BOBBY was a little tot in dresses, with long "dauburn" curls, as he called them, hanging down on his shoulders. He would n't be four years old till October; and yet he had been off on the cars that spring day all alone by himself, and without saying a word to anybody. It all happened because Papa had just bought him a velocipede, painted black, with red trimmings, and having a cushioned seat and a silver-tipped steering-handle. Mamma had always said that there were two things which Bobby must not do till he was large enough to wear trousers, and one was to eat mince-pie and the other to ride a velocipede. But every boy on the street had a velocipede that spring, and there was no peace till Bobby had one, too. Yet Mamma never let him take it out of the yard till he had promised not to go out of sight of the house, and not to race with the other boys.

Bobby's father was an engineer on the railroad, and he was gone from home all day. On the morning when this story began to happen, he went away early, leaving Mamma with "oceans of work" on her hands,—that is, the week's ironing was to be finished up and some frosted cake made for a little party she was to have that evening; so as soon as Bobby had finished his breakfast, she put on his little gray cloak, with the cap to match, -which had a black tassel in the center,-and his red silk neckerchief, and mittens of the same color, and sent him out to play with the velocipede; then she made the cake while the irons were getting hot, going to the door every little while to see that Bobby was all right.

For a time, Bobby remembered all that he had promised Mamma, and kept near the house and VOL. VIII.-42.

did not race; but after all the other children had come out on the walk with their velocipedes, and a grand open-to-all race around the square was started, he forgot himself, and followed the rest just as fast as his little legs could make the wheels go. And, what was stranger, Mamma forgot him, because, at that very moment, she made the unhappy discovery that while her irons were hot, her party-cake was burning up. By the time that Bobby had turned the first corner of the square, the other children were out of sight. He was tired, and would have gone home, and this story would never have been written. But it so happened that he looked down the street a long way to where the railroad track crossed the road, in front of the big depot, and saw a steamengine; and then he thought to himself: "I'll go and see Papa," for he had an idea that all engines went to the same place, and that any one of them would take him straight to Papa; it would be fine fun to ride in the cab, on the engineer's seat, just as he rode one day when Papa's engine was going from the engine-house to the depot. So the velocipede flew down the street for the next few minutes in a way that made everybody stare.

But after a while it made a sudden stop, for Bobby spied a string of tobacco-pipes hanging in the window of a cigar store and he wanted one, because he remembered that Papa always had a pipe in his mouth when he started for the depot. So he left the velocipede leaning against the window, and went in and bought a long clay pipe with a yellow mouth-piece. The man asked him for a penny. and he paid him promptly from the bit of a purse which he always carried in the side pocket of his

cloak. And when he had put that pipe in his mouth, he felt so grand that he marched off for the depot, never once thinking of the velocipede.

When he reached the depot, the engine was hitched to a long train of cars, and the engineer stood on the ground oiling the machinery with a funny, long-spouted oil-can. The steam was shooting out of the steam-pipe, and the fireman sat in the cab all ready to ring the bell for starting the train. Bobby pulled the sleeve of the engineer's jacket and said, pointing to the cab, "Please put me up there; I want to go and see my papa!" But the engineer shook his head and said, "I could n't do that, my little man," and then he climbed up to his seat. This was a great disappointment to Bobby, and I dare say he would have cried right out if he had n't seen a man with a pipe in his mouth, just like his own, going into the third car from the engine. So he thought that that must be the place for him. Just how he contrived to pull himself up the steps nobody knows, for nobody saw him, but when the train moved out of the depot he was curled up on the front seat of the smoking-car, with the pipe still between his teeth. That very same minute, his mamma was hurrying down Main street, looking very hot and exceedingly frightened, asking every one she met, "Have you seen my boy on his velocipede?"

The burning of that party-cake had so distracted the poor woman that she had not thought of Bobby for as much as ten minutes after it was out of the oven, and then none of the children, who had finished their race around the square by this time, had the slightest idea what had become of him. Neither did anybody else know, although a policeman told her that there was an idle velocipede down by Mr. Carter's cigar store. But all that Mr. Carter could tell her was that he had sold Bobby a pipe, to be used for blowing soap-bubbles, he supposed.

