mother's bed, and felt in such excellent spirits, that he turned to his
mother, and cried, "Do wake up, mamma! wake up, papa! it is so pleasant!
I could jump out of the window with joy. I will, _too!_" and before his
mother could spring from the bed to prevent him, Peter had scrambled out
of the window, and was running along the eaves, his one little garment
fluttering behind him in the soft summer breeze. He came presently to
the window of his sister Minnie's room, and, as it was open, jumped in,
and commenced dancing about and turning somersets in a perfect ecstasy
of delight, exclaiming, "I am so happy! I am so happy! I don't know what
to do! I wish I could sit up the whole time, and never go to bed any
more, or have to spell long words, or learn that stupid
multi-something-cation table; but just eat lumps of sugar, and play the
whole time."
"Why, Peter!" said Minnie, who was now awake, and laughing at his
comical antics, "I don't think it very likely you will ever die of
learning. What are you going to do when you grow up, if you don't learn,
while you are young, to read, write, and cipher?"
"Oh, there will always be plenty of people to read to me, just as there
are now. I mean to hire two big girls to do nothing else but to read to
me; when one is tired, the other shall begin. Just look at my little
white mouse, Minnie: I dare say it is nothing but hard work, and that
dreadful studying, that has turned his hair white! I mean to take care
of my health, my dear," and the queer little fellow shook his head at
her in a solemn fashion, looking at least fifty, and then scampered off
to his mother's room to be dressed.
While the dressing was going on, Peter saw a spider, and exclaimed,
"Only look, mamma! at that great daddy long-legs staring in at the
window! I should think his legs were about two miles long. And, see! he
has four tails sticking out behind!"
"Two inches would be nearer, Peter," answered his mother, "and his tails
are all legs. I expect he is looking in to invite some poor little
lady-fly into his parlor, and when he has her there, he will pounce upon
his company and eat her up."
"The hateful thing!" exclaimed Peter; "I'll just tie a string to one of
his legs, and throw him into the water. I've a first-rate string in my
pocket. But here! what's the matter? what ails my pantaloons? where's my
pockets?" he continued, looking down in dismay at the strange, baggy
appearance of the garment.
The truth is, Peter's mother had been so busy looking at the spider,
that she had put on and buttoned his pantaloons the wrong side before.
Peter went on saying, "Why, mother, what's a fellow to _do_? How am I to
get my hands in my pockets?" He twisted his head over his shoulders till
he made a terrible kink in his neck, and turned his arms nearly out of
their sockets in his efforts to dive into his pockets; and there came
over his childish face such a ridiculously solemn and tragical air, that
his mother nearly died of laughter.
When she could speak she said, "You must excuse me, Peter, it was an
accident. It is very fortunate your head don't come off. If I had
buttoned _that_ the wrong side before, you would have been worse off
than a crab; they walk sideways, but you would have had to have walked
backwards."
In a few moments the pantaloons were danced off, and put on again; this
time "all right and tight," as Peter said. Then his mother washed his
face and hands, till they perfectly shone, they were so bright and
clean; and, at his earnest request, she brushed his hair very carefully,
with a seam down behind, and a flourishing curl on top, "like the
dandies."
And now the little boy's face assumed a serious, thoughtful expression,
as, kneeling by the side of his good mamma, he repeated this little
prayer:--
"Ere from my room I wend my way,
God grant me grace my prayers to say:
O God! preserve my mother dear,
In strength and health, for many a year;
And O! preserve my father, too,
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ,
To be my parents' hope and joy:
And O! preserve my sisters dear,
From every hurtful influence here:
And may we always love each other,
Our sisters, father, and our mother;
And still, O Lord, to me impart
An innocent and grateful heart,
That, after my last sleep, I may
Awake to thy eternal day."[A]
[A] S. T. Coleridge.
After saying this beautiful prayer he ran down stairs, and out into the
sweet, fresh air, and had a glorious scamper, which gave him a famous
appetite for his breakfast.
I am obliged to tell you that my little friend Peter was as full of
mischief as an egg is full of meat, and he always went so seriously to
work, with such a grave twinkle in his bright, blue eyes, that you could
not help laughing if you were ever so angry.
One morning he was alone in the parlor, sitting in his little arm-chair;
a pair of old spectacles, which he had picked up somewhere, perched on
the end of his little nose, and one leg nursed up on the other, "just
like grandpa," as he said. He was pretending to read the newspaper.
