntered on till he came to the burying-ground of edam's ancient abbey. he wandered aimlessly up the short avenue, stood at the gate a while, then kicked it open and went in. he clambered about among the graves, stumbling over the grassy mounds till he came to the tombs of his ancestors. at least they were not quite his ancestors, but the principle was the same. "there's nothing exclusive about me. i'll adopt them," said hugh john to himself, as many another distinguished person had done before him. they were in fact the tombs of the lorraines, the ancient possessors and original architects of the castle of windy standard, which he had spilt his best blood to defend. well, it was to attack. but no matter. he sat down and looked at the defaced and battered tombs in silence. mighty thoughts coursed through his brain. his heart was filled full to the brim with the sadness of mortality. tears of hopeless resignation stood in his eyes. it was the end, the solemn end of all. soon he, too, like them, would be lying low and quiet. he began to be conscious of a general fatal weakness of the system, a hollowness of the chest (or stomach), which showed that the end was near. ah, they would be sorry then--_she_ would be sorry! and after morning service in church, they would come and stand by his grave and say--_she_ would say, "he was young, but he lived nobly, though, alas! there was none to appreciate him. ah, would that he were again alive!" then they (she) would weep, yes, weep bitterly, and fling themselves (herself) upon the cold, cold ground. but all in vain. he (hugh john picton smith, late hero) would lie still in death under that green sod and never say a word. no, not even if he could. like brer fox, he would lie low. at this point hugh john was so moved that he put his face down into his hands and sobbed. a heavy clod of earth whizzed through the air and impacted itself with a thud upon the mourner's cheek, filling his ear with mud and sand, and informing him at the same instant that it carried a stone concealed somewhere about its person. for though nipper donnan was now vice-president of a mutual improvement association, and at that moment spreading himself in a peroration upon the advantages of universal goody-goodiness, he had, happily for society and hugh john, left exceedingly capable successors. the eternal smoutchy was still very much alive, and still an amateur of clods in the town of edam. that sod worked a complete and sudden cure in hugh john. he rose like a shot. few and short were the prayers he said, but what these petitions lacked in length they made up for in fervency. he pursued his assailant down the mill brae, clamoured after him round the town-yards, finally cornered him at the spital port, punched his head soundly--and felt better. so that night the unfortunate young martyr to the flouts and scorns of love, instead of occupying a clay-cold bier with his (adopted) ancestors in edam abbey graveyard, ate an excellent supper in the new house of windy standard, with three helpings of round-of-beef and vegetables to match. then with an empty heart, but a full stomach, he betook himself upstairs to his room, where presently toady lion came to worship, and prissy dropped in to see that all was well. she had spread prettily worked covers of pink silk over his brushes and combs, an arrangement which the hero contemplated with disgust. he seized them, gathered them into a knot, and flung them into a corner. "oh, hugh john!" cried prissy, "how could you? and they took such a long time to do!" and there were the premonitions of april showers in the sensitive barometer of priscilla's eyes. the brother was touched--as much, that is, as it is in the nature of a brother to be. but in the interests of discipline he could not give way too completely. "all right, prissy," he said, "it was no end good of you. but really, you know, a fellow couldn't be expected to put up with these things. why, they'd stick in your nails and tangle up all your traps so that you'd wish you were dead ten times a day, or else they'd make you say 'hang!' and things." "very well," said prissy, with sweetest resignation, "then i will take them for myself, but i did think you would have liked them!" "did you, priss--you are a good sort!" said hugh john, patting his sister on the cheek. his sister felt that after such a demonstration of affection from him there was little left to live for. "good-night, you dear," she said; "i'll wake you in the morning, and have your bath ready for you at eight." "good old girl!" said hugh john tolerantly, and went to bed, glad that he had been so nice to prissy about the brush-covers. such a little makes a girl happy, you know. perhaps, all things being considered, it was for the good of our hero's soul at this time that cissy carter was on hand to take some of the conceit out of him. chapter xxxix. "girls are funny things." "girls are funny things" was hugh john's favourite maxim; and he forthwith proceeded to prove that boys are too, by making a point of seeing cissy carter several times a week during his entire vacation. yet he was unhappy as often as he went to oaklands, and only more unhappy when he stayed away. on the whole, cissy was much less frigid than on that first memorable evening. but she never thawed entirely, nor could hugh john discover the least trace of the hair-brained madcap of ancient days for whom his whole soul longed, in the charmingly attired young lady whose talk and appearance were so much beyond her years. but he shaved three or four times a day with his new razors, sneaking hot water on the sly in order to catch up. the last time he could hope to see her before going back to school for his final term, was on the evening of a day when hugh john had successfully captained a team of schoolboys and visitors from the surrounding country-houses against the best eleven which edam could produce. cissy carter had looked on with mr. courtenay carling by her side, while captain (once general napoleon) smith made seventy-seven, and carried out his still virgin bat amid the cheers of the spectators, after having beaten the edamites by four wickets, and with only six minutes to spare in order to save the draw. "oh, well played!" cried mr. carling patronisingly, as hugh john came up, modestly swinging his bat as if he did as much every day of his life; "i remember when i was at the 'varsity----" but hugh john turned away without waiting to hear what happened to mr. carling at the 'varsity which he had honoured with his presence. it chanced, however, that at that moment the young gentleman with the moustache saw on the other side of the enclosure a lady of more mature charms than those of his present companion, whose father also had a great deal of influence--don't you know?--in the county. so in a little while he excused himself and went over to talk with his new friend in her carriage, afterwards driving home with her to "a quiet family dinner." thus cissy was left to return alone with sammy, and she gathered up her sunshade and gloves with an air of calm and surprising dignity. hugh john had meant to bid her an equally cool good night and stroll off with the worshipful toady lion--who that day had kept wickets "like a jolly little brick" (as his brother was good enough to say), besides making a useful six before being run out. but somehow, when the hero of the day went to say good-bye, he could not quite carry out his programme, and found himself, against his will, offering in due form to "see miss carter home." which shows that hugh john, like his moustache, was growing up very rapidly indeed, and learning how to adapt himself to circumstances. he wondered what ashwell major would say if he knew. it would make him sick, hugh john thought; but after all, what was a fellow to do? for the first mile they talked freely about the match, and cissy complimented him on his scoring. then there fell a silence and constraint upon them. they were approaching the historic stile. hugh john nerved himself for a daring venture. "do you remember what you once made me say here, cissy?" he said. miss carter turned upon him a perfectly well-bred stare of blankest ignorance. "no," she said, "i don't remember ever being here with you before." "oh, come, no humbug, cissy--you could remember very well if you wanted to," said hugh john roughly. as he would have described it himself, "his monkey was getting up. cissy had better look out." he took from his ticket-pocket the piece of the crooked sixpence, which he had kept for more than three years in his schoolbox. "you don't remember that either, i suppose?" he said with grave irony. cissy looked at the broken coin calmly--she would have given a great deal if she had had a pincenez or a quizzing-glass to put up at that point. but she did her best without either. strangely, however, hugh john was not even irritated. "no," she said at last, "it looks like half of a sixpence which somebody has stepped upon. how quaint! did you find it, or did some one give it to you?" they were at the stile now, and hugh john helped cissy over. the grown-up swing of her skirt as she tripped down was masterly. it looked so natural. on the other side they both stopped, faced about, and set their elbows on the top almost as they had done three or four years ago when--but so much had happened since then. with even more serenity hugh john took a small purse out of his pocket. it was exceedingly dusty, as well it might be, for he had picked it out from underneath the specially constructed grandstand at the cricket ground. he opened it quietly, in spite of the unladylike snatch which cissy made as soon as she recognised it, dropping her youngladyish hauteur in an instant. hugh john held the dainty purse high up out of her reach, and extracted from an inner compartment a small piece of silver. [illustration: "it looks like half of a sixpence which somebody has stepped upon. how quaint!"] "give it back to me this moment," cried cissy, who had lost all her reserve, and suddenly grown whole years younger. "i didn't think any one in the world could be so mean. but i might have known. do you hear--give it back to me, hugh john." with the utmost deliberation he snapped the catch and handed her the purse. the bit of silver he fitted carefully to the first piece he had taken from his ticket-pocket and held them up. they were the reunited halves of the same crooked sixpence. then he looked at cissy with some of her own former calmness. he even offered her the second fragment of silver, whereupon with a sudden petulant gesture she struck his hand up, and her own half of the crooked sixpence flew into the air, flashed once in the rays of the setting sun, and fell in the middle of the path. hugh john stood in front of her a moment silent. then he spoke. "do you know, cissy, you are a regular little fraud!" and with that he suddenly caught the girl in his arms, kissed her once, twice, thrice--and then sprang over the stile, and down towards the river almost as swiftly as prissy herself. the girl stood a moment speechless with surprise and indignation. then the tears leaped to her eyes, and she stamped her foot. "oh, i hate you, i despise you!" she cried, putting all her injured pride and anger into the indignant ring of her voice. "i'll never speak to you again--not as long as i live, hugh john smith!" and she turned away homeward, holding her head very high in the air. she seemed to be biting her lips to keep back the tears which threatened to overflow her cheeks. but just as she was leaving the stile, curiously enough she cast sharply over her shoulder and all round her the quick shy look of a startled fawn--and stooped to the path. the next moment the bit of silver which had sparkled there was gone, and cissy carter, with eyes still moist, but with the sweetest and most wistful smile playing upon her face, was tripping homeward to oaklands to the tune of "the girl i left behind me," which she liked to whistle softly when she was sure no one was listening. and at the end of every verse she gave a little skip, as if her heart were light within her. girls are funny things. transcriber's note: inconsistent and archaic spelling, syntax, and punctuation retained. cole's funny picture book no. 1 written and compiled by e.w. cole (1832-1918) first published 1879 by cole publications, melbourne, australia. 73rd edition totalling 920,000 copies. [*] [illustration: front cover.] cole's funny picture book no. 1 or family amuser and instructor; to delight the children and make home happier; the best child's picture book in all the world. it contains also choice riddles, games and pieces of reading for adults. look through it yourself. long ago the rainbow was a sign it is said, now 'tis the sign of cole's book arcade. so, when in the sky a bow is displayed, be sure that you think of the book arcade. cole's book arcade strange as it looks, contains more than a million books. new and second-hand, common and rare, can get most any book you want there. [*] bibliographical note: the reprintings of this book since cole's death in 1918 have involved very few changes, and in most cases it has been bibliographically misleading to term them "editions". undoubtedly, somewhere in the past, the distinction between a "printing" and an "edition" has not been understood. however, with due cognisance of the irregularity, the practice of giving each reprint a new edition number accompanied by a running sales total is being maintained for statistical interest. [illustration: portrait of e. w. cole.] edward william cole born woodchurch, kent, england 4th january, 1832 died essendon, victoria, australia 16th december, 1918 [page 1--australia] australia is the best country on earth australia a grand country i think that australia, for it's size, is, all-round, the best country in the world. it's climate is pleasant and health-giving. it has no desolating blizzards, no frost bites, and few sunstrokes. in edible produce, for both size and quality, it stands very high, if not the highest. i have been in many lands, but never saw a country supply such a variety of products as australia does--potatoes, onions, cabbages, carrots, peas, beans and scores of other vegetables in abundance. in fruits it produces apples, pears, plums, peaches, oranges, grapes, and northern australia also produces all the tropical fruits in abundance wherever cultivated. in corn australia produces superior wheat, oats, barley, maize and all other kinds in abundance, especially when scientifically irrigated. as a milk, butter and meat country, it is one of the best in the world. it is the largest and best wool-producing country in the world. it contains the largest area in the world especially suitable for growing cotton, the most extensively-used clothing material. flowers grow luxuriantly and beautifully whenever cultivated and watered. a few years ago when writing on the "white australia" question, i stated that with high culture, water irrigation, and scientific irrigation, australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of inhabitants. a high literary authority, in reviewing the book, remarked that this seemed like a "gross exaggeration"; but probably he had not thought so much on the subject as i had. i will here concisely state the principle reasons for my opinion. the great want of australia, to make it amazingly fruitful, is the complete conservation of water and it's scientific application to the soil. water, warmth, and soil will grow anything in australia, if rationally managed. australia has abundance of water now running to waste. on thousands of house-roofs water enough is caught for the domestic use of the respective families. over large areas of the country there are 30 inches of rainfall, and the average rainfall over vast areas is 24 inches, and could be made much greater by cultivation. four-fifths of this water now runs to waste. again surface-parched australia has vast areas of underground water which only require to be tapped and brought to the surface, to irrigate and fertilise the soil. australia is also a country where timber grows well and fast, if planted in trenched ground and slightly irrigated. hundreds of straight trees can be grown upon an acre of land if they are first planted thickly and some gradually thinned out. many kinds of trees will grow upon very poor soil if they are properly planted and irrigated, as the bulk of their sustenance is derived from the air. one more remark about trees and their possibilities as food providers. wherever any kind of tree will grow some kind of fruit tree will grow. there are hundreds of millions of gum trees growing in australia. where every one of these trees is, some kind of fruit tree would grow if properly planted and looked after. again, to utilise australia to it's full extent the whole world should be sought through for the best plants and trees of every kind, and only the very best grown, and those in situations and soil best adapted for them. one argument against australia is that much of its surface is sandy, but experiments and developments in various countries show that the planting of marram grass, lupins, and other plants ties even the drifting sand together and gradually, through their decay, turns the sandy wastes into fertile soil. besides, science can, in many other ways, utilise the elements in the air to enrich the soil. australia's mineral resources it has been objected that in the above epitome no mention is made of the great mineral wealth of australia. the reason is that minerals, exceedingly useful as they are in the arts, are not absolutely necessary (with the exception perhaps of iron) to the feeding, clothing, and housing of mankind. vast multitudes have lived without them; but it may be remarked that australia is a country very rich in minerals; some hold it the richest in the world. it possesses immense deposits of iron not yet utilised, and the most extensive gold-fields yet discovered. australia and tasmania have, according to the latest estimate of our commonwealth statistician, produced minerals to the value of £660,252,694--comprising in round numbers, gold £474,000,000; tin £24,000,000; and other kinds £8,000,000. the bulk of the above has been produced during the last 60 years, in a population rising from about 300,000 to 4,000,000 and it forecasts how vast the mineral-producing future of australia is likely to be. altogether australia is a country as highly favoured by nature as any other of equal size upon earth, for the bountiful production of useful animals, vegetables, minerals, and men. the best country on earth--unknown australia "'if we australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the canadians take to forestall their winter, australia would be the most prosperous country on earth.' the speaker was the rev. a. r. edgar, head of the central mission, melbourne. "'after circling the globe, then, you are still satisfied that australia is not a bad country to live in?' "'the best,' said mr edgar, emphatically. 'i have no hesitation in saying that canada and america are not to be compared with australia. unfortunately, england doesn't know it. australia herself doesn't half realise it, and as for america and canada, they haven't the remotest ghost of a notion of it. in england they learn with regrettable slowness, and their knowledge is scanty indeed; but across the atlantic the ignorance is deplorable. "australia?" says the canadian. "oh yes! let's see, that's the place where it's always droughty--yes, yes, to be sure, the place where y' can't get a drink of water." he laughs at the idea of australia producing as much wool and wheat as canada, and bluntly tells you there's no country on the face of the planet can grow wheat and wool like his. but the fact is, there isn't a bit of territory fit to compare with the western district of victoria, for example, and conditions are infinitely harder for the agriculturist than in australia. canada's western district is icebound in winter, and her eastern lands are strewn over with great boulders, between which the plough works laboriously in and out'."--from the "new idea." i often feel for the dweller in canada; for notwithstanding his beautiful spring and autumn he has six months of ice and snow and freezing winds, and i feel selfishly grateful that my lot is cast in more genial australia. let us well ponder mr. edgar's concise and forcible statement: "if we australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the canadians take to forestall their winter, australia would be the most prosperous country on earth." this is quite true. the canadian must thoughtfully and rationally prepare for his winter, or he would freeze and starve. we have no frigid climate to prepare against, but we have possible drought, and our first and greatest consideration should be the conservation of water for irrigation. this water conservation is exceedingly important thing. men do not think, and the waste is enormous. when the rain falls it runs into the gully, from the gully to the creek, from the creek to the river, from the river into the sea; and then in the dry season water is deplorably scarce. i once asked a young squatter from the new south wales side of the murray "have you got a garden?" he answered: "no: it is too dry up our way!" i said, "how do you get water for domestic purposes?" he answered, "we catch it off the roof; we catch it in 11 tanks and are never out of a supply." i asked, "how large an area have all your roofs put together?" he answered, "i think about 20 feet by 100 feet." this would be about a twentieth of an acre. now just reflect! one acre of rainfall would supply, if caught, 20 establishments like that squatter's home, for the rain would fall fairly alike over that part of the country. a rainfall of 30 inches over an acre of ground measures about 680,000 gallons and weighs about 3000 tons, the bulk of which is allowed to run away every year! a gentleman said to me the other day, "since the water was brought to coolgardie and kalgoorlie, under sir john forrest's great scheme, they have very beautiful gardens right along the line of supply. wherever the water touches the land the vegetation is splendid, and, what is more, the evaporation is bringing heavier rainfall." of course, wherever cultivation and irrigation are carried on, more evaporation takes place, and, in most cases, causes additional rainfall. when i affirmed that australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of people i did not mean australia as we now have it, but as it might be, and probably will be, when water is carefully conserved and its soil scientifically irrigated and cultivated. e.w. cole [page 2--cole's funny picture book] [illustration: i want cole's funny picture book.] [page 3--index] this is the funniest picture book in the world for children if you search through the world you will not get a book that will so please a child, if you pay £100 or even £1000 for it. to parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and friends--every good child should be given one of these books for being good. every bad child should be given one to try to make it good. baby rhymes baby going to bed 4 baby, getting up 5 this pig went to market 6 baby riding 6 naughty baby 7 little children's stories tom thumb's alphabet 8 sing a song-a-sixpence 8 a apple pie 8 captain duck 8 hey-diddle-diddle 9 girl land cry-baby belle 10 a naughty little girl 10 paulina pry 10 tearful annie 10 hattie's birthday 11 youth and age 11 a lost child 11 little mary 11 girl and angel 11 girl who wouldn't go to bed 12 girl that beat her sister 12 the sulky girl 12 girl who sucked her fingers 12 the greedy little girl 12 girl who played with fire 12 the vulgar little lady 12 peggy won't 13 the wonderful shadows 13 little bo-peep 14 pammy was a pretty girl 14 the little husband 14 i'm governess 14 meddlesome matty 15 girl who spilled the ink 15 girl who was always tasting 15 sally the lazy girl 15 girl who wouldn't comb her hair 15 the nasty cross girls 15 little red riding hood 16 i'm grandmama 16 the babes in the wood 16 cinderella 17 the three bears 17 bluebeard 17 my girl 18 my little daughter's shoes 18 the old cradle 18 a little goose 18 girls 19 girls names 19 vain sarah 19 several kinds of girls 19 jumping jennie 20 i don't care 20 little miss meddlesome 20 careless matilda 20 forty little school girls 21 funny monkeys 21 tangle pate 22 a careless girl 22 the naughty girl 22 mopy maria 22 disobedient may 22 sluttishness 22 jane who bit her nails 22 poking fun 22 the pin 23 stupid jane 23 pouting polly 23 untidy emily 23 maidenhood 24 girls that are in demand 24 girls' names 24 name of kate 24 girl-scolding machine 25 jenny lee 26 work before play 26 lucy grey 26 mary had a little lamb 26 we are seven 27 the poor but blind girl 27 grace darling 27 the tidy girl 27 ruby cole 28 boy land vally cole 29 tom the piper's son 30 house that jack built 31 simple simon 31 ten little niggers 31 jack the giant killer 32 jack and the beanstalk 32 hop-o-my-thumb 33 tom thumb 33 naughty boys 34 dirty jack 35 mischievous fingers 35 boy stealing apples 35 playing with fire 35 wicked willie 36 rude, bad, naughty boy 36 little chinky chow 37 that nice boy 38 a wicked joking boy 38 jack the glutton 39 tom the dainty boy 39 a birds nest robber 39 a cruel boy 39 boy whipping machine 40-41 dolly land puss's doll 42 pretty doll 42 dolly and i 43 dolly's broken arm 43 polly and her dolly 43 singing to dolly 44 my dolly 44 dolly's asleep 44 lost dolly 45 talking to dolly 45 darling dolly 45 ten little dollies 46 washing-day troubles 47 new tea things 47 doll dress making 48 dolly town 48 the lost doll 48 dolly's counterpane 48 sewing for dolly 48 my little doll rose 48 the wooden doll 48 buy my dolls 48 dolly's doctor 49 dolly's broken nose 49 the dead dolly 49 the soldier dolly 49 christening dolly 50 maggie's talk to dolly 50 minnie's talk to dolly 50 my dolly 50 dolly's wedding 50 grandmamma's visit 51 lucy's dolls 51 the doll show 52 a doll's adventures 53 story of a doll 53 i'm homesick dolly dear 54 a thousand names for dollies and babies 55, 56, 57 naughtiness land good mamma 58 how they made up 58 cross patch 58 sulky sarah 58 a new year's gift 59 angry words 59 love one another 59 anger 60 girl that beat her sister 60 little dick snappy 60 where do you live 61 govern your temper 61 the ragged girl's sunday 62 foolish fanny 62 pride 63 finery 63 a fop 63 greedy ned 64 greedy girl 64 greedy richard 64 story of an apple 64 the plum cake 65 the glutton 65 hoggish henry 65 selfishness 65 truthful dottie 66 false alarms 66 girl that told a lie 66 idle mary 67 lazy sal 67 the work bag 67 the two gardens 67 doing nothing 67 lazy sam 68 the beggar man 68 lazyland 68 the lazy boy 69 the sluggard 69 idle dicky and the goat 69 come and go 69 the cruel boy 70 story of cruel fred 70 the worm 70 no one will see me 71 boy and his mother 71 boys and the apple tree 72 thou shalt not steal 72 the thief 72 the thieves' ladder 73 santa claus land santa claus land 74 a visit from st. nicholas 75 what santa claus brings 75 little mary 75 christmas 75 christmas eve adventure 76 little bennie 76 old santa claus 77 night before christmas 77 annie and willie's prayer 78 budd's stocking 79 christmas morning 79 nellie and santa claus 80 hang up baby's stocking 80 play land rabbit on the wall 81 little romp 81 tired of play 82 the lost playmate 82 in the toy shop 83 playing store 83 neat little clara 83 hide and seek 83 little sailors 84 come out to play 84 mud pies 84 hay making 84 johnny the stout 85 training time 86 playtime 87 romping 87 nurse's song 87 swinging 88 skating 88 the skipping rope 88 the baby's debut 89 reading land reading 90 mrs grammar's ball 90 grammar in rhyme 90 reading land 91 writing land little flo's letter 92 the first letter 92 baby's letter to uncle 92 nell's letter 92 two letters 92 going to write to papa 93 papa's letter 93 polly's letter to ben 94 the sunday fisherman 95 essay on pictures 96 drawing land the new slate 97 learning to draw 98 a lesson in drawing 99 old men tales old man and his wife 100 john ball shot them all 100 funny old man 100 strange men 100 jack sprat 101 cross old man 101 very funny men 101 utter nonsense 102 history of john gilpin 103 australian native choir 104 old women tales woman who lived in a shoe 106 mother goose 107 old women of stepney 107 funny old women 108 old woman who went up in a basket 108 twenty-six funny women 109 travelling land forty ways of travelling 110-113 flying machines 114-117 name land 555 boys' names 118 555 girls' names 119 game land cole's game of hats and bonnets 120-123 riddles and catches 124-127 picture puzzles 128-143 shadows on the wall 144 deaf and dumb alphabet 145 language of flowers 146 kindness to animals 147 funny australian natives 148-149 pussy land my pussy 150 pussy-cat and mousey 150 puss and the monkey 150 mary's puss drowned 150 dame trot's puss 151 daddy hubbard's cat 152 story of a little mouse 153 tom, puss, and the rats 154 puss in boots 155 monkey and the cats 155 dick whittington 155 more pussy land 156 the white kitten 157 little pussy 158 puss and the crab 158 puss in the corner 159 tabby 159 old puss 159 dead kitten 160 my own puss 161 putting kitty to bed 161 doggy land mother hubbard and dog 162 puss and rover 163 no breakfast for growler 163 poor old tray 163 goat land o'grady's goat 164 the goat and the swing 164 monkey land meddlesome jacko 165 a fruitless sorrow 165 gee-gee land the wonderful horse 166 the horse 166 good dobbin 166 horse sentenced to die 167 the arab and his horse 167 farmer john 168 donkey land the cottager's donkey 169 old jack the donkey 169 poor donkey's epitaph 169 moo-moo land the cow and the ass 170 the cowboy's song 171 that calf 171 ba-ba land the lost lamb 172 the pet lamb 172-173 piggy land the pig is a gentleman 174 five little pigs 174 the self-willed pig 174 three naughty pigs 175 the spectre pig 175 the chinese pig 176 dame crump and her pig 176 old woman and her pig 177 the three little pigs 177 bunny land disobedient bunny 178 the wild rabbits 178 the pet rabbit 178 the little hare 179 the poor hunted hare 179 epitaph on a hare 179 rat land pied piper of hamelin 180 wicked bishop hatto 181 mousey land the three mice 182 the foolish mouse 182 run, mousey, run! 182 the gingerbread cat 182 a clever mother mouse 183 the mouse's call 183 the foolish mouse 183 froggy land the foolish frogs 184 marriage of mr. froggie 184 frogs at school 184 frog that went a wooing 185 mixed animal land 186-187 the squirrel 188 wonderful bird nests 189 cole's poems on books 190 comic advertiser serious sambo 191 laughter as a medicine 191 man made to laugh 191 josh billings' prayer 191 fun better than physic 192 fun about music 193 going to coles' book arcade 194-195 wonderful sea serpent 196 funny, foolish and useful fashions 197-201 boy smoking 202-203 narcotics and intoxicants 204 pipes of the world 205 reader--there are only 365 pieces mentioned in this index, but the book contains 2,000 pieces and pictures, large and small. it is a complete cyclopoedia of child-lore, and first-class kindergarten book--to amuse and teach at the same time. no child's book ever published has been, nor is now, so great a favourite as this one. [page 4--baby rhymes] [illustration: tired and going to bed.] a piece of poetry for mother and father to read i suppose if all the children, who have lived through ages long, were collected and inspected they would make a wondrous throng. oh the babble of the babel! oh, the flutter and the fuss; to begin with cain and abel, and to finish up with us! some have never laughed nor spoken, never used their rosy feet; some have even flown to heaven, ere they knew that earth was sweet. and indeed, i wonder whether, if we reckon every birth, and bring such a flock together, there is room for them on earth. think of all the men and women who are now and who have been; every nation since creation that this world of ours has seen. and of all of them not any but was once a baby small; while of children, oh, how many never have grown up at all. [page 5--baby rhymes] [illustration: getting up as happy as larks.] who will wash their smiling faces? who their saucy ears will box? who will dress them and caress them? who will darn their little socks? where are arms enough to hold them? hands to pat each smiling head? who will praise them? who will scold them? who will pack them off to bed? little happy christian children, little savage children too, in all stages of all ages, that our planet ever knew; little princes and princesses, little beggars, wan and faint- some in very handsome dresses, naked some, bedaubed with paint. only think of the confusion such a motley crowd would make; and the clatter of their chatter, and the things that they won't break oh the babble of the babel! oh, the flutter and the fuss; to begin with cain and abel, and to finish up with us! [page 6--children's rhymes] children's rhymes [illustration: this pig went to market.] 1. this pig went to market: 2. this pig stayed at home: 3. this pig had meat: 4. this pig had none: 5. and this pig cried, "wee, wee," all the way home. game of child's features here sits the lord mayor! (forehead) here sits his two men! (eyes) here sits the cock! (right cheek) here sits the hen! (left cheek) here sit the little chickens! (tip of nose) here they run in; (mouth) chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper, chin! (chuck the chin) face game ring the bell! (giving its hair a pull) knock at the door! (tapping its forehead) draw the latch! (pulling up it's nose) and walk in! (putting finger in mouth) face game (eye) bo peeper! (nose) nose dreeper! (chin) chinchopper! (teeth) white lopper! (mouth) little gap! (tongue) and red rag! game on the toes 1. let us go to the wood, says this pig; 2. what to do there? says that pig; 3. too look for my mother, says this pig; 4. what to do with her? says that pig; 5. kiss her to death, says this pig. going to market to market, to market, to buy a fat pig; home again, home again, jiggety-jig. to market, to market, to buy a fat hog; home again, home again, joggety-jog. baby riding ride baby, ride, pretty baby shall ride, and have a little puppy-dog tied to her side. and a little pussy-cat tied to the other, and away she shall ride to see her grand-mother, to see her grandmother. ride a cock-horse ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, to see what tommy can buy; a penny white loaf, a penny white cake, and a two-penny apple pie. ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, to see a young lady on a white horse, rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, and so she makes music wherever she goes. baby riding this is the way the ladies ride; tre, tre, tree, this is the way the ladies ride; tre, tre, tree. this is the way the gentlemen ride; gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! this is the way the gentlemen ride; gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! this is the way the farmers ride; hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy! this is the way the farmers ride; hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy! clap hands clap hands, clap hands, till father comes home; for father's got money, but mother's got none. when dad comes home you shall have an apple, you shall have a plum, you shall have a rattle, when your dad comes home. pat-a-cake pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man! so i will, master, as fast as i can, pat it, and prick it, and mark it with t, put it in the oven for tommy and me. come, butter, come churn, butter, churn! come, butter, come! peter stands at the gate, waiting for a butter cake; come, butter, come! baby crying when jacky's a very good boy, he shall have cakes and a custard; but when he does nothing but cry, he shall have nothing but mustard. [page 7--children's rhymes] hickup, go away. hickup, hickup, go away! come again another day: hickup, hickup, when i bake, i'll give to you a butter-cake. dance, baby. dance, little baby, dance up high, never mind, baby, mother is nigh; crow and caper, caper and crow- there, little baby, there you go! up to the ceiling, down to the ground, backwards and forwards, round and round. dance, little baby, and mother will sing! merrily, merrily, ding, dong, ding! dance, little baby. dance to your daddy, my little babby, dance to your daddy, my little lamb. you shall have a fishy in a little dishy; you shall have a fishy when the boat comes in. danty baby diddy. danty baby diddy, what can a mammy do wid'e, but sit in a lap, and give 'un a pap? sing danty baby diddy. hush-a-bye baa lamb. hush-a-bye, a baa lamb, hush-a-by a milk cow, you shall have a little stick to beat the naughty bow-wow. bye, baby bunting. bye, baby bunting, daddy's gone a hunting, to get a little rabbit skin to wrap a baby bunting in. hush-a-bye baby. hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock; when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall; down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. hush-a-bye baby, daddy is near: mammy's a lady, and that's very clear. rock-a-bye baby. rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green; father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; and betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring, and johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king. kissing baby. my dear cockadoodle, my jewel, my joy, my darling, my honey, my pretty, sweet boy; before i do rock thee with soft lullaby, give me thy dear lips to be kiss'd, kiss'd, kiss'd. good-night baby baby, baby, lay your head on your pretty cradle bed; shut your eye-peeps, now the day and the light are gone away; all the clothes are tucked in tight, little baby, dear, good night. lie still with daddy. hush thee, my babby, lie still with thy daddy, thy mammy has gone to the mill, to grind thee some wheat, to make thee some meat, and so, my babby, lie still. [illustration: monkey feeding baby.] monkey feeding baby. oh, my lady! my lady! my lady! here's that funny monkey has put on your night-cap, and is feeding the baby! the baby! the baby! baby getting up baby, baby ope your eye, for the sun is in the sky, and he's peeping once again through the pretty window pane: little baby, do not keep any longer fast asleep. washing baby's hands wash hands, wash, daddy's gone to plough; if you want your hands wash'd, have them washed now. combing baby's hair comb hair, comb, daddy's gone to plough; if you want your hair comb'd have it combed now. baby brother my pretty baby-brother is six months old to-day, and though he cannot speak, he knows whate'er i say. whenever i come near, he crows for very joy; and dearly do i love him, the darling baby-boy. baby he opens his mouth when he kisses you; he cries very loud when he misses you; he says "boo! boo! boo!" for "how-do-you-do?" and he strokes down your face when he's loving you. learning to walk alone come, my darling, come away, take a pretty walk to-day; run along, and never fear, i'll take care of baby dear; up and down with little feet, that's the way to walk, my sweet. see-saw see-saw sacradown, which is the way to london town, one foot up is the other down, that is the way to london town. naughty baby baby, baby charlie, naughty in his play, slapping little annie, pushing her away. patting with his soft hands, laughing in his fun; slapping with such good-will, that the tear-drops run. do not cry, dear annie, wipe away the tear; keep away from charlie, do not come so near, or his little hands will pull your curly hair; peep at baby, annie- peep behind the chair. kiss the baby, darling, kiss the little one; he is only playing, in his baby fun. [page 8--little children's stories] tom thumb's alphabet a was an archer, who shot at a frog; b was a butcher, who had a great dog; c was a captain, all covered with lace; d was a drunkard, and had a red face; e was an esquire, with pride on his brow; f was a farmer, who followed the plough; g was a gamer, who had but ill luck; h was a hunter, and hunted a buck; i was an innkeeper, who loved to bouse; j was a joiner, and built up a house; k was king william, once governed this land; l was a lady, who had a white hand; m was a miser, and hoarded up gold: n was a nobleman, gallant and bold; o was an oyster girl, and went about town; p was a parson, and wore a black gown; q was a queen, who wore a silk slip; r was a robber, and wanted a whip; s was a sailor, and spent all he got; t was a tinker, and mended a pot; u was an usurer, a miserable elf; v was a vintner, who drank all himself; w was a watchman, and guarded the door; x was expensive, and so became poor; y was a youth, that did not love school; z was a zany, a poor harmless fool; sing a song-a-sixpence sing a song-a-sixpence, a pocket full of rye; four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie; when the pie was opened the birds began to sing: was that not a dainty dish to set before the king? the king was in his counting-house, counting out his money, the queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey; the maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes; down came a blackbird, and snapt off her nose. old chairs to mend if i'd as much money as i could spend, i never would cry old chairs to mend; old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; i never would cry old chairs to mend. if i'd as much money as i could tell, i never would cry old clothes to sell; old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell; i never would cry old clothes to sell. dad's gane to ploo cock-a-doodle-doo, my dad's gane to ploo; mammy's lost her pudding-poke and knows not what to do. hot cross buns hot-cross buns! hot-cross buns! one a penny, two a penny, hot-cross buns! hot-cross buns! hot-cross buns! if you have no daughters, give them to your sons. rabbit pie rabbit, rabbit, rabbit-pie! come, my ladies, come and buy; else your babies they will cry. [illustration: baker with pie.] a--apple-pie a apple pie; b bit it; c cut it; d danced for it; e eat it; f fought for it; g got it; h had it; i ignored it; j jumped for it; k kept it; l longed for it; m mourned for it; n nodded at it; o opened it; p peeped in it; q quartered it; r ran for it; s stole it; t took it; u uncovered it; v viewed it; w wanted it; x ax'ed for it; y yawned for it: z cried, "zounds! let's eat it up." three men in a tub rub a dub, dub, three men in a tub; and who do you think they were? the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, they all came out of a rotten potato. dinner hey ding a ding, what shall i sing? how many holes in a skimmer? four-and-twenty, my stomach is empty; pray mamma, give me some dinner. the barber barber, barber, shave a pig, how many hairs will make a wig? "four-and-twenty, that's enough," give the barber a pinch of snuff. punch and judy punch and judy fought for a pie; punch gave judy a blow on the eye. pease pudding pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold, pease pudding in the pot, nine days old. porridge a little bit of powdered beef, and a great net of cabbage, the best meal i have to-day is a good bowl of porridge. shaving the barber shaved the mason, as i suppose cut of his nose, and popp'd it in a basin. captain duck i saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea; and, oh! it was all laden with pretty things for thee. there were comfits in the cabin, and apples in the holds; the sails were made of silk, and the masts were made of gold. the four-and-twenty sailors that stood between the decks, were four-and-twenty white mice, with chains about their necks. the captain was a duck, with a packet on his back; and when the ship began to move, the captain said "quack quack!" little tee wee little tee wee' he went to sea in an open boat; and while afloat the little boat bended, and my story's ended. [page 9--children's rhymes] jack be quick jack be nimble, and jack be quick; and jack jump over the candle-stick. jack sprat jack sprat had a cat, it had but one ear; it went to buy butter when butter was dear. jack horner little jack horner sat in the corner, eating a christmas pie; he put in his thumb, and he took out a plum, and said, "what a good boy am i!" tom tucker little tom tucker sings for his supper; what shall he eat? white bread and butter. how shall he cut it without e'er a knife? how will he be married without e'er a wife? georgie porgie georgie porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. when the girls came out to play georgie porgie ran away. see-saw see-saw, margery daw, little jacky shall have a new master; little jacky shall have but a penny a day, because he can't work any faster. little lad little lad, little lad, where wast thou born? far off in lancashire, under a thorn, where they sup sour milk in a ram's horn. jack-a-dandy handy spandy, jack-a-dandy, loved plum-cake and sugar-candy; he bought some at a grocer's shop, and out he came, hop, hop, hop. my son john deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son john went to bed with his stockings on; one shoe off, the other shoe on. deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son john jack and jill jack and jill went up the hill, to fetch a pail of water; jack fell down and broke his crown, and jill came tumbling after. who can draw best willie drew a little pig, harry drew a mouse, tommy drew a ladder tall leaning on a house. baa, baa black sheep baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? yes, marry have i, three bags full: one for my master, and one for my dame, but none for the little boy who cries in the lane. [illustration: cat with fiddle.] hey diddle diddle hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon; the little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran after the spoon. the quaker's version "hey! diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped under the moon; the little dog barked to see such sport and the cat ran after the spoon!" [*] [*] our friend, the quaker, holds that the last verse is the proper one, as it is the truest; but the wonderful is taken out of it, and children, accordingly, prefer the first. there is nothing wonderful in the cow jumping "under" the moon, but there is in the cow jumping "over" the moon, so with the black-birds baked in a pie. it is the fact of their singing when the pie is opened that pleases the children--'twas the wonder of the thing; so with the freaks of mother hubbard's dog, etc. in nearly all nursery rhymes it is the ludicrous and wonderful that arrests the attention and pleases. e. w. cole frightened boy there was a little boy, went into a barn, and lay down on some hay; an owl came out, and flew about, and the little boy ran away. frightened boys tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee resolved to have a battle, for tweedle-dum said tweedle-dee had spoiled his nice new rattle. just then flew by a monstrous crow, as big as a tar-barrel, which frightened both the heroes so, they quite forgot their quarrel. baked in a pie baby and i were baked in a pie, the gravy was wonderful hot; we had nothing to pay to the baker that day and so we crept out of the pot. maid not at home high diddle doubt, my candle's out, my little maid is not at home; saddle my hog, and bridle my dog, and fetch my little maid home. dame not at home rowsty dowt, my fire's all out, my little dame is not at home; i'll saddle my goose and bridle my hen, and fetch my little dame home again; home she came, tritty trot; and asked for the porridge she left in the pot. all in the dumps we're all in the dumps, for diamonds are trumps; the kittens are gone to st. paul's! the babies are bit, the moon's in a fit, and the houses are built without walls. hot rolls blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go! that the miller may grind his corn; that the baker may take it, and into rolls make it, and send us some hot in the morn. rosemary green, and lavender blue, thyme and sweet marjoram, hyssop and rue. bed time come, let's to bed, says sleepy-head tarry a while says slow; put on the pot, says greedy-jock, let's sup before we go. go to bed first go to bed first, a golden purse; go to bed second, a golden pheasant; go to bed third, a golden bird. [page 10--girl land] [illustration: the three cry-babies.] cry-baby belle cry-baby belle is always in tears nothing you can give her can ease her! sugar and spice, and everything nice, kisses and cakes will not please her. she'll cry if she happens to get a slight fall, she'll cry if the naughty boys tease her; she'll cry for a spoon, and she'll cry for the moon; so there's no use in trying to please her. if the food set before her don't happen to suit- oh, then just as loud as she's able, this cry-baby belle will set up a yell, and scare all the folks at the table. if she wants to go out in the street she will cry; if she wants to come in how she screeches! for nothing at all she will set up and bawl, unmindful of comforting speeches, she screams in the morning because she's not dress'd; and at night when they want to undress her more loudly she'll roar, and roll over the floor as if she had pains to distress her. she cries when she's sick, and she cries when she's well, and often cries when she's sleeping, so that heavy and red, and most out of her head are her eyes, on account of such weeping. she always is fretful, unhappy, and cross, no matter what she may be doing, and cry-baby belle pleases nobody well because of her constant boo-hooing. for a naughty little girl my sweet little girl should be careful and mild, and should not be fretful, and cry! oh! why is this passion? remember, my child, god sees you, who lives in the sky. that dear little face, which i like so to kiss, how frightful and sad it appears! do you think i can love you, so naughty as this, or kiss you so wetted with tears? remember, tho' god is in heaven, my love, he sees you within and without, and he always looks down from his glory above, to notice what you are about. if i am not with you, or if it be dark, and nobody is in the way, his eye is as able your doings to mark, in the night as it is in the day. then dry up your tears, and look smiling again and never do things that are wrong; for i'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain, to be naughty, and crying so long. paulina pry paulina pry would eat nothing but pie; pie was her daily diet; apple or plum, she must have some or else she wouldn't be quiet. she would not eat any bread or meat, though plenty of these were handy, but would pout and cry for a piece of pie, or a stick of sugar-candy. they heard her cry in the land of pie, and sent her dozens and dozens, both tender and tough, till she'd had more than enough for her sisters, her aunts and her cousins. tearful annie poor little annie, you will find, is very gentle, good, and kind, but soon a a fault appears. the slightest thing will give her pain, her feelings she can ne'er restrain, but gives way to her tears. the other day when ferdinand- and if you search throughout the land, no nicer boy you'll find- said something which he never meant to cause the slightest discontent, for hours she sobbed and whined. her father grieved, said: "this must cease we never have a moment's peace, she cries both day and night." a portrait painter then he paid, to paint his little tearful maid, crying with all her might. he set to work that very day, directly he received his pay; the picture soon was done. yes, there she was, all sobs and sighs, large tear-drops streaming from her eyes. "how like!" said every one. it was in truth a great success; quite perfect, neither more nor less; her father was so glad. he hung the portrait in her room; it filled her with the deepest gloom; she felt annoyed and sad. with every relative who came, and saw the picture, 'twas the same, all startled with affright. uncles, and aunts, and cousins too, found it so striking, life-like, true that soon they took to flight. annie not long could this endure; it brought about a speedy cure, she ceased to cry and moan. her father ceased to scold and frown, he had the picture taken down, and in the garret thrown. [illustration: tearful annie's likeness.] [page 11--girl land] [illustration: our christmas hamper.] hattie's birthday oh! this is a happy, beautiful world! my heart is light and gay; the birds in the trees sing blithely to me and i'm six years old to-day. yes, six, and father has bought me a book, and mother, the sweetest doll, all dressed in white with blue eyes bright, and the nicest hat and shawl. my kitty sat quietly near the fire as dolly and i came by; miss dolly bowed, and pussy meowed, and opened her yellow eye. ah me! if kit could only talk, and dolly could but chat, we'd social be as any three- talk, sing, and all of that. i dressed all up in grandma's cap, and put on her glasses too; "why, grandma!" i said, as i looked at myself, "i'm almost as old as you." my mother softly kissed my cheek, and then she blessed me too, praying that i, as years went by, might be as good and true. my birthday song is a merry one, and my heart is warm and light; kind father, mother, and dear grandma, sweet dolly and pussy, good night. youth and age a funny thing i heard to-day, i might as well relate. our lil is six, and little may still lacks a month of eight. and, through the open play-room door, i heard the elder say: "lil, run downstairs and get my doll; go quick, now--right away!" and lillie said--(and i agreed that may was hardly fair):- "you might say 'please,' or go yourself- i didn't leave it there." "but, lillie," urged the elder one, "your little legs, you know, are younger than mine are, child, and so you ought to go!" children "i would not be a girl," said jack, "because they have no fun; they cannot go a-fishing, nor a-shooting with a gun; they cannot climb up trees for fruit, nor bathe without a bathing dress, which is no fun at all." "i would not be a boy," said may, "for boys are nasty things, with pockets filled with hooks and knives, and nails, and tops and strings and when a boy becomes a man, he's got to buy girls rings;" a lost child "i'm losted! could you find me, please?" poor little frightened baby! the wind had tossed her golden fleece, the stones had scratched her dimpled knees, i stooped and lifted her with ease, and softly whispered "maybe." "tell me your name, my little maid: i can't find you without it." "my name is shiny-eyes," she said, "yes; but your last name?" she shook her head: "up to my house 'ey never said a single word about it." "but, dear," i said, "what is your name?" "why, didn't you hear me told you? dust shiny-eyes." a bright thought came: "yes, when you're good. but when they blame you little one,--is it just the same when mamma has to scold you?" "my mamma never scolds," she moans, a little blush ensuing, "'cept when i've been a-frowing stones; and then she says (the culprit owns),- mehitabel sapphira jones. what has you been a-doing?" anna e. burnham little mary here stands little, little mary, with her face of winning grace, chattering tongue that runs apace, and her ways contrary who so gay as mary? with her laughs of rippling glee brimming o'er with melody,- bonny, blithesome mary. household pet is mary- such a merry, joyous sprite, filling all our home with light- pretty winsome mary! mischief-loving mary, busy as the busiest bee, full of sunshine, life, and glee is our heart's sweet mary! girl and angel as peter sat at heaven's gate a maiden sought permission, and begged of him, if not too late, to give her free admission. "what claim hast thou to enter here?" he cried with earnest mien. "please sir," said she, 'twixt hope and fear, "i'm only just sixteen!" "enough," the hoary guardian said, and the gate wide open threw. "that is the age when every maid is girl and angel too." [illustration: our country cousin.] [page 12--naughty girls] girl who wouldn't go to bed once i knew a little girl, who wouldn't go to bed, and in the morning always had a very sleepy head. at night she'd stop upon the stairs, and hold the railings tight then with a puff she'd try to blow out mary ann's rushlight. the bed at last they tuck'd her in, the light she vow'd to keep; left in the dark she roar'd and cried; till tired she went to sleep. little girl that beat her sister go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss your little sister dear; i must not have such things as this, nor noisy quarrels here. what! little children scold and fight who ought to be so mild; oh! mary, 'tis a shocking sight to see an angry child. i can't imagine for my part, the reason of your folly, as if she did you any hurt by playing with your dolly. children should not quarrel let dogs delight to bark an bite, for god hath made them so; let bears and lions growl and fight: for 'tis their nature to. but children you should never let such angry passions rise; your little hands were never made to tear each other's eyes. the sulky girl why is mary standing there, leaning down upon the chair, with pouting lip and frowning brow? i wonder what's the matter now. come here, my dear, and tell me true, is it because i spoke to you about what you just now had done, that you are such a naughty one? when, then, indeed, i'm grieved to see that you can so ill-tempered be: you make your faults a great deal worse by being sulky and perverse. oh! how much better it appears, to see you melting into tears, and then to hear you humbly say, "i'll not do so another day!" the little girl that did not like to be washed what! cry when i wash you! not love to be clean? there, go and be dirty, unfit to be seen; and till you leave off, and i see you have smiled, i'll not take the trouble to wash such a child. the girl who sucked her fingers a little girl, named mary kate, whom you may have chance to see, would have been loved by small and great, but for one thing, which i'll relate; so listen now to me. a silly habit she's acquired of putting in her mouth, the pretty fingers of her hand, and sucking them, for hours she'd stand, in a manner most uncouth. her play-companions used to laugh, and jeeringly would say, "oh, pray bring mary kate some crumbs, poor thing! she's dining off her thumbs, she'll eat them all away." [illustration: girl stealing treacle.] girl stealing treacle this is nelly pilfer; i'll tell you what she earned by stealing off the treacle when mary's back was turned. they caught the greedy nelly with treacle on her hand, they put her in the corner, and there they made her stand. the girl who soiled her clothes little polly flinders, sat among the cinders, warming her pretty toes; her mother came and caught her, and scolded her little daughter, for spoiling her nice new clothes. the greedy little girl i knew a greedy little girl, who all day long did roar; whatever toys were given her, she always wanted more. five dolls she had--one was black, a ball and battledore, but held them all so very tight, the roar'd and scream'd for more. now this was wicked of the child, as everyone must own; so for the whole of one long day they shut her up alone. the girl who played with fire mamma, a little girl i met, had such a scar, i can't forget! all down her arms and neck and face; i could not bear to see the place. poor little girl! and don't you know the shocking trick that made her so? 'twas all because she went and did a thing her mother had forbid. for once, when nobody was by her, this silly child would play with fire; and long before her mother came, her pinafore was all in flame. in vain she tried to put it out, till all her clothes were burnt about; and then she suffer'd ten times more, all over with a dreadful sore. for many months before 'twas cured, both day and night the pain endured; and still you see, when passing by her, how sad it is to play with fire. little miss consequence little miss consequence strutted about, turned up her nose, pointed her toes, and thought herself quite a grand person, no doubt. gave herself airs; took many cares, to appear old; was haughty and cold. she spoke to the servants like a dog or a cat and fussed about this, and fussed about that. the vulgar little lady "but, mamma, now," said charlotte, "pray don't you believe that i'm better than jenny my nurse? only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; her clothes are a thousand times worse. "i ride in my coach, and have nothing to do. and the country folks stare at me so; and nobody dares to control me but you, because i'm a lady, you know. "then servants are vulgar and i am genteel; so, really, 'tis out of the way, to think that i should not be better a deal than maids, and such people as they." "gentility, charlotte," her mother replied, "belongs to no station or place; and nothing's so vulgar as folly and pride, though dressed in red slippers and lace. "not all the fine things that fine ladies possess should teach them the poor to despise; for 'tis in good manners, and not in good dress, that the truest gentility lies." [page 13--naughty girls] [illustration: girl who wouldn't be dressed.] [illustration: naughty, dirty girl.] peggy won't "i won't be dressed, i won't, i won't!" cried peggy one morn to mamma. "very well, dear," was quietly said, "i'll teach you how silly you are." peggy then frowned and set her lips expecting a kiss as of old, but mother had gravely walked away, and peggy was getting so cold. the minutes passed, and peggy sighed, for thoughts of her breakfast arose, and "mammy, dear," she loudly wept, while stamping her bare little toes. then mother came, and firmly said, "i'm taking you, dear, at your word; 'i won't be dressed--i won't, i won't!' has many times lately been heard. "so now to bed, my little maid, for you _will not_ be dressed to-day; then peggy will be taught to think before acting in such a way." oh, for the tears that peggy shed! but now every morn, i am told, a wee young maid is quietly dressed, and is always as good as gold. the shadows "mamma! i see something quite dark on the wall;- it moves up and down, and it looks very strange! sometimes it is large, and sometimes it is small; pray, tell me what it is, and why does it change?" "it is mamma's shadow that puzzles you so, and there is your own close beside it, my love! now run round the room, it will go where you go; it rests where you sit, when you rise it will move. "these wonderful shadows are caused by the light from fire and from candles upon us that falls; if we were not here, all that place would be bright, but light can't shine through us to lighten the wall. "and when you are out some fine day in the sun, i'll take you where shadows of apple-trees lie; and houses and cottages too- every one repose on their shadows beneath the bright sky. "now hold up your mouth, and give me a sweet kiss; our shadows kiss too!- don't you see it quite plain?" "o yes! and i thank you for telling me this, i'll not be afraid of a shadow again." mary lundie [illustration: girl in disgrace.] [illustration: another naughty girl.] [page 14--naughty girls] little bo-peep little bo-peep has lost her sheep, and can't tell where to find them; leave them alone, and they'll come home and bring their tails behind them. little bo-peep fell fast asleep, and dreamed she heard them bleating, but when she awoke, 'twas all a joke- alas! they still were fleeting. then up she took her little crook, determined for to find them; she found them, indeed, bit it made her heart bleed, they'd left their tails behind them. it happened one day, as bo-peep did stray over the meadows hard by, that there she espied their tails side by side, all hung on a tree to dry. she heaved a sigh, and gave by-and-by each careless sheep a banging; and as for the rest, she thought it was best just to leave their tails a-hanging. mary's little lamb mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that mary went that lamb it would not go; so mary took that little lamb and put it on the spit, and soon it was so nicely done she ate it every bit. pemmy pemmy was a pretty girl, but fanny was a better; pemmy look'd like any churl, when little fanny let her. pemmy had a pretty nose, but fanny had a better; pemmy oft would come to blows, but fanny would not let her. pemmy had a pretty song, but fanny had a better; pemmy would sing all day long, but fanny would not let her. little husband i had a little husband, no bigger than my thumb; i put him in a pint pot, and there i bid him drum. i bought a little horse, that galloped up and down; i bridled him, and saddled him, and sent him out of town. i gave him some garters, to garter up his hose, and a little handkerchief, to wipe his pretty nose. i'm governess now children dear, you all come near and do not make a noise; but listen here, just take and clear that desk of all those toys. for now i'm governess you'll find, that its myself will make you mind; so alice brown you do your sum, and betty snooks don't look so glum. and sarah white sit down at once, and susan black you are a dunce, and annie grey you needn't think i didn't see you spill the ink. and find your thimble maggie more, and mind your sewing jennie shore; and linda cole you know 'tis wrong to make a stitch two inches long. [illustration: i'm governess.] and you kate ross, stop pinching there, don't scratch! nor pull your sister's hair; and you, you naughty lucy moyes, must not be talking to the boys. and bridget mace don't make that face; and norah finn keep your tongue in. don't be a tom-boy emma pyke, you really must act lady-like. now i want all good children in my school, don't want a single dunce, bad girl or fool, so i will kindly ask you to be brave, and try to very, very well behave. yes all be good and learn your lessons well, and then i'll ring the little bell to tell that school is over for the day, and you can all run out to play. little governess little nellie nipkin, brisk, and clean, and neat, keeps a little baby-school in the village street; teaches little pupils all that she can find, and keeps a little birch that teaches them to mind. my mamma's maid dingty diddledy, my mamma's maid, she stole oranges, i'm afraid; some in her pockets, some in her sleeve, she stole oranges, i believe. my dolly i have a little doll, i take care of her clothes; she has soft flaxen hair, and her name is rose. she has pretty blue eyes, and a very small nose, and a funny little mouth, and her name is rose. tommy snooks as tommy snooks and bessy brooks were walking out one sunday, says tommy snooks to bessy brooks, "to-morrow will be monday." little betty blue little betty blue, lost her left shoe, what can little betty do? give her another, to match the other, and then she may walk in two. cross patch cross patch, draw the latch, sit by the fire and spin; take a cup, and drink it up, then call your neighbours in. jumping joan hinx, minx! the old witch winks, the fat begins to fry; there's nobody at home but jumping joan, father, mother, and i. princess lost her shoe doodle, doodle, doo, the princess lost her shoe; her highness hopp'd the fiddler stopp'd not knowing what to do. hobble gobble the girl in the lane that couldn't speak plain, cried "gobble, gobble, gobble;" the man on the hill that couldn't stand still, went "hobble, hobble, hobble." our girl's rabbits mary, kate, and maria went down as agreed, to the hutch in the garden, the rabbits to feed; there was the mother, a steady old bunny, moving her nose in a manner so funny. a young rabbit also, tho' seeming to dose, kept munching his breakfast and moving his nose; mary, kate, and maria gave the rabbits some food, and lovingly stroked them because they were good. [page 15--naughty girls] meddlesome matty one ugly trick has often spoiled the sweetest and the best; matilda, though a pleasant child, one ugly trick possessed, which, like a cloud before the skies, hid all her better qualities. sometimes she'd lift the teapot lid to peep at what was in it; or tilt the kettle, if you did but turn your back a minute. in vain you told her not to touch- her trick of meddling grew so much. her grandma went out one day, and by mistake she laid her spectacles and snuff-box gay too near the little maid; "ah! well," thought she, "i'll try them on, as soon as grandmamma is gone," forthwith she placed upon her nose the glasses large and wide; and looking round, as i suppose, the snuff box she too spied: "oh! what a pretty box is that; i'll open it." said little matt. "i know grandmamma would say, 'don't meddle with it, dear;' but then she's far enough away, and no one else is near; besides, what can there be amiss in opening such a box as this?" so thumb and finger went to work to move the stubborn lid; and presently a mighty jerk the mighty mischief did; for all at once, ah! woeful case, the snuff came puffing in her face. poor eyes, and nose, and mouth beside, a dismal sight presented; in vain, as bitterly she cried, her folly she repented. in vain she ran about for ease; she could do nothing now but sneeze. she dashed the spectacles away, to wipe her tingling eyes; and as in twenty bits they lay, her grandmamma she spies. "heyday! and what's the matter now?" says grandmamma, with lifted brow. matilda, smarting with the pain, and tingling still and sore, made many a promise to refrain from meddling evermore. and 'tis a fact, as i have heard, she ever since has kept her word. the girl who spilled the ink "oh! lucy! fanny! make haste here! mamma will be so vexed, i fear, for i've upset the ink! see, on my frock and pinafore, such great black stains! and there are more upon my socks, i think." and lucy cries, with open eyes, and hands extended in surprise, "oh, naughty mary ann, those stains can never be washed out; whatever have you been about? look at her, sister fan!" mamma comes in: "heyday! what's this? why, mary ann, i told you, miss, the inkstand ne'er to move; and little girls who won't obey, and mind each word their parents say, good people ne'er will love." the naughty girl a naughty girl had got no toy, and didn't know what to do, so she rumpled her frock and tore her sock, and tried to eat her shoe. the girl who was always tasting little miss baster, of sunnyside, was known as a taster, far and wide; picking and licking, spying and prying, each bottle and dish with her fingers trying. dangerous practice! dreadful little fact is! once almost poisoned, and very near dying. little miss baster, of sunnyside, has got some poison in paper tied; harmless she deems it, yes, she must taste, like sugar seems it, ah! but 'tis paste. rat's-bane, the mixture. oh! woe the day! run for the doctor, bid him not stay. dreadful her anguish--nearly she died, did little miss baster, of sunnyside. [illustration: children stealing jam.] children stealing jam four naughty little children thought some jam they'd try and steal; but see how nicely they were caught with a crash that made them squeal. their mother who was just next door, and heard the horrid noise, came in and shook those naughty girls, and whipped those naughty boys. sally, the lazy girl her sister would come to the bedside and call, "do you mean to sleep here all the day?" i saw kitty miles up two hours ago, a-washing and working away. "the water is boiling, the table is spread, your father is just at the door; if you are not quick, we shall eat all the bread, and you will not find any more." then sally sat up and half opened her eyes, and gave both a grunt and a groan; and yawning she said, in a quarrelsome voice, "i wish you would let me alone." but though she was lazy, she always could eat, and wished for a plentiful share, so tumbled her clothes on, and smeared her white face, forgetting her hands and her hair. her frock was all crumpled and twisted away, her hair was entangled and wild, her stockings were down and her shoes were untied, she looked a most slovenly child. she sauntered about till the old village clock had sounded and then died away, before she put on her torn bonnet and went to school without further delay. but soon as she came to the little cake shop, she loitered with lingering eyes, just wishing that she had a penny to spend, for one of the pretty jam pies. again she went on, and she loitered again in the same foolish way as before, and the clock in the school was just warning for ten, as she lifted the latch of the door. the governess frowned as she went to her place, she had often so spoken in vain, and now only said, with a sorrowful sigh, "there's sally the latest again!" she hated her reading, and never would write, she neither could cypher nor sew, and little girls whispered, "we never will be so silly as miss sally slow." girl who wouldn't comb her hair i tell you of a little girl, who would herself have been, as pretty a young lady as ever could be seen, but that about her little head she had no cleanly care. and never, never could be made to brush and comb her hair. she would have been a pretty child, but, oh! she was a fright- she looked just like a girl that's wild, yes, quite as ugly, quite; she looked just like a girl that's wild- a frightful ugly sight. the nasty, cross girls the school was closed one afternoon, and all the girls were gone; some walked away in company, and some walked on alone. some plucked the flowers upon the banks, some chatted very fast, and some were talking secretly, and whispered as you passed. and if, perchance, a girl came near, then one of these would say, "don't listen to our secrets, miss, you'll please to go away." as nelly white ran home from school, her work-bag in her hand, she chanced to pass near lucy bell, and her friend susan brand. "we don't want you," said lucy bell, "you little tiresome chit; our secrets are not meant for you, you little tell-tale-tit." then both girls cried, "tell-tale-tit," and pushed her roughly by; poor nelly said, "i'm no such thing," and then began to cry. [page 16--girl's stories] little red riding hood once upon a time there was a dear little girl whose mother made her a scarlet cloak with a hood to tie over her pretty head; so people called her (as a pet name) "little red riding-hood." one day her mother tied on her cloak and hood and said, "i wish you to go to-day, my darling, to see your grandmamma, and take her a present of some butter, fresh eggs, a pot of honey, and a little cake with my love." little red riding-hood loved her grandmother, and was very glad to go. so she ran gaily through the wood, gathering wild flowers and gambolling among the ferns as she went; and the birds all sang their sweetest songs to her, and the bluebells nodded their pretty heads, for everything loved the gentle child. by and by a great hungry wolf came up to her. he wished to eat her up, but as he heard the woodman hugh's axe at work close by, he was afraid to touch her, for fear she should cry out and he should get killed. so he only asked her where she was going. little red riding-hood innocently told him (for she did not know he was a wicked wolf) that she was going to visit her grandmother, who lived in a cottage on the other side of the wood. then the wolf made haste, and ran through the wood, and came to the cottage of which the child had told him. he tapped at the door. "who's there?" asked the old woman, who lay sick in bed. "it is little red riding-hood, grandmamma," answered the wolf in a squeaky tone, to imitate the voice of her grandchild. "pull the string, and the latch will come up," said the old lady, "for i am ill and cannot open the door." the cruel wolf did so, and, jumping on the bed, ate the poor grandmother up. then he put on her night-cap and got into bed. by and by little red riding-hood, who had lingered gathering flowers as she came along, and so was much later than the wolf, knocked at the door. "who's there?" asked the wolf, mimicking her grandmother's voice. "it is little red riding-hood, dear grandmamma," said the child. "pull the string and the latch will come up," said the wolf. so red riding-hood came in, and the wolf told her to put down her basket, and come and sit on the bed. when little red riding-hood drew back the curtain and saw the wolf, she began to be rather frightened and said, "dear grandmamma, what great eyes you have got!" "all the better to see you with, my dear," said the wolf, who liked a grim joke. "and what a large nose you have, grandmamma!" cried the child. "all the better to smell you with, my dear." "and, oh! grandmamma, what long white teeth you have!" alas! she reminded the greedy wolf of eating. "all the better to eat you with!" he growled; and, jumping out of bed, sprang at red riding-hood. but just at that moment hugh the woodman, who had seen the sweet child go by, and had followed her, because he knew there was a wolf prowling about the forest, burst the door open, and killed the wicked animal with his good axe. little red riding-hood clung round his neck and thanked him, and cried for joy; and hugh took her home to her mother; and after that she was never allowed to walk in the greenwood by herself. it was said at first that the wolf had eaten the child, but that was not the case; and everybody was glad to hear that the first report was not correct, and that the wolf had not really killed little red riding-hood. little miss jewel little miss jewel sat on a stool, eating of curds and whey; there came a little spider who sat down beside her, and frightened miss jewel away. little girl little girl, little girl, where have you been; gathering roses to give to the queen. little girl, little girl, what gave she you? she gave me a diamond as big as my shoe. little betty blue little betty blue lost her pretty shoe; what can little betty do? give her another, to match the other, and then she can walk in two. [illustration: i'm grandmamma.] i'm grandmamma last night when i was in bed, such fun it seemed to me; i dreamt that i was grandmamma, and grandmamma was me. but she was such a tiny girl, and dressed in baby clothes; and i thought i smacked her face, because she wouldn't blow her nose. an i went walking up the street, and she ran by my side; and because i walked too quick for her, my goodness, hoe she cried. and after tea i washed her face; and when her prayers were said, i blew the candle out, and left poor grandmamma in bed. the babes in the wood a long time ago there lived in an old mansion in the country a rich gentleman and his wife, who had two dear little children, of whom they were very fond. sad to relate, the gentleman and lady were both taken ill, and, feeling they were about to die, sent for the uncle of the children, and begged him to take care of them till they were old enough to inherit the estates. now this uncle was a bad and cruel man, who wanted to take the house, the estates, and the money for himself,--so after the death of the parents he began to think how he could best get rid of the children. for some time he kept them till he claimed for them all the goods that should have been theirs. at last he sent for two robbers, who had once been his companions, and showing them the boy and girl, who were at play, offered them a large sum of money to carry them away and never let him see them more. one of the two robbers began coaxing the little boy and girl, and asking them if they would not like to go out for a nice ride in the woods, each of them on a big horse. the boy said he should if his sister might go too, and the girl said she should not be afraid if her brother went with her. so the two robbers enticed them away from the house, and, mounting their horses, went off into the woods, much to the delight of the children, who were pleased with the great trees, the bright flowers, and the singing of the birds. now, one of these men was not so bad and cruel as the other, and he would not consent to kill the poor little creatures, as the other had threatened he would do. he said that they should be left in the woods to stray about, and perhaps they might then escape. this led to a great quarrel between the two, and at last the cruel one jumped off his horse, saying he would kill them, let who would stand in the way. upon this the other drew his sword to protect the children, and after a fierce fight succeeded in killing his companion. but though he had saved them from being murdered, he was afraid to take them back or convey them out of the wood, so he pointed out a path, telling them to walk straight on and he would come back to them when he had bought some bread for their supper; he rode away and left them there all alone, with only the trees, and birds and flowers. they loved each other so dearly, and were so bold and happy, that they were not much afraid though they were both very hungry. the two children soon got out of the path, which led into the thickest part of the wood, and then they wandered farther and farther into the thicket till they were both sadly tired, but they found some wild berries, nuts and fruits, and began to eat them to satisfy their hunger. the dark night came on and the robber did not return. they were cold, and still very hungry, and the boy went about looking for fresh fruit for his sister, and tried to comfort her as they lay down to sleep on the soft moss under the trees. the next day, and the next, they roamed about, but there was nothing to eat but wild fruits; and they lived on them till they grew so weak that they could not go far from the tree where they had made a little bed of grass and weeds. there they laid down as the shades of night fell upon them, and in the morning they were both in heaven, for they died there in the forest, and as the sun shone upon their little pale faces, the robins and other birds came and covered their bodies with leaves, and so died and were buried the poor babes in the wood. [page 17--girl's stories] cinderella cinderella's mother died while she was a very little child, leaving her to the care of her father and her step-sisters, who were very much older than herself; for cinderella's father had been twice married, and her mother was his second wife. now, cinderella's sisters did not love her, and were very unkind to her. as she grew older they made her work as a servant, and even sift the cinders: on which account they used to call her in mockery "cinderella." it was not her real name, but she became afterwards so well known by it that her proper one has been forgotten. she was a sweet tempered, good girl, however, and everybody except her cruel sisters loved her. it happened, when cinderella was about seventeen years old, that the king of that country gave a ball, to which all the ladies of the land, and among the rest the young girl's sisters were invited. so they made her dress them for this ball, but never thought of allowing her to go. "i wish you would take me to the ball with you, sisters," said cinderella, meekly. "take you, indeed!" answered the elder sister with a sneer, "it is no place for a cinder-sifter: stay at home and do your work." when they were gone, cinderella, whose heart was sad, sat down and cried; but as she sorrowful, thinking of the unkindness of her sisters, a voice called to her from the garden, and she went to see who was there. it was her godmother, a good old fairy. "do not cry, cinderella," she said; "you also shall go to the ball, because you are a kind, good girl. bring me a large pumpkin." cinderella obeyed, and the fairy touched it with her wand, turned it into a grand coach. then she turned a rat into a coach-man, and some mice into footmen; and touching cinderella with her wand, the poor girl's rags became a rich dress trimmed with costly lace and jewels, and her old shoes became a charming pair of glass slippers, which looked like diamonds. the fairy told her to go to the ball and enjoy herself, but to be sure and leave the ball-room before the clock struck eleven. "if you do not," she said, "your fine clothes will all turn to rags again. so cinderella got into the coach, and drove off with her six footmen behind, very splendid to behold, and arrived at the king's court, where she was received with delight. she was the most beautiful young lady at the ball, and the prince would dance with no one else. but she made haste to leave before the hour fixed and had time to undress before her sisters came home. they told her a beautiful princess had been at the ball, with whom the prince was delighted. they did not know it was cinderella herself. three times cinderella went to royal balls in this manner, but the third time she forgot the fairy's command, and heard eleven o'clock strike. she darted out of the ball-room and ran down stairs in a great hurry. but her dress all turned to rags before she left the palace and she lost one of her glass slippers. the prince sought for her everywhere, but the guard said no one had passed the gate but a poor beggar girl. however, the prince found the slipper, and in order to discover where cinderella was gone, he had it proclaimed that he would marry the lady who could put on the glass slipper. all the ladies tried to wear the glass slipper in vain, cinderella's sisters also, but when their young sister begged to be allowed to try it also, it was found to fit her exactly, and to the prince's delight, she drew the fellow slipper from her pocket, and he knew at once that she was his beautiful partner at the ball. so she was married to the prince, and the children strewed roses in their path as they came out of church. cinderella forgave her sisters, and was so kind to them that she made them truly sorry for their past cruelty and injustice. the three bears once upon a time three bears lived in a nice little house in a great forest. there was father bear, mother bear, and baby bear. they had each a bed to sleep in, a chair to sit on, and a basin and a spoon for eating porridge, which was their favourite food. one morning the three bears went to take a walk before breakfast; but before they went out they poured the hot porridge into their basins, that it might get cool by the time they came back. mr and mrs bear walked arm-in-arm, and baby bear ran by their side. now, there lived in that same forest a sweet little girl who was called golden hair. she, also, was walking that morning in the wood, and happening to pass by the bear's house, and seeing the window open, she peeped in. [illustration: the three bears.] there was no one to be seen, but three basins of steaming hot porridge all ready to be eaten, seemed to say "come in and have some breakfast." so golden hair went in and tasted the porridge in all the basins, then she sat down in baby bear's chair, and took up his spoon, and ate up all his porridge. now this was very wrong. a tiny bear is only a tiny bear, still he has the right to keep his own things. but golden hair didn't know any better. unluckily, baby bear's chair was too small for her, and she broke the seat and fell through, basin and all. then golden hair went upstairs, and there she saw three beds all in a row. golden hair lay down on father bear's bed first, but that was too long for her, then she lay down on mother bear's bed, and that was too wide for her, last of all she lay down on baby bear's bed, and there she fell asleep, for she was tired. by-and-by the bears came home, and old father bear looked at his chair, and growled: "somebody has been here!" mother bear growled more softly: "somebody has been here!" baby bear, seeing his chair broken, squeeled out "somebody has been here, and broken my chair right through!" then they went to the table, and looked at their porridge, and father bear growled: "who has touched my basin?" and mother bear growled: "who has touched my basin?" and baby bear squeaked: "somebody has broken mine and eaten up all my porridge!" they went upstairs and father bear growled: "who has been lying on my bed?" and mother bear growled: "who has been lying on my bed?" and baby bear squeaked out: "o! here is a little girl in my bed; and it must be she who has eaten my breakfast and broken my chair and basin!" then father bear growled: "let us eat her up!" then mother bear growled: "let us eat her up!" and tiny bear squeaked: "let us eat her up!" but the noise they made awoke golden hair; she startled out of bed (on the opposite side) and jumped out of the window. the three bears all jumped out after her, but they fell one on the top of the other, and rolled over and over, and while they were picking themselves up, little golden hair ran home, and they were not able to catch her. bluebeard once there lived in a lovely castle a very rich man called bluebeard. a short distance off lived an old gentleman with two lovely daughters, named fatima and annie. bluebeard visited their house, and at length proposed to fatima, was accepted by her, and they were married with great splendour. he took her home with him to his castle, and permitted her sister annie to reside with her for company for a time. she lived very happily in her new home, her new husband was very kind to her, and allowed her to have everything she wished for, but one day he suddenly told her that business called him away from home, that he should be away some days, and handed her the keys to his wardrobe, treasures, and all parts of the castle, he also gave her one key of a small closet, and told her that she might unlock every door in the castle, but not the closet door, for if she did so, she should not live an hour longer. he then left home fondly kissing her at the door. her sister and herself returned into the castle, and enjoyed themselves in unlocking room after room, looking over the curiosities, treasures, &c, until annie became tired and lay down to rest on a rich sofa, and fell asleep. fatima, as soon as she saw that her sister was asleep, felt a womanly curiosity, an irresistible temptation to unlock the forbidden closet, and take a peep. she tripped lightly up to the door, turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and, oh! horror! there were five or six dead ladies lying in the closet, with their marriage rings on their fingers. she at once concluded that they were bluebeard's previous wives, she let the key drop in her fright into the blood on the floor, she picked it up and attempted to wipe it, but the blood would not come off. she awoke her sister, and they both tried, but they could not get it off, and gave it up in despair. just then bluebeard suddenly returned, and asked his wife if she could please to hand him the keys. she trembling did so. he said "how came the blood on the closet key? you have disobeyed me, and shall die at once." she begged a few minutes to say her prayers and just as he was going to chop her head off, her two brothers arrived at the castle, burst open the door, killed the cruel wretch, and rescued their sisters. [page 18--girl land] [illustration: our three little belles.] my girl a little corner with it's crib. a little mug, a spoon, a bib, a little tooth so pearly white, a little rubber-ring to bite. a little plate all lettered round, a little rattle to resound, a little creeping--see! she stands! a little step 'twixt outstretched hands. a little doll with flaxen hair. a little willow rocking chair, a little dress of richest hue, a little pair of gaiters blue. a little school day after day, a little "schoolma'am" to obey, a little study--soon 'tis past- a little graduate at last. a little muff for wintry weather, a little jockey-hat and feather, a little sac with funny pockets, a little chain, a ring, and lockets. a little while to dance and bow, a little escort homeward now, a little party somewhat late, a little lingering at the gate. a little walk in leafy june, a little talk while shines the moon, a little reference to papa, a little planning with mamma. a little ceremony grave, a little struggle to be brave, a little cottage on the lawn, a little kiss--my girl was gone! good and bad there was a little girl, and she had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead when she was good she was very good, but when she was bad, she was horrible. my little daughter's shoes two little rough-worn, stubbed shoes a plump, well-trodden pair; with striped stockings thrust within, lie just beside my chair. of very homely fabric they, a hole is in each toe, they might have cost, when they were new, some fifty cents or so. and yet this little, worn-out pair is richer far too me than all the jewelled sandals are of eastern luxury. this mottled leather, cracked with use, is satin in my sight; these little tarnished buttons shine with all a diamond's light. search through the wardrobe of the world! you shall not find me there so rarely made, so richly wrought, so glorious a pair. and why? because they tell of her, now sound asleep above, whose form is moving beauty, and whose heart is beating love. they tell me of her merry laugh; her rich, whole-hearted glee; her gentleness, her innocence, and infant purity. they tell me that her wavering steps will long demand my aid; for the old road of human life is very roughly laid. high hills and swift descents abound; and, on so rude a way, feet that can wear these coverings would surely go astray. sweet little girl! be mine the task thy feeble steps to tend! to be thy guide, thy counsellor, thy playmate and thy friend! and when my steps shall faltering grow, and thine be firm and strong, thy strength shell lead my tottering age in cheerful peace along. the old cradle and this was your cradle? why, surely, my jenny, such slender dimensions go somewhat to show you were a delightfully small picaninny some nineteen or twenty short summers ago. your baby-day flowed in a much troubled channel; i see you as then in your impotent strife, a tight little bundle of wailing and flannel, perplexed with that newly-found fardel called life, to hint at an infantine frailty is scandal; let bygones be bygones- and somebody knows it was bliss such a baby to dance and to dandle, your cheeks were so velvet, so rosy your toes. ay, here is your cradle, and hope, a bright spirit, with love now is watching beside it, i know. they guard the small nest you yourself did inherit some nineteen or twenty short summers ago. it is hope gilds the future- love welcomes it smiling; thus wags this old world, therefore stay not to ask, "my future bids fair, is my future beguiling?" if masked, still it pleases- then raise not the mask. is life a poor coil some would gladly be doffing? he is riding post-haste who their wrongs will adjust; for at most 'tis a footstep from cradle to coffin- from a spoonful of pap to a mouthful of dust. then smile as your future is smiling, my jenny! tho' blossoms of promise are lost in the rose, i still see the face of my small picaninny unchang'd, for these cheeks are as blooming as those. ay, here is your cradle! much, much to my liking, though nineteen or twenty long winters have sped; but, hark! as i'm talking there's six o'clock striking, it is time jennie's baby should be in its bed. frederick locker a little goose the chill november day was done, the working world home a-faring, the wind came roaring through the streets, and set the gas lamps flaring. and hopelessly and aimlessly the seared old leaves were flying, when, mingled with the sighing wind, i heard a small voice crying, and shivering on the corner stood a child of four or over; no hat nor cloak her small soft arms or wind-blown curls to cover. her dimpled face was stained with tears; her round blue eyes ran over; she crushed within her wee, cold hands a bunch of faded clover. and one hand round her treasures, while she slipped in mine the other, half-scared, half-confidential, said "oh! please, i want my mother." "tell me your street name and number, pet; don't cry, i'll take you to it," sobbing, she answered, "i forget- the organ made me do it." "he came and played at miller's steps; the monkey took the money; and so i followed down the street, that monkey was so funny. i've walked about a _hundred hours_, from one street to another; the monkey's gone; i've spoiled my flowers: oh! please, i want my mother." "but what's your mother's name? and what's the street? now think a minute." "my mother's name is mamma dear, the street--i can't begin it." "but what is strange about the house, or new--not like the others?" i guess you mean my trundle bed- mine and my little brother's. oh! dear, i ought to be at home, to help him say his prayers; he's such a baby, he forgets, and we are both such players. "and there's a bar between, to keep from pitching on each other; for harry rolls when he's asleep- oh! dear, i want my mother." the sky grew stormy, people passed, all muffled, homeward faring; "you'll have to spend the night with me," i said at last, despairing. i spied a ribbon about her neck. "what ribbon's this, my blossom?" "why, don't you know?" she smiling asked, and drew it from her bosom. a card with number, street, and name! my eyes astonished, met it. "for," said the little one, "you see i might some tome forget it. and so i wear a little thing that tells you all about it; for mother says she's very sure i might get lost without it. eliza s. turner [page 19--girl land] [illustration: the playmates.] girls there's the pretty girl, and the witty girl, and the girl that bangs her hair; the girl that's a flirt, and the girl that is pert, and the girl with the baby stare. there's the dowdy girl, and the rowdy girl, and the girl that's always late; there's the girl of style, and the girl of wile, and the girl with the mincing gaits there's the tender girl, and the well-read girl, and the girl with the sense of duty there's the dainty girl and the fainty girl and the girl that has no beauty. there's the lazy girl, and the daisy girl, and the girl that has two faces; there's the girl that's shy, and the girl that's fly and the girl that bets on races there are many others, oh! men and brothers, than are named in this narration. there are girls _and_ girls, yet they're all of them pearls, quite the best sorts in creation. girl's names there is a strange deformity combined with countless graces, as often in the ladies' names, as in the ladies faces; some names fit for every age, some only fit for youth; some passing sweet and musical, some horribly uncouth; some fit for dames of loftiest grades, some only fit for scullery maids ann is too plain and common, and nancy sounds but ill; yet anna is endurable, and annie better still, there is a grace in charlotte, in eleanor a state, an elegance in isabel, a haughtiness in kate; and sarah is sedate and neat, and ellen innocent and sweet matilda has a sickly sound, fit for a nurse's trade; sophie is effeminate, and esther sage and staid; elizabeth's a matchless name, fit for a queen to wear in castle, cottage, hut, or hall- a name beyond compare; and bess, and bessie follow well, but betsy is detestable. maria is too forward, and gertrude is too gruff, yet, coupled with a pretty face, is pretty name enough' and adelaide is fanciful, and laura is too fine, but emily is beautiful, and mary is divine maud only suits a high-born dame, and fanny is a baby name eliza is not very choice, jane is too blunt and bold, and martha somewhat sorrowful, and lucy proud and cold; amelia is too light and gay, fit for only a flirt; and caroline is vain and shy, and flora smart and pert; louisa is too soft and sleek but alice--gentle, chaste and meek and harriet is confiding, and clara grave and mild. and emma is affectionate, and janet arch and wild! and patience is expressive, and grace is cold and rare, and hannah warm and dutiful, and margaret frank and fair and faith, and hope and charity are heavenly names for sisters three. sarah oh, sarah mine, hark to my song your slumbers soft invading. for here beneath your window-sill i come a-sarah-nading. you know my fond heart beats for you in tenderest adoration, and then, you know, i long to have you be my own sal-vation. the day's not far when you'll be mine- the thought makes my soul merry; you'll be the pride of all my life, but not my adver-sarey. the tender fates shall crown your lot, and sweet contentment parcel; and while you're just the world to me, love will be univer-sal. with bridal altar draped with flowers and everything so tony, in crowded church we will be wed with lots of sarah-money. there's nothing i'll not do for you till life comes to an end, dear. i'd brave the battles of the world and fight a sara-cen, dear. i must to sleep, sal, soda you, for here i must not dally, for that bull-dog i hear, like me, is bound to have a sally. several kinds of girls a good girl to have--sal vation. a disagreeable girl--anna mosity. a fighting girl--hittie magginn. not a christian girl--hettie rodoxy. a sweet girl--carrie mel. a pleasant girl--jennie rosity. a sick girl--sallie vate. a smooth girl--amelia ration. a seedy girl--cora ander. one of the best girls--ella gant. a clear case of girl--e. lucy date. a geometrical girl--rhoda dendron. a musical girl--sarah nade. a profound girl--mettie physics. a star girl--meta oric. a clinging girl--jessie mine. a nervous girl--hester ical. a muscular girl--callie sthenici. a lively girl--anna mation. an uncertain girl--eva nescent. a sad girl--ella g. a serene girl--molly fy. a great big girl--ella phant. a warlike girl--millie tary. the best girl of all--your own. [illustration: puzzle, where are the cats?] [page 20--girl land] [illustration: jumping jennie.] jumping-jennie jennie has a jumping-rope as slender as a whip. and all about the street and house she'd skip, and skip, and skip. she knocked the vases from the shelf, upset the stools and chairs, and one unlucky day, alas! went headlong down the stairs. against the wall, against the door her head she often bumped, and stumbled here, and stumbled there, yet still she jumped, and jumped. she jumped so high, she jumped so hard, that--so the story goes- she wore her shoes and stockings out, likewise her heels and toes. i don't care matilda was a pretty girl, and she had flaxen hair; and yet she used those naughty words "i'm sure i do not care." she once her lessons would not learn, but talk'd about the fair, and lost her tickets, but she said, "i'm sure i do not care." as she advanced to riper years, i'm sorry to declare, she still preserved those naughty words, "i'm sure i do not care." she grew a woman, and for life 'twas time she should prepare, but still she said "there's time enough, if not, i do not care." duties neglected, warnings spurn'd, her mother in despair; and though she saw the evil done, she said, "i do not care." still on she went from bad to worse, she spurned her father's prayer; who feared she'd find an awful end, because she would not care. afflictions came, and death in view, which filled her with despair; her god neglected, and she feared for her he would not care. could you have then matilda seen, or heard her broken prayer, she urged her friends never to use those awful words--don't care. little miss meddlesome little miss meddlesome scattering crumbs, into the library noisily comes- twirls off her apron, tilts open some books, and into a work-basket rummaging, looks. out goes the spools spinning over the floor, beeswax and needle-case stepped out before; she tosses the tape-rule and plays with the floss, and says to herself, "now won't mamma be cross!" little miss meddlesome climbs to the shelf, since no-one is looking, and mischievous elf, pulls down the fine vases, the cuckoo-clock stops, and sprinkles the carpet with damaging drops. she turns over the ottoman, frightens the bird, and sees that the chairs in a medley are stirred; then creeps on the sofa, and, all in a heap, drops out of her frolicsome mischief asleep. but here comes the nurse, who is shaking her head, and frowns at the mischief asleep on her bed. but let's hope when miss meddlesome's slumber is o'er, she may wake from good dreams and do mischief no more. careless matilda "again, matilda, is your work astray, your thimble is gone! your scissors, where are they? your needles, pins, your thread, and tapes all lost- your housewife here, and there your work-bag tost. fie, fie, my child! indeed this will not do, your hair uncomb'd, your frock in tatters too; i'm now resolv'd no more delays to grant, this day i'll send you to your stern old aunt." in vain matilda wept, repented, pray'd, in vain a promise of amendment made. arriv'd at austere hall, matilda sigh'd. by lady rigid, when severely eyed. "you read, and write, and work well, as i'm told, are gentle, kind, good-natur'd, far from bold. but very careless, negligent, and wild- when you leave me, you'll be a different child." the little girl next morn a favour asks: "i wish to take a walk," "go learn your tasks," the lady harsh replies, "nor cry nor whine. your room you leave not till you're call'd to dine." as thus matilda sat, o'erwhelm'd with shame, a dame appear'd, disorder was her name. her hair and dress neglected, soil'd her face, she squinted leer'd, and hobbled in her pace. "here, child," she said, "my mistress sends you this, a bag of silks- a flow'r not work'd amiss- a polyanthus bright, and wondrous gay; you'll copy it by noon, she bade me say." disorder grinn'd, then shuffling walk'd away. entangled were the silks of every hue, confus'd and mix'd were shades of pink, green, blue; she took a thread, compar'd it with the flow'r; "to finish this is not within my pow'r. well-order'd silks had lady rigid sent, i might have work'd, if such was her intent." she sigh'd, and melted into sobs and tears, she hears a noise and at the door appears a pretty maiden, clean, well-dress'd, and neat her voice was soft, her looks sedate, yet sweet. "my name is order, do not cry my love; attend to me, and thus you may improve." she took the silks, and drew out shade for shade, in sep'rate skeins, each hue with care she laid; then smiling kindly, left the little maid. matilda now resumed her sweet employ, and sees the flow'r complete- how great her joy. she leaves the room, "i've done my task," she cries. but soon her harshness the lady look'd with disbelieving eyes, chang'd to glad surprise. "why this is well! a very pretty flow'r, work'd clean, exact, and done within the hour! and now amuse yourself, ride, walk or play." thus passed matilda this much-dreaded day. at all her tasks disorder would attend at all her tasks still order stood her friend. with tears and sighs her studies oft began, these into smiles were changed by order's plan; no longer lady rigid seem'd severe, her looks the negligent alone need fear. and when the day the wish'd-for day is come when young matilda's suffer'd to go home: "you quit me, child, but oft to mind recall the time you spent with me at austere hall. and now, my dear, i'll give you one of these, your servant she will be; take which you please." "from me," disorder asked, "old friend, why start?" matilda clasped sweet order to her heart. "my dearest girl," she cried, "we'll never part." [page 21--girl land] [illustration: 40 girls in hats.] forty little school girls forty little school girls, running, but not flirty; ten ran into cole's book arcade, and then there were but thirty. thirty little school girls swimming the river plenty; ten swam into cole's book arcade, and then there were but twenty. twenty little school girls jumping in velveteen; one jumped into cole's book arcade, and then there were nineteen. nineteen little school girls going out a-skating; one skated into cole's book arcade, and then there were but eighteen. eighteen little school girls dancing with the queen; one danced into cole's book arcade, and then there were seventeen. seventeen little school girls driving a bullock team; one drove into cole's book arcade, and then there were sixteen. sixteen little school girls creeping out unseen; one crept into cole's book arcade, and then there were fifteen. fifteen little school girls hopping on the green; one hopped into cole's book arcade, and then there were fourteen. fourteen little schoolgirls floating down a stream; one floated into cole's book arcade, and then there were thirteen. thirteen little school girls leaping out to delve; one leaped into cole's book arcade, and then there were but twelve. twelve little school girls racing out for leaven; one raced into cole's book arcade, and then there were eleven. eleven little school girls dodging a lion when- one dodged into cole's book arcade, and then there were but ten. ten little school girls, all skipping in a line; one skipped into cole's book arcade, and then there were but nine. nine little school girls swinging on a gate; one swung into cole's book arcade, and then there were but eight. eight little school girls, trying to fly to heaven; one flew into cole's book arcade, and then there were but seven. seven little school girls tripping out for sticks; one tripped into cole's book arcade, and then there were but six. six little school girls, going for a dive; one dived into cole's book arcade, and then there were but five. five little school girls, sailing to explore; one sailed into cole's book arcade, and then there were but four. four little school girls steaming on the sea; one steamed into cole's book arcade, and then there were but three. three little school girls, riding on a moo; one rode into cole's book arcade, and then there were but two. two little school girls, sliding about for fun; one slid into cole's book arcade, and then there was but one. one little school girl, the nicest, last and best, she walked into cole's book arcade, and read books with all the rest. the following is the way that each girl went into cole's book arcade: ada ran into it. agnes ran into it. alice ran into it. amy ran into it. annie ran into it. angelina ran into it. bessie ran into it. bridget ran into it. carrie ran into it. clara ran into it. edith swam into it. eliza swam into it. emily swam into it. emma swam into it. fanny swam into it. florence swam into it. hannah swam into it. harriet swam into it. jane swam into it. jessie swam into it. kate jumped into it. lillie skated into it. lizzie danced into it. lottie drove into it. louisa crept into it. lucy hopped into it. mary floated into it. martha leaped into it. matilda raced into it. maggie dodged into it. maria skipped into it. mabel swung into it. maude flew into it. may tripped into it. minnie dived into it. nellie sailed into it. olive steamed into it. rose rode into it. sarah slid into it. tottie walked into it. n.b.