THE NEWSPAPER.
AND what about the newspaper? Well, it was a famous thing, for a time,
and made a great stir in the family. The idea originated with Kate, who
thought it would be rare sport to edit and publish a newspaper among
themselves; and as the others readily fell in with her plan, the
enterprise was soon under way. Aunt Fanny, who had frequently written
for the press, consented to act as editor, and Marcus and the children
all agreed to contribute their portion towards sustaining the paper. The
preliminaries were soon settled. The paper was to be called “THE HOME
WREATH.” It was to be issued weekly, and composed of one or more sheets
of letter paper, according to the quantity of matter furnished. Its
contents were to consist of short selections, cut from other papers, and
original articles. The latter were to be written on one side of narrow
slips of paper, of a uniform size, so that, with the selections, they
could be readily pasted into their places, in columns. Of course, but
one copy of each paper could be prepared, which was to circulate as
common property. The editor was authorized to reject, correct or
condense whatever was sent for publication. Communications were to be
sent to her through the letter-box; and it was further agreed that those
who contributed an article or letter to the “Wreath” every week, should
be exempted from further duties as members of the “Letter-writing
Society,” if they did not choose to keep up their private
correspondence.
The appearance of the first number of the “Home Wreath” was quite an
event in the household. The editor maintained a dignified reserve in
regard to its contents, until the day of publication, when it was
quietly ushered before its little public, six or seven pairs of eyes
being intently fastened upon it, before it had been two minutes from
“the office.” As one and another, who had “a finger in the pie,”
recognized their bantlings in the crowded columns, they looked pleased
and surprised, while others, who searched in vain for their
contributions, seemed still more surprised, and not quite so well
pleased. But here are the “Notices to Correspondents,” which doubtless
explain it all. Ah, yes, the editor is already bothered with articles
too long for her little paper, or too carelessly written to appear in
its columns. Well, perhaps this will be a salutary warning to the
offenders; and meanwhile, they can avenge themselves by criticising the
articles which have been more successful than their own. But we hear no
captious criticism, and perceive no signs of ill nature. The “Wreath” is
read, laughed over, discussed and admired by all, and at once takes its
place as an “established fact.”
The second number of the new paper promptly appeared, the next week, and
was generally regarded as an improvement on the first. The third was
indeed a surprise number, and produced a great sensation in the family.
It was issued on Ronald’s birth-day, who went early to the letter-box,
thinking himself entitled to the remembrance of his correspondents, on
such an occasion. He found a lot of small packages in the box, addressed
to different persons, on one of which he found his own name. Tearing off
the envelope, there appeared before him the “Home Wreath,” neatly
printed from real type, on printing paper! He could scarcely credit his
eyes, at first, but the evidence of its genuineness was too plain to be
disputed, for there was one of his own articles in real print! The
discovery was quickly known all over the house, and each of the inmates
found a copy of the paper in the post office, bearing his or her
address. Marcus and the editor both feigned surprise, when questioned
about the affair; but after a while the facts leaked out. An old
playmate and intimate friend of Marcus was employed in the printing
office of the neighboring village. Marcus frequently visited him, and,
with a view of getting up a birth-day present for Ronald, arranged with
his friend to print the “Wreath” for that occasion. The plan was
successfully carried out, as we have seen.
A transcript of this little sheet is given on the next two leaves,
somewhat reduced in its dimensions and the size of its type, to suit our
pages, but containing all the matter of the original.
THE HOME WREATH.
══════════════════════════════════════════
VOL. I. HIGHBURG, DECEMBER 4. NO. 3.
══════════════════════════════════════════
THE HOME WREATH:
A Weekly Journal for Home Improvement.
PAGE & CO., PUBLISHERS.
Terms—Gratis.
---------------------------------------------------------
For the Home Wreath,
LINES,
INSCRIBED TO RONALD D. PAGE.
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
Hurrah, boys! let us shout!
Come, leave your work and play,
And kick old care away;
Ye gloomy thoughts, get out!
We’ll have no mopes about—
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
A dozen years have fled
Since first the morning ray,
All sober, cold and gray,
Stole in upon my head;
How fast old Time hath sped!
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
Then help me to be glad!
Come all, and let’s be gay—
There’s nothing more to pay
For being bright than sad;
Cheer up, then, lass and lad!
I’m twelve! I’m twelve to-day!
* * * * *
An Exercise for Scholars.
IN England, young candidates for appointment in the civil service are
subjected to rigid examinations, designed to test their abilities and
acquirements. The following extract, which we have somewhat abridged,
shows one of the methods adopted for securing this end. It is said to
be a literal copy of a document which a young applicant for a
government clerkship was required to correct while undergoing his
examination. We wonder how many of our young readers could put it into
proper shape without consulting the dictionary.—ED.
“CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.—At the braking out of the revolushonery war
in Amerrica, Washinton joined the caus of indipendance. To detale his
conduct in the yeares which followed would be butt to relaite the
hystery of the American War. It may be said generaly that wethin a
verry short peeriod after the declarashion of indipendance the affairs
of Amerrica were in a condishun so desparate, that perhapps nothing but
the piculear caractar of Washinton’s genious could have retreaved them.
It required the consumate prudance, the calm whisdom, the inflexable
firmness, the modarate and well-balenced temper of Washinton to imbrace
such a plann of pollicy and to pursivere in it: to resist the
tempations of entreprize to fix the confidance of his solders without
the attraction of victery: to support the spirrit of the armey and the
peopel ammidst those sloe and caushious planns of difensive warfare
wich are more despereting than defeate itself: to restrain his owne
hambition and the empettuosity of his troupes: to indure temparary
hobscurety for the sallvation of his contry and for the attanement of
solled and imortal glory: and to suffer even temparary reproach and
oblaquy, supported by the haprobation of his own consience, and the
applaus of that small number of wise men whose praise is an earnest of
the hadmeration and grattitoode of possterity. Corage is enspired by
succes, and it may be stimulated to dasperate exirtion even by
callamity, but is generally pallseyed by inactivity. A sestem of
caushous defence is the severest tryal of human fortitoode and by this
teste the firmness of Washington was tryde.”
* * * * *
HATE.—Hannah More said: “If I wanted to punish an enemy, it should be
by fastening on him the trouble of constantly hating somebody.”
The Home Wreath.
──────────
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4.
─────────────────────
Nothing Insignificant.
OUR humble sheet is a very small affair; but if any stern critic is
disposed to despise it on that account, let us remind him that there is
nothing so small as to be wholly insignificant, when viewed in all its
relations. We everywhere find little things linked with greater, and
thousands of minute and hidden causes are constantly interlocking and
working together, to bring about those events which impress us with
their vastness and importance. A spark of fire may set in train a
conflagration which will lay waste thousands of acres. Large and
populous islands in the Pacific Ocean owe their origin to very small
insects. The great globe itself is made up of little particles—the
universe is but an aggregate of atoms. The astronomer finds it
necessary to note the minutest fractions of time in observing the
transit of a star whose age is perhaps measured by thousands of
centuries, and whose revolutions extend through infinite space. Thus
are moments linked with ages in the economy of nature, and thus are we
reminded that nothing is so minute as to be insignificant.
--------------
I Can’t.
This phrase is always in the mouth of some children when requested to
do anything. We once knew a boy who was greatly addicted to its use. He
wanted to learn to skate, but after one unsuccessful attempt, he gave
it up, saying, “I can’t.” The next summer several of his playmates
learned to swim, and he also wanted to learn; but after getting his
mouth and ears full of water, one day, he cried, “I can’t,” and that
was the end of his swimming experiments. If his class had a difficult
lesson, he never learned it, and his excuse was always the same—“I
can’t.” We once set him a copy in his writing-book, and told him that
if he could not imitate it perfectly, he must write as well as he
could. “I can’t,” was the ready reply. “What!” we exclaimed, “_can’t_
you write as well as you can?” He looked ashamed, but made no reply.
That boy is now a young man, but he is an ignorant, idle, and shiftless
fellow, and, we fear, will never be of much use either to himself or to
the world.
Commend us to the boy or girl who never says “I can’t,” except when
enticed to do wrong. “I can” does all things; “I can’t,” nothing.
--------------
To Correspondents.
Several articles intended for this number are crowded out. We shall
probably have to issue a double number next week, to accommodate our
friends.
We observe that some of our correspondents occasionally apply the
pronoun _thou_, and the pronominal adjectives _thy_ and _thine_, to
plural nouns. This is wrong. _You_ and _yours_ may be used either in
the singular or plural number; but _thou_, _thy_ and _thine_ are always
singular. You cannot say to a father and mother, as a poem which we
lately saw in a newspaper, (_not_ the “Wreath,”) said,—
“_Thy_ darling is in heaven.”
--------------
News Items.
☞ The Winter Term of the Highburg Academy commences on Monday next, and
will continue eleven weeks. Robert Upton, A. M., Preceptor; Mr. Marcus
Page, Assistant Teacher; and Miss Martha D. Tillotson, Teacher of
Drawing and Music.
* * * * *
☞ It is reported that traces of bears have been recently seen near
Turkey Hill, in the eastern part of Highburg. Several bears have been
killed this winter in the upper part of the county, and we should not
be surprised if some of the “varmints” made us a visit ere long.
