From the collection of the
n m
o PreTinger
v JJibrary
p
San Francisco, California
2006
\
C
L
'
Lx
.
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 effect
almost entirely to some cunningly contrived apparatus, and not to any skill on
the part of the performer. In fact many of those styling themselves " Pres-
tidigitateurs " assume the name merely because it is high-sounding, being
totally incapable of performing the simplest sleight, and, when once away from
the boxes and traps with which their stage is laden, are no more magicians
than one of their audience.
I will begin by explaining a few sleight-of-hand tricks, which will, I hope,
be the source of much amusement to " Our Young Folks," and, after they
have become familiar with these, will describe the more complicated ones,
most of which are purely ingenious specimens of mechanism, and last of all,
and these to my mind are the most beautiful, those effected by the
aid of Electricity ; so that I hope not merely to teach a little Magic, but also
introduce considerable Natural Philosophy.
I will now ring up the curtain, make my bow, and proceed to show how
To Palm a Coin.
THIS is a necessary beginning for any one who wishes to become an ex-
pert sleight-of-hand performer, as about one half the art of " Prestidigita-
190 Lessons in Magic. [March,
tion " is dependent on it. To explain it clearly is rather difficult, for although
it is readily understool when shown, yet it is a hard matter to describe it.
This however is about it. Balance a half-dollar on the tips of the second
and third fingers, or, what is better, on the second finger only, steadying it by
touching it lightly with the thumb. Now close the hand quickly, and you
will find that the coin lies in the palm. Throw forward the thumb, so that
the coin is held between the ball of the thumb and that part of the palm
which lies beneath and
between the second and
third fingers, as shown in
figure, and the thing is
done. Practise this well
before attempting it "be-
fore folk," for if you are
once caught palming, it
spoils the effect of all the
tricks that depend on it.
After becoming a profi-
cient with the right hand, try it with the left.
The following, besides being an excellent little trick, affords first-rate
practice.
To pass a Coin invisibly from one Hand to another.
BEGIN by informing your audience that you are now about to attempt a
very difficult feat, and that it is to borrow two silver half-dollars. (A half-
dollar, or an old-fashioned cent, is the best to palm, on account of the size.)
Having got the coins, lay them on a table. Then tuck up your sleeves and
call attention to the fact that you have nothing concealed there. Pick up
one half-dollar with the thumb and second finger of your right hand. Now
pretend to place the coin in your left hand, which you immediately close, but
in fact /<2/;/z it with the right. If neatly done, the right hand will apparently
be empty, and the audience will suppose that the coin is in the left. Now
take the other coin in the right hand, put that hand behind your back, keep-
ing the left before you, command the coin to " Pass," and at the same mo-
ment clink the two coins together (which are both in the same hand), and
your audience will imagine that the coin actually passed from the left to the
right hand. I have performed this hundreds of times, and never failed to
elicit tokens of surprise.
Should you be requested to repeat it, and are very expert at it, you may
do so ; but remember, as the first Rule of Magic, NEVER REPEAT A TRICK
IMMEDIATELY, as the second performance is more closely watched, and you
are liable to be detected. Of course, it will not do to refuse point-blank, but
excuse yourself as best you can, and propose to show something equally
mysterious ; as, for instance,
1865.]
Lessons in Magic.
The Russian Ring Trick.
A RING is borrowed from one of the company, placed inside a handker-
chief, and given to some one to hold. A small stick is now held by each
end, by two others of the audience, in such a way that the centre of it is
covered entirely by the ends of the handkerchief. The performer then takes
one end of the handkerchief and pulls it suddenly, when, lo ! the ring is
gone from it, and is found whirling round the centre of the stick.
This is the manner of performing it. In one corner of the handker-
chief you have a pocket, in which is placed a ring, after which the pocket is
sewed up, so that the ring is held there ; or you can fold one corner down,
which will answer as long as you conceal and hold the ring in it. Borrow a
plain gold ring, and pretend to place it in the centre of the handkerchief ;
but, instead of doing that, you palm the ring, and then, requesting one of the
audience to hold the handkerchief, you give them the ring which is sewed in
the corner. You then give a stick for examination, and, when it is returned,
take it in your left hand and slip the ring, which is concealed in the right
hand, and which is held by the second finger of that hand, as shown in the
cut, over it. The ring now being on, be careful not to remove your hand,
which should be about the centre of the stick. Request two of the audience
to come forward and take hold of each end of the stick, which you place so
that the centre is entirely covered by the handkerchief. You may now re-
move your hand and take hold of one end of the handkerchief, requesting
the person who holds the ring to let go of it when you say, " Three." Then
count, " One, Two, Three, Pass ! " Pull the handkerchief, and there
is the ring whirling round the stick as if it had just that moment dropped
on it, the whirling motion being caused by pulling the handkerchief
over it.
The attention of the audience being altogether taken up with the ring and
stick, you put the handkerchief in your pocket, where you should have an-
other which you can give them should they desire to examine it.
This is a very simple trick, requires but little practice to perform it, and
is very effective, and, like the other that I have described, may be exhibited
anywhere, and requires no confederates.
Another, rather more wonderful, but equally simple when known, is
1 92 Lessons in Magic. [March,
The Travelling Cone and Ball.
THE articles used in this trick are a common coffee-cup, a small cork ball,
a paper horn, such as at Christmas time is filled with candies for my little
friends, and a block of wood about two and a half inches in length and one
inch in diameter, in shape resembling a miniature sugar-loaf.
The cup is placed mouth downward on the floor or on a table, the com-
pany first being satisfied that it contains nothing. The ball is then laid at a
distance from it, and covered with the paper horn. The block of wood or
" cone," as it is called, is placed in the hand, and when the word of command
is given, lo ! a marvellous change has taken place, for the hand is empty, the
cone is under the horn, and the ball under the cup. To conclude the trick,
each article is made to resume its former position.
To perform this, you must get a turner to make you a solid block of wood,
sugar-loaf shaped, as described. Then have a second block made, just a shade
larger than the first. This second one you have completely hollowed out, so
that it is in fact nothing but a shell, and, if properly made, should admit of
the solid block being placed inside of it.* Be particular about this being
nicely made, as much of the success of the trick depends on it ; and if too
great a discrepancy exists between the size of the solid block and the shell,
you risk discovery. Next cut two cork-balls as near of a size as possible,
and blacken them in the flame of a lamp. Before meeting the audience,
place the solid block inside the shell, and set it on a table. Your apparatus
is now complete, and you are ready to perform your trick. Begin by hand-
ing the paper-horn for examination, and when you receive it back, remark,
" There is really no preparation about this, it is a simple paper-horn, and
merely used to cover this block" and, suiting the action to the word, you do
cover the block, and immediately raise the horn again, pressing the sides
slightly at the same time, and bringing
off the shell inside the horn. Lay the
horn down on the table with the point
towards the audience, so that they can-
not see the shell. You may now hand
the solid block for examination, and also
the coffee-cup, and one ball. After all
are examined, give the ball to one of the
audience to hold. Take the second ball
from your pocket secretly, (or, what is
better, from a shelf which you should
have on the back of your table, as you will find it very convenient,) and
hold it between the ends of the third and little fingers of the right hand.
Pick up the cup with your left hand, calling the attention of the audience
to the fact that it is still empty, pass it to the right hand, grasping it
at the edge with the forefinger and thumb of that hand; bend the third
and little fingers slightly towards the palm, and this movement will bring
* The writer is prepared to furnish apparatus for this or any other trick. His address may b
obtained of the Publishers.
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 193
the ball, which is concealed in those fingers, directly under the mouth of the
cup, as shown in the accompanying illustration. Set the cup mouth down,
and just before it touches the floor or table that it is to rest on, let go the
ball, and withdraw the fingers that held it.
The ball is now under the cup, and if you have practised this well and
done it quickly no one will suspect it. Take the ball which the audience
have, place it on the table and cover it with the horn, still being careful that
no one sees the shell which is inside. The trick itself is now done, but
much remains to be shown for the sake of effect. Tell the company, " I pro-
pose to remove the ball which is under the horn and place it under the cup,
which I do in this way," run your forefinger along the horn, and then hold the
finger up to view, asking them if they see the ball on the end of the finger.
"Of course not, it is yet invisible ; but I will throw it into the cup, so,"-
making at the same time a movement in that direction. Now take the solid
block, pretend to put it in your left hand, but palm it with the right ; place
the left hand under the table as though you were pushing the block up
through it. The block, which is concealed in your right hand, you had better
put in your pocket, whilst the audience are watching your left. Show the
company that the block is in neither hand, and lift the horn, without pressing
the sides ; the shell will remain on the table, covering the ball, and the audi-
ence will imagine it 'is the solid block. Request some one to raise the cup,
and to their surprise they will find under it the ball.
To finish the trick, you cover the shell again with the horn, take the block
from your pocket, keeping it concealed in your hand, as though palming it.
The hand being apparently empty, place it under the table and pretend to
pull the block through, at the same time letting it fall from your hand on the
floor. Cover the ball with the cup, and as you do so, make an awkward
movement, as if taking the ball away, but do not touch it. This will probably
cause a whispering amongst your audience, who will imagine that they have
detected the trick. " O, I beg pardon, but you suppose I took that ball away ;
that would be clumsy enough " ; raise the cup, and show that the ball is still
there ; pick it up, and say, " This is the way to get rid of any little object like
this," pretending, at the same time, to put the ball in your left hand, whilst
you palm it. Then count, " One, Two, Three, Pass ! " move the
hand towards the horn, and show that the ball has left it. Raise the horn,
pressing the sides this time, and there appears the ball.
These few simple tricks contain most of the principles of Legerdemain,
and when once mastered are easily enlarged on.
In conclusion, I would urge upon my readers the necessity of being pro-
vided with an abundance of "small talk," or "gags," as stage-folk call it, in
order to take off the attention of the audience as much as possible from your-
self in general and your fingers in particular. I would also advise them to be
perfectly self-possessed, to have entire confidence in themselves, for they
must remember that these tricks are great mysteries to outsiders, no matter
how transparent they may be to those who have taken u Lessons in Magic."
P. H. C.
194 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
AFLOAT IN THE FOREST:
OR, A VOYAGE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.
CHAPTER X.
A TROPICAL TORNADO.
"XT OTWITHSTANDING the apparently complete security thus obtained
L ^ for the craft, the Mundurucu did not seem to be easy in his mind. He
had climbed up the mast to the yard, and, having there poised himself, sat
gazing over the tops of the trees upon the patch of brimstone sky which was
visible in that direction. The others all talked of going to sleep, except the
young Paraense, who counselled them to keep awake. He, too, like the Mun-
durucu, was troubled with forebodings. He understood the weather-signs of
the Solimoes, and saw that a storm was portending. Though the sun had not
been visible during the whole day, it was now about the hour of his setting ;
and as if the storm had been waiting for this as a signal, it now boldly broke
forth. A few quick puffs, with short intervals between them, were its pre-
cursors. These were soon followed by gusts, stronger, as well as noisier, in
their advent ; and then the wind kept up a continuous roaring among the
tops of the trees ; while above the thunder rolled incessantly, filling the fir-
mament with its terrible voice. Deep darkness and the vivid glare of the
lightning-flashes followed each other in quick succession. At one moment
all was obscure around the crew of the galatea, the sky, the trees, the
water, even the vessel herself; in the next, everything was made manifest,
to the distance of miles, under a brilliance garish and unearthly. To add to
the unnatural appearance of things, there were other sounds than those of the
thunder or the storm, the cries of living creatures, strange and unknown.
Birds they might be, or beasts, or reptiles, or all these, commingling their
screams, and other accents of affright, with the sharp whistling of the wind,
the hoarse rumbling of the thunder, and the continuous crashing of the
branches.
The crew of the galatea were on the alert, with awe depicted on every face.
Their fear was lest the craft should be blown away from her moorings, and car-
ried out into the open water, which was now agitated by the fury of the storm.
Almost under the first lashing of the wind, huge waves had sprung up, with
white crests, that under the electric light gleamed fiercely along the yellow
swell of the turbid water. Their anxiety was of short continuance ; for
almost on the instant of its rising, it became reality. Unfortunately, the tree
to which the craft had been tied was one whose wood was of a soft and suc-
culent nature, a species of melastoma. Its branches were too brittle to
bear the strain thus unexpectedly put upon them ; and almost at the first
onset of the tornado they began to give way, snapping off one after the other
in quick succession. So rapid was the process of detachment, that, before
1865.] . Afloat in the Forest. 195
fresh moorings could be made, the last cord had come away ; and the galatea,
like a greyhound loosed from the leash, shot out from among the tree-tops,
and went off in wild career over the waves of the Gapo. Before any control
could be gained over her by her terrified crew, she had made several cables'
length into the open water, and was still sweeping onward over its seething
surface. To turn her head towards the trees was clearly out of the question.
The attempt would have been idle. Both wind and waves carried her in the
opposite direction, to say nothing of the current, against which she had been
already contending. The crew no longer thought of returning to the tree-
tops, out of which they had been so unceremoniously swept. Their only
chance of safety appeared to be to keep the craft as well balanced as circum-
stances would permit, and run before the wind. Even this for a time seemed
but a doubtful chance. The wind blew, not in regular, uniform direction, but
in short, fitful gusts, as if coming from every point of the compass ; and the
waves rolled around them as high as houses. In the midst of a chopping,
surging sea, the galatea tumbled and pitched, now head, now stern foremost,
at times going onward in mad career, and with headlong speed. The parrots
and macaws upon the yard had as much as their strong claws could do to
keep their perch ; and the monkeys, cowering under the shelter of the toldo,
clung close to its timbers. Both birds and beasts mingled their terrified cries
with the creaking of the galatea's timbers and the shouts of her crew. The
Gapo threatened to engulf them. Every moment might be their last ! And
with this dread belief, scarce for a moment out of their minds, did our adven-
turers pass the remainder of that remarkable night, the galatea galloping
onward, they could not tell whither. All they knew or could remember of
that nocturnal voyage was, that the vessel kept upon her course, piloted only
by the winds and waves, at times tossing within deep troughs of turbulent
water, at times poised upon the summits of ridge-like swells, but ever going
onward at high speed, seemingly ten knots an hour !
For a long while they saw around them only open water, as of some great
lake or inland sea. At a later hour, the lightning revealed the tops of sub-
merged trees, such as those they had left behind ; but standing out of the
water in clumps or coppices, that appeared like so many islands. Amidst
these they were carried, sometimes so close to the trees as to give them
hopes of being able to grasp their boughs. Once or twice the rigging of the
galatea brushed among the branches ; and they used every effort to stay their
runaway craft, and bring her to an anchorage. But in vain. The storm was
stronger than the united strength of the crew. The twigs clutched with eager
hands parted in twain, and the storm-driven vessel swept on amid the surg-
ing waters.
Daylight arrived at length, breaking through a red aurora, soon followed
by a brilliant sunrise. This somewhat cheered our despairing adventurers.
But the tempest was still raging with undiminished fury, the wind as loud
and the waves as high as at any period throughout the nigh?. Once more
they were in the middle of a waste of waters, neither trees nor land in sight.
Another great lake or inland sea ? It could not be that over which they had
196
Afloat in the Forest.
[March,
been already carried ? No. The wind was now blowing more steadily ; and
could it not have shifted ? Even if it had, they had not returned through the
archipelago of tree-top islands. They were in another opening of the Gapo.
Munday was of this opinion, and that was proof sufficient to satisfy his com-
panions. As we have said, the returning day did little to restore the con-
fidence of the galatea's crew. The tornado still continued. Despite the sunlit
sky, the storm showed no signs of abating ; and the crazy craft gave tongue
in every timber of her frail frame. The sounds were ominous to the ears of
those who listened to them. It was too evident, that, unless there should
soon come a lull, the galatea would go to the bottom. She had not been con-
structed to stand a strain like that to which she had been thus unexpectedly
exposed, and an anchorage either to terra firma or the tree-tops would soon
become necessary to her salvation. Her crew, convinced of this, were one
and all upon the look-out, scanning the horizon as closely as the crested
billows would admit. The Mundurucu had mounted to the top of the mast,
where, with one of the monkeys that had perched itself on his shoulders, he
clung with the tenacity of despair. All at once he was heard to cry out, the
monkey mocking him in mimic tone.
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 197
" What is it, Munday ? What do you see ? " were the inquiries that
reached him from below.
N " Land," was the laconic reply.
" Land ! " went up the echo from half a score of joyous voices.
" Maybe not land, I' mean the terra firma" pursued the observer, in a
less confident tone. "It may be only the top of a thick forest like what we
tried to penetrate yesterday. Whatever it is, patron, it seems along the
whole edge of the sky. We are drifting towards it, straight as the wind can
carry us."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Trevannion, "anything is better than this.
If we can get once more among the tree-tops, we shall at least be saved from
drowning. Thank God, children. We shall be preserved ! "
The Indian descended from the mast, close followed by the monkey,
whose serio-comic countenance seemed to say that he too was satisfied by
the observation just made. Still careering madly onward before the tempest,
the boat soon brought the tree-tops within view, and, after a brief debate, the
conclusion was reached that it was only a submerged forest. But even this
was better than buffeting about on the open billows, every moment in dan-
ger of being swamped ; and with a universal feeling of joy our adventurers
perceived that their craft was drifting toward that dark line. They were
powerless to control her course. Her rudder had been unshipped during the
night, and they could trust only to the tempest still raging to carry them to
the confines of the forest. In full hope that this would be the result, they
took no measures either to promote or frustrate the steering of the storm.
CHAPTER XI.
THE GALATEA TREED.
TOSSED by the tempest, the galatea preserved her course towards the tree-
tops, thus keeping up the spirits and confidence of her crew. Despite some
divergences caused by an occasional contrary gust of wind, she kept an on-
ward course, in due time arriving within such distance of the forest, that it
was no longer doubtful about her drifting among the trees. In this there
was a prospect of temporary safety at the least, and our adventurers had begun
to congratulate themselves on the proximity of the event. Just then, a
gigantic tree it must have been gigantic to stand so high over its fellows,
though it could scarce be fifty feet above the surface of the water present-
ed itself to their eyes. It stood solitary and alone, about a quarter of a mile
from the edge of the forest, and as much nearer to the craft, still struggling
through the wind-lashed water. Like that in the top of which they had first
gone aground, it was a sapucaya as testified by the huge pericarps con-
spicuously suspended from its branches. High as may have been the inun-
dation, its stem rose still higher, by at least ten feet ; but half-way between
the water's surface and the branches, the colossal trunk forked in twain,
each of the twin scions appearing a trunk of itself. Through the fork was
198 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
the water washing at each heave of the agitated Gapo, the waves with foam-
ing crests mounting far up towards the top of the tree, as if aspiring to pluck
the ripe fruit depending from its branches.
Towards this tree the galatea was now going as straight as if she had been
steered by the finger of Destiny itself. There was no other power to control
her, at least none that was human. The wind, or destiny, one of the
two, must determine her fate. The waves perhaps had something to do
with it ; since the next that followed lifted the galatea upon its curling crest,
and lodged her in the sapucaya in such a fashion that her keel, just amid-
ships, rested within the forking of the twin stems.
" Thank God ! " exclaimed her owner, " we are safe now. Moored be-
tween two stanchions like these, neither the winds of heaven nor the waves
of the great ocean itself could prevail against us. Make fast there ! Make
fast to the limbs of the tree ! Tie her on both sides. These are no twigs to
be snapped asunder. Hurrah ! we are anchored at last ! "
The gigantic stems of the sapucaya, rising on both sides above the beam
ends of the galatea, looked like the supporters of a graving-dock. It is true
the craft still floated upon the bosom of a troubled water ; but what of that ?
Once made fast to the tree, she could not be carried farther ; therefore was
she secure against wind and wave. The tornado might continue, but no
longer to be a terror to the crew. These, partly relieved from their fears,
hastened to obey the master's commands. Ropes were grasped, and, with
hands still trembling, were looped around the stems of the sapucaya. All at
once action was suspended by a loud crash, which was followed by a cry that
issued simultaneously from the lips of all the crew ; who, before its echoes
could die away among the branches of the sapucaya, had become separated
into two distinct groups !
The crash had been caused by the parting of the galatea's keel, which,
resting in the fork of the tree, had broken amidships, on the subsidence of the
wave that had heaved her into this peculiar position. For a few seconds the
two sections of the partly dissevered craft hung balanced between the air and
the water, the fore-deck with its stores balancing the quarter with its toldo.
But long before the beam was kicked, the occupants of both had forsaken
them, and were to be seen some of them clinging to the branches of the
sapucaya, some struggling beneath against the storm and the current of the
Gapo. By noble* devotion on the part of those who could swim, the whole
crew were placed beyond the reach of the waves upon the branches of the
sapucaya, where, from their elevated position, they beheld the craft that had
so long safely carried them parting in two and sinking out of sight.
CHAPTER XII.
A DANGEROUS DUCKING.
BEFORE the dismembered vessel quite disappeared under the storm-lashed
waves, every individual of her crew had found a foothold upon the branches
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 199
of the sapucaya. The tree, while causing the wreck of their vessel, had
saved them from going with her to the bottom of the Gapo. For some time,
however, they were far from feeling secure. They were in different parts of
the tree, scattered all over it, just as they had been able to lay hold of the
limbs and lift themselves above the reach of the swelling waves. Scarce two
of them were in the same attitude. One stood erect upon a branch with
arms around an upright stem ; another sat astride ; a third lay along a limb,
with one leg dangling downwards. The young Paraense had taken post
upon a stout lliana, that threaded through the branches of the trees, and,
with. one arm around this and the other encircling the waist of his cousin,
Rosita, he kept both the girl and himself in a position of perfect security.
Young Ralph found footing on a large limb, while his father stood upon a
still larger one immediately below. The pets, both birds and beasts, had
distributed themselves in their affright, and were seen perched on all parts
of the tree.
For a time there was no attempt made by any one to change his position.
The tornado still continued, and it was just as much as any of them could
do to keep the place already gained. There was one who did not even suc-
ceed in keeping his place, and this was Tipperary Tom. The Irishman had
selected one of the lowest limbs, that stretched horizontally outward, only a
few feet above the surface of the water. He had not exactly made choice of
his perch, but had been flung upon it by the swelling wave, and, clutching
instinctively, had held fast. The weight of his body, however, had bent the
branch downward, and, after making several fruitless efforts to ascend to the
stem, he had discovered that the feat was too much for him. There was no
choice but to hold on to the bent branch or drop back into the boiling Gapo,
that threatened from below to engulf him ; terrified by the latter alternative,
Tom exerted all his strength, and held on with mouth agape and eyes astare.
Soon the tension would have proved too much for him, and he must have
dropped down into the water. But he was not permitted to reach this point
of exhaustion. A wave similar to that which had landed him on the limb
lifted him off again, launching him out into the open water.
A cry of consternation came from the tree. All knew that Tipperary Tom
was no swimmer ; and with this knowledge they expected to see him sink
like a stone. He did go down, and was for some moments lost to view ; but
his carrot-colored head once more made its appearance above the surface,
and, guided by his loud cries, his situation was easily discovered. He could
only sink a second time to rise no more. Sad were the anticipations of his
companions, all except one, who had made up his mind that Tipperary Tom
was not yet to die. This was the Mundurucu, who at the moment was seen
precipitating himself from the tree, and then swimming out in the direction
of the drowning man. In less than a score of seconds he was in the clutch
of the Indian, who, grasping him with one hand, with the other struck out for
the tree.
By good fortune the swell that had swept Tipperary from his perch, or one
wonderfully like it, came balancing back towards the sapucaya, bearing both
2OO Afloat in the Forest. [March,
Indian and Irishman upon its crest, landing them in the great fork where the
galatea had gone to pieces, and then retiring without them ! It seemed a
piece of sheer good fortune, though no doubt it was a destiny more than half
directed by the arm of the Indian, whose broad palm appeared to propel
them through the water with the power of a paddle.
To whatever indebted, chance or the prowess of the Mundurucu, certain it
is that Tipperary Tom was rescued from a watery grave in the Gapo ; and on
seeing him along with his preserver safe in the fork of the tree, a general
shout of congratulation, in which even the animals took part, pealed up
through the branches, loud enough to be heard above the swishing of the
leaves, the whistling of the wind, and. the surging of the angry waters, that
seemed to hiss spitefully at being disappointed of their prey.
Tom's senses had become somewhat confused by the ducking. Not so
much, however, as to hinder him from perceiving that in the fork, where the
wave had deposited him and his preserver, he was still within reach of the
swelling waters ; seeing this, he was not slow to follow the example of the
Mundurucu, who, " swarming " up the stem of the tree, placed himself in a
safe and more elevated position.
CHAPTER XIII.
A CONSULTATION IN THE TREE-TOP.
IT would scarce be possible to conceive a situation more forlorn than that
of the castaway crew of the galatea. Seated, standing, or astride upon the
limbs of the sapucaya, their position was painful, and far from secure.
The tempest continued, and it was with difficulty they could keep their pla-
ces, every gust threatening to blow them out of the tree-top. Each clung to
some convenient bough ; and thus only were they enabled to maintain their
balance. The branches, swept by the furious storm, creaked and crackled
around them, bending as if about to break under their feet, or in the
hands that apprehensively grasped them. Sometimes a huge pericarp, big
as a cannon-ball, filled with heavy fruits, was detached from the pendulous
peduncles, and went swizzing diagonally through the air before the wind,
threatening a cracked crown to any who should be struck by it. One of the
castaways met with this bit of ill-luck, Mozey the Mozambique. It was
well, however, that he was thus distinguished, since no other skull but his
could have withstood the shock. As it was, the ball rebounded from the
close woolly fleece that covered the negro's crown, as from a cushion, caus-
ing him no further trouble than a considerable fright. Mozey's looks and
exclamations were ludicrous enough, had his companions been inclined for
laughter. But they were not ; their situation was too serious, and all re-
mained silent, fully occupied in clinging to the tree, and moodily contemplat-
ing the scene of cheerless desolation that surrounded them.
Till now, no one had speculated on anything beyond immediate safety. To
escape drowning had been sufficient for their thoughts, and engrossed them
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 20 1
for more than an hour after the galatea had gone down. Then a change be-
gan to creep over their spirits, brought about by one observable in the
spirit of the storm. It was, you remember, one of those tropical tempests,
that spring up with unexpected celerity, and fall with equal abruptness. Now
the tempest began to show signs of having spent itself. The tornado
a species of cyclone, usually of limited extent had passed on, carrying
destruction to some other part of the great Amazonian plain. The wind
lulled into short, powerless puffs, and the comparatively shallow waters
of the Gapo soon ceased to swell. By this time noon had come, and the
sun looked down from a zenith of cloudless blue, upon an expanse of water
no more disturbed, and on branches no longer agitated by the stormy
wind.
This transformation, sudden and benign, exerted an influence on the
minds of our adventurers perched upon the sapucaya. No longer in imme-
diate danger, their thoughts naturally turned to the future ; and they began
to speculate upon a plan for extricating themselves from their unfortunate
dilemma.
On all sides save one, as far as the eye could scan, nothing could be seen
but open water, the horizon not even broken by the branch of a tree. On
the excepted side trees were visible, not in clumps, or standing solitary, but
in a continuous grove, with here and there some taller ones rising many feet
above their fellows. There could be no doubt that it was a forest. It would
have gratified them to have b'elieved it a thicket, for then would they have
been within sight and reach of land. But they could not think so consist-
ently with their experience. It resembled too exactly that to which they
had tied the galatea on the eve of the tempest, and they conjectured that
what they saw was but the " spray " of a forest submerged. For all that,
the design of reaching it as soon as the waters were calm was first in
their minds.
This was not so easy as might be supposed. Although the border of the
verdant peninsula was scarce a quarter of a mile distant, there were but two
in the party who could swim across to it. Had there existed the materials
for making a raft, their anxiety need not have lasted long. But nothing of
the kind was within reach. The branches of the sapucaya, even if they
could be broken off, were too heavy, in their green growing state, to do more
than to buoy up their own ponderous weight. So a sapucaya raft was not to
be thought of, although it was possible that, among the tree-tops which they
were planning to reach, dead timber might be found sufficient to construct
one. But this could be determined only after a reconnoissance of the sub-
merged forest by Richard Trevannion and the Mundurucu, who alone could
make it
To this the patron hardly consented, indeed, he was not asked. There
seemed to be a tacit understanding that it was the only course that could be
adopted ; and without further ado, the young Paraense, throwing off such of
his garments as might impede him, sprang from the tree, and struck boldly
out for the flooded forest. The Mundurucu, not being delayed by the neces-
VOL. i. NO. in. 14
2O2 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
sity of stripping, had already taken to the water, and was fast cleaving his
way across the open expanse that separated the solitary sapucaya from its
more social companions.
CHAPTER XIV.
A FRACAS HEARD FROM AFAR. '
THE castaways watched the explorers until they disappeared within the
shadowy selvage. Then, having nothing else to do, they proceeded to make
themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, by selecting for
their seats the softest branches of the sapucaya. To be sure there was not
much choice between the limbs, but the great fork, across which the galatea
had broken, appeared to oifer a position rather better than any other. As
the swell was no longer to be dreaded, Trevannion descended into the fork,
taking little Rosa along with him, while the others sat on higher limbs, hold-
ing by the branches or stout llianas growing above them. At best their
situation was irksome, but physical inconvenience was hardly felt in their
mental sufferings. Their reflections could not be other than painful as they
contemplated the future. Their shelter in the sapucaya could be only tem-
porary, and yet it might continue to the end of their lives. They had no as-
surance that they might be able to get out^of it at all ; and even if they should
succeed in reaching the other trees, it might be only to find them forty feet
deep in water. The prospect was deplorable and their forebodings gloomy.
For nearly an hour they exchanged no word. The only sound heard was
an occasional scream from one of the pet birds, or the jabbering of the mon-
keys, of which there had been five or six, of different kinds, on the galatea.
Two only had found refuge on the tree, a beautiful little Oiiistiti, and a
larger one, of the genus A teles, the black Coaita. The others, chained or
otherwise confined, had gone down with the galatea. So, too, with the
feathered favorites, of many rare and beautiful kinds, collected during the
long voyage on the Upper Amazon, some of which had been bought at
large prices from their Indian owners, to carry across the Atlantic. The
caged had perished with the wreck, others by the tornado, and, like the
quadrumana, only two of the birds had found an asylum on the tree. One
was a splendid hyacinthine macaw, the Araruna of the Indians (Macrocercus
hyacinthinus) ; the other a small paroquet, the very tiniest of its tribe, which
had long divided with the little ouistiti the affections of Rosa.
About an hour had elapsed since the departure of the swimming scouts,
with no signs of their return. The party cast anxious glances towards the
place where they had last been seen, listening for any sounds from the
thicket that concealed them. Once or twice they fancied they heard their
voices, and then they were all sure they heard shouts, but mingling with some
mysterious sounds in a loud, confused chorus. The coaita heard, and chat-
tered in reply ; so, too, did the ouistiti and paroquet ; but the macaw seemed
most disturbed, and once or twice, spreading its hyacinthine wings, rose into
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 203
the air, and appeared determined to part from its ci-devant protectors. The
call of Ralph, whose especial pet it was, allured it back to its perch, where,
however, it only stayed in a state of screaming uncertainty. There was
something strange in this behavior, though in the anxiety of the hour but
little heed was paid to it ; and as the voices soon after ceased, the araruna
became tranquillized, and sat quietly on the roost it had selected.
Once more, however, the shouting and strange cries came pealing across
the water, and again the araruna gave evidence of excitement This time
the noise was of shorter duration, and soon terminated in complete tranquil-
lity. Nearly two hours had now expired, and the countenances of all began
to wear an expression of the most sombre character. Certainly they had
heard the voices of Richard and the Mundurucu mingling with those un-
earthly sounds. There was time enough for them to have gone far into the
unknown forest, and return. What could detain them ? Their voices had
been heard only in shouts and sharp exclamations, that proclaimed them to
be in some critical, perhaps perilous situation. And now they were silent !
Had they succumbed to some sad fate ? Were they dead ?
CHAPTER XV.
THE JARARACA.
THERE are bodily sensations stronger than many mental emotions. Such
are hunger and thirst. The castaways in the tree-top began to experience
both in an extreme degree. By good fortune, the means of satisfying them
were within reach. With a " monkey-cup " emptied of its triangular kernels
they could draw up water at will, and with its contents conquer the cravings
of hunger. At his father's request, and stimulated by his own sensations,
Ralph began climbing higher, to procure some of the huge fruit-capsules
suspended as is the case with most South American forest-trees from
the extremities of the branches. The boy was a bold and skilful climber
among the crags and cliffs of his native Cordilleras. Still a tree did not
come amiss to him, and in a twinkling he had ascended to the top branches
of the sapucaya, the macaw making the ascent with him, perched upon his
crown. All at once the bird began to scream, as if startled by some terrible
apparition ; and without losing an instant, it forsook its familiar place, and
commenced fluttering around the top of the tree, still continuing its cries.
What could be the cause ? The boy looked above and about him, but could
discover nothing. The screams of the araruna were instantly answered by
the little paroquet in a tiny treble, but equally in accents of terror, while
both the coaita and ouistiti, chattering in alarm, came bounding up the tree.
The paroquet had already joined the macaw, and, as if in imitation of its
great congener, flew fluttering among the top branches, in a state of the
wildest excitement ! Guided by the birds, that kept circling around one
particular spot, the boy at length discovered the cause of the alarm ; and
the sight was one calculated to stir terror.
2O4 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
It was a serpent coiled around a lliana that stretched diagonally between
two branches. It was of a yellowish-brown color, near to that of the lliana
itself ; and but for its smooth, shining skin, and the elegant convolutions of
its body, might have been mistaken for one parasite entwining another. Its
head, however, was in motion, its long neck stretched out, apparently in
readiness to seize upon one of the birds as soon as it should come within
striking distance.
Ralph was not so much alarmed. A snake was no uncommon sight, and
the one in question was not so monstrous as to appear very formidable.
The first thought was to call off the birds, or in some way get them out of
reach of the snake ; for the imprudent creatures, instead of retreating from
such a dangerous enemy, seemed determined to fling themselves upon its
fangs, which Ralph could see erect and glistening, as at intervals it extended
its jaws. The little paroquet was especially imprudent, recklessly approach-
ing within a few inches of the serpent, and even alighting on the lliana
around which it had warped itself. Ralph was ascending still higher, to
take the bird in his hand, and carry it clear of the danger, when his climbing
was suddenly arrested by a shout from Mozey, the Mozambique, that pro-
claimed both caution and terror. " Fo' you life doant, Mass'r Raff ! " cried
the negro, following up his exclamation of warning. " Fo' you life doant go
near um ! You no know what am dat ar snake ? It am de Jarardca ! "
" Jararica ! " mechanically rejoined Ralph.
" Ya ya de moas pisenous sarpin in all de valley ob de Amazon. I 'se
hear de Injine say so a score ob times. Come down, Mass'r ! come down ! "
Attracted by the screaming of the birds, and the chattering of the mon-
keys, the others listened attentively below. But upon the negro's quick
cry of warning, and the dialogue that ensued, Trevannion ascended higher,
followed by Tipperary Tom, Rosa remained alone below, in the fork where
her father had left her. Trevannion, on coming in sight of the snake, at once
recognized it as all that Mozey had alleged, the most poisonous of the
Amazon valley, a species of Craspedocephalus. He knew it from having
seen one before, which the Mundurucu had killed near Coary, and had de-
scribed in similar terms, adding that its bite was almost instantly fatal,
that it will attack man or beast without any provocation, that it can spring
upon its enemy from a distance, and, finally, that it was more feared than
any other creature in the country, not excepting the jaguar and jacare !
The appearance of the reptile itself was sufficient to confirm this account.
Its flat triangular head, connected with the body by a long thin neck, its glit-
tering eyes and red forking tongue, projected at intervals more than an inch
beyond its snout, gave the creature a monstrous and hideous aspect. It
looked as if specially designed to cause death and destruction. It was not
of great size, scarcely six feet long, and not thicker than a girl's wrist ; but
it needed not bulk to make it dangerous. No one knew exactly what to do.
All were without arms, or weapons of any kind. These had long since gone
to the bottom of the Gapo ; and for some minutes no movement was made
except by young Ralph, who, on being warned of his danger, had hastened
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 205
to descend the tree. The birds were left to themselves, and still continued
screaming and fluttering above. Up to this time the snake had remained
motionless, except his oscillating head and neck. Its body now began to
move, and the glittering folds slowly to relax their hold upon the lliana.
" Great God ! he is coming down the tree ! " The words had hardly left
Trevannion's lips before the snake was seen crawling along the lliana, and
the next moment transferring its body to a branch which grew slantingly from
the main trunk. This was soon reached ; and then, by means of another
lliana lying parallel to it, the reptile continued its descent. All those who
stood by the trunk hastily forsook the perilous place, and retreated outward
along the branches. The jarardca seemed to take no note either of their
presence or flight, but continued down the limb towards the fork of the main
stem, where stood little Rosa. " O heavens ! " cried Trevannion, in a voice
of anguish, " My child is lost ! "
The girl had risen to her feet, being already fearful of the danger threat-
ening her friends above ; but on looking up, she beheld the hideous reptile
coming straight towards her. Her situation was most perilous. The lliana
by which the snake was descending rose right up from the fork of the sapu-
caya. The child was even clasping it in her hand, to keep herself erect.
The reptile could not pass without touching her. In fact, it must pass over
her person to get down from the tree. There was no likelihood of its glid-
ing on without striking her. Its well-known character as the most mali-
cious of venomous serpents forbade the supposition. The snake was
scarce ten feet above her head, still gliding onward and downward ! It was
at this crisis that her father had given voice to that despairing exclamation.
He was about to scramble down to the trunk, with the design of launching
himself upon the serpent, and grappling it with his naked hands, reckless
of consequences, when a sign from Mozey, accompanied by some words
quickly spoken, caused him to hesitate.
"No use, Mass'r!" cried the negro, "no use, you be too late. Jump,
lilly Rosy ! " he continued, calling to the child in a loud, commanding voice.
" It 's you only chance. Jump into de water, an ole Mozey he come down
sabe you. Jump ! " To stimulate the child by his example, the negro, with
his last word, sprang out from his branch and plunged into the water. In
an instant he was upon the surface again, continuing his cries of encour-
agement. Rosa Trevannion was a girl of spirit ; and, in this fearful alterna-
tive, hesitated not a moment to obey. Short as was the time, however, it
would have proved too long had the snake continued its descent without in-
terruption. Fortunately it did not. When its hideous head was close to the
child's hand, where the latter grasped the lliana, it suddenly stopped, not
to prepare itself for the fatal dart, but because the negro's heavy fall had
splashed much water against the tree, sprinkling child and jarardca too. It
was the momentary surprise of this unexpected shower-bath that had
checked the serpent, while Rosa dropped down into the Gapo, and was
caught by her sable preserver.
2O6 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
CHAPTER XVI.
HOLD ON !
MOZEY'S noble conduct elicited a cry of admiration. It was the more
noble as the negro was a poor swimmer, and therefore risked his own life.
But this produced another effect, and in the shout there was no tone of tri-
umph. The child was perhaps only rescued from the reptile to be swallowed
with her preserver by a monster far more voracious, the engulfing Gapo.
Nor was it yet certain that she had been saved from the serpent. The
jarardca is a snake eminently amphibious, alike at home on land or at sea.
It might follow, and attack them in the water. Then, too, it would have a
double advantage ; for while it could swim like a fish, Mozey could just keep
himself afloat, weighted as he was with his powerless burden. In view of
this, Trevannion's heart was filled with most painful anxiety, and for some
time neither he nor any beside him could think what course to pursue. It
was some slight relief to them to perceive that the snake did not continue
the pursuit into the water ; for on reaching the fork of the tree it had thrown
itself into a coil, as if determined to remain there.
At first there appeared no great advantage in this. In its position, the
monster could prevent the swimmers from returning to the tree ; and as it
craned its long neck outward, and looked maliciously at the two forms strug-
gling below, one could have fancied that it had set itself to carry out this
exact design. For a short time only Trevannion was speechless, and then
thought, speech, and action came together. " Swim round to the other
side ! " he shouted to the negro. " Get under the great branch. Ho, Tom !
You and Ralph climb aloft to the one above. Tear off the lliana you see
there, and let it down to me. Quick, quick ! "
As he delivered these instructions, he moved out along the limb with as
much rapidity as was consistent with safety, while Tipperary" and Ralph
climbed up to carry out his commands. The branch taken by Trevannion
himself was that to which he had directed the negro to swim, and was the
same by which Tipperary Tom had made his first ascent into the tree, and
from which he had been washed off again. It extended horizontally outward,
at its extremity dipping slightly towards the water. Though in the swell
caused by the tornado it had been at intervals submerged, it was now too far
above the surface to have been grasped by any one from below. The weight
of Trevannion's body, as he crept outward upon it, brought it nearer to the
water, but not near enough for a swimmer to lay hold. He saw that, by
going too far out, the branch would not bear his own weight, and might snap
short off, thus leaving the swimmers in a worse position than ever. It was
for this reason he had ordered the untwining of the creeper that was clinging
above. His orders were obeyed with the utmost alacrity by Tom and
Ralph, as if their own lives depended on the speed. Almost before he was
ready to receive it, the long lliana was wrenched from its tendril fastenings,
and came straggling down over the branch on which he sat, like the stay of
a ship loosened from her mast-head.
i86s.]
Afloat in the Forest.
207
Meanwhile Mozey, making as much noise as a young whale, blowing
like a porpoise, spurting and spitting like an angry cat, still carrying the
child safe on his shoulders, had
arrived under the limb, and, with yf
strokes somewhat irregularly giv-
en and quickly repeated, was do-
ing his very best to keep himself
and her above water. It was
evident to all, that the over-
weighted swimmer was wellnigh
exhausted ; and had not the end
of the long lliana plumped down
in the nick of time, the Mozam-
bique must indubitably have
gone to the bottom, taking his
charge with him. Just in time,
however, the tree-cable came
within his clutch, and, seizing it
with all his remaining strength,
Rosa relieved him of her weight
by laying hold herself, and the
two were drawn up into the tree
amidst cries of " Hold on ! hold
on ! " ending in general congratulation.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE PAROQUET.
ALAS ! there was one circumstance that hindered their triumph from be-
ing complete. The jarardca was still in the tree. So long as this terrible
tenant shared their abode, there could be neither confidence nor comfort.
There it lay coiled upon its scaly self, snugly ensconced in the fork below,
with skin glittering brightly, and eyes gleaming fiercely in the golden sun-
light that now fell slantingly against the tree. How long would the monster
remain in this tranquil attitude, was the question that presented itself to the
minds of all, as soon as the first transport of their joy had subsided. It was
evident it had no intention of taking to the water, though it could have done
so without fear. No doubt the sapucaya was its habitual haunt ; and it was
not likely to forsake it just to accommodate some half-score of strange
creatures who had chosen to intrude. Surely some time or other it would
reascend the tree, and then ?
But all speculations on this point were soon interrupted. The little paro-
quet, which had shown such excitement on first discovering the snake, had
been quiet while all were engaged in the salvage of Mozey and the child.
Now that a certain quietness had been restored, the bird was seen returning
2O8 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
to the jarardca for the supposed purpose of renewing its impotent attack.
For some minutes it kept fluttering over the serpent, now alighting upon a
branch, anon springing off again, and descending to one lower and nearer to
the jarardca, until it had almost reached its head. Strange to say, there ap-
peared no hostility in the bird's movements ; its actions betrayed rather the
semblance of fear, confirmed by the tremulous quivering of its frame when-
ever it came to rest upon a perch. The spectators' suspicion was further
strengthened by the little creature's continued cries. It was not the angry
chattering by which these birds usually convey their hostility, but a sort of
plaintive screaming that betokened terror. At each flight it approached
closer to the serpent's forked tongue, and then retreated, as if vacillating
and irresolute.
The reptile meanwhile exhibited itself in a hideous attitude ; yet a deep
interest enchained the spectators. Its head had broadened, or flattened out
to twice the natural dimensions ; the eyes seemed to shoot forth twin jets of
fire, while the extensile tongue, projected from a double row of white, angu-
lar teeth, appeared to shine with phosphorescent flame. The bird was
being charmed, and was already under the serpent's fascination.
How could the pretty pet be saved ? Young Ralph, noticing the despair
upon his sister's face, was half inclined to rush down the tree, and give
battle to the jarardca; and Tipperary Tom whose general hostility to
snakes and reptiles had a national and hereditary origin purposed doing
something to avert the paroquet's fast-approaching fate. Trevannion, how-
ever, was too prudent to permit any interference, while the negro appeared
only anxious that the magic spectacle should reach its termination. It was
not cruelty on his part. Mozey had his motives, which were soon after
revealed, proving that the brain of the African is at times capable of con-
ception equal, if not superior, to his boasted Caucasian brother. There
was no interruption. The end was not far off. By slow degrees, the bird
appeared to grow exhausted, until its wings could no longer sustain it.
Then, as if paralyzed by a final despair, it pitched itself right into the mouth
of the reptile, whose jaws had been suddenly extended to receive it ! There
was a slight flutter of the wings, a tremulous motion of the body, and the
self-immolated creature appeared to be dead. The serpent, half uncoiling
itself, turned its head towards the tree, and, once more opening its jaws,
permitted the now lifeless paroquet to escape from their clasp, and drop
quietly into the crotch formed by the forking of the stem.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LLIANA UNLOOSED.
THE spectators of this little tragedy of animal life had hitherto prudently
refrained from taking part in it. Curiosity now exerted an equal effect in
preventing their interference ; and without speech or motion they sat on
their respective perches to observe \hefinale of the drama, which evidently
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 209
had not ended with the death of the paroquet. That was but the beginning
of the end, for the prey was yet to be devoured. Though provided with a
double row of teeth, it is well known that animals of the reptile kind do not
masticate their food. These teeth, set trenchantly, as is commonly the case,
are intended only to capture the living prey, which enters the stomach
afterwards by a process termed deglutition. At the spectacle of just such a
process, with all its preliminary preparations, were the group in the sapu-
caya now to be present, the principal performer being apparently uncon-
scious of, or at all events unconcerned at, their presence.
Having deposited the dead bird in the fork of the tree, the serpent changed
its coiled attitude into one that would give it a chance of filling its belly with
less inconvenience. There was not room for it to extend itself fully ; and, in
default of this, the tail was allowed to drop down along the stem of the tree,
at least two thirds of the body remaining in a horizontal position. Having
arranged itself apparently to its satisfaction, it now directed its attention to
the paroquet. Once more taking the dead bird between its teeth, it turned
it over and over until the head lay opposite to its own, the body aligned in a
longitudinal direction The jaws of the snake were now widely extended,
while the tongue, loaded with saliva, was protruded and retracted with great
rapidity. The serpent continued this licking process until the short feathers
covering the head of the bird, as also its neck and shoulders, seemed to be
saturated with a substance resembling soap or starch. When a sufficient
coating had been laid on to satisfy the instincts of the serpent, the creature
once more opened its jaws, and, making a sudden gulp, took in the head
of the paroquet, with the neck and shoulders. For a time no further action
was perceptible. Yet a movement was going on : and it was to assure him-
self of this that the Mozambique was so attentive.
We have said that he had a motive for permitting the pet to be sacrificed,
which was now on the eve of being revealed to his companions. They all
saw that there was something upon his mind, and eagerly anticipated the
revelation. Just as the jararaca had succeeded in bolting the anterior por-
tion of the paroquet, that is, the head, neck, and shoulders, Mozey rose
from his seat, stole towards the stem of the tree, and let himself down toward
the fork, without saying a word. His purpose, however, was manifest the
moment after, for he stretched out his right hand, clutched the jararaca
around the small of the neck, and flung the serpent no longer capable of
defending itself far out into the waters of the Gapo ! The monster, with
its feathered morsel still in its mouth, sank instantly, to be seen no more : so
thought Mozey and his associates in the sapucaya.
But, as the event proved, they had hastened to an erroneous conclusion.
Scarce had their triumphant cheer echoed across the silent bosom of the
Gapo, when the paroquet was observed floating upon the water ; and the
snake, having ejected the half-swallowed pill, was once more upon the sur-
face, swimming with sinuous but brisk rendings of its body in rapid return to
the tree. The situation seemed more alarming than ever. The fiend him-
self could hardly have shown a more implacable determination.
2io Afloat in the Forest. [March,
To all appearance the jarardca was now returning to take revenge for the
insult and disappointment to which it had been subjected. Mozey, losing
confidence in his own cunning, retreated up the tree. He perceived, now
that it was too late, the imprudence of which he had been guilty. He should
have permitted the snake to proceed a step further in the process of degluti-
tion, until the disgorging of the paroquet, against the grain of its feathers,
should have become impossible. He had been too hasty, and must now an-
swer the consequences. Sure enough, the serpent returned to the sapucaya
and commenced reascending, availing itself of the lliana, by which all of its
enemies had effected their ascent. In a few seconds it had mounted into the
fork, and, still adhering to the parasite, was continuing its upward way.
" O heavens ! " ejaculated Trevannion, " one of us must become the prey
of this pitiless monster ! What can be done to destroy it ? "
" Dar 's a chance yet, Mass'r," cried Mozey, who had suddenly conceived a
splendid thought. " Dar 's a chance yet. All ob you lay hold on de creepin'
vine, an' pull um out from de tree. We chuck de varmint back into de water.
Now den, all togedder ! Pull like good uns ! "
As the negro spoke, he seized the lliana, by which the serpent was mak-
ing its spiral ascent, and put out all his strength to detach it from the trunk
of the sapucaya. The others instantly understood his design, and, grasp-
ing the parasite, with a simultaneous eifort tried to tear it off. A quick jerk
broke the lliana loose ; and the jarardca, shaken from its hold, was sent
whirling and writhing through the air, till it fell with a plunging noise upon
the water below. Once more a triumphant cheer went up through the
sapucaya branches, once more to be stifled ere it had received the answer of
its own echoes ; for the jarardca was again seen upon the surface, as before,
determinedly approaching the tree.
It was a sight for despair. There was something supernatural in the
behavior of the snake. It was a monster not to be conquered by human
strength, nor circumvented by human cunning. Was there any use in con-
tinuing the attempt to subdue it ? Mozey, a fatalist, felt half disposed to
submit to a destiny that could not be averted ; and even Tipperary Tom be-
gan to despair of the power of his prayers to St. Patrick. The ex-miner,
however, as well acquainted with the subterraneous regions as with upper
earth, had no superstition to hinder him from action, and, instead of despond-
ing, he at once adopted the proper course. Catching hold of the creeper,
that had already been loosened from the trunk, and calling upon the others
to assist him, he tore the creeper entirely from the tree, flinging its severed
stem far out upon the water. In a moment after, the snake came up, intend-
ing to climb into the sapucaya, as no doubt it had often done before. We
wonder what were its feelings on finding that the ladder had been removed,
and that an ascent of the smooth trunk of the sapucaya was no longer pos-
sible, even to a tree snake ! After swimming round and round, and trying
a variety of places, the discomfited jarardca turned away in apparent dis-
gust ; and, launching out on the bosom of the Gapo, swam off in the direction
of the thicket, on the identical track that had been taken by Richard and
the Mundurucu.
1865.] Afloat in tJie Forest. 2U
CHAPTER XIX.
SERPENT FASCINATION.
IT was some time before Trevannion and his companions in misfortune
could recover from the excitement and awe of their adventure. They began
to believe that the strange tales told them of the Gapo and its denizens had
more than a substratum of truth ; for the protracted and implacable hos-
tility shown by the snake, and its mysterious power over the bird, seemed
surely supernatural. Trevannion reflected on the singular behavior of the
jarardca. That a reptile of such contemptible dimensions should exhibit so
much cunning and courage as to return to the attack after being repeatedly
foiled, and by an enemy so far its superior in strength and numbers, together
with its hideous aspect, could not fail to impress him with a feeling akin
to horror, in which all those around him shared. The very monkeys and
birds must have felt it ; for when in the presence of snakes, they had never
before exhibited such trepidation and excitement. Long after the serpent
had been pitched for the second time into the water, the coaita kept up its
terrified gibbering, the macaw screamed, and the tiny ouistiti, returning
to Rosa's protection, no longer to be shared with its late rival, sat
trembling in her lap, as if the dreaded reptile were still within dangerous
proximity.
This feeling was but temporary, however. Trevannion was a man of strong
intellect, trained and cultivated by experience and education ; and after a
rational review of the circumstances, he became convinced that there was
nothing very extraordinary, certainly nothing supernatural, in what transpired.
The jararaca as he had heard, and as everybody living on the Amazon
knew was one of the most venomous of serpents, if not the most venomous
of all. Even the birds and beasts were acquainted with this common fact,
and dreaded the reptile accordingly, not from mere instinct, but from ac-
tual knowledge possessed and communicated in some mysterious way to
one another. This would account for the wild terror just exhibited, which
in the case of the paroquet had come to a fatal end. There was a mystery
about this for which Trevannion could not account. The power which the
serpent appeared to have obtained over the bird, controlling its movements
without any apparent action of its own, was beyond comprehension. Whether
or not it be entitled to the name given it, fascination, certainly it is a
fact, one that has been repeatedly observed, and to which not only birds,
but quadrupeds, have been the victims ; and not only by ordinary observers,
but by men skilled in the knowledge of nature, who have been equally at a
loss to account for it by natural causes. But this link in the chain of inci-
dents, though mysterious, was not new nor peculiar to this situation. It had
been known to occur in all countries and climes, and so soon ceased to excite
any weird influence on the mind of Trevannion.
For the other circumstances that had occurred there was an explanation
still more natural. The jararaca, peculiarly an inhabitant of the Gapo lands,
212 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
had simply been sunning itself upon the sapucaya. It may have been prowl-
ing about in the water when overtaken by the tornado ; and, not wishing to
be carried away from its haunt, had sought a temporary shelter in the tree,
to which an unlucky chance had guided the galatea. Its descent was due to
the behavior of the birds ; which, after having for a time tantalized it,
provoking its spite, and in all likelihood its hungry appetite, had tempo-
rarily suspended their attack, returning down the tree with Ralph and the
negro. It was in pursuit of them, therefore, it had forsaken its original perch.
