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Stories for holidays the year round. [Biased to United States]
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GOOD STORIES
FOR GREAT HOLIDAYS
ARRANGED FOR
STORY-TELLING AND READING ALOUD
AND FOR
THE CHILDREN'S OWN READING
BY
FRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT
November, 1995 [Etext #359]
****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Good Stories for Holidays****
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GOOD STORIES
FOR GREAT HOLIDAYS
ARRANGED FOR
STORY-TELLING AND READING ALOUD
AND FOR
THE CHILDREN'S OWN READING
BY
FRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT
Index according to reading level is appended.
TO THE STORY-TELLER
This volume, though intended also for the children's
own reading and for reading aloud, is especially
planned for story-telling. The latter is
a delightful way of arousing a gladsome holiday
spirit, and of showing the inner meanings of
different holidays. As stories used for this purpose
are scattered through many volumes, and as they
are not always in the concrete form required for
story-telling, I have endeavored to bring together
myths, legends, tales, and historical stories
suitable to holiday occasions.
There are here collected one hundred and
twenty stories for seventeen holidays--stories
grave, gay, humorous, or fanciful; also some that
are spiritual in feeling, and others that give the
delicious thrill of horror so craved by boys and
girls at Halloween time. The range of selection
is wide, and touches all sides of wholesome boy
and girl nature, and the tales have the power to
arouse an appropriate holiday spirit.
As far as possible the stories are presented in
their original form. When, however, they are too
long for inclusion, or too loose in structure for
story-telling purposes, they are adapted.
Adapted stories are of two sorts. Condensed:
in which case a piece of literature is shortened,
scarcely any changes being made in the original
language. Rewritten: here the plot, imagery,
language, and style of the original are retained as
far as possible, while the whole is moulded into
form suitable for story-telling. Some few stories
are built up on a slight framework of original
matter.
Thus it may be seen that the tales in this
volume have not been reduced to the necessarily
limited vocabulary and uniform style of one editor,
but that they are varied in treatment and
language, and are the products of many minds.
A glance at the table of contents will show that
not only have selections been made from modern
authors and from the folklore of different races,
but that some quaint old literary sources have
been drawn on. Among the men and books contributing
to these pages are the Gesta Romanorum,
Il Libro d'Oro, Xenophon, Ovid, Lucian, the
Venerable Bede, William of Malmesbury. John of
Hildesheim, William Caxton, and the more modern
Washington Irving, Hugh Miller, Charles Dickens,
and Henry Cabot Lodge; also those immortals,
Hans Andersen, the Brothers Grimm, Horace E.
Scudder, and others.
The stories are arranged to meet the needs of
story-telling in the graded schools. Reading-
lists, showing where to find additional material
for story-telling and collateral reading, are added.
Grades in which the recommended stories are
useful are indicated.
The number of selections in the volume, as
well as the references to other books, is limited
by the amount and character of available material.
For instance, there is little to be found for
Saint Valentine's Day, while there is an
overwhelming abundance of fine stories for the
Christmas season. Stories like Dickens's ``Christmas
Carol,'' Ouida's ``Dog of Flanders,'' and
Hawthorne's tales, which are too long for inclusion
and would lose their literary beauty if
condensed, are referred to in the lists. Volumes
containing these stories may be procured at the
public library.
A subject index is appended. This indicates
the ethical, historical, and other subject-matter
of interest to the teacher, thus making the volume
serviceable for other occasions besides holidays.
In learning her tale the story-teller is advised
not to commit it to memory. Such a method is
apt to produce a wooden or glib manner of presentation.
It is better for her to read the story
over and over again until its plot, imagery, style,
and vocabulary become her own, and then to retell
it, as Miss Bryant says, ``simply, vitally, joyously.''
CONTENTS
NEW YEAR'S DAY (January 1)
THE FAIRY'S NEW YEAR GIFT: Emilie Poulsson, In the Child's World
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL: Hans Christian Andersen, Stories and Tales
THE TWELVE MONTHS: Alexander Chodsvko, Slav Fairy Tales
THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS: Hans Christian Andersen, Fairy Tales
LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY (February 10)
HE RESCUES THE BIRDS: Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
LINCOLN AND THE LITTLE GIRL: Charles W. Moores,
Life of Abraham Lincoln for Boys and Girls
TRAINING FOR THE PRESIDENCY: Orison Swett Matden, Winning Out
WHY LINCOLN WAS CALLED ``HONEST ABE'': Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
A STRANGER AT FIVE-POINTS: Adapted
A SOLOMON COME TO JUDGMENT: Charles W. Moores,
Life of Abraham Lincoln for Boys and Girls
GEORGE PICKETT'S FRIEND: Charles W. Moores,
Life of Abraham Lincoln for Boys and Girls
LINCOLN THE LAWYER: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS: Adapted
MR. LINCOLN AND THE BIBLE: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
HIS SPRINGFIELD FAREWELL ADDRESS [Lincoln]
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY (February 14)
SAINT VALENTINE
SAINT VALENTINE: Millicent Olmsted
A GIRL'S VALENTINE CHARM: The Connoisseur, 1775
MR. PEPYS HIS VALENTINE: Samuel Pepys, Diary
CUPID AND PSYCHE: Josephine Preston Peabody,
Old Greek Folk Stories
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY (February 22)
THREE OLD TALES: M. L. Weems, Life of
George Washington, with Curious Anecdotes
YOUNG GEORGE AND THE COLT: Horace E. Scudder,
George Washington
WASHINGTON THE ATHLETE: Albert F. Blaisdell and Francis R. Ball,
Hero Stories from American History
WASHINGTON'S MODESTY: Henry Cabot Lodge, George Washington
WASHINGTON AT YORKTOWN: Henry Cabot lodge, George Washington
RESURRECTION DAY (Easter Sunday) (March or April)
A LESSON OF FAITH: Mrs. Alfred Gatty, Parables from Nature
A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR: Charles Dickens
THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD:
Hans Christian Andersen, Stories and Tales
MAY DAY (May 1)
THE SNOWDROP: Hans Christian Andersen;
Adapted by Bailey and Lewis
THE THREE LITTLE BUTTERFLY BROTHERS: From the German
THE WATER DROP: Friedrich Wilhelm Carove,
Story without an End, translated by Sarah Austin
THE SPRING BEAUTY: Henry R. Schoolcraft, The Myth of Hiawatha
THE FAIRY TULIPS: English Folk-Tale
THE STREAM THAT RAN AWAY: Mary Austin, The Basket Woman
THE ELVES: Harriet Mazwell Converse,
Myths and legends of the New York State Iroquois
THE CANYON FLOWERS: Ralph Connor, The Sky Pilot
CLYTIE, THE HELIOTROPE: Ovid, Metamorphoses
HYACINTHUS: Ovid, Metamorphoses
ECHO AND NARCISSUS: Ovid, Metamorphoses
MOTHERS' DAY (Second Sunday in May)
THE LARK AND ITS YOUNG ONES: P. V. Ramuswami Raju, Indian Fables
CORNELIA S JEWELS: James Baldwin, Fifty Famous Stories Retold
QUEEN MARGARET AND THE ROBBERS: Albert F. Blaisdell,
Stories from Enylish History
THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS: Charles Morris, Historical Tales
THE WIDOW AND HER THREE SONS
MEMORIAL DAY (May 30)[1] AND FLAG DAY (June 14)
Confederate Memorial Day is celebrated in some States on
April 26 and in others on May 10.
BETSY ROSS AND THE FLAG: Harry Pringle Ford
THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER: Eva March Tappan,
Hero Stories from American History
THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY: Aloert Bushnell Hart,
The Romance of the Civil War
A FLAG INCIDENT: M. M. Thomas, Captain Phil
TWO HERO-STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR: Ben La Bree,
Camp Fires of the Confederacy
THE YOUNG SENTINEL: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
THE COLONEL OF THE ZOUAVES: Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
GENERAL SCOTT AND THE STARS AND STRIPES: E. D. Townsend,
Anecdotes of the Civil War
lNDEPENDENCE DAY (July 4)
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
THE SIGNING OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE:
H. A. Guerber, The Story of the Thirteen Colonies
A BRAVE GIRL: James Johonnot, Stories of Heroic Deeds
THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY: John Andrews, Letter to a friend written in 1773
A GUNPOWDER STORY: John Esten Cooke, Stories of the Old Dominion
THE CAPTURE OF FORT TICONDEROGA: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
WASHINGTON AND THE COWARDS: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
LABOR DAY (First Monday in September)
THE SMITHY: P. V. Ramaswami Raju, Indian Fables
THE NAIL: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER: Horace E. Scudder,
Book of Fables and Folk Stories
THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE: Juliana Horatia Ewing,
Old Fashioned Fairy Tales
HOFUS THE STONE CUTTER, A JAPANESE LEGEND:
The Riserside Third Reader
ARACHNE: Josephine Preston Peabody, Old Greek Folk Stories
THE METAL KING: A German Folk-Tale
THE CHOICE OF HERCULES: Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates
THE SPEAKING STATUE: Gesta Romanorum
THE CHAMPION STONE CUTTER: Hugh Miller
BILL BROWN'S TEST: Cleveland Moffett, Careers of Danger and Daring
COLUMBUS DAY (October 12)
COLUMBUS AND THE EGG: James Baldwin, Thirty More Famous Stories Retold
COLUMBUS AT LA RABIDA: Washington Irving, Life of Christopher Columbus
THE MUTINY: A. de Lamartine, Life of Columbus
THE FIRST LANDING OF COLUMBUS IN THE NEW WORLD:
Washington Irving, Life of Christopher Columbus
HALLOWEEN (October 31)
THE OLD WITCH: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
SHIPPEITARO: Mary F. Nixon-Roulet, Japanese Folk Stories and Fairy Tales
HANSEL AND GRETHEL: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
BURG HILL'S ON FIRE: Elizabeth W. Grierson,
Children's Book of Celtic Stories
THE KING OF THE CATS: Ernest Rhys, Fairy-Gold
THE STRANGE VISITOR: Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales
THE BENEVOLENT GOBLIN: Gesta Romanorum
THE PHANTOM KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP: Gesta Romanorum
THANKSGIVING DAY (Last Thursday in November)
THE FIRST HARVEST-HOME IN PLYMOUTH: W. De Loss Lore, Jr.,
The Fast and Thanksgiving Days of New England
THE MASTER OF THE HARVEST: Mrs. Alfred Gatty, Parables from Nature
SAINT CUTHBERT'S EAGLE: The Venerable Bede,
Life and Miracles of Saint Cuthbert
THE EARS OF WHEAT: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
HOW INDIAN CORN CAME INTO THE WORLD: Henry R. Schoolcraft,
The Myth of Hiawatha
THE NUTCRACKER DWARF: Count Franz Pocci, Fur Frohliche Kinder
THE PUMPKIN PIRATES, A TALE FROM LUCIAN: Alfred J. Church, The Greek Gulliver
THE SPIRIT OF THE CORN: Harriet Mazwell Converse,
Myths and Legends of the New York State Iroquois
THE HORN OF PLENTY: Ovid, Metamorphoses
CHRISTMAS DAY (December 25)
LITTLE PICCOLA: Celia Thazter, Stories and Poems for Children
THE STRANGER CHILD, A LEGEND: Count Franz Pocci, Fur Frohliche Kinder
SAINT CHRISTOPHER: William Caxton, Golden Legend
THE CHRISTMAS ROSE, AN OLD LEGEND: Lizzie Deas, Flower Favourites
THE WOODEN SHOES OF LITTLE WOLFF: Francois Coppee
THE PINE TREE: Hans Christian Andersen, Wonder Stories
THE CHRISTMAS CUCKOO: Frances Browne, Granny's Wonderful Chair
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY OF STRASBURG, A GERMAN FOLK-TALE:
J. Stirling Coyne, Illustrated London News
THE THREE PURSES, A LEGEND: William S. Walsh, Story of Santa Klaus
THE THUNDER OAK, A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND: William S. Walsh and Others
THE CHRISTMAS THORN OF GLASTONBURY, A LEGEND OF ANCIENT BRITAIN:
William of Malmesbury and Others
THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE, A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES:
John of Hildesheim, Modernized by H. S. Morris
ARBOR DAY
THE LITTLE TREE THAT LONGED FOR OTHER LEAVES: Friedrieh Ruckert
WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES NEVER LOSE THEIR LEAVES:
Florence Holbrook, Book of Nature Myths
WHY THE ASPEN QUIVERS: Old legend
THE WONDER TREE: Friedrich Adolph Krummacher, Parables
THE PROUD OAK TREE: Old Fable
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON: H. P. Maskell, Francis Storr,
Half-a-Hundred Hero Tales
THE UNFRUITFUL TREE: Friedrich Adolph Krummacher, Parables
THE DRYAD OF THE OLD OAK: James Russell Lowell, Rhoecus (a poem)
DAPHNE: OVID, Metamorphoses BIRD DAY
THE OLD WOMAN WHO BECAME A WOODPECKER:
Phoebe Cary, A Legend of the Northland (poem)
THE BOY WHO BECAME A ROBIN: Henry R. Schoolcraft,
The Myth of Hiawatha
THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW: A. B. Mitford, Tales of Old Japan
THE QUAILS, A LEGEND OF THE JATAKA: Riverside Fourth Reader
THE MAGPIE'S NEST: Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales
THE GREEDY GEESE: Il Libro d'Oro
THE KING OF THE BIRDS: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
THE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH: Abbie Farwell Brown, The Curious Book of Birds
THE BUSY BLUE JAY: Olive Thorne Miller, True Bird Stories
BABES IN THE WOODS: John Burroughs, Bird Stories from Burroughs
THE PRIDE OF THE REGIMENT: Harry M. Rieffer,
The Recollections of a Drummer Boy
THE MOTHER MURRE: Dallas Lore Sharp, Summer
REFERENCE LISTS FOR STORY-TELLING AND COLLATERAL READING
GOOD STORIES
FOR GREAT HOLIDAYS
THE FAIRY'S NEW YEAR GIFT
BY EMILIE POULSSON (ADAPTED)
Two little boys were at play one day when a
Fairy suddenly appeared before them and said: ``I
have been sent to give you New Year presents.''
