There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The pen shall supersede the sword, And Right, not Might, shall be the lord In the good time coming. Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger; The proper impulse has been given;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys A good time coming: War in all men's eyes shall be A monster of iniquity In the good time coming. Nations shall not quarrel then, To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Hateful rivalries of creed Shall not make their martyrs bleed In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And Charity shall trim her lamp;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: And a poor man's family Shall not be his misery In the good time coming. Every child shall be a help To make his right arm stronger; The happier he, the more he has:— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Little children shall not toil Under, or above, the soil In the good time coming; But shall play in healthful fields, Till limbs and mind grow stronger; And every one shall read and write;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The people shall be temperate, And shall love instead of hate, In the good time coming. They shall use, and not abuse, And make all virtue stronger; The reformation has begun;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Let us aid it all we can, Every woman, every man, The good time coming: Smallest helps, if rightly given, Make the impulse stronger; 'T will be strong enough one day;— Wait a little longer.

CHARLES MACKAY

* * * * *



WINDY NIGHTS

Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet. A man goes riding by, Late at night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

* * * * *



THE WONDERFUL WORLD

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are beautifully drest.

The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree— It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the top of the hills.

You friendly Earth, how far do you go, With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah! you are so great, and I am so small, I hardly can think of you, World, at all; And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,

"If the wonderful World is great to you, And great to father and mother, too, You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot! You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"

WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS

* * * * *



HARK! HARK! THE LARK

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

* * * * *

JOG ON, JOG ON

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

* * * * *



SWEET STORY OF OLD

I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How He call'd little children as lambs to His fold, I should like to have been with them then.

I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said, "Let the little ones come unto me."

Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in His love; And if I thus earnestly seek Him below, I shall see Him and hear Him above;

In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven; And many dear children shall be with Him there, For of such is the kingdom of heaven.

But thousands and thousands who wander and fall, Never heard of that heavenly home; I wish they could know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come.

JEMIMA LUKE

* * * * *



MY SHADOW

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see, He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed!

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

* * * * *



BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL

By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose!

Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God.

By cool Siloam's shady rill The lily must decay; The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, And stormy passion's rage.

O Thou, whose infant feet were found Within thy Father's shrine, Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned, Were all alike divine;

Dependent on thy bounteous breath, We seek thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us still thine own.

REGINALD HEBER

* * * * *



THE WIND IN A FROLIC

The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a madcap galloping chase! I'll make a commotion in every place!" So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. There never was heard a much lustier shout, As the apples and oranges tumbled about; And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the fields it went blustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming. It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till, offended at such a familiar salute, They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks; Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks; Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray, Or the traveler grave on the King's highway. It was not too nice to bustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags, 'T was so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys, they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud.

WILLIAM HOWITT

* * * * *



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD

They grew in beauty, side by side, They filled one home with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair, sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight: Where are those sleepers now?

One, midst the forest of the West, By a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one; He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are dressed Above the noble slain; He wrapped the colors round his breast On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one—o'er her the myrtle showers Its leaves by soft winds fanned; She faded midst Italian flowers— The last of that fair band.

And parted thus, they rest who played Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee.

They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth; Alas for love! if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O earth!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

* * * * *



WE ARE SEVEN

... A simple child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage-girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were bright, and very fair— Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wond'ring looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven?—I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be?"

Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive: If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit— I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" The little maiden did reply, "O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; these two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'T was throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

* * * * *



THE BETTER LAND

"I hear thee speak of the better land; Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance through the myrtle boughs?"— "Not there, not there my child!"

"Is it where the feathery palm trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"— "Not there, not there, my child!"

"Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"— "Not there, not there, my child!"

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy; Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,— Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom; For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child!"

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

* * * * *



THE JUVENILE ORATOR

You'd scarce expect one of my age To speak in public, on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by.

Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow; And though I now am small and young, Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue, Yet all great learned men—like me— Once learned to read their A, B, C.

And why may not Columbia's soil Rear men as great as Britain's isle, Exceed what Greece and Rome have done, Or any land beneath the sun?

May n't Massachusetts prove as great As any other sister state? Or, where's the town, go far or near, That does not find a rival here? Or, where 's the boy but three feet high Who's made improvement more than I?

Those thoughts inspire my youthful mind To be the greatest of mankind; Great, not like Caesar, stained with blood; But only great, as I am good.

DAVID EVERETT

* * * * *



THE FOX AND THE CROW

A FABLE

The fox and the crow, In prose, I well know, Many good little girls can rehearse: Perhaps it will tell Pretty nearly as well, If we try the same fable in verse.

In a dairy a crow, Having ventured to go, Some food for her young ones to seek, Flew up in the trees, With a fine piece of cheese, Which she joyfully held in her beak.

A fox, who lived by, To the tree saw her fly, And to share in the prize made a vow; For having just dined, He for cheese felt inclined, So he went and sat under the bough.

She was cunning, he knew, But so was he too, And with flattery adapted his plan; For he knew if she'd speak, It must fall from her beak, So, bowing politely, began.

"'T is a very fine day" (Not a word did she say): "The wind, I believe, ma'am, is south: A fine harvest for peas:" He then looked at the cheese, But the crow did not open her mouth.

Sly Reynard, not tired, Her plumage admired, "How charming! how brilliant its hue! The voice must be fine, Of a bird so divine, Ah, let me just hear it, pray do.

"Believe me, I long To hear a sweet song!" The silly crow foolishly tries: She scarce gave one squall, When the cheese she let fall, And the fox ran away with the prize.

MORAL

Ye innocent fair, Of coxcombs beware, To flattery never give ear; Try well each pretense, And keep to plain sense, And then you have little to fear.

LITTLE B. (TAYLOR?)

* * * * *



THE USE OF FLOWERS

God might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak tree and the cedar tree, Without a flower at all.

We might have had enough, enough For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers.

The ore within the mountain mine Requireth none to grow; Nor doth it need the lotus flower To make the river flow.

The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night,—

Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountain high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth?— To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth;

To comfort man, to whisper hope Whene'er his faith is dim; For Whoso careth for the flowers Will much more care for him.

