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IN CHILDHOODS REALM
The March of the Children.
List to the sound of the drumming!
t;.-.ily the children are coming;
Street ai the smile of a fairy,
Fresh as the blossoms they carry,
Pride of the parents who love them,
Pure as the azure above them,
Free as the winds that caress them,
Bright as the sunbeams that bless them.
List to the voice-echoes ringing!
Sweeter than birds they are singing;
Thoughts that to virtue Invite them
Wed unto airs that delight them.
Truths that their future will cherish
Soul-planted, never to perish:
Only to senses complcter. .
Heaven's choicest music were sweeter!
Virtue, unconscious and nretty,
Walks through the streets of the city;
See the gay bannerets flying.
Mottoes and titles undying-.
Truths clearly hallowed and olden, .
Braided in strands that are golden;
Words for the spirits desiring,
Sentences sweetly inspiring!
When In a voice of caressing.
Christ gave the children his blessing,
'Twas not for one generation,
But for each epoch and nation.'
80 through the present it lingers,
shed from the bountiful fingers;
to unto these it is Riven,
Types of the angels in heaven,
AKTiitTu Ski.wvn's Notebook.
Pauline's l'ourth of July.
"I'm not going!" Pauline called out
bravely, standing in the lktle vine-covered
porch of her father's house.
There was a sympathetic chorus of "Oh
dears" and "too bads," but the flower and
flag bedecked .wagon with its load of happy
children did not linger long at Pauline's
As it whirled away down the street the
sounds of sonj: and laughter came back to
the ears of the lonely little girl, and with a
quivering chin she made a hasty retreat to
a secluded corner where she could cry a
wee bit all unobserved.
She was but 11, our little heroine, and
gala-days were far apart in the long, slow
Such a very special occasion as this was,
too, w.'icn almost every inhabitant of the
hot little valley town was going out to
make merry in the beautiful Centennial
grove, witli its green grass and waring
trees, its shady pavilion and its multitudi
Ami in Pauline's own room a fresh while
gown was spread out upon the bed wait
inc for her. with a now hat beside it, won
derful with flowers.and ribbons.
And the big family lunch basket waited
dejectedly on the kitchen table where it
had been placed last evening, its capacious !
depths still yearning for the frosted cakes ;
and fried chicken that poor mamma
worked so hard yesterday to prepare.
Everything looked so promising at bed
time, and after dreaming all night of the
jolly time coming, it was pretty hard to
see all one's hopes melt away with the
darkness when mighty old Sol baa reared
his triumphant head above the mountain
Mamma awoke with one of her dreadful
headache?, ar.l everybody understood
without an instant's discussion that there
-would be no picnic in the grove for her. It
was arranged that Pauline should go, how
ever, and papa, who was the village doctor,
would nurse the invalid and make the day
a happy one for little Jack. .
Alas! "The best made plans o' mice and
men gang aft agley." Before breakfast
was over a messenger from the country
A LITTLE LOVE AND A LITTLE FASHION BY THK SUMMER SEA.
L. L.— l Bupposc we shall see a great deal of er.ch other this season.
L. P.— Really? But do you think there is.much more of us to be seen than can be seen at
present?- New York Trutli.
summoned the good doctor to a case which
it would be inhumanity to neglect.
"Mamma «ays you can go just the same,
Pauline, and that she and baby Jack •will
manage somehow. I know it will be a
dreadful disappointment to you to- stay
here, daughter, but I think your mother
"I can't stop to discuss the matter, so I
will say good-by, and you must decide for
He drove away. And Pauline didn't
■top to think the'matter over for a single
moment. She ran in to bind a wet towel
about, the poor aching head ; sho arranged
the blinds to keep the house cool ; "she
coaxed Jack out to amuse himself in the
playhouse. Everything seemed very sim
ple and easy until the giris called for her,
and truth to say the pang of that moment
was soon forgotten.
The little girl tripped softly about the
bouse, and in and out, now stroking
mamma's head, now setting things to
risrhts and now playing with the little
At last the heat of the affernoon drove
her to the hammock on the shady back
veranda, and she fell asleep there before
she knew it. She was just dreaming that
the girls at the grove had found a beau
tiful lake of lemonade with piled-up banks
of icecream about it. when something
made her open her eyes. It was a peculiar
crackling noise, and when Pauline sat up
and looked about she saw flames and
smoke pouring up from the rubbish pile in
the alley just behind the pretty playhouse
where little Jack was asleep, "with "dolly's
mattress under his head for a pillow. In a
flash Pauiine was down the steps and
across the yard and was carrying that
THE STARCH OF THE CHILDREN.
