'tis here the children love to come (p. 45).
wide expanse of yellow sand,
A breeze so fresh and free,
Which, gently rippling, scarcely wakes
The calm and tranquil sea.
Beneath the clear and shining wave
Bright shells and sea-weeds lie,
Reflecting all the golden light
Of the sweet summer sky.
And many a crystal pool is there,
Where hermits lurk below,
And restless shrimps in coat of mail
Flash swiftly to and fro.
A noon-day hush is over all,
Unbroken by a sound;
Till ... sudden peals of baby mirth
Wake all the echoes round.
'Tis here the children love to come,
On the bright sand to lie,
Or in the gleaming water hold
Their mimic revelry.
Oh, happy hearts! those gladsome day
Upon the golden shore
Will linger on in memory still,
A joy for evermore.
D. B. McKean.
"I
should like my little pupils to learn to roast
meat to-day," said Mrs. Herbert, as she entered
the kitchen where the children were
waiting for her.
"You will let it be beef, though, won't you?" said Margaret. "If we have to cook meat we might as well cook the best kind of meat there is."
"You consider beef the best kind of meat then, do you?" said Mrs. Herbert.
"Oh, yes! I should think every one does. Father says there is nothing like the roast beef of old England."
"English people generally like roast beef, I know," said Mrs. Herbert. "Indeed, they have been so accustomed to take pains with it, that now it is often said that English cooks roast well, if they do nothing else well."
"It seems to me that there is nothing to do in roasting meat," said Margaret. "The fire does all the work; we put the meat down to the fire, and in a little time we take it up, and it is done."
"But the right kind of fire for roasting is not always made up in any kitchen," said Mrs. Herbert. "The first thing which the cook who intends to roast has to see after is the fire; and she ought to make it ready quite an hour before she puts the meat down."
"Oh dear, what a trouble!" said Margaret.
"Please, ma'am, I know how to make up a fire for roasting," said Mary. "I have done it many a time for my aunt."
"Then tell us what you know about it," said Mrs. Herbert.
"The fire must be a good size, larger than the meat which is to be roasted before it. The cinders and dust must be cleared thoroughly away from the bottom of the range, the live hot coals must be pushed to the front, and the space at the back which is made empty must be filled up with knobbly pieces of coal packed closely together, though not so closely that the air cannot get through. The hearth must be swept up tidily, and the cinders, mixed with a little damped coal-dust, must be put at the back on the knobbly pieces of coal, and that is all."
"Very good indeed, Mary," said Mrs. Herbert, "you evidently know all about this part of the business."
"But I don't see the good," said Margaret. "Why do we not make up the fire when we are ready for it? It would last all the longer."
"Because we want to have the fire clear and bright, not dull and smoky. It must be kept bright all the time too, and it must not be allowed to get hollow in places. Can you tell us, Mary, what you are to do if the fire needs to be mended before the joint is finished?"
"The live coal must be drawn to the front, ma'am, gently, so as not to let any cinders go into the dripping-tin," said Mary. "But we ought not to let the fire need mending; we must watch it and keep putting cinders and pieces of coal on to keep it up."
"You see now, Margaret, how important it is to have the right kind of fire," said Mrs. Herbert. "Have you heard that red meat which is to be roasted should hang for a while before being cooked?"
"At any rate I have heard people say 'This meat is not tender; it has not been hung long enough.'"
"Just so. It is very important that red meats which are to be roasted should be left to hang till tender. When we have a cool airy larder, we can hang meat for ourselves, when there is no such larder the butcher will hang it for us. The time which the meat must hang depends upon the weather. In dry cold weather it may hang a long time—two or three weeks—but in hot weather it must be quickly cooked, or it will not keep. In frosty weather, too, it should be put in a warm kitchen for some hours before being roasted, or it will not be tender."
"What do you mean by red meats, ma'am?"
"I mean, Mary, meats red in colour when cut, such as beef, mutton, and game. What are called white meats, such as veal, lamb, and pork, will not keep, and they therefore have to be cooked when fresh. Can either of you tell me what is the first thing to be done when you are going to roast meat?"
