Chapter 12

The next day, Edwin, provided with a long board and other means of rescuing the distressed stranger, started for the pond. Just as he left the house, with Florence calling out from the porch some parting injunctions of carefulness, what was their astonishment to see Woggy coming along the road with the kitten in his mouth; the sagacious dog had evidently thought that his keepless little charge needed more care than he could give her, and brought her unharmed to his mistress. When he had deposited the kitten at her feet, he looked up in her eyes as though he wanted to tell her something, and he really looked as if he could almost talk. When Florence took up the pretty thing she exclaimed, "You poor little waif! Where did you come from?" The little waif could not tell, but looked as if she wanted to. She was pure white in color, with a water-stained ribbon and tiny silver bell around her neck. Edwin said she should be called Waif, and Waif she was ever after called in that house.

"MAY I GO WITH YOU?"

"May I go with you, Auntie?"

"No, Jo, I do not wish for any company this morning; here's a kiss, and you may feed my poodle if you like." So saying, Aunt Millie, who was spending her vacation at the farm, tied on her garden hat, and sallied forth for a walk, leaving behind her a very disappointed little swain, for Jo generally accompanied her in her rambles, and he and Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately she had run off several times without him, and he certainly felt quite disconsolate to-day. But he could not doubt her love and goodness, so he whistled away his blues.

Jo was only five years old, and it is no wonder he soon forgot his grievances. About lunch-time he thought he would go down in the meadow, to see if the first strawberries were ripening, as he intended them for mamma's birthday.

Threading his way carefully through the tall grass and nodding daisies, he suddenly came upon the queerest looking "machine"--as he called it--in front of which sat Auntie.

"Why, Jo!"

"Aunt Millie, what _are_ you doing?" as he caught sight of a photograph of himself, and a large copy on the easel.

"I am crayoning--and" (this last a trifle averse) "I _had_ intended it as a surprise for mamma, to-morrow."

The big blue eyes raised to hers had a suspicion of tears in them--she bent down quickly and gathered the little fellow in her arms.

"Never mind, pet! I was a bit vexed, that you had discovered my secret."

"Is it a _secret_?" in an awed tone; "well, I'll _keep_ it."

"Do you think you really can, Jo?"

"Yes," he said; "and _you_ can keep my strawberries," forgetting he had told her a dozen times before.

"Well, I'll trust you."

Would you believe it, the child _did_ keep his word, although burning many times to tell; and he succeeded in surprising Aunt Millie, as much as he did mamma.

A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING.

The trunks were strapped on the back of the carriage; we children, with Nurse, were bundled inside; the door shut--the driver snapped his whip--and without any time for last good-byes, we were whirled away to the station. How excited and glad we were, for Papa and Mamma were to follow us next day, and we left the city far behind to spend the whole beautiful summer at Willow-spring. The very first day after our arrival, we were out--Willie, my brother, Elsie, our little four-year-old sister, and myself--scouring the premises, and I guess there were not a nook or corner we had not visited by night. It was a lovely place, with broad shady walks through which we raced, or Willie drove us as two spirited young colts, for like most boys he was rather masterful.

I wish I could tell you of the grand time we had that summer. We formed the acquaintance of several little neighbor children, who proved pleasant playmates, and together we would wander through the cool leafy woods, or roam the sunny meadows gathering sweet wild strawberries and armsful of golden-eyed daisies, and taking our treasures home, would have a little treat on the shady veranda, and garland ourselves with long daisy chains, making believe we were woodland fairies. Once in a while the rabbits from the near wood ran across the garden path, timid and shy little creatures at first--they grew quite tame from our feeding--and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies, as she called them.

