go to make up a pretty house; carpets and curtains, and easy chairs
and lovely plush-covered sofas, and pictures, and books, and flowers,
and birds. I cannot think of anything that they lacked. Yet all these
do not make lovely _homes_. I have been in places filled with all the
beauties which money could buy, and arranged with all the care which
refined taste could give, yet which were not homes at all, but great
beautiful cold _rooms_! Haven't you been in places where the carpets
were only ingrain, or perhaps rag, or where there was even no carpet
at all, and the chairs were plain wooden ones, and the pictures on the
walls were only a few cheap mottoes, yet which was all full of gentle
words, and cheery smiles, and unselfishness in little things? Such
places are sure to be homes. I have discovered that the furniture makes
very little difference, after all. Well, the house at which I stopped
was a _home_ in the truest sense of the word. I shall never think of
the sweet Christian lady who is at its head, without feeling thankful
to God for having made so good and true a woman, and given her so many
beautiful things to use in making others happy.
After all that, I am afraid you will be astonished that I should only
tell you the story of one member of the family. But you can't think
how much she interested me. I reached the home late at night and went
at once to my room. In the early morning I was awakened by a loud
call from a voice downstairs. "Clara!" shouted the shrill voice, then
waited, and seeming to get no reply, screamed again, "Clara!" with no
better success than before. This was repeated I should think a dozen
times; until from being only amused I became half-vexed. I thought
it very strange that in so fine a house and with so many evidences
of culture, the mistress should allow a servant to stand in the hall
below and scream after any one in that way. Then I wondered who "Clara"
was, and why in the world she did not answer the call; it did not seem
possible that she could be asleep, after her name had been rung out
so often. I buried my head in the pillows and tried to take another
nap; but that was impossible; there that persistent servant stood, and
shouted out at intervals that one name, dwelling on each letter until
it seemed to me that the name was a half-hour long! At last I arose
in despair, and began to make my toilet; only hoping that "Clara's"
slumbers had been disturbed as well as my own.
When I made my way to the back parlor, none of the family was in sight,
but in the middle of the floor looking at me with doubtful eyes, as
though she would like to know where I came from, and what right I had
there, was a great green parrot! I was not very well acquainted with
parrots, so I stood at a respectful distance, but I thought it was
proper to be courteous, and I said "Good-morning!"
To this I received no sort of reply; the creature put her head on one
side and looked somewhat disdainful; then raising her voice to a loud
shrill note, she called "C-l-a-r-a!" The mystery was explained! Here
was the "servant" who had shown such ill breeding in the beautiful home.
Presently we went in to breakfast, and Polly parrot went along. She
moved about the dining-room, wherever she chose, and was very quiet,
until one of the young ladies whose name I discovered was "Clara," went
away to attend to some household duty; then Miss Polly began her cry
for "C-l-a-r-a" so loud we could hardly converse. "Polly," said her
mistress, "you must be quiet; you disturb us; you cannot go to Clara,
she is busy."
What did that parrot do but throw herself on her back, kick her clumsy
feet into the air, and cry with all her might! I saw no tears, it is
true; but if I had not been looking on, I would have been sure that a
very spunky child was having a fit of crying. Imagine my astonishment!
I had never heard a parrot cry; did not know that it was ever one of
their accomplishments. Being a parrot, what would have been extremely
disagreeable in a child, was really as funny as possible, and I laughed
until I was in danger of shedding tears myself. Still the passionate
whine went on. Suddenly the back parlor door was opened slightly, and a
sweet voice said: "Mamma, you may let Polly come to me; I am not doing
anything which she will disturb."
"Polly," said her mistress, "do you hear that? Get up. Clara says you
may go where she is."
Instantly the parrot rolled over on her side, and burst into the most
jubilant peal of laughter I ever heard--"Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!" triumph
in every note.
Then she straightened herself up, shook out her feathers, and waddled
triumphantly out of the room.
