Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.
How much pain the evils have cost us that have never happened.
Take things always by the smooth handle.
When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred.
* * * * *
Recollect that trifles make perfection, and that perfection is no
trifle.
The Pet Lamb
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
1. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side.
2. Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,
While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal.
3. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure
shook:
"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.
4. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the maiden turned away;
But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay.
5. Right towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face;
If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:
6. "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
7. "What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art!
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
8. "If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen chain;
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountain storms!--the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
9. "Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
10. "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blesséd day for thee!--then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain-tops, no kinder could have been.
11. "Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
12. "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plow.
My playmate thou shalt be and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
13. "It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
14. "Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
15. "Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"
* * * * *
=Ĕs pī_e_d´=: saw. =Kīn_e_=: cows. =Tĕt̶h´ẽr_e_d=: fastened by
a rope for feeding within certain limits. "=If nature to her
tongue could measured numbers bring=": if she could write verse.
=Pē_e_rs̝=: equals. =Cȯv´ẽrt=: shelter. "=The dam that did thee
yean=": The mother that reared thee. =Bē̍ līk_e_´=: perhaps.
The Story of Florinda
BY ABBY MORTON DIAZ
Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz (1821--): An American author who married a
Cuban gentleman. She has written many popular books for the young:
among these are "The William Henry Letters," "William Henry and his
Friends," "Polly Cologne," and "The Cat's Arabian Nights."
I
1. Nathaniel Bowen came over from England with his family in the bark
"Jasper" more than two hundred years ago. The country was covered with
woods then. Indians, buffaloes, deer, wolves, and foxes had it pretty
much to themselves.
2. Mr. Bowen built a one-roomed hut in a clearing in the woods. Its
walls and ceiling were made of logs; there were square holes for
windows, with wooden shutters inside. One of the windows had four small
panes of glass brought from England; the others were covered with oiled
paper. At one end of the room was a large stone chimney; at the other a
ladder ran up into the loft above. The hut was furnished with a bed, a
great chest, a spinning wheel, a bench or two, and a few chairs.
3. There was one house besides Mr. Bowen's in the valley, and only one,
and that belonged to a man named Moore. It stood nearly an eighth of a
mile off.
Four miles off, at the Point, there were some dozen or twenty houses,
a store, and a mill. There was no road to the Point; there was only
a blind pathway through the woods. Those woods reached hundreds and
hundreds of miles.
4. When Mr. Bowen had lived in this country a little more than a year,
his wife died, leaving three children--Philip, not quite eleven years
old; Nathaniel, six; and Polly, three. To take care of these children
and to keep his house, he hired a young girl named Florinda Le Shore,
who had come over from England as a servant in some family. This
Florinda was born in France, but she had spent the greater part of her
life in England. She was only fifteen years old--rather young to take
the care of a family.
5. Florinda went to Mr. Bowen's house some time in November. On the
29th of December, as Mr. Bowen and Mr. Moore were saddling their horses
to go to the store for provisions, word came that they must set out
immediately for a place about fifteen miles off, called Dermott's
Crossing, to consult with other settlers as to what should be done to
defend themselves against the Indians; for there were reports that in
some neighborhoods the Indians were doing mischief.
6. So the two men turned their horses' heads in the direction of
Dermott's Crossing. It was woods most of the way, but they knew the
general direction of the bridle path and thought they should make good
time and be back by noon of the next day.
7. Florinda baked corn meal into thin cakes, and put the cakes and some
slices of bacon into the saddlebags along with corn for the horse. The
men were to return by way of the store and bring provisions.
8. Two days and two nights passed, and they had neither come nor sent
any message. By that time there was not much left to eat in either
house.
Florinda and the children slept both nights at Mrs. Moore's. Mr. Bowen
had said it would be better for them to sleep there.
9. He did not fear any actual danger (the Indians in this neighborhood
had never been troublesome at all); still, in case anything should
happen, Mrs. Moore's house was much the safer of the two. It was built
of heavy timbers, and its doors were of oak, studded with spikes.
10. The Indians never attacked a strong house like that, especially if
it were guarded by a white man with firearms.
Mrs. Moore's brother was living with her--a young man named David
Palmer, who could not walk then on account of having frozen his feet.
II
11. On the second morning Philip begged Florinda to let him take his
hand sled and go to the store and get some meal and some bacon for
themselves and Mrs. Moore. Florinda felt loāth to let him go. It was a
long distance; there was snow in the woods and no track.
12. But Philip said that he wasn't afraid: the oldest boy ought to take
care of the family.
And at last Florinda said he might go. Indeed, there seemed no other
way; for, unless he did, they might all starve, especially if there
should come on a heavy snowstorm.
