Donahoe's Magazine, Volume 15, No. 1, January 1886

They had hardly left the church, when a lady entered with a charming four-year-old baby. The child ran to the crib where the mother joined him after a prayer which seemed to me less summary and more serious than that which the young lady had said.

"Oh! mamma," the child said half aloud; "look at the little Jesus, and the Blessed Virgin, and St. Joseph. See the kings and the shepherds. Oh! mamma, see the star the kings followed and that stopped over the Stable of Bethlehem."

And the child stood on tip-toe and looked with wide-open eyes.

"Mamma," he went on, "see the ass and the ox that were in the stable when the little Jesus came into the world. Oh! the beautiful gray ass! and that ox that is all red; it looks like an ox for sure, like those in the fields. Say, little mother, could I throw a kiss to little Jesus?"

And the child, putting his finger-tips to his lips, made a delightfully naive salute.

The mother silently kissed her child, and it seemed to me that she was weeping.

"Now, darling," she said, "now that you've seen everything, say to the little Jesus the prayer you say every night before going to bed."

The child seemed to hesitate.

"You see there is nobody here but the good God and us; then you can say it low."

"My God," said the child; "I love you. Keep me during my sleep; keep little father and little mother too, good papa and good mamma, my sister Mary, who is at boarding-school, and all my relatives, living and dead. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I give you my heart."

The mother and the child left. And I who had heard these things, I thought of the sacred texts:—

"Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God."

"I thank Thee, Father, because Thou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them to the little ones."

"Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise."

CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR THE BOYS

"Please suggest a suitable Christmas present for a boy of nine."

The above, addressed to the New York Sun, elicited the following reply, which may be read with much profit by all parents of young hopefuls.

If your nine-year-old has developed any mechanical taste, gratify it by a small kit of tools. The chests of cheap tools sold in the stores are not good for much. Select a few tools of good quality at a hardware store, and put a substantial work bench, such as carpenters use, in the play room. Never mind an occasional cut finger.

Pet animals or birds, which may be found in great variety in the bird fanciers' stores, always delight the boys. But city boys do not always have room to keep them.

An aquarium of moderate dimensions, stocked with half a dozen varieties of fish, turtles, snails, seaweed, etc., is a very useful and interesting present for any boy or girl. In the spring add a few pollywogs, and watch them in their evolution into frogs. You will be interested in the process yourself.

What do you say to a microscope?

If your boy lacks muscular development for his years, get him a set of apparatus for parlor gymnastics. He will have lots of fun and it will do him good. A bicycle isn't bad either.

If he hasn't learned to skate yet it is time to start in. Get him a good pair of steel runners.

Of course he has a sled?

Perhaps he has all of the things we mention. If so, get the housemaid, or some other person whom he would not suspect, to ask him what he would like best for Christmas, and get that if it is within the bounds of reason.

Throw in a book. There are plenty of them.

Don't give him a toy pistol.

ROBIN REDBREAST

All over Great Britain and Ireland the redbreast's nest is spared, while those of other birds are robbed without ceremony; and his life is equally sacred. No schoolboy who has ever killed a robin can forget the dire remorse and fear that followed the deed. And little wonder, for terrible are the punishments said to overtake those who persecute this little bird. Generally such a crime is believed to be expiated by the death of a friend. Sometimes the punishment is more trivial. In some parts of England it is believed that even the weasel and the wildcat will spare him.

In Brittany, the native place of the legend, it is needless to say, the redbreast is thoroughly popular, and his life and nest are both respected. In Cornouaille the people say he will live till the day of judgment, and every year will make some young women rich and happy. In some parts of England and Scotland his appearance is considered an omen of death. In Northamptonshire he is said to tap three times at the window of a dying person's room. In the Haute Marne district of France he is also thought a bird of ill omen, and is called Beznet—meaning "the evil eye."

In Central Europe, where there is also no trace of a passion legend attached to the redbreast, he is held none the less sacred. Mischief is sure to follow the violator of his nest. But by far the most prevalent belief, and especially in Germany, is that the man who injures a redbreast or its nest will have his house struck by lightning, and that a redbreast's nest near a house will protect it from lightning.

These robins are very rarely seen on this side of the Atlantic. Several of them were brought to this country a few weeks ago from Larne, county Antrim, Ireland, and were landed in New York.