She handed to each child a package, and in an
instant was gone.
Carl and Philip opened the packages and found
in them two beautiful books, with pages as pure
and white as the snow when it first falls.
Many months passed and the Fairy came again
to the boys. ``I have brought you each another
book?'' said she, ``and will take the first ones back
to Father Time who sent them to you.''
``May I not keep mine a little longer?'' asked
Philip. ``I have hardly thought about it lately.
I'd like to paint something on the last leaf that
lies open.''
``No,'' said the Fairy; ``I must take it just as it
is.''
``I wish that I could look through mine just
once,'' said Carl; ``I have only seen one page at a
time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks fast,
and I can never open the book at more than one
place each day.''
``You shall look at your book,'' said the Fairy,
``and Philip, at his.'' And she lit for them two
little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw
the pages as she turned them.
The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that
these were the same fair books she had given
them a year ago? Where were the clean, white
pages, as pure and beautiful as the snow when it
first falls? Here was a page with ugly, black spots
and scratches upon it; while the very next page
showed a lovely little picture. Some pages were
decorated with gold and silver and gorgeous
colors, others with beautiful flowers, and still
others with a rainbow of softest, most delicate
brightness. Yet even on the most beautiful of the
pages there were ugly blots and scratches.
Carl and Philip looked up at the Fairy at last.
``Who did this?'' they asked. ``Every page was
white and fair as we opened to it; yet now there is
not a single blank place in the whole book!''
``Shall I explain some of the pictures to you?''
said the Fairy, smiling at the two little boys.
``See, Philip, the spray of roses blossomed on this
page when you let the baby have your playthings;
and this pretty bird, that looks as if it were singing
with all its might, would never have been on
this page if you had not tried to be kind and
pleasant the other day, instead of quarreling.''
``But what makes this blot?'' asked Philip.
``That,'' said the Fairy sadly; ``that came when
you told an untruth one day, and this when you
did not mind mamma. All these blots and
scratches that look so ugly, both in your book
and in Carl's, were made when you were naughty.
Each pretty thing in your books came on its page
when you were good.''
``Oh, if we could only have the books again!''
said Carl and Philip.
``That cannot be,'' said the Fairy. ``See! they
are dated for this year, and they must now go back
into Father Time's bookcase, but I have brought
you each a new one. Perhaps you can make these
more beautiful than the others.''
So saying, she vanished, and the boys were left
alone, but each held in his hand a new book open
at the first page.
And on the back of this book was written in
letters of gold, ``For the New Year.''
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (TRANSLATED)
It was very, very cold; it snowed and it grew
dark; it was the last evening of the year, New
Year's Eve. In the cold and dark a poor little
girl, with bare head and bare feet, was walking
through the streets. When she left her own house
she certainly had had slippers on; but what could
they do? They were very big slippers, and her
mother had used them till then, so big were they.
The little maid lost them as she slipped across the
road, where two carriages were rattling by terribly
fast. One slipper was not to be found again, and
a boy ran away with the other. He said he could
use it for a cradle when he had children of his own.
So now the little girl went with her little naked
feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold.
In an old apron she carried a number of matches,
and a bundle of them in her hand. No one had
bought anything of her all day; no one had given
her a copper. Hungry and cold she went, and
drew herself together, poor little thing! The
snowflakes fell on her long yellow hair, which
curled prettily over her neck; but she did not
think of that now. In all the windows lights were
shining, and there was a glorious smell of roast
goose out there in the street; it was no doubt New
Year's Eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which
was a little farther from the street than the other,
she sat down and crept close. She had drawn up
her little feet, but she was still colder, and she did
not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches,
and she had not a single cent; her father would
beat her; and besides, it was cold at home, for
they had nothing over the them but a roof through
which the wind whistled, though straw and rags
stopped the largest holes.
Her small hands were quite numb with the cold.
Ah! a little match might do her good if she only
dared draw one from the bundle, and strike it
against the wall, and warm her fingers at it. She
drew one out. R-r-atch! how it spluttered and
burned! It was a warm bright flame, like a little
candle, when she held her hands over it; it was a
wonderful little light! It really seemed to the
little girl as if she sat before a great polished
stove, with bright brass feet and a brass cover.
The fire burned so nicely; it warmed her so well,
--the little girl was just putting out her feet to
warm these, too,--when out went the flame; the
stove was gone;--she sat with only the end of the
burned match in her hand.
She struck another; it burned; it gave a light;
and where it shone on the wall, the wall became
thin like a veil, and she could see through it into
the room where a table stood, spread with a white
cloth, and with china on it; and the roast goose
smoked gloriously, stuffed with apples and dried
plums. And what was still more splendid to behold,
the goose hopped down from the dish, and
waddled along the floor, with a knife and fork in
its breast; straight to the little girl he came. Then
the match went out, and only the thick, damp,
cold wall was before her.
She lighted another. Then she was sitting
under a beautiful Christmas tree; it was greater and
finer than the one she had seen through the glass
door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of candles
burned upon the green branches, and colored pictures
like those in the shop windows looked down
upon them. The little girl stretched forth both
hands toward them; then the match went out.
The Christmas lights went higher and higher.
She saw that now they were stars in the sky: one
of them fell and made a long line of fire.
``Now some one is dying,'' said the little girl,
for her old grandmother, the only person who had
been good to her, but who was now dead, had said:
``When a star falls a soul mounts up to God.''
She rubbed another match against the wall; it
became bright again, and in the light there stood
the old grandmother clear and shining, mild and
lovely.
``Grandmother!'' cried the child. ``Oh, take
me with you! I know you will go when the match
is burned out. You will go away like the warm
stove, the nice roast goose, and the great glorious
Christmas tree!''
And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle of
matches, for she wished to hold her grandmother
fast. And the matches burned with such a glow
that it became brighter than in the middle of the
day; grandmother had never been so large or so
beautiful. She took the little girl up in her arms,
and both flew in the light and the joy so high, so
high! and up there was no cold, nor hunger, nor
care--they were with God.
But in the corner by the house sat the little
girl, with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to
death on the last evening of the Old Year. The
New Year's sun rose upon the little body, that sat
there with the matches, of which one bundle was
burned. She wanted to warm herself, the people
said. No one knew what fine things she had seen,
and in what glory she had gone in with her
grandmother to the New Year's Day.
THE TWELVE MONTHS
A SLAV LEGEND
BY ALEXANDER CHODZKO (ADAPTED)
There was once a widow who had two daughters,
Helen, her own child by her dead husband, and
Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She
loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan because
she was far prettier than her own daughter.
Marouckla did not think about her good looks,
and could not understand why her stepmother
should be angry at the sight of her. The hardest
work fell to her share. She cleaned out the rooms,
cooked, washed, sewed, spun, wove, brought in
the hay, milked the cow, and all this without any
help.
Helen, meanwhile, did nothing but dress herself
in her best clothes and go to one amusement after
another.
But Marouckla never complained. She bore
the scoldings and bad temper of mother and sister
with a smile on her lips, and the patience of a
lamb. But this angelic behavior did not soften
them. They became even more tyrannical and
grumpy, for Marouckla grew daily more beautiful,
while Helen's ugliness increased. So the stepmother
determined to get rid of Marouckla, for
she knew that while she remained, her own daughter
would have no suitors. Hunger, every kind of
privation, abuse, every means was used to make
the girl's life miserable. But in spite of it all
Marouckla grew ever sweeter and more charming.
One day in the middle of winter Helen wanted
some wood-violets.
``Listen,'' cried she to Marouckla, ``you must
go up the mountain and find me violets. I want
some to put in my gown. They must be fresh
and sweet-scented-do you hear?''
``But, my dear sister, whoever heard of violets
blooming in the snow?'' said the poor orphan.
``You wretched creature! Do you dare to disobey
me?'' said Helen. ``Not another word. Off
with you! If you do not bring me some violets
from the mountain forest I will kill you.''
The stepmother also added her threats to those
of Helen, and with vigorous blows they pushed
Marouckla outside and shut the door upon her.
The weeping girl made her way to the mountain.
The snow lay deep, and there was no trace of any
human being. Long she wandered hither and
thither, and lost herself in the wood. She was
hungry, and shivered with cold, and prayed to die.
Suddenly she saw a light in the distance, and
climbed toward it till she reached the top of the
mountain. Upon the highest peak burned a large
fire, surrounded by twelve blocks of stone on
which sat twelve strange beings. Of these the
first three had white hair, three were not quite
so old, three were young and handsome, and the
rest still younger.
There they all sat silently looking at the fire.
They were the Twelve Months of the Year. The
great January was placed higher than the others.
His hair and mustache were white as snow, and in
his hand he held a wand. At first Marouckla was
afraid, but after a while her courage returned, and
drawing near, she said:--
``Men of God, may I warm myself at your
fire? I am chilled by the winter cold.''
The great January raised his head and answered:
``What brings thee here, my daughter?
What dost thou seek?''
``I am looking for violets,'' replied the maiden.
``This is not the season for violets. Dost thou
not see the snow everywhere?'' said January.
``I know well, but my sister Helen and my
stepmother have ordered me to bring them violets
from your mountain. If I return without them
they will kill me. I pray you, good shepherds, tell
me where they may be found.''
Here the great January arose and went over to
the youngest of the Months, and, placing his wand
in his hand, said:--
``Brother March, do thou take the highest place.''
March obeyed, at the same time waving his wand
over the fire. Immediately the flames rose toward
the sky, the snow began to melt and the trees and
shrubs to bud. The grass became green, and from
between its blades peeped the pale primrose. It was
spring, and the meadows were blue with violets.
``Gather them quickly, Marouckla,'' said March.
Joyfully she hastened to pick the flowers, and
having soon a large bunch she thanked them
and ran home. Helen and the stepmother were
amazed at the sight of the flowers, the scent of
which filled the house.
``Where did you find them?'' asked Helen.
``Under the trees on the mountain-side,'' said
Marouckla.
Helen kept the flowers for herself and her
mother. She did not even thank her stepsister for
the trouble she had taken. The next day she
desired Marouckla to fetch her strawberries.
``Run,'' said she, ``and fetch me strawberries
from the mountain. They must be very sweet and
ripe.''
``But whoever heard of strawberries ripening in
the snow?'' exclaimed Marouckla.
``Hold your tongue, worm; don't answer me.
If I don't have my strawberries I will kill you,''
said Helen.
Then the stepmother pushed Marouckla into
the yard and bolted the door. The unhappy girl
made her way toward the mountain and to the
large fire round which sat the Twelve Months.
The great January occupied the highest place.
``Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire?
The winter cold chills me,'' said she, drawing near.
The great January raised his head and asked:
``Why comest thou here? What dost thou seek?''
``I am looking for strawberries,'' said she.