[Reproduced from an engraving.]
chubby little darling brother into the
house and out of danger. She left him
with mamma, and without Baying a word
of the danger she flew out of the house and
down the street to give the alarm. Sue
had to go a long way to find anybody — was
there a living soul in all that town but her
self? She called "Fire !" again and again,
and presently she paw a man running
away from hpr, and at !-»<■♦ ti ...c
Back sue ran then and found the flames
devouring the beloved playhouse that was
all her own. Nothing could save that, and
a corner of the roof of the barn was already
blazing. Dear old brown Bess was starap-
I ing and neighing in her stll, frightened at
the noise and smoke. The little girl
rushed in and untied her, but that absurd
horse was so frightened that it took a long
time to coax her out of the stable. She
pawed the air and tossed her mane, almost
Kcreaming in her terror. Pauline never
bought of letting go the brible and
anally Bess was safely shut up in Mr.
Moore's corral across the street. The barn
was blazing tinely by this time and that
>eautiful new shiny phaeton they were all
no fond of was still inside it. The child
■slid back the heavy doors of the carriage
house, tugging first at an ugly boit that
»as almost too much for her frail lingers
md left them bruised and bleeding. The
door stuck fast half way and Pauline
worked desperately, the flames creeping
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 1895.
nearer and nearer and the heat and smoke
almost stifling her. It gave way at last
and then the top of the little carriage
wouldn't go under the beam over the door
way and it had to be lowered. Minutes
seemed like hours to plucky little Pauline
and she began to wonder if nobody was
ever coming to help her save the house
and the town.
Somebody was coming, and just as the
phaeton was rolled onto the lawn in front
of the house and the little girl had tum
bled down beside it to hide her face in her
apron and cry the firemen came clattering
up with their clanging bells, their hose
carts and their strong arms and roaring
The lire had a good start, for it had been
smoldering since early morning where
some boys had tired crackers in the alley.
A hot north wind was blowing and the
flames had already causiht the roof of the
barn on the opposite side of the alley and
firebrands were scattering for some dis
tance, falling everywhere upon shingled
roofs dried like tinder by the hot sun that
had not once hidden- his face in a cloud
the long summer through.
On the other hand there was an abun
dance of water, and, thanks to some lucky
chance or pradent forethought, there were
men enough left in town to handle it to
the best advantage.
The flight was not over in an hour.
Roofs of stables fell in here and there and
the flames leaped high when they fed upon
stores of dry hay and sun-dried boards.
The alleyway was swept clean for once
and only" a light bed of ashes was left of
the little row of stables that had lined it.
Happily everybody's cow had been driven
out to pasture in the early morning and
everybody's horse had gone" to the picnic.
The fire was a loss and trouble, but when
the people came back to their homes at
night and realized how near that little city
had come to sharing the fate of other val
ley towns which had been wiped out in a
day they made the occasion one of rejoic
ing rather than of complaining, you may
be sure. Little Miss Pauline was surprised
and a little bit ashamed when she found
herself looked upon as a heroine. She had
not meant to do anything to attract atten
tion and if she had guessed that so many
I people were coming to look at her and talk
about it all she might have been careful
uojj to make such a little guy of herself.
Her little gingham gown was begrimed
j and torn everywhere that it was not
I scorched. One of her little russet shoes
i was lost in the barn, and the other one was
: both burned and water-soaked. Even the
; ends of the little girl's hair were scorched
j until they curled up. Her face was purple,
I her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from
| the smoke, her hands were blistered and
i burned, and altogether she was only lit to
keep out of anybody's sight.
Of course, it wasn't worth while to try to
hideaway from papa, who arrived just as
the firemen were goingaway. He was just
the very person of all the world to anoint
and bind up those battered little hands,
and to undress that worn-out little daughter
jhid lay her in bed with bandages even over
You may be sure that the good man
kissed and petted her a-plenty and— won't
you tell if I tell you— l cried just a little
bit too over the little new woman who had
bsen able to save her wee brother's life,
her mother's too. perhaps, and a whole
city f vii of homes, just because she wouldn't
go to a Fourth of July picnic when her
mother needed some loving body to put
cool napkins on her aching head.
