Part 5

Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee; He is callèd by thy name, For he calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are callèd by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee! --WILLIAM BLAKE.

THE NECKLACE OF TRUTH

I.

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There was once a little girl named Pearl, who had a bad habit of telling untruths. For a long time her father and mother did not know this. But at last they found that she very often said things that were not true.

Now, at this time--for it was long, long ago--there lived a wonderful man named Merlin. He could do such strange things, and he was so very wise, that he was called a wizard.

Merlin was a great lover of truth. For this reason children who told untruths were often brought to him, so that he might cure them of their fault.

"Let us take our child to the wonderful wizard." said Pearl's father.

And the mother said, "Yes, let us take her to Merlin. He will cure her!" So Pearl's parents went to the glass palace where Merlin lived.

When they reached Merlin's palace, the wise old man said, "I know very well what is the matter with your child; she does not love the truth."

Poor Pearl hid her head with shame and fear. But Merlin said, "Do not be afraid. I am only going to make you a present."

Then the wizard opened a drawer and took from it a lovely necklace with a diamond clasp. This he put on Pearl's neck, and told her parents to go home happy, for the little girl would soon be cured.

As they were going away, Merlin looked at Pearl, and said, "In a year from now I shall come for my necklace. Till then you must not dare to take it off."

II.

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Can you guess what the necklace was? It was the wonderful Necklace of Truth.

Next day Pearl went to school. When her schoolmates saw the beautiful necklace, they crowded around her.

"Oh, what a lovely necklace! Where did you get it, Pearl?"

"My father gave it to me for a Christmas present," said Pearl.

"Oh, look, look!" cried the children. "The diamond has turned dim!"

Pearl looked down at her necklace and saw that the lovely clasp was changed to coarse glass. Then she was very much afraid, and said, "I will tell you the truth: the wizard Merlin gave it to me."

At once the diamond was as bright as before.

The girls now began to laugh, because they knew that only children who told falsehoods were sent to Merlin.

"You need not laugh," said Pearl. "Merlin sent a lovely coach to bring us. It was drawn by six white horses, and was lined with satin, and had gold tassels."

She stopped, for all the children were laughing again. Then she looked at her necklace, and--what do you think? It hung down to the floor! At each false word she had spoken, the necklace had stretched out more and more.

"You are stretching the truth!" cried the little girls.

Then Pearl confessed that all she had told them was false; and at once the necklace changed to its right size.

"But what did Merlin say when he gave you the necklace?"

"He said it was a present for a truthful--"

She could not go on speaking. The necklace became so short that it nearly choked her.

"O dear, no!" sobbed Pearl. "He said I did not love the truth, nor speak the truth."

The girls did not laugh now. They were sorry for Pearl when they saw her weeping.

At last Pearl was cured. She saw how wrong and how foolish it is to tell falsehoods. "Never more will I tell a lie," said she. And she kept her word.

Before the year was ended Merlin came for his necklace. He knew that Pearl did not need it now, and he wanted it for another little girl.

Since Merlin died, no one can tell what has become of the wonderful Necklace of Truth. Would you like to wear it? Are you sure the diamond would always keep bright?

--From "Old Fairy Tales."

SPEAK THE TRUTH

TO BE MEMORIZED

Speak the truth! Speak it boldly, never fear; Speak it so that all may hear; In the end it shall appear Truth is best in age and youth. Speak the truth.

Speak the truth! Truth is beautiful and brave, Strong to bless and strong to save; Falsehood is a cowardly knave; From it turn thy steps in youth-- Follow truth.

SAINT VALENTINE

Here is one of the many stories that have been told about Saint Valentine.

Father Valentine was a priest who lived a long time ago. He spent his time in nursing the sick and in comforting the sorrowing. As he went about among his people, the children, too, found a kind and helpful friend.

They liked to talk with him, and to run by his side as he went from one house to another. What wonderful stories he told them about the birds and the flowers! How many beautiful things he taught them as they walked together through the forest and by the river!

Father Valentine loved all the little creatures of the woods and the streams, and they seemed to love him in return. The birds would come at his call, and the squirrels would scamper down the trees to take food from his hand.

Years went by, and at last the good priest became too old to visit his people. How they must have wished to hear again the sound of his footsteps at the door! How the children must have missed their kind teacher and the stories that he told!

Father Valentine was very sad because he could no longer go about from home to home. But he soon found a way by which he could still be of use to those he loved.

As he sat in his room he wrote the kind words which had always made his visits so full of good cheer. Every day his loving messages were sent near and far. They were carried by the boys and girls who had learned from him to be happy in helping others.

Soon his friends began to watch for the kind words that were sure to come to them whenever they were in need of help. Even the little children, when they were ill, would say, "I am sure that Father Valentine will send me a letter to-day."

After a time the good father passed away from earth, but he has not been forgotten.

Each year, when the fourteenth of February comes around, we still keep his birthday.

* * * * *

Think of the lonely, remember the sad, Be kind to the poor, make every one glad, On good old Saint Valentine's Day.

