My Sweetheart

1895

Her eyes are made for loving; her lips are made for kissing;
Upon her cheeks the roses go playing hide and seek.
Her form is like a seraph's; no angel grace is missing.
To have her and to hold her I am her servant meek.

She loves me to distraction; her every action shows it.
She comes without the asking to sit upon my knee,
Nor cares a continental if everybody knows it,
Because she calls me "papa," this little maid of three!

— Detroit Free Press.

The Little Girl Who Would n't Say Please

1875

BY M. S. P.

THERE was once a small child who would never say please,
I believe, if you even went down on your knees.
But, her arms on the table, would sit at her ease,
And call out to her mother in words such as these:
"I want some potatoes!" "Give me some peas!"
"Hand me the butter!" "Cut me some cheese!"
So the fairies, this very rude daughter to tease,
Once blew her away in a powerful breeze,
Over the mountains, and over the seas,
To a valley where never a dinner she sees,
But down with the ants, the wasps, and the bees,
In the woods she must live till she learns to say please.

—St. Nicholas, June 1875, p. 471.

Note: I left "Would n't" as it originally was printed, except the whole title was capitalized.

My First Trout

1875

BY EDWARD W. CADY.

Did you ever catch a trout? It is very exciting sport, especially the first time.

There are two kinds of trout, brook-trout and lake-trout. The name indicates where they are found; but the lake-trout is very much larger, and not nearly so handsome as the other. The brook-trout varies in size from about as long as your hand to a foot or more, and is of a reddish-gray color and beautifully marked with red and yellow spots. He is classed among the "game" fish, because trout-fishing requires skill in the fisherman, and is considered excellent sport. Trout are considered delicious eating, too. A brook-trout which weighs about a pound is considered a fair-sized fish, and one that weighs five pounds, a monster; but this last is not very common.

The water where trout live is very clear and cold, and they generally prefer a shady pool or the foot of a little cascade. Woe to the grasshopper which happens to jump into the water there, or the innocent butterfly hovering too near the surface!

The trout never hesitates to jump clear out of the water to catch a bug flying near the surface. If you chanced to be close by at the time, you would be startled by a rush and a plunge, just like a flash of lightning, and good-bye to Mr. Grasshopper or Miss Butterfly!

It does n't seem to make any difference to the trout how small a brook is. I remember a little brook so narrow that the grass growing over concealed it from sight, and it seemed just as though you were fishing in the grass. This stream ran across a field where there were no trees nor bushes, and it seemed very queer to walk out into the middle of the field, let your line down through the grass, and pull trout right out of it.

But I began to tell you how I caught my first trout. It was one Summer when I was about ten years old. I used to go to my grandfather's in Massachusetts every Summer, and spend most of the time fishing, for I was very fond of it. I soon acquired a great reputation as a young fisherman, and felt very proud when I came home along the main street of the town with a large fish. But when I did n't catch any, it was always pleasantest to come through the fields by the back way.

The fish I caught were pickerel, perch, and shiners. I had never caught a trout. I had read about them, however, in a book on fishing which I owned — how shy they were, and how much skill it required to throw a fly well.

Do you know what "throwing a fly" means? If you don't, the book on fishing will explain it to you. You will read, as I did, all about the different kinds of flies, and what kind of a fly the trout likes this month and what kind that. For you must know that at different seasons the trout changes his diet just as we do; and just as in Spring we are very fond of lamb and green peas, so Mr. Trout must have a big brown bug with red head or white tail, or any jolly bug which is in the season. There are workmen who make artificial flies, which look so natural, that sometimes you yourselves may be deceived by them as well as the trout.

On this particular Summer which I am speaking about, my uncle had made me a present of a trout-pole, and, although I had not expected to use it, for it was too slender for the fish I was in the habit of catching, I had brought it with me to the country, so as to have it ready at any time.

