Full text of "St. Nicholas"

1845

1847

1853

L ! 5 R A R Y

ESTr>SLI3HZD 1C72

LAV^REKCE, MASS.

ST. NICHOLAS:

Illustrated Magazine

For Young Folks.

CONDUCTED BY

MARY MAPES DODGE.

VOLUME X.
Part I., November, 1882, to May, 1883.

Public Library

T"E CENTURY CO. NEW YORK.

Press of Theo. L. De Vinnh & Co,
New- York.

ST. NICHOLAS:

VOLUME X.

PART I.

Six Months — November, 1882, to May, 1883.

CONTENTS OF PART L, VOLUME X.

PAGE.

Accident in High Life. An Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Eleanor A. Hunter 128

Adventures of a Tame Crow. Picture, drawn by DeCost Smith 4'2

Agassiz Association. The (Illustrated) Harlan H. Ballard 77

237. 317.397.477

Albatross. The Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Thaxler 279

" A Little Girl Asked Some Kittens to Tea." Jingle. (Illustrated by the

.\uthor) ^- G. Francis 91

All the Plums. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Sophie Swett '34

Alone in Rome. (Illustrated by Walter Fenn) Lucretia P. Hale 457

Alphabet of Children. An Jingles. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Isabel Frances Bellows 112

" An Artiz II Be." Jingle. (Illustrated by Boz) M. J. S 135

" And Everywhere That Mary Went." Picture, drawn by M. L. U. Watson 384

An Object of Interest. Picture, drawn by Elise Bohm 43°

Any Train Sarah Winter Kellogg 381

Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 268

April Day. An Picture, drawn by Otto Stark 45^

Ballad ok Bravery. K Verses Malcolm Douglas 229

Banished King. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 118

Beautiful Lady. The ' Poem Henry Ripley Dorr 423

Ben Bruin. Verses. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Lucy Larcom 328

Bob's Wonderful Bicycle. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) E. J. Wheeler 424

Boy I.N the White House. .\ (Illustrated from photographs) Noah Brooks 57

Brave Chinese Baby. A (Illustrated by H. Sandham) H. H. 406

Broken Pitcher. The (Illustrated) M's. J. W. Davis 323

Brownies' Feast. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 368

Brownies' Ridk. The Verses. (Illustrated by the .\ulhor) Palmer Cox 263

Buttons Mary N. Prescott 469

Cat and the Mouse. Pictures, drawn by Palmer Cox 5^

Changing A Face. (Illustrated) A. A. W 94

Chinese New Year's Day in Santa Barbara. (Illustrated by H. Sandham). /i^ H 201

Chivalrie. Poem. (Illustrated by Miss C. A. Northam) Wilbur Larremore 256

Christmas Day. Poem. (Illustrated) Nora Perry 92

Christmas Fairies. The M. E. K 82

Christmas Moon. Poem ^. H. S 206

Coasting on Lake Winnipeg. (Illustrated by H. F. Farny) Edmund A. Struthers 102

Confusion. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Midler) M. M. D 109

Dick, the Draitghtsman. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Z. Hopkins 224

Discovery of the Mammoth. The (Illustrated by James C. Beard, from > ^ „ ,, , , -

I C. F. Holder JW

a photograph) >

Doris Lee's Feather Fan Frank H. Converse 276

VI CONTENTS.

A. IV. Harrington 303

PAGE.

Dorothy's Spinning -wheel Mary L. Bolles Branch .... 349

Doughty Duelist. A Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) //. Pelham Curtis 23

Drop and the Cloud. The Poem L. D. Brewster 447

Elizabeth Butler. (Illustrated) Alice Meyiiell 185

Emily. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary E. Church 362

Fairy Wishes, Nowadays. (Illustrated by A. B. Frost) .S. A. Sheilds 166

False Sir Santa Claus. The Christmas Masque E. S. Brooks 65

Family Drive. A Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Stephen Smith 83

Field of the Cloth of Gold. Story of the (Illustrated by R. B. Birch

and others) E. S. Brooks 136

173.253.333

Flying Without Wings. (Illustrated by James C. Beard) C. F. Holder 432

Grace for a Child. Verse. (Illustrated anc^ engrossed by A. E. Burton). . .Robert Heirick . n

Grandmamma's Pearls. (Illustrated) Louisa M. Alcott 144

Gretchen. Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Thaxter. . : 343

Happy Thought. A Katharine R. McDowell. ... 29

Hetty's Letter. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Katharine Kameron 180

His Seventieth Christmas. Picture, drawn by G. F. Barnes 144

HoteI. Poem. Laura F. Hinsdale 18

How the Doctor was Paid Katharine R. McDowell. . 163

"I KNOW I HAVE Lost my Train." fingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins,)

after design by Author) ." \^- ^- ^'^rrington 55

Indian Game. A New (Illustrated by the Author) De Cost Smith '. 390

In. the Land of Clouds. (Illustrated by J. W. Bolles) Joaquin Miller 248

"I Once Saw Three Funny Old Fellows." Jingle. (Illustrated by L.

Hopkins, after design by Author)

Ironing Song. Verses. (Illustrated by M. L. D. Watson) Bessie Hill 364

Is n't it about Time to Get out of the Way. Picture, drawn by Walter Bobbett 194

January and June. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 172

Japan. The Whale Hunters of (Illustrations from Japanese pictures) Williain Elliot Griffis 109

Japanese Funny Artist. A (Illustrated) William Elliot Griffis 340

Jeremy Barge and Timothy Wall. Jingles. ' (Illustrated by R. B. Birch). Tiw^//^ Dawson 280

Jerry. Poem. (Illustrated by Rosina Emmet) Mary Lowe Dickinson 275

Jingles 23, 55, 83, 91, 95, 135, 205, 224, 280, 303, 327, 455, 461, 463

Jingling Rhyme of the Bold Rower. The Verses. (Illustrated by G.

F. Barnes) Emily S. Oakey 208

Karsing and the Tiger. (Illustrated) Hollis C. Clark 230

Kitty's Prayers. Verses. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Corinne Oaksmith 339

Lake Winnipeg. Coasting on (Illustrated by H. F. Farny) ". . . .Edtnund A. Struthers 102

Land of Clouds. In the (Illustrated by J. W. Bolles) .-. . .Joaquin Miller 248

Learned Lawyer. A Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) -. . . .J. E. Newkirk 327

Little Beppo Malcolm Douglas 127

Little Missionary. The Poem. (Illustrated by Rosina Emmet) Charles H. Crandall 296

Louis's Little Joke Katharine R. McDmuell 404

Mamma's Little Housemaid. Picture, drawn by D. Clinton Peters 212

Mammoth. The Discovery of the (Illustrated by James C. Beard, from a)

photograph)- \^C. F. Holder 89

Mary and her Garden. Poem. (Engrossed and illustrated by A. Brennan).£z/3 L. Ogden 96

Massys. Quintin Clara Erskine Clement 271

Mission of Mabel's Valentine. The (Illustrated by Rose Miiller) Anna North 293

Mrs. Peterkin Faints on the Great Pyramid Lucretia P. Hale 365

My Valentine. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) J. M. Anderson 252

New Hat. The Jingle. (Illustrated by the .\uthor) E. L. Sylvester 94

New Mother Hubbard. A Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Miiller) Eleanor A. Hunter 448

New Winter Sport. .\ (Illustrated by W. Taber) Hjalmar H. Boyesen 304

New Year's Day in Santa Barbara. Chinese (Illustrated by H. Sandham) . j^. H 201

Nightmare of the Boy who Teased the Animals. The Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 380

CONTENTS. VU

PACE.

Old Mordecai's Cockerki.. (Illustrated by F. T. Merrill) Sargent Flint. 19

Oi.D Roman Library. An ( Illustrated by K. H. Lungren) .C. L. G. Scales 30

Paper Boat. A (Illustrated by the Author) De Cost Smith 464

Peterkin Faints on the Great Pyramid. Mrs Lucretia P. Hale 365

Pictures 12, 33, 56, 144, 165, 180, 194, 212, 247, 311, 380, 384, 412

Poor Katie Mary Wager Fisher 430

Princess with the (Ilass Heart. The (Illustrated by Marie Wiegmann. )

Translated by Anna Eichberg 427

Prisciixa Prue's Umbreixa. George Addorus 266

Puck's Pranks. A Play Mary Cmvden Clarke 297

Pups. Picture, (.\fter a painting by J. G. Brown). . : 33

Pussywillow. Verses. (Illustrated by Wilhelmina Grant) Ella Gardner 275

Queen's Gift. The Poem. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Rose Hartwick Tlwrpe 24

Queen who could n' i bake Gingerbread, and the King who could i

n't play on the Trombone. The (Illustrated by Marie Wiegmann.) >

Translated by ) Atma Eichberg 360

Queer Valentine. A , Sophie Swett 243

Query. A Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Kate B. Sears 455

Quest. The Poem. (Engrossed and illustrated by A. Brennan) Eva L. Odgen 40

Rhyme for Boy. A Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Lilian Coggeshall 461

Rhyme of the Week. A Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) William Wye Smith 352

Roman Library. An Old ( Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) C. L. G. Scales 30

Roman Sunday-School. A Picture, from the painting by Elizabeth Thompson 311

Rubens. Peter Paul (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 271

Sad Disappointment. A Verses Kate Kellogg 151

Sad Little Prince. The (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Edgar Fawcett 438

Santa Claus Must Have Made a Mistake. Picture, drawn by Addie Ledyard 165

Shadow Pictures and Silhouettes. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 385

She Does n't Seem to Know that She 's Me. Picture, drawn by Mrs. Mary Wyman Wallace 12

Silk-Culture for Boys and Girls. (Illustrated) L. Capsadell. 225

" Sing, Sing I what shall we Sing ? " Picture, drawn by J. G. Francis 463

Snow-flake China. (Illustrated) Mrs. Julia P. Ballard 206

"Soul, Soul, for a Soul-Cake ! " (Illustrated by R. Blum) J. L. W. 93

Sphinx. The Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) .Anna S. Reed. 333

Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 268

Story of Mrs. Polly Ann Bunce's Best Cap. The A. G. Plyinpton 436

Story of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The (Illustrated by R. B.

Birch and others) E. .S. Brooks 136

173. 253. 333
Story of Viteau. The (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frank R. Stockton i

84, 212, 284, 371, 412

Summons. The Poem Avis Grey 403

Tale of the Supposing Family. The Elizabeth Cumings 280

That Sly Old Woodchuck William O. Stoddard 330

Thompson. Elizabeth (Illustrated) Alice Meynell 185

Times and Seasons. Poem W. J. Linton . 10

Tinkham Brothers' Tide-Mill. The (Illustrated by J. H. Cocks) J. T. Trmuhridge 48

129, 194, 257, 352, 449

To-day my Doll is One Year Old. Jingle 205

"Torpedoes — Don't Anchor ! " (Illustrated by J. B. Woodward, from in-
stantaneous photographs). , . Charles Barnard. 12

Town with a Saint. A Charles Barnard. 338

Two Sides of a Laugh. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) H. Winthrop Peine 381

Valentine. A Queer Sophie S^uett 243

Valentine. My Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) J. M. Anderson 252

Valentine. The Mission of Mabel's (Illustrated by Rose MUUer) Anna North 293

Van Eyck. Hubert Clara Erskine Clement 268

VIU CONTENTS.

Van Eyck. Jan Clam Erskine Clement. .... 270

VlTEAU. The Story of (Illustrated by R. 15. Birch) Frank R. Stockton I

84, 212, 284, 371, 412

Whale-Hunters of Japan. The (Illustrations from Japanese pictures) William Elliot Griffis 109

When Mamma was a Little Girl. Picture, drawn by W. T. Peters 247

When Santa Claus was Young. Picture, drawn by U. Clinton Peters 180

Where Was Villiers ? (Illustrated by W. H. Overend) Archibald Forbes 344

White House. A Boy in the (Illustrated from photographs) Noah Brooks 57

Whoop-ee ! How I Frightened the Bears. (Illustrated by the Author). E. W. Kemble .^62

Winter Song. A Poem Susan Hartley 81

WooDCHUCK. That Sly Old William O. Stoddard 330

Work and Play for Young Folk. (Illustrated) 225, 304, 385, 390, 464

Silk-Culture for Boys and Girls L. Capsadell 225

A New Winter Sport Hjalmar H. Boyesen 304

Shadow Pictures and Silhouettes Joel Stacy 385

A New Indian Game '. De Cost Smith 390

A Paper Boat De Cost Smith 464

Wrong Coat. The Rose Terry Cooke 324

DEPARTMENTS.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated).

Introduction — A Young Society — Forced to Move — Diving at the Flash — "For the Inquisitive" — A
Talking Canary — Another Answer — Animal- Flowers (illustrated), 74; Introduction — How Times
Have Changed! — More About the Durion — Do Answer this Fellow (illustrated) — The Jabberwocky,
154; Introduction — "Down in the Doldrums" — Which was Right (illustrated)? — The Emu at Home,
234; Introduction — Bombast — The Rabbit Identified — Walking Under Water — " Old Wildey " — A Frog
Duel (illustrated) — The "Jabberwocky" once more, 314; Introduction — A Self-winding Clock — A
Sporting Hare — The Stinging-tree — "Pretty is as Pretty Does" — Another Fellow who Wants to be
Answered (illustrated) —Two Youthful Compositions — A March Custom in Wales, 394; Introduction —
Moths and Falling Water — J.ick's Little Parable — That Cloudy Saturday — A Girl who never saw a Snow-
ball — The Deacon's Letter — The Wasp's Gymnastics — A Remarkable Lily (illustrated), 470.

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated).

The Story of Rob, 73 — The Snow-bird's Christmas Tree, 152 — The .Sled that Won the Golden Arrow, 232 —
Yap, Puss, and the Slipper; "Oh, Birds that Fly in the Summer," 312 — The Grateful Dog, 391 — Mr.
Turkey-cock, 472.

Plays.

The False Sir Santa Claus E. S. Brooks 65

Puck's Pranks ; or, (Jood for Evil Mary Cowden Clarke 297

Our Music Page.

Christmas Carol. (Rev. Minot J. Savage) Hozvard M. Dow 142

The Letter-box (Illustrated) 76, 156, 236, 316, 396, 474

The Riddi.e-box (Illustrated) 79, 159, 239, 319, 399, 479

Frontispieces.

" Indian .Summer," facing Title-page of Volume — " On Christmas Day in the Morning," 81 —" His Lord-
ship's Bed-time," 1 63 — " Margery's Champion," 241— "The Broken Pitcher," 323 — " Snow in Spring-
time," 403.

■^^m^

INDIAN SUMMER.

ST. NICHOLAS.

Vol. X.

NOVEMBER, 1882.

No. I.

[Copyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.]

THE STORY OF VITEAU.*

By Frank R. Stockton.

Chapter I.

By the side of a small stream, which ran through
one of the most picturesque portions of the prov-
ince of Burgundy, in France, there sat, on a beau-
tiful day in early summer, two boys, who were
brothers.

They had been bathing in the stream, and now,
having dressed, they were talking together on the
bank.

Raymond, the elder, was about fourteen years
old, and his brother Louis was some eighteen
months younger. In form and feature, and in
general disposition and character, they were not
unlike many of the boys of our day, and yet these
two young fellows lived more than six hundred
years ago. They were dressed in simple tunics,
one green, one brown, and wore short breeches,
dark-colored stockings, and rather clumsy shoes.

The two brothers were very busily engaged in
conversation, for they had a great deal to say to
each other, and not much time to say it in. On
the next day Louis was going away from home, to
be gone a long, long time.

Raymond and Louis were the sons of the Count-
ess of Viteau, whose chateau stood on a little
eminence about half a mile away. Their father,
the Count of Viteau, had been one of the most
steadfast adherents and supporters of the Duke of
Burgundy, in his endeavors to maintain the inde-
pendence of his dukedom against the claims of
the French crown, and had fallen in one of the
battles between the Duke's followers and the army

VOU X. — I. » Copyright, 1882,

of the Regent, Queen Blanche, who, in those days,
ruled France in the name of her son, the young
King, Louis IX., afterward known as Louis the
Just, or St. Louis.

The Duke's forces had been defeated. Burgundy
had been compelled to acknowledge the supremacy
of the French crown, and peace reigned in the
kingdom.

The widowed Countess of Viteau now found her-
self the sole protector and guardian of her two
boys. Fortunately, she had a large estate, but
even this added to her cares and responsibilities,
and rendered her less able to attend to what she
had intended should be the aim and business of
her life — the education of her sons.

Education, in those days, did not mean what it
does now. The majority of the people, even of
the upper classes, were not educated at all, some
of the lords and barons being unable to write their
names. Printing had net been invented ; all books
were in manuscript, and were scarce and valuable.
Most of the learning, such as it was, had been, for a
long time, confined to the monks and priests ; but,
in the era in which our two boys lived, people had
begun to give more attention to general education,
and there were schools in some of the large cities
which were well attended, and where the students
of that day were taught grammar, logic, rhetoric,
music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy, al-
though their studies in most of these branches were
not carried very far. The school of Paris was one
of the most celebrated of these institutions.

The Countess of Viteau was among the few ladies

by F. R. Stockton.

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[November,

of the time who really cared for an education beyond
that which included the small number of accom-
plishments then considered necessary to persons
of high position. When quite a young woman,
she had learned all that the priests, one or more
of whom generally lived in her father's house,
could teach her, and afterward, when her sons
were old enough, she made it her personal business
to attend to their studies. Some things she taught
them herself, and, for other branches, she em-
ployed such men of knowledge — almost always
members of some order of the clergy — as could be
obtained.

But now the time had arrived when the customs
of the day demanded that one of her sons, at
least, should leave her to receive an education of
another sort, and her younger boy was to be sent
away to the castle of the Count de Barran, an old
friend and fellow-soldier of her husband, to be
taught, as most of the boys of his station were
taught, the arts and usages of knighthood and
chivalry. Raymond would also be a knight, but
his mother wished him to be more than that. He
would succeed to the rank and estate of his father,
and she hoped that he would not only be a noble-
man and a soldier, but a scholar. When he should
leave her to go to the school at Paris, — and it was
for this school that she was now endeavoring to
prepare him, — he would live with one of his rela-
tives, by whom he would be instructed in the noble
duties of chivalry. His mother felt sure that his
studies at the school and his knightly exercises
would not interfere with each other.

"Only one more day," said Raymond, "and
then it will seem so strange here without you,
Louis."

"But it will be ever so much stranger for me,"
said Louis, "for I shall be without everybody. I
have never seen a single soul of the castle people,
excepting the Count de Barran, and it is so long
since he was here that 1 have almost forgotten
him. He was a big, stout man, and that 's all 1
know about him."

" You might as well have never seen him," said
Raymond, " for he is not stout, and he is not big.
He 's a tall, thin man, and, I think, a kind one.
But I expect you soon will know everybody."

"Or they will know me," said Louis, "which
will be the same thing. I know I shall have lively
times. Let me sec : For a year and a half I shall
be a page. There must be ever so many ways for
the pages, especially if there are a good many of
us, to have royal fun. And then, when I am four-
teen, I shall be a squire. I think 1 shall not like
that so much, excepting for the fighting part."

" Fighting ! " exclaimed his brother. " You '11
have none of that."

" Oh yes, but I shall have," returned Louis.
" Barran has always been fighting, ever since I
heard of him ; and if he does his duty by'me, he
is bound to take me with him to the wars."

" But the wars are all over," said Raymond.
" You know that as well as I do."

"Oh, there'll be more," said Louis, laughing.
" There is sure to be trouble of some kind before
1 'm fourteen. And, if there are any wars, you
must come to them. It wont do to be spending
all your time here, with priests and books."

" Priests and books ! " exclaimed Raymond.
" 1 don't expect to spend half my time with them.
1 shall ride and fence, and tilt and hunt quite as
much as you will, or even more, I doubt not. But
1 can do all that, and be a scholar too."

"1 'd like well enough to be ascholar," said Louis,
" if it were not so much trouble. Just to learn to
write, like the monks who make our books, must
take years ! 1 tell you, Raymond, it would be time
wasted for me."

" No doubt of that," said his brother, laughing.
" You would never have the patience to write out
all the pages of a book, even if you could do it so
well that people could read it. If you can do so
much as write me a letter from the castle, to tell
me how you find things there, and what happens
to you, I shall be glad enough."

"I never did write a letter," said Louis, "but I
feel quite sure that 1 could do it. The trouble
would be for you to read it."

" That 's true," said Raymond ; "but I will do
my best to read, if you will do your best to write."

" Did not our mother tell you to ask me this ? "
said Louis, turning toward his brother with a smile.

" She did," answered Raymond.

"1 thought it sounded like her," said Louis.
" She greatly wants me to read and write ; and,
for her sake, and yours, too, Raymond, I '11 try a
letter. But is not that Bernard, over in the
field?"

" Yes, it is," said Raymond. " He is training a
young falcon for me."

" For you ! " cried Louis, jumping up. " 1 did
not know that. Let us go down to him."

" 1 did not know it, either," said his brother,
rising, " until yesterday. Bernard is going to
teach me to fly the bird as soon as it is trained."

"And 1 am going away to-morrow," cried Louis.
" It is too bad ! "

The boys now ran down to the field, where a
tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a short,
coarse jacket of brown cloth, with tight breeches
of the same stuff, was walking toward them. He
bore on his left hand a large falcon, or goshawk,
a bird used in that day for hunting game of various
kinds.

1 883. J

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

" Ho, Bernard ! " cried Louis, " how is it I never
heard that you were training that bird ? I should
have hkM to watch you all the time."

" That is the reason you were not told," said
Bernard, who had been the squire of the late
Count, and was now a well-trusted member of the
household of Viteau.

"If you had known what 1 was about," he
continued, "you would have done nothing but
watch me, and therefore it was that your good
mother told me to keep the matter from you. It
takes a long time and a world of trouble to train
a hawk, especially one that was nearly full-grown
when caught, as this one was. Those taken from
their nests are far easier to manage."

" But he is trained now, is n't he ? " said Louis.
" Why not try him to-day? Just one flight, good
Bernard, for, you know, I shall be gone to-morrow.
We can easily find a heron, or a pheasant, or
something he can go after."

" No, no, my boy," said the squire; " this bird
is not yet ready to cast off for a free flight. Why,
it was only last week that I ceased using the long
string with which I brought him back when I
wanted him ; and, ever since, I have been very
careful to have a lure which should be so tempting
that he would be certain to come down to it, no
matter how high he might soar. See, here is the
one I used to-day. He has eaten from it the whole
breast of a pigeon."

With this he showed the boys his " lure," which
was a rude figure of a bird, the body made of
cloth, with the head, talons, and wings of a real
bird, and to which had been attached a piece of
some kind of meat of which the falcon is fond.
By being thus accustomed to find something good
to tear and eat when called to his master, the bird
gradually learned to . obey the call whenever he
heard it.

Raymond was quite willing to wait until the
hawk was thoroughly trained, before testing him
in actual sport ; but Louis, very naturally, made
g^eat complaint. To-day was his last chance.
Bernard, however, was firm, and so they walked
toward the chateau, the hooded bird still perched
upon the squire's wrist.

Just as the three, now busily talking of Louis'
future life at the castle of the Tiunt de Barran,
were about entering a little g,<y in the lower part
of the grounds which surrounded the house, there
came out of the gate a monk wearing a long,
dark, and rather dirty gown, and walking with his
eyes fixed upon the ground, as if deeply engaged
in thought. He seemed scarcely to perceive the
boys or the squire, as he passed them.

" I shall be glad to be free from those long-
gowned folk," said Louis, as they entered the

grounds. " No more priests' lessons for me. I
shall have knights and soldiers for my teachers."

" All very fine," said Bernard, " but you will
have other things to do besides learning how
to be a knight and soldier. You will serve your
masters and your mistresses at table, clean armor,
hold stirrups, and do everything they ask of you."

"Oh yes," said Louis; "but that will be only
while I am a page. In a year and a half all that
will be over."

"A year and a half seems to me like a long
time," said Raymond; "but time always passes
quickly with Louis."

This remark was made to Bernard, but the
squire did not appear to hear it. He was look-
ing back through the gate at the departing monk.

" If I only knew that he was never coming back,"
he said to himself, " I would not much care what
else happened."

And then he followed the boys up to the
chateau.

Chapter II.

The good squire did not make his inhospitable
remark in regard to the monk because he had any
dislike for monks or priests in general. He had
as high an opinion of the members of the clergy as
any one, but he had a very strong dislike for this
particular prior. To understand his reasons for
this feeling, we must know that, not very long
before the period at which our story begins, and
soon after the Queen Regent had conquered the
rebellious provinces, and so consolidated the king-
dom, there was established in the city of Toulouse
that terrible tribunal of the Romish Church
known as the Holy Inquisition. Here persons
suspected of holding opinions in opposition to the
doctrines taught by the Church were tried, often
subjected to tortures in order to induce them to
confess the crimes with .which they were charged,
and punished with greit severity if found guilty.
This inquisition was under the charge of the
Dominican friars, of which order the man who
had just passed out of the little gate was a member.

For several weeks the frequent visits of this prior
to the Countess of Viteau had given a great deal
of uneasiness to Bernard. The man was not one
of the regular religious instructors of the family,
nor had he anything to do with the education
of the boys. There was some particular reason
for his visits to the chateau, and of this the house-
hold at large knew nothing; but the fact of his
being a Dominican, and therefore connected with
the Inquisition, made him an unpleasant visitor to
those who saw his comings and goings, but who
did not knov.' their object.

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[November,

Squire Bernard thought that he knew why this
Brotlier Anselmo came so often to the cliateau,
but he could not be certain that he was right. So
he kept his ideas to himself, and did
no more than hope that each visit of
the friar might be the last.

When the two brothers entered the
chateau, they went directly to their
mother's apartments. They found her
in a large room, the floor of which
was covered with soft rushes, for there
were no carpets in those days. There
was an abundance of furniture, but it
was stiff and heavy, and on the walls
there hung various pieces of tapestry,
of silk or wool, most of which the good
lady had embroidered herself.

The Countess of Viteau was a wom-
an of about thirty-five years of age,
and of a sweet but dignified appear-
ance and demeanor. She was evidently
very fond of her children, and they
were equally fond of her. She had a
book in her hand when the boys en-
tered (it should be remembered that
she was one of the very few ladies of
that day who read books), but she laid
it down, and drew her sons to her, one
on each side.

"Mother," said Louis, as she leaned
over to kiss the young fellow who was
to leave her the next day for such a
long, long time, — "Mother, I wish
you would write a letter to the Count
de Barran, and ask him to have me
taught falconry as soon as possible,
and also to get me a hawk of my
own, and have him trained."

"What put that into your head ? "
asked his mother, who could not help
smiling at this absurd idea on the part
of a boy who was going to begin life as a page,
but who expected to enter at once into the sports
and diversions of the grown-up nobility.

" It was Raymond's falcon that made me think
of it," said Louis. " I suppose I shall not see that
bird fly, — at least, not for ever so long, — and so I
want one of my own."

"I did not intend you should know anything
about Raymond's falcon," said his mother, "for I
knew it would fill your head so full that there would
be no room for anything else. But we will not
talk of falcons now. I have a great deal to say to
my Uttle boy "

" Not so very little either," said Louis, drawing
himself up to his full height.

"Who is going away," continued his mother.

" to learn to be a page, a squire, and a Christian
knight."
We need not know what she said to him, but

BERNARD, RAYMOND, AND LOUIS MEET THE MONK.

the three were together until the room grew dark,
and there was no treasure that Louis could take
with him which could be so valuable as the
motherly advice he received that afternoon.

Louis was to start for Barran's castle in the fore-
noon of the next day, and was to be accompanied
by Bernard and a small body of archers, for,
although there were no wars going on at that
time, there was always danger from robbers. All
over France, and in many other parts of Europe,
there were well-organized bands of men, who made
a regular business of pillaging travelers on the
iiighways. So it was necessary that Louis should
have with him enough men to defend him against
an attack by these brigands.

Very early in the morning, — earlier than any

I883.J

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

one else in the chateau, excepting a few servants, —
Louis arose and dressed himself. He did this verj'
quietly, so as not to wake his brother. Then he
stole softly down to a room in the lower part of the
building, where he knew Bernard kept the falcon
he was training. The door of this room was shut,
but not locked, and Louis slipped in without
waking the squire, who slept soundly in a cham-
ber just across the passage-way.

He closed the door, and looking around the
room, into which a little light came from a small,
high window, he soon perceived the falcon sitting
on a wooden perch, in a corner. The bird was
unhooded, but was tied by the leg, with a short
cord, to the perch. On a small table near by lay
the hood. As Louis approached the falcon, it
turned its head quickly toward him and slightly
raised its wings. This threatening gesture made
the boy hesitate ; he did not want to be bitten or
scratched. Drawing back, and looking about him,
he saw a cloth lying upon a bench. Seizing this,
he quickly threw it over the bird, untied the cord,
and, muffling with the cloth a little bell which was
fastened to one of the falcon's legs, Louis snatched
up the hood from the table, and, with the bird
under his arm, he hurried out of the room, care-
fully closing the door behind him.

Out-of-doors, he quickly made his way to the
little gate at the bottom of the grounds, and,
through this, passed out into the road. When he
reached a spot where he could not be seen from
the chateau, he sat down, carefully uncovered the
head of the falcon, and clapped over it the little
hood. Then he threw aside the cloth, and set the
bird upon his wrist, where it perched contentedly,
although not finding it quite so firm a support as
the strong hand of Bernard. While wearing the
hood, which completely covered its eyes, it would
not attempt to fly.

"Now, then," said he to himself, "I shall try
what this fine bird can do ; and when I have had
an hour's sport, 1 shall take it back and put it on
its perch, and no one will be any the worse for it.
If I meet Bernard, as I go back, 1 shall not care.
I shall have had my bit of falconry, and he can
have his falcon. There must be herons, or some
kind of birds, down in that field by the wood,
where we saw Bernard yesterday."

When Louis reached the field, he gazed eagerly
into the air and all about him for some flying creat-
ure, after which he could send his falcon in chase.
But nothing, excepting a few small birds, could he
discover, and he was not to be content with such
game as they. If he had had dogs with him, or
knew how himself to arouse the birds from their
covers, he might have had a chance to send his
falcon after a long-legged heron, or a pheasant;

but no large bird chose to make its appearance,
and poor Louis began to think that he would lose
the one chance he had of seeing Raymond's falcon
in pursuit of its prey.

Suddenly, from under some bushes hear the
edge of the wood, a large hare leaped out, and
went jumping across an open space toward a little
copse a short distance beyond the spot where Louis
stood. Our young hunter knew that falcons chased
hares, and such small animals, as well as winged
game, and he instantly jerked the hood from the
head of his bird, and cast it off toward the flying
hare.

But, to his amazement, the falcon did not pur-
sue the hare, which, in a few moments, disappeared
in the copse. Louis did not know that hawks or
falcons were not always trained to chase both hares
and birds, and that this one had been accustomed
to fly after winged game only.

Instead of swooping upon the hare, which, it is
probable, it did not see, the falcon rose into the
air, and began to soar around in a great circle.

"Perhaps it will see some game for itself,"
thought Louis, "and that will do just as well."

But the falcon did not appear to be in pursuit of
anything. It only flew around and around, ap-
parently rising higher and higher each moment.
Louis now became anxious for it to come down,
so that he could try again in some other place to
scare up some game, and he began to whistle and
call, as he had heard the falconers do when they
wished their birds to descend.

But the falcon paid no attention to his calls, and,
after rising to a great height, it flew away to the
south, and presently was lost to sight.

Poor Louis was overwhelmed with grief. It
seemed to him that he could never hear anything
so dismal as the last tinkle of the little bell on the
falcon's leg, nor see anything so sad as the dark
speck which he watched until it appeared to melt
away into the distant sky.

For some minutes Louis stood gazing up into
the air, and then he hung his head, while a few
tears came into his eyes. But he was a sturdy
boy in mind and body, and he did not cry much.
He slowly turned, and, with the hood of the falcon
in his hand, went back to the house.

" If they ask me about it, I shall tell them," he
said to himself, "but I hope they will not find it
out just as I am starting away."

It was yet quite early when Louis reached his
room, where he found his brother still asleep, and
there was soon so much hurry and bustle, in the
preparation for the departure of the little expedi-
tion, that the absence of the falcon did not seem
to have been discovered.

After a prolonged leave-taking, and a great

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[November,

many tears from his mother and brother, and from
many of the retainers and servants of the chateau,
Louis set forth for the castle of Barran. He rode
his mother's palfrey, a small and gentle horse, and
was foUoVifed by quite a train of archers and men-
at-arms, headed by the trusty Bernard.

Chapter III.

When the first pain caused by the separation
from his dear mother and brother began to sub-
side in Louis' heart, — and it must be admitted that
it began to subside pretty soon, the day being so
bright and everybody in such good spirits, — he felt
quite proud to see himself at the head of such a
goodly company, and greatly wished that they
would fall in with some enemy, so that he might
have a little conquering to tell about when he
should reach his future home. But no enemy was
met, and, if a fight had taken place, it is not likely
that the boy would have been able to boast of his
part in it, for Bernard was very careful of his
young charge, and as soon as they had left the
neighborhood of the Chateau de Viteau, and had
entered the forest through which ran their road
for the greater part of the journey, he made Louis
ride about the middle of the little procession, while
he himself went a short distance in advance, looking
carefully about him for the first signs of robbers,
or any one else who might be likely to dispute
their passage.

But no such persons were met, and toward the
end of the afternoon Louis and his train rode into
the court-yard of the castle.

The moment that he entered the great gates,
the quick eye of the boy perceived that he had
come to a place very different from his mother's
chateau. He had supposed there would be a dif-
ference, but had never imagined it would be so
great. There were a good many serving-people,
of various ranks and orders, at Viteau. There
were ladies in attendance on his mother ; and
sometimes there were knights and other visitors,
whose diversions had made what Raymond and
Louis had considered a very gay time ; but there
never had been anything like the lively scenes
which met the eye of our young friend, both in the
court-yard and in the halls of the castle itself.
Outside there were boy-pages running on various
errands, or standing about, watching other people
and neglecting their own business ; and there were
squires, men-at-arms, and archers who were loung-
ing in the shade, or busily at work rubbing up a
piece of armor, or putting a point on an arrow-
head or on a blunted lance. Here and there was
a knight not clad in armor, but in fine silk and

embroidered cloth, looking at horses which were
being led about the inclosure by varlets or infe-
rior serving-men, who generally were dressed in
clothes of dirty leather. Two barefooted monks,
one of them holding the bridle of a donkey, with
a bag thrown across its back, were talking to-
gether near the gate. Some people were laughing,
some were talking, some were calling to others at a
distance, and some were hammering ; the horses
were making a good deal of noise with their feet ;
a man was blowing a horn, which he had begun to
blow as soon as Louis had entered the gates, and
which was intended, it appeared, as a general an-
nouncement that somebody had arrived who was a
friend, and had been admitted freely. All together,
there was more noise, and moving about, and
standing still, and lying down, than Louis had ever
seen, at one time, before.

Inside the castle there was not so much bustle ;
but knights and ladies, the first generally dressed
much more finely and with more show of color and
ornament than their female companions, were to
be seen here and there. The pages who were not
running about or standing still outside seemed
to be doing the same inside ; there was a clatter
of metal and wooden dishes in the dining-hall,
where the servants were preparing supper ; and, in
a room opening into the great hall, a tall knight sat
upon a stool, with a little harp on his knee, singing
one of the romantic songs which were so much
liked in those days, and accompanying his voice
with a steady " tum-tum " on the harp-strings.
Around him were several knights and ladies, some
sitting and some standing, and all listening, with
much satisfaction, to his song.

The Count de Barran, a tall, spare man, with
an ugly but good-humored face, gave Louis a
kindly welcome.

" He is the son of Raymond de Viteau, my old
brother-at-arms," he said to a knight with a great
brown beard, vyho stood beside him, " and I shall
try to make of him as good a knight as his — as
I can."

"You were going to say ' as good a knight as
his father,' good sir," said Louis quickly, looking
up into Barran's face. " Do you think I can not
be that?"

" That will depend upon yourself," said the
master of the castle. " Your father was brave and
noble above his fellow-knights. If you become
his equal, my little fellow, 1 shall be very proud.
And now I shall send you to my sister, the Lady
Clemence, who will see that you are taken care of."

"The boy's quickness of wit comes out well, even
now," said the brown-bearded knight; "but you
may have to wait for the bravery and the honor to
show themselves."

82.)

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

"Not long, I hope," replied Barran. "Good
blood must soon make some sign, if he has it in
him."

The next day Bernard and his train returned to
Viteau, with many messages from Louis, and the
life of the boy, as the youngest page in the castle,
fairly commenced. In a few days he began to un-
derstand his duties, and to make friends among the
other pages, all of whom were sons of well-born
people. These boys had come to the castle to
receive the only education they would ever have.
Louis did not at first very much like to wait upon
the knights and ladies at table, and to find himself
expected to serve so many people in so many
ways ; but he soon became used to these things,
especially when he saw other boys, whom he knew
to be just as good as he was, doing what he was
expected to do.

He had a bright, interesting face, and he soon
became a favorite, especially among the ladies, for
they liked to be waited upon by a page who was
so good humored and quick. The Count de Bar-
ran was not married, and his sister, the Lady
Clemence, was at the head of domestic affairs in
his castle.

The only very young person among the visitors
at the castle was a little girl named Agnes, the
motherless daughter of Count Hugo de Lanne, the
brown-bearded man who had talked with De Bar-
ran about his new page. Between this girl and
Louis a friendship soon sprang up. Agnes was a
year older than he, and she knew so much of
castle-life, and of the duties of a page, that she
became one of his best instructors. She was a lively,
impulsive girl ; and this was the reason, no doubt,
why she and Louis got on so well together.

One morning, as Agnes was passing through an
upper hall, she saw, standing at a window which
overlooked the court-yard, our young friend Louis,
with an enormous battle-ax over his shoulder. As
she approached, he turned from the window, out of
which he had been looking.

" What in the world," she cried, " are you doing
with that great ax, and what makes you look so
doleful ? "

" I am taking the ax down to the armorer's shop,
to be sharpened and polished," he said.

" It is too big a thing for you to be carrying
about," said Agnes, " and it seems sharp enough
now. And as to you, you look as if you were
going somewhere to cut your head off with it.
What is the matter with you? "

" That is the matter," said Louis, turning again
to the window, and pointing to a body of horsemen
who were just riding out of the gate. They had
dogs with them, and several of them carried each
a hooded falcon perched upon his wrist.

" Did you want to go hunting herons ? Is that
what troubles you ? " asked Agnes.

"No, indeed; I don't want to go," said Louis.
" 1 hate to see falcons."

" What did you look at them for, then?" asked
Agnes. " But I don't see how you can hate them.
I love to see them swooping about, so lordly, in
the air. Why do not you like them as well as I
do?"

Moved by a strong desire to share his secret with
some one, Louis, after a little hesitation, finally
put the battle-ax on the floor, and told Agnes the
whole story of the loss of his brother's falcon, first
making her promise that she would never repeat
it to any one. He told it all in a straightforward
way, and finished by explaining how the sight of
the hunters made him think of his poor brother,
who could not go hawking for ever so long. In-
deed, he did not know that Bernard would be will-
ing to get another hawk and take all the trouble
of training it. He might be very angry.

" I think it 's easy enough to make that right,"
said Agnes. " You ought to give your brother
another hawk, already trained. "

" I would like much to know where I am to get
it," said Louis.

Agnes thought for a moment.

" My father will give you one," she said, "if I
ask him. If he questions me as to what you want
with it, I can tell him, with truth, that you want
to give it to your brother, who has no falcon, and
who needs one very much."

"Do you really think he would give me one?"
asked Louis, with brightening face.

" I am sure of it," said Agnes. " He has plenty
of trained falcons, and he could spare one easily
enough. I will ask him, as soon as he comes back
to-day."

Accordingly, when Count Hugo returned from
his hawking expedition that afternoon, he was met
by his little daughter, who asked him for a falcon,
a well-trained and good one, which could hunt .
hares as well as birds, and which would be sure to
come back to its master whenever it was called.

Of course such a request as this excited some
surprise, and required a good deal of explanation.
But when Count Hugo, who was a very indulgent
father, and who had also quite a liking for Louis,
heard what was to be done with the bird, he con-
sented to give it.

" If he wanted it for himself," he said, " I should
not let him have it, for a page has no need of fal-
cons, and a boy of the right spirit ought not to
desire gifts ; but, as he wants it for his brother, who
is in a station to use it, it shows a generous disposi-
tion, and he shall have it." And calling to one of
his falconers to bring him a hawk, he handed it to

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[November,

Agnes, and told her that she should herself give
it to her young friend.

" He and you can look at it for a quarter of
an hour," said the Count, "and then he must
bring it back to Orion, here, who will feed and
take care of it until the boy has an opportunity of
sending it to his brother. Don't take its hood off,
and keep your fingers well clear of its beak."

When Agnes appeared with the falcon unsteadily
perched on her two small fists, which she had
covered with a scarf, to keep its talons from hurt-
ing her, Louis was overwhelmed with delight. He
was sure that this was a much finer bird than the
one he had lost.

When the falcon had been sufficiently admired,
and had been returned to its keeper, and when
Louis had run to find Count Hugo, and had
thanked him for his kindness, the question arose

to him myself. I want him to have it just as soon
as he can get it," said Louis.

"I can lend you my jennet," said Agnes. "He
is small, but can travel far."

" You will lend him ! " cried Louis. " And are
you not going to use him for two days ? It will
take at the very least two days to go to Viteau and
come back."

" I may not ride him for a week," said Agnes.
"But you must not travel to your mother's house
alone. You must wait until some company is
going that way. "

Louis would have been willing to start off by
himself, but he knew he would not be allowed to
do so ; and he had to curb his impatience for three
whole days before an opportunity of making his
journey offered itself. Then a knight from the
south was leaving the castle, with a small train,

LOUIS AND BKRNARD ON THEIR WAV TO OE BARRAN's CASTLE.

between the two young friends : How was he to be and as they would pass near Viteau, Louis was
carried to Raymond ? allowed to accompany them.

" If I had any way of riding there, I 'd take it The Count de Barran was not pleased that his

i883.]

THE STORY OF VITKAU.

new page should ask for leave of absence so soon ;
but, as it was represented that there was good
reason for the journey, and as the Lady Clemence
urged the boy's request, he was allowed to go.

So, early one morning Louis started away, the
gayest of his company, his little Spanish steed
frisking beneath him, the falcon perched bravely
on his arm, and Agnes waving her scarf to him
from a window of the castle.

All went well during the forenoon, excepting

Viteau. It could not be far, and his spirited little
horse would soon take him there.

Consequently, when he came to the place where
his companions took their way eastward, Louis fell

l-OLIS, AGNES, AND THE FALCON.

that the falcon became very heavy, and had to be
perched on the saddle-bow ; but, during a short
halt which the party made about noon, Louis dis-
covered that it was not the intention of the knight
from the south to take the most direct road to
Viteau. He meant, a mile or two farther on, to
turn to the east, and to spend the night at a cha-
teau belonging to a friend. Then, the next day, he
would pursue his journey and would pass, by a
rather circuitous road, near to Viteau.

Louis did not want to stop all night anywhere
excepting in his mother's house, and he made up
his mind that, when he reached the forking of the
road, he would leave the party and gallop on to

behind and, instead of following them, he kept on
the road to Viteau, urging his horse forward at the
top of its speed. He hoped that his departure had
not been noticed, and that he would not be missed
until he had gone so far that he could not be over-
taken. He expected to be pursued, for he knew
the knight and his men would not allow him to go
off by himself if it could be prevented.

So he galloped on, his falcon tightly grasping the
saddle-bow, and he himself turning around every
few minutes, to see if he were followed. But he
saw no horsemen riding after him. The knight's
men had straggled a good deal after they had
turned into the new road, and Louis was not

TIMES AND SEASONS.

[November,

missed for an hour or two. Then, when his
absence was discovered, the knight sent three men
after him, with instructions to bring him back, or to
escort him to Viteau, in case they found him near
that place. It was supposed, of course, that he had
shpped away, so as to get home as soon as possible.

The men did not like the job at all, for they
feared they would not be able to return until after
dark to the chateau where their party was to spend
the night, and they did not fancy traveling at
night for the sake of a boy they knew very
slightly, and cared very little about. So, after rid-
ing five or six miles, they agreed to halt until
nearly night, and ride back to their party at the
top of their speed, and report that they had over-
taken Louis, and had accompanied him to a spot
within sight of his mother's chateau. This story
was believed by the knight from the south, who
had no very clear idea as to the distance of Viteau
from the forks of the road ; and no further thought
was given to the young page.

As for Louis, he kept madly on his way. His
horse was strong and fleet, but it was beginning to
flag a little in its pace, when, suddenly, it stopped
short. A tall man stood in front of it, and in a
moment had seized the panting animal by the
bridle. Another man, with a pike in his hand,

appeared on the right, while several others came
out from behind some bushes on the left. The tall
man wore a cuirass, or body-armor, of steel rings
linked closely together, which had probably once
been bright and shining, but which was now very
rusty and old. He wore no other armor, and his
clothes seemed torn and soiled. The whole party,
indeed, as Louis, with open mouth and eyes,
glanced quickly around him, — too much startled
to speak, — seemed to be a very rusty set of fellows.

Louis did not long remain silent. Indeed, he
was the first one to speak. He had often seen
such persons as these among the serfs and varlets
at the castle, and he had been accustomed to
respect from them.

" Ho there ! " he cried, " move out of my way <
Step from the road, do you hear ? 1 am going home
to my mother's chateau, and I am in a hurry."

"Your mother can wait," said the tall man. "We
should be pleased to have your company ourselves
to-night. So do not be angry. You can not go on."

" I believe," cried Louis, his eyes flashing,
although they were full of tears, "that you are
a set of robbers."

" That is true," said the other, "and this little
man, and this little horse, and this very fine falcon,
are our booty."

(To be continued.)

TIMES AND SEASONS.
By W. J. Linton.

There 's a time — the proverb tells us —

For all things under the sun ;
Even so may be proper seasons

For good works to be done.
And for good words to be said.

In the fear lest I or you
May miss the happy occasions.

Let us here note down a few.

When the trees are heavy with leaves,

When the leaves lie underfoot.
When fruit on the board is frequent,
, And while there is rind or root;
When the rain comes down from the heavens.

When the sun comes after rain.
When the autumn fields are waving

With the weight of golden grain ;

When the hills are purple with heather,
When the fells are black with cold.

When the larches are gay with their tassels red,
When nuts are shrivel'd and old:

Whenever there 's growth in the spring-time,

Or June close follows May,
And so long as the first of January

Happens on New-Year's day ;

When mushrooms spring in the meadows,

Or toadstools under the trees,
When the gnats gyrate in the sunshine.

When the oak-boughs strain in the breeze;
In the days of the cuckoo and swallow.

When the sea-gulls flee the foam,
When the night-Jar croons in the gloaming,

Or the owl goes silently home ;

When the lake is a placid mirror.

When the mountains melt in mist.
When the depths of the lake are as pillars of gold

On a floor of amethyst ;
When a rainbow spans the morning.

When the thunder rends the night,
When the snow on the hills is rosy red

With the blush of the wakening light;

issi.)

GRACE FOR A CHILD.

When the soul is heavy with sadness,

When the tears fall drop by drop,
When the heart is glad as the heart of him

Who climbs to a mountain-top ;
When youth unrolls like a bracken-frond.

When age is grandly gray
As the side of a crag that is riven and scarr'd

With the storms of yesterday : —

Believe that in all of these seasons

Some good may be done or said,
And whenever the loving thought and will

Are loving enough to wed;
And well is it with the happy heart

That hath throughly understood
How the "time for all things under the sun'

Is always the time for good.

G-^Ace fof^aGhild

Robert HerricK

HsFje A LITTLS CHILD I STAND.

HsAVjNG- UP MY etTHei^ hand;
Cold AS paddogks.thoug-h thsy Be,
Hen© I LIFT THSM uptoThss,

FoFi A BSNISON TO FALL
On OUFl MSATAND ON OUF^ ALL. AMSn"

TORPEDOES DON T ANCHOR

[NOVEMBEK,

" SHE DOES n't seem TO KNOW THAT SHE 's ME ! "

"TORPEDOES— DON'T ANCHOR!"
By Charles Barnard.

Boys and girls who travel by the Sound boats,
from Fall River or Newport, Stonington or Provi-
dence, or any of the ports on Long Island Sound,
toward New York, always get up early and go out
on deck. They want to sec the view as the boat
comes in from the broad Sound and enters the East
River. It is one of the finest sights in the country,
and, if you ever do go that way, be sure and look
about you the moment the light begins to shine in-

to your state-room window. First, you will see the
beautiful shores of Long Island and Connecticut,
with the charming bays stretching far back among
the undulating hills. Then there are the pretty
cottages, the long, smooth beaches, the curious
light-houses, and the great forts.

As the two shores appear to come nearer
together, you pass a funny brick light-house on
an island, and then come the vast fortifications,

TORI'EDOES-

■DON T ANCHOR

just where the boat seems to enter a river and
takes a sudden turn to the west. On the stone
walls of one of these forts is a monstrous sign,
with letters six feet high:

TORPEDOES — DON'T ANCHOR!

There are ships and schooners passing both
ways. You see tug-boats rushing about in search
of a job, or tolling along with canal-boats, schooners,
or barges in tow. In some of the bays perhaps you
may see vessels at anchor, with their sails furled.
Here and there you may pass fishermen in boats,
anchored near their nets or over the fishing-
grounds. Not a ship or sloop, or even a sail-boat,
is at anchor here ; every one seems to be in a
great hurry to get away, as if some strange, mys-
terious danger lay hidden here. The pilot looks
straight ahead, and the steamer plows swiftly
along in her course. It would not be wise to drop
anchor just now. You may sail on and see all the
wonderful sights beyond, but you can not easily
forget that strange place, with its warning sign,
"Don't anchor." Once upon a time, a schooner,
called the " Olive Branch," did come to anchor
there, but she never sailed the seas again, and
not so much as a stick of her could be found
afterward that was fit for anything but to make a
bonfire on the beach.

The coast of the United States is several thou-
sand miles long. Scattered along it are hundreds
of ports and harbors, opening upon the Atlantic,
the Gulf of Mexico, or the Pacific. They extend
from the wooded hills of Maine, down past the
low, sandy shores of New Jersey, the Carolinas,
and Florida, to the shallow river-mouths of Texas,
and, again, far along the shores that face the
great Pacific. Into these ports come the ships of
every nation, while up and down the coast, and far
away to all parts of the world, sail our ships and
steamers. At some of these places, where ships go
in and out, as at Boston, Newport, New York,
Charleston, and San Francisco, and at many of the
river entrances, are stone forts built to guard the
harbors from an enemy's ships. Great guns are
mounted in the forts, and there are soldiers always
on guard, to see that no one does any harm to our
defenses.

But many of these forts were planned or built a
long time ago. Some were even used in the Revo-
lution. Since they were built, methods and imple-
ments of warfare have undergone great changes.
War-ships are now covered with heavy plates of
iron that only the largest guns can break, and they
carry monster cannon, some of them throwing
shells weighing over seven hundred pounds, that

could easily knock one of our old stone forts to
pieces.

We don't want to fight. If we have a misunder-
standing with any nation, we send some wise and
sensible people there, to have a talk about the
matter and try to settle things in a peaceful way.
But, at the same time, we must be ready to fight,
for, if we were not, some little nation might send a
couple of war-ships over here, and before we could
stop them they might knock our forts to pieces
and, perhaps, burn up some of our towns. Thus
it h.ippens that, as the majority of our forts are not
supplied with formidable artillery, we have tried to
find some other way of driving away or destroying
an enemy's ships of war in case they should try to
enter any one of our ports.

A war-ship may carry heavy iron armor that will
resist the shots fired from ordinary cannon, but if a
big bomb-shell should go off under her keel she
could not help herself, and would instantly tumble
to pieces and sink out of sight in the sea. This queer
kind of under-water hostilities we could carry on, if
necessary, almost anywhere along our coasts, and,
conducted by our brave and skillful soldiers, not all
the war-ships in the world would be able to capture
our forts.

The weapons used for this under-water warfare
are called "torpedoes." They are queer things.
Some rest on the bottom of the bay, like great
frogs. Others float silently in the water, just out of
sight, like a lazy trout sunning himself in a pool,
and still others are like live sharks, for they can
swim and chase a ship under water till at last they
put their terrible teeth in her keel and drag her
down to destruction.

This place at the end of Long Island Sound,
where you can see the strange sign warning ves-
sels not to anchor, is the school where our soldiers
are taught to use torpedoes in time of war. Here
are used only torpedoes intended for the defense
of our harbors. There is also another school at
Newport. At these, they study how to use torpe-
does on board ships and gun-boats, by way of prac-
tice against a time when they may be required to
attack the enemy's ships on the open water. The
United States Government will not permit us to
see how torpedoes are made and used, because it
is important that this should be kept a secret, as
far as possible. All we can do is to see, in a gen-
eral way, how they would be used in war, and how
they would behave in a battle.

As I have said, there are two kinds of torpe-
does : those that are anchored in one place, and
those that swim about in the water. Of those
that are anchored, there are also two kinds. One
kind consists of great iron boxes filled with dyna-
mite and sunk in the water at particular places.

TORPEDOES DON T ANCHOR

[November,

They rest in the inud, or on the sand and stones,
till they are ready to be fired, when they blow up
or explode with terrible effect ; and if a ship hap-
pens to be passing over one of them, she is sure to
be torn to pieces. The other kind have a float an-
chored just out of sight under water, while the

A DOUBLK BLAST.'

torjjedo rests on the bottom. These, too, when
they explode, destroy anything that happens to be
near. At Willet's Point, where the warning sign
tells the ships not to anchor, the torpedoes are
planted at the bottom of the water, and some
times, as on tlie Fourth of July, some of them arc
fired off. Of course all vessels are warned away,
for the torpedo sends into the air a tremendous
fountain of water, hundreds of feet high, that would
destroy any ship it fell upon.

There are two ways of firing these ground tor-
pedoes : In one there is a wire, carefully protected

from the water, leading from the torpedo to the
shore. The soldiers in charge of it can send elec-
tricity through this wire and set fire to the dyna-
mite, and thus fire the torpedo. The torpedo is
lost and destroyed, but the broken wire can be
pulled ashore, and used again on another torpedo.
The second method is to fasten to the torpedo a
wooden float. If one of the enemy's ships passes
over such a torpedo and happens to strike and
push aside the float that is anchored just over it,
this will also fire the torpedo, for the chain or rope
that anchors the float is connected with the tor-
pedo, and any strain or pull on the rope discharges
it. In this way the ship itself may fire the torpedo,
and thus become an agent in its own destruction.

The swimming torpedoes are of two kinds. One
of these swims like a fish, and, if it strikes its nose
against a ship, explodes, and sinks the vessel by
tearing a terrible hole in the bottom. Another
kind can also swim, but it carries fastened to
its tail a long wire, which it drags through the
water wherever it goes. By means of this wire,
the soldier who stands at the end, on the shore, or
the sailor on board ship, can make the fish turn
to the right or left, dive, turn around, go back-
ward, or come home again when it is wanted.
Besides this, the fish will blow up if it strikes
against the enemy's ship, or whenever the man at
the wire wishes to fire it. The Government will
not tell us how such a wonderful thing can be done,
but you may be sure that these fish-torpedoes
are strange fellows. They seem to be able to do
ever) thing that a fish can do, and more, for when
they get angry they can burst out into a frightful
passion and send the water flying into the air for
hundreds of feet, and woe to the sailors who are
near ! Torpedo, ship, and men go to the bottom
in a %olcano of fire and water. Besides these an-
chored and swimming torpedoes, there is another
kind called spar-torpedoes, so named because they
are placed on the ends of spars or booms that run
out under water from the bows of small boats.
The boats rush up to the side of the big ship, in
the dark, and explode the torpedo underneath,
thus sinking the vessel.

