hours upon the hillside, and of working hard with all the children
making a snow house in the front yard.
Again he tells of charming birthday parties when children played in
the hay and scrambled for sugar plums. These parties always ended with
a fine birthday supper.
On the first of May the children sometimes had a May party. The girls
wore wreaths upon their heads and danced around the May pole. Then
they all went to the summer house for a feast.
In summer the Longfellow children often went to the seaside with their
father and mother. All day long they played in the sand and waded in
the water.
But a great and terrible sorrow came suddenly to the Longfellow home.
One morning, as Mrs. Longfellow was sealing a package with hot wax,
her dress caught fire. Before the flames could be put out she was so
badly burned that she died soon after.
Never again was the poet full of joy as he had always been before. For
him the happiness of life was over. But he never forgot to provide
for the pleasure of his children.
Longfellow has told us about his three daughters in a beautiful poem
called "The Children's Hour." He has also written about them in a
letter to a little girl which you will be glad to read.
A LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL
Edith exactly merriest piazza
Allegra memory encamped nankeen
NAHANT, August 18, 1859.
Your letter followed me down here by the seaside, where I am passing
the summer with my three little girls.
The oldest is about your size; but as little girls keep changing every
year I can never remember exactly how old she is, and have to ask her
mamma, who has a better memory than I have. Her name is Alice. I never
forget that. She is a nice girl and loves poetry almost as much as you
do.
The second is Edith, with blue eyes and beautiful golden locks which I
sometimes call her nankeen hair to make her laugh. She is a busy
little woman and wears gray boots.
The youngest is Allegra, which you know means merry; and she is the
merriest little thing you ever saw--always singing and laughing all
over the house.
These are my three little girls, and Mr. Read has painted them all in
one picture which I hope you will see some day.
They bathe in the sea and dig in the sand and patter about the piazza
all day long. Sometimes they go to see the Indians encamped on the
shore, and buy baskets and bows and arrows.
I do not say anything about the two boys. They are such noisy fellows
it is of no use to talk about them.
And now, Miss Emily, give my love to your papa, and good night with a
kiss from his friend and yours,
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
[Illustration]
THE OPEN WINDOW
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the graveled pathway
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air,
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.
The large Newfoundland house dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!
--HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat;
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
From the Painting by Sir Edwin Landseer. Engraved by Henry W.
Peckwell.]
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
--HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE YOUNG SURVEYOR
beyond compass Mount Vernon
acres bargain undertake
measure surveyor interesting
It is very interesting to know how George Washington passed his
boyhood. In many ways he was no better than other boys. He had a quick
temper, and he soon found that he must learn to control it.
But he wished to make a good and useful man of himself. This story
tells some of the ways in which he tried to do this.
He had learned to survey land, and this knowledge soon became of great
use to him. When he was sixteen years old, he went to live with his
brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon.
He took his compass and surveyor's chain with him. Nearly every day he
went out into the fields to measure his brother's land.
A tall, white-haired gentleman often came into the fields to see what
Washington was doing, and to talk with him. This was Sir Thomas Fairfax.
He had lately come to America from his home in England. He owned
thousands of acres of land in the new country beyond the mountains.
Sir Thomas was very fond of hunting, and he liked to have Washington
go with him. They often rode out together, and the old Englishman came
to like his young friend very much. He saw that the boy was manly and
brave and very careful in all that he did.
"Here is a boy who likes to make himself useful; I can trust him," he
said. And Sir Thomas soon made a bargain with young Washington to
survey his wild lands.
Washington loved out-of-door life, and he was very fond of riding on
horseback. So he was glad to undertake the work of surveying land for
Sir Thomas.
SURVEYING IN THE WILDERNESS
cousin knowledge Englishman paid
yelled drummed gentleman swam
One bright day in early spring the young surveyor started out on his
first trip across the mountains. With him was a cousin of Sir Thomas
Fairfax. Each young man rode a good horse and carried a gun.
As there were no roads in the wild country they found their way through
paths in the forest. They climbed mountains and swam rivers. At night
they slept in a hunter's cabin or by a camp fire in the woods.
Often they were wet and cold and without shelter. They cooked their
meat over the fire on forked sticks, and they used wooden chips and
leaves for plates.
One day they met a band of Indians. There were thirty of them, and
their bodies were half covered with war paint.
The Indians seemed very friendly. They built a huge fire under the
trees and danced their war dance. One of them drummed on a deerskin
stretched over an iron pot.
[Illustration: George Washington, the Surveyor.]
The others whooped and yelled as they danced around the fire. It was a
strange sight, and the young men looked on with wonder.
For weeks Washington and his companion lived in the forest. They
found the best places for hunting, and the best lands for farms.
When they returned home Sir Thomas was much pleased with all that the
young men told him about the new country. He made up his mind to move
across the mountains and to spend the rest of his life upon his own
lands.
