<h3>WHAT BECOMES OF THE PINS.</h3>
<p>Miss Ellen was making a new pincushion, and a very pretty one it
promised to be, for she had much taste, and spent half her time
embroidering chair-covers, crocheting tidies, and all sorts of dainty
trifles. Her room was full of them; and she often declared that she did
wish some one would invent a new sort of fancy-work, since she had tried
all the old kinds till she was tired of them. Painting china, carving
wood, button-holing butterflies and daisies onto Turkish towelling, and
making peacock-feather trimming, amused her for a time; but as she was
not very successful she soon gave up trying these branches, and wondered
if she would not take a little plain sewing for a change.</p>
<p>The old cushion stood on her table beside the new one; which was ready
for its trimming of lace and ribbon. A row of delicate new pins also lay
wait<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</SPAN></span>ing to adorn the red satin mound, and in the old blue one still
remained several pins that had evidently seen hard service.</p>
<p>Miss Ellen was putting a dozen needles into her book, having just picked
them out of the old cushion, and, as she quilted them through the
flannel leaves, she said half aloud,—</p>
<p>"It is very evident where the needles go, but I really do wish I knew
what becomes of the pins."</p>
<p>"I can tell you," answered a small, sharp voice, as a long brass pin
tried to straighten itself up in the middle of a faded blue cornflower,
evidently prepared to address the meeting.</p>
<p>Miss Ellen stared much surprised, for she had used this big pin a good
deal lately, but never heard it speak before. As she looked at it she
saw for the first time that its head had a tiny face, with silvery hair,
two merry eyes, and a wee mouth out of which came the metallic little
voice that pierced her ear, small as it was.</p>
<p>"Dear me!" she said; then added politely, "if you can tell I should be
very happy to hear, for<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</SPAN></span> it has long been a great mystery, and no one
could explain it."</p>
<p>The old pin tried to sit erect, and the merry eye twinkled as it went on
like a garrulous creature, glad to talk after long silence:—</p>
<p>"Men make many wonderful discoveries, my dear, but they have never found
that out, and never will, because we belong to women, and only a
feminine ear can hear us, a feminine mind understand our mission, or
sympathize with our trials, experiences, and triumphs. For we have all
these as well as human beings, and there really is not much difference
between us when we come to look into the matter."</p>
<p>This was such a curious statement that Miss Ellen forgot her work to
listen intently, and all the needles fixed their eyes on the audacious
pin. Not a whit abashed it thus continued:—</p>
<p>"I am called 'Granny' among my friends, because I have had a long and
eventful life. I am hearty and well, however, in spite of this crick in
my back, and hope to serve you a good while yet, for you seem to
appreciate me, stout and ordinary as I look.</p>
<p>"Yes, my dear, pins and people <i>are</i> alike, and that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</SPAN></span> rusty
darning-needle need not stare so rudely, for I shall prove what I say.
We are divided into classes by birth and constitution, and each can do
much in its own sphere. I am a shawl pin, and it would be foolish in me
to aspire to the duties of those dainty lace pins made to fasten a
collar. I am contented with my lot, however, and, being of a strong make
and enterprising spirit, have had many adventures, some perils, and
great satisfactions since I left the factory long ago. I well remember
how eagerly I looked about me when the paper in which I lived, with some
hundreds of relations, was hung up in a shop window, to display our
glittering ranks and tempt people to buy. At last a purchaser came, a
dashing young lady who bought us with several other fancy articles, and
carried us away in a smart little bag, humming and talking to herself,
in what I thought a very curious way.</p>
<p>"When we were taken out I was all in a flutter to see where I was and
what would happen next. There were so many of us, I could hardly hope to
go first, for I was in the third row, and most people take us in order.
