a tumble-down condition, that if it remained standing at all, it could
only be from not yet having made up its mind on which side it should
fall first. The tempest was now raging to such a height, that the
duckling was forced to sit down to stem the wind, when he perceived
that the door hung so loosely on one of its hinges, that he could slip
into the room through the crack, which he accordingly did.
The inmates of the cottage were a woman, a tom-cat, and a hen. The
tom-cat, whom she called her darling, could raise his back and purr;
and he could even throw out sparks, provided he were stroked against
the grain. The hen had small, short legs, for which reason she was
called Henny Shortlegs; she laid good eggs and her mistress loved her
as if she had been her own child.
Next morning they perceived the little stranger, when the tom-cat began
to purr and the hen to cluck.
"What's that?" said the woman, looking round. Not seeing very
distinctly, she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its
way. "Why, this is quite a prize!" added she; "I can now get duck's
eggs, unless indeed it be a male! we must wait a bit and see."
So the duckling was kept on trial for three weeks, but no eggs were
forthcoming. The tom-cat and the hen were the master and mistress
of the house, and always said "We and the world"--for they fancied
themselves to be the half, and by far the best half too, of the whole
universe. The duckling thought there might be two opinions on this
point; but the hen would not admit of any such doubts.
"Can you lay eggs?" asked she.
"No."
"Then have the goodness to hold your tongue."
And the tom-cat inquired: "Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw
out sparks?"
"No."
"Then you have no business to have any opinion at all, when rational
people are talking."
The duckling sat in a corner very much out of spirits, when in came the
fresh air and the sunshine, which gave him such a strange longing to
swim on the water, that he could not help saying so to the hen.
"What's this whim?" said she. "That comes of being idle. If you could
either lay eggs or purr, you would not indulge in such fancies."
"But it is so delightful to swim about on the water!" observed the
duckling, "and to feel it close over one's head when one dives down to
the bottom."
"A great pleasure, indeed!" quoth the hen. "You must be crazy, surely!
Only ask the cat--for he is the wisest creature I know--how he would
like to swim on the water, or to dive under it. To say nothing of
myself, just ask our old mistress, who is wiser than anybody in the
world, whether she'd relish swimming and feeling the waters close above
her head."
"You can't understand me!" said the duckling.
"We can't understand you? I should like to know who could. You don't
suppose you are wiser than the tom-cat and our mistress--to say nothing
of myself? Don't take these idle fancies into your head, child; but
thank Heaven for all the kindness that has been shown you. Have you
not found a warm room, and company that might improve you? But you
are a mere chatterbox, and there's no pleasant intercourse to be had
with you. And you may take my word for it, for I mean you well. I say
disagreeable things, which is a mark of true friendship. Now, look
to it, and mind that you either lay eggs, or learn to purr and emit
sparks."
"I think I'll take my chance and go abroad into the wide world," said
the duckling.
"Do," said the hen.
And the duckling went forth, and swam on the water, and dived beneath
its surface; but he was slighted by all other animals, on account of
his ugliness.
Autumn had now set in. The leaves of the forests had turned first
yellow, and then brown; and the wind caught them up, and made them
dance about. It began to be very cold in the higher regions of the air,
and the clouds looked heavy with hail and flakes of snow; while the
raven sat on a hedge, crying "Caw! caw!" from sheer cold; and one began
to shiver, if one merely thought about it. The poor duckling had a bad
time of it.
One evening, just as the sun was setting in all its glory, there came
a whole flock of beautiful large birds from a large grove. The duckling
had never seen any so lovely before. They were dazzlingly white, with
long, graceful necks; they were swans. They uttered a peculiar cry, and
then spread their magnificent wings, and away they flew from the cold
country, to warmer lands across the open sea. They rose so high--so
high that the ugly duckling felt a strange sensation come over him. He
turned round and round in the water like a wheel, stretched his neck up
into the air towards them, and uttered so loud and strange a cry, that
he was frightened at it himself.
Oh! never could he again forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when
they were quite out of sight, he dived down to the bottom of the water,
and when he once more rose to the surface, he was half beside himself.
