but comes to it thoughtfully and reverently. We are of literature in which there is so much presumption "Why no, sir,” was the reply; "but I've read it over a little to myself, and calculate I'm tolerably posted up in the rudiments." "Then you doubtless can analyze some plants?" "Why, as to that, I never tried, but I guess I can manage a dandelion." "AT-SEA MOONRISE." tion to the little poem on our next page. The THAT CURIOUS PLANTATION AGAIN "Ah, well," answered the professor, with a quiet smile, "if you can do that, you will do very well for a beginner; for this same flower, common as it is, is by no means easy of analysis." With that he laid a dandelion before the rash young man, who turned it over and peered into it, and pulled it apart-grew very red, and finally confessed it was too much for him. That simple wayside flower had mysteries and complexities quite beyond the scope of his small | Cat-tails. botanic lore. So it is that some authors, in the flippant confidence of ignorance, attempt to reach the profound simplicities of a child's soul, and dare to meddle with the delicate mysteries of a child's heart. But, happily, their defeat and discomfiture is as certain and complete. Again let us say for a spirit so widely different from this pert presumption, we honor Miss Chesebro', and cordially recommend her charming little book. LOVE ME, LOVE MY PILGRIM. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Playmates of my childish days, Bright the great world o'er us shone, Like gardens of old Babylon Do you still remember? In life's whirl can you forget, Scenes and joys that haunt me yet? All our school-girl joys and sorrows; All our tiresome moods and tenses; I'm sure you still remember! Gentle friends of later times, If you love me, as of old— Love my LITTLE PILGRIM! By the hopes and flowers we've gathered; Love my LITTLE PILGRIM! P. S.-Editorial friends will best prove their love and constancy by copying the above.-G. G. Plant a quarrelsome dog, and you will raise Plant our Chargé at Rome, and what is the flower you will see? Cassis (Cass is.) world coming to!-Plant John Huss and John Plant a bear's fore-foot-Paupau. Plant the great Queen Elizabeth when in a pet, Plant a halter, and you will raise Knot-grass, Plant our darling's chief beauty-Witch-hazel, Eye-bright. Plant a trimming-store-Fringe-tree, Buttonwood, and Tape-grass. Plant Dr. Jayne's Hair Tonic, and what will you raise ?-Ladies' Tresses. Plant Tom Thumb-A Dwarf Dandelion. Plant the military chapeau of the Duke of Plant a lazy housemaid-Poke and Sloe. Plant her call to her boys in the morning- Plant a popular American authoress-Sweet A popular American author-Hawthorne. Plant Albinos-Red-eyed beans (beings.) Plant Hyde Park-London Pride. Plant a nunnery and you will have a Virgin's Bower. Plant a man in the lock-up-Cantelope. Plant a mad bull in a china shop, and what will you raise. China Aster. (China a-stir.) Plant the same animal in a crowd, and what would come up ?—a big Basswood (Bass, would.) BERTRAND, OR THE LITTLE DEMON. Here is one which should be an exotic, it is so Plant the maker of the above-Poplar Buckeye. Plant a drover-Geum and Haws. Translated from the French, by the Editor. There was once, in France, a boy who was called Bertrand, and who was truly the most villainous little fellow that one could possibly see. He was not only ugly and deformed, which was not his fault, but his bad temper gave to his face a sullen expression, which rendered him hideous. He hardly began to walk before he armed himself with a stick, and threatened everybody who approached him. The first words that he stam. mered out were words of anger, and never was seen in him that sweetness of infancy which consoles and charms parents; on the contrary, Ber Plant a fascinating poetess, and you will raise trand, by the fury with which he gave himself a Bluebell (belle.) Plant a man too late for the cars-Car-away. at the prince's ball-Ragged Lady. up to his bad impulses, discouraged even his poor mother, who used to say, weeping, "Is it possible that this is my son ?" The bad behaviour of Bertrand caused all the more sorrow to his parents, because he was the Plant a part of Rip Van Winkle's wardrobe- oldest of several children, and set a very perDutchman's Breeches. Plant a poultry-yard, and you will raise Egg- Plant a snuff box-Sneeze-weed. Plant Madame Toussaud-Wax-work. Here comes another sad one, for which I am And here is one still more desperate, actually sent us by a quiet Quaker lady. Ah! what is the nicious example to his little brothers and sisters. The servants could not bear him; and as he always spoke to them very rudely, they replied to him in the same tone, and even ill-treated him sometimes. Seeing himself detested by everybody, the little boy found himself unhappy enough; but instead of trying to obtain pardon and make himself loved, he stamped his foot and threw himself into a passion, and made himself still a little more detestable. Oh, what a life did Bertrand lead! Always scolded, always being punished, never one little kind caress from any one! His little brothers feared him, because he was stronger than they, and beat them without mercy; his poor little sisters had such