Now, there was not much trout-fishing in the neighborhood where my grandfather lived. In fact, no one knew where there was any trout except one old man, the landlord of the tavern. He would take his horse and wagon, drive off before daylight, and come home with a fine string of fish. He never would tell any one where he went. I went one day and said to him, confidentially:

"Mr. Dickey, I want to catch some trout. Can you tell me where to go?"

"Why," he said, "go up along Bull brook, and you 'll find some."

I knew, by the way he said it, that he was n't telling me where he went. Still, I made up my mind I would go to Bull brook and try there. Bull brook was about three miles from the village, with not a single house for miles around. It was a lonely place, full of thickets, and was called Bull brook because a great many cattle were pastured about there.

Early in the morning, I started off with my pole, which being jointed could be carried very conveniently. I trudged along the road, which kept winding and growing more and more lonely and dismal, on account of large beech-trees and poplars and gloomy-looking pines which grew along the side of the road, and almost shut out the sunlight. I felt a little afraid of meeting a cross bull, but I whistled a lively tune, and marched on bravely.

At last I arrived at the brook, and got over the stone wall at the side of the road. There was a thick growth of bushes along the edge of the stream, so that I had to walk some distance before I found an opening where I could get close to the water. Everything was so still that I felt rather nervous and almost expected to see a fierce bull rush out upon me from somewhere. Crickets were chirping, and different kinds of insects were buzzing and humming. No other sound. But hark! What was that? A splash in the brook.

A bull-frog, thought I. I looked in to see if I could discover him. There he was in the bottom of the shallow brook. No, on closer inspection that was not a bull-frog. It could n't be a fish, for fish swim around, and this little dark thing, whatever it was, was lying quite still on the bottom.

Just then, while I was wondering what it was, a grasshopper, which had jumped by mistake into the middle of the brook, went kicking along on the top of the water. In an instant there was a gleam just where the grasshopper was swimming, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" the grasshopper was gone. I was no longer in doubt about the queer thing at the bottom of the brook. It had disappeared. I knew it must be a trout.

"Ah!" said I to myself, "I 'll catch you, Mr. Trout! Then wont the folks in town be surprised, and wont they want to know where I caught him!"

I actually believe I thought more at that moment of what the people would say than I did of catching the trout. I was quite excited. I trembled all over. I captured a grasshopper, and my hand shook while I was putting it on the little hook. I got behind a bush and very carefully lowered my line until the bait touched the surface of the water.

I was terribly excited, as much so as if the brook was a big cannon and the moment the bait touched it there would be a tremendous explosion. There was an explosion, but of a different sort. A plunge, a splash, and I gave a jerk strong enough to tear the bottom of the brook right out.

I went heels over head backward on the grass, and, on scrambling to my feet, looked eagerly at the end of the line to see my trout. But no trout was there, and what was more, the grasshopper was gone.

"What a fool I was," said I to myself, "to tear the line out of the water in that way, and scare all the fish. Now I wont catch any, and the people will laugh at me when I get home."

I caught another grasshopper, and tried again and again, but it was of no use. The fish were evidently frightened. My feelings, from the highest pitch of hope and exultation, were reduced to those of despair and chagrin. I almost cried. I hated to give it up; so I tried a little further down the brook.

This time the grasshopper lay undisturbed on the top of the water for several minutes, and I was just about to pull him up and try somewhere else, when there was a ripple in the water — a splash! The grasshopper disappeared, and there was a jerk on my line! I, too, gave a jerk upward. Oh, how delightfully hard the line pulled up! And then, as I whisked my pole round toward the land, there came out the water a silvery, sparkling fish! In a moment, he was lying on the grass — my first trout!

How I walked around him and gazed at him, and admired his beautiful spots, resplendent in the sun!

No more fishing that day. I had my fish. It only remained now to get home. It was the middle of the afternoon when I folded up my rod, and with my trout strung upon a piece of fish-line, started homeward. I went along the road pretty rapidly, I can tell you. I had no fear of bulls now. I was too much interested in getting home with my fish to think about that. I verily believe if I had met a bull, and he had tossed me, I should have gone up into the air holding on to that trout like a martyr. Alexander the Great, when he entered in a triumphal car one of the cities he had conquered, could not have felt prouder than I did when I entered the village, dusty and tired, and exhibited my prize to the astonished townspeople.