Sometimes, on the Fourth of July, or when the
President or some other distinguished visitor is
at Newport or Willet's Point, some of the ground
torpedoes are fired as a salute. And a grand
salute it is. A time is chosen when no vessels are
passing, and all small boats that may be near are
warned away. The officer on the shore starts
the steam-engine attached to the dynamo machine
that gives the electricity, or he arranges his battery
for the purpose. When all is ready, he presses
his finger lightly on a knob. Instantly there
appears out on the sea a terrible rush of solid

* The illustrations to this article are copied from instantaneous photographs (by Von Sothen) of actual torpedo explosions.

lita.]

TORl'EDOKS don't ANCHOR !

water, dark green and blazing white. It mounts
into the air higher and higher, breaking into foam
and spray. While this mass is white and feath-
ery, the sea all around seems to sink into a vast
whirlpool or crater. The water turns black, and

the explosion, and float all about on the water.
The boys knew what to expect, and arc picking up
the dead fish as fi\st as they can. On one occa-
sion, three porpoises were swimming near where a
torpedo was fired. For a week afterward the sol-

THE BEGINNING OF A BLAST — SHOWING THE BLACK RING OF WATER.

then the waves rush in from every side and fill
the hole whence the fountain sprang. An instant
later there is what seems to be a second, though
less violent, explosion, and another fountain rushes
up. Then, with a roar and splash, down falls the
tall column of water, and the sea is covered with
seething foam, and a ring of waves spreads out
wider and wider in every direction. Grand water
fire-works these, as you see by the pictures.

diers had porpoise-steaks for breakfast. At another
time, a fisherman, who was out in his boat when a
torpedo went off, found six wild ducks dead in the
water. Poor birds ! They never knew what was
the cause of the terrible concussion that killed
them. If they were conscious of anything, it must
have seemed to them that an earthquake had
taken place, or that some great water-spout had
leaped out of the sea to crush them.

When the water is quiet again, all the men and
boys who are waiting near in their boats row out
to the place where the torpedo was fired. What
are those white things floating on the water ? They
are fish. Thousands of them have been killed bv

A GRAND SALUTE — COMING DOWN.

Should we ever have a war with any foreign power,
these soldiers at the Willet's Point torpedo school
would be sent to all our forts, and hundreds upon
hundreds of torpedoes would be planted near the
entrances of all our ports. Then, if one of the

TORPEDOES DON T ANCHOR

[November,

NO. I. — BEFOKE THE EXPLOSION.

enemy's ships tried to batter down a fort which
guarded one of our harbors, two soldiers hiding
on the shore would watch the ship as she sailed
in. Each man would have a small telescope

NO. 2. — THE MOMENT OF EXrLOSION.

the electricity would fly along the wire under the
sea, and Mr. Enemy would suddenly stop. The
poor ship would feel a terrible shock. Her iron
sides would be torn apart, her engines would sink

— -THE MOMENT Al-'il

pointed in a particular direction, and when the
ship came in sight of either, he would speak to the
other man through a telephone. When they both
could sec the ship at once, she would be over a
torpedo, and one or both would touch the knob.

NO. 4. — THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

down through the bottom and fall out, the boilers
would explode with a great concussion, the masts
leap into the air, and, in an instant, in a cloud of
smoke and spray, the mighty ship would break in
two and sink, in a seething whirlpool, into the

1881.]

TORPEDOES don't ANCHOR !'

raging water. It would be indeed terrible, but
the fort and adjacent city would be saved.

I told you that once a schooner called the " Olive
Branch " did anchor off the fort. She was an old
boat, and they put her there to see what would be-
come of her if torpedoes were fired near her. You
know that nowadays photographers are so skillful

shows it was a pretty close shot. Then they fired
a torpedo directly under the schooner, and took
three pictures one after the other. Picture No. i
shows the "Olive Branch " just before the explo-
sion. The men seen on board were only dummies
or scare-crows put there for fun. In No. 2 the
torpedo has burst and the schooner is torn in two.

BKTWEKN two HKK^. — KXFLUDING i UKfKUOEb SIMUI.IANEOUSLV AT THE TWO ENDS OK A BOAT.

that they can take a picture in an instant ot time.
When the torpedoes were to be fired, the photog-
rapher set up his camera upon the shore, and
arranged it in such a way that the pictures would
be taken at the same time that the torpedoes
exploded.

First they tried to see how near they could come
to the schooner and not hit it. The large picture

Vol. X.— 2.

The mainmast has jumped right out of the hull,
and the hull has broken into two pieces. The
bowsprit is bent down into the water, and the
stern has dived the other way. In No. 3 every-
thing is torn to a million pieces, and there is only
a huge fountain of sticks, ropes, and muddy water.
In No. 4 the terrible wreck is falling back in ruins
into the sea.

TORPEDOES don't ANCHOr!"

[November,

All this took only a few seconds, but the pho-
tographer caught the strange scenes just as they
passed.

The other pictures show different views of ex-
plosions of torpedoes, the name on each explaining
what it is.

We shall never go to war if we can avoid it,
and we shall try very hard to prevent it, for war
is a cruel and costly way to settle disputes. Per-
haps for a hundred years torpedoes will never be

fired except for salutes on the Fourth of July, and
there will be no torpedoes planted anywhere except
at the schools at Newport and Willet's Point. But
these torpedo schools show that we are ready to
fight, and that is one very good way to keep out
of a fight. Torpedoes are terrible things in war,
and we all trust they may never be used, except as
a wonderful kind of fire-works to salute the flag or
the ships of other nations when they come to make
us a friendly visit.

-JP***%

;S9-.at-.i

"TJ pE S .PON'TA N CHOft~;

HOTKI.

By Laura F. Hinsdale.

Of all the gods to legend given,
The wisest dwells beyond the sea;
One of a brotherhood of seven,
His funny name is Hotei.*

His brother, Daikokom, has wealth.
His sacks of rice are tied with gold;
But he has neither youth nor health.
And looks forlorn and cross and old.

The God of Glory bears a lance.
And wears a cuirass and a star ;
You sec, with but a moment's glance,
He's only bent on making war.

The God of Love, with arrows bent,
A very naughty god is he !
And many a gentle heart has rent.
As all the wide world will agree.

But Hotel' 's a jolly lad.
Who lives in far-away Japan ;
In simple sackcloth he is clad,
He owns a wallet and a fan.

He fans away the webs of care.
And, when his purse is empty quite,
Tosses it gayly in the air,
And laughs to see it is so light.

The children love him, high and low.
For where he goes 't is always May ;
And joy-birds sing, and flowers grow,
And all the world is blithe and gay.

When he awakes, he laughs with glee.
Because the world was plainly meant
For just such happy souls. You see,
His name, in English, is Content.

^Pronounced " Ho-ta-e.'

i88x)

OLD MORDECAI S COCKEREL.

OLD MORDECAI'S COCKEREL.
By Sargent Flint.

" Grand old trees," said Mamma, "a fine view
from the piazza, and pleasant inside."

" I see no fault," said Papa.

" Except that hideous little house at the foot of
the garden," said Aunt Amy.

" And that horrible old man, sitting all day close
up to our fence," said Bob.

" Both his legs is shorter than the other," said
httle Lucy.

" He sits on his own land," said Papa.

" And he minds his own business," said Mamma.

" Nevertheless, he is a very Mordecai at our
back gate," said Aunt Amy.

But the summer went, and, despite the hid-
eous little house at the foot of the garden, and
the old man smoking his pipe so near the fence,
everbody had seemed quite merry. The grand old
trees were bare now, and a great, melancholy pile
of leaves in the garden was all that was left of
their glory. Aunt Amy wished the pile had been
a little higher, that it might have hidden old
Mordecai's house.

" I like Old Mortify," said Lucy ; "he hands
me my kitten when she runs away." She had
grown used to seeing the old man walking from
side to side, on his poor old rheumatic legs, and felt
kindly toward him. She had smiled first at his
little grand-daughter, and then asked her if she
were Mortify's little girl.

" What you mean ? " said the child.

" Are you his little girl ? " asked Lucy.

" He is my grandpa ; I am Sadie."

Lucy handed some white roses through the
fence, and Sadie handed back a plum. To be
sure, the plum was very hard, and Lucy could not
eat it ; but she believed it was the best her little
neighbor had, and always spoke to her afterward.

Now, the weather had become so cold that Mor-
decai no longer sat by the fence, or walked in his
little garden ; and Lucy had not seen Sadie for
a long time.

In a week it would be Thanksgiving. The sky
was gray and cold, and the tall trees waved their
bare branches to keep warm until the snow should
come to cover them.

" Everything looks awfully homesick," said Bob,
standing at the window. " This is the meanest place
1 ever saw."

At that moment a loud, defiant crow fell upon
his ears.

" That 's Old Mordecai's cockerel, " he said angrily.

" Yes," said Lucy. " 1 can see him down at the
pile of leaves."

" I told him never to crow on our side of the
fence," said Bob.

Lucy laughed.

" You may laugh, but you just see if he crows
on our side again, Lucy Jackson."

Once again the cockerel crowed, loudly and tri-
umphantly. Once more Lucy laughed. Bob went
out, and Lucy saw the cockerel scratching the
leaves. Then she saw Bob creeping toward him
with a bow and arrow. She laughed again, for
she considered Bob a very poor shot. Aunt Amy
had often said that, if no one but Bob cared for
archery, a target would last forever.

Mordecai's cockerel seemed to be of the same
opinion, for he stopped a moment to turn his eye
toward the young archer, then began to scratch
again more diligently than before.

Lucy did not see the arrow fly from the bow, but
she saw Bob flying to the stable with the cockerel
in his arms. She was so much excited that she
ran out at once, bare-headed, to find Bob just
drawing out the arrow from the poor fowl's breast.

" Oh, Bob! " she whispered, "that will hurt him
dreadfully."

"Do you 'spose he likes it that way?" said
Bob, sarcastically.

" Oh, Bob ! " she continued, " 1 did n't believe
you could ever hit anything."

"Nor 1, either."

She turned away her head while he drew out the
arrow. The cockerel flapped his wings a little,
then closed his eyes and lay quite still.

" He 's going to die," whispered Lucy.

" That 's just like a girl ! Why don't you help
a fellow out ? "

" I will do anything you want me to. Bob."

" A girl ought to know more about such things
than a boy."

" 1 know it," sighed Lucy. " 1 'm trying to

think, but all 1 can remember is arsenicum and

Jamaica ginger. He has n't sneezed, so I don't

believe it 's arsenicum he needs. Shall I go for

.some ginger? "

" Do you think it would do any good ? "

" He opened one eye ; maybe, if he had some
ginger, he could open both."

"Well, go get it; we can try it." And Lucy
went for the ginger.

" Hope you staid long enough," said Bob, when

OLD MORDECAI S COCKEREL.

[November,

she appeared at the stable-door with a cup in her
hand.

" That mean cook would n't give me the sugar,
and I hurried so 1 spilled the ginger in the closet.
How is he ? "

" He keeps on breathing, but he does n't notice
much."

Bob took the cup, and gave the cockerel ;i
spoonful of the ginger. The bird staggered to his
feet and flapped his wings. Lucy thought surely
he meant to crow again on their side of the fence,
but the next instant he lay motionless before them.

" He 's gone ! " said Bob, solemnly.

" I wish we had tried the arsenicum," said Lucy,
sadly. " What will Old Mortify say ? "

.\nd mind you, it 's my place to tell of it, and not
yours."
. " But you are going to tell, Bob ?"

" You run in, and wait and see."

She went in and stood by the window, and
saw him come carelessly out of the stable and walk
about the garden, then return with the dead cock
and cover him hastily with leaves.

When he came in, he said : " Don't stand staring
at that pile of leaves. It 's done, and can't be
helped. Nothing but an old rooster, anyway ! No
business crowing on our side of the fence. I gave
him fair warning."

" But he did n't understand, Bob."

" Well, he does now," said Bob.

BOB GAVE THE COCKEREL A SPOONFUL OF THE GINGER.

" I guess I shall be Old Mortify, if Papa finds it
out. How strong this ginger smells ! — how much
did you put in ? "

" Five spoonfuls. I thought he was so awful
sick he ought to have a lot."

"Five spoonfuls ! Then you killed him."

"Oh, Bob, don't say that ! " she cried. " What
would Sadie say to me ? " and she lifted the bird's
head tenderly, but it fell back again upon the
stable-floor. Old Mordecai's cockerel would never
crow again on either side of the fence. Little Lucy
stood shivering, with tears in her eyes.

" Run in the house," said Bob.

" What shall you do ? '^

" 1 am going to hide him under the leaves.

That night, after the children had gone to bed,
the old man came up to inquire if any one had
seen his cockerel.

Aunt Amy went up to ask Bob.

" Yes," said that young gentleman ; "tell him
1 saw him on the wrong side of the fence about
four o'clock."

As the days went by, little Lucy felt more and
more uneasy, as she thought of what lay under the
leaves. She had seen Sadie out, and had heard
iier call and call for the poor cockerel that never
came. Still she had kept quiet, waiting for Bob
to speak. f

The day before Thanksgiving she sat alone in
the library. Her mother and Aunt Amy had gone

1 883.]

OLD MORDECAI S COCKEREL.

to the city to meet her grandmother, and Lucy felt
a little lonely. Bob saw her as he passed the door,
and stepped in, saying:

" What is the matter with you, Lucy ? Why
can't you brighten up ? You 've had the doleful
dumps for a week."

" Oh, Bob ! " she answered, " why don't you tell
about that cockerel ? It worries me awfully."

He glanced around at all the doors, then came
savagely up to his sister and took her roughly by
the arm. "I suppose," he whispered almost fiercely,
" you mean that old rooster under the leaves.
Now, never say another word to me about it. You
have twitted me enough."

She looked very much astonished, as she had
never referred to it in any way before. A mightier
voice than little Lucy's had been calling to him
ever since he hid the bird under the leaves. '

She saw that his conscience troubled him, and
gained courage. " If you would only tell Mamma,
she would tell you what to do. Oh, Bob ! I can't
walk on that side of the garden for fear I shall see
Sadie. She came out yesterday, and looked over
our fence, and I heard her call the cockerel sev-
eral times."

Bob looked down into Lucy's face and wished
he had not taken hold of her quite so roughly. He
went back to the kitchen and got a large bunch of
raisins and gave them to her, with a pat on the
head, which she understood very well. " Too
bad," he declared, "that you can't go out to-day."

After he had gone, she took up the raisins,
when, happening to look out of the window, she
saw Sadie looking over the fence. " I will give
her my raisins," thought Lucy.

The cook rapped sharply as she passed the
kitchen window, for she knew Lucy ought not to
go out.

" Don't give me all," said Sadie, as Lucy passed
the great bunch through the fence.

" To-morrow we shall have a whole box-full,"
•said Lucy.

"We can't find our rooster," said Sadie. "Grand-
pa sold all but him ; we kept him for Thanks-
giving. I don't see how he got out ot the coop.
We can't have any Thanksgiving now."

" Too bad ! " said little Lucy, very faintly.

" Grandpa 's looked everywhere for him, till he
tired himself out, and got rheumatism dreadfully.
He thinks some of the neighbors have killed him."

Lucy turned a little pale, and said she had a very
bad cold and must go in

Sadie would have been surprised had she looked
out a few minutes later, for she would have seen
Lucy running toward the provision store.

" Anything wrong. Miss Lucy?" said the red-
cheeked boy who drove the wagon.

She went in timidly, and when she stood close
by his side, she whispered, " How much do you
ask for roosters ? "

" A hen would n't do ? " he asked, laughing.

" No," she said, with a sigh, as she compared in
her mind the proud strut of Mordecai's cockerel
with the walk of any hen she had ever met. " No,
I want a rooster."

" What 's it for ? " he said, confidentially.

" For Thanksgiving."

" I just took two fine gobblers up."

" It 's for — for somebody else's Thanksgiving."

" Oho ! Why not get a small turkey ? Just the
thing."

Why had she not thought of it before ! Perhaps
that would help Mordecai to forgive them. (She
had begun to blame herself with Bob, for had she
not prepared the fatal ginger ?)

The red-cheeked boy held up a plump Uttle
turkey.

" Is that a dollar ? " she asked.

" That 's heavier than I thought," he said, after
he had thrown it into the scales. " That will cost,
all told, — let me see, — one dollar thirty-eight."

She began feeling about her neck, as if she kept
her money concealed somewhere about her jugular
veins, and the tears came to her eyes.

The red-cheeked boy became again confidential.
" Come, now," he said, in a low tone, " how much
do we want to pay ? What is just the little sum
we were thinking of, when we came in ? "

" I have only one dollar," answered Lucy, with
her hand still guarding a jugular.

" A dollar is quite enough to pay for a small,
nice, plump little turkey, if the right person comes
for it."

Lucy hoped she was the right person. " If you
please," she said, as he showed her another tur-
key, the smallest one she had ever seen, "are you
sure it 's a turkey ? I don't want a rooster, now."

" My word for it. Miss Lucy, yesterday after-
noon that fowl said 'Gobble.' Shall I send it to
your house ? "

" If you would do him up so he would look like
a dress, I would be very much obliged to you."

While he was gone, she again put her hand to
her neck and took off a small gold chain ; attached
to this was a gold dollar. She had worn it since she
was a baby ; her fingers seemed unwilling to take
it off. Her little head said, " Take it off! " and
her little heart said, " Oh, no ! "

When the boy came back with the turkey, look-
ing as much like a dress as a provision man could
make it, the small coin still remained firmly at-
tached to the chain.

" If you please, will you undo this ? " said Lucy.

He looked at it a moment, without taking it in

OLD MORDECAI S COCKEREL.

INOVEMBBR,,

his hands, and said, " Why don't you charge it,
Miss Lucy ? "

" Oh, no, no," she said, hastily ; " Papa is not to
pay for this. 1 must pay for it myself."

"I understand ; you don't want your good works
talked about either, Miss Lucy. But I don't want
to take this."

"Come, come," said his employer from the
other side of the store ; " fly around there ! "

The boy hurriedly unfastened the dollar, and
said: "You may have it back any time, Miss
Lucy."

She took the turkey in her arms and went out.
When she had walked a few steps she stopped sud-
denly and turned and went back. The boy was
just getting into the wagon. She pulled his coat,
and, as he turned, said timidly : " You are so kind,
will you tell me how to spell ' Mordecai ? ' Not
Mortify, but Mordecai."

" It 's a joke," he said, grinning.

" Oh, no ! " groaned poor Lucy.

" Mordecai," he said, pausing, with one foot on
the wheel: "M-o-r — Mor — d-y — Mordy — k-i —
Mordyki."

She thanked him and hurried home.

When Bob came in, she pulled him into a corner
and whispered : " 1 have bought a little turkey, the
littlest one you ever saw, but a sure turkey, for
Mordecai I Run out, before you take off your
coat, for it 's in the stable, in the oat-box; and will
you take it to Mordecai's house? Go quick, before
it gets dark."

He turned toward her with an angry gesture.

"Oh, Bob ! Sadie can't have any Thanksgiving,
because we killed the rooster, and 1 knew you
would be so sorry."

He made no reply, but ran with great haste to
the stable. He soon found the bundle and brought
it to the little window, when he saw there was a
little letter, pinned with several pins, on the out-
side. The afternoon light was fast fading, and it
was with some difficulty he read the note, of which
this is a copy :

' DEAR MISTER MORDYKI BOB AND ME KILED
YOUR RUSTER PLEAS TAKE THIS LUCY."

"The good, generous little thing! " muttered
Bob, gazing solemnly at the brown bundle, which
was supposed to resemble dry goods. " I wonder
where in time she got the money ! And to say
she killed it, or had anything to do with killing it !
Oh, I hope she wont grow up and be one of those
good kind of folks that never have any fun and
give all their money away. Where in the world
did she get the money ? " He folded the note care-

fully and put it in his pocket. " I never felt
meaner," he thought, as he seized the turkey, with
no gentle hand, and ran to Mordecai's house.

The old man sat at the front window, and Bob
thought he looked a little sour as the gate opened;
but he came to the door as fast as he could hobble,
for fear Mrs. Mordecai might get there first. Bob
held out the turkey and said : " 1 shot your rooster,
sir. My little sister thought you were saving him
for Thanksgiving, and she sent you this turkey."

" So ^(?« killed my cockerel, did ye?" said the
old man; "a mighty fine cockerel he was!" He
punched with his thumb the turkey that he could
not see, as if he wondered if it could possibly be
as fine as the cockerel.

" 1 had no idea I should hit him," said Bob. " I
am a most awful shot, sir. Would you rather
have a live rooster ? "

"N-no," said old Mordecai. " Though my wife
misses his crowing in the morning — overslept every
morning since he went."

" We should have killed him for Thanksgiving,"
said Mrs. Mordecai, a tired-looking little woman,
who looked as if she could oversleep, in spite of all
the warnings that might be sounded. " A turkey.
Father, is better than a cockerel ; and so we have
lost nothing."

"You don't hke to feel that yer neighbors is
standin' round armed, ready to destroy yer prop-
erty, — do you, eh?"

"No, but I like to know that, if they do happen
to destroy it, they stand ready to pay more than
it's worth."

"Yer allays did hke young folks," said Mordecai,
dryly, and hobbled back to the front window.

"You are a good boy," said his wife. "Don't
mind him ; he '11 speak better of you behind your
back."

" 'T was Lucy sent it ; 1 only killed the cockerel,"
said Bob, turning away.

" I have carried the turkey down," he said to
Lucy on his return. "Now, tell me where you got %
the money."

" 1 had to take my gold dollar." Lucy could not
keep the tears from filling her eyes.

" Whew ! " he said, " the one on your chain ? "

She nodded.

" Born with it on, were n't you ? "

" I don't 'member when 1 got it," said she, a
little more cheerfully. " Don't go out again, Bob,"
as he started suddenly toward the door, and she
saw him run across the garden with his skate-bag
under his arm.

" Hang the old rooster ! " he said, as he passed
the little house and saw old Mordecai sitting at
the window. " It 's going to cost me a pretty sum.
1 wont do it ! — It 's good enough for her, to go

iSSx]

DM) MOKDKCAl S C(JCKERKI.

sf)end that dollar — Just like a girl — I hope he wont
take them. Hang Mordecai ! " Still he walked
on rapidly until he came to Johnny Bang's house.
" Hope he 's gone away," he said, as he pulled the
bell, which was answered by young John himself,
whose eyes brightened as he saw the skate-bag ;
but he waited for Bob to speak.

"You said last night you would give me nvo
and a half; say three and they 're yours," said Bob.

"■ Do you suppose I made a half a dollar in my
sleep ? " said Johnny, with a grin.

" Can you give me three ? "

"No, 1 can't."

" Jerry will ; I came to you first, because you
made the first offer. I must have three or nothing."

" You come in and sit down, and 1 '11 see if I can
work Mother up to it."

Johnny's mother proved a person easily "worked
up," for in a few minutes he returned with three
crisp bills in his hand.

" I told her they cost five dollars, and you had
had them only two weeks ; was that straight ? "

'■ Yes," said Bob, " that's straight."

" She asked me if you had a right to sell them

without asking your father, and 1 told her you
bought them yourself with your own money that
you had saved ; was that straight ? "

" Yes," said Bob, his mouth twitching a little,
■■ that 's straight."

He took the skates from the bag and handed
them to his friend.

" Wont throw in the bag ? " said Johnny.

" Oh, 1 '11 throw in the whole family," said Bob,
sarcastically, as he left the house.

The first call he made was on the red-cheeked boy
at the provision store ; then he went to the city.

After supper, when little Lucy was sitting with her
father, talking about Thanksgiving, he came in,
looking rather tired, and gave her a tiny box. She
opened it and found first a note, which said to her:

" I>KAK Lucv: You did the square thing by me and I wont
forget it. Hang these on your chain in remembrance of Old
Mordecai's rooster. Bob. "

.And under some pink cotton lay her own little
dollar, and beside it a small gold cockerel, as
proud-looking as Old Mordecai's before Bob's un-
htcky shot.

THE QUEEN S GIFT.

THE QUEEN'S GIFT.
By Rose Hartwick Thorpe.

[November,

THK QUEEN S GIFT.

]^M

ENEATH the trees of Whitehall,

Within their shadow brown,
From out the royal palace

The Queen came walking down.

She saw the children standing,

Together, side by side.
And, gazing down with pity.

She asked them why they cried.

THE QUEEN S GIFT.

[November,

HE tells Him all about it,

How when King James was King,
We were so rich and happy
And had 'most everything.

" We had our own dear father.
At home beside the Thames,
But Father went to battle

Because he loved King James.

" And then things were so different —
I can not tell you how.
We have n't any father,
Nor any nice things now.

AST night, our mother told us

They 'd take our home away,
And leave us without any,
Because she could n't pay.

" So then we came together.

Right through the meadow green,
And prayed for God to help us.
And take us to the Queen ;

V-

i883.]

THE qUEEN S GIFT.

THE QUEEN S GIFT.

[No\ EMBER,

ND when the English robins

Had sought each downy nest,

And when the bright-eyed daisies,

Dew-damp, had gone to rest,

A carriage, such as never
Had passed that way before,

Set down two little children
Beside the widow's door.

A slip of paper, saying:

" The daughter of King James

Gives to these little children

Their home beside the Thames."

i88>.1

A HAPPY THOUGHT.

A HAPPY THOUGHT.
Bv Katharine R. McDowell.

" What a looking room ! " exclaimed Olive
Kendall, as she came in from school and added to
the confusion of the sitting-room by throwing her
satchel on the lounge. " Why does n't somebody
fix it up ? " But no one answered. Only Leila
and Nora were there to answer, and both their
heads were bent over a geographical puzzle.

Olive threw herself into an easy-chair and looked
out of the large bay-window. It was pleasanter to
turn her head that way than to look around the
disordered room. She only wished she could turn
her thoughts away from the room as easily, but she
could not so long as that voice kept saying :

■' You know that Bridget is out with the twins,
and that Kate is busy getting dinner, and that
there is no one but yourself to put the room in
order — you and your little sisters. Why not go to
work and have a surprise for Mamma when she
comes in ? "

" Leila and Nora, we really ought to fix up the
room," said Olive, with a half-yawn. "The twins
have scattered their things. Wont you help ? "

" In a minute," answered Nora. " We only
want a little crooked piece to go right in there."

" Yes," responded Leila, " it 's Finland. 1 re-
member the very piece — colored yellow, and with a
bit of sea-coast," as she turned to look for it.

"Are n't you coming?" asked Olive, as she
listlessly folded an afghan. Again the answer was :

" Just as soon as we find Finland."

Olive looked about the room in a hopeless, help-
less sort of way. " With Leila and Nora both in
Finland," she thought, " 1 may as well give up ex-
pecting their help. If it were only a game "

She stood a moment in thought. Her face sud-
denly brightened. She went to Mamma's desk and
cut six slips of paper, then wrote a word on each.

" Are you getting some strips ready for Conse-
quences? " asked Leila, a new interest in her face,
as she looked up from the pieces of map.

" No," replied Olive, at which the search for
Finland was renewed.

" Are we going to play Anagrams ? " ventured
Nora, to whom Leila had just whispered something
as she motioned toward Olive.

" No, but you 've guessed pretty well," admitted
Olive, " for it 's a game — a new one."

" A game ! A new one ! " echoed the little sis-
ters, not only losing interest in Finland, but letting
the whole of Europe fall apart. " Let 's play it !
I 'm tired of this map-puzzle."

" Yes, Olive, tell us how," pleaded Leila, " and
then we '11 help with the room. We truly will."

" I don't know that you '11 like the game," said
Olive, "but I 'm sure that Mamma will."

" Then we shall, of course," said Nora, verj'
decidedly. " Let 's begin it now."

So Olive laid the slips on the table — the written
side downward. Then she said ; " Now we are
to draw in turn, the youngest first. Come, Nora ! "

Nora looked at the different pieces of paper, put
her finger on the last, and then suddenly changed
her mind and took the one nearest her.

" Don't look at it yet, Nora," said Olive.

" Oh, 1 shall certainly look, if Leila does n't
hurry," said Nora, excitedly, shutting her eyes
very tight, but soon opening them to ask : " Is
there a prize, Olive ? " andjumpingupand down as
Olive nodded.

After Leila had settled upon one of the slips, she
and Nora made Olive shut her eyes while the)-
changed all about the papers that were left, for
fear that Olive, having made them, might choose
a better one than they. At last they all had slips.

" Now read ! " signaled Olive.

" Table" said Nora, consulting her paper.

" Chairs" read Leila, from hers.

^^ Carpet" announced Olive.

" Now what ? " asked Nora. " Do 1 pass mine
on to Leila? " But Olive was on her knees, pick-
ing up a lot of playthings.

" Mine was carpet," she said, as she hastily put
a handful of toys into a little cart belonging to the
twins, " so I 'm to take everything off the carpet
that does n't belong there. You are to put in
order whatever your paper tells you, and the game
is to do it as well and as quickly as you can."

Nora flew to the table. She ran into the hall
with Teddy's hat, and into the nursery with
P>eddy's whip. Then she got a brush and prepared
to sweep off the table-cover. To do this she piled
some books on one of the chairs.

"My paper says chairs," cried Leila, "and there
are eight of them ! If you put those books there,
1 '11 never get through."

" The other table is yours also, Nora," said
Olive, as she straightened the rug in front of the
fire. " Look on your paper."

Sure enough, there was an j that Nora had over-
looked ! So the books found a place on the little
stand while the big table was being brushed, and
were then piled nicely up, and the magazines and

A HAPPY THOUCiHT.

[NoVEHBBR,

papers laid together, after which Nora stood off and
viewed the effect with such satisfaction as almost to
forget the smaller table.

She was reminded of it, however, by Leila, who
was flourishing a duster about as she went from
one chair to another, fastening a tidy here and
shaking up a cushion there, until she was ready
to say : " The whole eight are done."

"I've finished, too," said Olive, as she brushed
the hearth and hung the little broom at one side
of the open fire-place. '■ Now, we all draw again."

Nora chose quickly this time, and went right at
her work when she saw the word ^'■Mantel" hardly
hearing Leila say "Desk," and Olive "Lounge."

"Well, what do you think of the game ?" asked
Olive, a while after, as, having left the room to put
away her school-satchel, she returned and found
Leila and Nora putting the finishing touches to
their tasks, and rejoicing over the finding of Fin-
land in Mamma's desk.

" Why, we think it a great success - don't we,
Nora ? And we see now why you did n't know the
name," added Leila, laughingly.

" Here comes Mamma up the walk," announced
Nora from the bay-window.

" Well, don't say anything, and see if she notices
the room," suggested Leila.

Mamma came to the sitting-room door, and
looked in. No wonder she smiled at the picture.
The room a model of neatness, the winter's sun
streaming in at the window, the fire crackling on
the hearth, and three faces upturned for a kiss.

" So Bridget is home," said Mamma, in a tone

of relief, as she glanced about the room. " I left
her getting rubbers for the twins, and feared she
wouldn't return till dinner-time."

" She is n't home, Mamma," said Olive, while
Nora and Leila exchanged happy glances, and
Nora could n't keep from saying (though she said
afterward she tried hard not to tell) :

" We fixed it, Mamma. It 's Olive's game ! "

Then, of course. Mamma had to hear all about
it, and Papa, too, when he came to dinner.
Otherwise he might not have brought up those
slips of red card-board that he did that evening,
nor have seated himself in the midst of them all,
and said : " Now, I propose we make a set of cards
in fine style," as he proceeded to write on each the
word that Olive or Leila or Nora would tell him.

"And now, what shall we call the game ? " asked
Papa, with pen ready to put the name on the other
side of the six bright cards.

"How would the 'Game of Usefulness' do?"
suggested Olive.

" Or ' Daily Duty ' ? " put in Leila ; " for we 've
promised to play it every day."

"Would n't 'Helping Hands' sound well?"
asked Mamma. And they probably agreed upon
that, for, when Nora went up to bed, one of her
plump hands held the new cards, and the name
that Mamma had proposed was written on each.

"I wonder what the prize was?" she asked
Leila the last thing that night.

"I guess it must have been Mamma's smile
when she looked in," said Leila.

And was not that a prize worth trying for?

AN OLD ROMAN LIBRARY.

By C. L. G. Scales.

The boys and girls of the nineteenth century
probably seldom think of the marvelous changes
that have been wrought in our modern civiliza-
tion by the invention of printing; but, if some
mischievous fairy should suddenly whisk out of
sight all the books, pamphlets, newspapers, and
magazines in the land, and leave not a trace of a
printed page behind, then doubtless we should
all begin to realize something of what the printing-
press has done for us, and perhaps take to won-
dering how people got on in the days when it was
not known. Books of some sort, however, the
people of that time must have had, for the com-
plaint that "of making many books there is no
end " comes echoing down to us even from the far-

off era of King Solomon. But, how could they
have been made, and what kind of books were they?
Very unlike our own, as we shall presently see.
The old authors of Greece and Rome, over whose
works your big brothers — and sisters, too — are
still poring in high school and college, would
never recognize their own writings in the new
dress the printers have given them ; and, if ushered
into a modern library, they would stare with aston-
ishment at the strange scenes before them. But
a glimpse of their book-shelves would be no less of
a surprise to some of us.

It so happens that some of those old-time
authors have been so kind as to leave their library-
doors ajar behind them, and, by taking the trouble

i883. 1

AN OLD ROMAN LIBRARY

to clear away from the pathway the rubbish and the
dust of ages, we may enter and survey at our leisure
the quaint appointments and the rare treasures
within.

Come with me, then, and let us see what an old
Roman library is like — the library of a )nan who
never dreamed of a printed page.

The library itself is a comparatively small room.
Entering the door, we first note the windows, few
in number, and so high up in the wall that there is
plainly little danger of their tempting the student
or reader to gaze abroad ; then the floor of plain,
smooth marble, or laid in mosaics with marbles of

little cells, are the books, many of them classics,
which have been reprinted in our modern text, and
arc read and admired by the scholars and wise men
of to-day.

Let us look at this one in a gay, yellow dress,
which beams out at us with its one round black eye
like a cheerful little Cyclops, and see what kind of
a book it is. We take up the roll, which is, per-
haps, ten inches in width, and begin to unfold it.
Hut it seems to have no end, and at last unrolls
before our astonished gaze one continuous sheet of
thick, tough paper, some ten feet in length, the
inner end of which is fastened to the rod with the

IN AN OLD ROMAN LIBKAK\'. A CHAT ABOUT THE LAST NEW BOOK.

various sorts ; the walls covered with arabesques
and traceries from the Greek mythology, and pre-
senting at intervals busts of famous old Greek and
Roman authors. Next our wondering glances fall
upon a row of presses or cupboards, some six feet
in height, ranged around the sides of the room.
Each is filled with shelves divided off into little
compartments or pigeon-holes, and in these snugly
repose curious purple, yellow, and grayish rolls of
different sizes, from the centers of which project
slender rods, terminating in polished knobs. From
each of these rods dangles a small label, covered
with hieroglyphics in light red ink.

But these queer rolls, so snugly reposing in their

projecting knobs. A second glance shows us that
the whole of one side is closely covered with text
written in parallel columns from left to right, up
and down the sheet, the spaces between being de-
fined by light red lines which curiously intersect
the whole expanse. The letters of the text, out-
lined almost in relief by the thick, black ink with
which they are written, look out at us with an un-
recognizing stare, wholly ignoring the fact that, in
their modern dress, some of us have had a hard
struggle with them in order to maintain our rank
in the Latin class at school. But the words, as we
see them here on this old scroll, seem an unknown
tongue to us, till the title of the book, written at

AN OLD ROMAN LIBRARY

[November^

the end next the staff', as well as at the beginning,
explains the mystery. The volume we hold is, it
seems, the Annates of Q. Ennius, the " Father
Ennius " mentioned by Horace and other Latin
poets. And, satisfied with this, we replace the
book in its pigeon-hole, and pass on to the more
familiar names of Horace and Martial, that greet
us on the pendent labels of two rolls that the //
brariiis (one of the slaves whose task is the care
of the library and the copying of books) has just
brought in and placed in a hitherto vacant niche of
the library. But a short examination of these
volumes soon convinces us that, for practical pur-
poses, our well-thumbed " Anthon," " Harkness,"
or " Chase and Stewart's," are more desirable.
Fancy, for instance, a luckless school-boy rising to
recite in Horace or Virgil, with one of these cumber-
some rolls to be held up and uncoiled while gazing
wildly up and down this wilderness of words, which
at first glance seems to be chiefly composed of v's,
owing to the queer practice of the old Romans in
making their u's like v's ! And a second glance,
moreover, shows that we have before us indeed a
pathless wilderness of words, for not a single punc-
tuation-mark (save here and there a lonesome-
looking period) holds out its friendly signal to mark
the boundary lines of the author's thought.

But now, through the half-open door by which
the librarius has just entered, we catch a glimpse
of an adjoining room, where his fellow-slaves are
busily at work copying manuscripts and perform-
ing the various other operations connected with
the art of Roman book-making. At our request
the librarius allows us to enter this room, and
accompanies us himself to explain the new and
strange process we are about to witness. Seated
near the door is a slave, who is busily engaged in
gluing together, into one long sheet, strips of
paper, made, we are told, of a reed that grows on
the banks of the Nile and is called papyrus.
When this sheet is long enough, he passes it to the
next slave, who stains its back with saffron and then
hands it to another, receiving from him in return a
similar sheet, covered, on one side only, with the
same parallel columns of closely written text with
which we have already become familiar. This is now
handed to another slave, whose task it is to fasten
it by the end which bears the cprona or flourish —
a mark denoting that the transcriber's and the
reader's task is done — to a cylindrical stick of pol-
ished ivory terminating in glistening knobs of the
same material. Glancing over his shoulder, we see
another slave with a pile of these cylindrical sticks,
some of ivory, some of woods of various sorts.
These latter he rubs vigorously with pumice-stone
preparatory to staining them with the purple,
yellow, and black dyes at his side.

But let us see what further befalls the sheet just
attached to the ivory staff. We find that it has
been coiled deftly around its center-piece, its ends
have been polished and colored, and it is now ready
for its cover of parchment, which has also made
the acquaintance of the brittle pumice and brilliant
dyes, its margins being adorned with scarlet lines
which gleam out vividly along the less glowing
purple of its surface. Cedar-oil, too, has been
rubbed into it to check the depredations of
insects, and now the long sheet is rolled up tight
and tied with the "red thongs." The label, with
the name of the work and its author, is attached,
and a new volume is ready for the Roman reading-
public.

With books like these, however, we can well
understand why it is that in every Roman librar\
the door faced to the east, in order to give the
scrolls the benefit of the morning sun, and pre-
vent the formation of mold upon the cherished
\'olumes.

Realizing after all this the immense labor and
pains involved in the production of such works as
these, we turn to the obliging iibrariiis and ask
him what price they bring in the market. Judge
of our surprise when he assures us that, though a
volume so carefully prepared as the one we have
just seen may sell for somewhat more, yet twenty
cents of our money is an ordinary price, and that
many books, by even so popular an author as Mar-
tial, are sold for a still smaller sum.

Indeed, a hew " book " that does not happen to
suit the popular taste, he tells us, often finds its way
directly to the fish-markets and groceries, to be
used by the clerks for casting up accounts, or for
wrapping up goods for delivery to their customers.
Greatly astonished at this revelation as to the
abundant supply and slight value of books in " ye
olden time," we continue our questioning, and, be-
thinking ourselves that they have no newspapers
here, we ask how the literary world becomes aware
of the publication of a new work. To this he re-
plies that the book-sellers announce its appearance
on the posts of their shop-doors, and that it is also
customary for an author to send early copies to his
rich and powerful friends and patrons, some of
whom will not fail to give it notoriety by repeating
passages from it at the next dinner-party which
they attend. But one question only suggests an-
other, and we find ourselves quite in danger of
turning into animated interrogation-points, when,
fortunately, the gathermg shadows warn us that
we must take our departure and journey back to
the modern world with its myriad book-shelves,
which the printing-press has filled with volumes
so unlike the rare, quaint treasures of this old Ro-
man library.

Vol. X.— 3.

[After a painting by J. G. Brown.)

ALL THE PLUMS.

[November,

ALL THE PLUMS.

(A Tftanksgiving Story. )

By .Sophie Swett.

It did seem as if Thanksgiving never would
come.

The November page of the Farmers' Almanac
that hung under the clock bore innumerable prints
of small thumbs that had laboriously traveled
across it, counting the number of days that must
be lived through before that happy day arrived
which, according to the Governor's proclamation,
was to be "a day of thanksgiving and praise."

Little Darius and Lucy Ann thought praise
meant plum-pudding, and even Jonah, who was
getting to be an old boy, and could do problems
in cube root, owned that it was not very long ago
that he thought so too.

There was a continual weighing and measuring
of goodies, and odors of spice and sweetness
floated out of the great kitchen all over the house.
The children seeded raisins, and sliced citron, and
cracked walnuts, and chopped apples for the
mince-pies, but Lucy Ann and little Darius were
getting discouraged, for it seemed every day as
if the next must be Thanksgiving, and yet when
they awoke in the morning it was n't.

This was not going to be only an ordinary Thanks-
giving day, with almost everything nice that could
be thought of for dinner, and a great many aunts
and uncles and cousins, all grown up, and all
wanting to sit down and talk (instead of having
a good time), for visitors. This year, their little
city cousin, whom they had never seen, was coming
to spend Thanksgiving with them.

Her name was Mabel Hortense, and the children
were very proud of having a cousin who lived in
the city and was named Mabel Hortense. At
Damsonfield Four Corners, where they lived, all
the little girls were named Mary Jane or Sarah
Ann or Lucy Maria, or, at the best, Hattie and
Carrie ; they had scarcely even heard of so fine a
name as Mabel Hortense. But a little girl who
lived in a great city, where there was scarcely
a bit of anything so common as grass, and the
" great big houses were all hitched on to each
other," as Roxy Jane, the hired girl, said, and
hand-organs and monkeys were as thick as huckle-
berries in August, and there was a candy store at
every corner, could not be expected to have a
common name.

They had a photograph of Mabel Hortense,
with her hair banged and a doll almost as large
as a real live baby in her arms. She had a neck-

lace around her neck and bracelets on her arms
and car-rings in her ears. Becky borrowed Hannah
Olive Judson's blue-glass beads to wear during
Mabel Hortense's visit, and made Lucy Ann a neck-
lace of red alder-berries, and then, as they all had
on their Sunday clothes, she felt ready for Mabel
Hortense's arrival.

It was the very night before Thanksgiving Day,
and all the aunts and uncles and cousins had
arrived, except Mabel Hortense and her mother,
and Peter Trott, the hired man, had driven over
to the station to bring them.

Even little Darius, who had begun to think that
Thanksgiving Day had been postponed until next
year, was now convinced that it was coming to-
morrow. There was a blazing log-fire in the great
fireplace in the sitting-room, and Priscilla sat on
the rug in front of it, herself and her three kittens
in that condition of holiday freshness which be-
comes New England cats on the eve of Thanks-
giving Day. The canary birds were singing so
loud that they had to be muffled in Grandpa's
bandana handkerchief, that the aunts and uncles
and cousins might hear each other relate all the
happenings of the past year.

Little Darius was continually running to the
door, with his cage of white mice under one arm
and his tame squirrel under the other, so that he
might show them to Mabel Hortense the very first
thing.

" I wouldn't be such a silly," said Lucy Ann,
who had her black Dinah, with raveled yarn for
wool, and two great white buttons for eyes, in her
arms, and wanted Mabel Hortense to see her the
very first thing. "Why in the city, where she
lives, the mice are all white, and so tame that they
come out and dance when people play on the
piano. Peter Trott says so. And they keep
squirrels in the stores, all with white aprons and
caps on, to crack nuts for customers. Peter
Trott says so."

" They aint so nice as my mice and my squirrel,
anyway, and Grandpa says not to b'lieve Peter
Trott, 'cause he tells wicked, wrong stories ! " cried
little Darius, almost moved to tears at the possi-
bility that any mice or any squirrels were more
attractive than his. " I should n't think you 'd want
to show any city girl your old Dinah. She was
homely enough before Grandpa sat on her and flat-
tened her all out ; she 's orfle now ! "

iSSa.l

ALL THE PLUMS.

Lucy Ann might have resented this, for she was
very fond of Dinah, and thought her a beauty in
spite of the accident that had befallen her, — which
was a very cruel one, for Grandpa weighed over two
hundred pounds, — but just then the carriage drove
up, and a little girl was lifted out by Peter Trott,
and set down inside the door.

There was Mabel Hortense, bangs and doll and
all, just as she looked in the photograph, only that
both she and the doll had on traveling costumes,
so there was not so much jewelry to be seen.

She did not look in the least like a Damsonfield
little girl, nor the doll like a Damsonfield doll.
The doll wore a suit trimmed with fur, just like
her mamma's, and it fitted her just as nicely.
(Becky could only make a doll's dress like a
sacque, with slits for the arms, and Aunt Eunice
did n't think it was worth the while to make dolls'
dresses at all.) And she had on the daintiest gloves
and boots imaginable, without a wrinkle in them.
Gloves and boots were entirely unknown in doll
society in Damsonfield.

For one moment Lucy Ann felt ashamed of
Dinah, but she gave her an extra hug the next
moment to make up for it.

Becky was glad that she had on Hannah Olive
Judson's blue beads, and that Lucy Ann had on
brand-new shoes, for Lucy Ann's toes were almost
always threatening to stick out through her shoes,
and she did hope that Solomon would n't tell that
the beads were borrowed ; that would be just like
Solomon, and she wished she had thought to warn
him about it when Aunt Eunice was cautioning
him not to tell that they had borrowed the sugar-
tongs of Aunt Jemima, and that they did n't always
have two kinds of preserves for supper.

The first thing that Mabel Hortense seemed to
notice was Dinah.

" Oh, what a perfectly beautiful doll ! " she ex-
claimed. " She is truly colored, is n't she ? "

" She was born so," said Lucy Ann, proudly
displaying the raveled-yarn wool, which was
Dinah's strong point in the way of looks.

" I don't think I ever saw a colored doll before !
You will give her to me, wont you ? "

Lucy Ann was very much surprised, and did n't
know what to say. Becky gave her a little poke
with her elbow. Aunt Eunice had said they must
do everything that their city cousin asked them to
do, and Becky thought Lucy Ann ought to give
Dinah to her ; but Dinah was n't Becky's, and she
did n't know how it felt to part with her.

"To keep? "said Lucy Ann, falteringly, after
Becky had given her a second poke.

" Oh, of course ! 1 shall carry her home," said
Mabel Hortense.

"Will you give me yours for her?" said Lucy.

" Oh, no ; I want them both ! " said Mabel Hor-
tense, decidedly.

And taking Dinah out of Lucy Ann's arms — by
her wool — she thrust her under one arm and her
own doll under the other, and followed her mother
into the sitting-room. Lucy Ann's tears began
to flow, but Becky whispered :

" 1 suppose that 's the way city people do. You
must n't cry."

Mabel Hortense seated herself on a stool before
the fire, and immediately picked up the three
kittens, dropping a doll on each side of her.

" I like kittens. I shall take these home with
me," she said.

Lucy Ann received a warning look from Becky,
but she felt that, when it came to carrying off kit-
tens, the ways of city people could not be endured,
and she said, firmly : " The Maltese one, with the
very peaked tail, is Becky's, and the black one with
a spot on his nose is Solomon's, and the little, white,
fuzziest one is mine, and Priscilla herself belongs
to Jonah."

Little Darius at this moment thrust his cage of
white mice and his squirrel before Mabel Hortense's
eyes, and she dropped the kittens.

" Oh, what funny little things ! And the squirrel,
with his tail the most of him, is too sweet ! I shall
carry them all home with me."

Even Becky began to doubt whether she should
like city ways. Lucy Ann's eyes and mouth grew
into round O's with astonishment, and little Darius
set up such a howl that Aunt Eunice forthwith
shut him up in the china-closet.

" I am afraid these children are not very
obliging," remarked Mabel's mother. " Mabel
Hortense has always been accustomed to have
everything she wants."

Lucy Ann drew Becky into the hall, and shut
the door. " We must n't let her see the play-house,
nor my tea-set, nor Solomon's soldiers, nor little
Darius's elephant, nor anything. I think we 'd
better carry them all up to the attic closet and lock
the door ! " she exclaimed.

Becky thought so, too, and they hurriedly col-
lected all their playthings, and hustled them into
the attic closet, and locked the door securely.
Becky even took off Hannah Olive Judson's blue
beads and left them there. It would be so dread-
ful if Mabel Hortense should decide to carry those
home with her !

But Becky's conscience troubled her a little as
she went back to the sitting-room, for Aunt Eunice
had said they must be hospitable, and do every-
thing they could to make Mabel Hortense have a
good time. Becky resolved that she would not re-
fuse to do anything that Mabel Hortense wanted
her to do.

ALL THE PLUMS.

[November,

As she reentered the sitting-room, Solomon was
entertaining Mabel Hortense.

" I have my old clothes on, because I 'm a boy
and don't care, but you ought to see how the others
have been fixing up, all in their Sunday things,
and Becky borrowed Hannah Olive Judson's beads.
Say, are the sidewalks all made of gingerbread in
the city ? Peter Trott says so. "

" No," said Mabel Hortense, slowly and reflect-
ively. " They are made of pound-cakes."

" True as you live ? " said Solomon. " I thought
it was only one of Peter Trott's 3'arns. And are
the houses made of molasses candy ? "

" Oh, no, only some of the poor people's houses ;
ours is made of ice-cream."

" I should think it would melt ! " exclaimed
Solomon.

"It does n't, but sometimes we eat it up, and
fcuild ourselves another," said Mabel Hortense.

Becky looked at her. It was a feeble imitation
of the way in which Aunt Eunice looked at Lucy
Ann and her when they misbehaved in church.

" I am afraid you tell very wrong stories," she
said, severely. " People could n't possibly live in
houses made of ice-cream."

Mabel Hortense blushed very red, and cast down
her eyes. But then she answered, snappishly :

" Well, who ever s'posed he would believe it !
Such a big boy ! I never saw one so silly ! "

It was not the first time that Solomon had been
told he was silly, but coming from a girl who lived
in the city it was especially cutting.

Solomon made a resolve then and there that he
would " get even " with Mabel Hortense.

" Do you like Thanksgiving Day ? " asked
Becky, politely. She was afraid she had spoken
rather severely to Mabel Hortense, and was trying
to make amends for it.

" Not so very much," said Mabel Hortense.
" I like to see the stained glass in church make
the people's noses look red and yellow, and then
there 's the dinner, but that 's disappointing, be-
cause one can't have all the plums."

Becky and Solomon and Lucy Ann looked as-
tonished and inquiringJ

"In the pudding,' you know. I don't care
anything about the dinner, except the pudding,
and I don't care anything about the pudding, except
the plums. Mamma gives me hers, and Grandpa
gives me his, but other people are so selfish. They
eat their own plums. Could n't you manage, to-
morrow, so that I could have all the plums ? "

Solomon and Lucy Ann looked at each other in
silent astonishment. Lucy Ann was very fond of
plums, but it never had occurred to her that she
could, by any possibility, have more than her
share. Solomon was particularly fond of plums,

and had been known to imitate on the sly the
example of little Jacky Horner, but he had never
wanted to eat all the plums out of a Thanksgiving
plum-pudding. Mabel Hortense seemed to him
almost as wonderful as the hen that Mother Goose
was acquainted with, that

" Ate a cow and ate a calf,
Ate a butcher and a half.
Ate a church and ate a steeple,
Ate the priest and all the people ! "

" I will ask Aunt Eunice to give you a very
plummy piece, but I don't see how you could have
all the plums," said Becky, seriously.

Solomon was thinking. An idea had suddenly
popped into his mind that here was a chance for
mischief. Solomon loved mischief. And there
might be also a chance to "pay up" Mabel Hor-
tense, who had laughed at him and called him silly.

" Oh, I think we could manage it," said he.
" Roxy Jane always bakes the pudding the day
before Thanksgiving, because on Thanksgiving Day
the oven is filled with the turkey and chickens
and things, and then she warms it up or serves it
with a hot sauce. The pudding is in the pantry
this very minute; I 've seen it."

"Well, what if it is? "asked Becky.

" We might slip into the pantry when nobody
was looking, and carry it off and hide it some-
where, — out in the barn, on the hay-mow, would
be a good place, — and to-morrow we could eat it
and have all the plums ! "

"Why, of course! That is just as easy ! And
you 're a very nice boy to think of it. I '11 never
call you silly again. Of course, you '11 give me all
the plums," said Mabel Hortense.

"It would be very wrong ! What would Aunt
Eunice say ? Why, Solomon, when last Sunday
was your birthday, and you said you were surely
going to be good a week ! "

" I did n't know then that I was going to have
company from the city," said Solomon. "And it
is n't any harm, anyway. There 'II be plenty for
dinner, without the pudding — maybe 't would make
some of them sick to eat it; and Aunt Eunice will
never find out what became of it."

" I don't think it 's nice of you to say it would
be wrong, when I 'm your company. People ought
to do everything that company wants."

"Aunt Eunice said we must do everything that
Mabel Hortense wants us to," urged Solomon.

"Yes, so she did," said Becky, rather faintly,
"but "

" It does n't make any difl"erence whether you help
or not, we 're going to do it," said Solomon. "And
now, too, for they 're all talking and wont notice
where we go, and Roxy Jane is setting the table,
and can't see us go to the pantry."

I889.J

ALL THE I'LUMS.

Lucy Ann skipped along with Solomon and
Mabel Hortense, not minding in the least that
Becky looked reprovingly at her.

After a little hesitation, Becky arose and followed
them. She might as well see what they were going
to do, she thought.

There was the Thanksgiving plum-pudding, in
a great, yellow earthen baking-dish, on the pantry
shelf, rich and toothsome and sweet-smelling.

" I was going to take the pudding-bag to put it
in, but it is n't big enough for such a whacker of
a pudding, and the clothes-pin bag is n't clean
enough. Becky, you go to the clothes-press
and get a clean pillow-case ! We can slip it into
the wash-tub Monday morning, and nobody will
notice."

Becky went. Since they were going to do it,
anyway, she might as well join them, she said to
herself. Perhaps it was n't polite to refuse company.
And it was going to be great fun !

Solomon slipped a knife around the edge of the
pudding, to separate it from the dish, as he had
seen Roxy Jane do, and put it into the pillow-
case. Then they all stole softly out through the
long wood-shed to the barn, Solomon, with the
pudding slung over his shoulder, leading the way.

Solomon looked cautiously around, to be sure
that Peter Trott was not in the barn. Peter was
not a tell-tale, but he had a sweet tooth, and it was
just as well to be on the safe side.

There was not a sound to be heard as they
entered the barn, and both Solomon and Becky soon
forgot everything except that they were having
great fun.

They deposited the pudding in its pillow-case
bag in a bed of hay, covering it carefully so that
scarcely a glimpse of the white cloth was to be
seen. It was hardly done when Roxy Jane rang
the supper-bell vigorously.

" Now we shall all have to go to church in
the morning," said Solomon, as they hurried into
the house, " but the very first thing after we come
home we '11 go up on to the hay-mow and eat the
pudding."

One who was watching Solomon closely might
have seen a twinkle in his eye, when he said that,
which meant mischief deeper than any of his com-
panions in the pudding enterprise suspected.

For it would n't be paying up Mabel Hortense
to let her eat all the plums. Oh, no, indeed !

