him honor, or trying to understand what he has done for us. A dreary
world ours would be, if there were no poets' songs echoing through it;
and we may be proud of our country that it has a poetry of its own,
which it is for us to know and possess for ourselves.
Longfellow has said:
"What the leaves are to the forest
With light and air and food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,
That to the world, are children":
and something like this we may say of his songs. There is in all true
poetry a freshness of life which makes the writer of it immortal.
The singer so much beloved has passed from sight, but the music of his
voice is in the air, and, listening to it, we know that he can not die.
[Illustration]
=Inauguration Day=
_March 4_
The date was settled by the old Congress of the Confederation in 1788,
when the procedure was established for the election of a President. It
was decreed that the Electoral College should meet on the first
Wednesday of January, the votes be counted by the House of
Representatives on the first Wednesday of February, and the President be
inaugurated on the first Wednesday of March. This March date was the
4th. March 4 has been Inauguration Day ever since.
=HOW A PRESIDENT IS INAUGURATED=
BY CLIFFORD HOWARD
As you will remember, Thomas Jefferson was the first President of our
country to be inaugurated at Washington. This took place in the year
1801, when our national capital was not much more than a year old; and
you may imagine that the city was a very different-looking place from
what it is to-day.
But now instead of a straggling town with a few muddy streets and about
three thousand inhabitants, Jefferson would find our national capital
one of the most beautiful cities on the face of the earth, with a
population of nearly three hundred thousand; and on March 4 he would
behold a scene such as he never dreamed of. Thousands of flags fly from
the house-tops and windows, bright-colored bunting in beautiful designs
adorns the great public buildings, all the stores and business houses
are gaily decorated with flags and streamers, and everything presents
the appearance of a great and glorious holiday, while the streets swarm
with the hundreds of thousands of people who have come to the city from
all parts of the country to take part in the grand celebration.
Everybody is moving toward Pennsylvania Avenue, where the parade is to
march. No, not everybody: some fifty or sixty thousand make their way to
the Capitol, so as to get a glimpse of the inauguration exercises that
take place on the east portico; and although the ceremonies will not
begin until nearly one o'clock, the great space in front of the Capitol
is packed with people three hours before that time, some of them having
come as early as eight o'clock in the morning to be sure of getting a
good view.
Early in the morning Pennsylvania Avenue is cleared of all street-cars,
carriages, and bicycles, and no one is allowed to step off the sidewalk.
A strong wire rope is stretched along each side of the avenue, so as to
prevent people from getting into the street.
Soon every window and balcony along the line is crowded with spectators.
Even the roofs are black with people, and small boys may be seen
perched among the branches of the trees, or hanging on to the
electric-light poles. For a distance of nearly three miles, on each side
of the street, people are packed so closely together that it is almost
impossible for them to move. In every park and open space along the line
large wooden stands have been erected; and these, too, are filled with
those who are willing to pay for seats.
As the time for the morning parade draws near, the crowds become
restless with eagerness and excitement. Policemen on horseback dash up
and down the avenue to see that the road is clear, and every now and
then a trooper or messenger in bright uniform gallops past. Suddenly the
boom of a cannon is heard. The next moment there comes the distant roll
of drums, and then, amid the inspiring music of brass bands and
tremendous cheering, the procession appears moving slowly down the
avenue on its way to the Capitol. Riding ahead is a squad of mounted
police--big, brawny fellows, with glittering brass buttons. After them
come the United States troops and naval forces, armed with their rifles
and sabers that flash in the sunlight, and marching to the music of the
famous Marine Band, while rumbling over the hard, smooth pavement of
the avenue come the big cannons drawn by powerful horses. Then appears
the chief marshal of the parade on his spirited horse, heading the
body-guard of soldiers that surround the open carriage containing the
President and the President-elect, sitting side by side. As the
carriage, which is drawn by four handsome horses, rolls slowly along
with its distinguished occupants, men and boys shout and cheer at the
top of their lungs, and throw their hats into the air when their voices
give out, while the women and girls wave their handkerchiefs and hurrah
with the rest of the crowd. With hat in hand, the President-elect smiles
and bows to the right and the left; and with the bands playing and
people cheering, handkerchiefs fluttering and flags flying, he arrives
at the Capitol a few minutes before noon. Here he meets with another
rousing reception from the great mass of people who have been waiting
for him for two or three hours; and it requires all the efforts of a
small army of police to open the way for him and his party to pass into
the Capitol.