MARY HOWITT

* * * * *



CONTENTED JOHN

One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher, Although he was poor, did not want to be richer; For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate habit of being contented.

Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food, John never was found in a murmuring mood; For this he was constantly heard to declare,— What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear.

"For why should I grumble and murmur?" he said; "If I cannot get meat, I can surely get bread; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper."

If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, He wished himself better, but did not complain, Nor lie down and fret in despondence and sorrow, But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow.

If any one wronged him or treated him ill, Why, John was good-natured and sociable still; For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogues when there need be but one,

And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher.

JANE TAYLOR

* * * * *



THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William—a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone: Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death: Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage: In the days of my youth I remembered my God; And he hath not forgotten my age."

ROBERT SOUTHEY

* * * * *



THE FROST

The frost looked forth on a still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height I'll silently take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they!"

He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed With diamonds and pearls;—and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A bright coat of mail, that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock was rearing its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed—wherever he stepped— Most beautiful things were seen By morning's first light! There were flowers and trees, With bevies of birds and swarms of bright bees; There were cities—temples, and towers; and these, All pictured in silvery sheen!

But one thing he did that was hardly fair— He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That none had remembered for him to prepare, "Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he, "This burly old pitcher—I'll burst it in three! And the glass with the water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

HANNAH FLAGG GOULD

* * * * *



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large and smooth and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plow The plowshare turns them out! For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 't was all about," Young Peterkin he cries; While little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for I could not well make out. But everybody said," quoth he, "That 't was a famous victory.

"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly: So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died: But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene." "Why 't was a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay—nay—my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." "And what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin. "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 't was a famous victory."

ROBERT SOUTHEY

* * * * *



THE CHAMELEON

A FABLE

FROM M. DE LAMOTTE

Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, With eyes, that hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post;

Yet round the world the blade has been To see whatever could be seen, Returning from his finished tour, Grown ten times perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, The traveled fool your mouth will stop: "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow, I've seen—and sure I ought to know," So begs you'd pay a due submission, And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travelers of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed And on their way in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and then of that, Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter. Of the chameleon's form and nature. "A stranger animal," cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun. A lizard's body, lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, Its foot with triple claw disjoined; And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace; and then its hue— Who ever saw so fine a blue?"

"Hold, there," the other quick replies, "'T is green, I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warmed it in the sunny ray: Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue; At leisure I the beast surveyed, Extending in the cooling shade." "'T is green, 't is green, sir I assure ye!" "Green!" cries the other in a fury—

"Why, sir!—d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" "'T were no great loss," the friend replies, "For, if they always serve you thus, You'll find them of but little use."

So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows; When luckily came by a third— To him the question they referred, And begged he'd tell 'em, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother! The creature's neither one nor t' other. I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candlelight: I marked it well—'t was black as jet— You stare—but sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it." "Pray, sir, do: I'll lay my life the thing is blue." "And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," Replies the man, "I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." He said: then full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo!—'t was white.

Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise— "My children," the chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue,) "You are all right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you; Nor wonder, if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own."

JAMES MERRICK

* * * * *



THE BLACKBERRY GIRL

"Why, Phebe, are you come so soon? Where are your berries, child? You cannot, sure, have sold them all, You had a basket piled."

"No, mother, as I climbed the fence, The nearest way to town, My apron caught upon the stake, And so I tumbled down.

"I scratched my arm and tore my hair, But still did not complain; And had my blackberries been safe, Should not have cared a grain.

"But when I saw them on the ground. All scattered by my side, I picked my empty basket up, And down I sat and cried.

"Just then a pretty little Miss Chanced to be walking by; She stopped, and looking pitiful, She begged me not to cry.

"'Poor little girl, you fell,' said she, 'And must be sadly hurt;' 'Oh, no,' I cried; 'but see my fruit, All mixed with sand and dirt.'

"'Well, do not grieve for that,' she said; 'Go home, and get some more,' 'Ah, no, for I have stripped the vines, These were the last they bore.

"'My father, Miss, is very poor, And works in yonder stall; He has so many little ones, He cannot clothe us all.

"'I always longed to go to church, But never could I go; For when I asked him for a gown, He always answered, "No.

"'"There's not a father in the world That loves his children more; I'd get you one with all my heart, But, Phebe, I am poor."

"'But when the blackberries were ripe, He said to me one day, "Phebe, if you will take the time That's given you for play,

"'"And gather blackberries enough, And carry them to town, To buy your bonnet and your shoes, I'll try to get a gown."

"'Oh, Miss, I fairly jumped for joy, My spirits were so light; And so, when I had leave to play, I picked with all my might.

"'I sold enough to get my shoes, About a week ago; And these, if they had not been spilt, Would buy a bonnet, too.

"'But now they're gone, they all are gone, And I can get no more, And Sundays I must stay at home, Just as I did before.'

"And, mother, then I cried again As hard as I could cry; And looking up, I saw a tear Was standing in her eye.

"She caught her bonnet from her head, 'Here, here,' she cried, 'take this!' 'Oh, no, indeed—I fear your ma Would be offended, Miss.'

"'My ma! no, never; she delights All sorrow to beguile; And 't is the sweetest joy she feels, To make the wretched smile.

"'She taught me when I had enough, To share it with the poor; And never let a needy child, Go empty from the door.

"'So take it, for you need not fear Offending her, you see; I have another, too, at home, And one's enough for me,'

"So then I took it—here it is— For pray what could I do? And, mother, I shall love that Miss As long as I love you."

UNKNOWN

* * * * *



MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY

A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME

PART I

"Arise, my maiden, Mabel," The mother said; "arise, For the golden sun of midsummer Is shining in the skies.

"Arise, my little maiden, For thou must speed away, To wait upon thy grandmother This livelong summer day.

"And thou must carry with thee This wheaten cake so fine, This new-made pat of butter, This little flask of wine;

"And tell the dear old body, This day I cannot come, For the goodman went out yestermorn. And he is not come home.

"And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie; I fear me, with this fever pain The little child will die!

"And thou canst help thy grandmother: The table thou canst spread; Canst feed the little dog and bird; And thou canst make her bed.