"She is a curious creature," said the lady; "quite a study. We have
not had her long, and it is very amusing to us; we know the habits
and customs of the family from whom she came almost as well as though
we had lived with them. You know parrots get all their knowledge
by imitation. Isn't it remarkable, and rather startling when one
stops to think of it, that even a parrot can produce your faults and
foibles for others to laugh at? I often wonder what I am teaching her,
unintentionally, which will astonish some one else."
"It is wonderful!" I said. And then I fell to wondering whether it was
a girl or boy who had taught that parrot to lie on its back and cry
because it couldn't have its own way. And what sort of a man or woman
such a child would be likely to make.
I doubt whether the child, whoever he was, would have done it before
me--a stranger--and here the parrot had told me all about it!
PANSY.
- - - - - - -
AUNT ESTHER was trying very hard to persuade little Eddy to retire at
sunset, using as an argument that the little chickens always went to
roost at that time.
"Yes," replied the wide awake little Eddy, "but the old hens always
goes with them, auntie."
MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.
BY PARANETE.
IV.--MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE SWALLOWED.
"WHEN the box was opened," the pin continued, "all the papers were
taken out, and carried to a large dry goods store in what seemed to
me a very large city. We were put just behind one of the large glass
windows, where everybody could see us, and we felt quite proud, and
much enjoyed looking at all the strange things, and at people who
passed.
"One by one the papers were sold, until finally ours was the only one
left, and we remained so long in the window that we began to think we
should never get out. By that time we were tired of staring out at the
street all the time, and wanted a change. One day a lady came into the
store and asked the clerk for some pins.
"So he came over to the window and took us out. How delighted we were!
The lady put us in her little satchel, and soon we felt ourselves
rolling along the street in a carriage. Pretty soon we were taken out
and laid in the bureau drawer of the lady's room, where we remained
a long while. Then she laid us on the little shelf belonging to the
bureau, where we could see everything that went on in the room.
"One evening I was put in the lady's collar, and went to a great room,
brightly lighted, where my mistress danced with gentlemen all the
evening. I enjoyed it very much, because it was so strange, and because
I have no feelings; but my mistress grew very tired and sleepy as soon
as the ball, for that is what she called it, was over.
"At night, or rather early in the morning, when we reached home,
she put me on the pin-cushion, where I found many of my former
acquaintances.
"Now our life grew rather dull. I think winter-time came, and my
mistress removed to a warmer room. After a long, long while, during
which we saw no one, when the birds returned, and the buds came on the
trees, she moved back again, but now there was somebody with her--a
little bit of a baby! How cute it was! We pins discussed it a great
deal, and grew to loving it very much.
[Illustration: THE BABY THAT SWALLOWED THE PIN.]
"One day its nurse took it out to ride in its little carriage, and took
me (how delighted I was!) to pin its dress. We went a long way off,
to a part of the city where the houses were smaller, and the yards
larger, and there were more flowers and trees. The nurse stopped in
front of one of the little white houses, and walked in, rolling the
baby-carriage before her. She called the woman who came to the door
'mother,' so I supposed that this was her former home. Her mother took
her to another room, and they were gone quite awhile. So the baby for
something to do, and putting up its fat little hand, took hold of me,
and tried to pull me out of its dress.
"Now I knew that the baby put everything in its mouth that it could, so
I stuck on just as hard as I could; but it tugged away at me, finally
got me out, and put me in its mouth, much to my dismay. Not only was
it very disagreeable for me to be there, but I knew there was danger
of the baby's swallowing me. Still, I could do nothing. The little
one chewed me and poked me around with its tongue, until finally, by
a mis-poke--as you might say--it sent me down its throat, and there
I stuck. Then, O, what a commotion there was! The child screamed
slightly, swallowed, and gurgled, and choked, and I--O, my dear friend,
you cannot imagine my state of mind! To think I should be the cause of
such suffering, and possibly the death of one I loved so much!
"Finally the noise that the child made brought the nurse and her mother
to the room. 'Mercy on us!' exclaimed the former, 'the child is choking
to death!'
"The mother took the baby on her lap, and pounded, actually pounded,
on its back! But this treatment was effectual, though apparently
cruel, for the pounding sent me on the floor, out of the baby's mouth!