The commotion caused by its descent, but more especially the ducking it
had received, and the presence of the two human forms in the water below,
had induced it to halt in the forking of the tree, where shortly after its
natural prey again presented itself, ending in an episode that was to it an
ordinary occurrence. The choking it had received in the hands of the negro,
and its unexpected immersion, had caused the involuntary rejection of the
half-swallowed morsel. In the opaque water it had lost sight of the bird,
and was returning to the sapucaya either in search of its food, or to reoccupy
its resting-place.
It is well known that the jarardca has no fear of man, but will attack him
whenever he intrudes upon its domain. The Indians assert that it will even
go out of its way for this purpose, unlike the rattlesnake and other venomous
reptiles, which rarely exert their dangerous power except in self-defence. So
this jararcica reascended the sapucaya undismayed by the human enemies it
saw there, one or more of whom might have become its victims but for the
timely removal of the lliana ladder.
On this review of facts and fancies, the equanimity of our adventurers
was nearly restored. At all events they were relieved from the horrible
thoughts of the supernatural, that for a time held ascendency over them.
Their hunger and thirst again manifested themselves, though little Rosa and
her preserver no longer suffered from the last. In their short excursion both
had been repeatedly under water, and had swallowed enough to last them for
that day at least. Yet they were in want of food, and Ralph once more
climbed the tree to obtain it. He soon possessed himself of half a dozen of
the huge nut capsules, which were tossed into the hands of those below, and,
water being drawn up in one of the emptied shells, a meal was made, which
if not hearty, was satisfactory. The group could do no more than await the
return of their absent companions ; and with eyes fixed intently and anxiously
upon the dark water, and beneath the close growing trees, they watched for
the first ripple that might betoken their coming.
CHAPTER XX.
THE WATER ARCADE.
WE must leave for a time the castaways in the tree-top, and follow the
fortunes of the two swimmers on their exploring expedition.
On reaching the edge of the submerged forest, their first thought was to
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 213
clutch the nearest branch, and rest themselves by clinging to it. They were
no longer in doubt as to the character of the scene that surrounded them,
for their experience enabled them to comprehend it.
" The Gapo ! " muttered Munday, as they glided in under the shadows.
"No dry land here, young master," he added, clutching hold of a lliana.
" We may as well look out for a roost, and rest ourselves. It 's full ten fath-
oms deep. The Mundurucu can tell that by the sort of trees rising over it."
" I did n't expect anything else," rejoined young Trevannion, imitating his
companion by taking hold of a branch and climbing up. " My only hope
is that we may find some float timber to ferry the others across. Not that
there 's much in it if we do. How we 're to find our way out of this mess
is more than either you or I can tell."
"The Mundurucu never despairs, not even in the middle of the Gapo,"
was the Indian's proud reply.
" You have hope then ? You think we shall find timber enough for a raft
to carry us clear of the inundation."
" No ! " answered the Indian. "We have got too far from the channel of
the big river. We shall see no floating trees here, nothing to make a raft
that would carry us."
" Why then did we come here, if not for the purpose of finding dead timber
for that object ? "
" Dead timber ? No ! If that was our errand, we might go back as
we 've come, empty-handed. We shall float all the people over here with-
out that. Follow me, young master. We must go further into the Gapo.
Let old Munday show you how to construct a raft without trees, only making
use of their fruit."
" Lead on ! " cried the Paraense. " I 'm ready to assist you ; though I
have n't the slightest conception of what you mean to do."
"You shall see presently, young master," rejoined Munday, once more
spreading himself to swim. " Come on ! follow me ! If I 'm not mistaken,
we '11 soon find the materials for a raft, or something that will answer as
well for the present. Come along, there ! Come!" and he launched him-
self into the water.
Trevannion followed his example, and, once more consigning himself to
the flood, he swam on in the Indian's wake. Through aisles dimmed with
a twilight like that of approaching night, along arcades covered with foliage
so luxuriant as to be scarce penetrable by the rays of a tropic sun, the two
swimmers, the Indian ever in advance, held their way.
To Richard Trevannion the Mundurucu was comparatively a stranger,
known only as a tapuyo employed by his uncle in the management of the
galatea. He knew the tribe by rumors even more than sinister. They
were reputed in Para to be the most bloodthirsty of savages, who took de-
light not only in the destruction of their enemies, but in keeping up a ghastly
souvenir of hostility by preserving their heads. In the company of a Mun-
durucu, especially in such a place, swimming under the sombre shadows
of a submerged forest, it can scarce be wondered at that the youth felt
214 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
suspicion, if not actual fear. But Richard Trevannion was a boy of bold
heart, and bravely awaited the denouement of -the dismal journey.
Their swim terminated at length, and the Indian, pointing to a tree, cried
out : " Yonder yonder is the very thing of which I was in search. Hoohoo !
Covered with sipos too, another thing we stand in need of, cord and
pitch both growing together. The Great Spirit is kind to us, young master."
" What is it ? " demanded Richard " I see a great tree, loaded with climb-
ers as you say. But what of that ? It is green, and growing. The wood is
full of sap, and would scarce float itself; you can't construct a raft out of
that. The sipos might serve well enough for ropes ; but the timber won't
do, even if we had an axe to cut it down."
" The Mundurucu needs no axe, nor yet timber to construct his raft. All
he wants here is the sap of that tree, and some of the sipos clinging to its
branches. The timber, we shall find on the sapucaya, after we go back
Look at the tree, young master ! Do you not know it ? "
The Paraense, thus appealed to, turned his eyes toward the tree, and
scanned it more carefully. Festooned by many kinds of climbing plants, it
was not so easy to distinguish its foliage from that of the parasites it up-
held ; enough of the leaves, however, appeared conspicuous to enable him to
recognize the tree as one of the best known and most valuable to the inhab-
itants, not only of his native Para, but of all the Amazonian region. " Cer-
tainly," he replied, " I see what sort of tree it is. It 's the Seringa, the
tree from which they obtain caoutchouc. But what do you want with that ?
You can't make a raft out of India-rubber, can you ? "
" You shall see, young master ; you shall see ! "
During this conversation the Mundurucu had mounted among the
branches of the seringa, calling upon his companion to come after him,
who hastily responded to the call.
CHAPTER XXL
THE SYRINGE-TREE.
THE tree into whose top the swimmers had ascended was, as Richard had
rightly stated, that from which the caoutchouc, or India-rubber, is obtained. It
was the Siphonia elastica, of the order Ettphorbiacecz, of the Amazonian valley.
Not that the Siphonia is the only tree which produces the world-renowned
substance, which has of late years effected almost a revolution in many arts,
manufactures, and domestic economies of civilized life. There are numerous
other trees, both in the Old and New World, most of them belonging to the
famed family of the figs, which in some degree afford the caoutchouc of com-
merce. Of all, however, that yielded by the Siphonia elastica is the best, and
commands the highest price among dealers. The young Paraense called it
Seringa, and this is the name he had been accustomed to hear given to it. Se-
ringa is simply the Portuguese for syringe, and the name has attached itself
to the tree, because the use which the aborigines were first observed to make
1865.] Afloat in the Ferest. 215
of the elastic tubes of the caoutchouc was that of squirts or syringes, the
idea being suggested by their noticing the natural tubes formed by the sap
around twigs, when flowing spontaneously from the tree. For syringes it is
employed extensively to this day by Brazilians of all classes, who construct
them by moulding the sap, while in its fluid state, into pear-shaped bottles,
and inserting a piece of cane in the long neck.
The caoutchouc is collected in the simplest way, which affords a regular
business to many Amazonians, chiefly native Indians, who dispose of it t
the Portuguese or Brazilian traders. The time is in August, when the sub-
sidence of the annual inundation permits approach to the trees ; for the
seringa is one of those species that prefer the low flooded lands, though it is
not altogether peculiar to the Gapo. It grows throughout the whole region
of the Amazon, wherever the soil is alluvial and marshy. The India-rubber
harvest, if we may use the term, continues throughout the dry months,
during which time very large quantities of the sap are collected, and carried
over to the export market of Para. A number of trees growing within a pre-
scribed circle are allotted to each individual, whose business it is man,
woman, or boy to attend to the assigned set of trees ; and this is the routine
of their day's duty.
In the evening the trees are tapped ; that is, a gash or incision is made
in the bark, each evening in a fresh place, and under each is carefully
placed a little clay cup, or else the shell of an Ampullasia, to catch the milky
sap that oozes from the wound. After sunrise in the morning, the " milk-
ers " again revisit the scene of operations, and empty all the cups into a
large vessel, which is carried to one common receptacle. By this time the
sap, which is still of a white color, is of the consistency of cream, and ready
for moulding. The collectors have already provided themselves with moulds
of many kinds, according to the shape they wish the caoutchouc to assume,
such as shoes, round balls, bottles with long necks, and the like. These are
dipped into the liquid, a thin stratum of which adheres to them, to b 2 made
thicker by repeated immersions, until the proper dimensions are obtained.
After the last coat has been laid on, lines and ornamental tracings are made
upon the surface, while still in a soft state ; and a rich brown color is ob-
tained by passing the articles repeatedly through a thick black smoke, given
out by a fire of palm-wood, several species of these trees being specially
employed for this purpose. As the moulds are usually solid substances,
and the shoes, balls, and bottles are cast on, and not in them, it may be won-
dered how the latter can be taken off, or the former got out. King George
would have been as badly puzzled about this, as he was in regard to the
apples in the pudding. The idea of the Amazonian aboriginal, though far
more ingenious, is equally easy of explanation. His bottle-moulds are no
better than balls of dried mud, or clay ; and so too, the lasts upon which he
fashions the India-rubber shoes. Half an hour's immersion in water is suffi-
cient to restore them to their original condition of soft mud ; when a little
scraping and washing completes the manufacture, and leaves the commodity
in readiness for the merchant and the market
216 Afloat in the Forest. [March,
The seringa is not a tree of very distinguished appearance, and but for
its valuable sap might be passed in a forest of Amazonia, where so many
magnificent trees meet the eye, without eliciting a remark. Both in the color
of its bark and the outline of its leaves it bears a considerable resemblance
to the European ash, only that it grows to a far greater size, and with a
stem that is branchless, often to the height of thirty or forty feet above the
ground. The trunk of that on which the Mundurucu and his companion had
climbed was under water to that depth, else they could not so easily have
ascended. It was growing in its favorite situation, the Gapo, its top fes-
tooned, as we have said, with scores of parasitical plants, of many different
species, forming a complete labyrinth of limbs, leaves, fruits, and flowers.
CHAPTER XXII.
A BATTLE WITH BIRDS.
SCARCE had the Paraense succeeded in establishing himself on the tree,
when an exclamation from his companion, higher up among the branches,
caused him to look aloft. " Hoo-hoo ! " was the cry that came from the lips
of the Mundurucu, in a tone of gratification.
" What is it, Munday ? "
" Something good to eat, master ! "
" I 'm glad to hear it. I feel hungry enough in all conscience ; and these
sapucaya nuts don't quite satisfy me. I 'd like a little fish or flesh-meat
along with them."
" It 's neither," rejoined the Indian. " Something as good, though. It 's
fowl ! I 've found an arara's nest."
" O, a macaw ! But where is the bird ? You have n't caught it yet ? "
"Haven't I ?" responded the Mundurucu, plunging his arm elbow-deep
into a c? vity in the tree-trunk ; and dragging forth a half-fledged bird, nearly
as big as a chicken. " Ah, a nest ! young ones ! Fat as butter too ! "
" All right. We must take them back with us. Our friends in the sapucaya
are hungry as we, and will be right glad to see such an addition to the larder."
But Richard's reply was unheard ; for, from the moment that the Mundu-
rucu had pulled the young macaw out of its nest, the creature set up such a
screaming and flopping of its half-fledged wings, as to fill all the woods
around. The discordant ululation was taken up and repeated by a compan-
ion within the cavity ; and then, to the astonishment of the twain, half a
score of similar screaming voices were heard issuing from different places
higher up in the tree, where it was evident there were several other cavities,
each containing a nest full of young araras.
"A regular breeding-place, a macaw-cot," cried Richard, laughing as he
spoke. "We '11 get squabs enough to keep us all for a week ! "
The words had scarce passed his lips, when a loud clangor reverberated
upon the air. It was a confused mixture of noises, a screaming and chat-
tering, that bore some resemblance to the human voice ; as if half a score
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 217
of Punches were quarrelling with as many Judys at the same time. The
sounds, when first heard, were at some distance ; but before twenty could
have been counted, they were uttered close to the ears of the Munduructi,
who was highest up, while the sun became partially obscured by the out-
spread wings of a score of great birds, hovering in hurried flight around
the top of the seringa. There was no mystery about the matter. The new-
comers were the parents of the young macaws the owners of the nests
returning from a search for provender for their pets, whose piercing cries had
summoned them in all haste to their home. As yet, neither the Indian nor
his young companion conceived any cause for alarm. Foolish, indeed, to be
frightened by a flock of birds ! They were not allowed to indulge long in
this comfortable equanimity ; for, almost on the moment of their arrival above
the tree, the united parentage of araras plunged down among the branches,
and, with wing, beak, and talons, began an instant and simultaneous attack
upon the intruders. The Indian was the first to receive their onset. Made in
such a united and irresistible manner, it had the effect of causing him to let
go the chick, which fell with a plunge into the water below. In its descent,
it was accompanied by half a dozen of the other birds, its own parents,
perhaps, and their more immediate friends, and these, for the first time
espying a second enemy farther down, directed their attack upon him. The
force of the assailants was thus divided ; the larger number continued their
onslaught upon the Indian, though the young Paraense at the same time
found his hands quite full enough in defending himself, considering that he
carried nothing in the shape of a weapon, and that his body, like that of his
comrade, was altogether unprotected by vestments. To be sure the Mun-
durucii was armed with a sharp knife, which he had brought along with him
in his girdle ; but this was of very little use against his winged enemies ;
and although he succeeded in striking down one or two of them,-* it was done
rather by a blow of the fist than by the blade.
In a dozen seconds both had received almost as many scratches from the
beaks and talons of the birds, which still continued the combat with a fury
that showed no signs of relaxation or abatement. The Paraense did not stay
either to take counsel or imitate the example of his more sage companion,
but, hastily bending down upon the limb whereon he had been maintaining
the unequal contest, he plunged head foremost into the water. Of course a
" header " from such a height, carried him under the surface ; and his assail-
ants, for the moment missing him, flew back into the tree-top, and joined in
the assault on Munday. The latter, who had by this become rather sick of
the contest, thinking of no better plan, followed his comrade's example. Has-
tily he flung himself into the flood, and, first diving below the surface, came
up beside the Paraense, and the two swam away side by side in silence, each
leaving behind him a tiny string of red ; for the blood was flowing freely
from the scratches received in their strange encounter.
Mayne Reid.
VOL. i. NO. in. i?
CHARADE.
NO. 4.
THE sun shone down on fields of waving
grain
That glistened in the slumberous summer
air;
A dream of quiet brooded o'er the plain,
And veiled the landscape with a magic rare.
Past quiet meadows, and by clumps of
trees,
The sleepy river glided to the sea,
Its tranquil flood, unruffled by a breeze,
Seemingly still, it moved so lazily.
A scene of peace and quietness and rest,
No sign of man its placid beauty cursed,
Save where, upon yon hillock's woody
crest,
Reposed the gay pavilions of my first.
An hour more, the still and calm repose
Had gone frbm meadow, plain, and sleepy
stream,
And on that charmed landscape shrilly rose
The ring of steel, the clash of angry blows,
The shout of Hate, and Frenzy's madden-
ing scream.
Fiercely the din and rush of battle surged,
And lance met lance, and visor rang again,
And valiant knights their foaming cour-
sers urged
'Mong fearful heaps of wounded and of
slain,
Where stilly waved, but now, the rus-
tling grain.
The day is done ! one army's valiant head,
Enfeebled by my second, yields at last :
He falls upon a mound, all gory red
With his own blood, that gushes thick and
fast.
Yet ere he sinks the failing hero calls
With one faint cry his followers to his
side:
In vain ! the weakened voice unheeded falls,
Lost in the angry swell of battle's tide.
The day is lost : alas ! the potent arm
No foeman yet e'er conquered or with-
stood,
Tremulous now, is powerless to harm,
The palsy of my second in its blood.
Night falls on meadow, plain, and tran-
quil stream ;
The din of strife is hushed and still,
and fled
The clash of arms, the lance's deadly
gleam :
The moonlight shimmers on a heap of dead.
From the far distance rings a joyous burst
Of bugle-peal, and shout, and booming
gun,
With which my jubilant and conquering
first
Tells the glad story of the battle won.
The hero, by whose fall an army falls,
With bitter sorrow preying on his soul,
Banished from home, must live in prison
walls,
And drag away my second as my whole.
P.
i86s.]
Round the Evening Lamp.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 4.
2I 9
ENIGMAS.
NO. 3.
I am composed of 16 letters.
My 3, 15, 4, 10, the poor need this winter
My 4> 9> 7> ri > J 4> 1 6> most of you will be
next summer.
My i, 2, 6, n, was the first rebel.
My 3, 12, 5, i, 14, the Copperheads want
My 8, 12, 13, i, 10, the Rebels will soon
beg for.
My whole is the name of one of the con-
tributors to " Our Young Folks."
A. O. W.
NO. 4.
I am composed of 19 letters.
My 5, 14, 13, 19, 18, 14, is very hard.
My 16, 2, 15, 9, 3, 18, 19, was best known
in the Inquisition.
My 4, ii, 12, 5, is a French coin.
My 16, 12, 15, 8, n, 13, 19, 18, is often
baked for good children.
My 8, 17, 9, is something that squirrels
appreciate.
My 4, 8, 6, 1 8, 19, we should avoid.
My i, 15, 6, 7, n, you can trace an In-
dian by.
My 10, 14, 8, 16, is a time when much fish
is sold.
My 15, 19, 13, 14, 18, 14, is what every
loyal citizen does for the Union.
My 5, 8, 7, 13, 14, 10, is what cowards do.
My 4, 6, 7, 8, i, is an excellent person.
My 14, 6, 4, 9, is in the neighborhood of
sunrise.
My whole is the name of a hero, contem-
porary with Napoleon Bonaparte.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
NO. 6. 6.
Take just one half of forty-one,
And when you think 't is rightly done
Add twenty-one, and, sure as fate,
The sum will be just twenty-eight.
NO. 7.
To six perpendicular lines add five, and
get nine for a result.
J. T. S.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 5.
(NAMES OF ENGLISH AUTHORS.)
220
Round the Evening Lamp.
[March.
CHARADE.
3. New Bedford.
ENIGMA.
2. The Young Voyageurs.
CONUNDRUMS.
1. Because they make shells burst on the
kernel (colonel).
2. A bald head.
3. Because their words are candid (can-
died).
4. Because she 's always a-railing.
5. Because it is a sinecure (sign o' cure).
TRANSPOSITION.
I. [Words.] Drive stable harness
horse buckle breeching spike
tongue chaise.
PUZZLES.
1. Ungava.
2. Baboon a boon.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
ANSWERS.
IST SOLUTION.
Be sure C and I by an L to divide ;
And then, if you please, place an O at
I's side ;
The riddle's solution at once you '11
divine :
Tis CLIO, one Muse to be taken
from Nine.
I + 98
cow.
= ioo.
54
20 SOLUTION.
(Very ingenious, although not the answer intended.)
50)101(2
To remainder i add a cipher, and
you have 10 ; IX is 9 ; take away I, and
you have X, equal to 10. D. S. L.
ILLUSTRATED REBUSES.
2. We propose to make our flag shelter
the oppressed wherever it waves.
[(Weep) (rope O's) (tomb) a (cow)r
(flag) (shell) t (earth) o(press)d w(hare)
(eve)r (eye)t (waves).]
3. Great talkers are barking dogs whose
teeth are harmless.
[(Great) (tall curs) R (bar) (king) (dogs)
w(hose) (teeth) R H(armless).]
THE NAUGHTY BOY.
THERE was a bad youngster named Ned,
Who ran off with another boy's sled.
He cried, " This is nice,
To slip over the ice ! "
This impenitent youngster, young Ned. B. H. T.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
An Illustrated Magazine
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
APRIL, 1865.
No. IV.
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER IV.
MUSIC AND PAINTING.
HI LIP went home alone from 'the party, out of
sorts with himself, angry with Azalia, and boiling
over with wrath toward Paul. He set his teeth to-
gether, and clenched his fist. He would like to
blacken Paul's eyes and flatten his nose. The
words of Azalia "I know nothing against Paul's
character " rang in his ears and vexed him. He
thought upon them till his steps, falling upon the
frozen ground, seemed to say, " Character .' character !
character ! " as if Paul had something which he had
not.
" So because he has character, and I have n't, you give
me the mitten, do you, Miss Azalia ? " he said, as if he
was addressing Azalia.
He knew that Paul had a good name. He was the
best singer in the singing-school, and Mr. Rhythm often
called upon him to sing in a duet with Azalia or Daphne.
Sometimes he sang a solo so well, that the spectators
whispered to one another, that, if Paul went on as he had
begun, he would be ahead of Mr. Rhythm.
Philip had left the singing-school. It was dull music to him to sit through
the evening, and say " Down, left, right, up," and be drilled, hour after hour.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, ky TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's
Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
VOL. I. NO. IV. 1 6
222 Winning his Way. [April,
It was vastly more agreeable to lounge in the bar-room of the tavern, with a
half-dozen good fellows, smoking cigars, playing cards, taking a drink of
whiskey, and, when it was time for the singing-school to break up, go home
with the girls, then return to the tavern and carouse till midnight or later.
To be cut out by Paul in his attentions to Azalia was intolerable.
" Character ! character ! character ! " said his boots all the while as
he walked. He stopped short, and ground his heels into the frozen earth.
He was in front of Miss Dobb's house.
Miss Dobb was a middle-aged lady, who wore spectacles, had a sharp
nose, a peaked chin, a pinched-up mouth, thin cheeks, and long, bony fingers.
She kept the village school when Paul and Philip were small boys, and Paul
used to think that she wanted to pick him to pieces, her fingers were so long
and bony. She knew pretty much all that was going on in the village, for
she visited somewhere every afternoon to find out what had happened. Cap-
tain Binnacle called her the Daily Advertiser.
" You are the cause of my being jilted, you tattling old maid ; you have
told that I was a good-for-nothing scapegrace, and I '11 pay you for it," said
Philip, shaking his fist at the house ; and walked on again, meditating how
to do it, his boots at each successive step saying, " Character ! character ! "
He went home and tossed all night in his bed, not getting a wink of sleep,
planning how to pay Miss Dobb, and upset Paul.
The next night Philip went to bed earlier than was usual, saying, with a
yawn, as he took the light to go up stairs, " How sleepy I am ! " But, in-
stead of going to sleep, he never was more wide awake. He lay till all in the
house were asleep, till he heard the clock strike twelve, then arose, went
down stairs softly, carrying his boots, and, opening the door, put them on
outside. He looked round to see if there was any one astir ; but the village
was still, there was not a light to be seen. He went to Mr. Chrome's shop,
stopped, and looked round once more ; but, seeing no one, raised a window
and entered. The moon streamed through the windows, and fell upon the
floor, making the shop so light that he had no difficulty in finding Mr.
Chrome's paint buckets and brushes. Then, with a bucket in his hand, he
climbed out, closed the window, and went to Miss Dobb's. He approached
softly, listening and looking round to see if any one was about ; but there
were no footsteps except his own. He painted great letters on the side of
the house, chuckling as he thought of what would happen in the morning.
" There, Miss Vinegar, you old liar, I won't charge anything for that sign,"
he said, when he had finished. He left the bucket on the step, and went
home, chuckling all the way.
In the morning Miss Dobb saw a crowd of people in front of her house,
looking towards it and laughing. Mr. Leatherby had come out from his
shop ; Mr. Noggin, the cooper, was there, smoking his pipe ; also, Mrs. Shel-
barke, who lived across the street. Philip was there. " That is a 'cute trick,
I vow," said he. Everybody was on a broad grin.
" What in the world is going on, I should like to know ! " said Miss Dobb,
greatly wondering. " There must be something funny. Why, they are look-
ing at my house, as true as I am alive ! "
i86s.]
Winning his Way.
223
Miss Dobb was not a woman to be kept in the dark about anything a great
while. She stepped to the front door, opened it, and, with her pleasantest
smile and softest tone of voice, said : " Good morning, neighbors ; you seem
to be very much pleased at something. May I ask what you see to laugh
at?"
" Te-he-he-he ! " snickered a little boy, who pointed to the side of the
house, and the by-standers followed his lead, with a loud chorus of guffaws.
Miss Dobb looked upon the wall, and saw, in red letters, as if she had
gone into business, opened a store, and put out a sign, "MISS DOBB,
LIES, SCANDAL, GOSSIP, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL."
She threw up her hands in horror. Her eyes flashed ; she gasped for
breath. There was a paint-bucket and brush on the door-step ; on one side
of the bucket she saw the word Chrome.
" The villain ! I '11 make him smart for this," she said, running in, snatch-
ing her bonnet, and out again, making all haste towards Squire Copias's
office, to have Mr. Chrome arrested.
The Squire heard her story. There was a merry twinkling of his eye, but
he kept his countenance till she was through.
" I do not think that Mr. Chrome did it ; he is not such a fool as to leave
his bucket and brush there as evidence against him ; you had better let it
rest awhile," said he.
224 Winning his Way. [April,
Mr. Chrome laughed when he saw the sign. " I did n't do it, I was abed
and asleep, as my wife will testify. Somebody stole my bucket and brush ;
but it is a good joke on Dobb, I '11 be blamed if it is n't," said he.
Who did it ? That was the question.
" I will give fifty dollars to know," said Miss Dobb, her lips quivering
with anger.
Philip heard her and said, "Is n't there a fellow who sometimes helps Mr.
Chrome paint wagons ? "
"Yes, I didn't think of him. It is just like him. There he comes now,
I '11 make him confess it." Miss Dobb's eyes flashed, her lips trembled, she
was so angry. She remembered that one of the pigs which Paul painted,
when he was a boy, was hers ; she also remembered how he sent Mr.
Smith^ old white horse on a tramp after a bundle of hay.
Paul was on his way to Mr. Chrome's shop, to begin work for the day.
He wondered at the crowd. He saw the sign, and laughed with the rest.
" You did that, sir," said Miss Dobb, coming up to him, reaching out her
long hand and clutching at him with her bony fingers, as if she would like to
tear him to pieces. " You did it, you villain. Now you need n't deny it ;
you painted my pig once, and now you have done this. You are a mean,
good-for-nothing scoundrel," she said, working herself into a terrible pas-
sion.
" I did not do it," said Paul, nettled at the charge, and growing red in the
face.
" You are a liar ; you show your guilt in your countenance," said Miss
Dobb.
Paul's face was on fire. Never till then had he been called a liar. He was
about to tell her loudly, that she was a meddler, tattler, and hypocrite, but
he remembered that he had read somewhere, that " he who loses his temper
loses his cause," and did not speak the words. He looked her steadily in
the face, and said calmly, " I did not do it," and went on to his work.
Weeks went by. The singing-school was drawing to a close. Paul had
made rapid progress. His voice was round, rich, full, and clear. He no
longer appeared at school wearing his grandfather's coat, for he had worked
for Mr. Chrome, painting wagons, till he had earned enough to purchase a
new suit of clothes. Besides, it was discovered that he could survey land,
and several of the farmers employed him to run the lines between their
farms. Mr. Rhythm took especial pains to help him on in singing, and be-
fore winter was through he could master the crookedest anthem in the book.
Daphne Dare was the best alto, Hans Middlekauf the best bass, and Azalia
the best treble. Sometimes Mr. Rhythm had the four sing a quartette, or
Azalia and Paul sang a duet. At times, the school sang, while he listened.
" I want you to learn to depend upon yourselves," said he. Then it was
that Paul's voice was heard above all others, so clear and distinct, and each
note so exact in time that they felt he was their leader.
One evening Mr. Rhythm called Paul into the floor, and gave him the
ratan with which he beat time, saying, " I want you to be leader in this tune ;
1865.] Winning his Way. 225
I resign the command to you, and you are to do just as if I were not here."
The blood rushed to Paul's face, his knees trembled ; but he felt that it was
better to try and fail, than be a coward. He sounded the key, but his voice
was husky and trembling. Fanny Funk, who had turned up her nose at Mr
Rhythm's proposition, giggled aloud, and there was laughing around the
room. It nerved him in an instant. He opened his lips to shout, Silence !
then he thought they would not respect his authority, and would only laugh
louder, which would make him appear ridiculous. He stood quietly and said,
not in a husky voice, but calmly, pleasantly, and deliberately, " When the
ladies have finished their laughter we will commence." The laughter
ceased. He waited till the room was so still that they could hear the clock
tick. " Now we will try it," said he. They did not sing it right, and he
made them go over it again and again, drilling them till they sang it so well
that Mr. Rhythm and the spectators clapped their hands.
" You will have a competent leader after I leave you," said Mr. Rhythm.
Paul had gained this success by practice hour after hour, day after day, week
after week, at home, till he was master of what he had undertaken.
The question came up in parish meeting, whether the school should join
the choir ? Mr. Quaver and the old members opposed it, but they were
voted down. Nothing was said about having a new chorister, for no one
wished to hurt Mr. Quaver's feelings by appointing Paul in his place ; but
the school did not relish the idea of being led by Mr. Quaver, while, on the
other hand, the old singers did not mean to be overshadowed by the young
upstarts.
It was an eventful Sunday in New Hope when the singing-school joined
the choir. The church was crowded. Fathers and mothers who seldom
attended meeting were present to see their children in the singers' seats.
The girls were dressed in white, for it was a grand occasion. Mr. Quaver
and the old choir were early in their places. Mr. Quaver's red nose was
redder than ever, and he had -a stern look. He took no notice of the new
singers, who stood in the background, not daring to take their seats, and not
knowing what to do till Paul arrived.
"Where shall we sit, sir ? " Paul asked, respectfully.
" Anywhere back there," said Mr. Quaver.
" We would like to have you assign us seats," said Paul.
" I have nothing to do about it ; you may sit anywhere, and sing when you
are a mind to, or hold your tongues," said Mr. Quaver, sharply.
" Very well ; we will do so," said Paul, a little touched, telling the school
to occupy the back seats. He was their acknowledged leader. He took his
place behind Mr. Quaver, with Hans, Azalia, and Daphne near him. Mr.
Quaver did not look round, neither did Miss Gamut, nor any of the old
choir. They felt that the new-comers were intruders, who had no right
there.
The bell ceased its tolling, and Rev. Mr. Surplice ascended the pulpit-
stairs. He was a venerable man. He had preached many years, and his
long, white hair, falling upon his shoulders, seemed to crown him with a
226 Winning his Way. [April,
saintly glory. The people, old and young, honored, respected, and loved
him, for he had grave counsel for the old, kind words for the young, and
pleasant stories for the little ones. Everybody said that he was ripening for
heaven. He rejoiced when he looked up into the gallery and saw such a
goodly array of youth, beauty, and loveliness. Then, bowing his head in
prayer, and looking onward to the eternal years, he seemed to see them
members of a heavenly choir, clothed in white, and singing, " Alleluia ! sal-
vation and glory and honor and power unto the Lord our God ! "
After prayer, he read a hymn :
" Now shall my head be lifted high
Above my foes around ;
And songs of joy and victory
Within thy temple sound."
There was a smile of satisfaction on Mr. Quaver's countenance while
selecting the tune, as if he had already won a victory. There was a clearing
of throats ; then Mr. Fiddleman gave the key on the bass-viol. As Mr.
Quaver had told Paul that the school might sing when they pleased, or hold
their tongues, he determined to act independently of Mr. Quaver.
" After one measure," whispered Paul. He knew they would watch his
hand, and commence in exact time. The old choir was accustomed to sing
without regard to time.
Mr. Quaver commenced louder than usual, twisting, turning, drawling,
and flattening the first word as if it was spelled n-e-a-w. Miss Gamut and
Mr. Cleff and the others dropped in one by one. Not a sound as yet from
the school. All stood eagerly watching Paul. He cast a quick glance right
and left. His hand moved, down left right up. They burst into
the tune as if it was one voice instead of fifty. It was like the broadside of
a fifty-gun frigate. The old choir was confounded. Miss Gamut stopped
short. Captain Binnacle, who once was skipper of a schooner on the Lakes,
and who owned a pew in front of the pulpit} said afterwards, that she was
thrown on her beam-ends as if struck by a nor'wester and all her main-sail
blown into ribbons in a jiffey. Mr. Quaver, though confused for a moment,
recovered ; Miss Gamut also righted herself. Though confounded, they were
not yet defeated. Mr. Quaver stamped upon the floor, which brought Mr. Cleff
to his senses. He looked as if he would say, " Put down the upstarts ! "
Mr. Fiddleman played with all his might ; Miss Gamut screamed at the top
of her voice, while Mr. Cleff puffed out his fat cheeks and became red in
the face.
The people looked and listened in amazement. Mr. Surplice stood rever-
ently in his place. Those who sat nearest the pulpit said that there was a
smile on his countenance.
It was a strange fugue, but each held on to the end of the verse, the young
folks getting out ahead of Mr. Quaver and his flock, and having a breathing
spell before commencing the second stanza. So they went through the
hymn. Then Mr. Surplice read from the Bible : " Behold how good and
how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity ! As the dew of
1865.] Winning his Way. 227
Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion ; for
there the Lord commanded his blessing forevermore."
Turning to the choir, he said, " My dear friends, I perceive that there is a
want of unity in your services, as singers of the sanctuary ; therefore, that
the peace and harmony of the place may not be broken, I propose that,
when the next psalm is given, the old members of the choir sing the first
stanza, and the new members the second, and so through the hymn. By
thus doing there will be no disagreement."
Each one old and young resolved to do his best, for comparisons
would be made. It would be the struggle for victory.
" I will give them a tune which will break them down," Mr. Quaver
whispered to Miss Gamut, as he selected one with a tenor and treble duet,
which he and Miss Gamut had sung together a great many times. Louder
and stronger sang Mr. Quaver. Miss Gamut cleared her throat, with the
determination to sing as she never sang before, and to show the people what
a great difference there was between her voice and Azalia Adams's. But the
excitement of the moment set her heart in a flutter when she came to the
duet, which ran up out of the scale. She aimed at high G, but instead of
striking it in a round full tone, as she intended and expected, she only made
a faint squeak on F, which sounded so funny that the people down stairs
smiled in spite of their efforts to keep sober. Her breath was gone. She
sank upon her seat, covered her face with her hands, mortified and ashamed.
Poor Miss Gamut ! But there was a sweet girl behind her who pitied her
very much, and who felt like crying, so quick was her sympathy for all in
trouble and sorrow.
Paul pitied her ; but Mr. Quaver was provoked. Never was his nose so
red and fiery. Determined not to be broken down, he carried the verse
through, ending with a roar, as if to say, " I am not defeated."
The young folks now had their turn. There was a measure of time, the
exact movement, the clear chord, swelling into full chorus, then becoming
fainter, till it seemed like the murmuring of voices far away. How charming
the duet ! Where Mr. Quaver blared like a trumpet, Paul sang in clear, me-
lodious notes ; and where Miss Gamut broke down, Azalia glided so smooth-
ly and sweetly that every heart was thrilled. Then, when all joined in the
closing strain, the music rolled in majesty along the roof, encircled the
pulpit, went down the winding stairs, swept along the aisles, entered the
pews, and delighted the congregation. Miss Gamut still continued to sit
with her hands over her face. Mr. Quaver nudged her to try another verse,
but she shook her head. Paul waited for Mr. Quaver, who was very red in
the face, and who felt that it was of no use to try again without Miss Gamut.
He waved his hand to Paul as a signal to go on. The victory was won.
Through the sermon Mr. Quaver thought the matter over. He felt very
uncomfortable, but at noon he shook hands with Paul, and said, " I resign
my place to you. I have been chorister for thirty years, and have had my
day." He made the best of his defeat, and in the afternoon, with all the old
singers, sat down stairs.
228 Winning his Way. [April,
Judge Adams bowed to Paul very cordially at the close of the service.
Colonel Dare shook hands with him, and Rev. Mr. Surplice, with a pleasant
smile, said, "May the Lord be with you." It was spoken so kindly and
heartily, and was so like a benediction, that the tears came to Paul's eyes ;
for he felt that he was unworthy of such kindness.
There was one person in the congregation who looked savagely at him,
Miss Dobb. " It is a shame," she said, when the people came out of church,
speaking loud enough to be heard by all, " that such a young upstart and
hypocrite should be allowed to worm himself into Mr. Quaver's seat." She
hated Paul, and determined to put him down if possible.
Paul went home from church pleased that the school had done so well, and
grateful for all the kind words he heard ; but as he retired for the night, and
thought over what had taken place, when he realized that he was the
leader of the choir, and that singing was a part of divine worship, when he
considered that he had fifty young folks to direct, and that it would require
a steady hand to keep them straight, he felt very sober. As these thoughts,
one by one, came crowding upon him, he felt that he could not bear so
great a responsibility. Then he reflected that life is made up of responsibili-
ties, and that it was his duty to meet them manfully. If he cringed before,
or shrank from them, and gave them the go-by, he wbuld be a coward, and
he never would accomplish anything. He would be nobody. No one wou!4
respect him, and he would not even have any respect for himself. " I won't
back out ! " he said, resolving to do the best he could.
Very pleasant were the days. Spring had come with its sunshine and
flowers. The birds were in their old haunts, the larks in the meadows,
the partridges in the woods, the quails in the fields. Paul was as happy
as they, singing from morning till night the tunes he had learned ; and when
his day's work was over, he was never too wearied to call upon Daphne with
Azalia, and sing till the last glimmer of daylight faded from the west,
Azalia playing the piano, and their voices mingling in perfect harmony. How
pleasant the still hours with Azalia beneath the old elms, which spread out
their arms above them, as if to pronounce a benediction, the moonlight
smiling around them, the dews perfuming the air with the sweet odors of
roses and apple-blooms, the cricket chirping his love-song to his mate,
the river forever flowing, and sweetly chanting its endless melody !
Sometimes they lingered by the way, and laughed to hear the grand cho-
rus of bull-frogs croaking among the rushes of the river, and the echoes of
their own voices dying away in the distant forest. And then, standing in
the gravelled walk before the door of Azalia's home, where the flowers
bloomed around them, they looked up to the stars, shining so far away,
and talked of choirs of angels, and of those who had gone from earth to
heaven, and were singing the song of the Redeemed. How bright the days !
how blissful the nights !
Carleton,
1865.] Our Dogs. 229
OUR DOGS.
II.
A NEIGHBOR, blessed with an extensive litter of Newfoundland pups,
commenced one chapter in our family history by giving us a puppy,
brisk, funny, and lively enough, who was received in our house with acclama-
tions of joy, and christened " Rover." An auspicious name we all thought,
for his four or five human playfellows were all rovers, rovers in the woods,
rovers by the banks of a neighboring patch of water, where they dashed
and splashed, made rafts, inaugurated boats, and lived among the cat-tails
and sweet flags as familiarly as so many muskrats. Rovers also they were,
every few days, down to the shores of the great sea, where they caught fish,
rowed boats, dug clams, both girls and boys, and one sex quite as
handily as the other. Rover came into such a lively circle quite as one of
them, and from the very first seemed to regard himself as part and parcel of
all that was going on, in doors or out. But his exuberant spirits at times
brought him into sad scrapes. His vivacity was such as to amount to de-
cided insanity, and mamma and Miss Anna and papa had many grave
looks over his capers. Once he actually tore off the leg of a new pair of
trousers that Johnny had just donned, and came racing home with it in his
mouth, with its bare-legged little owner behind, screaming threats and male-
dictions on the robber. What a commotion ! The new trousers had just
been painfully finished, in those days when sewing was sewing, and not a
mere jig on a sewing-machine ; but Rover, so far from being abashed or
ashamed, displayed an impish glee in his performance, bounding and leap-
ing hither and thither with his trophy in his mouth, now growling, and man-
gling it, and shaking it at us in elfish triumph as we chased him hither and
thither, over the wood-pile, into the wood-house, through the barn, out of
the stable door, vowing all sorts of dreadful punishments when we caught
him. But we might well say that, for the little wretch would never be
caught ; after one of his tricks, he always managed to keep himself out of
arm's length till the thing was a little blown over, when in he would come,
airy as ever, and wagging his little pudgy puppy tail with an air of the most
perfect assurance in the world.
There is no saying what youthful errors were pardoned to him. Once he
ate a hole in the bed-quilt as his night's employment, when one of the boys
had surreptitiously got him into bed with them ; he nibbled and variously
maltreated sundry sheets ; and once actually tore up and chewed off a corner
of the bedroom carpet, to stay his stomach during the night season. What
he did it for, no mortal knows ; certainly it could not be because he was
hungry, for there were five little pair of hands incessantly feeding him from
morning till night. Beside which, he had a boundless appetite for shoes,
which he mumbled, and shook, and tore, and ruined, greatly to the vexation
230
Our Dogs.
[April,
of their rightful owners, rushing in and carrying them from the bedsides
in the night watches, racing off with them to any out-of-the-way corner that
hit his fancy, and leaving them when he was tired of the fun. So there is no
telling of the disgrace into which he brought his little masters and mis-
tresses, and the tears and threats and scoldings which were all wasted on
him, as he would stand quite at his ease, lolling out his red, saucy tongue,
and never deigning to tell what he had done with his spoils.
Notwithstanding all these sins, Rover grew up to doghood, the pride and
pet of the family, and in truth a very handsome dog he was.
It is quite evident from his looks that his Newfoundland blood had been
mingled with that of some other races ; for he never attained the full size
of that race, and his points in some respects resembled those of a good
setter. He was grizzled black and white, and spotted on the sides in little
inky drops about the size of a three-cent piece ; his hair was long and
silky, his ears beautifully fringed, and his tail long and feathery. His eyes
were bright, soft, and full of expression, and a jollier, livelier, more loving
creature never wore dog-skin. To be sure, his hunting blood sometimes
brought us and him into scrapes. A neighbor now and then would call with
a bill for ducks, chickens, or young turkeys, which Rover had killed. The
last time this occurred it was decided that something must be done ; so
Rover was shut up a whole day in a cold lumber-room, with the murdered
duck tied round his neck. Poor fellow ! how dejected and ashamed he
looked, and how grateful he was when his little friends would steal in to sit
with him, and " poor " him in his disgrace ! The punishment so improved
his principles that he let poultry alone from that time, except now and then,
when he would snap up a young chick or turkey, in pure absence of mind,
before he really knew what he was about. We had great dread lest he should
take to killing sheep, of which there were many flocks in the neighborhood.
A dog which once kills sheep is a doomed beast, as much as a man who
has committed murder ; and if our Rover, through the hunting blood that
1865.] Our Dogs. 231
was in him, should once mistake a sheep for a deer, and kill him, we should
be obliged to give him up to justice, all his good looks and good qualities
could not save him.
What anxieties his training under this head cost us ! When we were
driving out along the clean sandy roads, among the piny groves of Maine, it
was half our enjoyment to see Rover, with ears and tail wild and flying with
excitement and enjoyment, bounding and barking, now on this side the car-
riage, now on that, now darting through the woods straight as an arrow,
in his leaps after birds or squirrels, and anon returning to trot obediently
by the carriage, and, wagging his tail, to ask applause for his performances.
But anon a flock of sheep appeared in a distant field, and away would go
Rover in full bow-wow, plunging in among them, scattering them hither
and thither in dire confusion. Then Johnny and Bill and all hands would
spring from the carriage in full chase of the rogue ; and all of us shouted
vainly in the rear; and finally the rascal would be dragged back, pant-
ing and crestfallen, to be admonished, scolded, and cuffed with salutary
discipline, heartily administered by his best friends for the sake of saving
his life. "Rover, you naughty dog! Don't you know you must n't chase
the sheep ? You '11 be killed, some of these days." Admonitions of
this kind, well shaken and thumped in, at last seemed to reform him
thoroughly. He grew so conscientious, that, when a flock of sheep appeared
on the side of the road, he would immediately go to the other side of the
carriage, and turn away his head, rolling up his eyes meanwhile to us for
praise at his extraordinary good conduct. " Good dog, Rove ! nice dog !
good fellow ! he does n't touch the sheep, no, he does n't." Such were the
rewards of virtue which sweetened his self-denial ; hearing which, he would
plume up his feathery tail, and loll out his tongue, with an air of virtuous
assurance quite edifying to behold.
Another of Rover's dangers was a habit he had of running races and cut-
ting capers with the railroad engines as they passed near our dwelling.
We lived in plain sight of the track, and three or four times a day the
old, puffing, smoky iron horse thundered by, dragging his trains of cars,
and making the very ground shake under him. Rover never could resist
the temptation to run and bark, and race with so lively an antagonist ; and,
to say the truth, John and Willy were somewhat of his mind, so that,
though they were directed to catch and hinder him, they entered so warmly
into his own feelings that they never succeeded in breaking up the habit.
Every day when the distant whistle was heard, away would go Rover, out of
the door or through the window, no matter which, race down to meet
the cars, couch down on the track in front of them, barking with all his
might, as if it were only a fellow-dog, and when they came so near that
escape seemed utterly impossible, he would lie flat down between the rails
and suffer the whole train to pass over him, and then jump up and bark, fv."
of glee, in the rear. Sometimes he varied this performance more danger-
ously by jumping out full tilt between two middle cars when the train had
passed half-way over him. Everybody predicted, of course, that he would
232 Our Dogs. [April,
be killed or maimed, and the loss of a paw, or of his fine, saucy tail, was the
least of the dreadful things which were prophesied about him. But Rover
lived and throve in his imprudent courses notwithstanding.
The engineers and firemen, who began by throwing sticks of wood and
bits of coal at him, at last were quite subdued by his successful impudence,
and came to consider him as a regular institution of the railroad, and, if any
family excursion took him off for a day, they would inquire with interest,
" Where 's our dog ? what 's become of Rover ? " As to the female part
of our family, we had so often anticipated piteous scenes when poor Rover
would be brought home with broken paws or without his pretty tail, that we
quite used up our sensibilities, and concluded that some kind angel, such as
is appointed to watch over little children's pets, must take special care of
our Rover.
Rover had very tender domestic affections. His attachment to his little
playfellows was most intense ; and one time, when all of them were taken
off together on a week's excursion, and Rover left alone at home, his low
spirits were really pitiful. He refused entirely to eat for the first day, and
finally could only be coaxed to take nourishment, with many strokings and
caresses, by being fed out of Miss Anna's own hand. What perfectly bois-
terous joy he showed when the children came back ! careering round and
round, picking up chips and bits of sticks, and coming and offering them to
one and another, in the fulness of his doggish heart, to show how much he
wanted to give them something.
This mode of signifying his love by bringing something in his mouth was
one of his most characteristic tricks. At one time he followed the carriage
from Brunswick to Bath, and in the streets of the city somehow lost his way,
so that he was gone all night. Many a little heart went to bed anxious and
sorrowful for the loss of its shaggy playfellow that night, and Rover doubt-
less was remembered in many little prayers ; what, therefore, was the joy of
being awakened by a joyful barking under the window the next morning,
when his little friends rushed in their night-gowns to behold Rover back
again, fresh and frisky, bearing in his mouth a branch of a tree about six feet
long, as his offering of joy.
When the family removed to Zion Hill, Rover went with them, the trusty
and established family friend. Age had somewhat matured his early friski-
ness. Perhaps the grave neighborhood of a theological seminary and the
responsibility of being a Professor's dog might have something to do with
it, but Rover gained an established character as a dog of respectable habits,
and used to march to the post-office at the heels of his master twice a day,
as regularly as any theological student.
Little Charley the second, the youngest of the brood, who took the place
of our lost little Prince Charley was yet padding about in short robes, and
c;_.::.ied to regard Rover in the light of a discreet older brother, and Rover's
manners to him were of most protecting gentleness. Charley seemed to
consider Rover in all things as such a model, that he overlooked the differ-
ence between a dog and a boy, and wearied himself with fruitless attempts to
1 865.] Our Dogs. 233
scratch his ear with his foot as Rover did, and one day was brought in drip-
ping from a neighboring swamp, where he had been lying down in the water,
because Rover did.
Once in a while a wild oat or two from Rover's old sack would seem to
entangle him. Sometimes, when we were driving out, he would, in his races
after the carriage, make a flying leap into a farmer's yard, and, if he lighted
in a flock of chickens or turkeys, gobble one off-hand, and be oif again and
a mile ahead before the mother hen had recovered from her astonishment.
Sometimes, too, he would have a race with the steam-engine just for old
acquaintance' sake. But these were comparatively transient follies ; in gen-
eral, no members of the grave institutions around him behaved with more
dignity and decorum than Rover. He tried to listen to his master's theologi-
cal lectures, and to attend chapel on Sundays ; but the prejudices of society
were against him, and so he meekly submitted to be shut out, and wait out-
side the door on these occasions.
He formed a part of every domestic scene. At family prayers, stretched
out beside his master, he looked up reflectively with his great soft eyes, and
seemed to join in the serious feeling of the hour. When all were gay, when
singing, or frolicking, or games were going on, Rover barked and frisked in
higher glee than any. At night it was his joy to stretch his furry length by
our bedside, where he slept with one ear on cock for any noise which it
might be his business to watch and attend to. It was a comfort to hear the
tinkle of his collar when he moved in the night, or to be wakened by his cold
nose pushed against one's hand if one slept late in the morning. And then
he was always so glad when we woke ; and when any member of the family
circle was gone for a few days, Rover's warm delight and welcome were not
the least of the pleasures of return.
And what became of him ? Alas ! the fashion came up of poisoning dogs,
and this poor, good, fond, faithful creature was enticed into swallowing poi-
soned meat. One day he came in suddenly, ill and frightened, and ran to the
friends who always had protected him, but in vain. In a few moments he
was in convulsions, and all the tears and sobs of his playfellows could not
help him ; he closed his bright, loving eyes, and died in their arms.
If those who throw poison to dogs could only see the real grief it brings
into a family to lose the friend and playfellow who has grown up with the
children, and shared their plays, and been for years in every family scene,
if they could know how sorrowful it is to see the poor dumb friend suffer
agonies which they cannot relieve, if they could see all this, we have faith
to believe they never would do so more.
Our poor Rover was buried with decent care near the house, and a mound
of petunias over him kept his memory ever bright ; but it will be long before
his friends will get another as true.
Harriet Beecher Stouue.
234 Fanning for Boys. [April,
FARMING FOR BOYS.
III.
AS might be expected, the party thus invited to dinner had anything but
a hospitable time of it. In a general way, the boys received pretty fair
treatment from Mrs. Spangler ; but on that particular occasion they saw that
they were called in merely to be fed, and, the feeding over, that it would be
most agreeable to her if they would thereupon clear out. Things had gone
wrong with her on that unfortunate day, and they must bear the brunt of it.
The good man of the house was absent at the neighboring tavern, it being
one of his rainy days ; hence the wife had all the remaining household at her
mercy, and, being mostly an uncomplaining set, she could serve them with
impunity just as the humor of the moment made it most convenient. The
dinner was therefore nothing to speak of, and was quite unworthy of the
great noise which the tin horn had made in calling them to it. There was a
bit of boiled salt pork, almost too fat to eat, with potatoes and turnips, while
the dessert consisted of pumpkin-sauce, which the dinner party might spread
upon bread, if they thought proper.
Uncle Benny devoured his share of this rainy-day repast in silence, but
inwardly concluded that it was next of kin to the meanest dinner he had ever
eaten, for he was too well-bred to take open exception to it. As boys, espe-
cially farmers' boys, are not epicures, and are generally born with appetites
so hearty that nothing comes amiss, Joe and Tony managed to find enough,
and were by no means critical, quality was not so important a matter as
quantity. It is true there was a sort of subdued mutiny against the un-
seasoned pumpkin-sauce, which was a new article on Farmer Spangler's
table, that showed itself in a general hesitancy even to taste it, and in a good
long smell or two before a mouthful was ventured on ; which being observed
by Mrs. Spangler, she did unbend sufficiently to say that she had intended to
give them pumpkin-pies, but an accident to her lard had interrupted her plans,
so she gave them the best she had, and promised the pies for next day.
As Uncle Benny and the boys all knew that they had been called in mere-
ly to eat, and not to lounge about the stove, and were therefore expected to
depart as soon as they had dined, when the scanty meal was over, they
stepped out on the way to their wonted rendezvous, the barn. The rain had
ceased, and there were signs of a clearing up. But the wide space between
house and barn was wet and muddy, while in several places there were great
puddles of water, around which they had to pick their way. These low
places had always been an annoyance to Uncle Benny, as every rain con-
verted them into ponds, which stood sometimes for weeks before drying up.
They were so directly in the path to almost everything, that one had to navi-
gate a long way round to avoid them ; yet, though an admitted nuisance, no
one undertook to fill them up.
1865.] Farming for Boys. 235
When the party got fairly in among these puddles, the old man stopped,
and told the boys he would teach them something worth knowing. Bidding
Joe bring him a spade and hoe, he led the boys to a small puddle which lay
lower on the sloping ground than any other, and in a few minutes opened a
trench or gutter leading from it toward an adjoining lowland. The water
immediately flowed away from the puddle through the gutter, until it fell to
the level of the latter. He then deepened the gutter, and more water was
discharged, and repeated the operation until the puddle was quite empty.
He then directed Joe to open a gutter between the puddle thus emptied
and a larger one close by, then to connect a third with the second, until, by
means of hoe and spade, he had the whole series of puddles communicating
with each other, those on the higher ground of course discharging their con-
tents into that first emptied, as it lay lower than the others. When the
work was completed there was a lively rush of water down, through the
gutter first cut, into the meadow.
