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OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
AN
ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE
FOR
BOYS AND GIRLS;
EDITED ; Bx\bli si Library,
J. T. TROWBRIDGE, GAIL HAMILTON, AND LUCY LAJICOM.
VOL. i.
BOSTON :
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
124 TREMONT STREET.
1865.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS : WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co.,
CAMBRIDGE.
CONTENTS.
Page
A Few Plain Words to my Little Pale-faced Friends . Dio Lewis 582
Afloat in the Forest Mayne Reid . 67,115,194,278,338,402,
476, 540, 652, 793
Among the Lions A. F. 353
Among the Studios . . . . . . . T. B. A Idrich .... 594, 775
Andy's Adventures J. T. Trowbridge . . 44, 124, 159
Apologizing . Gail Hamilton 55
Aunt Esther's Rules Harriet Beecher Stowe . . . 591
Aunt Esther's Stories Harriet Beecher Stowe ... 668
Baby of the Regiment, The T. W. Higginson 102
Birdie's Day with the Rose-Fairies .... Margaret T. Canby . . . . 373
Boy of Chancellorville, The Edmund Kirke 600
Boy of Chickamauga, The Edmund Kirke . . . . 703
Business Letter, A Gail Hamilton 368
Camp Douglas, Three Days at Edmund Kirke . . 252, 291, 357
City Girl, The Gail Hamilton . ... 153
Cloud with the Silver Lining, The .... Mary N. Prescott .... 557
Country Neighbors Again Harriet Beecher Stowe . . . 789
Country Neighbors, Our Harriet Beecher Stowe . . . 129
Cruise of the Leopold, The Oliver Optic .... 631, 695, 757
Dog Carlos Louise E. Chollet ... 644
Dogs and Cats . . . Harriet Beecher Stowe . . . 529
Dogs, Our Harriet BeecJter Stowe 178, 229, 310, -58
Doll's Story, The C. D. Gardette 742
Dolly, The Story of a Mrs. A. M. Diaz .... 495
Farming for Boys Author of " Ten Acres Enough" 60,93,
234. 33. 39*. 45. 4 8 5> S 6l 7*4. 748
Fish I didn't Catch, The JohnG. Whittier .... 431
Freddy's New- Year's Dinner L. Maria Child . .' . . .421
Grandfather's Chestnut-Tree
Half-Holiday, A
Half-Hours with Father Brighthopes .
How a Pine-tree did some Good
How Margery Wondered .
How our Great-Grandfather was Killed .
How the Crickets brought Good Fortune
How the Indian Corn Grows .
Hughes, Thomas ....
Hum, the Son of Buz
L. Maria Child
Gail Hamilton .
J. T. Trowbridge
. . . . 613
2 45
534. 586, 638, 677, 768
Samuel H^. Duffield .
Lucy Larcom .....
P. H. B
From the French of P. J. Stahl .
A uthor of " Seven Little Sisters "
690
187
434
316
630.
37-
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Lessons in Magic
Lights on the Bridge, The
Lincoln, Abraham
Little Hugh and the Fairies
Little Prisoner, The .
Little Sarah's Skates
P. H.C. .
Lucy Larcom
J. H. A. Bone .
Edmund Kirke
Mary N. Prescott
189, 261, 361, 445, 572
-549
. . . 416
. . . . 508
. 32, 240, 327, 462
v
Contents.
Master Horsey's Excursion
Matson, David
Nelly's Hospital . . .
New Life, The . .
Gaston Fay
John G. Whittier
Louisa M. Alcott ...
Author of " Seven Little Sisters"
Physical Health
Portrait, The
Railroad, The
Red-Coats, The
Red-Winged Goose, The
Roaring Run . . .
Sir Franklin . . . .
Sir Walter Scott and his Dogs
Sunday Afternoon
Swallow, The
Thumbling
Transactions
Trapped in a Tree . .
Turning of the Leaf, The .
D to Lewis
Harriet E. Prescott ..
Gail Hamilton
Gail Hamilton
Rose Terry ...
Louise E. Chollet
Elizabeth Shiart Phelps .
Harriet Beecher Stowe .
Gail Hamilton
Charlotte Kingsley Chanter
From the Finnish
Gail Hamilton
May ne Reid
J. T. Trowbridge
500
81
. 267
. 289
38
. 85
306
25
109,172
762
. 683
.722
726
. 568
9
516
140
398
Winning His Way
Carleton
48, 134, 164, 221, 319, 383, 465,
521, 576, 660, 729, 779
POETRY.
Brook that Ran into the Sea, The .
Phi1r1r<n'c Parnl
. Lucy Larcom ....
John Weiss
. 265
Christmas
Christmas Bells
Color-Bearer The
. Harriet E. Prescott .
Henry W. Longfellow .
. J. T. Trowbridge
123
3
Complaint, A
Dick and I
Mrs. A nna M. Wells
. Marian Douglas ....
Mrs. Anna M. Wells .
444
493
694
Gipsy Children's Song
Heavenly Bird, My
Hush-a-by
Margery Grey . . .
Model Young Lady The
. Lucy Larcom ....
R. H. Stoddard . . . .
. Mrs. Anna M. Wells .
Julia C. R. Dorr .
Marian Douglas ....
. 628
177
. 672
554
New- Year Carol
John Weiss
59
Night-Moth, The
Robin The
. Tacie Townsend ....
. C.T.
. 481
355
. C T.
. 84
Snow- Fancies
Stars at Bed-time
Lucy Larcom ....
. Mrs. A nna M. Wells .
Lucy Larcom ....
100
599
. 7
Wild Goose The
. J. T. Trowbridge
365
Wonderful Sack The
J T Trowbridge .
299
Young Love
. C. A. Barry
ROUND THE EVENING LAMP .
.79, 150, 218, 285, 349, 418, 482, 547, 609, 674, 737, 805
H L. A LJ T H (3 R O F
x'vv u
OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
MiS
An Illustrated Magazine
LiV/ ...
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
JANUARY, 1865.
No. I.
HUM, THE SON OF BUZ.
( T Rye Beach, during our summer's vacation,
there came, as there always will to seaside
visitors, two or three cold, chilly, rainy days,
days when the skies that long had not
rained a drop seemed suddenly to bethink
themselves of their remissness, and to pour
down . water, not by drops, but by pailfuls.
The chilly wind blew and whistled, the water
dashed along the ground, and careered in foamy rills
along the roadside, and the bushes bent beneath the
constant flood. It was plain that there was to be no
sea-bathing on such a day, no walks, no rides ; and so,
shivering and drawing our blanket-shawls close about
us, we sat down to the window to watch the storm
outside. The rose-bushes under the window hung
dripping under their load of moisture, each spray
shedding a constant shower on the spray below it
On one of these lower sprays, under the perpetual
drip, what should we see but a poor little humming-
bird, drawn up into the tiniest shivering ball, and
clinging with a desperate grasp to his uncomfort-
able perch. A humming-bird we knew him to be at
once, though his feathers were so matted and glued
down by the rain that he looked not much bigger than a honey-bee, and
as different as possible from the smart, pert, airy little character that we
had so often seen flirting with the flowers. He was evidently a humming-
bird in adversity, and whether he ever would hum again looked to us
exceedingly doubtful. Immediately, however, we sent out to have him
i
2 Hum, the Son of Buz. [January,
taken in. When the friendly hand seized him, he gave a little, faint, watery
squeak, evidently thinking that his last hour was come, and that grim Death
was about to carry him off to the land of dead birds. What a time we had
reviving him, holding the little wet thing in the warm hollow of our hands,
and feeling him shiver and palpitate ! His eyes were fast closed ; his tiny
claws, which looked slender as cobwebs, were kitted close to his body, and
it was long before one could feel the least motion in them. Finally, to our
great joy, we felt a brisk little kick, and then jSBffer of wings, and then a
determined peck of the beak, which showed that thtre was some bird left in
him yet, and that he meant at any rate to find out where he was.
Unclosing our hands a small space, out popped the little head with a pair
of round brilliant eyes. Then we bethought ourselves of feeding him, and
forthwith prepared him a stiff glass of sugar and water, a drop of which we
held to his bill. After turning his head attentively, like a bird who knew
what he was about and did n't mean to be chaffed, he briskly put out a long,
flexible tongue, slightly forked at the end, and licked off the comfortable
beverage with great relish. Immediately he was pronounced out of danger
by the small humane society which had undertaken the charge of his restora-
tion, and we began to cast about for getting him a settled establishment in
our apartment. I gave up my work-box to him for a sleeping-room, and it
was medically ordered that he should take a nap. So we filled the box with
cotton, and he was formally put to bed with a folded cambric handkerchief
round his neck, to keep him from beating his wings. Out of his white
wrappings he looked forth green and grave as any judge with his bright
round eyes. Like a bird of discretion, he seemed to understand what was
being done to him, and resigned himself sensibly to go to sleep.
The box was covered with a sheet of paper perforated with holes for
purposes of ventilation ; for even humming-birds have a little pair of lungs,
and need their own little portion of air to fill them, so that they may make
bright scarlet little drops of blood to keep life's fire burning in their tiny
bodies. Our bird's lungs manufactured brilliant blood, as we found out by
experience ; for in his first nap he contrived to nestle himself into the cotton
of which his bed was made, and to get more of it than he needed into his
long bill. We pulled it out as carefully as we could, but there came out of
his bill two round, bright, scarlet, little drops of blood. Our chief medical
authority looked grave, pronounced a probable hemorrhage from the lungs,
and gave him over at once. We, less scientific, declared that we had only
cut his little tongue by drawing out the filaments of cotton, and that he would
do well enough in time, as it afterward appeared he did, for from that
day there was no more bleeding. In the course of the second day he began
to take short flights about the room, though he seemed to prefer to return to
us, perching on our fingers or heads or shoulders, and sometimes choosing
to sit in this way for half an hour at a time. " These great giants," he seemed
to say to himself, " are not bad people after all ; they have a comfortable way
with them ; how nicely they dried and warmed me ! Truly a bird might do
worse than to live with them."
1865.] Hum, the Son of Buz. 3
So he made up his mind to form a fourth in the little company of three
that usually sat and read, worked and sketched, in that apartment, and we
christened him "Hum, the son of Buz." He became an individuality, a
character, whose little doings formed a part of every letter, and some extracts
from these will show what some of his little ways were.
"Hum has learned to sit upon my finger, and eat his sugar and water out
of a teaspoon with mos^Btstian-like decorum. He has but one weakness,
he will occasionally jiM^into the spoon and sit in his sugar and water,
and then appear to wonder where it goes to. His plumage is in rather a
drabbled state, owing to these performances. I have sketched him as he sat
to-day on a bit of Spiraea which I brought in for him. When absorbed in
reflection, he sits with his bill straight up in the air, as I have drawn him.
Mr. A reads Macaulay to us, and you should see the wise air with which,
perched on Jenny's thumb, he cocked his head now one side and then the
other, apparently listening with most critical attention. His confidence in
us seems unbounded ; he lets us stroke his head, smooth his feathers,
without a flutter ; and is never better pleased than sitting, as he has been
doing all this while, on my hand, turning up his bill, and watching my face
with great edification.
" I have just been having a sort of maternal struggle to make him go to
bed in his box ; but he evidently considers himself sufficiently convalescent
to make a stand for his rights as a bird, and so scratched indignantly out
of his wrappings, and set himself up to roost on the edge of his box, with
an air worthy of a turkey, at the very least. Having brought in a lamp, he
has opened his eyes round and wide, and sits cocking his little head at me
reflectively."
When the weather cleared away, and the sun came out bright, Hum
became entirely well, and seemed resolved to take the measure of his new
life with us. Our windows were closed in the lower part of the sash by
frames with mosquito gauze, so that the sun and air found free admission,
and yet our little rover could not pass out On the first sunny day he took
an exact survey of our apartment from ceiling to floor, humming about,
examining every point with his bill, all the crevices, mouldings, each little
indentation in the bed-posts, each window-pane, each chair and stand ; and,
as it was a very simply furnished seaside apartment, his scrutiny was soon
finished. We wondered, at first, what this was all about ; but, on watching
him more closely, we found that he was actively engaged in getting his living,
by darting out his long tongue hither and thither, and drawing in all the tiny
flies and insects which in summer-time are to be found in an apartment. In
short, we found that, though the nectar of flowers was his dessert, yet he had
his roast beef and mutton-chop to look after, and that his bright, brilliant
blood was not made out of a simple vegetarian diet. Very shrewd and keen
he was, too, in measuring % size of insects before he attempted to swallow
them. The smallest class were whisked off with lightning speed ; but about
larger ones he would sometimes wheel and hum for some minutes, darting
hither and thither, and surveying them warily ; and if satisfied that they
4 Hum, the Son of Buz. [January,
could be carried, he would come down with a quick, central dart which
would finish the unfortunate at a snap. The larger flies seemed to irritate
him, especially when they intimated to him that his plumage was sugary,
by settling on his wings and tail ; when he would lay about him spitefully,
wielding his bill like a sword. A grasshopper that strayed in, and was
sunning himself on the window-seat, gave him ajxat discomposure. Hum
evidently considered him an intruder, and seenHko long to make a dive
at him ; but, with characteristic prudence, conffllR himself to threatening
movements, which did not exactly hit. He saw evidently that he could not
swallow him whole, and what might ensue from trying him piecemeal he
wisely forbore to essay.
Hum had his own favorite places and perches. From the first day he
chose for his nightly roost a towel-line which had been drawn across the
corner over the wash-stand, where he every night established himself with
one claw in the edge of the towel and the other clasping the line, and, ruffling
up his feathers till he looked like a little chestnut-bur, he would resign
himself to the soundest sleep. He did not tuck his head under his wing,
but seemed to sink it down between his shoulders, with his bill almost
straight up in the air. One evening one of us, going to use the towel, jarred
the line, and soon after found that Hum had been thrown from his perch, and
was hanging head downward fast asleep, still clinging to the line. Another
evening, being discomposed by somebody coming to the towel-line after he
had settled himself, he fluttered off; but so sleepy that he had not discre-
tion to poise himself again, and was found clinging, like a little bunch of
green floss silk, to the mosquito netting of the window.
A day after this we brought in a large green bough, and put it up over
the looking-glass. Hum noticed it before it had been there five minutes,
flew to it, and began a regular survey, perching now here, now there, till he
seemed to find a twig that exactly suited him ; and after that he roosted
there every night. Who does not see in this change all the signs of reflection
and reason that are shown by us in thinking over our circumstances, and
trying to better them ? It seemed to say in so many words : " That towel-
line is an unsafe place for a bird ; I get frightened, and wake from bad
dreams to find myself head downward ; so I will find a better roost on this
twig."
When our little Jenny one day put on a clean white muslin gown embel-
lished with red sprigs, Hum flew towards her, and with his bill made instant
examination of these new appearances ; and one day, being very affection-
ately disposed, perched himself on her shoulder, and sat some time. On
another occasion, while Mr. A was reading, Hum established himself on
the top of his head just over the middle of his forehead, in the precise place
where our young belles have lately worn stuffed humming-birds, making him
look as if dressed out for a party. Hum's most*favorite perch was the back
of the great rocking-chair, which, being covered by a tidy, gave some hold
into which he could catch his little claws. There he would sit, balancing
himself cleverly if its occupant chose to swing to and fro, and seeming to be
listening to the conversation or reading.
i86s.]
Hum, the Son of Buz.
Hum had his different moods, like human beings. On cold, cloudy, gray
days, he appeared to be somewhat depressed in spirits, hummed less about
the room, and sat humped up with his feathers ruffled, looking as much
like a bird in a great-coat as possible. But on hot, sunny days, every
feather sleeked itself down, and his little body looked natty and trim, his
head alert, his eyes bright, and it was impossible to come near him, for
his agility. Then let rij^uitos and little flies look about them ! Hum
snapped them up withot^mercy, and seemed to be all over the ceiling
in a moment, and resisted all our efforts at any personal familiarity with
a saucy alacrity.
Hum had his established institutions in our room, the chief of which was
a tumbler with a little sugar and water mixed in it, and a spoon laid across,
out of which he helped himself whenever he felt in the mood, sitting on
the edge of the tumbler, and dipping his long bill, and lapping with his little
forked tongue like a kitten. When he found his spoon accidentally dry, he
would stoop over and dip his bill in the water in the tumbler, which caused
the prophecy on the part of some of his guardians, that he would fall in some
day and be drowned. For which reason it was agreed to keep only an inch
in depth of the fluid at the bottom of the tumbler. A wise precaution this
proved ; for the next morning I was awaked, not by the usual hum over my
head, but by a sharp little flutter, and found Mr. Hum beating his wings in
the tumbler, having actually tumbled in during his energetic efforts to get
his morning coffee before I was awake.
Hum seemed perfectly happy and satisfied in his quarters, but one day,
6 Hum, the Son of Buz. [January,
when the door was left open, made a dart out, and so into the open sunshine.
Then, to be sure, we thought we had lost him. We took the mosquito
netting out of all the windows, and, setting his tumbler of sugar and water
in a conspicuous place, went about our usual occupations. We saw him
joyous and brisk among the honeysuckles outside the window, and it was
gravely predicted that he would return no more. But at dinner-time in
came Hum, familiar as possible, and sat down tiflhis spoon as if nothing
had happened; instantly we closed our windows, and had him secure
once more.
At another time I was going to ride to the Atlantic House, about a mile
from my boarding-place. I left all secure, as I supposed, at home. While
gathering moss on the walls there, I was surprised by a little green humming-
bird flying familiarly right towards my face, and humming above my head. I
called out, " Here is Hum's very brother." But, on returning home, I saw that
the door of the room was open, and Hum was gone. Now certainly we gave
him up for lost. I sat down to painting, arid in a few minutes in flew Hum,
and settled on the edge of my tumbler in a social, confidential way, which
seemed to say, " O, you Ve got back then." After taking his usual drink of
sugar and water, he began to fly about the ceiling as usual, and we gladly
shut him in.
When our five weeks at the seaside were up, and it was time to go home,
we had great questionings what was to be done with Hum. To get him
home with us was our desire, buj: who ever heard of a humming-bird
travelling by railroad ? Great were the consultings ; a little basket of
Indian work was filled up with cambric handkerchiefs, and a bottle of
sugar and water provided, and we stirted with him for a day's journey.
When we arrived at night, the first care was to see what had become of
Hum, who had not been looked at since we fed him with sugar and water in
Boston. We found him alive and well, but so dead asleep that we could not
wake him to roost ; so we put him to bed on a toilet cushion, and arranged
his tumbler for morning. The next day found him alive and humming,
exploring the room knd pictures, perching now here and now there ; but, as
the weather was chilly, he sat for the most part of the time in a humped-up
state on the tip of a pair of stag's horns. We moved him to a more sunny
apartment ; but, alas ! the equinoctial storm came on, and there was no sun
to be had for days. Hum was blue ; the pleasant seaside days were over ;
his room was lonely, the pleasant three that had enlivened the apartment at
Rye no longer came in and out ; evidently he was lonesome, and gave way
to depression. One chilly morning he managed again to fall into his tumbler,
and wet himself through ; and, notwithstanding warm bathings and tender
nursings, the poor little fellow seemed to get diptheria, or something quite as
bad for humming-birds.
We carried him to a neighboring sunny parlor, where ivy embowers all the
walls, and the sun lies all day. There he revived a little, danced up and
down, perched on a green spray that was wreathed across the breast of a
Psyche, and looked then like a little flitting soul returning to its rest.
1865.] The Volunteers Thanksgiving. 7
Towards evening he drooped; and, having been nursed and warmed and
cared for, he was put to sleep on a green twig laid on the piano. In that
sleep the little head drooped nodded fell ; and little Hum went where
other bright dreams go, to the Land of the Hereafter.
Harriet Beecher Stowe.
THE VOLUNTEER'S THANKSGIVING.
THE last days of November, and everything so green !
A finer bit of country my eyes have never seen.
T will be a thing to tell of, ten years or twenty hence,
How I came down to Georgia at Uncle Sam's expense.
Four years ago this winter, up at the district school,
I wrote all day, and ciphered, perched on a white-pine stool ;
And studied in my atlas the boundaries of the States,
And learnt the wars with England, the history and the dates.
Then little I expected to travel in such haste
Along the lines my fingers and fancy often traced,
To bear a soldier's knapsack, and face the cannon's mouth,
And help to save for Freedom the lovely, perjured South.
That red, old-fashioned school-house ! what winds came sweeping through
Its doors from bald Monadnock, and from the mountains blue
That slope off south and eastward beyond the Merrimack !
pleasant Northern river, your music calls me back
To where the pines are humming the slow notes of their psalm
Around a shady farm-house, half hid within their calm,
Reflecting in the river a picture not so bright
As these verandahed mansions, but yet my heart's delight.
They 're sitting at the table this clear Thanksgiving noon ;
1 smell the crispy turkey, the pies will come in soon,
The golden squares of pumpkin, the flaky rounds of mince,
Behind the barberry syrups, the cranberry and the quince.
Be sure my mouth does water, but then I am content
To stay and do the errand on- which I have been sent. t
A soldier must n't grumble at salt beef and hard-tack :
We '11 have a grand Thanksgiving if ever we get back !
3 . The Volunteers Thanksgiving. [January,
I 'm very sure they '11 miss me at dinner-time to-day,
For I was good at stowing their provender away.
When mother clears the table, and wipes the platters bright,
She '11 say, " I hope my baby don't lose his appetite ! "
But oh ! the after-dinner ! I miss that most of all,
The shooting at the targets, the jolly game^pf ball,
And then the long wood-ramble ! We climbed, and slid, and ran,
We and the neighbor-children, and one was Mary Ann,
Who (as I did n't mention) sat next to me at school :
Sometimes I had to show her the way to work the rule
Of Ratio and Proportion, and do upon her slate
Those long, hard sums that puzzle a merry maiden's pate.
I wonder if they 're going across the hills to-day ;
And up the cliffs I wonder what boy will lead the way ;
And if they '11 gather fern-leaves and checkerberries red,
And who will put a garland of ground-pine on her head.
dear ! the air grows sultry : I 'd wish myself at home
Were it a whit less noble, the cause for which I Ve come.
Four years ago a school-boy ; as foolish now as then !
But greatly they don't differ, I fancy, boys and men.
1 'm just nineteen to-morrow, and I shall surely stay
For Freedom's final battle, be it until I 'm gray,
Unless a Southern bullet should take me off my feet.
There 's nothing left to live for, if Rebeldom should beat ;
For home and love and honor and freedom are at stake,
And life may well be given for our dear Union's sake ;
So reads the Proclamation, and so the sermon ran ;
Do ministers and people feel it as soldiers can ?
When will it all be ended ? 'T is not in youth to hold
In quietness and patience, like people grave and old :
A year ? three ? four ? or seven ? O then, when I return,
Put on a big log, mother, and let it blaze and burn,
And roast your fattest turkey, bake all the pies you can,
And, if she is n't married, invite in Mary Ann !
Hang flags from every window ! we 11 all be glad and gay,
For Peace will light the country on that Thanksgiving Day.
Lucy Larcom.
1865.]
Thumbling.
THUMBLING:
A STORY FOR CHILDREN.
The Introduction.
DEAR OLD FRIEND: We were all sitting round the fire the other
evening after dinner. The evening paper had been read and explained,
and the Colonel was now nursing his wounded arm, and musingly smoking
his old camp-pipe, browned to a rich mahogany in many marches among the
sands of Folly Island, through the rose-gardens of Florida, and over the
hills and valleys of battle-worn old Virginia ; I myself, who have never yet
taken kindly to pipes, though I suppose I shall have to ere many days,
was dreaming over a fragrant Cabanas ; Madame was hard at work over a
pile of the week's stockings ; and the children taking their last frolic about
the parlor, preparatory to their unwilling Good-night and fearful departure
to the hated regions above stairs ; when our neat-handed Bridget entered
fhe room, staggering under the weight of the monthly parcel of French
books, just arrived by express.
You, who live where you can see all the new books as soon as they appear,
io Thumb ling. [January,
can hardly imagine the eagerness with which we poor country people, far
away from publishing-houses and foreign bookstores, welcome the sight of
this monthly parcel. We passed over the green and yellow duodecimos,
glancing at Feval, About, Berthel, Sand, and the rest, each looking for his
particular favorite among the authors, when the children, whose busy fingers
had helped to untie the knots and unwrap the packages, and who were rum-
maging with as much eagerness as we, suddenly discovered a sober octavo,
that seemed to promise well ; for, after a hasty look at it, they carried it away
to the library-table^ and examined it, for a time, in profound silence. After
a while, one little boy spoke out :
" O, papa ! this must be a real old-fashioned fairy-book, for it is full of
pictures of fairies, and knights, and giants, and dwarfs, and dragons ! Do
read it to us, please ! "
. Now* my dear friend, you know that. my youngsters have a most insatiate
appetite for, and a most thorough appreciation of, real fairy stories, as they
call them. But they are pitiless judges ; they can hardly tire of Blue Beard,
and Beauty and the Beast, and the Arabian Nights ; but they turn up their
little noses in contempt at the moral fairy stories, which some of their kind
aunts have attempted to impose upon them. I myself have a secret dislike
for those sham stories which deceive you into believing you are hearing
about real fairies and giants, only to tell you, at the end, that the good fairy
is no other than Cheerfulness, Industry, or some sister virtue, and that the
giant is Luxury, Ill-Temper, or some kindred vice. Yet the children are
severer critics than I. They will have nothing whatever to do with the
good fairies who have no magical power, and who live in their own little
bodies ; nor with the wicked giants who, they can see at once, have none of
the attributes of the giants of old. They swallow the pill once, thinking it
a sugar-plum ; but after finding it to be a pill, no amount of sugar coat-
ing will make it anything but medicine. And all boys and girls are alike
in this, and will be so, let us hope, to the end of time. Even we old fellows
recall those old-time stories with something of the same awe-struck admira-
tion, and something of the same unquestioning belief, with which we listened
to them, I don't know how many years ago. We sneer at the improbabilities
and inconsistencies of modern fiction ; but who thinks of being startled at
the charming incongruities, the bold but fascinating impossibilities, of Cin-
derella, and Aladdin, and Puss in Boots ? Don't we in our heart of hearts
still believe that, a long time ago, before men grew too wicked for them, the
gentle fairies really lived in their jewelled palaces under ground, and came
out, now and then, to protect the youth and beauty they loved from giants,
and dragons, and malicious genii, and all manner of evil things ? I declare
I should be ashamed of myself if I did not ; and I am sure that none of us,
who are good for anything, have altogether lost that old belief; and when
we look back at those days of young romance, and remember the thrill with
which we read of Bluebeard's punishment, and Beauty's reward, we feel
that it would be better for us if they had more of that old childlike faith.
And so I encourage my youngsters to read and listen* to, over and over
1865.] Thumbling. n
again, the same old stories that, when I was a boy, warmed my young
imagination, and to eschew the dismal allegories with which well-meaning
but short-sighted writers try to supply the places of Jack the Giant-killer
and all his marvellous family. And so I was almost as pleased as the chil-
dren, when I saw, from its quaint and grotesque pictures, that their treasure-
trove was really a book of real old-fashioned fairy stories.
Of course, nothing would do but that the bed-time should be put off, and
that I should read one, at least, of the stories to the young folks. As my
selection won their unqualified admiration, and they are, as I have said, good
critics, I send it to you for the benefit of your little people. Your studies in
the Norse languages have perhaps made you familiar with, the original of it ;
but I think it will be new to most boys and girls.
Your old chum,
PHILIP.
The Story.
I.
ONCE upon a time there was a peasant, who had three sons, Peter, Paul,
and John. Peter was tall, stout, rosy and good-natured, but a stupid fellow ;
Paul was thin, yellow, envious, and surly ; while Jack was full of mischief,
pale as a girl, but so small that he could stow himself away in his father's
jack-boots ; and so he was called Thumbling.
All the wealth the poor peasant had was his family ; and so poor was he,
that it was a ver,y feast-day in his cottage if only a penny happened to jingle
there. Food was very high then, and wages low ; so, as soon as the three
boys were big -enough to work for themselves, the good father was obliged
to urge them to leave the cottage where they were born, and to go out into
the world to seek their fortune.
"In foreign lands," he said, "across the sea, bread could always be had,
even if it took hard work to get it ; while at home, in spite of all their toil,
they were never sure of a crust for the morrow."
Now it happened that, not a mile from the woodman's hut, there was a
magnificent wooden palace, with twenty balconies and six beautiful windows.
And directly opposite these windows there sprang up, one fine summer's
night, without the least warning, an immense oak, whose leaves and branches
were so thickly clustered together, that one could hardly see in the king's
house. It was no easy task to cut down this enormous tree, for it was so
tough that it turned the edge of every axe that was wielded against it ; and
for every branch that was lopped off, or root that was plucked up, two
instantly grew in its place. In vain did the king promise three bags of
golden crowns to any one who would rid him of his troublesome neighbor ;
it was of no use at all ; and he had at last to light his palace with candles,
in broad daylight.
Nor was this the poor king's only trouble. Although the surrounding
country was so rich in springs and brooks, that they frequently gushed out
12 Thumbling. . [January,
of the solid rock itself, yet in the royal gardens they could n't get a drop of
water. In summer time, the king and all his court had to wash their hands
in beer, and their faces with mead, which was not convenient, if it was pleas-
ant. So that at last the king promised broad lands, heaps of money, and
the title of Lord Marquis, to anybody who would dig a well in his court-yard
deep enough to give a supply of water all the year round. In spite, how-
ever, of these magnificent promises, no one could get the reward; for- the
palace was on a lofty hill, and after digging a foot under ground there was a
solid granite rock, as hard as flint.
Now these two troubles disturbed the king so much, that he could n't get
them out of his head. Although he was not a very great monarch, yet he
was as obstinate as the Emperor of China himself. So one fine day he hit
upon this wise plan. He caused an enormous placard to be prepared, with
the royal arms magnificently displayed at the top ; and in it he promised, to
whoever would cut down the troublesome oak-tree, and dig him a satisfac-
tory well, no less rewards than the hand of his only daughter, and the half
of his kingdom. This placard was posted up on the palace-gate, and copies
all over the kingdom. Now, as the princess was as beautiful as the morn-
ing, and the half of a kingdom by no means to be despised, the offer was
enough to tempt any one ; and there shortly came to the palace, from Swe-
den and Norway, from Denmark and Russia, from the continent and from
the islands, a host of sturdy suitors, with axe on shoulder and pick in hand,
ready to undertake the task. But all that they hacked and hewed, picked
and hollowed, was labor lost At every stroke the oak grew harder, and the
granite no softer ; so that the most persevering had at last to give up in
despair.
II.
ONE fine day, about this time, when everybody all over the land was talk-
ing of this wonderful affair, and everybody's head was full of it, our three
brothers began to ask each other why, since their father wished them to do
so, they should n't go out into the world to seek their fortune. They did n't
hope for any great success, nor did they expect the hand of the princess, or
the half of the kingdom. All they wished for was a good place and a kind
master ; and who could say they would n't find them both somewhere at the
court ? So they decided to try their luck ; and after receiving the blessing
of their good father, they started off, with stout hearts, on . their way to the
king's palace.
Whilst the two older brothers were slowly trudging along, Thumbling
scampered up and down tne road like a wild thing, running backwards and
forwards like a sportive dog, spying here, there, and everywhere, and no-
ticing everything that was to be noticed. Nothing was too small for his
sharp little eyes, and he kept constantly stopping his brothers to ask the
why and the wherefore of everything : why the bees dived into the fragrant
flower-cups ? why the swallows skimmed along the rivers ? why the butter-
flies zigzagged capriciously along the fields ? To all these questions Peter
1865.] , Thumbling. 13
only answered with a burst of stupid laughter ; while the surly Paul shrugged
his shoulders, and crossly bade the little Thumbling hold his tongue, telling
him he was an inquisitive little simpleton.
As they were going along, they came to a dense forest of pines, that cov-
ered the crest of a mountain, on the top of which they heard the sound of a
woodman's axe, and the crackling of branches as they fell to the ground.
" That is a very strange thing," said Thumbling, " to be cutting trees on
the top of a mountain like this."
"It would astonish me very much to find that you were not astonished at
everything," answered Peter, in a sour tone ; " everything is wonderful to
simpletons. I suppose you never heard of woodcutters."
" It's all the same to me what you say," said Thumbling ; "but I am going
to see what is going on up there."
" Be off with you ! " cried Paul ; " tire yourself all out, and that will be a
good lesson to you, for wanting to know more than your big brothers."
Thumbling didn't trouble himself much with what his big brothers said,
but started for the place whence the noise seemed to come, and, after much
hard climbing and running, he arrived at the top of the mountain. And
what do you suppose he found there ? You would never guess, and so I
will tell you. A MAGIC AXE, that all by itself was hacking away at one of
the tallest trees on the mountain.
" Good morning, Mistress Axe," cried Thumbling. " Does n't it tire you
to be chopping all alone there at that old tree ? "
" Many long years I have been waiting for you, my son," replied the axe.
" Very well, ma'am, here I am ! " said Thumbling ; and without being as-
tonished at anything, he seized the axe, put it in the stout leather bag he
carried over his shoulder, and gayly descended to overtake his brothers.
" What marvel did Master Moonstruck see up there ? " asked Paul, look-
ing at Thumbling with a very scornful air.
" It was an axe that we heard," answered Thumbling, slyly.
" I could have told you so beforehand," said Peter ; " and here you are
now, all tired out, for nothing. You had better stay with us another time."
A little farther along, they came to a place where the road was hollowed
with extreme difficulty out of a mass of solid rock ; and here, in the dis-
tance, the brothers heard a sharp noise, like that of iron striking against
stone.
" It is very wonderful that anybody should be hammering away at rocks
away up there ! " remarked Thumbling.
" Truly," said Paul, " you must have been fledged yesterday ! Did n't you
ever hear a woodpecker pecking at the trunk of an old tree ? "
" He is right," added Peter, laughing ; " it must be a woodpecker. Stay
with us, you foolish fellow."
" It's all the same to me," answered Thumbling ; "but I am very curious
to see what is going on up there." So he began to climb the rocks on his
hands and knees, while his two brothers trudged along, making as much fun
of him as possible.
14 Thumb ling. [January,
When he got up to the top of the rock, which was only after a deal of
hard work, what do you suppose he found there ? A MAGIC PICKAXE, that,
all alone by itself, was digging at the hard stone as if it were soft clay ; and
digging so well, that at every blow it went down more than a foot in the rock.
" Good morning, Mistress Pickaxe," said Thumbling. " Does n't it tire
you to be delving alone there, hollowing away at that old rock ? "
" Many long years I have been waiting for you, my son," answered the
pickaxe.
" Very well, ma'am ! here I am," replied Thumbling ; and, without being
astonished at anything, he seized the pick, took it off its handle, put the two
pieces in the stout leather bag he carried over his shoulder, and gayly de-
scended to overtake his brothers.
" What miracle did his Worship see this time ? " asked Paul, in a surly tone.
"It was a pickaxe that we heard," answered Thumbling, slyly ; and he
plodded along, without any more words.
A little farther along, they came to a brook. The water was clear and
fresh, and, as the travellers were thirsty, they all stopped to drink out of the
hollows of their hands.
"It is very wonderful," said Thumbling, " that there should be so much
water in this little valley. I should like to see where this brook starts
from."
But to this the only answer was from Paul, who said gruffly to his brother,
" We shall soon see this inquisitive fellow climbing up to Heaven, and asking
questions of the angels themselves."
" Very well ! " says Thumbling ; " it 's all the same ; and I am very curious
to see where all this water comes from."
So saying, he began to follow up the streamlet, in spite of the jeers and
scoldings of his brothers. And lo and behold ! the farther he* went, smaller
and smaller grew the brook, and less and less the quantity of water. And
when he came to the end, what do you think he found ? A simple nut-shell,
from the bottom of which a tiny stream of water burst out and sparkled in
the sun.
" Good morning, Mistress Spring," cried Thumbling. " Does n't it tire you
to be gushing away there all alone in your little corner ? "
" Many long years I have been waiting for you, my son," replied the spring.
" Very well, ma'am ! here I am," said Thumbling ; and without being as-
tonished at anything, he seized the nut-shell, plugged it up with moss, so
that the water should n't run out, put it in the stout leather bag he carried
over his shoulder, and gayly descended to overtake his brothers.
" Do you know now where the brook starts from ? " shouted Peter, as soon
as he saw him.
" Yes, brother Peter," replied Thumbling ; " it came out of a little hole."
" This boy is too bright to live," grumbled Peter.
But Thumbling quietly said to himself, and rubbed his hands meanwhile,
" I have seen what I wanted to see, and I know what I wanted to know ;
let those laugh who wish."
1865.] Thumbling. . 15
III.
SHORTLY after this, the brothers arrived at the king's palace. The oak was
stouter and thicker than ever ; there was no sign of a well in the court-yard ;
and at the gate of the palace still hung the imposing placard that promised
the hand of the princess, and the half of the kingdom, to whoever, noble, gen-
tleman, or peasant, should accomplish the two things his Majesty so ardently
desired. Only, as the king was weary of so many fruitless attempts, which
had only resulted in making him more despairing than before, he had ordered
a second and smaller placard to be pasted directly above the large one. On
this placard was written, in red letters, the following terrible words :
" Be it known, by these presents, that, in his inexhaustible goodness, his
Majesty, the King, has deigned to order, that whosoever does not succeed in
cutting down the oak, or in digging the well, shall have his ears promptly
stricken off, in order to teach him the Jirst lesson of wisdom, TO KNOW
HIMSELF."
And, in order that everybody should profit by this wise and prudent coun-
sel, the king had caused to be nailed around this placard thirty bleeding
ears, belonging to the unfortunate fellows who had proved themselves igno-
rant of the first lesson of wisdom.
When Peter read this notice, he laughed to himself, twisted his musta-
ches, looked proudly at his brawny arms, whose swollen veins looked like
so many pieces of blue whipcord, swung his axe twice around his head, and
with one blow chopped off one of the biggest branches of the enchanted
tree. To his horror and dismay, however, there immediately sprang forth
two more branches, each bigger and thicker than the first ; and the king's
guards thereupon immediately seized the unlucky woodcutter, and, without
any more ado, sliced off both his ears.
" You are an awkward booby, and deserve your punishment," said Paul to
his brother. Saying this, he took his axe, walked slowly around the tree,
and, seeing a large root that projected from the soil, he chopped it off with
a single blow. At the same instant, two enormous new roots broke from the
ground ; and, wonderful to relate, each one immediately shot out a trunk,
thickly covered with foliage.
" Seize this miserable fellow," shouted the furious king ; " and, since he did
not profit by the example of his brother, shave off both his ears, close to his
head ! "
No sooner said than done. But now Thumbling, ' undismayed by this
double misfortune, stepped bravely forward to try his fortune.
" Drive this little abortion away," cried the king ; " and if he resists, chop
off his ears. He will have the lesson all the same, and will spare us the
sight of his stupidity."
" Pardon, gracious Majesty ! " interrupted Thumbling. " The king has
passed his word, and I have the right to a trial. It will be time enough to
cut off my ears when I fail."
" Away, then, to the trial," said the king, with a heavy sigh ; "" but be 'care-
ful that I don't have your nose cut off to boot."
1 6 Thumbling. [January,
Thumbling now drew his magic axe from the bottom of his stout leather
bag. It was almost as big as he was, and he had no little difficulty and
trouble in standing it up, with the handle leaning against the enchanted
tree. At last, however, all was accomplished ; and stepping back a few
steps, he cried out, " Chop ! chop ! ! chop ! ! ! " And lo and behold ! the
axe began to chop, hew, hack, now right, now left, and up and down !
Trunk, branches, roots, all were speedily cut to bits. In fact, it only took a
quarter of an hour, and yet there was such a heap, a monstrous heap of
wood, that the whole court had nothing else to burn for a whole year.
When the tree was entirely cut down and cleared away, Thumbling ap-
proached the king, (who, in the mean time, had sent for the princess, and
caused her to sit down by his side, to see the wonderful thing,) and, making
them both a low bow, said :
* " Is your Majesty entirely satisfied with his faithful subject ?"
" Yes, so far so good," answered the king ; " but I must have my well, or
look out for your ears ! "
. All went then into the grand court-yard. The king placed himself on an
elevated seat. The princess sat a little below, and looked with some anxiety
at the little husband that Heaven seemed to have sent her. He was not
the spouse she had dreamed of, certainly. Without troubling himself the
least in the world, Thumbling now drew the magic pickaxe from his stout
leather bag, calmly put it together, and then, laying it carefully on the ground
in the proper place, he cried :
" Pick ! Pick ! ! Pick ! ! ! "
And lo and behold ! the pick began to burst the granite to splinters, and
in less than a quarter of an hour had dug a well more than a hundred feet
deep, in the solid rock.
" Does your Majesty think," asked Thumbling, bowing profoundly, " that
the well is sufficiently deep ? "
" Certainly," answered the king ; " but where is the water to come from ? "
" If your Majesty will grant me a moment longer," rejoined Thumbling,
" your just impatience shall be satisfied." So saying, he drew from his stout
leather bag the nut-shell, all covered as it was with moss, and placed it on a
magnificent fountain vase, where, not having any water, they had put a bou-
quet of flowers.
" Gush ! Gush ! ! Gush ! ! ! " cried Thumbling.
And lo and behold ! the water began to burst out among the flowers, sing-
ing with a gentle murmur, and falling down in a charming cascade, that was
so cold that it made everybody present shiver ; and sp abundant, that in a
quarter of an hour the well was filled, and a deep trench had to be dug to
take away the surplus water ; otherwise the whole palace would have been
overflowed.
" Sire ! " now said Thumbling, bending gracefully on one knee before the
royal chair, "does your Majesty find that I have answered your conditions ?"
"Yes ! my Lord Marquis Thumbling? answered the king ; "I am ready
to give you the half of my kingdom, or to pay you the value of it, by means
1865.] Thumbling. 17
of a tax my loyal subjects will only be too happy to pay. As to giving you
the princess, however, and calling you my son-in-law, that is another ques-
tion ; for that does n't depend upon me alone."
" And what must I do for that ? " asked Thumbling proudly, ogling the
princess at the same time.
" You shall know to-morrow," replied the king ; " and meanwhile you are
my guest, and the most magnificent apartment in the palace shall be pre-
pared for you."
After the departure of the king and princess, Thumbling ran to find his
two brothers, who, with their ears cut off, looked like cropped curs. " Ah !
my boys," said he, " do you think now I was wrong in being astonished at
everything, as you said, and in trying to find out the why and wherefore
of it?"
" You have had the luck," answered Paul coldly ; " Fortune is blind, and
does n't always choose the most worthy upon whom to bestow her favors."
But Peter said, " You have done well, brother ; and with or without ears,
I am delighted at your good fortune, and only wish our poor old father was
here to see it also."
Thumbling took his two brothers along with him, and, as he was in high
favor at court, that very day he secured them good situations.
IV.
MEANWHILE, the king was tossing uneasily on his magnificent bed, and
broad awake. Such a son-in-law as Thumbling did n't please him over-
much, so he tried to see if he could n't think of some way of breaking his
word, without seeming to do so. For people that call themselves honest,
this is by no means an easy task. Put a thief between honor and interest,
you won't find him hesitate ; but that is because he is a thief. In his per-
plexity, the king sent for Peter and Paul, since the two brothers were the
only ones who could enlighten him on the birth, character, and disposi-
tion of our hero. Peter, who, as you remember, was good-natured, praised
his brother warmly, which did n't please the king overmuch ; but Paul put
the king more at his ease, by trying to prove to him that Thumbling was
nothing but an adventurer, and that it would be ridiculous that so great a
monarch should be under obligations to such a contemptible fellow.
" The scamp is so vain," continued the malicious Paul, " that he thinks he
is stout enough to manage a giant ; and you can use this vanity of his to get
rid of him. In the neighboring country there is an ugly Troll, who is the
terror of the whole neighborhood. He devours all the cattle for ten leagues
about, and commits unheard-of devastation everywhere. Now Thumbling
has said a great many times that, if he wanted to, he would make this giant
his slave."
" We shall see about this," said the king, who caught at the insinuation
of the wicked brother, and thereupon sent the two brothers away, and slept
tranquilly the rest of the night.
VOL. i. NO. i. 2
1 8 T humbling. [January,
The next morning, when the whole court was called together, the king
ordered Thumbling to be sent for ; and presently he made his appearance,
white as a lily, ruddy as a rose, and smiling as the morn.
" My good son-in-law," said the king, emphasizing these words, " a hero
like yourself cannot marry a. princess without giving her a present worthy of
her exalted rank. Now there is in the neighboring woods a Troll, who, they
say, is twenty feet high, and who eats a whole ox for his breakfast. This
fine fellow, with his three-cornered hat, his golden epaulettes, his braided
jacket, and his staff, fifteen feet long, would make a servant indeed worthy
of a king. My daughter begs you to make her this trifling present, after
which she will see about giving you her hand."
" That is not an easy task," answered Thumbling ; " but, if it please your
Majesty, I will try."
So saying, he went down to the kitchen, took his stout leather bag, put in
it the magic axe, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a knife, and then, throw-
ing all over his shoulder, started off for the woods. Peter whimpered, but
Paul chuckled, thinking that, his brother once gone, he should never see him
back again.
Once fairly in the forest, Thumbling looked around to right and left ; but
the grass was so thick that he conld n't see anything, so he began to sing at
the top of his voice,
"Master Troll, Master Troll !
I defy you to appear !
I must have you, body and soul,
Master Troll, Master Troll !
Show yourself, for I AM HERE ! "
" AND I AM HERE ! " cried the giant, with a terrible shout. ' Wait a min-
ute, and I will only make a mouthful of you ! "
"Don't be in a hurry, my good fellow," replied Thumbling, in a little
squeaking voice, " I have a whole hour to give you."
When the Troll came to the place where Thumbling was, he looked
around on every side, very much astonished at not seeing anything. At
last, lowering his eyes to the ground, he discovered what appeared to be a
little child, sitting on a fallen tree, with a stout leather bag between his
knees.
"Is it you, pigmy, who woke me up from my nap ? " growled the Troll,
rolling his great red eyes.
" I am the very one, 1 ' replied Thumbling, " I have come to take you into
my service."
" He ! he ! " laughed the giant, who was as stupid as he was big, " that is
a good joke indeed. But I am going to pitch you into that raven's nest I
see up there, to teach you not to make a noise in my forest."
" Your forest ! " laughed Thumbling. " It is as much mine as it is yours,
and if you say a word more, I will cut it down in a quarter of an hour."
" Ha ! ha ! " shouted the giant, " and I should like to see you begin, my
brave fellow."
Thumbling carefully placed the axe on the ground, and said, "Chop!
chop ! ! chop ! ! ! "
1865.] Thumb ling. 19
And lo and behold ! the axe begins to chop, hew, hack, now right, now
left, and up and down, till the branches tumble on the Troll's head like hail
in autumn.
" Enough, enough ! " said the Troll, who began to be alarmed. " Don't
destroy my forest. But who the mischief are you ? "
" I am the famous sorcerer THUMBLING," answered our hero, in as gruff a
voice as his little body was capable of; "and I have only to say a single
word to chop your head oif your shoulders. You don't know yet with whom
you have to do."
The giant hesitated, very much disturbed at what he saw. Meanwhile,
Thumbling, who began to be hungry, opened his stout leather bag, and took
out his bread and cheese.
"What is that white stuff?" asked the Troll, who had never seen any
cheese before.
" That is a stone," answered Thumbling. He began to eat as eagerly as
possible.
" Do you eat stones ? " asked the giant
" O yes," replied Thumbling, " that is my ordinary food, and that is the
reason I am not so big as you, who eat oxen ; but it is also the reason why,
little as I am, I am ten times as strong as you are. Now take me to your
house."
The Troll was conquered ; and, marching before Thumbling like a dog
before a little child, he led him to his monstrous cabin.
" Now listen," said Thumbling to the giant, after they were fairly seated,
" one of us has got to be the master, and the other the servant. Let us make
this bargain : if I can't do whatever you do, I am to be your slave ; if you
are not able to do whatever I do, you are to be mine."
" Agreed," said the Troll ; " I should admire to have such a little servant
as you are. It is too much work for me to think, and you have wit enough
for both ; so begin with the trial. Here are my two buckets, go and get
the water to make the soup."
Thumbling looked at the buckets. They were two enormous hogsheads,
ten feet high and six broad. It would have been much easier for him to
drown himself in them than to move them.
" O, ho ! " shouted the giant, as he saw his hesitation ; " and so you are
stuck at the first thing, my boy ! Do what I do, you know, and get the
water."
" What is the good of that ? " replied Thumbling, calmly ; " I will go and
get the spring itself, and put that in the pot."
" No ! no ! " said the Troll ; " that won't do. You have already half spoiled
my forest, and I don't want you to take my spring away, lest to-morrow I
shall go dry. You may attend to the fire, and I will go and get the water."
After having hung up the kettle, the giant put into it an ox cut into pieces,
fifty cabbages, and a wagon-load of carrots. He then skimmed the broth
with a frying-pan, tasting it every now and then, to see if it was done. When
all was ready, he turned to Thumbling, and said :
2O Thumbling. [January,
" Now to the table. We '11 see if you can do what I can there. I feel like
eating the whole ox, and you into the bargain. I think I will serve you for
dessert."
"All right," said Thumbling; but before sitting down to the table, he
slipped under his jacket his stout leather bag, which reached down to his feet.
The two champions now set to work. The Troll ate and ate, and Thumb-
ling wasn't idle; only he pitched everything, beef, cabbage, carrots, and
all, into his bag, when the giant was n't looking.
" Ouf ! " at last grunted the Troll ; " I can't do much more ; I have got to
unbutton the lower button of my waistcoat."
" Eat away, starveling ! " cried Thumbling, sticking the half of a cabbage
into his bag.
" Ouf ! " groaned the giant ; " I have got to unbutton another button. But
what sort of an ostrich's stomach have you got, my son ? I should think
you were used to eating stones ! "
" Eat away, lazy-bones ! " said Thumbling, sticking a huge junk of beef
into his bag.
" Ouf! " sighed the giant, for the third time ; " I have got to unbutton the
third button. I am almost suffocated ; and how is it with you, sorcerer ? "
" Bah ! " answered Thumbling ; " it is the easiest thing in the world to
relieve yourself; and so saying he took his knife, and slit his jacket and the
bag under it the whole length of his stomach.
"It is your turn now," he said to the giant; "do as I do, you know, if
you can?
" Your humble servant," replied the Troll ; " pray excuse me ! I had
rather be your servant than do that ; viy stomach don't digest steel ! "
No sooner said than done ; the giant kissed Thumbling's hand in token of
submission, and taking his little master on one shoulder, and a huge bag of
gold on the other, he started off for the king's palace.
V.
THEY were having a great feast at the palace, and thinking no more of
Thumbling than if the giant had eaten him up a week before ; when, all of
a sudden, they heard a terrible noise that shook the palace to its very foun-
dations. It was the Troll, who, finding the great gateway too low for him to
enter, had overturned it with a single kick of his foot. Everybody ran to
the windows, the king among the rest, and there saw Thumbling quietly
seated on the shoulder of his terrible servant.
Our adventurer sprang lightly to the balcony of the second story, where
he saw his betrothed, and, bending gracefully on one knee, he said :
" Princess, you asked me for a slave ; I present you two."
This gallant speech was published the next morning in the Court Ga-
zette ; but at the moment it was said it was quite embarrassing to the poor
king ; and as he did n't know how to reply to it, he drew the princess one
side, and thus addressed her :
1865.]
Thumbling.
21
" My child, I have now no possible excuse for refusing your hand to this
daring young man ; sacrifice yourself, my darling, to your country ; remem-
ber that princesses do not marry to please themselves."
"Pardon me, father," answered the princess, courtesying; l( princess or
not, every woman likes to marry according to her taste. Let me defend my
rights as I think best."
" Thumbling," added she, aloud, " you are brave and lucky ; but that is
not enough alone to please women."
" I know that," answered Thumbling ; " it is necessary besides to do their
pleasure, and submit to their caprices."
" You are a witty fellow," said the princess ; " and since you understand
me so well, I am going to propose another trial to you. You need not be
alarmed, for this time you will only have me for an antagonist. Let us try
and see who will be the sharpest and quickest, and my hand shall be the
prize of the battle."
Thumbling assented, with a low bow, and followed the court into the great
hall of audience, where the trial was to take place. There, to the affright of
all, the Troll was found, sprawling on the floor ; for, as the hall was only
fifteen feet high, the poor fellow could n't get up. On a sign of his young
22 Thumb ling. [January,
master, he crawled humbly to him, happy and proud to obey. It was Force
itself, in the service of Wit.
" Now," said the princess, " let us begin with some nonsense. It is an
old story that women are not afraid to lie ; and we will see which of us will
stand the biggest story without objection. The first one who says, * Thai is
too much] will be beaten."
" I am always at the service of your Royal Highness," answered Thumb-
ling ; " whether to lie in sport, or to tell the truth in sober earnest."
" I am sure," began the princess, " that you have n't got a farm half as
beautiful as ours ; and it is so large, that, when two shepherds are blowing
their horns at each end of it, neither can hear the other."
" That is nothing at all," said Thumbling ; " my father's farm is so large,
that, if a heifer two months old goes in at the gate on one side of it, when
she goes out at the other she takes a calf of her own with her."
" That don't surprise me," continued the princess ; " but you have n't got
a bull half as big as ours ; a man can sit on each of his horns, and the two
can't touch each other with a twenty-foot pole."
" That is nothing at all," replied Thumbling ; " my father's bull is so large,
that a servant sitting on one of his horns can't see tlie servant sitting on the
other."
" That don't surprise me," said the princess ; " but you have n't got half so
much milk at your farm as we have ; for we fill, every day, twenty hogsheads,
a hundred feet high ; and every week, we make a pile of cheese as high as
the big pyramid of Egypt."
