prepared. George Eliot read one thousand books before she wrote "Daniel
Deronda." Alison read two thousand before he completed his history.
It is said of another that he read twenty thousand and wrote only two
books.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"SHE WAS SOMEBODY'S MOTHER."
[Illustration]
The woman was old, ragged and gray,
And bent with the chill of the winter's day;
The street was wet with the winter's snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid a throng
Of human beings who passed her by;
None heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of school let out,
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow, piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray,
Hastened the children on their way,
Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down on the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group.
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you across if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She is somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For she is old, and poor, and slow;
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If she's old, and poor, and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."
And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was: "God be kind to the noble boy
Who is somebody's son, and pride, and joy."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DOT LAMBS WHAT MARY HAF GOT.
[Illustration]
Mary haf got a leetle lambs already;
Dose vool was vite like shnow;
Und efery times dot Mary did vend oud,
Dot lambs vent also out, mit Mary.
Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der school-house,
Vich was obbosition to der rules of der school-master;
Also, vich it did cause dose schilden to schmile out loud,
Ven dey did saw dose lambs on der insides of der school-house.
Und so dot school-master dit kick der lamb gwick oud;
Likewise dot lambs dit loaf around on der outside;
Und did shov der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud,--
Until Mary did come also from dot school-house oud.
Und den dot lambs did run away gwick to Mary,
Und dit make his het gwick on Mary's arms,
Like he would said, "I don't was schared,
Mary would kept me from droubles enahow."
"Vot vos der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?"
Dose schildren did ask it dot school-master;
"Vell, don'd you know it, dot Mary lofe dose lambs, already,"
Dot school-master did said.
[Illustration]
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small,
Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.
--LONGFELLOW.
[Illustration]
BOB CRATCHIT'S CHRISTMAS.
CHARLES DICKENS.
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in
a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
goodly show for six-pence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda
Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while master
Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and
getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (his father's private
property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day,) into
his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned
to show his linen in the fashionable parks.
And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming
that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for
their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these
young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted master Peter
Cratchit to the skies, while he, (not proud, although his collars
nearly choked him,) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up,
knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit,
"and your brother, Tiny Tim! and Martha warn't as late last Christmas
Day by half-an-hour!"
"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke.
"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits.
"Hurrah! there's such a goose, Martha!"
"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and
bonnet for her with officious zeal.
"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and
had to clear away this morning, mother."
"Well, never mind, so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit, "sit
ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
"No, no, there's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who
were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
"So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with
at least three feet of comforter besides the fringe hanging down
before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look
seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder.
Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported
by an iron frame!
"Why, where's our Martha," cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.
"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.
"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden falling in his high spirits; for
he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come
home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas day!"
Martha did not like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke;
so she came out from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms,
while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off to
the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.
"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, after Bob had
hugged his daughter to his heart's content.
"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to
remember upon Christmas day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men
see."
Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more and
more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.
His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny
Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister
to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs--as
if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby--mixed
some hot mixture in a jug, with gin and lemons, and stirred it round
and put it on the hob to simmer; master Peter and the two young
Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in
high procession.
Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of
all birds; and in truth it was something very like it in that house.
Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
hissing hot; master Peter mashed the potatoes with wonderful vigor;
Miss Belinda sweetened the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates;
Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two
young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves,
and mounting guard, upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths,
lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped.
At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded
by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the
carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did,
and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of
delight rose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two
young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and
feebly cried "Hurrah!"
There never was such a goose! Bob said he didn't believe there ever was
such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness,
were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and
mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;
indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small
atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet
every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular,
were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows.
But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left
the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up
and bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in
turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the
backyard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a
supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of
horrors were supposed.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A
smell like a wash-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house
and a pastry cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next
door to that! That was the pudding!
In half-a-minute Mrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling
proudly,--with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and
firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of brandy, and bedight with
Christmas holly stuck into the top.
Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he
regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since
their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her
mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought
it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been
flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a
thing.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
swept, and the fire made up. The compound being tasted, (the gin and
lemons) and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the
table, and a shovel full of chestnuts on the fire.
Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob
Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's
elbow stood the family display of glass,--two tumblers and a custard
cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden
goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks,
while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.
Then Bob proposed "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears, God bless
us!" which all the family re-echoed.
"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
[Illustration]
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear,
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
THOMAS GRAY: 'ELEGY'
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"A SNUG LITTLE ISLAND."
[Illustration]
If you examine a map of Europe you will notice, not without difficulty,
a little speck in the North Sea some thirty-six miles northwest of
the mouth of the river Elbe. This little almost invisible speck is an
island called Heligoland.
It belongs to Great Britain, having been ceded to this country by the
Danes in 1814. Denmark in an evil hour identified herself with the
cause of the first Napoleon, and the loss of Heligoland was only one of
the results of her misguided policy. The island is to-day known chiefly
as the favorite seaside resort of the Hamburghers, and though it is
a British possession no English is spoken by the natives. Its name
is supposed to mean the Holy Island, tradition affirming that at one
period of its existence--many centuries ago--the isle was covered with
temples for pagan worship that have long since disappeared.