--any little girl is invited to walk, run, jump, dance, skip, hop, swim, fly, or come into cole's book arcade in any way she chooses, the same as the forty little school girls. story of the funny monkeys once there was a funny old monkey--and this old monkey had six young monkeys. there was one white monkey, and one black monkey, and one yellow monkey, and one red monkey, and one blue monkey, and one green monkey; and the white monkey's name was linda, and the black monkey's name was eddie, and the yellow monkey's name was vally, and the red monkey's name was ruby, and the blue monkey's name was pearl, and the green monkey's name was ivy diamond. and the white monkey liked apples, and the black monkey liked grapes, and the yellow monkey liked cherries, and the red monkey liked strawberries, and the blue monkey liked oranges, and the green monkey liked nuts, and that's all about these funny monkeys. the names of any children can be told in this story instead of linda, eddie, vally, ruby, pearl, and diamond. [page 22--girl land] [illustration: tangle pate.] tangle pate there was a girl, named tanglepate, she lived--i won't say where- who was not willing any one should comb or curl her hair. she cried and made a dreadful fuss, at morning, noon, or night, and did not seem at all ashamed of looking like a fright. her hair stood out around her head just like a lion's mane, and she was scolded, coaxed, and teased about it--but in vain. it caught on buttons, hooks, and boughs as here and there she rushed, and yet she would not consent to have it combed or brushed. and so she fell asleep one day within the woods, and there two birdies came and built a nest amid her tangled hair. a careless girl i know a very careless girl, her hair is always out of curl, in rags and tatters are her clothes, and she's a fright, you may suppose. her skirts she catches on a nail, and leaves behind and ugly trail; her sashes always are untied, her dresses always gaping wide. 'tis her delight to tear and rend, she does not like to patch or mend, and 'tis no wonder that she goes so out at elbows and at toes. naughty girl the naughty girl never minds mamma, always says, "i won't!" to dear papa! makes a great deal of noise about the house. when her mother wants her as still as a mouse. she pinches the cat, she pulls her tail; and takes the bird-cage down from the nail; teases her brothers, and spoils her hair, and reproved says, "i don't care!" she worries poor grandma, makes baby cry; she cannot please him, and i know why:- she lets him lie in the crib and moan, while she is amusing herself alone. at school she forgets what the teacher said, sits idly leaning her hands on her head; she never learns the task that's given, and cannot tell even seven times seven. at table she's careless, and spills her drink, can never be taught to "stop and think;" gets down from the table and goes to play, to do the same over another day. mopy maria mopy maria would sit by the fire, it seemed to be her greatest desire; bent and bowed as if wrapped in a shroud, and her face as black as a thunder-cloud. she filled the room so full of gloom, the place was as dismal as a tomb; and few would admire her, or desire to spend much time with mopy maria, she moped and pined yet no-one could find that any trouble disturbed her mind; nor reasons good why she should brood an such a ridiculous attitude. it wasn't her style to laugh and smile she didn't think it was worth her while; so dull and flat she daily sat like a chinese idol, or worse than that, if the children came to propose a game of any sort, it was all the same; she wouldn't play, she wouldn't be gay, but sat and pouted the livelong day. her face grew thin; and at length her chin grew long and sharp; oh! as sharp as a pin! and one windy day she blew away like a great big kite that had gone astray. the winds were high, and she had to fly away at their bidding; it made her cry; but she couldn't get higher than the tall church spire, so there she stuck- poor mopy maria! disobedient may naughty may will not obey, but will always have her way every moment of the day. if you say do this, or that, she will be amazed thereat, show her claws like any cat. o she is a naughty child! very fond of running wild, never gentle, meek, or mild. some fine day, i don't know when- she'll be popp'd in piggy's pen, and be most unhappy then. pigs are stubborn things indeed, will not go as you would lead, never words of counsel heed. and pig-headed folks are they who will always have their way, spite of anything you say. sluttishness oh! mary, my mary, why, where is your dolly? look here, i protest, on the floor: to leave her about in the dirt so is folly, you ought to be trusted no more. i thought you were pleas'd. and receiv'd her quite gladly, when on your birthday she came home; did i ever suppose you would use her so sadly, and strew her things over the room? her bonnet of straw you once thought a great matter, and tied it so pretty and neat; now see how 'tis crumpled, no trencher is flatter, it grieves your mamma thus to see't. suppose (you're my dolly, you know, little daughter, whom i love to dress neat, and see good), suppose in my care of you, i were to falter, and let you get dirty and rude! but dolly's mere wood, you are flesh and bone living, and deserves better treatment and care; that is true, my sweet girl, 'tis the reason i'm giving this lesson so sharp and severe. 'tis not for the dolly i'm anxious and fearful, tho' she cost too much to be spoil'd; i'm afraid lest yourself should get sluttish, not careful, and that were a sad thing, my child. jane, who bit her nails when i was living down in wales, i knew a girl who bit her nails; her finger-ends became so sore, the blood flowed from them to the floor. the more she bit the more they bled, until upon herself she fed; and as she nibbled day by day, the fingers slowly wore away. see, here she is: she sadly stands with only stumps instead of hands; the silly girl can never play, yet she was cautioned every day. her father said, "you naughty thing, some wooden fingers i must bring, and try to get them fastened to your hands with little bits of glue." poking fun when little lizzie came across a birdie, or a chick, a duckling, or a gosling, she would poke it with a stick. she chased the dog, she chased the cat, but when she saw a mouse she gave a scream so very loud it echoed through the house. she poked the turtles and the frogs and thought it was fine fun, but when the geese poked out their necks at her, she had to run. one day she chanced to find a hive with not a bee about, and said, "is any one at home? "i'll very soon find out!" and so she did. as soon as she had poked her stick inside, the bees flew out and stung her so she very nearly died. [page 23--girl land] the pin "dear me! what signifies a pin, wedg'd in a rotten board? i'm certain that i won't begin, at ten years old, to hoard! i never will be called a miser; that i'm determined," said eliza. so onward tripped the little maid, and left the pin behind, which very snug and quiet lay, to its hard fate resign'd; nor did she think (a careless chit) 'twas worth her while to stoop for it. next day a party was to ride to see an air balloon; and all the company beside were dressed and ready soon: but she a woful case was in, for want of just a single pin. in vain her eager eyes she brings to ev'ry darksome crack, there was not one! and yet her things were dropping off her back. she cut her pincushion in two, but no, not one had slidden through. at last, as hunting on the floor, over a crack she lay, the carriage rattled to the door, then rattled fast away: but poor eliza was not in, for want of just a single pin. there's hardly anything so small, so trifling or so mean, that we may never want at all, for service unforseen; and wilful waste, depend upon't brings, almost always, woful want! ann taylor stupid jane oh! she was such a stupid jane, they tried in vain to make things plain, but she would ask and ask again, as if there wasn't any brain inside the head of stupid jane. if she was set to do a task, so many questions she would ask, 'twas easier far her teachers said to do the work themselves instead, than try to make her understand the lesson she had in hand. if on an errand told to go, and cautioned to do thus and so, turn here and there along the way, oh! jane was sure to go astray; for she hade such a crooked pate, she could not do an errand straight. she did not care for books or toys, she could not play with girls or boys; because so oft she blocked their games, they used to call her dreadful names, and in loud, angry tones complain, "oh, what a horrid, stupid jane!" brought to the parlour nicely drest to be presented to a guest, with finger in her mouth she'd stand and stare about on every hand, nor answer by a single word, nor even act as if she heard. oh! she was such a stupid jane, they tried in vain to make things plain, but she would ask and ask again, as if there wasn't any brain inside the head of stupid jane. little girl who wouldn't eat crusts the awfullest times that ever could be they had with a bad little girl of dundee, who never would finish her crust in vain they besought her, and patiently taught her and told her she must. her grandma would coax, and so would the folks, and tell her the sinning of such a beginning. but no, she wouldn't. she couldn't, she shouldn't, she'd have them to know- so they might as well go. and what do you think came to pass? this little girl of dundee, alas! who wouldn't take crusts the regular way, sat down to a feast one summer's day; and what did the people that little girl give? why, a dish of bread pudding--as sure as i live! pouting polly polly was a little girl, pretty as a posy; rather straight, and rather tall; very round and rosy. other little girls and boys always were delighted, so if to pretty polly's house they had been invited. there they'd romp, and have great fun, frolicking and shouting; but alas! they soon would find pretty polly pouting! what had any one done? how had they displeased her? was she sad or mad because johnny dean had teased her? why are you so cross and glum when the rest are jolly? with your under-lip thrust out, tell us, pouting polly! polly loves to have her way; ah! no one can doubt it; and whenever she's displeased she will pout about it. such a funny under-lip! you would like to grab it, so that little polly might break this naughty habit. in the house or out-of-doors, little polly horner you will find a dozen times pouting in a corner. once, when in the garden she stood thus melancholy, on her under-lip a bee stung miss pouting polly. then she danced, and then she screamed; people heard her yelling half-a-mile or more away, while her lip was swelling. oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled, like a great big blister, and the pain was very great where the bee had kissed her. many days she kept her bed; and there is no doubting that the sorry little maid had her fill of pouting. for the buzzing busy-bee cured her of her folly; and the remedy will cure any pouting polly. untidy emily oh, here's a sad picture! pray carefully look! as sad as was ever yet seen in a book. 'tis emily's portrait: not at all flattered. slovenly, dirty, untidy, and tattered. her mother implores her, again and again, to make herself tidy; but all is in vain. her trimmings are torn; there's a hole in her dress; another, still larger; her shoes in a mess; stockings down, buttons missing; shabby old hat, not for worlds would i wear it, battered and flat. her mother does nothing but patch, darn and mend, till, saddened and weary, she says, "this must end. "all, all is in vain. and now, happen what may, i can do nothing more; so go your own way." a terrible thing very soon now befell, oh, horror! i shudder the story to tell. this girl ran quite wild; till at last she became all tatters and rags, with no feeling of shame. a man, who was passing, then took her one day, and in his field placed her, to scare birds away. she is still standing there; stands there day and night. the sparrows fly round her, and cry in affright: "look at this dreadful thing! take care now, take care! beware of the scarecrow! beware, now, beware!" [illustration: untidy emily.] [page 24--girl land] [illustration: my five sisters.] maidenhood maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, in whose orbs a shadow lies, like a dusk in evening skies! thou, whose locks outshine the sun, golden tresses, wreathed in one, as the braided streamlets run! standing, with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet! womanhood and childhood fleet! gazing, with a timid glance, on the brooklet's swift advance, on the river's broad expanse! deep and still, that gliding stream beautiful to thee must seem, as the river of a dream. then why pause with indecision, when bright angels in thy vision beckon thee to fields of elysian? seest thou shadows sailing by, as the dove, with startled eye, sees the falcon's shadow fly? hearest thou voices on the shore, that our ears perceive no more, deafen'd by the cataract's roar? o, thou child of many prayers! life hath quicksands--life hath snares! care and age come unawares! like the swell of some sweet tune, morning rises into noon, may glides onward into june childhood is the bough where slumber'd birds and blossoms many-number'd- age, that bough with snows encumber'd gather, then each flower that grows, when the young heart overflows, to embalm that tent of snows bear a lily in thy hand; gates of brass cannot withstand one touch of that magic wand bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, in thy heart the dew of youth, on thy lips the smile of truth. oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal into wounds, that cannot heal, even as sleep our eyes doth seal: and that smile, like sunshine, dart into many a sunless heart, for a smile of god thou art. longfellow girls that are in demand the girls that are wanted are good girls- good from the heart to the lips; pure as the lily is white and pure, from it's heart to its sweet leaf tips. the girls that are wanted are home girls- girls that are a mother's right hand, that fathers and brothers can trust to, and the little ones understand. the girls that are fair on the hearthstone, and pleasant when nobody sees; kind and sweet to their own folks, ready and anxious to please. the girls that are wanted are wise girls, that know what to do and to say; that drive with a smile and soft word the wrath of the household away. the girls that are wanted are girls of sense, whom fashion can never deceive; who can follow whatever is pretty, and dare what is silly to leave. the girls that are wanted are careful girls, who count what a thing will cost. who use with a prudent generous hand, but see that nothing is lost. the girls that are wanted are girls with hearts, they are wanted for mothers and wives, wanted to cradle in loving arms the strongest and frailest lives. the clever, the witty, the brilliant girl, there are few who can understand, but, oh! for the wise, loving home girls there's a constant steady demand. girl's names francis, is "unrestrained and free;" bertha, "pellucid, purely bright;" clara, "clear" as the crystal sea; lucy, a star of radiant "light;" catherine, is "pure" as mountain air; barbara, cometh "from afar;" mabel, is "like a lily fair;" henrietta, a soft, sweet "star;" felicia, is a "happy girl;" matilda, is a "lady true;" margaret, is a shining "pearl;" rebecca, "with the faithful few;" susan, is a "lily white;" jane has the "willow's" curve and grace; cecilia, dear, is "dim of sight;" sophia, shows "wisdom" on her face; constance, is firm and "resolute;" grace, a delicious "favour meet;" charlotte, "noble, of good repute;" harriet, a fine "odour sweet;" isabella, is "a lady rare;" lucinda, "constant" as the day; maria, means a "lady fair;" abigail, "joyful as the may;" elizabeth, "an oath of trust;" adeline, "nice princess, proud;" agatha, "is truly good and just;" leila, "a joy of love avowed;" jemima, "a soft sound in air;" caroline, "a sweet spirit, hale;" cornelia, "harmonious and fair;" selina, "a sweet nightingale;" lydia, "a refreshing well;" judith, "a song of sacred praise;" julia, "a jewel none excel;" priscilla, "ancient of days." kate there's something in the name of kate which many will condemn; but listen now while i relate the traits of some of them. there's deli-kate, a modest dame, she's worthy of your love! she's nice and beautiful a flame, and gentle as a dove, communi-kate's intelligent, as we may well suppose; her fruitful mind is ever bent on telling all she knows. there's intri-kate, she's so obscure 'tis hard to find her out; for she is often very sure to put your wits to rout. prevari-kate's a surly maid, she's sure to have her way; the cavilling, contrary jade, objects to all you say. there's alter-kate, a perfect pest; much given to dispute; her prattling tongue can never rest, you cannot her refute. then dislo-kate, is quite a fret, who fails to gain her point; her case is quite unfortunate and sorely out of joint. equivo-kate no one will woo- the thing would be absurd. she is so faithless and untrue, you cannot take her word. there's vindi-kate, she's good and true, and strives with all her might her duty faithfully to do and battles for the right. there's rusti-kate, a country lass, quite fond of rural scenes; she likes to ramble through the grass and through the evergreens. of all the maidens you can find, there's none like edu-kate; because she elevates the mind and aims at something great. [illustration: my five cousins.] [page 25--girl land] [illustration: electro-micro scolding machine.] coles electro-micro scolding machine for scolding naughty girls cole's electro-micro scolding machine is a combination of three instruments, the phonograph, the microphone, and the wonderphone. the phonograph is an instrument that will preserve words for any length of time. any person can speak, sing, whistle, or scold into a phonograph, and months or years afterwards by simply turning a handle the same sounds can be reproduced a dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times in the exact voice of the person who spoke them in; so that if a man or a woman, who is a great scold, speak some good, loud, severe scolding into a phonograph, the mildest teacher can then scold her pupils, or the kindest mother her children, just by turning the handle. the microphone is an instrument that magnifies sound in the same way as a microscope magnifies objects; a very powerful microphone magnifies the sound of a fly walking into a loud tramping footstep, the tick of a watch into a deafening clatter, and a whisper into a loud shout. take a microphone, then properly affix it to the phonograph described above, and you have a good scolding machine; turn the handle, and as the phonograph gives out the scoldings, the microphone part magnifies them so loudly that they are heard for a considerable distance. the wonderphone (cole's own secret) is another remarkable instrument; it will cause sound to travel very distinctly, but frightfully and equally loud, for forty miles in all directions; by attaching this powerful instrument to the combination of the other two, cole's electro-micro scolding machine is formed--and which is the first scolding machine ever invented. if the machine is already _charged_ by having had some scolding spoken, or even whispered into it, give the handle a turn, and forty miles to the east, forty miles to the west, forty to the north, forty to the south, forty up in the sky, and down in the mines forty miles deep, in fact forty miles in every direction, everybody can clearly hear every word being said to the girl being scolded. suppose for instance, hannah maria smith had done something wrong in school, the schoolmistress could give the handle of the machine a turn, and it would scold her so loudly that her mother, and father, and brothers, and sisters, and uncles, and aunts, and friends, and those she didn't like would all hear her scolded. the machine can be charged on the instant by anyone scolding into it. in fact the whole value of cole's scolding machine lies in its power to repeat out exceedingly loud whatever is spoken into it. if the schoolmistress chooses she can put the scolding into verse, so that all who hear it in the forty miles around, can more easily remember it. the machine that i have before me now, was charged this morning for an aristocratic school and speaks as follows:--silence!! attention!!! ada alice arabella angelina andal, why do you talk for ever, such a tittle-tattling scandal? betsy bertha bridget belinda bowing, will you be quiet and go on with your sewing? cora caroline christina clarinda clare, now do look in the glass at your untidy hair. dorah dinah dorothy dorinda dresson, you really must get on with your short drawing lesson. edith ellen evelina elizabeth eadle, this makes this day your nineteenth broken needle. fanny florence frederica florinda flynn, how cruel of you to prick jane with a pin. grace gertrude genevieve georgina grimble, you careless girl to lose your silver thimble. hilda hanna harriet henrietta hawker, you really are a most inveterate talker. ida izod irene isabella inching, you spiteful--stop that scratching and pinching. jane julia josephine jemima jesson, sit down at once and learn your music lesson. kate kester katrina kathleen kent, you're vulgar, saucy, rude and insolent. lizzie letitia lucretia lorinda loeries, you're the champion of the world for telling stories. maud mary martha matilda moyes, sends letters to, and flirts with, naughty boys. nancy nelly ninette naomi nations, shame of you to talk 'gainst other girls' relations. olive osberta orphelia octavia o'dyke, your conduct is outrageous and unladylike. polly patience prudence paulina pitt, you really are our champion tell-tale-tit. quilla quintina quinburga quendrida quirk, how very, very, dirty you have made your fancy-work. rose ruth rachel rebecca ritting, now stop that crying and get on with your knitting. sarah sophia selina susannah stacies, don't spoil your face by making those grimaces. tilda theresa tabitha theodora tapping, you'd gain the prize if one was given for slapping. una ursula urica urania urls, you'd gain the prize for teasing little girls. venus violet victoria veronica vo-shi, just learn your task and put away that crochet. wilmett walberg winefride wilhelmina wriggling, now once for all do stop that stupid giggling. xenodice xanthippe xanthisa xenophona x-cess, you think and talk of nothing else but dress! dress! yana yulga yapeena yestina young, will you behave yourself and just draw in your tongue. and lastly and worst of all, you, zoe zora zillah zenobia zeen, how dare you! how dare you!! yes, how dare you!!! sneer at the boy's new whipping machine. notice to the public if a schoolmistress chooses to live a hundred or a thousand miles away from her school, she can use the scolding machine by means of a _telephone_ attached thereto. one great advantage of the electro-micro scolding machine is, that after it has been in use a short time the girls will all have been shamed into good behaviour; but the machine will not become useless, as it can, without a farthing outlay, be turned into a praising machine, for it can be made to praise in a gentle voice as well as scold in a harsh one. in fact, as said above it will repeat in exact tones, anything that is recited, preached, sung, whistled, whispered, shouted, scolded or praised into it--and any of which will be heard for forty miles around. cole can supply scolding machines from £5 to £50. a very good one (the excelsior), price £10, can be charged in one minute, and set going like a musical box, and will sing, whistle, recite, preach, or scold away for a full hour without stopping. cole would particularly recommend this one to the ladies, it would make a fine ornament for their own table. final notice extraordinary--if the champion male scold of the world, and the champion female scold of the world, will call on professor cole, at the book arcade, melbourne, he will give them both good wages, and find them constant employment at charging scolding machines. if any wife has got the champion male scold for a husband, she will please to let me know. if any husband has got the champion female scold for a wife, he will please to let me know--£10 bonus for information in each case. e.w. cole [page 26--good girls] jenny lee an orphan child was jenny lee; her father, he was dead. and very hard her mother worked; to get the children bread. in winter time, she often rose long ere the day was light, and left her orphan family, till dark again at night. and she would always say to jane, before she went away; "be sure you mind the little ones, and don't go out to play. "keep baby quiet in his bed, as long as he will lie; then take him up, and dance him well, don't leave him there to cry. "and don't let little christopher, get down into the street, for fear he meets an accident beneath the horse's feet. "and mind about the fire, child, and keep a tidy floor; we never need be dirty, jane, although we may be poor. "good-by my precious comforter, for all the neighbours say, that i can trust my little maid, whenever i'm away." then jenny she was quite as proud as england's noble queen, and she resolved to do the work, and keep the dwelling clean. she did not stop to waste her time, but very brisk was she, and worked as hard and cheerfully as any busy bee. if down upon the cottage floor her little brother fell, she stroked the places tenderly, and kissed and made them well. and when the little babe was cross, as little babes will be, she nursed and danced it merrily, and fed it on her knee. but when they both were safe in bed, she neatly swept the hearth, and waited until her mother's step came sounding up the path. then open flew the cottage door, the weary mother smiled. "ah! jenny dear, what should i do, without my precious child!" work before play "mother has sent me to the well, to fetch a jug of water, and i am very glad to be a useful little daughter; that's why i cannot play with you and mary ann to-day. "some afternoon i'll come with you, and make you wreaths and posies; i know a place where blue-bells grow, and daisies and primroses; but not to-day, for i must go and help my mother, dears, you know. "she says, that i am nearly eight, so i can fill the kettle, and sweep the room and clean the grate, and even scrub a little; oh! i'm so very glad to be a little useful girl, you see. "so johnny, do not ask to-day- perhaps i'll come to morrow; but you'd not wish me now to stay, and give my mother sorrow. when she can spare me, she will say, 'now, susan, you may go and play.'" [illustration: lucy gray and father.] lucy gray oft i had heard of lucy gray; and, when i crossed the wild, i managed to see at break of day the solitary child. no mate, no comrade lucy knew; she dwelt on a wide moor,- the sweetest thing that ever grew besides a human door! you yet may spy the fawn at play, the hare upon the green; but the sweet face of lucy gray will never more be seen. "to-night will be a stormy night- you to the town must go; and take a lantern, child, to light your mother through the snow." "that, father, will i gladly do! 'tis scarcely afternoon- the minster-clock has just struck two, and yonder is the moon." at this the father raised his book and snapped a faggot band; he piled his work,--and lucy took the lantern in her hand. not blither is the mountain roe; with many a wanton stroke her feet disperse the powdery snow, that rises up like smoke. the storm came on before it's time; she wandered up and down; and many a hill did lucy climb, but never reached the town. the wretched parents all that night went shouting far and wide, but there was neither sound or sight to serve them for a guide. at day-break on a hill they stood that overlooked the moor; and thence they saw the bridge of wood a furlong from their door. and, turning homeward, now they cried "in heaven we shall meet!" when in the snow the mother spied the print of lucy's feet. then downwards from the steep hill's edge they tracked the footmarks small; and through the broken hawthorn edge, and by the long stone wall. and then an open field they crossed- the marks were still the same; they tracked them on, nor ever lost; and to the bridge they came. they followed from the snowy bank the footmarks, one by one, into the middle of the plank; and further there were none! yet some maintain that to this day she is a living child; that you may see sweet lucy gray upon the lonesome wild. o'er rough and smooth she trips along, and never looks behind; and sings a solitary song that whistles in the wind. mary's little lamb mary had a little lamb, it's fleece was white as snow; and everywhere that mary went the lamb was sure to go. he followed her to school one day- that was against the rule; it made the children laugh and play, to see a lamb at school. the teacher therefore turned him out; but still he lingered near, and on the grass he played about till mary did appear. at once he ran to her, and laid his head upon her arm, as if to say, i'm not afraid- you'll keep me from all harm. "what makes the lamb love mary so?" the little children cry; "oh! mary loves the lamb you know," the teacher did reply. [page 27--girl land] we are seven i met a little cottage girl; she was eight years old, she said; her head was thick with many a curl that clustered round her head. she had a rustic, woodland air, and she was wildly clad; her eyes were fair, and very fair, her beauty made me glad. "sisters and brothers, little maid, how many may you be?" "how many? seven in all," she said, and wondering, looked at me. "and where are they? i pray you tell." she answered, "seven are we; and two of us at conway dwell, and two are gone to sea. "two of us in the churchyard lie- my sister and my brother; and in the churchyard cottage i dwell near them with my mother." "you say that two at conway dwell, and two are gone to sea; yet ye are seven! i pray you tell, sweet maid how this may be?" then did the little maid reply, seven boys and girls are we; two of us in the churchyard lie, beneath the churchyard tree." "you run about, my little maid, your limbs they are alive! if two are in the churchyard laid, then ye are only five." "their graves are green, they may be seen," the little maid replied; "twelve steps or more, from my mother's door, and they are side by side. "my stockings there i often knit, my kerchief there i hem; and there upon the ground i sit, i sit and sing to them. "and often after sunset, sir, when it is light and fair, i take my little porringer, and eat my supper there. "the first that died was little jane; in bed she moaning lay, till god released her of her pain, and then she went away. "so in the churchyard she was laid; and, when the grass was dry, together round her grave we played, my brother john and i. "and when the ground was white with snow, and i could run and slide, my brother john was forced to go, and he lies by her side." "how many are you then? said i, "if they two are in heaven!" the little maiden did reply "o master! we are seven." "but they are dead; those two are dead; their spirits are in heaven!" 'twas throwing words away; for still the little maid would have her will, and say, "nay, we are seven." the poor, but kind girl young lucy payne lives on the village green; mary, you know the cottage, i am sure, under the hawthorn! 'tis so neat and clean, though widow payne, alas! is blind and poor. she plies her needles, and she plies them well, and lucy never spends an idle hour; on market days their mits and socks they sell, and thus their balls of worsted turn to flour. i pass'd one morning by their cottage door; lucy was talking to a little child, a ragged thing that lives upon the moor; it's parents leave it to run rude and wild. hanger had tamed the little wilding thing, it's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light; young lucy did not know i saw her bring that porringer she kept so clean and bright. it was her breakfast--all the darling had; but oh! she gave it with a heart so glad. [illustration: grace darling rowing in storm.] grace darling "over the wave, the stormy wave, hasten, dear father, with me, the crew to save from a wat'ry grave, deep in the merciless sea. hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek, hear ye the cry of despair? with courage quick the wreck we'll seek; danger united we'll dare. "out with the boat, the gallant boat; not a moment to be lost; see! she's afloat, proudly afloat, and high on the waves we're tossed; mother, adieu, a short adieu; your prayers will rise to heaven; father to you--your child and you- power to save is given. "i have no fear, no maiden fear; my heart is firm to the deed, i shed no tear, no coward tear; i've strength in time of need. hear ye the crash, the horrid crash? their mast over the side is gone; yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash, safe through the pelting storm. "the wreck we near, the wreck we near, our bonny boat seems to fly, list to the cheer, their welcome cheer, they know that succour is nigh." and on that night, that dreadful night, the father and daughter brave, with strengthened might they both unite, and many dear lives they save. hail to the maid, the fearless maid, the maid of matchless worth; she'll e'er abide the cherished pride of the land that gave her birth. the send her gold, her name high uphold, honour and praise to impart; but, with true regard, the loved reward is the joy of her own brave heart. the tidy girl who is it each day in the week may be seen, with her hair short and smooth, and her hands and face clean; in a stout cotton gown, of dark and light blue, though old, so well mended, you'd take it for new; her handkerchief tidily pinned o'er her neck. with a neat little cap, and an apron of check; her shoes and her stockings all sound and all clean? she's never fine outside and dirty within. go visit her cottage, though humble and poor. 'tis so neat and so clean you might eat off the floor; no rubbish, no cobwebs, no dirt can be found, though you hunt every corner, and search all around. who sweeps it so nicely, who makes all the bread, who tends her sick mother, and works by her bed? 'tis the neat, tidy girl--she needs no other name; abroad or at home, she is always the same. i will be good to-day "i will be good, dear mother," i heard a sweet child say; "i will be good; now watch me- i will be good all day." oh, many, many, bitter tears 'twould save us, did we say, like that dear child, with earnest heart, "i will be good to-day." my own dear little sister i have a little sister, she's only three years old; i do most dearly love her, she's worth her weight in gold. we often play together and i begin to find, to make my sister happy, i must be very kind. [page 28--ruby cole and her clever frog] [illustration: music score for 'what our ruby did'.] what our ruby did she danced like a fairy, she sung like a frog, she squeaked like a pig, she barked like a dog. oh yes! oh yes! she did! she did! and frog-gy played a tune. she mooed like a bullock, she baaed like a ram, she leaped like a goat, she skipped like a lamb--oh yes! she brayed like a donkey, she cried like a hare, she neighed like a horse, she growled like a bear!--oh yes! she munched like a rabbit, she gnawed like a rat, she popped like a mouse, she flew like a bat--oh yes! she talked like a parrot, she quacked like a drake, she mewed like a cat, she hissed like a snake--oh yes! she climbed like a squirrel, she flopped like a seal, she ran like a deer, she slid like an eel--oh yes! she crept like a tortoise, she soared like a lark, she drank like a fish, she ate like a shark--oh yes! she roared like a lion, she dived like a whale, she swam like a goose, she crawled like a snail--oh yes! she croaked like a raven, she screeched like an owl, she cawed like a crow, she crowed like a fowl--oh yes! she grinned like a monkey, she hummed like a bee, she buzzed like a fly, she jumped like a flea--oh yes! [illustration: ruby cole dancing.] our dear little daughter once went to a children's ball dressed as a fairy. she was proud of being a fairy, and looked so nice that i put together the above nursery doggerel to please her, and in honour of the event, little thinking that she would soon leave this world. it might be considered better by some to remove this page, but as children like it i venture to let it stand with this explanation. e. w. c. [illustration: clever frog playing fiddle.] sacred to the memory of our dear little ruby, who departed this life march 27th, 1890, aged 8 years. she was intelligent, industrious, affectionate and sociable, and is deeply regretted by all who knew her. there is no flock, however watched and tended but one dead lamb is there! there is no fireside, howsoever defended but has one vacant chair! there is no death! what seems so is transition this life of mortal breath, is but a suburb of life elysian whose portal we call death. she is not dead--the child of our affection- but gone unto that school where she no longer needs our poor protection and god himself doth rule. [page 29--vally cole and his clever dog] [illustration: vally cole.] our vally had a clever dog, whose name was ebenezer. sometimes this dog was very good, at other times a teaser. [illustration: vally and ebenezer sitting on rail.] one day they went to take a bath, and both sat on a rail; our vally hung his legs right down, the dog hung down his tail. [illustration: ebenezer and tom snoozing.] this funny dog one christmas day, directly after dinner, just lean'd his sleepy head against old tom, our snoozing sinner. [page 30--boy's stories] tommy trot, a man of law, sold his bed and lay upon straw; sold the straw and slept on grass, to buy his wife a looking-glass. -- little jack jingle, he used to live single; but when he got tired of this kind of life, he left off being single, and lived with his wife. -- i'll tell you a story about jack nory,- and now my story's begun: i'll tell you another about jack his brother,- and now my story's done. -- poor old robinson crusoe! poor old robinson crusoe! they made him a coat of an old nanny-goat, i wonder how they could do so! with a ring and a ting tang, and a ring and a ting tang, poor old robinson crusoe! -- "john, come sell thy fiddle, and buy thy wife a gown." "no; i'll not sell my fiddle for any wife in town." -- jacky, come give me thy fiddle if ever thou mean'st to thrive; nay, i'll not give my fiddle to any man alive. if i should give my fiddle, they'll think that i'm gone mad, for many a joyful day my fiddle and i have had. -- jack was a fisherman who went out one day, but couldn't catch a single fish, and so he came away. and then he came home, this angler so bold, and found he'd caught something- for he'd caught a cold. -- the queen of hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer day; the knave of hearts he stole those tarts and took them clean away. the king of hearts called for the tarts, and beat the knave full sore; the knave of hearts brought back the tarts, and vowed he'd steal no more. -- charley wag ate the pudding and left the bag. -- tom, the piper's son tom, tom, the piper's son, stole a pig and away did run! the pig he eat, and tom they beat, and tom went roaring down the street. tom, he was a piper's son: he learned to play when he was young: but all the tunes that he could play was, "over the hills and far away; over the hills and a great way off, and the wind will blow my topknot off." now tom with his pipe made such a noise, that he pleased both the girls and the boys, and they stopped to hear him play "over the hills and far away." [illustration: tom piping, pigs dancing.] tom with his pipe did play with such skill, that those who heard him could never keep still: whenever they heard they began for to dance, even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance. as dolly was milking her cow one day, tom took out his pipe and began for to play; so doll and the cow danced "the cheshire round," till the pail they broke and the milk ran on the ground. he met old dame trot with a basket of eggs, he used his pipe and she used her legs; she danced about till all the eggs she broke, she began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke. he saw a cross fellow beating an ass, heavily laden with pots, pans, dishes and glass; he took out his pipe and played them a tune, and the jackass did kick off his load very soon. tom met the parson on his way, took out his pipe, began to play a merry tune that led his grace into a very muddy place. the mayor then said he would not fail to send poor tommy off to gaol. tom took his pipe, began to play, and all the court soon danced away. 'twas quite a treat to see the rout, how clerks and judges hopped about; while tommy still kept playing the tune, "i'll be free this afternoon." the policeman grab, who held him fast, began to dance about at last; whilst tom, delighted at the fun, slipped out of court and off did run. -- taffy was a welshman, taffy was a thief, taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef. i went to taffy's house, taffy was not at home; taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone. i went to taffy's house, taffy was not in. taffy came to my house, and stole a silver pin. i went to taffy's house, taffy was in bed. i took up a poker and flung it at his head. -- old king cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he; he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, and he called for his fiddlers three. -- peter white will ne'er go right; would you know the reason why? he follows his nose where'er he goes, and that stands all awry. [page 31--boy land] the house that jack built this is the house that jack built. this is the malt that lay in the house that jack built. this is the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the cock that crowed in the morn, that awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. this is the farmer sowing his corn, that kept the cock that crowed in the morn, that awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration: simple simon meets pieman.] simple simon simple simon met a pieman going to the fair; says simple simon to the pieman: "let me taste your ware." says the pieman to simple simon, "show me first the penny." says simple simon to the pieman: "indeed i have not any." simple simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale- all the water he had got was in his mother's pail. simple simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle; he pricked his fingers very much, which made poor simon whistle. he went to catch a dicky bird, and thought he could not fail because he'd got a little salt to put upon it's tail. then simple simon went-a-hunting, for to catch a hare. he rode on a goat about the street, but could not find one there. simon made a great snowball, and brought it in to roast; he laid it down before the fire, and soon the ball was lost. simple simon went a-skating when the ice was thin, and simon was astonished quite to find he tumbled in. and simon he would honey eat out of the mustard pot; he bit his tongue until he cried: "that was all the good he got." ten little niggers ten little niggers going out to dine, one choked his little self, and then there were nine. nine little niggers crying at his fate, one cried himself away, and then there were eight. eight little niggers to travelling were given. but one kicked the bucket, and then there were seven. seven little niggers playing at their tricks, one cut himself in halves, and then there were six. six little niggers playing with a hive, a bumble bee killed one, and then there were five. five little niggers went in for law, one got into chancery, and then there were four. four little niggers going out to sea, a ref herring swallowed one, and then there were three. three little niggers walking in the zoo, a big bear cuddled one, and then there were two. two little niggers sitting in the sun, one got frizzled up, and then there was one. one little nigger living all alone, he got married, and then there were none. [page 32--boy land] jack the giant killer once upon a time there lived in cornwall, england, a lad whose name was jack, and who was very brave and knowing. at the same time there was a great giant, twenty feet high and nine feet round, who lived in a cave, on an island near jack's house. the giant used to wade to the mainland and steal things to live upon, carrying five or six bullocks at once, and stringing sheep, pigs, and geese around his waist-band; and all the people ran away from him in fear, whenever they saw him coming. jack determined to destroy this giant; so he got a pickaxe and shovel, and started in his boat on a dark evening; by the morning he had dug a pit deep and broad, then covering it with sticks and strewing a little mould over, to make it look like plain ground, he blew his horn so loudly that the giant awoke, and came roaring towards jack, calling him a villain for disturbing his rest, and declaring he would eat him for breakfast. he had scarcely said this when he fell into the pit. "oh! mr. giant," says jack, "where are you now? you shall have this for your breakfast." so saying, he struck him on the head so terrible blow with his pickaxe that the giant fell dead to the bottom. just at this moment, the giant's brother ran out roaring vengeance against jack; but he jumped into his boat and pulled to the opposite shore, with the giant after him, who caught poor jack, just as he was landing, tied him down in his boat, and went in search of his provisions. during his absence, jack contrived to cut a large hole in the bottom of the boat, and placed therein a piece of canvas. after having stolen some oxen, the giant returned and pushed off the boat, when, having got fairly out to sea, jack pulled the canvas from the hole, which caused the boat to fill and quickly capsize. the giant roared and bellowed as he struggled in the water, but was very soon exhausted and drowned, while jack dexterously swam ashore. one day after this, jack was sitting by a well fast asleep. a giant named blundebore, coming for water, at once saw and caught hold of him, and carried him to his castle. jack was much frightened at seeing the heaps of bodies and bones strewed about. the giant then confined him in an upper room over the entrance, and went for another giant to breakfast off poor jack. on viewing the room, he saw some strong ropes, and making a noose at one end, he put the other through a pulley which chanced to be over the window, and when the giants were unfastening the gate he threw the noose over both their heads, and pulling it immediately, he contrived to choke them both. then releasing three ladies who were confined in the castle, he departed well pleased. about five or six months after, jack was journeying through wales, when, losing his way, he could find no place of entertainment, and was about giving up all hopes of obtaining shelter during the night when he came to a gate, and, on knocking, to his utter astonishment it was opened by a giant, who did not seem so fierce as the others. jack told him his distress, when the giant invited him in, and, after giving him a hearty supper, showed him to bed. jack had scarcely got into bed when he heard the giant muttering to himself: "though you lodge with me this night, you shall not see the morning light; my club shall dash your brains out quite." "oh, mr. giant, is that your game?" said jack to himself; "then i shall try and be even with you." so he jumped out of bed and put a large lump of wood there instead. in the middle of the night the giant went into the room, and thinking it was jack in the bed, he belaboured the wood most unmercifully; he then left the room, laughing to think how he had settled poor jack. the following morning jack went boldly into the giant's room to thank him for the night's lodging. the giant was startled at his appearance, and asked him how he slept, or if anything had disturbed him in the night? "oh, no," says jack, "nothing worth speaking about: i believe that a rat gave me a few slaps with his tail, but, being rather sleepy, i took no notice of it." the giant wondered how jack survived the terrific blows of his club, yet did not answer a word, but went and brought in two monstrous bowls of hasty pudding, placed one before jack, and began eating the other himself. determined to be revenged on the giant somehow, jack unbuttoned his leather provision bag inside his coat, and slyly filling it with hasty pudding, said, "i'll do what you can't." so saying, he took up a large knife, and ripping up the bag, let out the hasty pudding. the giant, determined not to be outdone, seized hold of the knife, and saying, "i can do that," instantly ripped up his belly, and fell down dead on the spot. after this jack fought and conquered many giants, married the king's daughter and lived happily. [illustration: jack climbing beanstalk.] jack and the beanstalk at some distance from london, in a small village, lived a widow and her son, whose name was jack. he was a bold, daring fellow, ready for any adventure which promised fun or amusement. jack's mother had a cow, of which she was very fond, and which, up to this time, had been their chief support. but as she had for some time past been growing poorer every year, she felt that now she must part with the cow. so she told jack to take the cow to be sold, and he was to be sure to get a good round sum for her. on the road to market jack met a butcher, who was carrying in his hat some things which jack thought to be very pretty. the butcher saw how eagerly jack eyed his beans, and said, "if you want to sell your cow, my fine fellow, i will give you this whole hatful of beans in exchange for her." jack was delighted; he seized the hat, and ran back home. jack's mother was surprised to see him back so soon, and at once asked him for the money. but when jack said he had sold the cow for a hatful of beans, she was so angry that she opened the window and threw them all out into the garden. when jack rose up next morning he found that one of the beans had taken root, and had grown up, up, up, until its top was quite lost in the clouds. jack resolved instantly to mount the beanstalk. so up, up, up, he went till he had reached the very top. looking round he saw at a distance a large house. tired and weary, he crawled towards it and knocked on the door. the door was opened by a timid looking woman who started when she saw him, and besought him to run away as her husband was a cruel giant who would eat him up if he found him there. but jack begged so earnestly to be admitted that the woman, who was very kind-hearted, had pity on him, and so she brought him into the kitchen, and set before him on a table some bread, meat, and ale. jack ate and drank, and soon felt quite refreshed. presently the woman started and said, "my husband! quick, quick! he comes--he comes!" and opened the door to the oven and bid jack jump in. the giant was in a dreadful passion when he came in, and almost killed his wife by a blow which he aimed at her. he then began to sniff and smell--at last he roared out: "fee, fa, fi, fo, fum, i smell the blood of an englishman! be he alive, or be he dead, i'll grind his bones to make me bread!" his wife gave him an evasive answer, and proceeded to lay before him his supper. when the giant could swallow no more, he called out to his wife to bring him his hen, which, after being brought, whenever the giant said "lay," the hen laid a golden egg. the giant soon fell asleep, and jack crept out softly and seized the hen, and made off without disturbing the giant. away ran jack till he came to the beanstalk; he was much sooner at the bottom of it now than at the top in the morning; and running to his mother he told all his adventure. the hen laid as many golden eggs as jack liked, and his mother before long had another cow and everything which she desired. a second time jack climbed the beanstalk, when he ran away with the giant's bag of money. a third time jack climbed the beanstalk, and again gained admission to the giant's house. he saw the giant's wife, and asked her for a night's lodging. she at first said she could not let him into the house, but jack begged so hard that at last she consented, and gave him some supper and put him to sleep in the copper boiler near the kitchen fireplace, where she thought the giant would not find him. when the giant came in, his good nose served him in a moment: for he cried out "i smell fresh meat." jack laughed at this, but it was no laughing matter; for the giant looked all around the room, and even put his finger on the lid of the copper, till it seemed as if a stone of a hundredweight had fallen upon the lid. just then his wife came in with a whole roasted bullock smoking hot, which the giant sat down and ate for his supper, and then went down into the cellar, and drank about six gallons of jamaica rum. the giant now sat down and went to sleep, and jack tried to run away with his golden harp, an instrument which, when the giant said "play," played the most beautiful tunes. now the harp was a fairy, and as soon as he touched it, it called out "master! master!" so loud that the giant awoke, but he was some time before he could understand what was the matter. he tried to run after jack, but jack got to the top of the beanstalk first. when he had descended a little way he looked up, and how great was his horror to see the huge hand of the giant stretched down to seize him by the hair of the head! he slid and scrambled down the beanstalk, hardly knowing how, and seeing the giant just putting his feet over the top, he called out, "quick, mother! a hatchet, a hatchet!" jack seized it and chopped away at the beanstalk, when down it fell, bringing along with it the giant. jack instantly cut off his head. after this jack and his mother lived very happily, and jack was a great comfort to her in her old age. [page 33--boy land] hop o' my thumb once upon a time there was a woodman and his wife who had so many children that they did not know how to find food for them. so one night, when they were all in bed, the father told his wife that he thought they had better take them into the forest and lose them there. the youngest child, who was so very small that he was called hop o' my thumb, overheard his father, and as he was a very clever boy he made up his mind to find his way home again. so he went down to the brook very early the next morning, and filled his pocket with large smooth pebbles as white as snow. bye-and-bye the woodman and his wife told the children that they might go with them into the wood to have a good game of play. they were all glad except hop o' my thumb who knew what his father intended. so they set out; the woodman and his wife first, then the boys, and last hop o' my thumb, who sprinkled pebbles all the way they went. they spent a merry day; but bye-and-bye the parents stole away, and left the children all by themselves. they were very much frightened when they missed their father and mother, and called loudly for them; but when hop o' my thumb told them what he had heard, and how they could find their way home by following the track of the pebbles, which marked the way they had come, they set out, and reached home safely, and their father and mother pretended to be very glad to see them back. but soon after they again resolved to lose their children, if possible, in the forest. this time all the boys feared that they should be left behind, and the eldest brother said he would take some peas to sprinkle, to mark the pathway that led home. by-and-bye the cruel parents stole away, and left the little ones in the dark wood. at first they did not care, for they thought that they could easily find their way home; but, alas! when they looked for the line of peas which they had sprinkled, they found they were all gone--the wood-pigeons had eaten them up, and the children were lost in the wood. holding each-others' hands and crying sadly they walked on to seek a place to sleep in. by-and-bye they came to a giant's castle, where they were taken in, and told that they might sleep in the nursery with the seven baby daughters of the giant, who were lying all in a row in one bed, with gold crowns on their heads. hop o' my thumb thought it was strange that the giant should be so kind, as he had been told that the ogres eat children. so in the night he got up softly and took off the little giantesses' crowns and put them on his brothers' heads and his own, and lay down again. it was lucky for him that he did so, for in the night the giant came up in the dark to kill the boys, that they might be ready for the next day's breakfast. he felt the beds, and finding the crowns on the boy's heads took them for his own children, left them and went to the other bed and cut off the heads of his daughters instead. then he went back to bed. directly he was gone, hop o' my thumb and his brothers got up, stole down stairs, opened the door and fled away from the castle. but they did not go far. hop o' my thumb knew that the giant would come after them in his seven-league boots. so they got into a hole in the side of a hill and hid. very soon after, they saw the giant coming at a great pace in his wonderful boots; but he took such long steps that he passed right over their heads. they were afraid to move out till they had seen him go home again. so they remained quietly where they were. by-and-bye the giant, who had been many miles in an hour, came back tired, and lay down on the hill-side and fell asleep. then hop o' my thumb got out of the hole, and pulled off the giant's seven-league boots, and put them on his own feet. they fitted him exactly, for being fairy boots they would grow large or small just as one liked. he then got his brothers out of the hole, took them in his boots, marched for home, and although it was a great distance, got there in almost no time, but when he arrived at the house his father and mother were not there. he then hastened to make inquiries for them, and found they had been suspected of murdering their children,--who had all disappeared suddenly--that they had owned to leaving them in the wood, and that they were to be put to death for their crime. "we must go and save them," he said. so he took his brothers into the seven-league boots, and set out to the place where their parents were in prison. they arrived only just in time, for the guards were bringing out the woodsman and his wife to put them to death. hop o' my thumb took off the boors, and all the children called out, "we are alive! we are alive! do not kill our mother and father." then there was great joy. the woodman and his wife were set free, and embraced their children. they had repented their wickedness, and were never unkind and cruel any more; and hop o' my thumb kept them all in comfort by going on errands for the king in his seven-league boots. [illustration: tom thumb chased by cat.] tom thumb in the days of good king arthur there lived a ploughman and his wife who wished very much to have a son; so the man went to merlin, the enchanter, and asked him to let him have a child, even, if it were "_no bigger than his thumb._" "go home and you will find one," said merlin; and when the man came back to his house he found his wife nursing a very, very, wee baby, who in four minutes grew to the size of the ploughman's thumb, and never grew any more. the fairy queen came to his christening and named him "tom thumb." she then dressed him nicely in a shirt of spider's web, and a doublet and hose of thistledown. one day, while tom's mother was making a plum-pudding, tom stood on the edge of the bowl, with a lighted candle in his hand, that she might see to make it properly. unfortunately, however, while her back was turned, tom fell into the bowl, and his mother not missing him, stirred him up in the pudding, and put it and him into the pot. tom no sooner felt the hot water than he danced about like man; the woman was nearly frightened out of her wits to see the pudding come out of the pot and jump about, and she was glad to give it to a tinker who was passing that way. the tinker was delighted with his present; but as he was getting over a style, he happened to sneeze very hard, and tom called out from the middle of the pudding, "hallo, pickens!" which so terrified the tinker that he threw the pudding into the field, and scampered away as fast as he could. the pudding tumbled to pieces in the fall, and tom, creeping out, went home to his mother, who was in great affliction because she could not find him. a few days afterwards tom went with his mother into the fields to milk the cows, and for fear he should be blown away by the wind, she tied him to a thistle with a small piece of thread. very soon after a cow ate up the thistle and swallowed tom thumb. his mother was in sad grief again; but tom scratched and kicked in the cow's throat till she was glad to throw him out of her mouth again. one day tom thumb went ploughing with his father, who gave him a whip made of barley straw, to drive the oxen with; but an eagle, flying by, caught him up in his beak, and carried him to the top of a great giant's castle. the giant would have eaten tom up; but the fairy dwarf scratched and bit his tongue and held on by his teeth till the giant in a passion took him out again and threw him into the sea, when a very large fish swallowed him up directly. the fish was caught soon after and sent as a present to king arthur, and when the cook opened it there was tom thumb inside. he was carried to the king, who was delighted with the little man. the king ordered a little chair to be made, in order that tom might sit on his table, and also a palace of gold a span high, with a door an inch wide, for little tom to live in. he also gave him a coach drawn by six small mice. this made the queen angry, because she had no a new coach too; therefore, resolving to ruin tom, she complained to the king that he had spoken insolently to her. the king sent for him. tom, to escape his fury, crept into an empty snail shell, and lay there till he was almost starved; when peeping out of the shell he saw a fine butterfly settled on the ground: he now ventured out, and getting on it, the butterfly took wing, and mounted into the air with little tom on his back. away he flew from field to field, from tree to tree, till at last he flew to the king's court. the king, queen, and nobles all strove to catch the butterfly but could not. at length poor tom, having neither bridle or saddle, slipped from his seat and fell into a pool of water, where he was found nearly drowned. the queen vowed he should be beheaded, and while the scaffold was getting ready, he was secured in a mouse-trap; when the cat seeing something stir supposing it to be a mouse, patted the trap about till she broke it, and set tom at liberty. sometimes tom rode out on a mouse for a horse. one day a big black met him along the road, and wanted to kill the mouse. tom jumped off the mouse's back, drew his sword, and fought the cat, and made her run away. in order to show his courage and please the queen, the new knight undertook a terrible adventure. in one corner of the palace garden there was found a great black spider, of which the lady was very much afraid. tom undertook to kill this insect; so he took a gold button for a shield, and his sharp needle-sword, and went out to attack the spider; the knights went also, to witness the combat. tom drew his sword and fought valiantly, but the spider's poisonous breath overcame him. king arthur and his whole court went into mourning for little tom thumb. they buried him under a rose-bush, and raised a nice white marble monument over his grave. [page 34--naughty boys] [illustration: mr. brown caning boys stealing sugar.] mr. brown, the grocer, having nearly emptied a cask of sugar in front of his shop, a number of naughty boys, seeing his back turned, commenced to steal some. mr. brown, spying them through the window, came out, and the reader can see what happened--a bystander informs us that muttered howls of agony arose from the cask, and all the boys' interest in sugar was at an end. boy who stole out without leave i remember, i remember, when i was a little boy, one fine morning in september uncle brought me home a toy. i remember how he patted both my cheeks in his kindliest mood; "then," said he, "you little fat-head, there's a top because you're good." grandmamma--a shrewd observer- i remember gazed upon my new top, and said with fervour, "oh! how kind of uncle john." while mamma, my form caressing- in her eyes the tear-drop stood, read me this fine moral lesson, "see what comes of being good." i remember, i remember, on a wet and windy day, one cold morning in december, i stole out and went to play. i remember billy hawkins came, and with his pewter squirt squibbed my pantaloons and stockings till they were all over dirt. to my mother for protection i ran, quaking every limb; she exclaim'd, with fond affection, "gracious goodness! look at him!" pa cried, when he saw my garment, 'twas a newly purchased dress- "oh! you nasty little varment, how came you in such a mess?" then he caught me by the collar, --cruel only to be kind- and to my exceeding dolour, gave me--several slaps behind. grandmamma, while i yet smarted, as she saw my evil plight, said--'twas rather stony-hearted- "little rascal! serve him right!" i remember, i remember, from that sad and solemn day, never more in dark december did i venture out to play. and the moral which they taught, i well remember: thus they said- "little boys, when they are naughty, must be whipp'd and sent to bed!" [page 35--boy land] dirty jack there was one little jack, not very long back, and 't is said to his lasting disgrace, that he never was seen with his hands at all clean, nor yet ever clean was his face. his friends were much hurt to see so much dirt and often and well did they scour, but all was in vain, he was dirty again before they had done it an hour. when to wash he was sent, he reluctantly went with water to splash himself o'er, but he left the black streaks running down both his cheeks, and made them look worse than before. the pigs in the dirt could not be more expert than he was, in grubbing about; and people have thought this gentleman ought to be made with four legs and a snout. the idle and bad may, like to this lad, be dirty and black, to be sure. but good boys are seen to be decent and clean, although they be ever so poor. throwing stones johnny jones, why do you do it? those who throw stones surely will rue it; little of pleasure, evil may flow, mischief past measure comes of a blow. yes, yes! stone flinging. laugh as you may, woe may be bringing upon you some day. someone is watching, armed by the law, truncheon from pocket soon he will draw. off he will march you- dreadful to think!--to a dark prison: light through a chink, bread without butter, water for drink. dirty dick dirty, noisy, mischievous dick, struggled and tore, and wanted to fight susan, the nurse, who in the bath began to wash him on saturday night. her hair he tried to pull up by the roots, the water he splashed all over the floor, which ran downstairs, and one night made a terrible slop at the parlour door. to give him advice was a waste of time, so his father resolved to try a stick, and never since then has he been called dirty, noisy, mischievous dick. boy that stole the apples a boy looked over a wall, and spied some lovely apples; "but," says he "the tree is tall, and belongs to 'grumpie chapples!' still, i think some could be got by a climbing lad like me: i'll try and steal a lot, so here goes up the tree." [illustration: apple thief hanging from wall with dog below.] the wall he then got over, and up the tree he went; but chapples, mowing clover, espied the wicked gent. he let him fill his school-bag- get over the wall again; rushed up and played at touch-tag, which surprised him much, and then:- _look at the picture!!!_ mischievous fingers pretty little fingers, wherefore were they made? like ten smart young soldiers, all in pink arrayed. apt and quick obedient to your lightest thought, doing in an instant everything they're taught. 't was for play or study, pen to wield or ball; kite, top, needle, pencil, prompt at parents' call. picking, poking, soiling costly things and dear, wrecking, cracking, spoiling all that they come near. thus 't was with robert chivers, brandishing a swish, broke a vase to shivers filled with silver fish. "tick, tick" says the dutch clock. robert fain would know how it's pendulum swinging made it's wheels go. who not ask? no! foolish robert takes a stick, pokes and breaks the clock, which ceases soon to tick. "puff, puff," sighs the bellows. robert wants to find, yet he will not ask, whence comes it's stock of wind. with a knife upripping, finds them void and flat. ah! be sure a whipping robert caught for that. the boy who played with fire listen about a naughty boy who might have been a parent's joy, but that he had a strong desire to always meddle with fire. one day when his mamma went out, she said "mind, dear, what you're about: with your nice books and playthings stay, and with the fire, oh! do not play." but as soon as his mamma was gone, and this bad boy left all alone, thought he, "in spite of all ma says, now we'll have a glorious blaze. "no one is by, 't is quickly done, and oh! 't will be such famous fun." quick then about the hearth he strewed some scraps of paper and of wood. then lighted them and drew them out, and with them, laughing, ran about. but soon he changed his merry note- the flames, alas, had caught his coat, and every moment, mounting higher, his body soon was all on fire; and though he screamed with shriek and shout, no one came near to put it out: so it happened, sad to say, that boy was burned to death that day. [page 36] wicked willie willie was a wicked boy, snubbed his poor old mother; willie was a dreadful boy, quarrelled with his brother; willie was a spiteful boy, often pinched his sister, once he gave her such a blow, raised a great big blister! willy was a sulky boy, sadly plagued his cousins, often broke folks' window panes, throwing stones by dozens, often worried little girls, bullied smaller boys, often broke their biggest dolls, jumped upon their toys. if he smelled a smoking tart, willie longed to steal it; if he saw a pulpy peach, willie tried to peel it; could he reach a new plum-cake, greedy willie picked it, if he spied a pot of jam, dirty willie licked it. if he saw a poor old dog, wicked willie whacked it; if it had a spot of white, silly willy blacked it, if he saw a sleeping cat, horrid willie kicked it; if he caught a pretty moth, cruel willie pricked it. if his pony would not trot, angry willie thrashed it; if he saw a clinging snail, thoughtless willie smashed it; if he found a sparrow's nest, unkind willie hit it. all the mischief ever done, folks knew willie did it. no one liked that horrid boy, can you wonder at it? none who saw his ugly head, ever tried to pat it. no one ever took him for a ride- folks too gladly skipped him. no one ever gave him bats or balls, no one ever "tipped" him. no one taught him how to skate, or to play at cricket; no one helped him if he stuck in a prickly thicket. oh no! for the boys all said willie loved to tease them, and that if he had the chance, willie would not please them. and they shunned him every one, and they would not know him, and their games and picture-books they would never show him, and their tops they would not spin, if they saw him near them, and they treated him with scorn till he learned to fear them. they all left him to himself, and he was so lonely, but of course it was his fault, willie's own fault only. if a boy's a wicked boy, shy of him folks fight then, if it makes him dull and sad, why, it serves him right then! [illustration: naughty boy covered in mud.] this is the naughty boy who would go making mud pies, and get his nice new clothes all over mud. he said he would be good, but he got into the mud, and was a naughty, bad, bad boy!!! the wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy boys, stop your noise! girls, stop your jumping and skipping! while i tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping. if this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed, so to-day i'll only say--he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! i won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair, nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear; you never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear, because--he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! if he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops, to pelt stones at chinamen, and stare in the shops; running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways, that when he gets home his mother says- oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! if his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton, in a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton. and he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button, that scarcely any one can with him have any fun, because--he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! he's been going to school for years, i can't tell you how long, if you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong; if you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong, you'd easily guess from such a mess that- he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! you can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies. he's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size, but if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries, that anyone who sees him never tries to please him, because--he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! he won't play any game without being always cheating, i often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating, and he never says grace before or after eating. he's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast, because--he's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! what school he goes to at present i won't tell, but i mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well, i'll go to every school and ring a little bell, i'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys this wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! [page 37] [illustration: this is the man who picked the bad boy out of the mud.] little chinkey chow-chow (the boy that ran away) there was a little chinese boy, that ran away from home- "ha! ha!" he said, "i'll see the world and through the streets i'll roam. "i won't go any more to school, or go so soon to bed, nor yet be scolded if i choose to stand upon my head." so little chinkey ran away, his tail flew in the wind; he thought not of his good mamma who was so very kind: he knew she could not follow him along the crowded street, because mammas in china have such very tiny feet. now, as he went along he saw such strange and lovely sights, such pretty painted houses- such tops! and oh! such kites! he saw so many gilded toys, and ivory things so white, that he forgot about the time, until he found it night. ah! then he saw such fireworks! they glistened in his eyes; the crackers and the lanterns too quite took him by surprise. he listened to the music of the fiddle and the gong, and felt that it was jolly, though he knew that it was wrong. but after that he began to think things were not so bright; the men were going, and there came the watchman of the night; and sleep was stealing over him, he scarce could lift his head, so he lay on the cold, cold stones, which served him for a bed. little chinkey chow-chow woke up with early light, and wandered far away from where he passed the dreary night; he was so very worn and cold, and sadly wanted food, so he sat upon a well in not a pleasant mood. he saw the well was very deep, the water too was clear, and soon he saw a golden fish that looked so very near. he stretched his hand to catch the fish; but oh! how sad to tell, he tumbled over and he sank to the bottom of the well. some other boys were playing there and saw him disappear, and ran along the road to see if anyone was near. a great big market gardener, was soon upon the ground, and caught our little chinkey up, who soon would have been drowned. the boys began to jeer at him, for he was very wet; they pulled his dripping tail, and called him names that i forget. one took his wooden shoes away, another took his hat, and someone said, "it serves him right," now only think of that! when little chinkey ran away, his tail flew in the wind; but when our chinkey turned again his tail hung down behind. he wandered past the painted shops, where they put up the tea, and i am sure the boys at school were happier than he. poor chinkey chow was very tired, and very sore his feet, when his mother saw him from the corner of a street. she said he was a wicked boy, and ought to have a smack! and yet i think she loved him more because she'd got him back. now when i see a chinaman, and that is every day, i wonder if he is, grown up, the boy that ran away. but what i still think most about when i this story tell, is the great big market gardener that raised him from the well _from calvert's australian toy books_ [page 38--boy land] that nice boy "nice child--very nice child," observed an old gentleman, crossing to the other side of the car and addressing the mother of the boy who had just hit him in the eye with a wad of paper. "how old are you, my son?" "none of your business," replied the youngster, taking aim at another passenger. "fine boy," smiled the old man, as the parent regarded her offspring with pride. "a remarkably fine boy. what is your name, my son?" "puddin' tame!" shouted the youngster, with a giggle at his own wit. "i thought so," continued the old man, pleasantly. "if you had given me three guesses at it, that would have been the first one i would have struck on. now, puddin', you can blow those things pretty straight, can't you?" "you bet!" squealed the boy, delighted at the compliment. "see me take that old fellow over there!" "no, no!