Part 4
He died upon the homeward voyage in 1775, in sight of American shores. His son Josiah, three years old at the time of his father's death, was educated at Harvard University, became a lawyer, a member of Congress, and having filled acceptably various other offices, was at length elected President of Harvard, which position he held for fifteen years, He had a son Josiah, also a graduate of Harvard, and again the fifth Josiah in the line is a graduate of the same institution.
There are other Quincys of this family who have attained celebrity. I might tell you of Edmund Quincy, who was prominent in anti-slavery circles, but I think you will find plenty of occupation for this month if you study up all these Josiahs.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
_Volume 13, Number 34._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _June 26, 1886._
THE PANSY.
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
VIII.
A BOY, breathless from long running, rushed into Mrs. Allen's arms as she turned away from the sitting-room window with a sigh.
"Why, here you are!" she exclaimed in a joyous burst.
"The fellows are in some sort of a scrape," gasped the boy, careful of his words; "can't get home--I'm going to tell their mothers--"
Mrs. Allen looked at her empty arms, turned and went out to the kitchen.
"Ann, you may put on the tea; we will not wait for George Edward."
"Land! he just raced in, red as a boiled lobster," cried Ann with the privilege of a favored servant.
"I know; but he is off again, on an errand that had to be attended to--put on the tea, and ring the bell."
It was some time before the son of the family made his appearance in the Allen household again. When he did come, it was to bring a face so utterly miserable, and a pair of feet so incapacitated for further movement, that his mother began to seriously question if she had done the wise thing to allow him to be the deliverer of the several messages.
The first thing to do now, however, was to get the boy to bed; so with the aid of Ann's hot oatmeal gruel, George Edward was assisted by father and mother on either side, up to his pretty room, where he was rubbed down, pretty much as one would perform that same operation on a tired horse, till each separate and distinct joint seemed supple and elastic as was their ordinary condition, and the boy was tumbled into bed, fast asleep before his head touched the pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Allen looked at each other as they sat down in the library, and drew a long breath.
"What shall we do with such a boy?" cried the mother. "He seems to carry the burdens of other boys, old people, animals, and everything that comes in his way."
"Let him alone," said Father Allen shortly.
"Oh! I wouldn't dare say anything," exclaimed Mother Allen, alarmed at being misunderstood; "I was only mentioning the fact."
"You asked a question," said Father Allen, who was nothing if not exact; "you asked 'What shall we do with him?'"
"And I ask it again," said Mrs. Allen, rubbing her forehead in a perplexed way, "whatever in the world shall we do with him?"
"And I answer in the same words that the immortal Mr. Dick employed on a similar occasion to Miss Betsey Trotwood's question, 'Wash him and put him to bed.'"
"We have done that," said his wife with a laugh, "now, what next?"
"Oh! as to that," replied Father Allen with a yawn, "I must confess, I don't see my way clear to furnishing you with an additional answer. The only one I should suggest is, let _us_ go to bed."
So the matter was left precisely as it always remained, for George Edward to follow out his own instincts, and grow up in his own way to solve life's greatest problem, "How can I best serve mankind, and carry out Christ's command 'To do unto others as I would that they should do to me.'"
This narrative, more devoted to the interests of St. George and his doings, than to records of any other boys, will simply state that the morrow's morning train brought home the recreant crowd to the bosoms of their waiting families. The boys of this crowd always mentioned the old farmer who had passed the night with them, with an air, though not of fondness, of great respect. What he did to them to thus inspire them, I am in no position to know--I can only relate that he had great satisfaction in his part of the evening's entertainment, and that he simply remarked to Betsey on his return, "I don't think they'll do that thing again right away," and that Thomas when recalling the event, would often pause in his work to allow himself the brief respite of a smile after careful observation that revealed no on-looker.
* * * * *
"I don't think it pays," some voice at my elbow might say, as a pair of bright young eyes have traced thus far George Edward's career, "to be always watching to help other people out of scrapes. 'Look out for yourself' is going to be my motto."
Just wait, dear little friend. The "boy is father to the man" we are told, and we recognize the fact from the first time we meet the phrase in our readers and copy books. Isn't it better to be a good father, and turn out a worthy representative of your family name, that no chance in life will make one ashamed to meet in after life? What you call "fun" and "a good time" and "looking out for yourself" now, will perhaps carry a different name ten or twenty years later. It may possibly be known among men as selfishness, indifference to public good; or uglier still, sharp, shrewd handling of moneyed interests committed to your care, to make them yield benefits to the one who manipulates them. It may get even to be found deserving the name of a man who recognizes only the Ego of human existence, than which, you will quite agree with me, there is no more hateful being under the sun. Think well before you give up the habit of doing the good you can now to those who are your neighbors, whether at home or at school.
