Books with title Our Little Dutch Cousin

Example in this ebookOf all people in the world the Grecians did most for art, and to the ancient Hellenes we owe much that is beautiful in art and interesting in history. Of modern Greece we know but little, the country of isles and bays, of fruits and flowers, and kindly people. So in this story you will find much of the country, old and new, and of the every-day life of Our Little Grecian Cousin.To be continue in this ebook.........................................................................................

Our little Arabian cousins live in a far-away land, where all the manners and customs of life are very different from our own. The little Arab children of the desert are quite different from those who live in the towns, as, indeed, are their elders. The Bedouins of the desert are by no means an uncivilized race, and their kind-heartedness and strict regard for doing by others as they would be done by is a marked feature of their daily life. This little book tells of the comings and goings of two little children of the desert; how they lived their lives; their plays and games; and many of the curious sights they saw as they travelled about with their parents, on one occasion visiting the great city of Medina, where they were as much strangers as if they were little American cousins who had come there on a journey. Arabia itself is a wild, sad country, but with here and there great patches of verdure, date-palms, cocoanuts, and coffee plants which give prosperity to the inhabitants. Some of the tribes are warlike and less peaceful than others, but they are the outcasts of the country, the same as are found elsewhere than in Arabia. Our little Arabian cousins have much in common with other little cousins, in that they are very strictly brought up, and are taught to have a great respect for their elders, and particularly to be polite and thoughtful to strangers. Their games and many of the acts of their daily lives are what we ourselves would consider violent and rough, but that only shapes them in their future careers to live up to their ancestral traditions.

Zoe sat in the doorway tending baby Domna as she lay asleep in her cradle. She was sleeping quietly, as any child should who has the cross on her cradle for good luck. Her skin was as white as milk, and this was because Zoe had taken care of her Marti. On the first day of March she had tied a bit of red ribbon about her little cousin’s wrist, for a charm. The keen March winds could not hurt the baby after that, nor could she have freckles nor sunburn. Early on the morning of April first, Zoe had dressed the baby and carried her out of doors. The dew lay over the flowers, the sun was just up, and his rosy beams turned the blossoming lemon trees to beauty. Zoe had sought the nearest garden and there hung the Marti on a rose bush, plucking a rose and pinning it to Domna’s cap. "Now, Babycoula," she had said, clapping her hands, "you shall have luck. Your Marti is upon a rose bush kissed with dew before the sun is high. The summer’s heat shall not touch you and you shall be cool and well." It was fortunate for Zoe as well as for the "Joy," which the Greek word for baby means, that Domna was a quiet baby. As most of the little girl’s time was taken up with caring for one or another of her aunt’s children, when they were cross it left her but little time for thinking and dreaming. Zoe’s thoughts were often sad ones, but her dreams were rose-coloured. When the little girl thought, she remembered the home she had once had. It was far in the sunny south where lemon groves lifted golden-fruited arms to the soft winds, and hillsides gleamed with purple and white currants.

In "Our Little Canadian Cousin," my intention has been to tell, in a general way, although with a defined local setting, the story of Canadian home life. To Canadians, home life means not merely sitting at a huge fireplace, or brewing and baking in a wide country kitchen, or dancing of an evening, or teaching, or sewing; but it means the great outdoor life—sleighing, skating, snow-shoeing, hunting, canoeing, and, above all, "camping out"—the joys that belong to a vast, uncrowded country, where there is "room to play." This wide and beautiful Canadian Dominion possesses, of course, a great variety of climate and of scenery. To treat at all adequately of those things, or of the country’s picturesque and romantic history, would require far more scope than is afforded by this one small story.

A large country, called Russia, lies in the eastern part of Europe. It stretches from the icy shores of the Arctic Ocean, on the north, to the warm waters of the Black Sea, on the south. Many of the children of this great country have fair skins and blue eyes. They belong to the same race as their English and American cousins, although they speak a different language. Some of them live in palaces, and have everything that heart could desire; but a vast number of them are very poor, and their parents are obliged to work hard to keep the grim wolf, hunger, away from the door. Russia, as a nation, is very young, as compared with many others. She is still in her childhood. Perhaps it is because of this that her people do not enjoy as much freedom as ourselves. A few years ago the Emperor of Russia spoke some words to which the people of the western world listened with surprise and delight. He said, "I wish there were peace between all countries, and that we could settle our differences with each other without fighting." These wise words did a great deal of good. The emperor, without doubt, meant what he said. He did wish heartily that wars should be at an end. He has not felt able, however, to carry out his ideas of peace, for at this very moment he is at war with the people of Japan. Let us hope that this war will soon be over, and that the nation to which our Russian Cousin belongs will become as truly free and wise as she is now large and powerful.