The little girls thought for a minute, then Mary said, "When we were going to boil the leg of mutton we weighed it, that we might know how long we were to let it simmer."
"Quite right, Mary. So you must do with this piece of beef. Weigh it and then allow for roasting a quarter of an hour for every pound, and a quarter of an hour over. If the joint is thick and solid we allow twenty minutes to the pound. In fact, we should always have a little consultation with ourselves before we begin to roast, and say to ourselves, 'Is this meat solid and thick with little bone, or is it thin and small?'"
"How long must we give the sirloin of beef?"
"A quarter of an hour to the pound and a quarter of an hour over. Cook is now going to put down the dripping-tin and screen for us. I should like you to watch her and then try to remember what is necessary. Do you notice that she puts a large slice of dripping into the pan first thing?"
"What is that for?" said Margaret. "I thought the dripping dropped from the fat."
"So it will in a little time, but we want some hot fat to baste the meat with immediately. If we put a slice in the tin a few minutes before the meat is hung on the hook, the fat will melt and be ready for our purpose. Never wash the meat before roasting it. If you do, it will not brown properly, and the juices will be drawn out. Some cooks are very particular to wash meat, and they say that it is dirty not to do so, for we never know by whom meat has been handled. For my part I never feel uneasy about meat which has been bought of a good butcher. If I had any doubt on the subject I should wipe it well, but not wash it."
"The dripping is quite melted now, mother. Shall we hang the meat on the hook, and wind up the jack?" said Margaret.
"Yes, dear; wind the jack before you put the meat up. In hanging the meat recollect to put the thickest part downwards, because the heat of the fire will be greatest at the bottom. Be careful, too, to pass the hook through a secure place where there is little juice, for the flesh will give way with cooking, and if you do not provide for this your joint may fall into the pan. Do you recollect that when we were boiling meat we first plunged the meat into boiling water to harden the albumen on the outside so as to make a case to keep in the juices."
"We cannot do that now, though," said Mary.
"We can do something of the same sort. If we put the meat close to the fire and baste it with hot fat for a few minutes at the beginning we shall harden the outside. Then we may draw it back and roast it more slowly till done. Above all things, however, we must be careful to baste it well. Stand at one side of the fire, take the fat up carefully with the basting-spoon, and pour it over the lean part of the meat. The basting-spoon will not become too hot if you put it in a plate by the side, not in the tin. If you baste the meat well, it will not shrink or become dry and hard, it will be juicy and savoury, and it will be a good rich brown colour."
"How quickly the fat melts!" said Mary. "There is plenty of dripping in the pan now."
"We will pour a little of the dripping away shortly, for we want to have it a good colour," said Mrs. Herbert. "If we let it remain too long before the fire it will be burnt and discoloured."
Very patiently and for a long time the little girls basted the roasting joint, and at last they were rewarded by seeing it take a rich brown colour.
"In another quarter of an hour the beef will be roasted enough, ma'am," at length said Mary, looking at the clock.
"It smells as if it would taste all right, does it not?" said Margaret.
"Now we must prepare for the gravy. Cook has put the dish for the meat and the plates where they will get hot, for little girls cannot see after everything. In this small saucepan is a little stock made by stewing two or three bones and scraps (with no fat whatever), a sprig of parsley, a few rings of onion, which have been fried till brown, an inch of celery, and five or six peppercorns in water. I do not know whether you noticed that this stock has been stewing by the side of the fire ever since we came into the kitchen; I have skimmed it every now and then, and covered it closely again."
"I noticed it," said Margaret. "I thought it would turn out to be for something which we wanted."
"It is for gravy. You see it is a rich deep brown colour, gained from the browned onion. We must strain this gravy, put a little salt with it, let it boil, then unhook the joint, pour a couple of table-spoonfuls of this gravy into the dish, put the rest into a gravy tureen, and serve at once. There will be plenty of gravy altogether, if we use that which is in the tureen and the dish as well. Besides, our joint has been well basted, and is not dry, so gravy will run from the meat into the dish."