I have a great many times in my life worked hard and overcome difficulties, but I do not remember ever feeling such satisfaction and such pride as when I caught my first trout.

—St. Nicholas, June 1875, pp. 459-461.

Note: I left the contractions the way they were, "wont" and the others with a space, except the halves of "don't" were closer together.

Milmy-Melmy

MILMY-MELMY

By RACHEL POMEROY.

MANY hundred years ago,
People say,
Lived in busy Rhineland
Giants gay;
Folks of mighty stature,
Made so tall,
They would hit the sky in walking —
Stars and all.

When one stretched him on a mount
For a nap,
Why, the clouds would fit him
Like a cap;
In the valley under
Sprawled his toes;
How he could get out of bed
No one knows!

Did he snore a little loudish
(Do you wonder)?
People only thought it
Heavy thunder.
Did he have the nightmare,
Knock-a-knock!
Everybody grimly muttered:
"Earthquake shock!"

One of these tremendous fellows,
I suppose,
Could have hung your father
On his nose.
Half a score like you, sir,
(Don't look pale!)
Might have straddled see-saw
His thumb-nail.

He'd have been a crony
Worth the knowing!
For they were the kindest
Creatures going.
So good-natured, somehow,
In their ways;
Not a bit like naughty giants
Now-a-days.

Well, the biggest one among 'em,
So they tell me,
Had a pretty daughter —
Milmy-Melmy;
Ten years old precisely —
To a T;
Stout enough to make a meal of
You and me.

On her birthday, Milmy-Melmy,
All alone,
Started on a ramble —
Unbeknown.
Left her toys behind her
For a run; —
Big as elephants and camels,
Every one.

Through the country, hill and valley,
Went she fast;
Willows bent to watch her
As she passed;
Hemlock slender, poplar
Straight and high,
Brushed their tops against her fingers,
Tripping by.

Half a mile to every minute —
Like enough,
Though she found the going
Rather rough;
Men folk, glancing at her,
Cried aloud:
"We shall have a shower shortly —
See the cloud!"

Milmy-Melmy thought it rather
Jolly play
Nurse to leave behind, and
Run away;
In her life (imagine
If you can)
She had never seen a woman,
Or a man.

Three times thirty leagues of trudging
(Listen now)
Brought her to a plowman
At his plow;
Getting rather tired,
Stubbed her toe;
Stooped to see what sort of pebble
Hurt her so.

Picking up the plow and plowman,
Oxen, too,
Milmy-Melmy stared at
Something new!
Stuck them in her girdle,
Clapped her hands
Till the mountain echoes answered
Through the lands.

"Here's a better birthday present,"
Shouted she,
"Than the leather dollies
Made for me.
These are living playthings —
Very queer;
La! the cunning little carriage —
What a dear!"

So into her apron, tying
The new toy,
Off she hurried homeward
Full of joy;
Stood it on a table
In the hall;
Ran to bring her father to it,
Told him all.

"Milmy-Melmy," cried the giant,
"What a shame!
You must take the plaything
Whence it came.
These are useful workers,
Daughter mine,
Getting food for human beings, —
Corn and wine.

"Never meddle with such tiny
Folks again;
Only ugly giants love to
Trouble men."
Milmy-Melmy pouted
('T was n't nice),
But she carried back the playthings
In a trice.

When she 'd made her second journey,
Little sinner
Really felt too tired
For her dinner
So to bed they put her,
Right away,
And she had her birthday pudding
The next day.

What the plowman did about it,
Mercy knows!
Must have thought it funny,
I suppose.
If you want a moral,
Ask a fly
What he thinks of giants such as
You and I!

—St. Nicholas, June 1875, pp. 457-458.

Note: Each second line should be indented approximately 2 em spaces. Left quote marks were hanging outside the left margin.