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hastily. "try it on the old woman i was sitting with. she has boys of her own, and she won't mind." "can't you hit the lady for the gentleman, johnny?" asked the fond parent. johnny cleverly landed the pellet on the end of the old woman's nose. but she did mind it, and rising in her wrath soared down on the small boy like a hawk. she put him over the line, reversed him, ran him backwards, till he didn't know which end of him was front, and finally dropped him into the lap of the scared mother, with a benediction whereof the purport was that she'd be back in a moment to skin him alive. "she didn't seem to like it, puddin'," smiled the old gentleman, softly. "she's a perfect stranger to me; but i understand she is the matron of an orphans' home, and i thought she would like a little fun; but i was mistaken." and the old man smiled sweetly as he went back to his seat. he was sorry for the poor little boy, but he couldn't help it. a wicked boy of all the small boys in our town that jones boy was the worst, and if the "bad man" came around he'd take that jones boy first. one day he slipped away from home and went out for a skate down on a deep and dangerous pond beyond the garden gate. his mother missed him after a while, and thought he'd gone to skate; and running to the fatal pond, she found she was too late. for there, upon the cruel ice, beyond an air-hole wide, she saw his pretty little hat, and a mitten by it's side. he was her boy, and all the love that fills a mother's heart came forth in tears and sobs and moans beyond the strength of art. she called the neighbours quick to come, they scraped along the ground; beneath the water and the ice- the boy could no be found. at last their search was given up until a thaw should come; the mother's sobs began afresh, her sorrow was not dumb. they turned to leave the fatal pool, a voice came clear and free- "hallo! if you want frankie jones, you'll find him up this tree." and so it was--the mother's tears were changed to smiles of joy; but gracious heaven, how she spanked her darling, fair-haired boy! l'envoi cooley's boy the boy not only preys on my melon-patch and fruit trees, and upon those of my neighbours, but he has an extraordinary aptitude for creating a disturbance in whatever spot he happens to be. only last sunday he caused such a terrible commotion in church that the services had to be suspended for several minutes until he could be removed. the interior of the edifice was painted and varnished recently, and i suppose one of the workers must have left a clot of varnish upon the back of cooley's pew, which is directly across the aisle from mine. cooley's boy was the only representative of the family at church upon that day, and he amused himself during the earlier portions of the service by kneeling upon the seat and communing with dr. jones' boy, who occupied the pew immediately in the rear. sometimes, when young cooley would resume a proper position, jones's boy would stir him up afresh by slyly pulling his hair, whereupon cooley would wheel about and menace jones with his fist in a manner which betrayed utter indifference to the proprieties of the place and the occasion, as well as the presence of the congregation. when cooley finally sank into a condition of repose, he placed his head, most unfortunately, directly against the lump of undried varnish, while he amused himself by reading the commandments and the other scriptural texts upon the wall behind the pulpit. in a few moments he attempted to move, but the varnish had mingled with his hair, and it held him securely. after making one or two desperate but ineffectual efforts to release himself, he became very angry; and supposing that jones's boy was holding him, he shouted: "leg go o' my hair! leg go o' my hair, i tell you!" the clergyman paused just as he was entering upon consideration of "secondly," and the congregation looked around in amazement, in time to perceive young cooley, with his head against the back of the pew, aiming dreadful blows over his shoulder with his fist at some unseen person behind him. and with every thrust he exclaimed: "i'll smash yer nose after church! i'll go for you, bill jones, when i ketch you alone! leg go o' my hair, i tell you, or i'll knock the stuffin' out o' yer," etc, etc. meanwhile, jones's boy sat up at the very end of his pew, far away from cooley, and looked as solemn as if the sermon had made a deep impression upon him. max adeler [illustration: three white boys dressed in sunday best.] [illustration: three black boys dressed in sunday best.] [page 39--boy land] jack the glutton "do look at those pigs, as they lay in the straw," little richard said to his papa; "they keep eating longer than ever i saw, what nasty fat gluttons they are!" "i see they are feasting" his father replied, "they eat a great deal i allow; but let us remember, before we deride, 'tis the nature, my dear, of a sow. "but when a great boy, such as you, my dear dick, does nothing but eat all day and keeps sucking things till he makes himself sick, what a glutton! indeed, we may say. "when plumcake and sugar forever he picks, and sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs; pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, and then he may laugh at the pigs." tom the dainty boy never be dainty and throw food away; 'tis sinful, as you must have heard many say; besides, you yourself may require food some day, though well fed. so don't smell your plate and turn over your food, and doubt if it's wholesome, or pleasant, or good; such conduct is not only senseless,--but rude and ill-bred. there was a young boy, who so dainty became, that whether his dinner was fish, flesh or game, he turned up his nose at them all, just the same, and would cry, "i cannot eat this,"--and, "i do not like that;"- "this chicken's too lean,"--and "that mutton's too fat; the dog he may eat it up all, or the cat, but not i. the consequence was that he soon became thin; his bones they stuck out, and his cheeks they sunk in, and his hands were not stronger nor thicker than tin, if so strong. and his legs grew as slender as little hat-pegs, and almost as small was his waist as his legs; and he looked like the laths that are fastened round kegs, thin and long. and thinner, and thinner, and thinner he grew, a shadow had been rather fat, of the two; in fact, you might easily look him right through, if you tried. and when he was quite the skeleton grown, as weak as a reed, and as cold as a stone he fell all to pieces, and with a faint groan, so he died. boy that robbed the bird's nest "to-whit! to-whit! to-whee! will you listen to me? who stole four eggs i laid, and the nice nest i made?" "not i," said the cow. "oh, no; such a thing i'd never do; i gave you a wisp of hay, but didn't take your nest away." "coo, coo! said the dove, i'll speak a word my love; who stole that pretty nest from a little red-breast?" "not i," said the sheep. "oh, no. i wouldn't treat a poor bird so; i gave wool the nest to line, but the nest was none of mine." [illustration: boy carried away by crows.] "caw! caw!" cried the crow, "i should like to know what thief took away a bird's nest to-day." "cluck! cluck!" said the hen, don't ask me again! why i hav'nt a chick would do such a trick. we all gave her a feather, and she wove them together; i'd scorn to intrude on her and her brood." "chirr-a-whirr! chirr-a-whirr! we will make a great stir; let us find out his name, and all cry for shame!" "i would not rob a bird," said little mary green; "i think i never heard of anything so mean." "'tis very cruel too," said little alice neil: "i wonder if he knew how sad the bird would feel?" a little boy hung down his head, and hid his face, so crimson red; for he stole that pretty nest from little robin redbreast; and he felt so full of shame, i do not like to tell his name. but during next week dressed in his sunday best this boy set out to seek all for another nest. he robbed a nest up high, suspended in a tree; two birds came through the sky, what happened you can see. cruel boy what! go to see the kittens drowned on purpose in the yard! i did not think there could be found a little heart so hard. poor kittens! no more pretty play with pussy's wagging tail: why! i'd go far enough away before i'd see the pail. poor things! the little child that can be pleased to go and see, most likely, when he grows a man, a cruel man will be. and many a wicked thing he'll do because his heart is hard: a great deal worse than killing you, poor kittens in the yard. tyrannical pat what became of tyrannical pat, who pelted the dog, and beat the cat, why, puss scratched his face and tore his hat; and dash knocked him over as flat as a mat. mind that! the little boy who bit his nails see here a naughty boy, john thales, who had a shocking way of picking at his finger nails, and biting them all day. and though he had, like other boys, both soldiers, kites and drums, he liked, much better than these toys, his fingers and his thumbs. boy who tore his hat above on a chair, a little boy sat, for he had torn his nice new hat; and so was punished for doing that. thief charley charley, charley, stole the barley out of the baker's shop; the baker came out, and gave him a clout, and made that charley hop. [page 40--whipping machine] [illustration: snooks' patent whipping machine.] snook's patent whipping machine for flogging naughty boys in school "the snooks' whipping machine has proved a total failure." --"times." declaration of a distracted schoolmaster. a year ago i took charge of a school of 1000 boys. they were a very bad lot indeed, and i could do nothing with them. being of a mild disposition, i attempted to reason with them; but i might as well have reasoned with the pigs. i then thought of punishing them, but that was a big task, and, besides, what mode of punishment should i adopt? in my utmost perplexity i wrote to professor wilderspin--a great authority on the management of boys--and he wrote as follows: "nearly all boys can be managed by an intelligent schoolmaster without punishment, but in a few cases it seems impossible to do without it. in every large school in england, ireland, and scotland some corporal punishment is used, and some must continue to be used as long as very vicious children continue to exist, or as long as parents spoil their children by over indulgence or by wilful criminal neglect before they send them to school. --yours truly, professor wilderspin." i then wrote to twenty-seven of the principal headmasters in the world, and the following are the replies:- from the high school of eton wrote head-master, mr. squeers: "if they don't behave as they should do, why, soundly box their ears." from the grammar school of harrow wrote head-master, mr. phfool: "if they do not behave themselves, expel them from the school." from the training school of rugby wrote head-master, mr wist: "just take a handful of their hair, and give a sharp, short twist." from the college school of oxford wrote professor rarey hook: "instead of nearly killing, overawe them with a look." from the bible school of cambridge wrote professor william brying: "well whip them with a birchen rod, and never mind their crying." from the blue coat school of london wrote professor rupert gower: "at arm's length make them hold a book the space of half-an-hour." from the naval school of liverpool wrote head-master mr. jointer: "just rap them on the knuckles with a common teacher's pointer." from the people's school of manchester wrote head-master mr. flowers: "make them kneel down as still as death for just about two hours." from the infant school of birmingham wrote professor dory heller: "just put on them a fool's cap, marked 'dunce,' 'thief,' or 'story-teller'." from the charity school of sheffield wrote head-master, mr. clay: "if the boys are disobedient, do not let them out to play." from the gentleman's school at brighton wrote professor robert flask: "if the boys will act unruly, why, just make them do a task." from the national school of bristol wrote professor mark groom: "if the boys are extra naughty, shut them in a dark room." from the district school of edenburgh wrote head-master, mr. glass: "the naughty boys should all be sent to the bottom of the class." from the mixed school of glasgow wrote professor duncan law: "to keep a proper kind of school, just use the three-tailed taw." from the latin school of dublin wrote professor patrick clayrence: "if the boys are very bad boys, write a letter to their parents." from the mission school, calcutta, wrote the rev. mr. mac look: "try them by a boy jury, write the verdict in a black-book." from the lyceum of new york wrote professor henry bothing: "take your delinquent boys one hour and make them sit on nothing." from the public school, chicago, wrote head-master, mr. norrids: "if they will not behave themselves, why, just you slap their foreheads." from, the academy of san francisco wrote head-master, mr. power: "make them stoop and hold their fingers on the floor for just an hour." from the mormon school of utah wrote professor orson pratt: "first strip and make them fast, and then just use the little cat." from the king's college, lisbon, wrote professor don cassiers: "if you want to make them good boys, pull, pinch, and twist their ears." from the cadet's school of paris wrote professor monsieur sour: "just make them hold their hands above their heads for one full hour." from the royal school of amsterdam wrote professor vander tooler: "if they will not behave themselves, just trounce them with a ruler." from the model school of pekin wrote professor cha han coo: "just put their hands into the stocks and beat with a bamboo." from the normal school of moscow wrote professor ivan troute: "to make your boys the best of boys, why, just use the knout." from the muslim school of cairo wrote the mufti, pasha saido: "upon the bare soles of their feet give them the bastinado." from the common school of berlin wrote professor von de rind: "there's nothing like the old, old way that ever could i find; just lay them right across your knee and cane them well behind. i've only just been speaking mit mine goot frien', doctor whistim, and he says that it does no harm, but is felt throughout the system." at last, as i was thinking deep how puzzling all this looks, i received a tempting offer from a certain mr. snooks. his "great machine to whip with speed" i brought with flusteration, but to see just how it did succeed you view the illustration. and then look at "professor cole's gentle persuader." next page. [page 41--whipping machine] [illustration: cole's patent whipping machine.] cole's patent whipping machine for flogging naughty boys in school testimonial from a schoolmaster _(to mr. cole, book arcade, melbourne)_ sir--your patent flogger is a "keen" success as a labor-saving machine; 'twill yet be held in great esteem, already 'tis the poet's theme; it's the greatest patent that's ever been in or out of a schoolroom seen; and as you have got it to go by steam, school-life will now be all serene. i have not had a bad boy remaining now, but before i used your machine they used to be a frightful lot of young scamps. for instance, in my school of 1000, the first day the machine was introduced, 741 were punished for various misdeeds, and 103 for single offences, were flogged as follows:- john hawking, for talking william winning, for grinning george highing, for crying edward daring, for swearing henry wheeling, for stealing peter bitting, for spitting robert hocking, for smoking frederick mention, for inattention joseph footing, for pea-shooting luke jones, for throwing stones matthew sauter, for squirting water nicholas storms, for upsetting forms reuben wrens, for spoiling pens samuel jinks, for spilling ink simon mcleod, for laughing aloud timothy stacies, for making faces victor bloomers, for taking lunars vincent james, for calling names caleb hales, for telling tales daniel padley, for writing badly david jessons, for cribbing lessons edmond gate, for coming late ezra lopen, for leaving the door open edwin druent, for playing the truant charles case, for leaving his place ernest jewell, for eating during school coo ah hi, for using a shanghai francis berindo, for breaking a window harold tate, for breaking his slate isaac joys, for making noise jacob crook, for tearing his book christopher moyes, for teasing other boys elisha sewell, for bolting from school conrad draper, for throwing chewed paper ebenezer good, for telling a falsehood felix snooks, for coming without books cyril froude, for speaking too loud elijah rowe, for speaking too low gregory meek, for refusing to speak hannibal hartz, for throwing paper darts horace poole, for whistling in school hubert shore, for slamming the door jesse blane, for hiding the cane jonah platts, for hiding boys' hats aaron esk, for cutting the desk abner rule, for sleeping in school adam street, for changing his seat albert mayne, for splitting the teacher's cane alexander tressons, for reading during other lessons alfred hoole, for eating lollies in school ambrose hooke, for blotting his copy-book amos blair, for not combing his hair andrew grace, for not washing his face anthony sands, for not washing his hands arnold cootz, for coming in with dirty boots benjamin guess, for coming with untidy dress clarence hyneman, for annoying a stray chinaman michael mctoole, for bringing stones to school cuthbert flindow, for climbing through the window edgar gasking, for going without asking eric grout, for kicking boys' hats about enoch mckay, for pinching the next boy gabriel cook, for tearing a boy's book hyram pope, for pulling the bell rope humphrey proof, for getting on the roof jonah earls, for chasing school-girls jonathan spence, for climbing over the fence phillip cannister, for sliding down the bannister lambert hesk, for sliding on a desk lawrence storm, for standing on a form lazarus beet, for stamping with his feet leopold bate, for swinging on the gate lewis lesks, for kicking legs of desks mark vine, for overstepping the toe-line nathan corder, for not marching in order norman hall, for scribbling on the wall james mace, for hitting a boy in the face thomas sayers, for pushing boys down the stairs oswald hook, for losing a school-book ralph chesson, for not knowing his lesson sampson skinner, for eating another boy's dinner solomon brook, for scribbling in his book stephen platt, for chasing the master's cat neal m'kimney, dropping a brick down the chimney theodore le soof, for throwing stones on the roof valentine rapp, for turning on the water-tap walter hope, for climbing up the bell-rope joshua gail, for catching flies on the wall raymond esk, for sticking pins in the desk julian state, for drawing pictures on his slate gerald astor, for being impudent to the master augustus roff, for not taking his hat off rupert keats, for fixing pens in boys' seats maurice took, for having a dirty copybook esau klaster, for drawing caricatures of the master paul bhool, for letting a bird loose in school jabez breeding, for not knowing the place at reading levi stout, for stopping too long when let out guy m'gill, sharpening a knife on the window-sill duncan heather, pinning two boys' coat-tails together ezekiel black, pinning paper on another boy's back patrick o'toole, for bursting a paper-bag in school eli teet, for putting cobbler's wax on master's seat [page 42--dolly land] [illustration: girl showing dolly to polly.] my lady doll my lady-doll is pretty, my lady-doll is sweet; i like to show my lady-doll to every one i meet my sweet dolly rose o sweet, so sweet, is my dolly rose! just all that i know my dolly knows; and when i am glad the darling is glad and when i am sad the darling is sad. how dear she is, o, nobody knows, no, no, not even my precious rose polly's dolly shining eyes, very blue, opened very wide; yellow curls, very stiff, hanging side by side; chubby cheeks, very pink, lips red as holly; no ears, and only thumbs- that's polly's dolly. pretty doll oh dear! what a beautiful doll my sister has bought at the fair she says i must call it miss poll, and make it a bonnet to wear. oh pretty new doll, it looks fine! it's cheeks are all covered with red. but pray will it always be mine? and please may i take it to bed? how kind was my sister to buy this dolly with hair that will curl; perhaps, if you want to know why, it's because i've been a good girl. poems for children [illustration: puss with doll.] puss's doll now puss had a doll that dame trot bought to please her, and gave it the beautiful name of louisa and when kitty was lonesome or wanted to play, she'd cry for loo! loo! in a comical way. the dolly was petted, was kissed and caressed, though often quite roughly it must be confessed and so pleased was miss puss with louisa's fair charms, she took her cat's meat, with the doll in her arms [illustration: pussy and doggy fighting for dolly.] pussy and doggy fighting for dolly and once, i remember, oh, sad was the day, the cat answered back in an impudent way. and tray was so jealous, the two had a fight, and between them the doll was a terrible fright [page 43--dolly land] [illustration: dolly tumbled out of bed.] dolly tumbled out of bed 'tis very well to smile--now, but you gave me such a fright, when i missed you, darling dolly, in the middle of the night. i thought we played together, and you fell into a stream; yet i said--just half awaking- "'tis nothing but a dream. "for safe upon my pillow lies her curly golden hair," then i reached my hand to touch you, but i couldn't find you there. i felt so sad and lonely that i cried, but all in vain; so to see if i could find you, i went off to sleep again. now, fancy! in the morning there you were, all safe and right; and nurse said, "here's poor dolly, been upon the floor all night!" your pretty curls are tangled, they were so nice and smooth before; so promise, dolly darling, you will tumble out no more! dolly and i i love my dear dolly; i'll tell you her name, i called her "sweet polly" the day that she came. my uncle john brought her from over the sea; and no one shall part us, my dolly and me. she has cheeks like red roses, and eyes blue and bright, that open with daylight, and close with the night. she cries, and says, "mam-ma, mam-mam-ma," so well, that it is not a baby you scarcely can tell. you know, i'm her own ma; a small one, you'll say, but just right for dolly, who wants nought but play. no teaching, no training, few clothes and no food; and i like being her ma, because she's so good. dolly's broken arm mamma, do send for doctor man, and tell him to be quick, my dolly fell and broke her arm, so she is very sick. i thought that she was fast asleep, and laid her on her bed, but down she dropped upon the floor; o dear! she's almost dead! poor dolly! she was just as brave, and did not cry at all; do you suppose she ever can get over such a fall? but when the doctor mends her arm, and wraps it up so tight, then i will be her little nurse, and watch her all the night. and if she only will get well, and does not lose her arm, i'll never let her fall again, nor suffer any harm. little polly little polly, had a dolly, with a curly wig; and miss polly and her dolly, often danced a jig. also polly had a collie, a fine dog was he; blithe and jolly, jumped round polly, barking loud with glee. one day polly knocked her dolly, broke its pretty head. "oh, fie, polly! don't hurt dolly," said her brother ned. then did polly take up dolly, throw it on the floor. said miss polly, in her folly "i will play no more." up ran collie, seized poor dolly, ran off to a friend. friend helped collie to tear up dolly- that was poor dolly's end. [illustration: reading dolly land.] [illustration: two dollies getting up.] [page 44--dolly land] [illustration: girl with dolly.] a little girl's song to her dolly lie down, little dolly. lie still on my lap, it's time now to put on your night dress and cap; you have not been to sleep all through this long day oh, what a long time for a dolly to play! the bright sun went down more than two hours ago; it is long past your bedtime, you very well know: the stars are now peeping from out the blue skies; then go to sleep, dolly! come, shut your blue eyes. mamma says the flowers were asleep long ago- sweet roses and lilies, their heads bending low; she says 'tis a lesson for me and for you- that children and dollies should be asleep too. hark! susan is calling- now out goes the light; i will tug you up snugly, and kiss you good night. it is time you were sleeping for do you not know the dear little birds went to sleep long ago? don't cry my dolly hushy, baby, my dolly, i pray you don't cry, and i'll give you some bread and some milk by and by; or perhaps you like custard, or maybe a tart,- then to either you're welcome, with all my whole heart. the little girl and her doll there, got to sleep, dolly, in own mother's lap, i've put on your nightgown and neat little cap. so sleep, pretty baby, and shut up your eye, bye-bye, little dolly, lie still, and bye-bye. i'll lay my clean handkerchief over your head, and then make believe that my lap is your bed; so hush, little dear, and be sure you don't cry. bye-bye, little dolly, lie still, and bye-bye. there, now it is morning and time to get up, and i'll give you some milk in my doll's china cup. so wake up, little baby and open your eye, for i think it high time to have done with bye-bye. jane taylor sleep, dolly sleep sleep, dolly, sleep. you must not, must not weep. now close your eyes so brown, and let me lay you down. sleep, dolly, sleep. wake, dolly, wake, too long a nap you take; it's time to make the tea, and you must help, you see. wake, dolly, wake. run, dolly, run, run out in golden sun; run up the hill with me, and then to the apple-tree. run, dolly, run. mrs hibbert my dolly shut your eyes, my darling! when the shadows creep, when the flowers are closing little ones must sleep. don't be frightened, dolly! in my arms you lie; nestle down and slumber to my lullaby dolly is so active, always full of fun, wakeful still and smiling e'en when day is done hush thee now, my dearest, to my slumber-song; children lose their roses, sitting up too long. my dolly i must go home to dolly, and put her to bed; i know she's so tired, she can't raise her head. some dolls are so old, they can sit up till eight, but mine gets quite ill if she stays up so late! dolly's asleep tell me a story just one, mother dear. candles are coming bedtime is near there is my hand to hold bend down your head, don't speak too loud, mother, dolly's in bed no! not the story of old jack and jill they were so stupid to tumble down the hill. i'm tired of jack horner and little bo-peep.- stay! let me see if dolly's asleep. hush, dolly darling! i'm watching, you know no one shall hurt you; i will not go. you are so warm,- like a bird in it's nest. go to sleep, darling,- rest, dolly, rest. ah! there is mary just come in with a light: now there is no time for a story to-night, please make the boys, mother, mind how they tread. their boots are so heavy, and--dolly's in bed. good night, dear mother! ask papa, please, when he comes home, not to cough or to sneeze give me your hand, mary hush! softly creep; we must not wake her,- dolly's asleep. if at all restless or wakeful she seems, don't be to anxious; i fancy she dreams. say to her softly, just shaking your head; "go to sleep, dolly,- adie's in bed." [illustration: hush! (dolls are sleeping.)] [page 45--dolly land] [illustration: girl with doll.] lost dolly the sunflowers hang their heavy heads and wish the sun would shine; the clouds are grey; the wind is cold. "where is that doll of mine? the dark is coming fast," said she. "i'm in a dreadful fright. i don't know where i left my doll, and she'll be out all night "twice up and down the garden-walks i looked; but she's not there, oh! yes, i've hunted in the hay; i've hunted everywhere. i must have left her out of doors, but she is not in sight. no dolly in the summer-house, and she'll be out all night. "the dew will wet her through and through and spoil her dear best dress; and she will wonder where i am and be in such distress; the dogs may find her in the grass, and bark or even bite; and all the bats will frighten her that fly about at night. "i've not been down into the woods or by the brook to-day. i'm sure i had her in my arms when i came out to play, just after dinner; then i know, i watched tom make his kite. will anybody steal my doll if she stays out all night. "i wonder where papa has gone? why, here he comes; and see he's bringing something in his hand; that's dolly certainly! and so you found her in the chaise, and brought her home all right? i'll take her to the baby-house. i'm glad she's home tonight." sarah o. jewett talking to dolly well, dolly, what are you saying, when you blink and wink your eyes? i'm sure your thoughts are straying, for you look so very wise. i wonder what you think about, and why you never talk, and how it is you never shout, and never try to walk! i wonder if you're ever sad, and if you ever weep; i wonder if you're ever glad when i rock you off to sleep. i wonder if you love me well- as well as i love you. i do so wish you'd try and tell; come, dolly, darling, do! darling dolly darling dolly's house shall be high as lofty apple-tree; it shall have a door inlaid, of the sweetest light and shade. it shall have for pictures fair fancies that are rich and rare; it shall have a golden roof, and tapestry with stars for woof. and it shall have a dome of blue with the moonlight streaming through, and stately pillars, straight as firs, bending to each wind that stirs. darling dolly's house shall be high as a lofty apple-tree; it shall have a door inlaid, of the sweetest light and shade. [illustration: girl showing doll to another girl.] sour grapes "such a doll! i wouldn't have it, with its trailing baby dress! pooh! a dolly twice as handsome i could have for asking, bess. needn't ask me if it's pretty, no, i do not care to wait, i am in an awful hurry, if you keep me, i'll be late." off went nannie, proud lip curling, head uplifted in disdain, bessie hugged her dolly closely, laughing over truth so plain. "nan was envious, dolly darling, 'twasn't aught of wrong in you, but the trouble lay in nannie, she would like to own you too." [illustration: my dolly house.] [page 46--dolly land] [illustration: oh, you naughty dog to bite my dolly.] [illustration: boo! boo! boo! he has swallowed my dolly.] ten little dollies ten little dollies standing in a line, one tumbled down, and then there were nine. nine little dollies sitting up so late, one went to sleep then there were eight. eight little dollies- all their ages even, one grew up tall and then there were seven. seven little dollies, full of funny tricks, one snapt her head off then there were six. six little dollies- looked almost alive, one lost her "pin-back," then there were five. five little dollies, walking by a door, one got her nose pinched, then there were four. four little dollies on their mamma's knee, one cried her eyes out, then there were three. three little dollies, didn't know what to do, one tore her bows off, then there were two. two little dollies, very fond of fun, one melts her nose off, then there was one. one little dolly, living all alone, died broken-hearted, then there were none. [illustration: teaching dolly abc.] [illustration: kissing after a doll quarrel.] [page 47--dolly land] [illustration: washing dolly's clothes.] my week on monday i wash my dollies' clothes, on tuesday smoothly press 'em, on wednesday mend their little hose, on thursday neatly dress 'em. on friday i play they're taken ill, on saturday something or other; but when sunday comes, i say, "lie still, i'm going to church with mother." [illustration: giving dolly a bath.] dirty dolly naughty miss dolly played out in the mud, and got all her clothes quite black; and now such a rubbing, and scrubbing and tubbing as we have to give them, good lack! 'tis hard to be mothers and laundresses too, and nurses and cooks beside. grown people don't know all we chicks have to do, for how can they tell till they've tried? washing day troubles i know a little girl who tried, to wash her dolly's clothes, one day, in bridget's great, big tub, and cried because mamma sent her away to find her own small dolly-tub, more fit for little girls to use. but naughty sally shook her head and all suggestions did refuse. and when she found herself alone, she went to bridget's tub again, but, as is sure to be the case, her disobedience brought her pain. for, what do you think? she tumbled in, and gave herself an awful fright, and no one pitied her; in fact, they all laughed at her in her plight. washing dolly miss mary standing at the tub giving dolly a thorough scrub. trying to make her nice and sweet before she dresses for the street. if health an happiness you'd glean remember always to keep clean. doll rosy's bath 'tis time doll rosy had a bath, and she'll be good, i hope; she likes the water well enough, but she doesn't like the soap. now soft i'll rub her with a sponge, her eyes and nose and ears, and splash her fingers in the bowl and never mind the tears. there now--oh, my! what have i done? i've washed the skin off--see! her pretty pink and white are gone entirely! oh, dear me! the new tea-things come, dolly, come quick, for i want you to see the present mamma has just given to me; a set of new tea-things that really hold tea. a dear little teapot to keep the tea hot, and tiny white cups with a pretty blue spot, and a glass sugar-basin. how nice, is it not? and i am to use them this same afternoon; so dolly i'll give you some tea very soon in a little white cup, with a saucer and spoon. [illustration: tea with dolls.] [page 48--dolly land] [illustration: sewing doll clothes.] doll dress-making making dolly's dresses, don't you think it's fun? here is one already, that i've just begun oh, how many stitches! and such a tangly thread! when i pricked my finger i just guess it bled there! the needle's broken- bending all about- that's a sign my dolly'll wear the dresses out youth's companion dolly town have you ever been down to dolly town? the sight would do you good there the dollies walk, and the dollies talk, and they ride about in a grand turn-out, with a coachman thin who is made of tin, and a footman made of wood there are very fine houses in dolly town, red, and green and blue; and a doctor, too, who has much to do, just to mend their toes and their arms and nose, when they tumble down and crack their crown and the stuff they take is glue but the finest sight in dolly town that place to children dear- is no dolly at all, though so neat and small if you've time to spare, go on tiptoe there, see the pretty girl, the rose, the pearl, who is queen of dolly town my little doll rose i have a little doll, i take care of her clothes she has soft flaxen hair, and her name is rose she has pretty blue eyes, and a very small nose, and a cunning little mouth, and her name is rose i have a little sofa where my dolly may repose, or sit up like a lady; and her name is rose my doll can move her arms, and can stand upon her toes, she can make a pretty curtsey my dear little rose how old is your dolly? very young i suppose, for she cannot go alone, my pretty little rose indeed i cannot tell in poetry or prose how beautiful she is, my darling little rose. e. follen sewing for dolly such a busy little mother! such a pretty little "child"! did you ever see a dolly with a face more sweet and mild? such a comfort to her mother, who is busy all the day, and who never finds a moment with her little girl to play there are dresses to be altered, there are aprons to be made, "for my child in wardrobe matters must not be thrown in shade" says the busy little mother, as she clips and works away, and a brand new dress for dolly will be made this very day the lost doll i once had a sweet little doll, dears, the prettiest doll in the world; her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, and her hair was so charmingly curled. but i lost my poor little doll, dears, as i played in the heath one day; i cried for her more than a week, dears, but i could never find where she lay. folks say she is terribly changed, dears, for her paint is all washed away, and her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, and her hair is not the least bit curled; yet for old sake's sake she is still, dears, the prettiest doll in the world. charles kingsley dolly's patchwork counterpane oh, mary, see what the nurse has found, such store of pieces in my box! some green, and some with lilac ground. they'll make such lovely blocks she says she'll teach me how to make a counterpane for dolly's bed, this lovely piece i first will take, with sprays of roses white and red and thin this piece with purple spots will look so pretty next to that! i'll keep my cotton free from knots, and make my stitches neat and flat and "when i've finished it," she says she'll line it with a square of white. oh, dolly dear! your little bed will be a most enchanting sight! the wooden doll i'm but a wooden doll, have neither wit nor grace; and very clumsy in my joints and yet i know my place. most people laugh at a wooden doll, and wooden i may be, but little children love me much and that's enough for me. when i am dressed in fine long clothes, in fur, and silk, and lace, i think myself i'm not so bad and yet i know my place. let people laugh--i know i'm wood: wax i can never be; but little children think i'm grand- that's quite enough for me. buy my dolls come buy my dolls, my pretty dolls: come buy my dolls, i pray: i've such a heap, and i sell so cheap, i almost give them away. i've waxen dolls, and china dolls, and dollies made of gum, some are small, and some are tall, some talk and some are dumb. bald head dolls, and dolls with hair, all beauties in their way- so very nice, so low in price, please buy my dolls to-day. laughing dolls, and crying dolls; dolls of various ages, infant dolls, and lady dolls, dolls in all the stages. go where you may, you will not find such bargains as are these make my heart light, buy them to night, to grace your christmas trees. [illustration: finishing dolls.] [page 49--dolly land] [illustration: doctor charlie and his patient.] doctor charlie and his patient run for the doctor! dolly's very sick! mary, you'll have to go, i cannot leave her; tell him to pack his bottles and come quick; i think she has got a very dangerous fever." in stalks a hat and cane; if you look close, you'll see doctor charlie, somewhere under; he takes a pinch of snuff and blows his nose, while poor sick dolly seems to stare in wonder. he feels her pules, he gravely shakes his head: his hat dropped o'er his eyes with the shake he gave it; he says poor dolly must be put to bed and have her head shaved- he, in fact, will shave it. poor mamma sober looks, but says at once that "dolly's head shall not be shaved! i guess not! her hair would never grow again, you dunce!" "it shall!" "it shan't!" "she'll die then, if it's not!" but mary, ere the quarrel gets too grave (already in her hand a bowl of gruel), says, "don't you know that doctors do not shave? and then besides, it really would be cruel!" "i'll give her pills, then, when she's safe in bed, plenty and sweet--of sugar i will make them; as dolly cannot eat, 'twill do instead for you and me and mary here to take them." dollies' broken noses two little babies in carriages two, two little nurses with duty to do. both little nurses were careful at first, soon both grew careless- which was the worst. o what a pitiful wail from the street! one broken rail trips four little feet. over went carriages, babies and all, and two china noses were cracked in the fall. the soldier dolly there once was a sweet tiny maiden, a wee little woman of four, who scarce could reach up to the table, or open the nursery door; and this poor little maid, she was crying- her dolly had such a fall! yes there on the ground he was lying- her darling, the best of them all. this dolly had been a brave soldier, with uniform, sabre, and all, and worshipp'd a doll in the doll's-house, that stood by the side of the wall. she was only a poor tiny maiden, a wee little woman of four, and she sat with her heart nearly breaking, with the doll in her lap on the floor. and the poor, tiny, sorrowful maiden, the wee little woman of four, now lies with her dead soldier dolly, asleep on the nursery floor. the dead doll you needn't be trying to comfort me- i tell you my dolly is dead! there's no use saying she isn't- with a crack like that on her head. it's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out that day. and then when they most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say. and i guess you must think i'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue! as if i didn't know better than that! why, just suppose it was you? you might make her look all mended- but what do i care for looks? why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books! my dolly! my own little daughter! oh, but it's the awfullest crack! it just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack against this horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. now, nursey, what makes you remind me? i know that i did it myself? i think you must be crazy- you'll get her another head! what good would forty heads do her? i tell you my dolly is dead! and to think that i hadn't quite finished her elegant new year's hat! and i took a sweet ribbon of hers list night to tie on that horrid cat! when my mamma gave me that ribbon- i was playing out in the yard- she said to me most expressly: "here's a ribbon for hildegarde." and i went and put it on tabby, and hildegarde saw me do it; but i said to myself, "oh, never mind, i don't believe she knew it!" but i know that she knew it now, and i just believe, i do, that her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. oh, my baby! my little baby! i wish my head had been hit! for i've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit. but since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried of course; we will take my little wagon, nurse, and you shall be the horse; and i'll walk behind and cry; and we'll put her in this--you see, this dear little box--and we'll bury them under the maple tree. and papa will make a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird; and he'll put what i tell him on it- yes, every single word! i shall say: "here lies hildegarde, a beautiful doll that is dead; she died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head." margaret vandegrift dolly's doctor dolly, my darling, is dreadfully sick; oh, dear! what shall i do? despatch to the doctor a telephone quick to bring her a remedy new. hush! that is the doctor's tap! tap! tap! don't make such a terrible noise- don't you see how the darling lies still on my lap, and never looks up at you boys! come, doctor, and tell me now just what you think would be best for my darling so sweet. 'give dolly a bucket of water to drink, in a bowl of hot gruel put her feet.' [illustration: giving sick dolly medicine.] [page 50--dolly land] [illustration: dollies courting.] christening dolly see, this is my christmas dolly, two weeks ago she came; and, oh! the trouble i have had to find a pretty name. at first i thought of marguerite- a french name, meaning "pearl"- but nellie said, "oh! that's too stiff for such a graceful girl." and then i mentioned, one by one, susanna, ruth, and poll, "but they are too old-fashioned names said nell, "to suit your doll." so the next day i got a great big book, and searched it through and through, then shook my head and sadly said: "there's not one name will do." my brother tom was sitting near, he raised his eyes and smiled; "why, pussy dear," he kindly said, "suppose i name your child." "oh! will you brother tom?" i cried, and then i hugged him, so; (hugging her doll.) "we'll play you are the parson that christens folks, you know." so then, he took her in his arms and solemnly and slow he said: "this baby's name shall be miss josephine, or jo." and there, before i knew it, my baby had a name; and what i like about it, is, that mine is just the same. e.c. and j.t. rook the dollies visit three little girls brought each a doll, to pass an afternoon; the dresses all were soon displayed, their bangles made a tune; and when they parted to go home, one young girl shrewdly said: "our dollies have behaved real nice- they have no scandal spread." w. the little girl over the way whenever i'm tired of reading, or lonely in my play, i come to the window here, and watch the little girl over the way. but she will not look nor listen, nor stand for a moment still; and though i watch her the livelong day, i'm afraid she never will. for some day some one will buy her, and carry her quite away;- she is only a doll in a great glass-case, the little girl over the way. maggie's talk to doll my dolly dear, come sit up here! and say why you don't cry. i've struck your head against the bed, and cracked your pretty eye, my dolly dear, do sit up here, and let me see your face; and say, my pet, why you don't fret now pug has got your place. my pretty poll my dear, dear doll, why don't you eat or talk? like sister jane, and sally blane, and then go for a walk? you have an eye, but never cry, and lips, but never prattle; you've fingers ten, like brother ben, but never shake the rattle. you never eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor move unless you're carried: and when i pinch, you never flinch, nor say that you are worried. minnie to dolly your hair is so pretty, your eyes are so blue, your cheeks are so rosy, your frock is so new, you're the prettiest dolly i ever did see. though your hair is so pretty, and your eyes are so blue, i'd rather be minnie than i would be you, for you can't see the flowers when they come up in spring; you can't hear the birdies, how sweetly they sing; nor run out of doors to look in the sky, and see the white clouds as they pass swiftly by. you've no kind of papa or mamma to be near, to love you and teach you; so, dolly, my dear, though your cheeks are so rosy, and your dress is so new, i'd rather be minnie than i would be you. my dolly my dolly, polly angelina brown, has a pretty little bonnet, and a pretty little gown; a pretty little bonnet, with a lovely feather on it; oh, there's not another like it to be found in all the town! my dolly, polly, is a precious little pet; her eyes are bright as jewels, and her hair is black as jet; i hug her, and i kiss her! and oh, how i should miss her if she were taken from me; oh how i should grieve and fret! my little brother charley, says my dolly is "a muff," and he calls her other horrid names though that is bad enough; and though he's very clever, i never, no, i never let him handle her or dandle her, for boys, you know, are rough. my dolly's always smiling; she was never known to frown. and she looks so very charming in her sunday hat and gown. you really ought to see her to get a good idea of the beauty of my dolly, polly angelina brown. dolly's wedding come along; come along; the rain has gone away. dingle-dong! dingle dong; it is dolly's wedding-day! charley has got his night-gown on. mary has put the chairs: charley is the clergyman who'll marry them up-stairs. come along; come along; the rain has gone away. dingle-dong! dingle dong; it is dolly's wedding-day! sambo has got an old white hat, and a coat with but one tail; sambo's face is very black, dolly's is rather pale. come along; come along; the rain has gone away. dingle-dong! dingle dong; it is dolly's wedding-day! sambo has got a woolly pate, dolly has golden hair. when sambo marries dolly, they'll be a funny pair! come along; come along; the rain has gone away. dingle-dong! dingle dong; it is dolly's wedding-day! [illustration: wedding for dolls.] [page 51--dolly land] [illustration: dollies in school.] my doll i found my old dolls in the attic to-day, in a box where i long ago laid them away. it was silly, i know, but 'twas such a surprise, the sight of their faces brought tears to my eyes. there was poor little flossie, with azure eyes closed. for many a month she had quietly dozed, in the little silk gown in which i last dressed her- that time was brought back so i stopped and caressed her; and then, as i raised her, she opened her eyes, and stared at her mother in such sad surprise that i kissed her and laid her again in her place to keep her reproachful blue eyes off my face. and next i uncovered my little bisque mabel, to meet whose brown eyes i was still more unable. there gaze was surprised, but exceedingly mild, my poor little, dear little, led-away child! and i kissed her, her face looked so childish and sweet, and i held for a moment her little kid feet, for her stockings were scattered, and so were her shoes, and then, when i found them, they gave me the blues. i kissed her, and laid her back in the box, but she looked at me still (for her eyes would not shut) and hastily covering her face from my sight, i searched till wax elsie i brought to the light. now, that poor little doll was only my niece, her eyes were dark blue and her curls white as fleece but her nose was so flat, 'twas no longer a nose, and her wax cheeks had faded and lost all their rose. from losing her sawdust her body was slender, yet for those very reasons my kiss was more tender, and i laid the poor thing away with a sigh, and feeling, i must say, like having a cry. one big doll was missing,- my dear rosabel,- how much i did love her, i really can't tell. it is painful, indeed, to be talking about, but i loved her so much that i quite wore her out. well, well, i am older, but i'm sure i'm not glad. the thought of those old times, in fact makes me sad. and, although the feeling is silly, i know, i cannot help sighing: "oh! why did i grow?" bertha gerneaux davis [illustration: mistress of four dollies.] mistress of four dollies this little girl, i'm glad to say, is eight years old this very day. she makes a hat for the little "doll," and puts in it a feather tall. one doll is large, and one is small, another short another tall. she talks to them. they won't obey, and then she says, "you cannot play." grandmamma's visit with grandma's cap upon her head, and spectacles on her nose, and grandma's shawl upon her back, grace to her sister goes. "my dear grandchild, although i am now getting very old, i've toddled all this way to ask about your dolly's cold." "dear grandmamma, i thank you much, and i am glad to say she had a good sound sleep last night, and is quite well to-day." lucy's dolls five little dolls to claim my care to fix their clothes and comb their hair; five little dolls to dress and keep and put away each night to sleep. i don't think grown folks ever know what troubles small folks undergo; i have to cook to please all five- i wonder much that i'm alive! [illustration: lucy and her dolls.] [page 52--dolly land] [illustration: please mend my dolly.] dolly is dead i can't help crying! oh dear! my doll is dead, i fear, yes, she must be dead, for she's lost her head, and she looks so horribly queer. but they say our doctor's a clever man, i'll get him to put on her head if he can. the doll show (for seven little girls--six with dolls. the seventh to be the judge.) _first girl enters, with doll in her arms._ we're going to have a dolly show, this very afternoon- the little girls will bring their dolls, (i think they'll be here soon), and then we'll have such lots of fun, we'll place them in a row, and the one the judge declares the best will take the prize, you know. my dolly is all ready, i've dressed her as a bride; don't she look sweet; she'll take the prize, of that i'm satisfied. _places her doll on a bench or chair, and takes a seat._ _second girl_ oh, such a time as i have had, i thought i would be late; i took so very, very long to dress my little kate, but here she is, my infant doll, so white, and clean, and pure, oh, yes, my precious darling, you'll take the prize, i'm sure. _places doll next to doll no. 1 and takes a seat._ _third girl--carrying a handsome french doll._ my dolly came from sunny france, her name is antoinette, she's two years old on christmas day, and she's my dearest pet. her feet and hands are very small, her hair is soft and light, her eyes the deepest, darkest blue, and very large and bright. this handsome dress from paris came, also this stylish hat, why, she of course will take the prize, i'm positive of that. _places her doll by doll no. 2, and takes a seat._ _fourth girl_ i hope they've saved a little space for jack, my sailor lad, the bravest, best, and nicest son a mother ever had. he wears a suit of navy blue- i've brought him to the show because he looks so very nice, he'll take the prize, i know. _places it by doll no. 3, and sits down._ _fifth girl--a very small girl holding by the arm a large rag baby with a long dress._ my mamma's writing letters, and told me--"run away," and so i brought my dolly to the baby show, to-day. she isn't very pretty, but she's very nice, i think, her eyes, and nose, and little mouth, my mamma made with ink. i love my dolly, 'cause she's good- she never never cries, so don't you think she'll be the one to carry off the prize? _places her doll by doll no. 4, and takes a seat._ _sixth girl_ they mustn't crowd my baby out, although she's black as night. i think she'll stand as good a chance as babies that are white. she's very neat, and nice, and clean, her lips are cherry red, she wears a gay bandanna tied round her curly head. she's a very handsome lady, and if the judge be wise, i do not have the slightest doubt that she will take the prize. _places her doll by doll no. 5, and sits down._ _first girl--to the girls_ do not open your mouths, nor shut your eyes! for here comes the judge to award the prize. _seventh girl--enters carrying a wand. she views each doll in turn with critical eyes, then pointing to the first doll, says--_ number one is very pretty, but i think she's rather tall. _points to no. 2_ and this cunning little baby, is a little bit too small. _no. 3_ number three--a fine french lady, too frenchy is, i fear. _points to no. 4_ and master jack, i like your looks, but i think you dress too queer. _no. 5_ and this old-fashioned baby doll, i guess lived in the ark; _no. 6_ no, no, miss dinah, no prize for you, your skin is much too dark. _then turning to the little girls, she continues:_ and now, dear anxious mothers, i find i can't decide which doll shall have the premium, but i'll be satisfied if you'll call another meeting to-morrow afternoon, i need more time to settle this- to-day is much too soon. so, mothers, now i give these babies back to your loving care; and i thank you much for bringing them to our famous baby fair. _hands each doll to it's owner._ _exit all._ [illustration: doll and cat--please, puss, don't hurt me.] [page 53--dolly land] [illustration: dog hitched to doll carriage.] a doll's adventures round the world all round the world and back again dolly and i have been; by sea and land we've travelled far, the strangest sights have seen. to greenland first we sailed away to see the snow and ice, but dolly's nose--it nearly froze- oh, dear! that wasn't nice! so off we tripp'd to canada, there 'twas not quite so cold- but there the indians in the woods rushed after us so bold. we ran away to montana, o'er rocky mountains high, to picnic in wild oregon, famous for pumpkin pie. then down to california, through many a field of gold, and over ancient mexico, past temples manifold. the sandwich isles we visited, where grew such radiant flowers, and pretty girls danced all the day in fragrant, rosy bowers. we crossed the equatorial seas, and, sailing round and round the lovely islands of the main, sweet coral groves we found. new zealand's shores we landed at, the country of strange things- cherries that carried the stones out-side, and flowers with butterflies' wings. oh, when we reach australia- what heaps and heaps of gold! and a million sheep and lambs we saw straying from fold to fold. to buy some tea-pots and some trays, we called at quaint japan, where a very polite old japanese gave dolly an ivory fan. we took a trip to chinese land to take a cup of tea, but neither sugar nor cream was given, which didn't suit dolly and me. then travelling to hindustan, we met a tiger there, who looked as though he would eat us up- so off we flew elsewhere. and found ourselves in the khyber pass, in the midst of a caravan, with which we travelled night and day to reach afghanistan. across the red sea next we sail'd and through the suez canal, to purchase a camel at old cairo, with a trot most magical, across the desert we rode apace, no water was there to drink, ah, oh!--while climbing a pyramid dolly dropped down a chink. an arab kindly rescued her- (she did so ruffle her hair; if ever she plays that trick again she'll have to be left down there.) at last we left the desert drear, to sail upon the nile, in the pasha's beautiful diabeheh past many a crocodile. we saw no end of wonders now in africa's strange land- forests full of lions fierce, and many a savage band. our steamer on the congo sank- we were in a dreadful plight until we met with stanley true, and then we steered aright. we said good-bye to africa, and, though winds proved contrary, northward our wondrous way we took to the isles of sweet canary. thence favouring gales conveyed us far beyond the spanish shore; fast by the coast of france we sped to our own land once more. and now we're safe at home again, and wise as wise can be; for seeing all the world's wonders improves my doll and me. sabina the story of a doll i stood in the semi-darkness and watched a child at her play; her cares were of multiform nature, and the daylight was speeding away. her dolly demanded attention, to be petted and kissed and be fed; to have on its little nightgown, and then to be put in its bed. all this with a motherly yearning she had learned by the instinct of love; and the dolly but faintly presented a gift from the heaven above. the dear little creature had finished and was just about turning to go, when the scene all changed in a moment and turned into weeping and woe. a boy, almost reaching to manhood, dashed wildly from the room, and seizing the doll from the cradle rushed out again into the gloom. there was one wild scream from the maiden, a clasp of the hands and a chase; but the boy thought the thing was funny and was in for a brotherly race. but soon, when the screaming was louder and he saw all the pain he had caused. he threw down the doll on the flooring, and sneering, he suddenly paused. "i wouldn't be such a cry-baby," he said, with a half-mocking drawl; "i can buy plenty more that's just like it, "it's only a plaster doll. "why don't you get one made of china, instead of that plaster thing? an then i would try to respect it," and he took himself off with a fling. "oh, my dolly, my dolly is broken," and quick in her bosom she hid the maimed little bit of her sunshine, "i loved it, i loved it, i did. "i don't care if it was only plaster; 'twas my dolly, my dolly, my own." and she knelt by the mangled plaything. "and now i am left all alone." ten years from that very evening, i stood by the couch of a child, while a man knelt and wept beside it, with a face both haggard and wild. 'twas the old scene of the dolly repeated, the boy had to manhood grown; a hand crushed his plaster idol and left him to mourn all alone. ah me! how the world is repeated, the work of each day o'er and o'er. we all have our broken dollies away on the golden shore. did he think, i wonder, of that one he threw on the carpetless floor. watson [illustration: cruel boy keeping doll away from crying girl.] [page 54--dolly land] i am homesick, dolly dear dolly knows what's the matter- dolly and i. it isn't the mumps nor the measles- oh! dear, i shall die! it's the mothering we want, dolly, the--what shall i call it? and grandpa says he has sent- he put the 'spatch safe in his wallet. i know well enough that he dropped that telegraph 'spatch in the fire, if mother just knew, she'd come if 'twas on the telegraph wire! she'd take my poor head, that is splitting this very minute, and she'd sing "there's a happy land," and the hymn that has "darling" in it. course, i like grandpa's house; it's the splendidest place to stay, when there's all the outdoors to live in, and nothing to do but to play; somehow you forget your mother- that is, just the littlest bit, though if she were here, i suppose that i shouldn't mention it. but oh! there's a difference, dolly, when your head is so full of pains that ('cepting the ache that's in 'em) there's nothing left of your brains, remember how nice it feels, dolly, to have your head petted and "poored." ache? why i ache all over, and my bed is as hard as a board. nurse says "it's a sweet, lovely morning." it may be for all that i care; there's just one spot in this great wide world that is pretty--i wish i was there! i can see the white roses climbing all over the low porch door, and the daisies and buttercups growing- i never half loved them before. and mother--let's see! she's standing in that very same door, no doubt; she loves to look out in the morning and see what the world is about, in a pale-blue something-or-other- a loose sort of wrapper, i guess; as if a few yards of sky had been taken to make a dress. and up from the pine woods yonder comes a beautiful woodsy smell, and the breeze keeps a hinting of may flowers- the real-pink arbutus bell; and i think most likely the robins have built in the cherry tree; and by and by there'll be birdies- and i shall not be there to see! did you hear any noise, dolly! speak, dolly, you little witch! as if someone was laughing--or crying! i couldn't tell which! we've kept from crying, so far; we've choked but we wouldn't cry; i've just talked it out to you, dear; i had to, or else i'd die. but if that is you, mother- and i know by your lips that it is- i'll just squeeze your head off!- you think that all i want is a kiss! o mother! to papa and tom you needn't got mention it, but you know it was homesickness almost killed your poor little kit! [illustration: american indian dolls.] [illustration: japanese dolls.] [illustration: dolls of europe, africa and asia.] [page 55--a lady making dolls] [illustration: lady making dolls.] _every dolly should have a name_ a thousand names for dollies and babies adam and madam, hagar and jagar, lottie and tottie, dinah and nina, hebe and phoebe, claude and maude, connell and donnell, dove and love, are all good names for dolls. ruth and truth, ducie and lucy, casper and jasper, mercy and percy, angeletta and vangeletta, gilliam and william, luby and ruby, ada and saida, are all good names for dolls. abihu and elihu, becky and jacky, alf and ralph, giles and miles, colin and rollin, lubin and reuben, arthur and marthur, marybella and sarybella, are all good names for dolls. hubert and rupert, nice and rice, bryan and ryan, alpin and galpin, duke and luke, mulic and ulic, bessy and hessy, hildalene and tildalene, are all good names for dolls. mose and rose, gordon and jordan, donald and ronald, ervin and mervin, mirzah and tirzah, alick and gallic, handel and randal, fredelena and tedelena, are all good names for dolls. bridget and midget, louisa and theresa, hillah and zillah, milfred and wilfred, larkin and martyn, horam and joram, jael and shaul, fannyette and nannyette, are all good names for dolls. abisha and elisha, abitub and ahitub, crissylene and sissylene, averil and daveril, botolph, and rodolph, lilian and milian, maynard and reynard, kizzylene and lizzylene, are all good names for dolls. prichard and richard, darian and marian, dowzabel and rosabel, artemus and bartemus, dathan and nathan, germaine and hermaine, abelard and ermengarde, dovelene and loyelene, are all good names for dolls. nicodemus and polyphemous, marianne and sarianne, lucylena and nucylena, edmond and redmond, nebulon and zebulon, jeanette and mynette, apollyon and napoleon, jinnylene and winnylene, are all good names for dolls. coralius and doralius, horatius and ignatius, agnes and dagnes, eldred and meldred, obijah and orijah, adriel and gabriel, ivan and sivan, claudelius and maudelius, are all good names for dolls. brunius an junius, simon and timon, bobab and hobab, darnell and parnell, jirah and sirah, marylena and sarylena, faban and laban, lilianette and millianette, are all good names for dolls. lubylene and rubylene, manuel and samuel, herodicus and herodotus, ella and zella, flavius and zavius, grace and mace, borgia and georgia, dinalene and minalene, are all good names for dolls. ira and myra, claudia and maudia, laymond and raymond, gisborn and lisborn, fernando and hernando, paul and saul, hulia and julia, lancylene and nancylene, are all good names for dolls. barret and garret, diamond and simund, bathilda and matilda, charissa and clarissa, minnielene and tinnielene, abinoam and ahinoam, clarice and paris, bessielene and jessielene, are all good names for dolls. josiah and sophia, bariah and mariah, jeziah and keziah, amariah and amaziah, josibiah and josiphia, uriah and jeremiah, obadiah and zachariah, are all good names for dolls. florence and laurence, athaliah and jocaliah, abira and sapphira, donetta and johnetta, biddy and liddy, janette and nanette, dometta and tometta, agrippa and phillippa, are all good names for dolls. lucretia and venetia, criscilla and priscilla, belinda and selinda, dara and hara, ambrose and lambrose, frances and nances, bertie and gertie, ruthelene and truthelene, are all good names for dolls. dorna and lorna, german and herman, josanna and johanna, alfred and talfred, hamar and tamar, ashur and jasher, baruch and saruch, mollyetta and pollyetta, are all good names for dolls. angelena and vangelena, cherubima and seraphima, bede and reid, josabad and rosabad, lulia and tulia, harold and jarold, jeroboam and rehoboam, paulina and saulina, are all good names for dolls. tunice and unice, sambrose and vambrose, meshach and sheshach, bertram and gertram, amon and samon, claudius and maudius, borelius and horelius, bonalene and monalene, are all good names for dolls. [page 56--name land] _the reading over of these 1000 names, all different, will give splendid exercise in spelling and pronunciation._ gomer and homer, selah and telah, rasman and tasman, barak and sarak, janet and nanet, heavenbella and sevenbella, ahaz and azaz, antimeg and antineg, are all good names for dolls. allon and fallon, abdiel and zabdiel, andronicus and veronicus, anthony and vanthony, amery and zamery, james and kames, antonius and santonius, mattylene and pattylene, are all good names for dolls. bedrodach and nedrodach, festus and vestus, geoffrey and zeffrey, henry and kenry, gilbert and hilbert, anim and banim, noah and joah, mercylene and percylene, are all good names for dolls. dovetta and lovetta, azel and bazel, corinda and dorinda, besar and cesar, doram and horam, ananiah and apia, floralius and horalius, marionette and sarionette, are all good names for dolls. coralene and doralene, floralene and noralene, dathan and nathan, abiram and ahiram, imon and dimon, cornelius and aurelius, ethelene and bethelene, jera and terah, are all good names for dolls. ben and glen, neziah and tiziah, madoc and zadoc, pauline and sauline, abihud and ahihud, kiza and liza, dius and pius, nucy and sucy, are all good names for dolls. alfric and salfric, frank and hank, kobina and rosina, florinda and laurinda, deborah and ketorah, shebaniah and shecaniah, sherariah and shemariah, are all good names for dolls. abia, beriah and neriah, alberic, almeric & alperic, volinda, wolinda & zolinda abijah, ahijah and elijah, dida, ida and fida, dias, elias and tobias, quick, vic and zic, hugh, leu and pugh, are all good names for dolls. cora, dora and flora, lora, nora and zora, biram, hiram and miram, vessie, wessie and zessie, barrat, jarrat and garrat, ham, lam and zam, adelia, afelia and amelia, dugo, hugo and nugo, are all good names for dolls. ivy, livy and zivy, betty, hetty and letty, netty, petty and zetty, linny, winny and zinny, hester, lester and nestor, helena, serena and sabina, mab, nab and rab, dottielene, lottielene & tottielene are all good names for dolls. bruno, juno and uno, eugene, nugene and sugene, dorman, gorman and norman, jean, vean and zean, hew, seu and zue, azur, kazur and nazur, davia, flavia and pavia, apulias, julius and tulias, are all good names for dolls. biram, hiram and piram, katline, matline and patline, seba, sheba, and zebah, aubrey, daubrey and vaubrey, nebo, nego and necho, andrew, mandrew and vandrew, dalwin, talwin and zalwin, abi, ahi and ami, are all good names for dolls. larissa, narissa and varrissa, di, guy and nie, dot, lot and tot, delicia, felicia and letitia, bona, jonah and mona, queenie, teenie and weenie, edward, nedward, tedward, dom, pom and tom, are all good names for dolls. muric, uric and zurich, doddard, goddard and stoddard, heggie, meggie and peggie, darvey, harvey and jarvey, haddox, maddox and zaddox, joel, loel and noel, aaron, saron and zaron, bilhah, hillah and zillah, are all good names for dolls. anneline, fannylene & nannylene, albina, aldina and alvina, annie, fannie and nanny, elim, phelim and selim, bobbie, robbie & zobbie, alma, palma and talma, gillis, phillis and willis, bettylene, hettylene & lettylene, are all good names for dolls. bennet, jennet and kennet, dobe, job and robe, bruce, druce and pruce, lillybella, millybella & tillybella, baruch, karuch and saruch, kilbert, wilbert and zilbert, leo, neo and zeo, dosabel, josabel and rosabel, are all good names for dolls. darion, marion and sarion, devalene, evalene and nevalene, josephine, mosephine & rosephine, ezra, dezra and kezra, dollybella, mollybella & pollybella, halena, kalena and salena, byra, dyra and lyra, iralene, liralene and miralene, are all good names for dolls. lavinia, savinia and vavinia, duckylene, luckylene and zuckylene, tiglath-pileser and tilgath-pilneser, abinadab, ahinadab and aminadab, abimelech, ahimelech and elimelech, felix, kelix and selix, alpheus, dalpheus and ralpheus, balak, halak and lamech, are all good names for dolls. randal, sandal and vandal, arabella, carrabella and clarabella, harriet, marriet and varriet, abilene, mabilene and rabilene, erwin, kirwin and mirwin, agar, dagar and zagar, alice, dalice and zalice, bab, tab and zab, are all good names for dolls. emmeline, femmeline and jemmeline, lemmeline, pemmeline and zemmeline, haggylene, maggylene and peggylene, hilda, kilda and lilda, milda, tilda and zilda, b--etta, c--etta and d--etta, e--etta, g--etta and v--etta, catalina, matalina and patalina, are all good names for dolls. lerman, merman and zerman, ariel, dariel and zariel, gibeon, tibeon and zibeon, jessie, kessie and sessie, dias, pius, thias and zius, doll, moll, poll and noll, a--etta, j--etta, k--etta and mayetta, annabella, fannybella and nannybella, are all good names for dolls. boy, foy, joy and moy, a--, j--, k--and may, eliza, ebiza, ediza, and egisa, ehiza, eniza, eriza and etiza, bell, nell, val and zell, bem, em, sem and zem, arc, clark, mark and park, kat, nat, mat and pat, are all good names for dolls. celia, delia, melia and zelia, phil, till, will and zill, binny, dinny, finny and jinny, birza, girza, mirza and tirza, edwin, fredwin, nedwin, and tedwin, jorah, korah, nora and zorah, boswald, goswald, oswald and roswald, carley, charley, harley and varley, are all good names for dolls. clara, lara, sara and zara, florace, horace, morris and norris, cary, fairy, mary and sary, barry, carrie, harry and larry, crissy, kissy, sissy and melissy, harman, darman, jarman and sharman, ubenia, igenia, ulenia and uphemia, birene, irene, mirene and sirene, are all good names for dolls. acelius, adelius, afelius and amelius, anelius, apelius, arelius and avelius, dannah, hannah, jannah and mannah, aram, naram, saram and zaram, benny, denny, jenny and kenny, albert, dalbert, falbert and salbert, barlo, carlo, marlo and varlo, jemuel, kemuel, lemuel and shemuel, are all good names for dolls. bon, con, don and john, cain, jane, mayne and payne, jimmy, mimmy, simmy and timmy, dick, hick, mick and nick, ally, lally, sally and vally, bill, hill, lill, mill and phil, bolo, molo, polo, rollo and solo, levi, nevi, sevi, vevi and zevi, are all good names for dolls. hatty, katty, matty, natty and patty, billy, lily, milly, tilly and willy, dolly, jolly, molly, nolly and polly, dizzy, kizzy, lizzy, sizzy and tizzy, eddy, freddy, neddy, ready and teddy, beric, deric, eric, leric and zeric, eva, deva, neva, seva and zeva, addi, daddi, laddi, vaddi and zaddi, are all good names for dolls. dina, mina, nina, vina and zina, adar, badar, kadar, nadar and zadar, bira, ira, kira, lira, mira and sira, chloe, floe, joey, loe, moe and zoe, agg, dagg, greig, mag, peg and zag, bell, hal, lal, mell, nell and sal, jim, kim, nim, sim, tim, vim and zim, ann, dan, fan, jan, nan, pan and san, are all good names for dolls. e. w. cole [illustration: mother and father debating on what to call baby.] [page 57--name land] _all old dollies should be hunted up and named._ three hundred more names for dollies, doggies, pussies, and babies. abigail and abihail, allamlech & anammelech, azariah and hezekiah, boyetta and joyetta, hosea and josea, baxter and dexter, deleus and peleus, borcas and dorcas, are all good names for dolls. dickylene and mickylene, dicketta and micketta, bennylene and rennielene, billyetta and willyetta, daddylene and laddilene, dinahlene and ninalene, claudelene and maudelene, ruthetta and truthetta, are all good names for dolls. ducylene and lucylene, jinnyetta and winnyetta, fidalene and idalene, adalene and saidalene, beckylene and jackylene, arthuretta & marthuretta, claudelena and maudelena, marianetta and sarianetta, are all good names for dolls. elizalene and erizalene, coraetta and doraetta, millylene and tillylene, simonetta and timonetta, lucyetta and nucyetta, marylene and sarylene, lubyetta and rubyetta, claralene and sarahlene, are all good names for dolls. bennyetta and jennyetta, gladdilena and paddylena, maryetta and sarietta, borgialene and georgialene, cyliene and lyliene, maxalene and rexaline, maxetta and rexetta, maxabella and rexabella, are all good names for dolls. selina and serena, sallyetta and vallyetta, iralena and myralena, bessielena and jessielena, honeylene and moneylene, bertielina and gertielina, gilbertine and wilbertine, julietta and tulietta, are all good names for dolls. biddylene and liddylene, edwardetta & tedwardetta, bertielene and gertieline, henryetta and kenryetta, carrielene and harrylene, bennylene and glennylene, nellyetta and sellyetta, bobbielene and robbielene, are all good names for dolls. cornelia and cordelia, sundaylena & mondaylena, hellen and tellin, angelus and vangelus, saletta and valetta, irene and ilene, kittylene and mytilene, iralius and myralius, are all good names for dolls. [illustration: pussies have thrown dolly out of the cradle.] southetta and louthetta, melbalena and selbalena, lidneylena & sydneylena, adelena and madelena, mirthelena and perthalena, brisbanetta and lisbonetta, rasmanetta & tasmanetta, lowrylena and maorilena, are all good names for dolls. dollybel, mollybel and pollybel, catilius, matilius, and patilius, cinalene, hinalene and linalene, bess, chess, hess and zess, didas, fidas and midas, linalene, winalene and zinalene, dillius, millius and fillius, hestor, lestor and nestor, are all good names for dolls. dollyus, mollyus and pollyus, lene, mene, tene and vene, basalene, masalene and vasalene, lucia, mucia and nucia, danope, fanope and panope, hero, nero, pero and thero, ida, sida, vida and zida, hictor, rictor and victor, are all good names for dolls. belus, helus, nelus and zelus, eno, leno and zeno, daniel, ananial and nathaniel, abel, jabel, mabal and nabal, kish, mish and wish, dolletta, molletta and polletta, haletta, naletta and saletta, barryetta, harryetta & larryetta, are all good names for dolls. [illustration: girl with dolls--sheltering from rain.] abeletta, mabeletta & nabeletta, lilyetta, millyetta and tillyetta, bonalene, jonahlene & monalene, deolene, neolene and leolene, jimmylene, simmylene, timmylene, ino, dino, kino and mino, dana, hana, jana and nana, are all good names for dolls. annetta, fanetta and nanetta, edicus, tedicus and fredicus, eddyetta, teddyetta & freddyetta, emilus, remilus and zemilus, faula, paula and saula, callio, sallio and vallio, delios, helios and melios, deo, leo, neo and zeo, are all good names for dolls. dollian, mollian and pollian, dorabella, florabella, norabella, lilo, milo, philo, silo and tilo, bella, kella, nella and stella, dollyetta, lollyetta & nollyetta, sunnylena, honeylena, moneylena, moonelena, noonelena, doonelena, stellalena, bellalena & ellalena, are all good names for dolls. e.w.c. [illustration: girl scolding dog for breaking dolly.] _p.s. nebuchadnezzar and nebuchadrezzar,_ _wandiligong & croajingoalong,_ _are four good names for pussies._ [page 58--temper land] [illustration: a bad-tempered baby boy.] good mamma love, come and sit upon my knee, and give me kisses, one, two, three, and tell me whether you love me. my baby. for this i'm sure, that i love you, and many, many things i do, and many an hour i sit and sew for baby. and then at night i lie awake, thinking of things that i can make, and trouble that i mean to take for baby. an when you're good and do not cry, nor into angry passions fly, you can't think how papa and i love baby. but if my little child should grow to be a naughty child, i know 'twould grieve mamma to serve her so, my baby. and when you saw me pale and thin, by grieving for my baby's sin, i think you'd wish that you had been a better baby. how they made up two naughty little people had a quarrel one sad day, each said that with the other, she never more would play. and so upon each other their little backs they turned, and all the old time fondness alas! they coldly spurned. but oh! their angry hearts grew weary, the anger died away, each hoped that soon the other would have a word to say. each waited, oh! how sadly! each moved a little near, and each "around the corner" began, at last, to peer. then nellie held her dolly to annie with a smile: "you may have it if you want to. an play with it awhile." then annie quickly followed the rule she knew was right: "i've got an apple, nellie, i'll give you a big bite." and somehow the sweet faces met fair and square at last, and kisses sweet and loving sent the quarrel flying fast. little whimpy whimpy, little whimpy, cried so much one day; his grandma couldn't stand it, and his mother ran away! he was waiting by the window when they all came home to tea. and a gladder boy than whimpy, you never need hope to see! [illustration: a naughty, naughty, naughty girl.] master cross patch cross patch, cross patch, what's the matter now? why that wail of fretfulness, and a scowl upon your brow? milk upset and wasted! water in your plate, no one's sorry, old cross patch, for your wretched fate. you began the morning with a frown, my lad and every word that you have said has made your mother sad. and by your pettish temper, you've spoiled your breakfast, too. cross patch, cross patch, no one pities you. sulky sarah why is sarah standing there, leaning down upon a chair, with such an angry lip and brow? i wonder what's the matter now. come here my dear and tell me true, it is because i spoke to you about the work you'd done so slow, that you are standing fretting so? why then, indeed, i'm grieved to see, that you can so ill-tempered be: you make your fault a great deal worse by being angry and perverse. oh! how much better 'twould appear, to see you shed a humble tear, and then to hear you meekly say, "i'll not do so another day." jane taylor [illustration: sulking girl.] [page 59--temper land] [illustration: a naughty bad-tempered boy who broke his sister's playthings.] a new year's gift a charming present comes from town, a baby-house quite neat; with kitchen, parlours, dining-room, and chambers, all complete. a gift to emma and to rose, from grandpa it came; the little rosa smil'd delight, and emma did the same. they eagerly examin'd all- the furniture was gay; and in the rooms they plac'd their dolls, when dress'd in fine array. at night, their little candles lit, and as they must be fed, to supper down the dolls were plac'd, and then were put to bed. thus rose and emma pass'd each hour devoted to their play; and long were cheerful, happy, kind- no cross disputes had they. till rose in baby-house would change the chairs which were below "this carpet they would better suit; i think i'll have it so." "no, no indeed," her sister said, "i'm older, rose, than you; and i'm the pet--the house is mine: miss, what i say is true." the quarrel grew to such a height, mamma she heard the noise, and coming in, beheld the floor all strew'd with broken toys. "o fie, my emma! naughty rose! say, why this sulk and pout? remember this is new year's day, and both are going out." now betty calls the little girls to come upstairs and dress: they still revile, with threats and angry rage express. but just prepar'd to leave their room, persisting yet in strife, rose sick'ning fell on betty's lap. as void of sense or life. mamma appear'd at betty's call- john for the doctor goes; the measles, he begins to think, dread symptoms all disclose. "but though i stay, my emma, you may go and spend the day." "o no, mamma," replied the child, "do suffer me to stay. "beside my sister's bed i'll sit, and watch her with such care, "no pleasure can i e'er enjoy, till she my pleasure share. "how silly now seems our dispute, not one of us she knows; how pale she looks, how hard she breathes, poor pretty little rose!" adelaide taylor quarrelling let dogs delight to bark and bite, for god hath made them so let bears and lions growl and fight, for 'tis their nature too. dr watts angry words poison-drops of care and sorrow, bitter poison-drops are they, weaving for the coming morrow, saddest memories of to-day. angry words, oh! let them never from the tongue unbridled slip; may the heart's best impulse ever check them ere they soil the lip. love is much too pure and holy, friendship is too sacred far, for a moment's reckless folly thus to desolate and mar. angry words are lightly spoken, bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred, brightest links of life are broken, by a single angry word. the tear and the smile a little tear and a little smile set out to run a race; we watched them closely all the while- their course was baby's face. the little tear he got the start we really feared he'd win, he ran so fast and made a dart straight for her dimpled chin. but somehow, it was very queer, we watched them all the while- the little, shining, fretful tear got beaten by the smile. love one another silly little mary, sulking all the day, while the other children run about and play. silly little mary wears a peevish look, when she sees the others laughing at the brook. silly little mary, will not skip or swing, won't at puss-in-corner play, won't do anything. silly little mary hides behind the bank, in among the roots and weeds, all so thick and rank. mary hears a footstep o'er the velvet moss, sees a roguish little face it is willie ross. i have found you, mary. won't you come play too? and with cheeks all crimsoned, whispers--i love you. ah! but love has conquered fall the tears like rain, then our little mary is herself again. where are sulks and tears now? all are fled away. and our little mary will both laugh and play. [illustration: a naughty sulky boy.] [page 60--naughtiness land] [illustration: a bad-tempered girl.] anger oh! anger is an evil thing and spoils the fairest face; it cometh like a rainy cloud upon a sunny place. one angry moment often does what we repent for years: it works the wrong we ne'er make right by sorrow or tears. it speaks the rude and cruel word that wounds a feeling breast: it strikes the reckless sudden blow- it breaks the household rest. we dread the dog that turns in play, all snapping, fierce and quick; we shun the steed whose temper shows in strong and savage kick. but how much more we find to blame, when passion wildly swells in hearts where kindness has been taught, and brains where reason dwells! the hand of peace is frank and warm and soft as a ring-dove's wing; and he who quells an angry thought is greater than a king. shame to the lips that ever seek to stir up jarring strife, when gentleness would shed so much of christian joy through life! ever remember in thy youth, that he who firmly tries to conquer an to rule himself, is noble, brave and wise. eliza cook the little girl that beat her sister go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss your little sister dear; i must not have such things as this, nor noisy quarrels here. what! little children scold and fight, that ought to be so mild: oh! mary, 'tis a shocking sight to see an angry child. i can't imagine, for my part, the reason of your folly, as if she did you any hurt by playing with your dolly. see, see the little tears that run so quickly from her eye: come, my sweet innocent, have done, 'twill do no good to cry. go, mary, wipe her tears away and make it up with kisses: and never turn a pretty play to such a pet as this is. home peace "whatever brawls disturb the street there should be peace at home; where sisters dwell and brothers meet quarrels should never come." dr. watts little dick snappy little dick snappy was always unhappy because he did nothing but fret; and when he once cried, 'twas in vain that you tried to make him his troubles forget. his mother once brought him a drum, which she bought him hard by at a neighbouring fair, and gave such another to edward his brother, and left them their pleasures to share. little edward began, like a nice little man, to play with his little new drum; but dick, with a pout, only turned his about in his hands, and looked sulky and glum. "what's the matter, dear dick? you look sad; are you sick? come, march like a soldier with me: the enemy comes let us beat on our drums, and mamma will out merriment see." "no! i don't like my new toy," said my ill-humoured boy, "and yours is the best and most new; if you'll give me yours, then i'll go out of doors; but if not, i'll kick mine in two." "oh no! brother, no- pray do not say so of a trifle, in anger and haste; though they are equally new, yet my drum i'll give you, but i've tied it in knots round my waist." then quarrelsome dick gave his brother a kick; but he did not give him another, but, saying no more, edward walked to the door, only giving one look at his brother. then, bursting with spite, with his utmost of might master dick trod his drum on the floor; the parchment did crack, when lo; edward comes back, and his drum in his hands then he bore. "the string is untied, dearest brother," he cried- "so now i with pleasure will change;" but when dick's drum he found lying broke on the ground, oh! how did his countenance change. "i'm really ashamed," dick, sobbing, exclaimed, "at the difference between you and me; but continue my friend, and i'll try to amend, and a good-tempered fellow to be." which shall it be, dear? if fretting pays you, fret; and get into a pet, and slam and bang the doors with a whang, and flame and flare, and say "don't care." and slip round sly, and make the baby cry, and thus get sent to bed, to sob it out. but if it does not pay why then, my dear, do pray just do the other thing, and toot and sing, and whistle like a bird. letting your voice be heard, from morn till night, in echoes bright, sending the best of cheer into the home. [illustration: i will be good, mamma.] [page 61--naughtiness land] [illustration: quarrelsome boys.] govern your temper oh, govern your temper! for music, the sweetest, was never so sweet- nor one-half so divine, as a heart kept in tune, which, the moment thou greetest, breathes harmony dearer than notes can combine! never say it is nature. and may not be cured; one tithe of the time, which to music we yield would render the conquest of temper insured, and bring us more music than a song e'er revealed. oh, govern your temper! for roses, the fairest, were never so fair, nor so rich in perfume, as the flowers, which e'en thou, chilly winter sparest- the flowers of the heart, which unchangingly bloom! never think it is nature- for oh! if it be, the sooner the spirit of nature is shown that the spirit of heaven is higher than she, the sooner, the longer, will love be our own. [illustration: a bad, wicked bully.] where do you live i knew a man, and his name was horner, he used to live at grumble corner,- grumble corner, in cross patch town,- and he never was seen without a frown. he grumbled at this, he grumbled at that; he growled at the dog, he growled at the cat; he grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night, and to grumble and growl was his chief delight. he grumbled so much at his wife, that she began to grumble as well as he; and all the children wherever they went reflected their parents' discontent. if the sky was dark and betokened rain, then mr. horner was sure to complain; and if there was never a cloud about, he'd grumble because of threatened drought. one day, as i loitered along the street, my old acquaintance i chanced to meet. whose face was without the look of care and the ugly frown it used to wear. "i may be mistaken, perhaps," i said. as, after saluting, i turned my head; "but it is, and it isn't, the mr. horner who lived so long at grumble corner." i met him next day, and i met him again, in melting weather, in pouring rain; when stocks were up and when stocks were down; but a smile, somehow, had replac'd the frown. it puzzled me much, and so, one day, i seized his hand in a friendly way, and said "mr. horner, i'd like to know what can have happened to change you so." he laughed a laugh that was good to hear, for it told of a conscience calm and clear, and he said, with none of the old-time drawl, "why, i've changed my residence, that is all." "changed your residence?" "yes," said horner, "it wasn't healthy at grumble corner, and so i've moved: 'twas a change complete; and you'll find me now at thanksgiving street." and every day, as i move along the streets, so filled with busy throng, i watch each face, and can always tell where men, and women, and children dwell. and many a discontented mourner is spending his days at grumble corner, sour and sad, whom i long to entreat to take a house in thanksgiving street. temper bad temper, go, you shall never stay with me; bad temper, go, you and i shall never agree. for i will always be kind, and mild, and gentle pray to be, and do to others as i wish that they should do to me. temper bad with me shall never stay; temper bad can never be happy and gay. [illustration: naughty boys fighting.] [page 62--pride land] [illustration: a vain old fop.] a fine lady did ever you see such wondrous airs! oh, oh! my lady jane! your airs will blow you quite away, you'll go to vanity-land to stay, and ne'er come back again. pray, what's the price of your hat my dear? and what'll you take for your gloves? and how'll you sell each pink kid shoe? and your wonderful dressed-up poodle, too? you're a precious pair of loves. you're all too fine for us, you know, with your airs and stately tread, from your pretty feet to your pretty dress, and up to your ruffled neck, oh, yes, and on to your feathered head. so go your way, my lady jane, till you come from vanity-land again. to a little girl who liked to look in the glass why is my silly girl so vain, looking in the glass again? for the meekest flower of spring is a gayer little thing. is your merry eye so blue as the violet, wet with dew? yet it loves the best to hide by the hedge's shady side. is your bosom half so fair as the modest lilies are? yet their little bells are hung bright and shady leaves among. when your cheek the brightest glows, is it redder than the rose? but its sweetest buds are seen almost hid with moss and green. little flowers that open gay, peeping forth at break of day, in the garden, hedge, or plain, have more reason to be vain. the ragged girl's sunday "oh, dear mamma, that little girl forgets this is the day when children should be clean and neat, and read and learn and pray! her face is dirty and her frock, holes in her stockings, see; her hair is such a fright, oh, dear! how wicked she must be! she's playing in the kennel dirt with ragged girls and boys; but i would not on sunday touch my clean and pretty toys. i go to church, and sit so still, i in the garden walk, or take my stool beside the fire, and hear nice sunday talk. i read my bible, learn my hymns, my catechism say; that wicked little girl does not- she only cares to play." "ah! hush that boasting tone, my love, repress self-glorying pride; you can do nothing of yourself- friends all your actions guide." criminal pride hark the rustle of a dress stiff with lavish costliness! here comes on whose cheek would flush but to have her garment brush 'gainst the girl whose fingers thin wove the weary 'broidery in, bending backward from her toil, lest her tears the silk might soil, and in midnight's chill and murk, stitched her life into the work. little doth the wearer heed of the heart-break in the brede; a hyena by her side skulks, down-looking--it is pride. j. r. lowell foolish fanny oh! fanny was so vain a lass, if she came near a looking-glass, she'd stop right there for many a minute to see how pretty she looked in it. she'd stand and prink, and fix her hair around her forehead with great care; and take some time to tie a bow that must, to please her, lie just so. her mother's bonnet she'd put on, and all her richest dresses don, and up and down the room parade, and much enjoy her promenade. she always liked to wear the best she had, and being so much dress'd could not enjoy the romps with those who wore much less expensive clothes. each day she grew so fond of dress it gave her great unhappiness if every day, and all the while, she wasn't in the latest style. if asked to turn the jumping-rope her pretty parasol she'd ope, lest she should freckle in the sun: and that was her idea of fun! she didn't dare to take the cat or poodle-dog from off the mat, lest they should catch their little toes in laces, frills, or furbelows. the very things that gave her joy, her peace and comfort would destroy, for oft an ugly nail would tear the costly dress she chose to wear. the foolish girl turned up her nose at those who dressed in plainer clothes, and lived in quiet style, for she with wealthy people chose to be she never was the least inclined with knowledge to enrich her mind; and all the mental food she ate was served upon a fashion-plate. as this was so, you'll see at once that fan grew up a silly dunce: an there was nothing to admire about her, but her fine attire. [illustration: foolish fanny.] [page 63--pride land] [illustration: mr. importance walking along the street.] pride come, come, mr. peacock, you must not be so proud, although you can boast such a train, for there's many a bird far more highly endowed, and not half so conceited and vain. let me tell you, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes is a sorry distinction at most, and seldom much valued excepting by those who only such graces can boast. the nightingale certainly wears a plain coat, but she cheers and delights with her song; while you, though so vain, cannot utter a note to please by the use of your tongue. the hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay, but more piercing and clear is her eye; and while you are strutting about all the day, she gallantly soars in the sky. the dove may be clad in a plainer attire, but she is not so selfish and cold; and her love and affection more pleasure inspire than all your fine purple and gold. so, you see, mr. peacock, you must not be proud, although you can boast such a train, for many a bird is more highly endowed, and not half so conceited and vain. sinful pride how proud we are, how fond to shew our clothes, and call them rich and new, when the poor sheep and silkworm wore that very clothing long before! the tulip and butterfly appear in gayer coats than i; let me be dress'd as fine as i will, flies, worms, and flowers exceed me. dr. watts finery in a frock richly trimm'd with a beautiful lace, and hair nicely dress'd hanging over her face, thus deck'd, harriet went to the house of a friend, with a large little party the ev'ning to spend. "ah! how they will all be delighted, i guess, and stare with surprise at my elegant dress!" thus said the vain girl, and her little heart beat, impatient the happy young party to meet. but, alas! they were all to intent on their fun, to observe the gay clothes this fine lady had on; and thus all her trouble quite lost its design, for they saw she was proud, but forgot she was fine. 'twas lucy, tho' only in simple white clad, (nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels she had,) whose cheerful good nature delighted them more, than all the fine garments that harriet wore. 'tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face, than to wear a rich frock with an elegant lace, for the good-natur'd girl is lov'd best in the main, if her dress is but decent, tho' ever so plain. t i a fop a little cane, a high-crowned hat, a fixed impression, rather flat. a pointed shoe, a scanty coat, a stand-up collar round his throat a gorgeous necktie spreading wide, a small moustache- nine on a side. arms at right angles, curved with ease, a stilted walk and shaky knees. a languid drawl, the "english" swing, an air of knowing everything. a vacant stare, extremely rude, and there you have the perfect dude. pride hark the rustle of a dress stiff with lavish costliness! here comes on whose cheek would flush but to have her garment brush 'gainst the girl whose fingers thin wove the weary 'broidery in, bending backward from her toil, lest her tears the silk might soil, and in midnight's chill and murk, stitched her life into the work. shaping from her bitter thought, heart's-ease and forget-me-not, satirizing her despair with the emblems woven there, little doth the wearer heed of the heart-break in the blede; a hyena by her side skulks, down-looking--it is pride. j. r. lowell vain lizzie it surely is not good to see, lizzie so full of vanity, so fond of dress and show. for when a fine new frock she wears, she gives herself most silly airs, wherever she may go. she thinks herself a charming girl; but when folks see her twist and twirl, they stop in every street, they smile, or fairly laugh outright, and say: "she's really quite a sight, was ever such conceit?" [illustration: vain lizzie.] [page 64--naughtiness land] [illustration: nelly giving ned her apple.] greedy ned mamma gave our nelly an apple, so round, and big, and red; it seemed, beside dainty wee nelly, to be almost as large as her head. beside her young neddie was standing- and neddie loves apples, too, "ah! nelly!" said neddie, "give brother a bite of your apple--ah! do!" dear nelly held out the big apple; ned opened his mouth very wide- so wide, that the startled red apple could almost have gone inside! and oh! what a bite he gave it! the apple looked small, i declare, when ned gave it back to his sister, leaving that big bite there. poor nelly looked frightened a moment, then a thought made her face grow bright; "here, ned, you can take the apple- _i'd rather have the bite!_" eva l. carson, in "st. nicholas" the biggest piece of pie once, when i was a little boy, i sat me down to cry, because my little brother had the biggest piece of pie. they said i was a naughty boy, but i have since seen men behave themselves as foolishly as i behaved then. for we are often thankless for rich blessings when we sigh, to think some lucky neighbour has a "bigger piece" of pie. the greedy, impatient girl "oh! i am so hungry, i'm sure i can't wait, for my apple-pudding to cool, so, mary, be quick now and bring me a plate, for waiting for dinner i always did hate, tho' forced oft to do it at school. "but at home, when mamma is not in the way, i surely will do as i choose; and i do not care for what you please to say- the pudding won't burn me- no longer i'll stay. what business have you to refuse?" and now a large slice of the pudding she got, and, fearful she should have no more, she cramm'd her mouth full of the apple so hot, which had but a minute come out of the pot, but quickly her triumph was o'er. her mouth and her tongue were so dreadfully sore, and suffer'd such terrible pain, her pride and her consequence soon were all o'er, and she said, now unable to eat any more, "oh! i never will do so again!" and thus, by not minding what she had been told, young ellinor lost all her treat; too greedy to wait till the pudding was cold, by being impatient, conceited, and bold, not a mouthful at last could she eat. c. horwood. a story of an apple little tommy, and peter, and archie, and bob were walking, one day, when they found an apple: 'twas mellow, and rosy, and red, and lying alone on the ground. said tommy: "i'll have it." said peter: "'tis mine." said archie: "i've got it; so there!" said bobby: "now, let us divide it in four parts and each of us boys have a share." "no, no!" shouted tommy, "i'll have it myself." said peter: "i want it, i say." said archie: "i've got it, and i'll have it all, i won't give a morsel away." then tommy he snatched it, and peter he fought, ('tis sad and distressing to tell!) and archie held on with his might and his main, till out from his fingers it fell. away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew and then, down a green little hill that apple it roll'd, and it roll'd, and it roll'd as if it would never be still. a lazy old brindle was nipping the grass, and switching her tail at the flies, when all of a sudden the apple rolled down and stopped just in front of her eyes. she gave but a bite and a swallow or two- that apple was seen nevermore! "i wish," whimpered archie, and peter, and tom, "we'd kept it and cut it in four." sydney dyer greedy richard "i think i want some pies this morning" said dick, stretching himself and yawning; so down he threw his slate and books, and saunter'd to the pastry-cook's. and there he cast his greedy eyes round on the jellies and the pies, so to select, with anxious care, the very nicest that was there. at last the point was thus decided: as his opinion was divided 'twixt pie and jelly, he was loth either to leave, so took them both. now richard never could be pleas'd to stop when hunger was appeas'd, but he'd go on to eat and stuff, long after he had had enough. "i shan't take any more," said dick, "dear me, i feel extremely sick: i cannot eat this other bit; i wish i had not tasted it." then slowly rising from his seat, he threw the cheesecake in the street, and left the tempting pastry-cook's with very discontented looks. jane taylor [page 65--greediness land] the plum cake "oh! i've got a plum cake, and a rare feast i'll make, i'll eat, and i'll stuff, and i'll cram; morning, noontime, and night, it shall be my delight;- what a happy young fellow i am." thus said little george, and, beginning to gorge, with zeal to his cake he applied; while fingers and thumbs, for the sweetmeats and plums, were hunting and digging besides. but, woeful to tell, a misfortune befell, which ruin'd this capital fun! after eating his fill, he was taken so ill, that he trembled for what he had done. as he grew worse and worse, the doctor and nurse, to cure his disorder were sent; and rightly, you'll think, he had physic to drink, which made him his folly repent. and while on his bed he roll'd his hot head, impatient with sickness and pain; he could not but take this reproof from his cake, "don't be such a glutton again!" another plum cake "oh! i've got a plum cake, and a feast let us make, come, school-fellows, come at my call; i assure you 'tis nice, and we'll each have a slice, here's more than enough for us all." thus said little jack, as he gave it a smack, and sharpen'd his knife for the job! while round him a troop, formed a clamorous group, and hail'd him the king of the mob. with masterly strength he cut thro' it at length, and gave to each playmate a share; dick, william, and james, and many more names, partook of his benevolent care. and when it was done, and they'd finish'd their fun, to marbles or hoop they went back, and each little boy felt it always a joy to do a good turn for good jack. in his task and his book, his best pleasures he took, and as he thus wisely began, since he's been a man grown, he has constantly shown that a good boy will make a good man. ann taylor the great glutton 'twas the voice of the glutton, i heard him complain: my waistcoat unbutton, i'll eat once again. the glutton the voice of the glutton i heard with disdain- "i've not eaten this hour, i must eat again; oh! give me a pudding, a pie, or a tart, a duck or a fowl, which i love from my heart. "how sweet is the picking of capon or chicken! a turkey and chine are most charming and fine; to eat and to drink all my pleasure is still, i care not who wants so that i have my fill." oh! let me not be, like a glutton, inclined in feasting my body and starving my mind, with moderate viands be thankful, and pray that the lord may supply me with food the next day. not always a-craving with hunger still raving; but little and sweet be the food that i eat. to learning and wisdom oh let me apply. and leave to the glutton his pudding and pie. j. taylor selfish edith selfish edith, not to give her sister one, when she has two! i wouldn't and i couldn't love a selfish girl like her, could you? hear bessie ask in plaintive tone, "please, edith, let me play with one!" while naughty edith shakes her head: i fear she'll have but little fun with toys unshared so selfishly; but when she tires of lonely play, perhaps she'll secretly resolve to be more kind another day. hoggish henry oh! henry eats like any pig; he drives his mother mad. she scolds. he does not care a fig, it's really very sad. she says: "your sister, little dear, is always clean and neat; and though she's younger by a year, how nicely she can eat." it's all in vain. he does not care; he's shocking to behold. the table-cloth and napkin there are smeared in every fold. upon the floor, crumbs thickly lie, as though for chickens laid, around his mouth and nose, oh fie! is dirt of every shade. he looks, bedaubed with smear and stain, just like some savage wild, his hands as forks are used, it's plain. for shame! you dirty child! selfishness look at the selfish man! see how he locks tight in his arms his mortgages and stocks! while deeds and titles in his hand he grasps, and gold and silver close around he clasps. but not content with this, behind he drags a cart well-laden with ponderous bags; the orphan's wailings, and the widow's woe from mercy's fountain cause no tears to flow; he pours no cordial in the wounds of pain; unlocks no prison, and unclasps no chain; his heart is like the rock where sun nor dew can rear one plant or flower of heavenly hue. no thought of mercy there may have its birth, for helpless misery or suffering worth; the end of all his life is paltry pelf, and all his thoughts are centred on--himself: the wretch of both worlds; for so mean a sum, first starved in this, then damn'd in that to come. [illustration: our selfish brother who became a screw.] [page 66--lying land] [illustration: bad boy blaming dog for broken vase.] bad boy having broken a vase told his mother that the dog did it, but when his mother was going to beat the poor innocent dog he felt sorry, and told the truth. truthful dottie; or the broken vase nellie and dottie both here mamma say, "pray from the drawing-room keep away. don't take your toys there, lest someone should call: run out in the garden with rope, bat and ball." the garden is lovely, this bright summer day; but nellie and dottie too soon came away. into the drawing-room dottie comes skipping, with her new rope all the furniture flipping: down goes the tall vase, so golden and gay, smashed all to pieces, "what will mamma say?" cries nell with her hands raised, "oh dottie, let's run; they'll think it was pussy, who did it in fun." dot answers, through big tears, "but, nell, don't you see, though nobody watched us, god knows it was me. mamma always says, that, whatever we do, the harm's not so great, if we dare to be true. so i'll go up and tell her it caught in my rope; perhaps she won't scold much, at least, so i'll hope." "that's right!" cries her mother, who stands by the door, "i would rather have ten vases were smashed on the floor than my children should once break the bright words of truth, the dearest possession of age or of youth. the vase can be mended, and scarce show a crack, but a falsehood once spoken will never come back." however much grieved for by young folks or old, an untruth once uttered, forever is told. the liar reclaimed o! 