Hel-i-go-land is one mile in length, about half a mile broad, and
triangular in shape. It consists of an Upper and Lower Town, and is
surrounded on all sides by steep red cliffs, except at the part upon
which the Lower Town is built. Nearly a quarter of a mile east of the
main island is a long, low-lying, sandy hill or "dune," which affords
splendid bathing. Access from the Lower to the Upper Town, on the
Cliffs above, is obtained by means of a wooden stair of 190 steps.
Naturally enough, since there is constant need to travel between the
two "Towns," this stair is a prominent feature in Heligoland existence.
It is the test alike of youthful vigour and of failing strength.
The island children cannot conceive of a country without a stair, and
the lads of the colony--like boys all the world over--often adopt the
dangerous practice of accomplishing the descent by sliding down the
balusters, a pastime that is sometimes indulged in by people of maturer
years. The flat-topped rock is occupied by a lighthouse, a battery, a
powder magazine, and pasture for 200 sheep. From one end to the other
there runs a footpath called the "Highway," or "Potato Lane."
The streets, clean and paved with red brick, are excessively narrow,
the only vehicles being perambulators and wheelbarrows, while horse or
ass is never--or scarcely ever--seen in the island. The two or three
cows which supply the milk during the season duly retire with the last
of the visitors to Hamburg, 100 miles distant. The houses of the poorer
folk resemble ship cabins, the beds being nailed against the wall like
berths, or built in recesses in the walls.
The inhabitants love liberty and independence. They are proud of their
"right little, tight little" island, and when business calls them away
from it, they always weary to get back home. The rhyme which finds most
favor amongst the people is one which, being interpreted, asserts that--
"Green is the land,
Red is the strand,
White is the sand,
These are the colors of Heligoland."
This rhyme indeed, Dr. Robert Brown suggests, may be regarded as their
"national anthem."
The Heligolanders earn their livelihood from the harvest of the sea,
though a fair amount of business is done by letting lodgings during
"the season." From June to October hundreds of visitors besiege it,
and during this period it may be described as a suburb of Hamburg, the
bulk of the strangers hailing from that prosperous city. In winter the
natives have the little island all to themselves.
The Heligoland men are tall, strong, with regular features and are
superior in build to their relatives on the mainland. The women are
rather handsome, with small feet, well-shaped slender hands, and long
hair, for which, indeed, they are famous. As compared with the German
or Dutch peasant women, they easily bear the palm.
In their dress they rather affect gay colors, the younger ones
especially, like the "Rose" whom the artist has depicted on this
page. The dress consists of a scarlet skirt, with a "body" and apron,
generally of some light brown "stuff." The bonnet is a product peculiar
to the island. It is a piece of pasteboard bent in the shape of a
bonnet, over which is fastened a square piece of silk, satin or poplin,
occasionally embroidered behind with lace.
The population numbers about 3,000 souls. As already noted, the men are
fishers and pilots. The yearly value of the fisheries--which comprise
mainly lobsters, crabs, herring, cod, and flat fish--amounts to upwards
of $25,000. Trade is carried on by barter, the fish being exchanged
with the merchants of Hamburg and Bremen for the goods which the
Heligolanders require. The natives are keen, shrewd and honest.
[Illustration: "THE ROSE."]
Theft is practically unknown, and the few cases with which the
magistrate is troubled arise from the street brawls which now and
then take place. The men are usually serious, and rarely joke among
themselves or with strangers, and, oddly enough, all the young men are
particularly reserved.
Of course the women are not nearly so grave. They are all more lively
as well as talkative. Though they are rather good-looking, they get
aged and weatherbeaten early, owing to the anxiety of household affairs
and other causes. For the men are addicted to the vile habit--common
among all uncivilized and too many civilized races--of allowing the
women to do very nearly the whole of the manual labor of the house,
field and garden. Accordingly we find that the females have to pay in
premature age the penalty of their lords' laziness.
The climate is very bracing, but the winters are wet and stormy. The
air is so saturated with saline spray that the rain will leave a
slight deposit of salt after it has evaporated. During the winter,
communication with the mainland is maintained by boat once a week,
though the island is often completely isolated for a considerable
period by rough weather, drift ice, and various other causes.
Rats and mice are found in Heligoland in plenty, but the oft-quoted
story about the rabbits, and the ruin which their burrowing was fast
bringing upon the doomed isle is declared by a competent authority to
be pure romance. The sea is making rapid inroads upon parts of the Holy
Isle, and it is not unlikely that at some far-distant period all that
will remain of this out-of-the-world spot will be a wave-lashed rock,
the haunt of the gull and the cormorant.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DON'T CROWD.
CHAS. DICKENS.
Don't crowd; the world is large enough
For you as well as me;
The doors of all are open wide--
The realm of thought is free.
In all earth's places you are right
To chase the best you can--
Provided that you do not try
To crowd some other man.
Don't crowd the good from out your heart
By fostering all that's bad,
But give to every virtue room--
The best that may be had:
To each day's record such a one
That you might well be proud:
Give each his right--give each his room,
And never try to crowd.
[Illustration]
"THE BOYS."
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
You hear that boy laughing?--You think he's all fun;
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done.