A FAMOUS OLD HOUSE

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Here is a picture of a famous old house. It was built more than one hundred years ago, and it still stands, painted yellow and white, as in the days of old. People come from far and near to see it, and perhaps some day you will visit it.

Do you wish to know why so many people travel miles and miles to see this old place?

Two great men once lived here. The first one was a brave general. Long ago he was called from his own home to take command of an army. In those days, the yellow and white house was one of the finest places for miles around. So it was given to the general for his headquarters.

If these old walls could only speak, what wonderful stories they could tell! For in this house many plans were made, which helped to bring freedom to our land.

We like to fancy that we can see the great general going in and out of the front door. He used to wear a three-cornered hat and ruffled shirt bosom, knee-breeches, and low shoes with silver buckles.

This brave and noble commander led his army through many dangers to victory, and he afterward became the first president of the United States. You need not be told that the great general who once lived in the famous old house was George Washington.

After many years the old house became the home of another great and good man. He did not lead armies, nor make laws, nor hold office. And yet few men in our country have been so well known or so well loved.

His poems are read in all parts of the world, and his beautiful thoughts have helped hundreds and hundreds of people to love the right and to hate the wrong.

And now you are eager to speak the name of the great poet who once lived in the famous old house--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

HIAWATHA'S HUNTING

Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets,-- How they built their nests in summer, Where they hid themselves in winter,-- Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's chickens."

Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets,-- How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid,-- Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's brothers."

Forth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha Proudly, with his bow and arrows; And the birds sang round him, o'er him, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" Sang the robin, sang the bluebird, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"

And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic Saying to the little hunter, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"

But he heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer; On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the ford across the river; And as one in slumber walked he.

Hidden in the alder bushes, There he waited till the deer came, Till he saw two antlers lifted, Saw two eyes look from the thicket, Saw two nostrils point to windward, And a deer came down the pathway, Flecked with leafy light and shadow. And his heart within him fluttered, Trembled like the leaves above him, As the deer came down the pathway.

LONGFELLOW WITH HIS CHILDREN

I.

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The famous old house looks very quiet and lonely in the picture. But there was a time when many children ran about its halls and played upon the lawn.

"How many children did Mr. Longfellow have? Did he have any boys? What were their names?"

These questions are asked again and again by little people who keep the birthday of the poet and wish to learn about his life.

In his journal, Mr. Longfellow tells us about his children, and it is there we may find answers to all our questions.

The poet's eldest son was named Charles. When Charles was two years old his little brother Ernest was born. Longfellow then moved his books into another room and gave up his study to his babies.

And so the room in which Washington had planned battles became the nursery of the Longfellow children. Did any children ever have a more famous nursery?

In this room which once belonged to Washington we like to think that the children heard again and again the story of our first President.

When Ernest was but a few days old his father told a friend that the little newcomer was a great musician. Do you know what the poet meant by this?

While Charles and Ernest were still little boys, their baby sister Fannie came to live in the nursery. Just as she was old enough to run about, the dear little girl died. Then the house was full of sorrow. Many of the poems Longfellow wrote at this time tell the story of his grief at the loss of his little daughter.

Charles was six years old and Ernest four, when their father first took them to school. He left them sitting on little chairs among the other children in an old house near a large elm tree.

It was under this same tree that Washington took command of the American army.

As time went on three little girls took the places of the boys in the nursery. How all these children loved their father! They thought him the best playfellow in the world, and so he was.

He made toys for them, taught them games, and wrote letters which he placed under their pillows for them to find in the morning.

II.

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Longfellow writes in his journal about coasting with the boys for hours upon the hillside, and of working hard with all the children making a snow house in the front yard.

Again he tells of charming birthday parties when children played in the hay and scrambled for sugar plums. These parties always ended with a fine birthday supper.

On the first of May the children sometimes had a May party. The girls wore wreaths upon their heads and danced around the May pole. Then they all went to the summer house for a feast.

In summer the Longfellow children often went to the seaside with their father and mother. All day long they played in the sand and waded in the water.

But a great and terrible sorrow came suddenly to the Longfellow home. One morning, as Mrs. Longfellow was sealing a package with hot wax, her dress caught fire. Before the flames could be put out she was so badly burned that she died soon after.

Never again was the poet full of joy as he had always been before. For him the happiness of life was over. But he never forgot to provide for the pleasure of his children.

Longfellow has told us about his three daughters in a beautiful poem called "The Children's Hour." He has also written about them in a letter to a little girl which you will be glad to read.

A LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL

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NAHANT, August 18, 1859.

Your letter followed me down here by the seaside, where I am passing the summer with my three little girls.

The oldest is about your size; but as little girls keep changing every year I can never remember exactly how old she is, and have to ask her mamma, who has a better memory than I have. Her name is Alice. I never forget that. She is a nice girl and loves poetry almost as much as you do.

The second is Edith, with blue eyes and beautiful golden locks which I sometimes call her nankeen hair to make her laugh. She is a busy little woman and wears gray boots.

The youngest is Allegra, which you know means merry; and she is the merriest little thing you ever saw--always singing and laughing all over the house.

These are my three little girls, and Mr. Read has painted them all in one picture which I hope you will see some day.