" Now, boys," said Uncle Benny, " this is what is called drainage, surface
drainage, the making of water move off from a spot where it is a nuisance,
thus converting a wet place into a dry one. You see how useful it is on this
little piece of ground, because in a few days the bottom of these ponds will
become so dry that you can walk over them, instead of having to go round
them ; and if Mr. Spangler would only have them filled up, and make the
whole surface level, the water would run off of itself, and all these gutters
could be filled up, leaving the yard dry and firm. These gutters are called
open or surface drains, because they are open at the top ; but when you
make a channel deep enough to put in a wooden trunk, or brush, or stones,
or a line of tiles, for the water to flow through, and then cover up the whole
so that one can walk or drive over it, it is called an under-drain, because it
is under the surface of the ground."
" But does draining do any good ? " inquired Joe.
" Why," replied Uncle Benny, " it is impossible to farm profitably without
drainage of some kind ; and the more thoroughly the land is drained of its
superfluous water, the surer and better will be the crops. I suppose that
not one of you likes to have wet feet. Well, it is the same thing with the
roots and grains and grasses that farmers cultivate, they don't like wet
feet You know the corn did n't grow at all in that low place in our corn-
field this season ; that was because the water stood there from one rain to
another, the corn had too much of it. You also saw how few and small
were the potatoes in that part of the patch that runs close down to the
swamp. Water is indispensable to the growth of plants, but none will bear
an excessive supply, except those that grow in swamps and low places only.
Many of these even can be killed by keeping the swamp flooded for a few
weeks ; though they can bear a great deal, yet it is possible to give even
them too much. Our farms, even on the uplands, abound in low places,
which catch and hold too much of the heavy rains for the health of the
plants we cultivate. The surplus must be got rid of, and there is no other
way to do that than by ditching and draining. Under-draining is always
236 Farming for Boys. [April,
best. Let a plant have as much water as it needs, and it will grow to profit ;
but give it too much, and it will grow up weak and spindling. You saw that
in our cornfield. There are some plants, as I said before, that grow only in
wet places ; but you must know that such are seldom useful to us as food
either for man or beast. Nobody goes harvesting after spatterdocks or cat-
tail. This farm is full of low, wet places, which could be drained for a very
little money, and the profits from one or two crops from the reclaimed land
would pay back the whole expenses. Indeed, there is hardly one farm in a
thousand that would not be greatly benefited by being thoroughly under-
drained. But as these puddles are nearly empty, come over to the barn-
yard, they will be dry enough to-morrow."
Uncle Benny led the way into a great enclosure that was quite full of ma-
nure. It lay on a piece of sloping ground adjoining the public road, in full
view of every person who might happen to drive by. It was not an agree-
able sight to look at, even on a bright summer day ; and just now, when a
heavy rain had fallen, it was particularly unpleasant. In addition to the
rain, it had received a copious supply of water from the roofs of all the barns
and sheds that surrounded it. Not one of them was furnished with a gutter
to catch and carry off the water to some place outside the barn-yard, but all
that fell upon them ran off into the manure. Of course the whole mass was
saturated with water. Indeed, it was not much better than a great pond, a
sort of floating bog, yet not great enough to retain the volume of water thus
conducted into it from the overhanging roofs. There was not a dry spot for
the cows to stand upon, and the place had been in this disagreeable condi-
tion so long, that both boys and men went into it as seldom as possible. If
the cows and pigs had had the same liberty of choice, it is probable they too
would have given it as wide a berth.
The old man took them to a spot just outside the fence, where a deep
gutter leading from the barn-yard into the public road was pouring forth into
the latter a large stream of black liquor. As he pointed down the road, the
boys could not see the termination of this black fluid, it reached so far from
where they stood. It had been thus flowing, night and day, as long as the
water collected in the barn-yard. The boys had never noticed any but the
disagreeable part of the thing, as no one had taken pains to point out to
them its economic or wasteful features.
" Now, boys," said Uncle Benny, " there are two kinds of drainage. The
first kind, which I have just explained to you, will go far toward making a
farmer rich ; but this kind, which drains a barn-yard into the public road, will
send him to the poor-house. Here is manure wasted as fast as it is made,
thrown away to get rid of it, and no land is worth farming without plenty
of manure."
" But the manure stays in the barn-yard," replied Tony. " It is only the
water that runs off."
" Did you ever suck an orange after somebody had squeezed out all the
juice ? " asked Uncle Benny. "If you did, you must have discovered that
he had extracted all that there was in it of any value, you had a dry pull,
1865.] Farming for Boys. 237
Tony. It is exactly so with this barn-yard. Liken it to an orange, though I
must admit there is a wide difference in the flavor of the two. Here Mr.
Spangler is extracting the juice, throwing it away, and keeping the dry shell
and insides for himself. Farmers make manure for the purpose of feeding
their plants, that is, to make them grow. Now, plants don't feed on those
piles of straw and cornstalks, that you say remain in the yard, but on the
liquor that you see running away from them. That liquor is manure, it
is the very life of the manure heap, the only shape that the heap can take
to make a plant grow. It must ferment and decay, and turn to powder, be-
fore it can give out its full strength, and will not do so even then, unless
water comes down upon it to extract just such juices as you now see running
to waste. The rain carries those juices all through the ground where the
plant is growing, and its thousands of little rootlets suck up, not the pow-
dered manure, but the liquor saturated with its juices, just as you would suck
an orange. They are not able to drink up solid lumps of manure, but only
the fluid extracts. Boys, such waste as this will be death to any farm," and
your father must make an entire change in this barn-yard. Don't you see
how it slopes toward the road, no doubt on purpose to let this liquid manure
run off? He must remove it to a piece of level ground, and make the centre
of it lower than the sides, so as to save every drop. If he could line the
bottom with clay, to prevent loss by soaking into the ground, so much the
better. If he can't change it, then he should raise a bank here where we
stand, and keep the liquor in. Then every roof must have a gutter to catch
the rain, and a conductor to carry it clear of the yard. The manure would
be worth twice as much if he would pile it up under some kind of cover.
Then, too, the yard has been scraped into deep holes, which keep it con-
stantly so wet and miry that no one likes to go into it, and these must be
filled up."
" But would n't that be a great deal of work ? " inquired Tony.
" Now, Tony," replied the old man, " don't expect to get along in this
world without work. If you work to advantage, as you would in doing such
a job as this, the more you do the better. You have set up to be a farmer,
and you should try to be a good one, as I consider a poor farmer no better
than a walking scarecrow. No man can be a good one without having things
just as I tell you all these about this barn-yard ought to be. Whatever you
do, do well. I know it requires more work, but it is the kind of work that
pays a profit, and profit is what most men are aiming at. If this were my
farm, I would make things look very different, no matter how much work
it cost me. I can always judge of a man's crops by his barn-yard."
" Then I 'm afraid this is a poor place to learn farming," said Joe. " Father
don't know near as much about doing things right as you do, and he never
talks to us, and shows us about the farm like you."
"He may know as much as I do, Joe," replied Uncle Benny, "but if he
does, he don't put it into practice ; that is the difference between us."
" I begin to think it 's a poor place for me, too," added Tony. " I have no
friends to teach me, or to help me."
VOL. i. NO. iv. 1 7
Farming for Boys.
[April,
" To help you ? " exclaimed the old man, with an emphasis that was quite
unusual to him ; "you must help yourself. You have the same set of facul-
ties as those that have made great men out of boys as humbly born as you,
and you will rise or sink in proportion to the energy you exert. We can
all succeed if we choose, there is no fence against fortune."
" What does that mean ? " demanded Tony.
" It means that fortune is as an open common, with no hedge, or fence, or
obstruction to get over in our efforts to reach it, except such as may be set
up by our own idleness, or laziness, or want of courage in striving to over,
come the disadvantages of our particular position."
While this conversation was going on, the boys had noticed some .traveller
winding his slow and muddy way up the road toward where they were stand-
ing. As he came nearer, they discovered him to be a small boy, not so large
as either Joe or Tony ; and just as Uncle Benny had finished his elucidation
of the fence against fortune, the traveller reached the spot where the- group
were conversing, and with instinctive good sense stepped up out of the mud
upon the pile of rails which had served as standing-ground for the others.
He was a short, thick-set fellow, warmly clad, of quick movement, keen, in-
telligent look, and a piercing black eye, having in it all the business fire of a
juvenile Shylock. Bidding good afternoon to the group, and scraping from
his thick boots as much of the mud as he could, he proceeded to business
1865.] Farming for Boys. 239
without further loss of time. Lifting the cover from a basket on his arm, he
displayed its flashing contents before the eyes of Joe and Tony, asking them
if they did n't want a knife, a comb, a tooth-brush, a burning-glass, a cake of
pomatum, or something else of an almost endless list of articles, which he
ran over with a volubility exceeding anything they had ever experienced.
The little fellow was a pedler. He plied his vocation with a glibness and
pertinacity that confounded the two modest farmer's boys he was addressing.
Long intercourse with the great public had given him a perfect self-posses-
sion, from which the boys fairly shrunk back with girlish timidity. There
was nothing impudent or obtrusive in his manner, but a quiet, persevering
self-reliance that could not fail to command attention from any audience, and
which, to the rustics he was addressing, was particularly imposing. To
Uncle Benny the scene was quite a study. He looked and listened in silence.
He was struck with the cool, independent manner of the young pedler, his
excessive volubility, and the tact with which he held up to Joe and Tony the
particular articles most likely to attract their attention. He seemed to know
intuitively what each boy coveted the most. Tony's great longing had been
for a pocket-knife, and Joe's for a jack-knife. The boy very soon discovered
this, and, having both in his basket, crowded the articles on his customers
with an urgency that nothing but the low condition of their funds could resist.
After declining a dozen times to purchase, Tony was forced to exclaim, " But
we have no money. I never had a shilling in my life."
The pedler-boy seemed struck with conviction of the truth of Tony's dec-
laration, and that he was only wasting time in endeavoring to sell where there
was no money to pay with. He accordingly replaced the articles in his bas-
ket, shut down the lid, and with unaltered civility was bidding the company
good bye, when Uncle Benny broke silence for the first time.
" What is your name, my lad ? " he inquired.
" John Hancock, sir," was the reply.
" I have heard that name before," rejoined Uncle Benny. " You were
not at the signing of the Declaration of Independence ? "
" No, sir," replied the courageous little fellow, " I wish I had been, but
my name was there."
This was succeeded by quite a colloquy between them, ending with Uncle
Benny's purchasing, at a dollar apiece, the coveted knives, and present-
ing them to the delighted boys. Then, again addressing the pedler, he in-
quired, " Why do you follow this business of peddling ? "
" Because I make money by it," he quickly replied.
" But have you no friends to help you, and give you employment at
home ? " continued the olu man.
" Got no friends, sir," he responded. " Father and mother both dead,
and I had to help myself; so I turned newsboy in the city, and then made
money enough to set up in peddling, and now I am making more."
Uncle Benny was convinced that he was talking with a future millionnaire.
But while admiring the boy's bravery, his heart overflowed with pity for his
loneliness and destitution, and with a yearning anxiety for his welfare. Lay-
240 The Little Prisoner. [April,
Sng his hand on his shoulder, he said : " God bless you and preserve you,
my boy ! Be industrious as you have been, be sober, honest, and truthful.
Fear God above all things, keep his commandments, and, though you have
no earthly parent, he will be to you a heavenly one."
The friendless little fellow looked up into the old man's benevolent face
with an expression of surprise and sadness, surprise at the winning kind-
ness of his manner, as if he had seldom met with it from others, and sad-
ness, as if the soft voices of parental love had been recalled to his yet living
memory. Then, thanking him with great warmth, he bid the company good
bye, and, with his basket under his arm, continued his tiresome journey over
the muddy highway to the next farm-house.
" There ! " said the old man, addressing Tony, " did you hear what he
said ? ' Father and mother both dead, and I had to help myself ! ' Why,
it is yourself over again. Take a lesson from the story of that boy, Tony ! "
Author of " Ten Acres Enough."
THE LITTLE PRISONER.
PART II.
WOUNDED.
THE house to which the aged negress bore the wounded boy was a
square, antiquated mansion, originally something in the fashion of
the old farm-houses of New England. The hand of improvement, however,
had been busy with it, until it had assumed the appearance of a country
clown, who, above his own coarse brogans and homespun trousers, is wear-
ing the stove-pipe hat, fancy waistcoat, and "long-tail blue " of some city gen-
tleman. For a house, it had the oddest-looking face you ever saw. Its nose
was a porch as ugly and prominent as the beak of President Tyler ; and its
eyes were wide, sleepy windows, which seemed to leer at you in a half-comic,
half-wicked way. One of its ears was a round protuberance, something like
the pole " sugar-loaves " the Indians live in ; the other, a square box re-
sembling the sentry-houses in which watchmen hive of stormy nights. Just
above its nose, a narrow strip of weather-boarding answered for a forehead ;
and right over this, a huge pigeon-coop rose un in the air like the top-knot
worn in pictures by that " old public functionary," Mr. Buchanan. The rim of
its hat was a huge beam, apparently the keel of some ship gone to roost, and
its crown was a cupola, half carried away by a cannon-shot, and looking for
all the world like a dilapidated beaver, which had been pelted by the storms
of a dozen hard winters. The whole of its roof, in fact, looked like the hull
of a vessel stove in amidships, and turned bottom upwards ; and, with its
truncated gables, reminded one of those down-east craft, which an old sea-
1865.] The Little Prisoner. 241
captain used to tell me, when I was a boy, were built by the mile, and sawed
off at the ends so as to suit any market.
But, notwithstanding these odd features, the old house had a most cosey
and comfortable air about it. Before its door great trees were growing, and
Virginia creepers and honeysuckles were clambering over its brown walls
and wide windows, filling the yard with fragrance, and hiding with their
blooming beauty at least one half of its grotesque ugliness.
Pausing to rest awhile on its door-step, old Katy entered its broad hall,
and bore James into the "sugar-loaf" projection of which I have spoken.
It was a little alcove built oif from the library, and furnished with a few
chairs, a wash-stand, and a low bed covered with a patch-work counterpane.
On this bed the old woman laid the wounded boy ; and then, sinking into a
chair, and wiping the perspiration from her face, she said to him, " You 's
little, honey, but you 's heaby, right heaby fur sich a ole 'ooman ter tote as
I is."
" I know I am, Aunty," said the little boy, to whom the long walk had
brought great pain, and who now began to feel deathly sick and faint. " You
might as well have let me die there."
" Die, honey ! " cried the old negress, springing to her feet as nimbly as
if she had been a young girl ; " you hain't a gwine ter die, ole Katy woan't
leff you do dat, nohow."
James looked at her with a weary, but grateful look, while, undoing his
jacket and waistcoat, she wet his shirt with a dampened cloth, and tried to
remove it from his wound. The long walk old Katy's gait was a swaying
movement, nearly as roagn as a horse's trot had set the wound to bleed-
ing again, so the shirt came away without any trouble, and then she saw the
deep, wide gash in the little boy's side. The bayonet had entered his body
at the outer edge of the ribs, just above the hip, and, going clear through,
had come out at his back, making a ghastly wound. It seemed all but im-
possible to keep the precious life from oozing away through such a frightful
rent ; but, covering it hastily with the cloth, the old woman said to James in
a cheerful way : " Taint nuffin', honey, nuffin' ter hurt. Ole Katy 's seed a
heap ob wuss ones nur dat ; and dey 's gwine 'bout, as well as eber dey was.
You '11 be ober it right soon. But you muss keep quiet, honey, and not
grebe nor worry after you mudder, nur nuffin' ; fur ef you does, de feber
mought git in dar, and ef dat ar fire onct got tur burnin' right smart,
dar 's no tellin' but it might burn you right up, spite ob all de water in de
worle."
The pain of his wound did not prevent the little fellow from smiling at the
idea of his being put out like a house on fire ; but he made no reply, and the
old negress, gently drawing off his pantaloons and shoes, said again, in a
cheerful tone : " Now, honey, you muss keep bery quiet, while Aunty gwoes
fur de ice. We 'se plenty ob dat 'bout de house. She '11 bind it on ter de
hurt, till it 'm so cold you '11 tink you 'm layin' out on de frosty ground right
in the middle ob winter."
She went away, but soon returned with the ice. Binding it about his
242 The Little Prisoner. [April,
wound, she brushed the long hair from the little boy's face ; and then, bend-
ing down, kissed his forehead.
" You won't mind a pore ole brack 'ooman doin' dat, honey. She can't
holp it ; case you looks jest like her own little Robby, dat 's loss and gone,
loss and gone. Only he 'm a little more tanned nur you am, a little more
tanned, dat's all."
"And you had a little boy ! " said James, opening his eyes, and looking up
pleasantly at the old woman ; " I hope he is n't dead."
" No, he haint dead, honey, not dead ; but he 'm loss and gone now,
loss and gone from ole Katy foreber. Oh! oh!" and the poor woman
swayed her body back and forth on her chair, and moaned piteously.
" I 'm sorry, very sorry, Aunty," said James, raising his hand to brush
away his tears. " One so good as you ought not to have any trouble."
"But I haint good, honey; and you mussn't be sorry, you mussn't be
nuffin', only quiet, and gwo ter sleep. Ole Katy woan't talk no more." In
a moment, however, she added : " Hab you a mudder, honey ? "
" Yes, Aunty, and I ? m all she has in the world."
" And hab she eber teached you ter pray ? "
" Yes. I pray every morning and night. You came to me because I prayed."
" I done dat, honey ! De good Lord send me case you* ax him, you
may be shore. And, maybe, ef we ax him now, he '11 make you well. I
knows young massa say taint no use ter pray, dat de Lord neber change,
and do all his business arter fix' laws ; but I reckon one o' dem laws am dat
we muss pray. I s'pose it clars away de tick clouds dat am 'tween us and
de angels, so dey kin see whar we am, and what we wants, and come close
down and holp us. And, honey, we '11 pray now, and maybe de good Lord
will send de angels, and make you well. "
Kneeling on the floor by the side of the bed, she then prayed to Him who
is her Father and our Father, her God and our God. It was a low, simple,
humble prayer, but it reached the ear of Heaven, and brought the angels
down.
It was eight days before James could sit up, and day and night, during all
of that time, Old Katy watched by him. Every few hours she changed the
bandage, and bound fresh ice upon his wound ; and that was all she did,
but it saved his life. The only danger was from inflammation, the ice and
a low diet kept that down, and his young and vigorous constitution did the
rest. At the end of a fortnight, leaning on the arm of the old negress, he
walked out into the garden and sat down in a little arbor, in full view of the
recent battle-ground. It was a clear, mild morning in May, but a dark cloud
overhung the little hill, as though the smoke of the great conflict had not
yet cleared away, but, with all its tale of blood and horror, was still going up
to heaven. And what a tale it was ! Brothers butchered by brothers, fa-
thers slaughtered by sons, and all to further the bad ambition of a few wicked
men, so few that one might count them on the fingers of his two hands !
" And what became of the wounded after the battle, Aunty ? " asked the
little boy, as the sight of the grassy field, trodden down by many feet, and
1865.] The Little Prisoner. 243
still reddened, here and there, with the blood of the slain, brought the awful
scene all freshly to his, mind. "You have n't told me that." (She had for-
bidden him to talk, for she knew that his recovery depended almost entirely
on his being kept free from excitement.)
" The dead ones war buried, and the wounded war toted off by de gray-
backs, honey, de evenin' and mornin' arter I brung you away from dar. De
Secesh had de field, ye sees, at lass ; and dey tuck all de Nordern folks as
was leff, pris'ners."
" And what became of the poor soldier who wanted water for his son ?
Do you know, Aunty ? "
" When I wus a gwine on de hill, arter you go asleep in de house, I seed
dat pore man a wrappin' up de little boy, and totin' him off ter de woods. I
ax him whar he wus gwine, and he look at me wid a strange, wild look, and
say nuffin', only, ' Home home.' He look so bery wild, and so fierce
loike, dat I reckon he wus crazed, clean gone. De lass I seed o' him, he
wus gwine stret ter you kentry, right up Norf, wid de little chile in
him arms."
" Poor man! " cried the boy. " How many have fared worse than I have ! "
" A heap, honey. I knows a heap o' big folks wuss oft" nur ole Katy."
" And you say that, Aunty, you, who are a slave, and have lost your
" He checked himself, for he saw a look of pain passing across the face
of the old negress. It was gone in a moment, and then, in a low, chanting
tone, broken and wild at times, but touching and sad, as the strange music
of the far-off land she came from, she told him something of what her
life had been.
Her little Robby, her last one, she said, had been taken away to the
hot fields, where the serpents sting, and the fevers breed, and the black
man goes to die. All were gone, all her children, stolen, sold away,
before they knew the Lord, or the good from the evil. Sold ! because her
master owed gambling debts, and her mistress loved the diamond things that
adorn the hair and deck the fingers ! But one she begged, the mother
of the boy, and she grew up pure as the snow before it leaves the cloud.
Pure as the snow, but " young massa " came, and the snow fell down
down to the ground soiled like the snow we tread on. She tired him
then ; and he sold her to be a trader's thing. But the boy was left,
"young massa's " child, the boy he promised her forever. She brought
him up, taught him to read, and set the whole world by him. Then the
troubles came, the dark hour before the morning. She felt them in the
air, and knew why all the storm was brewing. It broke her heart, but she
sent him away to the Union lines, to grow up there a freeman. The North-
ern general drove him back, and then " young massa " sold him to work
and starve and faint and die among the swamps of Georgia. And now
they all were gone ! All were lost, but the Lord was left. He had heard
her cry, was coming now, with vengeance in his great right hand, to lift
the lowly from the earth, and bring the mighty down.
Her last words were spoken with an energy that startled James. In his
244 The Little Prisoner. [April,
cold Northern home he had learned little of the warm Southern race, in
whose veins a fire is slumbering that, if justice be not done them, will yet
again set this nation ablaze.
The plantation, and old Katy too, belonged to Major Lucy, a great man
in that part of Virginia, who, at its outbreak, had joined the wicked Rebellion
which is bringing so much misery on our country. He was away with Lee's
army when Grant crossed the Rapidan, but he no sooner heard of that event
than he repaired to his home, and removed his slaves and more valuable
property to the far South. Old Katy he left behind, partly because she
refused to go, and partly because he thought she might somewhat protect
his house from the Northern soldiers, who, he supposed, would soon be in
that region. For this reason the old negress was alone in the great man-
sion, and to this fact James owed his preservation ; for, though her white
owners might have given him hospitable care, they would not have afforded
him the devoted attention which she had, and that it was which saved his
life.
While he was so very sick she had slept in his little room, but now that he
was out of all danger, and rapidly recovering, she made her bed in the large
library leading from it, leaving, however, the door ajar at night, so she could
at once hear the lightest sound. Every evening she took the great Bible
from a shelf in this library, and read to him, generally from the Psalms, or
Isaiah, that poem grander than the Iliad, or any which poet yet has written.
One night, about a fortnight after they were first together in the garden, she
read the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of that book, and then said to him :
" Moab, honey, am dis Southern land, dat am ' laid waste, and brought ter
silence,' case it hab 'oppressed His people and turned away from His testi-
monies.' But de Lord say yere dat widin' three yars it shill be brought
low, and its glory be contemned ; and de remnant shill be bery small and
feeble ; but den dey shill take counsel, execute judgment, and let de outcasts
dwell widin' dem."
" I hope it won't be three years, Aunty," said James. " That 's an awful
long while to wait."
"It 'pears long ter you, honey, but ole Katy hab waited a'most all har life,
eber sence she come ober in de slave-ship ; and now all she ask ob de
Lord am ter leff her see dat day. And she know he will ! 'case he hab
took har eberyting else, eberyting, eben har little Robby."
" No ! He hain't, Granny ! Robby 's yere, jest so good as new."
Engaged as they had been in conversation, the old woman and the little
boy had not observed a comely lad, a trifle taller than James, in a torn hat
and tattered trousers, who a moment before had entered the room. As he
spoke, old Katy sprang to her feet, let the Bible fall to the floor, and, with a
wild cry, threw her arms about him.
Edmund Kirke.
1 865.] A Half-Holiday. 245
A HALF-HOLIDAY.
NEARLY the whole school were sitting on the grass on the shady side
of the rock, waiting for the school-house door to be unlocked, when
Martha Ballston came running up from Rene's with her sun-bonnet in her
hand, her hair all flying, and only just breath enough left to cry out, " O, I
can tell you what, teacher's beau 's come ! "
" Teacher's beau 's come ! " mimicked Martial Mayland. " Did you come
rushing in here like a steam fire-engine just to tell that ? "
" Now," thrust in Nathan, " I expected at least that Richmond was taken,
and peace come, and Jeff Davis drinking hemlock like anything ! "
" But does she have a beau ? " inquired Cicely, to whom a beau seemed a
far more solemn and august thing than to the boys.
" Yes, she ; s coming down the hill with a spick-span clean dress, and a
bran-new cape, and her best bonnet on, and the most elegantest parasol ever
you saw, with fringe all round it, and a bow on top ! "
" O, I know," said Olive ; " Aunt Jane 's going to have company this after-
noon, and teacher 's going."
" No," replied Martha. " She 's going to the panorama, 'n' he 's going to
carry her in Mr. Court's chaise."
" Perhaps it 's her brother," suggested Cicely, who could not quite famil-
iarize herself with the momentous fact of a "beau."
" No," persisted Martha, " it 's her beau ; for Trip was in there, and says
she seen him give her a whole handful of peppermints, did n't he, Trip ? "
" Yes, he did," said little Trip decidedly, which seemed to settle the ques-
tion ; for the little people of Applethorpe could not conceive that one could
ever voluntarily surrender anything so valuable as peppermints to one less
important than a "girl." "Girl " is the feminine for "beau" in Applethorpe.
Now I dare say that Miss Stanley enjoyed her " beau's " visit, and her
drive with him, and her panorama, very much, but I wonder if she ever knew
that, after all, her little pupils had the best of it. For school was dismissed
at two o'clock, and what then ? " Why, of course," said Olive, who was
always coming to the surface, " we must go and do something. We don't
want to act just as if it was recess, or school was out, like always."
" There 's blackberries down in the pasture," spoke up Gerty ; " we might
go a blackberry ing."
" Yes," said Nathan, " I know, sixteen vines and three blackberries to fill
a dozen dinner-pails."
" O," cried Martha, with a sudden leap, " I do know. On the knoll over
towards the factory they are as thick as spatters. The ground 's black."
" But you can't get across the meadow," said Garnet
" Yes you can. You can go through Grandsir's cow-yard, and through
ten-acres, and go up the lane, and then get over the bars, and then you 're
right on the knoll, and no meadow to get over."
246 A Half-Holiday. [April,
" I 'd like to see us all going through Grandsir Beck's cow-yard ! " cried
Nathan.
Now you must know I am sorry to be obliged to say it, but it is true
that Grandsir Beck was a very cross and disagreeable old man. I suppose
the trouble was, that he had been a cross and disagreeable young man, and
as he grew older he grew worse. To excuse him, we will suppose he had
had a great many troubles of which the children knew nothing ; and some
few troubles he had, such as naughty boys under his apple and cherry trees,
which I am afraid some of the children did know something about. Still,
that was no reason why he should flourish his cane and growl so gruffly at
quiet, innocent little girls, who not only never thought of entering his or-
chard, but were almost afraid even to go by his house. At least, if I ever live
to be an old man, and am as cross and disagreeable as Grandsir Beck, I give
you full leave to dislike me as heartily as the Applethorpe children did him,
and I will not blame you for it at all.
But Martha assured them that Grandsir Beck had gone to market that day,
and did n't get home till four o'clock, no, never ! So, after some deliberation,
and some hesitation on the part of the little girls, and with much tremor in
their hearts, the whole troop started. The boys let down the cow-yard bars
on one side, and the girls flew through with visions of the dreadful cane
whirling in air, and the dreadful voice shouting threats behind them, though
both were a dozen miles away at the market town. But they could not wait
to take down the bars that led into " ten-acres >J ; they scrambled through,
they crept under, they climbed over, and did not for one moment feel safe
till they had passed " ten-acres," and were in the lane, beyond sight of Grand-
sir Beck's house. Then they took time to pant and laugh, and every one de-
clare that he ran because the others did, but was n't scared himself the least
bit. O no !
Martha had hardly belied the blackberries. Olive declared they were even
thicker than spatters, though how thick spatters are I never could exactly
find out, and " O how fat they are ! " cried Cicely, " and seem to wink
up at you under the leaves."
" Why, I don't see one," cried Trip, " picking her way daintily and discon-
solately among the vines.
" Course you don't," answered Olive ; " she just tiptoes round, expecting
the blackberries to say, ' Hullo ! ' Why don't you dig down under the leaves
and find 'em ? "
" Come up here under the wall, Trip," called Nathan ; " they 're always
better where it 's dark."
Trip clambered up, for Nathan and she were fine friends'. In fact, Trip
was generally fine friends with everybody, and never had any suspicion that
people might not like her.
" What you stopping for, Trip ? " called Nathan, as she halted midway.
" Why, I Ve teared a piece of skin most off my new shoe, but I don't
care, I can stick it on. O Nathan ! you 've got your pail covered," and she
crouched down by his side admiringly and confidingly.
i'865.]
A Half-Holiday.
247
" And you, how many have you ? " She tilted her pail so that he could
see one red, one green, and one withered on one side, a sorry show.
" You 've been eating ! Let 's see your tongue ! " But the little red
tongue was innocent of stain.
" Never mind," said he comfortingly ; " you come here. There, hold
back the vines so, keep your foot on them. I '11 find another place, and
don't you say a word, when my pail 's full, I '11 turn to and fill yours. You
keep still."
And so they plucked and chatted, the sunshine burning into their young
blood, and the blackberries reddening them even more than the sun ; busy
tongues, busy fingers, aprons sadly torn and stained, but what matter, since
the tin-pails were every moment weighing down more heavily. Even little
Trip, by vigorous electioneering, pitiful complaints of poverty, and broad hints
concerning generosity, had coaxed handfuls enough out of other pails to half
fill her own, and " She 's done beautifully," declared Olive ; " she has n't
tumbled down and spilt 'em all more 'n forty times ! "
" O now, I have n't tumbled forty " began Trip in indignant protest ;
but, " Eh ! Eh ! U-g-h ! you young rogues ! I '11 set the dogs on ye ! U-g4i !
I '11 cane ye ! U-g-h ! Eh ! I '11 have your hides off, and make whip-stocks
of 'em! Eh!"
O fright and terror ! It was Grandsir Beck, there, coming over the
hill, not a dozen rods off, shaking his cane and roaring dire -threats with that
dreadful, gruff voice. Then you may be sure there was a scampering.
248 A Half-Holiday. [April,
Blackberries were forgotten, and the whole meadow seemed full of Grandsir
Becks. Olive, who for want of a pail, had been filling her sun-bonnet,
skipped it along by one string as if there had been nothing in it. Cicely,
besides filling her pail, had gathered up her apron for further deposits, and
kept brave hold of one corner, but in her fright did not notice that the other
was loose, and that all the berries had rolled out. Trip's older sister, Gerty,
seized her by the hand, and of course dragged her to the ground the first
minute. Trip, unable to use her feet and fancying herself already in the grip
of Grandsir Beck, gave herself up to despair, stood stock-still, and expressed
her feelings in one long, steady scream, without any ups or downs in it. The
boys heard her, and rushed back. " Get along with you, Gerty, quick ! " and
Nathan and Martial took Trip by the hand and ran. The poor child, re-
covering courage, went through all the motions of running ; but, in their
strong clutch, her little toes hardly touched the ground. Over the knoll,
through the wet meadow, across the brook, helter-skelter, they poured,
reached the walls singly and in groups, clambered over pell-mell, and fled
along the highway. Aleck was the last out, an overgrown, ill-taught boy,
capable of doing well or ill, according to the company he was in. He came
rolling leisurely along, out of breath, holding his sides, dragging his feet be-
hind him, calling on the others to stop, and threw himself on the ground
when he came up with them, laughing immoderately. His mirth reassured
them. " O, it 's too good ! too good ! " he gasped.
" What is it ? What is it ? O, where is he ? " cried a dozen voices.
" Going to Chiney, last I see of him."
" Has he stopped ? Is he coming ? " moaned little Trip.
" Give a fellow time to breathe, can't you ! Stopped ! I guess he is
pretty thoroughly. Look-a-here. Don't you know the ditch down there where
the flags are ? Well, I run that way and he after me, and I gave a flying
leap, and over went I, and, don't you think, he after me, and dumped right
down into the ditch ! Oh ! oh ! "
" But Aleck ! " cried Cicely, " did n't it hurt him ? "
" No, soft as a feather-bed. But you see he can't get out ! "
" Why, you have n't left him there ? He is n't there now ! "
" No, he was sinkin' fast. Got to Chiney by this time. You see he called
to me to help him out, and I went back, and I asked him if he would n't hit
me if I 'd help him out, and he promised no, and I tugged him, and yanked
him, and got him half out, and I went to give him his cane, and, I tell you,
he glared at me so, I let him drop and run. He 'd a hit me over the head,
sir, the next minute, promise or no promise." And Aleck's own eyes flashed
with the remembrance.
" Boys," said Nathan, after a pause, " we must go and get him out."
" I would n't stir a step ! " cried Olive. " He 's an old curmudgeon ! I
would n't stir a step ! I 'd let him stick in the mud ! It 's all he 's good for ! "
" O no ! " said Gerty, " he '11 die there and then we shall all be hung ! "
whereat Trip began to cry vociferously, and at crying Trip had few su-
periors.
1865.] A Half-Holiday. 249
" And if you get him out, he '11 kill us," argued Olive. " We might just as
well be hung as knocked over the head and beat our brains out ! " Olive's
opinions were often expressed with more vigor than elegance or even co-
herence.
" Perhaps if we 're real good, and tell him we did n't mean any harm, he
won't hurt us," said Cicely, quaking from head to foot " Let 's all go.
Perhaps we ought n't to call him so, because he 's an old man. I 'm sure we
ought to be civil. Let 's all go together."
" No," said Martial ; " you all stay here, and Nat and Garnet and I will go."
" Good by, then," cried Aleck laughing ; " give us a lock of your hair to
send home to your mother."
When they came in sight again, sure enough, there was poor Grandsir
Beck still struggling in the ditch, and calling to a neighbor, who was passing
over a field at some distance, to come and help him. " Mr. Manasseh Hen-
dor ! Mr. Manasseh Hendor ! " But Mr. Manasseh Hendor was as deaf as
Grandsir Beck was lame, and he never turned aside for a moment. The
boys were soon at the ditch. " We 've come to help you out, sir," said
Nathan respectfully.
" You have, have you ? Been long enough about it"
" We did n't know you had fallen till Aleck told us."
" No matter what you know or what you don't know. Here, take hold
here. Hold on now ! steady there ! " and with much lifting and pulling,
Grandsir Beck stood on dry land again. Garnet picked up his cane and
offered it to him at arm's length, but he made no attempt to strike. " Now
tell me what business you had here, you scamps, in my meadow."
" We came blackberrying, sir ; we thought we might go anywhere black-
berrying."
" Blackberrying ! Blackberrying, well, I should think I 'd been a blaek-
bury-ing too," and he looked down upon his clean market-clothes, half cov-
ered with the black ditch-mud. Whether it was that his unwonted wit gave
him an unwonted gleam of good humor, or whether the respectful manner of
the boys pleased him, I do not know, but he only said, " Well, go along with
you, and don't let me catch you on my grounds again ! " which was a won-
derful piece of clemency on the part of Grandsir Beck.
So the three boys went back to their companions, who were rather sur-
prised to see them alive, and indeed they were rather surprised at it them-
selves ; and then they sat down under the locusts and had a royal feast off
the few blackberries that had not hopped out of the pails in their headlong
flight. Just then Miss Stanley, smiling and happy, drove by with a gentle-
man at her side, smiling and happy too ; and she smiled and nodded at the
little group, and pointed them out to the gentleman, but he saw nothing only
a parcel of sun-burnt country children, with torn frocks, flying hair, smeared
faces, not all together worth a tenth part as much as the one trim little wo-
man by his side.
Gail Hamilton.
250
Cktidrtris Carol.
[April,
MOTHER said, In foreign tower,
Gravely struck by every hour,
Hangs the biggest of the bells, seldom swung ;
But before the hour has sped,
Sweet and cheery overhead
Are the quarters on a silvery gamut rung.
Free and careless is the peal ;
Naught they ponder, naught they feel,
As they launch their light sopranos on the air :
Little silent gaps of time
Ever bridging with their rhyme,
To and from the deeper note below of care.
Father's voice is grave with years,
Tempered, too, with smiles and tears;
Open weather mixed and toned the metal well :
All the fortunes of the day,
Even habit, sober way,
Thus his voice divides the household where we dwell.
1865.] Children s Carol. 251
Far above his solemn heart,
Beating slowly and apart,
From our lighter hearts caresses ever go ;
Thus to mark his grave employ
With the quarters of our joy,
Chprding also with the note so far below.
For each silver, slender voice,
Pitched so well beyond our choice,
From a lighter, warmer, clearer region rings ;
Through the father's roof it sifts,
And lets in the upper gifts,
Golden sun and holy stars to him it brings.
We are chiming in and out
All the years that come to flout
With their sullen changing weather his deep heart ;
Gayly ring his quarters clear,
Fill with silver tunes his year,
Such in every house the happy children's part.
John Weiss.
252 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [April,
THREE DAYS AT CAMP DOUGLAS.
FIRST DAY.
r ~T'HOSE of our "Young Folks" who read around the Christmas fires
J- what I wrote about the little prisoner boy, may wonder why I have left
him, for two long months, wounded in the Wilderness. It has been greatly
against my inclination, for I love him quite as much as old Katy does ; but
the fact is, I have been in prison myself, and have been unable to do as I
would by the poor little boy who was so long in the Libby. However, I
have thought you might forgive me for this neglect, and for keeping you all
this while in suspense about him, if I should now tell you the rest of his
story, and all about the famous prison which I got into.
Most people consider it a great disgrace to get into prison, and think, too,
that all prisons are very bad places ; but that is not so. Some of the best
men that ever lived have passed years in dungeons ; and the prison I hare
been in is one of the most comfortable places in the world, a great deal
more comfortable than the houses that one half of its inmates have been ac-
customed to living in. So, one cold morning, not a great while ago, with my
eyes wide open, and knowing very well what I was about, I walked into it.
All of you have heard of this famous prison, for it is talked about all over
the world. It is located on the shore of Lake Michigan, about three miles
from the city of Chicago, and is very large, a good deal larger than a
small farm, with more inhabitants in it than any two of the biggest vil-
lages in the country. It is enclosed by a close board fence, and covered
with just such a roof as Boston Common. The fence is so high that you
can't see the whole of the prison at once, unless you go up in a balloon, or
climb to the top of the tall observatory which some enterprising Yankee has
erected on the street opposite the front gateway. But it would cost more
than you paid for this number of the " Young Folks '' to enter that observa-
tory, and you might break your necks if you should go up in a balloon ; so
there has been engraved for you a bird's-eye view of the whole camp, and, if
you choose, you may see it all for nothing, while seated in your own cosey
homes, with your heads on your shoulders, and your heels on the fire-fender.
If you look at the lower left-hand corner of this picture you will see an
engine and a train of cars, and below them a vacant spot resembling water.
That water is a few bucketfuls of the great lake on whose shore Chicago
stands. Rising up from it in a gentle slope are fenced fields and pleasant
gardens, dotted here and there with trees and houses, and beyond them a
mere white line in the picture is the public road which runs in front of the
Camp. Midway along this road, and right where the row of trees begins, is
the principal gateway of the prison. It looks like the entrance to some old
castle, being broader and higher than a barn-door, and having half a dozen
soldiers, with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets, pacing to and fro before it.
1865.]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
253
If you are nqt afraid of these soldiers, and you need not be, for you are
loyal boys, and they all wear Uncle Samuel's livery, we will speak to one
of them.
" There is pos-i-tive-ly no admittance, sir," he says, turning to walk away.
I know that very well, so I take a little note from my pocket, and ask him
to be good enough to send it to the Commandant. He eyes the note for a
moment, and then looks at us, very much as if we owed him a quarter's rent
You see he needs to be vigilant, for we might have a contraband mail, or a
dozen infernal machines in our pockets ; but, touching his cap, he disappears
through the gateway. However^he soon returns, and, again touching his cap,
says : " Gentlemen," (he means you and me, and as we have come so
far together, you must go with me all through the prison,) " the Colonel
will be happy to see you."
We follow him through the gate-house, where a score of soldiers are
lounging about, and into a broad, open yard, paved with loose sand ; and
then enter a two-story wooden building, flanked by long rows of low-
roofed cabins, and overshadowed by a tall flag-staff. In the first room that
we enter, half a dozen officers are writing at as many desks ; and in the next,
a tall, fine-looking man in a colonel's uniform is pacing the floor, and
rapidly dictating to a secretary who sits in the corner. He stops when he
perceives us, and extends his hand in so friendly and cordial a way that we
take a liking to him at once. But when he asks us to sit
down, and begins to talk, we take a stronger liking to
him than before, and wonder if this quiet, unassuming
gentleman, with this pleasant smile, and open, frank,
kindly face, can be the famous Colonel Sweet, whose
wonderful sagacity ferreted out the deepest-laid conspir-
acy that ever was planned, and whose sleepless vigi-
lance saved Chicago and one half of the West from
being wrapped in flames. Before I came away he gave
me his photograph ; and, as I know you would like to have his picture
keep," I here give it to you.
VOL. i. NO. iv. 1 8
to
254 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [April,
Not wanting to encroach too long on his valuable time, we briefly explain
our business, and, seating himself at his table, he writes, in a straight up
and down hand for his fingers are stiffened by a wound in his arm the
following pass : " Permit to enter and leave the camp, and to in-
spect the prison, and converse with the prisoners, at his pleasure."
With this pass in our hand we are about to leave the room, when the
Colonel taps a bell, and an officer enters, whom he introduces to us, and
directs him to escort us about the camp. Thus doubly provided, we emerge
from head-quarters, and enter a large enclosure where more than a thousand
men are under review. The old flag is flying from a tall staff at one end
of this enclosure, and at the other end, and on both of its sides, are long
rows of soldiers' barracks.
However, we have seen reviews and barracks before, so we will not linger
here, but follow our escort, Lieutenant Briggs, into the adjoining yard.
Here are the hospitals, those two-story wooden buildings, nicely battened
and whitewashed, which you see in the picture. In each story of these
buildings is a long, high-studded apartment, with plastered walls, clean
floors, and broad, cheerful windows, through which floods of pure air and
sunshine pour in upon the dejected, homesick prisoners. These rooms are
the homes of the sick men, and here they linger all through the long days,
and the still longer nights, tied down to narrow cots by stronger cords than
any that ever were woven by man. About five hundred are always here,
and four or five of them are borne out daily to the little burial-ground just
outside the walls.* This may appear sad ; but if you reflect that there are
constantly from eight to nine thousand prisoners in the camp, four or five
will seem a very small number to die every day among so many idle, home-
* On November igth, 1864, there were 8308 prisoners in Camp Douglas, 513 invalids in the hos-
pital, and 4 deaths among the whole. On November aoth, there were 8295 prisoners, 508 in hospital,
and 5 deaths. On November aist, 8290 prisoners, 516 in hospital, and 4 deaths. Compare this mor-
tality with that of our own men in the Confederate prisons ! When only six thousand were at Belle
Isle, eighty-five died every day ; and when nine thousand about the average number confined at
Camp Douglas were at Salisbury, Mr. Richardson reports that one hundred and thirty were daily
thrown into" a rude cart, and dumped, like decayed offal, into a huge hole outside the camp. The
mortality at Andersonville and the other Rebel prisons has been as great as this, and even greater ;
but I have not the reports at hand, and cannot, therefore, give the statistics accurately. If our men
were not deliberately starved and murdered, would such excessive mortality exist in the Rebel prisons?
All of the prisoners at Camp Douglas are well fed, well clothed, and well cared for in every way.
Some Northern traitors say they are not, but they are. I was among them for three days, mixed
freely with them, and lived on their rations, and I know whereof I affirm. No better food than theirs
was ever tasted, and with the best intentions, I could not, for the life of me, eat more than three
fourths of the quantity that is served out to the meanest prisoner. As I have said, there were on the
igth of November last 513 prisoners in the hospital. On that day there were issued to them (I copy
from the official requisition, which is before me) 395 pounds of beef, 60 pounds of pork, 525 pounds of
bread, 25 pounds of beans, 25 rations of rice, 14 pounds of coffee, 35 pounds of sugar, 250 rations of
vinegar, 250 rations of soap, and 250 rations of salt. This was the daily allowance while I was there.
In addition, there had been issued to this hospital, within the previous fifteen days, 250 pounds of butter,
66 pounds of soda crackers, 30 bushels of potatoes, 10 bushels of onions, 20 bushels of turnips, 10 bush-
els of dried apples, 3 dozen of squashes, 2 dozen of chickens, 250 dozen of eggs and 25 dozen of cab-
bages. Let any well man divide this quantity of provender by 500, and then see how long it will take
him to eat it. If he succeeds in disposing of it in 'one day, let me advise him to keep the fact from his
landlady, or the price of his board may rise.
1865.] Three Days at Camp Douglas. 255
sick, broken-spirited men. More people die of idleness, low spirits, and
homesickness than of all the diseases and all the doctors in the world ; so,
my Young Folks, keep busy, keep cheerful, and never give way to home-
sickness if you can help it, and then you possibly may outlive Old Parr
himself ; and he, some folks say, would never have died at all, if he had not,
in his old age, foolishly taken to tobacco and bad whiskey.
After passing an hour in the hospitals, we go into the bakery, a detached
building in the same enclosure. Here a dozen prisoners, bred to the "pro-
fession," are baking bread, and preparing other food for the invalids. The
baking is done in immense ovens, and the dough is kneaded in troughs which
are two feet wide, three feet deep, and forty feet long ! From this building,
where food is prepared to support life, we go into another, where nostrums
are mixed that destroy it. Here are drugs enough to kill every man in the
camp. They are dispensed by a Confederate surgeon, who was an apothecary
at home. He complains that his business is alarmingly dull, and, from the
way it is falling off, fears that the world is growing wiser, so wise that,
when the war is over, his occupation may be gone. It seems a sad prospect
to him, but we console ourselves with the thought that what may be his loss
will be other people's gain.
From the drug store we pass to the rear of the open yard which you see
in the picture, and pause before the little low building on the right. This
is the quarters of Captain Wells Sponable, the inspector of the prison;
and over against it is a gateway, which opens into the large enclosure
where the prisoners are confined. Lieutenant Briggs raps at the door
of this little building, and in a moment a tall, compactly-built man, with
broad, open features, and hair enough on his face to stuff a moderate-sized
mattress, makes his appearance. He glances at the pass which I present
to him, and then says, in a rapid way, jerking out his words as if his
jaws were moved by a crank, " I 'm glad to see you. Come in. I '11 go
with you myself."
We go into his quarters, and after half an hour's pleasant conversation,
in which we find out that the Captain, though blunt and outspoken, is one
of the most agreeable, whole-souled men in the world, we follow him and
the Lieutenant into the prison-yard. Here is the
Captain's picture, and I want you to take a good
look at it, for I am sure you will like him when I
have told you more about him.
The prison-yard is an enclosure of about twenty
acres, surrounded by a board fence fourteen feet
highland guarded by thirty sentinels, who are posted
on a raised platform just outside the ; fence, and pace
the rounds at all hours of the day and night Their
beats are only a hundred and twenty feet apart, and
on dark nights the camp is illuminated by immense
reflecting-lamps, placed on the walls and at the ends of the streets, so that it
is next to impossible for anything to occur within it, at any time, without the
256
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
[April,
knowledge of the guards. Inside the enclosure, and thirty feet from the
fence, is a low railing entirely surrounding the camp. This is the dead line.
Whoso goes beyond this railing, at any hour of the day or night, is liable
to be shot down without warning. In making our rounds the Captain oc-
casionally stepped over it, but I never followed him without instinctively
looking up to see if the sentry's musket was not pointed at me. Half a dozen
poor fellows have been shot while crossing this rail on a desperate run for
the fence and freedom.
A part of the prison yard, as you will see in the picture, is an open space ;
and there the men gather in squads, play at games, or hold "political
meetings " ; but the larger portion is divided into streets, and occupied by
barracks. The streets are fifty feet wide, and extend nearly the whole length
and breadth of the enclosure. They are rounded up in the middle, and have
deep gutters at the sides, so that in wet weather the rain flows off, and leaves
them almost as dry as a house floor. The barracks are one-story wooden
buildings, ninety feet long and twenty-four feet wide, and stand on posts
four feet from the ground. They are elevated in this manner to prevent the
prisoners tunnelling their way out of camp, as some of Morgan's men did
while Colonel DeLand had charge of the prison. Here is a view of one of
the streets, taken from a drawing made by a young prisoner, Samuel B.
- -^^z.
Palmer, of Knoxville, Tennessee, who,, though scarcely jfct a man, has
been confined at Camp Douglas eighteen long months. All of the engrav-
ings which follow in this article are from drawings made by young Palmer ;
and when you look at the skill displayed in them, I know you will think with
me, that a loyal young man, who has such talent, ought not to be forced to
rust his life out in a prison.
1865.]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
257
Each barrack is divided into two rooms ; one a square apartment, where
the prisoners do their cooking ; the other a long hall, with three tiers of
bunks on either side,*where they do their sleeping. The larger rooms are
furnished with benches and a stove, have several windows on each side,
and ventilators on the roof, and are as comfortable places to stay in as
one could expect in a prison. But the following engraving will give you a
better idea of them than any description I could make.
The most perfect discipline prevails in the camp. Each day is distinctly
"ordered," and no one is allowed to depart from the rules. At sunrise the
drum beats the reveille, and every man turns out from his bunk. In half an
hour breakfast is ready, and in another hour the roll is called. Then the
eight thousand or more prisoners step out from their barracks, and, forming
in two lines in the middle of the street, wait until the officer of the day calls
their names. Those who have the misfortune to be at the foot of the column
may have to wait half an hour before they hear the welcome sound ; and is.
cold or rainy weather this delay is not over-agreeable. With a feeling sense
of its discomforts, our artist has represented such a scene in the sketch on
the following page.
After roll : call the " details " go about their work, and the other men do as
they like until twelve o'clock, when they are all summoned to dinner. The
" details " are prisoners who have applied to take the oath of allegiance, and
who are consequently trusted rather more than the others. They are em-
ployed in various ways, both inside and outside of the prison, but not out-
side of the camp. They are paid regularly for this work, and it affords
them a small fund, with which they buy tobacco and other little luxuries
that they have been accustomed to. Those who are not so fortunate as t
258
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
[April
i i
have work supply themselves with these " indispensables " by selling offal,
old bones, surplus food, and
broken bottles to an old fellow
who makes the rounds of the
camp every few days with a
waggon or a wheelbarrow.
Here he is with his "Ammu-
nition train."
After dinner the " details "
go again to work, and the loun-
gers to play, though almost all
of them find some work, if it
is nothing more than whittling.
They seem to have the true
Anglo-Saxon horror of nothing
to do, and therein show their
relationship to us ; for, say what we may, the great mass of Southerners are
merely transplanted Yankees, differing from the original Jonathan only as
they are warped by slavery or crushed by slave-holders. That number of
Englishmen, hived within the limits of twenty acres, would take to grum-
bling, Germans to smoking, Irishmen to brawling, Frenchmen to swear-
ing ; but these eight thousand Southerners have taken to whittling, and that
proves them Yankees, and no amount of false education or political man-
agement can make them anything else. One has whittled a fiddle from a
pine shingle ; another, a clarinet from an ox-bone ; a third, a meerschaum
from a corn-cob ; a fourth, a water-wheel which, he says, will propel ma-
i86s.]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
259
chinery without a waterfall from half a dozen sticks of hickory ; a fifth,
with no previous practice, makes gold rings from brass, and jet from gutta
percha ; and, to crown all, a sixth has actually whittled a whistle and a
whistle that " blows " out of a pig's tail !
. But they show the trading as well as the inventive genius of Yankees.
One has swapped coats until he has got clear through his elbows ; another,
pantaloons, until they scarcely come below his knees ; another, hats, until
he has only part of a rim, and the "smallest showing" of a crown, and yet
every time, as he says, he has had the best of the trade ; and another regu-
larly buys out the old apple-woman, and peddles her stock about the camp
at the rate of a dollar " a grab," payable in greenbacks.
With such unmistakable manifestations of 1 national character, no one
can doubt that these people are Yankees, and Yankees too who, with free
schools and free institutions, would be the "smartest" and "'cutest" people
in the world.
At sunset the drums beat the "retreat," and all the prisoners gather
to their quarters, from which they do not again emerge until the reveille is
sounded in the morning. Then the candles are lighted, and each barrack
presents a scene worthy of a painter. Look into any of them after nightfall,
and you will see at least seventy motley-clad, rollicking, but good-natured
"natives," engaged in all imaginable kinds of employment. Some are writ-
ing, some reading newspapers or musty romances, some playing at euchre,
seven-up, or rouge-et-noir ; but more are squatted on the floor, or leaning
against the bunks, listening to the company " oracle," who, nursing his coat-
tails before the stove, is relating "moving accidents by flood and field,"
fighting his battles over again, or knocking " the rotten Union into ever-
lastin' smash." One of the most notable of these " oracles " is " your felkr-
citizen, Jim Hurdle, sir."
