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Accession No.-^^l
THE
GRANITE MONTHLY
A New Hampshire Magazine
DEVOTED TO
HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, LITERATURE,
AND STATE PROGRESS
VOLUME XXVI
CONCORD, N. H.
PUBLISHED BY THE GRANITE MONTHLY COMPANY
1899
M
9^74.2
G759
v.<££>
Published, 1899
By the Granite Monthly Company
Concord, N. H.
Printed, Illustrated, and Electrotyped by
Rumford Printing Company {Rumford Press)
Concord, New Hampshire, U. S. A.
The Granite Monthly.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXVI.
January — June, i8gg.
Abad, Elena Piedra, The Outing Club
A Bit of History, Ezra S. Stearns .
A Colorado Canon, Fred E. Keay .
Adams, Ida G. , The Philippines (poem)
Alaska, Converse J. Smith
Alaskan Experiences, Some, Converse J. Smith
A Look at the Old Farm, Ben Bridge
Arbutus (poem), Fred Lewis Pattee
A Reminiscence (poem), Samuel Hoyt
A Tip-Top Experience on Moosilauke, Ellen E. Webster
B. B., The Difference in Girls .....
B., G. K., Harriet Beecher Stowe (poem)
Bridge, Ben, A Look at the Old Farm ....
Burell, Carl, What Lily-Bell Told (Poem)
Cavis, Harry M., Esq., The Federal Supreme Court
Chase, Rt. Rev. Philander, D. D,, Bishop of Ohio and of
Daniel C. Roberts, D. D
Clark, Adelhert, Officers of Company K (poem)
"The House that Jack Built" ....
The Knot of Army Blue (poem) ....
The Month of May (poem)
Colby, Fred Myron, The Wild Flowers of Spring.
Doctor Johnson and Mrs. Thrale ....
Colby, Henry B., New Hampshire Industries — Our Only
Cupid : A Song (poem), Grace Fletcher ....
Illinois
Piano Factory
Darling, Alice O., The Country Depot (poem) .
Denio, Herbert W., A. M., Library Legislation in New Hampshire
Rev
323
345
354
83
4
69
187
3°4
186
197
189
42
187
183
289
85
1 1
3 J °
361
309
233
35°
"5
29
36
172
IV
CONTENTS.
Doctor Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, Fred Myron Colby . . . . .
Down the King's Great Highway: A Sketch of Stratham, R. M. Scammon
Durgin, Mark W. F., The Cocheco (poem) .....
Dyer, Elizabeth B., The Birth of the White Mountains (poem)
" Finnigan's Chateau," Belle C. Greene ......
Fletcher, Grace, Cupid : A Song (poem)
Fletcher, Lisa A., Sleighing (poem) . . . . ...
Folsom, Channing, John B. Stevens, Esq. ......
Foster, Maj.-Gen. John G., Biographical Sketch of, Frank G. Noyes
Gibson, T.'C, Some Old Tales and Traditions of the White Mountains
Greene, Belle C, " Finnigan's Chateau" ....
Greenwood, Alice D. O., The Shadow of a Coming Event
Hadley, E. D., The Exit of the Royal Governor .
Hoyt, Samuel, A Reminiscence (poem) ....
Jack and Pirie .........
Java and the Colonial System of the Dutch, Jules Leclerq
Keay Fred E., A Colorado Canon
Kent, Henry O., Songs of Norwich University
Lawrence, J. B., The Dreamer (poem) .....
Leclerq, Jules, Java and the Colonial System of the Dutch
Library Legislation in New Hampshire, Herbert W. Denio, A. M.
Lord, C. C, The Lord Escutcheon
Low, General, Sir Benjamin Thompson, Count of Rumford
Marston, Gilman (poem), E. E. Parker ...
Mitchell, Lona Bertell, New Hampshire's Young Poet
Mr. Unlukikus Has Rheumatism, Clarence Henry Pearson
Mr. Unlukikus Shoots, Clarence Henry Pearson
My Dream (poem), Annie Rogers Noyes ....
My Secret (poem), Gertrude Palmer Vaughn
62, 125, 191, 235, 31
New Hampshire Industries — Our Only Piano Factory, Henry B. Colby
New Hampshire Necrology
Aiken, Dr. F. J.
Allen William H.
Bartlett, Capt. A. W.
Barton, Hon. Levi W.
Brock, Solomon H. .
Brown, Amos
Brown, George L.
Burt, Henry M.
Buxton, Elizabeth M.
Cilley, Prof. Bradbury L.
Claggett, Rufus P. .
Clement, Judge Nathaniel H.
Cleveland, Judge John Robinson
35°
133
32
207
109
29
28
33
33i
37
109
237
270
186
13
43
354
281
165
43
172
227
244
75
306
209
184
188
3
"5
. 377
129
64
316
254
130
316
125
255
191
255
65
193. 254
• 319
CONTENTS.
New Hampshire Necrology (Continued )
Coffin, Perley S.
Cole, Benjamin J.
Cook, Orren J. .
Cournoyer, Rev. Narcesse
Crane, William .
Cressy, Rev. Azariah
Cross, Daniel J.
Cross, Edward Winslow
Dillon, Col. John J. .
Dodge, Benjamin
Dustin, Isaiah
Eastman, John W.
Elkins, Dr. Joseph L.
Emerson, Capt. George H.
Fiske, Adeline M.
Folsom, E. J.
Freeman, Washington
Gerrish, Hiram F.
Graves, Dr. Irving S.
Hale, Dr. E. F. .
Harris, Hon. Broughton Davis
Hibbard, Benjamin
Holt, Thomas R.
Hook, Elder John G.
hunnewell, wllliam m.
Hutchinson, Capt. Edmund
Jewett, A. H. C.
Jones William F.
Kimball, Samuel S. .
Laighton, Cedric
Lamos, Horace A.
LeGro, Rev. James Dudley
Leviston, William
Locke, Dr. Frank B.
Mason, James L.
McDuffee, Hon. G. W.
Moore, John A. .
Nutting, Charles
Oberly, Hon. John H.
Peabody, Dr. L. W. .
Pendergast, John H.
Pike, Amos W. .
Piper, Benjamin H. .
Pitman, George W. M.
Pitman, Oscar V.
Ramsey, David B.
Sanborn, Charles H.
Sanders, George A. .
Sawyer, Mrs. Susan Ellen
254
128
65
126
64
66
253
V7
319
63
194
194
193
62
253
125
63
127
65
128
125
63
127
256
127
192
65
192
373
377
194
254
126
J 93
64
193
128
126
3i9
130
253
63
127
65
64
127
378
66
320
VI
CONTENTS.
New Hampshire Necrology (Continued) :
Shelley, Mrs. Roena
Shrigley, Charles
Sides, William O.
Silsby, Arthur W.
Sinclair, Col. Charles A.
Smith, Eleazer .
Smyth, Ex-Gov. Frederick
Story, Sarah Little .
Tenney, Mrs. Lydia C.
Towle, Rey. Charles A.
Trussell, Rey. C. F. .
Virgin, Rufus E.
Walker, Capt. G. A. .
Weare, Col. John M.
Webster, Nathaniel S.
Webster, Robert S. .
Whitney, William H.
New Hampshire People .
Babbidge, Major Paul F.
Bodwell, Capt. Charles B
Churchill, Col. Frank C.
Colby, Capt. George H.
Dyer, Capt. William H.
Egan, Major John F.
Faunce, Rey. W. H. P., D. D.
Hall, Rev. George E., U. D.
Howard, Lieut. -Col. Charles W
Kimball, Major Frank L.
Parker, George H., M. D
Parker, John C, M. D.
Phalen, Rev. Frank L.
Ray, Major Albert F.
Richardson, Lieut. Edward W.
Roby, Lieut. Harley B.
Russell, Major Frank W.
Smith, Rev. Henry B.
Straw, A. Gale, M. D.
Tetley, Col. Edmund
Timson, Major Julius C. .
Tolles, Bkig.-Gen. Jason E.
Tutherly, Lieut. -Col. William
Upham, Col. Edwin O.
Waldron, Adjutant George D.
Walsh, Capt. R. Emmett .
New Hampshire's Young Poet, Lona Bertell Mitchell
Nicholls, Ralph D., The Passing of Spain
Nichols, Laura D., The Old Daguerreotype
Noyes, Annie Rogers, My Dream (poem)
Noyes, Frank G.. Biographical Sketch of Maj.-Gen. John G
Foster
62
254
318
377
316
194
3'4
191
62
194
127
126
128
63
65
129
64
363
363
364
375
373
367
366
375
367
363
365
372
368
374
374
372
372
37o
368
366
369
37o
363
369
367
37i
365
306
9
104
188
33i
CONTENTS.
vn
Officers of Company K (poem), Adelbert Clark ....
On Puget Sound, Converse J. Smith .......
Our Winter Birds and their Food Relations, Clarence Moores Weed
Parker, E. E., Oilman Marston (poem) ....
The Dear Old Homestead Farm (poem) .
Pattee, Fred Lewis, Arbutus (poem) .....
Pearson, Clarence Henry, Unlukikus Loses His Self-Poise
Mr. Unlukikus Shoots ......
Mr. Unlukikus has Rheumatism ....
Puget Sound, On, Converse J. Smith ....
Rankin, Jeremiah Eames, D. D., LL. D., The Eames Family in Coos County
Reflections of an Automobile, J.R.S.
Roberts, Caroline M., The Winter is Past (poem)
Roberts, Rev. Daniel C, D. D., Rt. Rev. Philander Chase, D. D., Bishop of
Ohio and of Illinois
Rumford, Count of, Sir Benjamin Thompson, General Low
San Francisco, A Letter From. Seen Through New Hampshire Eves,
Converse J. Smith .......
Scammon, R. M., Down the King's Great Highway: A Sketch of Stratham,
Seen Through New Hampshire Eyes. A Letter From San Francisco,
Converse J. Smith ......
Sir Benjamin Thompson, Count of Rumford, General Low
S., J. R., Reflections of an Automobile
Sleighing (poem), Lisa A. Fletcher
Smith, Converse J., Alaska
On Puget Sound . ' .
Some Alaskan Experiences
Seen Through New Hampshire Eyes. A Letter From San Francisco
Some Alaskan Experiences, Converse J. Smith
Some Old Tales and Traditions of the White Mountains, T. C. Gibson
Songs of Norwich University, Henry O. Kent
Stearns, Ezra S., A Bit of History .
Stevens, John B., Channing Folsom .
Stowe/ Harriet Bf.echer (poem), G. K. B.
Stratham, A Sketch of: Down the King's Great Highway, R. M. Scammon,
The Beginning of Methodist Theological Education in New Hampshire,
William F. Whitcher . - .
The Birth of the White Mountains (poem), Elizabeth B. Dyer
The Cocheco (poem), Mark W. F. Durgin .
The Country Depot (poem), Alice O. Darling .
The Dear Old Homestead Farm (poem), E. E. Parker
The Difference in Girls, B. B. .
The Dreamer (poem), J. B. Lawrence
The Eames Family in Coos County, Jeremiah Eames Rankin, D. D., LL. D.
The Exit of the Royal Governor, E. D. Hadley .
The Federal Supreme Court, Harry M. Cavis, Esq.
"The House that Jack Built, 1 ' Adelbert Clark
1 1
167
77
75
2 - 2
304
3°
184
209
167
240
376
^33
S5
?44
259
133
259
244
376
28
4
167
69
259
69
37
281
345
33
42
133
21 1
207
32
36
252
189
165
240
270
289
-,10
VI 11
CONTENTS.
The Knot of Army Blue (poem), Adelbert Clark
The Lord Escutcheon, C. C. Lord .
The Month of May (poem), Adelbert Clark
The Old Daguerreotype, Laura D. Nichols
The Outing Club, Elena Piedra Abad
The Passing of Spain, Ralph D. Nicholls .
The Philippines (poem), Ida G. Adams
The Shadow of a Coming Event, Alice D. O. Greenwood
The Wild Flowers of Spring, Fred Myron Colby
The Winter is Past (poem), Caroline M. Roberts
The Wives of Weinsberg (poem), Mary H. Wheeler
Unlukikus Loses His Self-Poise, Clarence Henry Pearson
Vaughn, Gertrude Palmer, My Secret (poem)
Webster, Ellen E., A Tip-Top Experience on Moosilauke
Weed, Clarence Moores, Our Winter Birds and their Food Relations
What Lily-Bell Told (poem), Carl Burell
Wheeler, Mary H., The Wives of Weinsberg (poem)
Whitcher, William F., The Beginning of Methodist Theological Education
in New Hampshire . . . . . . . •
361
227
309
104
323
9
83
237
233
233
190
3°
197
77
i«3
190
211
She sat at the wheel one afternoon in autumn.
I.ONOI Kl.l.oW.
The". Granite Aontmm.
Vol. XXVI.
JANUARY, 1899.
No. 1
MY SECRET.
(confidential to cupid.
By Gertrude Pal mo- Vaughn.
Cupid! pray listen,
You scheming young elf,
1 've a secret to whisper
To you, of myself.
I 've fallen in love.
There ! the secret is out.
Now Cupid, stop laughing,
Mind what you 're about.
But listen, and hear me,
I 've something to tell
Of a dear little maiden
You know verj 7 well.
If I were an artist,
Her picture I 'd paint,
This dear little maiden,
So sweet and so quaint ;
With a queer little cap
On her tresses of brown.
And cheek like pink roses,
And sober gray gown ;
With a rogue in her dimples,
And laughing brown eyes,
Whose depths are the coverts
Where witchery lies.
The picture is finished,
Her name would you know?
They called her the " Mayflower,'
Long, long years ago.