Mist rvss Peggy at Court.
In October of 1774 Peggy, daughter of
Governor Hutchinson of Massachusetts,
went with her father to the Queen's draw
ing-room at St. James.
She was a bright and observing young
lady, and the following is an extract from
a letter which she wrote to her sister in
America regarding the English court:
"Four of the young Princes came in
after I had been there half an hour. I
never saw four so fine boys. After the
| drawing-room was over we went into the
i nursery, and saw the rest of them. I was
| highly delighted, and could scarcely keep
my hands off them: such smart creatures 1
I never beheld. The Princess Royal, with
two sisters and a little boy, which I took
to be about 3 years old, stood in a row,
one just above the other, and a little one
in leading strings sitting in a chair be
hind thorn composed this beautiful group.
I was determined, if possible, to kiss one
of their little pudsey hands, and with some
difficulty persuaded Mrs. K. to go up to
them, there being a great deal of company
in the room. She at last went, ana I
followed her. I asked Prince Ernest for
his hand, which he very readily gave me,
and I gave it a hearty kiss. They behaved
very prettily; they courtesied to every
body that came in, and the boy nodded
his head just like little Tom Oliver."
The Day Wo Celebrate.
The times have changed since that great
Fourth of July in 1776, and if any boy or
girl is going about with any idea that those
"good old days" were better times for chil
dren than these days it is a good time to
correct that impression. Were there really
any children in those days, though?
There were no books for children, Jh
books about children, that is certain.
There was the English Reader, to be sure,
but that was a terribly serious volume!
] well calculated to discourage the habit of
| being a child. On the whole its pages
I breathed the spirit of the attitude of our
I excellent foremothers and fathers upon the
i child question. They did not believe in
any one being a child a single moment
after he got through being a baby. The
I idea of helping a child to get over* it and
j become as stern and uncompromising as
themselves was ever present. Really, I
think nobody lived in those days who
would have dreamed that anything that
any boy or girl could do, anything that
any child would care about, was worth
writing in a book. "Foolishness is bound
up in the heart of a child" was a favorite
maxim in those days.
Boys and girls did sometimes become
restive under sermons three hours long,
especially when they had to attend them
three times each Sabbath day with cate
chisms and Bible classes in the intervals.
"The Sabbath in Puritan New England"
tells how good strong whips were placed in
convenient nooks about the church and
able persons seated near them to enforce
order among the young people. It was
not uncommon to hear the sound of blows
from the horse shed, where some father
had retired with his son to enforce the
teaching that "to spare the rod will spoil
But "old Parson Chandler," we are told,
"was a good friend of the children. He
only called out their names in meeting,
telling them to come to his house on Mou
aay. There they received such gentle
teaching and such friendly treatment that
they were happy never again to annoy or
disturb the kind old minister."
But do not imagine that the days of '76
were days of frolic and firecrackers.
All the work a boy could do was so much
clear gain. His "time" belonged to his
father till he was come to man's estate, and
it was a generous man who permitted his
son to work elsewhere without exacting
the full wages which the boy received.
Boys were "bound out" to service, and I
have never heard any one explain the dif
ference between this buying and selling of
the children and 4.he slavery these men
professed to hate.
One is moved to hope the Puritan moth
ers were tender and loving, else must the
lot of those old-time boys and girls have
been a sorry one. And that brings me to
what I was going to say. Did you ever
think what a very little time it has taken
to make this world a jolly place to be a
child in? A man said tome yesterday,
and not such a very old man either: "I
used to see a man very often who was born
before George Washington was. He was
more than a hundred years old, of course,
when he used to come to our home in Ver
mont early in this century. I cannot now
recall his name. But he was strong and
well, though he was so old, and he used to
walk along the road wneeling a cart with
all his worldly goods in it, and selling a
pamphlet in which the story of his life was
And this man who was talking to me— a
quiet, kindly soul, who never could have
done a cruel thing in all his life— told me
another little story that made me sorry
and made me thankful, too, that such
things are not happening any more.