"Can't we make gravy from the dripping-tin?"
"We should have had to do so if there had been no stock," said Mrs. Herbert. "In that case we should pour out the fat from the tin very gently and carefully till we come to the brown sediment at the bottom. We should mix with the sediment a breakfast-cupful of boiling water, and scrape, with the spoon, any little brown dried specks of gravy there might be. When we had obtained as much gravy as possible we should strain it into a saucepan and keep it hot till the meat was quite ready."
"I am sure father will enjoy this roast beef," said Margaret.
"I hope and think he will," said Mrs. Herbert. "Beef roasted in this way before the fire is most excellent. It is, however, not nearly so common as it once was, for with the stoves and kitcheners now in use, it is easier to bake, or, as it is called, to roast meat in the oven. I therefore wanted you to understand the best way of roasting meat, and you shall next learn how to roast it in the oven."
(To be continued.)
Bravo! bravo! bravo!"
It was a tiny voice that spoke, sweet and clear as a nightingale's; but it was not a nightingale. It was a large brown and scarlet butterfly, with a dash of purple in its wings.
The mannikins paused in their gambols, and one made a bow, whilst another skipped up the scarlet runner that had suddenly shot up out of the ground, and twined in and out in fantastic knots, and brought himself to a level with the butterfly.
"If you had but wings!" added the butterfly.
peter was sitting up in bed
"Now," continued the mannikin, "as you are an emperor, I really think that you might order some wings for us. What do you say?"
"A Red Emperor," observed the butterfly; "but after all there's not much in it. It is, you see, all in the name. And I haven't really any power whatever to give wings or anything else. For you must know that I am under orders myself."
The mannikin looked at the Red Emperor in surprise.
"And you an Emperor?" said he. "Hasn't this scarlet runner sprung up so that we might run up it to speak to you?"
"That may or may not be," began the Emperor. "But——"
"But what?"
No, the Red Emperor was not speaking now. Somehow the butterfly and the mannikins had got into the book that Paulina was reading to Peter.
Peter was sitting up in bed; he had also a book in his hand, and he threw it down and sprang out of bed, crying out—
"But what a splendid butterfly!"
"Oh, your sprained ankle, Peter!" cried Paulina.
But Peter was at the window, in fact, half out of it; and his left ankle, which was bound up with bandages, suddenly appeared to be quite as free from pain as his right ankle, which had nothing whatever the matter with it, and he leaned over the window-sill, murmuring—
"Oh, Peter! how can you?" said Paulina.
But Peter was gone, and when Paulina looked out of the window, she could see neither him, nor the mannikins, nor the scarlet runner.
Of course she could not, for they were not there. Where had they gone? oh where? oh where?
paulina had a stick ... in her hand
"Never mind, Paulina; it is a warm summer day."
Was it the great butterfly who spoke? No one else was near, and he was sunning himself among the elder blossoms.
Paulina now listened breathlessly.
"That is to say, the mannikins have red jackets and caps, and they are rolling along so fast, with Peter in the midst of them, that you will find it quite impossible to overtake them."
"Are you speaking to me?" said Paulina.
"Of course I am. Can't you hear what I am saying? I am the Red Emperor."
"Then please, good Mr. Red Emperor, fly away, and tell Peter to come home again."
"I am an Emperor," replied the butterfly, "and I cannot be ordered by a little girl. You must get back Peter yourself."
"But I can't see Peter. Where is he?"
"But I can't get to cloudland."
"Of course not, you're much too heavy."
Paulina began to cry.
"If you make such a dreadful noise I shall fly away. Otherwise I shall stay, and tell you what to do in order to get Peter back."
"I will do anything in the world," said Paulina; "whatever you tell me to do I will at once do."
"There is but one thing to do—you must become an artist."
"That is impossible," sobbed Paulina. "What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Take off that prim little cap. Tie up your hair with black ribbon, and put on a blouse. Then you will be an artist."