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!
Yes, we're boys,--always playing with tongue or with pen,--
And I sometimes have asked,--Shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?
Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of thy children, THE BOYS!
[Illustration: "YOU THINK HE'S ALL FUN."]
[Illustration]
THE QUARREL BETWEEN THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter "Little prig;"
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big,
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make a year.
And a sphere:
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry;
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track.
Talents differ: all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.
[Illustration]
FOR FATHER'S SAKE,
OR, RIGHT AND MIGHT.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
T'was many years ago. The marsh-mallow was bursting into bloom by the
river's side, the river itself shimmering and singing of I know not
what of joy, the March winds romping everywhere, like a free, happy
child. Oh, yes, all the earth seemed glad, though a poor weakling of a
lamb lay on the sunny hillside, among its fellows, panting and sighing,
as if it would fain sob out its wee life and be at rest. It had been
born late; its mother was dead; none of the other ewes took kindly to
it: what could the shepherd do but lay it aside in hopeless despair,
and attend to the robust and hardy among his large family?
"With powers of tending, I think he'd pull through," said Jasper, his
son--or Jep, as he was called--bending over the lamb in boyish pity,
and speaking more to himself than to his companions. These were the
squire, his master, and John Sharp, his father--both bathed in the
radiance of a fair March day.
"Think you so, my lad? Then give the creature powers of tending, and if
it pulls through it shall be yours." So spoke Squire Barlow.
"Do ye mean it, squire?"
"Mean it, yes! Did you ever hear me say what I didn't mean?"
Ah! true; squires were great men in those days, and a very great man
was Squire Barlow in the village; his word was law. So Jep gathered up
the little outcast, and scudded down to the little cottage he called
home, where wee Margaret, his sister, and his gentle-faced mother gave
him and his charge a warm welcome; lavished their care and love upon
the lamb, until, at last, even the shepherd himself said he would live.
"Spottie"--that was the name the children gave him, because of a mark
on his forehead--soon learnt to know his master and mistress, and, oh!
their life flowed on, as the fair spring days lengthened, like a happy
dream. He was such a dear little romp, and yet so gentle, gamboling
in the small orchard behind the house among the pink apple-blossoms,
as they drifted down on the sunlit air, going and coming as the young
folk called him, and never seemingly wishing to join his kind, as they
went down from the high pastures to the green meadows. The squire's
son, master Ru, as he was called, came to see "Jep's wonder," so he
expressed himself.
Master Ru was a spoilt lad of about Jep's age, (eleven years),
overbearing and not very generous; still he was prankish, and full of
boyish frolics.
"Well, he's more mine than yours, after all, Jep," said he, one day,
an envious sneer on his lips, "as t'was my father's lamb in the first
place." But Jep replied, "No, he's mine; the squire gave the little
chap to me, and I mean to keep him, Master Ru;" to which speech the
young gentleman made no reply, but turned on his heel.
One fine day in autumn, Ru strayed away to the sheep-folds; he often
visited them, to have some fun with Jep--to run races with him over
the downs, or hunt for squirrels and dormice in the old plantation.
Then, hard by this miniature wood, there were some old ruins, with a
wonderful echo chamber, where all they uttered was wafted hither and
thither as by many weird voices. This was a never-failing source of
amusement to them. More than once they had decoyed Jep's father across
the downs thereby, thinking he was called, and that urgently.
On that day John Sharp was elsewhere; only Jep and Nip, their dog, were
left in trust.
"Let's go and have a round with the old echoes this morning, Jep,"
proposed the young gentleman, a merry twinkle in his eyes.
"Nay, Master Ru, I must mind the sheep."
"Pooh! what minding do they want, gorging themselves with clover as
they are?"
"Ay, that's where 'tis, Master Ru; father's afraid they'll gorge too
much; he's told me to watch 'em."
"Well, and what will watching do?"
"I must turn 'em into t'other fold in an hour's time--see, he gave me
his watch to reckon by," and Jep held up a bumping, old-fashioned
ticker, in his pride of possession.
"Well, an hour is a long time; we could have lots of fun in an hour."
Ah! there was mighty persuasion in the boy's tone and dark, handsome
face, and Jep, like many another before, faltered between duty and his
love of fun.
"Come, your father need never know."
It was very plausible, all that Master Ru said that morning, and Jep
never divined the half of what lay in the depths of his prankish,
perhaps deceitful, heart.
He hung the watch on a hurdle stake, lest he might smash it in his
games, by the side of Nip, sitting a pattern of fidelity and wary
watchfulness there; then he accompanied his companion up the sunny
hillside, and away to the ruins. Who could estimate the length of an
hour, amid the excitement of fun and frolics? Not those two lads. Oh!
high revel they held that morning; and when the echoes in the weird old
chamber seemed furious at the noise they made, what did Ru do but step
outside, shoot the rusty springbolt across the door, thus shutting in
poor Jep.
"Upon my word I didn't half intend it," he protested; then Jep cried,
with sudden compunction, "Oh! master Ru, how could ye; and the sheep
there feedin' and feedin'? What shall I do?
"Do--why climb out of the window, like a man of sense," returned the
other with selfish coolness.