fear of him that they gave way to him on all occasions, and let him have his will; but they did not love him; and if Bertrand had left his home nobody would have wept. He was so wicked! He made everybody suffer who had the misfortune to come near him. His father, who was a soldier full of honor, was distressed at seeing the bad disposition of his son. He quite despaired of him; and when the children were a-bed and asleep, their papa and mamma talked in a low voice, and said many sad things about Bertrand. These painful talks never ended without the father sighing deeply, and the mother shedding bitter tears. Oh, my dear little friends, how wrong it is thus to keep a poor mother from the sweet repose of sleep, and to cause her to weep for you! FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE THREE ROSE-BUDS, Dedicated to Nellie and Annie. BY FRANCES M. CHESEBRO'. A pretty garden, full of sweet pinks and roses, is a pleasant spot. There was once in a very delightful land such an one. The birds sang bere from early morning till night. They laid their eggs, and taught their little ones to fly and sing. Butterflies, with golden wings, flew among the flowers, and humming-birds came for honey, and bees buzzed, and the insects hummed, so that the garden seemed full of life. In a summer's morning the flowers opened their Bertrand, as you may suppose, was an ignorant bright eyes, and nodded a good morning to the little fellow, who scarcely knew his letters. He sun. And when the day was over, and the soft could not learn by himself, and no one was willing moonlight fell silverly upon the trees and shrubto give him lessons, he was too idle, too unbear-bery, then the little fairy roses closed their able. What, then, did he do all day long? Why, he passed his time in tormenting his brothers, in breaking the playthings of his sisters, and in playing off shabby tricks on the servants, and in fighting with the little peasants, who went away sometimes all bleeding, for nobody was as strong as Bertrand. Who would have thought that such an unpromising boy would ever become an excellent man. Let us see how this came about. A good nun at last showed an affectionate interest in this child; and as nobody had loved him till then, he felt deeply grateful toward this nun, and promised her to try to correct his bad habits. Then the nun replied that if he would soften his hard character and become good, he might one day be the glory of his family and his country. These words made everybody laugh, and people said, "See this little demon who pretends to reform himself; it's much to be feared he begins too late in the day!" But the child felt truly that it is never too late to begin to do well, and that one is sure to succeed by following good counsels. Our little Bertrand put himself to work with great courage; he turned all his strength against himself, tried to repress the violence of his temper, and made incredible efforts to resist it. He succeeded; but his fits of passion returned from time to time, and his father was more than once obliged to punish him. One day, when he had been put in continement, he set himself to reflect more seriously than ever, and he resolved to do better, sure of success; for the nun had told him that a little patience and a good will were all that were needed. Many years after, the King of France, Charles V., fought the English, took some cities from them, and drove them out of his kingdom; and all these great things were done by the genius and wisdom of a man who called himself Bertrand du Gueselin. This man was extremely ugly, but his soul was so beautiful that no one paid any attention to his face; all the world honored and esteemed him; his enemies themselves did him justice, and said that he was the greatest general of his time. He was ardent in battle, calm in victory, always moderate, always wise; and the king esteemed him so highly, that, having heard of his death, he made them bring across France, all in mourning, the deformed and ugly body which had held his beautiful soul, and had it laid in the vault where reposed the bodies of the kings of France. And the people said, "What a misfortune, he is dead, the good Constable Bertrand du Gueselin !" This great man should be all the more admired, because, to become good, learned, and wise, he had to make many efforts. For you have divined, without doubt, my dear readers, that this great Constable of France, so dear to the people and to King Charles V., was no other than that wicked Bertrand that they once so justly called-the little demon. eyes, and the fire-flies kept watch with their torches. The spirit that ruled over this pretty spot was gentle and just. Warm showers fell to refresh the tender blossoms, and rude winds touched lightly their fragile lives. no kind sunbeam could lift it up again, no gentle shower revive its life. The humming-bird came coaxingly to woo it to beauty again, but by night the wind had swept each leaf away, and in the place of the darling rose-bud was a sweeter fragrance than ever before. Then the sister roses wept; and all said, when will our pretty playmate return with her soft blush cheek and her graceful pretty ways? The master of the garden came at the