Text of Plan #953
  WEEK 48  

  Monday  


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz  by L. Frank Baum

The Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish

BEFORE they went to see Glinda, however, they were taken to a room of the Castle, where Dorothy washed her face and combed her hair, and the Lion shook the dust out of his mane, and the Scarecrow patted himself into his best shape, and the Woodman polished his tin and oiled his joints.

When they were all quite presentable they followed the soldier girl into a big room where the Witch Glinda sat upon a throne of rubies.

She was both beautiful and young to their eyes. Her hair was a rich red in color and fell in flowing ringlets over her shoulders. Her dress was pure white; but her eyes were blue, and they looked kindly upon the little girl.

"What can I do for you, my child?" she asked.

Dorothy told the Witch all her story; how the cyclone had brought her to the Land of Oz, how she had found her companions, and of the wonderful adventures they had met with.

"My greatest wish now," she added, "is to get back to Kansas, for Aunt Em will surely think something dreadful has happened to me, and that will make her put on mourning; and unless the crops are better this year than they were last I am sure Uncle Henry cannot afford it."

Glinda leaned forward and kissed the sweet, upturned face of the loving little girl.

"Bless your dear heart," she said, "I am sure I can tell you of a way to get back to Kansas." Then she added:

"But, if I do, you must give me the Golden Cap."

"Willingly!" exclaimed Dorothy; "indeed, it is of no use to me now, and when you have it you can command the Winged Monkeys three times."

"And I think I shall need their service just those three times," answered Glinda, smiling.

Dorothy then gave her the Golden Cap, and the Witch said to the Scarecrow,

"What will you do when Dorothy has left us?"

"I will return to the Emerald City," he replied, "for Oz has made me its ruler and the people like me. The only thing that worries me is how to cross the hill of the Hammer-Heads."

"By means of the Golden Cap I shall command the Winged Monkeys to carry you to the gates of the Emerald City," said Glinda, "for it would be a shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler."

"Am I really wonderful?" asked the Scarecrow.

"You are unusual," replied Glinda.

Turning to the Tin Woodman, she asked:

"What will become of you when Dorothy leaves this country?"

He leaned on his axe and thought a moment. Then he said,

"The Winkies were very kind to me, and wanted me to rule over them after the Wicked Witch died. I am fond of the Winkies, and if I could get back again to the country of the West I should like nothing better than to rule over them forever."

"My second command to the Winged Monkeys," said Glinda, "will be that they carry you safely to the land of the Winkies. Your brains may not be so large to look at as those of the Scarecrow, but you are really brighter than he is—when you are well polished—and I am sure you will rule the Winkies wisely and well."

Then the Witch looked at the big, shaggy Lion and asked,

"When Dorothy has returned to her own home, what will become of you?"

"Over the hill of the Hammer-Heads," he answered, "lies a grand old forest, and all the beasts that live there have made me their King. If I could only get back to this forest I would pass my life very happily there."

"My third command to the Winged Monkeys," said Glinda, "shall be to carry you to your forest. Then, having used up the powers of the Golden Cap, I shall give it to the King of the Monkeys, that he and his band may thereafter be free for evermore."

The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion now thanked the Good Witch earnestly for her kindness, and Dorothy exclaimed,

"You are certainly as good as you are beautiful! But you have not yet told me how to get back to Kansas."

"Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert," replied Glinda. "If you had known their power you could have gone back to your Aunt Em the very first day you came to this country."

"But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!" cried the Scarecrow. "I might have passed my whole life in the farmer's cornfield."

"And I should not have had my lovely heart," said the Tin Woodman. "I might have stood and rusted in the forest till the end of the world."

"And I should have lived a coward forever," declared the Lion, "and no beast in all the forest would have had a good word to say to me."

"This is all true," said Dorothy, "and I am glad I was of use to these good friends. But now that each of them has had what he most desired, and each is happy in having a kingdom to rule beside, I think I should like to go back to Kansas."

