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Grandmother sits in her easy chair
Softly humming some old-time air;
And as she sings, her needles keep pace
With the smiles that flit o'er her wrinkled face;
While the fire-light flickers, and fades away,
And comes again like the breaking day.

From morning till evening she knits and sings,
While ever the pendulum tireless swings
The moments around, with its tick and stroke,
Nor hastes for the festal, nor lags for the yoke.
And grandmother never repines at her fate
Of being the last at the "Crystal Gate."

Husband, and daughters, and sons all there,
Wearing the "crown and the garments fair"
Singing the songs that will never tire,
And swelling the chorus of heaven's choir;
But patiently, hopefully, bides the time
That shall bring her at last to a fairer clime.

Grandmother's chair will be vacant soon,
For the rays of life slant far past noon;
But yonder in heaven she'll sing again,
Joining the evermore glad refrain,
Wearing the "crown" and the "garments fair,"
While we mournfully stand by her vacant chair.


Elsie Dean was four years old when she was invited to her first party.
It was Dollie Blossom's fifth birthday, and Dollie's mamma had arranged
for a little party in honor of the event. Of course Elsie's mamma was
perfectly willing she should go to the party, for the Blossoms were very
nice people, and Mrs. Dean was always glad for an occasion of enjoyment
for her little daughter. But alas, on the day before the party was to
occur, Elsie went to a picnic, and was so unfortunate as to tear her
dress - the only one she had which her mamma thought was suitable for her
to wear to the party. "I am afraid you cannot go to the party, my dear,
for now you have nothing fit to wear," said Mrs. Dean to Elsie. The
little girl's eyes filled with tears, and her Grandmamma seemed to feel
almost as bad about it as Elsie. But she did not wish to make the little
girl feel any worse over her disappointment, so she made light of it and
told her that there would probably be another birthday party soon, and
by that time she would surely have a suitable dress to wear. Elsie was
finally comforted, and went to bed in good spirits after kissing mamma
and grandmamma good night.

What was Elsie's surprise next morning, to find that her picnic dress
had been mended "good as new." She did not need to ask who did it, for
she felt certain that it was grandmamma's work, and so it proved.
Grandmamma remembered that she herself was a little girl once, and that
blessed memory brought her into close sympathy with the grief and joy of
her little granddaughter. And so Elsie, thanks to her grandmamma's tact
and tenderness, went to Dolly Blossom's birthday party.



The evening is coming,
The Sun sinks to rest;
The rooks are all flying
Straight home to their nest.
"Caw!" says the rook, as he flies overhead:
It's time little people were going to bed!

The flowers are closing,
The daisy's asleep;
The primrose is buried
In slumber so deep.
Shut up for the night is the pimpernel red:
It's time little people were going to bed!

The butterfly, drowsy,
Has folded its wing;
The bees are returning,
No more the birds sing.
Their labor is over, their nestlings are fed:
It's time little people were going to bed!

Here comes the pony,
His work is all done;
Down through the meadow
He takes a good run;
Up goes his heels, and down goes his head:
It's time little people were going to bed!

Good-night, little people,
Good-night and good-night;
Sweet dreams to your eyelids,
Till dawning of light;
The evening has come, there's no more to be said:
It's time little people were going to bed!


[Illustration: GOING TO BED.]


A lady who lived in New York City owned a pet parrot and a large house
cat. The parrot was just as full of mischief as could be. One day the
cat and parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset Polly's food, or
something of that kind. However, they seemed all right again. An hour or
so after Polly was on her stand, she called out in a tone of extreme
affection, "Pussy! Pussy! come here, Pussy." Pussy went and looked up
innocently enough; Polly with her beak seized her tin of food and tipped
its contents all over the cat, and then chuckled as poor Puss ran away
half frightened to death.


Who is it coos just like a dove?
Who is it that we dearly love -
The brightest blessing from above?
Our baby.

While silent watch the angels keep,
Who smiles so sweetly in his sleep,
And oft displays his dimples deep.
Our baby.



We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep, -
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence, -
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

And as thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the Captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was smiling clear.




Our cat she had five little ones,
As every person knew;
Their names were "Flossie," "Snowball," "Smut,"
With "Kit," and little "Mew."

One day on foraging intent,
She leaped upon a cage,
But after sniffing round a while
Vexed thoughts her mind engage.

"How very sad it is," thought she,
"That every single linnet
Has been removed before we came!
The cage has nothing in it!

"However, I have dined to-day,
So now for quiet rest;
My children, you may go and play,
For frolic suits you best."

With folded paws she laid her down,
And meditative look,
While every wicked little cat
Its own diversion took.