``We are in the midst of winter,'' replied
January, ``strawberries do not grow in the snow.''
``I know,'' said the girl sadly, ``but my sister
and stepmother have ordered me to bring them
strawberries. If I do not they will kill me. Pray,
good shepherds, tell me where to find them.''
The great January arose, crossed over to the
Month opposite him, and putting the wand in his
hand, said: ``Brother June, do thou take the
highest place.''
June obeyed, and as he waved his wand over
the fire the flames leaped toward the sky. Instantly
the snow melted, the earth was covered
with verdure, trees were clothed with leaves, birds
began to sing, and various flowers blossomed in
the forest. It was summer. Under the bushes
masses of star-shaped flowers changed into ripening
strawberries, and instantly they covered the
glade, making it look like a sea of blood.
``Gather them quickly, Marouckla,'' said June.
Joyfully she thanked the Months, and having
filled her apron ran happily home.
Helen and her mother wondered at seeing the
strawberries, which filled the house with their
delicious fragrance.
``Wherever did you find them?'' asked Helen
crossly.
``Right up among the mountains. Those from
under the beech trees are not bad,'' answered
Marouckla.
Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest
herself. Not one did she offer to her stepsister.
Being tired of strawberries, on the third day she
took a fancy for some fresh, red apples.
``Run, Marouckla,'' said she, ``and fetch me
fresh, red apples from the mountain.''
``Apples in winter, sister? Why, the trees have
neither leaves nor fruit!''
``Idle thing, go this minute,'' said Helen;
``unless you bring back apples we will kill you.''
As before, the stepmother seized her roughly
and turned her out of the house. The poor girl
went weeping up the mountain, across the deep
snow, and on toward the fire round which were
the Twelve Months. Motionless they sat there,
and on the highest stone was the great January.
``Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire?
The winter cold chills me,'' said she, drawing
near.
The great January raised his head. ``Why comest
thou here? What does thou seek?'' asked he.
``I am come to look for red apples,'' replied
Marouckla.
``But this is winter, and not the season for red
apples,'' observed the great January.
``I know,'' answered the girl, ``but my sister
and stepmother sent me to fetch red apples from
the mountain. If I return without them they will
kill me.''
Thereupon the great January arose and went
over to one of the elderly Months, to whom he
handed the wand saying:--
``Brother September, do thou take the highest
place.''
September moved to the highest stone, and
waved his wand over the fire. There was a flare
of red flames, the snow disappeared, but the fading
leaves which trembled on the trees were sent
by a cold northeast wind in yellow masses to the
glade. Only a few flowers of autumn were visible.
At first Marouckla looked in vain for red apples.
Then she espied a tree which grew at a great
height, and from the branches of this hung the
bright, red fruit. September ordered her to
gather some quickly. The girl was delighted and
shook the tree. First one apple fell, then another.
``That is enough,'' said September; ``hurry
home.''
Thanking the Months she returned joyfully.
Helen and the stepmother wondered at seeing the
fruit.
``Where did you gather them?'' asked the
stepsister.
``There are more on the mountain-top,''
answered Marouckla.
``Then, why did you not bring more?'' said
Helen angrily. ``You must have eaten them on
your way back, you wicked girl.''
``No, dear sister, I have not even tasted them,''
said Marouckla. ``I shook the tree twice. One
apple fell each time. Some shepherds would not
allow me to shake it again, but told me to return
home.''
``Listen, mother,'' said Helen. ``Give me my
cloak. I will fetch some more apples myself. I
shall be able to find the mountain and the tree.
The shepherds may cry `Stop!' but I will not
leave go till I have shaken down all the apples.''
In spite of her mother's advice she wrapped
herself in her pelisse, put on a warm hood, and
took the road to the mountain. Snow covered
everything. Helen lost herself and wandered
hither and thither. After a while she saw a light
above her, and, following in its direction, reached
the mountain-top.
There was the flaming fire, the twelve blocks
of stone, and the Twelve Months. At first she
was frightened and hesitated; then she came
nearer and warmed her hands. She did not ask
permission, nor did she speak one polite word.
``What hath brought thee here? What dost
thou seek?'' said the great January severely.
``I am not obliged to tell you, old graybeard.
What business is it of yours?'' she replied
disdainfully, turning her back on the fire and going
toward the forest.
The great January frowned, and waved his
wand over his head. Instantly the sky became
covered with clouds, the fire went down, snow
fell in large flakes, an icy wind howled round the
mountain. Amid the fury of the storm Helen
stumbled about. The pelisse failed to warm her
benumbed limbs.
The mother kept on waiting for her. She looked
from the window, she watched from the doorstep,
but her daughter came not. The hours passed
slowly, but Helen did not return.
``Can it be that the apples have charmed her
from her home?'' thought the mother. Then she
clad herself in hood and pelisse, and went in
search of her daughter. Snow fell in huge masses.
It covered all things. For long she wandered
hither and thither, the icy northeast wind
whistled in the mountain, but no voice answered
her cries.
Day after day Marouckla worked, and prayed,
and waited, but neither stepmother nor sister
returned. They had been frozen to death on the
mountain.
The inheritance of a small house, a field, and
a cow fell to Marouckla. In course of time an
honest farmer came to share them with her, and
their lives were happy and peaceful.
THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED)
It was bitterly cold. The sky glittered with stars,
and not a breeze stirred. ``Bump,''--an old pot
was thrown at a neighbor's door; and, ``Bang!
Bang!'' went the guns, for they were greeting the
New Year.
It was New Year's Eve, and the church clock
was striking twelve. ``Tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-
ra!'' sounded the horn, and the mail-coach came
lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the
gate of the town; all the places had been taken,
for there were twelve passengers in the coach.
``Hurrah! Hurrah!'' cried the people in the
town; for in every house the New Year was being
welcomed; and, as the clock struck, they stood
up, the full glasses in their hands, to drink
success to the newcomer. ``A happy New Year,''
was the cry; ``a pretty wife, plenty of money, and
no sorrow or care!''
The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed
together till they rang again; while before the
town-gate the mail-coach stopped with the
twelve strange passengers. And who were these
strangers? Each of them had his passport and
his luggage with him; they even brought presents
for me, and for you, and for all the people in the
town. Who were they? What did they want?
And what did they bring with them?
``Good-morning!'' they cried to the sentry at
the town-gate.
``Good-morning,'' replied the sentry, for the
clock had struck twelve.
``Your name and profession?'' asked the sentry
of the one who alighted first from the carriage.
``See for yourself in the passport,'' he replied.
``I am myself!''--and a famous fellow he looked,
arrayed in bearskin and fur boots. ``Come to me
to-morrow, and I will give you a New Year's
present. I throw shillings and pence among the
people. I give balls every night, no less than
thirty-one; indeed, that is the highest number
I can spare for balls. My ships are often frozen
in, but in my offices it is warm and comfortable.
MY NAME IS JANUARY. I am a merchant, and I
generally bring my accounts with me.''
Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry
fellow. He was a director of a theater, a manager
of masked balls, and a leader of all the amusements
we can imagine. His luggage consisted of
a great cask.
``We'll dance the bung out of the cask at
carnival-time,'' said he. ``I'll prepare a merry tune
for you and for myself, too. Unfortunately I
have not long to live,--the shortest time, in fact,
of my whole family,--only twenty-eight days.
Sometimes they pop me in a day extra; but I
trouble myself very little about that. Hurrah!''
``You must not shout so,'' said the sentry.
``Certainly I may shout,'' retorted the man.
``I'm Prince Carnival, traveling under THE NAME OF FEBRUARY.''
The third now got out. He looked the
personification of fasting; but he carried his nose very
high, for he was a weather prophet. In his buttonhole
he wore a little bunch of violets, but they
were very small.
``MARCH, MARCH!'' the fourth passenger called
after him, slapping him on the shoulder, ``don't
you smell something good? Make haste into the
guard-room, they are feasting in there. I can
smell it already! FORWARD, MASTER MARCH!''
But it was not true. The speaker only wanted
to make an APRIL FOOL of him, for with that fun
the fourth stranger generally began his career. He
looked very jovial, and did little work.
``If the world were only more settled!'' said
he; ``but sometimes I'm obliged to be in a good
humor, and sometimes a bad one. I can laugh or
cry according to circumstances. I have my summer
wardrobe in this box here, but it would be
very foolish to put it on now!''
After him a lady stepped out of the coach. SHE
CALLED HERSELF MISS MAY. She wore a summer dress
and overshoes. Her dress was light green, and there
were anemones in her hair. She was so scented
with wild thyme that it made the sentry sneeze.
``Your health, and God bless you!'' was her
greeting.
How pretty she was! and such a singer! Not
a theater singer nor a ballad-singer; no, but a
singer of the woods. For she wandered through
the gay, green forest, and had a concert there for
her own amusement.
``Now comes the young lady,'' said those in the
coach; and out stepped a young dame, delicate,
proud, and pretty. IT WAS MISTRESS JUNE. In her
service people become lazy and fond of sleeping
for hours. She gives a feast on the longest day
of the year, that there may be time for her guests
to partake of the numerous dishes at her table.
Indeed, she keeps her own carriage, but still she
travels by the mail-coach with the rest because
she wishes to show that she is not proud.
But she was not without a protector; her
younger brother, JULY, was with her. He was a
plump, young fellow, clad in summer garments,
and wearing a straw hat. He had very little
luggage because it was so cumbersome in the
great heat. He had, however, swimming-trousers
with him, which are nothing to carry.
Then came the mother herself, MADAME AUGUST,
a wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of
a large number of fish-ponds, and a land-cultivator.
She was fat and warm, yet she could use
her hands well, and would herself carry out food
to the laborers in the field. After work, came the
recreations, dancing and playing in the greenwood,
and the ``harvest home.'' She was a thorough housewife.
After her a man stepped out of the coach. He
is a painter, a master of colors, and is NAMED SEPTEMBER.
The forest on his arrival has to change
its colors, and how beautiful are those he chooses!
The woods glow with red, and gold, and brown.
This great master painter can whistle like a
blackbird. There he stood with his color-pot in
his hand, and that was the whole of his luggage.
A landowner followed, who in the month for
sowing seed attends to his ploughing and is fond
of field sports. SQUIRE OCTOBER brought his dog and
his gun with him, and had nuts in his game-bag.
``Crack! Crack!'' He had a great deal of luggage,
even a plough. He spoke of farming, but what
he said could scarcely be heard for the coughing
and sneezing of his neighbor.
It WAS NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he
got out. He had a cold, but he said he thought
it would leave him when he went out woodcutting,
for he had to supply wood to the whole parish.
He spent his evenings making skates, for he knew,
he said, that in a few weeks they would be needed.
At length the last passenger made her appearance,--
OLD MOTHER DECEMBER! The dame was
very aged, but her eyes glistened like two stars.
She carried on her arm a flower-pot, in which a
little fir tree was growing. ``This tree I shall
guard and cherish,'' she said, ``that it may grow
large by Christmas Eve, and reach from the floor
to the ceiling, to be adorned with lighted candles,
golden apples, and toys. I shall sit by the fireplace,
and bring a story-book out of my pocket,
and read aloud to all the little children. Then the
toys on the tree will become alive, and the little
waxen Angel at the top will spread out his wings
of gold leaf, and fly down from his green perch.
He will kiss every child in the room, yes, and all
the little children who stand out in the street
singing a carol about the `Star of Bethlehem.' ''
``Well, now the coach may drive away,'' said
the sentry; ``we will keep all the twelve months
here with us.''
``First let the twelve come to me,'' said the
Captain on duty, ``one after another. The passports
I will keep here, each of them for one
month. When that has passed, I shall write the
behavior of each stranger on his passport. MR. JANUARY,
have the goodness to come here.''
And MR. JANUARY stepped forward.
When a year has passed, I think I shall be able
to tell you what the twelve passengers have
brought to you, to me, and to all of us. Just now
I do not know, and probably even they do not
know themselves, for we live in strange times.
LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY
(FEBRUARY 12)
HE RESCUES THE BIRDS
BY NOAH BROOKS (ADAPTED)
Once, while riding through the country with
some other lawyers, Lincoln was missed from the
party, and was seen loitering near a thicket of
wild plum trees where the men had stopped a
short time before to water their horses.
``Where is Lincoln?'' asked one of the lawyers.
``When I saw him last,'' answered another,
``he had caught two young birds that the wind
had blown out of their nest, and was hunting for
the nest to put them back again.''