Mamma was very pale by this time, and her mind was full of all the terrible things that might possibly happen to Bobby, but she went straight on through the crowded streets of the city, till she came to the police office at the City Hall. The chief of police was very kind to her, and he wrote down all that she could tell him about how Bobby looked, and what he wore. He said that the City Hall bell should be rung to show that a child was lost, that all the policemen should look for Bobby all over the city, and that if he was n't found within two hours, the description he had written out should be printed in a hand-bill and posted everywhere. The big bell in the tower began to ring while Mamma went down the steps of the building, and it did n't stop until she reached home. By this time it was noon and her fire was all out.

A policeman brought home the velocipede a few minutes later, and, when he was gone, Mamma sat down and cried.

"Oh," said she, "where can my Bobby be, and what will Papa say when he comes home tonight?"

Conductor John Blackmer was a good deal surprised that day when he opened the door of the smoking-car on the fast New York express, just after leaving Brocton depot, to see Bobby and the pipe on the front seat. The little fellow was so nicely dressed that if it had n't been for the pipe, one would have supposed that he had just escaped from the infant class of some Sunday-school. The conductor stopped to ask him some questions, but the youngster was feeling his importance considerably just then, and about all that could be got out of him was that he intended to "see Papa"; so the conductor went on through the train, and he asked the passengers, while he was punching holes in their tickets, whose little boy that was in the smoking-car; but, of course, nobody knew. Then he went back to Bobby, and said:

"Who are you, anyhow?"

"Well," answered he, "my name is Bobby Bradish, and I live at 27 Garden street; my papa's name is Buxton Bradish; he is an engineer, and they call him 'Buck' Bradish, for short!"

All this was a speech that he had been taught to say at home, and one that always made Papa laugh.

The conductor knew "Buck" Bradish well, although he worked on another railroad; and he also knew what to do with Bobby. He first persuaded the young man to let him put the pipe into the side pocket of his own coat, to keep it from breaking, and then he carried him in his arms to the parlor-car, which was the next one in front of the smoking-car, and put him down in one of the big, red, stuffed chairs. He was facing a kindlooking lady, who got him to tell her about Mamma and Papa, and the velocipede. And when the boy with books and papers to sell came along, she bought for Bobby a children's magazine, and showed him the pictures; and also a little candy,-all, she was sure, Mamma would be willing he should eat. She made Bobby feel that the parlor-car was a much nicer place to ride in than the smoking-car.

It was twenty-five miles from Brocton to Sherman, where the express trains stopped next. When the conductor came into the car to take Bobby out, the little boy asked if his papa was there. The conductor told him that Papa was not there, but that he himself would take him to a lady who would tell him how to find Papa. Then he carried him across a track and into the depot, saying to a young lady who stood behind a door

that had a hole cut in it just large enough for Bobby to see her face, "Here he is." And she smiled, and, opening the door, said, "Bring him right in." So the conductor put Bobby on the lounge that stood behind the door, and the next minute he was gone off on the train.

It was the funniest little room Bobby had ever seen, hardly wide enough to turn around in. There was one sunny window in it that looked out on the railroad. While Bobby was looking around him, the lady sat down at a table, having some very curious-looking machinery on it, and played with her fingers on a black button that moved up and down on a spring, and made a clicking noise; and when the bird heard the clicking noise, he sang as though his throat would split. You see that it was a telegraph-office in which Conductor Blackmer had left Bobby, and that this lady was sending Mamma word where Bobby was; and when she had finished playing on the button, she came and sat on the lounge, and took Bobby in her lap; then she explained to him that his papa had gone a long way off on another railroad, and that he could not see him till night; also, that Conductor Blackmer would come back with his train by and by, and take him home; and that he must be a good boy while he staid with her, and he would find both Papa and Mamma waiting for him in the depot at home. And when she was sure that the little boy understood it all, it was dinner-time. You see, Conductor Blackmer had written a letter while he was on the cars, telling all about Bobby, and had given it to her as soon as the train stopped, so that she would know what to do with the little boy; and he had also written a message for her to telegraph to Mamma.

