Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe—Sailed on a river of crystal lightInto a sea of dew."Where are you going, and what do you wish?"The old moon asked the three."We have come to fish for the herring fishThat live in this beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we,"Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe;And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew;The little stars were the herring fishThat lived in that beautiful sea."Now cast your nets wherever you wish,But never afraid are we!"So cried the stars to the fishermen three,Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam,Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home;'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemedAs if it could not be;And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea;But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one's trundle-bed;So shut your eyes while mother singsOf the wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful thingsAs you rock in the misty seaWhere the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,—Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.—Eugene Field
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe—Sailed on a river of crystal lightInto a sea of dew."Where are you going, and what do you wish?"The old moon asked the three."We have come to fish for the herring fishThat live in this beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we,"Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe;And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew;The little stars were the herring fishThat lived in that beautiful sea."Now cast your nets wherever you wish,But never afraid are we!"So cried the stars to the fishermen three,Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam,Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home;'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemedAs if it could not be;And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea;But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one's trundle-bed;So shut your eyes while mother singsOf the wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful thingsAs you rock in the misty seaWhere the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,—Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.—Eugene Field
From "With Trumpet and Drum." Copyright, 1892, by Mary French Field.Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.
A little four-year-old girl stood in her room making pictures upon the white walls. On every side could be seen drawings of horses and dogs, cows, rabbits, and sheep. The walls were covered with pictures as high as the chubby hand could reach.
In the doorway stood the father, watching his little daughter. So wonderful were her drawings for a little child that the neighbors often came into the tiny room to look at the pictures on the walls.
"My little Rosa will be an artist some day," said the father, "but she can never be a great artist because she is a girl. How I wish she were a boy!"
In those days it was not thought proper for a girl to do anything that would take her away from home. "A girl should stay in thehouse," people said. "She should spend her time in sewing and in helping her mother."
Rosa Bonheur.Rosa Bonheur.
Rosa Bonheur.
Rosa Bonheur's home was in France. She was the eldest of four children. Her father gave lessons in drawing and made picturesfor books. The little cottage in which she was born was in a beautiful part of the country. Here, with her two younger brothers and a baby sister, she lived a happy life.
Rosa loved animals, and she had many pets. Dogs that had no home came to her, and they were never turned away. She fed the wild rabbits and tamed the squirrels. If a stray horse wandered by, it was given food and water, and cared for until its owner could be found.
The child artist drew pictures of all these animals. She studied them as they ran or walked or lay down to rest.
When her little brothers were old enough to run about, they loved to follow their sister from place to place. Often they went with her to the roadside, where she made pictures for them in the sand with a pointed stick.
Sometimes her dogs came too and sat for their pictures. The passers-by stopped to see the rosy-cheeked little girl drawing animals and landscapes along the sandy way.
In the long winter evenings Rosa amused herself and her brothers by cutting pictures of animals and people from pieces of paper.
But this free and happy life came to an end all too soon. When Rosa was seven years old, the family moved to Paris, where they lived in small rooms. The street was crowded with houses, and there was no yard for the children to play in.
How Rosa longed for her old home and for the animals she loved. Sometimes she ran across the street to pet a wooden pig which stood just outside the door of a meat shop.
About this time a great sorrow came to the little Bonheur children. Their beautiful mother died, and then they were all sent away from home.
Poor little Rosa! She did not like tostudy or sew, and she was very unhappy in the girls' school to which she was sent. Her only pleasure was in visiting her father's studio. Here, if she could have a pencil, or a bit of clay, she was always contented.
How she begged to leave school and stay with her father! Her relatives thought this a foolish thing for her to do. "What would people think," they said, "to see a girl doing a boy's work?"
One day, when her father returned to the studio after a short absence, he found that Rosa had painted a bunch of cherries. He looked at her picture for a long time, and then he said, "If you can do as well as that, I will give you lessons."
"And I will cut off my hair and wear boy's clothes," said Rosa. "Then I can study with you, and no one will notice me." So she dressed like a boy and went everywhere with her father.