George was well paid for his work of surveying. This was the first
money he had ever earned, and he enjoyed spending it because he had
worked hard for it.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
HIS NEW HOME
I.
chain patient Kentucky furry
ashes potatoes Indiana bacon
rifle inclosed household loosed
In the autumn after Abraham Lincoln was eight years old, his parents
left their Kentucky home and moved to Indiana.
They had no wagon, and all their household goods were carried on the
backs of two horses. At night they slept on the ground, sheltered only
by the trees.
It was not more than fifty or sixty miles from the old home to the
new; but it was a good many days before the family reached their
journey's end. Over a part of the way there was no road. The movers
had sometimes to cut a path through the thick woods.
The boy was tall and very strong for his age. He already knew how to
handle an ax, and few men could shoot with a rifle better than he. He
was his father's helper in all kinds of work.
It was in November when the family came to the place which was to be
their future home. Winter was near at hand. There was no house nor
shelter of any kind. What would become of the patient, tired mother,
and the gentle little sister?
Hardly had they reached the spot chosen for their home than Lincoln
and his father were at work with their axes. In a short time they had
built what they called a camp.
[Illustration]
This camp was but a rude shed made of poles and covered with leaves
and branches. It was inclosed on three sides. The fourth side was
left open, and in front of it a fire was built.
This fire was kept burning all the time. It warmed the inside of the
camp. A big iron kettle was hung over it by means of a chain and pole.
In the kettle the fat bacon, the beans, and the corn were boiled for
the family's dinner and supper. In the hot ashes the good mother baked
corn cakes, and sometimes, perhaps, a few potatoes.
One end of the camp was used as a kitchen. The rest of the space was
the family sitting room and bedroom. The floor was covered with
leaves, and on these were spread the furry skins of deer and bears and
other animals.
II.
Bible hoeing supplied strength
busy plowing chopping taught
In this camp the Lincoln family spent their first winter in Indiana.
How very cold and dreary that winter must have been! Think of the
stormy nights, of the howling wind, of the snow and the sleet and the
bitter frost! It is not much wonder that the mother's strength began
to fail before the spring months came.
It was a busy winter for Thomas Lincoln. Every day his ax was heard in
the woods. He was clearing the ground, so that in the spring it might
be planted. And he was cutting logs for his new house. For he had made
up his mind, now, to have something better than a cabin to live in.
The woods were full of wild animals. It was easy for the boy and his
father to kill plenty of game, and thus keep the family supplied with
meat.
Lincoln, with chopping and hunting and trapping, was very busy. He had
but little time to play. Since he had no playmates we do not know that
he even wanted to play.
With his mother he read over and over the Bible stories which both of
them loved so well. And, during the cold, stormy days, when he could
not leave the camp, his mother taught him how to write.
In the spring the new house was built. It was only a log house, with
one room below and a loft above. But it was so much better than the
old cabin in Kentucky that it seemed like a palace.
The family moved into the new house before the floor was laid, or any
door was hung at the doorway.
Then came the plowing and the planting and the hoeing. Everybody was
busy from daylight to dark.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
HIS FIRST GREAT SORROW
I.
silence postage autumn duties
finished preacher sycamore comfort
buried grieving minister feeble
The summer passed, and autumn came. Then the poor mother's strength gave
out. She could no longer go about her household duties. She had to
depend more and more upon the help that her children could give her.
At length she became too feeble to leave her bed. She called the boy
to her side. She put her arm around him and said: "My boy, I shall
very soon leave you. I know that you will always be good and kind to
your sister and father. Try to live as I have taught you, and to love
your heavenly Father."
Then she fell asleep, never to wake again on this earth.
Under a big sycamore tree, half a mile from the house, the neighbors
dug the grave for the mother of Abraham Lincoln. And there they buried
her in silence and in great sorrow.
In all that new country there was no church; and no minister could be
found to speak words of comfort and hope to the grieving ones around
the grave.
But the boy remembered a preacher whom they had known in Kentucky. The
name of this preacher was David Elkin. If he would only come!
And so, after all was over, the lad sat down and wrote a letter to
David Elkin. Abraham was only a child nine years old, but he believed
that the good man would remember his mother, and come.
It was no easy task to write a letter. Paper and ink were not things
of common use, as they are with us. A pen had to be made from the
quill of a goose.
But at last the letter was finished and sent to Kentucky. How it was
carried I do not know, for the mails were few in those days, and
postage was very high.
II.
upright forded funeral months
justice earliest sympathy hymns
reward preached reverence duty
Months passed. The leaves were again on the trees. The wild flowers
were blossoming in the woods. At last the preacher came.
He had ridden a hundred miles on horseback. He had forded rivers and
traveled through pathless woods. He had dared the dangers of the wild
forest. And all in answer to the lad's letter.
