Fun and Frolic — Reading Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CAT AND THE PARROT.

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

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

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

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TOMMY GREEN AND TOMMY RED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BRITISH MASTIFFS.

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

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

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

ON THE LAKES IN A STORM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a forcible illustration of the power of habit!

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

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

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

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

NED BENTLY'S TEMPTATION.

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

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

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

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

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

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