Jim is a "character," and a "genius " of the
first order. His coat is decidedly seedy, his hat
much the worse for wear, and his trousers so
out at the joints that he might be suspected of -^iliij
having spent his whole life on his knees ; but
he is a "born gentleman," above work, and too \\
proud " to be beholden to a kentry he has fit
agin." He knows a little of everything under
the sun, and has a tongue that can outrun any
steam-engine in the universe. The stories he
tells never were beaten. They are " powerful "
stories, so powerful that, if you don't keep
firm hold of your chairs, they may take you
right off your feet. Once, he says, he shot
eighteen hundred squirrels in a day, with a
single-barrelled shot-gun. At another time he
met a panther in the woods, and held him .
at bay for nearly six hours by merely looking at him. Again, when he
260 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [April,
was crossing a brook on horseback, the bridge was 'carried away by a
freshet, and floated two miles down the stream, where it lodged in the top
of a tree. As nothing could be done, he dismounted, and quietly went to
sleep on the bridge until the morning. In the morning the "run" had sub-
sided, but the horse and the bridge were still perched in the top of the tree.
" I tried to coax the critter to git down," as the tale runs ; " but he would n't
budge ; so I piked for home, for I know'd oats 'ud bring him. And
shore 'nuif they did. The hoss had n't more 'n smelled of the peck-measure
I tuck to him, 'fore down he come, quicker 'n lightnin' ever shot from a
thunder-cloud."
" But how did the horse get down ? "
" How ! Why, hind eend afore, like any other hoss ; and, stranger, that
ar hoss was 'bout the laziest critter ye ever know'd on. He was so lazy that
I had to hire another hoss to holp him dror his last breath."
Jim's stories lack the very important element of truth, and in that respect
are not unlike some other stories you may have read ; but they do illustrate
two prominent characteristics of all Southern people, a propensity to brag,
and a disposition to magnify everything.
Mr. Hurdle is guarded in expressing his political opinions, but one of his
comrades assured me that he had lost all faith in the Confederacy. "The
Confederacy, sir!" he is reported to have said, "ar busted, gone all to
smash. It ar rottener nur any egg that ever was sot on, and deader nur any
door-nail that ever was driv."
" But it bites a little yit, Jim," said a comrade.
" Bites ! " echoed Jim. " Of course it do. So will a turkle arter his head
ar cut off. I know'd one o' them critters onst that a old darky dercaper-
tated. The next day he was 'musin' hisself pokin' sticks at him, and the
turkle was biting at 'em like time. Then I says to the darky, * Pomp, I
thought he war dead.' 'Well, he am massa,' says Pomp, 'but the critter
don't know 'nuff to be sensible ob it.' So, ye see, the Confederacy ar dead,
but Jeff Davis and them sort o' fellers don't know enough to be sensible
of it."
But " Nine o'clock, and lights out ! " sounds along the sentry-lines, and
every candle is extinguished in a twinkling. The faintest glimmer after that
hour will draw a leaden messenger that may snuff out some poor fellow's
light forever. Not a year ago a rebel sergeant, musing by the stove in the
barrack we are in, heard that cry repeated. He looked up, and seeing noth-
ing but darkness, went on musing again. The stove gave out a faint glow
which shone through the window, and the sentinel, mistaking it for the light
of a candle, fired, crushing the poor fellow's arm at the elbow. A few nights
later another stove gave out a faint glow, and another sentry sent a leaden
messenger through the window, mortally wounding the stove-pipe. Both
sentinels were punished, but that did not save the sergeant's arm, or mend
the stove-pipe.
Edmund Kirke.
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 261
LESSONS IN MAGIC.
II.
is a gentleman exhibiting on Broadway, New York, who styles
himself " The Somatic Conjuror," (for meaning of which see Webster,)
and who professes to do by mere human means all that the Spiritualists do,
and much more. As many of my readers, however, may not have the oppor-
tunity of attending his performances, I will explain to them a very neat trick
in rope-tying, which the aforesaid Somatic Conjuror does, and, as " Our
Young Folks " circulates all over the world, I have no doubt it will soon be
the means of converting all creation into
Davenport Brothers.
Take a stout rope about twenty feet long and hand it to your audience for
inspection. Whilst they are examining it, let a committee of gentlemen, that
being the approved style of doing the thing,
bind your wrists together with a handker-
chief. This being done, have one end of
the rope passed over the handkerchief, and
let the cords then be held up by one of the
company. Now request the person holding
the ends to pull one way, whilst you pull
the other, to show that the handkerchief is
tightly tied. There is now, apparently, no
way of getting the rope off, except the ends *^^*^ *^H '/I }
are released, or the handkerchief untied.
You soon explode this idea, however, for after making one or two rapid
movements of your hands and arms, you throw the rope off and exhibit your
wrists still tied.
Wonderful as this all seems, it is very simple, and requires but little prac-
tice. The accompanying illustration explains it clearly. The part of the
rope marked " A," is rolled between the wrists, until it works up through
the handkerchief and forms a loop, through which you pass one hand, and
then by giving the rope a smart jerk it will easily come off.
To return, however, to legitimate Magic, for the foregoing can hardly be
classed under that head. The young magician may sometimes have occa-
sion to make an article, especially a lemon, orange, or handkerchief, vanish
from his hands. This of course can at any time be done by palming it, but
as it is not well to perform a trick in the same manner on every occasion,
lest your audience may notice a too frequent repetition of certain move-
ments, and so detect you, I will describe other modes. We will suppose
that, on the stage, a performer wants a lemon, for instance, to go out of his
hands. This is the way he manages it. The lemon is laid on a table, the
262 Lessons in Magic. [April,
hands placed around it as if to take it up, but in fact to hide it whilst it goes
through a trap in the table. The hands are now closed as though holding
the lemon, and then, when the time comes, are opened and shown to be empty,
special attention being called to your sleeves, so that your audience may see
that there is nothing there. This method answers very well for a theatre,
but as amateurs would not, as a general thing, care to saw a hole in their cen-
tre-table, or go to the expense of having one made for this special purpose,
they will find the following to answer as well. Take a table that has a drawer
in it, which you must remove. This will leave a shelf in the place where the
drawer was. Turn the back of the table to the audience, and have a dark
cloth laid over it. Get behind your table, lay the back of your left hand on
it, toss the lemon in the air with your right, and as it falls catch it, throw it
quickly on to the shelf of the table, and cover your left with your right hand.
If it has been done quickly, and " if it were done, when 't is done, then 't were
well it were done quickly," the audience will suppose the lemon to be in
your hands, from which of course you can make it vanish when you please.
Another way, also, is to toss the lemon in the air two or three times, and at
last pretend to toss it up, but retain your hold of it, at the same time looking
up towards the ceiling. Your audience, who have become accustomed to see
it go up, will not notice that you held it back, but will gaze at the ceiling,
imagining that you have made it stick there. This hardly seems credible,
but try it once, and you will find that it is so. Of course this is not a trick
to be done by itself, but is useful in connection with some other.
The next trick which I will explain was a favorite one with Macallister,
now some years dead, who called it
The Yarn Telegraph.
A coin is borrowed from one of the audience, with a request that the per-
son who lends it will place some 'mark on it, so as to identify it. This is
placed in a handkerchief, and then given to some one to
hold. A ball of yarn is now produced and placed in a
goblet, which another of the audience is requested to hold
and cover with one hand, so that the yarn may be pulled
through the fingers (see cut). One end of the ball is
then handed to the person who holds the coin, the ball
itself still remaining in the goblet. The performer now
informs the audience that his telegraph is in working or-
der, and that he proposes to send the coin, which is in
the handkerchief, along the line into the very centre of
the ball, and tells the person who holds the handkerchief,
to let go the hold of it the moment he says "Three."
He takes hold of one end of the handkerchief, counts
"One, two, three ! " jerks the handkerchief, and the
coin is gone. He then proceeds to wind off the yarn, and
when he reaches the inside end, the coin falls in'to the
goblet, although he stands at some distance from it. Without approaching
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 263
nearer, he begs the person who lent the money to take it out and say wheth-
er it was the one borrowed and which was marked, which in all cases it
proves to be. A rather amusing incident occurred to me once when about
to perform this trick. A little fellow, about six years old, was holding the
coin, and, by way of diversion merely, I asked him whether he would not be
surprised if I should pass the coin from the handkerchief into his pocket ?
" Yes, sir," he answered. " Probably you think I cannot ? " "I am sure you
can't." "What makes you so sure, my little man ? " " 'Cause I ain't got no
pocket." I was foiled ; all my legerdemain availed me nothing now. I was
beaten by a little tow-headed urchin, without the knowledge of the first princi-
ples of magic, and forced to join with my audience in the laugh against myself.
But to explain the trick. My pupils are by this time probably magicians
enough to know that a second coin is sewed in the corner of the handker-
chief, just as in the " Russian Ring Trick," and that it is this one that
the person holds. The preparation of the ball is then all that needs ex-
planation. Take a piece of wood about two and a half inches long, one
and a quarter inches wide, and an eighth of an inch thick, round off one
end of it, and scrape it well with a bit of broken glass until it is perfectly
smooth. On this stick you wind your ball, being careful to wind it in such a
way that the rounded end of the stick is in the centre of the ball, whilst
the other end projects. When it is all wound, you are ready to begin the
trick. After placing the coin which is sewed in, in the centre of the hand-
kerchief, you go for your ball, which should be at some little distance from
the audience. Pull the stick out, and there will be left a hole large enough
to slip in any coin not larger than a half-dollar, and reaching to the centre
of the ball, drop the coin in, and push the yarn over the hole with your
ringers, which you can easily do. All that remains to be done now is to
make some little fuss, and talk at your audience for a while, that they may
not know that your part of the trick is done. A neat way of ending any
trick in which a coin is used is as follows. When you are done with the coin,
approach the owner of it, holding the coin between your fore-finger and
thumb, at the same time offering it as if to return it, but at the very moment
the person's hand is extended to take it, you suddely palm it, and affect
great surprise at its disappearance. Turn to the person sitting next the one
you borrowed the coin from, and pretend to take the money from out their
nose or ear, which you do by simply dropping it from your palm, where it is
concealed, into your fingers, and then return it to its owner. This will have
created a laugh and be a point in your favor.
I will conclude this lesson by introducing to my readers a " combination "
trick ; that is, one in which two or more tricks are so " consolidated " as to
form one grand whole. For want of a better, I will name it
A Canary risking the Hazard of the Die.
A bird-cage, holding a canary, a solid block of wood about four inches
square, painted to resemble a die, and a gentleman's hat (a full-grown silk
264
Lessons in Magic.
[April,
hat), are handed to the audience for
examination. The hat is placed on
a table, and covered with a plate.
The die is covered with a velvet
case made exactly of its shape and
lined with pasteboard, and over the
cage and bird is thrown a cloth,
which is then given to some one to
hold. A short discourse on the
power of mind over matter is then
indulged in, and on a re-examination
of the articles, a complete " change
of base " is found to have taken
place ; for on shaking the cloth un-
der which the cage was placed, we
discover that, not only the bird, but
the cage too has flown ; the hat,
which was empty, contains the die,
and in the place it lately filled is
the canary.
The apparatus for this trick, as in fact for all those that I have as yet
explained, is very simple, and may be made by any one with common in-
genuity ; it consists, first, of a solid block of wood four inches square,
painted white and dotted with black so as to resemble a die ; secondly, a tin
case, also square, just large enough to slip over the solid die, and painted in
exact imitation of it ; and, thirdly, a pasteboard case a trifle larger than the tin
one, and covered with velvet and prettily ornamented. This completes the die
apparatus. The next article required is a small wicker cage, with a square
top and a ring in it, such as birds are imported in, and two birds, as near
alike as possible ; stuffed or even sugar ones will answer. Then take a cloth
about two feet square and in the centre of it fasten a piece of light wood, ex-
actly of the size of the top of the cage, and have a ring attached to the mid-
dle of the wood ; in fact, the idea is, to make \tfeel, to a person who does not
see it, as much like the top of the cage as possible. Having fastened on
the wood, a second cloth, the same size as the first, must be laid over it, and
the two be bound together at the edges. Now cover the tin die with the
velvet case (these two, by the way, must both be blackened in the inside), and
you are ready to perform the trick, which you begin in this way. Hand the
genuine die to the audience, and let them satisfy themselves that it is solid.
When you receive it back, call their attention to the velvet case, which you
tell them is "merely a cover for the die," at the same time putting it, with
the tin case which is inside, over the die, and immediately taking it off again,
taking care, however, to leave the tin case on. Now let them see that there
is no preparation about the cover, and whilst they are examining it borrow a
hat. Pick up the die and tin case together, and pretend to see whether it
will fit in the hat, leaving the solid block inside and bringing out only the
1865.] The .Brook that ran into the Sea. 265
case, which the audience will suppose is the genuine die. You having no
further business with the hat, it can be placed on a table and covered with a
plate, " to prevent anything getting in," you say, but in fact to prevent any
one looking in. Now take secretly from your pocket, if it be a dummy, or
from your table, if a live one, a bird, and slip it in the tin case, which you can
easily do before putting it down on the table, just after you take it out of the
hat. Set the case on the table (with the bird under it), and show them your
cage and second bird. Now comes the part which will require all your skill.
Get behind your table still holding the cage so that all may see it, for the
object is to give them the impression that they have never once lost sight of
it, pick up the double cloth which contains the board, with one hand, holding
on to the cage with the other. Throw the cloth over the cage in such a way
that it touches the table but for a moment, but during that moment and
whilst it completely hides your hand, you set the cage on a shelf, fastened
to the back of the table. Bring the hand which has disposed of the cage in
sight again as soon as possible, and take hold with it of the ring that is in
the centre of the board, and the cloth will fall down, draping itself in such a
way, that any one not in the secret will believe the cage is under it. You
may now bring it forward, and even give it to one of the audience to hold,
although it is better that some friend in the secret should have it, as the dif-
ference in weight may betray your trick. All that remains now to do is to
cover the tin case with the velvet one, talk a little, and announce your trick
a success. Raise the velvet and tin case together and there is the bird.
Shake the cloth, and bird and cage are gone. Request some one to take the
plate off the hat, which you turn upside down, and out drops the die.
This was one of Mr. Herrman's most effective tricks, and, if skilfully per-
formed, will add greatly to the reputation of our young Magicians, of whom
I must now take leave.
P. H. C
THE BROOK THAT RAN INTO THE SEA.
' S~\ LITTLE brook," the children said,
V-x "The sea has waves enough;
Why hurry down your mossy bed
To meet his welcome rough ?
" The Hudson or the Oregon
May help his tides to swell :
But when your few bright drops are gone,
What has he gained, pray tell ? "
2 66 The Brook that ran into the. Sea. [April,
" I run for pleasure," said the brook,
Still running, running fast ;
" I love to see you bend and look,
As I go bubbling past.
" I love to feel the wild weeds dip ;
I love your fingers light,
That dimpling from my eddies drip,
Filled with my pebbles bright
" My little life I dearly love,
Its shadow and its shine ;
And all sweet voices that above
Make melody with mine.
" But most I love the mighty voice
Which calls me, draws me so,
That every ripple lisps, ' Rejoice ! '
As with a laugh I go.
" My drop of freshness to the sea
In music trickles on ;
Nor grander could my welcome be
Were I an Amazon.
" And if his moaning wave can feel
My sweetness near the shore,
E'en to his heart the thrill may steal :
What could I wish for, more?
"The largest soul to take love in
Knows how to give love best ;
So peacefully my tinkling din
Dies on the great sea's breast.
" One heart encircles all that live,
And blesses great and small ;
And meet it is that each should give
His little to the AIL"
Lucy Larcom.
1865.] Nellys Hospital 267
NELLY'S HOSPITAL.
NELLY sat beside her mother picking lint ; but while her fingers flew,
her eyes often looked wistfully out into the meadow, golden with but-
tercups, and bright with sunshine. Presently she said, rather bashfully, but
very earnestly, " Mamma, I want to tell you a little plan I 've made, if you '11
please not laugh."
" I think I can safely promise that, my dear," said her mother, putting
down her work that she might listen quite respectfully.
Nelly looked pleased, and went on confidingly. " Since brother Will came
home with his lame foot, and I Ve helped you tend him, I 've heard a great
deal about hospitals, and liked it very much. To-day I said I wanted to
go and be a nurse, like Aunt Mercy ; but Will laughed, and told me I 'd bet-
ter begin by nursing sick birds and butterflies and pussies before I tried to
take care of men. I did not like to be made fun of, but I 've been thinking
that.it would be very pleasant to have a little hospital all my own, and be a
nurse in it, because, if I took pains, so many pretty creatures might be
made well, perhaps. Could I, mamma ? "
Her mother wanted to smile at the idea, but did not, for Nelly looked up
with her heart and eyes so full of tender compassion, both for the unknown
men for whom her little hands had done their best, and for the smaller suf-
ferers nearer home, that she stroked the shining head, and answered readily :
" Yes, Nelly, it will be a proper charity for such a young Samaritan, and
you ma* learn much if you are in earnest. You must study how to feed and
nurse your little patients, else your pity will do no good, and your hospital
become a prison. I will help you, and Tony shall be your surgeon."
" O mamma, how good you always are to me ! Indeed, I am in truly ear-
nest ; I will learn, I will be kind, and may I go now and begin ? "
" You may, but tell me first where will you have your hospital ? "
"In my room, mamma ; it is so snug and sunny, and I never should for-
get it there," said Nelly.
" You must not forget it anywhere. I think that plan will not do. How
would you like to find caterpillars walking in your bed, to hear sick pussies
mewing in the night, to have beetles clinging to your clothes, or see mice,
bugs, and birds tumbling down stairs whenever the door was open ? " said
her mother.
Nelly laughed at that thought a minute, then clapped her hands, and cried :
" Let us have the old summer-house ! My doves only use the upper part,
and it would be so like Frank in the story-book. Please say yes again,
mamma."
Her mother did say yes, and, snatching up her hat, Nelly ran to find Tony,
the gardener's son, a pleasant lad of twelve, who was Nelly's favorite play-
mate. Tony pronounced the plan a " jolly " one, and, leaving his work, fol-
lowed his young mistress to the summer-house, for she could not wait one
minute.
268 Nellys Hospital. [April,
" What must we do first ? " she asked, as they stood looking in at the dim,
dusty room, full of garden tools, bags of seeds, old flower-pots, and watering-
cans.
" Clear out the rubbish, miss," answered Tony.
" Here it goes, then," and Nelly began bundling everything out in such
haste that she broke two flower-pots, scattered all the squash-seeds, and
brought a pile of rakes and hoes clattering down about her ears.
"Just wait a bit, and let me take the lead, miss. You hand me things, I '11
pile 'em in the barrow and wheel 'em off to the barn ; then it will save time,
and be finished up tidy."
Nelly did as he advised, and very soon nothing but dust remained.
" What next ? " she asked, not knowing in the least.
" I '11 sweep up while you see if Polly can come and scrub the room out
It ought to be done before you stay here, let alone the patients."
" So it had," said Nelly, looking very wise all of a sudden. " Will says
the wards that means the rooms, Tony are scrubbed every day or two,
and kept very clean, and well venti something I can't say it ; but it
means having a plenty of air come in. I can clean windows while Polly
mops, and then we shall soon be done."
Away she ran, feeling very busy and important. Polly came, and very
soon the room looked like another place. The four latticed windows were
set wide open, so the sunshine came dancing through the vines that grew
outside, and curious roses peeped in to see what frolic was afoot. The
walls shone white again, for not a spider dared to stay ; the wide seat which
encircled the room was dustless now, the floor as nice as willing hands could
make it ; and the south wind blew away all musty odors with its fragrant
breath.
" How fine it looks ! " cried Nelly, dancing on the doorstep, lest a foot-
print should mar the still damp floor.
" I 'd almost like to fall sick for the sake of staying here," said Tony, ad-
miringly. " Now, what sort of beds are you going to have, miss ? "
" I suppose it won't do to put butterflies and toads and worms into beds
like the real soldiers where Will was ? " answered Nelly, looking anxious.
Tony could hardly help shouting at the idea ; but, rather than trouble his
little mistress, he said very soberly : " I 'm afraid they would n't lay easy,
not being used to it. Tucking up a butterfly would about kill him; the
worms would be apt to get lost among the bed-clothes ; and the toads would
tumble out the first thing."
" I shall have to ask mamma about it. What will you do while I 'm
gone ? " said Nelly, unwilling that a moment should be lost.
" I '11 make frames for nettings to the window, else the doves will come in
and eat up the sick people."
" I think they will know that it is a hospital, and be too kind to hurt or
frighten their neighbors," began Nelly ; but as she spoke, a plump white
dove walked in, looked, about with its red-ringed eyes, and quietly pecked up
a tiny bug that had just ventured out from the crack where it had taken
refuge when the deluge came.
1865.] Nellys Hospital. 269
" Yes, we must have the nettings. I '11 ask mamma for some lace," said
Nelly, when she saw that ; and, taking her pet dove on her shoulder, told it
about her hospital as she went toward the house ; for, loving all little crea-
tures as she did, it grieved her to have any harm befall even the least or
plainest of them. She had a sweet child-fancy that her playmates under-
stood her language as she did theirs, and that birds, flowers, animals, and
insects felt for her the same affection which she felt for them. Love always
makes friends, and nothing seemed to fear the gentle child ; but welcomed
her like a little sun who shone alike on all, and never suffered an eclipse.
She was gone some time, and when she came back her mind was full of
new plans, one hand full of rushes, the other of books, while over her head
floated the lace, and a bright green ribbon hung across her arm.
" Mamma says that the best beds will be little baskets, boxes, cages, and
any sort of thing that suits the patient ; for each will need different care and
food and medicine. I have not baskets enough, so, as I cannot have pretty
white beds, I am going to braid pretty green nests for my patients, and, while
I do it, mamma thought you 'd read to me the pages she has marked, so that
we may begin right."
Yes, miss ; I like that. But what is the ribbon for ? ". asked Tony.
" O, that 's for you. Will says that, if you are to be an army surgeon, you
must have a green band on your arm ; so 1 got this to tie on when we play
hospital."
Tony let her decorate the sleeve of his gray jacket, and when the nettings
were done, the welcome books were opened and enjoyed. It was a happy
time, sitting in the sunshine, with leaves pleasantly astir all about them,
doves cooing overhead, and flowers sweetly gossiping together through the
summer afternoon. Nelly wove her smooth, green rushes, Tony pored over
his pages, and both found something better than fairy legends in the family
histories of insects, birds, and beasts. All manner of wonders appeared, and
were explained to them, till Nelly felt as if a new world had been given her, so
full of beauty, interest, and pleasure that she never could be tired of studying
it. Many of these things were not strange to Tony, because, born among
plants, he had grown up with them as if they were brothers and sisters, and
the sturdy, brown-faced boy had learned many lessons which no poet or
philosopher could have taught him, unless he had become as childlike as
himself, and studied from the'same great book.
When the baskets were done, the marked pages all read, and the sun be-
gan to draw his rosy curtains round him before smiling " Good night," Nelly
ranged the green beds round the room, Tony put in the screens, and the hos-
pital was ready. The little nurse was so excited that she could hardly eat
her supper, and directly afterwards ran up to tell Will how well she had suc-
ceeded with the first part of her enterprise. Now brother Will was a brave
young officer, who had fought stoutly and done his duty like a man. But
when lying weak and wounded at home, the cheerful courage which had led
him safely through many dangers seemed to have deserted him, and he was
often gloomy, sad, or fretful, because he longed to be at his post again, and
VOL. i. NO. iv. 19
270 Nellys Hospital. [April,
time passed very slowly. This troubled his mother, and made Nelly wonder
why he found lying in a pleasant room so much harder than fighting battles'
or making weary marches. Anything that interested and amused him was
very welcome, and when Nelly, climbing on the arm of his sofa, told her
plans, mishaps, and successes, he laughed out more heartily than he had
(lone for many a day, and his thin face began to twinkle with fun as it used
to do so long ago. That pleased Nelly, and she chatted like any affection-
ate little magpie, till Will was really interested ; for when one is ill, small
things amuse.
" Do you expect your patients to come to you, Nelly ? " he asked.
" No, I shall go and look for them. I often see poor things suffering in
the garden, and the wood, and always feel as if they ought to be taken care
of, as people are."
" You won't like to carry insane bugs, lame toads, and convulsive kittens
in your hands, and they would not stay on a stretcher if you had one. You
should have an ambulance and be a branch of the Sanitary Commission,"
said Will.
Nelly had often heard the words, but did not quite understand what they
meant. So Will told her of that great and never-failing charity, to which thou-
sands owe their lives ; and the child listened with lips apart, eyes often full,
and so much love and admiration in her heart that she could find no words
in which to tell it. When her brother paused, she said earnestly : " Yes, I
will be a Sanitary. This little cart of mine shall be my amb'lance, and I '11
never let my water-barrels go empty, never drive too fast, or be rough with
my poor passengers, like some of the men you tell about. Does this look
like an ambulance, Will ? "
" Not a bit, but it shall, if you and mamma like to help me. I want four
long bits of cane, a square of white cloth, some pieces of thin wood, and the
gum-pot," said Will, sitting up to examine the little cart, feeling like a boy
again as he took out his knife and began to whittle.
Up stairs and down stairs ran Nelly till all necessary materials were
collected, and almost breathlessly she watched her brother arch the canes
over the cart, cover them with the cloth, and fit in an upper shelf of small
compartments, each lined with cotton-wool to serve as beds for wounded
insects, lest they should hurt one another or jostle out. The lower part
was left free for any larger creatures which Nelly might 'find. Among
her toys she had a tiny cask which only needed a peg to be water-tight ;
this was filled and fitted in before, because, as the small sufferers needed
no seats, there was no place for it behind, and, as Nelly was both horse
and driver, it was more convenient in front. On each side of it stood
a box of stores. In one were minute rollers, as bandages are called, a
few bottles not yet filled, and a wee doll's jar of cold-cream, because
Nelly could not feel that her outfit was complete without a medicine-chest.
The other box was full of crumbs, bits of sugar, bird-seed, and grains of
wheat and corn, lest any famished stranger should die for want of food be-
fore she got it home. Then mamma painted "U. S. San. Com." in bright
1865.] Nellys Hospital. 271
letters on the cover, and Nelly received her charitable plaything with a
long sigh of satisfaction.
" Nine o'clock already. Bless me, what a short evening this has been,"
exclaimed Will, as Nelly came to give him her good-night kiss.
" And such a happy one," she answered. " Thank you very, very much,
dear Will. I only wish my little amb'lance was big enough for you to g
in, I 'd so like to give you the first ride."
" Nothing I should like better, if it were possible, though I Ve a prejudice
against ambulances in general. But as I cannot ride, I '11 try and hop out to
your hospital to-morrow, and see how you get on," which was a great deal
for Captain Will to say, because he had been too listless to leave his sofa for
several days.
That promise sent Nelly happily away to bed, only stopping to pop her
head out of the window to see if it was likely to be a fair day to-morrow, and
to tell Tony about the new plan as he passed below.
" Where shall you go to look for your first load of sick folks, miss ? " he
asked.
" All round the garden first, then through the grove, and home across the
brook. Do you think I can find any patients so ? "" said Nelly.
" I know you will. Good night, miss," and Tony walked away with a
merry look on his face, that Nelly would not have understood if she had
seen it.
Up rose the sun bright and early, and up rose Nurse Nelly almost as early
and as bright. Breakfast was taken in a great hurry, and before the dew
was off the grass this branch of the S. C. was all astir. Papa, mamma, big
brother and baby sister, men and maids, all looked out to see the funny little
ambulance depart, and nowhere in all the summer fields was there a happier
child than Nelly, as she went smiling down the garden path, where tall
flowers kissed her as she passed and every blithe bird seemed singing a
" Good speed ! "
" How I wonder what I shall find first," she thought, looking sharply on
all sides as she went. Crickets chirped, grasshoppers leaped, ants worked
busily at their subterranean houses, spiders spun shining webs from twig to
twig, bees were coming for their bags of gold, and butterflies had just begun
their holiday. . A large white one alighted on the top of the ambulance,
walked over the inscription as if spelling it letter by letter, then floated away
from flower to flower, like one carrying the good news far and wide.
" Now every one will know about the hospital and be glad to see me com-
ing," thought Nelly. And indeed it seemed so, for just then a blackbird,
sitting on the garden wall, burst out with a song full of musical joy, Nelly's
kitten came running after to stare at the wagon and rub her soft side against
it, a bright-eyed toad looked out from his cool bower among the lily-leaves,
and at that minute Nelly found her first patient. In one of the dewy cob-
webs hanging from a shrub near by sat a fat black and yellow spider, watch-
ing a fly whose delicate wings were just caught in the net. The poor fly
buzzed pitifully, and struggled so hard that the whole web shook ; but the
272 Nelly s Hospital. [April,
more he struggled, the more he entangled himself, and the fierce spider was
preparing to descend that it might weave a shroud about its prey, when a
little finger broke the threads and lifted the fly safely into the palm of a hand,
where he lay faintly humming his thanks.
Nelly had heard much about contrabands, knew who they were, and was
very much interested in them ; so, when she freed the poor black fly, she
played he was her contraband, and felt glad that her first patient was one
that needed help so much. Carefully brushing away as much of the web as
she could, she left small Pompey, as she named him, to free his own legs,
lest her clumsy fingers should hurt him ; then she laid him in one of the soft
beds with a grain or two of sugar if he needed refreshment, and bade him
rest and recover from his fright, remembering that he was at liberty to fly
away whenever he liked, because she had no wish to make a slave of Kim.
Feeling very happy over this new friend, Nelly went on singing softly as
she walked, and presently she found a pretty caterpillar dressed in brown fur,
although the day was warm. He lay so still she thought him dead, till he
rolled himself into a ball as she touched him.
" I think you are either faint from the heat of this thick coat of yours, or
that you are going to m'ake a cocoon of yourself, Mr. Fuzz," said Nelly.
" Now I want to see you turn into a butterfly, so I shall take you, and if you
get lively again I will let you go. I shall play that you have given out on a
march, as the soldiers sometimes do, and been left behind for the Sanitary
people to see to."
In went sulky Mr. Fuzz, and on trundled the ambulance till a golden green
rose-beetle was discovered, lying on his back kicking as if in a fit.
" Dear me, what shall I do for him ? " .thought Nelly. " He acts as baby
did when she was so ill, and mamma put her in a warm bath. I have n't got
my little tub here, or any hot water, and I 'm afraid the beetle would not like
it if I had. Perhaps he has pain in his stomach ; I '11 turn him over, and pat
his back, as nurse does baby's when she cries for pain like that."
She set the beetle on his legs, and did her best to comfort him ; but he
was evidently in great distress, for he could not walk, and instead of lifting
his emerald overcoat, and spreading the wings that lay underneath, he turned
over again, and kicked more violently than before. Not knowing what to
do, Nelly put him into one of her soft nests for Tony to cure if possible.
She found no more patients in the garden except a dead bee, which she
wrapped in a leaf, and took home to bury. When she came to the grove, it
was so green and cool she longed to sit and listen to the whisper of the
pines, and watch the larch-tassels wave in the wind. But, recollecting her
charitable errand, she went rustling along the pleasant path till she came to
another patient, over which she stood considering several minutes before she
could decide whether it was best to take it to her hospital, because it was a
little gray snake, with a bruised tail. She knew it would not hurt her, yet
she was afraid of it ; she thought it pretty, yet could not like it ; she pitied
its pain, yet shrunk from helping it, for it had a fiery eye, and a keep quiv-
ering tongue, that looked as if longing to bite.
i865.]
Nellys Hospital.
273
" He is a rebel, I wonder if I ought to be good to him," thought Nelly,
watching the reptile writhe with pain. " Will said there were sick rebels in
his hospital, and one was very kind to him. It says, too, in my little book,
* Love your enemies.' I think snakes are mine, but I guess I '11 try and love
him because God made him. Some boy will kill him if I leave him here,
and then perhaps his mother will be very sad about it. Come, poor worm, I
wish to help you, so be patient, and don't frighten me."
Then Nelly laid her little handkerchief on the ground, and with a stick
gently lifted the wounded snake upon it, and, folding it together, laid it in the
ambulance. She was thoughtful after that, and so busy puzzling her young
head about the duty of loving those who hate us, and being kind to those
who are disagreeable or unkind, that she went through the rest of the wood
quite forgetful of her work. A soft " Queek, queek ! " made her look up and
listen. The sound came from the long meadow-grass, and, bending it care-
fully back, she found a half-fledged bird, with one wing trailing on the
ground, and its eyes dim with pain or hunger.
" You darling thing, did you fall out of your nest and hurt your wing ? "
cried Nelly, looking up into the single tree that stood near by. No nest was
to be seen, no parent birds hovered overhead, and little Robin could only
tell its troubles in that mournful " Queek, queek, queek ! "
Nelly ran to get both her chests, and, sitting down beside the bird, tried
to feed it. To her great joy it ate crumb after crumb as if it were half
starved, and soon fluttered nearer with a confiding fearlessness that made
her very proud. Soon baby Robin seemed quite comfortable, his eye bright-
ened, he "queeked" no more, and but for the drooping wing. would have
been himself again. With one of her bandages Nelly bound both wings
closely to his sides for fear he should hurt himself by trying to fly ; and though
274 Nelly s Hospital. [April,
he seemed amazed at her proceedings, he behaved very well, only staring at
her, and ruffling up his few feathers in a funny way that made her laugh.
Then she had to discover some way of accommodating her two larger pa-
tients so that neither should hurt nor alarm the other. A bright thought
came to her after much pondering. Carefully lifting the handkerchief, she
pinned the two ends to the roof of the cart, and there swung little Forked-
tongue, while Rob lay easily below.
By this time Nelly began to wonder how it happened that she found so
many more injured things than ever before. But it never entered her inno-
cent head that Tony had searched the wood and meadow before she was up,
and laid most of these creatures ready to her hands, that she might not be
disappointed. She had not yet lost her faith in fairies, so she fancied they
too belonged to her small sisterhood, and presently it did really seem impos-
sible to doubt that the good folk had been at work.
Coming to the bridge that crossed the brook, she stopped a moment to
watch the water ripple over the bright pebbles, the ferns bend down to drink,
and the funny tadpoles frolic in quieter nooks, where the sun shone, and the
dragon-flies swung among the rushes. When Nelly turned to go on, her
blue eyes opened wide, and the handle of the ambulance dropped with a noise
that caused a stout frog to skip into the water heels over head. Directly in
the middle of the bridge was a pretty green tent, made of two tall burdock
leaves. The stems were stuck into cracks between the boards,, the tips were
pinned together with a thorn, and one great buttercup nodded in the doorway
like a sleepy sentinel. Nelly stared and smiled, listened, and looked about
on every side. Nothing was seen but the quiet meadow and the shady grove,
nothing was heard but the babble of the brook and the cheery music of the
bobolinks.
" Yes," said Nelly softly to herself, " that is a fairy tent, and in it I may
find a baby elf sick with whooping-cough or scarlet-fever. How splendid it
would be ! only I could never nurse such a dainty thing."
Stooping eagerly, she peeped over the buttercup's drowsy head, and saw
what seemed a tiny cock of hay. She had no time to feel disappointed, for
the haycock began to stir, and, looking nearer, she beheld two silvery gray
mites, who wagged wee tails, and stretched themselves as if they had just
waked up. Nelly knew that they were young field-mice, and rejoiced over
them, feeling rather relieved that no fairy had appeared, though she still
believed them to have had a hand in the matter.
" I shall call the mice my Babes in the Wood, because they are lost and
covered up with leaves," said Nelly, as she laid them in her snuggest bed,
where they nestled close together, and fell fast asleep again.
Being very anxious to get home, that she might tell her adventures, and
show how great was the need of a sanitary commission in that region, Nelly
marched proudly up the avenue, and, having displayed her load, hurried to
the hospital, where another applicant was waiting for her. On the step of
the door lay a large turtle, with one claw gone, and on his back was pasted a
bit of paper, with his name, " Commodore Waddle, U. S. N." Nelly knew
1865.] Nellys Hospital. 275
this was a joke of Will's, but welcomed the ancient mariner, and called Tony
to help her get him in.
All that morning they were very busy settling the new-comers, for both
people and books had to be consulted before they could decide what diet and
treatment was best for each. The winged contraband had taken Nelly at
her word, and flown away on the journey home. Little Rob was put in a
large cage, where he could use his legs, yet not injure his lame wing. Forked-
tongue lay under a wire cover, on sprigs of fennel, for the gardener said that
snakes were fond of it. The Babes in the Wood were put to bed in one of
the rush baskets, under a cotton-wool coverlet. Greenback, the beetle, found
ease for his unknown aches in the warm heart of a rose, where he sunned
himself all day. The Commodore was made happy in a tub of water, grass,
and stones, and Mr. Fuzz was put in a well-ventilated glass box to decide
whether he would be a cocoon or not.
Tony had not been idle while his mistress was away, and he showed her
the hospital garden he had made close by, in which were cabbage, nettle,
and mignonette plants for the butterflies, flowering herbs for the bees, chick-
weed and hemp for the birds, catnip for the pussies, and plenty of room left
fer whatever other patients might need. I'n the afternoon, while Nelly did
her task at lint-picking, talking busily to Will as she worked, and interesting
him in her affairs, Tony cleared a pretty spot in the grove for the burying-
ground, and made ready some small bits of slate on which to write the names
of those who died. He did not have it ready an hour too soon, for at sunset
two little graves were needed, and Nurse Nelly shed tender tears for her first
losses as she laid the motherless mice in one smooth hollow, and the gray-
coated rebel in the other. She had learned to care for him already, and
when she found him dead, was very glad she had been kind to him, hoping
that he knew it, and died happier in her hospital than all alone in the shad-
owy wood.
The rest of Nelly's patients prospered, and of the many added afterward
few died, because of Tony's skilful treatment and her own faithful care.
Every morning when the day proved fair the little ambulance went out upon
its charitable errand ; every afternoon Nelly worked for the human sufferers
whom she loved ; and every evening brother Will read aloud to her from use-
ful books, showed her wonders with his microscope, or prescribed remedies
for the patients, whom he soon knew by name and took much interest in.
It was Nelly's holiday ; but, though she studied no lessons, she learned much,
and unconsciously made her pretty play both an example and a rebuke for
others.
At first it seemed a childish pastime, and people laughed. But there was
something in the familiar words " Sanitary," " hospital," and " ambulance "
that made them pleasant sounds to many ears. As reports of Nelly's work
went through the neighborhood, other children came to see and copy her
design. Rough lads looked ashamed when in her wards they found harmless
creatures hurt by them, and going out they said among themselves, " We
won't stone birds, chase butterflies, and drown the girls' little cats any more,
276 Nellys Hospital. [April,
though we won't tell them so." And most of the lads kept their word so
well that people said there never had been so many birds before as all that
summer haunted wood and field. Tender-hearted playmates brought their
pets to be cured ; even busy fathers had a friendly word for the small charity,
which reminded them so sweetly of the great one which should never be for-
gotten ; lonely mothers sometimes looked out with wet eyes as the little
ambulance went by, recalling thoughts of absent sons who might be journey-
ing painfully to some far-off hospital, where brave women waited to tend
them with hands as willing, hearts as tender, as those the gentle child gave
to her self-appointed task.
At home the charm worked also. No more idle days for Nelly, or fretful
ones for Will, because the little sister would not neglect the helpless crea-
tures so dependent upon her, and the big brother was ashamed to complain
after watphing the patience of these lesser sufferers, and merrily said he
would try to bear his own wound as quietly and bravely as the " Commo-
dore " bore his. Nelly never knew how much good she had done Captain
Will till he went away again in the early autumn. Then he thanked her for
it, and though she cried for joy and sorrow she never forgot it, because he
left something behind him which always pleasantly reminded her of the
double success her little hospital had won.
When Will was gone and she had prayed softly in her heart that God would
keep him safe and bring him home again, she dried her tears and went away
to find comfort in the place where he had spent so many happy hours with
her. She had not been there before that day, and when she reached the
door she stood quite still and wanted very much to cry again, for something
beautiful had happened. She had often asked Will for a motto for her
hospital, and he had promised to find her one. She thought he had forgotten
it ; but even in the hurry of that busy day he had found time to do; more than
keep his word, while Nelly sat indoors, lovingly brightening the tarnished
buttons on the blue coat that had seen so many battles.
Above the roof, where the doves cooed in the sun, now rustled a white
flag with the golden " S. C. " shining on it as the west wind tossed it to and
fro. Below, on the smooth panel of the door, a skilful pencil had drawn two
arching ferns, in whose soft shadow, poised upon a mushroom, stood a little
figure of Nurse Nelly, and underneath it another of Dr. Tony bottling medi-
cine, with spectacles upon his nose. Both hands of the miniature Nelly
were outstretched, as if beckoning to a train of insects, birds, and beasts,
which was so long that it not only circled round the lower rim of this fine
sketch, but dwindled in the distance to mere dots and lines. Such merry
conceits as one found there ! A mouse bringing the tail it had lost in some
cruel trap, a dor-bug with a shade over its eyes, an invalid butterfly carried
in a tiny litter by long-legged spiders, a fat frog with gouty feet hopping
upon crutches, Jenny Wren sobbing in a nice handkerchief, as she brought
dear dead Cock Robin to be restored to life. Rabbits, lambs, cats, calves,
and turtles, all came trooping up to be healed by the benevolent little maid
who welcomed them so heartily.
I865-]
Nellys Hospital
277
Nelly laughed at fhese comical mites till the tears ran down her cheeks,
and thought she never could be tired of looking at them. But presently she
saw four lines clearly printed underneath her picture, and her childish face
grew sweetly serious as she read the words of a great poet, which Will had
made both compliment and motto :
" He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small ;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all. "
Louisa M. Alcott.
278 Afloat in the Forest. [April,
AFLOAT IN THE FOREST:
OR, A VOYAGE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A CONTEST WITH CUDGELS.
OUR discomfited adventurers did not swim far from the seringa, for the
birds did not follow them. Satisfied with seeing the burglars fairly be-
yond the boundaries of their domicile, the tenants of the tree returned to
their nests, as if to ascertain what amount of damage had been done. In a
short time the commotion had almost subsided, though there was heard an
occasional scream, the wail of the bereaved parents ; for the helpless squab,
after struggling awhile on the surface of the water, had gone suddenly out of
sight. There was no danger, therefore, of further molestation from their late
assailants, so long as they should be left in quiet possession of the seringa,
and therefore there was no further necessity for the two swimmers to retreat.
A new intention had shaped itself in Munday's mind by this time, and he ex-
pressed his determination to return, to the surprise of the youth, who asked
his purpose.
" Partly the purpose for which we first climbed it, and partly," added he,
with an angry roll of his almond-shaped eyes, " to obtain revenge. A Mun-
durucu is not to be bled in this fashion, even by birds, without drawing blood
in return. I don't go out from this igardpe till I 've killed every arara, old as
well as young, in that accursed tree, or chased the last of them out of it.
Follow, and I '11 show you how."
The Indian turned his face towards the thicket of tree-tops forming one
side of the water-arcade, and with a stroke or two brought himself within
reach of some hanging parasites, and climbed up, bidding Richard follow.
Once more they were shut in among the tops of what appeared to be a gigan-
tic mimosa. " It will do," muttered the Mundurucu, drawing his knife and
cutting a stout branch, which he soon converted into a cudgel of about two
feet in length. This he handed to his companion, and then, selecting a sec-
ond branch of still stouter proportions, fashioned a similar club for himself.
" Now," said he, after having pruned the sticks to his satisfaction, " we 're
both armed, and ready to give battle to the araras, with a better chance of
coming off victorious. Let us lose no time. We have other work to occupy
us, and your friends will be impatient for our return." Saying this, he let
himself down into the water, and turned towards the seringa. His protege.
made no protest, but followed instantly after. Tightly clutching their cud-
gels, both reascended the seringa, and renewed the battle with the birds.
The numbers were even more unequal than before ; but this time the ad-
vantage was on the side of the intruders.
Striking with their clubs of heavy acacia- wood, the birds fell at every blow,
1865.]
Afloat in the Forest.
279
until not one arara fluttered among the foliage. Most of these had fallen
wounded upon the water ; a few only, seeing certain destruction before
them, took flight into the far recesses of the flooded forest. The Mundu-
rucu, true to his promise, did not leave a living bird upon the tree. One
after another, he hauled the half-fledged chicks from their nests ; one after
another, twisted their necks ; and then, tying their legs together with a sipo,
he separated the bunch into two equally-balanced parts, hanging it over a
limb of the tree. " They can stay
there till we come back, which will be
soon. And now let us accomplish the
purpose for which we came here ! "
Laying aside the club that had made
such havoc among the macaws, he
drew the knife from his girdle. Se-
lecting a spot on one of the larger
limbs of the seringa, he made an in-
cision in the bark, from which the
milky juice immediately flowed.
He had made provision against any loss of the precious fluid in the shape
of a pair of huge monkey-pots, taken from a sapucaya while on the way,
and which had been all the while lying in their, place of deposit in a net-
work of parasites. One of these he gave Richard, to hold under the tap
while he made a second incision upon a longer limb of the seringa. Both
nutshells were quickly filled with the glutinous juice, which soon began
to thicken and coagulate like rich cream. The lids were restored to their
places, and tied on with sipos, and then a large quantity of this natural cord-
280 Afloat in the Forest. [April,
age was collected and made up into a portable shape. This accomplished,
the Mundurucu signified his intention of returning to the castaways ; and,
after apportioning part of the spoil to his companion, set out on the way they
had come. The young Paraense swam close in his wake, and in ten minutes
they had retraversed the igarape, and saw before them the bright sun gilding
the Gapo at its embouchure, that appeared like the mouth of some subter-
raneous cavern.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHASED BY A JACARE.
A FEW mote strokes would have carried the swimmers clear of the water
arc-ade. Richard was already congratulating himself on the prospect of es-
caping from the gloomy shadow, when all at once his companion started,
raised his head high above the surface, and gazed backward along the dark
arcade. As he did so, an exclamation escaped him, which could only be
one of alarm.
" A monster ! " cried the Mundurucu.
" A monster ! What sort ? where ? "
" Yonder, just by the edge of the igarape, close in to the trees, his
body half hid under the hanging branches."
" I see something like the trunk of a dead tree, afloat upon the water.
A monster you say, Munday ? What do you make it out to be ? "
"The body of a big reptile, big enough to swallow us both. It's the
Jacart-uassu. I heard its plunge. Did not you ? "
" I heard nothing like a plunge, except that made by ourselves in swim-
ming."
" No matter. There was such a noise but a moment ago. See ! the
monster is again in motion. He is after us ! "
The dark body Richard had taken for the drifting trunk of a tree was now
in motion, and evidently making direct for himself and his companion. The
waves, undulating horizontally behind it, proclaimed the strokes of its strong,
vertically flattened tail, by which it was propelled through the water.
" The jacare-uassu ! " once more exclaimed the Mundurucu, signifying that
the reptile was the great alligator of the Amazon.
It was one of the largest size, its body showing full seven yards above the
water, while its projecting jaws, occasionally opened in menace or for breath,
appeared of sufficient extent to swallow either of the swimmers.
It was idle for them to think of escaping through the water. At ease as
they both were in this element, they would have proved but clumsy competi-
tors with a cayman, especially one of such strength and natatory skill as
belong to the huge reptile in pursuit of them. Such a swimming-match was
not to be thought of, and neither entertained the idea of it.
" We must take to the trees ! " cried the Indian, convinced that the alliga-
tor was after them. " The Great Spirit is good to make them grow so near.
It 's the only chance we have for saving our lives. To the trees, young
master, to the trees ! "
1865.] Afloat in the Forest." 281
As he spoke, the Mundurucu faced towards the forest ; and, with quick,
energetic strokes, they glided under the hanging branches. Most nimbly
they climbed the nearest, and, once lodged upon a limb, were safe ; and
on one of the lowest they " squatted," to await the approach of the jacare.
In about three seconds the huge saurian came up, pausing as it approached
the spot where the two intended victims had ascended out of its reach. It
seemed more than surprised, in fact, supremely astonished ; and for some
moments lay tranquil, as if paralyzed by its disappointment. This quietude,
however, was of short duration ; for soon after, as if conscious of having been
tricked, it commenced quartering the water in short diagonal lines, which
every instant was lashed into foam by a stroke of its powerful tail.
K Let us be grateful to the Great Spirit ! " said the Indian, looking down
from his perch upon the tree. " We may well thank Him for affording us a
safe refuge here. It 's the jacare'-uassu, as I said. The monster is hungry,
because it 's the time of flood, and he can't get food so easily. The fish
upon which he feeds are scattered through the gapo, and he can only catch
them by a rare chance. Besides, he has tasted our blood. Did you not see
him sup at it as he came up the igara~pe ? He 's mad now, and won't be satis-
fied till he obtains a victim, a man if he can, for I can tell by his looks he 's
a man-eater."
" A man-eater ! What mean you by that ? "
" Only that this jacard has eaten men, or women as likely."
" But how can you tell that ? "
"Thus, young master. His bigness tells me of his great age. He has
lived long, and in his time visited many places. But what makes me suspect
him to be a man-eater is the eagerness with which he pursued us, and the
disappointment he shows at not getting hold of us. Look at him now ! "
Certainly there was something peculiar both in the appearance and move-
ments of the jacare*. Young Trevannion had never seen such a monster
before, though alligators were plenteous around Para, and were no rare
sight to him. This one, however, was larger than any he had ever seen,
more gaunt or skeleton-like in frame, with a more disgusting leer in its
deep sunken eyes, and altogether more unearthly in its aspect. The sight
of the hideous saurian went far to convince him that there was some truth
in the stories of which he had hitherto been sceptical. After all, the Gapo
might contain creatures fairly entitled to the appellation of "monsters."
CHAPTER XXV.
A SAURIAN DIGRESSION.
IT would be difficult to conceive a more hideous monster than this upon
which Richard Trevannion and his comrade gazed. In fact, there is no form
in nature scarce even in the imagination more unpleasing to the eye
than that of the lizard, the serpent's shape not excepted. The sight of the
latter may produce a sensation disagreeable and akin to fear ; but the curv-
282 Afloat in the Forest. [April,
ing and graceful configuration, either at rest or in motion, and the smooth,
shining skin, often brilliantly colored in beautiful patterns, tend to prevent
it from approaching the bounds of horror. With the saurian shape it is dif-
ferent. In it we behold the type of the horrible, without anything to relieve
the unpleasant impression. The positive, though distant, resemblance to
the human form itself, instead of making the creature more seemly, only
intensifies the feeling of dread with which we behold it. The most beautiful
coloring of the skin, and the gentlest habits, are alike inefficacious to remove
that feeling. You may look upon the tree-lizard, clothed in a livery of the
most vivid green ; the Anolidce^ in the bright blue of turquoise, in lemon and
orange ; you may gaze on the chameleon when it assumes its most brilliant
hues, but not without an instinctive sense of repugnance. True, there
are those who deny this, who profess not to feel it, and who can fondle such
pets in their hands, or permit them to play around their necks and over their
bosoms. This, however, is due to habit, and long, familiar acquaintance.
Since this is so with the smaller species of the lizard tribe, even with those
of gay hues and harmless habits, what must it be with those huge saurians
that constitute the family of the Crocodilidcs^ all of which, in form, color, habits,
and character, approach the very extreme of hideousness. Of these gigan-
tic reptiles there is a far greater variety of species than is generally believed,
greater than is. known even to naturalists. Until lately, some three or four
distinct kinds, inhabiting Asia, Africa, and America, were all that were sup-
posed to exist. Recent exploration reveals a very different condition, and
has added many new members to the family of the Crocodilidce.
It would be safe to hazard a conjecture, that, when the world of nature be-
comes better known, the number of species of these ugly amphibia, under
the various names of gavials, crocodiles, caymans, and alligators, all brothers
or first-cousins, will amount to two score. It is the very close resemblance
in appearance and general habits that has hitherto hindered these different
kinds from being distinguished. Their species are many ; and, if you follow
the naturalists of the anatomic school, so too are the genera ; for it pleases
these sapient theorists to found a genus on almost any species, thus con-
founding and rendering more difficult the study it is their design to simplify.
In the case of the Crocodilida such subdivision is absolutely absurd ; and a
single genus certainly two at the most would suffice for all purposes,
practical or theoretical. The habits of the whole family gavials and alli-
gators, crocodiles, caymans, and jacards are so much alike, that it seems
a cruelty to separate them. It is true the different species attain to very dif-
ferent sizes ; some, as the curita, are scarce two feet in length, while the big
brothers of the family, among the gavials, crocodiles, and alligators, are often
ten times as long.
It is impossible to say how many species of Crocodilid<z inhabit the waters
of the South American continent. There are three in the Amazon alone ;
but it is quite probable that in some of its more remote tributaries there
exist other distinct species, since the three above mentioned do not all dwell
in the same portion of this mighty stream. The Amazonian Indians speak
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 283
of many more species, and believe in their existence. No doubt the Indians
are right.
In the other systems of South American waters, as those of the La Plata,
the Orinoco, and the Magdalena, species exist that are not known to the
Amazon. Even in the isolated water deposits of Lake Valencia, Humboldt
discovered the bava, a curious little crocodile not noted elsewhere. The
three Amazonian reptiles, though having a strong resemblance in general
aspect, are quite distinct as regards the species. In the curious and useful
dialect of that region, understood alike by Indians and Portuguese, they are
all called " Jacares," though they are specifically distinguished as the Jacart-
uassu, the Jacare-tinga, and the Jacare-curua. Of the first kind was that
which had pursued the two swimmers, and it was one of the largest of its
species, full twenty-five feet from the point of its bony snout to the tip of its
serrated tail. No wonder they got out of its way !
CHAPTER XXVI.
TREED BY AN ALLIGATOR.
FOR a time the two refugees were without fear or care. They knew they
were out of reach, and, so long as they kept to their perch, were in no dan-
ger. Had it been a jaguar instead of a jacare, it would have been another
thing ; but the amphibious animal could not crawl up the trunk of a tree,
nor yet ascend by the hanging limbs or llianas. Their only feeling was that
of chagrin at being stopped on their way back to their companions in the
sapucaya, knowing that their return would be impatiently expected. They
could by shouting have made themselves heard, but not with sufficient dis-
tinctness to be understood. The matted tree-tops intervening would have
prevented this. They thought it better to be silent, lest their shouts might
cause alarm. Richard hoped that the alligator would soon glide back to the
haunt whence it had sallied, and leave them at liberty to continue their jour-
ney, but the Mundurucu was not so sanguine.