sound of wailing, and the flowers all raised their tearful faces to meet his glance, and then they bowed them to the ground, and they could not speak, for they loved the good master, but they could not see why he had permitted their sister rose to die. The master said, "She you love so much has gone to a more beautiful garden, and there she will never faint nor bow her pretty head. The' wind, rain, the sunshine and bird-song were not attuned to the delicate nature of her life. I needed her to grace my garden elsewhere. Raise again your blossoms, and take unto your bosoms the warm sunshine sent for your life; and the fra There were here a great variety of roses-blush,grance of your sister rose shall be more dear to red, scarlet, yellow, and many others. Some you than was ever her presence." clambered up the arbor and tangled their branches in the grape-vine and lattice-work; some reared their pretty heads erect and tall; others bent lovingly down to kiss the tiny sprouts just peeping up at the roots. There was a sweet fragrance throughout this garden. The breath of the roses filled the air with sweetness, so that no one could enter this paradise without drawing into his own life a portion of the purity of theirs. In one little shady corner of the garden, away from the scorching sun, and receiving the sunlight gently, were three tiny rose-trees. High sheltering parent stalks bent kindly down on these little baby bushes, but just in their delicate bud. When the rain fell pouringly, these fostering trees threw out their long branches to catch the shower, then let it fall softly and in gentle drops upon the little fairy rose-buds at their feet. Two of these roses were white, the other a rare and rich blush. They grew side by side, the white and the blush; and their fragrance was joy to the possessor of the garden, and to all who looked on them. They wooed all the prettiest butterflies by their loveliness, and a golden robin sang to them from her warm nest in a maple towering above them. Happy little roses! they frolicked together for a few short summers, and grew so near to each other that their branches met and grew linked together. The two white roses played, from sunrise till the night-shadows fell, with the morning sun, the happy birds, and the fresh breeze that moved their graceful branches in the air. The blush rose was more timid and sensitive. If the birds sang too loudly, she shut her pretty leaves, and crept tremblingly, with excess of joy, closer under the loving stock. Her soft cheek often became a deeper red ere the long summer day of happiness was over. She was shrinking and thoughtful when her little sisters were coqueting with the sunlight. She was the loved and favorite bud, the one above all the myriad of bright blossoms in the beautiful garden, whom air, wind, sunshine, and rain favored; the one dearer object that wooed the brightest winged insects, and the sweetest bird-song. In spite of all the fostering care bestowed upon this little bud, it began to droop its pretty leaves; and the most gentle breezes touched too harshly its delicate blush cheek, and while the two sister roses were frolicking, their companion was drooping day by day, shading her pretty face to keep out the sunlight, and creeping closer to the feet of the protecting tree. One morning, just as the robin sung its welcome song, she bowed her head, and Will my darlings, Nellie and Annie, the two white rose-buds, remember their little sister Carrie, with her pretty blush cheek and happy eye, and think of her as in a more beautiful home than ours; and will my dear little girls try to be as lovely as she was, that when they are removed to a pleasanter garden, they may leave as sweet remembrances in the hearts of us all, as has our angel Carrie. AT SEA-MOONRISE. BY JAMES T. FIELDS. [A Child speaks.] Come up! the moon is rising fast, The sea is calm, the deck is clear: Come, mother, stay no longer hereThe moonlight will not always last. Do you remember once you talked With me of Christ upon the sea? Now hearken, for this seems to me The shining path where Jesus walked! And when the silvery brightness came Along the sparkling waves to night, My heart leaped trembling at the sight, And then I spoke our Saviour's name. I should not fear his holy will, If now he stood in yon bright place, And I could see his blessed face, And hear him whisper, "Peace, be still!” THE BALLOON. A TRUE STORY. BY ANNA H. PHILLIPS. (HELEN IRVING.) It was a bright, sunny summer afternoon, and Willie and Nellie Warner had a holiday The sky was blue and glad as Nellie's own azure eyes, and the soft wind tossed her brown ringlets lightly, as if it felt something of her own eagerness, as she ran every few moments down the long yard to see if the wagon were yet ready, that was to take herself and brother Willie, and their two cousins away. They had eaten a very early dinner, and were all to spend the long afternoon at the house of a kind old friend, who had been their nurse in babyhood. Of all the things in the world, in the way of visiting, Willie and Nellie loved best to go to Nurse Brown's. Her little one story house stood some distance out of town, far from any neighbor, and surrounded by broad pastures