Presently he rose up, stretched his little legs, (and very fine legs
they were,) the stockings upon which were tightly gartered above the
knee, and pushing the spectacles up on the top of his forehead, as he
had seen his grandfather do, he said to himself, "Dear me! very little
news in the paper to-day! Only the quarantine burned down. I wish _I_
had been there! What fun! to run all round with my little pail full of
water, and help to put it out! I wish they would set something else on
fire in the day time, and give a _man_ a chance to see it! I wonder what
I shall do next?" and Peter approached the window and looked out.
It was a still, lovely day; the sun sailed slowly up in the heavens, and
the blue and rippling waters caught his richest beams. Numerous crafts
crept lazily along, their snowy sails looking, in the distance, like the
listless wings of great white birds resting upon the waves. Upon the
pillars of the piazza the vines hung in rich festoons, and the naked
arms of one great tree near by (which, from some cause, was dead) were
perfectly covered with a prodigal and splendid flowering vine,
presenting a strange but graceful and beautiful appearance, a monument
to the exquisite and subtle taste which had spared it for this purpose.
Peter, young as he was, felt the witching influence of this lovely
scene. He watched, with intense interest, a flock of birds high up in
the heavens, wheeling swiftly round, and darting here and there, happy,
joyous and free; and then he turned to look at a little singing bird of
his sister's, imprisoned in a cage, hanging in the window.
"Well," said Peter, "it is a real shame to lock up this little bird,
when its father and mother, uncles and aunts, godfathers and godmothers,
and ever so many cousins, are running about in the sky, doing exactly as
they please--that's a fact! I'll just let him out," and he opened the
door of the cage.
In an instant the little bird flew out, darted through the window, and
was lost in the distance. When he had watched until it had disappeared,
Peter looked at the cage, and his face grew blank. All at once he began
to think it barely possible that his sister would not be quite as
delighted at the loss of her bird as he had at first fancied. To be sure
this was a free country, but with certain reservations. He began to feel
queer and frightened. "Goody! what shall I do?" he said to himself,
burying his hands in his pockets, and standing in a contemplative
attitude, with his chubby little legs very wide apart, the spectacles
still on the top of his head, "Goody! Minnie will want to cut off all my
fingers and toes for opening the door, I am sure she will! Oh! I know;
I'll just go and catch a chicken, and put it in the cage; it will be all
the same as the bird."
So the little scamp rushed into the kitchen for a handful of corn, and
as the chickens were very tame, and clustered around him the moment he
called them, he had no difficulty in capturing a small, white hen. Laden
with his prize, Peter went, with a hop, skip and jump, back to the
parlor, and by main force pushed and jammed the poor thing through the
door of the cage, and shut it, and then sat down, his face excessively
red, and breathing so hard you would have thought it was a porpoise
come out of the water to make a call upon the family.
The chicken, meanwhile, was lifting up first one leg and then the other,
in her very close quarters, with an expression of perfect astonishment
and disgust--occasionally giving vent to her displeasure by a dismal
"squawk," very unlike the sweet tones of a singing bird.
Peter thought the new bird might, perhaps, be hungry, and was scolding
him about it; so he went again into the kitchen, and walked off with
nearly a whole loaf of bread, which he crumbled in a great heap in a
corner of the cage. The chicken only kicked it out in all directions
over the carpet, and made a worse noise than ever, which plainly said,
"I want to get out! I want to get out!"
Poor Peter felt that he was in a terrible scrape when he heard this
abominable noise. I wish you could have seen his face when his sister
Minnie came into the parlor, a few moments after, to practise her music.
It was just the color of a stick of sealing wax or a fireman's shirt,
and he looked frightened out of his five senses, and the whole of his
wits.
At first she did not notice that any thing was amiss, as the piano was
at the other end of the room, and she commenced playing a beautiful
overture, when, suddenly, a loud, angry "cluck! cluck!" caused her to
jump up, with a little scream.
Looking round at the cage, she exclaimed in great astonishment, "Why,
what on earth! what is it? Has the bird got the dropsy and swelled out
in that dreadful manner? Impossible! Goodness!" she exclaimed again, as
the chicken gave vent to another cry, "It is not the bird at all!--it is
a chicken. But how did it come there? Why, Peter! what a red face! Do
you know, Peter? Answer me, this moment!"
And now poor little Peter fairly gave way. His lips, which had been
trembling all the time she was speaking, were drawn down at the corners,
nearly under his chin, as he sobbed out, "Why, Minnie, I thought the
bird wanted to run up into the sky, where all the other birds were, so I
just opened the door. I thought he would not go more than fifty miles,
you know, and then come back you know! I am so sorry, Minnie, it is
forty million pities if he _don't_ come back. I put the chicken in the
cage on purpose to please you; but she can't sing any thing but that old
'cluck, cluck!' and she kicked all the bread in my face, and I can't
bear her. Oh, dear! oh, dear me!"
