CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DEDICATION 3 
 
 SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR S LIFE 5 
 
 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE WISHES WEEK GRANTED 9 
 
 NAUGHTY TOMMY 20 
 
 THE LEAF AND THE BUSH 30 
 
 THE BOY WHO HAD His WISHES GRANTED 35 
 
 THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW 44 
 
 THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK 60 
 
 SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES 70 
 
 MlNNETTE gO 
 
 HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY 93 
 
 THE VAIN NASTURTIUM 102 
 
 THE SISTERS PLEDGE 107 
 
 ESSAY ON THE MANAGEMENT OF CHILDREN:* 
 
 FIRMNESS 194. 
 
 RESPECT TO PARENTS 126 
 
 THE DUTIES OF PARENTS 128 
 
 WOMAN; PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE 131 
 
 First published in S.F. Chronicle. 
 
 892321 
 
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 A hce. iVa 
 
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 TO THOSE WHO LOVE ME 
 
 THIS 
 
 LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IB 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
 ALICE KINGSBURY. 
 
ALICE KINGSBURY. 
 
 IT has often been said, that to know something of the personal biogra 
 phy of the author of a book is a general desire with the reader. There 
 is much truth, doubtless, in the statement. When the public is pleased 
 with the work, it naturally desires to know something of the source 
 whence the entertainment emanated. With a view to gratify this gen 
 eral desire, a slight sketch of the author of Ho! FOR ELF-LAND! is 
 herewith given. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE CRICKET. 
 
 We all remember how, a little over ten years ago, a. new sensation burst 
 upon us in the advent of Alice Kingsbury, the " JGlfin Star. " She had 
 sought the Golden State to find a brother long supposed to ,be deaJ, but 
 of whom she. had heard from an old Calif orniau. She had made an ar 
 rangement with Mr. Maguire s agent in New York, to fill a meager en 
 gagement of ten nights, the only time then vacant. But when she ar 
 rived, the manager informed her that it was a mistake, as all the time 
 was filled for months to come. 
 
 Lady Don was in the midst of a successful engagement ; Celeste was 
 shortly to commence ; the great Forrest was to return. Things looked 
 gloomy for the Cricket, " as her brother had lost nearly all his fortune 
 by the Hood and unproductive mines, and her exchequer was depleted by 
 waiting and the necessary expenses of living. Then, too, she was in a 
 wt range land, friendless and unknown. 
 
 On the memorable night of her first appearance she arose from a sick 
 bed with one of those fearful nervous sick-headaches. She waited, with a 
 handkerchief saturated with chloroform bound around her head, and her 
 heart beating fast with anxious excitement. The curtain rose; would 
 that mass of people prove her friends or enemies ? The next few mo 
 ments would decide. To quote from the Gazette, a popular journal at 
 that time: 
 
6 ALICE KINGSBURY. 
 
 On Wednesday evening the " Elfin Star," as the bills styled Miss Alice 
 Kingsbury, made her first appearance before a California audience, and, 
 as is usual on such occasions, was greeted by a very full house. Miss 
 Alice was quite a stranger to the audience. Fame had not preceded her, 
 and no one knew that she had arrived in our midst until some time after 
 the fact. Common consent seemed to conclude that she would not amount 
 to much. It was announced that she would assume the role of "Fanchon, 
 the Cricket," in the drama of the .same title; and immediately recollec 
 tions of Maggie Mitchell in that character were awakened. Fanchon 
 burst upon the audience like a flash; completely taken by surprise, unable 
 to appreciate the naturalness of the acting of the little witch before them, 
 they almost refused to credit their own senses and lie satisfied. They 
 gazed on in silent wonder during the first ac, and not until its close did they 
 summon up courage and courtesy enough to give her a round or two of 
 applause. The fact is, we have been so much accustomed to what is termed 
 ariixtic excellence, that we have lost sight of what is entirely artless, un 
 affected and natural. The audience wished to see Miss Alice Kingsbury; 
 they were at first disappointed in only seeing a little, wild, Jiarum- 
 scarum witch of a thing, dancing about the stage in utter disregard of all 
 conventional rules % Consequently, when the curtain went down, critical 
 lips werji ^jjainfnl V ^ compi tssed and Bohemian brows contracted; the 
 knowing ones, witlr an bininciis shake of the head, owl-like, muttered 
 " Ov.er-done, won t .do. " During- the second act there was much of the 
 same eEia -lik y uctK-.^} yet loiijj;- before its close those lips began to relax. 
 She was creeping u poil tli e affections of her audience, and those Bohe 
 mian brows gradually unbent, smiles of satisfaction iind pleasure beamed 
 in many an eye, and when the curtain went down on the second act it was 
 amidst rounds of cheers and applause. But the audience was not com 
 pletely vanquished horse, foot and dragoons until the third act. There 
 the willful little witch makes way for the lonely little body whom nobody 
 loves and nobody cares for; and then the little Cricket took the audience 
 by storm, they capitulating with tears in their eyes. Yes, as a positive 
 fact, the natural and unaffected acting of Miss Kingsbury, in this and lite 
 succeeding acts, affected her audience to tears and to laughter just as 
 the little Cricket determined. The magnetic attraction which she had 
 established between herself and the audience was so great that she swayed 
 them at will. Yeteran theater-goers, who esteem their opinions as of 
 weight if only on the score of experience, declare they never saw the equal 
 of Fanchon on ^ ednesday. Admirers of Maggie Mitchell threw up the 
 sponge with alacrity and joined in the general applause. Every action 
 of Miss Kingsbury is suited to the momentary passion; over her beautiful 
 and expressive face the smile chases away the tear with natural simplicity; 
 the petulance of a spoiled child; the grief of the deserted, scorned little 
 woman; the tenderness of the child speaking of her mother, broken by 
 sobs which well up from her girlish bosom were all depicted with an un 
 usual and surprising degree of natural force and beauty. Her voice is 
 
ALICE KIX(!SBURY.| 7 
 
 sympathetic; her eye Hashes with joy or hate; her figure as graceful 
 as jn-fifc. Not seeking after stage effect, <a a desire to swerve a moment 
 
 troiii her rok t she seems to forget that she is any one but Fanchon, and 
 has the singular ]..\ver of making her audience believe the same thing. 
 Ihe little Cricket was called before the curtain at the end of every act: 
 at the close of the third, she responded in a few remarks, assuring her 
 audience that "she would do her best to please them, and she had come 
 a great many miles to do it." Why, bless her dear little heart, did she 
 say that to dry up the tears she had caused to flow from eyes that long- 
 since were supposed to have been tearless? She could do no better; no 
 one, not even Rachel, or Forrest as Virginius, could so move an audience 
 as the poor little Cricket did hers on Wednesday evening. And if that is 
 not as convincing a test as can be found, we would like to know a better. 
 
 The town went wild over that rendering of a character which, presented 
 by her with all the earnestness, truthfulness, and utter sinking of the 
 actress in the character presented, formed a picture on the memory of 
 many which has not yet been effaced. 
 
 Before the expiration of the ten nights, she was re-engaged, and her 
 popularity was sufficient to lill the theater nightly during eight weeks, to 
 the intense delight of crowded audiences, the great advantage of the 
 manager s receipts, and her own bank account. Then for seven weeks 
 she met a similar success in the interior, returning to San Francisco for 
 almost as long an engagement as before, playing Fancbon thirty-six times, 
 also many other characters, volunteering for several charities, and not a 
 few benefits. She bade farewell to San Francisco, leaving it as the great 
 est favorite that had ever appeared on its stage; as witness a few short 
 quotations from the journals of the day: 
 
 The engagement of the Elfin Star, Alice Kingsbnry, has thus far proved 
 a triumphant success. On last Saturday evening, long before ei"ht 
 O clock, a placard on which was written "House Full," was displavedlfor 
 the edification of late comers. S. F. Leader. 
 
 That she has become with so little apparent exertion the pet of San 
 Francisco, and one of the greatest favorites who has ever run through a 
 prosperous season here, is due to an indescribable charm with whichNa- 
 i ire has endowed her, and which in much that she does transcends and 
 replaces Art Those of our play-goers who have not witnessed her per 
 formance of "Pauvrette" have missed a treat that occurs but seldom in a life- 
 The play, in fact, seems to have been written especially for this 
 elfin actress, who seems to have bewitched all hearts. S ."/ . Cc ff. 
 
8 ALICE KINGSBURY. 
 
 We have nothing new to chronicle in the affairs of the Opera House- 
 not even a shy audience or a vacant seat to note. Great is Kingsbury, 
 wonderful her success, and immense the profit of manager Maguire. 
 F. Sunday Mercury. 
 
 No other engagement has equaled this lady s, either in the continued 
 crowded houses she has drawn, or the overflowing treasury, or the com- , 
 plete satisfaction and delight that all her personations have afforded to 
 one thousand people each night during four successive weeks. Galtjorma 
 Leader. 
 
 This vouno- lady may feel proud of her triumph for it is a triumph un- 
 equaled in the theatrical annuls of the Pacific Coast. Calif orma Gazette. 
 
 Returning to the eastern states she was shortly afterward married to 
 Brevet Lieut- Col. F. M. Cooley, then a Captain in the regular army, 
 commanding the post at Natchez, Miss., where they lived very happily, 
 raising a family of bright little ones to render home still more attractive. 
 The " Cricket " is now a resident with us, turning her attention to litera 
 ture and the fine arts, occasionally appearing before the public, and re 
 newing her triumphs of old. Mrs. Cooley in private life is known as a 
 good wife and mother, and a kind and faithful friend. 
 
 FRANK SOULE. 
 
Ho! FOR ELF-LAND! 
 
 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE WISHES WERE GRANTED. 
 
 NCE upon a time, in a very old-fashioned village, and 
 in a very old-fashioned house, there lived a little girl. 
 ", One cold winter s night, she was sitting by the fire 
 with her mother, who had been telling her all sorts of stories 
 to make home attractive and to be remembered when she 
 should grow 7 up, and perhaps be far away, when the little girl 
 suddenly said: 
 
 "Mamma, I wish I could have all my wishes granted." 
 "Ah! Man die, remember the black pudding." 
 "Why, mamma, do you think I would be so foolish as to 
 wish for such a thing ? With only three wishes too !" 
 
 "Let me hear what would be some of your first wise wishes, 
 daughter." 
 
 "Oh, I would wish oh, I would wish let me see, what 
 would I wish ?" Her mother laughed heartily. 
 
 "Oh, I thought your wishes were so many, and so urgent, 
 that you could name fifty at least, without stopping." 
 
 "Well, I w 7 ould wish that that I would never have to have 
 a tooth pulled; and then then I would wish never to have 
 chilblains. Ugh! don t they hurt now 7 ?" and she rubbed her 
 feet together, till you would think she had w^orn holes in her 
 shoes. 
 
 "Well, your wishes are not very extravagant!" 
 
 "Oh! but I would wish much more. To be very wise " 
 
10 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE 
 
 "What! without studying-?" 
 
 "Of course, or what would be the use of having your wishes 
 granted ! Any body can be wise by studying. Then I d wish 
 to be very beautiful much prettier than I am now." 
 
 "Oh! you think you are pretty, do you?" 
 
 "Well, mamma, I ain t as ugly as Mollie Lynx, and I m not, 
 freckled and got red hair;" but her mamma s remark had 
 rather abashed her, so she continued, hesitatingly, "and and 
 I would like a new pink dress." 
 
 It seemed to grow colder, and the wind whistled around the 
 house, so they drew nearer to the fire, and Maudie laid her 
 head on her mamma s lap, and looked dreamily into the red 
 coals. 
 
 "Mamma, I can see ever so many pretty things in the fire. 
 See! doesn t that look like a dear little fairy?" 
 
 But her mamma was thinking of days long gone by when 
 her hair was caressed by a loving hand, and the fire made pict 
 ures for her, too. But the door suddenly blew open and 
 made them shiver with the cold. 
 
 "Run, Maudie, quick, and shut the door." 
 
 "Why, ma, I 
 
 "Surely, you are not afraid? .. Oh, fie!" 
 
 "I don t like to be jumping up so often, when I am so com 
 fortable." 
 
 "Why, Maudie! Shut the door when you are told." 
 
 "Humph! I wish there weren t any doors in the world." 
 
 No sooner had the words escaped her lips, than a most ter- 
 ~ rible crash startled them. Maudie shrieked and hid her head 
 in her mother s dress, thinking a thunderbolt had struck the 
 house, and they would soon be crushed beneath the ruins. 
 But it was only the doors that had all fallen down and broken 
 into splinters, fit only for kindling wood. 
 
AVISHKS WERE GRANTED. H 
 
 4 Oh, mamma, what is the matter ? Is it a hurricane ? See ! 
 the very doors of the cupboard are broken to pieces, too! 5 
 
 The wind rushed in and blew the smoke from the chimney, 
 till it nearly blinded them, so the fire had to be put out. It 
 was too late to get a carpenter to put up new doors, and they 
 hadn t a man in the house to protect them; so they called up 
 the little niaid-of -all-work, unchained the big dog, and all four 
 determined to keep watch till the day dawned. But it got so 
 cold, that they were glad to go to bed, letting the little maid 
 sleep at the foot, and the big dog on the hearth-rug, with a 
 blanket throw^ii over him. 
 
 When daylight came, her mamma hurried to the nearest car 
 penter and told him she wanted ten doors put up immedi 
 ately. 
 
 "Ten doors! Why, ma am, I ve orders for a hundred already 
 this morning, and I got all my apprentices and any man that 
 can plane a board and drive a nail straight working for me. 
 Can t possibly do them tell next week." 
 
 She went to all the carpenters in the village and received 
 the same answer. "What could have ailed all the doors ? And 
 .what was stranger still, as soon as a new door was put up, 
 down it fell, *md was shivered to pieces. 
 
 So her mamma went home and hungup blankets and pieces 
 of carpets; anything to keep some of the wind out. And how 
 funny the village looked with carpets all colors of the rainbow 
 flapping from the doorways! So it was for alveek^.and the 
 village was full of carpenters from the surrounding towns, 
 who were all busy making iron-bound doors, doors studded 
 with great brass knobs, every kind of door they thought 
 wouldn t break. 
 
 One day Mnudie said, "Oh, dear! I m so tired of the cold 
 
12 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE 
 
 and the old flapping carpets, that I would like any kind of 
 doors, even made of the roughest old boards; I wish we all 
 had doors of some kind or another, that would keep the cold 
 out/ Soon they began to feel warmer, and quickly discov 
 ered the cause; some hideous old boards in the form of a door 
 guarded the entrance. 
 
 "Oh, mamma! Oughtn t the carpenter be ashamed to put 
 up such a door as that ?" But a loud rap caused them to 
 open it. 
 
 "I come to put up them doors/ 
 
 "You re too late." 
 
 "D ye call that a door?" and the man turned away laughing 
 ironically. Twenty times that day rap ! rap ! went the door, 
 and twenty times they opened it to men who had been sent to 
 put up those doors; so to escape the annoyance they took a 
 walk in the village, and such doors greeted them! Bed, blue, 
 green, and yellow doors , glass, iron, and doors of one hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 Soon Maudie s mother had the doors planed and painted, 
 so they were quite satisfied. 
 
 One day her mamma bought Maudie a beautiful new dress, 
 the very pink one she had thought of wishing for. It fitted her 
 so nicely with the little jacket and " pull-back "though the 
 village was old-fashioned, the young people were not. It was 
 all finished but the frill for the neck. 
 
 "Maudie, you must hem this; for little girls cannot learn 
 too early to make their own dresses; it s a great accomplish 
 ment." 
 
 So Maudie eagerly took the frill, and hemmed diligently for 
 just five minutes, then she stuck her finger. " Oh, dear! " she 
 sighed, and for the next five minutes she kept her finger in 
 
W I si IKS \YKKK GRANTED. 13 
 
 her mouth; then she sewed for three minutes. " I think I ll 
 rest a little now/ she said, laying the frill upon a chair. 
 
 " No, YOU must finish it, for I wish to put the dress away." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she said, and sat down with an impatient 
 thump; but. she got up with a little scream, quicker than she 
 sat down. Looking very cross, she threw the frill on the 
 floor, exclaiming : 
 
 I wish all the new dresses were in Jericho ! " The sky 
 suddenly became darkened as if by a terrible storm, and a 
 shriek by five hundred female voices rent the air. They rushed 
 to the window to see what was the matter, just in time to see 
 the beautiful pink dress fly out of the window and join the 
 army of rustling garments. Ten hundred hands were stretched 
 heavenward, but in vain; the dresses stopped or stayed not, 
 but fled over hills, valleys, rivers, mountains, cities and plains, 
 the wonder and terror of the inhabitants, who thought an 
 army of ghostly, headless women were flying in the sky. 
 
 The village soon appeared to have suffered some calamity, 
 for nearly every house was closed, and within sat weeping 
 women, who would not be comforted. 
 
 The churches for several Sundays were deserted, save by the 
 old people and the children, till the young girls could make 
 over their old dresses, their new ones having gone to Jericho. 
 
 The female Jerichoans were surprised, delighted, enraptured 
 at this harvest of dresses, and had they been barbarians, ii 
 would have done kiore to civilize them than all the mission 
 aries; for who could remain a savage with a " pull-back" on ? 
 
 When the spring-time came Maudie s mamma gave her a 
 birthday party, and made her such a pretty white dress; but 
 it was not quite finished in time, so the waist and skirt had to 
 be pinned on. 
 
14 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE 
 
 How beautiful the little girls looked in their pink, white 
 and blue dresses, with broad sashes, and their gold and silver 
 shoes! and the little boys were model beaux. They had 
 played every conceivable game, both in doors and out, and it 
 was getting near sunset and supper time ; so they were having 
 the last dance on the green before going into the house; and 
 you should see the airs and graces those little misses put on. 
 The dance ended with a grand promenade, and as Maudie s 
 partner put his arm around her waist, one of the treacherous 
 pins pierced his hand. He withdrew his arm quickly, with a 
 little " Oh! " and there the blood was running from his finger. 
 
 " Oh, the mean, wicked pin! I m so sorry!" cried Man die, 
 binding it up with her tiny lace handkerchief. "Oh, I I 
 wish there wasn t a pin in the world! " 
 
 What was the matter with the girls ! Were they taken sud 
 denly ill ? Some grasped their dresses with both hands, and 
 ran for their homes, without even saying good-by; some rushed 
 to the parlor, some to the bedroom, some to the greenhouse, 
 and some stood still in horror and surprise. 
 
 The lawn looked as if it was turned into a dress-maker s 
 store; there were skirts with beautiful embroidery, skirts with 
 tiny tucks, with insertion, tatting, crochet, and some with 
 plain hems, sashes, flowers, ribbons, ruffs, and must it be 
 confessed? one pair of pantalettes; the little girl who owned 
 them had been too lazy to sew on a button. 
 
 How mortified Mauclie was, standing there in the waist of 
 her dress, the skirt dangling about her feet. 
 
 There was no more party that day, and the nice little supper 
 was prepared in vain. Strange to say, only the little girls 
 w T ho had the finest clothes, came after them; the others would 
 not acknowledge having lost a thing; especially if ^here was 
 
WJS WERE GRANTED. 15 
 
 .a rent in the skirt, or the embroidery was torn. And Maudie 
 was a miserable little girl for just three days; she couldn t be 
 unhappy any longer, for she was going to a picnic, and had 
 such a pretty pair of new shoes; and as her feet were small, 
 she was anxious to show them. She was so happy that morn 
 ing; obedient to her mamma, and pleasant and obliging to 
 every one; but when she put on her shoes, oh, horror! they 
 were too small. But she determined to wear them an; 
 they were so nice, and would be sure to stretch all right, for 
 they were made to order. They had to vr.ilk clown a Jittk- hill 
 to join the others, for they lived \-r> tin >dge of th- 
 and every step was a pain to poor Mai; 
 
 " Oh! dear! Mamma, isn t it bo< h?i . they do hurt so, that 
 I wish the old shoemaker had one of the:. i ! " 
 
 The next moment she stepped on a ivttJ: creaming 
 
 with pain, she looked down at ho Jd it was 
 
 minus a shoe ! and running toward the;" v is tire poor shoe 
 maker gasping and choking with M. lioejtn his mouth ! 
 She rushed to him, and pulling it wit -rce, out it 
 came, and she fell one way, he the other. Wbfen thev got up, 
 he said: / 
 
 "Oh, Miss, how could you kick your s ; ir r : but she 
 
 quickly put it on, and did not say a word/ They came to a 
 little puddle of water, and Maudie put bofih he* feet into it. 
 
 "Ah! that helps right away," she said, /md spiked on more 
 cheerfully. They soon joined the otheyhs. and laughing and 
 shouting they crowded into the lar<. -d wagon, and 
 
 rode to the picnic grounds. We y wliaf a picnic is, 
 
 and this was like those we enjoyed ^-Q, and remember 
 
 so well to this day. 
 
 The trees were so tall and tho s ,- e re so high that 
 
 Lie said it was delightful, just li v going up in a balloon. 
 
 
16 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE 
 
 "Push harder, Hoddie; swing me just as high as you can. 
 I wish I could swing up to the moon." Hoddie must have 
 obeyed her, for" she had never swung so high before in all her 
 life. Why, she w r as still going up, and up, and up. "What 
 could Hoddie mean ? Soon it became dark, and the stars shone. 
 While she was wondering what it all meant, she came plump 
 up against the moon. The seat of the swing struck the door 
 so hard that the man in the moon came out and asked her 
 what she wanted there. 
 
 " If you please, sir, I m at a picnic, and they swung me so 
 high, that I accidently struck your door; but now 7 I am here, 
 won t you please be kind enough to show me your country?" 
 She spoke so pleasantly that the little man in the moon con 
 sented, and taking her hand, he led her into his house to rest 
 a bit. But the atmosphere was so light that she soon became 
 light-headed. 
 
 " Oh, dealt! I hope I m not going to become a luna some 
 thing, for that s the way the moon affects some people." 
 
 " Here, take, a drop of fermented moonbeams; that ll make 
 you all right," a\id the little man gave her a crystal goblet, filled 
 with a clear, transparent, yellow liquid. She tasted it, then 
 she drank a littleV then a little more, till she had drained it to 
 the bottom. Oh! \liow jolly she did feel! 
 
 "Say, little man\ in the moon, do you ever dance?" then 
 seizing him by both\hands, she danced and laughed till her 
 feet felt ready to fall\off; the little man danced, too, and such 
 a time as they did have ! She could not stop laughing and 
 dancing till she droppeVl on the floor exhausted. 
 
 "Is this what the genVlemen drink, that makes them moon- 
 blind?" she said, "for I\ can t see anything now." 
 
 The little man laughed\ heartily. "Oh, ho!" he said, "you 
 
WISUKS WERE GRANTED. 17 
 
 are cunning." Then he went out and got a bucketful of un- 
 iVriaented moonbeams and threw over her. Soon she was all 
 right again, but too tired to climb the mountains; so she asked 
 if he couldn t send her home, as her mother would be very 
 anxious about her. 
 
 "Yes, go home on your swing; you see it has caught on to 
 the horn of my moon." 
 
 "Oh, dear, no! I couldn t possibly go that way again. It 
 frightens me to think of it! Imagine with what a thump I 
 might strike the earth!" 
 
 "Oh! you live on the earth, do you; that mean little ball 
 that gets so often between me and the bright sun, and casts 
 me completely in the shade ? I ve a good mind to pitch you 
 into space, so there ll be one less to obstruct the light. He 
 caught hold of her so fiercely and looked so cross, that he 
 nearly frightened her out of her wits. 
 
 "Oh, please, good man in the moon, don t, and I ll never get 
 in your light again. I ll get under a tree, or in the shade, or 
 go to bed! Oh, please send me home some other way! How 
 do you leave here, when you go away ?" 
 
 "Oh, I ride on a moon-beam!" 
 
 "Oh! that would be splendid! Please let me!" 
 
 "How could you ? Look at my breeches! There s fifty sep 
 arate seats of buckskins sewed in them." 
 
 "Well, can t you lend me a pair?" 
 
 "You d look a pretty sight! besides I ve only got an old 
 pair with the seats all worn out, but if you can sew in the 
 others you are welcome to them, but you must leave me your 
 dress and skirts in exchange !" 
 
 So Maudie sat and sewed, and sewed, and sewed, and when 
 she had put in forty seats, with many sighs and groans, for 
 2 
 
18 A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE 
 
 she did not like sewing at all, she asked if that would not do, 
 as she weighed so much less than he did. 
 
 "You can try," he said; "go into that room and change." 
 
 What a sight she came out ! Her little sack covered her body , 
 and those hideous forty-seated breeches her pretty little legs. 
 
 "Oh, dear! I m a little afraid to attempt it," she said, as he 
 led her to a straight, bright moon-beam, that stretched so far 
 ahead that she could not see the end of it. 
 
 "Well, try the swing, then." 
 
 "No; I won t do that, but I ve an idea: can t I hold on to 
 the seat ? and as it is loose 011 the rope, it will slide down easily, 
 if you tie that tight to the horn, so I shall feel quite nicely." 
 He did as she said; then she thanked him kindly, and asked 
 him to call, the next time he visited the earth, and bidding 
 him good-bye, she started. 
 
 Whew! how fast she went! 
 
 "There s four seats worn through already!" she said. 
 
 "Oh, good gracious! there s a dozen more gone! there ll be 
 two of me, when I reach home!" 
 
 Down she went, faster and faster. It nearly took away her 
 breath, and she tried to think how many of the seats were 
 left; but she reached the earth with such force, as the thirty- 
 ninth was cut through, that she knew no more, till she felt her 
 mother bathing her face, and asking how in the world she got 
 into the back-yard in that terrible shape. 
 
 She told her mother everything, and she felt so sorry for her, 
 and wrapping her in a blanket, she gave her a cup of hot tea, 
 and put her to bed. In the morning she was all right, and 
 looked upon her adventure with a great deal of satisfaction. 
 She was always talking of her visit to the moon, till the peo 
 ple began to think her a little "loony." 
 