At five o'clock the next morning, Solomon arose
from his bed softly, that he might not awake
Jonah, who was sleeping beside him, dressed him-
self in great haste, and stole down-stairs. He had
meant to be up at four o'clock, but, unfortunately,
had failed to awake. It was quite important for the
accomplishment of his purpose that he should get

to the barn before Peter Trott did, and Peter Trott

was a very early bird.

The large lantern which Peter used was not
hanging in its accustomed place, but that was not
a sure sign that Peter had gone to the barn, be-
cause he was not very orderly and might have left
it somewhere else.

Solomon lighted the small lantern, and tiptoed
softly, listening intently, all the way through the
wood-shed, which had never seemed so long nor so
dark. There was no sign of Peter Trott's lantern,
and Solomon came to the conclusion that Peter's
alarm-clock had not yet gone off.

An industrious hen, who had been laying an egg
at this unseasonable hour, flew off her nest with
loud cackling, and startled Solomon so that he
almost dropped his lantern into the hay. Perhaps
she meant to lay more than one egg that day,
because it was Thanksgiving Day, but Solomon
thought she might have waited until daylight.

Her nest seemed to be very near the place where
they had hidden the pudding. Solomon hoped
that she had n't been having a peck at the plums.
He meant to have all those plums for his own
private refreshment. He would never have thought
of it if Mabel Hortense had not suggested it, and
he did not want to eat them all at once, but he
thought it would be a very good plan to hide the
pudding where nobody but himself could find it,
and have a private nibble whenever he liked.

But the best of it was that he should be more
than even with Mabel Hortense. Instead of having
all the plums, she would n't have any of them.
And would n't the girls all be surprised when they
came, after church, to the place where the pudding
had been hidden and found it gone ? And should
n't he have to pretend to be surprised? Solomon
chuckled to himself, thinking of it.

By this time he had come to the place where he
had put the pudding. He put his hand down to
pull up the bag, but, lo and behold ! there was only
a deep hole where the pudding had lain.

The pudding had vanished, bag and all !

Solomon's first thought was that it must be
magic — some fairy had spirited it away, to punish
him for his misdeeds. But when his knees had
stopped shaking, he thought of Peter Trott.

Peter wore soft shoes, and was always near when
one did not suspect it, and he was very fond of
goodies. He might like all the plums as well as
Mabel Hortense. Just at that moment he heard
the noise of the hay-cutter at the farther end of the
barn, and a ray of light from Peter Trott's lantern
was cast upon the barn-floor.

" Peter, Peter, what have you done with the
plum-pudding?" cried Solomon, angrily.

" Sakes alive ! Is that you up on the hay- mow?

ALL THE PLUMS.

[November,

Do you want to scare a fellow to death ? " said
Peter, in a shaking voice. " What are you doin'
up there at this time in the morning?"

" 1 'm not so early but what you 've been before
me, and carried off my plum-pudding, or else eaten
it up ! " said Solomon, almost in tears.

" Plum-puddin' ! Plum-puddin' ! You aint
dreamin' or walkin' in your sleep, are you ? It 's
Thanksgivin' Day, sure enough, and it 's likely
there '11 be a plum-puddin' along about dinner
time, good and spicy, and chock full of plums, but
it 's too early in the morning to talk about it now.
I 'm a master hand for plum-puddin', myself, but
I should n't consider it wholesome before break-
fast ! "

" I hid the plum-pudding, in a pillow-case, up
on this hay-mow, and it 's gone ! " said Solomon,
"and nobody has been here but you."

"Hid a plum-puddin' up in the hay? That's
cur'us ! " exclaimed Peter Trott, in a tone of great
astonishment. " And it 's gone ? — that 's cur'user
still ! But, now I think of it, that yaller-speckled
hen was makin' a great fuss up there, and she 's
a master hand for victuals, that hen is, and she 's
got a terrible big swallow. Why, 1 see her swallow
a pumpkin the other day and make no more of
it than she would of a pea ! "

" I sha' n't believe any more of your stories,
Peter Trott ! " cried Solomon. " 1 got called silly
by doing it, and Grandpa says not to."

Peter looked very sad.

" Well, I s'pose 1 have got kind of an unfort'nit
habit of stretchin' the truth a little. It kind of
seems to come nateral. But 1 'm a-breakin' my-
self of it fast. Now 1 come to think of it, it wa' n't
a pumpkin but a squash, and not more 'n a middlin'
sized one, that I see that hen swallow. And it a'nt
likely that she swallowed the puddin', on account
of the bag ; that would have stuck in her throat,
certain sure."

" You have done something with that pudding,"
insisted Solomon, hotly.

" Well, now, 1 did toss some hay off that mow
into Dandy Jim's stall. You don't s'pose the
puddin' could have caught on the pitchfork, do
you ? Dandy Jim would n't have eaten the bag,
anyhow, bein' dretful pertikler about his victuals,
so it 's easy enough to find out."

And Peter Trott, in a very eager and interested
manner, went into Dandy Jim's stall, and searched
about. Solomon followed him, with his lantern,
and looked carefully all over the stall. But no
traces of either pudding or bag were to be found,
and Dandy Jim, after the closest inspection, did
not seem to be suffering from indigestion, as Sol-
omon thought he certainly would be if he had
eaten the pudding-bag.

Peter Trott certainly looked very innocent, but
Solomon had by no means lost bis suspicions that
he knew more about the disappearance of the pud-
ding than he chose to tell. But to show anger
toward him would never bring Peter to confession.
So Solomon began to plead with him :

" Peter, please don't tease me. P-1-eas-e tell me
all about it."

Peter thrust both hands into his trousers pockets,
and looked very benevolent.

" Well, now, I have been jokin' a little, that's a
fact, but 1 don't want to hurt your feelin's. But as
for that puddin', all I can say is that I saw a tramp
eatin' somethin' out in the barn-yard last night,
an' it may 'a' been that puddin'. 1 can't say
certain that it was the puddin', but he was a-eatin'
ez if he enjoyed it mighty well. He was sittin'
kind of doubled up in that bushel-basket, with his
legs kind of danglin', and he had a cloth tucked
under his chin for a napkin. Of course, I did n't
know how he come by it. I did n't once think
that it might be our Thanksgivin' puddin'. I did
think about orderin' him off, but he had such a
queer look in his eye that 1 felt like givin' him a
wide berth, and 1 let him alone. Judgin' from
what you tell me, 1 'm afraid your puddin' 's gone
for good. But I can't say for certain."

Solomon felt satisfied that Peter was telling the
truth, now. Tramps were plenty in the neighbor-
hood, and, only the day before, he himself had
seen just such an one as Peter described, resting
under a tree. And Peter was always careless
about the barn door.

Now that the pudding was gone, Solomon began
to think anxiously of the probability of being found
out. While there was a great deal of fun to be ex-
pected with the pudding, that probability had kept
in the background of his mind, but now it loomed
out fearfully. Aunt Eunice would be sure to make
a strict investigation as soon as she knew that the
pudding was gone, and Aunt Eunice could always
find out things. Sometimes her finding out seemed
really marvelous, and she said that a little bird told
her. Jonah said she was only joking, and Becky
did n't really believe it, but Solomon was inclined
to think it was true. Solomon thought, now that
he came to consider the matter, that anybody
who had stolen the Thanksgiving plum-pudding
wouldn't be " let off very easy." He deliberated
whether he should throw the blame upon Mabel
Hortense or not. It seemed rather mean to tell
of a girl, but, " anyway, he should n't have thought
of it, if it hadn't been for her."

The Thanksgiving sermon had always seemed
endless to Solomon, but on this day it was actually
too short ; anything was better than having dinner-
time come.

1883.J

ALL THE I'LUMS.

As soon as they reached home, Mabel Hortense
and Lucy Ann came to him and whispered :

" Now we will go to the barn and have the pud-
ding, wont we ? "

Becky stood in the background, looking pale
and sad. The truth was, Becky's conscience had
been making her very unhappy.

" The pudding 's gone," said Solomon, gloomily.

"Gone! Where ?" exclaimed Mabel Hortense,
Becky, and Lucy Ann, in a breath.

" Eaten up ! " said Solomon.

"What! plums and all?" exclaimed Mabel
Hortense, the corners of her mouth beginning
to droop. " Who did such a cruel, wicked thing ? "

"A tramp. He ate the pudding — plums and all."

" Oh, what a greedy thing, to cat all the plums !
I wanted them myself," said Mabel Hortense.

" We have n't had a bit of fun. And what will
Aunt Eunice say?" said Becky.

"Girls are always getting a fellow into trouble ! "
said Solomon, savagely.

The children showed a surprising lack of eager-
ness in obeying the summons to dinner, all except
little Darius, who did not feel guilty, and still ex-
pected plum-pudding.

Solomon had a very small appetite for turkey,
and Becky could scarcely force down a mouthful.

Solomon felt, when they were waiting for des-
sert to be brought in, that it was one of the most
awful moments of his life, and Becky watched the
door with a frightened and fascinated gaze.

But what did their eyes behold ! Roxy Jane,
with beaming face, bearing aloft a huge platter,
on which reposed a great, rich-brown, plummy-
looking pudding ! It looked exactly like the pud-
ding they had stolen, and Roxy Jane said, in
answer to a compliment upon the looks of her
pudding, that "it got a splendid bake. She never
knew one to slip out of the dish so easily."

It was placed on Solomon's end of the table, and
he bent over and examined it critically. A tiny
wisp of hay was clinging to its side. Solomon
picked it off slyly and showed it to Becky.

"Grandpa, don't ever send Peter Trott away,
for he 's a good fellow ! " said Solomon, eagerly.

And all the grown people wondered why the
plum-pudding made him think of that.

" 1 want all the plums ! " said Mabel Hortense.

But nobody paid any attention to her, and she
had only her share.

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THE QUEST.

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'o ihe liTTle sj^'^i'^^
ier€ The le^xamines c

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"^>.\"\-

'^^''.

i-^r

iSSa.)

THE QUEST.

re.5SA.-mme tell!
^e Secret tell .

-we j*eekJor ?y.TraLCcl

" our boor lo/t t?v.ilj" „/
\ ^ to-daiyf'^

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« r I ^ p ff/ffci^ncienTlrf

rom eSucK io/qen
cjlej-j* mmjTfe

^Xoiirv'

^e/

out^lke little Ull

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J>nter6c| tne Jkive-ofitk i^rove,
""^t^^ iLam^ i r^ - m ©j-j
^ J, Kait tke lifeKr "*'ificIy^Q« ^
> wept their l^ce vt^ifk e\."t®ucK ©f l©ve.

i|^at the liWNS'incljToW.
,uj ifje jecpCT, we pra.y.
h what" fo.r jbfe^ce

u^t" vc^ look for a, Tra.ce
oyr boor lo/rtaiilj To^cfay f

"rtie mo/x "thjCt tlun|
..eCDakf ar'^ ^«»Jj
ml^T^jwa-yec^ to ^■Jfo-
r nojound ner ji^n
fktxt tliey couM <Jivine
tUem NwUereto 0©-

THE QUEST.

[November,

^^ey ^tole wills jea^r;® me "Wa^cJ,

*emc aa\;wer* mo^ke
*o our oyejiioniK^ how, we
^ wnecT strcvr\^e plaice

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\F ©«r pQ0r lojf t^Is to-cj

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relfvej/ Kaq finis Kec| iherV

't Ql Soijnq nor -^a s't§p
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txve them the hi hi they vjcere $ee.

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sund fxtotrTThem ^r©>x/m!

fvtove 'them blo^ii^P,
iJ Theyy Til! ihey r^tvcii

I&l

ig8a.|

THE QUEST.

,c TOurmur

..4'^'

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oeJuK one latuntkeq Krj p^r?v,$Gl
■^nike river} ^olcjen brea^-f ., ,
;fioppec| lf|Krl^ tnlo it, ^'^ i-^^M
vt'jx.y on KiX -weJv,ry ©uesi''

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ONVn 55l

>rv

' Quiver J
Mea.r-Tnjfc The /on o of the^V^^'^'^if^^-biH

0un

THE QUEST.

[November,

Ke river rai-tj , "^n^ jfiver Tore-
>vLrn^ itjelf from jli©re to jnere ,

|uAj< it never Ka.ci qone m jfj /ife i)^re-
wrn© maitfer K©<v foy/t I'tj N^s^lerj //^e-cf
"^he tfiiili of iJie jheejb Kef f JK/t a.Kea.c(

^ fsvmily />f tKrec-

jjj jShvone com Id
^Kei> tne Toil/ ^tCLme;

11..

/een b/ Ihe eyef^^^I ;^
©n ,lhej r way To Hf V-off-cea. ,
kurrym

^hi

StIinJ tkf^ J0/tl[n
q Ihi/ ^reerf' com-mon'on all

, et\,cK erect m hif pts^rajol,

lew 7© /^e ©/^«V»j,
to V\i WoTW^^
„., rrVer— r^ti^/ sdl tiit^ if Cou I ^ (^f

o'lce^fi/T'

1883.1

THE QUEST.

[November,

t^%c):'c tl^f^^ Griim -"tree/ cr©VT"^
jU/ir fcev^iTkcl it" "tK^ widely 0o

TFI the /\'5j'jsipf' ''5^[r wQuldifr kne-

iiksilc

levf

r^/

>e laoilj" went qoNvn svitrv ea> eivsiy tu^Im
PKer> %ey /hot ©wT jTicJcfenly, ©ne, ftJ"^ d.11,—
^Jbltne /hee^ /««/>T Over t*^^ f^Hj" .' ^

^ree

m^^

?^1^re--

•^.

'f^sX

'^ «>tf»if>|> mope WV ■evejv f»e?«"c|. —

^^r^^^ri-^^

l889.]

THE QUEST.

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

NoVEMDElt,

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS' TIDE-MILL.*
By J. T. Trowbridge.

*'CAN YOU SHOW ME DEMPFORD STREET?

Chapter I.

ON THE TAMMOSET RIVER.

A YOUNG fellow, about seventeen years old,— a
mere boy, in fact, with a rather solid-looking but
fresh and pleasant face, — stepped from a train at
the Tammoset station, one March afternoon, and
looked about him with the air of a stranger.

After a brief survey of the plashy village streets,
bordered with gutters half full of snow and slug-

gish water, he addressed a flagman who was com-
ing along the platform.

" Can you show me Dempford street ? "

" First street to the left," was the ready answer,
illustrated by a motion of the flag rolled up on its
stick.

" Does that take me to the river? "

" Straight to the river — straight to Dempford
bridge."

"And Mr. Dushce's place ? "

" Oh, Dushee's ! " said the flagman. " That 's a

i88x]

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

little off the main track. Turn to your right, just
before you get to the bridge, and keep down the
river a few rods, till you see an old mill."

" That 's just what I want to see," the boy re-
plied, with a look of satisfaction. " Much obliged."

Picking his way along the muddy sidewalks, he
passed beyond the village, and in a few minutes
came to the brow of a hill, where he paused.

Below was the river, sweeping, full-banked and
strong, across the foreground of a brown land-
scape, mottled with dingy patches of snow-drifts.
On the left, not very far away, was a large pond
or lake, still ice-bound, except near the mouth, out
of which the dark current flowed. There were
orchards and groves, and pleasant residences here
and there, on the far-winding shores.

" That must be fine in summer," he said to
himself, with a smile. " We '11 keep a boat and
go a- fishing, and have some jolly sails — if the
chickens I 'm counting will only hatch. Wont it
be nice to take Mother out, and row with her along
by those woods, just after sunset? — if she will
only agree to my plans. And Letty, wont she like
it ! But I know it can't be ; it 's all too good to
come true."

And yet there was a look on his face which said
that it should come true, if the determined will
and good wit of a boy of his size could accomplish
it.

The river flowed beneath the bridge at the foot of
the slope, and, making a curve to the right, soon
disappeared under the hill, which terminated there
in a low bluff. On the summit of that was an old-
fashioned house, and just beyond, through the
bare boughs of a large willow-tree, appeared a
brown roof

" That must be the mill," he exclaimed, starting
to walk toward it.

Descending the bluff, he took a foot-path along
the river's brink, amidst a scene picturesque enough
even at that season of the year.

On his right was the bluff, or high bank, to the
steep side of which heavy snow-drifts still clung.
On his left, the whirling stream rushed on toward
a low dam, over which it broke with a sound that
was music to his ears. The mossy turf of the path
he trod was supported by the roots of willow-trees
that overleaned the water, in the largest of which —
an immense pollard, with stout branches — seats
were framed, with a little foot-bridge of plank lead-
ing to them from the top of the bank.

" What a place for Mother to sit and sew, in
pleasant weather ! " he said to himself, with ever-
kindling enthusiasm. '" We '11 put a little railing
along by the plank, and we can help her over
safely. It beats all the bay-windows in the world !
Right over the water, and up among the birds ! "

Vol. X.— 4.

A pair of those early comers, the blue-birds,
were there already, flitting in the boughs, their
beautiful plumage and richly warbled notes hinting
of the delights of the season of leaves and flowers
now so near at hand.

But, while taking in with keen interest so many
things, the eye of the boy did not neglect the prin-
cipal object of his visit.

That rose before him, at the end of the path,
close by the great willow — a little, old, brown
two-story building, built partly over the water, at
the end of the dam, and partly against the high
bank.

A door at the end of the path opened into a shed-
like wing, where his eye was delighted with the
sight of a forge, with its great bellows.

" This is what the boys will like ! " he said, with
a nod and a smile. " And there is the water-wheel !
1 wonder why it is n't going. 1 believe the place
is deserted."

He peeped through an open door-way, leading
from the shed into the lower story of the mill, and
saw on one side a long work-bench, with lathes, a
circular saw beyond, wheels and boards overhead,
and all sorts of odd litter scattered about the room.

Nothing very attractive, you would have said ;
and yet the sight filled the boyish visitor with mild
rapture.

'• Everthing is lovely, so far ! But 1 must n't ap-
pear too well pleased. There 's somebody."

The roof of the shed formed a walk from the
upper story of the mill to the top of the bank.
Footsteps were heard on the boards overhead, and
presently a chubby-faced boy appeared beyond, de-
scending a path through the slushy snow.

"I 've come to look at your mill," said Boy Num-
ber One, carelessly.

"Wall, ye can look — don't cost nothin'," said
Boy Number Two, with a grin.

" It 's a dilapidated old shell," remarked Num-
ber One.

" Wall, kind o'," said Number Two," though she
aint so old as she looks. She never had no coat
of paint; that 's what 's the matter."

" 1 should think so," said Number One. " Is the
water-power good for anything ? "

" Good for anything ! " echoed Number Two, as
he went and stood by Number One, and watched
the current rushing by the undershot wheel.
" There 's power enough."

" Why is n't somebody using it, then ? "

" Well, we might ; tide is going out strong now,"

" You arc dependent on the tide, are you?"

"Of course," said Number Two. " Don't you
know ? It 's a tide-mill."

" 1 'm not much acquainted with tide-mills,"
Number One replied. " Explain it to me."

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

(NOVBMBBK,

' ' This is the Tammoset River, " said Number Two,
" though some folks call it the Uempford River. It
runs between two towns. This is Tammoset on
this side, and that is Dempford over there."

" And what 's the name of the lake ? "

" That 's got more names than a poor man has
shirts," grinned Boy Number Two. " Some folks
call it Tammoset Lake, and some Dempford Lake ;
but 'most generally they say jest the lake, or the
pond."

" Do you mean to say that the tide flows all the
way up here, from the harbor ? "

" Course I do ! Why not? It's only about seven
miles, and there 's scarce any fall to the water."

" Is the water of the lake salt or fresh ? " asked
the strange boy.

" Fresh, of course," the Tammoset boy replied.
" No salt water ever gits up as fur as here, without
't is in a very dry time. They do say the water in
the bottom of the pond is a leetle mite brackish ;
though I don't know how anybody knows."

" 1 see," remarked the visitor, who was not
quite so ignorant as he had been willing to appear.
" When the tide comes in, it forces back the flow
of fresh water ; but it turns again before it gets up
as far as here. Salt water being heavier than fresh,
any that gets into the lake would stay at the
bottom."

While they were talking, there came a sudden
rush of water under the wheel, which began to
move, slowly at first, then with a brisk rush of the
revolving paddles.

"There she goes!" said the Tammoset boy.
" I told you 't was about time for her to begin to
hum. Do you want to see Father ? "

"Is Mr. Dushee your father? "

" Yes, and he owns the mill ; and he wants to
sell it. Do you know of anybody who wants to
buy?"

The Tammoset boy spoke so eagerly that the
boy who really wanted to buy thought it best to
appear more indifferent than ever.

" I 'd like to see him by and by. Why does he
want to sell ? "

" Oh, I d'n' know ! Tired on 't, I s'pose. Wants
to git into some other kind o' business, where he
wont have to work so hard."

" That 's natural," said the visitor. " Show me
how you take advantage of the tide."

The boy who belonged to the place led the way
to a platform over the end of the dam, and pointed
out a broad opening in it, stopped by movable
boards, over which the water poured.

" Them 's the flash-boards," he explained.
" When the tide runs up they float, and let it go up
into the pond. Those ropes keep 'em from float-
ing away. After the tide turns, and we want the

power, all we 've got to do is to put down the
flash-boards. Soon 's the water has fell away a
leetle from the lower side, we 've got about as
smart a water-power, till tide comes up again, as
ever ye need to have, for a small, perty business,
ye know. Two tides a day, understand."

"Only, one of them 's apt to be in the night,"
replied the visitor, with a laugh. "Do you own
any land on the other side ? "

" No need of that," said the mill-boy. " Father
jest bought the right of the owner to build his
dam and keep it there ninety-nine years. I don't
know why they did n't say a hundred, while they
was about it."

" Ninety-nine seems long enough for all practi-
cal purposes," said the visitor, hardly able to con-
ceal his delight at the general aspect of things.
"What 's the price of the old trap, anyway?"

" I don't know what the price is ; but Father says
he means to sell for what he can git," said young
Dushee, innocently.

" Oh, does he ?" thought the visitor, with secret
glee — not that he was at all anxious to obtain the
property for less than it was worth, but that, hav-
ing already set his heart on it, he earnestly hoped
that the price would come within the means at his
command.

Chapter II.

THE OWNER OF THE MILL.

A LARGE-FACED, sandy-complexioned man was
at work before a lathe when the two boys entered
the shop. He was turning what promised to be a
croquet-ball, making the fine chips fly, and the
round, ragged-looking block hum.

As the mill-boy had just such another flabby-
cheeked, sandy countenance, laid out on a smaller
scale, the visitor did not need to be told that he
was in the presence of the elder Dushee.

He watched the operation of turning with lively
interest, while the son spoke to his father, and
tried to attract his attention. But the elder Dushee,
having noticed by a glance that it was only another
boy who had come in with his boy, kept steadily
at his work, with no more expression in the exten-
sive features than if they had been composed of
the sand they so much resembled.

After a while he paused in his cutting to apply
the curved arms of a measure to his revolving
ball. Then the son tried again.

" Here 's somebody to look at the mill. Guess
he wants to buy ! "

Instantly a gleam of sunshine lighted up the
Sahara-like countenance — a smile, in other words
— which was turned hospitably on the youthful
stranger.

iSSi.]

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

" Come to look at the mill, have ye ? " Scanning
him closely, and seeing what a mere boy he was,
the man added: "But I don't s'pose ymt want to
buy?"

" No, I don't," said the visitor.

The sunshine faded from the desert.

" But I know parties who may wish to purchase,"
he continued, "and I have come to examine and
report. "

"Oh! all right." The sandy waste lighted up
again. "I '11 show you what we 've got here."

" Don't leave your work," said the visitor.

' ' That can wait, i happened to get hold of
some good apple-tree wood, and 1 thought I would
turn a few croquet sets," Mr. Dushee explained.
" Who are the parties you speak of? "

" Well, my brothers and myself. There are five
of us altogether. I am the third. Our name is
Tinkham."

"The Tinkham boys! 1 have heard of the
Tinkham boys ! " Mr. Dushee exclaimed. " And,
by George ! I owe 'em a grudge, too ! "

" 1 am sorry for that," replied young Tinkham,
modestly.

" Yes, sir," said Mr. Dushee, good-naturedly,
notwithstanding his grudge. " I w£is making a
very nice doll's carriage for Mellen & Company ;
they sold all I could turn out. But all to once
they said : ' Mr. Dushee, we can't take any more
of them carriages at that price.' 'What 's up?'
says I. Says they, ' We have to retail your car-
riage at three dollars ; but here 's some, jest about
as good, — better, too, in some respects, — that we
can sell for two.' 'Whose carriages be them?'
says 1, and 1 '11 own that they was mighty cute
little things ! By two or three ingenious tricks,
the inventors had managed to make a cheaper
article than mine, while it was quite as perty,—
mebby pertier, — and nigh-about as strong."

The visitor smiled quietly, while Mr. Dushee
went on.

" 'Whose make be them?' says I. ' The Tink-
ham boys',' says they. ' Who 's the Tinkham
boys ? ' says I. ' The Widder Tinkham's,' says they.
'That 's about all we know of 'em — only that
they 've got long heads on their shoulders, and can
make dolls' carriages cheaper 'n you can.' 'Very
well,' says 1; 'let 'em make 'em!' But I tell
ye I was mad ! "

" That little carriage was my brother Luther's
notion," said the Tinkham boy present. " He 's
only nineteen, but he 's full of ideas, and can do
almost anything he sets out to. He did n't set out to
undersell you, Mr. Dushee, or to injure your busi-
ness; but he saw there might be improvements
made in dolls' carriages, and it appears that he
succeeded in making them."

" Oh, that 's all right ! " Mr. Dushee s?id.
" Where 's your shop?"

" We have n't any shop of our own," the Tink-
ham boy answered, frankly, " and we are looking
about for one. That is, I saw your advertisement,
and thought perhaps your tide-mill would suit our
purpose."

"Should n't wonder if it would!" said the
proprietor, gleefully ; " should n't wonder a mite !
Where have you done your work ? "

" At home, and in our Uncle Dave Darrill's
saw-mill. My older brothers, Luther and Martin,
began to make things for their own amusement
while they were going to school. Then, when
Father died, and they had to go to work, they
thought they would put some of their toys and
knickknacks on the market. A few sold pretty
well, and that encouraged them to invent more.
They have made a good many of their own tools,
and contrived the machinery they have put up in
Uncle's mill. I am not much of an inventor, my-
self," the Tinkham boy went on, "but I am a
tolerably good workman, and I believe I 've a head
for business."

"I should think you had !" said Mr. Dushee,
with increasing good humor.

"I don't want to be separated from my brothers ;
I want to keep the family together," the represent-
ative of the Tinkhams went on, with a swell of
emotion in his tones. " I have two younger broth-
ers, still at school, and one sister. My mother fell
and broke her knee on a bad place in the side-
walk, just after Father died, and she is a cripple.
We want to keep her with us."

"A good idee! a good idee!" Mr. Dushee ex-
claimed, the sunshine of his smile expanding until
it seemed to spread all over the continent of his
person, and put him into a universal glow.

"The time has come when the boys ought to
have a shop of their own, with a little elbow-room
and water-power. I want to keep with them, and
learn to be the business man of the concern. Then
our younger brothers can work into it. That 's
my plan, and that 's why I have come "

Suddenly, seeming to recollect himself, the vis-
itor hesitated. He had set out to be very diplo-
matic, and here he was telling the honest truth and
exposing his secret motives without any caution
whatever. Indeed, it was not in Rush Tinkham's
frank and impulsive nature to use much reserve
and finesse, however needful he might think them
in advancing his personal interests; but he in-
stinctively broke through them, and stood on the
solid and enduring ground of sincerity.

"You 've come to jest the right place," Mr.
Dushee made haste to assure him. " This is jest
the mill you want ! " showing his visitor about the

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

[November,

little factory. " Everything in perfect repair, shab-
by as things look. Good water-power, good ma-
chinery, plenty of room. Come upstairs."

Rush Tinkham felt sure that his brothers would
be delighted with what he saw But he said dis-
creetly :

" 1 should n't wonder if it would suit us. Now,
about the price. Put your figures right down to
the lowest point ; then, if we can reach up to
them, I '11 try to have my brothers come out and
see the property."

"You ought to buy the whole place," said the
owner ; " good house, an acre of land, garden, and
stable."

"I should like that, if we can- afford it," said
Rush; thinking, " We '11 keep a horse, and give
Mother such nice rides ! "

Mr. Dushee then showed him the house and
grounds, the boy's keen eyes taking in everything,
while he often said to himself: " Mother will like
this ; wont Mother take comfort in that ! " for,
though simple and plain, everything was spacious
and comfortable, compared with the narrow quar-
ters which the family occupied in the city.

" Nice place, aint it? " said the proprietor, with
his most expansive smile, as they returned to the
mill.

" I like it," Rush replied, frankly ; " and I am
surprised that you should want to part with it."

" I don't want to," said Mr. Dushee. " But, if I
sell the mill, I don't care to keep the house. And
I want to sell the mill because the Tinkham boys
cut under me, and make dolls' carriages cheaper 'n
I can."

He laughed. Rush laughed too, and said :

" There 's no other reason ? "

" That 's the principal reason. My ways are
ruther old-fashioned, and 1 can't get out of the
ruts ; I can't compete with younger men with their
modern improvements."

"Your water-power is all right ? " Rush inquired.

The owner grinned. Young Dushee also grinned,
with a curious expression, as he stood and listened
to the conversation and watched his father's face.

" It ought to be ; I 've used it nigh on to fifteen
year. I 've never seen the time," the elder Du-
shee added, " when I could n't depend on eight
hours, in every twelve, of good running power.
Each tide is about two hours coming up. In about
two hours more it will be running down fast enough
for the wheel. Then we have eight hours, as 1
say, before the water sets back again. In the
driest time, when fresh water fails and a good
many mills have to stop, the tide keeps up the
supply here."

"You 've a right to dam the stream?" said
Rush, looking out on the river from a window.

" A perfect right," the elder Dushee declared,
rather earnestly, while the younger watched his
face with the same curious grin which Rush would
have done well to observe. " It don't injure no-
body. It keeps the level of the lake stiddier 'n
it would be without it, and that 's ruther an ad-
vantage to land-owners than otherwise."

" I should think it might be in the way of boats,"
Rush suggested.

There was a sort of sunset flush on the sandy
desert of a face, as the proprietor answered stoutly :

"Whether 't is or not, it has been there, as I
said, nigh on to fifteen year ; and it has a perfect
right to be there, for this aint a navigable stream."

They then talked of terms ; and Mr. Dushee,
after much hesitation, named a price for the whole
place, and also a separate price for the mill.

" If everything is as you say, and as it looks to
be," said Rush, " I '11 have my brothers, and per-
haps my uncle, come and talk with you. "

"It 's jest as I say, and jest as it looks," Mr.
Dushee assured him. Then, as Rush started to
go, he said : " Wait till we tackle up, and my boy
shall carry you over to the depot. Dick, run and
be backing out the buggy."

Rush Tinkham took a last survey of the mill,
the river, and the pleasant grounds, while father
and son were " tackling up," and the father gave
the son this parting counsel :

" Watch the clock on the steeple, and keep
driving till jest a minute or {wo afore train-time,
so he wont have no chance to talk with anybody
else about the mill. And be sure you don't let on
anything about "

Here he lowered his voice, for the horse was
harnessed, and Rush was coming to get into the
buggy.

Returning along the hill-side toward the lake.
Rush, from the high buggy-seat, observed an
object which had hardly attracted his attention
when he passed within sight of it on foot. It was an
odd-looking, half-finished structure, partly hidden
by trees on the shore.

" What are they building over there? " he asked
of Dick Dushee.

Now, as this was a dangerously near approach to
the subject which he had been warned by his father
not to "let on anything about," Dick Dushee, I
regret to say, prevaricated.

" Oh, I d'n' know," he replied. " Some sort of
a summer-house, I believe."

"An odd-locking summer-house," was Rush
Tinkham's comment, "and an ugly object to be
set there, on the lake-shore ! "

Dick Dushee looked straight before his nose at
the horse's tail, and made no reply.

They rode on, and, with his mind full of other

i88a.]

THE TINKHAM B RO T H E R S T I D K - M I LL.

things, Rush thought no more of the odd-looking
" summer-house," destined though it was to be
the source of unnumbered woes to the future own-
ers of the tide-mill.

Chapter III.

THE TINKHAM FAMILY.

Rush Tinkham went home that evening full
of enthusiasm for the purchase of the Dushee
property.

" It seems as though the place had been made
on purpose for us," he said, drawing his chair up
to the table, where the family were already at
supper. " VVe must have it ! We will have it ! "

" Even if we have to steal it," suggested Martin,
the oldest son, whose habit it was to grow cool as
the juniors grew warm on any subject.

He had a dry way with him, and a serious drawl,
which, together with a trick of drawing down one
side of his homely mouth, gave a droll effect to his
little sarcasms.

"You would say steal it, or anything, to have
it, if you should pay it a visit," said Rush. " Oh !
the nice water-power, the iron lathe and the wood
lathe, the steam-box, the forge, the jig-saws, and
things — it would do your heart good, Mart, to see
'em ! "

" I rather think it would make my heart ache to
see what I could n't have," Mart replied.

" Rush has got tide-mill on the brain," remarked
Luther, the second son, a near-sighted youth in
glasses, which gave a singularly old look to his
face of nineteen. He stammered a little. " F-f-
funny ! Rush can't invent anything, and yet he 's
the one who is so anxious for us to have a f-f-f-
factory of our own."

"You are just as anxious as he is," spoke up
Letty, the sister, a bright girl in her sixteenth year;
"but you are not half so enterprising."

" Come, children," said the mild mother, in her
cripple's chair, which had been drawn up to the
table, "postpone your disputes, and hear what
Rocket has to say."

" Rocket " was the playful family name for Rush ;
though I am not sure that any one could have told
how he ever came by it. Perhaps it was on account
of an eager, impetuous way he had of starting up
and darting off on new enterprises — a trait which
had been more noticeable in him two or three
years before than now.

Or it may have been suggested by his real name.
Since a rocket goes with a rush, why should not
" Rush " give rise to " Rocket" ?

Each of the children had some such nickname,
and it was a beautiful trait of the mother that,

despite her years, her widowhood, and her crippled
limb, she entered into all innocent sportiveness of
this sort with as much spirit as any of them.

" The tide-mill is my idea, and, for that rea-
son, Mart and Lute oppose it," said Rush. " But •
they '11 come 'round. It 's just the place for you.
Mother ; and for you, Letty! Such a great willow-
tree as there is, with seats in it, almost over the
water, and a foot-plank running to them from the
bank ! A pair of blue-birds came while I was there,
and told me how pleasant it was in summer."

"Oh ! " exclaimed Letty, sharing his enthusiasm.
" You make me want to fly to get there ! I 'm
longing for trees and water ! "

"And, of course, we shall keep a boat and a
horse ; and. Mother, you shall have the loveliest
rides on the lake and the fine Tammoset roads ! "
Rush rattled on. "And a garden for flowers and
vegetables — thinkof that! And pigs and chickens,
boys ! " addressing the two youngest, at the end of
the table.

"I go in for the pigs and chickens !" cried
Rupert, aged fourteen.

" Let 's move to-morrow ! " exclaimed Rodman,
aged twelve.

" But you have n't told us the price of all these
fine things," said the mother, with a smile.

" Yes, Rocket," added Martin, who was far more
interested than he appeared. " Now for the cold
water."

"The asking price is four thousand dollars.
But I 've no doubt we can buy it for three, for
Dushee is awfully anxious to sell. That includes
everything ; and there is an acre of land. By the
way, boys, there 's a good joke ! "

And, to explain Dushec's motive for selling.
Rush told the story of the dolls' carriages which
Luther's had driven out of the market.

That pleased Luther, and brought him over to
Rush's side.

"Now, I 've something to tell you," he said.
" Mart to-day received a p-p-proposal to make
all the wood-work of Cole & Company's fire-
works. To do that, we shall need our own shop."

"Oh, now! if everything is n't made a-pur-
pose ! " said Rush. " Dushee said he must have
half down in cash, say fifteen hundred. You 've
got twelve hundred. Mother ; and I 'm sure we
can raise the rest somehow, with enough to move
and start with."

The widow smiled, but with something like a
look of pain.

"My poor little twelve hundred dollars!" she
said ; "all I have in the world ! "

"Except your children. Mother," said Letty,
with a high, proud look. "See those five stal-
wart boys ! "

LITTLK KATE S DIARY.

[November,

"And my dear, darling daughter!" said the
mother, with starting tears. " I know better than
anybody else what you all are to me. 1 am rich
in your love and help. But I must look out care-
fully for my twelve hundred dollars, just the same.
I can't — I can't risk that ! "

" Where 's the risk?" Rush asked. " I tell you
this is a big thing that has been kept waiting for
us. We 're bound to succeed, and build up a
business, and make such a home for you. Mother,
as you never could have unless we launched out a
little."

"Well, well! we '11 see," said Mrs. Tinkham,
quickly brushing away a tear, and smiling reso-
lutely. " We shall do nothing rashly."

" Of course," replied Rush. " 1 want Lute
and Mart and Uncle Dave to go and see the place,
examine it thoroughly, and make sure that every-
thing about it is all right ; and then buy it only
if they think it 's best."

There was much more talk on the exciting topic,
the result of which was that the two oldest boys
and their uncle visited the Dushee place two days
later, and got the refusal of it for thirty-six hun-

dred dollars — sixteen hundred to be paid in cash,
the remainder to be secured by mortgage.

The uncle advised the purchase, and Mart and
Lute were now as eager as Rush himself to get
possession of the old tide-mill and the river-side
home. They had not noticed the odd-looking
" summer-house" on the lake-shore.

The boys had two hundred dollars of their own,
and their uncle, who knew them well and believed
in them, offered to lend them five hundred more.
After that the mother could no longer withhold
her consent.

To make every step secure, a lawyer examined
the title to the property, and, that being found
satisfactory, the bargain was finally closed, to the
great joy of Rush and his brothers, and equally
to the satisfaction of Mr. Dushee.

" They 're young and plucky; they can fight it
better 'n I can," he remarked, with a big sigh of
relief, when he told Dick that he had at last got
the " plaguy thing" off his hands. " Now let 'em
find out!"

Thus, the tide-mill became the property of the
Tinkham boys, and began its exciting adventures.

{To be continued.)

LITTLE KATE'S DIARY.

By Mrs. M. F. Butts.

Little Kate Andrews had long wished to keep
a diary. Her elegant Cousin Maud, from the city,
who wore trails and frizzes, and carried a wonder-
ful painted fan and a white parasol trimmed with
lace, kept a diary. She used to sit at her table
and write, after everybody else was in bed. Some-
times Kate slept with her, and she would wake up
after her first long nap, and watch Maud as she
wrote. Kate thought she looked very interesting
in her long white wrapper, her black hair hanging
over her shoulders, and her head supported upon
her hand. To sit up in that way and write in a
diary was the little girl's highest ambition.

So, when Maud asked Kate what she should buy
for her after she went back to the city, the child
answered: "A diary, please; one just like yours."

The diary came all right, wrapped in buff paper,
and directed to "Miss Kate Andrews, care of
James Andrews, Esq."

Kate was delighted. She meant to sit up late
that very night. Mamma was going to a party, and
it would be easy to sit up till nine o'clock at least.

But, for fear something would happen, she
thought she would make one entry in her new
book in the afternoon. So she went to Papa's desk,
got pen, ink, and blotter, and sat down in the
desk-chair with her left hand supporting her head,
in imitation of Cousin Maud.

But what should she write ? Her little mind was
perfectly blank the moment she got the pen in
her hand. Brother Ned sat at the open window,
studying his grammar lesson.

"Ned, will you please tell me what folks put in
diaries mostly ? " she said.

" Events and feelings," said Ned, grandly.

Kate wrote across the upper part of the first page,
" Evenz and Fealings," when she came to another
stop.

" But, Ned, what is events? " she asked, after a
minute.

"Eating your dinner is an event," said Ned.
"And sometimes they put good resolutions into
their diaries. And they write down the bad things
they have done."

iSSa.]

I KNOW I HAVE LOST MY TRAIN.

Kate became very quiet.

" If eating dinner is an event," she thought, "it
is n't interesting enough to put in a diary. I think
Cousin Maud wrote about the friends who came to
see her, and the books she read. But I should n't
'spose folks would want to write it down when they
don't do as they ought to. I want my diary to be
nice reading."

So, under June i, 1881, she wrote:

" There is no evenz worth writing down. When
I get time, I shall make up some. About my feal-
ings, I have n't much of. any."

In the evening, after Mamma went to the party,
Kate carried the pen and ink to the nursery.
Nurse, thinking she had gone to bed, sat in the
kitchen gossiping with the cook. The little girl
established herself at the table and began to write :

"To-day, a man came and pade me the rent.
It was a million dollars. I gave some to a minis-
ter to build a meeting-hous and make a chine of
bells. 1 bought a white saton dress, with an awful
long trane. A member of Congress carried my
trane. The President gave me a bokay of roses.

My fealings were happy, 'speshly when I gave my
white saton dress to a poor woman with 10 chil-
dren, and bought me a pink one with pink roses
embrordered onto it."

Under another date, she wrote :

" I wore a reeth of white roses to-day, maid of
purls. A beggir child came, and I took a rose out
of the reeth and gave it to her. The Prince
smiled at me, and called me an angil.

" I sat under a tree and read a thick book in an
hour. Reading is nice."

It took Kate a long time to write all this. When
she had finished, she said : " There, that 's what I
call events ! "

While she was trying to read over her " Evenz
and Fealings," she fell fast asleep, dropping her
pen and making a big blot on the page. There
Mamma and Papa found her, when they came home
from the party.

They had a hearty laugh over the poor little
book, and after that, whenever they spoke of a
stilted, unnatural person, they said: " He reminds
me of Kate's diary."

^ -Tny-lrain--^ ^i

^^aid-aman-namd.' •

f>ut-]:l]'wn- on-the-rails
l^intli ,'-my -coat"- (•ails- for- sails -If
JM -may -be -lil-catcli -i^a^aiii '

THE CAT AND THE MOUSE.

[November,

THE CAT AND THE MOUSE.
By Palmer Cox.

1 883.]

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.
By Noah Brooks.

Before the time of President Abraham Lincoln,
there had been very few children living in the White
House. Mr. Buchanan, who immediately preceded
Lincoln, was unmarried. Mr. Pierce, who came next
before Buchanan, was childless, his only son hav-
ing been killed by a sorrowful accident just before
the newly elected President moved into the house
where he had anticipated taking his much-beloved
boy. And so, for many years, no President had
brought into the White House the mirth and
laughter of childhood. People who visited the
home of the President, in Washington, used often
to remark on the absence of children ; and 1 dare
say that many a mother, as she wandered through
the stately apartments of that celebrated house,
thought to herself that she would not like to live in
the midst of its grandeur if she had to give up the
companionship of her dear boys and girls. Per-
haps it was because of this absence of children
that everybody used to say that the White House
did not seem like a home, but rather a place to
"stay" at for a time.

This was all changed when Lincoln and his
family came to Washington, in March, i86i. At
that time three boys were the only children of
the good Lincoln. Robert, the eldest, now Secre-
tary of War for the United States, was then not
quite eighteen years old. Willie, the next eld-
est, was a little more than ten years of age ; and
Thomas, better known as "Tad," was eight years
old, having been born April 4, 1853. His next
Ijirthday was probably the first boy's birthday ever
celebrated in the White House.

When these three boys, of eighteen, ten, and
eight years respectively, came to the White House,
it may be imagined that they speedily changed the
cispect of things in the quiet and dignified old
mansion. They were happy, hearty boys, brought
up to spend much of their time in out-door sports
and boyish exercise. Visitors to the White House
soon noticed a change from the dull, uniform quiet
that had prevailed during the administration of
Mr. Buchanan, whose stately and old-bachelor
ways were very different from those of the home-
loving family that had succeeded the solitary old
man. Bats, tops, kites, and other playthings were
oftentimes to be seen scattered about in the grand
halls of the mansion. The shouts and clatter of two
youngsters were heard resounding through the fine
old corridors, and visitors who well knew the place
would smile and nudge each other when they

picked up, as they sometimes did, a trifle which
indicated that a very-much-alive boy had been scur-
rying through the state apartments, on a short cut
across the house.

Robert, however, did not long remain in the
White House. He had entered Phillips Academy,
Exeter, N. H., in July, 1859, and had been admitted
to Harvard during the following year. Going home
in February, 186 1, for the first time since his
original departure, he accompanied his father to
Washington, and so was present at the inauguration.
But he soon rejoined his class, and Tad and Willie
were the two boys of the White House. As a
pleasant souvenir of those days, I give the readers
of St. Nicholas a copy of a portrait of Robert,
taken soon after the arrival of the family in
Washington. In February, 1862, the shadow
of a great grief came down upon the cheery fam-
ily in the White House. Willie, the studious and
lovable boy, the joy and comfort of his mother and
father, died suddenly, after a short illness. By this
time, the War of the Rebellion had waxed fierce
and deadly. In almost every house there was
mourning and lamentation for the dead, alarm and
anxiety for the absent. The good President was
sorely distressed with many cares and troubles. He
was continually thinking, with a heavy heart, of the
sorrows of others, whose beloved sons, brothers,
and friends had fallen on the field of battle. Yet
he knew that more must fall before the war could
be ended and peace return. And, in the midst of
these heavy griefs that weighed down the heart
of the noble Lincoln, came the death of his bright-
eyed and affectionate little son. It was less than a
year after the three boys had come to the White
House that Willie's pale form was laid, with many
tears, in the house appointed for all mankind.

We shall never know how deep was the sorrow
of Lincoln, the tender-hearted father, when this
new and unlooked-for blow fell upon him. He was
not a man to talk much of what was deepest in his
mind. Although he was pleasant and bright in his
conversation with friends, he kept locked up in
his heart many of the thoughts which men of a
different nature would have put into words. But
some of us know that, in the long nights when
Lincoln sat alone in his chamber, oppressed with
unspeakable anxieties for the whole country, and
waiting to hear news from the struggling army of
the Union, the darkness of his own personal grief
came over him to deepen his loneliness and gloom.

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

[November,

Once, while Lincoln was passing several days at
Fortress Monroe, waiting for certain military move-
ments, he employed his leisure in reading Shake-
speare. While thus engaged one day, looking
through into an adjoining apartment, where was
seated Colonel Cannon, of General Wool's staff, he
called to him, as if longing for fellowship in his
thoughts, and asked him to listen while he read
from the book. He then recited a few passages
from "Hamlet" and from "Macbeth." Then,
turning to " King John," he read the passage in
which Constance bewails the loss of her boy.
Closing the book and recalling the words, Lincoln
asked Colonel Cannon if he had ever dreamed of
being with one whom he had lost in death, only to
wake and find the vision fled.

"Just so," he said, " I dream of my boy WiOie."
The loving father bowed his head and wept as he
recalled the words of Constance :

" And, Father Cardinal, I have heard you say
That we shall see and know our friends in Heaven :
If that be true, I shall see my boy again."

It was this bereavement, I think, that made Mr.
Lincoln and his wife very tender and indulgent
toward their youngest boy. It seemed almost
impossible for father or mother to be stern to this
boisterous and irrepressible youngster. Besides
this, he had many qualities that endeared him to
those who knew him, and there were circumstances
that made almost everybody very kindly disposed
toward him. If there was ever a boy in danger of
being "spoiled," this youngest son of the President
was that lad. Much of the time it was impossible
that he should not be left to run at large. He was
foolishly caressed and petted by people who wanted
favors of his father, and who took this way of
making a friend in the family, as they thought ;
and he was living in the midst of a most exciting
epoch in the country's history, when a boy in the
White House was in a strange and somewhat un-
natural atmosphere. But I am bound to say that
Tad, although he doubtless had his wits sharp-
ened by being in such strange surroundings, was
never anything else, while I knew him, but a bois-
terous, rollicking, and absolutely real boy. He
was not " old for his years," as we sometimes say
of precocious children, nor was he burdened with
care before his time. He was a big-hearted and
fresh-faced youngster, and when he went away
from the White House, after his father's tragic end,
he carried with him, from the midst of sorrows
and associations that are now historic, the same
boyish frankness and simplicity that he took into it.

The boy was named Thomas after his grand-
father, the father of the great President. An
unfortunate difficulty in his speech prevented him

from speaking plainly, and strangers could hardly
understand what he said. The nearest he could
come to saying his own name, when quite a little
fellow, was "Tad," and the name clung to him
for many a year. In the family he was usually
known as "Taddie," but even this nickname was
shortened, and those who were fortunate enough
to be near the President during his term of gov-
ernment will never forget " Tad," the tricksy sprite
of the White House.

In those days, it was the custom of people who
objected to the prosecution of the war to speak of
Lincoln as "a tyrant." This seems silly enough
now, when all the commotion and bitterness of
the war have passed away ; but even then, to
those who knew the mild-mannered and tender-
hearted President, the word had no meaning. One
day, going to the White House, I met a very eminent
public man, who, with a queer look, said, " I have
just had an inter\dew with the tyrant of the White
House." Then, noticing my surprise, he added —
"Tad," and went away laughing at his little joke.
If there was any tyrant in that house during Lin-
coln's administration, his name was Tad. The boy
certainly did rule everybody who came within his
power. Without being domineering or unpleasant
with his imperiousness, he had a fashion of issuing
orders that brooked no delay, no refusal. He over-
ran the White House and the grounds. It was
seldom that he had playmates ; but, to hear the
noise that Tad contrived to make, one would sup-
pose that there were at least six boys wherever he
happened to be. The day was passed in a series
of enterprises, panics, and commotions. Tad in-
vaded every part of the great establishment, and
he was an uncommonly knowing person who could
tell where the agile lad was likely next to appear,
at any hour of the day. Now his whoop would be
heard as he galloped his pony to the stable-door,
and anon he would be expostulating with his dog-
team, as he trained them on the lawn by the side
of the house next the Potomac. A party of ladies
(said to be from Boston) were one day almost
frozen with horror as they were reverentially stalk-
ing about the famous East Room. There was an
outburst and a clatter at the most distant end of
the corridor leading to the family apartments, a
cry of "Get out of the way, there!" and Tad,
driving a tandem team of goats harnessed to a
chair, careered into the state apartment, once
around, and then out to the front of the house.

One of his admiring friends gave him a box of
tools. This was, for a few days, a mine of pleasure
to Tad. There was nothing within his reach that
was not sawed, bored, chiseled, or hacked with
some one of the tools of that collection. At first,
he proposed setting up a cabinet-shop for the man-

iSSi.l

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

ufacturc of furniture for the hospitals. Then the
repairing of a wagon engaged his attention ; but
when he began to tr)' experiments with the old-
fashioned mahogany chairs in the East Room, the
box of tools mysteriously disappeared.

Of course, Tad knew no law, no restraint, that
should bar any part of the house against him. So
it sometimes happened that, while the President
and his Cabinet were anxiously discussing affairs of
state, and were in the midst of questions of great
moment. Tad would burst into the room, bubbling
with excitement, and insist that his complaint or
request should be attended to at once. Sometimes
it was the woes of some ill-clad petitioner, repulsed
by the ushers, that aroused his childish wrath.
At other times he would insist on being allowed to
drag before the President of the United States a
particularly youthful suitor, whose tale he had
heard for himself, and who appeared in the pres-
ence with an air of mingled terror and amuse-
ment. There was a certain Cabinet officer whom
he did not like, and when he had burst into his
father's privacy, one morning, to find the objection-
able functionary there, Tad, unabashed, cried out,
" What are you here so early for? What do you
want?" It may be added that office-seekers gen-
erally he regarded with undisguised contempt.

While Mr. F. B. Carpenter, the artist, was at
work on his picture of Lincoln and his Cabinet, it
was found necessary to make some photographic
studies of the room in which the President and his
council were to be represented as assembled. In
his book, " Six Months at the White House," Mr.
Carpenter tells a characteristic story of Tad's op-
position to all attempts to infringe upon what he
considered to be his rights. While the photog-
raphers were at work, Mr. Carpenter took them
to a room which could be darkened for their pur-
poses, but of which Tad had lately taken posses-
sion and had fitted up as a miniature theater, with
drop-curtain, seats, orchestra, and benches.

Everything was going on well, when suddenly
there was an uproar.

Tad took great offense at the occupancy of his
room without his consent, and, turning everybody
out, locked the door. In his anger, the little fel-
low put all the blame on Mr. Carpenter, and abso-
lutely refused to allow the photographers even to
go into the room for their apparatus and chemicals,
there locked up. He pocketed the key, and went
to his father in high dudgeon.

Mr. Lincoln was sitting in his chair, one photo-
graph having been already taken. He mildly told
Tad to go and open the door.

Tad went off to his mother's room, muttering
and refusing to obey, Mr. Carpenter following and
vainly entreating him to open the door.

Presently Lincoln said, when Mr. Carpenter re-
turned, " Has not the boy opened the door?"

On being told that he had not, the patient
father, compressing his lips, strode off to the family
apartments, and soon returned with the key to the
theater, which he unlocked himself, saying:

" There, go ahead ; it 's all right now."

The President went back to his office, and, re-
suming his seat, said, as if in apology for Tad :

" Tad is a peculiar child. He was violently ex-
cited when I went to him. I said, ' Tad, do you
know you are making your father a great deal of
trouble?' He burst into tears, and instantly gave
me the key."

A friend of the Lincoln family once sent a fine
live turkey to the White House, with the request
that it should be served on the President's Christ-
mas table. But Christmas was then several weeks
off, and in the interim Tad won the confidence
and esteem of the turkey, as he did the affection of
every living thing with which he came in contact.
"Jack," as the fowl had been named, was an ob-
ject of great interest to Tad, who fed him, petted
him, and began to teach him to follow his young
master. One day, just before Christmas, 1863,
while the President was engaged with one of his
Cabinet ministers on an affair of great moment.
Tad burst into the room like a bomb-shell, sobbing
and crying with rage and indignation. The turkey
was about to be killed. Tad had procured from
the executioner a stay of proceedings while he flew
to lay the case before the President. Jack must
not be killed ; it was wicked.

" But," said the President, " Jack was sent here
to be killed and eaten for this very Christmas."

" I can't help it," roared Tad, between his sobs.
" He 's a good turkey, and I don't want him killed."

The President of the United States, pausing in
the midst of his business, took a card and wrote
on it an order of reprieve. The turkey's life was
spared, and Tad, seizing the precious bit of paper,
fled to set him at liberty. In course of time Jack
became very tame, and roamed at will about the
premises. He was a prime favorite with the sol-
diers — a company of Pennsylvania " Bucktails " —
who were on guard at the house. The tents of
these soldiers were at the bottom of the south
lawn, on the Potomac side of the house. In the
summer of 1864, the election for President being
then pending, a commission was sent on from
Pennsylvania to take the votes of the Pennsylvania
soldiers in Washington. While the " Bucktails "
were voting. Tad rushed into his father's room, the
windows of which looked out on the lawn, crying,
" Oh, the soldiers are voting for Lincoln for Presi-
ent ! " He dragged his father to the window and
insisted that he should see this remarkable thing.

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

[November,

The turkey, now grown tall and free-mannered,
stalked about among the soldiers, regarding the
proceedings with much interest.

" Does Jack vote ? " asked Lincoln, with a roguish
twinkle of his eye.

Tad paused for a moment, nonplussed at the
unexpected question ; then rallying, he replied,
"Why, no, of course not. He is n't of age yet."