He knew not how these birds were called, or whither they were bound;
but he felt an affection for them, such as he had never yet experienced
for any living creature. Nor did he even presume to envy them; for how
could it have ever entered his head to wish himself endowed with their
loveliness? He would have been glad enough if the ducks had merely
suffered him to remain among them--poor, ugly animal that he was!
And the winter proved so very, very cold! The duckling was obliged to
keep swimming about, for fear the water should freeze entirely; but
every night, the hole in which he swam grew smaller and smaller. It
now froze so hard that the surface of the ice cracked again; yet the
duckling still paddled about, to prevent the hole from closing up. At
last he was so exhausted, that he lay insensible, and became ice-bound.
Early next morning, a peasant came by, and seeing what had happened,
broke the ice to pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling
home to his wife, so the little creature was revived once more.
The children wished to play with him; but the duckling thought they
meant to hurt him, and in his fright he bounced right into a bowl
of milk, that was spirted all over the room. The woman clapped her
hands which only frightened him still more, and drove him first into
the butter-tub, then down into the meal-tub, and out again. What a
scene then ensued! The woman screamed and flung the tongs at him;
the children tumbled over each other in their endeavors to catch the
duckling, and laughed and shrieked. Luckily, the door stood open, and
he slipped through, and then over the fagots, into the newly-fallen
snow, where he lay quite exhausted.
But it would be too painful to tell of all the privations and misery
that the duckling endured during the hard winter. He was lying in a
marsh, amongst the reeds, when the sun again began to shine. The larks
were singing, and the spring had set in, in all its beauty.
The duckling now felt able to flap his wings: they rustled much louder
than before, and bore him away most sturdily; and before he was well
aware of it, he found himself in a large garden, where the apple-trees
were in full blossom, and the fragrant elder was steeping its long,
drooping branches in the waters of a winding canal. Oh, how beautiful
everything looked in the first freshness of spring! Three magnificent
white swans now emerged from the thicket before him; they flapped their
wings, and then swam lightly on the surface of the water. The duckling
recognized the beautiful creatures, and was impressed with feelings of
melancholy peculiar to himself.
"I will fly towards those royal birds--and they will strike me dead for
daring to approach them, so ugly as I am! But it matters not. Better
to be killed by them, than to be pecked at by the ducks, beaten by the
hens, pushed about by the girl that feeds the poultry, and to suffer
want in the winter." And he flew into the water, and swam towards
these splendid swans, who rushed to meet him with rustling wings, the
moment they saw him. "Do but kill me!" said the poor animal, as he bent
his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited his doom. But
what did he see in the clear stream? Why, his own image, which was no
longer that of a heavy-looking dark grey bird, ugly and ill-favored,
but of a beautiful swan!
It matters not being born in a duck yard, when one is hatched from a
swan's egg!
He now rejoiced over all the misery and the straits he had endured, as
it made him feel the full depth of the happiness that awaited him. And
the large swans swam around him, and stroked him with their beaks.
Some little children now came into the garden, and threw bread-crumbs
and corn into the water; and the youngest cried: "There is a new one!"
The other children were delighted, too, and repeated: "Yes, there is a
new one just come." And they clapped their hands, and capered about,
and then flew to their father and mother, and more bread and cake was
flung into the water; and all said: "The new one is the prettiest. So
young and so lovely!" And the elder swans bowed before him.
He then felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings. He did
not himself know what to do. He was more than happy, yet none the
prouder; for a good heart is never proud. He remembered how he had been
pursued, and made game of; and now he had heard everybody say he was
the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. Even the elder-bush bent
its boughs down to him in the water, and the sun appeared so warm, and
so mild! He then flapped his wings, and raised his slender neck, as he
cried, in the fulness of his heart: "I never dreamed of such happiness
while I was an ugly duckling."
[Illustration]
Get but the truth once uttered, and 'tis like
A star new-born, that drops into its place,
And which, once circling, in its placid round,
Not all the tumult of the earth can shake.
LOWELL: "A GLANCE BEHIND THE CURTAIN."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE CLEARIN'.