[Illustration: GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON ON THE WAY TO HIS INAUGURATION]
The House of Representatives is about to adjourn, and many of its
members have already come over to the Senate to witness the closing
exercises there. Extra chairs and seats have been brought in for them
and the many other prominent officials who also have gathered there,
including the officers of the army and the navy, the justices of the
Supreme Court, the cabinet officers, and the foreign ambassadors and
ministers, many of whom are dressed in their gorgeous state robes.
According to law, Congress must come to an end at noon; but if the
presidential party has not made its appearance when the Senate clock is
about to point to twelve, the hands are moved back a few minutes so as
to gain time. And before the hands are allowed to get around to twelve,
everybody has arrived, everything is in readiness, and the President of
the Senate has administered the oath of office to his successor, the new
Vice-President of the United States, who at once calls an extra session
of the Senate, so that not a moment elapses between the death of one
session and the birth of another. Then, after a short prayer by the
chaplain and a brief address by the Vice-President, the distinguished
people gathered in the Senate form in line, and, headed by a company of
newspaper reporters, they march in dignified procession to the rotunda,
and thence to the platform on the east front of the Capitol.
The nine justices of the Supreme Court, clothed in their black robes,
walk out on the platform first, followed by the President-elect. As soon
as the crowd catches sight of him, a deafening shout breaks forth from
fifty thousand throats, and, amid the enthusiastic uproar that lasts
several minutes, hats and canes, umbrellas and handkerchiefs, are waved
aloft or thrown wildly into the air by joyous and patriotic Americans.
Removing his hat, the President-elect comes forward, and, turning to the
Chief Justice of the United States, takes the oath of office as required
by the Constitution. Then comes the inaugural address, which, of course,
only those near the platform are able to hear. But the thirty or forty
thousand who can't hear the speech are willing to agree with everything
that is said, and every little while they shout and cheer and applaud.
[Illustration: THE INAUGURATION OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD]
All this time the crowd on the avenue has been patiently waiting for the
return of the President. The morning's procession was nothing more than
a military escort; now is to come the great feature of the day--the
grand inauguration parade. The ceremonies at the Capitol are over at
half-past one, and the new President goes at once to the White House,
greeted with rousing cheers all along the way, and prepares to review
the greatest parade ever seen in the city of Washington. All the
morning, companies of soldiers, political clubs, bands, and drum corps
have been preparing for the afternoon's march. There are so many
thousands who are going to take part in the parade that orders have been
given requiring all companies to march in ranks reaching from curb to
curb, a distance of one hundred and thirty feet, and to follow one
another as closely as possible.
The march is begun a little before two o'clock; and, although the people
have been standing on the sidewalks since early morning, they have
plenty of enthusiasm left, and they fill the air with their shouts and
hurrahs as regiment after regiment of magnificently drilled soldiers and
horses marches by.
Even after the electric lamps are lighted, men and horses are still
tramping along the avenue, and people are still shouting and the bands
playing and flags waving. And all this time the President stands in
front of the White House, reviewing the marching thousands as they pass
along.
But although the big parade finally comes to an end, the festivities are
not yet over. Late into the night the city is brilliantly illuminated
by magnificent and wonderful fireworks and powerful electric
search-lights that shine from the tops of the tall buildings and light
up the great dome of the Capitol and the Washington monument. Then comes
the grand inaugural ball. There are over ten thousand people present,
and the scene is a glorious and wonderful sight.
It is almost sunrise when the last carriage rolls away, and with the
closing of the ball the inauguration festivities end.
=Easter Day=
Easter is the Sunday that follows the 14th day of the calendar moon,
which falls upon or next after the 21st of March. This Sunday, when
Christian churches celebrate the resurrection of Christ, is one of
solemn rejoicing. Coming after the self-denials of Lent and at the
beginning of spring, it seems naturally a time of hope and new life. It
is the feast of flowers, particularly of lilies, and the name had its
origin in a festival in honor of the goddess of spring. The esteem in
which it is held is indicated by its ancient title, "The great day."