'tis a lovely thing for youth to walk betimes in wisdom's way; to fear a lie, to speak the truth, that we may trust to all they say. but liars we can never trust, tho' they should speak the thing that's true, and he that does one fault at first, and lies to hide it, makes it two. the truth why should you fear the truth to tell? does falsehood ever do you so well? can you be satisfied to know there's something wrong to hide below no! let your fault be what it may, to own it is the happy way. so long as you your crime conceal, you cannot light or gladsome feel; your heart will ever feel oppressed, as if a weight were on your breast: and e'en your mother's eye to meet will tinge your face with shame and heat. false alarms little mary one day most loudly did call, "mamma! oh, mamma, pray come here! a fall i have had--oh! a very sad fall." mamma ran in haste and in fear; then mary jump'd up, and she laugh'd in great glee, and cried, "why, how fast you can run! no harm has befallen, i assure you, to me, my screaming was only in fun." her mother was busy at work the next day, she heard from without a loud cry, "the big dog has got me! o help me! oh! pray! he tears me--he bites me--i die!" mamma, all in terror, quick to the court and there little mary she found; who, laughing, said, "madam, pray how do you do!" and curtsey'd quite down to the ground. that night little mary, when long gone to bed, shrill cries and loud shriekings were heard; "i'm on fire, o mamma, come up or i'm dead!" mamma she believ'd not a word. "sleep, sleep, naughty child," she call'd out from below, "how often have i been deceived? you're telling a story, you very well know: go to sleep, for you can't be believed." yet still the child scream'd--now the house fill'd with smoke. that fire is above jane declares. alas! mary's words they soon found were no joke, when ev'ryone hastened upstairs. all burnt and all seam'd is her once pretty face, and how terribly mark'd are her arms, her features all scarr'd, leave a lasting disgrace, for giving mamma false alarms. adelaide taylor to a little girl that has told a lie and has my darling told a lie? did she forget that god was by? that god who saw the thing she did, from whom no action can be hid; did she forget that god could see, and hear, wherever she might be? he made you eyes and can discern whichever way you think to turn; he made your ears, and he can hear when you think nobody is near; in ev'ry place, by night or day, he watches all you do and say. you thought, because you were alone, your falsehood never could be known, but liars always are found out, whatever ways they wind about; and always be afraid, my dear, to tell a lie,--for god can hear! i wish, my dear, you'd always try to act as shall not need a lie; and when you wish a thing to do, that has been once forbidden to you, remember that, and never dare to disobey--for god is there! why should you fear to tell me true? confess, and then i'll pardon you: tell me you're sorry, and you'll try to act the better by and bye, and then whate'er your crime has been, it won't be half so great a sin. but cheerful, innocent, and gay, as passes by the smiling day, you'll never have to turn aside, from any one your faults to hide; nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear, that either god or i should hear. ann taylor [illustration: blind man reading to the deaf and dumb man.] the blind man reading to the deaf and dumb man after business hours, and their wicked dog looking out. [page 67--laziness land] [illustration: naughty lazy boy who would not go to school.] idle mary oh, mary, this will never do! this work is sadly done, my dear, and such little of it too! you have not taken pains, i fear. on no, your work has been forgotten, indeed you've hardly thought of that; i saw you roll your ball of cotton about the floor to please the cat. see, here are stitches straggling wide, and others reaching down so far; i'm very sure you have not tried at all to-day to please mamma. the little girl who will not sew should never be allowed to play; but then i hope, my love, that you will take more pains another day. lazy sal a lazy, lazy, lazy girl! her hair forever out of curl, her feet unshod, her hands unclean, her dress in tatters always seen. lounging here and dawdling there, lying out 'most anywhere about the barn-yard. not a thought of studying lessons as she ought; but happiest when in sunny weather she and "the other pig" together are playing tricks. no wonder, then, the farmer, jolliest of men, is apt to say, when tired out with seeing her sprawling round about, "beats all what ails that lazy gal! why, piggy's twice as smart as sal!" the work-bag to jane her aunt a work-bag gave, of silk with flowers so gay, that she a place might always have to put her work away. and then 'twas furnished quite complete with cotton, silk and thread, and needless in a case so neat, of all the sizes made. a little silver thimble, too, was there among the rest; and a large waxen doll, quite new, that waited to be dress'd. but jane was very fond of play, and loved to toss her ball; an i am quite ashamed to say, she scarcely worked at all. but if at any time she did, 'twas but a stitch or two; and though she often has been bid, but little more would do. the pretty little bag, indeed, was hung upon her chair; but cotton, needles, silk, and thread were scattered here and there. her aunt, by chance, came in that day, and asked if the doll was dress'd; miss jane has been engaged in play, and careless of the rest. the silk, to make her little dress, was on the table laid, and, with an equal carelessness, the cap had also strayed. with gauze and lace the floor was strewed, all in disorder lay, when, bounding in with gesture rude, came jane, returned from play. she little thought her aunt to find, and blushed to see her there; it brought her carelessness to mind, and what her doll should wear. "well, jane, and where's your doll, my dear? i hope you've dress'd her now; but there is such a litter here, you best know when and how." so spoke her aunt, and, looking round the empty bag she spied; poor jane, who no excuse had found, now hid her face and cried. "since," said her aunt, "no work, you do, but waste your time in play; the work-bag, of no use to you, i now shall take away." but now, with self-conviction, jane her idleness confessed, and ere her aunt could come again, her doll was neatly dressed. the two gardens when harry and dick had been striving to please, their father (to whom it was known) made two little gardens, and stocked them with trees, and gave one to each for his own. harry thank'd his papa, and with rake, hoe, and spade, directly began his employ; and soon such a neat little garden was made, that he panted with labour and joy. there was always some bed or some border to mend, or something to tie or stick: and harry rose early his garden to tend, while snoring lay indolent dick. the tulip, the rose, and the lily so white, united their beautiful bloom! and often the honey-bee stoop'd from his flight, to sip the delicious perfume. a neat row of peas in full blossom was seen, french beans were beginning to shoot! and his gooseb'ries and currents, tho' yet they were green, foretold of plenty of fruit. but richard loved better in bed to repose, and snug as he curl'd himself round, forgot that not tulip, nor lily, nor rose, nor plant in his garden was found. rank weeds and tall nettles disfigur'd his beds, nor cabbage nor lettuce was seen, the slug and the snail show'd their mischievous heads, and eat ev'ry leaf that was green. thus richard the idle, who shrank from the cold, beheld his trees naked and bare; whilst harry the active was charmed to behold the fruit of his patience and care. ann taylor. doing nothing i asked a lad what he was doing; "nothing, good sir," said he to me. "by nothing well and long pursuing, nothing," said i, "you'll surely be." i asked a lad what he was thinking; "nothing," said he. "i do declare." "many," said i, "in vile inns drinking, by idle minds were carried there." there's nothing great, there's nothing wise, which idle hands and minds supply; those who all thought and toil despise, mere nothings live, and nothings die. a thousand naughts are not a feather, when in a sum they all are brought; a thousand idle lads together are still but nothings joined to naught. and yet of merit they will boast, and sometimes pompous seem, and haughty, but still 'tis very plain to most, that "nothing" boys are mostly naughty. [page 68--laziness land] lazy sam there was a lazy boy named sam, the laziest ever known, who spent his time in idleness, like any other drone. he loved to lie in bed till noon, with covers closely drawn, and when he managed to get up he'd yawn, and yawn, and yawn. if asked to do a simple task he always would refuse, and say that he was lame or sick, his action to excuse, and over pretty picture-books- twas really very odd- this lazy boy would soon begin to nod, and nod, and nod. if on an errand forced to go, he'd slowly, slowly creep, just like a snail; you might suppose that he was half asleep. and those who would despatch in haste a note, or telegram, would chose a swifter messenger than such a lazy sam. if he was caught out in a storm 'twould drench him to the skin, because he was too indolent to hurry to get in. deep in his trouser's pockets he his idle hands would cram, and children crowded to the doors to look at lazy sam. this lazy boy would lounge about the docks, and often wish that he could carry home to cook a string of nice, fresh fish; but though he was provided with a reel extremely fine, said sam "i do not think 'twill pay to wet my fishing line!" oh, sam was always late at meals, and always late at school, and everybody said that he would be a first-class fool. for boys not half so old as he above him swiftly pass, while sam, the great big dunce! remains the lowest in the class. in every way, and every day this lazy boy would shirk, and never lift his hand to do a bit of useful work. his clothes were always on awry, his shoe-strings left untied, his hair uncombed, his teeth uncleaned, alas, he had no pride! and so he went from bad to worse- the good-for-nothing scamp!- until he settled down to be a ragged, dirty tramp. through cities, towns, and villages, he begged his daily bread, and slept at night wherever he could chance to find a bed. men shuddered as they passed him by, and murmured sadly, "oh! how can a human being sink so very, very low?" and e'en the jackass pricks his ears, and brays aloud "i am not such a donkey, i declare as yonder lazy sam!" the beggar man abject, stooping, old, and wan, see you wretched beggar-man; once a father's hopeful heir, once a mother's tender care. when too young to understand, he but scorched his little hand, by the candle's flaming light attracted--dancing, spiral, bright. clasping fond her darling round, a thousand kisses healed the wound, now abject, stooping, old and wan, no mother tends the beggar-man. then nought too good for him to wear, with cherub face and flaxen hair, in fancy's choicest gauds arrayed, cap of lace with rose to aid, milk-white hat and feather blue, shoes of red, and coral too, with silver bells to please his ear, and charm the frequent ready tear. now abject, stooping, old, and wan, neglected is the beggar-man. see the boy advance in age, and learning spreads her useful page; in vain! for giddy pleasure calls, and shows the marbles, tops, and balls, what's learning to the charms of play? the indulgent tutor must give way. a heedless, wilful dunce, and wild, the parents' fondness spoil'd the child; the youth in vagrant courses ran; now abject, stooping, old, and wan, their fondling is the beggar-man. lamb good-for-nothing lazy man a good for nothing lazy lout, wicked within and ragged without. who can bear to have him about? turn him out! turn him out! the old beggar man i see an old man sitting there, his withered limbs are almost bare, and very hoary is his hair. old man, why are you sitting so? for very cold the wind doth blow: why don't you to your cottage go? ah, master, in the world so wide, i have no home wherein to hide, no comfortable fire-side. when i, like you, was young and gay, i'll tell you what i used to say, that i would nothing do but play. and so, instead of being taught some useful business as i ought, to play about was all i sought. an now that i am old and grey, i wander on my lonely way, and beg my bread from day to day. but oft i shake my hoary head, and many a bitter tear i shed, to think the useless life i've led. j. t. lazyland three travellers wandered along the strand, each with a staff in his feeble hand; and they chanted low: "we are go-o-o ing slow-o-ow ly to lazyland. "they've left off eating and drinking there; they never do any thinking there; they never walk, and they never talk, and they fall asleep without winking there. "nobody's in a hurry there; they are not permitted to worry there; 'tis a wide, still place and not a face shows any symptom of flurry there. "no bells are rung in the morning there, they care not at all for adorning there; all sounds are hushed, and a man who rushed would be treated with absolute scorning there. "they do not take any papers there; no politicians cut capers there; they have no 'views,' and they tell no news, and they burn no midnight tapers there. "no lovers are ever permitted there; reformers are not admitted there; they argue not in that peaceful spot, and their clothes all come ready-fitted there. "electricity has not been heard of there; and steam has been spoken no word of there; they stay where they are, and a coach or a car they have not so much as a third of there. "oh, this world is a truly crazy land; a worrying, hurrying, mazy land; we cannot stay, we must find the way- if there is a way--to lazyland." [illustration: two donkeys.] [page 69--laziness land] [illustration: lazy willie getting out of bed.] lazy willie oh! willie is a lazy boy, a "sleepy head" is he, "wake up!" his little sister cries, "wake up and talk to me." the birds are singing in the trees, the sun is shining bright, but sleepy willie slumbers on as though it yet were night. oh! lazy boys will never grow to clever manhood, you must know, so lift your eyelids, sleepy head, wake up, and scramble out of bed. the lazy boy the lazy boy! and what's his name? i should not like to tell; but don't you think it is a shame, that he can't read or spell. he'd rather swing upon a gate, or paddle in a brook, than take his pencil and his slate, or try to con a book. there, see! he's lounging down the street, his hat without a brim, he rather drags than lifts his feet- his face unwashed and grim. he's lolling now against a post; but if you've seen him once, you'll know the lad among a host for what he is--a dunce. don't ask me what's the urchin's name; i do not choose to tell; but this you'll know--it is the same as his who does not blush for shame that he don't read or spell. the sluggard 'tis the voice of the sluggard; i heard him complain, "you have waked me too soon, i must slumber again." as the door on it's hinges, so he on his bed turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. "a little more sleep and a little more slumber;" thus he wastes half his days and his hours without number, and when he gets up he sits folding his hands, or walking about sauntering, or trifling he stands. i pass'd by his garden, and saw the wild brier, the thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher; the clothes that hung on him are turning to rags, and his money still wastes till he starves or he begs. i made him a visit, still hoping to find that he took better care for improving his mind; he told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking, but he scarce reads his bible, and never loves thinking. said i then to my heart, "here's a lesson for me; this man's but a picture of what i might be; but thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, who taught me bedtimes to love working and reading." watts idle dicky and the goat john brown is a man without houses or lands, himself he supports by the work of his hands. he brings home his wages each saturday night, to his wife and his children, a very good sight. his eldest boy, dicky, on errands when sent, to loiter and chatter was very much bent; the neighbours all call'd him an odd little trout, his shoes they were broke, and his toes they peep'd out. to see such old shoes all their sorrows were rife; john brown he much grieved, and so did his wife, he kiss'd his boy dicky, and stroked his white head, "you shall have a new pair, my dear boy," he then said. "i've here twenty shillings, and money has wings; go first get this note changed, i want other things." now here comes the mischief- this dicky would stop at an ill-looking, mean-looking greengrocer's shop. for here lived a chattering dunce of a boy; to prate with this urchin gave dicky great joy. and now, in his boasting, he shows him his note, and now to the green-stall up marches a goat. the laughed, for it was this young nanny-goat's way with those who pass'd by her to gambol and play. all three they went on in their frolicsome bouts, till dick dropt the note on a bunch of green sprouts. now what was dick's wonder to see the vile goat, in munching the green sprouts, eat up his bank note! he crying ran back to john brown with the news, and by stopping to idle he lost his new shoes. adelaide taylor idleness and mischief how doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour, and gather honey all the day from every opening flower. how skilfully she builds her cell; how neat she spreads the wax; and labours hard to store it well; with the sweet food she makes. in works of labour or of skill i would be busy too; for satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. in books, or work, or healthful play let my first years be passed; that i may give you every day some good account at last. watts come and go. dick dawdle had land worth two hundred a year, yet from debt and from dunning he never was free, his intellect was not surprisingly clear, but he never felt satisfied how it could be. the raps at his door, and the rings at his gate. and the threats of a gaol he no longer could bear: so he made up his mind to sell half his estate, which would pay all his debts, and leave something to spare. he leased to a farmer the rest of his land for twenty-one years; and on each quarter-day the honest man went with his rent in his hand, his liberal landlord delighted to pay. before half the term of the lease had expired, the farmer, one day with a bagful of gold, said, "pardon me, sir, but i long have desired to purchase my farm, if the land can be sold. "ten years i've been blest with success and with health, with trials a few- i thank god, not severe- i am grateful. i hope, though not proud of my wealth, but i've managed to lay by a hundred a year." "why how," exclaimed dick, "can this possibly be?" (with a stare of surprise, and a mortified laugh,) "the whole of my farm proved too little for me, and you it appears, have grown rich upon half." "i hope you'll excuse me," the farmer replies, "but i'll tell you the cause, if your honor would know; in two little words all the difference lies, i always say come, and you used to say go." "well, and what does that mean, my good fellow?" he said. "why this, sir, that i always rise with the sun; you said 'go' to your man, as you lay in your bed, i say 'come, jack, with me,' and i see the work done." r. s. sharpe [page 70--cruelty land] [illustration: tables turned--dogs setting boys to fighting.] the tables turned--instead of the bad boys setting the poor dogs fighting, the bad dogs are setting the poor boys fighting. the cruel boy tom sat at the kitchen window watching the folks go by, but what he was really doing was pulling the legs from a fly. yes, there he sat in the twilight, tormenting the tiny things; first pulling their legs from their sockets, and afterwards pulling their wings. he knew not that his father was standing behind his back; and very much wished to be giving his cruel young fingers a crack. but he waited till after dinner, when tommy was having a game; then he thought he would give him a lesson, and treat him a little the same. so catching his son of a sudden, and giving his elbow a twist; he pulled his two ears till he shouted, then hit him quite hard with his fist. and did he not roll on the carpet? and did he not cry out in pain? but, when he cried out "oh, you hurt me!" his father would hit him again. "why, tom, all this is quite jolly, you don't seem to like it, my boy; and yet, when you try it on others, you always are singing with joy; "it seems very strange," said his father, and this time his nose had a pull; but tommy could stand it no longer; he bellowed and roared like a bull. "hush! hush! while i pull your right leg off, and scrape off the flesh from your shin; what you often yourself do to others, sure you do not think harm or a sin. "now, tommy, my boy," said his father, "you'll leave these poor things alone, if not, i go on with my lesson." "i will," cried poor tom, with a groan. but hark! from the woodlands the sound of a gun, the wounded bird flutters and dies; where can be the pleasure for nothing but fun, to shoot the poor thing as it flies? or you, mr. butcher, and fisherman, you may follow your trades, i must own: so chimneys are swept when they want it--but who would sweep them for pleasure alone? if men would but think of the torture they give to creatures that cannot complain, they surely would let the poor animals live, and not make a sport of their pain. the worm turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, nor crush that helpless worm the frame thy wayward looks decide required a god to 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 the creatures free; and spreads o'er earth the grassy blade for worms as well as thee. let them enjoy their little day, their lowly bliss receive; oh, do not lightly take away the life thou canst not give. gisborne story of cruel frederick here is cruel frederick, see! a horrid wicked boy was he: he caught the flies, poor little things, and tore off their tiny wings; he kill'd the birds, and broke the chairs, and threw the kitten down the stairs; and oh! far worse than all beside, he whipp'd his mary till she cried. the trough was full, and faithful tray came out to drink one sultry day; he wagg'd his tail, and wet his lip, when cruel fred snatch'd up a whip, and whipp'd poor tray till he was sore, and kick'd and whipp'd him more and more. at this, good tray grew very red, and growl'd and bit him till he bled; then you should only have been by, to see how fred did scream and cry! so frederick had to go to bed, his leg was very sore and red! the doctor came and shook his head and made a very great to-do, and gave him nasty physic too. don't throw stones boys, don't throw stones! that kitten on the wall, sporting with leaves that fall, now jumping to and fro, now crouching soft and low, then grasps them with a spring, as if some living thing. as happy as can be, why cause her misery? it is foolish stones to fling boys, do as you'd be done by. boys, don't throw stones! that squirrel in the tree, frisking in fun and glee, is busy in his way, although it looks all play, picking up nuts--a store against the winter hour frisking from tree to tree, so blithe and merrily, it is cruel stones to fling, boys, do as you'd be done by. boys, don't throw stones! that bird upon the wing, how sweet its song this spring, perchance it seeks the food, to feed its infant brood, whose beaks are open wide, until they are supplied; to and fro to and fro, the parent bird must go. it is sinful stones to throw boys, do as you'd be done by. boys, don't throw stones! that stray dog in the street, should with your pity meet, and not with shout and cry, and brick-bat whirling by: the dog's a friend to man, outvie him if you can: so faithful, trusty, true, a pattern unto you; it is wicked stones to throw, boys, do as you'd be done by. boys, don't throw stones! it can no pleasure give to injure things that live; that beauteous butterfly, the bird that soars on high, the creatures every day that round our pathway play; if you thought of your cruelty; you wouldn't wish even one to die. only cowards stones will throw boys, do as you'd be done by. [illustration: tables turned--dogs beating the poor boy.] instead of the bad boys beating the poor dog, the bad dogs are beating the poor boy. [page 71--stealing land] [illustration: boys caught stealing apples.] no one will see me "no one will see me," said little john day, for his father and mother were out of the way, and he was at home all alone; "no one will see me," so he climbed on a chair, and peeped in the cupboard to see what was there, which of course he ought not to have done. there stood in the cupboard, so sweet and so nice, a plate of plum-cake in full many a slice, and apples so ripe, and so fine; "now no one will see me," said john to himself, as he stretched out his arm to reach up to the shelf; "this apple, at least, shall be mine." john paused and put back the nice apple so red, for he thought of the words his kind mother had said, when she left all these things in his care; "and no one will see me," thought he, "'tis not true; for i've read that god sees us in all that we do, and is with us everywhere." well done, john; your father and mother obey, try ever to please them; and mind what they say, even when they are absent from you; and never forget that, though no one is nigh, you cannot be hid from the glance of god's eye, who notices all that you do. principle put to the test a youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, had once his integrity put to the test:- his comrades had plotted the orchard to rob, and asked him to go and assist in the job. he was very much shocked, and answered, "oh no! what! rob our poor neighbour! i pray you don't go; besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread; then think of his children, for they must be fed." "you speak very fine, and you look very grave, but apples we want, and apples we'll have; if you will go with us, we'll give you a share, if not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." they spoke, and tom pondered- "i see they will go; poor man! what a pity to injure him so! poor man! i would save him his fruit if i could, but staying behind will do him no good. "if this matter depended alone upon me, his apples might hang till they dropped from the tree; but since they _will_ take them, i think i'll go too, he will lose none by me, though i get a few." his scruples this silenced, tom felt more at ease, and went with his comrades the apples to seize; he blamed and protested but joined in the plan, he shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. cowper advice who steals a pin commits a sin who tells a lie has cause to sigh. when ask'd to go and sin, say, no! the guilty breast is ne'er at rest. you must not sin a world to win why should you go the way to woe. the boy and his mother in aesop, we are told, a boy, who was his mother's pride and joy, at school a primer stole one day, and homeward then did wend his way. he told his mother of the theft, while she, of principle bereft, patted him on the head and smil'd. and said, "you are my own dear child." she praised him for the cunning feat, and gave him a nice apple sweet. in course of years the boy grew fast, till he became a man at last; but all the time he slyly stole- sometimes a piece--sometimes the whole, till, finally, he grew so bold, he kill'd a man and took his gold. the day on which he had to swing did a large crowd together bring. among the rest his mother came, and called him fondly by his name. the sheriff gave him leave to tell the broken-hearted dame farewell! about his neck her arms she flung, and cried, "why must my child be hung?" he answered, "call me not your dear." and by one stroke bit off her ear; while all the crowd cried, "oh! for shame! not satisfied to blast her name. you add this violence to one whose happiness you have undone!" "good people," he replied, "i'll vow i would not be a felon now. if my mother had only tried to win me to the better side. but when in infancy i took what was not mine, a small torn book, instead of punishing the feat she gave to me an apple sweet; she prais'd me too, and softly smil'd, and said, 'you are my own dear child!' i tell you here, both foe and friend, this is the cause of my sad end." [illustration: australian blacks stealing.] [page 72--stealing land] [illustration: naughty boys stealing.] the boys and the apple tree as billy and tommy were walking one day, they came by a fine orchard side; they'd rather eat apples than spell, read, or play, and tommy to billy then cried, "o brother, look! see what fine clusters hang there, i'll jump and climb over the wall; i will have an apple, i will have a pear, or else it shall cost me a fall." said billy to tommy, "to steal is a sin, mamma has oft told this to thee; o never yet stole, nor now will begin, so red apples hang on the tree." "you are a good boy, as you ever have been," said tommy; let's walk on, my lad; we'll call on our school-fellow little bob green, and to see us i know he'll be glad." they came to a house, and they rang at the gate, and asked, "pray, is bobby at home?" but bobby's good manners did not let them wait; he out of the parlour did come. bob smil'd, and he laughed, and he caper'd with joy, his little companions to view. "we call'd in to see you," said each little boy. said bobby, "i'm glad to see you. "come walk in our garden, so large and so fine; you shall, for my father gives leave; and more, he insists that you'll stay here to dine: a rare jolly day we shall have!" but when in the garden, they found 'twas the same they saw as they walk'd in the road; and near the high wall, when these little boys came, they started, as if from a toad. "that large ring of iron, which lies on the ground, with terrible teeth like a saw," said bobby, "the guard of our garden is found; it keeps wicked robbers in awe. "the warning without, if they should set an nought, this trap tears their legs--o! so sad!" said billy to tommy, "so you'd have been caught, a narrow escape you have had." cried tommy, i'll mind what my good mamma says, and take the advice of a friend; i never will steal to the end of my days, i've been a bad boy, but i'll mend." adelaide honesty with honest heart go on your way, down to your burial sod, and never for a moment stray beyond the path of god; and everything along your way in colours bright shall shine; the water from the jug of clay shall taste like costly wine! holte thou shalt not steal on the goods that are not thine, little child, lay not a finger; round thy neighbour's better things let no wistful glances linger. pilfer not the smallest thing; touch it not, howe'er thou need it, though the owner have enough, though he know it not, nor need it. taste not the forbidden fruit, though resistance be a trial; grasping hand and roving eye, early teach them self-denial. upright heart and honest name to the poorest are a treasure; better than ill-gotten wealth, better far than pomp and pleasure. poor and needy though thou art, gladly take what god has given; with clean hands and humble heart, passing through this world to heaven. the thief why should i deprive my neighbour of his goods against his will? hands were meant for honest labour, not to plunder, nor to steal. 'tis a foolish self-deceiving by such tricks to hope for gain: all that's ever got by thieving turns to sorrow, shame, and pain. oft we see the young beginner practice little pilfering ways, till grown up a hardened sinner, then the gallows ends his days. theft will not be always hidden, though we fancy none can spy; when we take a thing forbidden, god holds it with his eye. guard my heart, o god of heaven, lest is covet what's not mine; lest i take what is not given, guard my heart and hands from sin. watts [illustration: highway robbery.] [page 73--stealing land] the thieves' ladder the girls were helping in the house, with bustle and with show, and told the boys to go away, and not disturb them so. and the boys went whistling down the streets, and looking in the shops at tempting heaps of oranges, and piles of sugar-drops. "here, willie, to the grocer's run; be sharp, now--there's a man, and bring me home a pound of plums as quickly as you can! "don't touch a plum--be sure you don't; to-morrow you shall eat." "i won't." he said, and, like a top, went spinning down the street. the grocer weigh'd them in his scales, and there was one too much; he took it out, and all was right, the scale was to a touch. he wrapp'd them up in whitey-brown, and tied them with a string, and put the money in the till, as 'twere a common thing. young willie watched, with greedy eyes, as this affair went on. the plums--they look'd so very nice! he wouldn't take but _one_. so going quick behind a post, he tore the paper so that he could take out two or three, and nobody would know. there was a little voice that said, close by, in willie's heart, "don't tear the hole--don't take the plum- don't play a thievish part!" the little voice--it spoke in vain! he reach'd his mother's door; she did not see the hole he'd made, his trouble then was o'er. and what a trifling thing it seem'd, to take one single plum! a little thing we hold between our finger and out thumb. and yet upon that christmas eve, that period so brief, young willie set his foot upon "the ladder of the thief!" and as he lay awake that night, he heard his parents speak; he heard distinctly what they said, the blood rush'd to his cheek. he lay and listn'd earnestly; they might have found him out, and he might get a flogging too, 'twas that he thought about. a guilty person cannot rest, he always is in fear; not knowing what may happen next to make his guilt appear. so, when he heard his mother speak, he rose up in his bed, and did not lose a syllable of every word she said:- "we have not any turnips, john, i could not spare the pence; but you can go and get us some through farmer turner's fence. "there's nobody to see you now, the folks are off the road; the night looks dark and blustering, and no one is abroad. "it is not far--you'll soon be back- i'll stand outside to hear; the watchman now is off his track, and won't be coming near." the father he went softly out, and down the lane he crept, and stole some turnips from the field whilst honest people slept! 'tis not the words that parents say, it is their very deed; their children know the difference, and follow where they lead. how often, if their lives are good, their children's are the same; whilst, if they're thievish, drunken, their children come to shame! now, willie laid him down in bed, his conscience found relief; "i'm not the only one," he said- "my father is a thief! "how foolish 'twas to be afraid about a little plum!" he pull'd the bed-clothes o'er his head, and dream'd of feasts to come. on christmas-day they had the pies. the turnips, and the beef; and willie's foot was firm upon the ladder of the thief. and ere the snow was on the plain, and christmas-day came round, and boys were sliding, once again, upon the frozen ground, he, step by step, had further gone upon that dreadful road that brings a man to misery, and takes him far from god. he cheated with his marbles first, and then at other play; he pilfered any little thing that came within his way. his parents did not punish him; he went from bad to worse, until he grew so confident, he stole a lady's purse. then he was seized, and brought before the city magistrate; and the police and lady came the robbery to state. and willie he was proved a thief, and nothing had to say; so to the dreadful prison-house he soon was led away. in vain he cried, and pleaded hard they would not take him there; he would not do such things again if they would hear his prayer. it was too late! the prison door, with bolt, and bar, and chain, was opened to take willie in, and then was shut again. he saw the handcuffs on the wall, the fetters on the floor; and heavy keys with iron rings to lock the dungeon door. he saw the little, lonely cells where prisoners were kept, and all the dreary passages, and bitterly he wept. and through the strong-barred iron grate, high up and far away, he saw a piece of clear blue sky out in the blessed day. and "oh!" he said, "my brothers now are out of school again, and playing marbles on the path, or cricket on the plain. "and here am i, shut up so close within this iron door; if ever i get out again i'll give this business o'er." and willie went to sleep that night in his dark cell alone; but often in his troubled dreams he turned with heavy moan. what sound is that at early morn that breaks upon his ear? a funeral bell is tolling slow, it tolls so very near. and in the court he sees a crowd, so haggard and so pale, and they are whispering fearfully a sad and awful tale. and all seem looking at a man who stands with fetters bound, and guards and executioner are gathered close around. and he beheld that wretched man, who trembled like a leaf: his foot no more would stand upon the ladder of the thief. for he had climbed it step by step, till murder closed the whole; the hangman came to take his life, but where would be his soul? and still the bell went tolling on; it tolled so heavily as that young man went up the stairs, out to the gallows-tree. it tolled--it tolled--oh! heavy sound! it stopped--the deed is o'er; and that young man upon the earth will now be seen no more: oh! parents watch your little ones, lest you have such a grief; help not their tender feet to climb the ladder of the thief. i have not heard young willie's end, i hope he learned that day; but 'tis a thing most difficult to leave a wicked way. sewell [illustration: the prisoner's van.] [page 74--santa claus land] i have given no fairy tales in this childland. for in this _matter-of-fact_ age belief in fairy tales and all kinds of wonderful fictions is fast vanishing. santa claus, the "bestest" "goodest" fairy of all alone remains: and even he is gradually being doubted by all but the most innocent children, but as he as a personality is still largely amongst us, i give his popular history culled from many sources. santa claus land at the top of the earth, which they call the north pole, is where santa claus lives, a right jolly old soul! and the ice and the snow lie so thick on the ground the sun cannot melt them the whole summer round. all wrapped up in furs from his head to his toes, no feeling of coldness dear santa claus knows, but travels about with a heart full of joy, as happy as if he were only a boy. his cheeks are like roses; his eyes are as bright as stars that shine out overhead in the night, and they twinkle as merrily too all the while, and broad as a sunbeam is santa claus' smile. he never is idle except when asleep, and even in dreams at his labours will keep, and all thro' the day and the night, it is true, he is working and planning, dear children, for you. on top of his tower with spy-glass in hand, he goes every morning to look o'er the land, and though there are hills all around, i suppose, he sees, oh, much further than any one knows. he peeps into houses whose doors are tight shut; he looks through the palace, and likewise the hut; he gazes on cities, and villages small, and nothing, no, nothing is hidden at all. he knows where the good children live beyond doubt, he knows where the bad boys and girls are about, and writes down their names on a page by themselves; in a book that he keeps on his library shelves. for good little children, the gentle and kind, the prettiest presents of toys are designed, and when christmas comes round, as it does once a year, 'tis certain that santa claus then will appear. his work-shop is, oh! such a wonderful place, with heaps of gay satins, and ribbons, and lace; with houses and furniture, dishes and pans, and bracelets and bangles, and all sorts of fans. there are horses that gallop, and dollies that walk, and some of the pretty doll-babies can talk. there are pop-guns, and marbles, and tops for the boys, and big drums and trumpets that make a big noise. there are games for all seasons, the base-ball and kite, and books which the children will seize with delight, and the skates and the sleds, far too many to count, and the bicycles ready for wheelmen to mount. there are farm-yards in plenty, with fences and trees, and cows, sheep, and oxen, all taking their ease, and turkeys and ducks, and fine chickens and hens, and dear little piggies to put in their pens. there are gay noah's arks, just as full as can be of animals, really a wonder to see; there are lions and tigers, and camels and bears, and two of each kind, for they travel in pairs. there are elephants stretching their noses quite long; and reindeer and elks with their antlers so strong, and queer kangaroos all the others amid, with their dear little babies in pockets well hid. is santa claus happy? there's no need to ask, for he finds such enjoyment indeed in his task, that he bubbles with laughter, and whistles and sings, while making and planning the beautiful things. he's a jolly good fellow, but ever so shy, and likes to do all his good deeds on the sly, so there's no use spoiling a good winter's nap for you'll not catch a glimpse of the jolly old chap. when christmas eve comes, into bed you must creep, and late in the night when you are asleep, he is certain to come; so your stockings prepare, and hang them up close by the chimney with care. the baby's wee stockings you must not forget, for santa will have something nice for the pet, and those who are thoughtful for others will find the good saint at christmas time has them in mind. there is tommy, who tended the baby with care, a nice train of cars he shall have for his share, and how happy will eliza be when she looks for her presents, and finds such a budget of books. for dear little mary, a doll there will be; and for alice and jenny a gay christmas tree; and wee little georgie, the baby, will find a big stick of candy, just suiting his mind. oh, a jolly good sight is this funny old chap when he's dressed in his bear-skin and fur-bordered cap, all ready to start on his way through the cold, in a sleigh covered over with jewels and gold. while his deer from the mountains all harnessed with care, like race-horses prance through the clear frosty air; 'tis fun just to watch them, and hear the bells ring, and the stars seem to think it a comical thing. for old santa is bundled so close to the chin, that there is not a chance for the cold to get in, his cheeks are so rosy, his eyes how they flash! no horses nor driver e'er cut such a dash! he cracks his long whip, and he whistles a tune, while he winks at the stars, and he bows to the moon, and over the tree-tops he drives like the wind, and leaves all the night-birds a long way behind. his steeds speed away on a journey so fleet, that they seem to have wings to their swift-flying feet, for there's work to be done by a cheery old man, and his coursers will help him as well as they can. his sleigh is with toys and trinkets well packed, you never beheld one with pleasures so stacked; and though of good children he has such a list, not one is forgotten, not one will be missed. an army he gives to the boy who is neat, and never is rude in the house or the street; and a farm to the lad who goes smiling to school, who knows all his lessons and minds every rule. and if you would please him--dear bertie and jack--; and win a nice prize from the old fellow's pack, be good little children, your parents obey, and strive to be happy at work or at play. at christmas old santa claus toils like a turk, for the cheery old fellow is fond of his work. with his queer looking team through the air he will go, and alight on the house-tops all covered in snow. then down through the chimneys he'll dart without noise and fill up the stockings with candy and toys. there'll be presents for julia, and nellie, and jack, and plenty more left in the old fellow's pack. and if frank behaves well, and minds what is said, quits teasing the cat and goes early to bed; he'll find for his present a sled or a gun, a ready companion in frolic and fun. on santa claus hurries, and works with a will, for many tall christmas trees he has to fill, and loads them with treasures from out his rich store, till they blossom as trees never blossomed before. though round as a dumpling, and ever so fat, in running and climbing he's spry as a cat, and if the long ladder should happen to break, and he should fall down, what a crash it would make! i told you his home was up north by the pole, in a palace of hives lives this worthy old soul, and though out of doors it may furiously storm, indoors as we know, it is sunny and warm. when christmas is over old santa claus goes to his home in the north, and his well-earned repose, and when he is rested and feeling tip-top, the good-natured workman goes back to his shop. and there he will labor from morning till night, to make others happy his aim and delight, and if his good-will the dear children would earn, they must strive to be happy and good in return. he comes like an angel of light from above, to do on the earth sweetest errands of love; and our hearts and our homes to so fill with good cheer that we cannot help knowing when christmas is near. then let us be glad, so that christmas may be a real merry christmas to you and to me! and now that the story is ended we'll give three cheers for old santa claus! long may he live! [page 75--santa claus land] [illustration: children praying for christmas presents.] a visit from st. nicholas 'twas the night before christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that st. nicholas soon would be there. the children were nestled all snug in there beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads; and mamma in her kerchief and i in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, when out in the lawn there arose such a clatter, i sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. away to the window i flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash; the moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave a lustre of midday to objects below; when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver so lively and quick i knew in a moment it must be st. nick. more rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name; "now dasher! now, dancer! now, prancer and vixen! on comet! on, cupid! on, donder and blitzen! to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so up to the housetop the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and st. nicholas too; and then in a twinkling i heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. as i drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney st. nicholas came with a bound, he was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack, his eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. he was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf- and i laughed when i saw him, in spite of myself; a wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know i had nothing to dread. he spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. he sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle; but i heard him exclaim ere he drove out sight; "happy christmas to all, and to all a good night." clement c. moore what santa claus brings lovely little girls and boys, santa brings all sorts of toys. boxes filled with wooden bricks, monkeys climbing yellow sticks. dollies' houses painted red, tiny soldiers made of lead, noah's arks, and ninepins too, jack in boxes, painted blue. cups and saucers, pots and pans, china figures, chinese fans, railway trains, with tops and tables, fairy tales and aesop's fables, clockwork mice, and coloured marbles painted bird that sweetly warbles, dolls of every age and size, with flaxen hair and moving eyes. cows and horses, chickens, cats, rattles, windmills, boats and bats, ducks and geese, and golden fishes, skipping ropes and copper dishes. books and coloured pictures, too, and a thousand other things for you; dainty maidens, merry boys, santa brings all sorts of toys. little mary dear little mary, with eyes so blue, what has santa claus brought for you? he has brought me a cup, and a curly sheep, and a cradle where dolly may go to sleep. the best of all is this funny box that winds with a key just like the clocks. and when you've wound the spring up tight, the monkey dances with all his might, and fido barks and the puppies play: we're all very happy this christmas day. christmas dainty little stockings hanging in a row, blue, and grey, and scarlet, in the firelight's glow. curly-pated sleepers safely tucked in bed; dreams of wondrous toy-shops dancing through each head. funny little stockings hanging in a row stuffed with sweet surprises, down from top to toe. skates, and balls, and trumpets, dishes, tops, and drums, books and dolls and candles, nuts and sugar-plums. little sleepers waking: bless me, what a noise! wish you merry christmas, happy girls and boys! the nursery [illustration: santa claus making toys.] [page 76--santa claus land] [illustration: santa claus looking up names of good boys and girls.] christmas when the children have been good, that is, be it understood, good at meal-times, good at play, good all night and good all day,- they shall have the pretty things merry christmas always brings. [illustration: santa claus starting to distribute toys.] a christmas eve adventure once on a time, in a queer little town, on the shore of the zuyder zee, when all the good people were fast asleep, a strange thing happened to me. alone, the night before christmas, i sat by the glowing fire, watching the flame as it rose and fell, while the sparks shot high and higher. suddenly one of these sparks began to flicker and glimmer and wink like a big bright eye, till i hardly knew what to do or to say or to think. quick as a flash, it changed to a face, and what in the world did i see but dear old santa claus nodding his head, and waving his hand to me! "oh! follow me, follow me!" soft he cried,- and up through the chimney with him i mounted, not daring to utter a word till we stood on the chimney's rim. "now tell me, i beg you, dear santa claus, where am i going with you?" he laughingly answered, "why, don't you know? to travel the whole world through! "from my crystal palace, far in the north, i have come since dark,--and see these curious things for the little folk who live on the zuyder zee." then seating himself in his reindeer sledge, and drawing me down by his side, he whistled, and off on the wings of the wind we flew for our midnight ride. but first, such comical presents he left for the little dutch girls and boys,- onions and sausages, wooden-faced dolls, cheeses and gingerbread toys! away we hurried far to the south, to the beautiful land of france; and there we showered the loveliest gifts,- flaxen-haired dolls that could dance. soldiers that marched at the word of command, necklaces, bracelets and rings, tiny gold watches, all studded with gems, and hundreds of exquisite things. crossing the channel, we made a short call in scotland and ireland, too; left a warm greeting for england and wales, then over the ocean we flew straight to america, where by myself, perched on a chimney high, i watched him scramble and bustle about between the earth and the sky. many a stocking he filled to the brim, and numberless christmas trees burst into bloom at his magical touch! then all of a sudden a breeze caught us and bore us away to the south, and afterwards blew us "out west;" and never till dawn peeped over the hills did we stop for a moment's rest. "christmas is coming!" he whispered to me, "you can see his smile in the sky,- i wish merry christmas to all the world! my work is over,--good-bye!" like a flash he was gone, and i was alone,- for all of this happened to me once on a time, in a queer little town on the shore of the zuyder zee! m. m. little bennie i had told him, christmas morning, as he sat upon my knee, holding fast his little stockings, stuffed as full as can be, and attentive listening to me, with a face demure and mild, that old santa claus, who filled them, did not love a naughty child. "but we'll be good, won't we, moder?" and from off my lap he slid, digging deep among the goodies in his crimson stockings hid. while i turned me to my table, where a tempting goblet stood, brimming high with a dainty custard, sent me by a neighbour good. but the kitten, there before me, with his white paw, nothing loth, sat, by way of entertainment, lapping off the shining froth; and, in not the gentlest humour at the loss of such a treat, i confess i rather rudely thrust him out into the street. then how bennie's blue eyes kindled; gathering up the precious store he had busily been pouring in his tiny pinafore, with a generous look that shamed me sprang he from the carpet bright, showing, by his mien indignant, all a baby's sense of right. "come back harney," called he loudly, as he held his apron white, "you shall have my candy wabbit;" but the door was fastened tight. so he stood, abashed and silent, in the centre of the floor, with defeated look, alternate bent on me and on the door. then, as by some sudden impulse, quickly ran he to the fire, and while eagerly his bright eyes watched the flames grow high and higher, in a brave, clear key he shouted, like some lordly little elf, "santa kaus, come down the chimney, make my mother 'have herself." "i'll be a good girl, bennie," said i, feeling the reproof; and straightway recalled poor harney, mewing on the galley roof. soon the anger was forgotten, laughter chased away the frown, and they gambolled 'neath the live oaks, till the dusky night came down. in my dim, fire-lighted chamber harney purred beneath my chair, and my play-worn boy beside me knelt to say his evening prayer: "god bess fader, god bess moder, god bess sister," then a pause, and the sweet young lips devoutly murmured "god bess santa kaus." he is sleeping: brown and silken lie the lashes, long and meek, like caressing, clinging shadows, on his plump and peachy cheek; and i bend above him, weeping, thankful tears; o undefiled; for a woman's crown of glory, for the blessing of a child. annie c. ketchum [page 77--santa claus land] [illustration: santa claus filling the stockings.] old santa claus old santa claus sat alone in his den, with his leg crossed over his knee; while a comical look peeped out at his eyes, for a funny old fellow was he. his queer little cap was tumbled and torn, and his wig it was all awry; but he sat and mused the whole day long, while the hours went flying by. he had been busy as busy can be, in filling his pack with toys; he had gathered his nuts and baked his pies, to give to the girls and boys. there were dolls for the girls, and whips for the boys, with wheelbarrows, horses and drays, and bureaus and trunks for dolly's new clothes; all these in his pack he displays. of candy too, both twisted and striped, he had furnished a plentiful store, while raisins and figs, and prunes and grapes, hung up on a peg by the door. "i am almost ready," quoth he, quoth he, "and christmas is almost here; but one thing more--i must write a book, and give to each one this year." so he clapped his specs on his little round nose, and seizing the stump of a pen, he wrote more lines in one little hour than you ever could write in ten. he told them stories all pretty and new, and wrote them all out in rhyme; then packed them away with his box of toys to distribute one at a time. and christmas eve, when all were in bed, right down the chimney he flew; and stretching the stocking-leg out at the top, he clapped in a book for you. santa claus and the mouse one christmas eve, when santa claus came to a certain house, to fill the children's stockings there, he found a little mouse. "a merry christmas, little friend," said santa, good and kind. "the same to you, sir!" said the mouse, "i thought you wouldn't mind if i should stay awake to night, and watch you for a while." "you're very welcome, little mouse," said santa, with a smile. and then he filled the stockings up, before the mouse could wink,- from toe to top, from top to toe, there wasn't left a chink. "now, they won't hold another thing," said santa claus with pride. a twinkle came in mousie's eyes, but humbly he replied: "it's not nice to contradict- your pardon i implore,- but in the fullest stocking there, i could put one thing more." "oh, ho!" laughed santa, "silly mouse! don't i know how to pack? by filling stockings all these years, i should have learned the knack." and then he took the stocking down from where it hung so high, and said: "now put in one thing more; i give you leave to try." the mousie chuckled to himself, and then he softly stole right to the stocking's crowded toe, and gnawed a little hole! "now, if you please, good santa claus, i've put in one thing more; for you will own, that little hole was not in there before." how santa claus did laugh and laugh; and then he gaily spoke; "well, you shall have a christmas cheese, for that nice little joke." a nice little present "our santa claus," cried bettie, "is nice as any other; he brought the nicest present to me and to my mother. "it was--oh, you can't guess it- a darling little brother. he kicks and cries, and shuts his eyes, and he's sweet enough to eat. "i'd rather have my baby brother than dolls or candy--so would my mother." the night before christmas curly heads, so softly pillowed; chubby arms outspread; thousand fancies swiftly flying through each little head. clasping treasures newly garnered, dolly, book, and ball, still they dream of coming pleasures greater than them all. christmas-trees of gorgeous beauty, filled with presents rare; toys unheard of, joys unnumbered, all delights are there. angel forms, with smiling faces, hover round the bed; angel feet make echoing music as they lightly tread. angel voices, softly thrilling, chant a lullaby: "darlings, dream, and sweetly slumber, we are watching by." who from dreams like these would waken to a world of pain? "hush, then, dear ones! have we roused you? turn and dream again." [illustration: baby waking up nearly caught santa claus.] [page 78--santa claus land] [illustration: annie and willie praying.] annie and willie's prayer 'twas the eve before christmas; good night had been said, and annie and willie had crept into bed. there were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, and each little bosom was heaving with sighs; for to-night their stern father's command had been given, that they should retire precisely at seven instead of at eight; for they had troubled him more with questions unheard of than ever before. he had told them he thought this delusion a sin; no such creature as "santa claus" ever had been; and he hoped, after this, he should never more hear how he scrambled down chimneys with presents each year. and this was the reason that two little heads so restlessly tosses on their soft, downy beds. eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten; not a word had been spoken by either till then; when willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, and he whispered: "dear annie, is 'ou fast asleep?" "why, no, brother willie," a sweet voice replies; "i've long tried in vain, but i can't shut my eyes; "for somehow it makes me so sorry because dear papa has said there is no santa claus. now we know there is, and it can't be denied for he came every year before dear mamma died; "but then, i've been thinking, that she used to pray,- and god would hear everything dear mamma would say,- and, maybe, she asked him to send santa claus here with the sack full of presents he brought every year." "well, why tannot we p'ay, dust as mamma did, den, and ask dod to send him with presents aden?" "i've been thinking so, too;" and without a word more four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, and four little knees on the soft carpet pressed, and two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast, "now, willie, you know, we must firmly believe that the presents we ask for we're sure to receive; "you must wait just as still till i say the 'amen,' and by that you will know that your turn has come then.- "dear jesus, look down on my brother and me, and grant us the favours we're asking of thee. "i want a wax dolly, a tea-set and a ring, and an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring. bless papa, dear jesus, and cause him to see that santa claus loves us as much as does he. "don't let hem get fretful and angry again, at dear brother willie and annie. amen." "dear desus, 'et santa taus tum down to night and bring us some p'esents before it is 'ight; "i want he sood div' me a nice little sled, wid bight shinin' 'unners, and all painted 'ed a box full of tandy, a book, and a toy, amen. and den, desus, i'll be a dood boy." their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, and with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds; they were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep, and with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep. eight, nine, and the little french clock had struck ten ere the father had thought of his children again; he seems now to hear annie's self-suppressed sighs, and to see the big tears stand in willie's blue eyes. "i was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, "and should not have sent them so early to bed: but then i was troubled: my feelings found vent; for the bank-stock to-day has gone down two percent.; "but of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, and that i denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss; but just to make sure i'll steal up to their door- to my darlings i have never spoke harshly before." so saying, he softly ascended the stairs, and arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers; his annie's "bless papa" drew forth the big tears, and willie's grave promise fell sweet on his ears. "strange, strange! i'd forgotten," he said with a sigh, "how i longed when a child to have christmas draw nigh i'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, "by answering their prayers ere i sleep in my bed." then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down, threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing gown. donned hat, coat and boots, and was out in the street, a millionaire facing the cold, driving sleet! nor stopped he until he had bought everything, from the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring: indeed, he kept adding so much to his store, that the various presents outnumbered a score. then homeward he turned, when his holiday load, with aunt mary's help, in the nursery was stow'd. miss dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, and the side of a table spread out for her tea; a work-box, well-filled, in the centre was laid, and on it the ring for which annie had pray'd. a soldier in uniform stood by a sled, with bright shining runners, and all painted red. there were balls, dogs, horses; books pleasing to see; and birds of all colours were perched in the tree; while santa claus, laughing, stood up in the top, as if getting ready more presents to drop. now, as the fond father the picture surveyed, he thought for his trouble he'd amply been paid; as he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, "i'm happier to night than i have been for a year; "i've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before; what care i if bank-stock fell two per cent. more! henceforward i'll make it a rule, i believe, to have santa clause visit us each christmas-eve." so thinking, he gently extinguished the light, and, slipping downstairs, retired for the night. as soon as the beams of the bright morning sun put the darkness to flight, and the stars one by one, four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, and at the same moment the presents espied. then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, and the very gifts prayed for were all of them found. and they laughed and they cried in their innocent glee, and shouted for papa to come quick and see what presents old santa claus brought in the night (just the things they wanted!), and left before light. "and now," added annie, in a voice soft and low, "you'll believe there's a santa claus, papa, i know;" while dear little willie climbed up on his knee, determined no secret between them should be; and told, in soft whispers, how annie had said that their blessed mamma, so long ago dead, used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair, and that god up in heaven had answered her prayer. "den we dot up and p'ayed just as well as we tood, and dod answered our p'ayer, now wasn't he dood?" "i should say that he was, if he sent you all these, and knew just what presents my children would please." ("well, well, let them think so, dear little elf! 'twould be cruel to tell him i did it myself.") blind father! who caused your stern heart to relent, and the hasty words spoken so soon to repent? 'twas the being who bade you steal softly upstairs and made you his agent to answer their prayers. mrs. sophia p. snow [page 79--santa claus land] [illustration: boy nailing up his father's trousers.] budds' christmas stocking it was christmas-time, as all the world knew; it stormed without, and the cold wind blew, but within all was cheerful, snug, and bright, with glowing fires and many a light. budd b. was sent quite early to bed, his stocking was hung up close to his head, and he said to himself "when all grows still i will find a big stocking for santy to fill." now, good, honest hans, who worked at the house, had gone to his bed as still as a mouse; the room where he slept was one story higher than budd's little room, with gaslight and fire. now, hans loved "the poy," and petted him too, and often at night, when his task was all through, he would tell him strange stories of over the sea, while budd listened gravely or laughed out in glee. this night hans had promised to wake budd at four; he would softly come down and open his door; but suddenly budd bounded out of his bed, and stole softly up to the room overhead. on his hands and his knees he crept softly in, "i'll borrow han's stocking," he said, with a grin; old santy will fill it up to the top, and hans--oh, such fun! will be mad as a hop." he moved very slowly, and felt near the bed; no stocking was there, but down on his head came a deluge of water, well sprinkled with ice, while honest hans held him as if in a vice. "vat is dat?" he cried out; "von robber i find, den i pound him, and shake him, so much as i mind" "it's me," called out budd; "stop, hans! oh, please do; i'm only a boy; i could not rob you." but hans did not pause--his temper was hot- and he dragged the young robber at once from the spot, when he reached the hall light great was his surprise to find his young master with tears in his eyes. "i wanted your stocking," muttered budd b.; it is bigger than mine; boo hoo! i can't see, and i'm all wet and cold." thus cried budd aloud, until guests and his parents ran up in a crowd. he was wrapped up with care and taken to bed, but, strangest of all, not a harsh word was said. he flattered himself as he fell asleep that hans and his friends the secret would keep. next morning, when christmas songs filled all the air, budd found, to his grief and boyish despair, that his neck was so stiff that he could not turn his head, and must spend the whole day alone in his bed. what was worse, his own stocking hung limp on a chair, and on it these words were written most fair: "to him who is greedy i leave less than all; the world is so large and my reindeer so small. "my pack is elastic when children are kind, but it shuts with a snap and leaves nothing behind, when a boy or girl is selfish or mean. good-bye, little budd, i am off with my team. (signed) santa claus." christmas again the christmas holidays have come, we soon will hear the trumpet and the drum; we'll hear the merry shout of the girls and boys rejoicing o'er their gifts of books and toys. old santa claus comes by at dead of night, and down the chimney creeps--a funny sight; he fills the stockings full of books and toys, but puts in whips for naughty girls and boys. one christmas-eve the moon shone clear and bright; i thought i'd keep awake and watch all night, but it was silent all around and stilled, yet in the morn i found my stockings filled. christmas morning they put me in a square bed, and there they bade me sleep; i must not stir; i must not wake; i must not even peep; right opposite that lonely bed, my christmas stocking hung; while near it, waiting for the morn, my sunday clothes were flung. i counted softly, to myself, to ten and ten times ten, and went through all the alphabet, and then began again; i repeated that fifth-reader piece--a poem called "repose," and tried a dozen various ways to fall into a dose- when suddenly the room grew light. i heard a soft, strong bound, 'twas santa claus, i felt quite sure, but dared not look around. 'twas nice to know that he was there, and things were going rightly, and so i took a little nap, and tried to smile politely. "ho! merry christmas!" cried a voice; i felt the bed a-rocking; twas daylight--brother bob was up! and oh, that splendid stocking! st. nicholas [illustration: sign for santa, asking for bicycle or pony.] [page 80--santa claus land] [illustration: what the rich man's child got.] little nellie's visit from santa claus santa claus is coming to-night, papa; please let me sit up and see him, mamma; loaded with presents, i'm sure he'll be. he'll have something nice for you and for me. "mamma, do find something fresh and quite new, for dear old santa claus, when he comes through, i'll give it myself; i'll keep wide awake; i know he'll be glad my present to take. "now all go to bed as quick as you please, i'll wait for him," said the bright little tease, "he surely will ring, no doubt about that, i'll bid him come in and then have a chat." soon came a quick step on the piazza floor, just then a loud ring was heard at the door. the little miss rose with dignified air, quick ushered him in, and set him a chair. all covered o'er with little bells tinkling, shaking and laughing, twisting and wriggling, a funny old man, with little eyes blinking, looking at nellie, what was he thinking? not a word did he say--tired of waiting, nellie arose, her little heart quaking, held out her present, courage most failing, "santa claus, take this"--now she is smiling. "his furry old hand, twisting and trembling, took the sweet gift--"you dear little darling," uttered quite softly, tenderly kissing, the bright little face, ne'er a bit shrinking. lots of presents quickly bestowing, thanking her kindly--he must be going, shaking and laughing, his little bells jingling, down the steps, hastening off in a twinkling. brave little lady! all are now saying, santa claus truly! bright eyes are asking; see her dear papa, secretly laughing at her true faith in santa claus' coming. yes! she believes it, ever so truly, dear precious darling! rob her not surely, of childhood's sweet faith, now in its glory, while she's relating her own simple story. mrs. c. e. wilbur christmas stockings 'tis christmas day, and little may peeps from her bed in the morning grey. she looks around, but not a sound breaks on the quietness profound. so, heaving sighs, she shuts her eyes, and hard to go to sleep she tries. but sleep has fled that little bed. and weary moves the curly head, until the light (oh, welcome sight!) has banished every trace of night. then out of bed, with hurried tread, she runs to waken brother fred; for oh, what joys, in the shape of toys, does christmas bring to girls and boys! fred gives a groan, or a sleepy moan, and mutters, "do let me alone!" but bonnie may will not have nay; she whispers, "it is christmas day!" oh, magic sound! for fred turns round, and in a trice is on the ground. "our stockings, where?" "they're on that chair." "oh, what has santa claus put there?" may laughs with glee, the sight to see, of stockings filled from toe to knee with parcels queer, that stick out here, before, behind, in front and rear. "oh, fred! a dolly! i'll call her molly." "why, may, a penknife here; how jolly!" "a necktie blue! a paintbox too!" "oh, fred, a pair of kid gloves new!" "may, here's a gun! won't we have fun, playing at soldiers!--you'll be one." "now that is all. no; here's a ball; just hold it, or these things will fall." "what's in the toe, may, do you know? biscuits and figs!--i told you so." "i think," said may, that christmas day should come at least every second day." and so say we; but then you see that santa claus would tired be. and all his toys and christmas joys would vanish then from girls and boys. from "the prize" hang up baby's stocking hang up the baby's stocking: be sure you don't forget: the dear little dimpled darling has never seen christmas yet. but i told him all about it, and he opened his big blue eyes; i'm sure he understood it, he looked so funny and wise. ah, what a tiny stocking; it doesn't take so much to hold such little toes as baby's safe from the frost and cold. but then, for the baby's christmas it never will do at all; for santa claus wouldn't be looking for anything half so small. i know what will do for baby; i've thought of a first-rate plan; i'll borrow a stocking of grandma- the longest that i ever can. and you shall hang it by mine, mother, right here in the corner--so; and write a letter for baby. and fasten it on the toe. "old santa claus, this is a stocking hung up for our baby dear; you never have seen our darling, he has not been with us a year, "but he is a beautiful baby; and now, before you go, please cram this stocking with presents, from the top of it down to the toe. "put in a baby's rattle, also a coral ring, a bright new ribbon for his waist; some beads hung on a string "and mind a coloured ball please, and a tiny pair of shoes; you'll see from this little stocking, the size you have to choose." santa claus a health to good old santa claus, and to his reindeer bold, whose hoofs are shod with elder-down, whose horns are tipped with gold. ho comes from utmost fairyland across the wintry snows; he makes the fir-tree and the spruce to blossom like the rose. over the quaint old gables, over the windy ridge, by turret wall and chimney tall, he guided his fairy sledge; he steals upon the slumbers of little rose-lipped girls, and lays his waxen dollies down beside their golden curls. he scatters blessings on his way, and sugar-coated plums; he robs the sluggard from his rest with trumpets, guns, and drums. small feet, before the dawn of day, are marching to and fro, drums beat to arms through all the house, and penny trumpets blow. a health to brave old santa claus, and to his reindeer bold, whose hoofs are shod with elder-down, whose horns are tipped with gold. s. h. whitman [page 81--play land] [illustration: father making shadow-rabbit for daughter.] the rabbit on the wall the children shout with laughter, the uproar louder grows; even grandma chuckles faintly, and johnny chirps and crows. there ne'er was gilded painting, hung up in lordly hall, gave half the simple pleasure as this rabbit on the wall. the cottage work is over, the evening meal is done; hark! thro' the starlight stillness you hear the river run. the little children whisper, then speak out one and all; "come, father, make for johnny, the rabbit on the wall." he--smilingly assenting, they gather round his chair; "now, grandma, you hold johnny; don't let the candle flare." so speaking, from his fingers he throws a shadow tall, that seems, a moment after, a rabbit on the wall. holiday time with these three little girls and two little boys there is sure to be plenty of laughter and noise; but nobody minds it, because don't you see, at school they are quiet with lessons to say- but when the holidays come they can play the whole day. the fairy queen let us laugh and let us sing, dancing in a merry ring; we'll be fairies on the green, sporting round the fairy queen. like the seasons of the year, round we circle in a sphere; i'll be summer, you'll be spring, dancing in a fairy ring. harry will be winter wild; little annie, autumn mild; summer, autumn, winter, spring, dancing in a fairy ring. spring and summer glide away, autumn comes with tresses grey; winter, hand in hand with spring, dancing in a fairy ring. faster! faster! round we go while our cheeks like roses glow; free as birds upon the wing, dancing in a fairy ring. come and play in the garden little sister, come away, and let us in the garden play, for it is a pleasant day. on the grassplot let us sit, or, if you please, we'll play a bit, and run about all over it. but the fruit we will not pick, for that would be a naughty trick, and, very likely, make us sick. nor will we pluck the pretty flowers that grow about the beds and bowers, because, you know, they are not ours. we'll pluck the daisies, white and red, because mamma has often said, that we may gather them instead. and much i hope we always may out very dear mamma obey, and mind whatever she may say. little romp i am tired to death of keeping still and being good all day. i guess my mamma's company forgot to go away, i've wished and wished they'd think of it, and that they would get through; but they must talk for ever first, they almost always do. i heard tom calling to me once, he's launched his boat, i know; i wanted to get out and help, but mamma's eyes said no. the ladies talk such stuff to me, it makes me sick to hear- "how beautiful your hair curls!" or, "how red your cheeks are, dear!" i'd ten times rather run a race, then play my tunes and things; i wouldn't swop my dogs and balls for forty diamond rings. i've got no 'finement, aunty says, i 'spect she knows the best; i don't need much to climb a tree, or hunt a squirrel's nest. "girls are like berries," papa says, "sweeter for running wild," but aunt melissa shakes her head, and calls me "horrid child!" i'll always be a romp she knows- but sure's my name is sadie, i'll fool 'em all some dreadful day, by growing up a lady. hide and seek "we will have a game of hide and seek, now mind you do not look." and willie went and hid himself in a dark and lonely nook. then the children went to find him; they hunted all about. it was a funny way in which at last they found him out. just as they got where he was hid, in his nose he felt a tickling that made him sneeze, and so you see they found him in a twinkling. [illustration: child and dog playing adventurers.] [page 82--play land] [illustration: our tea party.] tired of play tired of play! tired of play! what hast thou done this livelong day? the birds are silent, and so is the bee; the sun is creeping up temple and tree; the doves have flown to the sheltering eves and the nests are dark with the drooping leaves. twilight gathers and day is done, how hast thou spent it, restless one? playing? but what has thou done beside, to tell thy mother at eventide? what promise of morn is left unbroken? what kind word to thy playmate spoken? whom hast thou pitied and whom forgiven, how with thy faults has duty striven, what hast thou learned by field and hill? by greenwood path, and singing rill? well for thee if thou couldst tell, a tale like this of a day spent well, if thy kind hand has aided distress, and thou pity hast felt for wretchedness; if thou hast forgiven a brother's offence, and grieved for thine own with penitence; if every creature has won thy love from the creeping worm to the brooding dove, then with joy and peace on the bed of rest, thou wilt sleep as on thy mother's breast. sea-side play two little boys, all neat and clean, came down upon the shore: they did not know old ocean's ways- they'd ne'er seen him before. so quietly they sat them down, to build a fort of sand; their backs were turned to the sea, their faces toward the land. they had just built a famous fort- the handkerchief flag was spread- when up there came a stealthy wave, and turned them heels over head. after school hours school is closed and tasks are done, flowers are laughing in the sun; like the songsters in the air, happy children, banish care! riding on a gate sing, sing, what shall we sing, a gate is a capital sort of thing. if you have not a horse, or haven't a swing, a gate is a capital sort of thing. cry, cry, finger in eye, go home to mother and tell her why; you've been riding, and why not i? each in turn, isn't that the rule for work or play, at home or school. walking song come, my children, come away, for the sun shines bright to-day; little children, come with me, birds, and brooks, and posies see; get your hats and come away, for it is a pleasant day. bring the hoop and bring the ball, come with happy faces all, let us make a merry ring, talk, and laugh, and dance, and sing quickly, quickly come away, for it is a pleasant day. the lost playmate the old school-house is still to day, the rooms have no gay throng; no ringing laugh is on the air, there is no snatch of song. the white-haired master sits upon the seat beneath the tree, and thinks upon the vanished face, with all its boyish glee. but a few short days ago, the lad was gayest of the gay, quick at the page of knowledge, and the heartiest in play. the pride of the home beside the stream, with his pigeons in their cots, and finding life a very dream, in pleasant homely spots. his school companions loving him, and old folks speaking praise, of the well-loved boy, with frankest eyes, and cheery, happy ways. all in the village knew the boy, from parson down to clerk, and his whistle in the village street was clear as the song of lark. but like a dream he's passed away, and from the chamber dim, in the fair light of summer day, the peasants carry him. and playmates gather at the grave, the old schoolmaster there, while blossomed boughs wave over-head, and all around is fair. true is the grief that brings the tear, there is no empty show; the simple neighbours see their loss, and there is heart-felt woe. they talk of the bright and lively lad, cut down in boyish prime, and old folks think how strange is life, more strange with passing time! oh! simple sight on green hill-side, away from pomp and power; here are the truths so oft denied to the imperial hour. dear child, how precious are the tears, suffusing friendly eyes! sublimity is in their gleam, a light from god's own skies. [illustration: naughty mice teasing the poor kitten.] [page 83--play land] [illustration: chinese toy merchant.] in the toy shop cups and saucers, pots and pans, china figures, chinese fans, railway trains, with tops and tables, fairy tales, and aesop's fables. clockwork mice, and colored marbles, painted bird that sweetly warbles, dolls of every age and size, with flaxen curls and moving eyes. cows and horses, chickens, cats, rattles, windmills, boats and bats, ducks and geese, and golden fishes, skipping ropes, and copper dishes. books with coloured pictures, too, and a thousand other things for you; dainty maidens, merry boys, here you are, all sorts of toys. neat little clara "little clara, come away, little clara, come and play; leave your work, maria's here, so come and play with me, my dear." "i will come, and very soon, for i always play at noon; but must put my work away, ere with you i come and play. first my bodkin i must place with my needles in their case; i like to put them by with care, and then i always find them there. there's my cotton, there's my thread thimble in its little bed; all is safe--my box i lock, now i come--'tis twelve o'clock." playing store "ting-a-ling!" now they have opened the store, never was such an assortment before; mud pies in plenty, and parcels of sand, pebbles for sugar plums, always on hand. plenty of customers coming to buy, "brown sugar, white sugar which will you try? paper for money; their wealth, too, is vast; in spite of the plenty, they scatter it fast. quick little hands tie bundles with care, summer's glad music is filling the air; birdies fly over, and wonder, no doubt, what all these gay little folks are about. [illustration: our shop.] fishing he took a stick, he took a cord, he took a crooked pin, and went a-fishing in the sand and almost tumbled in. but just before he tumbled in, by chance it came about, he hooked a whiting and a sole, and made them tumble out. hide and seek when the clean white cloth is laid, and the cups are on the table, when the tea and toast are made, that's a happy time for mabel. stealing to her mother's side, in her ear she whispers low, "when papa comes i'll hide; don't tell him where i go," on her knees upon the floor, in below the sofa creeping; when she hears him at the door, she pretends that she is sleeping. "where is mabel?" father cries, looking round and round about. then he murmurs in surprise, "surely mabel can't be out." first he looks behind his chair, then he peers beneath the table, seeking, searching everywhere all in vain for little mabel; but at last he thinks he knows, and he laughs and shakes his head, says to mother, "i suppose mabel has been put to bed." but when he sits down to tea, from beneath the sofa creeping, mabel climbs upon his knee, clasps her hands: "i was not sleeping." when he asks, "where is my girl's very secret hiding-place?" mabel only shakes her curls, laughing, smiling, in his face. [illustration: johnny giving his sister a ride.] [page 84--play land] [illustration: our playhouse coach.] little sailors now, harry, pull the chairs up, and, fanny, get the shawl; we'll play that we are sailors, and that we're in a squall. the fire will be a lighthouse, to warn us off the shore; and we will place the footstools for rocks, out on the floor. now this chair is the stern and that one is the bow; but there, you must be careful, and not lean hard, you know. now, sailors, pull that sail up, and tuck the corners in- well if you want it tighter, ask mother for a pin. now couldn't we sing something about the "ocean blue"? well, never mind, "by-baby" or anything will do. take care, you careless sailors, and mind what you are about, you know the sea will drown you, if you should tumble out. brother playing up and down the play-room, then behind the door, now upon the sofa, now upon the floor. in below the table, round the big arm-chair, goes my little brother, crying "are you there?" and when brother sees me, then away i run; and he follows after, merry with the fun. so at hide and seek we play. and pass the happy hours away. girls and boys, come out to play girls and boys, come out to play, the sun is shining away, away. into the meadow over the way, tumbling and tossing the new-mown hay. into the hedgerow picking the may; over the hills and far away. down by the brook where the ripples play, whirling and winding their silvery way, then home again by a different way, picking an armful of wildflowers gay. for mother dear to gladden her way, and wake in her heart a cheerful lay. for every leaf has it's sunny ray; all nature is happy and seems to say: girls and boys, come out to play. the sun is shining away, away. two merry men two merry men, one summer day, forsook their toys, and forgot their play. two little faces, full of fun, two little hearts that beat as one. four little hands, at work with a will, four little legs that can't keep still. for labour is sweet, and toil is fun, when mother wants any work to be done. mud pies tell me little ladies, playing in the sun, how many minutes till the baking's done? susy gets the flour, all of golden dust; harry builds the oven, lily rolls the crust. pat it here, and pat it there; what a dainty size! bake it on a shelf of stone, nice mud pies! now we want a shower- for we need it so- it would make a roadside, such a heap of dough. turn them in, and turn them out, how the morning flies! ring the bell for dinner- hot mud pies! the playful girl i know a little girl, who is very fond of play: and if her ma would let her, would do nothing else all day. she has a little doll, and another one quite large. she plays she has a little home, and house cares to discharge. but when her mamma calls her, some real work to do, she does not like to leave her play, and pouts till she is through. hay making in the hay, in the hay, toss we and tumble; no one to say us nay, all through this summer's day! no one to grumble. in the hat, in the hay, arthur we'll smother; bring armfuls, heap them high, pile them up--now good-bye, poor little brother! in the hay, in the hay, snugly reclining, shaded from the noontide heat, smelling the clover sweet, see us all dining; while the haymakers sit under the willows, each with his bread and cheese spread out upon his knees, hay for their pillows. hark! how the laugh and chat, happy, light hearted! now to their work they go, raking up one long row, fit to be carted. now comes the wagon near, quickly they're loading; rake away! rake away! while it's fine make the hay- rain is foreboding. now that the sunset ray says the day's over, homeward we make our way, in the cart strewn with hay, smelling of clover. mrs. hawtrey [illustration: american indian boys at play.] [page 85--play land] [illustration: thomas mending his bat.] [illustration: my dog and i dancing.] johnny the stout "ho! for a frolic!" said johnny the stout; "there's coasting and sledding; i'm going out." scarcely had johnny plunged in the snow, when there came a complaint up from his toe: "we're cold" said the toe, "i and the rest; there's ten of us freezing, standing abreast." then up spoke an ear; "my, but it's labor- playing in winter. eh! opposite neighbour!" "pooh!" said his nose, angry and red; "who wants to tingle? go home to bed!" eight little fingers, four to a thumb, all cried together- "johnny, we're numb!" but johnny the stout wouldn't listen a minute; never a snow-bank but johnny was in it. tumbling and jumping, shouting with glee, wading the snow-drifts up to his knee. soon he forgot them, fingers and toes, never once thought of the ear and the nose. ah! what a frolic! all in a glow, johnny grew warmer out in the snow. often his breathing came with a joke; "blaze away, johnny! i'll do the smoke." "and i'll do the fire," said johnny the bold. "fun is the fuel for driving off cold." [illustration: going to dig sand.] [illustration: sorry he played.] [page 86--play land] [illustration: our lamb playing tennis.] [illustration: our puss blowing bubbles.] training time supper is over, now for fun, this is the season children must run; papa is reading; says, of these boys; "pray did you ever hear such a noise?" riding on "camels" over the floor, see, one's a squirrel climbing the door; there goes the baby flat on his nose, brother was trying to tickle his toes. little he minds it, though he would cry, changed it to laughter as lyn galloped by; order is nowhere, fun is the rule; think, they are children just out of school. home is their palace; they are the kings let them be masters, of just a few things; only one short hour out of all day, give them full freedom; join in their play. do not be angry do not forget you liked to make noise sometimes do yet; home will be sweeter till life is done if you will give them an hour of fun. [illustration: our puss playing cricket.] [illustration: our frogs playing cricket.] [page 87--play land] playtime play-time, play-time, hurrah! out in the fields together! don't let us lose a moment's time, this fine, bright, glorious weather. run, boys! run, boys! faster! ball and the bats for cricket; jack, you're the fastest runner here, be off, and pitch the wicket. football for those who choose- the goal stick--go, jim, fix it; give us the ball; who's won the toss? now, for the first who kicks it. no lazy ones today; off, stretch your legs running! now for the hip, hip, hip, hurrah! and let the noise be stunning. hear how it echoes round! another and another! no fear of noise, it won't disturb old granny and poor mother. hullo there! no foul play! dick, what is that you're saying? no bad words and no cruel sport; we're come for fun and playing. romping why now, my dear boys, this is always the way, you can't be contented with innocent play; but this sort of romping, so noisy and high, is never left off till it ends in a cry. what! are there no games you can take a delight in, but kicking and knocking, and tearing, and fighting? it is a sad thing to be forced to conclude that boys can't be merry, without being rude. now what is the reason you never can play without snatching each other's playthings away? would it be any hardship to let them alone, when every one of you has toys of his own? i often have told you before, my dear boys, that i do not object to your making a noise; or running and jumping about, anyhow, but fighting and mischief i cannot allow. so, if any more of these quarrels are heard, i tell you this once, and i'll keep to my word, i'll take every marble, and spintop and ball, and not let you play with each other at all. nurse's song when the voices of children are heard on the green, and laughing is heard on the hill, my heart is at rest within my breast, and everything else is still. "then come home my children, the sun is gone down and the dews of the night arise; come, come, leave off play, and let us away, till the morning appears in the skies." "no, no, let us play, for it is yet day, and we cannot go to sleep; besides in the sky the little birds fly, and the hills are covered with sheep." "well, well, go and play till the light fades away, and then go home to bed." the little ones leaped, and shouted and laughed, and all the hills echoed. w. blake [illustration: our see-saw.] [illustration: our owls see-sawing.] [illustration: our pigs see-sawing.] [page 88--play land] swinging here we go on the garden swing, under the chestnut tree. up in the branches birdies sing songs to baby and me, baby and kitty and me. then up, high up, for the ropes are long, and down, low down, for the branch is strong. and there's room on the seat for three, just baby and kitty and me merrily swinging, merrily singing, under the chestnut tree. up to the clustering leaves we go, down we sweep to the grass, touching the daisies there below, bowing to let us pass, smiling to us as we pass. then up, high up, for the ropes are long, and down, low down, for the branch is strong. and there's room on the seat for three, just baby and kitty and me merrily swinging, merrily singing, under the chestnut tree. skating one day it chanced that miss maud did meet the poet's little son, "i'm going skating, sir," she said; "and so am i," said john. "if you can skate and i can skate, why let me skate with you, we'll go the whole world round and round, and skate the whole year through." they skated left, and skated right, miss maud and little john, that is--as long as there was ice for them to skate upon. and then they did unstrap their skates like other girls and men, and never used them once--until they put them on again! the skipping rope lessons now at last are over, books and slates are put away; hymns attentively repeated, copy without a blot completed, now's the time for fun and play. lessons done with cheerful spirit bring the sure reward of merit, smiling face and heart so gay; in this bright and smiling weather, merrily they all together, with the skipping rope will play; and if only tom and polly will come too, it will be jolly! here they are now, foot it lightly, hand in hand they skip so sprightly, bees are humming, summer's coming. birds are singing as they're bringing twigs from many a distant tree; lined with down, and moss, and feather, where they'll sit and chirp together, oh! how snug those homes will be! o'er the ropes so lightly skipping, o'er the grass so lightly tripping, the children are as glads as they. lessons are done with cheerful spirit, bring the sure reward of merit; and remember, too, that they who work hardest day by day, always most enjoy their play. [illustration: our piggy swinging.] [illustration: our kangaroos jumping.] [illustration: our kangaroos skipping.] [page 89--play land] the baby's debut my brother jack was nine in may, and i was eight on new year's day; so in kate wilson's shop papa (he's my papa and jack's) bought me, last week, a doll of wax, and brother jack a top. jack's in the pouts, and this it is, he thinks mine came to more than his; so to my drawer he goes, takes out the doll, and, o, my stars! he pokes her head between the bars, and melts off half her nose! quite cross, a bit of string i beg, and tie it to his peg-top's peg, and bang with might and main, it's head against the parlor door: off flies the head, and hits the floor, and breaks a window-pane. this made him cry with rage and spite: well, let him cry, it serves him right. a pretty thing, forsooth! if he's to melt, all scalding hot. half my doll's nose, and i am not to draw his peg-top's tooth! aunt hannah heard the window break, and cried "o naughty nancy lake, thus to distress your aunt: no drury-lane for you to-day!" and while papa said "pooh, she may!" mamma said "no she sha'n't!" well, after many a sad reproach, they got into a hackney coach, and trotted down the street. i saw them go: one horse was blind, the tails of both hung down behind, their shoes were on their feet. the chaise in which poor brother bill used to be drawn to pentonville, stood in the lumber-room: i wiped the dust from off the top, while molly mopp'd it with a mop, and brush'd it with a broom. my uncle's porter, samuel hughes, came in at six to black the shoes, (i always talk to sam:) so what does he, but takes, and drags me in the chaise among the flags, and leaves me where i am. my father's walls are made of brick, but not so tall and not so thick as these; and, goodness me! my father's beams are made of wood, but never, never half so good as those that now i see. what a large floor! 