[Illustration: “LET ME SEE!”] IN THE CABIN OF THE MAYFLOWER. THIS is a company of Pilgrims in the cabin of the blessed ship _Mayflower_, on their way over a stormy sea from Plymouth, England, to find a place in America where they may worship God “according to the dictates of their own consciences.” [Illustration: A COMPANY OF PILGRIMS.] This was two hundred and seventy years ago. Of course the people did not dress then just as they do now, as you can well see by noticing their broad collars and queer trousers. How queer our dress will look to our great-grandchildren. The dear _Mayflower_ was not such a grand ship as the Cunarder. It had to depend—not upon steam—but upon a favoring wind, and the wind does not always seem to favor, so it took her weeks to cross the stormy Atlantic, and the passengers (Puritans they were called) were very sick; but because they had suffered so much from cruel people in England they did not complain, as they believed God held the waves in his hand, and he was guiding the _Mayflower_ as much as he did the Israelites to Palestine—“a land flowing with milk and honey.” So they patiently and cheerfully waited in the _Mayflower’s_ small cabin, often singing hymns and praying and encouraging each other. At last on Monday, December 21, 1620, they landed on Plymouth Rock, Mass., happy as birds escaped from a cage. They had much trouble with the Indians; but after a time they began to build, with other Pilgrims, at other points, our great nation. L. * * * * * THERE is a woman living in Manchester, England, who is said to have a Bible two feet long and nearly two feet wide. At the top of each page is printed in red ink: “This is a history.” The Bible is two hundred years old, and is the largest one in the world, it is supposed. BABY’S CORNER. BABY’S CLOCK. NOBODY finks I can tell the time of day, but I can. The first hour is five o’clock in the morning. That’s the time the birds begin to peep. I lie still and hear them sing: “Tweet, tweet, tweet! Chee, chee, chee!” But mamma is fast asleep. Nobody awake in all the world but just me and the birds. Bimeby the sun gets up and it’s six o’clock in the morning. [Illustration: BABY TELLS THE TIME OF DAY.] Then mamma opens one eye and I can hear her say: “Where’s my baby?” N’en I keep still—jus’ as still as a mouse, an’ she keeps saying: “Where’s my baby?” N’en all at once I go “Boo!” and she laughs and hugs me, and says “I’m a precious.” Mamma’s nice, and I love her ’cept when she washes my face too hard and pulls my hair with the comb. Seven o’clock! That’s when the bell goes jingle, jingle, and we have breakfast. All the eight an’ nine an’ ten an’ ’leven hours I play. I run after butterflies and squirrels, and swing, and read my picture book, and sometimes I cry—jus’ a little bit. Twelve o’clock!