"And thou canst fetch the water From the lady-well hard by; And thou canst gather from the wood The fagots brown and dry;

"Canst go down to the lonesome glen, To milk the mother ewe; This is the work, my Mabel, That thou wilt have to do.

"But listen now, my Mabel, This is midsummer day, When all the fairy people From elfland come away.

"And when thou 'rt in the lonesome glen, Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry flower, Nor break the lady-fern.

"But think not of the fairy folk, Lest mischief should befall; Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all.

"Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If thou the fairies see, And give them kindly answer If they should speak to thee.

"And when into the fir-wood Thou goest for fagots brown, Do not, like idle children, Go wandering up and down.

"But fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed; And that thou break no living bough Within the wood take heed.

"For they are spiteful brownies Who in the wood abide; So be thou careful of this thing, Lest evil should betide.

"But think not, little Mabel, Whilst thou art in the wood, Of dwarfish, willful brownies, But of the Father good.

"And when thou goest to the spring To fetch the water thence, Do not disturb the little stream, Lest this should give offense.

"For the queen of all the fairies, She loves that water bright; I've seen her drinking there myself On many a summer night.

"But she's a gracious lady, And her thou need'st not fear; Only disturb thou not the stream, Nor spill the water clear."

"Now all this I will heed, mother, Will no word disobey, And wait upon the grandmother This livelong summer day."

PART II

Away tripped little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine, With the new-made pat of butter, And the little flask of wine.

And long before the sun was hot, And the summer mist had cleared, Beside the good old grandmother The willing child appeared.

And all her mother's message She told with right good-will, How that the father was away, And the little child was ill.

And then she swept the hearth up clean, And then the table spread; And next she fed the dog and bird; And then she made the bed.

"And go now," said the grandmother, "Ten paces down the dell, And bring in water for the day,— Thou know'st the lady-well."

The first time that good Mabel went, Nothing at all saw she, Except a bird, a sky-blue bird, That sat upon a tree.

The next time that good Mabel went, There sat a lady bright Beside the well,—a lady small, All clothed in green and white.

A courtesy low made Mabel, And then she stooped to fill Her pitcher at the sparkling spring, But no drop did she spill.

"Thou art a handy maiden," The fairy lady said; "Thou hast not spilt a drop, nor yet The fairy spring troubled!

"And for this thing which thou hast done, Yet mayst not understand, I give to thee a better gift Than houses or than land.

"Thou shalt do well whate'er thou dost, As thou hast done this day; Shalt have the will and power to please, And shalt be loved alway."

Thus having said, she passed from sight, And naught could Mabel see, But the little bird, the sky-blue bird, Upon the leafy tree.

"And now go," said the grandmother, "And fetch in fagots dry; All in the neighboring fir-wood Beneath the trees they lie."

Away went kind, good Mabel, Into the fir-wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown. And the grass grew thin and sear.

She did not wander up and down, Nor yet a live branch pull, But steadily of the fallen boughs She picked her apron full.

And when the wildwood brownies Came sliding to her mind, She drove them thence, as she was told, With home thoughts sweet and kind.

But all that while the brownies Within the fir-wood still, They watched her how she picked the wood, And strove to do no ill.

"And, oh, but she is small and neat," Said one; "'t were shame to spite A creature so demure and meek, A creature harmless quite!"

"Look only," said another, "At her little gown of blue; At her kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe!"

"Oh, but she is a comely child," Said a third; "and we will lay A good-luck penny in her path, A boon for her this day,— Seeing she broke no living wood; No live thing did affray!"

With that the smallest penny, Of the finest silver ore, Upon the dry and slippery path, Lay Mabel's feet before.

With joy she picked the penny up, The fairy penny good; And with her fagots dry and brown Went wandering from the wood.

"Now she has that," said the brownies, "Let flax be ever so dear, 'T will buy her clothes of the very best, For many and many a year!"

"And go now," said the grandmother, "Since falling is the dew, Go down unto the lonesome glen, And milk the mother ewe!"

All down into the lonesome glen, Through copses thick and wild, Through moist rank grass, by trickling streams, Went on the willing child.

And when she came to the lonesome glen, She kept beside the burn, And neither plucked the strawberry flower Nor broke the lady fern.

And while she milked the mother ewe Within this lonesome glen, She wished that little Amy Were strong and well again.

And soon as she thought this thought, She heard a coming sound, As if a thousand fairy folk Were gathering all around.

And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, That spake aloud,—"A human child Is here; yet mark this thing,—

"The lady-fern is all unbroke, The strawberry flower unta'en! What shall be done for her who still From mischief can refrain?"

"Give her a fairy cake!" said one; "Grant her a wish!" said three; "The latest wish that she hath wished," Said all, "whate'er it be!"

Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, And from the lonesome glen Unto the good old grandmother Went gladly back again.

Thus happened it to Mabel On that midsummer day, And these three fairy blessings She took with her away.

'T is good to make all duty sweet, To be alert and kind; 'T is good, like little Mabel, To have a willing mind.

MARY HOWITT

* * * * *



LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG

The spearmen heard the bugle sound, And cheer'ly smiled the morn; And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer; "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear?

"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam, The flower of all his race? So true, so brave—a lamb at home, A lion in the chase."

That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with gouts of gore His lips and fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise; Unused such looks to meet, His fav'rite checked his joyful guise, And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed (And on went Gelert too), And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood gouts shocked his view!

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The blood-stained cover rent; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent.

He called his child—no voice replied; He searched with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found his child!

"Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured!" The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side.

His suppliant, as to earth he fell, No pity could impart; But still his Gelert's dying yell Passed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry!

Concealed beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kissed!

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, But the same couch beneath Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,— Tremendous still in death!

Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! For now the truth was clear; The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; "Best of thy kind, adieu! The frantic deed which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue!"

And now a gallant tomb they raised, With costly sculpture decked; And marbles storied with his praise Poor Gelert's bones protect.

Here never could the spearmen pass, Or forester, unmoved, Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear, And oft, as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell.

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER

* * * * *



THE SNOWBIRD'S SONG

The ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snowbird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.

He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song: "Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she; "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee. Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose; I wish he'd come into the parlor and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee." Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

"There is one, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?" And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee. Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH

* * * * *



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT

Is there for honest poverty Wha hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp,— The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,— A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that— Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might,— Guid faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that; Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,— As come it will for a' that,— That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that,— When man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that!