But Cora was a hasty, careless<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</SPAN></span> soul, and pulled us out at random, so I
soon found myself stuck up in a big untidy cushion, with every sort of
pin you can imagine. Such a gay and giddy set I never saw, and really,
my dear, their ways and conversation were quite startling to an ignorant
young thing like me. Pearl, coral, diamond, jet, gold, and silver heads,
were all around me as well as vulgar brass knobs, jaunty black pins,
good for nothing as they snap at the least strain, and my own relations,
looking eminently neat and respectable among this theatrical rabble. For
I will not disguise from you, Miss Ellen, that my first mistress was an
actress, and my life a very gay one at the beginning. Merry, kind, and
careless was the pretty Cora, and I am bound to confess I enjoyed myself
immensely, for I was taken by chance with half a dozen friends to pin up
the folds of her velvet train and mantle, in a fairy spectacle where she
played the queen. It was very splendid, and, snugly settled among the
soft folds, I saw it all, and probably felt that I too had my part;
humble as it was, it was faithfully performed, and I never once deserted
my post for six weeks.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Among the elves who went flitting about with silvery wings and spangled
robes was one dear child who was the good genius of the queen, and was
always fluttering near her, so I could not help seeing and loving the
dear creature. She danced and sung, came out of flowers, swung down from
trees, popped up from the lower regions, and finally, when all the
queen's troubles are over, flew away on a golden cloud, smiling through
a blaze of red light, and dropping roses as she vanished.</p>
<p>"When the play ended, I used to see her in an old dress, a thin shawl,
and shabby hat, go limping home with a tired-looking woman who dressed
the girls.</p>
<p>"I thought a good deal about 'Little Viola,' as they called her,—though
her real name was Sally, I believe,—and one dreadful night I played a
heroic part, and thrill now when I remember it."</p>
<p>"Go on, please, I long to know," said Miss Ellen, dropping the
needle-book into her lap, and leaning forward to listen better.</p>
<p>"One evening the theatre took fire," continued the old pin impressively.
"I don't know how, but<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</SPAN></span> all of a sudden there was a great uproar, smoke,
flames, water pouring, people running frantically about, and such a wild
panic I lost my small wits for a time. When I recovered them, I found
Cora was leaning from a high window, with something wrapped closely in
the velvet mantle that I pinned upon the left shoulder just under a
paste buckle that only sparkled while <i>I</i> did all the work.</p>
<p>"A little golden head lay close by me, and a white face looked up from
the crimson folds, but the sweet eyes were shut, the lips were drawn
with pain, a horrible odor of burnt clothes came up to me, and the small
hand that clutched Cora's neck was all blistered with the cruel fire
which would have devoured the child if my brave mistress had not rescued
her at the risk of her own life. <i>She</i> could have escaped at first, but
she heard Sally cry to her through the blinding smoke, and went to find
and rescue her. I dimly recalled that, and pressed closer to the white
shoulder, full of pride and affection for the kind soul whom I had often
thought too gay and giddy to care for anything but pleasure.</p>
<p>"Now she was calling to the people in the street<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</SPAN></span> to put up a ladder,
and, as she leaned and called, I could see the crowds far down, the
smoke and flame bursting out below, and hear the hiss of water as it
fell upon the blazing walls. It was a most exciting moment, as we hung
there, watching the gallant men fix the long ladder, and one come
climbing up till we could see his brave face, and hear him shout
cheerily,—</p>
<p>"'Swing from the window-sill, I'll catch you.'</p>
<p>"But Cora answered, as she showed the little yellow head that shone in
the red glare,—</p>
<p>"'No, save the child first!'</p>
<p>"'Drop her then, and be quick: it's hot work here,' and the man held up
his arms with a laugh, as the flames licked out below as if to eat away
the frail support he stood on.</p>
<p>"All in one breathless moment, Cora had torn off the mantle, wrapped the
child in it, bound her girdle about it, and finding the gaudy band would
not tie, caught out the first pin that came to hand, and fastened it.
