Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends

Fanny Fern

Informations

• Publié par: thuin
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 17
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Project Gutenberg's Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends, by Fanny Fern This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends Author: Fanny Fern Release Date: February 11, 2007 [EBook #20561] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE FERNS *** Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) LITTLE NELLY. THIRTY-FIRST THOUSAND. LITTLE FERNS FOR FANNY'S LITTLE FRIENDS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "FERN LEAVES." WITH ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY FRED M. COFFIN. AUBURN AND BUFFALO: MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN. 1854. Published first in England by International Arrangement with the American Proprietors, and entered at Stationers' Hall. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-three, by DERBY AND MILLER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Northern District of NewYork. STEREOTYPED BY DERBY AND MILLER, AUBURN. TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER THESE "LITTLE FERNS" ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED "They reckon not by months, and years Where she hath gone to dwell." Transcriber's Note: The stanza of poetry quoted in SCOTT F ARM is from The Reaper and The Flowers by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This same stanza, with a slight variation, can be found in Woman's Endurance, by A. D. L., B.A., Chaplain in the Concentration Camp, Bethulie, O.R.C., PG EText-No. 16859. The complete poem, again with a slightly different first stanza, can be found in The Complete Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, PG EText No. 1365. PREFACE. D EAR C HILDREN:— Aunt Fanny has written you some stories, which she hopes will please and divert you. She would rather have come to you, and told them, that she might have seen your bright faces; but as that could not be, she sends her little book instead. Perhaps you will sometime come and see her, and then won't we have a nice time telling stories? Where do I live? Won't you tell—certain true? Won't you tell Susy, or Mary, or Hatty, or Sammy, or Tommy, or even your pet Uncle Charley? Oh, I can't tell! "If I tell it to one, she will tell it to two, And the next cup of tea, they will plot what they'll do; So I'll tell nobody, I'll tell nobody, I'll tell nobody; no—not I!" FANNY FERN . CONTENTS. PAGE WHERE IS LITTLE N ELLY ? 11 LITTLE GEORGE'S STORY 14 MATTY AND MABEL; or Who is Rich!—Who is Poor! 16 THE BABY'S C OMPLAINT 20 LITTLE FLOY ; or, Tears and Smiles 22 THE LAKE TRIP; or, Going a Fishing 27 "MILK FOR BABES " 30 THE LITTLE "MORNING GLORY " 33 THE C HARITY ORPHANS 35 D ON'T GET ANGRY 37 "LITTLE BENNY " 42 A R AP ON SOMEBODY'S KNUCKLES 43 LITTLE FREDDY'S MUSINGS 45 ONLY A PENNY 47 A LITTLE BOY WITH A BIG H EART 52 MAY MORNING 56 THE LITTLE D ANDELION MERCHANT 59 WALTER WILLET 61 C HILDREN, D ID YOU EVER HEAR OF MR. "THEY SAY !" 66 THE LITTLE MARTYR 69 SELFISH MATTHEW 75 C ITY C HILDREN 78 R OSALIE AND H ETTY 81 THE C RYSTAL PALACE 84 KIZZY KRINGLE'S STORY 89 N EW-YORK IN SHADOW 94 H ATTY'S MISTAKE 100 MIN-YUNG 104 MIN-YUNG 104 TOM, THE TAILOR 108 BETSEY'S D REAM 114 SCOTT FARM 119 A TRUE STORY 126 THE LITTLE EMIGRANTS 131 ALL ABOUT THE D OLANS 136 FRONTIER LIFE; Or, Mitty Moore 141 U NCLE JOLLY 151 A PEEP U NDER GROUND—the Raffertys and the Rourkes 157 "BALD EAGLE;" OR, THE LITTLE C APTIVES 162 A STREET SCENE 171 LETTER FROM TOM GRIMALKIN TO H IS MOTHER 177 WHAT C AME OF AN OMNIBUS R IDE, and "one Pull To The Right!" 180 LITTLE GERTRUDE'S PARTY 188 FERN MUSINGS 195 C RAZY TIM 200 C ICELY H UNT; Or, the Lame Girl 206 THE LITTLE TAMBOURINE PLAYER 214 THE BROKER'S WINDOW BY GASLIGHT 223 BLACK C HLOE 229 A PEEP FROM MY WINDOW 235 THE BOY PEDLAR 239 THE N EW C OOK 242 LETTY 250 FRONTIER STORIES 260 A PEEP THROUGH MY QUIZZING GLASS 268 THE ENGLISH EMIGRANTS 276 N EW-YORK SUNDAY 282 THE BOY WHO LIKED N ATURAL H ISTORY 288 KNUD IVERSON 292 C HILDREN IN 1853 296 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE LITTLE N ELLY ONLY A PENNY H ATTY'S MISTAKE U NCLE JOLLY C RAZY TIM LETTY Frontispiece. 