 One day she was going with her mother out visiting, so she 
 
WISHI-s \VERE GRANTED. 19 
 
 wanted to look extra nice. She had beautiful curly blonde 
 hair, and she was combing it into ringlets, when her mamma 
 told her to huny, or they would be late, and as we all know 
 hurrying is a very poor way to make haste to do one s hair, it 
 knotted and tangled, and she became furious. 
 
 "Oh, dear! don t I wish my hair was as straight as a poker!" 
 she cried petulantly. The comb went ^through it now so 
 smoothly and quickly that she was delighted, and ran to the 
 glass to brush it around the curling-stick; but what was her 
 horror to find that with all the brushing it remained as straight 
 as n poker. 
 
 "Oh, dear mamma!" she said in terror, "I believe some fairy 
 has been granting all my wishes. Oh, clear! I wish she wouldn t 
 do so any more!" 
 
 Her mother laughed, and said, "Well, we must make haste. 
 Why, your hair is not done yet!" 
 
 "I just wished it was as straight as a poker, and I can t curl 
 it now one bit; I ve wished the fairy wouldn t do so any more, 
 and forgot to wish first that my hair would curl again. Oh, 
 dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?" 
 
 Where s the wisdom, beauty, and other good things you 
 were going to wish for?" 
 
 "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she moaned, rocking herself discon 
 solately. 
 
 "Ah, Mauclie, I think you have made a worse bargain than 
 the poor woman who wished for the black pudding." 
 
 "Oh! mamma; to think I might have been the handsomest 
 person in the world, and you the richest, and both of us wise 
 but you are wise anyhow; then I might have had O! O! 
 O-o-o !" and she burst out crying like a spoiled child. "And to 
 think, all I ve got for my wishes is, to lose my pretty pink 
 dress, and have hair as straight as a poker!" 
 
NAUGHTY TOMMY. 
 
 sOMMY was not a good little boy; in fact he did not 
 like good little boys; he had heard too much of 
 them, yet he had never known but one, and that was 
 Jim Smith s little boy, who always had a cold in his head, and 
 spoke through his "close." 
 
 Tommy s father was convivial and his mother was scientific. 
 She initiated him into the mysteries of volcanos, earthquakes, 
 tidal waves and the like; and his father introduced him to the 
 soothing pastime of casino, and allowed him to watch the con 
 cocting of a -milk-punch or a hot whisky; so when Tommy 
 was six years old, his education was pretty far advanced. 
 Tommy had a Websterian head, and whenever there was a 
 door to be bumped, or a corner to be encountered, that head 
 did it forcibly; and in the trifling events of falls from trees, 
 ladders, barns, etc., that head always came first in contact 
 with the earth. Yet Tommy was pretty well satisfied with this 
 world as it is, and enjoyed the good things of life to the utter 
 most, except when he had bitter medicine to take; then he 
 wished that he was in his grave, or that his life was ended. 
 His father used to smile at the learned way he expressed him 
 self, but his mother said it was from hearing refined language- 
 used at home the little swear words he heard occasionally 
 from his father, she passed over in dignified silence. 
 
 One day Tommy went with his parents to a grand p- 
 how he did enjoy himself. 
 
NAr<;iiTY TOMMY. 21 
 
 "Mamma," lie said, "the ice cream, cakes and lemonade are 
 delicious. I don t care for the ordinary food, chickens and 
 that, for I can get plenty at home." The mother remembered 
 with half a sigh that her cake was not always a success, owing, 
 no doubt, to the non-risibility of the yeast, or the condition 
 of the stove, so she told him not to eat too much, but to act 
 like a gentleman in everything. 
 
 He liked to attract attention, as all children do, who are con 
 sidered smart by their indulgent parents, so had spoken his 
 two little pieces half a dozen times, till even the praise became 
 monotonous, then he sought his father. 
 
 " Papa, please give me a swing in that little boat, just as 
 high as you can, please." So his papa put him in, with an 
 other little boy on the opposite seat, and swung them gently. 
 
 "Oh, higher, higher, please!" they both cried, and seeing 
 they stood it so well, he swung them higher. Still they cried: 
 " Higher! higher!" and he pushed them harder. All at once 
 Tommy pitched from the seat and struck his head on the floor 
 of the swing; but he did not stop there; his head went through 
 the boards, his body following, then into the earth, oh, ever 
 so far. 
 
 \V;is he never going to stop ? It seemed as if he had gone 
 a thousand miles, and yet he continued going. Suddenly he 
 landed flat on his back on a stream of molten fire. 
 
 "Ah! "he thought, "I m in the centre w^the earth, and 
 this is the subterranean fire mamma told me about, that makes 
 the volcanos. Oh, my! I wonder if this is a stream of lava on 
 its way to Vesuvius?" He remembered how ^iis mother had 
 told him of the burying of Pompeii, and how he had tried to 
 imitate the eruption of a volcano, by climbing on the ash bar 
 rel, and scattering the eontents over the back-yard, much to 
 
22 NAUGHTY TUMMY. 
 
 the annoyance of Bridget, who threatened to pull his ears, but 
 never did, as his mamma had explained to her that he was of 
 a scientific turn of mind. 
 
 How hot his back was, and how fast he was going 1 ! He 
 passed by several little Brownies at work. What could they 
 be digging so eagerly ? 
 
 " Say, Mr. Brownies," he called out, "if you are digging- 
 gold, just pitch me a piece or two; but pitch straight, as I m 
 traveling pretty lively/ The Brownies laughed like so many 
 metal bells ringing, and sent a shower of gold flying after 
 him; but as several pieces hit his head, it was no great pleas 
 ure after all, and he indulged in an expression he had learned 
 on the streets, but would not for anything have uttered within 
 reach of the refined ears of his mamma. 
 
 " Oh, cheese it, Brownies!" and stretching out his hand to 
 defend himself he caught a good-sized lump of the yellow 
 metal, and quickly put it in his pocket. Chuckling to him 
 self, he thought: 
 
 " This is worth ever so many cracks on the head, and what 
 a lot of things I can buy with it; a velocipede, a fiddle, a 
 drum, a ." But he was going so swift, and his back was 
 getting so hot, that he thought no more of toys. Every little 
 while he passed other groups of Brownies at work, but was 
 afraid to halloa out to them, yet wanted to ever so much, 
 thinking they might be digging diamonds or rubies . Oh, 
 dear! he was nearing the volcano, he knew, for such mean, 
 ugly gases he had never smelt before. Now he passed rap 
 idly through great arched caves where the molten fire was 
 bubbling and seething as in a cauldron; then he went up an 
 inclined plane, at an angle of he didn t know how many de 
 grees; then the gases were worse than ever, and he was 
 
TOMMY. 23 
 
 whirled round and round; then shot up five thousand four 
 hundred and fifty feet straight into the sky; but he came down 
 so rapidly, and with such a thump, that he opened his eyes in 
 terror, and there was his mamma and papa bending over him, 
 looking so sorry and holding a nasty bottle of hartshorn to 
 his nose, and rubbing his back, and slapping his hands, and: 
 
 Halloa! Tommy, are you all right now?" And his father 
 took him in his arms, and his mother kissed him; and he told 
 them where he had been, and felt in his pocket for the nugget 
 of gold, but was very much surprised to find nothing there, 
 and to hear that lie had been insensible. The rest of the pic 
 nic passed off quietly; but he did not get over his disappoint 
 ment at not finding the gold, it had all been so real. 
 
 Not many days after the picnic, he was flying his kite; a 
 beautiful affair, he thought, that his mother had made for 
 him, with a big red rose painted in the center, and a fierce- 
 looking eagle at the top, and little pictures all around. His 
 mother had told him all about Benjamin Franklin, and he 
 thought, perhaps, if he got on the barn the kite would be so 
 much higher, that he might touch off a little cloud all by him 
 self. 
 
 "And become as-, great a fellow as old Ben!" he said, half 
 sarcastically, as he climbed with great difficulty to the roof of 
 the barn, with the string of the kite held by his teeth! How 
 nice it was up there! He could see so far, and the sun was 
 so bright, and the kite went so high! But looking at it, he 
 forgot where he was, backed off the edge of the roof and fell 
 plump into the horse-trough! It was full of water, but he 
 didn t stop there, but went clear through horse-trough, earth 
 and everything, till he came out the other side of the world 
 into the Pacific Ocean. 
 
24 NAUGHTY TOMMY. 
 
 " Oil, good gracious! now I shall get drowned! " lie thought, 
 " and what will mamma say?" But it was the time of the 
 great tidal wave, and in a moment he found himself swashing 
 along at a tremendous rate; and how the fishes looked at him! 
 They frightened him with their cold expressionless eyes. A 
 harmless little sword-fish came too near, and Tommy thought 
 his leg was sawed off; he hastily felt of it, but all was right 5 
 only his boot was rasped nearly through. Then the devil-fish 
 stretched out his long arms and said: 
 
 " Come, little earth boy, come with me," and smiled in such 
 an insinuating way, that Tommy felt his hair stand 011 end, 
 and his flesh creep, yet he managed to say: 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Devil-fish!" he thought it the best 
 policy to be polite; " I m on a journey and can t stop." Then 
 he rushed over great beds of coral, and how they did scratch 
 his back. 
 
 " I don t see what mamma wants to read The Wonders of 
 the Deep for; I think they are horrible. I ll tell her all 
 about them real, when I get home." Then it suddenly oc 
 curred to him he might never get home again, and it gave 
 him a cold shiver, colder even than the water. 
 
 " Mamma 11 call Tommy ! Tommy ! and when Pdon t come, 
 then papa 11 go and look for me, and when he doesn t find 
 me, he ll get the bell man to cry: Oh, yes! oh, yes! little boy 
 lost ! Then he felt like crying, to think how badly mamma 
 and papa would feel. Now he passed through a school of por 
 poises, but they appeared more frightened at seeing such a 
 strange fish as he, than he at seeing them. 
 
 " Pshaw! I don t believe they are somebody s brothers, or 
 they would not have run away so." 
 
 But looking up he saw in the distance an island, and tower- 
 
NAUGHTY TOMMY. 25 
 
 ing above it. a volcano. "Oh, good gracious! now I am in 
 l>ud luck, for I really believe that is the Sandwich Island, 
 where mamma told me they ate Captain Cook wonder if they 
 ate him because of his name ? I do wish a whale would swal 
 low me a friendly whale as he did Jonah; then I would have 
 a chance of being thrown up somewhere; but if the savages 
 over there cook and eat me, I stand no chance of being gath 
 ered up again. Oh, dear! I wish a whale would come!" By 
 this time he was swept on to the shore of those islands he so 
 dreaded, but the big wave, receding, threw him clear down the 
 throat of an advancing whale. How glad he was! 
 
 " It s fortunate a whale has no teeth except those two he 
 don t use, or he might have bitten me in two; but here I am 
 in a safe place and quite warm." Then he examined the 
 whale s internal arrangements and where the blubber was they 
 made oil out of, and what they called little boys when they 
 cried too much. 
 
 " And where are the bones they make umbrellas aiic^ cor 
 sets of, especially that front piece that mamma uses some 
 times on my back ? " But the whale feeling such a queer dis 
 turbance, turned about and caught the tidal wave as it was 
 rushing back to the Pacific Slope, and in a short time Tommy 
 could see through the whale s open mouth the beautiful Golden 
 Gate. 
 
 " Now I shall see California, that I ve heard so much about. 
 I hope we ll go down a mine, so that I can dig some gold; I d 
 give mamma a piece for Christmas." Then they passed Seal 
 Rock, and Tommy laughed with delight at the gambols of the 
 lively seals. 
 
 "I d like to catch one, and put it under mamma s pillow 
 Christmas Eve, for her to make into a sack," he thought; but 
 
 
26 NAUGHTY TOMMY. 
 
 here the whale closed his mouth and dashed with the big wave 
 up an elegant street, up, up into a room on the second floor, 
 and wishing to relieve his domestic economy of the disagree 
 able disturbance, opened his mouth wide, contracted his in 
 ternal muscles, and Tommy was landed on the floor in the 
 midst of a crowd of excited women. 
 
 " I want fifty Panther!" one shouted. 
 
 " I ll take one hundred Leopard!" screamed another. 
 
 " Forty Lady Bryan?" halloed a third. Drops of perspira 
 tion stood 011 Tommy s noble brow. 
 
 "Where am I? Are these Comanche female Indians, or 
 Sioux, or what, that they want those ferocious animals, and 
 are they going to eat those forty poor ladies ! "Ugh ! I wish I 
 was home." 
 
 But here arose such a hubbub that the head lady, who had 
 a little wooden hammer in her hand, mistook that Websteriaii 
 head for the table, and shouting: "Order! order! ladies!" 
 gave it several sharp raps, and Tommy opened his eyes to find 
 William, the coachman, rolling him on the grass, and slap 
 ping his back, and pressing his lungs, and doing all he could 
 to bring him to. It all flashed on his mind at once. 
 
 "Oh, please, William, don t tell mamma; it ll frighten her 
 so." Then he told him of the adventures he had had, and 
 how they were most as good as real. 
 
 When he saw his mother he threw his arms around her neck, 
 and was unusually affectionate. 
 
 "Oh, dear mamma! I wish I could have got you a seal." 
 
 "A \vhat?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh! ah! nothing," he replied, remembering himself . But 
 every little while he would forget and speak of the devil-fish, 
 and the insides of a whale, and how the women wanted to buy 
 
NAUGHTY TOMMY. 27 
 
 panthers, till his mother thought something was the matter 
 with him. 
 
 Put out vour tongue, Tommy. I m afraid YOU haYe a 
 fever, and that I must send for a doctor. 
 
 But this meant medicine, perhaps bitter medicine, so Tom 
 my made a clean breast of it, from the fall into the horse- 
 trough to the raps 011 his head by the woman with the ham 
 mer. Of course his mother counseled him about being more 
 careful and all that, and of course he said he would, or at 
 least he would try. 
 
 One day, some time after all this happened, Tommy s father 
 had company, and the wine was set on the table; the gentle 
 men were good natured and lively, and Tommy listened in 
 silence to the funny anecdotes and adventures they related; 
 and as the wine diminished, their liveliness increased, and soon 
 Tommy was laughing as appreciatively as the rest of them. 
 He had never seen his father so funny before, and when the 
 champagne was opened, that gentleman made a speech^ ad 
 dressing the decanter as " Mr. President." It. was the droll 
 est speech that ever was heard, and Tommy laughed till he 
 cried, and the gentlemen applauded with hands and feet, then 
 lit their cigars and strolled into the garden; but Tommy re 
 mained in the room and ruminated. 
 
 " Now, if what s in those bottles makes papa so funny, what 
 would it do to me?" Then he sipped the " heel taps" from 
 all the glasses, and thought it wasn t so very nice, and won 
 dered why the gentlemen thought so much about champagne 
 suppers; then he concluded he d try the contents of the de 
 canter. 
 
 "Ah! this is nice and sweet; I rather like it;" and he took 
 a long sip; this made him feel so good that he took another, 
 then another. 
 
28 NAUGHTY TOMMY. 
 
 "How queer my head feels; it s it s swimming. Good 
 ness sow thitli room room movthes! Ah! thith is jolty!" 
 and he halloed and laughed, and almost danced a jig; then he 
 went to the decanter again, and tipped it, and tipped it, till 
 he had to fall on his knees to get any of its contents. At last 
 he tipped the decanter so far that his head went into it, and 
 his body followed; then he wondered how that small bottle 
 could hold such a large boy. He was floating in the wine like 
 a little fish, when he suddenly caught sight of himself re 
 flected in the glass of the decanter. Oh, horror! he was 
 changed into a little imp or devil ! There were two tiny horns 
 growing out of his head, and his feet were hoofs and the nails 
 of his hands claws. 
 
 " Now what will mamma say? She can t call come here, 
 little Tommy/ any more, but come, you little devil, like 
 Mrs. Jones calls her boy. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish I had 
 remembered, Touch not, taste not, handle not/ What an 
 example I ll be to all bad boys! I shouldn t wonder if they 
 preserved me in whisky and showed me at Sunday school; and 
 Christmas is to-morrow, and we re to have a tree, and papa 
 promised me a velocipede, and mamma a . But I shall never 
 be able to play any more, for the boys would be scared of me, 
 arid run away. Oh, clear! oh, dear! I wish I had been a good 
 boy." 
 
 Then he wondered why the wine didn t drown him, and if he 
 made ever so many promises to himself of reformation, if he 
 would return to his natural shape; so he made the promises 
 and waited; but still a little imp grinned and mouthed at him 
 from the glass, and he almost wished he was dead and in his 
 grave. 
 
 The gentlemen returned, and his father asked them to join 
 
XAr<;iiTY TOMMY. 29 
 
 him in a glass of wine. Oh, how Tommy clung, with horns 
 and hoofs, to the side of the decanter, for fear some one would 
 pour him out and swallow him. But after all the gentlemen 
 were helped, his father emptied the decanter into his glass. 
 
 " Here s how!" they all said, and the glasses were raised; 
 but Tommy gave such a terrific shriek as his father s teeth 
 scratched his back, that he dropped him on the floor in terror, 
 the glass and wine falling on him and cutting him so bad, that 
 he halloed: 
 
 " Oh, mamma! mamma!. I m nearly killed!" and rubbing his 
 eyes he looked around wildly; but there were all the gentle 
 men laughing at him, and one of them said: 
 
 "Hallo! Tommy, you re drunk, you little rascal." 
 
 Then papa examined the decanter and found it empty; then 
 he looked severe at Tommy, and Avas about to order him to 
 bed, when the gentlemen interceded for him, and Tommy 
 said : 
 
 "Don t be afraid, papa; I don t touch nasty wine any more." 
 Then he related all he had suffered, and involuntarily felt his 
 head, but that Websterian organ was the same as ever. 
 
 His father thought that perhaps after all it was a good les 
 son, and Tommy couldn t see anything funny in what was said 
 the rest of that day, so left the parlor in disgust and joined his 
 mamma, who would not take a milk-punch even on Christmas 
 day; and Tommy tried not to be naughty any more. 
 
THE LEAF AND THE BUSH. 
 
 NCE upon a time, in the early spring, the trees were 
 all out in little green leaves, and the grass had 
 bladed so green and slender that they looked like 
 little fairy lances; the song of the birds was joyous, and every 
 thing seemed living in perfect happiness. The leaves and 
 grass drank the dew at night; it supplied their simple wants, 
 and that contented them. 
 
 But now the heat grew stronger and baked the earth, so 
 that the dew could not feed the grass and leaves, as it had 
 done before; so they began to murmur; still the sun grew hot 
 ter and hotter. 
 
 "Oh! if it would only rain!" cried the young leaves. 
 
 " Oh! yes," said the grass. 
 
 But the sky was as blue and bright as a lady s eye. 
 
 " See, how our beautiful dresses are fading," murmured the 
 leaves, " all for the want of a little paltry rain." 
 
 " It s no use to complain, dear sisters, the rain will not come 
 any sooner for it," said one of last year s leaves, that still 
 clung to the top of the tree; it was scarcely a leaf, though, 
 but a little two-winged seed-pod. 
 
 " How she talks, the old maid! " snapped one of the green 
 est and prettiest of the leaves. " Of course the rain wouldn t 
 brighten her coat, or make her chances better, so she can sit 
 calm and content, and watch our beauty fade." 
 
THE LEAF AND THE BUSH. 31 
 
 Indeed, dear sisters, I would give my life to cause the 
 rain to come, or to help YOU in your trouble." 
 
 ilks, humph! Actions are what we want; talk, talk, 
 ti not help distress/ 
 " Tell me, then, what shall I do?" 
 
 Thry ajl laughed scornfully, saying, If we knew, we could 
 do it ourselves." 
 
 But the poor little old maid saw away off in the east a speck 
 of u cloud. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only loosen myself from the tree I would 
 
 id reach the cloud, and I would beg- it so pitifully to 
 
 I save you all." She struggled and twisted in vain. 
 
 hotter and hotter, and the leaves curled and cracked 
 
 ed. But a little breeze at last sprung up, and with 
 
 ) eat effort she flew away, borne along 011 its friendly 
 
 oar cloud," she cried, "will you not come to the 
 Little leaves, who are fading and dying for lack of a 
 of your kindly tears ? " 
 "I would willingly, if a breeze would only take me that 
 
 >oked appealiiigiy at the breeze. 
 
 " I will take you a little higher in the air, and there you will 
 find one of my brothers going west with all speed; he will take 
 you willingly." And in a moment more the cloud and the leaf 
 were tlyino- along toward the moaning tree and the poor 
 parched earth. 
 
 She was so eager to tell her sisters the good news that she 
 went 011 the very edge of the breeze, and came with such force 
 that instead of alighting at her place, on top of the tree, she 
 was carried to the lowest branch and thrown into a deep knot 
 hole, without a sister near to hear or help her. 
 
32 THE LEAF AND THE BUSH. 
 
 "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she cried, "must I be separated 
 forever from my companions, and be shut up in this little 
 ugly hole, and not even see the good my errand accom 
 plishes ! " 
 
 "Do not murmur," said a soft voice beneath her; " did y.m 
 not say that you would willingly give your life to save the 
 others?" 
 
 " Yes; but this is such an ignoble way." 
 
 " O ho; then you did the good act for praise, and not for 
 goodness sake ? " But before she could reply the rain came 
 down in torrents, and she spluttered and gasped as the water 
 filled her little house; but she soon arose to the top, and then 
 fell to the earth with the overflowing water. She thought of 
 her whole life, during the short moment of her fall, and that 
 in a moment more she would be torn to pieces by the ugly old 
 thorn-bush just beneath; but the wind took her a little to the 
 side, and she was carried by the water into the brook. As she 
 rushed along she met hideous great monsters, who dived their 
 big flat beaks at her, and flapped their enormous wings, and 
 made such a terrible noise with their " quack, quack," that 
 she thought they were wild. So they were, the poor ducks, 
 with joy. Then the rain came slower, and the village boys 
 and girls ran out, and with their bare fat legs splashed and 
 danced in the running water. The rain seemed to have brought 
 life and joy; the whole village was astir. 
 
 Soon our two-winged messenger was caught by a chubby 
 brown hand, and the owner cried, "See! see! my pretty 
 boat!" and tying a string around the delicate wings, pulled 
 her violently against the stream; this treatment and the wild 
 shouts of merriment frightened her nearly to death. 
 
 " Oh! here s a prettier one!" cried the child; " see, this old 
 
THK LKAF .VXD Tin- nrsii. 33 
 
 is all broken, " and he cast it contemptuously hack into 
 the water. How ashamed she felt, thus torn and despised; 
 but the rain had ceased, and the water began to recede, so 
 she was carried back to her tree and thrown into a hole at the 
 foot of the ugly thorn-bush. Hearing her moan and cry, the 
 old thorn-bush looked at her pityingly and said: 
 
 "Don t weep, and think how ill your goodness has been re 
 warded; we often feel so in this world, but there is a future 
 even for you. Let me cover your poor shivering body with a 
 little of this kind earth; you will not regret it." 
 
 But she sobbed so that she could not reply; then, as the 
 wind stirred him, he scratched the earth with his thorns, and 
 covered her from the scornful glances and the painful pity of 
 the now bright leaves. 
 
 " Oh! it is so dark and cold here," she murmured all night 
 long, and the bush tried to comfort her; but the same moan 
 came from the earth for many days, still the bush would say: 
 
 " Have patience, little one; your reward will soon come." 
 
 One morning, when the sun was shining brightly, the voice 
 came up: 
 
 11 It is warmer now, and I feel no pain." The old bush was 
 glad. 
 
 Another day she said, " I feel so strangely, and can almost 
 see the light!" And the next morning when the old bush 
 awoke, two tiny green leaves had shot up from the earth, and 
 then he greeted her, " See now how pretty you are; you will 
 become a beautiful tree, and birds will sing among your leaves, 
 and under your branches lovers will sigh/ And* she looked, 
 and was so happy. " Oh, thank you, kind bush; and you are 
 not so ugly as you used to be." 
 
 The old bush smiled, and the young tree grew. Soon she 
 3 
 
34 THE LEAF AND THE BUSH. 
 
 attracted the attention of her sisters. "Oh! what a beauti 
 ful creature !" they cried. "Mamma, shall we ever be like 
 her ? " But the old tree shook her head. Then envy filled 
 their breasts, and they mocked and taunted the whole day 
 long. But the young tree grew so straight and tall and slen 
 der, that she heeded them not. When the rain came and beat 
 down the poor bush, for he was old and brittle, she said to 
 him : 
 
 " My kind friend, throw your arms around my strong body, 
 and I will protect you from the wind and rain." 
 
 But the bush said sadly: "Ah, little one, my ugly thorns 
 would tear your pretty skin, and stop your beautiful growth. 
 I have but a little wljile to live; it matters not." 
 
 But when some boys passed by, and kicked and broke his 
 branches, and trampled on his thorns the thorns that had 
 been so kind to her again she said: 
 
 " Oh! lean on me. My heart aches to see you suffer so." 
 
 " Not yet; not yet," it replied, faintly. 
 
 " Still the young tree grew. One day a horse came tramp 
 ling by, and crushed the poor bush clear down to the earth. 
 
 "Oh! now let me help you," cried the tree, and bent down 
 her beautiful arms to raise him; but she had grown so high 
 that the bush was far beneath her, and she could not even 
 touch his poor, crushed branches. 
 
 " Too late! too late!" he murmured, and he spoke no more. 
 
 So when the Autumn came, she covered him with red and 
 golden glory, and showered his grave with dewy tears, and 
 often murmured, as the wind swept through her leaves: 
 
 "Dear friend! dear friend! " 
 
THE BOY WHO HAD HIS WISHES GRANTED. 
 
 . 
 
 o/^V ^ 
 
 ; fc$ upon a time tliere lived a little b y named 
 
 ^ Frankie. He was a nice little boy, and when he was 
 
 S^ in an obliging* temper would bring the coal, gather 
 
 chips, or help wash the dishes; and when he wasn t in an 
 
 obliging temper, he wasn t quite such a nice little boy. One 
 
 day his mother said : 
 
 " Frankie, I want you to wash the dishes this morning, and 
 
 I ll wipe them." 
 
