T
From the collection of the
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V 0 PreTnger (;p
V Uibrary
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San Francisco, California
2008
Copyright, 1880, by ScRiBNER & Co.
Press of Francis Hart & Co.
New- York,
ST. NICHOLAS
VOLUME VIII.
PART I.
Six Months — November, 1880, to May, 1881.
CONTENTS OF PART T. VOLUME VIII.
PACE.
Agassiz Association. The (Illustrated) Harlan //. Ballard 28, 332
April First. K.irl's Jenny Marsh Parker 442
Archery Contest. The (Illustrated by R. Uirch) Sir Walter Scott 480
AristocRjVTIC Old Gnu. An Verses Margaret Vandegrift 153
Aristocrats Sailed Away. How the (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 194
Art a.\d Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement. . 187, 399
B.vD Beginning, but a Good Endi.vg. A Verses. (Illustrated) Margaret Eytinge 365
Brier-Rose. Poem. (Illustrated by Robert Lewis). Iljalmar H. Boycsen 231
Buffaloes. Will Crocker and the (Illustrated by Geo. Inncss, Jr.) F. Marshall White 136
Bugaboo Bill, the Giant. Verses. (Illustrated by the .-Author) Palmer Cox 38
CAPTAIN'S Gig. The Crew of the (Illustrated by > T«a/,,V iT?;;,-//
H. P. Share and M. J. Burns) 5 ^
ChicK-VDEE. Poem Henry Ripley Dorr 340
Children's Fan Brigade. The (Illustrated by II. McVickar) Ella S. Cummins 182
Chilly Family. The Sad Story of the (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) E. T. Corbett 62
Chinese Story for translation. A Picture. Drawn by Adelia B. Beard 407
Christmas Dinner with the Man in the Moon. A (Illustrated by V. ) ,,^„^/„- ,„, Gladden 1 iS
Nehlig) ] *
Cochineal. The (Illustrated by W. McKay LafTan) L. M. Peterselia 438
Consistency. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Margaret Vandegrift 389
Cooper and the Wolves. The (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Hjalmar H. Boyesen 446
Corean Children. The Games and Toys of (Illustrated) William Elliot Griffis 126
Cousin Ch.arley's Story. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Mary Hallock Foote 271
Crew of the Captain's Gig. The (Illustrated by) Sotthie Swctt
H. P. Share and M. J. Burns) ]
Crooked Spectacles. Verses Susan Hartley Swett. '. 450
Cross Patch. Poem. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) M. E. IVilkins 440
Crow-child. The (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Maiy Mapes Dodge 48
Da.ncing. Verses. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Joel Stacy 14S
David S\v.\.n. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Nat/utniel Hawthorne 140
Dear Little Girl of Nantucket. A Jingle. (Illustrated by H. McVickar)C. M. Smith 237
Dear Little Goose. A Verses. (Illustrated) M. M. D 94
Destiny. Verses Mrs. Z. R. Cronyn 103
Disgraced ! Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) S. B. Ricord 446
Dispatch to Fairy-land. A (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Helen K. Spofford 352
Donkey and his Company. The (Illustrated by J. G. Francis) 5". C. Stone 376
Easter Greeting. Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 450
Elephant. How Jube Waked the (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Mrs. M. S/u-ffey Peters 293
Elephants. Tlie Little Woolly (Illustrated by tlie .Author) F. Bellnu, Jr 445
EscoiNTER WITH A PoL.\R BEAR. An (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Mrs. Christine Stephens 341
Every Boy his Ow.n Ice-boat. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Charles L. Norton 212
Fan Brigade. The Children's (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Ella S, Cummins 182
FiCK-FECK. Meister (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Tulia D. Fay 88
Fine, or Superfine? Sarah Winter Kellogg S3
Fire-light Phantoms. Poem W. T. Peters 203
First Tooth. The Picture. Drawn by Palmer Cox 202
Fishing. Odd Modes of (Illustrated by the .Vuthor) ... .Daniel C. Beard 359
VI
CONTENTS.
.Frank R. Slockton.
PAGE.
94
,, T- 13 T3 .„„in . ..Frank K. awcKmi y^).
FLOATING PRINCE. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) . .
TT.v ..n T„. SoriRREL. The ( lUust.ated by the Autho, )..... . . . • ■ • ■ • • • ■ j-T^^ ^^^_^^^^^^^ ^^^^
Fox AND THE SQUIRREL.
Foxy Confucius. (Illustrated by the .Author)
Games and Toys of Corean Children. Th^
(Illustrated).
IVilliam Elliot Griffis 126
Richard Rathbiin 266
GIANT SQUID. The (Illustrated by .^ Nehlig, and w.tu a,agrau.s; ;-;-^,^„,, 3.
Gleaning. (Illustrated by the Author) ^ ■ ■ -^^ _ ^^^^^^ ^ ^ jgi
GOING Home for the Holidays. P.eture. J^-" J' , ^^ ^^^^ ^,,„. ^,„,„„.,;, Curtin
Golden-h.air: A Bohemian FoLK-sTORY. (lUusUatLd t.y .v. ,,/„,//,
Goose. A dear little Verses. (Illustrated) '^ i ':,,-•' v .r^A^ JHT
GOOSE A.D THE NIGHTINGALE. The ^^-^^^-^f^L,' ■■■ if'o..„uin,;. .....
GOVERNOR'S BALL. The (Illustrated by F. H. Lu"S>-en
GREAT SECRET. The (Illustrated by S. G. McCuteheon). .^^ A«^ ./« .^
..GRIEF CAN NOT DRIVE HIM AwAY-" P.tu,^ Drawn by ;;;lj;^'}^4;^
GUARDING THE TREASURES ; or, the Shah s Choice _ _ -» _y
9
94
285
149
60
364
357
Marmret Johnson 193
5:: r;:::TLATs s^led ™. ^ a---;:^ - «■ ^--':::::::::S::i^
Ice-boat. Every Boy his Own (Illustrated by W. Taber)
INDIAN Story : Nedawi. (Illustrated by V. Nehl.g). . . . ^. ■ • • ■
IN N.-VTURE'S Wonderland. (Illustrated by Hermann Faber)
Stockton .
L. A'orton.
" Bright Eyes " . . . .
.Felix L. Os-mld...
. Susan Coolidge .
(Illustrated by Frederick Dielman). . . .
Jingle. (Illustrated) .^. .Joel Stacy^
, 286, 366, 458
257
265
..18, 52, 70, 13S, 14S, 237, 265, 299, 446
NoraPeriy 292
70
.William Makepeace Thackeray.
In the Tower. Poem.
Jack-in-the-Box. Poor
Jingles
Johnny's Answer. Verses
..JOHNNY PETER FOUND A PENNY." Picture-Jmgle • " ^ ;^- ^ ^ -^,.;,;, ^,
K™^E/:^::L--VheUtae verses: (inust;a;ed by AddieLedy.^^ ^ ■ • ■ -6
KingTrthur and his knights OF THE RouND TABLE. (Illustrated by J s^dney Unier. 90
Alfred Kappes)
King Canute. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig)
.. King of France." The Picture
Kitty's Shopping. (Illustrated by H. Mc\ ickar)
L.vcROSSE. (Illustrated)
Lady Bertha. (Illustrated)
Lady Jane Grey. (Illustrated) :"'' n'-ff " V w v
Land of Nod. The An Operetta. (Music by Anthony Re.ff and W. F ^
Slierwin) ■- •■ ^ ,^^.y ^,y„.^ 458
Lesson for Mamma. A Verses Lihbie Hawes 470
sr s:».™X. ■ w ■ v™. „„.»„. ,. .«. Le.,„., ^.^v.^_ ^^^^. . ......
Little Nellie IN THE Prison. Poem ■■ ■
LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM'S REPORT ON "A StORY TO BE W KITTEN ^. • ^ • ^ -^^-^^^.^ • -49^
LITTLE TOMMY s DREAM. Picture. Drawn by . . . •;■••■-•■ ; •
Little Woolly Elephants. The (Illustrated by the Author) F h.Jhy
■Lo%-x IN THE Fog. (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr. )
Magic Dance. The (Illustrated by the Author)
MAciriAN's Daughter. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell)
MAN TntLe moon, a Christmas Dinner with the (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) /W««,/.« Gladden n8
MARY J.ANE Describes Herself. (Illustrated by the Author ^'^■^<^\ ,a. G. Plympton 353
W. T. .Smedley) ^. • ■ ■ • ■ • ' ^^ ' . .^ • ; ; ^,,^„ o/y>/.««/ 451
MARY, QUEEN of Scots. Part I. (Illustrated) ^_ ^^J^^ ^^^^^ ^^^
Master Moono. (Illustrated)
Meister FicK-FECK. (Illustrated by A. Brennan)
MILLER OF Dee. The Poem. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Eva L.^ V^dt
MuMiio Jumbo. (Illustrated) ,
MY Barometer. Verses. (Illustrated by A. C. Warren)
• ■ 143
212
.Mary Gay Humphreys 36
. Charles Barnard 64
.Agnes Thomson 104
.Mrs: Onphant 337
\e. S. Brooks 162
445
M. C.
. C. A . Zimmerman 393
Frank R. Stockton 18
.Julia D. Fay 8»
z 128,174
John Lewees 486
Haivtah R. Hudson 434
CONTENTS. vil
PAGE.
My Little Valentink. Verses M. F. Bulls 285
Myrto's Festival. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Lizzie W. Cliampuey 83
Mystery in' a Mansion. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) * * * 42, 106, 241, 277, 345, 426
Names. One of his Verses Josephine Pollard 181
Nedavvi. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) "Bright Eyes" 225
Nests. Some Curious (Illustrated) 55
New- Year's Calls. (Illustrated by S. G. McCutcheon) William 0. Stoddard 237
New-Year's D.\y. Verses. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Bessie Hill 217
Nonsense Rhyme. .K Jingle J. \V. Riley 18
Not so Stupid as he Seemed. (Illustrated) John Lewees. .'. 146
Nurse's Song. Verses Agnes L. Carter 138
Obelisk, The True Story of the (Illustrated) Charles Barnard 310
Odd Modes of Fishino. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 359
Old School-house. The Picture 479
One of His Names. Verses Josephine Pollard 181
Our Little School-girl. Verses Helen M. H. Gates 59
Outcast. The Poem A. M 31
Out of Style. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Margaret Vandegri/t 186
Peace, or War ? Picture. Drawn by H. P. Share 35 1
Pedestrians. The (Illustrated by W. Taber) Annie A. Preston 160
Peg. The Story of a (Illustrated) Paul Fort 389
Peterkins' Excursion for Maple Sugar. The Lueretia P. Hale 466
Peterkins Talk of Going to Egypt. The Lueretia P. Hale 300
Phaeton Rogers. (Illustrated by Howard Pyle and W. Taber) Rossiter Johnson 153
217. 32'. 379, 471
Planting of the .\pple-tree. The (Illustrated) William Cullen Bryant 483
Poems by a Little Girl Libbic Hawes 470
PoL.\R Bear. An Encounter with a (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Mrs. Christine Stephens 341
Poor Jack-in-the-Box. Jingle. (Illustrated) . Joel Staey 265
Prima Donna. Recollections of a Little (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) Augusta de Bubna 393
Rabbits and Bank Paper Ernest Ingersoll 361
Race in Mid-.\ir. .A. Picture 469
Recollections of a Little Prima Donna. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis). .Augusta de Bubna 393
Ro.ma.nce Without Words. Music Wm. K. Bassford 412
Round T.\ble. King Arthur and his Knights of the (Illustrated) ^.Sidney Lanier 90
Russian Folk-Story : Golden-hair. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Hon. Jeremiah Curtin 9
Sad Story of the Chilly Family. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) E. T. Corbett 62
St. Nicholas TRE.iisuRE-Box of Literature. The 139, 304, 480
Introduction ; by the Editor ' 139
" David Swan." (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Nathaniel Hawthorne 140
" King Canute." (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) William Makepeace Thackeray 143
" The Skeleton in Armor." (Illustrated by John LaFarge) . . .Henry Wads-jiorth Long/elleru) 304
" The Stage-Coach. " (Illustrated) Washington Irving 308
" The Archery Contest." (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Sir Walter Scott 480
"The Plantinir of the .Vpple-lrce." (Illustrated by ) ,„■,,■ r- „ n .
R. Riord.an and R. B. Birch). . .\ ^'"""" ^"""' ^''y"' 483
Sardines and Sardini^res. (Illustrated) Caroline Eustis 374
See-saw. Picture. Drawn by R. F. Bunner 341
Seven Little Pussy-Cats. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. Sayre) Joel Stacy 148
Sewing-Machine Designs. (Illustrated by H. W. Troy) James G. Brown 68
Skeleion in Armor. The (Illustrated) Henry Wadr.uorlh Longfellmu 304
Smallest Bird in the World. The (Illustrated by James C. Beard) Alice May 420
Snow Battle. A (Illustrated by the Author and II. P. Share) Daniel C. Beard 235
Some Curious Nests. (Illustrated) 55
Stage-Coach. The (Illustrated) Washington Irtting 30S
Stories of .Art and .\rtists. (Illustrated) . : Clara Erskine Clement. . 187, 399
Story of a Peg. The (Illustrated) Paul Fort 389
ST. NICHOLA
Vol. VIII.
NOVEMBER, 1880.
No. I.
(Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.]
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG.
Bv Sophie Swett.
They kept the light-house on Great Porpoise
Island — Aunt Dorcas (nobody ever called her any-
thing but Vai-kis), Saul and Semanthy, Nick and
Little Job, and the Baby.
Job Jordan (Aunt Dorcas's brother and the chil-
dren's father) was the light-house keeper, but
Job was, in the language of the Porpoise Islanders,
a "tarlented" man, and " dretful literary." His
chief talent seemed to be for smoking and read-
ing vividly illustrated story papers, and he de-
voted himself so completely to developing that
talent that all the prosaic duties of the establish-
ment fell upon Aunt Dorcas and the children.
"The light-house would 'a' ben took away from
him long ago, if it had n't 'a' ben for Darkis," the
neighbors said.
Aunt Dorcas did seem to have the strength of
ten. She and the children raised a large flock of
sheep on the rocky pastures around the light-house,
and, rising up early and lying down late, tilled a
plot of the dry ground until it actually brought forth
vegetables enough to supply the family ; and they
cleaned and filled and polished and trimmed the
great lamp, with its curious and beautiful glass
rings, which reflected the calm and steady light
from so many angles that myriads of flashes went
dancing out over the dark waters and dangerous
rocks. Through summer and winter, storm and
calm, the light on Great Porpoise Island never was
known to fail.
.\nd they kept everything in the tower, and in
the dweUing-housc, as bright and shining as a new
pin. So when the commissioners came to examine
the light-house, their report was that "Job Jordan
was a most faithful and effident man."
What the family would have done if Job liad lost
Vol. VIII.— I.
the position, 1 don't know ; though I think that
Aunt Dorcas would have managed to keep their
heads above water in some way. They all looked
upon her as a sort of special providence ; if good
fortune did not come to them in the natural course
of things, Aunt Dorcas would contrive to bring it.
She was ver\- nice to look at, with smooth,
shining brown hair, and pretty, soft gray eyes.
She had been a beauty once — in the days when she
had turned her back upon the brightness that life
promised her, and shouldered the responsibilities of
Job's family : but she was past thirty-five now, and
years of toil and care win leave their traces. She
still had a springy step, and laughed easily — and
these are two very good things where work and care
abound. It was when Mrs. Jordan died that she
had come to live with them, and when the baby
was only a year old.
That was four years ago, now, and the baby was
still called the Baby. The reason for this was that
his name wa.s Reginald Fitz-Eustace Montmorenci.
His father named him — after a hero in one of his
stor>' papers. .Aunt Dorcas scorned the name — she
liked old-fashioned Bible names — and the children
could n't pronounce it, so it had fallen into disuse.
He was tow-headed and sturdy — Reginald Fitz-
Eustace Montmorenci — with a fabulous appetite,
and totally unable to keep the peace with Little Job.
Little Job. who came next, — going up the ladder,
— found life a battle. His namesake of old was not
more afflicted. He had sore eyes, and his hair was
" tously," and he hated to have it combed. He
was always getting spilled out of boats, and off
docks, and tumbling down steep rocks and stairs.
When the tips of his fingers were not all badly
scratched, his arm was broken or his ankle sprained.
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN S GIG.
His clothes were always in tatters, and Aunt Dorcas
sometimes made him go to bed while she mended
them, and that always happened to be just when
the others were going fishing. The cow swallowed
the only jack-knife he ever had, and when he
saved up all his pennies for a year, and had bought
a cannon, it would n't go off. And he always was
found out. The others might commit mischief,
and go scot-free, but Little Job always was found
out.
And this sort of existence he had supported for
nine years.
Nick was but little more than a )ear older than
Little Job, and no larger, but he took life more
easily. He was brave, and jolly, and happy-go-
lucky ; so full of mischief that the neighbors had
christened him " Old Nick." Aunt Dorcas thought
that he did n't desen'e that, as there was never any-
thing malicious about his mischief, but little did
Nick care what they called him. He had little,
bright, beady cross-eyes, which seemed to be always
eagerly looking at the tip of his nose. .4nd as the
tip of his nose turned straight up to meet them, the
interest appeared to be mutual.
His shock of red hair ivould stand upright, too,
let Aunt Dorcas and Semanthy do what they would
to make it stay down. And his ears — which were
the largest ears ever seen on a small boy — would not
stay down, either, but stood out on each side of his
head, so that Cap'n 'Siah Hadlock (who was Aunt
Dorcas's beau once, and still dropped in to see her
occasionally, in the light of a friend) declared that
Nick always reminded him of a vessel going wing-
and-wing. Cap'n 'Siah and Nick were very good
friends, notwithstanding, and now that Cap'n 'Siah
had given up following the sea, and kept a flourish-
ing store on "the main," there was no greater
delight to Nick than to stand behind his counter,
and sell goods ; it might have been rather tame
without the occasional diversion of a somersault
over the counter, or a little set-to with a boy some-
what bigger than himself, but these entertainments
were always forthcoming, and the store was Nick's
earthly paradise.
Saul and Semanthy were twins. They were
twelve, and felt all the dignity and responsibility of
their position as the elders of the family. Semanthy
was tow-headed and freckled, and toed-in. Saul was
tow-headed and freckled, too, but he was (as Cap'n
'Siah expressed it) "a square trotter." Their tow-
heads and their freckles were almost the only points
of resemblance between them, although they were
twins. Saul had an old head and keen wits. He
was very fond of mathematics, and had even been
known to puzzle the school-master by a knotty
problem of his own making. Semanthy could
do addition, if you gave her time. Saul kept his
eyes continually open to all the practical details of
life, and was already given to reading scientific
books. Semanthy was a little absent-minded and
dreamy, and as fond of stories as her father. Saul
alwajs observed the wind and the clouds, and
knew when it was going to rain as well as Old
Probabilities himself .^nd if he had been suddenly
transported to an unknown country, blindfolded, he
could have told you which way was north by a kind
of instinct. And he heaped scorn upon Semanthy
because she was n't a walking compass, too, — poor
Semanthy, who never knew which way was east ex-
cept when she saw the sun rise, and then could never
quite remember, when she stood, with her right hand
toward it, according to the geographical rule,
whether the north was in front of her or behind her !
.Saul \vas a wonderful sailor, too, and had all the
proper nautical terms at his tongue's end, as well
as numberless wise maxims about the manage-
ment of boats ; if he had sailed as long as the An-
cient Mariner he could n't have been more learned
in sea lore. But Semanthy did n't even know
what the " gaff-topsail " was, and had no more idea
what "port your helm" and " hard-a-lee " meant
than if it had been Sanscrit. When she was sailing,
she liked to watch the sky, and fancy wonderful re-
gions hidden b)- the curtain of blue ether, or build
castles in the clouds which the sunset bathed in
wonderful colors ; she liked that much better than
learning all the stupid names that they called
things on a boat, or how to sail one. She was per-
fectly willing that Saul should do that for her. And
Saul cherished a profound contempt for girls, as
the lowest order of creation, and for Semanthy, in
particular, as an especially inferior specimen of the
sex. Semanthy had a deep admiration and affec-
tion for Saul, but still, sometimes, when he assumed
very superior airs, and said very cutting things about
her ignorance, she did feel, in her heart, that bo)S
were rather a mistake.
It was about five o'clock on a sultry Saturday
afternoon, in August. Aunt Dorcas was putting
her last batch of huckleberry pies into the oven,
and thanking her stars that they had not been
troubled by any " city folks " that day; for Had-
lock's Point, the nearest land on "the main," had
become a popular summer resort, and troops of
visitors were continually coming over to Great
Porpoise Island, to explore the rocks and the light-
house. Nick was endeavoring to promote hostili-
ties between a huge live lobster, which he had just
brought in, and which was promenading over the
floor, and a much-surprised kitten. Little Job was
in the throes of hair-combing, under the hands of
Semanthy, and howling piteously. Suddenly they
all looked up, and Little Job was surprised into
ce.asing his howls. A deep bass voice, just outside
THE CREW OK THE CAPTAIN S GIU.
the iloor, v
siular dittv
:is sinjjing, or rather roariny, (his sin-
" For I am a cook, and a captain bold.
And the mate of the Nancy brig.
And a bo'stin tight, and a midshipmite,
\nd the crew of the captain's gig."
This was " The Yarn of the Nancy Bell, " whicli
Cap'n 'Siah Hadlock had learned from some
of the summer visitors, and was never tired of
singing. He had taught it to the children, too,
and the experience of the " eldcrl)- naval man,"
who had Ciioki-il :lHil .Mtnl ill lli,- p,r--,.ii:lo,..;
■' Gittin' ready, Darkis ? "
■' For the day of jedgment ? Yes, an' I hope you
be, too," said Aunt Dorcas, trying to force a
pucker upon a face that was never made for puck-
ering. But something brought a color to her checks
just then — perhaps the heat of the oven, as she
opened the door to look after her pies.
Semanthy wondered if Cap'n 'Siah never would
get tired of saying that to Aunt Dorcas, and she
never would get tired of blushing at it — such old
people, too !
■■W.-ll. 1 kinfl-r .-.Ik-Tliil.- tint thr dny o' jedg-
named in the rhyme, had lired Nick's soul with a
desire to boil Little Job in the dinner-pot, and Little
Job accordingly dwelt in terror of his life. Cap'n
'Siah was Just what his \oice proclaimed him — a
big and jolly-looking man of forty or thereabouts,
with a twinkle in his eye, and a double chin with a
deep dimple in it. But what made his appearance
particularly fascinating to the children was the fact
that he wore ear-rings — little round hoops of gold
— and h.id grotesque figures tattooed all over his
hands, in India-ink.
.•Ml four of the children knew what he w.as going
to say, for he always said the same thing, whether
he came often or seldom.
ment '11 get along 'thout my attendin' to it, but if
ever 1 'm agoin' to git a good wife, 1 've got to go
arter her I " said Cap'n 'Siah,
■' Then p'r'aps you 'd better be agoin'." said
.Vunt Dorcas. Whereupon Cap'n 'Siah sat down.
■' I come over in the captain's gig," he said,
addressing himself to the children.
They all looked bewildered, not knowing that
" captains' gigs" had an existence outside of "The
Yarn of the Nancy Bell."
" There 's a revenue cutter a-layin' up in the
harbor ; she come in last night. The cap'n he
come off in his gig, and went off ridin' with some
of the folks up to the hotel. He wanted some
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN' S GIG.
good fresh butter, an' I told him 1 'd come over
here an' sec if I could n't git some o' the Widdcr
Robbins, an' he said his men might row me o\'er
in the gig. So there the boat lays, down there at
the shore, an' the men have gone over to the cliffs
after ducks' eggs. I told 'em they need n't be in
no hurry, seein' as I was n't."
The children were all out of the house in a trice,
to see what kind of a boat a "captain's gig" was.
They were somewhat disappointed to find only
a long, narrow row-boat ; it had outriggers, and
w.as painted black ; except for those peculiarities,
they might have taken it for a boat belonging to
some of the summer visitors at Hadlock's Point.
They all had a fancy that a " captain's gig " must
bear some resemblance to a carriage.
" Cap'n 'Siah must have been fooling us ; it 's
nothing but a row--boat," said Nick.
Saul had been there before them, inspecting the
boat, and spoke up : " That 's what they call it —
the sailors said so ; it 's a good boat, anyway, and
I 'd like to take a row in it."
" Come on ! " shouted Nick, jumping into the
boat. " It 's a good mile over to the cliffs where
the ducks' eggs are : the men wont be back this
two hours."
"Do come, Saul," urged Semanthy, and Littk-
Job joined his voice to the general chorus.
" I suppose the\- would let us take it if they were
here, but I don't just like to take it without leave,"
said Saul, doubtfully.
" Stay at home, then. We 're going, anyhow.
Semanthy can row like a trooper," cried Nick.
-Semanthy could row a boat if she could n't sail
one, and she was proud of her accomplishment,
especially as Saul always chose her as an assistant
in preference to any of the boys.
" If you are all going, I suppose I shall have to
go to take care of you," said Saul, jumping in.
"But we must n't go so far that we can't see the
sailors when they come back for their boat."
So they all went off in the "captain's gig" — -Saul
and Semanthy, Nick and Little Job, and the Baby.
But as soon as they were off, conscientious Saul
pushed back again, and sent Little Job up to the
house to ask Cap'n 'Siah if it would do for them to
use the "captain's gig" for a little while. And
Cap'n 'Siah said that the sailors would n't be back
before dark, and he would "make it all right"
with them. Whether Cap'n 'Siah was anxious to
get rid of the children, that he might have a better
opportunity to urge Aunt Dorcas to " git ready," I
cannot say, but he was certainly very willing that
they should go.
Saul's mind was now at ease, and he was quite
ready to enjoy himself; but I am afraid that Nick
felt, in the bottom of his mischievous heart, that
there was quite as much fun about it before they
had anybody's permission.
"Now we can go over to the Point!" said
Semanthy.
That was Semanthy's great delight, to go over
to the Point and see the crowds of summer visitors,
in their gay, picturesque dresses, the steamers
coming in, and the flags flying. Now and then
there was a band playing ; and at such times Se-
manthy's cup of happiness ran over.
Saul did not make any objection. He liked to
go over to the Point, too. Not that he cared
much for crowds of people, or flags, or bands, but
there was a queer, dou-
ble-keeled boat, which
they called a catamaran,
over there, and he wanted
to investigate it. The
Point was nearly three
miles away, but they
pulled hard, Saul and
Semanthy, Nick and Lit-
tle Job, each taking an
oar. To be sure, they
had to keep an eye on
Little Job, for he had an
unpleasant way of drop-
ping his oar into the wa-
ter— if he did n't drop
himself in — and of keep-
ing the Baby in a drench-
ed condition, which
aroused all the pugnacity
of his infant nature. But in spite of all draw-
backs, they reached the Point in a very short
space of time. .A.nd Semanthy saw a steam-boat
just coming in, and it had a band on board.
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN S GIG.
Hut there was little danger in a row-
playing "Pinafore" selections, and some Indians sunniest days, for nothing. Even the
had come and pitched their tents on the shore, stood the situation perfectly,
and hung out silvery seal-skins and beautiful, gay
baskets at their tent-doors, and the little Indian
children, running about, were queerer than any-
thing out of a fairy book. And Nick had an
opportunity to invest a long-cherished five-cent
piece in "jaw-breakers" — a kind of candy whose
merit seemed to consist in "lasting long." Lit-
tle Job had time to be knocked off the wharf by
a huge Newfoundland dog, and rescued dripping.
Saul found the catamaran fastened to the slip,
where he could inspect it to his heart's content. The
owner w<is standing by, and noticing Saul's interest,
he told him all about the boat, and ended by asking
him to go sailing with him.
"Go, of course, Saul! You don't suppose we
can't get home without you ? " said Semanthy.
" Of course you can, but you had better go right
along. You have no more than time to get home
before dark," called prudent Saul, as he stepped
into the catamaran with his friend.
" O my ! Don't we feel big ! " called out Nick, in
a voice which was distinctly audible in the catama-
ran. " You 'd think we were the cap'n of the boat !
I would n't feel big in that queer old machine—
't aint any kind of a boat, anyhow ! "
And Little Job piped up, in a high, shrill voice :
"01 am a cook, and a captain bold.
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
.And a bos'n tight, and a midshipmite,
.And the crew of the captain's gig I "
It was clearly a relief to get rid of Saul ; he was
so very prudent and cautious, and kept them in
such good order. " The crew of the captain's gig "
meant to have a good time now !
Semanthy triefl her best to make Nick pull with
a will, straight for home, for it was already past six
o'clock, and she had a vivid picture in her mind of
the sailors all on the shore waiting for their boat,
and furiously angry with those who had stolen it.
But Nick and Little Job had become hilarious,
and preferred "catching crabs" and "sousing"
Semanthy and the Baby, and rocking the boat
from side to side to see how far it would tip without
tipping over, to going peaceably along.
And all Semanthy's remonstrances were in vain,
until, suddenly, she espied a black cloud swiftly
climbing the sky.
"Look there, boys!" she cried. " Then 's u
squall coming/ Now I guess you '11 hurry ! "
.And they did. Nick and Little Job were not
without sense, and they had not lived on that dan-
gerous, rocky coast, where sudden "flaws" came
down from the mountains, and squalls came up
with scarcely a moment's warning, in the calmest,
it should grow^ so dark before they got home thai
they could not see their way, or the waves should
run so high as to swamp their boat — and the "cap-
tain's gig" was not a boat to be easily swamped.
Semanthy wished they were at home, but her chief
anxiety was for Saul, out in a sail-boat, — and such
a queer, new-fangled one, too !
"Pooh! Saul knows how to manage any sail-
boat that ever was ! " said Nick, scornfully, when
Semanthy expressed her fears.
" And if he did n't, those fellers know how to
manage their own craft," said Little Job.
The black cloud spread so quickly over the sky
that it seemed as if a pall had been suddenly
cast upon the light of day. The water was without
a ripple, and there was a strange hush in the air.
It was a relief to Semanthy when a flock of gulls
flew screaming over their heads — the stillness was
so oppressive.
Then the wind swooped down suddenh and
THE CREW OK THE CAPTAIn's GIG.
[November,
fiercely upon them. On the land thev could sec
the dust of the road torn up in a dense' cloud, and
the trees bent and writhing. The smooth water
was broken into great, white-capped waves,
-Semanthy and Nick tugged away bravely at the
oars, but it was \ery hard «ork, and they made but
httle progress. The darkness «as increasing with
ever)- moment ; every ray of the setting sun had
been obscured, and the sk\- over their heads was
black. In a very few minutes the\- were in the
midst of a thick darkness.
•' Look out ! You just missed that buoy ! " called
"If night were not coming on, 1 should hope
that It would grow lighter soon." said Semanthv-
Hghrjh^llp'?'"-""'^'"-^-^-^"-'^-'^'^^--''
Hut, though they strained their eves to the
utmost, peermg anxiously into the darkness, there
was no welcome flash from the Great Porpoise
hght-house. The>- rested on their oars, while the
boat stood, now on its head and now on its feet as
exhauS." ' ""'" ^'"''^ ''"''' "' P'-"-"- "•-
" I move that «e pull ahead." he said. " 1 know
And in another moment he
out Little Job.
shouted :
" I don't b'lieve this is the wav at all ! 1 think
you re gom- straight for Peaked Nose Island ' "
" Well, I aint got eyes in the back o' mv head,
hke Saul ! No other fellow could tell which' way to
go m tins darkness. Anyway. I can't tell Little
Porpo.se from Peaked Nose. We might just as
well drift."
"Drift ! I should think it was drifting, with the
boat most turning a somersault everv minute.
Most hkely we shall all be drowned," said Little
Job w.th the calmness of one accustomed to
misfortune.
ho3"°" ^yjT '''"•'''"^ ' '" P'"--'' >°" over-
board.' said Nick. "Of course we aint going
o get drowned ! It will get lighter bj- and bys and
then we '11 go home." j. '»nu
this place too well to get a great «axs out of mv
reckoning and it 's enough to make a fellow crazv
to be wabbling around here this way. We can't
do any worse than to bump on a rock, and, if it 's
above water, we '11 hold on to it.''
-Semanthx- was prone to sea-sickness, and the
pirouetting of the boat had caused her to begin to
feel that there might be worse things even than
ahead "''°"'" "'^^ '""^ "'^^ °"'-' '''° ^^""^ ^" " 1'""
.7,l!'-f/r' "b"'iiP" "pon anv rock, but
neither did they, after what seemed like hours of
rowing, see any signs that they were nearing home
1 hey were rowing against wind and tide, and could
not expect to make rapid progress: but still it did
seem to Nick that they ought to have got some-
where by this time, unless thev had drifted out into
the open sea.
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN S GIG.
" Goin' straight ter Halifax ! All aboard ! "
shouted Little Job, whose spirits were fitful.
The wind's violence had abated somewhat, and it
had begun to rain. If Semanthy had only known
that the catamaran and its crew were safe, she
would ha\e felt that their woes were not be)'ond
rcmed)-. But the gale had come on so suddenly !
Before they had time to take down their sail, the
boat might have capsized, or been blown upon the
rocks. Even Nick shook his head now and then,
and said: "This squall 's been pretty rough on
sail-boats, I can tell you."
"Nick, where can we be that we don't sec our
light .' "
" That must be Great Porpoise just ahead," said
Nick, pointing to a spot in the distance, which
looked onh' like darkness intensified and gathered
into a small compass. "Why we can't see the
light 1 am sure I can't tell. "
As they drew nearer, the black spot grew larger,
and revealed itself as land beyond a question.
" But it ain^/ be Great Porpoise, Nick, because
we should see the light ! "
Nick looked long and earnestly, doubt growing
deeper and deeper in his mind.
"Well, it iniist be Peaked Nose," he said, at
last, "though it is certainly a great deal bigger
than Peaked Nose ever was before."
.^nd so they turned the boat in the direction in
which Great Porpoise ought to lie, if this were
Peaked Nose.
That the light on Great Porpoise might not be
lighted did not occur to any one of them. For that
lamp to remain unlighted after night-fall was a thing
which had never happened since they were born ;
it would have been scarcely less extraordinary to
their minds if daylight should fail to put in an
appearance.
Since there was no light there, that could not be
Great Porpoise Island. That was all there was
about it, — so they all thought.
They rowed swiftly and in silence for a while,
and another dark shape did appear ahead of them ;
but there was no light there !
" Oh, Nick ! The Pudding Stones ! I hear the
breakers ! " cried Semanthy, suddenly. " It must
be Little Porpoise ! "
"Then the other was Great Porpoise ! " said Nick,
blankly. " What is the matter with the light ?"
The Pudding Stones made Little Porpoise a terror
to mariners. If the beams from Great Porpoise
light-house had not fallen full upon them, they
would probably have been the ruin of many a good
ship. Now, where was the Great Porpoise light?
The other end of Little Porpoise was inhabited ;
they had friends there, and went there often, but
Semanthv had never before been so near the Pud-
ding Stones, and she was anxious only to get as far
away from them as possible. They seemed to her
like living monsters, with cruel teeth, eager to crush
and grind helpless victims.
" Why are you going so near, Nick? " she cried,
in terror.
" I want to make sure where we arc. There
are other rocks around besides the Pudding Stones,
and it seems as if we must have got to the other
side of nowhere. If wc have n't, where in creation
is that light?"
This did seem to Semanthy an almost unanswer-
able argument in proof of their having " got to the
other side of nowhere." But still she did not feel
any desire to investigate the rocks just ahead, upon
which the breakers were making an almost deafen-
ing uproar. But Nick would not turn away until
he had fully satisfied his mind about their position.
Suddenly, above the roar of the breakers, they
heard a voice, — a shrill, despairing cry for help, —
a woman's voice, and not far away.
" A boat has run against the rocks, most likely,"
said Nick, and puUed straight on toward the break-
ers. " We may be in time to save somebody."
"Oh, but Nick, it is n't as if there were only
you and me to think of! Here are the children.
We are risking their lives ! " said Semanthy.
It was Little Job who piped up then, in his high,
weak little voice, and not by any means in the
terror-stricken wail which might have been expected
from little Job. His courage had evidently mounted
with the occasion.
" I guess we 're all the crew of the captain's gig,
and we aint agoin' to let anybody get drownded if
we can help it ! " he said.
Nick did not reply to either Semanthy or him,
but rowed as if his own life depended upon it.
Semanthy knew that he thought she was a coward,
and was disgusted with her ; but she was sure that,
if she and Nick had been alone, she would not have
hesitated.
Little Job's speech and Semanthy's thoughts oc-
cupied but a moment's space. The next moment
the boat grated against a rock, and that cry, weaker
and fainter, arose close beside them.
" Jehosaphat ! There 's a woman clinging to
this rock ! Steady, Semanthy — she 's slipping off !
I lold the boat tight to the rock, Little Job ! Take
hold here, Semanthy ; she 's heavier than lead ! "
Using all their force, they dragged her into the
boat — a limp, drenched fonn, from which no sound
came. The boat rocked terribly, but righted at
last.
"Semanthy, she's fainted, and she was losing
her hold of the rock ! If we had n't grabbed her
just as we did, she 'd 'a' been drownded," said Nick,
in an awed voice.
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN S GIG
" I think she 's dead, Nick," said Semanthy, who
had put her face down to the woman's hps, and felt
no breath.
"Rub her hands and feet," said Nick. ••\\l-
can't do anything else, but try to get out of this
place, now; or we shall all be ground to bits."
"It is so dark! 1 can't see to do anything!"
groaned Semanthy. "Oh, where is the light-
house lamp ? This all seems like a dreadful night-
mare ! "
" I know those were the Pudding Stones, so now
1 know the way home," said Nick.
" The lamp has most likely got beu^itched," said
Little Job, who was a reader of fair\' tales.
But suddenly, hke a ray of sunshine falling on the
black waters, out shone the lamp !
It shone full on the white face of the unconscious
and half-drowned woman, resting on Semanthy's
lap.
"Aunt Darkis I Oh, Aunt Darkis ! " they all
cried, in concert.
"Oh, Nick, aintwe dreaming.'" said Semanthy,
while a flood of tears fell on Aunt Dorcas's face.
" How could she have come there ? "
"Why, it's plain enough. I heard Cap'n 'Siah
ask her to go over to Little Porpoise with him, to
see his sister, the last time he was over. They took
our little sail-boat, and went over, and the squall
struck 'em coming home, and drove 'em on to the
rocks."
" But where is the boat, and where is — oh where
is Cap'n 'Siah ? "
"Can't say — p'r'aps all right ! " said Nick.
Semanthy and Little Job rubbed Aunt Dorcas's
poor white hands, and urung the water out of her
pretty brown hair, and kissed her over and over
again. And by and by they could detect a faint
fluttering breath coming through her parted lips.
"But oh — oh, Nick, if we had n't been there ! "
Semanthy said.
Nick did n't say anything. He had too big a
lump in his throat.
In a few minutes more they were carrying Aunt
Dorcas tenderly and with great difficulty into the
house. The sailors — the original "crew of the
captain's gig " — were all there ; it was one of them
who had lighted the lamp. The children's father,
they were told, was down at the Widow Dobbins's.
The sailors did n't scold about their boat, you
may be sure, when they knew what ser\'ice it had
done.
Aunt Dorcas soon came to herself enough to know
them, and to speak to them, but they none of them
dared to ask the question that was trembling on
their tongues — where was Cap'n 'Siah ? And Aunt
Dorcas seemed too weak to remember anything that
had happened.
But while the>' were sitting there, looking ques-
tioningly into each other's faces, in walked a drenched
and weather-beaten, and pale-faced man — Cap'n
'Siah, but ten years older, it seeined, than he had
been that afternoon. But when he caught sight of
Aunt Dorcas, he threw himself into a chair, and
covered his face w-ith his hands, and when he took
them away they saw tears on his cheeks — great
rough man as he was.
" I thought she 'd got drowned, and I 'd let her,"
he said. " You see, I wa' n't lookin' at the sky, as
I 'd ought to 'a' ben, and that pesky little boat went
over ker-slap, an' there we was, both in the water.
I ketched hold o' the boat, and reached for yer Aunt
Darkis, and jest missed her ! Then I let go o' the
boat, and tried to swim for her, but 1 found I was
sinkin', with all my heavy toggery on, and I ketched
hold o' the boat again. Then a big wave knocked
me off, and 1 went down, and I thought I was done
for, but when I came up I managed to grab the
boat again. But yoyr Aunt Darkis w-as gone. I
could n't see nothin' of her, and in a few minutes
't was so dark I could n't see nothin' at all ! By and
by, after I had drifted and drifted, I heard voices,
and I hollered, and that queer craft from the P'int,
the catamaran, picked me up — and there was our
Saul aboard of her ! I did n't care much about
bein' picked up, seein' your Aunt Darkis was
drowned, and I 'd let her, but now I 'm obleeged to
ye, Saul, for pickin' me up ! "
Then Nick and Semanthy told their storj', and
soon Aunt Dorcas told how she had clung, for what
seemed like hours, to the steep and slippery rock,
from which Nick and Semanthy had rescued her
just as her strength gave out.
"And yer pa he 's a-courtin' the Widder Dob-
bins, it appears, otherwise he might 'a' ben here to
light the lamp," said Cap'n 'Siah, in a mild and
meditative tone. " -And yer Aunt Darkis an' me 's
ben a-thinkin' that yer pa an' the Widder Dobbins
an' her six might be enough here, an' so you 'd
better all of you come over to the main and live
with me. My house is big enough for us all, and
Saul, he '11 kind of look after my boats that I keep
to let, and Nick, he '11 tend in the store, w-hen he
aint to school, and Semanthy — why, of course Aunt
Darkis could n't do without her ; and as for Little
Job and the Baby, w^hy, they 'II kinder keep things
lively."
So, not only Aunt Dorcas, but the whole " crew
of the captain's gig " are " gittin' ready " now.
i88<x]
golden-hair: a Russian folk-story,
GOLDEN-II AIR; A RUSSIAX FOLK-STt)RY
HIS curious story is
told over and over to
the children of Russia
by their fathers and
mothers, who first
heard it from their
fathers and molliers,
who in their turn had
learned it in the same
way. For it is like
our own stories of
Cinderella, and Blue-
Beard, and the rest, —
so old that nobody
knows who wrote them
or first told them.
But boys and girls are
alike, the world over, when there is a good story to
be heard. Golden-hair and her wonderful history
arc perhaps as well known to Russian children as
Cinderella and her glass slipper are to you. Here
IS the tale, with its king, its princess, its water of
life, and all :
There \v;is a certain king, and he was so wise
that he understood all animals, no matter what
they said.
Now hear how he learned this art : Once an old
grandmother came to him, bringing a lish in a
basket, and told him to have it cooked ; that, if he
would eat it, he would understand what living
creatures in the air, on the earth, and in the
waters, say. It pleased the king to be able to
know what no man knew ; he paid the old woman
well, called his ser\ant straightway, and commanded
him to have the fish ready for dinner. " But see
to it," said he, '' that you don't put a bit on your
tongue ; if you do, you '11 pay for it with your head."
When it was all ready, he put a bit on his tongue
and tasted it. That moment he heard something
bu22 about his ears:
' ' Some for us, too ; some for us, too. "
Yiry looked around, and saw nothing but a few-
flies moving around the kitchen. But on the street
he heard a hoarse \oice :
" Where are you going — where are you going?"
" To the miller's barley — to the miller's barley."
Yii-y looked out of the window and saw a flock
of geese.
"Oh," thought he, ''that 's the kind of fish it
is ! It gives one a new gift of hearing. 1 have
found out ! "
He put a fresh piece in his mouth and carried
the remainder to the king, just as if nothing had
happened.
.•\ftcr dinner, the king ordered Yiry to saddle his
horse and attend him, for he wanted to ride. The
king rode ahead and Yir\' behind. When they
were crossing a green field, Yiry's horse sprang for-
ward and kicked up his heels.
" Oh, ho, brother," said he, "I feel so light that
1 should like to jump over a
mountain I "
"What of that?" said the
other horse. " I should like
to jump, too ; but an old man
sits on my back. If I jump,
he would certainly fall to the
ground like a bag, and be badly injured."
" Let him ! " said Yiry's horse. " Then, instead
of an old, you '11 carr)' a young man."
Yiry laughed heartily, but to himself, lest the
king should notice it. But the king, who also
knew what the horses were saying, looked around
and saw that Yiry was laughing. He inquired :
^y;t^-.c=^~=|ff^
It seemed strange to the servant, Yiry, that the
king should iiave forbidden him so very strictly.
"While I live," said he to himself, "I have n't
seen such a fish ; it looks just like a snake ; and
what sort of a cook would he be, I 'd like to know,
who would n't taste of what he was cooking ! "
"What are you laughing at?"
" Nothing important, your majesty :
came into my mind."
something
golden-hair: a Russian folk-story
" If you need it," piped the young ravens, " think
of us, and we will help you, too."
Viry was obliged to continue his journey on foot.
He traveled long through the woods, and when at
length he came out, he saw in front of him the
great sea. On the shore two fishermen were quar-
reling. They had caught a great golden fish.
Each one wished to have it for himself alone.
" The net is mine ! The fish is mine ! " said one.
To this the other answered ;
"Little good would your net have been without
my boat and my help."
■' When we catch another such, it will be yours."
"No. no; you wait for the other and give me
this."
" 1 will settle between you," said Yir)'. " Sell
me the fish ; I will pay you well. Divide the money
between you equally."
lie gave them all the money the king had
given him for the journey. He spared nothing.
The fishermen were glad to find so good a inarket.
liut Viry let the fish out into the sea. The fish
f?:
The king suspected him, however, and did not
trust the horses ; so he turned back. When they
came to the castle, the king ordered Yiry to poui-
him out a glass of wine.
"But if you don't fill it, or if it overllows, your
head will pay for the mistake," said he.
Viry took the decanter and was pouring ; at that
moment two birds flew to the window ; one was
chasing the other — the one pursued had three
golden hairs in its bill.
" Give them to me," said the other.
" I will not give them up — they are mine : I
picked them up," said the first bird.
" But 1 saw them as they fell, when the golden-
haired lady combed her hair," said the second.
"Well, I shall keep two of them, at least."
" No ; not one."
Then the second bird rushed at the first, and
seized the golden hairs. After they had struggled
for them on the wing, one hair remained in each
bird's bill. The third fell to the L;round and
sounded.
Viry looked after it. and the wine overflowed the
glass.
"You have lost your life," said the king; "but
if you wish, I will be merciful. 1 will spare you, if
you find and bring me the golden-haired maiden to
be my wife."
What was Yiry to do ? He wislied to save his
life. He must go for the maiden, though he did n't
know where to look for her. He saddled his horse,
and went in one direction and another. He came
to a dark forest, and under the trees near the road
a bush was burning. The shei^herds had set it on
fire. Under the bush was an ant-hill : sparks were
falling upon it, and the ants were running hither
and thither in great alarm, and carrying their
small white eggs.
" Oh, help us, Yiry, dear ! help us ! " cried they,
pitifully. " We are burning up, and our little ones
are in these eggs."
He jumped from his horse in an instant, cut
down the bush and put out the fire.
" When you are in need, think of us, and we
will help you, too."
Then he traveled through the forest till he
came to a lofty fir-tree ; on its summit was a
raven's nest, and beneath it, on the ground,
two little ravens were crying, and said :
"Our father and our mother have flown
away. We have to find food for ourselves;
and, weak little piping things, we don't know how and the sea. If you like, we'll take you to the island,
to fly yet. Oh, help us, Yiry, dear ! help us ! since you setded our dispute so well, _ But be care-
Feed us, or we shall perish of hunger." ful to choose the right maiden, for there arc twelve
Not thinking long, Yiry sprang from his horse, sisters, daughters of the king, and only one has
and plunged the sword into his horse's side, so the golden hair."
little ravens might have something to eat. When Yiry reached the island, he went to the
moved about gladly ; dived down, came up again,
and stuck out its head near the shore, saying :
" If you should need me, Yiry, think of me, and
1 '11 serve you."
Then it disappeared.
" Where are you going? " asked the fishermen.
" I am going to get the golden-haired maiden as
bride for my master, the old king," answered Yiry,
" and I don't know where to look for her."
"Oh, we can tell you all about her," said the
fishermen. "That is Golden-Hair, the daughter
of the king of the crystal palace there on that
island. F.very morning at day-break she combs her
golden hair, and light goes out from it over the sky
golden-hair: a Russian folk-story.
crystal palace to ask the king to give his golden-
haired daughter to his master as wife.
'■ 1 will," answered the king, "but you must earn
her. During three days you must perform three
tasks that I shall give you — one each da\-. Now,
you may rest till to-morrow."
Next day the king said : " My Golden-Hair had a
string of precious pearls ; the string snapped, and
the pearls fell amongst the tall grass in the green
meadow. You must collect these pearls so that not
one shall be missing."
Yiry went to the meadow : it was long and wide.
He knelt down in the grass and began to search.
He looked and looked, from morning till midday,
but did not find a single pearl.
■' Oh, if my ants were here, they would help me.''
"But we are here to help you," called the ants.
as they swarmed around him. "What do you
wish ? "
" I have to gather Golden-Hair's pearls in this
meadow, and I do not see a single one."
"Wait a while. We will collect them for you.''
It was not long before they brought him a heap
of pearls from the grass.
All that was needed was to
put them on a string.
When he was about to
tie the ends of the string,
one halting ant came up,
he was lame ; he had burn-
ed his leg at the time of
the fire. He cried out :
"Wait, Yiry, my dear,
don't fasten the ends ; 1
bring one more little pearl. "
When Yiry brought the pearls to the king, he
counted them ; not one was missing.
" You have done your work well," said he. "To-
morrow I will give you another task."
Yiry- came in the morning and the king said to
him :
" My Golden-Hair was bathing in the sea, and
she lost a gold ring. You must find it and bring
it here."
Yiry went to the sea, and walked along the shore
in sadness. The sea was clear, but so deep that he
could not see the bottom.
" Oh, if my gold-fish were here, it could help
me."
That moment something gleamed in the water,
and out of the depth a gold-fish swam to the
surface and looked up at Yiry.
" But I am here to help you. What do you wish ? "
"I have to find a gold ring in the sea, and
1 cannot see the bottom."
" 1 have seen a pike with a gold ring in its
fin. Wait a bit, I will bring it to you."
It was not long till the fish returned with
the pike and the ring.
The king praised Yiry for having done his
work so well, and the next morning gave him
the third task.
" If you wish that 1 should give my Golden-
Hair to your king as wife, you must bring the
waters of life and death. She will need them."
Yiry did n't know where to go for the waters ;
he went here and there, wherever his legs carried
him, till he came to a dark forest.
"Oh, if my ra\ens were here, thev would help
me."
Here something rustled above his head, and,
wherever they came from, the two ravens were
there.
" But here we are to help you. What do you
\vish ? "
" 1 ha\e to get the waters of life and death, and
I don't know where to look for them."
" Oh, we know well. \\'ait a little, and we will
bring them to you."
In a short time, each one brought Yiry a gourd
full of water. In one was
water of life, in the other
the water of death. Yiry was
rejoiced that he had succeeded so
well, and hastened to the palace near the wood.
He saw a spider's web stretched from one fir-tree
to another, and in the center a great spider at-
tacking a fly. Yiry took the gourd with the
water of death, sprinkled the spider, and he fell
to the ground dead. Then he sprinkled the fly
with the water of life, from the other gourd. It
began to buzz, escaped from the web, and flew out
into the air.
" It 's your luck, Yiry, that you brought me to
life," buzzed the fly, "for without me, you would
have hardly guessed which of the twelve is Golden-
Hair."
When the king saw that Yiry had performed
golden-hair: a Russian folk-story
the three tasks, he agreed to give him his golden-
haired daughter.
" But," said he, " you must find her yourself."
Then he led him into a great hall. In the middle
of the hall was a circular table. .-Xround the table
sat twelve beautiful maidens, one like the other, but
each had on her head a long head-dress, reaching
to the ground, and white as snow. .So it could not
be seen what kind of hair they had.
"Here are my daughters," said the king. " If
you guess which one of them is Golden-Hair, she
IS yours, and you may take her away : if yoii do
not guess, then she was not destined for \(>u, and
you must go away without her."
Yiry was in the greatest trouble, he tlicl n't
know how to begin. That moment something
whispered in his car:
" IJuzz, b-z-z, b-z-z. (jo around the table. I will
tell you which is she."
It was the fly which Yiry had rescued from the
spider, and raised up with the water of life.
" You have guessed," said the king.
•She threw off her head-dress, and her golden
hair rolled down in great waves to the floor, and
threw out just such a light as the sun does when
it rises, so that Yiry's eyes were almost dazzled by
the radiance.
Then the king gave his daughter a proper out-
fit for the journey, and Yiry conducted her to the
old king. The old king's eyes sparkled, and he
jumped for joy when he saw Golden-Hair, and
gave orders to prepare for the wedding.
" I wished to hang you for your disobedience,"
said the king, "'so the crows might eat you ; but
you have served me so successfully that 1 will
only cut your head off, and then 1 will ha\e you
buried decently."
When they had cut off ^■lry's head, (lolden-
Hair begged the old king to give her the dead
ser\ant. He could n't refuse his Golden-Hair.
She put Yiry's head on his body, and sprinkled
him with the water of death. The body and head
" It is not this maiden, nor this, nor this, either." grew together, so there was n't a sign of a wound,
buzzed the fly to Yiry. " But here is Golden-Hair." Then she sprinkled him with the water of life, and
" Give me this daughter," cried Yiry, stepping Yiry rose up as if he had been born anew, fresh as
near to her. " I have earned her for my master." a deer, and youth shone bright on his face.
IIIIRTEEN AND DOI.LY.
13
lept,'' said Yiiy, and
And if
1 would
" Oh, hoH SDundK- I havi
rubbed his eyes.
" I beheve that," said Golden-Hair,
it had not been for the water of hfe,
not ha\e awakened for ages."
When the old king saw that Yiry had come to life,
and that he was younger and more handsome than
before, he wished to be young again himself. He
gave orders to cut his own head off, and sprinkle
him with the watere. So they Ijeheaded him and
sprinkled him with the water of life till it was all
used up, but the head would n't grow to his body.
Then they began to sprinkle him with the water
of death ; body and head grew together at once,
but now the old king was dead in earnest, for
they had no water of life with which to raise him
up. .A.nd as a kingdom cannot be without a king,
and there was no other man in the realm so wise
as to know the speech of all animals, as Yiry did,
they made Yiry king and (".olden-Hair ijueen.
THIRTEEN AND DOLLY.
By Mollie Norto.n.
Oh Dolly, dear Dolh-, I 'm thirteen to-day,
And surely 't is time to be stopping my play !
My treasures, so childish, must be put aside :
1 think, Henrietta, I '11 play that you died ;
1 'm growing so old that of course it wont do
To care for a dolly, — not even for you.
Almost a young lady, I '11 soon wear a train
And do up my hair ; but 1 '11 never be vain.
1 '11 stud)' and study and grow \ery wise —
Come, Dolly, sit up now, and open your eyes ;
1 '11 tie on this cap, with its ruffles of lace.
It always looks sweet round your beautiful face.
1 'II bring out your dresses, so pretty and gay,
.•\nd fold them all smoothly and put them away:
This white one is lovely, with sash and pink bows —
Ah, I was so happy while making your clothes !
And here is your apron, with pockets so small.
This dear little apron, 't is nicest of all.
And now for your trunk, 1 will lay them all in —
Oh Dolly, dear Dolly, how can I begin !
How oft of our journeys 1 'II lliink with a sigh —
We '\ e traveled together so much, you and I !
.-Ml o\er the fields and the garden wc went,
.\nd played we were gypsies and lived in a tent.
We tried keeping house in so many queer ways.
Out under the trees in the warm summer days !
We moved to the arbor and played that the
flowers
Were housekeepers too, and were neighbors of
ours ;
We lived in the hay-loft, and slid down the
ricks.
.•Vnd went out to call on the turkeys and chicks.
Now here is your cradle with lining of blue.
And soft little pillow — I know what I 'II do !
1 '11 rock you and sing my last lullaby song,
.And I '11 — No, I can't give you up ! 'T will be
wrong !
So sad is my heart, and here conies a big tear —
Come back to my arms, oh, you precious old
dear !
14
THE SWISS GLACIERS.
Tin-: SWISS glaciers.
ISv Ja.mes B. Marshai.i,.
You all have read in your geographies, or have
been told, about the vast "rivers of ice" called
glaciers.
There are more than four hundred "stream
glaciers" in Switzerland and the adjoining Tyrol,
which have tnade those countries famous. No
scene is more striking or beautiful than these great
ice-rivers, placed often amid fertile and wooded val-
leys, where there are growing grain fields, fruit
trees in bloom, smiling meadows, and human hab-
itations.
Many ages ago, a greater part of the surface of
the earth was covered with a sea of snow and ice,
just as Greenland and certain parts of Switzerland
are to-day. All the minor ridges and valleys of
Greenland are constantly concealed under huge
layers of ice and snow. The broad wastes of
Greenland ice go on slipping forward and down to
the sea, where, breaking loose in mountainous
masses, they sail away as icebergs — the terror and
dread of the northern Atlantic seas. Not many
months ago, a great steam-ship, the ■'.Vrizona,"
ran into an iceberg and broke away a portion
of her bow. Indeed, in manv cases, vessels
have been utterly wrecked by icebergs. These
floating mountains of ice are often of enormous
size. Some of them have been grounded in Baf-
fin's Bay, where the water is 1,500 feet deep.
Another, seen by a French explorer in the South
Sea, presented a mass of ice nearly equal to the
greatest of the Swiss glaciers, it being thirteen
miles long, and with walls 100 feet above the
water. As ice floats with but one-ninth of its bulk
raised above the surface of the sea, the term float-
ing mountain does not seem to be an exaggeration.
In 1842, the steamer '".Acadia" passed one in
the Atlantic ocean that was 400 to 500 feet above
water, and therefore, on a moderate calculation,
some 3.000 feet below the surface — a total height
equal to that of the highest peak n( the Green
.Mountains.
Glaciers are produced by the gradual ch.inging
into ice of the peculiar granular snow that falls in
the high .\lpine regions, above the snow limit
of 18,000 feet. The height at which vegetation
ceases in Switzerland is about 6,000 feet, though
Prof. .Agassiz found a tuft of lichen growing on the
only rock that pierced through the icy summit of
THE SWISS GLACIERS.
15
the Jungfrau mountain, nearly 13,000 feet above the
sea. The snow, as it showers down, is as perfectly
dry as so much fine flour, and the ice formed from
It is very different from our pond or river ice, or
sea ice, called ice-floe. The snow not only falls in
winter, but from time to time throughout the
seasons. Melting during the day, it is at night
frozen into a kind of pudding-stone ice, in rough
cakes, which gradually or suddenly slip below to
form the first portion of the glacier. As they col-
lect in \'cry loose order, they move slowly farther
down, melting and freezing together, until they
become changed into a mass of clear blue ice at the
lowest point of the glacier. It is curious to examine
one, starting upw^ard from where the ice is trans-
parent and blue, and find it gradually becoming
less compact, less clear, more light and granular,
until at the highest point, where it is snow, it is
as light and shifting as down.
\'ery large quantities of rock and broken ma-
terial from the tops of the Alps are carried down
by the glaciers, either quite into the low \alleys, or
to the ledges along the way. These accumulations
on the side of a glacier appear, like the embank-
ments of a canal or river, as if built to prevent the
glacier from spreading. In the lower portion of
Switzerland, called the Jura, are to be found blocks
of stone, some of them as large as cottages, trans-
ported there by glaciers from a distance of fifty
miles. The rocks, broken material, and dust are
so thickly spread over the tops of most ice-rivers
that their true character is concealed, and at a little
distance, or e\-en in walking over them, not a strip
of ice can be seen for some distance. The surfaces
of others, however, are clear, like the Rhone glacier,
and dazzling to the eyes in a strong sunlight.
Strange sights appear in plenty as you wander
over one of these huge ice-rivers. Large slabs of
stone, supported on legs of ice, are frequently to
be met with, the leg of ice having been sa\ed from
melting by the stone. (These blocks of ice make
very convenient tables, too, on which to spread out
a lunch.) Whenever a glacier's course takes it
o\er a precipice or sharp decline, the surface is
split up into innumerable huge ice-needles and
ice-pyramids, some standing at an angle, appear-
ing just ready to topple over and crush any one
rash enough to approach them. Occasionally, at
a sharp decline, the ice-river will break in t%vo,
the forward part shooting ahead, and the rear
portion gradually, or as quickly, closing up the
gap. A hamlet in the St. Nicholas valley has
been, on several occasions, partially destroyed by
the falling of the Bis glacier. At one time, 360
millions of cubic feet of ice fell in an instant
toward the hamlet, the agitation of the air causing
houses to be twisted around and their roofs torn
off, while many others were crushed like almond-
shells. In speaking of a scene like this, an eye-
witness says: "It made its presence known by
a frightful noise ; everything around us appeared
to move of itself Rocks, apparently solidly fixed
in the ice, began to detach themselves and dash
against each other; crevasses [cracks in the ice],
ten and twenty feet wide, opened before our eyes
with a fearful crash, and others, suddenly closing,
drove to a great height the water which they con-
tained." When these cracks do not close up, or,
as is frequently the case, do not extend to the bot-
tom of the glacier, the melted ice-water flows down
their sides, to collect at the bottom, and, in doing so,
polishes the ice to a beautiful marine green. I saw
a guide on the Groner glacier pause over a crevasse
many yards wide and nearly filled with water;
and such was its depth that, after he had hurled
his heavy alpenstock down through the water, some
time elapsed — in fact, I thought it lost — before it
shot up through the green surface. If the water
flows into a well from between the layers of ice, a
weird sound may be heard coming up from the
depths, that has been well compared to the tinkling
of a silver bell. The smaller cracks in the ice be-
come lightly covered by frost or snow, and the
careless traveler runs the risk of breaking through
these frail snow-bridges, and losing his life. Such
accidents are pre\ented b)- the members of a
party linking themselves together with a strong,
light rope, and, in case one person breaks through,
the others prevent him from falling any distance.
Several lives have been lost in Switzerland, during
the past season, through the neglect of this pre-
caution.
It is at the lowest portion of a glacier, however,
that more signs of its destruction are to be seen
than elsewhere. The melting ice at the end of
the Glacier des Bois often forms an ice-vault, or
portico, one hundred feet high, from the bottom of
which rushes out the yellowish, frothy glacier-
water. When the \ault becomes top-heav\-, it
breaks in upon the stream with a thundering crash.
One winter, one of these vaults was supported by
a regular and beautifully fluted column composed
of icicles. The lower part of an ice-river sometimes
forms a delightful picture, with its flower-covered
banks, a rye-field, perhaps, growing at one side,
and the ears of ripening rye nodding over the ice.
On one of the most beautiful Alpine routes,
the bridle-path leads over green pastures and alps
decked with rhododendrons and patches of vivid and
countless wild-flowers ; passing in view of a magnifi-
cently scarred and broken wall of ice and snow
twenty-five miles long, which pierces the clouds, and
increases in grandeur almost throughout the whole
distance. About the middle of the second day of
i6
THE SWISS GLACIERS.
(NOVUIREK.
the journey, wc would find ourselves, .ifter a good
dinner, seated in a comfortable chair wnthin a seem-
ing stone's throw of that majestic mountain, the
Jungfniu, its summit and higher portions covered
«iih bnow of the most brilliant purity, while one of
its minor peaks, called the silver horn, is perfectly
dazzling. Here, seated in safety and ease, wc might,
on a warm day, be greeted by the rush and bomb
of an avalanche. .\t the distance, though seem-
ingly near, it would appear like a small white cascade
curling up white putTs of snow, but in reality it
would consist of many tons of ice and snow power-
fid enough to cut its way through any obstacle,
though there harmlessly hurling itself into a de-
serted valley.
There are many celebrated Alpine points from
which to view the gl.aciers. In descending from one
of these higher overlooking mountains, the ascent
to which had led us a half-hour over ice and snow,
the distance was considerably shortened by a safe
and exhilarating slide on the smooth ice covered
«ith downy snow. It reduced the half-hour to a
few minutes, but I had no wish to repeat the ex-
periment. We simpiv had to take a seat on the
M ■, ■ ; ::: ■ '•ii : i::.. . _;■.■ > ^li-i.t i,u>ii.
Near Mount Rosa, in 1861, some members of the
Alpine Club discovered a peculiarly grand and
beautiful crevasse, hollowed out into a long cavern
formed like the letter C. The walls were of a trans-
parent blue color, arched over from the sun, "while
from the roof above hung down a forest of long, clear
icicles, each adorned with two or three lace-hke
fringes of hoar frost." They were seeking shelter
from a sudden gale of wind, and to enter the cavern
were forced to sweep these beautiful decorations
down with their poles.
The three pictures will give you a good idea of
how the Alpine glaciers look. The one on page
14 represents the Roscnlaui glacier, noted for the
rosy hue and great purity of its ice. It lies between
the two mountains of the Wellborn and the Engel-
horner, and to the right of the picture is the Wetter-
horn, a famous .Alpine peak, 12,165 feet high.
The Rhone glacier, shown in our second illustra-
tion, is imbedded between the Gersthorn and the
Galenstock, and extends b.ackward like a huge
terrace for a distance of fifteen miles. As its
name denotes, it is the source of the river Rhone.
At the foot of this glacier, an ice-grotto is hewn
ini" the mass of clear blue ice. To the rij,'ht is
aid before we knew what h.id li.ippened, the bot- seen the 1 uic.i in.ul. .ascending the mountain in
• in of the snow-ticld was reached. The drawbacks long zig-z.igs.
A '-re »hiK-s and garment* tilled with snow, followed The Grand Mulcts is 10,000 feet above the level
the next day by frosted toc», -in August, too. of the sea, and is the point reached by travelers on
THE SWISS GLACIERS.
17
the first day's ascent of Mont Blanc. During the
second day, they reach the summit and return to
Grand Mulets, and on the third they descend to
Chamounix. It was in the vale of Chamounix that
the English poet, Coleridge, wrote his beautiful
" Hymn before Sunrise," containing these lines
about the glaciers :
' Ve ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Torrents, methinics, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped, at once, amid their maddest plunge.
Motionless torrents ! Silent cataracts !
Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest hue, spread garlands at your feet ?
Ood ! — I-et the torrents, like a shout of r
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Mont Blanc, you know, is the highest mountain
of Europe, and on its side, in an icy desert 9143
feet above the sea, is to be found a little oasis of
grass and flowers celebrated all over the world as
the " Jardin." A more strangely placed "garden"
is not to be found anywhere ; it is the delight of
travelers, and there are to be seen, in many Ameri-
can homes, carefully pressed flowers from this lofty
garden, preserved as souvenirs of a visit there.
During certain states of the atmosphere, in pass-
ing over the upper portions of a glacier, gleams
of beautiful blue light issue from every hole made
by the feet or staff in the snow. At that elevation,
the snow as it falls is presented to the naked eye
as showers of white, frozen flowers, all of them
six-leaved, but of many different arrangements.
When, from a high peak, the wind catches up this
new-fallen snow in light clouds, and spreads it out
like the graceful tail of a comet, the Swiss say the
peak is smoking a pipe.