"That is nothing at all," said Thumbling. "In my father's dairy they
make such big cheeses, that once, when my father's mare fell into the press,
we only found her after travelling seven days, and she was so much injured
that her back was broken. So to mend that I made her a backbone of a
pine-tree, that answered splendidly ; till one fine morning the tree took it
into its head to grow, and it grew and grew until it was so high that I
climbed up to Heaven on it. There I looked down, and saw a lady in a
white gown spinning sea-foam to make gossamer with. I went to take hold
of it, and snap ! the thread broke, and I fell into a rat-hole. There I saw
your father and my mother spinning ; and as your father was clumsy, lo and
behold, my mother gave him such a box on the ear, that it made his old wig
shake "
" That is too much /"interrupted the princess. " My father never suffered
such an insult in all his life."
" She said it ! she said it ! " shouted the giant. " Now, master, the prin-
cess is ours ! "
VI.
BUT the princess said, blushing : " Not quite yet. I have three riddles to
give you, Thumbling ; guess them, and I will obey my father, and become
your wife without any more objections. Tell me, first, what that is which is
always falling, and is never broken ? r
1865.] Thumbling. 23
" Oh ! " answered Thumbling, " my mother told me that a long time ago ;
it is a waterfall."
" That is so," interrupted the giant ; " but who would have thought of
that."
"Tell me, next," continued the princess, with a slight trembling in her
voice, " what is that that every day goes the same journey, and yet never
returns on its steps ? "
" Oh ! " answered Thumbling, " my mother told me that a long time ago ;
it is the sun."
" You are right," said the princess, pale with emotion. " And now for my
last question, which you will never guess. What is that that you think, and
that I don't think ? What is that we both think, and what is that we neither
of us think ? "
Thumbling bent his head, and seemed embarrassed ; and the Troll whis-
pered to him : " Master, don't be disturbed. If you can't guess it, just make
a sign to me, and I will carry off the princess, and make an end of the mat-
ter at once."
" Be silent, slave ! " answered Thumbling. " Force alone can do nothing,
my poor friend, and no one ought to know it better than you. Let me have
my own way."
" Madame," said he then to the princess, in the midst of a profound silence,
" I hardly dare guess ; and yet in this riddle I plainly perceive my own hap-
piness. I dared to think that your questions would have no difficulty for me,
while you thought the contrary ; you have the goodness to believe that I am
not unworthy to please you, while I have hardly the boldness to think so ;
finally," added he, smilingly, " what we both think is, that there are bigger
fools in the world than you and I ; and what we neither of us think is, that
the king, your august father, and this poor giant have as much "
" Silence ! " interrupted the princess ; " here is my hand."
" What were you thinking about me ? " asked the king ; " I should be
delighted to know."
" My dear father," said the princess, embracing him, " we think that you
are the wisest of kings, and the best of fathers."
" It is well ! " replied the king, loftily ; " and now I must do something for
my subjects. Thumbling, from this moment you are a Duke ! "
" Long live Duke Thumbling ! long live my master ! " shouted the giant,
with a terrific roar, that sounded like a clap of thunder breaking over the
palace. But, luckily, there was no harm done, save badly frightening every-
body, and breaking all the windows.
VII.
IT would be unnecessary to give a full account of the wedding of the
princess and Duke Thumbling. All weddings are alike ; the difference is in
what follows after them. Nevertheless, it would be improper in a truthful
historian not to say that the presence of the Troll added a great deal to the
24 Thumbling. [January,
magnificent display. For instance, when the happy couple were returning
from the church, the giant, in the excess of his joy, found nothing better to
do than to take the royal carriage on the top of his head, and to carry the
wedded pair back to the palace. This is an incident worth noting, because
it does n't happen every day.
At night there was a splendid feast at the palace, with suppers, orations,
poems, fireworks, illuminations, and everything. Nothing was wanting, and
the joy was universal. Everybody in the palace laughed, sung, ate, or drank,
save one man, who, seated sullenly alone in a dark corner, amused himself
in a very different way from everybody else. It was the surly Paul, who
rejoiced that his ears had been cut off", because he had become deaf, and con-
sequently could n't hear the praises all were showering on his brother. On
the other hand, he was unhappy, because he could n't help seeing the happi-
ness of the bride and bridegroom. So he rushed out into the forest, where
the bears speedily made an end of him ; and I wish a like punishment to all
envious people like him.
Thumbling was such a little fellow that it was hard work for his subjects
to respect him ; but he was so wise, so affable, and so kind, that he very
soon conquered the love of his wife, and the aifection of all his people.
After the death of his father-in-law, he succeeded to the throne, which he
occupied fifty-two years, without anybody ever having thought of a revolu-
tion ; a fact that would be incredible, if it were not attested by the official
records of his reign. He was so wise, says history, that he always divined
what could best serve or please the humblest of his subjects, while he was
so good, that the pleasures of others constituted his greatest happiness. He
only lived for others.
But why praise his goodness ? Is not that the virtue of all men of intelli-
gence and wit ? Whatever others may say, / don't believe there are such
things as good brutes here on earth; I speak now of featherless brutes
that go on two legs. When a man is brutal, he cannot be kind and good ;
when a man is good, he cannot be brutal ; believe my long experience,
which has learned it. If all blockheads are not vicious, and I think they
are, all wicked men are necessarily foolish. And that is the moral of this
story, if you can't find a better one. If you will find me a better, I will go
and tell it to the Pope of Rome himself.
From the Finnish.
1865.] The Red-Coats. 25
THE RED-COATS.
HPHERE was commotion in Leafland. All the cities of the Great Repub-
-*- lie were smitten with sudden dismay. Oakwich, Mapleton, Ashby,
Elmthorpe, Beechworth, Sumachford, Nutham, trembled from centre to cir-
cumference. There were hurried consultations, desperate resolutions rejected
as soon as adopted, eager inventories taken of domestic property, and a fear-
ful looking-for of coming calamity. For. on the fine September morning
when the sun poured out golden showers, and Leafland sat fair and smiling
in robes of green, and so the whole universe was golden-green, there came a
messenger flying from the North country, a wandering Wood-thrush, de-
serted, draggled, and forlorn, faltering on weary wing through the lovely lanes
of Leafland. The men begged him to tarry ; the women promised him the
daintiest tidbit in the sweetest bower on the sunniest bough ; and the little
Leaf-people clapped their tiny hands, and danced on the tips of their tiny
toes for glee. For so admirably managed in Leafland are the Department of
the Interior and the Bureau of Foreign Affairs, that you might think the Leaf-
landers had solved the great problem of universal brotherhood. The stran-
ger that is within their gates is all one with him who is bone of their bone
and flesh of their flesh. No sooner does a foreigner enter their borders, than
he is presented with the freedom of all their cities. They provide for his
wants, protect him from danger, and cherish his home as tenderly as if he
were one of themselves. Robin the Red-breast and shy little Veery, Pewee
the plaintive and cheerful Chewink, Long-sparrow, Bluebird, and sweet Chick-
adee, all glide freely in and out of their green and golden halls, flit through
their winding streets, and take part in all their delights. Nor have the Leaf-
landers any trouble to understand bird-language. They have not, like the
old Ger-men, eaten the hearts of birds, but by a more excellent way have
they entered into all their secrets. Through long summer days and the
silence of dewy nights, they lean so lovingly over them, they stir so softly
around the still bird-cradles, they coo so tenderly to the sweet egg-nestlings
and the helpless baby-birds, that one heart-language springs up between
them, and shines familiarly through all foreign phrase. Nor is it the birds
alone who take out naturalization-papers in Leafland. All manner of nations
and peoples partake of its hospitalities and remember it for blessing. You
have only to be pure-hearted, and you may become at once a Leaflander.
So it came to pass that the Leaflanders were sore grieved at heart to see
the weary Wood-thrush deaf to all their entreaties, and bent alone on pur-
suing his solitary way. But as he wheeled slowly above their heads, as he
seemed just about to vanish into the blue distance, they heard his faint voice
whether in terror or weakness they could not tell only the words fell
distinctly on their ears,
" / see ! I see ! I see ! The Red-coats are coming / "
Faint and far and clarion-clear, it trembled through Leafland, low but omi-
26 The Red-Coats. [January,
nous. Mapleton heard it and wondered ; Elmthorpe and Ashby and Nut-
ham repeated it, looking into one another's eyes for a meaning. Proud old
Oakwich tried to assume a grave aspect, but was inwardly at her wits' end.
" The Red-coats are coming." All the ancient men and women, great-great-
great-great-grandfathers and grandmothers, whose childhood lay wellnigh
lost in the infinite past of April days, said it over to each other with thin,
quavering voices ; but all their experience gave them no key to the myste-
rious message. Then the post-riders were brought into requisition. The
whole corporation of Gale, Breeze, Zephyr, & Co., Express Company, all their
clerks, agents, and errand-boys, were sent to and fro through the Common-
wealth, to see if any one anywhere had a little light to bestow upon the
subject. Alas ! the light came all too soon, and brought infinite sighing and
s-obbing. A thought suddenly broke loose in Oakwich, and up spake an old
Oakwichian. " Oh ! and oh ! and woe is me for my miserable land now, now
about to be bereft of her children ! All her strength destroyed, all her loveli-
ness laid desolate ! "
Straightway throughout Leafland rose the voice of wailing, " Woe ! woe !
woe ! for the miserable land ! " but none of them knew what they were cry-
ing for ; only the OakwLchian began it, and nothing better occurred to them
to do than to join in ; which soon made the sunny day overcast, and all the
people walking in Netherworld where it approaches Leafland wrapped their
old cloaks about them, and said spitefully, " What a disagreeable, raw east-
wind it is, to be sure ! "
But by and by, when their throats were quite dry and sore with wailing,
one of the Mapletonians, a very sensible young woman, quite famous indeed
for her wisdom, bethought herself to inquire what it was all about. Then
there was a very pretty outburst of indignation. For a moment they forgot
their grief, and, what was still worse, their good manners, and turned upon
the unfortunate young woman.
" And so you set yourself above your betters, and fiddle while Leafland is
burning ! " cried one.
" And pray, Miss Wiseacre," asked another, " how came you to know
so much more than any one else ? Who told you that nothing was the mat-
ter ? "
" Oh ! if women would only mind the house, and not meddle with what
does not belong to them ! " exclaimed a third.
All very unjust as you see, for surely the destruction of Leafland concerned
the women as much as the men, and poor " Miss Wiseacre " had not so
much as made an assertion, only asked a question. However, the Leaf-
landers must be excused, because they were quite beside themselves with
terror, and, moreover, a question is sometimes more exasperating than fire
and sword.
But the old Oakwichian was more reasonable, and, ever glad, even in the
article of death, to disseminate useful knowledge, interposed. " I will tell
you what the matter is," he said. " Well I remember in the far-away past,
in the sunny summer-days that will return, alas ! no more," here a burst
1865.] The Red-Coats. 27
of sorrow prevented speech, but he presently recovered himself, " how a
little maid used to walk in Netherworld, and rest under the shadaw of our
greatness, toying with the light. She was a favorite with every one here-
abouts. Gold was her hair like a spun sunbeam, blue her eyes like our
own June sky, and her voice might sing the lowest lullaby of the Red Mavis,
or his song to his love in her nest. Sometimes the little maiden looked up
wistfully to us, her eyes all a-gleam with her glowing fancies. Then we
pelted her with sunshine, and caressed her with shade, and then she was
happiest of all. But sometimes she brought with her hateful things, tasks
and tools, useless, awkward, bungling, sharp weapons, that hurt her tender
fingers, long cords that she pulled aimlessly back and forth, huge books
with harsh names, that blurred her dear eyes and gloomed her bright face.
First we tried to shame and then to woo her away from them, but some invis-
ible old dragon stood over her, and forced her on ; and so we learned at
length to watch and wait till the hated task was over. Thereby we learned
many strange and wonderful things ; but this alone is to the purpose, that I
surely recall how for many days she kept reading about the Red-coats, and I
peeped down over her shoulder, as we swayed in the dance one after-
noon, and saw pictures of these same Red-coats, a great destroying army,
fierce and fell, who burn villages, and talk piously, and slay men, women, and
children. Them has friend Wood-thrush verily seen, and against them he
strove to warn us. But, ah ! what avails it ? What can we do, or whither
shall we flee ! Can a nation take wing like a Wood-thrush ? Can Leafland
flit about like a Swallow ? And who should warrant us that the Red-coats
should not pursue us to remotest fastnesses ? Nay, they may be even now
upon us. Woe ! woe is me ! We were Leaflanders ; Oakwich was, and the
great glory of the Elmthorpians ! But now we be all dead men ! "
At this, the Leaflanders only paused long enough to upbraid the young
woman. " See now whether anything is the matter ! " and immediately fell
to upon their despair.
" A nation in ruins ! " cried the statesman. " Leafland falls from its lofty
summit, and I live to see the day."
" I behold the gods departing from Leafland," spake the scholar. " This is
the end of the fates of Leafland."
" Now I do not care for your gods and your fates and your what-all,"
sobbed a nervous little lady. " I never could see that they were of any use
in housekeeping ; but who shall watch over the tender birdlings when we are
gone ? "
" And never any more dances ! Forever, never, never, forever ! " You
may know it was a belle said that.
" Dances are but the vanity of this world," moaned a sedate matron ; " but
woe for my dear pet Aphides, with their six hundred thousand children, who
will be dead before they are born ! "
" Bother your six hundred thousand children ! " growled a crusty philoso-
pher. " If they are dead, it is the only good thing ever I heard about them.
It might be worth while to have one's country crashing about one's ears
28 The Red-Coats. [January,
occasionally, for the sake of being well rid of such trash. Here are all our
laboratories broken up, and the sun's occupation gone, and you making a
to-do about a parcel of babies ! "
" O the sweet sunshine ! " wept a poet, but most musically, " the warm,
delicious sunshine, that our hungry souls can feed upon no more, nor ever
fill our drinking-cups with nectared dew ! "
And so in Mapleton and Sumachford and through all Leafland was nothing
heard but the voice of lamentation, and nothing seen but floods of tears, and
nothing thought of but how to avert or escape the threatened calamity ; and,
in their terror and trouble, the Leaflanders almost lost their fine tempers, and
were often on the brink of quarrelling ; and the people walking in Nether-
world met each other under blue cotton umbrellas, and exclaimed, " What a
spell of weather ! " and altogether it was very uncomfortable, both in Leafland
and Netherworld.
Just at this time a gay young Chipmonk appeared upon the scene, a
careless, dashing, saucy fellow, very popular among the young Leaflanders
of the rapid sort. He came skipping and frisking into Nutham, as his
manner was, both pockets full of corn which he had confiscated, he remarked
significantly, from a field down yonder. He nodded jauntily right and left,
and then disposed himself comfortably in a corner, and began cracking his
dainties in a very free-and-easy manner, not noticing the woe-begone aspect
of his friends. All at once, however, he awoke to a realizing sense of things,
and showed his sympathy after his 6wn fashion, by giving a sudden flirt with
, his tail, and calling out, irreverently, " What 's the row ? "
Amid tears and sighs, the sad story was related to him, in all its length
and breadth and thickness ; but, instead of the answering tear and sigh
which his auditors expected, he only thrust his paws into his pockets, and
whisked his tail over his back in frantic convulsions of laughter ; muttering,
as breath came to him in the pauses, " O, what a gony ! For that matter,
O, what a pack of gonies ! "
Now the Leaflanders were quite too well-bred ever to have used or heard
so barbarous a word as " gony." Nevertheless, reason and instinct both
taught them, as it will teach all people of refined sensibilities, that to be
called a gony is to be called something very disagreeable ; and if anything
can heighten the unpleasant sensation, it is to be called " a pack of gonies."
Consequently the Leaflanders began to look at each other blankly, and even
to suspect that possibly they had been making fools of themselves. But
Chipmonk did not leave them long in suspense. " Your terrible Red-coats
are your own selves," he cried. " I have heard of people being frightened
by their own shadow ; but never, in all my born days, did I hear of any one
being frightened by his own shine."
"Now will you explain yourself?" cried one of the young ladies, her
curiosity getting the better of her chagrin. All the old men and the young
men were longing to know, but were too proud to ask; but the question
being asked for them, they were glad enough to crowd in, and hear the
answer.
1865.] The Red-Coats. 29
" It is only this, and nothing more," answered Chipmonk, ejecting a pine-
seed from his mouth. " You are all going to have a new suit of clothes,
more splendid than you ever saw in your lives, yellow and brown and
spotted, and all manner of magnificent colors, but chiefly red ; and then you
will be Red-coats, won't you ? Wood-thrush came from north, where the
tailoring began ; and he saw it, and told you. It is a sign for him to be up
and flying. He thought it would be his excuse for declining your invitation,
instead of which you all went thrusting your heads into a bramble-bush.
O my!"
" But say, Chipmonk, do you know this ? Are you sure of it ? It seems
too good news to be true."
" Well, all I can say is, I have lived here, man and boy, nigh on to forty
months ; and I know it always has happened about this time. I am young
for a Chipmonk ; but I was in full career long before the oldest crone among
you was born ; and if there is anything hereabouts that I don't know, you
may take your affidavit it is n't worth knowing." And he sat back, and betook
himself once more to his " confiscated " corn with the most indifferent supe-
riority.
Oh ! but there was gladness then in Leafland, you may be sure. All their
sadness was turned to rejoicing ; and even then the work of transformation
called, in squirrelicular, " tailoring " began. Old and young, men and
maids, felt a glory in their blood. All the essence of the summer-long sun-
shine seemed to pour itself into their hearts. From one end of Leafland to
another was only singing and dancing and delight. Mapleton crowned her-
self with a golden crown, and Oakwich wreathed her brows with the sunset.
All the beauty of the past was dull and sombre to this new splendor, this
royal magnificence, born of the ineffable light.
A poet and a publisher walked through the Essex woods one October
afternoon ; and they remarked that the foliage was very brilliant this year,
which was quite true ; but if I had not been born, you never would have
known all about it.
Gail Hamilton.
The Color-Bearer.
WAS a fortress to be stormed :
Boldly right in view they formed,
(All as quiet as a regiment parading :
Then in front a line of flame !
Then at left and right the same !
Two platoons received a furious enfilading.
To their places still they filed,
And they smiled at the wild
Cannonading.
" 'T will be over in an hour !
'T will not be much of a shower !
Never mind, my boys," said he, " a little driz-
zling ! "
Then to cross that fatal plain,
Through the whirring, hurtling rain
Of the grape-shot, and the minie-bullets'
whistling !
But he nothing heeds nor shuns,
As he runs with the guns
Brightly bristling !
1865.] The Color-Bearer. 31
Leaving trails of dead and dying
In their track, yet forward flying
Like a breaker where the gale of conflict rolled them,
With a foam of flashing light
Borne before them on their bright
Burnished barrels, O, 't was fearful to behold them !
While from ramparts roaring loud
Swept a cloud like a shroud
To enfold them !
O, his color was the first !
Through the burying cloud he burst,
With the standard to the battle forward slanted !
Through the belching, blinding breath
Of the flaming jaws of Death,
Till his banner on the bastion he had planted !
By the screaming shot that fell,
And the yell of the shell,
Nothing daunted.
Right against the bulwark dashing,
Over tangled branches crashing,
'Mid the plunging volleys thundering ever louder !
There he clambers, there he stands,
With the ensign in his hands,
O, was ever hero handsomer or prouder ?
Streaked with battle-sweat and slime,
And sublime in the grime
Of the powder !
'T was six minutes, at the least,
Ere the closing combat ceased,
Near as we the mighty moments then could measure,
And we held our souls with awe,
Till his haughty flag we saw
On the lifting vapors drifting o'er the embrasure !
Saw it glimmer in our tears,
While our ears heard the cheers
Rend the azure !
Through the abatis they broke,
Through the surging cannon-smoke,
And they drove the foe before like frightened cattle !
O, but never wound was his,
For in other wars than this,
32 The Little Prisoner. [January,
Where the volleys of Life's conflict roar and rattle,
He must still, as he was wont,
In the front bear the brunt
Of the battle.
He shall guide the van of Truth !
And in manhood, as in youth,
Be her fearless, be her peerless Color-Bearer !
With his high and bright example,
Like a banner brave and ample,
Ever leading through receding clouds of Error,
To the empire of the Strong,
And to Wrong he shall long
Be a terror !
J. 71 Trowbridge.
THE LITTLE PRISONER.
PART I.
ON THE BATTLE-GROUND.
WE grandma, " our young folks," and I live up here among the hills,
in a quaint, old-fashioned farm-house, older than any of the " old
folks" now living; and every day, when the sun goes down, we gather
around the great wood fire in the sitting-room, and talk and tell stories by
the hour together. I tell the most of the stories ; for, though I am only
a plain farmer, going about in a slouched hat, a rusty coat, and a pair of
pantaloons so old and threadbare that you would not wear them if you were
in the ash business, I have mingled with men, seen a great many places, and
been almost all over the world.
My own children like my stories, because they think they are true, and
because they are all about the men I have met, and the places I have seen,
and so give them some glimpses of what is going on in the busy life outside
of our quiet country home ; but I do not expect other young folks to like
them as well as my own do, for their own father will not tell them.
However, I am going to write out a few of the many I know, in the hope
that they may give some trifling pleasure and instruction to boys and girls I
have never seen, and who gather of evenings around firesides far away from
the one where all my stories are first told.
As I sit down to write by this bright, blazing fire, the clouds are scudding
across the moon, and the wind is moaning around the old house, shaking the
doors, and rattling the windows, and snapping the branches of the great
1865.] The+Little Prisoner. 33
trees as if a whole regiment of young giants were cracking their whips in the
court-yard. On just such a night a wounded boy lay out on the Wilderness
battle-ground !
You have heard of that great battle ; how two hundred thousand men met
in a dense forest, and for two long days and nights, over wooded hills, and
through tangled valleys, and deep, rocky ravines, surged against each other
like angry waves in a storm. And you have heard, too what is very pitiful
to hear how, when that bloody storm was over, and the sun came out, dim
and cold, on the cheerless May morning which followed, thirty thousand men
every one the father, brother, or friend of some young folks at home lay
dead and dying on that awful field. Amid such a host of dead and dying
men, you might overlook one little boy, who, all that starless Friday night,
lay there wounded in the Wilderness. I do not want you to overlook him,
and therefore I am going to tell you his story.
He was a bright-eyed, fair-haired boy of twelve, the only son of his mother,
who was a widow. He used to read at home of how little boys had gone to
the war, how they had been in the great battles, and how great generals had
praised them ; and he longed to go to the war too, and to do something to
make himself as famous as the little boy who fought on the Rappahannock..
For a long time his mother was deaf to his entreaties, and he would not
go without her consent; but at last, when a friend of his father raised a
company of hundred-days men in his native town, she let him join as a;
drummer-boy in the regiment.
The first battle he was in was the terrible one in the Wilderness. His
regiment shared in the first day's fight, but he escaped unharmed ; and all
that night, though tired and hungry, he went about in the woods carrying
water to the wounded. The next morning he snatched a few hours' sleep, and
that and a good breakfast refreshed him greatly. At ten o'clock his regiment
moved, and it kept moving and fighting all that day, until the sun went down ;
but, though a hundred of his comrades had fallen around him, he remained
unhurt.
The shadows were deepening into darkness, and the night was hanging its
lanterns up in the sky, when the weary men threw themselves on the ground
to rest. Overcome with fatigue, he too lay down, and, giving one thought
to his mother at home, and another to his Father in heaven, fell fast asleep.
Suddenly the sharp rattle of musketry and the deafening roar of cannon
sounded along the lines, ami five thousand rebels rushed out upon them.
Surprised and panic-stricken, our men broke and fled ; and, roused by the
terrible uproar, James that was his name sprang to his feet, but only in
time to catch in his arms the captain, who was falling. He was shot through
and through by a minie ball.
James laid him gently on the ground, took his head tenderly in his lap,
and listened to the last words he had to send to his wife and children.
Meanwhile, yelling like demons, the Rebels came on, and passed them. Then
he could have escaped to the woods, but he would not leave his father's
friend when he was dying.
VOL. i. NO. i. 3
34 The Little Prisoner. [January,
Soon our men rallied, and in turn drove the enemy. Slowly and sullenly
the Rebels fell back to the hill where James and his friend were lying. There
they made a stand, and for half an hour fought desperately, but were at last
overborne and forced back again. As they were on the eve of retreating, a
tall, ragged ruffian came up to James, and demanded the watch and money
of the captain.
*' You will not rob a dying man ? " said the little boy, looking up to him
imploringly.
" Wall, I woan't ! " was the Rebel's brutal reply, as he aimed his bayonet
straight at the captain's heart.
By a quick, dexterous movement, James parried the blow ; but, turning
suddenly on the poor boy, the ruffian, with another thrust of his bayonet,
ran him directly through the body. His head sunk back to the ground, and
he fainted.
How long he lay there unconscious he does not know, but when he came
to himself the moon had gone down, and the stars had disappeared, and
thick, black clouds were filling all the sky. It did not rain, but the cold wind
moaned among the trees, and chilled him through and through. He tried to
rise, but a sharp pain came in his side, and for the first time he thought of
his wound. Passing his hand to it, he found it was clotted with blood. The
cold air had stopped the bleeding, and thus saved his life. Though the
bayonet had gone clear through him, his hurt was not mortal, for no vital
part was injured.
He thought of the captain, and spoke his name ; but no answer came.
Then he reached out his hand to find him. He was there, but his face was
cold, colder than the cold night that was about them. He was dead.
The wounded lay all around, and all this while their cries and groans, as
they called piteously for water, or moaned aloud in their agony, came to his
ear, and went to his very soul. He had heard their cries the night before,
as he crept about among them in the thick woods ; but then they had not
sounded so sad, so pitiful, as now, and that night was not so cold, so dark,
so cheerless as this was. Soon he knew the full extent of their agony. An
intolerable thirst came upon him. Hot, melted lead seemed to run along his
veins, and a burning heat, as of a fire of hot coals kindling in his side, almost
consumed him. He cried out for help, but no help came, for water, but
still he thirsted. Then he prayed, prayed tg the Good Father, who he
knew was looking pitifully down on him through the thick darkness, to come
and help him.
And He came. He always comes to those who ask for Him. Soon the
clouds grew darker, the wind rose higher, and the rain the cooling, sooth-
ing, grateful rain poured down in torrents. It wet him through and through,
but it eased his pain, cooled the fever in his blood, and he slept ! In all that
cold and pelting storm he slept !
It was broad day when he awoke. The sun was shining dimly through
the thick masses of gray clouds which floated in the sky, but the wind had
gone down, and the rain was over. The moans of the wounded still came
1865.] The Little Prisoner. 35
to him, but they were not so frequent, nor so terrible, as they were the night
before. Many had found relief from the rain, and many had ceased moaning
forever.
He could not rise, but, after long and painful effort, he succeeded in
turning over on his side. Then he had a view of the scene around him.
He lay near the summit of a gentle hill, at whose base a little brook was
flowing. At the north it was crowned with a dense growth of oaks and pines
and cedar thickets, but at the south and west it sloped away into waving
meadows and pleasant cornfields, already green with the opening beauty of
spring. Beyond the meadows were other hills, and knolls, and rocky heights,
all covered with an almost impenetrable forest, and there the hardest fighting
of those terrible days was done. A narrow road, bordered by a worm-fence
(Western boys know what a worm-fence is), wound around the foot of the hill,
and led to a large mansion standing half hidden in a grove of oaks and elms,
not half a mile away. Before this mansion were pleasant lawns and gardens,
and in its rear a score or more of little negro houses, whose whitewashed
walls were gleaming in the sun. This was the plantation so James
afterwards learned of Major Lucy, one of those wicked men whose bad
ambition has brought this dreadful war on our country.
The scene was very beautiful, and, lopking at it, James forgot for a
moment the darker picture, drawn in blood, on the grass around him. But
there it was. Blackened muskets, broken saddles, overturned caissons,
wounded horses snorting in agony, and fair-haired boys and gray-haired
men mangled and bleeding, some piled in heaps, and some stretched out
singly to die, lay all over that green hillside ! Here and there a crippled
soldier was creeping about among the wounded, and, close by, a stalwart man,
the blood dripping from his dangling sleeve, was wrapping a blue-eyed, pale-
faced boy in his blanket. " Do n't cry, Freddy," he said ; " ye sha'n't be cold !
Yer mother 11 soon be yere ! " But the boy gave no answer, for he was
dead!
" He don't hear you," said James. " He is n't cold now ! "
" I 'se afeard he ar', he said he war. Oh ! ef his mother know'd he war
yere ! 't would break her heart, break her heart ! " moaned the man, still
wrapping the blanket about the boy.
James closed his eyes to shut out the painful scene, and the thought of his
own mother came to him. Would it not break her heart to know he was
wounded ? to hear, perhaps, that he was dead ? He must not die ; for her
sake, he must not die ! ONE only could help him, and so he prayed. Again
he prayed that the Good Father would come to him, and again the Good
Father came !
" What is ye a doin' yere, honey, a little one loike ye ? " asked a kind
voice at his side.
He looked up. It was an old black woman, dressed in a faded woollen
gown, a red and yellow turban, and a pair of flesh-colored stockings which
Nature herself had given her. She was very short, almost as broad as she
was long, and had a face as large round as the moon, and it looked very
36 The Little Prisoner. [January,
much .ike the moon when it shines through a black cloud ; for, though darker
than midnight, it was all over light, that kind of light which shines through
the faces of good people.
" I am wounded ; I want water," said the little boy, feebly.
" Ye shill hab it, honey," said the woman, giving him some from a bucket
she had set on the ground.
" Guv some ter my lad," cried the man who sat by the dead boy ; " he 's
been a cryin' fur it all night all night ! Did n't ye yere him ? "
" No, I did n't, massa. I hain't been yere more 'n a hour, and a tousand 's
a heap fur one ole ooman ter 'tend on," she replied, filling a gourd from the
bucket, and going with it to the dead boy.
She stooped down and held the water to his lips, but in a moment started
back, and cried out in a frightened way, " He 'm dead ! He can't drink no
more ! "
" He hain't dead ! " yelled the man, fiercely ; "he sha'n't die ! Guv me the
water, ole 'ooman."
With a trembling hand, he tried to give it to his son. He held it to the
boy's lips for a moment, then, dropping the gourd, and sinking to the ground,
he cried out, "It '11 kill his mother, kill his mother ! Oh ! oh ! "
" He 'm better off, massa," said .the woman, in a voice full of pity ; " he 'm
whar he kin drink foreber ob de bery water ob life."
" Gwo away, ole 'ooman, gwo away, doan't speak ter me ! " moaned the
man, throwing his arms around the body, of his boy, and burying his face in
the blanket he had wrapped about him.
Brushing her tears away with her apron, the woman turned to James, and
said, " Whar is ye hurted, honey ? Leff aunty see."
The little boy opened his jacket, and showed her his side. She could not
see the wound, for the blood had glued his shirt, and even his waistcoat, to
his body ; but she said, kindly, " Don't fret, honey. 'Tain't nufftn ter
hurt, it '11 soon be well. Ole Katy '11 borrer a blanket or so frum some o'
dese as is done dead, and git ye warm ; and den, when she 's gub'n a little
more water ter de firsty ones, she '11 take a keer ob you, she will, honey ;
so neber you far."
She went away, but soon came again with the blankets, and, wrapping two
about him, and putting another under his head, said, " Dar, honey, now
you '11 be warm ; and neber you keer ef ole Katy hab borrer'd de blankets.
Dey '11 neber want 'em darselfs ; and she knows it '11 do dar bery souls good,
eben whar dey is, ter know you J s got 'em. So neber keer, and gwo ter
sleep, dat 's a good chile. Aunty '11 be yere agin in a jiffin."
James thanked the good woman, and, closing his eyes again, soon fell
asleep. The sun was right over his head, when old Katy awoke him, and
said, " Now, honey, Aunty 's ready now. She '11 tote you off ter de plan-
tation, and hab you all well in less nur no time, she will ; fur massa 's 'way,
and dar haint no 'un dar now ter say she sha'n't."
" You can't carry me ; I 'm too heavy, Aunty," said James, making a faint
effort to smile.
1865.] Thomas Hughes. 37
" Carry you ! Why, honey chile, ole Katy could tote a big man, forty
times so heaby as you is, ef dey was only a hurted so bad as you."
Taking him up, then, as if he had been a bag of feathers, she laid his head
over her shoulder, and, cuddling him close to her bosom, carried him off to
the large mansion he had seen in the distance.
What befell him there I shall tell " our young folks " in the next number
of this, their own Magazine.
Edmund Kirke.
THOMAS HUGHES.
THE portrait given with the present number of "Our Young Folks" is
that of one of England's cleverest writers and best men, Thomas
Hughes. Mr. Hughes is well known throughout all America as the author
of those most spirited and truthful books, " School Days at Rugby," and
"Tom Brown at Oxford," books which all young people, girls as well as
boys, ought to read, and which their elders cannot fail to find delightful and
profitable. Another volume, " The Scouring of the White Horse," has also
been republished in this country, but as its interest is quite local, the scene
being laid in the county of Kent, England, and the principal incidents relat-
ing to a festival which took place there, it has not been so extensively
circulated.
Mr. Hughes is the second son of John Hughes, Esq., of Donington Pri-
ory, near Newbury, Berks Co., England. He was born October 20, 1823,
and received his early education at Rugby under the instruction of the noble
Dr. Arnold, who is depicted so beautifully in " School Days at Rugby." In
1841 he entered Oriel College, Oxford, and received his degree of B. A. in
1845. He immediately registered himself as a student at Lincoln's Inn, and
was called to the bar in January, 1848.
Mr. Hughes still pursues the profession of a barrister, in which he stands
prominent, and devotes much of his time to the writing and doing of good
things. He has been a strong helper in plans for the education and assist-
ance of workmen in his own country, and has always advocated the princi-
ples of liberty and justice everywhere. He is one of the truest friends that
the United States has in England, and his voice and his pen have never
failed to support her cause against that of Rebeldom.
Physical Health.
[January,
PHYSICAL HEALTH.
TO THE YOUNG PEOPLE OF AMERICA.
HE great war will end. Then what magnificent expansion ! But what
-*- immense responsibilities ! Soon they must rest upon you, your man-
hood and womanhood. God and the nations will watch you.
A great and good nation is made up of great and good men and women.
A strong building cannot be made of weak timbers.
A complete man is composed of a healthy body, a cultured brain, and a
true heart. Wanting either he fails. Is his heart false ? His strong head
and body become instruments of evil. Is his head weak ? His strong body
and true heart are cheated. Is the body sick ? His noble head and heart
are like a great engine in a rickety boat.
Our Young Folks are strong and good.
I HAVE studied the life of the young among the better peoples of Europe.
It is not flattery to say, that you, my young fellow-countrymen, have the best
heads and hearts in the world. The great size of your brains is noticed by
every intelligent stranger. The ceaseless activity of those brains is one of
the most striking features of American life. American growth, as seen in
railways, telegraphs, and agriculture, is tame and slow when compared with
the achievements of our schools. And where else among the young are
there such organizations for the spread of the Gospel, for temperance, for the
relief of the sick and wounded ?
But our Young Folks are weak.
Fig. 2.
Fig. i.
YOUR weakness is in your
bodies. Here lies your dan-
ger. I see nothing which dis-
tresses me so much as the
physique of the children in our
public schools. Great heads,
beautiful faces, brilliant eyes ;
but with that attenuated neck,
thin, flat chest, and languid
gait. Look at these two boys,
John and Thomas. John is
a native Yankee. I found
him, without long searching,
in one of our public schools.
Thomas is an imaginary boy,
composed by the artist.
John.
Thqjnas.
i86 5 .]
Physical Health.
39
Causes of John's Deformity.
HE has lain several hours
every night in the position
seen in Fig. 3. Much of that
ugly pushing forward of the
head among girls is produced
by thick pillows.
Young people should sleep
on hair pillows two inches
thick. Ambitious girls and
boys throw the pillow aside.
This is the other extreme,
and wrong. It is unhealthy
to lie constantly on the back.
You must frequently change
to the side. But when you
turn upon the side, if you
have no pillow, you must
either twist the shoulders into
a mischievous attitude, or let
the head fall down to the level
of the shoulder, as seen in
Fig. 4. This disturbs the cir-
culation in the neck.
Fig. 3-
Fig. 4.
rf'/
False Positions while sitting.
ANOTHER cause of the bad shape of John's spine we find in his bad posi-
tions while sitting. Fig. 5 represents the position in which he should sit.
You observe his feet rest on the floor. His hips are against the back of the
chair. His spine is erect. In this position he may sit two hours without
fatigue, provided the chair be a good one. About chairs I shall presently
say something.
Fig. 5.
Fig. 6.
40 Physical Health. [January,
Fig. 6 shows a position in which I often see John. Do you observe how,
with his legs crossed, he must push forward on the seat ? The small of the
back is no longer supported. The strain will soon produce weakness and
pain.
Fig. 7 represents a still worse position. The strain upon the small of the
back must not only produce weakness there, but must soon incline the spine
to bend backward, while its natural shape at that point is a beautiful curve
forward.
Writers on manners say the positions seen in Figs. 6 and 7 are vulgar. In
this case, as in most others, propriety and physiology are in harmony.
Positions in School.
FIG. 8 shows a bad posture. Sitting thus three hours a day must soon
produce round shoulders. Various devices have been proposed to help the
Fig. 8.
Fig. 7.
pupil out of this difficulty. Our booksellers furnish a simple rack, which is
shown in Fig. 9. It holds one or two books. In Fig. 10 two books are seen
resting upon it. Fig. 1 1 shows the position of the pupil while using the
book-rack. An eminent professor in a New-England college said to the
assembled students, the other day, " This book-holder will add years to a
literary man's life."
Chairs.
I PROMISED a word about chairs. Our manufacturers do not consider
health in designing the shape of chairs. The seats are too high, and too
nearly horizontal. Boys and girls occupy seats seventeen inches high. A
girl twelve years old should have a chair with the seat not more than
twelve inches high. For a man even, it should not be more than fifteen or
sixteen inches. (These dimensions apply to the front of the seat.) The
back part should be at least two inches lower. With this inclination, the
1865.]
Physical Health.
Fig. 9.
Fig. 10.
sitter will slide backward, against the back of the chair, instead of sliding
forward, as he generally does. This sliding forward produces a strain upon
the small of the back, and is, in fact, the cause of most of the fatigue in
sitting. The width of the chair-seat from front to back should be the
same as the height in front.
The chair-te should project farthest forward at that point which corre-
sponds to the small of the back. Instead of this, there is generally at that
point a hollow. This error is the cause of much pain and weakness in the
lower part of the spine.
Fig. 12 shows an unphysiological chair. It is a fashionable parlor-chair.
Fig. 13 is a physiological chair. Two hours in this will fatigue less than
half an hour in that.
Fig. it.
Fig. 12.
Fig. 13.
42 Physical Health. [January,
Walking.
AMERICANS are bad walkers. It is rare to find an exception, even in our
army. Among Europeans, and the aborigines of our own continent, a
noble mien is not uncommon. I understand the causes of this ugly defect,
among our people, but my present purpose is simply to call attention to it,
and to point out the remedy.
In English and French books on the military drill and physical training,
whole chapters discuss the subject of walking. We are told that this or that
part of the foot must touch the ground first, that the angles must be so
and so, &c., &c. I will not say this advice is not right, but I will say that
very few have been helped by it.
Look at a good walker. Shoulders, head, and hips drawn well back, and
the chest thrown forward. What a firm, vigorous tread ! Such a walk may
easily be secured by carrying a weight upon the head. An iron crown has
been devised for this purpose. It consists of three crowns, one within
the other, each weighing about nine pounds. One or all three may be worn
at a time.
The water-carriers of Southern Europe, although belonging to the lowest
class, have a noble bearing. Certain negroes in the South, who " tote " bur-
dens upon the head as a business, can be readily pointed out in a crowd.
The effort required to keep the burden directly over the spine so develops
the muscles of the back and neck, that in the absence of the burden the
head is carried in a noble, erect attitude.
By carrying one of these crowns upon the head half an hour two or three
times a day, while walking in the garden or through the halls of the house,
one may soon become a fine walker. One tenth of the time occupied in
learning a few tunes on the piano, given to this exercise, would insure any
girl a noble carriage. The crown is not necessary. Any weight which does
not press upon the very crown of the head, but about it, will answer the
purpose equally well.
Fig. 14 exhibits John as the photographer took him the first time he wore
the crown. You observe how his form is changed.
False Positions while walking, in Schools.
FIG. 15 shows the worst of them. This is no exaggeration of what I have
seen in our New-England schools. It is not common among scholars to
join the hands thus, and carry the body erect Fig. 16 shows a still worse
position. If you stand erect, with your arms hanging by the sides, and then
deliberately fold the arms, as in this figure, you will find the points of the
shoulders are drawn forward two inches, and the chest much contracted.
Experiments prove that the amount of air which the lungs can inhale is
reduced fifteen to eighteen per cent when the arms are thus folded.
Fig. 17 secures a good position of the spirre, and opens the chest. Fig. 18
is not very seemly, but, practised five minutes two or three times a day,
would do much to develop the muscles of the spine, and particularly those
1865.]
Physical Health.
43
of the back of the neck, whose weakness permits the head to droop. This
subject I commend to teachers and school-committees.
Fig. 13.
Fig. 16.
Fig. 14-
Fig. 17.
Fig. 18.
The Muff.
IT draws the shoulders forward, and produces an ugly gait. Let a boy
wear a shawl, and hold it together in front with his hands, and he will have
the same disagreeable waddle. If he wears it even for one winter, he will
learn to stoop. Muffs, shawls, and those cloaks which do not allow the arms
44 Andy's Adventures ; [January,
to swing freely, should all be thrown overboard. Over-coats should be worn
by both sexes.
The arms are almost as necessary in walking as the legs. The first time
you are walking with your arms at liberty, stop moving them and hold them
by your sides. You will be surprised to find how soon your companion will
leave you behind, although you may hurry, twist, wriggle, and try very hard
to keep up. One reason for the slow walk among girls is to be found in this
practice of carrying the arms motionless. Three miles an hour with the
arms still, is as hard work as four miles with the arms free.
I have seen the queens of the stage walk. I have seen a few girls and
women of queenly bearing walk in the street and drawing-room. They
moved their arms in a free and graceful manner. Could this habit become
universal among girls, their chests would enlarge and their bearing be greatly
improved. See that girl walking with both hands in her muff. How she
wriggles and twists her shoulders and hips ! This is because her arms are
pinioned. Give them free swing, and her gait would soon become more
graceful.
You have seen pictures of our muscles. Those of the upper part of the
body, you remember, spread out from the shoulder, in all directions, like a
fan. Now if you hold the shoulder still, the muscles of the chest will shrink,
the shoulders stoop, and the whole chest become thin and ugly.
But some girls will say, " Swinging the arms must be very slight exercise."
True, it is very slight, if you swing the arms but once or ten times, but if
you swing them ten thousand times in a day, you will obtain more exercise
of the muscles of the chest than by all other ordinary movements combined.
Indeed, if I were asked wha* exercise I thought most effective for develop-
ing the chests of American girls, I should reply at once, swinging the arms
while walking.
Dio Lewis.
ANDY'S ADVENTURES;
OR, THE WORLD BEWITCHED.
ANDY'S folks had gone to town, and left him at home to take care of the
house, watch the garden, and amuse himself.
Andy had a new bow and arrow, and he thought it would be great sport to
have nothing to do all the afternoon but to shoot at the robins and wood-
peckers.
So, as soon as the wagon was out of sight, and the gate shut, he ran into
the orchard, and began the fun. He kept near enough to the house to
see if anybody came to the door, and near enough to the garden to see if the
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 45
pigs got into it ; and whenever he saw a bird, he sent an arrow after it. But
the robins soon found out what he wanted, and flew away when they saw him
coming. Their beautiful red breasts would have been capital marks, if they
had only waited for him to get a good shot. The wrens were not afraid, but
they were so small he could not hit them. And the swallows kept flying
about so, twittering and darting here and there, that he knew he would have
to practise a long time before he could take them on the wing. The yellow-
birds and blue-birds were so shy, that he could hardly see one in sight of the
house. So there was no game left but the woodpeckers.
But woodpeckers are cunning fellows. They run up the trees, and stick
in their bills, and hop about, and fly from one tree to another so fast, that it
takes a pretty smart boy to hit one. They were tame enough, and would
sometimes let Andy come quite near ; they would stop pecking a moment,
and hold up their red heads to take a good look at him ; then they would
begin to drum again in the merriest way, making little holes in the old peach-
trees, which began to look like wooden soldiers that had gone through the
wars and been shot in hundreds of places.. But the instant Andy drew the
bowstring and took aim, they knew well enough what it meant : and it was
provoking to see them dodge around on the bark and get out of sight just in
time to let the arrow whiz by them. Then they would go to pecking and
drumming again so near, that he wished a dozen times that he had some
kind of an arrow that would shoot around a tree and hit on the other side.
At length Andy grew tired of this fun ; and he had lost his arrow so many
times in the grass, and had to hunt for it, that he got vexed, and thought it
would be much better sport to go and shoot a chicken.
Now he did not mean to kill a chicken, and he did not really think he
would be able to hit one. But often we do things more easily when we are
not trying very hard, than when we are too anxious. So it happened with
Andy. He tried his luck on the speckled top-knot, which everybody consid-
ered the handsomest chick that had been hatched that summer. He drew
his bow, let go the string, and the speckled top-knot keeled over. He ran
up to it, very proud, at first, of his good shot, but frightened enough when
he found that the chicken only just kicked a little, and then lay quite still.
Andy turned it over, and tried to stand it upon its legs, and thought what
he should tell his parents.
" I'll say a hawk flew down and killed it ! But I shot at the hawk, and he
let it drop, just as he was flying away with it."
This was the story he made up, as he took poor top-knot and laid it down
by the well-curb.
He was still wishing to shoot something that was alive, and, seeing the
cat creeping along on the fence watching for a mouse, he concluded to try
his luck with her. So he drew up, aimed, and fired. Puss was so intent on
watching the mouse that she paid no attention at all to the arrow, which
struck the rail a little behind her, and glanced off towards the house. Andy
heard a sound like shivered glass, and, running up, saw to his dismay that he
had broken a window.
46 Andy's Adventures ; [January,
Now he had been told never to shoot his arrow towards the house ; and
how to conceal the accident and avoid punishment he couldn't at first
imagine. The glass lay scattered on the pantry shelf, and the hole in the
pane was large enough to put his hand through.
" I '11 say Joe Beals came and wanted my bow, and because I would n't let
him have it, he threw a stone at me, and broke the window."
And having made up this story, he searched for such a stone as Joe would
be apt to throw, and, having found one, placed it on the pantry floor, to ap-
pear as if it had fallen there after passing through the glass.
These accidents made him dislike his bow, and he hung it up in the wood-
shed. Then he made a lasso of a string, and caught the cat by throwing
the noose over her head. But Puss did not like the sport as well as he did,
and gave him such a scratch that he was glad to let her run off with the
lasso. Then he thought he would plague the old sow by getting one of her
little pink-white pigs ; but the instant he had caught it up in his arms, it
began to squeal; and the mother, hearing it, ran after him with such a
frightful noise, throwing up her great, savage tusks at him, that he dropped
it, and ran for his life. She stopped to smell of Piggy, and see if it was
hurt ; and so he got away, though he was terribly frightened.
Then Andy thought of his toy ship ; and having stopped the holes in the
sink, and pumped it full of water, he called it his ocean, and launched the
" Sea-bird." With a pair of bellows he made wind, and with a dipper he
made waves ; and by placing a kettle bottom upwards in the middle of the
sink he made an island ; and the good ship pitched, and tossed, and rolled
in a very exciting manner. At length he resolved to have a shipwreck.
This he managed, not by putting the ship on a rock, but by putting a rock
on the ship. He used for the purpose the stone Joe Beals did not throw
through the pantry window, and the " Sea-bird" went down, with all her crew
on board. He then opened the holes in the sink, and the tide, going out, left
the vessel on her beam-ends, stranded.
It would have been well for Andy if he had been contented with such
innocent pastimes, without doing mischief to the cat, or chickens, or pigs, or
trying to shoot the pretty birds that fly about the orchards, singing so
sweetly, and eating the worms that destroy the trees.
But nothing satisfied him ; and to have some better fun than any yet, he
determined to stand in the door and scream, " Fire ! " He could not imagine
greater sport than to see the neighbors come running to put out the fire, and
then laugh at them for being duped. He did not consider that they would
have to leave their work, and run a long distance, till they were quite out of
breath ; or that his laughter would be a very mean and foolish return for the
good-will they would show in hastening to save his father's house ; or that,
in case the house should really take fire some day, and he should call for
help, people might think it another silly trick, and stay away.
He stood in the door, filled his lungs with a long breath, opened his mouth
as wide as he could, and screamed, " Fire ! fire ! fire ! "
Three times. He thought it so funny, that he had to stop and laugh.
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 47
Then he took another breath, and screamed again, louder than before,
" Fire ! fire ! fire ! fire ! fire ! "
Five times ; and he heard the echoes away off among the hills ; and, look-
ing across the lot, he saw old Mother Quirk hobbling on her crutch.
Old Mother Quirk was just about the queerest woman in the world. She
had a nose as crooked as a horn, and almost as long. It crooked down to
meet her chin, and her chin crooked up to meet her nose. And some people
said she could hold the end of a thread between them, when she wished to
twist a cord with both hands, although I doubt it. Her face was so full
of wrinkles, that the smallest spot you could think of had at least twenty in
it. Her eyes were as black as charcoal, and as bright as diamonds. She
was very old ; and her back was bent like a bow ; and her hair was perfectly
white, and as long and fine as the finest kind of flax ; and she was so lame
that she could never walk without her crutch.
She was a good woman though, people said, and knew almost everything.
She could tell when it would rain to-morrow, and when it would be fair. She
would shut her eyes, and tell you all about your friends at a distance ; de-
scribe them as plainly as if she saw them, and inform you if anything pleasant
or unpleasant had happened to them. She knew more about curing the sick
than the doctors did ; and once when Andy had hurt his foot by jumping
upon a sharp stub, and it was so sore for a week that he could not step, and it
had been poulticed and plastered till it was as white and soft as cheese-curd,
Mother Quirk had cured it in three days, by putting on to it a bit of dried
beef's gall, which drew out a sliver that the doctors had never thought of.
She was always ready to help people who were in trouble ; and now, when
Andy screamed fire, she was the first to come hobbling on her crutch.
" What is burning, Andy ? " she cried, as she came through the gate.
Where is the fire ? "
" In the bottom of the well ! " replied Andy, laughing till his side ached.
" O, ho, ho ! why don't you bring some water in a thimble, and put the well
out ? O, ho, ho ! Mother Quirk ! "
There was fire in the old woman's eyes just then, if not in the well. It
flashed out of them like two little streams of lightning out of two little jet-
black clouds. She lifted her crutch, and I am not sure but she would have
struck Andy with it, if she had not been too lame to catch him.
" Put the well out, ho, ho, ho ! " laughed Andy, hopping away.
" I would put you in, if I could get hold of you ! " said Mother Quirk,
shaking her crutch at him. " You would n't be dancing around so on that foot
of yours, if I had n't cured it for you, and this is the thanks I get for it ! "
That made Andy feel rather ashamed; for he began to see how ungrateful
it was in him to play the old woman such a trick.
[t is n't the first time you Ve made me run for nothing, with my poor old
crutch," she went on, as he stopped laughing. " The other day you told me
your mother was sick abed, and wanted to see me ; and I left everything and
hobbled over here ; and did n't I find her ironing clothes in the kitchen, as
well a woman as she ever was in her life, you little rogue ! "
48 Winning- his Way. [January,
Andy laughed again at the recollection. " You was smoking your pipe,"
said he, " with your old black cat in your lap, and 't was fun to see you jump
up and catch your crutch ! "
" Fun to you ! but do you think of my poor old bones ? I 'm almost a hun-
dred years old," said Mother Quirk ; " and shall I tell you what I Ve learnt
all this time ? I Ve learnt that the meanest thing in the world is to treat ill
those who treat you kindly ; and that the worst thing is lying."
Andy was sobered again, and the old woman continued :
" What if everybody and everything should lie ? What if we could never
know when to believe what our friends and neighbors tell us ? What if my
crutch should lie, and, when I lean on it, break and let me fall ? "
" I think it would be fun ! " said Andy.
" And what if the ground you stand on should not be the ground it appears
to be, but a great pit, and should let you fall into it when you think you are
walking on the grass ? Suppose that everything was a lie, that nothing was
what it pretends to be, that the whole world should trick and cheat us ? " cried
the old woman, raising her voice.
" I should like to see the spot ! " said Andy, giggling again.
" Should you ? " almost shrieked the old woman, with a terrible look.
" Yes ! " and Andy grinned at a safe distance.
" Then try it ! " exclaimed Mother Quirk.
And holding her crutch under her shoulder, she brought her hands to-
gether with a loud slap. Although Andy was at least three yards off, it
seemed to him exactly as if she had boxed his ear. He was almost knocked
down, and his head hummed like a bee-hive ; but he could not, to save his
life, tell which ear had been boxed, nor which he ought to rub. For a min-
ute, he kept whirling around, as dizzy as a top. Then a voice cried, " Catch
that rabbit ! "
J. T. Twwbridge.
(To be continued?)
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER I.
FIRST YEARS.
MANY years ago, before railroads were thought of, a company of Con-
necticut farmers, who had heard marvellous stories of the richness of
the land in the West, sold their farms, packed up their goods, bade adieu to
their friends, and with their families started for Ohio.