There was something in the behavior of the jacare he did not like, espe-
cially when he saw it quartering the water as if in search of the creatures
that had disappeared so mysteriously.
" Surely it won't lie in wait for us ? " was the first question put by his
companion. " You don't think it will ? "
" I do, young master, I do. That is just what troubles the Mundurucu,
He may keep us here for hours, perhaps till the sun goes down."
" That would be anything but pleasant, perhaps more so to those who
are waiting for us than to ourselves. What can we do ? "
" Nothing at present. We must have patience, master."
" For my part, I shall try," replied the Paraense ; " but it 's very provok-
ing tp be besieged in this fashion, separated by only a few hundred yards
from one's friends, and yet unable to rejoin or communicate with them."
" Ah ! I wish the Curupira had him. I fear the brute is going to prove
284 Afloat in the Forest. [April.
troublesome. The Mimdurucu can read evil in his eye. Look ! he has come
to a stand. He sees us ! No knowing now when he will grow tired of our
company."
" But has it sense enough for that ? "
" Sense ! Ah ! cunning, master may call it, when he talks of the jacare*.
Surely, young master, you know that, you who are a Paraense born and
bred ? You must know that these reptiles will lie in wait for a whole week
by a bathing-place, watching for a victim, some helpless child, or even a
grown man, who has been drinking too much cashaca. Ah, yes ! many 's
the man the jacare has closed his deadly jaws upon."
" Well, I hope this one won't have that opportunity with us. We must n't
give it."
"Not if we can help it," rejoined the Indian. "But we must be quiet,
young master, if we expect to get out of this fix in any reasonable time. The
jacare has sharp ears, small though they look. He can hear every word we
are saying ; ay, and if one were to judge by the leer in his ugly eye, he un-
derstands us."
" At all events, it appears to be listening."
So the conversation sank to silence, broken only by an occasional whisper,
and no gesture even made communication, for they saw the leering look of
the reptile fixed steadily upon them. Almost two hours passed in this tan-
talizing and irksome fashion.
The sun had now crossed the meridian line, and was declining westward.
The jacare' had not stirred from the spot. It lay like a log upon the water,
its lurid eyes alone proclaiming its animation. For more than an hour it
had made no visible movement, and their situation was becoming insup-
portable.
" But what can we do ? " asked Richard, despairingly.
" We must try to travel through the tree-tops, and get to the other side.
If we can steal out of his sight and hearing, all will be well. The Mundurucu
is angry with himself ; he did n't think of this before. He was fool enough
to hope the jacare would get tired first. He might have known better, since
the beast has tasted blood. That or hunger makes him such a stanch sen-
tinel. Come, young master!" added the Indian, rising from his seat, and
laying hold of a branch. " We must make a journey through the tree-tops.
Not a word, not a broken bough if you can help it. Keep close after me ;
watch what I do, and do you exactly the same."
" All right, Munday," muttered the Paraense. " Lead on, old boy ! I '11
do my best to follow you."
Mayne Reid.
v&r
ENIGMAS.
NO. 5.
Twenty-six numbers place all in a row,
Twenty-six letters set rightly below,
Therein you will have a certain key
To solve the riddles I '11 read to thee.
1. My 15, 21, 18, 13, 15, 20, 8, 5, 18,
Will make known by surest test
The person who loves us dearest and
best.
2. My 26, 5, 2, 5, 4, 5, 5,
Was a fisherman long of world-wide
fame,
Whose wife all young folks seek vainly
to name.
3. My 22, 15, 23, 5; 12, 19,
Can each stand alone without aid,
Yet without them not a word can be
said.
4. My 19, 20, 25, 24,
Is a river, which when traitors do cross
5. By the aid of my 10, i, 3, n, n, 5, 20,
3.8,
To the world it 's small loss.
6. My i, 12, 9, 14, 3, 15, 12, 14,
' Will unfold a name in high station ;
A link in the chain which makes us a
nation.
7. My 7, 1 8, i, 20, 9, 20, 21, 4, 5,
When you disclose 'em,
Will divulge the debt the nation owes
him.
VOL. I. NO. IV. 20
8. My 8, 5, 18, 15, 5, 19,
Is what they are who cry
9. They are for my 21, 14, 9, 15, 14,
Though the last man should die.
10. My 21, 14, 9, 20, 9, 14, 7,
Is the patriot's explanation
Of what our army is doing for the
nation.
11. My 14, 5, 7, 18, 15, 19, 12, i, 22, 5,
18, 25,
Is an institution the South did prize ;
Now dead and buried forever it lies.
12. And my 19, 5, 3, 5, 19, 19, 9, 15, 14,
Rears its hideous, gory head
O'er fields of dying and the dead.
My whole are gems of value rare
Set in a casket with jealous care.
13. My i, 12, 16, 8, i, 2, 5, 20,
Will disclose this casket
To any young folks who will ask it.
ETTA.
No. 6.
I am composed of 18 letters.
My 6, 14, 16, is part of the body.
My 15, 10, 17, 2, is part of a horse.
My 1 8, 10, 13, 4, is a fruit.
5, 8, 3, 12, is not to remain long in
one place.
My 9, 7, u, is a division of a farm.
My i, 8, is a negative.
My whole is a good old proverb.
MONTICELLO.
286
Round the Evening Lamp. [April,
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 6.
TlLLIUS.
CHARADES.
No. 5.
THE PATRIOT'S CREED.
PATIENTLY pacing to and fro,
In the bitter rain, or the blinding snow,
In the glaring noon, or the midnight deep,
The vigilant soldier my first must keep.
Woe to us all if he leave his post,
Or close his eyes to the Rebel host !
He must bid the stealthy footstep " Stand !"
And swiftly and stern my second demand.
Thus, on the perilous edge of fight,
He guards with his life the cause of Right ;
And oft, as he paces to and fro,
" God and my Country ! " he whispers low.
This, as it echoes through his soul
Like a sacred charm, is my Patriot whole!
GRIFFIN.
No. 6.
In ancient Rome, the seat of pride,
A high official sank and died ;
The order for his burial came.
Pronounce that order, and behold
One who can secret things unfold :
Reader, can you the answer name ?
J. H. C.
PUZZLES.
NO. 3.
By selecting letters from each of these
words, form a new word, which will define
the original :
Acknowledge, Assever,
Demise (the verb),
Detestable, Recline,
Produce (the noun),
Valetudinarian.
W. WISP.
No. 4.
Taken as I am, I 'm a dignified dame ;
Behead me, an ancient old gent.
Behead me again, an obstruction I
name.
My head off again, I 'm what I consent
To say of myself, though no other may
Of me such a thing with propriety say.
My head off once more, and, strange
though it be,
A multitude yet remaineth of me !
A strange monster I.
All these wonders still
Prove true, take these heads
From which end you will !
L. S.
No. 5.
Make an animal larger by beheading it.
L.
No. 6.
Longum-rotundum in muro sedit ;
Longum-rotundum praeceps se dedit ;
Non est possibile cunctum hunc mundum
Recte reponere Longum-rotundum.
A. W.
1865.] Round the Evening Lamp.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 7.
28 7
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
NO. 8.
A box of tin contains 225 sheets ; a box
of 10 x 14 costs $ 18, and a box of 10 x 20
$ 24 ; which is the cheaper to buy ? And
what is the difference between the price
of a box of 10 x 14 at $ 18, and of a box
10 x 14 at the rate of $24 for a box of
10 x 20.
FRED. P. H.
NO. 9.
A man building a barn wished to place
in it a window three feet high and three
feet wide ; but finding there was not room
enough, he had it made half the size in-
tended, without altering the height or
width. How was it done ?
No. 10.
Reckoning cows at $ 10 a-piece, sheep
at $3, and geese at 50 cents, how can
you buy 100 of these animals and have
the lot cost just $ 100 ?
E. W. B. C.
TRANSPOSITIONS.
2. A party of ladies and gentlemen start-
ed from New York one day in a yacht.
Their destination was Cilorfano.
3. A gentleman asked leave to pay atten-
tion to a lady. She replied, Stripes.
\. The partial men of Golden Land should
consult Ser Waly and Mr. Toon Sears
before interfering with Allen Cobin, for
D strtits on ice and I run always. We bill
the feat of the audacious N. O. March,
who attempts to bore the Sun clam.
H.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 8.
CONUNDRUMS.
6. Why is a young lady bestowing alms
like a doubt ?
7. What military order commands the
preparation of a book on Physiog-
nomy ?
8. What is the difference between a
chemist and a quack ?
9. When should bread be baked ?
10. If you were asking for a five-dollar
bill, what species of Cryptogamic
plants would you name ?
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 9.
W. A. R.
288
Round the Evening Lamp.
[April.
ANSWERS.
CHARADE.
4. Host-age.
ENIGMAS.
3. Captain Mayne Reid.
4. Toussaint 1'Ouverture.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
YT,T=Vn. Insert XXI -XXVIII.
7 ri i ii E:-
ILLUSTRATED REBUSES.
4. Evil to him that evil thinks.
[(Devil minus D) (toe) (him) (tea hat)
(Eve) (50 = L) th(inks).]
5. i. Tennyson [10 nigh sun].
2. Ruskin [R (yew) (skin)].
3. Browning.
4. Carlyle [(Car) 1 (isle)].
5. Jean Ingelow [(Jean in g) low].
6. Dora [Do re] Greenwell.
BARON MUNCHAUSEN.
THERE was an old Baron so gracious,
Who wrote his own travels veracious.
Should you ask, " Are they true ? "
He would run you quite through,
That equivocal Baron, mendacious.
F.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
An Illustrated Magazine
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
MAY, 1865.
No. V.
THE NEW LIFE.
L T is May, almost the end of May indeed, and the May-
flowers have finished their blooming for this year. It
is growing too warm for those delicate violets and hepat-
icas who dare to brave even March winds, and can bear
snow better than summer heats.
Down at the edge of the pond the tall water-grasses
and rushes are tossing their heads a little in the wind,
and swinging a little, lightly and lazily, with the motion
of the water ; but the water is almost clear and still this
morning, scarcely rippled, and in its beautiful, broad mir-
ror reflecting the chestnut-trees on the bank, and the little
points of land that run out from the shore, and give foot-
hold to the old pines standing guard day and night, sum-
mer and winter, to watch up the pond and down.
Do you think now that you know how the pond looks
in the sunshine of this May morning ?
If we come close to the edge where the rushes are grow-
ing, and look down through the clear water, we shall see
some uncouth and clumsy black bugs crawling upon the
bottom of the pond. They have six legs, and are covered
with a coat of armor laid plate over plate ; it looks hard and horny, and the
insect himself has a dull, heavy way with him, and might be called very
stupid, were it not for his eagerness in catching and eating every little fly
and mosquito that comes within his reach ; his eyes grow fierce and almost
bright, and he seizes with open mouth, and devours all day long, if he can
find anything suited to his taste.
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. V. 21
290 The New Life. [May,
I am afraid you will think he is not very interesting, and will not care to
make his acquaintance ; but let me tell you, something very wonderful is
about to happen to him, and if you stay and watch patiently, you will see
what I saw once, and have never forgotten.
Here he is crawling in mud under the water this May morning, out over
the pond shoot the flat water-boatmen, and the water-spiders dance and skip
as if the pond were a floor of glass, while here and there skims a blue dragon-
fly, with his fine, firm wings, that look like the thinnest gauze, but are really
wondrously strong for all their delicate appearance.
The dull, black bug sees all these bright, agile insects, and, for the first
time in his life, he feels discontented with his own low place in the mud. A
longing creeps through him that is quite different from the customary longing
for mosquitos and flies. " I will creep up the stem of this rush," he thinks,
" and perhaps, when I reach the surface of the water, I can dart like the little
flat boatmen, or,, better than all, shoot through the air like the blue-winged
dragon-fly." But as he crawls toilsomely up the slippery stem, the feeling
that he has no wings like the dragon-fly make him discouraged and almost
despairing ; at last, however, with much labor, he has reached the surface,
has crept out of the water, and, clinging to the green stem, feels the spring
air and sunshine all about him. Now let him take passage with the boat-
men, or ask some of the little spiders to dance. Why does n't he begin to
enjoy himself?
Alas ! see his sad disappointment ; after all this toil, after passing some
splendid chances of good breakfasts on the way up, and spending all his
strength on this one exploit, he finds the fresh air suffocating him, and a
most strange and terrible feeling coming over him, as his coat of mail, which
until now was always kept wet, shrinks, and seems even cracking off, while
the warm air dries it.
" O," thinks the poor bug, " I must die ! It was folly in me to crawl up
here. The mud and the water were good enough for my brothers, and good
enough for me too, had I only known it ; and now I am too weak, and feel
too strangely to attempt going down again the way I came up."
See how uneasy he grows, feeling about in doubt and dismay ; for a dark-
ness is coming over his eyes, it is the black helmet, a part of his coat of
mail, it has broken off at the top, and is falling down over his face. A
minute more and it drops below his chin, and what is his astonishment to
find that, as his old face breaks away, a new one comes in its place, larger,
much more beautiful, and having two of the most admirable eyes, two I
say, because they look like two, but each of them is made up of hundreds
of little eyes ; they stand out globe-like on each side of his head, and look
about over a world unknown and wonderful to the dull, black bug who lived
in the mud ; the sky seems bluer, the sunshine brighter, and the nodding
grass and flowers more gay and graceful. Now he lifts this new head to see
more of the great world ; and behold ! as he moves, he is drawing himself
out of the old suit of armor, and from two neat little cases at its sides come
two pairs of wings folded up like fans and put away here to be ready for use
1865.] Three Days at Camp Douglas. 291
when the right time should come ; still half folded they are, and must be
carefully spread open and smoothed for use. And while he trembles with
surprise, see how with every movement he is escaping from the old armor,
and drawing from their sheaths fine legs, longer and far more beautifully
made and colored than the old, and a slender body, that was packed away
like a spy-glass, and is now drawn slowly out, one part after another, until
at last the dark coat of mail dangles empty from the rushes, and above it sits
a dragon-fly, with great, wondering eyes, long, slender body, and two pairs
of delicate gauzy wings, fine and firm as the very ones he had been watching
but an hour ago.
The poor black bug, who thought he was dying, was only passing out of
his old life to be born into a higher one ; and see how much brighter and
more beautiful it is !
And now shall I tell you how (months ago) the mother dragon-fly dropped
into the water her tiny eggs, which lay there in the mud, and by and by
hatched out the dark, crawling bugs, so unlike the mother that she does not
know them for her children, and, flying over the pond, looks down through
the water where they crawl among the rushes, and has not a single word to
say to them, until, in due time, they find their way up to the air, and pass
into the new winged life.
If you will go to some pond, when spring is ending or summer beginning,
and find among the water-grasses such an insect as I have told you of, you
may see all this for yourselves, and you will say with me, dear children, that
nothing you have ever known is more wonderful.
Author of " The Seven Little Sisters."
THREE DAYS AT CAMP DOUGLAS.
SECOND DAY.
HPHIS next day is Sunday. It is general inspection day at the prison, and,
-I- by invitation of the Captain, we go early to witness the interesting turn-
out. It is a real turn-out, for every prisoner in the camp on this day turns
out from his quarters, and, with all his household goods about him, waits in
the street opposite his barrack until every bed, and blanket, and jackknife,
and jewsharp, and fiddle, and trinket, and "wonderful invention" in the
prison, is examined and passed upon by the Inspector. Of the latter articles,
as I have said, there is an infinite variety, but of necessary clothing there is
nothing to spare. A mattress, a blanket or two, a hat, a coat, a pair of trou-
sers and brogans, and an extra shirt, are the sum total of each one's fur-
niture and wearing-apparel. Every man's person must be cleanly, and his
clothing as tidy as circumstances will permit; and woe to the foolish "na-
tive " who has neglected to bathe, or forgotten to exterminate his little brood
292 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [May,
of domestic animals. A high-pressure scrubbing, or a march about camp in
a packing-box, branded " Vermin," is his inevitable doom. This three hours'
review is an irksome ordeal to the prisoners, but blessed be the man who in-
vented it ; for it keeps the doctors idle, and gives an easy life to the grave-
diggers.
It may be you have somewhere read that " the proper study of mankind is
man." If you believe this, you will be glad to go with me down the lines,
and study these people ; and if you do this, and keep your eyes open, you
will learn something of the real Southern man ; and you might waste years
among the " Chivalry " and not do that. The " Chivalry " are not Southern
men, they are only Southern gentlemen, and counterfeit gentlemen at that.
But now we will go down the column.
The first man we meet is not a man. He is only a boy, a slender, pale-
faced boy, with thin, white hands, and wan, sad, emaciated features, on which
" Exchanged " is written as legibly as anything that ever was printed. But
he will not wait the slow movements of the Exchange Commissioners. The
grim old official who has him in charge is altogether too wise to wrangle
about the terms of cartels, where the lives of men are in question.
He receives our advances in a shy, reserved way, and it takes many kind
words to draw from him more than a monosyllable. But kind words are a
power. They cost less, and buy more, than anything else in the world. I
never knew one of them to be wasted ; and not one is wasted now, for very
soon they reach the boy's heart, and with moistened eye and quivering lip
he tells us his story. It is a simple story, only a little drama of humble
life, with no fine ladies in rouge and satins and furbelows, and no fine gen-
tlemen with waving plumes and gilded swords, and shining patent-leathers,
dawdling about the stage, or making silly faces at the foot-lights. Its char-
acters are only common people, who do something, produce something,
and so leave the world a little better for their living in it. But it is only a
short story, just a little drama, and I will let it pass before you.
Now the curtain rises, and the play begins.
We see a little log cottage among the mountains, with a few cattle brows-
ing in the woods, and a few acres of waving corn and cotton. Grape-
vines and honeysuckles are clambering over its doorway, and roses and
wild-flowers are growing before its windows, and that is all. But it is a
pleasant little cottage, all attractive without, and all cheerful within. The
candles are not lighted, but a great wood-fire is blazing on the hearth, send-
ing a rich, warm glow through all the little room ; and the family have gath-
ered round it for the evening. The older brother is mending harness before
the fire ; the little sister is knitting beside him ; the younger brother and
another one nearer and dearer to him than brother or sister are seated
on the low settle in the chimney-corner ; and the aged mother is reading
aloud from a large book which lies open on the centre-table. We can't
see the title of this book, but its well-worn leaves show that it must be the
family Bible. She closes it after a while, and, the older brother laying aside
his work, they all kneel down on the floor together. Then the mother prays,
1865.] Three Days at Camp Douglas. 293
not a fashionable prayer, with big, swelling words, and stilted, high-
flown sentences, such as you sometimes hear on a Sunday, but a low,
simple, earnest petition to Him who is her Father and her Friend, who knows
her every want, and loves her as one of His dear children.
It is scarcely over when the door opens, and five ruffianly-looking men
enter the room. Four of them wear the gray livery of the Rebels ; the other
is clad in a motley uniform, part gray, part reddish-brown, and the other part
the tawny flesh-color which peeps through the holes in his trousers. He
looks for all the world like the tall fellow yonder, farther down the lines,
the one in ragged " butternuts " and tattered shirt, with that mop of bushy
black hair, and that hang-dog, out-at-the-elbow look. They both are con-
script officers, and the one in the play has come to arrest the two young men,
who have refused to obey the conscription.
The older brother rises to his feet, and, with a look of honest scorn and
defiance, says : " I will not go with you. No power on earth shall make me
fight against my country." No more is spoken, but two of the soldiers seize
the younger brother, and two others advance upon the older one, while the
officer standing by at a safe distance gets the handcuffs ready. In less
time than it takes to tell it, the two other men have measured their length
on the floor ; but the officer springs backward, and draws his revolver. He
is about to fire, when the older brother catches the weapon, and attempts to
wrest it from his hand. They grapple for an instant, and the pistol goes off
in the struggle. A low scream follows, but the officer falls to the floor,
and the older brother bounds away into the darkness.
In a moment every one is on his feet again ; but not a step is taken, not a
movement made. Even these hardened men stand spell-bound and horror-
stricken by the scene that is before them. There, upon the floor, the blood
streaming from a ghastly wound in her neck, lies the fair young girl who was
the sunshine of that humble home. The younger brother is holding her
head in his lap, and moaning as if his heart were breaking, and the aged
mother is kneeling by her side, trying to stanch the streaming blood ; but
the crimson river is running fast, and with it a sweet young life is flowing,
flowing on to the great sea, where the sun shines and the sweet south-wind
blows forever.
The soldiers look on in silence ; but the officer speaks at last. " Come,"
he says ; " it 's all over with the gal. The boy must go with me."
"He shall not go," says the mother. " Leave us alone to-night. You can
murder him in the morning ! "
The look and tone of that woman would move a mountain. They move
even these men, for they turn away, and then the scene changes.
Now we see a great wood, one of those immense pine forests which
cover nearly all of 'Upper Georgia. The baying of hounds is heard in the
distance, and upon the scene totters a weak, famished man, with blee'ding
feet, and matted hair, and torn, bedraggled clothing. He sinks down at the
foot of a tree, and draws a revolver. He knows the hounds are close at
hand ; and, starving, hunted down as he is, he clings to life with all the
294 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [May,
energy of the young blood that is in him. But soon he staggers to his feet,
and puts up his weapon. He says nothing, but the look in his eye tells of
some desperate resolve he has taken. He tries to climb the tree, but the
branches are high up in the air ; his strength fails, and he falls backward.
Again he tries, and this time is successful. A moment more and he would
have been too late, for the hounds have tracked him far, and now, with wild
howls, are right upon him. Down among those furious beasts he would
be torn limb from limb in an instant, and O horror ! the branch bends,
his arm trembles, he is losing his hold, he is falling ! No ! he catches
by a stouter limb, and once more is in safety. Meanwhile, the hounds are
howling hungrily below, and the shouts of men are heard, far away at the
westward. He listens, and, drawing himself nearer the trunk of the tree,
takes out the revolver. Five charges are left, and every cap is perfect. His
life is lost ; but for how many lives can he sell it ?
The shouts grow louder, and, guided by the cry of the dogs, the men come
rushing through the forest. One nears the tree hears a shot staggers
back and falls headlong. Another comes on, and another, and still an-
other, and they all give up man-hunting forever ! The rest pause, and hide
behind trees, warned by the fate of their comrades. Four lives for one !
Shall he have another, or shall his last bullet be wasted ? At last a man
springs into sight, and 'gains a nearer cover. The pistol cracks, a rifle-
shot cuts the air, and It is a dizzy height, our heads swim, and we
turn away, while the scene changes.
Once more we see the little log cottage among the mountains. It is night,
and midwinter. The snow lies deep in the woods, and the wind sighs mourn-
fully around the little cabin, and has a melancholy shiver in its voice, as it
tries to whistle " Old Hundred " through the key-hole. The same wood-fire
is burning low on the hearth, and the same aged mother and little sister are
seated before it. The same, and not the same, for the roses are gone from
the young girl's cheeks, and the mother is wasted to a shadow ! The cattle
are stolen from the fields, and the last kernel of corn has been eaten. What
will keep them from starving ? The mother opens the Book, and reads
how Elijah was fed by the ravens. Will not the same Lord feed them ? She
will trust Him !
And again the scene changes. It is the same play, but only one of the
players is living. He is the pale-faced boy in the prison. Kindly and gently
we say to him : " You look sick ; should you not be in the hospital ? "
" I think not, I like the sun," he answers. " When the colder weather
comes, I may have to go there."
He will go, and then the curtain will fall, and the little play be over !
Is it not a thrilling drama? With slight variations of scenery, it has
been acted in ten thousand Southern homes, with Satan for manager and
Jefferson Davis for leading actor and " heavy villain."
As we go down the lines, we pass the conscript officer I have alluded to.
We do not speak with him, for a look at the outside of " the house he lives
in " represses all desire to become acquainted with the inside. Virtue and
1865.]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
295
nobleness can no more dwell in such a body as his, than the Christian virtues
can flourish in a hyena. The thing is an impossibility, and the man is not
to blame for it. His very name is suggestive of what he may come to. Alter
one letter of it, and it would be J. B. Hemp, which, you all know, is the ab-
breviation for Jerked By Hemp ; and that is the usual end of such people.
As we pass this man, the Captain who is making the rounds with us,
while the Lieutenant goes on with the inspection tells us something about
him. He is despised by every one in the camp ; and though the Captain
makes it a principle to show no ill-will or partiality to any of the prisoners,
he has to feel the general dislike to him. He
is probably about as mean as a man ever
gets to be. A short time ago he planned
an escape by the " Air Line " ; and, with the
help of another prisoner, made a ladder, and
hid it away under the floor of his barrack.
The Captain found it out, and charged him
with it. " He denied it stoutly, but the Cap-
tain told him to bring out the ladder. With
great reluctance, he finally produced it ; and,
placing it against the side of the barrack,
the Captain said : " My man, this is a good
ladder, a very good ladder ; and it ought
to be used. Now, suppose you let it stand
where it is, and walk up and down upon it for
a week. The exercise will do you good, and the ladder, you know, was made
expressly for you." The prisoner was immensely pleased at the idea of so
light a punishment (attempts to escape, our young folks know, are pun-
ished severely in all prisons,) and began the walk, laughing heartily at the
" fool of a Yankee," who thought that sort of exercise any hardship to a
man accustomed to using his legs.
Crowds gathered round to see him, and for a time everything went right
merrily ; but after going up and down the ladder, from sunrise to sunset, for
four days, stopping only for his customary meals, he went to the- Cap-
tain, saying : " I ca'n't stand this no more, no how. Guv me arything else,
the rail, the pork-barril, the dungeon, bread and water, arything but
this ! Why, my back, and knees, and hams, and calves, and every jint and
bone in me, is so sore I ca'n't never walk agin."
The Captain pitied the fellow, and deducted one day, leaving only two to
be travelled. But he pleaded for another. "Tuck off another, Captin'," he
said, "and I '11 tell ye who holped me make the ladder." Here his natural
meanness cropped out ; even the good-natured Captain was angered ; but he
only said to him : " I don't want to know. It is your business to get out,
if you can. I don't blame you for trying, for I 'd do the same thing myself.
But it 's my duty to keep you in, and to punish you for attempting to get out.
I shall do my duty. Finish the six days ; and then, if you make another
ladder, I '11 give you twelve." The Captain knew what prisoner he referred
296 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [May,
to, and, sending for him, charged him with helping to make the ladder. " Then
the mean critter has telled on me, Captin' ? " " No, he has not," he replied ;
" I would n't let him. When you were a boy in your part of the country, and
other boys told tales about you, what did you do with them ? " " Whaled
'em like time, Captin'," answered the man ; "and if ye '11 'only shet yer eyes
to 't, I '11 whale him." " I can't allow such things in the prison," said the
Captain ; " and besides, the fellow will be lame for a fortnight, and would n't
be a match for you in that condition. Let him get limber, and then, if you
don't whale him, I '11 make you walk the ladder for a month."
The result was, the conscript officer received a sound thrashing ; and did
not commit another act worthy of punishment for a week. However, on the
day after the Captain related this anecdote, I saw him going the rounds of
the camp with a large board strapped to his shoulders, on which was painted
" Thief." He had stolen from a comrade, and that was his punishment.
The Captain is relating to us various instances in which prisoners have
taken the " Air Line " out to freedom, when .a young "native," with a jovial,
good-natured face, and a dVoll, waggish eye, says to us : " Speakin' of the
* Air Line ' over the fence, stranger, reminds me of Jake Miles takin' it one
night to Chicago. Ye see, Jake was fetched up in a sandy kentry, and never
afore seed a pavin'-stone. Well, he travilled that route one dark night, and
made his bed in a ten-^cre lot, with the sky for a kiverlet. It rained 'fore
mornin', and Jake woke up, wet through, and monstrous hungry. Things
warn't jist encouragin', but Jake thought anything better 'n the prison, and
the fact ar, stranger, though we 'se treated well, and the Captain 's a mon-
strous nice man, I myself had 'bout as lief be outside of it as inside. The
poet had this place in his eye, when he said, ' Distance lends enchantment to
the view.' Howsomever, Jake did n't give up. He put out, determined to
see what this Yankee kentry ar' made of, and soon fetched up 'longside of a
baker's cart in Chicago. The driver was away, and Jake was hungry ; so he
attempted to enforce the cornfiscation act ; but 'fore he got a single loaf, a
dog sprung out upon him. Jake run, and the dog arter him ; and 'fore long
the dog kotched him by the trousers, and over they rolled in the mud together.
They- rolled so fast you could n't tell which from t' other ; but Jake felt the
pavin'-stones under him, and tried to grab one to subjugate the critter. But
the stone would n't come up, it was fastened down ! Finally, Jake got
away ; and, wet and hungry, and with only one leg to his trousers, tuck a
stret line back to camp, declarin' he 'd rather be shot up yere, than go free
in a kentry whar they let loose the dogs, and tie up the pavin'-stones ! "
" That story will do to tell, my friend," we remark ; " but you don't expect
us to believe it ? "
" B'lieve it ! " he answers ; " why, stranger, thar 's heaps o' men yere as
never seed a pavin'-stone."
That is true, but they are not the ignorant, degraded people they are gen-
erally represented to be. The most of them are " poor whites," but so are
many people at the North, and in every other country. They have no
free schools, and it is that fact which makes the difference between them
1 865.]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
297
and our Northern farmers. But even with that disadvantage, at least one
half of them can read and write, and many of them are as intelligent as any
men you ever spoke with. They are all privates, but there are scores of law-
yers, and doctors, and teachers, and clergymen among them. Farther down
the lines is Dr. Bronson, who was Demonstrator of Anatomy in the Medical
College of Louisiana ; and here is a picture of a gentle-
man who was Clerk of the Texas Senate. Though a
prisoner, (he has since been released,) he has done more
for the country than at least six Major-Generals you
know of. For three days and nights he went through
incredible dangers, that he might blot out his record
of treason. And he did it nobly. God bless him for
it ! Some day I may tell you the story, but now I
must go on with you through the prison.
This old man, near upon seventy, with thin, gray
hair, only one eye, a ridged, weather-beaten face, and a short jacket and
trousers, is " Uncle Ben." He was one of Morgan's men, and was captured
while on the raid into Ohio. " You are an old man to be in the war," we
say to him. " What led you into it ? " " Love of the thing," he answers.
" I allers had to be stirrin'. I 'm young enough to ride a nag yet." Talking
further with him, we learn that he is a nurse in the hospital, and considers
himself well treated. " I never fared better in my life," he says, "but I 'd
jist as lief be a ridin' agin."
Most of the men of Morgan's command and there are twenty-two hun-
dred in the prison are wild, reckless fellows, who went into the war from
the love of adventure, or the hope of plunder. They would rather fight than
eat, and give the keepers more trouble than all the others in the camp. They
are constantly devising ways of escape ; and one dark night, about a year
ago, nearly a hundred of them took the Underground Line, and got safely
into Dixie. Here is a representation of the
route. It was formerly a fashionable thorough-
fare, but the raising of the barracks has inter-
cepted the .travel, and broken the hearts of the
stockholders.
As we go on a little farther, a tall fellow,
with seedy clothes and a repulsive counte-
nance, calls to the Captain, " I say, Captin',
I say." The Captain stops, and answers,
"Well?" "I 'se willing to take the oath,"
says *the man. The Captain's face flushes
slightly. He is not angry, only indignant ;
but the man withers as he answers : " Willing ! Such a man as you talk
of being willing! You've shed the best blood in the world, and you are
willing! Go down on your marrow-bones, come back like the prodigal
son, and then the country will take you, not before." " I '11 do anything
that 's wanted," says the man. "Very well ; go to the officer, and put down
298 Three Days at Camp Douglas. [May,
your name," answers the Captain ; adding to us, as we pass on, "That fel-
low is a great scamp, as thorough a Rebel as any one in the camp." *
"This is my last Sunday here, Captain," says a well-clad, intelligent-look-
ing man, as we go on down the lines. " I 'm glad to hear it," replies the
Captain ; " I thought you 'd come over to our side." In answer to some
questions which we put to him, the man explains that he is about enlisting
in the Navy. He says he has been on the fence " for some time, anxious
to serve the country, but unwilling to fight against his home and his kindred.
At last he has compromised the matter by enlisting for an iron-clad ; in which,
if his shots should happen to hit his friends, he may be tolerably certain that
theirs will not hit him ! With a full
COUNTRY! B jt UNTY - appreciation of his bravery, the Camp
LIBERTY; Douglas artist has drawn him here, with
his back to home and country, and his
face to the bounty and the iron-clad.
But -from among this army of origi-
nal characters and almost all uncul-
tivated men are more or less original
I can particularize no more. Nearly all
are stout, healthy, and fine-looking, al-
though there are many mere boys among
them. Their clothing is generally badly worn, and scarcely any two are
dressed alike. The prevailing material is the reddish-brown homespun so
common at the South ; but many have on Uncle Sam's coats and trousers,
their own having given out, and these being supplied by the government.
Among the scores that I conversed with, not one complained of harsh
treatment, and many admitted that they fared much better than at home.
The irksomeness of confinement is all that they object to. Some of them
"talked fight," but much the larger number would like peace at any price.
The re-election of Mr. Lincoln they regard as the death-blow of the Confed-
eracy. Within ten days after the result of .the November election was known
among them, nearly eight hundred applied to take the oath of allegiance.
After inspection is over, the prisoners go to dinner ; and then such as
choose attend divine service, which is performed in the barracks by their own
chaplains. These are interesting gatherings, but they are so much like our
own religious meetings, that I shall not attempt to describe them. But other
things about the prisoners, and about the camp, that may interest you, I shall
try to tell in the next number of " Our Young Folks."
Edmund Kirke.
* But a great many of them are not Rebels. At least one quarter of the whole number confined
at Camp Douglas are truly loyal men, who were forced into the Rebel ranks, or have seen the error
of their ways, and desire to return to their allegiance. Captain Sponable assured me that he could,
in one day, enlist a regiment of a thousand cavalrymen among them, who would be willing to fight for
the country with a rope round their necks, the penalty if taken by the Confederates. And yet our
government allows the application of nearly two thousand of these men to remain unacted on for six,
and twelve, and even eighteen months, while drafts and high bounties are in fashion. The worst des-
potism in Europe allows its subjects the privilege of fighting for it. Will not the freest country on
the globe do the same ?
I865-J The Wonderful Sack. 299
THE WONDERFUL SACK.
THE apple-boughs half hid the house
Where lived the lonely widow ;
Behind it stood the chestnut wood,
Before it spread the meadow.
She had no money in her till,
She was too poor to borrow ;
With her lame leg she could not beg;
And no one cheered her sorrow.
She had no wood to cook her food,
And but one chair to sit in ;
Last spring she lost a cow, that cost
A whole year's steady knitting.
She had worn her fingers to the bone,
Her back was growing double ;
One day the pig tore up her wig,
But that 's not half her trouble.
Her best black gown was faded brown,
Her shoes were all in tatters,
With not a pair for Sunday wear:
Said she, " It little matters !
300 The Wonderful Sack. [May,
"Nobody asks me now to ride,
My garments are not fitting ;
And with my crutch I care not much
To hobble off to meeting.
" I still preserve my Testament,
And though the Acts are missing,
And Luke is torn, and Hebrews worn,
On Sunday 't is a blessing.
"And other days I open it
Before me on the table,
And there I sit, and read, and knit,
As long as I am able."
One evening she had closed the book,
But still she sat there knitting ;
" Meow-meow ! " complained the old black cat ;
" Mew-mew ! " the spotted kitten.
And on the hearth, with sober mirth,
" Chirp, chirp ! " replied the cricket.
'T was dark, but hark ! " Bow-ow ! " the bark
Of Ranger at the wicket !
Is Ranger barking at the moon ?
Or what can be the matter ?
What trouble now ? " Bow-ow ! bow-ow ! "
She hears the old gate clatter.
"It is the wind that bangs the gate,
And I must knit my stocking!."
But hush ! what 's that ? Rat-tat ! rat-tat !
Alas ! there 's some one^ knocking !
" Dear me ! dear me ! who can it be ?
Where, where is my crutch-handle ? "
She rubs a match with hasty scratch,
She cannot light the candle !
Rat-tat ! scratch, scratch ! the worthless match !
The cat growls in the corner.
Rat-tat ! scratch, scratch ! Up flies the latch,
" Good evening, Mrs. Warner ! "
86$.] The Wonderful Sack. 30*
The kitten spits and lifts her back,
Her eyes glare on the stranger ;
The old cat's tail ruffs big and black,
Loud barks the old dog Ranger !
Blue burns at last the tardy match,
And dim the candle glimmers ;
Along the floor beside the door
The cold white moonlight shimmers.
" Sit down ! " the widow gives her chair.
" Get out ! " she says to Ranger.
" Alas ! I do not know your name."
" No matter ! " quoth the stranger.
His limbs are strong, his beard is long,
His hair is dark and wavy;
Upon his back he bears a sack ;
His staff is stout and heavy.
" My way is 1 lost, and with the frost
I feel my fingers tingle."
Then from his back he slips the sack,
Ho ! did you hear it jingle ?
"Nay, keep your chair! while you sit there,
I '11 take the other corner."
" I 'm sorry, sir, I have no fire ! "
" No matter, Mrs. Warner ! "
He shakes his sack, the magic sack !
Amazed the widow gazes !
Ho, ho ! the chimney 's full of wood !
Ha, ha ! the wood it blazes !
Ho, ho ! ha, ha ! the merry fire !
It sputters and it crackles !
Snap, snap ! flash, flash ! old oak and ash
Send out a million sparkles.
The stranger sits upon his sack
Beside the chimney-corner,
And rubs his hands before the brands,
And smiles on Mrs. Warner.
302
The Wonderful Sack. [May,
She feels her heart beat fast with fear,
But what can be the danger ?
" Can I do aught for you, kind sir ? "
I 'm hungry ! " quoth the stranger.
" Alas ! " she said, " I have no food
For boiling or for baking ! "
" I 've food," quoth he, " for you and me ! "
And gave his sack a shaking.
Out rattled knives, and forks, and spoons !
Twelve eggs, potatoes plenty !
One large soup dish, two plates of fish,
And bread enough for twenty!
And Rachel, calming her surprise,
As well as she was able,
Saw, following these, two roasted geese,
A tea-urn, and a table!
Strange, was it not ? each dish was hot,
Npt even a plate was broken ;
The cloth was laid, and all arrayed,
Before a word was spoken !
" Sit up ! sit up ! and we will sup,
Dear madam, while we 're able ! "
Said she, "The room is poor and small
For such a famous table ! "
Again the stranger shakes the sack,
The walls begin to rumble !
Another shake ! the rafters quake !
You 'd think the roof would tumble !
Shake, shake ! the room grows high and large,
The walls are painted over!
Shake, shake ! out fall four chairs, in all,
A bureau, and a sofa !
The stranger stops to wipe the sweat
That down his face is streaming.
'* Sit up ! sit up ! and we will sup,"
Quoth he, " while all is steaming ! "
1865.] The Wonderful Sack.
The widow hobbled on her crutch,
He kindly sprang to aid her.
" All this," said she, " is too much for me ! "
Quoth he, " We '11 have a waiter ! "
Shake, shake, once more ! and from the sack
Out popped a little fellow,
With elbows bare, bright eyes, sleek hair,
And trousers striped with yellow.
303
His legs were short, his body plump,
His cheek was like a cherry;
He turned three times ; he gave a jump ;
His laugh rang loud and merry !
He placed his hand upon his heart,
And scraped and bowed so handy !
" Your humble servant, sir," he said,
Like any little dandy.
The widow laughed a long, loud laugh,
And up she started, screaming ;
When ho ! and lo ! the room was dark !
She 'd been asleep and dreaming !
304 The Wonderful Sack. [May,
The stranger and his magic sack,
The dishes and the fishes,
The geese and things, had taken 'wings,
Like riches, or like witches !
All, all was gone ! She sat alone ;
Her hands had dropped their knitting.
" Meow-meow ! " the cat upon the mat ;
" Mew-mew ! mew-mew ! " the kitten.
The hearth is bleak, and hark! the creak,
" Chirp, chirp ! " the lonesome cricket.
" Bow-ow ! " says Ranger to the moon ;
The wind is at the wicket
And still she sits, and as she knits
She ponders o'er the vision :
" I saw it written on the sack,
' A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION.'
"I know God sent the dream, and meant
To. teach this useful lesson,
That out of peace and pure content
Springs every earthly blessing!"
Said she, " I '11 make the sack my own !
I '11 shake away all sorrow ! "
She shook the sack for me to-day;
She '11 shake for you to-morrow.
She shakes out hope ;. and joy, and peace,
And happiness come after ;
She shakes out smiles for all the world ;
She shakes out love and laughter.
For poor and rich, no matter which,
For young folks or for old folks,
For strong and weak, for proud and meek,
For warm folks and for cold folks ;
For children coming home from school,
And sometimes for the teacher;
For white and black, she shakes the sack,
In short, for every creature.
1 865.] The .Wonderful Sack.
And everybody who has grief,
The sufferer and the mourner,
From far and near, come now to hear
Kind words from Mrs. Warner.
They go to her with heavy hearts,
They come away with light ones ;
They go to her with cloudy brows,
They come away with bright ones.
All love her well, and I could tell
Of many a cheering present
Of fruits and things their friendship brings,
To make her fireside pleasant.
She always keeps a cheery fire ;
The house is painted over;
She has food in store, and chairs for four,
A bureau, and a sofa.
She says these seem just like her dream,
And tells again the vision :
" I saw it written on the sack,
' A Cheerful Disposition ! ' "
J. T. Trowbridge.
305
'VOL. I. NO. V.
22
306 The Railroad. [May,
THE RAILROAD.
TT was a wild story that came to Trip's ears, and no wonder she was
-1 frightened out of what few little wits she had. For as she came around
the rock a whole troop of her schoolmates sprang up to meet her, and one
cried one thing, and one another, but the burden of their song seemed to be,
" The railroad ! the railroad ! O, have you, heard ? "
" Yes," said little Trip, unconcernedly ; " I know there is a railroad going to
run in Applethorpe."
" O, but that 's nothing ! It 's going to run right through your house ! "
exclaimed Olive.
" Right through your front door ! " added Martha.
" Now I don't believe that," replied Trip. "A railroad can't get through
a door."
" Why, of course," said Olive, " they '11 take the door out ; they '11 pull
the house down. A railroad is too big, it 's as big as a meeting-house."
Olive had very hazy notions about railroads, never having seen one.
" I don't believe there 's going to be any railroad," meditated Trip, after a
pause, choosing what seemed the quickest and surest way of saving the
front door.
" O, yes there is ! I heard my father, why, my father knows all about it
It 's coming now."
" And, Trip, if I was you," said Olive, in a low, impressive voice, " I
would n't stay at school to-day. I would go straight home and put my boxes
and things together so 's to save them. I expect they '11 tear the house down
right away. I should n't wonder if they had it all teared down by the time
you get home."
Now was Trip's heart in a flutter all day, though she resolutely refused to
go home. She even persisted in her professed doubt as to whether there was
going to be any railroad at all ; but in the depths of her quaking heart she saw
already the dear old house torn quite away, and herself and all the family
forced to rove homeless over the world. So it is no wonder she was a little
absent-minded that day, and missed two words in spelling, for which she
cried vigorously all noon-time, with a little under-wail for the lost house.
But as she came down the lane at night, behold ! there was the house as
whole as ever, that was one comfort. No wandering about in the dark-
ness to-night, at least. And there, too, was Jack turning summersets under
the Balm-of-Gilead tree, and Lillo frisking about frantically, as if no ruin im-
pended. So Trip plucked up heart a little, and asked Jack what it was all
about, and " Is the railroad going to tear our house all down, Jack Straws ? "
Jack Straws, thus appealed to, left standing on his head, and tried his feet
by way of variety, thrusting both fists under her chin, one after the other, as
an appropriate way of saying, " No, Trip-up. I wish 't was."
" Well, there," sighed Trip, greatly relieved ; " I knew 't was n't. But
1865.] The Railroad. 307
Olive and all the girls said the railroad was coming, and I must pack up my
clothes."
" But 'tis coming, so pack away."
" Why, what ? when ? where are we going ? "
" Well, how should you like the barn, say ? The hay is soft, and we
should be handy to milk ; and then there are the horned oxen to do the
dairy- work."
But seeing Trip's dismayed face, he repented himself. " No, Trip, the
line was laid out, and it ran right through our front door. That 's a fact
now. I saw the stake driven down right before the front door. But father
went to see them, and told them, besides moving the house, it would cut the
farm in two halves, sir, and make trouble ; and what do you think they 've
done, sir ? " Here Jack interposed a summerset by way of taking breath.
" Stopped the railroad, I guess," said Trip, breathlessly.
" No, sir. Whisked it off one side, and are going slam-bang through the
peach-trees. We 've saved the house, but we 've lost the garden. All the
currant-bushes are making farewell visits, and the hop-toads are breaking up
housekeeping."
"Jack," said Trip, solemnly, "do you care ?"
" Care ? No ! I 'm gladder 'n ever I was before since I was born, and
don't remember anything."
" So am I. I should n't like to live in the barn, but I should like to have
the railroad run through the garden."
But the older people were not at all glad. The dear old trees had to come
down, and their dear old roots to come up. The dear old pinks that had
bloomed for unremembered years left their last sweetness in the soil. All
the robins' nests were rifled, and the robins did not know what to make of
it. Kitty Clover came out to refresh herself with a roll in the catnip, and
there was no catnip there. Prince Hum came down to dip his dainty beak
into the humming-bird balm, and saw only a gang of rough men digging away
with all their might and main. As for Trip, she sat on a stone, and watched
and wondered. When they told her the road must be levelled, she thought
a man would come with a great scythe, and slice off the hills like a loaf of
brown-bread, and lay the slices in the hollows, which was not strange,
seeing it was only a little while since she had learned that, when people
bought land, they did not take it up and carry it home. But after a while
the railroad was completed. The hill had been dug out, the sleepers
placed, the rails fastened, the road fenced, and the first train was to run
through. Jack put on his Sunday jacket, and went with his father to the
brown old house that served for a station. Gerty had made a good fight to
accompany them, but it was not thought best. " Cars is no place for girls,"
had lordly Jack declaimed, sleeking down his elf locks before his looking-
glass, and rioting in his pride of sex.
" I should like to know, did n't Aunt Jenny say 't was just as nice as a par-
lor, and did n't Aunt Jenny go in the cars ? " asked Gerty, decisively.
"Now I'm ready," said Jack, rather abruptly, but very wisely, changing
the subject.
308
The Railroad.
[May,
"And I think there won't be many will look nicer," said little Trip, ad-
miringly, drawing her tiny fingers over the velvet jacket.
" Now you mind," said Jack, who would miss the keenness of his triumph
if his sisters should not witness it ; " you go and sit on the rock out there,
and see me when I go by."
" Yes," said Gerty, forgetting her momentary dissatisfaction, "we will."
" And don't you go straying away, because they '11 come so fast, if you 're
not there, you can't get back before they '11 be all gone, and then you won't
see me. I shall whiz by just like a flash."
" O," said Trip, " I shall look just as tight ! " And so she did ; for though
from their rock by the well they could see miles of railroad in each direction,
she scarcely dared turn her head for fear in that moment the wonderful
train should flash by, and she not see it. But after a half-hour's waiting, a
black speck appeared at the end of the long line ; it grew bigger and bigger ;
all the family came out to see it ; volumes of smoke rose and rolled back-
wards from it ; there was a rattle and a roar and a din. Gerty and Trip
instinctively shrunk back, but it had already passed them ; and there, on the
platform of the last car, stood Jack, holding on by the door, bowing and smil-
ing, and proud as Lucifer.
O, what a grand and glorious thing it was to be a boy, and ride in that
wonderful train ! and what a comparatively tame and humiliating thing it
was to be a girl, and just sit on a rock and see him go by !
So the railroad was finished, and tne grown-up people found it was not so
bad after all ; for the cars passed through a " cut " so deep that the engine
smoke-stack hardly reached the top, and you only knew they were there by
the sound. "And if the well does not cave in/' said Trip's father, "we shall
1865.] The Railroad. 309
be as good as new." And the well never did cave in, though it stood on the
very edge of the cut. The garden trotted over to the other side of the house,
and did not mind it at all. The currants and the raspberries and the black-
berries held their own, and some fine new peach-trees more than made good
the loss of the old. " Besides," said Jack, who had been continually prowl-
ing along the railroad ever since the first surveyors appeared, and who
doubtless knew more about it than any of the directors, " what do you
think? There are blackberries no end along the track. It's my opinion
the engine sows 'em." " And there are strange flowers that I never saw
here anywhere before," added Gerty. There was also a continual running
to see the swiftly-passing trains. A dozen times a day the sweet farm-silence
was broken in upon by its roar and rush, and so many times wildly sped all
the little feet over the velvet turf to the well, to gaze at the ever-charming
sight. Lillo caught the fever, and carried it to extremes. " Cars ! " rung
through the house at the approach of every train, and at the cry out
leaped Lillo, past the well and down the bank, barking furiously, and tearing
along beside the train till it emerged from the cut, when he would return,
wagging his tail, and looking up into the children's faces as proud and
happy as if he had done some great thing. What he evidently meant was,
" You make great talk about your swift cars, but you see / am not afraid of
them. / can keep up with them, yes, and chase them away." Indeed, he
was so on the alert that at any time Jack had only to say, " Cars, Lillo ! " and
away Lillo would rush pell-mell to the opening by the well, and execute
several fine barks and great leaps before he would discover that he had been
imposed upon.
The poultry about the farm did not take things so bravely as Lillo. The
little yellow, downy goslings, which are the loveliest, sweetest things you
ever saw, only they will grow up into geese in such a hurry ; and the white
little chickens, almost as soft and pretty ; and the poor little slender-legged
turkeys, that are not pretty at all, and have much ado to keep their feeble
breath in their feeble bodies, waddled and scampered and tottered over
the grass, and never took a thought of the railroad ; but after they became
respectable fowls, and went on their travels in the neighboring pastures,
dangers began to thicken. " It's car- time. Run, Jack, run, Gerty, and see
where the chickens are ! " More than once all precautions were in vain.
The heavy train thundered on into the very midst of the flocks. The chick-
ens, surprised, took to their wings and escaped ; but the dainty turkeys tip-
toed along, wild with fright, yet loath to leave their dignity and run, and
let me not sadden your young hearts with tidings of catastrophe, but simply
say that for a week thereafter Jack and Gerty and Trip had Thanksgiving
dinners. One morning Jack rushed up to the open window, crying, " Mother
Goose is on the track, and the down-train is coming ! " Mother Goose was
an old gray goose that had been kept'in the family a long time in considera-
tion of past services. Great-great-great-very-great-grandchildren had been
hatched and hatcheted, and still Mother Goose waddled her serene way over
the farm, and bathed herself in the brook, and grandmothered the successive
3IO Our Dogs. [May,
broods without fear or favor. They all rushed out to the railroad side. Yes,
her hour was surely come at last There she sat between the rails, calmly
surveying these new-fangled notions, and wondering, I suppose, what would
turn up next by way of improvement, and on came the terrible engine, drag-
ging its terrible train, ignorant of Mother Goose and her meditations. Non-
sense ! What can a smart young engine, however energetic, do against a
sensible old goose, with all her wits about her ? Mother Goose was not
going to be put down by that upstart, not she ! She just sat still, bobbed
her head a little as each car came up, and bade them all defiance. When
the train had passed over her, she remained quiet a moment to show that
she was not nervous, then arose, shook herself, looked over her shoulder as
who should say, " Seems to me I heard something," quietly stepped upon
the rail, flopped down on the outside, and waddled off with a placid but
profound contempt for all such flummery. You may be sure she had a royal
dinner that day, and I make no doubt added a very sarcastic chapter to her
Memoirs of my Life and Times before she went to bed at night.
But so many curious and remarkable things happened at the farm-house
in consequence of that railroad, that I have not now room to tell them. If
you care to know them, however, I will tell you more another time.
Gail Hamilton.
OUR DOGS.
III.
AFTER the sad fate of Rover, there came a long interval in which we
had no dog. Our hearts were too sore to want another. His collar,
tied with black crape, hung under a pretty engraving of Landseer's, called
" My Dog," which we used to fancy to be an exact resemblance of our pet.
The children were some of them grown up and gone to school, or scattered
about the world. If ever the question of another dog was agitated, papa cut
it short with, " I won't have another ; I won't be made to feel again as I did
about Rover." But somehow Mr. Charley the younger got his eye on a
promising litter of puppies, and at last he begged papa into consenting that
he might have one of them.
It was a little black mongrel, of no particular race or breed, a mere com-
mon cur, without any pretensions to family, but the best-natured, jolliest little
low-bred pup that ever boy had for a playmate. To be ^sure, he had the
usual puppy sins ; he would run away with papa's slippers, and boots, and
stockings ; he would be under everybody's feet, at the most inconvenient
moment ; he chewed up a hearth-broom or two, and pulled one of Charley's
caps to pieces in the night, with an industry worthy of a better cause ;
still, because he was dear to Charley, papa and mamma winked very hard
at his transgressions.
1865.] Our Dogs. 311
The name of this little black individual was Stromion, a name taken
from a German fairy tale, which the Professor was very fond of reading in
the domestic circle ; and Stromion, by dint of much patience, much feeding,
and very indulgent treatment, grew up into a very fat, common-looking black
cur dog, not very prepossessing in appearance and manners, but possessed
of the very best heart in the world, and most inconceivably affectionate and
good-natured. Sometimes "some of the older members of the family would
trouble Charley's enjoyment in his playfellow by suggesting that he was no
blood dog, and that he belonged to no particular dog family that could be
named. Papa comforted him by the assurance that Stromion did belong to
a very old and respectable breed, that he was a mongrel; and Charley
after that valued him excessively under this head ; and if any one tauntingly
remarked that Stromion was only a cur, he would flame up in his defence,
" He is n't a cur, he 's a mongrel," introducing him to strangers with the ad-
dition to all his other virtues, that he was a "pure mongrel, papa says so."