The glaciers assume many other strange appear-
ances, sometimes looking like a pure water-fall, as
in the case of the Palii glacier, which is claimed by
many to be the most beautiful of all. Sometimes
they look in the distance like fleecy clouds resting
in the hollows, and sometimes, at sunset, like gor-
geous plains of many-colored crystal. The singu-
lar effect called "red snow," to be found among
the glaciers, is really a curious plant, springing up
in such abundance as to redden large patches, just
as small plants make green the surfaces of our
ponds in summer.
Vol. \"1I1.
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
A NONSENSE RHYMi:
By J. W. RiLEV.
Ringlety Jing !
And what will we sing?
Some little crinkety-crankety thing,
That rhymes and chimes
And skips, sometimes.
As though wound up with a kink in the spring.
Grunkety-krung !
And chunkety-plung !
.Sing the song that the bull-frog sung, —
A song of the soul
Of a mad tadpole,
That met his fate in a leak\- bowl ;
And it 's O for the lirst false wiggle he made
In a sea of pale pink lemonade !
And it 's O for the thirst
Within him pent.
.And the hopes that burst
."Xs his reason went,
When his strong arm failed and his strength was
spent.
Sing, O sing !
Of the things that ding.
And the claws that clutch, and the fangs that
stmg—
Till the tadpole's tongue
.And his tail unflung
Quavered and failed with a song unsung !
— Oh ! the dank despair in the rank morass.
Where the cray-fish crouch in the cringing grass.
.And the long limp nnic of the loon wails on
For the mad. sad soul
Of a bad tadpole
Forever lost and gone !
Jinglety-Jec !
."Xnd now we '11 see
What the last of the lay shall be,
-As the dismal tip of the tune, O friends,
Swoons away where the long tail ends.
And its O and alack !
For the tangled legs
And the spangled back
Of the green grigg's eggs,
-And the unstrung strain
Of the strange refrain
That the winds wind up like a strand of rain.
.And it 's O,
Also,
For the ears wreathed low.
Like a laurel-wreath on the lifted brow.
Of the frog that chants of the why and how,
.\nd the wherefore, too, and the thus and so
Of the wail he weaves in a woof of woe.
Twangle, then, with your wrangling strings
The tinkling links of a thousand things !
And clang the pang of a maddening moan
Till the echo, hid in a land unknown.
Shall leap as he hears, and hoot and hoo,
Like the wretched wraith of a Whoopty Doo.
THE MAGICIAN'S DAUGHTER.
Ry Fr.^nk R. Stockton,
There was once a great castle which belonged
to a magician. It stood upon a high hill, with a
wide court-yard in front of it, and the fame of its
owner spread over the whole land. He was a very
wise and skillful magician, as well as a kind and
honest man, and people of all degrees came to
him, to help them out of their troubles.
But he gradually grew very old, and at last he
died. His only descendant was a daughter, thir-
teen years old, named Filamina, and everybody
wondered what would happen, now that the great
magician was dead.
But one day, Filamina came out on the broad
front steps of the castle, and made a little speech
to all the giants, and afrits, and fairies, and genii,
and dwarfs, and gnomes, and elves, and pigmies,
and other creatures of that kind, who had always
been in the service of the old magician, to do his
bidding when some wonderful thing was to be
accomplished.
iSSckJ
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
19
"Now that my poor father is dead," said she, " I
think it is my duty to carry on the business. So
\ou will all do what 1 toll you to do, just as you
used to obey my father. If any persons come who
want anything done, I will attend to them."
The giants and fairies, and all the others, were
very glad to hear Filamina say this, for they all
liked her, and they were tired of being idle.
Then an afrit arose from the sunny stone on
which he had been lying, and said that there were
six people outside of the gate, who had come to sec
if there was a successor to the magician, who could
help them out of their trouble.
" You can bring them into the Dim-lit Vault,"
said Filamina, " but, first, I will go in and get
ready for them."
The Dim-lit Vault was a vast apartment, with
a vaulted ceiling, where the old magician used to
see the people who came to him. All around the
walls or shelves, and on stands and tables, in
various parts of the room, were the strange and
wonderful instruments of magic that he used.
There was a great table in the room, covered with
parchments and old volumes of magic lore. At
one end of the table was the magician's chair, and
in this Filamina seated herself, first piling several
cushions on the seat, to make herself high enough.
" Now, then," said she, to the afrit in attend-
ance, " everything seems ready, but you must hght
something to make a mystic smell. That iron
lamp at the other end of the room will do. Do
you know what to pour into it ? "
The afrit did not know, but he thought he could
find something, so he examined the bottles on the
shelves, and taking down one of them, he poured
some of its contents into the lamp and lighted it.
In an instant there w;is an explosion, and a piece
of the heavy lamp just grazed the afrit's head.
'•Don't try that again," said Filamina. "You
will be hurt. Let a ghost come in. He can't be
injured."
So a ghost came in, and he got another iron
lamp, and tried the stuff from another bottle. This
blew up, the same as the other, and several pieces
of the lamp went right through the ghost's body,
but of course it made no difference to him. He
tried again, and this time he found something
which smelt extremely mystical.
" Now call them in," said Filamina, and the six
persons who were in trouble entered the room.
Filamina took a piece of paper and a pencil, and
asked them, in turn, what they wished her to do for
them. The first was a merchant, in great grief
because he had lost a lot of rubies, and he wanted
to know where to find them.
"How many of them were there?" asked
Filamina of the unlucky merchant.
" Two quarts," said the merchant. " I measured
them a few days ago. Each one of them was as
large as a cherry. "
" A big cherry ? " asked Filamina.
" Yes," said the merchant. " The biggest kind
of a cherry."
" Well," said Filamina, putting all this down on
her paper, " you can come again in a week, and 1
will see what I can do for you."
The next was a beautiful damsel who had lost
her lover.
" What kind of a person is he ? " asked Filamina.
"Oh," said the beautiful damsel, " he is hand-
somer than tongue can tell. Tall, magnificent, and
splendid in every way. He is more graceful than
a deer, and stronger than a lion. His hair is like
flowing silk, and his eyes like the noon-day sky."
" Well, don't cry any more," said Filamina. "I
think we shall soon find him. There can't be
many of that kind. Come again in a week, if
you please."
The next person was a covetous king, who was
very anxious to possess the kingdom next to his
own.
" The only difficulty is this," he said, his greedy
eyes twinkling as he spoke, " there is ah old
king on the throne, and there is a very young
heir — a mere baby. If they were both dead, I
would be the next of kin, and would ha\e the
kingdom. I don't want to have them killed in-
stantly. I want something that will make them
sicker, and sicker, and sicker, till they die."
" Then \ou would like something suitable for a
very old man, and something for a very young
child ? " said Filamina.
"That is exactly it," replied the covetous king.
" Ver)' well," said Filamina; " come again in a
week, and 1 will see what I can do for you."
The covetous king did not want to wait so long,
but there was no help for it, and he went away.
Next came forward a young man, who wanted to
find out how to make gold out of old iron bars and
horseshoes. He had tried many different plans,
but could not succeed. After him came a general,
who could never defeat the great armies which
belonged to the neighboring nations. He wanted
to get something which would insure victory to his
army. Both of these were told to come again in a
week, when their cases would be attended to.
The last person was an old woman, who wanted
to know a good way to make root-beer. She had
sold root-beer for a long time, but it was not very
good, and it made people feel badly, so that her
custom was falling off. It was really necessary,
she said, for her to have a good business, in order
that she might support her sons and daughters,
and send her grandchildren to school.
IHE MAIMCIAN S DAUGHTER.
(NOVBMBBIt,
" Poor woman ! " said Kilnmina. " 1 will do my
best for you. Do you live far away ? "
"Oh, yes," s;iid the old woman, "a weary way."
" Well, ihen, I will have you taken home, and 1
will send for you in a week."
Thereupon, calling two tall giants, she told them
to carr)' the old woman home in a sedan-chair,
which they bore between them.
When the visitors had all gone, Filamina called
in her scr\ants and read to them the list she had
made.
" As for this merchant," she s.tid, " some of you
gnomes ought to find his rubies. You are used to
precious stones. Take a big cherry with you, and
try to find two quarts of rubies of that size. A
dozen fairies can go and look for the handsome
lover of the beautiful damsel. You Ml be sure to
know him if you see him. A genie can examine
the general's army and see what 's the matter with it.
Four or five dwarfs, used to working with metals,
can take some horseshoes and try to make gold
ones of them. Do any of you know of a good dis-
ease for an old person, and a good disease for a
baby ? "
An elf suggested rheumatism for the old person,
and Filamina herself thought of colic for the baby.
" Go and mix me," she said to an afrit, "some
rheumatism and some colic in a bottle. I am
going to make that greedy king t.ike it himself
As for the root-beer," she continued, " those of
Thereupon, Filamina went up to her own room
to take a nap, while quite a number of fairies,
giants, dwarfs and others went to work to try and
make good root-beer. They made exjieriments
with nearly all the decoctions and chemicals they
found on the shelves, or stored away in corners,
and they boiled, and soaked, and mixed, and
stirred, until far into the night.
It was a moonlight night, and one of the gnomes
went from the Dini-ht Vault, where his companions
were working away, into the court-yard, and there
he met the ghost, who was gliding around by him-
self.
" 1 '11 tell you what it is," said the gnome, " I
don't want to be here to-morrow morning, when
that stuff is to be tasted. They 're making a lot
of dreadful messes in there. I 'm going to run
away, till it 's all over."
" It does n't make any difference to me," said
the ghost, "for I would n't be asked to drink any-
thing; but, if you 're going to run away, I don't
mind going with you. I have n't got anything to
do." So off the two started together, out of the
great gate.
" Hold up ! " soon cried the gnome, who was
running as fast as his little legs would carry him.
"Can't you glide slower? I can't keep up with
you."
'" You ought to learn to glide," said the ghost,
languidly. " It 's ever so much e;isier than walking."
A'lSIIP.n TO BF HELPRD OIT
you who think you can do it, can take any of the " When I 'm all turned into faded smoke," said
stuff you find on the shelves here, and trv to the gnome, a little crossly, "I 'II try it: but I can't
make good root-beer out of it. To-morrnw, we possibly do it now."
will sec if any of you have made beer that is really So the ghost glided more slowly, and the two
good. I will give a handsome reward to the one soon came to the cottage of a wizard and a witch,
who first finds out how it ought to be m.ade." who lived near the foot of the hill, where thev
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
sometimes got odd jobs from the people who were
going up to the magician's castle. As the wizard
and his wife were still up, the gnome and his com-
panion went in to see
them and have a chat.
" How arc you getting
on ? " said tlie ghost, as
tliey all sat around the
tire. " Have you done
much incanting lately ? "
■'Not much," said the
wizard. " We thought wc
would get a good deal of
business when the old man
died ; but the folks seem
to go up to the castle the
same as ever." 'i
" Yes, " said the gnome, ^
"and there 's rare work _ —
going on up there now. ^= -^^
They 're trying to make ^=^^
root-beer for an old wo-
man, and you never saw ^"
such a lot of poisonous trash as they stewed up."
" They can't make root-beer ! " sharply cried the
witch. "They don't know anything about it.
There is only one person who has that secret, and
that one is myself."
" Oh, tell it to me ! " exclaimed the gnome, jump-
ing from his chair. "There 's to be a reward for
the person who can do it right, and "
" Reward ! " cried the witch. " Then I 'm likely
to tell it to you, indeed ! When you 're all done
trying, I 'm going to get that reward myself."
"Then I suppose we might as well bid you good-
night," said the gnome, and he and the ghost took
their departure.
"I '11 tell you what it is," said the latter, wisely
shaking his head, "those people will never pros-
per; they 're too sting)'."
"True," said the gnome, and just at that mo-
ment they met a pigwidgeon, who had been sent
from the castle a day or two before on a long errand.
He, of course, wanted to know where the gnome
and the ghost were going ; but when he heard their
story, he said nothing, but kept on his way.
When he reached the castle, he found that all
the beer had been made, and that the busy workers
had just brought out the various pots and j.ars into
the court-yard to cool. The pigwidgeon took a sniff
or two at the strange stuff in some of the jars, and
then he told about the gnome and the ghost run-
ning away. When he mentioned the reason of
their sudden departure, the whole assemblage stood
and looked at each other in dismay.
"I never thought of that," said a tall giant;
" but it 's just what will happen. We shall have
to taste those mixtures, and I should n't wonder a
bit if half of them turned out to be poison. I 'm
going!" And so saying, he clapped on his hat,
VITCH AND
and made one step right over the court-yard wall.
In an instant, every giant, genie, dwarf, fairy,
gnome, afrit, elf, and the rest of them, followed
him out of the gate or over the wall, and, swarm-
ing down the hill, they disappeared toward all
quarters of the compass.
All but one young hobgoblin. He had a faithful
heart, and he would not desert his mistress. He
stayed behind, and in the morning, when she came
down, he told her what had happened.
"And they have all deserted me," she said,
sadly, " but you."
The hobgoblin bowed his head. His head was
a great deal too large, and his legs and arms were
dangly, but he had an honest face.
"Perhaps they were wise," she said, looking
into the pots and jars. " It might have killed them.
But they were cowards to run away, instead of tell-
ing me about it ; and I shall make you Ruler of
the Household, because you are the only faithful
one."
The hobgoblin' was overwhelmed with gratitude,
and could scarcely say a word.
" But I can never get along without any of them,"
said Filamina. " We must go and look for them :
some may not be far away. We will lock the gate
and take the key. May I call you Hob ? "
The hobgoblin said she certainly might, if she 'd
like it.
"Well, then. Hob," said she, "you must go and
get a chair, for we can't reach the big lock from
the ground."
So Hob ran and got a chair, and brought it out-
side. They pulled the gate sliut. and, standing on
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
[November,
the chair, and both using all their force, they turned
the big key, which the hobgoblin then took out,
and carried, as -they both walked away.
"You ought to be careful of the key," said
Filamina, " for, if you lose it, we shall not be able
to get back. Have n't you a pocket?"
" Not one big enough," said the hobgoblin ; " but
you might slip it down my back. It would be safe
there."
So Filamina took the key and slipped it down
his back. It w'as so big that it reached along the
whole of his spine, and it was very cold ; but he
said never a word.
They soon came to tlie cottage of the wizard,
and there they stopped, to ask if anything had been
seen of the runaways. The witch and the wizard
received them very politely, and s.iid that they had
seen a gnome and a ghost, but no others. Then
Filamina told how her whole household, with the
exception of the faithful hobgoblin, had gone oft'
and deserted her ; and, when she had finished her
stor\-, the witch had become very much excited.
Drawing her husband to one side, she said to him :
"Engage our visitors in conversation for a time.
I will be back directly."
So saying, she went into a little back-room,
jumped out of the window, and ran as fast as she
could go to the castle.
" Just to think of it ! " she said to herself, as she
hurried along. " That whole castle empty ! Not
a creature in it I Such a chance will never happen
again ! I can rummage among all the wonderful
treasures of the old magician. I shall learn more
than 1 ever knew in my life ! "
In the meantime, the wizard, who was a very
kindly person, talked to Filamina and the hob-
goblin about the wonders of Nature, and told them
of his travels in various parts of the earth, all of
which interested Filamina very much ; and, as the
hobgoblin was ever faithful to his mistress, he be-
came just as much interested as he could be.
When the witch reached the castle, she was sur-
prised to find the great gate locked. She had
never thought of that. " I did n't sec cither of
them have the key," she said to herself, "and it is
too big to put in anybody's pocket. Perhaps they 've
hidden it under the step."
So she got down on her knees, and groped about
under the great stone before the gate. But she
found no key. Then she saw the chair which had
been left by the gate.
"Oho!" she cried. "That 's it! They put
the key on the ledge over the gate, and had the
chair to stand on ! "
She then quickly set the chair before the gate
and stood up on it. But she could not yet reach
the ledge, so she got up on the back. She could
now barely put her hands over the ledge, and
while she was feeling for the key, the chair toppled
and fell over, leaving her hanging by her hands.
She was afi-aid to drop, for she thought she would
hurt herself, and so she hung, kicking and calling
for help.
Just then, there came up a hippogriff, who had
become penitent, and determined to return to his
duty. He was amazed to see the witch hanging in
front of the gate, and ran up to her.
" .'\ha ! " he cried. "Trying to climb into
our castle, are you ? You 're a pretty one ! "
" Oh, Mr. Hippogriff," said the witch, " 1 can
explain it all to you, if I can only get down. Please
put that chair under me. I '11 do anything for you,
if you will."
The hippogriff reflected. What could she do for
him ? Then he thought that perhaps she knew
how to make good root-beer. So he said he would
help her down if she would tell him how to make
root-beer.
" Never ! " she cried. " I am going to get the
reward for that myself .'\nything but that ! "
■' Nothing but that will suit me," said the hippo-
griff, "and if you don't choose to tell me, 1 '11 leave
you hanging there until the giants and the afrits
come back, and then you will see what nou will
get."
This frightened the witch \ery much, and in .i
few moments she told the hippogriff that, if he
would stretch up his long neck, she would whisper
the secret in his ear. So he stretched up his neck,
and she told him the secret.
As soon as he had heard it, he i)ut the chair
under her, and she got down, anil ran home as fast
as she could go.
She reached the cottage none too soon, for the
wizard was finding it very hard to keep on engag-
ing his visitors in conversation.
Filamina now rose to go, but the witch .isked her
to stay a little longer.
"I suppose you know all about your good fa-
ther's business," said she, "now that you are
candying it on alone."
" No," said Filamina, " I don't understand it
very well ; but I trj' to do the best that I can."
" What you ought to do," said the witch, " is to
try to find one or two persons who understand the
profession of magic, and have been, perhaps, car-
rying it on, in a small way, themselves. Then they
could do all the necessary magical w'ork, and you
would be relieved of all trouble and worry."
"That would be very nice," said Filamina, "if 1
could find such persons."
Just then a splendid idea came into the head of
the hobgoblin. Leaning toward his mistress, he
whispered, " How would these two do?"
THE MAGICIANS DAUGHTER.
" Good ! " said Filamina, and turning to the
worthy couple, she said, " Would you be willing to
take the situation, and come to the castle to live ? "
The witch and the wizard both said that they
would be perfecth' willing to do so. They would
shut up their cottage, and come with her immedi-
ately, if that would please her. Filamina thought
that would suit exactly, and so the cottage was shut
up, and the four walked up to the castle, the witch
assuring Filamina that she and her husband would
find out where the runaways were, as soon as they
could get to work with the magical instruments.
When they reached the gate, and Filamina
pulled the key from the hobgoblin's back, the witch
opened her eyes ver\' wide.
" If 1 had known that," she said to herself, " I
need not have lost the reward."
All now entered the castle, and the penitent hip-
pogriff, who had been lying in a shadow of the wall,
quietly followed them.
The wizard and the witch went immediately into
the Dim-lit \^ault, and began with great delight to
examine the magical instruments. In a short time
the wizard came hurrying to call Filamina.
" Here," he said, when he had brought her into
the room, " is a myth-summoner. With this, you can
bring back all your servants. You see these rows
of keys, of so many colors. Some are for fairies,
some for giants, some for genii, and there are some
for each kind of creature. Strike them, and you
will see what will happen."
Filamina immediately sat down before the key-
board of this strange machine, and ran her fingers
along the rows of keys. In a moment, from all
directions, through the air, and over the earth,
came giants, fairies, afrits, genii, dwarfs, gnomes,
and all the rest of them. They did not care to
come, but there was nothing for them but instant
obedience when the magic keys were struck which
summoned them.
They collected in the court-yard, and Filamina
stood in the door-way and surveyed them.
"■ Don't you all feel ashamed of yourselves ? " she
said.
No one answered, but all hung their heads.
Some of the giants, great awkward fellows, blushed
a little, and even the ghost seemed ill at case.
"You need n't be afraid of the beer now," she
said, " I am going to have it all thrown away; and
you need n't have been afraid of it before. If any
of you had been taken sick, we would have stopped
the tasting. As you all deserted me, except this
good hobgoblin, I make him Ruler of the House-
hold, and you are to obey him. Do you under-
stand that ? "
All bowed their heads, and she left them to their
own reflections.
" The next time they run away," said the faithful
Hob, "you can bring them back before they go."
In a day or two, the messengers which Filamina
had sent out to look for the lost rubies, and the
lost lover, to inquire into the reason why the gen-
eral lost his battles, and to try and find out how
horseshoes could be turned into gold, returned and
made their reports. They had not been recalled
by the myth-summoner, because their special busi-
ness, in some magical manner, disconnected them
from the machine.
The gnomes who had been sent to look for the
rubies, reported that they had searched everywhere,
but could not find two quarts of rubies, the size of
cherries. They thought the merchant must have
made a mistake, and that he should have said cur-
rants. The dwarfs, who had endeavored to make
gold out of horseshoes, simply stated that they could
not do it ; they had tried every possible method.
The genie who had gone to find out why the gen-
eral always lost his battles reported that his army
was so much smaller and weaker than those of the
neighboring countries that it was impossible for
him to make a good fight ; and the fairies who had
searched for the lost lover said that there were
very few persons, indeed, who answered to the de-
scription given by the beautiful damsel, and these
were all married and settled.
Filamina, with the witch and the wizard, care-
fully considered these reports, and determined upon
the answers to be given to the applicants when they
returned.
The next day, there rode into the court-yard of
the castle a high-born boy. He was somewhat
startled by the strange creatures he saw around him,
but he was a brave fellow, and kept steadily on
until he reached the castle door, where he dis-
mounted and entered. He was very much disap-
24
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
[November,
pointed when lie heard that the great magician was
dead, for he came to consult him on an important
matter.
When he saw Filamina, he told her his story.
He was the son of a prince, but his father and
mother had been dead for some time. Many of the
people of the principality to which he was heir
urged him to take his scat upon the throne, because
they had been so long without a regular ruler;
while another large party thought it would be much
wiser for him to continue his education until he was
grown up, when he would be well prepared to enter
upon the duties of his high position. He had been
talked to a great deal by the leaders of each of
these parties, and, not being able to make up his
mind as to what he should do, he had come here for
advice.
"Is the country pretty well ruled now?" asked
Filamina, after considering the matter a moment.
" Oh. yes," answered the high-born bov ; "there
are persons, appointed by my father, who govern
everything all right. It 's only the name of the
thing that makes some of tlie people discontented.
All the [jrincijialities in our neighborliood have
regular princes, and the_\' want one, too."
" 1 '11 tell you what I would do," said Filamina.
" I would just keep on going to school, and being
taught things, until I was grown up, and knew
everything that a prince ought to know. Then
you could just manage your principality in your
own way. Look at me ! Here am I with a great
c.'istle, and a whole lot of strange creatures for serv-
ants, and people coming to know things, and I
can do hardly anything myself, and have to get a
wizard and a witch to come and manage my busi-
ness for me. I 'm sure I would n't get into the
same kind of a fix if I were you."
" I don't believe," said the high-born, boy, "that
I could have had any better advice than that from
the \'ery oldest magician in the whole world. I will
do just what you have said."
Filamina now took iter young visitor around the
castle to show him the curious things, and when he
heard of the people who were coming the next da)-,
to know what had been done for them, he agreed
to stay and see hou- matters would turn out. Fila-
mina's accounts had made him very much interested
in the various cases.
At the appointed time, all the persons who had
applied for magical assistance and information as-
sembled in the Dim-lit Vault. Filamina sat at the
end of the table, the high-born boy had a seat at
her right, \vhile the witch and the wizard were at
her left. The applicants stood at the other end of
the table, while the giants, afrits, and the rest of
the strange household grouped themselves around
the room.
"Some of these cases," said Filamina, "I have
settled myself, and the others I have handed over
to these wise persons, who are a wizard and a witch.
They can attend to their patients first."
The high-born boy thought that she ought to
have said "clients." or " patrons." but he was loo
polite to speak of it.
The wizard now addressed tlie merchant who had
lost the rubies.
" How do you know that you lost two quarts ot
rubies ? " said he.
"I know it," replied the merchant, "because I
measured them in two quart pots."
" Did you ever use those pots for anything else.' "
asked the wizard.
"Yes," said the merchant ; "I afterward meas-
ured six quarts of sapphires with them.''
"Where did you put your sapphues when you
had measured them ? "
"I poured them into a peck jar," said the
merchant.
" Did they fill it?" asked the wizard.
"Yes; 1 remember thinking that I might .is
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
25
THE TWO
NG IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR.
well tie a cloth over the top of the jar, for it would
hold no more."
" Well, then," said the wizard, " as six quarts of
sapphires will not fill a peck jar, I think you will find
your rubies at the bottom of the jar, where you
probably poured them when you wished to use the
quart pots for the sapphires."
" I should n t wonder," said the merchant. " I 'II
go right home and see."
He went home, and sure i^nough, under the six
quarts of sapphires, he found his rubies.
" As for you," said the wizard to the general
who always lost his battles, " your case is very
simple : your army is too weak. What you want
is about twelve giants, and this good young lady
says she is willing to furnish them. Twelve giants,
well armed with iron clubs, tremendous swords and
long spears, with which they could reach o\cr moats
and walls, and poke the enemy, would make your
army almost irresistible."
"Oh, yes,' said the general, looking very much
troubled, "that is all true; but think how much it
would cost to keep a dozen enormous giants ! They
would cat more than all the rest of the army. My
king is poor ; he is not able to support twelve
giants."
26
THE MAGICIAN S DAUGHTER.
[November,
" In that case," said the wizard, " war is a kixury
which he cannot afford. If he cannot iirovidc the
means to do his fighting in the |)r<ipcr way, lie
ought to give it up, and you anil he sluiuld employ
your army in some other way. Set the soldiers at
some profitable work, and then the kingdom will
not be so poor. "
The general could not help thinking that this
was ver>- good advice, and when he went home and
told his story, his king agreed witli him. The
kingdom lay between tvvo seas, and the soldiers
he declared. " The best metal-workers here have
failed in the undertaking, and I myself have
tried, for many years, to turn old iron into gold,
but never could do it. Indeed, it is one of the
things which magicians cannot do. Are you so
poor that you are much in need of gold ? "
"Oh, no," said the young man. " I am not
poor at all. But I would like very much to be
able to make gold whenever I please."
" The best thing you can do," said the wizard,
" if you really wish to work in metals, is to make
,, ^ ^ i-^ WAV
were set to work to cut a canal right through the
middle of the countr\-, from one sea to the other.
Then the ships belonging to the neighboring
kingdoms were allowed to sail through this canal,
and charged a heavy toll. In this w-ay the king-
dom became very prosperous, and everybody
agreed that it was a great deal better than carrying
on wars and always being beaten.
The wizard next spolce to the young man who
wanted to know how to make gold out of horse-
shoes.
" I think you will have to give up your idea,"
D THE HIGH-BORN BOV.
horseshoes out of gold. This will be e.isier than
the other plan, and will not wori'y yoiu' mind so
much."
The young man stood aside. He did not say
anything, but he looked very much disappointed.
This ended the wiz.ird's cases, and Filamina now
began to do her part. She first called up the
greedy king who wanted the adjoining kingdom.
" Here is a bottle," she said, " which contains a
very bad disease for an old person and a \cry bad
one for a child. Whenever you feel that you
would like the old king and the voung heir, who
THISTLE-DOWN.
27
stand between you and the kingdom you want, to
be sick, take a good drink from the bottle."
The greedy king snatched the bottle, and, as
soon as he reached home, he took a good drink,
and he had the rheumatism and the colic so bad
that he never again wished to make anybody sick.
" -As for you," said Filamina to the beautiful
damsel who had lost her lover, " my fairy messen-
gers have not been able to find any person, such as
you describe, who is not married and settled. So
your lo\er must have married some one else. And,
as you cannot get him, I think the best thing you
can do is to marry this young man, who wanted
to make horseshoes into gold. Of course, neither
of you will get exactly what you came for, but it
will be better than going away without anything."
The beautiful damsel and the young man
stepped aside and talked the matter over, and
they soon agreed to Filamina's plan, and went
away quite happy.
" I am dreadfully sorr\-," said Filamina to the
old woman who wanted to know how to make
good root-beer, and who sat in the sedan-chair
which had been sent for her, "but we have tried
our very best to find out how to make good root-
beer, and the stuff we brewed was awful. ! have
asked this learned witch about it, and she says she
does not now possess the secret. I have also
offered a reward to any one who can tell me how
to do it, but no one seems to want to try for it."
-■Xt this moment, the penitent hippogriff came
forward from a dark corner where he had been
sitting, and said : " I know what you must use to
make good root-beer."
" What is it ? " asked F"ilamina.
" Roots," said the hippogriff.
" That 's perfectly correct," said the witch. " If
a person will use roots, instead of all sorts of drugs
and strange decoctions, they will make root-beer
that is really good."
A great joy crept over the face of the old woman,
and again and again she thanked Filamina for
this great secret.
The two giants raised her in her sedan-chair,
and bore her away to her home, where she imme-
diately set to work to brew root-beer from roots.
Her beer soon became so popular that she was
enabled to support her sons and daughters in
luxury, and to give each of her grandchildren an
excellent education.
When all the business was finished, and the peni-
tent hippogriff had been given his reward, Filamina
said to the high-born boy :
" Now it is all over, and everybody has had
something done for him or for her."
" No," said the other, " I do not think so.
Nothing has been done for you. You ought not
to be left here alone with all these creatures. You
may be used to them, but I think they 're horrible.
You gave me some advice which was very good,
and now I am going to give you some, which per-
haps you may like. I think you ought to allow
this wizard and this witch, who seem like very hon-
est people, to stay here and carr)' on this business.
Then you could leave this place, and go to school,
and learn all the things that girls know who don't live
in old magical castles. After a while, when you
are grown up, and I am grown up, we could be
married, and we could both rule over my princi-
pality. What do you think of that plan ? "
" 1 think it would be very nice," said Filamina,
•' and I really believe I will do it."
It was exactly what she did do. The next morn-
ing, her white horse was brought from the castle
stables, and side by side, and amid the cheers and
farewells of the giants, the dwarfs, the gnomes, the
fairies, the afrits, the genii, the pigwidgeons, the
witch, the wizard, the ghosts, the penitent hippo-
griff, and the faithful hobgoblin, Filamina and
the high-born bo\- rode away to school.
thistij:-D()\vx.
liY HiiNRii.TTA K. Eliot.
.\ FAIRY bit of thistle-down
Lodged in the middle of a town.
A few years sped ; in each bare space
.•\ thistle had found growing place.
.■\ million stubborn, bristling things
From one small seed with filmy wings !
A maiden, idling with a friend.
Uttered a jest, — nor dreamed the end ;
And when ill-rumors filled the air.
Wondered, all simply, who could bear
To give such pain ? Nor dreamed her jest
Had been the text for all the rest.
28
Till-: A ( ; A S S 1 Z A S S O C I A T ION.
THE AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.
By Harlan H. Hallard.
oi' must know tliat.
across the ocean and
over the Alps, the boys
and girls of Switzerland
hare a bright idea.
They have formed a
society, and they have
'' ' a badge. The badge is a
spray of evergreen, and the
society is a Natural History
Society.
Once a year, in the spring
time, when the sun has lifted
the ice-curtain from the lakes,
so that the fishes can look out,
' and tlic flowers can look in, the
children from far and near come
together for a meeting and a holiday.
They arc the boys and girls for a tramp. Their
sturdy legs and long staves, their strong bodies and
short dresses, their gay stockings and stout shoes
prove that beyond a question.
The long, golden hair of the girls, tightly braidcil
and firmly knotted with ribbons, keeps out of their
eyes, and flashes brightly behind them as they go
clambering over rocks, leaping across rivulets,
scrambling along glaciers, and climbing steep hill-
sides in their search for specimens. When the
village school-master, who usually leads these expe-
ditions, blows his horn, back come the children like
echoes, with baskets, and pockets, and boxes, and
/ ^
bags full of the treasures of the woods. Then
they eat their dinner just as we would take a picnic,
and, after that, spread out their trophies and decide
who has found the most and who the rarest. They
get the school-master to name their treasures if he
can, and if he can't, they laugh in mischievous tri-
umph, and perhaps enjoy that quite as well.
The meeting ended, the children go home and
arrange their mosses, and ferns, and flowers, and
pebbles, and beetles, and butterflies in cabinets,
and say to their mammas some odd-sounding
words which mean in English that they have had a
perfectly splendid time. Well, it is pretty fine, is n't
it ? The fresh air, you know, and the extra holi-
day, the sunshine and the picnic, the beetles and
the girls, perhaps some fish in the brook, and a
teacher to keep you straight and tell you Latin
names for everything you find. No wonder they
enjoy it. Would n't you enjoy it yourself ?
Now, the point is just here : when you come to
think of it, we have all
those things in this country,
if we could only get them
together in the right pro-
portions. We 've holidays
enough : there are Satur-
days. We '\e school-mas-
ters as plenty as school-
same sun that shines on
Switzerland, as anybody can tell you, and it does
not have to cross the sea to find golden hair to
hous
r^
This is the
THE AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.
29
kindle, either ; so why can't \vc h.ivc a similar
Natural Histon,- Society over hero in America ?
The fact is, we have a little one already, up here
in the Berkshire Hills of Massa-
chusetts. It is small, but it is
growing. There are branches of
it in several towns up and down
the county — a few in New York
State, and one or two as far away as Pennsylvania.
And wc like it so much, and get so much fun out of
it, that we w'ish it to grow larger. In short, we
would like to ha\e all you boys and girls join us.
Many of you w-ill not need to be told why w-e
call our society " The Agassiz Association," for
there are few among the older readers of St.
Nicholas who have not read, or been told, some-
thing about the life of that famous man, so univer-
sally beloved and honored. Professor Louis Agas-
siz,— how, in 1846, already a great naturalist, he
left his native Switzerland, and making America
his home, became Professor at Han-ard
College, and built up the greatest
school of Natural History in the coun-
try-. Though one of the most learned
of writers, there are parts of his books
that would interest young people, and
make them understand the delight
their elders felt, who for many jears
thronged to hear his lectures on his
favorite science. Though he was born
in Switzerland, and of French parent-
age, our country proudly claims him
as her greatest naturalist, for he adopted
America as his home, and much of his
best work was accomplished here. So our society
is well named. Even if Louis Agassiz had not
Switzerland, where children's sci-
entific societies began,
what name could carry
with it greater inspira-
tion, or awaken keener
enthusiasm for the study
of nature?
Here is our Society's
Constitution :
Article i. The name
of this Society shall be
The Agassiz .Association.
.•\RT. 2. It shall be the object of this .Associa-
tion to collect, study, and preserve natural objects
and facts.
Art. 3. The officers of this Association shall be
a President, Secretary, and Treasurer, who shall
perform the customary duties of such officers.
Art. 4. New Chapters may be added with the
been born
consent of the Association, provided that no such
Chapter shall consist of less than six members.
Chapters shall be named from the towns in which
they exist, and if there be more than one Chapter
in a town, they shall be further distinguished by
the letters of the alphabet. *
Art. 5. I-'ach Chapter may choose its own offi-
cers and make its own by-laws.
Art. 6. This Constitution may be amended in
any particu-
lar, by a
three-fourths
vote of the
Association or its representatives.
Perhaps 1 cannot better show
you how to begin, than by telling you ^^
how one of our most active chapters organized.
The President of the Smyrna (New York) Chapter
has the floor: "One night a few scholars re--
mained after school, and proceeded to form a
Chapter. .After choosing a chairman
and secretary, a committee was ap-
pointed to draft by-laws, and report at
the next meeting. At the second
meeting the report of this committee
was adopted, permanent officers were
elected, and the organization completed
by signing the constitution and paying
the initiation fee. One of our by-laws
fixed this fee at ten cents, another
stated the number of officers and the
duration of office, and various others
defined the duties of members, the
order of exercises, and the times of
meeting. After that, we met once in two weeks,
went through a regular order of business, and ad-
journed in due form."
Now, if you look at Article 5 of the Constitution,
you will see that each Chapter is to regulate all
such matters as it pleases. For example, the fee of
admission may be made higher, or lower, or omitted
altogether. The more usual sum is twenty-five
cents. Our Lenox Chapter meets every Friday,
after school. We try to fol-
low the first part of Article 2,
by collecting as many speci-
mens as we can find.
Each one, too, has a special
subject to work up. One
makes a collection of original
drawings of snow crystals.
Another prefers butterflies and moths. One
bright-eyed maiden picks and presses flowers, and
an herbarium is growing under her patient fingers.
We meet the requirements of the last part of
r Chapters in Sheffield, they would he named *' Agassiz .Asso-
30
riiE A(;assiz association.
Article 2 by keeping a record of whatever new or
curious facts with regard to natural history we can
find by our own observation,
or learn from any reliable
source. Then, too, we have
special topics assigned us
from time to time, which we
have to study up. Not so
easy, either, all of ihcm.
Suppose you try yourself a
few of the more simple ones.
Here they are :
I. How many legs ha\c
spiders and flies ? 2. How
many wings have flics and
bees? 3. Is a beetle a bug ;
if not, what is the difference ? 4. What is the
difference between a bat and a bird? 5. Find the
largest elm tree in town. 6. How can you tell the
age of a tree ? 7. Could animals live without
plants, or plants without minerals? 8. How cold
must it be before salt water will freeze? 9. How
hot must water be before
it will boil ? Try with a
thermometer. 10. Do
bats lay eggs ? 11. Name
' C ' '^^"AT'iMBlHTIIiiS ^^'^ great naturalists, and
t V~ KVwMiPmi '''^'^ some account of
each. 12. What is coal,
ind where is it found?
1 3. Tell the difference be-
nveen a section of chest-
nut tree and a section of
pine. 14. Differences be-
tween an oak and maple
leaf. 15. Compare an
elm leaf and a rose leaf
16. What are the uses
of leaves? 17. How do
angleworms dig their
holes? 18. How do snakes
move? 19. Differences
between butterflies and
moths. 20. What do
grasshoppers cat? 21. How do crickets sing? 22.
How can you tell poison-ivy ? 23. What do lizards
eat ? 24. Differences between the teeth of dogs and
cattle; why should they differ? 25. Describe the
egg of a crow and of a woodpecker. 26. Why is
snow white but ice clear? 27. Does air weigh any-
thing ? Prove by experiment. 28. When sap is
taken from trees, is it running up or down ? What
makes it run ? 29. Describe a feather. 30. De-
scribe a hair; differences between a human hair
and a horse hair. 31. Are sponges animal or veg-
etable ? 32. Compare and contrast tomato and
potato vines. 33. If ice is frozen water, why does
* Sec I^ttcr-Rox
it float on the wa-
ter ? and what would
happen if it sank to
the bottom as it froze ?
34. Uses of bark, includ-
ing tan-bark, cork, poplar,
etc. 35. How are icicles
formed ? 36. What makes
the sky blue ? 37. How many
angles in a spider's web ? 38.
Can animals count ? 39. Wha
are drones in a hive ? 40. Wh
are veins and veinlets in a leaf?
41. How do the margins of leaves
difler ? Show specimens. 42.
How many sides and angles have
snow-flakes? .'\re they always the
same in number ? 43. How does
a cat purr?
As the brandies of the Associa-
tion become more nimierous, we
shall derive more and more pleiis-
urc from correspondence, and
more and more profit from inter-
change of specimens. A flower
which is common in your neigh-
borhood may be rare in this localit>.
We have not time now to tell you more of our
society ; but, if you like the plan and wish to join
us, you shall be told the rest. Why should there
not be a St. Nicholas branch of the Agassiz
Association ?* This may be composed of several
Chapters, started in as many different neighbor-
hoods, but all composed of readers of Sr. Nich-
olas. Let some of you start it. Who will be first?
If )ou wish to form a Chapter, let half a dozen
of you get together and choose a chairman and
secretary. Then send a letter to the writer of
this article at Leno.x Academy, Lenox, Massachu-
setts, that your names may be enrolled among the
members of the St. Nicholas branch. If you
can't get six to
work together, get
as many as you
c:an. Never mind
if you are the only
one. You can join
the Association at
any rate. If you
will do this, and
are sufficiently in-
terested inthesub-
ject, we will then
tell you more in
detail how to go to work; what to look for, and
when and where to find it ; how to make a cheap
cabinet ; how to press your flowers and ferns, pre-
if present number.
THE OUTCAST.
31
scn'c your insects, prepare your sections of wood
so as to show the grain, and how to make and re-
cord your several observations.
We will also, when we can,
assist you to determine the
names of any specimens which
may puzzle you, or will at
least refer you to good authorities on the subject
in ciuestion, so that you may study it up for your-
selves as far as you wish.
You may not find many wonderful things, — or
things that you will recognize as wonderful. But
St. Nicholas is a great traveler. If the boys
and girls in all the different places, gladdened by
his visits, were to tell each other about the com-
^- ^f".
mon things in each one's own neighborhood, there
would be wonder enough for oiw year, I am sure.
\'et you may find some-
thing altogether new. Did
n't little Maggie Edward
find a new fish for her
father ? What ? Never
heard of Thomas Edward
— the dear old shoe-maker
who used to make "up-
pers" all day, and then lie
all night in a hole in a sand-bank, with his head
and gun out, watching for "beasts"? In that
case, you would do well to read the book called
"The Scutch Naturalist," by Samuel Smiles.
THE OUTCAST.
I'.v A. M.
Jostle him out from the warmth and light-
Onl)- a vagrant feeble and gray ;
Let him reel on through the stormy night —
What though his home be miles away ?
With a muttered curse on wind and rain
He crept along through the miry lane.
Lonely the pathway, and dark and cold.
Shelter he sought 'neath a ruined wall ;
Over his senses a numbness stole.
Round him sleep threw her mystic pall.
Then an angel came with pitying tears
And lifted the veil of by-gone years
Gayly he sports by a rippling brook ;
Soft is the breath of the summer air.
Flowers adorn each mossy nook.
Sunshine and happiness everywhere.
He is IVil/ie now, just four years old.
With his rose-bud lips and curls of gold.
Hark to the roll of the war-like drum !
See the brave soldiers go marching by !
Home from the battle young Will has come.
Courage and joy in his sparkling eye.
And his pulses thrill with hope and pride,
For he soon will greet his promised bride.
Now in the fireside's flickering glow
Calmly he 's taking his evening rest;
Fondly he kisses his infant's brow,
Sleeping secure on its mother's breast
(And the dreamer stirred and faintly smiled) :
He is M'illiaiii now with wife and child.
The curtain dropped — the morning broke —
Faint was the flush in the eastern sky ;
Moaning and wretched the sleeper woke,
brushing a tear from his bloodshot eye.
To his squalid home beyond the hill.
With a saddened heart, crept poor old Bill.
32
GLEANING.
Here is a pretty hanx-st scene, which would be
readily understood by European boys and girls, but
which may need a little explanation for young
Americans. " Gleaning in the wheat-fields near
Paris." So these are little French peasant chil-
dren. But do you know what gleaning is ?
I cannot tell you how beautiful the great j'ellow
wheat-fields look in France, with the bright scarlet
poppies and blue corn-flowers along their edges,
and the tall grain waving and nodding in the wind.
It seems too bad to cut it down, and lose the sight
of so much beauty ; but it must be done, and then
the peasant women and children go into the fields
to work with the men. They follow the reapers
about, raking the wheat into piles, and tying it in
bundles or sheaves; but there arc always a good
many stalks that fall out, and are left on the ground
for the poor people to gather. That is what these
little girls arc doing, — "gleaning," they call it, — and
sometimes there will be a good many children scat-
tered about the field, each trying hard to see who
can 1,'ct tin- lar;^ist bunch, — lor they arc wry pimr.
and the more wheat they can gather, the larger the
loaf of bread the baker will give them for it.
The harvest season does not last long, and after
it is over, many of these peasant children go into
the woods with their elders to pick up sticks and
twigs for fagots, — that is, small bimdlcs of brush-
wood, that are used in France to light the fires
with. Sometimes they have to go a long way to
get a very few fagots, for the people are so poor,
and fire-wood so scarce there, that every tiny twig
is saved.
You may think gleaning is ple;isant work, but
how would you like it, if you had to go every
day when it w;is clear, and sometimes in rainy
weather, too, working all day long, and then, per-
haps, get a whipping at night, because you did
not bring home more wheat or fagots?
It is much easier and pleasanter, however, than
some of the things that these poor children have to
do ; but 1 cannot tell .ibout them now.
2>l
TOM.
By Mary Ikwett Tf.i,ford.
The road up Silver Hill was long, steep, and rut;-
gcd, and Tom decided to take a rest in the miner's
cabin at the foot before starting up. Without a
rap he tried to lift the latch; but this resisted him.
Now, to fasten a latch was an unheard-of liberty
for any miner to take with a passer-by, and Tom
indignantly marched around to the window.
The scene within nearly took away his breath !
He aftenvard told his younger brother, confiden-
tially, that "that room took all the shine off the
fixings in Killem's grocery window ! " The furni-
ture and upholstery were all of home manufacture :
but Tom had never seen a tasteful home, had never
seen anything much better than the rough, dirty
cabins his family camped in occasionally, when
they left the old covered wagon long enough for
the father to try his luck here and there, wherever
the gold-fever led him to imagine the new hole in
the ground a profitable mine.
This was so different. Easy-chairs, carpets, pict-
ures, vases of wild flowers, stands covered with
books, and a lad)-, with her hair dressed like a
queen's, setting white dishes — not tin either — on a
snow-white table-cloth ! While he gazed, a witch
of a girl popped out of a corner, and opening
the door, said, " Mrs. Griswold says do you want
to come in, sir ? "
It was a dazed boy who stalked in, returned the
lady's salutation with a grunt, ignored the invitation
to take off his hat, and stared about the room.
" Myra, set a chair for the young man. Are you
living about Silver Hill? "
"Yes."
" You have not been here long ? "
"Squatted yisterday."
"Ah! Where?" said Mrs. Griswold, who had
been among the hills long enough to understand
the rough dialect of the miners
" Up to Cotton-tail mine."
"Then we shall have some young people in the
neighborhood. I am glad of that. M\Ta is the
only young friend I have in the mountains. She
and 1 study together a while every morning. Have
you ever been at school ? "
"No."
" Should n't you like to go ? "
"Wall — yas" — doubtfully. " Dad 'lows to send
me when he makes his pile."
The boy's eyes were taking in all the details of
the simple room.
"Will you tell me your name?" said the lady.
Vol. VIII.— t.
" I 'm Tom — Tom Owens."
"Well, Tom, I am Mrs. Griswold, and glad to
be acquainted with you."
Some folks might have said this so that Tom
would fairly have hated them. Trust a boy reared
as he had been to sift out every tone of insincerity,
lie did not question why she should be glad; he
knew it was so, because she said so.
" Myra, you may gather up your books; Mr.
Griswold will be down to dinner soon. We are
miners, too, Tom. Do you mean to be a miner
when you are grown ? "
"Dad 'lows to make a President out o' me," he
answered, soberly.
" A President needs to know a great many
things," was Mrs. Griswold's quiet response.
Tom opened his eyes. He had a way of doing
that which made one feel they were shut when he
was uninterested. Myra had gone, and he had a
feeling that it would n't be at all the thing to "hang
'round" while the family were at dinner; so he
hurried out, followed by a pleasant " Good-day."
" 1 'm a fool ! " he said aloud to himself, as he
sallied up the hill. "I always knowed 1 did n't
know nothin'. "
.Some uceks later, Tom, with a clean face and
radiant with happiness, sat by Mrs. Griswold, look-
ing over a book of engravings. Mrs. Griswold had
been giving him daily lessons for some time.
" You have never told me where your father
came from," she was saying.
" Oh, mostly all over," laughed Tom. " When
he was a boy, he lived in the big woods, in Maine."
" But he was n't brought up in Maine."
"No; they flitted to Pennsylvany, and Father run
off and come to the 'Hio, and afterward to Ala-
bam', and everywhere, I reckon. We come over
the plains in a prairie schooner. It 's all the
home we 've got," ended he, in a half-whisper.
" You '11 not live there always, Tom. How are
lessons this week ? "
" I 've squared up that little book, but it 's
mighty slow business. These pictures are nice,
ma'am, but I must light out and get the caows."
.'\t last it had stopped snowing. " The oldest
inhabitant " — but Silver Hill itself was hardly more
than four years old — had never seen so many days
of steady snow-fall.
"I can't find anything of the ca — the cows,
34
Father," Tom exclaimed, flourishing his empty milk
"bucket" over Samantha's uncombed head. " I
'lowed — I mean I thought — they would have found
their way back to the corral by this time."
Half an hour later, he was on his way to Cedar
Scratch, stepping fearlessly over the deep drifts
with his long Nonvegian snow-shoes, in rabbit-fur
cap and muffler, and gray wolf-skin leggins and
mittens, sliding down Silver Hill faster than skates
could carry him on the finest ice. Mrs. Griswold
looked out of the window as his shrill whistle waked
the echoes about the cottage, and he had the satis-
faction of making her his best bow.
Cedar Scratch was only six miles off, the most shel-
tered spot about, and the cattle might have taken
refuge there in the storm. A huddle of miners'
cabins was built in the niches of the Scratch. One
of the Cornishmen there had a wife, and a veritable
baby, which, outside the Owens's household, was
the only baby in the district.
Tom's face beamed as he bent fonvard to his up-
hill work. There was a perfect understanding
between him and those snow-shoes, which, like
sleigh-runners twelve feet long, carried him safely
over pathless ravines, now drifted full. The way
wound up a long gulch, where daylight came only
in a belt from above, past the snow-laden ever-
greens that cling to its sides. A smaller gulch led
into this, toward its head, and Tom stopped and
gazed with delight at the bridge which spanned it,
— a glorious rainbow, its golden foot set into either
bank. The morning mist was just lifting, up the
gulch.
" Mrs. Griswold ought to see that ! " Tom ex-
claimed, as he started on. A long hill lay in the
way, where he had to pick his footing among
jagged rocks on end and stubs of burnt trees jut-
ting through the snow.
Right on, he climbed. Some other boy might
have held an indignation meeting against the cows
for running off, and against his father for sending
him all this lonely way after them. Being only
Tom, he did n't grumble a word. Once, the toe
of his snow-shoe became tangled in some hidden
snags, and he was tossed into a drift ; but he picked
himself out, with a laugh, and panted on.
Then, suddenly, a low rumble broke on the still,
clear air, quickly growing deeper, fuller, terrible in
its depth and fullness. Was a thunder-peal tearing
apart the sunny winter sky ? Was it an earth-
quake? Tom was no coward, but his heart stood
still as he reached the top of the hill and saw a dust
of fine snow sailing in clouds away from the ten-
anted nook of Cedar Scratch.
A snow slide !• Layer had gathered on layer
among the overhanging cliffs, until, at length, the
whole mass, a mountain of snow, came down with
* Tliis fatal avalanche occurred nca
a crash, sounding far through the stillness. Tom
stood transfixed, chilled with terror. Then the air
became clear again. Everything seemed as before.
Everything but that little home in the nook, where,
ten minutes before, light streamed in on busy
Mother and crowing baby Rudolph.
He must hasten to them ! Alas ! what could he
do? His thoughts came fast. The men were
jjrobably at work in the mine above, and he turned
to take the path that led to it.
What ! No path ?
He was certain it was just here, around this knob-
like rock. Had they then all perished together?
Help //I list come.
With new strength and courage, Tom started
homeward. He had run snow-shoe races with all
the young men of Silver Hill, and his fleetness and
skill served well now on the down journey. Baby
Rudolph's image floated before him, and he dashed
a film away from his eyes as he thought, "What if
it had been our Samantha? "
The men said, after it was all over, that Tom
must have been in league with the Fates ever to have
reached the bottom of that hill alive. Perhaps a
better power than the Fates held his feet from fall-
ing. It was such a long, steady-steep slope, that
there was no holding up after once starting, and all
his energies were given to "steering" with the
slender pole he carried. Rocks seemed to rise
straight from the ground before him, which his long
shoes must not touch. On he dashed, all eye, all
nerve, all muscle. Some invisible power was hurl-
ing rock and tree past him. The world was one
whirl. With a long breath of relief, the bottom of
the hill was reached and the easy grade doun the
gulch begun. He was very calm now, — calmed by
his own danger; and he saw all the beauties of the
uphill trip, but through such different eyes. He won-
dered that he could ever have been the careless boy
who heard the prelude of his song up the gulch
before him.
" Tom Owens ! Sakes alive ! Is the boy crazy ? "
Myra's gay-hooded face was in the path,
" Oh, Myra, run back home just as fast as you
can, and tell your father and the men that the Cor-
nish are all buried in a snow-slide. It w-as just now.
I heard it ; I 'most saw it ; and there 's no one to
help them. Run ; do ! "
In a few minutes, a band of sturdy men on snow-
shoes were organized, under the leadership of Mr.
Griswold, and started on Tom's trail. Hands more
willing ne\er grasped a shovel, warmer hearts nc\er
beat. Hour after hour passed in steady work
before they found the earth-roofs, crushed in and
every crevice filled with the cruel snow. While all
the others had gone upon a long hunt, one half-sick
man and the woman and child had exchanged this
va Gulch, Colorado,
1877.
lUc]
TOM.
35
life for the one to come, without one moment of
suspense, one note of preparation.
" Wo '!! bury them here," said Mr. Griswold,
standing on a spot of cleared earth near the cabin-
door; and tears coursed down grimy faces as he
said over the broad mound a simple prayer.
The weeks rolled on, leaving Tom something
by which to remember them. There was no loaf-
ing about the stove at Killem's, no listening to the
somewhat doubtful stories of the group at Cole's
anvil. Whatever his father had learned in his
younger days, or had picked up since, w.is now
furbished for his boy's advantage.
, " It 's wonderful how that
boy does take to larnin',"
he said to his wife ; and for
once she forgot to forebode
evil, and agreed that she
should n't be surprised to
wake up some morning and
find him a preacher, like her
brother Bill, fifteen years
before in " Injeanny." But
Tom did n't e.xpcct anything
wonderful. He studied be-
cause it seemed so good
to study. It was as though
those first thirteen years of
his life had been passed in
a dark cave. There had
been bats and cobwebs, and
a mole or two. Now he had
come into the sunlight of
a marvelous world. When
Mrs. Griswold, in her fre-
quent readings with him,
took him among the netted
sunbeams of Tennyson's
bubbling,babbling"Brook,"
or seated him by the open
fire of Whittier's " Snow-
Bound " home, she began
to realize something of the
lad's cajjabilities. She said
to her husband one day :
" I wish Tom could be
left with us when the Owens
make their next inovc. It
is shameful for that boy's
life to be fritlered away."
" I think Tom's place is
with his family," Mr. Gris-
wold answered. " What
would become of those
younger children with a
father growing more eccen-
tric, perhaps dissipated, and
a mother who would soon
outcroak the frogs — as what
mortal would n't, in her place ? She believes in
Tom. You may not know that Mr. Owens's even-
ings are all spent at home now, ' helping Tom,' as
he calls it. A year ago he was one of Killem's like-
liest customers. Yes, little wife, you buildcd better
than you knew when you waked up that stupid-
looking boy."
And so, on one of Colorado's crisp summer
36
KITTY S SHOPPING.
[NOVEMB
mornings, Tom came slowly up to the cabin, to
bid Mrs. Griswold good-bye.
But within a few minutes they had arranged par-
ticulars for a correspondence, which Mrs. Gris-
wold suggested, to Tom's delight.
"What should 1 ever have been without you,
Mrs. Grisu-old ? " he said, in his earnest way.
"An honest, straight-forvvard lad, who set his
burdens off on no other shoulders," she answered.
" 1 should have known about as much as Father's
near mule. I don't know anything now," he added,
quickly, "but oh, how 1 want to!" A pair of
great blue eyes saw untold visions beyond the
rough hills on which they rested.
" 1 had a long talk with your father yesterday
about your future. He thinks he will stop near a
school, next time. He is both fond and proud of
you, Tom, and it wont hurt you a bit to know it."
" I hope, ma'am, 1 '11 deserve it. There they
come. I must help past the forks of the road.
Good-bye ! " He took her hand reverently, then
bounded out toward the approaching cavalcade.
Half a dozen bewildered cows led off, their
calves frisking beside them. Tom's bare-headed
brothers kept them as near the fenceless track as
possible. Mr. Owens drove, walking beside the
wagon, whose cover was partly thrown back, reveal-
ing household goods and Samantha loaded pro-
miscuously. A crate of hens cackled at the end
of the wagon, and Mrs. Owens brought up the rear
in checked apron and green sun-bonnet. Nodding
good-bye to the lady in the cottage-door, she
remarked to the quiet man who managed the
mules, " 1 'm mighty sorry for Mis' Griswold — •
she '11 miss our Tom so. She thought a power of
our Tom, Mis' Griswold did ! "
KITTY'S SH(M'PIXG.— A TRUE STORY.
By Mary Gay Humphreys.
Whkn Kitty was only four years old, she used
to go sliopping for her mother.
The grocery was at the corner, not far aua\-,
and Kitty's mother would stand in the door-way.
and watch her little girl until she reached the
store. The grocerj'-man liked to have Kitty
come, but he was a great tease. If Kitty
asked for sugar, he would try to persuade
her she wanted starch ; and, if she wanted
starch, he would insist it must be soap. But
little Kitty would shake her head and stand
by the "sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar,"
which she had been saying to herself ever since
she left home, or to the " starch, starch,
starch," until, finally, Mr. Jones would give
her what she wanted. Then he would stand
in his door-way and look after her; for he
really liked the little girl.
One morning her mother said, " Now, Kitt)-,
I want you to go to Mr. Jones's and tell him to
give you a nice little spring chicken, dressed."
So Kitty tied on her new bonnet and started
off, saying to herself, " Sp'ing chicky d'essed,
sp'ing chicky d'essed."
"What does my httle girl want this morn-
ing? " said Mr. Jones, as she came in.
"My mamma say she want sp'ing chicky
d'essed."
" Oh, a spring chicken dressed. Well, now,
Kitty, is n't this a fine one ?"
Here Mr. Jones winked at some big people in
the grocery. You have seen big people wink
wlicn talking to little children, just as Mr. Jones
did, and have thought it very queer manners.
i8S&]
KITTY S SHOPPING.
37
However, little Kitty did n't see Mr. Jones wink ;
and, when he took down a great turkey and
showed her. she only said: "No, no; my mamma
want a sp'ing chicky d'essed."
" Now, Kitty, don't you call this a spring chick-
en ? What a tino fellow he is ! "
" Oh, but he 's und'essed. My mamma want a
sp'ing chicky d'essed."
Then Mr. Jones laughed, and all the other
people laughed.
" All right, Kitty, I '11 dress him. See ! "
Then Mr. Jones took brown paper, and pinned
the turkey up so that only his legs and long neck
stuck out.
"Now, have n't I dressed him nicely?"
Kitty looked at the turkey doubtfully; but,
remembering that sometimes big people know best,
she agreed that he was dressed vcr\- nicely. Mr.
Jones then put the turkey in her arms, and brought
her hands together around him, the tips of her
fingers scarcely meeting, while the neck was
clinched under her chin. It was all Kitty could
do to carry it; but she was a plucky little girl,
and started bravely up the street
Of course, the first thing the brown paper did was
to tear ; then the turkey kept slipping down, down ;
and the tighter Kitty tried to hold it with her tired
little arms, the more it slipped. Finally, it rolled
to the pavement and shed all its brown paper.
Kitty looked for a moment, and then tried to lift
it ; but it w.is too heavy. Suddenly, a bright
thought came into her head. She took up the
turkey's legs, and started again, pulling it after
her on the pavement.
Kitty was delighted with her success, for only
think, when she became tired of pulling, she sat
down on the turkey and rested ! And, in this
way, she got him home ; but poor turkey ! he was
almost worn-out !
" Mamma," cried Kitty, panting, as she gave
the turkey a final pull through the door-way,
" there 's your sp'ing chicky, but I lost his d'ess."
Funny Mamma I She sank down on a chair, —
yes, " sank " is the word, — put her hands up to
her face, and shook until the tears rolled down
her cheeks. Was she really crying, or laughing,
or what ? Kitty did n't know.
38
iUGABOO BILL, THE GIANT.
BUGABOO BILL, THE GIANT.
By Palmer Cox.
There was an old giant named Bugaboo Bill
Resided in England, on top of a hill.
A daring marauder, as strong as a moose.
Who lived on the best that the land could produce.
He 'd sit by his castle and gaze on the plain,
While farmers were reaping and thrashing their
grain.
And say, as he noticed the ripened crop fall,
'T will soon be the season to give them a call."
And when came the hour to le\y his tax, —
\\ hen corn was m cribs, and the barley m sacks,
When the fruit was all gathered, and ready for
sale
\\ ere poultr> ind cattle — then down, without
fail,
\\ ould come uninvited, old Bugaboo Bill,
And carr> a load to his home on the hill
The farmers had often declircd thty would
stand
And guard their possessionb with weapon in
hand
In bands they would muster with mattocks and
hoes.
With sickles and pitchforks, his march to op
pose
,-^i^^^Je^^:^'*"? yi^'%^.%^V^S^^;:.j5^-.
iSSo.]
BUGABOO BILL, THE GIANT.
39
But when the great giant came down in his might,
A clul) in his hand neither hmber nor hght,
They 'd fling away weapons and scatter like deer,
To hide behind, walls, or in woods disappear,
And leave him to carr)' off barley and rye.
Or pick out the fattest old pig in the sty.
Thus things went on yearly, whate'cr they might do,
From bad to far worse, as still bolder he grew ;
For none could be found who had courage or skill
Sufficient to cope with the rogue on the hill.
At length one remarked, who had studied his race :
'No giant so strong but he has a weak place —
He '11 have some short-coming though ever so tall.
You 've tried many plans, but have failed in them all-
His club is too large and your courage too small.
40
liLGABOO BILL, THE GIANT.
Now try a new method — invite him to dine :
IJring forth tempting dishes and flagons of wine,
And let skilled musicians perform soothing airs
To smooth down his temper and banish his cares ;
And when he grows drowsy, as surely he will,
We '11 easily manage this Bugaboo Bill."
The plan was adopted ; when next he came down
To take his supplies from the best in the town.
They brought him fat bacon, roast turkey and quail,
With flagons of sherry and beakers of ale ;
Good beef in abundance, and fruit that was sweet ;
In short, every dish that could tempt him to eat.
Well pleased was the giant to sec them so kind,
So frank and forbearing, to pardon inclined ;
He helped himself freely to all that was nice —
To poultry, to pastry, and puddings of rice,
To wines that were potent to ste.il unaware
From limbs that were large all the strength that was there.
BUGABOO BILL, THE GIANT
41
While 'round him musicians were ranged in a ring,
Some turning a crank, and some scraping a string.
A poet read sonnets composed for the day,
A singer sang ballads, heroic and gay,
Until all the air was replete with a sound
That softened the feelings and enmity drowned.
The task was not easy : for half a day long
They treated the giant to music and song ;
The piper played all the sweet airs that he knew.
The tiddler seemed sawing his fiddle in two ;
The organist worked as though turning a mill.
But still wide awake remained Bugaboo Bill.
Al last he grew drowsy, confused was his mind
With feasting and drinking and music combined.
And when he had sunk in a stupid repose,
A monster balloon was brought out by his foes.
Said one, as the ropes to the giant they tied :
' We gave him a feast, now we '11 give him a ride ;
For though b)» good rights the old robber should die.
His life we '11 not injure, but off let him fly ;
The wind 's blowing south by sou'-east, as you see,
So over the channel soon wafted he '11 be ;
He 'U make a quick passage, and, if I guess right.
Will take his first lesson in French before night."
Then up he was hoisted by winds that were strong.
By gas that was buoyant, and ropes that were long;
And south by sou'-east, like a sea-bird he flew,
Across the broad channel, and passed from their view.
But whether he landed in France or in Spain,
In Turkey or Russia, or dropped in the main,
They never discovered, and little they cared
In what place he alighted, or just how he fared.
But though his old castle long stood on the hill,
They had no more visits from Bugaboo Bill.
42
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
(A Stofy of an S. S.
CHARACTERS IN THE STORY.
Mr. Robert Haird.
Mrs. Juliet Baird,
Fred Raird, aged fifteen years.
Alexander (called Sandy) Baird, aged thirteen years.
Isabelle Baird. aged seventeen years.
Kitty Baird, aged twelve, cousin of Robert, and of his childn
Special friend of Sandy.
Donald Stuart, aged seventeen, friend of Fred.
Elizabeth Patterson, aged fifty-one, the family friend.
Scene : First at Cedar Run, a pleasant village : then at Greys
T
HE BAND
OF LOVAI. BROTHERS.
The Chief.
Captain Kidd.
Don Quixote.
Lord Leicester.
Robin Hood.
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Robinson Crusoe
Pocahontas.
Rob Roy.
THE CAPTURED 1NVADER5.
A Quakeress.
Duke of Wellington.
Blue-beard.
Mary, Queen of Scots
King Arthur.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
I large
Chapter I.
INTRODUCING THE BAIRD FAMILY.
" Once upon a time," said Isabelle Baird, sitting
by the window mending the ruffles of a white
dress, "there was a man who became rich and
famous "
" That was pleasant," ejaculated her brother
Sandy ; " and how did he do it ? "
Sandy was sitting in one of the low windows,
opening on to the porch, and was busy with a fish-
ing-line.
•'He did nothing," replied BcUc ; " but he be-
came, as I said, rich and famous."
" Had money left to him, I suppose?" Sandy said.
" I don't know any easier way of getting rich ; the
being famous follows as a matter of course."
" He had n't any money left to him," Belle said:
" he came to good fortune by a new way."
" .\nd what was that ? "
"This question," and Belle elevated her voice,
" was often asked by his fellow-citizens, especially
after he was made mayor, and moved into his new
house. So one day in July, at seventeen minutes
past five," looking at the clock, ' ' a deputation waited
upon his mother to ask how it happened. He had
done nothing, and he was a mayor and rich ; they
also had done nothing, but they were not mayors,
and they were poor."
" Excellently put," said Sandy; " and what did
his mother say? "
" She said she did n't know."
"Then they waited for her to tell them all about
it?"
"They did," replied Belle, nodding her head;
"and she said that when he was a boy and mended
his fishing-lines, he never left bits of twine on the
dining-room carpet for his sister to pick up."
" Good child," said Sandy, without a blush.
" Is that the road to riches?"
The third inmate of the room was Fred, who was
older than Sandy but younger than Belle, and who
apparently was absorbed in " Ivanhoe," but who
said, in the same stilted tone in which Belle was
speaking :
" His mother then explained that he was a
remarkable baby, and they answered, so were they.
Each one had heard his mother say so."
" Driven to confession at last," resumed Belle,
" Mother Benedicto, for that was her name, re-
vealed the secret. A fairy had blessed him in his
infancy. She had taken from him the power of say-
ing ' I wish' and ''if.' When he would have sighed
' 1 wish,' he roared, ' I will ' ; and when he meant
' If I could,' he said, ' Certainly, at once.' These
brave expressions made every one think him a
person of gi'eat determination, and after a time they
believed he did everj'thing he talked of doing. So
he became a leader. He did n't like to lead, but
he could n't help it. When he was asked, he said,
'Certainly, at once,' and so had to keep his word.
Leaders can become rich. That is the story."
"False pretenses," said Sandy. "Now, I am
poor, but I am honest. You don't catch me saying
one thing and meaning another."
" True for you, my son," said Fred; " you call
spades, spades."
" I try to," said Sandy, trying to look modest;
"but it is easy to see what Belle means. Papa says
we must go to the sea-shore. I say, ' I wish ' we
could do something different. I suppose Belle
thinks I ought to say ' I ivill' do something
different."
