nd permanent
consciousness, that religion is the best resource in happier hours, and
the only refuge in hours of affliction.

Those who wish to be remembered for ever in the world,--and it is a very
common object of ambition,--will find no monument more permanent, than
the affectionate remembrance of any children they have treated with
kindness; for we may often observe, in the reminiscences of old age, a
tender recollection surviving all others, of friends in early days who
enlivened the hours of childhood by presents of playthings and comfits.
But above all, we never forget those who good-humouredly complied with
the constantly recurring petition of all young people in every
generation, and in every house--"Will you tell me a story?"

In answer to such a request, often and importunately repeated, the
author has from year to year delighted in seeing herself surrounded by a
circle of joyous, eager faces, listening with awe to the terrors of Mrs.
Crabtree, or smiling at the frolics of Harry and Laura. The stories,
originally, were so short, that some friends, aware of their popularity,
and conscious of their harmless tendency, took the trouble of copying
them in manuscript for their own young friends; but the tales have since
grown and expanded during frequent verbal repetitions, till, with
various fanciful additions and new characters, they have enlarged into
their present form, or rather so far beyond it, that several chapters
are omitted, to keep the volume within moderate compass.

Paley remarks, that "any amusement which is innocent, is better than
none; as the writing of a book, the building of a house, the laying out
of a garden, the digging of a fish-pond, even the raising of a
cucumber;" and it is hoped that, while the author herself has found much
interesting occupation in recording these often repeated stories, the
time of herself and her young readers may be employed with some degree
of profit, or she will certainly regret that it was not better occupied
in the rearing of cucumbers.

HOLIDAY HOUSE.

CHAPTER I.

CHIT CHAT.

A school-boy, a dog, and a walnut tree,
The more you strike 'em, the better they be.

Laura and Harry Graham could scarcely feel sure that they ever had a
mama, because she died while they were yet very young indeed; but Frank,
who was some years older, recollected perfectly well what pretty
playthings she used to give him, and missed his kind, good mama so
extr