Great was Tad's curiosity, in 1864, to know
what was meant by the President's proclamation for
a day of fasting and prayer. His inquiries were
not satisfactorily answered, but
from the servants he learned, ^ '"

to his great dismay, that there
would be nothing eaten in the
White House from sunrise to
sunset on Fast Day. The
boy, who was blessed with a
vigorous appetite, took meas-
ures to escape from the rigors
of the day. It happened that,
just before Fast Day came,
the family carriage was brought
out of its house to be cleaned
and put in order. Tad stood
by, with feelings of alarm, while
a general overhauling of the
vehicle went on, the coachman
dusting, rubbing, and pulling
things about, quite uncon-
scious of Tad's anxious watch
on the proceedings. Pretty
soon, drawing out a queer-
looking bundle from one of
the boxes under the seat, the
man brought to light a part
of a loaf of bread, some bits of
cold meat, and various other
fragments of food from the
larder. Tad, now ready to
burst with anger and disap-
pointment, cried, "Oh! oh!
give that up, I say ! That 's
my Fast Day picnic ! " The
poor lad, from dread of go-
ing hungry, had cautiously iuktkah
hidden, from day to day, a
portion of food against the day of fasting, and
had stood by while his hoard was in danger
hoping that it might escape the eyes of the serv
ants. He was consoled by a promise from his
mother, to whom he ran with his tale of woe, that
he should not suffer hunger on Fast Day, even
though his father, the President, had proclaimed a
day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer for all the
people.

Mingled with his boyish simplicity, Tad had a

great deal of native shrewdness. The White
House was infested with a numerous horde of
office-seekers. From day to day these men crowded
the corridors leading to the President's office.
Sometimes they were so numerous as to line the
halls all the way down the stairs. It was not long
before Tad found out what this assemblage meant,
and it then became one of his greatest diversions,
when other resources failed, to go around among
the office-seekers and sympathetically inquire what
tliey wanted, how long they had waited, and how

[)1 SLCKiilrtKV LINCOLN AL THE At.E UF SEVENTEEN.

much longer they proposed to wait. To some he
gave good advice, telling them to go home and
chop wood for a living. Others he tried to dis-
miss by volunteering to speak to his father in their
behalf, if they would promise not to come again.
Many of these people were at the White House for
weeks and even months, never missing a day,
unless they learned that the President was out of
town, or otherwise absent from the house.

Tad levied tribute on the men whose faces he

i88a.]

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

had learned to know. Once he mounted guard at
the foot of the staircase and compelled every pas-
senger to pay an admission fee of five cents, — " for
the benefit of the Sanitary Fund," as he explained.
Most of the visitors took it in good part, and some
of the fawning creatures, glad of an opportunity to
earn the good-will of the little fellow, paid their
way with a " stamp" of some considerable value.
This venture was so successful that Tad resolved
on having one of the Sanitary Commission fairs
then so much in vogue all over the country. He
placed a table in the grand corridor, or entrance
hall, of the White House, stocked it with a few
broken toys, some purchases of fruit, sundry arti-
cles of food begged from the familj- pantry, and
a lot of miscellaneous odds and ends contributed
by admiring friends. Before night, the sanitary
fair of the White House was closed out. No man
who looked as if he had money in his pocket was
permitted to pass into the House that day without
first buying something of Master Lincoln's stock
in trade.

His success in this venture emboldened him
soon afterward to branch out in a larger specula-
tion. Having saved up quite a sum of pocket-
money, he bought out the entire stock of an old
woman who sold apples and gingerbread near the
Treasury building. A pair of trestles and a board,
extorted from the carpenters employed on the
building, gave the young merchant his counter,
and he set up his shop in the grand, historic por-
tico of the White House, much to the horror of
some of the eminently respectable people who passed
by and beheld this most undignified proceeding.
Before noon, almost every office-seeker who entered
had bought a luncheon, under compulsion, from
the alert young shop-keeper, who drove a brisk
trade as long as his goods lasted. When Tad had
sold out all he had to sell, a goodly lot of the frac-
tional currency of those times was stuffed into his
pockets, his hat, and his little fist. He was " the
President's son," and that was enough for the flat-
terers, who were glad to buy of him. But Tad was
too generous and open-handed to be long a gainer
by any such operations. Before night, capital and
profits had been squandered, and the little specu-
lator went penniless to bed.

Everything that Tad did was done with a certain
rush and rude strength which were peculiar to him.
I was once sitting with the President in the library,
when Tad tore into the room in search of some-
thing, and, having found it, he threw himself on
his father like a small thunderbolt, gave him one
wild, fierce hug, and, without a word, fled from the
room before his father could put out his hand to
detain him. With all his boyish roughness. Tad
had a warm heart and a tender conscience. He

abhorred falsehood as he did books and study.
Tutors came and went, like changes of the moon.
None staid long enough to learn much about the
boy ; but he knew them before they had been one
day in the house. "Let him run," his father
would say; "there 's time enough yet for him to
learn his letters and get poky. Bob was just such
a little rascal, and now he is a very decent boy."

It was curious, however, to see how Tad com-
prehended many practical realities that are far
beyond the grasp of most boys. Even when he
could scarcely read, he knew much about the
cost of things, the details of trade, the principles of
mechanics, and the habits of animals, all of which
showed the activity of his mind and the odd turn
of his thoughts. His father took great interest in
everything that concerned Tad, and, when the long
day's work was done, and the little chap had re-
lated to the President all that had moved him or
had taken up his attention during the daylight
hours, and had finally fallen asleep under a drowsy
cross-examination, the weary father would turn
once more to his desk, and work on into the night,
for his cares never ended. Then, shouldering the
sleeping child, the man for whom millions of good
men and women nightly prayed took his way
through silent corridors and passages to his boy's
bed-chamber.

One day. Tad, in search of amusement, loitered
into the office of the Secretary of War, and Mr.
Stanton, for the fun of the thing, commissioned
him a lieutenant of United States Volunteers.
This elated the boy so much that he went off im-
mediately and ordered a quantity of muskets sent
to the White House, and then he organized and
drilled the house-servants and gardeners, and, with-
out attracting anybody's attention, he actually dis-
charged the regular sentries about the premises
and ordered his unwilling recruits on duty as
guards.

Robert Lincoln soon discovered what had been
done, and as he thought it a grqat hardship that
men who had been at work all day should be
obliged to keep watch during the night to gratify
a boyish freak, he remonstrated. But Tad would
listen to nothing from his elder brother, and
Robert appealed to his father, who only laughed
at the matter as a good joke. Tad soon tired,
however, of his self-imposed duties and went to
bed. The drafted men were quietly relieved from
duty, and there was no guard at the President's
mansion that night, much to Mr. Lincoln's relief.
He never approved of the precaution of mounting
guard at the White House. While Tad sported
his commission as lieutenant, he cut quite a mili-
tary figure. From some source he procured a
uniform suitable to his supposed rank, and thus

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

[November,

proudly attired, he had himself photographed, as
seen in the illustration on page 64.

It had been intended to celebrate Tad's tenth
birthday, April 4, 1863, by a visit to the Army
of the Potomac, then encamped on the banks of
the Rappahannock, opposite Fredericksburg. The
President, at the suggestion of Mrs. Lincoln, had
thought that it would cheer the soldiers to see the
familiar face of the chief magistrate among them
before their anticipated departure for the front.
But other business had intervened, and it was not
until the boy's birthday had actually arrived, and
with it a present of a fine pony, that we got away
from Washington. Our party consisted of Tad,
his father and mother, Mr. Edward Bates, the
Attorney-General of the United States, and two
friends of the family. Toward evening a violent
and unseasonable snow-storm came up, and the
little steamer that was taking us from Washing-
ton to Aquia Creek (the landing-place of the army)
was compelled to cast anchor for the night under
the lee of a headland of the Potomac. By that
time Tad had examined every nook and corner
of the steamer, and as the President's party were
the only passengers on board, he had full swing
during the trip. After we had anchored, Tad, re-
solved to employ advantageously every moment of
the time, rigged up a fishing-line and went val-
iantly to work, in the midst of the snow-storm, to
catch fish for supper. He promptly reported every
bite to his father or mother, and when he finally
rushed into their presence with a single very small
and very bony fish, a proud and happy boy was he.
But we actually did have a smoking platter of fish
for supper, much to the delight of Tad, who had
marked the three fish of his own catching by cut-
ting off their tails.

During the five days of our stay in the Army of
the Potomac, Tad was a most restless little chap.
At General Hooker's head-quarters there was a
bakery, a printing-office, a telegraph station, and
sundry other small establishments, all in shanties
or tents. We were quartered in large " hospital
tents," as they were called. By the end of the
first day. Tad had exhausted everything in sight,
and was ready to go home to his beloved pony.
But there were reviews and parades to come, and
for these the President must stay. Each day, be-
ginning with the second of our stay, was taken up
with a review. While these lasted Tad was happy.
A handsome young soldier was detailed to act as
escort to the boy, and a little gray horse consoled
him, for the time, for the absence of his own pony.

That long series of reviews in the Army of the
Potomac, just before the battle of Chancellorsville,
will never be forgotten by the participants. Over
hill and dale dashed the brilliant cavalcade of the

general-in-chief, surrounded by a company of offi-
cers in gay attire and sparkling with gold lace,
the party being escorted by the Philadelphia Lan-
cers, a showy troop of soldiers. In the midst, or
at the head, rose and fell, as the horses galloped
afar, the form of Lincoln, conspicuous by his height
and his tall black hat. And ever on the flanks of
the hurrying column flew, like a flag or banneret.
Tad's little gray riding- cloak. His short legs
stuck straight out from his saddle, and sometimes
there was danger that his steed, by a sudden turn
in the rough road, would throw him off like a bolt
from a catapult. But faithful Michael was always
ready to steady the lad, and, much to the amaze-
ment of everybody, the hard-riding and reckless
youngster turned up at head-quarters every night,
flushed with the excitement of the day, but safe
and sound.

The soldiers soon learned of Tad's presence in
the army, and wherever he went on horseback
he easily divided the honors with his father. I
can not begin to tell you how the men cheered
and shouted and waved their hats when they saw
the dear face and tall figure of the good President,
then the best-beloved man in the world; but to
these men of war, far away from home and children,
the sight of that fresh-faced and laughing boy
seemed an inspiration. They cheered like mad.
When told that he ought to doff his cap to the
soldiers who saluted him. Tad sturdily replied :
"Why, that 's the way General Hooker and Father
do; but I 'm only a boy."

When night came on, and there was nothing for
Tad to do but to hang around his father and mother,
he grew weary of the army, and longed for that
pony at home. Then he would begin to ask why
he could not go back. But it was in vain he re-
minded his father that the soldiers did not like vis-
itors, and in vain he told his mother that women
were not wanted in the army. Finally, his father,
to be rid of the boy's importunities, said: "Tad,
1 '11 make a bargain with you. If you will agree
not to say anything about going home until we
are ready to go, I will give you that dollar that
you want so badly." For Tad had needed, as
he thought, a whole dollar in cash. Being a truth-
ful story-teller, I must say that Tad did sometimes,
later during our stay, murmur at the long sojourn
in the army; but, while we were waiting for the
ambulances to take us to the station on our way
back to the steam-boat landing, Lincoln took out
a dollar note, saying, "Now, Taddie, my son, do
you think you have earned this?"

Tad hung his head and answered never a word ;
but the President handed him the note, saying:
"Well, my son, although I don't think you have
kept your part of the bargain, 1 will keep mine.

i883.]

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

and you can not reproach me with breaking faith,
anyway."

On the way from head-quarters to the station
there was an immense amount of cheering from the
soldiers, who, as usual, seemed wild with delight at
seeing the President. Occasionally we heard them
cry, " Three cheers for Mrs. Lincoln ! " and they
were given with a will. Then, again, the men
would cry, " Three cheers for the boy ! " This
salute Tad acknowledged, under instructions from
his mother, and entirely unabashed by so much
noise and attention. One soldier, after the line
through which we were passing had given three
cheers " for the next fight," cried," And send along
the greenbacks ! " This arrested the attention of
Tad, who inquired its meaning, and, when told
that the army had not been paid for some time,
on account of the scarcity of greenbacks, he said,
with the true spirit of an inflationist, "Why does
n't Governor Chase print 'em some, then ?"

In the October number of The Century Magazine
another incident in which Tad took part is nar-
rated in a letter from Mr. Alexander Starbruck, of
Waltham, Mass., as follows:

"About the last of February, 1865, Mr. H. F.
Warren, a photographer of Waltham, Mass., left
home, intending, if practicable, to visit the army in
front of Richmond and Petersburg. Arriving in
Washington on the morning of the 4th of March,
and finding it necessary to procure passes to carry
out the end he had in view, he concluded to re-
main there until the inauguration ceremonies were
over, and, having carried with him all the appara-
tus necessary for taking negatives, he decided to
try to secure a sitting from the President. At that
time rumors of plots and dangers had caused the
friends of President Lincoln to urge upon him the
necessity of a guard, and, as he had finally per-
mitted the presence of such a body, an audience
with him was somewhat difficult. On the after-
noon of the 6th of March, Mr. Warren sought a
presentation to Mr. Lincoln, but found, after con-
sulting with the guard, that an interview could be
had on that day in only a somewhat irregular
manner. After some conversation with the officer
in charge, who became convinced of his loyalty,
Mr. Warren was admitted within the lines, and, at
the same time, was given to understand that the
surest way to obtain an audience with the President
was through the intercession of his little son ' Tad.
The latter was a great pet with the soldiers, and
was constantly at their barracks, and soon made
his appearance, mounted upon his pony. He and
the pony were soon placed in position and photo-
graphed, after which Mr. Warren asked ' Tad ' to
tell his father that a man had come all the way
from Boston, and was particularly anxious to see

him and obtain a sitting from him. ' Tad ' went
to sec his father, and word was soon returned that
Mr. Lincoln would comply. In the meantime Mr.
Warren had improvised a kind of studio upon the
south balcony of the White House. Mr. Lincoln
soon came out, and, saying but a very iew words,
took his scat as indicated. After a single negative
was taken, he inquired : ' Is that all, sir .' ' Un-
willing to detain him longer than was absolutely
necessary, Mr. Warren replied: 'Yes, sir,' and
the President immediately withdrew. At the time
he appeared upon the balcony the wind was blow-
ing freshly, as his disarranged hair indicates, and,
as sunset was rapidly approaching, it was difficult
to obtain a sharp picture. Six weeks later Presi-
dent Lincoln was dead, and it is doubtless true
that this is the last photograph ever made of him."

Later, Tad figured with his father in one more
historic scene. It was on the night of April 11,
1865, when the President made his last long
speech. The news of the fall of Petersburg and
Richmond, and the flight of Lee and Davis had
come to Washington. On that night the White
House was illuminated, and there was great joy
throughout the land, for we had begun to feel that
the war was nearly over. Outside of the house
was a vast crowd, cheering and shouting with a
roar like that of the sea. A small battery from the
Navy Yard occasionally rent the air with a salute,
and the clamor of brass bands and the hissing of
fire-works added to the confusion and racket in
front of the mansion. Lincoln and a few friends
lingered at the dinner-table until it was time for
him to begin his speech. As the little party
mounted the stairs to the upper part of the house,
there was a tremendous din outside, as if roars of
laughter were mingling with the music and the
cheers. Inside of the house, at one of the front
windows on the right of the staircase, was old
Edward, the conservative and dignified butler of
the White House, struggling with Tad and trying
to drag him back from the window, from which he
was waving a Confederate flag, captured in some
fight and given to the boy. The crowd recognized
Tad, who frantically waved the flag as he fought
with Edward, while the people roared with delight.
"The likes of it, Mister Tad," said the scandal-
ized butler — "the likes of a rebel flag out of the
windows of the White House ! Oh, did I ever ! "

Edward conquered, and, followed by a parting
cheer from the throng below. Tad rushed to his
father with his complaints. But the President, just
then approaching the center window overlooking
the portico, stood with a beaming face before the
vast assembly beneath, and the mighty cheer that
arose drowned all other sounds. The speech began
with the words, "We meet this evening, not in sor-

A BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

[November,

row, but in gladness of
heart." As Lincoln
spoke, the multitude
was as silent as if the
court-yard had been
deserted. Then, as his
speech was written on
loose sheets, and the
candles placed for him
were too low, he took
a light in his hand and
went on with his read-
ing. Soon coming to
the end of a page, he
found some difficulty in
handhng the manu-
script and holding the
candlestick. A friend
who stood behind the
drapery of the window-
reached out and took
the candle, and held it
until the end of the
speech, and the Presi-
dent let the loose pages
fall on the floor, one
by one, as fast as he
was through with them.
Presently, Tad, having
refreshed himself at
the dinner-table, came
back in search of
amusement. He gath-
ered up the scattered
sheets of the Presi-
dent's speech, and
then amused himself
by chasing the leaves
as they fluttered from
Lincoln's hand. Anon,
growing impatient at
his delay to drop an-
other page, he whis-
pered, "Come, give
me another ! " The
President made a queer
motion with his foot
toward Tad, but other-
wise showed no sign
that he had other
thoughts than those on

reconstruction which he was dropping to the list-
eners beneath.

Without was a vast sea of upturned faces, each
eye fixed on the form of the President. Around
the tall white pillars of the portico flowed an undu-
lating surface of human beings, stirred by emotion

;«AfSii~S!itai^^'o^" -^

TAD LINCOLN IN HIS TNIFOKM OF A LIEUTI£N.\N l'.

and lighted with the fantastic colors of fire-works.
At the window, his face irradiated with patriotic
joy, was the much-beloved Lincoln, reading the
speech that was to be his last to the people. Behind
crept back and forth, on his hands and knees, the
boy of the White House, gathering up his father's

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

carefully written pages, and occasionally lifting up
his eager face, waiting for more. It was before
and behind the scenes. Sometimes 1 wonder,
when I recall that night, how much of a father's
love and thought of his boy might have been min-
gled in Lincoln's last speech to the eager multitude.

The dark and dreadful end was drawing nigh
apace. Within a few days after that memorable
night, the beloved Lincoln fell by the hand of an
assassin. Amid the lamentations of a stricken
nation, his form was carried back to Illinois to be
buried near the spot where little Willie had been
laid to rest. Soon afterward, the stricken family
left the gloomy White House, and the sound of
Tad's merry voice was heard no more in the man-
sion of the people.

After his father's death, Robert took charge of
his brother's education until the lad went to Europe
with his mother, in 1869. Sobered and steadied
by the great tragedy through which he had passed.
Tad applied himself diligently to study, and made
such progress that his friends cherished for him the
brightest hopes. He was a self-reliant boy, firm

in his friendships, cordial, modest, and as true as
the needle to the pole whenever principle and just-
ice were called in question. Under the tuition of
a careful instructor in Germany, he quite overcame
the difficulty in his speech which had burdened
him from childhood. He was disciplined by an
English-speaking German teacher, who required
him to read aloud, slowly and distinctly, as a
daily exercise. By this simple means he finally
learned to speak plainly, but with a slight Gcfman
accent which came from his practice in reading.

Returning home with his mother in 1 871, he was
taken with a severe illness, and after enduring with
manly fortitude months of g-eat pain, he passed
away July 15, 1 871, being then only a little more
than eighteen years old. It was well said of him
that he gave to the sad and solemn White House
the only comic relief it knew. And, in justice to
the memory of the boy whose life was but a brief
and swiftly passing vision of a cheery spirit, it
should be added that his gayety and affection were
the only illumination of the dark hours of the best
and greatest American who ever lived.

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

(A Christvias Mastpiv for Voun^ and Ouf.)

By E. S. Brooks,

Autfior 0/ the ''Land of Nod" and "Comedies /or Ckildrtn."
Music by Anthony Riekk.

[This Masque is designed to precede the Christmas tree at a
Christmas party. Its action may call for the help of the entire com-
pany to assist at the choruses. All the children in the room may, if
desired, be massed on the stage, and the chorus of parents may be
given by the audience from the seats they occupy, provided they are
led by a few ready voices near the piano. No special decoration is
needed for the stage. The action should take place near the Christ-
mas tree, which should, if possible, stand behind a curtain, or be
screened by the folding-doors, until the end of the Masque, when it
should be suddenly disclosed with all its blaze and glitter. The
"properties" are simple and none of the costumes need be elaborate,
but the setting can be as greatly diversified and elaborated as the
inclination and facilities of the managers permit. Let the choruses
and speaking parts l>e rendered with spirit. Much of the text can
be sung to familiar airs, xvhich will readily suggest tliemselves to
the vtusical directors. ]

CHARACTERS.

Mr. Moneybags (ajierward the False Sir Santa Claus). — Hard

as his dollars, and " down on children."
Santa Clals. — Positively the Only Original article. No connection

whatever with the spurious imitation above.
Jack Fkost and his Wife. — Firm friends of the "only original."
Jack O'Lantern. — The pugnacious young page of the False Sir

Santa Claus.
The Fairy Bountiful. — All glitter and spangles.

Vol. X.— 5.

Red Riding-hoods Wolf, ^^^ p^,^^ p^^^ ^he base and
The Big Bugaboo, { hireling policemen of the False

The Whooping-cough Man, gj^ g^^^^ ^^^^^
The Wandering Jew, j

Dick, 1

Kthel, > Who do the talking for the rest of the children.

CURLV-LOCKS, j

The Chorus of Children — The Indulgent Parents.

COSTUMES AND PROPERTIES.

Mr. Moneybags may be a " grown man," or a big boy. May be
dressed in street costume at first. When he appears as the False
Sir Santa Claus he should wear a full-dress suit, of fashionable
cut with opera hat, white kids, big watch-chain, trim white wig,
white mustache and side-whiskers — as great a contrast as possible
to the conventional Santa Claus.

Santa Claus should be made up, as customary, "in fur from his
head to his foot, a bundle of toys flung on his back," etc. Another
" grown man " or big boy should be selected for this part.

Jack Frost. — Boy of fifteen. > Pretty ice-and-snow suits of white

His Wife.— Girl of thirteen. ) Canton flannel and swan's-down
trimming, sprinkled with silver powder, and silver wands.

Jack O'Lantern. — Agile boy of twelve, in tight-fitting fancy or
Jester's suit.

The Fairy Bountiful. — Girl of sixteen; fancy white dress,
wings, and spangles, silver wand.

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

[November,

Red Riding-hood's Wolf. — Boy of sixteen, in fur robe or coat,
with wolf s-head mask, and movable jaws, if possible.

The Big Bugaboo. — Tail youth of sixteen or eighteen, with
demon's mask or some ugly face. Dressed in close-fitting red suit.

The Whooping-cough Man. — Boy of sixteen, doubled and
bent, with basket and crook, whitened face, and light clothes.

The Wandering Jew. — Big boy in old black suit, shocking
bad hat, and bag full of "old clo'es."

Dick. — A bright boy of fourteen.

Ethel. — A bright girl of twelve.

Curly-locks. — A pretty little girl of six or eight.

■ THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

[As the curtain rises, the children rush in pell-mell, singing :
Moderate.

i^si^i

Hey ! for us; Please clear the way for us.

%-}-

=s=^

%i=.

z^d:tt=ta=t=

Please clear the way for us, las- sie and lad.

:;^— ■(:

E^EE^EEpfe

r«|=:«p:«=;«l

sS^iigSl

«=»=

:w=--e=m-

i^lfei^f

Here are no wea-ry ones, Here are no dreary ones,

Christmas has come, and we chil-dren are glad ;

igiss^i^glSiii

^m^^mm

M^.

^=P=

i^^mm^^^B^^M

Christ-mas has come, and we chil - dren are glad.

28i*:=::r--iz_-«.-=^CS==i-_-«-w=

CHORUS OF INDULGENT PARENTS (in audience).
Shout it out ! Sing it out ! Clear voices ring it out !

Ring out your glee, every lassie and lad.
Under the holly, now, sing and be jolly, now;

Christmas has come and the children are glad!

CHORUS OF CHILDREN.

Hurry all ! Scurry all ! We 're in a flurry all !

■ We 're in a flurry, with happiness mad.
Gayly we sing to you ; welcomes we bring to you ;
Christmas has come and we children are glad !
[Enter Mr. Moneybags, account-book in hand. He shakes his
fist at children, and says, sharply :

Moneybags. What a rumpus ! What a clatter !

Why, whatever is the matter ?
All this rout and shout and riot is distracting to my
brain.

You 've disturbed my computations
With your singing and gyrations,
And you 've mixed my figures up so, I must add 'em

all again.
Ethel. Oh, stupid Mr. Moneybags, where are your

senses, pray, sir ?
Dick. Why, don't you know — of course you do —

that this is Christmas Day, sir ?

CuRLV-i.ocKS. 'T is Christmas, sir — the children's day !

Ethel, Dick, and Curly-locks (shaking their fingers).

And please to understand —

All the Children. We 're waiting here for Santa

Glaus to come from Somewhereland.

chorus of indulgent PARENTS.

Don't scold them, Mr. Moneybags, for, please to under-
stand.
They 're waiting here for Santa Claus to come from

Somewhereland.
Moneybags (much disgusted).

For what ? For who ? For Santa Claus ?

'T is past my comprehension
That, in this nineteenth century,

Such foolishness finds mention !
For Santa Claus? No bigger fraud

Has ever yet been planned !
There is n't any Santa Claus,
Nor any Somewhereland !
[Consternation among the children.

THE FALSK SIR SANTA CLAUS.

Ethel (indignantly).

Oh, wicked Mr. Moneybags, how can you be so cruel !
Dick {pathetically). Why, Christmas without Santa

Claus is weak as watered gruel !
Ethel and Curly-locks (sorrmafully).

We can't believe you !
Dick (vehemently). And we wont!
Ethel, Dick, Curlv-locks (with warning finger).

So, ])lease to understand —
All the Children (vociferously). We 're waiting
here for Santa Claus to come from Somewhereland.

CHORUS OF indulgent PARENTS.

They can't believe you, and they wont, for, please to

understand.
They 're waiting here for Santa Claus to come from

Somewhereland.
Moneybags (aside).

It seems to me it would be wise

To stop this superstition ;
To open these young eyes to fact

Would be a useful mission.
So I 'U devise a little scheme,

.And try it, if I 'm able,
To bring these folks to common sense,
And burst this foolish fable.
[Aloud. Well, good-bye, youngsters; now I'm offl
I really can not stand
This trash you talk of Santa Claus

Who comes from Somewhereland. [Exit.
Dick (turning to children, with uplifted hands).

No Santa Claus?
The Children (lifting hands in dismay). No Santa

Claus !
Curly-locks (tearfully). I never did — did you ?
Ethel (to children, hands lifted). No Santa Claus !
The Children (lifting hands solemnly). No Santa

Claus !
All (in audible tears). Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo !
Ethel (spitefully). I just believe he 's telling fibs.
Dick (surlily). Of course !
Ethel (dejectedly). It seems to me.

This horrid Mr. Moneybags
Is mean as mean can be !
Dick (decidedly). Of course he's fibbing.
Curly-locks (indignantly). 'Course he is.
Ethel. He does it just to tease us.
Dick. He 's down on children ; so, you see.

He never wants to please us.
Cvvi.v^-uiaf.'i (anxiously). Oh, dear! why doesn't

Santa come ?
Dick. Let 's wish him here.

The Children (incredulously). That 's — quirky!
Dick (stoutly). 'Taint! Ethel saved a wish-bone up,

From last Thanksgiving's turkey.
Children. All right! Who '11 pull it?
Ethel (producing the wish-bone). Dick and I.
Dick (examining it). It 's dry enough. Say " when,"

boys. Catch hold here, Ethel — wish!
The Children. Now, pull !
(Dick and Ethel snap the wish-bone.
Ethel. Dick 's got the lucky end, boys !

chorus of children. (Try, /or air, "Nelly Bly.")
Come to us, come to us, here as we sing ;
Come to us, come to us, Christmas bells ring.
Come to us quickly — nor loiter, nor pause;
Come to us, come to us, old Santa Claus!

chorus of indulgent parents.

Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Jolly old Saint;
Hark to them ! Hear to them ! List to their plaint.
Broken the wish-bone ! All wistful they stand, —
Come to them, Santa Claus, from Somewhereland !

[A loud clang and clash outside. Enter, with double somersault or
long jump, Jack O'Lantern. The children start, amazed.

Jack O'Lantern (with comic posture). Who calls for
Santa Claus, I 'd like to know?

^TWll, (surveying him curiously). We, Mr. — India-
rubber !

Jack O'Lantern (laughing derisively). Ho, ho, ho!

[Turns a double somersault, or some other nimble contortion, and,
striking a comical attitude, says :

With a clash and a clang, and a rattle-te-bang,

And a bumpity-jump rather risky.
With a jounce and a bounce, Santa Claus I announce!
I 'm his page. Jack O'Lantern so frisky.
See where he comes; stand all here close at hand,
Enter ! Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !

[Enter Moneybags as the False Sir Santa Ci.aus, dressed in full-
dress suit, as indicated in costume directions. The children
start back, -surprised at seeing a person so different from their
idea of Santa Claus in dress and appearance. Moneybags
surveys them through his eye-glass, sourly.

Moneybags (gruffly). Heigho, there, you youngsters !

Well, how do you do? H'm — what did you say?

Ethel (timidly). Oh, we only said Oo-oo-oo!

Moneybags.

Well, why this surprise ? Why this staring and stir ?

Curly-locks (showing him her toy hook).

We looked for that kind of a Santa Claus, sir.
Moneybags (taking book and examining it critically

through eye-glass).
Hey ? what kind ? Oh, that ! Ah! permit me to look ;
Why, Santa Claus, child, does n't live in a book !
[Reading quickly.
H'm — " little old driver" — Pshaw ! — " sleigh full of

toys " —
" Dmvn the chimney" — that 's nonsense, you know,

girls and boys.
[Reading again.
" He was dressed all in furs, from his head to his foot.

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and
soot ;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his hack.

And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bmv.

And the beard of his chin was as zvhite as the smjw;

And the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face "

Oh, that 's nonsense, I say :
I have n't looked that way for many a day !
I dress in the fa-shion ; I 'm solemn in speech.
And detest all the folly that fable would teach.

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

[November,

I hate to be bothered with children and toys,

And I 'm " down " on this Christmas Day worry and

noise.
¥,Til¥.l. ( anxiously ) . And your sleigh? —
Tiicvi {dubiously). And your reindeer? —

Moneybags. All sold — long ago.

They were quite out of date — too old-fashioned and

slow.
What with steam-ships and railways and telegraph wires.
And stores overcrowded with sellers and buyers.
And modern improvements in every land,
There 's no use for Santa Claus, now ; — understand ?
[Sings. (Try "The Campbells are Coming")
I 'm a thrifty old merchant, who lives at the Pole ;
A sleep-loving, ease-loving, saving old soul ;
I 'm healthy and wealthy and wise, now, because —
I 've done with the nonsense of old Santa Claus !
Children {singing, poutingly).

He's a selfish old merchant, who lives at the Pole;
A skinflint old miser, as mean as a mole ;
But he '1! never succeed, if he tries to pick flaws
In the joys of the children — this old Santa Claus 1

Indignant Parents (singing, snappishly).

He 's a heartless old merchant, who lives at the Pole ;
For his comfort and ease, he would barter his soul.
Come away from him, children ; don't trust him,

because —
He 's a fraud and a miser — this old Santa Claus !
Moneybags (bowing low, in mock humility).

Thanks for your compliments, kind friends, indeed ;

I '11 not forget your praises ;
'T is pleasure rare to hear and heed

Such kind and courtly phrases.
But this I know — you '11 soon, with speed,
Give up these Christmas crazes.

Dick (emphatically). Well, is n't this dreadful ?

Ethel (tearfully). Oh, dear, I could cry !

Moneybags (threateningly).

You 'd better leave that for the "sweet by and by."

If there 's one thing I hate, in this bedlam appalling.

It is to hear children a-screaming and squalling.

So, if you attempt it, I know what to do ! —

Curly-locks (anxiously). Oh, what does he mean ?

Ethel. I don't know.

All the. Children (vociferously). Bob-hoo-hoo !

Moneybags (wrathfilly).

What ho, there I Hallo, there! My trusty police;

These children are cranky — this nonsense must cease.

Come in here, my beauties, these children to tell

Sir Santa Claus knows how to manage them well.

[Enter the False Four, one by one. Consternation on the part of
the children. Moneybags checks them off as they enter.

Here 's Red Riding-hood's Wolf!
Here 's the Big Bugaboo !
Here 's the Whooping-cough Man !
Here 's the Wandering Jew !
Are n't they sweet ? What 's the matter ? You

quiver and quake so ;
One would think you were frightened, to see you all
shake so.

Dick. What horrid, ugly people !

Ethel. Did you ever, ever see

Such dreadful folks invited to a lovely Christmas Tree ?

Moneybags. Speak up, my gentle serving-men, and

tell these children, now.
What parts you play on Christmas Day — and when

and where and how.
Red Riding-hood's Wolf (snappishly).

I 've great big Ears, and I 've great big Eyes,

And I 've great big Teeth, because —
Oh, yes, you 've heard the story before —
Just look at these beautiful jaws !

[Opening mouth very wide.

The Big Bugaboo (solemnly).

I 'm the Big Bugaboo ! And I live in the dark,

With my grin and my club. And I wish to remark,

I know all the bad boys, and I 'm looking at you/

So, don't you forget I 'm the Big Bugaboo !

The Whooping-cough Man (asthmatically).

I 'm the Whooping-cough Man, yes, I am — I am —

I 'm the Whooping-cough Man so breezy ;
And the bad boys I fill, yes, I will — I will —

With my choke and my strangle so sneezy.
And the little girls, too, yes, I do — I do —
If I find them at all uneasy.
Why — I take their breath off
With the cough — the cough.
I 'm the Whooping-cough Man so wheezy.
The Wandering Jev^^ (seductively).
" Old clo'es ! Old clo'es ! Cash paid for old clo'es ! "

I sing through the streets of the city.
And the people they bring every ragged old thing
When they hear the sweet strains of my ditty.
[Impressively.

But the bad girls and boys, if they make too much noise,
Or if words with their betters they bandy.
Why, I ups with their heels.
And I smothers their squeals
In my bag of "old clo'es," so handy!
[More consternation among the children.

Moneybags (alluringly).

They sometimes give Boxes at Christmas, you know,

Instead of the Stockings and Trees.

A nice Christmas Box would be jolly to show —

You each shall have one, if you please.

Come, gather around me, and I will explain.

[The children draw near in anticipation.

My meaning I '11 make very clear :
[Ominously.

If children are cranky, I don't speak again.
But give them — a Box on the ear !

[Tries one on Dick, with bewildering effect. The children retreat in
dismay, and sing dolefully ;
Slowly,

!— =ls

Dismal, dole-ful chil-dren. Doleful children

*:*-__

'P-b-ft-i — I— r -r-

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1 883. J

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

Gone is all our pleasure,Gonc is all our

cause . . He is such an aw-ful, hor-rid San - ta

^laus. Please to go,please to go,please to go be-
1^. ^ . i«B [cause

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you're not what we look'd for in old Santa Claus.

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CHORUS OF DISTRESSED PARENTS.

Worried, flurried parents, worried parents, we !

Pleasure's sun is clouded, gloomy is our glee.
Christmas ends in crying, hopes are dashed, because —

He is such a horrid, hateful Santa Claus !

Please to go, please to go, please to go, because —

V'ou 're not what they looked for in old Santa Claus 1
Moneybags.
What! Go? Ah, no — the children want me badly.

The darling, snarling, doleful little dears ;
If I should leave, I know they'd miss me sadly;

I know they love me, so I 'U spare their tears.

What! Go? Ah, no — not while I've strength to

stand ;

Why, I 'm Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !

The False Four (in derisive ehorus).

What! Go? Ah, no — not while we've strength to

stand ;
Why, he 's Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !
Jack Frost and his Wife {singing behind scenes).

Out from the kingdom of ice and of snow,

Rollicking, froUicking, frisking we go;

Rollicking, froUicking, singing in glee;

Oh, who so merry and cheery as we ?

Clear rings our song, all the day long,

All the glad Christmas Day, Christmas Day long.

Shout the gay glories of Christmas so grand;

Shout for old Santa Claus of Somewhereland !

[Moneybags and the False Four start in surprise at the sound of
this singing, and look at each other anxiously.

.Moneybags.

Say, who be these that sing so blithe and free ?

Quick, Jack O'Lantern, find this out for me!
Jack O'Lantern {reluctantly).

Excuse me, I beg ; I 'm suspicious of dangers.

And it ruffles my nerves, sir, to interview strangers.
fACK Frost and his Wife {singing nearer).

Racing and chasing, from sunset to light,

Painting the windows with traceries bright;

Dancing with sunbeams, all sparkle and life.

Oh, who so gay as Jack Frost and his Wife ?

Oh, who so gay, all the glad day,
■11 the glad Christmas, the glad Christmas Day?

Siiout the gay glories of Christmas so grand ;

Shout for old Santa Claus of Somewhereland!
[Jack O'Lantern chitches Moneybags by the arm and drags him
to the front, saying, hurriedly and emphatically ;

Jack P'rost and his Wife, sir,
Oh, run for your life, sir !
They '11 stir up a strife, sir.

And interview you.
They 're .Santa Claus folks, sir.
Have done with your jokes, sir !
You '11 be pinched and poked, sir —
And frost-bitten, too !
Moneybaos ('(/tyfow/ZyJ. Pshaw! Who's afraid? Here
on my rights I '11 stand !
1 am Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !
[Enter Jack Frost and his Wife, briskly.

Jack Frost.

How are you, youngsters ? Full of fun and life ?

I am Jack Frost

His Wife. And I 'm his loving wife.

Jack Frost {looking at the children anxiously).
What 's the matter ? where are your shouts of glee ?
Where 's Santa Claus ? And where 's your Christmas

tree?

THE FALSK SIR SANTA CLAUS.

[NUVEMBER,

Dick (ruefully). There '11 be no tree

Ethel {dolefully). And Christmas glee is o'er.
Curly-locks (,7uith a great sigh).

Oh, Mr. Jack ! Christmas will come no more.
Jack Frost. Why, who says that, you curly little elf?
Curly-locks.

Oh, don't you know ? Old Santa Claus himself !
Jack Frost (looking all around).

Old Santa here? Where? Not among that band 1
Dick (pointing to Moneybags). There I
Moneybags (pompously).

I am Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !
Jack Frost.

Vou ? Well, I guess not ! You, sir ? Oh, no, no !

That 's a good joke ! You Santa ? Ho, ho, ho !
Moneybags.

There, that will do ! Be off, now ! Scatter ! Pack I
Jack's Wife.

We get away ? I guess not 1 Will we. Jack ?
Jack Frost (dancing derisively before Moneybags).

No, not for such a fat old fraud as you !
[Then to children.

This False Sir Santa Claus is fooling you !
Moneybags.

Quick, now, my good policemen, clear them out !

I will not have such vagabonds about.
The False Four (closing around }ack and his Wife).
Move on, now ! Come — move on ! You 're in the

way here !
Jack Frost (with hand to ear, sarcastically ).
I 'm just a little deaf. What 's that you say, here ?
The Whooping-cough Man (grasping Jack Frost's

arm roughly). Move on, I say!

[Jack Frost touches him with his wand. ] Ah !
Jack Frost (slyly). Well, now, what 's the matter ?
Dick (touching the Whooping-cough Man, who i.r

motionless as a statue). He 's frozen stiff!
[Jack Frost suddenly touches the Big Bugaboo with his wand.
The Big Bugaboo. Oh, h'.-/ my teeth do chatter!
[He also stands motionless and -ii .
Ethel. Oli, see there, Dick ! Feel him !
Dick. He 's frozen, too.

Jack Frost.

Jack's magic wand froze the Big Bugaboo I
Jack's Wife.

They both are frozen up. Too stiff to wink ;

They '11 let us stay here now awhile, I think !
Ethel (pointing to Moneybags).

But is n't he Santa Claus ?
Jack Frost. He ? Bless you, no !
Moneybags. H'm ! how will you prove it?
Jack Frost. That 's easy to show.
Moneybags. Well, show it !

Jack Frost. I will, sir! I will — don't you fret!
Jack's Wife.

Oh, False Sir Santa Claus, we '11 beat you yet !
Moneybags (snapping his fingers contemptuously ).

What can you do ?
Jack Frost. Oh, quite enough, I think ;
We '11 do enough, I know, to make you shrink.
I '11 summon up each fairy, gnome, and elf,
I 'II call — I '11 call old Santa Claus, himself!

I '11 tell him — no — for first, I '11 stop this strife,
Or we will (wont we, dear?) Jack Frost and Wife!

[They rush with their magic wands to Red Riding-hood's Wolf
and the Wandering Jew, who are at once frozen to statues and
stand stiff and rigid. Jack ()' Lantern runs off.

Dick. Hey! The Wandering Jew 's frozen stiff as a

stake !
Ethel. So 's Red Riding-hood's Wolf! What nice

statues they make !
.\ll the Children (exultantly).

And now, hip, hurrah ! Let Jack go, if he can.
For tliis horrible, terrible Santa Claus man !

[Jack Frost and his Wife, dancing around Monevhags, pinchand
poke him, while he winces and dodges and shivers and the
children jump for joy.

( '/ ry, for air, *' Grand-

J.\CK Frost and his Wife.
" father's Clock.")

We '11 nip his nose and tweak his toes.

With cold he 'II shake and shiver ;
We '11 twinge his ears and freeze his tears.

Until he '11 quake and quiver.
We '11 cover him nice with a coat of ice.

While he '11 shiver and sneeze and stumble;
No Santa Claus he ! A fraud he must l)c :
He 's nothing but glitter and grumble.
Moneybags (aching with cold).

Br-r-r ! Oo-oo-oo ! I 'm cold ! Oh, hold there, hold !
Do save me from this ice man.
Ah, boo — I freeze! My nose! My knees!
Do stop it — there 's a nice man !

[Enter Jack O'Lantern hastily, with a stick, painted to look like
a red-hot iron bar.

Jack O'Lantern.

Here 's a red-hot bar 1 've brought, sir ;

Heat will thaw you— so it ought, sir;

Now I '11 try what heat will do, sir.
[Pokes Moneybags with the bar. That 's for you !
[Ijys it on Jack Frost's back. And that 's for you, sir !
.Mo.NEYB.\Gs (jumping with pain, but relieved).

Ouch ! that 's better — what a pelting !
Jack Frost (growing limp and drooping, as the hot iron
thaws him out).

Wifey, <iuick ! I 'm limp and melting !

Come, with magic wand revolving ;

Here 's your Jacky fast dissolving !
Jack's Wife.

Courage, Jacky, here I come, dear;

My ! you 're getting thin and numb, dear.

There ! I '11 stop this in a trice, sir :
[Touching Jack O'Lantern with her wand.

Jack O'Lantern, turn to ice, sir!
[Jack O'Lantern 'oecomes a frozen statue. Noise of sleigh-bells
heard, and then Santa Claus is heard shouting, behind
scenes.

Santa Claus (outside).

^^ Now, Dasher! Nffiv, Dancer! No7u, Prancer and
Vixen !
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!
To tlie top of the porch, to the top of the wall.
Now, dash away! dash away! dash away, all!"

[The children listen, amazed and delighted.

iSSa.J

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

CHORUS OF CHILDREN.

(Try ihe ^* Galop " /rom " Gusiavits" )

Hark! we hear the jangle, jingle;
Hark ! we hear the tangle, tingle ;
Hear the jingle and the tingle of the sleigh-bells sweet
and strong.

Welcome, welcome, rings our greeting ;
Joyful, joyful, is the meeting;
Sweet the greeting and the meeting, sing the welcome
loud and longi

Jingle, jangle, tingle, tangle,
Christmas joy shall know no pause.

Tangle, tingle, jangle, jingle.
Welcome to you, Santa Claus !

CHORUS OF HAPPY PARENTS.

Jingle, jangle, tingle, tangle, etc.

Santa Claus (entering with a nish, shaking snow off ).

Hello ! Merry Christmas ! I hope I 'm on time !
With the rivers I cross and the mountains I climb.
With the roofs that I scale and the chimneys I drop

down.
By the day after Christmas I 'm ready to flop down.
But what if I do get so tired with trotting ?
Your joy gives new strength for my planning and

plotting.
My reindeer are fleet, and — Hello ! What 's the

matter ?
Something's wrong here — or else I'm as mad as a

hatter !
Why is Mr. Jack Frost, there, so slimpsy and droopy ?
Who are these funny statues so cold and so croupy?
Why are not all these little folks happy and hearty ?
And — well — bless my stars! Who's that pompous

old party ?
Moneybags (advancing).

I am Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland !
^A.NTA Claus (quizzing him).

Ho ! are you ? Well, old fellow, here 's my hand !
, So you 're Sir Santa Claus ? Well — by the by —

If you are he — why, bless me! Who am I?
Moneybags (loftily).

I have no doubt, sir, you 're some low impostor.
Santa Claus. Well, come, that 's friendly ! I '11 look
up the roster.

But, still, — I think, — as far as I am able,

I 've been old Santa Claus since the days of fable.

How is it, little folks ? We 'U leave to you

To say which is the False one — which the True?
Dick (decidedly). Oh, you 're the true one !
Curly-locks. Certain sure !

Santa Claus (inquiringly.) Because? —

Ethel. We know that he 's the False Sir Santa Claus.
Santa Claus.

Well, well ; that 's logic ! Then, by your decree.

What shall the sentence of this culprit be ?
Dick (vindictively). Let 's tar and feather him !
Ethel. And freeze him, too !

Santa Claus.

Well, little Curly-locks, and what say you ?

Curly-locks (reflecting).

He 's been so dreadful naughty, I should say
It 's best to make him good again to-day.
If we are good to him, why, don't you see,
He 'II have a chance to try and gooder be ?
Santa Claus.

Why, bless you for a rosy little saint !
You 've found the cure that 's best for his complaint.
What, Mr. Moneybags, shall your answer be.
Now that you 've heard this little maid's decree ?
Do you appreciate the magnanimity
Extended you by this small judge in dimity?
Moneybags (dropping humbly on one knee before
Curly-locks).

I 'm conquered completely, as you may see,

And I bow to your gentle sentence;
And I humbly beg, on my bended knee,

Your pardon — with true repentance.
I have been such a horrible, cross old bear,

With never a soul above dollars;
But I promise you now, if my life you spare,

To be one of your happiest scholars.
Hereafter my days shall have more of glee;

With the children I '11 frolic and roam, ma'am,
And I '11 give one-half of my fortune, free.
To the Destitute Children's Home, ma'am.
Santa Claus (clapping him on the back).

Bravo! Now joy-bells ring out clear and free;
Come with me, children ! To the Christmas Tree !
[Enter the Fairy Bountiful, with a burst of music. All stand
surprised.

The Fairy Bountiful.

One moment tarry, ere, with wonders sweet,

The tree shall make your Christmas joys complete.

One thing remains : List, while I tell to you

What Fairy Bountiful would have you do.

In the old days, when Valor, Truth, and Right

Would fight the Wrong and conquer wicked Might,

The champion brave his sure reward would see.

And, by his king or queen, would knighted be ;

And, as his shoulders felt the royal blade

Give the glad stroke they called the " Accolade,"

These welcome words came, as his guerdon due :

" Rise up, Sir so-and-so, good knight and true ! "

Without old Santa Claus, the children's fun

At Christmas-tide could never be begun.

In their glad hearts the champion he '11 stand —

Their good old friend, who comes from Somewhereland.

Let, then, the title that this False one bore

Come to the True, with love in goodly store.

Kneel down, old Santa Claus, while with ready blade

Sweet Curly-locks shall give the " Accolade ! "

[Santa Claus kneels before Curly-locks, who touches him lightly
on the shoulder with the Fairy's wand.

Curly-locks.

Good Knight and True ! Dear to the girls and boys,

Friend of their fun and helper in their joys.

Receive this honor from the children's hand.

" Rise up, Sir Santa Claus of Somewhereland ! "

Santa Claus (rising).

Thanks, thanks to you. Curly-locks gentle and true ;

Thanks all, girls and boys, for this honor from you.

THE FALSE SIR SANTA CLAUS.

[November,

I '11 be loyal and leal to your joyous young cause.

Health and wealth to you all ! says your friend Santa
Claus.

Now, rally all, rally all, rally with me,

Round the wonders and sights of the bright Christ-
mas Tree,

Give a cheer and a shout and a chorus, because —

We have routed and conquered the False Santa Claus !

[During the chorus that follows, in which the parents should join,
the curtain or doors should slowly open and disclose the Christ-
mas Tree, around which the children, with Santa Claus at their
head, sijould march as they sing :

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=f5--

t*^:*^

his castle in Somewhereland.

While Christmas-tide comes with its laughter and glee.

Our hearts shall keep green as the holly.
If there in the circle with smiles we may see

Old Santa Claus merry and jolly.
CnoRi;s : Then ring out, etc.
Then 'round the glad Christmas-tree rally with joy ,

Let Love's happy sun shine in gladness ;
Sing it out, every girl, sing it out, every boy.

Old Santa Claus banishes sadness.
Chorus : Then ring out, etc.

DISTRIBUTION OF GIFTS AND GENERAL JOLLITY.

i883.J

FOR VERY LITTLK FOLK.

THE STORY OF ROB.— Toid hv his Littuk Mamma.

Rob is my boy doll. No-bod-y knows what he says but me. Rob
ran a-way one day — when he was young-er than he is now — and he was
gone a long time. I was a-fraid he would never come back ; and Pa-pa
went out one day and brought home Nee-na. Nee-na is a ba-by-doll,

with-out an-y hair ; but
she has blue eyes like
Rob's, and is just too
sweet for an-y-thing.
One day it was my
birth-day, and I had
a birth-day par-ty, and
we had real dish-es,
and I poured the tea,
same as Mam-ma does ;
and the door-bell rang,
and who do you think
was there ?

It was Rob, come
home ! And he had on
a Scotch cap and an Ul-
ster coat. Yes, and he
had a car-pet bag, too,
and there he stood in
the hall, look-ing up at
me, and hold-ing out
his arms. He had come
to my birth -day par-
ty, just as Pa-pa said
he would. Oh, how
splen-did he looked,
and how glad I was to
see him ! And when
he saw Nee-na he was
glad, and I knew he
would nev-er run a-way an-y more. And now he stays home ev-er-y day and
helps nurse his sis-ter, and he is a good boy. Not a speck of naugh-ty
in him. This is a true sto-ry, and here is Rob tak-ing care of Nee-na.

J A C K - I N - T H E - P U L P IT .

[NovEMBEK,

p^^k

•I

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

One of my birds overheard a queer conversation
between the Deacon and the dear Little School-
ma'am the other day. They evidently were over-
joyed about something, he says, for they constantly
enlivened each other with interruptions, and neither
seemed to care one bit.

" Like it ?" exclaimed the Deacon, "Hke it? Of
course they '11 like it ! They '11 be wild over it !
Who ever saw a sensible boy or girl that would n't
like such a colored front "

But just here the Little School-ma'am broke in
excitedly: "Yes, and 'then that tide-mill that
Mr. Trowb "

But the Deacon, who barely allowed her to
finish a single sentence, immediately asserted :
"Yes, yes! Splendid! And then there 's the
Veto story "

" Yes ! And oh, the CIoth-of-Gold, you know ! "
exclaimed the dear little woman, "and " ^

And so they went on in a way that would have
made me think my poor bird's head was turned by
some unhappy accident, if I had not happened to
overhear one or two such conversations myself, in
previous years, between the two good folk he told
me of. And I always found, too, that every such
talk predicted some happy event for you and me
in the pages of St. Nicholas; and that 's the
reason I tell you in advance about this one. I
have n't the slightest idea why a boy or girl should
like a colored /ront, nor who Mr. Trowb is, nor how
he is going to grind a tide, nor what a veto story is,
but I do know that whenever the Deacon and the
Little School-ma'am have a jubilant talk in the style
described by my bird-reporter, it 's a sign of the
fairest kind of weather in the St. Nicholas sky.
So be on the look-out, my hearers, and send me
word promptly of any new developments. For it 's
my opinion that there 's a good time coming.

A YOUNG SOCIETY.

Thk dear Little School-ma'am, who is much
interested in the St. Nicholas Agassiz Associa-
tion, tells me that it is growing very fast, and that
many new Chapters or branch associations are
forming in various parts of the country. This is
good news. Natural history is what the Deacon
calls a natural study, and I like to hear that
thousands of boys and girls enjoy it so much
that they have enrolled themselves under the
banner of the Sr. N. A. A. St. Nicholas tells
you about the Association in the Letter-box
every month, and all that your Jack wishes to speak
of here is the new Chapter that lately has been
organized in Jackson, in the State of Michigan, by
a nine-year-old boy, one Master Gridley. There
is not a big boy in the Chapter, for the youngest
member is eight years old and the oldest eleven,
but neither arc there any babies. Not they.
They mean business. Already every little man of
them has his badge of blue satin, and has accepted
the excellent by-laws as drafted by themselves.
Here are the by-laws :

is^. Resolved^ That we come here for instruction, and to learn
everything that we can.

2d. Resolved, That any person behaving badly shall be expelled
from the Association.

3d, Resolved, That any person who does not bring an answer to
his question shall be expelled.

4tli. Resolvtd, That every person must pay the sum of five cents
to become a member of the Association.

Sth. Resolved, That any person who wants to enter must receive
a three-fourths vote.

FORCED TO MOVE.

Dear Jack: I read in the newspaper yesterday an account of a
wren and his little wife, who were forced, by a disagreeable odor,
to move their nest, and it interested me so much that I want you to
tell it to the other boys and girls.

This wren lives in Virginia, and he and his wife had just finished a
perfect little nest high in an eastern corner of the long portico of a
farm-house. They seemed quite delighted with the result of their
labors, when the farmer's wife happened to buy some asafostida,
which you know is one of the worst smelling things in the world. To
keep it out of the way, she leaned out of a window and stuck the
package up under the eaves, close to the v/rens' new abode, when —
what do you think ? — that knowing little pair of birds at once
tiecided that they must move. For some days they were observed
to be in a state of confusion, and at la.st some one, noticing their
movements, discovered that they had carried their nest, twig by
twig, away to the farther end of the portico, and in a more sheltered
part, where the disagreeable odor could not reach them.

Was not that wonderful ? — Your young friend,

Marian D. R.

DIVING AT THE FLASH.

" Yes, he dived at the flash," insisted the Dea-
con, " and that is the way he dodged me, or rather
dodged my shot. It was in Mr. Justus Hoyt's
mill-pond in New Canaan, Conn., when I was a
boy about thirteen years old. As I was passing
the pond, with my gun in my hand, I saw a bird
as large as a small duck sitting on the water, close
to a bunch of thick bushes which grew on the
bank. Here was a chance for a shot I I thought
I could get him to a certainty, for I saw that the
bushes would hide me so as to allow me to creep
up very close. 1 worked my way along carefully,
and when I peeped through the leaves there he
sat, not over ten yards from me, not having seen
me at all. I put my gun quietly through, and took a

i883.|

J A C K - 1 N - T 11 K - I' f L 1' IT .

steady aim. My shot struck the water in a circle of
foam, exactly at the right place, but the bird was
not there. Now, do you ask where he had gone ?
That is it exactly; he had 'dived at the flash.'
He went under so quickly that even the shot had
not time enough to strike him. The thing is verv
wonderful, and I can not explain it, but 1 have
seen it many times since I made that first shot
when I v\as a boy, and 1 have watched the birds
often when others have fired at them, and I have
seen them escape, and they did it so rapidly (hat 1
could never tell how it «as done. Because of this
remarkable power they are commonly called water-
witches. In books of ornithology their name is
grebe: as horned grebe, crested grebe, etc."

"FOR THE INQUISITIVE. ■■

Here is a charming bit of a letter (which the
Little School-ma'am ha.s picked out from many
good ones) in answer to
my questions "for the
inquisitive." in the May
number :

Baltimore.