" The Mayflower of Plymouth,"
So John Alden said,
Her name is Priscilla,
The Puritan maid.
A witch, I should call her,
I 'm sure that is right,
For my heart 's in her keeping,
She 's stolen it quite.
I cannot but love her,
This maiden demure ;
She 's taken me captive,
The conquest is sure.
Cupid ! go tell her, —
No time for delay, —
1 pray you don't loiter
To play by the way ;
But haste to Priscilla,
And whisper it low.
I '11 wait while you tell her ;
O Cupid ! please go.
'Vwz
A Group of Indian Boys.
ALASKA.
By Converse J. Smith.
THOUSAND pens have
attempted to describe
Alaska, but the won-
derful territory with its
entrancing scenery has
never yet been faithfully portrayed
by even the most versatile writer ; the
attempt will not be made by myself,
but certain impressions gained may
be of interest.
The distance from Seattle to Sitka,
which is the capital, is about 1,200
miles, and from five to seven days is
required to make the trip, stops be-
ing made at Victoria, B. C, Mary's
Island, Wrangle, Juneau, and Skag-
way ; the fare, until recently, has
been $50 each way, which included
meals and stateroom ; at the present
time, by reason of competition, tickets
are sold for $25, or one may reach
Wrangle, Juneau, or Skagvvay for
$io, which is a ruinous rate.
It was in 1867 that it became
known that Secretary of State Sew-
ard had negotiated a treaty for the
purchase of Alaska, in consideration
of $7,200,000; few approved, and
many condemned the proposed ac-
quisition.
Blaine, Logan, Washburn, Cullom,
and other leaders entered their pro-
test, while Charles Sumner in the
senate and General Banks in the
house favored the appropriation.
Hon. A. P. Swaineford, at one time
governor, and an authority on Alaska,
states that during the debate in con-
gress, E. B. Washburn defied any
living man on the face of the earth
to produce any evidence that one
ounce of gold was ever extracted
from Alaska, and declared the coun-
try was absolutely without value, yet
on the 31st of October, the day prior
to my sailing from Seattle, the United
States assayer in that city showed me
$350,000 in gold that was brought
down from Alaska by the last steam-
er arriving, and stated that between
April and October of the present year
#7,000,000 had been delivered to him
A /.ASK A.
to be assayed, another million had
been sent to San Francisco, and a
few hundred thousand dollars in gold
dust had been sent or taken east by
miners. A single mine has produced
more gold than the original appro-
priation for the purchase of the ter-
ritory. It is interesting to speculate
as to why Russia disposed of her
North American possessions, and the
reason United States decided to pur-
chase. It is probable that Russia
feared, in case of war, she might not
be able to defend her possessions,
and it would be natural for Great
Britain to desire the vast territory
contiguous to her colonies. On the
other hand it is the opinion of those
with whom I have conversed that
United States desired to reward Rus-
sia for her friendly attitude men-
tioned during the Civil War, and
then it is well to remember a power-
ful corporation that had controlled
the country for years was behind the
movement.
It is difficult to comprehend the
magnitude of Alaska, its grand scen-
ery, or its mighty rivers. Hon. John
G. Brady, the present governor of
Alaska, who resides at Sitka, in-
forms me the present population is
estimated at 50,000, and of this num-
ber about 30,000 are Indians ; the
latest computation places the area as
800,000 square miles, or equal to all
the territory east of the Mississippi
river, while the coast line is 26,000
miles, a distance that would more
than circle the globe.
Sitka is more than 4,000 miles
from Concord, yet one may travel
west from this place over 2,400 miles
and still continue in Alaska, or if
the national capital was to be located
in the centre of the United States
Sitka would be near the geographi-
cal centre.
A letter from Concord asks if I
will call on Richardson, Barrett, and
others who are on the Yukon river.
To do so and follow route taken by
them it would be necessary to sail
to St. Michaels, a distance of 3,000
1 - Ig
F H f " f
? H
ALASKA.
miles, then follow the Yukon river
some 2,000 miles further. It appears
the officials at Washington find it
difficult to comprehend the territory
as well as the ordinary citizen, as the
collector of customs, who resides at
Sitka, was instructed not long since
to proceed to Circle City, make an
investigation, and submit a report by
return mail. Before taking up the
investigation he advised the depart-
ment that six months' time would be
required to make the journey, and
currence, and the annual tempera-
ture is substantially that of Washing-
ton, D. C.
GLACIKRS.
There are many glaciers in Alaska.
and more or less are to be seen from
the steamer on its regular course
from vSeattle to Sitka ; now and then
one is pointed out as a dead glacier,
due to formations that have appeared
front of the mouth, preventing dis-
charge into the sea. All of the
glaciers impress one profoundly and
Face of Muir Glacier.
$1,500 would be needed to defray
expenses. His instructions were re-
voked. Other letters received refer
to the climate, and give much advice
as to wearing apparel, if I expect to
survive. One might as well speak of
the climate of the United States with-
out mentioning locality, the popular
opinion being that Alaska is a bar-
ren, desolate region of perpetual
snow and ice, glaciers, and ice-bergs.
The facts are that there is extreme
heat and cold in different localities.
In Sitka zero weather is a rare oc-
the grandeur cannot be described.
The Muir glacier, which is about
70 miles from Juneau, is the largest
in this vicinity, and the most wonder-
ful. The main body occupies a vast
amphitheatre, with diameters rang-
ing from 30 to 40 miles. The water-
front is one mile wide, the height of
the ice above the water is from 250
to 350 feet, and is grounded at a
depth of about 750 feet, therefore, if
the glacier was all visible it would
present a solid wall of clear blue ice
a full mile long and 1,000 feet high-
ALASKA.
It is a river of ice moving to the sea.
It is estimated that this particular
glacier moves three feet daily, on an
average, and in summer mouths often
forty feet a day. Try and estimate
the enormous amount of ice thus fall-
ing into the sea, which may be seen
ioo miles distant. A single block, by
actual measurement, has been found
to be 400 feet square.
RIVKRS OK ALASKA.
The Yukon, undoubtedly, is the
and there are large steamers plying
its waters.
TOWN'S OF SITKA, JUNEAU, AM'
SKAGWAY.
The town of Sitka occupies a
beautiful site at the head of Sitka
sound, on the west side of Baranoff
island. It has a fine harbor, and
here is the official residence oi
the governor, collector of customs.
IT. S. judge, marshal, commissioner,
and others.
Muir Glacie r
greatest river in the world, and while
it has not been seen by the writer
many have been met who have navi-
gated its waters. For a distance of
100 miles the width is from 12 to 20
miles, and for 1,500 miles it is three
miles wide, and the vast volume of
water is discharged into the sea by
half a dozen channels. There are
three great tributaries, one larger
than the Mississippi, and all are
navigable for many hundred miles.
Then there is the great Nughegak
river, which is 20 miles wide tor a
distance of 50 miles from its mouth.
There is an Indian school, or-
phans' home, in which instruction is-
given in both English and Russian
languages. The Greek church is
one of the great attractions, espec-
ially for reason of valuable paint-
ings. That of Madonna and child,
with its drapery of gold, is one
the most precious relics. Mount
Edgecumbe, an extinct volcano
S,ooo feet high, .stands like a sen-
tinel over the place. There are
about 2,000 inhabitants, one half <>t
whom are Indians.
Ska- way has a population of 5
8
ALASKA.
Davidson Glacier.
inhabitants, and the residents claim
it is the largest town in Alaska, yet
a year and a half ago the place
was unknown. They have a daily
paper, the nearest telegraph office
being 1,200 miles distance, substan-
tial business blocks, school build-
ings, large stores, and about every-
thing that goes to make up a
business city. The Pacific & Arctic
railroad, the only railroad in the ter-
ritory, begins here, and is now oper-
ating fourteen miles of road, and is
within four miles of the summit of
White Pass. It is claimed the trail
over this pass can now be followed
by the bones of horses that have died
en route. The road in question is
to be extended some 300 miles — the
fare to-day is 30 cents per mile.
Juneau is situated at the base of a
mountain which is some 4,000 feet
in height, and is most picturesque.
This town has good streets, large
stocks of merchandise, a theater and
opera-house, a weekly paper, tele-
phone service, etc., etc. Across the
channel, two miles distant, is the
famous Alaska-Treadwall gold mine,
with the largest stamp-mill in the
world .
THE FUTURE OF ALASKA
cannot be comprehended ; her vast
mountains are stored with gold and
silver; there are fields of coal, moun-
tains of iron and copper, and the
fishing industry surpasses in value
the entire Atlantic coast. The fur
trade is simply immense, and good
judges predict that at no distant day
the great valley of the Yukon will
produce sufficient grain to rival in
value the production of gold, and to-
day a good variety of vegetables are
successfully cultivated within sixty
miles of the Arctic circle.
Who of us will undertake to defi-
nitely estimate or limit the value of
Alaska's undeveloped resources ?
THE PASSING OF SPAIN.
By Ralph 1). JSTichoUs.
YEAR 1898 witnessed Now, over four hundred years
the final fall of a power from the first time the banner of
that was once a world's Castile and Arragon was placed in
ruler, of a power whose flag the fertile soil of the New World,
was the first ever planted in that banner, blood-sprinkled and
American soil, and whose flag, after shamed, is uprooted from its last
centuries of misrule, has now been stronghold, and the last remnant of
flung back, over the seas, and up- Spain's power in America is hurled
rooted from its last possession, on back, broken and defeated, to the
this side of the water, by the sons of mother land, now in her old
the land that its bearers discovored. age, reduced, forlorn, and beggared,
Spain, the first great colonizing tossed and torn with the seething
power, has seen, as an old man sees, undermath of incipient revolution,
the advancing signs of old age, the she faces the future, a pale phan-
gradual loss of all her once great torn of what she once was, and
power, the passing from under her with the traditions of a glorious,
flag, and dominion, those vast em- yet bloody, past behind her, sinks,
pormms of wealth, and gold, from before the eyes of all, into obscurity
which once her galleons sailed, laden and oblivion.
with riches,— her colonies. O' er the lands where once the
Once a world-wide power, whose black cowled monk and dread Inquis-
flag was borne on every sea, whose itor glided to and fro, dark emblems
name was feared in every land, a of evil; o'er the land where cower-
power so great as to boastfully as- ering slaves worked to the hissing
sume the right over all the west- music of the lash, till they died in
ern seas, and close them to all but the golden mines; o'er the land
Spanish traffic. Less than four huu- where corruption and treachery were
dred years ago, the flag of his so common that it was a matter
most Catholic Majesty, the king for remark to see an honest, public
of Spain, floated in the southern man, now waves a glorious banner,
breezes, waved its gold and crimson the symbol of peace, justice, right,
standard over mountain and valley, and liberty, its heavenly colors danc-
sea and .shore, of all this vast con- ing in the sky, bringing hope to the
tiuent, North and South, while the downtrodden, and peace to all, the
islands of the seas owned his sway, flag of our glorious Union, the flag
and delivered up their annual tribute of a nation ready to take up arms
to the bottomless coffers of the Span- for the helpless and oppressed, — our
ish throne. flag, the Stars and Stripes.
IO
THE PASSING OP SPAIN.
From the fertile valleys, the pros-
perous cities, the rugged mountains
of Porto Rico, from the tangled
forest growth, from the burnt, deso-
lated homes aud farms, from the
starving mothers and helpless chil-
dren, from the bleeding, stern, pa-
triot bands of Cuba, goes up a cry of
joy, a cry of thanksgiving, that the
great shadow of a black darkness
has passed away forever ; from the
homes and hearts wells up joy too
deep for utterance, that henceforth
they may sit down in peace and
quietude under their own roofs, and
none will dare to molest them, and
that, under the flag that now floats
over their heads, their lives, their
homes and dear ones will be safe,
and their native land will enjoy free-
dom and peace from all oppression.
What a contrast from the time
when Spain's troops under the
dreaded Alva, overrun Kurope and
compelled kings and emperors to
sue for peace. Then, the "first in-
fantry in Europe," now, a defeated
host, shipped back to their native
country by a generous foe.
Spain, stripped of her colonies,
her fleets wrecked, her armies
beaten, her prestige lost, ceases to
have any importance in modern his-
tory, and sinks to the level of a
third-rate power; having lost all,
she passes from the stage of history,
where once she was wont to play
so important a part, and where she
once queened it in haughty disre-
gard of all others. With the pass-
ing of Spain from the stage of his-
tory, another power arises to take
her place, and all eyes are turned
to the new star of the West, whose
bright and dazzling rays above the
horizon, make the Old World nations
to fear, as they gaze at the entrance
of a new power among the great
ones of the earth, and speculate
what effect this new comer will
have on their selfish interests and
schemes. A new voice will now be
heard in the counsels of the nations,
speaking, not in harsh and selfish
disregard of all others' rights, with
angry tones and strident voice, but
in a sweet, clear tone, with trumpet
ring, she will cry before all the glo-
rious words of the fundamental key-
stone of her very being, "All men
are free and equal," while her motto
shall ever be, for her guidance in
the new and larger realm of activity
to which she is now called, 'We
stand for liberty, not license ; free-
dom, equality, and our Union is
cemented and bound together by a
tie that takes in all, as upon our
crest shall stand in letters of living-
fire these words: 'One for all, all
for one.' "
And in the future union of all
peoples and tongues, in peace and
good-will to each other, described
by the poet in the short, expressive
phrase, "The parliament of man,
the federation of the world," one
may surely venture to prophesy
that the leader of them all, and the
presiding genius of that brotherly
assembly, will be the star-crowned
Columbia and her ensign will be
ours — the glorious banner of the
Stars and .Stripes.
Lieut. A. M. Avery.
Capt. William A. Sanborn.