ROBERT BURNS

* * * * *



FABLES

* * * * *

FABLES FROM AESOP

* * * * *

THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS

There was a man who once had a very handsome goose, that always laid golden eggs. Now, he thought there must be gold inside of her, so he wrung her neck straightway, and found she was exactly like all other geese. He thought to find riches, and lost the little he had.

The fable teaches that one who has anything should be content with it, and avoid covetousness, lest he lose what he has.

* * * * *



THE BOYS AND THE FROGS

A company of idle boys were watching some frogs by the side of a pond, and as fast as any of the frogs lifted their heads the boys would pelt them down again with stones.

"Boys," said one of the frogs, "you forget that, though this may be fun for you, it is death to us."

* * * * *



THE LION AND THE MOUSE

A mouse happened to run into the mouth of a sleeping lion, who roused himself, caught him, and was just about eating him, when the little fellow begged him to let him go, saying, "If I am saved, I shall be everlastingly grateful." So, with a smile, the lion let him off. It befell him not long after to be saved by the mouse's gratitude, for when he was caught by some hunters and bound by ropes to a tree, the mouse, hearing his roaring groans, came and gnawed the ropes, and set him free, saying, "You laughed at me once, as if you could receive no return from me, but now, you see, it is you who have to be grateful to me."

The story shows that there come sudden changes of affairs, when the most powerful owe everything to the weakest.

* * * * *



THE FOX AND THE GRAPES

A hungry fox discovered some bunches of grapes hanging from a vine high up a tree, and, as he gazed, longed to get at them, and could not; so he left them hanging there and went off muttering, "They're sour grapes."

* * * * *



THE FROG AND THE OX

An ox, grazing in a swampy meadow, chanced to set his foot among a parcel of young frogs, and crushed nearly the whole brood to death. One that escaped ran off to his mother with the dreadful news. "O mother," said he, "it was a beast—such a big four-footed beast, that did it!" "Big?" quoth the old frog, "How big? was it as big"—and she puffed herself out—"as big as this?" "Oh, a great deal bigger than that." "Well, was it so big?" and she swelled herself out yet more. "Indeed, mother, but it was; and if you were to burst yourself, you would never reach half its size." The old frog made one more trial, determined to be as big as the ox, and burst herself, indeed.

* * * * *



THE CAT, THE MONKEY, AND THE CHESTNUTS

A cat and a monkey were sitting one day in the chimney corner watching some chestnuts which their master had laid down to roast in the ashes. The chestnuts had begun to burst with the heat, and the monkey said to the cat, "It is plain that your paws were made especially for pulling out those chestnuts. Do you reach forth and draw them out. Your paws are, indeed, exactly like our master's hands." The cat was greatly flattered by this speech, and reached forward for the tempting chestnuts, but scarcely had he touched the hot ashes than he drew back with a cry, for he had burnt his paw; but he tried again, and managed to pull one chestnut out; then he pulled another, and a third, though each time he singed the hair on his paws. When he could pull no more out he turned about and found that the monkey had taken the time to crack the chestnuts and eat them.

* * * * *



THE COUNTRY MAID AND HER MILKPAIL

A country maid was walking slowly along with a pail of milk upon her head, and thinking thus:

"The money for which I shall sell this milk will buy me three hundred eggs. These eggs, allowing for what may prove addled, will produce at least two hundred and fifty chickens. The chickens will be fit to carry to market about Christmas, when poultry always brings a good price, so that by May-day I shall have money enough to buy a new gown. Let me see—green suits me; yes, it shall be green. In this dress I will go to the fair, where all the young fellows will want me for a partner, but I shall refuse every one of them." By this time she was so full of her fancy that she tossed her head proudly, when over went the pail, which she had entirely forgotten, and all the milk was spilled on the ground.

Moral. Don't count your chickens before they are hatched.

* * * * *



THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN

The Ass once dressed himself in the Lion's skin and went about frightening all the little beasts. Now he happened on the Fox, and tried to frighten him too; but the Fox chanced to hear him speak, and said: "Well, to be sure, I should have been frightened too, if I hadn't heard you bray, and seen your ears sticking out."

So there are some men who make themselves appear very fine outwardly, but are betrayed as soon as they begin to talk.

* * * * *



THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE

"What a dull, heavy creature," says the Hare, "is this Tortoise!" "And yet," says the Tortoise, "I'll run with you for a wager." "Done," says the Hare, and then they asked the Fox to be the judge. They started together, and the Tortoise kept jogging on still, till he came to the end of the course. The Hare laid himself down midway and took a nap; "for," says he, "I can catch up with the Tortoise when I please." But it seems he overslept himself, for when he came to wake, though he scudded away as fast as possible, the Tortoise had got to the post before him and won the wager.

Slow and steady wins the race.

* * * * *



THE VAIN JACKDAW

A jackdaw picked up some beautiful feathers left by the peacocks on the ground. He stuck them into his own tail, and, thinking himself too fine to mix with the other daws, strutted off to the peacocks, expecting to be welcomed as one of themselves.

The peacocks at once saw through his disguise, and, despising him for his foolishness and conceit, began to peck him, and soon he was stripped of all his borrowed plumes.

Very much ashamed, the jackdaw went sadly home, meaning to join his old friends as if nothing had happened. But they, remembering how he had scorned them before, chased him away and would have nothing to do with him.

"If you had been content," said one, "to remain as nature made you, instead of trying to be what you are not, you would have neither been punished by your betters nor despised by your equals."

* * * * *



THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL

A fox lost his tail in escaping from a steel trap. When he began to go about again, he found that every one looked down upon or laughed at him. Not liking this, he thought to himself that if he could persuade the other foxes to cut off their tails, his own loss would not be so noticeable.

Accordingly he called together the foxes and said: "How is it that you still wear your tails? Of what use are they? They are in the way, they often get caught in traps, they are heavy to carry and not pretty to look upon. Believe me, we are far better without them. Cut off your tails, my friends, and you will see how much more comfortable it is. I for my part have never enjoyed myself so much nor found life so pleasant as I have since I lost mine."