Lessons in drawing and painting now began in earnest. It was not long before she could help her father. Soon she wasable to copy pictures in the famous picture galleries of Paris.
And now the girl who did not like to study books, and who hated to sew, became one of the hardest of workers. She painted from early morning until night to earn money for her father and the younger children.
At last the Bonheur family were able to have a home together once more. In a quiet street in Paris, up six flights of stairs, they found a few small rooms.
But what should they do for a garden and for a place to keep their animals? It was Rosa's greatest wish to learn to draw and paint animals from life, and she needed to study living models.
The windows of their rooms opened on a broad, flat roof. Here Rosa and her brother made a roof garden and planted flowers. Here they kept singing birds, a hen and chickens, and a pet sheep.
Every morning the two boys carried the sheep downstairs, and led it to the pasture. In the evening they carried it up the longflights of stairs to the studio. It was drawn standing and lying down, eating and sleeping. It was painted and modeled in clay, again and again, by Rosa and her brothers.
Rosa Bonheur now spent all her time in painting animals. She took long trips into the country to find animals to sketch. There she drew flocks of sheep, oxen at work, and cows standing in the long grass.
Sometimes she went into pens where animals were kept, both in the country and in the city of Paris. Because her long skirts were in the way of her work she often dressed as men do.
Her pictures were shown in Paris with those of great artists. When she was only nineteen years old, she won her first prize. This was a great honor.
One of her finest pictures is called "Oxen Plowing." It was finished just before her father's death. He was greatly interested in this picture. When it was done, he was proud and happy to see that his daughter had become a great artist.
Oxen Plowing.Painting by Rosa Bonheur.Oxen Plowing.
Painting by Rosa Bonheur.
Oxen Plowing.
Rosa Bonheur spent the last years of her life in a home of her own, not far from Paris. Near by was a beautiful forest, and in a park close to the house she kept a number of wild animals.
The studio in which the artist worked was very interesting. Paintings hung on the walls and stood about the room. Birds sangin their cages. Dogs and other pets walked about or lay on the skins of wild animals which covered the floor.
To this home came many poor people, whom the great artist was always glad to help. She was kind to every one, and even the animals loved her.
A large lion named Nero was one of Rosa's pets, and he often lay in the studio while she painted her pictures.
Once, when she was leaving home for a long trip, she was obliged to send Nero away. On her return she went to see him in one of the parks of Paris. She found him in a cage, sick and blind.
"Nero, my poor Nero!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you?"
THE HORSE FAIR.Painting by Rosa Bonheur.THE HORSE FAIR.
Painting by Rosa Bonheur.
THE HORSE FAIR.
The poor beast heard her voice. He crawled to the bars of the cage, where he could feel her hand stroking his head. So great was the lovehe showed that Rosa had him taken again to her home, and she cared for him as long as he lived. He died clinging with his great paws to the mistress he had loved so well.
Rosa Bonheur's most wonderful painting is "The Horse Fair." The artist spent nearly two years in drawing horses before she began this great work. The picture is so large that she was obliged to use a stepladder to reach some parts of it.
"The Horse Fair" was bought by an American, and it can be seen in the Museum of Art in New York city.
When the French people wish to honor an artist, they give him the cross of the Legion of Honor. The Empress had often seen Rosa Bonheur sketching in the forest, and she thought her the greatest of animal painters.
One morning when Rosa Bonheur was painting in her studio, the Empress came into the room and hung a beautiful white cross around the artist's neck.
No woman had ever before worn the cross of the Legion of Honor.
When Benjamin Franklin was a boy there were no great public schools as there are now. But Benjamin learned to read almost as soon as he could talk, and he was always fond of books.
His nine brothers were older than he, and every one had learned a trade. They did not care so much for books.
"Benjamin shall be the scholar of our family," said his mother.
And so, when he was eight years old, he was sent to a grammar school. He studied hard, and in a few months he was promoted to a higher class. But his father was poor and needed his help. In two years he was obliged to leave school.