Lieut. Joseph L. Morrill.
Lieut. Robert S. Foss.
OFFICERS OF COMPANY K.
By Adelbert Clark.
Four pictured forms before me
In loyal blue, I see,
Who left their homes and loved ones
To set a nation free.
Each face shows hope and courage,
Each heart is just and true,
And each proud form is fit to wear
The honored loyal blue.
Four officers of Company K,
Their praise who would not sing?
True men as God has ever made,
And firm as any king.
Their noble forms stand erect,
Each eye is keen and clear.
And on each face with beauty marked,
There is no shade of fear.
12
OFFICERS OF COMPANY K.
This one— is Captain Sanborn
With epaulets sparkling bright
Upon his manly shoulders,
Beneath a glowing light.
How faithfully he led the ranks
That morning long ago,
When orchards dreamed of summer,
And dropped their leaves of snow.
'I* he next — Lieutenant Morrill,
The captain's faithful friend,
And friend to every comrade
Whose love with his did blend.
Beneath the flag of freedom,
From days of early youth,
lie learned to love its crimson bars
And choose the way of truth.
Here- — is Lieutenant Avery :
Sufficient manly grace,
And love for home and country
Gleams from his noble face.
And 'neath the starry banner
His heart is always true,
And never did a man more brave
Put on the army blue.
And still beneath the banner
Of red and white and blue,
Lieutenant Foss, the fourth one,
Doth bear an honor, too !
The clanging of his sabre,
The army's fadeless blue,
They tell us that beneath it all
The heart is staunch and true.
God bless these noble officers ;
Long may their honor live,
'Till Christ comes in his glory
The crown of life to give.
'Till then, O God, I pray Thee,
Bid every nation cease
From war's dark, gloomy shadows,
And gently whisper — Peace !
JACK AND PIRIK.
ONES' FERRY is a
small town lying among
the New Hampshire
hills, in the valley of
its principal river. It's
name dates back to the time when
Amos Jones used to ferry the occa-
sional passengers across the bridge-
less river in his shaky scow. A sub-
stantial bridge long ago displaced
the old boat, which, with its owner,
has drifted away into the dim and
distant past.
It is an unknown town, a sleepy,
unnoticed place, but life goes on
there just as steadily and unceas-
ingly as in the great cities of the
country. To the few inhabitants it
is as real, interesting, and absorbing
as the constantly shifting scenes
upon that broader stage. Comedies
and tragedies are daily enacted, and
the drama is always "on" to a care-
ful observer.
One morning in early June, while
the dew was still hanging in glisten-
ing beads from each blade and leaf,
Deacon Buttersworth came briskly
up the one street of the village, on
his w T ay to the store for a new ox-
goad. The deacon was a tall, spare
man, with sharp-cut, rather good-
looking features; His eyes were
clear and piercing, and his fingers
were long and bony, and had a
gripping habit that was typical of
the man. He was prominent in the
church, as his title implied, passed
the box, and spanked the unruly
small boy, but was not over lavish in
expenditure, unless he could see a
dollar overlapping the one he ad-
vanced, even in the service of the
Lord. He believed in casting his
bread upon the waters, but he wanted
to have some attachment upon it so
that if it did not return readily, he
could pull it back by main strength.
As he was passing Squire Perkins's
house, the owner, who was working
in the yard, sauntered leisurely down
to the gate, as if to pass the time of
day with his neighbor.
" Fine mornin', Deacon ! '
"First rate! Need some rain,
though. Crops won't start without
it. My corn 's just getting up, and
if it don't rain soon, the sprouts will
die."
"Well, looks like we might get a
scud afore night," replied the squire
consolingly. "Pretty sudden thing
that, down to the Bolton's," he con-
tinued. "Heard 'bout it I sup-
pose?"
"Yes, just like the bottom dropping
out 'n a pail," answered the deacon,
smacking his hands together to give
force to his illustration. "And it's
a warnin' to us all," he went on.
" Beats the nation how some families
always seem to be in hot water!
Only last year Seth died, and now
here's his widder goes off without a
moment 's notice, leaviu' those chil-
dren without a cent."
" What 's goin' to become of 'em ? "
" Well, I suppose the town '11 have
14
/AC K AND FIR IE.
to take 'em. Haven't any kin as I
ever heerd of."
"Taxes are gettin' pretty stiff,
Deacon. Over one and a half last
year, and there 's the new school-
house this year," and the squire
pursed up his lips and rubbed his
chin ruefully.
"And it falls heaviest on you and me,
Squire," replied the deacon, a black
scowl falling across his placid fea-
tures. " I don't see what good such
shiftless people are, anyway. Now,
there was Seth, if he had learned
some trade he might have left his
family somethin' to live on instead of
turnin' them over to you and me to
support. But he had to become a
painter and spend all his time daub-
in' on a piece 'er cloth. The only,
rational thing I ever heerd of his
doin' was when he painted that sign
for the butcher down to Reedsville,
and he done that for a joke."
Poor Seth Bolton ! his kind heart
would have suffered a twinge of sad
pain could he have heard these two
hard-shelled old farmers reproaching
him for his devotion of his life to his
beloved art. With the best inten-
tions in the world, and with unremit-
ting labor he had scarcely been able
to feed and clothe his small family,
and when death had suddenly ended
his career, he left behind him a
few half-finished pictures, a sunset
painted from the hill above the town,
and a lot of squeezed paint tubes, as
empty as his pocket-book. His bal-
ance at the bank was nil, and his
credit with the grocer zero.
His brave little wife had put her
willing shoulder to the wheel and
managed to keep it from sinking into
the mire of utter penury, but now
she was as suddenly taken away,
leaving nothing behind for the sweet
little babes but the lingering remem-
brance of her love and care. The
sun of their fortunes seemed to have
set completely, and the West was
leaden with the promise of a sad to-
morrow.
The funeral was over ; the poor
little mother was taking the first rest
she had had in years, and the chil-
dren had been brought back to the
house by the neighbors to await the
action of the selectmen as to their
disposal. The woman who was sup-
posed to take care of them in the
interim had gone home to dinner,
and intended, doubtless, to bring the
children something to eat when she
returned. As far as the neighbors
knew, there were no relatives to
whom the children could be sent,
and there seemed no outlook for
them but the work-house. Sorrow-
ful ending for the little lives for
which Seth and his dear wife had
planned so brilliant and happy a
future !
Jack was a bright, sturdy little
fellow, just a year in knickerbockers.
His eyes looked out fearlessly from
under his long dark lashes, while his
chubby fists were ready to do battle
on all occasions. His stout little
legs, his straight back, and open
brow all denoted fearlessness and
honesty. Pirie was four, with long
golden curls, and great, round blue
eyes, big enough to hold his little
hands when he cried. His was one
of those confiding little faces which
go straight to a mother's heart. Just
at this minute the blue eyes were
filled with tears, and weary sobs fol-
lowed each other in rapid succession
like waves upon the beach. He was
crying for the dear mother, for when
JACK AND PIRIE.
they told him she was dead that
meant nothing to him, and he met
all Jack's sad attempts to pacify him
with the plaintive cry so pitiful to
hear :
" Me wants mamma ! '
Alas ! she would never smooth
back his golden curls again, nor
kiss the tears from the soft round
cheeks. The rough hand of ad-
versity had replaced her tender and
loving fingers.
"Don't cry, Pirie, dear!' said
Jack, great drops starting from his
own eyes and dropping upon the lit-
tle one's upturned face. " Mamma
won't come any more, Pirie," he
said in tremulous voice. " Mamma
is way up in the blue sky with
papa and the angels ; but she sees
you and me, and she is patting
you on the head now, though you
can't feel it."
"Me wants to feel it; me wants
her here, Jack," wailed Pirie.
Jack choked back a sob, took
him in his arms, and tried to rock
him to sleep. After a while the
tired little head fell back on his
shoulder, and his troubles were for-
gotten. Poor little motherless
babes ! No one in the wide, wide
woild to care for them; no gentle
hand to guide their faltering, un-
knowing steps ; no watchful eye to
foresee and prepare for coming
troubles; nothing but the work-
house, the work-house for these
bairns.
Patiently and softly, back and
forth, rocked Jack, Pirie's curly
head lying quietly on his shoulder,
while the great tears rolled slowly
down his own cheeks. Poor Jack !
He could not fall asleep and forget
it all. He knew what death meant
in a dim, uncertain way ; he knew
that never in the long years before
them, would that sweet smile bring
peace to their grieved little hearts,
smoothing away all troubles. But
Jack was older than his years ; Jack
was a philosopher. He saw that
he was left the head of a family,
and his brave heart, instead of giv-
ing way to despair, rose to meet
the occasion, and he pressed back
the sobs, cuddled Pirie closer to his
breast, and resolved to "manfully
fight under Christ's banner against
sin, the world, and the devil," as he
had been baptised to do, though of
course he did not use these words.
His mother had died very sud-
denly, just as her husband had
done, and had been able to make
no provision for her little ones, but
she had often talked with Jack
about her sister in California, and
told him if anything happened to
her he must take Pirie and go to
this Aunt Clorinda. Of course she
did not mean for them to go alone,
for she did not expect to die so
suddenly, but simply wished him to
remember that there was some one
to turn to in case of need. As the
little fellow thought over what he
should do, these words came back
to his mind, and he decided at
once "to go to his Aunt Cloriuda's
in California." He did not know
any more than that she lived in
California, and he had about as
much idea of what and where Cali-
fornia was as he had of the Mo-
hammedan religion. He did not
even know his aunt's last name, for
she was married, and his mother
had never spoken of her except as
"Aunt Clorinda," but that did not
trouble Jack. He thought every-
i6
JACK AND PIRIE.
one must know his "Aunt Clo-
rinda." He knew everyone in
Jonesville, and supposed Jonesville
was a large segment of the uni-
verse.
Before the funeral, Jack had over-
heard the squire and the deacon
talking things over behind the
house, and was greatly terrified
when he caught them discussing
the advisability of sending them to
the work-house. He had not a
very clear idea of what the work-
house was, but knew it must be
something awful, because he had
once heard his mother say that
"she w r ould rather go to the work-
house than sell one of the sunsets
which adorned the walls of their
little parlor."
He feared they w T ould carry out
their evil intentions at once, and it
suddenly occurred to Jack that he
must act quickly or it would be
too late. So, quietly laying Pirie
down upon the sofa, he began his
preparations for departure.
To a boy of his age the first
thought was for something to eat.
He remembered certain jolly pic-
nics they used to have before his
dear father died, so he got a little
basket and went to the pantry, and
filled it with what he could find,
though the cupboard was nearly in
the condition in which old Mother
Hubbard found hers ; but a few
slices of bread, some cold meat,
and a stray doughnut or two filled
the small basket. Having provided
the food for the trip to California,
Jack went back into the little
parlor, and looked thoughtfully at
Pirie cuddled up on the sofa, his
head pillowed on his arms, and his
fat little legs drawn up like those
of a kitten. When his eyes fell on
the bare legs he shook his head.
'• It would never do in the world,"
he thought. " Pirie could not walk
to California, be it ever so near.
His legs would give out before
the}^ had gone half way," and he
remembered how often he had had
to carry him when they had gone
over to the ' ' Ferry ' together to
play.
Here was a serious question. He
felt sure of his own sturdy legs, but
poor little Pirie, who did not even
wear trousers ! Oh ! no, he could
never do it in the world !
Suddenly a bright idea occurred
to him, and he ran out into the
shed. He was gone several min-
utes, but presently came back draw-
ing a little four-wheeled cart such
as children have to play with, only
this one was strongly built. Jack's
father had made it for the children.
This, thought Jack, would
straighten matters out, for when
Pirie was tired, Pirie could get in
• and ride. Now, having his sup-
plies and his conveyance ready,
Jack scratched his head to see if
there was anything else. It was
summer, but sometimes it got cold
as night came on, and he remem-
bered that when they went out for
an afternoon his mother always
used to carry Pirie's little coat and
a shawl, so he went up-stairs and
got the gray coat with the brown
braid on the sleeves, and the red
plaid shawl he had seen her carry,
and stowed them carefully in the
wagon, occupying as little space as
possible. Then, after making sure
that his most important piece of
property (a large jack-knife) was
in his pocket, he decided that
JACK AND PIRIE.
i7
everything was ready for depart-
ure.
He was reluctant to wake Pirie,
but felt that he must get away be-
fore those fearful men carried out
their purpose ; so he gently shook
the little fellow, and when the
sleepy eyes opened wonderingly, he
said :
"Wake up, Pirie! I'm going
over in the woods to play Indians.
Don't you want to come?"
" Ess," cried Pirie, wide awake
in a moment when such a lark was
in prospect.
" Well, hurry up and let me put
on your hat then, 'cause I want to
get over there as soon as I can,"
and Jack bustled about', and got
Pirie's straw hat (the last thing his
mother had done for the little fel-
low was to trim this hat), and put
it on his glossy curls, now some-
what tangled by his nap. Then,
after smoothing down his dress and
straightening his collar, he took
him by the hand, and hauling the
wagon with the other, hurried out
through the front door.
Just as they were about to go
down the steps Jack stopped, and
telling Pirie to wait a minute, went
back to the little parlor. Pulling a
chair across the room, he climbed
up, and kissed a tiny portrait of
his mother, which his father had
painted, and then moved the chair
over to his father's favorite paint-
ing, and pressed his sad, little face
to that as a last good-by to all that
was dear in the poor, little home.
Then he stood for a moment in the
middle of the room, the tears rolling
slowly down his cheeks, and look-
ing from one painting to the other.