Dear Jack I saw in the
May_ number your questions for
the inquisitive one was "how
can a cat get down a tree"
pussy has very sharp Claws
which she sticks in tfie bark,
her claws are also very strong :
a little kitten can not gel down
a tree very well as its Claws are
not very strong I put a little
kitten up a tree and she came
down backward a little way and
then jumped.

A dog can not come down a
tree or go up because his nail
are not shaped like that of a cat.
My cousin had a little dog and
he jumped up a tree about two
yards high and landed in the
crotch I remain your constant
reader Manie H.

A TALKING CANARY.

Your Jack has just
heard of a canar\ that
had been trained to pro-
nounce a number of sen-
tences, closely imitating
the voice of the lady
who had been its in-
structor. Invariably after
such a performance, as
though overjoyed at hav-
ing accomplished some-
thing difficult, the little
creature would rush off
into a perfect ecstasy of
canary song, "tweet-
ing" and trilling as though, after all, that was
the only proper language for birds. An Eng-
lish writer, 1 am told, thinks it is the want of
"imitative impulse rather than any lack of the
necessary mechanical apparatus which now limits
the power of speech to parrots, ravens, jackdaws,
and a few other birds." Other writers hold a
diflferent opinion. Meantime, my dears, while the
learned people arc discussing this matter, and call-

ing the various parts of little birds' throats by the
most astonishing Latin names that can be manu-
factured, we should be thankful that more birds are
not " imitative," for if they were we might lose a
great many of the songs we love, and, in return,
gain only a great deal of empty cliatter.

ANOTHER ANSWER.

Thanks, young friends, for your clear and satis-
factory answers to my question in the September
number concerning the queer things with the slits
in their backs. After this, nobody need try to tell
your Jack anything more than he has learned from
your letters concerning the locust and its strange
habit of crawling out of its former self.

ANIMAL FLOWERS.

Dear Jack: I send you with this a picture of two animals that
look like flowers. Their home is the bottom of the sea. The two
tallest " blo.ssoms " in the center of the picture represent the creature

TWO ANIMAL-FLOWERS.

called by naturalists Rhizocrttitts hffhtensis, and are copied fiwm a
specimen brought up by a dredge irom a depth of 530 fathoms, or
more than 3000 feet. The large lily-looking object at the right and
the lower flower lo the left of the drawing show anotlier animal
called Pentacrinus tuteria. They live attached to the bottom of the
-sea. The "blos-som " is the head, stomach, and body of the animal.
When the little marine creatures on which they feed come within reach
of the arms that compose the lily, these arms close upon their prey,
holding them imprisoned until they are devoured, when this queer
" flower" again unfolds and moves its delicate stem, swayed by the
gentle currents, just as an ordinary flower is swayed by the summer
wind. Yours truly, D. C. B.

THE LETTER-BOX.

[November,

THE LETTER-BOX.

v;jV;"^t\.; Ai\ 4_ ^\1p i^;i^ A..\^ j_^J\ t^\ .i-J^
j^j iU iiUc (/i"^ oJ^\ \)n^ Vsj isL?- vU^Va u,^

^I^Vj^ ia«J\ aAc d J.J i_pl> ^b^ J\ i_ ii Uj A^)^ iS^\--^]i o4^^^ V^

A REDUCED FAC-SIMILB OF A PAGE FROM " ST. NICHOLAS" IN ARABIC

THE LETTEK-BOX.

St. Nicholas in Arabic.
Rev, Hknkv Harris Jkssup, the missionary, when in this countrj-
a few years ago, suggested that many of the poems and rhymes in
St. Nicholas conid be translated into the Arabic language, and
still retain much of their melody and rhythm. The publishers at
(mce offered tci supply any illustrations that would be needed for a
btKili of such translations, and the result is a volume in Arabic with
text and illustrations from St. Nicholas. It was printed in IJeirut,
Syria, and is perhaps the first illustrated book ever printed in that
country, or in that language. The first copy was bound in Beirut,
r>n the i4ih of last June, and we here present to our readers a
reduced fac-simile of one of its pages.

Wk are sure that all our readers will welcome and admire the
beautiful colored frontispiece, prepared expressly for thi ; number of
St. Nicholas, and we are glad to announce that Mr. Birch has
made a companion picture, which is even finer, and which will
appear as the frontispiece of our next number. That number will
contain also several other exceptional features, as it is to be the
Chrifitmas issue, and the finest single number of St. Nicholas ever
published.

Hartford, Conn.

Dear St. Nichoi-as: As I am always glad to get ideas for pres-
ents, I thought perhaps some of your other readers might liice to
know how 1 made a very pretty "school-bag " for my little sister,
I first cut out a piece of* Ada " canvas, eight by twenty inches, and
worked a border around it, then lined it witn farmer satin, olive-green
it was, as the stitch was worked in that color (though almost any
color would be pretty). I then braided some carpet thread of a
color to match the canvas, and fastened it on for handles. Then 1
sewed the edges of the bag together. This is rather small, but it is
easy to make larger. Initios, or a fancy pattern worked in the middle
of one side, is a great improvement. I put initials. I have been
out of school for two months now, as I 'm not well, and watch
for St. Nicholas very eagerly. I have taken you for five years, and
shall keep on as long as I can. Every Christmas my grandma gives
me the three dollars to take you, and mamma has you bound. But
I must not say any more, as this is a long letter for the first time. I
must close now, as your very loving reader, Clara M. Cone,

Thirteen and a half years.

P. S. Please ask the other readers to send a description of
some pretty piece of work.

Our thanks are due to Von Sothen for his courtesy in allowing
us to reproduce in this number of St. Nicholas his wonderful
instantaneous photographs of torpedo explosions.

Detroit.

Dear St. Nichoi-as : My brother and I have taken you for a
long time, and think you are splendid. 1 think it would be so nice
for the subscribers who know how to make any pretty Christmas
presents to write to St. Nicholas about them. I am sure if every-
body has as much trouble to find something pretty to make as we
have in this house, they would be very acceptable.

Something very pretty, for a person who has plenty of time, is a
random quiU. First, you want a large collection of silks, satins,
velvets, etc. The blocks are about one foot square. To make the
block, you embroider (with feather-stitch, etc.) the pieces of silk
together; they may be of any size or shape or color. If a piece of
silk is very large and plain, the effect is good to have a flower em-
broidered or hand-painted on it. The blocks are fastened together
by embroidery, and the whole quill is lined with some bright-colored
silk. It is very pretty for an afghan on a sofa.

Your interested reader. May.

THK AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.— TWENTIETH REPORT.

This month begins the third year of the St. Nicholas Aga-ssix
Association. The latest number on our register is 3816, which
shows that our membership has doubled during the year. We have
now 336 Chapters on our list. We can not here afford space to ex-
plain again the history and purpose of the Society, but must refer
all who are interested to back numbers of the St. Nicholas, which is
our organ of communication, and to the " Hand-book of the A. A.,'*
which we have prepared specially to acquaint all with the full
scope, plan, and history of our work. Thi> bo;>k costs half a dollar,
and all orders for it, as well as all communicaiions for this depart-
ment, and all letters of inquiry, should be sent to Mr. Harlan H.
hallard. Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. The interest
taken in nature by our boys and girls, from Maine to Texas, has
been as gratifying as it has been surprising, and the assistance of
their elders has been of great value. Since our latest report, the
following new Chapters have been enrolled :

Brooklyn.
Dear St. Nicholas ; 1 want to tell you a funny thing about our
little Mabel. When her father was having his house repaired, she
had seen the men climbing high ladders, and when she asked where
they were going, was answered, "To the roof." Not long after.
Mamie's mamma took her to se.e Jumbo. She watched in silence,
as one little pair of feet after another mounted the ladder to reach
the huge creature's back, then, suddenly clapping her hands, she
exclaimed: " Oh, Mamma ! See! see! They are sitting on Jumbo's
roof!" C. A. G.

Jane B. Haines sends to the *' Letter-box " the following riddle;

Day by day, I stand quite still ;
But when a person, thirsting.
Comes up and kindly shakes my hand.
Out comes the water bursting.
What am I ?

Ansiver : A pump.

No.

319-
320.
321.
322.
323-
324'
325-
326.
327-
328.

329-
330.
331-

332.
333-

334-
335-
336.

New Chapters.

Members. Secretary's Adiiress.
4 . . Newbold Morris.

Name.

Pelham, N. Y (A) .

Peoria, III. (C) 6.. J. A. Smith.

San Francisco, Cal. (E)... 8. .Wm. Breeze, 1330 Sutter St.
Madison, Wis. (A) it . .Andrews Allen, Box 141.

Bryan, Ohio (A)..
Georgetown, D. C. (I'>).

Torrington, Ct. (A)

Kreeland, Pa. (A) ....
Muscatine, Iowa (A). . . .
Buchanan, Mich. (A) . - .
Mt. Vernon, N.Y. (A)
Cedar Rapids, Iowa (B).
New Orleans, La. (A) . .

Augusta, Me. (A)

San Francisco, Cal. (F).

Chappaqua, N. Y. (A) . .

San Jos^, Cal. (A)

Auburn, N. Y. (B)

8.. Miss Ethel Gillis.
7. .C. L. Dunlop.
-..J. F. Alldis, Box 165.
:i . .Samuel Caskey.
— . .Glenn A. Gordon.
4. .William Talbot.

7. .Miss Clara E. Bemstejn.
4..C. R. Eastman.

4.. Percy S. Benedict, 1243 Sl
Charles St.

— . . Chapter, please send address.

I.. Mrs. Helen Moore, 1336 Sa-
cramento St.

4. .M. Wright Bamum.

8..F. R. Gamier, Box 181.

8. .E. L. Hickok, 13 Aurelius Av.

Exchanges Desired.

Kranklinite, for carboniferous fossils, or the ores of tin or copper.

— Miss Mary R. Ridgway, W. New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y.
Magnetic iron, shells from Scotland, and French buhr-stone.

— Maude M. Lord, 75 Lamberton St., New Haven, Conn.
Organ-pipe coral, and Tenney's " Geology," for a large and per-
fect trilobite. — Bruce Richards, 1726 N. i8th st., Phila., Pa.

Rare insects, for milberii, arthemis, .semidea, nephele, portlandis,
and J. -Album butterflies. — C. C. Beale, Faulkner, Mass., Sec.
Chapter 297.

Insects of all kinds, for lepidopterEe.— Fred. A. Brown. Maiden,
•Mass., Pres. Chapter 297.

NoTics from Members.

In response to oi;r question about the Proteus, Denver (B)
writes :

It is generally found in dark, subterranean lakes. It bears some
resemblance to the young of newts, having branchial tufts on each
side of the neck. The animal is of a light flesh-color, which deepens
on exposure to the air.

[The proteus is one of the salamanders, closely related to the
liredons. They are especially interesting because, even in their
adult state, they resemble one of the transient forms of higher
batrachtans.]

Can any one name a caterpillar which lives on evergreen trees?
It carries its cocoon on its back. The cocoons have evergreen
needles hanging down the sides.

We now number five ; we have also one honorary member. We
have separate collections instead of a general cabinet ; we have a
microscope and books; we all live near Agassiz's Museum, and
have made one excursion to it. We have decided to take note of
all things we see concerning natural history.

F. T. H.\mmond, Sec. Chap. 224.

I caught a fly and killed it. Then I took my microscope and
saw on its back, by the wings, a little red speck, and when I looked
at it with my microscope carefully, I saw it had legs and was alive.
Will .some one please tell me what it was, and how it came there ?
D. M. Perine, 26 Cathedral St., Baltimore, Md.

THE LKTTKR-BOX.

[November,

We arc now fitting up and trimming our room, making cases,
and hunting up cabinets. We have added several varieties of rare
butterflies and moths. Sec. Chap. 223.

I have examined several kinds of pollen. 1 find it hard to deter-
mine the exact shape of the gniins. Several kinds appear oval, with
a mark across which looks as if it were a sort of rut.

While examining pollen from a cardinal flower (Lobelia cardi-
nalis), it occurred to me to float some of the grains in water. The
result was such a change of shape, which, beside, lasted only
while the grains were wet, that I gave up cardinal flowers in despair

A Friend of the A. A.

Mavport, Florida.
Pilot-boat " JMag^ie B." picked up a stone in seventy-two feet of
water, some three miles off the bar. The stone weighed about eighty
pounds. It was covered with mOss, sea- weeds, and varieties of living
shell-fish. On one comer of the top was a branch of coral about a
foot long, with several branches. I never before saw coral growing
on such a stone. K. C. Sawyer.

Copenhagen, N. V.
Last spring I sent specimens of prepared woods to nearly one
hundred persons. I have a ffcw more, which I would like to ex-
change. I will send one, to show method of preparation, on receipt
of ten cents. I also offer for exchange a case large enough to hold
twenty specimens of the woods. The early winter is the best
time to cut woods, as the bark then adheres tightly.

L. L. Lewis, Box 174.

St. Clair, Pa.
Some of us took an excursion to-day after '* water creatures." We
got some crabs, water-bugs, tadpoles, and two unknown species of
water-insects, all in some tomato-cans. When we got home, we
emptied them all into a little tub. One of the " unknown " began
to show murderous proclivities by tearing up the tadpole. When
this was taken from him, he attacked the water-bugs, so we re-
moved him to a separate apartment. We wish to know the pirate's
name. The other insects we did not know were long and narrow,
with two bead-like eyes protruding far from the head. They had
six long legs, the first pair of which pointed straight ahead, and were
used to seize food. This food consisted only of flies, so far as we
could observe. Our interesting collection is prospering finely.

Geo. Powell, Sec. Chap. 266.

CoLUMBL's, Ohio.
We have a fine collection of insects. We have seven members,
and meet every week. E. G. Rick, Sec. Chap. 307.

Rome, N. Y., Aug. 20.
The other day a curious nest was found fastened to the outside of
a window. It was made of mud, and shaped much like a hornet's
nest On the outside, many small red spiders might be seen run-
ning up and down. The inside of the cell was divided into round
cells, each of which contained a large yellowish-white grub, which
was covered with thin skin, closely resembling, in color and text-
ure, the inside shell of a peanut. We desire information regarding
this curious nest. Cnv and Cointrv.

[The nest is the home of some species of wasp, probably Pelop<r-
us flavipes, or spirifer. I abridge from the Zoologist for 1864, p. 582 :
"About this time" (Aug. 1 8th, see date above), " the other species
of pelopaeus began to be busy fabricating their nests. When a
iittle more in length is finished than suffices for a single cell, an egg
is laid and spiders are brought in." These spiders are for food for
the grubs of the wasps when they .shall appear. They are stung so
as to be helpless, but not dead. Compare this with the way the
"digger wasp" treats caterpillars. The peanut-like skin was the
pupal envelope, with regard to which Mr. Gosse made a curious
discovery. The abdomen of the "dauber wasp" is supported on
a very long and slender peduncle or foot-stalk. " Mr. Gosse," says
Wood, "was naturally anxious to discover how the insect could
draw the abdomen out of the pupal skin. He discovered that the
pupal envelope did not sit closely to the body, but that it was as
wide in the middle as at either end." "City and Country " could
have learned all this by watching the insects. For extended details,
see Wood's "Homes without Hands," p. 374.]

San Francisco, Au^. 29, 1882.
I have seen and eaten " squid," and know a tittle bit about them.
The squid belongs to the cuttle-fish family. Some of them have
eight arms, and some ten. One with eight arms is called an octo-
pus. It is dangerous for a man to go alone to catch them, as they
sometimes draw him under water. Some squids have an ink-bag,
and when the contents are dried, sepia, used by artists, is obtained.
Bertha L. Rowell, Sec. Chap. 296.
[Answered also by Bruce Richards.]

Stockport, N. Y., Sept. 8, 1882.
On Friday, the 26th of last May, our teacher made a proposition
of starting a branch of the " A. A." in our school. The attendance

at the fir.it informal meeting was seventeen, of whom fifteen joined.
Three members have since been admitted. We hold our meetings
in the school-house. We have a large number of specimens, but no
cabinet. Willaru J. Fisher, Sec. Chap. 286.

[The School Committee of Stockport will undoubtedly furnish
you a cabinet, if they understand what you are doing.]

Sycamore, III., Sept. 9, 1882.

I have a little beetle that must be first cousin to Stenocorus cinctus
(i>f which I have a fine specimen). It is about an inch long, with a
barrel-shaped thorax that has a little spine on each side and two
little black dots above. Its "flashing dark eyes" are grooved for
the admission uf the antennae, which are long and many-jointed. It
is distinguished by two white spots on each wing-cover. These are
raised and shining, and divided through the middle. I can not find
an account of it in Harris. Pansy Smith.

[Who will name this curious beetle?]

Pittsburgh, Pa., "I)."

Our chapter ii progressing finely and increasing in membership
every meeting. Please change the Secretary's address t)

George R. West, 100 Diamond St., Sec. Chap. 298.

Hotel du Signal, Switzerland.
I thought you would like a specimen of the Edelweiss. It grows
in large quantities under the snow. The people here gather it and
jiiake blankets of it. Harry Johnston.

Misic IN the a. A.

Flushing, L. I.
I want to tell you how much we enjoy our meetings. The sub-
ject of the latest meeting was Mistletoe, and here is what was said
about it. Mamma said, " The botanical name of the mistletoe is
I'iscum album. In olden times it was thought to be poisonous, for
Shakespeare speaks of the 'baleful Mistletoe.' The Druids used it
in religious rites. It is a parasite, growing chiefly on apple-trees."
Miss Scott had tasted the berry, which is sweet and glutinous. She
painted me a lovely picture of mistletoe and holly. In the evenings
when Papa is at home, we have music, and, if possible, pieces bearing
on our subject ; for instance, this evening we had a song entitled
"The Mistletoe Hough," and an instnimental piece, the " Mistletoe
Polka." Mamma plays on the \'ioIin, and I on the organ or piano.
From your friend, F. M. H.

Detroit, Mich.
I read in a number of the Canadian Entomologist an interesting
paper on " Nature-painted Butterfiii;s." It was something like
this. Cut off the wings close to the body of the butterfly. Next
fold a piece of white paper in the middle. Cover the inside of the
paper with a thin, clear solution of gum-arabic. Lay the wings care-
fully on one-half of the paper, in their natural position, then fold
the other half down upon them. Press it with your hand, and leave
it to dry under a heavy weight, for some hours. When dry, draw a
pencil line around the edges of the wings, then with a camel's-hair
brush wet with water the paper outside the lines, bcifig very care/ul
not to ivet it clsetvherc. Lastly, pull the two ends of the paper apart,
and the scales will adhere to the paper, leaving a transparent mem-
brane, which will fall out. Connect the wings by drawing a body,
and then cut nut the butterfly. Ch. A. Wiley, Sec. Detroit (A).

The Oaks, Tioga Center, N. Y.
1 am nine, and mv sister is five. We have examined a geranium-
bug, and it is beautiful. Its body is green, and it has six legs that
are clear like crystal. The antennae are longer than the insect, and
are sometimes thrown backward. It has a long beak. The body
has two horns at the end. The eyes are reddish brown, with tiny
white dots. Angie Latimer, Sec.

Bircham, Halifax, Nova Scotia.
I live on the sea-shore and near woods. Last summer I caught a
very large specimen of Lophius piscatoHus, and my father made a
-skeleton of it. It was caught in the rock-weeds, and when we put
an oar at it, it caught it with its teeth. Helen W, Morrow.

South Boston, Mass.
On the outside of our school-house is a gong a foot in diameter.
In this a pair of sparrows (Passer domesticus) built their nest and
raised a brood this year. The gong has been rung about two dozen
times a day. Have other members noticed a more curious place for
a nest than this? H. E. Sawyer, Sec. Chap. 112.

St. Paul, Minn., Sept. 9, 1882.
Dear Mr. Ballard : We had a few caterpillars, but they all took
(iff their hair, and lay down in it and died. Frank Ramaley.

[Don't bury them, Frank. Watch for their resurrection. They
have probably not died, but only changed into chrysalids.]

Philip C. Tucker, Jr., of Galveston, Texas, sends a long and
interesting report on the squid, and requests us to correct an error,
which occurred in the July report, in the spelling of his name. He
also sends the following answer to F. R. Gilbert's first question :

The Kuda Ayer, or Malayan tapir, is of a deep, sooty black color.
!t is larger than the American tapir, and inhabits deep woods by
river-banks. It is extremely shy.

iSSa.]

THE RIDDLK-liOX.

I AM composed of forty-five letters, and form a quotation from
a book by George MacDonald.

My 15-43-12-4 is a prong of a fork. My 23-13-6 is a busy little
insect. My 5-2^19-28 is money. My 8-34-^1-9 is a ballot. My
45-10-38-14-26 IS an apparition. My 31-7-20 is a wooden tub. My
27-21-3-24-36-40 is a very small twist of flax or cotton. My 16-39-
37 is a bulky piece of timber. My 42-17-32-11-30 is a kind of green
tea. My 33-18-35 is a tree similar to the pine. My 1-2-44-22-35
are sounds. e. j. cakpenter.

Across: i. A word chiefly used in driving off a cat. 2. Spoken.

3. To decorate. 4. A delightful region.

Downward: i. In Thanksgiving. 2. A term which may be used
in designating .several persons joined in partnership. 3. Dexterity.

4. A weed that grows among wheat. 5. A cover.
In Thanksgiving. j.

6. Myself. 7.

S. TENNANT.

HAI.F-SQIARE.

II.^USTUATED PUZZLE IX TIIE 11EA1>-1'IECE.

Spiral Puzzle. The answer to (his puzzle is a five-line verse,
appropriate to the November holiday. The last line of the stanza
is "Drops cider in the glasses " ; and the four remaining lines (con-
sisting of nineteen words) are concealed in the spiral. These words
may be found by taking every .second letter in the spiral, after the
one to begin with has been rightly guessed. c;. F.

C^ROSS-WORD EXHiMA.

Mv first is in thought, but not in mind ;
My second in rough, but not in kind;
My third is in laugh, but not in cry;
My fourth is in com, but not in r>-e ;
My fifth is in sack, but not in coat;
My sixth is in sheep, but not in goat;
My seventh in gig, but not in dray;
My eighth is in fight, but not in fray;
My ninth is in grove, but not in wood ;
My tenth is in mile, but not in rood;
My eleventh in sturgeon, but not in shad;
My twelfth Is in gay, but not in sad ;
My whole is a time to be grateful and glad.

ARABHLLA WARD.

NOVEL (7KOSS.WORD ENIGMA.

Mv first is in November; my second is in February; my third is
in May; my fourth is in August ; my fifth is in June; my sixth is
in September.

My whole is the name of a well-known poet, who was bom
on November 3d. leather stocking.

DIAIMOND.

1. In Thaiiksgiving. 2. To place. 3. A tendon. 4. A military offi-
cer. 5. Conditions. 6. Has been. 7. In festival.

EDITH H. E. p.

Across: 1. A cape with a hood. 2. Disclosures. 3. To repair.
4. An abbreviation for one of the United States. 5. An abbrevia-
tion for a British Province. 6. A voweL h. and b.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER.

A Shakespearian Charade. Hamlet.

He saw i\\cjirsi upon a chopping block ('twas unprotected).

He grasped xh^Jirst and did not second go (act undetected).

First and second show a play (by us selected).

Patchwork. 1. Let. 2. I^re. 3, Lumber. 4. Mass. 5. Leash.
6. Launch. 7. Lapse. 8. Knead. 9. Lantern.

Anagrammatical Spelling- Lesson, i. Cachinnatton. 2. De-
termination. 3. Justification. 4. Spontaneous. 5. Terrestrial. 6.
Emancipation- Charade. Withwind.

Dot'BLE Acrostic. Primals, Franz; finals, Liszt. Cross-words:

1. FestivaL. 2. Rabbi. ^. AtlaS. 4. NatcheZ. 5. ZealoT.
Ueheaded Rhymes. Irout, rout, out. Skill, kill, ill. Spray,

pray, ray. Flit, lit, it.

Sin(;le Acrostic. Quebec. Cross-words: i. Q-uiet. 2. U-sual.
3. E-lder. 4. B-ound. 5. E-mber. 6. C-ider.

Hour-glass. Centrals, Vermont. Cross-words ; 1 . Bra Vado.

2. BrEad. 3. IRe. 4. M. 5. LOg. 6. FaNcy. 7 PorTend.
Halk-square. 1. ^residial. 2. Reviving. 3. Evading. 4.

Sidles. 5. Ivied. 6. Dins. 7. (k)Ing. 8. Ag(ile). 9. I^.

Double Diagonal. Cross-words: i. Her. 2. Ewe. 3. Ell.

Metamorphoses. 1. Fail, foil, foul. 2. Mute, mule, mile, milk,
silk. 3. Floor, flood, blood, brood, broad, bread. 4. Wen, wan,
way, wry. dr>'. ?. Cords, corps, coops, crops, cross, cress, crest,
wrest, wrist, whist. 6. Heir, hear, pear, peas, pens, pins, wins,
wigs. Cross-word Enigma. Emerson.

Proverb Rebus. Experience keeps a dear school, hut fools
learn in no other.

Ci'BE. From i to 2, deluge: 2 to 6, endear; 5 to 6, runner; i
to 5, doctor ; 3 to 4, Easter ; 4 to 8, ransom ; 7 to 8, anthem ; 3 to 7^
enigma ; i to 3 dome : 3 to 4, ewer; 5 to 7, rtiea ; 6 to 8, room.

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

[NOVEMBHK.

Trace a way through this maze, beginning at the circle
last the middle circle.

ntaining the egg, and then through the others successively, reaching at

The names of those who send solutions are pririted in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-twx," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street. New York City.

Answers to all of the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from " Professor and Co." —
R. H. F.— Bessie R. — Emma Honig and Kate Howard — John Pyne — Mama and Bae — O. C. Turner^ Scrap — "S. Long Beach. S."

"Jumbo" — Fred H. Meeder— Annie E. Hixon — John C. and William V. Moses — Marie Faucompre — John W. Reynolds — **Two

Subscribers" — Prometheus — "College Point "— " Ailsa" — Gertrude Lansing and Julia Wallace — David E. Ansbacher — Florence
Leslie Kyte — Gcnje J. Callmeyer — Harry L. Reed — Clara J. Child.

Answers to Puzzlrs in the September Number were received, before September 20, from Anna G. Baker, 14 — Elaine, 2 —
Frank P. Nugent, 4 — Edith and Carrie Thompson, i — Charles N. Cogswell, 6 — Sidney Van Keuren, i — Blanche Haywood, 14 — Rosa
Lottie Witte, i — Gracie D. Smith, 7 — Sadie L. Rhodes, 3 — Florence E. Thompson, 6 — "Southampton Trio," 11 — Charles Walton. 3 —
"Two Esthetic Maidens," g — Helen and Hattie, i — A. T. Losee, 13 — Haedus, 3 — Pnul Gorham, 11 — Joe B. Sheffield, 2 — A. Louise
Weightman and Julie P. Miller, 7 — CJeorge W. Barnes, ^ ■— Susie Dessalet, 3 — Fred E. Walton, 3 — Nellie V. Miner, 4— Claude Duval, i

— "Cmderella," 2 — Maude R., 3 — Philip De Normandie, 2 — Edith Buffington DaUon, 5 — Emile L. V. Cheron, i — John P. Conduit, 4
— Nellie Caldwell, 10 — Mabel Thompson, 7 — Weston Stickney, 1 —"Capt. jinks," 11 — Maud E. Benson, 4 — J. H. IngersoU, 3 — Daisy,
2 — Mary C. Bumam, 6— Ehrick Rossiter Jones, 2 — D. S. Crosby, Jr., 12— Effie K. Talboys, 13 — Louise Kelly, 10— "Jinks and
Dad,"9— H. Revell, I — "Pewee," s — Grace Murray, 2 — Allie Close, 6 — Mary F, Baker, 5 — Helen R. and May D. Dexter, 14. —
Ruby Frazer, 2— AUcc W. C., 14 — Paul England and Co., 11 —Vera, 13— Roast and Pierce, 14 — " Alcibiades," 12 — " Patience," 9 —
Willie H. Bawden, 14 — Arabella Ward, 3 — M. W. T., 3 — Donm Ruth and Samuel H. Camp, 7— Frank G. Newland, 10— Dolly
Varden, 6 — Helen W. Merriam, n — Francis L. Bosqui, 3 — Bertie and Maud, 8 — Arthur Herbert Cuming, 2 — .^on, 11 — "Jumbo," 5

— Gertie E. Webb, 2 — Addie White, 14 — Gertrude and Florence, 11 — Marion and Daisy, 5 — Clara and her Aunt, 14 — Frank P.
Midlam, i— Clarence H. Young, 14 — Minnie B. Murray, 12 — Shumway, 14 — Algernon Tassin, 9 — " Flat Rock Campers," 11— C. L.
Slatterv, 13— Vin and Henry. 11 —Harry Johnston, 8 — Bolivar, n — Daisy, Violet, and Clover, 3 — T' W. T., 7— Myrtle, 4 — Helen
Ansbacher, 7 — Trask, 14 — Nellie Moti, i— Freddy Thwaits. 14— James H. Strong, 10— V. P. J. S. M. S., 9 — Warren, s — Rosette
et F^iicitd. 12 — Madge Tolderlund, 4 — J. S. Tennanl, 13 — P. Embury, Jr., 5 — Appleton H., 14— Peniie, 12—" Three Old Maids," 7
—Jessie Miihlhauser. 4— A.Gardner, 1 1 — Mary Black and Mae B.Creigh.on, 10— Standish McCleary, 4 — Margarite, 2 — Lottie A. Foggan, 3.

O ^ • O^'^^^Tv^'^S •^f\yj i'^ -THE 'tXo^Hl^ .

ii^, /^ I L_

riLMER g.

ST. NICHOLAS.

Vol. X.

DECEMBER, 1882.

No. 2.

(Copyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.]

A WINTER SONG.
By Susan Hartley.

Oh, Summer has the roses

And the laughing light south wind,
And the merry meadows lined

With dewy, dancing posies;
But Winter has the sprites
And the witching frosty nights.

Oh, Summer has the splendor
Of the corn-fields wide and deep,
Where scarlet poppies sleep

And wary shadows wander;
But Winter fields are rare
With diamonds everywhere.

Oh, Summer has the wild bees.
And the ringing, singing note
In the robin's tuneful throat.

And the leaf-talk in the trees ;
But Winter has the chime
Of the merry Christmas time.

Oh, Summer has the luster

Of the sunbeams warm and bright.
And rains that fall at night

Where reeds and lilies cluster;
But deep in Winter's snow
The fires of Christmas glow.

Vol. X.— 6.

THE CHRISTMAS FAIRIES.

[Dbcbmbbr,

THE CHRISTMAS FAIRIES.
By M. E. K.

Aunt Ruth sat thinking. It was only a week
before Christmas, and, as yet, no gift had been
decided upon for her pet niece, who lived in a
distant city.

It was hard to know what to give Bessie — she
seemed so well supplied with everything a little
girl could want for comfort or pleasure. She was
such a good child, and so unselfish, that she was a
general favorite, and her. friends, young and old,
were always sending her some pretty trinket, until
her own room was a kind of museum of love-
tokens ; every corner was full, her bureau loaded,
the table covered, and the walls adorned ; in fact,
it had almost become a proverb in the family that
" Whatever Bessie wished for always came."

Now she was ten years old, had declared her-
self tired of Christmas trees, and announced that
to hang up a stocking for Santa Claus to fill was
too childish — she should like to keep Christmas
some new way. This was what Aunt Ruth was
puzzling over. At last, with a look of relief, she
exclaimed : " I have an idea ! I know it will please
her."

She immediately went to her writing-desk,
wrote a long letter to Bessie's mamma, and folded
into it a crisp bank-note.

On Christmas morning Bessie opened her eyes
upon a bright silver quarter which lay on her
pillow. Beside it was a tiny note. She opened it
and read :

"Dear Bessie: I am one of fifteen silver fairies which are to
appear to-day, with a Christmas greeting from your Aunt Ruth.
Take us all together down to some big store to-morrow, and
we will turn into whatever small thing you may wish for. "

" Oh, how nice ! " said Bessie. " What a funny
auntie ! always doing something different from
other people. I don't quite understand what it all
means, but I am glad enough of this bit of spend-
ing-money, for I had n't one cent left."

And, wide awake, she jumped out of bed and
began pulling on her stockings, when, to her sur-
prise and delight, she found a shining piece of silver
in the foot of each. Two of Aunt Ruth's fairies had
taken possession of her shoes, another faced her
in the wash-bowl, and a wee one was in the box
beside her brush and comb.

" These will almost fill my poor, little empty
purse," she thought, as she took it from a drawer
and touched the spring — but there, right between
the red linings, was the biggest fairy that had yet
appeared !

Such a merry time as she had dressing that
morning! Mamma was called in continually.
And how they laughed over every new discovery !

At breakfast, she was served first to a small
piece of silver coin; another, just the same size,
shone in the bottom of the glass of water Bridget
brought her. It was really enchanting — quite
like the story of Midas she had just been reading,
only whatever he touched turned into gold. She
wondered if the chicken, potatoes, and rolls would
turn into silver when she tasted them ; but, no !
Although she looked very suspiciously at every-
thing on the table, not another fairy showed
itself.

How many times that morning she counted her
ten silver fairies, I can not tell. But what fun she
had hunting after the other five, upstairs and down-
stairs, from attic to cellar, under rugs, in work-
baskets, and in every conceivable place ! Search-
ing was all in vain, however; fairy number eleven
did not appear until dinner-time, when it flew out,
most unexpectedly, as Bessie was unrolling her
napkin, and its silver mate lay temptingly among
the nuts when dessert was brought in.

Bessie spent a happy afternoon sitting in the
midst of her many presents, and planning how to
spend her little fortune. Some of her fairy pieces
should turn into a pair of warm mittens for poor
Johnnie Davis; many times it had made her heart
ache as she had watched him trying to shovel
snow with such red hands. She would carry a
basket full of fairy cakes, frosted with pink and
white sugar, to old colored Susan (she had over-
heard her telling the cook that it was many a long
day since she had tasted anything nice) ; she
would change her biggest fairy into a pretty doll
for that distressed-looking crippled girl who lived
around in the alley, and would carry out many
other plans of the same sort.

But Mamma was calling her to get ready for a
walk, and, rather reluctantly, she turned away
from her new treasures to put on her wrappings,
and felt in the pocket of her cloak for her gloves.
They were missing, but there she found a fairy,
and another came sticking out from the bow on
her hat, in a most comical fashion.

That night, at supper, a little cake was placed
before Bessie's plate, and fairy fourteen came near
being eaten, but peeped into sight just in time to
be saved from such a fate. How pleasantly and
quickly the evening passed ! All the new things

i883.]

A FAMILY DRIVE.

had to be looked at and admired over again. There
was one more hunt after the fairy that had not
made its appearance ; it was unsuccessful, how-
ever, and bed-time, that dread of children, came
at last. It was strange (for Bessie had ransacked
her room five minutes before), but there, quietly
resting on the snowy pillow, lay the last of Aunt
Ruth's fairies !

While she was undressing. Mamma explained
all the mysteries of the day by reading her Aunt
Ruth's letter, in which full directions had been
given. Then she told how Papa had changed the
paper money into the newest and brightest coins
he could find; how busy she had been hiding
them, as Auntie had suggested, and how success-
fully she had escaped being caught.

"Well, Mamma, it's the merriest Christmas
Day I ever knew ! 1 like all my presents very
much, but I think I have enjoyed my fairies the
most. I know what I shall do to-morrow. 1 have

got it all planned. Some other people shall see
fairies too."

And thanking her Heavenly Father for all his
good gifts, Bessie tucked the crowded purse under
her pillow, lay down, and was soon fast asleep.

Early next morning, with Mamma to help and
advise, Bessie started out on her pleasant errands
of love ; and the silver fairies disappeared rapidly
into all kinds of the oddest-shaped parcels, until
Bessie's big basket was full, and her arms too.
Such fun she had distributing her fairy bundles,
and such looks and words of gratitude as she re-
ceived in return ! "Why, it's nicer than tny
Christmas, Mamma," she whispered, as she turned
to leave the poor little cripple, whom she had
made so happy by giving her the first doll she
had ever owned.

So, many sad hearts were made glad that day,
and the whole long year, by Aunt Ruth's Christ-
mas fairies.

0l'd J3ob» ^o^^^ J3®i>,
Little Qob cxad bl^
Moll^J3ob and Poll^JJot

N^ , /\ll \^««T\t for a drive ene day-
yi^Tvd ytrorv^c &S it Tno,^ $c«m
n1i\cy drove $15^ mltej anci hask ogTairx
/\t\4 -ACV^T* Kurt -t/^e teo^m a-

• >A. «

family

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[December,

THE STORY OF VITEAU.*
By Frank R. Stockton.

LOUIS FINDS ONE Ot- TiiK HlGHWAV.MiiN A GOOD-NAf UKliD 1 ELLuW.

Chapter IV. t

LojJIS did not submit readily to his captors. At
first he was angry; then he cried, and when some
of the men laughed at him for being a baby he
got angry again, and told them they were a band
of cowards to set upon him in this way, — a dozen
men on one boy, — and that if they wanted to rob
him they might do it and go about their business.
He did not care ; he could walk home.

"No, no, my valiant page," said the leader of
the robbers; "we don't want you to walk and we
don't want you to go home. We shall take you
with us now, and we will see about the robbing
afterward. "

And with this he turned the little horse around,

♦Copyright, 1882, by F. R. Stockton.

and led him, by a path which Louis had passed
without noticing it, into the depths of the forest.
On the way, the robber asked his young prisoner
a great many questions regarding his family, his
connections, and his present business in riding
thus alone through the forest roads. To these
questions Louis was ready enough to give answer,
for it was not his nature to conceal anything, unless
he thought it absolutely necessary. Indeed, he
was quite proud of the opportunity thus afforded
him of talking about the rank and importance of
his mother, and of dwelling upon the great power
and warlike renown of the nobleman under whom
he served.

"They will not let me stay here long, you may
be sure of that," said Louis. "As soon as they

t This story was begun in the November number.

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

hear that you have carried me off, they will take
me away from you."

"I hope so, indeed, "said the robber, laughing;
"and if 1 had not thought that they would take
you from me, I should not have taken the trouble
to capture you."

"Oh, I know what you mean," said the boy.
"You expect them to ransom me."

" I most certainly do," replied the other.

" But they will not do it," cried Louis. "They
will come with soldiers and take me from you ! "

"We shall see," returned the robber.

It was almost dark when, by many winding and
sometimes almost invisible paths through the
forest, the party reached a collection of rude huts,
which were evidently the present dwelling-places
of these robbers, or cotereaux, as they were called.
There were several classes of highwaymen, or
brigands, in France at this time, and of these the
cotereaux were, probably, the most numerous.

There were fires built in various places about
the open space in which the huts had been erected,
and there were a good many men around the fires.
A smell of cooking meat made Louis feel sure that
supper would soon be ready, and this was a com-
forting thing to him, for he was very hungry.
The supper which was served to him was of plain
food, but he had enough, and the bed he slept on,
at the back part of the Captain's hut, was nothing
but a lot of dry leaves and twigs, with a coarse
cloth thrown over it ; but Louis was very tired; and
it was not long before he was sound asleep.

He was much troubled, of course, at the thought
of going to bed in this way, in the midst of a band
of robbers, but he was not afraid that they would
do him any injury, for he had heard enough about
these cotereaux to know that they took prisoners
almost always for the purpose of making money
out of them, and not to do them useless harm. If
he had been an older and a deeper thinker, he
would, probably, have thought of the harm which
might be done to him in case no money could be
made by his capture; but this matter did not
enter his mind. He went to sleep with the feel-
ing that what he wanted now was a good night's
rest, and that, in some way or other, all would be
right on the morrow.

Michol, the captain of the band, was very plain-
spoken, the next morning, in telling Louis his
plans in regard to him. " 1 know well," he said,
" that your mother is able to pay a handsome ran-
som for you, and, if she is so hard-hearted that she
will not do it, 1 can depend on Barran. He will
not let a page from his castle pme away in these
woods, for the sake of a handful of gold."

" My mother is not hard-hearted," said Louis,
" and I am not going to pine away, no matter how

long you keep me. Uo you intend to send to my
mother to-day ? "

" Not so soon as that," replied Michol. " I
shall let her have time to feel what a grievous thing
it is to have a son carried away to the heart of
the forest, where she can never find him, and
where he must stay, month after month and year
after year, until she pays his worthy captors what
she thinks the boy is worth."

"I '11 tell you what I '11 do," said Louis. "If
you will give me my horse and my falcon, which
your men have taken from me, and will let me
have again my dagger, I will go to Viteau, myself,
and tell my mother about the ransom ; and I prom-
ise you that she will send you all the money she can
afford to spend for me in that way. And, if there
is no one else to bring it, — for our men might be
afraid to venture among so many robbers, — I shall
bring it myself, on my way back to Barran's castle.
I am not afraid to come."

" I am much pleased to hear that, my boy,"
said Michol, " but I do not like your plan. When
I am ready, I shall send a messenger, and no one
will be afraid to bring me the money, when every-
thing is settled. But one thing you can do. If
you have ever learned to write, — and I have heard
that the Countess of Viteau has taught her sons
to bo scholars, — you may write a letter to your
mother, and tell her in what a doleful plight you
find yourself, and how necessary it is that she
should send all the money that I ask for. Thus
she will see that you are really my prisoner, and
will not delay to come to your assistance. One of
my men, Jasto, will give you a pen and ink, and
something to write your letter on. You may go,
now, and look for Jasto. You will know him by
his torn clothes and his thirst for knowledge."

" Torn clothes ! " said Louis, as he walked away.
" They all have clothes of that kind. And, as for
his thirst for knowledge, I can not see how I am to
find out that. I suppose the Captain wanted to
give me something to do, so as to keep me from
troubling him. I am not going to look for any
Jasto. If I could find my horse, and could get a
chance, I should jump on him and gallop away from
these fellows."

Louis wandered about among the huts, peering
here and there for a sight of Agnes's little jennet.
But he saw nothing of him, for the animal had
been taken away to another part of the forest, to
keep company with other stolen horses. And even
if he had been able to mount and ride away unob-
served, it would have been impossible for Louis to
find his way along the devious paths of the forest
to the highway. More than this, although he
seemed to be wandering about in perfect liberty,
some of the men had orders to keep their eyes

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[December,

upon the boy, and to stop him if he endeavored
to penetrate into the forest.

" Ho, there ! " said a man, whom Louis suddenly
met, as he was walking between two of the huts,
"are you looking for anything? What have you
lost?"

" I have lost nothing," said Louis, deeming it
necessary to reply only to the last question.

" I thought you lost your liberty yesterday," said
the other, "and, before that, you must have lost
your senses, to be riding alone on a road, walled
in for miles and miles by trees, bushes, and brave
cotereaux. But, of course, I did not suppose that
you came here to look for either your liberty or
your senses. What is it you want ? "

Louis had no intention of telling the man that
he was looking for his horse, and so, as he felt
obliged to give some answer, he said :

"I was sent to look for Jasto, so that I could
write a letter to my mother."

"Jasto!" exclaimed the man. "Well, my
young page, if you find everything in the world
as easily as you found Jasto, you will do well. 1
am Jasto. And do you know how you came to
find me ? "

" 1 chanced to meet you," said Louis.

" Not so," said the other. " If 1 had not been
looking for you, you never would have found me.
Things often happen in that manner. If what we
are looking for does not look for us, we never find
it. But what is this about your mother and a let-
. ter? Sit down here, in this bit of shade, and make
these things plain to me."

Louis accepted this invitation, for the sun was
beginning to be warm, and he sat down by the
man, at the foot of a tree.

" 1 do not believe you are Jasto," he said, look-
ing at his companion. '" Your clothes are not
torn. 1 was told to look for a man with torn
clothes. "

"Torn clothes ! " exclaimed the other. " What
are you talking of? Not torn? Why, boy, my
clothes are more torn and are worse torn and
have staid torn longer than the clothes of any
man in all our goodly company. But they have
been mended, you see, and that is what makes
them observable among so many sadly tattered
garments."

Louis looked at the coarse jerkin, breeches, and
stockings of the man beside him. They were,
certainly, torn and ripped in many places, and the
torn places were of many curious shapes, as if the
wearer had been making a hurried journey through
miles of bramble bushes ; but all the torn places
were carefully mended with bright-red silk thread,
which made them more conspicuous than if they
had not been mended at all.

" I see that they have been torn," said Louis,
"but they are not torn now."

"A great mistake, my good sir page — a great
mistake," said the other ; " once torn, always torn.
If my clothes are mended, that but gives them
another quality. Then they have two qualities.
They are torn and they are mended. If one's
clothes are torn, the only way to have clothes that
are not torn is to have new ones. Think of that,
boy, and make no rents in yourself nor in your
clothes. Although mending can be done very
well," he added, looking complacently at his
breeches, "the evil of it is, though, that it always
shows."

" 1 could mend better than that," said Louis.

" That is to be hoped ; it is truly to be hoped,"
said the other, " for you have had better chances
than 1. This red silk, left in our hands by a fair
lady, who was taking it to waste it in embroidery
in some friend's castle, was all the thread 1 had for
my mending. Now, you could have all things
suitable for your mending, whether of clothes or
of mind or of body, if it should so happen that
you should have rents in any of these. But tell
me, now, about your letter."

" There is nothing to tell," said Louis, " except-
ing that your Captain wishes me to write a letter
to my mother, urging her to send good ransom for
me, and that he said you could give me pen and
ink and something to write upon."

"fen and ink are well enough," said the man,
who, as Louis now believed, was really Jasto, "for
1 can make them. But something to write on is a
more difficult matter to find. Paper is too scarce,
and parchment costs too much ; and so there is
none of either in this company. But I shall see to
it that you have something to write on when you
are ready to write. It strikes me that the chief
trouble will be to put together the three things —
the pen and the ink and the something to write
on — in such a matiner as to make a letter of them.
Did you ever write a letter ?"

" Not yet. But I know how to do it," said Louis;
and, as he spoke, he remembered how he had
promised his brother to write a letter to him. He
was now going to send a letter to Viteau, but
under what strange circumstances it would be
written ! If he were at the castle, Agnes would
help him. He wished he had thought of asking
her, weeks ago, to help him.

" I have written a letter myself," said Jasto,
"but before I had written it I trembled to say I
could do it. And 1 was a grown man, and had
fought in three battles. But pages are bolder
than soldiers. Would you like to hear about my
letter ? "

" Indeed I should," said Louis, anxious to lis-

iSSi.]

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

ten to anything which might give him a helping
hint regarding the duty he had taken upon himself.

"Well, then," said Jasto, stretching out his
legs, " I shall tell you about my letter. It was
just before "

"Jasto!" rang out a voice from the opposite
side of the inclosure formed by the huts.

"There!" cried Jasto, jumping to his feet,
"that is the Captain. 1 must go. But you sit still,
just where you are, and when I come back, which
will be shortly, I shall tell you about my letter."

a good appearance at the house of his cousin, with
whom he was to live, Bernard insisted on his em-
ploying nearly all his leisure time in out-door
exercises and knightly accomplishments. Hawk-
ing was postponed for the present, for, after the
loss of Raymond's falcon was discovered, Bernard
declared that he had not the heart to train another
one immediately, even if a good bird could be
easily obtained, which was not the case.

Very little was said about the disappearance of
the falcon. Raymond, his mother, and the squire

BERNARD TEACHING RAYMOND THE USE OF THE LONG SWORD. [SEE NEXT PAGE.]

Chapter V.

We must now go back to the Chateau de Viteau,
and see what has happened there since the depart-
ure of Louis for his new home. Of course, the
boy was greatly missed by his mother and brother,
but Raymond soon found himself so busy that he
had not time enough to grieve very much over the
absence of his old playmate. In order to prepare
himself for the school at Paris he was obliged to
study diligently, and in order that he might make

each had a suspicion that Louis had had something
to do with it ; but no one of them mentioned it to
either of the others. Each hoped the suspicion
was unfounded, and therefore said nothing about it.

While Raymond was busy with his studies and
his manly exercises, the mind of Bernard, even
while giving the boy the benefit of his knowledge
of the management of horses and the use of arms,
was occupied with a very serious matter.

As has been said before, the Countess of Viteau
was one of the very few ladies in France who was

THE STORY OF VITEAU.

[December,

fairly educated, and who took an interest in acquir-
ing knowledge from books. This disposition, so
unusual at that time, together with her well-known
efforts to have her sons educated, even giving a
helping hand herself whenever she found that she
waS qualified to do so, had attracted attention to
her, and many people began to talk about her, as
a woman who gave a great deal of time to useless
pursuits. Why should a lady of her rank — these
people said — wish to read books and study out the
meaning of old manuscripts, as if she were of no
higher station than a poor monk ? If there were
anything in the books and parchments which
she ought to know, the priests would tell her all
about it.

But the Countess thought differently, and she
kept on with her reading, which was almost en-
tirely confined to religious works, and in this way
she gradually formed some ideas about religious
matters which were somewhat different from those
taught at that time by the Church of Rome, or, at
least, from those taught by the priests about her.
She saw no harm in her opinions, and did not hes-
itate to speak of them to the priests who came to
the chateau from a neighboring monastery, and
even to argue in favor of them.

The priests, however, did see harm in the ideas
of the Countess, simply because, in those days,
people had very narrow and bigoted ways of think-
ing in regard to religious affairs, and it was gen-
erally thought that any person having an opinion
differing, even very little, from what was taught by
the monks and priests, was doing a wicked thing
to persist in such an opinion after he had been
told it was wrong.

For this reason, when the priests who had charge
of the religious services at Viteau found that their
arguments made no impression on the Countess,
who was able to answer them back in such a way
that they could find nothing more to say on their
side of the question, they reported the state of
affairs to some of the higher officers of the Church,
and, in due time, a man was sent to Viteau to find
out exactly what its mistress did think, and why
she was so wicked as to think it.

The person who was sent was the Dominican
monk. Brother Ansel mo, who was met by the two
boys and Bernard, on the occasion when we first
made their acquaintance. Brother Anselmo was
a quiet-spoken man, making no pretensions to au-
thority or to superior knowledge ; and the Count-
ess talked with him and answered his questions
freely and unsuspectingly. She knew he was a
Dominican, and she knew he had come to the
neighborhood of Viteau on purpose to talk with
her on certain religious subjects ; but this did not
surprise her, as she supposed all good people were

just as much interested in these subjects as she
was ; but she had no idea that he was connected
with the Inquisition at Toulouse.

Bernard, the squire, however, knew well who
he was, and it troubled him greatly to know it.

Some weeks after the Dominican had begun to
make his almost daily visits to Viteau, he came,
one day, accompanied by another monk, who did
not enter the grounds, but who remained outside
the little gate, waiting for his companion to return.

Bernard noticed the monk waiting outside, and
thinking that this unusual occurrence had some-
thing suspicious about it, he followed Brother
Anselmo when he left the chateau, and, as he
rejoined his fellow monk, the squire slipped
quietly up to the wall and listened to what they
said to each other. In this case, Bernard did not
consider that he was doing a very improper thing.
He feared that danger threatened the household
of Viteau, and that these two monks were the
persons through whom the evil would come.
Therefore, he believed that it was his duty to em-
ploy every possible means of averting this danger;
and he listened with all his ears.

What he heard was very little. The two monks
stood silent a few moments, and then the one who
had been waiting said something in a low voice,
which Bernard could not hear. To this Brother
Anselmo answered : " We have done all we can.
1 think it is a case for the Holy Inquisition."

And then the two walked off together.

Bernard now knew that his fears were correct.
His beloved mistress, on account of some of her
religious opinions, was in danger of being carried
a prisoner to Toulouse, there to be tried before
the officers of the Inquisition. He had no doubt
that her opinions, whatever they were, were en-
tirely correct, for he had a great respect for her
religious knowledge, and he felt sure she knew
more than the monks who came to the chateau,
but he well understood that, if she should be put
on trial, and if the doctrines she believed to be true
were found to differ, in the least point, from those
taught by the priests, she would be considered
guilty of heresy, and perhaps be put to death.

The squire went away from the wall a very sad
man. He was certain that no one at the chateau
but himself knew of the danger of its mistress, and
he felt that it rested on him to take some im-
mediate steps to save her, if that were possible.

As he approached the house, Bernard met Ray-
mond, who was coming to take some lessons from
him in the use of the long sword. The good squire
never threw so much energy and good-will into his
lessons as he did that day.

" If he has to fight for his mother," he said to
himself, " I want him to fight well."

(To be continued.)

i88i.]

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MAMMOTH.

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MAMMOTH.
By C. F. Holder.

.' y i//^ i n ^ ^ ^ i ij ■■ '^' ■■■>■ ■ ^ ^

THE MAMMOTH OF ST. PETERSBURG.

At the close of the last century, a poor fisherman
named Shumarhoff lived near the mouth of the
Lena River, which flows through the cold Siberian
country and is lost in the icy waters of the Arctic
Sea. In the summer, he plied his vocation on the
sea-coast, and during the long winter lived far up
the river, where it was, perhaps, a little warmer.
It is safe to say that Shumarhoff would never have
made a great noise in the world — in fact, would

never have been heard of — had it not been for a
wonderful discovery he made while coming down
the river one spring. The river-banks of this cold
country are quite peculiar. Those on the western
side are generally low and marshy, while those on
the eastern are often from sixty to one hundred
feet in height. In the extreme north, this high
elevation is cut into numerous pyramidal-shaped
mounds, which, viewed from the sea or river, look

9°

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MAMMOTH.

[December,

exactly as if they had been built by man. In the
summer, these strange formations are free from
snow, and to a depth of ten feet are soft ; but
below this they are continually frozen, and have
been for untold ages. They are formed of layers
of earth and ice — ^ sometimes a clear stratum of
the latter many feet in thickness.

It was before such a mound that our fisherman
stopped, dumb with astonishment, one spring
morning, so many years ago. About thirty feet
above him, half-way up the face of the mound,
appeared the section of a great ice-layer, from
which the water was flowing in numberless
streams ; while protruding from it, and partly
hanging over, vvfas an animal of such huge pro-
portions that the simple fisherman could hardly
believe his eyes. Two gigantic horns or tusks
were visible, and a great woolly body was faintly
outlined in the blue, icy mass. In the fall, he
related the story to his comrades up the river,
and in the ensuing spring, with a party of his
fellow fishermen, he again visited the spot. A
year had worked wonders. The great mass had
thawed out sufficiently to show its nature, and on
closer inspection proved to be a well-preserved
specimen of one of those gigantic extinct hairy
elephants that roamed over the northern parts of
Europe and America in the earlier ages of the
world. The body was still too firmly attached and
frozen to permit of removal. For four successive
years the fishermen visited it, until finally, in
March, 1804, five years after its original discovery,
it broke away from its icy bed and came thunder-
ing down upon the sands below. The discoverers
first detached the tusks, that were nine feet six
inches in length, and together weighed three hun-
dred and sixty pounds. The hide, covered with
wool and hair, was more than twenty men could
lift. Part of this, with the tusks, were taken to
Jakutsk and sold for fifty rubles, while the rest of
the animal was left where it fell, and cut up at vari-
ous times by the Jakoutes, who fed their dogs with
its flesh. A strange feast this, truly — -meat that
had been frozen solid in the ice-house of Nature
perhaps fifty thousand years," more or less ; but so
well was it preserved that, when the brain was
afterward compared with that of a recently killed
animal, no difference in the tissues could be
detected.