"The Silver Shoes," said the Good Witch, "have wonderful powers. And one of the most curious things about them is that they can carry you to any place in the world in three steps, and each step will be made in the wink of an eye. All you have to do is to knock the heels together three times and command the shoes to carry you wherever you wish to go."

"If that is so," said the child, joyfully, "I will ask them to carry me back to Kansas at once."

She threw her arms around the Lion's neck and kissed him, patting his big head tenderly. Then she kissed the Tin Woodman, who was weeping in a way most dangerous to his joints. But she hugged the soft, stuffed body of the Scarecrow in her arms instead of kissing his painted face, and found she was crying herself at this sorrowful parting from her loving comrades.

Glinda the Good stepped down from her ruby throne to give the little girl a good-bye kiss, and Dorothy thanked her for all the kindness she had shown to her friends and herself.

Dorothy now took Toto up solemnly in her arms, and having said one last good-bye she clapped the heels of her shoes together three times, saying,

"Take me home to Aunt Em!"

* * * * *

Instantly she was whirling through the air, so swiftly that all she could see or feel was the wind whistling past her ears.

The Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped so suddenly that she rolled over upon the grass several times before she knew where she was.

At length, however, she sat up and looked about her.

"Good gracious!" she cried.

For she was sitting on the broad Kansas prairie, and just before her was the new farm-house Uncle Henry built after the cyclone had carried away the old one. Uncle Henry was milking the cows in the barnyard, and Toto had jumped out of her arms and was running toward the barn, barking joyously.

Dorothy stood up and found she was in her stocking-feet. For the Silver Shoes had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were lost forever in the desert.

 



The Wonderful Wizard of Oz  by L. Frank Baum

Home Again

AUNT Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she looked up and saw Dorothy running toward her.

"My darling child!" she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and covering her face with kisses; "where in the world did you come from?"

"From the Land of Oz," said Dorothy, gravely. "And here is Toto, too. And oh, Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be at home again!"

 



Anonymous

The North Wind Doth Blow

The north wind doth blow

And we shall have snow,

And what will poor robin do then?

Poor thing!


He'll sit in a barn,

And to keep himself warm,

Will hide his head under his wing.

Poor thing!

 


  WEEK 48  

  Tuesday  


Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans  by Edward Eggleston

The Author of "Little Women"

L OUISA ALCOTT was a wild little girl. When she was very little, she would run away from home. She liked to play with beggar children.

One day she wandered so far away from her home, she could not find the way back again. It was growing dark. The little girl's feet were tired. She sat down on a doorstep. A big dog was lying on the step. He wagged his tail. That was his way of saying, "I am glad to see you."

Little Louisa grew sleepy. She laid her head on the curly head of the big dog. Then she fell asleep.

Louisa's father and mother could not find her. They sent out the town crier to look for her.

The town crier went along the street. As he went, he rang his bell. Every now and then he would tell that a little girl was lost.

At last the man with the bell came to the place where Louisa was asleep. He rang his bell. That waked her up. She heard him call out in a loud voice,—

"Lost, lost! a little girl six years old. She wore a pink frock, a white hat, and new green shoes."

When the crier had said that, he heard a small voice coming out of the darkness. It said, "Why, dat's me." The crier went to the voice, and found Louisa sitting by the big dog on the doorstep. The next day she was tied to the sofa to punish her for running away.

She and her sisters learned to sew well. Louisa set up as a doll's dressmaker. She was then twelve years old. She hung out a little sign. She put some pretty dresses in the window to show how well she could do.

Other girls liked the little dresses that she made. They came to her to get dresses made for their dolls. They liked the little doll's hats she made better than all. Louisa chased the chickens to get soft feathers for these hats.

She turned the old fairy tales into little plays. The children played these plays in the barn.

One of these plays was Jack and the Beanstalk. A squash vine was put up in the barn. This was the beanstalk. When it was cut down, the boy who played giant would come tumbling out of the hayloft.

Louisa found it hard to be good and obedient. She wrote some verses about being good. She was fourteen years old when she wrote them. Here they are:—

My Kingdom

A little kingdom I possess

Where thoughts and feelings dwell,

And very hard I find the task

Of governing it well.