"My father," said this man, "was a New
England minister. He never was or
dained, because he would not sign his
name to the belief that all the souls of uu
baptized babies must be lost. But he was
a good preacher, and people always came
to hear him. He was a good man, too,
and was not given to anger. He punished
his children according to the admonitions
of the Bible, as ho believed, and as I was
the oldest son I presume I got a lion's
share of the benefits. He owned a mill
> near home, and when I had offended him,
sometimes without knowing it, he uaed to
say: 'Come to the mill next Saturday
night at 7 o'clock. I am going to whip
"My mother and my sisters used to cry
and beg a good deal, because my health,
was not good, but that never made any
difference, and I always got the promised
punishment. I used to do my best, mean
time, hoping to earn forgiveness. I never
got it, for my father meant to be a just and
truthful man, bringing his sons up, by
force, in the nay they should go.
"I used to be tied "to a post, with my
arms stretched about it so that I could not
struggle. Then my father strove to please
the Lord by working hard enough to tire
himself out, and, you may be sure, to en
tirely break any rebellious spirit which I
may ever have had."
Does not that story seem to imply that
"the good old days" in New England were
scarcely the days for children to be
,; c Yankee "^boodle.*", , - "...
'/ fFrom a CoMoit;: u'Mwle in 1513.]
Father "and I writ down to camp,
- Along with Captain Hooding, - ■
And there we »<.•»• the mm ana boys, ..
As thick as hasty pudding.
Yankee Doodle, keep It up,
Yankee Doodle, dandy, . ' :■
, *■! ii.. the music and the step, \-:
And with the girls be handy.
And there we sec a thousand men, '
As rich as 'Squire David,
And what they wasted every day,
I with it could be saved.
The 'lasses they eat every day
•Would keep an house a winter;
They have .so much that 1,11 be bound,
They eat it when they're a mind to.
And there we so*- a swamping gun,
lArge as a Jo? of maple,
Upon a deuced little cart,
A load for father's catue.
And every time they shoot it off
It takes a horn of powder;
And makes a noise like father's gun.
Only a nation louder.
I wont as nigh to one myself
A3 Siah'a underpinning; . -
And father went as nigh again,
I thought the deuce was in him.
Cousin Simon grew so bold,
1 thought he would have corKed it;
It scared hip so I shrinked It oft",
And hung by father's 1 Ojket.
And Captain Davis had a gun, 1 "-.' ;/'
He kind of clapt his hand out,
Aud stuck a crooked subbing iron
Upon the lltUe end on't. »
; And then! I see a pumpkin shell ;
As big as mother's bacon; .
And every time they touched it off, *
They scampered like the nation.
I see a little barrel, too,
The h?ads were made of leather;
They knocked upon't with their clubs
And called the folks together.
And there was Captain Washington,
And gentlefolks about him.
They say lie's Rrown so tarnnl proud .
He will not ride without 'em., i
He got him en his meeting clothes,
Upon a slapping stallion.
He set the world along In rows,
■ In hundreds and in millions. .. ,""„
The flaming ribbons In his hat,
They looked so tearing fine, ah I
_ - I wanted jockily to get,
. To give to my Jemimah. v .. ■
I Bee another snarl of men .
A Clgging graves, they told me,
So tarnal long, so tarnal deep, ; '.
They 'tended they should hold me.
It scared me so I hooked it off, •> f
Nor stopped, as I remember, . \ *
Nor turned about till I kol home,
.Locked up in mother's chamber.
Philosophy of Baby land.
A little boy, who is nothing if not dili
gent in the study of history, was one day
reciting fluently on the subject of the
"wattle of Bunker Hill." He had it by
heart. The little voice piped high as he
described how '/," the patriot ; ranks lay
quietly behind their earthworks Until the
redcoats were within ten rods, when Pres
cott shouted 'Fire!' A blaze of light shot
from the redoubt, scattering whole panta
loons of the British: ; The survivors— "
But there was no chance to dispose of the
survivors. ■ A shout went up i from ; the
class.- After < all, "platoons" looked very
much like "pantaloons."— Bazar. ,
t_i . Sunday, After, the Fourth. '
J; Sunday-school teacher (reading aloud)—
"Johnny was a little boy who did not know
any better way to : spend ': his '.' nickels than
in buying cakes and pies." Now can any
of you boys tell me a better way?" * •
f ' Class— Yeß'm.^ Candy. :. "
Teacher (sadly)— No, boys, not candy.
v Small ■ : boy— Shucks : I; : know. Fire
crackers, of course '.—Exchange. : .";. , ; .