"No, I don't," Belle replied; " there would be
no use in your saying only that, but you wish and
wisli. Why don't you think of something differ-
ent, and propose it? That 's what I mean."
M— i"^MW«™
i88a]
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
43
Sandv whistled. Then he jumped up and said
to Fred, whose feet were across the door-way,
" Let me by you, Fred."
" That depends on what you pay for me," said
Fred.
Sandy looked at his brother, stepped over his
legs, and remarked that he did n't think much
of jokes that depended on bad spelling.
"Spelling?" said Fred. "I spelled nothing."
" If you did n't, how could you make dtiy out of
iy ? "
"How could I tell which you meant?"
Fred replied. "Your English, .Mexander, needs
attention."
" I am glad you mentioned th.it," said Sandy,
" for it reminds me of something I meant to do,"
and he at once left the room.
'■ If any one were to buy you, Fred, " began
Belle, but her father, who entered at that moment,
exclaimed :
" Buy Fred ! .And why ? "
" For the sake of my English," said Fred.
" You mistake," said his father; " it is in regard
to the Englisli of others that you are strong, but
in your own, you are — shaky."
" If Fred's criticisms were like boomerangs and
came back to him," said Belle, relentlessly, "he
would n't say the weather was 'elegant' and the
sea-shore ' nice.'"
"That is the very thing," Fred answered, hotly.
" We don't notice these things at home, but when
old Bagsby says, ' Don't mix your plural verbs and
singular nouns, Baird,' and then remarks to that
snob Cadwallader, ' A boy's home education is
detected in his conversation,' I tell you one feels
cheap."
" \Ve must look to this, children," and Mr.
Baird sat down. " It wont — will not, I mean — do
to allow Fred to feel that his home influences are
against his education."
" Education ! " repeated Sandy, coming in, carry-
ing a soap-box, a hammer, and some nails; " I am
just going to attend to mine," and he took out of
the closet his school-books, his slate, and a box
of drawing materials, and packed them all
neatly in the box. He then nailed the lid on,
sharpened down a match, and, dipping that in
ink, inscribed on the box this legend :
" Sacred to the
MEMORY
Mv School Davs.
ALEXA.NDER Baird.
Reql'iescat in pace ! "
" There, now ! " he exclaimed, his head on one
side, as he looked complacently at his work ; " that
is done ! Now, until school opens, I am a wild
Indian ! " and with a whoop he dashed on the
lawn, followed in hot haste by his little dog Dan.
" I don't know anything that would be so per-
fectly charming as being a wild Indian ! How
1 would like to get up in the morning and have no
plans, and go to bed and never think of duties,
and all that," and here lielle gently sighed, and
looked at her ruffles.
" Life /> hard on you," said her father, " what
with croquet and white dresses "
" And back-hair," suggested Fred.
"Is it Belle's hair again?" asked Mrs. Baird,
who had just come in.
"It is always my hair," replied Belle; "every
day it is my hair. It is the bane of my existence ! "
" It is not the blessing of mine," replied her
mother. "One day it is curls, the next, plaits.
Last week it hung down your back, and this week
it is piled on top of your head."
"This week!" exclaimed Belle. "Mamma, the
puffs you made yesterday were as rough as our
old horse-hair sofa before I got home ! Now, if I
were a wild Indian, I would never wear puffs."
"The worst of it is," her father remarked,
"that this struggle will last you all your life. You
will never be free from the responsibility of your
hair. If you lose it, you will have to buy more."
" I will go to the woods," cried Belle — " I will ! "
" And I would go along," said I" red, putting his
book down on the floor by his side. " I don't mind
duties and back-hair, but I would like to camp out.
Phil Henderson went to Maine last summer with
his uncle, and they had splendid times. They shot
deer and fished, and the Indians stole nothing but
sugar. It was perfectly splendid ! "
"A boy's home education " began Mr.
Baird.
" Of course I did n't mean that it was splendid
because the Indians stole so little, but — oh, you
know what I mean ! "
" I would n't mind the Indians," said Belle, " if
we only could camp out. Why can't we. Papa? "
" I cannot afford it."
" Not afford it ? Why, it is the cheapest thing in
the world ! " cried Fred. "All wc would want would
be a tent and frying-pan."
His father looked at him with serene gravity.
" Very well," he said ; " suppose we count it up."
Fred, with great alacrity, at once produced from
his pocket his pencil and an old letter.
" In the first place, wc need tents. How many?"
" Two," said Belle ; " one big one for Papa and
you boys, and one for Mamma and me. Will
Patty go along ? "
"No one but Patty can answer that question,"
her mother replied ; " but for the sake of fish and
venison cooking, I hope she will."
44
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[November,
"Three tents, Fred," said Mr. Baird; "but I
have n't the slightest idea how much they cost."
" Phil gave five dollars for his, but it is too little.
Suppose I say ten dollars apiece ? "
So Fred put down :
Tents $3o-o°
" We wiU want rubber blankets and boots."
" For what ? " asked Sandy, re-appearing.
"Nonsense!" said Sandy. "Papa, what is it
all about ? "
" We are making an estimate so as to see if we
can afford to camp out."
"Of course we can," said Sandy, decidedly.
" We could camp out all summer for what a
month at the sea-shore would cost."
"We wont need any new clothes," said Belle.
" And that will save ever so much. And there 's
BIDS GOOD-F
" For our camp," Belle said, in the most matter-
of-fact tones.
"Are we going to camp out?" cried Sandy,
looking at his father. "When? Who is going?"
" Listen," said Belle, picking up Fred's book,
dropping her work, and beginning, apparently, to
read: "The Baird family, consisting of Robert
Baird, his wife, Juliet, and his three children, Isa-
bellc, Frederick, and Alexander, respectively aged
seventeen, fifteen, _and thirteen, accompanied by
their faithful adherent, Elizabeth Patterson, called
Patty for short, sailed one pleasant morning in
the good ship ' I expect to,' under command of
Captain Benedicto, for the port "
the food ! We wont buy meat, for we will shoot
deer and catch fish," said Fred.
"Certainly," replied his father; "but we must
have blankets, a stove, and cooking utensils, and
I suppose you would submit to some canned
goods in case of a scarcity of venison and
trout."
"A very few," said Fred; "the women folks
might like them."
" And the guides," said Sandy.
" One will be enough," said Mr. Baird. "How
much shall we set down for him ? "
" Two dollars a day," promptly replied Fred.
" That 's what Phil paid."
i88a]
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
45
" Put down twenty-eight dollars for a guide.
We can stay but two weeks, anyway."
So Fred added that item.
" The fare comes next."
" Where shall we go ?" asked Sandy.
■' To Maine," said Fred.
" Say fifteen for each. That wont include trans-
portation from the station to the wood ; and put
down a contingency fund to cover traveling ex-
penses, rubber blankets, stove, canned goods, and
other items not calculated in."
Fred bit the end of his pencil, gazed on his esti-
mate, and then very slowly said, " 1 think we had
better — walk ! "
Sandy looked over his shoulder. The c.dculation
stood thus :
Tcnis $ 3000
Sundries 135.00
Guide 28.00
Fares 90.00
$273.00
"That 's a stunner! " said Sandy.
"Yes," said Fred. "And it seems more
because it is the total for all the family. Gen-
erally each person bears his own expenses. Then
it would n't he heavy."
'• L'nfortunatcly," replied his father, "it is not
so divided. One person in this case bears the
whole expense. I make this remark modestly,
but with feeling."
" .Shave it down, Fred," said Sandy, cheerfully :
" bring it within limits."
" You had better go back to your original
wild-Indian idea," said Mrs. Baird. " The more
civilization you insist upon, the greater your
expenses."
" True ! " cried Fred. " Let 's strike off the
canned things."
" And the guide," said Belle.
" We cannot go to the Maine w^oods without a
guide," her father replied.
" Don't go to Maine," said Sandy. " There are
lots of good places nearer."
" 1 don't know," said Fred, reflectively. " Phil
has so much fun there. Let us count again. The
tents we must keep. Even an Indian has his wig-
wam.
"Tents $30.00"
■' No, no," cried Belle, jumping up. " I have
it ! I have it ! "
Chapter II.
BELLE SETTLF_S THE QUESTION.
■• Where?" exclaimed the family, in chorus.
"Not the tent," answered Belle, "but the idea.
the place, the house, the wig\vam !
" ll'c- wi// go to Greystone ' "
No one spoke. This was an inspiration.
"The very place !" said Sandy. "A house, a
river, woods, solitude ! "
" Gunning and fishing," added Belle.
" But it is not furnished," .said Mrs. Baird, "and
we will slay so short a time that it would not be
worth while to move anything. And it must be a
very dirty house."
" It is not a house. Mamma," explained Belle,
growing warm as the idea took shape in her mind.
" You must regard it as a wigwam. Then you
will see how easy the furnishing will be."
" Greystone has one advantage," said Fred, who
still clung to Maine and his pencil and paper, — " it
only costs twenty-five cents to get there. That
makes a great difference."
"And no guide need apply," added Sandy.
" No rubber blankets," said Belle.
"You will have neighbors," said Mrs. Baird;
"still 1 do not believe they will trouble you, unless
from curiosity."
" We can be lonely enough, if that is any ob-
ject," said her husband.
" Yet 1 don't know," resumed Mrs. Baird, doubt-
fully ; " we must have chairs and tables and beds."
"Not in a wigwam," persisted Belle; "we can
have hay beds."
" Belle is right," her father said. " If we decide
to camp out, and select Greystone as the place, we
must not think at all of it as a house."
"Certainly," said Fred. "Now let me tell you.
There are floors and a roof "
" I am not so sure of that," said his father ; " but
we will suppose so for the sake of argument."
Fred resumed :
" We suppose, then, that we are going to a tent.
We will need beds. Good. We can get hay of a
farmer. We can also get milk of him."
" And eggs and butter," added Belle.
"We will need blankets, dishes, and a coffee-
pot. We will take these along."
" Fred," cried .Sandy, " I am proud of you ! "
Mrs. Baird looked at her husband. He smiled,
and Belle, all in a rapture, jumped up and hugged
him around the neck. At that moment, Patty en-
tered. She had the newly ironed collars in a flat
glass dish, for, as she never used the right thing if
any other was handy, she of course ignored the
collar-basket.
"What is all this about?" she asked, standing
still.
Belle stood up, resting her hands on her father's
shoulders.
"Patty," she said, "we are going to camp out.
Don't you want to go along ? "
" Where are you going? " she .isked.
46
M V S T E R V 1 N A MANSION.
[November,
" To Greystone," replied Sandy.
" To Grcystonc ? " she repeated. "Your uncle
wont let you ! "
And then she went u])stairs with the collars.
The family looked one at the other. The chances
were that he would not.
He might be glad to hear of the scheme, for it
pleased him to know of any wild scheme in which
his nephew's family was interested. He always
said they would go to ruin ; and, although he was
a clergyman, he still liked to be a true prophet.
Perhaps he hoped they would some day take his
advice and live like other people, but as yet he cer-
tainly thought they managed affairs loosely. His
little daughter, Kitty, did not agree with him. She
thought her cousin Robert's family charming, and
all their ways delightful.
" He wont let Kitty go," said Sandy.
Belle mournfully shook her head.
" Don't give up so readily, my dear," said Mrs.
Baird, in her usual cheery tones. " You have not
asked him yet."
"Yes," said Belle, "there's anotlier trouble.
Who will ask him ? "
It was Sandy who flung himself into the breach.
He was very careful to say he did not prefer to do
so, but he was quite sure neither Belle nor Fred
could have any influence over their uncle ; it must
not be done by either his father or mother, for fear
they would be too readily rebuffed.
As no one else coveted the task, they yielded at
once to Sandy's good reasons, but advising him not
to tell Kitty about the plan, for fear she would pre-
cipitate matters ; and so, the ne.xt morning, soon
after breakf;ist, Sandy set off. Belle encouraged
him by an old shoe, which hit him between the
shoulders and made him jump ; but he made no
complaint, and went on his embassy, dressed in a
clean linen suit, and wearing his best hat.
When he returned, some time after, slowly shut-
ting the gate after him, and having a very dejected
appearance, Belle at once declared that their uncle
had consented, but her mother was not so sure.
"Where is Papa?" then asked Sandy, languidly
dropping into an easy chair, his hat still on his
head.
"Gone to the library," said Belle. " .My good-
ness, don't be so absurd ! You look as if you had
been a mile, instead of across the two lawns to
Uncle Peyton's."
" Where 's Fred? " said Sandy.
"Gone with Papa."
" Only you two at home ? Well, it makes no
difference. The bolt must fall ! " and he pushed
his hat back, and wiped his forehead with Fred's
best silk handkerchief.
" You '11 catch it if Fred sees that," said Belle,
" What have you done to get so wann ? .'\nd now,
Sandy, you have on Fred's new shoes! \'ou had
better hurry them off, 1 assure you,"
" The shoes ought to be blacked," observed
Sandy, looking thoughtfully first at one foot, and
then at the otlier. " Fred worked them up to an
excellent brightness last night. I wonder if he
would mind doing it again ? I am afraid 1 could n't
satisfy him."
" You had better try," replied Belle. " I don't
know why Fred puts up with you. But did you get
the house ? "
Sandy felt in his pockets, and then answered,
after also looking up his sleeves, that he had n't it
about him.
" Don't be such a goose," said Belle, " Did Uncle
Peyton say we could go ? "
" 1 did n't ask him," said Sandy,
" That is just like one of you boys ! " Belle ex-
claimed, in despair, " You say you will do a thing,
e\erybody expects you to do it, and then you don't,
I wish / had gone. I would n't come home with-
out doing my errand."
"Did you see your uncle?" interposed their
mother.
" Yes, ma'am."
" Then why did n't you ask him ? "
" I did n't know I was expected to do that. 1 am
only a boy, you know ; and I thought Papa and you
decided we could go, I only asked if we could have
Greystone,"
" I do think, .Alexander Baird, " began Belle,
but at that moment, with yellow hair flying, hat in
hand, with cheeks flushed, and her brown eyes full
of mischief, in dashed a girl of about twelve years
of age,
" You will tell me. Cousin Jule, wont you ? " she
exclaimed, " I know you will ! Papa says there is
no use in my knowing, and Sandy ga\e me the
slip, and cut through the church-yard. You must
have run all the way," turning to Sandy, " for I
tore down the garden and jumped the fence.
Mamma saw me, too, but she wont tell Papa,
Mamma is n't mean. So wont you tell me. Cousin
Jule? I know it must be fun, and you are going
away to some place, and Papa says it is the most
absurd thing he ever heard of, and he thinks Cousin
Robert is crazy at last, and "
"Did he say we could go, Kitty?" asked Belle,
thinking that here was a short cut to knowledge,
"I don't know," said Kitty, "Where is it?
Who is going? All of you? Can 1 go along?
Do say yes, Cousin Jule, and all my dresses are
clean,"
" But yoiu" papa said there was no use in jour
knowing," impolitely remarked Sandy,
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
47
"Do say 1 may go, Cousin Jule, " repeated Kitty.
" If your father is willing, \vc shall be glad to
have you, Kitty."
'• 1 '11 ask him," and off darted Kitty, willing to
take the ple;isure of the expedition on faith, if only
she coukl be allowed to go.
Then his mother turned to Sandy :
" What did your uncle say ? " she asked.
" Now that. Mamma," he replied, " is a direct
and proper question, and I will at once answer it.
He said — well, in the first place, he was busy sort-
ing papers, sermons, and such things, and so, of
course, would have been glad not to have been in-
terrupted, but of course I did n't know that, so I
walked in, and after I sat down I said I had often
tliought of being a minister."
" Sandy, you did not ! " exclaimed his mother.
"Yes, I did," said Sandy, with gravity and inno-
cence, "for 1 often have, especially on Sunday in
church, but of course I have always decided against
it. I could n't take the responsibility of a parish,
and I am too serious for any profession. It would
not do to increase my sense of "
" Don't be so very simple, Sandy," interrupted
Belle. " What did Uncle Peyton say.' "
"He said he was glad I ever thought seriously
of anything, and I told him I had come upon a very
serious errand, and I hoped my youth would be no
objection."
" Oh, Sandy ! " groaned Belle; " I don't wonder
he refused."
" He was interested, anyhow, and he sat down
and put his glasses in their case, and told me to go
on. He thought, I am sure, that Fred had been
turned out of college."
At this. Belle contemptuously curled her lip.
" He always said he would be, ever since Papa
consented that Fred should join the boat-club, so
the very idea put him in a good humor. Then I
asked him, — for you see, Mamma, I thought I had
better be a little diplomatic, — whether they were
going away this summer, and he said they were —
to the Catskills. This brought me nicely to the
subject of camping out, and I think I might have
persuaded him to try it if he had not taken out
his spectacles again and turned to his papers.
So then I at once dropped the general advantages
of camping, and gently unfolded the Greystone
scheme."
"And what did he say? 1 declare, Sandy, I
would like to shake you," said Belle, impatiently.
" I wish I had not run from Kitty," responded
Sandy. " I might just as well have allowed her
to get here first. The weather is too hot for
active exertion. What did he say ? He said much,
very much. At first he just looked at me, and
began to tie up some note-books. Then he said it
was absurd, reckless, unnecessary ; we would all
have the rheumatism, and my father was certainly
not aware of the condition of Greystone, or of the
trouble and expense it would be to put it in order.
Then 1 explained that although it is a house, we
meant to consider it as a tent, and we did n't want
it put in order. Then he began to talk about you.
Mamma, and how wrong it would be to move your
furniture into such a dusty, forlorn place, so I told
him that we did n't expect to have any furniture.
Then he looked over my head and addressed that
Norwegian pine, of which he is so proud, and he
said a good deal about a family living comfortably
in a house where they had grass, trees, and all
they needed, and how this family wanted to
go to a forlorn, dirty, damp old barracks for a
holiday ! Then he got up and began to put some
of his papers in a desk, and I suppose he thought I
would leave, but I sat still and counted the books
he has labeled as 'Ecclesiastical History.' He has
two hundred and fifteen, counting each of the
volumes, and one hundred and forty-nine, counting
only the works. After a while he said he would
see Papa, and then I explained to him, as we agreed
last evening, that it was our picnic, and Papa was
to be a guest, and not be bothered with the
arrangements. Then he turned around and looked
over his spectacles at me, — you know how Kitty
hates that, — and said we could do as we pleased.
The house was there. When I suggested that we
wanted to rent it, he asked me if I supposed he
would indorse such a plan by taking money for the
house. So we can go. Mamma, when we please."
(To be coittiniieii.)
48
THE C R O \V - C 1 1 1 I. D .
THE CROW-CHILD.
By Marv Mapes Dodge,
I iWAV between a cer-
tain blue lake and a
deep forest there once
stood a cottage, called
by its owner "The
KcuUiy."
The forest shut out the
sunlicjht and scowled upon the ground,
breaking with shadows every ray that
fell, until only a few little pieces lay
scattered about But the broad lake
in\ ited all the rays to come and rest
upon her, so that sometimes she shone
from shore to shore, and the sun
winked and blinked above her, as
though dazzled by his own reflection.
* The cottage, which was very small,
had sunn) windows and dark
windows Only from the roof
could you see the mountains be-
yond, where the light crept up
in the morning and down
^^ . in the evening, turn-
■ ' ■ '"g all the brooks in-
to living silver as it
passed.
But some-
, ( thing brighter
than sunshine
' used often to
look from the
cottage into
the forest, and
something
even more gloomy th;in shadows often glowered
from its windows u]Kin the sunny lake. One was
the face of little Ruky Lynn ; and the other was
his sister's, when she felt angry or ill-tempered.
They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone
in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora — or "Cor,"
as Ruky called her — was nearly sixteen years old,
but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only
four times. -She was, therefore, almost mother and
sister in one. The little fellow was her companion
night and day. Together they ate and slept, and
— when Cora was not at work in the cottage —
together they rambled in the wood, or floated in
their little skiff upon the lake.
Ruky had dark, bright eyes, and the glossy
blackness of his hair made his cheeks look even
rosier than they were. He had funny ways for a
boy, Cora thought. The quick, bird-like jerks of
his raven-black head, his stately baby gait, and
his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it,
often made his sister laugh. Young as he was, the
little fellow had learned to mount to the top of a
low-branching tree near the cottage, though he
could not always get down alone. Sometimes when,
perched in the thick foliage, he would scream,
"Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!" his sister
would answer, as she ran out laughing, "Yes, little
Crow ! 1 'm coming."
Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a
crow that Cora often called him her birdie. This
was when she was good-natured and willing to let
him see how much she loved him. But in her
cloudy moments, as the uncle called them, Cora
was another girl. Everything seemed ugly to her,
or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial ; and, in-
stead of giving him a kind word, she would scold
and grumble until he would steal from the cottage
door, and, jumping lightly from the door-step, seek
the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched among
its branches he knew she would finish her work,
forget her ill-humor, and be quite ready, when he
cried "Cor! Cor!" to come out laughing, "Yes,
little Crow ! I 'm coming ! I 'm coming ! "
No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick,
affectionate ways ; and it seemed that Ruky, in
turn, could not help loving every person and thing
around him. He loved his silent old uncle, the
bright lake, the cool forest, and even his little china
cup with red berries painted upon it. But more
than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sister, and
the great dog, who would plunge into the lake at
the mere pointing of his chubby little finger.
Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though
one used barks and the other words, there was a
perfect understanding between them. Woe to the
straggler that dared to cross Nep's path, and woe
to the bird or rabbit that ventured too near ! — those
great teeth snapped at their prey without even the
warning of a growl. But- Ruky could safely pull
Nep's ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy
back, or even snatch away the untasted bone.
THE CKOW-CHILD.
49
Still, as I said before, every one loved the child ;
so, of course, Nep was no exception.
One day Ruky's "Cor! Cor ! " had sounded oftener
than usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss
Cora's upturned forehead, as she raised her arms to
lift him from the tree ; but the sparkle in his dark
eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him
that his sister's patience became fairly exhausted.
" Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you,"
she cried, " and nothing to listen to but your noise
and your racket? You shall go to bed early to-
day, and then I shall have some peace."
per. This made him cry all the more, and Cora,
feeling in her angry mood that he deserved severe
punishment, threw' away his supper and put him
to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky's
low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora's needles,
as she sat knitting, with her back to him.
He could not sleep, for liis eyelids were scalded
with tears, and his plaintive " Cor, Cor ! " had
reached his sister's ears in vain. She never once
looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles,
nor even gave him his good-night kiss.
It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last
CORA AND KUKY.
" No, no. Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the
stars come. Ruky wants to see the stars."
" Hush ! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whip-
ping when Uncle comes back from town."
Nep growled.
"Ha! ha!" laughed Ruky, jerking his head
saucily from side to side ; " Nep says ' No ! ' "
Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and
poor Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk
and pull.
"You hurt. Cor!" he said, plaintively. "I 'm
going to take off my shoes my own self "
" No, you 're not," cried Cor, almost shaking
him ; and when he cried she called him naughty,
and said if he did not stop he should have no sup-
VOL. VIII. -4
Cora, sulky and weary, locked the cottage door,
blew out her candle, and lay down beside her
brother.
The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving
word, but she was too ill-natured to grant it. In
vain he whispered " Cor, — Cor ! " He even touched
her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping
she would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss,
murmur as usual, " Good-night, little birdie."
Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away,
saying ;
" Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep ! I wish
you were a crow in earnest, and then I should have
some peace."
.After this. Ruky was silent. His heart drooped
50
THE CROW-CHILU.
within him as he wondered what this "peace" " Ruky ! Ruky ! " she screamed.
was that his sister wished for so often, and why There was a sUght stir in the low-growing tree.
he must go away before it could come to her. " Ruky, darUng, come back ! "
Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, " Caw, caw 1 " answered a harsh voice from the
heard a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw
by the starlight a dark object wheel once or twice
in the air above her, then dart suddenly through the
open window.
Astonished that Ruky had not either shouted with
delight at the strange visitor, or else clung to her
neck in fear, she turned to see if he had fallen
asleep.
No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,
— -Ruky was not there !
His empty place was still warm — perhaps he had
slid softly from the bed. With trembhng haste
she lighted the candle, and peered in every corner.
The boy was not to be found !
Then those fearful words rang in her ears :
" / wisli you 'ivcrc a crow in earnest ' "
Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining
gaze, looked out into the still night.
tree. .Something black seemed to spin out of it,
and then, in great, sweeping circles, sailed upward,
until finally it settled upon one of the loftiest trees
in the forest.
" Caw, caw ! " it screamed, fiercely.
The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms,
cried out :
'■ O Ruky, if it is you, cnmc back to poor
Cor ! "
" Caw, caw ! " mocked hundreds of voices, as a
shadow like a thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was
an immense flock of crows. She could distinguish
them plainly in the starlight, circling higher and
higher, then lower and lower, until, screaming
"Caw, caw ! " they sailed far off into the night.
" Answer me, Ruky ! " she cried.
Nep growled, the forest trees whispered sofUy
together, and the lake, twinkling with stars, sang a
I
THE CROW- CHILD.
51
lullaby as it lifted its weary little waves upon the
shore : there was no other sound.
It seemed that daylight never would come ; but
at last the trees turned slowly from black to green,
and the lake put out its stars, one by one, and
waited for the sunshine.
Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in ever)-
direction, now went weeping into the cottage. "'Poor
boy ! " she sobbed ; '"he had no supper." Then she
scattered bread-crumbs near the door-way, hoping
that Ruky would come, for them; but only a few
timid little songsters hovered about, and, while
Cora wept, picked up the food daintily, as though
it burned their bills. When she reached forth her
hand, though there were no crows among them.
for its contents, with many an angry cry. One of
them made no effort to seize the grain. He
seemed contented to peck at the berries painted
upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it
again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the
tip of his tail twitched with an eager, wistful mo-
tion. But Cora sprang joyfully toward the bird.
" It is Ruky ! " she cried, striving to catch it.
Alas ! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand,
as, with a taunting " caw, caw," the crow joined
its fellows and flew away.
Next, gunners came. They were looking for
other game ; but they hated the crows, Cora knew,
and she trembled night and day. She could hear
the sharp crack of fowling-pieces in the foiest, and
and called " Ruky ! " they were frightened away in shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up his ears,
an instant. darted with an angry howl in the direction of the
Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set
bringing out an apronful of grain, scattered it all traps for the crows, and it seemed to her that
around his favorite tree. Before long, to
her great joy, a flock of crows came b)'.
They spied the grain, and soon were busily
picking it up, with their short, feathered
bills. One even came near the mound
where she sat. Unable to restrain herself
longer, she fell upon her knees, with an
imploring cry :
" Oh, Ruky ! Is this you ? "
Instantly the entire flock set up an angr\
"caw," and surrounding the crow who was
hopping closer and closer to Cora, hurried
him off, until they all looked like mere
specks against the summer sky.
Ever)' day, rain or shine, she scattered
the grain, trembling with dread lest Nep
should leap among the hungry crows, and
perhaps kill her own birdie first. But Nep
knew better ; he never stirred when the
noisy crowd settled around the cottage,
excepting once, when one of them settled
upon his back. Then he started up, wag-
ging his tail, and barked with uproarious
delight. The crow flew off with a fright-
ened " caw," and did not venture near
him again.
Poor Cora felt sure that this could be
no other than Ruky. Oh, if she only could
have caught him then ! Perhaps with
kisses and pra)ers she might have won
him back to Ruky's shape ; but now the
chance was lost.
There were none to help her ; for the
nearest neighbor dwelt miles away, and
her uncle had not yet returned.
After a while she remembered the little cup, and
filling it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound
When the crows came, they fought and struggled
tlie whole world was against the poor birds, plot-
ting their destruction.
Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into
52
llN'SKl. WITHOUT, HUT MKTAI. \V 11' 11 IN.
bright colors and fall off almost in a day. Frost
and snow came. Still the uncle had not returned,
or, if he had, she did not know it. Her brain was
bewildered. She knew not whether she ate or
slept. Only the terrible firing reached her ears,
or that living black cloud came and went with its
ceaseless " caw."
At last, during a terrible night of wind and
storm, Cora felt that she must go forth and seek
her poor bird.
"Perhaps he is freezing — dying!" she cried,
springing frantically from the bed, and casting her
long cloak over her night-dress.
In a moment, she was trudging barefooted
through the snow. It was so deep she could
hardly walk, and the sleet was driving into her
face ; still she kept on, though her numbed feet
seemed scarcely to belong to her. All the way she
was praying in her heart, and promising never,
never to be passionate again, if she only could
find her birdie — not Ruky, the boy, but whatever
he might be — she was willing to accept her pun-
ishment. Soon a faint cry reached her ear. With
eager haste, she peered into every fold of the
drifted snow. A black object caught her eye. It
was a poor storm-beaten crow, lying there be-
numbed and stiff.
For Ruky's sake, she folded it closely to her
bosom, and plodded back to- the cottage. The
fire cast a rosy light on its glossy wing as she
entered, but the poor thing did not stir. Softly
stroking and warming it, she wrapped the frozen
bird in soft flannel and breathed into its open
mouth. Soon, to her great relief, it revived, and
even swallowed a few grains of wheat.
Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed,
still folding the bird to her heart. " It may be
Ruky ! It is all I ask," she sobbed. " I dare not
[)ray for more."
Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow
seemed to grow larger. Then, in the dim light,
she felt its feathers pressing lightly against her
cheek. Next, something soft and warm wound
itself tenderly about her neck ; and she heard a
sweet voice saying :
" Don't cry, Cor, — I '11 be good."
She started up. It was, indeed, her own dar-
ling ! The starlight shone into the room. Light-
ing her candle, she looked at the clock. It was
just two hours since she had uttered those cruel
words. Sobbing, she asked :
" Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear ? "
" I don't know, Cor. Do people cry when
they 're asleep ? "
" Sometimes, Ruky," clasping him very close.
"Then you have been asleep. But, Cor, please
don't let Uncle whip Ruky."
" No, no, my birdie — I mean, my brother.
Good-night, darling !"
" Good-night."
tinsel without. but
mi-:tal within.
By r. L. B.
I 'M only my lady's page —
And just for the night of the ball —
To prance on a parlor stage,
.And run at her beck and call.
1 'm only my lady's page.
But mark me, my fellows, all.
You '11 be civiler men, I '11 engage,
When 1 pommel you — after the ball !
t88o.l
FINE, OR SUPERFINE.''
53
FINK, OR SUPERFINE?
Bv Sakah WiNri.K Ki i.i.ocd.
I s^3S^i-"-ai^.l| N the company, that night, there
' * ^t_^ !->/ were four boys and four girls,
and they were Gay's most partic-
uh\r friends. He would have
liked to invite three other young
people, but eight made a conven-
ient number — just enough for a
quadrille, with Gay's lady-sister
at the piano ; the right number, too, for com-
fortable seating at tlic table, though a larger
number were seatablc by putting in the last leaf;
but then the best table-cloth — the very best — the
snow-drop damask, would not reach by three
inches. Of course, this defect might be managed
by piecing with a fine towel, and setting the tea-
tray over the piecing. But it was better to have
things come out even and comfortable.
After the party had enjoyed the tea, and had
looked at the albums, autographic and photo-
graphic, at the stereoscopic pictures, and at Gay's
collection of coins and of postage-stamps, and at his
lady-sister's collection of sea-weeds, some inspired
boy proposed games.
Everybody said : " Oh ! Yes ! Let 's ! " and
each proposed a separate game.
'■ Simon says wig-wag " was selected.
The lady-sister volunteered her services as
prompter.
There was great merriment. The frequent lapses
among the players created a stream of forfeits. In
fifteen minutes, every boy's pocket was emptied of
knife, purse, pencil, rubber, and anything else avail-
able for a pawn, and not one of tho girls had a
handkerchief left, or a bracelet, or ring, or flower,
or a removable ribbon. All such articles were
piled on the sofa beside the tyrannical Simon, as
penalties paid for inattention to his orders.
"Now, we'll redeem the pawns," said Simon,
perceiving that the interest in wagging and thumb.s-
down was waning.
John Dabney was selected as master of cere-
monies, the lady-sister acted as blind judge, and
the redeeming of forfeits began.
" Heavy ! Heavy ! Heavy ! What hangs over
you ? " John cried, with ponderous tone, as he held
over the lady-sister's head a handkerchief of cob-
webby lace, that swayed in the window-breeze as it
in refutation of his tone and words.
"Fine, or superfine?" asked the judge, through
the handkerchief over her face.
" Fine," answered John, with confidence.
■■ Oil, you must say it 's superfine, if it 's a
girl's pawn," somebody said.
" Oh, yes ! I understand now," said John. " It 's
superfine. What shall the owner do? "
" Act the dumb servant," ordered the judge.
" Go along, Sarah ; it 's yours," was the call.
"Sarah Ketchum can't act the dumb servant;
she can't keep from talking long enough. And,
besides, she can't act the servant, she 's so used to
making senants of other folks. Give her the talk-
ing mistress to act, and she '11 do that as if she was
born to it."
It was Hal who was flinging out all these jokes
at Sarah Ketchum's expense. He and Sarah were
always sparring.
" Sarah shows that she can be dumb and humble
by not replying to your chaffing," Maggie said, as
the elected actor took position and faced the
audience.
" How do you wash dishes? " John asked of the
dumb sei'vant.
" By proxy," Hal volunteered.
Sarah reached a vase from the mantel.
" One of her dishes," commented the audience.
" and the pansy lamp-mat is the dish-cloth."
The dumb actor dipped the mat into a card-
receiver, and made believe to wash the vase, a
volume of Whittier's poems, and a paper-weight.
When the washing was ended, Maggie threw out
a criticism :
" She leaves her dish-cloth in the greasy water,
and docs n't empty the dish-pan."
" How do you dress a chicken ? " the dumb ser\'-
ant w;is asked.
Sarah looked about, seeking materials for an
object-lesson. She caught sight of a stuffed owl.
Like a masterful eagle, she po-.scsscd herself of it.
Then she darted out of the room, presently return-
ing with a doll-trunk. From this, she produced
pantalets for the owl's legs, a rutf for its neck, a
hat for its head, and soon it stood in full dress and
spectacles, looking so wise and so funny that the
children laughed heartily.
"How do you take care of the baby?" John
asked the dumb servant, interrupting the laugh-
ing comments on Master Owl's appearance as a
"dressed chicken."
The dumb servant walked over to her traditional
enemy Hal, who, fortunately, had a plump, round
face, quite in keeping with the character of baby.
He occupied a rocking-chair. Sarah laid his head
54
FINE, OR S U P E R F I N K ?
[November,
against the chair-back, and began singing in panto-
mime, "Hush, my dear; lie still and slumber!" in
the meantime rocking him so violently that the baby
clutched the chair's arms in terror. Then, quite in
character with the traditional nurse, she seized a
large flower-vase and pretended to pour some drug
into his mouth, in a way that made him gag and
sneeze, and contort his face.
" No need to give him sleeping-drops," someone
commented; "'he 's one of the famous seven,
already."
Hal, instead of sleeping on his soothing-syrup, sat
up straight as a crock, stretched his eyes wide open,
and showed unusual animation. Whereupon the
dumb nurse administered such fresh rockings and
shakings as must have revenged her for many an
attack she had received from Hal.
The master of ceremonies rescued the baby from
further infliction, by waving a wand, in other words,
a lead-pencil, and pronouncing the spell of silence
removed from Sarah.
'"Fine, or superrine ? " demanded the blind
justice, when assured that something hung over
her.
"Fine, only. What shall the owner do to
redeem it ? "
" Put one hand where the other can't touch it,"
the judge pronounced.
"Hal's! It's Hal's!" the young people cried,
in joyful excitement.
Hal stood up, facing the company, the imperson-
ation of smiles.
" Now, go ahead. Do it," said Alfred.
Hal launched out on the sea of experimenting, by
placing the right hand on the right shoulder.
" Oh ! " said Alfred. " Of course you can touch
that hand with the left," and Hal immediately
demonstrated that he could do this.
Then the right hand went between his shoulder-
blades, but was presently met b>' the left. Then
under the right knee was tried, but this, too, as
well as the left, turned out to be accessible to both
hands.
" Hal thinks that his right arm is longer than his
left, and can outreach it," said Sarah Ketchum.
Maggie, who had been trying to solve the puzzle,
now expressed the opinion that the thing could n't
be done.
So said one and another.
" I '11 tell you, Hal, how you might do it," said
Alfred. " If you could get one hand in your
mouth, then \'ou 'd have it where the other
could n't touch it."
But Hal, unheeding .Alfred's fun, kept on twisting
and screwing, finding out much more about his
joints and the movements of muscles and the rela-
tions of parts than he had remarked in years before.
Suddenly, he cried out, "There! I 've got it!"
His right hand was on the left elbow, and his left
hand was straining to reach the right. Instandy
everybody's right hand was put on the left elbow,
testing Hal's solution.
"That 'sit!" " He 's done it ! " "Hurrah for
Hal ! "
Hal went to his seat, flushed with exercise and
triumph, and the play proceeded.
"What shall the owner do?" John demanded,
concerning another pawn.
" Measure on the wall the height of a stove-pipe
hat from the floor. Failing to come within an inch
of the height, the owner must leave the room, and
come back with more arms than two."
"That 's easy enough," said the sentenced, who
was no less a personage than Sarah Ketchum.
She made a mark on the wall, as her estimate of
the hat's height. It was nearly nine inches from
the floor.
"Oh, it is n't that high," said Alfred, laughing
gayly.
Then the others said, " No ! " " Yes ! " " No,
it is n't ! " " Yes, it is ! " etc.
" Bring the stove-pipe," said Sarah. " I'm sure
1 'm within an inch of being right."
But when the hat was set on the floor, there were
several exclamations of surprise.
Sarah had failed, and the conditional sentence
was repeated.
" Leave the room, and return with more arms
than two."
When she had gone, all fell to wondering how
she would do this. Some thought she might come
back carrying a statuette ; some said it would be
a doll, if she could find one ; others were sure she
would wheel in an arm-chair. But their surmises
were speeedily ended, as Sarah's re-entrance was
greeted with laughter and cheers. Over one shoul-
der she carried a gun and a broom ; in one hand
was a revolver, while in her belt gleamed two
carving-kni\es.
Alfred was the next one called out. He was re-
quired to place a yard of wrapping-cord upon the
floor in such a manner that tv\'o persons standing on
it would not lie able to touch each other with their
hands.
It was a sight to see those girls and boys manip-
ulate that string. They laid it straight, they laid
it zigzag, they curved it, they did it into a circle.
Finally, they owned themselves beaten. Then
Gay's lady-sister opened the door, laid the string
across the sill, stationing Hal on one end of the
cord and .Sarah Ketchum on the other ; she closed
the door between them, turned the key in the lock,
and said, loud enough for both to hear:
" Now, shake hands, good friends ! "
SOME CURIOUS NESTS.
55
Then everybody saw that it was "just as easy
as anything."
The next penahy, Fred Groots was to pay. He
was to put a question the answer to which would be
always wrong. This was a great puzzler. All early
gave it up, and called imperatively on the judge to
explain. She replied :
"What does WRONG spell? "
" How easy ! " " What stupids we were ! "
" Place that silver vase on the floor so that one
cannot step over it," was the judge's next order.
It was Gay's pawn that this was to redeem.
" Well, there ! " said Gay, setting the vase in
the center of the room.
" But one can step over that," w;is claimed.
" No ; one can't," Gay replied, with confidence.
" Why, what nonsense ! " said the boys, gather-
ing about the vase, and striding over it, back and
forth.
" There ! " " Can't we ? " they demanded.
"Yes," Gay admitted, but added, with a superior
air: '' You can ; but I know one who can't; one
Muscovy duck, and also one mosquito."
Tlien the judge, not satisfied with Gay's solution,
put the vase close up in a corner, and said :
" Now, let us see you step over it."
They saw then that they could n't.
The next requisition was upon Maggie. She was
to put Gay through into the adjoining room, without
opening the door, and without leaving the room.
" Why," said Gay," she could n't put me in there
if she had all the improved war projectiles, that is,
if I did n't want to go."
"Oh! that's the way," said one of the girls,
"she's to put you in there by moral suasion.
You '11 go through the front door and come around."
"That's not the way," said the judge. "I'll
state the sentence in another form. Maggie is to
put Gay through the key-hole."
" I know," said Maggie, bubbling with eager-
ness. " Give me a pencil. I '11 write ' Gay ' on a
slip of paper, and put it through the key-hole."
The last sentenced was Clara. She was to push
the baby-carriage, which was standing in the next
room, through her bracelet.
How do you think she did it ?
SOME CURIOUS NESTS.
OU all have noticed,
on some spring dav,
7\ a bird picking up
twigs or straws with
which to build its
nest, and if you ever
have seen the tiny
home when finished,
you must have won-
dered at its beauty and
completeness. For the
nests of even our com-
monest birds are often
marvels of skillful workman-
ship.
But it happens that, within the last
year, St. Nicholas has received accounts of some
unusually interesting nests ; real curiosities or acci-
dents in nest-building, such as you would hardly
find by searching whole acres of meadow and
orchard. Some of these oddities are peculiar or re-
markable in themselves, and others arc merely
common nests, but have been found in very queer
places. You shall have the descriptions of them
just as they came to us in the letters of cor-
respondents, with accurate pictures, which ST.
Nicholas has had made from photographs of the
real objects.
Here, to begin with, is an account by D. B.,
of a nest in a scarecrow ; and on the next page is
a picture of it, just as it appeared when discovered :
" In a grain-field near Hempstead, L. I., I found
an old coat and a hat set up as a scarecrow, the
sleeves being stretched out on a crosswise stick.
However dreadful this may have seemed to the
person who set it up, the little creatures it was
meant to frighten away were not in the least scared
by it ; for in one of the side pockets of the coat, a
pair of cedar-birds had built a cozy nest. When I
saw the scarecrow, the little home was filled with
unfledged birds, cheeping and crying, their crests
raised, while the mother, perched on a small
branch which stuck out above the scarecrow's hat,
was gently twittering good-byes to her noisy brood,
before going to forage for their breakfast."
Strange place that for a bird's-nest ! And yet not
so strange, nor dangerous, if the bird was small,
and Mr. Scarecrow did his duty well by fright-
56
S O .M K I.- U R I O U S .\ K S l" b .
ening the hawks and other winged enemies away.
Perhaps the httle parents "builded better than they
knew " ; but it may be they had found out in
some strange way that the ugly looking gentleman
standing always in that one place in the field was
no enemy, and would even protect them. At any
rate, this docs not seem to be the first instance of a
bird's-nest in a scarecrow, for in the same letter
D. B. sends this record of another:
" When telling about this strange discovery to
some friends, one of them recalled a similar inci-
dent which he had once read about, and after
searching some time, among old papers, we finally
found the account in a number of Our Young Folks.
Here it is :
"It was in the bosom of a stuffed effigy, which
had been set up to scare away the crows from our
corn. A bunch of pea-sticks and a little hav.
dressed up in most artistic fashion with a suit of
John's old clothes, — trousers, vest, and coat, topped
out with an old hat, which soon blew away, —
formed this awful
scare. And funny
enough it was to
see a pair of little
[jewees making its
acquaintance ; look-
.iv mg up its legs of
sticks, and looking
down upon it from
the apple-trees ;
..t picking at the rags
streaming from its
i;oat-tails, and then
perching most au-
daciously upon its
wide shoulders ;
iMymg mto the secrets of Us heart of clover, and
ulhng the long hay out of the stump of its old
broken-off neck.
" What they meant to do was hard to tell for sev-
eral di)s; but finally there was no longer any
doubt, — they were building a nest in its bosom !
And why not? The old clothes had been well
washed in the rains, the hay was as sweet as any
othei Inv, and the pea-brush just the same as any
other pea-brush ; besides, the thing was well fast-
ened to the ground by its feet, which were only
the ends of the pointed pea-sticks. Those the
pevvees could see as well as we, or any other wees,
— as Cousin Sammy suggested, — and the crows
were evidently afraid of it, as somebody else sug-
gested, making it safer for the wise little birds.
So, when the work was done (or rather ««done,
for the process of building consisted more in pull-
mg out the stuffing of our scarecrow and making a
hole into it, than in putting sticks together as most
pewecs do), and when the hole was well lined with
the soft little nothings which the pewees find, we
hardly know where, and the little brown hen set-
tled herself down into her hiding-place, and pater-
familias sat upon the headless pea-brush neck, and
caroled forth his song of triumph to his mate and
his note of defiance to all crows that might dare to
scale his castle-walls, and the rags of the sleeves
fluttered merrily in the breeze, we doubted whether
that suit of clothes was ever happier than it was
then ; and John doubted, too.
" The nest was carefully observed from a dis-
tance, for no birds like to be scrutinized too closely ;
and, in due course of time, a family of little ps-
wees were taking their first lessons in flying. Some
of them tried to fly too soon, and then came one
of the funniest incidents of all. Our little ones
were quite distressed that the poor little birds
SOME CURIOUS NESTS.
57
should be dispersed upon the ground, from which
they were unable to rise, and so Charlie caught
them all and tried to put them back into the nest,
but he could not reach it ; so, what must he do,
but stow them all carefully away into one of the
side-pockets of the old coat, into which he had
first stuffed some hay, to keep the pocket open ;
and how delighted were he and his sisters to see
the old birds come there and feed the young and
care for them several days, until their wings were
more fully grown, and they were able once more,
and with better success, to take a start into the
world ! "
But now hear this wonderful little story, from
S. G. T., of how a bird-pair seemed actually to
read, — for how could they possibly have chosen bet-
ter words for a motto for their little home than the
two which were found upon it ?
" In a certain country place, not very far from
the city of New York, there was once an enter-
tainment, and handbills were distributed freely in
the neighborhood ; so that a great many soon lay
about on the groimd, and wore blown by the wind
into all sorts of places.
One of the chief .iap*iii.;Ata=< • A
attracti ns n \
the pi _ V, J
gramme wis i lab * <
/eaii vivatit entitled -
' Our Dirlin;?^ ind
these t..« .. „rds ..erv, „f
course printed conspicuously on
the handbill.
•' Months after the date of the
entertainment, a New York family
came to pass the summer in that coun-
try place. One day, the little boy of
the family came running into the house
excited and delighted, and calling :
" ' Mamma ! Mamma ! See what I have
found ! ' and he held up the bird's-nest
shown in the picture.
" Now, the little boy was a real lover of
birds, so his mother knew he would not have taken
the nest from its place if it had not been deserted.
And when she looked at it closely, she saw that
the little builders had
woven in among the
twigs and straw a piece
of one of the old hand-
bills ; and this piece act-
ually bore the words,
' Our Darlings ' ! That
was why the boy was ex-
cited about the nest,
and, indeed, everybody
thinks it so pretty and
curious a thing, that it
is kept with great care,
and looked upon as a
treasure."
The picture shows you
the nest exactly as it was
when found by the boy,
with the sweet little
dedication woven into
Its side. Surely those
birdlings must have had
a happy home ! '• """■•'"'•
And now you shall hear of the wonderful
ingenuity which a bird showed in keeping its
house from falling. What architect could have
done better? Read this, from H. K. I)., of Spice-
land, Indiana:
" This curious little nest, I think, was built by
an orchard oriole, but I cannot say certainly, as
the owner had left it before I found it.
" It is made of the long bast liber from various
plants, white cotton lapping-twine, long horse-hairs
and sewing-thread. The bast fibers form the
larger part of the nest, the twine being interwoven
with it in a way that strengthens the fabric.
Around several twigs there are loops of twine, the
ends having been carried down and woven into the
walls of the nest.
" It was built in the top of a small swamp-maple
that stood near a dwelling. The nest was placed
between a small twig and the main stem ; the
loops of twine, before referred to, fastened it to
some twigs higher up. Two sides of the nest were
sewed to the branchlets, the fiber, twine and hair
passing over the branch and through the edge of
the nest, in stitches close together.
" But the strangest and most curious part in its
construction is this : The twigs, to which it is sew^ed,
diverge from each other and leave a space so broad
that without additional support that side of the
nest would have sagged. To meet this difficulty,
the bird has taken a piece of No. 8 sewing-thread
58
SOME CURIOUS NESTS.
[November,
and firmly woven one end of it into the body of the
nest, while the other end she has carried to a pro-
jecting twig, some distance above, and there secured
it by winding it five times around the stem and then
tying it with 3. pt-rfect single knot .'
" The picture gives a good \icw of the side of
the nest to wliich the thread-support is fastened,
and the thread itself tied to the upper twig."
This incident of II. K. D.'s shows plainly cnougli
that birds know how to benefit themselves in nest-
building by using articles manufactured by man, in
place of the poor substitutes which the woods and
fields afford them. And, as another proof of this, a
letter and picture given in St. Nichol.'^s of last
year, but which will be fresh to our new subscribers,
are reprinted here :
" One day, not long ago, 1 washed a num-
ber of pieces of very fine lace, and left them sjjread
out on the lawn. Presently, I went to look at tlicm,
so as to be sure they were all right, for they were
valuable.
" One, two, three pieces were gone !
'• Yet there were no fresh tracks on the lawn and
paths, and, when I asked in the house, I was told
that no one there had been near the lace, or seen
anybody else near it, during the whole morning.
"This was puzzling, as well as disagreeable;
and so 1 went to look again.
" Another piece vanished !
■' Then I put a chair near the porch, and sat
down and sewed, watching the lace carefully. But
once I bent my eyes to my work for about half a
minute, and when I looked up again, —
" Still another treasure was gone !
•' This time I knew that no one but myself could
have been near the lace. How, then,
could it have disappeared ? I put
;uvay my sewing, and for five minutes
steadily gazed at the pieces left.
" Somebody in the house called out,
and 1 glanced around. As I turned
my eyes forward again, what should 1
see, sailing away in the air, a icw yards
from me, but a piece of the precious
lace, trailing from the beak of a robin !
'■ I soon found that it was the same
saucy fellow who had taken all the
pieces, and that he had tried to make
his little home beautiful w-ith them.
' ' The lace was spoiled when we found
it, for Robin had torn it when weaving
it in with twigs ; but the nest looked
so pretty that I let my ruined treasures
stay. — Yours truly, M.\RG.4RET H."
The picture shows just how Robin's
nest looked, and it certainly was a
beautiful home for him.
Last of all, here is an anecdote
showing that birds not only know
enough to help themselves by such
material as thread, twine, lace, wool,
etc., but that they are even so wise
as to select goods of the proper color.
C. S. B., of Parkesburg, Pa., writes:
" Last summer, just when the trees were at the
greenest, an oriole and his mate came to our yard
and began to built their nest in a drooping bough
of the old sycamore, where the foliage was very
thick. Both birds went busily to work to find
materials for a nest, and soon they began to exam-
ine whatever household articles were left within
safe distance from the house. They would pull
and pucker the linens and lace that were spread
on the lawn, and at last, to stop their mischief, we
concluded to furnish all the material they needed,
ready for use. So we got together some thread
and strings, and a variety of other scraps, rags of
various colors, some red and gray yarn, etc., and
spread them about here and there, wherever we
thought they would be just in the way of the little
builders. We had not long to wait, and they soon
accepted a good portion of what we had laid out
OUR LITTLE SCHOOL-GIRL
59
for them. But after awhile we noticed that only
the gray or dull-colored things were taken. The
red was a puzzle ; they evidently admired it, but
decided, at last, that it would hardly do ; for tlieir
acts plainly said ' It is pretty, very pretty, but
then, it 's so gay ! We 're afraid it would make
too much show.'
".At last the nest w;is finished, and when lined and
complete, it was beautiful indeed, and worthy of all
the care they had bestowed upon it. T.he skill of
the tailor and weaver was shown in its sides, and
the colors were chosen with great care. But not
one thread of crimson was found in if. Cozy as it
was, all its tints were dull and subdued, and an
enemy would have had to look long to discover
it among the thick foliage."
OUR LITTLE SCIIOOL-GI RL.
Bv Ellen M. II. G.vies.
■ Oh, Mamma, Mamma, it 's half-past eight !
Where are my rubbers ? I shall be late ;
And where is my pencil? I know just where
1 laid it down, but it is not there ;
Oh, here is my bag with my books all right —
1 'm glad that my lessons were learned last night ;
And now I 'm off — here 's a kiss — good-bye," —
And out of the door I see her fly.
I stand at the window and watch her go.
Swinging her school-bag to and fro;
And 1 think of a little girl I knew,
A long way back, when my years were few :
And the old red house beneath the hill,
Where she went to school, I see it still,
And I make for the child a little moan,
For her face, through the mist, is like my own.
The hours go by, it is half-past two.
And here comes Nell with her school-mate Sue;
They had their lessons, they both were "five,"
There are no happier girls alive.
They laugh and shout, and to and fro
Through every room in the house they go;
The music-teacher will come at four.
But they can play for an hour and more.
It is evening now, and, with look sedate.
Our little maid with her book and slate
Comes into the room. Wc chatter and read,
But she to be "perfect " must work indeed.
No need to be talking in days like these
Of the "early birds," and the "busy bees":
There is work enough, and (don't you tell !)
There 's quite too much for girls like Nell.
6o
THE ( ; R !■; A T S IC C R E T ,
[November,
T 1 1 !•: r, R I-: a t s k c r !•: t.
liv RlTH Hai.i..
" I DON'T care ! I Ml never speak to you again
as long as 1 live, Nell Bayley. So there ! "
Now, when a little girl says she " don't care," in
just that tone, and with just that face, it is pi-elty
certain that she does care, and that very much
indeed. Avis Sinclair was no exception to this
rule. Her fair, round face was flushed with anger,
her blue eyes sparkled unpleasantly, her forehead
was wrinkled in tiny furrows, and alas ! her rosy
mouth was rapidly taking on that mocking pout
which, Charles Dickens says, "children call
making a face."
Nell Bayley swung her satchel of books up
into the air, and caught it, lightly.
"Nonsense! " she said, with a toss of her nut-
brown hair. "I know your 'never speaks,' Avy.
To-morrow morning you '11 've forgotten all about
it, and come just as usual to me to see 'f I 've got
all my examples."
"Never! No, ma'am, not ever again will I
speak to you ! Not about examples nor anything.
Going and having secrets away from me ! "
And indignant Avis marched off up the street,
feeling as lonely as if these dreadful threats had
not been reiterated every few weeks, all that part
of her short life during which she and Nellie had
been friends.
Mrs. Sinclair, looking u]) from her sewing, as
the child came into the parlor with downcast air
and lagging step, smiled and said, gently :
" Well, dear, what has Nellie been doing now ? "
"Don't laugh. Mamma! She /ms been mean.
They 've all been mean — all the girls. They 're
all horrid together, and I despise them ! "
" Avis ! " The little girl knelt down by her
mother's side and laid her head in her lap.
" Mamma," she said, " may I tell you all about
it? It 's quite a long story, but I have been so
miserable all day."
" Yes, tell the whole story, Avis. Tliis is worse
than an ordinary quarrel with Nellie, I am afraid."
" Oh, it 's a great deal worse, and I have n't done
anything at all now, really. You see," Avis con-
tinued, raising her head, " when I went into
school, this morning, all the arithmetic class were
in Miss Bell's recitation-room, where we always go,
you know ; and I went in, too, of course. There
they all were by the window, giggling and whis-
pering, and when they saw me — did n't they stop
and all look confused, you know, and ashamed !
And I heard some one say, ' Here she comes.
now!' Honest, Mamma! I think it was Lctty
Davis. And that shows they were talking about
me ; now, does n't it ? "
" Well, was there anything else?"
" Oh, yes 'm. They smoothed it over then, and
began to talk, and 1 did n't say anything, because
they all say I do get mad so easy. But all day
long, Nellie and Agnes Hoyt have been writing
notes, and Nell would hide 'em under her books,
just as if she was afraid I 'd see 'em. When I
wanted her to walk at recess, she could n't — she
' had to speak to Agnes.' And they went into the
recitation-room together, and all the other girls
kept whispering and laughing. W'liy, Mamma,
it was dreadful ! "
" Did n't you ask Nellie what it all meant? "
" Yes 'm, I did. Oh, of course ! And she
said, ' You '11 find out all in good time. Avis.'
Oh, so patronizing ! And then "
" And then you said she need not tell you, and
that you never were going to speak to her again ? "
"Why, yes." Avis hung her head for a
moment. " But, now, was n't it mean. Mother ? ''
" Don't let us judge just yet, dear. There must
be some reason for the girls' strange conduct,
which you 7iv/// ' know in good time.' Meanwhile,
Avis, 1 would not pay attention to their secrets, but
gi\e them a (ew days to explain themselves."
It %vas much the wisest course to pursue, as Avis
felt obliged to acknowledge; and, like a sensible
girl, as she was in the main, she followed her
mother's counsel so far as to bo overwhelmingly
polite and attentive to each and every "horrid"
offender the next day.
She gave Nellie's hand an affectionate squeeze
when she came in, and this her seat-mate returned
in a matter-of-fact manner, the ceremony being
])artof the "making-up" after every disagreement.
The girls were on their guard, she thought, but
she saw much consultation in the hall-ways, caught
fragments of conversation during recess, and heard
stray mutterings and whisperings during the but-
toning of cloaks and tying of veils.
To be the only girl left out was a new and bitter
experience. Avis had been leader in every plan
ever since she was a little thing in pinafores. Nellie
hitherto had been contented to follow. " But now
I am not wanted," Avis said, bitterly, to herself,
as she sat in her seat alone, and watched Nellie
and Agnes Hoyt walking up and down, with heads
close together and arms affectionately entwined.
tSSaJ
T HE G R E A T S E C R E T .
6i
Avis was always jealous of Agnes. The mean
feeling she had been ashamed to confess, even to
herself. But this preference of Nellie's had fanned
it into a hot and angiy flame.
'■ Agnes has enough," she thought, remembering
the stately house opposite her mother's cottage,
and the ponies behind which Agnes drove to
school. " I 'm sure, if I wore car-rings and an
overskirt, I should n't try to coax other people's
friends away. No, indeed ! "
" Ting-a-ling-a-ling ! " went llic bell from the
desk ; and the girls hurried to their seats.
"Oh, dear! I don't half know my French,"
Agnes muttered, as she rummaged in her desk.
•■ Past indefinite of avoir, Miss Iloyt," he said,
balancing his ruler.
"J' CHS, In cits " began Agnes; but the
\\ords were not fairly out of her mouth, when
" Miss Sinclair!" came sharply from the teacher.
Avis saw the start of surprise and the reddening
cheeks. She knew Agnes was being unfairly
treated, but she recited the proper tense, with her
head thrown back and eyes looking at nothing.
"Let her tell him she didn't hear distinctly,"
she thought. " It is n't my place to help her out.
No, indeed ! " But she felt very uncomfortable.
"You have dropped your handkerchief. Miss
Sinclair," Professor Vernier said, as the girls fded
slowly out of the room. Avis turned to take it,
and looked up into the teacher's stern eyes, under
" Might have been studymg it,
seems to me, instead of walkmg with
other people's friends," thought Avis,
folding her e.\crcise, meanwhile, with an expression
of virtuous knowledge.
Avis had not quarreled with the girls ; her man-
ner was very lady-like and polite, but frosty, — oh,
extremely cool ! Even Nellie felt that.
I am sorr>' to write it, but now Avis really felt a
little thrill of satisfaction at the thought of Agnes's
half-learned lesson. You see, Agnes stood the
best chance for the French prize, and Avis was but
two marks below her. There was one disadvan-
tage Agnes labored under, and it came near to
lessening the distance between the two little girls
to-day. She was quite deaf from a bad cold.
This, Professor Vernier did not know.
the heavy brows. A sudden, a saving thought
came to her of last Sunday night, by the hearth-
glow, and Mamma reading something about " Bear
ye one another's burdens."
She folded the handkerchief into tiny creases,
and fumbled over the ink-stains in one corner, and
folded in the little red spots, made when she had
sharpened her finger instead of her pencil; and
then she opened her lips and — shut them again.
"Well, Miss Sinclair?" began the Professor, in
an inquiring tone.
" Oh, please !" begged Avis, with scarlet cheeks
and trembling lips. "Oh, let me tell you some-
thing. Agnes has a cold, an awfiil cold, and she
62
THE SAD STORY OF T H p: CHILLY FAMILY.
can't hear very well. She knows all that review ;
she did n't understand your question."
"But why did not she tell me so?" was the
natural inquiry. Avis looked more scared than ever.
" She was afraid," she whispered; "we — we all
are — at least "
"Afraid of me? Oh, nonsense! That is onh'
because I am strange to you, as yet. There, that
will do. You are a brave girl, my dear."
.i^nd, with a soothing pat on the shoulder, the
old man ushered Avis into the long school-room.
When Agnes gave in her marks at night, accord-
ing to custom, the principal smiled and nodded.
" Your mistake has been explained. Miss Agnes,"
he said. " You must not let it pass again."
" Oh, Avis ! Did jfoit tell ? " she asked, delight-
edly, having caught a glimpse of the interview.
"Oh, I am so much obliged to you! Don't you
want me to teach you how to make feather-braid ? "
"Yes, ever so much," said Avis, pleased with
herself, as was natural. " May I come over, right
after tea, to-night ? "
" Oh, not to-night, please," and Agnes blushed
uncomfortably. "Would n't some other time "
" It 's of no consequence," said Avis, with a lofty
toss of the head. One does n't feel comfortable at
having one's invitations slighted, particularly when
one invites oneself.
"Oh, please. Avis "
Agnes tried to make a weak apology, but Avis
only shrugged her shoulders and walked away,
with a heavier heart than a little girl often carries.
" It 's worse and worse, Mamma," she said, after
having told her all about Agnes's misfortune and
her own temptation. " I asked Nellie if she would
come up and do her examples with me to-night,
and she said ' No, indeed ! ' and looked at Letty
Davis, and laughed. And to think I should just be
told that I was n't wanted over at Mrs. Hoyt's ! "
"Why, Avis," said Mrs. Sinclair, laughing, in
spite of herself, at the scornful, haughty toss of the
head. " 1 know some one who does want you," she
added. "You are to go to Aunt Caroline's to tea."
This was nothing very new. Aunt Caroline was
old, and alone, and often wanted her small niece
to come and drink tea with her. Still, it was a
little excitement, and Avis ran away, at five o'clock,
with her mother's kiss upon her lips, and her
mother's words, " Be home early," in her ears.
At seven o'clock, Avis danced up the front steps,
feeling quite happy and contented after the quiet
talk with Aunt Caroline, and the weak tea and
unlimited toast. " How bright the house looks,"
she thought, as she threw open the door, and then
she paused, amazed, on the threshold.
The parlor was full of girls and boys in holiday
attire. The dining-room table was covered with
baskets, and Mamma was going upstairs with her
arms full of wraps.
"Here she comes, now!" said Letty Davis, as
once before in this history, and Nell Bayley fell on
Avis's neck, exclaiming: "Oh, you dear old Avis!
And you never once suspected, and we 've gone
and given you a surprise-party ! "
THE SAD STORY OF THE CHILLY FAMILY.
By E. T. Corbktt.
Mr. and Mrs. Theophilus Chilly
Went out one day
With their daughter May,
Their son John Thomas, their grandson Willy,
And their old black Cook, whom they called
Aunt Dilly.
They went — all six of them — out together ;
■ We '11 have to-morrow a change in the weather —
It 's going to snow," said Mrs. Chilly.
■ I told you so," grunted old .Aunt Dilly.
' Then we '11 go out this very day
And buy a new stove — that 's what / sa)- —
Keep the house warm in spite of the storm" —
Said excellent Mr. Theophilus Chilly.
■ Come, wife ; come, Dillv ; come, grandson Willy ;
Co call John Thomas, and hurry May,
I must hear what each one has to say.
This choosing and buying is terribly trying, —
We '11 go together, and that 's the best way."
So out they went, with this intent.
Plenty of time and money were spent.
Every one had something to say :
Get a graceful shape," said pretty Miss May;
Get a stove to roast apples," cried little Willy;
And to bile the kittle," said old Aunt Dilly;
It must be very large," added Father and Mother ;
With doors in front ! " exclaimed May's brother.
So the stove was bought,
.•\nd, when home it was brought,
' It 's a ])crfect beauty !" said each to the other.
iSSo.]
THE SAD STORY OK THE CHILLY FAMILY.
63
Well, the lire was kindled, and how it blazed
And roared and sparkled ! They stood amazed.
I — feel — quite — li'arrn.'" gasped Mrs. Chilly,
Looking 'round for a fan.
Why, 1 'ni a-nieltin' ! " cried old Aunt Dilly.
The others began
To open the wimlows, and little Willy
Kor ice-water ran.
But the tire grew fiercer — the stove was red.
Turn the damper," John Thomas said:
Stop the draught, or we '11 all be dead ! "
But nobody heard a single word ;
For out of the windows each pooped a head —
Father and Mother, and grandson Willy,
Pretty Miss May, and old Aunt Dilly;
And since there was n't a window more
For poor John Thomas, fie sat on the floor !
Well, the room grew hotter and hotter. At last.
When an hour had passed,
Poor Mr. Chilly drew in his head.
And thus to his suffering wife he said :
\\"e must call the fire-engines — yes, my dear,
To play on this terrible stove — that 's clear.
So shout, Aunt Dilly, and you, little Willy,
Help me cry 'Fire!'" said poor Mr. Chilly.
But when from the windows they all leaned out.
Til summon the engines with scream and shout,
There 's one of us missing ! " exclaimed Mr.
Chilly,—
N'ot wife, not Willy, not May, nor Aunt Dilly,
Why, who can it be ? Ah, yes, 1 sec !
John Thomas is missing, — of course it 's hi-."
And he called out again to the engines, " Play !
(V my wife and children will melt away!"
So the engines played, as he bade them do, —
There must ha\e been a dozen or more, —
On that dreadful sto\e their streams they threw ;
They soaked John Thomas on the floor.
They played on Mr. and Mrs. Chilly,
On pretty May and grandson Willy, —
They sent a shower over old Aunt Dilly.
But "Play more!" and "Play faster!" the
family cried.
Though they gasped and choked and shivered
beside.
Oil, lio put us out ! "
Mr. Chilly would shout.
Whenever the engines ceased to spout.
Not one of them dared to go to their beds.
But out of the windows they kept their heads ;
And all through the night
They would shriek in affright :
/•'/>,/ FIRK. ! 'wati-r.' w,\TF.R I " till broad day-
light.
64
LACROSSE.
LACROSSE.
I!v Charles Barnard.
The Indian of North America is commonly
supposed to be a grim and sober creature, who
never lauglis ; a man who at all times conducts
himself in a sedate and rather gloomy manner.
He is very dignified, and never, never smiles. It
is said that, when at home, he is always thinking
of going on the war-path, or planning a grand and
mighty hunt, or sitting by his wigwam thinking
of nothing in particular, which is always a solemn
proceeding in anybody.
Now, it is a curious fact that the Indian has
been strangely misrepresented. It lias been dis-
covered that he really liked a little fun, and could
enjoy a game as well as any one. The Chinese
fly kites, and the wild Arabs of the desert tell
stories. It is thought the ancient Egyptians
played jack-stones, and we may be sure the Japan-
ese enjoy many games, as you may learn by look-
ing at their picture-fans. All the civilized nations
have games : the English like cricket, we have
base-ball, and the people of Holland are supposed
to have invented skates, for which they deserve the
lasting gratitude of mankind. It is interesting to
find that, after all, the Indians have been very
badly treated by the historians, and that they, too,
had an eye for fim, and even had a game of their
own.