* * * * *
☞ A lynx was shot last week in Burlington. The paper from which we
glean this item says: “The animal is a rare one in Vermont. It is of a
grayish color, with ears ending in tufts of black hair, standing [not
the ‘ears,’ nor the ‘hair,’ we presume, but the lynx] a little more
than a foot high, and measuring three feet in length. It subsists on
hares, rabbits, and such small animals, occasionally attacking a sheep,
or even a deer, by dropping on them [it] from a branch of a tree.”
* * * * *
☞ Two boys who had been skating in New York, a week or two since, were
attacked with violent cramps and inflammation, and one of them died
from the effects. It is conjectured that they laid down upon the ice,
while heated from their exercise. This should be a warning to skaters.
* * * * *
☞ The snow which fell Wednesday, though light, is sufficient to make
pretty good sleighing, and every body seems to be improving it. The
proprietors, contributors and subscribers of the “Wreath” took their
first sleigh-ride, this season, on Thursday. They were all comfortably
stowed away in a sleigh and a pung!
═════════════════════
Correspondence.
─────────────────────
For the Wreath.
Small Beginnings.
A gentleman was once examining a very large and fine library in Boston,
when the lady who had introduced him, asked him if he would like to see
the “nucleus” of the collection. (If you do not know what “nucleus”
means, you will have to turn to the dictionary, as I can think of no
simpler word to substitute for it.) “Yes, I should like to see it,”
replied the visitor. She then exhibited to him a Latin dictionary,
which she said was purchased by the owner when a boy, with money
obtained by the sale of blueberries. The owner was a farmer’s boy, and
that is the way he began his fine library. He is now a learned man, and
is well known in this country and in Europe.
* * * * *
For the Wreath.
Vanity—A Fable.
Two birds, whose plumage was very brilliant, and whose song was
beautiful, were sitting on a tree, singing, when they discovered a man
looking at them very intently. “There is an admirer—see how we have
entranced him!” cried one of the birds, and she put on her proudest
air, and warbled her sweetest song. “I do not like to be gazed at so
earnestly by a stranger,” modestly replied the other bird; “come, let
us go and hide ourselves from the intruder.” The modest bird flew into
a thicket and concealed herself; but the other, flying to the top-most
bough, began to show off all her airs, when suddenly the sharp crack of
a gun was heard, and the silly bird fell dead.
MORAL.—“Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a
fall.”
KETA.
* * * * *
For the Wreath.
MISS EDITOR:—I feel slighted. You are all writing for the “Wreath,” but
not a soul of you has asked me to contribute to your interesting paper.
Why is this? Have I not heard some of you say that I know as much as
many human bipeds of the same age? Don’t I understand almost everything
that you say to me? And if I only _could_ talk, wouldn’t I rattle away
as fast as any of you? I bet I would. If I don’t talk, it isn’t because
I’ve got no ideas, depend on that. But you see I can write, although
perhaps you did not know it. But fearing I am an intruder, I will stop.
ROVER.
* * * * *
For the Wreath.
The Snow.
Hurrah! The snow has come!—Now wont we have fine times! I like to see
it come thick and fast, and bury everything up. How curious it is, to
see the woods, and fences, and stones, and roofs, and fields, and
hills, covered over with the pure white snow! What fun it is to roll
and tumble in it! I like to have the roads all blocked up, so that we
can’t get anywhere, not even to school. Then what fun it is to break
out the ways! We have a large sled, with a plough lashed to the off
side. Then we hitch on six or eight yoke of oxen, and are ready for a
start. The boys load up the sled, and a lot of men go ahead to shovel
through the deep drifts, and so we go all over town till the roads are
broken out.
RON.
* * * * *
For the Wreath.
A Cunning Fellow.
The summer that I lived in Brookdale, I was one day in the woods, with
my cousin Jerry, and another boy, named Clinton, when we found a fox’s
hole. We began to dig her out; but when we got to the end of the hole,
we found nothing. Clinton said he had known a fox to bank herself up in
a separate cell, when her hole was invaded; and we determined to see if
our fox had not served us so. We dug, and soon found eight little ones,
all stowed away in a cell by themselves. We then tried to find the old
one, but could not. So we took the little ones and started off; but on
looking back we saw the old fox dart out of the hole and disappear. We
went back to examine the hole again, and found that she had a separate
cell for herself, which escaped our search. So she saved her own life,
but she lost her little ones.
OSCAR.
═════════════════════
Gleanings.
─────────────────────
Digest what you read. It is not what you eat but what you digest that
gives nourishment to the body; so with the mind. Young people sometimes
run through a book, and are not able to tell afterwards what they have
been reading.
“John,” said the schoolmaster, “you will soon be a man, and will have
to do business. What do you suppose you will do when you have to write
letters, unless you learn to spell, better?” “O, sir, I shall put easy
words in them.”
“Dick, I say, why don’t you turn the buffalo robe t’other side
out?—hair is the warmest.”
“Bah, Tom, you get out. Do you suppose the animal himself didn’t know
how to wear his hide?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------