<i>I</i> was that pin; and I felt that the child's life almost depended upon
me, for as the precious bundle dropped into the man's hands he caught it
by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</SPAN></span> the cloak, and, putting it on his shoulder, went swiftly down. The
belt strained, the velvet tore, I felt myself bending with the weight,
and expected every minute to see the child slip, and fall on the stones
below. But I held fast, I drove my point deeply in, I twisted myself
round so that even the bend should be a help, and I called to the man,
'Hold tight, I'm trying my best, but what can one pin do!'</p>
<p>"Of course he did not hear me, but I really believe my desperate efforts
were of some use; for, we got safely down, and were hurried away to the
hospital where other poor souls had already gone.</p>
<p>"The good nurse who undid that scorched, drenched, and pitiful bundle,
stuck me in her shawl, and resting there, I saw the poor child laid in a
little bed, her burns skilfully cared for, and her scattered senses
restored by tender words and motherly kisses. How glad I was to hear
that she would live, and still more rejoiced to learn next day that Cora
was near by, badly burned but not in danger, and anxious to see the
child she had saved.</p>
<p>"Nurse Benson took the little thing in her arms to visit my poor
mistress, and I went too. But alas!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</SPAN></span> I never should have known the gay
and blooming girl of the day before. Her face and hands were terribly
burnt, and she would never again be able to play the lovely queen on any
stage, for her fresh beauty was forever lost.</p>
<p>"Hard days for all of us; I took my share of trouble with the rest,
though I only suffered from the strain to my back. Nurse Benson
straightened me out and kept me in use, so I saw much of pain and
patience in that great house, because the little gray shawl which I
fastened covered a tender heart, and on that motherly bosom many aching
heads found rest, many weary creatures breathed their last, and more
than one unhappy soul learned to submit.</p>
<p>"Among these last was poor Cora, for it was very hard to give up beauty,
health, and the life she loved, so soon. Yet I do not think she ever
regretted the sacrifice when she saw the grateful child well and safe,
for little Sally was her best comforter, and through the long weeks she
lay there half blind and suffering, the daily visit of the little one
cheered her more than anything else. The poor mother<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</SPAN></span> was lost in the
great fire, and Cora adopted the orphan as her own, and surely she had a
right to what she had so dearly bought.</p>
<p>"They went away together at last, one quite well and strong again, the
other a sad wreck, but a better woman for the trial, I think, and she
carried comfort with her. Poor little Sally led her, a faithful guide, a
tender nurse, a devoted daughter to her all her life."</p>
<p>Here the pin paused, out of breath, and Miss Ellen shook a bright drop
off the lace that lay in her lap, as she said in a tone of real
interest,—</p>
<p>"What happened next? How long did you stay in the hospital?"</p>
<p>"I stayed a year, for Nurse used me one day to pin up a print at the
foot of a poor man's bed, and he took such comfort in it they let it
hang till he died. A lovely picture of a person who held out his arms to
all the suffering and oppressed, and they gathered about him to be
comforted and saved. The forlorn soul had led a wicked life, and now lay
dying a long and painful death, but something in that divine face taught
him to hope for pardon, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</SPAN></span> when no eye but mine saw him in the lonely
nights he wept, and prayed, and struggled to repent. I think he was
forgiven, for when at last he lay dead a smile was on his lips that
never had been there before. Then the print was taken down, and I was
used to pin up a bundle of red flannel by one of the women, and for
months I lay in a dark chest, meditating on the lessons I had already
learned.</p>
<p>"Suddenly I was taken out, and when a queer round pin-ball of the
flannel had been made by a nice old lady, I was stuck in it with a party
of fat needles, and a few of my own race, all with stout bodies and big
heads.</p>
<p>"'The dear boy is clumsy with his fingers, and needs strong things to
use,' said the old lady, as she held the tomato cushion in both hands
and kissed it before she put it into a soldier's 'comfort bag.'</p>
<p>"'Now I shall have a lively time!' I thought, and looked gaily about me,
for I liked adventures, and felt that I was sure of them now.</p>
<p>"I cannot begin to tell you all I went through with that boy, for he was
brave as a lion and got many hard knocks. We marched, and camped, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</SPAN></span>
fought, and suffered, but we <i>never</i> ran away, and when at last a Minie
ball came smashing through the red cushion (which Dick often carried in
his pocket as a sort of charm to keep him safe, for men seldom use
pins), I nearly lost my head, for the stuffing flew out, and we were all
knocked about in a dreadful way. The cushion and the old wallet together
saved Dick's life, however, for the ball did not reach his brave heart,
and the last I saw of him as I fell out of the hasty hand that felt for
a wound was a soft look in the brave bright eyes, as he said to himself
with a smile,—</p>
<p>"'Dear old mother hasn't lost her boy yet, thank God!'</p>
<p>"A colored lad picked me up, as I lay shining on the grass, and pins
being scarce in those parts, gave me to his mammy, who kept me to fasten
her turban. Quite a new scene I found, for in the old cabin were a dozen
children and their mothers making ready to go North. The men were all
away fighting or serving the army, so mammy led the little troop, and
they marched off one day following the gay turban like a banner, for she
had a valiant soul,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</SPAN></span> and was bound to find safety and freedom for her