\\'hen the French first explored the great
country to the north, along the St. LawTcnce and
the lakes, they found tlie Indians had a wild and
exciting game that they played on the grassy
intervals along the rivers, or on the ice in winter.
Hundreds of Indians would sometimes jilay at a
ball game, like that shown in the above picture.
They used a ball of stuffed skin, and a curious
bat, looking somewhat like a "hockey." having a
1. A CROSS I-; .
65
net of reindeer hide between the handle and the
crook of the hockey. The French called the bat
a crt'su; and, naturally enough, the game was
soon called " La Crosse." This is fortunate, for
the Ojibways called it " Baggataway," and the Iro-
quois called it " Tekontshikwaheks," and there
certainly would be little satisfaction in playing a
game with either of these distressing names.
It always is interesting to know where things
come from, and explorers, you know, must always
look sharply into every new custom and sport they
chance to encounter. So, when they first saw La-
crosse played, they of course asked the Indians
where they learned the game. But the Indians
looked as surprised as Indians can, and solemnly
said they did not know. The rules of the game
had been sacredly handed down from father to son,
and all the tribes had played "Tekontshikwaheks,"
they said, ever since the world began. They had
no printed "book of the rules with an historical
preface," and consequently the origin of Lacrosse
is lost in obscurity. Like "tag," and jack-stones,
and "follow-my-leader," it had been played so
very long that it had no history at all.
However, this melancholy circumstance makes
no difference now. The interesting fact remains
that this wild, exciting, and rather rough sport has
been tamed and civilized by the Canadians, and
Lacrosse is now a capital game for boys.
It is now called the national game of the
Dominion, and every year it is becoming
more and more popular. It is played -^
here in the L'nited States quite often in - -r^
the summer, and the bats can now be
bought in any good toy-shop.
No boy can afford to be ignorant of
any of the good games in the world, par-
ticularly if they call him out-of-doors. ,
and teach him to be brave, strong, anl
active. Clearly, it is our duty to lean
how Lacrosse is played, and to witness
a good game.
Lacrosse is played on a level, grassj-
field, like a base-ball ground. The
things used in the game are a rubber
ball, about eight inches in circum-
ference, four light poles or flag-staffs,
each about six feet long, and a bat or
"crosse" for each player. The field for
a boys' game should be about one hun-
dred and thirty yards long, and about
forty yards wide. The four poles arc
in pairs, and should have flags at the
top in colors ; say, two in blue, and two in white.
The two poles of a pair are set up in the ground
about six feet apart, the white flags at one end of
the field and the blue at the other, the two "colors"
Vol. VIII.— 5.
being about one hundred and twenty yards apart.
These form the goals, and the players should wear
some kind of cap or uniform in the same colors as
the goals, sa\-, half the players in white caps or
shirts, and half in blue. The poles and flags can be
jTiadc at home, the bats cost about one dollar each,
and any good rubber-sponge ball may be used.
The game is led by two captains selected from
all the boys, and, to decide disputes, there may be
also two umpires. Each captain, beginning with
the eldest, takes turns in selecting his team from
all the boys, each choosing twelve, making twenty-
six in the game. The two captains do not play,
and have no bats ; their duty is to start the game,
to look after their sides, to watch the ball, and tell
their own players what to do. The umpires
merely look on from the edge of the field, one
near each goal. The senior captain places his
men in this order: first one in front of the oppo-
site goal, second one a short distance in advance
of him, a third still farther in advance, and a
fourth at the center of the field. At the home
goal he also places one man, a few yards in ad-
vance of the flags. The remaining players are
placed at the sides of the third and fourth boys.
Then the other captain docs the same thing, and
the field is filled by the twenty-four players in
pairs, except tw-o on each side. Thus, the two
UVELY SCRIMMAGE.
sides are distributed over the entire field. The
rules of the game say there must be no kicking
nor pulling to get at the ball, nor must it be
once touched by the hands. All the work is done
66
LACROSSE.
with the bat. The game is to start the ball from
the center, and to throw it between the goals,
the blues trying to get it past the white flags, and
the whites trying to fling it between the blue flags.
Each side tries its best to defend its own color,
and to get the ball into the enemy's goal. A player
may pick the ball up on his crosse, or catch it on
the fly, or the rebound, and he may, if he can,
run with it on the crosse and throw it into the goal.
Let us see them play. Every one is now ready.
Two players, a blue and white, take position at the
center, with one knee on the ground, their crosses
resting on the grass before them, and the ball lying
between the crosses. The other players stand
ready and watchful in their places. The senior
captain gives the word — " Ready " — " Play ! " In
an instant there is a lively scrimmage, and the ball
goes skimming through the air. The captains
call up their men. There is a grand rush for the
ball. Down it comes on the bat of a white, but a
blue knocks it off, and away it goes. White and
blue struggle for it. It darts here and there, round
and round, and, with a vigorous knock, a white
sends it whizzing through the air toward the blue
goal. It falls on the grass, and the players from
every side run to catch it. A white reaches the
ball first, pulls it toward him with his bat, and
sets it rolling. Then, with a quick movement, he
shifts the bat in front of it, and it gently rolls into
them in the picture. The fellow ahead holds the
crosse steady before him, with the ball resting on it,
and the others in a jolly rout are after him, blues
and whites together. Two arc down and out of the
race. Nevermind. Their turn will come soon. Now
a fast race after the swift runner, who keeps his bat
before him with the ball resting on it. A blue comes
up from the side and tries to strike his bat and knock
the ball away. A quick jump aside, — and the run-
ner dodges the blow. Others gather in front to head
him off He turns this way and that like a deer.
Down they go on the soft grass. Quick as light-
ning he turns around, darts the other way, and runs
on in a wide circle, still aiming for the blue goal.
Ah ! they are after him again, blues and w-hites
all together, and the captains yelling like mad.
Hurrah ! They gather around him, dodging and
jumping from side to side, friend and foe together;
the swift runner is nearly lost, but he turns around,
and with a clever movement throws the ball straight
ahead. The blue goal-keeper tries to stop it, but
it flies between the flags. The gaine is won for the
whites in just two minutes and four seconds.
Whew ! This is lively work. Score one for the
whites. Who ever saw such running, such jolly fun,
before ? If it 's all like this, a boy may learn to run
like a deer and leap like an antelope.
Once more the ball is placed in the center, and
the game is started. Round and round, backward
tlie netting. Away he darts on the full run for the and forward, now here, now there, skimming along
blue goal. The captains shout, and the whole field the ground, first on one side, then on another, fly-
run after him as fast as they can go. Those in ing high overhead and bounding along the grass,^
front try to head him off. This is fun ! Look at the ball is hotly pursued by blues and whites.
LACROSSE.
67
pell-mell. The captains run and shout, driving When the Indians played Baggataway, they
on the players, or calling to the rescue as the ball staked out a field thousands of yards long, and had
conies dangerously near home. The players keep a great many players on a side. Tiie game was
their places as nearly as lhe\' can. but all are watch- tierce and wild, and many were knocked down and
ful, and run for the ball when it comes near tlieir sometimes badly hurt. This was a savage style of
side — if they have it and cannot keep it, flinging it
to a friend, or sending it flying to the other end of
the field. There she goes ! Hurrah! Run, whites:
the blues are upon you ! .Ah ! It 's down, and there
is a wild scrimmage. Here they arc! Pushing, wres-
tling, and having a good, manly struggle for the ball.
Down they go on the grass, tumbling over and
over in the eflbrt to reach the ball. Whiz ! Here
she goes I There she goes! Run, fellows, run!
The blue boy with the long legs has it. Whack !
Somebody knocked it away. It skims through the
air. .Another blue has it ! Run. short-legs ; you
arc a good one ! Hello ! Tall white fellow in the
way. Bang ! It goes high over his head, and,
with a shout, the blues rush up to the go.al. Fair
game ! The blues have it this time !
fun that we have no need to imitate. Lacrosse
should be played by yoxmg gentlemen, and not by
roughs. It should be played with dash and vigor,
but without rudeness and unfairness. Games are to
teach manliness and bravery, and to give strength
to limbs and lungs and heart. Lacrosse is so simple,
so easily learned, and is withal so lively, that ever)-
big boy should join some club or parly and go afield,
and learn what it is to run and jump and h.ave a
good time in the free and open air, on the smooth
gr.Tss and under the glorious sky. Should you care
to learn the rules of the game, ask at the book-
store for a book on L.icrossc, published by Rose,
Uelford & Co., Toronto, Canada. This is said to
be the best thing on the subject, and gives the rules
of the game ,as played in the Canadian style.
68
S !■: W 1 N ( . - M A ( 1 1 1 N K 1 1 IC S 1 1; N > .
s i:w 1 X c. - M A f 1 1 1 X !•: d k s i r, x s.
Bv J \Mi;s (',. Brown.
%, ^
I MAVK been a sewing-machine agent for many
years, and often I would fold a piece of cloth until
it was doubled into eight or ten thicknesses, to
show the strength of the machine. On one occa-
sion, three or four years ago, wanting a piece of
cloth to show another attachment, I ripped the
piece I had been stitching, and, to my astonish-
ment and the delight of those present, 1 found a
most beautiftd design made by the stitches.
The pattern was taken by a lady present and a
licautiful pin-cushion was made from it, by working
the design with Turkey-red in what is called chain-
stitch. You girls will know what that is. I have
since practiced making these designs whenever
showing a machine, and wherever I go I am
requested to make just one more pattern. And a-
some very pretty patterns have been made in thi>
way, I will describe the process s<j that you can
practice it yourselves — first cautioning you, how-
ever, not only to get your mother's consent, but to
ask her to show you how to work, for a sewing
machine must be treated very carefully, you know,
and by not using it in the proper manner, or
by disobeying injunctions, you might injure one
4
i88o.]
SKWING-MACHINE DESIGNS.
69
so badly that it would cost a considerable sum to
put it in good order again.
First, take a piece of thin, tough paper (such as
of the top fold, but not to run over it. Turn the
paper about, and stitch back in another direction,
as indicated in Fig. i . Take out the paper and open
^
shoes are wrapped in) about a foot square, and fold it, and you will have something that will pay. you
the two opposite comers together, making a triangle; for your trouble. Or, if you will commence at the
then fold again with the two long corners together, center point and run around, forming each line into
Be sure that the folded
edges are even each
time you double it. Then
fold again so that the
four corners are togeth-
er, making a neat little
right-angled triangle.
Now fold once more so
that the center of the
paper is about three-
fourths of an inch from
the comer. Now remove
the thread and shuttle
from the machine, take
a rather small needle,
and sew, or rather punch '"■ 3
(commencing at the
point marked C in Fig. l), as crooked a line as you an irregular cun-e, as in Fig. 2, your pattern will be
can sew, allowing the stitches to come to the edge a thing of beauty when unfolded, like that shown at
70
PICTURE-JINGLE.
the head of this article. Fig. 3 shows still another
way of folding the paper and running the stitches,
which also makes a pattern.
To make a braid pattern, take a strip of tough
paper about two feet long and three or four inches
wide, fold it in the center with the two ends to-
gether, then fold the ends back to the center ; fold
again and again, each time back to the center, until
the paper is about one inch and a half wide, as
shown in Fig. 4, or sixteen thicknesses, as in the
other form of pattern. Then run a line of holes
across, as crooked as you can, beginning at one
side near the end and running off the other side
near the other end (Fig. 4). This will give you a
continuous braid pattern (Fig. 5), which can be
worked without cutting or crossing the braid.
You can use this as a stencil, by placing it on the
goods to be worked and powdering common bluing
through the holes. The bluing will leave plain
marks, showing how to arrange the braid.
i88o.]
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
HOW ROB COUNTED THE
STARS.
Oth-ek lit-tlc boys havi: count-ed
the stars, but let mc tell \ou how
lit-tle Rob count-L'il them. Rob was
then just tour years okl.
It was a warm siim-mer nit;"ht.
Mam-ma had put Rob in-to l^ed,
and aft-er kiss-ing hun sev-er-al times,
had left him a-lone to fall a-sleep.
The stars came out, one by one, till
the win-dow was full of the lit-tle
bright twink-lers, and the tired lit-
tle boy lay won-der-ing at their
bright-ness, and count-ing them on his fin-gers and toes : but pret-ty
soon ev-er-y lit-tle fin-ger and toe was " used up," and Rob had many
stars left in the win-dow and no-where to put them. " If I only had a
lit-tle sis-ter," he said, " I could use her fin-gers." And there he lay,
with his arms stretched up-ward and a star on ev-er-y lit-tle fin-ger-
tip. As soon as the thought came in-to his head, he popped out of
the bed, and in an in-stant more was mak-ing a map of the lit-tle piece
of sky which he saw, by put-ting a mark for ev-er-y star up-on his
slate. But soon he grew dream-y, his pen-cil moved slow-er, and the
stars grew dim-mer up-on his slate un-til they ceased to shine there,
and lit-tle Rob was fast a-sleep.
The next morn-ing, Rob's mam-ma found the slate ly-ing by his
side, cov-ered with queer lit-tle marks, but mam-ma did n't know what
they were till Rob said they were stars, and she could count them.
A BED IN THE SNOW.
Ro-SA and Hil-da were two lit-tle girls who lived on the edge of a
great for-est. Their par-ents were very poor, and the two chil-dren
some-times had to go out in-to the woods to pick up dry sticks for the
kitch-en fire. In the sum-mer they liked to do this, for it w^as very
pleas-ant to wan-der a-bout un-der the great trees, and o-ver the green
FOR VKRY LITTLE FOLK. [November,
and soft moss which in some places near-ly cov-ered the ground. They
found a great ma-ny things there be-sides dry sticks, and their moth-er
used to think, some-times, tluit the)- staitl too long a-mong the wild
flow-ers and the moss, while she was wait-ing for wood.
But in win-ter, tlu- chil-dren diil not like the for-est. The trees were
bare, the pret-ty moss was all cov-ered with snow, and the cold winds
blew cold-er there, they thought, than any-where else. l>ul the kitch-en
fire necd-ed wood more in thi- win-ter than in the sum-nicr, for it was
the on-ly fire in the house, and so Ro-sa and Hil-ila ran in-lo the for-
est near-ly ev-er-y day, and brought back as ma-ny dr\- slicks and twigs
as they could car-ry.
One day, Hil-da thought she would take her bas-ket wiUi her, to
gath-er some red ber-ries that she had seen the last time she was in the
woods. There was a good deal of snow on the ground, and it was \er-y
hard for the lit-tle girls to walk ; while Ma.\, their dog, who came with
them, sank so deep in-to the snow, at ev-er-y step, that, at last, he grew
tired, and lay down by a big tree. He thought he would wait there
un-til the chil-dren should be go-ing home.
Hil-da said she would go and look for the ber-ries, and when she
had found them, she would come back and help pick up sticks. So
Ro-sa be-gan to gath-er up what dead wood she could find stick-ing out
of the snow, and Hil-da walked as fast as she could to find her red
ber-ries.
She thought she knew just where they were, but al-though she
W'alked very far, she could not see them any-where. At last, she be-gan
to feel ver-y cold and tired and sleep-y, and she thought she woukl like
to lie right down on the ground and take a nap. .She did not know that
when peo-ple lie down on the sncnv to sleep they \ery often freeze to
death.
Aft-cr a while, she start-ed to go back to Ro-sa, but she did not
walk ver-y far be-fore she tripped o-ver the branch-es of a fall-en tree,
and when she felt her-sclf ly-ing on the snow, she thought she would
just stay there and take a lit-tle bit of a nap. It would rest her so
much. So she went fast a-sleep.
Be-fore long, Ro-sa be-gan to won-der where her sis-ter had gone,
and then she went to look for her. At first, she could see Hil-da's foot-
steps in the snow, but soon she came to a high, l)arc place, where the
wind had blown the snow a-way, and there she could s(;e no foot-steps.
So she ran back and called " Max ! Max ! "
riie lit-tle dot: was still un der the tret", but when he heard Ro-sa
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
n
call-ing him \\v knew ihat some-thins^ was tlic inat-ter, and hi: ran to
her as fast is he n)uhl ij^o \\ hen he saw tliat she was a-lone, he be-
L^an tt) run a-bout, to
look for Hil-da, for he
al-ways saw the two
lit-tle girls very near
each oth-er. He sniffed
a-round, and then he
turned to tlie right and
be-gan to run. I le knew
she liad gone that way.
He could smell her
shoes. Ro-sa ran aft-er
him, and she soon saw
Hil-da's foot-prints in
the snow. She could
not keep up with Max,
but she could see which
wa}- he went.
Ver-)^ soon, she came
to a fall-en tree, and
push-ing a-side the
branch -es, there she saw
her poor lit-tle sis-ter,
ly-ing on the snow, with
Max lick-ing her face.
Ro-sa thought she was
dead, but rush-ing to her
side, she took her in her
arms and found that
she still breathed. Then Ro-sa raised Hil-da to her feet, and hugged and
kissed her un-til she woke her up, while Max barked for joy. When
Hil-da had o-pened her eyes, and could stantl up by her-self. Ro-sa took
her by the arm and hur-ried home. Max running a-long in front.
As soon as their moth-er saw them com-ing, she ran to meet them,
and \vhen she heard how lit-tle Hil-da had been in dan-ger of freez-ing
to death in the for-est, she said that her chil-dren shoukl nev-er go
there a-gain when there was a deep snow.
And you may be sure that aft-er that day, Ro-.sa anil Hil-tla. and
their fa-ther and moth-er, thought a great deal of that lit-tle dog Max.
74
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[NOVEMB
One day, a certain traveler, then living in China, saw a sphex
hovering over a hole in the wood of his book-case. Out of this hole
he took a sphex-womi, and the remains of thirty-four spiders. Also,
in the wood of a chair and table, in the same room, he found other
sphex -babies. All of these he discovered by the sphex-mother flying
making that peculiar noise sounding like the
Little sphex ! "
about the holes
words, " Little sphe
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
When Jack wakes in the morning,
In these sweet autumn days,
He sees the sumac burning
And the maples in a blaze.
And he rubs his eyes, bewildered,
All in the golden haze.
Then: "No. They still are stamiing;
They 're not on fire at all" —
He softly says, when slowly
He sees some crimson fall,
.And yellow flakes come floating
Down from the oaks so tall.
And then he knows the spirit
Of the sunset must have planned
The myriad bright surprises
That deck the dying land, —
And he wonders if the sumac
.\nd the maples understand.
THE GYPSY INSECT,
Now, here is a strange Chinese story ; and you
shall have it just as it came to me; it is about a
little insect called a Sphex, which steals baby mos-
quitoes, spiders, and flies, from the mothers ; just
as, in the olden time, gypsies stole human children.
In China, the people have a legend that the mother-sphex never
has any children altogether her very own, but steals the babies of
other mother-insecls. Then, boring holes in ceruiin kinds of wood,
she places the infant prisoners in them, and covers them up with
the soft borings of the wood. She leaves a small opening through
which she can watch the tiny baby, and then hovers over it, dav
after day, singing. " Little sphex ! Little sphex! Little sphex !" until
the little thing, always heanng itself called a sphex, grows to be one,
and at last comes forth, a real, true sphex, and becomes the child of
Its foster-mother. On account of this legend, adopted children, in
China, are called sphex-children.
However, the truth has been found out at List, and although it is
not quite so pretty .OS the story, it is more motherly ; here it is:
The real sphex.mother is a dark, bluish insect, of about the size of
a common wasp. She lays a great many eggs : but only one in
any one nest, which she bores in wood. She does, indeed, steal
other insects ; but they are to be the food of the tiny egg when it has
become a little whitish worm, which feeds on the spiders, flies, and
mosquitoes that its mother has stored for it. At length, the worm
leaves off eating, and weaves for itself a silken wrapping, and, after
days of sleep, awakes, to find itself a perfect sphex, witli legs and
wings, and comes forth to float in the bright sunshine.
NEEDLES AND THREAD THAT GROW.
The natives of Mexico and of some parts of South
America have no trouble whatever about sewing-
tools ; their needles grow, ready threaded, and I 'm
told that anybody who wishes to use needles and
thread just walks up to the plant and takes them.
The needle is a slender thorn that grows at the
end of the leaf of the maguey tree, and the thread
is a fiber which is attached to the thorn. It is easy
to pluck the thorn and dr.aw it out with its fiber,
and the two perfectly answer the purpose of ordi-
nary needles and thread, considering the kinds of
cloth and costume used in the tropical countries
where they are found.
MONKEY TORCH BEARERS.
Your Jack has just heard of some monkeys who
were educated, not to beg pennies nor to make bows,
but to do something really useful. They lived in
the Jimma country, which lies south of Abyssinia,
and they held the torches at grand suppers, seated
in rows on high benches around the banquet room.
There they silently waited, holding up the lights,
until the feasters had finished ; and then the mon-
keys came in for a share of the good things. Some-
times, one of them would become impatient for his
supper, and throw his flaming light among the
guests, as if to make them hurry ; but, as a rule,
these monkey torch-bearers behaved well.
CRADLED IN A LEAF.
It is not an insect nor a bird that 1 mean, but a
human baby, cradled in a single leaf. The leaf is a
big one, to be sure, being five or six feet across, and
having a rim three inches high all around its edge.
It is the leaf of the IHctoria Regia, a gigantic
water-lily found only in the warmest parts of South
America. Each plant has a number of these huge
pads, which rest upon the top of the water. A big
bird can stand on one of them without sinking, and,
sometimes, when a mother is gathering the seeds
of the plant, which are used for food, she will lay
her baby asleep on one of the leaves, where it is
perfectly safe until she is ready to take it up.
What nice cool cradles these lily-pads must make,
in that hot country !
■ that.
CURRANTS GROWING IN A LOCUST-TREE.
Dear Jack-in-the-Pclpit : Mother .says, your May pictu
tree growing high in the air upon an older tree reminds he
when she was a child, she could see from her window a white-c
bush growing and bearing fruit far up in the branches of a locust
tree. Some bird had dropped a seed there ye-ars before, and when
the currants were ripe, the pretty winged things came and feasted on
them, chattering away at a great rate, and no doubt feeling safe
from stones up among the leaves. — Yours truly, Kate H.
FOUR-HANDED NUTGATHERERS.
" C.OOD LUCK to you!" said the rosy Little
School-ma'am, one Friday, smiling at a group of
boys and girls from the Red School-house, as they
I \( K 1 N -TIIE-PUI.PIT
were planning to f-o on ii nutdiiK I'rolic the next
(lay. " Take care of yourselves, ami don't hurl the
trevs, for the poor thinj;* cannot ilefenil them>elve»,
anil ha\o no four liamlccl Iricntis to help thei\i, like
MMiie other tri-es 1 know of."
Then the chiUlren crowiletl alioiit her to hear
more, and she told them ol the j;raceful lU.uilian
trees fron» which come the ipicer, threcsuled,
hard-slielled nuts calleil Hr.uiliuits. 1 lic^c j^row
(Mcked many to^;ether. the •.h.irp itl^;c mw.ird,
almost like the parts of .\n oran^;c, ami carli clus-
ter IS covereil with a hard, wiKxIy shell, making a
h.dl half as large as a man's head.
If monkeys happen to be in a Hraiil-nut tree, and
you throw somctnint; up to kniKk down the fruit,
those four-handcil little fellows will defend the tree
in a very lively f.ishion, by peltin); you with the
harti, heavy globes, s«> that you will Ix- glad to git
out of the way. Know ing this habit of the monkeys,
the Indians save themselves the trouble of climbing
the trees when they wish to gather the fruit. In
the nut-har\est time, they just provoke the
monkeys to throw down the nuts, and, when the
shower is over, all they have to
do is to carry the prues quictb-
to their boats and drift with
them down the Orinoco river
to market.
THE GLASS MOUNTAIN
Yoi'R J.ick h.TS l)een in-
formed that N'ellowstone Laki-
.ind the land round about it
have been set ap;irt as a " Na-
tion.il P.irk." This is ;is it
should be, for the place, they
say, IS full of strange and
beautiful sights — hot-water
springs side by side with ice
Colli streams; geysers, or
spouting fountains of hot
water, of mud, and of
steam ; grand water- falls,
one of them more than
three hundred feet high ;
gloomy chasms and can-
ons ; dreadful rocks ; roar-
ing torrents ; snow-cov-
ered mountains: and a
wide and peaceful lake.
But one of the most striking of the wonders of
this strange region is the glass mountain, a tall
cliff of black and dark-crimson rock, in bands or
Uyers. Through the points .-vnd jutting corners of
the rock the sun shines, but the face of the clilT has
only a gli»ss in the light, and does not gleam like
ordinary gl.xss. The rock is a sort of cousin of that
from which the Indians used to chip their hatchets:
and when you hold a thin piece up Ix-fore the eve,
the light passes through. It is called " b.-incied
obsiduin," and, at one time, it lay molten inside
the earth, but, ages ago, it w.os poured out, and
cooled in its present fom>. In the picture, the Glass
Mountain is at the right, jutting into the valley.
Spread out before the cliff lie the head-waters
of a river, whiih the bcaveis dammed up lu lu to
form a lake, now known n% " llravrr l.akr."
The small i • ' ' isin from
which the wal' ms to Ik
nothing but a <■ ■ r "hen
\ou are cliise \>\ , Wtii li^H' .ir-
ing rmk. It ap|H-ars to l>c .i ;l>-
ably beautiful, with green .i 'p
shadows, and brightly glistening :.iUi.:..
NATURAL BEADS.
\V you were natives of Cenlr.il .'Xfrica, my dears,
where beads are money, how glad you would be
to le:irn that there are in the world great hills
formed of beads, priKlucetl by natural causes !
One of these hills, not very far from Huenos
.'Vyri-s, South America, is m;ide of little round
stones of v.irious colors, each stone with a small
round hole through it. Now, how did it get there ?
There are n.itural Ix-ads in Africa, ;ilso, on
the south-eastern cu.ist, but they are less beautiful,
being but dull red m '.vliil' .ni.irtz crystals with
smooth eilges. Tin \ hinl nf .m inch
.icross and an inch and a h.ilf long, and c.ich
h.is a bore or hole along its entire length,
through which a aiarsc thre.id can be passed.
Would n't some of \ou be glad to take a
stroll on these heaps of be.ids ! Hut then, the
colors and shapes are not nearly as pretty, nor .is
many, .is those of the Ix-ads which you girls buy ;ind
string into necklets and other dainty ornaments.
TMANKSOIVINQ SONO
illy
lies
Dkacdn <.i
to you New I
that you ma\ ... '>•• ■
"Must of yi.u will wish l.i wind up ilic merry
holiday wisely, and one way would l)e to let the
smaller ones form a line, just Ix-fore you trot off to
Ix-d, and all sing some little Th.inksgiving song.
"Of course, the plan will Ix- kept n secret until
the lime to sing, both by yourselves and by any
older persons who may help you."
THE LETTER-BOX.
[November,
THE LETTER-BOX.
OUR BOUND VOLUMES.
Thk iuldition of sixteen pages to each number of St. Nicholas,
vliich began with the vohiine just closed, and which is to be per-
nuinently kept up, makes a bound volume of twelve numbers too
unwieldy to handle. Therefore, the yearly numbers of Vol. VII.,
and its successors, are to be bound in two parts, each complete in
itself — as a book — but being only half a volume. Thus, two bound
books are required for a complete volume. Vol. VII., in two parLs,
contains a great deal more matter than any volume of St. Nicholas
ever issued, and yet it can be handled in this divided shape much
more readily, and with less injury to the binding, than cotild the
bulkier volumes.
Remember this, boys and girls : If you miss the former thickness
of each volume of St Nicholas, you have instead a really larger
volume now, but one that is divided into two books, which two
readers may enjoy separately at the same time.
with a twining wreath of nasturtiums. One globe, painted dark
green, held a small china bowl for cut flowers.
The "bottle-gourds" we painted black, with dull red figures, to
imitate antique vases. There was a difficulty in matching pairs; but
even genuine vases are not always mates.
The little egg-gourds, frequently used as nest-eggs, we cut m two,
painted blue and white, mounted on feet of twisted wire, and used as
jewel stands.
One of the "pears" we turned to an inkstand, the inside thor-
oughly sand-papered and painted. The upper part was cut oflT, and
served as a hd, and a narrow ribbon, tied through two holes at the
back, became a "hinge." Inside, we set a flat glass bottle, with a
stopper.
There were many other shapes, but I need not tell what we did
witli them, for anybody, with a little ingenuity and a few oil-colors,
may turn them lo account in a thousand pretty and curious ways. —
Yours truly, K. A. E.
Emilv T. — The word
andary" means "a state of doubt
■ be derived from the French jihni
ms. " What shall I say of it ? "
C. W. F. AND OTHERS. — The story o
you asked for, and which the Editor
printed in the present number.
'The Crow-Child." which
d many years ago, is re-
We take pleasure in calling the especial attention of our readers
to Mr. Ballard's interesting paper on the Agassiz Association,
begun on page 28 of the present number. We cordially indorse
the project of having a St. Nicholas branch of the Association, and
trust that it may grow and thrive under Mr. Ballard's good manage-
ment and hearty sympathy. All letters on the subject should be
sent directly to Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox Academy, Leno.x,
Mass., and not to the office of St. Nicholas. That gentleman will
attend personally to all such correspondence, though he frequently
may address the St. Nicholas branch through the pages of this
magazine. The names of all boys and girls who join the St. Nich-
olas branch of the Agassiz Association before January- ist, shall,
if possible, be printed in our Letter-Box.
The following extract from Mr. Ballard's letter explains itself:
" Profe-ssor Ale.\ander Agassiz* has read the inclosed MSS., and
writes that he cordially assents that this very pleasant and useful plan
for children be called the Agassiz Association, and that we have his
' hearty good wishes ' for its ;
Dear St. Nicholas: I wish to tell the readers of St. Nicholas
how to make a panorama. Nothing is needed except a box. either
pasteboard or wood, and for the rollers take an old broom -handle.
Cut it to fit the width of the box ; then take a tack or small nail and
drive it through the under part of the box into the bottom part of the
roller. Put a crank on the top of each roller; then join the pictures
neatly together with flour-paste, being very careful to keep them in
a straight row, so that they will roll around the rollers straight ; cut
an opening in the back of the box large enough to admit a candle.
Now all is finished ; take it into a dark room, with the candle lighted,
turn the crank, and your panorama moves along. Without any ex-
pense, and with very little trouble, it aflfords the maker much amuse-
ment. Any boy or girl can make one. — Yours truly,
Frank J. Glizwiller.
Miss Ella S. Cummins picas
The article will appear in ar
nd her full address to the
Dear St. Nicholas : Two boys were sii
with their slates and pencils before them. O1
" Two from one leaves one, does n't it V "
" Yes," replied the other.
A gentleman passing heard them, and said
" Boys, if you prove to me that two fron
give you each a sixpence."
So the boys took the gentleman into the hi
washing her two babies ; each boy took a
" Two from one leaves one."
So the gentleman gave them each a six
reader.
kitten away, and said :
Dear St. Nicholas: Here is away to make good baskets at
home, and pretty and cheap, too, out of corn-husks, — thick outer
husks for strong baskets, and for lighter and finer ones the
white inner parts. These must be wrapped for an hour or so in
a damp towel, and then cut into strips of equal width. Make an
ordinary braid with six or more strips, which may be doubled, or even
trebled, for greater strength. Thread a needle with heavy, waxed
linen thread, and having dampened the braid, form it in an oval, five
or six inches long and three wide, for the bottom of the basket, and
sew the adjoining edges of the braid together, as in a straw hat, but
don't overlap them. Go on coiling and stitching for the sides of the
basket, widening the opening, until the basket is deep enough.
The handles are made of a heavy three- stranded braid, which is
sewed all around the top of the basket, just inside, and looped up
at the middle of each side.
For ornament, wind the handles with scarlet or blue braid, put a
box-plaiting of it around the top, and work a bunch of flowers on
one side in gay worsteds, with long stitches. The opposite side may
have a letter or a name. — Yours tmly, Edith.
Col
i.— It
known tor a cerlamty
what is the number of different kinds of postage-stamps issued all
over the world, but the London Times lately estimated it at six
thousand. However, a certain English firm lately wrote to another
London paper: " We are at this moment negotiating the purchase
of a collection of nine thousand, all different ; and, in 1877, wc gave
^800 for a collection of seventeen thousand varieties, 'i'his very
day, a collection of twenty thousand, all different, has lieen ofiered
Dear St. Nicholas: Here is an idea in aid of those who wish
to give home-made Christmas presents.
You must know that one summer wc planted gourd-vines, just as
you advised in the last August " Letter-Box,'* and early in the fol-
lowing November, wc had a wonderful lot of oddly shaped, rattling
things to work into pretty gifts.
One kind was like a flattened globe; these we made into work-
baskets, card- receivers, and bowls to arrange flowers in. For the
first of these, a round piece was cut out of the top, as a lid. The
lining was of gold-colui-ed silk, while the outside was painted black,
E. M. B. SENDS this French story put into English:
Cardinal Dubois, a very hot-tempered man, was in the habit of
eating a chicken-wing every evening. One day, when it was time
to serve the chicken, a dog carried it away.
The ser\-ants put another chicken on the spit; but the Cardinal
ordered dinner immediately. The imprincipled butler, foreseeing how
angry his master would be if told what had happened, or if he had
to wait beyond the usual hour, determined to play a part. Address-
ing the Cardinal, he said : " Monscigneur, you have dined."
" I have dined ! " exclaimed the Cardinal.
"Certainly, monseigncur. It is true that you ate little; you ap-
•Thes
of Professor Louis Agassiz, and i
I profci
I Harvard University.
T H E I. K T T K R - B () \ .
n
lo saw Diibois every evening, anived
detained him, and begged him to help
thcirplan,
" Zounds ! " exclaimed the Cardinal, when the doctor entered the
room, '* my sen'ants wish to persuade mc that 1 have dined. I have
not the least remembrance of it, and besides, I am very hungry."
"So much the better," said the doctor. "The hrst piece has
only sharpened your appetite; eat apain, but not much. Then,
tuniing to the ser\'ants, he said : " Wait upon your master."
The Cardinal considered Chirac's advice that he should have two
dinners as an evident mark of his own improved health, and believed
firmly that he had already made a repast. This put him in the best
The Childken of thk Post Oak Street School asked in the
August " Letter-Iiox " for the names of leafl^s plants, and of
leafless South American Creepers. Ceorge Stimson Burdick, of
Massachusetts, and Frank Boyd, New York, name as a leafless
plant the Rafflesia Arnoldi, described in the " Letter-Bo.x " for^Iay
and September, 1879. Florence E. Keep, New Jersey, and John
M. Howells, Massachusetts, mention the Flax Dodder, Cuscnfa
Epiiinum, ConvokmlacetPt described by Gray. E. M. W. S., New
York, names the Cactus, and adds that in South America there are
two leafless creeping plants, the Ccreus Serpentinus and the Ccreus
Ftagelii/ormis. Rosa Cooper, Missouri, says : " I saw on the
trees near Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a leafless vine called there the
Move-vine." It is of a reddish color and the light shines through
it. If you break off a piece, and thn)w it upon a tree or bush, it
will gixjw." And E. M. Van Cleve, Ohio, writes: " Here we
have a plant with leafless, cream-colored stalk, four or five inches
high, bearing yellow, bell-shaped blossoms. I do not know the
Dear St. Nichol.^s: Here in Memphis we have a beautiful
park; but that is not strange for a fine citj'. In the park, though,
we have — what do you think? "Sparrows," you will guess, ol
course. Well, we have birds, but we have what we think more of
— squirrels ! They are vcr>' tame, and it is fun to feed them, and
watch them scamper up the tree-trunks and along the branches.
The boys do not try to catch and plague them, but act just the
contrary way. Boys are apt to act contrar>' ; at least, some boys
are, are n't they ? — to their sisters, I mean. But they have taken the
frisky little chaps under their protection : and if a strange fellow-
should misbehave toward a squirrel, I am afraid the guardians
might not treat him as gently as they treat their pets.
One of my girl-cousins writes from New York that she and her
friends sometimes skate with their parlor skates on the asphaltuni
walks of Washington Square, which she calls "a pretty park " ;
but there are no squirrels there, she says. — Your loving reader,
Rita W.
S. P., Toronto. — The following answer to your inquiry as to the
origin of the " Union Jack " is given on the authority of the Anti-
quary, an English journal:
Before the crowns of England and Scotland were united, on the
death of Queen Elizabeth, the flag carried by English ships was
white, with the red cross of St. George, and the Scottish flag was
blue, with the cross of St. Andrew, the red lines of the first being at
right angles to each other and to the edges of the flag, while those
of the second were diagonal. Some trouble arose about the flags
among the ship-captains of the two countries, soon after James I.
became king: and so, to prevent this in future, and to teach his
people that they now formed one nation, he ordained a new flag, —
the " Union Jack," — with the cross of St. (George overlying that of
St. Andrew on the blue ground of the flag of Scotland. Al! ships
were to carry it at the mainmast- head, but the English ships were
to display also the St. George's red cross at the stem, and the Scot-
tish that of St Andrew in the same place. On the 12th of April.
1606, the Union Jack was first hoisted at sea; but it was not until
the parliamentary union of the two countries, in 1707, that it was
adopted as the military flag of Great Britain. Both army and navy
now use it as the national banner.
but a.* he was going away, they ran after him, and told him they
would sell one out of the temple to him, if he would give them a
dollar for it. He bought it, and took it to his lodgings.
A few days later, some one was sick in the house, and the Chinese
said it was because the idol was anKr>' for being taken out of the
temple, and ihcy wanted to know if they might take it away and
make a feast for it. Papa let them ; and they ofiercd to the idol a
great many delicacies : and then they brought it back and said they
thought he w;ls satisfied. Three times some one was sick in the
house, and each time they took the idol away and feasted it.
At la-st. one morning, when the family came down-stairs, they
looked around for the idol, and it had disappeared. They never
heard of it any more, but Papa thinks that the Chinese took it
hack lo the temple.
My imcic once had a dog who was quite savage. One day he
went out, leaving the dog behind him, in the room where all the
clerks were situng. .Vs soon as the dog found that my uncle had
gone out, he went and lay down near the door, and when any of
the clerks attempted to get up, he would run and give him a bite.
On my uncle's return, he found all the clerks just as he had left
them. — Your most interested reader, A. H.
: about a Chir
idol.
Dear St. Nicholas: Papa once
and I thought perhaps you would like to hear, 1
Once, when Papa was in China, he wanted to buy an idol to keep
as a curiosity. At first, the Chinese were unwilling to part with one:
Dear St. Nicholas: Although there is no resemblance between
the two, the behavior of the rhinoceros, as described in Mr. Inger-
soll's October article on " Man- Eaters," reminds mc of the similarly
bad habit of the Texan cattle, which range wild over our south-western
plains.
They are accustomed to see men on horseback, and rarely fail to
submit to their driving, but a man on foot is at once made the
object of attack. No matter how far away the herd of cattle may
t)e, some of the bulls, which are always on the lookout, will espy a
man. and lush at him with their heads down and Uiils up. There
is only one way for him to avoid them and save his life, and that is
to throw himself flat upon the ground and remain perfectly quiet
They will come tearing up to him, and perhaps leap over his prostrate
body, bellow and prance about him, kicking up clouds of dust : will
even come and smell his clothes, pouring their hot breath into his
face : but so long as he remains quiet, they will not touch him.
They suppose him dead, and though perhaps a little mystified by
his sudden decease, are satisfied that he is disposed of, and soon go
This description is true, also, of the -Australian wild cattle, and I
suppose the same tactics would insure safety against the angry
steer that gets " on the rampage" occasionally, when somebody is
crossing a pasture. The next time any "Letter-Box" reader is in
this predicament, let him tr>' the Texas plan, and write to me the
result. — Truly yours, " Vaquero."
" Flving-Fish."— Your namesakes, the Flying-Fish, so called, are
said by some obser\xT> not to fly but to sail. However, the latest
writers on the subject say that these fish flap their pectoral fins very
fast, like wings, during the first third of their flight, but skim or sail for
tlie remainder. They swim in shoals, and often numbers of them leave
the water at the same time. They rise from the surface to a height
of twelve or even eighteen feet, and their journey through the air is
about two hundred yards in length. They fly sometimes, as it seems,
from pure delight in flying, but they often are compelled to leave
their native element to avoid being swallowed up. When the dol-
phin takes his great leaps out of the water after them, they let them-
selves drop suddenly, and rise in a different direction ; but they fre-
quently fall victims to the leaping giant
The South Sea Islanders go out with torches at night, in their
canoes, along the coral reefs, and catch these pretty fish in nets
attached to poles. They abound in al! the warm seas of the globe,
and are sometimes seen in the temperate zones.
Dear St, Nicholas: I have just read about an old British
game, which may suit American boys in cold weather. It is called
" Quintain. "
Drive a stake into the ground so that five or six feet of it will
stand out Cut the top of the stake into a pivot with a wide shoul-
der. The pivot is to fit loosely into a round hole in the middle of
a lipht beam of wo'od about six feet long. This beam swings around
easily, the shoulder preventing it frf)m slipping down and jamming.
At one end of the beam, fi.\ a small flat board, in an upright posi-
tion : this is the ouintain, and is the mark to be aimed at. At the
other end of the beam, hang with a stout cord a good-sized bag,
stuffed with corn-husks, shavings, or waste-paper.
The players carry Ions; sticks, and these they use as lances, run-
ning their fastest, and aiming to hit the quintain with the lance-
point, and to dart ahead in time to escape a blow from the bag,
which swings around swiftly the moment the mark is struck.
It adds to the fun to ride at the quintain astride of a wooden
horse drawn by one or more companions. No truly valiant knigh^
78
THE LETTER-BOX.
whether afoot or on horseback, ever thinks of ducking to avoid the
bag. Boys who have the use of real horses can set up a taller stake
and use longer poles.
At first sight, this seems a rough game for girls, but it need not be
roughly played ; and snine girls are just as successful in it as many
boys are, with quite as much enjoyment of the fun.
A tournament might he managed by setting two stakes opposite
each other, with the quintains nearly touching as they stretch over
the Hsts, or runway. t)f course, the knights must charge in con-
trary directions, and the less skillful one runs the risk of being
struck by both bags.
The " Leiter-Box " boys and g^rls of Old London may like to
know that near the end of the sixteenth century a quintain stood in
Cornlull, near Leadenhall. In those rough times, the quintain was
shaped Hke a shield, and the bag was filled with sand. — Yours,
Dear St. Nicholas
ers about our summer
filled three flower-pot s
shade of a lilac -bush n
Presently a cat-bird
took a drink
■ had he gone than
read-
Please let me tell the " Letter-Box '
One day, in the dry season, we
;h water, and placed them in the
the dining-room window.
me daintily along, stopped at one of the
imped in, and had a glorious bath. No
uple of wrens followed his example.
and next came a robin red-breast, who made a great fuss.
A tanager and three bluebirds were waiting respectfully for him
to finish ; but meantime, the cat-bird dried himself and came for
another dip. Then there was a general squabble, and a tiny
"chippy," taking advantage of the confusion, hopped up and
splashed about merrily in the disputed bath. When he had gone,
the three bluebirds took each a saucer, and bathed, and spluttered,
and refreshed themselves, until Master Robin came up in a great
bustle of importance, and they made way for him to take his second
he .
and
bath alone.' This, the cat-bird could n't stand,
drove Master Robin away, only to be drive
moments after. And this see-saw went on lor some time, wnen
the rivals were satisfied, however, dozens of other birds came and
enjoyed the water until roosting-time.
Since that first day, we have added a pudding-dish with a few
pebbles in the bottom ; and this the larger birds prefer. And we
mean to keep our saucers at work as long as the birds stay with us,
for it is very pleasant to watch the funny ways of the little feathered
fellows, and they do seem to like their baths so much. — Yours truly,
Frank's plan, we hope, will be wdely followed, for it is an excel-
lent one. Not only is it a real kindness to the birds, but it may
afford. a:i in the instance he describes, an opportunity to see a
remarkable assortment of \arious birds, all attracted by the lii.\ur>-
of a " free bath."
THE SAD STORY OF A
Once, a little boy, Jack,
Till he took a strange n
LITTLE Ii<.)Y THAT CRIKD.
was, oh ! ever so good,
3lion to cry all he could.
So he cried all the day, and he cried all the night,
He cried in the morning and in the twilight:
betray themselves pretty often, or are found out, but with a merrj'
laugh, they run off and try their luck elsewhere. If they can coax
some dear old lady, who would recognize ihcm at once in broad
daylight, to go and fetch them "something for Thanksgiving," the
little rogues steal softly after her into the kitchen ; and, when the
surprise is over, they feast gayly then and there upon the simple gift
intended. And, somehow, when they go, they leave behind them
a heart almost as cheery as their own.
I send you a rhymed puzzle, based on this mock-begging custom.
The answer will be plain enough to those who read my note, but
perhaps they may like to puzzle their friends with it. The same twelve
letters are omitted from every stanza. — Yours tnily,
Lilian Pavson.
See through the dust a smart new * * * ;
Passing a group of peddlers' * * * * ;
Driving the fonncr, a gay young sprig
Strikes with his whip the rattling pans.
Grandma starts from her dozing and * * * " '^ ing ;
But puss by the stove still keeps on blinking.
Next, grandma tries, in the dusk, to * * * * ; /
When lo! in the yard three make-believe "* * * *"/i
Noiselessly past the window they flit. /
Tom are their garments in tatters and rags. /
Orandma's heart is tender and lo * * * *.
Poor beggars like these are surely moving !
Hark! 'tis the knocker, "Clang! Clang! Bang
Grandma opens the door to see
Standing before her a sorry * * * *^ l
says Grandma,
nd hungrj-, I'm
,«ng-
le in, from the frost\' * * * * *.]'
am, give us something to eat"/
Grandma, " quick, bring a light.
And bring apple dumplings and mince pies sweeL
Ah ! rogues ! 1 see through your rags and masking,
Nell, Bessie, and May, cold " ictuals ****»•!"
'How did you know us?" ask Bessie and May.
" How did you know us? " chimes in little Nell.
•How could I help it?" laughs Grandma Gray:
" But why did you beg, dear children, tell?
Surely you need not beg for a living."
' No, no ! 't was in fun, for t
Six little cousins write that this Autumn they have "something
very hard tu do." Their Uncle Ronald, they say, has promised
them one dollar for each fer/cct pair of hickory nuts they find.
"Every one of us," they add, "intends to find a pair — a perfect
pair, in size, color and shape."
Uncle Ronald's dollars are very- safe, we think.
And his mouth grew so large it luoked like a great O.
It grew at the bottom, and grew at the t.-p;
It grew till they thought that it never would stop.
Each day his great mouth grew taller and taller,
And his dear little self grew smaller and smaller.
At last, tliat same mouth grew so big that — alack ! —
It was only a mouth with a border of Jack.
And so this was all that was left of poor Jack :
The great gaping mouth, like a wide-open sack ! p.
Dear 'St. Nicholas: Late in the dusk of the evening before
Thanksgiving Day, around and about our part of Massachusetts,
you expect something to happen like this.
There comes a timid knock at the door. You open, and there
stands a ragged little giri with a huge ba.skct, and a shawl vcr>' thin
for the chill November air. She asks, humbly : " Please, ma'am,
give mc something for Thanksgiving?" Then, even if your store
of dainties is not ample, you can't but slip a bit of something extra
nice into the big ba.sket. And, as the little shlverer shuffles away,
you wish her a pleasant time.
This begging on Thanksgiving Eve is a very old custom around
here, and the professional beggars make it a good har\'est, I have
no doubt. But the village boys and girls look upon it as a chance for
fun.
They dress up in ragged old clothes, and limp in twos and threes
from house to house, pretending to be beggars. Of course, ihcy
The following beautiful incident wiil interest all who lovebirds
and little children :
Dear St. Nichoi-As: I was sitting reading alone in the orchard,
one fine afternoon in August, when all this happened which I want
to tell you.
Through half-closed eyes I saw, across the white, winding country-
mad, the gabled cottage home so dear to ine.
Suddenly, a tiny form appeared on the porch. It w.is our golden-
haired baby-boy, trying to get away unseen, for a ramble all by him-
.self He did not sec me, so I determined to watch him, and be
ready to help in case of need-
Straight down the path he trotted, and through the gate, without
stopping to close it- Across the dusty road — and down upon all
fours to creep beneath the orchard bars ; up again, and on he came,
and I was still unseen behind my tree.
He stopped a few steps off, gazing up with the face and eyes of a
little cherub into the branches above me. But on a sudden, the angel
vanished and he became a roguish human child. Swaying, all
unconscious, upon the lower limb of my tree was a lovely binj, which
Baby saw. He stooped, picked up a stone, and poised his little arm
in act to throw.
At this instant, a burst of melody bubbled out. Baby's hand was
still poised, but now it faltered — slowly fell, and dropped at his side
— the pebble slipping down among the gra-is! The little face was
again a cherub's.
Very quietly I asked: "Why did n't you throw it, darling?"
Without one look of guilt or start of surprise came Baby's answer:
" Tould n't ! 'tos he sung so ! " — Yours truly,
Jeanie B. Ernst.
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
79
THE RIDDLr:-HOX.
DIAMOND IX A RHOMBOID.
Rhomboid. Across: i. Tarries. 2. A narrow piece. 3. A mi
name. 4. Shaves. 5. A small cord. Downward: i. In wry.
Like. 3. A possessive pronoun. 4. .\ jaunt. 5. A man's name.
To shave. 7. To fix firmly. 8. In like manner. 9. In bundles.
IxCLi'DED Diamond: i and 5 are in schools. 2. To tear. 3
man's name. 4. Equal value. C. L
GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
The initials spell the name of a city of the United States
id the
finals name the State of which the city is the capital.
I. An island belonging to, and Ijnng east of, Massachusetts. 2.
The capital of South Australia. 3. A country of Northern Europe.
4. A city yet in existence, which was the early residence of Abraham
and David and the patriarchs. 5. "The Queen of the Sea." 6. The
capital of one of the United States. 7. A cit>' of France. 8. A city
of Switzerland. 9. One of the five great lakes. marv l. perrv.
QUOTATION PUZZLE.
This puzzle is to be answered by one word, the first part of
which may be found in the first quotation, and the second part, in
the next. The third quotation is merely a hint of the whole w<»rd.
1. "You shall have better cheer
Ere you depart: and thanks, to slay and eat it."
CymbeUnt\ Act III. Sc. 6.
II. " He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to ever>* sedge
He overtakeih in his pilgrimage."
Two GentUmen 0/ Veroyta, Act II. Sc. 7.
III. *' At a farm-house, a-feasting."
Metyy Wives 0/ li^m.tsor. Act II. Sc. j.
DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
This differs from the ordinary cross-word enigma, by requiring two
answers instead of one. The first letter of each answer is "in Hiram,
not in Ned," the second "in Nathan, not in Fred," and so on till
the two words, of seven letters each, have been spelled.
In Hiram, not in Ned; In nothing, not in less;
In Nathan, not in Fred; In Cora, not in Bess;
In funny, not in odd; In hydrant, not in hose.
In feather, not in rod ; A time of life each answer shows, c. d.
RHY3IED ANAGRAMS.
The same eleven letters are omitted from each stanza.
1. In winter the sparrow is hungry and ****;
On crumbs in our gardens he *******.
Winter starves the poor birdies, and so wc nnist aim
To save and bring cheer to their lives.
2. And when in the spring they have chosen their **** ^
Each brooding o'er birdlings five,
Wc '11 hail the new-comers, and strew at our gates
The food that will aid them to ******.
3. While the bees in the summer are storing their *****,
The sparrows still chirrup and chatter: —
Their crumbs we 've forgotten while taking our drives.
They 're hungry, and that 's what 's the ****** !
4. When in autumn we harvest the after****,
Our sparrows are apt to be *******,
Till the bread has been strewn on the garden path :
But then they are "gay and festive."
5. Which, now, of the seasons do sparrows love best?
Shall I hint it to you with my rhyme ?
They love the gay summer, the winter detest,
But rejoice in the rich *••*<** ****. Lir.iAN p.wson.
THE MADONNA OF THE LILY.
AFTl'.R A I'AINTINi; UV LEONARDO UA V!HCI.
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII. Dl'.CEMBER, 1880. No. 2.
[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.]
LITTLE NELLIE IN THE PRISON.
By Paul Hamilton Havne.
The eyes of a child are sweeter than any hymn we have sung,
And wiser than any sermon is the Usp of a childish tongue !
Hugh Falcon learned this happy truth one day;
('T was a fair noontide in the month of May) —
When, as the chaplain of the convicts' jail,
He passed its glowering archway, sad and pale,
Bearing his tender daughter on his arm.
A five \ears' darling she ! The dewy charm
Of Eden star-dawns glistened in her eyes ;
Her dimpled cheeks were rich with sunny dyes.
" Papa!" the child that morn, while still abed.
Drawing him close toward her, sh>ly said ;
" Papa ! oh, wont you let your Nellie go
To see those naughty men that plague you so,
Down in the ugly prison by the wood ?
Papa, I '11 beg and pray them to be good."
"What, you, my child?" he said, with half a sigh.
" Why not, papa? 1 '11 beg them so to try."
The chaplain, with a father's gentlest grace,
Kissed the small ruffled brow, the pleading face;
" Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings still.
Praise is perfected," thought he ; thus, his will
Blended with hers, and through those gates of sin.
Black, even at noontide, sire and child passed in.
Fancy the foulness of a sulphurous lake,
Wherefrom a lily's snow-white leaves should break.
Flushed by the shadow of an unseen rose !
So, at the iron gate's loud clang and close.
Shone the drear twilight of that place defiled,
Touched bv the flower-like sweetness of the child !
Vol. VIII.
82 LITTLE NELLIE IN THE PRISON.
O'er many a dismal vault, and stony floor,
The chaplain walked from ponderous door to door,
Till now beneath a stair-way's dizzy flight
He stood, and looked up the far-circling height ;
But risen of late from fever's torture-bed,
How could he trust his faltering limbs and head ?
Just then, he saw, next to the mildewed wall,
A man in prisoner's raiment, gaunt and tall,
Of sullen aspect, and wan, downcast face.
Gloomed in the midnight of some deep disgrace ;
He shrank as one who yearned to fade away.
Like a vague shadow on the stone-work gi'ay,
Or die beyond it, like a viewless wind ;
His seemed a spirit faithless, passionless, blind
To all fair hopes which light the hearts of men, —
A dull, dead soul, never to wake again !
The chaplain paused, half doubting what to do.
When little Nellie raised her eyes of blue.
And, no wise daunted by the downward stir
Of shaggy brows that glowered askance at her,
Said, — putting by her wealtl^ of sunny hair, —
Sir, will you kindly take me up the stair ?
Papa is tired, and 1 'm too small to climb."
Frankly her eyes in his gazed all the time,
And something to her childhood's instinct known
So worked within her, that her arms were thrown
About his neck. She left her sire's embrace
Near that sad convict-heart to take her place,
Sparkling and trustful ! — more she did not speak ;
But her quick fingers patted his swart cheek
Caressingly, — in time to some old tune
Hummed by her nurse, in summer's drowsy noon !
Perforce he turned his wild, uncertain gaze
Down on the child ! Then stole a tremulous haze
Across his eyes, but rounded not to tears ;
Wherethrough he saw faint glimmerings of lost years
And perished loves ! A cabin by a rill
Rose through the twilight on a happy hill ;
And there were lithe child-figures at their play
That flashed and faded in the dusky ray ;
And near the porch a gracious wife who smiled,
Pure as young Eve in Eden, unbeguiled !
Subdued, yet thrilled, 't was beautiful to see
With what deep reverence, and how tenderly.
He clasped the infant frame so slight and fair,
And safely bore her up the darkening stair !
The landing reached, in her arch, childish ease,
Our Nelly clasped his neck and whispered :
" Please,
Wont you be good, sir? For I like you so,
And you are such a big, strong man, you know '
With pleading eyes, her sweet face sidewise set.
Then suddenly his furrowed cheeks grew wet
MYRTO S FESTIVAL.
«3
With sacred tears — in wliosc divine eclipse
Upon her nestling head he pressed his hps
As softly as a dreamy west-wind's sigh, —
What time a something, undefined but high,
As 't were a new soul, struggled to the dawn
Through his raised eyelids. Thence, the gloom withdrawn
Of brooding vengeance and unholy pain.
He felt no more the captive's galling chain ;
But only knew a little child had come
To smite Despair, his taunting demon, dumb ;
A child whose mar\elous innocence enticed
.•Ml white thoughts back, that from the heart of Christ
Fl}- dove-like earthward, past our clouded ken,
Child-life to bless, or lives of child-like men !
Thus he went his way,
An altered man from that thrice blessed day ;
His soul tuned ever to the soft refrain
Of words once uttered in a sacred fane :
' The little children, let them come to me ;
Of such as these my realm of heaven must be ; "
But most he loved of one dear child to tell,
The child whose trust had saved him, tender Nell !
MYRTO'S FESTIVAL.
By Lizzie W. Champney.
Myrto'S festival was not a strawberry-festival to
be held in church parlors, for this was long, long
ago, about five centuries before the birth of Christ,
and in the beautiful but pagan city of Athens.
The magnificent temple of the Parthenon, the
rebuilding of which had occupied fifteen years, was
finished. It was on this account that the Panathe-
naea, the greatest celebration day of the Athenian
people (a festival dearer to their hearts than the
Fourth of July to .American citizens), was to be
solemnized with more than usual pomp. There was
not a citizen, from the great governor Pericles down
to the poorest child, but looked forward with high
anticipation to the four days of the festival. Indeed,
Athens, at this time, was, in some respects, like
Philadelphia just before the Centennial.
Myrto was one of three adopted children, who had
been brought together from widely distant homes.
Cleis, eldest of the three, w;is almost sixteen ; she
was quite a foreigner, having come from the Isle of
Lesbos, in the /Egean Sea. She was never merry ;
her eyes seemed always looking far away, perhaps
across the sea to her Lesbian home, or else away to
the hills where the immortals dwelt, for Cleis was
the child of song, a descendant of the poetess
Sappho. Charmides, a sturdy Dorian boy, was from
Sparta ; he was fifteen, strong as a young Hercules,
but agile as strong ; brave, generous, and truthful.
Myrto was fourteen : a sensitive, loving girl, from
the pleasure-loving city of Corinth. They had
been adopted by a wealthy and kind-hearted man
named Ischomachus. Let us imagine ourselves in
the inner court of his house ; there are beds of
flowers surrounding a small fountain, and the rest
of the space is paved with a mosaic of white and
dark marble. The walls are painted in fresco, and
the court is open to the sky. Cleis, leaning on the
basin of the fountain, is feeding the fishes, while
Myrto bends over her embroidery-frame.
" Myrto ! Myrto ! " exclaimed Cleis, impatiently,
■' why do you work so busily in the time the Mother
gives us for recreation ? "
"Hecau.se," replied Myrto, "I have a little
scheme which I shall tell you about after the fes-
tival ; perhaps you will help me in it."
" Not if it is embroidery, or spinning ; you know I
detest work of that kind. But why does not Char-
mides return ? The exercises at the gymnasium
must have closed long since. Ah ! here he is."
Charmides bounded into the court, exclaiming :
MYKTO S FESTIVAL.
M--^
-^Mf^'^'y] i^Ai
.^
.^f«i**-
MANTLE FOR
■' Where is Ischomachus, where is the Mother?
I have been chosen to compete in the games ! Oh,
Cleis ! I don't see why girls are not taught gym-
nastics here, as in Sparta. I knew several there
who could leap farther than I. There was one
game in which they represented a stag-hunt. The
one who could leap the highest, and run the fastest,
was the stag, and the rest ga%'e chase, with their
hair flying behind them."
Cleis's lip curled scornfully. "' I do not envy
name is Aristophanes. You would like him, Myrto,
he is a ver)' funny boy, he mimics everything. You
should have heard him recite his song of the frogs.
How we shouted ! We promised to crown him poet
some day."
The days before the Panathenaea seemed, to the
children, to hardly move. But at last the great
festival came. There were exercises of wrestling,
and races in the stadium. In one of these, Char-
mides won great distinction by leaping from a
^|.iTC^ ".r^ .
such rough play, but I should like to compete in
poetry and literature. How glorious it would be
to write like the yoimg Euripides ! Myrto, do you
remember when they played his Alcestis ? "
"Oh, yes," spoke up Charmides; ''that p.irt
where Hercules breaks into the house of mourning
and makes such a jolly row, scolds every one for
wearing a solemn face, and keeps calling for re-
freshments ; and then, like the true old hero he
is, fights a duel with Death, and brings Alcestis
back to her husband. There is a boy at our g>m-
nasium who can't bear what Euripides writes ; his
chariot, running by the side of the horses for a
long distance, and then remounting with a
Ijound. Then there were the recitations of poems,
the musical exercises, and dances at the Odeon,
and finally, on the fourth day, the procession.
.AH the citizens met in the Ccramicus, or potters'
quarter, and marched out to Eleusis, a town to the
north of Athens, and making the circuit of a very
large temple in honor of Ceres, returned to Athens,
halting at the Areopagus, or Mars' Hill, where, later,
St. Paul made a memorable address. Then the
people mounted by an immense marble staircase to
iSSo.)
MYRTO S FESTIVAL.
85
the Acropolis, a high hill on which were crowded
the principal temples of Athens, the chief of which
was the Parthenon, which had just been completed
in honor of Pallas. In this procession the old men
led, bearing branches of trees ; next followed the
young girls of noble families, bearing a beautiful
crocus-colored mantle, richly embroidered, for the
statue of Pallas. Next came the deputations from
allied cities, the '• distinguished guests," as we
should say nowadays. Then more people with of-
ferings, and the athletes on horses or in chariots,
which must have been left at the foot of the stair-
case, and then the great mass of the people. At
last they reached the Parthenon, decorated with
sculptures from the studio of Phidias. The frieze
is now in the British Museum, brought there, from
Greece, by Lord Elgin. And what do you imagine it
represents ? What but
this ' very same joyous
festival procession, just
as I have explained it to
you. The building must
have been a mar\'el of
beauty when first com-
pleted, and within was
the exquisite ivory statue
of the goddess at whose
feet they now laid their
offerings.
Only one class of peo-
ple in the whole citj'
took no part in the cere-
monies. The slaves
had nothing to do with
the Athenians' religion
or the .'\thcnians' pleas-
ures. Little IMyrto pitied
them from her heart.
Ischomachus owned a
great many, who were
employed upon his es-
tate on Mount Hymet-
tus. The family spent
a part of the year at this countrj'-seat, and
Myrto determined that the children of the slaves
should have their Panathen^ea, too. These slaves
were not all negroes. A few of them had been
brought from Egypt, but most were people of
northern tribes, captured in battle ; fair-skinned
and blue-eyed, intelligent as the Greeks, of
different nations, but all classed together as bar-
barians.
This was why Myrto had worked so steadily.
She was fashioning a robe in imitation of the
one which had been borne to the goddess. The
wife of Ischomachus, ple;ised with the child's
fancy, helped her ; and she had one other friend —
Philip the Pedagogue — who joined heartily in her
plans to give the slave children one happy holiday.
He had been seized when a young man by the
piratical slave-dealers of Chios, and sold to Ischo-
machus, who had allowed him to study, and now
intrusted to him the education of the children.
Philip was the soul of honor. There was one line
from Menander which he was never tired of quoting:
"Serve like a freeman — thou shalt be no slave !"
86
MYRTO S FESTIVAL.
And yet MyTto, who had heard him speak of his which Charmides had learned long before in Sparta,
mother, knew that he longed to return to her. in which the combatants struck, warded off, re-
She asked Ischomaclius for what he would consent treated, rallied, and fell as though wounded. The
"^ '^fe^^^it^i-.
to ransom the pedagogue, and he had agreed to do
so for two niinas — about forty dollars of our money.
The day for her festival arrived. For hours after
dawn, elegant chariots bringing guests from .A.thens.
and the occupants of the neighboring villas, on
horseback and on foot, poured in a continuous
stream to the country house of Ischomachus.
M)'rto showed them to cushioned seats under a
vine-canopied pavilion, on the ground in front of
which sat the slaves. A grassy lawn stretched be-
fore them, and here the boys, trained by Charmi-
des, performed various feats of jumping, running,
and wrestling. Refreshments were passed to the
guests, and the drama of the day, arranged by
Cleis and Philip, was acted by the children of the
slaves.
The play was a l)urlcsque called " The Battle of
Frogs and Mice." Charmides had obtained from
a chorus-master in Athens a quantity of masks
shaped like the heads of frogs and mice. These
were worn by the children, the mice being further
distinguished by gray tunics, and the frogs by
mantles of green.
After a variety of amusing scenes, a mimic battle
took place between the frogs and mice, an exercise
mice were victorious, and it was only through the
re-enforcement of a platoon of cuirassiers — boys
dressed to represent crabs — that the frogs were
able to make an orderly retreat to their pond.
-•Vfter the acting of the drama, the procession was
formed, Cleis and Charmides, crowned with laurel,
leading the way, two little slaves following, bearing
the lavender-colored robe, with its narrow border
of gold, which Myrto had embroidered, and which
was to be sold to the highest bidder. Next came
the invited guests, as "foreign deputations," bear-
ing their offerings — pieces of money, vases, scarfs,
and caskets. After them came the long procession
of slaves, no one so mean but he had his offering,
too, — a little pot of honey, a basket of figs or
pomegranates, a snared bird, a little cake. They
marched to the door-way of the mansion, which
was supported by two columns, one in the Doric
and the other in the Ionic style, and on these
Myrto had requested that the names of the t^vo
victors, Cleis and Charmides, should be carved.
This was now done with great ceremony. The
capitals were wreathed with laurel and myrtle, and
libations poured upon the door-sill between them.
Ischomachus said there should have been a third
MYRTO S FESTIVAL.
87
column, to have borne the name of Myrto ; but
there was none, and Myrto herself could not see
that she deserved it, for she had neither won :i r:u .
nor written a poem. Last of all. the embroider i.l
robe was sold, and the value of the offerings cum
puted. They were worth, Ischomachus thought,
about three minas.
" Then, dear father," said Myrto, " will you take
them and give Philip his liberty ? "
" Right willingly," replied Ischomachus, hand-
ing Philip the parchment which declared him a
free man, and a bag of silver, which would more
than defray his expenses to his native land.
The poor man was overwhelmed with gratitude
and joy, and took leave of them with tears in his
eyes.
The subsequent history of the children will nut
take long to tell. Cleis became a very talented antl
brilliant woman, though not a very happy one.
Charmides, when the Peloponnesian war broke out
became a soldier, and fell fightm^ for his countr)
.Mvrto. several years after this died while Msitmt,
My**To • CfeiS •C^armic^ej--
her native city, Corinth. We are told that a slave
])laced upon her grave a basket of flowers, with a
tile upon the top to protect them from the sun. A
stalk of acanthus happened to be
among them, which took root, and
its graceful leaves shot from the
open spaces of the basket-work,
growing upward until their prog-
ress was stopped by the tile, when
they curved as gracefully down-
ward. A Greek architect, Cal-
limachus, saw this, and from it
invented the Corinthian capital, the
third order of chissical architecture.
Philip, returning to Athens to
visit the family of his former mas-
ter, heard this story, and begged
to be allowed to erect a third col-
umn, to Myrto's memory, beside
the two which had been wreathed
upon her festival day.