After weeks of travel over dusty roads, they came to a beautiful valley,
watered by a winding brook. The hills around were fair and sunny. There
1865.] Winning his Way. 49
were groves of oaks, and maples, and lindens. The air was fragrant with
honeysuckle and jasmine. There was plenty of game. The swift-footed
deer browsed the tender grass upon the hills. Squirrels chattered in the
trees and the ringdoves cooed in the depths of the forest. The place was so
fertile and fair, so pleasant and peaceful, that the emigrants made it their
home, and called it New Hope.
They built a mill upon the brook. They laid out a wide, level street, and
a public square, erected a school-house, and then a church. One of their
number opened a store. Other settlers came, and then, as the years passed
by, the village rang with the shouts of children pouring from the school-
house for a frolic upon the square. Glorious times they had beneath the
oaks and maples.
One of the jolliest of the boys was Paul Parker, only son of Widow Par-
ker, who lived in a little old house on the outskirts of the village, shaded by
a great maple. Her husband died when Paul was in his cradle. Paul's
grandfather was still living. The people called him " Old Pensioner Par-
ker," for he fought at Bunker Hill, and received a pension from government.
He was hale and hearty, though more than eighty years of age.
The Pensioner was the main support of the family ; but by keeping a
cow, a pig, turkeys and chickens, by selling milk and eggs, which Paul
carried to their customers, they brought the years round without running
in debt. Paul's pantaloons had a patch on each knee, but he laughed just
as loud and whistled just as cheerily for all that.
In summer he went barefoot. He did not have to turn out at every mud-
puddle, and he could plash into the mill-pond and give the frogs a crack over
the head without stopping to take off stockings and shoes. Paul did not
often have a dinner of roast beef, but he had an abundance of bean porridge,
brown bread, and milk.
" Bean porridge is wholesome food, Paul," said his grandfather. " When
I was a boy we used to say,
' Bean porridge hot,
Bean porridge cold,
Bean porridge best
Nine days old.'
The wood-choppers in winter used to freeze it into cakes and carry it into
the woods. Many a time I have made a good dinner on a chunk of frozen
porridge."
The Pensioner remembered what took place in his early years, but he lost
his reckoning many times a day upon what was going on in the town. He
loved to tell stories, and Paul was a willing listener. Pleasant winter-even-
ings they had in the old kitchen, the hickory logs blazing on the hearth,
the tea-kettle singing through its nose, the clock ticking soberly, the old
Pensioner smoking his pipe in the arm-chair, Paul's mother knitting,
Bruno by Paul's side, wagging his tail and watching Muff in the opposite
corner rolling her great round yellow eyes. Bruno was always ready to give
Muff battle whenever Paul tipped him the wink to pitch in.
VOL. i. NO. i. 4
50 Winning his Way. [January,
The Pensioner's stories were of his boyhood, how he joined the army,
and fought the battles of the Revolution. Thus his story ran.
" I was only a little bigger than you are, Paul," he said, " when the red-
coats began the war at Lexington. I lived in old Connecticut then ; that
was a long time before we came out here. The meeting-house bell rung,
and the people blew their dinner-horns, and ran up to the meeting-house and
found the militia forming. The men had their guns and powder-horns. The
women were at work melting their pewter porringers into bullets. I was n't
old enough to train, but I could fire a gun and bring down a squirrel from
the top of a tree. I wanted to go and help drive the red-coats into the
ocean. I asked mother if I might. I was afraid that she did n't want me to
go. ' Why, Paul,' says she, ' you have n't any clothes.' * Mother,' says I, ' I
can shoot a red-coat just as well as any of the men can.' Says she, * Do you
want to go, Paul ? ' ' Yes, mother ! ' * You shall go ; I '11 fix you out.' As I
had n't any coat she took a meal-bag, cut a hole for my head in the bottom,
and made holes for my arms, cut off a pair of her own stocking-legs, and sewed
them on for sleeves, and , I was rigged. I took the old gun which father
carried at Ticonderoga, and the powder-horn, and started. There is the gun
and the horn, Paul, hanging up.
" The red-coats had got back to Boston, but we cooped them up. Our
company was in Colonel Knowlton's regiment. I carried the flag, which said,
Qui transtulit sustinek I don't know anything about Latin, but those
who do say it means that God who hath transported us will sustain us, and
that is true, Paul. He sustained us at Bunker Hill, and we should have
held it if our powder had not given out. Our regiment was by a rail-
fence on the northeast side of the hill. Stark, with his New Hampshire
boys, was by the river. Prescott was in the redoubt on the top of the
hill. Old Put kept walking up and down the lines. This is the way it was,
Paul."
The Pensioner laid aside his pipe, bent forward, and traced upon the hearth
the positions of the troops.
" There is the redoubt ; here is the rail-fence ; there is where the red-coats
formed their lines. They came up in front of us here. We did n't fire a gun
till they got close to us. I '11 show you how the fire ran down the line."
He took down the horn, pulled out the stopper, held his finger over the
tip, and made a trail of powder.
"There, Paul, that is by the fence. As the red-coats came up, some of
us began to be uneasy and wanted to fire, but Old Put kept saying, ' Don't
fire yet ! Wait till you can see the white of their eyes ! Aiti at their belts !'"
While Pensioner was saying this, he took the tongs and picked a live coal
from the fire.
"They came up beautifully, Paul, the tall grenadiers and light-infantry
in their scarlet coats, and the sun shining on their gun-barrels and bayonets.
They wer'n't more than ten rods off when a soldier on top of the hill could n't
stand it any longer. Pop ! went his gun, and the fire ran down the hill
quicker than scat ! just like this ! "
86 5 .]
Winning" his Way.
He touched the coal to the powder. There was a flash, a puff of smoke
rising to the ceiling, and filling the room.
" Hooray ! " shouted Paul, springing to his feet. Muff went with a jump
upon the bureau in the corner of the room, her tail as big as Paul's arm, and
her back up. Bruno was after her in a twinkling, bouncing about, barking,
and looking round to Paul to see if it was all right.
" There, grandpa, you have made a great
smut on the hearth," said Mrs. Parker, who
kept her house neat and tidy, though it was a crazy old affair.
" Well, mother, I thought it would please Paul."
" S-s-s-s-si'c ! " Paul made a hiss which Bruno understood, and went at
Muff more fiercely. It was glorious to see Muff spit fire, and hear her growl
low and deep like distant thunder. Paul would not have Muff hurt for any-
thing, but he loved to see Bruno show his teeth at her, and see how gritty
she was when she was waked up.
" Be still, Paul, and let Muff alone," said Paul's mother.
" Come, Bruno, she ain't worth minding," said Paul.
52 Winning his Way. [January,
"They have got good courage, both of 'em," said the pensioner; "and
courage is one half of the battle, and truth and honor is the other half.
Paul, I want you to remember that. It will be worth more than a fortune
to you. I don't mean that cats and dogs know much about truth and honor,
and I have seen some men who did n't know much more about those quali-
ties of character than Muff and Bruno ; but what I have said, Paul, is true
for all that. The men who win success in life are those who love truth, and
who follow what is noble and good. No matter how brave a man may be, if
he has n't these qualities he won't succeed. He may get rich, but that won't
amount to much. Success, Paul, is to have an unblemished character, to
be true to ourselves, to our country, and to God."
He went on with his story, telling how the British troops ran before the
fire of the Yankees, how they re-formed and came on a second time, and
were repulsed again, how General Clinton went over from Boston with
reinforcements, how Charlestown was set on fire, how the flames leaped
from house to house, and curled round the spire of the church, how the
red-coats advanced a third time beneath the great black clouds of smoke,
how the ammunition of the Yankees gave out, and they were obliged to
retreat, how General Putnam tried to rally them, how they escaped
across Charlestown Neck, where the cannon-balls from the British floating
batteries raked the ranks ! He made it all so plain, that Paul wished he had
been there.
The story completed, Paul climbed the creaking stairway to his narrow
chamber, repeated his evening prayer, and scrambled into bed.
" He is a jolly boy," said the pensioner to Paul's mother, as Paul left the
room.
" I don't know what will become of him," she replied, " he is so wild and
thoughtless. He leaves the door open, throws his cap into the corner, sets
Bruno and Muff to growling, stops to play on his way home from school,
sings, whistles, shouts, hurrahs, and tears round like all possessed."
If she could have looked into Paul's desk at school, she would have found
whirligigs, tops, pin-boxes, nails, and no end of strings and dancing dandy-
jims.
" Paul is a rogue," said the Pensioner. " You remember how he got on
top of the house awhile ago and frightened us out of our wits by shouting
* Fire ! fire ! ' down the chimney ; how we ran out to see about it ; how I
asked him ' Where ? ' and says he, ' D.own there in the fireplace, grandpa.'
He is a chip of the old block. I used to do just so. But there is one good
thing about him, he don't do mean tricks. He don't bend up pins and put
them in the boys' seats, or tuck chestnut-burs into the girls' hoods. I never
knew him to tell a lie. He will come out all right."
" I hope so," said Mrs. Parker.
Paul could look through the crevices between the shingles, and the cracks
in the walls, and behold the stars gleaming from the unfathomable spaces.
He wondered how far they were away. He listened to the wind chanting a
solemn dirge, filling his soul with longings for he knew not what. He
1865.] Winning his Way. 53
thought over his grandfather's stories, and the words he had spoken about
courage, truth, anfl honor, till a shingle clattering in the wind took up the
refrain, and seemed to say, Truth and honor, truth and honor, truth and
honor, so steadily and pleasantly, that while he listened the stars faded
from his sight, and he sailed away into dream-land.
Paul was twelve years old, stout, hearty, and healthy, full of life, and
brimming over with fun. Once he set the village in a roar. The people
permitted their pigs to run at large. The great maple in front of the Pen-
sioner's house was cool and shady, a delightful place for the pigs through
the hot summer days.
Mr. Chrome, the carriage-painter, lived across the road. He painted a
great many wagons for the farmers, the wheels yellow, the bodies blue,
green, or red, with scrolls and flowers on the sides. Paul watched him by
the hour, and sometimes made up his mind to be a carriage-painter when he
became a man.
" Mr. Chrome," said Paul, " don't you think that those pigs would look
better if they were painted ? "
" Perhaps so."
" I should like to see how they would look painted as you paint your
wagons."
Mr. Chrome laughed at the ludicrous fancy. He loved fun, and was ready
to help carry out the freak.
" Well, just try your hand on improving nature."
Paul went to work. Knowing that pigs like to have their backs scratched,
he had no difficulty in keeping them quiet. To one he gave green legs, blue
ears, red rings round its eyes, and a red tail. Another had one red leg, one
blue, one yellow, one green, with red and blue stripes and yellow stars on
its body. "I will make him a star-spangled pig," Paul shouted to Mr.
Chrome. Another had a green head, yellow ears, and a red body. Bruno
watched the proceedings, wagging his tail, looking now at Paul and then
at the pigs, ready to help on the fun.
si'c ! si'c ! si'c ! " said Paul. Bruno was upon them with a bound.
Away they capered, with Bruno at their heels. As soon as they came into
the sunshine the spirits of turpentine in the paint was like fire to their flesh.
Faster they ran up the street squealing, with Bruno barking behind. Mr.
Chrome laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. All the dogs, great and
small, joined Bruno in chase of the strange game. People came out from
the stores, windows were thrown up, and all hands men, women, and chil-
dren ran to see what was the matter, laughing and shouting, while the- pigs
and dogs ran round the square.
"Paul Parker did that, I'll bet," said Mr. Leatherby, the shoemaker,
peeping out from his shop. " It is just like him,"
An old white horse, belonging to Mr. Smith, also sought the shade of the
maple before the Pensioner's house. Bruno barked at him by the hour, but
the old horse would not move for anything short of a club or stone.
" I '11 see if I can't get rid of him," said Paul to himself.
54 Winning his Way. [January,
He went into the barn, found a piece of rope, tied up a little bundle of
hay, got a stick five or six feet long, and some old harness-straps. In the
evening, when it was so dark that people could not see what he was up to,
he caught the old horse, laid the stick between his ears and strapped it to
his neck, and tied the hay to the end of the stick ; then it hung a few inches
beyond old Whitey's nose. The old horse took a step ahead to nibble the
hay, another, another, another ! " Don't ,you wish you may get it ? "
said Paul. Tramp, tramp, tramp. Old Whitey went down the road.
Paul heard him go across the bridge by the mill, and up the hill the other
side of the brook.
" Go it, old fellow ! " he shouted, then listened again. It was a calm night,
and he could just hear old Whitey's feet, tramp, tramp, tramp.
The next morning the good people of Fairview, ten miles from New Hope,
laughed to see an old white horse, with a bundle of hay a few inches beyond
his nose, passing through the place.
" Have you seen my horse ?" Mr. Smith asked Paul in the morning.
" Yes, sir, I saw him going down towards the bridge last evening," Paul
replied, chuckling to himself.
Mr. Smith went down to the mill and inquired. The miller heard a horse
go over the bridge. The farmer on the other side heard a horse go up the
hill. Mr. Smith looked at the tracks. They were old Whitey's, for he had a
brolcen shoe on his left hind foot. He followed on. " I never knew him to
go away before," he said to himself, as he walked hour after hour, seeing the
tracks all the way to Fairview.
" Have you seen a white horse about here ? " he asked of one of the vil-
lagers.
"Yes, sir; there was one here this morning trying to overtake a bundle
of hay," the man replied, laughing. " There he is now ! " he added.
Mr. Smith looked up and saw old Whitey, who had turned about, and was
reaching forward to get a nibble of the hay. Mr. Smith felt like being
angry, but the old horse was walking so soberly and earnestly that he
could n't help laughing.
" That is some of Paul's doings, I know. 1 11 give him a blessing when I
get back."
It was noon before Mr. Smith reached New Hope. Paul and Bruno were
sitting beneath the maple.
"Where did you find old Whitey?" Paul asked.
" You was the one who did it, you little rascal ? "
" Did what ? "
" You know what. You have made me walk clear to Fairview. I have a
mind to horsewhip you."
Paul laughed to think that the old horse had tramped so far, though he
was sorry that Mr. Smith had been obliged to walk that distance.
" I did n't mean any harm, Mr. Smith, but old Whitey has made our door-
yard his stamping-place all summer, and I thought I would see if I could
get rid of him."
1865.] Winning his Way. 55
" Well, sir, if you do it again I '11 trounce you," said Mr. Smith as he rode
away, his anger coming up.
" Would n't it be better for you to put him in a pasture, Mr. Smith ? Then
he wouldn't trouble us," said Paul, who knew that Mr. Smith had no right to
let old Whitey run at large. Paul was not easily frightened when he had
right on his side. The people in the stores and at the tavern had a hearty
laugh when they heard how old Whitey went to Fairview.
Mr. Cipher taught the village school. He was tall, slim, thin-faced, with
black eyes deeply set in his head, and a long, hooked nose like an eagle's
bill. He wore a loose swallow-tailed coat with bright brass buttons, and
pants which were several inches too short. The Committee employed him,
not because he was a superior teacher, but they could get him for twelve
dollars a month, while Mr. Rudiment, who had been through college, and
who was known to be an excellent instructor, asked sixteen.
There was a crowd of roistering boys and rosy-cheeked girls, who made
the old school-house hum like a beehive. Very pleasant to the passers-by
was the music of their voices. At recess and at noon they had leap-frog and
tag. Paul was in a class with Philip Funk, Hans Middlekauf, and Michael
Murphy. There were other boys and girls of all nationalities. Paul's ances-
tors were from Connecticut, Philip's father was a Virginian. Hans was born
in Germany, and Michael in Ireland. Philip's father kept a grocery, and
sold sugar, molasses, tobacco, and whiskey. He was rich, and Philip wore
good clothes and calf-skin boots. Paul could get his lessons very quick
whenever he set about them in earnest, but he spent half his time in invent-
ing fly-traps, making whirligigs, or drawing pictures on his slate. He could
draw admirably, for he had a quick eye and natural ability. Philip could get
his lessons also if he chose to apply himself, but it was a great deal easier
to get some one to work out the problems in arithmetic than to do them
himself.
" Here, Paul, just do this question for me ; that is a good fellow."
It was at recess.
" No ; Cipher has forbid it. Each one has got to do his own," said Paul.
"If you will do it, I will give you a handful of raisins," said Philip, who
usually had his pockets full of raisins, candy, or nuts.
" It would n't be right."
" Come, just do that one ; Cipher never will know it."
" No ! " Paml said it resolutely.
" You are a mean, sneaking fellow," said Philip with a sneer, turning up his
nose.
Philip was a year older than Paul. He had sandy hair, white eyelashes,
and a freckled face. He carried a watch, and always had money in his pocket.
Paul, on the other hand, hardly ever had a cent which he could call his own.
His clothes were worn till they were almost past mending.
" Rag-tag has got a hole in his trousers," said Philip to the other boys.
Paul's face flushed. He wanted to knock Philip's teeth down his throat.
He knew that his mother had hard work to clothe him, and felt the insult.
56 Winning his Way. [January,
He went into the school-house, choked his anger down, and tried to forget
all about it by drawing a picture of the master. It was an excellent likeness,
his spindle legs, great feet, short pants, loose coat, sunken eyes, hooked
nose, thin face, and long bony fingers.
Philip sat behind Paul. Instead of studying his lesson, he was planning
how to get Paul into trouble. He saw the picture. Now was his time. He
giggled aloud. Mr. Cipher looked up in astonishment.
" What are you laughing at, Master Funk ? " *
" At what Paul is doing."
Paul hustled his slate into his desk.
" Let me see what you have here," said Cipher, walking up to Paul, who
spat in his fingers, and ran his hand into the desk, to rub out the drawing ;
but he felt that it would be better to meet his punishment boldly than to
have the school think that he was a sneak. He laid the slate before the
master without a line -effaced.
" Giving your attention to drawing, are you, Master Paul ? " His eyes
flashed. He knit his brows. The blood rushed to his cheeks. There was
a popping up of heads all over the school-room to get a sight of the picture.
The boys laughed aloud, and there was a tittering among the girls, which
made Cipher very angry. " Silence ! " he roared, and stamped upon the
floor so savagely that the windows rattled. " Come out here, Sir. I '11 give
you a drawing-lesson of another sort." He seized Paul by the collar, and
threw him into the space in front of his own desk. " Hold out your hand."
Paul felt that he was about to receive a tremendous thrashing ; but he
determined that he would not flinch. He held out his right hand, and spat !
came the blow from a heavy ferule. His hand felt as if he had been struck
by a piece of hot iron. .
" The other, sir."
Whack! it fell, a blow which made the flesh purple. There was an
Oh ! upon his tongue ; but he set his teeth together, and bit his lips till they
bled, and so smothered it Another blow, another, another, which
were hard to bear ; but his teeth were set like a vice. There was a twitch-
ing of the muscles round his lips ; he was pale. When the blows fell, he
held his breath, but he did not snivel.
" I '11 see if I can't bring you to your feeling, you good-for-nothing scape-
grace," said the master, mad with passion, and surprised that Paul made no
outcry. He gave another round, bringing the ferule down with great force.
Blood began to ooze from the pores. The last blow spattered the drops
around the room. Cipher came to his senses. He stopped.
" Are you sorry, sir ? " .
" I don't know whether I am or not. I did n't mean any harm. I suppose
I ought not to have drawn it in school ; but I did n't do it to make fun. I
drew you just as you are," said Paul, his voice trembling a little in spite of
his efforts to control it.
The master could not deny that it was a perfect likeness. He was sur-
prised at Paul's cleverness at drawing, and for the first time in his life saw
1865.] Winning his Way. 57
that he cut a ridiculous figure wearing that long, loose, swallow-tailed coat,
with great, flaming brass buttons, and resolved upon the spot that his next
coat should be a frock, and that he would get a longer pair of pants.
" You may take your seat, sir I " he said, puzzled to know whether to
punish Paul still more, and compel him to* say that ho was sorry, or whether
to accept the explanations, and apologize for whipping him so severely.
Paul sat down. His hands ached terribly ; but what troubled him most
was the thought that he had been whipped before the whole school. All the
girls had witnessed his humiliation. There was one among them, Azalia
Adams, who stood at the head of Paul's class, the best reader and speller
in school. She had ruby lips, and cheeks like roses ; the golden sunlight
falling upon her chestnut hair crowned her with glory ; deep, thoughtful,
and earnest was the liquid light of her hazel eyes ; she was as lovely and
beautiful as the flower whose name she bore. Paul had drawn her picture
many times, sometimes bending over her task, sometimes as she sat, un-
mindful of the hum of voices around her, looking far away into a dim and
distant dream-land. He never wearied of tracing the features of one so fair
and good as she. Her laugh was as musical as a mountain-brook ; and in
the church on Sunday, when he heard her voice sweetly, softly, and melodi-
ously mingling with the choir, he thought of the angels, of her as in heaven
and he on earth.
" Run home, sonny, and tell your marm that you got a licking," said Philip
when school was out.
Paul's face became livid. He would have doubled his fist and given Philip
a blow in the face, but his palms were like puff-balls. There was an ugly
feeling inside, but just then a pair of bright hazel eyes, almost swimming
with tears, looked into his own. " Don't mind it, Paul," said Azalia.
The pain was not half so hard to bear after that. He wanted to say, " I
thank you," but did not know how. Till then his lips had hardly quivered,
and he had not shed a tear ; now his eyes became moist ; one great drop rolled
down his cheeks, but he wiped it off with his coat-sleeve, and turned away,
for fear that Azalia would think that he was a baby.
On his way home the thought uppermost in his mind was, " What will
mother say ? " Why tell her ? Would it not be better to keep the matter to
himself? But then he remembered that she had said, " Paul, I shall expect
you to tell me truthfully all that happens to you at school." He loved his
mother. She was one of the best mothers that ever lived, working for him
day and night. How could he abuse such confidence as she had given him ?
He would not violate it. He would not be a sneak.
His mother and the Pensioner were sitting before the fire as he entered
the house. She welcomed him with a smile, a beautiful smile it was, for
she was a noble woman, and Paul was her darling, her pride, the light, joy,
and comfort of her life.
" Well, Paul, how do you get on at school ? " his grandfather asked.
" I got a whipping to-day." It was spoken boldly and manfully.
" What ! My son got a whipping ! " his mother exclaimed.
58 Winning his Way. [January,
" Yes, mother."
" I am astonished. Come here, and tell me all about it."
Paul stood by her side and told the story, how Philip Funk tried to
bribe him, how he called him names, how, having got his lessons, he made
a picture of the master. " Here it is, mother." He took his slate from
his little green bag. The picture had not been effaced. His mother looked
at it and laughed, notwithstanding her efforts to keep sober, for it was such
a perfect likeness. She had an exquisite sense of the ludicrous, and Paul
was like her. She was surprised to find that he could draw so well. .
" We will talk about the matter after supper," she said. She had told Paul
many times, that, if he was justly punished at school, he must expect a second
punishment at home ; but she wanted to think awhile before deciding what
to do. She was pleased to know that her boy could not be bribed to do
what his conscience told him he ought not to do, and that he was manly and
truthful. She would rather follow him to the church-yard and lay him in his
grave beneath the bending elms, than to have him untruthful or wicked.
The evening passed away. Paul sat before the fire, looking steadily into
the coals. He was sober and thoughtful, wondering what his mother would
say at last. The clock struck nine. It was his bedtime. He went and
stood by her side once more. "You are not angry with me, mother, are
you ? "
" No, my son. I do not think that you deserved so severe a punishment.
I am rejoiced to know that you are truthful, and that you despise a mean
act. Be always as you have been to-night, and I never shall be angry with
you."
He threw his arms around her neck, and gave way to tears, such as Cipher
could not extort by his pounding. She gave him a good-night kiss, so
sweet that it seemed to lie upon his lips all through the night.
" God bless you, Paul," said the Pensioner.
Paul climbed the creaking stairs, and knelt with an overflowing heart to say
his evening prayer. He spoke the words earnestly when he asked God to
take care of his mother and grandfather. He was very happy. He looked
out through the crevices in the walls, and saw the stars and the moon flood-
ing the landscape with silver light. There was sweet music in the air, the
merry melody of the water murmuring by the mill, the cheerful chirping
of the crickets, and 'the lullaby of the winds, near at hand and far away, put-
ting him in mind of the choirs on earth and the choirs in heaven. " Don't
mind it, Paul ! " were the words they sung, so sweetly and tenderly that for
many days they rang in his ears.
Carleton.
1865.]
New -Year Carol.
59
NEW-YEAR CAROL.
DING, Dong, Bell !
Little children, down the turnpike goes the year,
Down through every dell,
All the bells of all the country in its ear :
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Through the meadows and the woods, o'er the plain,
Past where children dwell,
All the children, some in joy and some in pain :
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Is it from a belfry, or the beating heart
Of the year, this swell,
Solemn like the steps of friends who have to part ?
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Little Children's homes in heaven and on earth,
All have hearts to tell
How good actions overflow the year with mirth :
Ding, Dong, Bell !
60 Farming for Boys. [January,
Ding, Dong, Bell !
And it needeth not a steeple's voice to say,
What a dreary knell
Hearts are ringing as their goodness flies away:
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Ding, Dong, Bell !
Down the turnpike for you comes another year ;
Children, treat it well :
Naught but goodness brings to homes right jolly cheer :
Ding, Dong, Bell !
John Weiss.
FARMING FOR BOYS.
WHAT THEY HAVE DONE, AND WHAT OTHERS MAY DO IN THE CULTI-
VATION OF FARM AND GARDEN, HOW TO BEGIN, HOW TO PRO-
CEED, AND WHAT TO AIM AT.
No. I.
' I ^HERE is an old farm-house in the State of New Jersey, not a hundred
-*- miles from the city of Trenton, having the great railroad which runs be-
tween New York and Philadelphia so near to it that one can hear the whistle
of the locomotive as -it hurries onward every hour in the day, and see the
trains of cars as they whirl by with their loads of living freight. The laborers
in the fields along the road,^ though they see these things so frequently, inva-
riably pause in their work and watch the advancing train until it passes them,
and follow it with their eyes until it is nearly lost in the distance. The boy
leans upon his hoe, the mower rests upon his scythe, the ploughman halts his
horses in the furrow, all stop to gaze upon a spectacle that has long ceased
to be either a wonder or a novelty. Why it is so may be difficult to answer,
except that the snorting combination ot wheels, and cranks, and fire, and
smoke, thundering by the quiet fields, breaks in upon the monotonous labor
of the hand who works alone, with no one to converse with, for the fact is
equally curious,. that gangs of laborers make no pause on the appearance of a
locomotive. They have companionship enough already.
This old wooden farm-house was a very shabby affair. To look at it, one
would be sure that the owner had a particular aversion to both paint and
whitewash. The weather-boarding was fairly honeycombed by age and ex-
posure to the sun and rain, and in some places the end of a board had
dropped off, and hung down a foot or two, for want of a nail which everybody
1865.] Farming for Boys. 61
about the place appeared to be too lazy or neglectful to supply in time. One
or two of the window-shutters had lost a hinge, and they also hung askew,
nobody had thought it worth while to drive back the staple when it first be-
came loose.
Then there were several broken lights of glass in the kitchen windows.
As the men about the house neglected to have them mended, or to do it
themselves by using the small bit of putty that would have kept the cracked
ones from going to pieces, the women had been compelled to keep out the
wind and rain by stuffing in the first thing that came to hand. There was a
bit of red flannel in one, an old straw bonnet in another, while in a third, from
which all the glass was gone, a tolerably good fur hat, certainly worth the cost
of half a dozen lights, had been crammed in to fill up the vacancy. The
whole appearance of the windows was deplorable. Some of them had lost the
little wooden buttons which kept up the sash when hoisted, and which any-
body could have replaced by whittling out new ones with his knife ; but as no
one did it, and as the women must sometimes have the sashes raised, they
propped them up with pretty big sticks from the wood-pile. It was not a nice
sight, that of a rough stick as thick as one's arm to hold up the sash, espe-
cially when, of a sultry day, three or four of them were always within view.
Then the wooden step at the kitchen door, instead of being nailed fast to
the house, was not only loose, but it rested on the ground so unevenly as to
tilt over whenever any one stepped carelessly on its edge. As the house con-
tained a large family, all of whom generally lived in the kitchen, there was a
great deal of running in and out over this loose step. When it first broke
away from the building, it gave quite a number of severe tumbles to the
women and children. Everybody complained of it, but nobody mended it,
though a single stout nail would have held it fast. One dark night a pig
broke loose, and, snuffing and smelling around the premises in search of
forage, came upon the loose step, and, imagining that he scented a supper in
its neighborhood, used his snout so vigorously as to push it clear away from
the door. One of the girls, hearing the noise, stepped out into the yard to see
what was going on ; but the step being gone, and she not observing it, down
she went on her face, striking her nose on the edge of a bucket which some
one had left^xactly in the wrong place, and breaking the bone so badly that
she will carry a very homely face as long as she lives. It was a very painful
hurt to the poor girl, and the family all grieved over her misfortune ; but not
one of the men undertook to mend the step. Finally, the mother managed to
drive down two sticks in front of it, which held it up to the house, though not
half so firmly as would have been done by a couple of good stout nails.
Things were very much in the same condition all over the premises. The
fence round the garden, and in fact all about the house, was dropping to pieces
simply for want of a nail here and there. The barn-yard enclosure was strong
enough to keep the cattle in, but it was a curious exhibition of hasty patch-
work, that would hurt the eye of any mechanic to look at. As to the gates,
every one of them rested at one end on the ground. It was hard work even
for a man to open and shut them, as they had to be lifted clear up before they
62 Farming for Boys. [January,
could be moved an inch. For a half-grown boy to open them was really
a very serious undertaking, especially in muddy weather. The posts had
sagged, or the upper staples had drawn out, but nobody attended to putting
them to rights, though it would not have been an hour's job to make them
all swing as freely as every good farm-gate ought to. The barn-yard was a
hard place for the boys on this farm.
No touch of whitewash had been spread over either house, or fence, or out-
building, for many years, though lime is known fo everybody as being one of
the surest preservers of wood-work, as well as the very cheapest, while it so
beautifully sets off a farm-house to see its surroundings covered once a year
with a fresh coat of white. The hen-house was of course equally neglected,
though whitewash is so well known to be an indispensable purifier of such
places, materially helping to keep away those kinds of vermin that prevent
poultry from thriving. In fact, the absence of lime was so general, that the
hens could hardly pick up enough to make egg-shells. Had they laid eggs
without shells, the circumstance would have mortified the hens as much as it
would have surprised the family. As it was, their only dependence was on
the pile of lime rubbish which was left every spring after whitewashing the
kitchen. The women who presided there did manage to fix up things once
a year. They thought lime was good to drive away ants and roaches, and so
they and the hens were the only parties on the premises who used it.
There were many other things about this farm-house that were quite as
much neglected, more than it is worth while at present to mention, unless
it be the wood-pile. Though there were two men on the farm, and several
well-grown boys, yet the women could rarely prevail on any of them to split
a single stick of wood. The wood for the house caused great trouble, it
was difficult to get it at all. Then when it did come, it was crooked and
knotty, much of it such as a woman could not split. Yet whenever a stick
or two was wanted, tbe females of the family must run out into the shed to
chop and split it. They never could get an armful ahead, such was the
strange neglect of one of the most indispensable comforts of housekeeping.
If the female head of the family had only thought of letting the male portion
go a few times without their dinners, it is more than likely they would have
brought them to terms, and taught them that it was quite as much their duty
to split the wood as it was hers to cook their dinners. But she was a good,
easy creature, like most of the others. They had all been brought up in the
same neglectful way, just rubbing along from day to day, never getting ahead,
but everything getting ahead of them.
This farmer's name was Philip Spangler, and he was unlucky enough to
have a hundred acres in his farm. The word unlucky is really a very proper
one ; because it was unlucky for such a man as Philip that he should have
so much more land than he knew how to manage, and it was equally un-
lucky for the land that it should have so poor a manager. The man was
perfectly sober, and in his own way was a very industrious one. He worked
hard himself, and made every one about him do the same. He was what is
known as a " slaving farmer," up by daylight, having all hands up and out
1865.] Farming for Boys. 63
of doors quite as early as himself, and he and they stuck to it as long as they
could see to work. With him and them it was all work and no play. He
had no recreations ; he took no newspaper, had no reading in the house
except the children's school-books, the Bible, and an almanac, which he
bought once a year, not because he wanted it, but because his wife would
have it.
What was very singular in Mr. Spangler's mode of managing things, when
a wet day came on, too rainy for out-of-door work, he seemed to have no in-
door employments provided, either for himself or hands to do, having appar-
ently no sort of forethought. On such occasions he let everything slide,
that is, take care of itself, and went, in spite of the rain, to a tavern near
by on the railroad, where he sat all day among a crowd of neighboring idlers
who collected there at such times ; for although it might be wet enough to
stop all work in the fields, it was never too wet to keep them away from the
tavern. There these fellows sat, drinking juleps, smoking pipes, or cigars
that smelt even worse, and retailing among each other the news of their
several neighborhoods.
What Spangler thus picked up at the tavern was about all the news he
ever heard. As to talking of farming, of their crops, or what was the best
thing to raise, or how best to carry on this or that branch of their business,
such matters were rarely spoken of. They came there to shake off the
farm. Politics was a standing topic, who was likely to be nominated on
their ticket, whether he would be elected, and whether it was true that
so-and-so was going to be sold out by the sheriff. It was much to Spangler's
credit, that, if at this rainy-day rendezvous he learned nothing useful, he
contracted no other bad habit than that of lounging away a day when he
should have been at home attending to his business. It was much after
the same fashion that he spent his long winter's evenings, dozing in the
chimney-corner, for the tavern was too far away, or he would have spent
them there.
Now it somehow happens that there are quite as many rainy days in the
country as in the city. But those who live in the latter never think of quit-
ting work because it snows deep or rains hard. The merchant never closes
his counting-house or store, nor does the mechanic cease to labor from such-
a cause ; they have still something on hand, whether it rain or shine. Even
the newsboys run about the streets as actively, and a hundred other kinds
of workers keep on without interruption.
If the laboring men of a large city were to quit work because of a hard
rain, there would be a loss of many thousand dollars for every such day that
happened. So also with a farmer. There is plenty of rainy-day work on a
farm, if the owner only knew it, or thought of it beforehand, and set his
men or boys to do it, in the barn, or cellar, or wood-shed. If he had a
bench and tools, a sort of workshop, a rainy day would be a capital time for
him to teach his boys how to drive a nail, or saw a board, or push a plane,
to make a new box or mend an old one, to put a new handle in an axe or
hoe, or to do twenty such little things as are always wanted on a farm. Be-
64 Farming for Boys. [January,
sides saving the time and money lost by frequent running to the blacksmith
or wheelwright, to have such trifles attended to, things would be kept always
ready when next wanted, and his boys would become good mechanics.
There is so much of this kind of light repairing to be done on a farm, that,
having a set of tools, and knowing how to use them, are almost as indispen-
sable as having ploughs and harrows, and the boys cannot be too early in-
structed in their use. Many boys are natural mechanics, and even without
instruction could accomplish great things if they only had a bench and
tools. The making of the commonest bird-box will give an ambitious boy
a very useful lesson.
It seemed that Mr. Spangler was learning nothing while he lived. His
main idea appeared to be, that farming was an affair of muscle only, that
it was hands, not heads, that farmers ought to have ; and that whoever
worked hardest and longest, wasted no time in reading, spent no money
for fine cattle or better breeds of pigs, or for new seeds, new tools or
machines, and stuck to the good old way, was the best farmer. He never
devoted a day now and then to visiting the agricultural exhibitions which
were held in all the counties round him, where he would be sure to see
samples of the very best things that good farmers were producing, fine
cattle, fine pigs, fine poultry, and a hundred other products which sensible
men are glad to exhibit at such fairs, knowing that it is the smart men who
go to such places to learn what is going on, as well as to make purchases,
and that it is the agricultural drones who stay at home. The fact was, he
had been badly educated, and he could not shake off the habits of his early
life. He had been taught that hard work was the chief end of man.
Of course such a farmer had a poor time of it, as well as the hands he
employed. He happened to be pretty well out of debt, there being only a
small mortgage on his farm ; but he was so poor a manager that his hard
work went for little, in reality just enough to enable his family to live, with
sometimes very close shaving to pay interest. As to getting rich, it was out
of the question. He had a son whose name was Joe, a smart, ambitious
boy of sixteen years old; another son, Bill, two years younger; and an
orphan named Tony King, exactly a year younger than Joe ; together with
a hired man for helper about the farm.
Mr. Spangler had found Tony in the adjoining county. On the death of
his parents, they being miserably poor, and having no relations to take care
of him, he had had a hard time among strangers. They kept him until old
enough to be bound out to a trade. Mr. Spangler thinking he needed
another hand, and being at the same time in such low repute as a farmer
and manager that those who knew him were not willing to let their sons
live with him as apprentices, he was obliged to go quite out of the neighbor-
hood, where he was not so well known, in order to secure one. In one of
his trips he brought up at the house where Tony was staying, and, liking his
looks, for he was even a brighter boy than Joe Spangler, he had him
bound to him as an apprentice to the art and mystery of farming.
In engaging himself to teach this art and mystery to Tony, he undertook
1865.] Farming for Boys. 65
to impart a great deal more knowledge than he himself possessed, a thing,
by the way, which is very common with a good many other people. Alto-
gether it was a hard bargain for poor Tony ; but when parents are so idle
and thriftless as to expose their children to such a fate as his, they leave them
a legacy of nothing better than the very hardest kind of bargains.
In addition to this help, about a year after Tony took up his quarters with
Mr. Spangler, there came along an old man of seventy, a sort of distant
relation of the Spanglers, who thenceforward made the farm his home. Mr.
Spangler and his wife called him " Benny," but all the younger members of
the family, out of respect for his age, called him " Uncle," so that in a very
short time he went by no other name than that of " Uncle Benny," and this
not only on the farm, but all over the neighborhood.
Uncle Benny turned out to be the pleasantest old man the boys and girls
had ever been acquainted with. It was no wonder they liked him, for he
was very fond of children, and like generally begets like. He was a very
different sort of character from any about the farm. He had been well edu-
cated, and being in his younger days of a roving, sight-hunting disposition,
he had travelled all over the world, had seen a multitude of strange men and
strange things, and had such a way of telling what he had thus picked up
as never to fail of interesting those who heard him. Sometimes of a long
winter evening, when he was giving accounts of foreign countries, or how
people lived in our great cities, or how they carried on farming in other parts
of our country, he talked so pleasantly that no one thought of being sleepy.
On such evenings, before he came to live on the farm, Mr. Spangler would
often fall asleep on his chair in the chimney corner, and once or twice actu-
ally tipped over quite into the ashes ; but now, when Uncle Benny got fairly
under way, there was no more going to sleep. Mr. Spangler pricked up his
ears, and listened better than if any one had been reading from a book.
Then Uncle Benny had a way of always putting in some good advice to
both men and boys, and even to the girls. He had read and travelled so
much, that he had something appropriate for every event that turned up.
Indeed, every one was surprised at his knowing so much. Besides this, he
was very lively and cheerful, and as fond of fun as could be, and seemed
able to make any one laugh whenever he chose to indulge in a joke.
In addition to all this, he was uncommonly handy with tools. Though an
old man, and not strong enough to do a full day's work at mowing or hay-
making, because of stiff joints, yet he could potter about the house and
barns, with a hatchet, and saw, and a nail-box, and mend up a hundred
broken places that had been neglected for years before he came to live there.
If he saw anything out of order, a gate with no latch, a picket loose in the
garden fence, or any other trifling defect about the premises, he went to
work and made all right again. He even mended the broken lights in the
kitchen windows, and got rid of all the old hats and bonnets that had been
stuffed into them. He put on new buttons to keep up the sashes, and so
banished the big sticks from the wood-pile that had been used to prop them
up. He said they were too ugly even to look at.
VOL. i. NO. i. 5
66 Farming for Boys. [January,
It was Uncle Benny who nailed up the loose door-step which the pig had
rooted away from its place, causing Lucy Spangler to fall on the edge of a
bucket and break her nose. Lucy came out to thank him for doing the thing
so nicely ; for ever since the accident to her nose, she had been very skittish
about putting her foot on the step.
"Ah, Lucy," said Uncle Benny, "I wish I could mend your nose as
easily."
" Indeed I wish so too," replied Lucy.
Inside of the house were numerous things that wanted looking after in the
same way. There was not a bolt or a latch that would work as it ought to.
All the closet locks were out of order, while one half the doors refused to
shut. In fact there were twenty little provocations of this kind that were
perpetual annoyances to the women. Uncle Benny went to work and re-
moved them all ; there was no odd job that he was not able to go through
with. Indeed, it was the luckiest day in the history of that farm when he
came to live upon it, for it did seem that, if the farm were ever to be got to
rights, he was the very man to do it. Now, it was very curious, but no one
told Uncle Benny to do these things. But as soon as he had anchored him-
self at Mr. Spangler's he saw how much the old concern was out of gear,
and, providing himself with tools, he undertook, as one of his greatest pleas-
ures, to repair these long-standing damages, not because he expected to be
jaid for it, but from his own natural anxiety to have things look as they
ought.
The boys watched the old man's operations with great interest, for both
Joe and Tony were ambitious of knowing how to handle tools. One day he
took hold of the coffee-mill, which some clumsy fellow had only half nailed up
in the kitchen, so that, whenever the coffee was ground, whoever turned the
crank was sure to bruise his knuckles against the wall. Mrs. Spangler and
her daughters of course did all the grinding, and complained bitterly of the
way the mill was fixed. Besides, it had become shockingly dull, so that it
only cracked the grains, and thus gave them a miserably weak decoction for
breakfast. Now, Uncle Benny had been used to strong coffee, and could n't
stand what Mrs. Spangler gave him. So he unshipped the mill, took it to
pieces, with a small file sharpened up the grinders, which by long use had
become dull, oiled its joints, and screwed it up in a new place, where it was
impossible for the knuckles to be bruised. It then worked so beautifully,
that, instead of every one hating to put his hand on the crank, the difficulty
was to keep the children away from it, they would grind on it an hour at
a time. Such a renovation of damaged goods had never before been seen
on Spangler's premises.
Author of " Ten Acres Enough."
(To be continued^)
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 67
AFLOAT IN THE FOREST:
OR, A VOYAGE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.
CHAPTER I.
THE BROTHERS AT HOME.
r T"*WENTY years ago, not twenty miles from the Land's End, there lived
J- a Cornish gentleman named Trevannion. Just twenty years ago he
died, leaving to lament him a brace of noble boys, whose mother all three
had mourned, with like profound sorrow, but a short while before.
" Squire " Trevannion, as he was called, died in his own house, where his
ancestors for hundreds of years before him had dispensed hospitality. None
of them, however, had entertained so profusely as he ; or rather improvi-
dently, it might be said, since in less than three months after his death the
old family mansion, with the broad acres appertaining to it, passed into the
hands of an alien, leaving his two sons, Ralph and Richard, landless, house-
less, and almost powerless. One thousand pounds apiece was all that
remained to them out of the wreck of the patrimonial estates. It was whis-
pered that even this much was not in reality theirs, but had been given to
them by the very respectable solicitor who had managed their father's affairs,
and had furthermore managed to succeed him in the ownership of a property
worth a rental of three thousand a year!
Any one knowing the conditions under which the young Trevann^ons
received their two thousand pounds must have believed it to be a gift, since
it was handed over to them by the family solicitor with the private under-
standing that they were to use it in pushing their fortunes elsewhere, any-
where except in Cornwall \
The land-pirate who had plucked them for in reality had they been
plucked did not wish them to stay at home, divested, as they were, of their
valuable plumage. He had appropriated their fine feathers, and cared not
for the naked bodies of the birds.
There were those in Cornwall who suspected foul play in the lawyer's deal-
ings with the young Trevannions, among others, the victims themselves.
But what could they do ? They were utterly ignorant of their late father's
affairs, indeed, with any affairs that did not partake of the nature of
"sports." A solicitor "most respectable," a phrase that has become
almost synonymous with rascality, a regular church-goer, accounts kept
with scrupulous exactness, a man of honest face, distinguished for probity
of speech and integrity of heart, what could the Trevannions do ? What
more than the Smiths and the Browns and the Joneses, who, notwithstanding
their presumed greater skill in the ways of a wicked lawyer world, are duped
every day in a similar manner. It is an old and oft-repeated story, a tale
too often told, and too often true, that of the family lawyer and his confid-
ing client, standing in the relationship of robber and robbed.
68 Afloat in the Forest. [January,
The two children of Squire Trevannion could do nothing to save or
recover their paternal estate. Caught in the net of legal chicanery, they
were forced to yield, as other squire's children have had to do, and make
the best of a bad matter, forced to depart from a home that had been held
by Trevannions perhaps since the Phoenicians strayed thitherward in search
of their shining tin.
It sore grieved them to separate from the scenes of their youth ; but the
secret understanding with the solicitor required that sacrifice. By staying
at home a still greater might be called for, subsistence in penury, and,
worse than all, in a humiliating position ; for, notwithstanding the open
house long kept by their father, his friends had disappeared with his guests.
Impelled by these thoughts, the brothers resolved to go forth into the wide
world, and seek fortune wherever it seemed most likely they should find it.
They were at this period something more than mere children. Ralph had
reached within twelve months of being twenty. Richard was his junior
by a couple of years. Their book-education had been good ; the practice
of manly sports had imparted to both of them a physical strength that fitted
them for toil, either of the mind or body. They were equal to a tough
struggle, either in the intellectual or material world ; and to this they deter-
mined to resign themselves.
For a time they debated between themselves where they should go, and
what do. The army and navy came under their consideration. With such
patronage as their father's former friends could command, and might still
exert in favor of their fallen fortunes, a commission in either army or navy
was not above their ambition. But neither felt much inclined towards a
naval or military life ; the truth being, that a thought had taken shape in
their minds leading them to a different determination.
Their deliberations ended by each of them proclaiming a resolve, almost
sealing it with a vow, that they would enter into some more profitable,
though perhaps less pretentious, employment than that of either soldiering
or sailoring ; that they would toil with their hands, if need be until they
should accumulate a sufficient sum to return and recover the ancestral estate
from the grasp of the avaricious usurper. They did not know how it was to
be done ; but, young, strong, and hopeful, they believed it might be done,
with time, patience, and industry to aid them in the executio'n.
" Where shall we go ? " inquired Richard, the younger of the two. " To
America, where every poor man appears to prosper? With a thousand
each to begin .the world with, we might do well there. What say you,
Ralph?"
" America is a country where men seem to thrive best who have nothing
to begin the world with. You mean North America, the United States,
I suppose ? "
I do."
"I don't much like the United States as a home, not because it is a
republic, for I believe that is the only just form of government, whatever our
aristocratic friends may say. I object to it simply because I wish to go
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 69
south, to some part of the tropical world, where one may equally be in the
way of acquiring a fortune."
"Is there such a place ? "
"There is."
"Where, brother?"
" Peru. Anywhere along the Sierra of the Andes from Chili to the Isthmus
of Panama. As Cornish men we should adopt the specialty of our province,
and become miners. The Andes mountains will give us that opportunity,
where, instead of gray tin, we may delve for yellow gold. What say you to
South America ? "
" I like the thought of South America, nothing would please me better
than going there. But I must confess, brother, I have no inclination for the
occupation you speak of. I had rather be a merchant than a miner."
" Don't let that penchant prevent you from selecting Peru as the scene of
mercantile transactions. There are many Englishmen who have made for-
tunes in the Peruvian trade. You may hope to follow their example. We
may choose different occupations and still be near each other. One thousand
pounds each may give both of us a start, you as a merchant of goods, I as
a digger for gold. Peru is the place for either business. Decide, Dick !
Shall we sail for the scenes rendered celebrated by Pizarro ? "
"If you will it I 'm agreed."
" Thither then let us go."
In a*month from that time the two Trevannions might have been seen
upon a ship, steering westward from the Land's End, and six months later
both disembarked upon the beach of Callao, en route first for Lima, thence
up the mountains, to the sterile snow-crested mountains, that tower above
the treasures of Cerro Pasco, vainly guarded within the bosom of adaman-
tine rocks.
CHAPTER II.
THE BROTHERS ABROAD.
THIS book is not intended as a history of the brothers Ralph and Richard
Trevannion. If^jt were so, a gap of some fifteen years after the date of
their arrival at Cerro Pasco would have to be filled up. I decline to speak
of this interval of their lives, simply because the details might not have any
remarkable interest for those before whom they would be laid.
Suffice it to say, that Richard, the younger, soon became wearied of a
miner's life ; and, parting with his brother, he crossed the Cordilleras, and
descended into the great Amazonian forest, the "montana," as it is called
by the Spanish inhabitants of the Andes. Thence, in company with a party
of Portuguese traders, he kept on down the river Amazon, trading along its
banks, and upon some of its tributary streams ; and finally established him-
self as a merchant at its mouth, in the thriving " city " of Gran Para.
Richard was not unsocial in his habits ; and soon became the husband of
a fair-haired wife, the daughter of a countryman who, like himself, had
70 Afloat in the Forest. [January,
established commercial relations at Para. In a few years after, several sweet
children called him "father," only two of whom survived to prattle in his
ears this endearing appellation, alas ! no longer to be pronounced in the pres-
ence of their mother.
Fifteen years after leaving the Land's End, Richard Trevannion, still
under thirty-five years of age, was a widower, with two children, respected
wherever known, prosperous in pecuniary affairs, rich enough to return
home, and spend the remainder of his days in that state so much desired by
the Sybarite Roman poet, " otium cum dignitate."
Did he remember the vow mutually made between him and his brother,
that, having enough money, they would one day go back to Cornwall, and
recover the ancestral estate ? He did remember it. He longed to accom-
plish this design. He only awaited his brother's answer to a communication
he had made to him on this very subject.
He had no doubt that Ralph's desire would be in unison with his own,
that his brother would soon join him, and then both would return to their
native land, perhaps to dwell again under the same roof that had shel-
tered them as children.
The history of the elder brother during this period of fifteen years, if less
eventful, was not less distinguished by success. By steadily following the
pursuit which had first attracted him to Peru, he succeeded in becoming a
man of considerable means, independent, if not wealthy.
Like his brother, he got married at an early period, in fact, within the
first year after establishing himself in Cerro Pasco. Unlike the latter, how-
ever, he chose for his wife one of the women of the country, a beautiful
Peruvian lady. She too, but a short while before, had gone to a better
world, leaving motherless two pretty children, of twelve and fourteen years
of age, the elder of the two being a daughter.
Such was the family of Ralph Trevannion, and such the condition of life
in which his brother's epistle reached him, that epistle containing the pro-
posal that they should wind up their respective businesses, dispose of both,
and carry their gains to the land that had given them birth.
The proposition was at once accepted, as Richard knew it would be. It
was far from the first time that the thing had been discussed, epistolary
fashion, between them ; for letters were exchanged 'as often as opportunity
permitted, sometimes twice or thrice in the year.
In these letters, during the last few years of their sojourn in South Amer-
ica, the promise made on leaving home was mutually mentioned, and as often
renewed on either side. Richard knew that his brother was as eager as
himself to keep that well-remembered vow.
So long as the mother of Ralph's children was alive, he had not urged his
brother to its fulfilment ; but now that she had been dead for more than a
year, he had written to say that the time had come for their return to their
country and their home.
His proposal was, that Ralph, having settled his affairs in Peru, which,
of course, included the selling out of his share in the mines, should join
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 71
him, Richard, at Para, thence to take ship for England. That instead of
going round by Cape Horn, or across the isthmus, by Panama, Ralph
should make the descent of the great Amazon River, which traverse would
carry him latitudinally across the continent from west to east.
Richard had two reasons for recommending this route. First, because he
wished his brother to see the great river of Orellana, as he himself had
done ; and secondly, because he was still more desirous that his own son
should see it
How this last wish was to be gratified by his brother making the descent
of the Amazon, may require explanation ; but it will suffice to say that the
son of Richard Trevannion was at that time residing with his uncle at the
mines of Cerro Pasco.
The boy had gone to Peru the year before, in ojie of his father's ships,
first, to see the Great Ocean, then the Great Andes, afterwards to become
acquainted with the country of the Incas, and last, though not of least im-
portance, to make the acquaintance of his own uncle and his two interesting
cousins, the elder of whom was exactly his own age. He had gone to the
Pacific side by sea. It was his father's wish he should return to the Atlantic
side by land, or, to speak more accurately, by river.
The merchant's wish was to be gratified. The miner had no desire to
refuse compliance with his proposal. On the contrary, it chimed in with his
own inclinations. Ralph Trevannion possessed a spirit adventurous as his
brother's, which fourteen years of mining industry, carried on in the cold
mountains of Cerro Pasco, had neither deadened nor chilled. The thought
of once more returning to the scenes of his youth quite rejuvenated him ;
and on the day of receiving his brother's challenge to go, he not only
accepted it, but commenced proceedings towards carrying the design into
* execution.
A month afterwards and he might have been seen descending the eastern
slope of the Cordilleras on mule-back, and accompanied by his family and
followers ; afterwards aboard a balsa, one of those curious crafts used in
the descent of the Huallaga ; and later still on the montaria, upon the bosom
of the great river itself.
With the details of his mountain travels, interesting as they may be, we
have naught to do. No more with his descent of the Huallaga, nor his
long voyage on the Amazon* itself, in that up-river portion of the stream
where it is called the " Maranon." Only where it becomes the stupendous
" Solimoes " do we join Ralph Trevannion on his journey, and remain with
him as long as he is " AFLOAT IN THE FOREST," or making a voyage among
the tree-tops.
Afloat in the Forest.
[January,
CHAPTER III.
THE GALATEA.
ON an evening in the early part of December, a craft of singular construc-
tion might have been seen descending the Solimoes, and apparently making
for the little Portuguese port of Coary, that lies on the southern side of the
river.