As Lincoln joined them, the lawyers rallied
him on his tender-heartedness, and he said:--
``I could not have slept unless I had restored
those little birds to their mother.''
LINCOLN AND THE LITTLE GIRL
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
In the old days, when Lincoln was one of the
leading lawyers of the State, he noticed a little
girl of ten who stood beside a trunk in front of her
home crying bitterly. He stopped to learn what
was wrong, and was told that she was about to
miss a long-promised visit to Decatur because the
wagon had not come for her.
``You needn't let that trouble you,'' was his
cheering reply. ``Just come along with me and we
shall make it all right.''
Lifting the trunk upon his shoulder, and taking
the little girl by the hand, he went through the
streets of Springfield, a half-mile to the railway
station, put her and her trunk on the train, and
sent her away with a happiness in her heart that
is still there.
TRAINING FOR THE PRESIDENCY
BY ORISON SWETT MARDEN
``I meant to take good care of your book, Mr.
Crawford,'' said the boy, ``but I've damaged it a
good deal without intending to, and now I want
to make it right with you. What shall I do to
make it good?''
``Why, what happened to it, Abe?'' asked the
rich farmer, as he took the copy of Weems's
``Life of Washington'' which he had lent young
Lincoln, and looked at the stained leaves and
warped binding. ``It looks as if it had been out
through all last night's storm. How came you
to forget, and leave it out to soak?''
``It was this way, Mr. Crawford,'' replied Abe.
``I sat up late to read it, and when I went to bed,
I put it away carefully in my bookcase, as I call
it, a little opening between two logs in the wall of
our cabin. I dreamed about General Washington
all night. When I woke up I took it out to read
a page or two before I did the chores, and you
can't imagine how I felt when I found it in this
shape. It seems that the mud-daubing had got
out of the weather side of that crack, and the
rain must have dripped on it three or four hours
before I took it out. I'm sorry, Mr. Crawford,
and want to fix it up with you, if you can
tell me how, for I have not got money to pay
for it.''
``Well,'' said Mr. Crawford, ``come and shuck
corn three days, and the book 's yours.''
Had Mr. Crawford told young Abraham Lincoln
that he had fallen heir to a fortune the boy
could hardly have felt more elated. Shuck corn
only three days, and earn the book that told all
about his greatest hero!
``I don't intend to shuck corn, split rails, and
the like always,'' he told Mrs. Crawford, after he
had read the volume. ``I'm going to fit myself
for a profession.''
``Why, what do you want to be, now?'' asked
Mrs. Crawford in surprise.
``Oh, I'll be President!'' said Abe with a smile.
``You'd make a pretty President with all your
tricks and jokes, now, wouldn't you?'' said the
farmer's wife.
``Oh, I'll study and get ready,'' replied the
boy, ``and then maybe the chance will come.''
WHY LINCOLN WAS CALLED
``HONEST ABE''
BY NOAH BROOKS
In managing the country store, as in everything
that he undertook for others, Lincoln did his very
best. He was honest, civil, ready to do anything
that should encourage customers to come to the
place, full of pleasantries, patient, and alert.
On one occasion, finding late at night, when he
counted over his cash, that he had taken a few
cents from a customer more than was due, he
closed the store, and walked a long distance to
make good the deficiency.
At another time, discovering on the scales in
the morning a weight with which he had weighed
out a package of tea for a woman the night before,
he saw that he had given her too little for
her money. He weighed out what was due, and
carried it to her, much to the surprise of the
woman, who had not known that she was short
in the amount of her purchase.
Innumerable incidents of this sort are related
of Lincoln, and we should not have space to tell
of the alertness with which he sprang to protect
defenseless women from insult, or feeble children
from tyranny; for in the rude community in
which he lived, the rights of the defenseless were
not always respected as they should have been.
There were bullies then, as now.
A STRANGER AT FIVE-POINTS
(ADAPTED)
One afternoon in February, 1860, when the Sunday
School of the Five-Point House of Industry
in New York was assembled, the teacher saw a
most remarkable man enter the room and take
his place among the others. This stranger was
tall, his frame was gaunt and sinewy, his head
powerful, with determined features overcast by
a gentle melancholy.
He listened with fixed attention to the
exercises. His face expressed such genuine interest
that the teacher, approaching him, suggested that
he might have something to say to the children.
The stranger accepted the invitation with
evident pleasure. Coming forward, he began to
speak and at once fascinated every child in the
room. His language was beautiful yet simple,
his tones were musical, and he spoke with deep
feeling.
The faces of the boys and girls drooped sadly
as he uttered warnings, and then brightened with
joy as he spoke cheerful words of promise. Once
or twice he tried to close his remarks, but the
children shouted: ``Go on! Oh! do go on!'' and
he was forced to continue.
At last he finished his talk and was leaving the
room quietly when the teacher begged to know
his name.
``Abra'm Lincoln, of Illinois,'' was the modest
response.
A SOLOMON COME TO JUDGMENT
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
Lincoln's practical sense and his understanding
of human nature enabled him to save the life of
the son of his old Clary's Grove friend, Jack
Armstrong, who was on trial for murder. Lincoln,
learning of it, went to the old mother who had
been kind to him in the days of his boyhood
poverty, and promised her that he would get her
boy free.
The witnesses were sure that Armstrong was
guilty, and one of them declared that he had seen
the fatal blow struck. It was late at night, he
said, and the light of the full moon had made it
possible for him to see the crime committed.
Lincoln, on cross-examination, asked him only
questions enough to make the jury see that it was the
full moon that made it possible for the witness to
see what occurred; got him to say two or three
times that he was sure of it, and seemed to give
up any further effort to save the boy.
But when the evidence was finished, and
Lincoln's time came to make his argument, he called
for an almanac, which the clerk of the court had
ready for him, and handed it to the jury. They
saw at once that on the night of the murder there
was no moon at all. They were satisfied that the
witness had told what was not true. Lincoln's
case was won.
GEORGE PICKETT'S FRIEND
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
George Pickett, who had known Lincoln in
Illinois, years before, joined the Southern army,
and by his conspicuous bravery and ability had
become one of the great generals of the
Confederacy. Toward the close of the war, when a
large part of Virginia had fallen into the
possession of the Union army, the President called at
General Pickett's Virginia home.
The general's wife, with her baby on her arm,
met him at the door. She herself has told the
story for us.
`` `Is this George Pickett's home?' he asked.
``With all the courage and dignity I could
muster, I replied: `Yes, and I am his wife, and
this is his baby.'
`` `I am Abraham Lincoln.'
`` `The President!' I gasped. I had never seen
him, but I knew the intense love and reverence
with which my soldier always spoke of him.
``The stranger shook his head and replied:
`No; Abraham Lincoln, George's old friend.'
``The baby pushed away from me and reached
out his hands to Mr. Lincoln, who took him in his
arms. As he did so an expression of rapt, almost
divine tenderness and love lighted up the sad
face. It was a look that I have never seen on any
other face. The baby opened his mouth wide and
insisted upon giving his father's friend a dewy
kiss.
``As Mr. Lincoln gave the little one back to me
he said: `Tell your father, the rascal, that I forgive
him for the sake of your bright eyes.' ''
LINCOLN THE LAWYER
BY Z. A. MUDGE (ADAPTED)
He delighted to advocate the cases of those whom
he knew to be wronged, but he would not defend
the cause of the guilty. If he discovered in the
course of a trial that he was on the wrong side,
he lost all interest, and ceased to make any
exertion.
Once, while engaged in a prosecution, he
discovered that his client's cause was not a good one,
and he refused to make the plea. His associate,
who was less scrupulous, made the plea and obtained
a decision in their favor. The fee was nine
hundred dollars, half of which was tendered to
Mr. Lincoln, but he refused to accept a single
cent of it.
His honesty was strongly illustrated by the way
he kept his accounts with his law-partner. When
he had taken a fee in the latter's absence, he put
one half of it into his own pocket, and laid the
other half carefully away, labeling it ``Billy,''
the name by which he familiarly addressed his
partner. When asked why he did not make a
record of the amount and, for the time being, use
the whole, Mr. Lincoln answered: ``Because I
promised my mother never to use money belonging
to another person.''
THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS
(ADAPTED)
Mr. Lincoln made the great speech of his famous
senatorial campaign at Springfield, Illinois. The
convention before which he spoke consisted of a
thousand delegates together with the crowd that
had gathered with them.
His speech was carefully prepared. Every
sentence was guarded and emphatic. It has since
become famous as ``The Divided House'' speech.
Before entering the hall where it was to be
delivered, he stepped into the office of his law-
partner, Mr. Herndon, and, locking the door, so
that their interview might be private, took his
manuscript from his pocket, and read one of the
opening sentences: ``I believe this government
cannot endure permanently, half slave and half
free.''
Mr. Herndon remarked that the sentiment was
true, but suggested that it might not be GOOD POLICY
to utter it at that time.
Mr. Lincoln replied with great firmness: ``No
matter about the POLICY. It is TRUE, and the
nation is entitled to it. The proposition has been
true for six thousand years, and I will deliver it
as it is written.''
MR. LINCOLN AND THE BIBLE
BY Z. A. MUDGE (ADAPTED)
A visitor in Washington once had an appointment
to see Mr. Lincoln at five o'clock in the
morning. The gentleman made a hasty toilet
and presented himself at a quarter of five in the
waiting-room of the President. He asked the
usher if he could see Mr. Lincoln.
``No,'' he replied.
``But I have an engagement to meet him this
morning,'' answered the visitor.
``At what hour?'' asked the usher.
``At five o'clock.''
``Well, sir, he will see you at five.''
The visitor waited patiently, walking to and
fro for a few minutes, when he heard a voice as
if in grave conversation.
``Who is talking in the next room?'' he asked.
``It is the President, sir,'' said the usher, who
then explained that it was Mr. Lincoln's custom
to spend every morning from four to five reading
the Scriptures, and praying.
HIS SPRINGFIELD FAREWELL
ADDRESS
It was on the morning of February 11, 1861, that
the President-elect, together with his family and
a small party of friends, bade adieu to the city
of Springfield, which, alas! he was never to see
again.
A large throng of Springfield citizens assembled
at the railway station to see the departure, and
before the train left Mr. Lincoln addressed them
in the following words:--
``MY FRIENDS: No one, not in my position, can
appreciate the sadness I feel at this parting. To
this people I owe all that I am. Here I have lived
more than a quarter of a century; here my
children were born, and here one of them lies buried.
I know not how soon I shall see you again. A
duty devolves upon me which is, perhaps, greater
than that which has devolved upon any other
man since the days of Washington. He never
would have succeeded except by the aid of Divine
Providence, upon which he at all times relied.
I feel that I cannot succeed without the same
Divine aid which sustained him, and on the same
Almighty Being I place my reliance for support;
and I hope you, my friends, will all pray that
I may receive that Divine assistance, without
which I cannot succeed, but with which success
is certain. Again I bid you an affectionate farewell.''
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY
(FEBRUARY 14)
SAINT VALENTINE
The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome
in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius
aided the Christian martyrs, and for this kind
deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and
dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned
him to be beaten to death with clubs and
to have his head cut off. He suffered martyrdom
on the 14th day of February, about the year 270.
At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very
ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month
of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honor of a
heathen god.
On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan
ceremonies, the names of young women were
placed in a box, from which they were drawn by
the men as chance directed.
The pastors of the early Christian Church in
Rome endeavored to do away with the pagan
element in these feasts by substituting the names
of saints for those of maidens. And as the
Lupercalia began about the middle of February, the
pastors appear to have chosen Saint Valentine's
Day for the celebration of this new feast.
So it seems that the custom of young men
choosing maidens for valentines, or saints as patrons
for the coming year, arose in this wise.
A PRISONER'S VALENTINE
BY MILLICENT OLMSTED (ADAPTED)
Charles, Duke of Orleans, who was taken
prisoner at the battle of Agincourt in 1415, and
detained in England twenty-five years, was the
author of the earliest known written valentines.
He left about sixty of them. They were written
during his confinement in the Tower of London,
and are still to be seen among the royal papers
in the British Museum.
One of his valentines reads as follows:--
``Wilt thou be mine? dear Love, reply--
Sweetly consent or else deny.
Whisper softly, none shall know,
Wilt thou be mine, Love?--aye or no?
``Spite of Fortune, we may be
Happy by one word from thee.
Life flies swiftly--ere it go
Wilt thou be mine, Love?--aye or no?''