He was thinking that he would
xxvi— 2
like to take these pictures with
him, but he knew that if Pirie
once caught sight of his mother's
portrait his plans would all be up-
set, so he decided to leave that
and take the painting. Placing a
cricket in the chair he pulled the
cord over the hook, and lifted the
picture, which was about a foot
square, down to the floor. After
dusting it carefully with his hand-
kerchief, he hurried out to the door
and stood it in the cart with his
other baggage, much to Pirie's
amazement.
Before venturing out into the
street, he peered up and down the
highway to see if anyone was in
sight, but it was the noon hour,
and all the systematic country folk
were at their midday meal. Seeing
that the path was clear, he grasped
Pirie's hand, and they hastened
down the graveled walk, on either
side of which the early rose bushes
filled the air with their fragrance.
It seemed as though they were to
get away without being discovered,
and Jack felt relieved, but just as
they were going through the gate
they were stopped by a harsh voice,
which cried out :
"Hullo, Jack! "
Somewhat startled, Jack looked
round, and was greatly relieved to
find that it was only Pollv, the par-
rot, who had been completely for-
gotten in the hurry of the funeral,
and had been left hanging on his
perch, under the honeysuckle, on
the porch.
"Poor Polly!" said Jack sadly
to himself, "who will take care of
her?"
"Hullo, Jack! Does yer mother
know you 're out ? Polly wants a
i8
JACK AND PIRIE.
cracker ! ' yelled the parrot ; and
Jack thought it quite probable that
she did want a cracker, for, as near
as he could remember, she had had
nothing all day, so he opened his
basket, took out a piece of bread,
and went back to give it to her.
The old bird, the friend and com-
panion of many a happy day,
climbed down off her perch, rubbed
her nose against the boy's hand,
and ate the bread with relish.
This little mark of affection touched
Jack's heart, and he resolved not to
leave her behind to the tender mer-
cies of such men as the squire and
the deacon. It seemed to him that
Aunt Clorinda could not object to
having such a bright, cheery bird
as Polly.
This parrot had been the pet of
the family for years, and was sup-
posed to be anywhere from fifty to
two hundred years old. He had
been labored with by several gen-
erations of various religious pro-
clivities, and some, it is to be
feared, with no religious procliv-
ities, to judge from his acquire-
ments. He was remarkably adept
at picking up anything odd, origi-
nal, or profane. If he overheard
the boys in the street using any
slang phrase he was sure to crop
out with it shortly.
With the bird perched upon the
edge of the cart they started once
more on their pilgrimage. As soon
as the bread was fairly swallowed
Polly gave vent to her feelings as
follows :
" Jack 's a brick ! Jack 's a brick !
Jack's a rip-snorter!" and she
kept on repeating these important
facts to the trees and fence posts
or. the next twenty rods, and filling
the whole air with his praises. She
was an appreciative bird.
It was lucky people were busy
with their dinners at the rear of
their houses, or this little trio
would certainly have been discov-
ered and their plans upset ; but for-
tune favored them, and even Pirie's
toddling steps soon carried him
outside the village, and under the
fragrant forest trees which lined the
road. When they had -gone for
some distance into the woods, Pirie,
who had hitherto been too much
absorbed in hauling the cart to
notice where they were, suddenly
stopped.
" Will 'oo play Injun now, Jack ? "
" No, not just yet, Pirie, this isn't
so good as a place I know of down
here a little farther."
" Oo said you were going to play
Injuns," objected the little one.
" I know, Pirie, but we must n't
stop here, we will by and by."
" Where is 'oo going, Jack?"
"To Aunt Clorinda's in Cali-
fornia."
' ' Me do n't want to go to Aunt
Clorinda's. Me wants to stay here
and play Injuns."
" But we can't stay here," objected
Jack. "Mamma is gone, and we have
no one to take care of us now,
and we must go to Aunt Clorinda's."
"Me don't want any Aunt Clo-
dinda; me wants my mamma!" cried
poor little Pirie, and the great tears
rolled down his already streaked
cheeks.
"Now, Pirie," said Jack, putting
his arm round him protectingly and
wiping away the great drops, "you
must be a brave boy, for we have
got to go a long ways, and we must
hurry up so as to get away from
JACK AND PIRIE.
19
some wicked men, and then you
don't know what a beautiful place
we are going to. Oh ! it's the finest
place in the world ! and they have
ponies, carts, and rabbits, and flow-
ers and music — and circuses — ami —
and " ; here Jack's invention gave
out, but he had described a suffi-
cient number of beautiful things to
make Pirie's eyes brighten up, and
he turned his eager little face up to
his brother in happy expectation.
He promised not to cry any more,
and so, taking up the handle of the
cart, they paddled on once more ; a
strange procession under the great
pines. Sturdy little Jack leading
blue-eyed Pirie, whose golden curls,
now all disheveled, waved in the
lazy afternoon breeze, and rolling on
behind them the red-striped wagon,
with the knowing old parrot perched
on one side, gazing abstractedly at
the bright-hued sunset, which occu-
pied the opposite side of the cart.
For some time Polly kept silent,
evidently enjoying the fragrance of
the trees, and tasting the .novelty
of the_ situation, but silence was
not her forte, and after a while
she began to rehearse her vocab-
ulary of choice expressions. She
had learned, among other things, a
number of tripping rhymes, which
she reci'ed much more accurately
than a person could do.
Her first attempt was the follow-
ing, well known to all children :
" Robert Rowley rolled a round roll round ;
A round roll Robert Rowley rolled round ;
When rolled the round roll Robert Rowley
rolled round."
"That's a good one! Polly, give
us another," said Jack, when the
parrot stopped for breath. It re-
minded him of home, and com-
forted his troubled heart.
" Dat 's a dood one ! Polly," lisped
Pirie. " Dive us anoder ! "
"Hold your yawp," screamed
Polly, who did not like being inter-
rupted, and then went on,
" Under a shady tree they sat,
He held her hand, she held his hat ;
I held my breath, and lay right flat.
He held that kissing was no crime ;
She held her head up every time ;
I held my breath and wrote this rhyme,
While they thought no one knew it."
"You try that, Pirie," said Jack,
wishing to interest the little fellow
and prevent his feeling tired.
" Me tan't say dat, but me tan say
the 'odder."
"Well try the other then," an-
swered Jack encouragingly.
' l Wobert Wowly wolled a woll —
woll wound Wobert Wowley wolled
a woll — woll — wound — Oh! Me tan't
do it Jack ! Me's tongue sticks."
" Well, never mind. Polly will do
it for you ; ' ' and so Polly went on
with her instructive poems.
It will have been noticed by this
time that Jack's ideas of geography
were rather vague. He thought
California must be somewhere at the
end of the turnpike that went by the
house, and all he would have to do
to get there would be to follow it
right into his Aunt Clorinda's arms.
With this idea in his mind he was
now on his way, with his helpless
charges fleeing from a poor-house to
cast himself upon the mercy of a not
over - generous world. Two wee
elves! two babes! alone under God's
heaven, with no friend, no shelter,
no food to speak of ; but perhaps
Jack's supreme trust in something,
he knew not what, was a more
20
JACK AND PIRIE.
powerful protection than the shield
of the mightiest ruler in Christen-
dom. Surely the echo of these weary
little footfalls fell upon God's heart !
After progressing in this manner
for about an hour and a half, a man
with a wagon overtook them on the
road. They did not know him, but
Jack had noticed that Pirie was show-
ing signs of fatigue, and thought,
perhaps, the man would give them a
ride. So, just as the horse was
abreast of them, and the man was
looking curiously down upon the
strange trio, Jack asked if they
might get in and ride a little way.
"Who be you, anyway?" asked
the man as he reined in his horse.
"Jack and Pirie," answered our
hero simply.
"Well, who's yer father, }'er lit-
tle tramp? Oh, I know you! You
needn't tell me! You belong to one
'er them gipsy tribes and they 've
sent you out to steal. Ye can't come
none of yer tricks on me. G 'lang
Jenny ! ' '
Poor Jack looked at the man in
wide-eyed fear and amazement, and
Pirie's little lower lip began to quiver
and pucker at the harsh words. But
they had a defender, and one who
was equal to the occasion. Polly,
who had been listening intently,
screeched after the man loud enough
to wake the dead :
"Go to Tunket! you old rap-
scallion ! "
"What's that!" cried the man,
furiously reining in his horse.
"Goto Tunket! go to Tunket!"
reiterated Polly. "Rapscallion!
Horse thief! Bummer! Skinflint!
. Wo-o-o-oe-o-u-w ! " and Polly ended
up with a most terrific yell of deri-
sion. She was thoroughly aroused
and poured forth all the invectives
she could command.
The man had stopped his horse
and sat staring at the bird stupidly,
not knowing what to say or do, but
he finally shook his fist at the little
group in the dusty road and drove
away, followed, till he was out of
sight, by Polly's injurious remarks,
and even when he had disappeared
round a bend in the road, the old
bird would bristle up and remark
that " he was no gentleman ! "
This man's rough speech troubled
Jack a good deal. The boy had a
vague idea that gypsies were very
wicked, and he feared that there was
something wrong about Pirie and
himself, for every one seemed to
want to injure them. After this
rebuff he rather avoided meeting
anyone, and would not have asked
a favor of a man for the world.
But, by this time, Pirie's strength
had reached its limit. His short, lit-
tle legs could walk no more ; he was
all tired out, and looking pitifully at
Jack he said :
"I'se so tired, Jack!"
"You shan't walk any further,
Pirie," said Jack, and he lifted the
sleepy, little fellow into the cart
beside the parrot and the picture.
Then, af er bolstering him up with
the shawl and coat, he grasped the
handle and went on. This was a
change for Pirie, and he was con-
tented once more. He took the par-
rot in his lap and stroked her head,
and the good old bird chuckled to
herself and winked her eye know-
ingly.
Past fences, fields, and through
woods, sturdy little Jack trundled
along, though he, too, was getting
very tired, but he wanted, if possi-
JACK AND PIRIE.
21
ble, to reach California that night
before dark. He did not dare to ask
a man any questions, but thought if
he met a woman he would venture to
do so. They did not meet a woman,
but about five o'clock they came
upon a little girl of about our hero's
age carrying a pail of milk. The
boys both looked hungrily at the
milk, but did not dare to ask for any.
The little girl had a kind face so
Jack ventured to ask,
" How far is it to California ? '
The child was nonplussed, but not
wishing to appear ignorant to this
nice looking boy, she said,
"Oh, 'bout a mile and a half."
' ' Is this the right way ? "
" Yes, you keep right on and turn
to the right."
And the little girl trudged away,
well satisfied with her directions.
Jack also felt reassured. Certainly,
these directions were explicit enough,
and he could not fail to find his
aunt.
And so he pulled his tired legs
along, though he wanted awfully to
lie down on every soft place he
passed and rest, for he thought he
ought to get there as soon as possible
on Pirie's account. But supper time
was drawing near and little Pirie's
stomach began to cry out, and it
wasn't long before Jack's course was
stopped by a plaintive wail from be-
hind.
"Jack, I'se so hundry ! " and then
Polly insisted that she ' ' wanted a
cracker."
As there seemed to be a general
call for food our hero stopped by a
little brook, which they happened to
be passing, and unloading the child,
parrot, and basket on the bank pre-
pared for supper. The contents of
the basket were spread out on the
ground and each helped himself, and
when they got through there was
only a crust of bread and a doughnut
left. These Jack carefully put back
in the basket, though he hardly
thought they should need them, as
they must soon get to " aunt Clorin-
da's." After making a cup out of an
oak leaf, and giving Pirie a drink,
they started on their way again.
Darkness was now coming on, and
our little hero began looking about
anxiously for his aunt's, but he could
see no house that looked as though it
could be the place he was in search
of. In fact houses were very scarce
and far between, and did not look
very inviting. Of course, his aunt's
must be an elegant place with great
grounds and buildings, he thought.
So on and on he trudged, his legs
getting heavier and heavier every
minute, for it was a pretty long walk
for the little fellow, to say nothing of
hauling the cart and Pirie.
But no house appeared, and he
could not understand what the lit-
tle girl had meant when she told him
it was "only 'bout a mile and a half*"
further on. The shadows were fall-
ing and as they lay in long, fearful
shapes across the road, they appeared
to little Pirie like monstrous dragons
and fearful things he had heard of in
fairy tales. He had kept pretty quiet
lately, under the promise that they
would soon be at " aunt Clorinda's,''
where were all manner of beautiful
things, but when it began to get real
dark he could stand it no longer, and
Jack heard the usual signal of dis-
tress from the cart. Pirie's little
lower lip was quivering pitifully, and
now and then a restrained sob came
from his overburdened heart.
22
JACK AND PIRIE.
Is there anything in the world
which is quite so pitiful, and ap-
peals quite so quickly to any heart
not made of stone, as that pucker-
ing up of a baby's lip just before
he begins to cry? It gives the lit-
tle face such a grieved, reproachful
look that one feels that he would
lay down his life to spare the sweet
little toddlekins a pain.
The moment Jack saw Pirie's lip
go up he dropped the handle of the
■cart and took the child right up in
his arms and sat down in the road.
"There! there! Pirie dear, don't
cry," begged our hero, "you must
be a brave little man ! "
' ' Me wants mamma ! Where is
mamma, Jack? I 'se so cold and
hundry, and its all dark and I 'se
afwaid ! "
" I know, Pirie, but we shall get to
a beautiful place soon where there are
great walls, and music, and flowers,
and people, and rocking horses, and
everything. Now, you just be a
brave boy, and I know lots of things
you '11 have." Jack had to invent
his description of his "aunt's Clorin-
da's," and thought it well to make it
beautiful enough to divert Pirie's
mind. His words had a certain
effect for the sobs gradually ceased,
and when he was quieted down our
hero put him back in the cart and
wrapped the shawl around him, after
putting on his little gray coat.