and thick woods, that stretched out to the rough hills, that were so delightful to climb, to hunt flowers in the summer, or nuts and bright leaves in the autumn. Once in awhile when they had a holiday, their mother would let John, the servant boy, take them out in the wagon, to spend the afternoon at their favorite visiting place; and I think their bright, young faces were always a very welcome sight | to their kind old nurse, and to her great sons, and busy-handed daughter. Nellie's impatience was at last hushed by the sight of the big wagon coming up to the piazza, and all the children were soon in a delighted commotion. Frank and Maggie, the cousins, were already come and waiting, and I think you would have laughed to see how fast they all scrambled in. But they need not have been in such a hurry, for before they started there were several small packages to be tucked away in the wagon, little presents for nurse. There was a nice jar of newly made currant jelly, a box of rare plums, and great raspberries, a loaf of fresh cake, with the prettiest frosting imaginable, and lastly, a nice muslin apron, | which Nellie had hemmed, strings and all, as a present to Mrs. Brown. soon. Oh, dear, how long it seemed before every thing was arranged just right, and the last directions given, but at length they were fairly off, and four happier children I do not think you will see very How cheery the summer wind seemed, and the sky and fleecy clouds, and the trees and sparkling water, as they went along! The little birds came and perched on the fence rails, as they passed, and sung their loudest, and then suddenly spread their bright wings and flew off into the sunshine so merrily, that little Nellie thought it must be holiday with them too. Did you ever notice how bright and happy every thing seems, when we are glad and good ourselves? and I sometimes think if we could always keep our hearts good and happy, the world would always look very pleasant to us. The ride was a most delightful one to the children, but presently they began to count the land-marks which they knew so well, and to watch for the first sight of Mrs. Brown's house. Suddenly, as they turned a corner, with one voice they all exclaimed "there it is!" and sure enough, the old place was just before them, with its high red roof, and one long chimney, looking fair as a palace in the children's eyes. The house stood close by the green roadside, and at the door was a great, flat stone, all grown around with grass, on which was standing now their good old friend, who had seen the wagon, and knew very well who were coming to visit her. One after another the children jumped out, half wild with delight, clasping their friend around the neck; and equally glad she seemed to be to welcome them, and so did her tall daughter Nancy, who came running to the door with her clean afternoon apron on, and her sewing in her hand. All the packages were produced very quickly, and Nellie persisted in tying the new apron round Mrs. Brown's waist with her own hands, and then contented herself with jumping about her in delight at the fine appearance she made. the sitting room, that could play tunes, and that was usually wound up for their amusement, the first thing after their arrival; but after they had drank each a cup of the milk of their favorite cow Rosie, which was brought out for their especial gratification, they were quite ready to leave the music, and go to visit their old friends of the barn-yard—the ducks and chickens, and the young turkeys, and the half grown geese. It was very entertaining to them, to see how many of the little fowls, which were just hatched when they visited them last, were alive and well, and to hear Joseph, Mrs. Brown's eldest son, relate all the queer accidents that had happened to the various broods and flocks since spring. But I think the prettiest living thing they saw, was a little gray colt, that kept frisking around its mother in the field, and ran and gamboled as if there were no such thing as harness or whip in the world. Poor little thing! it did not know that one of these days it might come to be very harshly treated, by some cruel hand. It was so very beautiful a little colt, that I think no one who had a heart, could ever have been harsh to it—but then, there are some people in this world, who are never kind and merciful to dumb beasts, and because they are in their power, vent all their ill feeling on them, whenever they choose. They do not remember that it is one of our first duties to be gentle and kind to every body and every thing about us, especially to such as are placed in our power. From the field where the children went to see the little colt, they wandered down into the green meadow, by the cheery little brook, and played under the trees, and had such a delicious time wading in the cool, shallow water. They laid their shoes and stockings on the grass, and then after they had waded to their satisfaction, amused themselves with drying their feet in the warm air. They were quite willing, after all their play, to rest awhile; and as they sat talking with one another, and watching the flight of the birds, and the slow sailing of the white clouds, Frank espied, far away in