I cannot express my delight in the feeble words that our language
possesses. I was in ecstasies. The nurse's mother picked me up, and
seeing where I had come from, replaced me in the child's dress,
cautioning her daughter to keep watch of me.
"Then we speedily returned home. The story was recounted with many
apologies on the part of the nurse. I think the baby's mother would
have discharged the poor girl, only, as she afterwards remarked to her
husband, 'that was a very difficult season to get good nurses.'
"That night I was replaced on the cushion, and was not taken off for
what seemed to me ages. I was in a part of the cushion where beads
where, and I suppose my head looked so much like them, that I was not
noticed. The other pins were gradually taken out of the paper, used,
and either lost or replaced on the cushion, till finally they were all
gone, and a new paper was bought. These, of course, were strangers to
me, but I soon became acquainted with those on the cushion, and they
were very pleasant. On the whole, I did not so much dislike my life
then, though naturally enough, I wanted a change.
"The family was quite a large one; beside my mistress and her husband,
there was the baby, the nurse, a dear old lady whom I loved very much,
a little girl about twelve years old, and a middle-aged lady whom the
children called auntie. Before I had been swallowed, I had had occasion
to be used by all these people, and so felt acquainted with them.
"Well, one week there was a great commotion in the house. Trunks were
being packed, things being folded up and put in packages, and from
divers remarks that different members of the household made, I learned
that they were all going to Europe, excepting the old lady, because,
they said, her health was not good enough to go. This seemed rather
strange, for they said they _were_ going for the health of the baby and
its mother. I did not know whether I was to go with them or with the
old lady, who was to remain with a friend of hers at a town not far
distant. (All this I learned by using--not my ears, for I have none,
but my sense of hearing.) I rather hoped my fate would be the latter,
for although I was anxious to travel, I thought I would be lonely
without the old lady, who, though I could neither talk to her, nor
understand all of her talk, had become very dear to me.
[Illustration: "THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN ALL AROUND US."]
"Well, my pin-cushion was put in a satchel, and I felt myself rolling
along in a carriage. Then I knew no more of where I was going, or what
was happening around me, until one morning the satchel was opened,
the cushion taken out, I was discovered, and put in the cuff of my
mistress. She was in a queer little closet, with two shelves with
bedclothes on them against the wall, and a little bit of a window high
up.
"Then she went out, and soon I found that we were on the deck of a
great steamship, with the boundless ocean all around us."
OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.
M.--MORSE, SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE.
LONG before he reached the pinnacle of his fame, Samuel Finley Breese
Morse passed many quiet summer hours on the pleasant wooded borders of
the ravine overlooking the peaceful Sconondoah; and even to this day
if you wander through the beautiful Sconondoah wood and hunt out its
sequestered nooks, you will find here and there, cut deep in the rugged
bark of old forest trees, the initials S. F. B. M., carved by his hand
more than half a century ago.
Professor Morse was born at Charlestown, Mass., in 1791. He was the
son of a Congregational clergyman, who was the author of a series
of school geographies familiar to our fathers and mothers in their
schooldays. He was educated at Yale College, and, intending to become a
painter, went to London to study art under Benjamin West; but becoming
interested in scientific studies he was for many years president of the
National Academy of Design in New York. He resided abroad three or four
years. On returning home in 1832 the conversation of some gentlemen on
shipboard in regard to an experiment which had recently been tried in
Paris with the electro-magnet, interested him and started a train of
thought which gave him the conception of the idea of the telegraph. The
question arose as to the length of time required for the fluid to pass
through a wire one hundred feet long. Upon hearing the answer, that it
was instantaneous, the thought suggested itself to Prof. Morse that
it might be carried to any distance and be the means of transmitting
intelligence. Acting upon the thought, he set to work, and before the
ship entered New York harbor had conceived and made drawings of the
telegraph. He plodded on through weary years endeavoring to bring his
invention to perfection, meeting on every hand jeers and ridicule and
undergoing many painful reverses in fortune; but for his indomitable
will, he would have given up his project long before he succeeded in
bringing it before the public, for all thought it a wild scheme which
would amount to nothing.