The three capitals still remain,
representing, even in their ruin, physical, mental,
and moral beauty; a poem without words, the
history of three lives, and the principles which they
>
MEISTER FICK-FECK.
expressed, told simply by a different combination
of carven curves.
Something of this hidden lesson of human life,
the many wise architects and lovers of antiquity,
who have studied these different capitals, have
guessed. A poet named Thomson, too, seems to
" First unadorned,
And nobly plain, the manly Doric rose ;
The Ionic then, with decent matron grace,
Her airy pillar heaved: luxuriantly last.
The rich Corinthian spread her wanton wreath."
But in spite of its having lain for ages like an
open book before the eyes of architects, antiqua-
have understood the meanings which these three rians, and poets, you children are the first to hear
beautiful styles of column convey, when he wrote : the story of Myrto's festival.
MEISTER FICK-FECK.
Bv Julia D. Fay.
You all have heard of the beautiful river Rhine,
that has its birth in the mighty Alps, and comes
from its snowy, rocky cradle a strong young river,
hastening on like the heart of a boy impatient to
seek his fortunes. It has a pleasant road, and
foams and dashes along, now blue, now green, now
silver, its waters singing on its way past olden city,
nestling village, vine-covered height, castle-crowned
rock, deep forest, golden valley, and crumbling
ruin, on and ever on, until at its full growth it
reaches the sea.
There are many strange stories told about it and
the many mountains and villages that lie along its
banks. There is one with the funny title of '' Meis-
ter Fick-feck."
"Who was Meistcr Fick-feck? " you ask.
Well, he belonged to the race of dwarfs, and
lived in among the Rhine Mountains. He was
never seen by the villagers, and yet he was well
known for miles around, and the people all came
to him, or rather to the crevice of the rock where
he lived, and called out to him, " Ho, ho, Meister
Fick-feck ! " and always he answered their call.
He was a very obliging dwarf, and heard and re-
lieved all the wants of the poor villagers who came
to him with their troubles. The maidens begged
him for some trinket or ribbon, the boys for a boat,
a kite, or a gun, the men for help in their fields or
the shop, the women for the weaving of linen or
spinning of wool ; and always, on the following
day, they found their requests granted. On the
mountain before the cave lay the gifts for the
maidens ; the boy found the boat on the river, the
blacksmith the horses shod, the miller his meal
ground, the farmer his field plowed, the house-
wives their spinning and weaving all done.
If a little one was baptized in the village, it was
Meister Fick-feck who gave the christening robe.
If the young girl grew tired of spinning, and
dropped asleep over the spinnct, when she awak-
ened she found the work completed, and with a
laugh, said, " Thanks to Fick-feck, my work is
done ! " He helped with the wine in the wine
season, cleared the paths in the winter time, and
made the children happy with wonderful dolls,
fifes, trumpets, and comical toys. He gave wed-
ding garments for the bridal pair, and even shrouds
for the burial, when the aged people of the village
died.
His work was nc\cr finished, for the peasants
had always some new task for him to do, and stood
early and late before his door in the mountain.
They were grateful, these poor people, for all his
goodness to them, and one day they talked among
themselves as to how they could reward him.
There was a great debate about it, and finally they
agreed that it would be best to ask the dwarf what
he would like to have ; so, accordingly, they went
up to the mountain and called out: "Ho, ho,
Meister Fick-feck ! We want to make you a pres-
ent. What will you have ? "
Then one offered wine of the choicest vintage,
but the voice of the dwarf said, " I drink no wine."
Another proffered him a fat calf, another a lamb ;
but no, he ate neither veal nor lamb cutlets, but at
last he modestly said that he would like a suit of
clothes such as were worn by men.
Then the people gladly cried : "A suit thou
shalt have, Meister Fick-feck," and left the mount-
ain in great haste to give the order. They told the
tailor he must fashion a right royal suit for the
dwarf They cared not for the expense. The coat
must be made of bright blue velvet, the knee-
breeches of scarlet satin, and the vest of yellow
silk, embroidered with different colors. A chapeau
with a waving plume completed this wonderful
costume.
When it was finished, the entire village took a
holiday, and forined a procession with flutes and
pipes, festal wreaths and crowns, and trudged up
i88o.]
M E I S T E R F I C K - E E C K .
THE VILLAGERS
the mountain, where they halted before the rocky
door of the dwarf's dwcUing, sang a song of thanks
and honor, laid down the splendid costume, and
went to their homes.
The next day, however, they came again, with
even more favors to ask than formerly, feeling sure
that they would be granted by Fick-fcck, in his joy
c ver the gorgeous attire they had given him.
rock : " Ei — ei ; pack off, each one of you, and ask
no more of me; " and while the peasants stared with
open eyes and mouths, the voice came again : " Go
each to your work. I am free from my bond-
age, and henceforth shall lead a gay life, as befits a
courtier. My work is all finished. 1 am dressed
like a gentleman, and henceforth will live at ease.
The former ' Meister Fick-feck' bids you farewell."
90
K r \ c; A R T 1 1 U R
KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE.
By Sidney Lanier.
It is now about seven hundred and thirty years
ago that a remarkable book suddenly appeared in
England, which, under the rather commonplace
name of " History of the Britons," professed to
give an account of a number of ancient British
kings living both before and after Christ, who had
never been heard of in history before.
One of these kings was Arthur, whose advent-
ures, under the advice of his prophet, Merlin, and
with the help of his special company of knights,
were set forth with much fullness. Its author,
Geoffrey of Monmouth, — who, 1 think, would feel
obliged if you would not pronounce his name
Gee-of-frey, as does a young lady of my acquaint-
ance, but plain Jeffrey, — claimed to have trans-
lated a Welsh book, which a friend had brought him,
and which contained the histories of these kings.
Whether Geoffrey's story of the Welsh book was
true or not — a point on which the world divided in
his own day, and has never yet come together —
really makes httle difference. Here, at any rate,
the story of King Arthur got fairly into literature
for the first time. Writers from every side took up
the Arthurian story, retold it in prose and verse,
changed it, added to it, and in various ways worked
upon it, until finally five great romances, besides
a host of smaller ones, grew up, which far outran
Geoffrey's original, and which continued the delight
of Europe for three hundred years. Not that they
ceased then ; but thej- began a fresh career, with
the invention of printing.
About the time when King Richard 111. cast
the little princes, his nephews, into the Tower,
and while the Wars of the Roses were still smol-
dering, it happened one day that some English
gentlemen asked sturdy old William Caxton, — who
had recently set up the first printing-press in Eng-
land, at Westminster Abbey, — why, among the
books he was sending forth, he had not printed the
famous history of King Arthur? At other times the
question was repeated ; and upon looking about for
a suitable work on this subject to print, it was found
that some years before — about 1469 or 1470 —
an English knight named Sir Thomas Malory had
collected the five great " Romances " just now
mentioned, cut out part, added much, re-arranged
the whole, and made it into one continuous story,
or novel, all centering about the court of King
Arthur, and ending with the mournful wars
between him and Sir Launcelot on the one side, and
Sir Mordred on the other, in which the great king
is finally killed, and the Round Table is broken
up forever.
This book Caxton printed, finishing it, as he tells
us, on the last day of July, 1485 ; and it is this
book which now, nearly four hundred years after-
ward, has been reprinted in an edition for boys,
from which the engravings accompanying this
sketch are taken.
It is, therefore, with the pleasant sense of intro-
ducing an old English classic to young English
readers that I comply with the request of the editor
of 'St. Nicholas for some account of Sir Thomas
Malory's book, which may bring it before younger
minds than those for whom the introduction to the
work itself was written.
Before giving some sample stories out of Sir
Thomas, it is well to have a clear understanding
of the idea upon which it is plain that all his tales
are strung, like necklace-beads on a golden wire.
This idea is chivalry.
The first principle, w£ may say, of the old-time
chivalry was the tender protection of weakness ; and
such we may fairly call the main motive which holds
together all the people about King Arthur; the
protection of the weak. That is the ideal business
of the knight-errant. When the young cavalier
rides forth on a bright morning, all armed, and
singing, his jousts and fights with those whom he
meets, even if their direct object is not the succor
of some distress, are considered by him as mere
training and exercise for helpful deeds ; and if
he tries, in the old phrase, "to win worship"
("worship" being a short way of saying worth-
ship, that is, the esteem of worthiness), his worship
is always at the service of helplessness.
You can now, perhaps, more clearly understand
what is really beneath all this stir of battle and ad-
venture in Sir Thomas's book. The general sweep
of the story, as he has put it together, is this : Old
King Uther Pendragon having died, tliere is trouble
who shall be king in his place. During this trouble,
one da)-, a stone appears with a sword sticking in it ;
and who can draw out that sword from the stone,
he shall be king. Many try, and fail; until at last
a boy named .-Vrthur, who has been brought up by
the prophet Merlin, and who is (though not so
known) reall)- the son of Uther, takes the sword by
the hilt and draws it out with ease. He becomes
King Arthur, and straightway gathers about him a
company of strong and faithful knights, who form
a brilliant court, around which all the adventures
iseo.]
AND HIS K\n;iiTS of thk round TAin.i:.
91
of the time thereafter seem to turn. The story
now for a while goes mainly upon Sir Launcelot
of the Lake, the strongest knight of the world ;
and many wild adventures of his arc related.
The main figure then, for a little while, becomes
one Sir (larcth, of Orkney, who was nicknamed
Boaumains. He comes one day in disguise to
Arthur's court, and begs to be allowed to scr\e in
Arthur's kitchen for a year. Unheeding the scorn-
ful jokes of the by-standcrs, he passes his year in the
kitchen: but he is alwa\s at hand when any deed of
arms is going on about the palace. .*\t the end of
the year, a person in distress appears one day at
Arthur's palace, and asks that some knight will
undertake a desperate enterprise. Beauniains begs
the honor ; and, amid many jeers, for many days,
always scorned and flouted, fights battle after
battle, with knight after knight, conquers them, and
binds them to appear at King Arthur's court on a
certain time, as his prisoners, and finally wins such
worship that all jeers are silenced, and he is
triumphantly made Knight of the Round Table.
We are now introduced to a new hero. Sir Tris-
tram dc Lyonesse, who is beset with the toils of the
ungrateful and treacherous King Mark of Cornwall,
and by many wanderings and adventures comes to
King Arthur's court, where he is made Knight of
the Round Table, and is the strongest knight of all
the world save Sir Launcelot. A great change here
comes upon the story. It is noised that the Holy
Cup called the " Saint Grail," in which the blood
of the Savior was said to have been caught as it
flowed, had been preserved by Joseph of .A.rimathea,
and is now in England, full of miraculous powers.
At this, all the knights depart in search of it, and
we have the wonderful adventures of the famous
" Quest of the Saint Grail," during which Sir Gala-
had, the purest knight of the whole world, comes
upon the scene, with the gentle and winning Sir
Pcrcival. Sir Galahad finds the Holy Grail, and
dies soon afterward ; the knights — those who arc
left alive — return to King Arthur's court, and he,
who had spent his days in sorrowful foreboding ever
since they departed, dreams again of renewing his
old brilliant Round Table. But a shadow soon
darkens the court, and presently overglooms all.
Queen Guenever makes a great banquet to the
returned knights, and all is merry until suddenly a
knight tastes of an apple and falls down dead. The
kinsmen of that knight accuse the queen of poison-
ing him ; and she is condemned to be burnt, unless
by a certain day a champion appear to prove her
innocence by the gage of battle. The day comes,
the stake and fire are made ready ; but Sir Launce-
lot in disguise dashes into the lists and defeats her
accuser. Nevertheless, treacher)' and discord are
now at work; Sir Mordred is plotting; SirGawainc
conceives a violent hatred against Sir Launcelot ;
King Arthur allows Sir Gawaine to lead him ; and
presently we have the forces of King Arthur besieg-
ing Sir Launcelot in his castle of Joyous (Jard ; the
talk over the walls here, between Sir Launcelot and
Sir Gawaine ; the magnificent control of Sir
Launcelot, who ever tries to avoid the war; the
patient goodliness with which he reasons away the
taunts of (lawaine and the king; the care with
which he instructs his knights and soldiers to do no
harm to King .Arthur, on pain of death ; and the
tender loyalty with which, one day, he himself res-
cues King Arthur, who has been hurt and thrown,
sets the king on horseback, and conducts him into
safety ; all these are here told with such simple art
and strength as must strike the soul of every reader,
old and young. Finally, King Arthur, after twice
levying war upon Sir Launcelot, is recalled by the
treachery of Sir Mordred, whom he left in charge of
the kingdom, but who has taken advantage of his
absence to seize the realm into his own hands, and
is even trying to compel Queen Guenever to be his
wife. Many battles follow, until, in a great final
struggle, Arthur is wounded to death, in the act of
killing Mordred; and the scene closes with the
pathetic and beautiful departure of Sir Launcelot
from this world ; who, with some old companions
that remained, had become holy men after the
death of their king, and ser\cd (jod until He took
them to Him.
In the two engravings given herewith, the artist
has very pleasantly endeavored to make us eye-
witnesses of at least the critical moments in some
of the adventures with which our " History of King
Arthur " overflows ; and I cannot do better than
give you, in Sir Thomas's own words, as far as
possible, an outline of the stories thus illustrated.
In looking, then, at the picture called " Sir Ector
and Sir Turquine," please fancy that, on a certain
morning. Sir Launcelot finds that he has rested
and played long enough at court since the great
Roman victories of King Arthur, and, turning his
back upon the ga\' life there, sets forth, with his
nephew Sir Lionel, through forest and plain, upon
knight-errantry. The two straightway fall into
adventures enough ; but meantime Sir Ector, with
whom we arc here concerned, discovering that Sir
Launcelot has left the court, through great love
and anxiety hurries forth after him, to help him, if
need be. " Then," says .^ir Thomas, "when Sir
Ector had ridden long in a great forest, he met
with a man that was like a forester. ' Fair sir,'
said Sir Ector, ' knowest thou in this country any
adventures that be here nigh-hand ? '
'■'Sir,' said the forester, 'this country know I
well, and hereby within this mile is a strong manor
and well dyked '" (that is, mon/i-ii), " 'and by that
92
Kl.\(; ARTHUR
manor, on the left hand, there is a fair ford for
horses to drink of, and over that ford there groweth
a fair tree, and thereon liangelh many fair shields,
which have been conquered from good knights ;
and at the hollow of tjic tree hangeth a bason of
copper ; strike upon tliat bason with the butt of thy
spear thrice, and soon after thou shalt hear new
tidings.' " Sir Kctor thanks him, and, upon riding
up to the tree, finds it all be-hung with shields,
which some victorious knight has won from their
owners and thus displayed. Upon looking more
closely, Sir Ector is stricken with grief to see hang-
ing there the shield of his brother. Sir Lionel. He
is inflamed to right this matter. "Then anon Sir
Ector beat on the bason as he were wood " (that is,
era:)'), "and then he gave his horse drink at the
li ird ; and there came a knight
lichind him and bade him come
out of the water and make him
ready ; and Sir Ector turned him
shortly, and in rest cast his
spear, and smote the other knight
a great buffet that his horse
turned twice about. ' This was
well done,' said the strong
knight, ' and knightly thou hast
stricken me ' ; and therewith he
rushed his horse on Sir Ector,
<uid caught him under his right
arm, and bare him clean out of
his saddle " — as you see in the
engraving — " and rode with him
:iway into his own hall, and
threw him down in the midst of
the floor. The name of this
knight was Sir Turquine." It
is not long, however, before Sir
L.iuncelot, after passing through
many toils and enchantments, —
spread about him by four queens
\\\\o had taken him sleeping, —
fares hither, defeats the strong
Sir Turquine in a terrible fight,
.nil delivers Sir Ector, along
i\ ilh a great number of prisoned
' nights.
In another engraving, called
Sir Beaumains and the Black
iiight." we have one of the
nmerous encounters in the long
lies which was undertaken for
damsel by our Sir (iareth of
I >rkncy, already mentioned in
the general sketch. He had been
nicknamed " Beaumains" by Sir
Kay, for the largeness of his
li inds; but with incredible meek-
ness, long-suffering, strength,
and valor, he made the name one
(if the most honorable at Arthur's
court. After riding forth with the
damsel upon her adventure; after overcoming
several knights ; after enduring the bitter tongue
of the very damsel he is fighting for, who ever
chides him as a base "kitching-knavc," better
among pots and pans than swords and armor : one
day, Beaumains "rode with that lady till even-song
time" — vespers — "and ever she chid him, and
would not rest. And then they came to a black
AND HIS KNIGHTS OK T H !•: ROUND TAHl.K.
93
lawn, and there was a black hawthorn, and thereon
hung a black banner, and on the other side there
hung a black shield, and by it stood a black spear,
great and long, and a great black horse covered
with silk, and a black stone fast by. There sat a
knight all armed in black harness, and his name
was 'The Knight of the Hlack Lawn.'" The
damsel advises Beaumains to flee. " ^Gravii'rcy,^ "
says Beaumains, and quietly holds his ground. The
Black Knight asks if this is the damsel's champion.
" ' Nay, fair knight,' " said she, " ' this is but a
nought; and whether it like thee or not, this lawn
will I pass maugre ' " (in spite of) " ' thine head ;
and horse nor harness gettest thou none of me, but
if thou win them with thy hands ; and therefore let
see what thou canst do.'" Then they departed
with their horses, and came together as it had been
the thunder ; and the Black Knight's spear broke,
and Beaumains thrust his through both his sides, and
therewith his spear broke, and the truncheon left
still in the side. But nevertheless, the Black
Knight diew his sword and smote many eager
kitchen-knave, that was fed in King Arthur's
kitchen for alms.'" Thereupon, after some talk
with the damsel, the Black Knight concludes to be
merciful to the kitchen-knave, and says : " ' This
much shall I grant you. 1 shall put him down upon
one foot, and his horse and his harness'" (his " har-
ness " is his armor) " ' shall he leave with me, for it
were shame to me to do him any more harm. ' " But
Beaumains, the kitchen-knave, is not so minded.
" ' Sir knight,' " he says, and one can easily enough
fancy that his chin is a little in the air, and his neck-
muscle straight, and his voice marvelous low and
steady, — " ' Sir knight, thou art full liberal of my
horse and harness ; I let thee know it cost thee
strokes — one of which strokes the Black Knight,
with the truncheon sticking in his side, is just de-
livering upon Beaumains's shield, in the picture —
"and hurt Beaumains full sore." The batde, how-
ever is won, after great tribulation, by Beaumains;
who then goes on to many adventures, still reason-
ing away the bitter scoldings of the damsel, until
finally — as he had announced at starting — he "wins
worship worshipfully," marries a fair bride won in
the course of his adventures, and has all men to
his friends.
.'\nd so runs the record of numberless like
adventures, until those last days when the fair fel-
lowship ends with the death of King Arthur.
94
TUF. Fi.OAi'iN c. rkixci;.
A DKAR LITTLE GOO SI':
Bv M. M. D.
While I 'm in the ones, I can frolic all the day :
I can laugh, I can jump, I can run about and play.
But when 1 'm in the tens, 1 must get up with the lark.
And sew, and read, and practice, from early morn till dark.
When I 'm in the twvntics, I '11 be like Sister Joe :
1 '11 wear the sweetest dresses (and, may be, have a Ijeau !)
I '11 go to balls and parties, and wear my hair u|) high.
And not a girl in all the town shall be as gay as I.
When 1 'm in the thirties, I '11 be just like Mamma :
And, may be, I '11 be married to a splendid big papa.
I '11 cook, and bake, and mend, and mind, and grow a little fat-
But Mother is so sweet and nice, I '11 not object to that.
Oh, what comes after thirty ? The forties .' Mercy, my !
When I grow as old as forty, I think I '11 have to die.
l?ut like enough the world wont last until we see that day ; —
It 's so very, very, very, very, N'llKV far away !
Till'.
LOAlTXCi TRIXXK.
liv Fr.v.vk. K. Stockton.
There was once an orphan prince, named
Nassime, who had been carefully educated to take
his place upon the throne of his native country.
Everything that a king ought to know had been
taught him, and he was considered, by the best
judges, to be in every wa>- tiualified to wear a
crown and to wield a scepter.
But when he became of age, and was just about
to take his place upon the throne, a relative, of
great power and influence in the country, concluded
that he would be king himself, and so the young
prince was thrown out upon the world. The new
king did not want him in his dominions, and it was
therefore determined, by his teachers and guard-
ians, that he would have to become a " floating
prince." By this, they meant that he must travel
about, from jjlace to jjlace, until he found some
kingdom which needed a king, and which was wil-
ling to accept him to rule over it. If such a situ-
ation were vacant, he easily could obtain it.
He was therefore furnished with a now suit of
clothes and a good sword ; a small crown and a
i88o.)
THE FLOATING PRINCE.
95
scepter were packed into his bag ; and he was
started out to seek his fortune, as best he could.
As the prince walked away from the walls of his
native city, he felt quite down-hearted, although
he was by nature gay and hopeful. He did not
believe that he could lind any countf)' which would
want him for a niler.
" That is all nonsense," he said to himself.
" There are always plenty of heirs or usurpers
to take a throne when it is empty. If 1 want a
kingdom, 1 must build up one for myself, and that
is just what I will do. 1 will gather together my
subjects as I go along. The first person 1 meet
shall be my chief councilor of state, the second
shall be head of the army, the third shall be admiral
of the n.avy, the next shall be chief treasurer, and
then 1 will collect subjects of various classes."
Cheered by this plan, he stepped gayly on, and
just as he was entering a wood, through which his
pathway led him, he heard some one singing.
Looking about him, he saw a little lady, about
five inches high, sitting upon a twig of a flowering
bush near by, and singing to herself. Nassimc
instantly perceived that she was a fairy, and said
to himself: " Oho ! I did not expect a meeting of
this sort." But as he was a bold and frank young
fellow, he stepped up to her and said : " tiood-
moming, lady fairy. How would you like to be
chief councilor to a king ? "
" It would be splendid ! " said the lively little
fairy, her eyes sparkling with delight. " But where
is the king? "
" I am the, king," said Nassime, "or, rather, 1
am to be, as soon as I get my kingdom together."
And then he told her his story and his plans.
The fairy was charmed. The plan suited her exactly.
" You might get a larger councilor than I am,"
she said, " but 1 know a good deal about govern-
ment 1 have been governed ever so much, and I
could not help learning how it is done. I 'm glad
enough to have a chance to help somebody govern
other people. I 'II be your chief councilor."
" All right," said the prince, who was much
pleased with the merry little creature. "Now
we '11 go and hunt up the rest of the kingdom."
He took the little fairy in his hand and placed
her in one of the folds of his silken girdle, where
she could rest, as if in a tiny hammock, and then
he asked her name.
" My name," she answered, " is Lorilla, chief
councilor of the kingdom of — what are you going
to call your kingdom ? "
" Oh, I have n't thought of a name, yet."
" Let it be Nassimia, after yourself," said Lorilla.
" Very well," answered the prince, " we will call
it Nassimia. That will s.ive trouble and disputes,
after the kingdom is established."
Nassimc now stepped along quite briskly, talking
to his littb comp.anion as he went, and explaining
to her his various ideas regarding his future king-
dom. Suddenly he stumbled over what he supposed
was the trimk of a fallen tree, and then he w.as
quickly raised into the air, astride of the supposed
tree-trunk, which seemed to have a hinge in it.
" What now ? " said a great voice, and the prince
perceived that he was sitting on the knee of a giant,
who had been lying on his back in the wood.
" Don't be afraid," said Lorilla, looking out of
her little hammock. " He w'ont hurt you."
" Excuse me," said the prince, " 1 did not see
you, or I should have been more careful. How
would you like to be general of the army of the
kingdom of Nassimia ? "
" That sounds splendidly ! " cried little Lorilla.
The giant looked bewildered. He could not
understand, at all, what the prince was talking
about. But when Nassime explained it all to him,
he said he would like ver)- well to be head general
of the army, and he accepted the position.
Rising to his feet, the giant offered to carry the
prince on his arm, so that they could get along
faster, and in this way they traveled, all discussing,
with much zest, the scheme of the new kingdom.
About noon, they began to be hungry, and so
they sat down in a shady place, the giant having
said that he had something to eat in a bag which
he carried at his side. He opened this bag, and
spread out half a dozen enormous loaves of bread,
two joints of roast meat, a boiled ham, and about
a bushel of roasted potatoes.
" Is that the food for your whole army?" asked
Lorilla.
" Oh, no," answered the giant, who was a young
fellow with a good appetite. " 1 brought this for
myself, but there will be enough for you two. I
don't believe I should have eaten it quite all, any-
way."
'• I should hope not," said the prince. " Why,
that woidd last nic several weeks."
" And me a thousand years," said Lorilla.
" You will talk differently, if you ever grow to be
as big as I am," said the giant, smiling, as he took
a bite from a loaf of bread.
When the meal was over, they all felt refreshed,
and quite eager to meet the next comer, who was
to be the admiral, or commander of the n.avy, of the
new kingdom. For some time, they went on
without seeing any one, but, at last, they perceived,
in a field at some distance, a man on stilts. He
was tending sheep, and wore the stilts so that he
could the better see his flock, as it wandered about.
"There 's the admiral!" said the giant. " Let
me put vou down, and nm over and catch him."
So saying, he set the prince on the ground, and
96
THE FLOATING PRINCE
"Admiral?" cried the poor frightened man.
I don't understand."
" Oh, it 's all right," exclaimed the mcrr\' little
.•^^','*'k5^l
THE GE.SERAL RESOLVES TO
ran toward the shepherd, who, seeing him coming,
at once took to flight. His stilts were so long
that he made enormous steps, and he got over
the ground \ er\- fast. The giant
had long legs, and he ran swift-
ly, but he had a great deal of
trouble to get near the man on
.stilts, who dodged in every di-
rection, and rushed about like
an enormous crane. Ihe poor
frightened sheep scattered them-
selves over the fields, and hid in
the bushes.
At last, the giant made a vig-
orous dash, and swooping his
long arm around, he caught the
shepherd by one stilt, and wav-
ing him around his head, shout-
ed in triumph.
The prince and Lorilla, who
had been watching this chase
with great interest, cheered in
return.
" Now wc have an admiral," said the fairy, as Lorilla, as she slipped out of the prince's sash, and
the giant approached, proudly bearing the shop- ran up to the shepherd. " Wc 're going to have
herd aloft. " Uon't you think it would be well for a splendid kingdom, and wc 're just getting to-
you to get out your crown and scepter.' lie ought gether the head officers. I 'm chief councilor, that
to understand, at once, that you are the king." giant is the general of the ;u-my, and we want you
So Nassime took his crown and scepter from his to command the navy. There '11 be a salary, after
bag, and putting the first on his head, held the a while, and I know you '11 like it."
other in his hand. He looked quite kingly when When she went on to explain the whole matter
the giant came up, and set the shepherd down on to the shepherd, his fear left him, and he smiled.
" I shall be very
^ glad to be your
admiral," he then
said, tothe prince,
whereupon the gi-
ant lifted him up
on his feet, or
rather on to the
stilts, which were
strapped to his
feet and ankles,
and the affair was
settled. The party
now went on, the
giant and man on
stilts side by side,
the prince on the
gi.xnt's arm, and
Lorilla in Nassi-
me's sash.
" What other
great officer must we have ? " asked she of Nassime.
" The chief officer of the treasury, or chancellor
of the exchequer. 1 see him now."
It was true. .Mong a road in a v.alley below
"THK GIANT LOOKSO DKWIU>KNi
;r/^5-
his knees before him, with his stilts sticking out
ever so far behind.
" I am glad to see you," said the prince, "and
I herewith make you admiral of my royal navy."
i88ol]
Till-: FLOATING PRINCE.
97
them, a man was walking. Instantly all wore ex-
cited, riio giant and the man on stilts wished to
I'lm after the new-comer, but the prince forbade it,
saying it would be better to approach him quietly.
The man, who halted when he saw them, proved
to be a clam-digger, with his clam-rake over
one shoulder, and a large basket in his hand.
'I'he prince did not waste many words witli
this person, who was a rather humble-minded
man, but briefly explained the situation to
him, and told him that he was now the
chancellor of the exchequer, in charge of
the treasury of the kingdom of Nassimia.
The man, remarking that he saw no ob-
jection to such a position, and that it might,
in the end, be better than clam-digging,
joined the prince's party, which again pro-
ceeded on its wa)'.
That night, they all slept in a palm-grove,
first making a supper of cocoa-nuts, which
the giant and the admiral picked from the
tops of the trees.
" Now, then," said Nassime, in the morn-
ing, ■' what we must have next, is an aris-
tocracy. Out of this upper class, we can
then fill the government offices."
" Very true," said the giant, " and we
shall want an army. I do not feel altogether
like a general, without some soldiers under
me."
'■ .And / must have a navy," said the ad-
miral.
" And there must be common people,"
remarked the chancellor of the exchequer.
" For we shall need some folks on whom 1
can levy taxes with which to carry on the
government."
'■ You are all right," said Nassime, " and
this is the way we will manage matters. All
the people we meet to-day shall be the aris-
tocrats of Nassimia ; all we meet to-morrow
shall form the army, and all we see the next
day shall be taken to make up the navy.
After that, we will collect common people,
imtil we have enough."
■■ 1 can tell you now," said the admiral,
"how to get a lot of aristocrats all together
in a bunch. A mile ahead of where we now
are, is a school-house, and it is full of boys,
with a gray-headed master. Those fellows
ought to make excellent aristocrats."
" They will do very well," said Nassime, " and
we will go quietly fonvard and capture them all."
When they reached the school-house, Nassime,
with his crown on his head and his scepter in his
hand, took his position at the front door, the giant
crouched down by the back door, the chancellor
Vol. Vlll.— 7.
stood by one window and the admiral tried to stand
by the other, but his stilts were so long that he
looked over the roof, instead of into the window.
" Is not th.it a well near you ? " said the little
councilor Lorilla, who was perched on a vine, for
PROCESSION.
safe-keeping. " Step into that, and you will, most
likely, be just tall enough."
The admiral stepped into the well, which w.as
close to the house, and found that he stood exactly
high enough to command the window. When all
were posted, Nassime opened his door, and stepping
98
THE FLOATING PRINCE.
a short distance into the room, declared his title
and position, and called upon them all to consider
themselves members of the aristocracy of his king-
dom. The moment he said this, the astonished
and frightened boys sprang to their feet and made
a rush for the back door, but when they threw it
open, there squatted the gi^nt, with a broad grin
on his face, and his hands spread out before the
door-way. They then turned and ran, some for
one window and some for the other, but at one
stood the treasurer, brandishing his clam-rake, and
at the other the admiral, shaking his fists. There
was no escape, — one or two, who tried to pass by
Nassime, having been stopped by a tap on the
head from his scepter, — and so the boys crowded
together in the middle of the room, while some of
the smaller ones began to cry. The master was
too much startled and astonished to say a word.
Then came running into the room little Lorilla,
and mounting to the top of the school-master's
table, she addressed the school, telling them all
about the new kingdom, and explaining what a
jolly time they would have. It would be like a
long holiday, and although their master would go
with them, to teach them what they would have to
know in their new positions, it would not be a bit
like going to school.
."Xs soon as the Ijoys heard that they would not
have to go to school, they agreed to the plan on the
spot. Some of them even went out to talk to the
giant. As to the master, he said that if his school
was to be taken into the new kingdom he would
go, too, for he had promised the parents that he
would take care of their boys.
So, when all was settled, the whole school,
headed by the master, made ready to follow Nas-
sime and his officers. The giant pulled the
admiral out of the well, much to the delight of the
boys, and all started off in high good humor.
The company went into camp on the edge of a
wood, quite early in the evening, because Lorilla
said that boys ought not to be up late. If it had
not been for the luncheons which the boys had in
their baskets, and which they cheerfully shared with
their older companions, many of the party would
have gone to sleep hungry that night. As for the
giant, it is probable that he did go to sleep hungry,
for it would have taken the contents of all the
baskets to have entirely satisfied his appetite.
Early the next morning, he aroused the party.
" Here are a few bushels of cocoa-nuts," he cried,
emptying a great bag on the ground. " 1 gathered
them before any of you \vere awake. Eat them
quickly, for we must be off". To-day is my army
day, and 1 want to get as many soldiers .as 1 can."
As every one was very willing to please the giant,
an early start was made, and, before \ery long, the
party reached the edge of a desert. They jour-
neyed o\er the sand nearly all day, but not a living
being did they see. Late in the afternoon, a black
man, on an ostrich, was seen coming from behind
a hillock of sand, and immediately, with a great
shout, the whole party set out in chase.
It is probable that the man on the bird would
ha\e soon got away from his pursuers, had not the
ostrich persisted in running around in a great
circle, while, with whoops and shouts, the giant
and the rest succeeded in heading off the ostrich,
which tumbled over, throwing his rider on the sand.
The bird then ran off as fast as he could go, while
the negro was seized by every aristocrat who could
get near enough to lay hold of him. The giant
now came up, and lifted the man from the midst
of his young captors. " You need not be fright-
ened," said he. "You arc to belong to my array.
That is all. 1 will treat you well."
" And not kill me ? " whimpered the black man.
" Certainly not," said the giant. " I need soldiers
too much to want to kill the onlv one I 've
l88o.]
THE FLOATING PRINCE.
99
got. Fall into line, behind me, and we '11 march
on and sec if we cannot find you some comrades."
But by night-fall the giant's army still consisted
of one black man. The party encamped in an
oasis, where grew a number of date-palms, the fruit
of which afforded a plentiful supper for everybody.
The giant had not much appetite, and he looked
solemn while gazing at his army, as it sat cross-
legged on the ground, eating dates.
The next morning, the admiral earnestly pe-
titioned that they should try to get out of the
desert as soon as possible. " For," said he, " I
have a dreadful time in this sand with my stilts,
and 1 really need more men in my navy than the
giant has in his army. Besides, the best kind of
sailors can never be found in a dr)- desert, like this."
As no one could object to this reasoning, they
set forth, turning to the east, and, before noon,
they saw before them fields and vegetation, and
shortly aftenvard they came to a broad river.
Journeying down the bank of this for a mile or
two, they perceived, lying at anchor in the stream,
a good-sized vessel, with a tall mast, and a great sail
hauled down on the deck.
" Hurrah ! " shouted the admiral, the moment
he set his eyes upon this prize, and away he went
for it, as fast as his stilts would carrj- him. When
he reached the water, he waded right in, and was
soon standing looking over the vessel's side.
He did not get on board, but, after standing for
some time talking to a person inside, he waded
back to the shore, where his companions were
anxiously waiting to hear what he had discovered.
" There are not many persons on board," he
said, rather ruefully. " Only an old woman and a
girl. One is the cook and the other washes bottles.
There were a good many men on the ship, but the
old woman says that they all went away yesterday,
carrying with them a vast number of packages.
She thinks they were a lot of thieves, and that
they have gone off with their booty and have
deserted the vessel. She and the girl were simply
hired as ser\ants, and knew nothing about the crew.
It is n't exactly the kind of navy I wanted, but it
will do, and we may see some men before night."
It was unanimously agreed that the government
of Nassimia should take possession of this deserted
vessel, and the giant soon managed to pull her to
shore, anchor and all. E\erybod\- excepting the
giant went on board, Nassime and Lorilla going
first, then the government officers, the aristocracy,
and the army. The admiral stood on his stilts,
with his head up in the rigging, and the ship was
formally placed under his command. When all
was ready, the giant ran the ship out into the
stream, wading in up to his middle; and then he
ver)' carefully clambered on board. The vessel
rocked a good deal as he got in, but it could
cany him so long as he kept quiet.
" .'\s my navy is not large enough, just now, to
work the ship," said the admiral to Nassime, " and,
also, as it does n't know anything about such work, I
shall have to ha\-c the help of the aristocracy, and
also to ask the general to lend me his army."
".•Ml right," said the giant, "you can have him."
A number of the larger boys, assisted by the
negro, now went to work and hoisted the sail.
Then the army was sent to the helm, the vessel
was put before the wind, and the kingdom of N;is-
simia began to sail away.
There was a large quantity of provisions on
board, enough to last many days, and everybody
ate heartil)-. F)Ut not a person was seen that day
on either bank of the river.
They anchored at night, and the next morning,
setting sail again, they soon entered a broad sea or
lake. They sailed on, with the wind behind them,
and everybody enjoyed the trip. The admiral sat
on the stern, with his stilts dangling behind in the
water, as the ship sailed on, and was very happy.
" Now," said the chancellor of the exchequer, as
the officers of the gox'ernment were talking togeth-
er on deck, " all we want is some common people,
and then we can begin the kingdom in real earnest."
" We must have some houses and streets," said
Nassime, "and a palace. All those will be neces-
sary' before we can settle down as a kingdom."
They sailed all night, and the next day they
saw land before them. .-Vnd, slowly moving near
the shore, they perceived a long caravan.
" Hi ! " shouted the chancellor of the exchequer,
" there are the common people ! "
Everybody was now very much excited, and
everybody wanted to go ashore, but this Nassime
would not permit. Capturing a caravan would be
a very different thing from capturing a negro on an
ostrich, and the matter must be undertaken with
caution and prudence. So, ordering the ship
brought near the shore, he made ready to land,
accompanied only by the giant and Lorilla.
The giant had found a spare m:ist on the vessel,
and he had trimmed and whittled it into a con-
venient club. This he took under one arm, and,
with Nassime on the other, wearing his crown and
carry'ing Lorilla in his sash, the giant waded ashore,
and stopped a short distance in front of the ap-
proaching caravan.
Nassime, having been set on the ground, ad-
vanced to the leader of the caravan, and, drawing
his sword, called upon him to halt. Instantly the
procession stopped, and the leader, dismounting
from his horse, approached Nassime, and bowed
low before him, offering to pay tribute, if necessary.
" We will not speak of tribute," said Nassime,
I
THK KI. GATING PRINCE.
" at least, not now. What I wish, is to know who
you all are, and whore you are going."
" That is easily answered," said the other, giving
a glance upward at the giant, who stood leaning on
his club, behind Na;
sime ; "we are
company of men
of high degree ;
of philosophers
and of rich
merchants, who have joined together to visit foreign
lands, to enjoy ourselves and improve our minds.
We have brought with us our families, our slaves,
and our flocks and other possessions. We wish to
offend no one, and if you object to our passing
through your dominions "
" I do not object," said Nassime. " 1 am very
glad you came this way. These are not my do-
minions. I am king of Nassimia."
" And where is that, your majesty ?"
" It is not anywhere in particular, just now,"
said Nassime, "but we shall soon fi.\ upon a spot
where its boundaries will be established. It is a
new kingdom, and only needed a body of com — "
" Say populace," whispered Lorilla, from his
sash, " the other might offend him."
" And only needed a populace," continued Nas-
sime, " to make it complete. 1 am the king — of
royal blood and education. I have ministers of
state and finance ; an admiral and a navy ; a gen-
eral of the army, whom you see here," pointing to
the giant, " and an aristocracy, which is at present
on board of that ship. I have been looking for a
populace, and am \-cry glad to have met you.
You and your companions are now my people."
"What, your majesty?" cried the astonished
leader of the caravan. " I do not comprehend."
Nassime then explained the plan and purpose of
his kingdom, and assured the other that he and his
countrymen could nowhere be more happy than
in the kingdom of Nassimia, where every oppor-
tunity of enjoyment and the improvement ot the
mind would be offered to the people.
The leader, on hearing this, begged permission
to consult with his fellow-travelers. Some ad-
vised one thing and some another, but the
sight of the giant, who every now and then
playfully struck the earth with the end of
his club in such a way
as to make the ground
tremble, hastened their
decision.
"If we were poor
men," said one of the
philosophers, "and had
no treasures with us, we
might scatter in various
directions, and many of
us might escape. That
giant could not kill us
all. But we are too rich
for that. We cannot run
away from our great
possessions. We must
- -_i-~- submit in peace. "
So it was settled that
they should submit to
the king of Nassimia and become his people, and
the leader carried the decision to Nassime.
The chancellor of the exchequer now became
ver)' anxious to go on shore. He had cast off his
clam-digger's clothes, and wore a magnificent suit
which he had found in the ship, and which had
belonged to the robber captain. He stood on the
deck and made signs for the giant to come for him.
So the giant was sent for him, and soon returned,
bringing also the army, which the chancellor had
borrowed of him for a time. This officer, as soon
as he had landed, approached Nassime and said :
" These, then, are the common people. I sup-
pose I might as well go to w-ork and collect taxes. "
"You need not hurry about that," said Nassime.
"They will never believe in your government
until you do it," urged the chancellor, and so Nas-
sime allowed him to do as he wished, only telling
him not to levy his taxes too heavily.
Then the chancellor, with the negro behind him,
carrying his old clam-basket, over which a cloth
had been thrown, went through the caravan and
collected taxes enough in gold and silver to fill his
basket. He also collected a horse for himself and
one for N;issime. " Now-." said he. "we have the
foundation of a treasury, and the thing begins to
look like a kingdom."
Everything being now satisfactorily arranged, the
TIIK !• I.OATI NC. PKINCK.
company begiin to move on. The giant, with his army
at his heels, and his cUib over his shoulder, marched
first. Then rode Nassime with Lorilla. then the
chancellor, with hisbasket of treasure before him on
his horse, and after him the caravan. The ship
sailed along a short distance from the shore.
In the evening, the Land party encamped near
the shore, and the vessel came to anchor, the giant
shouting to the admiral Nassimc's commands.
The chancellor wished to make another collection
of taxes, after supper, but this Nassime forbade.
Lorilla then had a long talk with NassimCj apart
from the company, assuring him that what was
needed next was the royal city.
" Yes, indeed," said Nassime, " and we are not
likely to meet with that as wc have met with c\ery-
thing else. We must build a city, 1 suppose. "
■' No,"' said Lorilla, gayly. " Wc can do much
better. Do you see that heavy forest on the hills
back of us ? Well, in that forest is the great
capital city of my people, the fairies. Wc are
scattered in colonies all over the country, but there
morning, while the stars were still shining, she
returned and awoke him, and while they were
going to the camp she told him her news.
" Our queen," she said, " will have a city built
for you, all complete, with everything that a city
needs, but before she will have tliis done, she com-
mands that some one in your parly shall be changed
into a fairy, to take my place ! This must be a
grown person who consents to the exchange, as I
have agreed to be your chief councilor of state.
.\nd it must be some one whose mind has never
been occupied with human affairs."
" I don't believe you will find any such person
among us," said Nassime, ruefully.
But Lorilla clapped her hands and cried, merrily :
".■\h, yes! The bottle-washer! 1 believe she is
the very person."
Nassime was cheered by this idea, and as soon as
they reached the shore, he asked the giant to carry
him and Lorilla to the ship. Early as it was, they
found the young girl sitting on the deck, quietly
washing bottles. She had lost her parents when
is our court and our queen. And it is the fairies an infant, and had never had any one to care for.
who can help you to get a royal city. This very She had passed her life, since she was a very small
evening, 1 will go and see what can be done." child, in washing bottles, and as this employment
So, that evening, Nassime took Lorilla to the does not require any mental labor, she had never
edge of the forest, and while she ran swiftly into its concerned herself about .anything,
depths, he lay down and slept. Karly the next " She will do," exclaimed Lorilla, when she had
THE FLOATlXc; PRINCE.
found out all this. " I don't believe her mind was
ever occupied at all. It is perfectly fresh for her to
begin as a fairy."
When the girl was asked if slie would be a fairy,
she readily consented, for it made no dift'erence to
her what she was, and when the admiral was asked
if he would give her up, he said : "Oh, yes ! To be
sure, it will reduce my navy to one person, but,
even then, ii will be as large as the army. You
may take her, and welcome." The bottle-washer
therefore w.is taken to the shore, and Nassime
conducted her to the woods with Lorilla. There
he left them, promising to return at sunset.
" You must be careful of one thing," said Lorilla
to him, before he left, " and that is, not to let those
aristocrats come on shore. If they once get among
the populace, they will begin to lord it over them
in a way that will raise a dreadful commotion."
Nassime promised to attend to this, and when he
went back he sent orders to the admiral, on no ac-
count to allow any aristocrat to come on shore.
This order caused great discontent on the vessel.
The boys could n't see why they alone should be
shut up in the ship. They had expected to have
lots of fun when the common people were found.
It was, therefore, with great difficulty that they
were restrained from jumping overboard and swim-
ming ashore in a body. The master had been
made an ancient noble, but his authority was of lit-
tle avail, and the poor admiral had his hands full.
Indeed, he would have been in despair, had it not
been for the gallant conduct of his navy. That
brave woman seized a broom, and marching around
the deck, kept watchful guard. Whenever she saw
a boy attempting to climb over the side of the ves-
sel, she brought down the broom with a whack up-
on him, and tumbled him back on the deck. In
the afternoon, however, the giant came to the vessel
with a double arm-load of rich fruit, cakes, pastry
and confectionery, an offering from the common
people, which so delighted the aristocrats that there
was peace on board for the rest of the day.
At sunset, Nassime went to the woods and met
Lorilla, who was waiting for him.
" It 's all right ! " she cried ; " the bottle-washer
is to be magically dwindled down to-night. And
when everybody is asleep, the fairies will come here
and will see how many people there are and what
they arc like, and they will build a city just to suit.
It will be done to-morrow."
Nassime could scarcely belie\-e all this, but there
was nothing to be done but to wait and see. That
night, everybody went to sleep quite early. And
if the fairies came and measured them for a city,
they did not know it.
In the morning, Nassime arose, and walked down
toward the shore. .\s he did so, a lady came out
of a tent and approached hiiri. He thought he
knew her features, but he could not remember who
she w;is. But when she spoke, he started back and
cried out : "Lorilla!"
" Yes," said the lady, laughing, "it is Lorilla.
The king of Nassimia ought to have a chief coun-
cilor of state w-ho is somewhat longer than his fin-
ger, and last night, as the girl who took my place
dwindled down to the size of a fairy, 1 grew larger
and larger, until 1 became as large as she used to
be. Do you like the change?"
Lorilla was beautiful. She was richly dressed,
and her lovely face w-as as merry and gay as
ever.
Nassime approached her and took her hand.
"The chief councilor of my kingdom shall be its
queen," he said, and calling a priest from the pop-
ulace, the two were married on the spot.
Great were the rejoicings on land and water, but
there was no delay in getting ready to march to the
royal city, the domes and spires of which Lorilla
pointed out to them behind some lovely groves.
Nassime was about to signal for the ship to coine
to shore, but Lorilla checked him.
"1 'm really sorry for those poor aristocrats, but
it will never do to take them to the royal city.
They are not needed, and they would make all
sorts of trouble. There is nothing to be done but
to let the admiral sail away with them, and keep on
sailing until they are grown up. Then they will
come back, fit to be members of the nobility.
They will have their master with them, and you can
put three or four philosophers on board, and they
can be as well educated, traveling about in this
way, as if they were going to school."
Nassime felt sorry for the aristocrats, but he saw
that this was good advice, and he took it. A quan-
tity of provisions and four philosophers were sent on
board the ship, and the admiral was ordered to sail
away until the boys grew up. .As he liked nothing
better than sailing, this suited the admiral exactly
and after having a few- sheep sent on board, with
which to amuse himself during calms, he hoisted
sail, and was soon far away.
The rest of the kingdom marched on, and in
good time reached the royal city. There it stood,
with its houses, streets, shops, and everything that
a city should have. The royal palace glittered in
the center, and upon a hill there stood a splendid
castle for the giant !
Everybody hurried forward. The name of the
owner was on every house, and every house was
fully furnished, so in a few mmutes the whole city
w^as at home.
The king, leading his queen up the steps of his
royal palace, paused at the door :
".'Ml this," he said, " 1 owe to you. From the
DESTINY.
103
you have given me nothing but
aid, laugh-
very beginnin
good advice."
" But that is not the best of it," sh
ing. " ^'ou always took it."
The vessel carrying the aristocrats sailed away
and away, with the admiral sitting on the stern,
his stilts dangling in the water behind, as the ship
moved on.
DESTINY.
By IVIrs. Z. R. Cronvn.
Four eggs, is it, or only three ? "
Said a careful housewife, musingly ;
I will look again at my recipe."
What 's that on the ha\- out there I see ?
An egg, as I am alive," said she;
" Somebody 's left it there for me."
She whipped her batter, so smooth and thin.
And emptied it into the buttered tin :
Three eggs, not four, had she put therein.
She rolled toward her the precious thing,
And hid it under her downy wing,
To see what a future day would bring.
The fourth she laid on the cupboard shelf;
But out from a corner peeped an elf,
Who roguishly laughed to her little self —
At length came a knock — so faint and small
It scarce was heard — on the egg's white wall,
."Vnd a chick stepped into the world. That 's all.
A chubby girl of the age of three,
Who scrupled not, when the coast was free,
To take the egg for her property.
Weary and sore, that very day,
A tramp was passing along that way,
And he said what tramps are wont to say.
The child was touched at his hungry plight,
So she drew from her apron the egg so white,
And said: "Cook this for your tea to-night."
But lo ! as he tossed on his bed of hay.
In vagabond dreams of a better day.
The egg from his pocket rolled away.
Now a speckled hen, with yellow streaks.
Had sat on an empty nest for weeks.
Such are, at times, an old hen's freaks.
And all that the farmer's wife could do
With tying and ducking and screaming •'■ shoo !''
Had failed with Speckle ; she sat it through.
Here, now, she was on her well-worn nest,
When the coming of morning broke her rest.
' What 's that ! " said she, as she raised her crest.
Ah, no ! not all. Soon a hawk swooped down
And snatched the feathers from off its crown ;
Then it was chased by a weasel brown.
Three times into treacherous tubs it fell,
And once dropped into an open well.
It wished it was back in its little shell.
Full oft did it choke till nearly dead ;
.K falling apricot bruised its head :
0 the turbulent life that chicken led !
But it grew, at last, to its full estate ;
And now you may think some high-born fate,
For a thing so cared for, lay in wait.
But listen. The end was a fricassee
For the Jones's Christmas jubilee.
And this is the thing that puzzles me :
Wherefore should Fortune take such heed
To ward off dangers, — only to feed
The Joneses with something they did n't need.
1 think, if I could have had my prayer,
The wife would have saved this run of care
By ending its history then and there.
I04
LADY BERTHA.
LADY BI'IRTIIA.
I5v Agnes Thomson.
The stor)' of Lady Bertlia is very, very old, but the
curious part of it is, that though her name has been
a household word in ("icrmany for centuries, and
though her memory is cherished still among the
legend-loving people of the world, the Lady Bertha
never really lived at all.
She was, in fact, a goddess of German mythology
— and so gracious and gentle a goddess that even
the sweet sunshine was thought to be subject to her
command, and the rain came only when Frau Ber-
tha willed. If the fields were prosperous, the people
smiled and thanked Frau Bertha ; and it was Frau
Bertha, they thought, who sent all the little children
to the earth to make the household happy. It was
she who was supposed to hold the keys to the
chambers of life and death, so you will hardly won-
der, I think, that the ancients sought in every way
to win her approbation.
She dwelt, they said, in no beautiful palace, but
in hollow mountain caves, apart from men, where
she fostered and cherished the souls of those little
children who had died an early death. There, in
her kingdom under the earth, she plowed the
ground with her plow, the little souls working
with her the while, it being their part to water the
fields.
The most beautiful tradition connected with this
heathen goddess is that known as the " Legend of
the Pitcher of Tears." Full as this legend is of
contradictory ideas, it shows the grief that mothers
feci when their little ones die, and how the hope of
one day meeting them again helps them to bear
long and sorrowful years of loneliness.
Lady Bertha was once passing with her little
train down a green and lovely meadow-land, across
whose length ran a wall to mark some boundary
line. One by one, the children bravely clambered
over the wall, but the last little one, who bore in
her arms a heavy pitcher, in vain tried to follow
her sisters.
A woman who had lost her child by death a short
time before, was standing near, and immediately
recognized the darling for whom she had been
weeping so many days and nights.
Rushing fonvard, she clasped the child to her
breast. Then the little one said : " Ah ! How warm
is mother's arm ! But I pray thee, weep not so bit-
terly, else my pitcher will become heavier than I
can bear ! Sec, dear mother, how all thy tears fall
into my pitcher, and how they have already wet my
rolie ! But Lady Bertha, who kisses me and loves
mc tenderly, says that thou, too, shalt come to her
one day, and that we shall then dwell together in
the beautiful gardens under the mountain for ever
and ever."
.'\nd so, the legend tells us, the mother wept no
more, but let her darling go, while from that hour
she was resigned and patient, her heavy heart find-
ing comfort in the thought of that happy meeting,
in the " beautiful gardens under the mountains,"
that was sure to come.
Later, Lady Bertha had also the oversight of all
spinners. On the last day of the year, which was
sacred to her, and which used to be called " Puch-
entag" in German before the Christians rechrist-
ened it " Sylvestentag," it is said if she found any
flax on the distaff she spoiled it, and in order to win
her entire approval, her festival-day had to be
observed with meager fare — oatmeal porridge, or
pottage and fish. Indeed, a most terrible punish-
ment awaited all who ventured to eat anything else
on that day. Lady Bertha, you see, could be very
severe when she was displeased ; the slightest sign
of disrespect to herself was always promptly re-
sented by this shadowy lady.
As time went on, paganism gave place to Christ-
ianity in the German fatherland, and Frau Bertha
descended from her high estate of goddess, becom-
ing little more than a terror and a bugbear to
frighten children, who, by this time, were taught to
think of her as a hideous being with a long iron nose
and a remarkably long foot.
In France, too, the long foot played a prominent
part, for the traditions of Lady Bertha are by no
means confined to Germany alone. .4s the storj'
goes, King Pepin fought in combat for the hand
of a very beautiful maiden and accomplished spin-
ner, Bertrada, the daughter of a Hungarian king.
King Pepin having won the day and covered him-
self with honor, the prize was declared to be his,
and the beautiful maiden, accompanied by a large
suite, was sent by her father to be queen over
France, while the fame of the fair lady's beauty
traveled even faster than she herself. This was
not strange, however, for excepting the drawback
of one deformed foot, her beauty was wondrous
indeed.
But it happened that a certain wicked lady of
honor was not at all pleased with the choice King
Pepin had made, and which had foiled her own
\.\\t\ B !■: K T 1 1 A .
105
ambition ; so, quietly bribing some men, as wicked moonliglu. She was extremely beautiful, and one
as herself, to carry off the Lady Bertrada and slay of her feet was remarkably long. 'J'hcn the king
her in the woods, she put in the place of this royal gave a cry of joy, for he knew he had found the
maiden her own hideous and hateful daughter. real Bertrada, alive, after all ; and, happy once more.
The fraud, you maybe sure, was soon discovered, lie carried home to the castle his long-lost bride.
and the false queen instandy put to death by com- This Bertrada, or Bertha, was the mother of the
mand of the royal and WTathful bridegroom. great and famous Emperor Charlemagne, and it is
Late one evening, when the king was riding due to a remembrance of this story about her that
through the woods after a long day's hunt, he came you will find on the walls of many French
to a mill on the banks of the river Main, in which he churches quaint pictures of ancient queens, per-
found a maiden diligendy spinning in the pale feet excepting one deformed foot.
io6
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[December,
mv.sti:rv in a mansion.
(A Slary of nn S. S.)
HEN Kitty came over to
her cousin's, directly after
supper, she at once apologized
for being so late, explaining
that her mamma had made
/^f\ some calls in the village, and had
taken her along.
"However," she added, "it
does n't make any difference
whether 1 am late or not, for I am
going to miss all the fun.. Papa says
can't go, and he 's awfully cross
about it all. He told Mamma that
she must n't mention your plan to any one, for per-
haps Cousin Robert would change his mind, and
then it need never be known. But you wont do
so, will you ? I know 1 would n't. "
" We are not going to change our minds," said
Fred. " When a Baird says he will, he will ! As
for the village knowing it, some do know it already.
Donald Stuart does, for one, for he is going along."
"Donald Stuart!" ejaculated Kitty. "Donald
Stuart ! And 1 — I, a member of the family, — I stay
at home ! It is outrageous ! "
" Never you mind," said Sandy. " You may go.
Even if your father is a Baird, he may change his
mind. I declare, if I thought it would do any good,
I would go ask him this minute."
" I don't doubt that," his father replied : " where
Kitty is concerned, 1 never knew your interest to
fail. Do you really think, Kitty, that your father is
determined not to let you go ? "
" He is as hard as the rocks of Gibraltar," said
Kitty, mournfully. " Even Mamma says she knows
he wont change his mind. Here comes Donald
Stuart. It 's too bad ! "
Donald, tall and blue-eyed, came in by the gate.
" I am going to have Joe Hillside's fishing-line,"
he said. " He offered to lend it to me."
"I shall just pretend I am going, anyhow," said
Kitty, " and I am going to borrow a gypsy kettle,
or something. Of course, you will want me to help
\()U get ready. And it will be more fun for me,
if 1 pretend 1 .am to be one of the happy party."
" 1 should n't like that," said Donald, who was
very practical. " I should be more disappointed
when left behind, if 1 had played that 1 was going."
" I sha'n't," said Kitty; "and 1 mean to have
some of the fun. 1 really have half a mind to
run off! I have never even seen (Ireystonc since
I was a baby. Is it true that it has bells all around
the roof. Cousin Robert ? "
" Not now. It used to have, and in stormy
weather they jingled merrily."
" How absurd," said Donald, again. " Why were
there bells around the roof ? Is it a big house ? "
"Big!" repeated Fred. " Wliy, it has nearly
eighty rooms in it."
"That makes a good deal of roof around which
to hang bells," said Donald.
" The bells were only around the center build-
ing," said Mr. Baird. "Two long wings have
since been added. The house was built by a
Dutchman, who had made a fortune in China, and
had, I suppose, pleasant ideas about bells. The
walls of his house are three feet thick, and the ceil-
ings very high. But he brought something more
curious than bells from China. Two wives."
" Was he allowed to keep them?" cried Belle.
" No ; for one ran away. He built two little
houses for them, liut the youngest ran off with the
gardener."
"What became of the Dutchman?" said Don-
ald. " I hope he caught it, some way ! "
" He died in prison for debt ; did n't he. Papa?"
Fred asked; "and they say the cellar was once
used by pirates for storing goods?"
" We '11 look," said Donald, " some rainy day,
when we can't go fishing."
"It is a forlorn old house," said Mrs. Baird;
"you must not expect much romance."
" Is it like a castle ?" said Kitty.
" Not a bit. It is long and narrow. The wings
were added when it was used for a boys' school. I
have no doubt it is dirty enough to be a castle."
" We '11 take a broom," said Kitty ; "but now I
must go and see Patty. She ought to decide upon
what kitchen things she wants."
Kitty was as good as her word. From this
moment she devoted herself to asking cpiestions,
i88o.]
.\n's'i' K k V IN
M A N S I O N .
107
and deciding for every one. I'iUty dcrlarecl she
must lie awake at nights, or she never eoiild think
of so many things. She decided how many cviffs
her cousin Robert would need, and that her cousin
Juliet must take a feather-pillow. She picked out
all the china they would want, and, sagely remark-
ing that as most of it would be broken, it had better
not be too good, made so forlorn an assortment
that Patty was disgusted. She invaded the linen
closet, but here Belle routed her. .She told Fred
not to take his gold pen, for fear it would lie lost,
and she directed Sandy to wear good, but not his
best, boots. She came over whenever she had a
chance, and, if she had but a moment to stay, she
came all the same. It occurred to her that they
might need a lantern, and so, one evening, after
supper, she started on a two-mile walk to borrow
one. Of course she got it, for no one refused Kitty
anything ; and then, as it grew^ darker, she stopped
at a house, and begging some matches, lighted her
lantern and went on her way, astonishing every
one she met by the sight of so small a girl, with
so large a light, alone on the road at this late hour.
She grumbled, she scolded, she laughed, and
she complained ; but, although she was quite sure
her father would not relent, she never allowed any
one to say she really was not going to Greystone.
She meant, she said, to have the fun of pretend-
ing she was.
Ch.apter IV.
IN CAMP.
It was not many days before all preparations
were made, baskets and bags packed, and at last
the party, including Patty, but not poor Kitty,
stood on the wharf at Greystone, and watched the
boat move off. In front of them was the broad and
beautiful river, behind them a green and wooded
country, while around them lay all sorts of curious,
nondescript baskets, bags, and bundles.
"Come, come," said Mr. Baird, finally; "don't
stand gazing at that boat, or I shall think you
repent of having landed. Behold ! It is a new
world. Columbus has stepped upon the shore !
Or, Robinson Crusoe has saved his family and his
baggage from the wreck, and his man Friday will
at once lead the way to the house. "
" We look much more like western iinmigrants.
Papa," said Belle.
" And there," added Fred, w^ith a glance toward
two men who were loading a wagon with milk-cans,
"are your Indians, and they both have their
mouths open."
" It is the contradictory effect of our good
clothes and our shabby bundles," explained Sandy,
" they evidently think these bundles contain our
wartlrobes, anil they diiTi't understand why such a
\'ery nobby family should not have trunks."
" We might have had them," replied his mother;
•■ we could have packed Patty's tea-kettle and the
table-cloths in a trunk instead of the clothes-
basket."
" It w:is n't right to offer the neighbors svich a
conundrum," said Mr. Baird ; " if I had thought
of it, I would have protested. There is Belle's
dress! Half of it is silk ; it ought all to have been
chintz ; she ought to be in character."
"Only a little is silk. Papa," said Belle; "and
it is not clean, and it is old-fashioned ; you ought
to consider all that. But, to-morrow ! — to-morrow
1 '11 come out in brogans and calico ! "
At this announcement, Sandy gave a little sniff,
and then, to prove that one member of the party
was prompt and practical, he lifted the heaviest of
the bundles, and put it on his back. Mr. Baird
and Fred took the clothes-basket, heavy with
kitchen-ware, between them ; Donald shouldered
another great bag ; Mrs. Baird gathered up the
basket of forks and spoons, a tin-bucket of butter,
and a shawl-strap well-filled ; while Belle airily
marched off with a basket of meat which, at home,
would have been much too heavy to lift. Patty
looked at the bundles remaining. Then she sat
down on the stump of a tree.
" I '11 stay here and watch them until you come
back; so you boys had better hurry."
This was an order to move ; it was obeyed, and
the whole party marched off.
Patty looked after them. It was all rather crazy,
she thought, but it was all right. She was in the
habit of scolding about everything, and then cheer-
fully turning around and helping. She had coine
to see Mrs. Baird one afternoon about twenty years
before, and, a storm coming up, she staid all night.
She staid the next day to help with some quilting,
and had not yet found time to go away. She had
always meant to go to her sister's, out West, but it
was preserving, or pickling, or the baby had the
croup, or Fred was going to school, or Sandy's
birthday cake was to be made, or something was
to be done, and so Patty staid!
It was now a lovely evening, but it was growing
hazy, and ominous clouds came up the west. The
birds were chattering and flocking in the trees, the
partridges were stealthily calling for that mysterious
person, "Bob White"; the wild-turnip was in blos-
som, the cardinal-flo\ver blazed down by the river,
and the poke-berry bushes, by the fences, were
slowly staining leaves and stalks with red purple.
Belle stopped to rest ; she lifted her hat from her
head, pushed back her hair, and looking around,
said it was "just lovely," and the whole party
agreed with her.
io8
\i \' s r 1-; K \ i x
M A N S I ( ) N .
" Pull my hat over my eyes, Bollc," said licr
father, " there is Mrs. Lambert on her porch, and
your uncle Robert particularly mentioned her ;is one
of the neighbors who would be shocked. She does
n't know any of you, but I used to dance with her,
when 1 w^as young and good-looking, and I have n't
altered. Here, F"rcd, change hands, it will rest you."
" .^re you not ashamed, Papa," cried Belle.
" You want to get on the side farthest from her ! "
"There!" said Mrs. Baird, suddenly interrupt-
ing, " we have forgotten the candles !"
" Never mind," said her husband, " we havi:
Kitty's lantern."
At this, Sandy gently sighed ; he had not yet for-
given his uncle for refusing to allow Kitty to come
counterfeiters ; they see we are not all right. Dis-
close the worst ! "
" In a week, they '11 say we are lunatics," obser\'ed
Patty. "Well, I do think the Reverend Baird was
right. Such a place ! /\iid for a holiday ! "
" It would n't be a bad place for a counterfeiter,"
Fred said to Donald, "but for smuggling — it would
be splendid! It is like one of Sir Walter Scott's
novels. I lerc is the deserted castle ; here the river.
Of course there is a cove — there always is — all we
should need would be something to smuggle."
" You '11 need to do it soon," said Patty, " for
the bread won't hold out two weeks, and I am sure
there isn't a place for baking in this old rattle-trap."
"It would be best to turn pirate," said Sandy.
with them, but at that moment. Belle, who was a
little in advance, cried out: "There is Grey-
stone ! " and then, in a cooler tone, "when it rains.
we shall have to sleep down-stairs, for I believe there
is not a whole pane of glass upstairs ! "
This announcement stirred the hearts of the
whole party; they quickened their steps, and in .a
moment all had turned into a green and shady
lane, and Grcystone, with its great outspread wings,
its ample porches, and numerous doors and win-
dows, was in full view.
"I salute thee!" cried Fred. " But do, Papa,
change hands again ; the basket grows heavier and
heavier."
"Look there ! " cried Belle, turning her head and
pointing down the lane, to the milk-wagon, which
was bringing the rest of the luggage, and Patty.
" Our g.atc ! " cried Sandy. " Behold, like Chris-
tian, I drop my burden, 1 run to open the wicket-
gate — but Fred ! " he called back, " it has no
hinges; come, lift the other end."
When the bundles and baskets were placed on
the great porch, the men stood and looked at them.
and then at the owners resting on the steps.
" ("joing to live here ? " asked one.
" For a time," cheerfully replied Mr. Baird.
" Furniture not come ? "
" Not yet," said Fred.
" Oh, it '11 be along," said the man. " Sup-
pose you can stay at Saunders's till it comes ? "
"Tell them," whispered .Sandy, "that we are
" I always wanted to be one, and then we could
easily get our supplies. .All those tugs and sloops
must have bread and salt meat on board. That 's
what we '11 do, Patty, -when the larder is low, and
the night it is dark, wc will go out in our boat,
board a merchant-man, and bring you home the
spoil ! You need not worry over the oven."
" The oven," said Mr. Baird, catching the last
words, "is there one? But come, boys, there is
plenty to be done ; the house is to be explored,
furnished, and the hay bought."
"First we '11 choose our rooms," cried Sandy,
" and then we '11 know what color hay to get."
" This is the parlor," said Belle, entering the
house, as usual, ahead, and looking into an open
door at the left.
" It is too big. Belle," said her father, " there is
loo much bare floor, and our lantern would n't
light it."
" Well, this is better, then,'' and Mrs. Baird
opened a door on the right; " the rooms have been
alike, but this one has had a partition run across it."
.•Vdjoining the "little parlor," as it was at once
called, was a long dining-room, with eight windows,
and five doors, all open to the breezes. In the
corner stood a great yellow closet, and for the rest,
it was dusty, cheerful, and dirty.
"The floor," said Belle, lifting her skirts, "is not
good to walk upon, and when the rainy season sets
in, and the voyagers are obliged to dine in-doors, I
am sure they cannot put a table-cloth on it."
i88o.)
M VS TK K V
M A N S K) N ,
109
"The rainy season is not so far off," said her
father, who was standing at one of the back doors
looking over at the garden, now a wilderness of
tangled roses, grapes, syring-as, and peach-trees,
■■ and so, if you boys do not get the liay soon, «e
shall have our choice of wet beds or none."