While he was doing this Polly, who
had been taking a nap, woke up and
said in very audible tones,
"Whoop-la! Set 'em up again!
Poor Pirie! Pirie want a cracker?"
And then he cuddled up to the little
fellow as though he, too, feared the
dark and wanted companionship, and
it made Pirie feel less lonely.
Night was now upon them, dark
and chilly, and ' no house was in
sight, and Jack felt that he could not
go much further, for his legs ached
so badly that he could hardly stand,
and when he thought of his being
away off here alone with Pirie and
no mother nor father to care for them
the great drops began to fall from his
heavy eyes. But he held back his
sobs lest Pirie should hear them,
for if he should break down he
knew Pirie would lose all trust
and confidence in him and go all
to pieces, so he looked anxiously
through his tears for some place of
shelter. What should they do ! It
would never do to let Pirie sleep out
doors all night. He would catch his
death, but nowhere could he see any
house, and he was about at the end
of his strength. His heart began to
sink, for the fields stretched away on
either hand into the darkness, and
no sign of life was visible. It was
still as death, and even the birds and
frogs seemed to have gone to sleep.
' Just as he came near allowing a
sob to slip from his lips he saw some-
thing round in a field a short dis-
tance from the road, and hurrying
towards it, straining his tired eyes,
bitter was his disappointment to find
it ouly a great hay stack ; one of those
mounds which are sometimes piled
up in the fields when the farmers
have not sufficient room in their
barns for all the hay.
Jack turned away with a heavy
heart and was about to continue his
toilsome road when a thought struck
him. Many and many a time he had
played around such stacks at home,
digging great holes through them
aud hiding there for hours, and it
now occurred to him that he might
JACK AND PIRIE.
23
make a nice warm nest in this one
for them to spend the night in, as
there seemed no other place of refuge.
It would surely be much better than
sleeping out on the open road, so he
trundled the cart with its precious
load across the field to the stack,
much to Pirie's wonder and amaze-
ment.
"What '00 doin' to do, Jack?"
asked Pirie, sleepily. "Where is
'00 castle and moosik?"
"We havn't got to them yet,
Pirie, but do you know I have a
plan that will be lots of fun. Did
you ever sleep in a haystack,
Pirie ? "
"No," said Pirie with eyes wide
open in wonder.
"Well, I don't suppose you had
better, but I often do, and it 's such
fun, but you are so small I do n't sup-
pose you could be brave enough to
do it."
"Oh! 'ess I tould, Jack. I 'se so
brave ! Me won't try a bit. Will
'00 let me, Jack?"
" Well, perhaps, Pirie, if you'll be
awful good," and Jack appeared to
give in reluctantly, which only made
Pirie the more urgent.
"Well, then, if you want to do
it you must sit right still while I
make the house in the ha}', and
when I go in out of sight you
mustn't be afraid."
" No, me won't be 'fwaid."
So Jack hauled the cart close to
the stack and then began digging
out the ha}' near the bottom to make
a nest for them to sleep in. He
worked away . rapidly, pulling out
great handfuls, and gradually dug
his way right into the middle.
When he had gotten in a few feet
he dug it out on all sides of him so
as to make a sort of little room in
which they could turn around.'
Pirie got awfully frightened wait-
ing all alone for Jack outside the
stack in the dark, and if it had not
been for the promise he had made
and the reward he expected, could
not have stood it. But finally Jack
backed out of the hole and told Pirie
that all was ready, and followed by the
little fellow, who was rather fearful
of the darkness, he crawled in again.
When Pirie got inside he found that
his brother had dug out a hole big
enough for them both to sit upright
in and turn round if necessary.
After getting the little fellow accus-
tomed to the darkness Jack went
back for the bird and the other traps.
But he had not gone more than half
way out when he met the faithful
old parrot, who did not mean to be
left behind, waddling in on her own
account.
" In the gloaming, O my darling,"
sang Polly sotto voce, as Jack picked
her up and crawled backwards to
the nest and gave her into Pirie's
keeping.
Then he went out again and re-
turned with the shawl and the basket
and the picture. The picture he
carefully stowed away in a corner
where it would not get hurt, and
then he opened the basket to see
what there was left, for he was des-
perately hungry, and knew Pirie and
the parrot were, for he beard them
talking it over confidentially as he
was coming in. Pirie was saying:
" I 'se so hundry, ain't you, Polly ?"
and then Polly would jerk out,
" Polly wants a cracker,, you bet ! ' !
Poor Jack's heart sank when he
saw the contents of the basket. A
crust of bread and a doughnut was
24
JACK AND PIRIE.
all that was left. A meagre repast
for two hungry boys and a parrot.
But without saying anything to Pirie
our hero handed him the doughnut,
and the famished little fellow soon
put himself outside of it and looked
hungrily up for more, but Jack could
not give it to him. He was holding
the piece of bread in his hand and
feeling it over wistfully. He was so
famished that he felt faint, but he
remembered that there was nothing
more in the basket and the parrot
had not had anything and Pirie only
a little, so, with a sigh, he broke the
bread in two pieces and gave half to
Pirie and the other half to Polly, and
the two ate their allowance greedily,
not knowing that their brave little
protector was going without a mouth-
ful in order to feed them. Poor Jack
squeezed himself as far away in the
hole as he could get and buried his
face in the hay to hide his sobs from
Pirie, for he could not restrain them.
Of course it was quite dark so the
little fellow did not notice what his
brother was doing, and then he was
very busy eating the bread.
After a while Jack screwed up
his courage and resolved to brave it
out, though he felt as though he
could not go to sleep without a
mouthful, but there was no help for
it, so he put some wisps of hay in
his mouth to try and appease his
hunger. When Pirie had eaten the
last mouthful Jack crawled up to
him, and wrapped the shawl around
him outside of the little gray coat,
and then lay down by his side and
hugged him up close to his breast.
" Now, Pirie, you must go to
sleep just as though we were in
our own little trundle bed," said
our hero.
Pirie seemed contented for a while,
and the novelty kept him absorbed
in his thoughts, but presently he
said :
"Jack, is that 'oo music?"
Jack listened, and could hear the
frogs piping up in a neighboring
pond, and remembered that he had
told Pirie that they were going to
a place where there was beautiful
music. He thought it no harm to
interest the little fellow, so he said :
"Yes, Pirie, that's it, way off,
and to-morrow, when we wake up,
we will go where it is and see all the
players. Now, you just listen and
hear the whistles and the drums."
And the frogs kept up their
thrumming songs, and as they
drifted through the silent night air
across the fields, they sounded not
unlike distant music.
The old parrot found a snug nest
in the lunch basket, and after a
violent fit of coughing, and a few
remarks about the narrowness of his
quarters, he relapsed into silence.
The moon rose higher and higher
in the heavens, and at last peeped
into the hole which Jack had dug,
and gazed lovingly on the two little
forms, Pirie's golden head pillowed
on Jack's arm, and his little knees
drawn up, and resting in the pit of
his brother's stomach. And a smile
stole over the face of the moon, and
it sailed on its way looking down
upon scenes of happiness and joy,
and upon others which were heart-
breaking in their pitifulness. But
this little nest in the haystack with
its two helpless occupants was not
forgotten by the moon, and next
morning, when it had made its com-
plete circuit and reported to God
what it had seen during the still
JACK AND FIR IE.
25
night, it asked that "Jack and
Pirie " might be especially cared
for. The "man in the moon" had
taken them under his protection.
It was late the next morning when
Jack opened his eyes and saw the
broad light of day shining in at the
opening in the stack. For a moment
he did not know what to make of it,
nor where he was, but, after rubbing
his eyes and getting the hay out of
his hair, he remembered it all, and
in spite of himself a sigh escaped his
lips, for he realized how hungry he
was, and how alone in the world.
He thought he wpuld not wake
Pirie, who was fast asleep, but he
disturbed him in getting up, and
the little fellow slowly rubbed his
sleepy eyes, and looked around ap-
pealingly. Seeing nothing but the
long spears of hay all about him,
he puckered up his lips and began
to cry. This woke the parrot, who
stretched himself and pruned his
wings and tail.
Jack thought how he would like
some of his mother's rolls and coffee
and how good it used to seem to
sit around the cosey little breakfast
table in the morning, and his stom-
ach began to ache again from long
fasting. . Pirie was hungry, too, and
Jack had not a morsel to give him.
The basket was absolutely empty ;
not a crumb was left. What was to
be done ? Evidently they could not
stay there. The only thing was to
push on and get to "aunt Clor-
inda's " as soon as possible, though
the little fellow did not feel as if he
could walk a step, he was so tired
and sore from his long tramp of the
day before. After quieting Pirie as
well as he could , he led the way out
into the open air, carrying the basket
and the parrot, etc. When they got
outside they found that it was broad
daylight and the sun well up in the
heavens, for, being so tired, their
sleep had been long and heavy.
The dew was still on the grass, and
the birds were singing everywhere.
It was a beautiful day, fortunately
for the little ones.
They could now see around them,
and note their surroundings. The
stack in which they had slept was
in the centre of a big hay field, and
away off beyond some trees, could
be seen the chimneys of a house and
the top of a windmill. Jack looked
at these chimneys wistfully, for he
could see the smoke pouring out of
them, and his imagination pictured
the owner and his family sitting
down to a good breakfast, while he
and little Pirie were out here with
their poor little stomachs all puck-
ered up with the pain of hunger.
He glanced down at his brother and
saw that the round little face was
pale with fatigue, and he drew him-
self up and resolved to go to this
house and get something to eat at
any cost. He could suffer himself,
but he could not see Pirie suffer,
and no matter what they might say
to him about being a gypsy, he
would insist on haviug something to
eat for Pirie.
Without waiting longer, he placed
Pirie and the parrot in the wagon,
and started off across the fields tow-
ards the chimney tops. The wagon
seemed to have grown main' pounds
heavier during the night, and his
legs felt as though there was a stick
running right down through them,
but he labored on, holding one hand
on his stomach to quiet the pain, for
it ached and ached.
26
JACK AND PIRIE.
After proceeding in this way for
fifteen minutes or so, he came to the
trees, and found that they consisted
of a large orchard of pear and apple
trees, and beyond and through them
he could see a great lawn with enor-
mous elms scattered here and there.
Winding among the trees he went
across the orchard towards the lawn
which he supposed must lead to the
house. He looked anxiously up at
the spreading limbs in hopes there
were some apples on them, but it
was too early and none were ripe.
On the edge of the orchard was a
sweeping driveway running around
the lawn under an avenue of trees,
and Jack turned into it and trundled
his wagon over the hard surface
towards the now visible house.
They had not proceeded far when
they saw a man approaching carry-
ing a child in his arms. This reas-
sured Jack, for he felt that a man
with a child of his own would not be
cross to them, but when they got
near enough to see clearly their eyes
opened wide in wonder, for though
a child in size he was a man in years.
A strange, misshapen little form,
held in the arms of a strong man,
evidently a servant ; his legs which
were thin and crooked, hung over
the man's arrns, while his poor, weak
arms encircled the man's neck. His
back was humped and his head was
large, but his face was sweet and
noble. He had large, expressive
eyes, a high forehead, and beautiful
teeth. If one had seen only his face
they would have exclaimed, "What
a handsome man ! ' But his body
was terrible in its deformity. His
features denoted nobility of soul, and
showed the marks of extreme suffer-
ing, either mental or physical.
As the)- came near, the children
looked at him" in wonder, and Pirie
whispered to Jack, just loud enough
to be heard by the dwarf,
"Jack, is 'at a brownie?"
" Hush ! " said our hero, who saw
the momentary pained look come
over the sweet face and then turn
into a smile.
"Who are you, my little man,"
said the dwarf, as the weary caval-
cade came to a halt at his feet.
" Jack and Pirie," said our hero.
The servant almost laughed, but
the "Brownie" nudged him and he
restrained himself, and then his mas-
ter went on in the softest voice in the
world so that Pirie felt no fear at all.
Besides, how could he be afraid of
this queer little man, carried in an-
other's arms, and especially as he
had such a pitying face?
"Yes, but I mean where do you
come from and where are you go-
ing?" asked the little man.
" We left home last night and we's
going to aunt Clorinda's in Califor-
nia," answered Jack, modestly.
" But where are your father and
mother, and why do they allow you
to wander about in this way ? "
" Father died last year and mother
three days ago, and they were going
to put us in the work-house, and we
ran away." The tears sprang to
Jack's eyes,, and at the mention of
his mother little Pirie began to sob
pitifully.
A suspicious moisture gathered in
the eyes of the little man, and his
lips said something about "poor lit-
tle babes!" He leaned over in his
servant's arm and smoothed Pirie's
tangled hair and tried to quiet him,
while giving Jack an encouraging
nod to restrain his own tears. Then
JACK AND PIRIE.
27
he asked where they had stayed over
night and what they had to eat, and
when our hero told him how they
had slept in the haystack on his own
land, and in sight of. the house, and
had nothing to eat scarcely, he turned
abruptly to his sen-ant and told him
to hurry to the house, and then he
bade Jack to follow, so this queer pro-
cession wended its way up through
the long avenue of grand old trees
towards the beautiful residence which
Jack could see through the branches.
Passing through an immense entrance
hall they were led into a dining-room,
which would have held all the little
home they had left behind them, and
by pressing a button in the wall a
servant was summoned, who was
ordered to bring the boys something
to eat. This order was quickly
obeyed, and in a few moments the
children are ensconced in great, soft
chairs, and eating all their little
stomachs would hold of the best
things they had ever tasted.