=A SONG OF EASTER=
BY CELIA THAXTER
Sing, children, sing!
And the lily censers swing;
Sing that life and joy are waking and that Death no more is king.
Sing the happy, happy tumult of the slowly brightening Spring;
Sing, little children, sing!
Sing, children, sing!
Winter wild has taken wing.
Fill the air with the sweet tidings till the frosty echoes ring!
Along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering cling;
And the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face to the sun,
And in the meadows softly the brooks begin to run;
And the golden catkins swing
In the warm airs of the Spring;
Sing, little children, sing!
Sing, children, sing!
The lilies white you bring
In the joyous Easter morning for hope are blossoming;
And as the earth her shroud of snow from off her breast doth fling,
So may we cast our fetters off in God's eternal Spring.
So may we find release at last from sorrow and from pain,
So may we find our childhood's calm, delicious dawn again.
Sweet are your eyes, O little ones, that look with smiling grace,
Without a shade of doubt or fear into the Future's face!
Sing, sing in happy chorus, with joyful voices tell
That death is life, and God is good, and all things shall be well;
That bitter days shall cease
In warmth and light and peace,--
That Winter yields to Spring,--
Sing, little children, sing!
[Illustration: "HE SAT DOWN ON THE STEP, BREATHLESS WITH SURPRISE AND
JOY"]
=THE GENERAL'S EASTER BOX=
BY TEMPLE BAILEY
The General did not look at all as one would expect a general to look.
He was short and thick-set and had a red face and a white mustache, and
he usually dressed in a gray tweed suit, with a funny Norfolk jacket
with a belt, and wore a soft cap pulled down almost to his eye-glasses.
And he always did his own marketing.
That is how he came to know Jimmy.
Jimmy stood at a corner of Old Market and sold little bundles of dried
sage and sweet marjoram, and sassafras and cinnamon, and soup-bunches
made of bits of vegetables tied together--a bit of parsley and a bit of
celery and a bit of carrot and a sprig of summer savory, all for one
cent. Then at Christmas-time he displayed wreaths, which he and his
little mother made at home, and as the spring came on he brought wild
flowers that he picked in the woods.
And that was how he came to know the General.
For one morning, just before Easter, the General came puffing down the
outside aisle of Old Market, with his colored man behind him with an
enormous basket. The General's carriage was drawn up to the curbstone,
and the gray horses were dancing little fancy dances over the asphalt
street, when all at once Jimmy thrust a bunch of arbutus under the
General's very nose.
"Go away, go away," said the General, and trotted down to the carriage
door, which a footman held open for him.
But a whiff of fragrance had reached him, and he stopped.
"How much?" he asked.
"Three cents," said Jimmy, in a hoarse voice.
The General looked at the little fellow through his eye-glasses.
"Got a cold?" he inquired gruffly.
"Yes, sir," croaked Jimmy.
"Why don't you stay in the house, then?" growled the General.
"Can't, sir," said Jimmy, cheerfully; "business is business."
The General looked at the little stand where "business" was
transacted--at the little rows of dried stuffs, at the small basket of
flowers, and at the soup-bunches.
"Humph," he said.
Then his hand went down into his pocket, and he pulled out a lot of
change. After that he chose two bunches of sweet, pinky blossoms.
"Two for five, sir," said Jimmy.
"Hum," said the General. "You might give me some parsley and a
soup-bunch."
Jimmy wrapped up the green stuff carefully and dropped it into the
basket carried by the colored man.
"Nine cents, sir," he said; and the General handed him a dime and then
moved to the next stall, holding the flowers close to his nose.
"You forgot your change," cried Jimmy, and rushed after him with the one
cent.
"Keep--" But one look at the honest little face and he changed his
sentence.
"Thank you, young man," he said, and away he drove.
After that Jimmy looked for the General, and the General for Jimmy.
Their transactions were always carried on in a strictly business manner,
although, to be sure, the General's modest family of two did not
require the unlimited sage and sweet marjoram that were ordered from
time to time.
On the Saturday before Easter the little stand was gay with new wares.
In little nests of dried grasses lay eggs--Easter eggs, bright pink and
blue and purple and mottled. Jimmy had invested in a dozen at forty
cents the dozen, and he had hopes of doubling the money, for work surely
counted for something, and he and the Little Mother had dyed them.