children at all risks.</p>
<p>"In my many wanderings to and fro, I never made so strange a journey as
that one, but I enjoyed it, full of danger, weariness and privation as
it was; and every morning when mammy put on the red and yellow
handkerchief I was proud to sit aloft on that good gray head, and lead
the forlorn little army toward a land of liberty.</p>
<p>"We got there at last, and she fell to work over a washtub to earn the
bread for the hungry mouths. I had stood by her through all those weary
weeks, and did not want to leave her now, but went off pinning a paper
round some clean clothes on a Saturday morning.</p>
<p>"'Now I wonder what will come next!' I thought, as Thomas Jefferson, or
'Jeff,' as they called him, went whistling away with the parcel through
the streets.</p>
<p>"Crossing the park, he spied a lovely butterfly which had strayed in
from the country; caught and pinned it on his hat to please little Dinah
when he got home. The pretty creature soon writhed its<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</SPAN></span> delicate life
away, but its beauty attracted the eye of a pale girl hurrying along
with a roll of work under her arm.</p>
<p>"'Will you sell me that?' she asked, and Jeff gladly consented,
wondering what she would do with it. So did I, but when we got to her
room I soon saw, for she pinned the impaled butterfly against a bit of
blue paper, and painted it so well that its golden wings seemed to
quiver as they did in life. A very poor place it was, but full of lovely
things, and I grew artistic with just looking about me at the pictures
on the walls, the flowers blooming on plates and panels, birds and
insects kept for copies, and gay bits of stuff used as back-grounds.</p>
<p>"But more beautiful than anything she made was the girl's quiet, busy
life alone in the big city; for, she was hoping to be an artist, and
worked day and night to compass her desire. So poor, but so happy, I
used to wonder why no one helped her and kept her from such hard, yet
patient, waiting. But no one did, and I could watch her toiling away as
I held the butterfly against the wall, feeling as if it was a symbol of
herself, beating her delicate wings in that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</SPAN></span> close place till her heart
was broken, by the cruel fate that held her there when she should have
been out in the free sunshine. But she found a good customer for her
pretty work, in a rich lady who had nothing to do but amuse herself, and
spent much time and money in fancy-work.</p>
<p>"I know all about it; for, one day an order came from the great store
where her designs were often bought, and she was very happy painting
some purple pansies upon velvet, and she copied her yellow butterfly to
float above them.</p>
<p>"The poor insect was very dry, and crumbled at a touch, so my task there
was done, and as my mistress rolled up the packet, she took me to fasten
it securely, singing as she did so, for every penny was precious.</p>
<p>"We all went together to the rich lady, and she embroidered the flowers
on a screen very like that one yonder. I thought she would throw me
away, I was so battered now, but she took a fancy to use me in various
ways about her canvas work, and I lived with her all winter. A kind
lady, my dear, but I often wished I could suggest to her better ways of
spending her life than everlasting fancy-work.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</SPAN></span> She never seemed to see
the wants of those about her, never lent an ear to the poor, or found
delight in giving of her abundance to those who had little, to brighten
their lives; but sighed because she had nothing to do when the world was
full of work, and she blessed with so many good gifts to use and to
enjoy. I hope she will see her mistake some day, and not waste all her
life on trifles, else she will regret it sadly by and by."</p>
<p>Here the pin paused with a keen glance at Miss Ellen, who had suddenly
begun to sew with a bright color in her cheeks, for the purple pansies
were on the screen that stood before her fire-place, and she recognized
the portrait of herself in that last description. But she did not fancy
being lectured by a pin, so she asked with a smile as she plaited up her
lace,—</p>
<p>"That is all very interesting, but you have not yet told me what becomes
of the pins, Granny."</p>
<p>"Pins, like people, shape their own lives, in a great measure, my dear,
and go to their reward when they are used up. The good ones sink into
the earth and turn to silver, to come forth again in a new and precious
form. The bad ones crumble away to nothing in cracks and dust heaps,
with no<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</SPAN></span> hope of salvation, unless some human hand lifts them up and
gives them a chance to try again. Some are lazy, and slip out of sight
to escape service, some are too sharp, and prick and scratch wherever
they are. Others are poor, weak things, who bend up and lose their heads
as soon as they are used. Some obtrude themselves on all occasions, and
some are never to be found in times of need. All have the choice to wear
out or to rust out. I chose the former, and have had a useful, happy
life so far. I'm not as straight as I once was, but I'm bright still, my
point is sharp, my head firm, and age has not weakened me much, I hope,
but made me wiser, better, and more contented to do my duty wherever I
am, than when I left my native paper long ago."</p>
<p>Before Miss Ellen could express her respect for the worthy old pin, a
dismal groan was heard from the blue cushion, and a small voice croaked
aloud,—</p>
<p>"Alas, alas, I chose to rust out, and here I am, a miserable, worthless
thing, whom no one can use or care for. Lift the ruffle, and behold a
sad contrast to the faithful, honest, happy Granny, who has told us such
a varied tale."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Bless me, what possesses everything to-day!" exclaimed Miss Ellen,
looking under the frill of the old cushion to see who was speaking now.