While they ate the little man, who
had been placed in a chair and whose
head just came up to the level of the
table, watched them intently. He
noticed the great lines which tears
had made down the round cheeks,
how the chubby, little hands were
soiled . and grimy, how the collars,
evidently accustomed to being neatly
fastened to the clothes, were askew,
bow the little shoes were a.11 covered
with dust from their long, weary
tramp, and a lump rose in his throat
and a tear sparkled down his cheek,
which the children were too intent on
their breakfast to notice.
As the programmes at the theatre
say, "six months are supposed to
have elapsed since the last scene."
The curtain rises and discloses a
long, winding avenue, bordered by
great elms, which meet overhead and
form a perfect arch of green leaves
and waving branches, among which
the birds are singing their sweetest,
and the sun of a beautiful morning,
as it glints through the leaves, falls
upon bright- colored wild flowers,
which grow near the hedge. Away
off up the avenue a little pony car-
riage, drawn by two long-maned Shet-
land ponies, can be seen approaching,
and the brisk little fellows are scuf-
fling along at a famous rate, and soon
near us so that we can see the occu-
pants of the wagon. Two little boys
occupy the seat, one with black hair
and one with yellow curls. The
larger of the two is driving and the
smaller wielding the whip. Just as
they pass us, at a hand gallop, we
catch what the two boys are saying.
The elder one, with sparkling eyes,
turns to the little fellow by his side
and says :
"Ain't this fine, Pirie?"
" Ess, the bestest time me ever had,
Jack."
So here are our babes again. We
left them filling their empty little
stomachs, while the sweet-faced, de-
formed man watched them. This
little man was very rich and owned a
magnificent house in New York, as
well as this great country seat. He
had not one living relative in the
world, no one to care for him or to
love, and as he sat there on the op-
posite side of the table watching
these two helpless children, his
lonely heart was filled with love and
compassion, and he resolved to make
them his own and to watch over
them as tenderly as the mother they
had lost. So, after they had eaten
28 SLEIGHING.
all they could, he drew Jack one side two babes and installed them in his
and got the whole story from him, great house as his children, and ten-
not omitting their intention to go to derly did he care for them. They
Calilornia and live with their "aunt lived like princes, as we can judge
Clorinda." When he found that from seeing them whirl by in their
there was a relative concerned he im- little pony cart, and our friend, the
mediately took steps to look her up, parrot, was placed on a great perch
but as Jack's information was very on the front piazza, where he held
meagre, the search was not success- forth at seasonable and unseasonable
ful, and "aunt Clorinda" never ap- hours in a choice collection of highly
peared on the scene. colored epithets, rich and resounding
When he had satis6ed himself that adjectives, and uncomplimentary corn-
no relatives were to be found, this pliments to the gardener or any one
kind, little man formally adopted our who happened to come in sight.
SLEIGHING.
By Lisa A. Fletcher.
Tinkle, tinkle, go the bells,
As swiftly o'er the snow we slip,
Up the hills and down the dells
With happy smiles upon the lip ;
Passing meadows white with snow,
Which in summer dreamed in flowers,
Where in May the violets blow
And bird songs fall in happy showers ;
Down into a shadowy glen,
Where folded in a silver dream,
Patiently waiting spring again,
Winds a frigid frozen stream ;
On into the forest deep,
Where great pines their arms outspread
And lowly ferns their vigils keep,
Fair tokens of the summer dead ;
Swifter and swifter gliding on,
Nerves a-tingle with delight,
Faster now the breath is drawn,
For oh, for oh, this seems like flight.
Tinkle, tinkle, go the bells,
As swiftly o'er the snow we glide,
Up the hills and down the dells,
With joyous praise for wintertide.
CUPID: A SONG.
By Grace Fletcher.
The following poem, contributed by C. C. Lord of Hopkinton, is by Grace Fletcher, a native of
Hopkinton, celebrated in history as the first wife of Daniel Webster. Grace Fletcher was a
daughter of the Rev. Elijah Fletcher, who was settled in Hopkinton in 1773, his daughter, Grace,
being born in 1782. Ruth Bailey, to whom the poem is addressed, was a daughter of Capt.
Joshua Bailey of Hopkinton, who commanded a company at Bennington under Gen. John Stark.
Ruth Bailey was born in Hopkinton in 1778.
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UNLUKIKUS LOSES HIS SELF- POISE.
By Clarence Henry Pearson.
N New Year's Day sev-
eral of the usual crowd
were lounging in the
little shoemaker's shop
on the corner. Some
one made use of the word luck and
that naturally suggested Mr. Un-
lukikus.
"That man," said the shoemaker
pausing in his work, "never stays
out of the soup long enough to get
dry. Never saw anything like it.
A year ago last summer I was in
Dane's wheelwright shop when he
came in to buy a wheelbarrow.
Lord only knows what he thought he
wanted of a wheelbarrow, but he
bought one and then when he was
making change, fell backward over
it and broke his arm. That's just a
specimen of his luck."
"Bah! there's no such thing as
luck," said one.
" Mebbe there aint," said the man
with the cream-colored goatee, "but
there's sunthin' that acts enough like
it to fool the undersigned anyhow.
I saw that there same Unlukikus
in one of the wust pickles that ever
mortal man got inter — sunthin' that I
don't b'lieve could a-happened to
any other human critter. It was at the
burial of a member of the order of
Royal Rungstarters an' Unlukikus
was a-readin' the service. He was
gettin' along fine, too. You know
what a rich s'norous, silvery voice
he has an' I tell you he made it
sound solium. An' right in the most
techin' an' impressive part, gentle-
men, right where it says 'dust ter
dust an' ashes ter ashes,' he forgot
hisself an' took a kind of a half step
for'ard an' pitched keels over head
right inter the grave. When he felt
hisself a-goin' he let out a yell that
you could hear from Ballyhack ter
breakfast. Oh ! it was awful. It
jest turned the hull obsickwees inter
a circus. Purty nigh every one
'ceptin' the late lamented snickered
an' the widder had a highsteeric fit.
But I never did pity a man as I did
Unlukikus — he felt so cut up. Why,
the man just laid right down in the
grave an' begged 'em to fill her up
an' have no more fuss about it.
' When a man,' he says, 'gits ter be
such a silver-plated idiot, such a
monumental intellectual wreck that
he can't keep hisself from walkin'
inter another man's grave with his
eyes wide open,' says he, 'it's time
ter let him return to the yearnin'
buzzum of his mother airth, an' ter
begin ter cultiwate sweet violets an'
night bloomin' dog fennel above his
fool head. I've capped the climax,'
says he. 'I've reached the grandest,
proudest hights of dodderin' idiocy
ever dumb by a mortal man,' says he,
' an' now I am ready to depart in
peace. Why not let me perish now,'
he says pleadin 'ly, ' when I am ready
ter die an' everybody else is ready
ter have me?' An' they actually had
UNLUKIKUS LOSES HIS SELF -POISE.
3i
ter haul the poor feller out of the
grave by force."
At this moment the subject of this
graphic narration entered, and the
shoemaker with his usual ready tact,
changed the course of the conversa-
tion by remarking that having
reached the beginning of another
year he had resolved to give up the
habit of using tobacco. Several
others told of habits which they had
determined to lay upon the altar, and
the funny man turning to Mr. Unluki-
kus asked, " Well, old man, which of
your pet vices are you going to give
up
?"
Mr. Unlukikus had seated himself
in the only remaining chair and then
had drawn back a few feet to get
away from the deadly fumes of a par-
ticularly offensive stoga that the
funny man was smoking. This
brought him directly under an old
hanging lamp which usually kept
company with the cobwebs that orna-
mented the ceiling, but now hung
about five feet from the floor. Tilt-
ing completely back in his chair he
glared at the funny man a few mom-
ents before replying to his question.
"I hadn't thought of giving up
anything," he .said at last. "To
tell the truth, though, I did
make one resolution this morn-
ing. You all know that I have the
reputation of being very unlucky. I
have come to the conclusion that
I owe by far the greater part of my
. misfortunes to the fact that I am
easily excited and act too hastily. I
go off at half-cock as it were. What
I want is more self-control. During
the year upon which we are entering,
I shall keep a strict watch over
myself, I shall restrain my natural
impetuosity, I shall try to keep my-
sely in a calm and placid state of
mind, I shall cultivate self- poise — "
At this moment sounds from the
street seemed to indicate that a dog
fight was in progress in front of
the shop, and Unlukikus sprang to his
feet, banging his head against the
lamp with such force that he fell
back into his chair.
"Wow!" he yelled, "What in
blue blazes are you doing ? Show
me the red handed assassin that hit
me on the head with an axe. Where
is he?" and he jumped up again hit-
ting the lamp and falling backward
as before. This time some one held
him down until the shoemaker re-
turned the death-dealing lamp to its
usual place near the ceiling.
"Holy Mackinaw!" shouted the
injured man as he struggled to his
feet and executed a war dance in the
center of the room. "Did you ever
see luck like that ? Here this bing-
fired lamp has hung in that same
place for twenty years and over forty
thousand people have passed under it
without knowing it was there. It
was waiting — waiting for a whack at
me, and the very first time I came
within reach of the consarned thing
it gleefully swooped down and skin-
ned fourteen square inches off my
scalp. What are you cackling
about ?" he demanded savagely of the
funny man.
"You want to cultivate self-poise,
you know," gurgled the funny man
with a sob of laughter.
"Self -poise be hanged," he
howled, as he pressed both hands
to his aching head. '" When a billy-
dished lamp goes seven feet out of its
way to swat a man on the head,
it isn't self -poise he wants. He
wants first of all to see his friends
32 THE COCHECO. .
happy. He wants to be where his then chuckle and choke and haw-
ravished ears can drink in the music haw themselves into convulsions —
of their wild yelps of uncontrollable that's what he wants."
laughter. He wants to sit in the And Mr. Unlukikus went out,
center of a circle of mirthful lunatics shutting the door so hard that it
while they soak themselves full of made the funny man's false teeth
bliss, watching his sufferings and rattle.
THE COCHECO.
[Reprinted from the Dover Gazette of April 28, 1849.]
By Mark IV. F. Durgin.
O, sweet are the days that have left me forever,
But mem'ry still often recalls them to view,
When I roamed by the banks of that sweet winding river,
The lovely Cocheco, with surface so blue.
How peaceful thy bosom, how gentle thy flowing
'Till led to the brink of thy terrific fall ;
No tempest affects thee — thou heed'st not the blowing
Of winds ; thou 'rt sheltered by forest trees tall.
Thy falls tho' so frequent, yet calm thou approach'st them,
And calmly flow'st on when their terrors are past,
With awe I beheld thee so swiftly rush o'er them,
And shrunk from the vision with terror aghast.
Yet when I beheld thee roll on toward the ocean,
Unruffled, unmoved, and so sweetly serene,
It instantly banished all painful emotion,
And added fresh beauty and charms to the scene.
How often, in youth, I have strolled by thy margin,
And thought of the future, when manhood arrived —
Built castles in air for my thoughts to enlarge in,
From fanciful greatness, much pleasure derived.
Alas ! all those castles, in truth were but airy —
Mere day dreams of fancy by ign'rance begot, .
Mid-age has discovered the fate that must carry
My life to its issue — and then I'm forgot.
But thou, lovely river, unchanged shalt continue
To flow, as in youth I beheld thee so oft,
Till time shall no longer send forth his retinue
Of days, months, and years on thy bosom so soft.
CHANNING FOLSOM.
CHANNING FOLSOM.
By John />'. Stc7>eiis, Esq.
HE system of running
the public schools of
Dover was ridiculous
and nobody knew how
to mend it. District
No. 2 was a solitaire amidst twelve
educational precincts. To its annual
examinations trooped the best teach-
ing talent of the country. But its
influence was insufficient to leaven
the whole city.
But a radical change was immi-
nent. It happened in 1869. Chan-
ning Folsom became a candidate for
a school in 1868, under the following
circumstances :
A male principal was wanted for
District No. 2, grammar school. The
last occupant of the desk had not
met expectations.
An examination was ordered for
August 11. It occurred in the city
clerk's office. Chairman Thomas E.
Sawyer, Rev. James Rand, Rev.
Jonathan M. Brewster, Dr. John R.
Ham, and John B. Stevens, Jr., of
the superintending committee, were
present.
The Hon. Thomas E. Sawyer was
a man, who, in his prime, must have
been of commanding presence. But
he had shrunk. His hair and beard
were white, eyebrows bushy, nose
and mouth large. He had puzzled
schoolma'ams and schoolmasters for
forty years. His committee asso-
ciates ordinarily accepted his esti-
mate of a candidate without ques-
xxvi— 3
tion. He had an aversion to youth-
ful male teachers. An infusion of
young blood in the committee
slightly menaced this supremacy.
Three applicants appeared, and
were subjected to an old-fashioned
test of scholarship. In addition,
each one was questioned as to expe-
rience, methods, and reference.
The board of committee unani-
mously agreed as to the best man
under the conditions. He was
squarely made, vigorous, and self-
contained, and withal full of assever-
ation. He wore an abundant beard,
and looked like a farmer. The can-
didates were given a recess.
On the youngest member of the
committee, in point of service, the
unrenunciative applicant had made
an impression. To him the man's
positiveness was not egotism, but
confidence. He combated the pre-
vailing impression saying, "This
man will govern and teach at once,
and improve in manner."
The saturnine chairman replied,
" This man's nature will not change.
He will shape it as he grows older,
but beneath the surface it will remain
unchanged. When forty he will be
a great instructor. He is too young.
L,et him get his discipline else-
where."
"He has a mathematical order of
mind," said Brewster.
" Granted, but the mathematician
is usually without tact."
34
CHANNING FOLSOM.