[Illustration]
Then why do I sell it? you ask me again,
"Big cabin an' clearin, an' all?"
Well, stranger, I'll tell you, though may be you'll think
It ain't any reason at all.
There's plenty of hardship in pioneer life,
A hard workin' stint at the best;
But I'd stick to it yet, if it wasn't for this,
A heart like a log in my breast.
D'ye see, over there by the cotton-wood tree,
A climbin' rose, close by a mound,
Inside of a fence made of rough cedar boughs?--
Prairie wolves ain't too good to come round--
Well, Hetty, my darling old woman, lies there;
Not very old either, you see;
She wa'n't more'n twenty the year we come West;
She'd a been--comin' grass--thirty-three.
What a round little face an' a cheek like a peach
She had, little Hetty, be sure!
What courage to take me--she knew all the while
I was friendless and terrible poor!
How she worked with a will at our first little hut,
In the field and among garden stuff,
Till her forehead was burned, and her poor little hand,
Through its hardships, got rugged and rough.
But many a time, when I come in the door
Quite sudden, I've found her just there,
With eyelids all red, an' her face to the east
--You see, all her own folks was there.
I cheered her, an' told her we'd go by and by,
When the clearin' and plowin' was through;
And then came the baby--he wa'n't very strong,
So that Hetty had plenty to do.
But after awhile she got gloomy again;
She would hide in the corn-field to cry.
We hadn't no meetin' to speak of, you see,
No woman to talk to was nigh.
An' she wanted to show little Joe to the folks;
She was hungry, I s'pose, for the sight
Of faces she'd seen all the days of her life.
That was natteral, stranger, an' right.
But just when she thought to go over the Plains
The devils of Sioux was about;
So poor Hetty waited a harvest or two,
Through the summer of locusts and drought.
That left us poor people. The next coming spring
Such a wearisome fever came round;
An', stranger--hold on till I tell you--there now,
It laid little Joe in the ground.
I know'd then I'd got to send Hetty off East,
If I cared about keepin' her here:
She pined to a shadder, an' moped by his grave,
Though her eyes brighter grew, and more clear.
If you'd seen her poor face, when I told her I'd go
And take her home visitin'! Well,
I'll never forget how she put out her hands
Into mine, an', fur joy, cried a spell.
She didn't feel strong though, that week or the next,
An' the cough an' the fever increased;
While softly she whispered--she couldn't speak loud--
"You'll take me by'm-by to the East?"
* * * * *
She never got East; any further than that,
You see stranger, by the tree--that mound--
But I'm goin' to take her and Joe, when I go,
To her father's old buryin'-ground.
This, stranger, 's the reason I'm willin' to sell;
You can buy at a bargain, you see;
It's mighty good land fur a settler to own,
But it looks like a graveyard to me.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PRINCE WILLFUL'S THREE LESSONS.
[Illustration]
Many years ago there was a young prince named Willful, who was, as his
name indicates, a very willful boy. He was lazy and careless, and would
not go to school or learn his lessons if he could help it.
His father, whose name was Felix, was a great and good king. He had
reigned many years, had filled his treasury with gold, and made many
wise laws for the welfare of his people. He was very anxious that his
son should grow up an educated and refined man; and he tried by kind
words and wholesome advice to show him the necessity of work and the
folly of idleness. But Willful paid no heed to his father's words, and
daily grew more indolent.
At last the king could bear it no longer; and he said that if the
prince would not learn from books, he should be taught in a way not so
pleasant. Accordingly he called Willful to him one day and told him
that he was going to send him away from home, and that he could not
return until by watching the birds, the beasts and the insects he had
learned the _three lessons_ most necessary for a prince to know.
He did not say what these lessons were, but left that for the boy
to find out himself. Then he gave Willful a golden cross to protect
him from harm, a magic glass to magnify even the tiniest creatures,
and a curious fan-shaped instrument, by which the languages of the
animal-world might be understood.
With these to assist him, Willful started on his journey. He visited
many countries and saw many wonderful things, but it was a long time
before he learned anything from what he saw, for he was so proud that
he thought nothing could teach him.