But somehow people passed them by. Inside of the market there were finer
nests, and eggs gilded and lettered, and Jimmy began to feel that his
own precious eggs were very dull indeed.
But when the General appeared around the corner, the boy's spirits rose.
Here, at any rate, was a good customer.
The General, however, was in a temper. There had been an argument with
the fish-man which had left him red in the face and very touchy. So he
bought two bunches of arbutus and nothing else.
"Any eggs, sir?" asked Jimmy.
"Eggs?" said the General, looking over the little stand.
"Easter eggs," explained Jimmy.
"I've no use for such things," said the General.
"Oh!" said Jimmy, and in spite of himself his voice trembled. When one
is the man of the family, and the Little Mother is sewing for dear life,
and her work and the little stand in the market are all that pay the
rent and buy food, it is sometimes hard to be brave. But the General did
not notice the tremble.
Jimmy tried again:
"Any children, sir? Children always like Easter eggs, you know."
"No," said the General; "no one but a son in the Philippines--a son some
six feet two in his stockings."
"Any grandchildren, sir?" hopefully.
"Bless my soul," said the General, testily, "what a lot of questions!"
And he hurried off to his carriage.
Jimmy felt very forlorn. The General had been his last hope. The eggs
were a dead loss.
At last it came time to close up, and he piled all of his wares in a
basket. Then he took out a little broom and began to sweep in an orderly
way around his little stall. He had a battered old dustpan, and as he
carried it out to the street to empty it, he saw a stiff greenish-gray
paper sticking out of the dirt. Nothing in the world ever looks exactly
like that but an American greenback, and, sure enough, when Jimmy pulled
it out it proved to be a ten-dollar bill.
Jimmy sat down on the curb suddenly. His money always came in pennies
and nickels and dimes and quarters. The Little Mother sometimes earned a
dollar at a time, but never in his whole life had Jimmy possessed a
ten-dollar bill.
Think of the possibilities to a little, poor, cold, worried boy. There
was two months' rent in that ten-dollar bill--two months in which he
would not have to worry over whether there would be a roof over their
heads.
Then there was a basket stall in that ten-dollar bill. That had always
been his ambition. Some one had told him that baskets sold well in other
cities, and not a single person had opened a basket stall in Old Market,
and that was Jimmy's chance. Once established, he knew he could earn a
good living.
As for ten dollars' worth of groceries and provisions, Jimmy's mind
could not grasp such a thing; fifty cents had always been the top limit
for a grocery bill.
But--it wasn't Jimmy's ten dollars. Like a flash his dreams tumbled to
the ground. There had been many people coming and going through Old
Market, but Jimmy knew that the bill was the General's. For the old
gentleman had pulled out a roll when he reached for the five cents. Yes,
it was the General's; but how to find the General?
Inside the market he found the General's butcher. Yes, the butcher knew
the General's address, for he was one of his best customers, and would
keep Jimmy's basket while the boy went to the house.
It was a long distance. Jimmy passed rows of great stone mansions, and
went through parks, where crocuses and hyacinths were just peeping out.
At last he came to the General's.
A colored man answered the ring of the bell.
"Who shall I say?" he inquired loftily. "The General is very busy,
y'know."
"Say Jimmy, from the market, please"; and Jimmy sat down on the great
hall seat, feeling very much awed with all the magnificence.
"Well, well," said the General, as he came puffing down the stairs.
"Well, well, and what do you want?"
"Please, sir, did you drop this?" and Jimmy held out the tightly rolled
bill.
"Did I? Well, now, I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps I did, perhaps I did."
"I found it in front of my stall," said Jimmy.
What a strange thing it seemed that the General should not know! Jimmy
would have known if he had lost a penny. He began to feel that the
General could not have a true idea of _business_.
The General took out a roll of bills. "Let me see," he said. "Here's my
market list. Yes, I guess that's mine, sure enough."
"I'm glad I noticed it," said Jimmy, simply. "I came near sweeping it
into the street."
"And what can I pay you for your trouble?" asked the General, looking at
the boy keenly.