' ' Upon further acquaintance he
may come nearer your ideal," sug-
gested Ham.
"It is impossible to idealize him.
He constantly puts his personality
forward ; and in so far as he recog-
nizes this trait, it is a thing he
accepts as a matter of course ; t it is
an integral part of his make-up, con-
genital."
It was noticed that one of the chair-
man's feet was moving uneasily.
At this juncture, Parson Reed
allowed himself to be drawn out in
favor of the positive applicant. " In
these days," he said, "the one thing
needful is courage. ' T is only the
undismayed who are respected in
grammar schools."
During the silence which followed,
Dr. Ham signified acquiescence by a
nod of his head. Then Brewster
pulled his chair nearer the Doctor's,
and Stevens smiled approval. So
sides were drawn, for and against.
The scene now assumed all the
dimensions of a catastrophe. The
meeting became dry as iron filings.
But the wily chairman made a di-
version. The candidates were re-
called. Again the hirsute youth
demonstrated his superiority. The
chairman stood alone in opposition.
In rasping tones, he said :
"S. W. Young of Pittsfield, what
is your age? "
"Thirty-two, sir."
" E. T. Shurburn of Portsmouth ? "
" Twenty-three, sir."
"Channing Folsom of Newmarket?"
"Twenty."
The oldest was chosen, Stevens
only voting for the youthful appli-
cant. But the district was in the
market for another principal at the
end of the term.
Channing Folsom made his mark
in Portsmouth and elsewhere, and.
upon consolidation of her school
districts Dover shortly selected him,
over a host of competitors, to take
charge of the Belknap grammar
schools. * His success was so marked,
and became so widely known that he
was called to the Boston Eliot school.
But he had built up a lasting and
favorable impression in Dover, and
with the utmost unanimity he was
recalled to fill a still more responsible
and lucrative position. For sixteen
years he remained our honored super-
intendent of schools, retiring in order
to assume the higher duties of state
superintendent of public instruction.
He was conspicuously prominent
in vitalizing the plans which made
Dover a single school district, and so
long as the memory of that achieve-
ment runs, the record of Channing
Folsom 's labors will run parallel with
it. He has made himself a man of
mark in educational circles. His en-
ergy and industry still remain unim-
paired, and he is devoted entirely to
his work.
His natural abilities, his capacity
and inclination for work, the mingled
warmth and non-explosiveness of his
temper, and his enthusiasm in the
cause of public education, exhibited
through a long term of office-holding
in Dover, combined to make him
strong and influential. Our cumula-
tive obligations to him are very great.
In the discharge of his school du-
ties he struggled always in the for-
ward direction ; participated strenu-
ously in whatever was going on in
educational circles ; and to carry a
point indulged sometimes in a good
deal of humor, and told a good story,
or hit off a character, very shrewdly
CHANNING FOLSOM.
35
and graphically. It was easy to
make him show his tenacity, but he
never exhibited prejudice or egotism,
and his talk was always good and
utterly unpedantic.
He never made compromises with
his sense of duty. He could hesitate,
but not because of self-saving timid-
ity. He shrank from no noises, and
took criticism, whether applausive or
■otherwise, in good part. In his inter-
course with teachers he recognized
individuality, and was tolerant in
matters of detail. He sought results.
But his labor to improve our sub-
urban schools, and bring them into
line with the larger opportunities of
the higher grades, was his superlative
merit. In this direction he worked
like a Titan. By frequent visits he
kept track of teachers and scholars,
and poured out in these wayside ly-
•ceums the accumulated wealth of his
teaching experience. In consequence
of his untiring efforts the geograph-
ical position of a boy's home utterly
ceased to mould his chances for good
instruction.
Of course there were differences in
opinion about someof his solutions of
every- day problems ; but nobody ever
objected to his frankness and intent-
ness.
It is necessary to say he is more
than a school manager, though he is
that preeminently. His straightfor-
wardness has never been sicklied over
with irresolution, but his sure youth
has rounded into mellowed yet dis-
ciplined manhood.
He is a thinker, analyzer, construc-
tor. He brought his fresh youth to
Dover, and gave freely from his ma-
ture strength, something valuable,
something lasting, and we are grateful.
The subject of this sketch, a son of
Dr. William Folsom of Newmarket,
and his wife, Irena Lamprey of
Kensington, was born in Newmar-
ket, June i, 1848. He attended the
public schools of his native town, fit-
ted for college at Phillips Exeter
academy, and entered Dartmouth
college, September, 1866. He re-
mained two years at Dartmouth.
Weak eyes and insufficient financial
resources made this step unavoidable.
His college gave him the honorary
degree of A. M. in 1885.
While in college he taught a dis-
trict school in Durham, and the high
school at Newmarket. After leav-
ing college, he taught a winter term
in Sandwich, Mass., two years in
Amesbury, Mass., and four years in
Portsmouth, N. H. He came to
Dover as principal of Belknap gram-
mar schools in 1874, and remained till
late in 1877. Was successful in Eliot
school, Boston, Mass., from Decem-
ber, 1877, till April, 1882. Dover
superintendent from April, 1882, to
October, 1898.
Mr. Folsom married Ruth F. Sav-
age of Newmarket, Nov. 12, 1870,
by whom he has five children, Henry
H., born in Portsmouth, Sept. 28,
1871 ; Alice I., born in Portsmouth,
Jan. 9, 1873; Arthur C, born in
Dover, Jan. 17, 1875 ; Emily S.,born
in Dover, Sept. 3, 1876; Mary H.,
born in Somerville, Mass., Oct. 8,
1880. Henry was graduated at Dart-
mouth college in the class of '92,
and is now practising law in Boston,
Mass. Alice has been a successful
teacher in Dover. Arthur, Dart-
mouth college, '97, is in commercial
life at Boston.
He is an attendant upon the Meth-
odist church, and has been a life-long,
stalwart Republican. Has been a
36
THE COUNTRY DEPOT.
member of the Masonic fraternity since
twenty-one years of age, being charter
member of Sole)- lodge of Somerville,
and of Moses Paul lodge of Dover. He
has been master of Moses Paul lodge
for three years, and is a member of
Belknap chapter, and Saint Paul cora-
mandery, Knights Templar. He is a
member of the Improved Order of
Red Men, Knights of the Golden
Eagle, Royal Arcanum, and Ancient
Order of United Workmen. Charter
member of Dover Grange, and for two
years past its worthy master. He is
owner of ancestral acres upon which
his forefathers settled in 1674.
THE COUNTRY DEPOT.
By Alice 0. Darling.
A little, old lady stands down by the track,
Commissioned to welcome the wanderer back.
Though his baggage be checked to the borders of sin,
She bids him " God speed " ere the journey begin.
No matter how far in his folly he roam,
She's first of all others to welcome him home.
This little, old lady is plain in the face,
She has lost, with her youth, the best part of her grace.
Of alien birth, though for years and years
She has echoed our laughter and witnessed our tears,
In greeting and parting until she has grown
In bonds that are sacred, like one of our own. .
Come bearing the trophies of wealth or of fame,
Come weary and heartsick, her greeting's the same.
All summer she waits and all winter her love
Is warm as the heart of her rusty, old stove,
And e'en for those lost ones her beacon lights burn,
The loved and the longed for who never return.
SOME OLD TALES AND TRADITIONS OF THE WHITE
MOUNTAINS.
By T C. Gibson.
T is peculiarly character-
istic of mountainous
countries that they
have nearly always a
romantic and interest-
ing history, and that their hills and
valleys are usually associated with
strange traditions and weird legends.
This is strikingly exemplified in such
European countries as Scotland,
Spain, Switzerland, the Tyrol, the
mountainous parts of Germany, Nor-
way, and other mountainous coun-
tries, all of which have a fascinating
history, and are rich in traditional
folk-lore. Who has not been en-
chanted by legends of the Vikings,
or thrilled by tales of Sir William
Wallace, or of William Tell? Who,
during the past few months, has not
been deeply interested in the romantic
story of Cuba, amongst whose beauti-
ful mountains has been carried on
for so long that patriotic struggle for
freedom which is now. by the aid of
the American arms, about to be
brought to a successful issue ?
But it is not necessary to go so far
afield as Europe or Cuba to find a
mountainous country of romantic in-
terest. Nay, indeed, it is not neces-
sary to go further away than New
England, for in the beautiful White
Mountains of New Hampshire there
is to be found a wealth of material
awaiting the pen of the romancist,
that seems to have been strangely
neglected up till the present.
The White Mountain region was
once the home of powerful Indian
tribes, and these entertained some
strange beliefs regarding the moun-
tains. Their theory of the origin of
the White Mountains is as interesting
as it is singular : ' ' Cold storms were
in the northern wilderness, and a lone
red hunter wandered without food,
chilled by the frozen wind. He lost
his strength and could find no game ; „
and the dark cloud that covered his
life-path made him weary of wander-
ing. He fell down upon the snow
and a dream carried him to a wide,
happy valley, filled with musical
streams, where singing birds and
game were plenty. His spirit cried
aloud for joy, and the ' Great Master
of Life ' waked him from his sleep
and gave him a dry coal and a flint-
pointed spear, telling him that by the
shore of the lake, he might live, and
find fish with his spear and fire from
his dry coal. One night he had lain
down his coal, and seen a warm fire
spring therefrom with a blinding
smoke. And a great noise like thun-
der filled the air, and there rose up a
vast pile of broken rocks. Out of the
cloud resting upon the top came
numerous streams, dancing down,
foaming cold ; and the voice spake
to the astonished red hunter, saying :
38
TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
' Here the Great Spirit will dwell and
watch «over his favorite children.' '
The Indians held the mountains in
great fear and veneration. A curious
superstition peopled the higher peaks
with superior beings, invisible to the
human eye, who had complete control
of the tempests. These mountains
they never dared to ascend ; and
when the first white explorers came,
the Indians not only assured them
that to make the ascent of those
mountains was impossible, but ear-
nestly entreated them not to make
the attempt, lest the spirits that ruled
the tempests might be offended and
utterly destroy them. Once, indeed,
tradition says a famous Indian chief
named Passaconaway, who held a
conference with the spirits above,
ascended
" To those mountains white and cold,
Of which the Indian trapper told,
Upon whose summit never yet
Was mortal foot in safety set ; "
and from thence passed to a council
in heaven. Another Indian tradition
told of a great flood once having taken
place when all the world was drowned
save the White Mountains. To these
one single powwow and his squaw re-
treated and found safety from the
waters, and thus preserved the race
from extinction.
Perhaps the most interesting Indian
tradition is that which is associated
with Mount Chocorua, a peculiarly
shaped peak to the north of the Presi-
dential range. Chocorua was once a
powerful chief, who, after the rest of
his tribe had left the country, re-
mained behind amidst his native hills
and valleys over which he had once
held sway. There seems to be more
than one version of the tradition re-
lating to his death and his curse.
The one given by Drake in his " His-
tory of the North American Indians '*
is usually regarded as correct and is
to the following effect : Pursued by
a miserable white hunter Chocorua
had retreated to the mountain which
now bears his name. He had
climbed to the highest point where
his further flight was barred by a
great precipice, where he stood un-
armed, while below stood his pursuer
within gunshot. Chocorua besought
the hunter to spare his life. He plead-
ed his friendliness to the whites, and
the harmless, scattered condition of
his few followers. But the hardened
hunter was unmoved ; the price of his
scalp was too tempting ; gold pleaded
stronger than the poor Indian. See-
ing that he should avail nothing, the
noble chieftain, raising himself up,
stretched forth his arms, and called
upon the Gods of his fathers to curse
the land. Then, casting a defiant
glance at his pursuer, he leaped from
the brink of the precipice to the rocks
below. " And to this day, say the in-
habitants, a malignant disease has
carried off the cattle that they have
attempted rearing around this moun-
tain." In an old volume which the
writer has had the privilege of exam-
ining there is another story given in
connection with Chocorua's curse, the
truth of which, however, is not
vouched for. It is a sad, though a
beautiful story and we regret that it
is not possible to give it in full, but an
outline must suffice. Cornelius Camp-
bell had been a follower of Cromwell,
and a bitter enemy of the House of
Stuart ; and on the restoration of
Charles II he had been compelled to-
flee to America, where he and his
beautiful and noble-hearted wife found
a home amongst the New Hampshire
TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
39
hills. Campbell is described as a man
possessed of great intellectual powers
and a gigantic frame, and passion-
ately devoted to his wife and family.
To their house came the son of Cho-
corua, a boy. of nine or ten years, to
whom Mrs. Campbell showed much
kindness. One day this boy acci-
dentally drank some poison while
paying one of his usual visits to the
Campbells, and shortly afterwards
died. From that time Chocorua med-
itated revenge, and one day Cornelius
Campbell returned home to find his
wife and children murdered, and that
so cruelly that there could be no
doubt as to who was the perpetrator
of the foul deed. For a time Camp-
bell's frenzy amounted to madness,
but at last he set out with a party in
pursuit of the Indian, who had re-
treated to the mountain which now
bears his name. Here he was found
by Campbell at the edge of the preci-
pice already mentioned. With an
Indian's calmness Chocorua faced his
terrible adversary, saying that the
" Great Spirit " had given life to Cho-
corua and that he would not yield it
to the white man! "Then," said
Campbell, ' ' hear the Great Spirit
speak in the white man's thunder,"
and raising his gun, deliberately took
aim and fired. Chocorua, with his
dying words, prayed that a curse
might rest on the land. It is a some-
what curious coincidence that for
long it was found impossible for cat-
tle to live in the neighborhood of this
mountain. Scientists eventually dis-
covered that the trouble was in the
water, but for long the superstitious
believed that Chocorua's curse lay on
the district.