There to be sure she found a pin hidden away, and so rusty that she
could hardly pull it out. But it came creaking forth at the third tug,
and when it was set up beside Granny, she cried out in her cheery way,—</p>
<p>"Try Dr. Emery, he can cure most cases of rust, and it is never too late
to mend, neighbor."</p>
<p>"Too late for me!" sighed the new comer. "The rust of idleness has eaten
into my vitals while I lay in my silken bed, and my chance is gone
forever. I was bright, and strong, and sharp once, but I feared work and
worry, and I hid, growing duller, dimmer, and more useless every day. I
am good for nothing, throw me away, and let the black pins mourn for a
wasted life."</p>
<p>"No," said Miss Ellen, "you are not useless, for you two shall sit
together in my new cushion, a warning to me, as well as to the other
pins, to choose the right way in time, and wear out with doing our duty,
rather than rust out as so many do. Thank you, Granny, for your little
lecture. I will not forget it, but go at once and find that poor girl,
and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</SPAN></span> help her all I can. Rest here, you good old soul, and teach these
little things to follow your example."</p>
<p>As she spoke, Miss Ellen set the two pins in the middle of the red satin
cushion, stuck the smaller pins round them, and hastened to put on her
shawl lest something should prevent her from going.</p>
<p>"Take me with you; I'm not tired, I love to work! use me, dear mistress,
and let me help in the good work!" cried Granny, with a lively skip that
sent her out upon the bureau.</p>
<p>So Miss Ellen pinned her shawl with the old pin instead of the fine
brooch she had in her hand, and they went gaily away together, leaving
the rusty one to bemoan itself, and all the little ones to privately
resolve that they would not hide away from care and labor, but take
their share bravely and have a good record to show when they went, at
last where the good pins go.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4>THE END.</h4>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><br/><br/>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.<br/><br/></h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/img213.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="356" alt="LITTLE MEN" title="" /> <h3>LITTLE MEN; <span class="smcap"><br/>or, Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys</span>. Price, $1.50.</h3> <h4>"'I'm not hurt, all right in a minute,' he said, sitting
up, a little pale and dizzy, as the boys gathered round him, full of
admiration and alarm."—<span class="smcap">Page 251.</span></h4></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<h2><SPAN name="Work" id="Work"></SPAN><span class="smcap">Work</span>:</h2>
<h3><i>A STORY OF EXPERIENCE.</i></h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad02.jpg" width-obs="347" height-obs="350" alt="WORK" title="" /></div>
<p class="center">"An endless significance lies in work; in idleness alone is there perpetual<br/>
despair."—<span class="smcap">Carlyle.</span></p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Price</span>, $1.75.<br/></h4>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/ad03.jpg" width-obs="355" height-obs="550" alt="Rose in Bloom." title="" /> <h4>
Price $1.50.</h4></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<h3> <span class="smcap">Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag.</span><br/> <br/> CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW, <span class="smcap">Etc.</span></h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad04.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="400" alt="Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag." title="" /></div>
<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> LOUISA M. ALCOTT,</h3>
<p class="center">AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL," "LITTLE MEN,"<br/>
"HOSPITAL SKETCHES."<br/>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</SPAN></span><br/><br/></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad05.jpg" width-obs="408" height-obs="550" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p class="center">"Sing, Tessa; sing!" cried Tommo, twanging away with all
his might.—<span class="smcap">Page</span> 47.</p>
<h4>AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG: Containing "My Boys," "Shawl-Straps,"<br/>"Cupid and
Chow-Chow," "My Girls," "Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore."<br/>5 vols. Price
of each, $1.00.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<h3>HOSPITAL SKETCHES.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad06.jpg" width-obs="367" height-obs="550" alt="HOSPITAL SKETCHES." title="" /></div>
<p class="center">"One hand stirred gruel for sick America, and the other
hugged baby Africa."—<span class="smcap">Page</span> 76.</p>
<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<h3> <span class="smcap">Mice at Play.</span></h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad07.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="355" alt="Mice at Play." title="" /></div>