13. Mrs. Moore had him start from her house, because she wanted to be
sure he was well wrapped up. He left home in good spirits about nine
o'clock in the morning on the thirty-first day of December, promising
to be back before evening.
14. Florinda spent the day in spinning and in other work for the
family. As soon as it began to grow dark, she barred the door and shut
all the window shutters but one. She left that open so that Philip
might see the firelight shining through.
[Illustration: She set him letters to copy.]
The children began to cry because Philip was out all alone in the dark
woods, and Florinda did everything she could to occupy their minds.
15. Nathaniel told afterward of her rolling up the cradle quilt into a
baby for little Polly and pinning an apron on it; and of her setting
him letters to copy on the bellows with chalk. He said she tied a strip
of cloth round his head to keep the hair out of his eyes when he bent
over to make the letters. He remembered her stopping her wheel very
often to listen for Philip.
16. At last little Polly fell asleep and was placed on the bed.
Nathaniel laid his head on Florinda's lap and dropped asleep there, and
slept till she got up to put more wood on. It was then nearly twelve
o'clock. He woke in a fright, and crying. He had been dreaming about
wolves.
17. After a while Nathaniel climbed up and looked through a knot-hole
in the door and told Florinda he saw a fire in the woods.
Florinda said she thought not, that maybe it was the moon rising; and
kept on with her spinning.
18. By and by he looked again, and said he did see a fire and some
Indians sitting down by it.
Florinda left her wheel then and looked through, and said yes, it was
so.
19. She kept watch afterward and saw them put out the fire and go away
into the woods toward the Point. She told Nathaniel of this, and then
held him in her arms and sang songs, low, in a language he could not
understand. By this time the night was far spent.
20. At the side of the hut, near the fireplace, there had been in the
summer a hole or tunnel dug through to the outside under the logs.
It was begun by a tame rabbit that belonged to Nathaniel. The rabbit
burrowed out and got away.
21. The children at play dug the hole deeper and wider, and it came
quite handy in getting in fire-wood. This passage was about four feet
deep. They called it the _back doorway_. When winter came on, it was
filled up with sand and moss.
22. Florinda thought it well to be prepared for anything which might
happen; and, therefore, she spent the latter part of that night in
taking the filling from the _back doorway_. The outer part was frozen
hard and had to be thawed with hot water.
When this was done, she took the workbag out of her clothes box and put
into it Mr. Bowen's papers and the teaspoons.
23. She said a great deal to Nathaniel about taking care of little
Polly; told him that if any bad Indians came to the door, he must catch
hold of her hand and run just as quickly as he could through the _back
doorway_ to Mrs. Moore's.
24. While she was talking to Nathaniel in the way I have said, they
heard a step outside. It was then a little after daybreak.
Some one tapped at the door, and a strange voice said: "A friend; open,
quick!"
25. She opened the door and found a white man standing there. This
white man told her that unfriendly Indians were prowling about to rob,
to kill, and to burn dwelling houses, and that several were known to be
in that very neighborhood. The man was a messenger sent to warn people.
He could not stop a moment.
III
26. As soon as the man had gone, Florinda double-barred the door, raked
ashes over the fire, put on her things and the children's things, and
got ready to go with them over to Mrs. Moore's. She made up several
bundles, gave one to each of the children, and took one herself.
27. But, before starting, she opened the shutter a crack and looked
out; and there she saw two Indians coming toward the door. She flung
down her bundle, snatched the children's away from them, hung the
workbag round Nathaniel's neck, whispering to him: "Run, run! you'll
have time; I'll keep them out till you get away!" all the while pulling
at the clothes chest.
28. He heard the Indians yell, and saw Florinda brace herself against
the door with her feet on the chest.
"Run, run!" she kept saying. "Take care of little Polly! don't let go
of little Polly!"
29. Nathaniel ran with little Polly; and on the way they met the young
man, David Palmer, creeping along with his gun. He had got the news and
had come to tell Florinda to hurry away. Just at that moment he heard
the yells of the Indians and the sound of their clubs beating in the
door.
30. He threw the gun down and went on just as fast as a man could in
such a condition, and presently saw two Indians start from the house
and run into the woods. He listened a moment and heard dogs barking;
then crept round the corner of the house. The door had been cut away.
31. Florinda lay across the chest, dead, as he thought; and, indeed,
she was almost gone. They had beaten her on the head with a hatchet or
a club. One blow more and Florinda would never have breathed again.
David Palmer did everything he could do to make her show some signs
of life; and was so intent upon this that he paid no attention to the
barking of the dogs, and did not notice that it was growing louder and
coming nearer every moment.