Customer— Those crackers I bought last
night were the best I ever saw. .i ; c
• < Dealer -Went off all right, did they ?('
. Customer— They did 5 that! ;, When my
boy fired them all off at 4 o'clock this
morning there wasn't one in the whole lot
that made the least little ; bit of noise
Life. : - ' ) *■■ '• ■:*;•■ ■;.' ■--■ r ■'■'.-.■: '-- ■ ■. < ■■-
: .; Johnny— My papa is going to buy me a
new watch for my next birthday. *;-/'.* >.
Mr. Smith— When is your next birthday*
Johnny? •> ; - / ; ;;;. ; ■-*•.
s Little Johnny— A year from last week —
IDYLIS OF THE FIELD
BY A NATURALIST AT LARGE.
Unless one gets up at an hour in the
morning when most of us have not yet
opened our eyes, one will see very little of
the wild life of the fields before evening.
In the early hours of dawn, before the
domestic world is astir, the birds are flying
about with thoughts intent upon break
fast. Likewise minded, the early worm is
afoot, and the old saw is illustrated in
every field and fence corner.
But during the heat of the day the birds
seek the shelter of the trees. The gophers
usually keep under ground, the ground
squirrels do not venture far afield, and
only the snakes slip softly about, or sun
themselves in the open. Along about 5
o'clock in the afternoon, however, the lit
tle folk begin to wake up. For three hours
this evening I sat watching my small
friends disporting themselves in the June
Perched upon a pile of brush not a dozen
yards away I noted a quail. He was watch
ing me, every now and again giving his
low, sweet," schoolboy whistle. He and
Madame Quail are well Known to me.
They have an interesting family under
that same brush heap. Did you ever see a
baby quail? If you ever get the chance
you must look sharp, and be quick, or they
will disappear before your very eyes, so
lightning-like are the movements of these
•wee brown nestlings. My quail sat and
called for some time, his note growing
more and more impatient, before it finally
dawned upon me that I was sitting exactly
in the spot where he and his family and
associates are in the habit of dining off
the grain that is regularly scattered here
for them. Taking the hint, I arose and
moved a few feet further down the little
stream. Now, when I left, there was only
this single quail in sight, but I had not got
settled in mv new position before with a
call and a whir of wings four had alighted
on the spot just vacated by nao. A little
later two more came. Had this fellow been
posted as sentinel to watch. my movements
and notify the others when I should be
gone? It looked like it.
Thoreau says that if you will but sit still
in one spot, sooner or later all the life in
the woods will come to you. I sat very
still for some time after changing my
quarters, but no sight or sound of life
came to me. At last I had resort to a
device. I put tin; back of my band to my
lips and kissed it several times resound
ingly. This, particularly in nesting time,
never fails to bring the birds if there are
any about. It is a trick known to most
naturalists. I have often wondered how
the first one discovered it.
The first creature to investigate the
sound was a humming-bird^. These daring
little fellows are usually the pioneers on
such an occasion. Whether they are more
curious than other birds, or whether their
courage is greater, I know not, but it has
been my experience that whenever I take
up a station in tree or brush and watch
the birds the first one to return after the
general dispersal caused by my advent is
nearly certain to be a humming-bird. This
one was a ruby-throat.
I kept up my cheerful imitation of a
birdling in distress, while the beautiful
pearl-like bird peered about, darting in
and out among the branches in search of
the chtrper. He flew away, only to return
with his mate, scarcely less brilliant than
I himself, and the two actually flew about
my head and for one instant gazed full
into my face, aa if to inquire whether I had
swallowed that young bird whose cries
were so persistent and distressful. Then
they went and perched upon a branch side
by side, with their backs toward me, and I
had rather a shamefaced feeling that they
had fathomed my duplicity and were mak
ing remarks expressive of their poor opin
ion of roe. By this time quite a throng of
birds had gathered in the tree above me.