Benjamin was a small boy, but there were many things that he could do. His fatherwas a soap boiler, and candle maker. And so when the boy was taken from school, what kind of work do you think he had to do?
You may be sure that Benjamin was kept busy. He cut wicks for the candles, poured the melted tallow into the candle molds, and sold soap to his father's customers.
Do you suppose that he liked to do this work?
He did not like it at all. And when he saw the ships sailing in and out of Boston Harbor, he longed to be a sailor, and go to strange, far-away lands, where candles and soap were unknown.
Benjamin's father saw that his boy did not like the work he was doing. One day he said: "Benjamin, since you do not wish to be a candle maker, what trade do you think you would like to learn?"
"I would like to be a sailor," said the boy.
"I do not wish you to be a sailor," said his father. "I intend that you shall learn some useful trade on land; and I know that youwill do best the kind of work that is most pleasant to you."
The next day he took the boy to walk with him among the workshops of Boston. They saw men busy at all kinds of work.
Benjamin was delighted. Long afterwards, when he had become a very great man, he said, "It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle their tools."
He gave up the thought of going to sea, and decided that he would learn any trade his father would choose for him.
Soon after this, Benjamin's brother James set up a printing press in Boston. He intended to print books and a newspaper.
"Benjamin loves books," said his father. "He shall learn to be a printer."
And so, when he was twelve years old, he was sent to his brother to learn the printer's trade. He was to have his board and clothing, but no wages.
Benjamin never attended school again, but he kept on studying. At that time there were no books written for children as thereare nowadays. His father's books were not easy to understand. We should think them very dull.
But before he was twelve years old, Benjamin had carefully read the most of them. All the money that came into his hands he laid out in books.
Often he would borrow a book in the evening, and then sit up nearly all night reading it so as to return it early in the morning.
He spent all his spare time in studying and reading the best books that he could get. We shall find that afterward Benjamin Franklin became the most learned man in America.
Lost time is never found again.One to-day is worth two to-morrows.God helps them that help themselves.Plow deep while sluggards sleep,And you shall have corn to sell and to keep.—Benjamin Franklin.
Lost time is never found again.One to-day is worth two to-morrows.God helps them that help themselves.Plow deep while sluggards sleep,And you shall have corn to sell and to keep.—Benjamin Franklin.
t was a spring morning more than one hundred years ago. A young man was plowing in a field near a low farmhouse.Four men with guns on their shoulders passed along the road. "There is Abner White," said one of them. "He ought to join the army. Call to him.""Abner, Abner," they shouted.The young man left his plow and ran to the fence."We are raising a company to join Washington's army," they said. "We march to-morrow. You must go with us, Abner."
t was a spring morning more than one hundred years ago. A young man was plowing in a field near a low farmhouse.
Four men with guns on their shoulders passed along the road. "There is Abner White," said one of them. "He ought to join the army. Call to him."
"Abner, Abner," they shouted.
The young man left his plow and ran to the fence.
"We are raising a company to join Washington's army," they said. "We march to-morrow. You must go with us, Abner."
Abner walked quickly to the little farmhouse. His mother was standing in the door.
"My country needs me, mother," he said. "What shall I do?"
"If you feel it is your duty to fight for your country, Abner, you must go," answered the brave woman. "When will the new company march?"
"To-morrow."
"To-morrow!" exclaimed Mrs. White. "You can not wear those old trousers. We must make you a new pair."
"A soldier can not wait for new clothes, and I must march with my company. A pair of trousers can not be made in a day."
"We shall see," thought his mother, as she hurried away to call her daughters.
"Is there any woolen cloth in the house, Nancy?" she asked.
"Not a yard; I used the last yesterday."
"And there is no yarn, either," said Deborah, the oldest daughter.
"The sheep have not been sheared, and there is no wool. It is not possible to make Abner a new pair of trousers before he goes. There is no use to try!" said Nancy.
SPINNING THE WOOL.SPINNING THE WOOL.
SPINNING THE WOOL.