They bathe in the sea and dig in the sand and patter about the piazza all day long. Sometimes they go to see the Indians encamped on the shore, and buy baskets and bows and arrows.

I do not say anything about the two boys. They are such noisy fellows it is of no use to talk about them.

And now, Miss Emily, give my love to your papa, and good night with a kiss from his friend and yours,

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

THE OPEN WINDOW

The old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade, And on the graveled pathway The light and shadow played.

I saw the nursery windows Wide open to the air, But the faces of the children, They were no longer there.

The large Newfoundland house dog Was standing by the door; He looked for his little playmates, Who would return no more.

They walked not under the lindens, They played not in the hall; But shadow, and silence, and sadness Were hanging over all.

The birds sang in the branches With sweet, familiar tone; But the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone! --HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat; He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begun, Each evening sees its close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. --HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE YOUNG SURVEYOR

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It is very interesting to know how George Washington passed his boyhood. In many ways he was no better than other boys. He had a quick temper, and he soon found that he must learn to control it.

But he wished to make a good and useful man of himself. This story tells some of the ways in which he tried to do this.

He had learned to survey land, and this knowledge soon became of great use to him. When he was sixteen years old, he went to live with his brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon.

He took his compass and surveyor's chain with him. Nearly every day he went out into the fields to measure his brother's land.

A tall, white-haired gentleman often came into the fields to see what Washington was doing, and to talk with him. This was Sir Thomas Fairfax. He had lately come to America from his home in England. He owned thousands of acres of land in the new country beyond the mountains.

Sir Thomas was very fond of hunting, and he liked to have Washington go with him. They often rode out together, and the old Englishman came to like his young friend very much. He saw that the boy was manly and brave and very careful in all that he did.

"Here is a boy who likes to make himself useful; I can trust him," he said. And Sir Thomas soon made a bargain with young Washington to survey his wild lands.

Washington loved out-of-door life, and he was very fond of riding on horseback. So he was glad to undertake the work of surveying land for Sir Thomas.

SURVEYING IN THE WILDERNESS

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One bright day in early spring the young surveyor started out on his first trip across the mountains. With him was a cousin of Sir Thomas Fairfax. Each young man rode a good horse and carried a gun.

As there were no roads in the wild country they found their way through paths in the forest. They climbed mountains and swam rivers. At night they slept in a hunter's cabin or by a camp fire in the woods.

Often they were wet and cold and without shelter. They cooked their meat over the fire on forked sticks, and they used wooden chips and leaves for plates.

One day they met a band of Indians. There were thirty of them, and their bodies were half covered with war paint.

The Indians seemed very friendly. They built a huge fire under the trees and danced their war dance. One of them drummed on a deerskin stretched over an iron pot.

The others whooped and yelled as they danced around the fire. It was a strange sight, and the young men looked on with wonder.

For weeks Washington and his companion lived in the forest. They found the best places for hunting, and the best lands for farms.

When they returned home Sir Thomas was much pleased with all that the young men told him about the new country. He made up his mind to move across the mountains and to spend the rest of his life upon his own lands.

George was well paid for his work of surveying. This was the first money he had ever earned, and he enjoyed spending it because he had worked hard for it.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

HIS NEW HOME

I.

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In the autumn after Abraham Lincoln was eight years old, his parents left their Kentucky home and moved to Indiana.

They had no wagon, and all their household goods were carried on the backs of two horses. At night they slept on the ground, sheltered only by the trees.

It was not more than fifty or sixty miles from the old home to the new; but it was a good many days before the family reached their journey's end. Over a part of the way there was no road. The movers had sometimes to cut a path through the thick woods.

The boy was tall and very strong for his age. He already knew how to handle an ax, and few men could shoot with a rifle better than he. He was his father's helper in all kinds of work.

It was in November when the family came to the place which was to be their future home. Winter was near at hand. There was no house nor shelter of any kind. What would become of the patient, tired mother, and the gentle little sister?

Hardly had they reached the spot chosen for their home than Lincoln and his father were at work with their axes. In a short time they had built what they called a camp.

This camp was but a rude shed made of poles and covered with leaves and branches. It was inclosed on three sides. The fourth side was left open, and in front of it a fire was built.

This fire was kept burning all the time. It warmed the inside of the camp. A big iron kettle was hung over it by means of a chain and pole. In the kettle the fat bacon, the beans, and the corn were boiled for the family's dinner and supper. In the hot ashes the good mother baked corn cakes, and sometimes, perhaps, a few potatoes.

One end of the camp was used as a kitchen. The rest of the space was the family sitting room and bedroom. The floor was covered with leaves, and on these were spread the furry skins of deer and bears and other animals.

II.

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In this camp the Lincoln family spent their first winter in Indiana. How very cold and dreary that winter must have been! Think of the stormy nights, of the howling wind, of the snow and the sleet and the bitter frost! It is not much wonder that the mother's strength began to fail before the spring months came.

It was a busy winter for Thomas Lincoln. Every day his ax was heard in the woods. He was clearing the ground, so that in the spring it might be planted. And he was cutting logs for his new house. For he had made up his mind, now, to have something better than a cabin to live in.