<p class="center">"I pulled it full of water, and then I poked the pipe end into her ear, and then I let it fly."</p>
<h4>"<span class="smcap">When the Cat's away, the Mice will play.</span>"</h4>
<h4>A STORY FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY.</h4>
<h3>By <span class="smcap">Neil Forest</span>.</h3>
<h4>Price $1.50.</h4>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<h3>AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad08.jpg" width-obs="342" height-obs="550" alt="AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL." title="" /> <h4><span class="smcap">Price $1.50.</span></h4></div>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS.</h2>
<h3>LITTLE WOMEN; <span class="smcap">Or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.</span></h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad09.jpg" width-obs="351" height-obs="550" alt="LITTLE WOMEN" title="" /></div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Jo in a Vortex.</span>—Every few weeks she would shut herself
up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as
she expressed it.—<span class="smcap">Page 44.</span></p>
<h4>Parts First and Second. Price of each, $1.50.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</h2>
<h3>MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING,</h3>
<h4><i>AND OTHER STORIES</i>.</h4>
<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD.</h4>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad10.jpg" width-obs="397" height-obs="500" alt="MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING" title="" /> <h4>NANNY'S SUBSTITUTE.</h4></div>
<p class="center">Nanny at the Fair, taking orders and carrying trays.—<span class="smcap">Page 171.</span></p>
<p class="center"><i>One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt
lettered. Price $1.50.</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>BOB BROWN'S BOY-BOOK.</h2>
<h3>WE BOYS.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad11.jpg" width-obs="450" height-obs="346" alt="WE BOYS" title="" /> <h4>"<span class="smcap">Will Bradley and I.</span>"</h4></div>
<p class="center">Written by one of us for the amusement of Pa's and Ma's in general, Aunt
Lovisa in particular.</p>
<h4>Price $1.00.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="H_HS_YOUNG_FOLKS_BOOK" id="H_HS_YOUNG_FOLKS_BOOK"></SPAN>H. H.'S YOUNG FOLKS' BOOK.</h2>
<h3> BITS OF TALK,<br/> <i>IN VERSE AND PROSE,</i><br/> FOR YOUNG FOLKS. </h3>
<h2>BY H. H.,</h2>
<h4>AUTHOR OF "BITS OF TALK ABOUT HOME MATTERS,"<br/>"BITS OF TRAVEL," "VERSES."</h4>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad12.jpg" width-obs="450" height-obs="369" alt="BITS OF TALK" title="" /> <span class="caption">BITS OF TALK</span><br/> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1">"——in all the lands<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No such morning-glory."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">—<span class="smcap">Page 133.</span><br/></span></div>
</div>
<h4>Price $1.00.</h4></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>JOLLY GOOD TIMES;</h2>
<h4>OR,</h4>
<h3>CHILD LIFE ON A FARM.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad13.jpg" width-obs="442" height-obs="500" alt="JOLLY GOOD TIMES" title="" /></div>
<h4><span class="smcap">By P. THORNE.</span></h4>
<h4>Price $1.25.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON'S STORIES.</h2>
<h3>BED-TIME STORIES.</h3>
<h3>MORE BED-TIME STORIES.</h3>
<h4><i>With Illustrations by Addie Ledyard.</i></h4>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad14.jpg" width-obs="451" height-obs="500" alt="BED-TIME STORIES" title="" /></div>
<h4>JUST A LITTLE BIT OF CHRISTMAS.—<span class="smcap">Page 153.</span></h4>
<p class="center">Two handsome square 16mo volumes, bound in cloth, black and gilt
lettered.</p>
<h4>Price, $1.50 each.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2>HAMERTON'S BOY-BOOK.</h2>
<h3>HARRY BLOUNT.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad15.jpg" width-obs="355" height-obs="550" alt="HARRY BLOUNT." title="" /></div>
<p class="center">Passages in a Boy's Life on Land and Sea. By <span class="smcap">Philip
Gilbert Hamerton</span>.</p>
<h4>Price $1.50.</h4>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</h2>
<h3>WHAT KATY DID.</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/imgad16.jpg" width-obs="394" height-obs="550" alt="WHAT KATY DID." title="" /> <h4>ENTERING PARADISE.—<span class="smcap">Page 23.</span></h4></div>
<p class="center">So in they marched, Katy and Cecy heading the procession, and Dorry,
with his great trailing bunch of boughs, bringing up the rear.</p>
<p class="center">With Illustrations by Addie Ledyard. One handsome, square
16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt lettered.</p>
<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>These books are sold by all booksellers and newsdealers
everywhere. When not to be found, send the advertised amount by
mail, to the Publishers</i>,</p>
<h4>ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>,</h4>
<h4><i>Boston</i>.</h4></div>
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