He had no hope of reward save that which is given to every man who
does his duty. He did not know that there would come a time when the
greatest preachers in the world would envy him his sad task.
And now the friends and neighbors gathered again under the great
sycamore tree. The funeral sermon was preached. Hymns were sung. A
prayer was offered, and words of comfort were spoken.
From that time forward the mind of Abraham Lincoln was filled with
high and noble thoughts. In his earliest childhood his mother had
taught him to love truth and justice, to be honest and upright among
men, and to honor God. These lessons he never forgot.
Long afterward, when the world had come to know him as a very great man,
he said: "All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."
--JAMES BALDWIN.
HANA AND TORA
THEIR HOME
I.
Tora Japan Japanese gowns
Hana mirror carriage hastens
Hana is a little Japanese girl. Her name, in the language of Japan,
means flower or blossom. If you should see her you would say that she
is as beautiful as the gayest flower in the garden.
Tora is her brother and his name means tiger. He is called Tora because
his father and mother wish him to be as strong and as brave as a tiger.
Hana and Tora live in one of the beautiful islands of Japan. Let us
visit them in their home on the other side of the world.
We must cross the ocean to reach this far away land. So we go on board
a great steamer and for days and days we sail over the sea.
At last we come to the city where our little friends live. We leave
the ship and climb into a two-wheeled carriage which is drawn by a
man. He runs along the street with our carriage almost as fast as a
horse can trot.
[Illustration]
How strange everything seems. The men, women, and children all wear
gowns that look like dresses. They clatter along in wooden shoes, and
they carry paper umbrellas. We ride through narrow streets. There are
no sidewalks nor green lawns.
And now our carriage stops. We have come to the home of Hana and Tora.
The front of the house is open like a doll's playhouse, and we can
see through to the garden beyond.
How clean everything looks! The porch shines like a mirror. All the
floors are covered with matting made of the whitest straw. Even the
road in front of the house is swept.
We walk toward the house, and a little girl comes in from the garden.
She has a clear yellow skin, bright black eyes, and smooth black hair.
This is Hana, and she hastens to greet us.
She drops down on her knees, and bows so low that her head touches the
matting. Her mother will soon be at home, Hana says, and she begs us
to come in.
Does she ask us to take off our hats? Oh, no, she expects us to take
off our shoes. The Japanese always leave their shoes outside when they
go into a house.
Again and again the polite little girl bows her head to the floor as
we enter. We sit down on the thick matting, for in the houses of Japan
there are no chairs.
II.
closet pickles alphabet knives
parlor pockets embroidered quilts
observe greetings maidservant screens
Little Hana looks like a butterfly in her loose dress embroidered all
over with bright flowers. Her sleeves are very large, and a wide sash
of soft red silk is tied around her waist.
And now Hana's mother returns, and Tora comes running in from his
play. There are more bows and more greetings.
Tora is dressed in a plain blue gown very much like his sister's. Both
the children have large pockets in their sleeves where they carry
their playthings.
Our friends invite us to spend the night with them. We are very glad to
do so. They take us to the parlor, which is at the back of the house.
It is now time for supper. A small table, about ten inches high, is
placed before each person in the room. We sit on the floor as we eat.
A little maidservant brings in cakes and candies shaped like flowers.
She kneels and bows low as she hands them to us.
[Illustration]
Next we have soup, which we drink from small bowls. Then come pickles
and strange kinds of food that we have never before seen. Last of all
rice is served from a large, round, wooden box, and we drink our tea
from tiny cups.
There are no knives and no forks, and so we observe our Japanese
friends as they eat with two long wooden sticks. Then we take our chop
sticks and try to eat the rice as they do. Hana and Tora watch us, but
they are too polite to smile.
After the supper is over, the grown people sit on the floor and talk
to one another, or watch the children at their games. Hana and Tora
play with small cards on which are printed the strange-looking letters
of the Japanese alphabet.
And so the evening passes and bedtime comes. The little maidservant
takes us upstairs. We see no beds, and we wonder where we shall sleep.
But screens are soon drawn together, and a room is made for us.
Then the little maid slides back another screen, and there in the wall
is a closet. Out of this she takes soft, thick quilts, and spreads
them on the matting, one on top of another. For a pillow she brings
each of us a small block of wood.
We do not like the wooden pillows, but we sleep soundly all night in
our beds on the floor.
HANA AND TORA
THEIR FESTIVAL DAYS
I.
merry alcove festival polite
packed budding storehouse sashes
A beautiful garden lies back of the house where Hana and Tora live.
In Japan the people love the flowering trees and plant them in their
gardens. Now it is early springtime and the plum trees are just
beginning to burst into bloom.