What a wonderful time he had that day! First came the christening in the great Cathedral which towers above Granada, and in which lie buried the king and queen, Ferdinand and Isabella, in whose reign Columbus sailed away from Spain to discover America. The Cathedral was so grand that it always made Fernando feel very strange and quiet, and he thought it was shocking that the baby cried when the priest poured water on her and baptized her, Maria Dolores Concepcion Isabel Inez Juanita. This seems a long name for such a tiny little mite, but there was a reason for every single name, and not one could be left out. Nearly all Spanish children are named Maria, whether boys or girls, because the Spaniards are devoted to the Virgin Mary, and as the baby was born on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, she was called Concepcion. Isabel was for her aunt, and Inez was for her godmother, and Juanita for her father. Her name did not seem at all long to Fernando, for his name was Fernando Antonio Maria Allegria Francisco Ruy Guzman y Ximenez. Every one called him Fernando or Nando, and his long name had troubled him but once in all his gay little life. That time he had been naughty and had run away from his aya, the nurse who always watches little Spanish children like a faithful dog, and he had fallen into the deep ditch beside the great aloe hedge. The aloes are stalwart plants with long leaves, wide-extending and saw-toothed, and they are often planted close together so as to make hedgerows through which cattle cannot pass. The leaves of the aloe are sometimes a yard long, and they are very useful. From them are made strong cords, and also the alpagatas, or sandals, which the peasants wear; and the fibres of the leaf are separated from the pulp and made into many things to wear. The central stem of the aloe grows sometimes twenty feet high, and it has a number of stems on the ends of which grow yellow flowers. The leaves are a bluish-green in colour, and look like long blue swords. The long hedgerows look very beautiful against the soft blue of the Spanish sky, but little Fernando did not see anything pretty in them as he lay at the bottom of the ditch, roaring lustily.

In Europe and Asia there are two countries separated from each other by a narrow strip of water. One of these is spoken of as Turkey in Europe, and the other as Turkey in Asia. They are held together under one ruler called the Sultan. He has absolute power over his people, and can do with them as he likes. One word from his lips is enough to cause the death of any of his subjects. None dare to disobey him. It is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the Sultan is often spoken of as "The Sick Man of Europe." Our little Turkish cousin lives in the city of Constantinople, not far from the Sultan’s palace. He does not understand why some of his people live in wealth and luxury, while so many others spend their lives in begging for the food and clothing they must have. He has no thought but that the Sultan of Turkey is as great and noble as the ruler of any other land. The child is brought up to love ease and comfort, the daintiest food and the richest clothing. He feels sorry for the poor and the homeless, but he does not know how to truly help them. He hears little about other countries where every one is free and can claim just treatment as his right. But as he grows older he may, perhaps, think for himself, and do some noble deed to save his country and make his people better and happier. Let us open the doors of our hearts to him, and let him feel our love and sympathy.

In the very heart of Europe lies a small country nestling among the mountains. It is unlike any other in the world. Its people speak four different languages; they believe in different religions; the government is not alike in different parts; yet the Swiss states are bound together by a bond stronger than unity of language or creed can possibly make. Our brave Swiss cousins believe in liberty for all and brotherly love. These make the most powerful of ties. In their mountains and valleys they have fought against the enemies who would have destroyed them, and the tyrants who would have made them slaves. They have driven out their foes again and again, for their cause was noble and unselfish, and to-day the republic formed by them can teach other countries many wise and worthy lessons. How the stories of William Tell and Arnold von Winkelried stir our hearts whenever we hear them repeated! These were only two of many heroes who have made the country famous for its bravery and unselfishness.

Many of the children of this great country have fair skins and blue eyes. They belong to the same race as their English and American cousins, although they speak a different language. Let us hope that this war will soon be over, and that the nation to which our Russian Cousin belongs will become as truly free and wise as she is now large and powerful.

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In whatever direction you may travel,—north, south, east, or west,—you will doubtless meet some of your little black-eyed Jewish cousins. They live among us here in America. They also dwell in the countries far away across the wide ocean. Why are they so scattered, you may ask. Is there no country which is really theirs, and which is ruled over by some one they have chosen? Is there not some place where they can gather together happily whenever they please? The answer is always no. They cannot say of this land or of that, "It is ours," for they are homeless. Palestine, which was once theirs, is now in the hands of the Turks. Jerusalem, the city they love best in the whole world, is in the power of those who look with scorn upon the Jewish people. For many centuries they have been scattered far and wide. Their children learn to speak the language of the country where they happen to be born. They play the games and dress in the fashion of that country. What is it that keeps them Jews? It is their religion, and their religion alone. It binds them as closely together now as it did in the days when they worshipped in the great temple at Jerusalem, two thousand years ago.

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