But one day he was lying down in the shade of a tree, and was looking
around for some object of interest, when he saw a number of ants going
up and down the tree in great haste. He further noticed that when two
ants met they would stop and touch each other with the little horns on
their heads, just as people shake hands.
This amused Willful, and he wished to know its meaning, so he took out
his hearing fan, and placing it to his lips he found that one ant said
to the other, "Good morning, Mr. Ant; fine day. Been to breakfast?" to
which the other replied pleasantly, and passed on.
While he was watching these tiny creatures, he saw one which appeared
very much excited over something. It stopped one of its friends who
was going up the tree, and said, "Have you seen my goats this morning?
I went up to milk them a few moments ago; and can not find them
anywhere." "Yes," replied the other, "They got over into my pasture;
come with me and I will find them for you." Then the two went up the
tree and disappeared.
Willful's curiosity was thoroughly aroused; so he climbed the tree,
and, crawling out upon one of the branches, took out his magic glass
and looked around to see what the ants meant by their "_goats_."
Soon he found the two ants, with a herd of tiny plant lice feeding on a
large leaf. Then he knew what the ant meant by his "_goats_."
The lost goats were soon picked out, and their master proceeded to milk
them.
Willful was so interested by these singular creatures that he
determined to study their habits; so, descending from the tree he
searched for the anthills. Then he spent hours in watching their
occupants, and he learnt many things of benefit to him.
He found that they had a regular government, which was as well
organized as any human kingdom; and that in some respects they
surpassed mankind, for they had reached the point where everything was
held in common, yet quarrels over the right of property were unknown.
Each had its own labor to perform and none were allowed to be idle. In
fact, Willful thought he had never seen, even in his own country, so
peaceable, happy, and contented a people as were these occupants of the
sand-hills.
"Surely," thought he, "I know now the value and importance of
industry." After this the prince was not so proud as he once had been;
but was more ready to learn from whatever he saw.
One day he had the misfortune to tear his cloak, and he was at a loss
to mend it, for he had never even seen anyone sew. All his clothes were
made for him by the king's tailors, and he had no thought of how it was
done.
He was sore perplexed and was wondering what he should do, when he was
startled by hearing a sharp, shrill voice utter these words,--
"Come here, children, you are now too large to spend your entire time
in play; you must learn to make your house."
[Illustration: WHAT WILLFUL SAW.]
At first Willful thought it was a woman calling,--for he had forgotten
that he had his magic fan in his hand--but looking around, he saw a
bird perched upon a limb, and several birdlings flitting around her.
At the words of their mother, they all clustered around her, and the
lesson began.
She first selected some fibers, and then quickly twisted them into
a good, stout thread, holding one end with her claws. Then she ran
it through a little hole in her beak, and thus she had a needle and
thread. With these she proceeded to sew together a few leaves, so as to
form a little pocket or nest, and lining it with some moss which was
gathered near by, she had a capital nest, large enough for herself and
little ones.
Willful watched this queer bird with great interest, the more so
because it taught him a valuable lesson.
Following the bird's example he contrived to find a needle and thread,
consisting of a sharp, stout thorn, and some long, tough grass, with
which he mended his torn garment. Willful thought that he had learned
from the habits of these creatures, another and valuable lesson, but he
was now anxious to see something of methods of warfare among animals.
He did not have to wait very long, for in a little while after the
sewing lesson, he traveled over a very level country, which seemed to
be mostly inhabited by large herds of buffalo.
The pest of these creatures was the prairie wolves, which were found in
great numbers. Often, driven by hunger, they would scent their prey,
and a large pack of them would attack the buffalo in great fury.
When the buffalo herd was approached by these hungry packs, some old
bull would give a great bellow of warning and the whole mass would
prepare for defense.
The cows, calves, and weaker ones would huddle together and the strong
bulls would form a circle around them with their heads outward; their
horns making such a defense against attack as soldiers with bayonets.
The wolves would try to break through the circle, but if one came too
near, he was sure to be tossed high into the air, howling and bleeding.