 "I don t want to do it to-day." 
 " Oh, come, be a good boy and help mamma." 
 " I tell you I don t want to; I wasn t born to work." 
 "No? You ll find you ll have to do so in this world; so 
 no more, but begin the dishes." She poured the water 
 
 on them just hot enough to wash them clean, without burning 
 
 his hands. 
 
 11 TJmph! " and he slapped his fingers into the water, splash 
 ing his mother s face, and wetting his shirt. "I wish the 
 water was so hot I couldn t wash them at all." 
 
 How quickly he jerked his hands out of the dish-pan, and 
 set up a shriek like a wild Comanche Indian. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! Look ! Fire ! fire ! fire ! " and he held up his 
 hands, fairly dancing with pain. Tliere were ten little red 
 balls of misery. His mother quickly did them up in bags of 
 flour, he screaming "fire! fire!" all the time, in such a ter- 
 
36 THE BOY WHO HAD 
 
 ribly loud voice that soon all the fire bells in the city were 
 ringing furiously, and the engines came running up the street, 
 and hearing the terrible cries, didn t wait to see the smoke, 
 but turned the water on, and drenched poor Fraiikie to the 
 skin, and in a moment more would have flooded the house, 
 but his mother rushed to the door, and waving her arms wildly, 
 shouted for them to stop, as it was only her little boy who 
 had burnt his fingers.* 
 
 The gallant b hoys it was before they used steamers- 
 didii t know whether to laugh or be angry, but soon concluded 
 it was rather funny than otherwise, so went back laughing 
 and shouting for the boy with the burnt fingers. 
 
 It was weeks before Fraiikie s hands got well, and he ac 
 cepted the indulgence of lying in bed long, long after break 
 fast, with a great deal of lazy pleasure. 
 
 When he was quite well, his mother thought it was time to 
 break up this indolent habit, so after coaxing him for some 
 time, one morning she spoke quite sharply, and said he must 
 get up, or have 110 breakfast., 
 
 " Briiig ? it up here, can t you? it isn t much trouble." 
 "No; come down or go without." 
 
 " You won t let me do the least thing. Oh, dear, I wish 1 
 couldn t get up." 
 
 "Very well; come down when you are tired of being a slug 
 a-bed; ; aiid his mother left the room, shutting the door. 
 How quiet the house was all morning; no Fraiikie came down 
 or called " mamma," At last she was frightened, thinking he 
 was ill, or worse, so she hurried up stairs and rushed into the 
 
 room. 
 
 thought it was our house on fire. 
 
HIS WISHES GRANTED. 37 
 
 " Oh, I can t get up, and I ve tried ever so hard," he whined. 
 " "What is the matter with me?" 
 
 She took him "by the hand to help him up, but he rolled on to 
 his side, and when she took his other hand, he rolled back 
 again; but she could not raise him up. She called the gar 
 dener, and they both pulled, but in vain; then she fetched a 
 couple of neighbors, with the same result; then one more 
 dropped in and took his head, while the rest took his arms 
 and legs, and they pulled till he screamed with the pain. 
 
 "Go away, oh, go away! You re pulling me to pieces! I 
 don t want to ever see your faces any more. You re worse than 
 wild Injuns, so you are!" Then he hid his face in the bed 
 clothes, and held his legs and arms tight to his body, and so 
 staid till they left him, wondering at his miraculous strength 
 and advising his mother to send him to Baruum. 
 
 His mother did not know what to do, but thought, as boys 
 were very fond of eating, to let him go hungry till he came for 
 his meals would be the easiest way to get him up. But, as 
 the day passed and he did not make his appearance, his mother 
 went for the doctor, thinking he really must be ill. He was a 
 good-natured man, with a pleasant smile. He didn t wear 
 spectacles and look learned, and so frighten the little fellows, 
 but spoke kindly and felt his pulse, looked at his tongue and 
 sounded his chest. 
 
 " I don t see anything the matter with him, madam! " 
 
 " But he c.-m t get up, he tells me, although he tries to ever 
 so much." 
 
 "Ah! anything the matter with his legs?" and the doctor 
 felt his legs, arms and spine, but shook his head; and beckon 
 ing his mother out of the room, he said: 
 
 " Nothing ails the boy but laziness; so don t go near him or 
 
38 THE BOY WHO HAD 
 
 give him anything to eat till he gets up, drapes himself and 
 conies down stairs. Good day, madam!" 
 
 So she took his advice, and did not go near him for two days, 
 thinking how stubborn he was, and wondering where he could 
 get it from; it must be from his father, as she certainly was 
 the most easily persuaded creature in the world! At the end 
 of the second day, he halloed to her so lustily that she heard 
 him through closed doors and all. 
 
 " Oh! I m just starving! How can you be so cruel?" 
 
 " Then why don t you get up ? " 
 
 " I can t, I tell you! " So again she left the room; but in an 
 hour or two his cries again reached her. So the ejector was 
 brought the second time. He was inclined to be a little pro 
 voked at first, .but when she told him he had not got up, or 
 eaten anything for over two days, he looked serious, gave him 
 some bitter medicine, and ordered him to be fed on gruel. 
 The first mouthful disgusted Erankie, and he spit it out, say 
 ing: 
 
 "Ugh! the nasty stuff;" but finding he could get nothing 
 else, he eagerly ate a bowlful. His mother felt so sorry for 
 him that she bought him a beautiful picture-book, and a bal 
 loon, and a box of toys, and, when the doctor would let her, 
 she gave him a little jam, and other delicacies; but with all 
 this, Frankie got very thin. One day when he was alone, and 
 so tired of books, toys, and balloon, he said: 
 
 " Oh, dear! I am so tired of lying in bed. I wish I could 
 get up." 
 
 And as he spoke he made another effort, and was on the 
 floor before you could say " Jack Robinson." flow surprised 
 his mother was! She kissed him, and made such a fuss over 
 him, that he felt quite proud and important. He wandered 
 
HIS WISHKS (JliANTED. 39 
 
 around the house, and everything seemed new to him. At last 
 he came to the looking-glass, and, looking in, he said: 
 
 Well, I am a little thin; I must have been very sick. If 
 mamma gives me so many toys and nice things to eat because 
 I look this bad, wouldn t she give me lots if I was worse?" 
 
 Turning from the glass, he said: 
 
 " I wish I was just as thin as a skeleton! " 
 
 Then he went to his mother to ask her for some cake. As 
 soon as she saw him she uttered a shriek and ran out of the 
 house. 
 
 " Why, what s the matter with mamma?" he said, following 
 after her; but the people rushed away at his approach, scream 
 ing and crying, and white with terror. 
 
 " Are they crazy," he said, half vexed and half angry, " to 
 make such a fuss because a fellow s a little thin ? " but when 
 they cried " Ghost! ghost! " he too began to feel a little queer, 
 and to look around; but seeing nothing, he soon went home, 
 for it was no fun to be on the street with no one to play with. 
 After a little his mother returned. 
 
 "Oh, my poor boy! my poor boy! what has happened to 
 you?" 
 
 11 Why, nothing; I m beginning to feel ever so good!" 
 
 "Oh, dear! oh, .poor thing! " was all she could say. 
 
 " Then, what is the matter? " he asked, going to the looking- 
 glass again; but as soon as he caught sight of his face, he 
 gave a yell and a jump, and turned a back somersault, and so 
 continued turning till his feet struck the wall, and left him 
 standing on Jiis head in the corner! His mother put him to 
 bed, and then commenced the gruel and medicine again, and 
 in a week, what a tired, miserable boy, was Frankie! So one 
 clay he stole out of the house, determined he d stay in bed no 
 
40 THE BOY WHO HAD 
 
 longer; but when people again fled from him, he felt as if he 
 hail been drawn through a knot-hole. 
 
 "Oh! dear! I wish I was so fat that it would burst the 
 clothes off my back! " 
 
 Bang! bang! bang! Was it a miniature Fourth of July? 
 One button struck his nose, another nearly knocked a tooth 
 out, and he was about calling for the police, thinking some 
 boys were firing stones at him, when the cold air penetrating 
 to his skin, showed him what was the matter. Oh! horror! 
 His clothes were falling in pieces from his body, and had he 
 not grasped the fragments around him, and rushed home, he 
 would, have been a male (lodiva, without the horse. 
 
 His mother was standing at her door, and as he tried to rush 
 past her, she caught him by the arm. 
 
 "You shameless, ragged boy! what do you want in my 
 house ? " 
 
 " Don t you know me, mamma? " 
 
 She knew the voice, but was so amazed that she could hardly 
 speak. " You ve, you ve been eating something, and are all 
 swelled up. Oh! dear! go to bed till I alter your clothes to 
 fit you." 
 
 As soon as he had his new clothes made, all the neighbors 
 came to see him, and brought him all sorts of presents, and 
 advised his mother to rent him to a circus. The idea pleased 
 Frankie very much, for what boy ever lived who did not wish 
 at some time of his life to become a clown or rider in a circus. 
 After his mother had been bored with twenty different propo 
 sitions daily for a week, and Frankie had begged as often, she 
 consented to his going for a short time, at twenty dollars a 
 week, part in advance; this she put in the bank, and .gave him 
 the bookselling him it was the beginning of his fortune. He 
 
HIS WISHES GRANTED. 41 
 
 went away with the man in the fine new suit, trimmed with 
 gold lace, feeling very proud and happy. 
 
 For a few days he enjoyed sitting on a platform and listen 
 ing to the comments of the people; besides they gaye him many 
 little things that pleased him vastly, but he soon tired of not 
 being allowed to play in the dirt, and whoop and hallo, like 
 he did in his own yard. So he hoped for a few clays more, 
 then he said to himself, he wished he wasn t so fat, then the 
 circus wouldn t want him at all. A few minutes afterward the 
 proprietor came along, and seeing no crowd around him, looked 
 up, and seeing only an ordinary boy in his place, and dressed 
 like his fat curiosity, he ordered him out of the tent, and said 
 he d have him arrested if he came there dressed up to deceive 
 people; then he went to hunt up his fat boy. But poor 
 Frankie didn t know what to do. After walking awhile, he 
 found he was in the town where he lived they traveled at 
 night, so he did not know it before. How joyfully he inquired 
 his way home, and rushed into his mother s arms! 
 
 "Ah! my dear boy, have they starved you, the cruel wretches; 
 but I like you this way best, for now you look like my little 
 Frankie again." 
 
 They lived very happy for a week or two, when he said to 
 his mother: 
 
 " I think it would be ever so nice, if one could have all their 
 wishes granted." 
 
 "I don t think so, my little boy, for one might wish for 
 many foolish things, that they would be very sorry for after 
 ward." 
 
 " I don t believe I ever should! Just think we wouldn t 
 need railroads, ships, nor even balloons. Then we could see 
 if there was a man in the moon; and if the stars would burn 
 our fingers, if we touched them." 
 
42 THE BOY WHO HAD 
 
 "Yes, that would be all very nice, but did you never hear 
 little fellows, and big ones too, wish the dickens had it, the 
 it perhaps being mother s best bureau, against which a little 
 fellow had bumped his head, or a shirt lacking a button? then, 
 too, I have heard some people wickedly wish they were dead, 
 because they had the toothache, or had lost a little money." 
 
 "You wouldn t catch me wishing I was dead, when kites 
 and marbles are so cheap. Oh! mamma, just look out of the 
 window at those pretty little girls; ain t they dressed nice; 
 look at their pretty shoes" then he looked at his own, which 
 were rather coarse and large " and their hats, and what little 
 waists; I wish I was a girl!" What made him suddenly feel 
 so uncomfortable? He could scarcely breathe, and he didn t 
 think now the girls were pretty at all! Then his feet ached, 
 and he couldn t keep his hat on the top of his head! He 
 walked away from the window, saying: " What airs those girls 
 do put on!" But before he reached the door he tripped, and 
 nearly knocked his nose; the heels of his boots were so miser 
 ably high; something, too, impeded his walking; he looked to 
 see what was the matter with his coat and oh! horror! be 
 held a fashionable "pull-back" and a trailing skirt, and little 
 tight shoes, and a contemptible little hat that would insist on 
 remaining on the back of his head, or neck nothing could 
 exceed his amazement and disgust ! 
 
 His mother, looking up from her book, noticed the change 
 for the first time, and thought some young lady had come to 
 visit her, and said: 
 
 "How do you do, dear? How prettily you are dressed." 
 "Mamma!" he screamed, indignantly; but he did not know 
 his own voice it was now an angry female shriek; " mamma, 
 don t you know me; I m no girl; oh, dear, I know what it is; 
 
HIS VVISHKS (JIUXTED. 43 
 
 C4iant Strono-body or some old witch lias been granting- all my 
 
 foolish wishes; I wish they would" he stopped in terror "I 
 
 ;oing to wisli they wouldn t, without wishing to be a boy 
 again/ So he wished himself back into a boy, as soon as 
 possible, for fear the giants or witches would change their 
 minds. 
 
 "What a lucky escape I ve had; why, that was worse than 
 being fat, or a skeleton. Suppose I had remained a girl, I 
 might have had to marry red-headed Bill Jones, that I hate 
 so. Mamma, can you breathe with your dress so tight? and 
 how do you sit down when it is tied back so ? I don t wish 
 any more of my wishes granted. Why, I couldn t have voted 
 when I was grown, nor play billiards, or casino in the grocer 
 ies, like other men, or be president, or march in a torch-light 
 procession, or have any fun. I pity girls, I do; what do they 
 want to live for ? they can t do nothing; they can t even be 
 soldiers and fight tjie Injuns they can only stay at home and 
 sweep and wash dishes!" but here he faltered a little, know 
 ing that the latter was sometimes his occupation, " they can t 
 even drive street-cars what are they good for ?" 
 
 Your mother was one, Frankie," she said, softly and seri 
 ously. 
 
 " Oh, mamma! were you? but you can do everything !" and 
 he threw himself into her arms; " and you know everything, 
 and you are the dearest, sweetest person in the world, better 
 than any man that ever lived!" and he buried his face in her 
 bosom, and she told him about some of the great and good 
 women that had lived in this world, of their patient suffering, 
 of their heroism, of their genius, and taught him to respect 
 the name of woman as something almost sacred, and he said : 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, I always shall, because my darling, dear 
 mamma is one!" 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 LL boys are not cruel, though many like to hurt and 
 tease animals for the pleasure of seeing them suffer; 
 
 Sv but our John was not of that number. His mother 
 was a poor, hard- working woman, and his father was dead, 
 yet for all that she wished him to have a good education, and 
 never let him be absent a day from school. 
 
 In his heart he felt how good she was to him, and he did all 
 in his power to show her he, appreciated it. He helped her 
 all he could in the early morning, then after school he did lit 
 tle odd jobs, and all the money he made he gave her to help 
 in housekeeping. 
 
 They lived on the outskirts of the village, near a large com 
 mon, across which the village began again. Here were old 
 carts, that their owners could not make up their minds to cut 
 up and burn, left to moulder away and drop to pieces in the 
 wind and rain; heaps of rubbish, old shoes, tins and broken 
 crockery. Here, too, occasionly, an old horse that had out 
 lived his usefulness, and accordingly his master s affections, 
 was turned out to die; there were two or three trees here, and 
 a little grass, so he could die gradually, thus easing his own 
 er s mind from any idea of cruelty. This was a place of great 
 interest for John; he would go there to philosophize, and many 
 a poor lame dog he had been kind to would welcome his ap 
 proach with a gladsome wagging of the tail. 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 45 
 
 One evening after school, as he was crossing this common, 
 to cut some wood for one of his customers, as he called those 
 who paid him for little jobs, he noticed a poor, sick looking, 
 lame, gray horse, walking with great difficulty, and nibbling 
 the scanty tufts of grass; he went to him, and speaking gen 
 tly, patted his back and rubbed his nose; then he examined 
 his mouth, and, being a little bit of an expert, found that he 
 was not such a very old horse after all; then he looked at his 
 leg; it was very sore. He wondered why he was so miserably 
 thin, and whether he was put out there to die. Then with 
 another pat and another kind word, he cried out : 
 
 " Cheer up, old fellow! I ll see what I can do for you!" 
 and went to his wood-cutting. All the while his thoughts 
 were occupied by the gray horse, and he wondered how a man 
 could be cruel to his beasts that had been a pleasure to him, 
 and perhaps had earned a greater part of his living. 
 
 " Please, Mrs. Jones, can you tell me to whom that poor 
 gray horse out here on the common belongs ? " he at last asked 
 the woman for whom he was working. 
 
 "TVeel, lad, I dinna ken he belongs to ony one now. Auld 
 Mike, around the corner, used to own him, but he s mickle use 
 to ony one now, so I s pose he s out to die." When he had 
 finished .his job, he went to Mike s, and asked him about the 
 horse. 
 
 "The baste is sick and lazy, and I can t afford to kape a 
 hospital; he ll never get well, so he can die there." 
 
 "AYill you give him to me, please, Mr. Mike?" 
 
 " Ho! ha! ha! and are ye so rich that ye can afford to kape 
 useless animals to feed? But take him for all I care." So 
 John wrote on a scrap of paper: 
 
 " I give the sick gray horse what s his name, Mr. Mike?" 
 
46 THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 "Whitey." 
 
 "Whitey, to John Silvertree. Will you please put your 
 name to this, so that no one can say I took him without your 
 leave." Mike laughed and said: 
 
 "Well, ye re a downright business one there " and he 
 scrawled his name with much ado and few of Hogarth s lines 
 of beauty. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Mike," said John, and slowly led his 
 horse to his back gate; then he suddenly thought what would 
 his mother say ? His hesitation was but short, for he knew 
 what a kind heart she had, and he smiled a little vainly, as he 
 thought how everything he did was right in her eyes; so he 
 opened the gate and led the horse in. 
 
 "Why, John, lad, what in the world have you got there?" 
 asked his mother who was in the yard hanging up some clothes. 
 Then he told her all about the horse, and how it belonged to 
 him now. 
 
 " But, lad, how are you going to feed and shelter the poor 
 sick beast ? " 
 
 "Well, mother, if you ll let him share your wood-shed to 
 night, to-morrow I ll try and fix a place for him. I believe I 
 can cure him with care and enough to eat; then he ll be worth 
 considerable." 
 
 "Well, well, lad, do as you please; it ll surely be all right." 
 So John piled the coal and wood on one side; but he could 
 only make room for poor "Whitey s" head and shoulders. 
 
 "Ah, poor beast; you ll have to lay on the ground to-night; 
 but I expect that s nothing new to you. Mother, what shall 
 I give him to eat?" 
 
 "Ah, you ought to have thought of that before you took 
 such a present. I ve got a little flour, but horses won t eat 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 47 
 
 that, or bread and meat; yes, I ve some cornrneal; how will 
 that do ? " 
 
 "I should think that would be just the thing for a sick 
 horse." So hd put some in a bucket and wet it with a little 
 water, then placed it before old "Whiter;" how he picked up 
 his ears and kept his nose in the bucket, showing it was a rare 
 treat to him. John and his mother both stood watchful and 
 admiring-. 
 
 " Poor fellew; I guess you ve been half starved; no wonder 
 you didn t get well; mother, you didn t think I d ever own a 
 horse, did you?" But she smiled in such a peculiar way that 
 it was like an audible reply. 
 
 " Oh, you think he isn t much of a horse to own, any way; 
 just wait awhile, mother, and I ll show you a different ani 
 mal." Then he went to a neighbor s and swept his stable, for 
 a couple of armfuls of hay and straw, and binding his leg 
 tightly in his mother s home-made liniment, after he had 
 washed it thoroughly, he made him as comfortable as he could, 
 with the straw for a bed and the hay convenient to eat, and a 
 piece of old blanket for a covering; then left him for the night 
 and went to his supper, which his mother had kept waiting for 
 him for over an hour. After that, he helped her wash the 
 dishes; then they both sat down by the friendly light of a lit 
 tle shaded lamp, he to study and say an occasional word to 
 his mother, and she to sew, after talking to him, for he said 
 he didn t mind, he could study all the same, and it was a re 
 lief to the good woman to have an intelligent young ear into 
 which to pour her trials and hopes; so the evening passed. 
 
 Next morning John got up bright and early. Old Whitey " 
 was much better, and greeted him with a friendly neigh. 
 After rebandaging his leg, he rubbed him down with an old 
 
48 THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 shoe-brush; then, giving him some more cormneal, he went 
 to school. It was with the greatest difficulty he could keep 
 his mind on his books; finally, at recess, he said to himself: 
 " I must think this out, and have done with it." So he rested 
 his head on his hands, and with his elbows on his desk he 
 tried to solve the problem of how to get a supply of merchan 
 dise without the necessary cash; steal it he wouldn t; go in 
 debt he couldn t; yet " Whitey" must be fed and sheltered. 
 "What s the matter, John; got the headache?" asked one 
 of the kindest boys in ssjiool. 
 
 "No, but I m thinking." Then he told him all about the 
 trouble he was in, and the boy, after thinking a moment, ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " If you don t want to be too grand, and old material will 
 do, I can tell you, something to help you. Up our way they 
 are pulling down an old house. Perhaps, if you d help them 
 after school, they would give you enough stuff to build a 
 stable for your Bucephalus." 
 
 " Thank you, Will, that ll just do, and I think I can man 
 age it; but you won t call the poor, sick beast Bucephalus/ 
 when you see him." 
 
 " I ll come and help you, John, if you show me how to do 
 those sums I missed last week." 
 
 So it was all arranged, and after school the two boys went 
 to the man in charge of the pulling down of the old house, and 
 John told him what he wanted, and that he would help so 
 many hours for enough old lumber and nails to build a shed 
 just "large enough to shelter the poor horse. The man was a 
 good-hearted fellow, and readily consented. So John and 
 Will worked vigorously for a couple of hours, and then, with 
 their arms full of old boards, they hurried along the streets to 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-IXXTUR AND HIS SHOW. 49 
 
 John s back-gate. Old "Whitey" was walking about the 
 yard, but the moment John appeared, he pricked up his ears 
 and gave such a neigh that l)oth boys burst out laughing. 
 
 " He knows you already, John. I shouldn t winder but that 
 you ll make something of him," said Will. Then, taking off 
 their coats, both the boys went to work. The days were long, 
 so they still had several hours before dark; and just as the 
 moon arose they had finished quite a good little shed. 
 
 :; Well, I m glad that s done; I shall sleep more comfort 
 able to-night. Won t you come in, Will, and take a cup of 
 tea with us ? Mother has been waiting ever so long, but she 
 saw how anxious I was to finish it, and she did not bother 
 
 " Xo, I must go home, for my folks will be getting fright 
 ened, for I never stay away so long without their knowing it; 
 but I sent a little fellow to tell them, so it will be all right, if 
 he did not forget. Good-by; you can show me the sums to 
 morrow." 
 
 How proudly John put old " Whitey " in the shed, which 
 he dignified by the name of " stable." There was a rack for 
 the hay, and a box for the food; but John had nothing for 
 him to-night but a few potatoes and a handful of hay. 
 
 "Never mind, old fellow, that s a little better than you ve 
 been used to lately; but to-morroAv I ll try and lay in a supply. 
 You don t mind having no door, do you? that s healthy; aiid 
 I don t think anybody will want to steal you yet. ^Good- 
 night." 
 
 With several weeks of care, John succeeded in curing old 
 
 "Winter s" leg; but the time it took, and the work he had 
 
 to do to get his food, seriously interfered with his earning the 
 
 little money he used to; but his mother seemed to be almost 
 
 4 
 
50 THE LITTLE HORSE DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 as much interested as lie was, and, between the two, the horse 
 became so tame and gentle that they taught him all manner 
 of little tricks. 
 
 When John saw the horse was likely to be valuable, he got 
 his little deed of gift legally attested, and then let the horse 
 follow him to school; but he taught him to return home the 
 minute the bell sounded, which he did in a very lively trot. 
 When it was time for the school to be let out, his mother 
 would open the gate, and " Whitey " was off like an arrow. 
 The horse was now the wonder and envy of all the boys. 
 Those that had made the most fun, calling John the horse- 
 doctor, were now most loud in his praise. 
 
 Mike one day asked him what had become of the old horse. 
 John was near his gate; so he opened it and whistled, and 
 " Whitey" came bounding out, showing every sign of joy. 
 
 " Shure, that s not him!" 
 
 "Well, it is, Mr. Mike." 
 
 " Ye don t tell me! And was I fool enough to give ye him 
 for nothing ? But did I give Him to kape ? " 
 
 "Well, here s the paper, and I ve got it legally attested. 
 Let me show you the tricks he can do." Then he went through 
 quite a performance of shaking his foot, nodding his head, and 
 laying down and getting up, finishing with a clumsy kind of 
 dancing step. By thjs time, a crowd of boys had collected, 
 and how they applauded and shouted, and would scarcely let 
 him put hisMiorse back in the stable. Old Mike went away 
 growling at his ill-luck, vowing he d shoot the next horse be 
 fore he d give it away for another man to make his fortune off 
 him. But it had proved anything but a fortune as yet to poor 
 John, who now wore patches on his knees and elbows, and a 
 very rusty hat. 
 
THE LITTLE HORSlMx >, ToR AND HIS SHOW. 51 
 
 One day, as lie was on the Common with his horse, watch 
 ing him eat the g m ss he never let him go anywhere alone 
 now, for iVar he would be stolen he heard a regular hubbub, 
 and a lot of boys came rushing after a poor dog, with a tin- 
 pan tied to his tail. As quick as thought, John placed him 
 self in front of him, and, as he turned aside, he put his foot 
 on the long string that dangled behind him, then holding him 
 by the neck, so that he could not bite, he released frhe obnox- 
 iou^ appendage from his tail. 
 
 There, boys, that ll do; you had your fun. You ve seen 
 
 the dog as frightened as you could get him: now let him o-o 
 i 
 
 home. 
 
 " Is it any of your business, John Horse-Doctor? " spoke up 
 one of the worst boys in the crowd. 
 
 My business or not, I m going to protect that dog. I ve 
 said nothing, impolite to any of you. James White, I want 
 you to see fair play." 
 
 "All right," and he came from the rank of dog-hunters and 
 stood alone. 
 
