INT ROME. into the river, an complying wil mement of Longa food, a she current until finally of the tide, high an next day, while they lay Beas with many days were they nouri and instead of devouring them which the little babes eage f to the herdsman named Faustulus, and be And her childish little plays.iods on our little Eva threw herself upon the green turf her and tried then she wolf. One day they were disco abi She's like to us the twinkling star, I laid aside the book I had been reading to gaze wonderingly ce tius, to be nursed. The good woman took Todt from her deep breathing I knew that she slept. bosom; she put over in his arms, and carried them to his wide That lighteth Heaven's dome;anol Tovawod upon the lovely sleeper, as she lay with one soft thoughts, saiards care of these children, whom the same Ramste ITTLE PILGRIM RIM. f Longa r Ex THE LITTLE PILGRIM. 71 TROME. into the river, and they were carried along by the current until finally they were left by the receding of the tide, high and dry upon the land. The next day, while they lay famishing there for want of food, a she wolf who had lost her young passed by, and attracted by their cries, went to them, and instead of devouring them, offered her udders which the little babes eagerly seized, and thus for many days were they nourished by the milk of a he wolf. One day they were discovered by a rdsman named Faustulus, and he took them up is arms, and carried them to his wife Laurenbe nursed. The good woman took excellent hese children, whom she named Romulus s, and they grew up to be fine athletic complying with the orders given him, cast them May apples, and were distributing a stock of (TO BE CONTINUED.) part of a theme by a little girl tten as she was about to leave se, Mass., and the reply to it WORDS bright pebbles among them, for batchets, toma longing eyes upon the pretty intruder, and dropped dead right in the midst of their circle of word, had aimed a sharp pebble at the squirrel's head, and he immediately walked off as silently with his lawful game. Dowilli, his companion, without saying one met in the same mountain open.ng, on their first window for the last bunting excursion. over the many-stated green of the forest tops, Otwish leaned against a tree, and ocking down down the lang ang enme, at whose starra base the TheTs were donet, že sa 1, • X:* £ de 1 g term #salt sa y corte a egit, nwood. [No. 10. is throne was his grandchild-the young ughter of the King of Norway. Somehow, this day, he felt more than ever before a longing to see this little Princess, and as he had just had a fine new ship built, he resolved to send for her at once. So, looking round at his courtiers, he asked, "Can any of you tell me where I can get a skillful skipper to sail this new ship of mine?” One of the knights who sat at the right of the King, answered, that in his opinion, Sir Patrick ens was "the best sailor that ever sailed the sea." Now, it was the winter time-a very dangerous season for navigation in those Northern seas;— but the King was not going to sail himself—and kings are not apt to make much account of the lives of even the best of their subjects. So, Alexander at once called for pen, ink and paperand wrote a letter with his own royal hand, and sealed it with his big royal seal, commanding Sir Patrick Spens to make the voyage to Norway, aud bring home King Eric's daughter, without loss of time. This letter was brought to Sir Patrick when he was walking on the strand, thinking over his perilous voyages, and thanking Heaven that he was to be safe on land for two good months or more. When he opened the letter and glanced at the grand signature, he laughed a glad, proud laugh, lifted his head high, and stepped haughtily as a correspondent of kings should;-but before he had read all, the bitter tears almost blinded his eyes, and he exclaimed "Oh, who has done this unfriendly deed? Who has put it into the rash old King's head to send me out to sea at this blustering time of the year? Be it wind or rain, or hail, or sleet, we must sail the foam-for this daughter of the King of Norway must, at all hazards, be brought to Dunfermlineto sit on her grandpapa's knee, and learn how to govern us unruly Scots." But though Sir Patrick murmured a little, he obeyed like a loyal subject and a sensible man, for he knew he could not help himself, and he preferred the chance of drowning to the certainty of losing his head. So, on the next Wednesday, he set sail, with a gay company of noble young Scots, whom the King sent as an escort for the Princess, his granddaughter. In the royal palace in Dunfermline town, King Alexander the Second, an ancient Scottish monarch, sat at the banquet table, with his Queen and his courtiers, drinking rich red wine, and eating luscious fruit. A proud Earl at his right hand was humbly waiting on him-the young sons of great lords were acting as pages and cup-bearers—a famous minstrel stood ready with his lute, to sing a splendid ode in praise of his High-mightiness; and doubtless the old king's heart would have swelled with pride and danced with pleasant jollity on the occasion, had it not been that, as he looked about him, his eyes fell on no noble prince or fair princess, to rule in his place and wear his crown when he should be called to go "the way of all the earth," kings not excepted. ed, that he would conscience always The weather proved fair, and they landed in Norway on Monday, and presented themselves at Alexander had no living children, and the heir court without delay. Devereux So. WILLIE WATSON. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Once on a time, I cannot just say when, but it was years on years ago, there lived near a pleasant village in England, a nice, kind tempered, elderly woman, whom the neighbors called "dear old Dame Watson." She was not rich, this worthy dame, but she would never allow herself to be called poor, for as she had a comfortable home, and was industrious and healthy, she never felt want. She was a very neat seamstress, and so diligent and obliging that she never lacked employment. Dame Watson was a widow and childless, but she had living with her, two orphan children of her youngest son. William Watson was long the comfort of her sad widowhood, but when he grew to be a man, he chose the hard and dangerous life of a sailor. After awhile there came a long war-time, and there was fighting on the sea as well as on the land, and at last poor William was killed in a battle between two great ships. Then he was let down into the deep sea, to where the water is always still and clear-where the drifting silver sand covered him like a gravemound-where the long sea weed waved over him like grass, and bright mosses and beautiful shells shone round him like flowers. When the news of the brave sailor's death reached his home, his mother, who had seen a great deal of trouble and learned to submit to God's will, bowed her head and prayed, and soon the good Lord gave her strength, so that she wiped away her tears, and went about her daily duties; but William's young wife was ill and weak and could not bear her grief, but pined away fast and died, leaving a little daughter and a baby son to the care of their grandmother. These children were a great charge to the good woman, you may depend-but still they comforted her, and made the cottage cheerful, so she never fretted about the trouble. Kitty Watson was a bright, intelligent, good-tempered little girl, and so rosy, fat and funny that nobody could look at her without smiling. Kitty was handy and industrious, and for all her merry, frolicsome ways, was a great help to her grandmamma, in the cottage and garden. Willie grew to be a fine handsome hearty child, full of play and laughter and chatter, and was the pet and darling of the whole neighborhood. The cottage garden was very small, but with care and industry Dame Watson was able to raise in it not only vegetables enough for her own use, but a few choice salads, peas and cauliflowers, which she disposed of to the Rector of the parish, whose learned old gardener could not grow anything so fine, though he boasted that he once gardened for a real lord. At first, Dame Watson used to carry these to the rectory in a hand-basket, but at last she hit upon a plan for saving herself time and trouble. She had a house-dog that was the petted play fellow of little Willie, and which she treated kindly for the child's sake, though she had no love for dogs in general, and Bran's laziness and voracious appetite tried her very much. Now, she resolved to make him useful, so she had a little cart and harness made, and taught him to draw the baskets of vegetables from the cottage to the rectory, with Kitty for a driver, or leader. Bran was strong, though he was not very large-he was good and intelligent, and always did the best he knew how. The widow said that though the dog grew thin and had pretty much given up frolicing, she knew he must be happier in his conscience for earning his living; but perhaps Bran had his own private opinion on this matter. One morning little Master Willie insisted on riding over to the rectory on top of the load of vegetables. There he sat grand as a lord, flourishing his whip over poor Bran, who pulled and panted along and thought his lot was a very hard one indeed, almost too much for patient dog-nature to bear. And so it was, for the baskets were uncommonly heavy-Willie was fat, and Kitty too full of frolic to think of helping, even by pushing when they were going up hill. But how Willie enjoyed his ride, selfish, thoughtless little fellow! He laughed and shouted and flung his arms about, and bounced up and down, and kicked with delight. The next morning, when they were getting ready to send the baskets over to the rectory, Bran's harness was found so gnawed and torn that it could not be used. The widow said that the rats had been at it—but Bran, naughty dog, knew better. The good dame had a new one made, but when she went to put it on to Bran he gave a dreadful howl and ran away, as fast as he could. After a day or two, he came back, bringing a huge mastiff, which he introduced to his mistress as a better cart-horse than himself. The widow was so much amused by this cunning trick that she made use of the stray mastiff and let Bran go back into his old lazy ways. I cannot stay to tell you any more of Willie's childhood. He was always a good boy at home and a diligent scholar at school; so every body liked and respected him. When he grew to be a young man the good Rector got him a situation in a London counting house. There he always remembered his grandmamma's teachings, and was prudent, industrious and honest; so he rose and rose, till he became a great, rich merchant, and was knighted by the king. He married a beauti ful lady and they had children-some half dozen I believe, and I have heard that they were all handsome and clever and good. Kitty Watson never married, but she always had a pleasant home with her brother. At last, Sir William (for that was his title now) bought the estate on which his grandmamma's cottage stood, and built a fine house on it. He would not have the cottage torn down, but kept it carefully for the dear old dame's sake, though she had been gone