The power of the White Mountain
Indians was completely broken in the
fight known as the battle of Saco
Pond. The expedition which ter-
minated in this fight was organized
by Captain Lovewell, and the object
w r as to put a stop to Indian depreda-
tions which had for long kept the set-
tlements in the vicinity of the moun-
tains in a state of perpetual fear and
terror. The most dreaded tribe was
the Pequawkets, and Lovewell deter-
mined to attack them at their home
on the Saco. His band at first num-
bered forty-six volunteers but on the
march that number was reduced by
sickness to thirty-three. This intre-
pid band fell into an ambush at Saco
pond and a desperate fight ensued
which. lasted from ten in the morning
"till the going down of the sun."
Among the first to fall mortally
wounded was the brave Captain
IvOvewell ; and when night fell only
nine of his heroic followers remained
unwounded, and of the Indians only
twenty left the field uninjured.
Their brave chief was among the
slain and although the advantage lay
with them at the close of the fight
their power was so broken as never
again to be rallied. The story of the
retreat of the whites is full of pathetic
interest and noble self-sacrifice.
The settlement of the White Moun-
tains is of comparatively recent date.
Not more than a century ago the first
settlers were struggling to overcome
difficulties that seemed all but insur-
mountable, and braving dangers from
which the boldest might shrink, with
a fortitude and heroism to which jus-
tice has never been done. Slowly,
inch by inch almost, had they to
clear their way through a forest of
remarkable density, through which
prowled many fierce animals, such as
the wolf, bear, and most dreaded of
4 o
TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
all, the terrible lynx or gray-cat.
But even when a clearing had been
made and fenced off from the attacks
of wild beasts there still remained to
be removed a vast quantity of rocks
and great boulders, and this was often
a more difficult undertaking than the
clearing of the forest.
The pass through the White Moun-
tain Notch was only discovered so
recently as 1779, and this way he set
down as the real starting point in the
history of the settlement of the White
Mountains. This important discov-
ery was made quite accidentally by a
hunter named Nash while on a hunt-
ing expedition on Cherry mountain.
This pass gave direct communication
with the lower towns, and the sea-
board. Hitherto a long detour had
to be made round the mountains in
order to get to any of the lower settle-
ments. The first article of merchan-
dise to be brought up through the
Notch was a barrel of rum, which,
it is recorded, was, when delivered
at its destination, nearly empty
1 ' through the kindness of those who
had helped to bring it up." Many
years elapsed, however, before a road
was made through the Notch, and
many hardships had to be endured
before roads or railways were known
amongst the mountains.
One of the first settlers was Captain
Rosebrook, whose cabin it is said was
at one time thirty miles from any
other human habitation and the way
to it was only marked by ' ' spotted
trees." Captain Rosebrook was a
man strong and athletic, and inured
to hardship. During the Revolu-
tionary War his services had proved
of great value to the American forces
in the Indian warfares they were
often obliged to carry on. Of his
connection with the mountains many
stories are told. It is said that ou
one occasion the want of salt com-
pelled the Captain to go on foot to
Haverhill, a distance of So miles
through a trackless wilderness, fol-
lowing the Connecticut river as his
guide, to obtain a supply of this
humble commodity. There he ob-
tained one bushel which he shoul-
dered and trudged home over the
same rude path.
The town of Bethlehem is now one
of the most popular summer moun-
tain resorts in America. Its situa-
tion, commanding a most magnificent
prospect of mountain and valley, is
unequalled. Occupying an elevated
plateau from which, in the back-
ground, rises Mount Agassiz, Bethle-
hem annually attracts thousands of
health and pleasure seekers from all
parts of this country and even from
beyond the seas. Its magnificent
street, extending along the base of
the mountain for about two miles, is
lined with palatial hotels, boarding
houses, and summer residences,
where every luxury abounds in
plenty. New York and all the prin-
cipal New England towns are within
a few hours' journey. But let us look
at Bethlehem as it was in 1799 — not
quite a hundred years ago. We see
then a backwoods settlement, far
removed from an}' populous district,
surrounded by the great primeval
forest through which prowl man}^
fierce beasts and where still lurk a
few miserable Indians, remnants of
the once powerful tribes that had for-
merly held sway in this region.
Often in the night would the settlers
be startled by the howling of packs of
hungry wolves ; or on arising in the
morning would find that during the
TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
4i
night bears had broken in on their
flocks, killing and devouring them.
But, worst of all, there comes a
famine.
Provisions have run short. The
nearest towns, where fresh supplies
can be got, are far away ; and besides
they have not the means to purchase
provisions. But these people have
all their lives been accustomed to
hardships ; and have faced difficulties
and dangers only to overcome them.
On this occasion, therefore, their
expedient is to go into the forest
where they burn wood sufficient to
make a load of potash for a team of
oxen, which they dispatch to Con-
cord a distance of one hundred and
seventy miles. But four weary and
anxious weeks must elapse ere the
teamster can return with provisions
and during that time the people only
keep themselves alive by eating green
chocolate roots and such other plants,
to be found in the forest around, as
will yield them any nourishment.
Such is a picture we have of Bethle-
hem a hundred years ago. The town
of Littleton, which is now the princi-
pal business centre in northern New
Hampshire, within the memory of
some still living, consisted of three
small houses built of logs.
There have been, happily, few
tragedies connected with the history
of the White Mountains, and these
have already been often told. The
best known is probably that con-
nected with Nancy's brook. Nancy,
a servant-girl, was engaged to a man
in the employ of Colonel Whipple,
and it was arranged that they should
accompany the Colonel to Portsmouth
to be married. Having entrusted all
her savings to her lover, Nancy went
to Lancaster to make some purchases
necessary for the journey, and on her
return found that Colonel Whipple
and her lover had already departed.
Though it was late at night and mid-
winter at the time, Nancy started out
in the hope of overtaking them, and
her body was found by the brook
which now bears her name, cold and
frozen, with her head leaning on her
staff. A few years afterwards her
recreant lover died a raving maniac.
All who are acquainted with the
White Mountains are familiar with
the story of the terrible disaster
which caused the destruction of the
Willey family in the night of the
great slide in 1826. Houses of enter-
tainment were at that time not very
plentiful in the mountains, and the
one kept by Samuel Willey at the
White Mountain Notch was much
frequented by farmers as a stop-over
place on their way to and from mar-
ket. A long spell of drouth was fol-
lowed by a terrific storm which in
one single night is said to have dis-
lodged a greater quantity of trees,
rocks, and soil than the slides of the
previous hundred years had done.
A tremendous slide took place on the
mountain behind the Willey house.
The house itself escaped as if by a
miracle, a great rock behind the
house dividing the slide in two, and
deflecting it to the right and left of
the house. But the whole family,
consisting of nine persons, perished.
In seeking to escape they had been
overtaken by the terrible avalanche.
Six of the bodies were afterwards
taken from beneath the debris, some
of them terribly mutilated, but three
bodies still lie buried beneath the
awful mass of rocks and earth that
overwhelmed them on that night of
terrors. The writer has been told,
42 HARRIET BEECH ER STOWE.
by one who can recollect of that not, therefore, follow that there is
awful storm, that the appalling noise nothing of poetry or romance to be
made by the slides that night could found in the New England moun-
be distinctly heard in Bethlehem fif- tains. We think there is much of
teen or twenty miles distant. both to be found in the life of the
It has often been deplored that the pioneers and early settlers, in their
White Mountains are almost destitute struggles and sacrifices, their patient
of interesting traditions and associa- toiling, their bravery and heroism,
tions, and it has been said that if and their great hardihood and per-
they were only in Europe instead of severance. The romance of the
America that there would be a story White Mountains has still to be
or a legend connected with every written. Surely such grand scenes
rock and crag, and that every moun- are worthy of the pen of a Scott or a
tain and glen would be wrapped in Byron ; and it may be that there will
an air of mystery and romance. It one day arise another "Wizard of
must be remembered, however, that the North" whose pen shall weave
the White Mountains were practically around the old mountain dwellings,
unknown a hundred years ago, and where, far away in the shades of the
compared with those of European almost trackless forest the travelers
countries that is but as yesterday, of a century ago were wont to find
It must necessarily follow, therefore, rest and shelter, stories of romance ;
that the romance of the White Moun- who shall make a Trossachs Of this
tains must always be essentially dif- beautiful region, or make classic the
ferent from that which the legends Saco or the Ammonoosuc ; and who
and traditions of remote ages have shall throw around the White Moun-
associated with the mountainous tains of New England a bright halo
countries of Europe. But it does of romance that time shall not dim.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
By G. K. B.
God loveth woman, but none more than she
Whose delight was in the law of His love.
If choral angels chant in heaven above
Hymns of human praise, all will sweetened be
With recollections dear to God and thee,
Of one great soul, great mind, greater mother,
Than whom rich freedom's land hath no other
Deeper stored in our hearts' fathomless sea.
Her astral soul devoted to the slave ;
Her quiv' ring woman's frame born but to crave
Only love that passeth sorrow's weighing ;
The victories of her great burdens laying
Too gracefully at the Redeemer's feet,
And gently summons all to His white seat.
JAVA AND THE COLONIAL SYSTEM OF THE DUTCH.
[Translated from the Rczue des Deux Mondes by Samuel C. Eastman.]
By Jules Leclerq.
HE Dutch do not fail to
demand of the traveler
returning from Java
what most impressed
him in their magnifi-
cent colony. There is a temptation
to answer : seeing them there and see-
ing them remaining there. This little
people, whose country is a mere point
on the chart of Europe, has ruled
with admirable tenacity this vast
colonial empire of the Indian ocean,
which contains 35,000,000 of inhabi-
tants, embracing islands as large as
France, islands in whose interior
England would be only an islet, lost
in a sea of forests. Java, Sumatra,
three quarters of Borneo, the Moluc-
cas, the Celebes, Bali, Sembok, Sum-
bawa, Flores, Timor, these are what
Holland still possesses of their im-
mense oriental empire, which formerly
reached from Bengal to the Cape of
Good Hope. Java, the queen of the
archipelago, was torn from them in
181 1 ; but the English, after an ephe-
meral rule, restored it to them in 181 6,
without knowing its value. They
did not know that they were aban-
doning the most beautiful colony of
the world. Did not Adam Smith say
that this island, by the fertility of its
soil, by the great extent of its coasts,
by the number of its navigable rivers,
is the best situated country for the
seat of a great foreign commerce and
for the establishment of a great divers-
it} 7 of manufactures? The illustrious
economist doubtless knew that the
commerce has existed in the Indian
archipelago from the most remote
antiquity; that the Tyrians visited it;
that it was from these that the an-
cients imported into Egypt the cloves
mentioned by Strabo. As the Eng-
lish have never returned a single col-
ony, it is doubtful if they would have
returned Java if they had not still
been in the intoxication of triumph,
after the Battle of Waterloo, and
full of recognition of the aid which
Holland had contributed to their suc-
cess.
Since then how have the Dutch
maintained themselves in the archi-
pelago ? How do thirty thousand
Dutchmen peaceably govern twenty-
five million Javanese, who are satis-
fied with their lot ? This is the most
marvelous thing in Java, and is what
interests us to examine.
Holland has not, like England,
self-ruling colonies, with their gov-
ernment responsible to their parlia-
ment, like the Cape colonies, where
even the natives have a right to vote,
and whose institutions are faithfully
copied from those of Great Britain.
The Dutch colonies, properly speak-
ing, have no existence ; they are
subject to the control of the mother
country, and the representative of
44
fAVA.
the crown exercises an almost om-
nipotent power there ; they are like
what the English call crown colonies
in distinction from those which have
self-government.
Before the Dutch constitution of
1848 the king had the exclusive
administration of the foreign posses-
sions ; at the present time the crown
fixes the taxes of the colony and the
most important matters. The admin-
istration of the foreign possessions is
conducted by the minister for the
colonies in the name of the king and
a detailed report of colonial affairs is
annually presented to the Dutch
parliament. The government of the
Dutch Indian possessions is no
longer, as in the time of the famous
India company, exercised by a cor-
poration, but rests in the hands of a
single man, the agent of the king,
and responsible to him for the dis-
charge of his duty ; a responsibility
which is made effective by the power
granted to the king and to the
second chamber of the parliament
to present him for impeachment.
This agent of the king has the title
of governor-general. He is the chief
of the land and sea forces of the
Dutch Indies ; he exercises supreme
control over the different branches of
general administration ; he makes
ordinances on all matters not regu-
lated by law or by royal decree ; he
declares war, concludes peace, and
makes treaties with the native
princes ; he appoints to civil and
military offices ; he exercises the
power of pardon, and no sentence of
capital punishment can be executed
without his authority. Protection of
the natives is one of his most impor-
tant duties ; he takes care that no
grant of land does injury to their
rights, and subjects the govern-
ment farms to the limitation of ad-
ministrative regulations ; he regu-
lates the nature and the extent of the
labor contributions, and looks after
the execution of the ordinances relat-
ing thereto. He can banish for-
eigners who disturb the public peace.
In a word, the representative of the
king is invested with complete
power ; in the Indian empire he is
almost a king, in the most absolute
sense of the word.
By his side, or rather below him,
there is indeed a council of the
Indies, sitting with him as president,
and composed of a vice-president and
four members ; but it is only a body
for consultation, whose advice he
takes, without being obliged to
follow it ; in certain cases specified
by law he is bound, it is true, by the
advice of a majority of the council,
but as it is not the council which is
responsible for the conduct of the
government, he has the right to
appeal to the king to protect his
responsibility ; he may even, against
the advice of the council, take meas-
ures which he thinks expedient,
when he believes that the general
interest of the colony would suffer
by the delay which an appeal to the
king would entail. In reality then,
the governor-general alone 