"But I've never learned to draw."
"Pooh!" said the Red Emperor.
Paulina did not know where she was or how she came there, but she found herself before a wall on which hung a scroll with a face roughly sketched upon it. Paulina had a stick with a bit of chalk at the end of it in her hand, and she did not know whether she had drawn the face or not.
"Perhaps I did," said she. "I think it is a likeness of the moon."
"Pooh!" answered a voice.
Paulina knew that it was not the Red Emperor, for he had flown away. She looked round, but there was no one to be seen. Still the voice went on speaking—
paulina ... began to put on the colour
"Who are you? where are you?" asked Paulina. "And do you know anything of Peter? He went with the mannikins."
"Yes, up in the clouds with them. I saw him. The clouds were drifting hither and thither, and he could not keep steady upon them, so he tumbled down to the earth again."
"Oh dear! Oh dear! What a fall he must have had!"
Paulina heard a curious whistling, crackling laugh that seemed to go off in gusts: puff, puff! blow, blow, blow! phew, phew! And then it subsided into a gentle whistle.
"It's nothing to laugh at," said Paulina. "He'll catch cold, and he must be very much hurt."
"No he isn't; he has hurt some one else instead. I saw him standing over the boy that he had knocked down."
"He was always fighting," murmured Paulina.
"And he had on a full suit of blue clothes," said the voice, "and striped stockings and a white collar."
"Blue! That's his best suit. How did he get it?"
"I don't know everything," replied the Wind, for it was the Wind who was speaking to Paulina; "but
"Oh!" ejaculated Paulina. "How can I get him home again?"
The Wind whistled for a short time, and then answered—
"By getting a palette, and brushes, and paint, and canvas, and becoming an artist. What is the use of wearing a blouse and long stockings, and having your hair tied with black ribbon, if you are not going to be an artist?"
The Wind had gone away, the scroll with the sun's face drawn upon it had vanished, and Paulina was not where she had been a few moments before. She did not know where she was, and everything seemed to be going the wrong way; but she saw the Red Emperor resting upon a rosebush, so she felt that she was not without a friend.
"I've been waiting for hours," said the Red Emperor testily, "and so has the easel, also the paints and palette; and the canvas is stretched and the sketch made. You have nothing to do but to mount up to your seat, and fill in with colours. Shade away, beginning at the left corner, and make haste."
Paulina looked at the canvas, upon which was the outline of a figure reclining upon a rock. She was going to say she could not shade it, when the Red Emperor said sternly—
"No nonsense! Mount to the seat and paint as fast as you can, for if the painting is not finished before the stars come out, Peter will never come home again."
Paulina scrambled up; she took the palette in one hand, the brush in the other, and began to put on the colour as fast as she could. She did not take any pains, but dabbed away, beginning in the left-hand corner. She scarcely looked at what she was doing; but somehow or other it answered, and the picture progressed rapidly. Paulina herself was surprised, but she knew that she must lose no time, for the stars were only waiting for the twilight.
"The evening star, oh! don't let it come," said a very tiny little voice, that sounded like Peter's, a long way off; and it went on saying—
standing over the boy (p. 49).
"I should be dizzy if I looked down: I'm so very high up," answered Paulina; "but I should like to know where you are, Peter."
"Never mind where he is," said the Red Emperor, "so that he is somewhere; that is enough for you. He is not far off. You will descend as the picture draws near completion, and at the last stroke of your brush you will see him. Obey me, or Peter will vanish away, and you will never see him again."
Again Peter's voice was heard—
"Yes, I'm near you, but I've grown very small; the Wind shook me about till I was only half the size I ought to be, just for knocking down a boy who came in my way. Go on, Paulina; paint away, make no delay, or I shall have to go away."
And the Red Emperor also said, "Go on."