Said Snowball to his brother Kit,
"Get out of this - now do;
For Smut and I, we live in here,
And there's no room for you!

"And Smut feels rather sick to-day,
He told me so just now;
So off you go, again I say,
Or there will be a row.

"And Kit, just leave that stick alone;
Come, drop it now at once;
Of all the cats I ever knew
You are the greatest dunce."

Cried little Smut, "Quick, Snowball, quick!
Or you will be too late;
Here's sister Flossie pushing in;
Come quick, and shut the gate."

"How strange it seems, when you and I,
Dear Snowball, are so good,
That other cats should be so pert,
Inquisitive and rude!"

Said mother Puss, "This summer day
I thought to lie at rest,
While my dear children romp and play,
Which seems to suit them best.

"But really, how they snarl and fight,
And kick, and growl, and riot!
Ah, well! when they are old like me
They'll like a little quiet."

[Illustration: FUN FOR THE KITTENS.]


Tommy Green was a little boy only eight years old when his parents sent
him to "boarding school," where he was thrown into the company of boys
older than himself. It is strange how most all boys enjoy teasing those
who are younger than themselves.

At Tommy's boarding school all the boys slept in one large room, on cots
conveniently arranged. Tommy was a heavy sleeper. One morning he awoke
with a strange feeling of stiffness about his face, and no sooner did he
sit up in bed than a laugh rang around the whole room.

"What are you laughing at?", he asked, but the boys only laughed the
harder at his confusion. At last one little boy named Frankie Jones
cried out "Tommy, it's your face."

Tommy rushed to a looking-glass, and found on his forehead and on each
cheek an enormous dab of red paint.

"Halloo, Green?" shouted one of the boys, "You're red now, ain't you?"

Tommy was greatly teased for a while, but kept his temper, and it was
not very long before he was joining with his school-mates to tease some
other small boy in a similar manner.

Such things are provoking, but it is best to treat them good-naturedly,
as Tommy did, and not lose one's temper.

[Illustration: PAINTING TOMMY'S FACE.]


Pussy has always been a favorite in the East, but the country where she
was held in the highest estimation, and treated with the greatest
respect, was Egypt.

The fondness of the Egyptians for their cats is shown in some of their
ancient paintings where the cat is frequently seen by the side of its
master whilst he entertains company. When a cat died the whole household
shaved off their eyebrows in token of mourning; and its body was sent to
the embalmers, and there made into a mummy, and afterwards buried, with
great lamentations, in the cat-sepulchre adjoining the town.

Heredotus, the Greek historian, who had himself spent some time in
Egypt, and witnessed the customs of the natives, tells us that when a
house caught fire the only care of the Egyptians was to save the lives
of the cats, utterly regardless of the destruction of their property.

Bubastis was the sacred city of cats, and there was the temple of the
goddess Pasht, whose statue appeared with the head of a cat. There the
cats reveled in luxury, for they were looked upon as living
representatives of the divinity. The punishment for killing any sacred
animal was death; but woe to the luckless person who even accidentally
killed a cat? for he was set upon by the infuriated people, and torn to
pieces without trial.



Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!
Pleasant enough,
Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat.
Delicate stuff!

Of raids on the pantry and hen-coop,
Or light, stealthy tread
Of cat gossips, meeting by moonlight
On ridge-pole or shed.

Waked by a somersault, whirling,
Whirling from cushion to floor;
Waked from a wild rush of safety
From window to door.

Waking two hands that first smooth us,
And then pull our tails;
Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!
These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
A place on the mat.
Do they think we enjoy for our music
Staccatos of "scat?"
What in the world were we made for?
Man, do you know?
By you to be petted, tormented?
Are _you_ friend or foe?
To be treated now, just as you treat us,
The question is pat,
To take just our chances in living,
Would _you_ be a cat?


[Illustration: "ARE YOU FRIEND OR FOE?"]


Doctor Schroeder was a quaint old German physician, who lived in a fine
old-fashioned house near a public play-ground. Connected with the
doctor's premises was an extensive peach orchard, and, sad to say,
naughty boys would sometimes climb over the orchard wall and pilfer his
peaches. To guard against this practice the doctor had the top of his
wall adorned with a row of very ugly iron spikes. Not far from Doctor
Schroeder's place lived a family known as "the Jones's". One member of
the family was a small boy nicknamed "Scramble;" so named, I presume,
from the fact that he was all the time scrambling over other people's
fences and into other people's fruit trees.