to Heaven, ten years, or more. The first time that Sir William and his family drove over to the rectory in their grand yellowbodied coach, with a big-wigged coachman on the box and two footmen in smart liveries behind, the good merchant said to his sister-"Do you remember, Kitty, my first ride over this road, on the little dog-cart? Oh never, never have I enjoy. ed a ride half as much as that. I never shall have such another, for I never can be little Willie again." Edited by Trace Greenwood VOL. I.] [No. 10. to his throne was his grandchild-the young daughter of the King of Norway. Somehow, this day, he felt more than ever before a longing to see this little Princess, and as he had just had a fine new ship built, he resolved to send for her at once. So, looking round at his courtiers, he asked, "Can any of you tell me where I can get a skillful skipper to sail this new ship of mine?" One of the knights who sat at the right of the King, answered, that in his opinion, Sir Patrick ens was "the best sailor that ever sailed the Now, it was the winter time-a very dangerous, season for navigation in those Northern seas;-but the King was not going to sail himself-and kings are not apt to make much account of the lives of even the best of their subjects. So, Alexander at once called for pen, ink and paperand wrote a letter with his own royal hand, and sealed it with his big royal seal, commanding Sir Patrick Spens to make the voyage to Norway, aud bring home King Eric's daughter, without loss of time. This letter was brought to Sir Patrick when he was walking on the strand, thinking over his perilous voyages, and thanking Heaven that he was to be safe on land for two good months or more. When he opened the letter and glanced at the grand signature, he laughed a glad, proud laugh, lifted his head high, and stepped haughtily as a correspondent of kings should;--but before he had read all, the bitter tears almost blinded his "Oh, who has done this unfriendly deed? Who has put it into the rash old King's head to send me out to sea at this blustering time of the year? Be it wind or rain, or hail, or sleet, we must sail the foam-for this daughter of the King of Norway must, at all hazards, be brought to Dunfermline-to sit on her grandpapa's knee, and learn how to govern us unruly Scots." But though Sir Patrick murmured a little, he obeyed like a loyal subject and a sensible man, for he knew he could not help himself, and he preferred the chance of drowning to the certainty of losing his head. So, on the next Wednesday, he set sail, with a gay company of noble young Scots, whom the King sent as an escort for the Princess, his granddaughter. The weather proved fair, and they landed in Norway on Monday, and presented themselves at Alexander had no living children, and the heir court without delay. They found the Princess a very little girl indeed, whom it seemed a pity to take away from her nurse, her dolls and pets, and carry over the wintry sea to a strange country. King Eric, probably treated his guests politely-invited them to dinner once or twice-got up a famous hunting for them-and kept all the game for his own kitchen, but he certainly did not despatch business according to Sir Patrick's ideas-for he detained him and the Scottish nobles for a fortnight, and yet the Princess and her train were not ready. Then the Norwegian courtiers, who seem to have been a mean, inhospitable set of men, began to say in the faces of their guests, "You Scots are over-staying your welcome-you are spending all the gold and silver of our King and Queen-and eating and drinking them out of palace and home." Then Sir Patrick's blood was up, I can assure you, and like the rough, honest sailor he was, he told the insolent Norwegians that they lied, and lied again!-that he and his men had spent their own money, and paid their own way, and that Princess or no Princess, he would not stay another hour in such a churlish and shabby court. So he called together the Scottish lords, and commanded his men to hoist sail, and put out to sea directly. One of the old sailors begged his master to delay a day or two-because the night before he had seen the new moon "with the old moon in her arms," and he was sure that a deadly storm was coming up. But Sir Patrick was too angry and proud to hear to reason-put out to sea he would, and put out to sea he did. They had not sailed more than three leagues, before the sky grew black and the winds grew loud, and the great waves began to rage and roar about them, and dash over and over the ship. In the midst of the tempest, Sir Patrick cried"Where will I get a man to hold the helm, while I go aloft to see if I can spy land!"- and a brave sailor answered, "Here am I, ready to take the helm, while you climb the topmast-but much I fear, dear master, that you will never more see land." Sir Patrick had hardly taken a step, when a bolt was wrenched out of the ship's side, and the sea came pouring in! longer, ere she crossed that rough Northern sea, WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE SONG OF THE MERMAID. BY MARY FRANCES T- In my sumptuous hall We'll laugh and sing Till the icebergs ring, And frolic about To the sound of the sea-nymphs' strain. A diamond bright Is my only light, As I comb my flowing hair, Or sit as a queen So calm and serene, On the weeds which the billows bear. My mermaids delight In their nautilus bark, A storm at sea Is a pleasure to me, Then come with me COUNTRIES I HAVE SEEN. the Eighth. It was formerly walled in, and held deer for royal hunting-but in the reign of George the Fourth, it was enclosed with an open iron