And this brings me to a second period of George Edward's life, which was fraught with new responsibilities and pleasures, and which brought him into a wider field of boyish activity. He was to go away to boarding-school; the narrow educational advantages of his home demanding it.
Before the important decision was reached--where to send their boy--Mr. and Mrs. Allen allowed themselves a whole year to consideration of the matter. There was not a school of prominence in the length and breadth of the land, that in some way did not pass under the keen-eyed watchfulness of the two parents. Not that they personally visited them all--oh dear, no! how could they? But that in some way, reliable information of the different school methods, and the principles and standing of the instructors, was given into their keeping.
"We never shall find a school where we can say confidently we will place our boy; never in all this world," cried Mrs. Allen one day, when a letter from a friend upset an almost decided plan of accepting the "Halloway School for Boys" as the arena for George Edward's activity. The letter was from a good friend whom they could trust. It said, "Don't you do it; the system of instruction is faulty, and the knowledge obtained is shallow."
Father Allen only said, "Don't worry," buttoned up his coat and went out to try other fields.
At last came the day when those interested could announce the thing settled. "George Edward Allen is going to Doctor Bugbee's school in Rockboro," and great grief and lamentation fell upon his old friends--and who in that town in which his life was spent, was not glad to claim that friendship?
THE CAMEO SET.
AGAIN the jewel-case was brought out. Lucy Ansted's brother had arrived for a short visit, and taking advantage of this addition to her forces, Annie Burton determined to have a tableau party. Grandma Burton, always interested in whatever the "the children were up to," offered the girls her old-fashioned jewels for the occasion. But no sooner was the jewel-case opened than they forgot all about the tableaux and fell to admiring and asking questions. "These the only cameos I ever saw that I thought pretty," said Annie, holding up a handsome set.
"Those _are_ handsome!" said Lucy. "Mamma has cameos, but they are common-looking things. Seems to me they cannot be the same kind; I think there is a difference in the color."
"Very likely," replied Mrs. Burton. "I presume your mother's are shell cameos. The most of the modern cameos are made from sea shells. The shells have two layers of different colors. Usually the outside is white and the inner layer brown or coffee-colored. I once had an opportunity of visiting a cameo cutter's workshop. It was not easy to get admission, but an artist friend of your grandfather's took me there."
"Can you tell us about the process?"
"It was many years ago, and my impressions of what I saw have grown somewhat dim, still I can tell you something about it. I remember that he told me that the shell he was cutting came from the coast of Brazil. Another which he showed me was from the Bahamas, and he said that some of those used came from the Indies, both East and West, and also from the African coast."
"Are the shells used of a peculiar sort?"
"They are the ordinary conch-shell. In each one there is material for only a single cameo, large or small. The available part is sawed out by persons employed for that work, who also shape the cameo by grinding the piece upon a grindstone, making it square or oval as desired; then it is ready to be handed over to the artist. The cutter fastens the shell into a small block of wood, of a size convenient for grasping firmly with the left hand. He then draws the outline of the figure he wishes to put upon it with a pencil. When the work is outlined upon the white surface, he begins to scratch the line with a fine steel needle, following his pencil mark very carefully. The artist I saw at work inspected his scratches with a magnifying glass at almost every scratch of his needle. I call it a needle because that describes the fine steel tool which he used. After he had finished the outline he began to work with small, sharp chisels, cutting away the white layer of shell around the figure he had outlined. He worked away carefully, chipping and scraping until it was all removed, leaving the portrait of some old Roman a raised white figure upon a dark ground. It seems simple enough to hear about it, or to see it done, but it requires a skilful hand and a practised eye. There is a finishing process of polishing with putty powder. This is applied with a stiff brush and is said to be a very delicate operation, though it seems as easy as the polishing of a silver spoon."
Lucy had been turning over the articles in one of the compartments of the jewel-case and now held up a small cameo pin.
"That is a shell cameo!" said Grandma; "I had quite forgotten it. Now if you will observe, you will see that the edges of the raised white part are left square-cut, not rounded or sloped."
"Why is that?" asked Lucy.
"If the white layer were cut thinner by the rounding or sloping of the edges, the dark layer would show through, and the outline would be less clearly defined."
"I see! A very simple explanation."
"A great many things are plain after you know the whys and wherefores."
"But, grandma," said Lucy, "this set of yours--is this a shell cameo?"
"No; I was going to tell you about that. It is very old, and somewhat rare in design and workmanship. It belonged to your great-grandmother Burton. It is an onyx. The art of cutting shell cameos is a modern one. I think it is not a hundred years since shell cameos were introduced, but the art of cutting precious stones like the onyx and agate, in fact, any stone which has layers of different colors, is very ancient. The Greeks and Romans understood the art, and even in Babylonish days it was practised, and used for the ornamenting of vases, cups, urns."