When we say of singular construction, we mean singular to one unaccus-
tomed to the navigation of Amazonian waters. There the craft in question
was too common to excite curiosity, since it
was nothing more than a galatea, or large
canoe, furnished with mast and sail, with a
palm-thatched cabin, or tolda, rising over
the quarter, a low-decked locker running
from bow to midships, along each side
of which were to be seen, half seated, half
standing, some half-dozen dark-skinned men,
each plying, instead of an oar, a paddle-
blade.
Perhaps the most singular sight on board this embarkation was the group
of animated beings who composed its crew and passengers. The former, as
already stated, were dark-skinned men, scantily clad, in fact, almost naked,
since a single pair of white cotton drawers constituted the complete costume
of each.
For passengers there were three men, and a like number of individuals of
younger age. Two of the men were white, apparently Europeans ; the other
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 73
was as black as soot could have made him, unquestionably an African
negro. Of the young people two were boys, not much differing in size, and
apparently not much in age, while the third was a half-grown girl, of dark
complexion, raven-colored hair, and beautiful features.
One of the white men appeared to be, and was, the proprietor of the mon-
taria, and the employer of its swarthy crew. He was Ralph Trevannion.
The young girl was his daughter, and bore her Peruvian mother's name,
Rosa, more often pronounced by its diminutive of endearment, Rosita. The
younger of the two boys also of dark complexion was his son Ralph,
while the older, of true Saxon physiognomy and hue, was the son of his
brother, also bearing his father's Christian name, Richard.
The second white man was unmistakably of European race, so much so
that any one possessing the slightest knowledge of the hibernian type, would
at once have pronounced him a " Son of the Sod." A pure pug nose, a
shock of curled hair of the clearest carrot color, an eternal twinkle in the
eye, a volume of fun lying open at each angle of the mouth, were all
characteristics by which "Tipperary Tom" for such was his sobriquet
might be remembered.
About the negro there was nothing special, more than that he was a pure
negro, with enormously thick lips, flattened nose, long protruding heels, teeth
white as hippopotamus ivory, and almost always set in a good-humored grin.
The darkey had been a sailor, or rather ship-steward, before landing in Peru.
Thither had he strayed, and settled at Cerro Pasco after several years spent
aboard ship. He was a native of Mozambique, on the eastern coast of
Africa, to which circumstance was he indebted for the only name ever given
him, Mozey.
Both he and the Irishman were the servants of the miner, or rather his
retainers, who served him in various ways, and had done so almost ever
since his establishing himself among the rocks of Cerro Pasco.
The other creatures of the animated kingdom that found lodgment upon
the craft, were of various shapes, sizes, and species. There were quadru-
peds, quadrumana, and birds, beasts of the field, monkeys of the forest,
and birds of the air, clustering upon the cabin top, squatted in the hold,
perched upon the gangway, the tolda, the yard, and the mast, forming an
epitomized menagerie, such as may be seen on every kind of craft that navi-
gates the mighty Amazon.
It is not our design to give any description of the galatea's crew. There
were nine of them, all Indians', four on each side acting as rowers, or
more properly " paddlers," the ninth being the pilot or steersman, standing
abaft the tolda.
Our reason for not describing them is that they were a changing crew,
only attached to the craft for a particular stage of the long river voyage, arid
had succeeded several other similar sets since the embarkation of our voy-
agers on the waters of the Upper Amazon. They had joined the galatea at
the port of Ega, and would take leave of her at Coary, where a fresh crew
of civilized Indians " tapuyos " would be required.
74 Afloat in the Forest. [January,
And they were required, but not obtained. On the galatea putting into
the port of Coary, it was found that nearly every man in the place was off
upon a hunting excursion, turtle and cowfish being the game that had
called them out. Not a canoe-man could be had for love or money.
The owner of the galatea endeavored to tempt the Ega crew to continue
another stage. It was contrary to their habit, and they refused to go. Per-
suasion and threats were tried in vain. Coaxing and scolding proved equally
unavailable ; all except one remained firm in their refusal, the exception
being an old Indian who did not belong to the Ega tribe, and who could not
resist the large bribe offered by Trevannion.
The voyagers must either suspend their journey till the Coary turtle-hunt-
ers should return, or proceed without paddlers. The hunters were not ex-
pected for a month. To stay a month at Coary was out of the question.
The galatea must go on manned by her own people, and the old Indian,
who was to act as pilot. Such was the determination of Ralph Trevannion.
But for that resolve, rash as it was, and ending unfortunately for him who
made it, we should have no story to tell.
CHAPTER IV.
DRIFTING WITH THE CURRENT.
THE craft that carried the ex-miner, his family and following, once more
floated on the broad bosom of the Solimoes. Not so swift as before, since,
instead of eight paddlers, it was now impelled by only half the number,
these, too, with less than half the experience of the crew who had preceded
them.
The owner himself acted as steersman, while the paddles were plied by
" Tipperary Tom," Mozey, the old Indian, who, being of the Mundurucii
tribe, passed by the name of " Monday," and Richard Trevannion.
The last, though by far the youngest, was perhaps the best paddler in the
party. Brought up in his native place of Gran Para, he had been accus-
tomed to spend half his time either in or upon the water ; and an oar or pad-
dle was to him no novelty.
Young Ralph, on the contrary, a true mountaineer, knew nothing of either,
and therefore counted for nothing among the crew of the galatea. To him
and the little Rosa was assigned the keeping of the pets, with such other
light duties as they were capable of performing.
For the first day the voyage was uninterrupted by any incident, at least
any that might be called unpleasant Their slow progress, it is true, was a
cause of dissatisfaction ; but so long as they were going at all, and going in
the right direction, this might be borne with equanimity. Three miles an
hour was about their average rate of speed ; for half of which they were in-
debted to the current of the river, and for the other half to the impulsion of
their paddles.
Considering that they had still a thousand miles to go before reaching
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 75
Gran Para", the prospect of a protracted voyage was very plainly outlined
before them.
Could they have calculated on making three miles an hour for every hour
of the twenty-four, things would not have been bad. This rate of speed
would have carried them to their destination in a dozen days, a mere baga-
telle. But they knew enough of river-navigation to disregard such data.
They knew the current of the Solimoes to be extremely slow ; they had
heard of the strange phenomenon, that, run which way the river might,
north, south, east, or west, and it does keep bending and curving in all
these directions, the wind is almost always met with blowing up stream /
For this reason they could put no dependence in their sail, and would have
to trust altogether to the paddles. These could not be always in the water.
Human strength could not stand a perpetual spell, even at paddles ; and less
so in the hands of a crew of men so little used to them.
Nor could they continue the voyage at night. By doing so, they would
be in danger of losing their course, their craft, and themselves !
You may smile at the idea. You will ask a little scornfully, perhaps
how a canoe, or any other craft, drifting down a deep river to its destination,
could possibly go astray. Does not the current point out the path, the
broad water-way not to be mistaken ?
So it might appear to one seated in a skiff, and floating down the tranquil
Thames, with its well-defined banks. But far different is the aspect of the
stupendous Solimoes to the voyager gliding through \isgapo.
I have made use of a word of strange sound, and still stranger sig-
nification. Perhaps it is new to your eye, as your ear. You will be-
come better acquainted with it before the end of our voyage ; for into the
" Gapo " it is my intention to take you, where ill-luck carried the galatea
and her crew.
On leaving Coary, it was not the design of her owner to attempt taking his
craft, so indifferently manned, all the way to Para. He knew there were
several civilized settlements between, as Barra at the mouth of the Rio
Negro, Obidos below it, Santarem, and others. At one or other of these
places he expected to obtain a supply of tapuyos, to replace the crew who
had so provokingly forsaken him.
The voyage to the nearest of them, however, would take several days, at
the rate of speed the galatea was now making ; and the thought of being
delayed on their route became each hour more irksome. The ex-miner,
who had not seen his beloved brother during half a score of years, was
impatient once more to embrace him. He had been, already, several
months travelling towards him by land and water; and just as he was
beginning to believe that the most difficult half of the journey had been
accomplished, he found himself delayed by an obstruction vexatious as
unexpected.
The first night after his departure from Coary, he consented that the gala-
tea should lie to, moored to some bushes that grew upon the banks of the
river.
76 Afloat in the Forest. [January,
On the second night, however, he acted with less prudence. His impa-
tience to make way prompted him to the resolution to keep on. The night
was clear, a full moon shining conspicuously above, which is not always
the case in the skies of the Solimoes.
There was to be no sail set, no use made of the paddles. The crew
were fatigued, and wanted rest and repose. The current alone was to favor
their progress ; and as it appeared to be running nearly two miles an hour, it
should advance them between twenty and thirty miles before the morning.
The Mundurucu made an attempt to dissuade his " patron " from the
course he designed pursuing ; but his advice was disregarded, perhaps
because ill-understood, and the galatea glided on.
Who could mistake that broad expanse of water upon which the moon
shone so clearly for aught else than the true channel of the Solimoes ?
Not Tipperary Tom, who, in the second watch of the night, the owner
himself having kept the first, acted as steersman of the galatea.
The others had gone to sleep. Trevannion and the three young people
under the tolda ; Mozey and the Mundurucu along the staging known as the
" hold." The birds and monkeys were at rest on their respective perches,
and in their respective cages, all was silent in the galatea, and around,
all save the rippling of the water, as it parted to the cleaving of her keel.
CHAPTER V.
THE GALATEA AGROUND.
LITTLE experienced as he was in the art of navigation, the steersman
was not inattentive to his duty. Previously to his taking the rudder, he
had been admonished about the importance of keeping the craft in the
channel of the stream, and to this had he been giving his attention.
It so chanced, however, that he had arrived at a place where there were
two channels, as if an island was interposed in the middle of the river,
causing it to branch at an acute angle. Which of these was the right one ?
Which should be taken ? These were the questions that occurred to Tip-
perary Tom.
At first he thought of awakening his master, and consulting him, but on
once more glancing at the two channels, he became half convinced that the
broader one must be the proper route to be followed.
" Bay Japers ! " muttered he to himself. " Shure I can't be mistaken.
The biggest av the two ought to be the mane sthrame. Anyway, I won't
wake the masther. I '11 lave it to the ship to choose for hersilf." Saying
this he relaxed his hold upon the steering oar, and permitted the galatea to
drift with the current.
Sure enough, the little craft inclined towards the branch that appeared the
broader one ; and in ten minutes' time had made such way that the other
opening was no longer visible from her decks. The steersman, confident of
being on the right course, gave himself no further uneasiness ; but, once
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 77
more renewing his hold upon the steering oar, guided the galatea in the
middle of the channel.
Notwithstanding all absence of suspicion as to having gone astray, he
could not help noticing that the banks on each side appeared to be singularly
irregular, as if here and there indented by deep bays, or reaches of water.
Some of these opened out vistas of shining surface, apparently illimitable,
while the dark patches that separated them looked more like clumps of trees
half submerged under water, than stretches of solid earth.
As the galatea continued her course, this puzzling phenomenon ceased to
be a conjecture ; Tipperary Tom saw that he was no longer steering, down a
river between two boundary banks, but on a broad expanse of water, stretch-
ing as far as eye could reach, with no other boundary than that afforded by
a flooded forest.
There was nothing in all this to excite alarm, at least in the mind of
Tipperary Tom. The Mundurucu, had he been awake, might have shown
some uneasiness at the situation. But the Indian was asleep, perhaps
dreaming of some Mura enemy, whose head he would have been happy
to embalm.
Tom simply supposed himself to be in some part of the Solimoes, flooded
beyond its banks, as he had seen it in more places than one. With this con-
fidence, he stuck faithfully to his steering oar, and allowed the galatea to
glide on. It was only when the reach of water upon which the craft was
drifting began to narrow, or rather after it had narrowed to a surprising
degree, that the steersman began to suspect himself of having taken the
wrong course.
His suspicions became stronger, at length terminating in a conviction that
such was the truth, when the galatea arrived at a part where less than a
cable's length lay between her beam-ends and the bushes that stood out of
the water on both sides of her. Too surely had he strayed from the " mane
sthrame." The craft that carried him could no longer be in the channel of
the mighty Solimoes !
The steersman was alarmed, and this very alarm hindered him from follow-
ing the only prudent course he could have taken under the circumstances.
He should have aroused his fellow-voyagers, and proclaimed the error into
which he had fallen. He did not do so. A sense of shame at having neg-
lected his duty, or rather at having performed it in an indifferent manner,
a species of regret not uncommon among his countrymen, hindered him
from disclosing the truth, and taking steps to avert any evil consequences
that might spring from it.
He knew nothing of the great river on which they were voyaging. There
might-\)e such a strait as that through which the galatea was gliding. The
channel might widen below ; and, after all, he might have steered in the
proper direction. With such conjectures, strengthened by such hopes, he
permitted the vessel to float on.
The channel did widen again ; and the galatea once more rode upon open
water. The steersman was restored to confidence and contentment. Only
yS Afloat in the Forest. [January.
for a short while did this state of mind continue. Again the clear water
became contracted, this time to a very strip, while on either side extended
reaches and estuaries, bordered by half-submerged bushes, some of them
opening apparently to the sky horizon, wider and freer from obstruction than
that upon which the galatea was holding her course.
The steersman no longer thought of continuing his course, which he was
now convinced must be the wrong one. Bearing with all his strength upon
the steering oar, he endeavored to direct the galatea back into the channel
through which he had come ; but partly from the drifting of the current, and
partly owing to the deceptive light of the moon, he could no longer recog-
nize the latter, and, dropping the rudder in despair, he permitted the vessel
to drift whichever way the current might carry her !
Before Tipperary Tom could summon courage to make known to his
companions the dilemma into which he had conducted them, the galatea had
drifted among the tree-tops of the flooded forest, where she was instantly
" brought to anchor."
The crashing of broken boughs roused her crew from their slumbers. The
ex-miner, followed by his children, rushed forth from the tolda. He was not
only alarmed, but perplexed, by the unaccountable occurrence. Mozey was
equally in a muddle. The only one who appeared to comprehend the situa-
tion was the old Indian, who showed sufficient uneasiness as to its conse-
quences by the terrified manner in which he called out : " The Gapo !
The Gapo!"
Mayne Reid.
(To be continued?)
CHARADES.
NO. I.
AN old man lay on a bed of death,
Slowly drawing each labored breath ;
His pulse was felt by a friendly hand,
While the doctor issued a stern command
To swallow my first without delay,
If he wished to live till another day.
At this the patient looked my second,
And slowly spoke: "When Death has
beckoned,
In vain the doctor's healing art ;
I now am called, and I depart ;
I 'm glad I Ve lasted till my third. "
The listeners scarcely caught the word
With which escaped the unfettered soul,
And finished then his long my whole.
H. C.
NO. 2.
When I 'm my/rj/, I lie in bed ;
My second wins me gold ;
My third I keep safe in my head ;
My fourth you may behold
In all its pride, when victory
Shall bid my whole light up the sky.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
NO. I.
IN a gale of wind, the top part of a
flagstaff in my neighbor's garden was
broken off, and struck the ground in my
garden at a distance of 15 feet from the
bottom of the pole, and in its fall broke
two vases, worth $63.25 apiece. My
neighbor, in paying for these vases, made
four payments. The second payment was
twice as much as the first ; the third
amounted to three times as much as the
first ; and the last amounted to five times
as much as the first
Supposing the broken piece of flagstaff
to measure 39 feet, what was the length
of the whole pole, and what did my neigh-
bor pay at each payment ?
NO. 2.
100 i 5 i 50.
This is what all young people ought to
be.
ENIGMA. No. i.
I am composed of 13 letters.
My 8, 10, is an abrupt dismissal.
My n, 5, 7, 8, is not short.
My 9> r > 3 I2 g es wel1 with a knife.
My 13, 12, 6, 7, 12, is an unpleasant ani-
mal
M 7 I 3> * 3> 3> 4> * s wn at you will be if
you can't discover me.
My 4, I, II, 12, is part of an egg.
My 9, 3, 5, 8, 13, a Frenchman would eat.
My 9, 2, 7, you like now.
My whole I hope you will always like.
8o
Round the Evening Lamp. [January.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. I.
H. M. T.
VON RAIL.
THERE was an old Dutchman, Von Rail,
Who had an ambition to sail,
So he put out to sea,
In a fit of high glee,
That hilarious old person, Von Rail.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS
An Illustrated Magazine
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
FEBRUARY, 1865.
No. II.
DAVID MATSON.
HO of my young friends have read the sor-
rowful story of " Enoch Arden," so sweetly
and simply told by the great English poet ?
It is the story of a man who went to sea,
leaving behind a sweet young wife and little
daughter. He was cast away on a desert
island, where he remained several years,
when he was discovered, and taken off by
a passing vessel. Coming back to his native town,
he found his wife married to an old playmate, a
good man, rich and honored, and with whom she
was living happily. The poor man, unwilling to
cause her pain and perplexity, resolved not to make
himself known to her, and lived and died alone.
The poem has reminded me of a very similar story
of my own New England neighborhood, which I
have often heard, and which I will try to tell, not in
poetry, like Alfred Tennyson's, but in my own poor
prose. I can assure my readers that in its main
particulars it is a true tale.
One bright summer morning, more than threescore years ago, David
Matson, with his young wife and his two healthy, barefooted boys, stood on
the bank of the river near their dwelling. They were waiting there for Pela-
tiah Curtis to come round the Point with his wherry, and take the husband
and father to the Port, a few miles below. The Lively Turtle was about to
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's
Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
VOL. I. NO. II. 6
82 David Matson. [February,
sail on a voyage to Spain, and David was to go in her as mate. They stood
there in the level morning sunshine talking cheerfully ; but had you been
near enough, you could have seen tears in Anna Matson's blue eyes, for she
loved her husband, and knew there was always danger on the sea. And
David's bluff, cheery voice trembled a little now and then, for the honest
sailor loved his snug home on the Merrimack, with the dear wife and her
pretty boys. But presently the wherry came alongside, and David was just
stepping into it, when he turned back to kiss his wife and children once more.
" In with you, man," said Pelatiah Curtis. " There 's no time for kissing
and such fooleries when the tide serves."
And so they parted. Anna and the boys went back to their home,
and David to the Port, whence he sailed off in the Lively Turtle. And
months passed, autumn followed the summer, and winter the autumn, and
then spring came, and anon it was summer on the river-side, and he did not
come back. And another year passed, and then the old sailors and fisher-
men shook their heads solemnly, and said that the Lively Turtle was a lost
ship, and would never come back to port. And poor Anna had her bom-
bazine gown dyed black, and her straw bonnet trimmed in mourning ribbons,
and thenceforth she was known only as the Widow Matson.
And how was it all this time with David himself ?
Now you must know that the Mohammedan people of Algiers and Tripoli,
and Mogadore and Sallee, on the Barbary coast, had for a long time been in
the habit of fitting out galleys and armed boats to seize upon the merchant-
vessels of Christian nations, and make slaves of their crews and passengers,
just as men calling themselves Christians in America were sending vessels to
Africa to catch black slaves for their plantations. The Lively Turtle fell into
the hands of one of these roving sea-robbers, and the crew were taken to
Algiers, and sold in- the market-place as slaves, poor David Matson among
the rest
^When a boy he had learned the trade of a ship-carpenter with his father
on the Merrimack ; and now he was set at work in the dock-yards. His
master, who was naturally a kind man, did not overwork him. He had daily
his three loaves of bread, and when his clothing was worn out, its place was
supplied by the coarse cloth of wool and camel's hair woven by the Berber
women. Three hours before sunset he was released from work, and Friday,
which is the Mohammedan Sabbath, was a day of entire rest. Once a year,
at the season called Ramadan, he was left at leisure for a whole week. So
time went on, days, weeks, months, and years. His dark hair became gray.
He still dreamed of his old home on the Merrimack, and of his good Anna
and the boys. He wondered whether they yet lived, what they thought of
him, and what they were doing. The hope of ever seeing them again grew
fainter and fainter, and at last nearly died out ; and he resigned himself to
his fate as a slave for life.
But one day a handsome middle-aged gentleman, in the dress of one of
his own countrymen, attended by a great officer of the Dey, entered the
ship-yard, and called up before him the American captives. The stranger
was none other than Joel Barlow, Commissioner of the United States to pro-
1865.] David Matson. . 83
cure the liberation of slaves belonging to that government. He took the
men by the hand as they came up, and told them they were free. As you
might expect, the poor fellows were very grateful ; some laughed, some wept
for joy, some shouted and sang, and threw up their caps, while others, with
David Matson among them, knelt down on the chips, and thanked God for
the great deliverance.
" This is a very affecting scene," said the Commissioner, wiping his eyes.
" I must keep the impression of it for my Columbiad " ; and drawing out
his tablet, he proceeded to write on the spot an apostrophe to Freedom,
which afterwards found a place in his great epic.
David Matson had saved a little money during his captivity, by odd jobs
and work on holidays. He got a passage to Malaga, where he bought a
nice shawl for his wife and a watch for each of his boys. He then went to
the quay, where an American ship was lying just ready to sail for Boston.
Almost the first man he saw on board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed
him down to the port seven years before. He found that his old neighbor
did not know him, so changed was he with his long beard and Moorish
dress, whereupon, without telling his name, he began to put questions about
his old home, and finally asked him if he knew a Mrs. Matson.
" I rather think I do," said Pelatiah ; " she 's my wife."
" Your wife ! " cried the other. " She is mine before God and man. I am
David Matson, and she is the mother of my children."
" And mine too ! " said Pelatiah. " I left her with a baby in her arms. If
you are David Matson, your right to her is outlawed ; at any rate she is mine,
and I am not the man to give her up."
" God is great ! " said poor David Matson, unconsciously repeating the
familiar words of Moslem submission. " His will be done. I loved her, but
I shall never see her again. Give these, with my blessing, to the good
woman and the boys," and he handed over, with a sigh, the little bundle con-
taining the gifts for his wife and children.
He shook hands with his rival. Pelatiah," he said, looking back as he
left the ship, "be kind to Anna and my boys."
" A 7> av > sir ! " responded the sailor in a careless tone. He watched the
poor man passing slowly up the narrow street until out of sight. " It 's a
hard case for old David," he said, helping himself to a fresh cud of tobacco,
"but I 'm glad I 've seen the last of him."
When Pelatiah Curtis reached home he told Anna the story of her hus-
band and laid his gifts in her lap. She did not shriek nor faint, for she was
a healthy woman with strong nerves ; but she stole away by herself and wept
bitterly. She lived many years after, but could never be persuaded to wear the
pretty shawl which the husband of her youth had sent as his farewell gift.
There is, however, a tradition that, in accordance with her dying wish, it was
wrapped about her poor old shoulders in the coffin, and buried with her.
The little old bull's-eye watch, which is still in the possession of one of
her grandchildren, is now all that remains to tell of David Matson, the
lost man.
John G. Whittier.
The Sandpiper.
[February,
THE SANDPIPER.
ACROSS the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.
Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky:
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.
I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong,
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.
1865.] The Portrait. 85
Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My drift-wood fire will burn so bright !
To what warm shelter canst thou fty?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I ?
C T.
THE PORTRAIT.
HPHEY were a family that had long outlived their grandeur, the Fother-
-*- ingtons. And though the last generation had been kept alive with tradi-
tions of it, the present one knew those traditions only as vague dreams that
might or might not be true, and which, either way, had nothing at all to do
with their absolute want of bread and butter, other than as having fostered
past pride they had hindered honest labor. Of all those great colonial pos-
sessions, nothing remained to them but the rambling old house and its well-
worn hereditaments ; and though various parts even of the old mansion
itself had been sold and moved away, still much- more room remained than
was needed by the mother and her five children, the mother, whose woful
condition had brought her to an utter contempt of the ancestral Fothering-
tons, the children, who yet preserved a certain happiness in the midst of their
poverty in remembering that at their great-grandfather's wedding a hundred
guests were entertained for a week in the house after princely fashion.
Not that the Fotheringtons of to-day did not present a decent appearance ;
gowns were turned, and ribbons were pressed, and laces were darned till
there was nothing left of them ; nobody knew exactly how poor they were,
which perhaps made it all the harder. The eldest daughters had been quite
comfortably educated before everything was gone ; the elder son had pushed
his own way through college with but small debt, and was now studying his
profession at home, finding much reason for unhappiness, and vexed out
of patience by little Sarah's troublesome tongue and fingers, and young
Tommy's musical fancy, which occasioned him opportunity of exercising
his lungs and his shrill little voice all day long and sometimes half the night
It was hard work for poor Frederick Fotherington to try and bury himself in
the dismal profundities of his law-books, and the quirks and catches of their
citations, when little Sarah had been planted at one end of the great, lumber-
ing cradle in which the first Fotherington might have been rocked, planted
there to be entertained by Tommy, who, inserting himself at the other end,
86 The Portrait. [February,
with a hand on either side, loudly rocked the great ark quite across the
room from one end to the other, piping meanwhile, like a boatswain's whistle,
an interminable ballad of the Fair Rosamond that his sister Margaret had
taught him, without ever dreaming of the evil use to which it would be put,
and piping the more noisily the more he guessed at Frederick's annoyance.
Of the two remaining children, Margaret taught school all day, being a visit-
ing governess in two families ; Helen stayed at home and did the house-
work and the sewing, for the mother had been an invalid ever since her
husband's death and the birth of little Sarah, something over two years ago.
This family had yet a trifle remaining of their mother's small dowry,
invested, as it had been by their father, in certain bridge-stock, which paid
dividends of exactly one per cent. This gave the two children molasses on
their bread ; the elders ate their bread without it. They had a cow, that fed
in the paddock, a cow lineally descended from a famous Puritan cow of
the Fotherington breed, and from her milk once a fortnight Helen contrived
to scrape together butter enough for her mother's morning slice of toast.
They completed the inventory of their wealth by mention of an old horse,
which every day Frederick harnessed into an antique chaise, in order that
he might take his mother for an airing.
Meantime, Helen, left with the two children alone in the house, would
scrub, and scour, and cook, and sew, and sing songs, and tell stories, sto-
ries of the good cheer of other days that once this barren house afforded,
half of which she believed, and many of which she made up. Thus gradually
left so much to herself and her fancies, while the others either detested their
origin or laughed at it, Miss Helen had persuaded herself into a conviction
that it was all a very fine thing, and was sure that they had by no means
come to the end of such a tether, and that some day or other something was
to turn up on it. There were the customary legends of every rich family for
her to choose from ; she might take that of the day when, after General
Fotherington's funeral, the guests, returning from the grave, found the old
gentleman there before them, storming up and down in a great pother oppo-
site the portrait of his wife, long dead and gone, trying to shake the panel on
which it was painted from its setting in the carved wood of the wall, so that
half the world believed that the worthy, having failed to find his departed
spouse in the spirit-land, had indignantly returned to loosen her ghost from
the painting in which some cunning artist had imprisoned it, and the other
half declared that certain deeds and records had been concealed between the
panel and the chimney-bricks, which the General wished to dislodge ; but, as
no one knew of any deed or record missing, the matter had slipped by. Or,
if Miss Helen's conjecture wearied on that, she might take the rumor con-
cerning a Revolutionary Fotherington, who, being a noted Tory, had seen
fit both to eat his cake and have it, and had accordingly buried a great pot of
golden Spanish pieces in the garden, and marked the spot with the young
slip of a St. Michael's pear-tree. There stood the old St. Michael's at this
day, a dead trunk, having long since ceased to bear either fruit or blossom
or leaf ; and many a time had Helen persuaded Margaret and Frederick to
1865.] The Portrait. 87
take hoe and shovel and go with her to dig round the roots of the old St
Michael's. Once, after the first digging, the ancient tree surprised them by
bursting into a cloud of blossoms, and bearing a crop of golden, juicy pears ;
but that was the last sign of life it ever gave, and all the gold they ever
found. There, too, had been the wide, dark-eaved garrets full of moth-
devoured relics of splendor ; who knew what might be lying hidden in those
vast hair-covered chests ? They were there no longer now ; for once, in an
access of angry irreverence, Margaret had had them all dragged down, and
had sold their contents to the rag-man, and had made by her speculation
cloaks for themselves and a shawl for Frederick, in the days when gentle-
men condescended to lend to their stiff costume the graceful dignity of a
dropping fold or two. But what treasures of parchment might not have
been quilted into any one of those old brocaded petticoats ? and who knew
the unrevealed wealth of that trunk of yellowed papers, that had brought only
the sum of ten dollars in the rag-man's scales ? More than once Helen had
started at the rap at the door, half expecting an announcement that such
and such a document had been found among that heap of trumpery, thought
to have been worthless as yellow autumn leaves, which would install them as
the possessors of such and such domain, raps which usually brought noth-
ing but a shoe-bill, or a demand for the price of the previous winter's coal.
All these idle day-dreams Helen wisely kept to herself and Tommy; for
there was not another member of the family whom they would not have
aggravated out of endurance.
It was one day drawing on towards twilight in the latter part of Novem-
ber, an afternoon of the mild, sweet weather that always comes at that
season, and always seems an accident. Frederick had driven his mother out
for her airing, and whether they had been beguiled by the soft air into going
too far, or had met with some accident or delay, they had not yet returned.
Margaret would have worried, had she herself yet come in from her classes ;
as for Helen, who would have looked with a sanguine eye at her own shroud,
she was sure no harm could happen while Frederick had the reins. So she
busied herself in giving things as cheerful an aspect as possible when every-
body should have reached home.
But, in the first place, there were no coals. Helen had caught a pain in
her side picking up the very last with her fingers. Nevertheless, she had
put a bright face upon it, and, after threatening to set fire to the house and
run away by the light of it, had decided that it would be better still to set fire
to it and remain and be warmed by it, while Margaret declared they would
never know what luck was again till they had made soap from the ashes.
All that, however, had put nothing into the coal-bin.
Yesterday, Helen had received five dollars for transferring a piece of
embroidery for a wealthy acquaintance. She had hesitated about accepting
it ; it would be the first Fotherington that ever took wages, Margaret's
pay was salary ; but conscience put down pride, and she gave thanks, and
shut her purse, and perhaps it broke the spell. In such a household one
would have thought there would of course be no question what to do with it.
88 The Portrait. [February,
On the contrary, it was a grave question. Should Tommy have a hat and
Sarah a hood ? should the mother have a shawl ? should it buy a quarter of a
ton of coal ? And there was the lyceum ! Now, in the town where they
lived, not to attend the lyceum was not to be in society ; last winter they
had managed to effect one season-ticket, and the girls had gone alternately,
in a neighbor's company ; this winter Frederick was at home, and two tickets
were desirable.
" Let us buy three tickets to the lyceum now," said Margaret.
" Same money would buy three turkeys," answered Helen, " and we 're
close on Thanksgiving and Christmas."
" Yes, Nelly," cried Tommy, who was thoroughly tired of bread and mo-
lasses, "buy the turkeys."
"Be quiet, child," said the mother; "you can't go to the lyceum, you
know; so don't be selfish."
"Well, which would be best," meditated Margaret, who had a way of
spending other people's money as well as her own, " turkeys or tickets ? "
" The turkeys will feast the whole family, the tickets only us three," said
Helen.
" And then our bonnets are so shabby," said Margaret.
" Buy the turkeys, mother," pleaded Tommy, piteously.
" Hush now, Tommy ! You 've no voice in the debate," declared Marga-
ret. " You 're not a member of the Lyceum Society."
" But I 'm a member of the Turkey Society," urged Tommy, as a finishing
argument.
The result of the conference was, that, as Frederick's shoes were fast
approaching the character of sandals with leathern thongs, they were sur-
reptitiously subtracted from his bedside at night, and their place filled by
a pair of stout boots, which would carry him well into the winter. That
was yesterday. Meanwhile, to-day, no coals ; no kindlings, if there had
been ; last year's bill due, and dunned for ; winter upon their heels ; the
night growing chilly. Helen wrapped a cloak round little Sarah, and gave
her her precious black rosary to play with, and bade Tommy take excellent
care of her, and for reward he need recite only half his usual spelling-lesson
when she came back. Then she ran up the hill behind the house, she
had reached that pass that she did not care whether the neighbors saw or
not, and fell to gathering sticks. Once the spot had been a wood-lot,
now long since dispeopled of its dryads ; a young sapling or two had sprung
up in place of the old growth, and boughs and twigs were blown there in the
storms. Helen came down with her arms full, and trailing a couple of great
branches behind her. These, at the back door, she broke up, reserving
larger pieces for the parlor blaze, and the small bits for a good kitchen fire ;
and, that done, decided to catch a couple of her choice chickens, and decapi-
tate them, although she shut her eyes and cut her own thumb in the course
of the procedure ; these chickens, which were her special property, had been
reserved by her for some occasion, and when would there be a better than
Frederick and her mother returning from so late and unconscionable a jaunt,
1865.] The Portrait. 89
and doubtless shivering with the cold ? This accomplished, and the savory
stew simmering over the stove, Helen washed her hands, that had nearly
lost their patrician shape and whiteness, took off her apron, and withdrew
to the parlor. There she found that Master Tommy had, some time since,
left little Sarah to her own devices, and she had forthwith broken the string,
and scattered the beads of the rosary in every direction upon the floor, while
he stood breathing upon a distant window-pane, and drawing pictures with
his finger-tip on the groundwork thus effected, humming the while one of
his favorite tunes to himself.
" Now, Tommy," said Helen, " I '11 hear your lesson."
" No, you won't," sang Tommy to his tune.
"Why not?"
" 'Cause I can't say it"
" Then we '11 learn it together. F-a-t-h, what does that spell ? "
" Don't know," said Tommy, his finger in his mouth.
" See now if you can't remember," urged Helen, giving him each letter
phonetically.
" Don't want to know," said Tommy.
Here, little Sarah, who had heard the lesson many times, informed him
what the desired syllable ought to be, and inferred the rest herself. Where-
upon Helen proceeded to the next word. But there Tommy proved obdu-
rate, not only did n't know, and did n't want to know, but refused to hear,
and presented such a fearful example to his younger sister, that his elder one
had no resource but to transfer the cloak from Sarah to Tommy, and to shut
him up in the dark closet. That done, she laid the sticks together in the
grate, that was never made for sticks, and blew up a nice blaze, that warmed
and lighted all the damp and dark old room ; and, taking little Sarah in her
arms, rocked and sung her away to sleep.
It was a dismal room, and had been long deserted, possibly owing to
its former dreariness, and possibly to the report of its haunted space and
shadow ; for over the chimney-piece was the panel with the pale, proud face
of old General Fotherington's dead wife painted on it, which every midnight
he was once believed to return and visit. But when other parts of the house
had fallen into hopeless disrepair, Helen had taken Tommy's little hatchet,
and had felled the lofty lilac-hedge that obscured all the southern windows
of the room, had cleaned the old paint, made good use of a bucket of white-
wash, reset the broken glass herself, and then moved chattels and personals
into the vacancy, and given it a more homelike appearance than it had worn
for half a century. If the truth were known, Helen's chief fancy for the
room, shaky and insecure as both floor and ceiling seemed, was that dim
panel-portrait blistering there above the fire or peeling off with mouldy
flakes in past days, for she had still many a longing for the old family-
pictures that once her shiftless father, when put to his trumps, had sold to
adorn the halls of some upstart with forefathers.
" Tommy," said she softly, when little Sarah slept, " can you tell me what
w-a-t-e-r spells ? "
9O The Portrait. [February,
" No," said the stolid Tommy.
" Is it dark in there, Tommy ? " asked she, half relenting, and yet half
wishing to excite his fears enough to conquer his obduracy.
" I don't know," answered Tommy, quite willing to converse, " I Ve got
my eyes shut."
" Very well," said Helen, and went on with her low lullaby, which Tommy
stoutly, but ineffectually, attempted to join. The wind was beginning to rise
and clatter at the casements, and sing its own tune round the gable-corner ;
the dark had quite fallen, and the room was gloomy and vivid by turns with
the fitful flashes of the firelight."
" Nelly," said Tommy, wheedlingly, and shaking the lock of the closet, " I
wish you 'd give me some. I 'm real sirsty."
" Some what ? " asked Helen, very willing to compromise.
" Some w-a-t-e-r. I 'm so sirsty."
" Pronounce it, Tommy, and you shall come out and have some."
" I don't know how to," was the atrocious answer.
" And some chicken-broth as well as some water, if you '11 only tell me what
those five letters spell."
But there was nothing but silence in reply from Tommy, and Helen re-
sumed her song.
" It 's real damp in here," said Tommy pretty soon, beginning to cough
furiously. " I 'm getting a stiff neck."
" You have one already," said Helen ; and, laying little Sarah down, she
went to put on her apron, to attend to her stew, to bring in the cloth and the
tray of dishes, and to spread the supper-table in the warm room, set out
rfear the fire, the worn white linen, the sparse silver, the rare and gay old
china, of which they used every day what would have decked out a modern
drawing-room, all clean and glittering as if viands were various and plentiful
as color and sparkle. ' That all done, again Cinderella sat down before the fire.
" 'Elen ! " said Tommy then in a muffled tone, having given the door
another premonitory shake, and as if his darkness induced metaphysics,
" how many yesterdays have there been and how many to-morrows are there
going to be ? "
" I '11 tell you, Tommy, when you tell me what those letters spell." And
again in response there was silence on the part of the closet, broken by occa-
sional kicks that shook the door, and even caused the old panel to stir in its
worm-eaten setting of oaken wainscot. As Helen looked up after the silence
that followed Tommy's demonstration, while the panel yet slightly stirred, it
seemed to her that a shiver ran over the lady painted there ; she remembered
the ghost-stories, it made a shiver run over her herself. She rose and went
to look out of the window and see if there were no sign of the chaise, it
was hardly time for Margaret yet. Then she returned, and her fascinated
eyes caught again the eyes of the old Colonial Governor's lady, that lady who
was her mother many generations removed. It was a pale face painted there,
as if the painter had seen it only by moonlight, dark eyes in which the
lustre lay with an effect of restless, searching radiance, and the delicate aqui-
1 86s.]
The Portrait.
line nose and thin and haughty lip spoke of a woman capable of acting a
secret in her day, and keeping it long after, Helen thought. Whenever she
. caught the eye of that portrait, and so curiously well was it painted, that
she never looked at it without catching the eye, the lady shadowed there
seemed to return a glance of defiance, and her lip wore a curve of triumph.
She kept one hand clasped over her crimson vest embroidered with its golden
tangles and purfles ; perhaps in the other her secret hung hidden out of sight.
Now, in the dancing firelight, the ruby that lay on the dame's forehead
seemed to flicker like a live jewel in Helen's eyes ; as the flame rose, her
breast heaved too, a color rested on the pale cheek ; as it fell, Helen fancied
that she sighed ; with all the quick lightning and darkening of the crackling
fire the glance of the eyes shifted to and fro, the shadows round the mouth
wavered ; now they lowered, and now they smiled, and now the parted lips
seemed just about to speak.
Helen started to her feet in a tremble : no wonder Tommy hated to stay
in the closet ; she sprung to let him out. And just then the old horse
stopped at the gate, with the sound of Frederick's voice. Helen forgot
Tommy, flung open the door to Frederick, and ran out to the gate as he ap-
peared coming in with his mother in his arms, and laid her on the sofa.
Helen only stayed to lead the old horse into the barn, and directly afterward
was blowing up the blaze in the parlor, and calling the delinquents to account.
92 The Portrait. [February,
They had driven into Orton Wood, Frederick said, and there the chaise
broke down ; and it being in an open space, he had kindled a great fire to keep
his mother warm, while he tied the springs up as he might, which it took a
weary while to do, and he had brought home a chaiseful of fagots that no-
body owned, and was cherishing visions of future predatory excursions in the
same direction. Immediately as he said it, wheeling his mother's sofa up to
the hearth and rubbing his hands before it, a little occurrence took place that
rendered his invaluable chaiseful of fagots of a moment ago the mere chips
of this one, for it had changed the earth under all their feet. Margaret was
just coming in at the door ; Master Tommy, hearing the incoming and voices
and confusion, and desiring to make a part of it, called out from his den,
" 'Elen ! let me out, let me out, I say. W-a-wa, t-e-r, water. You know the
Docker said I needed plenty of fresh air. 'Elen ! let me out, the Docker
said I was a pecoolar child and needed pecoolar treatment ! " And before
any one could reach him, the belligerent boy gave the old door such an as-
tonishing series of kicks and thrusts, that the lock broke from its mouldering
frame ; the worn floor shook and creaked ; a bit of the plastering dropped
from above ; the door and Tommy fell out together ; and the old portrait of
the pale proud lady started, and trembled, and pitched downward, caught and
split from end to end upon the handle of the great steel poker. And suddenly,
with a wild exclamation of inextinguishable certainty and exultation, Helen
held up her apron to catch what came rattling and ringing and racing and
jingling, as they tumbled down together into it, and danced a measure over
the floor with the naughty nuns of the broken rosary-beads that they surprised
in their mad escape from the bondage of a hundred years. The pale and
languid mother started up, resting eagerly on her elbow ; Margaret fell upon
the floor, catching up the guineas and doubloons as if she were crazy, and
kissing them in a transport ; Tommy began to discover what his pockets were
made for, straightway. Meanwhile Frederick sprung upon a chair and went
to pulling out the thready remnants of the decaying bags in which the gold
had been enclosed ; Helen still held her apron up, thanking fortune it was so
large ; and little Sarah, waking, began to creep down and toddle along to hold
her apron too, crowing and capering at the strange scene, the glitter, and the
joy. At last there were no more, there was only the memorandum on a bit
of parchment, telling the story of the sealing of the bags by the old Tory an-
cestor in troublous times, and their destined concealment behind his wife's
portrait.
" Here are more thousands of dollars than you have fingers and toes,
little Cinderella!" cried Frederick. "You can afford to wear glass slip-
pers for the rest of your life ! It is all your godmother's doings, and she was
a fine old English gentlewoman, who acted wisely and for the benefit of pos-
terity. Never say I disbelieved in my ancestors ! "
" O yes," said Helen, "all very fine now. For my part, I was sure of it
long ago ! "
"I sha'n't dare to close an eye to-night for fear of burglars ! " cried Marga-
ret. " That I sha'n't ! "
1865.] Farming for Boys. 93
"Now mother, mother dear," exclaimed Helen, coming and taking her
mother's thin hand and plunging it deep down among the sliding coins that
were tearing down her strong apron with their weight, " 'tis almost as much
as I can carry ! Tommy may go to school now, and you can have the Doc-
tor and get well, and what can't we, what sha'n't we have ! Margaret need n't
teach any more, we can have the house made over, we can keep a girl,
and gold at 240 ! O, I think I shall lose my wits ! " And down it would
all have gone upon the floor but for Frederick.
" Don't, Nelly," said he, "we shall want them, the guineas I mean, of
course not the wits. What use have they been to us all these years, except
to make gowns out of cobwebs and dinners out of dew ? Now let us count
our wealth, and then "
" No," said Nelly, " my stew will be good for nothing if we wait, and
mother is famished. We 're comfortable, we know ; if we 're rich, we can
find it out after supper. I wish I had n't killed my cropple-crowns. Now
Tommy, Tommy Fotherington, you never need spell water again as long as
you live, for it was that blessed word that put Tommy in the closet, that
kicked the door, that shook the house, that loosened the panel, that poured
out the guineas, that made the starving Fotheringtons a richer and happier
family than ever sat round the old Tory Governor's table ! "
Harriet E. Prescott.
FARMING FOR BOYS.
No. II.
(Continued from page 66.)
TONY King was particularly struck with the improvement in the coffee-
mill, for his knuckles had received a full share of the general skin-
ning; and when the job was done, turning to the old man, he said, "O,
Uncle Benny, won't you teach me to do such things before you do all the
odd jobs about the farm ? "
" Never fear that all the odd jobs about any farm, and especially such a
one as this, are going to be done in a hurry," he replied, laying his hand
gently on Tony's head. " If the owner of a farm, I don't care how small
it may be, would only take time to go over his premises, to examine his
fences, his gates, his barn-yard, his stables, his pig-pen, his fields, his ditches,
his wagons, his harness, his tools, indeed, whatever he owns, he would find
more odd jobs to be done than he has any idea of. Why, my boy, all farm-
ing is made up of odd jobs. When Mr. Spangler gets through with planting
potatoes, don't he say, * Well, that job 's done.' Did n't I hear you say yes-
94 Farming for Boys. [February,
terday, when you had hauled out the last load of manure from the barn-yard,
it was pretty wet and muddy at the bottom, you remember, * There 's a
dirty job done ! ' And so it is, Tony, with everything about a farm, it is
all jobbing ; and as long as one continues to farm, so long will there be jobs
to do. The great point is to finish each one up exactly at the time when it
ought to be done."
" But that was not what I meant, Uncle Benny," said Tony. " I meant
such jobs as you do with your tools."
" Well," replied the old man, " it is pretty much the same thing there. A
farmer going out to hunt up such jobs as you speak of will find directly, that,
if he has no tool-chest on hand, his first business will be to get one. Do you
see the split in that board ? Whoever drove that nail should have had a
gimlet to bore a hole ; but having none, he has spoiled the looks of his whole
job. So it is with everything when a farmer undertakes any work without
proper tools. Spoiling it is quite as bad as letting it alone.
"You see, Tony," he continued, "that a good job can't be done with bad
tools, that split shows it. No doubt the man who made it excused him-
self by saying that he was never intended for a mechanic. But that was a
poor excuse for being without a gimlet. Every man or boy has some mechan-
ical ability, and exercising that ability, with first-rate tools, will generally
make him a good workman. Now as to what odd jobs a farmer will find to
do. He steps out into the garden, and finds a post of his grape-arbor rotted
off, and the whole trellis out of shape. It should be propped up immediately.
If he have hot-beds, ten to one there are two or three panes out, and if they
are not put in at once, the next hard frost will destroy all his plants. There
is a fruit-tree covered with caterpillars' nests, another with cocoons, contain-
ing what will some day be butterflies, then eggs, then worms. The barn-yard
gate has a broken hinge, the barn-door has lost its latch, the wheelbarrow
wants a nail or two to keep the tire from dropping off, and there is the best
hoe with a broken handle. So it goes, let him look where he may.
" Now come out into the yard," continued the old man, " and let us see
what jobs there are yet to do."
He led the way to the wood-shed. There was an axe with only half a
handle ; Tony knew it well, for he had chopped many a stick with the
crippled tool. Uncle Benny pointed to it with the screw-driver that he still
carried in his hand, but said nothing, as he observed that Tony seemed con-
founded at being so immediately brought face to face with what he knew
should have been done six months before. Turning round, but not moving
a step, he again pointed with his screw-driver to the wooden gutter which
once caught the rain-water from the shed-roof and discharged it into a hogs-
head near by. The brackets from one end of the gutter had rotted off, and
it hung down on the pig-pen fence, discharging into the pen instead of
into the hogshead. The latter had lost its lower hoops ; they were rusting
on the ground, fairly grown over with grass. The old man pointed at each
in turn ; and, looking into Tony's face, found that he had crammed his hands
into his pockets, and was beginning to smile, but said nothing. Just turning
1865.] Farming for Boys. 95
about, he again pointed to where a board had fallen from the farther end of
the shed, leaving an opening into the pig-pen beyond. While both were
looking at the open place, three well-grown pigs, hearing somebody in the
shed, rose upon their hinder feet, and thrust their muddy faces into view,
thinking that something good was coming. The old man continued silent,
looked at the pigs, and then at Tony. Tony was evidently confused, and
worked his hands about in his pockets, but never looked into the old man's
face. It was almost too much for him.
" Come," said Uncle Benny, " let us try another place," and as they were
moving off, Tony stumbled over a new iron-bound maul, which lay on the
ground, the handle having been broken short off in its socket.
"How the jobs turn up ! " observed Uncle Benny. " How many have we
here?"
"I should say about five," replied Tony.
" Yes," added the old man, " and all within sight of each other."
As they approached the hog-pen, they encountered a strong smell, and
there was a prodigious running and tumbling among the animals. They
looked over the shabby fence that formed the pen.
" Any jobs here, Tony ? " inquired Uncle Benny.
Tony made no answer, but looked round to see if the old man kept his
screw-driver, half hoping that, if he found anything to point at, he would
have nothing to point with. But raising the tool, he poised it in the direc-
tion of the feeding-trough. Tony could not avert his eyes, but, directing
them toward the spot at which the old man pointed, he discovered a hole in
the bottom of the trough, through which nearly half of every feeding must
have leaked out into the ground underneath. He had never noticed it until
now.
" There 's another job for you, Tony," he said. " There 's not only neglect,
but waste. The more hogs a man keeps in this way, the more money he will
lose. Look at the condition of this pen, = all mud, not a dry spot for the
pigs to fly to. Even the sheds under which they are to sleep are three inches
deep in slush. Don't you see that broken gutter from the wood-shed delivers
the rain right into their sleeping-place, and you know what rains we have had
lately ? Ah, Tony," continued the old man, "pigs can't thrive that are kept
in this condition. They want a dry place ; they must have it, or they will
get sick, and a sick pig is about the poorest stock a farmer can have. Water
or mud is well enough for them to wallow in occasionally, but not mud all the
time."
" But I thought pigs did best when they had plenty of dirt about them, they
like it so," replied Tony.
" You are mistaken, Tony," rejoined Uncle Benny. " A pig is by nature a
cleanly animal ; it is only the way in which some people keep him that makes
him a filthy one. Give him the means to keep himself clean, and he will be
clean always, a dry shed with dry litter to sleep in, and a pen where he can
keep out of the mud when he wants to, and he will never be dirty, while what
he eats will stick to his ribs. These pigs can't grow in this condition. Then
96 Farming for Boys. [February,
look at the waste of manure ! Why, there are those thirty odd loads of corn-
stalks, and a great pile of sweet-potato vines, that Mr. Spangler has in the
field, all which he says he is going to burn out of his way, as soon as they
get dry enough. They should be brought here and put in this mud and
water, to absorb the liquid manure that is now soaking into the ground, or
evaporating before the sun. This liquor is the best part of the manure, its
heart and life ; for nothing can be called food for plants until it is brought
into a liquid condition. I never saw greater waste than this. Then there is
that deep bed of muck, not three hundred yards off, not a load of it ready
to come here. Besides, if the corn-stalks and potato-vines were tumbled in,
they would make the whole pen dry, keep the hogs clean, and enable them to
grow. But I suppose Mr. Spangler thinks it too much trouble to do these
little things.
" Now, Tony," he continued, " you can't do anything profitable or useful
in this world without some trouble ; and as you are to be a farmer, the sooner
you learn this lesson, the more easily you will get along. But who is to do
that job of putting a stopper over this hole in the trough, you or I ? "
" I '11 do it to-morrow, Uncle Benny," replied Tony.
" To-morrow ? To-morrow won't do for me. A job that needs doing as
badly as this, should be done at once ; it 's one thing less to think of, don't
you know that ? Besides, did n't you want to do some jobs ? " rejoined Uncle
Benny.
Tony had never been accustomed to this way of hurrying up things ; but
he felt himself fairly cornered. He did n't care much about the dirt in the
trough ; it was the unusual promptness of the demand that staggered him.
" Run to the house and ask Mrs. Spangler to give you an old tin cup or
kettle, anything to make a patch big enough to cover this hole," said Uncle
Benny ; " and bring that hammer and a dozen lath-nails you '11 find in my
tool-chest."
Tony did as he was directed, and brought back a quart mug with a small
hole in the bottom, which a single drop of solder would have made tight as
ever.
" I guess the swill is worth more to the hogs than even a new mug would
be, Tony," said Uncle Benny, holding up the mug to the sun, to see how
small a defect had condemned it. Then, knocking out the bottom, and
straightening it with his hammer on the post, he told Tony to step over the
fence into the trough. It was not a very nice place to get into, but over he
went, and, the nails and hammer being handed to him, he covered the hole
with the tin, put in the nails round the edge, hammered the edge flat, and in
ten minutes all was done.
" There, Tony, is a six months' leak stopped in ten minutes. Nothing like
the present time, will you remember that ? Never put off till to-morrow
what can be done to-day. Now run back with the hammer and these two
nails, and put this remnant of the tin cup in my chest ; you '11 want it for
something one of these days. Always save the pieces, Tony."
Tony was really surprised, not only how easily, but how quickly, the repair
1865.] Farming for Boys. 97
had been made. Moreover, he felt gratified at being the mechanic ; it was
the first time he had been allowed to handle any of Uncle Benny's nice
assortment of tools, and he liked the old man better than ever. But who is
there that does not himself feel inwardly gratified at conferring a new pleas-
ure on a child ? Such little contributions to juvenile happiness are neither
barren of fruit nor unproductive of grateful returns. They cost nothing, yet
they have rich rewards in the memory of the young. They make beautiful
and lasting impressions. The gentle heart that makes a child happy will
never be forgotten. No matter how small the gift may be, a kind word, a
little toy, even a flower, will sometimes touch a chord within the heart, whose
soft vibrations will continue so long as memory lasts.
This survey of Mr. Spangler's premises was continued by Uncle Benny
and Tony until the latter began to change his opinion about the former doing
up the odd jobs so thoroughly that none would be left for him. He saw there
was enough for both of them. The old man pointed out a great many that
he had never even noticed ; but when his attention was called to them, he
saw the necessity of having them done. Indeed, he had a notion that every-
thing about the place wanted fixing up. Besides, Uncle Benny took pains to
explain the reasons why such and such things were required, answering the
boy's numerous questions, and imparting to him a knowledge of farm wants
and farm processes, of which no one had ever spoken to him.
The fact was, Uncle Benny was one qf the few men we meet with, espe-
cially on a farm, who think the boys ought to have a chance. His opinion
was, that farmers seldom educate their children properly for the duties they
know they will some day be called on to perform, that is, they don't reason
with them, and explain to the boy's understanding the merit or necessity of an
operation. His idea was, that too many boys on a farm were merely allowed
to grow up. They were fed, clothed, sent to school, then put to work, but
not properly taught how and why the work should be done. Hence, when
they came to set up for themselves, they had a multitude of things to learn
which they ought to have learned from a father.
He used to say, that boys do only what they see the men do, that all they
learned was by imitation. They had no opportunity allowed them while at
home of testing their own resources and energies by some little independent
farming operation of their own. When at school, the teacher drills them
thoroughly ; when at home, they receive no such close training. The teacher
gives the boy a sum to do, and lets him work it out of his own resources.
But a farmer rarely gives a boy the use of a half-acre of land, on which he
may raise corn or cabbages or roots for himself, though knowing that the
boy could plant and cultivate it if he were allowed a chance, and that such a
privilege would be likely to develop his energies, and show of what stuff he
was made. The notion was too common that a boy was all work, and had
no ambition, whatever work was in him must be got out of him, just as if
he had been a horse or an ox. It was known that at some time he must take
care of himself, yet he was not properly taught how to do so. The stimulant
of letting him have a small piece of ground for his own profit was too rarely
VOL. i. NO. ii. 7
98 Farming for Boys. [February,
held out to him. No one knew what such a privilege might do for an ener-
getic boy. If he failed the first year, he would be likely to know the cause
of failure, and avoid it in the future. If he succeeded, he would feel an hon-
est pride, the very kind of pride which every father should encourage in his
child. And that success would stimulate him to try again and do still better.
Both failure and success would be very likely to set him to reading about
what others had done in the same line, how they had prospered, and
thus a fund of knowledge would be acquired for him to draw upon whenever
he set up for himself.
As before mentioned, Mr. Spangler made a strange departure from his rule
of plenty of work for everybody, by quitting home on a wet day and going to
the tavern rendezvous, to hear what the neighbors had to say, leaving no
work marked out for his " hands " to do in his absence. These wet days
were therefore holidays for the boys. All three were pretty good readers ;
and so they usually borrowed a book from Uncle Benny, and went, on such
occasions, into the barn, and lay down on the hay to read. Uncle Benny
recommended to them that one should read aloud to the others, so as to im-
prove his voice, and enable each to set the other right, if a mistake were
made. When the weather became too cold for these readings in the barn,
they went into the kitchen, there being no other room in the house in which
a fire was kept up.
One November morning there came on a heavy rain that lasted all day,
with an east wind so cold as to make the barn a very uncomfortable reading-
room, so the boys adjourned to the kitchen, and huddled around the stove.
But as the rain drove all the rest of the family into the house, there was so
great an assembly in what was, at the best of times, a very small room, that
Mrs. Spangler became quite irritable at having so many in her way. She
was that day trying out lard, and wanted the stove all to herself. In her ill-
humor at being so crowded up, she managed to let the lard burn ; and at this
she became so vexed that she told Tony, with Joe and Bill, to go out, she
could n't have them in her way any longer.
They accordingly went back to the barn, and lay down in the hay, covering
themselves with a couple of horse-blankets. These were not very nice things
for one to have so close to his nose, as they smelt prodigiously strong of the
horses ; but farmers' boys are used to such perfumes, and they kept the little
fellows so warm that they were quite glad to escape the crowd and discomfort
of the kitchen. These became at last so great, that even Uncle Benny, see-
ing that he was not wanted there just then, got up and went over to the barn
also. There he found Tony reading aloud from a newspaper that had been
left at the house by a pedler a few days before. Tony was reading about the
election, and how much one set of our people were rejoicing over the result.
As Uncle Benny came into the barn, Tony called out, " Uncle Benny, the
President 's elected, did you know it ? "
" O yes, I knew it, but what President do you mean ? " responded
Uncle Benny.
" Why, President Lincoln. He was a poor boy like me, you know."
1865.] Farming for Boys. 99
"But can you tell me, boys," asked Uncle Benny, "who will be President
in the year 1900?"
"Dear me, Uncle Benny," replied Tony, "how should we know?"
"Well, I can tell," responded the old man.
The boys were a good deal surprised at hearing these words, and at once
sat up in the hay.
" Who is he ? " demanded Tony.
" Well, "'replied Uncle Benny, "he is a boy of about your age, say fifteen
or sixteen years old."
u Does he live about here ? " inquired Bill, the youngest of the party.
"Well, I can't say as to that," answered the old man, "but he lives some-
where on a farm. He is a steady, thoughtful boy, fond of reading, and has
no bad habits ; he never swears, or tells a lie, or disobeys his parents."
" Do you think he is as poor as we are, Uncle Benny ? " said Joe.
" Most likely he is," responded the old man. " His parents must be in
moderate circumstances. But poverty is no disgrace, Joe. On the contrary,
there is much in poverty to be thankful for, as there is nothing that so cer-
tainly proves what stuff a boy is made of, as being born poor, and from that
point working his way up to a position in society, as well as to wealth."
" But do poor boys ever work their way up ? " inquired Tony.
" Ay, many times indeed," said Uncle Benny. " But a lazy, idle boy can
do no such thing, he only makes a lazy man. Boys that grow up in idle-
ness become vagabonds. It is from these that all our thieves and paupers
come. Men who are successful have always been industrious. Many of the
great men in all countries were born poorer than either of you, for they had
neither money nor friends. President Lincoln, when he was of your age, was
hardly able to read, and had no such chance for schooling as you have had.
President Van Buren was so poor, when a boy, that he was obliged to study
his books by the light of pine knots which he gathered in the woods. Presi-
dent Lincoln for a long time split rails at twenty-five cents a hundred. But
see how they got up in the world."
f " But I thought the Presidents were all lawyers," said Tony.
'"Well, suppose they were," replied Uncle Benny; "they were boys first.
I tell you that every poor boy in this country has a great prospect before
him, if he will only improve it as these men improved theirs. Everything
depends on himself, on his own industry, sobriety, and honesty. They can't
all be Presidents, but if they should all happen to try for being one, they will
be very likely to reach a high mark. Most of the rich men of our country
began without a dollar. You have as fair a chance of becoming rich or dis-
tinguished as many of them have had. You must always aim high."
" But how are we to make a beginning ? " demanded Joe.
" I '11 tell you," replied Uncle Benny. But at that moment a loud blast
from the tin horn summoned them to dinner. They all thought it the
sweetest music they had heard that day, and hurried off to the house.
Author of " Ten Acres Enough:' 1
(To be continued?)
ioo Snow -Fancies. [February,
SNOW-FANCIES.
O
SNOW! flying hither
And hurrying thither,
Here, there, through the air, you never care whither,
Do you see me here sitting,
A-knitting, a-knitting,
And wishing myself with you breezily flitting,
Like any wild elf ?
Mother sits there a-rocking,
And watches my stocking ;
Well, I know I am slow, and she thinks it is shocking :
While Lizzie and Sally,
They twit me, and rally,
My thoughts, half asleep, chase your flakes to the valley,
A drowsy white heap.
Dear Sally and Lizzie,
My sisters so busy,
In and out, all about, you make my head dizzy ;
You hasten, you flutter,
You spin, you churn butter,
You sew the long seams ; while I cannot utter
One word of my dreams.
Lo ! light as a feather,
The merry flakes gather
In rifts and in drifts, glad enough of cold weather ;
Gay throngs interlacing,
On the slant roofs embracing,
They slip and they fall ! down, down they are racing,
I after them all !
One large flake advances ;
'T is a white steed that prances ;
At the bits as he flits, how he foams, like my fancies !
Up softly I 'sidle
From where I sit idle,
I snatch, as it flies, at the gossamer bridle,
I 'm mounted, I rise !
Away we are bounding,
No hoof-note resounding,
Still as light is our flight through the armies surrounding ;
1865.] Snow -Fancies. 101
No murmur, no rustling,
Though millions are jostling ;
A host is in camp, but you heard neither bustling
Nor bugle, nor tramp.
Yet the truce-flag is lifted ;
Unfurled it lies drifted
Over hill, over rill, where its snow could be sifted ;
And now I 'm returning
To parley concerning
The beautiful cause that awakened my yearning,
The trouble that was.
Ho ! ho ! a swift fairy,
A pearl-shallop airy !
I am caught, quick as thought ! fleece-muffled and hairy,
Her grim boatman tightens
His grasp, till it frightens
Me, half, as we sail to the east where it brightens,
On waves of the gale.
White, dimpled, and winning,
The fairy sits spinning,
From her hair, floating fair, coils of cable beginning,
Her shallop to tether
In stress of bleak weather,
While the boatman and I, wrapped in ermine together,
Drift on through the sky.
Stay ! the boat is upsetting !
My fairy, forgetting
Her coil and her toil, to escape from a wetting
Has now the one notion :
Below boils the ocean !
I scream, I am heard, up, in arrowy motion,
I 'm borne by a bird,
A gray eagle ! over
The seas flies the rover ;
And I ride as his guide, a new world to discover.
He bears me on, steady,
Through whirlwind and eddy ;
I cling to his neck, and he ever is ready
To pause at my beck.
White doves through the ether
Come flocking together.
How they crowd to me, proud if I smooth one soft feather !
IO2
The Baby of the Regiment.
J February,
what is the matter ?
They startle, they scatter !
On the wet window-pane hear my eagle's claws clatter !
The snow 's turned to rain !
Tears, why wiH you glitter ?
My sisters they titter,
And there from her chair mother calls, " What a knitter ! "
My ball pussy twitches,
1 Ve dropped twenty stitches,
My needles all rust, they will earn me no riches ;
Alas if they must !
Lucy Larcom.
THE BABY OF THE REGIMENT.
E were in our winter camp on Port Royal
Island, South Carolina. It was a lovely No-
vember morning, soft and spring-like ; the
mocking-birds were singing, and the cotton-
fields still white with fleecy pods. Morning
drill was over, the men were cleaning their
guns and singing very happily ; the officers
were in their tents, reading still more happily
their letters just arrived from home. Sud-
denly I heard a knock at my tent-door, and
the latch clicked. It was the only latch in
camp, and I was very proud of it, and the offi-
cers always clicked it as loudly as possible,
in order to gratify my feelings. The door
opened, and the Quartermaster thrust in the
most beaming face I ever saw.
" Colonel," said he, " there are great news for the regiment. My wife and
baby are coming by the next steamer ! "
" Baby ! " said I, in amazement. " O. M., you are beside yourself." (We
always called the Quartermaster Q. M. for shortness.) " There was a pass
sent to your wife, but nothing was ever said about a baby. Baby indeed ! "
" But the baby was included in the pass," replied the triumphant father-
of-a-family. " You don't suppose my wife would come down here without
her baby. Besides, the pass itself permits her to bring necessary baggage,
and is not a baby six months old necessary baggage ? "
1865.] The Baby of the Regiment. 103
" But, my dear fellow," said I, rather anxiously, "how can you make the
dear little darling comfortable in a tent, amidst these rigors of a South Caro-
lina winter, when it is uncomfortably hot for drill at noon, and ice forms by
your bedside at night ? "
" Trust me for that," said the delighted papa, and went off whistling. I
could hear him telling the same news to three others, at least, before he got
to his own tent.
That day the preparations began, and soon his abode was a wonder of com-
fort. There were posts and rafters, and a raised floor, and a great chimney, and
a door with hinges, every luxury except a latch, and that he could not have,
for mine was the last that could be purchased. One of the regimental carpen-
ters was employed to make a cradle, and another to make a bedstead high
enough for the cradle to go under. Then there must be a bit of red carpet be-
side the bedstead, and thus the progress of splendor went on. The wife of one
of the colored sergeants was engaged to act as nursery-maid. She was a very
respectable young woman ; the only objection to her being that she smoked
a pipe. But we thought that perhaps Baby might not dislike tobacco ; and if
she did, she would have excellent opportunities to break the pipe in pieces.
In due time the steamer arrived, and Baby and her mother were among
the passengers. The little thing was soon settled in her new cradle, and
slept in it as if she had never known any other. The sergeant's wife soon
had her on exhibition through the neighborhood, and from that time forward
she was quite a little queen among us. She had sweet blue eyes and pretty
brown hair, with round, dimpled cheeks, and that perfect dignity which is so
beautiful in a baby. She hardly ever cried, and was not at all timid. She
would go to anybody, and yet did not encourage any romping from any but
the most intimate friends. She always wore a warm long-sleeved scarlet
cloak with a hood, and in this costume was carried, or "toted," as the colored
soldiers said, all about the camp. At "guard-mounting" in the morning,
when the men who are to go on guard-duty for the day are drawn up to be
inspected, Baby was always there, to help inspect them. She did not say
much, but she eyed them very closely, and seemed fully to appreciate their
bright buttons. Then the Officer-of-the-Day, who appears at guard-mount-
in . with his sword and sash, and comes afterwards to the Colonel's tent for
orders, would come and speak to Baby on his way, and receive her orders
first. When the time came for drill, she was usually present to watch the
troops ; and when the drum beat for dinner, she liked to see the long row of
men in each company march up to the cook-house, in single file, each with
tin cup and plate. During the day, in pleasant weather, she might be seen
in her nurse's arms, about the company streets, the centre of an admiring
circle, her scarlet costume looking very pretty amidst the shining black
cheeks and neat blue uniforms of the soldiers. At "dress-parade," just
before sunset, she was always an attendant. As I stood before the regi-
ment, I could see the little spot of red out of the corner of my eye, at one
end of the long line of men ; and I looked with so much interest for her
small person, that, instead of saying at the proper time, " Attention, Bat-
104
The Baby of the Regiment.
[February,
talion ! Shoulder arms ! " it is a wonder that I did not say, " Shoulder
babies ! "
Our little lady was very impartial, and distributed her kind looks to every-
body. She had not the slightest prejudice against color, and did not care in
the least whether her particular friends were black or white. Her especial
favorites, I think, were the little drummer-boys, who were not my favorites
by any means, for they were a roguish set of little scamps, and gave more
trouble than all the grown men in the regiment. I think Annie liked them
because they were small, and made a noise, and had red caps like her hood,
and red facings on their jackets, and also because they occasionally stood on
their heads for her amusement. After dress-parade the whole drum-corps
would march to the great flag-staff, and wait till just sunset-time, when they
would beat on their drums what is called
" the retreat," and then the flag would be
hauled down, a great festival for Annie.
Sometimes the Sergeant-Major would wrap
her in the great folds of the flag, after it was
taken down, and she would peep out very
prettily from amidst the stars and stripes,
like a little new-born Goddess of Liberty.
About once a month, some inspecting officer was sent to the camp by the
general in command, to see to the condition of everything in the regiment,
from bayonets to buttons. It was usually a long and tiresome process, and,
when everything else was done, I used to tell the officer that I had one thing
more for him to inspect, which was peculiar to our regiment. Then I would
send for Baby to be exhibited, and I never saw an inspecting officer, old or
1865.] The Baby of the Regiment. 105
young, who did not look pleased at the sudden appearance of the little, fresh,
smiling creature, a flower in the midst of war. And Annie in her turn
would look at them, with the true baby dignity in her face, that deep, ear-
nest look which babies often have, and which people think so wonderful when
Raphael paints it, although they might often see just the same expression in
the faces of their own darlings at home.
Meanwhile Annie seemed to like the camp style of housekeeping very
much. Her father's tent was double, and he used the front apartment for his
office, and the inner room for parlor and bedroom ; while the nurse had a
separate tent and wash-room behind all. I remember that, the first time I
went there in the evening, it was to borrow some writing-paper ; and while
Baby's mother was hunting for it in the front tent, I heard a great cooing and
murmuring in the inner room. I asked if Annie was still awake, and her
mother told me to go in and see. Pushing aside the canvas door, I entered.
No sign of anybody was to be seen ; but a variety of soft little happy noises
seemed to come from some unseen corner. Mrs. C. came quietly in, pulled
away the counterpane of her own bed, and drew out the rough cradle where
lay the little damsel, perfectly happy, and wider awake than anything but a
baby possibly can be. She looked as if the seclusion of a dozen family bed-
steads would not be enough to discourage her spirits, and I saw that camp
life was likely to suit her very well.
A tent can be kept very warm, for it is merely a house with a thinner wall
than usual ; and I do not think that Baby felt the cold much more than if she
had been at home that winter. The great trouble is, that a tent-chimney, not
being built very high, is apt to smoke when the wind is in a certain direction ;
and when that happens, it is hardly possible to stay inside. So we used to
build the chimneys of some tents on the east side, and those of others on the
west, and thus some of the tents were always comfortable. I have seen
Baby's mother running in a hard rain, with little Red-Riding-Hood in her
arms, to take refuge with the Adjutant's wife, when every other abode was
full of smoke ; and I must admit that there were one or two windy days that
season, when nobody could really keep warm, and Annie had to remain igno-
miniously in her cradle, with as many clothes on as possible, for almost the
whole time.
The Quartermaster's tent was very attractive to us in the evening. I
remember that once, on passing near it after nightfall, I heard our Major's
fine voice singing Methodist hymns within, and Mrs. C.'s sweet tones chiming
in. So I peeped through the outer door. The fire was burning very pleas-
antly in the inner tent, and the scrap of new red carpet made the floor look
quite magnificent. The Major sat on a box, our surgeon on a stool ; ** Q.
M." and his wife, and the Adjutant's wife, and one of the captains, were all
sitting on the bed, singing as well as they knew how ; and the baby was
under the bed. Baby had retired for the night, was overshadowed, sup-
pressed, sat upon ; the singing went on, and the little thing had wandered
away into her own land of dreams, nearer to heaven, perhaps, than any pitch
their voices could attain. I went in, and joined the party. Presently the
io6 The Baby of the Regiment. [February,
music stopped, and another officer was sent for, to sing some particular song.
At this pause the invisible innocent waked a little, and began to cluck and coo.
" It 's the kitten," exclaimed somebody.
" It 's my baby ! " exclaimed Mrs. C. triumphantly, in that tone of unfailing
personal pride which belongs to young mothers.
The people all got up from the bed for a moment, while Annie was pulled
from beneath, wide awake and placid as usual ; and she sat in one lap or
another during the rest of the concert, sometimes winking at the candle, but
usually listening to the songs, with a calm and critical expression, as if she
could make as much noise as any of them, whenever she saw fit to try.
Not a sound did she make, however, except one little soft sneeze, which led
to an immediate flood-tide of red shawl, covering every part of her but the
forehead. After a little while, I hinted that the concert had better be ended,
because I knew from observation that the small damsel had carefully watched
a regimental inspection and a brigade drill on that day, and that an interval
of repose was certainly necessary.
Annie did not long remain the only baby in camp. One day, on going out
to the stables to look at a horse, I heard a sound of baby-talk, addressed by
some man to a child near by, and, looking round the corner of a tent, I saw
that one of the hostlers had something black and round, lying on the sloping
side of a tent, with which he was playing very eagerly. It proved to be his
little baby, a plump little shiny thing, younger than Annie ; and I never saw
a merrier picture than the happy father frolicking with his child, while the
mother stood quietly by. This was Baby Number Two, and she stayed in
camp several weeks, the two little innocents meeting each other every day,
in the placid indifference that belonged to their years ; both were happy little
healthy things, and it never seemed to cross their minds that there was any
difference in their complexions. As I said before, Annie was not troubled
by any prejudice in regard to color, nor do I suppose that the other little
maiden was.
Annie enjoyed the tent-life very much ; but when we were sent out on
picket soon after, she enjoyed it still more. When a regiment is on picket,
the main camp is usually much smaller, because most of the companies are
scattered about at outposts, and but few are left at head-quarters. Our
head-quarters were at a deserted plantation house, with one large parlor, a
dining-room, and a few bedrooms. Baby's father and mother had a room up
stairs, with a stove whose pipe went straight out at the window. This was
quite comfortable, though half the windows were broken, and there was no
glass and no glazier to mend them. The windows of the large parlor were
in much the same condition, though we had an immense fire-place, where we
had a bright fire whenever it was cold, and always in the evening. The walls
of this room were very dirty, and it took our ladies several days to cover all
the unsightly places with wreaths and hangings of evergreen. In this per-
formance Baby took an active, or rather a passive part. Her duties consisted
in sitting in a great nest of evergreen, pulling and fingering the fragrant
leaves, and occasionally giving a little cry of glee when she had accomplished
some piece of decided mischief.
1865.] The Baby of the Regiment. 107
There was less entertainment to be found in the camp itself at this time ;
but the household at head-quarters was larger than Baby had been accus-
tomed to. We had a great deal of company, moreover, and she had quite a
gay life of it. She usually made her appearance in the large parlor soon
after breakfast ; and to dance her for a few moments in our arms was one of
the first daily duties of each one. Then the morning reports began to arrive
from the different outposts, a mounted officer or courier coming in from
each place, dismounting at the door, and clattering in with jingling arms and
spurs, each a new excitement for Annie. She usually got some attention
from any officer who came, receiving with her wonted dignity any daring kiss
or pinch of the cheek. When the messengers had ceased to be interesting,
there were always the horses to look at, held or tethered under the trees
beside the sunny piazza. After the various couriers had been received, other
messengers would be despatched to the town, seven miles away, and Baby
had all the excitement of their mounting and departure. Her father was often
one of the riders, and would sometimes seize Annie for a good-by kiss, place
her on the saddle before him, gallop her round the house once or twice, and
then give her back to her nurse's arms again. She was perfectly fearless,
and such boisterous attentions never frightened her, nor did they ever inter-
fere with her sweet, infantine self-possession.
After the riding-parties had gone, there was the piazza still for entertain-
ment, with a sentinel pacing up and down before it; but Annie did not
enjoy the sentinel, though his breastplate and buttons shone like gold, so
much as the hammock which always hung swinging between the pillars. It
was a pretty hammock, with great open meshes ; and she delighted to lie in
it, and have the netting closed above her, so that she could only be seen
through the apertures. I can see her now, the fresh little rosy thing, in her
blue and scarlet wrappings, with one round and dimpled arm thrust forth
through the netting, and the other grasping an armful of blushing roses and
fragrant magnolias. She looked like those pretty little French bas-reliefs of
Cupids imprisoned in baskets, and peeping through. That hammock was a
very useful appendage ; it was a couch for us, a cradle for Baby, a nest for
the kittens ; and we had, moreover, a little hen, which tried to roost there
every night.
When the mornings were colder, and the stove up stairs smoked the wrong
way, Baby was brought down in a very incomplete state of toilet, and finished
her dressing by the great fire. We found her bare shoulders very becoming,
and she was very much interested in her own little pink toes. After a very
slow dressing, she had a still slower breakfast out of a tin cup of warm milk,
of which she generally spilt a good deal, as she had much to do in watching
everybody who came into the room, and seeing that there was no mischief
done. Then she would be placed on the floor, on our only piece of carpet,
and the kittens would be brought in for her to play with.
We had, at different times, a variety of pets, of whom Annie did not take
much notice. Sometimes we had young partridges, caught by the little boys
in trap-cages. The children called them " Bob and Chloe," because the first
IO8 The Baby of the Regiment. [February,
notes of the male and female sound like those names. One day I brought
home an opossum, with her blind bare little young clinging to the droll little
pouch where their mothers keep them. Sometimes we had pretty little green
lizards, their color darkening or deepening, like that of chameleons, in light
or shade. But the only pets that took Baby's fancy were the kittens. They
perfectly delighted her, from the first moment she saw them ; they were the
only things younger than herself that she had ever beheld, and the only things
softer than themselves that her small hands had grasped. It was astonishing
to see how much the kittens would endure from her. They could scarcely be
touched by any one else without mewing ; but when Annie seized one by the
head and the other by the tail, and rubbed them violently together, they did not
make a sound. I suppose that a baby's grasp is really soft, even if it seems
ferocious, and so it gives less pain than one would think. At any rate, the
little animals had the best of it very soon ; for they entirely outstripped
Annie in learning to walk, and they could soon scramble away beyond her
reach, while she sat in a sort of dumb despair, unable to comprehend why
anything so much smaller than herself should be so much nimbler. Mean-
while, the kittens would sit up and look at her with the most provoking indif-
ference, just out of arm's length, until some of us would take pity on the young
lady, and toss her furry playthings back to her again. " Little baby," she
learned to call them ; and these were the very first words she spoke.
Baby had evidently a natural turn for war, further cultivated by an intimate
knowledge of drills and parades. The nearer she came to actual conflict, the
better she seemed to like it, peaceful as her own little ways might be. Twice,
at least, while she was with us on picket, we had alarms from the Rebel troops,
who would bring down cannon to the opposite side of the Ferry, about two
miles beyond us, and throw shot and shell over upon our side. Then the
officer at the Ferry would think that there was to be an attack made, and cou-
riers would be sent, riding to and fro, and the men would all be called to arms
in a hurry, and the ladies at head-quarters would all put on their best bon-
nets and come down stairs, and the ambulance (or, as some of the men called
it, " the omelet ") would be made ready to carry them to a place of safety before
the expected fight. On such occasions, Baby was in all her glory. She shout-
ed with delight at being suddenly uncribbed and thrust into her little scarlet
cloak, and brought down stairs, at an utterly unusual and improper hour, to a
piazza with lights and people and horses and general excitement. She crowed
and gurgled and made gestures with her little fists, and screamed out what
seemed to be her advice on the military situation, as freely as if she had been a
newspaper editor. Except that it was rather difficult to understand her precise
directions, I do not know but the whole Rebel force might have been captured
through her plans. And at any rate, I should much rather obey her orders
than those of some generals whom I have known ; for she at least meant no
harm, and would lead one into no mischief.
However, at last the danger, such as it was, would be all over, and the
ladies would be induced to go peacefully to bed again ; and Annie would
retreat with them to her ignoble cradle, very much disappointed, and looking
1865.] The Red -Winged Goose. 109
vainly back at the more martial scene below. The next morning, she would
seem to have forgotten all about it, and would spill her bread-and-milk by the
fire as if nothing had happened.
I suppose we hardly knew, at the time, how large a part of the sunshine
of our daily lives was contributed by dear little Annie. Yet, when I now look
back on that pleasant Southern home, she seems as essential a part of it as
the mocking-birds or the magnolias, and I cannot convince myself that in
returning to it I should not find her there. But Annie came back, with the
spring, to her Northern birthplace, and then passed away from this earth
before her little feet had fairly learned to tread its paths-; and when I meet
her next, it must be in some world where there is triumph without armies,
and where innocence is trained in scenes of peace. I know, however, that
her little life, short as it seemed, was a blessing to us all, giving a per-
petual image of serenity and sweetness, recalling the lovely atmosphere of
far-off homes, and holding us by unsuspected ties to whatsoever things
were pure.
T. W. Higginson.
THE RED-WINGED GOOSE.
ONCE upon a time, when the rocks that make the earth were not so gray,
and the beard of the sea-waves not so hoary, when the stars winked
at each other and said nothing, and the man in the moon thought of getting
married, once upon a time, I say, there lived on the edge of a pine-forest
in Bohemia a poor peasant named Otto Koenig.
His hut was made of pine-branches, plastered with mud and thatched with
rye-straw ; a hole in the top let the smoke out, and a hole in the side let in
father, mother, pigs, chickens, and children, beside a tame jackdaw, that
slept on an old stool by the fireplace, and ate with Otto's nine children out
of a wooden bowl.
Little enough the nine had to share with Meister Hans, as they called the
jackdaw, for they lived on black beans and black rye-bread. Sometimes a bit
of smoked bacon was found in the beans on great feast-days, and sometimes
in summer wild berries helped the dry bread to savor and sweetness ; but
oftener the poor pig's-flesh and the red strawberries were put into a rush
basket, covered with great cool leaves, on top of the eggs that lay so smooth
and white below, and Otto carried them to Prague, when he went there at
full moon to sell the turpentine he gathered in the pine-forest. With the
money he got there he bought serge to clothe the nine children, rancid oil to
burn in the clay lamp that sometimes they lighted in the long winter even-
ings, or some coarse pottery for larger vessels than he could hew out of
no The Red- Winged Goose. [February,
dead branches with his dull hatchet. But it took all the coin that ever
rattled in his sheep-skin pouch to buy any clothes or enough food for the
nine black-eyed children who ran about in rags, and always wanted more
bread and beans than poor Marthon, their brown, hard-working mother, had
to give them.
At last, one winter there came a dreadful famine in Bohemia. There was
no rye for the fowls, or the bread ; it was blasted in the ear during a wet
summer ; and that same summer had given so little sunshine to the fields
that no berries ripened ; the turnips rotted in the ground, so the pig had
nothing to eat ; and between cold and starvation, quite tired of his wet sty
and empty trough, master pig gave a loud squeak one November day, strug-
gled out of his moist lodgings into a pool of water hard by, and died. For all
that he was eaten up, because the nine children wanted food, whatever it might
be, and the jackdaw scolded loudly for bread, but got less and less daily.
To be sure, the turpentine ran faster and clearer than ever from the trees,
but then it was worth less to the old Jew who bought it, and the striped red
serge and rancid oil were dearer than ever ; so the children ate their supper
by the light of the pine-cones they gathered in the forest, and went to bed
to keep warm, where Mihal, the youngest boy, told them long stories of the
old days in Bohemia, when there were fierce witches with steeple-crowned
hats and flame-colored cloaks, who were burned to death in the market-place
of Prague, and their ashes scattered on the waters of the Elbe, to find no
rest on earth or in the water, and legends of gnomes and elves that worked
with little swarthy hands in the mountain mines, and hid their treasures
away from human miners, unless spell and incantation brought them to light,
and then the gnomes would scream and sob in the deep caverns till the
miners fled away for fear.
These stories Mihal had learned from his old grandmother, who died the
year before the famine. She used to sit in the open air knitting, or spinning
with a distaif, and the scarlet yarn that trailed across the gray jacket and
green petticoat glowed in the sun like a thread of crawling fire, and seemed
to keep time to her droning voice, as she poured story after story into the
wide-open ears of the child nestled on her feet.
But all these pretty tales of Mihal did not keep his eight brothers and
sisters warm. Zitza, the least of all, cried herself to sleep often, and woke
with hunger, wailing, in the sad and quaint accents of her land, for bread and
berries. These were sorrowful sounds for poor Otto Koenig ; he knew well
the eager pain for food that forced that cry from the child's lips, for his
black crust was as small as it could be to keep him alive, and his cup of sour
beer was only a quarter filled. Often, as he shouldered the rude axe with
which he gashed the trees, and wandered out into the forest, the spicy smell
of the pine-boughs seemed to make him sick and giddy, he was so faint with
hunger ; and instead of the hymns the wind used to sing in the long green
tufts of leaves, there was a rush of unearthly whispering laughter, and mock-
ing voices said in the poor man's ear, " Bread and beer ! bread and beer ! "
chorused with another rustle of laughter ; whereat the unlucky man, half
1865.] The Red -Winged Goose. ill
crazed, would bless himself devoutly, and, taking to his heels, run like a
scared cony till the woods were far behind him.
In the hut things went worse still ; in vain did Matthias, the oldest of the
nine children, take his twin sister into the fields to search the brambles for
stray hips, or locks of wool the sheep had not left there willingly ; men and
women even worse off had been there before them, and they came home at
night, tired out and footsore, only to hear Zitza's fretful cry for food, and the
constant chatter of Meister Hans, croaking for his own share in what they
had not.
One night, when Mmal had told more wonderful stories than ever, and
fairly talked the other eight to sleep, he was still awake himself. Nothing
stirred on the side of the hut where the children lay sleeping on some straw
covered with sheep-skins, but Meister Hans, who, perched for the night on
the arm of the grandmother's empty chair, rustled his blue-black wings now
and then. But as Mihal lay thinking and hungry, his looks turned restlessly
toward the uneasy bird ; and presently he saw the creature's eyes begin to
shine through the darkness brighter and brighter, till they made the room so
light that one could plainly see the eight sleeping children, the straw-bed
from which Father Koenig's snores were loudly heard, Mother Marthon's
petticoat and red jacket hung against the wall, and the old black chair with
the fiery-eyed jackdaw perched on one arm. Mihal lifted himself on his
elbow and rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was really so ! Meister Hans nodded
gravely to him, and, hopping down to the floor, turned his eyes toward the
boy, nodded again, croaked circumspectly, and walked with odd, precise
steps toward the door, which was screened from the cold by a rough mat
hung inside, and again turning, repeated the nod and the croak, as if he were
inviting Mihal to follow him. The child gathered his rags more closely
about him, and stepped across the threshold, at which Meister Hans gave a
very satisfied croak and hopped along. The moon shone brightly on bare
brown fields silvered with white frost, and in the still, cold air the distant
forest stood like a black cloud just dropped upon earth.
In a strange, dreamy way Mihal followed the movements of the bird, stum-
bling over hard furrows, bruising his feet against stones, falling into ditches,
but still straight after his odd guide, who peered at him now and then with
one fiery eye, and wagged his head. On and on they went, away from the
pine forest, but into places where Mihal had never been before, wide as were
his usual rambles ; on and on, over stone walls, ditches, stubble-fields, and
wide meadows, till they found themselves at the foot of a high, round hill.
Out of one side of this great mound ran a pure bubbling spring, and over
its waters hung an old oak-tree, leafless now, but still strewing the ground
beneath with dry acorns. Right at the root of this tree was an upright
gray stone, apparently part of a rock deeply sunk in the hillside ; dark
lichens clung to its face, and dead leaves lay piled at its foot. Beside this
stone Meister Hans paused, and, looking hard at the boy, deliberately picked
up an acorn, and, hopping to the side of the little gravelly basin, dropped his
mouthful into the fountain, and returned to the flat stone, where Mihal stood
wondering much what was to follow.
112
The Red-Winged Goose.
[February,
Presently the jackdaw approached the stone and knocked upon it three
times. No sound replied, but the rock opened in the middle, and there stood
a little old woman, as withered as a spring apple and as bright as a butterfly,
dressed in a scarlet bodice covered with spangles, and a black petticoat
worked in square characters with all the colors of the rainbow. She made
a reverence to the bird and Mihal, and in a shrill, eager voice invited them
to come in. The boy hesitated, but the little old woman snatched his hand
and pulled him in. A draught of warm air and a delicious smell of food
invited him still more charmingly, he was so cold and hungry, and he
passed through the cleft stone to find himself in a high round cavern, of
shining, sparkling crystals, that glittered like jewels whenever the light of
the old woman's iron lamp shone across them. She opened a low door in
the side of this cavern, and beckoned her companions to follow. In the mid-
dle of a still larger vault stood a, great arm-chair, fashioned from beryl and
jasper, with knobs of amethyst and topaz, in which sat a dwarf no taller than
little Zitza. He was dressed in robes of velvet, green and soft as forest moss,
and a ring of rough gold lay on his grizzled hair ; his little eyes were keen
and fiery, his hands withered and brown, but covered with glittering jewels.
About the cave a hundred little creatures, smaller still than he, were busied
in a hundred ways. Some ran to and fro with long ladles, wherewith they
stirred and tasted kettles of smoking broth ; others shredded crisp salads,
1865.] The Red -Winged Goose. 113
and sliced fresh vegetables for the pottage ; some, with ready hands, spread a
table with flowered damask, golden plate, and crystal goblets ; three tugged
and strained at turning a huge spit before a fire at the end of the cavern,
while a dozen more watched the simmering of pots and pipkins, seething on
the coals ; and full a score moulded curious confections, adorned vast pas-
tries, heaped fruits upon baskets of carved ice, or brewed steaming potions
in great silver pitchers, whose breath of tropic fragrance curled upward in
light clouds to the. sparkling roof above ; while the red flashes of the blaze
on the hearth lighted up their swarthy little figures and merry faces, and cast
grotesque, mocking shadows against the sides of the cave.
As Meister Hans hopped gravely past all this toward the chair of the
Dwarf-king, making profound reverences all the way, the little monarch
stretched out his sceptre, which was a tall bulrush of gold, and touched the
jackdaw on the head, whereat, to Mihal's great wonder, his old friend turned
suddenly into just such another little old woman as the one who had .brought
them in.
After another low reverence to the king, she turned to Mihal and made
him aware, by a long speech, that she had been turned into a jackdaw for
twenty years, because she had once presumed to say that gold was not so
yellow as buttercups, or so bright as sunshine, a statement altogether
against the belief and laws of the dwarf ; but now her punishment was over,
and, knowing that she would never go back to the earth again, because she
had lived there long enough to know better, and had learned that gold was
the best of all things, she had resolved to bring little Mihal with her, (for
she loved him almost as much as gold, and quite as well as silver, he was
such a good boy), and persuade her master to grant him 'one wish before he
left the cavern.
The king readily consented to do this, but ordered that the boy and his
friendly guide should take their places at the table and be served with supper
first, for well he knew that a hungry child's first wish must be for food.
The king had scarce given this order before a quick pair of hands stripped
a tender sucking-pig from the spit, another filled a golden bowl with smoking
stew from the caldron, another poured wine and ale into the clear goblets,
and a fourth heaped porcelain dishes from every simmering pot and pipkin
on the hearth ; rolls of bread whiter than hoar-frost, and piles of purple and
golden fruit followed, while the half-starved boy warmed his fingers at the
blaze, and then ate and drank his fill of such viands as he had never before
tasted, even in dreams. But when he could do no more good trencher-
service, and the little old woman reminded him of the wish he was to ask
the Dwarf-king to grant, he sat a long time pondering this important matter.
Now, among the legends that his old grandmother had recounted was one
that had made especial impression on his fancy, an old Bohemian tradition
of a red-winged goose, followed by six goslings, which traversed the forests
and valleys in the dead of winter, uncaught and unhurt, for hundreds of
years, though whoever was so skilful or so lucky as to catch the goose
would after that succeed in all his undertakings. Mihal bethought himself, as
VOL. i. NO. ii. 8
114 The Red- Winged Goose. " [February,
he sat there, that perhaps the Dwarf-king was master of this wonderful bird,
and could give him the prize at once, without delay or toil ; so he slid from
his seat at the table, and, approaching the king, made known his request.
The dwarf fixed his keen eyes sharply on the child, and shook his grizzled
head from side to side before he spoke, in his rough but kindly voice, and said :
" I cannot do that for thee, little one ! All the treasures in my mountain,
or the heart of the dumb earth, could not buy for thee the red-winged goose.
She must be caught ; but there is only one way to this end, and that way
hitherto hath no mortal known. He who would capture the goose must first
have caught the goslings, and that not by two or three, or as he may choose
to trap them, but always the nearest one first, which is ever the last, seeing
that they follow her in line, unbroken and unwavering. Thou must take
them one by one, and in their order, child, however sorely tempted to break
the sequence. Keep thine eye and thy labor for the nearest one, and at last
the red-winged goose itself will reward thy patience."
Mihal heard and treasured up the Dwarf-king's orders, spoke his simple
thanks, bowing low, and, after a gay farewell to the little old woman who
had been his jackdaw, went his way into the upper air ; and just as the
sun arose, touching the pine-tree tops with fire, he came to his father's hut,
where the eight children were rubbing their eyes and Zitza crying for her
breakfast. No one knew that Mihal had been farther than the door-sill, nor
did he tell the clamorous brood of children what he had seen, lest they
should mock it as a dream, or attempt the pursuit themselves.
So he went patiently about his work, helped them look for Meister Hans,
whom all mourned for many a day, excepting Mihal, who well knew how
much better off the jackdaw was than in any of the pitiful conditions they
fancied, and the parents, who were too thankful to gain even the bird's
small share of bread for their wasted and fretful children.
But after nightfall Mihal crept softly from his straw in the corner, tied a
sheep-skin across his shoulders, and, with his uneaten supper, a crust of black
bread, in the bosom of his ragged shirt, stole softly out of the door to seek
his fortune. About two miles from the hut there was a clear space in the
pine forest, where there stood a great stone cross, at the foot of which a tiny
spring slept in the grass, and overflowed softly on the crisp turf at all sea-
sons. At this place Mihal resolved to wait for the flight of the red-winged
goose, and he knew the forest paths so well that a short half-hour brought
him to the open glade. He knelt and bathed his face in the spring, drank
deeply of its pure and tranquil waters, and then leaned back against the foot
of the cross to eat his crust and wait till moon-rise. Overhead the dark blue
sky seemed to be higher than ever, and the bright stars sparkled so kindly,
and looked so much like watchful eyes to guard and bless him, that Mihal
felt no fear, but gazed upward into the quiet depths of air so long that he fell
fast asleep and dreamed about the Dwarf-king's hill-palace.
Rose Terry.
(To be continued?)
1 865-] Afloat in the Forest. 115
AFLOAT IN THE FOREST:
OR, A VOYAGE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MONKEY-POTS.
" r ~PHE Gapo ? " exclaimed the master of the craft. "What is it, Mun-
1 day?"
" The Gapo ? " repeated Tipperary Tom, fancying by the troubled expres-
sion on the face of the Indian that he had conducted his companions toward
some terrible disaster. " Phwat is it, Manday ? "
" Da Gapoo ? " simultaneously interrogated the negro, the whites of his
eyeballs shining in the moonlight. " What be dat ? "
The Mundurucu made reply only by a wave of his hand, and a glance
around him, as if to say, "Yes, the Gapo ; you see we 're in it."
The three interrogators were as much in the dark as ever. Whether the
Gapo was fish, flesh, or fowl, air, fire, or water, they could not even guess.
There was but one upon the galatea besides the Indian himself who knew
the signification of the word which had created such a sensation among the
crew, and this was young Richard Trevannion.
" It 's nothing, uncle," said he, hastening to allay the alarm around him ;
" old Munday means that we 've strayed from the true channel of the Soli-
moes, and got into the flooded forest, that's all."
" The flooded forest ? "
" Yes. What you see around us, looking like low bushes, are the tops of
tall trees. We 're now aground on the branches of a sapucaya, a species
of the Brazil-nut, and among the tallest of Amazonian trees. I 'm right,
see ! there are the nuts themselves ! " As the young Paraense spoke, he
pointed to some pericarps, large as cocoa-nuts, that were seen depending from
the branches among which the galatea had caught Grasping one of them
in his hand, he wrenched it from the branch ; but as he did so, the husk
dropped off, and the prism-shaped nuts fell like a shower of huge hailstones
on the roof of the toldo. " Monkey-pots they 're called," continued he, refer-
ring to the empty pericarp still in his hand. " That 's the name by which the
Indians know them ; because the monkeys are very fond of these nuts."
" But the Gapo ? " interrupted the ex-miner, observing that the expressive
look of uneasiness still clouded the brow of the Mundurucu.
" It's the Indian name for the great inundation," replied Richard, in the
same tranquil tone. " Or rather I should say, the name for it in the lingoa-
geral"
" And what is there to fear ? Munday has frightened us all, and seems
frightened himself. What is the cause ? "
" That I can't tell you, uncle. I know there are queer stories about the
Gapo, tales of strange monsters that inhabit it, huge serpents, enormous
n6 Afloat in the Forest. [February,
apes, and all that sort of thing. I never believed them, though the tapuyos
do ; and from old Munday's actions I suppose he puts full faith in them."
" The young patron is mistaken," interposed the Indian, speaking a patois
of the lingoa-geraL " The Mundurucu does not believe in monsters. He be-
lieves in big serpents and monkeys, he has seen them."
" But shure yez are not afeerd o' them, Manday ? " asked the Irishman.
The Indian only replied by turning on Tipperary Tom a most scornful look.
" What is the use of this alarm ? " inquired Trevannion. " The galatea
does not appear to have sustained any injury. We can easily get her out of
her present predicament, by lopping off the branches that are holding her."
" Patron," said the Indian, still speaking in a serious tone, " it may not be
so easy as you think. We may get clear of the tree-top in ten minutes. In
as many hours perhaps days we may not get clear of the Gapo. That is
why the Mundurucu shows signs of apprehension."
" Ho ! You think we may have a difficulty in rinding our way back to the
channel of the river ? "
" Think it, patron ! I am too sure of it. If not, we shall be in the best of
good luck."
" It 's of no use trying to-night, at all events," pursued Trevannion, as he
glanced uncertainly around him. " The moon is sinking over the tree-tops.
Before we could well get adrift, she '11 be gone out of sight. We might only
drift deeper into the maze. Is that your opinion, Munday ? "
" It is, patron. We can do no good by leaving the place to-night. Wiser
for us to wait for the light of the sun."
" Let all go to rest, then," commanded the patron, " and be ready for
work in the morning. We need keep no look-out, I should think. The
galatea is as safe here as if moored in a dry dock. She is aground, I take it,
upon the limb of a tree ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! "
The thought of such a situation for a sailing craft moored amid the tops
of a tall tree was of so ludicrous a nature as to elicit a peal of laughter
from the patron, which was echoed by the rest of the crew, the Mundurucu
alone excepted. His countenance still preserved its expression of uneasi-
ness ; and long after the others had sunk into unconscious sleep, he sat upon
the stem of the galatea, gazing out into the gloom, with glances that be-
tokened serious apprehension.
CHAPTER VII.
THE GAPO.
THE young Paraense had given a correct, although not sufficiently explicit,
account of the sort of place in which the galatea had gone "aground."
That singular phenomenon known as the Gapo (or Ygapo\ and which is one
of the most remarkable characteristics of the great Amazonian region, de-
mands a more detailed description. It is worthy of this, as a mere study of
physical geography, perhaps as pleasant a science as any ; and further-
1865.] Afloat in the Forest.
more, it is here absolutely necessary to the understanding of our tale.
Without some comprehension of the circumstances that surrounded them,
the hardships and sufferings endured, the adventures accomplished, and the
perils passed by the crew of the strayed galatea, would appear as so many
fabulous inventions, set forth to stimulate and gratify a taste for the merely
marvellous. Young reader, this is not the aim of your author, nor does he
desire it to be the end. On the contrary, he claims to draw Nature with a
verisimilitude that will challenge the criticism of the naturalist ; though he
acknowledges a predilection for Nature in her wildest aspects, for scenes
least exposed to the eye of civilization, and yet most exposed to its doubting
incredulity.
There are few country people who have not witnessed the spectacle of a
piece of woodland inundated by the overflow of a neighboring stream. This
flood is temporary ; the waters soon subside into their ordinary channel, and
the trees once more appear growing out of terra firma, with the green mead
spreading on all sides around them. But a flooded forest is a very different
affair ; somewhat similar in character indeed, but far grander. Not a mere
spinney of trees along the bank of a small stream ; but a region extending
beyond the reach of vision, a vast tract of primeval woods, the tall trees
submerged to their very tops, not for days, nor weeks, but for months,
ay, some of them forever ! Picture to your mind an inundation of this kind,
and you will have some idea of the Gapo.
Extending for seventeen hundred miles along the banks of the Solimoes,
now wider on the northern, now stretching farther back from the southern
side, this semi-submerged forest is found, its interior almost as unknown as
the crater-like caverns of the moon, or the icy oceans that storm or slumber
round the Poles, unknown to civilized man, but not altogether to the sav-
age. The aboriginal of Amazonia, crouching in his canoe, has pierced this
water-land of wonders. He could tell you much about it that is real, and
much that is marvellous, the latter too often pronounced fanciful by lettered
savans. He could tell you of strange trees that grow there, bearing strange
fruits, not to be found elsewhere, of wonderful quadrupeds, and quadru-
mana, that exist only in the Gapo, of birds brilliantly beautiful, and rep-
tiles hideously ugly ; among the last the dreaded dragon serpent, " Sucu-
riyu." He could tell you, moreover, of creatures of his own kind, if they
deserve the name of man, who dwell continuously in the flooded forest,
making their home on scaffolds among the tree-tops, passing from place to
place in floating rafts or canoes, finding their subsistence on fish, on the flesh
of the manatee, on birds, beasts, reptiles, and insects, on the stalks of huge
water-plants and the fruits of undescribed trees, on monkeys, and sometimes
upon man ! Such Indians as have penetrated the vast water-land have
brought strange tales out of it. We may give credence to them or refuse it ;
but they, at least, are firm believers in most of the accounts which they have
collected.
It is not to be supposed that the Gapo is impenetrable. On the contrary,
there are several well-known water-ways leading through it, well known, I
Ii8 Afloat in the Forest. [February,
mean, to the Indians dwelling upon its borders, to the tapuyos, whose busi-
ness it is to supply crews for the galateas of the Portuguese traders, and to
many of these traders themselves. These water-ways are often indicated by
" blazings " on the trees, or broken branches, just as the roads are laid out
by pioneer settlers in a North American forest ; and but for these marks,
they could not be followed. Sometimes, however, large spaces occur in
which no trees are to be seen, where, indeed, none grow. There are exten-
sive lakes, always under water, even at the lowest ebb of the inundation.
They are of all sizes and every possible configuration, from the complete circle
through all the degrees of the ellipse, and not unfrequently in the form of a
belt, like the channel of a river running for scores of miles between what might
readily be mistaken for banks covered with a continuous thicket of low bushes,
which are nothing more than the " spray " of evergreen trees, whose roots lie
forty feet under water !
More frequently these openings are of irregular shape, and of such extent
as to merit the title of " inland seas/' When such are to be crossed, the sun
has to be consulted by the canoe or galatea gliding near their centre ; and
when he is not visible, by no means a rare phenomenon in the Gapo,
then is there great danger of the craft straying from her course.
When within sight of the so-called " shore," a clump of peculiar form, or a
tree topping over its fellows, is used as a landmark, and often guides the navi-
gator of the Gapo to the igarita of which he is in search.
It is not all tranquillity on this tree-studded ocean. It has its fogs, its
gales, and its storms, of frequent occurrence. The canoe is oft shattered
against the stems of gigantic trees ; and the galatea goes down, leaving her
crew to perish miserably in the midst of a gloomy wilderness of wood and
water. Many strange tales are told of such mishaps ; but up to the present
hour none have received the permanent record of print and paper.
Be it our task to supply this deficiency.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ECHENTE.
IT would not be true to say that the crew of the galatea were up with the
sun. There was no sun to shine upon the gloomy scene that revealed itself
next morning. Instead, there was a fog almost thick enough to be grasped
with the hand. They were astir, however, by the earliest appearance of day ;
for the captain of the galatea was too anxious about his " stranded " craft to
lie late abed.
They had no difficulty in getting the vessel afloat. A strong pull at the
branches of the sapucaya, and then an adroit use of the paddles, carried the
craft clear.
But what was the profit of this ? Once out in the open water, they were as
badly off as ever. Not one of them had the slightest idea of the direction
they would take, even supposing they could find a clear course in any direc-
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 119
tion ! A consultation was the result, in which all hands took part, though it
was evident that, after the patron, most deference was paid to the Mundurucu.
The young Paraense stood next in the scale of respect ; while Tipperary Tom,
beyond the account which he was called upon to give of his steersmanship,
was not permitted to mingle his Hibernian brogue in the discussion.
Where was the river ? That was the first problem to be solved, and of this
there appeared to be no possible solution. There was no sun to guide them ;
no visible sky. Even had there been both, it would scarce have mended the
matter. The steersman could not tell whether, on straying from the channel,
he had drifted to the south or the north, the east or the west ; and, indeed,
an intellect less obtuse than that of Tipperary Tom might have been puzzled
upon the point. It has been already mentioned, that the Solimoes is so tor-
tuous as to turn to every point of the compass in its slow course. The mere
fact that the moon was shining at the time could be of little use to Tipperary
Tom, whose astronomy had never extended beyond the knowledge that there
was a moon.
Where lay the river ? The interrogatory was repeated a score of times,
without receiving a satisfactory answer; though every one on board the
little Rosita excepted ventured some sort of reply, most, however, offering
their opinion with a doubting diffidence. The Mundurucu, although repeatedly
appealed to, had taken small part in the discussion, remaining silent, his eyes
moodily wandering over the water, seeking through the fog for some clew to
their escape from the spot.
' No one plied the paddles ; they had impelled her out of sight of the sapu-
caya, now shrouded in the thick fog ; but, as it was useless paddling any
farther, all hands had desisted, and were now resting upon their oars. At
this moment it was perceived that the galatea was in motion. The Mundurucu
was the first to notice it ; for his attention had for some time been directed
to such discovery. For this reason had he cast his searching glances, now
down into the turbid waters, and now out through the murky atmosphere.
A thicket was discernible through the fog, but every moment becoming less
distinct. Of course it was only a collection of tree-tops ; but whatever it
was, it soon became evident that the galatea was very slowly receding from
it. On discovering this, the Mundurucu displayed signs of fresh animation.
He had been for some minutes lying upon his face, craning out over the
gangway, and his long withered arms submerged in the water. The others
occupied themselves in guessing what he was about ; but their guesses had
been to no purpose. Equally purposeless had appeared the actions of the
Indian ; for, after keeping his arm under water for a period of several min-
utes, he drew it in with a dissatisfied air, and once more arose to his feet.
It was just then that he perceived the tree-tops, upon which he kept his eyes
sharply fixed, until assured that the galatea was going away from them.
"Hoolaf" he exclaimed, attempting to imitate the cry he had more than
once heard issuing from the lips of Tipperary Tom. "Hoola! the river is
out there ! " As he spoke, he pointed towards the tree-tops.
It was the first confident answer to the all-important question.
I2O Afloat in the Forest. [February,
" How can you tell that, Mtmday ? " inquired the captain of the craft.
" How tell, patron ? How tell day from night, the moon from the sun, fire
from water ? The Solimoes is there." The Indian spoke with his arm still
extended in the direction of the trees.
" We are willing to believe you," rejoined Trevannion, " and will trust to
your guidance ; but pray explain yourself."
" It 's all guess-work," interpolated Tipperary Tom. " Ould Munday knows
no more av fwat he 's talkin' about than Judy Fitzscummons's mother. I '11
warrant ye we come in from the tother side."
" Silence, Tom ! " commanded his master. " Let us hear what Munday
has to say. You have no right to contradict him."
" Och, awance ! An Indyen's opinion prefarred before that ov a freeborn
Oirishman ! I wondher what nixt." And as Tipperary completed his chapter
of reproaches, he slank crouchingly under the shadow of the toldo.
" So you think the river is there ? " said Trevannion, once more address-
ing himself to the Mundurucu.
" The Mundurucu is sure of it, patron. Sure as that the sky is above us."
" Remember, old man ! It won't do for us to make any mistake. No
doubt we 've already strayed a considerable distance from the channel of the
Solimoes. To go again from it will be to endanger our lives."
" The Mundurucu knows that," was the laconic reply.