For her life Minnie could not help laughing, and, besides, she could not
help admiring the brave manner (if he _did_ cry about) with which her
little brother told the truth. Peter was the baby of the family, an only
son, and a great pet; but if he _was_ dreadfully mischievous he never
did a mean thing, _and never told a lie_! Think of _that_, boys and
girls, and take example by the little fellow.
Minnie, when she saw how distressed he really was, generously forgave
him, and bade good-by to her bird, though not without some tears, for
she loved the little creature dearly; and to comfort Peter took him in
her lap, and told him an entertaining story.
One day, his mother said, "I am going to New York for a few days; what
shall I bring you, my darling, when I return?"
"Oh, mother! a penknife and a pair of skates for next winter, and a
penknife! and a basketfull of lemons, to make lemonade! and--and--if
you please, a penknife; do, please, mamma!"
His mother laughed at the great desire for a penknife, without which,
all boys feel, I believe, that they are very much abused, and deprived
of their peculiar right.
"I will remember all your wishes, my dear boy," she said, "particularly
the penknife."
"Well, mamma, for fear you might forget, I will write you a letter, and
papa shall take it to-morrow."
So that very afternoon, Peter took a large sheet of paper out of his
mother's writing-desk, and, pressing his sister Alice into his service,
dictated the following epistle:
"MY DEAR DARLING MAMMA,--I am very sorry you have gone away!
very sorry, indeed; so I am, certainly. I have just bumped my
head, and it hurts very much--not so very much, though--hardly
any. I wish you were here, and, besides, I want to see you very
much indeed. I want you to buy me a penknife. We have very
pleasant weather here, and I hope you have pleasant weather in
New York; I really _do_ hope so, that's a fact, certainly. I
'spect you will buy me a penknife and a pair of skates.
"I wish I could come to see you; but, unluckily, I am too
little, and, besides, I have no money, only but one penny; of
course that would not do, as I have not enough money to go to
and fro--of course not--I have only one penny.
"Have you money enough to buy my penknife? I have been a pretty
good boy, except sometimes, when I was cross--sometimes, last
night, when I wanted two pieces of cake; but I don't mean to be
cross again, not that I know of--may be. I hope you will bring
my penknife. I think that is long enough--of course it is.
Good-by, my dear mamma. I hope you will come back soon, and
bring my penknife the same day. Bring it in your pocket, shut
up, with a paper round it, and tied, and I am your affectionate
son,
"PETER."
"Shall I write a postscript?" said Alice.
"What's a postscript?" said Peter, with his head on one side.
"It is some thing very particular indeed, which ladies always put in
after the letter is finished."
"Oh, yes!" cried Peter, "I'm the boy for a postscript--certainly, of
course!"
"Well," said Alice, holding her pen over the paper.
"Well," repeated Peter, "Postscript, put _that_! Got that down?"
"Yes, all written beautifully!" answered Alice.
"Dear mamma, please _pertikerlary_ to bring me a penknife and--" oh,
Alice, "a pair of skates and a penknife!" and then the wonderful letter
was finished and sent the next morning; and let me tell you, Peter's
mother laughed over and enjoyed this letter more than she would have
done the finest complimentary epistle from the President of the United
States.
You may be sure that Peter got the penknife and his skates, too. With
the first, like boys in general, he cut himself about once a day; but
he did not care a button for that, but just had his finger tied up by
one of his kind sisters, and marched off, without even making a wry
face, with his precious knife in his pocket. The skates came, too; but,
as there had been no ice as yet, Peter had only tried them on dry
ground, which Alice told him was far the best and safest style of
skating, and repeated, for his edification, Mother Goose's solemn poem
of--
"Three children sliding on the ice--
All, on a summer's day--
The ice was thin; they all fell in;
The rest, they ran away.
Now, had these children been at home,
Or sliding on dry ground,
Ten thousand pounds to one penny
They had not all been drowned."
All of which was heathen Greek to Peter, or, as he called it, "Stuff!"
One day, soon after her return, Peter's mother took him with her to
visit an excellent lady of her acquaintance, who lived near by. They
found her sitting in the parlor, with her eldest son and daughter,
looking over a new and beautiful book, called Melodies for Childhood.