Upon this, a sly old fox, seeing through the trick, cried, "It seems to me, my friend, that you would not be so anxious for us to cut off our tails, if you had not already lost yours."

* * * * *



THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING

A wolf put on the skin of a sheep, and getting in among the flock by means of this disguise, killed many of the sheep. The shepherd, who wondered why so many of his flock had disappeared, at last discovered the deceit. He fastened a rope cunningly round the pretended sheep's neck, led him to a tree, and there hanged him.

Some other shepherds passing that way and seeing what they thought was a sheep hanging from a tree, said, "What, brother! Surely you do not hang sheep?"

"No," answered the shepherd, "but I hang wolves when I catch them dressed up in sheep's skins!"

Then he showed them their mistake, and they praised the justice of the deed he had done.

* * * * *



THE CROW AND THE PITCHER

A crow, whose throat was parched and dry with thirst, saw a pitcher in the distance. In great joy he flew to it, but found that it held only a little water, and even that was too near the bottom to be reached, for all his stooping and straining. Next he tried to overturn the pitcher, thinking that he would at least be able to catch some of the water as it trickled out. But this he was not strong enough to do. In the end he found some pebbles lying near, and by dropping them one by one into the pitcher, he managed at last to raise the water up to the very brim, and thus was able to quench his thirst.

* * * * *



THE MAN, HIS SON, AND HIS ASS

A man and his son were leading their ass to market. A girl, seeing them, cried, "Why walk when you can ride?" On hearing this, the man set his son upon the ass.

Going further, they heard an old man say, "Shame for the young to ride while old people walk!" Thereupon the man made his son get down and rode himself.

Presently they met some women who cried, "Look at the poor tired son and lazy father!" Hearing this, the man took his son up beside him and so they rode into the town.

There a young man called to them, "Two men on one beast! It seems to me you are more fit to carry the ass than he is to carry you."

Then they got down, tied the beast's legs to a pole, and carried him thus till they came to a bridge. As they went, the children shouted so loudly that the ass took fright—kicked his legs free, and jumped over the bridge into the river.

Thus having lost his ass, the man went home, crying, "Try to please everybody and you will please nobody, not even yourself!"

* * * * *



FABLES OF INDIA

ADAPTED BY P. V. RAMASWAMI RAJU

* * * * *

THE CAMEL AND THE PIG

A camel said, "Nothing like being tall! See how tall I am." A pig who heard these words said, "Nothing like being short; see how short I am!"

The camel said, "Well, if I fail to prove the truth of what I said, I will give you my hump."

The pig said, "If I fail to prove the truth of what I have said, I will give up my snout."

"Agreed!" said the camel.

"Just so!" said the pig.

They came to a garden inclosed by a low wall without any opening. The camel stood on this side the wall, and, reaching the plants within by means of his long neck, made a breakfast on them. Then he turned jeeringly to the pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall, without even having a look at the good things in the garden, and said, "Now, would you be tall or short?"

Next they came to a garden inclosed by a high wall, with a wicket gate at one end. The pig entered by the gate, and, after having eaten his fill of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor camel, who had had to stay outside, because he was too tall to enter the garden by the gate, and said, "Now, would you be tall or short?"

Then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the camel should keep his hump and the pig his snout, observing:

"Tall is good, where tall would do; Of short, again, 't is also true!"

* * * * *



THE MAN AND HIS PIECE OF CLOTH

A man in the East, where they do not require as much clothing as in colder climates, gave up all worldly concerns and retired to a wood, where he built a hut and lived in it.

His only clothing was a piece of cloth which he wore round his waist. But, as ill-luck would have it, rats were plentiful in the wood, so he had to keep a cat. The cat required milk to keep it, so a cow had to be kept. The cow required tending, so a cow-boy was employed. The boy required a house to live in, so a house was built for him. To look after the house a maid had to be engaged. To provide company for the maid a few more houses had to be built, and people invited to live in them. In this manner a little township sprang up.

The man said, "The further we seek to go from the world and its cares, the more they multiply!"

* * * * *



THE SEA, THE FOX, AND THE WOLF

A fox that lived by the seashore once met a wolf that had never seen the sea. The wolf said, "What is the sea?"

"It is a great piece of water by my dwelling," said the fox.

"Is it under your control?" asked the wolf.

"Certainly," said the fox.

"Will you show me the sea, then?" said the wolf.

"With pleasure," said the fox. So the fox led the wolf to the sea, and said to the waves, "Now go back,"—they went back. "Now come up,"—and they came up! Then the fox said to the waves, "My friend, the wolf, has come to see you, so you will come up and go back till I bid you stop;" and the wolf saw, with wonder, the waves coming up and going back.

He said to the fox, "May I go into the sea?"

"As far as you like. Don't be afraid, for, at a word, the sea would go or come as I bid, and as you have already seen."

The wolf believed the fox, and followed the waves rather far from the shore. A great wave soon upset him, and threw up his carcass on the shore. The fox made a hearty breakfast on it, saying, "The fool's ear was made for the knave's tongue."

* * * * *



THE BIRDS AND THE LIME

A fowler in the East once went to a wood, scattered some grain on the ground, spread a net over it with some lime in it, and was watching from a distance to see what luck would attend his efforts.

A great many birds assembled on the trees around the net, and said, "What fine corn that is! We can seldom hope to get anything like it."

An owl that was close by said, "How nice that white thing in the net is!"

"What is it?" said the birds.

"Why, it is our best friend in the world; it is lime. When it holds us in its embrace, we can never hope to get away."

The birds left the place at once. Said the fowler, "A clever bird knows the lime!"

* * * * *



THE RAVEN AND THE CATTLE

One evening, as some cattle were wending their way home, a raven rode on the horns of a bull in the herd; and as he approached the cottage, cried to the farmer, "Friend, my work for the day is over; you may now take charge of your cattle."

"What was your work?" asked the farmer.

"Why," said the raven, "the arduous task of watching these cattle and bringing them home."

"Am I to understand you have been doing all the work for me?" said the farmer.

"Certainly," said the raven, and flew away with a laugh.

Quoth the farmer with surprise, "How many there are that take credit for things which they have never done!"