There were fully a score of goldfinches and
a number of sparrows and flycatchers. A
motherly little bluerineh hen was in the
greatest apparent distress over the sounds,
and investigated an empty nest in an ad
joining brier, as though suspecting a
Finally, in very shame, I ceased my call
ing, and presently they all resumed the
absorbing pursuit of insects which my
cries had interrupted.
I never sit and watch wild creatures in
this fashion without feeling as though I
were at a play. There is something quite
theatrical about the varying scenes that
pass before one If one will but sit quiet.
The next actor in my little drama of the
June twilight wasa butcher-bird. He only
passed by, however, doing a sort of "walk-
Ing gentleman" act in the air. His act,
however, was full of significance. He was
flying high above the tree tops, when sud
denly he made a swift dart earthward and
a ground-squirrel sitting beside bis hole
whisked in, with a twinkle in his feet, just
in time to escape a blow from that power
John Burroughs somewhere relates wit
nessing a similar action on the part of a
butcher-bird and attributes it to "a cer
tain sense of humor" in the creature.
Rather grim humor the ground-squirrel
would have found it, I fancy, had he re
mained to see the sequel of the bird's lit
tle joke. The butcher-bird did not aim
merely to scare the squirrel. He io no
such humorist as that. John Muir told
me recently that he once saw a bird of this
species follow a ground-squirrel into its
hole and presently issue therefrom driving
four young squirrels before it, all of which
it proceeded to kill, and then dragged
them one by one into the brush.
Two or three goldfinches next came
down to the pool beside me, and, in full
sight of me, proceeded to bathe. How they
did splash and plunge, twittering as if in
glee and making feints at each other in
the water, for all the world like a parcel of
naughty boys. Three young bluennches,
standing in a row on the bank, iooked on
in scandalized amaze at the performance.
By and by the ground-squirrel ventured
out again. The ground-squirrel, by the
way, is not a squirrel at all, but a spermo
phile, and is related to the prairie-dogs and
the marmots rather than to the squirrels.
I do not think, however, that they have
any serious objection to being called squir
rels, and the name is so firmly attached to
them that it would be folly to attempt to
banish it from popular use. This fellow
had evidently recovered from his panic
over the butcher-bird, and darted about
from hillock to hillock, now and again
standing erect, which, despite the pictures,
a true squirrel seldom does, to survey the
landscape and listen for danger. He was
feasting on the burr clover, gathering up
handfuls of the little burrc, which he ate
daintily from his fore paws, standing on
his hind legs the while.
Presently he came to a thistle-head lying
on the ground. He picked up a handful
CALLING THE BIKDS.
of the blossoms— handful is most appropri
ate in this instance and tasted them. Ap
parently he liked the flower. He ate all
that lay on the ground. Then he stood
up and considered. At last he dropped on
all fours, and, running to a tall thistle
stalk, surveyed it earnestly. It was fully
four feet high, thicker than a man's thumb
and bore several blossoms at the very top
Reaching upward as far as he could, the
ground-squirrel clasped the stem with his
fore paws and pulled. After four attempts,
he succeeded in bending the stalk a little.
Then he took a fresh hold, further up,
and pulled again until he could reach one
of the blossoms, when he bit it neatly off,
and. allowing the : thistle-stalk to fly back
to an upright position, be settled. himself
to a leisurely discussion:" of his well-earned
delicacy. Sitting watching him through a
powerful field-glass, I saw him pick three
thistle blossoms in this fashion and eat
them, one after the other. After that he
was thirsty, and went down to the pool to
drink, afterward washing his face and fore
paws. He not only washed his paws, but
took water in : his mouth and let it Tun
over his toes, which he afterward fussed
over a long time with his teeth, in a man-,
ncr that suggested that he might be mani
curing his nails. v.;V
His elaborate toilet completed he strolled
up the bank and came upon a little pile of
grain in a hollow. It was intended for the
quail,, but he evidently considered that
what was good for quail was equally good
for ground-squirrel, and he fell to" filling
his cheek pouches.