" Well, then, we must be satisfied of the fact, before we can venture to
make a move. What proof can you give us that the river lies in that direc-
tion ? "
" Patron ! You know the month ? It is the month of March."
" Certainly it is. What of that ? "
" The echente."
" The echente ? What is that ? "
" The flood getting bigger. The water on the rise, the Gapo still grow-
ing, that is the echente"
" But how should that enable you to determine the direction of the river ? "
"It has done so," replied the Indian. "Not before three months in
June will come the vasante"
"The vasante?"
" The vasante, patron : the fall. Then the Gapo will begin to grow less ;
and the current will be towards the river, as now it is from it."
" Your story appears reasonable enough. I suppose we may trust to it.
If so," added Trevannion, " we had better direct our course towards yonder
tree-tops, and lose no time in getting beyond them. All of you to your
paddles, and pull cheerily. Let us make up for the time we have lost through
the negligence of Tipperary Tom. Pull, my lads, pull ! "
At this cheering command the four paddlers rushed to their places ; and
the galatea, impelled by their vigorous strokes, once more glided gayly over
the bosom of the waters.
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 121
CHAPTER IX.
AN IMPASSABLE BARRIER.
IN a few moments the boat's bow was brought within half a cable's length
of the boughs of the submerged trees. Her crew could see that to proceed
farther, on a direct course, was simply impossible. With equal reason might
they have attempted to hoist her into the air, and leap over the obstruction
that had presented itself before them.
Not only were the branches of the adjoining trees interlocked, but from
one to the other straggled a luxurious growth of creepers, forming a network
so strong and compact that a steamer of a hundred horse-power would have
been safely brought to a stand among its meshes. Of course no attempt
was made to penetrate this impenetrable chevaux de frise ; and after a
while had been spent in reconnoitring it, Trevannion, guided by the counsel
of the Mundurucu, ordered the galatea to go about, and proceed along the
selvage of the submerged forest. An hour was spent in paddling. No
opening. Another hour similarly employed, and with similar results !
The river might be in the direction pointed out by the Indian. No doubt
it was ; but how were they to reach it ? Not a break appeared in all that
long traverse wide enough to admit the passage of a canoe. Even an arrow
could scarce have penetrated among the trees, that extended their parasite-
laden branches beyond the border of the forest ! By tacit consent of the
patron, the padcllers rested upon their oars ; then plied them once more ;
and once more came to a pause.
No opening among the tree-tops ; no chance to reach the channel of the
Solimoes. The gloomy day became gloomier, for night was descending over
the Gapo. The crew of the galatea, wearied with many hours of exertion,
ceased paddling. The patron did not oppose them ; for his spirit, as well as
theirs, had become subdued by hope long deferred. As upon the previous
night, the craft was moored among the tree-tops, where her rigging, caught
among the creepers, seemed enough to keep her from drifting away. But
very different from that of the preceding night was the slumber enjoyed by
her crew. Amidst the boughs of the sapucaya, there had been nothing to
disturb their tranquillity, save the occasional shower of nuts, caused by the
cracking of the dry shells, and the monkey-pots discharging their contents.
Then was the galatea " grounded " upon a solitary tree, which carried only
its own fruit. To-night she was moored in the middle of a forest, at all
events upon its edge, a forest, not of the earth, nor the air, nor the water,
but of all three, a forest whose inhabitants might be expected to partake
of a character altogether strange and abnormal. And of such character were
they ; for scarce had the galatea become settled among the tree-tops, when
the ears of her crew were assailed .by a chorus of sounds, that with safety
might have challenged the choir of Pandemonium. Two alone remained
undismayed, Richard Trevannion and the Mundurucu.
"Bah ! " exclaimed the Paraense, "what are you all frightened at ? Don't
you know what it is, uncle ? "
122 Afloat in the Forest. [February,
" I know what it resembles, boy, the Devil and his legions let loose from
below. What is it, Dick ? "
" Only the howlers. Don't be alarmed, little Rosita ! "
The little Peruvian, gaining courage from his words, looked admiringly on
the youth who had called her " little Rosita." Any one could have told that,
from that time forward, Richard Trevannion might have the power to control
the destinies of his cousin.
" The howlers ! What are they ? " inquired the old miner.
" Monkeys, uncle ; nothing more. From the noise they make, one might
suppose they were as big as buffaloes. Nothing of the kind. The largest I
ever saw was hardly as stout as a deerhound, though he could make as much
noise as a whole kennel. They have a sort of a drum in the throat, that acts
as a sound-board. That 's what enables them to get up such a row. I 've
often heard their concert more than two miles across country, especially in
prospect of an approaching storm. I don't know if they follow this fashion
in the Gapo ; but if they do, from the way they 're going it now, we may look
out for a trifling tornado."
Notwithstanding the apparent unconcern with which young Trevannion
declared himself, there was something in his manner that arrested the atten-
tion of his uncle. While pronouncing his hypothetical forecast of a storm,
he had turned his glance towards the sky, and kept it fixed there, as if making
something more than a transient observation. The fog had evaporated, and
the moon was now coursing across the heavens, not against a field of cloudy
blue, but in the midst of black, cumulous clouds, that every now and then
shrouded her effulgence. A dweller in the tropics of the Western hemisphere
would have pronounced this sign the certain forerunner of a storm ; and so
predicted the young Paraense. " We '11 have the sky upon us within an hour,"
said he, addressing himself more especially to his uncle. " We 'd better tie
the galatea to the trees. If this be a hurricane, and she goes adrift, there 's
no knowing where we may bring up. The likeliest place will be in the bot-
tom of the Gapo."
"The young patron speaks truth," interposed Munday, his eyes all the
while reading the signs of the heavens. " The Mundurucii knows by yonder
yellow sky."
As he spoke, the Indian pointed to a patch of brimstone-colored clouds,
conspicuous over the tops of the trees. There was no reason why Ralph
Trevannion should not give credit to the two weather-prophets, who could
have no personal motive in thus warning him. He yielded, therefore, to their
solicitation ; and in ten minutes more the galatea was secured among the
tree-tops, as fast as cords could make her.
Mayne Reid.
1865.] Christmas Bells. 123
CHRISTMAS BELLS.
I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !
Then from each black, accursed mouth,
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !
And in despair I bowed my head ;
" There is no peace on earth," I said ;
" For hate is strong
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! "
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep :
" God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep !
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men ! "
Henry W. Longfellow.
124 Andys Adventures ; [February,
ANDY'S ADVENTURES;
OR, THE WORLD BEWITCHED.
IN an instant Andy stopped turning, and saw sitting on the grass right be-
fore him the most beautiful white rabbit, with the softest fur and the
longest ears that ever were.
" O Bunny ! " cried Andy, delighted ; and he stepped forward to smooth
the lovely creature with his hand.
He had scarcely touched it, when it gave a little hop, and sat down again,
just out of his reach.
" Bunny, Bunny ! poor Bun ! " cried Andy, coaxingly, creeping after it,
as eager to catch it as ever a cat was to put her paw on a mouse. " I won't
hurt you ! Poor, poor Bunny ! "
But the rabbit watched him with its mild, timid eyes, and gave two leaps,
as light as a feather, and as noiseless, and sat down again by. the garden
fence. Andy crept up, still coaxing, and promising not to hurt it ; and when
he had got quite near, he spread out both hands, gave a spring like a cat,
and caught a whole handful of grass right where the pretty creature had sat
that very instant ; but it was gone, and, looking over the fence, he saw it
hopping away across the garden, from cabbage to cabbage, from hill to hill
of the potatoes, in the airiest and most graceful manner, but not half as fast
as a boy could run. So Andy resolved to chase it ; and getting over the
fence, he hurried across the garden, and came up to it just as it was perched
for a moment like a bird on the top of a slender weed, which did not bend in
the least beneath its weight. Andy grasped eagerly with both hands, and
caught the weed between them ; but away went the rabbit over the next
fence, and across a large sunny pasture, making wonderful leaps, so long
and light and high that sometimes it seemed to sail in the air on wings.
Andy ran after it, wild with excitement. Now it slipped through his fin-
gers just as he pounced upon it, and tumbled headlong into a bunch of this-
tles. Now it floated in the air quite above his head, while he reached up
and jumped, and ran on tiptoe after it, until he hit his foot against a stone,
which he was looking too high to see, and nearly broke his shin in falling.
Then it skipped along close upon the ground, stopping when he stopped,
and seeming to invite him to come and catch it, but darting away again the
moment he thought he had it fairly in his hands.
At last it squatted down against a stump, in a large, hilly field full of
stumps and stones and ploughed ground, where Andy had never been before.
Almost crying, he was so vexed and tired and far from home, he came up
to the stump. Bunny did not stir, but only winked a little, and pricked up
its pretty ears.
" Now I '11 have you ! " And Andy sprang upon it, catching it with both
hands. " I Ve got you ! I Ve got you ! I Ve got you ! " he cried, in high glee.
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 125
" Now, my pretty, naughty ho ! " said Andy, with the greatest amaze-
ment.
For lo ! on opening his hands, he found that the thing he had given such
a chase, and caught at last, was nothing but a little ball of thistle-down, which
had been blown before him by the wind !
There he held it, and rubbed his eyes as he looked at it, and wondered ;
then he began to remember what Mother Quirk had said to him ; and he
would have given a good deal just then to have been back again at the well,
as he was before the angry old woman boxed his ear. He was afraid she had
bewitched him.
He looked at the thistle-down again and again, and turned it over, and
picked it to pieces a little, then brushed it off from his hand, when, O won-
derful ! it immediately changed to a dove, and flew into the sky ! But he
found that he had pulled out some of its feathers, and still held one beautiful
long white quill in his fingers.
Now he was sorry he had not kept it. And he would have got up and
run after it again ; but just then, happening to look where he had thrown the
feathers down by the stump, he saw one of the strangest sights in the world.
A little bit of a fellow, not so large as the end of his thumb, opened a little
bit of a door in the side of the stump, walked out, and looked around as if he
had heard a noise about his house, and wished to see what had happened.
" Tom Thumb ! " exclaimed Andy, in the greatest surprise and delight.
He had lately read the history of that famous little dwarf; and he had
often thought he would give all his playthings just to make his acquaintance.
" Tom Thumb ! Tom Thumb ! how do you do ? " he said.
But as Tom walked about, and paid no attention to him, he thought per-
haps he had not addressed him respectfully enough. So he said, "I beg
your pardon, Mr. Thumb ! I hope you are pretty well, Mr. Thumb."
At that the little gentleman took off his hat, and made the politest little
bow imaginable.
" My name is Andy. I have read about you. Come, let 's be friends."
Mr. Thumb made some reply, but in such a very small voice that Andy
could not understand a word.
" Speak again, Mr. Thumb, if you please."
And Andy put his head down to hear. But Tom appeared to be afraid ;
and, opening the little doojr again, he stepped back into the stump.
" Hello ! come out again ! " cried Andy. " Won't you ? Then I '11 find
you !"
And with the dove's quill he forced the door of Tom Thumb's house, and
penetrated the entry. At that he heard a confused murmuring and mutter-
ing and shouting ; and, pulling away the feather, he saw rush out after it a
dozen little fellows, all as angry as they could be.
" Excuse me, gentlemen ! " said Andy, as soon as he had recovered from
his astonishment. " I did n't mean any harm. Did I hurt anybody ? "
They did not answer, but kept running to and fro, and talking among
themselves, and darting in and out of the door, as if to see what damage had
been done.
126 Andys Adventures ; [February,
Andy watched them with the greatest interest They were all dressed in
the gayest style, and very much alike. They had on black velvet caps, striped
with gold, and with long plumes that waved over their heads. They wore
the handsomest little tunics, of stuff as much finer than silk as silk is finer
than the bark of a tree. They had on beautiful bright yellow scarfs, and
their tunics were bordered with fringes of the richest orange-color, and their
trousers were all of dark velvet and cloth of gold. They dangled the neatest
little swords at their sides, in golden scabbards ; and three or four of them
clapped their hands furiously on the hilts ; and one, seeing the feather which
Andy pushed at them, drew out the finest little black steel blade, not near
so large as a needle, threw himself into a noble fencing attitude, and made
an impetuous lunge, thrusting and brandishing his weapon in the bravest
manner.
Andy laughed gleefully, but stopped laughing, to wonder, when he saw
another of the little warriors shake out the folds of a marvellous little cloak
that covered his back, and, spreading it on the air, sail aloft with all his
flashing colors, sword and plumes. He came straight to Andy's ear, and
said something in a voice of thunder, and even made a cut or two at the
boy's hair ; then darted away out of sight.
By this time the little doorway in the stump was crowded with these
strange little people. Some hurried to and fro, muttering and shaking their
cloaks, some sailed aloft, and others passed in and out of the door, all
very much excited. Andy also noted several new-comers, who seemed quite
surprised, on arriving, to find the little community in such confusion. The
most of them brought some kind of plunder, tiny bags of gold, armfuls
of a minute kind of yellow-ripe grain, silks and satins of the fine quality
mentioned, which they hastened to hide away in their dwelling.
But what astonished Andy most of anything was the appearance of a
wonderful little lady, who walked out among the warriors like a queen. She
was extremely small-waisted, although otherwise very portly. She wore
hoops of the most extraordinary extension, which made her appear three or
four times as large as the largest of her subjects. She walked with a
haughty air, fanning herself with a little gossamer fan, while her servants
went backwards before her, spreading down the cunningest little carpets for
her to tread upon. She was magnificently attired ; her dress, of the costliest
materials, the most gorgeous pattern, and the widest dimensions, was cov-
ered all over with the most splendid little fringes and flounces which it is
possible to conceive. Her countenance, although very beautiful, was angry,
and full of scorn, and she appeared scolding violently, as she strode to and
fro on the royal carpets.
Andy was almost beside himself with delight and amazement, as he
watched these proceedings. At length he said, " These are not Tom
Thumb's people, but a nation of fairies ! O what a lucky boy I am ! "
For it is not every boy, you know, that has the good fortune to discover
these rare little people. They are in fact so seldom seen, that it is now gen-
erally believed that no such beings exist except in story-books. Andy had
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 127
read about them with a great deal of interest ; and although he had never
been quite convinced that what was said of them was really true, he could
now no longer have a doubt on the subject. He had not only discovered the
home of the fairies, but he had seen the fairy queen.
And as Andy was a selfish boy, who wished to possess every strange or
pretty thing he saw, he felt an ardent desire to seize and carry away the
beautiful and scornful little being, who walked up and down on the carpets,
scolding, and fanning herself with the gossamer fan.
" I will put her under a tumbler," he said, " and keep her there until I can
have a glass cage made for her. And I will make all the little fairy people
come and be my servants, as they will have to if I carry off their queen.
And I will show her to everybody who comes. And everybody will wonder
so ! O what a lucky boy I am ! "
So saying, he formed his plan for capturing Her Majesty. Being anxious
to take her alive, and carry her off without doing her any personal harm, he
resolved to put her into his hat and tie his handkerchief over it. Having
got everything in readiness, he stooped down very carefully, and extended
his hand. Nobody seemed to be frightened ; and the next moment the
fairy queen was fast between his thumb and finger.
" Ha, ha ! " cried Andy ; " the first time trying ! Hurrah ! " And he lifted
her up to put her into his hat.
But instantly the tiny creature began to struggle with all her might, and
rustle her silks, and queen as she was scratch and bite in the sharpest
manner. And at the same time the bravest little warriors flew to the rescue ;
shrewdly darting at Andy's face, as if they knew where to strike ; and sud-
denly, while he was laughing at their rage, he got a thrust in his forehead,
and another in his neck, and a third under his sleeve, where a courageous
little soldier had rushed in and resolutely driven in his rapier up to the hilt !
Andy, who had no idea such little weapons could hurt so, was terrified, and
began to scream with pain. And now, strange to see ! the fairies were no
longer fairies, but a nest of bumblebees ; it was the queen-bee he held in his
fingers ; and two of them had left their stings sticking in his wounds !
Andy dropped the queen-bee, left his hat and handkerchief by the stump,
and began to run, screaming and brushing away the bees, that still followed
him, buzzing in his hair, and stinging him where they could. He did not
stop until he had run half across the fallow, and the last of the angry swarm
that pursued him had ceased buzzing about his ears.
" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " he sobbed, with grief, and disappointment, and the pain
of the stings. " I did n't know they were bumblebees ! And I Ve lost my
hat ! And I don't know where I am ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! " And he sat down on
a stone and cried.
" Whoa ! hush, haw ! " said a loud voice;
And looking up through his tears, he saw an old farmer coming, with a
long whip in his hand, driving a yoke of oxen. Andy stopped weeping to
ask where he was, and the way home.
" About a peck and a half a day," replied the farmer.
128 Andys Adventures. [February,
Andy did not know what to make of this answer. So he said again,
" Can you tell me where my father and mother live ? "
" One in one stall, and the other in the other. Hush, haw ! " cried the
farmer.
" I Ve got lost, and I wish you 'd help me," said Andy.
" Star and Stripe," replied the farmer.
" How far is it to my father's ? " the poor boy then asked.
" Well, about ninety dollars, with the yoke," said the farmer. " Whoa,
back ! "
At this Andy felt so vexed, and weary, and bewildered, that he could not
help sobbing aloud.
" What ! " said the farmer, angrily ; " making fun of me ? " And he drew
up his whip to strike.
" O, I was n't making fun ! " said Andy, frightened.
" You stopped me, and asked how much corn I feed my oxen ; and I told
you. Then where I feed them ; and I told you that. Then their names ;
and I said, Star and Stripe. Then what I would sell them for ; and I gave
a civil answer. And now you 're laughing at me ! " said the farmer, raising
his whip again.
Then Andy perceived that, whenever he said anything, he seemed to say
something else, and that his weeping appeared to be laughter, and that, if he
stayed there a moment longer, he would surely get a whipping. So he
started to run, with the owner of the oxen shouting at his heels.
" There ! take that for being saucy to an old man ! " cried the farmer, fetch-
ing him a couple of sharp cuts across the back. Then he returned to his
oxen, and drove them away ; while Andy got off from the fallow as soon
as he could, weeping as if his heart would break.
Seeing not far off a beautiful field of clover, the boy thought he would go
and lie down in it, and rest.
He had never seen such clover in his life. It was all in bloom with blue
and red and white flowers, which seemed to glow and sparkle like stars
among the green leaves. How it waved and rippled and flashed in the sun-
shine, when the wind blew ! Andy almost forgot his grief ; and surely he
had quite forgotten that nothing was now any longer what it appeared, when
he waded knee-deep through the delicious clover, and laid himself down in
it. No sooner had he done so than he saw that what he had mistaken for a
field was a large pond, and he had plunged into it all over like a duck.
Strangling and gasping for breath, and drenched from head to foot, Andy
scrambled out of the water as fast as he could. His hair was wet ; and little
streams ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. His ears rang with the
water that had got into them. He was so frightened that he hardly knew
what had happened. And in this condition he sat down on the shore to let
his clothes drip, and to empty the water out of his shoes.
J. T. Troivbridge.
(To be continued^)
1865.] Our Country Neighbors. 129
OUR COUNTRY NEIGHBORS.
WE have just built our house in rather an out-of-the-way place, on the
bank of a river, and under the shade of a little patch of woods which
is a veritable remain of quite an ancient forest. The checkerberry and par-
tridge-plum, with their glossy green leaves and scarlet berries, still carpet
the ground under its deep shadows ; and prince's-pine and other kindred
evergreens declare its native wildness, for these are children of the wild
woods, that never come after plough and harrow has once broken a soil.
When we tried to look out the spot for our house, we had to get a sur-
veyor to go before us and cut a path through the dense underbrush that was
laced together in a general network of boughs and leaves, and grew so high
as to overtop our heads. Where the house stands, four or five great old
oaks and chestnuts had to be cut away to let it in ; and now it stands on the
bank of the river, the edges of which are still overhung with old forest-trees,
chestnuts and oaks, which look at themselves in the glassy stream.
A little knoll near the house was chosen for a garden-spot ; a dense, dark
mass of trees above, of bushes in mid-air, and of all sorts of ferns and wild-
flowers and creeping vines on the ground. All these had to be cleared out,
and a dozen great trees cut down and dragged off to a neighboring saw-mill,
there to be transformed into boards to finish off our house. Then, fetching
a great machine, such as might be used to pull a giant's teeth, with ropes,
pulleys, oxen and men, and might and main, we pulled out the stumps,
with their great prongs and their network of roots and fibres ; and then,
alas ! we had to begin with all the pretty wild, lovely bushes, and the check-
erberries and ferns and wild blackberries and huckleberry-bushes, and dig
them up remorselessly, that we might plant our corn and squashes. And
so we got a house and a garden right out of the heart of our piece of wild
wood, about a mile from the city of H .
Well, then, people said it was a lonely place, and far from neighbors, by
which they meant that it was a good way for them to come to see us. But
we soon found that whoever goes into the woods to live finds neighbors of
a new kind, and some to whom it is rather hard to become accustomed.
For instance, on a fine day early in April, as we were crossing over to
superintend the building of our house, we were startled by a striped snake,
with his little bright eyes, raising himself to look at us, and putting out his
red, forked tongue. Now there is no more harm in these little garden-snakes
than there is in a robin or a squirrel ; they are poor little, peaceable, timid
creatures, which could not do any harm if they would ; but the prejudices
of society are so strong against them, that one does not like to cultivate too
much intimacy with them. So we tried to turn out of our path into a tangle
of bushes ; and there, instead of one, we found four snakes. We turned on
the other side, and there were two more. In short, everywhere we looked,
the dry leaves were rustling and coiling with them ; and we were in despair.
VOL. I. NO. II. 9
130 Our Country Neighbors. [February,
In vain we said that they were 'harmless as kittens, and 'tried to persuade
ourselves that their little bright eyes were pretty, and that their serpentine
movements were in the exact line of beauty ; for the life of us, we could not
help remembering their family name and connections ; we thought of those
disagreeable gentlemen, the anacondas, the rattlesnakes, and the copper-
heads, and all of that bad line, immediate family friends of the old serpent
to whom we are indebted for all the mischief that is done in this world. So
we were quite apprehensive when we saw how our new neighborhood was
infested by them, until a neighbor calmed our fears by telling us that snakes
always crawled out of their holes to sun themselves in the spring, and that
in a day or two they would all be gone.
So it proved. It was evident they were all out merely to do their spring
shopping, or something that serves with them the same purpose that spring
shopping does with us ; and where they went afterwards we do not know.
People speak of snakes' holes, and we have seen them disappearing into
such subterranean chambers ; but we never opened one to see what sort of
underground housekeeping went on there. After the first few days of spring,
a snake was a rare visitor, though now and then one appeared.
One was discovered taking his noontide repast one day in a manner which
excited much prejudice. He was, in fact, regaling himself by sucking down
into his maw a small frog, which he had begun to swallow at the toes, and
had drawn about half down. The frog, it must be confessed, seemed to
view this arrangement with great indifference, making no struggle, and sit-
ting solemnly, with his great, unwinking eyes, to be sucked in at the leisure
of his captor. There was immense sympathy, however, excited for him in
the family circle ; and it was voted that a snake which indulged in such very
disagreeable modes of eating his dinner was not to be tolerated in our
vicinity. So I have reason to believe that that was his last meal.
Another of our wild woodland neighbors made us some trouble. It was
no other than a veritable woodchuck, whose hole we had often wondered at
when we were scrambling through the underbrush after spring flowers. The
hole was about the size of a peck-measure, and had two openings about six
feet apart. The occupant was a gentleman we never had had the pleasure
of seeing ; but we soon learned his existence from his ravages in our garden.
He had a taste, it appears, for the very kind of things we wanted to eat
ourselves, and helped himself without asking. We had a row of fine, crisp
heads of lettuce, which were the pride of our gardening, and out of which he
would from day to day select for his table just the plants we had marked
for ours. He also nibbled our young beans ; and so at last we were reluc-
tantly obliged to let John Gardiner set a trap for him. Poor old simple-
minded hermit, he was too artless for this world ! He was caught at the
very first snap, and found dead in the trap, the agitation and distress hav-
ing broken his poor woodland heart, and killed him. We were grieved to
the very soul when the poor fat old fellow was dragged out, with his useless
paws standing up stiff and imploring. He was industrious in his way, and
would have made a capital soldier under McClellan. A regiment like him
i86s.]
Our Country Neighbors.
would have made nothing of trench-digging, could they have been properly
drilled. As it was, he was given to Denis, our pig, which, without a single
scruple of delicacy, ate him up as thoroughly as he ate up the lettuce.
This business of eating, it appears, must go on all through creation. We
eat ducks, turkeys, and chickens, though we don't swallow them whole,
feathers and all. Our four-footed friends, less civilized, take things with
more directness and simplicity, and chew each other up without ceremony,
or swallow each other alive. Of these unceremonious habits we had other
instances.
Our house had a central court on the southern side, into which looked the
library, dining-room, and front hall, as well as several of the upper chambers.
It was designed to be closed in with glass, to serve as a conservatory in
winter ; and meanwhile we had filled it with splendid plumy ferns, taken up
out of the neighboring wood. In the centre was a fountain surrounded by
stones, shells, mosses, and various water-plants. We had bought three
little goldfish to swim in our basin ; and the spray of it, as it rose in the
air and rippled back into the water, was the pleasantest possible sound of a
hot day. We used to lie on the sofa in the hall, and look into the court, and
fancy we saw some scene of fairy-land, and water-sprites coming up from
die fountain. Suddenly a new-comer presented himself, no other than an
immense bullfrog, that had hopped up from the neighboring river, apparently
with a view to making a permanent settlement in and about our fountain.
132 Our Country Neighbors. [February,
He was to be seen, often for hours, sitting reflectively on the edge of it,
beneath the broad shadow of the calla-leaves. When sometimes missed
thence, he would be found under the ample shield of a great bignonia, whose
striped leaves grew hard by.
The family were prejudiced against him. What did he want there ? It
was surely some sinister motive impelled him. He was probably watching
for an opportunity to gobble up the goldfish. We took his part, however,
and strenuously defended his moral character, and patronized him in all
ways. We gave him the name of Unke, and maintained that he was a
well-conducted, philosophical old water-sprite, who showed his good taste
in wanting to take up his abode in our conservatory. We even defended
his personal appearance, praised the invisible-green coat which he wore on
his back, and his gray vest, and solemn gold spectacles ; and though he
always felt remarkably slimy when we touched him, yet, as he would sit
still, and allow us to stroke his head and pat his back, we concluded his
social feelings might be warm, notwithstanding a cold exterior. Who knew,
after all, but he might be a beautiful young prince, enchanted there till the
princess should come to drop the golden ball into the fountain, and so give
him a chance to marry her, and turn into a man again ? Such things, we
are credibly informed, are matters of frequent occurrence in Germany. Why
not here ?
By and by there came to our fountain another visitor, a frisky, green
young frog of the identical kind spoken of by the poet :
"There was a frog lived in a well,
Rig dum pully metakimo."
This thoughtless, dapper individual, with his bright green coat, his faultless
white vest, and sea-green tights, became rather the popular favorite. He
seemed just rakish and gallant enough to fulfil the conditions of the song :
"The frog he would a courting ride,
With sword and pistol by his side."
This lively young fellow, whom we shall call Cri-Cri, like other frisky and
gay young people, carried the day quite over the head of the solemn old
philosopher under the calla-leaves. At night, when all was still, he would
trill a joyous litti ^ note in his throat, while old Unke would answer only with
a cracked guttural more singular than agreeable ; and to all outward appear-
ance the two were as good friends as their different natures would allow.
One day, however, the conservatory became a scene of a tragedy of the
deepest dye. We were summoned below by shrieks and howls of horror.
" Do pray come down and see what this vile, nasty, horrid old frog has been
doing ! " Down we came ; and there sat our virtuous old philosopher, with
his poor little brother's hind legs still sticking out of the corner of his mouth,
as if he were smoking them for a cigar, all helplessly palpitating as they were.
In fact, our solemn old friend had done what many a solemn hypocrite before
has done, swallowed his poor brother, neck and crop, and sat there with
the most brazen indifference, looking as if he had done the most proper and
virtuous thing in the world.
1865.] Our Country Neighbors. 133
Immediately he was marched out of the conservatory at the point of the
walking-stick, and made to hop down into the river, into whose waters he
splashed ; and we saw him no more. We regret to say that the popular
indignation was so precipitate in its results ; otherwise the special artist who
sketched Hum, the son of Buz, intended to have made a sketch of the old
villain, as he sat with his luckless victim's hind legs projecting from his
solemn mouth. With all his moral faults, he was a good sitter, and would
probably have sat immovable any length of time that could be desired.
Of other woodland neighbors there were some which we saw occasionally.
The shores of the river were lined here and there with the holes of the
muskrats ; and, in rowing by their settlements, we were, sometimes strongly
reminded of them by the overpowering odor of the perfume from which they
get their name. There were also owls, whose nests were high up in some
of the old chestnut-trees. Often in the lonely hours of the night we could
hear them gibbering with a sort of wild, hollow laugh among the distant trees.
But one tenant of the woods made us some trouble in the autumn. It was a
little flying-squirrel, who took to making excursions into our house in the
night season, coming down chimney into the chambers, rustling about among
the clothes, cracking nuts or nibbling at any morsels of anything that suited
his fancy. For a long time the inmates of the rooms were wakened in the
night by mysterious noises, thumps, and rappings, and so lighted candles,
and searched in vain to find whence they came ; for the moment any move-
ment was made, the rogue whipped up chimney, and left us a prey to the
most mysterious alarms. What could it be ?
But one night our fine gentleman bounced in at the window of another
room, which had no fireplace ; and the fair occupant, rising in the night, shut
the window, without suspecting that she had cut off the retreat of any of her
woodland neighbors. The next morning she was startled by what she
thought a gray rat running past her bed. She rose to pursue him, when he
ran up the wall, and clung against the plastering, showing himself very
plainly a gray flying-squirrel, with large, soft eyes, and wings which consisted
of a membrane uniting the fore paws to the hind ones, like those of a bat.
He was chased into the conservatory, and, a window being opened, out he
flew upon the ground, and made away for his native woods, and thus put an
end to many fears as to the nature of our nocturnal rappings.
So you see how many neighbors we found by living in the woods, and,
after all, no worse ones than are found in the great world.
Harriet Beecher Stowe.
i$4 Winning his Way. [February,
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER II.
HARD TIMES.
HOW lonesome the days when dear friends leave us to return no more,
whom we never shall see again on earth, who will send us no mes-
sage or letter of love from the far distant land whither they have gone !
It tries our hearts a-nd brings tears to our eyes to lay them in the ground.
But shall we never, never see them again ? Yes, when we have taken the
same journey, when we have closed our eyes on earth and opened them
in heaven.
It was a sad day to Paul when he followed the body of his dear old grand-
father to the grave ; but when he stood by his coffin, and looked for the last
time upon his grandfather's face, and saw how peaceful it was and how pleas-
ant the smile which rested upon it, as if he was beholding beautiful scenes,
when Paul remembered how good he was, he could not feel it in his soul to
say, " Come back, Grandpa " ; he would be content as it was. But the days
were long and dreary, and so were the nights. Many were the hours which
Paul passed lying awake in his bed, looking through the crevices of the poor
old house, and watching the stars and the clouds as they went sailing by.
So he was sailing on, and the question would come up, Whither ? He lis-
tened to the water falling over the dam by the mill, and to the chirping of the
crickets, and the sighing of the wind, and the church-bell tolling the hours ;
they were sweet, yet mournful and solemn sounds. Tears stood in his eyes
and rolled down his cheeks, as he thought that he and his mother were on
earth, and his father and grandfather were praising God in the heavenly
choirs. But he resolved to be good, to take care of his mother, and be her
comfort and joy.
Hard times came on. How to live was the great question ; for now that
his grandfather was gone, they could have the pension no longer. The
neighbors were very kind. Sometimes Mr. Middlekauf, Hans's father, who
had a great farm, left a bag of meal for them when he came into the village.
There was little work for Paul to do in the village ; but he kept their own
garden in good trim, the onion-bed clear of weeds, and the potatoes well
hilled. Very pleasant it was to work there, where the honey-bees hummed
over the beds of sage, and among his mother's flowers, and where bumble-
bees dusted their yellow jackets in the hollyhocks. Swallows also built their
nests under the eaves of the house, and made the days pleasant with their
merry twittering.
The old pensioner had been a land surveyor. The compass which he used
was a poor thing ; but he had run many lines with it through the grand old
forest One day, as Paul was weeding the onions, it occurred to him that
he might become a surveyor ; so he went into the house, took the compass
1865.] Winning his Way. 135
from its case, and sat down to study it. He found his grandfather's survey-
ing-book, and began to study that Some parts were hard and dry; but
having resolved to master it, he was not the boy to give up a good reso-
lution. It was not long before he found out how to run a line, how to set
off angles, and how to ascertain the distance across a river or pond without
measuring it. He went into the woods, and stripped great rolls of birch bark
from the trees, carried them home, spread them out on the table, and plotted
his lines with his dividers and ruler. He could not afford paper. He took
great pleasure in making a sketch of the ground around the house, the
garden, the orchard, the field, the road, and the river.
The people of New Hope had long been discussing the project of building
a new road to Fair View, which would cross the pond above the mill. But
there was no surveyor in the region to tell them how long the bridge must
be which they would have to build.
" We will send up a kite, and thus get a string across the pond," said one
of the citizens.
" I can ascertain the distance easier than that," said Paul.
Mr. Pimpleberry, the carpenter, who was to build the bridge, laughed, and
looked with contempt upon him, Paul thought, because he was barefoot and
had a patch on each knee.
" Have you ever measured it, Paul ? " Judge Adams asked.
" No, sir ; but I will do so just to let Mr. Pimpleberry see that I can
do it."
He ran into the house, brought out the compass, went down to the edge
of the pond, drove a small stake in the ground, set his compass over it, and
sighted a small oak-tree upon the other side of the pond. It happened that
the tree was exactly south from the stake ; then he turned the sights of his
compass so that they pointed exactly east and west. Then he took Mr.
Pimpleberry's ten-foot pole, and measured out fifty feet toward the west, and
drove another stake. Then he set his compass there, and took another sight
at the small oak-tree across the pond. It was not south now, but several
degrees east of south. Then he turned his compass so that the sights would
point just the same number of degrees to the east of north.
" Now, Mr. Pimpleberry," said Paul, " I want you to stand out there, and
hold your ten-foot pole just where I tell you, putting yourself in range with
the stake I drove first and the tree across the pond."
Mr. Pimpleberry did as he was desired.
" Drive a stake where your pole stands," said Paul.
Mr. Pimpleberry thrust a splinter into the ground.
" Now measure the distance from the splinter to my first stake, and that
will be the distance across the pond," said Paul.
" I don't believe it," said Mr. Pimpleberry.
" Paul is right," said Judge Adams. " I understand the principle. He
has done it correctly."
The Judge was proud of him. Mr. Pimpleberry and Mr. Funk, and
several other citizens, were astonished ; for they had no idea that Paul
136 Winning his Way. [February,
could do anything of the kind. Notwithstanding Paul had given the true dis-
tance, he received no thanks from any one ; yet he did n't care for that ;
for he had shown Mr. Pimpleberry that he could do it, and that was glory
enough.
Paul loved fun as well as ever. Rare times he had at school. One windy
day, a little boy, when he entered the school-room, left the door open. " Go
back and shut the door," shouted Mr. Cipher, who was very irritable that
morning. Another boy entered, and left it open. Mr. Cipher was angry, and
spoke to the whole school : " Any one who comes in to-day and does not
shut the door, will get a flogging. Now remember ! " Being very awkward
in his manners, inefficient in government, and shallow-brained and vain, he
commanded very little respect from the scholars.
" Boys, there is a chance for us to have a jolly time with Cipher," said
Paul at recess.
" What is it ? " Hans Middlekauf asked, ready for fun of any sort. The
boys gathered round, for they knew that Paul was a capital hand in invent-
ing games.
" You remember what Cipher said about leaving the door open."
" Well, what of it ? " Hans Middlekauf asked.
" Let every one of us show him that we can obey him. When he raps
for us to go in, I want you all to form in line. I '11 lead off, go in and shut
the door ; you follow next, Hans, and be sure and shut the door ; you come
next, Philip ; then Michael, and so on, every one shutting the door. If
you don't, remember that Cipher has promised to flog you."
The boys saw through the joke, and laughed heartily. "Jingo, that is a
goou one, Paul. Cipher will be as mad as a March hare. I '11 make the old
door rattle," said Hans.
Rap rap rap rap ! went the master's ruler upon the window.
" Fall into line, boys," said Paul. They obeyed orders as if he were a
general. " Now remember, every one of you, to shut the door just as soon
as you are in. Do it quick, and take your seats. Don't laugh, but be as
sober as deacons." There was giggling in the ranks. " Silence ! " said
Paul. The boys smoothed their faces. Paul opened the door, stepped in,
and shut it in an instant, slam ! Hans opened it, slam ! it went, with a
jar which made the windows rattle. Philip followed, slam ! Michael next,
bang ! it went, jarring the house.
" Let the door be open," said Cipher ; but Michael was in his seat ; and
bang ! again, slam ! bang ! slam ! bang ! it went.
" Let it be open, I say ! " he roared, but the boys outside did not hear
him, and it kept going, slam ! slam ! slam ! bang ! bang ! bang !
till the fiftieth boy was in.
" You started that, sir," Cipher said, addressing Paul, for he had discov-
ered that Paul Parker loved fun, and was a leading spirit among the boys.
" I obeyed your orders, sir," Paul replied, ready to burst into a roar at the
success of his experiment.
" Did you not tell the boys to slam the door as hard as they could ? "
1865.] Winning his Way. 137
" No, sir. I told them to remember what you had said, and that, if they
did n't shut the door, they would get a flogging."
" That is just what he said, Master," said Hans Middlekauf, brimming
over with fun. Cipher could not dispute it. He saw that they had literally
obeyed his orders, and that he had been outwitted. He did not know what
to do ; and, being weak and inefficient, did nothing.
Paul loved hunting and fishing; on Saturday afternoons he made the
woods ring with the crack of his grandfather's gun, bringing squirrels from
the tallest trees, and taking quails upon the wing. He was quick to see, and
swift to take aim. He was cool of nerve, and so steady of aim that he rarely
missed. It was summer, and he wore no shoes. He walked so lightly that
he scarcely rustled a leaf. The partridges did not see him till he was close
upon them, and then, before they could rise from their cover, flash !
bang ! and they went into his bag.
One day as he was on his return from the woods, with the gun upon his
shoulder, and the powder-horn at his side, he saw a gathering of people in
the street. Men, women, and children were out, the women without
bonnets. He wondered what was going on. Some women were wringing
their hands ; and all were greatly excited.
" O dear, is n't it dreadful ! " " What will become of us ? " " The Lord
have mercy upon us ! " were the expressions which he heard. Then they
wrung their hands again, and moaned.
"'What is up ? " he asked of Hans Middlekauf.
" Have n't you heard ? "
"No, what is it?"
" Why, there is a big black bull-dog, the biggest that ever was, that has
run mad. He has bitten ever so many other dogs, and horses, sheep, and
cattle. He is as big as a bear and froths at the mouth. He is the savagest
critter that ever was," said Hans in a breath.
" Why don't somebody kill him ? "
" They are afeared of him," said Hans.
" I should think they might kill him," Paul replied.
" I reckon you would run as fast as anybody else, if he should show him-
self round here," said Hans.
" There he is ! Run ! run ! run for your lives ! " was the sudden cry.
Paul looked up the street, and saw a very large bull-dog coming upon the
trot. Never was there such a scampering. People ran into the nearest
houses, pell-mell. One man jumped into his wagon, lashed his horse into a
run, and went down the street, losing his hat in his flight, while Hans Mid-
dlehauf went up a tree.
" Run, Paul ! Run ! he '11 bite you," cried Mr. Leatherby from the win-
dow of his shoe shop. People looked out from the windows and repeated
the cry, a half-dozen at once ; but Paul took no notice of them. Those
who were nearest him heard the click of his gun-lock. The dog came
nearer, growling, and snarling, his mouth wide open, showing his teeth, his
eyes glaring, and white froth dripping from his lips. Paul stood alone in the
138
Winning his Way.
[February,
street. There was a sudden silence. It was a scene for a painter, a bare-
foot boy in patched clothes, with an old hat on his head, standing calmly be-
fore the brute whose bite was death in its most terrible form. One thought
had taken possession of Paul's mind, that he ought to kill the dog.
Nearer, nearer, came the dog ; he
was not a rod off. Paul had read
that no animal can withstand the
steady gaze of the human eye. He
looked the dog steadily in the face. He held his breath. Not a nerve trem-
bled. The dog stopped, looked at Paul a moment, broke into a louder growl,
opened his jaws wider, his eyes glaring more wildly, and stepped slowly for-
ward. Now or never, Paul thought, was his time. The breech of the gun
touched his shoulder ; his eye ran along the barrel, bang ! the dog rolled
over with a yelp and a howl, but was up again, growling and trying to get at
Paul, who in an instant seized his gun by the barrel, and brought the breech
down upon the dog's skull, giving him blow after blow.
" Kill him ! kill him ! " shouted the people from the windows.
" Give it to him ! Mash his head ! " cried Hans from the tree.
The dog soon became a mangled and bloody mass of flesh and bones.
The people came out from their houses.
" That was well done for a boy," said Mr. Funk.
" Or for a man either," said Mr. Chrome, who came up and patted Paul
OH his back.
1865.] Winning- his Way. 139
" I should have thrown my lapstone at him, if I could have got my win-
dow open," said Mr. Leatherby. Mr. Noggin, the cooper, who had taken
refftge in Leatherby's shop, afterwards said that Leatherby was frightened
half to death, and kept saying, "Just as like as not he will make a spring and
dart right through the window."
" Nobly, bravely done, Paul," said Judge Adams. " Let me shake hands
with you, my boy." He and Mrs. Adams and Azalia had seen it all from
their parlor window.
" O Paul, I was afraid he would bite and kill you, or that your gun would
miss fire. I trembled all over just like a leaf," said Azalia, still pale and
trembling. " O, I am so glad you have killed him ! " She looked up into his
face earnestly, and there was such a light in her eyes, that Paul was glad he
had killed the dog, for her sake.
" Were n't you afraid, Paul ? " she asked.
" No. If I had been afraid, I should have missed him, perhaps ; I made
up my mind to kill him, and what was the use of being afraid."
Many were the praises bestowed upon Paul. " How noble ! how heroic ! "
the people said. Hans told the story to all the boys in the village. " Paul
was just as cool as cool as a cucumber," he said, that being the best
comparison he could think of. The people came and looked at the dog, to
see how large he was, and how savage, and went away saying, " I am glad
he is dead, but I don't see how Paul had the courage to face him."
Paul went home and told his mother what had happened. She turned
pale while listening to the story, and held her breath, and clasped her
hands ; but when he had finished, and when she thought that, if Paul had
not killed the dog, many might have been bitten, she was glad, and said,
" You did right, my son. It is our duty to face danger if we can do
good." A tear glistened in her eye as she kissed him. " God bless you,
Paul," she said, and smiled through her tears. He remembered it for many
a day.
All the dogs which had been bitten were killed to prevent them from run-
ning mad. A hard time of it the dogs of New Hope had, for some which
had not been bitten did not escape the dog-killers, who went through the
town knocking them over with clubs.
Although Paul was so cool and courageous in the moment of danger, he
trembled and felt weak afterwards when he thought of the risk he had run.
That night when he said his evening prayer, he thanked God for having pro-
tected him. He dreamed it all over again in the night. He saw the dog
coming at him with his mouth wide open, the froth dropping from his lips,
and his eyes glaring heavily. He heard his growl, only it was not a
growl, but a branch of the old maple which rubbed against the house when
the wind blew. That was what set him a dreaming. In his dream he had
no gun, so he picked up the first thing he could lay his hands on, and let
drive at the dog. Smash ! there was a great racket, and a jingling of glass.
Paul was awake in an instant, and found that he had jumped out of bed, and
was standing in the middle of the floor, and that he had knocked over the
140 Trapped in a Tree. [February,
spinning-wheel, and a lot of old trumpery, and had thrown one of his grand-
father's old boots through the window.
" What in the world are you up to, Paul ? " his mother asked, calling from
the room below, in alarm.
" Killing the dog a second time, mother," Paul replied, laughing and jump-
ing into bed again.
Carleton.
TRAPPED IN A TREE.
A BACKWOODS ADVENTURE.
AMONG the many queer characters I have encountered, in the shadow
of the forest or the sunshine of the prairie, I can remember none
queerer than Zebulon Stump, or old Zeb, as he was familiarly known.
" Kaintuck by birth and raisin'," as he described himself, he was a hunter
of the Daniel Boone sort. The chase was his sole calling ; and he would
have indignantly scouted the suggestion that he ever followed it for mere
amusement. Though not of ungenial disposition, he held all amateur hunt-
ers in lordly contempt ; and his conversation with such was always of a
condescending character, although he was not, after all, averse to their com-
pany. Being myself privileged with his acquaintance, many of my hunting
excursions were made in company with Old Zeb. He was in truth my guide
and instructor, as well as companion, and initiated me into many mysteries
of American woodcraft.
One of the most inexplicable of these mysteries was Old Zeb's own exist-
ence ; and I had known him for a considerable time before I could unravel
it He stood six feet high in his boots of alligator-skin, into the ample
tops of which were crowded the legs of his coarse "copperas" trousers;
while his other garments were a deer-skin shirt, and a blanket coat that had
once been green, but, like the leaves of the autumnal forest, had become sere
and yellow. A slouched felt hat shaded his cheeks from the sun upon the
rare occasions when Old Zeb strayed beyond the shadow of the " timber."
Where and how he lived were the two points that most required expla-
nation. In the tract of virgin forest where I usually met him, there was
neither house nor hut. So said the people of Grand Gulf, the small town
upon the Mississippi where I was staying. Yet Old Zeb had told me that
in this forest was his "hum." It was only after our acquaintance had
ripened into strong fellowship, that I had the pleasure of spending an hour
under his humble roof. It consisted of the hollow trunk of a gigantic syca-
more-tree, still standing and growing ! Here Old Zeb found shelter for
himself, his squaw, as he termed Mrs. Stump, his household gods, and
1865.] Trapped in a Tree. 141
the tough old nag that carried him in his wanderings. His establishment
was no longer a puzzle, though there was still the mystery of how he main-
tained it. A skilled hunter might easily procure food for himself and family ;
but even the hunter disdains a diet exclusively game. There were the cof-
fee, the " pone " of corn-bread, the corn itself necessary for the " critter,"
the gown that wrapped the somewhat angular outlines of Mrs. Stump, "and
many other things that could not be procured by a rifle. Even the rifle itself
required food not to be found in the forest.
Presuming on our intimacy, I asked, " How do you manage to live ?
You don't appear to make anything, nor do I see any signs of cultivation.
How then do you support yourselves ? "
" Them duds thar," answered my host, pointing to a corner of his tree-
cabin. I looked and saw the skins of several animals, among which I
recognized those of the " painter," " possum," and " 'coon," along with a
haunch or two of recently killed venison. " I sell 'em, boy ; the skins to the
storekeepers, and the deer-meat to anybody as '11 buy it."
Old Zeb's shooting appeared marvellous to me. He could "bark " a squir-
rel in the top of the tallest tree, or kill it by a bullet through its eye. He
used to boast, in a quiet way, that he never spoilt a skin, though it was only
that of a " contemptible squir'l."
What most interested me was his tales of adventure, of which he was often
the hero ; one possessed especial interest, partly from its own essential odd-
ness, and partly from its hinging on a phenomenon which I had more than
once witnessed. I allude to the " caving in," or breaking down, of the banks
of the Mississippi River, caused by the undermining of the current, when
large strips of land, often whole acres, thickly studded with gigantic trees,
slip into the water, to be "swished" away with a violence eclipsing the
fury of fabled Charybdis. It was at the time of these land-slides that old
Zeb had met with this adventure, which, by the way, came very near killing
him.
I shall try to set it forth in his own piquant patois, as nearly as I can tran-
scribe it from the tablets of my memory. I was indebted for the tale to a
chance circumstance, for old Zeb seldom volunteered a story, unless some-
thing suggested it. We had killed a fine buck, that had run several hundred
times his length with the bullet in his body, and fallen within a few feet of the
bank of the great river. While stopping to dress him, old Zeb looked around
keenly, exolaiming, "If this ain't the place whar I war trapped in a tree!
Thar 's the very saplin' itself ! "
I looked at the "saplin'." It was a swamp cypress of some thirty feet in
girth, by at least a hundred and fifty in height
" Trapped in a tree ! " I echoed with emphatic interest, perceiving that he
was upon the edge of some odd adventure ; and, desirous of tempting him to
the relation, I continued : " Trapped in a tree ! How could that be with an
old forester like you ? "
" It dud be, howsomedever," was the quaint reply of my companion ; "an'
not so very long agone, neyther. Ef ye '11 sit down a bit, I '11 tell ye all, as I
142 Trapped in a Tree. [February,
kin tell it ; for I hain't forgotten neery sarcumstance ; an' I '11 lay odds,
young feller, thet ef ever you be as badly skeeart, you 'H carry the recollection
o' that skeer ter yer coffin.
" Ye see, kumrade, I war out arter deer jest as we are the day ; only it had
got to be nigh sundown, i'deed, an' I hed n't emptied my rifle the hul day.
Fact is, I hed n't sot eye on a thing wuth a charge o' powder an' lead. I
war afut ; an' it are a good six mile from this to my shanty. I did n't like
goin' home empty-handed, specially as I knowed we war empty-housed ; an'
the ole 'ooman wanted somethin' to git us a pound or two o' coffee an' sugar
with. So I thort I shed stay all night i' the wuds, trustin' to gettin' a shot
at a stray buck or a turkey in the early mornin'. I war jest in this spot ; but
it looked quite different then. The hul place about hyar war kivered wi' the
tallest o' cane, an' so thick, a coon ked sca'ce worm his way through it ; but
sence then the under-scrub 's all been burnt out. So I tuk up my quarters
for the night under that 'ere big Cyprus. The ground war dampish ; for
thar hed been a spell o' rain. So I tuk out my bowie, an' cut me enough o'
the green cane to make a sort o' a shake-down. It war comf table enough ;
an' in the twinklin' o' a buck's tail, I war soun' asleep. I slep' like a pos-
sum, till daybreak, an' then I war awoke by the worst noises as ever rousted
a feller out o' his slumber. I heerd a skreekin' an' screamin' an' screevin',
as ef all the saws in Massissippi wor bein' sharped 'ithin twenty yards o'
my ear. It all kim from overhead, from out the top o' the Cyprus; an'
it war the callin' o' the baldy eagles ; it wa' n't the fust time I had lis-
tened to them hyar. ' That 's a neest,' sez I to myself; ' an' young 'uns, too.
That 's why the birds is makin' sech a rumpis.' Not that I cared much
about a eagle's nest, nor the birds neyther. But jest then I remembered my
ole 'ooman had told me that there war a rich Englishman at the tavern
in Grand Gulf who offered no eend o' money for a brace o' young baldy
eagles.
" So in coorse I clomb the tree. 'T war n't so easy as you may s'pose.
Thar war forty feet o' the stem 'ithout a branch, an' so smooth thet a cata-
mount ked n't 'a' scaled it. I thort at fust that the Cyprus wa' n't climable no
how ; but jest then I seed a big fox grape-vine, that, arter sprawlin' up an-
other tree clost by, left it an' sloped off to the one whar the baldies had thar
nest. This war the very thing I wanted, a sort o' Jaykup's ladder ; an',
'ithout wastin' a minit, I shinned up the grape-vine. The shaky thing wob-
bled about, till I war well-nigh pitched back to the groun' ; an' thar war a
time when I thort seriously o' slippin' down agin.
" But then kim the thort o' the ole 'ooman, an' the empty larder, along wi'
the Englishman an' his full purse ; an' bein' freshly narved by these recollec-
tions, I swarmed up the vine like a squir'l. Once upon the Cyprus, thar war n't
no differculty in reachin' the neest. Thar war plenty o' footing among the top
branches whar the birds had made thar eyeray. But it war n't so easy to get
into the neest. Thar ked n't 'a' been less than a wagon-load o' sticks in it, to
say nothin' o' Spanish moss, an' all sorts o' bones o' fish and four-footed ani-
mals. It tuk me nigh a hour to make a hole, so that I ked git my head above
1865.] Trapped in a Tree. 143
the edge, an' see what the neest contained. As I expected, thur war young
'uns in it, two o' them about half feathered.
" All this time the old birds were abroad lookin' up a breakfast, I suppose,
for thar chicks. ' How disappointed they '11 be ! ' sez I to myself, ' when
they come back an' find that the young 'uns have fled the neest, without
feathers ! '
" I war too sure o' my game, an' too curious about the young baldies,
watching them, as they cowered clos't thegither, hissin' an' threatenin' me,
to take notice o' anythin' besides. But I war roused by feelin' the hat sud-
dintly snatched from my head, an' at the same time gettin' a scratch acrost
the cheek, that sent the blood spurtin' out all over my face. It was from
the talon o' the she-eagle, while the ole cock war makin' a confusion o'
noises as if he hed jest come all a-strut from the towers o' Babylon. I had
grupped one o' the young baldies, but I war only too glad to lot it go an'
duck my head under the nest, till the critters were tired threatenin' me, an'
guv up the attack. By this time I guv up all thought o' takin' the young
eagles. Arter my scratch, I war contented to leave 'em alone, an' no Eng-
lishman's gold ked hev bought that brace o' birds. I only waited a bit to re-
kiver myself, an' then I commenced makin' back-tracks down the tree.