Soon after they were seated the lady said, "Something very amusing
happened up-stairs just now. I have a friend here spending the day, who
brought her little baby of four months with her. My little girl is just
the same age. Of course my friend's baby must have her nap, and I gave
her my little one's cradle to sleep in. But my baby was so very much put
out at this that she could not sleep at all; and little Harry, who, as
you know, is not quite three years old, was so grieved at what he
supposed was the wickedness of the other baby, in taking away his
sister's property, that he marched up to the cradle--his little breast
heaving, his eyes flashing, and his hand raised, while, with high,
indignant voice, he asked, "_Mamma, sall I_ SAPP _her?_" and I had to
run to save the little innocent from the impending blow."
[Illustration: "Mamma, sall I SAPP her?"]
Peter listened to all this with very large eyes and all the ears he had,
which were only two, and quite small; and when Harry came into the room,
a moment after, he rushed up to him, in a prodigious hurry, and cried,
"Harry, did you slap her? I would! Let's both go up-stairs and do it
now. Give it to her like sixty, for sleeping in your sister's bed!" This
proposal so delighted Harry that, in turning round suddenly to go out,
he fell over a chair and bumped his nose. Fortunately, this accident
kept both the children in the room, and the slapping of the baby had to
be postponed.
In the winter time, on the island, the ladies hold sewing meetings, and
sew for the poor; and many a warm garment and nice hood is made, and
given away to those who otherwise would suffer from the bitter cold.
The pleasantest of these meetings, every one said, was at "Clear
Comfort." They, all seemed to feel and acknowledge the sweet spell of
the place; and then, Minnie made such wonderful cakes, and the hot
biscuit were so light and feathery, that it certainly was the very
clearest comfort and enjoyment to eat them, and an inducement to sew
ever so much faster afterwards.
It was at one of these delightful meetings that I first met Peter,
sitting in front of the splendid wood fire in his own little arm-chair,
with his kitten in his lap and a demure twinkle in his blue eye, but
not in the least abashed at being the only gentleman in the party.
It was perfectly surprising how many kisses were bestowed upon Peter,
and how like a matter of course he took them, and how like a real little
gentleman he answered all the questions the ladies asked him; which so
delighted a very short, brown lady that she wanted to give him a
houseful of books and toys; but, not being quite able to afford that,
she sent him on last Christmas eve some stories she had written many
years before, accompanied by this string of rhymes, each verse of which
must be read in _one_ breath; and, as taking long breaths is beneficial
to the lungs, I may as well say that this is about all the merit they
have. Here it is. Peter calls it his "Pottery" letter:--
I.
My dear little Pet-
Er, so very neat,
With such tiny feet
As can't well be beat;
And dressed up so sweet
That it's quite a treat
To walk up the street,
And take a cool seat
Away from the heat,
On purpose to meet
And kindly to greet
(Almost wishing to eat)
This dear little Pete,
Who lives in the mansion
Called "Comfort Complete."
II.
And now only look!
I send you this book
By Dinah, the cook,
Who is black as a rook;
And she's _undertook_,
By hook or by crook,
Or by crook or by hook,
To take you this book;
And she shall be _shook_
If she says she's _mistook_,
And to the wrong Peter
Has given this book.
III.
I do not affect
To be quite correct,
But I've _tried_ to collect
These stories direct;
Which you may reject,
If the least disrespect,
Or the smallest neglect,
Or word incorrect
On the subjects elect
You can ever detect.
And please recollect,
That you may suspect
That I wish to protect,
And keep quite select,
My stories for children
I love and respect.
IV.
Then, what will you do?
Why, you'll tie up one shoe;
Then another--that's two
You'd begun to undo;
For all the world knew
You were sleepy "a few."
And looking askew
At the cat, who said "Mew!"
Meaning "Good-night," to you.
You'll wake up anew,
And say, "Mamma, who
Sent this book on view?
Have you the least clue?
I'm afraid she's a shrew,
As the color is blue.
The stories are true,
I supposes; don't you?"
V.
Then she'll say, "My dear,
'Tis Aunt Fanny, I hear.
She's nothing to scare,
For she's little and spare:
She's not very fair,
And as high as a chair."
Then you'll put on an air--
For in this affair
You have a great share--
And say, "I don't care
If she's _not_ very fair,
And so little and spare,
Or as cross as a bear:
I protest and declare
I like her, now--there!"
VI.
And now, Peter, attend!
To me your ear lend.
Your little head bend,
My dear little friend!
And never pretend
You don't comprehend;
But just condescend,
For a very good end,
That face to unbend,
Those fingers extend;
And, smiling, commend
And, frowning, defend
This book that I send.
