The Lake County star. [volume] (Chase, Mich.) 1873-current, 1875-08-19
THE YOUNG FOLKS.
The Weeds OF the Heart.

Anu hiue Hoii 'no 'uhhbnt the sweet sPrinBhB
Till the air with their poison is rife
Oh, gather them early, dear children, pray,
| The buds and the blossoms Of sin
Don't think II sufficient to pluck ug the shoots
That are fastened SO firmly within.
The weeds Of the heart may look stately and fair,
And glow In their emerald sheen
But you'll never mistake them for plants that ART
|
II you weed youths fair garden with patience and
And keep all Its winding paths clean.
Dig hard and uproot every vestige Of pride,
Or sin, In no matter what guise;
| But while you are earnestly pulling up weeds,
Take care that you scatter abroad no vile seeds
Again In your garden to rise.
When the weeds Of the heart are uprooted and gene
Plant the beautiful roses OF love.
| Let the Ivy OF trust, and the lilies OF truth,
Climb about on the walls of thy stalwart youth,
TIL they reach Heavens garden above
FRENCH COMMENCEMENT all
the roguish, brighteyed, impish-looking
creatures that walk the earth, the little
French chimney-sweeps carry the palm.
Born and reared, no one knows where,
they appear in great numbers, and all
have the same saucy abandon, seen only
in boys of that class.
These small fry are up with the lark,
and as you are taking a comfortable
morning doze, you hear the clear, child
ish voices crying, each one trying too see
which can scream the loudest, Ramenez
de haut en- basP'
If you chance to look out of your
window, you will see tiny boy, dressed
in tight black clothes, barefooted, with a
small skull-cap drawn down over the
ears. Behind him is the man who super
intends the cleaning of the chimneys.
You may wonder how such little
fellow can be Of any use to this man,
but the smaller the better. When they
come to a chimney, the man lifts the
little sweep to the opening at the bottom,
and, with his long brush in his hand, the
boy scrambles up, and up, until he
reaches the very top, when, all of a sud-
den, you will see his little black head
popping out of the chimney on top of the
| house.
1t takes short time only to do this
work thoroughly, and when the sweep
next appears, he is blacker than ever.
These sweeps are the bugbears of all
small respectable children, and the men,
ton of one to an unruly child is suf-
ficient to establish order at once.
In Paris, after their work is done, they
are seen on the boulevards, haunting
the cafes, and believe some of them
pick up quite meal from scraps of bread
and sugar thrown to them from the
tables. If they see nothing left on your
plate, they will come up to you, with
heads on one side, hold out dirty
black hand, and beg, I'm sou, sill vo,ts
plait," which seems to them large
amount.
Few persons refuse them, and by
midnight they have collected quite
enough for nights lodging, and for a
breakfast, which they generally eat
along the street as they 60 to their work.
Of all the gamins that have ever seen,
these seem to be the happiest. Although
it may be short life, it is merry one.
The WIsHING-sToNE, AND How IT
WAS LOsT.-It was so long ago that
nobody is alive who remembers anything
about it. There was an old woman, a
hundred years old. Her grandmother
told her the story, and she wrote it down
with herOn's featber-a great white
heron that flew over between dawn and
daylight, and was only gray speck
against the gray sky. The grandmother
was witch, and understood what the
birds said. and that is how she came to
hear the sparrows at Lilbury Abbey say
to each other it was good thing the
wishing-stOne was lost, since so much
trouble came of it. This is the true
story of how it happened: The brown
sparrow told it to the stone man on the
monument, while his mate brooded her
eggs. The stone man held the nest in
the hollow of his hand, and stood quite
STILL night and day, not to disturb it.
"They are sweeter than the sweetest,
the roses that grow in the garden, and
all the blossoms have tongues of gold.
When the wind blows over them they
ring together, and the music is rare as
the Christmas chimes up in the steeple."
"I have heard it," said the mate,
rufiling her throat.
"There is fountain. The water goes
up, up, high as the lark goes, and when
it comes down it is all pearls, and rubies,
and bits of rainbows. 1t sings, too, and
no one can guess what the music is like"
81 have heard it," said the mate, her
wings trembling with ecstasy.
"The road to the mountain passes
through the garden, and the gates are
always open, because the Princes will
have it 20. One is called Morning Gate,
and that is where the people enter.
They go on by the rose-walk until they
come to the fountain. When one looks
through the spray, the mountain is very
beautiful all its roads lie in sunshine,
and the city seems near by. So the
people hasten on, and presently they
cannot see the rose garden, and they
never come back. should come back,
PETRA"
"And l." said the little mate, but the
stone man listened, and did not say a
word.
"Long ago the wishing-stone lay by
the fountain; board, with stone, like
those in the Abbey here. The stone was
enchanted. A Troll put it there, and
whoever sat upon it had whatever he
first wished but if he wished anything
selfshly, he was turned into hard,
smooth, stone, and the Troll carried him
away to build his palace under ground. A
great many people came into the garden,
then, who never went out, but the
Princess could not undo the spell or take
away the stone. The last person who
sat upon it was beggar-girl. She was
poor, she was lame, she was hunch-
backed, and she was always hungry. She
sat down upon the stone, and laid her
clutches ON the grass beside her. Two
little birds sang in her ear, one on the
right and one on the left. They were
enchanted too. One sang 'Wishiwas!
wishiwasp and the other sang Wishihad
wishibad 7 So the beggar-girl looked
up at the blue sky and the bright drops
falling from the fountain, and began to
wish.
al wish all the sick folks, and the tired
folks, and the lonesome folks could come
and hear what the watersings about, and
what nice talk the trees make to the
wind"
Wishiwas wishihad p sang the little
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