For passion tempts and troubles me,

A wayward will misleads,

And selfishness its shadow casts

On all my words and deeds.


I do not ask for any crown

But that which all may win,

Nor seek to conquer any world

Except the one within.

The Alcott family were very poor. Louisa made up her mind to do something to make money when she got big. She did not like being so very poor.


[Illustration]

One day she was sitting on a cart-wheel thinking. She was thinking how poor her father was. There was a crow up in the air over her head. The crow was cawing. There was nobody to tell her thoughts to but the crow. She shook her fist at the big bird, and said,—

"I will do something by and by. Don't care what. I'll teach, sew, act, write, do anything to help the family. And I'll be rich and famous before I die. See if I don't."


[Illustration]

The crow did not make any answer. But Louisa kept thinking about the work she was going to do. The other children got work to do that made money. But Louisa was left at home to do housework. She had to do the washing. She made a little song about it. Here are some of the verses of this song:—

A Song from the Suds

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,

While the white foam rises high,

And sturdily wash and rinse and wring,

And fasten the clothes to dry;

Then out in the free fresh air they swing,

Under the sunny sky.


I am glad a task to me is given,

To labor at day by day;

For it brings me health and strength and hope,

And I cheerfully learn to say,

"Head you may think, Heart you may feel,

But Hand you shall work alway."


[Illustration]

Louisa grew to be a woman at last. She went to nurse soldiers in the war. She wrote books. When she wrote the book called "Little Women," all the young people were delighted. What she had said to the crow came true at last. She became famous. She had money enough to make the family comfortable.

 



A. A. Milne

At the Zoo

There are lions and roaring tigers, and enormous camels and things,

There are biffalo-buffalo-bisons, and a great big bear with wings,

There's a sort of a tiny potamus, and a tiny nosserus too—

But I  gave buns to the elephant when I  went down to the Zoo!


There are badgers and bidgers and bodgers, and a Superintendent's House,

There are masses of goats, and a Polar, and different kinds of mouse,

And I think there's a sort of a something which is called a wallaboo—

But I  gave buns to the elephant when I  went down to the Zoo!


If you try to talk to the bison, he never quite understands;

You can't shake hands with a mingo—he doesn't like shaking hands.

And lions and roaring tigers hate  saying, "How do you do?"—

But I  give buns to the elephant when I  go down to the Zoo!

 


  WEEK 48  

  Wednesday  


Among the Farmyard People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Oxen Talk with the Calves

[Illustration]

I T was a clear, cold winter morning, and the Cattle stood in the barnyard where the great yellow straw-stacks were. They had nibbled away at the lower part of these stacks until there was a sheltered place underneath. The Calves liked to stand on the sunshiny side with an overhanging ledge of straw above their heads. The wind did not strike them here, and they could reach up and pull out wisps to eat when they had nothing else to do. Not that they were so fond of eating straw, but it was fun to pull it out. There was, however, usually something else to be done, for there was always their cud to chew.

Among all the farmyard people, there were none more particular about their food. They might eat in a hurry when time was short, or when the grass was fresh and green, but after they had swallowed it and filled the first of their four stomachs with partly chewed food, they would find some quiet and comfortable place where they could stand or lie easily and finish their eating. To do this, they had to bring the partly chewed food from the first stomach to the mouth again. They called this "unswallowing it," although they should have said "regurgitating."

After the food was back in their mouths again, it was spoken of as their cud, and the stout muscles in the sides of their faces pulled their lower jaws up and down and sideways, and the food was caught over and over again between the blunt grinding teeth in the back part of their mouths, and was crushed, squeezed, and turned until it was fine, soft, and ready to swallow into the second stomach.

Then the Cattle do not have to think of it again, but while they are doing something quite different, and perhaps forgetting all about it, there are many nerves and muscles and fine red blood-drops as busy as can be, passing it into the third and fourth stomachs, and changing the strength of the food into the strength of the Cattle. The Cows and the Oxen do not know this. They never heard of muscles and nerves, and perhaps you never did before, yet these are wonderful little helpers and good friends if one is kind to them. All that Cattle know about eating is that they must have clean food, that they must eat because they are hungry and not just because it tastes good, and that they must chew it very carefully. And if they do these things as they should, they are quite sure to be well and comfortable.