 " Oh! you think you re so smart because you cured an old 
 horse, don t you, now? Phew! look at the patches on his 
 breeches." 
 
 " Is it a fight you want, Dick Brown ? " 
 Ah ! ah ! " the boys began shouting. 
 
 " James White, you see that the boys let us two fight it out." 
 
 "All right, go ahead; fair play, boys:" 
 
 But Dick Brown was a coward, and turning away, said: " I 
 ain t going to fight about an old dog." 
 
 He was bigger than John; so the boys all laughed, and 
 one, about John s size, jumped from the^ crowd and aimed a 
 lively blow at John s nose, but he caught it on his arm, and, 
 
52 THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 with a quick movement, gave him in return a flat-handed slap 
 on the face with such force that it knocked him five or six feet, 
 till he staggered back against the other boys. This caused 
 another laugh, and the crowd broke up; and some of them 
 asked John to make his horse perform like he did for old Mike ; 
 and John, who thought it was best to accomplish things by 
 good nature, showed off "Whitey" to the best advantage, 
 first having quieted the dog and got him to lay down by his 
 side. 
 
 When he went home, he had another follower, and as the 
 poor dog sneaked in after him, his mother said: 
 
 "Oh! John, John! the sick and the lame will be eating us 
 up. "Why weren t ye rich, poor lad?" 
 
 "Mother, we need a watch-dog now, and I rescued the poor 
 brute from the thoughtless boys; let s keep him a day or two, 
 anyhow; he can eat old scraps; it s very different from a 
 horse." So that was settled, and the dog shared the stable 
 with "Whiter," and they soon became firm friends. Now 
 whether dog language and horse language are similar, or 
 whether each animal is learned in a variety of tongues, certain 
 it is that " Whiter" had told " Webster" this was the name 
 John had given the dog on account of his large head all his 
 history, and how he could best please their kind master. So 
 the second morning when John came to the stable, there stood 
 " Webster" on his hind legs, begging as prettily as any men 
 dicant s dog; how he laughed; " Oh, I shall have quite a men 
 agerie soon." So he taught him other tricks, and his clothes 
 got rustier. But wherever he went the horse and clog followed 
 him, and his appearance was always the signal for: 
 
 " Here comes the little horse-doctor," and a rush to see 
 him, or rather them. 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW, 53- 
 
 One Saturday he went into the woods to learn to ride 
 " Whitey," whom lie now called "-Bucephalus," because the 
 boys all begged him to do so, without a saddle, for he did not 
 know when he could afford to buy such a piece of extrava 
 gance, when he hearda peculiar noise, and " Webster " rushed 
 to an old stump, and began growling. John slid from "Bu 
 cephalus " back, and examining- the stump, discovered a 
 wounded squirrel entangled in some thorns and, vine s; so he 
 released him, and tied him up in his handkerchief, and after 
 riding around a little they all went; home. In a few days the 
 squirrel was well and getting quite tame, and John thought: 
 "Now something must be done: niy family is so large, and 
 my clothes won t hold together much longer, and they re 
 quire food and attention, and I get time to earn so little then 
 mother has to work so much harder; but never a reproach falls 
 from her lips. What can I do ? Not turn my poor pets into 
 the streets, for they wouldn t go; not sell them, for that 
 would almost kill me." But Will, coming in, they consulted 
 together, and seeing things were at a crisis, he advised John 
 to give an exhibition every Saturday to the boys, and charge 
 them a couple of cents each " for the horse." 
 
 " You know, it is the boys, bothering you so to let them see 
 all the tricks, that prevents you earning more money; now, if 
 they want to see so bad, let them pay at least a little to help 
 feed the horse. I ll tend door for nothing, and you run in right 
 now and ask your mother, and I ll stay an hour and help you 
 fix up." So John put the case to his mother in the best pos 
 sible light, and soon came out with her consent. So the boys 
 cleaned the yard and stable for the next day was Saturday 
 constructed a couple of rude benches, and wrote out a little 
 notice and put it on the gate. Will promised to lend him a 
 
54 THE LITTLE HOUSE DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 square of carpet, and a red calico curtain to cover the entrance 
 to the stable; and there the preparations ended. 
 
 John could hardly sleep, and was up long before the sun, 
 currying " Bucephalus " some one had given him an old comb 
 for services rendered brushing the dog and petting the squir 
 rel. He fed them with the best he had, dividing his break 
 fast with ""Webster/" who, having such an immense brain, of 
 course needed plenty of food. At last he heard the boys be 
 ginning to % come to the gate and read the notice, for Will had 
 told as many as he could, and they all determined they would 
 be there, for most of them liked John now, and were glad of 
 an opportunity to help him, and at the same time please them 
 selves. Only a few envious, "ugly" boys held out. 
 
 Some boy read in a loud voice: 
 
 " NOTICE! Exhibition at 8 A. M., of the trained horse c Bu 
 cephalus, the dog Webster/ and the squirrel Le Petite/ 
 Admission, 2 cents for the horse." 
 
 Will came through the front way and told him they had 
 better begin, as they would have to give several exhibitions to 
 accommodate all the boys w T ho were coming. So John hung 
 the red curtain and placed the square of carpet in the middle 
 of the yard, in front of the benches, then retired into. the sta 
 ble. Will was to ring a bell when there were enough boys in, 
 and John was to make a grand entrance. 
 
 Soon the boys began to knock on the gate, and, after a civil 
 delay, not to be too eager, you know, Will opened, it. 
 
 " Now, boys, in order, pay as you enter. There s not seats 
 for many; but some of you can stand if you like." Over 
 twenty boys crowded into the little yard, when Will shut the 
 gate, posting a notice that the next exhibition would be in an 
 hour; then he rang the bell. 
 

T1IK LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND IMS snow. r,5 
 
 The curtains parted, and John appeared with a shawl wrapped 
 around him to hide his patches, and a scarf, twisted into a tur 
 ban, 011 his head. He held "Bucephalus," who appeared to 
 paw the ground with fiery impatience. The bo; hem a 
 
 hearty reception, and the blood mounted to John s forehead, 
 he felt so ashamed to be showing oft* for money; but he had. 
 made up his mind he must go through with it, for the benefit 
 of his poor animals, and he did so. 
 
 He ordered " Bucephalus" to lay down on the carpet, then 
 rew himself down, with his head on the horse and one of 
 the animal s legs across his chest. This was " The Dying- 
 Turk." Then he snapped his lingers and the horse stood upon 
 t, and at another snap "Webster" rushed from the sta- 
 i/ed the reins, and, as John threw himself ; 
 
 .ck, with his eyes closed, the dog led him slowly 
 
 around the yard. This was " The Faithful Friends." At a 
 
 >f the lingers they stood still, John sat up and held the 
 
 s mane, while he stood on his hind feet, raising the dog 
 
 in the air, who still held the reins. This was called "The 
 
 Steed," and was loudly applauded. 
 
 After several other tricks, equally good, especially the last 
 one, where the squirrel was placed on the horse s head, and 
 "Webster" holding the reins, standing 011 his hind legs, they 
 all had a lively da, msic of a mouth-organ, played 
 
 by John. 
 
 He gave three more exhibitions that day, and the boys of 
 the village were wild with excitement. Will congratulated 
 him on his success, and handed him over three dollars as the 
 
 [pts. 
 
 " Oh! thank you, Will; -you* re a real good boy. Won t you 
 have some of the money? I m sure you ve earned it." 
 
56 THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 "Indeed, I won t. Put by some toward a suit of clothes; 
 and take the rest, and I ll go with you to lay in a supply of 
 food for your animals." 
 
 John forgot his aching bones and the weary feeling of ex 
 haustion, produced by the excitement, in the great joy of be 
 ing able to give poor "Whitey," as he still called him in his 
 tender moments, a bountiful feed of oats and corn, and a nice 
 straw-bed to lie upon. That s just what you shall do, John," 
 said his mother, who had been much interested all day in the 
 way things went. So she claimed a dollar to put by for the 
 clothes " for you need them, bad, John" and told him to 
 spend the rest on the animals. 
 
 It was decided that he should give a short exhibition every 
 morning, at half price, till Friday; then they would prepare 
 for Saturday, when he would show all new tricks. This was 
 Will s idea, so that John could get the new suit on Saturday 
 night, and be able to go. to church on Sunday. 
 
 Ten to twenty boys came every morning, and Saturday he 
 had to give exhibitions till the sun went down, the crowd was 
 so great, even men coming and enjoying themselves as much 
 as the boys. Well, he got the new clothes, and laid in another 
 stock of food for the animals. 
 
 "The next money you shall have, mother, to buy a new 
 Sunday dress. Oh! I shall soon be able to help you, now." 
 
 One afternoon it was vacation now he had all his family 
 in the woods, exercising, when he heard a low growl. What 
 could it be? "Webster " rushed about frantically, snuffing 
 here and there, and appeared perfectly wild. John examined 
 the bushes and stumps cautiously, at last coming to a close 
 thicket. He heard the low growl, or rather moan, again. It 
 was some animal in pain; so he pressed ^through the thicket 
 
THE LITTLE HORSE-DOCTOR AND HIS SH<>\\. 57 
 
 till lie came to the creature whatever it was lying crouched 
 up in a dark mass. Good gracious! it was a bear. "Whether 
 "bears were inhabitants of those woods, or whether it was lost 
 from a circus, John could not tell. He drove the dog back, 
 and watched the bear for some little time, speaking kindly. 
 Seeing that he did not attempt to move, he concluded that one 
 of his legs was broken. Taking a piece of bread out of his 
 pocket, he offered it to the bear, who must have been very 
 weak and hungry, for he ate it from his hand, and did not at 
 tempt any violence. Gradually John examined his legs, and 
 found, sure enough, one was broken; so, dipping his hand 
 kerchief in a spring, he bound it up while he was eating, and 
 then thought if he could only get him home, he would try to 
 cure and tame him, if he was not tame already. He found he 
 was quite a young bear, and so thin that he could lift him in 
 his arms. So he tied him on the horse s back he always car 
 ried string in his pocket and the strange cavalcade came back 
 to the village. Before night the whole place knew that John 
 Silvertree had captured a live bear! 
 
 It was not many weeks before the bear was cured, and being 
 instructed, perhaps, by the secret councils of "Bucephalus," 
 he willingly learned various little tricks. 
 
 And now John thought of enlarging the field of his opera 
 tions; in fact, to build a stable and show combined. He had 
 saved enough money by this time to buy good, new lumber and 
 hire a carpenter for a few days. He helped, under his instruc 
 tion, and soon quite a nice little building arose, perforated on 
 three sides with innumerable round holes, like a man-of-war. 
 He had put a notice on the gate that there would be no show 
 till Saturday, so all the boys were on the tip-toe of expecta 
 tion. And what a show he gave them; he had studied a lot of 
 
58 THE LITTLE HORSK-DOCTOU AND HIS SHOW. 
 
 pictures from books, and these lie imitated as near as practi 
 cable, getting a lot of brandies of trees and moss from the 
 woods, and covering boxes and lumber with slate-colored mus 
 lin to imitate rocks, bright calicoes for drapery and curtains, 
 gay trappings for the horse, bear and dog; then he had a lit 
 tle green curtain drawn before the holes, which he managed 
 easily with a couple of draw-strings; when all was ready and 
 he was dressed he changed for each picture he rang a bell 
 and drew the curtain aside ; for a moment the boys were hushed 
 with amazement, then they burst out in such a shout that it 
 would have done an old showman s heart good. Well, this 
 was a greater success than the other, and before many days he 
 found himself paying taxes as a licensed showman. 
 
 John was determined now his mother should not work so 
 hard. 
 
 "Work for yourself and me, mother, but no more washing 
 and scrubbing for other people." So he gave her plenty of 
 money to keep house, paid the rent regularly, and bought her 
 plenty of good, comfortable clothes. 
 
 John s show became a permanent institution, and as the 
 village was enlarging rapidly, some gentleman suggested to 
 him the idea of building a small theater, and give such in 
 structive exhibitions that it should be a benefit to the place. 
 He caught at the idea with great enthusiasm. 
 
 Several offered to go in partnership with him in the enter 
 prise, but John said no, he would wait till he had saved the 
 money. In the meantime he saw no animal in distress that he 
 did not relieve, and if he was good for his business, he trained 
 and made use of him. While he was saving to build the the 
 ater, he also had another scheme in his head; that was, to 
 found a hospital for sick, ownerless animals. 
 
Till- LITTLI-: IlOItSivIHHToR AM) HIS SHOW. 59 
 
 Some ol the w>rldly-wise said he had a long- head 011 him; 
 he mad.-- h < benevolence pay. But those that knew him re 
 membered how he went rusty and patched, in order to feed 
 and care for the poor animals, who then gave no indication of 
 ever being- able to work and pay back ever so little. 
 
 In course of tin\e the money was saved, and the theater 
 built and paid for. i It was the pride and delight of the city 
 the village had grown into this new dignity. John became 
 a wealthy man, but /or years he let 110 one handle his dear 
 pets but himself. 
 
 His gTand humanitarian scheme, the hospital, was carried 
 into effect, and before long he extended his charities to both 
 man and beast. He i.s married now, and doubly happy; and 
 his wife and mother, and little ones, live in a grand house, 
 and ride in a beautiful carriage; and he of ten tells the children 
 how and why he was called the Little Horse-Doctor. 
 
THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 T was a Sunday night rehearsal, t\ thing that did not 
 often happen at this theater, and the scene-shifters, 
 carpenters and property-boy vere waiting for the 
 company to come and they generally took their own 
 time on such an occasion and feeling, as it was not in their 
 contracts, they only did it at all out of compliment to the 
 manager. They had all gathered around Joe, who knew more 
 anecdotes about the great actors than they all put together; 
 besides, he was the oldest employee there, and so was kind 
 of looked up to. 
 
 " You see I ve been a night-hand at this theater ever since 
 let me see yes, the second week it was built. They didn t 
 do things then quite so grand as they do now, and they weren t 
 as careful either more s the pity." Here the speaker paused; 
 his mind seemed to be wandering back to the past, and grad 
 ually a tear gathered in his eye. This seemed to bring him to 
 the present again, and he hastily brushed it away, almost as if 
 he were ashamed. 
 
 "I I promised to tell you something about our Ned; I may 
 as well tell you now, while we are waiting, and get it off my 
 mind, for it always gives me a queer sensation about my heart, 
 and unsettles me for work for the night, whenever I even 
 think how it happened." 
 
 The men settled themselves anew on their boxes, trestles 
 
THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 61 
 
 and lumber, from whence, sending extra-long streams of to 
 bacco juice into tue sawdust boxes, they listened in silence. 
 
 "Well," continued Joe, taking his quid from his mouth, "I 
 can remember when this building here, which is now counted 
 as ever so handsome, was just like a ruin in a picture, the 
 moon shining through the half -finished walls, that was built 
 up high in some parts, and almost to the ground in others 
 it staid that way for two years, for lack of money, it was said; 
 but the war came, business brightened up, and it was fin 
 ished. 
 
 "They opened it with a good old-fashioned company from 
 New York, in such plays as The School for Scandal/ but it 
 didn t take worth a cent; you see the boss that owned the 
 building ran the show, and as he hadn t any experience in that 
 kind of business, he didn t know what the people wanted. I 
 got in soon to help shift sceiices, and do little jobs around; 
 the work was light, but the salary was lighter; they didn t pay 
 much those days. The ballet-girls got but three dollars and 
 a half a week, and had to find their own dresses even at that. 
 And a poor-looking set they were, too, in their faded calicoes 
 and dingy delaines. Some of them sewed to help out a liv 
 ing, but the manager didn t allow them to do so at rehearsal, 
 so they had to wait around for ever so many hours, nearly 
 every day, doing almost nothing. Hardly one had ambition 
 enough to be studying, so as to be able to play a small part, if 
 called upon. Some of them were quite pretty. One, I re 
 member, had a child of her own to provide for, besides her 
 self. Can you wonder, then, that in those days, especially 
 when a theater happened to fall into outsider s hands, can you 
 wonder that the despised ballet-girl slipped, sometimes, from 
 virtue, and suddenly budded out in such gay clothes that she 
 
62 THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 was the envy and shame of the others? But, there, I wasn t 
 intending to give a lecture, and things are better now. 
 
 " You see, it was the handsomest place in the city, and the 
 boys hadn t got used to sit on red plush, for even the seats in 
 the galleries were covered with it, and they couldn t eat their 
 peanuts and squirt their tobacco juice in comfort in such an 
 aristocratic place. So for months and months the galleries 
 were nearly empty, and, consequently, there was hardly ever 
 a bit of applause. I tell you, the actors like full galleries; 
 that s what inspires them. Why, it was almost like going into 
 a quiet meeting-house, in those days. 
 
 "Well, the manager saw something must be done; so he en 
 gaged a lot of supernumeraries and put on a spectacular piece. 
 Now, you see, our little Ned was a real beauty such golden 
 hair; and eyes so innocent and blue, like the sky! My wife 
 had just got a place there to keep the dressing-rooms tidy. 
 Well, she brought the boy one night to the theater, and the 
 stage-manager noticed him, and said he d engage him for one. 
 of the fairies in the spectacular, if she d like. How proud 
 and happy she was ! She made him a little pair of gold shoes 
 and the prettiest; of wings, and a skirt of tarlatan, about as 
 deep as your hand; then she did his hair up in little tight curls 
 and frizzed it, and put one gold star in the center of his fore 
 head, among his hair; his little legs were covered with, silk 
 stockings, and his arms and neck were shown in all their beau 
 ty. I tell you, there hadn t been such a pretty sight seen in 
 this theater since it was built ! 
 
 " The play was Cinderella. I remember it so well. It 
 had run a week, and had made quite a hit. The boys were 
 beginning to come in the galleries, and things were lively for 
 once. 
 
THE Pool! MTTLI-; IK N< HIJACK. G3 
 
 11 Cinderella s coach was drawn by two little bits of real live 
 ponies, and Ned was the coachman, dressed quaintly in green 
 and gold. The manager furnished this dress. The Cinder 
 ella was a sweet lady, who always had a kind word for every 
 one. One day, just as the carriage was making the circuit of 
 the stage, a crash sounded, and down it came, but fortunately 
 110 one was hurt, except Cinderella got a little bruise or 
 two; but we were dreadfully frightened for little Ned. Ah! 
 if we had only taken that as a warning, these white hairs 
 wouldn t have been so plentiful, and I shouldn t look like a 
 poor, broken-down man when I m hardly in rny prime, and my 
 wife but regrets, or even tears of blood, wouldn t alter any 
 thing. There was a pause, and the men shifted a little in their 
 seats, but said nothing. 
 
 " My wife, she got to be quite a favorite with the company, 
 and did little jobs of sewing for both the ladies and the gen 
 tlemen; and it helped our income considerably, for I didn t 
 earn much during the day, being only assistant porter in a 
 wholesale house ; and Ned, why you would have thought the 
 ladies would have kissed him to death; and the candy and 
 pennies he got; his mother soon bought him a bank, and 
 taught him always to put away a part of his money, also most 
 of his salary. She said he should have something of his own 
 when he was a man, so that he shouldn t have to begin at the 
 lowest round of the ladder. You see she was sensible; she 
 hadn t much education, but she picked up a sight being around 
 the theater; of course she w r ould hear a man swear once in a 
 while, but she d hear that anywhere else just as bad; then the 
 folks always spoke good grammar; if they didn t, you know, 
 the papers ud get after them, and they^would^often quote he 
 roic bits from plays. 
 
64 THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 "Well, we were nearly through the second week of " Cin 
 derella," and everything was ready for the transformation 
 scene, and little Ned was upon a cloud with some other fairies; 
 when one, a great, tall girl, that had lately budded out, was 
 talking to some of the men on the stage, and laughing at some 
 of their jokes, and not attending to her business, she leaned 
 too much on one side and upset the cloud; with a crash and a 
 shriek, all the fairies fell to the stage. My wife, who had been 
 watching our little darling, rushed on frantically and picked 
 him up; but he was insensible, and she, thinking him dead, 
 was wringing her hands and crying in agony. I was behind, 
 working one of the revolving pillars, and hearing the crash, I 
 suspected an accident, and came around just as she was hug 
 ging him to her breast, saying: 
 " He is dead! oh! he is dead! 
 
 " I thought I should have died, too, my anguish was so in 
 tense; but in a few minutes the little fellow opened his eyes, 
 and put his hand to his neck; and then we found that his collar 
 bone was broken. But we both thanked God it was no worse, 
 and wrapping him in a large shawl, we took him home. I 
 wanted to carry him, but his mother said: 
 
 " No, no; I can t bear to let him out of my arms/ 
 " So I went for a doctor, and got home a moment after she 
 did. Our Ned was moaning with pain, but the doctor w r as a 
 good one, and soon had him comfortable, and in a little while 
 he fell asleep; but my wife never closed her eyes. I thought 
 that, by not noticing it, she would lay down and take a lit 
 tle nap some time, but whenever I opened my eyes, there 
 she sat, her gaze fastened on the boy; so I got up and told 
 her I d watch, and she must take a little rest or she wouldn t 
 be able toehold up the next day; but she said: 
 
THE POOR LITTLE HIN( IIP.ACK. 65 
 
 No, no; not to-night. I couldn t sleep. 
 
 " So I sat up with her; and at last, when the gray dawn 
 stole in at the window, she dozed unconsciously in her chair. 
 
 " Well, not to tire you, the boy soon got better of his hurt, 
 but the manager [would not pay the doctor s bill, and even 
 grumbled to pay his salary. It may have been the treasurer s 
 fault. I never could find out, for, you see, had he been a real 
 manager, he would have done so willingly, and seen that 
 things were better secured, that no such accident should 
 happen again. 
 
 " Poor little Ned didn t seem to regain his strength, and was 
 so pale that he looked like a snow-drop; yet he said one day, 
 about three weeks after the accident : 
 
 " Oh! dear mamma, let me go and be a little fairy again; 
 they ll fix that ugly old cloud so it won t let us fall any more; 
 please let me go ? 
 
 " But the piece was taken off, so we told him; and he seemed 
 so sorry that my wife, who had hired another woman to take 
 her place till Ned was better, went to the theater and told the 
 good-hearted stage manager that little Ned wanted to come 
 back; so he said he should be one of the pages in a court 
 scene, and that his coachman s suit, altered a little, would 
 just do. 
 
 " They d all been so good to him, sending all sorts of little 
 knick-knacks, and toys and jelly, and when he came back you 
 never saw a child made so much fuss over; but he had some 
 thing so winning and lovable about him that you wouldn t 
 wonder. 
 
 " So it went 011 for a week, Ned playing the little page every 
 night; but we noticed that he gave way to stooping, and when 
 his mother said : 
 
68 THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 " Oh, Ned, darling, don t stoop; it makes me think you 
 are ill; he would say his back hurt him, and then my wife 
 would turn pale and tremble like a leaf. So I went privately 
 and told the doctor, and on the pretense of taking Ned walk 
 ing one day, when his mother couldn t come, I took him to 
 his office. There I learned that his spine was injured, and 
 when I asked if it couldn t be cured, the doctor shook his 
 head sadly, and told me to try and bear it like a man, but that 
 he feared, greatly feared, that my little boy would be a hump 
 back for the rest of his life ! 
 
 "I caught the table to save myself from falling; the hope 
 and stay of my life seemed to have been cut away, and I felt 
 like a man drowning, without a chance of rescue. 
 
 " The doctor dashed a little water in my face, and placed me 
 in a chair, where I sat speechless, like one dazed, till Ned 
 came to my side and kissed me, saying: 
 
 " Papa, don t feel so bad about it. God was very good 
 not to let me be killed. 
 
 I burst out crying like a woman. " His voice was trembling 
 so, that the other men felt as if they had lumps in their throats. 
 
 " Well, as soon as I was able I took him home to his mother, 
 but nothing could escape her quick eye. 
 
 " What s happened? she asked, you don t seem to have 
 enjoyed your walk very much; anything the matter with Ned ? 
 
 "But Ned, seeing her anxious look and my pale face, ran to 
 her, and, throwing his arms around her neck, said: 
 
 " Don t cry, too, mamma, for what the doctor says, be 
 cause, you know, he might make a mistake. 
 
 " What did he say, darling? 
 
 " Only, that he feared your Ned would be a little hump 
 back. 
 
THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 67 
 
 "Had a cannon-ball struck her she couldn t have fallen 
 quicker, and her shriek sounds in my ears yet. Poor girl! 
 poor girl! she s out of all her troubles now." 
 
 All the men were turning their heads, wiping their eyes 
 in a quiet, half-ashamed way. At last the carpenter said : 
 
 " Well, did it come true?" 
 
 Joe nodded his head sadly, and then went on: 
 
 1 You see, my wife had seen Richard the Third, and had 
 read somewhere that people deformed in body were often ugly 
 and deformed in mind; so she shut herself up in her room, day 
 after day, and cried as if her heart would break. But at last 
 her good sense returned, for she saw she was only makino- 
 the poor child very unhappy, and iiotjhelping^him in the least; 
 so she determined the beautiful, pure mind that God had 
 given him should not^grow deformed with the beautiful body, 
 if care and prayers would prevent it. So she got a neighbor s 
 child to stay with him while she did her work at the theater, 
 and, telling the ladies what she wished, they loaned her books 
 to improve herself. These she would bring home and read 
 and explain to Ned, till he became familiar with the lives and 
 sufferings of many great men. One day he said: 
 
 But what shall I do, mamma; reading only won t let me 
 earn money for you, and you have to work so hard ? Then 
 his mother thought for a long time; then getting up and put 
 ting on her bonnet, asked him if he disliked to stay alone for 
 a few moments; but he shook his head, and she soon returned 
 with a cheap box of paints and told him he should be a painter; 
 that she was going to study every spare moment, and would 
 help him all she could. And she did study, copying every 
 picture she could get hold of. I ve often left her drawing 
 away into the night, and woke up and found her still at it. 
 
68 THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 It was no use my telling her not to, for she would say she 
 must know how, so as to teach Ned. Ned should be great, 
 even if his poor little back was deformed. What would her 
 life be worth, if Ned became vicious and idle and bad? No, 
 no; she could endure a little work. And soon she began to 
 draw and paint beautifully, and the boy followed right along- 
 after her. 
 