* * * * *



TINSEL AND LIGHTNING

A piece of tinsel on a rock once said to a pebble, "You see how bright I am! I am by birth related to the lightning."

"Indeed!" said the pebble; "then accept my humble respects."

Some time after, a flash of lightning struck the rock, and the tinsel lost all its brilliancy by the scorching effects of the flash.

"Where is your brilliancy now?" said the pebble.

"Oh, it is gone to the skies," said the tinsel, "for I have lent it to the lightning that came down a moment ago to borrow it of me."

"Dear me!" said the pebble; "how many fibs doth good bragging need!"

* * * * *



THE ASS AND THE WATCH-DOG

A watch-dog in a village was barking all night to keep thieves off from his master's house. An ass, who observed this, thought that the dog amused himself by barking. So he brayed all night. When the day dawned, the owner of the ass thought the poor animal had been suffering from some disorder. Therefore he sent for the village doctor, and laid the case before him.

The doctor examined the animal closely, and said, "Friend, you must brand this ass forthwith, else he will soon go into fits and die."

The ass said, "I assure you nothing is wrong with me; I simply amused myself last night."

"Oh, no," said the inexorable leech; "I know what the wily brute means. He would rather die, and make you the loser, than be branded and recover his health."

So they bound the ass with ropes, and branded him all over with red-hot irons. Some time after the ass moved out to see how the village had fared during his illness. The dog asked why he had been branded. The ass narrated the story. Quoth the dog, "He that mistakes work for amusement must pay for his error."

* * * * *



THE LARK AND ITS YOUNG ONES

A child went up to a lark, and said, "Good lark, have you any young ones?"

"Yes, child, I have," said the lark; "and they are very pretty ones indeed!" Then she pointed to them, and said, "This is Fair Wing, that is Tiny Bill, and that other is Bright Eye."

The child said, "Yes, at home, we are three—myself and my two sisters, Jane and Alice; and mamma says we are pretty little children, and that she is very fond of us."

To this the little larks replied, "Oh yes, mamma is very fond of us too."

Then the child said, "Good lark, will you send home Tiny Bill to play with me?" Before the lark could reply, Bright Eye said, "Yes, if you will send little Alice to play with us in our nest."

The child said, "Oh, Alice will be so sorry to leave home, and come away from mamma!"

Bright. Eye said, "Tiny Bill will be so sorry to leave our nest, and go away from mamma!"

The child was abashed, and went home, saying, "Ah, every one is fond of home!"

* * * * *



THE TWO GEMS

A despot in the East once said to his fawning courtiers, "He that goes round my kingdom in the shortest possible time shall have one of these two gems."

A courtier went round the King, and said, "Sire, may I have the prize?"

"How so?" said the King.

"Why, you are the kingdom, are you not?" said the courtier.

The despot was so well pleased with the courtier that he gave him both the gems.

The other courtiers said, in a whisper, "Flatterers prey upon fools."

* * * * *



FAIRY TALES AND LAUGHTER STORIES

* * * * *

SCANDINAVIAN STORIES

* * * * *

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER

BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets, and looked straight before them; their uniform was red and blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world, when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words "Tin soldiers!" These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the rest; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as the others on their two; and it was just this Soldier who became remarkable.

On the table on which they had been placed stood many other playthings, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into the hall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little looking-glass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam on this lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but the prettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she was also cut out in paper, but she had a dress of the clearest gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that looked like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose as big as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that the Tin Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself, she had but one leg.

"That would be the wife for me," thought he; "but she is very grand. She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-and-twenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make acquaintance with her."

And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on the table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who continued to stand upon one leg without losing her balance.

When the evening came all the other tin soldiers were put into their box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to play at "visiting," and at "war," and "giving balls." The tin soldiers rattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid. The nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the table: there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to speak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their places were the Tin Soldier and the Dancing Lady: she stood straight up on the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and he was just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes away from her.

Now the clock struck twelve—and, bounce! the lid flew off the snuff-box; but there was no snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you see, it was a trick.

"Tin Soldier!" said the Goblin, "don't stare at things that don't concern you."

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.

"Just you wait till to-morrow!" said the Goblin.

But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier was placed in the window; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught that did it, all at once the window flew open, and the Soldier fell head over heels out of the third story. That was a terrible passage! He put his leg straight up, and stuck with helmet downward and his bayonet between the paving-stones.

The servant-maid and the little boy came down directly to look for him, but though they almost trod upon him, they could not see him. If the Soldier had cried out "Here I am!" they would have found him; but he did not think it fitting to call out loudly, because he was in uniform.

Now it began to rain; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came down into a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys came by.

"Just look!" said one of them: "there lies a Tin Soldier. He must come out and ride in the boat."

And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in the middle of it, and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys ran beside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how the waves rose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then it had been a heavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes turned round so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm, and never changed countenance, and looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket.

All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as if he had been in his box.

"Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, that's the Goblin's fault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat, it might be twice as dark for what I should care."

Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the drain.

"Have you a passport?" said the Rat. "Give me your passport."

But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed his teeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood.

"Hold him! hold him! He hasn't paid toll—he hasn't shown his passport!"

But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could see the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring noise, which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think—just where the tunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that would have been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great waterfall.

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could, and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge—it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed over the soldier's head. Then he thought of the pretty little Dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it sounded in the Soldier's ears:

"Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave, For this day thou must die!"

And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that moment he was snapped up by a great fish.

Oh, how dark it was in that fish's body! It was darker yet than in the drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering his musket.

The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements, and then became quite still. At last something flashed through him like lightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud, "The Tin Soldier!" The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and taken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large knife. She seized the Soldier round the body with both her hands and carried him into the room, where all were anxious to see the remarkable man who had traveled about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and there—no! What curious things may happen in the world. The Tin Soldier was in the very room in which he had been before! he saw the same children, and the same toys stood on the table; and there was the pretty castle with the graceful little Dancer. She was still balancing herself on one leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy too. That moved the Tin Soldier; he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing to each other.

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into the stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love he did not know. The colors had quite gone off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the Dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took the ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the Dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as a coal.

* * * * *



THE FIR TREE

BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

Out in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place; it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew many larger comrades—pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about talking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and raspberries. Often they came with a whole pot-full, or had strung berries on a straw; then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and say, "How pretty and small that one is!" and the Fir Tree did not like to hear that at all.

Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was longer still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of rings they have how many years they have been growing.

"Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!" sighed the little Fir, "then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from my crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the others yonder."

It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red clouds that went sailing over him morning and evening.

When it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling, a hare would often come jumping along, and spring right over the little Fir Tree. Oh! this made him so angry. But two winters went by, and when the third came the little Tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it.

"Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that's the only fine thing in the world," thought the Tree.

In the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest trees; that was done this year too, and the little Fir Tree, that was now quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for the great stately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were cut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long, and slender—they could hardly be recognized. But then they were laid upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going? What destiny awaited them?

In the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree asked them, "Do you know where they were taken? Did you not meet them?"

The Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head, and said:

"Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt; on the ships were stately masts; I fancy these were the trees. They smelt like fir. I can assure you they're stately—very stately."

"Oh that I were only big enough to go over the sea! What kind of thing is this sea, and how does it look?"

"It would take too long to explain all that," said the Stork, and he went away.

"Rejoice in thy youth," said the Sunbeams; "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and in the young life that is within thee."

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears upon it; but the Fir Tree did not understand that.

When Christmas-time approached, quite young trees were felled, sometimes trees which were neither so old nor so large as this Fir Tree, that never rested, but always wanted to go away. These young trees, which were always the most beautiful, kept all their branches; they were put upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood.

"Where are they all going?" asked the Fir Tree. "They are not greater than I—indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches? Whither are they taken?"

"We know that! We know that!" chirped the Sparrows. "Yonder in the town we looked in at the windows. We know where they go. Oh! they are dressed up in the greatest pomp and splendor that can be imagined. We have looked in at the windows, and have perceived that they are planted in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with the most beautiful things—gilt apples, honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundred of candles."

"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, and trembled through all its branches. "And then? What happens then?"

"Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was incomparable."

"Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one day!" cried the Fir Tree, rejoicingly. "That is even better than traveling across the sea. How painfully I long for it! If it were only Christmas now! Now I am great and grown up, like the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only on the carriage! If I were only in the warm room, among all the pomp and splendor! And then? Yes, then something even better will come, something far more charming, or else why should they adorn me so? There must be something grander, something greater still to come; but what? Oh! I'm suffering, I'm longing! I don't know myself what is the matter with me!"

"Rejoice in us," said Air and Sunshine. "Rejoice in thy fresh youth here in the woodland."

But the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew; winter and summer it stood there, green, dark green. The people who saw it said, "That's a handsome tree!" and at Christmas time it was felled before any one of the others. The axe cut deep into its marrow, and the tree fell to the ground with a sigh; it felt a pain, a sensation of faintness, and could not think at all of happiness, for it was sad at parting from its home, from the place where it had grown up; it knew that it should never again see the dear old companions, the little bushes and flowers all around—perhaps not even the birds. The parting was not at all agreeable.

The Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard, with other trees, and heard a man say:

"This one is famous; we only want this one!"

Now two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree into a large, beautiful parlor. All around the walls hung pictures, and by the great stove stood large Chinese vases with lions on the covers; there were rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables covered with picture books, and toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at least the children said so. And the Fir Tree was put into a great tub filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a tub, for it was hung round with green cloth, and stood on a large, many-colored carpet. Oh, how the Tree trembled! What was to happen now? The servants, and the young ladies also, decked it out. On one branch they hung little nets, cut out of colored paper; every net was filled with sweetmeats; golden apples and walnuts hung down, as if they grew there, and more than a hundred little candles, red, white, and blue, were fastened to the different boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like real people—the tree had never seen such before—swung among the foliage, and high on the summit of the tree was fixed a tinsel star. It was splendid, particularly splendid.

"This evening," said all, "this evening it will shine."

"Oh," thought the Tree, "that it were evening already! Oh, that the lights may be soon lit up! When may that be done? I wonder if trees will come out of the forest to look at me? Will the sparrows fly against the panes? Shall I grow fast here, and stand adorned in summer and winter?"

Yes, he did not guess badly. But he had a complete backache from mere longing, and the backache is just as bad for a Tree as the headache for a person.

At last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance, what splendor! The Tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green twig, and it was scorched.

"Heaven preserve us!" cried the young ladies; and they hastily put the fire out.

Now the Tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible! It was so afraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered with all the brilliance. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a number of children rushed in as if they would have overturned the whole Tree; the older people followed more deliberately. The little ones stood quite silent, but only for a minute; then they shouted till the room rang: they danced gleefully round the Tree, and one present after another was plucked from it.

"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What's going to be done?"

And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down they were extinguished, and then the children received permission to plunder the Tree. Oh! they rushed in upon it, so that every branch cracked again: if it had not been fastened by the top and by the golden star to the ceiling, it would have fallen down.

The children danced about with their pretty toys. No one looked at the Tree except one old man, who came up and peeped among the branches, but only to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten.

"A story! A story!" shouted the children; and they drew a little fat man toward the tree; and he sat down just beneath it—"for then we shall be in the green wood," said he, "and the tree may have the advantage of listening to my tale. But I can only tell one. Will you hear the story of Ivede-Avede, or of Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was raised up to honor and married the Princess?"

"Ivede-Avede!" cried some, "Klumpey-Dumpey!" cried others, and there was a great crying and shouting. Only the Fir Tree was quite silent, and thought, "Shall I not be in it? Shall I have nothing to do in it?" But he had been in the evening's amusement, and had done what was required of him.

And the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey who fell downstairs, and yet was raised to honor and married the Princess. And the children clapped their hands, and cried, "Tell another! tell another!" for they wanted to hear about Ivede-Avede; but they only got the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. The Fir Tree stood quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the wood told such a story as that. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs and yet came to honor and married the Princess!

"Yes, so it happens in the world!" thought the Fir Tree, and believed it must be true, because that was such a nice man who told it. "Well, who can know? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a Princess!" And it looked forward with pleasure to being adorned again, the next evening, with candles and toys, gold and fruit. "To-morrow I shall not tremble," it thought.

"I will rejoice in all my splendor. To-morrow I shall here the story of Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede, too."