And Paulina went on with her work. Her palette was almost clean, so thoroughly had she used up all the colours upon it, and the painting only wanted a few more touches, which she added carefully. Then she drew a little backward to take a view of her picture. She closed her eyes for a moment, the better to consider the subject, and when she opened them, the picture, the easel, the palette, and brushes had disappeared, and she was standing in a garden where roses and lilies and red carnations were growing, and fountains were sending up cool white spray. The Red Emperor was there also.
And beside Paulina there stood Peter himself.
"I am my proper size again," said he. "It's been all a very wonderful journey, and I've seen wonderful sights."
Paulina kissed him, saying—
"Of course he must be content," said the Red Emperor severely.
"Of course he must," echoed the Wind, "if not, I shall whirl him away to the top of a mountain."
one of the mannikins tumbled.
"Of course he must," said two mannikins who suddenly appeared in sight, rolling and pushing along what seemed to Paulina to be the half of a large orange.
Not that it was anything of the sort.
"It's a casket of gold
From the caverns old,
Where the dwarfs are working for ever.
All that it doth hold,
If you should be told,
Oh! would you believe it? no, never!"
And one of the mannikins tumbled over it, and turned somersaults, and rolled it up to Paulina.
And then the Wind whispered very softly to her—
"Yes, yes," said Paulina; "it's all true; but the painting's gone, and it all seems like a dream; and I've got Peter back, and his ankle's well. But how did he get his blue suit?"
But that neither the Red Emperor nor the Wind told her; neither did Peter, for when she asked him the question he only said—
"I don't know!"
Julia Goddard.
The two greatest natural curiosities—if one may use the phrase in this connection—in North America are the Falls of Niagara and the Natural Bridge in Virginia. A picture of the latter will be seen in our new heading. It is an arch cut, so to speak, out of the rock, and stands upwards of two hundred feet above the ground below. How it originated has been a kind of puzzle, some urging that the rock was hollowed by an earthquake, others that the bridge is the result of the action of water. Unfortunately for these conjectures no ruins are to be seen beneath. The bridge has formed the scene of several hair-breadth escapes.
The city of Rhodes is situated on the island of that name, which lies some twelve miles from the coast of Asia Minor. It was founded four hundred years before the birth of Christ, and, among other things, was noted for its Colossus—pictured in our heading—which was reckoned to be one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world. The Colossus was a gigantic statue in brass of Helios, or the Sun, and stood at the entrance of one of the ports. It was 105 feet high. According to one belief—which, however, is now abandoned—the Colossus bestrode the harbour, one foot resting upon a pier at one side, the other upon a pier at the other, while the figure itself was so lofty that ships in full sail could pass underneath the outstretched legs. Sixty years after it was built it was thrown down by an earthquake.
A favourite mode of travelling in China and other countries of the East is by palanquin, which is a kind of wooden box, about twice as long as it is high, with shutters and other appliances to make it comfortable. The palanquin is carried by porters—just as in the drawing given above. The vehicle is furnished inside with a mattress—on which the traveller reclines—and cushions, and is also fitted with shelves and drawers. Travelling is continued day and night. There are different kinds of palanquins, some resembling the sedan chairs that used to be fashionable in England.
This queer bird—also shown in the heading above—is found in the tropical and temperate regions of the globe, and frequents marshes and shallow lakes. In deep water flamingoes swim, but they prefer to wade, for then they can bend down their necks and rake the bottom with their peculiar-shaped bill in search of food. Flocks of these birds, with their red plumage, when seen from a distance, have been likened by observers to troops of soldiers.
The house represented in the new heading, and bearing the above quaint name, is situated in Chester, a city famed for its picturesque old buildings. It is built of timber and brick, and upon the beam supporting the second floor is carved "God's Providence is mine Inheritance, 1652." It is supposed that Chester was visited with plague in that year, and that this house was the only one which escaped the pestilence. Hence arose the pious inscription of the grateful tenant.