A GIRL'S VALENTINE CHARM
AS TOLD BY HERSELF
(FROM THE CONNOISSEUR, 1775)
Last Friday was Valentine's Day, and I'll tell
you what I did the night before. I got five bay
leaves, and pinned four of them to the four corners
of my pillow, and the fifth to the middle; and then
if I dreamt of my sweetheart, Betty said we would
be married before the year was out.
But to make it more sure, I boiled an egg hard,
and took out the yolk, and filled it with salt, and
when I went to bed ate it, shell and all, without
speaking or drinking after it.
We also wrote our lovers' names upon bits of
paper, and rolled them up in clay and put them
into water; and the first that rose up was to be
our valentine. Would you think it? Mr. Blossom
was my man, and I lay abed and shut my eyes
all the morning, till he came to our house, for I
would not have seen another man before him for
all the world.
MR. PEPYS HIS VALENTINE
AS RELATED BY HIMSELF IN 1666
(ADAPTED)
This morning, came up to my wife's bedside, I
being up dressing myself, little Will Mercer, to
be her valentine; and brought her name writ upon
blue paper in gold letters, done by himself, very
pretty; and we were both well pleased with it.
But I am also this year my wife's valentine;
and it will cost me five pounds; but that I must
have laid out if we had not been valentines.
I find also that Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my
valentine, she having drawn me; which I am not
sorry for, it easing me of something more that I
must have given to others.
But here I do first observe the fashion of
drawing of mottoes as well as names; so that Pierce,
who drew my wife, did draw also a motto, and
this girl drew another for me. What mine was I
have forgot, but my wife's was: ``Most virtuous
and most fair,'' which, as it may be used, or an
anagram made upon each name, might be; very
pretty.
CUPID AND PSYCHE
BY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
THE ENCHANTED PALACE
Once upon a time, through that Destiny that
overrules the gods, Love himself gave up his
immortal heart to a mortal maiden. And thus it
came to pass:--
There was a certain king who had three beautiful
daughters. The two elder married princes of
great renown; but Psyche, the youngest, was so
radiantly fair that no suitor seemed worthy of
her. People thronged to see her pass through the
city, and sang hymns in her praise, while strangers
took her for the very goddess of beauty herself.
This angered Venus, and she resolved to cast
down her earthly rival. One day, therefore, she
called hither her son, Love (Cupid, some name
him), and bade him sharpen his weapons. He is
an archer more to be dreaded than Apollo, for
Apollo's arrows take life, but Love's bring joy
or sorrow for a whole life long.
``Come, Love,'' said Venus. ``There is a mortal
maid who robs me of my honors in yonder city.
Avenge your mother. Wound this precious
Psyche, and let her fall in love with some churlish
creature mean in the eyes of all men.''
Cupid made ready his weapons, and flew down
to earth invisibly. At that moment Psyche was
asleep in her chamber; but he touched her heart
with his golden arrow of love, and she opened her
eyes so suddenly that he started (forgetting that
he was invisible), and wounded himself with his
own shaft. Heedless of the hurt, moved only by
the loveliness of the maiden, he hastened to pour
over her locks the healing joy that he ever kept
by him, undoing all his work. Back to her dream
the princess went, unshadowed by any thought of
love. But Cupid, not so light of heart, returned
to the heavens, saying not a word of what had
passed.
Venus waited long; then, seeing that Psyche's
heart had somehow escaped love, she sent a spell
upon the maiden. From that time, lovely as she
was, not a suitor came to woo; and her parents,
who desired to see her a queen at least, made a
journey to the Oracle, and asked counsel.
Said the voice: ``The Princess Psyche shall
never wed a mortal. She shall be given to one
who waits for her on yonder mountain; he overcomes
gods and men.''
At this terrible sentence the poor parents were
half-distraught, and the people gave themselves
up to grief at the fate in store for their beloved
princess. Psyche alone bowed to her destiny.
``We have angered Venus unwittingly,'' she said,
``and all for sake of me, heedless maiden that
I am! Give me up, therefore, dear father and
mother. If I atone, it may be that the city will
prosper once more.''
So she besought them, until, after many
unavailing denials, the parents consented; and with
a great company of people they led Psyche up
the mountain,--as an offering to the monster
of whom the Oracle had spoken,--and left her
there alone.
Full of courage, yet in a secret agony of grief,
she watched her kindred and her people wind
down the mountain-path, too sad to look back,
until they were lost to sight. Then, indeed, she
wept, but a sudden breeze drew near, dried her
tears, and caressed her hair, seeming to murmur
comfort. In truth, it was Zephyr, the kindly
West Wind, come to befriend her; and as she took
heart, feeling some benignant presence, he lifted
her in his arms, and carried her on wings as even
as a sea-gull's, over the crest of the fateful
mountain and into a valley below. There he left her,
resting on a bank of hospitable grass, and there
the princess fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was near sunset. She
looked about her for some sign of the monster's
approach; she wondered, then, if her grievous
trial had been but a dream. Near by she saw a
sheltering forest, whose young trees seemed to
beckon as one maid beckons to another; and
eager for the protection of the dryads, she went
thither.
The call of running waters drew her farther
and farther, till she came out upon an open
place, where there was a wide pool. A fountain
fluttered gladly in the midst of it, and beyond
there stretched a white palace wonderful to see.
Coaxed by the bright promise of the place, she
drew near, and, seeing no one, entered softly. It
was all kinglier than her father's home, and as
she stood in wonder and awe, soft airs stirred
about her. Little by little the silence grew
murmurous like the woods, and one voice, sweeter
than the rest, took words. ``All that you see is
yours, gentle high princess,'' it said. ``Fear
nothing; only command us, for we are here to serve
you.''
Full of amazement and delight, Psyche
followed the voice from hall to hall, and through
the lordly rooms, beautiful with everything that
could delight a young princess. No pleasant
thing was lacking. There was even a pool, brightly
tiled and fed with running waters, where she
bathed her weary limbs; and after she had put on
the new and beautiful raiment that lay ready for
her, she sat down to break her fast, waited upon
and sung to by the unseen spirits.
Surely he whom the Oracle had called her
husband was no monster, but some beneficent power,
invisible like all the rest. When daylight waned
he came, and his voice, the beautiful voice of a
god, inspired her to trust her strange destiny and
to look and long for his return. Often she begged
him to stay with her through the day, that she
might see his face; but this he would not grant.
``Never doubt me, dearest Psyche,'' said he.
``Perhaps you would fear if you saw me, and love
is all I ask. There is a necessity that keeps me
hidden now. Only believe.''
So for many days Psyche was content; but
when she grew used to happiness, she thought
once more of her parents mourning her as lost,
and of her sisters who shared the lot of mortals
while she lived as a goddess. One night she told
her husband of these regrets, and begged that
her sisters at least might come to see her. He
sighed, but did not refuse.
``Zephyr shall bring them hither,'' said he.
And on the following morning, swift as a bird,
the West Wind came over the crest of the high
mountain and down into the enchanted valley,
bearing her two sisters.
They greeted Psyche with joy and amazement,
hardly knowing how they had come hither. But
when this fairest of the sisters led them through
her palace and showed them all the treasures that
were hers, envy grew in their hearts and choked
their old love. Even while they sat at feast with
her, they grew more and more bitter; and hoping
to find some little flaw in her good fortune, they
asked a thousand questions.
``Where is your husband?'' said they. ``And
why is he not here with you?''
``Ah,'' stammered Psyche. ``All the day long
--he is gone, hunting upon the mountains.''
``But what does he look like?'' they asked; and
Psyche could find no answer.
When they learned that she had never seen
him, they laughed her faith to scorn.
``Poor Psyche,'' they said. ``You are walking
in a dream. Wake, before it is too late. Have you
forgotten what the Oracle decreed,--that you
were destined for a dreadful creature, the fear of
gods and men? And are you deceived by this
show of kindliness? We have come to warn you.
The people told us, as we came over the mountain,
that your husband is a dragon, who feeds
you well for the present, that he may feast the
better, some day soon. What is it that you trust?
Good words! But only take a dagger some night,
and when the monster is asleep go, light a lamp,
and look at him. You can put him to death easily,
and all his riches will be yours--and ours.''
Psyche heard this wicked plan with horror.
Nevertheless, after her sisters were gone, she
brooded over what they had said, not seeing their
evil intent; and she came to find some wisdom
in their words. Little by little, suspicion ate, like
a moth, into her lovely mind; and at nightfall, in
shame and fear, she hid a lamp and a dagger in
her chamber. Towards midnight, when her husband
was fast asleep, up she rose, hardly daring
to breathe; and coming softly to his side, she
uncovered the lamp to see some horror.
But there the youngest of the gods lay
sleeping,--most beautiful, most irresistible of all
immortals. His hair shone golden as the sun, his
face was radiant as dear Springtime, and from
his shoulders sprang two rainbow wings.
Poor Psyche was overcome with self-reproach.
As she leaned towards him, filled with worship,
her trembling hands held the lamp ill, and some
burning oil fell upon Love's shoulder and awakened him.
He opened his eyes, to see at once his bride and
the dark suspicion in her heart.
``O doubting Psyche!'' he exclaimed with
sudden grief,--and then he flew away, out of the
window.
Wild with sorrow, Psyche tried to follow, but
she fell to the ground instead. When she recovered
her senses, she stared about her. She was
alone, and the place was beautiful no longer.
Garden and palace had vanished with Love.
THE TRIAL OF PSYCHE:
Over mountains and valleys Psyche journeyed
alone until she came to the city where her two
envious sisters lived with the princes whom they
had married. She stayed with them only long
enough to tell the story of her unbelief and its
penalty. Then she set out again to search for
Love.
As she wandered one day, travel-worn but not
hopeless, she saw a lofty palace on a hill near by,
and she turned her steps thither. The place
seemed deserted. Within the hall she saw no
human being,--only heaps of grain, loose ears of
corn half torn from the husk, wheat and barley,
alike scattered in confusion on the floor. Without
delay, she set to work binding the sheaves together
and gathering the scattered ears of corn
in seemly wise, as a princess would wish to see
them. While she was in the midst of her task, a
voice startled her, and she looked up to behold
Demeter herself, the goddess of the harvest,
smiling upon her with good will.
``Dear Psyche,'' said Demeter, ``you are
worthy of happiness, and you may find it yet.
But since you have displeased Venus, go to her
and ask her favor. Perhaps your patience will win
her pardon.''
These motherly words gave Psyche heart, and
she reverently took leave of the goddess and set
out for the temple of Venus. Most humbly she
offered up her prayer, but Venus could not look
at her earthly beauty without anger.
``Vain girl,'' said she, ``perhaps you have come
to make amends for the wound you dealt your
husband; you shall do so. Such clever people can
always find work!''
Then she led Psyche into a great chamber
heaped high with mingled grain, beans, and lentils
(the food of her doves), and bade her separate
them all and have them ready in seemly fashion
by night. Heracles would have been helpless before
such a vexatious task; and poor Psyche, left
alone in this desert of grain, had not courage to
begin. But even as she sat there, a moving thread
of black crawled across the floor from a crevice
in the wall; and bending nearer, she saw that a
great army of ants in columns had come to her
aid. The zealous little creatures worked in
swarms, with such industry over the work they
like best, that, when Venus came at night, she
found the task completed.
``Deceitful girl,'' she cried, shaking the roses
out of her hair with impatience, ``this is my son's
work, not yours. But he will soon forget you.
Eat this black bread if you are hungry, and refresh
your dull mind with sleep. To-morrow you
will need more wit.''
Psyche wondered what new misfortune could
be in store for her. But when morning came,
Venus led her to the brink of a river, and,
pointing to the wood across the water, said: ``Go now
to yonder grove where the sheep with the golden
fleece are wont to browse. Bring me a golden lock
from every one of them, or you must go your
ways and never come back again.''
This seemed not difficult, and Psyche
obediently bade the goddess farewell, and stepped into
the water, ready to wade across. But as Venus
disappeared, the reeds sang louder and the
nymphs of the river, looking up sweetly, blew
bubbles to the surface and murmured: ``Nay,
nay, have a care, Psyche. This flock has not the
gentle ways of sheep. While the sun burns aloft,
they are themselves as fierce as flame; but when
the shadows are long, they go to rest and sleep,
under the trees; and you may cross the river
without fear and pick the golden fleece off the briers
in the pasture.''
Thanking the water-creatures, Psyche sat
down to rest near them, and when the time came,
she crossed in safety and followed their counsel.
By twilight she returned to Venus with her arms
full of shining fleece.