One day "Scramble" got caught on the spikes on top of Doctor Schroeder's
wall, and in spite of all his efforts to get loose, the spikes held him
fast until he was discovered and taken down by the quaint old doctor,
almost frightened out of his wits. That is, "Scramble" was frightened,
not the doctor, But to "Scramble's" great surprise and greater relief,
the old German did not punish him with the terrible cane he held in his
hand, but took him into the orchard and told him to take his pick of the
finest fruit on the place.

"Scramble" felt greatly abashed over this unexpected kind treatment, and
never again had the heart to pilfer peaches from old Doctor Schroeder.



Goats sometimes do very clever tricks, which almost prove them to be
capable of reasoning.

A goat and her kids frequented a square in which I once lived, and were
often fed by the servants and myself. Now and again I heard a thumping
at the hall door, which arose from the buttings of the goat when the
food was not forthcoming, and the mother's example was followed by her
two little kids. After a while this grew monotonous, and no attention
was paid to their knocking! but one day the area bell - used by the
delivery men and callers generally, the wire of which passed by the side
of one of the railings - was sounded. The cook answered the bell, but no
one was there save the goat and kids, with their heads bent down towards
the kitchen window. It was at first thought that some mischievous boy
had rung the bell for them, but they were watched, and the old goat was
seen to hook one of her horns into the wire and pull it. This is too
much like reason to be ascribed to mere instinct.



Poor old King Lear, who in ancient times reigned in Britain, having in
his old age turned over all his possessions to his two older daughters,
Goneril and Regan, who professed to love him more than did their younger
sister Cordelia, was by them cruelly deprived of his crown and turned
out of his palace. None dared to give him shelter for fear of the anger
of the two wicked queens. And though he had become blind, he was forced
to wander over the land he once ruled, his only guide being an old and
faithful servant. At last, in his misery and despair, he thought he
would go to his youngest daughter, who had become queen of France, and
see if she would take pity on him. So he crossed over to France. When
Cordelia heard of her father's woeful plight, and of her sisters'
cruelty to him, she wept for sorrow, and at once sent him everything
needful for his comfort. She and her husband then set out to meet him,
surrounded by their soldiers and followers, and brought him in great
state to the palace, and honored him as a king in their land.

The King of France soon gathered an army and invaded Britain. The two
ungrateful daughters and their husbands were killed, King Lear was
restored to his throne, and when he died Cordelia succeeded him in the

[Illustration: KING LEAR.]


When the Romans invaded Britain they found that the natives had a breed
of large fierce dogs, who would fight bravely for their masters; these
animals they called _pugnaces_, or fighting dogs, and from them the
modern English mastiff is descended.

Soon after the conquest of the island some of the British mastiffs were
sent to Rome, where their sagacity, strength and courage excited so much
admiration, that an imperial officer was appointed to reside in Britain
for the express purpose of selecting the finest dogs to fight with other
animals for the amusement of the vast crowds assembled in the Colosseum.
The strongest dogs previously known to the Romans were the Molossian
dogs of Epirus, which in their native country were trained by their
masters to fight in battle, but when they were matched against the
British mastiffs they were thoroughly beaten. The dogs of Britain were
then pitted against various wild beasts; and it was said that three of
them were a match for a bear and four for a lion. And so famous were
they for courage, that the Gauls imported them, and trained them for
war, and used them in their battles.

The British mastiff is no longer trained to fight in battle, but his
character for sagacity and fidelity as well as courage, is as high as it
was in the days of the Romans.



Some minutes before sunrise we went aboard our boat and took our places
for a long pull up the lakes. There were two sets of rowlocks, with oars
to match. Fred took one pair and Farr the other. Spot lay down on Farr's
coat behind his master. I took the stern seat and steering oar. Scott
had the bow seat and a paddle.

"All ready!" cried Fred, cheerily. "Give way! one, two, three, and away
we go!"

By the time we were fairly out on the lake there was quite a "sea."

We made for Birch Island. The swells threw us about amazingly. There is
much strength and friskiness in these fresh-water surges. Those were
wild moments. Fred, Farr and Scott were pulling with might and main. The
spray flew over us; the spatters drenched us. I expected every moment
that we should be swamped. And as we drew near the island our case
seemed not much improved. The waves broke against it fiercely.

"It won't do to let her run on there!" exclaimed Farr. "It will swamp

"Yes," said Fred; "but it is not deep water. Sit still and pull till I
give the word, then jump out, everybody, and ease her ashore.

"Now for it! Over with you!" he shouted, a moment afterwards.

We leaped out, and carried the boat by main strength high upon the

[Illustration: "NOW FOR IT! OVER WITH YOU!"]


Fritz is a beautiful light-blue grey cat. He is the especial pet of his
master's little daughter, and therefore has many privileges about the
house not usually accorded to cats. Among these special privileges is
that of having his food in the dining-room. Fritz has many
peculiarities, the chief being that he thinks that he is covering up the
food that remains after he has eaten all he wishes, a habit of wild cats
which is well known.