"We can never tell what we can do until we try," replied the mother. "Where are the sheep?"
"They are in the pasture. I'll catch them," offered Silas, the younger son.
"And I'll help," said little Faith. "I'll get some salt to coax them with."
The children ran to the pasture. "Nan, Nan, Nan, Nan," they called. And the sheep came running for the salt.
Nancy was hurrying to the field with a pair of large shears in her hand. "Catch that black sheep if you can," she shouted.
Silas caught and held the sheep, while Nancy cut off the long, black wool.
"Here is a white sheep with beautiful wool," called out Faith.
Silas put his arms around the patient animal, and Nancy cut off its fine white wool.
"You may carry in all the wool we have, Faith," said Nancy. "Silas and I will keep on shearing until we have enough."
The wool was quickly combed by Deborah, for there was no time to wash the newly cutfleece. Very soon the mother commenced to spin. How the spinning wheel buzzed as it twisted the soft wool into yarn!
Nancy threaded the loom. Deborah wound the shuttle full of new yarn, and the weaving of the cloth began.
Back and forth the shuttle flew, Deborah and Nancy taking turns. Late at night the cloth was woven, and Abner's new trousers were cut out. All night long the sewing went on, every stitch by hand.
The next day at noon Silas sat on the gatepost watching. Rub-a-dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub, came the sound of drums.
"Here they come! Here they come! tell mother," he shouted.
They all hurried to the fence to see the soldiers march by.
Abner held his musket proudly as he passed. He glanced at his mother and then down at his new trousers.
"No one looks finer than our Abner," said Deborah, as the soldier boys marched by on their way to the war.
My country, 'tis of thee,Sweet land of liberty,Of thee I sing!Land where my fathers died;Land of the pilgrims' pride;From every mountain sideLet freedom ring!My native country, thee,Land of the noble free,Thy name I love;I love thy rocks and rills,Thy woods and templed hills;My heart with rapture thrillsLike that above!Let music swell the breeze,And ring from all the trees,Sweet freedom's song;Let mortal tongues awake;Let all that breathe partake;Let rocks their silence break—The sound prolong!Our fathers' God, to Thee,Author of liberty,To Thee we sing!Long may our land be bright,With freedom's holy light!Protect us by Thy might,Great God, our King!
My country, 'tis of thee,Sweet land of liberty,Of thee I sing!Land where my fathers died;Land of the pilgrims' pride;From every mountain sideLet freedom ring!
My native country, thee,Land of the noble free,Thy name I love;I love thy rocks and rills,Thy woods and templed hills;My heart with rapture thrillsLike that above!
Let music swell the breeze,And ring from all the trees,Sweet freedom's song;Let mortal tongues awake;Let all that breathe partake;Let rocks their silence break—The sound prolong!
Our fathers' God, to Thee,Author of liberty,To Thee we sing!Long may our land be bright,With freedom's holy light!Protect us by Thy might,Great God, our King!
Out on the breeze,O'er land and seas,A beautiful banner is streaming.Shining its stars,Splendid its bars,Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.Over the braveLong may it wave,Peace to the world ever bringing.While to the stars,Linked with the bars,Hearts will forever be singing.—Lydia Coonley Ward.
Out on the breeze,O'er land and seas,A beautiful banner is streaming.Shining its stars,Splendid its bars,Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.
Over the braveLong may it wave,Peace to the world ever bringing.While to the stars,Linked with the bars,Hearts will forever be singing.—Lydia Coonley Ward.
Flowers
Roses by the garden wall,Poppies red and lilies tall,Bobolinks and robins,—allTell that June is here.
Roses by the garden wall,Poppies red and lilies tall,Bobolinks and robins,—allTell that June is here.
The clover meadows call the bees,The squirrels chatter on the trees,And robins sing their merry lays:Hurrah for glad vacation days!
The clover meadows call the bees,The squirrels chatter on the trees,And robins sing their merry lays:Hurrah for glad vacation days!