In 1838 he applied to Congress for aid that he might form a line of
communication between Washington and Baltimore. Congress was quite
disposed to regard the scheme a humbug. But there was a wire stretched
from the basement of the Capitol to the ante-room of the Senate
Chamber, and after watching "the madman," as Prof. Morse was called,
experiment, the committee to whom the matter was referred decided that
it was not a humbug, and thirty thousand dollars was appropriated,
enabling him to carry out his scheme. Over these wires on the 24th of
May, 1844, he sent this message from the rooms of the U. S. Supreme
Court to Baltimore: "What hath God wrought!" and connected with this
message is quite a pretty little story. Having waited in the gallery of
the Senate Chamber till late on the last night of the session to learn
the fate of his bill, while a Senator talked against time, he at length
became discouraged, and confident that the measure would not be reached
that night went to his lodgings and made preparations to return to New
York on the morrow. The next morning, at breakfast, a card was brought
to him, and upon going to the parlor he found Miss Annie Ellsworth,
the daughter of the Commissioner of Patents, who said she had come
to congratulate him upon the passage of his bill. In his gladness he
promised Miss Ellsworth that as she had been the one to bring him the
tidings, she should be the first to send a message over the wires. And
it was at her dictation that the words, "What hath God wrought?" were
sent.
Success was now assured; honors and riches were his, and those who
had been slow to believe in the utility of his invention were now
proud of their countryman and delighted to do him homage. Upon going
abroad again he was received more as a prince than as a plain American
citizen, kings and their subjects giving him honor. It may be believed
that even in his wildest flights of fancy Professor Morse did not dream
of the rapid spread of the use of his invention, or look forward to the
time within a few years, when the telegraph wires would weave together
the ends of the world and form a network over the entire Continent.
Five years ago, the only telegraph wire in China was one about six
miles in length, stretching from Shanghai to the sea, and used to
inform the merchants of the arrival of vessels at the mouth of the
river. A line from Pekin to Tientsin was opened a few months ago. The
capital of Southern China is in communication with the metropolis of
the North, and as Canton was connected by telegraph with the frontier
of Tonquin at the outbreak of the late political troubles, the
telegraph wires now stretch from Pekin to the most southern boundary
of the Chinese Empire, and China, ever slow to adopt foreign ideas, is
crossed and re-crossed by wires; we may say the thought which came to
Prof. Morse upon that memorable voyage has reached out and taken in the
whole world.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
HOW FATHER CURED HIS HORSE.
"WELL," exclaimed Reuben the story-teller, "father always wanted a
horse, because the folks in Greene lived scattered, and he had so far
to go to attend funerals, weddings and visit schools; but he never felt
as if he could afford to buy one. But one day he was coming afoot from
Hildreth, and a stranger asked him to ride.
"Father said: 'That's a handsome horse you're driving. I should like to
own him myself.'
"'What will you give for him?' said the man.
"'Do you want to sell?' says father.
"'Yes, I do; and I'll sell cheap, too,' says he.
"'Oh, well,' says father, 'it's no use talking; for I haven't the money
to buy with.'
"'Make an offer,' said he.
"'Well, just to put an end to the talk,' father says, 'I'll give you
seventy-five dollars.'
"'You may have him,' says the man; 'but you'll repent of your bargain
in a week.'
"'Why, what ails the horse?' says father.
"'Ails him? If he has a will to go, he'll go; but, if he takes a notion
to stop, you can't start him. I've stood and beat that horse till the
sweat ran off of me in streams; I've fired a gun close to his ears;
I've burned shavings under him. But he wouldn't budge an inch.'
"'I'll take him,' says father; 'what's his name?'
"'George,' said the man.
"'I shall call him Georgie,' said father.
"Well, father brought him home, and we boys fixed a place for him in
the barn, and curried him down and fed him well, and father said, 'Talk
to him, boys, and let him know you feel friendly.'