He stands over the plate which contains the remains of his repast and
scratches perfectly imaginary dust or mould over it.

This he does all round the plate, and after a curious look at it to see
that it is all right, and it _is_ covered up, he walks leisurely away.
How strange it is that these traces of a wild state are so often to be
seen in animals which have been domesticated for long generations! Fritz
had no need to cover up his food, even if the dirt or mould were there
for the purpose, for he is sure of getting plenty more when he wants it.
It was simply from the force of habit, a habit not his own, but his
ancestors, that he went through the motions.

What a forcible illustration of the power of habit!



Willie got punished at school to-day!
What did he do?
Why, he drew on his slate, in a comical way,
Pictures of horses and oxen, and they
Seemed to be dancing a real Irish jig!
Yes, and he, too, had a little wee pig
Down in the corner, as cute as could be;
All of us laughed such a picture to see!

That was the morning before recess,
When he threw paper balls at sly little Bess;
And one hit her plump on her fat little nose,
And made us all laugh, as you may well suppose;
And he pulled some one's hair as they went out to spell,
But who cried out nobody would tell.

And then, let me see; why he stepped on my toes,
And balanced his book on the tip of his nose
When the teacher wasn't looking, and then, O, dear me,
He made some whiskers as black as could be
With the cork of the ink-bottle rubbed on his cheek,
And we all laughed till we hardly could speak.

The teacher caught him, and punished him well;
Not half the words that were his could he spell;
And in the arithmetic he had to guess
Half of the answers and wished they were less.
All he has gained by his actions to-day,
Is a black mark and his ill-timed play.

[Illustration: NAUGHTY WILLIE.]


When Ned Bently was a boy of about fifteen years of age he lost both of
his parents by yellow fever, in New Orleans. The only remaining relative
he had was a bachelor uncle, living in the mining regions of California.
Ned worked his way on board a ship, as a sailor boy, to San Francisco,
and finally arrived at the diggings where his uncle was engaged in
mining. In those early days of California mine digging the miners were
generally a very rough class of men. So it happened that soon after
Ned's arrival a great gruff "digger" offered to treat Ned to a drink of
liquor, and became very angry because he refused to touch it.

Ned scarcely shut his eyes all that night, for he was dreadfully afraid
that the miners might yet force him to drink of that which he had been
taught was certain ruin to body and soul. But to Ned's great surprise
and joy, next morning the very man who the night before had offered to
treat him took a bold stand in his defense against the other miners'
attempts to force him to drink.

"The lad's about right," said the gruff old digger. "If he can live out
here without drinkin' liquor, he'll be able to buy and sell the whole of
ye by'n'by." And so it proved, for Ned held fast to his resolution not
to drink, and became one of the wealthiest mine owners in California.



Many have a dislike to cats; but when boys say they hate cats, it is to
be feared that they mostly do so that they may have an excuse for
hunting and ill-treating them. In some cases, however, there is a
natural antipathy which those who possess it cannot help, though it
seems very foolish and unreasonable.

James Boswell tells us that he was "unluckily one of those who have an
antipathy to a cat," so that he was uneasy when in a room with one. It
certainly was rather unlucky, for he was writing the life of Dr.
Johnson, and wishing to be as much in his company as possible was
frequently at his house. Now the Doctor had a favorite tomcat whom he
called "Hodge," and Boswell relates how he "suffered from the presence
of this same Hodge."

He says, "I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. Johnson's breast,
apparently with much satisfaction, while my friend, smiling and half
whistling, rubbed down his back and pulled him by the tail, and when I
observed that he was a fine cat, saying, 'Why, yes, Sir, but I have had
cats whom I liked better than this,' and then, as if perceiving Hodge to
be out of countenance, he added! 'But he's a very fine cat; a very fine
cat, indeed.'"

Hodge was well taken care of, and did not have to catch rats for a
living, for the Doctor was in the habit of treating him to oysters.

[Illustration: DR. JOHNSON AND HIS CAT.]


Most small boys are fond of April-fooling people. How often on the first
day of April have we seen the small boy wrapping up a piece of wood or
brick in the shape of a parcel bought at the store, carelessly place it
on the sidewalk as if dropped by a passer-by, and then hide himself near
by and wait for some one to be "fooled" by it.

Dick and Frank Slemmons, one April-fool's day, concluded to get up an
April-fool on a grander scale than usual. They procured an old pair of
pants, a shirt, pair of boots, gloves, a dunce's cap, and a "false-face"


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