'tis like a town! the carpet, when they lay it down, won't hide it, i'll be bound; and there's a row of lamps!--my eye! how they do blaze! i wonder why they keep them on the ground. let the child play he who checks a child with terror, stops its play and stills its song, not alone commits an error but a great and grievous wrong. give it play, and never fear it; active life is no defect. never, never break its spirit; curb it only to direct. would you stop the flowing river, thinking it would cease to flow? onward in must flow forever; better teach it where to go. [illustration: our pussies' fan dance.] [illustration: our dog dance.] [illustration: our round dance.] [page 90--reading land] [illustration: our pussies reading childland.] [illustration: our monkey learning from childland.] reading "and so you do not like to spell, mary, my dear, oh, very well: 'tis dull and troublesome,' you say, and you had rather be at play. "then bring me all your books again; nay, mary, why do you complain? for as you do not choose to read, you shall not have your books, indeed. "so, as you wish to be a dunce, pray go and fetch me them at once; for if you will not learn to spell, 'tis vain to think of reading well. "do you not think you'll blush to own when you become a woman grown, without one good excuse to plead, that you have never learnt to read?" "oh, dear mamma," said mary then, "do let me have my books again; i'll not fret any more indeed, if you will let me learn to read." jane taylor mrs grammar's ball mrs grammar once gave a fine ball to the nine different parts of our speech; to the short and the tall, to the stout and the small, there were pies, plums and puddings for each. and first little articles came, in a hurry to make themselves known- fat _a_, _an_, and _the_; but none of the three could stand for a minute alone. the adjectives came to announce that their dear friends the nouns were at hand, _rough_, _rougher_ and _roughest_, _tough_, _tougher_ and _toughest_, _fat_, _merry_, _good-natured_ and _grand_. the nouns were indeed on their way, tens of thousands, and more, i should think; for each name we could utter, _shop_, _shoulder_, or _shutter_, is a noun: _lady_, _lion_ or _link_. the pronouns were hastening fast to push the nouns out of their places: _i_, _thou_, _he_, and _she_, _you_, _it_, _they_, and _we_, with their sprightly intelligent faces. some cried out, "make way for the verbs! a great crowd is coming in view!" to _light_ and to _smile_, to _fight_ and to _bite_, to _be_, and to _have_, and to _do_. the adverbs attended on the verbs, behind as their footmen they ran; as this, "to fight _badly_," and "run _away gladly_," shows how fighting and running were done. prepositions came _in_, _by_, and _near_; with conjunctions, a wee little band, as _either_ you _or_ he, but _neither_ i _nor_ she; they held their great friends by the hand. then, too, with a _hip_, _hip_, _hurrah_! rushed in interjections uproarious; _dear me!_ _well-a-day!_ when they saw the display, "_ha! ha!_" they all shouted out, "glorious!" but, alas! what misfortunes were nigh! while the fun and the feasting pleased each, pounced on them at once a monster--a dunce! and confounded the nine parts of speech! help! friends! to the rescue! on you for aid verb and article call; oh! give your protection to poor interjection, noun, pronoun, conjunction, and all! grammar in rhyme three little words we often see, and article, _a_, _an_, _the_. noun's the name of anything, as _school_ or _garden_, _hoop_ or _string_. adjective tells the kind of noun, as _great_, _small_, _pretty_, _white_ or _brown_. instead of nouns, the pronoun stand john's head, _his_ face, _my_ arm, _your_ hand. verbs tell us of something being done, to _read_, _write_, _count_, _sing_, _jump_, or _run_. how things are done, the adverbs tell, as _slowly_, _quickly_, _ill_, or _well_. a preposition stands before a noun, as _in_ or _through_ a door. conjunctions join the nouns together as men _and_ children, wind _and_ weather. the interjection shows surprise, as _oh_, how pretty! _ah_, how wise! the whole are called nine parts of speech, which reading, writing, speaking teach. value of reading the poor wretch who digs the mine for bread, or ploughs so that others may be fed,- feels less fatigue, than that decreed to him that cannot think or read! hannah more [page 91--reading land] [illustration: our dogs reading childland.] [illustration: our rook reading childland.] [illustration: our rabbit reading childland.] [illustration: our storks reading childland.] [page 92--writing land] [illustration: little flo writing letter.] little flo's letter a sweet little baby brother had come to live with flo, and she wanted it brought to the table, that it might eat and grow. "it must wait a while," said grandma, in answer to her plea, "for a little thing that hasn't teeth can't eat like you and me." "why hasn't it got teeth, grandma?" asked flo in great surprise, "o my, but isn't it funny?- no teeth, but nose and eyes. "i guess," after thinking gravely, they must have been forgot. can't we buy him some like grandpa's? i'd like to know why not." that afternoon, to the corner, with paper, and pen, and ink, went flo, saying, "don't talk to me; if you do, it'll 'sturb my think. i'm writing a letter, grandma, to send away to-night, an' 'cause it's very 'portant, i want to get it right." at last the letter was finished, a wonderful thing to see, and directed to "god, in heaven." please read it over to me," said little flo to her grandma, "to see if it's right, you know." and here is the letter written to god by little flo:- "dear god: the baby you brought us is awful nice and sweet, but 'cause you forgot his tooffies the poor little thing can't eat. that's why i'm writing this letter, a purpose to let you know. please come and finish the baby, that's all--from little flo." eben. e. rexford exercise makes perfect true ease in writing comes from art, not chance, as those move easiest who have learned to dance. pope hurrah for the postman hurrah for the postman who brings us the news! what a lot it must take to pay for his shoes. for he walks many miles each day of the week, and though he would like to, must not stay to speak. red stripes round his blue cap, with clothing to match it; if he lost any letters, oh, wouldn't he catch it! two letters first dear grandmamma--i write to say (and you'll be glad, i know,) that i am coming, saturday, to spend a week or so. i'm coming, too, without mamma, you know i'm eight years old! and you shall see how good i'll be, to do as i am told. i'll help you lots about your word- there's so much i can do- i'll weed the garden, hunt for eggs, and feed the chickens, too. and maybe i will be so good you'll keep me there till fall; or, better still, perhaps you'll say i can't go home at all! now grandmamma, please don't forget to meet me at the train, for i'll be sure to come--unless it should cloud up and rain! second dear mamma--please put on your things, and take the next express; i want to go back home again- i'm very sick, i guess! my grandma's very good to me, but grandma isn't you; and i forgot, when i came here, i'd got to sleep here, too! last night i cried myself to sleep, i wanted you so bad! to day, i cannot play or eat, i feel so very sad. please, mamma, come, for i don't see how i can bear to wait! you'll find me, with my hat and sack out by the garden gate. and grandma will not care a bit if you should come, i know; because i am your own little girl, and i do love you so. nell's letter dear grandmamma, i will try to write a very little letter; if i don't spell the words all right, why next time i'll do better. my little rabbit is alive, and likes his milk and clover, he likes to se me very much, but is afraid of rover. i have a dove as white as snow, i hall her "polly feather"; she flies and hops about the yard, in every kind of weather. the hens are picking off the grass, and singing very loudly; while our old peacock struts about, and shows his feathers proudly. i think i'll close my letter now, i've nothing more to tell; please answer soon, and come to see your loving, little nell. baby's letter to uncle dear old uncle--i dot oor letter; my dear mamma, she ditten better; she every day a little bit stronger, don't mean to be sick very much longer. dear little baby had a bad colic; had to take three drops of nassy palagolic. toot a dose of tatnip--felt worse as ever; shan't tate no mors tytnip, never! wind on tomit, felt pooty bad; worse fit of sickness ever i had! ever had stomit ate, ole uncle bill? ain't no fun, now, say what oo will. i used to sleep all day, and cry all night; don't do it now, 'cause it ain't yite. got a head of hair jess as black as night and big boo eyes, yat look very bright. my mamma say, never did see any ozzer baby half as sweet as me. grandma come often, aunt sarah, too; baby loves zem, baby loves oo. baby sends a pooty kiss to his uncles all, aunties and cousins, big folks and small. can't say any more, so dood by- bully old uncle wiz a glass eye! the first letter "did you ever get a letter? i did the other day. it was in a real envelope, and it came a long, long way. a stamp was in the corner and some printing when it came, and the one that wrote the letter had put 'miss' before my name. then there came a lot more written, i forget now what it read, but it told the office people where i lived, mamma said. don't you s'pose those letter-persons, if they hadn't just been told, would have thought 'twas for a lady who was awful, awful old? for it looked real big and heavy, the outside was stuck with glue, so they couldn't know i'm little, i don't think they could. do you?" youth's companion [page 93--writing land] i'm going to write to papa i'm going to write to papa, i guess he'd like to hear what his little girl is doing, the same as when he is near; i'll tell him how i miss him, and how i'd wish he'd come, and never, never, leave us, but always stay at home. i'll tell him 'bout my dolly, she's sleeping on the floor, i fear that noise will wake her, oh! please don't slam the door. for i must not be bothered, that's just what ma would say, when she begins a letter, and sends me off to play. i'll send him lots of kisses, and one bright shining curl, i'll ask him to remember his lonely little girl; i want so much to see him, but i won't cry a wink, cause when i write my letter, the tears would blot my ink. i'm going to write to papa, and oh! how glad he'll be. to get a little letter that was written all by me. old letters i gaze upon ye, once again, old records of the past, and o'er the dim and faded lines my tears are falling fast; i deem'd not there was a power yet, in these few simple words, to stir within my quiet heart such old familiar chords. ye bring me back mine early dreams- oh, but to dream them now, with childhood's fresh, unwearied heart, and pure unsadden'd brow! the loved--the lost--the changed- the dead--all these we conjure up, and mingled in the draught that lies in memory's magic cup. old letters--sad mementoes ye, of friendship's shatter'd chain, oh! that the hand these pages traced, my own might clasp again. they tell me yet of early love, of feelings glad and gay, of childhood's april hopes and fears- the writers, where are they? time's changes are for deeper things than folly's vain pursuit, spring blossoms fade, to leave a place for autumn's ripen'd fruit. look back upon the buried past, but not with vain regret, be grateful for the many joys that bloom around thee yet. bend heavenward thine onward course, that years of coming age may leave an impress in life's book, pure as its opening page! papa's letter i was sitting in my study, writing letters, when i heard: "please, dear mamma, mary told me that you mustn't be disturbed. but i'se tired of the kitty, want some ozzer thing to do. writing letters is 'ou mamma? tan't i write a letter, too?" "not now, darling, mamma's busy; run and play with kitty now." "no--no mamma; me wite letter, ten you will show me how." i would paint my darling's portrait, as his sweet eyes searched my face- hair of gold and eyes of azure, form of childish witching grace. but the eager face was clouded, as i slowly shook my head, till i said: "i'll make a letter, of you, darling boy, instead." so i parted back the tresses from his forehead high and white, and a stamp in sport i pasted, 'mid its waves of golden light. then i said: "now, little letter, go away and bear good news," and i smiled as down the staircase clattered loud the little shoes. leaving me, the darling hurried down to mary in his glee: "mamma's witting lots of letters; i'se a letter, mary, see." no one heard the little prattler, as once more he climbed the stair. reached his little cap and tippet, standing on the table there. no one heard the front door open, no one saw the golden hair, as it floated o'er his shoulders on the crisp october air. down the street the baby hastened, till he reached the office door: "i'se a letter, mr. postman, is there room for any more? 'cause this letter's going to papa; papa lives with god, 'ou know: mamma sent me for a letter; does 'ou fink at i tan do?" but the clerk in wonder answered, "not to-day, my little man;" "den i'll find anozzer office, 'cause i must go if i tan." fain the clerk would have detained him, but the pleading face was gone, and the little feet were hastening, by the busy crowd swept on. suddenly the crowd was parted, people fled to left and right, as a pair of maddened horses at that moment dashed in sight. no one saw the baby figure, no one saw the golden hair, till a voice of frightened sweetness rang out on the autumn air. 'twas too late: a moment only stood the beauteous vision there: then the little face lay lifeless covered o'er with golden hair. rev'rently they raised my darling, brushed away the curls of gold, saw the stamp upon the forehead growing now so icy cold. not a mark left the face disfigured, showing where a hoof had trod; but the little life was ended- "papa's letter" was with god. bessie's letter i have got a letter, a letter of my own, it has my name upon it, miss bessie l. stone. my papa sent it to me, he's away from home--you see i guess the postman wondered who bessie stone could be. i'd like to send an answer, but i don't know how to spell; i'll get mamma to do it, and that will do as well. a little boy's valentine little girl across the way, you are so very sweet, i shouldn't be a bit surprised if you were good to eat. now what i'd like if you would too, would be to go and play- well, all the time, and all my life, on your side of the way. i don't know anybody yet on your side of the street, but often i look over there and watch you--you're so sweet. when i am big, i tell you what, i don't care what they say, i'll go across--and stay there, too, on your side of the way. letter writing heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, some banish'd lover, or some captive maid. they live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires; the virgin's wish without her fears impart, excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart- speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, and waft a sigh from indus to the pole. boil it down whatever you have to say my friend, whether witty, grave, or gay, condense as much as ever you can, and that is the readiest way; and whether you write of rural affairs, or particular things in town, just take a word of friendly advice- "boil it down." letters from home letters from home! how musical to the ear of the sailor-boy on the far-off main, when, from the friendly vessel drawing near, across the billow floats the gentle strain, the words the tear-drops of his memory move; they tell a mother's or a sister's love; and playmates, friends, and sweetheart to him come out to him on the sea, in letters from his home. how warmly there the tender home-light shines! what household music lives in those dear tender lines. [page 94--writing land] polly's letter to brother ben dear brother ben, i take my pen to tell you where, and how, and when, i found the nest of our speckled hen. she would never lay, in a sensible way, like other hens, in the barn or the hay; but here and there and everywhere, on the stable floor, and the wood-house stair, and once on the ground her eggs i found. but yesterday i ran away, with mother's leave, in the barn to play. the sun shone bright on the seedy floor, and the doves so white were a pretty sight as they walked in and out of the open door, with their little red feet and their features neat, cooing and cooing more and more. well, i went out to look about on the platform wide, where side by side i could see the pig-pens in their pride; and beyond them both, on a narrow shelf, i saw the speckled hen hide herself behind a pile of hoes and rakes and pieces of boards and broken stakes. "ah! ha! old hen, i have found you now, but to reach your nest i don't know how, unless i could creep or climb or crawl along the edge of the pig-pen wall." and while i stood in a thoughtful meed, the speckled hen cackled as loud as she could, and flew away, as much as to say, "for once my treasure is out of your way." i did not wait a moment then: i couldn't be conquered by that old hen! but along the edge of the slippery ledge i carefully crept, for the great pigs slept, and i dared not even look to see if they were thinking of eating me but all at once, oh, what a dunce! i dropped my basket into the pen, the one you gave me, brother ben; there were two eggs in it, by the way, that i found in the manger under the hay. then the pigs got up and ran about with a noise between a grunt and a shout. and when i saw them, rooting, rooting, of course i slipped and lost my footing, and tripped, and jumped, and finally fell right down among the pigs pell-mell. for once in my life i was afraid; for the door that led out to the shed was fastened tight with and iron hook, and father was down in the fields by the brook, hoeing and weeding his rows of corn, and here was his polly so scared and forlorn, but i called him, and called him, as loud as i could. i knew he would hear me- he must and he should. "o father! o father! (get out, you old pig). o father! oh! oh!" for their mouths are so big. then i waited a minute and called him again, "o father! o father! i am in the pig pen!" and father did hear, and he threw down his hoe, and scampered as fast as a father could go. the pigs had pushed me close to the wall, and munched my basket, eggs and all, and chewed my sun-bonnet into a ball. and one had rubbed his muddy nose all over my apron, clean and white; and they sniffed at me, and stepped on my toes, but hadn't taken the smallest bite, when father opened the door at last, and oh! in his arms he held me fast. e. w. denison writing little pens of metal, little drops of ink, make the wicked tremble, and the people think. value of writing blest be that gracious power who taught mankind to stamp a lasting image on the mind: beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing their mutual feelings in the opening spring; but man alone has skill and power to send the heart's warm dictates to the distant friend: tis his also to please, instruct, advise, ages remote, and nations yet to rise. crabbe use the pen use the pen! there's magic in it, never let it lag behind; write thy thought, the pen can win it from the chaos of the mind. many a gem is lost forever by the careless passer-by, but the gems of thought should never on the mental pathway lie. use the pen! reck not that others take a higher flight than thine. many an ocean cave still smothers pearls of price beneath the brine. so thy words and thoughts securing honest praise from wisdom's tongue, may, in time, be as enduring as the strains which homer sung. j. e. carpenter power of the pen beneath the rule of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword. lord lytton letters such a little thing--a letter, yet so much it may contain: written thoughts and mute expressions full of pleasure, fraught with pain. when our hearts are sad at parting, comes a gleam of comfort bright, in the mutual promise given: "we will not forget to write." plans and doings of the absent; scraps of news we like to hear, all remind us, e'en though distant, kind remembrance keeps us near. yet sometimes a single letter turns the sunshine into shade; chills our efforts, clouds our prospects, blights our hopes and makes them fade. messengers of joy or sorrow, life or death, success, despair, bearers of affection's wishes, greetings kind or loving prayer. prayer or greeting, were we present, would be felt, but half unsaid; we can write--because our letters- not our faces--will be read? who has not some treasured letters, fragments choice of other's lives; relics, some, of friends departed, friends whose memory still survives? touched by neither time nor distance, will their words unspoken last? voiceless whispers of the present, silent echoes of the past! the right method of composition never be in haste in writing: let that thou utterest be of nature's flow, not art's, a fountain's, not a pump's. but once begun, work thou all things into thy work: and set thyself about it, as the sea about the earth, lashing it day and night: and leave the stamp of thine own soul in it as thorough as the fossil flower in clay: the theme shall start and struggle in thy breast, like to a spirit in its tomb at rising, rending the stones, and crying--resurrection. p. j. bailey [illustration: cat and dog sending letters.] [page 95--drawing land] [illustration: our lady artist.] [illustration: our gentleman artist.] [illustration: the sunday fisherman--a story with symbols.] [illustration: drawing pussy's likeness.] [illustration: working for a prize.] [page 96--drawing land] just cast your beautiful, your sparkling, your penetrating, your discriminating [illustration: eyes.] over this page, and read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest its contents. [illustration: a room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.] the two greatest educating powers in the ancient world were pictures and poetry--the two greatest educating powers are pictures and poetry still, and pictures and poetry blended in an interesting manner is the intended educating feature of this pleasant-learning-land, but my object in this place is to speak of pictures only, as perhaps the greatest of all educating powers, and to demonstrate that they are not sufficiently used for educational purposes. firstly: pictures are in a universal language--when they are true to nature every person on the earth can understand them. show a picture of a person or a bird, a horse or a house, a ship, a tree, or a landscape, and everyone knows what is meant, and this is why most of the peoples of the ancient world conveyed their ideas in picture language. fletcher, in his _cyclopedia of education_, says:-"it has long been accepted as an axiom that the best explanation of a thing is the sight and study of the thing itself, and the next best a true picture of the thing." dryden, speaking of poetry and painting says:- "the poets are confined to narrow space, to speak the language of their native place; the painter widely stretches his command, _his pencil speaks the tongue of every land_." many writers, ancient and modern, have taught the great educational power of pictures. horace says:--a picture is a poem without words". sydney smith says:--"every good picture is the best of sermons and lectures." o. s. fowler says:--"a single picture often conveys more than volumes." w. m. hunt says:--"from any picture we can learn something." henry ward beecher says:--"a picture that teaches any affection or moral sentiment will speak in the language which men understand, without any other education than that of being born and of living." garrick, speaking of hogarth, says:- "his pictured morals mend the mind, and through the eye improve the heart." but pictures are not only a means of education, for they bring pleasure, comfort, and education combined. steele says:--"beautiful pictures are the entertainment of pure minds." g. p. putman says:-"how many an eye and heart have been fascinated by an enchanting picture." cicero says:--"the eyes are charmed by pictures, and the ears by music." john gilbert says:--"pictures are consolers of loneliness; they are a sweet flattery to the soul, they are a relief to the jaded mind; they are windows to the imprisoned thought; they are books, they are histories and sermons, which we can read without the trouble of turning over the leaves." ugo foscolio says:-"pictures are the chickweed to the gilded cage, and make up for the want of many other enjoyments to those whose life is mostly passed amid the smoke and din, the bustle and noise of an overcrowded city." pandolfini says:--many an eye has been surprised into moisture by pictured woe and heroism; and we are mistaken if the glow of pleasure has not lighted in some hearts the flame of high resolve, or warmed into life the seeds of honorable ambition." many pictures, particularly portraits, by bringing up reminiscences, are a great source of consolation. in millions of houses the most-loved and treasured possession is the photographic album containing the likenesses of dear absent or departed friends. shee, writing of the soothing influences of the portrait, says:- "mirror divine! which gives the soul to view, reflects the image, and retains it too! recalls to friendship's eye the fading face, revives each look, and rivals every grace: in thee the banished lover finds relief, his bliss in absence, and his balm in grief: affection, grateful, owns thy sacred power, the father feels thee in affliction's hour; when catching life ere some lov'd cherub flies. to take its angel station in the skies, the portrait soothes the loss it can't repair, and sheds a comfort, even in despair." or- "the widow'd husband sees his sainted wife in pictures warm, and smiling as in life,- and- while he gazes with convulsive thrill, and weeps, and wonders at the semblance still, _he breathes a blessing on the pencil's aid,_ _that half restores the substance in the shade_." but it is more particularly with pictures as a direct means of education that i have to speak. mr. stead holds that in the coming education of the world the magic lantern will play a very great part, for through its aid you can portray any object you wish--pictures of scenery, of buildings, of distant countries, of the microscopic world, and in fact any kind of pictures you choose, in a most beautiful, life-like, interesting, and educational manner. i think and earnestly hope that mr. stead's prediction will be fulfilled. there are two other ways which i think that pictures should be used for educational purposes. firstly, in books, as in this one, and secondly, on the walls of buildings--outside and inside if you like --but i will speak only of the inside in this paper. why should not every room of every house be covered with pictures where it is not covered with furniture? in millions of rooms there is a great waste of opportunity. many times i have thought why do they not have varying patterns of different scenery, etc, in the different rooms of the houses instead of the wall paper, with its uninteresting pattern perpetually repeated. there is no reason why a house of twelve rooms should not represent on its walls twelve different countries, or twelve histories of striking events, etc. possibly this may take place later on. with respect to hanging pictures everywhere on the walls, it may be objected that it would be too expensive--so it would if they were costly pictures--but really good pictures are produced by the million now so cheaply, that the objection of expense vanishes. the walls can be covered now almost as cheaply with intellectual pictures as with unintellectual wall paper. sir joshua reynolds says:--"a room hung with pictures, is a room hung with thoughts." john gilbert says:--"a room with pictures in it, and a room without pictures, differ by nearly as much as a room with windows and a room without windows; for pictures are loopholes of escape to the soul, leading it to other scenes and to other spheres, as it were, through the frame of an exquisite picture, where the fancy for a moment may revel, refreshed and delighted." i was convinced many years ago of the almost criminal waste of wall space, and issued the following doggerel lines, partly from trade and partly from sentimental motives:- every cottage, two-roomed cottage, should contain full twenty pictures. every cottage, four-roomed cottage, should contain full forty pictures. every cottage, six-roomed cottage, should contain full sixty pictures. every villa, eight-roomed villa, should contain full eighty pictures. every mansion, ten-roomed mansion, should contain a hundred pictures. every large school for instruction should contain a thousand pictures. walls are made to keep out weather and also to display pictures. count your pictures all your walls on. see if you have quite the number, you will want more you will wish more, you will get more shouldn't wonder. pictures they are made to please you- first to please you when you buy them; next to please your own dear children, pictures please and teach them too. next to please your friends and neighbours when they kindly call on you. they'll admire them, then they'll praise them. then that pleases you again. pictures please and teach for ever, all the children, women, men. even in the poorest houses pictures must always be a blessing. many a poor man's cheerless home would be made much more comfortable and endurable if a few shilling's worth of good pictures were posted or hung round its bare walls. if houses were universally decorated with true speaking pictures what an immense influence for good it would bring them. what intellectual and refined tastes it would create and nurture. one most important thing in selecting pictures to cover the walls it to always choose good subjects. a poor picture takes up as much room as a good one, and generally costs as much. always choose live speaking pictures that will interest and instruct. there is an immense multitude of poor, tame, an uninteresting pictures produced in the world, and which in millions of instances keep out the good ones. if these poor ones could be kept back or destroyed, and the best ones only take their place, the world would be better for it. in choosing materials to build up a bright, happy home, always select the best--the best books--the best music--the best pictures. in conclusion, there is one more suggestion i would make on the picture question, and i think it is the most important of all; it is that a good clear map of the world should be hung in every house in the world, to give every person an idea of the world they live in. for it is a most deplorable fact that ninety-nine out of every hundred of the inhabitants, even of the civilized world, have a very poor conception of the geography and ethnology of the world. and this should not be, for every person ought to have a clear idea of their world-fatherland, and of their fellow creatures, and a knowledge of the map of the world is the first lesson to be learned in that most desirable direction. e w cole, book arcade, melbourne. [illustration: a single picture often conveys more than volumes.] [page 97--drawing land] [illustration: drawing doggy's likeness.] the new slate see my slate. i dot it new cos i b'oke the other, put my 'ittle foot right froo, runnin' after modder. i tan make you lots of sings, fass as you tan tell 'em, t's and b's and o rings, only i tan't spell 'em i tan make an elephant, wid his trunk a hangin'; an' a boy--who says i tan't? wid his dun a bangin' an' the smoke a tummin' out; (wid my t'umb i do it, rubbin' all the white about,) sparks a flying froo it. i tan make a pretty house, wid a tree behind it, and a 'ittle mousey-mouse runnin' round to find it. i tan put my hand out flat on the slate and draw it; (ticklin' is the worst of that!) did you ever saw it? now, then, s'all i make a tree wid a birdie on it? all my pictures you s'all see if you'll wait a minute. no, i dess i'll make a man juss like uncle rolly, see it tummin', fass it tan! bet my slate is jolly! [illustration: do not stare.] [illustration: doggy drawing pussy's likeness.] [illustration: our baby artist.] [page 98--drawing land] [illustration: doggies sitting to have their portraits taken.] learning to draw come, here is a slate, and a pencil, and string. and now sit you down, dear, and draw pretty thing; a man and a cow, and a horse and a tree, and when you have finished pray show them to me. what! cannot you do it? shall i show you how? come, give me your pencil; i'll draw you a cow. you've made the poor creature look very forlorn! she has but three legs, dear, and only one horn. now look, i have drawn you a beautiful cow; and see, here's a dicky-bird, perched on a bough, and there are some more flying down from above; there now, is not that very pretty, my love? oh, yes, very pretty! now make me some more- a house with a gate, and a window, and a door, and a little boy flying his kite with a string; oh, thank you, mamma, now i'll draw pretty thing. [illustration: young artist touching up.] [illustration: a fairy in great danger.] [illustration: our picture gallery.] [page 99--drawing land] [illustration: a lesson in drawing.] a lesson in drawing i. take a pencil, black or red. draw a little loaf of bread on a piece of paper white- make the bread extremely light. ii. then, before your work you stop, draw a little loop on top, and a satchel will be found such as ladies carry round. iii. then you may, my pretty dears, add a pair of little ears; and, if art is not in fault, there's a bag of extra salt. iv. pause, and in rapture fine, contemplate the great design- add a flowing tail, and that makes a perfect pussy cat. [illustration: wounded.] [illustration: drawing lesson on the slate--birds.] [illustration: drawing lesson on the slate--rooster and household items.] [illustration: drawing lesson on the slate--people.] [page 100--old men tales] old man and his wife there was an old man who lived in a wood, as you may plainly see, he said he could do as much work in a day as his wife could do in three. "with all my heart," the old woman said, "if that you will allow; to-morrow you'll stay at home in my stead, and i'll go drive the plough. "but you must milk the tidy cow, for fear she may go dry. and you must feed the little pigs that are within the sty; "and you must mind the speckled hen, for fear she lay away; and you must reel the spool of yarn that i spun yesterday." the old woman took a whip in her hand, and went to drive the plough; the old man took a pail in his hand, and went to milk the cow. but tidy hinched and tidy flinched, and tidy broke his nose, and tidy gave him such a blow that the blood ran down to his toes. "hi! tidy! ho! tidy! hi! tidy! do stand still! if ever i milk you, tidy, again, 'twill be sore against my will." he went to feed the little pigs, that were within the sty; he hit his head against the beam and he made the blood to fly. he went to mind the speckled hen, for fear she'd lay away; and he forgot the spool of yarn his wife spun yesterday. so he swore by the sun, the moon, the stars, and the green leaves on the tree, if his wife didn't do a day's work in her life, she should never be ruled by he. john ball shot them all john ball shot them all. john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john wyming made the priming, and john brammer made the rammer, and john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john block made the stock, and john wyming made the priming, and john brammer made the rammer, and john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john crowder made the powder, and john block made the stock, and john wyming made the priming, and john brammer made the rammer, and john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john puzzle made the muzzle, and john crowder made the powder, and john block made the stock, and john wyming made the priming, and john brammer made the rammer, and john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john clint made the flint, and john puzzle made the muzzle, and john crowder made the powder, and john block made the stock, and john wyming made the priming, and john brammer made the rammer, and john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. john patch made the match, john clint made the flint, john puzzle made the muzzle, john crowder made the powder, john block made the stock, john wyming made the priming, john brammer made the rammer, john scott made the shot, but john ball shot them all. the funny old man there was an old man, and though 'tis not common, yet if he said true, his mother was a woman; and though it's incredible, yet i've been told he was a mere infant, but age made him old. whene'er he was hungry he wanted some meat, and if he could get it, 'twas said he could eat; when thirsty he'd drink, if you gave him a pot, and his liquor most commonly ran down his throat. he seldom or never could see without light, and yet i've been told he could hear in the night. he has oft been awake in the daytime 'tis said, and has fall'n fast asleep as he lay in his bed. 'tis reported his tongue always moved when he talked, and he stirred both his arms and his legs when he walk'd, and his gait was so odd, had you seen him you'd burst, for one leg or t'other would always be first. his face was the saddest that ever was seen, for if 'twere not washed it was seldom quite clean; he showed most his teeth when he happened to grin, his mouth stood across 'twixt his nose and his chin. at last he fell sick, as old chronicles tell, and then, as folk said, he was not very well! and what is more strange, in so weak a condition, as he could not give fees, he could get no physician. what a pity he died; yet 'tis said that his death was occasioned at last by the want of his breath. but peace to his bones, which in ashes now moulder, had he lived a day longer he'd been a day older. [illustration: piper and cow.] piper and his cow there was and old piper who had a cow, but he had no hay to give her, so he took his pipes and played her a tune "consider, old cow, consider." old john brown poor old john brown is dead and gone, we ne'er shall see him more; he used to wear an old brown coat, all button'd down before. three wise men three wise men of gotham, went to sea in a bowl; if the bowl it had been stronger, my song would have been longer. frightened old man there was a man and he had nought, and robbers came to rob him; he crept up the chimney pot, and then they thought they had him; but he got down on t'other side, and so they could not find him; he ran fourteen miles in fifteen days, and never look'd behind him. a man with a wife i had a little wife, the prettiest ever seen, she washed up the dishes, and kept the house clean; she went to the mill to fetch me some flour, she brought it home in less than an hour; she baked me my bread, she brewed me my ale, she sat by the fire and told me many a fine tale. crooked old man there was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, he found a crooked sixpence, against a crooked stile. he bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse, and they all lived together in a little crooked house. king arthur when good king arthur ruled this land, he was a goodly king; he stole three pecks of barley meal, to make a bag pudding. a bag pudding the king did make, and stuffed it well with plums; and in it put great lumps of fat, as big as my two thumbs. the king and queen did eat thereof, and noblemen beside; and what they could not eat that night the queen next morning fried. barney bodkin barney bodkin broke his nose, without feet we can't have toes, crazy folks are always mad, want of money makes us sad. funny man a man of words and not of deeds, is like a garden fill of weeds; and when the weeds begin to grow, it's like a garden full of snow; and when the snow begins to fall, it's like a bird upon the wall; and when the bird away does fly, it's like an eagle in the sky; and when the sky begins to roar, it's like a lion at the door; and when the door begins to crack, it's like a stick across your back; and when your back begins to smart, it's like a penknife in your heart; and when your heart begins to bleed, you're dead, and dead, and dead indeed. strange man there was a man and he was mad, and he jumped into a pea-pod; the pea-pod was over-full, so he jumped into a roaring bull; the roaring bull was over-fat, so he jumped into a gentleman's hat; the gentleman's hat was over-fine, so he jumped into a bottle of wine; the bottle of wine was over-dear, so he jumped into a bottle of beer; the bottle of beer was over-thick, so he jumped into a club-stick; the club-stick was over-narrow, so he jumped into a wheel-barrow; the wheel-barrow began to crack, so he jumped into a hay-stack; the hay-stack began to blaze, so he did nothing but cough and sneeze. [page 101--old men tales] jack sprat jack sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean, and so between them both they licked the platter clean. jack ate all the lean, joan ate all the fat, the bone they both picked clean, then gave it to the cat. when jack sprat was young, he dressed very smart, he courted joan cole, and soon gained her heart; in his fine leather doublet and old greasy hat, oh! what a smart fellow was little jack sprat. joan cole had a hole in her petticoat, jack sprat, to get a patch, gave her a groat. the groat bought a patch which stopped the hole, "i thank you, jack sprat," says little joan cole. jack sprat was the bridegroom, joan cole was the bride, jack said from the church his joan home should ride. but no coach could take her, the road was so narrow; said jack, "then i'll take her home in a wheelbarrow." jack sprat was wheeling his wife by a ditch, then the barrow turned over, and in she did pitch. says jack, "she'll be drown'd!" but joan did reply, "i don't think i shall, for the ditch is quite dry." jack brought home his joan, and she sat in a chair, when in came his cat, that had got but one ear. says joan "i've come home, puss, pray how do you do?" the cat wagg'd her tail and said nothing but "mew." jack sprat took his gun, and went to the brook; he shot at the drake, but he killed the duck. he bought it home to joan, who a fire did make, to roast the fat duck while jack went for the drake. the drake was swimming with his curly tail, jack sprat came to soot him, but happened to fail. he let off his gun, but missing the mark, the drake flew away crying "quack, quack, quack." jack sprat to live pretty now bought him a pig, it was not very little, it was not very big; it was not very lean, it was not very fat, "it will serve for a grunter," said little jack sprat. then joan went to market to buy her some fowls, she bought a jackdaw and a couple of owls; the owls were white, the jackdaw was black, "they'll make a rare breed," says little joan sprat. jack sprat bought a cow, his joan to please, for joan could make both butter and cheese; or pancakes or puddings without any fat; a notable housewife was little joan sprat. joan sprat went to brewing a barrel of ale, she put in some hops that it might not turn stale; but as for the malt- she forgot to put that; "this is a brave sober liquor." said little jack sprat. jack sprat went to market and bought him a mare, she was lame of three legs, an as blind as she could stare. her ribs they were bare, for the mare had no fat; "she looks like a racer," said little jack sprat. jack and joan went abroad, puss looked after the house; she caught a large rat, and a very small mouse, she caught a small mouse, and a very large rat, "you're an excellent hunter," said little jack sprat. now i've told you the story of little jack sprat, of sweet joan cole and the poor one-ear'd cat; now jack he loved joan, and good things he taught her, then she gave him a son, then after a daughter. now jack has got rich, and has plenty of pelf; if you know any more you may tell it yourself. [illustration: monkey grabbing man's nose.] cross old man there was a cross old man and what do you think, he lived on nothing but victuals and drink; victuals and drink were his principal diet, yet this crabbed old man would never be quiet. he teased a poor monkey, who lived in a cage, till the animal got in a terrible rage, and seized on his nose with finger so strong, that it stretched it until it was quite a yard long. old man in the moon the man in the moon came tumbling down, and asked his way to norwich, he went by the south, and burnt his mouth, with supping cold pease-porridge. a funny man there was a man of newington, and he was wondrous wise, he jump'd into a quickset hedge and scratch'd out both his eyes. but when he saw his eyes were out with all his might and main he jump'd into another hedge. and scratched them in again. dr. faustus doctor faustus was a good man, he whipt his scholars now and then. when he did he made them dance out of scotland into france; out of france into spain, and then he whipped them back again. if! if! if! if all the would was apple pie, and all the seas were ink, and all the trees were bread and cheese, what would we have to drink? it's enough to make an old man scratch his head and think. funny men alderman absolute always adjudicated with astonishing ability after he had read some books from cole's book arcade. benjamin bouncer banged a brown bear with a blunderbuss, in a lane at the back of cole's book arcade. christopher crabstick was cross, captious, cutting, and caustic, whenever he could not get a book brought from cole's book arcade. francis fizgig ferociously fought and frightened a fiddler, at midday, right in front of cole's book arcade. gregory gimcrack grinned and gaped at the geese and ganders exposed for sale in the eastern market, just above cole's book arcade. horatio headstrong hurled a hatchet at the head of a hawk which sat on top of cole's book arcade. isaac ichabod inhabited an isolated and inhospitable indian island, at an enormous and disheartening distance from cole's book arcade. lugubrious longface loved learning and literary lore, which he always got out of the books he bought at cole's book arcade. marmaduke meddlesome munificently meted out mercy to a miserable man who stole a book at cole's book arcade. obadiah orpheus opened an original overture outrageously oddly, with a small whistle and a big drum, in front of cole's book arcade. quinton querulous queerly questioned a quibbling and querulous quidnunc, and asked quizzingly if he had ever seen the inside of cole's book arcade. reuben ramble ran a ridiculous rattling race on a railway, and beat the train in hasting to get a book at cole's book arcade. theodore thunderbolt told terrible and tremendous tales of travelling, which were afterwards printed in books and sold at cole's book arcade. valentine valiana valorously vanquished a vapouring villager, who spoke ignorantly and slightingly of cole's book arcade. xenophon xenocles exhibited extraordinary and excessive excitability whenever he was not calmed down by books from cole's book arcade. young yokel, a youthful yorkshire yeoman yawned at york, for want of a few interesting and entertaining books from cole's book arcade. zachariah zany zealously studied zoology out of the works which he bought at cole's book arcade. [page 102--old men tales] utter nonsense there was an old person of prague, who was suddenly seized with the plague, but they gave him some butter, which caused him to mutter, and cured that old person of prague. there was an old man with a gong, who bumped at it all the day long, but they called out, "oh, law! you're a horrid old bore!" so they smashed that old man with a gong. there was an old man of the isles, whose face was pervaded with smiles, he sang "hi dum diddle," played on the fiddle, that amiable old man of the isles. there was an old person of dover, who rushed through a field of blue clover; but some very large bees stung his nose and his knees, so he very soon went back to dover. there was an old man of quebec,- a beetle ran over his neck: but he cried, "with a needle i'll slay you, o beetle!" that angry old man of quebec. there was an old man of vesuvius, who studied the works of vitruvius; when the flames burned his book, to drinking he took, that morbid old man of vesuvius. there was an old person of buda, whose conduct grew ruder and ruder, till at last with a hammer they silenced his clamour, by smashing that old person of buda. there was an old man of marseilles, whose daughters wore bottle-green veils, they caught several fish which they put in a dish, and sent to their pa at marseilles. there was an old man of coblenz, the length of whose legs was immense, he went with one prance from turkey to france, that surprising old man of coblenz. there was an old person of gretna, who rushed down the crater of etna; when they said, "is it hot?" he replied, "no, it's not!" that mendacious old person of gretna. there was an old person of bangor, whose face was distorted with anger; he tore off his boots and subsisted on roots, that borascible person of bangor. there was an old person of spain, who hated all trouble and pain; so he sat on a chair, with his feet in the air, that umbrageous old person of spain. there was an old man of the west, who never could get any rest; so they set him to spin on his nose and his chin, which cured that old man of the west. there was an old man in a tree, who was horribly bored by a bee; when they said, "does it buzz?" he replied, "yes it does! it's a regular brute of a bee!" there was an old man who said, "how, shall i flee from this horrible cow? i will sit on this stile and continue to smile, which may soften the heart of this cow." there was an old man of calcutta, who perpetually ate bread and butter, till a great bit of muffin, on which he was stuffing, choked that horrid old man of calcutta. there was an old man of the south, who had an immoderate mouth; but in swallowing a dish that was quite full of fish, he was choked, that old man of the south. there was an old person of dutton, whose head was as small as a button; so to make it look big, he purchased a wig, and rapidly rushed about dutton. there was an old man of some rocks, who shut his wife up in a box; when she said, "let me out," he exclaimed, "without doubt you will pass all your life in that box," there was an old person of rheims, who was troubled with horrible dreams; so to keep him awake they fed him with cake, which amused that old person of rheims. there was an old man with a flute, a "sarpent" ran into his boot; but he played day and night, till the "sarpent" took flight, and avoided that man with a flute. there was an old man of berlin, whose form was uncommonly thin; till he once, by mistake, was mixed up in a cake, so they baked that old man of berlin. there was an old man of the hague, whose ideas were excessively vague; he built a balloon to examine the moon, that deluded old man of the hague. [illustration: old man sitting--casting jug-shaped shadow.] a horrid old gentleman from monaghan, sat down and refused to go on again, till they gave him a crown for leaving the town, that wretched old humbug of monaghan. there was an old man if nepaul, from his horse had a terrible fall; but, though split quite in two, with some very strong glue they mended that man of nepaul. there was an old man of aoster, who possessed a large cow, but he lost her; but they said, "don't you see she has rushed up a tree? you invidious old man of aosta!" there was an old man of the nile, who sharpened his nails with a file, till he cuts of his thumbs, and said calmly, "this comes of sharpening one's nails with a file!" there was an old person of rhodes, who strongly objected to toads; he paid several cousins to catch them by dozens, that futile old person of rhodes. there was an old man of cape horn, who wished he had never been born; so he sat on a chair until he died of despair, that dolorous man of cape horn. there was an old person whose habits induced him to feed upon rabbits; when he'd eaten eighteen, he turned perfectly green, upon which he relinquished those habits. there was an old man with a nose, who said, "if you choose to suppose that my nose is too long, you are certainly wrong!" that remarkable man with a nose. there was an old man of apulia, whose conduct was very peculiar; he fed twenty sons upon nothing but buns, that whimsical man of apulia. there was an old man of madras, who rode on a cream-coloured ass; but the length of its ears so promoted his fears that it killed that old man of madras. there was an old person of sparta, whose had twenty-five sons and one daughter; he fed them snails, and weighed them on scales, that wonderful person of sparta. there was an old person of chilli, whose conduct was painful and silly; he sat on the stairs, eating apples and pears, that imprudent old person of chilli. there was an old man of the east, who gave all his children a feast; but they all ate so much, and their conduct was such that it killed that old man of the east. there was an old man of peru, who never knew what he should do; so he tore off his hair, and behaved like a bear, that intrinsic old man of peru. there was an old man in a boat, who said, "i'm afloat! i'm afloat!" when they said, "no you a'int!" he was ready to faint, that unhappy old man in a boat. there was an old man of bohemia, whose daughter was christened euphemia, but one day, to his grief, she married a thief, which grieved that old man of bohemia. there was an old person of basing, whose presence of mind was amazing; he purchased a steed, which he rode at full speed and escaped from the people of basing. there was an old man on a hill, who seldom if ever stood still; he ran up and down in his grandmother's gown, which adorned that old man on a hill. there was an old man of kilkenny, who never had more than a penny, he spent all that money on onions and honey, that wayward old man of kilkenny. there was an old person of perth, the stingiest fellow on earth; he fed--oh! 'twas cruel--on seaweed and gruel, this stingy old person of perth. a dogmatic old fellow of shoreham, would snub his companions and bore 'em, by flat contradiction, which was an affliction to the friends of this party of shoreham. there was an old person of ischia, whose conduct grew friskier and friskier; he danced hornpipes and jigs, and ate thousands of figs, that lively old person of ischia. there was an old person of hurst, who drank when he was not athirst; when they said, "you'll grow fatter!" he answered, "what matter?" that globular person of hurst. [page 103--old men tales] the diverting history of john gilpin john gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown, a train-bound captain eke was he of famous london town. john gilpin's spouse said to her dear, though we have wedded been, these twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. to-morrow is our wedding-day, and we then will repair unto the "bell" at edmonton, all in a chaise and pair, my sister and my sister's child, myself and children three, will fill the chaise, so you must ride on horse-back after we. he soon replied--i do admire of womankind but one, and you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done, i am a linen-draper bold, as all the world doth know, and my good friend the calender, will lend his horse to go. quoth mrs gilpin--that's well said; and for that wind is dear, we will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear; john gilpin kiss'd his loving wife, o'erjoyed was he to find that, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. the morning came, the chaise was brought, and yet was not allow'd to drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud; so three doors off the post was stayed, where they did all get in, six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so glad, the stones did rattle underneath as if cheapside were mad; john gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane, and up he got in haste to ride, but soon came down again. for saddle-tree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, when turning round his head, he saw three customers come in; so down he came--for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. 'twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, when betty, screaming, came down the stairs, "the wine is left behind." good lack! quoth he, yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise, in which i bear my trusty sword when i do exercise. now, mistress gilpin, careful soul, had two stone bottles found, to hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound, each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew, and hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. then over all, that he might be equipp'd from top to toe, his long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, he manfully did throw, now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, full slowly pacing o'er the stones with caution and good heed. but, finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot, which gall'd him in his seat, so, "fair and softly," john, he cried, but john, he cried in vain; that trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. so, stooping down, as needs he must, who cannot sit upright, he grasp'd the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might, his horse, who never in that sort, had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig, he little dreamt when he set out of running such a rig; the wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like streamer long and gay, till, loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. then might people well discern the bottles he had slung, a bottle swinging at each side, as had been said or sung, the dogs did bark, the children scream'd, up flew the windows all, and ev'ry soul cried out, well done! as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin--who but he, his fame soon spread around- he carries weight, he rides a race! 'tis for a thousand pound! and still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view how in a trice the turnpike men their gates wide open flew. and now as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, the bottles twain behind his back were shatter'd at a blow; down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, which made his horses flanks to smoke, as they had basted been. but still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle braced, for all might see the bottle-necks still dangling at his waist; thus all through merry islington these gambols did he play, and till he came into the wash of edmonton so gay. and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wond'ring much to see how he did ride. stop, stop, john gilpin!--here's the house- they all at once did cry, the dinner waits, and we are tired- said gilpin--so am i; but yet this horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there- for why? his owner had a house full ten miles off, at ware. so, like an arrow, swift he flew, shot by an archer strong; so did he fly--which brings me to the middle of my song. away went gilpin, out of breath, and sore against his will, till at his friend the calender's his horse at last stood still. the calender, amazed to see his neighbour in such trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him:- what news? what news? your tidings tell! tell me you must and shall- say why bare-headed you are come, or why you come at all? now, gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke, and thus unto the calender, in merry guise he spoke- i came because your horse would come, and if i well forbode, my hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road. the calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, return'd him not a single word, but to the house went in. when straight he came with hat and wig- a wig that flow'd behind; a hat not much the worse of wear- each comely in its kind. he held them up, and in its turn thus showed his ready wit- my head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit. but let me scrape the dirt away that hangs upon your face, and stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case. said john, it is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare, if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware. so, turning to his horse, he said- i am in haste to dine, 'twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine. ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, for which he paid full dear; for while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear, whereat his horse did snort as he had heard a lion's roar, and gallop'd off with all his might, as he had done before. away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig; he lost them sooner than the first, for why? they were too big. now, mistress gilpin when she saw her husband posting down into the country, far away, she pulled out half-a-crown. and thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the "bell"- this shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe and well; the youth did ride, and soon did meet john coming back again, whom in a trice, he tried to stop by catching at his rein. but, not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frightened steed he frightened more, and made him faster run; away went gilpin, and away went post-boy at his heels- the post-boy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels. six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing gilpin fly, with post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, they raised the hue and cry:- stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman! an all and each that pass'd the way did join in the pursuit. and now the turnpike gates again flew open in short space- the toll-men thinking as before, that gilpin rode a race; and so he did, and won it, too, for he got first to town: nor stopp'd till, where he had got up, he did again get down, now let us sing: long live the king, and gilpin, long live he; and when he next doth ride abroad, may i be there to see. [page 104--song of the book arcade] [illustration: song of the book arcade--first half.] books teach the children of men in many million schools; books make the difference between earth's learned and its fools. song of the book arcade cole's book arcade, cole's book arcade it is in melbourne town, of all the book stores in the land it has the most renown, it was the first, first book arcade that in the world was found; it's still the finest book arcade in all the world around. a lovely rainbow sign appears above the book arcade and 'tis the very grandest sign was ever yet displayed. full forty thousand sorts of books are stored within its walls, which can be seen, looked at or bought, by anyone that calls. the book you wish, the book you want, is almost sure to be found somewhere in the book arcade, if you will call and see. (our australian choir has cockatoos, laughing jackasses, native bears, platypusses, black swans, emus, magpies, opossums, and lyre birds, also a bunyip to sing deep bass, all the other animals in the world sing the chorus, each in his natural voice. the tune is "mary had a little lamb.") value of books books should be found in every house to form and feed the mind; they are the best of luxuries 'tis possible to find. for all the books in all the world are man's greatest treasure; they make him wish, and bring to him his best, his choicest pleasure. books make his time pass happily through many weary hours; amuse, compose, instruct his mind, enlarge his mental powers. books give to him the history of each and every land; books show him human action's past- the bad, the good, the grand. books show him arts, laws, learnings, faiths of every time and place; books show him how each thing is made used by the human race. [page 105--value of books] [illustration: song of the book arcade--second half.] books give to him descriptions of the world in which we live, of the universe around us, and better still they give. books give to him the greatest thoughts of all the good and wise; books treasure human knowledge up, and so it never dies. books show him all that men have done, what they have thought and said; books show the deeds and wisdom of the living and the dead. books show him all the hopes and fears of every race and clan; books clearly prove beyond a doubt the brotherhood of man. books give him hopes beyond the grave of an immortal life; books teach that right and truth and love shall banish every strife. books teach and please him when a child in youth and in his prime; books give him soothing pleasure when his health and strength decline. books please him in his lonely hours, wherever he may roam: books please when read aloud among his loving friends at home. books like _strong drink_ will drown his cares, but do not waste his wealth; books leave him _better_, drink the _worse_, in character and health. books therefore, are, of all man buys, the choicest thing on earth, books have, of all his household goods, the most intrinsic worth. books are the greatest blessing out, the grandest thing we sell, books bring more joy, books do more good than mortal tongue can tell. e. w. cole [page 106--old woman tales] [illustration: old woman who lived in a shoe.] the old woman who lived in a shoe there was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children--such naughty ones too! she cried, "oh, dear me, i don't know what to do, who would be an old woman and live in a shoe?" once ninety little fellows sat down on the floor and lustily screamed, "we won't cry any more!" "then stop crying now," the old woman said, "the noise you are making goes right through my head." "then she gave the boys broth without any bread, and whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed. she scolded the girls, and said, "don't make a noise, or you shall be served just the same as the boys." [page 107--old woman tales] mother goose old mother goose, when she wanted to wander, would ride through the air on a very fine gander. mother goose had a house, 'twas built of wood, where an owl at the door for sentinel stood. she had a son jack, a plain-looking lad, he was not very good, nor yet very bad. she sent him to market; a live goose he bought; here, mother, says he, it will not go for nought. jack's goose and her gander they grew very fond; they'd both eat together, or swim in one pond. jack found one morning, as i have been told, his goose had laid him an egg of pure gold. jack rode to his mother, the news for to tell, she call'd him a good boy, and said it was well. hack sold his gold egg to a rogue of a jew, who cheated him out of the half of his due. then jack went a-courting a lady so gay, as fair as the lily, and sweet as the may. the jew and the squire came behind his back, and began to belabour the sides of poor jack. then old mother goose that instant came in, and turned her son jack into fam'd harlequin. she then with her wand touch'd the lady so fine, and turn'd her at once into sweet columbine. the gold egg in the sea was quickly thrown, when jack gave a quick dive, and soon got it again. the jew got the goose, which he vow'd he would kill, resolving at once his pockets to fill. jack's mother came in, and caught the goose soon, and mounting its back, flew up to the moon. old woman under a hill there was an old woman lived under a hill, put a mouse in a bag, and sent it to mill; the miller declar'd by the point of his knife, he ne'er saw such a big mouse in his life. old woman under a hill there was an old woman lived under a hill; and if she's not gone, she lives there still. old woman and three sons there was an old woman had three sons; jerry, and james, and john. jerry was hung, james was drowned; john was lost, and never was found; and there was an end of the three sons, jerry, and james, and john. [illustration: old woman and shell.] old woman who lived in a shell a little old woman, as i've heard tell, lived near the sea, in a nice little shell; she was well off, if she wanted her tea- she'd plenty of water from out of the sea. then if for her dinner she had the least wish, of course she had nothing to do but to fish; so, really, this little old woman did well, as she didn't pay any rent for the use of the shell. old woman swallowed there was an old woman called nothing-at-all, who rejoiced in a dwelling exceedingly small; a man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent, and down at one gulp house and old woman went. old woman's calf there was an old woman sat spinning, and that's the first beginning; she had a calf, and that's half; she took it by the tail, and threw it over the wall, and that's all. old woman drowned there was an old woman, her name it was peg; her head was of wood, and she wore a cork-leg. the neighbours all pitched her into the water, her leg was drown'd first, and her head followed a'ter. old woman of stepney at stepney there lived, as every one knows, an old woman who had a plum tree on her nose! the boys, while she slept, would cautiously take the plums from her tree before she could wake. this old woman went one day to the lawn of my lord cockagee, and there saw a fawn. having shot him, she tied his hind legs to her tree, and so quitted the lawn of my lord cockagee. she'd nearly reached home, when the constable came, and put her in prison for killing the game. while locked in her cell, she thought again and again of how to escape, but kept thinking in vain. she considered each plan, till she found out a way of escaping the prison in the course of the day. she cut the plum tree close off from her nose, and made a scarecrow, dress'd up in her clothes; this she set on a stool, with it's back to the wall, and watch'd near the door for fear it would fall. soon the jailor came in with her water and bread; he stared at the figure, while from prison she fled. the old woman reached home, singing diddle-dee-dee; and again on her nose there grew a plum tree. [page 108--old woman tales] funny old women there was an old person of smyrna, whose granny once threatened to burn her; but she seized on the cat, and said "granny, burn that! you incongruous old woman of smyrna!" there was an old lady of bute, who played on a silver-gilt flute; she played several jigs to her uncle's white pigs, that amusing old lady of bute. there was an old lady of ryde, whose shoe-strings were seldom untied, she purchased some clogs, and some small spotted dogs, and frequently walked about ryde. there was an old lady of parma, whose conduct grew calmer and calmer, when they said "are you dumb?" she merely said "hum!" that provoking old lady of parma. there was an old lady of troy, whom several large flies did annoy; some she killed with a thump, some she drowned at the pump, and some she took with her to troy. there was an old person of crete, whose toilet was far from complete, she dressed in a sack spickle-speckled with black, that ombliferous old person of crete. there was an old lady of wales, who caught a large fish without scales; when she lifted her hook, she exclaimed "only look!" that ecstatic old lady of wales. there was an old lady of clare, who was sadly pursued by a bear; when she found she was tired, she abruptly expired, that unfortunate lady of clare. there was an old lady of dorking, who bought a large bonnet for walking; but it's colour and size, so bedazzled her eyes, that she very soon went back to dorking. there was an old lady of russia, who screamed so that no one could hush her; her screams were extreme, no one heard such a scream, as was screamed by that lady of russia. there was an old lady of norway, who casually sat in a doorway; when the door squeezed her flat, she exclaimed, "what of that?" that courageous old lady of norway. there was an old lady of chertsey, who made a remarkable curtsey; she twirled round and round, till she sank underground, which distressed all the people of chertsey. there was an old woman of anerley, whose conduct was strange and unmannerly. she rushed down the strand, with a pig in each hand, but returning in the evening to anerley. there was an old lady of welling, whose praise all the world was a-telling; she played on the harp, and caught several carp, that accomplished old lady of welling. there was an old lady of turkey, who wept when the weather was murky; when the day turned out fine, she ceased to repine, that capricious old lady of turkey. [illustration: old woman in flying basket.] old woman who went up in a basket there was an old woman went up in a basket, ninety-nine times as high as the moon; what she did there i could not but ask it, for in her hand she carried a broom. "old woman, old woman, old woman," quoth i, "o whither, o whither, o whither, so high?" "to sweep the cobwebs off the sky,- and i shall be back again by and by!" ---- there was an old woman of prague, whose ideas were horribly vague, she built a balloon, to examine the moon, that deluded old woman of prague. there was an old woman of hull, who was chased by a virulent bull; but she seized on a spade, and called out "who's afraid?" which distracted that virulent bull. there was an old lady of poole, whose soup was excessively cool; so she put it to boil, by the aid of some oil, that ingenious old lady of poole. there was an old lady of burton, whose answers were rather uncertain; when they said "how d'ye do?" she replied "who are you?" that distressing old person of burton. there was an old lady of lucca, whose lovers completely forsook her; she ran up a tree, and said "fiddle-de-dee!" which embarrassed the people of lucca. there was an old woman of norwich, who lived on nothing but porridge; parading the town, she turned cloak into gown, that thrifty old woman of norwich. there was an old woman of leeds, who spent all her time in good deeds; she worked for the poor, till her fingers were sore, that pious old woman of leeds. there was an old woman in surrey, who was morn, noon, and night in a hurry; called her husband a fool, drove the children to school, that worrying old woman in surrey. there was an old lady whose bonnet came untied when the birds sat upon it; but she said "i don't care! all the birds in the air are welcome to sit on my bonnet!" there was an old lady whose nose was so long that it reached to her toes; so she hired an old lady, whose conduct was steady, to carry that wonderful nose. there was an old lady whose chin resembled the point of a pin; so she had it made sharp, and purchased a harp, on which to play tunes with her chin. there was an old lady whose eyes, were unique as to colour and size; when she opened them wide, people all turned aside, and started away in surprise. there was a young lady of hexham, contradicted her friends just to vex 'em; she talked about horses, and rode on racecourses, this forward young lady of hexham. [page 109--strange history of twenty-six funny women] strange history of twenty-six funny women angelina armstrong abruptly asked an advertising agent about an alliterating advertisement appearing, announcing an astonishing, admirable, attractive, agreeable, artistic, and advanced australian arcade. meaning cole's book arcade. bridget bradshaw bamboozled the barber's beautiful baby by bouncing it into believing a bandbox to be a big book. from coles book arcade. clarissa cox cautiously crept & caught with a candle extinguisher a congregation of catterwauling cats conducting a confounded corroboree. on the roof of coles book arcade. dorothy dwight in the dark drew a decidedly delightful drawing, depicting a dictating, domineering despot; a desperate despoiling demogogue; a disdainful duchess dowager; a dainty, dressy dandy, and a downright double-dealing dodger. which drawing can be inspected at cole's book arcade by anyone who can see clearly in the dark. eudocia emul, the eccentric epicurian empress of ethiopia, electrified the east end of egypt by eagerly and easily eating, as an experiment, an egg, an eagle, an emu, and electrical eel, and an enormous elephant, larger than the one exhibited next to cole's book arcade. fanny fagan's fine, flossy, fashionable feathers frequently flopped, flirted, and flounced forcibly from fun. when she read some of the lively books from cole's book arcade. georgina gubbins gently, gracefully, gravely, grammatically, graphically, and grandiloquently grumbled at her great-grandmother. because she so seldom went to cole's book arcade. harriet hopkins had an habitual, haughty, harsh, hasty, huffy, hateful, hideous, horrid, headstrong, heedless, hysterical, habit of henpecking her husband at home. when he would not take her to cole's book arcade, to get a book on saturday night. isabella ingram ironically inquired of the illustrious imperial indian if idleness, ignorance, impudence, intemperance, intolerance, inhumanity, and infamy. were the seven cardinal virtues. she was referred for an answer to the instructive books in cole's book arcade. jemima jenkins, the jerusalem jewess, judiciously jotted jokes in her journal in june on her journey through judea to jericho, beyond jordan. [n.b.--jericho, beyond jordan, is about 10,000 miles from cole's book arcade.] kate kearney kidnapped a knave, a knight, a khan, a kaiser and a king, and kindly kept them upon ketchup, kale, kidneys, kingfishes, kittens and kangaroos. she did not buy her cookery book at cole's book arcade: he doesn't sell books showing how to cook kittens. lucy larkins lately let a lovely, lonely lady look leisurely at a large live lobster by the aid of a lucid little lime-light, borrowed from cole's book arcade. mary muggin's mother made a mighty, monstrous, mammoth, monument of marmalade jars; mounted up, and minutely minced the moon into a multitude of magnificent stars. [n.b.--about 300 bushels of said stars fell on top of cole's book arcade and may be seen on application.] [illustration: old woman cutting the moon into stars.] nancy nuttall was a nonsensical, noodlesome, nincompoopish, namby-pamby, numskulled, needle-woman; nevertheless, at ninety-nine she neatly and nimbly nabbed in the nuptial noose a notable noble nabob of nagpoor. and directly after the marriage nagged him into sending for books to cole's book arcade. olivia oliphant, of omeo, ordered an obstinate old organ-grinding ostrich to overwhelm with oil an olive, an onion, an orange, an onion, an orange, an ocean, and an oat. and then go to cole's book arcade and get a book. papline potts, a poor, penniless peasant, prettily, pleasantly, pathetically and perfectly played a piece of music in a parlour at a pleasure-palace to a picked, packed party of particular personages, consisting of peers, peeresses, princes and princesses. the piece of music was bought quarter-price at cole's book arcade. quintina quirk quarrelled with the queer, quaint, quadroon queen of quito, and quizzingly questioned her quivering, quaking quartermaster. if he was quite sure he bought all his pens and pencils at cole's book arcade. ruth robertson's rich rival, regardless of right, rhyme, or reason, recently ran a rapid, rattling race round a regiment of royal russian red republicans, instead of running into cole's book arcade. seraphina susanna selina sally snooks, a sober, serious, staid, seraphic, and sentimental sailoress, solicited a situation as superior saloon stewardess on the splendid spanish steamship _salamanca_, and straightway stipulated with the sprightly supercargo to slyly and suddenly sail southward at sunrise for six shillingsworth of select stationery to cole's book arcade. theresa toodles thatched a trumpery tipperary theatre three thousand and thirty-three times, and then took to table-turning and table-talking. but never turned into nor talked about cole's book arcade until afterwards. urania upton was uncouth, ungraceful, unfashionable, unladylike, uninteresting, unpresentable, and ugly. she was unpoetical, unmusical, unlearned, uncultured, unimproved, uninformed, unknowing, unthinking, unwitty and unwise. she was unlively, undersized, unwholesome and unhealthy. she was unlovely, ungentle, uncivil, unsociable, untameable, and altogether unendurable. she was unkind, unfeeling, unloving, unthankful, ungrateful, unwilling, unruly, unreasonable, unwomanly, unworthy, unmotherly, undutious, unmerciful, untruthful, unfair, unjust and unprincipled. she was unpunctual, unthrifty, unskilful, unready, unsafe, unfit, and totally unprofitable. she was unknown, unnoticed, unheeded, unobeyed, unloved, unfriended, unemployed, unvalued, unpopular, and actually unpitied. she was unsuccessful, unfortunate, unlucky, unpaid, unshod, unfed, unquiet, unsettled, uncertain, undecided, unhinged, uneasy, upset, unhappy, and utterly useless. until, by chance, she went to cole's book arcade, and got some good instructive books, and now she is the very best person in australia, and the best but two in the world. victoria vincent valiantly vaccinated a vapouring, verbose varmit of a vulgar villainous vagabond, who very verdantly ventured on a versatile, veteran, valueless velocipede to visit the viceroy of venice, instead of visiting cole's book arcade. wilhelmina wilkins was a worthy, witty, widow washerwoman, who washed woollen waistcoats, worsted waistbands, and water-proof wrappers with a washing-machine, and lived well upon water-gruel; whereupon william watson, a wide-awake widowed waterman, wisely walked with her--whispered, winked, wooed, won, wedded, and wafted her across the wide waste of water waves, and got her a weird waltz. quarter-price at cole's book arcade. xantippe xman, the exiled exqueen of the exquimaux, exceedingly excelled in exerting an exquisite exactness in expense in general; but exhibited the most exceptional, extensive, extraordinary, excessive, extravagant, but excusable exuberance. when she visited cole's book arcade, to buy books. yellena yellat, the yellow yahoo of yokohama, yawned yesterday at yon yelping yokel of the yankee yeomanry. and told him that he, being ignorant, should go at once and get educated at cole's book arcade. zenobian zoziman, the zouave zemindaress of zululand, was no zany, but rode on a zanzibar zebra, resided in a zing-zag zenana, zealously studied zanyism, zealotism, zoology, zoonomy, zoophytology, zoolatry, zymology, zincography and many other 'isms, 'ologies, 'olatries, 'ographies, etc., out of the works she bought at cole's book arcade. [page 110--forty ways of travelling] a wonderful search journey by the 40 principal modes of travelling in the world, and a prize of £1000 offered for a flying machine. i have always been a man of one idea at a time, and that one idea i have followed with unwavering determination until success has rewarded my efforts. now listen to my story:--a short time ago, much desiring to obtain a particular article, i determined to get it if it was possible to do so in this world, and so started on my search journey. i ran into melbourne and asked [illustration: running.] his excellency the governor of victoria if he knew where i could get it, he said he did not but i might ask the rajah of sarawak. i took ship to sarawak, asked the rajah, he said he did not know, but referred me to the mikado of japan. i jumped into a boat, pulled [illustration: rowing.] to jedo, asked his dual majesty, lord paramount of japan, and head of the sintoo faith, he said he did not know, but perhaps the tycoon of japan did. i got into a jimriksha and was trotted [illustration: in cart pulled by native.] away to the house of the unfortunate tycoon, he said he could not help me, but referred me to the great cham of tartary. i jumped into a chinese junk, [illustration: chinese sail-boat.] bore away to pekin and saw the great cham of the celestials, "son of heaven," "brother to the sun, moon and stars," "father of mankind," "governor of the world" and head of the confucian faith. he condescendingly said he did not know, but maybe the tiang of nankin could inform me; i took a sailing wheelbarrow to the centre of wise learning, saw the head [illustration: in wheelbarrow with sail and pushed by native.] of the taoist faith, he could not tell me where to get it but perhaps the grand lama of thibet could, i jumped on the back of a yak, rode to lassa, [illustration: riding a yak.] interviewed the head of the buddhist faith he said he wanted one himself, but did not know where to get it, go, says he, to the czar of russia, present my compliments and ask him for one for yourself and one for me. i took passage in a reindeer sleigh to st. [illustration: reindeer sleigh.] petersburg, saw the czar, he referred me to his brother monarch the keizar of austria. i jumped on a horse, galloped away to vienna, saw the keizar, [illustration: riding horse.] he did not know, but i could try the queen of england, i jumped into an electric train, made for the metropolis [illustration: riding small train.] of the world, saw her royal, imperial, and republican majesty the "queen of england," "empress of india," sovereign of canada, australia, and forty other countries, the most powerful and beloved ruler of the finest race of men, and the largest, mightiest, and grandest empire the world ever saw. i now said to myself i surely shall get the article i want from the vast resources of her majesty, but in answer to my query she politely remarked that she did not think i should get in her dominions, but was almost certain that i could get it from the chief of the greenland esquimeaux, i rose up in [illustration: in a balloon.] a balloon, flew through the air across the atlantic, saw the chief, he could not say, but referred me to the viceroy of the dominion, i jumped on the back of a reindeer, trotted away to ottawa, saw [illustration: riding a reindeer.] the viceroy, he was positively ignorant on the subject and referred me to the mormon prophet. got into an ice ship, [illustration: ice ship sailing over ice.] [page 111--forty ways of travelling] slid away over the snow to utah, saw the prophet, he had heard of it but did not know where i should get it, but i might at least ask the sacham of the flat-head indians, i jumped into a dog-sleigh, scampered away, hailed the [illustration: dog sleigh.] sachem, but he did not know, but perhaps the president of peru did, rode on a one-man sedan to the city of earthquakes, [illustration: in a chair on back of native.] saw the president, he did not know, but would i be so good as ask the emperor of brazil, i sprang on to the back of a llama, flopped away to rio; [illustration: riding a llama.] the american emperor said he did not know himself, but surely the sheikh of timbuctoo ought to tell. i jumped into a canoe, crossed the atlantic, [illustration: rowing canoe.] reached the negro city, asked the sheikh, he said it was like my impudence asking him, how should he know such a thing? none of the traditions of the negro continent mentioned it, but if i thought such a thing existed i had better ask his sublime mightiness the sultan of zanzibar, i jumped on the back of an ostrich, strode away to the [illustration: riding an ostrich.] isle of beauty, saw the sultan, he shook his head and referred me to the negus of abyssinia, i was carried rapidly in a head palenkeen on the heads of four [illustration: lying on platform carried by four natives.] negroes to magdala, spoke to the negus, he referred me to the khedive [illustration: in a peddle-powered paddle-boat.] of egypt, i got into a water-velocipede, trod away up the red sea to the city of the pyramids, saw the khedive, he referred me to the sherif of mecca, i at once bestrode a donkey, cantered [illustration: riding a donkey.] away to the sacred city, asked the custodian of the precious tomb of the great prophet, the query nonplussed him, and he desired me to wait on the imaun of muscat, i mounted a camel, [illustration: riding a camel.] ambled across to the hot city of the imaun, he could not say but referred me to the rao of cutch, i made for bhooj on a raft, spoke to the rao, he [illustration: punting a raft.] had not got one, but referred me to the guicowar of gujerat and considerately lent me a pair of ten-feet stilts for the [illustration: walking on stilts through swamp.] journey. i waded from the city of dismal swamps and finally reached baroda on my stilts, saw the guicowar, he had never heard of the article, but referred me to the high priest of the parsees, i got into a sedan, was borne [illustration: sitting in sedan carried by two locals.] to bombay, saw the head of the parsee faith, he had not the article, did not believe that it existed, as it was not mentioned in any of the sacred books of the parsees, but finally referred me to the biby of canonore, i mounted an elephant [illustration: riding an elephant.] stamped down the coast, addressed the biby, she said it was the first time she had heard of the article, but the maharajah of mysore might have one. i stepped into a palenkeen [page 112--forty ways of travelling] [illustration: sitting in sedan carried by four locals.] and four men trotted away to mysore, the great rajah said he had not got one, perhaps the nizam of hyderabad could assist me. i got into a horse-sedan, went [illustration: sitting in sedan on back of horse.] to hyderabad, saw the nizam, he did not know and suggested the grand mahunt of benares. i got into a horse-palenkeen, made straight for the [illustration: lying in sedan carried by two horses.] city of the sacred shrines, saw the head of the hindoo faith, he did not know where it could be got, but had i asked the thackoor of bhrownnuggar? no!--or the swat of ackoond, or the mudor of cassala, or the hospodar of wallachia, or the aboona of gondar or the patriarch of constantinople, or the archbishop of canterbury? i said most decidedly not--that i would not waste my time consulting such insignificant magnates, then, says he, just you ask the guro of the sikhs. i jumped astride of a bramah bull, and [illustration: riding a bull.] trotted away to amritsar; saw the head of the sikh faith, he had not got the article, had not heard of it, but advised me to apply to the ameer of afghanistan. i got into an ox dooly and at [illustration: sitting in sedan on two wheels pulled by oxen.] length reached cabul, saw the ameer, he had not got it, had not seen it, nor heard of it, did not believe the article existed, but the khan of bokhara could speak more positively about it. i got into a tocan or hamockeen and was [illustration: lying in hammock suspended by pole carried by two natives.] carried by two men to bokhara, interviewed the khan, he said it was absurd for the ameer to send to him, he knew nothing about it, but the shah of persia probably did. i got into a mule sleigh, [illustration: lying in a mule-drawn sleigh.] glided away to teheran, enquired of the shah, could get no satisfaction, he never heard of it, was i sure there was such an article in existence? i told him that i wanted to find out, but i thought there must be somewhere. oh, then, said he, try the chief rabbi of jerusalem. i got into a coach, tore away to [illustration: riding a coach drawn by two horses.] the holy city of the jews, asked the head of the jewish faith, he had not one, i had better ask the pasha of damascus. i jumped astride of a bicycle, [illustration: riding a penny-farthing bicycle.] trundled away to the oldest city in the world; asked the pasha, he could not say, i had better ask the emir of the druses. i creeped up the lebanon in a bullock-waggon, saw and asked the [illustration: riding a wagon drawn by bullock-team.] head of the druse faith, he referred me to the bey of tunis. i got on to a tricycle, rode to tunis, saw the bey, [illustration: riding a penny-farthing style tricycle.] he could not tell, perhaps the pope of rome could. i jumped into a ship, [illustration: sailing ship with three masts.] made for the eternal city, asked the head of the christian church, his holiness could not tell, perhaps the grand seigneur of turkey might. i stepped into a railway steam carriage, swept [illustration: steam train and carriage.] around to the golden horn; saw his sublime mightiness the padishaw, he [page 113--forty ways of travelling] said that he had not got one and never heard of it; but when i described to him, in clear, concise and glowing terms, the real value of the article to the whole human race, he said that every person black or white, or brown, or yellow, or red, or any other colour whatever, in the world, should have one and that it was the duty of all kings and queens and emperors, and sultans, and czars, and keizars, and khedives and khans, and shahs, and ameers, and deys, and beys, and great chams, and grand lamas, to see that every one of their subjects obtained one without delay. i said those were exactly my sentiments; but where was it to be got. he again graciously assured me that he did not know, bit i might ask the grand mufti of turkey, the fountain of all human knowledge, and custodian of the sacred koran. i tore along in a goat-carriage, interviewed the head of [illustration: riding a goat-drawn carriage.] the mahometan faith; but in answer to my query this mighty spiritual magnate seemed taken aback; he affirmed that the koran did not mention the article, and, therefore, he believed that it could not exist, but had i made a thorough search for it; had i tried the dey of algiers. i answered no! had i tried the doge of venice--the elector of saxony--the begum of oude--the stadholder of holland-the peishwa of poona--the nabob of bengal--the caliph of bagdad-the inca of peru, or the great mogul. i looked at the grand mufti in speechless astonishment; he might as well have asked me if i had enquired of pharaoh or nebuchadnezzer. i shook my head and rushed from his presence, completely nonplussed, bewildered, frantic. where on earth was i to get the article? i had asked, and asked, and asked again, and was tired of asking. i had travelled fifty thousand miles by forty different modes of conveyance; consulted in their own capitals with thirty secular monarchs, governing three-fourths of the world; and i had with earnest, respectful enquiry approached the sacerdotal thrones of the spiritual monarchs of the eleven principal religions of mankind, and yet i could get no tidings of it. what was i to do? i was now standing in front of the great mosque at constantinople almost frantic with perplexity; some one approached and handed me a printed announcement. i read it! it sent an inexpressible thrill through me. i immediately took a steamer [illustration: large steam-powered paddle-boat.] for melbourne, landed there, jumped into a cab, went straight to cole's book [illustration: carriage drawn by one horse.] arcade, and saw a drawing of the very article i had ransacked the world over to obtain, and what do you think it was? it was a flying machine! i wanted a flying machine, mr. cole informed me that he had not got his machine to fly yet, and that in all the world a machine was not yet invented that would fly, but that, through the active and progressive ingenuity of the human intellect, such a machine was certain to be invented in the future, and as an earnest of his strong conviction he handed me a document, which ran as follows:- october 31st. 1882 i, the undersigned, firmly believe that as man has already made machines to run over the land and float over the water faster than the swiftest animal, so shortly he will make machines to fly through the air as fast, and finally faster, than the swiftest birds do now. and i hereby offer a bonus of £1,000 to any person who shall (in consequence of said bonus) within the next two years invent a flying machine, to go by electrical, chemical, mechanical, or any other means, except by gas, a distance of 100 miles, and shall come and stop in front of the book arcade, bourke street, melbourne, australia, as easily and as safely as a carriage stops there now. --e. w. cole [illustration: cole's flying machine.] cole's flying machine a workable flying machine would be the grandest invention of the age. my offer may not bring it about, but suppose a shilling subscription was made throughout the civilised world; say twenty million people gave 1/each. that would be one million pounds, and offer that as a bonus for a useful flying machine, that bonus, i am sure, would produce the article. the shillings would be well spent, and it would immortalise the twenty million people who put their names down. [page 114--miss cole's aerial flight in a flying machine] [illustration: the federation of the whole world is fast coming.] my prophecy with regard to flying machines, as may well be seen by the original statement herewith, was made twenty-eight years before the french aviator brought his machine to australia which was on 2nd november, 1910, or two weeks before his successful flight. subsequently mr. hammond flew over the city. he remarked: "i was to early for breakfast, and just thirty years too late to claim e. w. cole's prize of £1,000." i believe that the advance of flying machines will be so rapid that within the next decade they will be used with as much ease and safety as any other means of present locomotion. i will further state that their utility will be so great as to enable china, with her three hundred millions, to succeed in taking correct statistics. and eventually the velocity with which they will fly may materially assist in establishing the peace of the world and the parliament of man. my prophecy with regard to flying machines was made in 1868, and the bonus of £1,000 (see previous page) was offered in 1882. --e. w. cole [illustration: 16 motto-medals.] the above are facsimiles of 16 of 50 of e. w. cole's world federation motto-medals. [illustration: photograph of mr. h, hawker.] mr. h. hawker, the man who flew. mr. hawker was born at brighton, victoria, on 22nd january, 1889. he went to england in 1911, returning to victoria in 1914, after three years experience of aviation in england. he just missed the £5000 prize given by the "daily mail" for a flight around the british isles, meeting with an accident off the coast of ireland. [illustration: photograph of miss linda cole.] miss linda cole whose flight with mr. hawker attained 4000 ft. [illustration: photograph of mr. e. w. cole.] mr. e. w. cole prophesied flying machines and lived to see one of his daughters fly, and thus fulfilled his prophecy. [illustration: photograph of miss cole entering biplane.] miss cole entering the sopwith biplane preparatory to flying [page 115--miss cole's aerial flight in a flying machine] [illustration: photograph of distant biplane.] miss cole and mr. harry hawker [illustration: poster--various planes circling the earth.] companions in space our world surrounded by one of the latest inventions of man--"the flying machine." aviation in melbourne passengers accompany harry hawker to the clouds. it was mr. e. w. cole's enthusiasm and belief in the ultimate success of aerial navigation that induced miss linda cole to fly with mr. hawker, the daring young aviator, at elsternwick recently. miss cole was perfectly calm and collected when entering the biplane, and showed no signs of "nerviness." during the flight around st. kilda, brighton and sandringham, and across the waters of hobson's bay, she conversed freely with mr. hawker, and commented on the panoramic views which unfolded themselves below. miss cole, having heard that mr. hawker had some intention of flying on a non-stop journey from sydney to melbourne--a distance of 500 miles--was most anxious to accompany him, provided the sopwith biplane would carry two persons in addition to the tank of petrol which would, of course, be indispensable. mr. hawker, however, says he would not take a passenger should he undertake the journey. miss cole is most anxious for another sea flight, as she is of opinion that the power to see through the water to the bottom of the ocean is one of the utmost importance, as it would, in warfare, enable aviators to locate with accuracy mines in harbours and any other submerged dangers. her most ardent wish is to become a lady aviator, and she is contemplating a trip to europe to obtain up-to-date instruction in the aerial art. the reason miss cole went up was because her father has always taken a great interest in aviation, and many years ago offered substantial prizes to constructors of airships. he has ever evinced great faith in the ultimate triumph of aerial navigation, and she is glad that his dreams are being realised. miss cole went up on friday, on the thirteenth of the month. friday and the number 13 are considered unlucky; but all big events in her life have been associated with the number 13. [illustration: photograph--crowd around biplane.] miss cole leaves the aeroplane after having experienced her first trip in the art of flying, at elsternwick, on friday, 13th february, 1914. [illustration: photograph--biplane in flight.] minister of defence (mr. millen) soars aloft. [page 116--various early types of aeroplanes] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [page 117--various early types of aeroplanes] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [illustration: small photographs of various aeroplanes.] [page 118--girls names] [illustration: every girl's name and its meaning.] this is perhaps the choicest collection of girls' names in the english language to the reader.