Once upon a time, so long ago that I cannot tell when, strange creatures lived on land and sea. They have all died out now, but their bones are sometimes found in a fossil state, and by means of them scientific men have been able to construct, or piece together, as it were, these old-world monsters. You will see the picture of one of them in the new Pocket-book heading. It is called by the long name "Ichthyosaurus"—a Greek term meaning "fish-reptile." This animal was a huge creature something like a crocodile, with four paddles and a tail, and its native element was water. It had a large head with big eyes, and its jaws were well filled with terrible teeth. It possessed features in common with fishes as well as with reptiles, and hence its compound name.
Little folk who read their newspapers know something of the dauntless courage of the Soudanese Arabs. The Soudan is a desert of vast extent, partly bordering upon the boundaries of Upper Egypt. It is inhabited by wandering Arabs and some other peoples. They are, most of them, quite fearless, and even when opposed to British forces have shown a courage worthy of their foes. Armed—like the one drawn in our heading—with spear and shield—for but a few of them owned rifles and fired them unskilfully—they rushed again and again right up to the serried ranks of the British soldiers. These Arabs have several vices, but no one has denied them the highest degree of bravery.
It is related of the late Mr. Peter Cooper, an American benefactor, that he was one day watching the pupils in the portrait class connected with the Women's Art School of Cooper Institute. About thirty pupils were engaged in drawing likenesses of the same model from various points of view—some in profile, some full face, some nearer and others farther from the light, and so forth. After studying the scene for a while Mr. Cooper said, "Such a sight as this should be a lesson in charity, when we perceive how the same person may be so different, according to the way he is looked at by various people."
Few little folk have any idea of the labour that bees have to expend in the gathering of honey. Here is a calculation, which will show how industrious the "busy" bee really is. Let us suppose the insects confine their attentions to clover-fields. Each head of clover contains about sixty separate flower-tubes, in each of which is a portion of sugar not exceeding the five-hundredth part of a grain. Therefore, before one grain of sugar can be got, the bee must insert its proboscis into 500 clover-tubes. Now there are 7,000 grains in a pound, so that it follows that 3,500,000 clover-tubes must be sucked in order to obtain but one pound of honey.
In China, that land of curiosities, may be seen oaks, chestnuts, pines, and cedars growing in flowerpots, and fifty years old, but not twelve inches high! They take the young plant, cut off its tap-root, and place it in a basin of good soil kept well watered. Should it grow too rapidly, they dig down and shorten in several roots. Year by year the leaves grow smaller, and in course of time the trees become little dwarfs, and are made pets of like canaries and dogs.
In reading about poets and poetry, you will sometimes find an allusion to the "Lake School." This was the term applied by a writer in the Edinburgh Review to Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge, because they resided in the lake district of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and because—though their works differed in many respects from each other—they sought for inspiration in the simplicity of Nature rather than in the study of other poets, or of the prevailing fashion.
Tom Brown, as readers will remember, was in deep trouble at Rugby about the fagging system in vogue during his "school-days." Many things have happened since then, and amongst others a marked improvement in fagging. The cruelty and insolence and selfishness of it have disappeared, and the system itself will one day die out. As regards boys, so far so good. Among some feathered folk, however, fagging flourishes in full vigour; and so long as there are cuckoos so long will there be fags. Many birds are imposed upon, one of the commonest victims being the hedge-sparrow. For days a sparrow has been watched while it fed a hungry complaining intruder. It used to fly on the cuckoo's back and then, standing on its head and leaning downwards, give it a caterpillar. The tit-bit having been greedily snatched and devoured, the cuckoo would peck fiercely at its tiny attendant—bidding it, as it were, fetch more food and not be long about it. Wordsworth tells us in a famous line that "the child is father of the man," and no apter illustration of this truth could be found than the cuckoo. Let us trace his early life history, and to begin with, peep into, say, a wagtail's nest. It contains a few eggs all seemingly alike. In due time they are hatched, and you at once notice that one of the baby birds is quite different from the rest. It is blind, naked, yellowish, and ugly, and ere long will prove itself a monster. How did it come to be born there? Well, you must know that it is a young cuckoo. Now, its mother has several bad habits.
the cuckoo's fag. (See p. 52.)