``No mortal wit did this,'' said Venus angrily.
``But if you care to prove your readiness, go now,
with this little box, down to Proserpina and ask
her to enclose in it some of her beauty, for I have
grown pale in caring for my wounded son.''
It needed not the last taunt to sadden Psyche.
She knew that it was not for mortals to go into
Hades and return alive; and feeling that Love had
forsaken her, she was minded to accept her doom
as soon as might be.
But even as she hastened towards the descent,
another friendly voice detained her. ``Stay,
Psyche, I know your grief. Only give ear and
you shall learn a safe way through all these trials.''
And the voice went on to tell her how one might
avoid all the dangers of Hades and come out unscathed.
(But such a secret could not pass from
mouth to mouth, with the rest of the story.)
``And be sure,'' added the voice, ``when
Proserpina has returned the box, not to open it,
ever much you may long to do so.''
Psyche gave heed, and by this device, whatever
it was, she found her way into Hades safely, and
made her errand known to Proserpina, and was
soon in the upper world again, wearied but hopeful.
``Surely Love has not forgotten me,'' she said.
``But humbled as I am and worn with toil, how
shall I ever please him? Venus can never need all
the beauty in this casket; and since I use it for
Love's sake, it must be right to take some.'' So
saying, she opened the box, heedless as Pandora!
The spells and potions of Hades are not for mortal
maids, and no sooner had she inhaled the strange
aroma than she fell down like one dead, quite
overcome.
But it happened that Love himself was recovered
from his wound, and he had secretly fled
from his chamber to seek out and rescue Psyche.
He found her lying by the wayside; he gathered
into the casket what remained of the philter, and
awoke his beloved.
``Take comfort,'' he said, smiling. ``Return to
our mother and do her bidding till I come again.''
Away he flew; and while Psyche went cheerily
homeward, he hastened up to Olympus, where all
the gods sat feasting, and begged them to intercede
for him with his angry mother.
They heard his story and their hearts were
touched. Zeus himself coaxed Venus with kind
words till at last she relented, and remembered
that anger hurt her beauty, and smiled once
more. All the younger gods were for welcoming
Psyche at once, and Hermes was sent to bring
her hither. The maiden came, a shy newcomer
among those bright creatures. She took the cup
that Hebe held out to her, drank the divine
ambrosia, and became immortal.
Light came to her face like moonrise, two
radiant wings sprang from her shoulders; and even
as a butterfly bursts from its dull cocoon, so the
human Psyche blossomed into immortality.
Love took her by the hand, and they were
never parted any more.
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY
(FEBRUARY 22)
THREE OLD TALES
BY M. L. WEEMS (ADAPTED)
I. THE CHERRY TREE
When George was about six years old, he was
made the wealthy master of a hatchet of which,
like most little boys, he was extremely fond. He
went about chopping everything that came his
way.
One day, as he wandered about the garden
amusing himself by hacking his mother's pea-
sticks, he found a beautiful, young English cherry
tree, of which his father was most proud. He
tried the edge of his hatchet on the trunk of the
tree and barked it so that it died.
Some time after this, his father discovered what
had happened to his favorite tree. He came into
the house in great anger, and demanded to know
who the mischievous person was who had cut
away the bark. Nobody could tell him anything
about it.
Just then George, with his little hatchet, came
into the room.
``George,'' said his father, ``do you know who
has killed my beautiful little cherry tree yonder
in the garden? I would not have taken five
guineas for it!''
This was a hard question to answer, and for a
moment George was staggered by it, but quickly
recovering himself he cried:--
``I cannot tell a lie, father, you know I cannot
tell a lie! I did cut it with my little hatchet.''
The anger died out of his father's face, and
taking the boy tenderly in his arms, he said:--
``My son, that you should not be afraid to tell
the truth is more to me than a thousand trees!
yes, though they were blossomed with silver and
had leaves of the purest gold!''
II. THE APPLE ORCHARD
One fine morning in the autumn Mr. Washington,
taking little George by the hand, walked
with him to the apple orchard, promising that he
would show him a fine sight.
On arriving at the orchard they saw a fine sight,
indeed! The green grass under the trees was
strewn with red-cheeked apples, and yet the
trees were bending under the weight of fruit that
hung thick among the leaves.
``Now, George,'' said his father, ``look, my
son, see all this rich harvest of fruit! Do you
remember when your good cousin brought you a
fine, large apple last spring, how you refused to
divide it with your brothers? And yet I told you
then that, if you would be generous, God would
give you plenty of apples this autumn.''
Poor George could not answer, but hanging
down his head looked quite confused, while with
his little, naked, bare feet he scratched in the soft
ground.
``Now, look up, my son,'' continued his father,
``and see how the blessed God has richly provided
us with these trees loaded with the finest fruit.
See how abundant is the harvest. Some of the
trees are bending beneath their burdens, while the
ground is covered with mellow apples, more than
you could eat, my son, in all your lifetime.''
George looked in silence on the orchard, he
marked the busy, humming bees, and heard the
gay notes of the birds fluttering from tree to tree.
His eyes filled with tears and he answered softly:--
``Truly, father, I never will be selfish any
more.''
III. THE GARDEN-BED
One day Mr. Washington went into the garden
and dug a little bed of earth and prepared it for
seed. He then took a stick and traced on the bed
George's name in full. After this he strewed the
tracing thickly with seeds, and smoothed all over
nicely with his roller.
This garden-bed he purposely prepared close
to a gooseberry-walk. The bushes were hung with
the ripe fruit, and he knew that George would
visit them every morning.
Not many days had passed away when one
morning George came running into the house,
breathless with excitement, and his eyes shining
with happiness.
``Come here! father, come here!'' he cried.
``What's the matter, my son?'' asked his
father.
``O come, father,'' answered George, ``and I'll
show you such a sight as you have never seen in
all your lifetime.''
Mr. Washington gave the boy his hand, which
he seized with great eagerness. He led his father
straight to the garden-bed, whereon in large
letters, in lines of soft green, was written:--
GEORGE WASHINGTON
YOUNG GEORGE AND THE COLT
BY HORACE E. SCUDDER
There is a story told of George Washington's
boyhood,--unfortunately there are not many
stories,--which is to the point. His father had
taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses,
and his mother afterward took pains to keep the
stock pure. She had several young horses that
had not yet been broken, and one of them in
particular, a sorrel, was extremely spirited. No
one had been able to do anything with it, and it
was pronounced thoroughly vicious as people are
apt to pronounce horses which they have not
learned to master.
George was determined to ride this colt, and
told his companions that if they would help him
catch it, he would ride and tame it.
Early in the morning they set out for the
pasture, where the boys managed to surround the
sorrel, and then to put a bit into its mouth.
Washington sprang upon its back, the boys
dropped the bridle, and away flew the angry
animal.
Its rider at once began to command. The horse
resisted, backing about the field, rearing and
plunging. The boys became thoroughly alarmed,
but Washington kept his seat, never once losing
his self-control or his mastery of the colt.
The struggle was a sharp one; when suddenly,
as if determined to rid itself of its rider, the
creature leaped into the air with a tremendous bound.
It was its last. The violence burst a blood-vessel,
and the noble horse fell dead.
Before the boys could sufficiently recover to
consider how they should extricate themselves
from the scrape, they were called to breakfast;
and the mistress of the house, knowing that they
had been in the fields, began to ask after her
stock.
``Pray, young gentlemen,'' said she, ``have you
seen my blooded colts in your rambles? I hope
they are well taken care of. My favorite, I am
told, is as large as his sire.''
The boys looked at one another, and no one
liked to speak. Of course the mother repeated
her question.
``The sorrel is dead, madam,'' said her son, ``I
killed him.''
And then he told the whole story. They say
that his mother flushed with anger, as her son
often used to, and then, like him, controlled
herself, and presently said, quietly:--
``It is well; but while I regret the loss of my
favorite, I rejoice in my son who always speaks
the truth.''
WASHINGTON THE ATHLETE
BY ALBERT F. BLAISDELL AND FRANCIS E. BALL
Many stories are told of the mighty power of
Washington's right arm. It is said that he once
threw a stone from the bed of the stream to the
top of the Natural Bridge, in Virginia.
Again, we are told that once upon a time he
rounded a piece of slate to the size of a silver
dollar, and threw it across the Rappahannock at
Fredericksburg, the slate falling at least thirty
feet on the other side. Many strong men have
since tried the same feat, but have never cleared
the water.
Peale, who was called the soldier-artist, was
once visiting Washington at Mount Vernon. One
day, he tells us, some athletic young men were
pitching the iron bar in the presence of their host.
Suddenly, without taking off his coat, Washington
grasped the bar and hurled it, with little effort,
much farther than any of them had done.
``We were, indeed, amazed,'' said one of the
young men, ``as we stood round, all stripped to
the buff, and having thought ourselves very
clever fellows, while the Colonel, on retiring,
pleasantly said:--
`` `When you beat my pitch, young gentlemen,
I'll try again.' ''
At another time, Washington witnessed a
wrestling-match. The champion of the day
challenged him, in sport, to wrestle. Washington did
not stop to take off his coat, but grasped the
``strong man of Virginia.'' It was all over in a
moment, for, said the wrestler, ``In Washington's
lionlike grasp I became powerless, and was hurled
to the ground with a force that seemed to jar the
very marrow in my bones.''
In the days of the Revolution, some of the
riflemen and the backwoodsmen were men of
gigantic strength, but it was generally believed
by good judges that their commander-in-chief
was the strongest man in the army.
WASHINGTON'S MODESTY
BY HENRY CABOT LODGE (ADAPTED)
Washington as soon as Fort Duquesne had fallen
hurried home, resigned his commission, and was
married. The sunshine and glitter of the wedding
day must have appeared to Washington deeply
appropriate, for he certainly seemed to have all
that heart of man could desire. Just twenty-
seven, in the first flush of young manhood, keen
of sense and yet wise in experience, life must have
looked very fair and smiling. He had left the
army with a well-earned fame, and had come
home to take the wife of his choice, and enjoy the
good will and respect of all men.
While away on his last campaign he had been
elected a member of the House of Burgesses, and
when he took his seat, on removing to Williamsburg,
three months after his marriage, Mr. Robinson,
the Speaker, thanked him publicly in eloquent
words for his services to the country.
Washington rose to reply, but he was so utterly
unable to talk about himself that he stood before
the House stammering and blushing until the
Speaker said:--
``Sit down, Mr. Washington, your modesty
equals your valor, and that surpasses the power
of any language I possess.''
WASHINGTON AT YORKTOWN
BY HENRY CABOT LODGE
During the assault Washington stood in an
embrasure of the grand battery, watching the
advance of the men. He was always given to
exposing himself recklessly when there was
fighting to be done, but not when he was only an
observer.
This night, however, he was much exposed to
the enemy's fire. One of his aides, anxious and
disturbed for his safety, told him that the place
was perilous.
``If you think so,'' was the quiet answer, ``you
are at liberty to step back.''
The moment was too exciting, too fraught with
meaning, to think of peril. The old fighting spirit
of Braddock's field was unchained for the last
time. He would have liked to head the American
assault, sword in hand, and as he could not do
that, he stood as near his troops as he could,
utterly regardless of the bullets whistling in the
air about him. Who can wonder at his intense
excitement at that moment?
Others saw a brilliant storming of two out-
works, but to Washington the whole Revolution
and all the labor and thought and conflict of six
years were culminating in the smoke and din on
those redoubts, while out of the dust and heat of
the sharp, quick fight success was coming.
He had waited long, and worked hard, and his
whole soul went out as he watched the troops
cross the abatis and scale the works. He could
have no thought of danger then, and when all was
over, he turned to Knox and said:--
``The work is done, and well done. Bring me
my horse.''
RESURRECTION DAY (EASTER)
(MARCH OR APRIL)
A LESSON OF FAITH
BY MRS. ALFRED GATTY (ADAPTED)
``Let me hire you as a nurse for my poor children,''
said a butterfly to a quiet caterpillar, who
was strolling along a cabbage-leaf in her odd,
lumbering fashion.
``See these little eggs,'' continued the
butterfly; ``I do not know how long it will be before they
come to life, and I feel very sick. If I should die,
who will take care of my baby butterflies when
I am gone? Will you, kind, mild, green caterpillar?