32. Happening to glance toward the door, he saw a man on horseback,
riding very slowly toward the house, leading another horse with his
right hand, and with his left drawing something heavy on a sled. The
man on horseback was Mr. Moore. He was leading Mr. Bowen's horse
with his right hand, and with the other he was dragging Mr. Bowen on
Philip's hand sled.
33. Coming home from Dermott's Crossing, Mr. Bowen was taken sick and
had to travel at a very slow pace. When they had almost reached home,
they found Philip's sled among the bushes.
34. Philip himself had left the sled there. The day that he went to the
Point, he had to wait for corn to be ground, which made him late in
starting home. He heard a good many reports concerning the Indians, and
thought that, instead of keeping in his own tracks, it would be safer
to take a roundabout course back.
35. By doing this, he lost his way and wandered in the woods till
almost twelve o'clock at night, when he came out upon a cleared place
where there were several log huts. The people in one of these let him
come in and sleep on the floor, and they gave him a good meal of meat
and potatoes. He set out again between four and five in the morning,
guided by a row of stars that those people pointed out to him.
36. A little after daybreak, being then about a quarter of a mile from
home, in a hilly place, he thought he would leave his sled, as the
load was so hard to draw, and run ahead and tell the folks about the
Indians. So he pushed it under some bushes; and then, to mark the spot,
he took one of his shoe strings and tied one of his mittens high up on
the limb of a tree.
37. Just as he came to the brook, he heard some strange sounds, and
climbed up into a hemlock tree, which overhung the brook, to hide and
to look about. He lay along a branch listening, and presently saw
Nathaniel, with the workbag around his neck, hurrying toward the brook,
leading little Polly.
38. Philip was just going to call out, when he caught sight of three
Indians standing behind some trees on the other side watching the two
children. Little Polly was afraid to step on the ice. Philip moved a
little to see better, and by doing this lost sight of them a moment;
and, when he looked again, they were both gone.
[Illustration: Indians watching the two children.]
39. He heard a crackling in the bushes and caught sight of little
Polly's blanket flying through the woods, and knew then that those
Indians had carried off Nathaniel and little Polly. Without stopping
to consider, he jumped down and followed on, thinking, as he afterward
said, to find out where they went and tell his father.
IV
40. Philip, by one way or another, kept on the trail of those Indians
the whole day. Once it was by finding the stick that little Polly
dropped; once it was by coming across a butcher knife the Indians had
stolen from some house: and he had wit enough to break a limb or gash
a tree now and then, so as to find his way back; also to take the
bearings of the hills. When the Indians halted to rest, he had a chance
to rest, too.
41. At last they stopped for the night in a sheltered valley where
there were two or three wigwams. He watched them go into one of these,
and then he could not think what to do next. The night was setting
in bitter cold. The shoe he took the string from had come off in his
running, and that foot was nearly frozen, and would have been quite
if he had not tied some moss to the bottom of it with his pocket
handkerchief. The hand that had no mitten was frozen. He had eaten
nothing but a few boxberry plums and boxberry leaves.
42. It was too late to think of finding his way home that night. He lay
down on the snow; and, as the Indians lifted the mats to pass in and
out, he could see fires burning and smell meats cooking.
43. Then he began to feel sleepy, and after that knew nothing more till
he woke inside a wigwam, and found two Indian women rubbing him with
snow. They afterward gave him plenty to eat.
He did not see Nathaniel and little Polly; they were in another wigwam.
44. There were two Indians squatting on the floor, one of them quite
old. Pretty soon another came in; and Philip knew he was one of those
that carried off the children, because he had Florinda's workbag
hanging around his neck. He thought, no doubt, from seeing it on
Nathaniel's neck, that there was the place to wear it.
45. Philip suffered dreadful pain in his foot and hand, but shut his
mouth tight for fear he might groan. He said afterward, when questioned
about this part of his story, that he was not going to let them hear a
white boy groan.
46. Now, the older one of those two squaws in the wigwam felt inclined
to save Philip. So next morning, before light, when the Indians all
had gone off hunting, she sent the other squaw out on some errand, and
then told Philip, in broken English and by signs, that he must run away
that very morning. She bound up his foot; she gave him a moccasin to
wear on it; she gave him a bag of pounded corn and a few strips of meat.
[Illustration: She gave him a bag of corn.]
47. Philip had found out that the Indians supposed him to be a captive
escaped from another party; and he thought it would be better not to
mention Nathaniel and little Polly, but to get home as quickly as he
could and tell people where they were.
