File:St. Nicholas (serial) (1873) (14753624106).jpg

Identifier: stnicholasserial372dodg (find matches)
Title: St. Nicholas (serial)
Year: 1873 (1870s)
Authors: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Subjects: Children's literature
Publisher: (New York : Scribner & Co.)
Contributing Library: Information and Library Science Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Digitizing Sponsor: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

View Book Page: Book Viewer
About This Book: Catalog Entry
View All Images: All Images From Book
Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.

Text Appearing Before Image:
Miss Whittier, and could,all unexpectedly, succeed so well in what wasreally a difficult part. You are a trump, Betty, said Jack, and I mglad you had the chance. I m downright sorryfor Connie, but I m jolly glad for you! WILL-O-THE-WISP A marshy meadow—a quiet pond—A lonely road—and a hill beyond.In the reedy marsh below the hill,On starlight nights when the air is still,Where rushes and cresses grow green and crisp,There goes, dancing, Will-o-the-Wisp,Will-o-the-Wisp so gay. We see the gleam of his lantern brightFlitting about in the quiet night.He balances on the cattail tops,Then to the rustling reeds he drops,And reeds to the rushes will softly lisp,Here comes, dancing, Will-o-the-Wisp,Will-o-the-Wisp so gay. The east grows gray at the touch of dawn.Presto! Will-o-the-Wisp is gone,For the morning wind blows out his light-He 11 dance again on another night.When crickets are chirping in grasses crisp,Then we 11 watch for Will-o-the-Wisp,Will-o-the-Wisp so gay. Cecil Cavendish.
Text Appearing After Image:
This is not a chronicle of an infant phenomenon,but just a true story of a bishop, and a boywhose life was largely molded by the followingincident. The oaks of England have always been cele-brated, and I know of no finer sight than anancient grove still in its prime, growing in asunny glade of Richmond Park. One character-istic of this forest, and I can recall a score ofthem, is that each individual tree seems to havehad a chance. It has all the room it wants tospread sidewise, stretches its great arms wide,its feet strike deep into the rich loam, and itsproud head rises toward the sky, without let orhindrance, so that each is perfect in form, afterits kind. With youthful presumption and vanity (for Iwas just twelve, I remember), I had been wrest-ling with one of these monarchs of the forest,among the most difficult objects in nature toportray. I find with all my years of practise,the foreshortening of the branch of a tree oftenbrings me up standing, but nothing daunts youth-fid impud

Note About Images