"There are a few very fine specimens of antique cameos to be found in Europe. One in Paris is twelve inches long by ten inches wide. And the Gonzaga Cameo in St. Petersburg is one of the finest." It was Grandpa Burton who said this, joining for the first time in the talk which drifted to other topics, in which we have just now no special interest. But Mrs. Burton noticed that Lucy laid aside the cameos for the tableau party.
WILMOT CONDEE.
THE ROSE-GAME.
I WANT to tell you, dear Pansies, of a lovely little game for the most beautiful month in the year--the month of roses. It is played out-of-doors, of course, in the long, beautiful sweet evening, when father and mother, and the older members of the family circle who do not care to participate actively, can sit on the porch, or by the open window, and see the pretty fun go on.
Make a chain of roses, just as one makes a daisy chain, or a chain of any other flowers. Use all kinds and colors of roses--being careful to distribute shades nicely. String on strong enough cord or ribbon to support the flowers.
Now choose your leader, either a boy or girl. Let all players assemble under a tree, or on the porch. The leader holding chain, comes up to them, and if addressing a girl, says, bowing low, "Pretty maid, wilt join us?"
(If to a boy)
"Pretty sir, wilt join us?"
When you have as many as can comfortably take hold of chain, move off to the smooth lawn. And here let me say, you better calculate before making your chain, how many children will take part in the game. Do not, I beg, crowd out any who would like to play. Always remember that a slight like this, or a disappointment, would make you feel very badly, and remembering this, make your games to bring pleasure to every one, and only productive of happy memories.
Now then, you are on the lawn. The leader gives the word. All take hold by both hands of rose-chain, and dance around, singing,
Ring around-a-rosy, Jack must get a posy,
or,
Sue must get a posy,
or whatever the name of child who is first sent. As quick as lightning, Jack or Sue must leave chain and dancers, rush off into the garden, pick a flower, no matter what kind, and fly back, the others holding chain, dancing and singing,
Ring around-a-rosy, Jack will bring a posy.
When the posy is brought, Jack throws it into the centre of ring, on the lawn. Do this until all players have brought a flower. If gone longer than they ought to be, they forfeit their places. When all have brought flowers, the ring dance around once more, singing,
Ring around-a-rosy, Each has brought a posy.
Then the leader gives signal to stop. He picks up the heap of flowers, and, leading the way, he conducts all players to the porch, where with a low bow he presents to mother the posy heap, all singing,
Ring around-a-rosy, Each brings you now a posy,
the leader throwing the rose chain around mamma's neck--which _entre nous_, I think she will always preserve in her best rose jar.
May the sweetest, longest June evening be made very happy in playing this Rose-Game.
MARGARET SIDNEY.
THE FLOWER CHORUS.
THIS may be arranged for twenty, or more, quite little girls, say in groups of five; representing roses, lilies, daisies, and pansies. It would be well to have the children decorated as much as possible with the flowers they represent, and let each carry a bouquet of the same.
(_Concert Recitation; children arranged in a semicircle._)
We are Jesus' little Blossoms Blooming in his bowers; And He watches us and loves us, His little human flowers. Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, And he bids us reach out Over all the earth.
(_As the last line is given, let the children make a waving motion outward, with the hand that holds the flowers._)
THE ROSES.
(_Let the five or more children who represent them, step slightly forward, and hold their bouquets just before them, looking down at them, and appearing to get their perfume as they speak._)
Our Heavenly Father's roses Are very sweet and bright; And we should bloom just like them, From morning until night. Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, So he bids us blossom Over all the earth.
If roses are plenty, it makes a very effective addition to this recitation, for each of the children to toss out toward the audience, roses, here and there, as they give the last two lines; not, however, disturbing their bouquets.
THE LILIES.
Our Saviour's precious lilies Grew, lovely, at His feet; Oh would that we could blossom As beautiful and sweet! Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, So He bids us scatter Over all the earth.
(_As the last four lines are given, let the roses join with the lilies in recitation, waving their flowers, and scattering them abroad, if this is feasible._)
THE DAISIES.
And these are God's fair daisies That bloom on plain and hill; We too would blossom like them, And do our Father's will. Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, So He bids us blossom Over all the earth.
(_Let the roses and lilies join, and obey the directions given above._)
THE PANSIES.
Our Father's lovely pansies Look up, with tender grace; And we would blossom like them, A joy in every place. Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, So he bids us blossom Over all the earth.
(_All join in the last four lines, as before; then form in a circle, holding up their bouquets in a compact mass, like a wreath, or crown, and give the last verse in concert._)
We are all our Father's flowers, Blooming in His bowers, And we want to blossom In valley, plain, or meadow, In sunshine, storm, or shadow, Just as sweetly still, And do our Father's will.