Two years after the animal had fallen from the
cliff, the news reached St. Petersburg, and the
Museum of Natural History sent a scientist to
secure the specimen and purchase it for the Em-
peror. He found the mammoth where it originally
fell, but much torn by animals, especially by the
white bears and foxes. The massive skeleton,
however, was entire, with the exception of one

fore leg, while all the other bones were still held
together by the ligaments and flesh, as if the
animal had been dead only a few weeks. The
neck was still covered by a long mane of reddish
wool, and over thirty pounds more of the same
colored wool or hair were collected by the scientist
from the adjacent sand, into which it had been
trodden by bears and other animals of prey. In
this condition the mammoth, with the tusks, which
were repurchased in Jakutsk, was taken to St.
Petersburg and there mounted.

Our illustration depicts this very specimen,
representing it as it appeared when alive and
moving along with ponderous tread through the
scanty woodland of the northern countries. Its
length is twenty-six feet, including the curve of the
tusks ; it stands sixteen feet high, and when alive
it probably weighed more than twice as much as the
largest living elephant. And, as some tusks have
been found over fifteen feet in length, we may
reasonably conclude that Shumarhoff's mammoth
is only an average specimen, and that many of its
companions were considerably larger.

Imagine the spectacle of a large herd of these
mighty creatures rushing along over the frozen
ground, the reverberation of their tread sounding
like thunder. When enraged, their wild, headlong
course must have been one of terrible devastation.
Large trees were but twigs to these giants of the
north, and everything must have given way before
them.

Tusks of this animal had been discovered pre-
vious to Shumarhoff's find, and have been found
since in such great quantities that vessels go out
for the sole purpose of collecting them. Esch-
scholtz Bay, near Behring Strait, is a famous
place for them, and numbers have also been found
in England. It is stated that the fishermen of
Happisburgh have dredged up over two thousand
mammoth teeth during the past twelve years — a
fact showing that a once favorite resort, or perhaps
burying-ground, of these great creatures, is now
covered by the ocean. In the cliffs of Northern
Alaska remains of the mammoth are often seen,
and the New Siberian Islands recently visited by
the Arctic explorer, Baron Nordenskjold, are lib-
erally supplied with these, as well as remains of
other and equally interesting extinct and fossil
animals. The mammoth was so called from a
curious belief among the Siberians that this enor-
mous animal lived in caverns under the ground,
much after the fashion of the mole. Many of the
tusks and bones were found buried in the frozen
earth, and it was the natural conclusion that the
animal lived there when alive. They believed it
could not bear the light of day ; and so dug out
with its tusks great tunnels in the earth.

* According to Sir William Logan, from five hundred thousand to one million years ago.

THE DISCOVERY OK THE MAMMOTH,

To us the mammoth is known as the Elephas
primigenus, an extinct and northern cousin of
the Indian elephant of to-day. It lived above the
parallel of forty degrees in Europe, Northern Asia,
and North-western North America, during what
is known in geology as the Quaternary age. In
those days. North America presented an entirely
different appearance from the present. What are
now the coast States, from Maine to Central
America, were then nearly, if not entirely, under
water, while Florida existed, if at all, merely as a
deep coral-reef. A great arm of the sea or ocean
extended up the St. Lawrence nearly to Lake On-
tario, covering Lake Champlain and many other
Canadian lakes. The site of the present city of
Montreal was then five hundred feet under water,
and whales swam at will over what is now Lake
Champlain — a fact sufficiently proved by the dis-
covery of one sixty feet above the borders of the
present lake, and one hundred and fifty feet above
the level of the Atlantic Ocean.

The animals that lived with the mammoth in
that far-off, wonderful age were equally interesting.
In 1772, a hairy rhinoceros was found in the ice
at Wilni, Siberia, preserved in the same manner as
the Shumarhoff mammoth. England, the northern
part of Europe and Asia, and probably North

America also, were the roaming-grounds of a huge
two-horned rhinoceros, that probably waged war
with the mammoth. The streams, rivers, and
swamps were then populated with gigantic hippo-
potamuses, armed with terrible tusks, while on the
higher plains were oxen and deer, compared to
which our modern cattle are dwarfs and pigmies.
Among the tiger tribe was one now called the JMar-
chaerodtis, with sharp, saber-like teeth eight or nine
inches long — one of the most formidable creatures
of this age of wonders. It waged deadly warfare
against the vast herds of wild horses that roamed
the eastern plains in those days. Besides these
were savage hyenas of great size, that traversed the
country in troops, leaving devastation in their
track.

Other great elephants arc known to the geolo-
gist : as the mastodon, specimens of which have
been unearthed at Newburg and Cohocs, N. Y.,
in Salem County, N. J., and in many other parts
of this country. There is also record of a great
fossil elephant, with tusks fifteen feet long, that
was excavated from the Sewalik Hills of India ; but
none of these approached the hairy mammoth in
size. It is surely a fitting monument of this ancient
time, when man — if he existed at all — was but
a savage, and the earth seemingly incomplete.

jl liiile GLd aG keel- some K'tien-s io tea/.

To xneet some Dolls froiti France,

itucL tkelrlvloiKei: caaie ioo iu enjoy a. view,

i{acl a-fterwa;cis pLay foe ihe dance .

But the Kittens were rucie"^ graube^.tlieirfoui,

jlncLirealecL ike Dolls wllk jeers ,

Whlck caused their Mollie"^ '»-^ ackiagKeort

:f\ni seven or eigkt large tears. ^

CHRISTMAS DAY.

[December,

CHRISTMAS DAY.

By Nora Perry.

HAT 'S this hurry, what 's this flurry,

All throughout the house to-day ?
Everywhere a merry scurry.

Everywhere a sound of play.
Something, too, 's the matter, matter,

Out-of-doors as well as in,
For the bell goes clatter, clatter,

Every minute — such a din !

Everybody winking, blinking.

In a queer, mysterious way ;
What on earth can they be thinking,

What on earth can be to pay ?
Bobby peeping o'er the stair-way.

Bursts into a little shout ;
Kitty, too, is in a fair way,

Where she hides, to giggle out.

As the bell goes cling-a-ling-ing

Every minute more and more.
And swift feet go springing, springing.

Through the hall-way to the door.
Where a glimpse of box and packet,

And a httle rustle, rustle.
Makes such sight and sound and racket,—

Such a jolly bustle, bustle, —
That the youngsters in their places,

Hiding slyly out of sight.
All at once show shining faces.

All at once scream with delight.

Go and ask them what 's the matter,

What the fun outside and in —
What the meaning of the clatter,

What the bustle and the din.
Hear them, hear them laugh and shout then,

All together hear them say.
Why, what have you been about, then.

Not to know it 's Christmas day?"

1883.1

SOUL, SOUL, FOR A SOUL-CAKe!

"SOUL, SOUL, FOR A SOUL-CAKE!"

By J. L. W.

The scene here represented was a familiar spec- mirth, which was shared by those of every rank
tacle in the streets of English towns some centuries and age. The last recorded appointment of a
ago. They had many quaint
observances in those days,
as we all know, and the
one here shown resembled
much the pretty custom of
singing Christmas carols
under the windows of the
rich, during holiday-week.
The " Soul-cake," however,
was rather a Halloween
celebration than a Christ-
mas-tide usage. The offer-
ings of the first fruits of the
year's harvest were called
" Soul-cakes," which the
rich gave to the poor at the
Halloween season, in return
for which the recipients
prayed for the souls of the
givers and their friends.
And this custom became so
favored in popular esteem
that, for a long time, it was
a regular observance in the
country towns of England
for small companies to go
about from parish to parish
at Halloween, begging soul-
cakes by singing under the
windows some such verse as
this:

" Soul, soul, for a soul-cake :
Pray you, good mistress, a soul*
cake! "

It was not unusual, too,
in those days, for the cele-
bration of Christmas to be
kept up for weeks before
and after the actual date ;
and in the great houses of

the country, — the homes of dukes and earls, — a
"lord of misrule," or "abbot of unreason," was
appointed before the advent of Halloween, to
devise and superintend the pastimes and merry-
making of the Christmas festival. His authority
lasted from All-Hallow Eve (or Halloween) to
Candlemas Day (the 2d of February), and during
all that time the castle or manor over which he
reigned was given up to feasting, music, and

"lord of misrule" was in 1627, and at that time
his title had changed into " The Grand Captaine
of Mischieffe." No doubt he must have been the
merriest of all the revelers at Halloween, when
beginning his frolicsome reign ; but perhaps he
found it harder to maintain his joy as Candlemas
Day drew near, when he would have to lay aside
his authority and resume his work-a-day duties and
burdens.

CHANGING A FACE.

[December,

CHANGING A FACE.— AN OPEN LETTER.

FEW days ago, my dear
Kitty, I saw a little girl
making a new face for
herself, although she
did n't know what
she was doing.
Indeed, I oft-
en see boys
and girls
tracing up-
on them-
s selves lines
that, after
a time, be-
come as dis-
tinct, though
not colored,
as the tattoo-
markings of
the South Sea Islanders.
In fact, you were the little
girl who was changing her face ; and I have thought
that, if I wrote you what the politicians call " an open
letter " about it, both you and other little friends
of St. Nicholas might thank me in your hearts.
You have often heard the saying that " Beauty is
only skin deep " ; and there is another that may be
new to you, that "God makes our faces, but we
make our mouths." Now, like most proverbs, these
are truths, but they are not complete truths. But
1 think I can show you how in great measure we
do make our own mouths and our own faces.

You know very well that a blacksmith's arm is
not only strong, but large, because hard work has
developed its muscles. And it is a general truth
that all muscles increase by exercise. But you do
not see how a blacksmith's arm illustrates anything
in a little girl's face ? Let us "make haste slowly,"
as the wise old Romans used to say, and then my
meaning may be clearer.

What does our skin, so soft and smooth in child-
hood, and often so harsh and wrinkled in old age,
cover ? You say, flesh ? Yes. And some other
little girl adds, fat ? Very well. And the boy who
is studying physiology adds, nerves and tendons ?
True. And then you all know that bones support
the human structure — are the frame — just as the
beams and timbers of a wooden house, or of a ship,
are its frame. But what is flesh ? Is it merely so
much softer fabric thrown over and fastened to the
bones in a thick sheet, like the soft seat on the
hard frame of your parlor sofa ? Not at all. The

flesh is separated into several hundred divisions, or
little bundles, called muscles.

Muscles and flesh are different names for the
same thing, just as the bricks and the wall of a
house, or the stones and the pavement of a street,
are the same. Only the muscles, unlike the bricks
and stones, are all changeable as to size within cer-
tain limits; for each muscle is attached to the
bone beneath it by the tough, inelastic tendon.
Now, you know the bones can neither bend nor
change their length. But how, for example, does
your hand reach your mouth when you eat?
Because your arm is jointed, and some large mus-
cles are fastened by one end to its upper part, near
the shoulder, and by the other end below the elbow.
The muscles contract, which, as your Latin reminds
you, means ' ' draw together, " and thus grow shorter,
and by means of the elbow-joint the lower part of
the arm (for the bone can not shorten) is carried
around and toward the shoulder or the face, as the
case may be. But, becoming shorter, the muscles
must become thicker, just as, when a stretched
piece of India-rubber contracts, you see it grow
thicker and stouter as it grows shorter. By putting
your hand upon it, you can feel the muscle of your
arm swell as it does its work. But you already
know that continuous and forcible exercise causes
the arm — that is, its muscles — to grow much more
marked and bulky. Let us stop a moment to see
exactly what muscle means. Your Latin dictionary
will tell you, if you don't already know, that mus
means mouse, and musculus a little mouse. The
old anatomists who began to pry into Nature's
secrets were impressed with the mouse-like outline
of these tissues when contracted, and so called them
little mice-muscles. So all our flesh is muscle, and
it is these little mice running under the skin that
are the tell-tales of what is going on or has been
done.

Now your dear, soft face has its many muscles,
too, much finer and more delicate than those of
the body, by the exercise of which 5 ou express the
emotions you feel. It would take too long to ex-
plain how or why certain of them respond to and
illustrate certain feelings, and for the present you
must accept it as a fact. Now, the secret of our
first proverb lies in the further fact that around
the mouth is one of the few muscles in the body
that is not attached to bone. It is a muscular
ring, to which other muscles are fastened, and
moves in whatever direction it may be influenced,
retaining the set and fashion into which it may be

i88x]

CHANGING A FACE.

drawn. And as the bony parts of the face, the
nose, the forehead, the cheek-bones, the jaws, the
whole fixed contour, are what we have inherited,
we can not of ourselves make much alteration in
them. So, also, we inherit our mouth; but this, as
well as a part of the surface of the countenance,
we can, and often do, materially alter ; and it is to
these alterations, — this making of faces, — that we
all, old and young, should give heed.

I will not tire you, my darling, by going into
those details which belong to a study that is be-
yond your years, but I want you to remember that
those who are peevish and knit their eyebrows
and wrinkle their foreheads — cloud their brows, it
is called — do so only by the operation of little
muscles, that work more easily and grow a very
little every time they are so employed. There
are a set of snarling muscles that draw up the cor-

ners of the mouth and expose the canine teeth,
which, in the savage flesh-eaters of the forest and
jungle, are coarse and strong, and always at work,
and which, I am sorry to say, are sometimes too
well marked in boys and men. There is a little, but
mischievous muscle, called superbus (which does
not mean "superb," but "proud"), that, with a
human helper, draws down and pouts out the proud
and sullen lower lip. But, regardless of names,
what 1 want you to particularly bear in mind is,
that as every expression the features can assume
becomes easier the oftener it is repeated, so the lit-
tle mice run away with beauty and goodness of face
when these expressions are unkind ; and, in like
manner, they are fairy messengers, bringing pleas-
ant gifts for both present and future use, when the
face becomes the mask of a good and willing heart.
Your affectionate UNCLE ALFRED.

T-vJouLr).Do-(?Jif£-\AlELL.

10 J -(('inIoW-
Jo-v\iEy\R-ifsl- ?le^s^i\1t-

L/\KGEK-

]

%s# h0.

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

[December,

C^t

f.,,jujW5\:tKejc^^

^Jq^Jhe (wtx^he^ [»er jtice,?^"' ^i\e combed her \\Zi\\%
|">j\^f/\'''''V4Ke^cJonnecI Ker /rock, ex"'^ tKen
Vx^- A /f^e ^x/eivlr witn ker riTTle wBTterJncJ-iool;
gTo NX'Biler her 6B.rc[en /fe^ir.

|\^^- Of ker* tea^utiful 6cxrc|crv H^ere I

■■■ - ^^ -UTe mtu ^^^S^lk^-row ^^^^^

i88a.]

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

littlr

Pl^^a ii^the olq elA^"tir<

fee.

^Qj^^U^ ^^^^^y_^C^e CO^ ^ -3C70cc|-bxe_ro /Ofr^^rcjcrb^ dT^^TIZIZZ

I kf .^>«^a<'A5 co^rrlcd "the. cocJ<'^-S^^elI^,
' ' I 'Kerr \x/ere y^urrlcq ^rotxnai "Ihe ^ilver pelij

^i^it" The CjCCOfeA^jp^ftiLi^ wc>.^ Icvtii riiV^t,

{DuiTc contra^r^.

>♦

, Vol. X.— 7.

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

[December,

liitl.

(^ >nu^ ^r&mtArd irvihe olcj elm tree, ^^

("(^.n you tell nx/KIcK wjv/ "thcv vc/enT"?
^Qvei" "the river es."'' dowiA^c fiilj,

red C^p-Mili,
cm ty The 5cenrt'-

or when I sK/oke up tnij />Aor

\Vju5t Jsl'Tfxe' fepca.^ of dss^

(Hun£ over iKe cl'^jTx ^^' '

iv|^f^c| up Idv lt\e olcj
\\^ Nybu cAh /oliow tilt

rnm6,

Key^olloN»<^ec| "thcAx evil "the /^orirviup,
.|A^^c) throuik thf loripkr kot" hoorVj
/\^^^ iVrto the rclpe OT^'~fhc €\ycr\\wp
'Qy the 1 16 ^^ of^f7|3^ I *^ t^ew /-^ Sgx\ .

-/^orixi\i "tswo A\ofAth5 ^'' v-a^inly
*; , w ^)/*ke looked /or Ker \x/evnderii^y^o>*</eri,

l88a.]

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

^^jliWm. 7Wa5 1' ever dry T ^^r^cfc!^ ■ A^

aiq Kx-yyoicc

j heCT' ctXA\e y^o/n iKe Keev-FT qt'^ ep|_c n , ]

A^'^ ^Mf^- so rusty fM^I

lOO

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

[December,

^/*Ke driecj Kcr liliej well,

^/"Ke jcoLii^ed eocck jilver bell;

2V*'* l^jco oM me jefe.— sUore jKe jcrtxtaecl "tKe^/vvoulq

^ec^r oi"* t\ d^

Mer Kixir Kacl /?xc|ed o^rv <^sl''e>^e^'''y ,^-:.

^A^'J Kcr eve*/ vc'ere jv. cjus^y tfo^i^-^^i

Jt-riielilkl NvcxIKecj Reside Ker *sl*--^

Ap*^ -the e,6cHh%, cioi€r ]peh\\r\d Kcr;
" D.A\e ju'«^l^l^^p ~tr>ree: cx" "three..

A.-tU€V fa'i.ssecl H\e olcj dUtJ^fC -^=

i883.]

MARY AND HER GARDEN.

lOI

y^"'^ l(\iii)Kinp, jtood Injide. V

POuite Cf'i-irTrfv^rv^
I ^ — "" A' i 9 "

rjw Iaow dovou do lb- clcky.

I02

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

[December,

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.
By Edmund A. Struthers.

MOUISEAU AND HIS DOG.

The boys and girls of St. Nicholas will per-
haps be a little surprised to hear that there are
civilized and enlightened people in the far north of
our American continent who, during the winter
season, make constant use of the dog as a beast
of burden.

The officers of the powerful Hudson's Bay Com-
pany, whose trading-posts are scattered through
the Dominion of Canada, from the Atlantic to the
Pacific, and away north to the banks of the noble
Yukon, find it necessary to utilize the dog for
purposes of traveling and transportation through
sections of country where proper food can not be
found for horses and cattle.

The dog is capable, also, of enduring a very low
temperature and of thriving under harsh treat-
ment. It is the habit of these hardy creatures,
during a respite from drawing their heavily loaded
sledges, to lie huddled together in their harness
and allow the falling and drifting snow to hide
them from sight, save where their black noses pro-
trude for the purpose of obtaining air. With the
Canadian Indian the dog takes the place of the
horse, drawing the wood in winter, and bringing
to the wigwam the spoils of the hunt. And, where
farming has been attempted in a rude way by the
red man, he uses his train of dogs for plowing the
land for his little patch of potatoes.

As you boys have your toy steam-boats and cars,
and while playing with them' think that, when you
are men, you will own real cars and boats, so the
little Indian boy has his toy flat-sled, and no doubt
thinks with longing of the days when he, a full-
grown brave, will come striding back from the
moose-hunt on his snow-shoes, followed by the
panting train, drawing the carcass of the antlered
king of the forest.

The manner of harnessing and driving dogs is
interesting. The harness is usually made of
moose-skin or buffalo leather, and is often lavishly
decorated. The collar, which is not unlike our
common horse-collar, is perfectly round, and is
slipped over the dog's head, fitting snugly at the
shoulders ; the traces are attached to this collar,
and, passing through loops in the bead-worked sad-
dle-cloth, are fastened to the sledge. Four dogs
usually comprise a train, and are driven "tan-
dem." Great care is taken in selecting and train-
ing a leader ; he must be quick, intelligent, strong,
and ready to answer and obey the "chaw" and
"yea" ("right" and "left") of his driver.

The sledges for winter travel are of three kinds:
the plain, flat sled (which is for freight), and the
carriole and Berlin, for passengers. The flat sled is
constructed of two or three long, thin boards, turned
up at the front exactly as were the old-fashioned
skates of our fathers, and bound together with raw-
hide thongs. The carriole, which might be termed
the palace-car of the dog-train, is framed over and
covered with dressed skins. The Berlin is a pleas-
ure-sleigh, with rawhide sides.

Having given you an outline of the make-up
and appearance of a dog-train, let me now ask
that one of the boys (a brave boy he must be)
accompany me on a journey of a few hundred
miles through the wilderness, our only conveyance
being flat sleighs and carrioles drawn by bushy-
tailed and sharp-eared dogs. We will imagine
ourselves, in the dead of winter, at Norway House,
an important post or fort of the Hudson's Bay
Trading Company, which is situated north of the
head of that inland sea, Lake Winnipeg, and
nearly four hundred miles from civilization ; also
that we are (as we most likely should be, in such
a situation) very homesick, and wishing ourselves
again by the shores of the grand old Atlantic. You
say, my dear boy, you do not care to be dragged
four hundred miles by dogs over a frozen lake,
with no shelter at night, and the companionship

82.)

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

103

only of the bears and wolves near the coast. But,
never fear — it is our only way of exit from this land
of ice and snow. So come with me to the dog-yard,
while Mouiseau, our French half-breed guide, se-
lects the animals which are to form our trains. We
find a large inclosure with high, wooden walls,
which are, at the base and for some distance up-
ward, plated with sheet-iron to prevent the restless
animals from gnawing their way out of prison.
This yard, or prison-house, is filled with a great
variety of dogs, from the stately fellow who plainly
shovfs the blood of the Scotch greyhound, to the
miserable little Indian dog, who has been allowed
lodgings inside the stockade, while his red master
is bartering furs inside the fort.

Mouiseau at last selects his dogs — not the largest
in the yard, but from the medium-sized animals,
on account of their greater powers of endur-
ance. VVe are to have twelve dogs, making
three trains of four dogs each. The selection is
again carefully examined, collars are fitted, and the

to the food-supply, and places on the baggage-
sledge a bag of pemmican (pounded buffalo-meat),
a bag of" bannocks " (wheat-cakes made by Hector,
the Scotch cook, who hails from the island of
Lewis), several large pieces of fat pork, and a little
box containing compressed potatoes.

Mouiseau calls us to look at our sleighs, packed
as only an old traveler can pack, with snow-
shoes, rifles, and cooking utensils lashed on the
outside. All is now ready, and at break of day
we shall be off amid the cheers and shouts of the
employes, to whom the arrival and departure of
guests is a matter of no small moment. Were it
an arrival, the ensign of the corporation, with its
"elk rampant" and curious motto "Pro pelle
cutcm" (" skin for skin "), would be at the top of
the tall staff outside the walls of the fort.

Morning comes, and after numerous hand-shak-
ings we sit in our carrioles, and are carefully
wrapped by our attentive drivers, while the dogs
are whining and barking in impatience to be off
The word is given : " Marsh anne mush ! " (" Go
along, dog ! ") the whips crack, and we glide down
the slippery path, out of the gates of the fort and
out upon the%frozen river, which has for
banks rough walls of granite, the

dogs are placed in another yard near by, ready for
to-morrow, the day of our departure. We must
look now to our personal outfit, bearing in mind
that our baggage must be light ; two pairs of
wool blankets each, two buffalo robes, an oil-
skin blanket, and two pillows complete our outfit.
Mouiseau, with his two Indian drivers, attends

tops of which art; dotted with clumps of small jack-
pine and spruce. We fly swiftly along, passing
a few houses with mud chimneys and parchment

I04

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

[December,

windows, and suddenly at a bend in the river
enter the woods. Our guide tells us this is a fa-
vorite portage,* which saves us several miles of
travel. We at last come out on a beautiful lake,
dotted with islands of evergjeen, and looking an
enchanted place in the clear winter air. This is
Playgreen Lake, a grand widening of the outlet
of Lake Winnipeg. After an hour's travel wc
make another portage, which, we are told, is for
the purpose of avoiding the open water at the im-
mediate outlet of the lake. We are now twenty-
five miles from Norway House, and have been four
hours on the road. Truly, our little dogs do bravely.
We stop for a few minutes, while one of our Indians
builds a fire and prepares a cup of tea ; and then,
our lunch over, the drivers take their places at the
back of the sleighs, steadying and steering them
through the narrow wood track by the use of a
rope called a sail-line. We suddenly speed down
a steep bank, and there before us is Lake Winni-
peg, that immense receiving basin, which takes
to itself on the south the mighty, rushing Win-
nipeg and the steady-flowing and silent stream
which comes dashing through the rich prairie-
lands of Dakota, Minnesota, and Manitoba, in
its search for the sea, and known to us as the
Red River of the North ; while in the north-
west the melting snows of the Rocky Mountains,
after a swift journey through the valley of the
Saskatchewan, find a few hours' rest and then go
tumbling down the Nelson to Hudson's Bay. On

the right is the site of an old fort, where many
years ago a bloody battle was fought t between
two powerful trading companies. Before us is
Montreal Point, for which place we now take a
direct course, our guide running before, in a steady,
swinging trot peculiar to Indian runners, while
our dogs follow in good form. At intervals we
drop into a light slumber, to be suddenly awak-
ened by the loud crack of a loaded whip and the
responsive cry of a lazy dog. As the sun is setting
in the west, going down into the apparently bound-
less lake, we halt on the edge of a huge drift,
near the shore, which is at this point dotted with
thickets of spruce and balsam, and get out of our
carrioles stiffly enough after our long journey.
The sleds are drawn into the timber, and our
little party go at the work of clearing with snow-
shoes a place for the camp. This accomplished, the
fire is built, green boughs are laid for our beds,
blankets and robes are brought forth ; and while

* The term portage signifies a crossing or carrying place between two bodies of water. For instance : On a certain route where canoes
are used, there are a series of lakes separated from one another hy narrow strips of land. We pass through lake No. i, in the direction
of lake No. 2, searching for the narrowest strip separating them : a road is cut through the forest, over which the sturdy Indians carry
the canoes and baggage, and launching their craft push on for No. 3. On much-frequented canoe routes these carrying-places have
fine, wide roads, and bear suggestive tides, as '* Turtle Portage," *' Mossy Portage," etc. In winter these roads are used by travelers in
order to pass from one frozen Take to another.

t This battle appears to have taken place near the close of a terrific strife for the control of the rich fur trade of the North-west, which
raged between the North-west Trading Company, with head-quarters at Montreal, and the Hudson's Bay Company, of London, England,
the termination being the joining of the rivals under the title of the latter company.

i88a.]

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

105

we stretch ourselves hizily before the bright fire
of tamarack, our guide prepares supper, and his
assistants unharness the dogs and prepare their
meal of fresh white-fish. As wc recline in perfect
comfort, a shrike or butcher-bird, the first life we
have seen in the woods to-day, hops from the
bough above us, and helps itself from the pemmi-
can-bag ; then flies saucily over our heads toward
his cache, to return in a few moments for more.
The shrike is truly a camp-bird, and on discovering
the smoke from some newly built camp-fire, as it
curls upward through the trees, does not rest till
it has reached the camp and sampled the cookery.
The Indian seldom molests this arch thief, but
laughs quietly at its saucy chatter, having a belief
that, in days past, Wah-se-i-ka-chak, as he calls
it, has been in some way of service to his people.
After a hearty supper of pemmican, potato, and
bannock, we sit and listen to the monotonous tones
of the Indians, who are recounting journeys to
different parts of the far-north country, while they
smoke their tiny stone pipes, filled with a mixture
of willow bark and tobacco. Our twelve dogs are
grouped on the solid drift, near the shore. The
largest dog occupies the most elevated part of the
bank, the place of honor, while the others sit
solidly on their haunches and gaze steadily at their
leader, who is now the picture of profundity, with
a far-off, dreamy look in his eyes which his fellows
are making a vain attempt to imitate. The moon
is coming up now, and as it softly rises, causing
the frost-covered trees to glisten in its light, the
leader utters a plaintive wail, which is taken up by
his companions, softly at first ; then the leader gives
forth a louder cry, another, and soon the whole
pack there in the weird light are howling in fearful
discord. Suddenly the leader ceases, and gradu-
ally the others become quiet, and curl themselves
about the fire. The Indians soon are snoring in
heavy sleep, the fire burns low, the trees crackle
with frost, we hear a commingling of sounds, and,
at last, sleep too.

We rest comfortably, with nothing above our
heads save the beautiful dome of heaven, with its
twinkling stars, which are dimmed at times by the
magnificent and ever-changing aurora, which here
reaches its greatest brilliancy. The Indians call
this electric phenomenon Wah-wah-tao, and fancy
it to be the spirits of the departed dancing on
the borders of the Land of the Hereafter. While
it is yet dark our drivers arise, with sundry grunts
and remarks in Indian language relative to the
probable weather and winds of the coming day;
and soon a large fire, crackling and sending sparks
over our heads without regard to consequences,
is the alarm which brings us quickly from our snug
beds. We now assist in packing our baggage

preparatory to a continuation of our journey. A
light breakfast dispatched, our dogs are placed in
harness, we take seats in the carrioles, and are

THE GIANT OF LAKE WINNIPEG.

away with speed through the gray light of dawn.
After an hour's run, the sun comes up — a golden
ball seen through the stunted and storm-beaten

io6

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

[December,

AN INDIAN VILLAGE.

pines that find footing on the hchen-covered rocks
of the shore. We sit up in our sleighs to enjoy
the fresh, clear air, and, looking to the right, we
discover land where, a few moments before, there
was none to be seen. Our look of surprise is
answered by one of the Indians, who, running
alongside the sleigh, shouts: "Statim Minis!"
(The Horse Islands!) It is a grand mirage, for
the Statim Minis are islands at least seventy miles
away.

We fly along, our guides shouting alternately at
the dogs and each other, apparently in the best of
humor, now and again favoring us with snatches
of Canadian boat-songs, no doubt caught up from
the hardy voyageurs who go west in charge of
bateaux from the banks of the rushing tributaries
of the lower St. Lawrence.

At sunset we arrive at a large Indian village, the
entire population turning out to welcome us. This
is a village of the Poplar River band, the wildest
of the Lake Winnipeg Indians. During our halt
of a few minutes, the old chief with his council
appear, and have a few words with our men, while
we must show our good and friendly feeling by
presents of tobacco, clay pipes, etc. As we move
away, our good-byes are answered by shouts of
"Marchon, How marchon ! " (" Good speed ! ")

At dusk of evening we camp a few miles south

of Poplar River, going through the same proced-
ure as on the evening of the first camp. At two
o'clock in the morning ot the next day, while the
clear moon is slowly going down in the west, we are
slipping along a hard-beaten hunters' track which
runs across the bay. During the day we skirt a
rough, rocky shore which lies to the left, and get
glimpses of numerous islands on our right. In the
earlyeveningwe arrive at Behrin's River Fort, a post
of the trading company, where we are hospitably
received by the ofificer in charge. We find in use
at this place the St. Bernard dogs, very Large and
strong. Old travelers, however, will tell you that
for long journeys, such as ours, the smaller dogs
are preferable. It is not late, so let us accept the
kind invitation of our host, and visit the trading-
rooms of the fort. We follow him through a
narrow passage, on one side of which is a short
counter and at the end a heavy door, so built as to
guard against surprise from hostile Indians, which,
being swung back, admits us to the stores of Indian
supplies — blankets, shirts, belts, and much-beaded
moccasins; while hanging from smoke - stained
beams are flint-lock guns of the " Queen Anne "
pattern, axes, knives, and copper kettles. There
is no money used in the trade of this far-away
country ; the beaver skin is recognized as the
standard, and represents about five shillings ster-

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

107

ling. We arc somewhat amused, on asking the
price of a pair of blankets, to get the reply, "Eight
skins." Our guide leads us up a narrow stair to the
fur-room, which has large beams and cross-tim-
bers, hanging closely on which are all the varieties
of northern furs — bear, wolf, beaver, fox, and mar-
ten, with lynx, fisher, and ermine. In the month
of June these furs are packed, and begin their
journey to London by the way of the Norway
House to York Factory on Hudson's Bay, where a
steamer calls, in August or September, and takes
the valuable bales on board for delivery in London.

But we can not always stay in this land of bear
and beaver, and when morning comes, after thank-
ing Mr. Flett, our kind host, for his care and atten-
tion, we again move out on the lake, and, jogging
along steadily, arrive at the narrows of Lake
Winnipeg, called by the Indians " Anne Mustuk-
won," or " Dog's Head." The lake at this point is
but one and one-half miles in width, the shores of
the east side being of hard, dark granite, while
those of the westerly side are formed of high cliffs
of lime and sandstone.

A story is told of a party such as ours being lost
in a severe snow-storm near this point. The guides
not being able to decide on which shore of the
lake they had strayed, one of the gentlemen of the

THK CA.Mi' A I" NR.IIl.

io8

COASTING ON LAKE WINNIPEG.

-[December,

INDIANS FISHING THROUGH THE ICE.

party bethought himself of this difference in the
formation of the rock, and, digging through the
drift, at once solved the question. Our camp is
made here, and in the morning we are off at full
speed, passing during the forenoon Indian people
fishing through holes in the ice, and bringing to
the surface in their heavy nets beautiful white-
fish. We pass Bull's Head, run through the Loon
Straits, leave Grindstone Point on our right, and
at night camp at the southern end of Red Deer
Island. The camp to-night is in the enchanted
country, and lying to the south-east is an island in
which during summer, at break of dawn (according
to our guide Mouiseau), the high wall of sandstone
rock opens, and a giant, dragging after him a huge
stone canoe, strides to the water's edge, launches
his stony craft and pushes out into the broad lake,
to return unseen for his voyage of the following
morning. In passing this island it is customary to
leave fragments of tobacco, and tea-leaves, as a
peace-offering to the Phantom Giant of the Cliff.

We are now but seventy miles from the track
of the iron horse, and with extra exertion may on
the morrow finish our journey. We are called

very early, to find a bright fire and breakfast ready.
It is apparent that our men mean to distinguish
themselves as runners to-day. Great care is taken
in the lacing of moccasins and fixing belts and
leggings; the harness is carefully examined, and, all
being in readiness, we dash down the steep bank
and out upon the lake, over which we glide along,
unable at times to distinguish land on either side.

As the sun is low in the west, we run through a
narrow, ice-bound channel, bordered on either side
with tall, yellow reeds and rushes. Shortly after
getting into this channel our half-breed guide,
who is running swiftly before, turns and shouts,
"Riviere Rouge " (Red River).

And here our journey is virtually at an end,
as in a few hours we arrive at a station of the
Canadian Pacific Railway, where we secure pas-
sage, and, after bidding farewell to our brave com-
panions, who, strange to say, have become dear to
us after a week's companionship, we roll away
eastward, and passing through the cities of Winni-
peg in Manitoba, St. Paul, Minnesota, and ever-
busy Chicago, in the short space of three days
we arrive at our homes on the Atlantic sea-board.

Giood

»dgfe.te!fcaMi

x/t^

i883.]

THK WHALE-HUNTERS OF JAPAN.

109

CONFUSION.

By M. M. D.

Heigho! I 've left my B O, bo,
And A B, ab — oh, long ago!

And gone to letters three.
(Dear me ! What does that last word spell ■
The last I learned ? I knew it well —

It's W and E and B.)

You see, I 've so much work to do —
Scrubbing and sweeping, dusting too —

I can't remember half I know.
And oh ! the spiders drive me wild.
Till Mother says: "What ails the child?

What makes her fidget so ? "
(Now, sakes alive ! What can it be —

That W and E and B?)

Right after school is out, I run
To do my work. It 's never done.

But soon as any lesson 's said

It goes and pops right out my head —
All on account of dust and dirt.
No matter how my hands may hurt,

I sweep and toil the livelong day,
And try to brush the things away.
(It's all the spiders — don't you see?)
And yet 1 'm glad I 've learned to spell.
(What is that word ? I knew it well —

That W and E and B !)

THE WHALE-HUNTERS OF JAPAN.
By Wm. Elliot Griffis.

Who ever heard of catching whales with a net,
or of eating whale's meat ? Yet both are done by
Japanese sailors.

The whale-fishery of Japan is carried on as a
regular business on both coasts of the country ; but
more men are employed, and the catch of whales
is larger, off the eastern coast, especially off Kii
province. A line drawn southward from Kioto,
Lake Biwa, or Ozaka, will cut the Kii whaling-
waters, and help one to find it on the map.

The great Gulf Stream of the Pacific, which the
Japanese call the Kuro Shiwo, or Dark Current, on
account of its deep blue color, rushes up from the
south, and scours the Kii promontory like a mill-
sluice. It is so sharply distinguishable from com-
mon sea-water that from the prow of a ship one
can discern the line that divides the two colors.
The starboard may be in the pale-green or sky-
blue, while the larboard lies in the indigo or inky
part. A bucket of water taken up from one side

1 lO

THE WHALE-HUNTERS OF JAPAN.

[December,

will be twelve or fourteen degrees colder than one
dipped simultaneously from over the opposite gun-
wale. The Kuro Shiwo is really a river flowing
in the ocean. It lies upon, but does not mix with,
the sea. Rising in the tropics, below Formosa,

whalemen are divided into scullers, netters, and
harpooners, or grappling-iron men. Japanese
never row, but scull with curiously bent long
sweeps, which swing on a half-round knob set into
a pivot, the handle end being usually strapped at

ATTACKING THE WHALEi.

and flowing up and across the Pacific, it bends
around Alaska to California, and then crosses to
the Sandwich Islands. A plank set floating off
Formosa will travel in a few weeks to Honolulu,
if not picked up.

The whales seem to enjoy the dark current as
a promenade or ocean avenue ; but at certain
promontories, like tiiat of Kii, they come quite
near the shore, or swim around into the eddies, for
recreation or for food.

The fishermen of the little town of Koza have a
lookout-tower perched upon the rocks, far up on
the hill-side. A sentinel is kept constantly watch-
ing for the spouting ;(7{;Vr/ (" number-one fish "), as
the natives call the whale. Long boats, holding
from four to ten men, are kept ready launched.
These hardy fellows row with tremendous energy,
as if in a prize race. If the whales are numerous,
the men wait in their boats, with sculls on their
pins and straps ready to slip on at a moment's
notice, all in order to put out to sea. A gay flag
with a curious device floats at each stern. The

the proper height. The device on each flag is
different, and spears, nets, and grappling-irons are
marked, so that the most skillful get proper credit
for their courage, sure aim, and celerity.

The boatmen are lightly clad in short, sleeveless
cotton jackets, with leggings, like greaves, reaching
from knee to ankle. Around their waists are kilts
made of coarse rice-straw. The nets, which are
about twenty feet square, with meshes three feet
wide, are made of tough sea-grass rope, two inches
thick.

Twenty or thirty of these nets are provided, and
then lightly tied together, so as to make one huge
net, from four hundred to six hundred feet long.
As soon as the signal from the tower is given, the
boats put out, two by two,* each pair of the larger
boats having the net tackle, and all armed with
darts and spears. Rowing in front of the whale,
the net is dropped in his path. If skillfully done,
the huge fish runs his nose or jaw into a mesh. He
at once dives, and tries to shake off the net. This
he can not do, for the square in which he is en-

i88l.]

THE WHALE-HUNTERS OF JAPAN.

Ill

tangled immediately breaks off from the rest,
which is hauled on board, ready for another drop.
Should this also be successful, the game is soon
up with the whale. Usually, the more he flounders,
the more tightly his terrible collars hold him,
entangling his fins and quickly exhausting his
strength. No sooner does he rise for breath than
the rowers dash close to him, giving the harpoon-
ers an opportunity to hurl their darts at his big
body, until he looks like an exaggerated pin-
cushion. As his struggles become weaker,, the
grappling-irons arc thrown on and the boats tow
the carcass near shore.

The whalemen carefully avoid the enraged
animal's tail, and it is only occasionally that one
of them is killed. In a good season, fifty whales
will be taken. This method of whale-hunting was
first practiced about the year 1680. When nets
are not used, as in some places, the number of
boats must be increased, and they must be smaller,
so as to admit of rapid movements, and a good
supply of harpoons must be on hand.

is the joUiest part of the work, as the casting of
the net is the most exciting.

The whale is now cut up into chunks. Its tidbits
go on the fisherman's^ gridiron, or are pickled,
boiled, roasted, or fried. Japanese whales are
caught more for food than for oil, and are leaner
than their brethren of the Arctic seas. Some oil
is, however, tried out from the blubber. Even
the bones, when fresh and tender, are eaten. Of
the others they make ropes, springs, and steel-
yards for weighing gold and silver. Nothing
seems to be thrown away, except the shoulder-bone.

The ordinary dry-goods measure of Japan is
called a " whale-foot," and is two inches longer
than the "metal-foot" with which wood and stone
are measured. The origin of this difference, ac-
cording to legend, is as follows: Long ago, a great
white whale, the king of the northern seas, having
heard of the fame and great size of the bronze image
of Buddha at Kamakura, went in high dudgeon and
compared his length with that of Dai Butsu, the
statue. Greatly to his relief, the image was found

DRAWING THE WHALE ASHORE BY THE WINDLASS.

To land their prize, the successful hunters lash
about it stout straw ropes, and attach to them a
cable, winding the other end around a windlass
set up on the beach. Then, with gay and lively
songs, they haul the enormous mass ashore. This

to be two inches shorter than his spouting majesty,
who thereupon whisked his tail in triumph and
returned home. Hence the " whale-foot " is two
inches longer than the "metal-foot," as every
Japanese boy knows.

I 12

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.

[December,

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.
By Isabel Frances Bellows.

A IS for Apt little Annie,

Who lives down in Maine with her grannie.

Such pies she can make !

And such doughnuts and cake!

Oh, we like to make visits to Grannie !

B is for Bad little Bridget,

Who is morn, noon, and night in a fidget.

Her dresses she tears.

And she tumbles ^own-stairs,

And her mother 's most worn to a midget.

C is for Curious Charlie,

Who lives on rice, oatmeal, and barley.

He once wrote a sonnet

On his mother's best bonnet;

And he lets his hair grow long and snarley.

D is for Dear little Dinah,

Whose manners grow finer and finer.

She smiles and she bows

To the pigs and the cows.

And she calls the old cat Angelina.

i889.]

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.

E is for Erring young Edward,
Who never can bear to go bedward.
Every evening at eight
He bewails his hard fate,
And they 're all quite discouraged
Edward.

with

F is for Foolish Miss Florence,
Who of spiders has such an abhorrence
That she shivers with dread
When she looks overhead,
For she lives where they 're plenty — at
Lawrence.

G is for Glad little Gustave,

Who says that a monkey he tniisl have ;

But his mother thinks not.

And says that they 've got

All the monkey they care for in Gustave.

Vol. X.— 8.

H is for Horrid young Hannah,

Who has the most shocking bad manner.

Once she went out to dine

With a party of nine,

And she ate every single banana.

114

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.

[December,

I is for Ignorant Ida.

Who does n't know rhubarb from cider.

Once she drank up a quart,

Which was more than she ought,

And it gave her queer feelings inside her.

J is for Jovial young Jack,

Who goes to the balls in a hack.

He thinks he can dance.

And he '11 caper and prance

Till his joints are half ready to crack.

K is for Kind little Katy,

Who weighs 'most a hundred and eighty ;

But she eats every day.

And the doctors all say

That 's the reason she 's growing so weighty.

L is for Lazy young Leicester,
Who works for a grocer in Chester j
I5ut he says he needs rest,
And he finds it is best
To take every day a siesta.

i883.]

AN ALPHABKT OF CHILDREN.

M is for Mournful Miss Molly,

Who likes to be thought melancholy.

She 's as limp as a rag

When her sisters play tag,

For it 's vulgar, she says, to be jolly.

N is for Naughty young Nat,
Who sat on his father's best hat.
When they asked if he thought
He had done as he ought,
He said he supposed 't was the cat !

O 's Operatic Olivia,

Who visits her aunt in Bolivia.

She can sing to high C —

But, between you and me,

They don't care for that in Bolivia.

P is for Poor little Paul,

Who does n't like study at all.

But he 's learning to speak

In Hebrew and Greek,

And is going to take Sanskrit next fall.

ii6

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.

[December,

Q is for Queer little Queen,

Who 's grown so excessively lean

That she fell in a crack,

And hurt her poor back.

And they say she can hardly be seen.

R is for Rude Master Ruby,

Who once called his sister a booby !

But a boy who stood by

Heard her piteous cry.

And came and chastised Master Ruby.

S is for Stylish young Sadie,
Whose hat is so big and so shady
That she thought it was night
When the sun was out bright.
And mistook an old cow for a lady.

T is for Turbulent Teddy,

Who never can learn to be steady.

He '11 skip and he '11 hop,

And turn 'round like a top.

And he 's broken his leg twice already.

1883.1

AN ALPHABET OF CHILDREN.

117

U is Unhappy Ulrica, V is for Valiant young Vivian, W is Wise little Willie,

Who takes her tea weaker and Who practiced awhile in obli- Who lives where the weather

weaker ; vion ; is chilly ;

She sits in the dust Till he saw, without doubt. But he skates and he slides,

And eats nothing but crust, He could turn inside out. And takes lots of sleigh-rides.

And Moses, they say, was n't And now they 're all boasting And he coasts on his sled where

meeker. of Vivian. it 's hilly.

,">A'.t-

X, Y, Z — each is a baby
Who is going to be wonderful,
maybe ;

For their mothers all say
To themselves every day,
That there never was quite such a baby.

ii8

THE BANISHED KING.

[December,

THE BANISHED KING.
By Frank R. Stockton.

There was once a kingdom in which everything
seemed to go wrong. Everybody knew this, and
everybody talked about it, especially the King.
The bad state of affairs troubled him more than it
did any one else, but he could think of no way to
make them better.

" I can not bear to see things going on so
badly," he said to the Queen and his chief
councilors. "I wish I knew how other kingdoms
were governed."

One of his councilors offered to go to some
other countries, and see how they were governed,
and come back and tell him all about it, but this
did not suit his majesty.

" You would simply come back," he said, " and
give me your ideas about things. I want my own
ideas."

The Queen then suggested that he should take
a vacation, and visit other kingdoms, and see for
himself how things were managed in them.

This did not suit the King. " A vacation would
not answer," he said. " I should not be gone a
week before something would happen here which
would make it necessary to come back."

The Queen then suggested that he be banished
for a certain time, say a year. In that case he
could not come back, and would be at full liberty
to visit foreign kingdoms, and find out how they
were governed.

This idea pleased the King. " If it were made
impossible for me to come back," he said, " of
course I could not do it. The plan is a good one.
Let me be banished." And he gave orders that
his council should pass a law banishing him for
one year.

Preparations were immediately begun to carry
out this plan, and in a day or two the King took
leave of the Queen, and left his kingdom, a ban-
ished man. He went away on foot, entirely unat-
tended. But, as he did not wish to cut off all
communication between himself and his kingdom,
he devised a plan which he thought a very good
one. At easy shouting distance behind him
walked one of the officers of the court, and at
shouting distance behind him walked another, and
so on at distances of about a hundred yards from
each other. In this way there would always be a
line of men extending from the King to his palace.
Whenever the King had walked a hundred yards
the line moved on after him, and another officer
was put in the gap between the last man and the

palace door. Thus, as the King walked on, his
line of followers lengthened, and was never broken.
Whenever he had any message to send to the
Queen, or any other person in the palace, he
shouted it to the officer next him, who shouted
it to the one next to him, and it was so passed
on until it reached the palace. If he needed
food, clothes, or any other necessary thing, the
order for it was shouted along the line, and the
article was passed to him from man to man, each
one carrying it forward to his neighbor, and then
retiring to his proper place.

In this way the King walked on day by day
until he had passed entirely out of his own king-
dom. At night he stopped at some convenient
house on the road, and if any of his followers did
not find himself near a house or cottage when the
King shouted back the order to halt, he just laid
himself down to sleep wherever he might be. By
this time the increasing line of followers had used
up all the officers of the court, and it became
necessary to draw upon some of the under-govern-
ment officers in order to keep the line perfect.

The King had not gone very far outside the
limits of his dominions when he met a Sphinx.
He had often heard of these creatures, although
he had never seen one before. But when he saw
the winged body of a lion with a woman's head, he
knew instantly what it was. He knew, also, that
the chief business of a Sphinx was supposed to be
that of asking people questions, and then getting
them into trouble if the right answers were not
given. He therefore determined that he would
not be caught by any such tricks as these, and that
he would be on his guard if the Sphinx spoke to
him. The creature was lying down when the King
first saw it, but when he approached nearer it rose
to its feet. There was nothing savage about its
look, and the King was not at all afraid.

"Where are you going?" said the Sphinx to
him, in a pleasant voice.

"Give it up," replied the King.

"What do you mean by that?" said the other,
looking surprised.

" I give that up, too," said the King.

The Sphinx then looked at him quite aston-
ished.

"1 don't mind telling you," said the King, "of
my own free-will, and not in answer to any
questions, that I do not know where I am going.
I am a king, as you may have noticed, and I

i88a.]

THE BANISHED KING.

119

have been banished from my kingdom for a year.
I am now going to look into the government of
other countries in order that I may find out what
it is that is wrong in my own kingdom. Every-
thing goes badly, and there is something wrong at

•where are VOt' GOING?' SAID THE SPHINX, IN A I'LKASANT VOICE.

the bottom of it all. What this is I want to dis-
cover."

" I am much interested in puzzles and matters
of that kind," said the Sphinx, "and if you like 1
will go with you and help to find out what is wrong
in your kingdom."

" All right," said the King. " I shall be glad
of your company."

" What is the meaning of this long line of
people following you at regular distances ? " asked
the Sphinx.

"Give it up," said the King.

The Sphinx laughed.

" I don't mind telling you," said the King, " of
my own free-will, and not in answer to any ques-
tion, that these men form a hne of communication
between me and my kingdom, where things, I fear,
must be going on worse than ever, in my absence."

The two now traveled on together until they
came to a high hill, from which they could see, not
very far away, a large city.

" That city," said the Sphinx, " is the capital of
an extensive country. It is governed by a king of
mingled sentiments. Suppose we go there. I think
you will find a government that is rather peculiar."

The King consented, and they walked down the
hill toward the city.

" How did the King get his sentiments mingled?"
asked the King.

•' 1 really don't know how it began," said the
Sphinx, "but the King,
when a young man, had so
many sentiments of differ-
ent kinds, and he mingled
them up so much, that
no one could ever tell ex-
actly what he thought on
any particular subject. Of
course, his people gradu-
ally got into the same frame
of mind, and you never
can know in this kingdom
exactly what people think
or what they are going to
do. You will find all sorts
of people here : giants,
dwarfs, fairies, gnomes,
and personages of that
kind, who have been drawn
here by the mingled sen-
timents of the people. I,
myself, came into these
parts because the people
every now and then take
a great fancy to puzzles
and riddles."

On entering the city,
the King was cordially welcomed by his brother
sovereign, to whom he told his story ; and he
was lodged in a room in the palace. Such of his
followers as came within the limits of the city were
entertained by the persons near to whose houses
they found themselves when the line halted.

Every day the Sphinx went with him to see the
sights of this strange city. They took long walks
through the streets, and sometimes into the sur-
rounding country — always going one way and
returning another, the Sphinx being very careful
never to bring the King back by the same road or
street by which they went. In this way the King's
line of followers, which, of course, lengthened out
every time he took a walk, came to be arranged in
long loops through many parts of the city and
suburbs.

Many of the things the King saw showed
plainly the mingled sentiments of the people. For
instance, he would one day visit a great smith's-
shop, where heavy masses of iron were being
forged, the whole place resounding with tremen-
dous blows from heavy hammers, and the clank
and din of iron on the anvils ; while the next day
he would find the place transformed into a studio.

I20

THE BANISHED KING.

[December,

THE ATTENDANT SPRITE ADOPTS A NEW PAIR OF PARENTS.

where the former blacksmith was painting dainty
little pictures on the delicate surface of egg-shells.
The King of the country, in his treatment of his
visitor, showed his peculiar nature very plainly.
Sometimes he would receive him with enthusiastic
delight, while at others he would upbraid him
with having left his dominions to go wandering
around the earth this way.

One day, our King was sitting rather disconso-
lately in the garden of the palace. His host had
invited him to attend a royal dinner that day, but,
when he went to the grand dining-hall, pleased
with anticipations of a splendid feast, he found
that the sentiments of his majesty had become
mingled, and that he had determined, instead of
having a dinner, to conduct the funeral services of
one of his servants who had died the day before.
All the guests had been obliged by politeness to
remain during the ceremonies, which our King,
not having been acquainted with the deceased serv-
ant, had not found at all interesting. Another
thing troubled him : his long walks had nearly worn
out his shoes, and, although he had sent through
his line of communication an order for a fresh
pair, he had already waited for them a greater
time than he had ever waited for anything before.
It took a long time for an order to go through all
the immense loops in which his followers were now
arranged in the city, and then to the comparatively
straight line between this city and his kingdom.

While sitting thus, he perceived a Genie walking
meditatively down one of the paths. Perceiving
him, the Genie stopped and asked what was the
matter with him. The King did not say anything
about the lost dinner and the funeral, because
he thought the Genie might possibly belong to the
court, but he told him how troubled he was about
his boots.

" You need not annoy yourself about a matter
of that kind," said the Genie, smiling. "What
size do you wear?"

"Eights," said the King.

The Genie clapped his mighty hands, and in a
moment an Attendant Sprite appeared.

" A pair of number eight boots," said the Genie
— " best leather and purple tops."

Instantly the Attendant Sprite disappeared, and
the Genie, without waiting for the thanks of the
King, pursued his meditative walk. In a short
time, the Attendant Sprite returned, bearing on a
silver salver a beautiful pair of new boots. The
King tried them on, and they fitted admirably.

" I am very glad you brought me the boots," he
said to the Attendant Sprite. " I was very much
afraid that on the way your sentiments would be-
come mingled, and that you might bring me a
bee-hive."

" No," said the little fellow, "I am not one of
the regular inhabitants of this city, and I don't
mingle my sentiments much, although if I were

ini.1

THE BANISHED KING.

121

to do so a little, just now, it would not surprise me,
for I am greatly worried in my mind."

" What troubles you ? " asked the King.

" Well," replied the Attendant Sprite, putting
his silver salver upon the ground, and seating him-
self in it, "I am afraid I 'm an orphan, and that is
enough to trouble me, 1 am sure."

" You are not certain of it, then ? " asked the
King.

"Yes," said the other, " I really may be certain
of it. You see that we attendant sprites have no
parents when we make our appearance in this
world, and if we want to be taken care of, we are
obliged to adopt a pair of parents as soon as pos-
sible. For a long time I had very good parents.
They did not know each other, but sometimes one
cared for me, and sometimes the other. But now
they have become acquainted, and have actually
gone off to get married. Of course, they will care
no more for me. My parents are lost to me. It
is especially hard for me to be an orphan, for the

world who needs as much as I do some parents to
take care of him and make him comfortable on
the rare occasions when he gets a chance to take
a little rest."

"Poor fellow ! "said the King. " What do you
intend to do ? "

"I must look for another pair," replied the
other, "as soon as I can get the time."

" How would 1 do.'" asked the King. " Should
you like me for one of your parents ? "

" You would do splendidly," cried the Attendant
Sprite, springing up. " I will take you, if you say
so."

" Very well," answered the King. " 1 will be one
of them."

" I am very much obliged," said the Attendant
Sprite; "and now I will look up the other one."
And away he ran.

The next day the King was in the garden again,
talking with the Sphinx, when the Attendant
Sprite re-appeared.

Genie, my master, gives me a great deal of work " I have got the other one," he said, " or, at
to do, and some of his errands are very long and least, I had her." And he began feeling in his
difficult. There isn't an attendant sprite in the pockets. " Oh, here she is ! " he cried directly.

122

THE BANISHED KING.

[December,

And he pulled out a little Pigwidgeon Fairy, about
six inches high.

This small creature looked rather old for her
size, and was dressed in a short-gown and petti-
coat, and wore a speckled sun-bonnet.

"Now I am all right," he cried. "There's a
father !" he said, pointing to the King ; " and here,"
holding up the Pigwidgeon, " is a mother ! Now,
then, I shall have a chance to be happy and com-
fortable."

Just then he stopped, and looked as if he had
been struck by a chill. " Oh, dear ! " he cried, "the
Genie has summoned me." And he was off in an
instant.