" Then the first thing to do," said Fred, " is to
carry upstairs the bags in wliich wc mean to put
the hay, and empty them."
" I don't know where you will put the tilings,"
said Patty, cjuickly unstrapping the broom from
the umbrellas, " if upstairs is as dusty as down-
stairs. Just you come along, and 1 '11 brush up a
place in a jiffy ! "
" After you have finished, Patty," cried Mrs.
Baird after her, "throw the broom down, for Belle
and I are going to furnish the dining-room, and
we must first sweep."
" Sweep ! " muttered Patty, ■" the old barn ought
to be scrubbed from top to bottom, and before 1 am
a day older, if my life is spared, I '11 have these
stairs washed down."
Upstairs, Donald, Fred, Belle and .Sandy were
soon busy selecting rooms. In the main building,
on each side of the hall, was a large room, with two
small dressing-rooms attached to each. The one
with the greatest number of whole window-panes
was appropriated for the father and mother, while
the one opposite was chosen for Belle and Patty.
The boys took their rooms in the wing nearest
Patty's, as she settled the matter by saying if they
did n't, she would sit up all night rather than be
murdered in her bed !
They were not, however, as close as they would
have been, had not Sandy proved to be very fastid-
ious about the colors of the wall-paper, objecting to
some because they were "loud," and to others be-
cause they did n't suit his complexion.
While these four young and merry people ran
from room to room, laughing and calling, Patty,
with an energy that overlooked the corners, had
swept out Mrs. Baird's room, and spreading out a
great patchwork quilt on the floor, emptied the
bags and w,as ready, she announced, for the hay.
Patty's hints had ooe merit, they were not easily
misunderstood, and so each boy took a bag, and
they set off to look for hay. They had not far to
go, for Farmer Saunders, who was only about a
quarter of a mile distant, said at once, that if it was
Robert Baird's fancy to sleep on hay, he could have
as much as he wanted, and he then insisted on
sending over milk, or anything they needed.
When the boys got back, the rooms were swept,
and Belle had chalked on each door the name of
the occupant of the room. The beds were soon
made. The hay was spread down smoothly and
compactly, the sheets and white quilts were put on.
pillow-cases filled with lia\ , and they looked com-
fortable enough.
Fred and Donald refused for their rooms all Pat-
ty's offers of assistance. They had appropriated
two small rooms, and in one they made a bed that
covered the whole floor, and took four sheets to fur-
nish ! In the next room they hung their clothes, a
pin-cushion and a little looking-glass. For a chair,
they had an empty box. Then, deciding that the
basin ought to be with the pitcher, they carried it
down-stairs, and turned it upside down on the
pump in the shed.
In the dining-room a revolution was being
enacted. Belle had tied up her head in her father's
handkerchief, and had swept the room. Then, with
her mother's help, she investigated the great closet.
It had two good doors, opening in the middle and
fastening with a button. It had firm shelves ; and
Belle got a basin of water, a cloth, and mounting
on a chair, prepared to scour it. Then she had a
brilliant idea.
"Mainma," she cried, turning around, "this
closet is not fastened to the wall. Let us turn it
on its back upon the floor, and make a table of
it. We can still use it for a closet, all the same,
for we can put everything in. just as well; the
shelves will make division walls," and so she
jumped off the chair, and with much trouble and
a heavy thud, they got the closet down and pushed
it into the center of the room, and then Belle
cleaned it out.
In it she put such of the stores as could not be
placed in a dry well in the shed, and then with
much haste she fastened down the doors, and spread
the cloth, so that when the boys came back with the
hay, there was a large, low table set for supper.
It was at once hailed as a surpassingly excellent
invention, and worthy of the occasion. .As a mat-
ter of course, manv suggestions were made at once.
*' SANDY'S IIKNCH."
The first question was how they should sit around
it. Chairs were pronounced much too high, and
as they had none, no one contradicted this asser-
tion. Next, as the table was entirely too wide,
it was proposed that instead of having the cloth
placed to one side, — as Belle had arranged it, — it
should be put in the middle, and that they should
then sit on the edge of the table. This, Fred said,
would be an excellent thing to do, as then the
closet would combine the whole dining-room furni-
LITTLE TOMMY S DREAM.
[December,
ture, and be sideboard, table, and chairs. Donald
was in favor of having cushions of ha)-, and reclin-
ing on them like the Orientals, 1)ut ingenious
Sandy settled the whole (|uestion. Out on the
porch lay a square wooden pillar, a ruin, but still
strong. It was about seven feet long, and had
once supported the end of a little porch. This,
Sandy brought in, and as one end was higher than
the other, having the capital still upon it, after lay-
ing it down by the table, he made it level with
bricks.
Then he gazed at it with satisfaction. The
clothes-basket he turned up at one end of the table
for his mother, an old soap-box was brushed off
and placed for his father, while Patty, who at
once declined sitting on that "rickety contrivance,"
Sandy's bench, said that a bucket upside down
would do for her, and so, with a napkin for a table-
cloth, she established herself on the opposite side.
The four young people laughed at her for her
precautions, and filing carefully in, sat down upon
the pillar. Mrs. Baird, at ease upon the clothes-
basket, poured out the coffee, while Patty explained
that before she could make a fire in the range she
had to dig out a hole with the hatchet, so full was
it of a solid mass of cinders.
" It is splendid coffee, at any rate," said Mr.
Baird ; " but there is no sugar in mine."
" Nor in mine," said Sandy.
" Nor mine," echoed Fred.
" No," replied Mrs. liaird, " for I have none.
Belle has forgotten it. It is in the closet ! "
" Every man take his own plate and cup, and
clear the table," said Belle promptly ; and follow-
ing her example, they arose, they cleared the table,
they opened the closet and took out the sugar, and
then made a careful in\-entory of what was out, to
see if anything that was in was needed ; but in spite
of all their care, no one thought of the salt until the
table was set again, and the cold chicken was carved,
and then they agreed it really was not needed.
It was a merry supper. They were all hungry,
and all full of plans and good humor. It was, how-
ever, Sandy himself who reached over too far to get
the butter, and thus disturbed the order of the
bricks on which the pillar rested. The bricks
trembled, they slid, they fell, and the four who de-
pended on them were suddenly precipitated from
their seat. Sandy went on to the table, Donald
fell back with his heels in the air, Belle caught her-
self, Fred clutched Sandy, and the older people
jumped up with e.xclamations.
But neither Donald nor Sandy spoke ; they lifted
the pillar up and carried it out, and then coming
back, sat down cross-legged, like Turks or tailors,
and Belle and Fred followed their example.
( To be continued. )
IN NATURE'S WONDERLAND.
A VKLLOW PANSV.
By Ni'.i.i.iK (i. Com:.
To THE wall of the old green garden
A butterfly quivering came ;
His wings on the moss of the margin
Played like a yellow flame.
He looked at the gray geraniums,
And the sleepy four-o'clocks ;
He looked at the low lanes bordered
With the glossy-growing box.
He longed for the peace and the silence,
And the shadows that nestled there,
For his wee, wild heart was weary
Of skimming the endless air.
And now in the old green gardcn-
I know not how it came —
A single pansy is growing,
Bright as a yellow flame.
But whenever a gay gust passes.
It quivers as if with pain,
For the butterfly-soul that is in it
Longs for the winds again !
IN NATURES WON D KR L A N I) ; (M^, A 1) VENTU R i:S IN Till.
AMERICAN TROPICS.
Bv Fki.ix L. Osw.m.d.
Ch.\ptkr L
The busiest time in a sailor's life is the day
before the ship reaches her harbor. On the after-
noon before our arrival in Acapulco, the crew of the
steamer " Honduras" had to scrub the deck, clean
awnings and carpets and w;ish the gunwales,
besides piling up barrels and bo.\cs and all kinds of
hardware and heavy freight ; and when at last the
bell rung for supper, some of them lay down before
the mast and left their dishes untouched, — they
were too tired to eat. But just before sunset an
old tar sauntered up to the railing of the passen-
ger-deck to take a look at a corner behind the
caboose, where 1 had stowed my own baggage. He
beckoned one of his comrades, and before long the
whole crew were on their legs, crowding aroimd the
railing, staring and whispering. Curiosity had
got the better of their weariness.
" That man is carrying his own bed along,"
observed the carpenter; "that hammock there
does n't belong to our ship. What has he got in
that queer tin box, I wonder?"
"Just look at those funny baskets," said the
cook; "they are made of copper wire, it seems.
That boy of his has got a pole with a sort of a har-
poon : and they have fire-arms, no doubt ; they
must l)e seal-hunters, I think."
" That pole looks more like a grappling-hook,"
whispered the mate ; " and did you notice that
coil of rope he is sitting on ? He has a cutlass,
too. They must be smugglers, 1 guess."
1 could not help overhearing their conversation,
and their remarks amused me so much that I
opened a case with two big Spanish army pistols,
to see if they would take us for disguised pirates.
But I have no right to make fun of my readers,
so 1 had better tell the truth at once. Those hook-
poles, wire-baskets and things were part of a
hunter's outfit, and we were on our way to the
wilds of the American tropics, to catch pets for a
French menagerie. About nine years ago, the city
of Marseilles, in southern France, was overrun with
fugitive soldiers and vagabonds, and one stormy
night in midwinter the buildings of the zoological
garden caught fire, and thousands of living and
stuffed rare animals were destroyed ; for the garden
also contained a museum and a l.irge menagerie-
depot, where showmen and private persons could buy
all the curiosities they wanted. The citizens clamored
for a new Zoo, but the town was very poor just
then, and being unable to get animals from Euro-
IX NAriRK S WON l)i; RI.A.X li
[Ubce
pcan cities :il rciisonablc prices, they clecidecl to
send out agents to the tropics, and open a nien-
ageric-depot of tlieir own. Two commissioners
went to the East Indies, one to Africa, and I was
sent to America. Tliey had only one assistant to
spare, and he was engaged b)- tlie 1-ast Indian
party ; so I took my nephe«' Tomni)- along, a boy
of fourteen, who had been in the Pyrenees Mount-
ains with his father, and could talk Spanish nearly
as well as his native language.
Besides Tommy, 1 had a Mexican lad to take
care of our pack-mule, and a half-Indian guide, —
Daddy Simon, as his countrymen called him, — an
old fellow, who had been all over Spanish America
and knew every village in Southern Mexico. Mcn-
ito, our little muleteer, was not much older than
Tommy, and as mischievous as a monkey, but not
a bad boy, and a sort of Jack-at-all-trades. He
could wash and cook, mend shoes and harness-
away from home. Black Bcts) , our mule, was a
native of Lower California, heavy built and a
powerful eater, but good-natured, like most over-
grown creatures. Her best friend in the \\'orld was
a shaggy deer-hound thr.t liad been brought from
the same country, and had slept in her straw since
we left San Francisco. His Mexican name was
Rugerio, but we always called him Rough.
Poor Tom had been sea-sick for a day or two,
and was \ery glad when I told him that this was
our last night on board. When the sun went
down, the coast «as veiled by a sea-fog, but toward
midnight we could sec the moonlit crest of the peak
of Las Vegas, and soon after the lights of a little
sea-port town glittered on the horizon like rising
stars. Sailors have other ways of sighting the
co;ist at night, — they can often tell it by the white
mist that hovers over the moist coast-swamps ;
and a Portuguese ship, having lost her bearings.
gear, saddle a mule, and paddle a canoe through and approaching the coast of Cuba in a stormy
the heaviest surf. His fiither had been a sailor, he night, was once saved by an Indian sailor, who
said ; but he would never tell us where he had recognized the smell of the mountain forests, where
spent the hist two years; I am afraid he had run thousands of balsam-tii-s were in full bloom.
/
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
113
With the first ghmmer of dawn we were on deck
again, and when the sun rose it gilded a long range
of coiist-hills, capped with clouds which here and
there revealed a glimpse of the inland Sierras, the
wonderland of nature, with its snowy heights and
evergreen valleys.
••Do you see that glittering streak yonder?"
said the captain. "That glittering water-line in
the gap of the coast-hills ? That 's the valley of the
Rio Balsas; if you are going to cross the .Sierras,
you will have to follow that river right up to the
highlands."
When we approached the harbor, we heard the
boom of a tumultuous sea, and we thought the
breakers looked somewhat dangerous, till a little
pilot-boat came dancing through the surf, so light and
swift that we became ashamed of our apprehensions.
The landing was rather rough ; but stonn, danger
and sea-sickness were now all forgotten, — we had
reached the harbor of Acapulco. My Tommy
leaped ashore with a loud hurrah, and Black Betsy
cantered up the steep bank as if the pack on her
back were merely a feather. The poor creature
little knew through what thickets and over what
mountains she would have to carry that same pack
before long.
There were several hotels near the landing, but at
Daddy Simon's and Menito's earnest request, I
permitted the old man to guide us to a grassy dell
at the mouth of the river, where we pitched our
tent under a clump of hackberr)' trees, for our
Mexicans were anxious to show their great skill in
cooking and camping.
As soon as we had put our tent in order, 1 left
old Simon in charge of the camp, and took the two
boys to the market-place, where pets of all kinds
could be bought like pigs and cattle in our agri-
cultural fairs. Nearly every huckster had a song-
bird or a tame squirrel for sale, and in some of the
larger booths we found parrots and monkeys at
astonishingly low prices. They asked twenty cents
for a squirrel-monkey, and sixty for a young ant-
bear, and only two dollars for a fine talking parrot.
Armadillos and tame snakes could be bought on
the street for a few pennies.
We bought a monkey from a street peddler
for half a dollar. The same man sold us a tame
badger for sixty cents, and on the wharf we met a
couple of fisher-boys who had a still stranger pet, a
big tortoise that followed them like a dog, and per-
mitted a little child to ride on its back. We bought
it, too, for a French merchant showed us the house
of an honest gardener, who had a large empty store-
room, and who agieed to take care of our Aca-
pulco animals, and feed them half a year for ten
dollars. We understood how he could do it so
cheap, when we found out that bananas are sold in
Vol. VIII.— 8.
.•\capulco like turnips, by the wagon-load, and that
a netful of fish can be bought for a few coppers.
Our plan was to leave a lot of animals in every
large place we passed through, and after we were
done, a freight agent from Marseilles was to col-
lect them and ship them to France.
1 finished all my private business in Acapulco that
same day, and early the next morning we passed
through the town in full marching order, and took
the overland road that leads across the mountains
toward the virgin woods of Chiapas and Tabasco.
"Good luck! Good luck to you, friends!"
cried the neighbors, when we passed through the
city gate : the)' took us for a party of gold-hunters
on the way to the mountain mines. We might
certainly think ourselves lucky in having started so
early, for an hour later, when the high-road was
covered with cars and riders, the dust became
almost suffocating; and when a Mexican stage-
coach whirled by at full gallop, we hardly could see
the head of the adelantcro or outrider, with his
broad hat and fluttering scarf: all the rest was one
big cloud of blinding dust.
"Never mind," said our guide, " we soon shall
reach the river-road, and leave the highway far to
114
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
the right, and up in the inouinains there is hardly
any dust at all."
The river-road proved to be a mere trail. Ten
miles east of Acapulco, the rivet-v'alley became
narrow, the trees and bushes looked much fresher,
and the ravines were covered with flowering shrubs.
We had reached our first hunting-grounds.
" Why, uncle, look here ! " cried Tommy,
" here are some of the same butterflies that are sold
for half a dollar apiece in the Marseilles curiosity-
shops, — oh, and look at that big blue one ! Stop,
Menito, let me get my butterfly-catcher. Please
get the press, uncle ; we can catch ten dollars'
worth of curiosities right here ! " ,
The " press" was a sort of paper box with leaves
like a book, for preserving butterflies and small
beetles. For big beetles we had a wide-necked
bottle with ether. Rough, the deer-hound, soon
joined in the chase, though he could find nothing
to suit him ; we were still in the Vega, in the Aca-
pulco horse-pastures, where game is very scarce.
At last, he made a dash into a bramble-bush, but
sprang back as if he had seen a snake.
"Come here, quick! — all of you!" shouted
Tommy; " have you ever seen such a lizard?
— two feet long and as red as a lobster. jS^
Hurrah ! Here we are ! "
The lizard scampered across
the meadow like a rabbit
with Tommy at its heels, but
soon distanced its pursuer,
and hid out of sight. Liz
ards seem to enjoy sun-
shine more than other
creatures; at noon, when
the sun stood directly
overhead, even the but-
terflies retired into the
shade, or fluttered near
the ground, as if the
heat had scorched their
tender wings ; but lizards
of all sizes and all colors
darted through the grass
and basked on the sunny
faces of the way-side rocks.
" I wonder ii that river
water is fit to drink," said ;
Tommy.
" Better wait till we reach a
spring," I replied; " Mr. Simon wi
show us a place where we can eat
our dinner, by and by." sea-eagles
"I do not know about any good
drinking-water in this neighborhood," said the In-
dian ; " but I Ml tell you what we can do : there 's
a deserted convent twelve miles from here, an old
building with two good halls and a fine garden,
where we can eat our supper."
" Does anybody live there ?" 1 asked.
" No, sir; only an espcctro or two," said he.
■' A what?"
■' It used to be a convent, seiior, and they say
that there 's an espectro there now, — a ghost that 's
watching the money the monks buried before they
left. But he wont hurt us if we sleep there for
one night only."
" Is there any good drinking-water there?"
"Yes, sir; a fine spring, — just the place for a
camp ; only — 1 'm afraid the boys will get tired
before we reach there."
"Not 1," said Tommy, stoutly ; " Daddy is right ;
we ought to keep on till we reach a good place."
"Of course," laughed Menito: "let's go and
see the ghost and have some fun. 1 shall ask him
where he keeps that money."
" Captain, 1 fear that 's a bad boy," said the old
Indian; "we had better watch him, and stuft' a
handkerchief into his mouth if the ghost should
come 'round ; those espectros wont stand much."
As we kept steadily uphill, the river-valley became
deeper and narrower, and at the next turn of the
road we entered a forest of pistachio pines, where
we lost sight of the coast. The ground be-
came rocky, and there was nothing to
remind tis of the neighborhood of the
ocean excepting some white-winged
sea-eagles, that flew up and down the
river, and often rose with a fish in
their claws. One of them dropped
a big fish in mid-air, and another
eagle snatched it before it touched
the water ; but the rightful owner
pursued him with loud screams,
and, while they were fighting, the
h dropped again, and this
time reached the water in
time to escape. Here and
there the pistachios were
mixed with other trees,
and a little farther up we
"'i came across a fallen fir-tree,
that looked as if somebody
^ had been cutting pitch-chips out of it.
fl " There must be a house very near here,"
'^ said Menito ; " there 's a smell in the
'' air like roasted acorns."
"No; only an Indian wigwam," said
Daddy Simon ; "look down there, — you can see
their smoke going up. It 's a family of Pinto In-
dians ; they build no houses, but sleep in hammocks
with some big tree for their roof"
"Let's go and see them," 1 said; "may be
thoy have monkeys or birds for sale."
IN NAIURES WONDERLAND.
1 5
Before we reached the wigwam, ;i curly-headed
httle child ran up to us with outstretched haiuls.
•• Please gininie a copper," he cried; " 1 will In-
a good Johnny; will you gimme a copper now?"
"Certainly," laughed Tommy; "here is one;
where 's your father?"
" Behind that tree," said the boy; "he 's skin-
ning a cully for supper."
The cully, or culebra, was a big fat snake, dang-
Img from the projecting bough of a pine-tree. The
Indian had almost finished skinning the snake, and
I am afraid they were actually going to eat it.
" Why, that 's an ugly-sized reptile, — a regular
boa," said I. " How did you manage to kill such
a monster? Have you a gun? "
" No : we are very poor, sehor," said the Pinto.
"1 killed it with this,"
showing us a heavy
bignonia-wood bow.
The family seemed
to be very poor, in-
deed ; all their house-
hold stuff might have
been removed in a
wheelbarrow. Their
hammock was made
of a sort of matting,
tike coarse coffee-
bagging, and the en-
tire cooking outfit
consisted of an iron
kettle and two forked
sticks. The old
squaw was roasting
acorns for supper;
there is an oak-tree
growing in southern
Mexico which our
botanists call the
Qucrcus Ilex, and
whose acorns taste al-
most like hazel-nuts,
and often are baked
into a sort of sweetish
i Nell thi h inimock, some twenty gray
squirrels were strung up 1 asked about them.
■' They hide in hollow trees," explained the old
Pinto, " and we drive them out by lighting a fire
underneath, and shoot them as fast as they come."
"Look here, captain, they have a monkey,"
said Menito. Our curly-headed young friend was
toddling around with a little tamarin-monkey in
his arms, hugging and patting it as if nursing a
baby. But Tommy drew me aside.
" Please, uncle, don't take that monkey away,"
said he, "may be, those poor boys have no other
plaything in the world."
" Have you any birds you would like to sell? " I
asked the young squirrel-hunter.
" No, sir," said he ; " nothing but a few chick-
ens : but there is a humming-bird's nest in that
bush over yonder."
He took us to a large catalpa-bush, at the brink
of a river, and pointed to one of the top branches.
I bent the bough down and found that the bird had
fastened its nest to the lower side of a large leaf, so
deftly and cunningly that one might have passed
that bush a dozen times without noticing anything.
Before we left the wigwam. Tommy gave the little
curly-head another copper.
ii6
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
[Decemb
"That's rijjht," said the little fellmv. ■• Now
gimme your gun, too, please ? What fur ? To
shoot my monkey," said the httle Indian.
" Why, you bad boy," laughed Tom ; " did n't
you promise us you would be a good Johnny? "
" 1 wont shoot him altogether," said Johnny.
" I only want to shoot his head off, because he 's
making such faces at me. "
The sun had already disappeared behind the
south-western coast-hills when we sighted the ruins
of the convent, on a steep bluff of limestone rocks.
We had some difficulty in getting our mule up ;
but Daddy Simon was right ; it was a splendid place
for a camping-ground. In front of the building
there was a broad terrace, and a little grass-plot,
strewn with broken stones ; the lawn was sur-
rounded with a wildering thicket of briers and
flowering shrubs, and the upper part of the inclos-
ure seemed to have been an orchard, for near the
garden wall the grass was covered with figs and
cetrhios, as the Spaniards call a sort of wild lemon
with a pleasant aromatic scent. Hawk-moths of all
sizes swarmed about the shrubbery, and the air
was filled with the perfume of honeysuckle and
parnassia flowers. At the lower end of the garden
there were two fine springs that formed a little
rivulet at their junction, and farther down, a pond,
where we had a good wash, and then, finding that
we could dispense with a tent for this night, we all
encamped on the terrace around our provision-box.
We had neither tea nor coffee, but the cool spring-
water, with cetrinos and a little sugar, made an
excellent lemonade, and after our forced march we
would not have exchanged our free and easy picnic
for a banquet in the palace of Queen Victoria.
"There comes the moon," said I. "Do you
think you could find a few more lemons, boys ? "
"Yes, try," said the Indian. "lam going to
fetch another bucketful of water. "
After ten or fifteen minutes, Menito at last re-
turned, with a whole hatful of cetrinos.
" I found the best place in the garden," said he.
" The top of that wall is just covered with them.
Why ! Where is Daddy ? "
" Listen! " said Tom. " He 's down there, talk-
ing to somebody. Oh, here he comes ! "
" Why, Mr. Simon, that 's not fair," said Menito.
" If you met that specter you ought to have told us,
so we could get our share of the money."
"That tongue of yours will get us all into trouble
yet," said Mr. Simon. "No, no; it's old Mrs.
Ycgtia, the widow who lives on the little farm down
in the hollow. She says her own spring is nearly
dry. Come up, Mrs. Yegua ! "
A strange figure appeared on the moonlit terrace —
a figure that would have looked rather specter-like,
indeed, if one had met her unawares ; our dog, at
least, retreated with a frightened growl when she
hobbled up the steps, with a bucket in one hand and
a big stick in the other. She had only one gar-
ment, a sack-like gown without sleeves, but with a
collar-flap that went over her head like a hood.
" How do you all do? " said she, shaking hands
with us like an old acquaintance. " My spring
turned brackish again," said she, "just like the
year before last, you know. Mr. Simon here tells
me that he saw my Josy in Acapulco."
She then sat down and told us a long story about
her grandson Jose, who had enlisted in the Mexican
armv for a drummer, and would be a major by
and by. " Well. I must go," said she, at last.
"1 'm glad 1 found you all in good health."
"Would n't you take supper with us before you
go ?" said 1. " Here, try some of these cakes, Mrs.
Yegua."
" No, thank you." said the old lady, putting her
hand on Menito's shoulder; "but if you want to
do me a favor, 1 would ask you to lend me this boy
for ten minutes to-morrow morning."
" Certainly ; but what can he do for you ?"
"1 '11 tell you what it is." said she ; " there 's a
troop of iiionos (ceboo monkeys) in that caucho-
wood behind ni}- place, and they rob me nearly
every day, and I can't stand it any longer. Yester-
day morning they broke into my corn-crib, and this
morning again ; now, if I had a slim little chap,
like this lad, to hide behind the door, we could
catch every one of them."
"Will you give us the monkeys if we catch
them ? " asked Menito.
"Yes," said she, "■you can take them; but,
please, don't be too hard on them."
"Why not?"
"They are my only neighbors, you see," said
Mrs. Yegua, " and I should not like to get them
into trouble if 1 could help it."
" Why ? What would you do with them ?"
" I meant to lock them up and keep them on
fair rations," said she. " If they run at large, they
take about ten times more than they need ; they
somehow seem to have no principles at all."
"Very well, Mrs. Yegua," said 1. "I '11 send
Menito over at any time you like."
" Yes, please send him early," said she ; " we '11
manage it between us two. 1 know I can fight
them if I have them under lock and key."
The next morning we dispatched Menito at day-
break, and, after helping Daddy to pack the mule,
we all went down to the farm to w-itness Mrs.
Yegua's fight with her monkey-neighbors.
W ILL O* THE WISP
WILL ()■ 111 !•; WISI'
HV LaIUA l'.. Kit ilARUS.
H7
' \\ iLi, i_i iHt WISP, Will o' the wisp,
Show me your lantern true !
Over the meadow and over the hill,
Gladh- I '11 follow you.
■ Never 1 '11 murmur, nor ask for rest.
And ever 1 '11 be your friend,
if you '11 only give me the pot of gold
That lies at your journey's end.''
And after the light went the brave little Ijoy
Trudging along so bold ;
And thinking of all the things he 'd buy
With the wonderful pot of gold :
A house, and a horse, and a full-rigged ship.
And a ton of peppermint drops,
And all the marbles there are in the world,
.And all the new kinds of tops."
Will o' the wisp, Will
Flew down at last in
I le put out his lantern and vanislied away
In llic c'.'cning chill and damp.
o' the wisp,
swamp.
.And the poor little boy went shivering home,
Wet and tired and cold.
He had come, alas ! to his journey's end.
But where was the pot of gold ?
1
ii8
A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON. [Decem
A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON.
l;V WASHINCIOX (;LAnilKN.
■• H'M ! " growled Unclf Jack. " What will you
do to me if I wont tell you a story ? "
"Hang you on the Christmas-tree!" shouted
Joe. " Kiss you a thousand times ! " cried Sue.
"Hold! Enough!" exclaimed the besieged
uncle. "1 '11 come right down. Look here ! You
have n't heard about that wonderful machine,
lately invented by somebody, which shows you
things that are going on hundreds of miles away?"
" Tell us about it," chants the full battalion.
"Well, I don't know much about that; but 1
have an instrument of my own that will do wonder-
ful things. By looking into it, you can not only
see people that are far off, you can hear what they
are saying and tell what they are thinking ; and
what is more, you can look back and see what has
happened to them, and look ahead and see what
is going to happen to them for hours and days to
come."
" Oh, Uncle ! Give us a look into it, wont you?"
"No; 1 can't do that. But, if you like, 1 '11
take a look into it myself, and report what 1 see. "
Presently, Uncle Jack returned from his room,
where all sorts of curious machines were stored. —
microscopes, electrical batteries, and what not, —
bringing with him a curious-looking instrument.
It was composed of two shining cylinders of brass,
mounted like small telescopes, and placed at an
angle, so that one end of one of them was quite
near to one end of the other, and the other
ends were wide apart. Between the adjacent ends
was a prism of beautifully polished glass.
Uncle Jack placed this instrument on a stand in
the bay window, and sat down before it.
" Now you must all retire and be seated," he
said. " 1 do not believe that the inachinery will
work unless you keep perfectly still. You must n't
interrupt me with any cjuestions. When 1 am
through, I will try to explain anything that you do
not understand."
" All right ; go ahead ! " The battalion was
soon at parade rest, and Uncle Jack proceeded.
The first thing that comes into the field of vision
is a railway-station, about one hundred and fifty
miles from this city. A boy is just entering the
rear door of the last car of the afternoon express,
and quietly depositing himself and his little Russia
bag on the short seat at the end of the car. He-
has just taken from his pocket a letter addressed to
" Mark Howland." That is his name. His uncle
Cyrus has invited Mark to spend Christinas with
his cousins in New Liverpool, and he is now on his
way to that metropolis.
There is nothing to fear on account of the
strangeness of the place to w-hich he is going, for
his cousins Arthur and Clarence will meet him at
the station ; and there is no reason to doubt the
heartiness of his welcome, for his uncle's family are
not at all " stuck up," if they do live in a fine
house; and his father and mother are not only
willing, but glad to have him go; so the happy light
of expectancy shines out of his eyes.
It has been a busy day with Mark. He was up
at four in the morning to go over the paper-route
with Horace Mills, who is to carry the morning
papers for him during his three days' absence ;
then there were many little preparations to make
about the house, for Mark did not wish to take his
pleasuring at the expense of extra work for his father
and mother, whose daily burdens are heavy enough ;
and therefore, as far as he can, he has anticipated
the work of the three coming days. This filled'
the forenoon. After dinner, there were a few last
errands for his inother, and then there was only
time to pack his bag and don his Sunday suit, and
hurry to fhe station for the four o'clock express.
The evening is cloudy and it is soon dark, and
there is little to see from the windows of the car.
Mark amuses himself for a while in watching the
passengers ; but they happen to be an unusually
decorous company, and there is not much enter-
tainment in that occupation. At length, he makes
himself comfortable in his corner of the car, rests
his head against the window-frame, and gives him-
self up to imagining the delights of the coming
day. Presently the speed of the train slackens,
and the brakeman cries: "Lunenburg; ten min-
utes for refreshments ; change cars for the Aiirial
Line ! "
While Mark is observing the departure of the
passengers who get down at this station, and
wondering what the " Aiirial Line" may be, he is
surprised to see his uncle Cyrus entering the front
door of the car.
" Oh, here you are, Mark ! " he exclaims, as he
espies him. " Glad to see you, my boy. How you
grow ! But come, bring your bag. We have
changed our plans since morning. I have had an
invitation to spend Christmas with Sir Marmadukc
Monahan. and 1 am to bring my boys along. You
l88o.]
A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON,
119
are one of my boys for the time being, so here
you go. Arthur and Clarence are waiting outside.
I have telegraphed your father, and he knows all
about it. Come on."
Mark picks up his bag and follows his uncle, half-
diized by the suddenness of this change of plans.
Arthur and Clarence greet him in high glee.
" Is n't this a gay old adventure ? " cries .Arthur.
'■ You did n't expect anything like this; did you ? "
" N-no," answers Mark, rather demurely. He
is not yet sure that he is glad to be cheated out of
his visit to New Liverpool. And then he asks :
" But who is Sir Marmaduke Monahan ? "
" Don't you know ? " cry both the boys. " Why,
he 's the one they call The Man in the Moon. When
he was down here the last time, he stopped over
Sunday with us. Papa 's one of the aldermen, you
know, and Sir Marmaduke was the guest of the
city ; so Papa saw him and asked him to our house.
He 's just the joUiest little old chap. He told
us ever so much about his home, and made us
promise that we would visit him sometime. This
morning we got a telegram from him, and started
this afternoon on short notice. "
Now it begins to come to Mark that he has read
in the papers of the establishment of an aerial line
to the moon, the result of one of Edison's won-
derful inventions.
The night is dark and chilly ; but at the farther
end of the station a great electric light is blazing,
and thither the four travelers make their way. A
long flight of steps leads up to an elevated platform,
alongside of which, resting upon trestle-work, stands
the great aerial car. It looks a little like one of the
Winans cigar-steamers ; its length is perhaps one
hundred and fifty feet, and its shape is that of a
cylinder, pointed at both ends. Just forward of the
middle of the car are two enormous paddle-wheels,
one on each side, not covered in like the paddles
of a North River steam-boat, but in full view.
'■ How soon docs it start?" Mark asks his uncle.
"In five minutes ; there is the captain now."
A man in a bright red uniform is coming out of
the station, with a lantern in his hand. Following
him is a company of thirty or forty little people,
whose singular appearance strikes Mark almost
dumb with astonishment.
" What queer creatures are those ? " he whispers.
'• Those arc the moon-folk," answers his uncle.
"You have never seen any of them, have you?
They are getting to be so common in the streets of
New Liverpool that we hardly notice them."
"But what are those things around their heads?"
" Those are the air-protectors. You know the
atmosphere of the moon is very thin ; some of the
astronomers used to say that there was n't any, but
there is ; only it is so extremely rare that we were
not able to discover it. The lungs of the moon-
folk are, of course, adapted to that thin atmosphere,
and could not breathe in ours any more than we
could breathe water. So when they come down to
earth they wear these globes, which are hermetically
sealed around their necks, and are very strong, to
protect them from our air."
" Arc these globes made of glass? " asks Mark.
" Yes, they are: the new kind of glass, that is
annealed so that it is flexible and tough ;is iron."
As the curious little folk go trotting by on their
way to the car, one of them recognizes Mr. How-
land, and gives a queer little jerk of the head.
"That," says Clarence, "is Sir Marmaduke's
steward. He was at our house with his master."
Now the little man halts and holds out to Mr.
I lowland a tiny telephone and transmitter. Mark
notes that they communicate with a mouth-piece in-
side the globe which protects the moon-man's head.
" That 's the way they have to talk," said Ar-
thur. " There is n't any air to speak of inside
that glass, and so there can't be any sound. But
he manages it with this little telephone. He hears
with his teeth, — that 's the new way of hearing, —
then he speaks into his transmitter, and we can
hear him."
"What was he saying?" asks Arthur, as the
little man hurries on.
" Only that Sir Marmaduke is expecting us, and
that he will see us at the other end of the line,"
replies his father.
"All aboard!" shouts the captain. "Earth-
folk forward ; moon-folk abaft the wheel ! "
Mark observes that two gang-planks run out to
"The Meteor," — for that is the name of the ai^rial
car, — and that the little people arc passing in over
one of them, and the earth-born passengers over
the other. They all are soon inside a handsome
little saloon, elliptical in shape, furnished with
stuffed lounges and easy-chairs, and a center-table
with a few books and papers, lighted by small win-
dows of thick plate-glass, and warmed by electric
radiators. The sliding door is shut by the guard
and firmly fastened, a few strokes of a musical bell
are heard, a tremulous flutter passes through the
frame of "The Meteor," and the great paddle-
wheels begin to revolve. Mark observes that the
separate paddles of each wheel are constructed so
that, as each one begins the downward and back-
ward stroke, it spreads out like a fan, and then
shuts up as it begins to rise from its lowest position,
so as to offer but little resistance to the air.
The huge ship rises slowly from its timber moor-
ings ; the paddle-wheels begin to revolve with great
rapidity ; the lights of the village below drop down
and down like falling stars ; for a moment, a thick
mist outside hides everything from view — " The
I20
A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON. [December,
Meteor" is passing through the clouds ; in another
moment, the stars abov-e blaze out with wonderful
brilliancy, the clouds are all lying beneath, — a sil-
very sea, lit by the rising moon, — and the lights of
the under world have all disappeared.
" How high up arc we now ? " Clarence asks.
His father turns to a barometer on the wall, with
a table of altitudes hanging beside it, and answers :
■'About six miles, 1 judge from this table. We
are not yet fully under headway. But my ears
begin to ring, and I guess we had better be getting
on our respirators."
Following Mr. Rowland, the boys all go over to
the forward part of the saloon, where a gentlemanly
steward is assisting the passengers to adjust these
curious contrivances.
An elderly gentleman, who has just secured his
outfit, is returning to his seat.
Mark notices that he wears over his nose a neatly
fitting rubber cap, from the bottom of which a
tube extends to the inside pocket of his coat.
" You see," explains his uncle, " we are getting
up now where the atmosphere is very thin, and
presently there will be next to none at all. These
respirators are made for the supply of air to the
earth-folk on their journey through space and dur-
ing their stay at the moon. Edison's wonderful
air-condenser is the invention that makes this pos-
sible. By this invention, twenty-five thousand cubic
feet of air are condensed into a solid block, about
three times as large as a good-sized pocket-book,
that will keep without aerifying in any climate.
There ! He is slipping one of the bricks of con-
densed air into that pouch just now, and handing
it to that gentleman. You see that it looks a good
deal like a piece of Parian marble. The tube con-
nects the pouch containing the condensed air with
the respirator on the end of the nose, and the
moisture of the breath produces a gentle and
gradual aerification, as they call it, or change of
the brick into good air."
" How long will one of those chunks of con-
densed air last ? " Mark asks.
"About twenty-four hours. They can last longer,
but they are generally renewed every day. "
"I should think, then," Mark answers, "that
earth-folk, while they are in the moon, would feel
like saying in their prayers, ' Give us this day our
daily bre.ith,' as well as 'our daily bread.' "
" Perhaps," rejoined his uncle, reverently, " they
might fitly offer that prayer while thes' are on the
earth, too, as well as anywhere else."
" How fast are we going now ? " Arthur inquires.
" Possibly sixty miles an hour," says his father.
" Sixty miles an hour ! " answers Mark. " Why,
that 's — let me see : six fours arc twenty-four, six
twos arc twelve, and two are fourteen. That 's only
fourteen hundred and forty miles a day, and we have
two hundred and thirty thousand miles to travel."
" Whew ! " cries Arthur. "It will take us more
than a hundred days — almost two hundred — to get
there, at this rate."
"You don't understand," Mr. Rowland explains.
" We can only go by means of these paddles
through our atmosphere."
"And that," breaks in Arthur, "is only forty-
five miles."
" It is more than that. The later conjectures of
the best iistronomers, that the atmosphere extends
about two hundred miles from the surface of the
earth, have been verified. But just as soon as we
reach the outermost limits of this atmospheric en-
velope of the earth, we strike the great electric
currents that flow between the earth and the moon.
These currents, at this time of the day, flow toward
the moon. They go with immense velocity, — prob-
ably twenty thousand miles an hour. This car is
covered, as you saw, with soft iron, and, by the
electric engines which drive the machinery, it is
converted into an immense electro-magnet, on
which these currents lay hold, sweeping the car
right along with them. There is no air to resist
the motion, you know, and you are not conscious
of motion any more than you arc when drifting
with the Gulf Stream in the Atlantic."
"We shall get there, then," Mark figures, "in
about twelve hours from the time we started."
"Yes: if nothing happens we shall land about
eight o'clock to-morrow morning. And now, as
there is very little that you can see, and as we shall
have a fatiguing day to-morrow, and ought to start
fresh, 1 propose that we all lie down upon these
comfortable couches and try to get a night's rest."
The boys do not quite relish the suggestion, but
they adopt it, nevertheless, and are soon sleeping
soundly. An hour or two later, Mark awakens,
and, lifting himself on his elbow, looks out of the
forward windows. The moon is shining in, and
such a moon ! Talk about dinner-plates or cart-
wheels ! The great bright shield of this moon
fills a vast circle of the heavens. It is twenty times
bigger than any moon he ever saw. He takes a
quarter-dollar from his pocket and holds it before
his eye at a distance of about two inches, and the
coin does not hide the planet ; a bright silver rim
is visible all around it. The dark spots on the
moon's surface are now clearly seen to be deep
valleys and gorges ; the mountain ranges come out
in clear relief. Mark is at first inclined to wake his
cousins ; but he concludes to wait an hour or two
till the view shall be a little finer ; and before he
knows it, he is sound asleep again.
He is wakened by a general stir in the saloon.
The captain is crying, " All ashore ! " the passen-
>) A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON. 121
I
A CHRISTMAS D I N N E R \V I T H T II E M A N I N T 1 1 K M O O N . [Dbcember.
gcrs are gathering tlieir hand-luggage, and preparing
to disembark. How in the world, or rather in tlie
moon, this landing was ever effected, Mark docs not
understand. But there is no time now to ;xsk ques-
tions, .md li_ pi_L- ._,. K.. . ., ... i.illowb his uncle
and his cousins. The gang-plank leads out to an
elevated platform, crowned with a neat little build-
ing, from the cupola of which a purplc-and-whitc
flag, shaped and colored somewhat like a pansy,
is floating in the faint breeze. In a neat little park
surrounding the station an orderly crowd of the
moon-folk are waiting.
It is the brightest-colored company that Mark
has ever seen. The park fairly glitters and dances
with brilliant hues. The little carriages in which
the gentry are sitting, instead of being painted
dead black, are gay with crimson and purple and
gold. The little ponies themselves have coats as
bright as the plumage of the birds on the earth, and
the costumes of the people are all as gay as color
can make them.
" See ! " exclaims Clarence ; " what do they
mean ? They arc all waving flags, and they seem
to be shouting, but they do not make any noise."
" No noise that you can hear," replied Mr. How-
land. " The atmosphere is so rare that it does not
convey the sound to our cars. Perhaps when we
draw nearer we shall hear a little of it."
" But what are they shouting for? " asks Arthur.
" They are greeting us," replies his father.
"These arc Sir Marmadukc's people — his constitu-
ents perhaps 1 ought to call them ; and they have
come at his summons to give us a welcome."
A handsome young officer now appears on the
platform, and touching his cap to the travelers,
beckons them to follow him. They all descend
the platform and go to the small square in front
of the park, where the car-
riages are waiting. Here
Sir Marmaduke comes
forward to greet them,
lifting his chapeau, and
extending his hand in a
very cordial fashion.
He is a pleasant-faced
little man, with gray hair ;
he is dressed in a purple
uniform with white facings,
ind he carries at his side
in elegant little sword.
He puts his lingers to his
cars and points with a
-.miling face toward the
multitude in the park (who
ire waving their flags and
their caps, and seem to
be shouting still more
uproariously), as if to say :
" They are making so
much noise that it is of no
use for mc to try to talk."
The bo\b can h.irdh refrain from laughing at
this dumb show; but a faint munnur comes to
their ears, like the shouting of a multitude miles
away, and they realize that it is not really panto-
mime, though it looks so very like it.
They are led by Sir Marmaduke to the chariot in
waiting. The body of this conveyance is scarlet,
the wheels are gilt, and the cushions are sky-blue ;
it is drawn by sixteen ponies, four abreast, each
team of which is driven by a postilion. The
chariot is about as large as an ordinary barouche,
with seats for four ; but it towers high above all the
carriages of the moon-folk.
A faint popping comes to their ears, which
seems to be a salute from a battery of electrical
cannon in the upper comer of the park; in the
midst of the salute, the procession moves off. A
band, dressed in scarlet and gold, and playing on
•silver instruments, leads the way; the tones resem-
ble the notes of a small music-box, smothered in a
trunk. Sir Marmaduke's body-guard of two hun-
dred cavalry comes next ; then Sir Marmaduke him-
self in his carriage of state, drawn by eight ponies ;
then the travelers in their chariot ; then the grandees
of the moon in carriages, and then the rest of the
military and citizens on foot.
It is about a mile from the station to the palace
of Sir Marmaduke, and the travelers have a chance
to observe the scener)'. The surface is quite un-
i8Sa]
A CHRISTMAS DINNKR WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON.
123
even ; the hills are high and steep, and the valleys
narrow : the trees are small and somewhat different
in form from those on the earth ; the grass is fine
and soft, and multitudes of the brightest pink and
yellow flowers bloom in the meadows. The houses,
from all of which the pansy flag is flying, are stone,
and are nearly all of a single story, built, Arthur
guesses, in view of earthquakes.
" Moonquakes, you mean," suggests Mark.
The very moderate laugh with which the other
boys greet this small witticism seems to produce
consternation among the moon-folk. Sir Marma-
duke claps his hands to his ears, the ca\alry ponies
in front fall to jumping and prancing, and the
whole procession is struck with a sudden tremor.
" Careful, boys ! " whispers Mr. Ilowland. "You
must remember that one of our ordinary tones
sounds like thunder to these people, and the rush
of air from our lungs, when we suddenly laugh or
cry out, affects this thin atmosphere somewhat as
an explosion of nitro-glycerine affects the atmos-
phere of the earth. A sudden outcn,- in a
loud tone might do great damage."
And now the head of the
column halts upon a witl
avenue leading up to a fine
Marmaduke, and the travelers, and the grandees,
to dismount and ascend the pavilion ; the troops
march past with flying banners and music faintly
heard, and the guests are escorted to their rooms in
the palace, and are told to amuse themselves in any
way that pleases them until dinner shall be ready.
■' I have read," says Arthur, " that there is no
moisture on the surface of the moon ; but this
vegetation proves that there is. Besides, right
there, is a beautiful fountain playing on the lawn
before the palace, and yonder is a river."
" It is true," his father answers, " that there are
but few signs of moisture on the side of the moon
that is nearest the earth ; but we sailed around last
night to the other side, — the side that we never sec
from the earth ; and here the surface is much
lower, and there is moisture enough to promote
vegetation. It is only this side of the moon that is
inhabited."
It is not long before a herald comes to summon
our travelers to dinner. They pass through a long
corridor into the spacious hall of the palace,
where the feast is spread. Sir Mar-
maduke meets them at the door
of the hall, and escorts them
to a dais at the side of
palace ; the cavalry is drawn up in ranks on either the room, upon which stands the table prepared
side of the avenue ; the carriages pass between, for them. From this elevated position the whole
halting at the steps only long enough to allow Sir of the banqueting hall is visible ; and the gay
124
CHRISTMAS niNXKR WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON.
costumes of the guests, with the s[ilciidor of the
table-sen-ice and the abundance of the flowers,
make it a brilliant spectacle.
Sir Marmaduke places Mr. Howland on his
right, and his prime minister on his left ; the three
boys occupy the seats next to Mr. Howland.
The master of the feast holds in his hand a
speaking-trumpet, with which he can converse with
his guest upon the right ; for it is only by the aid
of this that he can make himself heard. The
wires are not working very well ; but, with strict
attention, they catch the words of his speech :
"My lords and gentlemen: We are honored in
having with ur. to-day one of the most distinguished
inhabitants of the earth. Allow me to present him.
and the joung gentlemen who are with him, and
to bid him and them, in the name of )ou all, a
hearty welcome to the moon."
Here the whole company rise and give three
tvenHndnii 'i hich sound to the boys about
waiters who come to serve the earth-folks also have
speaking-trumpets slung around their necks; but
'they find little use for them, for the feast proceeds
«ith great formalit)- and in excellent order.
One course after another is served. Mark has
never seen in his dreams anything so tempting as
this bountiful feast.
Presently the cloth is removed, and the Man in
the Moon rises to propose the health of the earth-
folk. To each of the guests a monstrous ear-
trumpet is handed, with a megaphone attached,
and the boys, at a sign from Mr. Howland, draw-
back from the table, bring their chairs a little
nearer to Sir Marmaduke, and listen to what he is
saying. His thin voice comes to them as from afar,
a little like the sound of the telephone when the
as loud as the ))uu of half a dozen house-flies on a
window-pane.
■■There could be no better day than this," Sir
Marmaduke goes on, "for the promotion of peace
and good-will between the inhabitants of this planet
and those of Mother Earth." ("Hear! Hear!"
from the inultitude below.) " It has been one of
tny dearest anibitions to secure more perfect com-
munication and more friendly relations between the
moon and the earth." ("Hear! Hear !" and cheers. )
" I need not refer to the erroneous opinions which
so long were held by our people, concerning the
earth and her inhabitants. You know that, until a
recent period, it w-as belie\'ed by most of our scien-
tific men that the people living on the earth were
quadrupeds, — that each was provided with four
A CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE MAN IN THE MOON.
125
legs, two horns, and a tail." (Sensation.) " The
origin of this opinion is known to you all. Many
centuries ago, a creature from the earth passed
swiftly through our sky one day about noon, and
was seen to return in the direction of the earth.
It was supposed to be one of the earth's inhabit-
ants. It is now known that it was one of their
domestic animals. The event is recorded in the
annals of the earth, and is one of the facts taught
to the children of that planet at a very tender age.
It is referred to in one of their treatises of useful
science in the following manner:
" • Hey diddle diddle.
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the tnoon.'
" It was a cow, then, my lords and gentlemen,
and not one of the earth-folk, that appeared that
day so suddenly in our sky. Our scientists were
too hasty in their inferences. They should not
have based a theory so broad upon a single fact.
And inasmuch as there have been those among us
who were slow to relinquish the old theory, and loath
to believe that the people of the earth are bipeds
like ourselves, I am greath' pleased to gi\'e you to-
day an ocular demonstration of the new theory."
Sir Marmaduke sits down amid great cheering.
Mr. Howland has risen, and is watching for the
applause to subside before beginning his response.
The boys have kept as sober faces as possible, but
the speech of the Man in the Moon has pretty
nearly upset their gravity. Mark is biting his
lips to keep back the merriment, when he sud-
denly turns around and perceives the fat old prime
minister, who has eaten too much Christmas dinner,
asleep in his chair through all this enthusiasm, and
nodding desperately in the direction of a hot pud-
ding that has been left by the waiters before him on
the table. Every nod brings his face a little nearer
to the smoking heap, and finally down goes his nose
plump into the pudding.
It is a little more than the boy can endure. How
much of it is laugh, and how much cough, and how
much scream, nobody can tell ; but there is a tre-
mendous explosion from the mouth and nose of
Mark — an explosion that smiishes crockery and up-
sets vases, and sends Sir Mamiaduke spinning out
of his chair, and scatters the guests as if a thunder-
bolt had struck the palace. In a few moments the
hall is deserted by all but the master of the feast
and a few of his attendants, with the guests from
the earth, who are looking on in dismay at the havoc
which has been made by Mark's unlucky outburst.
The good Sir Marmaduke quickly comes forward
to re-assure them.
" Really," he says, "you must not be distressed
about this. No serious harm has been done. The
boy wMs not to blame. 1, too, caught a glimpse of
the old gentleman, making the last desperate nod,
and 1 could n't help bursting with laughter."
"Hut the people," says Mr. Howland. "I am
\ery sorry that we should have had the misfortune
to frighten them so badly."
" You need have no anxiety on that score," re-
plies Sir Marmaduke. "They did not connect the
noise they heard with \ou in any way. They all
thought it was a moonquake, and they have hurried
home to sec whether their houses ha\e sustained
any injury."
While they have been talking, they have been
passing through the hall toward the pavilion. The
chariot of the guests has just appeared in front of
the palace.
"Can it be possible?" exclaims Mr. Howland.
'■ Our time of departure has come. Good-bye, Sir
Marmaduke. You have done us much honor, and
given us great pleasure."
"Cood-bye," returns the gentle host. " I shall see
you here again, I am sure. And I want the boys
to come without fail. The next time, we will take a
little trip to the mountains, and see some of the
craters of the extinct volcanoes, and camp out a
few days where the game and the fish are plenty.
Cood-bye. Bon voyage!"
The parting guests, thus heartily speeded, mount
their carriage, are whirled to the station, enter
again the saloon of "The Meteor," are lifted upon
the great electric tide then just ebbing, and will
soon, no doubt, be safely landed at the Lunenburg
terminus of the Great Aerial Line.
When Uncle Jack's narration closes there is
silence in the library for half a minute.
" L'ncle Jack!" finally ejaculates Sue, with a
good deal of emphasis on "Jack," and with a fall-
ing inflection.
" Let us look into that machine," pleads Joe.
" Oh, that machine," says Uncle Jack, in a very
cool way, " is my spectroscope. 1 did not see in
that the things I have been telling you."
" What did jou see them in ? " urges Joe.
" Humbug! " shouts the knowing Fred. "He
made it all up out of his own head. There! He's
got the blank-book in his hand, now, that he writes
his stories in. I '11 bet he 's read cverj- word of it
out of that book while he has been sitting there with
his back to us, pretending to look into that old
spectroscope."
" Alas ! my gentle babes," complains the solemn
uncle, slipping the blank-book into his desk. " I
grieve that you should have so little confidence in
me. But you must remember that in these days
of Edison and Jules V^erne, nothing is incredible."
I2G
THE GAMES AND TOYS OF COREAN CHILDREN.
LITTLI'. KIXDI:RG.\KTI:X (ilRL.
Hv Bkssik Hii.i..
If I sew. sew, sew, and pull, pull, pull.
The pattern will come, and the card be full :
'"- So it 's criss, criss, criss, and it 's cross, cross, cross :
If we have some ple;isant work to do we 're never
at a loss.
Oh, dear ! I pulled too roughly, — 1 've broken
through my card.
I feel like throwing all away, and crying real hard.
But no, no, no, — for we never should despair.
So 1 '11 rip, rip, rip, and I '11 tear, te.ar, tear.
There ! you pretty purple worsted, 1 '\e saved you, ever)' stitch
(Because if we are wasteful we never can get rich).
Now I '11 start another tablet, and 1 '11 make it perfect yet.
And Mother '11 say : " Oh, thank you, my precious little pet ! "
THE GAMES AND TOYS OK COREAN CHILDREN.
Hv William Ellioi Grikfis.
Look on the map of Asia, and see the peninsula
of Corea hanging out from the main-land like our
Florida. It lies just between China and Japan,
and is of the same size ;is Minnesota or Great
Britain. Perhaps as many as ten million people
live in Corca, so that there must be at least two
million children there. They all dress in white.
Their clothes are tnadc of cotton or of bleached
sea-grass. One of the greatest labors of a Corean
housekeeper is the whitening of her husband's and
children's clothes for a gala day. To sec a gang
of Corean farmers laboring in the rice-fields, re-
min<ls one of a flock of big white birds, like the
snowy heron of Japan.
Corea is a forbidden land. Until three years
ago, no foreigner w.is allowed to set foot on her
shores. Corea was like a house full of people, but
shut up, with gates barred, and " .No Admittance"
nailed up everywhere. When siiilors were ship-
wrecked on the shores, the Coreans fed and housed
them, but always sent them out of the country
as quickly .is possible. Knglishmcn, Russians, an<l
Americans sometimes came to Corea and s:iid : " lie
soci.iblc and open your doors. We want to trade
with you. We have nice machines and cloth and
corn and clocks and guns, which we want you to
buy ; and you have gold and tiger-skins and cattle
and silk to sell to us. Ple;ise open your doors."
" We wont ! " said the King of Corea and all
his court. "We 're a little kingdom in the comer
of the earth. Our country is four thousand years
old ; it has done without your clocks and coal-oil
so far. We don't want to trade. Good-bye. Please
go away."
So they all went away, and said Corea was like
\ hermit-crab in a shell, showing nothing but its
claws. And so the great world knows no more
of Corea than if it were a patch of moon-land.
But in 1876 the Japanese sent a great fleet of w.ir-
ships to Corca, and (leneral Kuroda .acted as Com-
modore Perry did in Japan in 1853. He had rifled
cannon and plenty of powder at hand, but he did
not lire a shot. lie gained a "brain-victory" over
the Coreans, and they made a treaty with the
Japanese ; and the merchants of Japan now travel
and trade in the country. One of these merchants,
who perhaps had children of his own, and wished
to make them a New Year's present on his return
home, collected a number of the toys of Corean
children. Of these, the artist Ozawa made a sketch
rili: GAMES AND TOYS OF COREAN CHILDREN.
127
and sent it to the writer. Now, some of the games of
Japanese children are borrowed from the Coreans ;
and so, from seeing them, we know something
about play and toys in Corea.
First, there is the jumping-jack, or " sliding
Kim," we ought to call it, for Kim is a Corcan
name. A little Corean boy (a wooden one, of
course) holds a trumpet in his right hand. When
the string is pulled down, he puts out his tongue ;
when it slides up, in goes the tongue, and the
trumpet flies to his lips. The hat and feather, and
dress with fringed sleeves, arc exactly like those
of live, rollicking children in the Corean homes.
Below, in the copy of Ozawa's sketch, you will see
the trumpet on which real Corean boys blow, and
all the toys here mentioned.
The Corean Adiu; or boy, is very fond of play-
ing with little dogs. He puts a coat on Master
Puppy, teaching him to sit with his fore-paws on
his knees. When the dog grows up, he may be
trained to hunt the tiger. Tigers are very large
and numerous in Corea. If you were to step into
the parlor of a fine Corean house, you would see
a tiger-skin spread out as a rug. On this the little
boy plays, rollicking with his companions, or beats
the drum, on which a dragon is painted.
For a rattle, the Corean baby plays with the
dried skin of a round-bodied tish filled with beans.
When the Corean boys wish to " play soldiers," or
imitate the king's procession, they can beat the
drum, blow the trumpet, and march with their
spear-headed flags. These are made of silk, em-
broidered with flowers and tipped with white horse-
hair. In the middle will be the royal chariot, with
a top like a fringed umbrella, silken hangings, and
brass-bound wheels. In this the king rides. The
big hats are as large as parasols, and have plumes
of red horse-hair. One has a flap around the
edge to keep off the sun. The state umbrella,
which is only held over men of high rank, is also
tasseled with horse-hair dyed red. The Coreans
arc very fond of ornament, and all their flags,
banners, and fine articles of use are decorated
with horse-hair, pheasant and peacock feathers, or
tigers' tails.
On the left are seven pin-wheels set in one frame.
With this, the Corean boy runs against the wind.
The " boat-cart " is shaped like a Corean river-
skiff", and has wheels, car\'ed to represent arrows.
When the little Corean grows to be a man, he
practices archery or horsemanship, becomes a stu-
dent, hunts the tiger, or settles down to business.
There are plenty of fishermen, but hardly any
sailors, in the country, for the Coreans never travel
abroad. We hope that Corea and the United
States w-ill yet have a treaty, and then we shall
become better acquainted with these stay-at-home
people. Only one Corean has ever visited this coun-
try. He was dressed like a Japanese, and attended
the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia in 1876.
128
THE MILLER OF DEE.
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THE MILLER OF DEE.
[December,
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THE MILLER OF DEE.
135
136
WILL CROCKER AND THE BUFKALOES.
[Decemd&r,
WILL CROCKKR AND THE BUFFALOES.
(A True Story.)
Hv F. Marshall Whitk.
Will Crocker, whose adventure among a
drove of buffaloes I am about to relate, was a
young herdsman of the Lone Star State, and was, I
regret to say, as wild and imediicated a boy as
could be found in that far from classical region.
But, though Will was uneducated, he was clcver-
wittcd. He was not the kind of boy who, as the
French say, "would tie a hungry dog to a tree
with a string of sausages" ; and, if he was ignorant
of mathematics and geography, he was well in-
formed on all matters relating to his father's call-
ing. He could manage a horse as well as the best
man on the ranch, and was a fair rifle-shot and
a good drover.
But Will had one great defect. He was ex-
tremely obstinate, and his father had not enough
force of character to check the fault. So, at seven-
teen years of age. Will was of such a self-willed
disposition that to advise him in one direction was
almost sure to make him take the opposite course.
On one occasion, this obstinacy brought Will
into trouble which nearly proved fatal.
The drovers had got back from San .Antonio,
whither they had driven their herds, and were
going on a grand buffalo hunt. There were six of
them — "Old man Crocker," as Will's father was
called, to distinguish him from his son, a French-
man named Henrj' Leclcrc, a Dutchman, nick-
named " Dutch," two Mexican 7'aqiit-ros, and last.
but by no means least, our friend Will.
It is impossible to hunt buffaloes on a horse
unused to the business. But the following morn-
ing, as the hunters were about to start, Will
appeared among them, mounted on a powerful
black horse called Bonanza, which reared and
plunged in a manner that would have unseated a
less practiced horseman.
"Hello!" said Crocker. "What 're you doin'
on that horse ? "
" Going buffalo-hunting, of course," replied his
son, as the animal he bestrode stood up on its hind
legs, threatening to fall over backward, and vigor-
ously gesticulated with his fore feet.
"You can't hunt buffalo on that horse!" said
his father. "Go back and get another; and be
quick. We 're going to start right away."
Wll I. iRO«:KER AM) TlIK BUKl'ALOES.
^i7
" Start as sooti ;is you please," replied Young
Obstinacy. "But I '11 be the first man past "
His remarks were cut short by lionanza suildenly
reversing; himself and standing on his front feel,
ciiusing his enterprising rider to slide forward upon
his neck. Dutch, seeing this, spoke up:
" You can't go to a butTalo up mit dat horse ! "
" You fellows attend to your own affairs," re-
m^u'ked Will, disrespectfully, "and 1 'II attend to
the horse. He 's the f;istest beast here, and I 'm
just about smart enough to put him alongside a
buffalo, whether he wants to go or not."
•' It makes me noding odds if you go hunt on a
steam-engine," observed Dutch.
" Remember what we 're telling you," said
Crocker, •' when we strike buffalo and that critter
runs away."
" The horse docs n't live that can run away with
me," replied Will, confidently, and the little caval-
cade cantered off briskly toward the buffalo-past-
ures of the south-west.
It was a beautiful morning, peculiar to the Texan
climate. The rising sun gilded the flower-decked
plain, and from the tall grasses rose flocks of gay-
feathered birds : while the balmy air of early fall
shouted and sang, .as their powerful horses, with
equal animation, bore them swiftly onward.
The second afternoon out, a buffalo-herd was
discovered feeding far to the south, resembling a
flock of black sheep in the distance.
A halt was at once called, and |>reparation made
for a descent upon the game in the morning. The
horses were tethered by long raw-hides, .ind the
men proceeded to put their guns and ammunition
in order. The nc.\t morning dawned fresh and
clear. The buffaloes were still in sight, though
farther away ; and, as the wind blew from the
hunters toward the herd, a long detour was made,
in ortler to approach them from the opposite side.
At length, the hunters dashed among them and
commenced the work of destruction. Will's horse,
the unreliable Bonanza, behaved well while among
his companions ; but no sooner did they scatter
than he became unmanageable, and his rider
heartily wished he had taken his father's advice in
relation to the animal, as he found he was going to
be left out of the sport.
There were no breech-loading guns in the p;irty,
and it would astonish a crack sportsman — with his
repeating Winchester and ready-loaded shells in a
blew, fresh and invigorating, into the faces of the convenient belt — to sec a horseman charge a muz-
horsemen. With spirits raised by that sense of ex- zle-loader from the saddle,
hilaration which comes of rapid motion, the riders The report of the hunters' rifles gradu.iUy dif-
138
NURSE S SONG.
fused uneasiness among the buffaloes, which num-
bered two thousand or more, and they began to
move, followed by the relentless horsemen.
In their course they again approached the horse
of our disappointed friend. Will tried desperately
to get close enough for a shot. He succeeded, but
a scared bull, with shaggy front and furious, twink-
ling eyes, charged toward Bonanza, and that animal
turned and fled ignominiously.
The now terrified bufialocs closed in upon the
panic-stricken horse, and soon Will was surrounded
by the shaggy herd. He tugged vainly at the bit ;
and the loud laughter of his companions, who
remembered his boast on starting out, grew fainter
as he was borne swiftly away.
He was not at all alarmed till he looked back
and saw that he was fast leaving the men out of
sight. Then flashed upon him the thought of how
powerless he was in the midst of the unwieldy herd.
He was completely surrounded, and the frightened
buflaloes were running at their swiftest speed,
which they would probably continue for hours.
He thought of stopping his horse by taking off
his coat and putting it over the animal's eyes. But
then, should the horse stop, he would be knocked
down by the buffaloes, and both of them be
pounded to death beneath the feet of the herd.
So powerful are these clumsy beasts that in a
large herd they are almost invincible. They leave
a track behind them which much resembles a
plowed field. Should one of the number lose its
footing, it is almost sure to be killed by its com-
panions, as those in the rear, crowding upon the
fonvard ranks, make a pause impossible.
Crocker observed his son's peril first. He was
heard to cry out suddenly, and then, applying his
spurs, he galloped in the rear of the fast-retreating
herd. Leclerc and Dutch followed hard upon his
heels, but the colder-blooded Mexicans remained
to skin the buffaloes the little party had slain.
Meanwhile, Will had given himself up for lost.
But he looked his peril in the face, with a courage
begotten of a life among dangers.
Suddenly, a desperate thought occurred to him.
He had heard drovers and trappers tell of Indian
hunters whose mode of killing buflaloes was by
running on their backs, jumping from one to an-
other, and spearing them as they ran. Why could
not he escape that way ? The animals were close
together and, though a misstep would be fatal, to
remain in his present position was certain death.
A dense cloud of black dust hung over the herd,
through which naught was visible but the tossing
sea of beasts near him. He, therefore, had no
idea how many of the animals intervened between
himself and safety. His chances of escape seemed
not one in ten, but the stumbling of his horse
decided him to make the attempt.
More thoughtful than most boys would have
been in the face of a danger like his, he unbuckled
his horse's bridle and tied it around his gun (which
he carried strapped to his back), and then, getting
oft' his saddle on to the horse's withers, he loosed
the girth and let it fall to the ground, intending,
should he succeed in making his escape, to go back
and pick it up. He now rose to his feet on the
horse's back, holding to the animal's mane, and in
an instant leaped to the nearest buffalo, holding
his gun, like a balancing-pole, in both hands.
The animal plunged, but he jumped to the next
and the next, like Eliza crossing the Ohio on the
ice, in " Uncle Tom's Cabin." He had accom-
plished half the distance, when one of the buffaloes,
seeing him coming, jumped to one side. The
boy fell between, but dropped his gun in time to
grasp the animal by its long hair, and with diffi-
culty he climbed upon the terrified and plunging
creature, and jumped desperately on till he reached
the outside of the herd, when he fell to the ground
and rolled over and over, with his head swimming
and a heart leaping for joy.
He was yet in danger from the stragglers on the
edge of the herd, but the cloud of dust and the
animals it obscured passed by, and faded into a
smoke-like billow, leaving him uninjured.
Ten minutes after, Crocker and his two followers
galloped up and, to their great joy, found the boy
unhurt beyond a few bruises.
Will rode home behind his father's saddle, but
whether or not the adventure had any effect for
good on his stubborn nature, the chronicle saith
not. Let us hope it had.
NURSE'S SONG.
Whenever a little child is born.
All night a soft wind rocks the corn ;
One more buttercup wakes to the morn.
Somewhere.
One more rosebud shy will unfold.
One more grass-blade push thro' the mold.
One more bird-song the air will hold,
Somewhere.
THE ST. NICHOLAS TRE ASU RE - BOX.
139
THE ST. NICHOLAS TRI-: ASURE-BOX OF LITERATURE.
InTR(1I)UCTIO\ : BV THE Editok.