Rapidly the days flew by, and the time for our departure was at hand. We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to console us in part, planned a little out-door feast for the day before our going, to which our little friends were all invited, and a happy, merry band of children played out under the trees, and ate the goodies so generously provided. Just before breaking up, we all joined in playing our favorite game of "snap the whip," and with screams and laughter, one after another of the weakest ones rolled over in the soft grass. The last night at Willow-spring wound up with a grand frolic, in which all took part.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

Every little grape, dear, that clings unto the vine, Expects some day to ripen its little drops of wine. Every little girl, I think, expects in time to be Exactly like her own mamma--as sweet and good as she. Every little boy who has a pocket of his own, Expects to be the biggest man the world has ever known. Every little lambkin, too, that frisks upon the green, Expects to be the finest sheep that ever yet was seen. Every little baby colt expects to be a horse; Every little puppy hopes to be a dog, of course. Every little kitten pet, so tender and so nice, Expects to be a grown-up cat and live on rats and mice. Every little fluffy chick, in downy yellow dressed, Expects some day to crow and strut or cackle at his best. Every little baby bird that peeps from out its nest, Expects some day to cross the sky from glowing east to west. Now every hope I've mentioned here will bring its sure event, Provided nothing happens, dear, to hinder or prevent.

"WHERE'S SOPHIE?"

Sophie climbed the garden trellis, Plucked the finest grapes in view; How they shone with red and amber, As the sun came glinting through.

She was taking painting lessons, And she paused and gazed at them; "Oh," she said, "a pretty picture, Grapes and green leaves on a stem.

"I will leave them here, unbroken, Close beside the garden walk; Look!" she said, to Cousin Mary, "Just anear this broken stalk."

Off they went through pleasant pathways; Staying longer than they knew, By a russet, leaf-strewn border, With its asters, pink and blue.

Then their friendly gossip over, Homeward as they turned to go; "Oh, the grapes!" said Sophie, quickly, "We must go for those, you know."

When they reached the precious cluster, Five bold sparrows pertly stood, Pecking at the grapes beside them, Chattering in a wanton mood.

"Look! Oh, look!" said cousin Mary, "Sparrows at your luscious store!" "Shoo!" said Sophie, "was there ever Such a piece of work before?"

Pilfering sparrows, you have taught me, By this loss, a lesson true; When a bunch of grapes I gather, Just to keep them safe from you.

"IF I CAN, I WILL."

I knew a boy who was preparing to enter the junior class of the New York University. He was studying trigonometry, and I gave him three examples for his next lesson. The following day he came into my room to demonstrate his problems. Two of them he understood; but the third--a very difficult one--he had not performed. I said to him,--"Shall I help you?"

"No, sir! I can and will do it, if you give me time."

I said: "I will give you all the time you wish."

The next day he came into my room to recite another lesson in the same study.

"Well, Simon, have you worked that example?"

"No, sir," he answered; "but I can and will do it, if you will give me a little more time."

"Certainly, you shall have all the time you desire."

I always like those boys who are determined to do their own work, for they make our best scholars, and men too. The third morning you should have seen Simon enter my room. I knew he had it, for his whole face told the story of his success. Yes, he had it, notwithstanding it had cost him many hours of severest mental labor. Not only had he solved the problem, but, what was of infinitely greater importance to him, he had begun to develop mathematical powers which, under the inspiration of "I can and I will," he has continued to cultivate, until to-day he is professor of mathematics in one of our largest colleges, and one of the ablest mathematicians of his years in our country.

My young friends, let your motto ever be,--"If I can, I will."

WINDSOR CASTLE.

This ancient and splendid pile is a fitting residence for the sovereigns of England. It impresses one with the idea of supreme grandeur and formidable strength, but it has reached its present magnificence by constant embellishments and additions by successive sovereigns.

It owes its origin to William the Conqueror, that bold and progressive Norman, who created here a fortified hunting seat, where he and his brave barons could enjoy themselves after the "hunting of the deer" in the wild glades of Windsor forest.

The castle stands upon a hill on the bank of the river Thames, twenty-three miles from London, with which it is connected by railway. It is surrounded on all sides, except to the east, by a noble terrace above two thousand five hundred feet in extent, faced by a strong rampart of hewn stone, and having, at intervals, easy slopes leading down to the park.