 " Then he asked me to get the carpenter at the theater to 
 make him some little wooden boxes and frames, and that he 
 would pay him when he sold them. The carpenter did so, 
 and said, Tell my little pet never to mind the pay. 3 So he 
 painted them beautifully with birds and flowers and quaint de 
 vices, and one day said to his mother: 
 
 " Mamma, you have never taken me to the theater since 
 this has been upon my back; you are not ashamed of your 
 little Ned, are you? If I thought so, I should cry so hard; 
 but that is not it, is it, mamma ? You are afraid they ll pity 
 me, and that will make me feel bad. But, mamma, I want to 
 go now, and I want to go alone; please let me/ 
 
 " So she took him to the door of the theater and waited for 
 him near by. When he came out his face was covered with 
 smiles. They had, indeed, pitied him; but his dear mother 
 had not heard them. They had called him an angel, and had 
 kissed and wept over him ; and bought all his pretty boxes and 
 frames, and told him to bring more. So he told his dear 
 mamma only the praises he had received, and filled her hands 
 with money, and said it was all for her, and that he was going 
 to make her a rich lady, for they all wanted to buy some of 
 poor little Ned s work, and said it was ever so pretty. * 
 
 " With so much encouragement, the boy got to paint quite 
 a good picture, and there was always a sale for them. His 
 
THE POOR LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 69 
 
 mother had told him how much better off he was than the 
 poor man who was borii without arms, vet became a cele 
 brated painter, doing all the work with his feet; and Ned 
 would smile, and say he must look funny working; then he 
 would look grave, and say that God was very good to him, in 
 giving him his dear mother and father, and letting him be 
 able to paint; and that he would try to be a great man, too. 
 So he lived for several years, when we noticed he did not 
 paint so much, would lay 011 the sofa oftener, and did not eat 
 with his usual relish; still, he never complained. I consulted 
 the doctor, and after coming to see him, but ostensibly to see 
 his pictures, he said he could do nothing for him. 
 
 " I now noticed, for the first time, that my wife s hair was 
 getting gray, and she had a bright, strange look in her eyes; 
 and as the boy got weaker, the mother slept less, and gradu 
 ally they seemed to fade together. The doctors could do 
 nothing, and I could only watch and pray God to take me when 
 they went. But he didn t; for I saw our Ned, our darling- 
 Ned, die in his mother s arms, saying: 
 
 " Good-bye, papa; meet us there!" 
 
 "And she, with a smile on her face, put one arm around my 
 neck, and kissing me, with a gentle sigh her spirit joined our 
 boy s." 
 
 Some of the men were sobbing like children, and all were 
 feeling so sorry for poor Joe. But the call-boy shouted, 
 " First act! All ready to begin!" The spell was broken, and 
 they were commonplace workmen again. 
 
SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES; 
 OR, THE POT OF GOLD. 
 
 , HEBE they stood, seven little pairs of well-blacked, 
 well-patched shoes. Even Tootsum s was there 
 Tootsum had just learned to walk and the blacking 
 scarcely hid where the big little pig " had almost worn a hole 
 through the leather. And there by the fire, pinned to a warm 
 towel, w r ere the seven little pairs of stockings, for it was Sat 
 urday night, and the wearers of them had to go to Sunday 
 school, except Tootsum and Jem, who were too young and 
 noisy. 
 
 The clock ticked loudly, for it was very quiet; that and the 
 singing of the tea-kettle, with a little snorft now and then 
 from the room, were the only sounds audible. 
 
 "I do wish John ud come, it be gettin late and I be so 
 sleepy that I can hardly keep my eyes open." No wonder 
 Mrs. Truehart felt sleepy, sitting so still after a hard day s 
 work, with only the kettle and the crickets for company. 
 
 The toast was ready, and the teapot, with its treasure of two 
 spoonsful of tea, waiting for the hot water. Still John did 
 not [come. " I wonder why he be so late?" and Mrs. True- 
 hart sat down again and gazed at the roses and laughing Cupid 
 carved in the high, old-fashioned mantel-piece. "Most likely 
 Mr. Sneezeum can t pay him in money, and he has to take 
 
SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 71 
 
 another order and go miles to get it filled. I do hope it will 
 be for victuals this time it be hard to take em for French 
 clocks and picter-frames." Here she looked at the one on the 
 mantel, which was the delight of the whole house, but too 
 grand for the surroundings. " Mr. Sneezeum says, Sell em, 
 man, sell em.. He forgets the time it takes and the money 
 we lose, but John be so shame-faced he can t say No. Never 
 mind, he says, it will all be well when my ship comes home/ 
 Ah ! ships seldom come to poor people, but my John s a genius, 
 and mayhap he ll sell one of his inventions yet." 
 
 The carved Cupid seemed to laugh at the idea, as she gently 
 nodded until she fell asleep. And what bright dreams she 
 had; real ships 011 real water, filled with satin, crape and tea, 
 all the way from China. Then the scene changed, and she was 
 walking in Golden California, treading on silver dollars. Then, 
 as if transplanted by genii, she was in her own home, just 
 where she was, and still gazing at the Cupid. The little fel 
 low seemed to leave his carved roses, and to hop upon the floor 
 with many an elfish grimace. 
 
 "Mrs. Truehart,Mrs. Trueliart!" he cried in a little piping- 
 voice, "how would you like to find a pot of gold?" 
 
 Y pot of gold! a pot of gold!" she replied, wonderingly, 
 "why, man, where could I get it?" 
 
 " Shall I tell her, Brownies?" and from every carved rose 
 a little brown head appeared nodding violently. 
 
 "Yes, yes, she s <>-<>od; we ve seen her time and again patch 
 ing clothes, darning stockings, and even making little Toot- 
 sum s shoes." 
 
 "Yes, and she doesn t grumble when her husband comes 
 home late and tells her he couldn t help it," cried a little fel 
 low with a long beard and a dissipated look in his face. 
 
72 SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 
 
 "Well, then, Mother Truehart," cried Cupid, all of a grin, 
 "pull away yon set of shelves, and in the little cupboard be 
 hind them you will find a pot of gold; by-by." And 
 Brownies and Cupid all vanished, as she jumped up, rubbing 
 her eyes. 
 
 "What if it be true!" she said, going toward the shelves. 
 "A pot of gold! Oh! then my John could get his inventions 
 patented, and wouldn t our William look well as a gentleman! 
 and Elizabeth, too, would be able to pick and choose from the 
 best in a few years." 
 
 By this time she was pulling vigorously at the shelves, and 
 suddenly they slid to one side and disclosed a small cup 
 board. She stopped in amazement, almost amounting to 
 horror. 
 
 "Mayhap tins be a temptation of the Evil One. John s 
 patents might not be liked, so he d fret and maybe go to the 
 bad; and William, with lots of money, might take to the drink 
 and cards, and, instead of the good, industrious lad he is now, 
 break his mother s heart. " She pushed the shelves back quick 
 ly, and, sitting in her big chair, cried: "No, no; if there be a 
 pot of gold in yon cupboard, there let it stay, and never let it 
 trouble me or mine!"* She soon fell to thinking and dozing 
 again : Things be unequal in this world the money to the 
 rich, the children to the poor; more mouths to feed to feed 
 than food to put put." And now she was fast asleep; 
 but her dreams did not take her from home. 
 
 It was still Saturday night, and she had worked hard all 
 day with scarcely a mouthful of food, for John had lately 
 
 * My own grandmother had such a dream, without the fairy element, and pulling the 
 shelves away discovered the cupboard, but never opened it. This was in Bristol, Eng 
 land, after the liots there, during which time much money was secreted in out-of-the- 
 way places. 
 

SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 73 
 
 been paid in orders that were very unsalable, and she couldn t 
 hear the children ask for bread in vain, so had gone without 
 herself, and was hungry and unhappy. 
 
 "Ah! well, if there were less mouths to feed, one wouldn t 
 be compelled to go hungry and wear such shabby clothes." 
 So in her dream she went on fretting and complaining. 
 
 "Look!" said the carveii Cupid, not laughing now, but 
 sternly pointing to the row of shoes. 
 
 She looked and the line was broken! There were vacant 
 places; three pairs of shoes were gone William s, Elizabeth s 
 and Tootsum s. She turned quickly to the stockings only 
 four pairs ! 
 
 "Dead!" said the Cupid. And she awoke with a start of 
 terror. 
 
 The fire had burned low, the kettle had stopped its singing; 
 she went to the shoes in an agony of fear. 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Thank God, they 
 are all here ! " 
 
 Then stirring the fire and snuffing the candle, she hurried 
 into the next room. All her little ones were sleeping peace 
 fully. She kissed Tootsum so joyfully that it almost awoke 
 the little fellow. Then she walked quietly into William s 
 den a corner of the room divided off and* walled up with 
 wrapping paper. In it there was a door, and a window that 
 looked out of the big window, and all was as neat as a pin. 
 She touched her lips gently to the boy s forehead, for he was 
 a light sleeper. 
 
 "My brave boy!" she murmured; "to lose you and the 
 others would be worse than the worst poverty ! " * 
 
 A rousing knock, and a cheery voice, calling: "Betsy, open 
 the door!" completed her new-found happiness. 
 
74 SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 
 
 " Ah, John! I ve had such a bad dream; but you see, I was 
 tired and hungry. Oh, I m so glad you ve come!" and they 
 kissed heartily. 
 
 "Well, well, lass; I don t wonder you re hungry, and had 
 bad dreams, not having tea yet; and its past ten o clock; but 
 this 11 make amends." And from his capacious pockets he 
 drew a string of sausage, a pot of marmalade, some tea, and a 
 paper of cakes. 
 
 " What a treat, John! it must have been a good order this 
 
 time." 
 
 "Aha! lass, it s better than that! But put on the sausages, 
 and I ll tell you while we are taking our tea. We re fashionable, 
 this time, for its so late that our dinner is almost supper; " 
 and he laughed a hearty laugh as he hung up his great coat, 
 and washed his face and hands. 
 
 Soon the sausage was hissing and spluttering on the fire. 
 That and the aroma of the tea and toast filled the room. 
 
 "Well, wife, what do you think? I ve sold my key ? " 
 
 "La!" 
 
 Yes. Mr. Sneezeum said the idea of the key altering while 
 it was being turned in the lock, and its having to be readjusted 
 before it could unlock again, was quite new, and he d give me 
 fifty pounds for it, as I was too poor to get it patented, and it 
 was too good an invention to be lost. Betsy, I thought of 
 you and the little ones, so took the money, although I knew 
 it was worth much more. I was thankful, too, for it was a be 
 ginning and we don t know what it may lead to; so, you see, 
 my ship s coming home ! " 
 
 She thought of her dreams and murmured softly to herself: 
 
 " Oh! this is my pot of gold! " 
 
 " May I come in? " asked William, standing in the doorway, 
 
SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 75 
 
 in his shirt and trowsers and stocking feet. " The sausages 
 made such a noise, and smelt so good, that they woke me up." 
 Yes, come in, lad, and eat supper with us." So the boy 
 put on his jacket, and taking his mother s slips from under the 
 bed you see he was a privileged character, being the son and 
 heir he sat down to the table. 
 
 Whew! sausages, marmalade, cake! What s up? Ah! 
 didn t I hear something about a key, or did I dream it?" 
 
 No, no, lad, its all true. Father has sold his key, and for 
 such a fortune, fifty pounds!" 
 
 Aha! I knew you d come out all right, father!" and Wil 
 liam got up and shook his father s hand warmly, and would 
 have kissed him, only he felt ashamed. 
 
 "I m in luck, too, father. I did not have courage to tell 
 mother till you came. You know the cabinet-maker s on the 
 way to the shop? Well, when first you brought your clock 
 home, I thought I d like to be able to carve such pretty fig 
 ures as are on it, so I took a broken knife, an old file and a 
 piece of wood and went to work. Going by the cabinet-mak- 
 I noticed some carved chairs that didn t look much better 
 than mine, so I showed him what I had done, and he said if I 
 could manage the chair-backs he d give me a shilling apiece. 
 Father, I hope you won t think hard of me for doing this 
 without first telling you, but I intended to do it at night, and 
 not give up my place." 
 
 Hard of you! No, no, lad, I like to see one have a mind 
 of his own when it s for good. Now, let s see what you ve 
 done ? " 
 
 William went to his "den," and from underneath his bed he 
 brought out a box. How his parents admired the contents! 
 There were a few nicely-carved little figures, a vase made of a 
 knot of wood and some twigs, and a pretty little frame. 
 
76 SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 
 
 "Why, we ve got quite a genius in the family. Lad, when 
 did you do these ? " 
 
 " In the leisure moments I had in the shop." 
 "Well, Betsy, you see that order for the French clock wasn t 
 so bad after all; it started our boy on what may prove a for 
 tune to him." 
 
 How happy William felt as his father patted him on the 
 shoulder, and said he was proud of him. 
 
 Was there ever a supper tasted like this one ? Was ever 
 tea so fragrant, or sausages so savory? But, then, "no one 
 can cook like mother," was William s thought. It was well, 
 William, you had no wife to tell it to. No one felt sleepy. 
 Their eyes were too wide-awake with happiness. So father 
 wandered off into telling anecdotes; old, old anecdotes that 
 they had heard twenty times before. Yes, O how fresh and 
 funny they seemed that night, and how they all laughed, 
 especially at the dentist pulling out the clerk s tooth, while 
 the finely-dressed lady ran off with the shawl; for father made 
 such a funny face at the pulling that one could not help mak 
 ing a funny face, too, in sympathy. William suggested that 
 father should sing "The Bay of Biscay," but he said it would 
 wake the children, besides it was so near Sunday morning that 
 it wouldn t be proper. 
 
 " It s time for bed, William; so, good night, lad." 
 "Good night, father; good night, mother," and he kissed 
 her and went reluctantly to bed, where he lay awake a full 
 hour, thinking and building fine castles for the future, and of 
 how a bright little face peeped out of the castle windows 
 "Lady Maude," as he called her who often came to the shop 
 with her governess to buy cakes as they were on their daily 
 walk. "Who knows," he thought; "I might become a famous 
 
SEVKX UTTU: PAIIJS OF SHOES. 77 
 
 sculptor some day, and not so much beneath her, for talent is 
 nature s patent of nobility." You see, he had read books. 
 
 And now the angel of sleep spread her soft wings over the 
 household, and the dreams were only as light and sweet as 
 the feathers that fell from her wings. 
 
 How gloriously the sun arose next morning ! and what a pat 
 tering of little feet ! Soon the glad tidings was spread among 
 the children, and they all thought their fortunes made. Even 
 Tootsum ran about saying: "Pa, pa, key!" 
 
 Soon the house was quiet again, the older children having 
 gone to Sunday school. Jem was drawing pictures in a cor 
 ner, and Tootsum being asleep. Mrs. Trueheart swept up the 
 room; this can t be neglected, even on Sunday, where there 
 are so many children; watered her three pots of flowers, then 
 prepared the usual plain dinner, for she let Elizabeth go to 
 church and remained at home herself, as one had to. Just 
 before church was out, such a surprise came ! 
 
 Eap! rap! at the door. She opened it, all of a flutter. 
 
 " This is for Mrs. Trueheart;" and before she could speak, 
 from amazement, she had taken the tray, and the man was 
 gone. A smoking roast of beef and baked potatoes, a huge 
 plain pudding and sauce a dinner fit for a king! and dear 
 John had ordered it without even telling her, the kind heart. 
 
 And now the door burst open and they all poured in, John 
 and her darlings. How their eyes sparkled as they saw the 
 smoking dinner! for it s pretty true, that the way to men and 
 children s hearts is through their stomachs. 
 
 " Mother, is it Christmas ? " asked little Annie. 
 No, goose, no," said Jack, "don t ee see the puddin got 
 no plums in it." 
 
 " John, this was very kind of you. What a treat it is to the 
 young ones." 
 
78 SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 
 
 It took but a few moments for bonnets and hats to be laid 
 aside, and seven happy faces looking- at father and mother and 
 the dinner. 
 
 "What nice gravy! Don t ee forget some on my plate," 
 said Susie, impatient for her turn to come. 
 
 " This brown slice is for mother. Betsy, you are not a bit 
 English in your beef." 
 
 She laughed and said: 
 
 " No, I don t like it rare, but it s Avell to have some one to 
 eat the brown, so as to have no Avaste, like Jack Spratt and his 
 wife." 
 
 They all laughed heartily at this, even to Jem, who had a 
 treasured, but torn, book of Mother Goose, most of which 
 was mystical lore to him, especially the puzzles of how the cow 
 got over the moon, and how the four-aiid-twenty blackbirds 
 could sing, after being baked in a pie. 
 
 To make their happiness complete, mother gave them mar 
 malade to eat on their pudding, and a cup of weak tea each; 
 not that the tea was nice, but it was like big people. So they 
 would have drank it, nice or not, except Tootsum, who made 
 a wry face. Jem said: 
 
 " It s clood, Toots, dood. Dink it." 
 
 " Dood?" said Tootsum, and took another sip; but to show 
 he didn t believe it, he turned the rest of it on the floor. 
 
 " Bad boy," said Elizabeth, wiping it up. 
 
 " Don t call him bad to-day, Lizzie, "said William, "because 
 we re so happy." 
 
 Then mother gave them a few cakes to put in their pockets. 
 There was very little of the pudding left, I can tell you, or of 
 the beef, either. So the dishes were washed up and put away, 
 and father told them some curious facts about other countries 
 
SEVEN LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES. 79 
 
 that children love to hear, while mother was smartening her 
 self. Then they all took a pleasant walk upon the downs, 
 father and mother always having something new to tell them. 
 
 This Sunday was a bright, bright one in their calendar. 
 
 Years have passed away; Elizabeth has married a man she 
 is proud of, and Susie is just budding into a pretty young 
 lady, for they are well off now, and are all getting the best of 
 educations, for father s inventions are very popular, and gen 
 tlemen take off their hats to him in the streets. Mother has 
 her amber satin dress for best, and looks the picture of moth 
 erly happiness. "William has become a celebrated wood-car 
 ver, now and then doing something in marble. He is acquaint 
 ed with "Lady Maude" IIOW T , and is making a fine statue of 
 her. Who knows what it may lead to ? He may yet see her 
 sunny face peeping out of his castle window home. 
 
MfNNETTE. 
 
 this poor young girl lived on the fifth floor of a 
 New York tenement-house, working night and day 
 to earn enough to keep soul and body together, and 
 a roof to shelter her. Her large, gray eyes looked wistful 
 and eager out of a pale face and masses of dark brown hair. 
 She seemed to have but one friend in the world, an old opera 
 singer, whose singing days were long since past, who came 
 one evening each week and took tea with her. 
 
 As she carried her work to and from the shop she caught 
 glimpses of the great world, and it fascinated her. Oh! if she 
 could only become somebody not a poor, dull atom that peo 
 ples eyes passed over, as if she were space, but somebody, 
 the very sight of whom should make the beholder s face look 
 glad; somebody whose very name should cause all hearts to 
 thrill with a pleasant emotion ! But it was only a far-away, 
 impossible dream, for with neither time nor money, what 
 could she become different to what she was a slop-shop girl? 
 It was "Saturday evening, and her poor little room was in 
 order, and the tea and toast, with the additional luxury of 
 three dried herrings, awaited Madam Therese s coming. 
 Sometimes the repast was varied by a little cheese, or a tiny 
 pat of butter, or fruit or vegetables when they were in season, 
 but nothing costing over a few cents, for to a woman earning 
 
MIXNETTE. 81 
 
 but a pittance, even that little additional expense is quite an 
 item, and she would not go in debt, even if she had sometimes 
 to almost suffer hunger. Soon she heard the old lady s step> 
 accompanied by a gentle puffing, for four pairs of stairs were 
 no easy matter for a stout person to climb. 
 
 Well, child, how d ye do?" and she kissed her on the 
 forehead, and quickly sat down in the offered chair. " Those 
 stairs seem longer every time I come. I wish you could af 
 ford to move down a night." 
 
 " I wish I could, too, for your sake, but money is very hard 
 to earn, so I ll have to be contented with what I have." 
 
 That s why I say you ought, you must, find time to learn 
 to be a singer! " Minnette smiled faintly. 
 
 "Ah! Madam Therese, who would wish it more than I? 
 But for every hour I stopped sewing to sing, I should have to 
 lose a meal, and that would soon make it impossible for me to 
 either sing or work, for one mast eat, you know, even if they 
 have to go half-clothed, and live in dirt. I would willingly 
 sew far into the night, if that would help matters, but light 
 and fire are expensive items; then the loss of sleep unfits me 
 for the next day s work; I ve tried it. But let us eat while 
 the toast is warm; we can talk and eat, too." 
 
 So the old lady pulled off her worn gloves, and drew on her 
 lace mits, laid aside her shawl and bonnet, and sat down with 
 much ceremony. 
 
 You see, my dear, when I was in the opera, I was young, 
 and, well yes, I was considered handsome, too, but I never 
 was leading prima donna, nor ever expected to be, on account 
 of a slight sore-throat that I was always liable to; it seemed 
 to be hereditary. The tea is very nice to-night, my dear." 
 
 "What a pity!" 
 6 
 
32 MIXXETTE. 
 
 "The tea?" 
 
 " Oh, no! but to think you should have had anything to 
 curb your ambition. I believe it would have made me per 
 fectly miserable, for if I could not hope to become better and 
 better, and one day reach the very top, there would be noth 
 ing- to sustain me! " 
 
 "And yet you live and drudge here every day, without even 
 hoping for a better future." 
 
 "Ah! but with you it was so different. You were already 
 on your road to fame, and free from the terrible chains that 
 seem to hold me down to poverty." 
 
 " Yes, I had much happiness. My salary was sufficient to 
 support myself and a delicate sister, also to lay by a little; I 
 had learned to be thoughtful for her sake. We had two pleas 
 ant rooms, within a pretty long walking distance of the thea 
 ter, and sister helped with the work. Many a time when I 
 had studied a difficult new part, and had taken extra care of 
 my throat, the manager would pat my shoulder, and tell me I 
 had done well. Ah! but those were proud and happy nights 
 for me! And because I did not expect to become great, the 
 other ladies who all hoped one day to rival Jenny Liiid were 
 not jealous or ugly to me. Ah! those were happy days!" 
 and Madam Therese sighed, and seemed to forget Minnette s 
 very presence. At last she roused up. 
 
 " AVliy, child, my eyes were turned, and I was reading all 
 over my book of memory; but half cup of tea, if you please 
 thanks. Let us finish, and then while you are clearing 
 away, let us sing." 
 
 Oh! what a sweet bird-like voice! so thrilling, too; no won 
 der the old lady wished her to become a singer ~ and no won 
 der the girl felt hopeless in the clutches of poverty, with such 
 a sfift and not a dollar to cultivate it. 
 
.MIXXl-TTK. 83 
 
 Madam Therese would occasionally stop her, and show her 
 how to correct a trill or prolong a note, for though her voice 
 was gone, or rather the dying embers only remained, still she 
 knew the theory perfectly, and even gave a few cheap lessons 
 in the neighborhood where she lived. 
 
 When the dishes were done, Miunette took her sewing and 
 so continued her singing. Now and then her hands would 
 pause and keep time with the music. 
 
 " Oh, Madam Therese, if I only knew as much as you do, I 
 would try to get a place as chorister in the opera to-morrow." 
 
 " In the chorus! Xo, indeed, dear; you could just as easily 
 get a place to sing parts, and they would think a great deal 
 more of voufor aiming high. As for the chorus, you could do 
 that now; then you would have time to study the theory of 
 music without starving yourself to death." 
 
 But Miunette looked at her only best dress, a cheap black 
 alpaca, without overskirt or ruffle, ornamented with only two 
 bias foids; and a little white muslin at the neck. She looked 
 at this dress hung behind the door, and sighed to think what 
 a poor appearance it would make even among the chorus-sing- 
 let alone the more prominent performers. 
 
 Xo ; Madam Therese, I will not try yet; I must get a little 
 money ahead to buy at least a new dress and hat; you know 
 there is a great deal in appearances; one feels more confidence, 
 too, in a nice new dress." 
 
 "Ah! that is too true, child, in this profession as well as 
 others. A manager would sooner help one who is independ 
 ent of him, can dress well and has a bank account, than he 
 would give the pittance of a salary to genius in poverty. 
 AVheii I was young I knew of a case that made a lasting im 
 pression on my memory. 
 
84 MINNETTE. 
 
 "A young singer who was a great favorite, and very popu 
 lar on the stage and off, got married, and for several years left 
 the stage. Her husband having a long fit of illness, and sev 
 eral little children claiming her attention, she could not re 
 sume her profession and help provide for her family as she so 
 much wished to; so some of her friends proposed that she 
 should have a benefit; she should attend to the details, and 
 they would buy the tickets. That would be so easy, she 
 thought, as she had sung gratuitously for so many; in fact had 
 never refused when a brother or sister artist had claimed her 
 aid. 
 
 " They will do the same for me/ she told me, joyously, for 
 this will be the only time I have ever asked their help, and 
 they are a generous set. So she wrote pretty notes, and with 
 out waiting for the replies, she told her friends her benefit 
 would be on such a night. I had already studied my part; 
 she had been kind to me, and I was only to happy to show her 
 I remembered it. I met her a few days after; the joy had 
 gone from her voice as she said : 
 
 " Ah, I have been so mistaken; they all refuse, politely, of 
 course are so sorry, and all that, and one did not think it 
 worth her while to reply at all. And they knew I needed it 
 so/ She wiped the tears from her eyes with a quick dash of 
 her hand, and went home to her sick husband." 
 
 "And didn t she have the benefit? " asked Mimiette, very 
 much interested. 
 
 "No, she gave it up in despair, and by hard labor got a 
 couple of scholars to whom she gave singing lessons, often 
 with her delicate little fretful baby in her arms. I ve had 
 many a good cry about it, though she was so brave and never 
 uttered a complaint. A short time after I noticed in the pa- 
 
MINNETTE. 85 
 
 pers a long list of names of those volunteering for some un 
 known person s benefit, and among them were the very ones 
 who had such ready and flimsy excuses for not singing, when 
 by doing so they would have been performing Heaven s divine 
 mission of charity. It made her almost cynical when she read 
 it, and she determined from that time she would ask a favor 
 of no one, but depend on her own hands and brain. 
 