And the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful.

In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in.

"Now my splendor will begin afresh," thought the Tree. But they dragged him out of the room, and upstairs to the garret, and here they put him in a dark corner where no daylight shone.

"What's the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What is to happen?"

And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought. And he had time enough, for days and nights went by, and nobody came up; and when at length some one came, it was only to put some great boxes in a corner. Now the Tree stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite forgotten.

"Now it's winter outside," thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and covered with snow, and people cannot plant me; therefore I suppose I'm to be sheltered here until spring comes. How considerate that is! How good people are! If it were only not so dark here, and so terribly solitary!—not even a little hare? That was pretty out there in the wood, when the snow lay thick and the hare sprang past; yes, even when he jumped over me; but then I did not like it. It is terribly lonely up here!"

"Piep! piep!" said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then came another little one. They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among the branches.

"It's horribly cold," said the two little Mice, "or else it would be comfortable here. Don't you think so, you old Fir Tree?"

"I'm not old at all," said the Fir Tree. "There are many much older than I."

"Where do you come from?" asked the Mice. "And what do you know?" They were dreadfully inquisitive. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on earth. Have you been there? Have you been in the store room, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat?"

"I don't know that," replied the Tree; "but I know the wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing."

And then it told all about its youth.

And the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind; and they listened and said:

"What a number of things you have seen! How happy you must have been!"

"I?" replied the Fir Tree; and it thought about what it had told. "Yes, those were really quite happy times." But then he told of the Christmas Eve, when he had been hung with sweetmeats and candles.

"Oh!" said the little Mice, "how happy you have been, you old Fir Tree!"

"I'm not old at all," said the Tree. "I only came out of the wood this winter. I'm only rather backward in my growth."

"What splendid stories you can tell!" said the little Mice.

And next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear what the Tree had to relate; and the more it said, the more clearly did it remember everything, and thought, "Those were quite merry days! But they may come again. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs and yet he married the Princess. Perhaps I may marry a Princess too?" And then the Fir Tree thought of a pretty little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest: for the Fir Tree, that Birch was a real Princess.

"Who's Klumpey-Dumpey?" asked the little Mice.

And then the Fir Tree told the whole story. It could remember every single word; and the little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of the tree with pleasure. Next night a great many more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even appeared; but these thought the story was not pretty, and the little Mice were sorry for that, for now they also did not like it so much as before.

"Do you only know one story?" asked the Rats.

"Only that one," replied the Tree. "I heard that on the happiest evening of my life; I did not think then how happy I was."

"That's a very miserable story. Don't you know any about bacon and tallow candles—a store-room story?"

"No," said the Tree.

"Then we'd rather not hear you," said the Rats.

And they went back to their own people. The little Mice at last stayed away also; and then the Tree sighed and said:

"It was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little Mice, and listened when I spoke to them. Now that's past too. But I shall remember to be pleased when they take me out."

But when did that happen? Why, it was one morning that people came and rummaged in the garret; the boxes were put away, and the Tree brought out; they certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight shone.

"Now life is beginning again!" thought the Tree.

It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out in the courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the Tree quite forgot to look at itself, there was so much to look at all round. The courtyard was close to a garden, and here everything was blooming; the roses hung fresh and fragrant over the little paling, the linden trees were in blossom, and the swallows cried, "Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband's come!" But it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.

"Now I shall live!" said the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its branches far out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it lay in the corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star was still upon it, and shone in the bright sunshine.

In the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing who had danced round the tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it. One of the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star.

"Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree!" said the child, and he trod upon the branches till they cracked again under his boots.

And the Tree looked at all the blooming flowers and the splendor of the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret; it thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice which had listened so pleasantly to the story of Klumpey-Dumpey.

"Past! past!" said the old Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I could have done so! Past! past!"

And the servant came and chopped the Tree into little pieces; a whole bundle lay there; it blazed brightly under the great brewing kettle, and it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot; and the children who were at play there ran up and seated themselves at the fire, looked into it, and cried "Puff! puff!" But at each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the Tree thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter night there, when the stars beamed; he thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpey-Dumpey, the only story he had ever heard or knew how to tell; and then the Tree was burned.

The boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his breast a golden star, which the Tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now that was past, and the Tree's life was past, and the story is past too: past! past!—and that's the way with all stories.



THE DARNING-NEEDLE

BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

There was once a Darning-needle, who thought herself so fine, she imagined she was an embroidering-needle.

"Take care, and mind you hold me tight!" she said to the Fingers that took her out. "Don't let me fall! If I fall on the ground I shall certainly never be found again, for I am so fine!"

"That's as it may be," said the Fingers; and they grasped her round the body.

"See, I'm coming with a train!" said the Darning-needle, and she drew a long thread after her, but there was no knot in the thread.

The Fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper, in which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together.

"That's vulgar work," said the Darning-needle. "I shall never get through. I'm breaking! I'm breaking!" And she really broke. "Did I not say so?" said the Darning-needle; "I'm too fine!"

"Now it's quite useless," said the Fingers; but they were obliged to hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some sealing-wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front.

"So, now I'm a breast-pin!" said the Darning-needle. "I knew very well that I should come to honor; when one is something, one comes to something!"

And she laughed quietly to herself—and one can never see when a darning-needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were in a state coach, and looked all about her.

"May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?" she inquired of the pin, her neighbor. "You have a very pretty appearance and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not every one that has sealing-wax dropped upon him."

And the Darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out.

"Now we're going on a journey," said the Darning-needle. "If I only don't get lost!"

But she really was lost.

"I'm too fine for this world," she observed, as she lay in the gutter. "But I know who I am, and there's always something in that!"

So the Darning-needle kept her proud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. And things of many kinds swam over her, chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers.

"Only look how they sail!" said the Darning-needle. "They don't know what is under them! I'm here, I remain firmly here. See, there goes a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of himself—of a chip! There's a straw going by now. How he turns! how he twirls about! Don't think only of yourself, you might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet it gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who I am, and I shall remain what I am."

One day something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly; then the Darning-needle believed that it was a diamond; but it was a bit of broken bottle; and because it shone the Darning-needle spoke to it, introducing herself as a breastpin.