" Poor dear ! poor dear ! "cried the Pigwidgeon,
wringing her little hands. " This sort of thing will
kill him before long. He tells me he hardly ever
has a minute to rest. His constitution wont stand
it."

" But what is to be done? " said the King. " 1
suppose he has to go when the Genie summons
him."

" But he ought n't to have to go ! " cried the Pig-
widgeon. " Is n't there some way to get rid of
going?"

"I have heard," said the Sphinx, "that there
is only one way of not doing what a Genie tells
you to do when he is your master. You must re-
verse his summons."

" How do you do that ? " asked the King.

" I really can not tell you," replied the Sphinx,
" because I have never heard. To find out that,
we shall have to consult a Sage. "

For this purpose they set out immediately, the
King carrying the Pigwidgeon in his pocket. They
walked a long, long way before they came to the
home of the Sage. In fact, they made a great cir-
cuit in going to this place, and the officer of the
court who followed next to him remarked to him-
self that if the Sphinx did not take the King by
such roundabout ways there would not be half as
much walking for them all to do.

The Sage was at home, and their business was
soon explained. The learned man took down
some old books from a high shelf, and turned to a
chapter which treated of the summonses of Genii.
After considerable study and thought, he an-
nounced to his visitors that the way to reverse the
summons of a Genie was to mingle his sentiments.

" There is nothing particularly learned about
that," exclaimed the King. " In this city that sort
of thing is done all the time."

" Nevertheless," said the Sage, closing the book,
" that is the way to do it. Five drachmas of silver,
if you please."

The King paid the fee, and left the house very
angry. " That is a regular imposition," he said

to the Sphinx. " Anybody in this place would
have told us exactly the same thing."

"Perhaps so," said the Sphinx, with a mystic
smile, " but I think we had better try it."

" Indeed we must ! " cried the little Pigwid-
geon, putting her head out of the King's pocket.
" We must do everything we can to save our poor
dear from killing himself with errand-running for
this Genie."

" But how is it to be done ? " asked the King.

" We must think that over," answered the
Sphinx.

When they reached the palace garden they
found the Attendant Sprite waiting for them. He
was very tired, and was lying on his back on the
grass. By this time the Sphinx had thought
thoroughly over the matter, and he now proposed
a plan.

" The next time the Attendant Sprite is sum-
moned," said the Sphinx, "he must go to the
Genie, of course, but let him refuse to obey his
commands. If that does not mingle his sentiments
1 shall be very much surprised. Then we shall see
what will happen."

" I don't believe anything will happen, except,
perhaps, that he will be punished," said the King;
"but, as there is nothing else to be done, we will
try it."

"Oh, yes," replied the Pigwidgeon, "we will
try it. We '11 try anything to save our poor dear
from his dreadful life. "

" It will be pretty hard on me," said the Attend-
ant Sprite, stretching his arms and legs out on the
grass ; " but I suppose I '11 have to try it."

It was not long before the little fellow sprang to
his feet. He felt a summons from the Genie, and
was off in an instant. Impelled by some invisible
power he found himself in a very short time in one
of the rooms belonging to the ladies of the palace.
On a divan sat a beautiful and richly dressed
Princess, and beside her stood the Genie.

" Go, minion," said the Genie, "to the top of
yonder high mountain. There you will find a
lovely garden surrounded by a crystal wall. In
the center of that garden stands a rose-bush more
beautiful than any bush that grows. On the bush
is a single damask rose, with a great pearl lying
like a drop of dew on its crimson bosom. Go and
pluck that rose, and bring it instantly to this fair
Princess."

" I can't do it," said the Attendant Sprite.
" It 's dreadfully tiresome going up high mount-
ains, and I always cut my legs when I climb over
crystal walls."

" What ! " cried the Genie, turning black with
rage. " Do you refuse ? "

" Yes," said the little fellow, looking up at the

THE BANISHED KING.

123

Genie, with his legs outspread and his hands
behind his back. "I refuse, point-blank."

The Genie was so moved by rage that he turned
and twisted like the smoke from the chimney of a
forge. " Go back ! " he cried, his form trembling
until the house shook, " to whatever wretched spot
you came from, and nevermore be slave of mine ! "

The Attendant Sprite turned, and was gone in
an instant. Reaching the palace garden he threw
himself upon the grass. " It is all right," he said
to his parents and the Sphinx. " I mingled his senti-
ments, and the summons is reversed."

"A united family!" exclaimed the Pigwidgeon,
taking off her sun-bonnet, and smoothing her hair.

"Now, then," said the King, " I am in favor of
moving on. I am tired of this place, where every
sentiment is so mingled with others that you can
never tell what anybody really thinks or feels. I
don't believe any one in this country was ever
truly glad or sorry. They mix one sentiment so
quickly with another that they never have, so far
as I can see, anything but a sort of mushy feeling
which amounts to nothing at all."

"When the King first began to mingle his
sentiments," said the Sphinx, "it was because he
always wished to think and feel exactly right. He
did not wish his feelings to run too much one way
or the other."

" And so he is never either right or wrong," said
the King. " I don't like that, at all. I want to
be either one thing or the other."

" I want to be one thing," said the Attendant
Sprite, as he lay upon the grass, "and that is
comfortable. Anybody who likes can be the
other."

" I have wasted a good deal of time at this
place," said the King, as they walked on, "and I
have seen and heard nothing which I wish to teach
my people. And yet I desire very much to do
something which will prevent everything from
going wrong as it does now. I have tried plan
after plan, and sometimes two or three together,
and have kept this up year after year, and yet
nothing seems to do my kingdom any good."

" Have you heard how things are going on there
now?" asked the Sphinx.

" Give it up," said the King.

This very much surprised the Pigwidgeon, who
was always glad to get news of any kind, and had
put her head out of the King's pocket, the better to
hear how his kingdom was coming on. "What
do you mean by that ? " she asked quickly.

" I never answer a question put to me by a
Sphinx," said the King. "There is no knowing
what trouble it might lead to. But I don't mind
saying of my own accord, and not as answer to any
question, that I have sent a good many communi-

cations to my Queen, but have never received any
from her. So 1 do not know how things are going
on in my kingdom."

" I dare say she thinks you would meddle if she
tells you what she is doing. I think she must be
a very wise Queen," said the Pigwidgeon. " And
now 1 want to say that 1 believe that is all stuff
about answering the Sphinx's questions. I am not
to be frightened by anything of that sort. Wont
you ask me a question ? " she said, turning to the
Sphinx.

" How do you do?" gravely asked the Sphinx.

" Very well, indeed," answered the Pigwidgeon.

"There ! " she said, looking around triumphantly
before she cuddled herself down for another nap in
the King's pocket.

The party now went on for an hour or more, the
King, and the Sphinx walking side by side; the
Attendant Sprite skipping in front of them; the
little Pigwidgeon sleeping quietly in the King's
pocket ; and the long line of followers coming
after, keeping their relative positions a hundred
yards apart, and passing over all the ground the
King had traversed in his circuitous walks about
the city. Thus the line crept along like an enor-
mous snake in straight lines, loops, and coils; and
every time the King walked a hundred yards a
fresh man from his capital city was obliged to take
his place at the tail of the procession.

" There is one thing we have found out," said the
Attendant Sprite, after a while, as he came down
from a tree where he had been gathering plums,
"and that is that resistance to tyranny is the root
of joy."

"There is no tyranny in my dominions," said
the King, "so there is no need of learning any-
thing about that."

" Oh, of course not ! " said the little Pigwidgeon,
popping out her head, and looking back at the
long line of followers who had been obliged to
leave their homes and families to trudge after the
King in his wanderings. Nothing was said in an-
swer to this, and after a time the Pigwidgeon made
another remark. " If you want to see a kingdom
where there really is something to learn, you ought
to go to the country of the Pig^vidgeons," she
said.

"All right," said the King. " Let 's go there."

And so, under the direction of the little creature,
they started to walk to her country. She wanted
to go there herself, she said, and would be very
glad to show them the way. In the course of the
afternoon they reached the edge of a high bluff.
" On the level ground, beneath this precipice,"
she said, " is the country of the Pigwidgeons.
You can sit on the edge of the bluff and look down
upon it."

124

THE BANISHED KING.

[December,

The King, the Sphinx, and the Attendant Sprite
then sat down, and looked out from the edge over
the country of the little people. The officer of the
court who had formed the head of the line wished
very much to see what they were looking at, but,
when the line halted, he was not near enough.

" There now, you see," said the Pigwidgeon,
" is the land of my people. You will notice that
the little houses and huts are gathered together in
clusters, and each one of these clusters is under a
separate king."

"Why don't they all live under one ruler?"
asked the King. " That is the proper way."

"No, it is n't," said the Pigwidgeon quickly,
" not if you want everything to go on right. You

them and govern them well, they will gradually
drop off from him and go to other clusters, and he
will be left without any people or any kingdom."

" That is a very queer way of ruling," said the
King. " I think the people ought to try to please
their sovereign."

" He is only one, and they are a great many,"
said the Pigwidgeon. "Consequently they are
much more important. We know how to do
things here, and everything goes on all right. No
subject is ever allowed to look down upon a king,
just because he helps to feed and clothe him, and
send his children to school. If any one were to do
a thing of this kind, he would be banished until he
learned better. I was banished for this very thing.

THE BANISHED KING PROCEEDS TO THE COUNTRY OF THE PIGWIDGEONS.

might as well have one father for all the families in
your city, and I am sure nobody would like that.
In each of these clusters live the Pigwidgeons who
are best suited to each other ; and, if any Pigwid-
geon finds he can not get along in one cluster, he
goes to another. The kings are chosen from
among the very best of us, and each one is always
very anxious to please his subjects. He knows
that everything that he, and his queen, and his
children eat, or drink, or wear, or have must be
given to him by his subjects, and if it were not for
them he would not be anything at all. And so he
does everything that he can to make them happy
and contented, for he knows if he does not please

I went to see our queen one day, and I suppose I
was a little airy when I saw her wearing the
clothes and eating the food I had helped to give
her. And so I was banished."

" For how long? " asked the Attendant Sprite.

"I was ordered to stay away," she said, "as
long as my sun-bonnet was clean and my clothes
were not torn. Now, I want you all to look at
me," she continued, turning herself around as she
stood before them, " and tell me if I am really fit
to be seen. My sun-bonnet is all crumpled up
from sleeping in it, and there are several holes in
my short-gown and petticoat."

Everybody agreed that her clothes were certainly

iSSa.]

THE BANISHED KING.

125

soiled and worn-out enough to entitle her to return
to her home.

" All right," she said ; " I am going down to my
people. There is a little winding path here, by
which 1 can walk down easily. If everything is all
right, I will call for the Attendant Sprite, and he
shall bring you something to eat. Are you not
hungry ? "

The King was obliged to admit that he was.

Food had been regularly passed to him from his

palace, but the line of communication had now

' become so long that it took a great while to reach

him, and was often very stale and cold before he

• got it. Sometimes it was spoiled on the way, and

S then it was not passed on any further. So the

King, who had now been waiting a long time for

his dinner, which probably had been started to him

two or three days before, was very glad to get

something to eat, although he did not think his

appetite would be satisfied by the little mites of

food the Pigwidgeons must live upon. But when,

in a short time, the Pigwidgeon parent, in a clean

speckled sun-bonnet, and new short-gown and

petticoat, appeared at the bottom of the cliff and

called the Attendant Sprite to come down, he did

not have to wait long for a very good dinner. When

the Attendant Sprite returned, clambering up the

fece of the cliff almost as quickly as he had gone

I down, he bore with him a barn-full of fresh loaves

' of bread, and a quantity of fruit. The loaves of

bread were no larger than very little biscuits, and

the fruit was like currants or elder-berries, but

I they were both sweet and delicious, and there was

! enough to give the three companions a good meal.

^ The first man in the line of followers looked very

I much as if he would have liked to have had

j^some of these good things, but he was too far

! away to expect any to be offered him.

Before long the little Pigwidgeon came toiling
np the winding path, and rejoined her former com-
panions. " It 's all right with me down there,"
she said, "and my time of banishment is over. 1
wish you could go down to see what a happy con-
dition our country is in. The people are so good,
and so kind to their kings, and the kings are so
grateful for all that their subjects are doing for
them, and so anxious to preserve their good opin-
ion, that everything is going on beautifully."

"That may be very well for Pigwidgeons," said
the King, " but I can learn nothing from a govern-
ment like that, where everything seems to be work-
ing in an opposite direction from what everybody
knows is right and proper. A king anxious to
deserve the good opinion of his subjects ! What
nonsense ! It ought to be just the other way."

" It ought n't to be the other way, at all ! " cried
the Pig\vidgeon, sharply, "and you could learn a

great deal from our government, if you chose !
But you don't seem able to learn anything at all
here, and so )ou had better go on, and try to
find some other government that is better than
ours. You '11 have a long walk of it, I can tell
you ! 1 am going home to my people." And so
saying, she ran down the little path.

The King now again took up the line of march,
turning away from the country of the Pigwidgeons.
But he had not gone more than two or three hun-
dred yards before he received a message from the
Queen. It came to him very rapidly, every man
in the line seeming anxious to shout it to the man
ahead of him as quickly as possible. The message
was to the effect that he must either stop where
he was or come home : his constantly lengthening
line of communication had used up all the chief
officers of the government, all the clerks in the
departments, and all the officials of every grade,
excepting the few who were actually necessary to
carry on the government, and if any more men
went into the line it would be necessary to call
upon the laborers and other persons who could not
be spared.

" I think," said the Sphinx, " that you have
made your line long enough."

"And I think," said the King, "that you made
it a great deal longer than it need have been, by
taking me about in such twisty-ma-curl ways."

" It may be so," said the Sphinx, with his mys-
tic smile.

" Well, I am not going to stop here," said the
King, " and so I might as well go back as soon as
1 can." And he shouted to the head man of the
line to pass on the order that his edict of banish-
ment be revoked.

In a very short time the news came that the
edict was revoked. The King then commanded
that the procession return home, tail end foremost.
The march was immediately begun, each man, as
soon as he reached the city, going immediately to
his home and family.

The King and the greater part of the line had
a long and weary journey, as they followed each
other through the country and over the devious
ways in which the Sphinx had led them in the City
of Mingled Sentiments. The King was obliged
to pursue all these devious turns, or be separated
from his officers, and so break up his communica-
tion with his palace. The Sphinx and Attendant
Sprite accompanied him.

When, at last, he reached his palace, his line of
former followers having apparently melted entirely
away, he hurried upstairs to the Queen, leaving
the Attendant Sprite and the Sphinx in the court-
yard.

The King found, when he had time to look into

126

THE BANISHED KING.

[December,

the affairs of his dominions, that everything was in
the most admirable condition. The Queen had
selected a few of those officials who were best
qualified to carry on the government, and had
ordered the rest to fall, one by one, into the line
of communication. The King set himself to work
to think about the matter. It was not long before
he came to the conclusion that the main thing
which had been wrong in his kingdom was him-
self. He was so greatly impressed with this idea
that he went down to the court-yard to speak to the
Sphinx about it.

" I dare say you are right," said the Sphinx,
" and I don't wonder that what you learned when
you were away, and what you have seen since you
came back, have made you feel certain that you
were the cause of everything going wrong in this
kingdom. And now, what are you going to do
about your government ? "

"Give it up," promptly replied the King.

"That is exactly what I should do," said the
Sphinx ; and the Attendant Sprite remarked that
he thought under the circumstances he would do it
too.

The King did give up his kingdom. He was
convinced that being a king was exactly the thing
he was not suited for, and that he would get on
much better in some other business or profession.

He determined to be a traveler and explorer, and
to go abroad into other countries to find out things
that might be useful to his own nation. His
Queen had shown that she could govern the
country in the very best manner, and it was not at
all necessary for him to stay at home. She had
ordered all the men who had made up his line to
follow the King's example and to go into some
good business; and, not being bothered with so
many officers, she would be able to get along quite
easily.

The King was very successful in his new pursuit,
and although he did not this time have a line of
followers connecting him with the palace, he fre-
quently sent home messages which were of use
and value to his nation.

"And now," said the Attendant Sprite to the
Sphinx, " I 'd like to know what I am to do for
parents. Both the Pigwidgeon and the King have
deserted me, and again I am left an orphan. I
wish I could find a pair of permanent parents."

"I feel very sorry for you," said the Sphinx,
" and I would help you if 1 could. If you choose,
I will be one of your parents."

"Well," said the Attendant Sprite, "when 1
come to think of it, I don't believe I will bother
myself to make any changes at present. Good-
bye." And he quickly skipped out of sight.

THE RETURN HOME.

LITTLE UEPPO.

127

LITTLE BEPPO.

By Malcolm Douglas.

A DULL, leaden sky. All day the snow-flakes
have steadily fallen, and now, as night approaches,
not a vestige of the frozen earth remains. Beppo
walks wearily along, his beloved guitar held closely
under his arm. He sees the lights lit in happy
homes ; he sees the children, with their faces
pressed against the panes, watching with delight
the fall of the flakes, for to-morrow will be Christ-
mas and the snow will aid Kriss Kringle in his
visit ; and a sad smile lights up his dark face, for
the snow that brings happiness to them brings him
deepest sorrow.

As the little wanderer strolls on, he thinks of
that land of mellow sunshine far over the sea, and
of the happy home he had before his parents died;
and, in contrast to this, he thinks of the home he
has now, and of the wicked padrone who took him
from his cherished country.

These last thoughts arouse him to a sense of
business, and, clinking the itvi pennies in his
pockets, he takes up his position at the entrance
of a theater which is ablaze with light. Then,
blowing his breath upon his stiff, cold fingers, he
plays a few wild, sweet notes upon his instrument
— a prelude to "Home, Sweet Home." He watches
the gayly attired people pass into the warm build-
ing, but none seem to notice the little figure shrink-
ing in the shadow. None save the gruff, burly
policeman who roughly grasps his shoulder and
says : " Come, young un, move along now ! "

And Beppo, utterly disheartened, moves on. It
has been a poor day for business; he does not
dare to go home with the few pennies he has
earned ; and now the stern mandate of the officer
has cut off his last chance of getting more.

He pauses under a gas-lamp, and, by its flicker-
ing rays, he counts his pennies over. Just ten —
enough for coffee and rolls ; and he crosses over
to a little restaurant, and is soon indulging in a bit
of extravagance. Supper over, he plans where he
shall sleep.

He remembers a box filled with straw which he
has seen in his wanderings. He wends his way
toward it, and, when ten strikes from the tall
church-tower near by, Beppo is calmly asleep, his

guitar pressed tenderly upon his breast.

• • • • • •

Twelve o'clock. As the last stroke reels out upon
the frosty air, Beppo awakes from a troubled dream.

His sharp ear catches the sound of voices, and he
remains almost breathless.

" How are you going to work the job?" says
some one in a hoarse whisper.

" It 's as easy as rolling off a log," replies his
companion. " The girl leaves the kitchen-window
unlatched, and we 're in the house as nice as you
please. Have you brought all the tools ? "

" All in this bag," rejoins the first, and Beppo,
wide awake now, hears something jingle.

"Then, ho for old Howland's silver !" chuckles
the second, and the two move off.

Beppo hears their footsteps die away. He
comprehends it all, — that there is to be a robbery,
— and wonders how he can prevent it. The name
Howland he has heard before, and he knows that
he may be the means of saving much.

He arises from hiscramped position, and, stretch-
ing himself, reaches for his guitar. Then, shivering
as the piercing winds strike through his tattered
clothing, he glides swiftly down the street — on
until the bright light of a police-station greets his
vision.

In broken sentences, he tells his story to the
sergeant in charge, and the latter at once sends
two officers out to investigate the matter.

Beppo knows that he has done his duty — he can
do no more. Unnoticed, he steals out into the
dark street. Two or three blocks passed, a strange
feeling comes over him. The snow falls so fast
that he can scarcely see before him. Sick and
dizzy, he gropes his way up the steps of a private
residence and falls fainting in the door-way.
• «••••

The Herald, two days after, contained among
its advertisements the following :

TF THE LAD WHO GAVE THE VALUABLE INFORMA-
1 tion that led to the frustration of designs upon a Fifth Avenue

house, win send his address to A— — H , Herald office, he wil?

hear of something to his advantage.

And the following in its local department :

FROZEN TO DEATH.

Yesterday moniing, while Mr. John Smith, of^ Blank street, wa»
searching for his paper in the door-way, his attention was drawn to a
little figure half-covered by the snow. A guitar was tightly clasped
in his hands. A doctor was immediately summoned and stimulants
were given, but to no avail. The poor little fellow was quite dead.
He was subsequently identified as Beppo, who, with his instrument^
was quite well known among people of the lower district.

128

NONSENSE RHYME.

[December,

AN ACCIDENT IN HIGH LIFE.
By Eleanor A. Hunter.

,HE rlAN'IKTH^ i I OON WHO SAIL3 IN THt jXlEJ
ly A MOST COUPAQDGLlS ^K[PPEPi ■

.A ORINK- GR MILK rpOM "THE EKIPPER .

yrl|; DlpPED IT IIN-TO THE MiLKY\^^V,

i^-NH ^L^vyLy; pautiqu^ly filled it, -.
3uT THE Little Bear growled ,
Atnd the Great Bear hqna/'leu ,

..HTENED HiM ^Cj he SPILI.LU IT

lUa.)

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

129

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS' TIDE-MILL.*
By J. T. Trowbridge.

Chapter IV.

THE NEW HOME.

The Dushees moved into a smaller house on
the Dempford side of the river, and on the first of
April the Tinkhams took possession of their new
home.

Rush drove his mother and Letty over from the
Tammoset station in Mr. Dushee's buggy, which
the boys had about decided to purchase, together
with the horse, harnesses, and a good business
wagon — these being among the many things the
owner would now have no use for, and which, he
said, ought to go with the mill.

"A pretty fair sort of a horse," Rush remarked,
as he drove out of the village. " Get up ! " — with
a flourish of the whip. " Not a two-forty nag,
exactly — go 'long, will you ! — not very stunning
in the way of beauty, but he '11 do till we can
afford a better."

"He looks well enough, I 'm sure," replied his
mother. "And why should boys always wish to
travel so fast ? I never expected we should be able
to keep a horse at all ; and such a one as this,
even, seems too much — too great a blessing ! "

" Oh, he 's beautiful, if he is only ours ! " said
Letty. " To think of keeping our own horse and
carriage ! It 's like a dream."

" I hope it wont all turn out to be a big April
fool," said the mother, with a smile in which
quivered a deep and tender emotion. " That 's
what I am afraid of"

The weather was fine ; nearly all the first birds
had come ; there was a sweet scent of spring in the
air. Letty, full of girlish hopes and gay spirits,
was delighted with everything ; and it was easy
to see that, under all her doubts and misgivings as
to this important change in their lives, the widow
felt a tranquil joy.

Until that day, Rush had not seen the place
since his first visit, and the others had not seen it
at all. It now appeared to him even more attract-
ive than before, and he experienced the anxious
pleasure of watching their first impressions as they
saw the lake, the river, the mill-roof appearing
among the willows above the bank, and the old-
fashioned house which was to be their future home.

Letty was almost wild with enthusiasm, while
in the mother's eyes glistened that happiness which
is akin to tears.

Vol. X. 9. Copyright, i88a, by J.

"Did n't I tell you it was nice?" Rush said,
exultingly.

" Oh, yes ! " said Letty ; " but 1 could n't be-
lieve it was half so nice as it is."

" It is very charming, indeed," said the mother.
" What a pretty little plateau the house stands on !
1 did n't think 1 should live to enjoy a home sur-
rounded only by the air and sunshine, with no near
neighbors but the trees and birds."

"There's Lute coming out to meet us," said
Letty.

The boys had arrived with the loads of goods
earlier in the day, and had been busy putting
things to rights and preparing for their mother,
whom they wished to spare the trials of moving.

Lute ran out, hatless, in his shirt-sleeves, his
honest face beaming behind the spectacles which
gave it an almost comically wise look, and stam-
mered his joyful greeting.

"Well, M-m-mother, this is j-j-joUy ! We
did n't want you to come a minute before ; but
now we 're about r-r-ready for you."

He reached to lift her from the wagon, as ten-
derly as if she had been a child, at the same time
ordering Rush to " t-t-tumble out." But Rush
said:

" I want to drive her around the place first, and
show her the mill and the river."

"All right," said Lute. "That will give us a
1-1-little more time."

He ran in to give some finishing touches to his
mother's room, which was the first part of the
house the boys had meant to have comfortable, in
order to make her arrival as pleasant a surprise as
possible.

Rush drove around by the little barn, along the
track toward the mill ; while Letty, who had leaped
from the buggy, ran on before, light and happy as
one of the newly arrived birds.

Hens were squawking with lazy content in the
warm sun beside the barn. A pullet was cackling
excitedly within, — over a new-laid egg, Rush said,^
and a fine red rooster, stepping aside from the
track as they passed, crowed a shrill welcome —
sounds full of pleasant rural suggestion to ears and
hearts long shut up in city walls.

Then came shouts of boyish laughter, as the
two youngest, Rupert and Rodman, ran out of
the upper story of the mill, along the level shed-
roof, to meet the buggy bringing their mother.

Rush turned out on the turf near the edge of the

13°

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

[DECBUnss,

bank, and stopped where they could look down on
the mill and the river, while Letty skipped along
the foot-plank to the seats in the branches of the
great willow.

" Oh, Mother, you must come here ! " she cried.
" You never saw so lovely a spot ! "

"Yes, yes, I see; it is all too lovely!" Mrs.
Tinkham exclaimed, with a tremulous smile.

" Here 's Mart," said Rush. " He and I can take
you up and carry you right over there without the
least trouble."

"So you shall, some time," his mother replied.
"I foresee that 1 am to spend many happy hours
in that grand old tree over the stream. But not
now ; I must go into the house, and see how things
are getting on."

" Yes, Mother," said Mart, coming to the side
of the buggy, and looking up at her with an ex-
pression which beautified his rather lank face and
homely mouth. " I want you to come and look at
your little nest. Drive around, Rocket ! "

At the side door he took her in his arms, and,
in spite of her protestations, — for, with the help of
her crutches, or an arm to lean on, she could walk,
— carried her through the kitchen and sitting-room
(where things were still in a chaotic state) into a
room beyond, where he set her down gently in her
own easy-chair.

She looked wonderingly about her. It was her
own carpet on the floor, her own bed set up and
freshly made, with the pictures on the walls and
the vases on the mantel to which her eyes had long
been accustomed.

" There ! " said Mart. " We want you to stay
here, and try to make yourself contented, while
we straighten out things in the other parts of the
house. We are getting along finely with the
woman we have hired, and we don't mean that
you shall take a step."

" Oh, this is too much ! " said Mrs. Tinkham,
seeing how hard the boys had tried to make her
new home home-like to her at the start. " I think
there never were such children as mine."

She had to cry a little, but soon dried her eyes
in her quick, resolute way, and observed :

" The poor old carpet was n't quite large
enough, was it?"

"All the better," said Lute, who peered in
through his spectacles to enjoy her surprise. " For
if it was, the r-r-room would be smaller."

" I am so glad you are to have a good large
room now. Mother ! " Letty exclaimed. "We used
to crowd you so in the other house ! "

It was a happy thought to the widow that her
daughter and five sons had always found her room
so attractive; and she now looked around with
pleasant anticipations of the comfort they would

all take together there on future evenings and
Sunday afternoons.

"I never had the sun in my windows so before,"
she said. " 1 am afraid, boys, you 've given me
the best room in the house."

"We mean to make it the best, as soon as
we can afford it," said Mart. " We knew you
would n't like this wall-paper very well; but 1
hope we can have the whole house repapered and
painted in a year or two."

" The figures are rather old-fashioned," said his
mother; "but old fashions are coming around
to be new fashions now."

"And it 's awfully ' tony,' " said Rush, " to have
your carpet too small for your room, leaving a
space a foot or so wide around by the wall ! "

"And see," Letty laughed, gayly, "what small
window-panes ! The Lummells, in their new
Queen Anne cottage, have some just such little
scrimped-up panes, and think they are elegant."

" Children, we are in style, and it seems to me
this place is going to be a little paradise ! I like
it — 1 like it extremely! Did you bring in my
crutches. Rocket ? "

In spite of all opposition, she was presently on
her feet, — or rather on her one good foot and a
crutch, — stepping about the house, giving instruc-
tions, and setting things in order with her own
hands.

Chapter V.

THE FISH-OFFICER.

The boys worked hard, delighted with the
change, and inspired by youthful hope and joy.

They had taken the contract to supply rocket-
sticks, pin-wheels, and other wooden fixtures, for
Cole & Company's fire-works, and orders for toys
and dolls' carriages had been secured.

The mill. met their most sanguine expectations.
Much of the old machinery proved to be good,
and their ingenious heads and skillful hands found
little difficulty in adjusting to it their own special
improvements in tools and apparatus. The future
seemed bright with the promise of abundant,
happy, and prosperous employment.

The simple water-power was a joy to their
hearts. The tide set back twice a day, and ebbing
again gave, as Mr. Dushee had said, about eight
hours of good running power out of every twelve.
The occurrence of this period varied day after day;
but they could easily accommodate their work to
it, for there would always be plenty of mere hand
labor to do in the intervals of flood tide and still
water.

Two or three days after taking possession, while
they were experimenting with the machinery, they

1 883.1

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

131

received a call from Mr. Dushec. He came to in-
quire whether they had concluded to buy the
horse and wagons ; and the vast landscape of his
countenance brightened when Mart said they
would try to have the money ready for him the
next day.

"I see you are making improvements," he re-
marked encouragingly, as he was about to go.

RUSH DROVE, WHILE LETTV WENT ON BEFORE.

"A few changes seem necessary," Mart replied.

"One thing I am bound to have d-d-done," said
Lute. "In place of these flash-boards, we are
going to have a p-p-permanent gate."

A cloud of slight embarrassment passed over the
desert of a face.

" I would n't be in a hurry about that; I advise
ye to wait and see how the flash-boards work."

"It isn't much trouble, I know," said Mart,
" to go and put in the flash-boards when we want

to start up the wheel; but what 's the use even of
that ? I think Lute is right."

"I 've already got a plan of a gate that will take
c-c-care of itself," said Lute. " To be hung by
the top, so the tide running up will open it, and
shut it r-r-running back."

" I had thought of something like that myself,"
said the former owner. " But," he added, with
the air of one giving
disinterested advice, " I
think you '11 find it for
your advantage to stick
to the flash-boards. Any-
way, you 'd better wait
awhile and see."

The boys laughed at
what they called his " old
fogy notions " after he
was gone ; and Lute de-
clared that, as soon as
he could get around to
it, he would certainly
have his g-g-gate.

It was not long, how-
ever, before they learned
that Mr. Dushee's coun-
sel was good.

That afternoon, a
stranger in a narrow-
seated buggy drove up
to the mill. Rush came
out of the upper story
to meet him.

" I hear this property
has lately changed
hands," said the stran-'
ger, with an air of offi-
cial authority.

"Yes, sir," replied
Rush.

" Who are the pres-
ent owners ? "

" Well, it belongs to
our family — the Tink-
ham family."

" Where is the Tink-

ham family? I mean,

the head. I suppose there is a head somewhere."

The man spoke rather insolently. Rush thought,

so that he was tempted to make a laughing reply.

" Yes, there are several heads; pretty good ones,
too, some of us think. The property stands in my
mother's name," he added, more soberly. " But
my brothers have charge of the mill and the
business."

" I want to see your brothers," said the man in
the buggy. " Tell 'em I am a fish-officer. I

132

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

[December,

come with authority from the fish commissioners,
to give due notice of the law and its penalties re-
garding obstructions in the way of migratory fish."

Rush did not feel like making a merry reply to
that. His heart sank a little, as he said:

"That is something I don't think they know
anything about." He thought of the dam. "They
are in the shop. Will you come in and see about
the obstructions ? "

The man got out of his buggy, followed Rush
into the mill, and there delivered his errand to the
oldest son.

Mart received it quietly, but Rush could sec
that he was taken by surprise.

" Is this a new thing? " he asked.

"Not at all; we have to attend to it every
year," replied the officer. " The alewives will be
running up the river in great numbers soon after
the middle of the month, and they must have free
passage-way. "

Mart was silent a moment, only a reddish suf-
fusion of his eyes betraying to Rush that the dep-
uty's words had struck deep.

" Come out here and see my brother," he said.

It was high water, the ebb was just setting in,
and Lute was on the platform over the dam, study-
ing the probable working of his proposed tide-gate
in some preliminary experiments with the flash-
boards.

He was interrupted by the approach of his
brothers with the stranger.

" I guess we '11 give up the idea of agate for the
present," said Mart, with his usual drawl. " This
man has an argument against it. Fire it off for
my brother's benefit, will you, Mr. Fish-officer? "

The deputy complied with cheerful glibness.
Lute listened intently, having set the flash-boards
to keep back the water. Then, having glanced at
Mart's serious face, he turned his gleaming specta-
cles up at the officer.

" If this had happened three days ago," he
remarked, " I should have said it was an April-
f-f-fool ! "

" Well, it is no April-fool," replied the deputy.
" So now what do you say ? "

" I say Mr. Dushee is a f-f- fraud ! "

" He never said a word to one of us about a
fish-way," Rush spoke up in great excitement

" But he knows the need of it well enough, often
as he has been warned," said the deputy.

" What has he done to keep within the law ? "
Mart inquired.

" There was only one thing to do. He has
pulled out his flash-boards and let the fish run."

"But that destroys the water-power! "

"Exactly."

" How 1-1-long ? " stammered Lute.

" The law requires that streams shall be free for
fish to run from the middle of April to the middle
of June. The alewives go up into the pond to
spawn. After that they descend the river again,
and return to the sea."

Mart had by this time recovered from the con-
sternation into which he had at first been thrown,
and his ingenious mind was already seeing its way
out of the difficulty.

" I should greatly enjoy cracking the Dushee
cocoa-nut," he drawled, alluding in that irreverent
way to the former owner's head-piece, " for not
telling us about this fish business. But it is n't
such a terrible matter, Lute. The fish go up with
the tide, I beUeve ? "

" The great mass of them," replied the deputy.
" But a good many stragglers get caught by the
ebb, and have to work their way against it."

" These flash-boards float with the flood-tide,"
said Mart, "and of course they '11 let the alewives
run up with it. I guess they wont be seriously
hindered, any of 'em. And by the time they have
spawned, and are all ready to run down again,
we '11 "

" We '11 have a f-f-fish-way constructed ! " broke
in Lute, with a rapid stammer. " I 've got it
already p-p-planned."

" That will be the best way," remarked the
deputy. " In case of an impassable dam, the law
requires the owner to build such a fish-way as the
commissioners approve ; or it requires them to
build it, and charge the cost to him. Dushee
thought it unnecessary, and preferred to keep his
flash-boards open."

He added that he did not wish to be unduly
strict with any man who was willing to comply
with the law ; having thus performed his duty, he
parted on very civil terms with the Tinkham boys,
and rode away.

" We can get over this well enough," said Mart.
" But, I tell ye, I was in a pouring sweat for about
a minute. I believe I lost about a pound of flesh."

"I wonder if there is anything else Dushee
has kept back," said Rush, still excited. "I 'm
afraid we don't yet know all his reasons for being
so anxious to sell."

"I remember, Father used to say, 'A man
always has two motives for every action, his real
motive and his pretended motive,' " drawled Mart.
"I 'm afraid Dushee is the kind of man he meant.
What I 'm still more afraid of is, that we shan't
be glad when we find all his reasons out."

" Anyhow," said Lute, " I 'm going to have my
tide-gate all the same, soon as we 've b-b-built the
fish- way."

As the dam was only two feet high, the fish-
way — consisting of open water-boxes placed one

1883.]

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

133

above the other, so connected that the alewivcs
could easily work their way up or down through
them — seemed to be a simple and inexpensive
aiTair.

So did the tide-gate. But there was a stronger
argument against that than any the boys dreamed
of yet.

Chapter VI.

THE ODD-LOOKING SUMMER-HOUSE.

Rush had been too busy to go off the place
since the day of the moving. But, after supper
that evening, he and Letty and the two younger
boys took a walk.

They strolled up the river as far as the bridge,
where they chanced to meet the elder Dushee
returning home from Tammoset.

Rush was inwardly boiling with indignation at
the man's extraordinary economy of the truth
regarding the alewife business, in all his talks with
the purchasers of the mill. But he controlled
himself, and said quietly, in reply to Dushee's
observation that 't was a pooty evenin' to be takin'
a ramble :

"You never mentioned to any of us that there
might be some trouble about the alewives passing
the dam."

"Trouble? trouble?" said Mr. Dushee, blandly.
" Why, no ! for I never believed there 'd be any
trouble."

" You did n't know the fish commissioners
would be after us, I suppose?"

Rush spoke with biting sarcasm. But the large,
bland countenance remained undisturbed.

" Oh ! there 's been an officer around, has they ?
I knew 't was about time. Comes every year. It 's
his business. But that 's all 't amounts to."

"You have paid no attention to his warning?"
said Rush.

" Skurcely," Dushee replied in a confidential
way. "I'd set my youngsters to watch for a few
days when the fish was runnin' the thickest, and
if they see the fish-officer a-comin', I 'd jest pull
up my flash-boards, and mabby leave 'em up till
they see him go 'long back down the river. That
is, if I happened to be runnin' the wheel. But
gener'ly I could git along without it for a part of
the time ; then I 'd let the fish run. The dam
never was no hendrance to the alewives, and the
officer knew it," the former owner added, seeing a
wrathful light in the boy's eyes. "There never
was no trouble, and there never need to be none."

" It seems to me, you might at least have told
us of anything of the kind that might turn up,"
Rush replied, in a rather choked voice ; for it was

all he could do to keep his anger from breaking
forth.

" I s'pose I might," Dushee replied, cheerfully.
" But I did n't think it necessary. There 's a good
many little things about the mill you 'II have to
find out for yourselves. If I can be of service to
ye, le' me know."

Then, as Rush was walking silently away, the
large-featured man repeated, with friendly persist-
ence, " It's a re'l pooty kind of an evenin' to be
takin' a ramble," and went smiling home.

The snow had vanished from the hill-sides, and
the ice from the lake. It was a still evening, and
the glassy water reflected the shores, the distant
orchards and groves, and the rosy hues of the
western sky.

The boys ran on toward the outlet, while Letty
sauntered slowly, waiting for Rush.

" Oh, can't we have a boat-ride ? " she called to
him, looking across the river, and seeing a skiff
hauled up on the opposite bank.

"That 's the first boat I 've seen; I didn't know
there was one on the river," said Rush. "Wait
here, and I '11 try to get it."

He hurried back to the bridge, crossed over to
a farm-house on the other shore, and was soon seen
running down to the water's edge with a pair of
oars.

"Go on up farther," he shouted, "and I '11 come
over and take you all aboard."

The current was running out, and he had to
keep close by the bank and pull hard until he had
succeeded in rowing the skiff up into still water.
Then, making a broad circuit above the outlet,
leaving behind him lovely ripples which spread far
away over the pink-tinted pond, he crossed to a
pebbly beach, where Letty was waiting with the
boys.

Eager for adventure, they scrambled aboard,
and Rush pushed off again.

" This is better than the boat-rides we used to
have around the edge of the dirty old harbor,"
said Rupert.

"Oh, it is heavenly!" said Letty, who some-
times indulged in an almost too enthusiastic way
of expressing herself "Why is n't the water cov-
ered with boats? I should think it would be."

" I suppose it is too early in the season for them
yet," replied Rush. " Mr. Rumney said he had
only just got his into the water. That accounts
for its leaking so. Look out for your feet, boys ! "

" Let us row awhile. Rush," said Rupert, as they
glided out toward the center of the lake, which
appeared like a vast gulf of infinite depth illu-
mined by soft and delicate hues, until broken by
prow and oars.

Rush indulged them ; they took each an oar,

^34

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

[Decembbk,

while he assumed the place in the stern and
steered, with a shingle for a rudder. Letty leaned
over the bow, enjoying the lovely views.

" We '11 take IVIother out here, when the weather
gets a little warmer," said Rush. " I promised
myself that, the first day I saw the lake. Wont
she enjoy it ! "

"I wish she was with us now!" exclaimed
Letty. " It is too much for us alone ! "

" We can row back and get her," said Rodman.
"Can't we, Rupe ? "

"Oh, yes — it will be fine! " said Rupe.

It was not because the young Tinkhams were so
much better bred or kinder-hearted than many
children, nor yet because their mother's crippled
condition had called out their gentlest feelings
toward her, but rather, I suppose, because she
made herself so sympathetic and delightful a com-
panion to them, that they constantly thought of
her in this way.

But now all at once Rush had something else to
attract his attention.

" Hello ! there 's that odd-looking — summer-
house, Dick Dushee called it."

"What! that building on the shore?" said
Letty. "Nobody would ever think of making
such a summer-house as that ! "

" And only an idiot or a knave would call it
one ! " Rush exclaimed, flushing very red in the
evening light. " Hold your oar. Rod ! We '11
run over and look at it."

Steering with his shingle, he headed the skiff
toward the Tammoset shore and Dick Dushee's
astonishing summer-house.

" It 's built on piles over the water," said
Rupert. "And what 's that before it?"

" A float," said Rush. " It 's easy enough to
see what the building is, and the rogue must have
known ! "

He was not long in surmising a reason for Dick's
seemingly uncalled-for prevarication. What he
had learned that afternoon made him suspicious
of the Dushees.

" That 's Dick Dushee there, with another boy,
on the float," said Rupe.

" Pull away ! I want to catch him before he gets
off," said Rush, lowering his voice.

" What is the building — if you know? " Letty
asked, with excited curiosity.

" Nothing anybody need to lie about," Rush
muttered, still with his angry flush on. " I '11 tell
you by and by. Dick ! " he called, "see here a
moment."

Dick was stepping up from the float into a large
open door-way in the barn-like end of the building,
when, hearing the summons, he reluctantly faced
about.

" This is your summer- Jiouse, is it ? " said Rush,
sharply.

" I knew 't was some sort of a house to have fun
in — in summer," said Dick, with an ignoble grin,
visible in the twilight. "I 've found out what it is,
now."

" So have I, without any help from you," said
Rush. " And, I 'm sorry to say, we 're finding
out other things that don't reflect much credit on
those who left us to discover them for ourselves."

" I don't know what you mean," said Dick.

Rush was flaming up for a fierce reply, when
Letty stopped him.

" Don't have any words with him. Rocket !"

" Well, then, I wont. Not now. Hold on here
a minute, boys ! "

To satisfy himself with regard to the character
and use of the ugly structure, he leaped to the
float, mounted the steps, and entered the great
door- way. In a little while he came out again,
with a troubled but resolute look.

" How long has this been building?" he asked
of Dick's companion on the float.

"Ever since last winter," was the reply. "They
drove the piles through holes in the ice."

" Did you know then what it was for? "

" I guess so ! Everybody knew. Anyhow, it had
been talked of enough."

Rush gave Dick Dushee an annihilating look,
but said nothing as he stepped back into the boat.

"Why, what is it troubles you so?" Letty
asked, as they pushed off. "That boy told us
what the house was for, when you were inside ;
but Rupert had already guessed."

" I should think anybody could guess ! " said
Rupert.

Rush declined to talk upon the subject, as they
returned along the shore to the river. After land-
ing on Mr. Rumney's bank, he told Letty and the
boys to walk along to the bridge, while he re-
turned the oars.

Having thanked the farmer for them, he said :

"Arc there many boats owned here on the
river? "

The farmer, standing in his open shed, filling
his pipe, answered, good-naturedly:

"Wall, consider'ble many; more 'n the' use' to
be, 'nuff sight."

" And on the lake ?" queried Rush.

" Wall, a consider'ble many on the lake. There 's
been a kin' of a boom in the boatin' interest
lately."

"How so?"

"Wall," replied Mr. Rumney, striking a match
on his trousers, "for years there was no boatin' here,
to speak on. But the notion on 't has broke out
in a crop o' boys growin' up — a perfect epidemic.

■883.]

THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE-MILL.

135

'Specially sense the Argue-not Club was started last
summer, though why they call it the Argue-not
beats me, for I never seen anything else there was
so much arguin' about."

The smile that broadened the good-natured face
betrayed some consciousness of a joke. Rush,
however, took the matter with intense seriousness.

" This new building over here, on the shore of
the pond, is the Argonaut Club's boat-house?"

Mr. Rumney nodded as he puffed at his pipe.

Rush then said, trying to suppress a tremor in
his voice :

" Has there been much trouble — -about — boats
passing — Mr. Dushee's dam ? "

" Wall," said the farmer, smiling again, " since
you ask me a candid question, I s'pose I must
make a candid reply. There 's been some trouble.
I may say perty consider'ble trouble. They say
the dam has got to go. Your folks '11 have to
know it, and ye may as well know it fust as last."

Rush constrained himself to say calmly :

" Seems to me we ought to have known it a
little sooner."

" 'T would have been for your interest, no
doubt," the farmer replied ; adding, with a smile
of the broadest humor: " If a man 's going to put
on a stockin', and there 's a hornet's nest in it.

he 'd nat'rally ruther like to know it 'forehand —
leastways, 'fore he puts his foot in too fur ! "

"Naturally," said Rush. " It was the hornet's
nest, as you call it, that made Dushee so anxious
to sell ? "

"Should n't wonder!" Mr. Rumney gave a
chuckle, which had a disagreeable sound to the
boy's ears. " Anyhow, he never said nothin' about
sellin 'till the Argue-nots argued him into it."

" My brothers came and talked with you before
buying," said Rush. "Why did n't you tell
them ? "

" Wall, 't wan't my business. Dushee he come
with 'em. Neighbors so, I did n' like to interfere
and spile his trade."

In saying this, the worthy man appeared wholly
unconscious of having acted in any but a fair and
honorable way.

Something swelled alarmingly in Rush's throat,
but he swallowed hard at it, and finally managed
to say, " Thank you, Mr. Rumney."

He turned to go, paused, turned back, and hesi-
tated a moment, as if struggling against a tumult-
uous inward pressure, an impulse to free his mind
of some volcanic stuff. But he merely added :

" Much obliged to you for the boat," and
walked stiffly away.

y^-^-^

•^|[J'[^-At/TeKel Ifs f

A^ N°^ ^if 'K ^C^^H •■

--r?fe_

<>-

Ipfe^ ♦Story of ih(

Together with the Doings and Diver-
sions of Master Rauf Bulney and
Mistress Margery Carew.

By E.

Brooks.

How Rauf Bulney spoiled his Crimson Cloak.

It was a breezy, sunshiny day in the early Enghsh spring — the 13th of
March, 1520. The hills and valleys of Buckinghamshire lay bleak and bare,
with but scant signs of the verdure imprisoned beneath. The ancestral oaks
that studded the lawn and bordered the roadway before the Hall swayed and
shivered in the wind that swept the Chiltern Hills and rocked the oaks and
beeches of the Aylesbury woods. With jacket carelessly open and doublet
disarranged, rode young Rauf Bulney across the roadway. His face was alL

iSSi.J

THE STORY OF THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD.

137

aglow from the exercise that had followed his en-
deavors to teach his fractious hobby, Roland, to leap
the bars, while a reckless enjoyment of the March
breezes made him careless alike of a possible throat-
distemper and of his customary trim appearance.

Roland had shown so determined a disposition
to shirk his duty and refuse the leap, and had
arched his shapely neck so repeatedly in protest
before the bars, that Rauf had satisfied himself
with two or three successes, and now, holding on
his wrist the cleanly made little " lanard," or fal-
con, that his uncle had recently given him, was on
his way to test its merits. Just as he dashed across
the roadway a rider, booted and spurred, passed
him at full speed, his black horse flecked with foam,
while on breast and back shone out in crimson and
gold the well-known badge of his Grace the Cardinal.

A courier from Hampton Court, though no
infrequent visitor at Verney Hall, was still ever
an object of interest ; and Rauf, weighing in his
mind the opposing attractions of courier and
falcon, decided for the courier and turned his
steps toward the Hall. At the foot of the terrace
stood Dick Ricroft, the groom of the stables, hold-
ing the courier's impatient steed.

Rauf wavered — the horse for the moment eclipsed
the courier.

" You beauty ! " he said, admiringly. " Let me
try a turn with him, Dick ? "

"The saints forbid!" interposed the horrified
Dick. " Ride one of the lord legate's horses.
Master Rauf! 'T would be as much as all our
heads are worth, and I 've no mind to lose mine
yet. Besides," he added, "the courserman rides
on to Sir John Hampden's on the hill, as soon as
he has delivered his
message to Sir Rauf "

"What! Hampden
Manor, too ? Why.

this must be some special mission. What 's afoot,
Dick?" questioned the boy.

" Ah, you must needs find that out for yourself,"
replied the cautious Dick. " 'T is something touch-
ing the King's Grace and a journey to France."

"To France? Oh, glory! "and the impetuous
youth, aflame with a new excitement, bounded up
the terrace and dashed into the great wainscoted
hall, where, at the middle table, sat the Cardinal's
courserman — a barley loaf and a dish of "war-
dens," or baked pears, before him, his face half-
buried in the great pot of ale with which he was
washing down his hasty lunch.

" Well, how now, how now, young hot-head?"
came the deep voice of the boy's uncle, and, check-
ing his impatience, Rauf walked slowly up to
where, near the dais, stood his uncle. Sir Rauf
Verney, papers in hand and a perplexed expression
on his face.

"What 's astir, sir?" asked young Rauf, with
the privilege of a favorite, as he leaned against the
dais and glanced into his uncle's face.

" Bide a bit. Sir Malapert," said his uncle be-
neath his voice, adding, as the courier rose from
the long table and wiped the ale from his heavy
mustache : "Art refreshed, good Master Yeoman ? "

" Fully, thanks to your worship," was the reply.
" I must now hasten on to Hampden Manor."

" Say to your master, the Lord Cardinal," said
Sir Rauf, " that
the commands of
the King's High-
ness shall have
my proper obedi-
ence ; " and, court-

THE COURIER OF THE CARDINAL.

138

THE STORY OF THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD. [December,

WATCHING TO SEE

KING CHARLES

GO BY.

eously conducted to the door and down the
terrace, the courserman sprang to his sad-
dle, doffed his bonnet in adieu, and the black
horse sped down the roadway like an arrow.

" Well, Anne?" was all that Sir Rauf said, as
he came back and looked to his wife for counsel.

" 'T is the King's command and the Cardinal's
wish. I suppose it must be done," said Lady Anne
Verney, smoothing the folds of her satin kirtle.

" 'T will cost a pretty peck of angels," said Sir
Rauf, somewhat ruefully, as he stroked his long
brown beard.

" But the honor of England and the Verneys,
Sir Rauf ! " interposed the Lady Anne.

"Yes, yes, 1 know," said her husband; " needs
must when the King wills. But as to my following,"
he added, musingly; " 'ten persons well and con-
veniently appareled and horsed'" — then, sud-
denly, " Rauf, would'st like to go to France ? "

Respectful silence in the presence of one's elders
was enforced by something more than words in
those early days, and Rauf, though inwardly chaf-
ing at being so long kept in the dark, dared not
ask for information. So, when his uncle's quick
question came, the boy as quickly answered : "To
France ? Oh, Uncle ! When ? "

" That means yes, I suppose. Here, my boy,
make test of Master Bolton's teaching on this
paper," and he handed Rauf a billet on which ran
the address : '^ To our trusty and ivell-beloiied Sir
Rauf Verney, Knight.''''

Thanks to the careful tuition of Master Bolton,
the chaplain at the Hall and a well-furnished
scholar from the Oxford schools, Rauf could at
least spell out enough of the billet to understand
that it was a summons from the Cardinal Wolscy,
Lord Chancellor of F.ngland, through the hand of

Thomas Ru-
thal, Bishop of
Durham, and
Secretary of
State, com-
manding "5zV
Rauf Verney to
await upon the
King's Highness with
a following of ten able and seemly persons, well and
conveniently appareled and horsed ; the same Sir
Rauf Verney to appear, as to his degree and honor
belongeth, at the camp in the marches of Calais,
between Guisnes and Arde, in the month of May,
and at the time of meeting between the King's Grace
and the French King."

All the boyish curiosity, the love of excitement,
and the delights of anticipation that lived in the
heart of our young English Rauf of three and a
half centuries ago, even as in the equally impetu-
ous natures of our English and American boys of
to-day, were stirred to their depths as he took in
the meaning of the royal summons, and he turned
a joyously expectant face to his uncle.

"Yes, yes," responded Sir Rauf Verney, with a
smile, to his nephew's unasked question. " 'T is
a royal command and admits of no refusal. And
you, Rauf Bulney, page, shall go ' well and con-
veniently appareled ' as squire to the body in the
following of Sir Rauf Verney, Knight."

"But just where are Guisnes and Arde, Uncle ? "
queried the boy.

" Tut, tut, lad ; shall we jog your truant mem-
ory or Master Bolton's lagging work?" said the
knight. " They lie, both, in the marches of
Calais, in the valleys between our English town of
Calais and the glorious field of Agincourt. This
Guisnes is a town and castle in English territory,
and Arde is a town and castle in French territory.
They stand scarce two leagues removed from each

i883.]

THE STORY OK THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD.

139

other. Though how these castles will serve for
convenient and proper lodgings for the Kings'
Highnesses passes my fathoming. 1 mind me that
on my last return from Flanders, now nigh two
years since, I went with my Lord Fitzwater over
the castle of Guisnes, and found it wretched
enough — -its moat dry and weedy, its battlements
dismantled, its keep ruinous and crumbling. And
as for the French castle, they made equal poor
report — the town long since in ruins, the castle
desolate and impaired, its fosse choked and useless,
its donjon untopped, its walls torn with breaches."

" A sorry place for a royal interview," said Lady
Anne; "but will not due care be taken to make
them presentable ? "

" Trust the Lord Cardinal for that," replied Sir
Rauf. "Where so lavish a hand commands, small
doubt is there as to great results. His Grace's
courscrman tells me that nigh twelve hundred
workmen have been dispatched to Sir JohnPetchie,
deputy of Calais, under orders to Lord Worcester,
the commissioners, and the chief artificer."

" But what is it all for, Uncle — this interview
between our King's Highness and the King of
France ? " asked young Rauf, who with ready ears
had drunk in all his uncle's words. Ignoring Sir
Rauf V'erney's long explanation, half-politics, half-
rumor, and all glorification of his liege and King
such as he, born courtier, gallant soldier, and true
Englishman, could not help giving, we may con-
dense Rauf 's acquired information into a few words.

Three young men, Henry Tudor, of England,
aged twenty-eight, Francis d'Angouleme, of
France, aged twenty-five, and Charles von Haps-
burg, of Spain, aged nineteen, at that day swayed
the destinies of the Christian world as monarchs
of their respective countries. The imperial throne
of Germany, then known as " the holy Roman
Empire," becoming vacant in 15 19, by the death
of the Emperor Maximilian, these three young
kings, each with distinct but varying claims, as-
serted their right of election to the vacant throne.
On the iSthof June, 15 19, the electors of Germany
rendered their final decision, and the younger
of the three competitors, himself scarcely more
than a boy in years, ascended the imperial throne
as the Emperor Charles the Fifth — the mightiest
monarch in Christendom. Henry of England,
aware of the hopelessness of his claim, had already
withdrawn from the contest ; but his neighbor,
Francis of France, brilliant, chivalric, handsome,
and brave, but royally self-willed and impetuous,
chafed under his defeat, and sought to weaken the
power of his successful rival by an alliance between
those two inveterate enemies, France and England.
Thomas Wolsey, the son of the honest butcher of
Ipswich, was now Cardinal Archbishop of York,

legate of the Pope and Lord Chancellor of Eng-
land, mighty in influence with his master the
King, feared and flattered by all the courts of Eu-
rope. He received with approval the propositions
of Francis looking to an interview between the
kings of France and England, and, gaining the
consent of Henry, sought to make this interview
such an occasion of splendor and ceremonial as
should delight their majesties and gratify his own
love of display. By it, too, he hoped to increase
his power over both courts and thus advance him-
self toward the prize he coveted — the throne of
the Pope, then the highest attainable dignity in
the Church and the world.