48. When the young squaw came in, the old one set her at work parching
corn, with her back to the door; then made signs to Philip, and he
crept out and ran. After running a few rods, he came unexpectedly upon
a wigwam. There was a noise of some one pounding corn inside; and when
that stopped he stopped, and when that went on he went on, and so crept
by.
49. As soon as it began to grow light, he kept along without much
trouble, partly by means of the signs on the trees. As he got farther
on, there being fewer of these signs (because they had come so swiftly
that part of the way), he took the wrong course--very luckily, as it
proved; for by doing so he fell in with two men on horseback, and one
of these carried him home.
50. Philip described the place where the children were, and that very
night a party was sent out which captured the Indians and brought back
Nathaniel and little Polly.
* * * * *
II. =Lō_a_th=: unwilling. =Prowl´ĭng=: going stealthily or slyly.
IV. =Wĭg´wạms̱=: Indian houses made of poles covered with mats or
bark. =Squa̤_w_s̱=: Indian women. =Mŏc´cȧ sĭn=: an Indian shoe
made of deerskin, the sole and the upper part being in one piece.
=Căp´tĭv_e_=: a prisoner taken in war.
The Eagle
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892): An English poet. "The Brook,"
"Locksley Hall," and "The Charge of the Light Brigade" are,
perhaps, the most popular of his short poems, and "In Memoriam,"
"The Idylls of the King," and "The Princess" are the best of his
long poems.
1. He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
2. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls;
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
[Illustration: Like a thunderbolt he falls.]
Psalm XXIII
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the
still waters.
He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for
His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou
anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and
I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Tilly's Christmas
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT
Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888): One of the most popular of American
writers of juvenile literature. She was the author of twenty-eight
volumes, including, among others, "Little Women," "Little Men,"
"The Old-Fashioned Girl," and "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag," from which the
present story is taken.
I
1. "I'm so glad to-morrow is Christmas, because I'm going to have lots
of presents."
"So am I glad, though I don't expect any presents but a pair of
mittens."
"And so am I; but I shan't have any presents at all."
2. As the three little girls trudged home from school they said these
things, and as Tilly spoke both the others looked at her with pity and
some surprise, for she spoke cheerfully, and they wondered how she
could be happy when she was so poor.
3. "Don't you wish you could find a purse full of money right here
in the path?" said Kate, the child who was going to have "lots of
presents."
"Oh, don't I, if I could keep it honestly!" and Tilly's eyes shone at
the very thought.
4. "What would you buy?" asked Bessy, rubbing her cold hands, and
longing for her mittens.
"I'd buy a pair of large, warm blankets, a load of wood, a shawl for
mother, and a pair of shoes for me, and, if there were enough left,
I'd give Bessy a new hat, and then she needn't wear Ben's old felt
one," answered Tilly.
5. The girls laughed at that; but Bessy pulled the funny hat over her
ears, and said she was much obliged, but she'd rather have candy.
6. "Let's look, and maybe we can find a purse. People are always going
about with money at Christmas time, and some one may lose it here,"
said Kate.
So, as they went along the snowy road, they looked about them, half in
earnest, half in fun. Suddenly Tilly sprang forward, exclaiming--
"I see it! I've found it!"
7. The others followed, but all stopped disappointed, for it wasn't a
purse; it was only a little bird. It lay upon the snow with its wings
spread and feebly fluttering, as if too weak to fly. Its little feet
were benumbed with cold; its once bright eyes were dull with pain, and
instead of a blithe song, it could only utter a faint chirp now and
then, as if crying for help.
8. "Nothing but a stupid old robin; how provoking!" cried Kate, sitting
down to rest.
"I shan't touch it. I found one once, and took care of it, and the
ungrateful thing flew away the minute it was well," said Bessy,
creeping under Kate's shawl and putting her hands under her chin to
warm them.
9. "Poor little birdie! How pitiful he looks, and how glad he must be
to see some one coming to help him! I'll take him up gently and carry
him home to mother. Don't be frightened, dear, I'm your friend;" and
Tilly knelt down in the snow, stretching her hand to the bird with the
tenderest pity in her face.
10. Kate and Bessy laughed.
"Don't stop for that thing; it's getting late and cold; let's go on and
look for the purse," they said, moving away.
"You wouldn't leave it to die," cried Tilly. "I'd rather have the bird
than the money, so I shan't look any more. The purse wouldn't be mine,
and I should only be tempted to keep it; but this poor thing will thank
and love me, and I'm so glad I came in time."
11. Gently lifting the bird, Tilly felt its tiny, cold claws cling
to her hand, and saw its dim eyes brighten as it nestled down with a
grateful chirp.