But on looking about him, he could not determine which child to take, and so observing to his wife, “All or none,” he set her and the baby on the horse, and brought up the rear on foot with his gun, and fended off the redskins and brought the whole family into safety. Such is the tale, and in the old primer there was a picture of the scene—although I do not understand that it was taken from the life, and the story reflects small credit on the character of the aborigines for enterprise.
have often conjectured which of my books I would save in case of fire in my library, and whether I should care to rescue any if I could not bring off all. Perhaps the problem would work itself out as follows:
THE FIRE IN THE LIBRARY.
was just before midnight a smart conflagration
Broke out in my dwelling and threatened my books;
Confounded and dazed with a great consternation
I gazed at my treasures with pitiful looks.
“Oh! which shall I rescue?” I cried in deep feeling;
I wished I were armed like Briareus of yore,
While sharper and sharper the flames kept revealing
The sight of my bibliographical store.
“My Lamb may remain to be thoroughly roasted,
My Crabbe to be broiled and my Bacon to fry,
My Browning accustomed to being well toasted,
And Waterman Taylor rejoicing to dry.”
At hazard I grasped at the rest of my treasure,
And crammed all pockets with dainty eighteens;
I packed up a pillow case, heaping good measure,
And turned me away from the saddest of scenes.
But slowly departing, my face growing sadder,
At leaving old favorites behind me so far,
A feminine voice from the foot of the ladder
Cried, “Bring down my Cook-Book and Harper’s Bazar!”
t has been hereinbefore intimated that women may be classed among the enemies of books. There is at least one time of the year when every Book-Worm thinks so, and that is the dread period of house-cleaning—sometimes in the spring, sometimes in the autumn, and sometimes, in the case of excessively finical housewives, in both