" I hed got 'bout half-way to the place whar the fox-grapes tuck holt o' the
Cyprus, when I was stopped by a sound far more terrene than the screech o'
the eagles. It was the creakin' an' crashin' o' timber along wi' that unairthly
rumblin' ye may hear when the banks o' the Massissippi be a cavin' in, as
they war then. I ked see the trees that stood atween me an' the river
trimblin' and tossin' about, an' then goin' with a loud swish, an' a plunge, in-
to the fast flowin' current o' the stream. The Cyprus itself shook, as if the
wind war busy among its branches. I felt a suddint jerk upon it, an' then
it righted agin', an' stood steady as a rock. The eagles above screamed
wuss than iver, while Zeb Stump below war tremblin' like an aspick.
" I know'd well enough what it all meant, but knowin' did n't give me
any great satesfaction, since I believed that in another minit the Cyprus
mout cave in too ! I did n't stay the ten thousanth fraction o' a minit. I
hurried to get back to the groun' ; an' soon reached the place whar the grape-
vine joined on to the Cyprus. Thur war n't no grape-vine to be seen. It
war clear gone ! The tother tree to which its roots had been clingin' had
gone into the river, takin' the fox-grape along wi' it. It war that gev the
pluck I felt when descendin' fro' the neest. I looked below. The river had
changed its channel. Instead o' runnin' twenty yards from the spot, it war
surgin' along clost to the Cyprus, which in another minit mout topple
over, whirl along, and be swallowed in the frothin' water.
" I ked do nuthin' but stay whar I war, nothin' but wait an' watch,
listenin' to the screamin' o' the eagles, skeeart like myself, the hoarse
roarin' o' the angry water, an' the crashin' o' the trees, as one arter another
fell victims to the flood."
I was fascinated by this narration. Old Zeb's thoughts, notwithstanding
the patois in which they were expressed, had risen to the sublime ; and al-
144 Trapped in a Tree. [February,
though he paused for some minutes, I made no attempt to interrupt his re-
flections, but in silence awaited the continuance of his tale.
" Wai, what do ye suppose I did nixt ? " asked Zeb.
" Really, I cannot imagine," I replied, considerably astonished by Old
Zeb's abrupt and unexpected question.
" Wai, ye don't suppose I kim down from the tree ? "
" I don't see how you could."
" Neyther did I, for I ked n't. I mout as well 'a' tried to git down the pur-
pendiklar face o' the Chickasaw bluffs, or the wall o' Jackson Court-House.
So I guv it up, an' stayed whar I war, cross-legs on a branch o' the tree. It
war n't the most comf 'table kind o' seat ; but I hed somethin' else than cush-
ions to think of. I did n't know the minit I mout be shot out into the Mas-
sissippi ; an' as I niver war much o' a swimmer, to say nothin' o' bein'
smashed by the branches in fallin', I war n't over satesfied wi' my sitiwa-
tion.
" So I passed the hull o' that day ; tho' thar war n't an easy bone in my
body, I hed got to be a bit easier in my mind ; for on lookin' down at the
river, it seemed that the cave-in hed come to a eend. But my comfort
did n't last long. It war follered by the reflection that, whether the tree war
to stand or fall, I war equally a lost man. I knew that I war beyont the
reach o' human help. Nothin' but chance ked fetch a livin' critter within
reach o' my voice. I seed the river plain enough, an' boats passin' up
an' down ; but I know'd they war 'custom'd to steer along the opposite
shore, to Void the dangerous eddy as sets torst this side. The river's
more 'n a mile wide here, and the people on a passin' boat wud n't hear me ;
an' ef they did, they 'd take it for some one a mockin' 'em. A man hailin' a
boat from the top o' a cyprus-tree ! It 'ud be of no use. For all that I tried
it. Steamers, keels, and flats, I hailed them all till I war hoarse ; some o'
'em heard me, for I war answered by shouts o' scornful laughter. My own
shouts o' despair mout a' been mistuk for the cries o' a fool or a madman.
" Wul, I kim to the conclusion that I war trapped in that tree, an' no mis-
take. I seed no more chance o' gittin' clur than wud a bar wi' a two-ton log
across the small o' his back.
" It war jest arter I hed gin up all hope o' bein' suckered by anybody else,
thet I 'gan to think o' doin' suthin' for myself. I needed to do suthin'. Full
thirty hours hed passed since I 'd eyther ate or drank ; for I 'd been huntin'
all the day afore 'ithout doin' eyther. I ked 'a' swallered the muddiest water
as ever war found in a puddle, an' neyther frogs nor tadpoles would 'a' de-
terred me. As to eatin', when I thort o' that, I ked n't help turnin' my eyes
up'ard ; an', spite o' the spurt I 'd hed wi' thar parents, I ked 'a' tolt them
young baldies that thar lives war in danger.
" Possible, I mout 'a' feeled hungrier an' thurstier then I did, if it had n't
been for the fear I war in 'bout the Cyprus topplin' over into the river. Thet
hed kep' me in sich a state o' skear, as to hinder me from thinking of most
anythin' else.
" As the time passed, hows'ever, an' the tree still kep' its purpendic'lar, I
1865.] Trapped in a Tree. 145
begun to b'lieve that the bank war n't agoin' to move any more. I ked see
the water down below through the branches o' the Cyprus, an' tho' it war
clost by, thar 'peared to be a clamjamfery o' big roots stickin' out from the
bank, as war like to keep the dirt firm agin the underminin' o' the cur-
rent, leastwise for a good while.
" Soon as I bekum satersfied o' the firmness o' the Cyprus, I tuk to think-
in' again how I war to git down. Thinkin' war n't o' no use. Thar war no
way but to jump it ; an' I mout as well ha' thort o' jumpin' from the top o' a
'Piscopy church steeple 'ithout breakin' my ole thigh-bones, tough as they
be.
" By this time it hed got to be night ; an' as thar wa' n't no use o' me makin'
things wuss then they war, I groped about the Cyprus to see ef thar war ary
limb softer than the others, whar I ked lay myself for a snooze. I foun' a
place in one o' the forks, large enough to 'a' lodged a bar ; an' thar I squatted.
I slep' putty well, considerin' ; but the scratch the eagle hed gin me hed got
to be sorish, an' war wuss torst the mornin'. At peep o' day I war wide
awake, an' feelin' hungry enuf to eat anything.
" While I war thinkin' o' climbin' up to the neest an' wringin' one o' the
eagles' necks, I chanced to look out over the river. All at oncet I see one o'
them big water-hawks osprey, they call 'em plunge down, an' rise up
agin wi' a catfish in his claws. He had n't got twenty feet above the surface
when one o' the old baldies went shootin' torst him like a streak o' lightnin'.
Afore ye kud 'a' counted six, I seed the she-baldy comin' for the tree wi' the
catfish in her claws.
" ' Good,' sez I to myself; 'ef I must make my breakfast on raw stuff, I 'd
rayther it shed be fish than squab eagle.'
" I started for the neest. This time I tuk the purcaution to unsheathe my
bowie an' carry it in my hand ready for a fight ; an' it war n't no idle purcaution,
as it proved ; for sca'ce hed I got my head above the edge o' the neest when
both the old birds attackted me jest as afore. The fight war now more even
atween us, an' the cunnin' critters appeared to know it ; for they kep' well out
o' reach o' the bowie, though floppin' an' clawin' at me whenever they seed a
chance. I guv the ole hen a prod that cooled her courage consid'able ; an'
as for the cock, he war n't a sarcumstance to her ; for, as yer know, the pluck-
iest o' eagles is allers the hen bird.
" The fish war lyin' in the bottom o' the neest, whar they had dropped it.
It hed n't been touched, 'ceptin' by the claws thet hed carried it, an' the
young uns war too much skeart durin' the skurmidge to think o' beginnin'
breakfast. I spiked it on the blade o' my bowie, an', drawin' it torst me, I slid
back down the tree to the fork whar I hed passed the night. Thar I ate it."
" You don't mean to say you ate it raw ? "
" Jest as it come from the river ! I mout 'a' gin it a sort o' a cookin', ef I 'd
liked ; for I hed my punk pouch on me, an' I ked 'a' got firin' from the dead
bark o' the Cyprus. But I war too hungry to wait, an' I ate it raw. The
fish war a couple o' pound weight ; an' I left nothin' o' it but the bones, fins,
an' tail.
VOL. i. NO. ii. 10
146 Trapped in a Tree. [February,
" As ye may guess, I wa' n't hungry any longer ; but jest then come upon
me a spell o' the driest thirst I ever 'sperienced in all my life. The fish
meat made it wuss ; for, arter I bed swallered it, I feeled as ef I war afire.
The sun war shinin' full upon the river, an' the glitterin' water made things
wuss ; for it made me hanker arter it all the more. Oncet or twice I got out
o' the fork, thinkin' I ked creep along a limb an' drop into the river. I shed
'a' done so, hed it been near enough, tho' I knowed I ked niver 'a' swum
ashore. But the water war too fur off.
" 'T war no use chawin' true leaves o' the Cyprus. They war full o' rosin,
an' 'ud only make the chokin' wuss. Thar war some green leaves on the
fox-grape-vine, an' I chawed all o' them that I ked git my paws on. Thet
dud some good ; but my suffering war still unbarable.
" How war I to git at the water o' that river, that flowed so tauntin'ly jest
out o' reach ? I 'most jumped off o' the tree when at last I bethort me o' a
way to manage it.
" I had a piece o' cord I allers carries about me. 'T war long enough to reach
the river bank an' let down into the water. I ked empty my powder-horn an'
let it down. It would fill, an' I ked then draw it up agin. Hooray !
" I cried that hooray only oncet. On lookin' for the horn, I diskivered that
I hed left it whar I hed tuk it off afore goin' to sleep, under the Cyprus.
"I war n't a-goin' to be beat in that way. Ef I hed no vessel thet wud
draw water, I hed my ole doe-skin shirt. I ked let that down, soak it, an'
pull it up agin. No sooner said than done. The shirt war peeled off, gath-
ered up into a clew, tied to the eend o' the string, an' chucked out'ard. It
struck a branch o' the Cyprus an' fell short. I tried over an' over agin. It
still fell short several feet from the bank o' the river. Yet the cord war long
enough. It war the thick branches o' the Cyprus that gin me no chance to
make a clur cast, and havin' tried till I war tired, I gev that up too.
" I shed 'a' felt dreadful at failin' arter bein' so sure o' success ; but jest
then I bethunk me o' another plan for reachin' that preecious flooid.
" I Ve tolt ye 'bout my cuttin' a lot o' cane to make me a shake-down for
sleepin' on. Thur it still war right under me, armfuls o' it. The sight o'
its long tubes suggested a new idee, which I war n't long in puttin' to prac-
tice. Takin' the shirt out o' its loop, I made the cord fast to the heft o' my
bowie. I then shot the knife down among the cane, sendin' it wi' all my
might, an' takin' care to keep the p'int 0' the blade down'ards.' It war n't
long till I had spiked up as much o' thet 'ere cane as wud 'a' streetched
twenty yards into the river.
" Thar war no eend o' whittlin' an' punchin' out the p'ints, an' then splicin'
the tubes one to the other. But I knowed it war a case o' life or death, an'
knowin' that, I worked on steady as an ole gin-hoss.
" I war rewarded for my patience. I got my blow-gun completed, an' shov-
in' it carefully out, takin' the purcaution to give it a double rest upon the
branches, I hed the satersfaction ter see its p'int dippin' down into the river.
I tell ye, thar war n't no mint-juleps ever sucked through a straw as tasted
like the flooid that cum gurdlin' up through that cane. I thort I ked niver
1865.] Trapped in a Tree. 147
take the thing from my lips ; an' I feel putty sartin that while I war drinkin',
the Massissippi must 'a' fell clur a couple o' feet. Ye may larf at the idee,
young feller, an' I 'm gled to see ye in setch good sperits ; but ye are n't so
elevated as I war when I tuk my mouth from the cane. I feeled all over a
new man, jest as ef I hed been raised frc-m the dead, or dragged out o' a
consoomin' fire.
" I lived in the fork o' that ere Cyprus for six long days, occasionally pay-
in' a visit to the eagles' neest, an' robbin' the young baldies o' the food thar
parents hed pervided for 'em. Thar diet war various, an' on a konsequence
so war mine. I hed vittles consistin' o' fish, flesh, an' fowl, sometimes a
rabbit, sometimes a squir'l, with feathered game to foller, sech as partridge,
teals, an' widgeons. I did n't cook 'em, for I war afraid o' settin' fire to
the withered leaves o' the tree an' burnin' up the neest, which wud 'a' been
like killin' the goose as laid the eggs o' gold.
" I mout a managed that sort o' existence for a longer spell, tho' I ac-
knowledge it war tiresome enuf. But it war n't that as made me anxious to
see it up, but suthin' very different. I seed that the young baldies war every
day gettin' bigger. Thar feathers war comin' out all over, an' I ked tell that
it wud n't be long till they wud take wing.
" When that time kum, about whar shed I be ? still in the tree or worse ;
but whar was my purvision to kum from ? who wud supply me wi' fish,
an' flesh, an' fowl, as the eagles hed done ? Clurly neery one. It war this
thort as made me uneasy.
" I must do suthin' to git down out o' that tree, or die among its branches,
an' I spent all my spare time in thinkin' what mout be did. I used to read
in Webster's Spellin' Book that needsessity are the mother o' invention. I
reckon Ole Web war n't far astray when he prented them ere words. Any-
ways it proved true in the case o' Zeb Stump, when he war trapped in that
Cyprus.
" I hed noticed that the two ole eagles becum tamer, as they got used to
me. They seed that I did no harm to their chicks, 'ceptin' so far as to ab-
strack from 'em a portion o' thar daily allowance. But I allers tuk care to
leave them sufficient for themselves ; an' as thar parents appeared to hev no
difficulty in purvidin' them wi' plenty, unlike many parents in yur country,
friend, as I 've heerd, my pilferin' did n't seem much to distress 'em.
They grew at last so that they 'd sit on the one side o' the neest, while I war
peepin' over the other ! I seed that I ked easily snare them ; an' I made
up my mind to do this very thing ; for a partickler purpuss which promised
to extercate me out o' the ugly scrape I hed so foolishly got into.
" I hed noticed that the eagles war both big birds, an' strong i' the wing.
Everybody ort to know thet much. It therefore occurred to me that I mout
make them wings do me a sarvice, otherways that they shed carry me out
o' the tree. In coorse I did n't intend they shed take me up i' the air.
There war n't much danger o' that. I only thort they mout sarve to break my
fall, like one o' them flyin' things, paryshoots I believe they calls 'em.
Arter I 'd got my plan tol'ably well traced out, I sot about trappin' the ole
148
Trapped in a Tree.
[February,
eagles. In less'n an hour's time I hed both on 'em in my keepin' wi' thar
beaks spliced to keep 'em from bitin' me, an' thar claws cut clur off wi' my
bowie. I then strengthened my cord by doublin' it half a dozen times, until
it war stout enough to carry my weight. One eend o' it I looped around the
I
legs o' the eagles, gatherin' all four into
a bunch, while the other eend I made fast
around myself just under the arm-pits.
I hed done all this upon the lowest limb
o' the Cyprus, whar I hed fetched down
the eagles. When all war ready, I drew
my bowie from its sheath, an' with its
sharp point pricked both the baldies at the
same time, so as to set 'em a floppin'.
As soon as I seed thar four wings in full
play, I slid off the branch, directin' my-
self torst the groun' underneath. I ain't
very clur as to what followed ; I only rec-
ollex bein' dragged through the branches
o' the Cyprus, an' the minit arter plumpin'
cochuck into the waters o' the Massissippi.
" I shed most sartinly a been drownded ef that ere cord had broken, or the
eagles had got loose. As it war, the birds kep' beatin' the water wi' thar big
wings ; an' in that way hindered me from goin' under. I 've heerd o' a
1865.] Trapped in a Tree. 149
woman, they called Veenis, bein' drawed through the sea by a, couple o'
swans ; but I don't b'lieve they ked a drawed her at 'a' quicker pace than I
war carried over the Massissippi. In less 'n five minits from the time I had
dropped out o' the tree, I war in the middle o' the river, an' still scufnin' on.
The baldies were boun' for the Arkansaw shore, an' knowin' that my life de-
pended on thar reachin' it, I offered no opposition to thar efforts, but lay
still and let 'em go it.
" As good luck wud hev it, they hed strength enough left to complete the
crossin' ; an' thar war another bit o' good luck in the Arkansaw bank bein'
on a level wi' the surface o' the water ; so that in five minits more I found
myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin' about me, as if deter-
mined to carry me on over the great peraries. I feeled that it war time to stop
the steam ; so, clutchin' holt o' a branch, I brought up to an anchor. I tuk
good care not to let the birds go, tho' sartin I owed them that much for
the sarvice they hed done me. But jest then I bethunk me o' the English-
man at Grand Gulf, ah ! it war you, ye say ? "
" Certainly ! And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs. Stump ? "
" Them same birds ! Yer shed 'a' hed the young 'uns, but thar war n't no
chance ever agin to climb that Cyprus, an' what bekim o' the poor critters
arterward I haint the most distant idee. I reckon they eended thar days in
the neest, which ye can still see up thar, an' ef they dud, I reckon the buz-
zarts wud n't be long afore makin' a meal o' 'em."
With my eyes directed to the top of that tall cypress-tree, and fixed upon a
dark mass of dead sticks resembling a stack of faggots, I listened to the
concluding words of this queer chapter of backwoods adventure.
Mayne Reid.
CHARADES.
NO. 2.
MY
is, in sound, the odd creature
that goes
Into Hottentots' traps when he follows his
nose :
But in sense 't is an adjective, short, spick
and span,
Well hated by Hunkers and kept under
ban.
My second it qualifies, also my third,
Though a high fen between can't be
crossed nor be stirred.
Now my next, like a swindler when
cleaned out of tin,
Has always its tick, and takes most peo-
ple in.
Amphibious its habit, as frequently found
Beneath the blue sea as on top of the
ground :
Yet, oddest caprice out of destiny's cup,
Just when in full feather 't is always
"sewed up."
What is forced and affected most all
people spurn,
Yet they like this because 't is a made-up
concern.
Best friend when our sunshine to gloom is
converted,
Yet the moment we rise in the world we
desert it.
Best friend, yet precisely its stead you can
find,
To which, strange to say, you are never
inclined.
And the warmer you get when a lieing
you take it,
The more you wink at it, the less you for-
sake it.
Wet blankets you throw over swells, but
not so
O'er my second, however puffed up it may
grow.
My third is so shallow you '11 guess it
before
I 've told you how many smart folks pass
it o'er;
Even Caesar went o'er it and by it and
through it,
And lived long enough, the baldpate, to
rue it.
Tho' shallow it is, yet the bravest and best
By keeping it give of their wisdom a test.
And the hotter it gets in dispute, yet the
most
Courageous is he who wont let it be crossed.
On the whole, though 't is often a subject
of strife,
More people it joins than it parts in this life.
My whole is a place I forbear now to
flatter ;
It thrives upon those whose dearest and best
Severely it tries, yet makes light of the
matter,
And thinks the more wicked their end,
the more blest.
J. W.
1865.] Round the Evening Lamp.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 2.
CONUNDRUMS.
1. WHY should soldiers never meddle
with nut-crackers ?
2. What is that which no man wants, but
which, if a man has it, he would most
unwillingly part with ?
3. Why are flatterers sometimes mistaken
for truth-tellers ?
4. Why does a scolding woman keep peo-
ple at a distance ?
5. Why is an easy office like a good din-
ner eaten by an invalid ?
ENIGMA.
NO. 2.
I AM composed of 17 letters.
My 17, 12, 8, 3, is a philosopher.
My 2, 15, 7, 13, 16, 4, is what boys are
when school is done.
My i, 2, 14, 12, i, 16, 3, is a place of
amusement.
My n, 12, 8, 3, r6, is a German hunts-
man.
M 7 7, 3, r 3> J 6, 10, 14, 17, are a perse-
cuted race.
My 13, 12, 8, is a mouthful.
My n, 10, 15, 16, 17, belongs to you.
My 13, 14, 7, 6, 17, is a family.
M 7 2 > 3> I2 > 9, 4, is not light.
My J 7, i5 J 3, 12, 16, is sweet.
My 13, 1 6, 12, 9, 3, is solemn.
My 9, 12, 8, 15, 14, is quite uncertain.
My whole is a very interesting book by
one of the writers for " Our Young
Folks."
TRANSPOSITION. No. i.
I thought I should like to ivred ; so I
went to the abelts to sahenrs my oehsr, but
I found the ubcelk of the hebeirgnc was
broken ; to make the best of it, I put an
old piesk in place of the eontug, brought
out the old acsihe, and off I went. Now
tell me how I got on.
PUZZLES.
NO. I.
My first is in Urn but not in Vase,
My second is in Cabinet but not in Case,
My third is in " Goose " but not in Fool,
My fourth is in Chair but not in Stool,
My fifth is in Vanity but not in Conceit,
My sixth is in Parsnip but not in Beet.
My whole is the name of a boys' book.
CARL.
NO. 2.
Behead an animal, and leave a gift.
C. M. E.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
NO. 3.
So arrange the nine digits, using each
but once, that their sum shall be exactly
one hundred.
NO. 4.
100055, ~ a long-tailed animal.
C. M. E.
NO. 5.
One hundred and one by fifty divide ;
And then, if a cipher be rightly applied,
And your computation agreeth with mine,
The answer will be one taken from nine.
152
Round the Evening Lamp.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 3.
[February.
ANSWERS.
CHARADES.
1. Pilgrimage.
2. Illumination.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
1. Height of staff, 75 feet; payments,
$11.50, $23, $34-5 and $57-5>
respectively.
2. CIVIL.
ENIGMA.
i. Our Young Folks.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS.
Beware of the intoxicating bowl, for
it brings penury and ruin.
[(Bee) (ware) of (the-in-t) (ox) (eye)
(cat-in-g) (bowl) four (eye)t b(rings)
(pen) (ewe) (rye) and-rew (inn).]
OUR HORSEMAN.
THERE was a young cavalry "feller"
Who "foraged" a secesh umbrella.
When he got it he said,
"I will now 'make a spread,'"
This confiscating cavalry "feller."
OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
An Illustrated Magazine
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
MARCH, 1865.
No. III.
THE CITY GIRL.
(ICELY, called Garnet at the foot of the stairs.
"Yes, I 'm coming," responded Cicely from the
depths of her pretty little chamber.
" It 's time to go."
"Yes, I 'm coming," repeated the gentle voice.
Garnet supported himself on his elbow and right
foot, attempted to scale the stairs on his heels and
head, and made other interesting experiments ; but
finding that Cicely did not come, he climbed up outside
of the balusters, over the gallery railing, and bounced
into her room. She was standing before the glass,
surveying her little self with great complacency.
" Now, how long will you be prinking there, and me
waiting down stairs ? " cried Garnet. " I never did
see anything like the time it takes girls to dress."
" O, I 'm quite ready this minute," answered Cicely,
hastily catching up her bonnet.
" But mehercule ! " shouted Garnet, who was devot-
ing himself to the study of Latin with great vigor.
" What do you call this ? " and he clutched Cicely's
hair with no very gentle grasp.
" O, don't touch it ! you will have it all down ! " cried she hurriedly ; " that
is a waterfall."
"A waterfall ! A waterfall! Let it fall quick then. It makes you look
for- all the world like our skew-tailed chickens. I never saw such an animal."
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's
Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
VOL. I. NO. III.
II
154 The City Girl. [March,
" O Garnet, now I thought it looked so pretty ! " said Cicely ; and her
bright face was so clouded that even Garnet was rather sorry he had spoken
so decidedly.
But then certainly it was a case that called for decision. Poor Cicely had
spent at least half an hour before the glass, and tired her little arms till
they ached ; and the result was a knob of hair hanging on one side of her
head, and bobbing hither and thither with every motion. Garnet's com-
parison was not entirely out of place. " But what could make you think of
tricking up such a fright ? " he asked.
" Why, Garnet, there 's a new girl going to be there from Boston. She 's
going to live with Miss Attredge. And Olive said Cicely hesitated.
" Well, what did Olive say ? "
" Why, Olive said she said that Olive said the girl would have every-
thing so nice because she came from Boston, and Olive said they wore silk
dresses and waterfalls in Boston, and Olive is going to wear her blue merino
and a waterfall, and I made mine, Olive told me how, and now you say
it is not pretty."
" Olive 's a born simpleton," said Sir Oracle Garnet. " You take that
bobbing bag off your head. I don't believe they wear them in Boston, and if
they do, you sha'n't. I suppose you 'd tie yourself up in a meal-bag if they
did in Boston."
" But, Garnet, what shall I do ? "
" Do ! curl your hair just as you always do, and brush it in a civilized
manner."
" Oh ! then I shall not look fine at all. Olive said we should show Mary
Ravis that we were not just country-girls. We know what the fashions are.
Mary Ravis will think we are just country-girls."
" And I should like to know what you are ? "
"Well, I know, but " Cicely hesitated, and faltered, and rather reluc-
tantly began to pull down the comical little contrivance which she dignified
with the name of waterfall, and to brush out the long ringlets as she was
commanded. And to be sure, she did look like a different girl ; still there
was many a misgiving in her heart as to the figure she should make in the
eyes of the little city lady.
Garnet had no share at all in her misgivings. He had a very favorable
opinion of his sister, and especially of himself. " Hold up your head, Cicely,"
was his admonition, " as you never could with that ten-pound weight hanging
on to it, and don't call the king your uncle ! " though what that had to do
with holding up her head, Cicely could never quite make out
By the time they reached Miss Attredge's house, where the party was to
be, most of the children had assembled. They all went to the same school,
and were well acquainted with each other, all except the little city girl,
who sat in a corner, and seemed quite as much in awe of them as they were
of her. But Cicely took note that she had no silk dress., nor even a waterfall.
On the contrary, her hair was short, and her dress a very pretty plaid, but
not at all beyond the standard of the dresses in Applethorpe. She was, too,
very quiet, a pale, silent girl, that was all Cicely saw.
1 865.] The City Girl. 155
" What do you think of her ? " whispered Olive to Cicely.
" We must n't whisper about her," replied Cicely, who had hardly had
more than a glimpse of her. But they pulled Cicely into the dining-room,
and would tell her that she was " real proud. She just sits there, and won't
do anything."
" Yes," said Olive, " and not so much to be proud of either. Nothing but
a plaid dress, and not a speck of trimming, nor a net, nor a bow, nor any-
thing," and Olive thought very pleasantly of her own French blue merino
with its elaborate embroidery.
" Oh ! I don't think it 's proud," said Erne Mayland. " We are all strangers
to her, and she does n't feel at home."
" Nonsense," cried Olive, " we have been here half an hour, and asked her
to play, and Miss Attredge wanted her to play, and she won't do a thing."
" But I don't think it is nice at all to be here talking about her," said
Cicely.
" No, nor I neither," declared Erne. " Come, let 's go into the parlor."
" I shall not go into the parlor to court Miss City-fied anymore," answered
Olive. " It 's too bad she should come here to spoil all our good time."
But Erne and Cicely went into the parlor. Miss Attredge was just gath-
ering them into a circle to play " Hunt the Slipper." Cicely was about to
take her place with the rest, when she noticed that the little stranger still sat
apart, looking rather lonely and homesick. So she approached, her and
asked, rather timidly, " Won't you play ? "
" I don't know how," answered Mary.
" But I will tell you all about it."
" I would rather not"
" Then I won't play, either," said Cicely, cheerfully. " I '11 show you Miss
Attredge's photographs. No, I won't ; I '11 show you her snakes and birds.
Miss Attredge always lets me touch them " ; and Cicely took from the
lowest shelf of the bookcase a book so heavy she could hardly lift it ; but
the kindness in her heart put strength in her arms, and she tugged it along
to a chair.
It was not in the nature of any girl ever so shy to resist the temptation of
looking at pictures so beautiful and so dreadful as those that Cicely pointed
out. The birds were wondrously brilliant, and the snakes coiled themselves in
folds so fearful that Mary quite forgot her forlorn little self, and the two chil-
dren were soon kneeling before the chair and pressing their eager heads close
together in breathless excitement. When the others had grown tired of
" Hunt the Slipper," they too gathered around the chair, and the two heads
were quite overtopped by a crowd of heads, and the two voices lost in a dozen
voices chattering and exclaiming and explaining. The girls pretended to be
very much afraid of the snakes, and shook and shivered. The boys pretend-
ed to have a great regard for snakes, and stroked their necks with brown, bat-
tered hands.
" Oh ! " cried Olive, who had joined them ; " but this is a paper snake, Mr.
Nathan. If it was crawling on the grass, you would be careful how you
touched it."
156 The City Girl [March,
" Pooh ! " cried Nathan, " I 'd just as soon touch it as touch your kitten.
They 're twice as handsome."
" Indeed they are," said Garnet. " Sweet little pets ! dear little darlings ! "
and he made believe caress the snakes, but made rather awkward work of it,
as boys generally do when they undertake to mimic girls. " Why, the other
day, last summer, we caught a snake and tied him round the bedpost, and
kept him there all night."
" Now, Garnet Moreford, you don't expect us to believe that ! "
" Yes, he did, the dreadful creature ! " cried Cicely. " Barney went into
his room in the morning, and there 't was ; and she screamed and 'most
fainted, and Garnet laughed, and it was dreadful."
" Pooh ! that 's nothing," said Nathan. " I caught a little snake once, and
wove him into my button-holes, and wore him all the forenoon. It 's girls
for being afraid of harmless pretty little things."
" Girls are no more afraid than boys," replied Olive, stoutly, always ready
to stand up for her sex. " I found a nest of field-mice last summer, and took
them up and brought them into the house in my apron. But a snake is n't
harmless. Snakes poison you."
" Ho ! " cried Nathan, " calling it courage not to be afraid of a mouse !
Why, there was a mouse in the closet last Sunday, and he ran and hid under
a crust of bread, and stuck his tail right up straight in the air, just like a
handle, and I took hold of it as dainty, and carried him out-doors."
" And let him go ? " asked Mary Ravis, eagerly, her fears of strangers quite
vanished in the excitement of the horrible stories they were telling.
" Yes, I let him go. But Tabby had a word to say on that subject, and he
did n't go very far."
" Well, I know what you are afraid of, Nat," said Olive, decidedly, "a
setting hen. For I was at your house when your mother wanted you to take
one off the nest, and you did not dare. You said she pecked you so furiously
you could n't ! "
" O, pshaw ! " laughed Nathan, good-humoredly, and giving himself a
whirl, as if to shake off this disagreeable home-thrust, " what are you talking
about ? Mary Ravis will think we are a set of savages, telling her all sorts
of scaring things. You never saw a snake, now did you, Miss Mary ? She
thinks butter grows on trees in brown burrs, and we get honey by milking
bees in a ten-quart pail."
Mary would have been very much frightened, half an hour before, at being
thus addressed before them all ; but she had lost her first shyness, and Na-
than's banter was so good-natured that she did not feel at all embarrassed,
but laughed as heartily as the rest, while a little fresh color stole into her
pale cheeks and a good deal of sunshine lighted up her brown eyes.
" No," said Garnet, kindly, " I warrant you this sly little puss knows a
great deal more than any of us. Why, what do you think ? She carries the
Falls of Niagara in her pocket, or something."
" O, what a story ! " laughed Mary.
" Why, Cicely, did n't you tell me so this morning ? " asked Garnet,
gravely.
1865.] The City Girl 157
" Why, no," answered Cicely, opening her astonished eyes, and pursing
her rosy lips into the most decided denial. " I never said such a thing."
" Now Cissy, Cissy, young woman, what trouble have you led me into ?
Did n't you say the young lady from the city was going to bring a waterfall
here, and did n't you want me to go and get the mill-dam to fasten on the
back of your neck by way of offset ? "
And then, being forced in self-defence, Cicely told the story of her water-
fall, and they all laughed very merrily, somewhat to Olive's discomfiture.
And then came other plays, games of forfeits, in which Mary readily joined.
All manner of odd sentences they pronounced upon each other. Nathan
in particular found no mercy at the hands of his girl-judges. He was
condemned to wriggle across the room like a snake, to jump up in a chair
like a squirrel, to bark like a dog, all of which he did so readily and so well,
that he made them great entertainment.
" O, I never did see such a nice party in all my life ! " whispered Mary
confidentially to Cicely. " You all do such funny things ! "
" O Mary ! " said Cicely modestly, " you can do a great many beautiful
things that we can't, I do suppose ? "
" No, I don't do many things at all," said Mary. " I can dance, that is
all ; but I can't tell stories, and I can't play plays, and I can't think of forfeits,
and I never did any funny things."
" Can you dance ? Oh ! I do like to see dancing."
" Do you ? and I like to dance. Mr. Piccini says I dance very nicely, and
O, I can dance the Shawl Dance, and the Highland Fling ; would you like to
see me ? " she asked simply.
" O, of all things ! and so would all the girls."
" Well," said Mary, " if Miss Attredge will play, I will. But do you think
they would care to see me ? "
" I know they would ! O Garnet ! Olive ! O all of you ! Mary Ravis
will dance the Highland Fling and everything Miss Attredge will you
play boys all come and sit down ! " Cicely was too eager to be particular
about her punctuation ; but they understood her well enough, much better,
indeed, than they understood the Highland Fling, which most of them had
never heard of. But they were delighted with the sound of it.
So Mary went up stairs and put on her costume, a marvellous little black
velvet bodice adorned with gold lace, a bright plaid frock, delicately embroi-
dered slippers, a cap and feather for her little shorn head, and a long scarlet
scarf in her hands. The company gathered at the lower end of the parlor, and
Mary, smiling and happy at the upper end, began the dance. Never were
such doings seen in Applethorpe as went on between Mary and her scarf.
In and out, back and forth, she wove it and flung it, and wreathed herself in
it. She skipped up and down the room like a zephyr, she whirled about on
the tips of her dainty slippers, she charged down upon the admiring crowd,
and withdrew again, swift and graceful as a bird, for at least twenty minutes
I should think, and then she made the sauciest little courtesy, and danced
out of the room. Never were admirers more enthusiastic, and when she
158
The City Girl.
[March,
reappeared in her usual dress once more, they quite overwhelmed her with
their delight.
" And to think," said Olive frankly, " that I thought you were proud
because you would n't play ; and here you have done the beautifullest thing
for us I ever saw."
" O, proud ! " laughed Mary, " it 's all I can do. It would be a pity if I
could n't do something."
" But then we were so cross, I wonder you did it at all."
" You are not cross, I am sure," cried Mary eagerly.
" Yes I am cross," persisted Olive ; " I am always cross if people don't do
just as I want to have them right away. Cicely Moreford is the good one,
and Erne Mayland, and all those midgets. For my part, I don't see how
people can be so horribly good and patient all the time," and Olive put on
such an air of despairing humility that they could not help laughing at her.
So it happened that the " good time " which the little city girl was going
to spoil, turned out to be not only not spoiled, but made a great deal better
by her presence, and all because one or two little girls went to work the
right way, instead of standing scornfully aside and letting everything go the
wrong way. But the impression that seemed to linger longest on Cicely's
mind was, " And she was just like us. Why, she did n't even have a water-
fall !"
Gail Hamilton.
1865.] Andys Adventures. 159
ANDY'S ADVENTURES;
OR, THE WORLD BEWITCHED.
(Concluded from the February No.)
HAVING thought it all over, Andy resolved to make a new start, and not
be deceived by anything again. Finding his coat very wet, he con-
cluded to wring it out, and hang it somewhere to dry. He saw a log and a
large wood-pile near by ; and he was going boldly to spread his coat on
them in a good sunny place, when he happened to think that these also might
be cheats, and that it would be wise to test them before going too near.
He took up a pebble, and threw it. He hit the end of the log, which
immediately changed into a head with a hat on it ; and the log jumped up,
and strode fiercely towards him, on two as good legs as ever he saw.
" What are you stoning me for ? " cried the log, with a terrible look.
" O Mr. Log ! I did n't mean to ! I did n't know it would hurt you ! " said
Andy, clasping his hands.
" I '11 teach you to throw stones and call names ! * growled the log, no,
not the log, but the teamster, whom Andy had mistaken for a log as he lay
on the roadside by his wagon. And he gave two or three extra stripes to
the boy's trousers with his long whiplash. " I did n't mean to ! I did n't
know it would hurt you ! " he said, mockingly, as he went back to his team ;
while Andy rubbed his legs, and shrieked.
Now, when wagon and driver were gone, and the lad saw that there was
neither log nor wood-pile anywhere by the road, he became more and more
alarmed about himself. Everything was a lie, then ; and, the best he could
do, he could not help being deceived and injured. Bitterly he regretted
using old Mother Quirk so ill ; and he said to himself that he would never
tell another lie in his life, if he could now only get safely home, and find
things what they appeared to be.
Being very tired, he looked about for a stick to walk with. He thought,
too, something of the kind would be useful to feel with, and test the truth of
things. Soon he saw a very pretty stick lying in the sun. It was not quite
straight ; but it had as handsome little wavy curves as if it had been carved.
It was beautifully tapered ; and as he came quite near it, he saw that it was
painted with the most wonderful colors, glossy black, bright green spots,
and silver rings. It appeared to be a cane, which probably some very rich
man had lost. Its carved handle was of gold, set round with precious stones,
in the midst of which were two very, bright, glittering diamonds.
" Such a cane is worth picking up ! " said Andy, highly pleased. " I hope
the owner won't come to claim it." And he stooped down to take hold of
the stick. But he had scarcely touched it, when it began to move and squirm,
and coil up under his hand. He sprang back just in time to save his parents
160 Andys Adventures ; [March,
the grief of a funeral ; for what he had mistaken for a cane was a living ser-
pent of the most venomous kind ; and it raised its angry crest, darted out
its forked tongue, and struck at him with its hooked fangs, making his blood
curdle and his flesh creep, as he ran screaming away.
Andy reached a wall or what seemed a wall and scrambled upon it,
putting one leg over it, and looking back ; when the stones began to sway
and swell under him ; and the whole wall rose up with such a tremendous
lurch, that he was nearly thrown head foremost to the ground. And he now
perceived that, instead of climbing a wall, he had mounted a horse that lay
dozing in the field. Before he could get off, the horse began to walk away.
In vain Andy cried " Whoa ! " and gently pulled his mane. The horse seemed
to understand " Whoa ! " to mean " Go along ! " and he began to trot. Pulling
his mane had the effect of pricking him with a goad ; and he commenced to
prance. Then Andy gently patted him ; but he might as well have struck
him with a whip. The animal began to gallop ! And when Andy, to avoid
being flung off, clung to him with his feet, it was as if there had been sharp
spurs in his heels, and the animal began to run !
Across the fields ; faster and faster and faster ; wildly snorting ; meas-
uring the ground with fearfully long leaps, and making it thunder under his
hoofs ; clearing fences and ditches, and heaps of brush and logs, as if he
had wings; away away away! through thickets, through brier-lots,
through gardens, and orchards, and farm-yards ; with Andy hugging his
neck in terror extreme, thrusting into his ribs the heels that seemed to have
spurs on them ; the wild steed scudded and plunged.
Andy clung as long as he could. The terrible bounces almost hurled him
off; the wind almost blew him off; the thickets, and briers, and boughs of
trees almost scratched him off. Everywhere along his track people came
out to stare, and to stop the horse. Men hallooed and shook their hats ;
boys screamed and shook their bats ; women " shooed " and shook their
aprons ; all contributing to frighten him the more.
And now Andy felt his breath partly jolted out of him, and partly sucked
out by the wind. And for a moment he scarcely knew anything, except that
he was losing his hold, slipping, sliding, a hairy surface passing rudely
from under him, and the ground suddenly flying up, with a stunning flap
and slap, into his face.
In a little while a young lad, considerably resembling Andy, might have
been seen sitting on the grass of a field, rubbing his shoulder, with a jarred
and joyless expression of countenance, which seemed hesitating between
fright and tears, between numbness and deadness of despair, and a return-
ing sense of pain and grief. He saw a gay-looking horse frisking and kick-
ing up along by the fence ; felt in vain for his hat, but found a shock of wild
hair instead ; saw his torn trousers, wet not with water only, but also with
blood from his scratched legs ; arose slowly and sufferingly to his feet ;
looked imploringly about him ; and began to snivel.
Not knowing what do do, he sat down again, and wept miserably, until he
heard a sound of wheels, and a voice say, " Get up, Jerry ! "
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 161
" That 's our wagon and father and mother ! " exclaimed Andy, in great
joy, springing up as quickly as his sore limbs would permit him. " Father !
father ! " and he ran towards the road.
The vehicle rattled on. His father either did not hear or did not heed
him. He could not make his mother look up, scream as loud as he would.
Jerry trotted soberly on, as before. Only Brin the dog pricked up his ears,
gave a surly bark, leaped the fence, and approached him shyly, bristling and
growling.
" Brin ! Brin ! here, Brin ! " said Andy, alarmed at the dog's extraordinary
behavior.
" Gr-r-r-r- ! " said Brin, with a snarl and a snap.
" O father ! father ! " shrieked Andy.
" Whoa ! " said Mr. Mountford, stopping Jerry, and turning to look.
'"Come here, Brin!" And he whistled.
Brin, having paused to take a sagacious snuff of Andy, without appearing
to recognize him, ran back to the road, the boy following him.
" What 's the trouble ? " said Mrs. Mountford. " What a strange-looking
dog that is ! " fixing her eyes on Andy. " It looks to me like a mad dog,
and I 'm afraid Brin will get bit. Come here, Brin ! "
Brin ran obediently under the wagon ; and Andy, flinging up his arms,
rushed towards his parents.
" O, it 's me ! it 's me ! Father ! mother ! it 's me ! "
" Get out, you whelp ! " exclaimed Mr. Mountford, striking at him with
his whip.
" Oh ! oh ! " shrieked Andy, hit in the face by his own father's lash !
" Ki-hi, then ! " And Mr. Mountford drove on.
Andy still followed, running as fast as he could, wildly weeping and calling.
" What a hateful dog that is ! " said Mrs. Mountford. " Give me the
whip ! " And as soon as Andy got near enough, she beat him mercilessly
over the bare head.
Then Andy, exhausted, out of breath, his heart broken, fell down despair-
ingly, with his face in the dust, while the vehicle passed over the hill out of
sight. There he lay, sobbing in his misery, and moistening with a little
trickling stream of tears the sand by the bridge of his nose, when an old
woman came hobbling that way on a crutch.
" What 's this ? " said she. Her back was curved like a bow ; but she bent
it still more, stooping over to look at Andy.
The boy raised his head, brushed the adhering dirt from his nose, lifted
his eyes, and recognized good old Mother Quirk. But he could not speak.
u I declare ! " said she, " one would think it was Andy Mountford, if any-
body ever saw Andy Mountford in such a plight as this ! "
That encouraged the wretched boy to open his mouth, spit out the dirt
that obstructed his speech, and in grievous accents pour forth the story of
his woes.
" But how do I know this is true ? " said Mother Quirk, putting up a pinch
of snuff under her hooked nose.
1 62 Andy's Adventures ; [March,
" It is true, every word ; as true as I am Andy ! " wept the boy.
" But how do I know you are Andy ? Folks and things lie so, in this
world ! " said Mother Quirk. " But never mind ; I suppose it is fine sport ;
and if it is really you, Andy, I suppose I may as well leave you to enjoy it ! "
She adjusted her crutch, and was hobbling away, when Andy, on his knees,
called after her, making the most solemn promises of truthfulness in the
future, if she would help him home.
" How do I know what to believe ? " said the old woman, piercing him
with her black, sparkling eyes. " You may be a reptile. I 've known more
than one that pretended to be human, and honest, and grateful, turn out a
reptile at last. Everything is so deceitful, we never know what to depend
upon."
She was passing on again ; but Andy ran after her, and caught her gown,
still pleading and weeping.
" Bless my heart ! Is it really Andy ? " said she, leaning on her crutch.
" I 've a good mind to trust you, and try you once ! "
" Do, do ! good Mother Quirk ! "
" Well, come along ; my house is close by ; and there comes my black cat
to meet me ! "
Andy was overjoyed, and clung to her as if he was afraid she too would
turn out a delusion, a lie, and work him some new mischief.
They passed a field, in which the old woman picked up a hat, which she
placed on his head, and a handkerchief, which she told him to put into his
pocket " If you are Andy, they belong to you," she said, with a shrewd
look out of her coal-black eyes.
They reached her cottage, where she washed him, combed his hair, took a
few stitches in his clothes, and stroked his hurts with hands dipped in some
exquisitely soothing ointment. Then they set out to return to his father's
house.
She accompanied him as far as the well, where she gave him a sudden box
on the ear, which set him whirling. The next he knew, he was getting up
from the grass, like one awaking from a dream. He thought he had a glimpse
of a crutch and a dark green gown vanishing behind the wood-shed, but could
not be certain. He looked in vain upon his person for any evidence of rents
and bruises, bee-stings or drenching. He was as good as new, to all appear-
ance ; and one who did not know the subtle power of old Mother Quirk
would have said that he had merely fallen asleep on the door-yard turf, and
had a dream.
" Andy ! " cried a voice.
That was a leality, if anything was. His folks had returned, and it was
his father calling him. " Andy ! come and open the gate ! "
He hastened to swing the old gate around on its hinges, while Brin ran
up eagerly to caress him and leap upon his legs, and Jerry walked slowly
through, drawing the family one-horse wagon.
" Have you been a good boy, Andy?" asked his mother, dismounting at
the horse-block.
1865.] or, The World bewitched. 163
"Yes, ma'am. I mean," he added, fearing that was an untruth, "I don't
know, I guess not very ! "
" What ! you have n't been doing any mischief, have you ? " cried his
father.
Andy remembered the stories he had made up about the hawk killing the
chicken, and the Beals boy throwing a stone through the pantry window.
But he also remembered his terrible adventure in a world of lies, mishaps
and horrors which were somehow dreadfully real to him, whether he had
actually experienced them, or dreamed them, or been insane and imagined
them. So he falteringly said, "I I killed the top-knot with my bow-
and-arrow ! "
There indeed lay the top-knot, stark dead by the curb. His parents looked
at it regretfully ; and his father said, " I am sorry ! sorry ! that nice chicken !
But you did n't mean to, did you ? "
" I did n't think I should hit it ! " said Andy, hanging his head with con-
trition.
" Well, if it was an accident, let it pass," said his mother. "It isn't so
bad as if you had told a lie about it. I 'd rather have every chicken killed,
than have my son tell a lie ! " And she caressed him fondly.
" You have n't done anything else, I hope ? " said Mr. Mountford.
"I I shot at the cat, and sent my arrow through the window ! " Andy
confessed.
" Have n't I told you not to shoot your arrow towards the house ? " cried
his father, sternly. But, at a glance from Mrs. Mountford, he added, relent-
ingly, " But as you have been so truthful as to own up to it, I '11 forgive
you this time. Nothing pleases me so much as to have my son tell the
truth ; for the worst thing is lying."
That was what Mother Quirk had said, and it reminded Andy of the false
alarm which had brought her to the house. That was the hardest thing for
him to confess ! And it was the hardest thing for his parents to forgive.
" Poor old Mrs. Quirk, with her lame leg ! " his mother reproachfully said.
" How could you, Andy ? "
" I did n't think, I did n't know how bad it was ! " he replied.
" What did she say to you ? What did the poor woman do ? "
" She scolded me, and boxed my ears, and made me crazy, I guess, for
such awful things have happened to me ! I never can tell what I have been
through or dreamed I went through till she brought me back ! But I 've
made up my mind I never will tell another lie, or act a lie again, if you will
forgive me this once ! "
" I forgive you ! we forgive you ! my dear, dear boy ! " exclaimed Mrs.
Mountford, folding him in her arms, while Mr. Mountford smiled upon him,
well pleased, and stroked his hair.
J. T. Trouubridge.
164 Winning his Way. [March,
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER III.
MERRY TIMES.
WHEN the long northeast storms set in, and the misty clouds hung
over the valley, and went hurrying away to the west, brushing the
tops of the trees ; when the rain, hour after hour, and day after day, fell
aslant upon the roof of the little old house ; when the wind swept around the
eaves, and dashed in wild gusts against the windows, and moaned and wailed
in the forests, then it was that Paul sometimes felt his spirits droop, for the
circumstances of life were all against him. He was poor. His dear, kind
mother was sick. She had worked day and night to keep that terrible wolf
from the door, which is always prowling around the houses of poor people.
But the wolf had come, and was looking in at the windows. There was a
debt due Mr. Funk for rice, sugar, biscuit, tea, and other things which Doctor
Arnica said his mother must have. There was the doctor's bill. The flour-
barrel was getting low, and the meal-bag was almost empty. Paul saw the
wolf every night as he lay in his bed, and he wished he could kill it.
When his mother was taken sick, he left school and became her nurse. It
was hard for him to lay down his books, for he loved them, but it was pleas-
ant to wait upon her. The neighbors were kind. Azalia Adams often came
tripping in with something nice, a tumbler of jelly, or a plate of toast,
which her mother had prepared ; and she had such cheerful words, and spoke
so pleasantly, and moved round the room so softly, putting everything in or-
der, that the room was lighter, even on the darkest days, for her presence.
When, after weeks of confinement to her bed, Paul's mother was strong
enough to sit in her easy-chair, Paul went out to figh't the wolf. He worked
for Mr. Middlekauf, in his cornfield. He helped Mr. Chrome paint wagons.
He surveyed land, and ran lines for the farmers, earning a little here and a
little there. As fast as he obtained a dollar, it went to pay the debts. As
the seasons passed away, spring, summer, and autumn, Paul could see
that the wolf grew smaller day by day. He denied himself everything, ex-
cept plain food. He was tall, stout, hearty, and rugged. The winds gave
him health ; his hands were hard, but his heart was tender. When through
his day's work, though his bones ached and his eyes were drowsy, he seldom
went to sleep without first studying awhile, and closing with a chapter from
the Bible, for he remembered what his grandfather often said, that a chap-
ter from the Bible was a good thing to sleep on.
The cool and bracing breezes of November, the nourishing food which
Paul obtained, brought the color once more to his mother's cheeks ; and
when at length she was able to be about the house, they had a jubilee, a
glad day of thanksgiving, for, in addition to this blessing of health, Paul
had killed the wolf, and the debts were all paid.
1865.] Winning his Way. 165
As the winter came on, the subject of employing Mr. Rhythm to teach a
singing-school was discussed. Mr. Quaver, a tall, slim man, with a long, red
nose, had led the choir for many years. He had a loud voice, and twisted his
words so badly, that his singing was like the blare of a trumpet. On Sun-
days, after Rev. Mr. Surplice read the hymn, the people were accustomed to
hear a loud Hawk ! from Mr. Quaver, as he tossed his tobacco-quid into a spit-
toon, and an Ahem ! from Miss Gamut. She was the leading first treble, a
small lady with a sharp, shrill voice. Then Mr. Fiddleman sounded the key
on the bass-viol, do-mi-sol-do, helping the trebles and tenors climb the stairs
of the scale ; then he hopped down again, and rounded off with a thundering
swell at the bottom, to let them know he was safely down, and ready to go
ahead. Mr. Quaver led, and the choir followed like sheep, all in their own
way and fashion.
The people had listened to this style of music till they were tired of it.
They wanted a change, and decided to engage Mr. Rhythm, a nice young
man, to teach a singing-school for the young folks. " We have a hundred
boys and girls here in the village, who ought to learn to sing, so that they
can sit in the singing-seats, and praise God," said Judge Adams.
But Mr. Quaver opposed the project. "The young folks want a frolic,
sir," he said ; " yes, sir, a frolic, a high time. Rhythm will be teaching
them new-fangled notions. You know, Judge, that I hate flummididdles ;
I go for the good old things, sir. The old tunes which have stood the wear
and tear of time, and the good old style of singing, sir."
Mr. Quaver did not say all he thought, for he could see that, if the singing-
school was kept, he would be in danger of losing his position as chorister.
But, notwithstanding his opposition, Mr. Rhythm was engaged to teach the
school. Paul determined to attend. He loved music.
" You have n't any coat fit to wear," said his mother. " I have altered
over your grandfather's pants and vest for you, but I cannot alter his coat.
You will have to stay at home, I guess."
" I can't do that, mother, for Mr. Rhythm is one of the best teachers that
ever was, and I don't want to miss the chance. I '11 wear grandpa's coat
just as it is."
" The school will laugh at you."
" Well, let them laugh, I sha'n't stay at home for that. I guess I can stand
it," said Paul, resolutely.
The evening fixed upon for the school to commence arrived. All the
young folks in the town were there. Those who lived out of the village
the farmers' sons and daughters came in red, yellow, and green wagons.
The girls wore close-fitting hoods with pink linings, which they called "kiss-
me-if-ye-dares." Their cheeks were all aglow with the excitement of the oc-
casion. When they saw Mr. Rhythm, how pleasant and smiling he was,
when they heard his voice, so sweet and melodious, when they saw how
sprily he walked, as if he meant to accomplish what he had undertaken,
they said to one another, " How different he is from Mr. Quaver ! "
Paul was late on the first evening, for when he put on his grandfather's
1 66 Winning his Way. [March,
coat, his mother looked at it a long while to see if there was not some way
by which she could make it look better. Once she took the shears and was
going to cut off the tail, but Paul stopped her. " I don't want it curtailed,
mother."
" It makes you look like a little old man, Paul ; I would n't go."
" If I had better clothes, I should wear them, mother ; but as I have n't, I
shall wear these. I hope to earn money enough some time to get a better
coat ; but grandpa wore this, and I am not ashamed to wear what he wore,"
he replied, more resolute than ever. Perhaps, if he could have seen how
he looked, he would not have been quite so determined, for the sleeves hung
like bags on his arms, and the tail almost touched the floor.
Mr. Rhythm had just rapped the scholars to their seats when Paul en-
tered. There was a tittering, a giggle, then a roar of laughter. Mr. Rhythm
looked round to see what was the matter, and smiled. For a moment Paul's
courage failed him. It was not so easy to be laughed at as he had imagined.
