| Vol. III.—No. 114. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents. |
| Tuesday, January 3, 1882. | Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
"NEW-YEAR'S DINNER IN THE NURSERY."
[A CHILD'S PUZZLES.]
BY MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
Pray where do the Old Years go, mamma,
When their work is over and done?
Does somebody tuck them away to sleep,
Quite out of the sight of the sun?
Or, perhaps, are they shut into crystal jars
And set away on a shelf
In a beautiful closet behind the stars,
Each Year in a place by itself?
Was there ever a Year that made a mistake,
And staid when its time was o'er,
Till it had to hurry its poor old feet,
When the New Year knocked at the door?
I wish you a happy New Year, mamma—
I am sure new things are nice—
And this one comes with a merry face,
And plenty of snow and ice.
But I only wish I had kept awake
Till the Old Year made his bow,
For what he said when the clock struck twelve
I never shall find out now.
Do you think he was tired and glad to rest?
Do you think that he said good-by,
Or melted away alone in the dark,
Without so much as a sigh?
Do I bother you now? Must I run away?
Why, that's what you always say;
The New Year's just the same as the Old;
I might as well go and play.
Oh, look at those sparrows so pert and spry!
They are waiting to get their crumbs.
For the New Year's sake they shall have some cake,
And I hope they'll fight for the plums.
[MAX RANDER ON A BICYCLE.]
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
We left Germany early in October, and went back to England. Father took lodgings in a pretty little village, where I might have led an untroubled existence, after my thrilling experiences among the Prussians, if it had not been for one thing.
It was this: The pretty little English village was situated very near a large town where bicycles were manufactured, and before I had been there a week the mania to ride one seized me. I knew at once what it must come to, and I will now proceed to relate what it did come to.
One morning father and mother set out for London, leaving Thad and me behind in charge of the landlady, a kind, motherly person who would see that we did not break any bones playing horse with her furniture, or make ourselves sick by eating too much of her jam.
"Now, do be careful, boys," said mother, just as the train was about to start. "Don't get your feet wet, nor try to stop a runaway horse; stay away from the pond; and you, Max, keep a close watch over your brother."
I listened to these instructions with a light heart, and promised a dutiful obedience, for had not the things I was not to do been mentioned by name, and certainly the riding of bicycles was not among them. When the cars rushed off from the station I made up my mind that my destiny could be avoided no longer.
"Maximilian," a voice seemed to mutter within me, "all obstacles have vanished as if by magic from thy path. Four shillings and sixpence hast thou in thy pocket, so seize the opportunity ere it be too late."
And I seized it; that is to say, I went straight home with Thad, and telling him to amuse himself with anything short of pulling the cat's tail or fooling with ink-bottles, I left him there, and hurried off to the bicycle head-quarters to hire a machine.
"What size?" asked the man, when I had made a deposit of my silver watch as a guarantee that I wouldn't run away with his property.
Of course, never having ridden before, I hadn't a very clear idea of what this question meant; so the young fellow, seeing my confusion, promptly whipped a tape-line out of his pocket, and proceeded to find out how long my legs were.
"A forty-six-inch'll do you," he informed me, adding, "Tall of your age, too."
As this implied that he thought me rather young, I put on my gravest look, and pretended I didn't hear him, and while he went to bring out the machine, I resolved that nothing should induce me to ask for any "points" about the management of it. Besides, hadn't I often watched fellows mount, dismount, coast, and take "headers"?
"Only get started, and you're all right," was what I had heard riders say over and over again; so I determined to set the thing going the best way I could, and then stick to the saddle.
But when the man appeared again, pushing before him the bicycle, I must confess the big wheel looked very big, and the little seat very little and terribly far from the ground.
Still, I had no cowardly thoughts of giving way to my fears; for had I not ridden a three-wheeled velocipede for two years around our block home in New York without falling off a single time? And by quickly doing a sum in mental arithmetic, I found that the proportion of seven hundred and thirty days as against one hour was greatly in favor of my not tumbling during the hour.
Considerably strengthened in my purpose by this method of reasoning, I seized the handle with a flourish, and started to trundle the machine out into the road.
"Be careful there," suddenly cried That Man, as my flourish nearly caused the bicycle to take a "header" on its own account.
After pushing the machine as far as I dared without giving rise to the suspicion that that was the only way I could make it go, I brought it to a stand-still, placed both hands on the handles, a foot on the step, and—waited a minute.
I finally nerved myself to take the flying leap, which sent me into the saddle so surely and swiftly that I could not rest there, but in my high ambition kept on going until I found my hands on the ground, the handles knocking against my knees, and both wheels running up my back.
I knew at once that I had taken a "header," and so I did not feel as badly as I would if I had fallen in a manner not dignified by a special name.
I had simply been too eager, and resolving to profit by experience, I began hopping again; then gave a gentle—a very gentle—spring, which landed me on the extreme rear of the saddle, where I hung helpless for a few seconds, with both feet wildly pawing the air in search of the pedals, which of course I could not reach.
There could be but one end to this gymnastic exhibition, and while I lay on the road, with the bicycle on top of me, I vowed I would try but once more, and if the magic third time did not inspire me to success, I would give it up, push the machine back to the shop, and ever afterward look upon the sport as a mere "craze" that would soon die out.
Again I broke into that everlasting hop.
"Not too fast,
Nor yet too slow;
Gently, quickly,
Here I go."
I don't know whether it was owing to the rhyme, but at any rate my next attempt to mount resulted in my sliding nicely into the saddle, while at the same time my feet bore down upon the pedals, which sent me skimming along famously. On and on I went, gliding as smoothly and easily over the fine road as if in a carriage.
Of course the faster I went, the easier it was to balance the machine, so I kept rolling on further and further away from the village, until at last I hadn't the slightest idea where I was or whither I was going.
"This will never do," I finally decided. "It will be lunch-time before I can get back."
Then a brilliant thought struck me. I would turn around at the next cross-roads, where there would be plenty of room.
About five minutes later I reached one, and making a wide circuit, had nearly accomplished my object in safety, when a farmer's wagon appeared upon the scene, almost in front of me.
"Hold on a minute!" I shouted; but it was too late. The horse could not be stopped short enough, and I stopped too short, being sent sprawling on the ground right where the wagon's hind-wheels had been two seconds before.
This final and worst fall of all left me so bruised and sprained and strained that I found it impossible to get into the saddle again.
If I had been in America I might have climbed up by the help of a fence, but in England the fences are all hedges. So there was nothing left for me to do but push the bicycle back to the village again, and walk myself every step of the way. I don't know how far it was, but going out it seemed about a mile, and coming back I thought it must be five.
That Man did not ask me if I had had a pleasant run, but when I had paid him for the two hours I had been out, and he was handing me back my watch, I saw him look down at the dust on my shoes in a way that made me hurry off home, feeling like the dying swan I've read about somewhere that only sings one song in its life, for I had ridden a bicycle for the first and last time in mine.