 " That s why I want you to leave this drudgery as soon as 
 possible, and lay by a little so as to be beholden to nobody 
 for favors." 
 
 Mimiette sighed; she had no reply to mrJce, but she soon 
 roused herself, and said : 
 
 " Dear Madam Therese, let us sing again, for your story has 
 made me feel quite sad." 
 
 So she began a plaintive aria from an opera that Madam 
 Therese had taught her, and sang it with all the pathos her 
 young heart felt. The old lady listened in pleased surprise, 
 and let her finish without an interruption, quietly wiping the 
 tears from her eyes. 
 
 Out in the street she had another listener an old, eccentric 
 gentleman, with white hair and a broad-brimmed hat, and 
 clothes of the cut of a quarter of a century ago. He paused 
 a moment, then walked on, then paused again, returned, and 
 listened till the music ceased; then he suddenly entered the 
 house and ascended the stairs. After the first flight, which 
 was lit by the lamp in the street, all was darkness, and the old 
 gentleman stumbled heavily against a door; it was opened 
 quickly, and a shrill voice asked : 
 
 " What d ye want?" 
 
 " In what room does that girl live who sings so sweetly?" 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourself, askiii a respectable 
 
86 MINNETTE. 
 
 woman such a question. Gray-headed, too! Oh, you shame 
 less old sinner!" The frowsy head disappeared, and the door 
 was slammed in his face. 
 
 "The vixen s crazy! "the old gentleman muttered, as he 
 stumbled on his way up stairs. 
 
 The next flight was lit by a broken, smoky lamp. He 
 stopped to listen, but all was silence; so he knocked at the 
 first door he came to. A pleasant face appeared, and he asked 
 gently: " Does the person who sings so sweetly, live here?" 
 
 "No; she is a poor sewing-girl, and lives on the fifth floor." 
 
 " Thank you, madam," and he pressed some money into her 
 hand. 
 
 "Oh! sir, don t pay me for such a little service. I like the 
 young girl, and and I m sure you ll be kind to her, for you 
 have a good face." 
 
 " Do you know her name ? " 
 
 "I ve heard the children in the house call her Minnette, 
 and that s all I know." Again thanking her he climbed up 
 the rest of the weary stairs, and as he paused at the top, the 
 singing commenced again; he waited till the song was ended, 
 then knocked at the door. Minnette started nervously, but 
 did not delay to open it. 
 
 "Are you the girl that sings so sweetly?" he asked her, 
 abruptly. She blushed deeply as she replied: 
 
 " I sing, sir." 
 
 Tut, tut! don t pretend you don t know you sing well. 
 Who s your teacher ? " 
 
 " Madam Therese is so kind But Madam, seeing per 
 haps a chance for business, said: "Minnette, can t you ask 
 the gentleman in, and give him a chair? He must need one 
 after climbing all those stairs." 
 
MINNKTTK. 87 
 
 The old gentleman, looked :it. the grotesque figure that was 
 a match to his own, and smiled. 
 
 "Are you her mother, madam . J <l 
 
 " No, sir, I ve not that honor; I m a single woman." 
 
 He entered, and Mimiette handed him a chair. She quietly 
 s;it on the l)ox that contained the wood and coal. 
 
 "Are you an orphan?" Mimiette bowed her head. "Ah, 
 poor girl; no one to look after yon. With that voice, you 
 ought to make your fortune." Here Madam Therese thought 
 to help her friend. " She is very poor, sir, and has no time or 
 money to take lessons. I visit her once a week, and we sing 
 together; that s all the instruction she has from me." 
 
 "Ah! how much do you earn a week by sewing?" 
 
 "About three dollars and a half; but I have to work every 
 moment, and sometimes far into the night." 
 
 " Three dollars and a half ! And what do you pay for this 
 elegant room; not much, I should think?" 
 
 " Two dollars a week, sir; I could get it cheaper if I had 
 furniture of my own." 
 
 " I hope they don t call this furniture!" and he looked at 
 the carpet from which all color had fled, the broken stove, the 
 leafless table, the bureau minus the little top-drawers and 
 looking-glass, and the bedstead and clothes old and faded. 
 
 " Rent is very high in the city; if it was not for that, Ipoulcl 
 get along very well." 
 
 "Poor girl, poor girl; with that voice, too! Madam, how 
 much could this girl live on without working, and devote her 
 self to music ? " 
 
 " "Well, sir, do von mean to live as she does now?" 
 
 "Tat, tut; this isn t living, it s only existing; no, in a bet 
 ter neighborhood and lower down." 
 
88 MINNETTE. 
 
 " Where I live it s a little better, but not so near the heart 
 of the city; there she could get a much better room for twelve 
 dollars a month, and on the third floor, too." 
 
 " Then what could she board for? " 
 
 "Well, sir, if my living would satisfy her, I could board 
 her cheaper than any one else, and get a few extras for her; 
 say three dollars and a half a week." She had an eye to busi 
 ness. 
 
 " Well, you seem kind to her 
 
 11 Oh, sir, she is my only friend! Since my mother died, 
 my life would indeed have been dreary, if it had not been for 
 her." 
 
 " Well, well, then you would like to go with her; you shall, 
 and I will pay for your lessons." 
 
 " Sir, I hope you will excuse me, but I give a few lessons, 
 being formerly connected with the Grand Opera." 
 
 " She seems to have got along very well under your instruc 
 tion so far. I ll give you five dollars a week till she gets be 
 yond what you can teach her, then I ll see what is to done. 
 Mind, I m not going to give you all this money, Miss Min- 
 nette, your name is, isn t it? I am only going to lend it you, 
 till you become a great singer, then I ll trust to your word 
 to pay it back." 
 
 Minnette stood like one in a dream; it was all so sudden, 
 she could not believe but that it was some cruel jest, or that 
 her hearing had deceived her. 
 
 " Well, what do you say ?" asked the old gentleman. 
 
 "Oh, sir, whai^can I say? It seems like a glimpse of 
 Heaven you have opened to me! Oh, I thank you so so 
 but she burst into tears and could say no more. 
 
 So he gave Madam Therese a twenty-dollar bill to commence 
 
MIXNETTE. 89 
 
 with, got her receipt for the same, and told her to keep an ac 
 count, also to get Minnette to, took her address, gave his own, 
 and put on his hat. 
 
 "I shall come to see YOU soon; you had better move to 
 morrow. I leave her in your care, madam. Good night!" 
 and he was gone like a good genius in a fairy tale. 
 
 The next day how different life appeared to Minnette, and 
 how strange not to have to sit and sew all day long. 
 
 " Oh, Madam Therese, how good you are! If you had not 
 spoken for me so kindly, I could not have said one word to 
 the gentleman, and should still be in that poor room, sewing." 
 
 " No, indeed, child, t was your voice that did it; and now you 
 must not disappoint the gentleman, but study hard, so that 
 when he comes he shall notice how you have improved." 
 
 So she studied long and faithfully each day, and helped 
 Madam Therese in the work of her two little rooms, for she 
 said she must do something for exercise; then they would take 
 a long walk together, and soon the roses came into Minnette s 
 cheeks, and the pitiful look left her eyes, and she began to live. 
 They wondered why Mr. Fredericks did not come that was 
 the good old gentleman s name. More than two weeks had 
 passed, and the twenty dollars was nearly gone, so it seemed 
 as if it was going to turn out worse than a dream after all, for 
 to go back to her old life now would be cruel indeed. 
 
 One day when she felt particularly well and happy, and had 
 been singing in very joyousness, her cheek flushed and her 
 eyes sparkling, some one knocked at the door; it was Mr. 
 Fredericks. How glad she was to see him; she grasped both 
 his hands, and thanked him again and again for his kindness. 
 
 " What! is this my pale little girl ? Look at the roses! and 
 how nicely she s dressed, too," it was the poor alpaca. 
 
90 MINNETTE. 
 
 " Where s the old lady ? " Madam Therese hastened from the 
 other room. " Madam, you ve done well; I thank you." 
 
 "Oh! but hear her sing!" and the old lady sat at the an 
 cient piano, and proudly played the prelude to one of the 
 grand masses by Beethoven, and Minnette sang; and how she 
 sang! The old gentleman fairly embraced Madam Therese in 
 delight. 
 
 " I thought I should not live in vain! Why I m a Christo 
 pher Columbus. I ve discovered greater than a continent a 
 perfect human voice ! " Then he kissed Minnette on the fore 
 head, and told her she was a good girl, and he was proud of 
 her. He went away soon after, leaving more money, saying 
 he would not let it be so long before he came again. And 
 Minnette studied, and grew prettier. 
 
 In little over a week Mr. Fredericks came again, but Min 
 nette noticed that although he was so glad to see her, and was 
 as lively as ever, yet he appeared to be suffering. She did not 
 like to ask him if he felt ill, but when he went away it troubled 
 her, for she began to love the old gentleman like her own 
 father, whom she had lost when quite young. 
 
 Two weeks passed, and no Mr. Fredericks; then a few days, 
 and still he did not come. 
 
 "Madam Therese, I feel as if something was the matter 
 with good Mr. Fredericks, and I am determined I will go and 
 see." So they both put on their things, and taking an omni 
 bus, were soon at his door. After ringing the bell, they waited 
 sometime before they heard a sound. Mimiette s heart turned 
 sick. Suppose he were dead! But shuffling footsteps ap 
 proached the door, and after much fumbling with the key, it 
 was finally unlocked and opened. 
 
 "Is Mr. Fredericks ill? Oh, I fear he is!" The woman 
 
MIXXKTTK. 91 
 
 looked at her strangely. - Be you a relation ?" she asked, 
 slowly. 
 
 Xo, no; but Hove him like one; he has been kind to me; 
 tell me he is not dead." 
 
 A faint voice called: 
 
 Mrs. Watkins, let her come up;" and Miniiette fairly flew 
 to where the sound came from. What a sight met her eyes! 
 The old gentleman lay white and thin, almost to a skeleton. 
 
 " Oh, my dear friend, why did you not send me word you 
 were ill ? I am so sorry." 
 
 Well, child, I hoped to get well without clouding your 
 first bright days, but but I m not so sanguine now. " I m 
 glad you ve come; it seems to have eased my pain already." 
 And Minnette, with the quick instinct of a woman, saw how 
 desolate the old man was; no wife or child cheered that house, 
 she knew immediately; so taking off her hat, she made herself 
 at home, and with Madam Therese made the room more home 
 like and cheerful, letting in a little fresh air and sunshine, for 
 which the old man thanked them. 
 
 She told Mr. Fredericks she intended to stay there as long 
 as he was ill, if he would only let her, and she begged he 
 would. His eyes filled with tears, and he said: 
 
 -, yes, I shall die happier." Poor Minnette choked 
 her tears down, and tried to speak cheerfully: 
 
 " I pray God that you will soon be well, dear, dear friend." 
 She flattered and petted the surly old housekeeper, till even 
 she began to wear a pleasant face. But the doctor gave her 
 no hopes of the old gentleman s recovery. 
 
 How hard it is to watch day by day for death to come, with 
 out the faintest hope of being able tu delay his dreaded visit. 
 Each day he made her sing for him, and said it repaid him 
 a thousand fold for what he had done. 
 
92 MINNETTE. 
 
 On a beautiful, clear day, as Madam Therese sat sewing and 
 Minnette was gently fanning the invalid, lie said very faintly: 
 
 " Give me your hand, Miimette, and and sing to me that 
 plaintive song I listened to in the street." She knew what he 
 meant, for he had often told her how he came to be her friend. 
 
 She sang, but the tears ran down her cheeks so that she had 
 to pause. 
 
 " Don t cry, little one. I ve I ve not forgotten you. Sing- 
 on." And she sang till he seemed to doze, then she stopped; 
 but he opened his eyes. 
 
 " Good-by, Madam Therese take take care of her kiss 
 me, Minnette good girl " and as she kissed him his spirit 
 fled. 
 
 We have all sorrowed for the dead; we know the sickening 
 pain; Minnette was nearly heart-broken. 
 
 When all was over a gentleman waited on her, and saying- 
 he was Mr. Fredericks lawyer, read her his will. She was his 
 heiress, and he congratulated her 011 being possessor of money 
 and estates valued at three hundred thousand dollars. Madam 
 Therese was not forgotten, and neither was the ugly old house 
 keeper. He had left her several charities to attend to, and 
 said she could do as she pleased about her future, but that a 
 public life, without a father or brother, was full of snares and 
 temptations. So she took this as his dying wish, and only 
 sung for charity, and to make her own and her friends lives 
 happy. 
 
 She kept a magnificent establishment, and placed Madam 
 Therese at its head as her dear second mother. 
 
 And the rain fell on the old man s grave, and Mimiette s 
 tears watered the flowers that grew there. 
 
HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 
 
 YOUNG wife sat gazing wistfully into the fire. That 
 afternoon a friend had visited her whom she had 
 known in her school days. They were married, too, 
 on the same night; one for love, the other for well money. 
 She had been dressy, chatty and gay, fairly deluging Ellen 
 with an account of all the beautiful things she had, and the 
 parties and operas she had attended. 
 
 " But, then, you have this dear little Cupid," she had said, 
 "and he makes amends for the lack of many things, does he 
 not ? " 
 
 "Oh! yes; but you see, my darling husband (they had been 
 married only a little over a year) has to work so hard, and for 
 such a pittance, too, he does not have time to even take his 
 dinner at home; and many a day I do not see him from early 
 morning till late at night." 
 
 " Oh! poor dear! and see how hard your hands are getting; 
 it is too bad! no servant, no nurse, no pretty dresses; well, 
 you did not make a very good bargain, after all." 
 
 "But I love my husband," she had answered, sweetly; and 
 her friend replied : 
 
 " No doubt you do; but then you are so tied down by little 
 Cupid here, that you can go nowhere and have no enjoyment 
 outside of your little home; which, by the way, is cosy enough, 
 
94 HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 
 
 if it isn t elegant. But, after all, I think I would rather have 
 my half million than your baby/ 
 
 ,.So she had left her thinking, thinking; and as her husband 
 did not come Jioriie at the usual hour, she had time enough to 
 make herself very miserable; you know we can think ourselves 
 into a- great deal of imaginary unhappiness. That is one of 
 the ways that " Satan finds some mischief still," etc. 
 
 By and by the baby woke, and for once his cries irritated 
 her, and she took him up with a jerk that made him cry still 
 louder. 
 
 " Cross baby!" she said petulantly, and sat down without 
 trying to amuse or feed him. So he cried himself to sleep 
 again, and she sat thinking, till she felt herself a much-abused, 
 miserable woman. 
 
 Bap! rap! came at the door, and, before she could open it, 
 in walked an elegant lady. 
 
 " I ve come for the baby," she said. 
 
 " What baby? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Why, that," pointing to the baby in her lap. " Did you 
 not wish, just now, for a half million instead of him ? " 
 
 "Oh! no, I " 
 
 "You did. You shall have the money to-morrow, and 111 
 take the baby." 
 
 " I caiiiio-t, indeed I " 
 
 " Oh yes, you can; your fine clothes and parties will soon 
 satisfy you. He will be well taken care of," and the lady held 
 out her arms. 
 
 "I I " but there was something strange about the 
 
 lady s eyes that seemed to compel her, so she laid the baby 
 in her arms. 
 
 " Now get nie his clothes." 
 
HALF A MILLION (HI THE I5AIJY. 1)5 
 
 She die! 
 
 11 Oh, let me keep a shoe and stocking, and one of his dear 
 little shirts," she asked, pitifully. 
 
 " Not one," the lady replied. 
 
 " Just his little stocking, then," she pleaded. " I ve k 
 his little feet so often. Only his little stocking!" 
 
 So the lady Hung a shoe, stocking and shirt into her lap, 
 and was gone. 
 
 She ran to the window to call her back, for she did not even 
 know her name, or where she could go to see her baby. But 
 too late! She sat down again, very, very miserable, till her 
 thoughts turned to the promised half million. 
 
 Xo\v her dear husband would not have to work so hard. 
 She could have him, too, every evening. Then what little 
 cozy dinners they would have. " Hal " was fond of something 
 nice, but he didn t get it often, poor fellow. "His old 
 mother, dear soul, shall come and live with us. I can get 
 along with her, if she is my mother-in-law. 
 
 S<> she mused. Then her friend s highly-colored pictures 
 of balls, operas and parties came into her mind, and she 
 thought she would enjoy them, too. 
 
 A quick step aroused her. " Oh, what will Harry say? 
 And she turned pale as she jumped up to give her kiss of wel 
 come. 
 
 The shoe, stocking and shirt fell to the floor. 
 
 c Ah ! Just put old Chub to bed V " 
 I_" 
 
 " Well, wifey, kept you waiting, haven t I? Couldn t help 
 it. They are so busy at the store. I m hungry, I can tell you. 
 Haven t had time to eat since breakfast." 
 
 So Ellen took the frying-pan from the fender and put it 
 
96 HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 
 
 back on the fire for a few moments, and the saucepan with 
 the potatoes, so they were soon smoking- hot on his plate, and 
 he ate with a will, but she scarcely tasted anything except 
 half a cup of tea. 
 
 What s the matter, Nell ? Been hungry so long that 
 you ve lost your appetite ? Don t wait so long, pet, another 
 time." 
 
 " You know, Harry, that I don t like to eat without you; 
 the food doesn t taste near so good." 
 
 11 How quiet Chub sleeps. He doesn t even move; and he s 
 terrible at that; takes after you, pet, eh?" And he laugh 
 ingly pinched her chin. But she could not smile. 
 
 "Why, what s the matter with you to-night; not ill, are 
 you, Nell?" 
 
 "Oh, it s nothing; I" 
 
 "Just a little blue, eh? Because I did not come home 
 sooner? You ll get over it in a minute or two." 
 
 And he walked to the cradle and put back the little lace 
 curtains that she had knit. 
 
 "Not here? Oh, you ve put him in our bed. Old rascal, 
 I ll catch your little toes." And he moved his hand gently up 
 the bed, but the cold sheet was all he touched. A thrill ran 
 through him. " Ellen, where s the baby ? " 
 
 "Oh! Harry, you know we are so poor, and you have to 
 work so to keep us all, that I I 
 
 My God ! you have not killed him ? " 
 
 "Oh! no, no; but but " 
 
 What have you done with him ? " 
 
 " Well, Belle was here, and told me what beautiful things 
 she had and 
 
 " What has that to do with the baby ? " 
 
HALF A MILLION OR TMK P,AI>,V. 97 
 
 "lhave sold him!" 
 
 Harry burst out laughing. " Now I know you are playing. 
 Eeally, YOU frightened me at first." But she told him the 
 whole story, and showed him the empty drawer. Then he 
 asked the lady s name, and where she lived, so that he could 
 go immediately and get the baby back again. But when she 
 knew neither her name or residence, he cried: "We have 
 been robbed! " and walked the rioor like a man distracted. 
 
 What a miserable night they passed in tears, reproaches 
 and regrets. The morning came at last, as it always does, no 
 matter how wretched we are, and with it soon came the post 
 man. He handed Ellen a letter sealed with black. An uncle 
 had died in the Indies and left her half a million ! 
 
 " Now if Chub, my Chub, were only here, this might make 
 us happy." 
 
 " Oh, Harry, I would crawl on my hands and knees a thou 
 sand miles to get him back; but it is too late." 
 
 So they moved into a stately house, and Belle came to con 
 gratulate them, and she took Ellen whom she would call 
 Ellenore now under her especial care, bringing her dress 
 makers, hairdressers, jewelers, dancing master, everything 
 necessary to convert her into a fashionable lady. 
 
 Harry went into business, but grew paler every clay. 
 Ellen went to balls, parties, theaters, everywhere, to drown 
 the voice of conscience; but Harry steadily refused to accom 
 pany her. So Belle was her constant friend and companion. 
 Harry grew so absent-minded and unfit for business that he 
 soon failed, and lost all the capital lie had invested in it. 
 
 But Ellen seemed mad for excitement, and gave great din 
 ners and masquerades, so that her house became the most 
 popular in town. But Harry always kept his room. She was 
 7 
 
98 HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 
 
 the belle wherever she went. Her wit, beauty and amiability 
 were the theme of every tongue ; but a great sorrow lay deep 
 hidden away in her heart, the loss of her baby. Harry 
 brooded over it, while she tried, by her wild pleasures, only 
 to stop that terrible thinking, thinking, which one beloved 
 preacher said he believed to be the punishment of the great 
 hereafter. 
 
 The time came when Harry could not leave his bed; then 
 Ellen showed herself the most devoted and patient of wives. 
 Harry had thought her heartless, and his love had nearly died 
 out; but her devotion revived it, as a breath will a dying em 
 ber. One morning he said to her: 
 
 "Pet, I dreamed last night of Chub. He seemed to be 
 waiting for me on the bank of a dark river. The halo of the 
 light that surrounded him made the way clear, and I passed 
 over fearlessly. I can die willingly now, Nell/ 
 
 "Oh! darling, darling, stay with me a little longer, for when 
 you are gone the world will be a terrible place to live in." 
 And she shuclderingly hid her face in the bed-clothes. 
 
 " Why, Nell, I thought the half million brought you great 
 happiness, and that poor Chub was even less to you than as if 
 he had never been." 
 
 " Oh, Hal, I ve hid away my sorrow from earthly eyes. But 
 One has seen it. He has heard my heart cry out to Him in the 
 stillness of the night. But, darling, I did not wish to add to 
 your sufferings. And so you thought me heartless; I know 
 you did, but I was only trying not to think." 
 
 " Nell, do you know, I think he is dead." 
 
 She gave a low cry, but it told the death of the hope she 
 had had of one day finding him. 
 
 Harry lingered for a few weeks, and then breathed his last 
 
HAM A MILLION OR THE BABY. 99 
 
 ;is gently ;is a child. Belle came to console poor Ellen, and 
 as soon as possible hurried her away to the continent. She 
 looked very pale, and was so nervous that she could not remain 
 two (lays in one place. Here her agent wrote that she had 
 better be a little careful, as the money was diminishing very 
 fast. But she answered back " not to annoyher," as she hated 
 money matters. 
 
 When her year of mourning was over, Belle led her into all 
 sorts of follies and extravagances. Again her agent wrote 
 she must retrench, as some of his speculations for her had 
 proved failures; but she did not heed his advice, till one day 
 her check was refused, and she had to sell her diamonds to 
 get home. There her agent called on her with the unpleasant 
 intelligence that her house was to be sold the next day, and 
 there was not money enough left to buy it in. 
 
 A thousand dollars and a few fine dresses were all she had 
 now of her half million. As she had no particular talent for 
 anything by which she could earn her living, she went to a 
 boarding-house and there stayed till the money and dresses 
 were gone and she had but five dollars in her purse. 
 
 At last she seemed to feel the necessity of doing something; 
 so she hired a room you can imagine how miserable it was 
 furnished and tried to get sewing to do, that next resort to 
 suicide with many; but it was hard to get and ill-paid. So 
 many a day she went hungry. Belle had lost sight of her, so 
 she had no friend to go to. " No sewing to be got." What 
 would she try next ? "Washing ? How she shuddered at 
 the thought. She looked at her hands. They were white and 
 small, and but a year ago were almost covered with diamonds. 
 She looked in the glass. Her beauty had faded. Alas! un- 
 happiness is a worse blighter than time. 
 
100 HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 
 
 Poor little sad-eyed woman. From flattery and satins to 
 dry bread and the wash-tub ! What a change ! 
 
 Washing was very, very hard for her, as she was not strong. 
 But she could get enough of it to do to keep her from the 
 sharp pangs of hunger. That was something. 
 
 One night, as she sat by her scanty fire after a hard day s 
 work, her poor hands torn and bleeding by the pins the chil 
 dren would leave in their clothes, she thought of the past. 
 
 "Oh! if I had only been contented with the happiness I 
 had it seems a heaven to look back to and had kept my 
 dear baby, he would be a help to me now. He would not let 
 his poor mother wash her life away, and my poor darling Harry 
 would never have grieved himself to death. I should have 
 been a happy wife, instead of a poor, lonely widow. But re 
 pentance comes too late." And the tears fell on her hand. 
 
 That, and a loud knock, aroused her. She rubbed her eyes. 
 She had put the baby back and fallen asleep. 
 
 It is her own cosy little home; yes, and there s the cradle, 
 and that s Harry s knock. Thank God! it is but a dream. 
 "Hal, Hal! Chub s notold; here he is!" 
 And she dragged her husband to the cradle. " See him! 
 And there s his little feet." And she pulled the covering off 
 him, and kissed them so violently that he woke up with a 
 laugh. 
 
 She caught him in her arms, then pulled Harry to the 
 bureau. See, there s his clothes. The lady hasn t got them; 
 indeed she hasn t. There s shoes, stockings, shirts and all! 
 You needn t die of grief. Hal, I ll never, never sell him." 
 
 "Why, Nell, what s the matter? Have you gone wild? 
 Who want s to buy old nuisance ? " 
 
 " Why, the lady. She took him away. Oh, Hal, I was 
 
HALF A MILLION OR THE BABY. 101 
 
 dreaming 1 such a dreadful, dreadful dream. JLet me<see if my 
 hair hasn t turned white." 
 
 And she looked into the glass, but tlie, )hAir^afe\ris ; bfrown 
 and curly as ever, and the eyes as roguish. 
 
 " You won t have to dye it yet, Nell. You liked to take my 
 breath away. I thought you were getting a little 
 
 " But, Hal, the dream was so vivid that it seemed impossi 
 ble for it to be anything but reality." And she told it to him, 
 till he, too, lost his smile and looked pale. 
 