To make this royal interview, then, imposing in
its ceremonial and splendid in the magnificence of
its display, all England and all France labored and
lavished, struggled and spent, managed and mort-
gaged until, as one of the old chroniclers expresses
it, " many lords bore to the meeting their mills,
their forests, and their meadows on their backs."

So much for the political history. To young
Rauf Bulney, however, as he watched the prepara-
tions that for two months kept the household at
Verney Hall in continued bustle and action, the
desires of kings and the ambition of cardinals
went for but little. For him two realms were ex-
cited, two nations disturbed, in order that a fresh
and healthy young English boy of fifteen years,
Rauf Bulney by name, might go to France in
grand style and feast his eyes on glorious sights
and royal profusion.

At last the eventful time arrived, and in the
early morning hours of Wednesday, the i6th of
May, 1520, Sir Rauf Verney, with Master Rauf
Bulney, his squire. Master Bolton, his chaplain,
with color-man, archers, and bill-men, all picked
from the very flower of the Verney tenantry, re-
splendent in new liveries and displaying the Verney
arms, bade good-bye to Lady Anne and the Hall,
and, while roadways and forest were sweet with the
breath of an English spring, the Verney following
passed over the Chiltern Hills and through pleas-
ant English meadows, to London first, and thence
on to Dover. Not the least happy in that train
was our friend Rauf, with a pardonable pride in
the possession of three rich suits, and a happy
consciousness that he looked quite as nicely as he
felt.

At Dover, the straggling, stuffy little town of
three hundred years ago, they found a great crowd
of nobles and gentlemen, with their attendant
trains ; while the valley of the Dour and the
slopes of the chalk hills were white with tents and f
gay with streamers. Here, by the orders of the
Lord Chief Marshal, the Earl of Essex, Sir Rauf
Verney's following was joined to that of the Earl

140

THE STORY OF THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD. [December,

of Dorset. Sir Rauf himself was ordered to attend
the Cardinal at the immediate reception of " the
elect King of the Romans," otherwise the Emperor
Charles the Fifth. For that enterprising young
monarch, knowing full well the excessive courtesy
and winning manners of the French King, sought
to gain an advantage over his rival by a prior
meeting with Henry of England. And so, hurry-
ing from Barcelona with " only sixty ship and the
Queen of Arragon," he met the English King at
Dover before he had crossed to France.

" Is our King's Grace, then, so wondrous great
that this mighty Emperor fain must sue to him ? "
Rauf asked his uncle when he heard the summons ;
even his boyish enthusiasm for his King being un-
able to grasp this wonder of the " Monarch of
Christendom " doffing his bonnet to an island
prince.

" Ah, my lad," replied his thoughtful uncle,
" the King of the Romans sees far and shrewdly.
An alliance between our King's Highness and him
of France would threaten a mighty breach in King
Charles's great dominions. Besides, our noble King
of England, so my Lord Bishop of Worcester
writes from Rome, ' is in great reputation in Chris-
tendom,' and none know this better than the King
Catholic. See now, my boy, what kingship does
for a man. This young King Charles is scarce
four years your elder; but, ah ! it 's an old, old
head on green shoulders."

So reasoned the cautious courtier, and so young
Rauf accepted it; and, next morning, stood for
hours at the door of his lodging to see this boy
Emperor ride by with the English King on the
way to the shrine of Thomas a Becket at Canter-
bury — " the more to solempne the feast of Pente-
cost," says the old chronicle. What Rauf really
saw was a spare young man of medium height,
with pale face and heavy under-jaw, with hooked
nose and small, irregular teeth, plainly dressed, as
compared to the magnificence of England's kingly
King, by whose side he rode. But what Rauf
could not see in that quiet face was the deeper
purpose that, even then, told of great possibilities,
as fitted the man who, for forty years thereafter,
held an imperial scepter in an imperious grasp.

Four days passed, and then, the Emperor's visit
over, on the 31st of May the King of England,
with his Queen and court, — above five thousand
persons and nearly three thousand horses, — crossed
from Dover to Calais. Standing in the bow of the
stanch little " Maglory," one of Miles Gerard'?
stoutest hoys, — a small sloop-rigged vessel used
^ for coasting work, — Rauf watched with interest
the embarkation. The white chalk cliffs of Dover
shone in the morning sun, the foam -capped waters
of the Straits glistened and sparkled, while a host

of small craft, bright with pennons and colors,
scudded before the wind out from the shadow of
Dover Castle, dipping and bobbing over the
choppy waves toward the opposite port of Calais.
In the midst of the fleet, gay with the fluttering
decorations of St. George's cross, the Tudor
dragon, and the Tudor rose, sailed the royal trans-
port, the " Katherine Pleasance."

Just as the " Maglory " rounded in behind the
" Katherine," a sudden puff of wind and a choppy
sea drove her hard against the stern of the royal
vessel. There was a bump and a loud crash, and
Rauf saw a young girl, whom he had already
noticed as one of a merry group of ladies, topple
over with the shock, and fall from the deck of the
" Katherine " into the waters beneath. A shriek
from the ladies on the King's vessel, a sudden wear-
ing off on the part of the " Maglory," and then,
impetuous as ever, as heedless of the consequences
as of his satin doublet and his crimson cloak, his
gold-embroidered hose, and his boots of Spanish
leather, off from the bow of the "Maglory"
jumped Master Rauf in aid of the drowning girl.
A strong stroke and a ready eye, which much prac-
tice in his home streams had given him, stood him
well in need ; stout ropes and sturdy arms trailed
over the lee of the " Katherine," and the girl and
her rescuer were soon on deck, the one limp and
faint from her peril, the other well enough in body
but sorely damaged as to his gala dress.

" A trim young gallant and a brave ! Whom
have we here as the savior of our fair but unsteady
maiden ? " asked a deep, rich voice, and looking
up, Rauf found himself in the midst of a gayly
dressed group of lords and ladies, the foremost of
whom was a man of tall and commanding appear-
ance, well built, and stout almost to heaviness, with
pleasant face, a fresh and ruddy countenance, and
a short, golden beard and kindly smile, the very
picture of health, imperiousness, and royal grace
— Henry the Eighth, King of England.

The courtier blood of the Verneys lent grace
and homage to the obeisance with which Rauf
accompanied his answer to the King's question.

" I am Rauf Bulney, may it please your Grace ;
nephew and squire of the body to Sir Rauf Verney,
Knight, in my Lord of Dorset's train."

"Ha! of our old friend Verney's stock," said
the King. "And do you thus incontinently dive
with equal speed to rescue the perishing, even be
they not so fair to see as is our sweet maiden. Mis-
tress Margery — eh, young sir?"

Again bending low, Rauf replied to the royal
banter :

" My sponsors have taught me, my liege, that
the true knight showeth due courtesy to all alike."

"A right knightly answer, is it not, my lords?"

itta.]

THE STORY 1 ' THE FIELD OK THE CLOTH OF GOLD.

141

And who, pray,
Lady Anne, may

said Henry, highly pleased,
after your good uncle and th
your guiders be, my boy ? "

" Master Bolton, an Oxford scholar, is our
chaplain, your Grace."

" Ha ? himself a pupil of our worthy Dean Colet

rest his soul ! One of the new learning, too.

We have high hopes of the youth of this present
England, whose sponsors and preceptors are
such as yours. But, body of me ! " said the
King, hastily, as his eye caught the
little rills that coursed down
Rauf's shivering but respect
ful legs, in crimson and
violet tides ; " here
stand we chat-
tering, and there
stand you a-chat-
tering, as well.
Good Master
Gary, take this
young springald
to our yeoman
of the robes and
see him suita-
bly appareled.
Thereafter will
we request the
Lord Cardinal,
with due regard
to my Lord of
Dorset, and Sir
Rauf, his uncle,
to add him to
the file of our
special pages.
He is a right-
mannered and
well-favored lad. "

Rauf was shrewd courtier enough to make no
reply to this promise of advancement beyond the
customary low bow, and he therefore kept quiet
as to his extra suits of gay clothing. " He who
would rise must know when to hold his tongue,"
his uncle had taught him ; and here seemed the
opportunity to put this precept to the test.

On deck once more, dressed in a rich suit of
crimson and violet blazoned with the Tudor rose,
Rauf received with boyish sheepishness, not unmixed
with his native courtesy, the well-spoken thanks
of Mistress Margery Carew — a trim and sprightly
little lass of near his own age, whose blue velvet
gown, with its lining of crimson tinsel, well set off
her fair Saxon face. She was the little daughter

of Sir Richard Carew, a knight of Surrey, placed
by her father among Queen Katherine's gentle-
women under the protection of Lady Gray.

" And let me tell you. Master Page," said Lady

YOUNG RAUF RECEIVES THE THANKS OF
MARGERY CAREW.

Gray, as she warmly thanked Rauf for his aid, "a
sorry loss of a sprightly lass would have fallen upon
us had you not so quickly taken to the water."

So, in exchange of pleasant words and compli-
ments, of questions and explanations, the crossing
to the French shore was quickly made, and all too
soon, as it seemed to Rauf, the ramparts and
towers of Calais lay abeam.

(To be continued.)

142

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

[December,

Words by Rev. Minot J. Savagk.

Music by Howard M. Dow.

Allegretto.

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A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

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144

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

[December,

HIS SEVENTIETH CHRISTMAS.

GRANDMAMMA'S PEARLS.
By Louisa M. Alcott.

"My Dear Granddaughters: Before you
go to meet the little trials and temptations of the
coming week, 1 want to make a proposition. I am
old-fashioned, and I do not like to see young girls
in so public a place as the cafe of a great fair.
Your mothers differ with me, and 1 have no right
to dissuade you. But I have asked leave to try
and keep the young heads from being quite turned,
and the young hearts from forgetting the sweet
old virtues — -modesty, obedience, and self-denial.
So I write to say that I intend to give the set of
pearls you all so much admire to the one who be-

haves best during the week. Like the fairy god-
mother in the story, I shall know what .happens,
and which of you deserves the reward. Laugh, if
you will, but keep our little secret, and try to
please Grandmamma."

This was the letter read aloud by one of three
young girls, who sat together in the pretty, old-time
dresses they were to wear while serving as attend-
ants in the refreshment saloon at the fair. A very
select and fashionable fair, you may be sure, or
Kitty, Kate, and Catherine St. John would not be

iSSi.]

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

allowed to play waiter-girls in these dainty costumes
of muslin, silk, and lace.

"That is just one of Grandma's queer ideas. I
don't mind trying, but I know I shan't get the
pearls, because I 'm always doing something
dreadful," said Kitty, the merry member of the
Kit Kat Club, as the three cousins were called.

"1 'd do anything to get them, for they are per-
fectly lovely, and just what I want," cried Kate,
dropping the letter to give the kitten in her lap a
joyful squeeze.

" 1 suppose she will find out how we spend the
gold ten-dollar pieces she gave us, if she is going
to know everything we do ; so we must mind what
we buy," added Catherine, with a frown, for she
dearly loved to buy nice little things and enjoy
them all by herself.

"Let us see — 'modesty, obedience, and self-
denial.' 1 think it wont be very hard to behave
like angels for one week," said Kate, the oldest
and prettiest of the three, looking again at the
letter she had read aloud.

"Obedience is always hard to me, and I never
expect to be an angel," laughed Kitty, while her
black eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief,
as she threw down her knitting.

" Self-denial sounds very nice, but I do hate
to give up things 1 want, and that is just what
it means," sighed Cathy, who seldom had a
chance to try this wholesome virtue in her luxur-
ious home.

" People call me vain sometimes, because I
don't pretend to think 1 'm a fright, when I know
I 'm not ; so perhaps Grandma meant the ' mod-
esty' for me," said Kate, glancing at the long
mirror before her, which reflected a charming
figure, all blue silk, lace ruffles, and coquettish
knots of ribbon here and there.

" Of course, you can't help knowing you are a
beauty, with your blue eyes, yellow hair, and sweet
complexion. 1 should be as vain as a peacock
if I were half as pretty," answered Cathy, who
mourned over her auburn locks and the five
freckles on her rosy cheeks. But she had never
looked better than now, in her pale green-and-
white costume, with fan and mitts, and the objec-
tionable hair hidden under a big cap, that added
several years to her age — a thing one does not
object to at sixteen.

" Now, / don't worry about looks, and, as long
as 1 have a good time, it does n't matter if I
am as brown as a berry and have a turned-up
nose," said brunette Kitty, settling the cherry
bows on her flounced apron, and surveying with
great satisfaction her red silk hose and buckled
shoes.

"Wont it be delicious to own a set of real

Vol. X.— io.

pearls, — necklace, earrings, and cross, — all on
black velvet in a red case, with a great gold C on
the outside ! So glad our fathers were brothers
and named us all for Grandma ; now the letter
suits each of us. Young girls can wear pearls,
you know. Wont the necklace look well on
me ? " asked Kate, glancing again at the mirror,
as if she already saw the new ornament on her
white throat.

"Lovely!" cried both the others, who heartily
admired bonny Kate, and let her rule over them
because she was a little older. "Don't tell any
one about this trial of ours, nor what we do at
the fair, and see if Grandma really does know,"
said Kitty, whose pranks always were found out
in some mysterious manner.

"She will — 1 know she will! Grandma is a
very wise old lady, and I do feel sometimes as
if she really was a fairy godmother^she knows
so well what we want, and do, and think about,
without a word being said," added Cathy, in
such an awe-stricken tone that the others laughed,
and agreed that they must look well to their
ways if they wanted the promised reward.

The fair began next day, and a splendid open-
ing it was, for neither time, taste, nor money had
been spared to make the great hall an inviting
place. The flower-table in the middle was a lovely
bower of green, with singing-birds, little fountains,
and the attendant young ladies dressed as roses of
different sorts. At the art - table, maidens in
mediaeval costumes made graceful pictures of
themselves, and in the cafe old-fashioned Priscillas
and neat-handed Phyllises tripped to and fro, with
all the delicacies of the season on their silver sal-
vers. Round the walls were the usual booths, full
of gay trifles, and behind them sat the stately
matrons who managed the affair, with their corps
of smiling assistants, to beguile the money out of
the full pockets of the visitors. The admission fee
was so high that none but the well-to-do could
enter, so no common folk mingled with the elegant
crowd that soon filled the hall and went circling
around the gay stalls with a soft rustle of silks,
much nodding of plumed bonnets, and a lively
rattling of coin, as people bought their last Christ-
mas gifts at double the price asked for them in
any shop.

"Isn't it splendid?" whispered the Kit Kat
Club, as they stood with their trays waiting for the
first customers to appear.

" 1 'm sure I don't see what harm Grandma
could find in this," laid Kate, shaking out her
skirts and smoothing the golden curls shining on
her temples.

"Nor I," cried Kitty, prancing a little to enjoy
the glitter of the buckles in her smart shoes.

146

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

[December,

" Nor I yet," echoed Cathy, as she looked from
her cousins to the nine other girls who made up
the twelve, and saw in the excited faces of all some-
thing which dimly suggested to her more thought-
ful mind what Grandma meant.

Just then a party came under the flag-festooned
arch, and all the young waiters flew to serve their
guests, for now the fun began.

Nothing remarkable happened that first day, and
our three were too busy learning their duties and
trying to do them well, for any thought of pearls
or promises. But at niglit they confided to one
another that they never were so tired in all their
lives, for their feet ached, their heads were a jumble
of orders, and sundry mistakes and breakages much
disturbed their peace of mind.

Kitty walked in her sleep that night, and waked
her mother by rattling the candlestick, evidently
under the impression that it was her tray.

Kate kept calling out: " Two vanilla ices ! Cup
of coffee ! Chicken salad for three ! " And Cathy
got up with a headache, which inclined her to think,
for a time at least, that Grandma might be right
about young girls at fairs.

But the pleasant bustle soon set spirits dancing
again, and praises from various quarters reconciled
them to the work, which was not half so much like
play as they had supposed ; so the cousins strolled
about arm in arm, enjoying themselves very much,
till the hour for opening the cafe arrived.

They all three made a discovery this day, and
each in a different way learned the special tempta-
tion and trial which this scene of novelty and ex-
citement had for them.

Kate saw many eyes follow her as she came and
went, and soon forgot to blush when people turned
to look, or whispered, "Is n't that a pretty one?"
so audibly that she could not help hearing. She
was a little shy at first, but soon learned to like it,
to feel disappointed if no notice was taken of her,
and often made errands about the hall, when off
duty, that she might be seen.

Kitty found it very hard to be at the beck and
call of other people, for she loved her liberty and
hated to be "ordered round," even by those she
was bound to obey. Just now it was particularly
hard, for, though the presiding ladies tried to be
angelic, the unavoidable delays, disorders, and
mishaps at such times worried them, and some
were both dictatorial and impatient, forgetting that
the little maids were not common Biddies, but
young ladies, who resented the least disrespect.

Cathy's trial was a constant desire to eat the
good things she carried, for in a dainty way she
was something of a glutton, and loved to feast on
sweets, though frequent headaches was the penalty
she paid. Such tempting bits of cake, half-eaten

jellies, and untouched ices as she had to yield up
to the colored women who washed the dishes and
ate " de leavin's " with aggravating relish before
her eyes ! These lost tidbits haunted her even
when she took her own lunch, and to atone for the
disappointment she ate so much that her compan-
ions no longer wondered that she was as plump as
a partridge.

On the third day the novelty had worn off, and
they all felt that they would like to sit down and
rest. Kate was tired of tossing her curls and trying
to look unconscious ; Kitty hated the sound of the
little bells, and scowled every time she had to an-
swer one; Cathy had a fit of dyspepsia, which
spoilt all her pleasure, and each secretly wished
the week was over.

"Three more days of it! Do you think we shall
hold out ? " asked Kate, as they were preparing to
go home after a very hard day, for the fair was a
great success, and had been thronged from opening
to close.

" I wont give in as long as I have a foot to stand
on, and Mrs. Somerset may glare at me as much as
she likes when I smash the dishes," said Kitty, ex-
ulting in her naughty little soul over one grand
avalanche by which she had distinguished herself
that evening.

" I shall if I can, but I don't wont to see ice-
cream nor smell coffee again for a year. How peo-
ple can stuff as they do is a wonder to me," sighed
Cathy, holding her hot head in her cold hands.

"Do you suppose Grandma knows all we have
been doing ? " said Kitty, thinking of an imperti-
nent reply she had made to the much-enduring ,
Mrs. Somerset that day.

" 1 hope not ! " ejaculated Cathy, remembering
the salad she had gobbled behind a screen, and
the macaroons now hidden in her pocket.

" She is n't here, but perhaps some one is
watching us for her. Would n't that be dread-
ful ? " suggested Kate, devoutly hoping no one in
the secret had seen her when she stood so long
at the art-table, where the sun shone on her pretty
hair, and Miss Wilde's ugly terra cotta costume set
off her own delicate dress so well.

" We 'd better be careful and not do anything
very bad, for we don't seem to have a chance to do
anything particularly good," said Kitty, resolving
to smile when called, and to try and keep six orders
in her head at once.

" I don't believe we shall any of us get the
pearls, and I dare say Grandma knew it. Fairs
are stupid, and 1 never mean to tease to help with
another," said Cathy, dismally, for dyspepsia
dimmed even the prospect of unlimited dainties
on the morrow, and did Grandmamma a good turn,
as I dare say she expected it would.

i883.]

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

147

" I shall keep on trying, for I do want them very
much, and I know what I can do to earn them, but
I wont tell," and Kate tucked away her curls as if
done with vanity forever, for the dread of losing
the pearls set her to thinking soberly.

Next morning she appeared with only a glimpse
of yellow ripples under the lace of her cap, kept in
the cafe, and attended to her work like a well-
trained waiter. The otlicrs observed it and laughed
together, but secretly followed her good example
in different ways — Kitty by being very docile, and
Cathy by heroically lunching on bread and butter.

to rest here awhile, and let Alice take your place,
my dear ? " asked Miss Dutton as she sipped her
tea, while Kate affably chatted with a bright little
girl, who looked decidedly out of place behind the
piles of knit shirts and Shaker socks.

"Yes, indeed, if she likes. Take my cap and
apron; your dress is blue, so they match nicely.
Our busy time is over, so you will get along without
any trouble. I shall be glad to rest."

As she spoke, Kate stepped behind the table, and,
when Alice was gone, sat contentedly down under a
row of piece-bags, dusters, and bibs, well pleased to

HEADING GRANDMAMMA J

Kate felt better for the little effort, and when she
was sent to carry a cup of tea to Miss Dutton, after
the hurry was over, she skipped around the back
way, and never looked to see if any one's eyes fol-
lowed her admiringly.

Miss Dutton was a little old maid, whose booth
was near the cafe, in a quiet corner, because her
useful articles did not make much show, though
many were glad to buy them after wasting money
on fancy things.

" Here is a young friend of mine who is longing
to stir about. You look very tired ; don't you want

be obliging in such a convenient manner. Miss
Dutton chatted about the fair in her pleasant way,
till she was called off, when she left her money-box
and booth in the girl's care till her return.

An old lady came and bought many things, glad
to find useful articles, and praised the pretty shop-
woman for making change so well, saying to her
companion as she went away :

"A nice, well-bred girl, keeping modestly in her
place. I do dislike to see young girls flaunting
about in public."

Kate smiled to herself, and was glad to be where

148

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

[December,

she was just then. But a few minutes later she
longed to " flaunt about," for there was a sudden
stir; some one said eagerly, " The English swells
have come," and everybody turned to look at a
party of ladies and gentlemen who were going the
rounds, escorted by the managers of the fair.

Kate stood up in a chair to watch the fine people,
but without thinking of deserting her post till she
saw them going into the cafe.

" There ! I forgot that they were coming to-day,
and now 1 shall not have the fun of waiting on
them. It is too bad ! Alice has my place, and

does n't know how to wait, and is n't half so "

She did not finish the sentence aloud, for she was
going to say, " pretty as I." "She ought to come
back and let me go ; I can't leave till she does.
I depended on it. How provoking everything is ! "
and in her vexation Kate pulled down a shower of
little flannel petticoats upon her head.

This had a soothing effect, for when she turned
to put them up she saw a square hole cut in the
cambric which parted this stall from the ca/e, and,
peeping in, she could sec the British lions feed,
while a well-dressed crowd looked on with the want
of manners for which America is famous.

" Well, this is some comfort," thought Kate,
staring with all her eyes at the jolly, red-faced
gentleman, who was ordering all sorts of odd
things, and the stout lady in the plain dress,
who ate with an appetite which did honor to the
English aristocracy.

" That is Lord and Lady Clanrobert, and the
fine folks only the people in waiting, 1 suppose.
Now, just see Kitty laugh ! 1 wonder what he
said to her. And there is Alice, never doing a
thing at her table, when it ought to be cleared
at once. Cathy takes good care of my lady ;
s^e knows where the nice things are, and how
to set them out. If only 1 were there, how I would
sail about, and show them one pretty girl, at
least."

Kate was too much excited to be ashamed of
that last speech, though made only to herself, for
at that moment she saw Miss Button coming back,
and hastened to hang up the little petticoats and
resume her seat, trying to look as if nothing
had happened.

"Now, run if you like, my dear. I'm sorry
to have kept you so long, for I suppose you want
to see the grandees. Go, and tell Alice to come
back, if you are rested," said the old lady, bustling
in, with a sharp glance over her glasses.

Kate never knew what put the idea into her
head, but she followed a sudden impulse, and
turned a selfish disappointment into a little pen-
ance for her besetting sin.

" No, thank you ; I will stay till she comes, and

not spoil her fun. I 've had my share, and it
wont hurt me to keep quiet a little longer," she
said, quickly, and began to sort red mittens, to
hide the color that suddenly came into her cheeks,
as if all the forgotten blushes were returning at
once.

" Very well, dear ; I am glad to keep such a
clever helper," and Miss Dutton began to scribble
in a little book, as if putting down her receipts.

Presently the crowd came streaming out again,
and, after making a few purchases, the English
party left and peace was restored. Then Alice
came flying up in great excitement.

" Oh, it was such fun ! The fine folks came
to our tables and were so nice. My lady said,
' Me dear,' to us, and the lord said he had never
been so well served in his life, and he must fee
the waiters ; and after they went out, one of the
young men came back and gave us each one
of these delicious bonbon boxes. Was n't it
sweet of them ? "

Kate bit her lips as she looked at the charming
little casket, all blue satin, lace, looking-glass, and
gold filigree on the outside, and full of the most
delicate French confectionery ; for it was just one
of the things young girls delight in, and she
found it hard not to say, " 1 ought to have it,
for you took my place."

But Alice looked so proud and pleased, and
it was such a trifle, after all, she was ashamed
to complain ; so she called up a smile, and said
good-naturedly :

" Yes, it is lovely, and will be just the thing to
keep trinkets in when the candy is gone. These
elegant boxes are what grown-up young ladies get
at Christmas ; so you will feel quite grand when
you show yours."

She tried to look as usual, but Alice saw that
something was amiss, and, suddenly thinking what
it might be, exclaimed eagerly: "1 truly did n't
know they were coming when I took your place,
and in the flurry 1 forgot to run to ask if you
wanted to go back. Please take the box ; you
would have had it but for me. Do — 1 shall feel
so much better if you will, and forgive my
carelessness."

Kate was naturally generous, and this apology
made it all right, so her smile was genuine as she
put the pretty toy away, saying heartily this time :

" No, indeed ; you did the work, and shall keep
the fee. I don't mind now, though 1 did want to
see the fun, and felt cross for a minute. 1 don't
wonder you forgot."

" If you wont take the box, you must the
candy. 1 don't care for it, and you s/m// go
halves. There, please do, you dear, good-natured
thing," cried Alice, emptying the bonbons into a

i883.]

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

149

pretty basket she had lately bought, and giving it
to Kate with a kiss.

This peace-offering was accepted with a good
grace, and, when she had resumed her cap and
apron, Kate departed, carrying with her something
sweeter than the bonbons in her basket, for two
pair of eyes followed her with an expression far
more flattering than mere admiration, and she felt
happier than if she had waited on a dozen lords
and ladies. She said nothing to her cousins, and
when they condoled with her on the loss she had
sustained, she only smiled, and took a sugar-plum
from her store, as if determined that no foolish re-
gret should embitter her small sacrifice.

Next day Cathy, in a most unexpected manner,
found an opportunity for self-denial, and did not
let it slip. She had lightened many a weary mo-
ment by planning what she should buy with her
ten dollars. Among various desirable things at
the fair was a certain green-and-white afghan,
beautifully embroidered with rose-buds. It was
just ten dollars, and after much hesitation she had
decided to buy it, feeling sure Grandma would
consider it a useful purchase. Cathy loved cozy
warmth like a cat, and pleased herself by imagin-
ing the delightful naps she would take under the
pretty blanket, which so nicely matched the roses
on her carpet and the chintz on the couch in her
charming room at home.

•' I '11 have it, for green suits my complexion, as
the milkmaid said, and I shall lie and read and
rest for a week after all this trotting, so it will be
nice to cover my tired feet. I '11 go and get it the
minute I am off duty," she thought, as she sat
waiting for customers during the dull part of the
afternoon. Her chair was near the door of the
temporary kitchen, and she could hear the colored
women talk as they washed dishes at the table
nearest her.

" 1 told Jinny to come 'fore dark, and git a good
warmin' when she fetched the clean towels. Them
pore childern is most perished these cold nights,
and I aint been able to git no blankets yet. Rent
had to be paid, or out we goes, and work is hard to
find these times ; so I most give up when the chil-
dern fell sick," said an anxious-looking woman,
glancing from the bright scene before her to the
wintry night coming on without.

" 'Pears to me things aint give round even-like.
Some of these ladies has heaps of blankets, I aint
a doubt, laying idle, and it don't occur to 'em we
might like a few. I would n't ask for red-and-blue
ones, with 'mazin' fine flowers and things worked
on 'em; 1 'd be mighty thankful for a pair of
common ones for three or four dollars, or even a
cheap comfortable. My old mammy is with me
now, and suffers cruel with her bones, poor creeter,

and I can't bear to take my cloak off her bed, so
1 'm gittin' my death with this old dud of a
shawl."

The other woman coughed as .she gave a pull to
the poor covering over her thin shoulders, and cast
an envious look at the fur cloaks hanging in the
ladies' room.

" 1 hope she wont steal any of them," thought
Cathy, adding pitifully to herself, as she heard the
cough and saw the tired faces, " 1 wonder they
don't, poor things ! It must be dreadful to be cold
all night. I '11 ask Mamma to give them some
blankets, for 1 know I shall think about the sick
children and the old woman, in my own nice bed,
if I don't do something."

Here a Topsy-looking girl entered the kitchen,
and went straight to the fire, putting up a pair of
ragged boots to dry, and shivering till her teeth
chattered, as she warmed her hands and rolled her
big eyes about what must have seemed to her a
paradise of good things.

"Poor child! 1 don't suppose she ever saw so
much cake in her life. She shall have some. The
sick ones can eat oranges, I know, and I can buy
them all without leaving my work. I '11 surprise
her and make her laugh, if I can."

Up got Cathy, and, going to the great refresh-
ment-table, bought six fine oranges and a plateful
of good, solid cakes. Armed with these letters of
introduction, she appeared before the astonished
Jinny, who stared at her as if she were a new sort
of angel in cap and apron, instead of wings and
crown.

" Will you have these, my dear? I heard your
mother say the babies were sick, and I think you
would like some of our goodies as well as they,"
she said, smiling, as she piled her gifts in Jinny's
outstretched arms.

" Bless your kind heart, miss, she aint no words
to thank you," cried the mother, beaming with
gratitude, while Jinny could only show every white
tooth, as she laughed and bit into the first thing
that came handy. " It 's like manny from the skies
to her, pore lamb ; she don't git good vittles often,
and them babies will jest scream when they sees
them splendid oranges."

As Mrs. Johnson gave thanks, the other woman
smiled also, and looked so glad at her neighbor's
pleasure, that Cathy, having tasted the sweets of
charity, felt a desire to do more, and, turning to
Mrs. Smith, asked in a friendly tone:

"What can I send to your old mother? It is
Christmas time, and she ought not to be forgotten
when there is such a plenty here."

" A little mess of tea would be mighty welcome,
honey. My old mammy lived in one of the fust
families down South, and is used to genteel ways;

ISO

GRANDMAMMA S PEARLS.

[December,

SO it comes hard on her now, for I can't give her
no luxuries, and she 's ninety year old the twenty-
fust of next Jenniwary," promptly responded Mrs.
Smith, seeing that her hearer had a tender heart
and a generous hand.

"She shall have some tea, and anything else
you think she would like. I '11 have a little basket
made up for her, and tell her I wish her a merry
Christmas."

Then, hearing several bells ring impatiently,
Cathy hurried away, leaving behind her three grate-
ful hearts, and Jinny speechless still with joy and
cake. As she went to and fro, Cathy saw the dark
faces always smiling at her, and every order she
gave was attended to instantly by the willing hands
of the two women, so that her work seemed light-
ened wonderfully, and the distasteful task grew
pleasant.

When the next pause came she found that
she wanted to do more, for a little food was not
much, and the cloak on old Mammy's bed haunted
her. The rosy afghan lost its charm, for it was an
unnecessary luxury, and four blankets might be
got for less than that one small one cost.

" I wonder what they would do if I should give
them each five dollars. Grandma would like it,
and I feel as if I should sleep warmer if I covered
up those poor old bones and the sick babies,"
thought Cathy, whose love of creature comforts
taught her to sympathize with the want of them.
A sudden glow at her heart made her eyes fill, her
hand go straight to her pocket, and her feet to the
desk where the checks were handed in.

" Please change this for two fives. Gold, if you
have it — money looks more in pretty, bright pieces,"
she said, as the lady obeyed, wondering what the
extravagant little girl was going to buy now.

" Shall I ? " asked Cathy, as she walked away
with two shining coins in her hand. Her eye went
to the kitchen-door, out of which Jinny was just
going, with a great basket of soiled towels in one
hand and the precious bundle in the other, while
her mother was saying, as she pulled the old cape
closer ;

" Run along, chile, and don't forgit to lay the
pieces of carpet on the bed, when you tucks up the
babies. It 's awful cold, and I can't be home till
twelve to see to 'em."

That settled the question in Cathy's mind at
once, and, wishing the fives were tens, she went to
the door, held out a hand to either woman, saying
sweetly: " This is for blankets. It is my own :
please take it," and vanished before the astonished
creatures could do more than take the welcome
money and begin to pour out their thanks.

Half an hour afterward she saw the little afghan
going off on the arm of Miss Button, and smiled as

she thought how deliciously warm her old down
coverlet would feel when she remembered her in-
vestment in blankets that day.

Kitty's trial came on the last night of the fair,
and seemed a very hard one at the time, though
afterward she was ashamed to have felt it such an
affliction. About nine o'clock her mother came to
her, saying anxiously :

"The carriage is here, and I want you to go
right home. Freddy's cold is so bad I 'm afraid
of croup. Nurse is away, and Mary Ann knows
nothing about it. You do, and I can trust you to
watch and send for me if he grows worse. I can
not leave yet, for all the valuable things on my
table must first be taken care of Now go, like a
good girl, and then I shall feel easy."

" Oh, Mamma, how can I ? We are to have
a supper at eleven, and I know something nice is
to happen — bouquets from the managers, because
we have held out so well. Mary Ann will take
care of Freddy, and we shall be home by twelve,"
cried Kitty, in dismay at losing all the fun.

" Now, Kitty, don't be disobedient. I 've no
time to argue, and you know that dear little boy's
life is of more importance than hundreds of suppers.
Before midnight is the time to watch, and keep
him warm, and give him his pellets regularly,
so that he may not have another attack. I will
make it up to you, dear, but I shall not have
a moment's peace unless you go ; Mary Ann is so
careless, and Freddy minds you so well. Here
are your things. Help me through to-night, and
I don't think I will ever undertake another fair,
for 1 am tired to death."

Kitty took off her little cap and put on her
hood without a word, let her mother wrap her
cloak around her and walk with her to the door
of the hall, giving last directions about draughts,
spongia, wet bandages, and hot bottles, till she
was shut out in the cold with thanks and a kiss
of maternal relief She was so angry that she
had not dared to speak, and nothing but her love
for her little brother made it possible for her to
yield without open rebellion. All the way home
she fretted inwardly, and felt much ill-used ; but
when Freddy held out his arms to her, begging
her to " tuddle me, cause my torp is so bad,"
she put away her anger, and sang the restless
child to sleep as patiently as if no disappoint-
ment made her choke a bit now and then.

When all was quiet and Mary Ann on guard,
Kitty had time to think of her own trials, and
kept herself awake imagining the pretty supper,
the vote of thanks, and the merry breaking up in
which she had no part. A clock striking ten
reminded her to see if Freddy had taken his
medicine, and, stealing into the nursery, she saw :

i88i.]

A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT.

151

why her mother sent her home. Careless Mary
Ann was sound asleep in the easy-chair, a door
had swung open, and a draught blew over the
bed where the child lay, with all the clothes
kicked off in his restless sleep, and the pellets
standing untaken on the table.

" I don't wonder Mamma felt anxious, and it's
lucky I know what to do. Mary Ann, go to bed ;
you are of no use. I have had experience in nurs-
ing, and I will take care of Master Freddy."

Kitty vented her vexation in a good shake of the
girl's stout shoulders, and sent her off with an air
of importance funny to see. Then she threw her-
self into her task with all her heart, and made the
baby so comfortable that he slept quietly, in spite
of the cough, with his chubby hand in hers. Some-
thing in the touch of the clinging fingers quieted
all impatience, the sight of the peaceful face made
her love her labor, and the thought that any care-
lessness might bring pain or danger to the house-
hold darling filled her heart with tender fears and
a glad willingness to give up any pleasure for his
sake. Sitting so, Kitty remembered Grandma's
letter, and owned that she was right, for many
things in the past week proved it, and Mamma
herself felt that she should be at home.

" I shall not get the pearls, for 1 have n't done
anything good, unless 1 count this," said Kitty,
kissing the little hand she held. "Grandma wont
know it, and 1 did n't keep account of the silly
things 1 have left undone. I wonder if Miss Dutton
could have been watching us. She was every-
where with her raffle-book, and smiled and nodded
at us like a dear old mandarin every time we met."

Kitty's mind would have been set at rest on that
point if she could have seen Miss Dutton at that
moment, for, after a chat with Mamma, the old lady
had trotted off to her own table, and was making
the following singular entry in her raffle-book:

" C. No. 3. Ordered home ; went without com-
plaint; great disappointment; much improved in
docility ; evidently tried hard all the week to obey.
Good record."

No one else saw that book but Grandmamma, and
she read in it three neatly kept records of that
week's success, for Miss Dutton had quick eyes,
ears, feet, and wits, and did her work well, thanks
to her peep-hole, and the careless tongues and
artless faces of girls who tell secrets without know-
ing it.

On Christmas morning, each of the cousins
looked anxiously among her many gifts for the red
case with the golden C on it. None of them
found it, but Kate discovered the necklace in a
bonbon box far finer than the one she lost ; Cathy
found the pretty afghan pinned together with the
cross; and on a fresher nosegay than any the man-
agers gave their little maids, Kitty saw the earrings
shining like drops of frozen dew. A note went
with each gift, all alike, and all read with much
contentment by the happy girls, as they owned the
justice of the divided reward :

" My Dear : The trial has succeeded better
than I thought, for each has done well ; each de-
serves a little prize, and each will, 1 think, take
both pride and pleasure in her share of Grand-
mamma's love and Grandmamma's pearls."

A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT.

By Kate Kellogg.

Across the blue sky together
Raced three little clouds one day ;

The Sun they had passed at noon-time.
The west was a league away.
" Oh, he is so slow," they whispered,

" So slpw, and so far behind.

We three can be first at sunset
If only we have a mind."

They laughed to themselves in triumph.

They took hold of hands and flew;
But oh, what a sad disappointment

They afterward found and knew !
For this they had quite forgotten,

As they hurried along through the air:
There never can be a sunset

Till the sun himself is there !

152 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [Decembhk,

THE SNOW-BIRDS' CHRISTMAS-TREE.

By Mabel Jones.

Yes, the snow-birds had a Christ-mas-tree at our house last year — a
real tree, just big e-nough for the dear lit-tle things. I '11 tell you about it.

We were as hap-py as we could be a-round our own beau-ti-ful tree,
when all at once Roy gave a shout, and point-ed to the win-dow. (Roy is
my lit-tlest broth-er. He has love-ly brown hair, and it 's banged in front and
hangs way down be-hind. Mam-ma says he is the pet of the house, or that
Lulu and he are the pets of the house. For Lulu looks ver-y much like
Roy, and has the same kind of love-ly hair, and it 's banged in front and
long be-hind, just like Roy's. Only Lulu is old-er than Roy.)

Well, when Roy point-ed to the win-dow that morn-ing, he called
out : " See ! See ! they want a Kis-mas-tee, too ! " And we all looked^
a-round, and — what do you think ? There on the win-dow-sill were four
love-ly lit-tle snow-birds, look-ing in at our tree ! And they would peckj
peck, at the pane, as if they want-ed us to open the win-dow.

" Let 'em in ! Let em in ! " shout-ed Lulu, and she ran to raise the
win-dow. But the lit-tle birds were a-fraid of her, and flew a-way.

But they did not fly ver-y far a-way — on-ly to a tree out in the yard.
And we o-pened the win-dow and called, " Bird-ie ! Bird-ie ! " a-gain and a-gain,
and tried ev-ery way we knew to get them to come in. But just then itj
be-gan to snow real hard, and the lit-tle birds flew down to a lit-tle, low
ev-er-green, and a-way in-to the cen-ter of it, where the snow could n't fall
on them.

But the best thing is to come yet. Lulu thought of it. Just when
we said the poor lit-tle birds would have a real dull Christ- mas-day, Lulu
shout-ed out : " Oh, I know ! We '11 make them a Christ-mas-tree of their
own, and take it out and give it to them there in the ev-er-green."

And then Lulu got Mam-ma to cut off a lit-tle bough from our Christ-
mas-tree, and she stood it up in a paper box, and packed the box all
a-round with pret-ty blue pa-per, so that the bough would stand up straight
all by itself And then she hung the lit-tle tree all o-ver with bread-crumbs,
and, the first thing we knew, there it was, a per-fect lit-tle Snow-birds'
Christ-mas-tree !

Then Lulu and Roy put on their pret-ty, new red caps, and their warm
coats, and they took that lit-tle Christ-mas-tree out in-to the yard, and up
to the ev-er-green where the birds were, and they pushed the limbs a-way,

1 883.]

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.

153

and set the lit-tle box and the lit-tle tree in a cor-ner of the ev-er-
green, where it stood up straight. And — if you 'II be-lieve it — those
birds nev-er flew a-way at all, but looked just as if they ex-pect-ed it
all a-long ! And Lulu and Roy went a few steps a-way, and turned a-
round, and stood per- ^^^^^m»|^^^^^ fect-ly still, and in a
min-ute all four ^^^H^^^^^^^^^l^^kb. of those lit-tle

birds flew down, ^^^^^^^^^^H^^^^^^^^'' ^"^ helped

them-selves from their ^^^^H^^^^^^^^*^ pret-ty lit-tle Christ-

mas-tree, and were just as hap-py o-ver it as we were o-ver ours. Lulu
and Roy stood out there in the snow and watched them ev-er so long.
And we could see them from the win-dow, too.

We hope the same lit-tle birds will come back this year, and- if they do,
we 're go-ing to give them an-oth-er Christ- mas-tree. Would n't you ?

154

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

[Decembsx,

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

Oh, tell me, children who have seen

The Christmas-tree in bloom.
What is the very brishtest thing

That sparkles in the room ?

The candles? No. The tinsel? No.

The skates and shining toys?
Not so, indeed : nor yet the eyes

Of happy girls and boys.

It *s Christmas day itself, my dears !

It 's Christmas day alone —
The brightest gift, the gladdest gift

The world has ever known.

It's coming, my ruddy crowd — it 's coming!
It 's sparkling in the air already and stirring in
every heart. The dear Little School-ma'am is knit-
ting the loveliest pair of striped mittens for the
Deacon, and all the children of the Red School-
house are playing and whispering and working
like things possessed. There '11 be crumbs scat-
tered on the snow for my birds soon, depend on
it — and maybe Christmas plums and goodies.

Oh ! that reminds me of something.

indeed. Changed ! — well, I 'd like to know ! Why,
I 'm told that a boy of this day, a real boy of the
period, would consider himself a much-abused
fellow if he did n't find on his Christmas-tree
a ball, a six-bladed knife, a scientific top, a box
of carpenter's tools, a printing-press, a jig-saw,
a sled, a bicycle, ice-skates, roller-skates, a Punch-
and-Judy show, a telephone, a steam-engine, a
microscope, a steam-boat, a working train of cars,
a box of parlor magic, a pistol, a performing
acrobat, a real watch, a gold scarf-pin, gold
cuff-buttons, a bound volume of St. Nicholas,
and twenty or thirty other books, more or less,
besides a pocket-book with gold money in it,
and a pair of kid gloves.

" I may have forgotten something," added the
Deacon, wiping his brow, "but, so far as I can
make out, that 's the proper thing for an average
boy's Christmas, nowadays.

" As for the girls," the good man went on,
raising his voice, " as for the girls — as for "

How she did it, I do not know ; but that wonder-
ful Little School-ma'am actually stopped the pro-

HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED!

" Changed ! " exclaimed Deacon Green to the
dear Little School-ma'am, a year ago come Christ-
mas, "I should think they had changed. Why,
many 's the time I 've heard my dear old father
tell how, years ago, when he and Aunt Mary were
children living on their father's farm in old Eng-
land, the least little present used to delight them.

"They were well-to-do people, too, the Greens
were ; but to find one book or a ball or a
shepherd's pipe in his Christmas stocking would
make Father perfectly happy when he was a boy ;
and his sister thought a box of sugar-plums, or a
new doll, or any one pretty gimcrack, was a joy

ceedings then and there. So, to this day your
Jack does n't know what an average girl of the
present day does, might, could, would, or should
find on a Christmas-tree.

MORE ABOUT the DURION.*

Here are two of the most interesting letters that
have come in answer to your Jack's question
about the durion. The returned Burmese mission-
ary and little Paul (who is only eleven years old)
differ just enough to show that their accounts are
drawn from actual knowledge — and they agree
more than enough to make us all long for a taste

* See St. Nicholas for September, page 90a

I883.J

JACK- IN -THE -PULPIT.

155

of the queer thing that is so pleasant in itself, and
yet, as I *m told, takes its name from** thorn,"
which in Malayan is called dury.

AN EATER OF THE DURION.

Dear Jack: I can tell you about the durion, or. as it is some-
times called, the dorean, for 1 have eaten many of them, and oh,
how I wish I could get one now ! I was a missionary for six years
in Burmah, where two of your readers, Edith and Agnes, were
bom.

Well, about the durion. It is a fruit of oval shape, from ten to
twelve inches in length, and from six to eight inches in diameter. It
is of a light green color, and, when fully grown, the outer shell is
covered with spines or thorns half an inch m length. These thorns
are very tough and strong.

If any of your little readers will look at the seed-pod of the
"Jamestown weed," or, as the boys call it, the '*jimson-weed," they
will have a good representation, in miniature, of the durion.

The interior is divided into five sections or compartments, in which
lie rows of seeds about an inch long, surrounded by the delicious
pulp, which is what we eat. Oh, the luxury of this pulp! Its
delicate yet pungent flavor is almost indescribable.

The nearest approach to an imitation which I can imagine would
be to take the sweetest bananas, the richest pine-apples, the most
juicy of oranges, some peaches and cream, flavor the mixture with
some rare spice, and you would have something which might resem-
ble a very poor durion. It is twelve years since I bought my last
durion in the bazar in Rangoon, Burmah, but its remembrance
makes my mouth water as I write. How I wish I could get
another !

I asked the natives why the outer shell was so thorny. They
said that it was to keep the monkeys from eating the fruit. Poor
monkeys ! how I pity them. The only durions they can eat are the
overripe ones, which fall from the trees and burst open.

One strange thing about the durion is its odor. This, to many,
is offensive in the last degree ; yet, strange to say, others can not de-
tect in it anything disagreeable. As forme, I could neversmell any-
thing but a pine-apple flavor, very strong, but very appetizing: yet a
dear brother- missionary declared that a durion smelled exactly like
"a very dead rat, and a musk-rat at that."

It is needless to say that this brother did not like durions. I
have often tried to detect the disagreeable odor, but in vain : yet I
once saw a party of new residents put to flight from the dinner-table
by the solemn entry of a native servant, bearing what the host
regarded as the chief feature of the dessert — a magnificent durion.
You say " the durion is a native of Borneo." 'I nis is true, but it
grows to perfection in Southern Burmah and the Malay peninsula.

The King of Burmah sends every year special steamers to Maul-
main, Burmah, to procure the most royal specimens of this right
roj^l fruit.

The tree is a hardy one, and I think the only difliculty in raising
it under glass would be to get a large enough house, as it grows
about sixty feet in height.

There is, as the children say, "ever so much more" about the
durion, which I will leave unsaid ; but, luno 1 wish I could get
ooe! R. M. Luther, Philadelphia, Pa.

A boy's story of the durion.

Brookline, Mass., Sept. 5, 1882.

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I read in the September St. Nicwo-
las that you wanted to know about an Elast Indian fruit called
the durion. My father, who has lived out in the East Indies,
told me about it, and I am writing what he told me.

He says he has seen the durion in British Burmah, and he believes
it is found throughout the Malay i>eninsulx The Burmese are
wonderfully fond of it. As the season approaches, the natives in
Rangoon and Maulmain talk about the durion so much that foreign-
ers who hear of it for the first time think the natives have gone
crazy over the fruit. The love for the durion is not confined to the
natives alone, for Europeans living in Burmah become mastered by
the appetite, and are as eager as the natives for the first durion. The
durion, as seen in Burmah, is from nine to fifteen inches long, and
from seven to nine inches in diameter, and has an oval shape. It
is very heavy, and is covered outside with long, sharp thorns, about
as close together as those on a horse-chestnut. There are not very
many durions in Burmah, and they are wanted so much that two or
three nipecs ($i.oo or $1,50) are often paid for one. Durions are
usually Sold before they are ripe, and the buyer carries the fruit
home with a delight that one who has not seen it can not under-
stand. Then it is hung up to ripen, generally on the veranda, out
of reach of the children, who are wild for it. Now comes one of
the strangest things about the fruit: as it becomes nearly ripe, it
emits a horrible odor, which is so nauseating that, when my father
was there, passengers on steamers in those waters were absolutely
forbidden to bring a durion aboard. In a few days the fruit is ready
to eat, and the outer husk comes off in regular sections, lengthwise

of the fruit. When the hull, which is about half an inch thick, is
uken off, the eatable parts of the fruit are seen inclosed in a sort of
pocket, formed by thin, white partitions that run the length of the
miit. The eatable part is a rich, golden yellow. It completely fills
the compartment, but is itself divided into sections about two inches
long, each section containing a smooth, hard stone. The fruit is
eaten by taking out a section with the fingers. The taste, as my
father describes it, is like the very richest custard, flavored witn
coffee and garlic, and smelling with the traces of the smell that it
had when ripening. It is reported that some years ago the King
of Burmah sent a steamer from Ava to Maulmain ^r a load o?
durions. and on her return so many had spoiled that those that
were left cost him about a thousand dollars apiece. But the King
and the court were satisfied to gratify their longing for durions, even
at that price. — Your constant reader, Paul C. West.

DO ANSWER THIS FELLOW!

" yes, I KNOW I H A RABBIT. BUT WHAT KIND OF A
RABBIT? that's THE QUESTION I RISE TO PROPOUND."

THE JABBERWOCKY.
/ Chicago, Oct. 2, 1882.

Dear Jack: Please tell mc if "Jabberwocky," mentioned in that
poem in the St. Nicholas, is a book, and who wrote it, and what
It means, and if English-speaking children can understand it?

I will look in your papes for your answer. I hnow other children
all over the country will be glad to know, unless they are better
informed than Rose Barrows.

Well, well ! Jack thought everybody knew
about the Jabberwocky ! Now, my dear little
snarks — I mean chicks — who *11 tell Alice — I
mean Rose — about the Looking-Gl — I mean
Jabberwocky ?

156

THE LETTER-BOX.

[December,

THE LETTER-BOX.

'OH, THAT COMPOSITION!" — ST. NICHOLAS SUBJECTS.

If, at first, we had any doubts that teachers and school-boys and
school-girls all over the land would welcome our plan of suggesting
to our readers four subjects for school compositions each month, we
certainly have none now. From all parts of the country the response
of the young folk and their instructors has been so hearty that we
feel ourselves fairly enlisted in a common cause. A great many
compositions have been received at the St. Nicholas editorial
rooms, some of them admirable, and almost all showing painstaking
and a careful study of the picture offered as a theme.

Next month we shall print the composition that seems to us to be
the best, and, on the whole, the most likely to interest the majority of
our readers. Meantime, we thank the young writers heartily, and
congratulate them upon their zeal and voluntary industry. We do
not propose to criticise the.se scores of compositions. If our sug-
gestion has been carried out, nearly all of them, by this time, have
been presented in school to the respective teachers of the writers,
who are better able than we to note the excellences, point out the

defects, and give needed advice and instruction. In future, we do
not ask even to see the manuscripts, excepting when we offer a pict-
ure in connection with a subject. Then we shall be glad to see the
compositions, with the view of selecting one for publication. And
we should like very much if, in writing compositions, all who choose
the St. Nichola.s subjects will let us know of the fact. It will
be a pleasure to know that hundreds of boys and girls in this wide
country and elsewhere are taking new interest in what Is often a
trying part of their school labors, from the fact that they are
writing in concert, and "wrestling" with similar points and diffi-
culties.

This month, the subjects offered to you, with the compliments of
St. Nicholas, are:

If I HAD $I,0OO, WHAT WOULD I DO WITH IT?

Coasting.

Two Kinds of Courage.

My Favorite Book.

■

The report of the Agassiz Association is unavoidably crowded out of " The Letter-box " this month, but a partial report will be found
upon page 12 of the advertising department, just before the frontispiece. We are very sorry to have to omtt some of the most interesting
letters, but they will be included in the report printed in the January number.

To the Children of America.

The Longfellow Memorial Association has been organized in
Cambridge, Mass., to provide a suitable memorial to the poet near
his old home. There is a piece of land opposite the house in which
he lived, which was kept open during Mr. Longfellow's life-time, that
he might have a free view of the Charies River and the hills beyond.
It was in a room looking out upon this favorite scene that he wrote
"Excelsior," "The Children's Hour," "Maidenhood," and other
poems which have made his name dear to the young, and the
Association aims to buy the land, lay it out as a garden, build there
a memorial to the poet, and keep the place, so endeared by associa-
tion, forever open to the public.

The contribution of one dollar or more makes one an honorary
member of the Association ; but, in order to give the children
throughout America a share in this memorial, the Association invites
contributions of ten cents. In order that it may be made easier to
collect and forward these gifts, teachers and superintendents are
requested to act as agents. For every ten such subscriptions a
package often memorial cards will be mailed to the address of the
sender, to be distributed to the several contributors. The card con-
tains an excellent portrait of Mr. Longfellow, a view of the house in
which he lived, and one of his poems in a fac-simile of his hand-
writing. It is also thought that a package of these cards may some-
times be found an acceptable and appropriate present from teachers
to scholars.

Contributions should be sent to John Bartlett, Treasurer, P. O.
Box 1590, Boston, Mass. Single cards will not he sent.

New Orleans.
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me if the picture of
Dorothy Reed in the October number was taken from a photograph.
If it was, does she live in New York ? All the boys that I Know,
who have seen the engraving, have fallen dead in love with her,
including myself, and all the girls think she looks "just too awfully
sweet." I think that it is the loveliest portrait of a girt I have ever
seen anywhere. — Yours truly, E. F. P.

El. F. P. — Dorothy's picture came to us all the way from Eng-
land. It is an excellent likeness, however, and the original Is liv-
ing in , But no ; eighty thousand hoys would be too many

admirers, and if they all should try to call on New Year's Day, what
would poor Dorothy do ! Besides, E. T. might object to our giving
the lady's address to so many boys.

About a Gossamer-like Veil.

Beaver Falls, Pa.
Dear Sf. Nicholas : Seeing an article in the September " Jack-
in-the-Pulpit " about woven wind reminds me of an article I read
about a fabilc of the same kind which was made in Greece. A lady
once had a wedding-veil of such length that it would trail upon the
ground for several yards. Yet a case representing an English wal-
nut would contain it ; but it would not unless folded in the same
manner as the workman had folded it. A. H.

We printed in " The Letter-box " of last month a copy of a page
from the new edition of St. Nicholas in Arabic, and a brief item
telling how the translation came to be made. But the Rev. H. H.
Jessup, in a letter written since the issue of the November number,
gives so many interesting facts In connection with the Arabic edition
that we must present to our readers the following extracts from his
letter :

* "Concerning the Arabic St. Nicholas, we have published

several illustrated books in Arabic during the past ten years, but none
of exactly this style, and no illustrated book has ever been printed in
Arabic equal to this in the character of its cuts, its superior paper,
and execution. It was designed, as was the 'Baby Days' in
English, for the Arab