The terrace is a most delightful walk, commanding charming views of the extensive domain and the surrounding country. Everywhere are evidences of royal expenditure, of watchful care and tasteful ornamentation.

The park abounds in woodland scenery of exquisite beauty, and it does seem as if the "English sunshine" was nowhere more satisfying or refreshing than in these delightful avenues. The deer roam at will, and streamlets trickle and English violets and other wild flowers blossom, the praises of whose delicate perfumes and beauties have been sung by Wordsworth and Keats.

There is a stately walk, three miles long, bordered by double rows of trees, which leads from the lodge to these delightful precincts, and at the entrance stretch away in gorgeous array, the Queen's gardens, in which very beautiful and rare productions of floral culture find a congenial home.

The castle consists of two courts, having a large, round tower between them, and covers more than twelve acres of land, being defended by batteries and towers. The upper court is a spacious quadrangle, having a round tower on the west, the private apartments of the sovereigns on the south and east, the State apartments and St. George's Hall and the chapel royal on the north.

The royal apartments are reached by an imposing vestibule. The first room, the Queen's guard chamber, contains a grand array of warlike implements, and glittering weapons, and its walls are rich in paintings.

The Queen's presence chamber contains the rarest furniture and hangings, with an array of artistic works by the most celebrated masters.

The ball-room is hung with tapestry, representing the twelve months of the year, and upon its ceiling is pictured Charles II, giving freedom to England. There is here an immense table of solid silver.

In the Queen's bed-chamber is the State bed, said to have cost $70,000, designed for Queen Charlotte. The Queen's dressing-room, hung with British tapestry, contains the closet in which is deposited the banner of France. The same closet contains the tea-equipage of Queen Anne.

An elegant saloon is called the "Room of Beauties," and contains fourteen portraits of ladies who were "most fair" in the court of Charles II. Their lovely faces and rich apparel, quaint and oddly fashioned, make the most delightful and instructive study.

The audience chamber contains the throne and is enriched with historical paintings of events in the reign of Henry III. Another guard chamber contains an immense collection of warlike instruments, fancifully arranged, and also the flag sent by the Duke of Wellington in commemoration of the battle of Waterloo.

St. George's Hall, which is one hundred and eight feet long, is set apart for the illustrious "Order of the Garter." It is superbly decorated with allegorical paintings. The chapel is a fine specimen of the florid Gothic. The roof is elliptical and is composed of stone; the whole ceiling is ornamented with emblazoned arms of many sovereigns and knights of the Garter. The stalls of the sovereigns and knights exhibit a profusion of rare carving. The chapel is the burial place of many royal and illustrious persons; Edward IV, Henry IV, Henry VIII and Charles I having been interred here.

THE LITTLE PRINCES.

Among the sad episodes in the illustrated history of English sovereigns, not one is more pathetic or impressive than the story of the two little Princes, sons of Edward IV. This King had an ambitious and unscrupulous brother, called Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

At the time of the King's death, this man was at the head of an army in Scotland, which was entirely devoted to him, and he felt strong and equal to undertaking any bold and unlawful measure to obtain the crown, which rightfully belonged to Edward's son, the young Prince of Wales.

Upon receiving the news of his brother's death, Richard clothed himself and his large retinue in deep mourning and proceeded in great haste to London, taking the oath of loyalty on the way, and making many protestations of interest and affection for the fatherless boys.

The young Prince of Wales received him with many expressions of regard and respectful consideration, as befitted a paternal uncle, and placed undoubted faith in his suggestions; the Duke thus found it an easy matter to direct his movements, and the selection of his counselors and servants. Two of these, who were favorite and loyal friends, he caused to be seized on a frivolous accusation, and they were taken to a distant castle as prisoners. Other measures were taken to isolate him, and in a few days the young King was completely in the hands of the terrible Duke of Gloucester.