The edict against dogs in the family having once been broken down, Mas-
ter Will proceeded to gratify his own impulses, and soon led home to the
family circle an enormous old black Newfoundland, of pure breed, which had
been presented him by a man who was leaving the place. Prince was in
the decline of his days, but a fine, majestic old fellow. He had a sagacity
and capacity of personal affection which were uncommon. Many dogs will
change from master to master without the least discomposure. A good bone
will compensate for any loss of the heart, and make a new friend seem quite
as good as an old one. But Prince had his affections quite as distinctly as a
human being, and we learned this to our sorrow when he had to be weaned
from his old master under our roof. His howls and lamentations were so
dismal and protracted, that the house could not contain him ; we were
obliged to put him into an outhouse to compose his mind, and we still have
a vivid image of him sitting, the picture of despair, over an untasted mutton
shank, with his nose in the air, and the most dismal howls proceeding from
his mouth. Time, the comforter, however, assuaged his grief, and he came
at last to transfer all his stores of affection to Will, and to consider himself
once more as a dog with a master.
Prince used to inhabit his young master's apartment, from the window of
which he would howl dismally when Will left him to go to the academy near
by, and yelp triumphant welcomes when he saw him returning. He was
really and passionately fond of music, and, though strictly forbidden the
parlor, would push and elbow his way there with dogged determination when
there was playing or singing. Any one who should have seen Prince's air
when he had a point to carry, would understand why quiet obstinacy is
called doggedness.
The female members of the family, seeing that two dogs had gained ad-
mission to the circle, had cast their eyes admiringly on a charming little
Italian greyhound, that was living in doleful captivity at a dog-fancier's in
Boston, and resolved to set him free and have him for their own. Accord-
ingly they returned one day in triumph, with him in their arms, a fair,
312
Our Dogs.
[May,
delicate creature, white as snow, except one mouse-colored ear. He was re-
ceived with enthusiasm, and christened Giglio ; the honors of his first bath
and toilette were performed by Mademoiselles the young ladies on their
knees, as if he had been in reality young Prince Giglio from fairy-land.
Of all beautiful shapes in dog form, never was there one more perfect than
this. His hair shone like spun glass, and his skin was as fine and pink as
that of a baby ; his paws and ears were translucent like fine china, and he
had great, soft, tremulous dark eyes ; his every movement seemed more
graceful than the last. Whether running or leaping, or sitting in graceful
attitudes on the parlor table among the ladies' embroidery-frames, with a
great rose-colored bow under his throat, he was alike a thing of beauty, and
his beauty alone won all hearts to him.
When the papa first learned that a third dog had been introduced into the
household, his patience gave way. The thing was getting desperate ; we
were being overrun with dogs ; our house was no more a house, but a ken-
nel ; it ought to be called Cunopolis, a city of dogs ; he could not and
would not have it so ; but papa, like most other indulgent old gentlemen,
was soon reconciled to the children's pets. In fact, Giglio was found cower-
ing under the bed-clothes at the Professor's feet not two mornings after his
arrival, and the good gentleman descended with him in his arms to break-
fast, talking to him in the most devoted manner : " Poor little Giglio, was
he cold last night ? and did he want to get into papa's bed ? he should be
brought down stairs, that he should " ; all which, addressed to a young
rascal whose sinews were all like steel, and who could have jumped from the
top stair to the bottom like a feather, was sufficiently amusing.
Giglio's singular beauty and grace were his only merits ; he had no love
1865.] Our Dogs. 313
nor power of loving ; he liked to be petted and kept warm, but it mattered
nothing to him who did it. He was as ready to run oft" with a stranger as
with his very best friend, would follow any whistle or any caller, was, in
fact, such a gay rover, that we came very near losing him many times ; and
more than once he was brought back from the Boston cars, on board which
he had followed a stranger. He also had, we grieve to say, very careless
habits ; and after being washed white as snow, and adorned with choice rose-
colored ribbons, would be brought back soiled and ill-smelling from a neigh-
bor's livery-stable, where he had been indulging in low society. For all
that, he was very lordly and aristocratic in his airs with poor Stromion, who
was a dog with a good, loving heart, if he was black and homely. Stromion
admired Giglio with the most evident devotion ; he would always get up to
give him the warm corner, and would sit humbly in the distance and gaze on
him with most longing admiration, for all of which my fine gentleman re-
warded him only with an occasional snarl or a nip, as he went by him. Some-
times Giglio would condescend to have a romp with Stromion for the sake
of passing the time, and then Stromion would be perfectly delighted, and
frisk and roll his clumsy body over the carpet with his graceful antagonist,
all whose motions were a study for an artist. When Giglio was tired of play,
he would give Stromion a nip that would send him yelping from the field ;
and then he would tick, tick gracefully away to some embroidered ottoman
forbidden to all but himself, where he would sit graceful and classical as
some Etruscan vase, and look down superior on the humble companion who
looked up to him with respectful admiration.
Giglio knew his own good points, and was possessed with the very spirit
of a coquette. He would sometimes obstinately refuse the caresses and
offered lap of his mistresses, and seek to ingratiate himself with some^stolid
theological visitor, for no other earthly purpose that we could see than that
he was determined to make himself the object of attention. We have seen
him persist in jumping time and again on the hard, bony knees of some man
who hated dogs, and did not mean to notice him, until he won attention and
caresses, when immediately he would spring down and tick away perfectly
contented. He assumed lofty, fine-gentleman airs with Prince also, for which
sometimes he got his reward, for Prince, the old, remembered that he was
a dog of blood, and would not take any nonsense from him.
Like many old dogs, Prince had a very powerful doggy smell, which was
a great personal objection to him, and Giglio was always in a civil way mak-
ing reflections upon this weak point. Prince was fond of indulging himself
with an afternoon nap on the door-mat, and sometimes, when he rose from
his repose, Giglio would spring gracefully from the table where he had been
overlooking him, and, picking his way daintily to the mat, would snuff at it,
with his long, thin nose, with an air <^f extreme disgust. It was evidently a
dog insult, done according to the politest modes of refined society, and said
as plain as words could say, " My dear sir, excuse me, but can you tell
what makes this peculiar smell where you have been lying ? " At any rate,
Prince understood the sarcasm, for a deep angry growl and a sharp nip
would now and then teach my fine gentleman to mind his own business.
3 H Our Dogs. [May,
Giglio's lot at last was to travel in foreign lands, for his young mistresses,
being sent to school in Paris, took him with them to finish his education and
acquire foreign graces. He was smuggled on board the Fulton, and placed
in an upper berth, well wrapped in a blanket ; and the last we saw of him
was his long, thin Italian nose, and dark, tremulous eyes looking wistfully at
us from the folds of the flannel in which he shivered. Sensitiveness to cold
was one of his great peculiarities. In winter he wore little blankets, which
his fond mistresses made with anxious care, and on which his initials were
embroidered with their own hands. In the winter weather on Zion Hill he
was often severely put to it to gratify his love of roving in the cold snows ;
he would hold up first one leg, and then the other, and contrive to get along
on three, so as to save himself as much as possible ; and more than once he
caught severe colds, requiring careful nursing and medical treatment to bring
him round again.
The Fulton sailed early in March. It was chilly, stormy weather, so that
the passengers all suffered somewhat with cold, and Master Giglio was glad
to lie rolled in his blanket, looking like a sea-sick gentleman. The Captain
very generously allowed him a free passage, and in pleasant weather he used
to promenade the deck, where his beauty won for him caresses and attentions
innumerable. The ste'wards and cooks always had choice morsels for him,
and fed him to such a degree as would have .spoiled any other dog's figure ;
but his could not be spoiled. All the ladies vied with each other in seeking
his good graces, and after dinner he pattered from one to another, to be fed
with sweet things and confectionery, and hear his own praises, like a gay
buck of fashion as he was.
Landed in Paris, he met a warm reception at the Pension of Madame
B ; but ambition filled his breast. He was in the great, gay city of Paris,
the place where a handsome dog has but to appear to make his fortune, and
so Giglio resolved to seek out for himself a more brilliant destiny.
One day, when he was being led to take the air in the court, he slipped his
leash, sped through the gate, and away down -the street like the wind. It
was idle to attempt to follow him ; he was gone like a bird in the air, and
left the hearts of his young mistresses quite desolate.
Some months after, as they were one evening eating ices in the Champs
Elysees, a splendid carriage drove up, from which descended a liveried ser-
vant, with a dog in his arms. It was Giglio, the faithless Giglio, with his one
mouse-colored ear, that marked him from all other dogs ! He had evidently
accomplished his destiny, and become the darling of rank and fashion, rode
in an elegant carriage, and had a servant in livery devoted to him. Of course
he did not pretend to notice his former friends. The footman, who had come
out apparently to give him an airing, led him up and down close by where
they were sitting, and bestowed on him the most devoted attentions. Of
course there was no use in trying to reclaim him, and so they took their last
look of the fair inconstant, and left him to his brilliant destiny. And thus
ends the history of PRINCE GIGLIO.
Harriet Beecher Stoive.
1 865.]
Young Love.
315
YOUNG LOVE.
I RAISED my eyes and chanced to see
Bold Cupid speed a kiss to me.
He looked so lovable, so true,
What could a little maiden do?
I bjew one back, " Why not ? " I said,
" He cannot harm so small a maid."
For I am only twelve, you see,
And no fair mark for such as he.
Alas ! his bow he quickly bent,
And straight a barbed arrow sent.
It pierced me to my very heart :
Ah me, the torture of that dart !
316 How the Crickets brought Good Fortune. [May,
Since then the rose has left my cheek,
* And I so tremble when I speak !
Unnoticed now the violets blow,
Unwatched the lilies come and go ;
I trace no more the rippling brook,
I read not in my favorite book ;
My linnet pipes to me in vain,
I care not for his tuneful strain ;
I care not for the silvery bells,
All swinging in the shadowy dells;
But muse and pine, for Love has flown,
And I am left to wait alone.
I sigh, I wait, I watch, I weep,
And still for him a vigil keep;
While he, on archer's sport intent,
Forgets on whom his bow was bent.
Maidens ! a lesson take from me,
Trust not the young rogue's witchery!
For worst of all deceitful things
Is he, the boy with bow and wings.
Charles A. Barry.
HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE.
A /T Y friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake
L ** which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whose
appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him.
He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he
waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor, but perfectly
clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. " Ma'am," said he to the baker's
wife, "mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman climbed upon
the counter (this happened in a country town), took from the shelf of four-
pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it into the arms of the
little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of the
little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open countenance of the
great loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.
1865.] How the Crickets brought Good Fortune. 317
" Have you any money ? " said the baker's wife.
The little boy's eyes grew sad.
" No, ma-am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse ; " but
mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it to-
morrow."
" Run along," said the good woman ; " carry your bread home, child."
" Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow
My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase
into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the big
loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-still behind
him.
" What are you doing there ? " said the baker's wife to the child, whom
she also had thought to be fairly off. " Don't you like the bread ? "
" O yes, ma'am ! " said the child.
" Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any
longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a scold-
ing."
The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention.
The baker's wife went up to him, and gave him a friendly tap on the shoul-
der. " What are you thinking about ? " said she.
" Ma'am," said the little boy, " what is it that sings ? "
" There is no singing," said she.
" Yes ! " cried the little fellow. " Hear it ! Queek, queek, queek, queek ! "
My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing, un-
less it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakers' houses.
" It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow, "or perhaps the bread sings
when it bakes, as apples do."
" No, indeed, little goosey ! " said the baker's wife ; " those are crickets.
They sing in the bakehouse because we are lighting the oven, and they like
to see the fire."
" Crickets ! " said the child ; " are they really crickets ? "
" Yes, to be sure," said she, good-humoredly. The child's face lighted up.
" Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, " I would like
it very much if you would give me a cricket."
" A cricket ! " said the baker's wife; smiling ; " what in the world would
you do with a cricket, my little friend ? I would gladly give you all there
are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so."
" O ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please ! " said the child, clasp-
ing his little thin hands under the big loaf. " They say that crickets bring
good luck into houses ; and perhaps if we had one at home, mother, who has
so much trouble, would n't cry any more."
" Why does your poor mamma cry ? " said my friend, who could no longer
help joining in the conversation.
' " On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. " Father is dead, and
mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all."
My friend took the child, and with him the great loaf, into his arms, and I
318
How the Crickets brought Good Fortune.
[May,
really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile, the baker's wife, who did
not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the bakehouse. She made
her husband catch four, and put them into a box with holes in the cover, so
that they might breathe. She gave the box to the child, who went away per-
fectly happy.
When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a good
squeeze of the hand. " Poor little fellow," said they, both together. Then
she took down her account-book, and, finding the page where the mother's
charges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and then wrote
at the bottom, " Paid."
Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the money
in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum that day, and had
begged the good wife to send it at once to the mother of the little cricket
boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her she had a son
who would one day be her joy and pride.
They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to make haste.
The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and his little short legs, could
not run very fast, so that, when he reached home, he found his mother for the
first time in many weeks with her eyes raised from her work, and a smile of
peace and happiness upon her lips.
The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black things which
had worked this miracle, and I do not think he was mistaken. Without the
crickets, and his good little heart, would this happy change have taken place
in his mother's fortunes ?
From the French of P. J. StahL
1865.] Winning" his Way. 319
WINNING HI S WAY.
CHAPTER V.
THE NIGHT-HAWKS.
MR. SHELL was proprietor of the New Hope Oyster Saloon. He got
up nice game suppers, and treated his customers to ale, whiskey, and
brandy. Philip loved good living, and often ate an oyster-stew and a broiled
quail, and washed it down with a glass of ale, late at night in Mr. Shell's rooms,
in company with three or four other boys. After supper they had cigars and a
game of cards, till midnight, when Mr. Shell put out his lights and closed his
doors, often interrupting them in the middle of a game. That was not agree-
able, and so the young gentlemen hired a room over the saloon, fitted it up
with tables and chairs, and organized a club, calling themselves " Night-
Hawks." Philip was the chief hawk. They met nearly every evening. No
one could get into their room without giving a signal to those within, and
they had a secret sign by which they knew each other in the dark.
At first they enjoyed themselves, playing cards, smoking cigars, drinking
ale, sipping hot whiskey-punch, and telling stories ; but in a short time the
stories were not worth laughing at, the games of cards were the same thing
over and over, and they wanted something more exciting.
It was the fall of the year. There was rich fruit in the orchards and gar-
dens of New Hope, russet and crimson-cheeked apples, golden-hued pears,
luscious grapes purpling in the October sun,, and juicy melons. The bee-
hives were heavy with honey, and the bees were still at work, gathering new
sweets from the late blooming flowers. Many baskets of ripe apples and
choicest pears, many a bunch of grapes, with melons, found their way up
the narrow stairs to the room of the Night-Hawks. There was a pleasing
excitement in gathering the apples and pears under the windows of the un-
suspecting people fast asleep, or in plucking the grapes from garden trellises
at midnight. But people began to keep watch.
" We must throw them off our track. I '11 make them think that Paul does
it," said Philip to himself one day. He had not forgotten the night of
Daphne's party, how Paul had won a victory and he had suffered defeat.
Paul was suspected ; he was the leader of the choir, and was getting on in
the world. I '11 fix him," said he.
The next morning, when Mr. Leatherby kindled the fire in his shoe-shop,
he found that the stove would not draw. The smoke, instead of going up
the funnel, poured into the room, and the fire, instead of roaring and blazing,
smouldered a few moments and finally died out. He kindled it again, opened
the windows to let in the air, but it would not burn. He got down on his
knees and blew till he was out of breath, got his eyes filled with smoke,
which made the tears roll down his cheeks. The shop was a mere box of a
320 Winning his Way. [May,
building, with a low roof; so he climbed up and looked into the chimney and
found it stuffed with newspapers. Pulling them out, he saw a crumpled piece
of writing-paper. He smoothed it out. "Ah ! what is this ?" said he ; and,
putting on his spectacles, he read, " North 69, East 140 rods to a stake ;
South 87, West 50 rods to an oak-tree."
" That is Paul Parker's figuring, I reckon. I always knew that Paul loved
fun, but I did n't think he would do this ! " said Mr. Leatherby to himself,
more in sorrow than in anger.
" Good morning, Mr. Leatherby," said Philip, coming up at that moment.
"What is the matter with your chimney ? "
" Some of you boys have been playing a trick upon me."
"W T ho, I should like to know, is there in New Hope mean enough to do
that ? " Philip asked.
" Who 's figuring do you call that ? " Mr. Leatherby asked, presenting the
paper.
" Paul Parker's, as sure as I am alive ! You ought to expose him, Mr.
Leatherby.
" I don't like to say anything against him. I always liked him ; but . I
did n't think he would cut up such a shine as this," Mr. Leatherby replied.
"Appearances are deceptive. It won't do for me to say anything against
Paul, for people might say I was envious ; but if I were you, Mr. Leatherby,
I 'd put him over the road," said Philip, walking on.
Mr. Leatherby thought the matter over all day, as he sat in his dingy shop,
which was only a few rods from Mr. Chrome's, where Paul was painting
wagons, singing snatches of songs, and psalms and hymns. Mr. Leatherby
loved to hear him. It made the days seem shorter. It rested him when he
was tired, cheered him when he was discouraged. It was like sunshine in
his soul, for it made him happy. Thinking it over, and hearing Paul's voice
so round, clear, full, and sweet, he could n't make up his mind to tell anybody
of the little joke. " After all, he did n't mean anything in particular, only to
have a little fun with me. Boys will be boys," and so Mr. Leatherby, kind
old man that he was, determined to keep it all to himself.
When Paul passed by the shop on his way home at night, he said, " Good
evening, Mr. Leatherby," so pleasantly and kindly, that Mr. Leatherby half
made up his mind that it was n't Paul who did it, after all, but some of the
other boys, Bob Swift, perhaps, a sly, cunning, crafty fellow, who was one
of Philip's cronies. " It would be just like Bob, but not at all like Paul, and
so I won't say anything to anybody," said the mild old man to himself.
Miss Dobb's shaggy little poodle came out, barking furiously at Paul as
he passed down the street. Paul gave him a kick which sent him howling
towards the house, saying, " Get out, you ugly puppy." Miss Dobb heard
him. She came to the door and clasped the poodle to her bosom, saying,
" Poor dear Trippee ! Did the bad fellow hurt the dear little Trippee ? "
Then she looked savagely at Paul, and as she put out her hand to close the
d<jor, she seemed to clutch at Paul with her long, bony fingers, as if to get
hold of him and give him a shaking.
1865.] Winning his Way. 321
Trip was n't hurt much, for he was out again in a few minutes, snapping
and snarling at all passers-by. Just at dark he was missing. Miss Dobb went
to the door and called, " Trip ! Trip ! Trip ! " but he did not come at her
call. She looked up and down the street, but could not see him. The even-
ing passed away. She went to the door many times and called ; she went
to Mr. Shelbarke's and to Mr. Noggin's, but no one had seen Trip. She
went to bed wondering what had become of him, and fearing that somebody
had killed or stolen him.
But in the night she heard him whining at the door. She opened it joy-
fully. " Where have you been, you dear little good-for-nothing darling Trip ? "
she said, kissing him, finding, as she did so, that all his hair had been sheared
off, except a tuft on the end of his tail. She was so angry that she could not
refrain from shedding tears. The puppy shivered, trembled, and whined in
the cold, and Miss Dobb was obliged to sew him up in flannel. He looked
so funny in his coat, with the tuft of hair waving on the end of his tail, that
Miss Dobb laughed notwithstanding her anger. In the morning she went
out to tell her neighbors what had happened, and met Philip.
"Good morning. I hope you are well, Miss Dobb," he said, politely.
" Yes, I am well, only I am so vexed that I don't know what to do."
" Indeed ! What has happened ? "
" Why, somebody has sheared all of Trip's hair off, except a tuft on the
end of his tail, which looks like a swab. It is an outrageous insult. Trip
had a beautiful tail. I would pull every hair out of the villain's head, if I
knew who did it."
" Who was it that kicked your dog last night, and called him an ugly pup-
py ? " Philip asked.
Miss Dobb remembered who, and her eyes flashed. Philip walked on,
and came across Bob Swift, who had been standing round the corner of Mr.
Noggin's shop, listening to all that was said. They laughed at something,
then stopped and looked at Mr. Noggin's bees, which were buzzing and hum-
ming merrily in the bright October sun.
That night Mr. Noggin heard a noise in his yard. Springing out of bed
and going to the window, he saw that a thief was taking the boxes of honey
from his patent hives. He opened the door and shouted, " Thief ! Thief ! "
The robber ran. In the morning Mr. Noggin found that the thief had drop-
ped his hat in his haste. He picked it up. " Aha ! 'Pears to me I have
seen this hat before. Paul Parker's, as sure as I am alive ! " he said. It
was the hat which Paul wore in Mr. Chrome's paint-shop. Everybody knew
it, because it was daubed and spattered with paint.
Mr. Noggin went to his work. He was a well-meaning man, but shallow-
brained. He knew how to make good barrels, tubs, and buckets, but had no
mind of his own. He put on his leather apron, and commenced driving the
hoops upon a barrel, pounding with his adze, singing, and making the barrel
ring with
"Cooper ding, cooper ding, cooper ding, ding, ding ! A
Cooper ding, cooper ding, cooper ding, ding, ding 1
VOL. I. NO. V. 23
322 Winning his Way. [May,
Cooper ding, job, job,
Cooper ding, bob, bob,
Heigh ho, ding, ding, ding I "
Mr. Noggin was rattling on in that fashion when Miss Dobb, followed by
Trip, entered the shop.
" Well, I declare ! That is the first time I ever saw a pup with a shirt on,"
said Mr. Noggin, stopping and looking at the poodle sewed up in flannel.
" That is Paul Parker's doings, I mean the shearing," said Miss Dobb,
her eyes flashing indignantly.
" Paul's work ! O ho ! Then he shears pups besides robbing beehives,
does he ? " said Mr. Noggin. He told Miss Dobb what had happened.
" It is your duty, Mr. Noggin, to have him arrested, at once. You are
under imperative obligations to the community as a law and order abiding
citizen to put the sheriff upon his track. He is a hypocrite. He ought to
be pitched out of the singing-seats head first." So Miss Dobb wound Mr.
Noggin round her finger, and induced him to enter a complaint against Paul.
CHAPTER VI.
PAUL'S FRIENDS.
FOR five months Paul had been leader of the choir, and so faithfully ware
his duties performed, so excellent his drill, and so good his taste and mature
his judgment, so completely were the choir under his control, that the min-
isters from the surrounding parishes, when they exchanged with Rev. Mr.
Surplice, said, " What glorious singing they have at New Hope ! " It was
so good, that people who never had been in the habit of attending church
hired pews, not that they cared to hear Mr. Surplice preach and pray, but
it was worth while to hear Azalia Adams and Daphne Dare sing a quartette
with Paul and Hans Middlekauf, and the whole choir joining in perfect time
and in sweetest harmony.
Paul believed that a thing worth doing at all was worth doing well. His
heart was in his work. It was a pleasure to sing. He loved music because
it made him happy, and he felt also that he and Azalia and Daphne and all
the choir were a power for good in the community to make men better.
Farmer Harrow, who used to work at haying on Sunday, said it was worth a
bushel of turnips any time to hear such sweet singing. So his hired man
and horses had rest one day in seven.
In the calm moonlight nights Paul often lay wide awake, hour after hour,
listening with rapture to the sweet music which came to him from the distant
woods, from the waterfall, from the old maple in front of the house, when
the ted leaves, tinged with gorgeous hues, were breaking one by one from
the twigs, and floating to the ground, from the crickets chirping the last
lone songs of the dying year, and from the robins and sparrows still hovering
around their summer haunts. It was sweet to think of the pleasant hours
he had passed with Azalia and Daphne, and with all the choir ; and then it
1865.] Winning his Way. 323
was very pleasant to look into the future, and imagine what bliss there might
be in store for him ; a better home for his mother in her declining years,
a better life for himself. He would be a good citizen, respected and be-
loved. He would be kind to all. He wished that all the world might be
good and happy. When he became a man, he would try and make people
good. If everybody was as good as Azalia, what a glorious world it would
be ! She was always good, always cheerful. She had a smile for everybody.
Her life was as warm and sunny and golden as the October days, and as
calm and peaceful as the moonlight streaming across his chamber. Sweet
it was to think of her, sweeter to see her ; sweetest of all to stand by her
side and unite his voice to hers, and feel in his soul the charm of her pres-
ence. In his dreams he sometimes heard her and sat by her side.
Sometimes, while thus lying awake, watching the stars as they went sailing
down the western sky, his thoughts went beyond the present into the unseen
future, whither his father and grandfather had gone. They sang when on
earth, and he thought of them as singing in heaven. Sometimes he gazed
so long and steadily toward the heavenly land, that his eyes became dim with
tears, so sweet and yet so sad the sounds he seemed to hear, so near and
yet so far away that land.
So the- days went by, and the calm and peaceful nights, bringing him to
October, the glorious harvest month.
And now suddenly people looked shyly at bim. There were mysterious
whisperings and averted faces. He met Squire Capias one morning on the
street. " Good morning," said Paul ; but the lawyer walked on without re-
ply. He passed Miss Dobb's house. She sat by the front window, and
glared at him savagely ; and yet she seemed to smile, but her countenance
was so thin, wrinkled, and sharp, and her eyes so fierce, her smile so fiend-
ish, that it put him in mind of a picture he once saw in a horrible story-book,
which told of a witch that carried off little children and ate them for breakfast.
Paul thought that Miss Dobb would like to pick his bones. But he went on
to his work, rejoicing that there were not many Miss Dobbs in the world.
While hard at it with his paint-brush, Mr. Ketchum entered. He was a
tall, stout man, with black, bushy whiskers, and so strong that he could take
a barrel of cider on his knees and drink out of the bunghole. He was a
sheriff. The rowdies who fell into his hands said it was no use to try to
resist Mr. Ketchum, for he once seized a stubborn fellow by the heels, and
swung him round as he would a cat by the tail, till the fellow lost his breath
and was frightened half out of his wits.
" I have called in to ask you to walk up to Judge Adams's office on a mat-
ter of business," said Mr. Ketchum.
" With pleasure, sir," said Paul, who, now that he had become a surveyor
of land, had been called upon repeatedly to give his testimony in court.
They entered Judge Adams's office, which was crowded with people. Mr.
Noggin, Miss Dobb, Philip, and Bob Swift were there. A buzz ran round the
room. They all looked upon Paul.
"You have been arrested, Paul, and are charged with stealing honey
324 Winning his Way. [May,
from Mr. Noggin's beehives. Are you guilty or not guilty ? " said Judge
Adams.
" Arrested ! arrested for stealing ! " Paul exclaimed, stupefied and as-
tounded at the words of the judge. It was like a lightning-stroke. His knees
became weak. He felt sick at heart. Great drops of cold and clammy sweat
stood upon his forehead. Arrested ! What would his mother say ? Her son
accused of stealing ! What would everybody say ? What would Azalia think ?
What would Rev. Mr. Surplice say ? What would his class of boys in the
Sunday-school say, not about him, but about truth and honor and religion,
when they heard that their teacher was arrested for stealing ?
His throat became dry, his tongue was parched. His voice suddenly grew
husky. His brain reeled, yis heart one moment stood still, then leaped in
angry throbs, as if ready to burst. He trembled as if attacked by sudden
ague, then a hot flash went over him, burning up his brain, scorching his
heart, and withering his life.
" What say you, are you guilty or not guilty ? "
" I am innocent," said Paul, gasping for breath, and sinking into his seat,
taking no notice of what was going on around him. He was busy with the
future. He saw all his hopes of life dead in an instant, killed by one flash.
He knew that he was innocent, but he was accused of crime, arrested, and
a prisoner. The world would have it that he was guilty. His good name
was gone forever. His hopes were blighted, his aspirations destroyed, his
dreams of future joy all had passed away. His mother would die of a
broken heart. Henceforth those with whom he had associated would shun
him. For him there was no more peace, joy, or comfort, nothing but im-
penetrable darkness and agony in the future. So overwhelmed was he, that
he took no notice of Mr. Noggin's testimony, or of what was done, till he
heard Judge Adams say : " There are some circumstances against the ac-
cused, but the testimony is not sufficient to warrant my binding him over for
trial. He is discharged."
Paul went out into the fresh air, like one just waking from sleep, numbed
and stupefied. The words of the judge rang in his ears, " Circumstances
against the accused." The accused ! The prisoner ! He had been a pris-
oner. All the world would know of it, but would not know that he fvas inno-
cent. How could he bear it ? It was a crushing agony. Then there came
to him the words of the psalm sung on Sunday,
" My times are in thy hand,
Why should I doubt or fear?
My Father's hand will never cause
His child a needless tear. "
So he was comforted in the thought that it was for his good ; but he could n't
see how. He resolved to bear it manfully, conscious of his innocence, and
trusting in God that he would vindicate his honor.
He went home and told his mother all that had happened. He was sur-
prised to find that it did not shock her, as he supposed it would.
" I know you are innocent, Paul," she said, kissing him. " I am not sur-
1865.] Winning his Way. 325
prised at what has happened. You are the victim of a conspiracy. I have
been expecting that something would happen to you, for you have been highly
prospered, and prosperity brings enemies. It will all come out right in the
end." Thus his mother soothed him, and tried to lift the great weight from
his heart.
He was innocent, but half of the community thought him guilty. " He did
it, he did it," said Miss Dobb to all her neighbors. What should he do ?
How could he establish his innocence ? How remove all suspicion ? Ought
he to resign his position as leader of the choir ? or should he retain it ? But
the committee of the society settled that. " After what has happened, you
will see the propriety of giving up your position as leader of the choir," said
they. " Also your class in the Sunday-school," said the Superintendent.
O, how crushing it was ! He was an outcast, a vile, miserable wretch,
a hypocrite, a mean, good-for-nothing fellow, a scoundrel, a thief,
a robber, in the estimation of those who had respected him. They did not
speak to him on the street. Colonel Dare, who usually had a pleasant word,
did not notice him. He met Daphne Dare, but she crossed the street to
avoid him. How terrible the days ! How horrible the nights ! He tossed
and tumbled, and turned upon his bed. There was a fire in his bones. His
flesh was hot. His brain was like a smouldering furnace. If he dropped off
to sleep, it was but for a moment, and he awoke with a start, to feel the heat
burning up his soul with it$ slow, consuming flame.
At evening twilight he wandered by the river-side to cool his fever, dipping
his hand into the stream and bathing his brow. He stood upon the bridge
and looked over the railing into the surging waters. A horrible thought
came over him. Why not jump in and let the swollen current bear him away ?
What use was it to live, with his good name gone, and all the future a blank ?
He banished the thought. No, he would live on and trust in God.
He heard a step upon the bridge, and, looking up, beheld Azalia. She had
been out gathering the faded leaves of autumn, and late-blossoming flowers,
in the woods beyond the river. " Will she speak to me ? " was the question
which rose in his mind. His heart stood still in that moment of suspense.
She came towards him, held out her hand, and said, " Good evening, Paul."
" Then' you do not turn away from me ? "
" No, Paul, I don't believe that you are a thief."
Tears came to his eyes as he took her proffered hand, tears which welled
up from his heart and which saved it from bursting. " O Azalia, if you had
turned from me, I should have died ! I have suffered terrible agony, but I
can live now. I am innocent."
" I believe you, Paul ; and I shall still be as I have been, your friend," she
said, as she passed on across the bridge.
His heart was so full of gratitude that he could not utter his thanks. He
could only say in his heart, " God bless her." It was as if he had met an
angel in the way, and had been blessed. He stood there while the twilight
deepened, and felt his heart grow strong again. He went home. His mother
saw by the deep-settled determination on his face, by his calmness, and by
326
Winning his Way.
[May,
his sad smile, that he was not utterly broken down and overwhelmed by the
trouble which, like a wave of the sea, had rolled upon him.
" There is one who does not pass me by ; Azalia is still a friend/' he said.
" There are several whom you may count upon as being still your friends,"
she replied.
" Who are they, mother ? "
" God and the angels, my son."
So she comforted him, telling him that the best way to put down a lie was
to live it down, and that the time would surelj come when his honor and
integrity would be vindicated.
When they kneeled together to offer their evening prayer, and when his
mother asked that the affliction might work out for him an eternal weight of
glory, he resolved that he would, with God's help, live down the lie, and wait
patiently, bearing the ignominy and shame and the cold looks of those who
had been his friends, till his character for truth and honesty was re-estab-
lished. He was calm and peaceful now. Once more he heard sweet music
as he lay upon his bed. Through the night the winds, the waterfall, the
crickets, seemed to be saying with Azalia, " We are still your friends, still
your friends your friends your friends ! "
Carleton.
1865.] The Little Prisoner. 327
THE LITTLE PRISONER.
PART III.
A PRISONER.
A LITTLE boy, reading once by his grandmother's knee, came upon a
page half filled with stars. Turning away from the book, he asked his
grandmother what the stars meant.
" Almost anything you please, child," she answered. " The author means
you shall read that part of the story just as you like."
" But that is n't the way to tell a story ! " exclaimed the little boy ; " it
ought to be all written out."
"It is all written out in the stars" said the good old lady ; and, though
questioned again and again, she only smiled and answered, " It is all written
out in the stars. You will know it all by and by."
A year afterwards the aged lady went to heaven ; and the little boy was
told that the whole of her long and beautiful life was written in the stars,
in a great record-book kept by the angels. Then he understood how it was
that a story could be written in the stars ; and how the story of all of our
lives, whether written here or not, is .recorded there, to be read by and by to
the assembled universe. So a portion of my story, about the disinterested
kindness of old Katy, and the bravery and self-sacrificing devotion of her
little grandson, is written in the stars, among the countless deeds of heroic
goodness which their long oppressed race has done for us, their oppressors ;
and if I tell you no more, about it here, it will all be told you there by the angels.
* * * * *
James had fully recovered from his wound, and was about setting out for
the Union lines, when, just at sunset of a pleasant day in June, nearly a
month after the events narrated in the last chapter, the clattering of horses'
hoofs was heard in the court-yard of the old mansion ; and, going hastily to
the windows, the little boy and his companions saw a score or more of caval-
rymen, in great slouched hats and blue uniforms, dismounting near the door-
way.
" Hurrah ! " he shouted, as he caught sight of the glorious color which
drapes the sky in beauty, and lends the hue of heaven to even the wretched
product of the shoddy-mills, " they are our own men, Ohio boys ! Hur-
rah ! "
" No, honey," said old Katy, dejectedly, after a long pause, and a long look
at the strange soldiery, "dey 'm Mosby's men ! Run, Robby, ter de corn-
crib ! Run ! Dey 'm arter you / Hide away in de loft till dey 'm gone !
Granny '11 fotch you suffin' ter eat. Ef she ca'n't, lib on de corn ! Run ! "
" Blood," it is said, " is thicker than water " ; and, in her anxiety for the
last of her kin, the good old woman may have forgotten the danger to the
friendless Union lad at her side ; and who can blame her if she did ? What
328 The Little Prisoner. [May,
had she received from any of his race, that in such a moment should make
her think of him ?
Robby darted away, but not a second too soon ; for as he disappeared from
the room, the library door swung open, and a dozen tall, bearded men, in
rusty regimentals and mud-incrusted cavalry-boots, with great spurs jangling
at their heels, and heavy sword-blades clanking on the floor at their every
step, entered the room.
" Quarters and supper ; quick, old woman ! " shouted the leader, throwing
himself into a chair, and tossing his hat upon the centre-table. " We 're
almost starved."
" We 'se nuffin', nuffin' fur sich gemmen as you is," said old Katy, with
something of an emphasis on the last words.
" You lie, you black Venus. Get us supper at once, or we '11 make a meal
of you ! " cried the cavalryman, striking his sword a heavy blow on the floor.
With no manifestation of alarm, the old woman quietly said there was noth-
ing in the house except a little corn and a little jerked beef ; but if his deli-
cate palate could relish such viands, he was welcome to them.
With a loud oath the trooper cried out, " Hurry it up ; any fare will do for
starving men."
James meanwhile had slunk away into his little room, where he hoped to
remain unobserved ; but when the meal was about over, he heard the rough
voice of the leader calling out: "Where is the little fellow in blue, old
woman ? Bring him out. I want to see him."
Old Katy gave no answer ; but, knowing concealment to be impossible,
James stepped boldly forward, and said, " I am here, sir."
" You 're not Major Lucy's son, who are you ? " asked the trooper.
" I am an Ohio boy, sir," replied James, coolly but respectfully.
" An Ohio boy ! " shouted the officer, bringing his hand down heavily upon
the table. " A young Yankee whelp ! "
"I am a Yankee, sir, not a whelp. In Ohio we think none are dogs
but traitors," said the little boy, the angry blood mounting to his face, and
his voice ringing out clear and strong as the notes of a bugle.
Amazed by the boldness of the lad, the trooper dropped his fork, and said,
in a milder tone : " You 're an impudent young devil. But do you know
what we do with Yankee boys out here ? "
" Yes, sir. Some you shoot from behind fences, some you hang after they
surrender ; but you never whip us in a fair fight, unless you are two to our one."
Springing to his feet, the trooper, grasped the boy by the arm, and pulled
him upon his knee, roaring out with a great oath as he did so : " You 're the
bravest little fellow I ever knew. You 're worth any two men in my regiment.
I swear you shall enlist with me.'
" 'List wid you, Cap'n ! " cried old Katy, who had listened with breathless
interest to the conversation. " And you has a mudder, Cap'n, and you wus a
little boy onst jess like him ! 'List wid you ! "
"And why not, Aunty ? " said the Captain. " If I had a regiment of such
boys, in a week I 'd drive Grant into the Potomac."
1 86S.]
The Little Prisoner.
329
" But you ca'n't mean to tuck him, Cap'n ! He hab a mudder, Cap'n,
a pore, lone mudder, dat doant know but he 'm dead, and he 'm jess gwine
ter har, Cap'n, jess a gwine ter har. I 'se been a nussin' him all o' dis
time fur dat, eber sence de big battle, when he was hurted so bad ; you
ca'n't mean ter tuck him wid you, Cap'n, you ca'n't mean dat ! "
" I do mean that, so you shut up, old woman, and bring in some blankets
for the men. The boy and I will sleep in this bed."
Remonstrance and entreaty were alike unavailing, and with a heavy heart
old Katy did as she was bidden. The next morning, before the sun was up,
the squad, with James mounted on the back of the Captain's horse, rode
away to the head-quarters of the guerilla Mosby.
Edmund Kirke.
330
Farming for Boys.
[May,
FARMING FOR BOYS.
IV.
BY this time the party found themselves so well chilled as to make an in-
door lodgment of some kind desirable. The kitchen being prohibited
ground, for that day at least, Uncle Benny pioneered the way to the* barn,
where the boys were glad enough to wrap themselves in horse-blankets, and,
burying their legs deep in the hay, they were presently more comfortable
than when sitting in everybody's way around Mrs. Spangler's smudgy stove.
Uncle Benny, covering himself with a huge buffalo-robe, sat down upon a
low meal-chest, and, leaning back against the front of the manger, crossed
his legs as comfortably as if sitting by the fire-place. Very soon the hired
man came in. He had been left for the day unprovided with work, simply
because it rained ; that being sufficient to take his employer off to the village,
to sit until the weather cleared up, listening to the unprofitable conversation
of a country tavern. But his wages went on just as if he had been at work.
It was therefore a strange company of idlers thus assembled in the barn,
not one having anything to do. The hired man might have easily found
1865.] Farming for Boys. 331
enough to employ him in the barn, or shed, or at the wood-pile, while it
rained, and when it ceased for the afternoon, he could have busied himself
out of doors, had he been disposed to seek for tasks that his employer had
neglected to provide. But he was one of that sort of helpers who do nothing
not distinctly set before them, a sort, by the way, that no good farmer will
ever employ. This man, seeing a gate open which he knew ought to be
shut, would never think of closing it unless some' one told him to do so.
Unless, he stumbled over a hoe or any other tool which some one had left in
the path, he would be the last to stop and pick it up, and carry it where
he knew it belonged. He required, in fact, as much looking after as any of
the boys. Uncle Benny used to say of this man, that he was the most un-
profitable kind of hand to have on a farm.
One of the old man's principles was, never to have a hand about him who
required telling more than once to do anything. Another was, that, as he
provided a place for everything, so when an axe, a hoe, a spade, or any
other tool had been used, it must be put immediately back in its place, that
when next wanted it might be found, and that any hand wiio refused to obey
this law was not worth employing. These excellent ideas he took great
pains to impress on the minds of the boys, teaching them the value of order,
method, and regularity. He did once or twice undertake to lay down the
law to Mr. Spangler also ; but the latter showed so much indifference, even
going so far as to say that he always found it too much trouble to put things
in their places, unless it was a horse, that he gave him up as incorrigible.
The boys were often surprised, as well as amused, at the nice precision
with which Uncle Benny lived up to his favorite law of a place for every-
thing, and everything in its place. He would often send them up into his
chamber to get something out of his tool-chest. Though it was full of tools
and other matters, yet he seemed to have a perfect chart of the whole con-
tents imprinted on his memory. He could tell them the exact spot that
every tool occupied, which draw held the screws, which the four-penny or six-
penny nails, which held the carpet-tacks, and so on to the very bottom. He
often said that he could go to it in the dark and lay his hand on anything he
wanted. The boys always found things exactly where he said they were.
Their experience with this tool-chest was so novel, that it made a great im-
pression on them, and they insensibly fell into the old man's orderly habits
about keeping things in their proper places.
If Uncle Benny had felt that he had any authority over the hired man, he
would have soon put him to work ; for he had a habit of never letting any-
body stand idling about him when there was anything to do. The man's
example, moreover, was hurtful to the boys. Between him and Mr. Spangler
the boys would have been in a fair way to grow up complete slovens ; for
boys, in a general way, are literal imitators of the good or evil that may be
set before them.
Uncle Benny had a hard contest to counteract the effect of these daily pat-
terns of bad management. But his manner was so kind and sociable, he
cultivated their boyish affections so assiduously, he entered so fully into all
33 2 Farming for Boys. [May,
their thoughts, and sympathies, and aspirations, and he was so ready to
answer their numerous questions, as well as to lend them his tools whenever
they asked him, that in the end they looked up to him as by all odds the best
man on the place. The last good turn, of buying for them the very kind
of knife that they had so long coveted, fixed him immovably in their affec-
tions. It was a small matter for him, but a very great one for them.
It is thus that the education of a child begins. The school-room, and the
teacher who may be there enthroned, are very far from being the only means.
It goes on without reference to the alphabet, and even in advance of it. It
begins, as some one has beautifully said, " with a mother's look, with a
father's smile of approbation, or sign of reproof, with a sister's gentle
pressure of the hand, or a brother's noble act of forbearance, with handfuls
of flowers in green and daisied meadow, with birdsnests admired, but not
touched, with creeping ants, and almost imperceptible emmets, with
humming bees, with pleasant walks and shady lands, and with thoughts
directed in sweet and kindly tones and words, to incite to acts of benevolence,
to deeds of virtue, find to the source of all virtue, to God himself."
The very tones of Uncle Benny's voice, his lessons of instruction upon
every-day topics, his little kindly gifts, his confidences, his commendations,
and sometimes his reproofs, were all important agencies in the education of
these neglected boys. He lent them books and papers to read, taught them
lessons of morality, and was constantly directing them to look upward, to
aspire, not only as men, but as immortal beings. The school-room would
have been highly advantageous to them ; but, seeing that they were allowed
only a winter's attendance there, they had an able mentor in the good old
man whose lot had been cast among them.
These four had not been long in their comfortable quarters in the barn,
when Tony broke silence by saying : " Uncle Benny, you said that you would
tell us how a poor boy should make a beginning. Will you tell us now ? "
" Ah, Tony," replied the old man, " there are fifty ways in which to make
a beginning. But the first steps in any beginning that will go on prosper-
ously and end happily are these. Fear God, honor your parents, be strictly
honest, never violate your word, nor do any act which, if it afterwards be-
come known, will cause you to feel ashamed. You saw that pedler-boy.
He must have made a beginning with but little more than a shilling, perhaps
not so much. But he must have had pluck as well as the shilling, for the
shilling would have done but little for him without the pluck to set it going.
No matter how small, it was a beginning ; and if a boy never begins, he will
never come to anything useful. He turned his shilling into dollars, his dol-
lars into merchandise, such as you saw in his basket, and then his merchan-
dise into more dollars still. That boy will be sure to prosper. I have no
doubt that he has money saved up somewhere. A beginning shows that a
boy is in earnest to do something, that he has a head, and is not, like a fiddler,
all elbows. If it set him thinking, it will keep him thinking, and this thought
will improve his chances by detecting errors and showing him how to avoid
them. Half the poor outcasts of this world are made so because they had n't
1865.] Farming for Boys. 333
the pedler-boy's courage, the courage to begin. Had they made a start,
they might have prospered as well. You are both desirous of doing some-
thing to make money."
" Yes, indeed ! " shouted the boys with one voice.
" Well," replied Uncle Benny, " a farm is a poor place for even a smart
boy to make money on, unless the farmer has heart and soul enough to give
.him a chance. That don't happen as often as it should, for farmers think
too much of what only themselves want, and too little of what their boys do.
This farm is about as poor a one, I fear, for the boys to make money on it,
as any one I ever saw, unless Mr. Spangler thinks, as I do, that they ought
to have a chance."
" Won't you ask father, some day, to let us try ? " inquired Joe.
" But I don't want to. stay here," added Tony. " I want to go to the city,
to New York or Philadelphia, and make money there."
Uncle Benny was surprised at hearing this avowal from Tony King. It
was the first intimation he had ever received that Tony wanted to quit farm
life for city life. Though he was aware that the poor fejlow had no living
friends, at least none that he knew to be living, as the last of them, his
father's brother, had gone to the West some ten years before, and had not
been heard of since, yet he had not suspected Tony of having even thought
of quitting the farm.
He could not help mentally agreeing with him, that for an ambitious boy
the prospect was not encouraging. He was surrounded by one of those
combinations of unfriendly circumstances that almost invariably drive boys
from the country to seek their fortunes in the city. No attractions were set
before him to make the farm a pleasant home. It seemed as if Mr. Spangler
had wholly forgotten that he had himself once been a boy, for he evinced no
sympathy with the young minds around him. His own sons had no recrea-
tions of his suggesting or providing. Their holidays occurred only when it
rained. No one had thoughtfully supplied them with fishing-lines, though
there was capital sport within a walk of two miles. What little they could
do at fishing was always done in a hurry, sometimes in the rain, sometimes
on a Sunday. Those were the only times when they could be spared from
work. If they set snares for rabbits or muskrats, they were the rude con-
trivances which their schoolmates had taught them to make. They had no
pets, for they had never been taught a loving disposition, no pigeons, no
chickens, no beehive, not even a dog. The home' affections had been so
sadly neglected, that even in the hearts of the Spangler boys there was an un-
satisfied blank. In Tony's there was a still greater one, for he was an orphan.
There was also quite a noticeable difference between the treatment ex-
tended to the boys and that which the girls received. The three boys slept
in a great garret room, a rough, unfinished apartment, hung round with cob-
webs, and open enough to permit the wasps to enter and build long rows
of nests. There was nothing to educate the eye to neatness or order, no
curtains to the windows, no carpet on the floor, no chairs on which to sit
while dressing or undressing, no looking-glass or washstand, nothing, in
334 Farming for Boys. [May,
short, to give a cheerful aspect to the place in summer, or to make it com-
fortable in winter. Any room seemed good enough for the boys.
Yet there was a better chamber on the floor below, carpeted and furnished.
But though strangers never came to that house for entertainment, still it was
too good a room for the boys. Thus their personal comfort was neglected.
They saw nothing around them to make home attractive, nothing to invest
it with charms exceeding those of all other places. Hence a disposition
sprang up to look abroad for comfort, for counting the chances of doing and
living better in a new location. There was a growing anxiety for the time to
arrive when they should be free to quit an occupation which they upon whom
rested the highest obligation to make it agreeable had made distasteful.
On the other hand, the girls in this household occupied one of its best
chambers, carpeted and furnished, with a dressing-bureau, chairs, and tables,
with curtains to the windows, and a variety of other accessories. It is true
that there is a natural aptitude in women for making even bare walls attrac-
tive, for collecting around them conveniences and elegances of their own de-
vising, and with very meagre materials investing their especial chamber with
an air of snugness, cleanliness, and comfort beyond the capacity of the other
sex. Such tendencies are inherent in women. But the materials for achiev-
ing these results must to some extent be placed within their reach. Here
the girls were provided with the essentials, a rag carpet, it is true, and
quite decrepit chairs and tables, but their native taste contributed the rest.
But from the boys even these essentials were withheld ; and being deficient
in the housekeeping instinct, they lived on in their comfortless garret, con-
scious of its deficiencies, but without the tact necessary to supply them. If
others observed this, it did not matter ; it was only the boys' room, and was
good enough.
Moreover, of a stormy day, when out-of-door work was impossible, the
kitchen was always large enough to contain the girls without their being in
anybody's way ; but there was never room for the boys. They had wet
clothes, muddy shoes, and were complained of as sitting down in the most
inconvenient places round the fire. But it was because no others had been
provided for them. They soon learned they were not welcome there, the
room wherein, of all others, a farmer's boy conceives he has the right of
entrance and domicile, was made so unpleasant that they generally kept away
from it. They were treated too much as inferiors, as of no account except
being good for so much work. It is such neglect, such treatment as this,
that drives hundreds of well-meaning and deserving boys from the farm to
the city. No doubt there are many who live through it all, and remain at
home. No doubt there are farmers' sons who develop superior talents for
some particular branch of science or art, for the successful practice of which
a great city is the only remunerative field. It may be proper for such to leave
the farm, as every man should go where he feels he is most wanted, and the
world may be benefited by such enlargement of their field for usefulness.
They are evidently born for some other pursuit than that of farming.
It was this general neglect that was working on Tony's active mind so
1865.] Fanning for Boys. 335
strongly as to lead him to think of adventuring on a city life. Though he
knew nothing of the risks of that, yet he understood the discomforts of this.
Boy-like, he was willing to encounter the former, though unknown, in order to
'escape from the latter, which he knew too well. The exhortations of Uncle
Benny had so generally ended in a condemnation of Mr. Spangler's mode of
farming, without effecting any marked improvement in the management, that
Tony began to despair of an amendment in which he could participate. All
boys who happen to be born on farms are not calculated to make good farmers.
Some are so constitutionally organized that their tastes and talents run in
another direction. Taking that, they succeed ; but adhering to the farm,
they would fail. Others dislike farming because of its hard work, no one
whose duty it is taking pains to diversify that work by interweaving amuse-
ment or recreation, or the stimulant of juvenile profit. Others can see in
farming no prospect of becoming rich.
But Tony did not belong to either of these classes. He had been born in
the country, had no aversion to hard work, and would prefer remaining on a
farm ; but he was getting tired of Mr. Spangler. It was^ singular, however,
that, while thinking of making a change, it had never occurred to him to go
away and engage with a really good farmer, where he would be sure to learn
the business thoroughly. Instead of entertaining this sensible idea, he had
thought only of a plunge into the city. But Tony was young in the experi-
ences of this world, and had much to learn.
The dissatisfaction thus manifested by Tony to the farm life around him
was a new difficulty for Uncle Benny to smooth away. Heretofore he had
had only Spangler's lapses and mismanagement to contend with, but here
was trouble in a new quarter. Yet his concern for the welfare of these boys
was so great, and he was so well satisfied that they could do pretty well at
farm life if there was any way of making them contented, that he resolved to
do his utmost toward counteracting these unexpected symptoms of restless-
ness. He was quite pleased that the youngest boy, Bill Spangler, came into
the barn just in time to hear Tony's remark about quitting the farm, as he
too would have the benefit of his reply.
As the old man was a great reader, he generally carried a newspaper of
some kind in his pocket, from which he was in the habit of reading aloud to
the boys any article that struck him as being likely to amuse or instruct
them. Sometimes, when they had been debating or discussing a topic with
him, he would produce a paper containing an article on the very subject they
had been talking about, and on his reading it aloud, they found in it a re-
markable confirmation of what he had already told them. As it was in a
newspaper, the boys considered that it must be true, and as it always sup-
ported him in his views, they wondered more and more how the old man
came to know so much, as well as always to be right. These readings be-
came so popular with the boys, that, whenever a chance offered, they uni-
formly inquired if there was not something more in the paper that was worth
hearing.
The fact was that Uncle Benny, discovering how tractable these boys were,
336 Farming for Boys. [May,
and how much they needed the right kind of instruction, had subscribed for
two or three papers which he knew contained such reading as would be use-
ful to them. After examining them himself, he would select some subject
discussed or explained in them, which he thought would be important for the
boys to understand, and then, putting the paper into his pocket, would give
them, on the first suitable occasion, a verbal account of the matter, or start
a discussion about it. After it had been pretty thoroughly debated and turned
over, he would produce the paper and read the article aloud. ' Of course it
confirmed all that he had been saying, and as it was in print for they saw
it there it clinched the argument beyond dispute, and must be so.
But this little stroke of ingenuity was not adopted by Uncle Benny for the
purpose of impressing his audience with an exalted idea of his superior
knowledge or wisdom, but merely as an attractive mode of interesting their
minds in subjects with which it was important that they should become well
acquainted. It was surprising how much his method of proceeding interested
them. There has been a great deal said of the usefulness of farmers' clubs,
and of the addresses delivered before them. No one will doubt their having
done good service to the farming community, or that the more of them we
have, the better it will be for us ; but, considering the size of Uncle Benny's
audiences, and the general lack of knowledge pervading them, it may be
doubted whether his lectures, delivered sometimes in the barn, sometimes
on the rider of a worm fence, sometimes even when hoeing up weeds, were
not quite as productive of good as many others having not only larger audi-
ences, but greater pretensions.