The Oxen were standing by the barn door, and the Calves were talking about them. They liked their uncles, the Oxen, very much, but like many other Calves the world over, they thought them rather slow and old-fashioned. Now the Colts had been saying the same thing, and so these half-dozen shaggy youngsters, who hadn't a sign of a horn, were telling what they would do if they were Oxen. Sometimes they spoke more loudly than they meant to, and the Oxen heard them, but they did not know this.

"If I were an Ox," said one, "I wouldn't stand still and let the farmer put that heavy yoke on my neck. I'd edge away and kick."

"Tell you what I'd do," said another. "I'd stand right still when he tried to make me go, and I wouldn't stir until I got ready."

"I wouldn't do that," said a third. "I'd run away and upset the stone in a ditch. I don't think it's fair to always make them pull the heavy loads while the Horses have all the fun of taking the farmer to town and drawing the binder and all the other wonderful machines."

"Isn't it too bad that you are not Oxen?" said a deep voice behind them. The Calves jumped, and there was the Off Ox close to them. He was so near that you could not have set a Chicken coop between him and them, and he had heard every word. The Calves did not know where to look or what to say, for they had not been speaking very politely. The one who had just spoken wanted to act easy and as though he did not care, so he raised one hind hoof to scratch his ear, and gave his brushy tail a toss over one flank. "Oh, I don't know," said he.

"I used to talk in just that way when I was a Calf," said the Off Ox, with a twinkle in his large brown eyes. "All Calves think they'll do wonders when they're grown."

"I know I thought so," said the Nigh Ox, who had followed his brother.

"Well, if you wanted to," asked the Red Calf, "why don't you do those things now?" The others wondered how he dared to ask such a question.

"It doesn't pay," said the Nigh Ox. "Do all your frisking in playtime. I like fun as well as anybody, yet when our yoke is taken from its peg, I say business is business and the closer we stick to it the better. I knew a sitting Hen once who wanted to see everything that happened. She was always running out to see somebody or other, and sometimes she stayed longer than she meant to. I told her she'd better stick to her nest, and she said she didn't believe in working all the time."

"How soon did her Chickens hatch?" asked the Calves all together.

"Never did hatch, of course," chuckled the Nigh Ox. "She fooled herself into thinking she was working, and she made a great fuss about her legs aching and her giving up society, but she couldn't fool that nestful of eggs. They had gotten cold and they knew it, and not one of them would hatch."

"Wasn't she ashamed then?" asked the Calves.

"Didn't act so," snorted the Nigh Ox. "Went around talking about her great disappointment, and said she couldn't see why the other Hens had so much better luck."

The Off Ox chuckled. "He told her that he guessed it might have been something besides bad luck, and that the next time she'd better stay on her nest more. Then she asked him how many broods of Chickens he had hatched. Ho-ho-ho!"

Everybody laughed, and the Calves wondered how the Nigh Ox could think of it without being angry. "It wouldn't pay to be angry," he said. "What's the use of wasting a fine great Ox temper on a poor little Hen rudeness?"

This made them think. They remembered how cross and hot and uncomfortable they often became over very small things that bothered them, and they began to think that perhaps even Calf tempers were worth caring for.

At last the Black Calf, the prettiest one in the yard, said, "Do you like drawing that flat wagon which hasn't any wheels, and scrapes along in the dust?"

"The stone-boat?" asked the Off Ox, "We don't mind it. Never mind doing our kind of work. Wouldn't like to pull the binder with its shining knives and whirling arms, for whoever does that has to walk fast and make sudden turns and stops. Wouldn't like being hitched to the carriage to carry the farmer's family to town. Wouldn't like to take care of the Sheep, like Collie, or to grow feathers like the Geese—but we can draw stone-boats and all sorts of heavy loads, if we do say it."

The Red Calf, who was always running and kicking up his heels, said, "Oh, it's such slow work! I should think you'd feel that you would never reach the end of your journey."

"We don't think about that," answered the Nigh Ox. "It doesn't pay. We used to, though. I remember the time when I wished myself a Swallow, flying a mile a minute instead of step-step-stepping my way through life. My mother was a sensible Cow, and wore the bell in our herd. She cured me of that foolishness. She told me that Swallows had to fly one wing-beat at a time, and that dinners had to be eaten one mouthful at a time, and that nothing really worth while could be done in a minute. She said that if we were forever thinking how much work we had to do and how tiresome it was, we'd never enjoy life, and we wouldn't live long either. Lazy Oxen never do. That's another thing which doesn't pay."

The Red Calf and the White Calf spoke together: "We will always be sensible. We will never lose our tempers. We will never be afraid to work. We will be fine and long-lived cattle."

"Might you not better say you will try  to be sensible?" asked the Nigh Ox. "You know it is not always easy to do those things, and one has to begin over and over again."

"Oh, no," they answered. "We know what we can do."

"You might be mistaken," said the Oxen gently.

"I am never mistaken," said the Red Calf.

"Neither am I," said the White Calf.

"Well, good-morning," called the Oxen, as they moved off. "We are going to talk with our sisters, the Cows."

After they had gone, the pretty Black Calf spoke in her pleasant way: "It seems to me I shall be an old Cow before I can learn to be good and sensible like them, but I am going to try."

"Pooh!" said the Red Calf. "It is easy enough to be sensible if you want to be—as easy as eating."

"Yes," said the White Calf. "I shall never lose my temper again, now that I am sure it is foolish to do so."

"Dear me!" said the pretty Black Calf. "How strong and good you must be. I can only keep on trying."

"Pooh!" said the Red Calf again. Then he lowered his voice and spoke to her. "Move along," said he, "and let me stand beside you in the cubby while I chew my cud."

"Don't you do it," cried the White Calf. "I want that place myself."

"I guess not!" exclaimed the Red Calf. "I'll bunt you first."

"Bunt away, then," said the White Calf, "but I'll have that place."

"Oh, please don't fight!" exclaimed the Black Calf. "I'll let one of you have my corner."

"Don't you move," cried each of them. "I want to stand by you." Then they lowered their heads and looked into each other's eyes. Next, they put their hard foreheads together, and pushed and pushed and pushed. Sometimes the Red Calf made the White Calf go backward, and sometimes it was the other way. Once in a while they stood still and rested. Then they began pushing again.


[Illustration]

The Red Calf and the White Calf

While they were quarrelling in this way, getting warmer and more angry all the time, and losing those very tempers which they had said they would always keep, a young Jersey had stepped into the cubby beside the Black Calf, and they were having a pleasant visit. "What are those fellows fighting about?" he asked.

The Black Calf smiled a funny little smile. "They are fighting," said she, "to see which one shall stand in the cubby with me and chew his cud."

The Jersey Calf was a shrewd young fellow of very good family. "Perhaps," said he, "I ought to stay and guard the place until it is decided who shall have it."

"I wish you would," said she.

And that was how it happened that the two Calves who lost their tempers had a cross, tiresome, and uncomfortable day, while another had the very corner which they wanted. When night came, they grumbled because the Jersey Calf had come out ahead of them, and they thought it very strange. But it was not strange, for the people who are quiet and good-natured always come out ahead in the end. And the people who are so very sure that it is easy to be good when they really want to, are just the very ones who sometimes do not want to when they should.

The Black Calf was right. The only way to be sensible and happy is to try and try and try, and it does pay.


[Illustration]

 



Joy Allison

I Love You, Mother

"I love you, mother," said little John.

Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on,

And he was off to the garden swing,

And left her the water and wood to bring.


"I love you, mother," said rosy Nell—

"I love you more than tongue can tell."

But she teased and pouted full half the day

Till her mother was glad when she went to play.


"I love you, mother," said little Fan;

"To-day I'll help you all I can;

How glad I am that school doesn't keep."

So she rocked the baby till it fell asleep.


Then slipping softly she took the broom

And swept the floor and dusted the room.

Busy and happy all the day was she,

Helpful and cheerful as a child should be.


"I love you, mother," again they said,

Three little children going to bed.

How do you think that mother guessed

Which of them really loved her best?

 


  WEEK 48  

  Thursday  


Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—Up the Stairs  by Lisa M. Ripperton

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Vinegar Bottle

O NCE there was an old woman who lived in a vinegar bottle.

One day she went to market to buy a loaf of bread, a pat of butter, and a little fish for her supper. When she was returning home she had to cross a bridge over a stream. Just before she came to the stream the little fish poked his head out of the paper and said, "Oh, please, little old woman, don't cook me for your supper. I don't want to be fried in a pan."

"But I must," said the little old woman, "I have nothing else for my supper."

"Please, please, throw me into the water," said the little fish, "and maybe some day I can do something for you." And he pleaded so hard that the old woman threw him into the water. He looked up and said, "Thank you, old woman," and then he disappeared.

So the old woman went home, and that night she had only bread and butter and tea for her supper.

The next morning when she was sweeping her house she found a bright new silver quarter. "There," said she, "the little fish has sent me this." And when she had finished her work she went again to market.

This time she bought a piece of meat for her supper. When she was coming home what should she see in the water but the little fish. So she stopped and called out, "Thank you, little fish, for the silver quarter you sent me, but oh, little fish, I wish I had a little house to live in. It is very difficult keeping house in a vinegar bottle. One has so little room."

"Go home," said the little fish, "and perhaps you will have your wish." So the old woman went home, but when she got there the vinegar bottle was gone and in its place stood a neat little house.

The old woman went in and was very happy for a few days with her housekeeping. But soon she began to wish for a larger house. This one was altogether too small.

So the old woman went down to the bridge and called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!"

"Oh, is it you, old woman?" said the little fish. "What is it you want now?"

"The little house was very nice, little fish," said the old woman, "but it is quite too small for me. I want a large house, so that I may have company, and I want a little girl to help me take care of it."

"Well, well," said the little fish, "we will see," and down he went under the water.

The old woman hurried home, but when she came in sight of the place the little house was gone and there stood a fine large one and a dear little girl was sweeping off the steps.

The old woman was greatly pleased, and she and the little girl were very happy for a time. They gave parties and they went to market and to church together.

But one day the old woman thought how very nice it would be if they had a little pony and cart so that they might drive.

She hurried down to the bridge and leaning over she called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!"

"What, another wish?" said the little fish, looking up out of the water. "What do you wish for this time?"

"I want a little pony and a cart so that my little girl and I can drive. It is very tiresome having to walk everywhere one goes," said the little old woman.

"Well," said the little fish, "go home, and maybe you will have your wish."

Away went the old woman, and when she got home what should she see but a little pony and cart tied in front of her house.

The old woman was delighted, and she and the little girl had a beautiful time driving to church and to market and to the park when their work was finished.

But one day the old woman thought how fine it would be if they had a big strong horse and a carriage with two seats so that they might take their friends driving. So she said to herself, "I'll go and tell the little fish."

Down to the bridge she ran and called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!"

"Another wish, old woman?" said the little fish from the water. "What is it you want now?"

"I want a larger horse and a carriage with two seats, so that we may take our friends with us when we go driving. That little pony can go neither very fast nor very far."

"You want too many things, old woman," said the little fish. "I can do no more for you," and he swam away under the water and the old woman never saw him again.

When she reached home the fine house, the little girl, and the pony and cart were gone, and there stood the old vinegar bottle.

 



Robert Louis Stevenson

Requiem

Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live, and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.


This be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he longed to be,

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.

 


  WEEK 48  

  Friday  


On the Shores of the Great Sea  by M. B. Synge

The Triumph of Rome

" 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more."

—Byron.

R OME had conquered Carthage. Where the busy Phœnicians had lived and thriven for five hundred years, Romans now pastured the herds of their distant masters. Roman merchants flocked across the seas to this new Roman province, called now—for the first time in history—Africa.

Flushed with her victories here, she turned her eyes towards Greece—toward the country, which Alexander the Great had made so strong, but which was now crumbling into decay, under one Perseus.

The Romans now chose one of their consuls, the brother-in-law of the dead Scipio, to march against Macedonia. That kingdom once subdued, they knew that Greece would soon fall under their sway.

There is a quaint old story about this brother-in-law of the great Scipio. His name was Paulus, the Roman word for Paul. He had just been chosen general of the Roman troops, and was coming home when he met his little daughter weeping bitterly.

"What is the matter?" he asked, drawing the child to him.

Throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him, she cried, "O father, do you not know that Perseus is dead?"

Paulus must have wished the news was true, with regard to the enemy, against whom, he was so soon to march; but the little girl was crying over the death of a favourite dog, named Perseus, and her father could only kiss her, saying, "Good fortune, my little daughter, I accept the omen."

So Paulus went off to the wars, and it was not long before the news reached Rome, that he had conquered the Macedonians, and was bringing back Perseus as a prisoner. He sailed up the river Tiber in the king's galley, with its sixteen banks of oars. It was richly adorned with arms captured from the Greeks, with cloths of purple and scarlet. As the vessel was rowed slowly against the stream, the Romans crowded on the shore to meet him. And the Romans decreed a triumph for the conqueror—a triumph, which lasted three days, the like of which had never been seen before. The people erected scaffolds in the Forum and dressed themselves in white.

On the first day two hundred and fifty chariots passed through the streets, with the beautiful statues, pictures, and colossal images, which had been brought from Greece, the home of art and beauty.

On the second day, waggons carried the magnificent armour of the Macedonians, all polished and glittering. There were shields and coats of mail, targets, quivers of arrows, and naked swords all piled up in confusion. After the waggons came three thousand men carrying seven hundred and fifty vessels of silver, while others followed with silver bowls and cups—all of which impressed the Romans very much.

But for the third day, was reserved the greatest triumph of all. Quite early in the morning, the trumpeters sounded, and a number of young Romans appeared, wearing frocks with ornamented borders and leading one hundred and twenty oxen with their horns gilded and adorned with ribbons and garlands, to be sacrificed. Then came all the gold plate, that had been used at the table of the king of rich Macedonia, followed by the chariot of Perseus himself, in which lay his armour and his crown.

A sight followed that drew tears from the eyes of the Roman crowd. The king's three little children were led captives, surrounded by a train of attendants, masters, and teachers, all stretching out their hands to the spectators and entreating pity. Perseus himself followed, clad all in black and "wearing the boots of his country"; he looked like one stunned, through the greatness of his misfortunes. A number of his friends, sobbing with grief, followed.

Then came Paulus himself, seated on a magnificent chariot. He was an old man and worthy to be looked at, in his purple robe interwoven with gold, holding a laurel branch in his right hand. The whole Roman army followed with boughs of laurel in their hands, singing verses and songs of triumph in praise of the deeds of Paulus. And this ended the great procession.

So Greece became subject to the ever-growing power of Rome, and she has never returned to the pinnacle of glory that once made her the chief nation in the Old World.

 



Jane Taylor

I Love Little Pussy

I love little Pussy,

Her coat is so warm;

And if I don't hurt her,

She'll do me no harm.


So I'll not pull her tail,

Nor drive her away,

But Pussy and I

Very gently will play.


She shall sit by my side,

And I'll give her some food;

And she'll love me, because

I am gentle and good.


I never will vex her,

Nor make her displeased,

For Puss doesn't like

To be worried or teased.

 


  WEEK 48  

  Saturday  

----- Children of the World -----

 
  WEEK 48  

  Sunday  
 


Christina Georgina Rossetti

Peacock's Eyes

The peacock has a score of eyes,

With which he cannot see;

The cod-fish has a silent sound,

However that may be;


No dandelions tell the time,

Although they turn to clocks;

Cat's-cradle does not hold the cat,

Nor foxglove fit the fox.