They cannot, of course, live on your
rough food. You must give them early dew, and
honey from the flowers, and you must let them
fly about only a little way at first. Dear me! it is
a sad pity that you cannot fly yourself. Dear,
dear! I cannot think what made me come and
lay my eggs on a cabbage-leaf! What a place for
young butterflies to be bore upon! Here, take
this gold-dust from my wings as a reward. Oh,
how dizzy I am! Caterpillar! you will remember
about the food--''
And with these words the butterfiy drooped
her wings and died. The green caterpillar, who
had not had the opportunity of even saying
``yes'' or ``no'' to the request, was left standing
alone by the side of the butterfly's eggs.
``A pretty nurse she has chosen, indeed, poor
lady!'' exclaimed she, ``and a pretty business I
have in hand. Why did she ever ask a poor crawling
creature like me to bring up her dainty little
ones! Much they'll mind me, truly, when they
feel the gay wings on their backs, and can fly
away.''
However, the poor butterfly was dead, and
there lay the eggs on the cabbage-leaf, and the
green caterpillar had a kind heart, so she resolved
to do her best.
``But two heads are better than one,'' said she;
``I will consult some wise animal on the matter.''
Then she thought and thought till at last she
thought of the lark, and she fancied that because
he went up so high, and nobody knew where he
went to, he must be very clever and know a great
deal.
Now in the neighboring cornfield there lived
a lark, and the caterpillar sent a message to him,
begging him to come and talk to her. When he
came she told him all her difficulties, and asked
him how she was to feed and rear the little butterfly
creatures.
``Perhaps you will be able to inquire and learn
something about it the next time you go up high,''
said the caterpillar timidly.
``Perhaps I can,'' answered the lark; and then
he went singing upwards into the bright, blue
sky, till the green caterpillar could not hear a
sound, nor could she see him any more. So she
began to walk round the butterfly's eggs, nibbling
a bit of the cabbage-leaf now and then as she
moved along.
``What a time the lark has been gone!'' she
cried at last. ``I wonder where he is just now. He
must have flown higher than usual this time. How
I should like to know where he goes, and what he
hears in that curious blue sky! He always sings
going up and coming down, but he never lets any
secret out.''
And the green caterpillar took another turn
round the butterfly's eggs.
At last the lark's voice began to be heard again.
The caterpillar almost jumped for joy, and it was
not long before she saw her friend descend with
hushed note to the cabbage bed.
``News, news, glorious news, friend caterpillar!''
sang the lark, ``but the worst of it is, you won't
believe me!''
``I believe anything I am told,'' said the
caterpillar hastily.
``Well, then, first of all, I will tell you what
those little creatures are to eat''--and the lark
nodded his head toward the eggs. ``What do you
think it is to be? Guess!''
``Dew and honey out of the flowers, I am
afraid!'' sighed the caterpillar.
``No such thing, my good friend,'' cried the
lark exultantly; ``you are to feed them with
cabbage-leaves!''
``Never!'' said the caterpillar indignantly.
``It was their mother's last request that I should
feed them on dew and honey.''
``Their mother knew nothing about the matter,''
answered the lark; ``but why do you ask
me, and then disbelieve what I say? You have
neither faith nor trust.''
``Oh, I believe everything I am told,'' said the
caterpillar.
``Nay, but you do not,'' replied the lark.
``Why, caterpillar, what do you think those
little eggs will turn out to be?''
``Butterflies, to be sure,'' said the caterpillar.
``CATERPILLARS!'' sang the lark; ``and you'll find
it out in time.'' And the lark flew away.
``I thought the lark was wise and kind,''
said the mild, green caterpillar to herself, once
more beginning to walk round the eggs, ``but
I find that he is foolish and saucy instead.
Perhaps he went up TOO high this time. How
I wonder what he sees, and what he does up
yonder!''
``I would tell you if you would believe me,''
sang the lark, descending once more.
``I believe everything I am told,'' answered
the caterpillar.
``Then I'll tell you something else,'' cried the
lark. ``YOU WILL ONE DAY BE A BUTTERFLY YOURSELF!''
``Wretched bird,'' exclaimed the caterpillar,
``you are making fun of me. You are now cruel
as well as foolish! Go away! I will ask your advice
no more.''
``I told you you would not believe me,'' cried
the lark.
``I believe everything I am told,'' persisted the
caterpillar,--``everything that it is REASONABLE to
believe. But to tell me that butterflies' eggs are
caterpillars, and that caterpillars leave off crawling
and get wings and become butterflies!--
Lark! you do not believe such nonsense yourself!
You know it is impossible!''
``I know no such thing,'' said the lark. ``When
I hover over the cornfields, or go up into the
depths of the sky, I see so many wonderful things
that I know there must be more. O caterpillar!
it is because you CRAWL, and never get beyond
your cabbage-leaf, that you call anything IMPOSSIBLE.''
``Nonsense,'' shouted the caterpillar, ``I know
what's possible and what's impossible. Look at
my long, green body, and many legs, and then
talk to me about having wings! Fool!''
``More foolish you!'' cried the indignant lark,
``to attempt to reason about what you cannot
understand. Do you not hear how my song
swells with rejoicing as I soar upwards to the
mysterious wonder-world above? Oh, caterpillar,
what comes from thence, receive as I do,--on
trust.''
``What do you mean by that?'' asked the caterpillar.
``ON FAITH,'' answered the lark.
``How am I to learn faith?'' asked the caterpillar.
At that moment she felt something at her side.
She looked round,--eight or ten little green
caterpillars were moving about, and had already
made a hole in the cabbage-leaf. They had
broken from the butterfly's eggs!
Shame and amazement filled the green caterpillar's
heart, but joy soon followed. For as the
first wonder was possible, the second might be so
too.
``Teach me your lesson, lark,'' she cried.
And the lark sang to her of the wonders of
the earth below and of the heaven above. And the
caterpillar talked all the rest of her life of the
time when she should become a butterfly.
But no one believed her. She nevertheless had
learned the lark's lesson of faith, and when she
was going into her chrysalis, she said:--
``I shall be a butterfly some day!''
But her relations thought her head was wandering,
and they said, ``Poor thing!''
And when she was a butterfly, and was going
to die she said:--
``I have known many wonders,--I HAVE FAITH,
--I can trust even now for the wonder that shall
come next.''
A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR
BY CHARLES DICKENS
There was once a child, and he strolled about a
good deal, and thought of a number of things. He
had a sister, who was a child, too, and his constant
companion. These two used to wonder all
day long. They wondered at the beauty of the
flowers; they wondered at the height and blueness
of the sky; they wondered at the depth of the
bright water; they wondered at the goodness and
the power of God who made the lovely world.
They used to say to one another, sometimes:
``Supposing all the children upon earth were to
die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky
be sorry?'' They believed they would be sorry.
``For,''said they, ``the buds are the children of the
flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol
down the hillsides are the children of the water;
and the smallest, bright specks playing at hide
and seek in the sky all night, must surely be the
children of the stars; and they would all be
grieved to see their playmates, the children of
men, no more.''
There was one clear, shining star that used to
come out in the sky before the rest, near the
church spire, above the graves. It was larger and
more beautiful, they thought, than all the others,
and every night they watched for it, standing
hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first
cried out: ``I see the star!'' And often they cried
out both together, knowing so well when it would
rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends
with it, that, before lying down in their beds, they
always looked out once again, to bid it good-night;
and when they were turning round to sleep, they
used to say: ``God bless the star!''
But while she was still very young, oh, very,
very young, the sister drooped, and came to be so
weak that she could no longer stand in the window
at night; and then the child looked sadly
out by himself, and when he saw the star turned
round and said to the patient, pale face on the
bed: ``I see the star!'' and then a smile would
come upon the face, and a little weak voice used
to say: ``God bless my brother and the star!''
And so the time came all too soon, when the
child looked out alone, and when there was no
face on the bed; and when there was a little grave
among the graves, not there before; and when the
star made long rays down towards him, as he saw
it through his tears.
Now, these rays were so bright, and they
seemed to make such a shining way from earth to
heaven, that when the child went to his solitary
bed he dreamed about the star; and dreamed
that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people
taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the
star, opening, showed him a great world of light,
where many more such angels waited to receive
them.
All these angels, who were waiting, turned their
beaming eyes upon the people who were carried
up into the star; and some came out from the
long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the
people's necks, and kissed them tenderly, and
went away with them down avenues of light, and
were so happy in their company, that lying in his
bed he wept for joy.
But there were many angels who did not go
with them, and among them one he knew. The
patient face, that once had lain upon the bed,
was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out
his sister among all the host.
His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of
the star, and said to the leader among those who
had brought the people thither:--
``Is my brother come?''
And he said: ``No.''
She was turning hopefully away, when the
child stretched out his arms, and cried: ``O sister,
I am here! Take me!'' And then she turned her
beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and
the star was shining into the room, making long
rays down towards him, as he saw it through his
tears.
From that hour forth, the child looked out
upon the star as on the home he was to go to
when his time should come; and he thought that
he did not belong to the earth alone, but to
the star, too, because of his sister's angel gone
before.
There was a baby born to be a brother to the
child; and while he was so little that he never yet
had spoken word, he stretched his tiny form out
on his bed, and died.
Again the child dreamed of the open star, and
of the company of angels, and the train of people,
and the rows of angels with their beaming eyes
all turned upon those people's faces.
Said his sister's angel to the leader:--
``Is my brother come?''
And he said: ``Not that one, but another.''
As the child beheld his brother's angel in her
arms, he cried: ``O sister, I am here! Take me!''
And she turned and smiled upon him, and the
star was shining.
He grew to be a young man, and was busy at
his books, when an old servant came to him and
said:--
``Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing
on her darling son.''
Again at night he saw the star, and all that
former company. Said his sister's angel to the
leader:--
``Is my brother come?''
And he said: ``Thy mother!''
A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the
star, because the mother was reunited to her two
children. And he stretched out his arms and
cried: ``O mother, sister, and brother, I am here!
Take me!'' And they answered him: ``Not yet.''
And the star was shining.
He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning
gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside,
heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed
with tears, when the star opened once again.
Said his sister's angel to the leader:--
``Is my brother come?''
And he said: ``Nay, but his maiden daughter.''
And the man, who had been the child, saw his
daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature
among those three, and he said: ``My daughter's
head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is
around my mother's neck, and at her feet there
is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting
from her, God be praised!''
And the star was shining.
Thus the child came to be an old man, and his
once smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were
slow and feeble, and his back was bent. And one
night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing
round, he cried, as he had cried so long ago:--
``I see the star!''
They whispered one to another: ``He is dying.''
And he said: ``I am. My age is falling from me
like a garment, and I move towards the star as a
child. And, O my Father, now I thank Thee that
it has so often opened to receive those dear ones
who await me!''
And the star was shining; and it shines upon
his grave.
THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED)
Once there reigned a queen, in whose garden were
found the most glorious flowers at all seasons and
from all the lands of the world. But more than all
others she loved the roses, and she had many
kinds of this flower, from the wild dog-rose with
its apple-scented green leaves to the most splendid,
large, crimson roses. They grew against the
garden walls, wound themselves around the pillars
and wind-frames, and crept through the
windows into the rooms, and all along the ceilings
in the halls. And the roses were of many colors,
and of every fragrance and form.
But care and sorrow dwelt in those halls. The
queen lay upon a sick-bed, and the doctors said
she must die.
``There is still one thing that can save her,''
said the wise man. ``Bring her the loveliest rose
in the world, the rose that is the symbol of the
purest, the brightest love. If that is held before
her eyes ere they close, she will not die.''
Then old and young came from every side with
roses, the loveliest that bloomed in each garden,
but they were not of the right sort. The flower
was to be plucked from the Garden of Love. But
what rose in all that garden expressed the highest
and purest love?
And the poets sang of the loveliest rose in the
world,--of the love of maid and youth, and of
the love of dying heroes.
``But they have not named the right flower,''
said the wise man. ``They have not pointed out
the place where it blooms in its splendor. It is
not the rose that springs from the hearts of youthful
lovers, though this rose will ever be fragrant
in song. It is not the bloom that sprouts from the
blood flowing from the breast of the hero who
dies for his country, though few deaths are
sweeter than his, and no rose is redder than the
blood that flows then. Nor is it the wondrous
flower to which man devotes many a sleepless
night and much of his fresh life,--the magic
flower of science.''
``But I know where it blooms,'' said a happy
mother, who came with her pretty child to the
bedside of the dying queen. ``I know where the
loveliest rose of love may be found. It springs in
the blooming cheeks of my sweet child, when,
waking from sleep, it opens its eyes and smiles
tenderly at me.''