--i beg to make one very important remark upon this immense variety of girl's names, and that is:--be sure and preserve the list carefully, as it will serve from which to choose names for your daughters up to the number of 555, without using the same name over again. p.s.--if you should be very, very lucky, and have more than 555 daughters, and want more names, call on professor cole, at the book arcade, melbourne, australia, and he will give you an extra list. 555 names abigail, my father's joy ada, happiness, rich gift adah, ornament adamena, red earth adela, noble cheer adelaide, noble cheer adeleve, noble gift adelia, of noble birth adelina, noble manner adeline, noble snake agatha, good or honest agnes, pure, holy, chaste agneta, pure alberta, female albert albina, white aldgitha, noble gift alethea, truth alexandra, helper alexandrina, helper alice, a princess alicia, noble cheer alison, holy fame almira, lofty althea, wholesome amabel, lovable amalia, work, industry amanda, worthy of love amata, she that is loved amelia, busy, energetic amice, beloved amicia, beloved amy, beloved anastasia, shall rise again andromache, heroic fight angel, angel angela, angel angelica, lovely, angelic angelina, angel angelletta, a messenger angelot, angel anisia, complete ann, grace anna, grace annabel, grace annabella, grace annaple, grace anne, grace annette, grace annice, grace annor, grace annora, eagle of thor annie, grace anstace, resurrection antoinette, small antonia antonia, inestimable antonina, inestimable arabella, eagle heroine arbella, god hath avenged athaliah, time for god auda, rich augusta, female augustus aurelia, golden aureola, little, pretty aurora, fresh, brilliant averil, battle-maid avice, war refuge avis, war refuge barbara, stranger basilia, kingly bathilda, battle-maid bathsheba, 7th daughter beata, blessed beatrix, making happy becky, noosed cord bega, life belinda (uncertain) belle, oath of baal bellona, warlike bernice, bringing victory bertalda, bright warrior bertha, bright, beautiful bessie, god's oath bessy, god's oath bethia, life beatrice, making happy benedicta, making happy betsy, oath of god biddulph, ruling wolf biddy, strength blanche, white bona, good brenda, sword bride, strength bridget, shining bright camilla, sacrificer caroline, noble-spirited carrie, noble-spirited cassandra, love-inflaming catharina, pure catherine, pure cecil, blind cecilia, blind cecily (or cicily), blind celia, female coelius celestine, heavenly charissa, love charley, man-girl charlotte, noble-spirited cherry, love chloe, blooming christabel, fair christian christiana, christian christina, christian clare, she that is fair claribel, brightly fair clarissa, rendering famous clara, bright, fair clarice, light clara clarinda, brightly fair claudia, female claude clemeney, merciful, gentle clementina, merciful clementine, merciful cleopatra, father's fame colinette, columba, dove columbine, dove constancia, firm, constant constancia, firm cora, maiden cordelia, warm-hearted cornelia, born corinda, fair-maiden custance, firm cynthia, of cynthus cyrilla, lordly damaria, little wife deborah, bee delia, of delos delicia, delightful delilah, poor, small di, goddess diana, goddess dinah, judgement dionetta, of dionysos dolly, gift of god dora, gift of god doralice, gift dorothea, divine gift dorothy, divine gift dowsabel, sweet, fair drusilla, dew-sprinkled dicia, sweet dulce, sweet duleibella, sweet, fair dye, goddess edeva, rich, gift edith, happiness edna, pleasure effie, fair speech ela, holy elaine, light elayne, light elenor, light elenora, light elfleda, hail increase elfrida, elf threatener elinor, light eliza, god's oath elizabeth, god's oath ella, elf friend ellen, light ellinor, light ellis, god the lord elsie, noble cheer elspeth, god's oath emelin, work ruler emily, work, industry emlyn, work, serpent emm, grandmother emma, diligent nurse emmeline, industrious emmott, grandmother enaid, the soul enid, soul eppie, soul ermengarde, public guard ernestine, earnest, serious essa, nurse essie, star esther, good fortune estienne, crown ethel, noble, noble lady ethelburga, protector etheired, threatener ethelind, noble snake ethelinde, noble snake etta, home rule eucaria, happy hand eucharis, happy grace eudora, happy gift eugenia, well-born eugenie, well-born eulalia, fair speed eunice, happy victory euphemia, fair fame euphrasia, mirth eva, life evangeline, happy herald eve, life-giving eveleen, pleasant evelina, little eve eveline, pleasant eveline, little eve everhilda, battle-maid fanny, free, liberal faith, faith faustina, lucky felicia, happy fenella, white-shouldered fidelia, faithful flora, flowers florence, flourishing florinda, pretty flower frances, free, liberal frederica, peace ruler frediswid, peace, strength frewissa, strong peace gabrielle, god's hero ganore, white wave gatty, spear maid genevieve, white wave georgina, thrifty wife georgiana, thrifty wife geraldine, spear power gerda, enclosure gertrude, spear maiden gill (or gillet), downy gillespie, bishop's servant gillian, downy gladuse, lame godiva, divine gift grace, grace, favour griselda, stone heroine guda, divine gundrada, war council gundred, war council gunhilda, war heroine gunnilda, war battle-maid gunnora, war protection gwendolen, white-browed gytha, happy hagar, a stranger hannah, grace, gracious harriet, a rich lady hatty, home rule havisia, war refuge helaine, light helen, light helewise, famous holiness henrietta, little henry henny, home rule hepsy, my delight in her hermione, of hermes hester, good fortune hetty, little henry hilaria, cheerful, merry hilda, battle-maid honor, honour honora, honourable honoria, honourable hope, hope hortensia, gardener huldah, a weasel ida, happy, godlike inez, chaste, pure irene, peaceful isa, iron isabel, fair eliza isabella, fair eliza isadora, strong gift isbel, god's oath isobel, oath if god isolde, fair isolt, fair izod, fair jacintha, purple jacobina, supplanter jaquetta, supplanter jacqueline, beguiling jamesina, supplanter jane, grace of god janet, little jane jeanette, beguiling jean, grace of god jemima, a dove jenny, grace of god jessica, grace of god jessie, grace of god jezebel, oath of baal joan, the lord's grace jodoca, sportive johanna, the lord's grace joletta, violet joscelind, just josephine, addition josepha, addition joy, joy joyce, sportive, merry judith (or judy), praise julia, soft-hearted juliana, downy-bearded juliet, downy-bearded justina, just kate, pure katharine, pure katherine, pure kathleen, pure katrina, pure katie, pure katrina kester, christ bearer keturah, sweet perfume kezia, cassia kissy, cassia kitty, pure laurinda, a laurel laura, laurel laurentia, laurel lavinia, of latium leah, weary leonora, light letitia, gladness or mirth lettiee, gladness letty, truth lilian, lily lilly, lily lizzie, oath of god lora, laurel lorinda, a laurel lottie, noble-spirited lotty, man louisa, famous holiness louise, an amazon love, love loys, famous holiness lucia, shining lucilla, light lucinda, light lucrece, gain lucretia, gain lucy, light-shining lydia, born in lydia mab, mirth mabel, beloved mabella, my fair maiden madeline, magnificent madge, pearl margaret, pearl maria, bitter marian, bitter grace marianne, bitter grace marion, bitter marjorie or marjory, pearl martha, becoming bitter martina, of mars, warlike mary, bitter matilda, battle-maid matty, becoming bitter maud (or maud), noble may, pearl melania, black melicent, work, strength melissa, bee melony, dark melva, chief menie, bitter mercy, compassion mercia, work rule meriel, nymph milcah, queen mildred, mild threatener millicent, work, strength milly, work, strength minella, resolute mingala, soft and fair minna, memory minnie, little miranda, to be admired miriam, bitter moina, soft mencha, adviser monica, adviser moore, great morgana, sea dweller morna, beloved moroli, sea protection mynette, resolute myra, a weeper mysie, pearl nancy (or nanny), grace naomi, pleasant nelly, light nellie, light ninon (or ninette), grace nora, honourable norah, honourable octavia, eighth-born olive, olive olympis, heavenly ophelia, serpent osberga, divine pledge osberta, divinely bright osyth, divine strength parnel, a little stone patience, bearing up patricia, noble patty, becoming batter paulina, little paul pauline, little paul paula, little peace, peace peggy, pearl penelope, weaver pernel, stone petrina, stone petronella, stone phebe, light of life phemie, fair fame philadelphia, fraternal philippa, lover of horses phillis, a little leaf phoebe, shining piety, piety polly, bitter portia, of the pigs priscilla, ancient prudence, prudent quenburga, queen of pledge rachel, ewe rebecca, full fed rebekah, enchanting rhoda, rose robina, bright fame rose, a rose rosabel, fair rose rosabella, fair rose rosalia, blooming rose rosalie, blooming rose rosalind, like a rose rosaline, famed serpent rosamond, protection rosamuad, rose of peace rosanne, rose rose, rose rosecleer, fair rose rosina, rose rowena, white skirt roxana, dawn of day ruth, watered or filtered sabina, religious sabrina, the severn sally, princess sarah, princess sarai, lady or princess selina, moon or parsley selma, fair serena, serene sibella, wise old woman sidonia, of sidon sigismunda, conquering sissie, little sister soloma, peace sophia, wisdom sophronia, of sound mind stella, star stephana, crown stratonice, army victory susie, a lily susan, a rose or lily susannah, lily sylvia, living in a weed tabitha, gazelle tamar, palm tamasine, twin temperance, moderation thalia, bloom thecla, divine fame theobalda, people's prince theodora, divine gift theophila, divinity-loved theresa, carrying corn thomasine, twin thyrza, pleasantness tibelda, people's prince tilda, mighty battle-maid timothea, fear god tirzah, pleasantness tracy, carrying corn trix, blessed tryphena, dainty tryphosa, dainty ulrica, noble ruler una, famine urania, heavenly ursula, she bear valeria, female valerius vanora, white wave vashti, one that drinks venetia, blessed venice, blessed veronica, a true image verosa, true vevina, melodious woman victoria, conqueror vida, life violet, violet viola, a violet virginia, flourishing walburg, gracious wenefride, white wave werburgha, protection wilfred, white stream wilhelmina, defendress williamina, defendress wilmett, cap of resolution winefride, lover of peace winifrid, white stream zenobia, sire's ornament zerah, rising of light zillah, shadow zoe, life zora, dawn be sure and pick a nice name for the baby [page 119--boys names] [illustration: every boy's name and it's meaning.] this is perhaps the choicest collection of boys' names in the english language to the reader.--i beg to make one very important remark upon this immense variety of boy's names, and that is:--be sure and preserve the list carefully, as it will serve from which to choose names for your sons up to the number of 555, without using the same name over again. p.s.--if you should be very, very lucky, and have more than 555 sons, and want more names, call on professor cole, at the book arcade, melbourne, australia, and he will give you an extra list. 555 names aaron, lofty, inspired abel, vanity abelard, noble abiathar, sire of plenty abijah, child of god abijam, father of the sea abimelech, king's father abner, father of light abraham, sire of many abram, elevated father absalom, father of peace achilles, without lips adam, red earth adin, tender, delicate adolphus, noble wolf adrian, rich or wealthy aeneas, praise ahaz, visionary alan, cheerful alaric, noble ruler alban, white alberic, elf king, or all rich albert, nobly, bright aleuin, hall friend aldebert, nobly bright aldhelm, noble helmet alexander, helper of men alexis, helper alfred, good counseller algernon, with whiskers alick, helper of men allan (or allen), cheerful almeric, work ruler alphonso, eager, willing alphin, elf amadas, husbandman amasa, a burden ambrose, immortal, divine amos, a burden andrew, manly, valiant angus, excellent virtue anselm, divine helmet anstice, resurrection anthony, inestimable antony, inestimable appolos, of apollo aquila, eagle archibald, powerful, bold aristides, son of the best arkles, noble fame arnold, strong as an eagle artemus, gift of diana arth, high arthur, high, noble asa, physician or healer ascelin, servant asher, blessed, fortunate ashur, black or blackness athanasius, undying athelstan, noble stone athelwold, noble power aubrey, ruler of spirits audrey, noble threatener augustin, venerable augustus, majestic aureilus, golden austin, venerable aymar, work ruler bab, stranger baldie, sacred prince baldred, prince council baldric, prince ruler baldwin, bold friend banquo, white baptist, baptiser barak, lightning bardolf, bright helper barnabas, son of consolation barnard, bold as a bear barry, looking bright bartholomew, warlike son barthram, bright raven bartley, son of furrows bartram, bright raven barzillai, son of iron basil, kingly bat, son of furrows beavis, beautiful ben, son of the right hand benedict, blessed benjamin, same as ben bennet, blessed benoni, son of sorrow berenger, bear spear beriah, son of evil bernard, bold as a bear bertram, bright raven bertran, fair and pure blase (or blaze), babbler bohemond, god's love boniface, well-doer botolph, ruling wolf boyd, yellow brithric, bright king brockwell, champion bruno, brown brush, immortal bryan, strong cadoe, war cadogan, war cadwallader, a general caesar, hairy cain, possession caleb, dog calvin, bald canute, hill caradoc, beloved carmichael, michael's friend caswallon, hating lord cecil, blind charinas, grace charles, noble spirited christian, of christ christopher, christ bearer chrysostom, gold mouth clarence, illustrious claude, lame clement, merciful gentle colbert, cool, bright colborn, black bear colin, dove colomb, dove conachar, strong help coniah, appointed conmor, strength great connal, chief's courage connor, slaughter hound conrad, able speed constant, firm, faithful constantine, firm cornelius, horn cradock, beloved crispin, curly-haired cuthbert, noted splendour cymbeline, lord of the sun cyprian, of cyprus cyril, lordly cyrus, the sun dan, a judge daniel, the judging god darcy, dark darius, king, preserver david, beloved, the darling dennis, of dionysos derrick, people's wealth dick, firm ruler didymus, twin diggory, the almost lost dionysius, of dionysos dodd, of the people dominic, sunday child donald, proud chief dougal, black stranger douglas, dark grey dudley, people's ruler duff, black dugold, black stranger duncan, brown chief ebenezer, stone of help edgar, protector of wealth edmund, rich protection edward, happy keeper edwin, rich friend egbert, formidably bright eldred, fierce in battle eli, a foster son elias, god the lord elihu, he is my god elijah, god the lord elisha, god the saviour elizur, god my rock ellis, god the lord emanuel, god with us emilius, work enoch, dedicated enos, mortal man ephriam, very fruitful erasmus, amiable, lovely erastus, lovely, amiable eric, era king, rich ernest, serious esaias, salvation of god esau, covered with hair esbert, bright for ever esdras, rising of light etheired, noble council eugene, well-born eusebius, pious eustace, healthy, strong evan, young warrior everard, strong as a boar ezekiel, strength of god ezra, rising of light farquhar, manly feargus, man of strength felim, ever good felix, happy, prosperous ferdinand, brave fergus, man's strength fernando, brave festus, joyful fingal, white stranger flavian, yellow francis, free, liberal frank, free franklin, free frederic, peaceful ruler frewen, free friend fulbert, bright resolution faulk, people's guard gabriel, hero of god gaius, rejoiced gamaliel, gift of god garratt, spear firm gavin, hawk of battle geoffrey, god's peace george, husbandman gerald, spear power germaine, german gervas, war eagerness gibbon, bright pledge gideon, destroyer gilbert, bright as gold gilchrist, servant of christ giles, a kid gillespie, bishop's servant gillies, servant of jesus gisborn, pledge bearer goddard, pious, virtuous gedfrey, god's peace godric, divine king godwin, divine friend greg, fierce gregory, watchful griffith, strong-faithed grimbald, self-controlled gustavus, a warrior guy, a leader hadassah, myrtle halbert, bright stone hamlyn, home hanan, grace hannibal, grace of baal harold, a champion harry, home rule harvey, bitter haymon, home heber, a companion hector, a defender henry, a rich lord herbert, bright warrior hercules, lordly fame hereward, sword guardian herman, a warrior herodias, of a hero herodotus, noble gift hezekiah, strength of god hilary, cheerful hildebert, a nobleman hildebrand, a warbrand hiram, most noble hodge, spear of fame homer, a pledge horace, worthy of love horatio, worthy of love hoshea, salvation hubbard, mind bright hubert, mind bright hugh, mind hugo, mind humphrey, home peace ian, grace of god ignatius, fiery immanuel, god with us increase, more faith ingram, ing's raven inigo, fiery innocent, harmless ira, watchful isaac, laughter issiah, salvation of god israel, soldier of god ivan, gift of god ives, archer izaak, laughter jabez, sorrow jacob, supplanter james, superior japhet, extender jarratt, spear firm jason, healer jasper, treasure master jeffrey, good peace jehu, the lord is he jenkin, grace of god jeremiah, exalted of god jerome, holy name jervis, spear war jesse, wealth joachim, god will judge joab, son of god job, persecuted joel, strong-willed john, the lord's grace jonah (or jonas), dove jonathan, gift of god jordan, descender joscelin, just joseph, addition joshua, a saviour josiah, fire of god judah, praised julian, downy bearded julius, downy bearded justin, just justus, just kay, rejoicing kenelm, a defender kenneth, a leader laban, white lachlan, warlike lambert, illustrious lancelot, servant laurence, laurel crowned lawrence, laurel crowned lazarus, god will help leander, lion-hearted lear, sea leonard, lion-strong leopold, bold for men levi, adhesion lewis, people's refuge lionel, lion llawellyn, lightning lloyd, grey lodowic, famed piety lorenzo, laurel crowned lot, lion lothar, glorious warrior lothario, great warrior louis, famous holiness lubin, love friend lucian, light ludovic, bold warrior luke, light luther, glorious warrior maddox, beneficent madoc, beneficent magnus, great malachi, angel of god malcom, of colbumia manfred, mighty peace manual, god with us marcus, of mars, a hammer mark, warlike marmaduke, sea leader martin, great, martial martyn, great, martial matthew, gift of god matthias, gift of god maurice, dark coloured maynard, great firmness meredith, sea protector merlin, sea hill michael, who is like god miles, crusher moore, great morgan, seaman morris, sea warrior moses, drawn from water napoleon, forest king narcissus, daffodil nathan, a gift nathanael, gift of god nero, strength, fortitude nicodemus, conqueror nicholas, conquered nicol, conquered niel, brave, dark niell, brave nigel, black noah, rest, comfort noel, christmas-born norman, a northman obadiah, servant of god octavius, the eighth-born odo, rich olave, ancestor's relic oliver, olive tree orlando, fame of the land orson, dear osbert, divinely bright osborn, divine bear oscar, bounding warrior osfred, divine peace oslaf, divine legacy osmond, divine perfection osric, divine rule oswald, divine power osyth, young warrior palmerin, sign of victory pancras, all-ruler pascoe, easter child passion, suffering patrick, noble paul, little payne, countryman percival, holy cup-bearer peregrine, stranger peter, stone phelim, good. philadelphius, brotherly phillip, lover of horses phineas, mouth of brass pius, pious pierce (or piers), stone pilgrim, traveller polycarp, much fruit pompey, of pompeii quentin, fifth-born ralph, help, counsel ranald, judging power randal, house wolf raphael, healing of god ravelin, council wolf raymond, wise protector raymund, quiet peace rayner, judge warrior redmond, counsel redwald, council, power reginald, judging power renfred, peace, judgement restyn, restored to reuben, behold a son reynard, firm judge reynold, judging power richard, stern king robert, bright in fame roderick, famous king rodolph, wolf of fame rodolphus, famous wolf roger, spear of fame roland, fame of the land rollo, wolf of fame rolph, wolf of fame ronan, seal ronald, judge power roswald, horse power rowland, fame of the land roy, red rufus, red-haired rupert, bright fame sampson, splendid sun samuel, asked of god saul, longed for saunders, helper of men sayer, conquering army seabert, bright victory seaforth, peace victory seaward, defender sebastian, venerable seth, appointed shawn, grace of god sholto, sower sibbald, conquering sigismund, conquering silas, living in a wood sim, obedient simeon, obedient simon, obedient solomon, peaceable stephen, crown swain, youth swithun, strong friend sylvanus, god of the wood sylvester, a rustic tancard, grateful guard tancred, grateful speech teague, poet terence, tender thaddaeus, praise theobald, people's prince theodore, divine gift theodosius, genius of god theodric, people's ruler theodoric, people's ruler theophilus, friend of god thias, gift of god thomas, a twin thorold, thor's power thurstan, thor's jewel tibal, people's prince tiernan, kingly timothy, god-fearing titus, safe tobias, goodness of god tom, a twin tristram, grave, sad tudor, divine gift turgar, thor's spear tybalt, people's prince ulfric, wolf ruler ulick, mind, reward ulysses, a hater urban, of the town uriah, light of god uric, noble ruler valentine, healthy, strong victor, conqueror vincent, conquering virgil, flourishing vivian, lively vortigern, great king vyvyan, living waldemar, powerful fame walstan, slaughter stone walter, powerful warrior warner, protector warren, protecting friend water, powerful warrior wattles, powerful warrior wawyn, hawk of battle wayland, artful wenceslaus, crown, glory wilfred, resolute peace wilfrith, resolute peace willfroy, resolute peace william, protector willibald, much power wilmot, resolute mood winifred, friend of peace wulstan, comely yestin, just zachariah, man of god zaccheus, pure, clean zebulon, dwelling zechariah, man of god zedekiah, justice of god zephaniah, secret of god zerah, rising of light zoroaster, gold star look and see the meaning of your own name [page 120--game land] cole's game of hats and bonnets or husbands and wives [illustration: women in hats--numbered 1 to 52--letters a to m.] one hundred little ladies showing the 24 various modes by which they came into cole's book arcade one hundred _little_ ladies, all clever, learned and trained, half _walked_ in-to cole's book arcade, and fifty then remained. fifty _thoughtful_ little ladies, all lovers of book-lore, ten _ran_ in-to cole's book arcade, and there remained two-score. forty _pretty_ ladies, racing but not flirty, ten _raced_ in-to cole's book arcade, an then there were but thirty. thirty _famous_ ladies, swimming in the plenty. ten _swam_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but twenty. twenty _wealthy_ ladies, jumping in velveteen, one _jumped_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were nineteen. nineteen _noble_ ladies, going out a-skating, one _skated_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but eighteen. eighteen _royal_ ladies, all dancing with the queen, on _danced_ in-to cole's book arcade, and there were seventeen. seventeen _grand_ ladies, driving a bullock team, one _drove_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were sixteen. sixteen _gentle_ ladies, all hopping on the green, one _hopped_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were fifteen. fifteen _modest_ ladies, all creeping out unseen, one _crept_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were fourteen. fourteen _handsome_ ladies, all floating down a stream, one _floated_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were thirteen. thirteen _lovely_ ladies, all leaping out to delve, one _leaped_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but twelve. [page 121--game land] cole's game of hats and bonnets or husbands and wives [illustration: women in hats--numbered 53 to 104--letters n to z.] twelve fine _blooming_ ladies, flitting out for leaven, one _flitted_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were eleven. eleven _frightened_ ladies, dodging a lion when- one _dodged_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but ten. ten most _charming_ ladies, all skipping in a line, one _skipped_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but nine. nine most _splendid_ ladies, all swinging on a gate, one _swung_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but eight. eight most _superb_ ladies, flying under heaven, one _flew_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but seven. seven _english_ ladies, all tripping out for sticks, one _tripped_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but six. six fine _irish_ ladies, all going for a dive, one _dived_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but five. five fine _scottish_ ladies, all sailing to explore, one _sailed_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but four. four fine _yellow_ ladies, all steaming on the sea, one _steamed_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but three. three fine _jet-black_ ladies, all riding on a moo, one _rode_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there were but two. two most _comic_ ladies, sliding about for fun, one _slid_ in-to cole's book arcade, and then there was but one. one most _frisky_ lady, the nicest, last, and best, she _bounced_ in-to cole's book arcade, and read books with the rest. [page 122--game land] cole's game of hats and bonnets or husbands and wives [illustration: men in hats--numbered 1 to 52--letters a to m.] proclamation by authority. be it known unto all of you that to find your own portrait and the fashion of your hat or bonnet, your christian name and the alphabet are used. the alphabet is divided into four parts for the second letter of each person's name as follows:--the letters a b c d e f belong to no. 1 portrait in each row, and in the case of the first of the letter a include such names as abigail, ada, aaron, abraham, adolphus. the letters g h i j k l belong to the second portrait in each row, and in the case of the second portrait, of the letter a include such name as agnes, alice, ahaz, alfred. the letters m n o p q r belong to the third portrait of each row, and in the case of the letter a include such names as amy, anna, arabella, amos, andrew, arthur. the letters s t u v w x y z belong to the fourth portrait in each row, and in the case of the letter a include such names as athalia, augusta, asa, augusta. the same rule is followed with each letter of the alphabet: for instance, the first portrait in the row b belongs to such names as barbara, bessie, bartholomew, benjamin, and so on throughout the whole collection of portraits. if a woman is looking for her future husband, she must find the number of her own portrait and then the corresponding number amongst the men's, and that is to be her husband: for instance, if her own portrait is no. 27, no. 27 amongst the men's is the portrait of her future darling. the same rule is to be followed by the men. if a man's portrait is no. 93, no. 93 amongst the ladies' is to be his wife, his own future angel. [page 123--game land] cole's game of hats and bonnets or husbands and wives [illustration: men in hats--numbered 53 to 104--letters n to z.] if the persons who consult this oracle are single, the sweetheart that falls to their lot will be their first husband or wife, and if they are married it will be their second husband or wife, and if they have been married twice, it will be their third one, and so on up to 144 times of being married; and after that no one will be allowed to consult this oracle, look at it, speak of it, or even think about it, such objectionable persons being entirely excluded from its benefits. persons who consult this oracle must accept the husband or wife that falls to their lot just the same as if they married them in the usual way, but if dissatisfied on account of ugliness, dress, or any other cause the consulter, by doing penance in the shape of a pilgrimage to a certain place in the exact centre of the world and paying a small sum, can obtain a divorce. the place to which the pilgrimage is to be made is cole's book arcade, bourke street, melbourne, australia, where they must buy a book of some kind, and that act divorces them at once. bashful persons need not mention their pilgrimage to the book arcade, when they purchase the book, unless they choose. anyone having obtained a divorce will be allowed to choose out of 9 other portraits. if the number of the portrait that fell to their lot was 8, they can choose any other number ending with 8, as 18, 28, 38, 48, 58, 68, 78, 88 and 98, of if their first number was 65 they can choose from 5, 15, 25, 35, 45, 55, 75, 85, 95 and so on; whatever their number was, they may choose from the corresponding figures throughout the table. if, after making a choice out of the 9 portraits, anyone is still dissatisfied, by making 10 pilgrimages to the book arcade, or by buying and giving away 10 copies of this funny picture book, they can claim the indulgence of a grand divorce and choose which they like out of the whole 104 portraits. given under our royal hand and seal at the palace of the book arcade, this 21st day of november, 1890.--cole, rex. [page 124--riddles and catches] riddles and catches why are cowardly soldiers like butter? because they run when exposed to fire. why is hot bread like a caterpillar? because it's the grub that makes the butter fly. why are ripe potatoes in the ground like thieves? because they ought to be taken up. why is an acquitted prisoner like a gun? because he is taken up, charged, and then let off. why is a beggar like a barrister? because he pleads for his daily bread. why are lawyers like scissors? because they never cut each other, but only what is placed between them. why is a newspaper like an army? because it has leaders, columns, and reviews. why is a prosy story-teller like a railway tunnel? because he is a great bore. why is a dun like a woodcock? because he bores with his bill. why is grass like a mouse? because the cat'll (cattle) eat it. why is the sun like a good loaf? because it's light when it rises. why is a plum-cake like the ocean? because it contains many curra(e)nts. why are tears like potatoes? because they spring from the eyes. why is queen victoria like a hat? because they both have crowns. what is the difference between a steep hill and a large pill? one is hard to get up, the other is hard to get down. what is the difference between a pastry-cook and a billsticker? one puffs up paste, the other pastes up puffs. what is the difference between an auction and seasickness? one is the sale of effects and the other is the effects of a sail. why is a photographic album like a drainer on a bar counter? because it is often a receptacle for empty mugs. why is an interesting book like a toper's nose? because it is read (red) to the end. what relation is your uncle's brother to you, if he is not your uncle? your father. what is the best throw of the dice? to throw them away. what tree clothes half the world?--cotton. what tree gives milk? the cow tree. what tree is a city in ireland?--cork. what plant is a letter of the alphabet?--the tea (t). what kind of bat flies without wings?--a brickbat. why is a dog biting his own tail like a good manager? because he makes both ends meet. why is a dog's tail like the pith of a tree? because it's the farthest from the bark. why does a dog's tail resemble happiness? because, run after it as he will, he cannot catch it. if the devil lost his tail, where should he go to find a new one? to a gin palace, for bad spirits are retailed there. what key is hardest to turn?--a donkey. why is a whirlpool like a donkey? because it is an eddy. [illustration: man on donkey--dangling carrots from his long nose.] what is it that smells most when you go into a chemist's shop? your nose. why does a donkey prefer thistles to corn? because he's an ass. why is a lollypop like a horse? because the more you lick it, the faster it goes. why is a well-trained horse like a benevolent man? because it stops at the sound of woe. i went to a wood and got it, i sat down to look for it, and brought it home because i could not find it- a thorn in my foot. why is a naughty boy like a postage stamp? because he is licked and put in the corner to make him stick to his letters. what is the difference between twice twenty-eight and twice eight and twenty. twenty; because twice twenty eight is fifty-six, and twice eight and twenty is thirty-six. what grows less tired the more it works? a carriage wheel. what is that which increases the more you take from it? a hole. why is a tight boot like an oak-tree? because it produces a-corn. who killed one-fourth of the people in the world? cain, when he killed abel, there being then only four people in it. why is a retired milkman like the whale that swallowed jonah? because he took the profit out of the water. where was moses when the candle went out? in the dark. why is your ear like a band of music? because it has a drum in it. why are book-keepers like chickens? because they have to scratch for a living. why is coffee like an axe with a dull edge? because it must be ground before it is used. why is a red herring like a mackintosh? because it keeps one dry all day. where are balls and routs supplied gratis? on the field of battle. why is an omnibus like a medical student? because it is crammed and allowed to pass. when has a person got as many heads as there are days in the year? on the 31st of december. what word is shorter for having a syllable added to it? short. if i shoot at three birds on a tree, and kill one, how many will remain? none; they will all fly away. what should you keep after you have given it to another? your word. which would travel fastest--a man with one sack of flour on his back, or a man with two sacks? the man with two sacks, as they would be lighter than one sack of flour. did you ever see a bun dance on a table? i often see abundance on the table. what does your ship weigh before she sets sail? she weighs anchor. what is an old woman like who is in the midst of a river? like to be drowned. what is the difference between a school-master and an engine driver? one trains the mind, and the other minds the train. who was the first man who went round the world? the man in the moon. important notice wanted known to all of the name of crooks, that cole's book arcade contains 80,000 sorts of books. wanted known to all not of the name of crooks, that cole's book arcade contains 80,000 sorts of books. wanted known to all of the name of blair that they can get almost any book they want there. wanted known to all not of the name of blair that they can get almost any book they want there. wanted known to all of the name of fitzgerald, cole's was the first book arcade opened in the world. wanted known to all not of the name of fitzgerald, cole's is still the only book arcade in the world. wanted all intelligent persons of the name of hall, to give cole's unique book arcade an early call. wanted all intelligent persons not of the name of hall, to give cole's unique book arcade a very early call. [page 125--riddles and catches] riddles about babies and ladies why is a new-born baby like a gale of wind? because it begins with a squall. when is a baby not a baby? when it is a little duck. why is an infant like a diamond? because it is a dear little thing. when is a soldier like a baby? when he is in arms. when is butter like irish children? when it is made into little pats. why is a church-clock like a little boy often receiving a beating? because it's hands move over it's face. why is a boy like a potato? because they both wear jackets. why is the earth like a school black-board? because the children of men multiply upon the face of it. why does a ladies' school, out for a walk, resemble the notes of a flute? because it goes two, two, two, two (toot-oot-oot-oot). what tree is a lady's name?--olive. when do young ladies eat a musical instrument? when they have a piano-for-tea. why is a four-quart jug like a lady's side-saddle? because it holds a gall-on. why is a vain young lady like a confirmed drunkard? because neither of them is satisfied with a moderate use of the glass. why is a flirt like a hollow india-rubber ball? because she is very empty and has a deal of bounce. what is the difference between a soldier and a fashionable young lady? one faces the powder and the other powders the face. why does an engine resemble a young lady? because it has a train behind, and puffs in the air (hair). if a bear were to go into a linen-draper's shop, what would he want? he would want muzzlin'. what is the difference between a bantam cock, and a dirty housemaid? one is a domestic foul and the other a foul domestic. what were the first words adam said to eve? nobody knows. how is it proved that woman was created before man? because eve was the first maid (made). what christian name is spelt the same way backwards and forwards? hannah. what is the difference between a person late for the train and a school-mistress? one misses the train and the other trains the misses. what miss is always making blunders? mistake. what miss plays more tricks than a schoolboy? mischief. what miss occasions a great many quarrels? mismanagement. what is that which ladies look for, and never wish to find? a hole in their stocking. what is that which a man nearly always wears in his sleep, frequently takes off and never puts on again? his beard. [illustration: man with huge beard infested with birds.] this nice looking man with a beard, remarked, "it's just as i feared; four larks and a hen, two owls and a wren, have all built their nests in my beard." what is that which has neither flesh nor bone, and yet has four fingers and a thumb? a glove. why are ladies' dresses about the waist like a meeting? because there is a gathering there, and sometimes a good deal of bustle. how does a well-fitting bonnet lose its identity? because it "becomes" the lady who wears it. what is the sweetest thing in bonnets this season? the ladies' faces. why is a kiss like a rumour? because it goes from mouth to mouth. what is the difference between an accepted and rejected lover? the one kisses his misses, and the other misses his kisses. why are pretty girls like fire-works? because they soon go off. why are good resolutions like fainting ladies? because they want carrying out. why are lovers like apples? because they are often paired (pared). why is first love like a potato? because it shoots from the eyes and becomes all the less by pairing (paring). which age do most girls wish to attain? marri-age. what kind of men do women like best? husband-men. what ties two people together, yet touches one? a wedding ring. why should a man never marry a woman named ellen? because by doing so he rings his own nell (knell). why is the bridegroom more expensive than the bride? because the bride is given away, while the bridegroom is usually sold. why are ladies like bells? because you seldom know what metal they are made of till you ring them. what money lasts longest when you get it? matrimony. why is matrimony like a besieged city? because those who are in it wish to be out, and those who are out wish to be in. why are some women like facts? because they are stubborn things. why are rough seats like domineering wives? because they wear the breeches. why are husband and wife ten, instead of one? because the wife is number one and the husband goes for nought. why was the archbishop of canterbury like the late prince consort? because he married the queen. why is a nugget of gold found at bendigo like the prince of wales? because it is the produce of victoria and like to become a sovereign. why are ladies great thieves? because they steel their petticoats, bone their stays, and crib their babies. in what month do ladies talk the least? in february; because it's the shortest. what is the difference between ladies and clocks? one makes us remember time, and the other makes us forget it. why is an empty room like another full of married people? because there is not a single person in it. popular errors the commonly received notion that a man may marry his first cousin, but must not marry his second is not true; but it is quite true that cole's book arcade is in bourke street, melbourne, about half-way between swanston and elizabeth sts. the rumour that a yankee gentleman had invented a machine to take the noise out of thunder has turned out not to be true; but it is quite true that cole's book arcade is open from nine in the morning to ten at night, every working day in the year. the fact that cole's book arcade contains 80,000 sorts of books is not the cause of the sea being salt--of coca-nuts containing milk-of the growth of big gooseberries, nor of the multitude of great big fibs told annually about a sea-serpent. it is not true that cats will suck the breath of children when they are asleep, but it is quite true that cole's book arcade contains one interesting cat and 80,000 sorts of interesting books. n.b.--the likeness of cole's cat can be seen on page 153. [page 126--riddles and catches] riddles and catches which is the greatest peer that england ever produced? shakespeare. what is the grandest verse in existence? the universe. what is the greatest stand ever made for civilisation? the inkstand. what is that which, although black itself, enlightens the world? ink. what is that which is full of knowledge, and yet knows nothing? a book-case. what is that which you and every living man have seen, but can never see again? yesterday. what is that which no man ever did see, which never was, but always is to be? to-morrow. what thing is that that is lower with a head than without one? a pillow. what volume is sure to bring tears to your eyes? a volume of smoke. what is that which has form without substance, and size without weight? a shadow. name me and you break me. silence. what is that which renders life inert, and yet restores it? sleep. formed long ago, yet made today, employed while others sleep, what few would like to give away, nor any wish to keep. a bed. what is that which flies high, flies low, wears shoes, and has no feet? dust. what is that of which the common sort is best? sense. what is that which we often return yet never borrow? thanks. name that bird which, if you do not, you must die? swallow. what is that which you cannot hold for ten minutes although it is "as light as a feather?" your breath. what is that which never was seen, felt, nor heard, never was and never will be, and yet has a name? nothing. what is that which adam never saw, never possessed, and yet gave two to each of his children? parents. what is that we wish for, and when we have obtained we never know we have it? sleep. when is it that a person ought not to keep his temper? when it is a bad one. what is yours, and is used by others more than yourself? your name. can a man's pocket be empty when he's got something in it? yes: when he's got a big hole in it. what is better than presence of mind in a railway accident? absence of body. melbourne, hotham, collingwood, prahran, richmond, emerald hill, and cole's book arcade, all begins with an a. why is a penny like a black cat at cole's book arcade? because it has a head and a tail. [illustration: book arcade and crocodile failing to jump over moon.] why is cole's book arcade like a crocodile? because it can't jump over the moon. why is cole's book arcade like a learned man? because it is well stocked with literature. what is that which goes every morning at eight o'clock from the post office to cole's book arcade, and every evening at six o'clock from the parliament house to cole's book arcade, without moving? bourke street. how many sides are there to cole's book arcade? four. 1st, the right side; 2nd, the left side; 3rd, the outside; and 4th, the inside, where the 80,000 sorts of books are. what are the oldest tops in the world? mountain tops. which is the oldest table in the world? the multiplication table. what kind of ship has two mates and no captain? a courtship. what is that which is lengthened by being cut at both ends? a ditch. what is that which one can divide, but cannot see where it has been divided? water. what is that which gives a cold, cures a cold, and pays the doctor? a draft. what is the worst kind of fare for a man to live on? warfare. what vice is it that the greatest criminals shun? ad-vice. what is that which is often found where it is not? fault. what is that which we often catch hold of, and yet never see? a passing remark. what is that which is often brought to the table, often cut, but never eaten? a pack of cards. what is that which is full of holes and yet holds water? a sponge. what window in your house is like the sun? the skylight. what word is it of five letters, of which two being removed one only one will remain? st-one. what is that from which if the whole be taken some will remain? the word "wholesome". what word contains all the vowels in their proper order? facetious. how would you express in one word having met a doctor of medicine? metaphysician. why is a nobleman like a book? because he has a title. why is the alphabet like the mail? because it consists of letters. why is a book like a tree? because it has many leaves. mechanical advertisement the idea of a machine to go by perpetual motion is perpetual nonsense. multitudes of boys and men have wasted much valuable time in trying to find it, but they never can, as it is contrary to natural laws, and therefore impossible; but one certainty of the future is, that a million useful flying machines will flit hither and thither; and one certainty of the present is, that while cole's book arcade contains 80,000 sorts of books, not a single person has yet been able to come to it for a supply in a flying machine.--laggard inventors, think of this! n.b.--cole once invented a flying machine, but it wouldn't work! [page 127--riddles and catches] riddles and catches if a man has twenty sick (six) sheep and one of them dies, how many will remain? nineteen. can a leopard change his spots? yes: when he is tired of one spot he can go to another. why does a piebald pony never pay a toll? because his master pays it for him. where are you sure to find pity in the worst of misfortunes? in the dictionary. where did the witch of endor live? at endor. what is most like a cat's tail? a kitten's tail. what is that which no other animal but a cat possesses? kittens. what is the colour of a green-plot covered with snow? green. when is a man not a man? when he is a muff. if a stone were thrown at you and fell into the water, what would it become? wet. what is the oldest tree in australia? the elder. what trees bear the most fruit for the market? the axle-trees. why is a clock not wound up, like a mile-stone? because it stands still. what is the easiest thing for a nigger to do? keep dark. how can you make a currant cake without currants? put only one currant into it. which letters are never out of fashion? f a s h i o n. why is your nose like st. paul's? because it is flesh and blood. why do white sheep furnish more wool than the black ones? because there are more of them. what makes a pair of boots? two. what did adam first plant in his garden? his foot. how can a boy make his jacket last? by making his coat and waistcoat first. she was plump and beautiful, and he was wildly fond of her; she hated him, yet woman-like, she strove to catch him. what was he? he was a flea. what is the difference between six dozen dozen and half a dozen dozen? one is six gross and the other is six dozen. what is that which a man can put into his right hand but never into his left? his left elbow. what is that which a man with two eyes cannot see with one? t'other eye. spell and pronounce the word pot, without saying teapot? cautiously start a conversation about coins, and the ask, "did you ever see any of those coins two of which make eighteen pence?" of course they will say "no"; then show them a shilling and a sixpence, and you "have" them. would you rather an elephant killed you or a gorilla? rather the elephant killed the gorilla. [illustration: puzzle, when shall we three meet again.] when shall we three meet again? one donkey has met another donkey and now there are two donkeys, as you see and you have to guess where the third donkey is: if you cannot guess it, some kind friend will tell you. there was a donkey on one side of a river and some hay on the other side. the donkey wanted the hay, but he couldn't swim over the river, jump over it, nor cross the bridge. how could he manage it? do you give up? yes. answer--that is what the other donkey did. repeat this with a friend 1. i went up one pair of stairs; 2. just like me. 1. i went up two pair of stairs; 2. just like me. 1. i went into a room; 2. just like me. 1. i looked out of a window; 2. just like me. 1. and there i saw a donkey; 2. just like me. "around the rugged rocks the ragged rascals ran a truly rural race." repeat this five times quickly without a mistake and see what it will come to? a room with eight corners had a cat in each corner seven cats before each cat and a cat on every cat's tail. what was the total number of cats? eight cats. speaking of persons who have educated themselves, i once knew a person who educated himself, and guess how the fellow spelt "cat." you could not guess in a year? answer.--"kat," no. "catt," no. "katt," no. give it up? yes. "cat." why is a cow's tail like a swan's bosom? because it grows down. when is a horse's head where it's tail should be? when his tail is towards the manger. what should a clergyman preach about? about half-an-hour. although i've neither legs not feet, i'm only useful when i go; i have no tongue, but yet i tell what hundreds want to know. a watch. my sides are firmly laced about, yet nothing have within; you'll find my head is straight indeed, 'tis nothing else but skin. a drum. repeat this with a friend 1. i am a gold lock; 2. i am a gold key. 1. i am a silver lock; 2. i am a silver key. 1. i am a brass lock; 2. i am a brass key. 1. i am a lead lock; 2. i am a lead key. 1. i am a monk lock; 2. i am a monk key. mind your punctuation king charles 1. spoke half-an-hour after his head was cut off. every lady in this land has twenty nails upon each hand five and twenty hands and feet all this is true without deceit. i saw a peacock with fiery tail i saw a blazing comet drop down hail i saw a cloud wrapped with ivy round i saw an oak creep upon the ground i saw a monkey swallow up a whale i saw the sea brimful of ale i saw an ale glass full fifteen feet deep i saw a well full of men's tears that weep i saw red eyes all of a flaming fire i saw a house bigger than the moon and higher i saw the sun at twelve o'clock at night i saw the man that saw this wondrous sight. the husband's petition come hither my heart's darling, come sit upon my knee and listen while i whisper a boon i ask of thee. i felt a bitter craving--a dark and deep desire that glows beneath my bosom like coals of kindled fire. nay, dearest, do not doubt me, though madly this i speak- i feel thine arms about me, thy tresses on my cheek; i know the sweet devotion that links thy heart with mine- i know my soul's emotion is doubly felt by thine. and deem not that a shadow has fallen across my love; no, sweet, my love is shadowless as yonder heaven above. oh, then, do not deny me my first and fond request, i pray thee, by the memory of all we cherish best- by that great vow that made thee my darling and my bride; thou wilt not fail nor falter, but bend thee to the task. _put buttons on my shirt love--that's all the boon i ask!_ literary advertisement to the inhabitants of the world! will be published shortly by e. w. cole, if he can see his way clear, a volume containing all that has ever been written, said, or thought by mankind. price 1s. also, a second volume, containing all that has not been written, said, or thought by mankind. price 1s. if the work can be successfully be brought out it will be a very, very, instructive one, and place e. w. cole at the head of the literary world. to secure a copy of this valuable work orders should be sent without delay, to cole's book arcade, melbourne; or, to the branch establishments, at sydney or adelaide. [page 128--ten picture puzzles] ten picture puzzles he or she is clever who discovers nine of them, [illustration: puzzle, where is the jew's brother?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the rabbit?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the showman's wife?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the persian?] [illustration: puzzle, where is brother jonathan's wife?] [page 129--ten picture puzzles] ten picture puzzles and exceedingly clever who finds out the whole ten. [illustration: puzzle, here is the hunter, where is the game?] [illustration: puzzle, find out the dog's master.] [illustration: puzzle, find out the milkmaid.] [illustration: puzzle, where is the king?] [illustration: puzzle, find out the patient.] [page 130--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where are the rats?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the dog?] [page 131--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where is the owl?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the lamb?] [page 132--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where is the poor greek?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the cat?] [page 133--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where is the bear?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the wolf?] [page 134--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find her landlord.] [illustration: puzzle, find their father.] [illustration: puzzle, find the other five children.] [illustration: puzzle, find the baker.] [illustration: puzzle, find the schoolmaster and schoolmistress.] [page 135--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the cowboys.] [illustration: puzzle, find the scout.] [illustration: puzzle, find the publican.] [illustration: puzzle, find the undertaker.] [illustration: puzzle, find the hatter.] [page 136--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the tailor.] [illustration: puzzle, find the hosier.] [illustration: puzzle, find the shoemaker.] b one day drove a flock of geese, and met with farmer a: says farmer a, "how much a piece for this flock did you pay?" says b, "i paid for all i drive just six pounds and a crown; and i'm going to sell them, all but five, at yonder market town; when fifteen pence a head i'll charge above what they cost me, and thus obtain a sum as large as i gave for all you see." how many geese did b buy? how much did he give for each? and what price did he ask? he bought 25 geese at 5s each, and meant to ask 6s 3d each. oft sought in the country, much prized in the town? like a king, above all, i can boast of a crown; if not found in the palace, i grace the chateau; both the peer and the peasant my usefulness know. when i've not seen six months i am said to be old; though exalted by nobles, i'm bought and i'm sold. though ne'er in a sermon, i take part in all chat; yet i'm ne'er found in this, but i'm always in that. i'm seen in most colours, am brown, black, or white, but am rarely found red and, when good, i am light; in demand with both sexes, selected with care, i'm prized by most men and add grace to the fair. of no use to my owner when kept in his sight, i attend him by day, and oft serve him by night; as his slave i am passive; yet, strange it may sound, to keep me in order, i'm frequently bound. my fetters are silken; i'm useless at home, though a constant companion whenever you roam; and, though no enchantment within me doth dwell, pray tell me my name--for in that lies a spell! a hat. 'twas born in anguish, 'twas cradled by care, and has lived ever since in the depths of despair. it dwells in the valley, it glides on the wave, it is laid with our ashes when cold in the grave. in darkness it brightens, in sunshine it dies, as far from the smile of enjoyment it flies. in the rainbow it sits, in the stars it has birth, and with angels descending it visits the earth. with adam it dwelt, and so to paradise came, but eve knew it not, though it shared in her shame. it mingles in battle, yet still it loves peace. it joins in the banquet, the dance, and the chase from the dream of our childhood it ne'er can depart and it lies, like a gem, in the core of the heart. the traveller bears it o'er desert along; the nightingale loves it, though strange to her song. on the point of an arrow it cleaves through the air yet the pinions of birds cannot follow it there. the bosom disowns it, yet bright through our tears, when shed in affection, it ever appears. the cataract fearfully hurries it on, but, search it through billows and tempest--'tis gone. from the joys of our mortal existence 'tis driven; yet finds an unchanging asylum in heaven. with the harp of the minstrel it ever shall dwell and it comes to my lips as i utter "farewell". the letter a. though grief gives me birth, i'm a stranger to care. i scorn the dull earth, and float in the air. no lover claims me, though i revel in bliss. i taste of each lip, and melt in each kiss. i'm an egotist's pride, though in silence i reign; and, through free from sorrow, i'm always in pain. though in laughter ne'er seen, in mirth i delight; in blindness i grope, though perfect in sight. in foolishness, wisdom, and wit i've a place; though dwelling in virtue i live in disgrace. though frost knows me not, with winter i blend; and always to ice i'm a capital friend. i'm never in heat, though i live in the fire. though never in want, i'm in every desire. i am i--, but the end of my paper i spy; so i'll wind up my stave and wish you good-by. the letter i. [page 137--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the settler.] [illustration: puzzle, find captain webb.] [illustration: puzzle, where is the giant?] [illustration: puzzle, find the cat.] [illustration: puzzle, where is the giant's father?] [page 138--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where is the bird?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the hippopotamus?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the donkey?] [illustration: puzzle, where is john bright?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the highlandman fishing?] [illustration: puzzle, where is the cup?] [page 139--picture puzzle land] australian picture puzzle [cole]'s [book] [arcade], [coals] [book] [arcade]. it is [inn] [melbourne] town, of [awl] the [book] [arcades] [inn] this [land] it has the m[hostel(?)] renown, it was the [fir]st, first [book] [arcade] t[hat] [inn] the [world] was found; it's [still] the f[eye][nest] [book] [arcade] [inn] [awl] the [world] around. a lovely [rainbow] s[eye]gn ap[ear]s above the [book] [arcade], and 'tis the very g[ran]dest s[eye]gn wa[sever] yet dis[play]ed. a [mill]ion, yes! a [mill]ion [books] are [house]d with[inn] its w[awl]s which [can] [bee] [sea]n, looked at or [bough]t by anyone t[hat] c[awls] the [book] [u] wish, the [book] [u] w[ant] is [awl]most sure to [bee] found [sum]where [inn] the [book] [arcade] if [u] will c[awl] & [c]. [page 140--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the princess.] [illustration: puzzle, find the umpire.] [page 141--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the miller.] [illustration: puzzle, find his lady-love.] [page 142--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, where's the pig?] [illustration: puzzle, where's the fox?] [page 143--picture puzzle land] [illustration: puzzle, find the drummer.] [illustration: puzzle, find out the horse, camel, elephant, giraffe, kangaroo and monkey.] [page 144--shadows on the wall] [illustration: shadow puppets.] this game is a kind of magic lantern exhibition. it is very interesting, always pleases the children, and is very easily learnt, and for amusing poor, sick children it is invaluable. [page 145--the deaf and dumb alphabet] [illustration: deaf and dumb alphabet, two handed.] the alphabet of hand-signs is a great blessing to deaf and dumb persons, enabling them to converse almost as efficiently as others can by the organs of speech. it is also extensively used throughout the world as a useful accomplishment by those who are not deaf and dumb, and besides it has this recommendation:--it is the most easily learnt language in the world. [illustration: deaf and dumb alphabet, one handed.] [page 146--language of flowers] language of flowers the language of flowers in pre-eminently the language of refined and modest courtship; millions have conveyed a message by presenting a flower which they dare not have uttered in their mother tongue. in some countries this "language of love" is extremely common in the words of the poet: "in eastern lands, amid fragrant bowers, they tell the tale of affection in flowers." abatina, fickleness abecedary, volubility acacia, friendship acacia, rose, elegance acacia, yellow, secret love acanthus, the fine arts acalia, temperance achillea millefolia, war achimenes, such worth is rare aconite, misanthropy adonis, flos, sad memories agnus castos, coldness agrimony, thankfulness almond (common), indiscreet almond (flowering), hope almond, laurel, perfidy allspice, compassion aloe, affliction amaranth (globe), immortal amaranth (cockscomb), foppery amaryllis, splendid beauty ambrosia, love returned american elm, patriotism american linden, matrimony amethyst, admiration andromeda, self-sacrifice anemone (garden) forsaken angelica, inspiration angrec, royalty apricot blossom, doubt apple, temptation apple blossom, preference apple, thorn, deceitful character arbor vitae, live for me arum (wake robin), zeal ash, mountain, prudence ash tree, grandeur aspen tree, lamentation asphodel, my regrets follow auricula, painting auricula (scarlet) avarice austurtium, splendour azalea, temperance bachelor's buttons, celibacy balm, sympathy balm (gentle), pleasantry balm of gilead, cure balsam, yellow, impatience barberry, sharpness of temper basil, hatred bay berry, instruction bay leaf, i change but in death bay tree, glory bay wreath, reward of merit bearded crepis, protection beech tree, prosperity bee orchis, industry bee ophrys, error begonia, deformity belladonna, silence. hush! bell flower (white) gratitude betony, surprise bilberry, treachery bindweed, great insinuation bindweed, small, humility birch, meekness bittersweet, truth blackthorn, difficulty bladder nut tree, amusement bluebell, sorrowful regret bonus henricus, goodness borage, bluntness box tree, stoicism bramble, lowliness broom, neatness buckbean, calm repose buglos, falsehood bulrush, indiscretion bundle of reeds, music burdock, touch me not bur, you weary me buttercup, childishness butterfly orchis, gaiety butterfly weed, let me go cabbage, profit. gain cacalia, adulation cactus, warmth calycanthus, benevolence camellia, red, excellence camellia, white, loveliness camomile, energy in adversity carnation, striped, refusal carnation, deep red, poor me cardamine, paternal error candytuft, indifference canary grass, perseverance campanula, aspiring carnation, yellow, disdain cardinal flower, distinction catchfly, selene, false love catchfly, red, youthful love catchfly, white, betrayed cattleya, mature charms cedar, strength cedar of lebanon, incorruptible cedar leaf, i live for thee celandine, joys to come centaury, bluebottle, felicity champignon, suspicion cherry tree, good education chestnut tree, do me justice chinese primrose, lasting love chickweed, rendezvous chicory, frugality china aster, afterthought china aster, double, i agree china aster, single, i will think if it chrysanthemum, red, i love chrysanthemum, white, truth chrysanthemum, yellow, slighted love cineraria, always delightful cinquefoil, maternal affection circaea, spell cictus, popular favour citron, ill-natured beauty clematis, mental beauty clematis, evergreen, poverty clianthus, worldliness clotbur, rudeness clover, four-leaved, be mine clover, red, industry clover, white, think of me cloves, dignity cobaea, gossip columbine, folly columbine, red, fearful convolvulus, bonds convolvulus, blue, repose convolvulus, pink, hopeless coreopsis, always cheerful coriander, hidden worth corn, riches corn bottle, delicacy corn cockle, gentility cornel tree, duration coronella, success to you cosmelia, charm of a blush cowslip, winning grace crab (blossom), ill-nature cranberry, cure headache cress, stability crocus, cheerfulness crocus, saffron, mirth crown imperial, power crowsbill, envy crowfoot, ingratitude cuckoo plant, ardour cudweed, remembrance cuscuta, meanness cyclamen, diffidence cypress, death daffodil, yellow, regard dahlia, instability daisy, innocence daisy, michaelmas, farewell daisy, variegated, beauty daisy, wild, will think of it dandelion, love's oracle daphne, glory dew plant, a serenade dianthus, make haste dipteracanthus, fortitude diplademia, you are too bold dittany, pink, birth dittany, white, passion dock, patience dodder of thyme, baseness dogsbane, falsehood dogwood, durability dragon plant, snare dragonwort, horror dried flax, usefulness ebony, blackness echites, be warned in time elder, zeal elm, dignity endive, frugality escholzia, do not refuse me eupatorium, delay evergreen thorn, solace fern, flowering, magic fern, sincerity fever root, delay fig, argument fig marigold, idleness fig tree, prolific filbert, reconciliation fir, time fir, birch, elevation flax, i feel your kindness fleur-de-lis, i burn fleur-de-luce, fire fly orchis, error flytrap, deceit fools parsley, silliness forget-me-not, forget-me-not foxglove, insincerity foxtail, grass, sporting frog ophrys, disgust fumitory, spleen fuchsia, scarlet, taste furze, love for all seasons garden chervil, sincerity gardenia, refinement geranium, dark, melancholy geranium, horse-show leaf, stupidity geranium, ivy, bridal favour geranium, lemon, unexpected meeting geranium, nutmeg, expected meeting geranium, oak-leaved, true friendship geranium, variegated, ingenuity geranium, rose-scented, preference geranium, scarlet, comforting, kindness geranium, silver-leaved, recall geranium, wild, steadfast piety gladioli, ready armed glory flower, glorious beauty goat's rue, reason golden rod, encouragement goosefoot, goodness gooseberry, anticipation gourd, extent, bulk grape, wild, rural felicity grass, utility hand flower tree, warning harebell, submission hawkweed, quicksightedness hawthorn, hope hazel, reconciliation heart's-ease, thought heath, solitude helenium, tears heliotrope, i turn to thee hellebore, scandal hemlock, you will be my death hemp, fate henbane, imperfection hepatica, confidence hibiscus, delicate beauty holly, foresight holy herb, enchantment hollyhock, fecundity honesty, honesty honey flower, love, sweet honeysuckle, affection hop, injustice horehound, fire hornbeam, ornament horse, chestnut, luxury hortensia, you are cold houseleek, vivacity houstonia, content humble plant, despondency hyacinth, sport, game, play hyacinth, purple, adversity hyacinth, blue, constancy hydrangea, a boaster hyssop, cleanliness iceland moss, health ice plant, you freeze me imbricata, uprightness imperial montague, power indian cress, warlike trophy indian jasmine, attachment iris, common, message iris, german, flame ivy, marriage jacob's ladder, come down jasmine, white, amiability jasmine, cape, too happy jasmine, carolina, separation jasmine, spanish, sensuality jasmine, yellow, grace judas tree, betrayal juniper, succour justicia, perfection kennedia, mental beauty kingcups, desire of riches laburnum, pensive beauty lady's slipper, win me lagerstroemia, eloquence lantana, rigour larch, audacity larkspur, lightness, levity larkspur, double, happiness larkspur, pink, fickleness larkspur, purple, haughtiness laurel, glory laurel, common, perfidy laurel, ground, perseverance laurel, mountain, ambition lavender, distrust leaves, dead, sadness lemon, zest lemon blossom, fidelity lettuce, cold-heartedness lichen, dejection lilac, field, humility lilac, white, innocence lily, day, coquetry lily, imperial, majesty lily, white, purity lily, yellow, falsehood linden, conjugal love lint, i feel my obligations liverwort, confidence lobelia, malevolence locust, true, elegance london, pride, frivolity lote tree, concord lotus, eloquence lotus flower, estranged love lotus leaf, recantation love in a mist, perplexity love lies bleeding, desertion lucurn, life lupine, voraciousness madder, calumny magnolia, love of nature maiden hair, secrecy mallow, wildness mallow, marsh, beneficence marrow, syrian, persuasion manchineal tree, duplicity mandrake, rarity maple, reserve marianthus, hope for better marigold, grief, chagrin marigold, french, jealousy marigold and cyprus, despair marjoram, blushes marvel of peru, timidity meadow lychnis, wit meadowsweet, uselessness mercury, goodness mesembryanthemum, idleness mezereon, i desire to please mignonette, you are good milfoil, war milkwort, hermitage mint, virtue mistletoe, i surmount mock orange, counterfeit monkshood, deadly foe near moonwort, forgetfulness morning glory, affectation moschatel, weakness moss, maternal love mosses, ennui motherwort, concealed love moving plant, agitation mulberry, white, wisdom mushroom, i can't trust you musk plant, weakness myrobalan, privation myrrh, gladness myrtle, love narcissus, egotism nasturtium, patriotism nemophila, success nettle, stinging, you spiteful nettle burning slander nettle tree, conceit night convolvulus, night nightshade, dark thoughts oak (live), liberty oak leaves (dead) bravery oats, harmony oleander, beware olive, peace orange blossoms, purity orange flowers, chastity orange tree, generosity orchis, common, a beauty osier, frankness osmunda, dreams ox-eye, patience palm, victory pansy, i think of you parsley, festivity, feasting passion flower, superstition pea, common, respect pea, everlasting, a meeting peach, matchess charms peach blossom, your captive pear, affection pear tree, comfort pennyroyal, flee away peony, shame, bashfulness peppermint, warm feeling periwinkle, early friendship persicaria, restoration peruvian heliotrope, devotion petunia, keep your promise pheasant's eye, remembrance phlox, unanimity pigeon berry, indifference pimpernel, change pine, black, pity pine-apple, you are perfect pine, pitch, philosophy pink, boldness pink, indian, always lovely pink, indian, s. aversion pink, mountain, aspiring pink, red, single, pure love pink, variegated, refusal pink, white, ingeniousness pink, yellow, disdain plantain, what man's footstep plane tree, genius plum, indian, privation plum tree, fidelity plum, wild, independence polyanthus, pride of riches polyanthus, crimson, mystery pomegranate, foolishness pomegranate, flower, elegance poor robin, compensation poplar, black, courage poplar, white, time poppy, red, consolation poppy, scarlet, fantastic folly poppy, white, sleep--my bane potato, benevolence prickly pear, satire pride of china, dissension primrose, early youth primrose, evening, inconstance primrose, red, unpatronized privet, prohibition purple clover, provident pyrus japonica, fairies' fire quaking grass, agitation quamoclit, busybody queen's rocket, fashion quince, temptation ragged robin, wit ranunculus, are charming ranunculus, wild, ingratitude raspberry, remorse ray-grass, vice reed, complaisance reed, split, indiscretion rhododendron, danger rhubarb, advice rocket, rivalry rose, love rose, australian, all that is lovely rose, bridal, happy love rose, burgundy, unconscious beauty rose, cabbage, ambassador of love rose, campion, deserve my love rose, carolina, love is dangerous rose, china, beauty unfading rose, daily, i aspire to thy smile rose, damask, beautiful complexion rose, deep red, bashful modesty rose, dog, pleasure and pain rose, guelder, age rose, hundred-leaved, pride, dignity rose, japan, beauty only rose, maiden blush, show me love rose, multiflora, grace rose, moss, superior merit rose, mundi, variety, uncertain rose, musk, capricious beauty rose, musk, cluster, charming rose, thornless, happy union rose, unique, call me not beautiful rose, white, i am worthy of you rose, white, withered, infidelity rose, xmas, relieve my anxiety rose, yellow, jealousy rose, york and lancaster, war rose, white & red together, unity roses, crown of, reward of rosebud, red, pure & lovely rosebud, white, girlhood rosebud, moss, confession of love rosemary, you ever revive rudbeckia, justice rue, scorn, despite rush, docility rye-grass, changeable saffron, shun excess sage, domestic virtue sainfoin, agitation st. john's wort, animosity salvia, blue, wisdom salvia, red, energy saxifrage, mossy, affection scabious, unfortunate love scabious, sweet, widowhood scarlet lychnis, brilliant eye shinus, religious enthusiasm sensitive plant, sensitiveness senvy, indifference shamrock, light-heartedness snakesfoot, horror snapdragon, "no." snowball, bound snowdrop, hope sorrel, wild, wit ill-timed sorrel, wood, joy sothernwood, jest, bantering spearmint, warm, sentiment speedwell, female fidelity speedwell, spiked, semblance spider, ophrys, adroitness spiderwort, esteem, not love star of bethehem, guidance starwort, afterthought stock, lasting beauty stock, ten-week, promptness stonecrop, peace straw, broken, quarrel straw, whole, union strawberry blossom perfect strawberry tree, esteem, not love sultan, lilac, i forgive you sultan, white, sweetness sultan, yellow, contempt sumach, venice, intellectual sunflower, dwarf, adoration sunflower, tall, haughtiness swallow-wort, cure heartache sweet basil, good wishes sweetbrier, i wound, but love sweet flag, yellow, fitness sweet pea, delicate pleasures sweet sultan, felicity sweet william, gallantry sycamore, curiosity syringa, memory tamarisk, crime tansy, i war against you teasel, misanthropy thistle, common, austerity thistle, fuller's, misanthropy thistle, scotch, retaliation thorns, branch of, severity thrift, mutual sensibility throatwort, neglected beauty thyme, activity toothwort, secret love traveller's joy, safety tree of life, old age trefoil, revenge tremella nestoc, resistance trillium pictum, modest beauty truffle surprise trumpet, flower, fame tuberose, dangerous pleasure tulip, red, declaration of love tulip, tree, fame tulip, variegated, beautiful love tulip, yellow, hopeless love turnip, charity valerian, i wish to please valerian, greek, rupture venus's car, fly with me venus's looking glass, flattery venus's trap, artifice verbena, pink, family union verbena, purple, i weep for you verbena, scarlet, unite against evil verbena, sweet-scented, sensibility verbena, white, pray for me vernal grass, poor but happy veronica, fidelity veronica, speciosa, i dare not vetch, shyness vine, intoxication violet, blue, faithfulness violet, dame, watchfulness violet, purple, ever in my mind violet, white, modesty violet, yellow, rural happiness virginia creeper, i cling to you virgin's bower filial love viscaria oculata, dance with me volkamenia, may you be happy walnut, intellect wall-flower, fidelity water lily, purity of heart water melon, bulkiness wax plant, susceptibility wheat stalks, riches whin, anger whortleberry, treason willow, creeping, love forsaken willow, water, freedom willow, weeping, mourning willow herb, pretension woodbine, fraternal love wormwood, absence xanthium, pertinacity yew, sorrow flowers smell the sweetest and look the loveliest of all earthly things, and most men and woman throughout the world dearly love them, and hope to dwell beyond the grave where "everlasting spring abides, and never withering flowers". [page 147--kindness to animals] kindness to animals power of kindness to animals thousands of pathetic tales could be told of the sufferings of poor dumb animals and the sympathy of some kind human souls for them. the following one is from the secretary of a humane society:-the wife of a small country farmer wrote to me: "i can't bear sending the cattle to market. i always keep out of the way, for every animal on the place knows me, and they look at me so sadly, and, knowing what they're going to, i feel sometimes that i'd rather give the whole thing up, than go on rearing them to be knocked about and killed. "i went to the market once myself to see a young beast being sold, but i'll never go again. i had fed it with my own hands every day, till it was like a child. i went to the market-town by train, and the young bullock was driven by road. i walked a little way out to meet it, and at last met it coming tramping along, and the drover told me he had had the greatest difficulty to get it along the last few miles; it had become so tired. you see it had not had much exercise, as when you are fattening things, it does not do to let them run about too much, or they'll 'run all the meat off their bones' again, as the saying is. "when i went to smithfield, i was ready to faint as i saw the men shouting and swearing, and slashing away with thick sticks. the poor things were so confused and knocked about that they didn't know what to do, and i went up to the man who seemed to be in charge of the pens that our auctioneer was going to sell from, and asked him if he would be kind to my poor bullock when it came. he only cursed it an laughed a mocking laugh, and said, 'oh, yes, ---it, i'll be gentle with it. you wait, missis, and see! do you think i'm here to coddle any ---beasts? if you do, you're ---well mistaken.' "i couldn't bear to see what would happen. i couldn't stand it, so i went away, and then the men (dealers) simply stood and talked, and haggled with the farmers; and the drovers shouted and yelled, and hooted, and knocked the things about, and hit them on the nose and over the eyes, and poked and prodded them with sharp pointed sticks; and the dogs yapped and barked, and i never heard a single word of pity, or saw a sign of pity for the poor, tired, bruised, panting, and terrified creatures. "it was a terribly hot day, and i wandered about the town all the afternoon, able to think of little else than of my poor bullock, and of what had become of it, when, as i was going to the station to my train, i met three or four cattle coming driven along. suddenly one of them caught sight of me, and in spite of all the men could do came rushing up towards me. it was my poor bullock; but, oh, so terribly altered. i should hardly have known it. _"it seemed beside itself with joy to see me, and stood by me lowing so pitifully, as much as to say, 'oh, i'm so glad i've found you! i know i'm safe now, and you won't let these awful men carry me off again'._ "at last they managed to get it to move on by flogging it savagely, and, heart-sick and conscience-smitten, i went to the station; and when i got the money that it was sold for it seemed to me like 'the price of blood.' but what can i do? "i suppose the proper thing is to get hardened and to think nothing about it, like other people; but it is so dreadful that i can never go to market to see another of my poor beasts sold." kind miss cobbe miss frances power cobbe gave herself, heart and soul, to the defence of the animals, not because she loved them more than human beings but because she could not bear to see the men acting so wickedly towards them, nor to hear the groans of the helpless victims. in the account of her life, written by herself, she says: "it is not the four legs nor the silky or shaggy coat of a dog which should prevent us from discerning his inner nature of thought and love; limited thought, it is true, but an unlimited love. that he is dumb, is to me only another claim (as it would be in a human child) on my consideration... another dog, whom i sent away at one year old to live in the country, was returned to me eight years afterwards old and diseased. the poor beast knew me again after a few moments' eager examination, and uttered _an actual scream of joy_ when i called her by name, exhibiting every token of tender affection for me ever afterwards." in her books entitled "dogs whom i have met," she says: "the dog who really loves his master delights in mere propinquity, likes to lie down on the floor resting against his feet, better than on a cushion a yard away, and after a warm interchange of caresses for two or three minutes asks no more, and subsides into perfect contentment. that a short tender touch of the dog's tongue to hand or face corresponds exactly, as an expression of his feelings, to our kisses of affection, there can be no sort of doubt. all dogs kiss the people they love." tennyson, when on a visit to miss cobbe, bade her go bravely on as she had begun, and "fight the good fight," by which he meant the warfare against cruelty in which she was engaged. after his death it was sad to hear the wail of three dogs, a collie, a scotch terrier, and a russian wolf-hound, constant companions and friends of the poet. thousands of dogs have pined, and died of grief, for their loved masters. at a bull fight the following is a pathetic narrative entitled "el moro." a cadiz letter says: "notice had been posted on all the public places that on a certain day the bull called 'el moro' would be introduced into the arena, and that, when he should have been goaded to the utmost fury, a young girl would appear and reduce the animal to quiet subjection. the people of cadiz had heard of 'el moro' as the most magnificent bull ever brought into the city, and it soon became known that the girl just advertised was a peasant girl of espara, who had petted the bull, and fed it and cared for it during the years of it's growth. on the appointed day the vast amphitheatre was filled with an anxious, eager crowd. several bulls had been killed and dragged away, and then the flourish of trumpets announced the coming of the hero of the day. with a deep, terrific roar, 'el moro' entered upon the scene. he was truly magnificent; a bovine monarch, black and glossy, with eyes of fire, dilating nostrils, and wicked-looking horns. the picadores attacked him warily, hurling their banderillos (small, dart-like javelins ornamented with ribbons, and intended to jade and infuriate). the bull had killed three horses offhand, and had received eight banderillos in his neck and shoulders, when, upon a given signal, the picadores and matadores suddenly withdrew leaving the infuriated beast alone in his wild paroxysm of wrath. presently a soft musical note, like the piping of a lark, was heard, and directly afterwards a girl of not more than fifteen years of age, an the tasteful garb of an andalusian peasant, and with a pretty face, sprang lightly into the arena, approaching the bull fearlessly, at the same time calling his name--'moro! moro! va voy!' at the first sound of the sweet voice the animal ceased his fury, and turned towards the place whence it came, and, when he saw the girl, he plainly manifested pleasure. she came to his head, and put forth her hand, which he licked with his tongue. then she sang a low, sweet song, at the same time caressing the animal by patting him on the forehead, and, while she sang, the suffering monarch kneeled at her feet. then she stooped and gently removed the cruel banderillos, after which, with her arms around 'el moro's' neck, she led him towards the gate of the torril." [page 148--funny australian natives] funny australian natives [illustration: kangaroo.] kangaroo the kangaroo is the largest native animal in australia. he is about 5 feet high when he sits up, he has a head somewhat like a rabbit's, his hands or fore feet are small but his hind feet are large, and he has a very thick tail. he can kick and tear with his sharp hind claws in a very dangerous manner. he frequently kills dogs with his claws, but, when he is chased by dogs, if he is near water he makes for it and often drowns the dogs if they come into the water after him. he leaps or hops about 15 feet at a time and goes very fast. the mother carries her young in a pouch, as seen in the picture, and when the baby kangaroos are frightened they run at once into their mother's pouch for safety, like any other babies running to their mother. [illustration: native cat.] australian native cat it is a wild cat, generally brown or black with many large and small white spots on it. it lives on small animals, including birds and their eggs, and is a great pest to farmers, killing their poultry. [illustration: emu and chicks.] emu the emu lives upon vegetable food such as fruits, roots, and grass. it has a great curiosity and is easily tamed. it is very inoffensive except when violently attacked; then it kicks like a horse. it is said that its kick will break a man's leg. its flesh is eaten by the natives and is said to look and taste like beef. it can run very fast. it lays from 6 to 12 dark green coloured eggs and its young are pretty little striped things as in the above picture. it is, next to the ostrich, the largest bird in the world, being 5 or 6 feet high, its colour is a mixture of grey and brown, and its voice has a low booming sound. it is generally coupled with the kangaroo in the australian arms. [illustration: platypus.] platypus the platypus is sometimes called the water mole. it is, perhaps, the most wonderful animal in the world in its combination, being part bird, part beast, part fish. it has a bill like a duck; five toes with claws and webbed feet; it is covered with thick glossy fur like a seal; it has cheek pouches like a monkey to keep it's food in; it lays two eggs, its voice resembles that of a young puppy, and the young platypuses play like puppies; it lives in rivers and makes burrows often 20 or 30 feet long; it feeds upon water insects, shell fish, etc. [page 149--funny australian natives] funny australian natives [illustration: native bear.] native bear the australian native bear is a dear little harmless fellow, and is easily tamed. he lives in the gum trees, feeds upon gum leaves, and loves his mother who carries him on her back and is very fond of him. he has a thick fluffy coat, big bushy ears, and no tail. he cries like a child if he misses his mother. the cry very pathetically if they are wounded, which they frequently are in the bush, by cruel wicked boys and men who think it is sport to shoot at the poor harmless creatures. [illustration: bower bird.] bower bird the australian bower bird is an extensive builder; it not only builds its nest in a tree but it builds a palace on the ground in the shape of a bower hut, furnishes it with nick-nacks such as shells, bones, pieces of mineral, metals, bright parrots' feathers and other trifles. what the english magpie would steal and hide away the bower bird openly decorates his pavilion with. often several birds collect together and play like children, running in, out, and around their wonderful bower-palace as shown in our picture. lyre bird the australian lyre bird is a most beautiful creature, said to be a variety of the bird of paradise. it runs very quickly, and springs very high, and calls very loudly. it lays but one egg a year and, consequently, only has one baby per annum. it is a great mimic. mr. metcalfe in his "australian zoology", describing it, says: "it is a consummate mimic and ventriloquist. it imitates to perfection the notes of all other birds, the united voices of a flock of parrakeets, the barking of dogs, the sawing of timber and the clink of the woodman's axe. this it has earned for itself the title of the australian mocking bird." our seven funny australian natives the kangaroo says, whenever i jump, i always come down with a great big thump. the emu can give a nasty kick; which is worse than getting a hit with a brick. i'm but a funny wild, little, spotted native cat, with claws and tail like a squirrel and a nose like a rat. common people call me simply mr. platypus, learned people call me mr. or-ni-tho-rink-kus. i'm bit a little native bear, and am so happy and bright, i sleep and dream in a tree by day, and climb about at night. the clever bower bird builds his nest up a tree, and his beautiful palace down on the lea. here we see a pretty bird, of its voice you will never tire, but tho' it mocks the sounds it hears the bird is still a lyre. _(by a company of three particularly poor poets.)_ [illustration: tiny child astride a giant emu egg harnessed to two lyre birds.] [page 150--pussy land] cat stories puss in the well ding dong dell, pussy's in the well! who put her in?--little tommy lin. who pulled her out?--dog with long snout. what a naughty boy was that to drown poor pussy cat, who never did any harm but kill'd the mice in his father's barn. the singing cat a cat came fiddling out of a barn, with a pair of bagpipes under her arm; she could sing nothing but fiddle cum fee, the mouse has married the bumble-bee. pipe cat--dance, mouse, we'll have a wedding at our good house. puss in london pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been? i've been to london to visit the queen. pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there? i frighten'd a little mouse under the chair. pussy-cat and mousey pussy-cat lives in the servant's hall, she can set up her back and purr; the little mice live in a crack in the wall, but they hardly dare venture to stir; for whenever they think of taking the air, or filling their little maws, the pussy-cat says, "come out if you dare; i will catch you all with my claws." scramble, scramble, scramble, went all the little mice, for they smelt the cheshire cheese, the pussy-cat said, "it smells very nice, now do come out, if you please." "squeak," said the little mouse; "squeak, squeak, squeak," said all the little ones too; "we never creep out when cats are about, because we're afraid of you." so the cunning old cat lay down on a mat by the fire in the servants' hall: "if the little mice peep, they'll think i'm asleep;" so she rolled herself up like a ball. "squeak," said the little mouse, "we'll creep out and eat some cheshire cheese, that silly old cat is asleep on the mat, and we may sup at our ease." nibble, nibble, nibble went all the little mice, and they licked their little paws; then the cunning old cat sprang up from the mat, and caught them all with her claws. puss in the pantry hie, hie, says anthony, puss in the pantry gnawing, gnawing a mutton, mutton-bone; see now she tumbles it, see now she mumbles it, see how she tosses the mutton, mutton-bone, dick killed puss do look at the cat! why, what is she at? she's catching a rat that's hid in dick's hat. dick ran for a bat to knock him down flat, but, crossing the mat the foolish young brat tripped up and fell flat, he half killed the cat instead of the rat, hal cried out that that was just tit for tat. [illustration: monkey feeding puss a bottle of ink.] puss and the monkey says mr. monkey, giving a wink; "it would be exceedingly funny, i think, to catch the cat, and give her a drink, out of a great big bottle of ink." so, suiting the action to word, he caught up puss, but she demurred; and made such a noise you never heard, and said it 'twas worse than eating a bird. the puss she didn't like ink at all! she didn't like bottles great or small; ink to her was worse than gall, and so she did nothing but spit, mew, and squall. and that's all! sing sing sing, sing, what shall i sing? the cat has ate the pudding-string! do, do, what shall i do? the cat has bit it quite in two. good puss poor puss, dear, lovely pretty puss, content at home to stay; thy pleasure's shown in gambol tricks and loves to skip and play. grateful for every sup of milk, and for every bit of meat; gives lively proof of gratitude by singing while you eat. see, how she cleans her sleeky skin! a soil would prove a flow; she licks her neck, her sides and back, and don't forget her paw. mary's puss drowned mary had a little cat, with long snow-white hair. such a merry little cat, jumping everywhere. when mary went to take a walk, pussy ran to meet her, rubbed its head against her frock and said, 'purr, purr,' to greet her. once, when mary was at school, some cruel bad boys found it, and in a pond beside the road, oh, sad to tell, they drowned it! poor mary's face was wet with tears, when she found pussy lying:- i would not be a cruel boy, to set poor mary crying. my pussy i love little pussy, her coat is so warm; and if i don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm, so i'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, but pussy and i very gently will play. she'll sit by my side, and i'll give her some food; and pussy will love me, because i am good. oh! here is miss pussy, she's drinking her milk; her coat is as soft and as glossy as silk. she sips the milk up with her little lap-lap; then, wiping her whiskers, lies down for a nap. my kitty is gentle, she loves me right well; how funny her play is i'm sure i can't tell. now under the sofa, now under the table. she runs and plays bopeep as well as she's able. oh! dearly i love her! you never did see two happier playmates than kitty and me. [page 151--pussy land] dame trot dame trot once went to a neighbouring fair. and what do you think she bought herself there? a pussy! the prettiest ever was seen; no cat was so gentle, so clever and clean. each dear little paw was as black as a sloe, the rest of her fur was white as the snow, her eyes were bright green, and her sweet little face was pretty and meek, full of innocent grace. dame trot hurried home with this beautiful cat; went upstairs to take off her cloak and her hat; and when she came down she was astonished to see that pussy was busy preparing the tea. "oh, what a strange cat!" thought poor little dame trot, "she'll break my best china and upset the pot." but no harm befell them: the velvety paws were quite sure; the dame for alarm had no cause. next morning when little dame trot came downstairs, to attend as usual, to household affairs, she found that the kitchen was swept up as clean as if puss a regular servant had been. the tea stood to draw, and the toast was done brown; the dame very pleased to her breakfast sat down; while puss by her side on an armchair sat up, and lapped her warm milk from a nice china cup. now spot, the old house-dog, looked on in amaze, he'd never been used to such queer cattish ways, put puss mewed so sweetly, and moved with such grace, that spot at last liked her, and licked her white face. poor little dame trot had no money to spare, and only too often her cupboard was bare; then kind mrs pussy would catch a nice fish, and serve it for dinner upon a clean dish. the rats and the mice, who wished pussy to please, were now never seen at the butter and cheese; the dame daily found that their numbers grew thinner, for puss ate a mouse every day for her dinner. if puss had a weakness, i need but confess 'twas a girl of the period's fancy for dress, her greatest desire a high chignon and hat, and a very short dress _a la mode_ for a cat. so one day when dame trot had gone out to dine, puss dressed herself up, as she thought, very fine, and coaxed kind old spot, who looked at her with pride, to play pony for her, and give her a ride. now spot, who to welcome his mistress desired, and to "company manners" had never aspired, jumped up to fawn on her--and down came the cat, and crushed, in her tumble, her feather and hat. "oh, puss!" said dame trot, "what a very sad mess! you'd best have remained in your natural dress; the graces which nature so kindly bestows are more often hid than improved by fine clothes. mistress puss and doggy a little dog said, and he looked very wise, "i think, mistress pus, you make a great fuss with your back and your great green eyes and you, madam duck, you waddle and cluck, till it gives one the fidgets to hear you; you'd better run off to the old pig's trough, where none but the pigs, ma'am, are near you." the duck was good-natured, and she ran away; but old pussy-cat with her back up sat, and said she intended to stay; and she showed him her paws, with her sharp, long claws, so the dog was afraid to come near, for puss if she pleases, when a little dog teases can give him a box on the ear. don't hurt puss i like little pussy, her coat is so warm, and if i don't hurt her she'll do me no harm; so i'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, but pussy and i very gently will play. [illustration: cat with head stuck in broken milk jug.] head in the milk jug ho! master, mistress, mary, run, your tabby is in grief; this broken jug caught hold of me as though i were a thief. cat up the plum tree diddledy, diddledy, dumpty, the cat ran up the plum tree i lay you a crown i'll fetch her down; so diddledy, diddledy, dumpty. pussy-cat mole pussy cat mole jumped over a coal, and in her best petticoat burnt a great hole poor pussy is weeping, she'll have no more milk until her best petticoat's mended with silk. the three little kittens three little kittens they lost their mittens, and they began to cry, "oh! mammy dear, we sadly fear, our mittens we have lost." "what! lost your mittens, you naughty kittens, then you shall have no pie." miew, miew miew, miew. the three little kittens had need of mittens: the winter was now nigh. "oh! mammy dear, we fear, we fear, our mittens we shall need." "go, seek your mittens, you silly kittens; there's a tempest in the sky." miew, miew, miew, miew. the three little kittens, in seeking their mittens, upset the table high. "oh! mammy dear, we doubt and fear, the house is tumbling down," "you foolish kittens, go find your mittens, and do not make things fly." miew, miew, miew, miew. the three little kittens they found their mittens, and they began to cry, "oh! mammy dear, see here, see here, our mittens we have found." "what! found your mittens, you little kittens; then you shall have some pie." purr, purr, purr, purr. the three little kittens put on their mittens, and soon ate up the pie; "oh! mammy dear, we greatly fear, our mittens we have soiled." "what! soiled your mittens, you naughty kittens!" then they began to sigh. miew, miew, miew, miew. the three little kittens they washed their mittens, and hung them up to dry. "oh! mammy dear, look here, look here, our mittens we have washed," "what! washed your mittens, you darling kittens!