 " We ll value Chub all the more now, won t we, Nell?" and 
 he kissed the little fellow; " and you wouldn t really sell him 
 for half a million ? " 
 
 "Not for twenty millions! Give me your love and my 
 baby, and I would not change places with the richest woman 
 in the world! " 
 
THE VAIN NASTURTIUM. 
 
 y 
 
 NCE upon a time a nasturtium grew in the garden of an 
 elegant house, but its face was turned toward the 
 great, great white wall, and as it did not look around, 
 it saw no beauty in its life. But the wall was made of wood, 
 and through the cracks the nasturtium could look into the 
 back-yard of a neighbor s house. 
 
 "Ah, I should be happy if fate had only permitted me to 
 grow there, the companion of those pretty rosy-cheeked chil 
 dren, and that busy, merry little woman." 
 
 So she looked and sighed, and the more the children laughed 
 and the woman sang, the more discontented she became. 
 But she never turned her head to see the beautiful flowers 
 around her, or the stately house, or the lovely lady who swept 
 like a queen down the gravel-walks. 
 
 " Oh, what a life to lead this is! " she cried, one warm sum 
 mer s day; " this great bare wall, so white and blinding, al 
 ways before me, with the reflected sun scorching my face, no 
 tender hand to caress me, no loving eyes to admire my hand 
 some dress. Ah! well, I wish I was dead and out of it! " 
 
 But one day, when the wind blew gently, she discovered, 
 oh, joy! a knot-hole! 
 
 "Ah! now, now, if the kind wind will only assist me, I shall 
 
THK VAIN XASTl RTir.M. 103 
 
 have my wish! " Then she said in the sweetest voice she could 
 command: 
 
 " Miv Zephyr, will you be kind enough to blow very gently 
 while I make a short journey?" 
 
 So the wind promised; but she soon found that the hole 
 was too small, and her face came very near being cut b}~ the 
 sharp edge of the wood. Then Zephyr turned her gently and 
 told her to try again. So she closed her eyes hard, as one 
 having a tooth drawn; but finding she passed through un 
 harmed, she opened them quickly, and in her surprise and de 
 light she forgot even to thank the gentle Zephyr, who was 
 standing hat in hand, waiting for it. 
 
 " Oh, what .a pretty place! Look at the lovely green grass, 
 and those pretty pink flowers, and those queer things in that 
 cage; then how nice and cool it is, with no great, ugly, white 
 wall before me! " So she danced and sang for very joy. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, mamma, see, see! " cried a soft, childish 
 voice. " Oh, the pretty, pretty flower!" 
 
 How 7 sweet this sounded to her ear; she felt she was pretty, 
 but this was the first time any one had ever said so. 
 
 "Please, mamma, let me pick it?" and the little fingers 
 were closed upon her slender stem, when she shrank back in 
 terror; was her life that was just becoming so beautiful to be 
 ended thus ? But the mother s voice answered quickly: 
 
 "No, dear, let the pretty flower be; it looks so bright and 
 lively, and will last a long time, if it is let alone." 
 
 " I love you ever so much, and you re a real pretty lady, a 
 real lady!" cried the nasturtium. Biit the little woman did 
 not understand flower talk, so was none the wiser for her 
 good opinion. Soon a little baby, the one she had admired so, 
 came toddling on the grass. Ugh! how near its little snatch- 
 
104 THE VAIN NASTURTIUM. 
 
 ing hands came ! She thought that distance lent enchantment 
 there, at least. 
 
 "Ah! baby musn t touch the beautiful flower; mamma likes 
 to see it." 
 
 Beautiful! She blushed at the word, till her yellow leaves 
 became like velvet, and her stripes as black and shiny as a 
 tiger skin. 
 
 The next morning, she opened her eyes bright and early. 
 What a lovely sky! and see the dew-drops on her brother 
 leaves ! 
 
 " Ah! could I but once see myself! " she said, and bending 
 gently so as not to disturb the little drop that nestled so 
 round and bright in the center of a leaf, she saw her face. 
 
 "Am I not lovely?" she cried, and being so confused with 
 vanity and pleasure, she jostled the leaf and shook the dew- 
 drop, till she saw her beautiful form so horrijoly distorted 
 that she drew back in fright. 
 
 " I won t look in there again!" she said, with a sigh of re 
 lief, as examining her dress, she saw it was as beautiful as 
 ever. 
 
 Now the children came again into the garden, and it was as 
 much as little Hal could do to keep the baby s fingers from 
 destroying the now nervous, anxious flower. 
 
 "I don t like baby one bit! " she said to herself, as Hal had 
 caught his hand after he had given her a disagreeably tight 
 squeeze. 
 
 " Children, don t pick those flowers; they are coming out 
 fast, and I want to pickle them when then are ripe," called the 
 little woman from the tub where she was washing out some 
 little things for the baby, and an old towel or two. 
 
 "Pickle flowers! Why, mamma!" cried Hal, in incredu 
 lous astonishment. 
 
THE VAIN NASTURTIUM. 105 
 
 " AVcll, not exactly the flower ah, she was relieved again 
 " but the little seed that is left when the leaves fall off; they 
 make very nice pickles, boiled in vinegar." 
 
 Oh, horror! was that to be her fate? When her beauty was 
 gone could it ever go? she was to be thrust ignominiously 
 into the pickle-pot! She shook in terror, and looked around 
 for some way of escape; then for the first time she saw through 
 the cracks and knot-hole the beautiful home she had left. No 
 teasing children there; no frowsy, ugly woman hanging out 
 ragged towels, and waiting impatiently to pop her into the 
 detested pickle-pot ! 
 
 "Ah! one never knows when they re well off," she cried; 
 ," but here I ll never stay, not if I" and she thrust her head 
 forward with all her might; but alas! she had grown too large, 
 and the knot-hole tore her beautiful skin and bruised her 
 shamefully. 
 
 " Never mind," she -cried, winking the tears from her eye, 
 " I am still the most beautiful flower here, with my velvet dress 
 and yellow fringe. The most fashionable, too!" she added, 
 almost crying. 
 
 " Oh, mamma! see how the wind has torn the poor flower. 
 May I pick it? It s of no use." 
 
 She both loved and hated little Hal, as she waited breath 
 less for the reply. 
 
 (f Let me see," said the little woman, wiping her hands on 
 
 her apron. Ugh! how they did smell of suds when they 
 
 touched her. No, no; I think it will still be good to pickle. 
 
 Ah ! that hateful pickle-pot. Again and again she tried to 
 
 thrust herself into her former home. 
 
 "I won t stay with those dirty-faced, ugly children, and 
 that mean, stingy woman." But each trial only tore her coat 
 afresh, and left her bruised and bleeding. 
 
106 THE VAIN NASTURTIUM. 
 
 A storm came up; liow thankful she was; how the rain-drops 
 cooled her poor body the rain that she used to despise; then 
 when it cleared off, she saw the beautiful rainbow, and heard 
 the delighted shouts of the children. A little puddle of water 
 had settled beneath her, and she looked down. What was 
 that ugly, ragged thing she saw ? Surely not her beautiful 
 self! 
 
 "Mamma, now may I pick the flower? See how broken it 
 is; it is not pretty for you to look at any more/ cried Hal. 
 The mother looked, and shook her head. 
 
 " Yes, it ll never ripen now; it s no use." 
 
 " Thank goodness, I ve escaped the pickle but before 
 she could finish, the little hand closed tightly round and tore 
 her from the stem; in a few moments she was dashed vio 
 lently into the puddle with a contemptuous laugh ! 
 
 " I don t want the ugly old flower; it s no use." The water 
 gurgled in her ears, then Hal s little paddling feet crushed her 
 into the mud, and she knew no more. 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 - 
 
 /Jf T was in " Merrie England that land of true homes, 
 where families are large, and where the pleasures of 
 domestic life are sufficiently attractive to keep the 
 children there (at least for many years), and the 
 head of the house indulges in a big easy chair, a newspaper, 
 a game of chess, or whist, pleasant conversation, and an oc 
 casional game with the children, and is not perpetually absent 
 at the " Lodge/ but is a part of home, as the clear mother is, 
 and inseparable in the mind of the wanderer from every picture 
 of that loved spot it was here, some Christmas ago, that six 
 sisters, all in the pride of youth, health and happiness, made 
 to each other a pledge, and this was their pledge: 
 
 w AVe, the undersigned, six sisters, do hereby pledge our- 
 . selves to either meet, six years from this date, at our old 
 homestead, or to write our various life histories during that 
 time, to be read to those assembled. 
 
 "BLANCHE, EFFIE, 
 
 "EDWINA, MADGE, 
 
 "LAURA, MARY/ 
 
 The six years had passed, and the evening appointed for 
 the meeting had arrived. The old homestead was brilliantly 
 
108 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 lighted, the father and mother in their accustomed places, the 
 same dear father and mother, only a little grayer, a little 
 nearer the other world. They waited for their six dear girls, 
 or tidings of them, for, thank God, none were dead, and they 
 had ceased to repine that no son had come to bless their love, 
 and perpetuate their name; they only prayed for the happiness 
 of their dear girls, and then to die at peace with all the world. 
 The bell rang, and Blanche entered in all her regal beauty. 
 She received her parents kisses with dutiful submission, but 
 her nature was cold and calculating, and the loving mother 
 stood almost in awe of her beautiful first-born. The bell 
 again, and Madge, the light-hearted rattle-brain of the family, 
 rushed into her parents arms, and almost covered their faces 
 with kisses, then gave Blanche a bear-bug. 
 
 "Why, Madge, one would think we had not seen you for 
 years, instead of hours," reproved Blanche. 
 
 "Forgive me, lady queen," and Madge knelt, and kissed 
 her hand in mock humility. 
 
 "Who have you received letters from, ma?" asked Blanche. 
 
 " From Erne and Laura, but have heard nothing of Mary, 
 
 so I am in hopes of seeing the dear child, for she promised 
 
 she would come or send, and she always keeps her word; yet 
 
 we have not heard from her for so long that I fear 
 
 " Dear ma, don t fear anything till this night is over. You 
 don t know at what hour she may come/ and Madge kissed 
 the tears away, that were just trembling on the dear eye-lids. 
 Again the bell rang, and Edwin a, the demure - little widow, 
 entered with her two children, embraced her mother, and 
 then gently kissed the others. Blanche s little girl came 
 directly with her nurse. 
 
 The dinner hour was set for six o clock, then the children 
 
THi; SISTF.KS I LKDGE. 109 
 
 were told to go to the old nursery and amuse themselves, 
 while their elders returned io the parlor, and, after those 
 present had told their stories, the letters from the others were 
 to be road. 
 
 The holly gleamed on the walls, and the mistletoe shone 
 pale above the chandelier. The roast beef was large and 
 juicy, the Christmas pudding in a flame and full of plums, 
 the children delighted. 
 
 If it was not for what is to come aft er dinner, I believe I 
 should have liked a few cavaliers at this feast for, you know, 
 dear people, I m the only marriageable lady of the party." 
 
 " You forget Edwina," remarked Blanche. 
 
 " Blanche I" said the sister alluded to, in a deprecatory 
 tone. 
 
 "Beg pardon, Ed., for being so selfish; but you know I 
 have to think of myself, as I am getting rather on the the, 
 as they say" 
 
 " The old maid list, ma says," spoke up Regina, Blanche s 
 only child. 
 
 Regina!" and Blanche blushed with vexation. 
 
 " Oh, never mind; that s a good warning, Reggie. So I 
 must hurry up, for I m let me see, nearly five and twenty. 
 Good gracious! I shall soon be an old maid, sure enough!" 
 
 But underneath all the merriment there was a little anxiety, 
 a little expectation perceptible. The dinner over, the chil 
 dren were sent to the nursery with Regina s nurse, and that 
 young lady regaled them with numerous ghost stories till 
 they were afraid to look around. But Regina imperiously de 
 manded that the candles should be lit, as she didn t like only 
 the fire-light, and when she was obeyed, the other children 
 were greatly relieved; but the nurse said: 
 
HO THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 " Miss Reggie, I shan t tell you any more nice ghost stories, 
 for they re nothing with the lights lit." But the little lady 
 said: 
 
 " "Well, tell us a love story, then, and I ll give you one of 
 my ribbons." 
 
 So they heard all sorts of adventures, in which Miss Rose, 
 as she told the other children, knowing they were poor, to 
 call her, was the heroine. 
 
 In the cosy parlor, also decorated w r ith holly and mistletoe, 
 for Christmas in England would not seem like Christmas with 
 out them, sat the three sisters and their parents. They were 
 so quiet that the ticking of the clock sounded loud, and the 
 snap and crackle of the coal was heard. 
 
 "I suppose you are waiting for me to commence, as I am 
 the eldest; but what is the use, you all know my history for 
 all my life past, let alone the past six years." 
 
 "O, ho! Blanche, that won t do, or I shall not tell mine, 
 and you don t know what you ll lose." 
 
 Blanche smiled sarcastically at Madge, and said: "Well, 
 you all remember I was married just one year and a few days 
 when we made that pledge; that I married well, and that my 
 husband has continued to prosper in business; that I have 
 everything that a lady could wish, and that my dear Kegina 
 was born nearly six years ago." 
 
 "And is that all your history for so many years?" asked 
 Madge, disappointedly. " If I don t have any more romance 
 than that after I m married, I rather think I ll remain an old 
 maid." 
 
 Could she have looked into her sister s heart, she would 
 have seen that she married for money, only a mild respect for 
 her husband taking the place of that deep affection which 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. Ill 
 
 alone makes a woman happy; that her love for her child was 
 more pride of her beauty and cleverness than the affection, 
 which is almost pain, that a mother feels who nurses her baby 
 at her breast, and tends to all its little wants, watching it in 
 sickness and in health, without the intervention of a nurse; 
 that the void in her proud heart was tilled with the love of 
 dress, and making a grand display before the world; and 
 Madge was right; for such a use of all the grand opportun 
 ities which God gives, is but a sorry working out of destiny. 
 It is to famish at the richest banquet; to die of thirst sailing 
 on the clearest stream. 
 
 After a pause, Edwina spoke: 
 
 "I was married nine years ago, to an American. My hus 
 band was good-natured and handsome, very entertaining, and 
 a great favorite with the gentlemen. I loved him very much. 
 V/hen he had money he was most liberal, but sometimes we 
 were unfortunate, but never really suffered; still w T e could 
 save nothing; so that w r hen he died a year ago, and left me 
 with our two children, we suffered severely till my dear 
 parents heard of it. We were in America at the time, where 
 the people are kind and good, but very erratic; helping any 
 one in distress one day, filling their larder to overflowing, but 
 forgetting them 011 the next, some new interest attracting 
 their attention. I tried to turn my little knowledge of paint 
 ing to account, but found there was a great difference between 
 the value and beauty of a picture that you give away, and the 
 same thing when you try to sell it; so I reluctantly tried to 
 color photographs, thinking, perhaps, it would be easier to 
 gain a living by something that touched people s vanity than 
 by appealing to their taste. But it was hard work; the pro 
 prietors of galleries expecting a large picture touched up/ 
 
112 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 which really meant painted all over, for the meagre sum of a 
 dollar and a half, and very small photographs, partially 
 colored, for ten cents; and living was so dear that we had 
 hard times, as they say in that country, till my dear parents 
 sent me money to bring us back to England, where I am 
 now doing very well." 
 
 Madge thought married life could not be so very fascinating 
 after all. Yet Edwina had had her little romance. She had 
 married for love, and had loved her husband till the last. Yet 
 she was not blind to his faults, though she never spoke but 
 kindly of him, and would not have allowed any one else to 
 even think differently, if she could have helped it. He was, as 
 she had said, a handsome, good-natured man. 
 
 He was desperately in love with her before marriage, but, 
 like so many men, had ceased to be demonstrative after that 
 interesting ceremony, and to a sensitive woman, who listens 
 for a loving word, watches for a tender smile, or a half -uncon 
 scious pressure of the hand, and listens and watches in vain, 
 it is but poor recompense to be told by the one almost wor 
 shiped that he is not demonstrative. Some men make a 
 boast of their undemoiistrativene ss, and consider it quite a 
 virtue, when it does more to lose them the love of their wives 
 than drunkenness and gambling combined. Well, Edwina s 
 husband was undemonstrative, or, in plainer words, selfish. 
 He could have a larger audience of grown people to listen to 
 his anecdotes and adventures at the " Lodge " wherever that 
 mysterious place may be than with his wife and little ones; 
 so to the " Lodge" he went, and so often that it was a mys 
 tery why he never became tired. When he did remain by his 
 own fireside, and awake, the children were delighted, and lis 
 tened in open-mouthed wonder to his lively stories, and the 
 wife thought there was still something beautiful in life. 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. H;j 
 
 If the most trivial tiling engrossed his attention at meal 
 times he only thought of himself, and did not consider the 
 keeping of those at home waiting and hungry for several 
 hours of the least moment, and when remonstrated with about 
 it, would reply: 
 
 " Well, dear, eat; I am sure I would not go hungry with 
 plenty to eat in the house." 
 
 "But it is not like home to eat our meals without you; I d 
 rather the dinner were ever so poor and you here, than the 
 finest feast and you absent." This should have nattered any 
 man who looked beyond the gratification of the whim of the 
 moment, who realized that his happiness was in his wife s keep 
 ing, that she could make home very uncomfortable if she Avas 
 driven to, which many women are, when the husband, having 
 had his own way so many years, thinks he is quite secure. 
 And so they had lived for several years, the wife s enthusiasm 
 gradually diminishing as the truth, the bitter truth, was forced 
 upon her that the ecstatic love she bore him was completely 
 thrown away; that he was better satisfied when she did not 
 fret about him, and could bring herself to find her happiness 
 outside of his society, so to leave him at peace to enjoy him 
 self away from home. 
 
 Her little romance had been meeting an old sweetheart, for 
 whom she had always cherished a kind regard; no matter how 
 deeply she loved her husband, she was always pleased to see 
 him, and he, noticing her careworn, anxious look, felt a ten 
 der pity, and when the husband invited him to the house, he 
 readily accepted the invitation. He wished to see what 
 troubled his dear little friend, and if it would be in his power 
 to help her. During his first visit the husband had stayed at 
 home, after his little boy had hunted him up; he was pleasant 
 
114 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 and chatty, and the old sweetheart had liked him, and so he 
 paid another visit shortly after; but the husband, after talk 
 ing a little, yawned once or twice, then suddenly remembered 
 he had an engagement. A very few visits showed that she 
 was a neglected wife, and from pitying her, his old love soon 
 returned; but she was so devoted to her husband that she 
 kept him from saying anything, or acting in such a manner 
 that should necessitate his discontinuing his visits. She had 
 told him that her husband was good and kind, and that she 
 loved him; but he looked at her in a peculiar way, and said: 
 
 "Yes, that s the way the world thinks, at least the male 
 portion of them, that if a husband gives his wife enough to 
 eat, a roof above her head, and don t beat her, he s a model 
 man; but I scarcely think that women really believe so in their 
 hearts. They want a little of the attention they received be 
 fore marriage. I don t see why husbands think it of no con 
 sequence, when I m wicked enough to believe that most men, 
 outside of the husband, think married women as attractive as 
 single ones, even a little more so." 
 
 Edwina herself knew this was so, but she had always turned off 
 the little complimentary speeches addressed to hjer, in a clever, 
 witty way, so that she was never greatly annoyed, as soineun- 
 ready-wittecl women are. 
 
 Well, her husband was dead, and she had mourned as if 
 her heart would break; but a few months after, the waiting, 
 anxious look \vas gone, and she looked years younger; but she 
 would no* have acknowledged it even to herself, if she had 
 looked fifty times in the glass; she would have considered it 
 treason to her dear, dead husband, whom she had so, it seemed 
 to her, hopelessly loved; but she knew where he was now, and 
 could think of him as he was as a lover, or in the early days 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 115 
 
 of their married life. So, when the old sweetheart proposed, 
 she said no; she could not marry yet; she did not believe she 
 could ever love again, as she had her darling. Then she had 
 gone home to her mother s. She did not live there now, her 
 business forcing her to live at the other end of the city. And 
 this was her real history, that she had told in those few prosaic 
 words. 
 
 Now, what does Laura say? Quick, ma, open the letter; 
 I m quite impatient;" and Madge laid the two letters in her 
 mother s lap. 
 
 But the letter was only the experience of a well-off person 
 living on the continent, to whom the many scenes 
 and objects of interest had become so common that she 
 thought all the world were as tired of them as she was, and so 
 described nothing. Only wrote of her elegant apartments in 
 the Faubourg St. Germain, her dresses, the balls she went to, 
 the plays she saw, and once incidentally mentioned her hus 
 band, and hoping they were all well, she sent them her best 
 love. 
 
 Madge gave a sigh of relief, but Blanche said: " I m glad 
 dear Laura is so happy. It s a pity she had not one child; 
 but, of course, she can t feel as I do, never having had any." 
 
 Then came Erne s letter; but we will watch Effie as she 
 writes it, and read her heart at the same time. 
 
 The place is Liverpool; the scene, one room in a house of 
 furnished lodgings; the occupants, a refined, delicate lady and 
 her three children. 
 
 "Well, Eugene, to-day we must write that letter, and you 
 know we don t want the others to pity us, or think hard of 
 dear, dear papa, so we ll try and write a letter to make them 
 happy, and almost envy us our home." But Eugene laughed 
 
116 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 as he looked around the room, at the poor, faded, torn carpet, 
 the broken, ugly furniture, the mutilated stove, and the cur- 
 taiiiless windows; but he said, "Well, ma ma, we ll try." So 
 Effie wrote: 
 
 < NEAREST SISTERS : I cannot be with you, but according to our 
 pledge I write a letter-history of my life for a few years past. 
 A month after our last eventful meeting, we moved to Bristol, 
 where my darling husband soon became engaged in a remun 
 erative business. Our home was a very happy one; our two 
 little children the sweetest and best, we thought, that ever 
 lived; my husband never a night away from his own ingle- 
 nook, and my heart daily and nightly thanking God for my 
 happiness. Some friends, all too officious, persuaded my pet 
 of course, you know who I mean that this was the city for 
 him and his talents, so we left our cosy little cottage, with 
 the much-loved garden, the pretty roses, the lilies, the dear 
 jelly flowers, and mignonette, with hearts all sad at the .part 
 ing, but ambitious and full of hope for the future. Here we 
 are living well, 111 describe minutely: Our drawing-room " 
 But Eugene laughed and said: 
 
 "Oh! mamma," but she replied: 
 
 "Well, is not this our drawing-room? What other have we 
 got ? " Not receiving an answer, she wrote : 
 
 "Our drawing-room is carpeted with purple and green, the 
 sofa of the most brilliant pattern of flowers." Eugene looked 
 at the little second-hand lounge, that had been cut with a 
 hatchet so the woman said who sold it to Effie for less than 
 one pound, her husband had so cut it during a quarrel and 
 sewed up, then at the miserable faded carpet, with the green 
 scarcely visible, and the purple entirely gone, save underneath 
 the furniture. "The chairs, brown, green and gold, and 
 black." 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 117 
 
 "Oh, mamma! mamma!" 
 
 "Well, are they not? It is not necessary to say the green 
 and gold is but a carte-seated chair, with a little gilt to set it 
 off, costing two shillings at a second-hand shop, the brown 
 ditto; and these, with the sofa, is all the furniture that be 
 longs to us, and that we are thankful for even that. Those 
 wretched black ones that belong to the landlady are almost 
 paintless, but we need not say so." 
 
 " The pictures, rare and handsome." Rare they were, being 
 two little ones painted many years ago by their clear mother, 
 and a small print pasted on the wall and framed in silver-gilt 
 paper, and not being removable, had been left there. The 
 little pictures were really handsome, and the delight of the 
 children. 
 
 "The rug, had it .been paid for according to the value set 
 on the work, of the costliest description; the design, a bird, 
 flowers, etc." 
 
 "What! that?" and Eugene pointed to the unfinished rug, 
 made of a coffee-sack, rags and carpet thrums/ 
 
 "Yes, exactly, dear, for I would not make another for ten 
 pounds, unless it was absolutely necessary. Well, that will 
 do for the drawing-room; now for the parlor " 
 
 "But, mamma, we ve dot no parlor," said little Toots. 
 
 "This is the parlor, too, Toots, but I ll never mind the 
 parlor; we ll go to the dining-room/ 
 
 "Butdis is de da wing-room, mamma," remonstrated Toots. 
 
 "Yes, Pet; and the parlor, dining-room, kitchen and bed 
 chamber, too, but we needn t make grandma unhappy about 
 it." So she finished her letter, saying how very, very happy 
 they were all; her dear husband never spending an evening 
 away from home without her; and how all went each Sun- 
 
118 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 day for a delightful walk down by the sea, watching the 
 vessels, and her darling explaining all they saw to the dear 
 children, both amused and instructed them. Then, the parks 
 were another source of pleasure; the fountains, flowers, gayly- 
 dressed people, merry children, they enjoyed it all. That at 
 night, when all her loved ones were asleep and well, her heart 
 overflowed with thanks to God for her happiness; and that 
 she hoped they all were as happy as she, and that their cir 
 cumstances were just what they wished. 
 
 She did not say how they were so poor that each little gleam 
 of sunshine was hailed with joy, and made much of; how liv 
 ing was so dear that meat was precious, and stale bread, being 
 so much less than fresh, w r as boiled in water, and, with a little 
 milk and sugar, formed the desert, and often the supper, too; 
 or how she did her own work, Eugene helping, only sending 
 out the washing, and that to one of the kindest women, who 
 helped her in many little ways, sending her a pot of butter, 
 with the excuse that " she had so much/ not wishing to hurt 
 her feelings; or a loaf of cake, or something else; that her 
 husband had been unfortunate, not being able to obtain a 
 regular situation, so had to run in debt, and was harassed 
 and troubled all the time. 
 
 Yet with all this trouble, Eflie was happy; happy in her 
 husband s love, happy in the affection of her children, and 
 happy that they were all healthy, handsome and clever. 
 
 " Oh ! mamma ! you forgot to tell about our Christmas tree," 
 exclaimed Eugene. 
 
 " So I did;" and she added a few lines, describing its beau 
 ties, and how delighted with it the children were. So they 
 might be, for it stood them in place of a Christmas dinner, 
 containing presents from aunts, cousins and grandmas. Poor 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 119 
 
 Effie could only put on home-made tilings, yet the children 
 were satisfied, and didn t feel that they were at all poor; even 
 the little fellow, almost a baby, said to Toots: 
 
 " I lite Tanty Taus; Toots, don t oo ? " And so the blessed 
 Christinas came to them, God having them all in His own safe 
 keeping. 
 