"So we coaxed and petted him, and the next morning father harnessed him
and got into the wagon to go. But Georgie wouldn't stir a step. Father
got out and patted him, and we brought him apples and clover-tops; and
once in a while father would say, 'Get up, Georgie,' but he didn't
strike the horse a blow. By and by he says: 'This is going to take
time. We'll see which has the most patience, you or I.' So he sat in
the wagon and took out his skeletons"--
"Skeletons?" said Poppet, inquiringly.
"Of sermons, you know. Ministers always carry around a little book to
put things into they think of when they are out walking or riding or
hoeing in the garden.
"Well, father sat two full hours before the horse was ready to start;
but, when he did, there was no more trouble for that day. The next
morning 'twas the same thing over again, only Georgie give in a little
sooner. All the while it seemed as if father couldn't do enough for
the horse. He was round the stable, feeding him and fussing over him,
and talking to him in his pleasant, gentle way; and the third morning,
when he had fed and curried him and harnessed him with his own hands,
somehow there was a different look in the horse's eyes. But when father
was ready to go, Georgie put his feet together and laid his ears back,
and wouldn't stir. Well, Dove was playing about the yard; and she
brought her stool and climbed up by the horse's head. Dove, tell what
you said to Georgie?"
"I gave him a talking to," said the little girl. "I told him it was
perfectly 'diculous for him to act so; that he'd come to a real
good place to live, where everybody helped everybody; that he was a
minister's horse, and God would not love him if he was not a good
horse. That's what I told him; then I kissed him on the nose."
"And what did Georgie do?"
"Why, he heard every word I said; and when I got through, he felt so
'shamed of himself he couldn't hold up his head; so he just dropped it
till it almost touched the ground, and he looked as sheepish as if he
had been stealing a hundred sheeps."
"Yes," said Reuben; "and when father told him to go, he walked off
like a shot. He has never made any trouble since. That's the way
father cured a balky horse. And that night when he was unharnessing,
he rubbed his head against his shoulder, and told him, as plain as a
horse could speak, that he was sorry. He's tried to make it up with
father ever since, for the trouble he made him. When he's loose in the
pasture, father has only to stand at the bars and call his name, and
he walks up as quiet as an old sheep. Why, I've seen him back himself
between the shafts of the old wagon many a time to save father trouble.
Father wouldn't take two hundred dollars for the horse to-day. He eats
anything you give him. Sis very often brings out some of her dinner to
him."
"He likes to eat out of a plate," said Dove; "it makes him think he's
folks."--_Golden Censer._
[Illustration: MINDING THE BABY.]
_Volume 13, Number 17._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Feb. 27, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: "A LONG GRAND DAY BEFORE THEM."]
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
IV.
AND "St. George" he was from that day. George Edward was powerless to
stop it, though he flew into innumerable small rages and offered to
whip any boy who uttered the obnoxious name. They became silent, for
he was good for his promises, they knew, but the girls took it up, and
as he could not very well whip them, his sainthood grew speedily and
beyond his control.
It was the day before Washington's Birthday. The snow was deep on the
ground, piled high in drifts here and there, the air was clear, and the
sun bright. Everything promised beautifully for the holiday to which
the school looked forward on the morrow.
"St. George" ran home early from school, and flung down his bag of
books on the sitting-room table.
"I'm to be off early in the morning, mother," he said. "Put me up a
rousing good lunch, do."
"You are sure you can have steady fires in the house? Mr. Bangs' man
can be relied on?" Mrs. Allen's voice was a bit anxious.
"Tiptop." "St. George" was busy extricating his foot from its
protecting boot. "Now then, for my 'slips' and then the old books. I'll
get these lessons inside my head and out of the way before night."
"Because if there is a little carelessness in this respect," continued
his mother, "you might take a cold that would last you all winter. The
only reason your father consented to your going, George, you know very
well, was because the house is so near your playground that you could
run in and get warmed whenever you felt chilly."
"Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George"
with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself--up in the clouds in a
jolly fashion."
"There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that
was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'"
The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing,
but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his
slippers, and settled down to work with a will.
The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay
party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and
skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for
Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open
the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in
the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into
comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which
Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the
twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his
own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous.
So here they were. And a long grand day before them!
* * * * *