``Lovely is this rose, but there is a lovelier still,''
said the wise man.
``I have seen the loveliest, purest rose that
blooms,'' said a woman. ``I saw it on the cheeks
of the queen. She had taken off her golden crown.
And in the long, dreary night she carried her sick
child in her arms. She wept, kissed it, and prayed
for her child.''
``Holy and wonderful is the white rose of a
mother's grief,'' answered the wise man, ``but it
is not the one we seek.''
``The loveliest rose in the world I saw at the
altar of the Lord,'' said the good Bishop, ``the
young maidens went to the Lord's Table. Roses
were blushing and pale roses shining on their fresh
cheeks. A young girl stood there. She looked
with all the love and purity of her spirit up to
heaven. That was the expression of the highest
and purest love.''
``May she be blessed,'' said the wise man, ``but
not one of you has yet named the loveliest rose
in the world.''
Then there came into the room a child, the
queen's little son.
``Mother,'' cried the boy, ``only hear what I
have read.''
And the child sat by the bedside and read from
the Book of Him who suffered death upon the
cross to save men, and even those who were not
yet born. ``Greater love there is not.''
And a rosy glow spread over the cheeks of the
queen, and her eyes gleamed, for she saw that
from the leaves of the Book there bloomed the
loveliest rose, that sprang from the blood of
Christ shed on the cross.
``I see it!'' she said, ``he who beholds this, the
loveliest rose on earth, shall never die.''
MAY DAY
(MAY 1)
THE SNOWDROP [1]
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED)
[1] From For the Children's Hour, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey and
Clara M. Lewis. Copyright by the Milton Bradley Company.
The snow lay deep, for it was winter-time. The
winter winds blew cold, but there was one house
where all was snug and warm. And in the house
lay a little flower; in its bulb it lay, under the
earth and the snow.
One day the rain fell and it trickled through the
ice and snow down into the ground. And presently
a sunbeam, pointed and slender, pierced
down through the earth, and tapped on the bulb.
``Come in,'' said the flower.
``I can't do that,'' said the sunbeam; ``I'm not
strong enough to lift the latch. I shall be stronger
when springtime comes.''
``When will it be spring?'' asked the flower of
every little sunbeam that rapped on its door. But
for a long time it was winter. The ground was still
covered with snow, and every night there was ice in
the water. The flower grew quite tired of waiting.
``How long it is!'' it said. ``I feel quite cramped.
I must stretch myself and rise up a little. I must
lift the latch, and look out, and say `good-morning'
to the spring.''
So the flower pushed and pushed. The walls
were softened by the rain and warmed by the
little sunbeams, so the flower shot up from under
the snow, with a pale green bud on its stalk and
some long narrow leaves on either side. It was
biting cold.
``You are a little too early,'' said the wind and
the weather; but every sunbeam sang: ``Welcome,''
and the flower raised its head from the
snow and unfolded itself--pure and white, and
decked with green stripes.
It was weather to freeze it to pieces,--such
a delicate little flower,--but it was stronger than
any one knew. It stood in its white dress in the
white snow, bowing its head when the snow-
flakes fell, and raising it again to smile at the
sunbeams, and every day it grew sweeter.
``Oh!'' shouted the children, as they ran into
the garden, ``see the snowdrop! There it stands
so pretty, so beautiful,--the first, the only one!''
THE THREE LITTLE BUTTERFLY
BROTHERS
(FROM THE GERMAN)[2]
[2] From Deutsches Drittes Lesebuch, by W. H. Weick and C.
Grebner. Copyright, 1886, by Van Antwerp, Bragg & Co. American
Book Company, publishers.
There were once three little butterfly brothers,
one white, one red, and one yellow. They played
in the sunshine, and danced among the flowers
in the garden, and they never grew tired because
they were so happy.
One day there came a heavy rain, and it wet
their wings. They flew away home, but when
they got there they found the door locked and the
key gone. So they had to stay out of doors in the
rain, and they grew wetter and wetter.
By and by they flew to the red and yellow
striped tulip, and said: ``Friend Tulip, will you
open your flower-cup and let us in till the storm
is over?''
The tulip answered: ``The red and yellow
butterflies may enter, because they are like me, but
the white one may not come in.''
But the red and yellow butterflies said: ``If our
white brother may not find shelter in your flowercup,
why, then, we'll stay outside in the rain with
him.''
It rained harder and harder, and the poor little
butterflies grew wetter and wetter, so they flew
to the white lily and said: ``Good Lily, will you
open your bud a little so we may creep in out of
the rain?''
The lily answered: ``The white butterfly may
come in, because he is like me, but the red and
yellow ones must stay outside in the storm.''
Then the little white butterfly said: ``If you
won't receive my red and yellow brothers, why,
then, I'll stay out in the rain with them. We
would rather be wet than be parted.''
So the three little butterfiies flew away.
But the sun, who was behind a cloud, heard it
all, and he knew what good little brothers the
butterflies were, and how they had held together
in spite of the wet. So he pushed his face through
the clouds, and chased away the rain, and shone
brightly on the garden.
He dried the wings of the three little
butterflies, and warmed their bodies. They ceased to
sorrow, and danced among the flowers till evening,
then they flew away home, and found the
door wide open.
THE WATER-DROP
BY FRIEDRICH WILHELM CAROVE'
(ADAPTED FROM THE TRANSLATION BY SARAH AUSTIN)
There was once a child who lived in a little hut,
and in the hut there was nothing but a little bed
and a looking-glass; but as soon as the first
sunbeam glided softly through the casement and
kissed his sweet eyelids, and the finch and the
linnet waked him merrily with their morning
songs, he arose and went out into the green
meadow.
And he begged flour of the primrose, and sugar
of the violet, and butter of the buttercup. He
shook dewdrops from the cowslip into the cup of
the harebell, spread out a large lime-leaf, set his
breakfast upon it, and feasted daintily. And he
invited a humming-bee and a gay butterfly to
partake of his feast, but his favorite guest was
a blue dragon-fly.
The bee murmured a good deal about his riches,
and the butterfly told his adventures. Such talk
delighted the child, and his breakfast was the
sweeter to him, and the sunshine on leaf and
flower seemed more bright and cheering.
But when the bee had flown off to beg from
flower to flower, and the butterfly had fluttered
away to his play-fellows, the dragon-fly still
remained, poised on a blade of grass. Her slender
and burnished body, more brightly and deeply
blue than the deep blue sky, glistened in the
sunbeam. Her net-like wings laughed at the flowers
because they could not fly, but must stand still
and abide the wind and rain.
The dragon-fly sipped a little of the child's clear
dewdrops and blue violet honey, and then whispered
her winged words. Such stories as the
dragon-fly did tell! And as the child sat
motionless with his blue eyes shut, and his head rested
on his hands, she thought he had fallen asleep;
so she poised her double wings and flew into the
rustling wood.
But the child had only sunk into a dream of
delight and was wishing he were a sunbeam or a
moonbeam; and he would have been glad to hear
more and more, and forever.
But at last as all was still, he opened his eyes
and looked around for his dear guest, but she was
flown far away. He could not bear to sit there
any longer alone, and he rose and went to the
gurgling brook. It gushed and rolled so merrily,
and tumbled so wildly along as it hurried to
throw itself head-over-heels into the river, just
as if the great massy rock out of which it sprang
were close behind it, and could only be escaped
by a breakneck leap.
Then the child began to talk to the little waves
and asked them whence they came. They would
not stay to give him an answer, but danced away
one over another; till at last, that the sweet child
might not be grieved, a water-drop stopped behind
a piece of rock.
``A long time ago,'' said the water-drop, ``I
lived with my countless sisters in the great Ocean,
in peace and unity. We had all sorts of pastimes.
Sometimes we mounted up high into the air, and
peeped at the stars. Then we sank plump down
deep below, and looked how the coral builders
work till they are tired, that they may reach the
light of day at last.
``But I was conceited, and thought myself
much better than my sisters. And so, one day,
when the sun rose out of the sea, I clung fast to
one of his hot beams and thought how I should
reach the stars and become one of them.
``But I had not ascended far when the sunbeam
shook me off, and, in spite of all I could say or do,
let me fall into a dark cloud. And soon a flash of
fire darted through the cloud, and now I thought
I must surely die; but the cloud laid itself down
softly upon the top of a mountain, and so I
escaped.
``Now I thought I should remain hidden, when,
all on a sudden, I slipped over a round pebble,
fell from one stone to another, down into the
depths of the mountain. At last it was pitch dark
and I could neither see nor hear anything.
``Then I found, indeed, that `pride goeth
before a fall,' for, though I had already laid aside
all my unhappy pride in the cloud, my punishment
was to remain for some time in the heart of
the mountain. After undergoing many purifications
from the hidden virtues of metals and
minerals, I was at length permitted to come up once
more into the free and cheerful air, and to gush
from this rock and journey with this happy
stream. Now will I run back to my sisters in the
Ocean, and there wait patiently till I am called
to something better.''
So said the water-drop to the child, but scarcely
had she finished her story, when the root of a
For-Get-Me-Not caught the drop and sucked her
in, that she might become a floweret, and twinkle
brightly as a blue star on the green firmament of
earth.
THE SPRING BEAUTY
AN OJIBBEWAY LEGEND
BY HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT (ADAPTED)
An old man was sitting in his lodge, by the side
of a frozen stream. It was the end of winter, the
air was not so cold, and his fire was nearly out.
He was old and alone. His locks were white with
age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after
day passed, and he heard nothing but the sound
of the storm sweeping before it the new-fallen
snow.
One day while his fire was dying, a handsome
young man approached and entered the lodge.
His cheeks were red, his eyes sparkled. He
walked with a quick, light step. His forehead was
bound with a wreath of sweet-grass, and he
carried a bunch of fragrant flowers in his hand.
``Ah, my son,'' said the old man, ``I am happy
to see you. Come in! Tell me your adventures,
and what strange lands you have seen. I will tell
you of my wonderful deeds, and what I can
perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse
each other.''
The old man then drew from a bag a curiously
wrought pipe. He filled it with mild tobacco, and
handed it to his guest. They each smoked from
the pipe and then began their stories.
``I am Peboan, the Spirit of Winter,'' said the
old man. ``I blow my breath, and the streams
stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as
clear stone.''
``I am Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring,'' answered
the youth. ``I breathe, and flowers spring up in
the meadows and woods.''
``I shake my locks,'' said the old man, ``and
snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the
trees, and my breath blows them away. The
birds fly to a distant land, and the animals hide
themselves from the cold.''
``I shake my ringlets,'' said the young man,
``and warm showers of soft rain fall upon the
earth. The flowers lift their heads from the
ground, the grass grows thick and green. My
voice recalls the birds, and they come flying
joyfully from the Southland. The warmth of my
breath unbinds the streams, and they sing the
songs of summer. Music fills the groves where-
ever I walk, and all nature rejoices.''
And while they were talking thus a wonderful
change took place. The sun began to rise. A gentle
warmth stole over the place. Peboan, the
Spirit of Winter, became silent. His head drooped,
and the snow outside the lodge melted away.
Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, grew more radiant,
and rose joyfully to his feet. The robin and
the bluebird began to sing on the top of the lodge.
The stream began to murmur at the door, and
the fragrance of opening flowers came softly on
the breeze.
The lodge faded away, and Peboan sank down
and dissolved into tiny streams of water, that
vanished under the brown leaves of the forest.
Thus the Spirit of Winter departed, and where
he had melted away, there the Indian children
gathered the first blossoms, fragrant and
delicately pink,--the modest Spring Beauty.
THE FAIRY TULIPS
ENGLISH FOLK-TALE
Once upon a time there was a good old woman
who lived in a little house. She had in her garden
a bed of beautiful striped tulips.
One night she was wakened by the sounds
of sweet singing and of babies laughing. She
looked out at the window. The sounds seemed
to come from the tulip bed, but she could see
nothing.
The next morning she walked among her
flowers, but there were no signs of any one having
been there the night before.
On the following night she was again wakened
by sweet singing and babies laughing. She rose
and stole softly through her garden. The moon
was shining brightly on the tulip bed, and the
flowers were swaying to and fro. The old woman
looked closely and she saw, standing by each
tulip, a little Fairy mother who was crooning and
rocking the flower like a cradle, while in each
tulip-cup lay a little Fairy baby laughing and
playing.
The good old woman stole quietly back to her
house, and from that time on she never picked
a tulip, nor did she allow her neighbors to touch
the flowers.
The tulips grew daily brighter in color and
larger in size, and