Say, "Sir, your opinion
You're asked to suspend."
VII.
Then I'll say, "Where'er
You go, and, whene'er
At 'Clear Comfort,' whate'er
You do, and howe'er,
The writer will ne'er
From her inmost heart tear
Little Peter; but wear
A sweet souvenir there
Of her little friend dear,
Which no one shall share
As long as she's here."
This "Pottery" pleased Peter very much, and he kept his sisters busy
reading the stories in the little book to him.
As Peter is only six years old at present, I cannot possibly tell you
the whole of his history; but I will keep my eye upon him all this
coming year, and next Christmas, if you like, I will make another story
about his funny doings and sayings; or, if you prefer, you can make his
acquaintance, personally, in that charming place called _Clear
Comfort_.
THE STORY TOLD TO WILLIE.
"Oh, dear mamma!" said Willie, one pleasant summer's afternoon, "do,
please, tell me a story--ah, d-o!" and the little fellow put up his rosy
mouth and kissed his mother; well knowing that she could not resist his
entreaty, backed by so sweet a bribe. What mother can?
"Oh, you little rogue!" answered his mother, returning the caress, "I
have told you every story I can recollect, at least twenty times each.
Why not run out in the garden with your nice new ball, lying there on
the floor, and see how high you can throw it up in the air? You must
take more exercise in the open air, my dear little Willie. Let us make a
bargain. If you will play half an hour, and come in with a pair of rosy
cheeks, I will try to have a story ready for you--a _new_ story."
[Illustration: "Shake a Paw on it."]
"Oh, delightful!" cried Willie, and--accustomed to give his mother
_instant_ obedience--he caught up his ball and ran off, to obey her,
with a sweet, pleasant expression in his face.
Dear little children, it makes such a wonderful difference how you obey
your parents. If a boy is requested by his mother to leave his play and
go upon an errand for her, and he goes slowly, making dreadful faces,
and muttering to himself, "Dear me, why couldn't she send some one else;
I _hate_ to go!" do you think he gives his mother as much pleasure as
when he says, "Yes, mamma, of course I will!" and runs off to do her
bidding with two pleasant dimples in his cheeks? Which is the best way?
I think Willie knew. Do you?
Willie was an only child. He had large blue eyes, fair curling hair, and
dimpled cheeks; but I am sorry to say his cheeks were pale, for his
constitution was very delicate, and, though a frolicksome little fellow,
he very soon tired of play, and his greatest pleasure was to sit by his
mother and listen to some interesting story.
Solomon has written in the Good Book that "even a child is known by his
doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right." Children
should never forget this. Willie tried to remember it; for he was so
obedient, so thoughtful, and so loving, that I am sure, if he is
permitted to live, he will grow up a good man.
While Willie was playing, his kind mother, true to her promise, went
into the next room, where was a large book-case, to try and find some
story that would interest and amuse her little son. Presently she opened
a book, in which she chanced upon a story which she thought she could so
simplify to his childish understanding as to interest him exceedingly.
At this moment, Willie came bounding in--a delicate bloom on his cheeks,
and his blue eyes sparkling.
"Well, dear mamma," he cried eagerly, and catching his breath, "I have
played ball till my breath is as short as my nose. Is that enough?"
"Quite enough," said his mother, laughing. "Come and sit down, and in a
few minutes, I hope, your breath will grow as long as your arm. I think
I have a very nice story for you. It is about a fox and some other
animals. It was written by a great author. As it is written, it will be
almost _too old_ for a little fellow like you, but I will make it
younger if I can."
"Oh, that will be excellent!" said Willie, sitting down by his mother
and rubbing his hands in a great state of delight. "A fox--only think!
Will he talk? I hope he will; and I hope there will be giants and
fairies, and--and very good children, and very bad boys, and--oh, every
thing!"
His mother laughed again, and said, "There are only animals in this
story, but it is very long."
"That's perfect," cried Willie, "I could listen to stories all day and
all night; I hope this will last twice as long as possible--I mean,"
continued he, as his mother laughed at "possible," "very long, indeed,
you know."
And now he settled himself on his little bench by the side of his
mother, and, folding his hands, fixed his blue eyes upon her face as she
began:
THE WOOING OF MASTER FOX.
"Once upon a time two very respectable cats, of very old family, had an
only daughter, so amiable and beautiful that she was quite the belle of
the place."
"How 'belle?'" said Willie.
"Why, she was the best and most beautiful young lady, and received all
the presents and attentions."
"Oh, yes!" said Willie.