"Well," said Jimmy, stoutly, "you see, business is business, and I had
to take my time, and I'd like to get back as soon as I can."
The General frowned. He was afraid he was going to be disappointed in
this boy.
"And so," went on Jimmy, "if you would give me a nickel for car-fare, I
think we might call it square."
[Illustration: "THEN THE GENERAL, WITH KNIFE UPRAISED, STOPPED IN HIS
CARVING OF THE COLD ROAST CHICKEN, AND TURNED TO JIMMY"]
The General fumbled around for his eye-glasses, put them on, and looked
at Jimmy in astonishment.
"A nickel?" he asked.
"Yes, sir"; Jimmy blushed. "You know I ought to get back."
"Well, well," said the General. The boy had certainly the instincts of a
gentleman. Not a single plea of poverty, and yet one could see that he
was poor, very poor.
Just then a gong struck softly somewhere. "I'm not going to let you go
until you have a bit of lunch with us," said the General. "I have told
my wife of Jimmy of the market, and now I want you to meet her."
So Jimmy went down into a wonderful dining-room, where the silver and
the cut glass shone, and where at the farther side of the table was the
sweetest little old lady, who came and shook hands with him.
Jimmy had never before eaten lunch where the soup was served in little
cups, but the General's wife put him at his ease when she told him that
his very own soup-bunches were in that soup, and if he didn't eat plenty
of it he wouldn't be advertising his wares. Then the General, with knife
upraised, stopped in his carving of the cold roast chicken, and turned
to Jimmy with a smile of approval in his genial face, and said that it
was his sage, too, that was in the chicken dressing.
They made Jimmy talk, and finally he told them of his ambition for a
basket stall.
"And when do you expect to get it?" asked the General, with a smile.
"When I get the goose that lays the golden egg, I am afraid, sir," said
Jimmy, a little sadly.
Then the General's wife asked questions, and Jimmy told her about the
Little Mother, and of their life together; but not one word did he tell
of their urgent need, for Jimmy had not learned to beg.
At last the wonderful lunch was over, somewhat to Jimmy's relief, it
must be confessed.
"I shall come and see your mother, Jimmy," said the General's wife, as
Jimmy left her.
Out in the hall the General handed the boy a nickel. "Business is
business, young man," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
* * * * *
That night Jimmy and his mother sat up very late, for the boy had so
much to tell.
"Do you think I was wrong to ask for the nickel, Mother?" he asked
anxiously, when he had finished.
"No," said his mother; "but I am glad you didn't ask for more."
Then, after Jimmy had gone to bed, the mother sat up for a long time,
wondering how the rent was to be paid.
On Easter Monday morning Jimmy and the Little Mother started out to pick
the arbutus and the early violets which Jimmy was to sell Tuesday at his
little stall.
It was a sunshiny morning. The broad road was hard and white after the
April showers, the sky was blue, and the air was sweet with the breath
of bursting buds. And, in spite of cares, Jimmy and his mother had a
very happy time as they filled their baskets.
At last they sat down to tie up the bunches. Carriage after carriage
passed them. As the last bunch of flowers was laid in Jimmy's basket, a
victoria drawn by a pair of grays stopped in front of the
flower-gatherers.
"Well, well," said a hearty voice, and there were the General and his
wife! They had called for Jimmy and his mother, they said, and had been
directed to the wooded hill.
"Get in, get in," commanded the General; and, in spite of the Little
Mother's hesitancy and timid protests, she was helped up beside the
General's wife by the footman, while Jimmy hopped in beside the General,
and away they went over the hard white road.
The General was in a gay mood.
"Well, my boy, have you found your golden egg?" he asked Jimmy.
"No, sir," said Jimmy, gravely; "not yet."
"Too bad, too bad," said the old gentleman, while he shifted a white box
that was on the seat between himself and Jimmy to the other side.
"You're quite sure, are you, that you could only get it from a goose?"
he asked later.
"Get what, sir?" said Jimmy, whose eyes were on the gay crowds that
thronged the sidewalks.
"The egg," said the General.
"Oh--yes, sir," replied Jimmy, with a smile.
The General leaned back and laughed and laughed until he was red in the
face; but Jimmy could see nothing to laugh at, so he merely smiled
politely, and wondered what the joke was.