the air, a strange looking black speck, which, as they watched it, seemed to grow larger and larger, as if it were some great bird, coming down nearer and nearer to them. commenced putting on their stockings and shoes, with the romantic idea of following the strange thing as long as it was in sight. “Oh, don't you wish it would come down to us!" said Nellie, who had still something of the thought of the winged horse in her mind. “I think it will," she said, as it seemed to them to be growing rapidly larger and larger. "You silly thing!" said Will, "do you suppose a balloon man would come down here to us children? No-he's going back to the place he started from, of course." But, suddenly, his confident face changed, as he saw sundry little papers flying down from the balloon, and noticed how rapidly it neared them, and how plainly he could see the motions of the man in the huge, strange-looking affair. "Oh, he is coming-he is coming!" shouted the children, and sure enough, almost as soon as their imaginary hawk could have descended, down came the aeronaut, car and all, into the very meadow where they were. Such a shout as the children set up, and away they ran, and soon surrounded with their delighted faces the car, from which the airy voyager was dismounting. They looked into the deep, wicker basket, with its strange fixtures, in perfect wonder, and stood aside, a little in awe of a man who had just come from away up among the beautiful white clouds they loved so much. "What did you come down here for ?" at length asked Willie, whose wonder was unbounded. "Why, you see my little fellow," said the pleasant aeronaut, "I met with an accident to my balloon, and I could not have managed the poor thing much longer, and when I saw you down in this pleasant field, I thought it would be just the nicest place in the world to alight, and you would help me in my difficulty." Then he showed them how he regulated the gas, which inflated this immense balloon, and by making it lighter than the air about him, enabled him to rise. And he showed them the place where one little corner had been rent, and the gas, constantly escaping, rendered the balloon every moment heavier, and less and less under his control; so that if he had not come down just when he did, he might have been carried farther on, and then have fallen perhaps, with his whole "What is it," said Nellie, "doesn't it look weight and that of the balloon, on the rough rocks funny?" and been dashed to pieces, or into the sea and been drowned. "I know," said Willie, "it is a hawk coming down to catch some of Joe's chickens-I've seen them before!" Little Maggie looked somewhat frightened when she heard this, and she gathered up her little bare feet under her dress, for it seemed a terrible thing to see a real, live hawk, and perhaps, so far off, he could not tell the difference between her feet and Joe's white chickens, which were just about as large, and might come right down there. "Don't cover up your feet, Maggie," said Frank, "it is not a hawk at all-it's an eagle-it's too big for a hawk, and eagles don't hurt you. See how large it is!" It was always a great pleasure to the children But now indeed it looked not much more like an to get into nurse Brown's odd looking, pleasant eagle, than it had looked like a hawk, and Nellie, little sitting room, with its painted floor, and who had been reading Mr. Hawthorne's beautiful braided bright colored mats. It seemed the coolest Wonder Book, marveled within herself, (though place in the world, with its great asparagus boughs she said not a word about it,) if it were not, in the fireplace, and the heavy flowers in the mug perhaps, the beautiful winged horse Pegasus, that on the mantel, and its green paper window-shades Bellerophon and the little boy used to watch for sailing in and out, and flapping in the afternoon air. Then the door was always open into the sanded kitchen, where the long rows of tins on the dresser shone soberly in the shadow of the closed blinds, and the great trees over the open porch swung their low, heavy branches almost into the room. There was a curious old clock in the corner of by the fountain of Pirene, and who came at last. But that idea was so strange and beautiful, that it would have quite overcome her, only at that moment Willie jumped up, and clapping his hands, cried, "I know what it is-I know what it is now! It's a balloon-my father said there was one going up, but I did not think we should see it!" "It is-it is!" the children cried, and eagerly By the time he had told them this, Joseph Brown, and his brothers, and the men who were working with them, and Nurse and Nancy, had all come, and were crowding eagerly and curiously around. And the men took the wicker car on their shoulders, and folded in it the poor, rent balloon, which, now that all its gas had escaped, was nothing but a wrinkled piece of varnished silk, covered with netting, and making no show in the world whatever. They all went off together toward the cottage, with the poor, chilled, disappointed aeronaut, who, I fancy, thought, after all, it was a much nicer thing to be sitting in Nurse Brown's pleasant little room, and hearing the clatter of the supper dishes, and