He was all but ready to turn about and leave the room. " No I won't, I '11
face it out," he said to himself, walked deliberately to a seat, and looked
bravely round, as if asking, " What are you laughing at ? "
There was something in his manner which instantly won Mr. Rhythm's
respect, and which made him " ashamed of himself for having laughed.
" Silence ! No more laughing," he said ; but, notwithstanding the command,
there was a constant tittering among the girls. Mr. Rhythm began by say-
ing, "We will sing Old Hundred. I want you all to sing, whether you can
sing right or not." He snapped his tuning-fork, and began. The school
followed, each one singing, putting in sharps, flats, naturals, notes, bars,
and rests, just as they pleased. " Very well. Good volume of sound. Only
I don't think Old Hundred ever was sung so before, or ever will be again,"
said the master, smiling.
Michael Murphy was confident that he sang gloriously, though he never
varied his tone up or down. He was ciphering in fractions at school, and
what most puzzled him were the figures in the bars. He wondered if was
a vulgar fraction, and if so, he thought it would be better to express it as a
mixed number, i^.
During the evening, Mr. Rhythm, noticing that Michael sang without any
variation of tone, said, " Now, Master Murphy, please sing la with me " j
and Michael sang bravely, not frightened in the least.
" Very well. Now please sing it a little higher."
"La" sang Michael on the same pitch, but louder.
" Not louder, but higher."
'' LA ! " responded Michael, still louder, but with the pitch unchanged.
There was tittering among the girls.
" Not so, but thus," and Mr. Rhythm gave an example, first low, then
high. " Now once more."
'LA!" bellowed Michael on the same pitch.
Daphne Dare giggled aloud, and the laughter, like a train of powder, ran
through the girls' seats over to the boys' side of the house, where it
1865.] Winning his Way. 167
exploded in a loud haw ! haw ! Michael laughed with the others, but he did
not know what for.
Recess came. " Halloo, Grandpa ! How are you, Old Pensioner ? Your
coat puckers under the arms, and there is a wrinkle in the back," said Philip
Funk to Paul. His sister Fanny pointed her finger at him j and Paul heard
her whisper to one of the girls, " Did you ever see such a monkey ? "
It nettled him, and so, losing his temper, he said to Philip, " Mind your
business."
" Just hear Grandaddy Parker, the old gentleman in the bob-tailed coat,"
said Philip.
" You are a puppy," said Paul. But he was vexed with himself for having
said it. If he had held his tongue, and kept his temper, and braved the
sneers of Philip in silence, he might have won a victory ; for he remembered
a Sunday-school lesson upon the text, " He that ruleth his spirit is greater
than he that taketh a city." As it was, he had suffered a defeat, and went
home that night disgusted with himself.
Pleasant were those singing-school evenings. Under Mr. Rhythm's
instructions the young people made rapid progress. Then what fine times
they had at recess, eating nuts, apples, and confectionery, picking out the
love-rhymes from the sugar-cockles !
" I cannot tell the love
I feel for you, my dove,"
was Philip's gift to Azalia. Paul had no money to purchase sweet things
at the store ; his presents were nuts which he had gathered in the au-
tumn. In the kindness of his heart he gave a double-handful to Philip's
sister, Fanny ; but she turned up her nose, and let them drop upon the
floor.
Society in New Hope was mixed. Judge Adams, Colonel Dare, and Mr.
Funk were rich men. Colonel Dare was said to be worth a hundred thou-
sand dollars. No one knew what Mr. Funk was worth ; but he had a store,
and a distillery, which kept smoking day and night and Sunday, without ces-
sation, grinding up corn, and distilling it into whiskey. There was always a
great black smoke rising from the distillery-chimney. The fires were always
roaring, and the great vats steaming. Colonel Dare made his money by
buying and selling land, wool, corn, and cattle. Judge Adams was an able
lawyer, known far and near as honest, upright, and learned. He had had a
great practice ; but though the Judge and Colonel were so wealthy, and lived
in fine houses, they did not feel that they were better than their neighbors,
so that there was no aristocracy in the place, but the rich and the poor were
alike respected and esteemed.
The New Year was at hand, and Daphne Dare was to give a party. She
was Colonel Dare's only child, a laughing, blue-eyed, sensible girl, who
attended the village school, and was in the same class with Paul.
" Whom shall I invite to, my party, father ? " she asked.
"Just whom you please, my dear," said the Colonel.
" I don't know what to do about inviting Paul Parker. Fanny Funk says
1 68 Winning his Way. [March,
she don't want to associate with a fellow who is so poor that he wears his
grandfather's old clothes," said Daphne.
"Poverty is not a crime, my daughter. I was poor once, poor as Paul
is. Money is not virtue, my dear. It is a good thing to have ; but persons
are not necessarily bad because they are poor, neither are they good because
they are rich," said the Colonel.
" Should you invite him, father, if you were in my place ? "
" I do not wish to say, my child, for I want you to decide the matter
yourself."
" Azalia says that she would invite him ; but Fanny says that if I invite
him, she shall not come."
" Aha ! " The Colonel opened his eyes wide. " Well, my dear, you are
not to be influenced wholly by what Azalia says, and you are to pay no atten-
tion to what Fanny threatens. You make the party. You have a perfect
right to invite whom you please ; and if Fanny don't choose to come, she
has the privilege of staying away. I think, however, that she will not be
likely to stay at home even if you give Paul an invitation. Be guided by
your own sense of right, my darling. That is the best guide."
" I wish you 'd give Paul a coat, father. You can afford to, can't you ? "
" Yes ;" but he can't afford to receive it." Daphne looked at her father in
amazement. " He can't afford to receive such a gift from me, because it is
better for him to fight the battle of life without any help from me or anybody
else at present. A good man offered to help me when I was a poor boy ;
but I thanked him, and said, ' No, sir.' I had made up my mind to cut my
own way, and I guess Paul has made up his mind to do the same thing,"
said the Colonel.
" I shall invite him. I '11 let Fanny know that I have a mind of my own,"
said Daphne, with determination in her voice.
Her father kissed her, but kept his thoughts to himself. He appeared
to be pleased, and Daphne thought that he approved her decision.
The day before New Year Paul received a neatly folded note, addressed
to Mr. Paul Parker. How funny it looked ! It was the first time in his life
that he had seen " Mr." prefixed to his name. He opened it, and read that
Miss Daphne Dare would receive her friends on New Year's eve at seven
o'clock. A great many thoughts passed through his mind. How could he go
and wear his grandfather's coat ? At school he was on an equal footing with
all ; but to be one of a party in a richly furnished parlor, where Philip, Fanny,
and Azalia, and other boys and girls whose fathers had money, could turn
their backs on him and snub him, was very different. It was very kind in
Daphne to invite him, and ought he not to accept her invitation ? Would
she not think it a slight if he did not go ? What excuse could he offer if
he stayed away ? None, except that he had no nice clothes. But she knew
that, yet she had invited him. She was a true-hearted girl, and would not
have asked him if she had not wanted him. Tl\us he turned the matter
over, and decided to go.
But when the time came, Paul was in no haste to be there. Two or three
i86 5 .]
Winning his Way.
169
times his heart failed him, while on his way ; but looking across the square,
and seeing Colonel Dare's house all aglare, lights in the parlors and
chambers, he pushed on resolutely, determined to be manly, notwithstanding
his poverty. He reached the house, rang the bell, and was welcomed by
Daphne in the hall.
" Good evening, Paul. You are very late. I was afraid you were not corn-
ing. All the others are here," she said, her face beaming with happiness,
joy, and excitement. She was elegantly dressed, for she was her father's pet,
and he bought everything for her which he thought would make her happy.
" Better late than never, is n't it ? " said Paul, not knowing what else to say.
Although the party had been assembled nearly an hour, there had been no
games. The girls were huddled in groups on one side of the room, and the
boys on the other, all shy, timid, and waiting for somebody to break the ice.
Azalia was playing the piano, while Philip stood by her side. He was
dressed in a new suit of broadcloth, and wore an eye-glass. Fanny was pres-
ent though she had threatened not to attend if Paul was invited. She had
altered her mind. She thought k would be better to attend and make the
place too hot for Paul ; she would get up such a laugh upon him that he
would be glad to take his hat and sneak away, and never show himself in
respectable society again. Philip was in the secret, and so were a dozen
others who looked up to Philip and Fanny. Daphne entered the parlor,
VOL. i. NO. in. 12
170 Winning his Way. [March,
followed by Paul There was a sudden tittering, snickering, and laughing.
Paul stopped and bowed, then stood erect.
" I declare, if there is n't old Grandaddy," said Philip, squinting through
his eye-glass.
" O my ! how funny ! " said a girl from Fairview.
" Ridiculous ! It is a shame ! " said Fanny, turning up her nose.
" Who is he ? " the Fairview girl asked.
" A poor fellow who lives on charity, so poor that he wears his grandfa-
ther's old clothes. We don't associate with him," was Fanny's reply.
Paul heard it. His cheek flushed, but he stood there, determined to brave
it out. Azalia heard and saw it all. She stopped playing in the middle of a
measure, ran from her seat with her cheeks all aflame, and walked towards
Paul, extending her hand and welcoming him. " I am glad you have come,
Paul. We want you to wake us up. We have been half asleep."
The laughter ceased instantly, for Azalia was a queen among them. Beau-
tiful in form and feature, her chestnut hair falling in luxuriant curls upon her
shoulders, her dark hazel eyes flashing indignantly, her cheeks like blush-
roses, every feature of her countenance lighted up by the excitement of the
moment, her bearing subdued the conspiracy at once, hushing the derisive
laughter, and compelling respect, not only for herself, but for Paul. It re-
quired an effort on his part to keep back the tears from his eyes, so grateful
was he for her kindness.
" Yes, Paul, we want you to be our general, and tell us what to do," said
Daphne.
" Very well, let us have Copenhagen to begin with," he said.
The ice was broken. Daphne brought in her mother's clothes-line, the
chairs were taken from the room, and in five minutes the parlor was hum-
ming like a beehive.
" I don't see what you can find to like in that disagreeable creature," said
Philip to Azalia.
" He is a good scholar, and kind to his mother, and you know how coura-
geous he was when he killed that terrible dog," was her reply.
" I think he is an impudent puppy. What right has he to thrust himself
into good company, wearing his grandfather's old clothes ? " Philip responded,
dangling his eye-glass and running his soft hand through his hair.
"Paul is poor; but I never have heard anything against his character,"
said Azalia.
" Poor folks ought to be kept out of good society," said Philip.
" What do you say to that picture ? " said Azalia, directing his attention
towards a magnificent picture of Franklin crowned with laurel by the ladies
of the court of France, which hung on the wall. " Benjamin Franklin was a
poor boy, and dipped candles for a living ; but he became a great man."
" Dipped candles ! Why, I never heard of that before," said Philip, look-
ing at the engraving through his eye-glass.
" I don't think it is any disgrace to Paul to be poor. I am glad that
Daphne invited him," said Azalia, so resolutely that Philip remained silent.
1865.] Winning his Way. 171
He was shallow-brained and ignorant, and thought it not best to hazard an
exposure of his ignorance by pursuing the conversation.
After Copenhagen they had Fox and Geese, and Blind-man's-buff. They
guessed riddles and conundrums, had magic writing, questions and answers,
and made the parlor, the sitting-room, the spacious halls, and the wide stair-
way ring with their merry laughter. How pleasant the hours ! Time flew on
swiftest wings. They had a nice supper, sandwiches, tongue, ham, cakes,
custards, floating-islands, apples, and nuts. After supper they had stories,
serious and laughable, about ghosts and witches, till the clock in the dining-
room held up both of its hands and pointed to the figure twelve, as if in
amazement at their late staying. " Twelve o'clock ! Why, how short the
evening has been ! " said they, when they found how late it was. They had
forgotten all about Paul's coat, for he had been the life of the party, suggest-
ing something new when the games lagged. He was so gentlemanly, and
laughed so heartily and pleasantly, and was so wide awake, and managed
everything so well, that, notwithstanding the conspiracy to put him down, he
had won the good-will of all the party.
During the evening Colonel Dare and Mrs. Dare entered the room. The
Colonel shook hands with Paul, and said, " I am very happy to see you here
to-night, Paul." It was spoken so heartily and pleasantly that Paul knew
the Colonel meant it.
The young gentlemen were to wait upon the young ladies home. Their
hearts went pit-a-pat. They thought over whom to ask and what to say.
They walked nervously about the hall, pulling on their gloves, while the girls
were putting on their cloaks and hoods up stairs. They also were in a fever
of expectation and excitement, whispering mysteriously, their hearts going
like trip-hammers.
Daphne stood by the door to bid her guests good night. " I am very glad
that you came to-night, Paul," she said, pressing his hand in gratitude, " I
don't know what we should have done without you."
" I have passed a very pleasant evening," he replied.
Azalia came tripping down the stairs. "Shall I see you home, Azalia?"
Paul asked.
" Miss Adams, shall I have the delightful pleasure of being permitted to
escort you to your residence ? " said Philip, with his most gallant air, at the
same time pushing by Paul with a contemptuous look.
"Thank you both for your courtesy," said Azalia, "but I think I shall
accept Paul's offer " ; and putting her slender arm through his sturdy one,
she passed out of the doorway, leaving Philip to console himself at his de-
served discomfiture as best he could.
Paul was a proud and happy youth as he went out into the street with
Azalia under his charge, among the lively groups busy with their comments
upon the enjoyments of the party and their good-nights as they separated on
their homeward ways. The night was frosty and cold, but it was clear and
pleasant. The full moon was high in the heavens, the air was still, and there
were no sounds to break the peaceful silence of the winter night, except the
172 The Red -Winged Goose. [March,
water dashing over the dam by the mill, the footsteps of the departing guests
upon the frozen ground, and the echoing of their voices. Now that he was
with Azalia alone, he wanted to tell her how grateful he was for all she had
done for him ; but he could only say, " I thank you, Azalia, for your kindness
to me to-night."
"O, don't mention it, Paul; I am glad if I have helped you. Good
night."
How light-hearted he was ! He went home, and climbed the creaking
stairway, to his chamber. The moon looked in upon him, and smiled. He
could not sleep, so happy was he. How sweet those parting words ! The
water babbled them to the rocks, and beyond the river in the grand old for-
est, where the breezes were blowing, there was a pleasant murmuring of
voices, as if the elms and oaks were having a party, and all were saying,
" We are glad if we have helped you."
Carleton.
THE RED-WINGED GOOSE.
FROM his dream Mihal was waked by a loud hiss, and, starting to his feet,
he saw that the moon shone like day on a goose with brilliant crimson
wings, followed by six snow-white goslings, just disappearing in the forest.
He did not wait to rub his eyes, but darted away on the track of the birds as
fast as he could go, still keeping the nearest one in sight. Nothing could
tire his patience or wear out his courage ; the crooked roots of the old beech-
trees seemed to crawl and twist purposely before his eager little feet, and
more than once the low brambles of the forest scratched his face sharply as
he fell forward among them. But Mihal had a stout heart ; he scrambled
up as he best might, and pursued the goslings with fresh ardor over hill and
valley, far beyond the pine forest, and skirting its borders, till at length he
found himself at dawn near the same hill where he had entered the dwarfs'
cave, and as he followed the goslings up the hill-side, slippery with dry grass,
he fell at length by the bubbling fountain. Tears of fatigue and discourage-
ment came into his eyes ; but as he raised his head slowly from the ground,
lo ! there on the edge of the spring sat the goose and her brood, wellnigh as
tired as he. Mihal stretched his hand forward slowly and softly, till he
grasped the snowy down of the gosling that sat nearest him, and twisted a
finger about its neck ; the goose and goslings sailed away, flapping their
wings heavily, and Mihal tied his treasure tightly and safely with a little
leathern thong, wondering where he should bestow it, when he heard a voice
at his ear, and, turning, saw the grizzled head of the Dwarf-king, set, as it
might be, under a round stone in the hill-side, with his little glittering eyes
fixed on the child's prize. In fact the king was looking out of his chamber
1865.] The Red -Winged Goose. ifo
window, only that happened to be under a stone, and as Mihal saw the out-
side alone, nor could guess at the inside, he was naturally a little startled,
though he laughed and held up the gosling in triumph. The dwarf nodded
at Mihal, and asked him in to breakfast, for he was mightily in good-humor
that morning because his miners had found a carbuncle as big as a goose-
egg the day before, and brought news of a streak of pure gold right across
the nearest mountain ; moreover, he offered to keep the goslings for him,
give him a good meal whenever he came to bring one, and told him always
to wait for them by the forest cross, as they flew by there every night after
moon-rise. So the boy dropped an acorn into the fountain, and the little
old woman came to the door and let him in. He saw his bird safely caged,
ate an excellent breakfast, and then trudged home to find his brothers and
sisters still asleep ; so he stole in to his own corner and slept too, till noon,
for his mother wisely thought he had better sleep than eat.
The next night, after much the same adventures, he caught another gosling
on the bough of a fir-tree far beyond the pine-forest, and carried it for many
a mile before he reached the Dwarf-king's hill ; and then, after his warm
breakfast, the day was so far gone he did not care to go home, but made a
nest of dry leaves under a great tree, and took a long nap in the sunshine.
Nor did he leave the forest till night, for with an oaten cake and a bit of
smoked boar's flesh that remained from his breakfast, and the sweet water of
the spring, he supped like a lord. But by sunset he hastened home to find
his mother watching without the hut, her hand shading her eyes from the
level rays, and her mother-heart sore lest some evil had befallen her little lad.
Mihal feigned to eat his crust with the others, but put it slyly into Zitza's
hand, told the others stories till they slept, and then made his way through
the woods and the midnight, as well as he might, to his place of waiting.
Very dark and rustling was the old forest that night, full of sighs and whis-
pers and moaning winds ; the boy's heart shivered, and his flesh crept, for he
was cold and weary, and as he sat down beside the stone cross the shadows
closed and pressed upon him till he could scarce breathe, and a chill sweat
stood all over him. How in this black darkness was he to see the birds he
came to pursue ?
Suddenly a whir of wings freshened the heavy air, the glittering white
of the goslings' plumage shone even in that deep gloom, and from the red
wings of the goose herself a tender, rosy light spread and glowed like a
wandering sunset-cloud. Mihal remembered no more cold, or darkness, or
fear, but started to his feet and pursued his chase as manfully as ever. This
time they took a new track, deep into the heart of the forest, and sorely was
MihaFs patience tried to follow them. Sometimes, just as the last one
seemed to be within reach, his eager hands would close over a feather fallen
from its wings, or a lock of wool caught from some lost sheep, instead of the
bird he grasped at, and in the uncertain light that struggled through the
thick boughs it was not always easy to see even the nearest gosling ; but as
day began to dawn, this strange hunt and child hunter came out of the
forest into a gray and dismal marsh, through which ran slowly a muddy
174 The Red-Winged Goose. [March,
stream, winding through tussocks of coarse grass. On its brink the birds
lighted to drink, and Mihal stole carefully up behind them, sure at last of
success. They stood quite still, eagerly drinking, all unaware of the enemy
behind them, while he, careless of the dwarf's directions, and anxious for
the prey, determined this time to catch two instead of one, and stretching out
his left hand toward the nearest, grasped with his right at another ; but,
poor child ! so sure of the nearest was he, that, in trying first to seize the
other, he fell full length in the soft black mud of the marsh, and the goslings,
taking wing, were out of sight before Mihal, his face plastered with mire,
could pick himself up from the side of the stream and see whither they
went.
When he found they were really gone, he sat down on a stone and began
to cry bitterly. Cold and hungry, tired out, disappointed, conscious withal
that his fault lay beneath his failing, he was near to despair, and knew not
how to look for comfort, when in the midst of his distress he heard a short,
sharp laugh close at his side, and, looking up, perceived the Dwarf-king
right before him, holding a square mirror, over which peered his keen,
twinkling eyes and grizzled head circled with the ring of gold.
" Look here, child ! " said he, tapping the frame of the mirror. Mihal
looked, and beheld therein his own piteous figure perched upon a rugged
stone, his old baize jacket more torn and soiled than ever, his coarse hat of
oaten straw bruised and askew over one ear, his face daubed with mud,
through which the tears made little paths till he was well striped in black
and white. A funny sight he was to see, and while he kept looking at this
quaint vision he forgot to cry, began to smile, and at last laughed outright ;
for surely it was a sight to make any stone saint in Prague Cathedral shake
his hard sides with rocky laughter.
" There," quoth the Dwarf-king, " a laugh is as good as a loaf; the toad-
marsh needs no salting of tears ; take heart, little lad, take heart ! Wash thy
face and gather grace, ' There is always life for a living one ! '"
Mihal rid his features of their stripes, tucked away the tangled curls of his
hair, and turned again to the mirror with a smile that showed his small
white teeth, glittered in his sloe-black eyes, and printed many a dimple deep
in his rosy cheeks and chin ; the thousand tiny bells on the mirror frame
tinkled for joy, and the dwarf pulled out of his snake-skin pouch some savory
meat and cakes, with which the child refreshed himself heartily and well.
But Mihal was not spared a good rating after all the food had vanished.
" Thou art a pretty one," said the dwarf, " to keep counsel and follow for-
tune ; but he that breaks his arms must needs hold by his teeth, and he that
hath two must also have seven, though it be seven years seeking. Four
nights must pass before yonder spell-ridden bird may again see the pine-tree
and the Fountain of Silence, and the bird that is frighted is swift of flight
thereafter. Still, I counsel thee to go forward."
Mihal hung his head, and made a reverence to the dwarf, while with his
eyes he looked his gratitude, and also his fresh resolve. The little king
showed him a short way homeward, and suddenly disappeared just as a slant
1865.] The Red -Winged Goose. 175
ray from the new-risen sun touched the spot where he stood ; for these hill
people love not sunshine, it does not jingle or feel heavy, and it mocks
them with its yellow brightness. Mihal made his way home, and for four
nights tossed wearily upon the straw under his sheepskin blanket. In vain
the waning moon shone through the crevices of the hut, in vain the mild
night-airs from the pine-trees breathed their mystic fragrance abroad. He
would not now despise the dwarf's wisdom, he would wait if he might not
watch or pursue. At last the fifth night came, and long before the late moon-
rise Mihal leaned against the forest cross. High overhead, the stars marched
through the purple heaven in glittering state and splendor, and meteors spun
their threads of fiery light from planet to planet, as bent on some celestial
errand ; but soon clouds gathered above the lonely earth, storm-rack fleeted
through the vaults of air, gusts of wind bent the forest, that sighed and
groaned before the gale ; afar off the howl of a wolf added another discord to
the tempest-chorus, and the wild yell of the witch-owl, or the scream of a
benighted eagle driven by the powers of air from his eyrie, smote MihaPs
heart with terror, and filled his soul with dread. A sob of fright burst from
his lips, but a voice of good cheer beside him said, " Patience ! " and as the
word fell on his ear he heard the rush of the goose's wings, a dull red light
gleamed in the north and spread along the clouds, and once more his chase
began.
Long, long, and dreary it was this time ; sometimes he thought the birds
would never light, to rest or drink ; on and on they flew, while on and on he
followed, though his head whirled, and his heart beat as if it would break.
At last the line of the goose's flight led past a thick cedar whose boughs
swept the ground, and the last gosling, swerving a little from the line, flew
headlong into the thickest branches, and before it could flutter itself free was
safe clutched in Mihal's two hands. Speedily he made his way to the
Dwarf-king with his treasure, had his sore and bleeding feet anointed and
bound up carefully, was well warmed and fed, and freely praised by the little
master for his good-will and courage.
It would take long, and too long, to tell how slowly Mihal caught the other
three ; what mountain ridges rose up in his path and daunted his bravery for
a time ; what trackless forests, what desert heaths, what solitary lakes on
whose margin the heron stalked and the gull screamed, what mighty rolling
rivers, were traversed and passed in his nightly chases ; but he that keeps
his eyes open and his mouth shut comes at last to bed and table, though it
be never so long first ; and when Mihal grasped the sixth gosling on the
shore of a dark inland sea, sombre with the shadow of overhanging cliffs,
the red-winged goose herself, loath to leave the last of her brood, lighted upon
his shoulder, and he carried her home in triumph.
Once there, he built for her a large and light cage of little pine-boughs,
and strewed its floor with sweet leaves of fir and birch, where the beautiful
bird contented herself, and erelong laid therein snowy eggs like any other
goose. These Mihal carefully stored, and when he had a goodly number
sent them to the land-steward of a great lord who had a castle in that coun-
176 The Red-Winged Goose. [March,
try. Now this mightily pleased the land-steward, who above all things liked
fried goose-eggs for his supper, so much that he sent for Mihal to come and
live with him, and also bestowed food upon the eight children, and five roods
of good land upon Otto Koenig.
Mihal lived with him till he became as his son, and, after years enough had
passed to make the boy a man, the land-steward made him under-bailiff on
the great lord his master's estate, and built him there a nice wooden house
with two windows and a door that would shut. Here Mihal lived for some
time with only the red-winged goose and Zitza for company, but Zitza needs
must marry and go away, so Mihal asked the land-steward's pretty daughter
to marry him. Hanne had much ado to say " No," as modest maidens
should, even if they say " Yes " after, as she did ; so the banns were read,
and they were wedded, like all good people, with priest and mass-book.
The Dwarf-king was seen no more ; long ago had he eaten a goose-pie of
marvellous flavor, made from the six goslings, that Mihal dressed and the
jackdaw woman compounded into the pastry with spices abundant, and
crispy crust ; and maybe it was in return for this that on Mihal's wedding-
day a red apron curiously wrought with gold and silk threads fell down the
chimney right into Hanne's lap. Mihal at least believed it was the Dwarf-
king's present, for the like of it had never been seen in all Bohemia, and
whenever the little wife put it on, all house-matters went smoothly and right.
And there never was but one thing that troubled Hanne about her man, in
all their long life ; but alas ! if ever she made a pudding before she cleaned
the pot, if ever she poured in the cream before she scalded the churn, if ever
she went to mass before the children were washed and fed, or rated a beggar
from the door and bought the Virgin in the castle chapel a costly offering,
Mihal would shake his head and say, " Hanne ! Hanne ! thou shouldst catch
the nearest one first ! " Nor could either tears or kisses persuade him to tell
her what this strange speech meant. So everybody must allow she was an
ill-used woman, as all women are when they think so !
And this is all, about THE RED-WINGED GOOSE.
Rose Terry.
i86 5 .]
My Heavenly Bird.
177
MY HEAVENLY BIRD.
OUT of the deeps of heaven
A bird has flown to my door,
As twice in the ripening summers
Its mates have flown before !
Why it has flown to my dwelling,
Nor it nor I may know ;
And only the silent angels
Can tell when it shall go !
That it will not straightway vanish,
But fold its wings with me,
And sing in the greenest branches
Till the axe is laid to the tree,
Is the prayer of my love and terror,
For my soul is sore distrest,
Lest I wake some dreadful morning,
And find but its empty nest !
. H. Stoddard,
178 Our Dogs. [March,
O U R D O G S . >'
I.
WE who live in Cunopolis are a dog-loving family. We have a warm
side towards everything that goes upon four paws, and the conse-
quence has been that, taking things first and last, we have been always kept
in confusion and under the paw, so to speak, of some honest four-footed ty-
rant, who would go beyond his privilege and overrun the whole house. Years
ago this begun, when our household consisted of a papa, a mamma, and three
or four noisy boys and girls, and a kind Miss Anna who acted as a second
mamma to the whole. There was also one more of our number, the young-
est, dear little bright-eyed Charley, who was king over us all, and rode in a
wicker wagon for a chariot, and had a nice little nurse devoted to him ; and
it was through him that our first dog came.
One day Charley's nurse took him quite a way to a neighbor's house, to
spend the afternoon ; and, he being well amused, they stayed till after night-
fall. The kind old lady of the mansion was concerned that the little prince
in his little coach, with his little maid, had to travel so far in the twilight
shadows, and so she called a big dog named Carlo, and gave the establish-
ment into his charge.
Carlo was a great, tawny-yellow mastiff, as big as a calf, with great, clear,
honest eyes, and stiff, wiry hair ; and the good lady called him to the side
of the little wagon, and said, " Now, Carlo, you must take good care of Char-
ley, and you must n't let anything hurt him."
Carlo wagged his tail in promise of protection, and away he trotted, home
with the wicker wagon ; and when he arrived, he was received with so much
applause by four little folks, who dearly loved the very sight of a dog, he was
so stroked and petted and caressed, that he concluded that he liked the place
better than the home he came from, where were only very grave elderly peo-
ple. He tarried all night, and slept at the foot of the boys' bed, who could
hardly go to sleep for the things they found to say to him, and who were
awake ever so early in the morning, stroking his rough, tawny back, and hug-
ging him.
At his own home Carlo had a kennel all to himself, where he was expected
to live quite alone, andi'do duty by watching and guarding the place. Nobody
petted him, or stroked his rough hide, or said " Poor dog ! " to him, and so it
appears he had a feeling that he was not appreciated, and liked our warm-
hearted little folks, who told him stories, gave him half of their own supper,
and took him to bed with them sociably. Carlo was a dog that had a mind
of his own, though he could n't say much about it, and in his dog fashion
proclaimed his likes and dislikes quite as strongly as if he could speak.
When the time came for taking him home, he growled and showed his teeth
dangerously at the man who was sent for him, and it was necessary to drag
1865.] Our Dogs. 179
him back by force, and tie him into his kennel. However, he soon settled
that matter by gnawing the rope in two and padding down again and appear-
ing among his little friends, quite to their delight. Two or three times was
he taken back and tied or chained ; but he howled so dismally, and snapped
at people in such a misanthropic manner, that finally the kind old lady thought
it better to have no dog at all than a dog soured by blighted affection. So
she loosed his rope, and said, " There, Carlo, go and stay where you like " ;
and so Carlo came to us, and a joy and delight was he to all in the house.
He loved one and all ; but he declared himself as more than all the slave and
property of our little Prince Charley. He would lie on the floor as still as a
door-mat, and let him pull his hair, and roll over him, and examine his eyes
with his little fat fingers ; and Carlo submitted to all these personal freedoms
with as good an understanding as papa himself. When Charley slept, Carlo
stretched himself along under the crib ; rising now and then, and standing
with his broad breast on a level with the slats of the crib, he would look
down upon him with an air of grave protection. He also took a great fancy
to papa, and would sometimes pat with tiptoe care into his study, and sit
quietly down by him when he was busy over his Greek or Latin books, wait-
ing for a word or two of praise or encouragement. If none came, he would
lay his rough horny paw on his knee, and look in his face with such an honest,
imploring expression, that the Professor was forced to break off to say,
" Why, Carlo, you poor, good, honest fellow, did he want to be talked to ?
so he did. Well, he shall be talked to ; he 's a nice good dog " ; and
during all these praises Carlo's transports and the thumps of his rough tail
are not to be described.
He had great, honest yellowish-brown eyes, not remarkable for their
beauty, but which used to look as if he longed to speak, and he seemed to
have a yearning for praise and love and caresses that even all our attentions
could scarcely satisfy. His master would say to him sometimes, "Carlo,
you poor, good, homely dog, how loving you are ! "
Carlo was a full-blooded mastiff, and his beauty, if he had any, con-
sisted in his having all the good points of his race. He was a dog of blood,
i8o Otir Dogs. [March,
come of real old mastiff lineage ; his stiff, wiry hair, his big, rough paws, and
great brawny chest, were all made for strength rather than beauty ; but for
all that he was a dog of tender sentiments. Yet, if any one intruded on his
rights and dignities, Carlo showed that he had hot blood in him ; his lips
would go back, and show a glistening row of ivories, that one would not like
to encounter, and if any trenched on his privileges, he would give a deep
warning growl, as much as to say, " I am your slave for love, but you
must treat me well, or I shall be dangerous." A blow he would not bear
from any one : the fire would flash from his great yellow eyes, and he would
snap like a rifle ; yet he would let his own Prince Charley pound on his
ribs with both baby fists, and pull his tail till he yelped, without even a
show of resistance.
At last came a time when the merry voice of little Charley was heard no
more, and his little feet no more pattered through the halls ; he lay pale and
silent in his little crib, with his dear life ebbing away, and no one knew how
to stop its going. Poor old Carlo lay under the crib when they would let
him, sometimes rising up to look in with an earnest, sorrowful face ; and
sometimes he would stretch himself out in the entry before the door of
little Charley's room, watching with his great open eyes lest the thief should
come in the night to steal away our treasure.
But one morning when the children woke, one little soul had gone in the
night, gone upward to the angels ; and then the cold, pale, little form that
used to be the life of the house was laid away tenderly in the yard of a
neighboring church.
Poor old Carlo would pit-pat silently about the house in those days of grief,
looking first into one face and then another, but no one could tell him
where his gay little master had gone. The other children had hid the baby-
wagon away in the lumber-room lest their mamma should see it ; and so
passed a week or two, and Carlo saw no trace of Charley about the house.
But then a lady in the neighborhood, who had a sick baby, sent to borrow
the wicker wagon, and it was taken from its hiding-place to go to her. Carlo
came to the door just as it was being drawn out of the gate into the street.
Immediately he sprung, cleared the fence with a great bound, and ran after it
He overtook it, and poked his head between the curtains, there was no one
there. Immediately he turned away, and padded dejectedly home. What
words could have spoken plainer of love and memory than this one action ?
Carlo lived with us a year after this, when a time came for the whole
family hive to be taken up and moved away from the flowery banks of the
Ohio, to the piny shores of Maine. All our household goods were be-
ing uprooted, disordered, packed, and sold ; and the question daily arose,
" What shall we do with Carlo ? " There was hard begging on the part of
the boys that he might go with them, and one even volunteered to travel all
the way in baggage cars to keep Carlo company. But papa said no, and so
it was decided to send Carlo up the river to the home of a very genial lady
who had visited in our family, and who appreciated his parts, and offered
him a home in hers.
i86 5 .]
Little Sarah's Skates.
181
The matter was anxiously talked over one day in the family circle while
Carlo lay under the table, and it was agreed that papa and Willie should take
him to the steamboat landing the next morning. But the next morning, Mr.
Carlo was nowhere to be found. In vain was he called, from garret to cel-
lar ; nor was it till papa and Willie had gone to the city that he came out of
his hiding-place. For two or three days it was impossible to catch him, but
after a while his suspicions were laid, and we learned not to spea'k out our
plans in his presence, and so the transfer at last was prosperously effected.
We heard from him once in his new home, as being a highly appreciated
member of society, and adorning his new situation with all sorts of dog vir-
tues, while we wended our ways to the coast of Maine. But our hearts were
sore for want of him ; the family circle seemed incomplete, until a new favor-
ite appeared to take his place, of which I shall tell you next month.
Harriet Beecher Stowe.
L
LITTLE SARAH'S SKATES.
ITTLE Sarah always begged Nurse Day to loop up one of her window-
curtains when she went to bed, that she might go to sleep watching the
stars twinkle, and in the
morning see the great sun
rise, and after he had risen,
see if his goldy locks were
all on end, as her own often
were, when she had forgot-
ten to put on her cambric
cap the previous night. So
one morning she awoke, not
quite as early as usual, and
found her room full of light,
which seemed to dance
about some bright object
on a chair by her bedside,
but which she was at first
too sleepy to investigate ;
for a moment she lay quite
still, thinking that perhaps
it was some fairy's wand
which caused such a glitter,
and that presently a real
live fairy, with beautiful
gold wings, would perch on
1 82 Little Sarah's Skates. [March,
her thumb and offer to grant her three wishes, like other obliging fairies she
had read about. And the very first wish that came into her head was for a
pair of skates ; and having got fairly awake at last, behold ! what was this
same bright something by her bedside, but a handsome new pair of skates,
indeed, so bright that she could see her own face in them !
" O my ! hoiv nice ! A real pair of skates ! " and she was out of bed in
the twinkling of an eye, and vainly trying to strap them upon her tiny bare
feet ; but finding herself unskilful, she pattered across the room, opened the
door, and called, " Nurse Day, please come and dress little Sarah, she 's
broad awake, come quick ! "
" Here I am, honey ! " said Nurse, as she came bustling in. " And what 's
the hurry ? Hungry ? "
" Hungry ! " repeated Sarah, indignantly ; " I 've got something better to
hurry me. Has papa gone to his office ? "
" Yes indeed."
" Then I am glad, for I can go right out on the Park and learn to skate
before he comes home. See, Nurse, my beautiful skates ! And won't he be
surprised when he conies home round by the Park, and sees me skating just
like Mrs. Mason ? "
" I should think so,' 1 said Nurse Day ; " but you 're not going to wear your
cap out, honey ? "
" O yes,' 5 she answered, " I shall wear my skating-cap, that you crocheted
for me ! "
" But not your nightcap, miss ? " for Sarah in her haste had forgotten to
take off her cap and have her curls smoothed.
" No, of course not ! " said she, laughing at herself; and Nurse laughed
with her, and they got so good-natured about it that Sarah forgot to say
" Oh ! " when the comb met a snarl among her ringlets.
" Now," said Nurse, " since your papa has been so kind, and bought
you such grand skates, I hope you will think of nothing so much as how
you can best please hint / "
" O, that 's what I 've been thinking about since ever I woke up, and so I
want to learn to skate, right away ; are n't you most done ? "
*' Almost. But, Sarah, I don't think you had better go to-day ; some other
time your papa will take you, and with him there will be no danger of your
falling and breaking any limbs ! "
" Pooh ! / don't want any one to show me how to skate ; I can slide right
off myself ; who can't ? It is n't anything to do after you 've got your skates ! "
" That 's all you know about it, miss ! It takes a great while to learn, and
you would be sure to fall, and "
" How foolish ! " interrupted Sarah, " I know I can slide without any
trouble " ; and, looking thoughtfully at her little bare arms, asked, " Nurse
Day, do people's arms break just like doll's ? "
" How is that ? "
" Why, you know ; did n't my Lady Bountiful's right arm come off so
that it would n't ever stay fixed again ? Would mine break so ? "
1865.] Little Sarak's Skates. 183
" No," answered the nurse ; " you break the bone, and the doctor comes
and gives it a pull that is ever so painful, and binds two pieces of wood upon
it, and bandages it with linen, and it aches badly, and you carry it in a sling,
and can't feed yourself, nor hold a book, nor sew your patchwork, till ever
so long ! "
" I don't think I should mind that a great deal," said Sarah, with the air
of a young martyr. " I think I could bear it, if I had pleased papa, and
learnt to skate : but then I must n't break my arm ! "
" Now get my things, please," said she, after the dressing was finished.
" I am afraid to let you go," said the nurse ; " you must wait till I see your
papa."
"And I want to surprise him ! " and withal, Sarah begged so hard, and
coaxed so prettily, that at last Nurse Day promised to take her out, if she
would come home as soon as she found herself mistaken about her ability to
skate. But Sarah was quite certain of spending the morning on the ice ;
have n't some of us been equally as certain of an uncertainty ?
" Come, now, and eat your breakfast first," called the nurse.
" I 'm sure I can't eat a thing," said Sarah ; but Nurse insisted, though it
was only a mouthful. Perhaps you and I have felt something as Sarah did,
when we have been going to some favorite place of amusement, where we
expected a great deal of pleasure ; don't you remember a pic-nic, to which
you went last summer, and how hungry you were before luncheon-time, just
because you could n't or would n't eat your breakfast before starting ?
They were soon ready, and Sarah tripped gayly along, with the magical
skates hanging upon her arm, and the chill air bringing roses out upon her
plump cheeks, and the beautiful sunlight entangling itself among her curls
and sparkling in her blue eyes.
The Park was nearly covered with skaters, who floated so easily and hap-
pily along, that Sarah clapped her hands in high glee, and was in haste to
share the fun ; and, sitting down for Nurse to strap on her skates, she noticed
another little girl, who seemed much interested in the sport without joining
in it.
" Why don't you skate, too ? " asked Sarah ; " you are n't afraid of falling,
are you ? "
" No ; I can skate pretty well, but I have n't any skates. Daisy Hastings
lent me hers last winter, while she had the whooping-cough, but now she wants
them herself," answered the little girl, whose name was Bessie.
" O, that 's too bad ! But why don't you ask your father to buy you a pair
of your own ? "
" I have n't got any father," she returned.
" To ask papa " was Sarah's " Open Sesame ! "
Without doubt, Nurse Day was very foolish to let Sarah have her own
way in such a matter as this ; but maybe she was so fond of her, and
thought her such a wonderful little sprite that she could skate, or do almost
anything without practice ; or, Nurse Day may have believed it best that she
should suffer something from her own self-will, and learn whose judgment
184 Little Sarah's Skates. [March,
was the wisest. When the skates were snugly on, she led Sarah out upon
the glassy ice, tottering, but still believing in herself and her skates, when
once free of restraint.
" Now, Nurse, dear, go and sit down, and see me go like the others ! " im-
plored Sarah, balancing herself with much effort.
" No, honey dear, I must keep hold of you till you are steady on your
feet."
" You promised to let me skate, and that 's not keeping your word, you
know : do go away, I have n't got any room to push along in. Just this once ;
if I fall down, I will go right home."
Very unwillingly Nurse left her swaying from side to side, one moment
firm on the ice, the next almost down ; at last, calling, " Look, Nurse Day ! "
she pushed one foot forward, sure of dazzling success, which achieved, vrith
triumph radiant on her face, she slid forth the other, quite as they did at
the dancing-school, and ah ! she was down upon the cold, unkindly ice !
Nurse Day and little Bessie both rushed to her help, though Nurse,
herself unused to the ice, fell, and got a great bruise, which she scarcely
knew, in her anxiety for Sarah ; for when they reached her, she saw to her
dismay that she made no movement.
"What is the matter ?" asked Bessie, white as a sheet herself. "Is she
dead?"
" Dead ! no indeed ! " answered Nurse Day, a little sharply ; " she has
merely fainted. O, she has broken an arm ! "
Then the other skaters gathered about, and some one ran for a carriage,
and some one for the doctor, and so they carried her home. She was quite
crestfallen when she recovered from her fainting, and could hardly keep back
the tears that made her eyes look as glassy as the Park. And then her arm
ached so !
" O dear ! papa will be so disappointed ! " sighed Sarah, looking regret-
fully through her tears at her pretty skates.
" Your papa will feel much worse about your broken arm, I think," said
little Bessie, who had gone home with her. " But by and by, when it gets
mended, you can learn quite as well."
" O, but I wanted to learn before papa came home ! " said Sarah, crying
now with the pain.
" And perhaps you will " ; for Bessie thought, from her better experience
in skating, that he must have gone to Europe, or some place a good way off.
When the doctor came, he splintered and bound the arm up, and Sarah
had to carry it so for six weeks, in a sling. Sometimes it ached badly ;
and she could n't dress her dolls all that time, nor sew ; and she had to turn
the leaves of her story-books with her left hand, and feed herself so too ; and
Nurse Day had to cut up her meat, and butter her bread, and wait upon her
by inches ; and altogether it was so tedious that she was almost in despair,
before it was pronounced safe to use the arm freely.
Little Bessie came often to see her, and brought what slender consolation
was in her power, such as the incidents of the ska ting-park, the ups and
1865.] Little Sara/is Skates. 185
downs of life on the ice. One afternoon she had got dreadfully weary of
turning the leaves of her book with so much difficulty, and as Nurse was sew-
ing on her new frock, and could n't stop to read to her, she grew very dull
and low-spirited. " O dear ! " said she, " I wish I had never been born ! "
This made Nurse Day laugh heartily, to think that any one should make
such a circumstance of a little weariness, when many others had to endure a
thousand times as much, and a great deal more pain and distress than Sarah
could conceive of; but it only made Sarah vexed to be laughed at.
" I don't see why you laugh," said she. " Would n't you rather not have
been born, if you could do nothing but count the snow-flakes or the ticking
of the clock ? "
" Well," said Nurse, " I don't know how you would get along if you were
Miss Francis across the way there : she 's been bedridden these ten years."
" Bedridden ! What 's that ? "
" She can't get off her bed, but lies there night and day, and she is lifted
upon another when they make it up."
" Can't she walk at all, nor be bolstered up in an arm-chair, nor ride out ? "
" No indeed, she never sets foot on the floor."
" And can't the doctors cure her ? What made her so ? "
" She fell off her horse, and injured her spine. And the next day she would
have been married ; her wedding-gown was all made, she had just tried it on
before going out for an airing ; but she never put it on again ; and the beau-
tiful wedding-cakes were all baked, and the guests invited. No one ever
hears her wishing she had never been born, though."
" Ten years," said Sarah, thoughtfully ; "that 's a good while. I can't see
how she amuses herself : does n't she cry sometimes ? "
" Not she ; but she writes verses and books ; that is, she dictates them,
and some one her amanuensis writes them down."
" Well, but you see I can't write books."
" You can do something else ; one can always find some employment for
one's thoughts, if the usual ones are taken away from them. I 've read of a
man who was kept in prison in France, with nothing under the sun to do but
walk in a little paved court, where he could see only a little square of the
blue sky."
" And what did he do ? " asked Sarah, for Nurse Day stopped to find the
needle she had dropped on the carpet.
u Why, he found a little root growing between two broken tiles, and made
it his pleasure and occupation daily to watch and cherish it, till it grew and
blossomed ; and he loved it so tenderly, and thought about it so constantly,
that it almost killed him when the wind nearly uprooted it, one stormy
night."
" That was too bad ! And what happened then ? "
" He built a little arbor over it with sticks and straws, so that no future
tempest might harm it. Then there was another prisoner, whom I heard
your papa talking of one day ; when he was confined, he had nothing but
his misfortunes to think about, and that is not often, either, an agree-
VOL. i. NO. m. 13
1 86 Little Sarah's Skates. [March,
able or profitable subject of thought, and he was allowed no books nor
writing-materials, nor the visits of friends ; and, thus brought to his wit's
end, he looked about him, and made friends with a spider that spun a web in
the cell ; and he grew so fond of it, that when he was set free he would have
liked to take it away with him, but that that would have been treating his
funny friend much as he himself had been served."
" I should have thought it would have bitten him."
" I suspect that even such little creatures know when one means them
kindly. But there was one man who carried his violin to prison with him ;
and when he played, a rat crept out of its hole, and sat down on its haunches,
a good ways from him, to listen ; and every day it came a little nearer, till
by and by it would sit close beside him, and eat part of his food ; and so
with his rat and violin he lived quite contentedly."
" And was n't he afraid of the rat ? "
" No, indeed ; the rat was afraid of him at first, but the tune the violin
sang won upon it. Now John Bunyan, he who wrote your little ' Pilgrim's
Progress,' was another of these wise men, who could find something worth
thinking about in a ' Slough of Despond.' He was once imprisoned, with
only his own thoughts to come and go upon ; and he said to himself, ' I want
a trifle of amusement ; here are bare walls and grated windows, a heap of
straw and a wooden stool, how can I best extract pleasure from these ? '
So what does he do but take one leg out of his wooden stool, and with his
jack-knife fashion it into a flute, and so transformed monotony into harmony.
By and by he hears the tread of the turnkey, who is coming to see if the
music he hears issues from John Bunyan's cell ; but he slips the flute back
into its old place in the stool, and thus puzzles the gaoler, and keeps it with-
out let or hindrance."
" How nice ! " said Sarah. " But then, Nurse, what would you advise me
to do ? "
" John Bunyan did n't have any advice ; he thought it out for himself."
"Well, then, in the first place, I think I think that, when Bessie comes
again, I will lend her my skates. She hasn't any, you know. I didn't
remember that before. In the next place, I have made up my mind not to
try skating alone again ; and in the last place, as I can't make a flute, nor
play a violin, I will sing a song"; and singing so, little Sarah sang her-
self into sleep and dreams.
Mary N. Prescott.
1865.] How Margery Wondered. 187
HOW MARGERY WONDERED.
ONE bright morning, late in March, little Margery put on her hood and
her Highland plaid shawl, and went trudging across the beach. It was
the first time she had been trusted out alone, for Margery was a little girl ;
nothing about her was large, except her round gray eyes, which had yet
scarcely opened upon half a dozen springs and summers.
There was a pale mist on the far-off sea and sky, and up around the sun
were white clouds edged with the hues of pinks and violets. The sunshine
and the mild air made Margery's very heart feel warm, and she let the soft
wind blow aside her Highland shawl, as she looked across the waters at the
sun, and wondered !
For, somehow, the sun had never looked before as it did to-day; it
seemed like a great .golden flower bursting out of its pearl-lined calyx, a
flower without a stem ! Or was there a strong stem away behind it in the
sky, that reached down below the sea, to a root, nobody could guess where ?
Margery did not stop to puzzle herself about the answer to her question,
for now the tide was coming in, and the waves, little at first, but growing
larger every moment, were crowding up, along the sand and pebbles, laughing,
winking, and whispering, as they tumbled over each other, like thousands
of children hurrying home from somewhere, each with its own precious little
secret to tell. Where did the wave come from? Who was down there
under the blue wall of the horizon, with the hoarse, hollow voice, urging and
pushing them across the beach to her feet ? And what secret was it they
were lisping to each other with their pleasant voices ? O what was there be-
neath the sea, and beyond the sea, so deep, so broad, and so dim, too, away
off where the white ships, that looked smaller than sea-birds, were gliding
out and in?
But while Margery stood still for a moment on a dry rock, and wondered,
there came a low, rippling warble to her ear from a cedar-tree on the cliff
above her. It had been a long winter, and Margery had forgotten that there
were birds, and that birds could sing. So she wondered again what the mu-
sic was. And when she saw the bird perched on a yellow-brown bough, she
wondered yet more. It was only a bluebird, but then it was the first blue-
bird Margery had ever seen. He fluttered among the prickly twigs, and
looked as if he had grown out of them, as well as the cedar-berries, which
were dusty-blue, the color of his coat. But how did the music get into his
throat ? And after it was in his throat, how could it untangle itself, and wind
itself off so evenly ? And where had the bluebird flown from, across the
snow-banks, down to the shore of the blue sea ? The waves sang a welcome
to him, and he sang a welcome to the waves ; they seemed to know each
other well ; and the ripple and the warble sounded so much alike, they must
both have learned their music of the same teacher. And Margery kept on
wondering as she stepped between the song of the bluebird and the echo of
1 88 How Margery Wondered. [March,
the sea, and climbed a sloping bank, just turning faintly green in the spring
sunshine.
The grass was surely beginning to grow ! There were fresh, juicy blades,
running up among the withered blades of last year, as if in hopes of bringing
them back to life ; and closer down, she saw the sharp points of new spears
peeping from their sheaths. And scattered here and there were small dark
green leaves, hiding buds which were shut up so tight that no eyes but those
which had watched them many times could tell what flowers were to be let
out of their safe prisons by and by. So no one could blame Margery for not
knowing that they were only common blossoms, dandelions, and cinquefoil ;
nor for stooping over the tiny buds, and wondering.
What made the grass come up so green out of the black earth ? And how
did the buds know when it was time to take off their little green hoods, and
see what there was in the world around them ? And how came they to be buds
at all ? Did they bloom in another world before they sprung up in this, and
did they know, themselves, what kind of flowers they should blossom into ?
Had flowers souls, like little girls, that would live in another world when they
had died here ?
Margery thought she should like to sit down on the bank and wait beside
the buds until they opened ; perhaps they would tell her their secret if the
very first thing they saw was her eyes -watching them. One bud was begin-
ning to unfold ; it was streaked with yellow in little stripes that she could
imagine became wider every minute. But she would not touch it, for it
seemed almost as much alive as herself. So she only wondered, and won-
dered !
But the dash of the waves grew louder, and the bluebird had not stopped
singing yet, and the sweet sounds drew Margery's feet down to the beach
again, where she played with the shining pebbles, and sifted the sand through
her plump fingers, stopping now and then to wonder a little about everything,
until she heard her mother's voice calling her, from the cottage on the cliff.
Then Margery trudged home across the shells and pebbles with a pleas-
ant smile dimpling her cheeks, for she felt very much at home in this large,
wonderful world, and was happy to be alive, although she neither could have
told, nor cared to know, the reason why. But when her mother unpinned the
little girl's Highland shawl, and took off her hood, she said, " O mother, do
let me live on the door-step ! I don't like houses to stay in. What makes
everything so pretty and so glad ? Don't you like to wonder ? "
Margery's mother was a good woman, but there was all the housework to
do, and if she had thoughts, she did not often let them wander from that ; and
just then she was baking some gingerbread, which was in danger of getting
burnt in the oven. So she pinned the shawl around the child's neck again,
and left her on the door-step, saying to herself, as she returned to her work,
" Queer child ! I wonder what kind of a woman she will be ! "
But Margery sat on the door-step, and wondered, as the sea sounded louder,
and the sunshine grew warmer around her. It was all so strange, and grand,
and beautiful ! Her heart danced with joy to the music that went echoing
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 189
through the wide world, from the roots of the sprouting grass to the great
golden blossom of the sun.
And when the round, gray eyes closed that night, at the first peep of the
stars, the angels looked down and wondered over Margery. For the wisdom
of the wisest being God has made ends in wonder ; and there is nothing on
earth so wonderful as the budding soul of a little child.
Lucy Larcom.
LESSONS IN MAGIC.
I.
MOST of the readers of this Magazine have no doubt from time to time
witnessed the performance of some " Professor," " Thaumaturgist "
or " Prestidigitateur," and, whilst they have wondered at the tricks exhibited,
have felt a curiosity to know how they were done. Not so much that they
might do them, as to gratify that " eternal hankering " after knowledge which
is so characteristic of the Yankee mind, and which has led to so many valu-
able inventions and discoveries.
This curiosity I now propose to satisfy, and will endeavor, in this and suc-
ceeding articles, to explain in a clear and simple manner, not only all the
tricks that are commonly shown in public, but also to initiate the readers into
the mysteries of Legerdemain, an art of which, although we hear a great
deal, yet we see very little, as the majority of " stage tricks " owe their