They would gather in a body and all rush at one bull, but many were
sure to be gored by his fierce horns before they could bring him down,
and no sooner was he down than his place was filled by another bull,
ready to receive the next attack of the wolves.
[Illustration: HID IN THE FOREST.]
After awhile the whole pack would get tired of
such costly fighting and leave the buffaloes in peace.
Willful witnessed several of these battles, and he was much impressed
with the skill and bravery of the horned tribe.
He learned much of great importance on the art of warfare; and this he
thought was the last of the three lessons. So he turned his journey
homewards and in due season reached his father's palace, where he was
welcomed with joy.
On the day after his return he was summoned to a meeting of the wise
men of the kingdom, and in their presence was asked by the king what
three lessons he had learned.
Then Willful in an humble manner, unlike his former character,
replied:--"These, my father, are the lessons that my observation has
taught me: First,--That even a prince may learn from the smallest of
God's creatures. Second--That a government is strong only when each
citizen has some honest means of earning a living, and receives a
suitable reward for his labor. Third--That it is best to fight only
when attacked, and then to die, if need be, in defense of what we love."
Then the people applauded him, for they saw that he had grown in wisdom
and had become a fit king for his people.
[Illustration]
MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG!
F. BRET HARTE.
"My sister'll be down in a minute, and says you're to wait,
if you please;
And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise her never to tease,
Nor speak 'till you spoke to me first,
But that's nonsense; for how would you know
What she told me to say, if I didn't?
Don't you really and truly think so?
"And then you'd feel strange here alone,
And you wouldn't know just where to sit;
For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit;
We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like you
To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last
screw.
"Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh! you're afraid
they would think it mean!
Well, then, there's the album; that's pretty, if you're sure that
your fingers are clean.
For sister says sometime, I daub it; but she only says that when
she's cross.
That's her picture. You know it? Its like her; but she ain't
good-looking, of course.
"This is me." Its the best of 'em all. Now tell me, you'd never have
thought
That once I was as little as that? Its the only one that could be
bought;
For that was the message to pa from the photograph man when I sat,--
That he wouldn't print off any more, till he first got his money for
that.
"What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than
this.
There's all her back hair to do up, and all her front curls to friz.
But its nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you
and me!
Do you think you'll be coming here often?
Oh, do! But don't come like Tom Lee,--
"Tom Lee, her last beau, why, my goodness! he used to be here day and
night,
Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack says that gave
him a fright.
You won't run away then, as he did? for you're not a rich man,
they say.
Pa says you're as poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor
are they?
"Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair
isn't red;
But what there is left of it's mousy, and not what that naughty Jack
said.
But there I must go; sister's coming!
But I wish I could stay, just to see
If she ran up to you, and she kissed you, in the way that she used to
kiss Lee."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE GIANT WHO HAD NO HEART.
[Illustration]
There was once upon a time a king who had seven sons. He loved them all
so much that he could never do without them all at once; one had always
to be with him. When they were grown up, six of them set out to woo.
But the father kept the youngest son at home, and for him the others
were to bring back a princess to the palace. The king gave the six
the finest clothes you ever set your eyes upon, and you could see the
glitter of them a long way off, and each had his own horse, which cost
many, many hundred dollars, and so they set out on the journey.
After having been to many royal palaces and seen all the princesses
there, they came at last to a king who had six daughters; such lovely
princesses they had never seen, and so each of them began wooing one
of the six sisters, and when they had got them for sweethearts, they
set out for home again; but they quite forgot to bring a princess with
them for Ash-ie-pat-tle,[1] who was left at home, so busy were they
making love to their sweethearts.
When they had journeyed a good bit of the way, they passed close to
the side of a steep mountain, where there was a giant's castle. As
soon as the giant saw them, he came out and turned them all, princes
and princesses, into stone. But the king waited and waited for his six
sons, but no sons came. He was very sad, and said that he should never
be glad again.
"Had you not been left to me," he said to Ash-ie-pat-tle, "I should not
care to live any longer. I am so sad because I have lost your brothers."