Sing a song of harvest time,When the golden grain is high,When the blossoms blow,And the sun in a glowSweeps over a cloudless sky.
Sing a song of harvest time,When the golden grain is high,When the blossoms blow,And the sun in a glowSweeps over a cloudless sky.
Sing a song of seasons,Something bright in all,Flowers in the summer,Fires in the fall.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
Sing a song of seasons,Something bright in all,Flowers in the summer,Fires in the fall.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
In January falls the snow,In February cold winds blow.In March peep out the early flowers,In April fall the sunny showers.In May the tulips bloom so gay,In June the farmer mows his hay.In July harvest is begun,In August hotly shines the sun.September turns the green leaves brown,October winds then shake them down.November fields are brown and sere,December comes and ends the year.
In January falls the snow,In February cold winds blow.
In March peep out the early flowers,In April fall the sunny showers.
In May the tulips bloom so gay,In June the farmer mows his hay.
In July harvest is begun,In August hotly shines the sun.
September turns the green leaves brown,October winds then shake them down.
November fields are brown and sere,December comes and ends the year.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you,No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave youFor every day:—Be good, sweet maid,And let who will be clever;Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;And so make life, death, and that vast forever,One grand, sweet song.—Charles Kingsley.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you,No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave youFor every day:—
Be good, sweet maid,And let who will be clever;Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;And so make life, death, and that vast forever,One grand, sweet song.—Charles Kingsley.
Dare to be right! Dare to be true!You have a work that no other can do;Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,Angels will hasten the story to tell.Dare to be right! Dare to be true!The failings of others can never save you.Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;Stand like a hero and battle till death.
Dare to be right! Dare to be true!You have a work that no other can do;Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,Angels will hasten the story to tell.
Dare to be right! Dare to be true!The failings of others can never save you.Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;Stand like a hero and battle till death.
If I were a bird I would warble a song,The sweetest and finest that ever was heard,And build me a nest in the old elm tree;Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a bird!If I were a flower I'd hasten to bloom,And make myself beautiful all the day through,With drinking the sunshine, the wind, and the rain;Oh, if I were a flower, that's what I'd do!If I were a brook I would sparkle and danceAmong the green fields where sheep and lambs stray,And call, "Little lambkins, come hither and drink;"Oh, if I were a brook, that is what I would say!If I were a star I would shine wide and brightTo guide the lone sailor on ocean afar,And travelers, lost in the desert and woods;Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a star!But I know that for me other tasks have been set,For I am a child and can nothing else be;I must sit at my lessons, and, day after day,Learn to read and to spell, and to add one, two, and three.Yet perhaps if I try I shall sometime find outHow the birds sing so sweetly, how the roses grow red,What the merry brook says to the moss-covered stones,And what makes the stars stay so high overhead.
If I were a bird I would warble a song,The sweetest and finest that ever was heard,And build me a nest in the old elm tree;Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a bird!
If I were a flower I'd hasten to bloom,And make myself beautiful all the day through,With drinking the sunshine, the wind, and the rain;Oh, if I were a flower, that's what I'd do!
If I were a brook I would sparkle and danceAmong the green fields where sheep and lambs stray,And call, "Little lambkins, come hither and drink;"Oh, if I were a brook, that is what I would say!
If I were a star I would shine wide and brightTo guide the lone sailor on ocean afar,And travelers, lost in the desert and woods;Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a star!
But I know that for me other tasks have been set,For I am a child and can nothing else be;I must sit at my lessons, and, day after day,Learn to read and to spell, and to add one, two, and three.
Yet perhaps if I try I shall sometime find outHow the birds sing so sweetly, how the roses grow red,What the merry brook says to the moss-covered stones,And what makes the stars stay so high overhead.
The following key to the pronunciation of words is in accordance with Webster's International Dictionary. The modified long vowels in unaccented syllables are indicated by the modified macron, as in sen'ā̍te, ē̍ vent', ō̍ bey'. The silent letters are printed in italics.
The list includes the more difficult words of the lessons in the Third Reader not listed in the preceding books of the series.
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