His system had another advantage. The boys always wanted to see the
newspaper for themselves, to have it in their own hands. This was exactly
one of the results the old man was desirous of bringing about, as they were
sure to read over the articles he had himself read aloud, besides studying the
remaining contents. As he had great faith in the value of agricultural papers '
among farmers' boys, as well as among farmers too, he kept the boys supplied
with all the reading of this kind they desired.
Now it happened, oddly enough, when Tony King said he wanted to give
up farming and go to the city, that Uncle Benny had that very week been
reading an article in a newspaper which spoke about farmers' boys rushing
into the city. The old man, being equally opposed to their making such a
change, laid it down to Tony very plainly indeed. He told him the idea was
absurd ; that he did n't know what was best for him ; that his great want was
to learn to be contented where he was, and to wait until he was at least five
years older and wiser before he thought any more of changing. Then, by
way of settling the matter, he drew the paper from his pocket and read as
follows :
" The very worst thing a country boy can do is to leave the farm and come
to the city, in hopes of doing better. Yet they come here every week by
dozens, giving up good places where they are well taken care of, and pitch
in among a crowd of strangers who take no notice of them, or give short
answers when they are applied to for a situation, or even a small job. They
1865.] -Farming for Boys. 337
take it for granted that there is always plenty to do here, and that it is an
easy thing to get a situation in a store or counting-house, where there is little
to do and good pay for doing it. They see that the clerks and shop-boys
who sometimes come among them in the country are all well-dressed and
smart-looking fellows, with plenty of money in their pockets, which they
spend as freely as if there was no end to it, gunning, boating, hiring car-
riages to drive the girls about, &c. They think that these smart clerks must
have a capital life of it in the city. They also now and then hear of a poor
country boy who went into a city store and made a fortune, in a very short
time. Thus they get to envying the life of the town boys, and are uneasy
and restless until they, make the trial of finding out how difficult. and dan-
gerous such a life is. They see only the bright side of the picture.
" But all these boys are greatly mistaken. It may look very genteel and
easy to stand behind a counter and do nothing but measure out goods, but
it is close and confining labor nevertheless. If it is cleaner work than scrap-
ing up a barn-yard or currying down a horse, it is not half so wholesome.
Besides, it is not an easy matter to get a situation in a store. Our city is
full of boys born among us, whose parents find great difficulty in obtaining
places for them. Many of these boys go into stores and offices without get-
ting a dollar of pay. The privilege of being taught how to do business is
considered compensation enough, they actually work for nothing and find
themselves. Our store-boys have no time for play. They have no green
fields to look at or ramble over> nothing but dust, and mud, and hot bricks,
with quite as much real hard work as the country boys, only it is of a differ-
ent kind. What boy of the right spirit would desire to come here and merely
run of shop errands all day, learning nothing but how to go about town, when
he could stay in the country, sure to learn how to get a living ? Besides, a
boy here is surrounded by temptations to ruin, and the poorer he is, the more
certain are they to lead him astray. Where one such does well, there are
two who turn out thieves or vagabonds. We say to you, boys, stay on the
farm where you are. If you are determined to come, don't come without you
have some friend here who will receive you into his house, provide you with
employment, and take care of you. But anyhow, wait until you are older,
say twenty-one at least. Then, if you don't think better of it, you will be
somewhat able to ffght your way, for here it is nothing but fighting."
As the old man read this very deliberately, the boys listened with the
utmost attention. There ! " said he, when he had finished, " that man knows
what he says. He lives in the city, and understands about it. You see that
he advises you exactly as I do."
This unexpected confirmation had a powerful effect on the minds of all the
boys. It applied so directly to Tony's case, as to make him think differently
of the chances of a city life. As usual, he wanted to see the article for him-
self, and, beginning to read it aloud to the other boys, the old man left the
barn, thinking that a little free conversation on the subject among them-
selves would do no harm.
Author of " Ten Acres Enough."
VOL. i. NO. v. 24
338 Afloat in the Forest. [May,
AFLOAT IN THE FOREST:
OR, A VOYAGE AMONG THE TREE-TOPS.
CHAPTER XXVII.
AN AQUA-ARBOREAL JOURNEY.
IT may appear strange, incredible, absurd, that such a journey, for how-
ever short a distance, should have been attempted by human beings. No
doubt to many it will appear so, and will be set down as ludicrously improb-
able. Twenty minutes passed in the shadowy gloom of a South American
forest would strip the idea of travelling among the tree-tops of much of its
improbability. In many places such a feat is quite possible, and compara-
tively easy, perhaps not so "easy as rolling off a log," but almost as much
so as climbing to the top of one. In the great montana of the Amazon there
are stretches of forest, miles in extent, where the trees are so matted and
interlaced as to form one continuous "arbor," each united to its immediate
neighbors by natural stays and cables, to which the meshes formed by the
rigging of a ship are as an open network in comparison. In the midst
of this magnificent luxuriance of vegetable life, there are birds, beasts,
and insects that never set foot upon the ground ; birds in a vast variety
of genera and species ; beasts I mean quadrupeds of many different
kinds ; insects of countless orders ; quadrumana that never touched terra
firma with any of their four hands ; and, I had almost added, man. He,
too, if not exclusively confining himself to the tops of these forest-trees, may
make them habitually his home, as shall be seen in the sequel.
It was no great feat, then, for the Mundurucu and his acolyte to make a
short excursion across the " spray " of the forest, since this is the very timber
that is so tied together. There was even less of danger than in a tract of
woods growing upon the highlands or "Campos." A fall into the Gapo
could only entail a ducking, with a brief interruption of the journey.
It does not follow that their progress must be either swift or direct. That
would depend upon the character of the trees and their parasites, whether
the former grew close together, and whether the latter were numerous and
luxuriant, or of scanty growth. To all appearance, Nature in that spot had
been beneficent, and poured forth her vegetable treasures profusely.
The Indian, glancing through the branches, believed there would be no
more difficulty in getting to the other side of the belt of timber that sepa-
rated them from the open water, than in traversing a thicket of similar ex-
tent. With this confidence he set forth, followed by his less experienced
companion. Both began and continued their monkey-like march in the
most profound silence.
They knew that it was possible and easy for the alligator to bear them
company ; for although they were forced to pass through an almost imper-
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 339
vious thicket, down on the water it was altogether different. There was.
nothing to impede the progress of the saurian, huge as it was, except the
trunks of the trees.
To tell the truth, it was a toilsome trip, and both the travellers were weary
of it long before coming within sight of the open water on the opposite side.
Often were they compelled to carry their own weight on the strength of their
arms, by hoisting themselves from tree to tree. Many a detour had they to
make, sometimes on account of the impenetrable network of creepers, and
sometimes because of open water, that, in pools, interrupted their route.
The distance to be traversed was not over two hundred yards. At start-
ing they knew not how far, but it proved about this measure. If they had
made their calculation according to time., they might have estimated it at
half a score of miles. They were a good hour and a half on the journey ;
but the delay, with all its kindred regrets, was forgotten, when they saw
the open water before them, and soon after found themselves on the sel-
vage of the submerged forest.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A TIMELY WARNING.
'
ON arriving among the outside trees, our explorers, homeward bound, saw
something to cheer them, something besides the bright sun and the shining
waters of the Gapo. It was the sapucaya, still bearing its stupendous fruit,
the friends they had left behind them. The Paraense appeared to be count-
ing them, as if to make sure that all were still safe upon the tree. Perhaps
he was only intent on the discovery of one, or, having discovered, was
feeding his eyes upon her form, slender and graceful in the distance. He
would have shouted to apprise them of the safety of himself and companion,
had not a sign from the latter, accompanied by a few muttered words, coun-
selled him to hold his peace.
"Why not, Munday?"
" Not a word, young master. We are not yet out of the woods ; the ja-
card may hear us."
"We left it far behind in the igardpe."
" Ah, true ! Who knows where he may be now ? Not the Mundurucu.
The monster may have followed us. Who knows ? He may be at this mo-
ment within twenty yards, waiting for us to come back into the water."
As he spoke, the Indian looked anxiously behind him. He could discover
no cause of alarm. All was still under the shadow of the trees. Not even a
ripple could be seen upon the sombre surface of the water.
" I think we 've given it the slip," remarked Richard.
" It looks so," responded the Indian. " The Mundurucu hears no sound,
sees no sign. The jacare' should still be in the igardpe."
"Why should we delay any longer ? Several hours have elapsed since we
left the sapucaya. My uncle and everybody else will be out of all patience.
34O Afloat in the Forest. [May,
They will be distracted with sheer anxiety. They look as if they were.
Though we have a good view of them, I don't suppose they see us. If they
did, they would be hailing us, that 's certain. Let us take to the water, and
rejoin them."
The Mundurucu, after looking once more to the rear, and listening for a
few moments, replied, " I think we may venture."
This was the cue for young Trevannion, and, lowering himself from the
limb on which he was supported, the two almost at the same instant com-
mitted themselves to the flood. Scarce had they touched the water when
their ears were assailed by a shout that came pealing across the Gapo. It
neither startled nor surprised them, for they could not fail to comprehend its
meaning. It was a cheer sent forth from the sapucaya, announcing their
reappearance to the eyes of their anxious companions. Stimulated by the
joyous tones, the two swimmers struck boldly out into the open water.
Richard no longer thought of looking behind him. In a hasty glance
directed towards the sapucaya, as he rose after his first plunge upon the
water, he had seen something to lure him on, at the same time absorbing all
his reflections. He had seen a young girl, standing erect within the fork of
the tree, throw up her arms as if actuated by some sudden transport of joy.
What could have caused it but the sight of him ? "
The mind of the Mundufucu was far differently employed. His thoughts
were retrospective, not prospective. So, too, were his glances. Instead of
looking forward to inquire what was going on among the branches of the
sapucaya, he carried his beardless chin upon his shoulder, keeping his eyes
and ears keenly intent to any sight or sound that might appear suspicious
behind him. His caution, as was soon proved, was neither unnatural nor
superfluous, nor yet the counsel given to his companion to swim as if some
swift and terrible pursuer were after him ; for although the Indian spoke
from mere conjecture, his words were but too true.
The swimmers had traversed about half the space of open water that lay
between the- sapucaya and the submerged forest. The Indian had pur-
posely permitted himself to fall into the wake of his companion, in order that
his backward view might be unobstructed. So far, no alligator showed itself
behind them, no enemy of any kind ; and in proportion as his confidence
increased, he relaxed his vigilance. It seemed certain the jacar had given
up the chase. It could not have marked their movements among the tree-
tops, and in all likelihood the monster was still keeping guard near the open*
ing of the igardpe. Too happy to arrive at this conclusion, the Indian ceased
to think of a pursuit, and, after making an eifort, overtook the young Para-
ense, the two continuing to swim abreast. As there no longer appeared any
reason for extraordinary speed, the swimmers simultaneously suspended the
violent exertions they had been hitherto making, and with relaxed stroke
kept on towards the sapucaya.
It was fortunate for both that other eyes than their own were turned upon
that stretch of open water. Had it not been so, the silent swimmer, far
swifter than they, coming rapidly up in their rear, might have overtaken
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 341
them long before reaching the tree. The shout sent forth from the sapu-
caya, in which every voice bore a part, warned them of some dread danger
threatening near. But for late experience, they might not have known on
which side to look for it ; but, guided by this, they instinctively looked back.
The jacare', close behind, was coming on as fast as his powerful tail, rapidly
oscillating from side to side, could propel him. It was fortunate for the two
swimmers they had heard that warning cry in time. A score of seconds
made all the difference in their favor, all the difference between life and
death. It was their destiny to live, and not die then in the jaws of the jacare'.
Before the ugly reptile, making all the speed in its power, could come up
with either of them, both, assisted by willing hands, had climbed beyond its
reach, and could look upon it without fear from among the branches of the
sapucaya.
CHAPTER XXIX.
IMPROVISED SWIMMING-BELTS.
THE huge saurian swam on to the tree, to the very spot where Richard
and the Mundurucu had climbed up, at the forking of the stem. On perceiv-
ing that its prey had for a second time got clear, its fury seemed to break all
bounds. It lashed the water with its tail, closed its jaws with a loud clatter-
ing, and gave utterance to a series of sounds, that, could only be compared
to a cross between the bellowing of a bull and the grunting of a hog.
Out in the open light of the sun, and swimming conspicuously upon the
surface of the water, a good view of the reptile could now be obtained ; but
this did not improve the opinion of it already formed by Richard. It looked,
if possible, uglier than when seen in shadow ; for in the light the fixed leer
of its lurid eye, and the ghastly blood-colored inside of the jaws, at intervals
opened, and showing a triple row of terrible teeth, were more conspicuous
and disgusting. Its immense bulk made it still more formidable to look
upon. Its body was full eight yards in length, and of proportionate thick-
ness, measuring around the middle not less than a fathom and a half;
while the lozenge-like protuberances along its spine rose in pointed pyramids
to the height of several inches.
No wonder that little Rosa uttered a shriek of terror on first beholding it ;
no wonder that brave young Ralph trembled at the sight. Even Trevannion
himself, with the negro and Tipperary Tom, regarded the reptile with fear.
It was some time before they felt sure that it could not crawl up to them. It
seemed for a time as if it meant to do so, rubbing its bony snout against the
bark, and endeavoring to clasp the trunk with its short, human-like arms.
After several efforts to ascend, it apparently became satisfied that this feat
was not to be performed, and reluctantly gave up the attempt ; then, retreat-
ing a short distance, began swimming in irregular circles around the tree,
all the while keeping its eye fixed upon the branches.
After a time, the castaways only bent their gaze upon the monster at in-
tervals, when some new manoeuvre attracted their notice. There was no
342 Afloat in the Forest. [May,
immediate danger to be dreaded from it ; and although its proximity was
anything but pleasant, there were other thoughts equally disagreeable, and
more important, to occupy their time and attention. They could not remain
all their lives in the sapucaya ; and although they knew not what fortune
awaited them in the forest beyond, they were all anxious to get there.
Whether it was altogether a flooded forest, or whether there might not be
some dry land in it, no one could tell. In the Mundurucu's opinion it was
the former ; and in the face of this belief, there was not much hope of their
finding a foot of dry land." In any case, the forest must be reached, and all
were anxious to quit their quarters on the sapucaya, under the belief that
they would find others more comfortable. At all events, a change could not
well be for the worse.
Munday had promised them the means of transport, but how this was to
be provided none of them as yet knew. The time, however, had arrived for
him to declare his intentions, and this he proceeded to do ; not in words, but
by deeds that soon made manifest his design.
. It will be remembered that, after killing the macaws, he had tapped the
seringa, and " drawn " two cups full of the sap, that he had bottled it up in
the pots, carefully closing the lids against leakage. It will also be remem-
bered, that he had provided himself with a quantity of creepers, which he had
folded into a portable bundle. These were of a peculiar sort, the true sipos
of the South American forest, which serve for all purposes of cordage, ropes
ready made by the hand of Nature. On parting from the seringa, he had
brought these articles along with him, his companion carrying a share of the
load. Though chased by the jacare, and close run too, neither had aban-
doned his bundle, tied by sipos around the neck, and both the bottled
caoutchouc and the cordage were now in the sapucaya. What they were in-
tended for no one could guess, until it pleased the Indian to reveal his secret ;
and this he at length did, by collecting a large number of nuts from the
sapucaya, Ralph and Richard acting as his aids, emptying them of their
three-cornered kernels, restoring the lids, and then making them "water-
proof" by a coating of the caoutchouc.
Soon all became acquainted with his plans, when they saw him bind the
hollow shells into bunches, three or four in each, held together by sipos, and
then with a stronger piece of the same parasite attach the bunches two and
two together, leaving about three feet of the twisted sipos between.
" Swimming-belts ! " cried Ralph, now for the first time comprehending
the scheme. Ralph was right. That was just what the Mundurucii had
manufactured, a set of swimming-belts.
CHAPTER XXX.
ALLIGATOR LORE.
FOR an hour the castaways remained in the tree, chafing with impatience
and chagrin that their awful enemy still kept his savage watch for them in
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 343
the Gapo below, gliding lazily to and fro, but ever watching them with eager,
evil eye. But there was no help for it ; and by way of possessing their souls
in more patience, and making time pass quicker, they fell to conversing on a
subject appropriate to the occasion, for it was the jacare' itself, or rather alli-
gators in general. Most of the questions were put by Trevannion, while the
answers were given by the Mundurucu, whose memory, age, and experience
made him a comprehensive cyclopaedia of alligator lore.
The Indian, according to his own account, was acquainted with five or six
different kinds of jacare. They were not all found in one place, though he
knew parts of the country where two or three kinds might be found dwelling
in the same waters ; as, for instance, the jacare-uassu (great alligator), the
same as was then besieging them, and which is sometimes called the
black jacare', might often be seen in the same pool with" the jacare-tinga,
or little alligator. Little jacare' was not an appropriate name for this last
species. It was four feet long when full grown, and he knew of others, as
the jacare-curiia, that never grew above two. These kinds frequented small
creeks, and were less known than the others, as it was only in certain places
they were found. The jacares were most abundant in the dry season. He
did not suppose they were really more numerous, only that they were then
collected together in the permanent lakes and pools. Besides, the rivers
were then lower, and, as there was less surface for them to spread over, thej
were more likely to be seen. As soon as the echente commenced, they^ for-
sook the channels of the rivers, as also the standing lakes, and wandered all
over the Gapo. As there was then a thousand times the quantity of water,
of course the creatures were more scattered, and less likely to be encoun-
tered. In the vasante he had seen half-dried lakes swarming with jacards,
as many as there would be tadpoles in a frog-pond. At such times he had
seen them crowded together, and had heard their scales rattling, as they jos-
tled one another, at the distance of half a mile or more. In the countries on
the lower part of the Solimoes, where many of the inland lakes become dry
during the vasante, many jacares at that season buried themselves in the
mud, and went to sleep. They remained asleep, encased in dry, solid earth,
till the flood once more softened the mud around them, when they came out
again as ugly as ever. He did n't think that they followed this fashion
everywhere ; only where the lakes in which they chanced to be became dry,
and they found their retreat to the river cut off. They made their nests on
dry land, covering the eggs over with a great conical pile of rotten leaves and
mud.
The eggs of the jacare'-uassu were as large as cocoa-nuts, and of an oval
shape. They had a thick, rough shell, which made a loud noise when rubbed
against any hard substance. If the female were near the nest, and you
wished to find her, you had only to rub two of the eggs together, and she
would come waddling towards you the moment she heard the noise. They
fed mostly on fish, but that was because fish was plentiest, and most readily
obtained. They would ea't flesh or fowl, anything that chanced in their
way. Fling them a bone, and they would swallow it at a gulp, seizing it in
344 Afloat in the Forest. [May,
their great jaws before it could reach the water, just as a dog would do. If
a morsel got into their mouth that would n't readily go down, they would
pitch it out, and catch it while in the air, so as to get it between their jaws
in a more convenient manner.
Sometimes they had terrific combats with the jaguars ; but these animals
were, wary about attacking the larger ones, and only preyed upon the young of
these, or the jacare-tingas. They themselves made war on every creature
they could catch, and above all on the young turtles, thousands of which
were every year devoured by them. They even devoured their own children,
that is, the old males did, whenever the mai (mother) was not in the way
to protect them. They had an especial preference for dogs, that is, as
food, and if they should hear a dog barking in the forest, they would go a
long way over land to get hold of him. They lie in wait for fish, sometimes
hiding themselves in the weeds and grass till the latter come near. They
seized them, if convenient, between their jaws, or killed them with a stroke
of the tail, making a great commotion in the water. The fish got confused
with fright, and did n't know which way to swim out of the reptile's reach.
Along with their other food they ate stones, for he had qften found stones in
their stomach. The Indian said it was done that the weight might enable
them to go under the water more easily.
The Capilearas were large animals that furnished many a meal to the ja-
cards ; although the quadrupeds could swim very fast, they were no match
for the alligator, who can make head with rapidity against the strongest cur-
rent. If they could only turn short, they would be far more dangerous than
they are ; but their neck was stiff, and it took them a long while to get round,
which was to their enemies' advantage. Sometimes they made journeys
upon land. Generally they travelled very slowly, but they could go much
faster when attacked, or pursuing their prey. Their tail was to be especially
dreaded. With a blow of that they could knock the breath out of a man's
body, or break his leg bone. They liked to bask in the sun, lying along the
1865.] Afloat in the Forest. 345
sand-banks by the edge of the river, several of them together, with their tails
laid one on the other. They would remain motfonless for hours, as if asleep,
but all the while with their mouths wide open. Some said that they did this
to entrap the flies and insects that alighted upon their tongue and teeth, but
he (the Mundurucu) -did n't believe it, because no quantity of flies would fill
the stomach of the great jacare. While lying thus, or even at rest upon the
water, birds often perched upon their backs and heads, cranes, ibises, and
other kinds. They even walked about over their bodies without seeming to
disturb them. In that way the jacare's could not get at them, if they wished
it ever so much.
There were some jacare's more to be dreaded than others. These were
the man-eaters, such as had once tasted human flesh. There were many of
them, too many, since not a year passed without several people falling
victims to the voracity of these reptiles. People were used to seeing them
every day, and grew careless. The jacares lay in wait in the bathing-places
close to villages and houses, and stole upon the bathers that had ventured
into deep water. Women, going to fetch water, and children, were especially
subject to their attack. He had known men, who had gone into the water in
a state of intoxication, killed and devoured by the jacard, with scores of peo-
ple looking helplessly on from the bank, not twenty yards away. When an
event of this kind happened, the people armed themselves en masse, got into
their montarias (canoes), gave chase, and usually killed the reptile. At other
times it was left unmolested for months, and allowed to lie in wait for a
victim.
The brute was muy ladim (very cunning). That was evident enough to
his listeners. They had only to look down into the water, and watch the
movements of the monster there. Notwithstanding its ferocity, it was at
bottom a great coward, but it knew well when it was master of the situation.
The one under the sapucaya believed itself to be in that position. It might
be mistaken. If it did not very soon take its departure,, he, the Mundurucu,
should make trial of its courage, and then would be seen who was master.
Big as it was, it would not be so difficult to subdue for one who knew how.
The jacare' was not easily killed, for it would not die outright till it was cut
to pieces. But it could be rendered harmless. Neither bullet nor arrow
would penetrate its body, but there were places where its life could be
reached, the throat, the eyes, and the hollow places just behind the eyes,
in front of the shoulders. If stabbed in any of these tender places, it must
go under. He knew a plan better than that ; and if the brute did not soon
raise the siege, he would put it in practice. He was getting to be an old
man. Twenty summers ago he would not have put up with such insolence
from an alligator. He was not decrepit yet. If the jacard consulted its own
safety, it would do well to look out
346 Afloat in the Forest. [May,
CHAPTER XXXI.
A RIDE UPON A REPTILE.
AFTER thus concluding his long lecture upon alligators, the Indian grew
restless, and fidgeted from side to side. It was plain to all, that the presence
of the jacard was provoking him to fast culminating excitement. As another
hour passed, and the monster showed no signs of retiring, his excitement
grew to anger so intense, as to be no longer withheld from seeking relief in
action. So the Mundurucu hastily uprose, flinging aside the swimming-belts
hitherto held in his hands. Everything was put by except his knife, and
this, drawn from his tanga, was now held tightly in his grasp.
" What mean you, Munday ? " inquired Trevannion, observing with some
anxiety the actions of the Indian. " Surely you are not going to attack the
monster ? With such a poor weapon you would have no chance, even sup-
posing you could get within striking distance before being swallowed up.
Don't think of such a thing ! "
" Not with this weapon, patron," replied the Indian, holding up the knife ;
" though even with it the Mundurucu would not fear to fight the jacare', and
kill him, too. Then the brute would go to the bottom of the Gapo, taking me
along. I don't want a ducking like "that, to say nothing of the chances of
being drowned. I must settle the account on the surface."
" My brave fellow, don't be imprudent ! It is too great a risk. Let us stay
here till morning. Night will bring a change, and the reptile will go off."
" Patron ! the Mundurucu thinks differently. That jacare" is a man-eater,
strayed from some of the villages, perhaps Coary, that we have lately left.
It has tasted man's blood, even ours, that of your son, your own. It sees
men in the tree. It will not retire till it has gratified its ravenous desires.
We may stay in this tree till we starve, and from feebleness drop, one by
one, from the branches."
" Let us try it for one night ? "
" No, patron," responded the Indian, his eyes kindling with a revengeful
fire, " not for one hour. The Mundurucu was willing to obey you in what
related to the duty for which you hired him. He is no longer a tapuyo. The
galatea is lost, the contract is at an end, and now he is free to do what he
may please with his life. Patron ! " continued the old man, with an energy
that resembled returning youth, " my tribe would spurn me from the malocca
if I bore it any longer. Either I or the jacare' must die ! "
Silenced by the singularity of the Indian's sentiment and speech, Trevan-
nion forbore further opposition. No one knew exactly what his purpose
was, though his attitude and actions led all to believe that he meant to attack
the jacare'. With his knife ? No. He had negatived this question himself.
How then ? There appeared to be no other weapon within 1 reach. But there
was, and his companions soon saw there was, as they sat silently watching
his movements. The knife was only used as the means of procuring that
weapon, which soon made its appearance in the form of a macana, or club,
i86s.]
Afloat in the Forest.
347
cut from one of the llianas, a bauhinia of heaviest wood, shaped something
after the fashion of a " life-preserver," with a heavy knob of the creeper form-
ing its head, and a shank about two feet long, tapering towards the handle.
Armed with this weapon, and restoring the knife to his tanga, the Indian
came down and glided out along the horizontal limb already known to our
story. To attract the reptile thither was not difficult. His presence would
have been a sufficient lure, but some broken twigs cast upon the water served
to hasten its approach to the spot. In confidence the jacard came on, be-
lieving that by some imprudence, or misadventure, at least one of those it
had marked for its victims was about to drop into its hungry maw. One did
drop, not into its maw, or its jaws, but upon its back, close up to the swell
of its shoulders. Looking down from the tree, his companions saw the Mun-
durucu astride upon the alligator, with one hand, the left, apparently inserted
into the hollow socket of the reptile's eye, the other raised aloft, grasping
the macana, that threatened to descend upon the skull of the jacare. It did
descend, crack ! crash ! crackle ! After that there was not much to
record. The Mundurucii was compelled to slide off his seat. The huge
saurian, with its fractured skull, yielded to a simple physical law, turned over,
showing its belly of yellowish white, an aspect not a whit more lovely than
that presented in its dark dorsal posterior. If not dead, there could be no
doubt that the jacard was no longer dangerous ; and as its conqueror re-
turned to the tree, he was received with a storm of " Vivas" to which Tip-
perary Tom added his enthusiastic Irish " hoor-raa ! "
348 Afloat in the Forest. [May,
CHAPTER XXXII.
TAKING TO THE WATER.
THE Mundurucu merited congratulation, and his companions could not
restrain their admiration and wonder. They knew that the alligator was only
assailable by ordinary weapons as gun, spear, or harpoon in three places ;
in the throat, unprotected, except by a thin, soft integument ; in the hollow in
front of the shoulders, and immediately behind the bony socket of the eyes ;
and in the eyes themselves, the latter being the most vulnerable of all.
Why had the Indian, armed with a knife, not chosen one -of these three
places to inflict a mortal cut or stab ?
" Patron," said the Indian, as soon as he had recovered his breath, "you
wonder, why the Mundurucu took all that trouble for a macana, while he might
have killed the jacard without it. True, the knife was weapon enough. Pa
terra ! Yes. But it would not cause instant death. The rascal could dive
with botli eyes scooped out of their sockets, and live for hours afterwards.
Ay, it could have carried me twenty miles through the Gapo, half the dis-
tance under water. Where would old Munday have been then ? Drowned
and dead, long before the jacare' itself. Ah, patron, a good knock on the
hollow of its head is the best way to settle scores with a jacare."
And as if all scores had been now settled with this fellow, the huge saurian,
to all appearance dead, passed unheeded out of sight, the current of the Gapo
drifting it slowly away. They did not wait for its total disappearance, and
while its hideous body, turned belly upward, with its human-like hands stiffly
thrust above the surface, was yet in sight, they resumed their preparations
for vacating a tenement of which all were heartily tired, with that hopeful ex-
pectancy which springs from a knowledge that the future cannot be worse
than the present. Richard had reported many curious trees, some bearing
fruits that appeared to be eatable, strung with llianas, here and there forming
a network that made it easy to find comfort among their branches. If there
had been nothing else to cheer them, the prospect of escaping from their
irksome attitudes was of itself sufficient ; and influenced by this, they eagerly
prepared for departure.
As almost everything had been already arranged for ferrying the party,
very little remained to be done. From the hermetically closed monkey-cups
the Mundurucu had manufactured five swimming-belts, this number being
all that was necessary, for he and the young Paraense could, swim ten times
the distance without any adventitious aid. The others had their share of
empty shells meted out according to their weight and need of help. Rosa's
transport required particular attention. The others could make way them-
selves, but Rosa was to be carried across under the safe conduct of the Indian.
So when every contingency had been provided for, one after another slipped
down from the fork, and quietly departed from a tree that, however uncom-
fortable as a residence, had yet provided them with a refuge in the hour of
danger.
Mayne Reid.
CHARADES.
No. 7.
My first is an animal, which, at its birth,
Is the symbol of innocence, mildness, and
mirth.
Awhile, and behold of his graces he 's
shorn,
And with them another he aids to adorn,
Sends beauty and comfort and wealth to
a home,
Near which he is rarely permitted to come.
And should you approach him, by kind-
ness misled,
Will repel you by simply shaking his head.
My second 's the product of various trees,
And though from them severed oft "raises
a breeze."
The terror of children when allied with
hate;
Their greatest delight when connected with
bait.
My whole in the grasp of a dexterous hand,
Produces effects both gloomy and grand.
It is straight as a needle, like iron as
strong ;
It helps guard the right, yet works for the
wrong ;
An agent of death, an agent of pleasure,
Guess my name, then my use you can
easily measure.
N. A. M. E.
No. 8.
My first is a name for a travelling machine,
From the rustic oft heard, though in print
seldom seen.
My second 's a manoeuvre derived from the
Scot,
Which our Sherman's success shows we
have n't forgot.
My whole is the puzzle you 're trying to
guess ;
'T is indeed a charade, nothing more and
no less.
K.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
NO. II.
500561 oooe
5005BIOOOE.
A popular tale.
BERTA.
No. 12.
If the width of a barn is 32 feet, and
the height is 8 feet 3 inches more at the
ridge than at the eaves, what is the length
of the rafters ?
CHARLIE.
350
Round the Evening Lamp. [May,
ILLUSTRATED REBU S. No. 10.
P. B. P.
TRANSPOSITIONS,
5. Make a word of four syllables by re-
peating and transposing these letters :
Imps.
6. Mary was asked her favorite plant ;
she replied, Emu-grain.
1865.] Round the Evening Lamp.
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. n.
351
No. 7.
I am composed of 15 letters.
My 14, 9, 7, 2, is a small, purblind animal.
My 8, 12, 4, 3, is not now.
My i, 6, 5, 15, is a name for dress.
My i, 13, 10, is very sticky.
My II, 9, 14, is a boy's nick-name.
My whole is a general who never fought
a battle. ' F. E. W.
NO. 8.
I am composed of 1 1 letters.
My 4, 9, i, n, is of all earthly places the
sweetest
My 6, 2, 5, of all forest-roamers the fleetest.
My 10, 2, 8, 3, is blacker than the blackest
slave
Our Union army tries to save.
My 4, 8, 7, though not, like him, from Ham
descended,
Has much of Ham in his nature blended.
My 10, 4, n, i, is to Ham still more nearly
related
(You '11 find that fact in the Bible stated).
My i, 9, 2, is heard as the milkmaid fills
her pail,
Though not from the " cow with the iron
tail."
ENIGMAS.
My 4, 5, 1, is what girls should be able to do.
Before they are half so old as you.
My 7, 5, n, 10, 5, is what you all must
surely be,
If you have not by this time unriddled me.
My whole is a poet of fame more eternal
Than any whose rhymings appear in this
journal ;
Whose verses are sung by the whole Eng-
lish nation,
And form the substratum of all education.
EDDIE.
No. 9.
I am composed of 14 letters.
My 10, 1 1, 4, 5, is the end of some per-
sons.
My9, 10, II, 4, 6, 14, is what men-of-war do.
My i, 2, 3, 4, 5, is a favorite bird.
My 10, 13, 12, 14, is a common flower.
My 3, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, is used in factories for
winding thread.
My 6, 7, 3, 14, 10, is grave.
My 9, 10, n, 6, 14, is a small culinary
vessel.
My 14, 10, 10, 7, I, is &. mistake.
My 6, 14, 8, 12, 14, 6, we have five of.
My whole is a" famous old book for boys.
W. U.'
352
Round the Evening Lamp.
[May.
ENIGMAS.
5. The Alphabet.
6. Never too late to mend.
CHARADES.
5. Watch-word.
6. Interpreter (Inter praetor).
PUZZLES.
Aver.
3. Own,
Die.
Bad', Lie.
Crop.
Invalid.
4. Madam, Adam, dam, am, M.
5. Fox, ox.
6. Ovum.
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.
8. The 10 x 20. Difference $ 1.20.
9. The corners were cut off thus :
ANSWERS.
4. (Words.) Parliament, Old Eng-
land, lawyers, astronomers, Abe
Lincoln, destruction, ruin, will be,
fate, monarch, bother Uncle Sam.
CONUNDRUMS.
6. It 's a miss-giving.
7. Right (write) about face.
8. One is an analyzer (Ann Eliza) and
the other is a charlatan (Charlotte Ann).
9. When it is needed (kneaded).
10. Confervas (Confer V).
10. i sheep, 5 cows, 94 geese.
TRANSPOSITIONS.
2. On a frolic.
3. Persist.
DON
Here 's Don Quixote, the Knight of La Mancha.
No gentleman, thinks he, is stauncher ;
He fights with windmills,
Valiant lambkins he kills,
This redoubtable Knight of La Mancha.
ILLUSTRATED REBUSES.
6. Not one cent for tribute, millions for
defence.
[(Knot) (one cent) (fort) (rib) (boot)
(mill eye on S) (ford) E (fence).]
7. Look not on the wine when it is red in
the cup.
[Loo (knot on the wine) W(hen) (/'/ is
read in the cup)].
8. Honesty is the best policy.
[On S T is the best Pol I see.]
9. Cannoneers delight in shooting their
balls into the enemy's lines.
[(Cannon) (ears) d(light in shoe) (t in G)
t(hair) (balls in 2) t (hen) M (eyes)
(lines).]
QUIXOTE.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS
An Illustrated Magazine
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
VOL. I.
JUNE, 1865.
No. VI.
AMO NG THE LIONS.
, UNTIE, I am as afraid of a girl as I am of
a lion ! "
" What is that you say, Ethel ? "
" I am as afraid of a girl as I am of a lion,
Auntie," and the young speaker's voice lost
nothing of its intensity as she repeated her
remark, while she straightened the gull's wing
standing upright in her jaunty hat, and placed
it upon her head.
Her aunt glanced quickly at the clock, and seeing
it was but half past eight, said, with a hidden smile
in her voice, which Ethel was too busy to detect,
" Stop a moment, darling, and, instead of calling for
Alice this morning, take off your hat and come and
sit by me a little while, until it is time for school."
Poor Ethel was disappointed. She was quite
ready and longed to be off, but there was no resist-
ing Auntie's way of asking. To be sure she never
said must, but somehow her way was so kind, it was
impossible not to do what she asked. So she took
off her hat and sat down. Beside, she had a little
feeling of fear lest she had said something kind Aunt
Katy would think very naughty, therefore 'she was a
little bit relieved at the first words. " I could n't let you go into the lion's
den again, darling, without your armor on. It would make me very sad to
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Cleric's
Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
VOL.1. NO. VI. 25
354 Among the Lions. [June,
see you gobbled up by the beasts." And Ethel could not. help smiling at
her aunt's words, in spite of her disappointment.
" Now let us have a talk about these lions, and find out if they really are
so dreadful, and then we will see what kind of armor we ought to have. I
know some people, quite tall and old, Ethel, who are just as much afraid of
lions as you are. They never have had any armor, and they are very uncom-
fortable persons both to themselves and everybody else."
" O dear me, Auntie, how dreadful ! I thought it was only because I
was a little girl and you made me wear my merino dress to dancing-school
and "
" No indeed, darling. Older people are afraid, too, and when they don't
get over their fear it grows worse and worse, until by and by the beasts really
begin to gobble them up ! "
By this time Ethel's eyes were growing large. She had only said, she was
as afraid of a girl as she was of a lion, she did not say that a girl was a
lion ! But here was Aunt Katy taking her up, just as if she had said that
girls were wild beasts, so she was somewhat relieved when her aunt contin-
ued, after a pause : " I want to tell you a secret, Ethel. Fears are the real
lions of the world. Some people put on a braggadocio manner, as much as
to say, ' Do you think I care for you ? ' because they have n't found out this
secret ; and some behave as if they were mice, and the rest of the world
were cats all ready to pounce upon them, and some strive to move about
the world as quietly as possible, lest they should attract the attention or feel
the claws of a lion on their shoulder. Now Fear tears and gobbles up men
and women and children, who go about in this way, and their only hope is
in the armor that Daniel wore in the lion's den."
"Auntie," said Ethel, who was getting to look very serious, "did you ever
see anybody who was beginning to be gobbled up ? "
" Yes, dear, I 'm sorry to say I have. And I thought the other day, when
I saw Cora Pendleton look at your mittens and laugh at your India-rubber
boots, and observed it made my darling unhappy, 'There, the lion has
put his paw upon Ethel now ! ' "
"O yes. Auntie, I remember; Cora always wears kid gloves to church,
and it did make me uncomfortable to have her laugh at my mittens."
" I have seen grown-up women, Ethel, spend a long, beautiful day, altering
the shape of a bonnet, which was not of the latest fashion, rather than pass
their time in the open air, getting health or pleasure, or doing good to some
one, and I have found that the lions had eaten more than a fair share of
those poor women. And when the war broke out, and taxes on French
dresses became heavy, and some of us thought it would be better for the
nation if ladies would wear American dresses, a lady said to me, * Are n't
you afraid you may be taken for a maid, if you wear such common things ? '
Then I knew that the lions had frightened this woman, and that she had
lost her head, or she never could have fancied that a fine dress would make
a lady."
" Dear me, Auntie, I wish you would tell me how to get my armor."
1865.] The Robin. 355
" I will, darling, after I have told you that there are two kinds of armor.
We must beware of the false kind, Ethel ! It is called, * Don't Care.' Miss
Point wears that, and although she is social and pleasant and knows a great
deal, people don't love her and don't listen to her much, because she is
careless and dirty. To be sure the lions don't touch her, although they did
stick out their sharp claws once ; but she was too tough. They like tidbits.
But we should put on Daniel's kind, the very same he wore into the
den. He must have been very pleasant to look at, with his sweet, holy face ;
and we should all make ourselves as pleasant to look at as we know how.
This can only be done as Daniel did it, by desiring to give the best we have
to God. And what we need, in order to keep the lions of Fear away, is to
have such a love for God's children that we shall forget ourselves in doing
kindnesses. Then we shall find, whether the cloak is old or new, if it be
clean and as pretty as we can make it without using His share of our pre-
cious hours, that the beasts will keep their claws to themselves.
" But, Ethel," said Aunt Katy, suddenly glancing up at the clock, " how
Time does scamper this morning. It is ten minutes of nine already. I think
you '11 get to school in season, if you run fast, though."
So Ethel put up her face to kiss her aunt, and the kind old lady watched
her little niece along the street as far as she could see the jaunty hat with its
gray gull's wing.
A. F.
THE ROBIN.
IN the tall elm-tree sat the robin bright,
Through the rainy April day,
And he carolled clear, with a pure delight,
In the face of the sky so gray.
It was clothed from stem to waving crown,
The slender, tall elm-tree,
With fringed blossoms of red and brown,
A delicate drapery.
And the silvery rain through the blossoms dropped,
And fell on the robin's coat,
And his brave red breast, but he never stopped
Piping his cheerful note.
For O the fields were green and glad,
And the blissful life that stirred
In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm
In the heart of the little bird.
356 > The Robin. [June,
The rain-cloud lifted, the sunset light
Streamed wide over valley and hill ;
As the plains of heaven, the land grew bright,
And the warm south-wind was still.
Then loud and sweet called the happy bird,
And rapturously he sang,
Till wood and meadow and river-side
With jubilant echoes rang.
But the sun dropped down in the quiet west,
And he hushed his song at last
All nature softly sank to rest,
And the twilight gathered fast.
A murmur there was of the waterfall,
A faint breeze in the sedge,
That rose and swept through the birches tall,
And up from the river's edge
Came the sound of the frogs, now loud, now low ;
It was neither song, nor cry,
But a musical tide in its ebb and flow
That sang, and rippled by.
C. T.
1865.] Three Days at Camp Douglas. 357
THREE DAYS AT CAMP DOUGLAS.
THIRD DAY.
T)RISON life is a flat, weary sort of life. Few events occur to break
JL its monotony, and after a time the stoutest frames and the bravest
hearts sink under it. If the prisoner were a mere animal, content with eat-
ing, drinking, and sleeping, or a twenty-acre lot, his highest ambition to be
bounded by a board fence, this would not be. But he is a man ; he chafes
under confinement, and, for want of better employment, his mind feeds upon
itself, and gnaws the very flesh off his bones. The tiresome round of such
a life none but a prisoner can know ; but on this, our last day in prison, I
have caught a glimpse of its dull days and profitless nights, by looking over
the journal of a young man who has been confined at Camp Douglas for
more than a year. There is little in it to make you laugh ; but if you have
nothing better to do, suppose you sit with me on the doorstep of this bar-
rack, and trace its noiseless current, as it flows, broken here and there by a
bubble of hope or a ripple of fun, on to the dark and silent sea beyond.
The church bells are sounding twelve on a dark October night, when the
train in which our prisoner has journeyed all the day halts abreast of the camp
on the shore of the lake, and he hears the gruff summons of the guard:
" Turn out ! Turn out ! " All day long the rain has poured through the
roof of the rickety old car, wetting him through and through ; and, cold,
stiff, and hungry as he is, that seems a cheerful sound, though it welcomes
him to a prison. Tumbling out in the mud, and scaling a wall breast-high,
he gropes his way up the steep bank, and over a couple of fences, and is at
the gateway of the camp. Then the ponderous door rolls back, and for
almost the first time he realizes how blessed a thing is freedom. But an ex-
tract here and there from his journal will give you a better idea of Camp
Douglas life than any words of mine.
" Snow," he writes, late in Octo-
ber, "came softly feathering the
ground this morning. ' Away down
in Dixie' the golden sunshine of
the. Indian summer is gilding the
hills, and its soft hazy blue is veil-
ing the landscape ; but up here in
this chilly Northern clime we are
shivering in the icy grasp of old
Winter; and, worse than 'all, it is
my turn to cook ! "
"Two months to-day," again he writes, "have I been a prisoner, and a
weary long time it seems. The newspapers say exchanges are suspended.
If that be true, we are ( in for the war.' A gloomy prospect indeed."
358
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
[June,
" Christmas has come, Christmas in prison ! How much more we feel
our confinement on occasions like this. Reminiscences of many another
Christmas come to our minds, and set us to thinking of home and the loved
ones there. The consequence is a fit of low spirits. Nearly all of us have
tried to prepare some ' good things ' from our limited stores in honor of the
day. A small 'greenback' has supplied our bunk with a few oysters, and I
suspect we are as gay over our modest stew, eaten from a tin pan with an
iron spoon, as many an ' outsider ' is over his splendid feast of champagne
and ' chicken fixins.' " " But Christmas has gone, and yet no hope of
exchange ! How long, O Lord ! How long ! "
"No prisoner at Camp Douglas will forget New- Year's Day, 1864, if he
should live a thousand years. To say it was cold does not express it at
all. It was frightfully, awfully cold. When I awoke this morning, the
roof and rafters were covered with frost, and in many places icicles, two or
three inches long, hung down from the beams. They were our breath which
had congealed during the night. The frost inside was heavier than any I
ever saw outside on a winter day in ' Dixie.' A few of our men went down
to Head-quarters, and, on returning, one had his ears, and another his ears
and nose, frost-bitten. Some of the guards froze at their posts, and one sen-
tinel fell down near our barrack, frozen not to death, but very near to it.
A few of us, seeing him fall, took him into our quarters, thus saving his life.
People who have always lived here say they never experienced such weather.
The mercury in the thermometer fell to forty degrees below zero."
" The weather has moderated, and to-day we have been reminded that the
earth once was green. A load of hay has invaded the camp, to fill our
bunks, and stir our blood with a little frolic. A rich scene occurred in
I865-]
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
359
dividing it among the barracks. Before the wagon reached the head of the
Square, out poured the * Rebels', and, with the war-cry of * Hay ! Hay ! '
they charged upon it, and completely checked its progress. In a moment
the driver was ' nowhere.' One fellow secured an armful, and started for his
barrack, but before he reached the outside of the crowd, it was reduced to a
wisp of straw. Then three or four, more enterprising than the rest, climbed
to the top of the load, and soon it was covered with men. By this time the
driver, armed with whip and pitchfork, fought his way back, and, mounting
the cart, began to clear it. One he pushed off, another required a poke
from the pitchfork, but all secured an armful of the hay before they gave up
the ground. The driver then tossed the remainder off, and, as each wisp fell,
a score of hands were raised to catch it. The boys ' went in ' for fun, more
than hay, and scarcely one was lucky enough to fill his bunk."
Farther on, the prisoner writes : " Last night several men in ' White Oak
Square ' attempted to escape by scaling the fence. Some succeeded, but
one was shot. To-day I hear that he will die He is dead."
The poor fellows who attempted to escape, and did not succeed, were pun-
ished in various ways, and some of the ways were of the most ludicrous
character. There is a grim sort of humor in the keeper, which seems to take
delight in inventing odd and comical modes of punishment for the refractory
prisoners. They do no harm, and are a far more effectual means of restraint
than the old-fashioned confinement in a dungeon, with its accompanying diet
of bread and water. One of these modes is " riding on a rail," which, ever
since Saxe wrote about it, most people have thought a pleasant way
to travel. Many a light-hearted " native " has laughed at it ; but a half-
hour's ride has made him long for " a chance afoot," or even a lift on a
broomstick. Another mode is mounting the pork-barrel. In this the
prisoner is perched upon a barrel, and left to stand, a longer or shorter
time, in the centre of the prison-yard, where he is naturally " the observed
of all observers." If he has any shame about him, he soon concludes that
' the post of honor is a private station." Still another mode is drawing a
360
Three Days at Camp Douglas.
[June,
I T~l"-Sr^' > ^~-
ball and chain about the camp. The culprit
lights his pipe, assumes a nonchalant air, and
tries to make you think he is having an easy
time of it ; but look at him when half a day on
his travels, and his face will tell you he never
again will make a dray-horse of himself.
But to return to the prisoner's journal. Win-
ter goes, and spring comes, sunny and genial,
reminding him of the pleasant May time at
home ; but with it comes no hope of release.
Time drags 'more heavily than before, and ev-
ery page bears some such sentences as these : " I am wearied out with this
hopeless imprisonment." " Prison life is beginning to tell upon me. Fits
of low spirits come oftener than they did." " It seems as if the entangle-
ment in regard to exchange would never end." " For a little while last night
I was in heaven. In my dreams I was exchanged, and at home. But I
awoke, and the familiar roof, and straw-stuffed bunk, told me I was still in
* durance vile.' O Dixie ! how I long for a glimpse of your sunny hills."
Farther on he writes : " Two years ago to.-day, I was mustered into the
service of the Confederate States. I wondered then what would be the con-
dition of things when our twelve months was out. All thought the war
would end before our time expired. It is saddening to look back on the
changes that have occured since then. A Federal army holds my native
town, and our company, its officers, and myself are all occupants of a North-
ern prison. When will all this end?- "
At last summer comes, with its
scorching days and sultry nights.
Snowy winter and the rainy spring
were hard to bear, but the summer
is even harder, and it is made less
endurable, he writes, "by a scar-
city of water. The hydrants have
either stopped running altogether, or
run only in small driblets. Forming
in line, with our buckets in our hands,
we watch them, often for half a day,
before we get the needful supply."
But, hark ! as we read, the bells are
ringing and the cannons firing.
Let us close the book, and listen to the words they say. Clear and loud
they ring out : " Richmond has fallen. The Rebellion is over ! " Henceforth,
over all this broad land, there shall be none but FREEMEN ! I can write no
more ; and let us say good by to Camp Douglas, for its glory has departed ;
its work is done.
Edmund Kirke.
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 361
LESSONS IN MAGIC.
III.
THE story of Achilles, one of the heroes of the Iliad, is, I presume,
familiar to most of my readers; but, for the benefit of -those who
are not acquainted with it, I will briefly repeat such portion of it as has a
bearing on my subject
This gentleman was the son of the sea-goddess Thetis, probably by her
first husband : this I infer from the fact, that, although often called Peliades
and /Ecides, I have never heard him mentioned, either by Lempriere or other
recognized authority, as Master Thetis. Mrs. Thetis, who must have been
the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, foresaw that her son would meet
with an early death ; and, like a good, anxious mother, wishing to prevent this,
dipped him in the river Styx, the waters of which had the property of ren-
dering the human body invulnerable. Unfortunately, however, she held him
by the heel, and that not touching the magic waters, he was killed by an
arrow which struck him there. For further particulars respecting him, I
must refer my readers to a history of his time, written by a Mr. Homer, who
flourished and was famous some years ago, and is highly spoken of even at
the present time, although I must confess he is far beyond the narrow limits
of my comprehension ; and whenever I have attempted reading his works,
they have proved all Greek to me.
It is with the invulnerability of Achilles, however, that we have to do ; and
I propose to show how, in modern times, we effect by the aid of a singl-e
stick what in former years it took a riverful to do. This trick, if it were only
known to the War Department, would prove invaluable to our army, and I
hope that Secretary Stan ton will at once call on Congress to make an appro-
priation for the purpose of furnishing every Union soldier in the land with
this number of " Our Young Folks." This is the trick ; and now that the
summer is fairly on us, I would advise our*young magicians to practise it out
of doors, as it will there show to better advantage than in a drawing-room.
A pistol is handed to the audience for examination, and, they being satis :
fied that there is no preparation about it, is then loaded with powder and
wad, in the usual way, and finally six marked bullets are placed in it and
rammed home. The performer now stands at a little distance, with a plate
in his hands ; the pistol is aimed at him, fired, and, behold ! there are the
bullets on the plate, which are given to the company for identification.
Although quite startling in its effects, this trick is very simple, and re-
quires little practice. This is the whole secret. After the powder and wad
are in, permission is requested to put in a second wad, and, whilst doing
this, the performer slips into the barrel of the pistol, unperceived by the au-
dience of course, a metal tube, which receives the bullets. When the ramrod
is used, the end of it naturally slides into the tube, and both are withdrawn,
together with the bullets. All that now remains to be done is to stand at a
362 Lessons in Magic. [June,
sufficient distance to avoid being struck by the wad. The moment the pistol
is fired, the bullets, which are concealed in your hand, are dropped on the
plate, and the audience are convinced I was about saying, that they had
just left the pistol ; but it will be nearer the truth to say, that they have been
effectually tricked.
A very pretty little trick, and one sure to please, because of its apparent
fairness, is
The Tantalizing Tin Tube.
A simple tin tube, about eleven inches long and three and a quarter in cir-
cumference, fitted with a cover at each end, three coffee-cups, a box of rice,
and an orange, are the materials used in this trick. The covers are removed
from the ends of the tube, and the audience are requested to notice that it con-
tains no division, in fact is very simple, and that they can see right through
it, which is probably more than they can say of the trick as a whole. The
box which contains the rice is merely an old cigar-box, with the cover torn
off, and needs no inspection. As the cups are all alike, to examine one is to
see all, and accordingly one is handed out for examination. The orange, of
course, is without preparation, as you will convince them by eating it, after it
has played its part in the trick. Before proceeding with the trick, however,
you propose to show a piece of legerdemain, which they cannot fail to ac-
knowledge as wonderful. You place the orange on a table, and cover it with
one of the cups, and then set another cup at a distance from it. You now
claim to be able to cause the orange which is under cup number one to come
under cup number two, and this without raising the first cup or touching the
orange. Tell the audience to watch sharply, count, " One, Two, Three,"
pick up cup number two and place it on cup number one, and the orange
will then undoubtedly be under it. Your audience now being in good
humor, and their attention diverted, proceed with your trick proper, which
consists in filling the tin tube with rice from the box, and causing the rice
to be found under one of the cups, whilst the orange, which was in your
hands, has vanished, and is found fn the tube.
The audience will generally suppose the whole thing to be a purely sleight-
of-hand performance, and this idea you must favor by begging them to con-
sider what immense practice is necessary to be able skilfully to manipulate
each particular grain of rice. The secret of the thing, however, really lies in
the tube, or rather in one of the covers. There are, in fact, three covers,
one which serves as a bottom, and two as tops. One of the top covers, which
I will call A, is in reality nothing but a tin rim, of about an inch in width,
with a partition in the centre of it, its bottom in the middle of it, if I may so
speak, and with a pin, the sixteenth of an inch long, extending horizontally
from about the centre of the outside. The second cover, which, to distin-
guish it, I will call B, is made large enough to slip over A, and has a slit in
it shaped like this, 1, a T with one of its arms lopped off. The object of
this slit is to receive the wire which is on the side of A. Now put on B,
fitting the wire of A carefully to the slit. Push B down, and, when it will
1865.] Lessons in Magic. 363
go no farther, turn it, so that the wire of A rests on the arm of the ~|. If
you now put the two covers on the end of the tube, and attempt to take B
off, A will come with it, as the wire in the arm of the ~\ holds them together.