For instance, she does not make a nest, but lays her egg on the ground, and then places it in a nest where there are others like the one she has laid. She is cunning, you see, as well as lazy and cruel; for she has, like a thief in the night, introduced into an innocent home a real tyrant. The young cuckoo soon reveals its true character. It begins by edging the wee wagtails to the side of the nest and then turning them out one by one. Of course the little things thus thrown over fall to the ground and die, but even if some kind person were to restore them to their home, they would be again bundled out in the same brutal fashion. Having got rid of the children of the rightful owners of the nest the ruthless sneak speedily cries for food; and the parents of the ejected birds actually tend this glutton with the greatest diligence. The young cuckoo is ever gaping for food, and for weeks the poor foster-parents are kept hard at work to supply its hunger. Why do they do so? Probably because they regard it as one of their own offspring, though they may have a sort of instinctive notion that there's something wrong; and so the weary round of fagging goes on until the cuckoo takes itself off to start life on its own account. So greedy, lazy, and thoroughly selfish, however, is this bird that after it has outgrown its nest, and is quite able to provide for itself, it will still look to its industrious comrades for its meals.
Off the coast of Norway, close to the Lofoden Islands, the current runs so strong north and south for six hours and then in the opposite direction for a similar period, that the water is thrown into tremendous whirls. This is the far-famed Maelström, or whirling-stream. The whirlpool is most active at high and low tide, and when the winds are contrary the disturbance of the sea is so great that few boats can live in it. In ordinary circumstances, however, ships can sail right across the Maelström without much danger, and the tales about the vessels and whales which have been engulfed in the stream are more or less pure fables.
An intelligent dog was recently discovered wandering about the streets of an American city, by a gentleman who knew it. He at once asked its master by means of the telephone whether he had lost his dog. The reply came "Yes; have you seen it?" To which the further instruction was sent, "Suppose you call him through the telephone." Accordingly the dog was lifted up and the ear-piece placed at its ear. "Jack! Jack!" shouted its owner, whereupon Jack, recognising the voice, began at once to yelp most vigorously, and licked the telephone in a friendly way, evidently thinking that its master was inside the machine.
(See Coloured Frontispiece.)
E played together on the sands,
We roamed the moors for heather,
We climbed the cliffs with clasping hands
In the wild and windy weather;
And sweet were my little queen's commands
As we merrily played together.
The Editor desires to inform his Readers that the names of Officers and Members of The Little Folks Humane Society will be printed in the Magazine as usual during the next six months, but that after the present Volume is completed, and when Fifty Thousand Names have appeared, the publication of the Lists will be discontinued. As, however, the operations of the Society will still be carried on, and some accounts of its progress will from time to time be given in Little Folks, the Editor hopes to receive, as hitherto, the "promises" of all Children who are willing to join; and, on receipt of these, their names will be inscribed on the Register of the Society, and Certificates of Officership and Membership also forwarded to them if stamped addressed envelopes be enclosed. (The number of Officers and Members now on the Register is about 49,500). The Editor is aware that in certain instances intending Officers find that it takes many months to complete the list of fifty names, which it is necessary to collect in order to become an Officer, and he thinks it probable that the total of Fifty Thousand referred to above will be reached before some of his Readers have been able to obtain this number of "promises" from other children. To meet this difficulty, and in order that the efforts on behalf of the Society of such children may be rewarded just as they would have been had the publication of names in Little Folks been longer continued, the small book and medal hitherto given to Officers will still be awarded; though in all cases it will be necessary, in sending up the fifty "promises," to enclose a Certificate from a Parent, Teacher, or other responsible person, stating that the list had been commenced previous to the appearance of this notice in Little Folks. The book and medal will not in future be awarded to any readers other than those just referred to—that is, those whose lists of fifty names are in actual progress at the present time (July 1st, 1884).
Officers' Names are printed in Small Capital Letters, and the Names of their Members are printed beneath. Where a short line, thus "——," is printed, the end of an Officer's List is indicated.