- but i smell a rat close by! hush! hush!" miew, miew. the three little kittens put off their mittens, a hunting match to try. "oh! mammy dear, his hole is here: our mittens down we fling." both cat and kittens flung down their mittens; when--whisk!--the rat ran by. miew, miew, miew, miew. the dunce of a kitten come, pussy, will you learn to read? i've got a pretty book: nay, turn this way, you must indeed, fie, there's a sulky look! here's a pretty picture, see an apple with a great a; how stupid you will ever be if you do nought but play! come, a b c, an easy task, what anyone can do, i will do anything you ask, for dearly i love you. no, no, your lesson is not done, you have not learnt it half; you'll grow a downright simpleton, and make the people laugh. [page 152--pussy land] old daddy hubbard and his cat old daddy hubbard went to the cupboard, to get poor puss some meat; but when he got there, i do declare, there was nothing but two pig's feet. daddy went to the fish shop to get puss a sprat, and when he came back, she was watching a rat. daddy went to the carpenter's to get puss a house, and when he came back she was catching a mouse. daddy went to the miller's to get puss some meal, and when he came back she was skinning an eel. daddy went to a meadow to get milk from a cow, and when he came back, puss cried: "me-ow, me-ow." daddy went to the crockery shop to get puss a dish, and when he came back she had caught ma's goldfish. daddy went to the dairy to get puss some curd, and when he came back she'd ate ma's pet bird. daddy went to the brewer's to get puss some beer, and when he came back she's a flea in her ear. daddy went for some water, to give puss some souse, and when he came back puss was top of the house. daddy went to the ironmonger's to get puss a saw, and when he came back she had scalded her paw. daddy went to the photographer's to get puss some pictures, and when he came back, she had burnt off her whiskers. daddy went to the garden to get puss a snail, and when he came back she'd a bottle-brush tail. daddy went to the grocer's to get puss some tea, and when he came back she had run up a tree. daddy went to the draper's to buy puss some mittens, and when he came back she was licking her kittens. daddy went to the stable to get puss a donkey, and when he got back she was teaching the monkey. daddy went to the confectioner's to buy puss a lollie, and when he came back she was nursing the dolly. daddy went to get clothes to make puss a lady, and when he came back she was kissing the baby. daddy took cole's balloon and got puss a cloud, but puss when she saw it laughed right out loud. [illustration: laughing cat.] daddy went to the store to get puss a herring, and when he came back she kept loving and purring daddy went to the furrier's to get puss a muff, and when he came back she was taking some snuff. daddy went to the baker's to get puss a bun, and when he came back she was beating a drum. daddy went to the dressmaker's to buy puss a frock, and when he came back she was winding the clock. daddy went to the jeweller's to get puss a brooch, and when he came back she'd caught a cockroach. daddy went to cole's book arcade some cheap music to buy, and when he came back puss had made a mud pie. daddy went to cole's book arcade to buy puss some pens, and when he came back she was feeding some hens. daddy went to cole's book arcade to buy puss a slate, and when he came back she opened the gate. daddy went to cole's book arcade to buy puss some ink, and when he came back she gave him a wink. daddy went to cole's book arcade for an exercise book, and when he came back puss gave a wise look. daddy went to cole's book arcade to buy puss a purse, and when he came back she was singing a verse. daddy went to cole's book arcade and oh me! oh my! and when he came back puss had swallowed a fly. daddy went to cole's book arcade some paper to buy, and when he came back puss thought she would die. daddy went to the doctor's to get puss a pill, and when he came back she still looked very ill. daddy went to the auction sale to buy puss a bed, and when he came back puss shammed to be dead. this was a very wise, knowing puss; she could read and write, and liked books very, very much, and didn't want to die and be buried, and leave all the mice, and milk, and sausages, and nice books; so she made haste and got better, and when daddy went to the cemetery to dig her a grave, puss rushed off at once into cole's book arcade. and that is the present residence of miss puss. [page 153--pussy land] [illustration: cat pouncing on mouse.] the story of a little mouse: or, our happy family. once there was a little mouse, who came to live in our house; she came because she was terribly frighten'd to stay outside as it thunder'd and lighten'd. when she came in 'twas nearly dark, and ponto he began to bark; but she ran round at a rapid rate, then darted in behind the grate. ponto smelt, and sniff'd, and bark'd and scratch'd, but mousey was safe and couldn't be catch'd; so ponto, when tired laid down to sleep, and mousey quite quiet determined to keep. mousey stayed there a month, as she thought it was better, and ponto could smell her, but never could get her, but every morning when ponto went out, miss mousey crept forth, and for crumbs looked about. now one day as ponto came into the house, thinks he, i'll be kind to that poor little mouse; "so come out miss mousey," our ponto he said, "and if anyone hurts you i'll bite off his head." so the poor little mouse came out of the grate, and ate with our ponto out of his plate, and always when ponto laid down on the mat, beside him miss mousey in her little chair sat. but one rainy night as miss mousey sat still, a thing called a bat, came over the hill; but ponto says to him, "you are not wanted here," and sent the bat off with a flea in his ear. the very same night as they lay on the mat, what should come rushing in but a great big rat; up jumped mr. ponto and gave a loud bark, and that rat scampered off out into the dark. they had just got rid of the bat and the rat, and what should come in but a great tom cat; came jumping, springing, and bounding along, and frightened miss mousey more than a gong. he raced after mousey, around, in and out, through the house and the yard, and all round about; to the east, to the west, to the north, to the south, and at last caught her up in his great big mouth. he squeezed her back hard and frighten'd her so, she scarcely could say, "o, please let me go!" but tom spoke and said, "mouse is very good meat, and as i feel hungry, why, it's you i shall eat." tom let her go once, but caught her afresh, although mousey made a most desperate dash; and again mousey pleaded, "oh, please let me go"; but tom only answered, "decidedly no!" but as luck should now have it, our ponto came in, and asked mr. puss, "what's this horrible din?" says puss to our ponto, "i've caught this sly thief, and now i intend to bring her to grief." says ponto to puss, "the mouse is my friend, and if you would hurt her, why i must defend that nice little, kind little, good little mouse, as long as she ever remains in this house." says pussy to ponto, "i pray you don't fret; i'll love and i'll cherish your poor little pet; she shall sleep on the mat, and we'll find her in food, because she is nice and because she is good." so the nice little mouse, the dog and the cat, all three ate together, and slept on the mat; they sung, danc'd and romp'd with joy and merry laughter, and as the old take says, "lived happy ever after." [page 154--pussy land] [illustration: startled cat.] history of mr. tom puss and the rats mrs. puss stayed at home, minded and played with young master john puss, miss mary puss, and baby puss, while mr. puss went out to get them something to eat. he went into a barn, tied a piece of cheese to the tip of his tail, and put it through a hole in a door, thinking that he would catch a rat that way. some very knowing rats on the other side of the door got a piece of string, tied it to his tail, pulled all together, and made mr. puss me-ow very loud, and he found that instead of his catching a rat, the rats had caught him. mrs. puss, finding that mr. puss did not come home, put little john puss and mary puss to bed without any supper, and then sang little deaf baby puss off to sleep by means of the ear trumpet. the rats ate their supper off mr. puss's tail, and then let him go. you see what a fine long tail he had when he put it through the hole to catch rats in that foolish manner; and look at his short tail now, in the corner of the page. wasn't he a foolish puss!!! [illustration: kitten using ear-trumpet to listen to adult cat.] [illustration: rare fun. mice have trapped cat's tail.] [illustration: kittens dancing to violin played by cat.] [page 155--more pussy land] puss in boots once upon a time there was a miller who had three sons. when he was dying he left each of them a legacy. to his eldest son he left his mill; to his second his ass; and to his youngest his cat. the poor boy was very sad when he found that he had nothing belonging to him but a cat; but, to his great surprise, puss jumped on the table and said in a friendly manner: "do not be sad, my dear master, only buy me a pair of boots and a bag and i'll provide for you and myself." so the miller's son, who had a shilling or two in his pocket, bought a smart little pair of boots and a bag, and gave them to puss, who put some bran and sow-thistles into his bag, opened the mouth of it, and lay down in a rabbit warren. a foolish young rabbit jumped into it; puss drew the string and soon killed it. he went immediately to the palace with it. he found the king and queen sitting on the throne, and, bowing low, he laid the rabbit at the king's feet, saying: "please, your majesty, my master, the marquis de carabas, has sent you a rabbit from his warren, as a mark of respect." "i am much obliged to the marquis," said the king, and he ordered the rabbit to be taken to the cook, and a piece of money to be given to the cat. during two or three months the cat continued to carry game every now and then to the king, which was supposed to be the produce of his master's sport. one day when he happened to hear the king was going to take a drive on the banks of the river, in company with his daughter, who was the most beautiful princess in the world, puss desired the master to go and bathe in the river at the spot that he should point out, and leave the rest to him. the marquis of carabas did as his cat advised him. just as he was bathing the king came past, when the cat bawled out as loud as he could--"help! help! or the marquis of carabas will be drowned!" on hearing this, the king looked out of the carriage window, and recognising the cat, ordered his bodyguards to fly to the assistance of my lord marquis of carabas. as the poor marquis was being fished out of the river, the cat informed his majesty that, while his master was bathing, some robbers had stolen his clothes. the king immediately ordered the gentlemen of his wardrobe to fetch one of his most sumptuous dresses. no sooner had this been done and the marquis suitably attired, then he looked to such advantage that the king took him to be a very fine gentleman; while the princess was so struck with his appearance, that at once she became head and ears in love with him. the king insisted that the marquis should get into the carriage. the cat, highly delighted at the turn thinks were taking, now ran on before, and having reached a meadow where there were some peasants, he thus accosted them; "i say, good folks, if you do not tell the king that this field belongs to the marquis of carabas, you shall all be chopped as fine as mince-meat." the king did not fail to inquire of the peasants to whom the meadow belonged? "to the marquis of carabas, please your majesty," said they in a breath. and the cat kept running on before the carriage, and repeating the same instructions to all the labourers he met with, so that the king was astonished at the vast possessions of the marquis of carabas. at length the cat reached a magnificent castle belonging to a giant who was immensely rich. the cat having inquired what sort of person the giant might be, and what he was able to do, sent in a message to request leave to speak with him. the giant received him civilly. "i have been told," said the cat, "that you have the power of transforming yourself into all sorts of animals." "so i have," replied the giant, "and to prove the truth of what i say you shall see me become a lion." when the cat beheld a lion standing before him, and saw the monster quietly light his pipe, he was seized with such a panic that he clambered up to the roof. after a time, the cat perceiving that the giant had returned to his natural shape, came down again. "and do you possess the power of assuming the shape of the smallest animals likewise?" "you shall see;" and the giant immediately assumed the shape of a mouse, when the cat pounced upon him and ate him up. by this time the king had reached the gates of the giant's magnificent castle, and expressed a wish to enter so splendid a building. the cat ran out to meet the king, saying--"your majesty is welcome to the marquis of carabas's castle." the king was so delighted with the marquis of carabas, that he accepted him as a son-in-law, and that very same day he was married to the princess. the cat became a great lord, and ever after hunted mice only for his own amusement. [illustration: two cats, a scale and a monkey.] monkey and the cats two hungry cats having stolen some cheese, could not agree between themselves how to divide their booty; therefore they went to the law, and a cunning monkey was to decide their case. "let us see," said the judge (with as arch a look as could be); "ay, ay, this slice truly outweighs the other;" and with this he bit off a large piece, on order, as he told them, to make a fair balance. the other scale had now become too heavy, which gave this upright judge a pretence to make free with a second mouthful. "hold, hold!" cried the two cats; give each of us our share of what is left and we will be content. "if you are content," said the monkey, "justice is not; the law, my friends, must have it's course." upon this he nibbled first one piece and then the other, till the poor cats, seeing their cheese in a fair way to be all eaten up, most humbly begged him not to put himself to any further trouble, to give them what still remained. "ha! ha! ha! not so fast, i beseech you, good ladies," said the monkey; "we owe justice to ourselves as well as to you: and what remains is due to me as the lawyer." upon this he crammed the whole into his mouth at once, and very gravely broke up the court. this fable teaches us that it is better to put up with a trifling loss, than to run the risk of losing all we have by going to the law. dick whittington and his cat there was once a lord mayor of london, whose name was sir richard whittington. he rose to that office from being a poor orphan, living in a distant village. dick was a sharp boy, and was always picking up knowledge from some of the villagers. dick heard of the great city of london; he often heard it said that the streets were paved all over with gold. one day seeing a waggon and team of horses on the road to london; he took courage and asked the waggoner to let him walk by his side. having gained permission, they set off together. when dick got to london, he was very eager to see the fine streets paved all over with gold, but the poor boy saw nothing but dirt instead of gold, so he crouched down at the door of one mr. fitzwarren, a great merchant. here he was soon found by an ill-tempered cook, who ordered him to go about his business. but just at this moment mr. fitzwarren himself came home, and finding that the poor boy was willing to work, he took him into his house, and said that he should be kept to do what dirty work he was able for the cook. the cook was always scolding him from morning till night, and was very cruel to him. poor dick had another hardship. his bed was places in a garret where there were great numbers of rats and mice, which ran over his face, and made a great noise. dick at last bought a cat which was famous for being an excellent mouser. soon after this, the merchant, who had a ship ready to sail, asked his servants if they would send any goods abroad. all the servants mentioned something they were willing to venture but poor whittington, who said he had nothing but a cat which was his companion. "fetch thy cat, boy," said mr. fitzwarren, "and let her go." dick hesitated for some time; at last he brought poor puss, and delivered her to the captain with tears in his eyes. the cook continued to be so cruel to him that the unhappy fellow determined to leave his place. he accordingly packed up his few things, and travelled as far as holloway, and there sat down on a stone. while he was there musing, bow-bells began to ring; and it seemed to him that their sound said: _"turn again, whittington,_ _lord mayor of london."_ so back went dick, and got into the house before the cook came down stairs. the ship with dick's cat on board happened to be driven by contrary winds on a part of the coast of barbary, inhabited by moors, who showed great eagerness to purchase the things with which the ship was laden. the captain seeing this, took patterns of the choicest articles he had to the king of the moors. while he was showing them to him, dinner was brought in, and at once lots of rats and mice came in and ate up all the dainties. the captain was astonished when the king told him that this often happened. the captain rushed off at once to the ship, and brought puss to the palace. the second dinner had been brought in, and, as usual, in came the rats and mice; pussy at the sight of them sprang out of the captain's arms and killed lots of them, and the rest ran off to their holes. the king was greatly pleased with the wonderful puss, and gave two sackfuls of gold for the cat, and the captain at once sailed for london. when mr. fitzwarren heard the news, he ordered dick whittington to be called, and showed him all the riches which the captain had brought in exchange for his cat. dick was now a rich man, and soon after married the merchant's daughter, at the very church whose bells seemed to call him back to london. he grew richer and richer, became sheriff, and at length lord mayor of london. [page 156--more pussy land] [illustration: our kate washing our kitties.] [illustration: burying our poor dead bird, pussy looking very suspicious.] [illustration: our pussies driving their rabbit sleigh.] [illustration: our very lazy pussy.] [illustration: our careless pussy caught in a trap by the mice.] [page 157--more pussy land] [illustration: our toby giving our tabby a ride.] [illustration: weighing our pussy against our doggy.] the white kitten my little white kitten's asleep on my knee; as white as snow or the lily is she; she wakes up with a purr when i stroke her soft fur; was there ever another white kitten like her? my little white kitten now wants to go out and frolic, with no one to watch her about: "little kitten," i say, "just an hour you may stay; and be careful in choosing your places to play." but night has come down, and i hear a loud "mew"; i open the door, and my kitten comes through; my white kitten! ah me! oh! can it be she- this sad looking beggar-like cat that i see? what ugly grey marks on her side and her back! her nose, once as pink as a rosebud, is black! oh! i very well know, though she does not say so, she has been where white kittens ought never to go. if little good children would wish to do right, if little white kittens would keep themselves white, it is needful that they in their houses should stay, or be careful in choosing their places to play. kitty pretty little kitty sat upon a stile, sang a little ditty to herself for a while, watching how the sparrows- seeking grain to eat- dart about like arrows in among the wheat. pretty little kitty liked the birds to see! though it was a pity they were wild and free. so she stopped her singing- left the stile forlorn; and went gaily springing in among the corn. pretty little kitty fond of country things, cares not for the city where no birdie sings. [illustration: our jacko, our jessie, our jemmy.] [illustration: our pussies riding horseback.] [page 158--more pussy land] [illustration: our naughty kitten caught stealing jam.] naughty pussy "oh, for shame, baby cat, mother's pet her cupboard at. "with a spoon eating jam quite ashamed of you i am. "if she comes and catches you you'll be punished rightly too. "she will send you straight to bed, with for supper plain dry bread." [illustration: our naughty kitten caught in trying to catch the goldfish.] little pussy i love little pussy, her coat is so warm; and if i don't tease her, she'll do me no harm. i'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, but pussy and i very gently will play. she'll be gentle with me, if i'm gentle with her, and if i speak kindly, i know she will purr. she shall sit by my side, and i'll give her some food and pussy will love me because i am good. it's true, if i tease her, her claws she will show; but pussy knows well that i never do so. puss and the crab "i wonder," says puss, "if a thing like that would presume to bite a respectable cat? 'tis the queerest thing that ever i saw; i'll hit it a slap with my strong forepaw. no! no! on the whole i had better not; but what curious claws the creature has got! i'll just step up and quietly ask it how it got out of that market-basket. i'll play with the animal, just to see if it wants to do any harm to me. no! i thank i had better get out of its way, and i surely am safer not even to play. for i'll get into trouble, and horribly wail, if that thing with the claws takes a grip on my tail." rev. a. taylor little pussies three little pussies, all in a row, ranged on the table, two down below. five little pussies dressed all in silk, waiting for sugar, waiting for milk. dear little pussies, if you would thrive, breakfast at nine o'clock, take tea at five. [illustration: our loving doggy and pussy.] [illustration: our smartly-dressed friends.] [page 159--more pussy land] puss in the corner you are a naughty pussy-cat; i think it right to mention that for all who see your picture here- 'twas you who broke my bunny dear. an hour ago, as you can tell, i left him here, alive and well; and now he's dead, and, what is more you've broke his leg, i'm pretty sure. for you, my puss, i'll never care, no--never, never, never--there! and you are in disgrace, you know, and in the corner you must go. what, crying? then i must cry too, and i can't bear to punish you; perhaps you've only stunned his head. and though i'm sure you broke his leg, it may be mended with a peg; and though he's very, very funny, my bunny's not a real bunny; and i'll forgive and tell you that you are my precious pussy-cat. robert mack tabby tabby was a kitten, tabby was a thief. tabby tried to steal the cream, and so she came to grief. jumping on the table (nobody was nigh), on the pretty cream-jug tabby cast her eye: wondered what was in it; thought she'd like to see; crept a little nearer, slyly as could be. cream was very low down; jug was very high; "must have some," said tabby. "even if i die!" then into the cream-jug popped her naughty nose; just what happened after, only tabby knows. this is how we found her, naughty little cat! did she get a whipping, think you, after that? tabby was a kitten, tabby was a thief, tabby tried to steal the cream, and so she came to grief. old puss don't hurt the poor old cat, there can be no fun in that; and it would be cruel too- she never tried to injure you. she, for years, has kept the house free from thievish rat and mouse; puss has always faithful been, and has kept herself so clean. true, she now is getting old, though she once was strong and bold; at her prey she cannot leap, and, if caught, can scarcely keep. poor old puss! 'twould be a shame thee for uselessness to blame; when though canst not active be- useless through infirmity. in the park i'm a rich little kitten: i live at my ease, i keep my own carriage, i go where i please; my turn-out is stylish, i nothing neglect, and often i notice that all recollect that a rich little kitten deserves much respect. [illustration: our kitten in her perambulator.] [illustration: our puss and her dog carriage.] [illustration: our puss and her chicken coach.] [page 160--more pussy land] [illustration: cats playing piano, violin, and singing.] the dead kitten don't talk to me of parties, nan; i really cannot go; when folks are in affliction they don't go out, you know. i have a new brown sash, too; it seems a pity--eh? that such a dreadful trial should have come just yesterday! the play-house blinds are all pulled down as dark as it can be; it looks so very solemn and so proper, don't you see? and i have a piece of crape pinned on my dolly's hat, tom says it is ridiculous for only just a cat. but boys are all so horrid! they always, every one, delight in teasing little girls and kitties, "just for fun." the way he used to pull her tail- it makes me angry now- and scat her up the cherry tree, to make the darling "meow!" i've had her all the summer. one day, away last spring, i heard a frightful barking, and i saw the little thing in the corner of a fence; 't would have made you laugh outright to see how every hair stood out, and how she tried to fight. i shooed the dog away, and she jumped upon my arm; the pretty creature knew i wouldn't do her any harm; i hugged her close, and carried her to mamma, and she said she should be my own wee kitty, if i'd see that she was fed. a cunning little dot she was, with silky, soft, grey fur; she'd lie for hours on my lap, and i could hear her purr; and then she'd frolic after when i pulled a string about, or try to catch her tail, or roll a marble in and out. such comfort she has been to me i'm sure no one could tell, unless some other little girl who loves her pussy well. i've heard about a maltese cross; but my dear little kit was always sweet and amiable, and never cross a bit! but oh, last week i missed her! i hunted all around; my darling little pussy-cat was nowhere to be found. i knelt and whispered softly, when nobody could see: "take care of little kitty, please, and bring her back to me." i found her lying yesterday behind the lower shed; i thought my heart was broken when i found that she was dead. tom promised me another one; but even he can see no other kitty ever will be just the same to me. i can't go to your party, nannie, maccaroons, you say? and ice-cream? i know i ought to try and not give way; and i feel it would be doing wrong to disappoint you so. well, if i'm equal to it by to-morrow, i may go! sydney dayre the monkey and the nuts a monkey, being fond of nuts, thought he would have some roasted; but how was he to get them done, not liking to be toasted? a poor young cat was passing by, and innocently watches; the wicked monkey saw her stop, and at his victim snatches. "dear pussy, you are just the one that i've been looking out for; how beautiful you look to-day, but tell me what you pout for! upon my word i long have had for you a fond affection; now you shall stay and dine with me, or take some slight refection." "twas no use for poor puss to speak, or offer to deny him, the monkey had her in his grasp, and she could not deny him. so he began to laugh and chat, and show a few grimaces; oh! if you had but seen, like me, the contrast of their faces. he put some nuts into her paw, and he the fire approaches, as if a salamander she. or made of young cockroaches. the poor cat now began to squall, her face the fire attacking; and sadly too, her paw was burnt, the while the nuts were cracking. the monkey having feasted well began to snarl and grumble, that he should be so taken in with nuts he scarce could mumble. "dear me," he said, "how they are burnt," and at poor pussy looking, "i cannot think how i could bear such miserable cooking. and what a fuss you make about a little bit of warning; i've often done the thing myself- there's nothing so alarming. now take this for yourself," he said, "and next time be less squalling:" then gave the cat a hearty cuff, which sent the poor thing sprawling. "now let me give you this advice, for i am one of letters: leave off your rude, obstreperous way, when you are with your betters. and think yourself well off," he said, "that i had mercy on you; for many would have sent you home without a dress upon you." mrs. w. taylor [illustration: three cats.] [page 161--more pussy land] my own puss i wish you could just see my cat: she's a darling, there's no doubt of that: so soft, and so sleek, and so fat. her eyes are a beautiful green, the brightest that ever were seen: of cats she is truly the queen. she loves to lie stretched in the sun but as soon as my lessons are done, she is ready for frolic and fun. my kitty has two sets of claws, tucked away in those velvety paws: she can use them, too, when there is cause. i cannot thin what i should do, if, my pussy, i ever lost you: we're so happy together, we two! i call her my bundle of fur: hark! now she's beginning to purr: kit loves me, and oh, i love her! the frolicsome kitten dear kitten, do lie still, i say, how much i want you to be quiet, instead of scampering away, and always making such a riot. there, only see! you've torn my frock, and poor mamma must put a patch in; i'll give you a right earnest knock, to cure you of this trick of scratching. nay, do not scold your little cat, she does not know what 'tis you're saying; and every time you give a pat, she thinks you mean it all for playing. but if your pussy understood the lesson that you want to teach her, and did not choose to be so good, she'd be, indeed, a naughty creature. putting kitty to bed kitty, kitty, go to sleep, shut your eyes, and don't you peep. sing with me your little song, we will not make it very long. hurry kitty for to see mamma soon will come for me, and i must see you safe in bed all covered up except your head. and while i rock you in my chair, you must purr your little prayer, altho' you say it soft an low, 'twill all be just the same you know. mamma makes me bend my knee, but kitty dear, you can't, you see, for you're too little yet to try- see! i'm so big, and tall, and high. and then you can't say any words, no more than chicks, or little birds. but i've heard the bible tell that even birds are cared for well. m. e. s. [illustration: our puss and her shoe coach.] [illustration: our doggy and pussy growling at each other.] [illustration: our pussies' party.] [page 162--doggy land] old mother hubbard and her dog old mother hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone; but when she got there the cupboard was bare, and so the poor dog had none. she went to the baker's to buy him some bread, and when she came back the poor dog looked dead. she went to the joiner's to buy him a coffin, but when she came back the poor dog was laughing. she took a clean dish to get him some tripe, but when she came back he was smoking a pipe. she went to the ale-house to get him some beer, but when she came back the dog sat on a chair. she went to the hatter's to buy him a hat, but when she came back he was feeding the cat. she went to the barber's to buy him a wig, but when she came back he was dancing a jig. she went to the fruiterer's to buy him some fruit, but when she came back he was playing the flute. she went to the tailor's, to buy him a coat, but when she came back he was riding a goat. she went to the seamstress to buy him some linen, but when she came back the dog was a-spinning. she went to the hosier's to buy him some hose, but when she came back he was dressed in his clothes. she went to the cobbler's to buy him some shoes, but when she came back he was reading the news. she went to the hotel to get him some ale, but when she came back, he was wagging his tail. [illustration: dog standing on head.] she went to the tavern for white wine and red, but when she came back the dog stood on his head. the dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow; the dame said "your servant," the dog said "bow-wow." this wonderful dog was dame hubbard's delight; he could sing, he could dance, he could read, he could write. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him a book, and when she came back he at once took a look. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book two, and when she came back he was tying his shoe. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book three, and when she came back he getting his tea. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book four, and when she came back he sat at the door. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book five, and when she came back he was out for a drive. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book six and when she came back he was picking up sticks. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book seven, and when she came back he was brewing some leaven. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book eight, and when she came back he was baking a cake. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book nine, and when she came back he said it was fine. she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book ten, and when she came back he took it an then she went to cole's book arcade to buy him book eleven, and when she came back he had gone up to heaven. to parents and schoolmasters i have been blamed for printing and distributing "mother hubbard." my answer is:--"old mother hubbard" has done more towards the education of young children than perhaps any piece of reading in existence. amongst the hundreds of millions of english speaking people in all parts of the earth, there are very few but can repeat a part or the whole of "mother hubbard," and i have seen it somewhat asserted that it is to be found in almost every home in the civilised world. its rude style of poetry tells nothing against it. the child knows nothing of correct metre: as long as there is a jingling rhyme it is satisfied. the dog is the domestic animal in millions of families, and in numberless cases is actually a more loved companion then brothers and sisters. a simple rhyme, therefore, about this attached, playful, and constant companion is sure to fascinate the young, and it has fascinated more than a thousand millions of the little dears. i firmly believe that it would produce grand results if a pretty illustrated edition of the principal nursery rhymes were made a text-book in infant schools. you may try, and try, and try again, to drive an ordinary dry school-book lesson into the infant mind, and make very little progress--it is up-hill work. but take an illustrated edition of a nursery rhyme, say the "death of cock robin," or "mother hubbard," and call the little one to you, begin to teach it--how eagerly, how intently does it begin to learn now! what animation in its little eyes! what music in its little, joyous, interested voice! it learns this lesson ten times as fast as the other one, and gives you ten times the pleasure in teaching it, and this kind of teaching gradually and insensibly leads the child into a love of learning: it interests and sets the young inquiring mind at work. we all know how much easier it is to do a work we are interested in than a work we are not. it is just so with the child, and for that reason i would commence to teach the infant mind with that which pleased it best, and so gradually create a love for reading. for years i have allowed numbers of little children, of their own accord, to stand and read nursery rhymes to themselves, and to teach other youths to read interesting and instructive fiction, gratis, in the book arcade; and i hold that, by its enticingly creating a love for reading, which will lead to something higher, time is one of the best and most effective schools in the country. --e. w. cole [page 163--doggy land] tom tinker's dog bow, wow, wow, whose dog art tho? i'm tom tinker's dog, and i'll bite you. puppy there was an old man of leghorn, the smallest as ever was born; but quickly snapt up he was once by a puppy, who devoured that old man of leghorn. doggy the cat sat asleep by the side of the fire, the mistress snored loud as a pig; jack took up his fiddle by doggy's desire, and struck up a bit of a jig. hark, the dogs bark hark, hark, the dogs do bark, beggars are coming to town; some in jags, some in rags, and some in velvet gown. poor dog bright poor dog bright ran off with all his might, because the cat was after him: poor dog bright. dog blue bell i had a little dog, and his name was blue bell, i gave him some work, and he did it very well; i sent him up stairs to pick up a pin, he stepped into the coal-scuttle up to the chin; i sent him to the garden to pick some sage, he tumbled down and fell in a rage; i sent him to the cellar to draw a pot of beer, he came up again and said there was none there. little dog buff i had a little dog, and they called him buff, i sent him to the shop for a hap'orth of snuff; but he lost the bag and spilled the snuff. so take that cuff, and that's enough. dog burnt his tail ding, dong, darrow, the cat and the sparrow; the little dog has burnt his tail, and he shall be hang'd to-morrow. thievish dog fan thievish dog fan, to yell aloud began, she burnt her mouth through stealing tripe: thievish dog fan. the quarrelsome dogs old tray and rough growler are having a fight, so let us get out of their way; they snarl, and they growl, and they bite, oh dear, what a terrible fray! good little dog i will not hurt my little dog, but stroke and pat his head; i like to see him wag his tail, i like to see him fed. poor little thing, how very good, and very useful too. for don't you know that he will mind what he is bid to do? then i will never hurt my dog, nor ever give him pain; but treat him kindly every day, and he'll love me again. [illustration: puss on rover's back.] puss and rover our pussy she is white, our rover he is black, and yet he licks pussy's face while she stands on his back. our pussy she is little, our rover he is big, and yet he likes the pussy much better than the pig. our pussy she is young, and rover he is old, and yet he likes the pussy more than tons of gold. our pussy she is good, and so is rover too, so pussy says, "ta, ta." "good-bye," and rover says "adieu." don't tease dogs foolish edward runs away, from the large dog with the bone; if we do not tease or chide, dogs will leave us quite alone. no breakfast for growler no, naughty growler, get away, you shall not have a bit; now when i speak, how dare you stay? i can't spare any, sir, i say, and so you need not sit. poor growler! do not make him go, but recollect, before, that he has never served you so, for you have given him many a blow, that patiently he bore. poor growler! if he could but speak, he'd tell (as well as he might) how he would bear with many a freak, and wag his tail, and look so meek, and neither bark nor bite. upon his back he lets you ride, all round and round the yard; and now, while sitting by your side, to have a bit of bread denied, is really very hard. and all your little tricks he'll bear, and never seem to mind; and yet you say you cannot spare one bit of breakfast for his share, although he is so kind. good dog tray good dog tray watched tommy t'other day, in the garden fast asleep: good dog tray. poor old tray see, here is poor old tray; good dog to run so fast, to meet my sister may and me, now school is o'er at last. oh! how i love you, tray, you are so kind to me; you run beside me in my walks, you sit by me at tea. 'tis true that i give you bits of cake and bread and meat; but i'm sure you'd love as well if you had nought to eat. for faithful, true, and kind is our old darling tray; he guards our dwelling all the night, and plays with us by day. doggy minds the house "come hither, little puppy dog, i'll give you a nice new collar, if you will learn to read your book and be a clever scholar." "no, no!" replied the puppy dog, "i've other fish to fry, "for i must learn to guard your house, and bark when thieves come nigh." [page 164--goat land] [illustration: goat writing on pad of paper.] o'grady's goat o'grady lived in shanty row, the neighbours often said they wished that tim would move away or that his goat was dead. he kept the neighbourhood in fear, and the children always vexed; they couldn't tell jist whin or where the goat would pop up nexht. ould missis casey stood wan day the dirty clothes to rub upon the washboard, when she dived head foremost o'er the tub; she lit upon her back an' yelled, as she was lying flat: "go git your goon an' kill the bashte." o'grady's goat did that. pat doolan's woife hung out the wash, upon the line to dry. she wint to take it in at night, but stopped to have a cry. the sleeves av two red flannel shirts, tat once was worn by pat, were chewed off almost to the neck. o'grady's goat doon that. they had a party at mccune's, and they were having foon, whin suddinly there was a crash an' ivrybody roon. the iseter soup fell on the floor an' nearly drowned the cat; the stove was knocked to smithereens. o'grady's goat doon that. o'hoolerhan brought home a keg ave dannymite wan day to blow a cistern in his yard an' hid the stuff away. but suddinly an airthquake coom, o'hoolerhan, house an' hat, and ivrything in sight wint up, o'grady's goat doon that. will s. hays [illustration: goat attacking a swing.] the goat and the swing a little story with a moral for the young folks who are prone to quarrel. old folks are wise, and do not need it, of course they, therefore, will not read it. a vicious goat, one day, had found his way into forbidden ground when coming to the garden-swing, he spied a most prodigious thing,- a ram, a monster, to his mind, with head before and head behind! its shape was odd--no hoofs were seen, but, without legs, it stood between two uprights, lofty posts of oak, with forehead ready for a stroke. though but a harmless ornament carved of the seat, it seemed intent on barring the intruder's way; while he, advancing, seemed to say, "who is this surly fellow here, two heads, no tail--it's mighty queer! a most insulting countenance!" with stamp of foot and angry glance he curbed he threatening neck and stood before the passive thing of wood. "you winked as i was going by! you did not? what! tell me i lie? take that!" and at the swing he sprung. a sounding thump! it backward swung, and set in motion by the blow, swayed menacingly to and fro. "ha! you will fight! a quarrelsome chap, i knew you were! you'll get a rap! i'll crack your skull!" a headlong jump; another and a louder bump! the swing, as with kindling wrath, came rushing back along the path. the goat, astonished, shook his head, winked hard, turned round, grew mad, and said, "villain! i'll teach you who i am!" (or seemed to say,)--"you rascal ram, to pick a fight with me, when i so quietly am passing by! your head or mine!" a thundering stroke- the cracking horns met crashing oak! then came a dull and muffled sound, and something rolled along the ground, got up, looked sad--appeared to say, "your head's too hard!"--and limped away quite humbly, in a rumpled coat- a dustier and a wiser goat! j. t. throwbridge [illustration: swing returning the blow.] [page 165--monkey land] [illustration: meddlesome jacko.] the adventures of meddlesome "jacko" these pictures we hope will our little folks please, and also to each one this moral convey: "be contented and happy, whatever your lot, and don't try, as some do, to have your own way." master jacko, you see, had a very snug home, with plenty to eat that was wholesome and good; but still he did not, we are sorry to say, behave in a way that a pet monkey should. for one day he said, "come, i don't like at all the life that i lead, and i cannot see why i should not live just as my own master does; this chain is not strong, can i break it? i'll try." after some little time jacko snapped it in two; said he to himself, "well, now where shall i go? to the larder, i think; for my appetite's good, and i'm sure to find something to eat there, i know." he entered, and as he was looking about a lobster just brought from the shop seized his tail, and pinched him, and nipped him, until our young friend jumped about, and set up a most piteous wail. next he went to the kitchen, and there he espied a bottle of something- "ha, ha, i must taste!" but he found it was curry, which burnt his poor throat, so he let drop the bottle, and he ran off in haste. to the dining-room the he repaired, and he said, "into master's tea-pot the hot water i'll pour;" but he upset the kettle, and scalded himself, and loudly screamed out as he rolled on the floor. quoth jacko, "the house doesn't suit me at all, i had better go back to the garden again, and gather some peaches, or grapes, or some plums, and try to forget all my trouble and pain." in the corner the rogue saw a bee-hive--"why, here must be honey! delicious!" said he; "just the thing!" so he put in his hand, but he brought out the bees, and they punished poor jacko with many a sting. pinched, scalded, and stung, to his home he returned. reasoned he, "my past folly i shall not regret; for i'm sure the misfortunes i've gone through to-day have taught me a lesson i ne'er shall forget." a fruitless sorrow a little monkey, dusky, ugly, sad, sat hopeless, curled within his narrow cage; dark was the stifling room, no joy he had; the sick air rang with tones of pain and rage. from many a prisoned creature held for sale, stolen from the happy freedom of its life: dull drooping birds, that uttered shriek and wail, and beast and reptile full of woe and strife. into the place a cheerful presence came, and kind eyes lighted on the monkey small; straightway the weary world was not the same such fortune did the little thing befall. safe in a basket fastened, he was sent across the city, trembling and afraid. but once he saw his new home, what sweet content was his, while petted and caressed, he played. a week of bliss, alas! that it should end! he had forgotten darkness, pain, and all; but there were monkeys finer than our friend, his master's eyes on such a one must fall! so fate had ordered, and the frisky sprite, dun-coloured, grey, and streaked with cinnamon, born in far bright brazil, was bought at sight, and all the first poor pet's fortune won. they brought into the bright and cheerful room the basket small in which he had been borne to such a happy life. he saw his doom at once, the misery of his lot forlorn. the moment that the basket met his sight, he dropped his head, and hid his sorrowing eyes against his arm, nor looked to left nor right, as any thinking human creature wise. they took him back into his noisome den, his tiny face concealed as if he wept, so helpless to resist. heroic men might such despairing patient calm have kept. poor little thing! and if he lingers yet, or death has ended life so hard to bear i know not; but i never can forget his brief rejoicing and his mute despair. [illustration: our own jacko.] [page 166--gee gee land] [illustration: girl on horse-drawn cart.] the horse the horse, the brave. the gallant horse- fit theme for the minstrel's song! he hath good claim to praise and fame; as the fleet, the kind, the strong. behold him free in his native strength, looking fit for the sun-god's car; with a skin as sleek as a maiden's cheek, and an eye like a polar star. who wonders not such limbs can deign to brook the fettering firth; as we see him fly the ringing plain, and paw the crumbling earth? his nostrils are wide with snorting pride, his fiery veins expand; and yet he'll be led with s silken thread, or soothed by and infant's hand. he owns the lion's spirit and might, but the voice he has learnt to love needs only be heard, and he'll turn to the word, as gentle as a dove. the arab is wise who learns to prize his barb before all gold; but us his barb more fair than ours, more generous, fast or bold? a song for the steed, the gallant steed- oh! grant him a leaf of bay; for we owe much more to his strength and speed, than man can ever repay. whatever his place- the yoke, the chase, the war-field, road, or course, one of creation's brightest and best is the horse, the noble horse! eliza cook the wonderful horse i've a tale to relate. such a wonderful tale that really i fear my description must fail; 'tis about a fine horse who had powers so amazing. he lived without eating, or drinking, or grazing; in fact this fine horse was so "awfully" clever. that left to himself he'd have lived on forever. he stood in a room, with his nose in the air, and his wide staring eyes looking no one knows where. his tail undisturbed by the sting of a fly one foot slightly raised as if kicking he'd try, this wonderful horse never slept or yet dozed, at least if he did so, his eyes never closed. "come, gee up, old dobbin. look sharp, don't you see i want to be there and get back before tea?" but this obstinate horse never offered to prance, or made an attempt at the slightest advance; harry slashed him so hard. that he slashed off one ear, then his mane tumbled off, and poor dobbin looked queer. with spur, and with whip, and with terrible blows, he soon was deprived of one eye, and his nose, while his slightly-raised foot found a place on the floor. the tail once so handsome was handsome no more, and harry, the tears raining down as he stood, cried, "bother the horse, it is nothing but wood!" the pony oh, brownie, our pony, a gallant young steed, will carry us gaily o'er hill, dale, and mead. so sure is his foot, and so steady his eye. that even our baby to mount him might try. we haste to his stable to see him each day, and feed him with oats and the sweetest of hay. we pat his rough coat, and we deck him with flowers, oh, never was seen such a pony as ours. the horse no one deserves to have a horse who takes delight to beat him: the wise will choose a better course, and very kindly treat him. if ever it should be my lot- to have, for use or pleasure, one who could safely walk or trot the horse would be a treasure. he soon would learn my voice to know and i would gladly lead him; and should he to the stable go, i'd keep him clean and feed him. i'd teach my horse a steady pace. because, if he should stumble upon a rough or stony place, we might both have a tumble. should he grow aged, i would still my poor old servant cherish; i could not see him weak or ill, and leave my horse to perish. for should he get too weak to be my servant any longer, i'll send him out to grass quite free, and get another stronger. good dobbin oh! thank you, good dobbin, you've been a long track, and have carried papa all the way on your back; you shall have some nice oats, faithful dobbin, indeed, for you've brought papa home to his darling with speed. the howling wind blew, and the pelting rain beat, and the thick mud has covered his legs and his feet, but yet on he galloped in spite of the rain, and has brought papa home, to his darling again. the sun it was setting a long while ago, and papa could not see the road where he should go, but dobbin kept on through the desolate wild, and has brought papa home again safe to his child. now go to the stable, the night is so raw, go, dobbin, and rest your old bones on the straw: don't stand any longer out here in the rain, for you've brought papa home to his darling again. a horse's petition to his master up the hill, whip me not; down the hill, hurry me not; in the stable, forget me not; of hay and corn, rob me not; with sponge and brush, neglect me not; of soft, dry bed, deprive me not; if sick or cold, chill me not; with bit and reins, oh! jerk me not; and when you are angry, strike me not. [illustration: mane measures 14 feet and tail 11 feet.] [page 167--gee gee land] [illustration: scotchman carrying jessie's pony.] work-horses in a park on sunday 'tis sabbath-day, the poor man walks blithe from his cottage door, and to his parting young ones talks as they skip on before. the father is a man of joy, from his week's toil released; and jocund is each little boy to see his father pleased. but, looking to a field at hand, where the grass grows rich and high, a no less merry sabbath band of horses met my eye. poor skinny beasts, that go all week with loads of earth and stones, bearing, with aspect dull and meek, hard work, and cudgel'd bones. but now let loose to roam athwart the farmer's clover-lea with whisking tails, and jump and snort, they speak a clumsy glee. lolling across each other's necks, some look like brother's dear; other's are full of flings and kicks- antics uncouth and queer. superannuated horse to his master, who has sentenced him to die and hast thou sealed my doom, sweet master, say? and wilt thou kill thy servant old and poor? a little longer let me live, i pray; a little longer hobble round the door. for much it glads me to behold this place- and house me in this hospitable shed; it glads me more to see mu master's face, and linger on the spot where i was bred. for oh! to think of what we have enjoyed, in my life's prime, e'er i was old and poor! then from the jocund morn to eve employed, my gracious master on my back i bore. thrice ten years have danced on down along, since first to thee these way-born limbs i gave; sweet smiling years! when both of was were young- the kindest master and the happiest slave. ah! years sweet smiling, now for ever flown, ten years, thrice fold, alas! are as a day. yet as together we are aged grown, together let us wear that age away. and hast thou fixed my doom, sweet master, say? and wilt thou kill thy servant old and poor? a little longer let me live, i pray, a little longer hobble round thy door. but oh! kind nature, take thy victim's life! and thou a servant feeble, old, and poor; so shalt thou save me from the uplifted knife, and gently stretch me at my master's door. the arab and his horse come, my beauty; come, my dessert darling! on my shoulder lay thy glossy head! fear not, though the barley sack be empty, here's half of hassan's scanty bread. thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! and thou knowest my water skin is free; drink and be welcome, for the wells are distant, and my strength and safety lie in thee. bend thy forehead, now, to take my kisses! lift in love thy dark and splendid eye; thou art glad when hassan mounts the saddle- thou art proud he owns thee; so am i. let the sultan bring his broadest horses, prancing with their diamond-studded reins; they, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness, when they course with thee the desert plains. we have seen damascus, o my beauty! and the splendour of the pachas there; what's their pomp and riches? why, i would not take them for a handful of they hair. the cab horse pity the sorrows of a poor cab horse, whose jaded limbs have many a mile to go. whose weary days are drawing to a close, and but in death will he a rest e'er know. when the cold winds of dreary winter rage, and snow and hail come down in blinding sheet, and people refuge see 'neath roof or arch, the cab-horse stands unsheltered in the street. though worn and weary with useful life, in patient service to his master--man; no fair retirement waits his failing years, he yet must do the utmost work he can. his legs are stiff, his shoulders rubbed and sore, his knees are broken and his sight is dim, but no physician comes his wounds to heal, the lash is all the cure that's given him. ye kindly hearts that spare the whip, and stroke, just now and then, with kindly hand, his mane; or pat his sides, or give a pleasant word, your tender-heartedness is not in vain. he has not many friends to plead his cause; he has not speech his own wrongs to outpour. pity the sorrows of a poor cab-horse; give him relief, and heaven will bless your store. [illustration: dobbins saving puss from a dog.] [page 168--gee gee land] [illustration: clever horses.] farmer john home from his journey farmer john arrived this morning safe and sound, his black coat off, and his old clothes on: "now i'm myself," says farmer john. and he thinks, "i'll look around!" up leaps the dog: "get down, you pup, are you so glad you would eat me up?" the old cow lows at the gate to greet him. the horses prick up their ears, to meet him. well, well, old bay! ha, ha, old grey! do you get good food when i'm away?" "you haven't a rib!" says farmer john: "the cattle are looking round and sleek; the colt is going to be a roan, and a beauty too, how he has grown! we'll wean the calf, next week." says farmer john, when i've been off, to call you again about the trough, and watch you, and pet you, while you drink, is a greater comfort than you can think." and he pats old bay, and he slaps old grey; "ah, this is the comfort of going away." "for after all," says farmer john, "the best of the journey is getting home! "i've seen great sights, but would i give this spot, and the peaceful life i live, for all their paris and rome? these hills for the city's stifled air, and big hotels, all bustle and glare, lands all horses, and roads all stones, that deafen your ears and batter your bones, would you, old bay? would you, old grey? that's what one gets by going away." "i've found out this," says farmer john, "that happiness is not bought and sold and clutched in a life of waste and hurry, in nights of pleasure and days of worry, and wealth isn't all in gold, mortgage and stocks, and ten per cent., but in simple ways of sweet content. few wants pure hopes, and noble ends, some land to till and a few good friends, like you, old bay, and you, old grey, that's what i've learned by going away. and a happy man is farmer john, oh! a rich and happy man is he; he sees the peas and pumpkins growing, the corn in tassel, and buckwheat blowing; and fruit on vine and tree. the large kind oxen look their thanks, as he rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks, the doves light round him, and strut and coo; says farmer john: "i'll take you too, and you, old bay, and you, old grey, the next time i travel so far away." the horse a horse, long us'd to bit and bridle, but always much disposed to idle, had often wished that he was able to steal unnotic'd from the stable. he panted from his utmost soul, to be at nobody's control; go his own pace, slower or faster. in short, do nothing--like his master. but yet he ne'er had got at large, if jack (who had him in his charge) had not, as many have before, forgot to shut the stable door. dobbin, with expectation swelling, now rose to quit he present dwelling, but first peep'd out with cautious fear, t' examine if the coast was clear. at length he ventured from his station, and with extreme self-approbation, as if delivered from a load, he gallop'd to the public road. and here he stood awhile debating, (till he was almost tired of waiting) which way he'd please to bend his course, now there was nobody to force. at last, unchecked by bit or rein, he saunter'd down a pleasant lane, and neigh'd forth many a jocund song in triumph, as he pass'd along. but when dark nights began t'appear, in vain he sought some shelter near, and well he knew he could not bear to sleep out in the open air. the grass felt damp and raw, much colder than his master's straw, yet on it he was forc'd to stretch, a poor, cold, melancholy wretch. the night was dark, the country hilly, poor dobbin felt extremely chilly; perhaps a feeling like remorse just now might sting this truant horse. as soon as day began to dawn, dobbin, with long and weary yawn, arose from this his sleepless night, but in low spirits and bad plight. "if this" (thought he) "is all i get, a bed unwholesome, cold and wet, and thus forlorn about to roam, i think i'd better be at home." 'twas long ere dobbin could decide betwixt his wishes and his pride, whether to live in all this danger, or go back sneaking to the manger. at last his struggling pride gave way, to thought of savoury oats and hay to hungry stomach, was a reason unanswerable at this season. so off he set, with look profound, right glad that he was homeward bound; and, trotting fast as he was able, soon gain'd once more his master's stable. now dobbin, after his disaster, never again forsook his master, convinc'd he'd better let him mount. than travel on his own account. jane taylor [illustration: doggie feeding gee gee.] [page 169--donkey land] [illustration: oh! what a long donkey.] the cottager's donkey no wonder the cottager looks with pride on the well-fed donkey that stands at his side; for he works, and he lives as hard as he, and a creature more useful there cannot be. he knows the cottager's wife and child, and he loves to play with that dog so wild; and though sometimes so staid and still, he can roll in the meadow with right good will. he knows the road to the market well, where garden vegetables he goes to sell: and though it is hilly, and far, and rough, he thinks--for a donkey, it's well enough. so he trudges along, and little he cares how hard he works, or how ill he fares! content when his home appears in sight, if his kindly master smiles at night. s. v. dodds the donkey poor donkey! i'll give him a handful of grass; i'm sure he's an honest, though stupid, old ass. he trots to the market to carry the sack, and lets me ride all the way home on his back; and only just stops by the ditch for a minute, to see if there's any fresh grass for him in it. 'tis true, now and then he has got a bad trick of standing stock-still, and just trying to kick: but then, poor old fellow! you know he can't tell that standing stock-still is not using me well; for it never comes into his head, i dare say, to do his work first, and then afterwards play. no, no, my good donkey! i'll give you some grass, for you know no better, because you're an ass; but what little donkeys some children must look, who stand, very like you, stock-still at their book, and waste every moment of time as it passes- a great deal more stupid and silly than asses! the ride up and down on neddy's back, taking turns they go, part the time with trot so fast, part with pace so slow. little sisters side by side, sharing each the fun and ride. neddy thinks, "it can't hurt me, but gives the children fun, you see." and so he lends himself that they may happy be this pleasant day. old jack, the donkey old jack was as sleek and well looking an ass as ever on common munched thistle or grass; and--though 'twas not gaudy, that jacket of brown- was the pet of the young and the pride of the town. and indeed he might well look so comely and trim, when his young master, joe, was so gentle to him; for never did child more affection beget than was felt by young joe for his four-footed pet. joe groomed him and fed him, and, each market day, would talk to his darling the whole of the way; and jack before dawn would be pushing the door, as though he would say, "up joe; slumber no more." one day jack was wandering along the roadside, when an urchin the donkey maliciously eyed; and aiming too surely at jack a sharp stone, it struck the poor beast just below the shin bone. joe soothed and caressed him and coaxed him until they came to a stream by the side of the hill; and with cool water he washed the swoll'n limb, and after this fashion kept talking to him:- "poor jack did they pelt him- the cowards, so sly! i wish i'd been there, with my stick, standing by: it doesn't bleed now- 'twill be well in a trice; there, let me just wash it- now isn't that nice?" and jack nestled down with his soft velvet nose, and close as he could, under joe's ragged clothes; and he looked at his master, as though he would say- "i'm sure i can never your kindness repay." s. w. p. the donkey's song "please, mr donkey, sing a song," a black-bird said, one day. the don-key o-pened wide his mouth, the black-bird flew a-way. the ass the ass, when treated well by man, to pleas him will do all he can; but if his master uses him ill, he will not work, but stand stock-still, to market he will carry peas, and coals, or any thing you please; he is not over-nice with meat, for thorns and thistles he will eat. he drinks no water but what's clean; his nose he puts not in the stream; his feet he does not like to wet, but out of dirty roads will get. poor donkey's epitaph down in this ditch poor donkey lies, who jogg'd with many a load; and till the day death clos'd his eyes, brows'd up and down this road. no shelter had he for his head, whatever winds might blow; a neighb'ring commons was his bed, tho' drest in sheets of snow. in this green ditch he often stray'd to nip the dainty grass; and friendly invitations bray'd to some more hungry ass. each market-day he jogg'd along beneath the gard'ner's load, and snor'd out many a donkey's song to friends upon the road. a tuft of grass, a thistle green, or cabbage-leaf so sweet, were all the dainties, he was seen for twenty years to eat. and as for sport, the sober soul was such a steady jack, he only now and then would roll, heels upward, on his back. but all his sport, and dainties too, and labours now are o'er. last night so bleak a tempest blew, he could withstand no more. he felt his feeble limbs grow cold, his blood was freezing slow, and presently you might behold him dead upon the snow. poor donkey! travellers passing by, thy cold remains shall view; and 'twould be well if all who die to duty were as true. anne taylor [page 170--moo moo land] [illustration: oh my! what an awful long cow.] the cow and the ass beside a green meadow a stream us'd to flow, so clear one might see the white pebbles below; to this cooling brook the warm cattle would stray, to stand in the shade, on a hot summer's day. a cow, quite oppress'd with the heat of the sun, came here to refresh as she often had done, and standing quite still, leaning over the stream, was musing, perhaps; or perhaps she might dream. but soon a brown ass, of respectable look came trotting up also, to taste of the brook, and to nibble a few of the daisies and grass. "how d'ye do?" said the cow: "how d'ye do?" said the ass. "take a seat," cried the cow, gently waving her hand. "by no means, dear madam," said he, "while you stand." then stooping to drink, with a complaisant bow, "ma'am, your health." said the ass; "thank you, sir," said the cow. when a few of these compliments more had been pass'd, they laid themselves down on the herbage at last; and waited politely (as gentlemen must), the ass held his tongue, that the cow might speak first. then, with a deep sigh, she directly began, "don't you think, mr. ass, we are injured by man? 'tis a subject that lies with a weight on my mind: we certainly are much oppress'd by mankind. "now what is the reason (i see none at all) that i always must go when suke pleases to call? whatever i'm doing ('tis certainly hard), i'm forc'd to leave off to be milked in the yard. "i've no will of my own, but must do as they please, and give them my milk to make butter and cheese; i've often a great mind to kick down the pail, or give suke a box on the ears with my tail." "but ma'am," said the ass, "not presuming to teach- o dear, i beg pardon- pray finish your speech; i thought you had finish'd, indeed," said the swain, "go on, and i'll not interrupt you again." "why, sir, i was only just going to observe, i'm resolved that these tyrants no longer i'll serve; but leave them for ever to do as they please, and look somewhere else for their butter and cheese." ass waited a moment, to see if she'd done, and then, "not presuming to teach," he begun. "with submission, dear madam, to your better wit, i own i am not quite convinced by it yet. "that you're of great service to them is quite true, but surely they are of some service to you. 'tis their pleasant meadow in which you regale; they feed you in winter, when grass and weeds fail. "and then a warm cover they always provide, dear madam, to shelter your delicate hide, for my own part, i know i receive much from man, and for him, in return, i do all i can." the cow, upon this, cast her eyes on the grass, not pleas'd at thus being reproved by an ass, yet, thought she, "i'm determined i'll benefit by't, for i really believe that the fellow is right." jane taylor the cow come, children, listen to me now, and you will hear about the cow; you'll find her useful, alive or dead, whether she's black, or white, or red. when milkmaids milk her morn and night she gives them milk so fresh and white, and this we, little children, think is very nice for us to drink. the curdled milk they press and squeeze, and so they make it into cheese; the cream they skim and shake in churns, and then it soon to butter turns. and when she's dead, her flesh is good, for beef is a very wholesome food, but though 'twill make us brave and strong, to eat too much, you know, is wrong. her skin, with lime and bark together, the tanner tans, and makes into leather, and without that, what should we do for soles of every boot and shoe? the shoemaker cuts it with his knife and bound the tops are by his wife; and so they nail them to the last, and then they stitch them tight and fast. the hair that grows upon her back is taken, whether white or black, and mix'd with plaster, short or long, which makes it very firm and strong. and, last of all, if cut with care, her horns make combs to comb our hair; and so we learn--thanks to our teachers- that cows are very useful creatures. [illustration: bad boys painting a poor white cow.] [page 171--moo moo land] [illustration: the dancing cow.] the cowboy's song "mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood they sent me to fetch you as fast as i could. the sun has gone down- it is time to go home, mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come? your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there, and the children are all waiting, their suppers to share. i have let the long bars down- why don't you pass thro'" the mooly cow only said, "moo-o-o!" "mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been regaling all day where the pastures are green? no doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see the clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree, the clover to crop, and the streamlet to wade, to drink the cool water and lie in the shade; but now it is night- they are waiting for you." the mooly cow only said, "moo-o-o!" "mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go when all the green pastures are covered in with snow? you can go to the barn, and we feed you with hay, and the maid goes to milk you there, every day; she pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide, she speaks to you kindly, and sits by your side: then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do." the mooly cow only said, "moo-o-o!" "mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail the milkmaid is waiting, i say, with her pail; she tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat, and places the three-legged stool for her seat. what can you be staring at, mooly? you know that we ought to have gone home an hour ago. how dark it is growing! o, what shall i do?" the mooly cow only said, "moo-o-o!" that calf to the yard, by the barn, came the farmer one morn, and calling the cattle, he said, while they trembled with fright: "now which of you, last night, shut the barn door while i was abed?" each one of them all shook his head. now the little calf spot, she was down in the lot, and the way the rest talked was a shame; for no one, night before, saw her shut up the door; but they said that she did, all the same, for they always made her take the blame. said the horse (dapple gray), "i was not up that way last night, as i recollect;" and the bull, passing by, tossed his horns very high, and said, "let who may be here object, i say this, that calf i suspect. then out spoke the cow, "it is terrible now, to accuse honest folks of such tricks." said the cock in the tree, "i'm sure 'twasn't me;" and the sheep all cried, "bah! (there were six) now that calf's got herself in a fix." "why, of course we all knew 'twas the wrong thing to do," said the chickens. "of course," said the cat. "i suppose," cried the mule, some folks think me a fool, but i'm not quite as simple as that; the poor calf never knows what she's at." just that moment, the calf, who was always the laugh and the jest of the yard, came in sight. "did you shut my barn door?" asked the farmer once more, "i did, sir, i closed it last night," said the calf; "and i thought that was right." then each one shook his head, "she will catch it," they cried, "serves her right for her meddlesome ways." said the farmer, "come here, little bossy, my dear, you have done what i cannot repay, and your fortune is made from to-day. "for a wonder, last night, i forgot the door quite, and if you had not shut it so neat, all my colts had slipped in, and gone right to the bin, and got what they ought not to eat, they'd have founded themselves on wheat." the each hoof of them all began to loudly to bawl, the very mule smiled, the cock crew; "little spotty, my dear, you're a favourite here," they cried, "we all said it was you, we were so glad to give you your due." and the calf answered knowingly, "boo!" phoebe cary [illustration: the sea-cow walking.] [page 172--baa baa land] [illustration: girl feeding pet lamb.] the lost lamb storm upon the mountain, rainy torrents beating, and the little snow-white lamb, bleating, ever bleating! storm upon the mountain, night upon its throne, and the little snow-white lamb, left alone, alone! down the glen the shepherd drives his flock afar; through the murky mist and cloud, shines no beacon star. fast he hurries onward, never hears the moan of the pretty snow-white lamb, left alone, alone! up the glen he races, breasts the bitter wind, scours across the plain, and leaves wood and wold behind;- storm upon the mountain, night upon its throne- there he finds the little lamb, left alone, alone! struggling, panting, sobbing, kneeling on the ground, round the pretty creature's neck both his arms were wound; soon, within his bosom, all its bleatings done, home he bears the little lamb, left alone, alone! oh! the happy faces, by the shepherd's fire! high without the tempest roars, but the laugh rings higher, young and old together make that joy their own- in their midst the little lamb, left alone, alone! t. westwood the pet lamb the dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; i heard a voice; it said, "drink, pretty creature, drink!" and looking o'er the hedge before me i espied a snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden by its side. nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone, and by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; with one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, while to this mountain lamb. she gave its evening meal. "what ails thee, young one; what? why pull so at thy cord? is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee? "what is it thou would'st seek? what is wanting to thy heart? thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art. this grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; and that green corn all day long is rustling in they ears! "rest little young one, rest; hast thou forgot the day why my father found the first in places far away; many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, and thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. "he took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home; oh! blessed day for thee! then whither would'st thou roam? a faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did the yean upon the mountain top no kinder could have been. "thou know'st that thrice a day i have brought thee in this can fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran. and twice, too, in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, i bring thee draughts of milk- warm milk it is, and new. "here, then, thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; night and day thou'rt safe; our cottage is hard by. why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain? sleep, and at break of day, i will come to thee again." wordsworth a visit to the lambs mother, let's go and see the lambs; this warm and sunny day i think must make them very glad, and full of fun and play. ah, there they are. you pretty things! now, don't you run away; i'm come on purpose, that i am, to see you this fine day. what pretty little heads you've got, and such good-natured eyes! and ruff of wool all round your necks- how nicely curl'd it lies! come here, my little lambkin, come, and lick my hand--now do! how silly to be so afraid! indeed i won't hurt you. just put your hand upon its back, mother, how nice and warm! there, pretty lamb, you see i don't intend to do you harm. easy poetry [illustration: girl embracing lamb.] [page 173--baa baa land] [illustration: girl leading lamb.] the pet lamb once on a time, a shepherd lived within a cottage small; the grey thatched roof was shaded by an elm-tree dark and tall; while all around, stretched far away, a wild and lonesome moor, except a little daisied field before the trellised door. now, it was on a cold march day, when on the moorland wide the shepherd found a trembling lamb by its mother's side; and so pitiful it bleated, as with the cold it shook, he wrapped it up beneath his coat, and home the poor lamb took. he placed it by the warm fireside, and then his children fed this little lamb, whose mother died, with milk and sweet brown bread, until it ran about the floor, or at the door would stand; and grew so tame, it ate its food from out the children's hand. it followed them where'er they went, came ever at their call, and dearly was this pretty lamb beloved by them all. and often on a market-day, when cotters crossed the moor, they stopped to praise the snow-white lamb, beside the cottage door; they patted it upon its head, and stroked it with the hand, and vowed it was the prettiest lamb they'd seen in all the land. now, this kind shepherd was as ill, as ill as he could be, and kept his bed for many a week, and nothing earned he; and when he had got well again, he to his wife did say, "the doctor wants his money, and i haven't it to pay. "what shall we do, what can we do? the doctor made me well, there's only one thing can be done, we must the pet lamb sell; we've nearly eaten all the bread, and how can we get more, unless you call the butcher in when he rides by the door?" "oh, do not sell my white pet lamb," then little mary said, "and every night i'll go up stairs without my tea to bed; oh! do not sell my sweet pet lamb; and if you let it live, the best half of my bread and milk i will unto it give." the doctor at that very time entered the cottage door, as, with her arms around her lamb, she sat upon the floor. "for if the butcher buys my lamb, he'll take away its life, and make its pretty white throat bleed with his sharp cruel knife; "and never in the morning light again it will me meet, nor come again to lick my hand, look up upon me and bleat." "why do you weep, my pretty girl?" the doctor then did say. "because i love my little lamb, which must be sold to-day; it lies beside my bed at night, and, oh, it is so still, it never made a bit of noise when father was so ill. "oh do not let them sell my lamb, and then i'll go to bed, and never ask for aught to eat but a small piece of bread." "i'll buy the lamb and give it you," the kind, good doctor said, "and with the money that i pay your father can buy bread. "as for the bill, that can remain until another year." he paid the money down, and said, "the lamb is yours, my dear: you have a kind and gentle heart, and god, who made us all, he loveth well those who are kind to creatures great and small; "and while i live, my little girl, your lamb shall not be sold, but play with you upon the moor, and sleep within the fold." and so the white pet lamb was saved, and played upon the moor, and after little mary ran about the cottage-floor. it fed upon cowslips tall, and ate the grass so sweet, and on the little garden-walk pattered its pretty feet; and with its head upon her lap the little lamb would lay asleep beneath the elm-tree's shade, upon the summer's day, while she twined the flowers around its neck, and called it her, "sweet may." thomas miller [illustration: mary after two years absence does not know her own pet lamb.] [page 174--piggy land] [illustration: two pigs.] the pig, he is a gentleman the pig, he is a gentleman, and never goes to work; he eats the very best of food without knife or fork. the pig, he is a gentleman, and drinks the best of milk; his clothes are good, and thick, and strong and wear as well as silk. the pig he, is a gentleman, and covers up his head, and looks at you with one eye, and grunts beneath his bed. he eats, and drinks, and sleeps all day just like his lady mother, his father, uncle, and his aunt, his sister, and his brother. e. w. cole the pigs "do look at those pigs, as they lie in the straw," little richard said to papa; "they keep eating longer than ever i saw, what nasty fat gluttons they are!" "i see they are feasting," his father replied, "they ear a great deal, i allow; but let us remember, before we deride, 'tis the nature, my dear, of a sow. "but when a great boy, such as you my dear dick, does nothing but eat all the day, and keeps sucking good things till he makes himself sick, what a glutton, indeed, we may say. "when plumcake and sugar for ever he picks, and sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs; pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, and then he may laugh at the pigs." j. t. five little pigs five lit-tle fingers and five lit-tle pigs, of each i've a story to tell; look at their faces and fun-ny curl-ed tails, and hear what each one be-fell. ring-tail, that stead-y and good lit-tle pig, to mark-et set off at a trot; and brought him his bas-ket quite full of nice things, con-tent-ed and pleas-ed with his lot. young smil-er, the next, was a stay at home pig, lik-ed his pipe, and to sit at his ease; he fell fast a-sleep, burned his nose with his pipe, and a-woke with a ve-ry loud sneeze. num-ber three was young long-snout who ate up the beef. he was both greed-y and fat; he made him-self ill by eat-ing too much, and then he was sor-ry for that. and poor lit-tle grun-ter- you know he had none- a pig-gy so hun-gry and sad! he si-lent-ly wiped the salt tears from his eyes, i think it was real-ly too bad. young squeak-er cried, "wee, wee, wee," all the way home, a pig-gy so fret-ful was he; he got a good whip-ping, was sent off to bed, and de-served it, i think you must see. oh, these five lit-tle pigs, how they've made child-ren laugh in ages and ages now past! and they'll be quite as fun-ny, in years yet to come, while small toes and small fing-ers last. the self-willed pig it happened one day, as the other pigs tell, in the course of their walk they drew near to a well, so wide and so deep, with so smooth a wall round, that a pig tumbling in was sure to be drowned. but a perverse little brother, foolish as ever, still boasting himself very cunning and clever, now made up his mind that, whatever befell, he would run on before and jump over the well. then away he ran fast to one side of the well, climbed up on the wall, slipped, and headlong he fell; and now from the bottom his pitiful shout was, "oh mother! i'm in; pray do help me out!" she ran to the side when she heard his complaint, and she then saw him struggling, weakly and faint, yet no help could she give! but, "my children," cried she, "how often i've feared a sad end his would be!" "oh, mother, dear mother;" the drowning pig cried, "i see all this comes of my folly and pride!" he could not speak more, but he sank down and died, whilst his mother and brothers wept round the well-side! [illustration: pig going to market.] [page 175--piggy land] [illustration: school boy pigs.] three naughty pigs three naughty pigs, all in one pen, drank up the milk left by the men, then all the three fast as they could, dug their way out to find something good. out in the garden a maiden fair had set some flowers of beauty rare. out in the garden a merry boy had planted seeds, with childish joy, one naughty pig ran to the bed; soon lay the flowers drooping and dead. to naughty pigs dug up the seeds, and left, for the boy, not even weeds. three naughty pigs, back in the pen, never could do such digging again. for, in their noses, something would hurt whenever they tried to dig in the dirt. little biddy little biddy o'toole, on her three-legged stool, was 'atin' her praties so hot; whin up stepped the pig, wid his appetite big, and biddy got down like a shot. the spectre pig it was the stalwart butcher man that knit his swarthy brow, and said the gentle pig must die, and sealed it with a vow. and oh! it was the gentle pig lay stretched upon the ground, and ah! it was the cruel knife his little heart that found. they took him then those wicked men, they trailed him all along; they put a stick between his lips, and through his heels a thong. and round and round an oaken beam a hempen cord they flung, and like a mighty pendulum all solemnly he swung. now say thy prayers, thou sinful man and think what thou hast done, and read thy catechism well, thou sanguinary one. for if its sprite should walk by night it better were for thee, that thou were mouldering in the ground, or bleaching in the sea. it was the savage butcher then that made a mock of sin, and swore a very wicked oath, he did not care a pin. it was the butcher's youngest son, his voice was broke with sighs, and with his pocket handkerchief he wiped his little eyes. all young and ignorant was he, but innocent and mild, and, in his soft simplicity, out spoke the tender child- "oh! father, father, list to me; the pig is deadly sick, and men have hung him by his heels, and fed him with a stick." it was the naughty butcher then that laughed as he would die, yet did he soothe the sorrowing child and bid him not to cry. "oh! nathan, nathan, what's a pig, that thou shouldst weep and wail? come bear thee like a butcher's child, and thou shalt have his tail." it was the butcher's daughter then, so slender and so fair, that sobbed as if her heart would break and tore her yellow hair. and thus she spoke in thrilling tone- fell fast the tear-drops big: "ah! woe to me! alas! alas! the pig! the pig! the pig!" then did her wicked father's lips make merry wit her woe, and call her many a naughty name, because she whimpered so. ye need not weep, ye gentle ones, in vain your tears are shed, ye cannot wash the crimson hand, ye cannot sooth the dead. the bright sun folded on his breast, his robes of rosey flame, and softly over all the west the shades of evening came. he slept, and troops of murdered pigs were busy in his dreams; loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks, wide yawned their mortal seams. the clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard; he opened both his eyes, and sullenly he shook his tail to lash the feeding flies. one quiver of the hempen cord- one struggle and one bound- with stiffened limb and leaded eye, the pig was on the ground. and straight towards the sleeper's house his fearful way he wended; and hooting owl, and hovering bat, on midnight wing attended. back flew the bolt, uprose the latch, and open swung the door, and little mincing feet were heard pat, pat, along the floor. two hoofs upon the sanded floor, and two upon the bed; and they are breathing side by side, the living and the dead. "now wake, now wake, thou butcher man! what makes your cheeks so pale? take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear to clasp a spectre's tail?" untwisted every winding coil; the shuddering wretch took hold, till like an icicle it seemed, so tapering and so cold. "thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!" he strives to loose his grasp, but, faster than the clinging vine, those twining spirals clasp. and open, open, swung the door, and fleeter than the wind, the shadowy spectre swept before, the butcher trailed behind. fast fled the darkness of the night, and morn rose faint and dim; they called full loud, they knocked full long they did not waken him. straight, straight towards that oaken beam, a trampled pathway ran; a ghastly shape was swinging there- it was the butcher man. o. w. holmes [page 176--piggy land] little dame crump little dame crump, with her little hair broom, one morning was sweeping her little bedroom, when, casting he little grey eyes on the ground, in a sly little corner a penny she found. "dear me!" cried the dame, while she started with surprise, "how lucky i am to find such a prize! to market i'll go, and a pig i will buy, and little john grubbins shall make him a sty." so she washed her face clean, and put on her gown, and locked up the house, and set off for town. then to market she went, and a purchase she made of a little white pig, and a penny she paid. having purchased the pig, she was puzzled to know how they both should get home; so fearing least piggie should play her a trick, she drove him along with a little crab stick. piggie ran till they came to the foot of a hill, where a little bridge stood o'er the stream of a mill; piggie grunted and squeaked, but not further would go: oh, fie! piggie, fie! to serve little dame so. she went to the mill, and she borrowed a sack to put the pig in, and take him on her back: piggie squeaked to get out, but the little dame said, "if you won't go of yourself, you then must be made." at last when the end of her journey had come, she was awfully glad she had got the pig home: she carried him straight to his nice little sty, and gave him some hay and some straw, nice and dry. with a handful of peas then piggie she fed, and put on her night-cap, and got into bed: having first said her prayers, and put out the light; and being quite tired, we'll wish her good night. the chinese pig old madam grumph, the pig, had got a pig-sty of her own; she is a most un-com-mon pig, and likes to live alone. a red-tiled roofing covers in the one half of her sty; and, half sur-round-ed by a wall, is open to the sky. there stands the trough, they keep it fill'd with pig-wash and with parings; and all the other pigs declare dame grumph has dainty fairings. they like to see what she's about, and poke their noses through a great hole in the pig-sty door, from whence they get a view. the pigs, that run about the yard, are very lean and tall, with long hind legs--but madam grumph is round as any ball. one autumn day, when she awoke ('twas very cold and raw), she found a litter of young pigs half buried in the straw. "humph," said the dame, "now let me see how many have i got." she counted, "six and four are ten,- two dead ones in the lot. "eight--that's a nice round family; a black one and two white; the rest are spotted like myself, with prick ears--that's all right. "what's to be done with those dead things, they'd better be thrown out," said she, and packed the litter round the others with her snout. "what's that, old grumphy?" said a pig, whose snout peeped through the door; "there's something moving in the straw i never saw before." "i wish you'd mind your own affairs," said she, and stepp'd between the young pigs and the pig-sty door, not wishing to be seen. "i hope you slept well," said the pig, "the wind was very high; you are most comfortably lodged- a most con-ve-ni-ent sty." "i thought i told you once before to mind your own affairs," said she, and bristling up her back, she bit the lean pig's ears. "squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak, old grumphy's biting hard;" and all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd up from all sides of the yard. they grumbled and they grunted loud, the squeak'd in every key; at last another pig peep'd through, to see what he could see. dame grumph was standing by her pigs, and looking very proud, and all the little piggy-wigs were squeaking very loud. "these lovely creatures," said old grumph, "these lovely pigs are mine; there're fat and pink like human babes, most pro-mi-sing young swine." "indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig, "i never should have thought, they were so very promising." old grumphy gave a snort. "they're of a most dis-tin-guished race; my mother and her brother were both im-por-ted from pekin,- my pigs are like my mother. "they never shall as-so-ci-ate with long-legged pigs like you." said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig, whose snout was peeping through. "begging your pardon, ma'am i really think," said he, "the dif-fer-ence is not so great as it appears to be. "if you and i were bacon, ma'am the dif-fer-ence between an irish and a chinese pig would hardly then be seen. "give me your comfortable sty, and some of your nice food, our little fa-mi-lies might prove in-dif-fer-ent-ly good." aunt effie's rhymes [illustration: madam grump and her babies.] [page 177--piggy land] the old woman and her pig once an old woman was sweeping her house, and found a crooked sixpence, and went to market to buy a pig. as she was coming home she came to a stile, and the pig would not get over it: so she went a little farther and met a dog, and said to the dog:- "dog, dog, bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the dog would not. she went a little farther and met a stick, and said: "stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the stick would not. she went a little farther and met a fire, and said: "fire, fire, burn stick; stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the fire would not. she went a little farther and met some water, and said: "water, water, quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the water would not. she went a little farther and met an ox, and said: "ox, ox, drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the ox would not. she went a little farther and met a butcher, and said: "butcher, butcher, kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the butcher would not. she went a little farther and met a rope, and said: "rope, rope, hang butcher. butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the butcher would not. she went a little farther and met a rat, and said: "rat, rat, gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the rat would not. she went a little farther and met a cat, and said: "cat, cat, kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the cat said to her, "if you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, i will kill the rat." so away went the old woman to the cow, and said: "cow, cow, give me some milk, cat won't kill rat, rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the cow said to her, "if you will go to yonder haymakers and fetch me a wisp of hay, i'll give you the milk." so away the old woman went to the haymakers and said: "haymakers, give me a wisp of hay; cow won't give me milk, cat won't kill rat, rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the haymakers said to her, "if you will go and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." so away the old woman went; but she found the bucket was full of holes. so she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. as soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. as soon as the cat had drank the milk, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite to pig, the pig in a great fright jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night in time to boil some apple dumplings for her husband's supper. [illustration: the flying pig.] the flying pig dickery, dickery dare, the pig flew up in the air, but patrick brown soon brought him down, dickery, dickery, dare. the story of the three little pigs once there was an old pig, who had three little pigs, and sent them out to seek their fortune. the first one went and built a house with straw, and soon after a wolf came and knocked at the door and said, "little pig, let me come in." but the little pig said, "no, no by the hair of my chin." the wolf then said, "i'll huff, and i'll puff, and i'll blow your house in." so he huffed, and he puffed, and blew the house in, and ate up the little pig. the next little pig built a house with sticks, and the old wolf came along and called out, "little pig, let me come in." and the little pig answered, "no, no, by the hair of my chin." "then," says the wolf, "i'll huff, and i'll puff, and i'll blow your house in." so he huffed and he puffed, and blew the house down, and ate up the little pig also. the third little pig built a house with bricks. just after along came the old wolf, and said, "little pig, let me come in." the little pig said, "no, no, by the hair of my chin." "then i'll huff and i'll puff, and i'll blow your house down." well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down. when he found he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said "little pig, i know where there is a nice field of turnips." "where?" said the little pig. "oh, in mr. smith's home field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning i will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner." "very well," said the little pig, "i will be ready. what time do you mean to go?" "oh, at six o'clock." well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came, which he did about six, and said, "little pig, are you ready?" the little pig said, "ready; i've been and come back again and got a nice potful for dinner." the wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said, "little pig, i know where there is a nice apple tree." "where?" said the little pig. "down at merry garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me i will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go together and get some apples." well, the pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had further to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. when the wolf came up he said, "little pig, what; are you here before me? are they nice apples?" "yes, very," said the little pig, "i will throw you down one." and he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. the next day the wolf came again, and said "little pig, there is a fair at shanklin this afternoon, will you go?" oh, yes," said the pig, "i will go: what time shall you be ready?" "at three," said the wolf. so the little pig went off before the time as usual, got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming. then he could not tell what to do. so he got into the churn to hide, and by doing so turned it around, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran home without going to the fair. he went to the little pig's house and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him. then the little pig said "ha! i frightened you, then. i had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when i saw you i got into it and rolled down the hill." then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him. when the little pig saw what he was about, he hung onto the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf; so the little pig put on the cover again in an instant, boiled him up, and ate him for supper, and lived happy ever afterwards. [page 178--rabbit land] [illustration: gentlemen rabbits.] the wild rabbits among the sand-hills, near by the sea, wild young rabbits were seen by me. they live in burrows with winding-ways, and there they shelter on rainy days. the mother rabbits make cosy nests, with hairy linings from their breasts. the tender young ones are nursed and fed, and safely hidden in this warm bed. and when they are older, they all come out upon the sand-hills and frisk about. they play and nibble the long, dry grass, but scamper away whenever you pass. disobedient bunny a pert little rabbit, once lived in a hole, and just did whatever he pleased; his ways were so funny, his antics so droll, that his parents were terribly teased. "now, dear," said his mother, "you'd best stay at home, and try to be patient and good." but no! he was fully determined to roam through the green and beautiful wood. so what did he do? on a fine summer day, when mother was not to be seen, he took to his heels, and scampered away right over the meadow so green. he shook his long ears, and he whisked up his tail, his eyes dancing with glee, as onward he ran through a beautiful vale, and oh! how delighted was he! 