smelling the nice things that Nancy was cooking, than to be off alone, up in the air, away from the reach of everybody. The children could hardly eat their supper, for their delight in hearing him tell of the strange pleasure he had in his balloon, far up above the world-how oddly the houses and trees and streams looked from that great height; and how small the people and the cattle and all animals appeared, until finally, they could not be perceived at all. Then he told them that the beautiful clouds they admired so much for their fleecy whiteness, in the summer day, and their gold and crimson at the sunset, were far pleasanter to look at and admire here at a distance on the warm, pleasant earth, than to visit in their lofty homes. "Why," said he, "if I should go now into the very middle of that rosiest, warmest looking cloud up there, I should be so wet and cold, that I should be thinking very longingly and regretfully of this nice, cosy place, I assure you!" ** * * * * GOD GAVE ME TO THIS HOME. One winter evening, while the family were as usual gathered around the centretable, a neighbor drove up, and entering soon with hearty friendliness, had Kitty on his knee. "Come, Kitty," said he, "wont you go home and live with me?" The child looked up into his face-the golden curls fell backward to her shoulIders, and her deep blue eyes met his, as she answered, "God gave me to this home." The tone was simple as the words, and the silvery voice was childhood's ; yet for a moment the sound seemed as if it was wafted from a far-off world, where angels only dwelt. A shadow-no, not a shadow, but a sober brightness, as of something profound and holy, was cast over the The children were greatly delighted, I can tell you, at the opportunity they would have of taking their wonderful, new friend to town, and they very eagerly offered him a seat in their wagon, which was sure to come for them before dark-and very grateful he seemed for such a fine chance of getting near to a hotel, and to some place where his broken balloon could be cared for. For this night, however, it was very safely put away in Joe's barn, where nobody needed it, for all the beautiful fowls had wings of their own; and I do not think it ever entered into old Rosie's head to get up A COLUMN FOR THE LITTLE ONES. meditative mood of the dwellers in "this house," above the clouds; and the two stout plough horses, Dick and Billy, would have required more substantial wings than any I ever heard of, to have given them airy motion. Of all the days they had ever spent at Nurse Brown's, this seemed to the children the most eventful. To have had a real balloon come down at their very feet, was more wonderful than any thing they had ever dreamed could happen to themselves; and as they rode home through the twilight, and saw the early stars coming out, they fancied what a fine thing it would be to find a balloon strong enough to go to them. And at night when Nellie went to sleep, she dreamed that she sailed up into that rosy, evening cloud, and found it just as warm and beautiful on the other side as on this! But I do not believe any cloud ever looked half so rosy and beautiful, as did Nellie's cheek, while she dreamed that night. We have pleasure in welcoming to our columns this month a friend, whose graceful contribution cannot fail of giving delight to our young readers. This friend, dear children, should come near to your hearts, for he has kept his own heart frank, and fresh, and warm, through all the cares and excitements of political and professional life, and has cherished always a genuine love and sympathy for children.-ED. WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE BEE AND THE CRICKET. The summer's day had passed away, Of time to count the cost. The Bee was hived, and joyous thrived, Now which think you, on sober view, CHRISTMAS-BY THE LITTLE PILGRIM. Kriss Kringle is come! Kriss Kringle is come! Franz! Letty, Katrine and baby, laugh, chatter and dance! Kriss Kringle is here! Kriss Kringle is here! drums. Then blow my brave Wilhelm! rub-a-dub little and every heart within it swelled with gratitude for the great God's gift. A little fellow, weeping most piteously, was interrupted by some amusing occurrence. He hushed tween smiles and tears; the train of thought was his cries for a moment; there was a struggle bebroken: "Ma," said he, resuming his snuffle, and wishing to have his cry out, " Ma-ugh! ugh! ugh! what was I crying about just now?" PROSPECTUS OF THE LITTLE PILGRIM," A MONTHLY JOURNAL FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. EDITED BY GRACE GREENWOOD. "THE LITTLE PILGRIM" will be published at No. 66 SOUTH THIRD STREET, Philadelphia, on the first of every month, in quarto form, eight pages, on fine paper and in good type, with elegant illustrations from time to time, after designs by Devereux. The series of European sketches commenced in our first number, will probably run through two or three years. To render this in a high degree interesting and instructive, we shall spare neither labor nor research. In addition to this, and to our editorial articles, we shall furnish (from our own A bright little girl, four years of age, was rid-pen) stories, poems, &c., from