If, however, you turn B, so that the wire is only in the perpendicular part of
the slit, it will come off alone, leaving A still on the tube. I hope this ex-
planation is sufficiently clear, as this should be thoroughly understood, much
of the apparatus used in Magic being made on the same principle.
Supposing the tube to be in perfect working order, we will now proceed
with the trick. First fill the top part of A with rice, then cover it with B,
and finally put both on the tube. Next, nearly fill one of the cups with rice,
and place over it a round piece of pasteboard (that known as bonnet-board
is best), which must be cut a trifle larger than the inside of the cup, so as to
fit in rather tightly. Everything is now ready to exhibit the experiment.
Place your three cups on a table, with their mouths down, and on another
table set your box of rice. Bring out your tube, remove A and B from it
together, and also the bottom piece, all of which lay on the table with the
box of rice. Hand the tube to the audience to examine, and when they have
satisfied themselves that it is not prepared in any way, take it back, and put
on the bottom piece only. Stand the tube on the table containing the box of
rice, behind the box, and at the same time take off the bottom-piece, which the
audience will not perceive, as the box is between it and them. Leave the
tube and pass to the other table, which holds the cups ; and, in order to
divert their attention from the tube, tell them you will show them a little
sleight which is quite wonderful in its way. Then go through the manoeuvres
described at first, of bringing the orange under the cup. When that is done,
inform them you will now proceed to fill your tube with rice. Pick up the
tube, leaving the bottom still behind the box. Place the tube in the box, in
such a way that only the upper part is visible. Take up some rice in a
scoop which you must have in the box, and pour it in at the top of the tube.
Of course it will run out of the other end into the box again, but you must
repeat this once or twice, until enough rice has been put in to have filled the
tube, had it beenyf/fo&fc. Now announce that there is enough vs\ for the pur-
pose, which is strictly true, and your audience, being at a distance, and not be-
ing able to peep in, will suppose it to be full. Put on A and B together. ( I
should have explained above, that, when the bottom of the tube is laid behind
the box, a second orange, of the size and color of the one you first show, is laid
on it.) Place the tube again behind the box, and set it down over the orange,
which will guide the bottom to its place. Leave the tube, and request some
one to lend you a hat for a moment. This you put on a table, rim down, and
lay a handkerchief over the crown. Now take the cup which holds the rice,
and set it on top of the hat. As nothing will fall from it, the pasteboard
holding the rice in, it will be supposed that it is empty. This idea will be
favored also by the fact that the other two cups, which were used in " the
great orange feat," and which you allowed to be freely handled, were un-
questionably empty, no one suspecting that they were merely used for a
" blind," and had not the remotest connection with the trick. Now bring for-
364 Lessons in Magic. [June,
ward the tube ; and, to convince them that it is still full, take off B alone,
and they will see the rice, which is in the upper part of A. Put B on again,
and place the tube on the floor, where all may see and watch it.
Raise the cup that is on the hat, to show that it is still empty, and when
you put it down again, do so with some force, which will dislodge the paste-
board. Leave it as it is, and take the orange, which you palm, and order to
go into the tube, (or you may get rid of the orange in the manner described
in last month's article,) and finally command the rice to pass from the tube to
the cup. Take off A and B together, and let the orange, which is in the
tube, roll out, whilst you show that the rice is all gone. Lift up the cup, and
the rice will fall down and cover the pasteboard. The trick is now finished ;
return the hat to its owner, bow your acknowledgments, and bear the ap-
plause which is bestowed on you with becoming modesty.
One more trick, to fill my complement, and I am done.
Borrow a number of two-cent-pieces, and count out five of them to one of
the company. To another give ten, and request the person who takes these
last to count them carefully. Having done this, take the five which were
given to the first person, and, closing your hand on them, order them to pass
into the hands of the particular person who holds the ten. Then request
him or her to again count the money, and if, instead of ten, fifteen pieces are
found, you will have successfully performed your trick.
Twenty pieces of money are used in the trick, which is accomplished in
this way. Throw fifteen pieces on a plate, and hand it to the first person,
with the request that five shall be taken away. Then give the remaining ten
to another person, and desire that he will count them out on the plate, so
that all will hear the number by the chink of the metal on the china. This
being done, tell the one who has the plate to hold both his hands, ready to
receive the money. For this purpose, take away the plate with your left
hand, and pour the coins into your right hand, where you must hold five
more, in the same 'way that a coin is held in palming. Place the fifteen in
the hands of person number two, and request him to close his hands tightly
on the money. This will prevent his discovering the addition you have
made. Take the five which the first holds, and pretend to put them in your
other hand ; but, instead of doing so, palm them. Command the money to
pass, and then desire the person who holds the ten (fifteen) again to count
out the pieces on the plate.
This simple little trick always pleases, and the more pieces are used, the
less liable it is to be discovered. A good way of finishing it is to ask the
person who last counted the money if he is sure he has not made away
with some of your property, and, on his answering " No," to take hold of his
coat-sleeve at the wrist, and, shaking it gently, let the remaining five pieces,
which are still concealed in your hand, drop on the plate. The audience will
suppose they really fell from the sleeve, and, whilst they are wondering how
you got them there, you can bow and retire.
P. H. C
I865J
The Wild Goose.
365
THE WILD GOOSE.
WHEN gruff winter goes, and from under his snows
Peeps the infantine clover,
And little lambs shrink on the bleak hills of March,
And April comes smiling beneath the blue arch ;
Then the forester sees from his door the wild geese
Flying over.
Some to Winnipeg's shore ; those to cold Labrador ;
Upon dark Memphremagog,
Swift flying, loud crying, these soon shall alight,
And station their sentries to guard them by night,
Or marshal their ranks to the thick-wooded banks
Of Umbagog.
Now high in the sky, scarcely seen as they fly,
Like the head of an arrow
Shot free from its shaft ;. then a dark-winged chain ;
Or at eventide, wearily over the plain,
Flying low, flying slow, sagging, lagging they go,
Like a harrow.
366 The Wild Goose. [June,
Soon all have departed, save one regal-hearted
Sad prisoner only ;
No more shall he breast the blue ether, or rest
In the reeds with his mate, keeping guard by her nest,
Never glide by her side down the green-fringed tide
Fair and lonely.
With clipped pinions, fast in a farm-yard, at last
They have caged the sky-ranger !
'Mid the bustle and clucking and cackle of flocks,
The gossip of geese, and the crowing of cocks ;
But apart from the rest, with his proud-curving breast,
Walks the stranger.
He refuses, with scorn braving hunger, the corn
From the hands of the givers,
Like a prince in captivity pacing his path ;
Little pleasure he hath in his low, stagnant bath ;
In that green, standing pool does he think of his cool
Northern rivers ?
Far away, far away, to some lone lake or bay
His lost comrades are thronging ;
In fancy he follows : he hears their glad halloos
Round beautiful beaches, in bright plashy shallows:
And now his dark eye he turns up at the sky
With wild longing.
He hears them all day, singing, winging their way,
Over mountains and torrents,
To Canadian hills and their clear water-courses,
To the Ottawa's springs, to the Saguenay's sources ;
And now they are going far down the broad-flowing
Saint Lawrence.
Over grass-land and grove, searching inlet and cove,
Speeds in dreams the wild gander !
He listens, he hastens, he screams on their track ;
They hear him, they cheer him, they welcome him back,
They shout his proud name, and with loud clamors claim
Their Commander !
1 865.] The Wild Goose. 367
Past Huron and Saginaw, far over Mackinaw,
To lovely Itaska,
Their leader he goes ; every river he knows ;
They flock where the silver Saskatchawan flows,
Or sit lightly afloat upon high and remote
Athabasca.
With his consort he leads forth their young ones, and feeds
By the pleasant morasses ;
He shows them the tender young crab, and the bug,
The small tented snail, and the slow mantled slug,
And laughs as they eat the soft seeds and the sweet
Water-grasses.
But danger is coming ! Lo, strutting and drumming
The turkey-cock charges !
The bright fancy breaks, in the farm-yard he wakes ;
Never more he alights on the blue linked lakes
Of the North, or upsprings upon winnowing wings
From their marges !
Here all the long summer abides the new-comer
In chains ignominious,
Abandoned, companionless, far from his mate ;
But his heart is still great though dishonored his state,
And his eyes still are dreaming of glad waters gleaming
And sinuous.
Then the rude Equinox drives before it the flocks
Of his comrades returning ;
They sail on the gale high above the Ohio's
Broad ribbon, descending on prairies 'and bayous;
And again his dark eye is turned up at the sky
With wild yearning.
As sunward they go, far below, far below,
Coils the pale Susquehanna !
He sees them, far off in the twilight, encamp as
An army of souls upon dim, ruddy pampas ;
Or at sunrise arrayed upon green everglade
And savanna.
368
A Business Letter.
[June,
So year after year, as their legions appear,
His lost state he remembers ;
Wondering and wistful he watches their flight,
Or starts at their cries in the desolate night,
Dropped down to his hearkening ear through the darkening
Novembers.
J. T. Trowbridge*
A BUSINESS LETTER.
MY DEAR YOUNG FOLKS : Never mind the stories and the puzzles.
You have had enough of those things for the present. Now listen
to a little grave talk. It will not be very interesting, but if you will listen
and learn, it will last you as long as you live, and may save you from a good
deal of disappointment and trouble.
Sometimes, when you have found out the answers to all the charades and
enigmas, you try your own hand at making one. You succeed so well that
you conclude to send it off at once for " Our Young Folks." Or you have
written a story which you think is well worth being printed. Or you like
1865.] A Business Letter. 369
some story so heartily, or disapprove of it so strongly, that you feel impelled
to write to its author about it. This is all very well. We are glad to get
your stories and letters. But let me tell you how to do it.
First write your story, or charade, or whatever you wish to have printed,
in a large, legible hand, with as few interlineations as possible, and write on
only one side of the paper. I would advise also that you keep a copy, so
that, if your story is not accepted, it need not be returned to you. But if you
wish it returned, enclose with it an envelope large enough to hold it, stamped,
and addressed to yourself. Then send your parcel where ?
I will tell you where you will probably send it, to Mr. Franklin Smith
of Mattapoiset.
But what in the world has Mr. Franklin Smith to do with " Our Young
Folks" ? I search the whole Magazine, covers and "all, and I find not the
faintest trace of him anywhere. Oh ! but you know ! J. T. Trowbridge's
name is there, and J. T. Trowbridge, somebody told you, is not a real name,
but means Mr. Franklin Smith of Mattapoiset ! So, on the strength of your
"reliable information," your manuscripts go whirling away, not to the
"Young Folks " for which you design them, but in a quite opposite direction,
down to the shores of the many-sounding sea. Let us follow and see what
befalls them.
Examining the voting-list of Mattapoiset, we find that in Mattapoiset
there is no Franklin Smith. There are, however, many Smiths.
Frank Smith, Charles Frank Smith, Franklin E. Smith,
Francis Smith, Franklin H. Smith, Edward F. Smith.
Your letter, enclosing an enigma, is taken from the post-office by Mr. Frank
Smith, who is an excellent man, but not given to literature, and who never
heard of an enigma. He opens the letter with considerable curiosity, for he
does not see one very often, and, having adjusted his glasses, reads in an au-
dible whisper, and very deliberately, " * I am a word of 26 letters.'
Who 's he ? * My i, 6, 7, 10, 3 is the name of a general.' Good land of
Goshen ! What 's the fellow bothering about ? Why don't he out with it
right off? 'My 2, 7,4, 5, n never hurt any one.' Well, now, this beats
the Dutch ! Here, Jane Mari ! " he calls to his wife, who is washing dishes
in the back pantry, " here 's the queerest chap ever you see in all your born
days. I can't make hide nor hair of him." Jane Mari shakes the soap-suds
from her hands and inspects the mysterious letter; but no children have
ever made her familiar with puzzles. And so the letter goes into the great
Bible on the front-room table, to await the coming of some young niece or
nephew, or learned person, where it is speedily forgotten, and there it lies to
this day.
Now, how long do you suppose it will be before you will hear from your
enigma ?
Another letter, expressive of the pleasure you have taken in J. T. Trow-
bridge's charming stories, and the help and strength they have given you,
goes straightway to Mr. Francis Smith. It is written in a pretty feminine
hand, and Mr. Francis, who is a gay young clerk, naturally enough supposes
VOL. i. NO. vi. 26
3/0 A Business Letter. [June,
it may be from the accomplished and interesting Hattie Howlie, whom he
attended to singing-school in the winter, and who is out of town on a visit
So Francis, seeing it at the post-office, calls for it and opens it eagerly on
his way to the shop. He reads your words of sympathy and gratitude, and
wonders what it is all about. He looks at the signature, and mutters,
" Never heard of that person before. Me or somebody 's in the wrong pew."
And, quite wrathful from his disappointment, crowds your pleasant letter
into his waistcoat-pocket, reads it aloud, perhaps, with somewhat boister-
ous laughter to his fellow-clerks, and then takes it to light the fire.
You, meanwhile, are wondering why J. T. Trowbridge could n't just send
you one line in return for that nice letter you wrote him !
Letter number three contains your beautiful story that you wrote with so
much care. Mr. Charles Frank Smith takes it out along with his " Country
Gentleman," wondering who can have so much to say to him. He opens it,
and begins, " 'Mr. Trowbridge : Dear Sir.' Why, here's something out
of kilter, sure," he says to himself, and looks again at the envelope. Yes,
there it is, " Mr. Franklin Smith " outside, and Mr. Trowbridge inside.
Somebody 's written a letter and put it into the wrong paper, he thinks. He
does n't know the person nor the handwriting. Perhaps it 's some of Cousin
Frank's people. So he goes with the letter and manuscript to Mr. Franklin
H. Smith's, who knows nothing about it. Then to Franklin E. Smith's,
whose boys take the " Young Folks," and he solves the riddle at once, prom-
ising to carry the manuscript to Boston the next time he goes, which he
does, but forgets to save the accompanying letter, so that nobody knows
whose story it is, and it goes down into a nameless grave.
Now, my dear children, if you think this is a pleasant and satisfactory way
of doing business, why, just keep on. It will give you practice in penman-
ship ; it will help the government ; and, on the whole, it will probably rather
amuse the Smiths.
But some people have a prejudice in favor of having their letters read only
by those to whom they are written. And if you happen to share in this
prejudice, the best thing you can do is to send your letters to the people to
whom they are written. If you wish the Editors of " Our Young Folks " to
read it, send it to the Editors of " Our Young Folks." If you wish it to go
to the London Quarterly, send it to the London Quarterly. If you design it
for J. T. Trowbridge, not as an editor, but as an author, send it to J. T. Trow-
bridge. But you don't know what their address is ? The address of a
magazine is always the address of its publishers. Always. Always. Do
you not see on the first page of the cover of " Our Young Folks " the names
of the Editors, and directly below that, in large letters, " Boston : Ticknor
and Fields " ? Now, why do you suppose they are there ? Is it because
Mr. Ticknor and Mr. Fields are so delighted with their names that they
spread them out wherever they can find a bit of blank paper ? Not in the
least. It is for the express purpos.e, among other things, to tell you where
you may address your letters, to tell you where you will find the Editors.
So far as your communications are concerned, you may always imagine the
1865.] A Business Letter. 371
three Editors of " Our Young Folks " sitting in solemn conclave in the pub-
lishing-house, day and night, week after week, month after month, year after
year, entirely unconscious of whatever snow-storm of letters may be falling
outside their official precincts.
If you know a Mr. J. T. Trowbridge of Mattapoiset, and you wish to in-
vite him to dinner, send a note of invitation to him in Mattapoiset. You
need not send that to his editorial office unless you choose, because, as an
editor, he never goes out to dinner, he neither eats, drinks, nor sleeps.
All the twenty-four hours of the day, for the three hundred and sixty-five days
of the year, he does nothing but edit " Our Young Folks," and feeds and
flourishes solely on editorial communications.
The same rule that applies to editors applies to authors. A publishing-
house is the head-quarters of all its authors. If a book has been published
called " The Four Spies," and if on its title-page you see " By J. T. Trow-
bridge," and if you like or dislike it so much that you wish to say so to its
author ; and if you know a Mr. J. T. Trowbridge, or know of him in Matta-
poiset, or any other town, you may send your letter to him. His name on
the title-page of the book warrants you in doing so. If " The Four Spies "
is published without any name on the title-page, you must send your letter
To the Author of The Four Spies,' " care of the publishers, whose ad-
dress you can always find on the title-page of the book. Never mind if
common report says that J. T. Trowbridge wrote the book; never mind
even if the excellent authority of a newspaper paragraph expressly affirms
that he wrote it. The fact that he did not put his name on the title-page is
an indication that he does not wish you to know that he wrote it, even if he
did write it. Respect that wish of his, and act as if you were in entire
ignorance of any rumor that violates it. If J. T. Trowbridge is the name
on the title-page of the book, and you never knew or heard of any such per-
son as J. T. Trowbridge, but have heard that it was the nom de plume of
Franklin Smith of Mattapoiset aforesaid, let it make no difference in the
direction of your letter. Send it to the care of the publishers, as unscrupu-
lously as if there were no such rumor afloat. For, entirely apart from the
fact that there is no Franklin Smith, and therefore the rumor must be false,
assuming, indeed, that the report is true, what do you imagine to be the
reason that Franklin Smith wrote under another name ? Was it because he
was dissatisfied with his own, and wished it changed ? Not at all ; for then
he would have gone to his State Legislature and had it permanently and en-
tirely changed. Was it because his own was not long enough, and so he
added a little ? No ; for then he would have put on the title-page By
F. S. J. T. Trowbridge." It must be supposed to be simply and solely be-
cause he wishes to remain personally unknown ; because he wishes his exist-
ence as man, citizen, son, brother, lover, husband, father, to be entirely distinct
from the author. To that name say and do everything which the publication of
the book gives you a right to do and say, but behind that name suffer Mr.
Franklin Smith to repose in an obscurity as profound as the night. J. T.
Trowbridge is public property. Franklin Smith belongs to himself. As he
372
A Business Letter.
[June,
would never think of going, without a'lawful errand, unbidden and unknown,
into your house, go you never thus into his. As he never would pry
into your secrets, pry you never into his. As he would never wantonly
publish your name in a newspaper, do not you ever publish his. When you
send him a letter assuming him to be the author of " The Four Spies," you
break in upon his privacy. If he should grant your request, and answer
your letter, he would by the act confess himself the author, which is the very
fact he wishes to conceal. He is forced in self-defence to remain silent ; and
so not only do your kind words go unacknowledged, but your very kindness
he resents as an impertinence. The vexation he feels at your attempt to
wrest his secret from him overpowers his gratitude for the use to which you
design to put the secret. His sense of outrage is stronger than his sense
of sympathy.
Now, then, to recapitulate :
When you have anything to say to the Editors of " Our Young Folks,"
send your letter to them, care of the publishers, according to the statute for
such case made and provided. If you desire a reply, enclose a stamped en-
velope addressed to yourself.
When you desire to communicate with an author whose name or address
you do not or ought not to know, send your letter, stamped, ready for mail-
ing, in an envelope, to the publishers of his book. If you desire a reply,
enclose in the inner envelope an envelope stamped and directed to yourself.
All which is respectfully submitted, and all which, if you carefully read,
mark, learn, and inwardly digest,
I am your very obedient, humble servant,
Gail Hamilton.
1865.]
Birdies Day with the Rose-Fairies.
373
BIRDIE'S DAY WITH THE ROSE-FAIRIES.
ONE morning in June, little Birdie sat on the grass outside of his moth-
er's door. It was very early ; great Mr. Sun had not long been out of
bed, and the birds and flowers were not yet quite awake. But little Birdie
was so busy all day long, trotting about the garden, and looking at all the
wonders it held, that he was always ready for his nest long before the
birds and flowers had thought of theirs ; and so it came to pass, that, when
Mr. Sun raised up his great head, and smiled his " Good morning " to the
earth, our little friend was the first to see him, and to smile back at him, all
the while rubbing his eyes open with his dimpled fists, until, between smiling
and rubbing, he was wide awake.
And what did Birdie do then ? Why, the little rogue rolled into his mam-
ma's bed, and kissed her shut eyelids, and her cheeks and mouth, until she
began to dream it was raining kisses, and had to wake up to see what it all
meant. She loved her little boy, and when he begged her, " Please to dress
little Birdie, and^let him go out to play," she did as he asked ; and it was not
long before he went down stairs in his cool linen dress, with his face shining
from its fresh bath, and ran out on the gravel-walk to play.
He stood still a minute, to look around him, and consider what would be
the best thing to amuse himself with ; but soon he clapped his hands, and,
with a cry of joy, ran up to the rose-bushes that grew around the house, for
they were covered with beautiful buds, deep red, and pure white, and pink,
set thick among the green leaves, all shining with dew. It was no wonder
374 Birdies Day with the Rose-Fairies. [June,
that Birdie stood there with his blue eyes dancing with delight, and his hands
clasped tightly together ; for rose-buds are so beautiful ! He looked at them
for a long time without speaking ; but at last he began to think they must be
asleep, because the leaves were folded one over another, ae eyelids are folded
over sleeping eyes ; and Birdie was so glad to be awake that pleasant morn-
ing, that he wanted the roses to share his joy. So he took hold of a long
spray, covered with buds, that was bending over him, and, giving it a little
shake, said, " Pretty flowers, open your eyes, it is time to get up " ; but
only the dew rolled off in a shower, and the buds seemed still asleep. Then
Birdie remembered how he had wakened his mamma with kisses, and, draw-
ing up his red lips until they looked like a rose-bud too, he chose a lovely
pink bud, that seemed half inclined to open its eyes, and kissed it very gently
two or three times.
And what do you think happened then ? Something very wonderful, as
you shall hear. As Birdie let go of the branch, it flew back to its place, the
rose-bud that had been kissed opened wide its leaves, and there, in the midst
of it, stood the prettiest little fairy you ever saw ! It was no longer than
your little finger ; but it was dressed in a beautiful pink dress, with a wreath
of tiny, tiny pink roses on its head ; and there it stood, bowing and nodding
and smiling at Birdie, as much a,s to say, " Thank you, sweet child, for your
gentle kisses ! "
Birdie could scarcely believe his eyes ; but guess his surprise, when, on
looking at the rest of the rose-buds, he saw that each one was opening, and
that in each stood a fairy, some dressed in deep red, and some in pure white,
with wreaths on their hair to match. Was not this a wonderful sight for a
little boy to see ? Birdie thought it was, and he drew back, half frightened,
until he stumbled on the edge of the grass-plat, and sat plump down in the
soft, thick grass. There he sat, with his hands in his lap, and his blue eyes
opened very wide, watching the dainty rose-fairies, as they danced up and
down on the bending sprays of the bushes, looking so light and airy that it
seemed every moment as if they would float away.
Birdie never once thought of breakfast, until he heard his mamma calling
him, and saw her coming down the path to look for him ; and then he held
up his finger, and said, very low, " Hush, mamma ! don't come here, you will
frighten them away." But his mamma did not hear him ; and as she came
on he ran to her, with his eyes full of tears, and sobbed out, " O, they are
all gone, all gone ! They are afraid of big people. O dear ! " And two or
three great tears slipped out of his eyes, and went rolling over his round
cheeks ; but his mamma felt sorry for his trouble, and kissed his tears away,
as she carried him in her kind arms to the house.
When Birdie had eaten a nice bowlful of bread and milk, he felt happier ;
and then his mamma said, " What was it my pet saw in the roses to please
him so much ? " Birdie told about the fairies as well as he could, and how
they all flew away when they saw her coming. "And I 'm afraid they will
never come back," said he with a sigh, the tears very nearly running over
again. But his mamma told him she knew fairies were afraid of " big peo-
I865-] Our Dogs. 375
pie," but she was almost sure they would not go away from her garden, where
there were so many roses to sleep in at night, and such a dear little boy to
play with them. "Perhaps, Birdie," said she, "your fairies have changed
themselves into the shape of moths and butterflies, so that they can fly about
from flower to flower, without being seen by grown persons or rude boys.
Run out in the garden, and see if you can't find them." Birdie was pleased
with this thought, and kissed his dear mamma good by, as she tied on his
broad straw hat, and then ran joyfully into the garden to look for his fairy
friends.
And do you think he found them ? I think so, for I know when he came
to the rose-bushes he found them full of moths, pure white and pink, and,
besides that, beautiful butterflies, with bright-spotted wings ; and they all
seemed happy, and fluttered about, and danced in and out among the roses,
very much as the fairies had done ; so Birdie was sure his mamma was right,
and I think she was too.
The little boy spent a happy day, watching the pretty little things as they
rested on the flowers, or running after them as they floated in the air ; but
he did not try to catch them, for he would not have hurt them for the world.
They seemed to know that he was gentle and loving, for they came close to
him sometimes, and one little moth even lit on his cheek for a second, think-
ing it must be a rose, it was so red ; indeed, they stayed in the garden all
day, playing with Birdie, and leading him such a merry chase, that at last he
was tired out, and fell fast asleep on the grass, and his mamma carried him
to his little bed. And so ended Birdie's day with the Rose-Fairies.
M. T. Canby.
OUR DOGS. .
* f
IV.
A FTER Prince Giglio deserted us and proved so faithless, we were for a
** while determined not to have another pet. They were all good for
nothing, all alike ungrateful ; we forswore the whole race of dogs. But
the next winter we went to live in the beautiful city of Florence, in Italy,
and there, in spite of all our protestations, our hearts were again ensnared.
You must know that in the neighborhood of Florence is a celebrated villa,
owned by a Russian nobleman, Prince Demidoff, and that among other ine
things that are to be found there are a very nice breed of King Charles
spaniels, which are called Demidoffs, after the place. One of these, a pretty
little creature, was presented to us by a kind lady, and our resolution against
having any more pets all melted away in view of the soft, beseeching eyes,
the fine silky ears, the glossy, wavy hair, and bright chestnut paws of the
new favorite. She was exactly such a pretty creature as one sees painted in
376
Our Dogs.
[June,
some of the splendid old Italian pictures, and which Mr. Ruskin describes
as belonging to the race of "fringy paws." The little creature was warmly
received among us ; an ottoman was set apart for her to lie on ; and a bright
bow of green, red, and white ribbon, the Italian colors, was prepared for her
neck ; and she was christened Florence, after her native city.
Florence was a perfect little fine lady, and a perfect Italian, sensitive, in-
telligent, nervous, passionate, and constant in her attachments, but with a
hundred little whims and fancies that required petting and tending hourly.
She was perfectly miserable if she was not allowed to attend us in our daily
drives, yet in the carriage she was so excitable and restless, so interested to
take part in everything she saw and heard in the street, that it was all we
could do to hold her in and make her behave herself decently. She was
nothing but a little bundle of nerves, apparently all the while in a tremble of
excitement about one thing or another ; she was so disconsolate if left at
home, that she went everywhere with us. She visited the picture-galleries,
the museums, and all the approved sights of Florence, and improved her
mind as much as many other young ladies who do the same.
Then we removed from Florence to Rome, and poor Flo was direfully sea-
sick on board the steamboat, in company with all her young mistresses, but
recovered herself at Civita Vecchia, and entered Rome in high feather-
There she settled herself complacently in our new lodgings, which were far
more spacious and elegant than those we had left in Florence, and began to
claim her little rights in all the sight-seeing of the Eternal City.
She went with us to palaces and to ruins, scrambling up and down, hither
1865.]
Our Dogs.
377
and thither, with the utmost show of interest. She went up all the stairs to
the top of the Capitol, except the very highest and last, where she put on
airs, whimpered, and professed such little frights, that her mistress was forced
to carry her ; but once on top, she barked from right to left, now at
the snowy top of old Soracte, now at the great, wide, desolate plains of the
Campagna, and now at the old ruins of the Roman Forum down under our
feet. Upon all she had her own opinion, and was not backward to express
herself. At other times she used to ride with us to a beautiful country villa
outside of the walls of Rome, called the Pamfili Doria. How beautiful and
lovely this place was I can scarcely tell my little friends. There were long
alleys and walks of the most beautiful trees ; there were winding paths lead-
ing to all manner of beautiful grottos, and charming fountains, and the wide
lawns used to be covered with the most lovely flowers. There were anemones
that looked like little tulips, growing about an inch and a half high, and of all
colors, blue, purple, lilac, pink, crimson, and white, and there were great
beds of fragrant blue and white violets. As to the charming grace and
beauty of the fountains that were to be found here and there all through
the grounds, I could not describe them to you. They were made of marble,
carved in all sorts of fanciful devices, and grown over with green mosses and
maidenhair, something like this.
What spirits little Miss Flo had, when once set down in these enchanting
fields ! While all her mistresses were gathering lapfuls of many-colored
anemones, violets, and all sorts of beautiful things, Flo would snuff the air,
and run and race hither and thither, with her silky ears flying and her whole
little body quivering with excitement. Now she would race round the grand
378 .. . Our Dogs. [June,
basin of a fountain, and bark with all her might at the great white swans that
were swelling and ruffling their silver-white plumage, and took her noisy at-
tentions with all possible composure. Then she would run off down some
long side-alley after a knot of French soldiers, whose gay red legs and blue
coats seemed to please her mightily ; and many a fine chase she gave her
mistresses, who were obliged to run up and down, here, there, and every-
where, to find her when they wanted to go home again.
One time my lady's friskiness brought her into quite a serious trouble, as
you shall hear. We were all going to St. Peter's Church, and just as we
came to the bridge of St. Angelo, that crosses the Tiber, we met quite a con-
course of carriages. Up jumped my lady Florence, all alive and busy, for
she always reckoned everything that was going on a part of her business,
and gave such a spring that over she went, sheer out of the carriage, into the
mixed medley of carriages, horses, and people below. We were all fright-
ened enough, but not half so frightened as she was, as she ran blindly down
a street, followed by a perfect train of ragged little black-eyed, black-haired
boys, all shouting and screaming after her. As soon as he could, our courier
got down and ran after her, but he might as well have chased a streak of
summer lightning. She was down the street, round the corner, and lost
to view, with all the ragamuffin tribe, men, boys, and women, after her ; and
so we* thought we had lost her, and came home to our lodgings very des-
olate in heart, when lo ! our old porter told us that a little dog that looked
like ours had come begging and whining at our street-door, but before he
could open it the poor little wanderer had been chased away again and gone
down the street. After a while some very polite French soldiers picked
her up in the Piazza di Spagna, a great public square near our dwell-
ing, to get into which we were obliged to go down some one or two
hundred steps. We could fancy our poor Flo, frightened and panting, fly-
ing like a meteor down these steps, till she was brought up by the arms of
a soldier below.
Glad enough were we when the polite soldier brought her back to our doors ;
and one must say one good thing for French soldiers all the world over, that
they are the pleasantest-tempered and politest people possible, so very ten-
der-hearted towards all sorts of little defenceless pets, so that our poor run-
away could not have fallen into better hands.
After this, we were careful to hold her more firmly when she had her little
nervous starts and struggles in riding about Rome.
One day we had been riding outside of the walls of the city, and just as
we were returning home we saw coming towards us quite a number of
splendid carriages. with prancing black horses. It was the Pope and several
of his cardinals coming out for an afternoon airing. The carriages stopped,
and the Pope and cardinals all got out to take a little exercise on foot, and
immediately all carriages that were in the way drew to one side, and those
of the people in them who were Roman Catholics got out and knelt down to
wait for the Pope's blessing as he went by. As for us, we were contented
to wait sitting in the carriage.
1865.] Our Dogs. 379
On came the Pope, looking like a fat, mild, kind-hearted old gentleman,
smiling and blessing the people as he went on, and the cardinals scuffing
along in the dust behind him. He walked very near to our carriage, and
Miss Florence, notwithstanding all our attempts to keep her decent, would
give a smart little bow-wow right in his face just as he was passing. He
smiled benignly, and put out his hand in sign of blessing toward our car-
riage, and Florence doubtless got what she had been asking for.
From Rome we travelled to Naples, and Miss Flo went with us through
our various adventures there, up Mount Vesuvius, where she half choked
herself with sulphurous smoke. There is a place near Naples called the Sol-
fatara, which is thought to be the crater of an extinct volcano, where there is
a cave that hisses, and roars, and puffs out scalding steam like a perpetual
locomotive, and all the ground around shakes and quivers as if it were only
a crust over some terrible abyss. The pools of water are all white with sul-
phur ; the ground is made of sulphur and arsenic and all such sort of un-
canny matters ; and we were in a fine fright lest Miss Florence, being in one
of her wildest and most indiscreet moods, should tumble into some burning
hole, or strangle herself with sulphur ; and in fact she rolled over and over in
a sulphur puddle, and then, scampering off, rolled in ashes by way of cleaning
herself. We could not, however, leave her at home during any of our ex-
cursions, and so had to make the best of these imprudences.
When at last the time came for us to leave Italy, we were warned that
Florence would not be allowed to travel in the railroad cars in the French
territories. All dogs, of all sizes and kinds, whose owners wish to have
travel with them, are shut up in a sort of closet by themselves, called the
dog-car ; and we thought our nervous, excitable little pet would be fright-
ened into fits, to be separated from all .her friends, and made to travel with
all sorts of strange dogs. So we determined to smuggle her along in a
basket. At Turin we bought a little black basket, just big enough to con-
tain her, and into it we made her go, very sorely against her will, as we
could not explain to her the reason why. Very guilty indeed we felt, with
this travelling conveyance hung on one arm, sitting in the waiting-room, and
dreading every minute lest somebody should see the great bright eyes peep-
ing through the holes of the basket, or hear the subdued little whines and
howls which every now and then came from its depths.
Florence had been a petted lady, used to having her own way, and a great
deal of it ; and this being put up in a little black basket, where she could
neither make her remarks on the scenery, nor join in the conversation of her
young mistresses, seemed to her a piece of caprice without rhyme or reason.
So every once in a while she would express her mind on the subject by a
sudden dismal little whine ; and what was specially trying, she would take
the occasion to do this when the cars stopped and all was quiet, so that
everybody could hear her. Where 's that dog ? somebody 's got a dog in
here, was the inquiry very plain to be seen in the suspicious looks which
the guard cast upon us as he put his head into our compartment, and gazed
about inquiringly. Finally, to our great terror, a railway director, a tall, geji-
380
Our Dogs.
[June,
tlemanly man, took his seat in our very compartment, where Miss Florence's
basket garnished the pocket above our heads, and she was in one of her most
querulous moods. At every stopping-place she gave her little sniffs and
howls, and rattled her basket so as to draw all eyes. We all tried to look in-
nocent and unconscious, but the polite railroad director very easily perceived
what was the matter. He looked from one anxious, half-laughing face to
the others, with a kindly twinkle in his eye, but said nothing. All the guards
and employes bowed down to him, and came cap in hand at every stopping-
place to take his orders. What a relief it was to hear him say, in a low
voice, to them : " These young ladies have a little dog which they are carry-
ing. Take no notice of it, and do not disturb them ! " Of course, after that,
though Florence barked and howled and rattled her basket, and sometimes
showed her great eyes, like two coal-black diamonds, through its lattice-work,
nobody saw and nobody heard, and we came unmolested with her to Paris.
After a while she grew accustomed to her little travelling carriage, and re-
signed herself quietly to go to sleep in it ; and so we got her from Paris to
Kent, where we stopped a few days to visit some friends in a lovely country
place called Swaylands.
Here we had presented to us another pet, that was ever after the chosen
companion and fast friend of Florence. He was a little Skye terrier, of the
color of a Maltese cat, covered all over with fine, long silky hair, which hung
down so evenly, that it was difficult at the first glance to say which was his
head and which his tail. But at the head end there gleamed out a pair of
great, soft, speaking eyes, that formed the only beauty of the creature ; and
very beautiful they were, in their soft, beseeching lovingness.
1865.] Our Dogs. 381
Poor Rag had the tenderest heart that ever was hid in a bundle of hair ;
he was fidelity and devotion itself, and used to lie at our feet in the railroad
carriages as still as a gray sheep-skin, only too happy to be there on any
terms. It would be too long to tell our travelling adventures in England ;
suffice it to say, that at last we went on board the Africa to come home, with
our two pets, which had to be handed over to the butcher, and slept on
quarters of mutton and sides of beef, till they smelt of tallow and grew fat
in a most vulgar way.
At last both of ttem were safely installed in the brown stone cottage in
Andover, and Rag was presented to a young lady to whom he had been sent
as a gift from England, and to whom he attached himself with the most faith-
ful devotion.
Both dogs insisted on having their part of the daily walks and drives of
their young mistresses ; and, when they observed them putting on their hats,
would run, and bark, and leap, and make as much noise as a family of chil-
dren clamoring for a ride.
After a few months, Florence had three or four little puppies. Very puny
little things they were ; and a fierce, nervous little mother she made. Her eyes
looked blue as burnished steel, and if anybody only set foot in the room where
her basket was, her hair would bristle, and she would bark so fiercely as to be
quite alarming. For all that, her little ones proved quite a failure, for they
were all stone-blind. In vain we waited and hoped and watched for nine
days, and long after ; the eyes were glazed and dim, and one by one they
died. The last two seemed to promise to survive, and were familiarly known
in the family circle by the names of Milton and Beethoven.
But the fatigues of nursing exhausted the delicate constitution of poor
Florence, and she lay all one day in spasms. It became evident that a tran-
quil passage must be secured for Milton and Beethoven to the land of shades,
or their little mother would go there herself; and accordingly they vanished
from this life.
As to poor Flo, the young medical student in the family took her into a
water-cure course of treatment, wrapping her in a wet napkin first, and then
in his scarlet flannel dressing-gown, and keeping a cloth wet with iced water
round her head. She looked out of her wrappings, patient and pitiful, like a
very small old African female, in a very serious state of mind. To the glory
of the water-cure, however, this course in one day so cured her, that she was
frisking about the next, happy as if nothing had happened.
She had, however, a slight attack of the spasms, which caused her to run
frantically and cry to have the hall-door opened ; and when it was opened,
she scampered up in all haste into the chamber of her medical friend, and,
not finding him there, jumped upon his bed, and began with her teeth and
pajsvs to get around her the scarlet dressing-gown in which she had found re-
lief before. So she was again packed in wet napkins, and after that never
had another attack.
After this, Florence was begged from us by a lady who fell in love with
her beautiful eyes, and she went to reside in a most lovely cottage in H ,
382 Our Dogs. [June,
where she received the devoted attentions of a whole family. The family
physician, however, fell violently in love with her, and, by dint of caring for
her in certain little ailments, awakened such a sentiment in return, that at
last she was given to him, and used to ride about in state with him in his
carriage, visiting his patients, and giving her opinion on their symptoms.
At last her health grew delicate, and her appetite failed. In vain chicken,
and chops, and all the delicacies that could tempt the most fastidious, were
offered to her, cooked expressly for her table ; the end of all things fair must
come, and poor Florence breathed her last, and was p^t into a little rose-
wood casket, lined with white, and studded with silver nails, and so buried
under a fine group of chestnuts in the grounds of her former friends. A
marble tablet was to be affixed to one of these, commemorating her charms ;
but, like other spoiled beauties, her memory soon faded, and the tablet has
been forgotten.
The mistress of Rag, who is devoted to his memory, insists that not
enough space has been given in this memoir to his virtues. But the virtues
of honest Rag were of that kind which can be told in a few sentences, a
warm, loving heart, a boundless desire to be loved, and a devotion that made
him regard with superstitious veneration all the movements of his mistress.
The only shrewd trick he possessed was a habit of drawing on her sympathy
by feigning a lame leg whenever she scolded or corrected him. In his Eng-
lish days he had had an injury from the kick of a horse, which, however, had
long since been healed; but he remembered the petting he got for this
infirmity, and so recalled it whenever he found that his mistress's stock of
affection was running low. A blow or a harsh word would cause him to limp
in an alarming manner ; but a few caresses would set matters all straight
again.
Rag had been a frantic ratter, and often roused the whole family by his
savage yells after rats that he heard gambolling quite out of his reach behind
the partitions in the china closet. He would crouch his head on his fore
paws, and lie watching at rat-holes, in hopes of intercepting some transient
loafer ; and one day he actually broke the back and bones of a gray old thief
whom he caught marauding in the china closet.
Proud and happy was he of this feat ; but, poor fellow ! he had to repose
on the laurels thus gained, for his teeth were old and poor, and more than
one old rebel slipped away from him, leaving him screaming with disappointed
ambition.
At last poor Rag became aged and toothless, and a shake which he one
day received from a big dog, which took him for a bundle of wick-yarn, has-
tened the breaking up of his constitution. He was attacked with acute
rheumatism, and, notwithstanding the most assiduous cares of his mistress,
died at last in her arms. * ^
Funeral honors were decreed him; white chrysanthemums and myrtle
leaves decked his bier. And so Rag was gathered to the dogs which had
gone before him.
Harriet Beecher Stowe.
1865.] Winning his Way. 383
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER VII.
IN A TRAP.
A KIND word, a look, a smile, a warm grasp of the hand by a friend in
time of trouble, how they remain in memory! Sometimes they are
like ropes thrown to drowning men. The meeting between Paul and Azalia
upon the bridge was a turning point in his fife. He felt, when he saw her
approaching, that, if she passed him by, looking upon him as a vile outcast
from society, he might as well give up a contest where everything was
against him. He loved truth and honor for their own sake. He remem-
bered the words of his grandfather, that truth and honor are better than any-
thing else in the world. Many a night he had heard the winds repeating
those words as they whistled through the cracks and crevices of his cham-
ber, rattling the shingles upon the roof, saying over and over and over again,
Truth and honor, truth and honor. He had tried to be true, honest, and
manly, not only to make himself better, but to help everybody else who had a
hard time in life ; but if Rev. Mr. Surplice, Judge Adams, Colonel Dare, and
all the good folks, looked upon him as a thief, what was the use of trying to
rise ? There was one who was still his friend. Her sweet, sad smile fol-
lowed him. He saw it all the time, by day and by night, while awake and
while asleep. He felt the warm, soft touch of her hand, and heard her words.
He remembered that God was always on the side of truth, and so he resolved
to go right on as if nothing had happened, and live down the accusation.
But he couldn't go on. "After what has happened, it is expedient that
you should leave the choir till your innocence is established," said Deacon
Hardhack, who was chairman of the singing committee, a good, well-mean-
ing man, who was very zealous for maintaining what he considered to be the
faith once delivered to the saints. He carried on an iron foundery, and peo-
ple sometimes called him a cast-iron man. He believed that it was the duty
of everybody to do exactly right ; if they did wrong, or if they were sus-
pected of doing wrong, they must take the consequences. Miss Dobb told
him that Paul ought to be pitched out of the choir. " I think so too, Miss
Dobb," said the Deacon, and it was done.
It required a great bracing of Paul's nerves, on Sunday morning, to go to
church, and take a seat in the pew down stairs, with every eye upon him ;
but he did it manfully.
The bell ceased its tolling. It was time for services to commence, but
there was no choir. The singers' seats were empty. Azalia, Daphne, Hans,
and all, were down stairs. Mr. Surplice waited awhile, then read the hymn ;
but there was a dead silence, no turning of leaves, no blending of sweet
voices, no soul-thrilling strains, such as had reformed Farmer Harrow, and
given rest to his horses one day in seven. People looked at the singers'
384 Winning his Way. [June,
seats, then at Paul, then at each other. The silence became awkward. Dea-
con Hardhack was much exercised in mind. He had been very zealous in
committee meeting for having Paul sent down stairs, but he had not looked
forward to see what effect it would have upon the choir. Mr. Cannel, who
owned a coal mine, sat in front of Paul. He was not on good terms with
Deacon Hardhack, for they had had a falling out on business matters, and
so whatever the Deacon attempted to do in society affairs was opposed by
Mr. Cannel. They were both members of the singing committee, and had a
stormy time on Saturday evening. Mr. Cannel did what he could to keep
Paul in the choir, but the Deacon had carried the day.
" I '11 triumph yet," was the thought which flashed through Mr. Cannel's
mind, when he saw how matters stood. He turned and nodded to Paul to
strike up a tune, but Paul took no notice of him. Mr. Cannel half rose from
his seat, and whispered hoarsely, " Strike up a tune, Paul." All the congre-
gation saw him. Paul made no movement, but sat perfectly still, not even
looking towards Mr. Cannel. Deacon Hardhack saw what Mr. Cannel was
up to, and resolved to head him off. He rose from his seat, and said aloud,
" Brother Quaver, will you pitch a tune ? "
Again, as in other days, Mr. Quaver rubbed his great red nose, as trum-
peters in a band wipe their instruments before giving a blast. Then, after a
loud Ahem ! which made the church ring, he began to sing. It was so strange
a sound, so queer, so unlike the sweet music which had charmed the congre-
gation through the summer, that there was smiling all over the church. His
voice trembled and rattled, and sounded so funny that a little boy laughed
aloud, which disconcerted him, and he came near breaking down. Miss
Gamut sat in one corner of the church, many pews from Mr. Quaver. She
attempted to join, but was so far away that she felt, as she afterwards re-
marked, like a cat in a strange garret. Paul did not sing. He thought that,
if it was an offence for him to sing in the choir, it would be equally offensive
to sing in the congregation. Azalia, Daphne, Hans, and all the members
of the choir, who were sitting in the pews with their parents, were silent.
They had talked the matter over before church.
" Paul is innocent ; he has only been accused. It is n't right to condemn
him, or turn from him, till we know he is not worthy of our confidence. I
met him on the bridge last night, and he looked as if he had n't a friend in
the world. I shall stand by him," said Azalia.
" Deacon Hardhack and Miss Dobb mean to break down the choir. It is
a conspiracy," said Hans, who felt that Paul's case was his own.
Daphne began to look at the matter in a new light, and felt ashamed of
herself for having passed by Paul without noticing him.
After service there was a great deal of pretty loud talking.
" If that is the kind of singing you are going to have, I '11 stay at home,"
said Farmer Harrow.
" It would be a desecration of the sanctuary, and we should be the aiders
and abettors of sin and iniquity, if we allowed a fellow who has been accused
of stealing to lead the singing," said Deacon Hardhack to Mr. Cannel.
1865.] Winning his Way. 385
" Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone," was Mr.
Cannel's reply, and he felt that he had given the Deacon a good hit.
" Paul has n't had his deserts by a long chalk," said Miss Dobb.
" He has been treated shamefully," said Azalia, indignantly.
All took sides, some for Paul, and some against him. Old things, which
had no connection with the matter, were raked up. Mr. Cannel twitted Dea-
con Hardhack of cheating him, while on the other hand the Deacon accused
Mr. Cannel of giving false weight in selling coal. The peace and harmony
of the church and society were disturbed.
Mr. Quaver felt very sore over that laugh which the little boy had started.
He knew his voice was cracked, and his singing days were over. " I am not go-
ing to make a fool of myself, to be laughed at," he said, and made up his mind
that he would n't sing another note to please the Deacon or anybody else.
In the afternoon Mr. Quaver's seat was empty. Mr. Surplice read a hymn
and waited for some one to begin. Mr. Cannel once more nodded to Paul,
but Paul took no notice of it, and so there was no singing. A very dull ser-
vice it was. After the benediction, Mr. Cannel, Colonel Dare, and Judge
Adams said to Paul, " We hope you will lead the singing next Sunday."
" Gentlemen, I have been requested by the chairman of the committee to
leave the choir. When he invites me to return I will take the matter into
consideration ; till then I shall take no part in the singing," he replied,
calmly and decidedly.
Through the week Paul went on with his business, working and studying,
bringing all his will and energy into action ; for he resolved that he would
not let what had taken place break him down.
Mr. Noggin believed him guilty. " He will steal your grapes, Mr. Leather-
by, if you don't look out," he said to the shoemaker, who had a luxuriant vine
in his garden, which was so full of ripe clusters that people's mouths watered
when they saw them purpling in the October sun.
Mr. Leatherby concluded to keep his eyes open, also to set a trap. He
waited till evening, that no one might see what he was about. His garden
was a warm, sunny spot, upon a hillside. A large butternut-tree, with wide-
spreading branches, gave support to the vine. Mr. Leatherby filled a hogs-
head with stones, headed it up, rolled it to the spot, and tilted it so nicely
that a slight jar would send it rolling down the hill. Then fastening one end
of a rope to the bung, he threw the other end over a branch of the tree,
brought it down to the ground, and made a noose. Then, taking a board, he
put one end upon the hogshead and rested the other end on the ground,
where he had placed the noose. He expected that whoever came after the
grapes would walk up the board to reach the great clusters which hung over-
head, that the hogshead would begin to roll, the board would drop, the noose
draw, and the thief would find himself dangling by the heels. It was ad-
mirably contrived. About midnight Mr. Leatherby heard the board drop.
" I 've got him ! " he shouted, springing out of bed, alarming Mrs. Leather-
by, who thought he was crazy. He had not told her of the trap.
" Got whom ? Got what ? " she exclaimed, wondering what he meant.
VOL. i. >io. vi. 27
386
Winning his Way.
[June,
" Paul Parker, who has come to steal the grapes," he Said, as he put on
his clothes.
He went out, and found that it was not Paul, but Bob Swift, who was
dangling, head downwards. The noose had caught him by one leg. A very
laughable appearance he made, as he kicked and swung his arms, and swayed
to and fro, vainly struggling to get away.
" So you are the thief, are you ? How
do you like being hung up by the heels ?
Are the grapes sweet or sour?" Mr.
Leatherby asked, not offering to relieve
him.
" Please let me go, sir. I won't do
so again," said Bob, whining.
"It won't hurt you to hang awhile,
I reckon," Mr. Leatherby replied, going into the house and telling Mrs.
Leatherby what had happened, then calling up Mr. Shelbarke, who lived
near by, and also Mr. Noggin.
" I reckon that this is n't your first trick, Bob," said Mr. Leatherby, when
he returned with his neighbors. He liked Paul, and had been loath to be-
lieve that he was guilty of stealing. " It is you who have been playing
tricks all along. Come now, own up," he added.
1865.] Winning his Way. 387
" It ain't me, it is Philip, he told me to come," said Bob, who was thor-
oughly cowed by the appearance of Mr. Noggin and the others, and who
feared that he would be harshly dealt with.
" O ho ! Philip Funk is at the bottom, is he ? " Mr. Leatherby exclaimed,
remembering how Philip suggested that it was Paul who had stuffed his
chimney with old paper.
" If you will let me down, I will tell you all," said Bob, groaning with pain
from the cord cutting into his ankle.
"We will hear your confession before we let you down," said Mr. Leatherby.
Bob begged, and whined, but to no purpose, till he told them all about
the Night-Hawks, that Philip set them on, and that Paul did not take
Mr. Noggin's honey, nor smoke out Mr. Leatherby. It was Philip who
sheared Miss Dobb's puppy, who took Mr. Shelbarke's watermelons, and
robbed Deacon Hardback's hen-roost. When Bob had told all, they let him
go. He went off limping, but very glad that he was free.
In the morning Mr. Leatherby and Mr. Noggin reported what had hap-
pened ; but Philip put on a bold face, and said that Bob was a liar, and that
there was n't a word of truth in what he had said. The fact that he was
caught stealing Mr. Leatherby's grapes showed that he was a fellow not to
be believed ; for if he was mean enough to steal, he would not hesitate to lie.
Deacon Hardhack called upon Paul. " I have been requested by the com-
mittee to call and see you. They wish you to take charge of the singing
again," he said, with some confusion of manner ; and added, " Perhaps we
were hasty in the matter when we asked you to sit down stairs, but we are
willing to let bygones be bygones."
" Am I to understand that there is no suspicion against me ? " Paul asked.
"Yes sir I suppose so," said the Deacon, slowly and hesitatingly.
" Then you may say to the committee that I will do what I can to make
the singing acceptable as a part of the service," Paul replied.
There was a hearty shaking of hands with Paul, by all the choir, at the
rehearsal on Saturday night. They were glad to meet him once more, and
when they looked upon his frank, open countenance, those who for a mo-
ment had distrusted him felt that they had done him a great wrong. And on
Sunday morning how sweet the music ! It thrilled the hearts of the people,
and they too were ashamed when they reflected that they had condemned
Paul without cause. They were glad he was in his place once more. Mr.
Surplice in his prayer gave thanks that the peace and harmony of the con-
gregation was restored, and that the wicked one had not been permitted to
rule. When he said that, Mr. Cannel wondered if he had reference to Dea-
con Hardhack. Everybody rejoiced that the matter was settled, even Miss
Dobb, who did not care to have all the old things brought up.
When the service was over, when Paul sat once more by his mother's side
in their humble home, before the old fireplace, when he listened to her words,
reminding him of all God's goodness, how He had carried him through the
trial, Paul could not keep back his tears, and he resolved that he would
always put his trust in God.
388 Winning his Way. [June,
CHAPTER VIII.
KEEPING SCHOOL.
THE teacher of the New Hope school, engaged for the winter, proved to
be a poor stick. He allowed the scholars to throw spit-balls, snap apple-
seeds, eat molasses candy, pull each other's hair, and have fine frolics. Paul
wished very much to attend school, to study Latin, and fit himself for Col-
lege ; .but when he saw how forceless a fellow Mr. Supple was, he concluded
that it would be lost time to attend such a school. He knew that knowledge
is power, and he longed to obtain a thorough education. Sometimes, when
he thought how much Judge Adams knew, and when he read books written
by learned men, he felt that he knew next to nothing. But when he felt like
giving up the contest with adverse circumstances, a walk in the fresh, cool,
bracing air, or a night's sleep, revived his flagging spirit. The thought often
came, " What would Daphne or Azalia say if they knew how chicken-hearted
I am ? " So his pride gave him strength. Though he did not attend school,
he made rapid progress studying at home.
Matters came to a crisis in the school, for one day the big boys Bob
Swift among others carried Mr. Supple out of the school-house, dug a hole
in a snow-drift, and stuck him into it with his head down and his heels up.
Then they took po