The children ask us to go with them and look for the first plum
blossoms. The pink buds are pushing out of their brown coverings. "Oh,
I am so glad!" Hana says. "Soon the peach trees will bloom, and then
it will be time for the Doll Festival.
"How I wish I could show you my dolls! I have more than a hundred, but
they are all packed away in the storehouse.
"Some of them are very old. They used to belong to my grandmother and
to my great-grandmother. The doll I like best was given to me when I
was a baby. It is as large as I am, and it can wear my clothes.
"When the Doll Festival comes I have a merry time. In the morning when
I get up I find all my dolls waiting for me in the guest room.
"With them are doll houses, little tables, sets of dishes, and boxes
full of pretty gowns and sashes. The first thing I do is to dress all
the dolls in their best clothes.
"Of course they must have something to eat, for it is the Feast of
Dolls.
"I make tea for them and put dishes of candy and cake and rice on
their little tables. It is not polite to leave anything on one's
plate, and so Tora and I have all the food that the dolls do not eat.
"For three whole days I can play with my dolls. Then I take off their
beautiful clothes and put on their sleeping coats. My mother packs
them in their boxes and stores them away for another year, until the
Feast of Dolls comes again."
II.
whole current images rustle
swords success generals famous
"Tora does not care for the Feast of Dolls, because that is a girls'
festival. The Feast of Flags is the boys' day."
[Illustration]
"Oh, yes," Tora says, "I think the Flag Festival is the very best day
of the whole year. Then everybody flies kites and the boys have their
feast.
"What fun it is to see the huge paper fishes flying over all the houses
and gardens! Some of the fishes are as large as a man. They open their
mouths and swim about in the air as if they were in the water. All day
long they flap their fins and tails and rustle in the wind."
"But why are so many of your kites made like fishes?" we ask.
"Because there is one kind of fish in our country so strong and brave
that he swims up stream and leaps the waterfalls," Tora answered. "So
Japanese parents fly kites made like fishes to help their sons
remember that they must struggle bravely to win success.
"There are many kinds of fish, my father says, that can float down the
stream with the current; but there is only one fish that can swim up
the stream and leap over a waterfall.
"We have many other kites too. Some of them are shaped like
butterflies. Some are shaped like birds and they make a singing noise
when the wind blows through them.
"On the morning of the Flag Festival I find all my toys in the guest
room where Hana finds her dolls.
"Among my toys are wooden soldiers older than Hana's oldest dolls. My
grandfather's grandfather used to play with them when he was a little
boy.
"And there are banners and swords, and images of the famous generals
of Japan dressed in splendid armor. My father always plays with me on
the day of the Flag Festival, and he tells me about the brave soldiers
of our country.
"In the evening the people light their prettiest paper lanterns, and
hang them in the gardens and before every house and store.
"Sometimes my father takes me boat-riding, and the most beautiful
sight of all is the river with the many colored lights twinkling from
the boats."
Hana and Tora tell us about other great festivals of their country,
and they invite us to visit them again at the time of the Feast of
Cherry Blossoms.
* * * * *
A dip of the nose,
A turn of the toes,
A spread of the hand,
A bend of the knees--
It takes all these
To say "Good day"
In chrysanthemum land
So far away.
MARCH
In March come the March winds;
They blow and they blow,
They sweep up the brown leaves,
That green ones may grow.
--SELECTED.
APRIL
April, April, are you here?
Oh! how fresh the wind is blowing!
See! The sky is bright and clear;
Oh! how green the grass is growing!
--DORA REED GOODALE.
MAY
Robins in the tree top;
Blossoms in the grass;
Green things a-growing,
Everywhere you pass;
Sudden little breezes;
Showers of silver dew;
Black bough and bent twig
Budding out anew.
--T. B. ALDRICH.
EASTER SONG
TO BE MEMORIZED
Snowdrops! lift your timid heads,
All the earth is waking;
Field and forest, brown and dead,
Into life are waking.
[Illustration]
Lilies! lilies! Easter calls!
Rise to meet the dawning
Of the blessed light that falls
Through the Easter morning.
Waken, sleeping butterflies,
Burst your narrow prison!
Spread your golden wings and rise,
For the Lord is risen.
--MARY A. LATHBURY.
_From "Little Pilgrim Songs."
Used by permission of the Biglow & Main Co._
THE SONG OF THE POPPY SEED
TO BE MEMORIZED
Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
Are you awake in the dark?
Here we lie cosily, close to each other;
Hark to the song of the lark--
"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you,
Put on your green coats and gay,
Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you,
Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"
Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
What kind of flower will you be?
I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother,
Do be a poppy like me.
What! you're a sunflower? How I shall miss you,
When you're grown golden and high!
But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you,
Little brown brother, good-by!
--E. NESBIT.
[Illustration]
CLOVERS
The clovers have no time to play:
They feed the cows and make the hay,