From one high-handed act of usurpation to another, assisted by unprincipled, ambitious men, he proceeded, evidently aiming to secure the crown for his own head.

Under pretense of placing the Prince in greater safety, and removing him from persons who might influence him, to the detriment of the peace and welfare of the kingdom, he was conducted, in great state, to the Tower; his uncle assuming the office of Lord Protector of the King.

Upon gaining the entire custody of the royal lad, he sent a large number of dignitaries to the royal mother, to persuade her to allow the other little boy to be taken to the Tower to keep his brother company. The Prince was allowed to proceed thither, and Richard, now having them both at his mercy, determined upon their death.

The Governor of the Tower was, it seems, a man of at least human feelings, and when he was ordered by Richard, "In some wise to put the children to death," utterly refused to perform so dangerous and horrible an act.

Richard then sent for the keys of the Tower, to keep in his possession twenty-four hours, and gave them, and the command of the Tower for that time, to Sir James Tyrrel, his master of horse.

This man procured two assassins, who proceeded, at dead of night, to the chamber of the sleeping Princes. They lay in each other's arms, as though they had fallen asleep comforting one another; and the assassins, falling upon them with their ruffian strength, smothered them with the bed-clothes, "Keeping the feather pillows hard upon their mouths."

When the deed was done, Tyrrel stepped into the chamber, to take a hasty view of the dead bodies, which were then, by his orders, buried at the stair-foot, under a heap of stones.

Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had no further obstacle in assuming the purple, and was crowned King of England with all pomp and ceremony, and known to unenviable fame as Richard III.

This account has come down to us with all the authority of historical verity, and subsequent evidences of its accuracy have been discovered. The age was characterized by inhumanity of the most barbarous kind, and this crime was in keeping with it.

The English people in this nineteenth century rejoice in a sovereign who is noble in the highest sense; beloved by her subjects, achieving for herself the universal plaudit of a "most humane and gracious lady."

THE TOWER OF LONDON.

This ancient edifice is situated on the north bank of the Thames, at the extremity of the city of London.

The antiquity of the building has been a subject of much inquiry, but the present fortress is believed to have been built by William the Conqueror, and garrisoned with Normans to secure the allegiance of his subjects; although it appears that the Romans had a fort on this spot, if a dim tradition can be credited. The building is governed by the "Constable of the Tower," who, at coronations and other State ceremonies, has the custody of the regalia.

The principal entrance is on the west, and consists of two gates, at which are stationed guards. The keys are kept, during the day, at the warder's hall, but deposited every night at the Governor's house. Cannon are placed at intervals around the great wall, and command every avenue leading to Tower Hill.

On the south side is an arch, called "Traitors' Gate," through which State prisoners were formerly brought from the river. Near the Traitors' Gate is the "Bloody Tower," in which it is supposed the two young Princes, Edward V and his brother, were smothered by order of Richard III.

In the south-west angle of the inclosure were the royal apartments, for the Tower was a palace for nearly five hundred years, and only ceased to be so on the accession of Elizabeth.

The principal buildings within the walls are the church, the white tower, the ordnance office, the jewel office, the horse armory. The church is called "St. Peter in Vincules," and is remarkable as the depository of the headless bodies of numerous illustrious personages who suffered either in the Tower or on the hill. Among these were Anna Boleyn, Thomas Cromwell, Catharine Howard, the Duke of Somerset and the Duke of Monmouth.

The jewel office is a strong, stone room, in which are kept the crown jewels, regalia, such as the golden orb, the golden sceptre with the dove, St. Edward's staff, State salt-cellar, sword of mercy, golden spurs, the golden eagle and golden spoons, also the silver font used at the baptism of the royal family, the State crown worn by her Majesty in Parliament. A large collection of ancient plate is also kept here.