(_Then let them quickly form a procession, and march around the platform, or down the aisle, or in any direction in which they are to make their exit, scattering roses, lilies, daisies and pansies from their bouquets as they march, singing the refrain:_)
Blooming, blooming everywhere, Each of priceless worth, So He bids us blossom Over all the earth.
(_The refrain can be repeated as many times as it is necessary, in passing out; any simple tune which the children know, can be used in singing it._)
MRS. C. E. FISHER.
BEN, DAN, AND JACK.
THEY lived in a long, low, rambling house; it might have been built a century ago, so queer and old-fashioned was it. But little cared the boys; they had good times. Mr. and Mrs. Prentice believed in boys; and they believed in boys having good times, always provided the good did not mean bad. For one thing, the Prentice boys were allowed to go barefooted. Now every boy knows that it is fun to go barefoot. They wore palm leaf hats in summer, which were not too good to play "pitch and toss" with. They were allowed to despoil the squash vines for leaf stalks to make "squawk pipes," and nice golden pumpkins from the field were not too precious in the eyes of Farmer Prentice to be used in making jack-o'-lanterns; they were allowed to go a-fishing; to go a-berrying, and to make up nutting parties, and, best fun of all, when all the neighborhood turned out to hunt the coons which were destroying the corn crop, the boys were allowed to join in the hunt.
How good the green corn roasted by that midnight fire down in the old pasture lot, just over the fence from the corn lot, tasted. And that was the time they learned the secret of roasting eggs and potatoes in the hot ashes. How carefully they rolled the eggs in many layers of brown paper, and then wetting them thoroughly laid them in the bed made ready, and covering with the heated ashes they listened for the cracking of the shells which would tell that the eggs were done. But these boys did not spend all their time in just having "good times." Now and then as they gathered around the kitchen fire in winter or were grouped in the yard, they would forget their popping corn or their jack-o'-lantern and fall to talking over the last book they had read.
There was no lack of books in the Prentice home. For if Mr. and Mrs. Prentice believed in boys, they also believed in books for boys.
"Any gunpowder under that?" asked Dan one morning, coming around the corner of the house and seeing a great pile of kindling wood which Jack was splitting.
"Not a keg!" was the reply.
"I thought you must be plotting some mischief or you would never have stuck to the work long enough to split such a pile as that," continued Dan.
"There is a plot, that's a fact," returned Jack; "but it is not a Gunpowder Plot. I am going to ask father to let me go with Johnson when he goes after those cattle, and we shall be gone three days, so I thought it would advance my cause a little if the kindlings were all ready beforehand."
"You are a sharp fellow," said Dan, laughing, "a very sharp fellow."
"But wasn't that Gunpowder Plot a scheme though!" said Jack.
"Well, I confess I don't know much about it," replied Ben, who had in his lazy fashion thrown himself on the ground. "Just tell a fellow about it and save him the trouble of reading it."
"That is what Jack is aching to do," said Dan, laughing. "Jack is the orator of the family, you know."
"Go ahead, old fellow," and Ben shifted his weight from one elbow to the other.
"It was in the reign of James the First; he was James the Sixth of Scotland; he was the son of Mary Stuart, and as she was a Catholic, the Catholics of England supposed her son would restore, or at least tolerate, the Catholic faith in England. But they were bitterly disappointed in this expectation; the old laws against it were put into execution and others more severe passed by Parliament. And it was out of this intolerance that the famous Gunpowder Plot grew. The scheme was to blow up with gunpowder the Parliament House, while Parliament was in session, and so destroy the king and members of Parliament. There was a vault under the building which the conspirators hired as a salesroom for wood and coal. They put in stealthily thirty-six barrels of gunpowder and then covered these with the wood and prepared a train so that the whole could be fired at once. They had a ship ready to take Fawkes on board--"
"You've got ahead of your story! tell us who was Fawkes."
"He was one of the conspirators, a Spanish officer who superintended the business and was to touch it off. Authorities do not quite agree as to how the secret leaked out. It is supposed that one of the conspirators wanted to save some of his friends and so warned them to keep away from the Parliament House on the day set for the execution of the plot, and suspicion was thus aroused, and Guy Fawkes was arrested just as he was about to apply the match to the train. He was tried and executed along with several others. The day set for the horrible deed was the fifth of November, 1605, and it has ever since been observed as a holiday in England."
"You've done well," said Dan. "But you left out a lot; you forgot to tell how they first hired a house next to the place where Parliament was held and tried to dig through the walls."
"I did not forget it, but it amounted to nothing and they abandoned that plan, and I thought Ben could read that up for himself. I have noticed that if you tell him a part of a story he will go and find out the rest. The best way is, to tell him just enough to whet his curiosity."
Dan was half-way to the barn before this remark was ended, but glancing back he saw Ben and Jack down on the grass _having it out_ in a regular "rough and tumble."
F. H.
DEAR PANSIES: