McGuffey's Second Eclectic Reader

LESSON XLIX.

PRETTY IS THAT PRETTY DOES.

The spider wears a plain brown dress,
And she is a steady spinner;
To see her, quiet as a mouse,
Going about her silver house,
You would never, never, never guess
The way she gets her dinner.
She looks as if no thought of ill
In all her life had stirred her;
But while she moves with careful tread,
And while she spins her silken thread,
She is planning, planning, planning still
The way to do some murder.
My child, who reads this simple lay,
With eyes down-dropt and tender,
Remember the old proverb says
That pretty is which pretty does,
And that worth does not go nor stay
For poverty nor splendor.
'Tis not the house, and not the dress,
That makes the saint or sinner.
To see the spider sit and spin,
Shut with her walls of silver in,
You would never, never, never guess
The way she gets her dinner.

Alice Cary.

LESSON L.

THE STORY-TELLER

Peter Pindar was a great storyteller. One day, as he was going by the school, the children gathered around him.
They said, "Please tell us a story we have never heard." Ned said, "'Tell us something about boys and dogs."
"Well," said Peter, "I love to please good children, and, as you all appear civil, I will tell you a new story; and it shall be about a boy and some dogs, as Ned asks.
"But before we begin, let us sit down in a cool, shady place. And now, John, you must be as still as a little mouse. Mary, you must not let Towser bark or make a noise.
"A long way from this place, there is a land where it is very cold, and much snow falls.
"The hills are very high there, and traveler's are often lost among them. There are men there who keep large dogs. These are taught to hunt for people lost in the snow.
"The dogs have so fine a scent, that they can find persons by that alone.
"Sometimes it is so dark, that they can not see anything. Those who are lost often lie hid in the snowdrifts. "

LESSON LI.

THE STORY TELLER (CONCLUDED)

"One cold, bleak night, the snow fell fast, and the wind blew loud and shrill. It was quite dark. Not a star was to be seen in the sky.
"These good men sent out a dog, to hunt for those who might want help. In an hour or two, the dog was heard coming back.
"On looking out, they saw him with a boy on his back. The poor child was stiff with cold. He could but just hold on to the dog's back.
"He had lain for a long time in the snow, and was too weak to walk.
"He felt something pull him by the coat, and heard the bark of a dog. He put out his hand, and felt the dog. The dog gave him another pull.
"This gave the poor boy some hope, and he took hold of the dog. He drew himself out of the snow, but ho could not stand or walk.
"He got on the dog's back, and put his arms round the dog's neck, and held on. He felt sure that the dog did not mean to do him any harm.
"Thus he rode all the way to the good men's house.
"They took care of him, till the snow was gone. Then they sent him to his home."

LESSON LII.

THE OWL.

"Where did you get that owl, Harry?"
"Fred and I found him in the old, hollow oak."
"How did you know he was there?"
"I'll tell you. Fred and I were playing 'hide and seek' round the old barn, one night just at dusk.
"I was just creeping round the corner, when I heard a loud squeak, and a big bird flew up with something in his claws.
"I called Fred, and we watched him as he flew to the woods. Fred thought the bird was an owl, and that he had a nest in the old oak.
"The next day we went to look for him, and, sure enough, he was there."
"But how did you catch him? I should think he could fight like a good fellow with that sharp bill."
"He can when he is wide awake; but owls can't see very well in the daytime, and he was taking a nap.
"He opened his great eyes, and ruffled up his feathers, and said, "Whoo! Whoo!' 'Never mind who,' Fred said, and slipped him into a bag."

LESSON LIII.

THE OWL. (CONCLUDED.)

"What are you going to do with him, Harry?"
"Let him go. He doesn't like this cage half so well as his old oak tree. A young owl can be tamed easily, but this one is too old to tame."
"But won't he catch all your ducklings and little chickens?"
"No, not while there are any rats or mice around. Father says an owl is a good mouser, and can catch more mice than half a dozen cats."
"I'm glad I had a look at him before you let him go. What soft feathers he has!"
"Yes, he can fly so softly that you can scarcely hear him, and for this reason he can easily surprise and capture his prey."
"How comical he looks, winking his big eyes slowly, and turning his head from side to side!"

"Yes; he is watching your dog. Be still. Bounce!
"We have just found out a funny thing about his way of eating. He breaks the bones of a mouse, and then swallows it whole. After an hour or two, he throws up the bones and fur rolled up in a little ball."

LESSON LIV.

GRANDFATHER'S STORY.

"Come and sit by my knee, Jane, and grandfather will tell you a strange story.
"One bright Summer day, I was in a garden in a city, with a friend. "We rested underneath a fig tree. The broad leaves were green and fresh.
"We looked up at the ripe, purple figs. And what do you think came down through the branches of the fig tree over our heads?"
"Oh, a bird, grandfather, a bird!" said little Jane, clapping her hands.
"No, not a bird. It was a fish; a trout, my little girl."
"Not a fish, grandfather! A trout come through the branches of a tree in the city'! I am sure you must be in fun."
"No, Jane, I tell you the truth. My friend and I were very much surprised to see a fish falling from a fig tree.
"But we ran from under the tree, and saw a fishhawk flying, and an eagle after him.
"The hawk had caught the fish, and was carrying it home to his nest, when the eagle saw it and wanted it.
"They fought for it. The fish was dropped, and they both lost it. So much for fighting!"

LESSON LV.

GOD IS GREAT AND GOOD.

I know God made the sun
To fill the day with light;
He made the twinkling stars
To shine all through the night.
He made the hills that rise
So very high and steep;
He made the lakes and seas,
That are so broad and deep.
He made the streams so wide,
That flow through wood and vale;
He made the rills so small,
That leap down hill and dale.
He made each bird that sings
So sweetly all the day;
He made each flower that springs
So bright, so fresh, so gay.
And He who made all these,
He made both you and me;
Oh, let us thank Him, then,
For great and good is He.

LESSON LVI.

A GOOD OLD MAN.

There once lived an old man in a snug, little cottage. It had two rooms and only two windows. A small garden lay just behind it.
Old as the poor man was, he used to work in the fields. Often he would come home very tired and weak, with his hoe or spade on his shoulder.
And who do you think met him at the door! Mary and Jane, his two little grandchildren.
They were too young to work, except to weed in the garden, or bring water from the spring.
In winter, as they were too poor to buy much wood or coal, they had little fire; so they used to sit close together to keep warm. Mary would sit on one of the old man's knees, and Jane on the other.
Sometimes their grandfather would tell them a droll story. Sometimes he would teach them a hymn.
He would often talk to them of their father, who had gone to sea, or of their good, kind mother, who was in her grave. Every night he prayed God to bless them, and to bring back their father in safety.
The old man grew weaker every year; but the little girls were glad to work for him, who had been so good to them.

One cold, windy night, they heard a knock at the door. The little girls ran and opened it. Oh, joy to them! There stood their father.
He had been at sea a long time. He had saved some money, and had now come home to stay.
After this the old man did not have to work. His son worked for him, and his grandchildren took care of him. Many happy days they spent together.

LESSON LVII.

THE GREEDY GIRL.

Laura English is a greedy little girl. Indeed, she is quite a glutton. Do you know what a glutton is? A glutton is one who eats too much, because the food tastes well.
Laura's mother is always willing she should have as much to eat as is good for her; but sometimes, when her mother is not watching, she eats so much that it makes her sick.
I do not know why she is so silly. Her kitten never eats more than it needs. It leaves the nice bones on the plate, and lies down to sleep when it has eaten enough.
The bee is wiser than Laura. It flies all day among the flowers to gather honey, and might eat the whole time if it pleased. But it eats just enough, and carries all the rest to its hive.
The squirrel eats a few nuts or acorns, and frisks about as gayly as if he had dined at the king's table.
Did you ever see a squirrel with a nut in his paws? How bright and lively he looks as he eats it!
If he lived in a house made of acorns, he would never need a doctor. He would not eat an acorn too much.
I do not love little girls who eat too much. Do you, my little readers?
I do not think they have such rosy cheeks, or such bright eyes, or such sweet, happy tempers as those who eat less.

LESSON LVIII.

A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING.

Mary. I wish you would lend me your thimble, Sarah. I can never find my own.

Sarah. Why is it, Mary, you can never find it?

Mary. How can I tell? But if you will not lend me yours, I can borrow one elsewhere.

Sarah. I am willing to lend mine to you, Mary. But I would very much like to know why you come to me to borrow so often.

Mary. Because you never lose any of your things, and always know where to find them.

Sarah. And why do I always know where to find my things?

Mary. I do not know why, I am sure. If I did know, I might sometimes find my own.

Sarah. I will tell you the secret. I have a place for everything, and I put everything in its place when I have done using it.

Mary. O Sarah! who wants to run and put away a thing as soon as she has used it, as if her life depended upon it?

Sarah. Our life does not depend upon it, but our comfort does, surely. How much more time will it take to put a thing in its place, than to hunt for it or to borrow whenever you want to use it?

Mary. Well, Sarah, I will never borrow of you again, you may depend upon it.

Sarah. You are not offended with me, I hope.

Mary. No, but I am ashamed. Before night, I will have a place for everything, and then I will keep everything in its place. You have taught me a lesson that I shall remember.

LESSON LIX.

MY MOTHER.

LESSON LX.

THE BROKEN WINDOW.

George Ellet had a bright silver dollar for a New-year gift.
He thought of all the fine things he might buy with it.
The ground was all covered with snow; but the sun shone out bright, and everything looked beautiful.
So George put on his hat, and ran into the street. As he went skipping along, he met some boys throwing snowballs. George soon engaged in the sport.
He sent a ball at James Mason, but it missed him, and broke a window on the other side of the street.
George feared some one would come out of the house and find him. So he ran off as fast as he could.

As soon as he got round the next corner, George stopped, because he was very sorry for what he had done.
He said to himself, "I have no right to spend my silver dollar, now. I ought to go back, and pay for the glass I broke with my snowball."
He went up and down the street, and felt very sad. He wished very much to buy something nice. He also wished to pay for the broken glass.
At last he said, "It was wrong to break the window, though I did not mean to do it. I will go and pay for it, if it takes all my money, I will try not to be sorry. I do not think the man will hurt me if I pay for the mischief I have done."

LESSON LXI.

THE BROKEN WINDOW. (CONCLUDED.)

George started off, and felt much happier for having made up his mind to do what was right.
He rang the doorbell. When the man came out, George said, "Sir, I threw a snowball through your window. But I did not intend to do it. I am very sorry, and wish to pay you. Here is the dollar my father gave me as a New- year gift."
The gentleman took the dollar, and asked George if he had no more money. George said he had not. "Well," said he, "this will do."
So, after asking George his name, and where he lived, he called him an honest boy, and shut the door.
George went home at dinner time, with a face as rosy, and eyes as bright, as if nothing had gone wrong. At dinner, Mr. Ellet asked him what he had bought with his money.
George very honestly told him all about the broken window, and said he felt very well without any money to spend.
When dinner was over, Mr. Ellet told George to go and look in his cap. He did so, and found two silver dollars there.

The man, whose window had been broken, had been there, and told Mr. Ellet about it. He gave back George's dollar and another besides.
A short time after this, the man came and told Mr. Ellet that he wanted a good boy to stay in his store.
As soon as George left school, he went to live with this man, who was a rich merchant. In a few years he became the merchant's partner.

LESSON LXII.

FRANK AND THE HOURGLASS.

Frank was a very talkative little boy. He never saw a new thing without asking a great many questions about it.
His mother was very patient and kind. When it was proper to answer his questions, she would do so.
Sometimes she would say, "You are not old enough to understand that, my son. When you are ten years old, you may ask me about it, and I will tell you."
When his mother said this, he never teased any more. He knew she always liked to answer him when he asked proper questions.
The first time Frank saw an hourglass, he was very much amused; but he did not know what it was.
His mother said, "An hourglass is made in the shape of the figure 8. The sand is put in at one end, and runs through a small hole in the middle. As much sand is put into the glass as will run through in an hour."
Frank watched the little stream of sand. He was impatient, because it would not run faster. "Let me shake it, mother," said he; "it is lazy, and will never get through."
"Oh yes, it will, my son," said his mother, "The sand moves by little and little, but it moves all the time.
"When you look at the hands of the clock, you think they go very slowly, and so they do; but they never stop.
"While you are at play the sand is running, grain by grain, The hands of the clock are moving, second by second.
"At night, the sand in the hourglass has run through twelve times. The hour hand of the clock has moved all around its great face.
"This because they keep work every minute. They do not stop to think how much they have to do, and how long it will take them to do it."
Now, Frank's mother wanted him to learn a little hymn; but he said "Mother, I can never learn it."
His mother said, "Study all the time. Never stop to ask how long it will take to learn it. You will be able to say it very soon."
Frank followed his mother's advice. He studied line after line, very busily; and in one hour and a half he knew the hymn perfectly.

LESSON LXIII.

MARCH.

In the snowing and the blowing,
In the cruel sleet,
Little flowers begin their growing
Far beneath our feet.
Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,—
"Darlings, are you here?"
Till they answer, "We are nearly,
Nearly ready, dear."
"Where is Winter, with his snowing?
Tell us, Spring," they say.
Then she answers, "He is going,
Going on his way.
"Poor old Winter does not love you;
But his time is past;
Soon my birds shall sing above you;—
Set you free at last."

Mary Mapes Dodge.

LESSON LXIV.

JENNY'S CALL.

"It's of no use, Mrs. Templar; I have been trying the greater part of an hour to catch that rogue of a horse. She won't be caught."

Such was the report the hired man brought in to Mrs. Templar one pleasant May morning, when she had been planning a ride.
"I suppose it can not be helped, but I wanted her very much," she said, as she turned away.
"What was it you wanted, mother?" asked Jenny Templar, a bright, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl of twelve, who had just come into the room.
"Fanny," said the mother. "It is such a beautiful morning, I meant to drive down to the village, get some groceries, then call for your Aunt Ann, have a nice ride up the river road, and bring her home to dinner.
"But father is away for all day, and the men have been trying nearly an hour to catch Fanny; one of the men says she can't be caught."
"Maybe she can't by him," said Jenny, with a merry laugh. "But, get ready, mother; you shall go if you like. I'll catch Fanny, and harness her, too."
"Why, my child, they say she jumped the ditch three or four times, and acted like a wild creature. You'll only be late at school, and tire yourself for nothing."
"It won't take me long, mother. Fanny will come to me," said Jenny, cheerily. She put on her wide straw hat, and was off in a moment, down the hill, to the field where the horse was grazing.
The moment Fanny heard the rustle of Jenny's dress, she pricked up her ears, snorted, and, with head erect, seemed ready to bound away again.

"Fanny! O Fanny!" called Jenny, and the beautiful creature turned her head. That gentle tone she well knew, and, glad to see her friend, she carne directly to the fence, and rubbed her head on the girl's shoulder. As soon as the gate was opened, she followed Jenny to the barn.
The men had treated her roughly, and she remembered it. But she knew and loved the voice that was always kind, and the hand that often fed and caressed her. She gave love for love, and willing service for kindness.

LESSON LXV.

POOR DAVY.

It was recess time at the village school. The bell had rung, and the children had run out into the bright sunshine, wild with laughter and fun.
All but poor Davy. He came out last and very slowly, but he did not laugh. He was in trouble, and the bright, golden sunlight did not make him glad.
He walked across the yard, and sat down on a stone behind the old maple. A little bird on the highest branch sang just to make him laugh.
But Davy did not notice it. He was thinking of the cruel words that had been said about his ragged clothes. The tears stole out of his eyes, and ran down his cheeks.

Poor Davy had no father, and his mother had to work hard to keep him at school.
That night, he went home by the path that led across the fields and through the woods. He still felt sad.
Davy did not wish to trouble his mother; so he lingered a while among the trees, and at last threw himself on the green moss under them.

Just then his teacher came along. She saw who it was, and stopped, saying kindly, "What is the matter, Davy?"
He did not speak, but the tears began again to start.
"Won't you tell me? Perhaps I can help you."
Then he told her all his trouble. When he ended, she said, cheerily, "I have a plan, Davy, that I think will help you."
"Oh, what is it?" he said, sitting up with a look of hope, while a tear fell upon a blue violet.
"Well, how would you like to be a little flower merchant?"
"And earn money?" said Davy. "That would be jolly. But where shall I get my flowers?"
"Right in these woods, and in the fields," said his teacher. " Here are lovely blue violets, down by the brook are white ones, and among the rocks are ferns and mosses. Bring them all to my house, and I will help you arrange them."
So, day after day, Davy hunted the woods for the prettiest flowers, and the most dainty ferns and mosses. After his teacher had helped to arrange them, he took them to the city that was near, and sold them.
He soon earned money enough to buy new clothes. Now the sunshine and the bird's songs make him glad.

LESSON LXVI.

ALICE'S SUPPER.

Far down in the valley the wheat grows deep,
And the reapers are making the cradles sweep;
And this is the song that I hear them sing,
While cheery and loud their voices ring:
"'Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow!
And it is for Alice's supper—ho! ho!"
Far down by the river the old mill stands,
And the miller is rubbing his dusty hands;
And these are the words of the miller's lay,
As he watches the millstones grinding away:
"'Tis the finest flour that money can buy,
And it is for Alice's supper—hi! hi!"
Downstairs in the kitchen the fire doth glow,
And cook is a-kneading the soft, white dough;
And this is the song she is singing to-day,
As merry and busy she's working away:
"'Tis the finest dough, whether near or afar,
And it is for Alice's supper—ha! ha!"

To the nursery now comes mother, at last,
And what in her hand is she bringing so fast?
'Tis a plateful of something, all yellow and white,
And she sings as she comes, with her smile so bright:
"'Tis the best bread and butter I ever did see,
And it is for Alice's supper—he! he!"

LESSON LXVII.

A SNOWSTORM.

Last night, the cold north wind blew great snow clouds over the sky. Not a star, not a bit of blue sky could be seen.
Soon the tiny flakes floated softly down, like flocks of little white birds. Faster and faster they came, till they filled the air. They made no noise, but they were busy all night long.
They covered all the ground with a soft, white carpet. They hung beautiful plumes on the tall, green firs. The little bushes, they put to sleep in warm nightgowns and caps.

They hid the paths so that the boys might have the fun of digging new ones. They turned the old picket fence into a row of soldiers, and the gate posts into captains, with tall white hats on.
The old corn basket that was left out by the barn, upside down, they made into a cunning little snow house with a round roof.
When the busy little flakes had done their work, the sun came up to see what they had been about.
He must have been pleased with what he saw, for he smiled such a bright, sweet smile, that the whole white world sparkled as if it were made of little stars.
Who would have thought that the black clouds could hide the little fairies that made the earth so beautiful!

LESSON LXVIII.

BESSIE.

One day, Bessie thought how nice it would be to have a garden with only wild flowers in it. So into the house she ran to find her Aunt Annie, and ask her leave to go over on the shady hillside, across the brook, where the wild flowers grew thickest.

"Yes, indeed, you may go," said Aunt Annie; "but what will you put the roots and earth in while you are making the garden?"
"Oh," said Bessie, "I can take my apron."
Her aunt laughed, and said, "A basket will be better, I think." So they looked in the closets and the attic, everywhere; but some of the baskets were full, and some broken; not one could they find that would do.
Then Aunt Annie turned out the spools and the bags from a nice large workbasket, and gave that to Bessie. "You may have this for your own," she said, "to fill with earth, or flowers, or anything you like."
"Oh I thank you," said Bessie, and she danced away through the garden. She slipped through the gate, out into the field all starred with dandelions, down in the hollow by the brook, then up on the hillside out of sight among the shady trees.
How she worked that afternoon! She heaped up the dark, rich earth, and smoothed it over with her hands. Then she dug up violets, and spring-beauties, and other flowers,—running back and forth, singing all the while.
The squirrels peeped out of their holes at Bessie. The birds sang in the branches overhead. Thump, came something all at once into the middle of the bed. Bessie jumped and upset the basket, and away it rolled down the hill.
How Bessie laughed when she saw a big, brown toad winking his bright eyes at her, as if he would say, "No offense, I hope."
Just then Bessie heard a bell ringing loudly. She knew it was calling her home; but how could she leave her basket? She must look for that first.
"Waiting, waiting, waiting," all at once sang a bird out of sight among the branches; "waiting, Bessie."
"Sure enough," said Bessie; "perhaps I'm making dear mother or auntie wait; and they are so good to me. I'd better let the basket wait. Take care of it, birdie; and don't jump on my flowers, Mr. Toad."

LESSON LXIX.

BESSIE. (CONCLUDED.)

She was back at the house in a few minutes, calling, "Mother! mother! auntie! Who wants me?"
"I, dear," said her mother. "I am going away for a long visit, and if you had not come at once, I could not have said good-by to my little girl."
Then Bessie's mother kissed her, and told her to obey her kind aunt while she was gone.
The next morning, Bessie waked to find it raining hard. She went into her aunt's room with a very sad face. "O auntie! this old rain!"
"This new, fresh, beautiful rain, Bessie! How it will make our flowers grow, and what a good time we can have together in the house!"
"I know it, auntie; but you will think me so careless!"
"To let it rain?"
"No; don't laugh, Aunt Annie; to leave your nice basket out of doors all night; and now it will be soaked and ruined in this—this—beautiful rain." Bessie did not look as if the beautiful rain made her very happy.
"You must be more careful, dear, another time," said her aunt, gently. "But come, tell me all about it."
So Bessie crept very close to her auntie's side, and told her of her happy time the day before; of the squirrel, and the toad, and how the basket rolled away down the hill; and then how the bell rang, and she could not stop to find the basket.
"And you did quite right," said her aunt. "If you had stopped, your mother must have waited a whole day, or else gone without seeing you. When I write, I will tell her how obedient you were, and that will please her more than anything else I can say."

LESSON LXX.

CHEERFULNESS.

LESSON LXXI.

LULLABY.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
  Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
  Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
  Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
  Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
  Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west,
  Under the silver moon;
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Tennyson.