47 100 151 200 250 LITTLE FERNS. WHERE IS LITTLE NELLY? She is not in the garden; I have searched under every bush and tree. She is not asleep in the summer-house, or in the old barn. She is not feeding the speckled chickens, or gathering buttercups in the meadows. Her little dog Fidele is weary waiting for her, and her sweet-voiced canary has forgotten to sing. Has anybody seen my little Nelly? She had eyes blue as the summer heavens, hair like woven sunbeams, teeth like seed pearls, and a voice soft as the wind sighing through the river willows. Nelly is not down by the river? No; she never goes where I bid her not. She is not at the neighbors? No; for she is as shy as a wood-pigeon. Where can my little pet be? There is her doll—(Fenella she called it, because it was so tiny,)—she made its dress with her own slender fingers, laughing the while, because she was so awkward a little dress-maker. There is her straw hat,—she made that oak-leaf wreath about the crown one bright summer day, as we sat on the soft moss in the cool fragrant wood. Nelly liked the woods. She liked to lie with her ear to the ground and make believe hear the fairies talk; she liked to look up in the tall trees, and see the bright-winged oriole dart through the branches; she liked to watch the clouds, and fancy that in their queer shapes she saw cities, and temples, and chariots, and people; she liked to see the lightning play; she liked the bright rainbows. She liked to gather the sweet wild flowers, that breathe out their little day of sweetness in some sheltered nook; she liked the cunning little squirrel, peeping slily from some mossy tree-trunk; she liked to see the bright sun wrap himself in his golden mantle, and sink behind the hills; she liked the first little silver star that stole softly out on the dark, blue sky; she liked the last faint note of the little bird, as it folded its soft wings to sleep; she liked to lay her cheek to mine, as her eyes filled with happy tears, because God had made the world so very fair. Where is our Nelly? She is not talking with Papa?—no; he can't find her either. He wants to see her trip down the gravel walk to meet him when business hours are over, and he has nothing to do but to come home and love us. He wants her to ramble with; he wants that little velvet cheek to kiss when he wakes each morning. Where is Nelly? I am sure she loved Papa. It was she who ran to warm his slippers when his horse's feet came prancing down the avenue. It was she who wheeled the arm-chair to its nice, snug corner; it was she who ran for the dressinggown; it was she who tucked in the pockets a sly bit of candy, that she had hoarded all day for "poor, tired Papa." It was she who laid her soft hand upon his throbbing temples, when those long, ugly rows of figures at the countingroom, had given him such a cruel headache. It was she who kneeled beside her bed and taught herself this little prayer. "Please, God, let me die before my Papa." Where is Nelly? My dear little pets, the flowers shed dewy tears over her bright, young head long time ago. God did "let her go before Papa," and then ... he took Papa, too. Here is a lock of raven hair, and a long, golden ringlet—all that is left of Nelly and Papa—but in that blessed land, where tears are wiped away, Aunt Fanny knows her "lost are found." LITTLE GEORGE'S STORY. My Aunt Libby patted me on the head the other day and said, "George, my boy, this is the happiest part of your life." I guess my Aunt Libby don't know much. I guess she never worked a week to make a kite, and the first time she went to fly it got the tail hitched in a tall tree, whose owner wouldn't let her climb up to disentangle it. I guess she never broke one of the runners of her sled some Saturday afternoon, when it was "prime" coasting. I guess she never had to give her biggest marbles to a great lubberly boy, because he would thrash her if she didn't. I guess she never had a "hockey stick" play round her ankles in recess, because she got above a fellow in the class. I guess she never had him twitch off her best cap, and toss it in a mud-puddle. I guess she never had to give her humming-top to quiet the baby, and had the paint all sucked off. I guess she never saved up all her coppers a whole winter to buy a trumpet, and then was told she must not blow it, because it would make a noise. No—I guess my Aunt Libby don't know much; little boys have troubles as well as grown people,—all the difference is they daren't complain. Now, I never had a "bran new" jacket and trowsers in my life—never,—and I don't believe I ever shall; for my two brothers have shot up like Jack's bean-stalk, and left all their out-grown clothes "to be made over for George;" and that cross old tailoress keeps me from bat and ball, an hour on the stretch, while she laps over, and nips in, and tucks up, and cuts off their great baggy clothes for me. And when she puts me out the door, she's sure to say—"Good bye, little Tom Thumb." Then when I go to my uncle's to dine, he always puts the big dictionary in a chair, to hoist me up high enough to reach my knife and fork; and if there is a dwarf apple or potatoe on the table, it is always laid on my plate. If I go to the play-ground to have a game of ball, the fellows all say—Get out of the way, little chap, or we shall knock you into a cocked hat. I don't think I've grown a bit these two years. I know I haven't, by the mark on the wall—(and I stand up to measure every chance I get.) When visitors come to the house and ask me my age, and I tell them that I am nine years old, they say, Tut, tut! little boys s