railing, and is now only used for drives, promenades, rides and military reviews. Connected with Hyde Park, by a bridge over the Serpentine, an artificial river, are Kensington Gardens, beautiful pleasure-grounds attached to Kensington Palace, a building belonging to the royal family. This palace was for several years the town residence of the widowed Duchess of Kent, and here her illustrious daughter, the Princess, now Queen Victoria, was educated. Strangers sometimes met the young Princess walking in the gardens, or saw her sitting under the shade of the trees, accompanied by her mother, or governess. She was always very simply dressed, and always wore a sweet gentle look on her fresh young face. In Hyde Park every pleasant afternoon, there may be seen hosts of splendid equipages, and hundreds of ladies and gentlemen mounted on elegant horses, riding up and down a long broad avenue, called "Rotten Row," which is devoted entirely to equestrians. In Hyde Park stood the Crystal Palace-now removed to Sydenham-where it stands on an eminence, and seems in itself a great mountain of light. A smaller but yet a fine park is that of St. James. King Charles the First walked through this, from the Palace of St. James to the scaffold before Whitehall-on the morning of his execution. He was very calm, and on his way he pointed out a tree to one of his attendants, as having been planted by his brother, the young Prince Henry, who, if he had lived, would have been King-and poor Charles might have kept his head, which doubtless, was of more value to him than all the crowns of all the kingdoms of the world. King Charles the Second made many improvements in this Park, and took much pleasure in riding, sporting and idly strolling here. He might often be seen with half a dozen dogs at his heels, lounging along by the banks of the ponds, feeding the ducks with his own delicate royal hands. The foolish people were greatly moved and delighted Then Sir Patrick commanded his men to bring Travels, Descriptions, Tales and Historical at this, thinking that a king, who could be so kind a web of silken cloth from the cabin, and stuff it into the hole in the ship's side. This they did, but still the sea came pouring in! It flooded the rich tapestried cabin-it dashed up over the purple dais put there for the Princess and her maidsit flowed, and foamed, and gushed, and gurgled everywhere, rising higher and higher. Sketches. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. LONDON PARKS AND GARDENS. and gracious to dogs and ducks, must be a good sovereign;-but they were wofully mistaken there. Regent's Park was so named for the Prince Regent, afterwards George the Fourth. This park is extensive and exceedingly beautiful. It has winding roads and shady paths, ornamental plantations, clear, shining sheets of water-noble trees and fairy-like bowers, so secluded and shadowy, that the birds sing and nest in them as fearlessly as in the deep heart of a country wood. Within this park are several elegant villasamong which, I best remember St. Dunstan's Villa After all, I think I had more real delight in the noble public parks and gardens of London, than in palaces and cathedrals. They were all wonThe dainty young lords were loth at first to ders and novelties to me-for, to our misfortune wet their high-heeled silken shoes-but before and discredit, we have nothing of the kind in our their trouble was over, their velvet hats and gay country. To see the poor little public squares in plumes were quite as badly wet-for they all our towns and cities-where a few stunted trees went down-passengers and crew-and King seem huddled together, as though scared by the Alexander's fine new ship was a total loss. great red-faced houses that crowd so close upon Many were the beautiful court ladies at Dun-them-one would think that we were sadly stint--the residence of the late Marquis of Hertford, fermline, who sat with their fans in their hands, ed and straightened for land, instead of being and their gold combs in their hair, waiting for, loosely scattered over a vast continent, many their lovers to come back from Norway-but times larger than all Great Britain. never, never did they see Sir Patrick's ship come sailing to the strand. They longed, and waited, and watched in vain-for full forty miles off Aberdeen, where the water was fifty fathoms deep, Sir Patrick Spens, a good sailor-but a rather too hasty and hot-headed old gentleman, lay The English government, with all its faults, has always been wise and generous toward the people in regard to their out-door comfort and pleasure. It does not mean that they shall be stifled for want of air, or cramped for room to exercise in. Every where over the kingdom, the traveller sees shady parks, pleasant gardens, breezy downs and wide heaths, open to the public, and as much for the enjoyment of the poor as the rich, The great Hyde Park of London, has been the property of the crown since the time of Henry about whom and this place I have heard a pretty little story, which I will tell you. In Fleet Street, London, stands the Church of St. Dunstan, built on the site of a church of the same name, which was torn down about thirty years ago. The old Church of St. Dunstan had a curious clock, which was considered a very wonderful piece of mechanism, almost a work of witchcraft. Standing out on the side of the church in full view of the passers-by, were two figures of Hercules, holding clubs, with which they struck on two bells the hours and the quarters. All children took delight in watching these gigantic figures, but none so much as the little Marquis of Hertford, |