ied their grandfather,
laughing. "Did you ever hear of blue-pill and calomel? They both are
preparations of mercury."

Just then the sun shone into the room so brightly that every one turned
to the windows. Such a sparkle! The evergreens were covered with
shining ice-drops, and the tall trees pointed their glistening branches
toward the few clouds that were hurrying over the blue sky.

"I am not sorry it rained, after all," said Fred. "I have enjoyed the
morning so much that I forgot the play we were going to have."

Two happy, tired boys went to sleep that night, and the next morning
they started for home. They both agreed in thinking they had never
enjoyed a more delightful visit at grandpapa's.

THE WOODS IN WINTER

There is scarcely any place so lonely as the depths of the woods in
winter. Everything is quiet, cold and solemn. Occasionally a rabbit may
go jumping over the snow, and if the woods are really wild woods, we
may sometimes get a sight of a deer. Now and then, too, some poor
person who has been picking up bits of fallen branches for firewood may
be met bending under his load, or pulling it along on a sled. In some
parts of the country, wood-cutters and hunters are sometimes seen, but
generally there are few persons who care to wander in the woods in
winter. The open roads for sleighing, and the firm ice for skating,
offer many more inducements to pleasure-seekers.

But young people who do not mind trudging through snow, and walking
where they must make their own path-way, may find among the great black
trunks of the forest trees, and under the naked branches stretching out
overhead, many phases of nature that will be both new and
interesting--especially to those whose lives have been spent in cities.

[Illustration: THE WOODS IN WINTER.]

CRUMBS FROM OLDER READING.

II.

BY JULIA E. SARGENT.

IRVING.

Washington Irving has so many things for us, and we have heard so much
that is pleasant of him, that a good time with him may be expected; and
you would not read far in Irving's books before learning that no one
believed in "good times" more than he. The name of his home on the
Hudson would tell you that. "Sunnyside" is not the name a gloomy man
would choose.

Perhaps you will like best to hear that many of you often stand where
Irving stood, and walk the streets he knew so well, for New York City
was Irving's birthplace, and there many of the seventy-six years of his
lif