'twas not very long till he found a haystack, where of course there was shelter and food. said he to himself, "now, i'll never go back to my stupid old home in the wood. "i'll dig myself a nice den for myself in the hay; how warm it will be and how nice! why in my old burrow full many a day i've often felt colder than ice!" so bunny soon dug him a nice little hole, and made it as round as an o; and really he looked so exceedingly droll, you'd have laughed had you seen him, i know. but evening drew on, it was lonely and dark, so bunny lay down in his den; said he to himself, "i'll get up with the lark, and won't i be ravenous then! "for really this hay, though it does for a nest, is somewhat too dry for my food; at home there is clover, the thing i love best, and lettuce and carrots so good. "i wish i had some at this moment! but then i'm out on my travels just now, and i greatly prefer to reside in this den, than at home where there's often a row! "ah, well! i feel sleepy, i'd best go to bed- but what is that noise that i hear? there seems to be someone right over my head, i hope that no wild beasts are near!" meanwhile an old fox with a great bushy tail was prowling about and around, but poor little bunny was hidden so well that never a bit was he found! when morning had come, and the fox disappeared, then bunny came forth to the light, said he to himself, "it was just as i feared, a fox has been here through the night. "i think i had better go scampering home to the dear little home in the wood, and never, oh never again will i roam, or leave my dear mother so good." away then he ran, without once looking back, till he saw the dear home he loved best. and mother came hopping along the hard track to welcome him home to the nest. and, oh! such a breakfast before him there lay, such clover and grass from the wood; and always i've heard, from that terrible day, that bunny is patient and good. b. r. mckean the pet rabbit i have a little bunny with his coat as soft as down, and nearly all of him is white except one bit of brown. the first thing in the morning, when i get out of bed, i wonder if my bunny's still safe in his shed. and then the next thing that i do, i daresay you have guessed; it's at once to go and see him, when i am washed and dressed. and every day i see him, i like him more and more, and each day he is bigger than he was the day before. i feed him in the morning with bran and bits of bread. and every night i take some straw to make his little bed. what with carrots in the morning and turnip-tops for tea, if a bunny can be happy, i'm sure he ought to be. then when it's nearly bed-time i go down to his shed, and say "good-night, you bunny!" before i go to bed, i think there's only one thing that would make me happy quite, if i could take my bunny dear with me to bed at night. robert mack [illustration: a working rabbit.] [page 179--hare land] [illustration: mouse and frog riding hare.] the little hare beyond the palings of the park a hare had made her form, beneath a drooping fern, that made a shelter snug and warm. she slept until the daylight came, and all thinks were awake, and then the hare, with noiseless steps, crept softly from the brake. she stroked her whiskers with her paws, looked timidly around with open eyes and ears erect that caught the smallest sound. the field-mouse rustled in the grass, the squirrel in the trees, but puss was not at all afraid of common sounds like these. she frisked and gambolled with delight, and cropped a leaf or two of clover and of tender grass, that glistened in the dew. what was it, then, that made her start, and run away so fast? she heard the distant sound of hounds, she heard the huntsman's blast. tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho! the hounds are in full cry; ehew! ehew--in scarlet coats the men are sweeping by. so off she set with a spring and a bound, over the meadows and open ground, faster than hunter and faster than hound and on--and on--till she lost the sound, and away went the little hare. aunt effie peter and the hare thoughtless little peter, with his little gun, went out by the woodside for a little fun; saw a happy little hare, who on clover fed- with his little gun took aim and shot him in the head. thoughtful little peter, sad for what he'd done, sat down on a stump, and there by it laid his gun; wished that he could bring to life that little hare so still; "never more," said he, "will i a harmless creature kill." epitaph on a hare here lies whom hound did ne'er pursue, nor swifter greyhound follow, whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew nor ear heard huntsman's halloo. old tiney, surliest of his kind, who, nursed with tender care, and to domestic bounds confined, was still a wild jack-hare. though duly from my hand he took his pittance every night, he did it with a jealous look, and when he could he would bite. on twigs of hawthorn he regaled, on pippin's russet peel; and when his juicy salads fail'd, sliced carrot pleased him well. a turkey carpet was his lawn, whereon he loved to bound, to skip and gambol like a fawn, and swing himself around. his frisking was at evening hours for then he'd lost his fear! but most before approaching showers, or when a storm drew near. eight years and five round-rolling moons he thus saw steal away, dozing out all his idle noons and every night at play. i kept him for his humour's sake, for he would oft beguile my heart of thoughts that made it ache, and force me to a smile. but now, beneath this walnut shade, he finds his long last home, and waits, in snug concealment laid till gentler puss shall come. he, still more aged, feels the shocks from which no care can save; and partner once of tiney's box, must soon partake his grave. william cowper punch's appeal for the hunted hare all on the bare and bleak hillside, one night this merry christmastide, a shivering hunted hare did hide; poor pussy! though we had hunted puss all day, the wind had blown her scent away, and balked the dogs, so there she lay, poor pussy! there to the earth she humbly crept, there brooding o'er her lot she wept, there, on her empty stomach she slept. poor pussy! and there, while frozen fell the dew, she dreamt an ugly dream or two, as starved, wet folk are apt to do, did pussy! loud hungry hounds of subtle ken, and thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men, are fast on pussy's trail again, poor pussy! onwards she strains, on, as they tear foremost amongst the foremost there, are ruthless women's faces fair; poor pussy! one moment's check, to left, to right, in vain she spends her little might, some yokel's eyes have marked her flight, poor pussy! what use her fine small wits to rack! closer, and faster on her track hurries the hydra-headed pack, lost pussy! "for pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop! call off the dogs before i drop, and kill me with your heavy crop." shrieks pussy! with shuddering start and stifled scream, she wakes!--she finds it all a dream; how kind the cold, cold earth doth seem to pussy! [illustration: the hare and the tortoise.] [page 180--rat land] [illustration: a gentleman rat.] the pied piper of hamelin --or- the vanished children hamelin town's in brunswick by famous hanover city; the river weser, deep and wide, washes its wall on the southern side. a pleasanter spot you never spied; but, when begins my ditty, almost five hundred years ago, to see the townsfolk suffer so from vermin was a pity. rats! they fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in the cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the vats, and licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, split open the kegs of salted sprats, made nests inside men's sunday hats, and even spoiled the women's chats, by drowning their speaking, with shrieking and squeaking in fifty different sharps and flats. at last the people in a body to the town hall came flocking: "'tis clear," cried they, "our mayor's a noddy; and as for our corporation--shocking to think we buy gowns lined with ermine for dolts that can't or won't determine what's best to rid us of our vermin! the mayor and town councillors were greatly perplexed what to do, when there entered a strange-looking piper, and offered to charm away all the rats for a thousand guilders. the council joyfully agreed to this, and at once:- into the street the piper swept, smiling first a little smile, as if he knew what magic slept in his quiet pipe the while: then, like a musical adept, to blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, and green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; and ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, you heard as if an army muttered; and the muttering grew to a grumbling; and out of the houses the rats came tumbling. great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, grave old plodders, gay young friskers, fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, cocking tails and pricking whiskers, families by tens and dozens, brothers, sisters, husbands wives- followed the piper for their lives. from street to street he piped advancing, until they came to river weser wherein all plunged and perished --save one. you should have heard the hamelin people ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "go," cried the mayor, "and get long poles! poke out the nests and block up the holes! consult with carpenters and builders, and leave in our town not even a trace of the rats!"--when suddenly up the face of the piper perked in the market-place, with a "first, if you please, my thousand guilders!" the mayor and councillors abused the piper, refused to pay him the thousand guilders, and offered him fifty and a drink, he refused to take less than they had offered, and said: "folks who put me in a passion may find me pipe to another fashion," "how?" cried the mayor, "d'ye think i'll brook being worse treated than a crook? insulted by a lazy ribald with idle pipe and vesture piebald? you threaten us, fellow? do your worst, blow your pipe there till you burst!" once more he stept into the street: and to his lips again laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; and ere he blew three notes (such sweet soft notes as yet musicians cunning never gave the enraptured air), there was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling of merry crowds pustling, at pitching and hustling, small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, and like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, out came the children running, all the little boys and girls, with rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, and sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, tripping and skipping, ran merrily after the wonderful music with shouting laughter. the mayor was dumb, and the council stood as if they were carved into blocks of wood, unable to move a step, or cry to the children merrily skipping by- and could only follow with the eye that joyous crowd at the piper's back. but how the mayor was on the rack, and the wretched council's bosoms beat, as the piper turned from the high street to where the weser rolled its waters right in the way of their sons and daughters! however he turned from south to west, and to koppelberg hill his steps addressed, and after him the children pressed; great was the joy in every breast. "he never can cross that mighty top! he's forced to let the piping drop, and we shall see out children stop!" when lo! as they reached the mountain's side, a wondrous portal opened wide, as if a cavern was suddenly hollowed and the piper advanced and the children followed. and when all were in to the very last, the door in the mountain-side shut fast, did i say all? no! one was lame, and could not dance the whole of the way! and in after years, if you would blame his sadness, he was used to say- "it's dull in our town since my playmates left; i can't forget that i'm bereft of all they pleasant sights they see, which the piper also promised me; for he led us, he said, to a joyous land, joining the town and just at hand, where waters gushed and fruit trees grew, and flowers put forth a fairer hue. [page 181--rat land] and everything was strange and new; the sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, and their dogs outran our fellow deer, and honey-bees had lost their stings; and horses were born with eagles' wings, and just as i became assured my lame foot would be speedily cured, the music stopped, and i stood still, and found myself outside the hill, left alone against my will, to go now limping as before, and never hear of that country more!" alas, alas for hamelin! there came into many a burgher's pate a text which says, that heaven's gate opens to the rich at as easy rate as the needle's eye takes a camel in! the mayor sent east, west, north and south, to offer the piper by word of mouth, wherever it was men's lot to find him, silver and gold to his heart's content, if he'd only return the way he went, and bring the children all behind him. but at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, for piper and dancers were gone for ever. browning the wicked bishop hatto the summer and autumn had been so wet that in winter the corn was growing yet; 'twas a piteous sight to see all around the grain lie rotting on the ground. every day the starving poor crowded around bishop hatto's door, for all the neighbourhood could tell his granaries were furnished well. at last bishop hatto appointed a day to quiet the poor without delay: he bade them to his great barn repair and they should have food for the winter there. rejoiced such tidings good to hear, the poor folk flocked from far and near; so the great barn was full as it could hold of women and children, and young and old. then when he saw it could hold no more, bishop hatto he made fast the door; and while for mercy with shrieks they call, he set fire to the barn and burnt them all, "a rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he, "and the country is greatly obliged to me, for ridding it in these times forlorn of rats that only consume the corn." so then to his palace returned he, and he sat down to supper merrily, and he slept that night like an innocent man;- but bishop hatto never slept again. in the morning as he entered the hall, where his picture hung against the wall, a sweat like death all over him came, for the rats had eaten it out of the frame. as he looked, there came a man from his farm, he had a countenance white with alarm;- "i opened your granaries this morn, and the rats had eaten all the corn." another came running presently, and he was pale as pale could be;- "fly! my lord bishop, without delay, ten thousand rats are coming this way." "i'll go to my tower on the rhine," quoth he, "'tis the safest place in germany; the walls are high and the shores are steep, and the stream is long and the water deep." bishop hatto fearfully hastened away, and he crossed the rhine without delay, and reached his tower, and barred with care all the windows, doors, and loopholes there. he laid him down, and closed his eyes. but soon a scream made him arise: he started, and saw two eyes of flame on his pillow, from whence the screaming came. he listened, and looked--it was only the cat; but the bishop grew more fearful for that, for she sat screaming, mad with fear, at the army of rats that were drawing near. for they have swum over the river so deep, and they have climed the shores so steep, and up the tower their way is bent, to do the work for which they were sent. they are not to be told by the dozen or score- by the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more; such numbers have never been heard of before, such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore. down on his knees the bishop fell, and faster and faster his beads did tell, as louder and louder, drawing near, the gnawing by their teeth he could hear. and in at the windows, and in at the door, and through the walls helter-skelter they pour, and down from the ceiling, and up from the floor, from the right and the left, from behind and before, from within and without, from above and below; and all at once to the bishop they go. they have whetted their teeth against the stones, and now they pick the bishop's bones; they gnawed the flesh from every limb, for they were sent to do judgement on him. r. southey what became of them! he was a rat, and she was a rat, and down in one hole they did dwell, and both were as black as a witch's cat, and they loved one another well. he had a tail, and she had a tail, both long and curling and fine, and each said, "yours is the finest tail in the world, excepting mine." he smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese, and they both pronounced it good; and both remarked it would greatly add to the charms of their daily food. so he ventured out, and she ventured out, and i saw them go with pain; but what befel them i never can tell, for they never came back again. [illustration: rats carrying home an egg.] [page 182--mousey land] [illustration: the gingerbread cat.] the gingerbread cat a baby-girl, on christmas night had filled her little apron white with all a happy child could take of christmas toys and christmas cake; but on the stairway she let fall the chiefest treasure of them all- a little cat of gingerbread all frosted white from tail to head. now in the moonlit midnight time, when merry mice do run and climb, a plump gray mouse come down the stair and saw the christmas cake-cat there. she stood still in her cruel fright and gazed upon the monster white who seemed to feel as great surprise, and stared with both his raisin eyes. poor mousie dared not, could not stir! her little brain was in a whirr! five minutes--ten--but not a paw had puss put forth! "i never saw a cat like this!" the poor mouse said. a brave bold thought came in her head- her wee heart beating pit-a-pat, she moved her own paw--touched the cat- then sprang upon it with a squeal and made a most delicious meal "ho! ho!" she cried, "sugar! spice! and everything that's good and nice- that's what cats are made of, the cats that we're afraid of!" then up the stairs she madly pranced, and o'er the attic floor she danced and then she stood upon her head and to her 'stonished friends she said, "o, joy to every mouse and rat, for i have eaten up the cat!" the mice the mice are in their holes, and there they hide by day; but when 'tis still at night, they all come out to play. they climb up on the shelves, and taste of all they please; they drink the milk and cream, and eat the bread and cheese. but if they hear the cat, at once they stop their fun; in fright they seek their holes as fast as they can run. three mice three mice went into a hole to spin, puss came by, puss peeped in; what are you doing, my little old men? we're weaving coats for gentlemen. shall i come and help you to wind up your threads? oh, no, mrs. pussy, you'd bite off our heads! says pussy, "you are so wondrous wise i love your whiskers and round black eyes; your house is the prettiest house i see. and i think there is room for you and me." the mice were so pleased that they opened the door, and pussy soon laid them all dead on the floor. "run mousey, run!" i am sitting by the fireside, reading, and very still, there comes a little sharp-eyed mouse, and run about he will. he flies along the mantelpiece he darts beneath the fender; it's just as well that jane's not here, or into fits he'd send her. and now he's nibbling at some cake she left upon the table. he seems to think i'm somebody to hurt a mouse unable. run, mousey, run! i hear the cat, she's scratching at the door, once she comes in, you'll have no chance beneath her savage claw. run, mousey, run! i hear jane's foot, she's coming up to bed, if puss but makes a spring at you, poor mousey, you'll be dead! a mouse caught in a cage i'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am! i live in the wall of your house, ma'am! with a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas, i was having a little carouse, ma'am! no mischief at all i intend, ma'am! i hope you will act as my friend, ma'am! if my life you should take, many hearts it would break, and the trouble would be without end, ma'am! my wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am! she's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am! she hoped i might find a bit of rind, or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am! i never was given to strife, ma'am! (don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!) the noise overhead that disturbs you in bed, 't is the rats, i will venture my life, ma'am! in your eyes i see mercy i'm sure, ma'am! oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am! i'll slip through the crack, and i'll never come back, oh i'll never come back any more, ma'am! the foolish mouse in a crack, near the cupboard, with dainties provided, a certain young mouse with her mother resided; so securely they lived, in that snug, quiet spot, any mouse in the land might have envied their lot. but one day the young mouse, which was given to roam, having made an excursion some way from her home, on a sudden returned, with such joy in her eyes, that her grey, sedate parent expressed some surprise, "oh mother," said she, "the good folks of this house i'm convinced, have not any ill-will to a mouse; and those tales can't be true you always are telling, for they've been at such pains to construct us a dwelling. "the floor is of wood, and the walls are of wires exactly the size that one's comfort requires; and i'm sure that we there shall have nothing to fear, if ten cats, with kittens, at once should appear. "and then they have made such nice holes in the wall, one could slip in and out, with no trouble at all; but forcing one through such rough crannies as these, always gives one's poor ribs a most terrible squeeze. "but the best of all is, they've provided, as well, a large piece of cheese, of most exquisite smell; 'twas so nice, i had put in my head to go through, when i thought it my duty to come and fetch you." "ah, child," said the mother, "believe, i entreat, both the cage and the cheese are a terrible cheat; do not think all that trouble they took for our good, they would catch us and kill us all there if they could. "thus they've caught and killed scores, and i never could learn, that a mouse who once entered did ever return." let young people mind what the old people say. and, when danger is near them, keep out of the way. [page 183--mousey land] [illustration: mice helping their comrade out of a trap.] a clever and good mother mouse one summer day the sun shone bright, mid sweet flowers roved the bee, and i wandered in a garden old beside the deep blue sea. but close at hand, a shady path, beneath some beech trees wound, and there. that sultry summer day, a pleasant seat i found. suddenly, just beside my chair, a little sound i heard; a scratch upon the gravel path, as of a mouse or bird. i turned my head; there, on the path, what strange sight did i see! a little mouse, and in her mouth another still more wee. softly she crept across the path, and then, her journey done, in a hole beneath the green grass verge she laid her little one. and back and forth from side to side, i watched her carry five sweet little mice, her own dear brood, long tailed, and all alive. she never wearied in her work, yet oh! so small was she! and thus, that bright, hot summer day she moved her nursery. dear mother mouse! my verse has told your patient loving deed; methinks our boys and girls may learn some lessons as they read. francis e. cooke the true history of a poor little mouse a poor little mouse had once made him a nest, and he fancied, the warmest, and safest, and best, that a poor little mouse could enjoy; so snug and convenient, so out of the way. this poor little mouse and his family lay, they fear'd neither pussy nor boy. it was in a store that was seldom in use, where shavings and papers were scattered in loose, that this poor little mouse made his hole, but alas! master johnny had seen him one day, as in a great fright he had scampered away, with a piece of plum pudding he stole. as soon as young johnny (who, wicked and bad, no pitiful thoughts for dumb animals had) descried the poor fellow's retreat, he crept to the shavings and set them alight, and, before the poor mouse could run off in its fright, it was smother'd to death in the heat! poor mouse! how it squeak'd i can't bear to relate, nor how its poor little ones hopp'd in the grate, and died, one by one, in the flame! i should not much wonder to hear, that, some night, this wicked boy's bed-curtains catching alight, he suffered exactly the same. ann taylor the mouse's call a little mouse crept out one day, when all was still about; to dollie's house he took his way, the lady being out. he skipped about with bead-bright eyes from table down to chair; he thought the house was just the size for him to settle there. he found some jelly cake so nice, this naughty little mouse; he nibbled first, then in a trice 'twas gone from dollie's house. he curl'd himself upon the floor, to have a little nap, when suddenly upon the floor there came a fearful rap. the mouse who had not left a crumb, with fear began to shake, for dollie's mistress back had come to get her piece of cake. she opened wide the little house, her doll lay on her arm, and when she spied the trembling mouse she cried out with alarm. she tumbled back upon the ground, her dear doll falling too, while the mouse went rushing round, not knowing what to do. at last he tumbled down the stair, then to his hole he flew; and which did most the other scare they never, never knew. [illustration: mouse reading "how to dodge the cat".] [page 184--froggy land] [illustration: kind frog carrying his wife.] the foolish frog in a tank at the foot of the hill lived mr. and mrs. frog, at the head of the sparkling rill, by the side of a queachy bog; and they had children ten- all froggies as yellow as gold, who loved to play on the fen, but they often were over-bold. now it fell out one bright day, as it never had done before, when father frog was away a stickleback sailed to the door. "oh! mrs. frog," said he, "your sister is very ill; and much she wants to see you down at the water mill." then mother frog showed her grief in such tears as you never saw; and, having no handkerchief, she wiped her eyes with a paw. said she, "now, froggies dear, you must not go to the fen: there is no danger here, and i'll soon come back again!" but the naughty little froggies, disobeyed their mother and went. then a duck, which had lazily swum for hours in a reedy pool, seeing the shadows come, and feeling the air grow cool. with a "quack, quack, quack," came out she meant, "it is time to sup!" so finding the froggies about, she gobbled them quickly up. so mr. and mrs. frog, by the peeping stars made bold, came back by the queachy bog, to their froggies all yellow as gold. they never saw them again- alas! that it should be so. they were told not to go to the fen; but the did not obey, you know. "early days" marriage of mr. froggie there was a frog lived in a bog- a frog of high degree- a stylish youth, and yet, forsooth, a bachelor was he. he had not wed because, he said, he'd ne'er in all his life seen in the bog a pollywog he cared to make his wife. but one fine day, when drest up gay, he passed a pretty house, and there beside the window spied a most attractive mouse. he raised his hat, and gazing at miss mouse, in suit of gray, he made a bow, likewise a vow to marry her straightway. when he was drest in scarlet vest, and coat of velvet sheen with frills of lace, and sword in place, his like was nowhere seen. his smile was bland, his style so grand, he said with pride, "i know miss mouse so fair, can find nowhere so suitable a beau! "if she'll agree to live with me, and be my faithful wife, oh, she shall dine on dishes fine, and lead an easy life." when he went by, miss mouse so shy, would hide her blushing face; but truth to tell could see quite well through curtains of thin lace. and from her nook, ah! many a look she gave, with heart a-stir; and oft did she confess that he was just the beau for her. at last so blue poor froggie grew, he went up to the house and rang the bell, in haste to tell his love for mistress mouse. he passed the door, and on the floor he knelt and kissed her hand, "wilt marry me?" he asked, while she her burning blushes fanned. she answered "yes," as you may guess, to mister frog's delight; his arm he placed around her waist, and joy was at its height. the wedding-day was set straightway, the town was all agog; and gifts, not few, were sent unto miss mouse and mister frog. and never yet was banquet set, in country or in town, with fare more rich than that to which the wedding guests sat down. and, after all, there was the ball, for which the band was hired, and frogs and mice were up in a trice, and danced till their toes were tired. frogs at school twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushy pool; twenty little coats of green, twenty vests all white and clean, "we must be in time," said they; "first we study, then we play; that is how we keep the rule when we froggies go to school." master bullfrog, grave and stern, called the classes in their turn; taught them how to nobly strive, likewise how to leap and dive; from his seat upon the log showed them how to say, "ker-chog!" also, how to dodge a blow from the sticks which bad boys throw. twenty froggies grew up fast; bullfrogs they became at last; not one dunce among the lot, not one lesson they forgot. polished in a high degree, as each froggie ought to be, now they sit on other logs, teaching other little frogs. [illustration: flying frog.] [page 185--froggy land] mouse that lost her tail once upon a time a cat and mouse were playing together, when, quite by accident, the cat bit off the mouse's tail. it was very strange that the cat did not bite off the mouse's head. but this mouse was a good mouse, and never stole any cheese; and so the cat only bit off her tail. mousey was very much vexed to see that her tail was gone, so she said to pussy- "oh, dear pussy! do give me my tail again." "no, that i will not," said pussy, "till you get me some milk for my breakfast." "oh, the cow will give me some," said the mouse. so she frisked and jumped, and then she ran till she came to the cow, and thus began:- "please, cow, give me some milk. i want to give pussy milk, and pussy will give me my own tail again." "so i will, mousey, if you will get me some hay for my breakfast." said the cow. "oh, the farmer will give me some," said the mouse. so she frisked and jumped, and then she ran till she came to the farmer, and thus began:- "please, mr. farmer, give me some hay; i want to give the cow hay. the cow will give me some milk; i will give pussy milk; and pussy will give me my own tail again." "so i will, mousey, if you get me some bread for my breakfast," said the farmer. "oh, the baker will give me some," said the mouse. so she frisked and jumped, and then she ran till she came to the baker, and thus began:- "please, mr. baker, give me some bread; i want to give the farmer bread. the farmer will give me some hay; i will give the cow hay, the cow will give me some milk; i will give pussy milk; and pussy will give me my own tail again." "so i will, mousey, if you get me some meat for my breakfast," said the baker. "oh, the butcher will give me some," said the mouse. so she frisked and jumped, and then she ran till she came to the butcher, and thus began:- "please, mr. butcher, give me some meat. i want to give the baker meat. the baker will give me some bread; i will give the farmer bread. the farmer will give me some hay; i will give the cow hay, the cow will give me some milk; i will give pussy milk; and pussy will give me my own tail again." "so i will, mousey, if you will eat up the crumbs that have fallen at my breakfast," said the butcher. "oh, that i will," said the mouse, and she soon cleared the floor of every crumb. then the butcher gave the mouse some meat, and the mouse gave the baker the meat, and the baker gave the mouse some bread, and the mouse gave the farmer the bread, and the farmer gave the mouse some hay, and the mouse gave the cow the hay, and the cow gave the mouse some milk, and the mouse gave pussy the milk, and then pussy gave poor little mousey her own tail again. so she frisked and jumped, and away she ran and cried out to pussy, "catch me if you can!" mouse gruel there was an old person of ewell, who chiefly subsisted on gruel, but to make it taste nice, he inserted some mice, which refreshed that old person of ewell. wise mice some little mice sat in a barn to spin, pussy came by and she popped her head in. "shall i come in and cut your threads off?" "oh, no, kind sir, you will bite our heads off!" mouse ran up the clock hickory, diccory dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck one, the mouse ran down, hickory, diccory, dock. a frog he would a-wooing go a frog he would a-wooing go, whether his mother would have it or no; so off he set with his nice new hat, and on the road he met a rat. "pray, mr. rat, will you go with me, kind mrs. mousey for to see!" when they came to the door of mousey's hall, they gave a loud knock, and gave a loud call. [illustration: frog, rat and mousey.] "pray, mrs. mouse, are you within?" "oh, yes, kind sirs, i'm sitting to spin." "pray, mrs. mouse, will you give us some beer? for froggy and i are fond of good cheer." "pray, mr. frog, will you give us a song- but let it be something that's not very long!" "indeed, mrs. mouse," replied the frog, "a cold has made me as hoarse as a dog." "since you have a cold, mr. frog," mousey said, "i'll sing you a song that i have just made." but while they were all a merry-making, a cat and her kittens came tumbling in. the cat she seized the rat by the crown; the kittens they pulled the little mouse down. this put mr. frog in a terrible fright: he took up his hat, and wished them good-night. but as froggy was crossing over a brook, a lily-white duck came and gobbled him up, so there was an end of one, two, and three. the rat, the mouse, and the little frog-ee. man that caught a mouse the little priest of felton, the little priest of felton, he killed a mouse within his house, and ne'er a one to help him. three blind mice three blind mice! three blind mice! see how they run! see how they run! they all ran after the farmer's wife, they cut off their tails with a carving knife; did you ever see such a thing in your life as three blind mice? the three unfortunate mice three little dogs were basking in the cinders; three little cats were playing in the windows; three little mice hopped out of a hole, and a piece of cheese they stole; the three little cats jumped down in a trice, and cracked the bones of the three little mice. the foolish mouse in a crack near the cupboard, with dainties provided, a certain young mouse with her mother resided; so securely they lived in that snug, quiet spot, any mouse in the land might have envied their lot. but one day the young mouse, which was given to roam, having made an excursion some way from her home, on a sudden returned, with such joy in her eyes, that her grey, sedate parent expressed some surprise. "o mother," said she, "the good folks of this house, i'm convinced, have not any ill-will to a mouse; and those tales can't be true you always are telling, for they've been at such pains to construct us a dwelling. "the floor is of wood, and the walls are of wires, exactly the size that one's comfort requires; and i'm sure that we there shall have nothing to fear, if ten cats, with kittens, at once should appear. "and then they have made such nice holes in the wall, one could slip in and out, with no trouble at all; but forcing one through such rough crannies as these, always gives one's poor ribs a most terrible squeeze. "but the best of all is, they've provided, as well, a large piece of cheese, of most exquisite smell; 't was so nice, i had put in my head to go through, when i thought it my duty to come and fetch you." "ah, child," said the mother, "believe, i entreat, both the cage and the cheese are a terrible cheat; do not think all that trouble they took for our good, they would catch us and kill us there if they could. "thus they've caught and killed scores, and i never could learn, that a mouse who once entered did ever return." let young people mind what the old people say, and, when danger is near them keep out of the way. [page 186--mixed animal land] [illustration: fox reading "the poultry fancier's gazette".] the fox and the cat the fox and the cat as they travelled one day, with moral discourses cut shorter on the way: "'tis great," says the fox, "to make justice our guide!" "how godlike is mercy!" grimalkin replied. whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from the wood, impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, rushed forth--as he saw the dull shepherd asleep- and seized for his supper an innocent sheep. "in vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat; when mutton's at hand," says the wolf, "i must eat." grimalkin's astonished--the fox stood aghast, to see the fell beast at his bloody repast. "what a wretch!" says the cat--"'tis the vilest of brutes; does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots?" cries the fox, "while our oaks give us acorns so good, what a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!" well, onward they marched, and they moralised still. till they came where some poultry picked chaff by a mill. sly reynard surveyed the them with gluttonous eyes, and made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize! a mouse, too, that chanced from her covert to stray, the greedy grimalkin secured as her prey! a spider that sat in her web on the wall, perceived the poor victims, and pitied their fall; she cried, "of such murders how guiltless am i!" so ran to regale on a new-taken fly! sour grapes a fox was trotting one day, and just above his head he spied a vine of luscious grapes, rich, ripe, and purple-red. eager he tried to snatch the fruit, but, ah! it was too high; poor reynard had to give it up, and, heaving a deep sigh, he curl'd his nose and said, "dear me! i would not waste an hour upon such mean and common fruit- i'm sure those grapes are sour!" 'tis thus we often wish thro' life, when seeking wealth and pow'r and when we fall, say, like the fox, we're "sure the grapes are sour!" the fox and the mask a fox walked round a toyman's shop (how he came there, pray do not ask), but soon he made a sudden stop, to look and wonder at a mask. the mask was beautiful and fair, a perfect mask as e'er was made; at which a lady meant to wear at the ensuing masquerade. he turned it round with much surprise, to find it prove so light and thin; "how strange!" astonished reynard cries, "here's mouth and nose, and eyes and chin. "and cheeks and lips, extremely pretty; and yet, one thing there still remains to make it perfect--what a pity, so fine a head should have no brains!" thus, to some boy or maiden pretty; who to get learning takes no pains, may we exclaim, "ah! what a pity, so fine a head should have no brains!" the fox and crow in a dairy a crow, having ventured to go, some food for her young ones to seek, flew up in the trees with a fine piece of cheese, which she joyfuly held in her beak. a fox who lived by, to the tree saw her fly, and to share in the prize he made a vow, for, having just dined, he for cheese felt inclined, so he went and sat under the bough. she was cunning he knew, but so was he, too, and with flattery adapted his plan; for he knew if she'd speak, it must fall from his beak, so, bowing politely, began: "'tis a very fine day," (not a word did she say), "the wind, i believe, ma'am, is south: a fine harvest for peas;" he then looked at the cheese, but the crow did not open her mouth. sly reynard, not tired, he plumage admired: "how charming! how brilliant its hue! the voice must be fine of a bird so divine, ah, let me hear it, pray do. believe me i long to hear a sweet song;" the silly crow foolishly tries; she scarce gave one squall, when the cheese she let fall, and the fox ran away with the prize. jane taylor the blind men and the elephant (a hindoo fable) it was six men of indostan to learning much inclined, who went to see an elephant, (though all of them were blind), that each by observation might satisfy his mind. the first approached the elephant, and happening to fall against his broad and sturdy side, at once began to bawl: "god bless me!--but the elephant is very like a wall!" the second feeling of the tusk, cried: "ho! what have we here so very round and smooth and sharp! to me 'tis mighty clear this wonder of an elephant is very like a spear!" the third approached the animal, and happening to take the squirming trunk within his hands, this boldly up and spake: "i see," quoth he, "the elephant is very like a snake!" the fourth reached out his eager hand, and felt about the knee, "what most this wondrous beast is like is mighty plain," quoth he; "'tis clear enough the elephant is very like a tree!" the fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, said: "e'n the blindest man can tell what this resembles most, deny the fact who can, this marvel of an elephant is very like a fan." the sixth no sooner had begun about the beast to grope, than, seizing on the swinging tail that fell within his scope, "i see," quoth he, "the elephant is very like a rope!" and so these men of indostan disputed loud and long, each in his own opinion exceeding stiff and strong, though each was partly in the right, and all were in the wrong. [illustration: elephant and clown having tea.] [page 187--mixed animal land] an address to a mouse sly little, cowering, timorous beastie! oh what a panic's in thy breastie! you need not start away so hasty, with bickering speed: i should be loth to run and chase thee i should indeed! i'm truly sorry man's dominion hath broken nature's social union, and justifies that ill opinion which makes thee startle at me, thy poor earth-born companion, and fellow mortal. sometimes, i doubt not, thou dost thieve; what then? poor beastie, thou must live; a little barley in the shieve is small request; and all thou tak'st, i do believe, will ne'er be missed. r. burns song of the toad i am an honest toad, living here by the road; beneath a stone i dwell, in a snug little cell. when the rain patters down, i let it wet my crown; and now and then i sip a drop with my lip. and now a catch a fly, and now i wink my eye, and now i take a hop, and now and then i stop. and this is all i do, and yet they sat it's true that the toad's face is sad, and his bite is very bad. oh! naughty folks they be who tell such tales of me! for i'm an honest toad just living by the road, hip, hip, hop. mosquito song in a summer's night i take my flight to where the maidens repose; and while they are slumbering sweet and sound, i bite them on the nose; the warm red blood that tints their cheeks, to me is precious dear, for 'tis my delight to buzz and bite in the season of the year. when i get my fill, i wipe my bill, and sound my tiny horn; and off i fly to mountain high ere breaks the golden morn; but at eve i sally forth again to tickle the sleeper's ear; for 'tis my delight to buzz and bite in the season of the year. on the chamber wall about i crawl, till landlord goes to bed; then my bugle i blow, and down i go to light upon his head. oh, i love to see the fellow slap, and regret to hear him swear; for 'tis my delight to buzz and bite in the season of the year. the nightingale and glow-worm a nightingale, that all day long had cheered the village with his song, nor yet at eve his note suspended, nor yet when eventide was ended, began to feel--as well he might- the keen demands of appetite; when looking eagerly around, he spied, far off, upon the ground, a something shining in the dark, and knew the glow-worm by his spark; so; stooping down, from hawthorn top, he thought to put him in his crop the worm, aware of his intent, harangued him this, quite eloquent- "did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "as much as i your minstrelsy? you would abhor to do me wrong, as much as i to spoil your song; for 'twas the self-same power divine taught you to sing, and me to shine: that you with music, i with light, might beautify and cheer the night." the songster heard his short oration, and, warbling out his approbation, released him as my story tells, and found a supper somewhere else. cowper the glow-worm beneath this hedge, or near the stream, a worm is known to stray, that shows by night a lucid stream that disappears by day. disputes have been, and still prevail, from whence his rays proceed; some give the honor to his tail, and others to his head; but this is sure--the hand of might that kindles up the skies, gives him a modicum of light, proportion'd to his size. perhaps indulgent nature meant, by such a lamp bestow'd, to bid the traveller as he went, be careful where he trod. cowper happiness of the grasshopper happy insect! what can be in happiness compared with thee! fed with nourishment divine, the dewy morning's gentle wine; nature waits upon thee still, and thy verdant cup does fill. all the fields which thou dost see, all the plants belong to thee: all that summer hours produce, fertile made with easy juice; the country hinds with gladness hear, prophet of the ripened year! cowley the whale warm and buoyant, in his oily mail, gambols on seas of ice th' unwieldily whale; wide waving fins round boating islands urge his bulk gigantic through the troubled surge; with hideous yawn, the flying shoals he seeks, or clasps with fringe of horn his massy cheeks; lifts o'er the tossing wave his nostril bare, and spouts the watery columns into air; the silvery arches catch the setting beams, and transient rainbows tremble o'er the streams. darwin the wasp and the bee a wasp met a bee that was just buzzing by, and he said "little cousin, can you tell me why you are loved so much better by people than i. "my back shines as bright, and as yellow as gold and my shape is most elegant too to behold, and yet nobody likes me for that, i am told," bz. "ah! cousin," the bee said, "'tis all very true, but if i were half as much mischief to do, then i'm sure they would love me no better than you. bz. "you have a fine shape and a delicate wing, and they say you are handsome; but then there's one thing they never can put up with; and that is your sting. bz. "my coat is quite homely and plain, as you see, but yet no one is angry or scolding at me, just because i'm a harmless and busy bee." bz. from this little story let people beware, for if, like the cross wasp, ill-natured they are, they will never be loved, though they're ever so fair. my pets i bring my little doggies milk; i bring my rabbits hay; i feed and tend, and love them well- such helpless things are they! see! now in soft and cozy bed they roll about and play; they've milk and bones, and all they want- such happy pets are they! [illustration: man carrying animals.] [page 188--squirrel land] [illustration: boy with squirrel.] the squirrel i'm a merry, merry squirrel, all day i leap and whirl through my home in the old beech-tree if you chase me i will run in the shade and in the sun; but you never, never can catch me for round a bough i'll creep, playing hide and seek so sly; or through the leaves bo-peep, with my little shining eye. up and down i run and frisk, with my bushy tail to whisk all who mope in the old beech-trees. how droll to see the owl as i make him wink and growl, while his sleepy, sleepy head i tease! and i waken up the bat, who flies off with a scream, for he thinks that i'm the cat pouncing on him, in his dream. through all the summer long i never want a song from birds in the old beech-trees i have singers all the night, and with the morning bright come my busy, humming, fat, brown bees. when i've nothing else to do with the nursing birds i sit; and we laugh at the cuckoo a-coo-cooing to her tit! when winter comes with snow an its cruel tempests blow all my leaves from the old beech-trees, then beside the wren and mouse i furnish up a house, where, like a prince, i live at ease. what care i for hail or sleet, with my cozy cap and coat; and my tail about my feet, or wrapped about my throat? norman macleod ducks and ducklings one little white duck, one little grey, six little black ducks running out to play; one white lady-duck, motherly and trim, eight little baby ducks bound for a swim. one little white duck running from the water, one very fat duck- pretty little daughter- one little grey duck holding up its wings. one little bobbing duck making water rings. one little black duck standing on a stone, one little grey duck swimming all alone, one little grey duck holding down it's head. one sleepy little duck, it has gone to bed! one little what duck running to its mother, look among the water-reeds, may be there's another. one hungry little duck going out to dine, two dainty little ducks, snowy-white and fine. merry little brown eyes o'er the picture linger, point all the ducks out, chubby little finger; make the picture musical, merry little shout; now where's that other duck? what is he about? i thank that other duck is the nicest duck of all, he hasn't any feathers, and his mouth is sweet and small; he runs with a light step and jumps upon my knee, and though he cannot swim he is very dear to me. one white lady-duck, motherly and trim, eight little baby ducks bound for a swim; one sleepy little duck taking quite a nap, one precious little duck here on mother's lap. a. l. the squirrel the pretty red squirrel lives up in a tree, a little blithe creature as ever can be; he dwells in the boughs where the stock-dove broods, far in the shades of the green summer woods; his food is the young juicy cones of the pine, and the milky beech-nut is his bread and his wine. in the joy of his nature he frisks with a bound to the topmost twigs, and then down to the ground. then up again like a winged thing, and from tree to tree with a vaulting spring; then he sits up aloft, and looks ragged and queer, as if he would say: "ay, follow me here!" and then he grows pettish, and stamps his foot; and then with a chatter, he cracks his nut; and thus he lives all the long summer through, without either a care or a thought of rue. the mountain and the squirrel the mountain and the squirrel had a quarrel, and the former called the latter "little prig;" bun replied, "you are doubtless very big, but all sorts of things and weather must be taken together to make up a year, and a sphere. and i think it no disgrace to occupy my place. if i'm not so large as you, you are not so small as i. and not half so spry; i'll not deny you make a very pretty squirrel track. talents differ; all is well and wisely put; if i cannot carry forests on my back, neither can you crack an nut!" r. w. emerson [illustration: an intelligent tame raccoon.] [page 189--wonderful bird nests] wonderful birds' nests [illustration: five birds' nests.] [page 190--cole's poems on books] [illustration: cole at the age of 40.] [illustration: edward william cole--aged 80.] [illustration: coles own portrait] what books do for mankind 1. books should be found in every house, to form and feed the mind; they are the best of luxuries to happify mankind. 2. for all good books throughout the world are man's most precious treasure; they make him wise, and bring him his best, his choicest pleasure. 3. books make his time pass happily, relieve his weary hours; amuse, compose, instruct his mind; enlarge his mental powers. 4. books teach the boys and girls of earth in quite ten million schools; books make the difference between earth's learned and its fools. 5. books teach earth's teeming artisans the proper way to take, to find, to plan, to build, to mix, and every product make. 6. books teach schoolmasters, clergymen, of every rank and grade; and doctors, lawyers, judges, too- books are their tools of trade. ---- 128. books thus, by print, and pictures, bring the whole world into view, and show what all men think about, and everything they do. 129. books give to man the history of each and every land; books show him human actions past, the bad, the good, the grand. 130. books show him human arts and laws of every time and place; books show the learnings and the faiths of all the human race. 131. books give the best and greatest thoughts of all the good and wise; books treasure human knowledge up, and thus it never dies. 132. books show men all that men have done, have thought, have sung, have said, books show the deeds and wisdom of the living and the dead. 133. books show that mankind's leading faiths, in morals are the same; that in their main essentials they differ but in name. 134. books show that virtue, goodness, love, exist in every land; that some with kindly sympathies are found on every strand. 135. books show the joys, griefs, hopes and fears, of every race and clan; books show, by unity of thought, the brotherhood of man. 136. books thus will cause the flag of peace through earth to be unfurled- produce "the parliament of man," and federate the world. 137. books give the reader vast delight, the bookless never know; books give him pleasure, day and night, wherever he may go. 138. books show narcotics, toxicants, of each and every kind; insidious destroyers all, of body and of mind. 139. books, like strong drink, will drowns man's cares but do not waste his wealth; books leave him better, drink the worse, in character and health. 140. books teach and please him when a child, in youth and in his prime; books give him soothing pleasure when his health and strength decline. 141. books teach, from their beginning, of higher beings than man; that one almighty goodness was before the world began. 142. books give us hope beyond the grave, of an immortal life; books teach that right, and truth, and love, shall banish every strife. 143. books therefore are, of all we own, the choicest things on earth; books have, of all our worldly goods, the most intrinsic worth. 144. books are the greatest blessing brought, the grandest thing we sell; books bring more joy, books do more good, than mortal tongue can tell. [page 191--comic advertiser] [illustration: serious sambo.] cole's comic advertiser (or fun doctor's assistant) laughter as a medicine. "the physician tells us of the physical benefits of laughing. there is not the remotest corner or little inlet of the minute blood-vessels of the human body that does not feel some wavelet from the convulsion occasioned by good hearty laughter. the life principle, or the central man, is shaken to the innermost depths, sending new tided of life and strength to the surface, thus materially tending to insure good health to persons who indulge therein. the blood moves more rapidly, and conveys a different impression to all the organs of the body, as it visits them on that particular mystic journey when the man is laughing, from what it does at other times. for this reason every good, hearty laugh in which a person indulges lengthens his life, conveying as it does a new and distinct stimulus to the vital forces." "fun is worth more than physic, and whoever invents or discovers a new supply deserves the name of public benefactor." man made to laugh, not to morn. man warnt made tew mourn, man waz made tew laff. he iz the onla creeter or thing that god made tew laff out loud. it iz true he knows how to mourn, do duz animills know how, the birds kan tell their sorrows, and the flowers kan hang their pretty heds. man was made tew smile, tew laff, to haw! tew throw up his hat, and sing halleluger. man was made tew praze god, and he can't dew it by mourning. awl the mourning there iz in this wurld was introduced bi man; man warnt made tew mourn any more than he was made to crawl. tharfore i sa tew awl men and women, stop crying and go tew laffing, you will last longer, and git fatter, and stand just as good a chanse tew git tew heaven with a smile on your countenance as yu will with yure face leaking at every pore.--_josh billings_ josh billing's prayer. "from a wife who don't luv us, from fluky mutton, and tite butes, and from folks who won't laff, good lord deliver us." [illustration: parent cats admiring their kitten.] [page 192--comic advertiser] testimonials to the astonishing curing power of cole's fun doctor. [illustration: the tall king bird.] [illustration: couple, before and after.] most astonishing cure of the age dear sir--many years ago it was my misfortune to be jilted in love by a cruel-hearted woman. i pined away, and fell into a bad state of health, and was advised by my friends to take some physic. i never took a single dose except somebody told me that it was exactly what i wanted to make me well--but it all did me no good. i only got worse until i came across the right thing, which i will presently describe. i find, in looking over my paid bills, the following are the kinds and quantities of physic i have used during my illness:-holloway's pills, 227 boxes; cockle's pills, 121 boxes, beecham's pills, 80 boxes; parr's life pills, 76 boxes, blue pills, 849 boxes. one friend advised me to give up pills and take some good old-fashioned physic. i took of jalap, 37 pounds; caster oil; 180 bottles, salts and senna, 800 doses; rhubarb and magnesia, 300 doses; brimstone and treacle, 800 doses--but this did me no good. another friend advised me to take some world-fames patent medicines, so i took of eno's fruit salt 190 bottles, warner's safe cure, 200 bottles; townsend's sarsaparilla, 120 bottles; hop bitters, 180 bottles; dandelion ale, two hogsheads. i took hayter's nerve tonic, hayter's blood purifier, hayter's invigorator, and hayter's pick-me-up, of each 100 bottles; and wolfe's schnapps, 630 bottles-but i felt no better. another friend came along, and said for my complaint it was no use taking medicines internally, and i must use the "rub on remedies," so i rubbed on holloway's ointment, 241 boxes; davis's pain killer, 70 bottles; moulton's pain paint, 60 bottles; st. jacob's oil, weston's wizard oil, and croton oil, of each 100 bottles: and of eucalyptus oil, 900 quart bottles--but i felt no better. another friend advised the herb cure, so i took strong decoctions of chamomile, pennyroyal, peppermint, rue, tansy, quassia, horehound, wormwood, aconite, belladonna, hemlock, nux vomica, lungwort, liverwort, moonwort, sneezewort, and snakeweed--altogether i took about 1700 quarts of these horrid decoctions--but i felt no better. another friend told me my stomach was out of order, and required cleansing, so i took of ipecacuanha wine 139 quarts--but this did not cure me. another friend said all diseases come from insects, and i had insects in me, and must take special medicine for them, so i took of keating's insecticide 730 packets--but got no better. another friend advised me to try homoeopathy. i took 111 tubes of pilules and 80 bottles of tinctures--but they did me no good. another friend advised me to try the water cure. i took cold baths, warm baths, tepid baths, and turkish baths in hundreds, and drank about twenty hogsheads of mineral waters--but it did me no good. another friend advised the acid cure, so i took acetic acid, muriatic acid, nitric acid, sulphuric acid, oxalic acid, and prussic acid, of each about twenty quarts--but got no better. another friend advised soothing medicines, so i took over 400 of steedman's soothing powders, and 130 bottles of mother winslow's soothing syrup--but i was still irritable and nervous. my last course of medicine consisted of steel drops, balm of gilead, turpentine, chloroform, cod liver oil, assafoetida, spanish flies, and cayenne pepper--about fifteen pounds of each--but it all did me no good. i simply got worse and worse, and was reduced to a mere shadow of skin and bone, but, as luck would have it, another friend came along--a true friend this time--and suggested cole's fun doctor. i got it, and was well and stout in a week, at a cost of 1s 6d. sworn at temple court, and signed in everlasting gratitude, government house, melbourne john smith [illustration: bachelor, before and after.] [page 193--comic advertiser] [illustration: vocal solo.] a man on a train was heard to groan so frightfully that the passengers took pity on him, and one of them gave him a drink out of a whisky flask. "do you feel better?" asked the giver. "i do," said he who had groaned. "what ailed you anyway?" "ailed me?" "yes; what made you groan so?" "groan! great land o'goshen! i was singing!" the generous man will never quite cease to regret the loss of that drink of whisky. [illustration: instrumental solo.] [illustration: trio.] [illustration: duet.] [illustration: quartette.] cole's book arcade. cole's book arcade, it is in melbourne town, of all the book stores in this land, it has the most renown. [illustration: full band and choir.] tune: all the tunes there are mixed. [page 194--comic advertiser] going to cole's book arcade, melbourne [illustration: persian cat on a penny-farthing bicycle.] all the way from persia on this bicycle. [illustration: children in a boat.] why are these two nice children like thousands of knowledge-loving individuals? because they frequently visit cole's book arcade. [illustration: boy on a bicycle.] guess where this young gentleman is going? to cole's book arcade. right. you're a witch. [page 195--comic advertiser] [illustration: frogs going to cole's book arcade.] [illustration: long-legged man jumping over a cat.] [page 196--wonderful sea serpent] the sea-serpent as a carrier the world-renowned sea-serpent has been specially chartered to bring a fresh supply of books every week from england to cole's book arcade, melbourne; and also to show upon the coils of his body 2000 rainbows, being so many copies of that establishment. the sea-serpent, upon being communicated with, demanded a heavy price for his services, but mr. cole agreed to his terms, as he considered that 2000 of his rainbow signs travelling round the world on the sides of the famous sea-serpent would be a good advertisement for the book arcade. [illustration: the sea-serpent carrying a load of books.] true history of the great sea serpent john smith, the sea-serpent, was born in a swamp near sydney, about 5000 years ago. he was hatched by a female bunyip from an immense three cornered egg, which is supposed to have fallen out of the moon, and he is the only sea-serpent that ever existed. he never had relations, and is the only being in the world of whom the verse is true. he never had a father. he never had a mother. he never had a sister. he never had a brother. he also never had a wife. he is of a very shy disposition, and many fascinating mermaids have made love to him, and practiced all their well-known wiles upon him--but in vain: he is a bachelor still. like some other animals mentioned in history, he thinks and talks like a man. he is exceedingly intelligent, and seems to have as much sense as 20,000 ordinary men or 21,000 women. he can sing with a voice of tremendous compass, from the sweet piping of a nightingale down to far below the deepest tones of the largest organ, or the noise made by discharges of artillery. sometimes when he sings it shakes the ground for miles around, and if at sea causes a storm. his favourite songs are "a life on the ocean wave," "what are the wild waves saying," "down by the deep sad sea," and such like. he plays all the musical instruments in the world. his whistle can be heard a distance of 100 miles, his shout 50 miles, and his whisper 10 miles. of course, in an active life of 5000 years, a life almost as long as some hindoo patriarchs, he has seen and heard, and done, many astonishing things. he relates that he once rescued a travelling menagerie at sea, he swallowed the whole lot of animals, and the woman in charge of them, let them roam about inside of him and enjoy themselves, and then landed them safely on dry land at the end of 48 hours. he says that he was in arabia, and saw that remarkable occurrence of the moon coming down and going into mahomet's sleeves, and there and then he objected to the whole proceeding. the sea-serpent is 15 miles long and 50 feet in diameter, his skin is of a horny nature, but harder than steel, and about 5 feet thick. he travels at the rate of 200 miles per hour, and can carry 120 times as much as the "great eastern." if he was coming up to the queen's wharf, melbourne, when his head was at the wharf, his body would reach right down the river yarra out in the bay past williamstown, and the traffic would have to be stopped in the river whilst he was unloading. the sea-serpent is rather a large eater. since he reached full growth, namely, for the last 4000 years, he has swallowed a whole whale every morning for breakfast except once. the reason of his going without his breakfast that once is explained in the following manner:-the reader will remember the account of jonah and the whale in the talmud. it states that when jonah was in the whale's belly, it went out of the mediterranean right around africa into the red sea, and that jonah looked out through the eyes of the whale and saw the place where the children of israel crossed the red sea. the sea-serpent states that he can corroborate this piece of history, as he happened to be after that very whale for breakfast when he saw jonah looking out through its eyes. he says he did not swallow that whale, as he had found that the whales which he had previously swallowed with prophets inside of them did not agree with him, and consequently he had to go that morning without his breakfast, the first time in 4000 years. those who want any further information about the famous sea-serpent can acquire it at cole's book arcade, melbourne, or come and interview and question the sea-serpent himself when he arrives. p.s.--some people don't believe in the existence of the sea-serpent, but if he did not exist how could we have got his likeness and his history? that's a question for the unbelievers to answer. [page 197--funny and foolish dress land] [illustration: servant girl.] a servant girl dressed in four absurdities of fashion--a tight corset, tight high-heeled boots, a bustle improver, and fifteen-button gloves. she appears very conceited, but with her tight-lacing must feel very uncomfortable and unwell, and wall sensible people must feel that she is very silly, and with her absurd boots her feet must pain her almost as much as the chinese woman's shown above [right] pained her when first compressed. [illustration: various fashions.] european woman with her waist fashionably tightened to 15 inches. chinese woman with her feet fashionably compressed to 3 inches. long-nailed fashion of an annamese noble, and a marquesian chief. chinese ladies' fashionable pinched feet and shoes, shewing also deplorable foolishness in china. [illustration: various shoes.] old english fashions, showing our ancestors were as foolish as we are. [illustration: ancient greek youth.] costume of an ancient greek youth, very easy, elegant and suitable for a lady's reform dress. this is a much more sensible dress than the one opposite it [servant girl] and the two below it--look at them. [illustration: lady in crinoline at narrow pedestrian gap in fence.] crinoline, 1859. the dog has got through all right, but how will the lady manage. [illustration: three ladies in crinoline and a coach.] crinoline, 1859. coach licensed to carry four. the coachman and the horse are both wondering how it can be done. [page 198--funny and foolish dress land] [illustration: persian lady in out-door costume.] [illustration: french costume.] [illustration: costume, beginning of the 19th century.] [illustration: a german crinoline frame.] [illustration: indians of the rio colorado.] [illustration: roumanian costume.] [illustration: an english and french costume.] [illustration: a north american indian maiden.] [illustration: reformed american costume.] [illustration: the gorget costume.] [illustration: turkish out-door costume.] [page 199--funny, foolish, and useful fashions] [illustration: ancient english costume.] [illustration: british lady and chinese ambassador's wife and daughter.] a british lady and the chinese ambassador's wife and daughter at the queen's first drawing room, buckingham palace, 1893. the chinese ladies are dressed more rationally, but the have such fashionably small feet that they have to lean against the table to enable them to stand with safety. the european lady and the asiatic ladies are each alike martyrs to foolish fashion, one with the waist and the other with the feet. [illustration: old alsatian costume.] [illustration: bad kind of dress to run, and jump, and play in.] [illustration: too much material in the train and too little on the shoulders.] "mother, do put on a shawl, please, before you go down." "why, sonnie?" "oh, because some one's is sure to see you if you go down like that!" [page 200--useful fashions] [illustration: physical exercise costume.] [illustration: jewess of tunis.] [illustration: reform costume.] [illustration: a reform dress for travelling.] [illustration: bloomer costume.] [illustration: an afghan lady.] [illustration: syrian costume.] [illustration: mountain climbing costume.] [page 201--funny, foolish, and useful fashions] [illustration: maharajah of jodhpore.] [illustration: japanese court dress.] [illustration: chinese laborer.] [illustration: gentleman.] [illustration: king munza.] [illustration: an ancient fop.] ashamed to show his face. a few frivolous fops and other foolish men still wear corsets. [illustration: english costume.] [illustration: canadian indian.] [illustration: zulu kaffir.] [illustration: kaffir.] [illustration: mandan chief.] [illustration: a gentleman.] [page 202--boy smoking] [illustration: boy's first smoke.] boy's first smoke. enjoying the tobacco poison. [illustration: shortly afterwards.] shortly afterwards. suffering from the tobacco poison. [illustration: a youth stunted, wasted and wasting by cigarette smoking.] [illustration: twin brothers.] twin brothers. brother who smoked, thereby destroying his vital organs, his good looks, and stunting his body. brother who didn't smoke, and therefore grew good-looking, big, healthy and strong. multitudes of employers, both in england and america, will not employ boy smokers, and publicly announce the same. [illustration: boy smokers seeking employment.] [from the "social gazette," also from the "australian war cry."] the following statements show some of the large establishments that are closed against cigarette smokers in america:- "swift & co. (packing house, chicago), and other chicago business houses, employing hundreds of boys, have issued this announcement, or similar ones--_so impressed with the danger of cigarette using that we do not employ a cigarette user._ marshall field, the mammoth universal provider, gave similar notice. [page 203--smoking land] montgomery, ward and co., the universal providers, say, "we will not employ cigarette users." "morgan and wright tyre company, large employers, announce, "no cigarettes can be smoked by our employees." "at john wanamakers.--the application blank to be filled out by boys applying for a position reads: 'do you use tobacco or cigarettes?' a negative answer is expected, and is favourable to their acceptance as employes." "heath and milligan, chicago, bar cigarette users." "carson, pirie and scott, chicago, bar cigarette smokers as employes." ayer's sarsparilla company, lovell, employs hundreds of boys. --"march 1, 1902--believing that the smoking of cigarettes is injurious to both mind and body, thereby unfitting young men for their best work--therefore after this date we will not employ any young man under twenty-one years of age who smokes cigarettes." "i've got a boy for you, sir." glad of it; who is he?" asked the master workman of a large establishment. the man told the boy's name and where he lived. "don't want him," said the master workman, "he has got a bad mark." "a bad mark, sir; what?" "i meet him every day with a cigar in his mouth; i don't want smokers!" "the lehigh valley railroad bars cigarette smokers." "the chicago, rock island, and pacific railroad bars cigarette smoking." "the new york, new haven, and hartford railroad bars employes who smoke cigarettes." "the central railroad, georgia, forbids cigarette smoking." "the union pacific railroad forbids cigarette smoking." the following is a public notice: "the western union telegraph company will discharge from their messenger service boys who persist in smoking cigarettes." a telephone company.--order: "you are directed to serve notice that the use of cigarettes after august 1 will be prohibited; and you are further instructed to, in the future, refuse to employ anyone who is addicted to the habit."--leland hume, assistant general manager of the cumberland telephone and telegraph company. "in the united states weather bureau.--'chief of united states weather bureau, willis m. moore, has placed the ban on cigarettes in this department of government service'." smoking does some good, but more evil smoking soothes and comforts millions of the worried and the weary, and brings much pleasure to the habitual smoker, but it always more or less injures the health of the smoker and sometimes kills him. the vast majority of the medical fraternity condemn smoking, especially by the young. smoking injures multitudes of boys in many respects. smoking often leads to boys into bad company. smoking often makes them precocious, undutiful, impudent and callous. smoking often ruins the health. smoking generally stunts their growth. smoking generally sallows their complexion. smoking often leads them to lying. smoking often leads them to stealing. smoking often leads them to drinking. smoking degenerates the boy physically, mentally, and morally. smokers cannot excel in athletic sports, such as boating, cricket, cycling. smokers are always at the bottom of the class in school and college, and backward at all kinds of study. excessive smoking causes mental and physical laziness in boys and men. the following organs, fluids, functions, etc., of the body, especially of the young, are frequently more or less affected by the use of tobacco:--the blood, the heart, the nerves, the brain, the liver, the lungs, the stomach, the throat, the saliva, the taste, the voice, the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mouth, the tongue, the palate, the pancreas, the lips, the teeth, the bones, the skin. medical men and observing experts affirm many diseases are caused or accelerated by the use of tobacco, among which are the following:-heart disease, consumption, cancer, ulceration, asthma, bronchitis, neuralgia, paralysis, palsy, apoplexy, indigestion, dysentery, diarrhoea, constipation, sleeplessness, melancholia, delirium tremens, insanity. smoking frequently leads to prolonged suffering. smoking often destroys the appetite. smoking sometimes weakens the will power. smoking sometimes leads to loss of memory. smoking often leads to despondency. smoking sometimes leads to suicide. smoking frequently leads to loss--loss by bad health and waste of valuable time--direct loss in money required for other purposes, and immense loss through reckless, thoughtless, or unfortunate smokers being the cause of partial or total destruction by fire of buildings, ships, factories, homesteads, crops, stores, and property of many kinds; also loss of life and property by explosions in mines, explosive factories, powder magazines, explosive stores, etc. tobacco using is an unclean habit, and offensive habit, an enslaving habit, often it is an intensely selfish habit. tobacco fumes, especially in small and poorly-ventilated houses or rooms, injure or destroy the health of multitudes of wives, and injure the health of multitudes of infants and children. tobacco using injures the unborn child by giving it a puny body and an imperfect start in life. tobacco using is fast degenerating the race. a third of the recruits for the army are disqualified through smoking. the following governments have passes laws against juvenile smoking: germany, switzerland, norway, japan, canada, nova scotia, new brunswick, prince edward island, british columbia, the north west territories, cape colony, new south wales, victoria, south australia, tasmania, and about 48 of the states and territories out of 53; and so terrible and deplorable an effect has juvenile smoking upon the race that most other governments are considering the advisability of passing laws against it. the insidious influence of cigarette smoking by boys is shown in these examples of handwriting, taken from a london country council health report. the first was written by a boy when he was a victim of the habit; the second is the same boy's writing when he had given it up, ten months later. [illustration: handwriting samples.] [page 204--narcotics and intoxicants] narcotics and intoxicants in most parts of the word man has found out some way of stimulating, soothing, or deadening his animal system by means of plants or drugs. hundreds of these stimulating, intoxicating, soothing, and stupefying substances have been discovered and used in various countries, chief amongst which may be mentioned-opium, tobacco, indian hemp, betel nut, and alcohol; and others are used in a less degree, such as coca, kola nut, thorn apple, cocculus indicus, intoxicating toadstool, deadly nightshade, henbane, rhododendron, azalea, emetic holly, bearded darnel, etc. the first five among those human pleasers and human destroyers are- 1. alcohol, now drank in the shape of spirits, wine, beer, or some other form probably by 500,000,000 persons. 2. opium, smoked, inhaled, drank or swallowed by probably 100,000,000. 3. tobacco, now smoked, chewed, and snuffed by probably 300,000,000 4. haschish, made from indian hemp, now smoked, chewed, or swallowed by probably 150,000,000. 5. betel nut, chewed probably by 50,000,000. these five narcotising and intoxicating poisons are used, more or less, by half the people in the world, giving some considerable pleasure at times, but destroying, more or less, the health of all who use them, and gradually stunting the form and otherwise undermining the well-being of the entire human race. chemistry also produces many things which are taken in the same way and for the same purpose, such as laudanum, morphia, cocaine, chloral, chloroform, ether, &c., and many so-called patent medicines. these all tend to form habits which soothe and please for a time, but they all damage or destroy in the end. the great bulk of easy-going, unreflecting people have no idea what an amount of mischief and misery the habit of using these things inflict upon poor humanity. _books show narcotics, toxicants,_ _of each and every kind;_ _insidious destroyers all,_ _of body and of mind._ these four pages show at a glance the effects of the three most fascinating and seductive drugs in the world--tobacco, opium, and alcohol, and which physically, mentally, and morally injure or ruin the greatest number of mankind. [illustration: virginian tobacco.] [illustration: a young man gradually destroying himself with tobacco.] [illustration: chinese smoking opium.] [illustration: the poppy plant, from which opium is made.] [illustration: indian hemp plant, from which hasheesh is made.] [illustration: two shoeblacks.] first shoeblack--what yer doin', bill? second shoeblack--learnin' to smoke. the drink craving probably the best use a man can make of his leisure time is to read good books and to follow their advice, and the worst use he can make of it is to indulge in intoxicating liquor, and to go where that will lead or take him. it is said that "dipsomania," "alcoholism," or the "craving-for-drink" disease can be cured in most persons by certain remedies an proper management, and the time has come now when the lovers of human progress everywhere feel that this fearful curse must be grappled with, and, if possible, stamped out like the smallpox, or any other terrible disease. one writer sums up the evils of drinking as follows:- "it injures the health. it shortens life. it originates hereditary disease. it ruins the character of thousands. it destroys the peace of families and of individuals. it causes husbands and wives to neglect each other, their children, and their homes. it makes wives widows, and children orphans. it bereaves parents of their children. it reduces families to penury. it hinders the amelioration of the poorer classes of society. it makes time hard and trade bad. it is a cause of quarrels, robberies, and murders. it is a cause of suicide. it fills our prisons. it fills our poorhouses. it fills our hospitals. it fills our madhouses." _books, like strong drink, will drown a man's cares_ _but do not waste his wealth,_ _books leave him better, drink the worse,_ _in character and health._ [illustration: two talented men gradually poisoning themselves with brandy and tobacco.] [page 205--pipes of the world] pipes of the world showing one of cole's "similarities of mankind" [illustration: pipes of the world.] [page 206--the supreme being] god go to the top of a mountain so that you can see 50 miles in all directions; you then observe a space 100 miles in diameter. now the _world_ contains 25,000 such areas as that. our world is amazingly vast, but our sun is a million times as large; yet we see rolling in space thousands as large as our own, which probably have accompanying worlds. and again, beyond this the telescope and astral-photography reveal to us that _to the right, and to the left, before and behind, above and below, and to every point of the heavens, and at immense distances,_ millions and millions again of enormous stellar bodies exist, roll, revolve and travel through space. multitudes of these suns and worlds around us in every direction are at such immense distances that a person travelling with the speed of light, namely, 200,000 miles, or 8 times round our earth, in a _second_, world take _1000,000 years_ to reach them. nor can we imagine an end to this stupendous universe, or an end to space, for is we try to do so the question immediately occurs, _what is still outside and beyond that?_ and so on to incomprehensible and overwhelming infinitude. and these many millions of suns and worlds and systems and all their parts are clearly working together, like the most exquisitely designed clockwork. look at the marvellous mechanism of the human brain, the human eye, the human hand, the human heart, and in fact the whole human structure and composition; they all prove the truth of the affirmation that man is "fearfully and wonderfully made." nay further, examine carefully every object in existence, however stupendously large or, as shown by the microscope, infinitesimally small, and they each and all appear equally perfect for their purpose. can we see all this, and think on it, and not imagine a designer and controller of infinite attributes? it always appeared to me that there must be in this vast, illimitable, and beautiful universe, myriads of beings, superior to our weak mortal selves, and at the head of all and over all, an immortal being of infinite perfections, which thinking men in all countries and ages have called god. and shall not we, immortal souls, increase in knowledge and wisdom, and as the ages roll on, more and more perceive and understand this mighty universe and its author? i firmly believe we shall, and that as yet we are only beginning to live and think and understand and appreciate. the supreme being was believed in, praised and worshipped by all the ancient peoples, and is now believed in, praised and worshipped by the vast majority of the people of the world--it is true under different names, but still it is the same idea--a being without beginning and without end--infinite in wisdom--infinite in goodness --infinite in power--infinite in action and, at all times, everywhere and present. e. w. cole the ancients' idea of god god extends from eternity to eternity.--_aristotle._ nothing is more ancient than god, for he was never created; nothing more beautiful than the world, it is the work of that same god.- _thales._ nature herself has imprinted on the minds of all the idea of a god; for what nation or race of men is there that has not, even without being taught, some idea of a god.--_cicero._ there is one god; him the christians, him the jews, him all the gentile people worship.--_emperor adrian._ amid so much war, contest, and variety of opinion, you will find one consenting conviction in every land that there is one god, the king and father of all.--_maximus tyrius._ if we suppose a god, to him there can be nothing mean and nothing great. the most trivial things must be equal under his regard as the most august. all-powerful, omniscient, and omnipresent, he must encompass all things, and pervade all things. ignorant of nothing, forgetting nothing, despising nothing, he must direct the operations of the universe with perfect skill, and sustain every part in consummate order.--_plato._ what land or what see will man find without god? into what part of the earth wilt thou descend and hide thyself, o unhappy wretch! where thou canst escape from god?--_plutarch._ thine, o lord, is the greatness, and the power, and the glory, and the victory, and the majesty; for all that is in the heaven and in the earth, is thine; thine is the kingdom, o lord, and thou art exalted as head above all.--_david._ he is god, the great, the mighty, the tremendous, the merciful, the gracious, the benign, the wise, the faithful, the just, and the virtuous; omniscience, omnipresence, omnipotence, are his alone, whose being knew no beginning, and can know no end.--_the mishna torah._ the name of god in 48 languages "aeolian and doric--ilos. arabic--allah. armorian--teuti. assyrian --eleah. celtic and gallic--diu. chaldaic--eilah. chinese--prussa. coromandel--brama. cretan--thios. danish and swedish--gut. dutch-godt. english and old saxon--god. finch--jumala. flemish--goed. french--dieu. german and swiss--gott. greek--theos. hebrew-elohim, eloha. hindostanee--rain. irish--dia. italian--dio. japanese--goezur. lapp--jubinal. latin--deus. low breton--done. low latin--diex. madagascar--zannar. malay--alla. modern egyptian --teun. norwegian--gud. olalu tongue--deu. old egyptian--teut. old german--diet. pannonian--istu. persian--siie. peruvian-puchecammae. pollaacca--bung. portuguese--deos. provencal--diou. runic--as. slav--buch. spanish--dios. syriac and turkish--alah. tartar--magatal. teutonic--goth. zemblain--fetiza." the moderns' idea of god father of all! in every age, in every clime adored, by saint, by savage and by sage, jehovah, jove, or lord.--_pope._ the supreme being whom we call god, is a necessary, self-existent, eternal, immense, omnipotent, omniscient, and best being; and therefore also a being who is and ought to be esteemed most sacred of holy.--_n. grew._ what an immense workman is god! in miniature as well as in the great. with the one hand, perhaps, he is making a ring of one hundred thousand miles in diameter, to revolve round a planet like saturn, and with the other as forming a tooth in the ray of a feather of a humming-bird, or a point in the claw of the foot of a microscopic insect. when he works in miniature, everything is gilded, polished, and perfect, but whatever is made by human art, as a needle, etc., when viewed by a microscope, appears rough, and coarse, and bungling.--_bishop law._ nothing is easier than to say the word--_universe_, and yet it would take us millions of millions of years to bestow one hasty glance upon the surface of that small portion of it which lies within the range of our glasses. but what are all the suns, comets, earths, moons, atmospheres, seas, rivers, mountains, valleys, plains, woods, cattle, wild beasts, fish, fowl, grasses, plants, shrubs, minerals, and metals, compared with the meaning of the one name--god!--_pulsford._ the whole evolution of times and ages, from everlasting to everlasting, is, collectedly an presentifickly represented to god at once, as if all things and actions were at this very instant really present and existent before him.--_sir t. more._ who taught the bird to build her nest, of wool and hay and moss? who taught her how to weave it best, and lay the twigs across? who taught the busy bee to fly among the sweetest flowers- and lay her store of honey by, to eat in winter hours? who taught the little ants the way their narrow holes to bore, and through the pleasant summer's day to gather up their store? ---- there's not a tint that paints the rose, or decks the lily fair, or marks the humblest flower that grows but god has placed it there. there's not of grass a simple blade, or leaf of lowliest mien, where heav'nly skill is not displayed, and heav'nly goodness seen. there's not a star whose twinkling light illumes the distant earth, and cheers the solemn gleam of night, but mercy gave it birth. there's not a cloud whose dews distil upon the parching clod, and clothe with verdure vale and hill, that is not sent by god. there's not a place on earth's vast round, in ocean deep, or air, where skill and wisdom are not found, for god is everywhere. around, beneath, below, above, wherever space extends, there heaven displays its boundless love, and power with mercy blends.--_wallace._ eternal goodness i dimly guess from blessings known, of greater out of sight, and, with the chastised psalmist, own his judgements, too, are right. i know not what the future hath of marvel or surprise, assured alone that life and death his mercy underlies. i know not where his islands lift i only know i cannot drift their fronded palms in air; beyond his love and care. [page--back cover] northern portion of cole's book arcade, melbourne, australia. [illustration: inside cole's book arcade.] more than two million books to choose from every sightseer in the city of melbourne should visit cole's book arcade. it is entirely an australian institution, being the first of its kind opened anywhere, and at the present time unequalled in any city of the world. it is 3 stories high, 600 feet deep, and an average width of 45 feet, with frontages to bourke and collins sts., the two main arteries of melbourne; its public walkways are half a mile long, its galleries are supported on brass pillars, while hundreds of rainbows (the trade mark) decorate the interior and exterior of the establishment. there are 100 mirrors tastefully placed throughout the building. the present arcade was opened on cup day, 1883, and has been visited every day (except sundays), year in, year out, by an average of 5000 people, so that during the first 35 years of its existence, more than 50 million visits were paid to it. can get almost any book you want there are several miles of shelving and 3,000 cedar drawers. the plan of book-drawers greatly facilitates the minute classification so that one can find with ease any book wanted on any subject. there are two retail departments of books, one in bourke street, and one in collins street, and a large wholesale one of three stories between the two. the second-hand book department is 150 feet by 40. there are many other departments including new and second-hand music, stationary, fancy goods, artist's materials, toys, art, glass, and china-ware, tea salon, circulating library, printing works, etc. free music recitals are given every afternoon and evening. intellectual, well-behaved people collect and friends meet and feel happy in the palace of intellect. 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