 " Well of all, my dear sisters, I believe I prefer Erne s lot," 
 said Madge, after the letter was read, and they had sat silent 
 for a moment. 
 
 "But Mary has not come, and it is now too late to expect her. 
 Mary, my baby, my youngest; oh, I should never have let her 
 go to that dreadful America." 
 
 " Don t reproach yourself, dear wife, she went to see Ed- 
 wina. You know how we wrote to her to come home when her 
 sister did; but she said no, she was on her road to make a 
 fortune for us all. Poor child, poor child." 
 
 " We will hear from her soon, no doubt, dear, father," said 
 Blanche; " but now let us hear Madge s wonderful story." 
 
 " Well, I m going to become an inventor." 
 
 " But that won t do," cried Edwina; " we must know what 
 you have done, not what you are going to do." 
 
 " Oh, I ve already made some inventions, in imagination, 
 you know, not being mechanic enough to carry them out 
 there s that pepper-box." 
 
 " O! O! we all know everything about that," said Edwina. 
 
 " Then, there s the safety-switch for trains." 
 
 "Dress trains, dear?" asked Blanche, sarcastically. 
 
 "No; bother such trains, I don t wear them. Then I 
 thought of a plow to deepen shallow rivers, making an em 
 bankment at the same time " 
 
 " But, Madge, you are not telling your history," said her 
 mother. 
 
120 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 " "Well, then, let me see six years ago that s such a long 
 time^to remember where shall I start from? oh, yes, my 
 first real sweetheart, Willie I won t tell his other name. 
 "Well, lie was a little man, could play the accordeon beau-ti- 
 fully! and could make the nicest little boxes and magical pic 
 ture-books. Well, he married some one else, but I didn t cry 
 my eyes out then I had another sweet " 
 
 "Well, we ll say you had a dozen what next?" asked 
 Blanche. 
 
 " You re rather severe on me, Blanche. After my sweet 
 hearts, I don t know Avhat to tell you. You don t want to know 
 how many tidies I knit, or how many I ve sold, or how many 
 slippers I worked. Oh! yes, the parties I ve been to! Well, 
 there was Augustina Smyth s ball, her birthday ball, you 
 know 
 
 " I don t believe you have any history to tell, Madge," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Well, I don t believe that I have. I suppose I must wait 
 till I m married, or become a great inventor; then the Queen 
 will knight me, and I shall go abroad, and see and do all man 
 ner of wonderful things; then I shall have something to tell; 
 now, I can only say that I live at home with my darling 
 parents, sometimes staying a few days with my dear sisters; 
 that I am very happy, and am going to become great, some 
 day." And that was her history. 
 
 Now they all went to the drawing-room, and in a moment 
 the Christmas tree was a blaze of light; and the children, 
 coming in, shouted with pleasure. No one was forgotten, 
 even to the pert nurse girl, and all were happy, save the poor 
 mother, who longed for the presence of her " baby/ her 
 Mary. And Mary 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 121 
 
 In one of the largest theaters of New York, a pretty ballet- 
 girl had appeared for several months. Lately she had been 
 given small parts, and acquitting herself well, had attracted 
 some attention, especially that of one of the actors. He was 
 a fine, handsome, manly-looking fellow, often playing heroic, 
 noble characters. The girl had watched him in silent admira 
 tion for months, and when he spoke the first word to her, she 
 blushed so deeply, and was so timid, that he was both amused 
 and pleased. Well, the acquaintance ripened, till she almost 
 adored the ground he walked on. La Yiolette, as the stage 
 manager had put her on the bills, was a great reader, and be 
 ing so madly in love, remembered every story where the woman 
 had sacrificed herself to her heart s idol Norma, Media and 
 poor Heloise and they were right, too, she thought. Why 
 should a woman lose the man she worships ? Oh ! how noble 
 he was. How grand! How magnificent! 
 
 Sbe watched his every motion on the stage, and counted 
 herself enviable in having such a lover; though, alas! she 
 never expected to marry him. Oh, if she were only a great 
 actress, if she could only play those characters that were 
 loved by him, to whom he had to make such burning speeches, 
 and of whom she was so madly jealous. At times how she 
 suffered. The tortures of Dante s damned are pleasures to 
 the excruciating pangs of jealousy, and this the poor girl felt. 
 One night he had kissed her, just as he was about to rush on 
 the stage, but she held his hand and said: 
 
 " One more, darling, "but he had jerked his hand away, and 
 replied : 
 
 I shall get to hate you;" then seeing her droop her head, 
 and the tears fall unchecked, he said: "Oh, forgive me, I was 
 cruel;" but too late, he had broken her heart. After this she 
 
122 THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 
 
 was so quiet, watching him with hungry eyes, but asking for 
 no more kisses. 
 
 They were getting ready for the Christmas spectacle, and 
 she was a fairy, and had learned a little dance, and made a 
 beautiful dress, but all her spirit seemed gone. 
 
 Christmas -night ! The theater crowded, the spectacle mag 
 nificent, La Yiolette the sweetest fairy that ever trod the 
 
 stage. 
 
 Dear little Pet, you are pretty to-night." And her lover 
 looked pleased. How thankful she was for those few little 
 words. 
 
 Now the fairies were in a group, surrounded by many 
 colored lights. La Yiolette and her lover, in golden lace 
 armor, were to appear at the center, lit up with gorgeous 
 green and red fires; but just before the time, they noticed the 
 red fire, that was resting in a bottle near a scene, suddenly 
 ignite, some one having removed the cork, not knowing the 
 danger. In a moment the scene was in a blaze, the audience 
 in an uproar, not to be quieted; the fairies jumped into the 
 audience, and were saved, as the people were, with a few 
 broken limbs. But the stage was like a furnace; every egress 
 was cut off; and there stood La Yiolette and her lover, in a 
 halo of flames. 
 
 "Stay here one moment, and I will save you!" cried she. 
 Gathering her clothes tightly around her, and beating her 
 way with her other hand, she reached her room; then seizing 
 her heavy woolen shawl, she plunged it in the bowl of water 
 in which she had washed her face; then dashing the rest upon 
 herself, she twirled the shawl around her hand, and shattered 
 the large glass of the window; then rushing back, though 
 bleeding profusely from the cruel gash cut in her unprotected 
 
THE SISTERS PLEDGE. 123 
 
 wris4, she threw the shawl over her lover s head, and seizing 
 his liandj cried: 
 
 "Come! come! you shall be saved!" But the flames had 
 so increased that they caught her dainty dress and flowing 
 hair. Yet she dragged him to her room, and pointing to the 
 broken window, showed him a roof, pulling off the shawl. 
 
 Oh, God! what a sight met his eyes. She had sunk upon 
 the floor, blackened and bleeding, but still crying: 
 
 (Jo, darling! quick, quick, by the roof! Oh, save your 
 self!" But he stooped and raised her gently in his arm, and 
 wrapping tbe wet shawl about her, climbed with difficulty to 
 the adjoining roof. There he rested for a moment, but she 
 said : 
 
 "Kiss me, darling." And putting her poor arms about his 
 neck, with that kiss she died. And this was Mary. 
 
ESSAY 
 
 MANAGEMENT OF CHILDREN. 
 
 FIRMNESS. 
 
 *EE growing difficulty of the present day seems to be 
 how to manage children properly. The problem 
 would be easy of solution were we all not only be 
 lievers in the science of phrenology, but were the science 
 itself incontrovertibly true. 
 
 In a world of so many millions of inhabitants, no two of 
 whom are alike that is, of the civilized portion what would 
 be the best and proper means of managing one of the grow 
 ing generation might be totally inadequate to compass the 
 same end even with another child. of the same family; the 
 means must necessarily be almost as varied as the dispositions 
 to be controlled. 
 
 But there is one simple terse English word that, if rightly 
 understood and properly applied, would render a parent s 
 duty comparatively easy; -the dissyllable is firmness. 
 
 Now this does not of necessity mean sour looks, crosswords, 
 or even the rod; bat when once a command is given, see that 
 
FIRMNESS. 125 
 
 it is obeyed, no matter how much time, patience and trial of 
 temper it takes; remember, one victory will prevent what would 
 otherwise be a thousand subsequent defeats. One victory 
 gained without loss of temper, and if possible without a blow, 
 will increase the child s respect for his parents one hundred 
 fold. Do not give a dozen orders in so many minutes; haste 
 is not always speed; let each command be reasonable, and if 
 possible, not entirel ; contrary to the child s natural instincts; 
 for instance, to order a tender-hearted boy to kill a chicken, 
 duck, or perhaps an animal, when it would be a fearful pun 
 ishment for him, would be the utmost cruelty on the part of 
 one whose position could compel obedience; it would plant 
 the seeds of dislike, if not something worse, in the heart of the 
 child against its parent. This is only an instance, which of 
 course could be multiplied a thousand fold; but the object of 
 the writer of. this is to set parents to thinking more deeply of 
 their children s individualities and the best way to secure their 
 happiness, and with it their own. 
 
 Some children are born endowed with the perfection of 
 amiable dispositions, to whom the parent s wishes are as im 
 perative as their commands, who rarely quarrel, never fight; 
 whose faces are always clean, and clothes irreproachable; these 
 of course are easily managed; these are the good ones of the 
 earth; but were they the sole occupants thereof, or even the 
 majority, although the world would increase in morality, it 
 would remain at a stand-still in regard to scientific develop 
 ments and discoveries, and the progress of the arts and in 
 ventions. These are the moral balance of power, helping to 
 cause the beautiful perfection of the whole. 
 
 The energetic boy who cannot keep a toy whole for two 
 days, unless it is almost indestructible; the boy who is forever 
 
126 RESPECT TO PARENTS. 
 
 patched about the knees; the boy who is insatiable for " hap 
 pens/ or as we say " facts;" the boy who will never fight with 
 one smaller than himself, but who is ever ready to attack more 
 than his peer in age and size, who is ever ready to defend the 
 weaker or oppressed, whether human or brute, who is never still, 
 and asks more questions than a philosopher can answer this 
 is the boy who becomes the lever of the world, moving- it to 
 mighty achievements; but he is also the boy hard to manage; 
 terrible beatings, " breaking his spirit," supperlesstobed this 
 is not the way. Study him closely, allow his inclinations a 
 certain limit; if he goes beyond, or his active mind leads him 
 into what you consider neither beneficial to his moral or phys 
 ical development, then give your commands and see that they 
 are obeyed; but do not expect a man s head on a boy s shoul 
 ders. 
 
 RESPECT TO PARENTS. 
 
 NEXT to firmness as a means for the proper management of 
 children is the respect which each child should be taught to 
 feel for its parents from its earliest infancy. Filial love is 
 almost universal, but respect is often lacking. Mothers 
 make a great mistake in sacrificing everything for their 
 children, for it does not accomplish the end desired that 
 of increasing their happiness and goodness but rather tends 
 to render them selfish, disrespectful and egotistical. AVhat 
 respect can the daughter of to-day have for the mother who 
 is continually untidy and drudging in the kitchen? The 
 question: Why does she not help, thereby learning that labor 
 is no indignity, and cultivating, by a more constant commun- 
 
RESPECT TO PAKKXTS. 127 
 
 ion, a sympathetic appreciation for all that is good and beau 
 tiful in that mother s heart and life? is answered by the mother 
 herself: " She has her studies." That mother should know 
 that the studies will be easier, the sleep sweeter, the cheeks 
 redder, if some time were spent each day in physical labor, 
 and also that, being constantly seen doing the menial work of 
 the house, the daughter will come to think that the kitchen is 
 the mother s place, and finally be ashamed of her. To pro 
 vide the best clothes always for the daughter or son, while the 
 parents still wear the garments of several years ago, is another 
 mistake. The mother should have the new dress first, and the 
 father the new coat. Is not a boy happier if his mother is 
 praised and admired when she visits him at school, even if he 
 has a patch on his knee, than to be handsomely dressed him 
 self and have the boys sneeringly ask, Ci Is that your mother ? " 
 The education of to-day is so brilliant that an uneducated pa 
 rent is apt to jar unpleasantly on the nerves of the rising gen 
 eration; therefore parents should educate themselves continu 
 ally, to be at least the equal in intellect of their children the 
 master mind, if possible. Children should never be allowed 
 to use a vulgar word or an expression in the presence of their 
 parents which they would not be permitted to speak before 
 others; nor should children witness at home the indulgence 
 of vices which they are not expected to follow. What weight 
 can the word of a drunkard have with his son, or the word of 
 a constant swearer or a white liar ? What good advice will be 
 accepted from the mother who is constantly sending the little 
 ones for her beer, or who is continually backbiting her neigh 
 bors? Neither should children see their parents engaged in 
 any occupation or work in which the co-operation of those 
 capable of assisting could not be conscientiously asked. In 
 
128 THE DUTIES OF PARENTS. 
 
 the evening, especially, the parlor is the place for the whole 
 family, parents included, not excluded, as is so often the cus 
 tom, to the eternal detriment of the rising generation. A 
 husband may be secured for the daughter by thus compromis 
 ing him by the absence of the father or mother, but oftener a 
 breach of promise case inaugurated. Let the children see and 
 feel that their parents are the important ones of the house, 
 the heads of the family. In a word, if the father and mother 
 thoroughly respect themselves, the children will manifest the 
 honor and respect for their parents which are so generally in 
 culcated in religious teachings, but which are so seldom met 
 with in the homes of the land. The children will do the same, 
 thus making their management easy and a parent s duties the 
 greatest pleasures of this life. 
 
 THE DUTIES OF PARENTS. 
 
 THE exercise of the perfection of any one quality alone will 
 not insure the proper management of children. Their organ 
 izations are like the exquisite mechanism of a watch each part 
 for a different use, yet all necessary for the operation of the 
 whole, each requiring the utmost care and attention, a grain of 
 dust being capable of stopping the entire works. Each faculty 
 and taste or inclination of the child must be studied, and the 
 good ones encouraged to full development, the bad ones re 
 pressed, and later explained and, if possible, ridiculed into 
 quiescence; for ridicule, being almost certain death to good 
 qualities, should be also to evil propensities. If their minds 
 alone are fed, the work will not be perfect. After the arduous 
 studies of the day there should be a relaxation, with some 
 
THE DUTIES OF PARENTS. 129 
 
 healthy, cheerful amusement. If they have performed their 
 duties well during the hours devoted to school, it should 
 not be necessary for the home hours to be spent poring over 
 lessons. The teacher giving lengthy tasks, necessitating con 
 tinual study at home, should be severely censured as not 
 knowing his or her duty. It may be necessary for a few 
 of the duller scholars to spend an hour or so in study 
 outside of school, but this should be an exception to the 
 rule. Practicing music in the evening is not a cheerful 
 amusement, either to the performer or listener; but playing 
 or singing is, and should often be indulged in. Even little 
 boys are happier and gentler when they can sing or perform 
 on some instrument. Nothing so strengthens the bonds of 
 love in a family as singing together. It is one of the most 
 charming memories of home. The scoffs and jeers of pro 
 fessors and philosophers against amateur musicians should be 
 entirely ignored, remembering only the good that music does 
 in a family. 
 
 Little informal gatherings of friends, young and old, with 
 games, conversation, and even the simplest refreshment, help 
 to make home attractive. Family visiting should be cultiva 
 ted, and family excursions; the art galleries and things of in 
 terest should be seen together, for the stronger the bond is, 
 the better and purer the children will be. Dancing should 
 not be the only amusement; it is well enough once in a while, 
 but all parties should not begin and end with the intellect of 
 the feet. The early training of children should tend to render 
 them when grown capable of those conversations that some 
 times become historical, and are always worth listening to. 
 The practice of locking up the parlor except for company is 
 most pernicious, rendering the refining influence of pictures, 
 
130 THE DUTIES OF PARENTS. 
 
 statuettes and books of little avail. No parlor should be too 
 good or costly to render happier or better those most loved, 
 and kept for the entertainment of those for whom, we some 
 times care so little. To cook, eat, and also exist in the kitch 
 en, where a pleasant parlor is available, is not worthy a civil 
 ized being. But all careful supervision will be almost neu 
 tralized by the influence of one bad companion; therefore 
 children should be often questioned in a pleasant, uninquisi- 
 torial way about their associates at school and their compan 
 ions in their hours of play. Much future misery and shame 
 may thus be spared; the evil habits being formed will thus be 
 discovered, and can and must be nipped in the bud. One 
 thoroughly bad boy or girl will vitiate the morals of the chil 
 dren of a whole neighborhood, and his or her detestable char 
 acter must be pointed out, the ignominy to which it tends con 
 trasted with the nobility of a purer life, and their hearts ap 
 pealed to. A stern command that the association with such a 
 one shall be immediately discontinued, without these good rea 
 sons given, is apt to increase the danger by rendering the forbid 
 den companionship secret and more fascinating on that account. 
 Children between the period of school years and almost to 
 maturity should not be supposed to remain ignorant of many 
 of nature s laws, and therefore it is far better that they shall 
 learn from the gentle lips of a mother, or the discreet conver 
 sation of a father, what will otherwise be taught them in a dis 
 torted and very undesirable way by some too precocious com 
 panion. Children should, then, be studied closely and sup 
 plied with healthy amusements, good companions and a suf 
 ficiency of work. To teach them it is not incompatible with 
 dignity, so their hearts, minds and bodies should be brought 
 as near perfection as possible, and then our good sense will 
 accomplish the rest. 
 
WOMAN. 
 PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 
 
 * 
 
 j STAND up in defense of my sex. I stand up to hurl 
 
 ^ the gauntlet of defiance into the face of that old octo- 
 genarian, the London Saturday Review. I stand up 
 to defy the writers, young and old, rich and poor, male 
 or female, who willfully and with malice aforethought, vilify 
 the Present Woman. 
 
 The blushing, drooping modesty of a century ago was well 
 enough for feudal days and feudal castles, when the faintest 
 shriek from fair lips would summon a dozen knights errant 
 and cavaliers to the distressed one s side; when a woman w r as 
 only expected to look pretty and work embroidery; when mead 
 ran in the cellar, and w r hole carcasses of beef hung in the pan 
 try; wiien nothing more serious than the Troubadour s latest 
 song occupied the fair one s mind; then, indeed, this blushing, 
 drooping modesty was the fitting and expected characteristic 
 of the sex that then dared hardly risae their eyes to the faces 
 of their lords. 
 
 But in this rushing, bustling world, a woman is considered 
 as good as another man, to fight the battle of life, but not to 
 have quite as good a right. 
 
 Why, I ve seen a little woman just out of a sick bed, and 
 not tall enough to reach the strap, stand during a long ride in 
 
132 WOMAN. 
 
 a street car; she had as much right to stand as a healthy man, 
 and she did. Her blushing, or rather pale modesty, didn t 
 help her much. I ve seen these delicate creatures whom the 
 writers of the day deplore as having lost the blushing afore 
 said nearly pushed into the gutter, to make way for a strong 
 man; they had just as good a right to get their dainty feet 
 muddy as he; in fact, I ve felt the hard elbows in my own side, 
 and never even pushed back in retaliation; but I ve ground 
 my teeth and thought naughty things. 
 
 It s all very pretty to read about this drooping modesty, and 
 occasionally would light up well as a picture, with damask 
 and lace curtains as a background, and a hanging lamp and 
 handsome young man as auxiliaries; but for practical use in 
 this work-a-clay world we want just such women as we have 
 got hard-headed, and hard-handed, too, sometimes, with a 
 dogged determination to hold their own even against a thou 
 sand male competitors. 
 
 I will tell you some facts to support my arguments. In 
 Philadelphia, in the year 187-, there were two lady engravers, 
 and but two who made it a profession, so I was told, in the 
 whole city. One of them I knew- she worked for years illus 
 trating Godey s Lady s Book, and her work was as good as that 
 in any contemporary magazine; but the male engravers I 
 will not call them men determined that those two women 
 should not be competitors, even if they had to do the work for 
 that magazine for nothing; so they underbid and underbid 
 them, till at last they got their wish, and years of faithful ser 
 vice was forgotten in that goodly city, because the stronger 
 sex wanted no women rivals, so would work cheaper at least 
 till they got rid of them. 
 
 Then, again, one of these ladies was for years the teacher of 
 
WOMAN. 133 
 
 on graving in a school of design; a man came and offered to teach 
 for nothing; magnanimous creature! and the female shaming 
 her sex who conducted the establishment accepted the offer. 
 How long he taught for nothing after this gallant action is 
 not hard to surmise. 
 
 Will the London Saturday Review, and the thousand and 
 one other howlers, please tell us what retiring, modest sim 
 plicity would have accomplished in these cases? Perhaps a 
 deluge of tears, or a few fainting fits, would have softened these 
 male creatures hearts, and the weak sisters would have been 
 permitted to earn their own living in peace; but we doubt it. 
 And such are the people and circumstances women have daily 
 to encounter in this weary struggle for existence. Is it not 
 enough to rub the blush and bloom off beauty s cheek, to 
 harden the native delicacy of her feelings, to make her try to 
 educate herself as man to meet man ? 
 
 This is all very well, you may think, for the working class; 
 but this is a great class. Watch the streets of a large city at 
 six P. M., near the manufactories, and you will be surprised to 
 see the crowd of girls and women, with their little baskets 
 and bundles; then there are thousands who do not go in 
 crowds, from the photograph galleries, the counters, the 
 school-rooms, the theaters, the printing-offices, the opera- 
 singers, the servant girls, and our poor, poor despised saloon- 
 waiters and singers. 
 
 One-half of this vast army have been as delicately brought 
 up as the blushing-modesty people could wish; but they soon 
 find that actual life is somewhat different from romance, and 
 that the Don Quixotes are, alas! all dead; that the prizes are 
 for those that can battle the hardest, and not for the retiring, 
 easily vanquished, humble woman. Is it a wonder, then, that 
 
134 WOMAN. 
 
 their air is a little more defiant than may be desirable, or their 
 voice a shade louder, or their lives more independent ? 
 
 I despise the girl or woman who is always looking out for an 
 insult, and can make a double entendre of every little joke 
 that s uttered. I ve seen such; these are the horsewhipping, 
 cowhiding kind. I ve seen that, too, in one of the largest of 
 Eastern theaters, where the women screamed, "Don t let him 
 hit her," when the " he" apparently had no intention of doing 
 anything but hold the infuriated woman s arms. I thought 
 her blushing modesty deserved a right smart beating in re 
 turn. 
 
 I ve heard of the blushing kind replying to the remarks of 
 strangers, and then when one shows pretty plainly what he 
 thinks she is, she is indignant and calls on her big brother, or 
 avenges her own honor in some public place. Had she walked 
 on with her eyes before her, attending to her own affairs, in a 
 sensible, business way, not trying the game of dropping eye 
 lids and faltering footsteps, to be admired as so unsophisti 
 cated! she could go through the w^orld without one insult, or 
 many occasions to do blushing either. 
 
 We w T ant to know where the women of to-day have so dete 
 riorated that all these cries should be raised against them; 
 can t they do as much as they ever did ? Aye, a thousand 
 times more! Look how many women support their families, 
 or help their husbands to do so, or provide for a mother, or 
 dependent little sisters and brothers! in so many different 
 branches of industry, too, that a few years ago were sealed 
 books to women. 
 
 Letters from the great exposition tells of some good inven 
 tions emanating from female brains. One, a fire-proof build 
 ing material, which, if it be all that is claimed, will prove a 
 
WOMAN. 135 
 
 valuable epoch in the world s history. In our own little fair 
 here, women made their presence known with their sweet 
 tar-drops, and their hair-restorer; and who will deny the 
 palm to a woman for the boon of all boons at least most 
 married men think so Mrs. "Winslow s soothing syrup ? How 
 many a night would the masculine rest be broken, the peace 
 ful dreams annihilated, the morning nap disturbed, had not 
 kind Providence permitted the woman "Wiiislow to be born 
 and bred! 
 
 Education, too, is more universal than it ever was before; 
 and as for the modesty in dress, no one who looks at a lady s 
 magazine of fifty or sixty years ago will pretend that our dear 
 ancestors set us an example that could be followed without 
 the greatest scandal in these, according to their cry, degraded 
 days. A petticoat or gown of the scantiest pattern, showing 
 foot, ankle, shape and bosom; a net-work of pearls or gold 
 braid covering the whole, until the extravagance was pro 
 hibited by a decree from the throne. I ve seen the book 
 tiny slippers, long white gloves, a few short, fleecy curls, and 
 a lady was in full dress for court or ball. 
 
 And they cry, too, so much about a woman s make-up; this 
 is of nonsense the very sheerest. In the car, the other day, 
 of all the women there, some eight or more, I could almost 
 take my I w r as going to swear! oh, my! that not one was the 
 least made up by pad or bustle, hair or jute, paint or powder, 
 except the little that perhaps remained on my face, and that 
 the great majority of women are likewise as nature made them. 
 
 Those that are made up, what does it amount to ? A little 
 cotton where nature has been illiberal, a newspaper to give 
 the dress a proper set, and a little powder to soften the effect 
 of tan or freckles. There are a few exceptions to the rule, 
 
136 WOMAN. 
 
 of course, but not enough to warrant the conclusion that we 
 are all going headlong to the . 
 
 These very croakers would smile sweeter, and raise their 
 hats higher, to a pretty woman, even if they knew that art 
 helped to make her a joy forever, than they would to rusty, 
 dusty sii plicity, with a drooping head and a giggle. 
 
 I can imagine drooping, blushing modesty changed into a 
 wife of to-day; after the first three weeks her husband would 
 tell her she was a fool to be so sensitive, and not to blush 
 whenever a person looked at her, as if she was ashamed of her 
 self ; and ten to one, she would have to gird up her loins for 
 a good day s washing before many months were over, if she 
 had not the spirit to say "I shan t!" and stick to it. 
 
 I don t deprecate modesty, mind me, but maintain that the 
 women of the present clay are as modest as is necessary to 
 good sense; in fact, as modest as they ever were. 
 
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