Literature is a very big thing, young friends ; and
a box, you know, especially a treasure-box, suggests
something rather small. But we hope to make this par-
ticular box so precious to you for its contents' sake, th.at
it will remind you of the fairy caskets which, .at command,
filled themselves with magical wealth, or the vessels that
sent forth giants and genii, Hfted by their own beautiful
clouds of golden mist, .\fter all, that is just what a
literary treasure-box ought to be ; and we hope that very
often, when you raise the lid of this one, wonderful
things may float out of it toward you, — float out and
expand into lifting mists of fancy, or turn to glittering
jewels of thought, or settle into beautiful drifts of
Dear, dear ! This will never do. It is true, but
after all, our box is supposed to be a very solid little
affair, and not in the least up to fairy tricks. Therefore,
the best way is to tell just what we propose to put
into it, and why we have it at all.
To begin with : Our pl.an is to put into the Tre.isure-
Box, from month to month, — though not necessarily every
month, — standard poems, short stories and sketches,
each fine in its way, and selected for you, with their
publishers' consent, from works already printed, though
not always within easy reach of boys and girls. Occa-
sionally, we may print a long story or poem entire, but
we shall reserve the privilege of omitting a verse or a
paragraph whenever the interests of our young readers
will be best served by our doing so. To add to the in-
terest, many new pictures and sometimes portraits of the
authors shall be given. We shall not shut out a good
thing because it is familiarly known ; for, if this is to be
their treasure-box in earnest, whatever the boys and girls
are most sure to love should have a permanent place in
it. ."^s a rule, we shall say very little about the several
authors, trusting, rather, that the selections given will
incite you to find out for yourselves more about them
and their works.
Many may wonder why we are tempted to make room
for this treasure-box in a magazine already crowded ;
and yet it would be hard for us to give a good reason
why room should not be made for it. Our strongest
motive is the feeling that it will be a good thing for you
to have certain fugitive and beautiful writings safely
stored within your own magazine, — writings to which you
may confidently turn for specimens of standard English,
and from which you can, when you wis!), select pieces for
recitation. Hut, beyond all this, we want to make you
better acquainted with us grown folk. Children and
their elders, in spite of near relationships and happy
home-ties, are too ajit to be ignorant in regard to each
other. Though familiar enough in some ways, they are,
in others, too far apart. The children need to know how
their elders really /Jv/, just as the grown folk need to
understand better the secret workings of the eager, long-
ing, wondering spirits that animate their troublesome
and dearly loved boys and girls.
Gifted men and women are the spokespeople of all the
rest. They write, they paint, they act, or they live the
best and truest things that are in us all, but which they
alone can express fitly. A good writer represents not
merely his own soul, but the souls of his race. In truth,
what we call our enjoyment and appreciation of a writer
or poet is simply a succession of grateful surprises, when
he shows us what our souls know, or nearly know,
already. A human soul, however generous or poetic it
may be, must nrognizt' a thought before it welcomes it ;
and this is one great reason why we all require education:
so that we may recognize the things, deeds, and thoughts
that are to delight and elevate us, and lead us in brother-
hood to the Highest. Any Httle boy or girl may be one
with the world in this upward march. Every time a fine,
true thought or feeling- — never mind how simple it is, or
whether it is mirthful or pathetic, or comforting or in-
spiring— enters any soul, it is sure to add to this beautiful
power of recognition that forms the chief joy of life.
And so, why not have literary treasure-boxes ready
for fine thoughts, true feelings, bright humor, and
happy fancies ?
Then, again, we do not feel that well-packed school-
readers, "compilations," and encyclopedias — all impor-
tant as these are in their way — can do for you just what
this box can do. The school-reader has its drawbacks,
because to read a fine thing while cozily seated on
the window-scat, or by the fire-place, or swinging in a
hammock, or lying under a tree, is quite different from
reading it aloud, just so many lines in your turn, while
standing with other readers in a row, under a vivid sense
of pronunciation, intonation, and the vigilant, long-sufier-
ing attention of your teacher. Encyclopedias and collec-
tions are sometimes dangerous to young folks, because
they give an idea that a certain amount of good literature
nmst be acquired, and that here is the cream of it,
skimmed and ready, and the sooner you begin swallowing
it the better, especially if you are not in the least hungry
for it — most especially, then, for it shows how much your
mental system needs it. We once heard an honest girl
say, after looking through an encyclopedia of literature:
" Mercy, aunty ! It 's not all here ! These are only
140
THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E A S U R K - B OX.
' specimens,' after all ! I'A-ery one of ihese horrid
authors has written liooks and books. It 's too mean
for anytliing ! "
Poor girl ! She \va» not hungry, you see, and the
prospect of such a never-ending rejiast dismayed her.
Now, to change the figure, literature is not a bugbear
nor a task-master. It is a mine of delight and satisfac-
tion. But just as you holil its gems to the light, just so
much will they sparkle and glow for you. So this treas-
ure-box has no claim on you at all. It is yours if you
care for it, and not yours if you do not. It does not pre-
sume to be as complete as an encyclopedia, nor as well
regulated as a school-reader, and its continued existence
must de])end upon the approval of our boys and girls.
This time, the Treasure-box holds for you a story and
a jioem, each telling of human life and human nature.
Many of you already know of Nathaniel Hawthorne* through his delightful Wonder Tales and shorter stories.
He is America's great romancer, and a prince among the highest in literary style and purity of Knglish. E.ach race
loves its own language, and gives a higli place of honor to the writer who uses it best, showing its strength and
its beauty most skillfully, and bringing out its powers of exjiressing every thouglit and shade of meaning. You will
like " David Swan," we think, and feel how simply and beautifully the slory is told.
l.).\VII) SW.\N : A F.VNTASV.
Bv Nathaniei. IIawthiirne.
We have nothing to do with David until we find
him, at the age of twenty, on the high road from
his native place to the city of Boston, where his
uncle, a small dealer in the grocery line, was to
take him behind the counter. Be it enough to say,
that he was a native of New Hampshire, born of
respectable parents, and had received an ordinary
school education, with a classic finish by a year at
Gilmanton Academy. After journeying on foot
from sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, his
weariness and the increasing heat determined him to
sit down in the first convenient shade and await the
coming up of the stage-coach. .'\s if planted on
purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of
maples, with a delightful recess in the midst, and
such a fresh, bubbling spring that it seemed never
to have sparkled for any wayfarer but Da\id .Swan.
Virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty lips, and
then flung hiinself ahmg the brink, pillowing his
head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons,
tied up in a striped cotton handkerchief. The sun-
beams could not reach him ; the dust did not yet
rise from the road after the heavy rain of yesterday :
and his grassy lair suited the young man better
than a bed of down. The spring murmured drow-
sily beside him ; the branches waved dreamily
across the blue sky overhead ; and a deep sleep,
perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell
upon David Swan. But we .ire to relate events
which he did not dream of.
While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other
people were wide awake, and passed to and fro,
afoot, on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles,
along the sunny road by his bed-chamber. Some
looked neither to the right hand nor the left, and
knew not that he was there ; some merely glanced
that way, without admitting the slumberer among
their busy thoughts ; some laughed to see how
soundly he slept; and several, whose hearts were
brimming full of scorn, ejected their venomous
superfluity on David Swan. A middle-aged widow,
\\hen nobody else was ne.ar. thrust her head a little
way into the recess, and \-owed that the young
fellow looked charming in his sleep. A teinper-
ance lecturer saw him, and wrought poor David
into the texture of his evening discourse as an awful
instance of dead-drunkenness by the road-side.
But censure, praise, merriment, scorn, and indiffer-
ence were all one, or rather all nothing, to David
Swan.
lie had slept only a few moments, when a brown
carriage, drawn by a pair of handsome horses,
bowled easily along and was brought to a stand-
still nearly in front of David's resting-place. A
linchpin had fallen out, and permitted one of the
wheels to slide off. The damage was slight, and
occasioned inerely a momentary alarm to an elderly
merchant and his wife, who were returning to
Boston in the carriage. While the coachman and
a senant were replacing the wheel, the lady and
gentleman sheltered themselves beneath the maple-
trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain, and
David Swan asleep beside it. Impressed with the
awe which the humblest sleeper usually sheds around
him, the inerchant trod as lightly as the gout would
allow; and his spouse took good heed not to rustle
her silk gown lest David should start up all of a
sudden.
" How soundly he sleeps," whispered the old
gentleman. " From what a depth he draws that
easy breath ! Such sleep as that, brought on with-
out an opiate, would be worth more to ine than
half my incoinc ; for it would suppose health am!
an untroubled mind."
" And youth besides," said the lady. " Healthy
and quiet age does not sleep thus. Our slumber
is no more like his than our wakefulness."
The longer they looked, the more did this elderly
couple feel interested in the unknown youth, to
whom the way-side and the maple shade were as a
• Bom 1804 — died 1864.
i88o.)
N U' II Ol.AS IRE ASU K E - li O X .
141
secret chamber, with the rich gloom of damask cur-
tains brooding over him. Perceiving that a stray
sunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady
contrived to twist a branch aside, so as to intercept
it. And having done this little act of kindness, she
began to feel like a mother to him.
" Providence seems to have laid him here,"
whispered she to her husband, ' and to have
brought us hither to find him, after our disappoint-
ment in our cousin's son. .Mcthinks 1 can sec a
likeness to our departed Henry. .Shall wc awaken
him ? "
"To what purpose?" said the merchant, hesi-
tating. " We know nothing of the youth's
character."
"That open countenance ! " replied his wife, in
the samp hushed voice, yet earnestly. " This
innocent sleep ! "
While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's
heart did not throb, nor his breath become agitated,
nor did his features betray the least token of inter-
est. Yet Fortune was bending over him, just ready
to let fall a burden of gold. The old merchant had
lost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth
except a distant relative, with whose conduct he
w;is dissatisfied. In such cases, people do stranger
things than to .act the magician, and awaken to
splendor a young man who fell asleep in poverty.
" Shall we not waken
him ? " repeated the lady,
persuasively.
■' The coach is ready,
sir," said the servant, be-
hind.
The old couple started,
reddened, and hurried
away, mutually wondering
that they should ever have
dreamed of doing anything
su \cry ridiculous. The
merchant threw himself
back in the carriage, and
occupied his mind with
.. the plan of a magnificent
asylum for unfortunate men
of business. Meanwhile,
^™> m David Swan enjoyed his
nap.
The carriage could not
have gone above a mile or
tu-o when a pretty young
girl came along, with a trip-
ping pace, which showed
precisely how her little heart
was dancing in her bosom.
Perhaps it was this merry
kind of motion that caused
— is there any harm in say-
ing it ? — her garter to slip
its knot. Conscious that
the silken girth — if silk it
were — was relaxing its hold,
she turned aside into the
shelter of the maple-trees,
and there found a young
man asleep by the spring !
IMushing as red as anj- rose, that she should have
intruded into a gentleman's bed-chamber, and for
such a purpose, too, she was about to make her
escape on tiptoe. But there was peril near the
sleeper. A monster of a bee had been wander-
ing overhead, — buzz, buzz, buzz, — now among the
leaves, now fliishing through the strips of sun-
shine, and now lost in the dark shade, till finally
he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of
David Swan. The sting of a bee is sometimes
142
THE ST. N'lCHOLAS T RE AS U RE - BOX .
4ht she, and blushed
rain <if bliss j;rc\\' su
shattered bv its ver\-
deadly. As frcc-hcarted as she w;is innocent,
the girl attacked the intruder with her hand-
kerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him from
beneath the maple shade. How sweet a picture !
This good deed accomplished, with quickened
breath and a deeper blush, she stole a glance at the
youthful stranger for whom she had been battling
with a dragon in the air.
'• He is handsome," the
redder yet.
How could it be thai no
strong within him, that,
strength, it should part asunder and allow him to
perceive the girl among its phantoins? Why, at
least, did no smile of welcome brighten upon his
face ? She was come, the maid whose soul, accord-
ing to the old and beautiful idea, had been severed
from his own, and whom, in all his vague but
passionate desires, he yearned to meet. Her, only,
could he love with a perfect love, — him, only,
could she receive into the depths of her heart, —
and now her image
was faintly blushing
in the fountain bv
his side ; shoidd it pass away, its happy luster would
never gleam upon his life again.
" How sound he sleeps ! " inurmurcd the girl.
She departed, but did not trip along the road so
lightly as when she came.
Now, this girl's father was a thriving country
merchant in the neighborhood, and happened, at
that identical time, to be looking out for just such
a young man as David Swan. Had David formed
a way-side acquaintance with the daughter, he
would have become the father's clerk, and all else
in natural succession. So here again had good
fortune — the best of fortunes — stolen so near that
her garments brushed against him ; and he knew
nothing of the matter.
The girl was hardly out of sight when two men
turned aside beneath the maple shade. Both had
dark faces, set off b)- cloth caps, which were drawn
du\\n aslant over their brows. Their dresses were
shabby, yet had a certain smartness. These were
a couple of rascals who got their living by whatever
the devil sent them, and now, in the interim of
other business, had staked the joint profits of their
next piece of villainy on a game of cards, which
was to have been decided here under the trees.
But, finding David asleep by the spring, one of the
rogues whispered to his fellow: "Hist! Do you
see that bundle under his head ?"
The other villain nodded, winked, and leered.
"I '11 bet you a horn of brandy," said the first,
" that the chap has either a pocket-book, or a snug
little hoard of small change stowed away amongst
his shirts. And if not there, we shall find it in his
pantaloons-pocket. "
" But how if he wakes?" said the other.
His companion thrust aside his waistcoat,
pointed to the handle of a dirk, and nodded.
" So be it ! " muttered the second villain.
They approached the unconscious David, and,
while one pointed the dagger toward his heart, the
other began to search the bundle beneath his head ;
their two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastly with
guilt and fear, bent over their victim, looking
horrible enough to be mistaken for fiends,
should he suddenly awake. Nay,
J had the villains glanced aside
into the spring, even they would
hardly have known themselves,
as reflected there. But David
' ; Swan had never worn a more
tranquil aspect, even when
' ' asleep on his mother's breast.
" 1 must take away the bundle," whispered one.
" If he stirs, 1 '11 strike," muttered the other.
But, at that moment, a dog, scenting along the
ground, came in beneath the maple-trees and gazed
alternately at each of these wicked men, and then
.It the quiet sleeper. He then lapped out of the
fountain.
■' Pshaw ! " said one villain, •' we can do nothing
now. The dog's master must be close behind."
•' Let 's take a drink and be off," said the other.
The man with the dagger thrust back the weapon
into his bosom and drew forth a pocket-pistol, but
not of that kind which kills by a single discharge.
THE ST. NICHOLAS T K K AS U R K - BOX.
143
It was a flask of liquor, with a block-tin tumbler
screwed upon the mouth. Each drank a comfort-
able dram and left the spot, with so many jests and
such laughter at their un-
accomplished wickedness that they might be said to
have gone on their way rejoicing. In a few hours
they had forgotten the whole affair^nor once imag-
ined that the recording angel had written down the
crime of murder against their souls, in letters .is
durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he slept
quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death
when it hung o\'cr him, nor of the glow of renewed
life when that shadow was withdrawn.
He slept, but no longer so quietly as at first.
An hour's repose had snatched from his el.astic
frame the weariness with which many hours of toil
had burdened it. Now he stined ; now moved his
ps without a sound ; now talked, in an inward
tone, to the noonday specters of his dream. But a
niiise of wheels came rattling louder and louder
along the road, until it dashed through the dis-
rsing mist of David's slumber; and there was
the stage-coach. He started up, with all his ideas
about him.
" Halloo, driver! Take a passenger?" shouted he.
, ■' Room on top," answered the driver.
Up mounted David and bowled
'.' away merrily toward Boston, with-
out so much as a parting glance
at that fountain of dream-like vicis-
situde. He knew not that a phan-
tom of Wealth had thrown a golden hue
upon its waters, nor that one of Love had
sighed softly to their murmur, nor that one of
Death had threatened to crimson them with
his blood ; all in the brief hour since he lay
down to sleep. Sleeping or waking, we hear
not the airy footsteps of the strange things that
almost happen.
" King Canute," by the great English author, William Makepeace Thackeray,* — " dear old Th.ickeray " we
grown folks often rail him, — points to the absurdity and wickedness of flattery, and the greater kingliness that
comes to an earthly king when he owns his mortal 'dei)endence on the Ruler of all things. Like everything else
that came from Thackeray's pen, it shows a faith in honesty and a scorn of all that is fawning or untrue. Human
" parasites," as you will see, were not favorites with him.
Thackeray is one of the world's spokesmen slill, though he died years ago.
King Canute.
By William Makepeace Thackeray.
King Canute was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score.
Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more ;
And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore.
'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop, walked the King with steps sedate,
Chamberlains and grooms came after, silver-sticks and gold-sticks great,
Chaplains, aides-de-camp and pages, — all the officers of state.
Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause.
If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws ;
If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws.
• Bom 1811— died 1863.
144 THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E ASU R E - BOX.
But that day a something vexed him ; that was clear to old and young ;
Thrice His Grace had \a\vned at table when his favorite glecmcn sung,
Once the (Uieen would have consoled him. but he ba<ie her hold her tongue.
■ Something ails my gracious master ! " cried the Keeper of the Seal,
Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served for dinner, or the veal?"
Psha ! " exclaimed the angry monarch. " Keeper, 't is not that 1 feel.
"r is the lii-ort, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest iin|)air ;
Can a king be great as 1 am, prithee, and yet know no care?
Oh, I 'm sick, and tired, and weary." Some one cried: "The King's arm-chai
Then toward the lackeys turning, quick my lord the Keeper nodded.
Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied ;
Languidly lie sank into it : it was comfortably wadded.
■ Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, " over storm and brine,
I have fought and 1 have conquered! Where was glory like to mine?"
Loudly all the courtiers echoed: "Where is glory like to thine?"
' What avail me all my kingdoms ': Weary am 1 now and old ;
Those fair sons 1 have begotten long to see me dead and cold :
Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mold !
Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent 1 at my bosom tears and bites;
Horrid, horrid things 1 look on. though 1 put out all the lights ;
Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop abo\it my bed at nights.
■ Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires ;
Mothers weeping, virgins screaming vainly for their slaughtered sires."
Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, " every one admires.
Look, the land is crowned with minsters which your Grace'.s bounty raised;
Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised ;
You, my lord, to think of dying ? <m my conscience, 1 'm amazed ! "
Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, •' that my end is drawing near."
Don't say so ! " exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear).
Sure your (Irace is strong .and lusty, and may live this fifty year."
Live these fifty years ! " the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit.
Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute !
Men have lived a thousand years, and sure His Majesty will do 't.
.Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela
Lived nine hundred years apiece, and may n't the king as well as they ? "
Fenently," exclaimed the Keeper, — " fervently I trust he may."
//<• to die?" resumed the Bishop. "He a mortal like to iisf
Death was not for him intended, though lomiiutnis omnibus ; *
Keeper, you are irreligious for to talk and cavil thus.
With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can compete,
Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet ;
Surely he could raise the dead up, did His Highness think it meet.
* Mc:minK : Cummon to nil.
THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E AS U RE - BOX.
145
" Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill,
And the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still ?
So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will."
" Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Hishop ? " Canute cried ;
" Could 1 bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride ?
If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide !
Vol. VIII.— 10.
146
NOT SO STUPID AS HE SEEMED.
[December,
Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?"
Said the Bishop, bowing lowly; "Land and sea, my lord, arc thine."
Canute turned toward the ocean : " Back ! " he said, " ihou foaming brine
From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat ;
Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat ;
Ocean, be thou still! 1 bid thee come not nearer to my feet!"
But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar.
And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore ;
Back the Keeper and the Bisho]), back the King and courtiers bore.
And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay,
But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey ;
And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day.
King Canute is dead and gone. Parasites exist alwav.
-i^t^SS-^ -:■
NOT SO STUPID AS HE SEEMED.
By John Lewees.
There was once a French ship, anchored, for a
time, at a small port in Italy. While the unloading
and loading of the vessel were going on, the sailors
would often ramble about on shore, to see the sights
of the strange town.
One day, a party of these sailors found them-
selves in the court-yard of an inn, where a travel-
ing showman had lodged a number of wild animals,
with which he intended to open an exhibition in
the town, the next day.
Almost all these animals were in cages, but one
of them, a large black bear, was quietly sleeping on
the ground, being merely fastened by a rope from
his collar to a stake. He was a performing bear,
and one of the principal attractions of the show.
Among the sailors who had wandered into the
court-yard, and now stood looking at the strange
creatures around them, was a man named Caspar,
who was a very vain fellow in many ways, but
particularly vain of his knowledge. He wished all
his comrades to understand that there were very
few things which he could not toll them all about.
He did not hesitate to say, indeed, that there were
matters which he could explain a good deal better
than the captain could, or any of the officers.
When Caspar came into the yard of the inn, he
saw immediately that here was an excellent oppor-
tunity for him to display his knowledge. So he
walked about the yard, explaining to his comrades,
and to the people who had been drawn together
by the chance of seeing a show for nothing, the
habits and peculiarities of the different animals.
The showman, who w'as a good-natured person,
was much amused at Caspar's performance,
" 1 should like to have such a fellow to help me
when I am giving a show," he said, to one of the
inn-people; "but he would have to know a little
more concerning the beasts before I should let him
talk, .'\bout half he says is wrong,"
By this time, Caspar had described nearly all the
animals, and had reached the big, sleeping bear,
" It 's a curious thing," said Caspar, to the
little crowd around him, " to see the differences in
animals. The bigger they are, the stupider they
are. The little ones are the smart and lively
fellows, The\- know how to take care of thein-
N<»T M
selves- A man c.in't make one of them work lor
him, hkc a ^tvM dumb ox. They are I(h> bri);hl
anil sharp for that, and if a man wants tu keep
one of them he ha» y^ot to shut him up in a cage.
Take an elephant, for instance. What a great,
lumbering cre.iture an eleph.int is ! .\m\ yet a
man can make one of these overg^wn num-.ters
carrj- him and his whole family on his back, and
do any kind of work he chooses to
leach him. lUit take a |>anther or a
leop.in.1, who will not weigh .is mvich
as one of the elephant's legs, ami see
how easy it will Ik- to make hiiu work !
It can't be done, lie 'd tly at the thro;it
of any man who should trj to teach
him to work."
'• Then you think, C.isp.ir," said one
of his companions, "that it 's only
stupid creatures that work ? "
" Yes, that 's what I think," said
Caspar. " To be sure, 1 work, myself;
but I am getting wiser and wiser every
day, an<l s«i, after a while, 1 may Ik-
able to stop working and live .is 1
ought to live."
' In a cage ? " asked one of the by-
standers.
" Do not interrupt me," said Cas-
par. •' I w-as going on to speak of this
bear, the biggest and strongest animal
in the whole show, and yet he is the
only one who has Ijcen stupid enough
to .-lUow himself to be taught to play
tricks, and dance, and sl.ind on his
head. — things which are just the same
as work to him. .Ml the other animals
have to be shut up l>ehind iron bars
and wires ; but he, the largest of them
all, .-Ulows hin«elf to be led about by
a rope, and does just what he is told to
do. The great lump ! Look how fat
and stupid he is ! " And Casp.-ir, to
show his contempt, gave the bear a
punch in the ribs with a stick he held in
his hand.
Instantly, the bear raised his head,
and, seeing who had disturbed him, gave a rcur
.ind sprang upon Caspar. The frightened people
ran in every direction, while the showman hurried
to Caspar's assistance.
But he w;is too late. The bear had jumped so
suddenly and violently that he pulled up the stake,
and he now sciicd Caspar by the waist-band of his
breeches, as he turned to run, and shook him .is a
dog would shake a raL In vain the frightened
s.iilor struggled and cried. In v.iin the jhouman
pulle<l at his lie.ir ; in vain Caspar'i comrades
shouted and yelled. The l>e.ir shiK>k and growled
and scratched until his rage h.ul ciHiJcd down a
little, and then he iK-gan to pay attention to the
blows and commands of his master, and let p<Kir
C.isp.ir go.
When the unfortunate lecturer on the h.ilnis of
BACIIK* CA>
animais arose from the gruunii, uirly, torn, and
scared .ilmosi out of his wits, the showman said to
him : " A bear may be a very stupid bc.isi, but
the man who punches him when he is asleep is a
great deal stupider."
At this all the people laughed, .ind C.is|>ar
walked off to his ship without a word.
And he nc\'cr again delivered a lecture u|Min
animals.
A PAIR OF JINGLES.
m •» ?K
.- Ai-%'r^j:' -> ^i-f^i^i^
I'L 'i la^^' /
Cl>|
'^'^^
.y^^i'^^i -^Ji^*-^*
SEVEN LITTLE PUSSY-CATS.
Bv Joel Stacy.
Seven little pussy-cats, invited out to tea,
Cried : " Mother, let us go. Oh, do ! for good we '11 surely be.
We '11 wear our bibs and hold our things as you have shown us how-
Spoons in right paws, cups in left — and make a pretty bow ;
We '11 always say ' Yes, if you please,' and ' Only half of that.' "
Then go, my darling children," said the happy Mother Cat.
The seven little pussy-cats went out that night to tea,
Their heads were smooth and glossy, their tails were swinging free ;
They held their things as they had learned, and tried to be polite ;• -
With snowy bibs beneath their chins they were a pretty sight.
But, alas for manners beautiful, and coats as soft as silk !
The moment that the little kits were asked to take some milk
They dropped their spoons, forgot to bow, and — oh, what do you think?
They put their noses in the cups and all began to drink !
Yes, every naughty little kit set up a meouw for more,
Then knocked the tea-cup over, and scampered through the door.
DANCING.
Bv Joel Stacy.
Master Fitz-Eustace de Percival JOi\es
Went dancing with Polly McLever ;
And he asked her that night, in the sweetest of tones,
To dance with him only, — forever.
Indeed I will, Eustace de Percival Jones,"
Said dear little Polly McLever.
So he whispered her softly: "Delay is for drones —
Let 's take the step now, love, or never."
To-day they are gray, and their weary old bones
Feel keenly each turn of the weather ;
But dancing at heart still are Polly and Jones,
As they tread their last measure together.
iSaa]
THE governor's BAM.
•49
Tin; r.ovKRNOR's ball.
iiniHiimotiut- May's Story.
By Ada Cummings.
i'.''^
ET US see, — October, November, .ind
R.ichel came down with the fever soon
after corn-huskinj;, — it must have
lx;cn about Cliristni;is-time
when the Governor gave his
grand ball, and my aunt
Dorothy danced till mid-
■>, night. I never think of it
now without recalling all
that happened at the
same time, — a long, long
time ago, my dears, when
^,..j . ,^^ Rachel and I were small,
■Wfc \^ and played and took com-
^^ ' fort the day long.
n i". It had been a long, cold
fall, with snow coming early
and lying along from week
to week, and then Rachel
was taken with the fever, and
we kept her in a darkened room,
and 1 stayed at home to help
Mother. Dreary enough it was, and you may be
sure we were pleased when Rachel grew so well as
to sit of an afternoon by the window in an easy-
chair, and watch the teams glide p^ist the gate
through the snow, and the stage-coach lumber by
the door and over the hill into the town.
And how pleased we were when one day the
stage, instead of rumbling on as was its wont,
stopped at our gate, and my aunt Dorothy came
running up the path into the house ! How she
kissed Mother and Rachel and me, and what a
cheerful, pleasant time we had all together. She was
my father's sister, — your great great-aunt, my dears.
When Aunt Dorothy had been there about a
week, an invitation came for her and for Mother to
a grand party, to be gi\en by the Governor's lady.
Mother said at once that she must stay at home,
because of Rachel's being still so weak, but that
my aunt must on no account miss such a treat.
The Governor's son was to be there, and there were
to be music and dancing, and a grand supper.
At first. Aunt Dorothy said it was n't to be
thought of, for she could never get up a suitable
dress, being out in the countr)- with no dress-maker
nor miUincr : but Mother persuaded her that they
could manage to make things presentable, with a
little help from the town. So it was settled that
my aunt should go to the ball.
Then the dress-making began. Mother had a
brocade which had never been made up on account
of her going into mourning for Kather ; this was
very suitable for .Aunt Dorothy's complexion, and
they decided to use it for the dress part, with satin
(for the train) from the town.
I used to have a bit of the brocade left, — I wish
1 had it here to show you, — ;i lilac ground, with
clusters of blush roses. Aunt Dorothy had light
hair and dark eyes, and such a soft, bright color, —
you can fanc\' that a pattern like that would just
suit her.
After they had decided on lilac for the train, and
had sent to town for it, it occurred to my aunt to
wonder where she could find any one to put up her
hair properly. They wore it then in a mass,
shaped something like a tower on the top of tlic
head, and with great puffs, like wings, coming out
from either side.
Mother thought we could manage to have it
arranged at home, but Ainit Dorothy insisted on
sending to the city and engaging a hair-dresser to
come and put it up on the day on which the party
was to be. She said there was everything in having
the hair quite right, and that if he should fail to
come, she should be obliged to stay at liome.
Then there was only a week between the in\ita-
tion and the party, but it seemed like four. There
was so much cuttifig out and trying on and altering,
and altogether such a deal of fuss and worry. My
aunt had sent for lilac satin, and then she wished
it had been pink, and after that she was afraid that
neither would come ; though it did come in good
season, and a lovely shade at that. While they
were planning and making things ready, it was a
great treat to Rachel and me to see the work-
women busy over the pretty garments, and to fancy
how .Aunt Dorothy would look and feel in the gay
company.
At last the dress w;is ready and laid out on the
spare bed, and ever)-thing was done but to find
some one for an escort for my aunt, when, one
night, while the wind was blowing drifts of snow
up and down the road and around the corners of
the house, who should walk in suddenly but Uncle
George !
We were all surprised to see him, — except
Mother, she took it very quietly, — and glad enough,
you may believe. He w.as tall and handsome, and
a great favorite with us children ; and he always
I50
THE GOVERNOR S BALL.
[Decemb
brought us something nice. Mother said it was
fortunate that he had come just then, because of
Aunt Dorothy's needing some one for an escort to
the party, — and my aunt seemed pleased enough
to have it arranged in that way (as well she might
be, we children thought. Uncle George being so
soldierly and handsome). He w;is no relation
to my Aunt Dorothy, but was Mother's brother.
Now, Rachel and 1 knew well that Uncle George
never came all that distance without bringing us
children some pretty gift. So we were on the look-
out; and when supper was over, sure enough he
came up to us and said :
"Girls, I came away in such a hurry that 1
did n't have a chance to hunt you up anything very
nice ; but 1 did the best I could. Here 's some-
thing that will be rather cunning by and by."
And with that he laid in Rachel's lap a little
wicker-box, and when she had opened it, there lay
two of the cunningest white mice, just old enough
to have their eyes open !
How delighted we were ! Mother brought us
two pieces of white cotton, and gently took out the
tiny creatures and placed them on them. We had
never seen anything like them, which made them
doubly dear ; the dainty pink ears, white noses, and
funny tails seemed to us the most marvelous of
curiosities. I danced up and down for joy, and
Rachel ! it did Mother's heart good to see how-
happy Rachel looked as she lay back in her chair
and held the tiny baby-mouse against her cheek.
When bed-time came, she was so excited and so
afraid that something would get her treasure away
from her in the night, that Mother had to promise
her that she might keep it on a stand by her own
pillow, so as to be near for protection in case of
danger. We had never had a cat or a dog about the
house ; but the fever had left her weak and like a
little child.
The next morning there was plenty to do to finish
the preparations for the ball in the evening. I ran
on errands for Mother and Aunt Dorothy ; and
Uncle (jeorge went up to the town and brought
flowers, and there was a great deal going on. Soon
after dinner, Rachel seemed so tired that Mother put
her to bed, to get sleep if she could.
We had tied two bits of ribbon — mine blue,
Rachel's pink — about the necks of our white mice,
and had named them, respectively, " Fairy " and
"Snowdrop." After Rachel went to bed, it
occurred to me that it would be a good idea if I
could discover any other mark of difference in them,
so that they could be told apart ; and while I sat
holding them in my lap, the hair-dresser came.
Of course 1 was all anxiety to see what w;\s going
on, so I h;istily gathered my apron together and
stood by him while he brushed out my aunt's hair
and rolled it over his fingers, and then brought it
down again in long, shining curls and puffs. There
w;is a chair close by me, where his box of imple-
ments lay, — rolls of cotton and horse-hair, — which
he would just press together a little and slip dex-
terously under the puffs of hair. 1 watched him
breathlessly, forgetful of all else, till he had finished
all but the last ; then Mother called to me to do
some little errand for her, and when I came back
the man was gone, and my aunt was sittingas stiff as
an old portrait, for fear of disarranging something.
" Alice," Rachel's gentle voice called from the
bed-room, " will you please bring Snowdrop in
here and let him lie on the bed ? "
■"Oh, yes," 1 said, drawing a long breath and
peeping into my apron to see that the contents were
all safe.
I could not believe my eyes for a moment. I
shook the folds of the apron, at first gently, then
more energetically, but to no purpose. — the mouse
with the blue bit of ribbon was there safe enough,
but nothing was to be seen of the other, even after
1 had emptied my lap and taken off my apron.
When 1 had fairly reached this conclusion, I laid
my head in a chair and burst into tears ; and after
Mother and .-^unt Dorothy had asked me what was
the matter, it was a long time before I could con-
trol myself sufficiently to sob out that I had lost
Rachel's mouse, and that I never could be happy
again.
Of course they tried to console me, and said we
should be sure to find it in a few minutes ; but after
we had all looked thoroughly in the sitting-room
and the kitchen, and under chairs and on tables,
and in all conceivable and inconceivable places,
and there was yet no trace of the lost pet, there
was nothing left to do but to confess that it was
doubtful whether we e\er saw it again.
This gave occasion for a fresh burst of tears from
me. Mother went in and told Rachel all about it,
and Rachel tried to be very brave and not mind,
but between my crying and her trying not to, and
being so weak, she was soon so excited that Mother
was frightened and sent us all out of the room.
1 stayed outside the door, and sent in word once
by Mother that 1 wanted Rachel to have Fairy to
love and keep as she had Snowdrop. And during
the afternoon Uncle George came along, and said
that he would get us another before the week was
out. But Rachel had fallen into an uneasy sleep,
and Mother could n't administer these small drops
of comfort ; and things were in this sad condition
when it came evening, and my .-Vunt Dorothy and
Uncle George started for the ball. I reinember
standing at the window and seeing them drive
away in the sleigh, and wondering if there ever
could be another afternoon so sad as that had been.
i88o.]
THE GOVERNOR S BALL.
151
— and I really think, my dears, tiiat I never had
one sadder, for the strength to bear always came with
the trouble afterward, and then I was only a child
and took things to heart more.
Now I must tell you about my Aunt Dorothy, as
near as I can, in the way she used to tell it.
Rachel and I used to make her go over the story
.again and again, till we had it almost by heart.
Well, it seems that my aunt and Uncle (George
rode along in the sleigh, up the hill and into the
town, by the road that the stage took every day ;
and after a while they came to the Governor's
house.
There were colored lamps before the door, and
servants in blue and scarlet ; and, when the guests
were inside, there was a great hall with broad
stairs, and other servants in blue and scarlet to
show them their way.
My Aunt Dorothy said she wished she could
show us how grand e\erything was, with scarlet
hangings up and down the room, and marble
statues, and paintings that some one had brought
over from France long before.
But as soon as they had been presented to the
Governor and his lady, my Aunt Dorothy said she
began to feel quite at home — the more especially
as the (Governor gave her his hand and called her
" my dear," and then spoke to his son, who gave
her his hand and asked her to dance.
So they went through minuets in a stately man-
ner, and it seemed to my Aunt Dorothy quite like
a dream that she should be dancing minuets with
the (jovernor's son, among the scarlet hangings
and statues and the grand people ; for my aunt
was tiuict, and liked rather to stay at home with
her own friends.
They had been dancing a long time, my aunt
said, when she began to notice how uncomfortable
her head was. One place seemed to be on the
point of coming down, and kept up enough of a
movement on her head to keep her in continual
fear ; and there were hair-pins, or something of the
kind, that stuck into her head every few moments
in such a way as to cause her considerable pain.
However, she had made up her mind to be fashion
able, and thought she ought not to complain.
Then they went out to supper, and there was
every variety of cake and fruit, and dishes of for-
eign make and with foreign names ; and there
were servants behind every chair to wait on the
guests. It was just after they had begun to eat
slowly, that a strange fancy forced itself upon my
aunt's mind — that there was a funny little squeak-
ing kind of a noise proceeding from her own head !
The idea first struck her in a lull of the conver-
sation, when everything was unusually quiet. She
was talking with a city lady who sat on her right,
and she imagined that the conversation ran like
this: "Do you find the country pleasant?"
This was a question by the lady.
" Yes. I have only been here two weeks."
This from my Aunt Dorothy's mouth, and a
faint accompaniment of " Quee, — quee " from my
.Aunt Dorothy's head.
" Dull, though, is n't it, this cold weather? "
" Well, 1 have been so busy — quee, quee, quee-
e-ee — that I can hardly tell."
Then the talking grew louder around them, to
my aunt's great relief, and the fancy died away for
a time.
" Of course it is imagination," my aunt
thought, '"but if I did n't k)io-iV better, I could
swear that 1 heard a noise every few minutes."
Well, they got through supper after a time, and
then it was eleven o'clock, and nearly time to go
home. (They never staid beyond twelve in those
days, my dears, which was much better than to be
up till morning.)
Ikit before they left the house, there was to
be a short speech by the Governor, and Uncle
George took my aunt and led her to a seat, and
sat down beside her.
152
THE GOVERNOR S BALL.
[December,
Now, whether there was anything objectionable
in the Governor's speech, or anything to be offended
at, I don't know ; but certain it is tliat no sooner
had the room become quiet and the Governor
opened his mouth, than there proceeded from the
direction of my aunt's chair a succession of faint
but decided squeals. Then my aunt said she knew
that she must be bewitched, and that, if she was
bewitched, she had better be at home. Moreover,
sank into a chair, " will you take down my hair, or
shall 1 become a maniac .' "
Mother went to work in a dazed way, feebly pull-
ing at a hair-pin here or there, when, of a sudden,
some string or something else gave way, and down
tumbled wads of cotton, rolls of horse-hair, and
— one little, trembling, frightened white mouse !
Motlier and Aunt Dorothy burst out laughing,
and I stood ])ctrificd with surprise, till there
she fancied she saw several looking at her askance,
and imagined that they were deliberating whether
to duck her in the horse-pond or hang her without
mercy for a witch ; so she grasped Uncle George's
arm and said :
" Oh, please, Mr. George, if you have no ob-
jections, I think I must go home." And so they
got out as quietly as they could, and rode home
like the wind.
And that was how it happened that, as Mother
was sitting up to keep things all warm and pleas-
ant for Aunt Dorothy's return, and I sat nodding
in a chair beside her for company, the sleigh
dashed up to the door and my aunt herself hurried
in, waking me and bringing Mother to her feet in
a hurry.
" Oh, Jane," said .Aunt Dorothy, faintly, as she
appeared suddenly in the bedroom door-way a
whitCrrobed Hgure, and Rachel's voice exclaimed
in rapture ;
" My own darling mousey ! "
" Mercy ! " cried Mother, and caught Rachel and
the long-lost treasure, and put them both into
their respective resting-places.
We never knew how it happened, unless I
di'opped the mouse into the chair where the hair-
dresser's utensils were, and so Snowdrop was
tucked away instead of a piece of cotton ; but one
thing was sure, that, ever afterward, that mouse
was to us the most maiTelous of animals ; and
Rachel was even heard to say that she loved him
better (if possible) for the trouble and anxiety he
made her when he went, without leave, to the
( Governor's ball.
iNol]
PHAETON ROGERS.
153
AN ARISTOCRATIC OLD GNU.
liv Makc.arkt Vandkckifi-.
An aristocratic old ('iiui
Found out he 'd a hole in his shoe.
It made him turn pale,
For there is not for sale.
In the whole world, a shoe for a (inn !
It will let the whole river come in.
.'\nd besides, I nii^ht tre.ad on a pin,"
Said the C,n\i, with a groan,
•' Or a horrid sharp stone,
.And injure my delicate skin.
I can't walk about on this hole,
I 'm afraid I must call on the Sole,
But I hope he 'U perceive
That, without express leave,
He is not free to talk of the hole ! "
The Sole re-assured the poor Gnu ;
Of course he could mend him his shoe.
It would scarce take a minute
To put a patch in it —
' To put in a WHAT ?" said the Gnu.
A patch," said the Sole. " Oh, no, no !'
Said the Gnu, " it would certainly show.
You must think of a plan —
-And you certainly can —
That is better than //ta/, sir. No, no !
I 'ni ill the first circles — in fact.
The notice a patch would atlr.act
In my shoe, Mr. Sole,
Would 1)0 worse than a hole —
My character might be attacked ! "
The Sole smiled a pitying smile.
I really don't know of a style
To cover a hole.
Without one," said the Sole.
Then," the Gnu said, " it is n't worth while
To detain you — but should you find out —
As you will, I have scarcely a doubt —
An invisible way.
Send me word, don't delay.
And meanwhile, I 'II say 1 have gout."
The Sole sent next morning. " No doubt,"
Said his note, " if you '11 turn inside out,
1 can sew it together
With small strips of leather.
And it never will show — you 're so stout ! "
As if I coiiM turn inside out ! "
Said the Gnu. " What 's the fellow about ?
I might do it — but then —
Could I get back again ?"
And he still is disabled with gout.
PHAETON ROGERS.*
Bv RossiTER Johnson.
Chapter I.
A MORNING CANTER.
Nothing is more entertaining than a morning
canter in midsummer, while the dew is sparkling
on the grass, and the robins are singing their joyful
songs, and the east is reddening with the sunrise,
and the world is waking up to enjoy these beautiful
things a little, before the labors of the day begin.
If you live in the town, it is especially good for
you to have a horseback ride now and then, and
you should ride into the country in the early morn-
ing. .-\nd just here is one of the many advantages
of being a boy. When ladies and gentlemen ride
•Copyrijiht. 1880. by Rosiila
horseback, it is considered necessary to have as
many horses as riders ; but an indefinite number
of boys may enjoy a ride on one hoi-se, all at the
same time ; and often the twcnt)- riders who walk
get a great deal more fun out of it than the one
rider who rides. I think the best number of riders
is three — one to be on the horse, and one to walk
.along on each side and keep off the crowd. For
there is soinething so noble in the sight of a boy
on a horse — especially when he is on for the first
time — that, before he has galloped many miles, he
is pretty certain to become the center of an admir-
ing throng, all eyes being turned upon the boy,
and all legs keeping pace with the horse.
It falls to the lot of few boys to take such a ride
Johnson. All HghL-k reserved.
154
PHAETON ROGERS.
more than once in a life-time. Some, poor fellows !
never experience it at all. But whatever could
happen to any boy, in the way of adventure, was
pretty sure to happen to Phaeton Rogers, who was
one of those lucky fellows that are always in the
middle of ever\ thing, and generally play the prin-
cipal part. And yet it was not so much luck or
accident as his own genius ; for he had hardly
come into the world when he began to try experi-
ments with it, to see if he could n't set some of the
wheels of the universe turning in new directions.
The name his parents gave him was Fayette ; but
the boys turned it into Phaeton, for a reason which
will be explained in the course of the story.
It was my good fortune to live next door to the
Rogers family, to know all of Phaeton's adventures,
and have a part in some of them. One of the
earliest was a morning canter in the countr)-.
Phaeton was a little older than I ; his brother
Ned was just my age.
One day, their Uncle Jacob came to visit at their
house, riding all the way from Illinois on his own
horse. This horse, when he set out, was a dark
bay, fourteen hands high, with one white foot, and
a star on his forehead. At the first town where he
staid overnight, it became an iron-gray, with a
bob tail and a cast in its eye. At the next halt,
the iron-gray changed into a chestnut, with two
white feet and a bushy tail. A day or two after-
ward, he stopped at a camp-meeting, and when he
left it the horse was a large roan, with just a hint
of a spring-halt in its gait. Then he came to a
place where a county fair was being held, and here
the roan became piebald. How many more changes
that horse went through, I do not know ; but, when
it got to us, it was about eleven hands high (con-
venient size for boys), nearly white, with a few
black spots, — so it could be seen for a long dis-
tance,— with nice thick legs, and long hair on them
to keep them warm. All this Ned vouched for.
Now, Mr. Rogers had no barn, and his brother
Jacob, who arrived in the exening, had to tie his
horse in the wood-shed for the night.
Just before bed-time, Ned came over to tell me
that Phaeton was to take the horse to pasture in
the morning, that he was going with him, and they
would like my company also, adding :
" Uncle Jacob says a brisk morning canter will
do us good, and give us an appetite for breakfast."
" Yes," said I ; "of course it will; and, besides
that, we can view the scenery as we ride by."
" We can, unless w'e ride too fast," said Ned.
" Does your uncle's horse go very fast? " said 1,
with some little apprehension, for I had never been
on a horse.
" 1 don't exactly know," said Ned. " Probably
not."
" Has Phaeton ever been on a horse?" said I.
"No," said Ned; "but he is reading a book
about it, that tells you just what to do."
" And how far is the pasture?"
" Four miles, — Kidd's pasture, — straight down
Jay street, past the stone brewer)-. Kidd lives in a
yellow house on the right side of the road ; and
when we get there we 're to look out for the dog."
"It must be pretty savage, or they would n't
tell us to look out for it. .4re you going to take
a pistol ? "
" No ; Fay says if the dog comes out, he '11 ride
right over him. You can't aim a pistol very steadily
when you are riding full gallop on horseback."
" I suppose not," said I. "I never tried it.
But after we 've left the horse in the pasture, how
are we to get back past the dog?"
" If Fay once rides over that dog, on that horse,"
said Ned, in a tone of solemn confidence, "there
wont be much bite left in him when we come back."
So we said good-night and went to bed, to dream
of morning canters through lovely scenerj', dotted
with stone breweries, and of riding triumphantly
into pasture over the bodies of ferocious dogs.
A more beautiful morning never dawned, and we
boys were up not much later than the sun.
The first thing to do was to untie the horse ; and
as he had managed to get his leg over the halter-
rope, this was no easy task. Before we had accom-
plished it, Ned suggested that it would be better
not to untie him till after we had put on the saddle ;
which suggestion Phaeton adopted. The saddle
was pretty heavy, but we found no great difficulty
in landing it on the animal's back. The trouble
was to dispose of a long strap with a loop at the
end, which evidently was intended to go around
the horse's tail, to keep the saddle from sliding
forward upon his neck. None of us liked to try
the experiment of standing behind the animal to
adjust that loop.
" He looks to me like a very kicky horse," said
Ned ; "and I would n't like to see any of us laid up
before the Fourth of July."
Phaeton thought of a good plan. Accordingly,
with great labor, Ned and I assisted him to get
astride the animal, with his face toward the tail,
and he cautiously worked his way along the back
of the now suspicious beast. But the problem was
not yet solved : if he should go far enough to lift
the tail and pass the strap around it, he would
slide off and be kicked. Ned came to the rescue
with another idea. He got a stout string, and,
standing beside the animal till it happened to
switch its tail around that side, caught it, and tied
the string tightly to the end. Then getting to a
safe distance, he proposed to pull the string and lift
the tail for his brother to pass the crupper under.
PHAETON ROGERS.
155
But as soon as he began to pull, the horse began to
kick; and not only to kick, but to rear, bumping
Phaeton's head against the roof of the low shed, so
that he was obliged to lie flat and hang on tight.
While this was going on, their uncle Jacob
appeared, and asked what they were doing.
" Putting on the saddle, sir," said I.
'• Yes, it looks like it," said he. " But I did n't
intend to have you take the saddle."
" Why not, uncle?" said Phaeton.
" IJecause it is too heavy for you to bring back."
'■Qh, but we can leave it there," said Phaeton.
" Hang it up in Kidd's barn."
"No; that wont do," said his uncle. "Can't
tell who might use it or abuse it. 1 'U strap on a
blanket, and you can ride just as well on that."
"But none of us have been used to riding that
way," said Ned.
Without replying, his uncle folded a blanket, laid
it on the horse's back, and fastened it with a sur-
cingle. He then bridled and led out the animal.
" Who rides first ? " said he.
I was a little disappointed at this, for I had sup-
posed that we should all ride at once. Still, 1
was comforted that he had not merely said, " Who
rides?" — but "Who rides first?" — implying that
we all were to ride in turn. Phaeton stepped for-
ward, and his uncle lifted him upon the horse, and
put the bridle-reins into his hand.
•■ I think you wont need any whip," said he, as
he turned and went into the house.
The horse walked slowly down till he came to a
full stop, with his breast against the front gate.
"Open the gate, Ned," said Phaeton.
" I can't do it, unless you back him," answered
Ned. This was true, for the gate opened inward.
" Back, Dobbin ! " said Phaeton, in a stem voice
of authority, giving a vigorous jerk upon the reins.
But Dobbin did n't back an inch.
" Why don't you back him ? " said Ned, as if it
were the easiest thing in the world.
" Why don't you open that gate ? " said Phaeton.
B\- this time, three or four boys had gathered on
the sidewalk, and were staring at our performance.
" Shall I hit him ? " said Ned, breaking a switch.
" No," said Phaeton, more e.xcited than before:
" don't touch him ! Back, Dobbin ! Back I "
But Dobbin seemed to be one of those heroic
characters who take no step backward.
" I know how to manage it," said Ned, as he ran
to the wood-pile and selected a small round stick.
Thrusting the end of this under the gate, he pried
it up until he had lifted it froin its hinges, when it
fell over outward, coming down with a tremendous
slam-bang upon the sidewalk. A great shiver ran
through Dobbin, beginning at the tips of his ears,
and ending at his shaggy fetlocks. Then, with a
quick snort, he made a wild bound over the pros-
trate gate, and landed in the middle of the road.
I don't know how Phaeton managed to keep his
seat, but he did ; and though the boys on the side-
walk set up a shout, Dobbin stood perfectly still in
the road, wailing for the next earthquake, or falling
gate, or something, to give him another start.
" Conic on, boys ! Never mind the gate ! " said
Phaeton.
When he said "boys," he only meant Ned and
me. But the boys on the sidewalk promptly
accepted the invitation, and came on, too.
"You walk on the nigh side," said Phaeton to
me, " and let Ned take the off side."
I was rather puzzled as to his exact meaning;
and yet I was proud to think that the boy who
represented what might now be considered our
party on horseback, as distinguished from the
strangers on foot crowding alongside, was able to
use a few technical terms. Not wishing to display
my ignorance, I loitered a little, to leave the choice
of sides to Ned, confident that he would know which
was nigh and which was off. He promptly placed
himself on the left side, near enough to seize his
brother by the left leg, if need be, and either hold
him on or pull him off. I, of course, took a similar
position on the right side.
" He told you to take the nigh side," shouted one
of the boys to me.
" He 's all right," said Phaeton ; "and 1 'd advise
you to hurry home before your breakfast gets cold.
We '11 run this horse without any more help."
" Run him, will you ? " answered the boy, deris-
ively. "That's what I'm waiting to see. He'll
run so fast the grass '11 grow under his feet."
" If there was a hot breakfast an inch ahead of
your nose," said another of the boys, addressing
Phaeton, " it 'd be stone cold before you got to it."
Notwithstanding these sarcastic remarks, our
horse was now perceptibly moving. He had begun
to walk along in the middle of the road, and — what
at the time seemed to me very fortunate — he was
going in the direction of the pasture.
" Can't you make him go faster. Fay ? " said Ned.
" Not in this condition," said Phaeton. " You
can't expect a horse without a saddle on him to
make very good time."
" What difference does that make ? " said 1.
" You read the book, and you '11 sec," said Phae-
ton, in that tone of superior information which is
common to people who have but just learned what
they are talking about, and not learned it very
well. " All the directions in the book are for horses
with saddles on them. There is n't one place where
it tells about a horse with just a blanket strapped
over his back. If Uncle Jacob had let me take the
saddle, and if I had a good pair of wheel-spurs, and
'56
I'HAETON ROGERS.
[December,
a riding-whip, and a gag-bit in his mouth, you
would n't see me here. By this time I should be
just a little cloud of dust, away up there beyond the
brewery. This animal shows marks of speed, and
I '11 bet you. if he was properly handled, he 'd
trot way down in the thirties."
So much good horse-talk, right out of a standard
book, rather awed me. But I ventured to suggest
that I could cut him a switch from the hedge,
which Dobbin could certainly be made to feel,
though it might not be so elegant as a riding-whip.
'■ Never mind it," said he. " It 's no use ; you
can't expect much of any horse without saddle or
spurs. And besides, what would become of you
and Ned? You could n't keep up."
1 suggested that he might go on a mile or two
and then return to meet us, and so have all the
more ride. But he answered: " 1 'm afraid Uncle
Jacob would n't like that. lie expects us to go
right to the pasture, without delay. You just wait
till 1 get a good saddle, with Mexican stirrups, and
wheel-spurs. "
By this time, the boys who had been following us
had dropped off. But at the next corner three or
four others espied us, and gathered around.
" Why don't you make him go?" said one who
had a switch in his hand, with which at the same
time he gave Dobbin a smart blow on the flank.
A sort of shiver of surprise ran through Dobbin.
Then he planted his fore feet firmly and evenly on
the ground, as if he had been told to toe a mark,
and threw out his hind ones, so that for an instant
they formed a continuous straight line with his
body. The boy who had struck him, standing
almost behind him, narrowly escaped being sent
home to breakfast with no appetite at all.
" Lick those fellows ! " said Phaeton to Ned and
me, as he leaned over Dobbin's neck and seized his
mane with a desperate grip.
" There are too many of them," said Ned.
" Well, lick the curly-hcadcd one, any way,"
said Phaeton, " if he does n't know better than to
hit a horse with a switch."
Ned started for him, and the boy, dixnng through
an open gate and dodging around a small barn,
was last seen going over two or three back fences,
with Ned all the while just one fence behind him.
When they were out of sight, the remaining boys
turned their attention again to Dobbin, and one of
them threw a pebble, which hit him on the nose
and made him perform ver)' much as before, except-
ing that this time he planted his hind feet and threw
his fore feet into the air.
'■ Go for that fellow ! " said Phaeton to me.
He struck off in a direction opposite to that taken
by the curly-headed boy, and I followed him. It
was a pretty rough chase that he led me ; but he
seemed to know every step of the way, and when
he ran into the culvert by which the Deep Hollow
stream passed under the canal, 1 gave it up, and
made my way back. Calculating that Phaeton
must ha\e passed on soinc distance by this time, 1
took a diagonal path across a field, and struck into
the road near the stone brewery. Phaeton had not
yet come up, and I sat down in the shade of the
building. Presently, Dobbin came up the road at
a jog trot, with Phaeton wobbling around on his
back, like a ball in a fountain. The cause of his
speed wasjhe clatter of an empty barrel-rack being
driven along behind him.
On arriving at the brewery, he turned and, in
spite of Phaeton's frantic " Whoas ! " and rein-
jerking, went right through a low-arched door,
scraping otf his rider as he passed in.
" So much for not having a gag-bit," said
Phaeton, as he picked himself up. " I remember,
Uncle Jacob said the horse had worked fifteen or
sixteen years in a brewery. That was a long time
ago, but it seems he has n't forgotten it yet. And
now 1 don't suppose we can ever get him out of
there without a gag-bit."
He had hardly said this, however, when one of
the brewery men came leading out Dobbin. Then
the inquiry was for Ned, who had not been seen
since he went over the third fence after the curly-
headed boy who did n't know any better than to hit
a horse with a switch. Phaeton decided that we
must wait for him. In about fifteen minutes, one
of the great brewery wagons came up the road, and
as it turned in at the gate, Ned dropped from the
hind axle, where he had been catching a ride.
After we had exchanged the stories of our ad-
ventures, Ned said it was now his turn to ride.
" 1 wish you could, Ned," said Phaeton; "but
I don't dare trust you on his back. He 's too fiery
and untamable. It 's all /can do to hold him."
Ned grumbled somewhat ; but with the help of
the brewer)' man. Phaeton remounted, and we set
off again for Kidd's pasture. Ned and I walked
close beside the horse, each with the fingers of one
hand between his body and the surcingle, that we
might cither hold him or be taken along with hitn
if he should ag.iin prove fiery and untamable.
When we got to the canal bridge, we found that
a single plank was missing from the road-way.
Nothing could induce Dobbin to step across that
open space. All sorts of coaxing and argument
were used, and even a k\v gentle digs from Phae-
ton's heels, but it w.is of no avail. ,At List he began
to back, and Ned and I let go of the surcingle.
.Around he wheeled, and down the steep bank he
went, like the picture of Putnam at Horseneck,
landed on the tow-path, and immediately plunged
into the water. A crowd of bovs who were swim-
PHAETON ROGERS.
157
ming under the bridge set up a shout, as he swam
across with Phaeton on his back.
Ned and I crossed by the bridge.
" I only liope Uncle Jacob wont blame me if tin-
horse takes cold," said Phaeton, as he came up.
" Can't we prevent it ?" said Ned.
" What can you do ?" said Phaeton.
•' I think we ought to rub him off perfectly dry,
at once," said Ned. '"That's the way .Mr. Gif-
ford's groom does."
" 1 guess that's so," said Phaeton. "You two
go to that hay-stack over there, and get some good
wisps to rub him down."
Ned and I each brought a large armful of hay.
"Now, see here, Fay," said Ned, " you 've got
to get off from that horse and help rub him.
W.e 're not going to do it all."
" But how can I get on again?" said Phaeton.
" 1 don't care how," said Ned. " You 've had
all the ride, and you must expect to do some of the
work. If you don't, 1 '11 let him die of quick con-
sumption before I '11 rub him."
This vigorous declaration of independence had a
good effect. Phaeton slid down, and tied Dobbin
to the fence, and we all set to work and used up
the entire supply of hay in rubbing him dry.
After several unsuccessful attempts to mount him
by bringing him close to the fence, Phaeton deter-
mined to lead him the rest of the way.
" Anyhow, I suppose he ought not to have too
violent exercise after such a soaking as that," said
he. " We '11 let him rest a little."
As we were now beyond the limits of the town,
the only spectators were individual boys and girls,
who were generally swinging on farm-yard gates.
Most of these, however, took interest enough to
inquire why we did n't ride. We paid no attention
to their suggestions, but walked quietly along, —
Phaeton at the halter, and Ned and 1 at the sides,
— as if guarding the sacred bull of Burmah.
About a mile of this brought us to Mr. Kidd's.
" What about riding over the dog ?" said Ned.
" We can't very well ride over him to-day, when
we 've neither saddle nor spurs," said Phaeton;
" but you two might get some good stones, and be
ready for him."
Accordingly, we two selected some good stones.
Ned crowded one into each of his four pockets, and
carried one in each hand. I contented myself with
two in my hands.
" There 's no need of getting so many," said
Phaeton. " For if you don't hit him the first
time, he '11 be on you before you can throw
another."
This was not very comforting ; but we kept on,
and Ned said it would n't do any harm to ha\'e
plenty of ammunition. When we reached the
house, there was no dog in sight, excepting a small
shaggy one asleep on the front steps.
■' You hold Dobbin," said Phaeton to me,
■■ while 1 go in and make arrangements."
1 think I held Dobbin about half a minute, at
the end of which time he espied an open gate at
the head of a long lane leading to the pasture,
jerked the halter from my hand, and trotted ofl" at
surprising speed. When Phaeton came out of the
house, of course I told him what had happened.
'■ But it 's just as well," said 1, •' for he has
gone right down to the pasture."
'■ No, it is n't just as well," said he ; " we must
get off the halter and blanket."
" But what about the dog ? " said Ned.
'■ Oh, that one on the steps wont hurt anybody.
The savage one is down in the wood-lot."
At this moment a woman appeared at the side
door of the farm-house, looked out at us, and
understood the whole situation in a moment.
" I suppose you had n't watered your horse,"
said she, " and he 's gone for the creek."
Phaeton led the way to the pasture, and we
followed. I should n't like to tell you how very
long we chased Dobbin around that lot, trying to
corner him. We tried swift running, and we tried
slow approaches. I suggested salt. Ned pre-
tended to fill his hat with oats, and walked up
with coaxing words. But Dobbin knew' the differ-
ence between a straw hat and a peck measure.
" I wish I could remember what the book says
about catching your horse," said Phaeton.
" I wish you could," said I. " Why did n't you
bring the book ? "
" I will next time," said he, as he started off in
another desperate attempt to corner the horse
between the creek and the fence.
Nobod>- can tell how long this might have kept
up, had not an immense black dog appeared,
jumping over the fence from the wood-lot.
Phaeton drew back and looked about for a stone.
Ned began tugging at one of those in his pockets,
but could n't get it out. Instead of coming at us,
the dog made straight for Dobbin, soon reached
him, seized the halter in his teeth, and brought
him to a full stop, where he held him till we came
up. It only took a minute or two to remove the
blanket and halter, and turn Dobbin loose, while
a few pats on the head and words of praise made
a fast friend of the dog.
With these trappings over our arms, we turned
our steps homeward. As we drew near the place
where we had given Dobbin the rubbing down to
keep him from taking cold, we saw a man looking
over the fence at the wet wisps of hay in the road.
" I wonder if that man will expect us to pay for
the liav." said Phaeton.
158
PHAETON ROGERS.
[December,
" It would be just like him," said Ned. " These
farmers are an awful stingy set."
" I have n't got any money with me," said
Phaeton ; " but I know a short cut home."
Ned and 1 agreed that any shortening of the
homeward journey would be desirable just now, —
especially as we were very hungry.
He led the way, which required him to go back
to the first cross-road, and we followed. It seemed
to me that the short cut home was about twice as
long as the road by which we had come, but as I
also was oppressed with a sense of having no
money with me, 1 sympathized with Phaeton, and
made no .objection. When I found that the short
cut led through the Deep Hollow culvert, 1 confess
to some vague fears that the boy 1 had chased into
the culvert might dam up the water while we were
in there, or play some other unpleasant trick on us,
and 1 was glad when we were well through it with
only wet feet and shoulders spattered by the drip-
pings from the arch.
We got home at last, and Phaeton told his uncle
that Dobbin was safe in the pasture, at the same
time giving him to understand that we were — as
we always say at the end of a composition — much
pleased with our morning canter. But the boys
could n't help talking about it, and gradually the
family learned every incident of the story. When
Mr. Rogers heard about the hay, he sent Phaeton
with some money to pay for it, but the stingy
farmer said it was no matter, and would n't take
any pay. But he asked Phaeton where we were
going, and told him he had a pasture that was
just as good as Kidd's, and nearer the town.
Chapter II.
RAPID TRANSIT.
If Phaeton Rogers was not an immediate success
as a rider of horses, he certainly did what seemed
some wonderful things in the way of inventing con-
veyances for himself and other people to ride.
One day, not long after our adventures with Dob-
bin, Ned and I found him sitting under the great
plane-tree in the front yard, working with a knife at
some small pieces of wood, which he put together,
making a frame like this :
" What are you making, Fay ? " said Ned.
" An invention," said Phaeton, without looking
up from his work.
" What sort of invention ? A new invention ? "
" It would have to be new or it would n't be an
invention at all."
" But what is it for ? ''
" For the benefit of mankind, like all great in-
ventions. "
" It seems to me that some of the best have been
for the benefit of boykind," said Ned. " But what
is the use of trying to be too smart? Let us know
what it is. We 're not likely to steal it, as Lem
Woodruff thinks the patent-lawyer stole his idea for
a double-acting wash-board."
Phaeton was silent, and worked away. Ned and
1 walked out at the gate and turned into the street,
intending to go swimming. We had not gone fai
when Phaeton called " Ned ! " and we turned back.
" Ned," said he, " don't you want to lend me the
ten dollars that Aunt Mercy ga\'e you last week ? "
Their Aunt Mercy was an unmaiTied lady with
considerable property, who was particularly good to
Ned. When Phaeton was a baby she wanted to
name him after the man who was to have been
her husband, but who was drowned_at sea.
Mrs. Rogers would not consent, but insisted upon
naming the boy Fayette, and Aunt Mercy had never
liked him, and would never give him anything,
or believe that he could do anything good or credit-
able. She was a little deaf, and if it was told her
that Phaeton had taken a prize at school, she pre-
tended not to hear ; but whenever Ned got one she
had no trouble at all in hearing about it, and
she always gave him at least a dollar or two on such
occasions. For when Ned was born, she was
allowed to do what she had wanted to do with
Fayette, and named him Edmund Burton, after her
long-lost lover. Later, she impressed it upon him
that he was never to write his name E. B. Rogers,
nor Edmund B. Rogers, but always Edmund Bur-
ton Rogers, if he wanted to please her, and be
remembered in her will. She never called him any-
thing but Edmund Burton. Whereas, she pretended
not to remember Fayette's name at all, and would
twist it in all sorts of ways, calling him Layit and
Brayit, and Fater and Faylen, and once she called
him Frenchman-what's-his-name, which was as
near as she ever came to getting it right.
" Why should I lend you my ten dollars ? " said
Ned. " For the information you kindly gave us
about your invention? "
" Oh, as to that," said Phaeton, " I 've no objec-
tion to telling you all about it now that 1 have
thought it all out. 1 did not care to tell you before,
because I was studying on it."
"All right ; go ahead," said Ned, as we seated
ourselves on the grass, and Phaeton began.
" It is called the under-ground railway. You
see, there are some places — like the city of New
York, for instance — where the buildings are so close
iSSo.]
PHAETON ROGERS.
159
together, and land is worth so much, tliat they
can't builti railroads enough to carry all the people
back and forth. And so they ha\e been trying,
in all sorts of ways, to get up something that
will do it — something different froni a common
railroad."
" Balloons would be the thing," said Ned.
"No; balloons wont do," said Phaeton. "You
can't make them 'light where you want them to.
I 've thought of a good many w^ays, but there was
sonic foult in all of them but this last one."
" Tell us about the others first," said Ned.
" I '11 show you ('«<■ of them," said Phaeton, and
he drew from his pocket a small sheet of paper,
which he unfolded, and exhibited to us this picture :
most serious objection of all. " But tell us about
the real invention."
" The real invention," said Phaeton, " is this,"
and he took up the little frame we had seen liim
making. Taking an India-rubber string from his
pocket, he stretched it from one of the little posts
to the other and fastened it.
" Now," said he, " suppose there was a fly that
lived up at this end, and had his office down at that
end. He gets his breakfast, and takes his seat
right here," and he laid his finger on the string,
near one of the posts. " 1 call out, ' All aboard ! '
and then "
Here Phaeton, who had his knife in his hand,
cut the string in two behind the imaginary fly.
"This," said he, "represents the city of New
York. ./ is some place far up-town where people
live; /? is the Batter)', which is down-town, where
they do the business. 1 suppose you both know
what a mortar is ? "
"A cannon as big around as it is long," said
Ned.
"And shoots bomb-shells," said 1.
"That's it," said Phaeton. "Now here, you
see, is a big mortar up-town ; only, instead of
shooting a bomb-shell, it shoots a car. This car
has no wheels, and has a big knob of India-nibber
on the end for a buffer. When you get it full of
people, you lock it up tight and touch off the
mortar. This dotted mark represents what is called
the line of flight. You see, it comes down into
another sort of mortar, which has a big coiled
spring inside, to stop it easy and prevent it from
smashing. Then the depot-master puts up a big
step-ladder and lets the people out."
Ned said he should like to be the one to touch
off the mortar.
" And why was n't that a good plan ? " said I.
"There arc some serious objections to it," said
Phaeton, in a knowing way. " For instance, you
can't aim such a thing very true when the wind is
blowing hard, and people might not like to ride in
it on a windy day. Besides, some people have a
very strong prejudice, you know, against any sort
of fire-arms."