All this time, Mamma was sitting in the kitchen at home, crying as though her heart were broken. She did not even notice that the fire was out and her irons were cold; she was so troubled because Bobby was lost. But she started up very quickly when the front-door bell rang, and was a good deal surprised to find that a telegraph-boy had brought her a message; there could be no mistake about it, for on the envelope were the words, "Mrs. Buxton Bradish, 27 Garden street, Brocton, Connecticut." So she opened it, and this was what the message said:

"SHERMAN, CONNECTICUT, April 5th, 1875. "Bobby is all right. Will bring him home at 6.30 this evening. 'JOHN BLACKMER, "Conductor New York Express."

Mamma wiped away her tears in a hurry when she had read the message, and asked the boy to

come in while she wrote a note, informing the chief of police that Bobby was at last found. And then she began to make up a new fire in the kitchen stove; and when the fire was lit she put away the ironing and made a new party-cake.

The lady who staid in the Sherman telegraphoffice boarded at a large hotel across the road from the depot, and it was there that she took Bobby to dinner. Her friends stared a good deal when they saw her leading him through the long dining-room, but the waiter ran for a high chair and a bib, and the little boy enjoyed himself very much. After dinner, the lady went to a toy store and bought him some "sliced animals," and after they had gone back to the office, she showed him how to put the pasteboard strips together so as to make pictures of the lion, tiger, sheep, etc. Then she read him a story from the magazine which the other lady had given him on the train, and then Bobby fell asleep on the lounge. But he was wide awake when Conductor Blackmer came to take him, and the lady gave Bobby a good hug and a kiss before she let him go. The conductor put the magazine and the sliced animals in his overcoat pocket, and placed Bobby on a seat in the passenger-car. And when he had finished collecting tickets, he took him on his knee and told him stories about his own little children at home.

Papa's train came into the Brocton depot at six o'clock, half an hour earlier than the one Bobby was on. Mamma was there to meet him, and he was very much astonished to hear what had been going on.

When the New York express train came in, the first man who got off was Conductor Blackmer, with Bobby in his arms. And when Papa and Mamma had heard the whole story of Bobby's trip to Sherman, the conductor handed him over to them "safe and sound," along with the magazine, the sliced animals, and the pipe.

There was a very happy party at 27 Garden street that evening. Bobby was allowed to sit at the table and have a piece of the party-cake.

He is a large boy now, but he still remembers how he ran away to find Papa. And if you should go into the parlor of his house, you would see three photographs in the same frame. One of them is the picture of a little boy on a velocipede, another, that of John Blackmer, conductor of the New York express, and the third, that of the lady who stays in the Sherman telegraph-office. over these pictures there is placed a clay pipe, with a yellow mouth-piece; a pipe that has never been smoked.

And

ऋ

THANKSGIVING is all well enough in its way, Against Christmas and New-Year I 've nothing to say,

But my dog and the fellows and I,That is, all the fellows who have any spunk, Who save up for months to buy powder and punk, And keep fire-crackers hid in my old leather trunk,

We just live for the Fourth of July!

Tom stays at his aunt's, near the end of the lane;
Her house is quite fine but she 's hateful as Cain;
And I'm going to tell what she said,
One day when my dog and the fellows and I
Had gone to Tom's house to spend Fourth of July,
And thought, being under her window, we 'd try
To be quiet as mice, or the dead.

Yes, he did every time-but 't was all of no use; When folks want to find fault they can make an

excuse;

So she popped her head out through the vines And cried: "Tom, your father shall hear about

you;

To put up with this longer is more than I'll do—
Come into the house, sir, and send off the crew
That are spoiling my flowers and lines!
"Independence, indeed! I'd rather, I say,
Be under the rule of Great Britain to-day,

Than subjected to noises I hate!"
Oh! sharper than crackers the cruel words rang,
And quickly the window went down with a bang,
As up from the bushes my brave old dog sprang,
And followed me out of the gate.

As under the bushes we hid;

Tom screamed "Do be quiet!" at each little sound,

And when my dog yelped as he tore up the ground,
To bring me a piece of a cracker he 'd found,
I cried "Lie down, sir!" And he did.