They are the tamest of all the birds in the British Isles, and are utter strangers to the timidity which our robin displays toward man. At the same time they are not pert and presumptuous like the sparrow, but seem to feel that their innocent confidence in man has gained for them immunity from the danger of being stoned or shot at, to which nearly every other bird is subjected to without compunction. The most mischievous schoolboy in those countries never thinks of throwing a stone at a robin, although he regards any other bird as an entirely proper object for his aim. Like every other songster of the feathered tribe, their age depends on how old they are when captured. If taken from the nest they will live for years in a cage, but should they have enjoyed some years of freedom they pine away soon, and in such cases refuse to sing. The nest bird, however, sings in captivity, though its notes might lack the sweetness and duration of the free bird. In appearance the little robin bears scarcely any resemblance to its namesake of this continent, being much smaller in size, and having a breast of far rosier hue.

FOOLISH GIRLS

While the great majority of our girls are sensible and wise, not a few are silly victims of sensational story papers. Their minds become corrupted, and their imaginations attain an unhealthy development. They picture to themselves an ideal hero, and easily fall victims to designing knaves, who induce them to elope. The spice of romance in an elopement takes their fancy, and they leave the homes of happy childhood to wander in the paths of pleasure. It has been well remarked that nothing good is ever heard of a girl who elopes. Now and then she figures in the divorce courts either as plaintiff or defendant, but ordinarily the world moves on, and leaves her to her fate. Occasionally the police records give a fragment of her life when the heyday of her youth and life has fled, and the man with whom she has eloped has taken to beating her in order to get up an appetite for breakfast. Here and there the workhouse or charitable home opens its doors to receive her, when she wearies of the life she gladly assumed, and is too proud to beg for forgiveness at home.

LITTLE QUEEN PET AND HER KINGDOM

There was once a little queen who was born to reign over a great rich kingdom called Goldenlands. She had twelve nurses and a hundred and fifty beautiful names: only unfortunately on the day of the christening there was so much confusion and excitement that all the names were lost as they fell out of the bishop's mouth. Nobody saw where they vanished to, and as nobody could find them, the poor little baby had to return to the palace nursery without anything to be called by. They could not christen her over again, so the king offered a reward to the person who should discover the princess's names within the next fifteen years. Every one cried "Poor pet, poor pet!" over the nameless baby, who soon became known as the Princess Pet. But her father and mother took the accident so much to heart that they both died soon after.

Of course, little Pet was considered too young to manage the affairs of her own kingdom, and so she had a great, powerful Government to do it for her. This Government was a most peculiar monster, with nine hundred and ninety-nine heads and scarcely any heart; and when anything was to be decided upon, all the heads had to be laid together, so that it took a long time to make up its mind. It was not at all good to the kingdom, but little Pet did not know anything about that, as she was kept away in her splendid nursery, with all her nurses watching her, while she played with the most wonderful toys. Sometimes she was taken out to walk in the gardens, with three nurses holding a parasol over her head, a page carrying her embroidered train, three nurses walking before, fanning her, and six nurses following behind; but she never had any playfellows, and nothing ever happened at all different from everything else. The only variety in her life was made by startling sounds, which often came echoing to the nursery, of the gate-bell of the palace ringing loudly.

"Why does the bell ring so?" little Pet would cry, and the nurses would answer:

"Oh, it is only the poor!"

"Who are the poor?" asked Pet.

"People who are born to torment respectable folks!" said the head nurse.

"They must be very naughty people!" lisped Pet, and went on with her play.

When Pet grew a little older she became very tired of dolls and skipping-ropes, and she really did not know what to do with herself; so one day, when all the nurses had gone down to dinner at the same time, she escaped from her nursery and tripped down the passages, peering into the corners on every side. After wandering about a long time she came to a staircase, and descending it very quickly she reached a suite of beautiful rooms which had been occupied by her mother. They remained just as the good queen had left them; even the faded roses were turning into dust in the jars. Pet was walking through the rooms very soberly, peering at, and touching everything, when she heard a queer little sound of moaning and whispering and complaining, which came like little piping gusts of wind from somewhere or other.

"Fiss-whiss, whiss, whiss, whiss!" went the little whispers; and "Ah!" and "Ai!" and "Oh!" came puffing after them, like the strangest little sighs.

"Oh, dear, what can it be?" thought Pet, standing in the middle of the room and gazing all round. "I declare I do think it is coming out of the wardrobe!"

An ancient carved wardrobe extended all along one side of the room, and indeed the little sounds seemed to be whistling out through its chinks and keyholes. Pet walked up to it rather timidly; but taking courage, put her ear to the lock. Then she heard distinctly:

"Here we hang in a row,
In a row!
And we ought to have been given
To the poor long ago!"