While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra:
And to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

5.

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew:

Every evening, from thy feet

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's, for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground:

Happy if they sink not in

Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

By permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers.

I.

2.

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7.

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9.

IO.

THOMAS JEFFERSON'S TEN RULES.

Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.

Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.

Never spend your money before you have it.
Never buy what you do not want because it is
cheap; it will be dear to you.

Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.
Never repent of having eaten too little.

Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.
How much pain the evils that never happened

have cost us.

Take things always by their smooth handle.
When angry, count ten before you speak; if

very angry, a hundred.

High in the air, story above story, stand the strange homes of the Pueblo Indians. They are built upon the mesa, or high tableland, far above the sandy plains below. From their terraces and flat roofs one can see many, many miles over the surrounding country.

* See preface.

Thus, the approach of an enemy is easily seen; and to render the homes more safe, the only approach is up a steep ascent from the plains, and the only entrance is by means of a ladder which is drawn up as soon as used.

The traveler learns, at a glance, that it was fear of some powerful foe that led the Pueblo Indians to build their homes so unlike the dwellings of other Indians, and he rightly concludes that they are peaceful rather than warlike by nature.

These singular pueblos, or villages, curiously remind one of the homes built by colonies of bank swallows in high, safe sand banks, far above some brawling stream or noisy, dusty highway. Did the Pueblo Indian gain his first idea of a safe, airy retreat, from these little masons of the feathered tribe? Who can say?

In one of these curious Indian homes, lives little Wewa, the child of the pueblos. He is just as full of noise and mischief, just as ready for play, or for a day's ride on his faithful burro, as any boy could be, who has whiter skin, or wears better trousers.

Although Wewa has a brown skin, and his

people are called Indians, he is really a pure American. His forefathers were among the very first settlers of North America, and the village or little city in which he lives is much older than any town built by white people in North America.

Long before Christopher Columbus sailed across the ocean and discovered a new world, little Wewa's ancestors were building their cities, and cultivating their farms and gardens. They were citizens of this continent many years before the Dutch sailed into New York harbor, or the Pilgrims landed upon Plymouth Rock. His people have been here so many centuries that all history of their first settlements is lost; no legend or tradition remains to tell us who they were, or whence they came.

Nearly five hundred years ago, when Spain claimed nearly all the American continent, bands of Spaniards wandered across that part of the United States, which was once called the Great American Desert, or the Painted Desert.

They were the first white people who visited that part of our country, and they found the ancestors of little Wewa, living in the same towns, or houses,