She insulted my dog and the fellows and me, And though they may forgive her, I can't! No, I can't-and, besides that, I don't mean to try

And next year my dog and the fellows and I Will go off on the rocks to spend Fourth of July, With no thanks to Tom or his aunt !

POOR old Mr. Preface was tired,—not that he had been particularly busy,-no, that was the pity of it. Time had been when every caller at Dictionary Mansion had, first of all, paid their respects to him; in return, he imparted to each new visitor such little hints and general information as its founder, Mr. Webster, had thought they might need to aid them in their researches.

But, alas! those days were of the past! In the rush and hurry of modern American life, people could not wait to confer with him. There were constant callers at the mansion with whom he had never interchanged a word,—people who rushed through the halls, found the room of the Word they desired to consult, made their inquiries, and then bolted unceremoniously. All this worried Mr. Preface very much, for was he not an old and faithful servant? Mr. Webster himself had given him the position of janitor when Dictionary Mansion was first completed. It was comparatively a small house then; and through all its changes to the present enormous structure, with its numberless lodgers, he had remained faithfully at his post. These were a few of the sad thoughts occupying his attention one night as he sat restlessly in his arm-chair, wearied with enforced idleness. It was rather late for him, too. He usually closed the doors early in the evening; but, that night, Orator Puff was to speak at the Town Hall, and had engaged many of the biggest Words to assist him, and Mr. Preface was awaiting their return.

Meanwhile, the poor old fellow was slowly going over his sorrowful thoughts, when he was suddenly startled by a scream. It evidently came from a distant part of the building. Going into the hall, he found it rapidly filling with excited Words, anxious to know the cause of the alarm. As the commotion appeared greatest in the corridor of the "U's," he hurried there, and soon found himself at the room of little Mr. Up. Crowding past Curiosity, who stood vacantly staring through the door, he saw the body of the little lodger lying prostrate on the floor. Bending over him were Pity and Sympathy, vainly trying to bring him to consciousness.

Miss Upas, the lady who lived in the adjoining chamber, gave this explanation: Her neighbor had come home unusually late that evening. After hearing him close his door, she felt the jar of some one falling. Hurrying to his room, she discovered him lying on the floor, apparently dead,

and, in her terror, she gave the piercing scream which alarmed the house. Mr. Aid was the first to appear on the scene, and was doing all he could to revive the sufferer.

When Up had sufficiently recovered, he told his story, as follows:

"Mine is simply a case of nervous and bodily exhaustion, caused by constant overwork. There has not been a night for the last two years that I have not come home so utterly fagged out that it seemed as if I never could begin my endless labor again. Ever since the Jones family came to this town, my services have been in constant demand from early dawn till late at night. It appears there is hardly an idea in their heads but they think my presence necessary for its expression. For instance, there is Father Jones. At first cock-crow, he wakes up'; then 'gets up' and 'makes up' the fire; 'does up' his chores; 'blacks up' his boots; 'eats up' whatever his wife cooks up' for breakfast; 'goes up' to the store; 'figures up' the cash account; 'buys up' more goods; 'marks up' the prices; 'fills up' the orders; 'foots up' the profits; 'shuts up' the store; 'dresses up' for dinner; 'sits up' awhile afterward, calling for my assistance continually, until he 'locks up' the house for the night and shuts up' his eyes in slumber.

"At the same time Miss Fanny 'dresses up'; 'does up' her hair; 'takes up' her book; 'gets herself up' in her lesson; 'hunts up' her bonnet; 'hurries up' to school; 'catches up' with a school-mate; stands up' to recite; 'passes up' to the head of the class; flushes up' at the praise of her teacher; divides up' her luncheon at recess; and, as she rides up' home in the horsecar, 'makes up' her mind to be up' at the head of the school ere the term is up.'

"Tommy Jones 'runs up' to the store on an errand; 'trips up' over a stick; cries out that he is all bruised up,' until his mother 'bandages up' his knee, and ‘hugs him up'a dozen times, and tells him to keep up' good courage, and try to 'cheer up.'

"And so it is the long, long, weary day. I go from one to the other until I can scarcely totter. Nor would I complain even now if I thought my help were really needed. But there is the Brown family living next door; they are certainly quite as active as the Joneses, and, as they seldom require my services, I can only think that my presence on