The three.young.bluefinch.es were still
stalking amazedly about. The world was
so new to them, and apparently the ground
squirrel was the most astonishing thing
they had yet encountered. They circled
around him, wonderingly. Once, when
they- came too near, he "made a snap at
them, and they edged off, but they were
too young to be really frightened and curi
osity soon brought them back. They came
up behind him and one of them discovered
his bushy tail lying straight along the
ground. The birdling surveyed ,it curi
ously for an instant, and then ventured an
inquiring \ peck at it. The effect was most
The squirrel gave a great bound and
nearly turned a somersault in his fright
Then he suddenly became convinced that
he was wanted at home and started on a
run through -^ the grass and weeds. The
equally frightened birdlings gave a chorus
of r shrill ; peeps and down : from a great
! willow tree swooped what was evidently
Papa Bluehnch, ; who with sundry pecks
and wing-flappings hustled those young
sters up into a scrub-oak bush. One of
them rebelled and flew down again, but
™ s ' d T; ven back U was plain to be seen
that these young folk were ? being sent to
bed, and, I doubt not, in disgrace into the
bargain. They did not stir from the scrub
oak again while I remained
The shadows were growing long. Only
the highest, twinkling tops of the eucalyp
tus trees caught the ; last rays of the sun
I sinking , like a great crimson ball out%on
h?ll ?hl he G ? lsei \Gate. Over the eastern
hill ; the evening star was already." visible
and down in the pool the .'.'Dutch niehtin!
gales'' had sounded the- first notes of the"r
croaking evening chorus, when on* branch
of the tree just above me a vesper-snarrnw
Perched, and, all unmindful o* mTSeJ
ence, began his evening > son- -It w as
taken up by another in a neighboring t7ce
top, and 4 a belated goldfinch, hu?rvin
homeward, stopped or an instant to ?s g
£* J nt E nipt £ ng With a few sweet, teas ng
notes, after the manner of his, kind The
awYv° W Frn ccd t e d ** and "he Jew'
awaj. f rom the - scrub oak the - voune
bluefinches murmured sleepily A brown
md h h e e tUed P h ie(l , a , S V m . fe ; »So the li?e oak
ana settled himself i for the ] niaht ■? A way
up m the sky, now deepening n its blue 1
into the ocean at last, and an instant later
the after-glow bathed the gate, the islands,
the distant city and the near by hills in aA
glory of rose and crimson and gold. The^
air was growing chill as I went indoors.
The last bird was silenced, and only the
shrill song of the frogs intensified the
peaceful stillness of the June twilight.
THE NEW WOMAN WILL NOT OBEY.
She Say* So to Mayor Strong, who
Marries Her to A Resigned .Man.
Mayor Strong married a woman who
refused to promise that she would obey her
husband, says the New York Times. .
Policeman Kennell, • who guards the
door of the Mayor's office, was just closing
up when a strong-minded-looking young
woman and a resigned-looking man asked
to see the Mayor. "We want to see him
about getting— that is you know, we would
like to be— if it is not too late, you know,
we would — " •
"Charles," said the young wonaaiVcan't
you say what we are after?" Casting a
withering look at him, she turned to the
policeman and said : • _ • . . .
"I want to get married." ...» ■
"We, my dear," said the groom, pluck
ing up courage. " -•'
A.mo ment later they stood before
Mayor Strong. The young woman asked
for the book • containing the marriage
ceremony, and scanned it over until she
came to the passage, "Love, honor and
The groom tugged at her dress and said
"Never . mind, Pauline, now. . You
needn't do it anyhow when we are mar
ried." . ■
The bride ignored him, and said: "Mr.
Mayor, I wish you would leave the word
•obey' out when you marry us." •
"Well, well," said his Honor. ' "Is this
the new woman?'.' . _ .
"No, I'm not the new woman, but ; I be-
lieye in equality. That word 'obey' is a
relic of barbarism. It comes from the
times when women were in bondage," and
the bride gave her head a pert little toss
and shot a glance at the groom.
There was a twinkle to the Mayor's eye
as he read the ceremony and when he came
to "love, honor and obey" he left the last
word out. "I'll have to tell my wife about
this. I think the young woman is right
though," mused the Mayor as the happy
pair gave their names "as Charles F. Ses
singer and Pauline E. Becker of Phila
delphia. The bride was a brunette and
about 25 years old and the groom was
about 40. The pair left the same night for
• — • — •
Auntie— Douglas, don't you think you
are a pretty big boy to need a nurse ?
Douglas— She isn't here to take care of
me. She is to take care of the little boys I
play with, so that I can't hurt them.—Ex
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