time to time. ing in the country with her uncle, a short time since, when, in passing a farm-yard, they saw a peacock: "Oh! look! look! look!" said the little girl; "see the pretty bird!" "Yes," said her uncle, but without stopping. "But stop the horse, Uncle; I want to look at him longer," said little Mary. "I can't now," said he "I'm in a hurry." Mary hesitated a moment, then giving her doll, which she held in her hand, a toss to the side of the road, "There, Uncle Eb.," said she, "you get out and pick up my baby, while I look at the bird!" Wasn't that rather "cute" for a little girl of four years? It is not our intention to discuss profound religious doctrines or political problems with our young readers. But while we urge upon them no peculiar sectarian views, our aim shall always be to inculcate a high religious morality. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely," we shall heartily advocate; and ever strive to present, in fair attractive forms, the divine truths contained in that blessed epitome of Faith, Freedom, Love, Temperance and Peace-Christ's Edwin, about eight years of age, was looking through the window, on a very dark night, and seemed for a long time absorbed in "philosophical speculation." At last, turning to his father, he asked, "What is dark?" meaning, of course, "darkness." His father wished to know his idea of it first; and the boy said that he thought it was "little, fine, black fuzz." At an infant Sabbath-school a few years since, I gave a Bible story-the Prodigal Son. When I came to the place where the poor ragged son reached his former home, and his father saw him "a great way off," I inquired what the father probably did. One of the smallest boys, with his little fist clenched, said, "I donno, but I guess he set de dog on him!" Sermon on the Mount. It will be our object not only to adapt our paper to the tastes and comprehension of children, but to render it pleasant reading for parents and teachers. TERMS. Fifty Cents a year for a single copy, or ten copies for Four Dollars-Payable in advance. than five dollars, and for larger amounts Eastern For remittances, gold dollars, for amounts less Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or New York City bank bills will be preferred. Articles for THE LITTLE PILGRIM to be addressed (post paid,) to GRACE GREENWOOD, Philadelphia. Subscriptions and all business communications to be addressed (post paid) to L. K. LIPPINCOTT, Philadelphia. Saturday Evening Post, South Third Street, oppoCity subscriptions can be left at the office of the site Dock Street, or dropped in the Post Office. In either case to be enclosed and addressed as above. Deacon & Peterson, Printers, 66 South Third Street. Edited by Trace Greenwood VOL. I.] PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1854. [No. 1. COUNTRIES I HAVE SEEN. Travels, Descriptions, Tales and Historical Sketches. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Nottingham, though a flourishing manufacturing town, with many fine buildings, is not a place of much interest, aside from the site and a few remains of an old castle, which we read a great deal about in English history. A new castle was built out of the remains of the old, in Queen Anne's time, which in turn has gone to decay-or rather was demolished about twenty years ago, by a mob, who were enraged against the owner, the Duke of Newcastle, for some political act. Old Nottingham Castle, a famous stronghold of the early kings of England, was built on a high rock, overlooking the beautiful vale of Belvoir, the hills of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire wolds, and the silvery windings of the river Trent. At the base of the great rock glides the little river Leen. Underneath the castle the rock is curiously perforated in every direction, by winding passages and small caverns; some formed by nature, but most it is supposed, hewn out of the solid stone, by an ancient heathen priesthood of Briton, called Druids. They sacrificed human victims to their deity, and made use of these caves as vaults for dead bodies of those they had murdered in a pious way or as prisons, for such refractory Now, all bereft, the trees, whose whispering leaves men and women as objected to their particular The patient earth, robbed of the light and glow So when chill sorrow blights life's summer bloom- And wait till God shall breathe on us again. part in the bloody religious ceremony. At least, so we are told by antiquarians-a set of very wise men who get together and form societies, and talk very learnedly over old stones and bones, and rusty armor and musty books; and know a great deal more about the people that lived hundreds of years ago, than about their own brothers and sisters. They always seem to me a sort of human owl, they can look so far into the dark ages, and are so delightfully at home where everybody else gets puzzled and lost. King John, the bad brother of Richard the Lion-hearted, frequently held his court at Nottingham, and it was the chosen abode of the beautiful Queen Isabella, wife of Edward the Second. This Queen had a favorite, one Roger de Mortimer, of whom she was very fond, and when her husband was deposed, made him Regent. Morti |