The horse armory is a brick building east of the white tower, adorned with suits of armor of almost every description; but the most striking are the effigies of the English kings on horseback, armed cap-a-pie. The line of mounted celebrities commences with William the Conqueror and ends with George II. Several of the cuirasses and helmets taken at Waterloo are kept here. In the armory are also shown a representation of Queen Elizabeth in armor; the axe which severed the head of Anna Boleyn, as well as that of the Earl of Essex; the invincible banner taken from the Spanish Armada, and the wooden cannon used by Henry VIII at the siege of Boulogne.

The Beauchamp Tower is noted for the illustrious personages formerly confined within its walls.

MARY AND HER LAMB.

This is the title of one of the most familiar poems in the English language, but few people know its history.

Most of our young readers will be surprised to hear that the well-known nursery song of "Mary had a Little Lamb" is a true story, and that "Mary" is still living, says an exchange.

About seventy years ago she was a little girl, the daughter of a farmer in Worcester county, Mass. She was very fond of going with her father to the fields to see the sheep, and one day they found a baby lamb, which was thought to be dead.

Kind-hearted little Mary, however, lifted it up in her arms, and as it seemed to breathe she carried it home, made it a warm bed near the stove, and nursed it tenderly. Great was her delight when, after weeks of careful feeding and watching, her little patient began to grow well and strong, and soon after it was able to run about. It knew its young mistress perfectly, always came at her call, and was happy only when at her side.

One day it followed her to the village school, and not knowing what else to do with it, she put it under her desk and covered it with her shawl.

There it stayed until Mary was called up to the teacher's desk to say her lesson, and then the lamb walked quietly after her, and the other children burst out laughing. So the teacher had to shut the little girl's pet in the woodshed until school was out. Soon after this, a young student, named John Rollstone, wrote a little poem about Mary and her lamb and presented it to her. The lamb grew to be a sheep and lived for many years, and when at last it died Mary grieved so much for it that her mother took some of its wool, which was as "white as snow," and knitted a pair of stockings for her, to wear in remembrance of her darling.

Some years after the lamb's death, Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman who wrote books, composed some verses about Mary's lamb and added them to those written by John Rollstone, making the complete poem as we know it. Mary took such good care of the stockings made of her lamb's fleece that when she was a grown-up woman she gave one of them to a church fair in Boston.

As soon as it became known that the stocking was made from the fleece of "Mary's little lamb," every one wanted a piece of it; so the stocking was raveled out, and the yarn cut into small pieces. Each piece was tied to a card on which "Mary" wrote her full name, and these cards sold so well that they brought the large sum of $140 in the Old South Church.--_Our Sunday Afternoon._

JAMIE'S GARDEN.

"I shall have the nicest kind of a garden," said Jamie, one morning. "I'm going to make it in that pretty little spot just over the bank. I mean to have some flowers in pots and some in beds just like the gardener; and then you can have fresh ones every day, mamma. I'm going right over there now."

Jamie started off bravely with his spade on his shoulder; but when, after an hour, mamma went to see how he was getting on, she found him lying on the grass, with the ground untouched.

"Why, Jamie, where is your garden?"

"I was just lying here, and thinking how nice it will look when it is all done," said Jamie.

Mamma shook her head. "But that will not dig ground, nor make the flowers grow, little boy. No good deed was ever done by only lying still and thinking about it."

CAMP TRIO.

A. DE G. H.

Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days more to vacation, and then!----

If the crowning whistle, and energetic _bang_ with which the strapped books came down, were any indication of what was coming after the "then!" it must be something unusual. And so it was--for Ned, Tom and Con, who were the greatest of chums, as well as the noisiest, merriest boys in Curryville Academy--were to go into camp for the next two weeks, by way of spending part of their vacation. They could hardly wait for school to close, and over the pages of Greenleaf danced, those last two days, unknown quantities of fishing tackle, tents, and the regular regalia of a camping out-fit. They talked of it by day and dreamed of it by night.