" There would n't be much chance for a boy to
catch a ride on it," said Ned, as if that were the
"Where is the fly now?" said he. ".At his
office doing business "
" I don't understand," said Ned.
" I 've only half explained it," said Phaeton.
" Now, you see, it 's easy enough to make a tunnel
under-ground and run cars through. But a tunnel
always gets full of smoke when a train goes
through, which is very disagreeable, and if you ran
a train e\cry fifteen minutes, all the passengers
would choke. So, you see, there must be some-
thing instead of an engine and a train of cars. I
propose to dig a good tunnel wherever the road
wants to go, and make it as long as you please.
Right through the center I pass an India-rubber
cable as large as a man's leg, and stretch it tight,
and fasten it to gieat posts at each end. AH the
men and boys who want to go sit on at one end as
if on horseback. When everything is ready, the
train-despatcher takes a sharp .ixe, and with one
blow clips the cable in two behind them, and zip
they go to the other end before )ou can say Jack
Robinson."
Ned said he 'd like to be train-despatcher.
"They 'd all have to hang on like time,"
said I.
"Of course they would," said Phaeton: "but
there are little straps for them to take hold by."
" And would there be a tub at the other end,"
said Ned, " to catch the passengers that were
broken to pieces against the end wall ? "
" Oh, pshaw ! " said Phaeton. " Don't you sup)-
pose I have provided for that ? "
(To fie cflntinurd. *
i6o
THE PEDESTRIANS.
THE PEDESTRIANS.*
By Annie A. Preston.
When I was a little girl, my grandmother used
to delight us children, on winter evenings, by tell-
ing us the story of a queer old man. whom her
father, who was a lawyer, used to meet, dtiring
court terms, in the different towns in southern
Massachusetts. This old man was almost blind,
and led by a string a remarkably intelligent little
coal-black dog.
This man was a curious character. He was well
educated, and delighted to talk with the lawyers
and judges about distinguished people he had met
in London, and of various historical personages.
He was fond of big words, and called himself and
his dog "The Pedestrians," and always stoutly
maintained that he amply paid his way by exhibit-
ing his " intelligent four-footed friend and compan-
ion," as he designated the pretty animal.
This dog would perform a variety of tricks and
antics commi n to m in> ti uned dugs, and the un-
common one of respondmg, by a nod, to all but one
of 1 list of names as thev were sung over by his
111 istcr Whtnever his master called that name, the
1 , would run in an opposite direction, lie down
ind pretend to be asleep, or show his displeasure in
^' ■me other way that would be sure to raise a laugh
among the by-standers.
"Sit up like a little gentleman, now, my friend,"
the old man would say, squinting his one half-
blind eye at the dog, who would immediatdy set
himself up on his haunches, cross his fore paws on
Ins breast, while his master sang slowly :
Kimbo, Humbo,
Sambo, Pero, Sappho ! "
At the last name, the little dog w-ould bark indig-
nantly, while his master would chuckle and wink at
his audience, saying: "That 's a girl's name, you
know ; you see he does n't like it," and continue :
" He was Calo, Crapo, Christmas,
Sancho, and High Robert.
That was all he was, excepting Peter Waggie,
D:irkls, Garret, and Father Howell, and that was all he
At this, the dog would put down his fore feet,
whining and wagging his tail delightedly, and
catching his master's hat, would carry it around to
the spectators, soliciting pennies. The old " Pedes-
trian " picked up money enough in this way, people
said, to keep himself and his four-footed friend in
good living ; but as he was seldom obliged to
purchase a meal, and strictly temperate, folks often
wondered what he did with his pennies.
" What became of the poor old man and his little
dog at last ? " we often asked. But grandmother
did not know.
r II I I'K DKSTK I ANS.
l6l
Last summer I visited a lonely old lady in eastern in it are many curious descriptions of diflferent
Connecticut, who delighted in interesting reminis- people who were guests of the house. Here is one
cences of " old times." One day she came smiling which always struck mc as being very pathetic," and
into my room with an old, well-worn book in man- she read me the following, which I have since copied
uscript in her hand, and said to me: from the book. It is dated January 6th, i8 — .
(•EDESTRFANS.
"When my grandfather and grandmother were "A terrible snow-storm yesterday. The Hart-
first married, they kept a ' stage tavern ' not far ford stage was belated for hours, and the coach
fix>m here, near the Massachusetts line. This book brought in among its passengers a poor, nearly
is a journal my grandmother kept at the time, and blind beggar, with a funny little black dog fastened
Vol. vni. II.
l62
TIIK I.ANM> OK NOD.
to his arm by a string, boili of « lioin the compas-
sionate driver picked up in .\ freezing condition,
from a huge snow-drift a few miles liack.
■' They Both were nearly dead. VVc undressed
the man, rubbed tliem both, with snow at fust, and
put them to bed — both together- for they had just
vitality and sense enough left to protest against
being separated. The warm drinks and nourish-
ing brotlis we administered rcvi\ed the strange
pair in a measure, however, and the man began to
talk and to sing in a weak, tremliling voice, wliich
showed that he was partially delirious.
•• He had intended to go to Providence, he said,
but had got upon the wrong road in the blinding
snow, and wandered off, he knew not whither. ' Hut
I have found friends,' he said, clasping his hands;
'I have always found friends, (lod always lakes
care of his own.'
" He said that he was born in Scotl.uid, .md
educated at Cambridge, England, and came to
.America to teach ; but his eyes gave out, and
he had lived since that time by exhibiting his little
'four-footed friend.' .\ wonderful scholar the poor
man was, indeed, with a wonderful lot of names and
phrases and quotations on his tongue's end, that
would do honor to an\ gentleman. This morning
he began to sing, in a plaintive monotone :
le was Kimber. Hubner, KibUi.
Saxo, Perousc, S.ippbo.' —
L-ble bark.
d hi!
when the little dog gavi
master gave a languid smile.
" ' He always protests against answering to a
female's name,' said the poor man. ' He under-
stands all about it, — a great scholar mv four-footed
little friend is. I have taught him when we have
been walking together. We are "The Pedes-
trians," ' and he sang feebly once morc^
" ' He w.ls C.-lto. Cnperi, Christie,
Sancho, and High Robert.
That was all he was excL-pt
Peter Wading, Davies. Garrick,
.^nd Foster Powell,
.■\nd that was all he «as y.'
" As he finished, the little dog made a vain
effort to raise himself on his legs, turned his intelli-
gent eyes upon his master's pale face, gave a feeble
wag of the tail, and died.
" My husband threw a shawl over the poor ani-
mal, and lifted him carefully from the bed without
attracting the attention of his master, wlio talked
away about his own life and that of his little four-
footed friend.
■' All day long, while the luifortunate old man's
riuttering breath remained in his body, he told us
his story, over and over. Toward the last, he
looked up at me and s.iid : ' How joyous I feel !
Only death could bring such joy to the old "Pe-
destrian." Remember, madam, there are pennies
enough under — tlie white rock, near the — the —
great oak, to pay for our burial. Come — Kimber
— Humber! we must be — be — moving,' and throw-
ing up his arms, his soul passed from his poor, tired
body, and was indeed moving on. We buried him
and his little dog in the same grave, on a pleasant,
simny, eastern hill-side, not far from the tavern.'"
Here the record closed ; but 1 felt sure my child-
ish c|uestion was answered, and that I knew at
last what finally became of the old blind man and
his little do'.; that bore so manv funnv names.
Tiri': i..\.\u oi- \()i).
{A n ofwretta fnr yonttg folks, poityayin^ tite visit of six iittie sieepyJu-mis to //if A'/fttr of the Laud of Nod. atid t/u-
loomfers they saw at his Court. )
Bv I-:. S. Hkooks.
CHARACTKRS.
The King of the L.inil of Nn.l. The Dream Sprites,
The Sand Man, ^-.^inet Minivers. Jlj^^^^f" ?"blin.
Jack o" Drcarns, i The Six I-itile Sieepy-^
The Royal Pages. His Majesty '.s Siandard-bearci
( ThcDi
My Lady Form
The Drcai
Old Mother Goom
The (Joblin Can-and-Must.
The Queen of the Dollies,-
'I'hc Dream Princess.
COSTUMES AND MOUNTING.
The stage mounting and the costumes must depend entirely upon
ihc taste and facilities of the managers. The more care bestowed
upon the preparation of the costumes and the dressing of the siagc.
effective will be the presentation. If no curtain is used,
should be set to represent a throne-rootn, with a tastefully
;er-rear of stage. The only other prop.
e a wheelbarrow; a hand-wagon; six
inclined frames (of this style),
which bright-colored
draped throne at the c
erties really necessary
couches, either sir
ches.
afghans may be thn
Soap-boxes, cut to this
shape and with sacking
tacked across, would do
Strings of artificial flowers for Dream Sprites—
and gold
for tbesi
say, thirty to forty inches long,
(or equally striking combination), bearing conspicuously a big poppy,
and the words, " ' To bed ! To bed ! ' s;»ys Sleepy-head."
I' II 1-: i,.\ N I) (1 1- Mill
'63
rhe cosuitucs, as far as possible, should bu based on the following :
The AV«v. Velvet (or imitalion) tunic of cardinal color, trimmed
with black and gold ; trunks or kncc-brccchcs : long cardinal stock-
ings; shoes and gold buckles. Lung velvet (imitation) mbe and
train-cloak, uf royal purple, trinuned with ennine; gold crown,
encircled with puppy wreath : long white beard : sccp'.er and crown-
T//f Snmi AftiH. Common working-suit of a house- painter (over-
alls, shirt-sleeves, etc.). painter's white or striped apn>n. and a sand-
sprinkler or flour-drcdgcr.
Jack o* I>rtams. Rejiifar costume of a court -jester, parti-colored,
with cap and belts, jester's nittle and bells.
Tke Dream Sprites. (Not less than six, and more, if possible — all
little girls.) Pretty white dresses, gauze wings, chains of artificial
Howcrs as above.
Dream Gifhiin. Kcd gublin suit, tight-fitttiig suit with wings, red
skull-cap with short horns.
The SLv LitiU Sleepy-heads. Three litde boys and ihrve little
girls (the yoimger the better), with long white night-gowns over
their clothes, the girls with night-caps.
The Dream Prhwe. Fancy court suit.
My Loiiy Fortune. Classic Grecian female costume ; gold fillet
In hair. Wheel, about twelve inches in diameter, from an old veloci-
pede, made to revolve, spokes and spaces between them covered
with card-board and papered in different colors.
OUi Mot^zer Goose. Short red petticoat, red stockings, slippers
and silver buckles, brown or fancy over-skirt and waist, high bell-
crown hat, red or purple cape, large specutcles, and broom.
The Goblin Can-atid-Must. Dull brown light-fitting suit, bn^wii
skull-cap and short horns, heavy chains on hands.
Queen 0/ the Dollies. .Any pretty fancy costimie, gold crown,
w:ind : she should have two or three prettily dressed dolls.
The Dream Princess. Fancy court dress.
The Koyai Fages. Two or four small boys in fancy court suits.
The StanJani-dearer. Fancifully designed semi-military suit.
The costumes may, most of them, be made of silesia, which has
the effect of silk. The tollowing ages are suggested for children
taking part in the representation : King — Stout, well-voiced boy of
about sixteen ; Jack h' Dreams, Sand Man — Boys of twelve or
founeen; Goblin Can-anu-Must — Uoy of thirteen; The Dheam
Prince — Boy of eleven or twelve; Dream Goulin — Boy of twelve
or thirteen; Packs — Boys of six; Standakd-heakek — Boy of eight
or ten ; Dream Sprites — GirU of ten or twelve; Dream Princess.
Mv Lady Foktune, Mother Goose — Girls of ten or twelve:
Ql'EEN OF THE DoLLUiS — V,\t\ of eight ; LtriLK SLEHpy-HEAns—
Children of four to six.
(Appropriate music should be played between parts, or whenever
a pause occurs in which music would add to the effect. .Any pan.
for which a good singer cannot be had. may be spoken instead of
$un£. Should all the parts be spoken, instrumental music only
would be retiuired, and this could be perfonncd behind the scenes.)
THK OPEREITA.
[Enter in procession the King, preceded by Standard-bearer, and
followed by the Pages. Music — *' Fatinitza March/' or any other
preferred. King stands on the plattorm on which the throne is
raised, and faces the audience. The Standard-bearer steps
back to one side, and the Pages stand on either side at the foot
of the throne.]
Music hy W. F. SHERWIN.
A ia Miiitaire <ull s;ilutc the King*.
i%'^
^^^^[1
i.%^^^
I. Tin thi; Jul - ly .ilil KiiiK of tin; Realm of Dreams, Tlie
'■ row 11 IS a Kiirliincl of pop-pies bright, That
hull -er, iny hench - men bulil am! true, I'roud
sweet, sleep y Land of Xoil ; I
s;row in (ho Laud of Nod ; Anil I
Ivmjjhts of ihe Land of Nod:» l-i;
Ibl - low the sun - kind's van -ish • ing beams. Anil
drive 'round the world the black Horses of Night, Or
ev - er I go. and what-ev - er I d(>. My
^=^-|^!!^ii^^1:}
i*"^ fly when his iiu.rn-iiifi -lo - ly sLrcanis, Koi
I sometimes a t)i^ht mare the dreamers lo fright. As I
al ol<l head must be guid-ed by you; Now,
2=s
~^^\
* [Enter— right and left- the Sand Man and Jack o' Dn
I am the drowsy god— Yes, I am ihc drovv-sy
ride to the Land of Nod, The dear^ dreamy Land ol
isn't that aw-fully odd.* Ves,cu-ri-ous, funny ami
jr, wlio make, each, a low olH-isance to His Majesty. 1
164
THE LAND OF NOD.
a ^S-l* ^_i<!.t_-_S:z i_
Castle of Dreams ; The King of the Land of Nod !
sleepy and white. As they come to the Land of Nod.
pend upon you.Tlio' Tni Kingoftlie Land of Nod.
(Use last four 1
r 0/ Introduction as an Interlude.)
S.'VND M.^X [/icntiiHg to tkf King\.
I — I air, the Sand Man bold !
And I 'm busy as busy can be,
For I work when it 's hot.
And I work when it 's cold,
As I scatter my sand so free.
Close to the eyes of the children dear
I creep — and I creep ; I peer — and I peer ;
I peer as \vith barrow I plod.
Then I scatter, 1 scatter the sand so free.
Till the children are s-1-e-e-p-y as s-1-e-e-p-y can be.
And off we trot — the children with me —
To the King of the Land of Nod.
I — I am the Sand Man bold !
I come when the night-shades fall ;
Then up to the children my barrow I roll,
And the sanil fills the eyes of 'em all.
\_Rept'at hist sci't-n lines of first stanza.'\
■King.
Scatter and plod, Sand Man odd.
You 're a trusty oil knight of our Land of Nod.
Jack o' Drk.\ms \_/ia2uing low to the Kitig\
I 'm the sprightly young, lightly young, Jack o' Dreams,
And 1 caper the live-long night,
While my jingling bells, with their tingling swells,
.'\re the dear, sleejiy children's delight.
For I jingle them here, into each pearly ear,
.•\nd I jingle them there again ;
.■\nd tile dreams come and go, and the dreams fall and
flow,
.■\s I jingle my bells again.
And 1 dart, and I whirl, o'er their brains loss and twirl.
As 1 scatter the fancies odd ;
I 'm the child of the nigTitTl 'm the jolly young sprite
Of the King of the I^nd of Nod.
* GotLschalk's "Cradle Song" (simplified cd.): Heller's ** Sliimbe
horn; T.anRc's *' Blumlied " ; " Nursery Talc," by Frndcl, or other s
Kint;.
Well spoken, my henchmen, bold and true,
I'roud knights of the Land of .\od ;
IJut tell to me, Saml Man, what do you
firing now to the Land of Nod ?
Just sample tlie stock of your latest llock.
For the King of the Land of Nod.
Sani> .M.\n.
O, sire! I bring to the Realm of Dreams
The ilcfpiest set of boys
Tliat ever the sun-king's vanishing beams
Cut olT from their daylight joys.
Tlie sleepiest, drowsiest, laziest set
In all my travels I 've met with yet;
.\n(l I 've picked out tliree as a sample, you see,—
A sample most funny and odd, —
To show you the stock that comprises llie flock
(If the King of the Land of Nod.
Kim;.
llo! Fix the couches. Jack o' Dreams,
.\nd you, O Sand Man odd.
Roll in the boys — without their noise —
For the King of the Land of Nod.
[Low music* Jack o' Dreams arranges and smoothes down the
couches, and the Sand Man returns, bringing in his wheelbarrow
three little boys in their night-gowns, fast asleep. He and Jack
o' Dreams lift them out gently and place them on their couches ]
King [-i;/;o has risen to reeeii'e his giiesls^oyfn//y\
Now nid, nid, nod, my bonny boys.
O .Sand Man, it is plain
The stock you bring before your king
Your fealty proves again.
Sleep right, sleep tight, with fancies bright,
On Dream-land's pleasant sod ;
The night 's begun, we '11 have some fun,
Says the King of the Land of Nod.
And what, O Jack o' Dreams, do you
Biiig here to the Land of Nod ?
Come I let us know what you have to show
To the King of the Land of Nod.
Jack o' Dreams.
Great King ! I Ijriiig the sw-eetest tilings
That ever you looked upon ;
With bangs and curls, and frills and furls —
The rosiest, posiest little girls
That ever romped or run ;
The tightest, brightest, sauciest lot
That ever in dreams 1 plagued,
I could n't pick better for you — no, not
If you liegged, and begged, and begged.
.•\nd of these, there are three that I w ish you to see —
Throe sleepers so charming and odd;
If Your Majesty please, shall I liring in these
For the King of the Land of .Nod?
King.
.\y ! bring them in, young Jack o' Dreams,
.•\nd you, old Sand Man odd,
Song": "Swing Song," by Fontaine: "Good Night," by Loesch-
ection. Or. a lady may sing " Birds in the Night," by Sullivan.
Ill i: I. A \ I) OF NOD.
165
Ki\ the couches all for llic ladies wlui call
On the King of the Land of Nod.
[Low miisic.t while Jack o' Dreams draws in a Ultle wagon in
which arc three very little girls, in their night-gowns, fast asleep.
He and the Sand Man lift them carefully out and lay them on
the couches. ]
King [;'« rapture, bending o-ur ,-tu!i liItU- girl in stii-
cessioji~\.
Oh. my pink: Oh, my pet!
Vou 're the prettiest yet !
Brave Jack o' Dreams so true,
' r is very plain that never again
-\ fairer lot we '11 view,
.'^leep soft, sleep well, O girlies fair.
On Dream-land's pleasant sod,
While the Dream Sprites start in each young heart
For the King of the Land of Nod.
[Stands by the throne and waves his sccpler. ]
KiNU.
Cling, cling, by my scepter's swing,
By the wag of my beard so odd ;
Dream Sprites small, I summon you all
To the King of the Land of Nod !
\_Enter the Dre.\.\I SpRITKS, eaeh with a ehain offlmvers.
They glide in and out among the little sleepers, and
repeat, in eaneert :~\
We weave, we weave our fairy chain
'Round each young heart, in each young brain.
Our dream-spell chain so sweet.
Bright Dream Sprites we, so gay and free ;
We come with tripping feet, with merrily
tripping feet.
To dance on Dream-land's sod.
While we weave, we weave our fairy chain
'Round each young heart, in each young brain.
That beats and throbs in the sleepy train
Of the King of the Land of Nod.
[Here the Dre.^M GoBLlN enters on tiptoe, with finger
raised, and says :'\
But if some children eat too much.
Or on their backs recline ;
I jump and bump on all of such.
Until they groan and whine.
'T is not my fault, you '11 all agree, —
I 'm naught but a goblin, as you see,
And I dance on Dream-land's sod.
But if children will stuff, why— that 's enough ;
I know what to do, for "I 'm up to snuff"
For the King of tlie Land of Nod.
Now weave your chains, ye Dream Sprites fair.
And call the Dreams from the misty air, —
Stand back, O Goblin odd !
Old Sand Man, scatter your sand apace.
O'er each drooping eye, on each little face;
And Jack o' Dreams, jingle your merry bells.
Till the tinkling tangle falls and swells,
\ Sec foot-note on page 164.
While trooping from Dream-land's pleasant lanes
Come tile r>reams through the ring of rosy chains ;
Come the Dreams so rare through tlic misty air.
To tlie King of the Land of Nod.'
Preaiit Sprites\'i -oeaT'ing song:
Music composed by ANTHONY REIFF.*
Come to these chil - dren fair.
"■ Copyright, 18S0, by Anthony Rcifil
1 66
•|- 1 1 I-; LAND
I 2rf tiiiit. Fine. \ pjJ
^-i±S
'■b:s^^
to these rhiUiren fair. Soft and lo
^ Soft and low, Sing to p"-'- '!■:»-■'""" »=■■
j*^ Fall and tlo^v;:~r ^^~^
Kino. lli-rt-, licrr. children dearl
Now, In- my sc:cpter's swing,
I hold yon all in my mystic ihrall.
Fast hound in my fairy ring;
I'A-c- liriyhl. closOd tiglit, rc^t ye on Dream-land's sod.
.\s vonr sliimhcrs vou ki'ep. spualc the language of sleep
To tiu'King of the Land of .\od.
TllK Sl.\ 1.1 I 11.1. .Sl.Ki;i'\-HK.\lls
(Sil up in bed, facing die aiKlience. and nc.<ldini; d.cir hl.•ad^ sleepily,
say. all logellierj :
Wo arc Six l.illli- ."-^Ict-pv-hcids just from ihc earth.
To visil the Land of Nod.
Our lessons arc over, and so is our fun;
,'\nd after our romp, and after our run.
Right up lo our beds we plod ;
.■\nd when Mamma is kissed, and jirayers are said,
Why — we drowsily, dreamily tumble in bed.
And are off to the Land of Nod.
[Fall sleepily "n their ... lilies again J
KiNi;. Now raise the call, iny subjects all,
.■\s ye gather on Dream-land's sod.
Hid tlie Dreams appear, to the children here.
And the King of the Land of Nod.
f,i,-„ „/„!„:>: clumis : o// si:,,::
composed by ANTHONY REIFF.*
mil Allegretlo non trofj-a. '^"
Sihersi-
^^^^^^^^^^
Dreams of the air, ap-pear ! Here appear.
— -^f 1 1 1 r ■ — >■ i
Da Cnf;' ,i„l Srtr':" al l-iite
■ ■ I s^-> * ;it^_^;S:
-I -— |»^ff— [iff-* ---t — * ii» ^iii»e~n-
• Copyright, i88o, by Anthony Reiff.
Till-: i,.\ N I) OK Non.
167
Sprightly, O ! lightly, O ! Come- ut .uir .all ; lluli
Dr, aili.l.in.l's sr„l, yuirkly, oh, <iuirkly wc bill yi)U com
hith-er come. Hither come, one and all ! Hith-er <
rfi^tpPPPrl^i^
Drowsi - Iv. drow-si • ly,Crooniiis; willi Imzz :mcl hv
hith-er come. Come to these children faii
To the King of the Land of Nod, The King of the [.and of
psn==^
m^^mm
8 »
Says the King of the Land of Nod. Buz/-!m
Hast^en, hast-cn, girl and boy. .-V- sleep, a-slecp on
Buiz-buiz, Says the King of the I-and of Nod.
1 68
I III. I, A XL) OK NUU.
(As the buzz-buzz chontN i> rc{>c;)tcd, with nodding motion and music
.iccompanimcnl, the Six Dreams silently enter and stand behind
the little sleepei-.. I
The Dream Princk [sU-ps in fivnt of first litlU- girt\.
I 'm the gall.int I'rince of the Fairy Isks
Thai final in ihc misK of story,
I "m the glillcring Prince of the Kealni of Smiles,
And I iread the paths of glory.
I call the bright flush to each eager cheek,
.\s my (leeils are read with rapture.
And the dangers I face and the words I speak
.\rc certain all hearts to capture.
O! I 've dance<l in the brains of countless girls.
As they 'vc read with joy the story
Of my wondrous treasures of gold and pearls,
And my marvelous deeds of glory.
I 'm the Prince who glitters on many a i>age
Of many a fairy story.
Ever young and brave, as from age to age
I reign in perennial glory ;
And I come to-night at the call of my King,
To dance through your sleep, dream-laden,
And many a happy thought to bring
To my rare little, fair little maiden.
(Shakes his sword aloft. )
Here 's my strong right arm, that shall shield from harm
This Queen of my Realm of Story ;
I 'm your Prince so true, antl I come to you,
Filling your dreams with glory.
(Steps behind her again.]
King.
Right gallantly spoken, my brave young Prince ;
No knight of my realm has trod
More loyal than you for the pleasures true
Of the King of the Land of Nod..
My Lady Fortune [to first Utile Ay].
With My Lady Fortune's wheel,
Turning ever, woe or weal,
Into every life I steal, ,
As to you, my boy.
Listen, while I tell to you
All I 'm able now to do.
If my aid you rightly sue.
For your future joy.
With my wheel, I Ml turn and turn
All the joys for which you yearn —
High and leaping thoughts that burn
In your heart so bright.
Wealth and health, and honor, loo,
All that 's noble, brave, and true.
With my wheel I turn for you
In your dreams lo-night.
But, my l>oy, remember this —
Guard your heart, lest Fortune's kiss
Turn your noble aims amiss
To the ditch of pride :
Wealth and health may sometimes pall ;
Pride e'er goes before a fall ;
With good luck be wise withal ;
Never worth deride.
Fortune conies from patient heart.
Pleasures, too, from kindness start.
Luck from jiluck should never part ;
So, my boy, be strong !
Ever to yourself be true ;
Help the needy ones who sue ;
I'pright be and manly, too,
\'iclor over wrong.
King.
Hurrah for My l^dy Fortune's Wheel!
.May it turn full many a rod.
Never for woe, but ever for weal.
Says the King of the Land of Nod.
Ol.D MniHEU GoiiSE [/(' s.coml litltr i^-iriy
Over the hills and far away,
.Sailing aloft on my broomstick gay,
Out from the l^nd of the Long .Vgo,
C>ut from the Realm of the Want to Know,
Scattering song-see<ls high and low.
Travel 1 fast to the children.
Into your dreams I bring to-night
Snatches of song and of story bright,
Cllinipscs of what you know — oh, so well —
From the man who cries, " Young lambs to sell,"
To the poor drowned kilty and ding-dong-bell,
hnA dear old .Mother Hubbard.
Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three,
The Wise Men sailing their bowl to sea,
Humpty Dumpty, the Mouse in the Clock,
Taffy the Welshman, who got such a knock.
Little lio-l'eep and her tailless flock,
.'Vnd the House-that-Jack-Built jumble.
Soon from your life I fade away ;
Treasure, my dear, to your latest day
The songs I 've sung and the truths I 've taught.
The mirth and laughter that oft 1 've brought.
The sense my nonsense has ever wrought.
And the blessing of Mother Goose.
King. Hear Mrs. Goose, I 'm proud to see
\'a\i here on Dream-land's sod;
And ever to you my ca.stle is free.
Says the King of the Land of Nod.
The GoHLiN Can-and-Must [to se,oiid tilth- Ivy^
Clank ! clank ! in my dungeon dank,
I live far down among chains and duit;
And I say to each girl, and I say to each boy,
I 'm the grim old Goblin Can-and-Must.
When they go to bed ugly, and cross, and bad,
Leojifig Mother and Father so sorry and sad.
Then I come — and I stand — and I say :
[Shaking his finger.]
Little lioy, little boy, you are wrong, you arc wrong
(.\nd this is the burden of my song)
What your parents say " Do,'' should be easy for you,
.\nd you foft anil must obey.
Ves, you can and must do right, do right ;
.\nd however yiui squirm and twist.
I. A N IJ (> I
169
I >hall comv, ami sli;ill >tanil in vuur (Ircani-^ a( iii);ht ;
And Ihov 'II never lie happy, and never lie liri(;lit,
I' mil love your heart hius kissed.
And you "re reatly to say, on the very next day.
My parents I can uml must obey.
Then away from your dreams to his chains and dust
Will vanish the Goblin Oiti:in</-.t/iis/.'
King.
You're out of place, Mr. Can-and-Must I tlo
From pleasant Dream-land's sod !
There 's not a boy
[Here Can-and-Mu»t shakes his head, and points to second little boy
in proof of his statement. ]
What ? No ? ? Why 1 Sho ! !
Says the Kiny of the I.-ind of No<l.
Ql'EF.N OK THE D0I.I.IES [to l/linl little girr\-
Little one ; pretty one ;
Sleeping so sound.
Resting so calmly on Sleepy-land's ground,
0|ien your heart 10 a dream of delight,
Ojien your dream-lids for me, dear, to-night ;
Open your dream-eyes to see what I bring.
Open your dream-ears to hear what I sing;
List to me, turn to me, here .is I stand,
The Queen of the Dollies
PVom bright Dolly-land.
Small dreamer ; wee dreainer ;
Into your heart
Now, with my fancies and visions, 1 dart;
Visions of dollies all satin and puff,
\'isions of dollies in azure and buflT,
Cloth of gold, silver thread, velvets so rare.
Gossamer laces, — fair faces, real hair, —
Bonnets, and bracelets, and jewels so grand, —
Oh, sweet are the dollies
Of bright Dolly-land.
Precious one ; little one ;
Come, will you go
Off with the Queen to the wonders she 'II show ?
Make y ar own heart, then, a land of delight.
Fair with life's sunshine, with love's glances bright.
Then shall we float, dear, in dreams soft and sweet.
Off to the joy-gates and down the fair street —
Into the |>alace and there, hand-in-hand.
Reign both — (luccns of Dollies
In bright Dolly-land.
-Xnd I will go, too, fair Queen, with you.
To Dolly-land's beautiful sod.
Yes, Your Majesty bright, we will go to-night,
Says (he King of the Land of Nod.
The Dre.\m I'ri.vcess [to tkini UttU /Sc/].
Daisies and buttercups lowly bend-
Bend for me a'i I pass ;
I'lir the (^)ueen of the Dreams to this iKiy cloth send
His own little, sweet little lass.
I' roses bright, ami violets, too.
Rejoice lus so swiftly 1 pass;
I shall dance and flutter his day-dreams through —
1 'm his own little, sweet little la.ss.
O I'owcrs aliovc! In your infmile love.
Make him gentle, and brave, and strong;
Make him fearless and true, and manly, too.
As Ne hasten his years along.
O I'rince of the Isles of Beautiful .Smiles,
Send us pleasure and happiness rare:
Send us favoring tides as our ship gnyly glides
Down Life's flowing river so fair.
KlNt;.
Well, well, my brave boy, there 'II be nothing but joy
In your ])athway — so soon to be tro<l.
May this sweet little lass make it all come to pass,
Says the King of the Ijtnd of Nod.
Jack o' Drka.ms [nishim; hi — riglit^
threat King! the Sun is on the run,
The lamps of day to light.
' r is time to go, — Oho! oho!
With the vanishing shades of night.
Dismiss your court, break ofl' your sport,
'T is time that your way you trod
Around Cape Horn, ere day is born,
To the opposite I .and of Nod.
Sa.nd .Man [_nis/iingin—lf/r\.
Too true, too true! Circat King, for you
The horses of night I 've hitched
To your chariot grand, and a fresh load of sand
Into my barrow I 've pitched.
So, let us be off! Be off! be off!
To China's celestial sod;
To hold the court, and renew the sport.
Of the King of the Ijtnd of Nod.
(Spirited music — " Racquet Galop." Simmons ; " Full of Joy
Galop," Fahrbach : '* Boccacio March " : or other selection.]
King [rising'].
Gather and plod, gather and plod :
Up and away from the l«and of Nod.
Sa.nd Man ani> Jack o' Dreams [logetlier'].
Ciulilins, sprites, and dreamy ring.
Gather, gather, 'round your King,
Here on DrtKim-land's sod.
'Round the world we now must go,
Krc the .Sun his face doth show-
In this I.and of NtxI.
(All the cnaracicr* (oTm in circle arounH ('"• •*t>>i'(r.-.. ....1 ,11 ..y.-..,,.
ing the KinK. 'injc or repeat toyctlv -
TlIK LAND OK NoD.
Music hy W, F. SHERWIN.
i».i
To THE CtiwvKKs ~So///y.
i Chil- (ircn dear, Slccpinp here. Fare you, fare y
icasurcs bright Rount'
Pleasures brighl Round you light, Happy cliil - lireri
Of ihis magic spell. l jjjj „„ m„re,No<l „o more,
Of sleeps roystic thrall, f '
s|>ell »'c break Ol the Kinf; of the Land of Nod.
zf^zC
^r=^.3i£fi^S=
KlNr [ /hill/ his throne^ iishtt; music o/' first sott)^'\.
I 'm the jolly old King of the Realm of Dreams,
The sweet, <leopy Land of Nod.
But I fly from the Sun-king's morning beams.
To the Kingdom of .Niglil and the Castle of Dreams
Far away in the l^nd of Nod,
In the ihinaman's Land of Nod;
Kor I 'm no good at all when the sunlight streams —
I am King of the I^nd of Nod !
[Descend- from the throne ]
Gather 'round me, henchmen bold and true,
I'roud knights of the I^nd of Nod,
Hear your monarch away 'round the world with you.
(To Ihc children )
(lod-spced ye, dear children '. Whatever you do.
Come again to the Land of Nod.
Wake, boys ! and wake, girls 1 here 's the day shining
through.
Says the King of the Land of Nod.
(All pass off in procession, Standard-bearer leading, followed by the
King and his Pages, S.-ind .Man, Jack o' Dreams, I>ream
Sprites, Dreams, and Goblins. As they move off, they sing in
choius the following:]
Cooit-byr sfltig ; iis^- the tniisii- o/ tfu '* ItunntatwH C/uirus" ; sec
pa^s tt)6 ntitf 167.
Tra-la-la: la-la-la; soft and slow.
Singing merrily, now we go.
Off through the misty air.
Waken, O little ones I — here is the dawn;
Wake, with the flush of the rosy morn
Tinging each cheek so fair.
Soft we go, slow we go, now farewell ;
Dreamers, awake, we break the spell.
Haste ye from Dream-land's sod ;
Good night! Good morning! say King and court.
Rouse ye, O children 1 waken to sport —
Farewell to the I„and of Nod.
Good-bye! Good-bye!
Says the King of the Land of Nod;
tiood-bye ! ( iood-bye !
Says the King of the l-anil of Nod.
(When the Ixst strains of the good-bye song die auay, and .'01 is
quiet, the Six Little Sleepy-heads begin to stir and stsetch.
Low music, — " Nursery T.ilc," by I'radcl ; or " Blumlicd," by
Linge. — during which the Six Little Slccpy-hcads sit up on the
edge of their couches, rub their eyes, finally become wide
awake, and then cr>' out all together : ]
Oh! — oh ! What a l>caulif>il dream ! What a — why !
See all the people! Why, where arc we? Oh!
Mainnta! Mainma!
(All ninoffh.-istily 1
(CUKTAIN.)
I ACK- 1 N - 111 K - I'U I r I I
L>'.
\ T/ /'
\ ;'j
"" ; J ACK-f N-THE-PULPIT.
TliK summer ^un h;is gone, my young folk, and
the autumn has blazed itself out. Now it 's the
snow's turn. Sec liow it comes in a merry white
dance to the warm and happy, and in cold nip-
ping blasts to the poor and sorrowful! It 's a good
thing that glowing hearts can warm the earth and
drive away shadows (the Deacon says he has seen
them do it, for that matter, with a helping word, or
an old shawl, or a pair of shoes, or a gift of some-
thing in the way of food or fuel). Soon the air
will be alive with the ringing of Christmas bells.
My. what a world it is ! Most of the birds and
all the flowers, hereabout, have said "good-bye"
or gone into the houses; as for the trees, there
arc the brave old evergreens — and Eh ?
Bless my stars ! What will the dear Little School-
ma'am tell me next ! She says we 'vc a lovely and
curious winter-tree that lasts only a few hours. It
bears a great many sorts of "fruit," and does n't
stand in the open air, as ordinary trees do, but it is
housed securely from the cold.
This tree looks dismal, she says, as long ;is an)-
inquisitive boys and girls happen to be in sight :
but when they are safely out of the way, it cheers
up wonderfully, and begins to bear fruit at once.
.\s soon as the fruit is ripe and ready, the tree is
shut up in the dark, and no one goes near it.
By and by, when the children are gathered in
the next room, where the lights burn dim and only
whispers are heard, the doors between are thrown
open, and there stands the tree, no longer dismal,
but with a bright bud of flame on every bough, and
its arms loaded down with — well, my expectant
ones, you will know very soon. Jack hopes. Mean-
time, we 'II talk about
MISTLETOE AND HOLLY.
.\ CHEERV-HE.ARTED Knglishman sends Jack this
letter, from Connecticut, which I am sure is in-
tentled for. some of )0U young folk ; just read it
over, my holiday-ites, and see if it is not :
"On Christma.s-evc,whcn ihecurlains .ire drawn close, and tlm lamps
.ire lit, and the happy home-folk are gathered before a l)Iazing fire
in the open grate, and are telling stories or thinking kindly of afcsent
dear ones, it is picitsant to glance at the pretty greens in festoons
.tlon^ the walls, twined over the chandeliers and wreathed about
hanging portraits and pictures, with red hoUy-berrics peeping fuit
cheerfuTly here and there, and a bunch of graceful mistletoe-sprays
and white berries spread out over the door. This I remember seeing
in England, where most of the homes as well as the churches are
decorated at Christmas-tinic. fiut in America the custom is not so
general: yet it is very pretty, and. once tried by any who have
been strangers to it, it surely will lie continued.
*' Evergreens are very plenlifiil in .\nKTica. Holly grows here
.-xbundantly, and, although it is nut so beautiful as its English cousin,
and its berries are not so bright, still its itjlossy leaves arc very band-
some, and the little red balls nestle cheeril/among them.
" St. Nicholas told us in December, 1878, about the mistletoe, iLs
history, and the customs connected with it, and how it is gathered
in Normandy and sent to England, whence j^ome of it comes to
English people here. But there is no need to send across the water
for mistletoe, I 'm sure: for it grows here, from New Jersey and Illi-
nois to as far south as Mexico, and is as lovely as the European kind,
although some shades lighter. Vnur Texas youngsters, dear Jack,
can easily find all the mistletoe they can possibly want, chiefly on
the mcsquite bushes. "
GLOVES.
v4>
\\ ll.vr qiKt-r fashions there were in thr iiklen
times ! Why, Deacon Clrccn lately remarked in
my hearing that, in the days of "Good Queen
Hess," fashionable folk in England wore gloves
that were scented ;ind had air-holes in the palms !
Just as if the hands needed to breathe !
"And, before that time," said he, "in the reign
of Richard of the Lion's Heart, gloves were orna-
mented with jewels at the hand and embroidery at
the top. And, still earlier, five pairs of gloves were
paid yearly to King Ethelred II., as a large part of
a tribute for protecting (ierman traders in England.
Gloves were worth a good deal then, you may be
sure. But they were worn even before that, for the
( J reek Xenophon wTote down, as a solemn piece
of history, that ' Cyrus, King of Persia, once went
without his gloves.'"
I suppose the king was obliged to wear them
nearly all the time, poor fellow !
"And this very Christmas," added the Deacon,
gently, " there will be man\ children poor and
small, besides old, old people, who will have no
gloves, nor even mitts, to keep their hands warm,
unless some industrious, tender-hearted girl-knitters
attend to the matter."
THE 'SNOW SNAKE" GAME.
Deai; Jack-in-tme-Pclpit: In snow-time the Indians near my
home have a gueer sport or practice, which your boys and girls
may like to imitate. These Indians take a sticlc, eight or nine feet
long and a little more than an inch thick, and shave it down to half
an inch, excepting at one end, where they leave a kind of pointed
knob. On this thick part they put strips of Ie.td, to make the end
When complete, as f have tried to describe it, the snake is held by
its thin end and thrown along the slipjjery tracks made by slsiofhs in
the road, or over a clear space of cnsp snow-crust, or on the ice of
some lake or river. It slips away and away until it is almost out of
sight, .and you think it never will stop : and as it slides over uneven
surfaces, its up-and-down, wave-like motion gives it the appearance
of a snake gliding swiftly along over the snow : hence its name.
The Indians try who can make Iheir pet "snakes" -slide farthest,
some one going with the umpire to send the queer things skimming
back to the players. Messages slipped into covered grooves can be
sent in snow-snakes across long stretches of ice too thin to bear a
boy's weight, or hurled along a road from house to house, and :
s,ave time and labor, besides making fun of the kind that war
Yours truly.
TTr
172
VERY LITTLK FCII.K.
IDE
Once there were two sun-flow-
ers who hved in a L,''ar-den. One
of them knew the lit-tle yirl who
Hved next door: but the oth-er
did not care for any-thing but the
sun. The frientl-ly sun-flow-er oft-
en leaned o-ver the fence and
bowed to the Ht-tle girl. It was
so tall, that she could not reach
it, e-ven if she stood on her tip-
toes ; but it some-times would put
one of its broad leaves o-ver the
fence like a hand, and the lit-tle
girl would shake it, and say, with
a laugh :
"Ciood morn-ing, dear old Bright-
face !"
( )ne day she said :
"Would you like to know my
dol-ly?"
The sun-flow-er nod-ded ; so the
lit-tle girl reached up as high as
she could, and held up her dol-ly
to be kissed. Ant! they were all
three ver-y hap-py.
Then the big-gest sun-flow-er
nudged the oth-er, and said :
" How fool-ish you are ! Why do
you not al-wavs look at the sun, as
I do?"
Poor thing ! It did not know
how briofht a lit-tle irirl's lace can be.
KITTY AND DOUO.
BY W. S. H.
Oh ! Kitty and Sir Dodo
Went out to take a ride ;
And Dodo sat upon the seat,
With Kitty by his side.
Now Kitty had a bonnet on.
All trimmed with ostrich feathers ;
And Dodo had pink riI:)bons hung
Upon the bridle leathers.
And Kitty wore a blue silk dress
With ninety-seven bows ;
And Dodo's coat had buttons fine
Sewed on in double rows.
And Kitty had a parasol
Of yellow, white, and red ;
And Dodo wore a jaunt)' rap
Upon his curl\- hcail.
vi-;kv i.iiri.K folk.
^7:!>
Says Dodo to Miss Kitt)- :
" Where shall we drive to-day ? "
• lust where you please," says Kitty :
" I in sure )ou know the \va\ ."
Now Dodo had a famous \vhi|),
That glistened in the sun,
And when he cracked the silken hish
It made the horses rim.
'■t)h. m_\- !" saitl timid Kitl\-,
" I tear they '11 run awa\-.'"
" Don't be afraid," said Dodo,
" I can hold them any day."
Sweet flowers were blooming all
around,
The birds sang soft and low,
While, in the west, the setting sun
Set all the sky aglow.
Says Dodo to Miss Kitt)- :
" You are my pet and pride.
I love to go a-driving.
With Kitty by my side."
And then says happy Dodo :
" 1 know a lovely street
Where we can get some good ice-
cream
Anil strawberrii's to eat."
" How charming ! " says Miss Kitty ;
" I 'm sure 1 'm tond of cream,
But ot eating ice and strawberries,
1 never \et did dream."
With that he smootheil the lap-rol:)e
up' —
' 1 was made ot leopard's skin, —
And put his arm around the seat
And tucked Miss Kitty in,
And said, " I hope, Miss Kitty,
Your pretty feet are warm ? "
"Oh, thank you!" said Miss Kitty;
" I think they '11 take no harm."
Thus Dodo and Miss Kitty
Enjoyed their pleasant ride,
Likewise the cream and straw-
berries;
And came home side by side.
■74
1. Ill' K K - IIOX.
rn
li;t ii-:r-H()X.
iiii-spiccc of ihc prc>-
: tliun three hundred
rdo da Viuci. An interesting
r readers in the course of the
mih, entitled " Stories of Art
f»h to say here, therefore, that he was one
if all lime, bcinj^ not only a great painter, but
:!ilpior, architect, engineer, and man of science.
from which our frontispiece was made, represeniinK
lily from the hand of the infant Jesus, is one
Thk l>cautiful cnpraviii>; uliich forms ih
ent number, is a copy of a paiminK made
years ago by the great painie
account of his life will be i;i\'
senes of articles to be begun
and Artists." It is en
of the greatest men
also A distinguished
of Da Vinci's best, and wa
The supply of good things prepared for this Christmas number
was so great that, in order to make room, it was decided to print no
illustrations to either of the serial stories in this special issue, beyond
the little diagrams given. All subsequent installments, however,
throughout the vohnne, will be carefully illustrated.
Here arc a few curious
b()ys would do well to take
Dear St. Nicholas; .M>GUt the last place you
nbitiou
) bean :
tild look for a
of a morning
nt>cr there. All were short,
but they told what kind of
i my idea of a moral story.
1 *• Intelligent boy." How
Not a suggestion about the
d moral story would be
paper, but the other day I found a nu
only one chapter of two t>r three lines
heroes the real world wanted, and that i
For instance, one merchant wanted a
mromantic that merchant was!
iiy of the hero owning a revolver, being called " chief,"
mgsecn an Indian. Such qualifications might weigh in a "dime
novel" series, but there is no demand for them in the advertising
columns. Ready wits and bright eyes are wanted, Next I read a
most interesting stor>', with an excellent moral, " Wanted — Hoy
from 15 to 17. Apply in own handwriting." The hero of this story-
was a boy who wrote a good hand and spelled correctly.
" Koy wanted who can set type and make ready on Gordon press."
This means that "knacks" and knowledge are worth dollars and
cents. The hero of this story had learned to do something useful.
" Wanted, — a smart boy ; must write a good hand, and come well
recommended." Did you ever know a great moral story to turn out
better than that "? Natural ability, knowledge, and character, all
recognized, sought for, and rewarded !
Such are the young heroes of real life, as faithfully pictured by the
demands of the hour. j. w. s.
The tale of "Golden-hair," in the Nov
nber,
cred-
ited, by ovcniight, to Mrs. C. D. Robinson ; but that lady only for-
warded the manuscript for the author. Hon. Jeremiah Curtin. For
some years, he was member of the .\merican Kmbassy in Russia,
and while there he took down this and other curious folk-stories
from the lips of Russian peasants.
We feel su
ting Mr. Kri
As the poen
: that all our readers will appreciate the beautiful set-
man has given to the ballad of " The Miller of Dee."
is a good one for recitation, however, we here reprint
ni convenient for reading aloud, or learning by hc:in.
THK MILLKR OK DKK,
BV RVA I.. OGDEN.
The moon was afloat,
I..ike a golden boat
(!)n the sea-blue depths of the sky,
When the Miller of Dee
With bis Children three,
On his fat red horse rode by.
' Whither away, O Miller of Dee?
Whither away so late?"
Asked the Toll-man old, with cough and sneeze
As he passed the big toll-gate.
Hut the Miller answered him never a word,
Never a word si.ake he.
He paid his toll ard he spurred his horse,
And rode ou with his Children three.
' Hut I "11 follow
quoth the old Toll-m:i
tell I " quoth he.
) and find out where
Miller of Dee!"
The moon w:ls afloat.
Like a golden boat
Nearing the shore of the sky.
When, with cough and wbee/e.
And hands on his knees.
The old Toll-man pxssed by.
' Whither away, O Toll-man old r
Whither away so fast?"
Cried the Milk-maid who stood at the farm-yard h
When the Toll-man old crept past
The Toll-man answered her nc\er a word;
Never a word spake he.
Scant breath had he at the best to ch:ise
After the Miller of Dee,
" He wont tell where!"
Said the Milk-maid f;ur,
" Hut I Ml find out ! " cried she.
And away from the farm.
With her pail on her arrn.
She followed the Miller of Dee. ■
- The Parson stood in his cap and gown.
Under the old oak-tree.
'* .\nd whither away with your pail of milk.
My pretty Milk-m.ai<l ?" said he:
Hut she hurried on with her brimming pail,
And never a word spake she
' She wont tell where! " the Parson cried.
" It *s my duty to know," s:ud be.
.\nd he followed the Maid who followc<I the Man
Who followed the Miller of Dee.
After the Parson, came his Wife,
The Sexton he came next.
After the Sexton the Constable came,
Troubled and sore peqilc ;t
After the Constable, two Ragged Boys.
To -see what the fun would be ;
And a little Black Dog, with only one eye.
Night had anchored the moon
Not a moment too soon
Under the lee of the sky;
For the wind it blew.
And the rain fell, too,
And the Ri\er of Dee ran high.
He forded the river, he climbed the hill,
He and his Children three ;
Hut wherever he went thev followed him sttU,
That wicked Miller of Dee I
Just as the clock struck the hour of twelve,
The Miller reached home again :
And when he dismounted and turned, behold !
Those who had followed him over the wold
Came up in the pouring rain.
Splashed and spattered from head to foot.
Muddy and wet and draggled.
Over the hill and up to the mill.
That wretched cofnpany straggled.
They all .stopped short ; and then out spako
The Parson: and thus spake he:
" What do you mean by your conduct to-niglit.
You wretched Miller of Dee?"
" 1 went for a ride, a nice cool ride.
1 and my Children three:
For I took them along is I alway> do,"
Answered the Miller of Tiee.
" But you, my Friends, I w<iuld Hkc to know
Why you followed me all the way?"
They looked at each other — " We were out for a walk,
A nice cool walk ! " said They.
r II i; k Ml i> i.i; - liox.
175
" MiiisTiiK KiCK-FtcK," thc cuHous siory printed in this number,
w never appeared before in English. 'Vhe author writes: " It is
>t a translation, but one of thc lesser-known legends of the Rhine
uintry, often told to tittle children, and I hearxl it from my ricrman
;ighbors during a two-years' stay among them."
Dkar St. N!CHOIj\s : Here
readers ntay like to he.
: little >tor>', which yo
Little fatherless Willie lived with his young mother far from their
"fatherland," among strangers; yet of these the merry little fellow
soon made friends. One day a new toy was given him by one of
these friends, — a tin man upon horseback, gayly painted. Willie
was channcd with this plaything; he hugged it in his arms, horse
and all, by way of rest from the exercise of ndin^. B^ and by he sat
down on the floor, holding his treasure before him with both hands;
and looking earnestly at it, he said, fondly :
" He has his fader s eyes ! He has his fader's eyes !"
Willie had heard these words often from his mother's lips, with a lov-
ing gaze at himself; so he petted his tin darling the same w ay. e..
Dear St. Nicholas: Our ■
graphs of the whole family in a
lice has framed the photo-
and ver>' pretty way. She
cut (uii frames of the proper sizes from sheets ol perforated card-
board of different colors, and pasted these fnmics in layers one above
another, the wider ones underneath. In most cases the frames have
■ me (jeneral outline, but In one or two the form is varied a little, so as
to bring out better the color of some one layer. A few of the frames
she has touched up here and there with bright oil-colors; and others
she has worked over, in vine patterns, with brilliant worsteds.
In a short letter we cannot tell yuu exactly how Cousin Alice
niakes these pretty frames. But these rough nints may help some
girl who is in a quandary as to what useful thing she should make for
a Christmas or New Year gift. — Truly yours, Uiiss and Ann.
OUTBOOK (iA.MKS AM) SlNHiTS. — (M. O. CUNNINGHAM AND MANY
rJTHERs:) Here is a list of some numbers of St. Nicholas in which
.ire descriptions of go<)d and lively open-air games and sports for
boys and girls; "Japanese Games": January, 1874 — "Hare and
Hounds"; October, 1877 — *' Snow-ball Warfare '* : January, 1880 —
'* Snow-sports " ; Fcbniarj', 1880^'* Kite-time," telling how to make
.ind manage all kinds of kites; March, 1880 — "Kite-cutting," a
Mexican and Cuban game ; April, 1880—" Small-boats : How to Rig
and Sail tbcm " ; Septcinher, 1880 — "Lacrosse"; November, 1880
—"Quintain"; "Letter-box," November, 1880.
THK RIDDLE-HOX.
VnO\ VAiU ICKIII :
ft
CONCEALED BIUDS.
lay her on thc betU" 4. James wanted to go fishmg last Fnday. 5-
" How can you call Ralph awkward-'" 6. With cncouragemeni,
she would be an excellent pianist. 7. Henry IV. of France was a
popular king. 8. The house was Haming on all sides. 9. "Your
fine fowls have all gone to roost, Richard.' 10. " Oh, Fernando, do
not frighten my birds ! " 11. Place the red over the gray, to form a
pleasing contrast. 12. " Fill the pipe with bark of willow." 13.
" Faint the hollow murmur rings, o'er meadow, lake, and stream."
14. " "lis the break of day and we must away." l. T. s.
-\v«ui> KM<>::>iA.
Mv tirst IS
My second
in doe. but not in
hear:
deer;
My third i
5 in fowl, hilt not
1 bird:
My fourth
is in sheep, but nc
t in herd
My fifth is
in e.irl, but not u
king;
My sixth
s m whirl, but not
in swing
jght to k
And my w
^lole — you surely o
Is thc nM
c of :i famous English poet.
A ]»l('Kl-:^^
JXM BI.E AriM».*iTH'.
■ W//,-r Puzzlers,
All the charricters referred t
: to be found in Charles Uicke
I. "Is THERE a glen on your
both day and night ; in gale and in
state. Reginald .' " 2. He travels
unshine. 3. " If the baby isaslecp.
Pkimals : A retired army officer who boasts of being" Tough, sir!"
Finals : A .school-boy, addicted to drawing skeletons.
Cross-words : i . The surname of a woman who apparently spends
ill her time washing greens, z. A name sometimes used ni deris-
ion of Mrs. Cruncher by her husband. 3. The Christian name of a
hy young girl, whom Mr. Lanunle ines to induce " Fascination
I ledgeby " to marry. 4. The surname of a friend of Mr. Ouppy's.
A ho, contrary to thc proverb, docs not " grow apace." 5. The sur-
name of an eccentric old lady with a great dislike for donkeys. 6.
The nickname given to the father of Herbert Pocket's wife. 7. The
surname of a genial old fellow, who, having lost his tight hand,
used a hook in its place. 8. Thc name of an interesting family who
lodged in the house with Newman Nogys. w.
M >IKICH'A1, OMISSIONS.
Mv whole is composed of eleven letters and is a garden cress.
Omit 1-2-3-4-5-6 and leave herbage. Omit 7-8-9-10-11 and leave
a spice. w. h.
TlllfiEE EASY DIAMONDS.
I. I. AiAv.ws in doubt, j. Part of a wheel. 3. A city of noriheni
Itiily. 4. Large. 5. In tone.
II. I. In panther. 2. An intelligent a
niped, noted for its keen sense of smell.
called " old," no matter how great its age may be. 5. In badger.
III. I. In lawsuits. 2. A useful animal, j. A name borne
many kings of France. 4. Sense. 5 Jn stall. 1 x
176
Tin; klI)I)LE-BOX.
I'HTOKIAI, M'MEItlCAI. EM«MA.
s of eight words,
; ihc accompanying ill
■"Egestcd by the two
1- It is a salutation
Awii. I he key-words are not
eprcscntcd by pictures, each of
5 Its own set of Arabic numerals
Thus: "III. 28-I4-.3"
$1
I'llE .1
much heard during the picsi
defined in the usual way, bu
which refers by a Roman niu
given in the statement uf t ^
mdicatcs^that the twenty-eighth, foirrte"cnth,"a'nd thirtccnt'h 1«
icrs ol the answer, v-a-m, spell a word which describes
th: picture bearing the Roman numeral 111
-16-22. II
=8-14-13. IV. J5-3-.'=. v""7- ■ \v -r -K ..•■:".■/■,!'
«>-56-5-9-'r>-2«-I'i VI 2J- ^ .(C'i^"''^ ■''-■^.,-%r7''a'>--"'
COXNEt^TEI>
BIAMO.ND.S.
The central letters of
this puzzle read
corrode. 5. In knight. Right-hand Diamond, (across).' i. In write
2. A hxcd regulation. 3. The luster of a diamond. 4. Moist, s In
roads. ^
TIIICEE NUMERICAL EMG3IAS.
1. The barrel of 1-2-3 which my
son 4-5-6-7 placed 8-9 the bam,
- J ^ . 7 • ^ ^as been wrapped in the 1-2- 3-4-
/V^!;<,*».ft,--; "i* ■ -i'^T^ 5-6-7-8-9 which he is go-
y4( ■ '■"^■^■^'^^^^'^ •^■^'- - • . '"t! ■?•"*/"' cover.
■7W _,-' "..■■ •\'^ii^ ._, < ing the hatches
'' ' ^i ' -"> ■•^,. of his boat.
^^
form a
word of
ten letters made
two words of fi
Ictterseach. Upo,.
the first half of the
long word, tlie
I.xft-hand Dia-
mond is based ; and upon
Diamond.
Centf!als Across : A protection t,> a harbor Lei- i han
MOND, (across). ,. In dou'bt. 2. .Metal. 3 A" inte^pt"™
s5
II. The 1-2-3-4 asked
her daughter 5-6-7-8, who
was moping in the 9-10-
II- 12, twilight, to read
from the histor>* of Kngland the
part referring to the decapitation of
^'C^'^'* 5-6-7-8 9-10-11-12.
III. The rude boy, on ncarin^ the hive, took
a piece of 1-2-3-4. dripping with honey, and
flung it 5-6 the bees, who then (lew at him and
stung him so badly, that he was hardly 7-8-9-10 fj
reach home. His right to attack them, the bees
evidently considered a 1-2-3-4-5-6-7.8-9-1
. based the Right-hand
EA.SSY noi liLE ACROSTIC
The PuiMAlji and finals spell
'"""'"'■words: I. Pertaining
• Tt, 3. One of the United States
1 name which is de.ar to all children.
1 s<:hools. 2. Happening by chance.
A living picture. 5. Nameless.
H1DI5EN Animals
garoo. 5. GiralTe. 6. Ap
Diamond in a Rhomboid
ANSWKRS TO PUZZLES l.\ NOVE.MBER NUMBER.
Elephant. 2. Camel.
ConCEAI-ED St^UARE.WORDS. I.
Drop. II. I. Pha-se. 2. Hovel. 3.
Houk.Glass Puzzle, i. MerM;
5. FUn. 6. KoRan. 7. PapVrus.
Charade. Bluestocking.
Metamorphoses. I. HIack.
Trick. 5. Trice. 6. Trite. 7.
Lo.id. 2. Go.id. 3. Gold. Ill,
Warps. 4. Wards. 5. Words.
IV. feill. ,. Hall 2. Hale. 3: Vnl.. .. „„sn.
Best. 3. Beet. 4. Feet. 5. Fret. 6. Free. 7. Tree
I. Bummer. 2. Bumper. 3. Bumped. 4. Dumped
6. Damper 7. Hamper. 8. Harper. 9. Harder, ic
Garden. VII. Seed. 1. Seen. 2. Sewn. , Sown
Sand. 2. Aver.
.Avoid. 4. Seine,
d. 2. StLrn. 3.
I. Clack. 2. Crack.
Write. 8. White.
Happy. I. Harpy.
- Wordy. 7. ■ffo,
TRIP
SILAS
PARES
S E T o N
w,s^°.'"""' v""- R°V°'-E Acrostic. N,ishvillc--Teniiessce. Cross.
WF'fi^^H'""'"''-.:^^'','-"'^'"^- aSwedeN. 4. HebroN 5
n™^;, „ r-i ^^"•'"P"''?-- 7 Lyons. 8. LticemE. 9 EriE.
F^.v P„"'"o"'"' ^'"Si"'- Infancy-Manhood
not hear. • Rhv.med Anagrams. Harvest time
Inverted PvRAMiD. Across: 1. Sheared. 2. Ended. 3. Dad,
4. M. Qlotation Puzzle. Thanksgiving.
"soLuTirs TolE"7:"E?1."t'lrt^r°ec''"T,''"l'''''"r'''"'i" ^^}'}f "^^ P"''« »PP"-
Hanover, 4- BarclavA Scovil 2 Th7 """""f "?" '='"= ''" acknowledgment in the Novembe
AnsweIs to pSl^ V"-^ e 6?;^jR'"Nt" ;r„"treZ^i"'^?^^^ "''''"'; ,. •
:n7SG:^--.^-%s^^Sh^d^fera;i^
3 Nero. 4.
5 Elder.
URn. 4. C.
3. Track
II. Lead,
2. Harps.
1. Bust. 1,.
VI. Summer.
5. Damped,
Harden. 11,
Coon. 6, Com. Cross-word Enioia. Booi-black^
lumber, from Beatrice C. B. Sturgis,
. 6— F. W.
— " Georgia
. A. H.. 11—
2 — •' Slowe
Katy Flem-
id Kyte, la
i-G. I. C,
\ 4 — Mamie
^^a/^/teaU'na <n ^^e -dan/. "... ^aae
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VHI.
JANUARY, 1881
No. 3.
[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.]
THE WRONG PROMISE.
Bv Hope Lf.dvard.
" Well ! At last Cliristmas h.is really come ! "
"Oh, Kitty! Have you seen Santa Claus ? "
asked six-ycar-old Nell, thinking, from her sister's
tone, that she certainly had let the children's saint
in at the front door.
" Not exactly ; but he has sent something — a
big "
"A tree! A tree!" screamed both Nell and
George.
"Yes, a tree; and now all that's left is for
mother to dress it, and I 'm to help her."
As Katy pronounced these last words, she seemed
to grow taller before the children. They stared
with wonder, and she bore her honors anything
but meekly, looking provokingly self-satisfied, and
with an "1 'm-so-much-bigger-than-you " air that
George, who was nearly nine, "only wished she
were a boy, so 's he could thrash her."
" Yes, I 'm to help ! That is, if you look after
jenny and the baby " (George at once resolved that
Baby should have a trying time) ; "and if you both
will be very good and keep the little ones amused,
I'll " '
Kate paused.
" What '11 you do?" asked Nell, eagerly, while
George mentally held the baby balanced between
a state of rapture and one of anguish. Kate looked
cautiously around.
" I '11 let you two see the tree to-night ! "
To tell the truth, this was a very sudden resolu-
tion of Kate's. She could not think io an instant
what to promise. Her pocket-money had all gone for
card-board, worsteds, and the etceteras of Christmas
work. Apples, her great resource, had failed of
Vol. VIII.— 12.
late, and in her eager desire for a free time she
made a promise which she knew was wrong. But,
if wrong, it was ver>' successful. Nell's face may
have looked doubtful, but George, the great enemy
of peace, was evidently gained over. Baby was
sure to be whistled to and "jounced," instead of
teased and tormented.
It was the custom in the Reade family to have
the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, because
then the little ones were bright and able to enjoy it
fully. Besides, as Mrs. Reade argued, they then
had the day before them for enjoying the presents,
instead of having to go to bed in a state of excite-
ment and impatience for the morning.
" Tate, Mamma 's doin' to bring 'er baby down
wight away ! " said Jenny, marching in with her
apron full of kittens. It was clear that the house-
hold was upset, or Jenny's kittens would not have
been allowed in the sitting-room. The tree was to
be in the nurserj-, and so, for that day, all the
children were to stay down-stairs.
" Here, Kate," said Mrs. Reade, coming in with
Baby in her arms, " here 's the darling ; 'get them
all happy and contented, and then you may come
upstairs."
It was wonderful what a sudden turn for Kinder-
garten pleasures, of the very simplest kind, George
developed. He rolled balls about the room, and
was so attractive that e\en Jenny forgot her pets
and joined in the game. Kate slipped off, delighted
with her success.
" That was a lucky thought," she said to herself,
complacently, and then soon forgot promise, Baby,
and all, in the delight of hanging cornucopias,
178
THE WRONG PROMISE.
climbing the step-ladder, and balancing the Christ-
child on the very top of the tree.
As for the mother, — like all mothers, — she loved
her children, if possible, a little more than ever, as
she hung the presents which liad been obtained
through much self-denial and patience on her part.
It was very delightful to sit down and look on, in-
stead of doing all the work herself ; and as Kate's eyes
danced with pleasure while she hung up George's
sled and Nell's new mufi", never seeming to notice
the utter lack of anything for herself, the mother
felt as if this eldest daughter was the jewel of all.
" I have n't heard a quarrelsome word nor a
scream," she said, after an hour or two of busy
work. "Just step to the door, Katy, girl, and
make sure all is right."
As Kate opened the door, a peal of merry laugh-
ter sounded from the room below.
" That 's answer enough, is n't it. Mother?"
" You must have bewitched them, Kate," said
Mrs. Reade, — "given them some of your own
good temper, my dear little daughter."
Kate was tying on the oranges, and we all know-
how bothersome that part of the dressing must be ;
perhaps that was why her face flushed and she did
not give her mother the grateful look which
usually repaid Mrs. Reade for words of praise.
But the mother did not miss the look ; her
thoughts had gone on to the other children, to the
boy whose teasing ways gave her so much trouble,
and Kate seemed so grown up and womanly that
Mrs. Reade spoke out her thoughts, as if to an
older friend.
" George is a trying boy; he vexes you often, I
know, Kate, and his father, too. Still, we must
have patience ; almost all boys tease their sisters,
and if only he is truthful and upright, doing no sly,
deceitful things, I don't mind the teasing ; he will
learn a truer manliness by and by. The boy is
kind-hearted, after all; but, Katy, I am so afraid
lest George should learn to be — to be — not e.xactU-
upright and truthful ! "
Mrs. Reade's tone was so anxious that Katy for-
got her oranges for a moment, and, flinging herself
at her mother's feet for a rest (perhaps, too, to
take in the general effect of the tree from a little
distance), said, rather absently ; " Oh, George is
truthful enough ; he despises lying."
"Yes; but have you noticed the difference
betvveen Nell and George ? You remember about
the citron-cake, don't you ?"
" Yes, Mother, but George owned that he had
taken it."
" Yes; but Nell was so hurt that any one could
think she would be so mean as to take a thing slyl\-.
' If I took it at all, I 'd take it when you were look-
ing, Mother,' she said, and I believe the child spoke
truly, — she might disobey, but she never would tell
a falsehood about it. She is the soul of honor."
What is the matter ? Somehow the tree is not
half so beautiful in Kate's eyes as it was. She
tries to get up her interest again, and laughs and
jokes, hailing Aunt May's entrance with delight,
for she feels that she cannot bear any more of this
confidential talk. Nell the soul of honor !
The startled, doubtful look in the child's face is
explained. Kate is sure, now, that Nell will take
no peep at the Christmas tree, and she is quite as
sure that she herself will be mean and deceitful if
she keeps her promise to George. Something must
be done. .4 happy thought strikes her.
" Mother," she says, " the tree is all finished so
early — wont you have it to-night, instead of to-
morrow morning ? The Tracys, and Campbells,
and Manns all have theirs to-night."
"To-night! The tree to-night? Why, Kate,
child, have you forgotten your Christmas-eve party,
at Mary Mann's, which you have talked of for a
month past ? Besides, your father is kept so late
at the store to-night, )ou know, that we couldn't
keep the children up."
No, it was impossible ; and Kate, to forget her
anxiety and quiet her conscience, went down to the
children. The moment she opened the door,
George sprang up, saying, in a cautious under-
tone :
" Are you through ? When are we to see ? "
With her mother's words in _her mind, the boy's
tone was painful to Kate.
" We 're all through," she said, with a poor at-
tempt at dignity; "but, George" (with sudden
desperation, as she noted his eager expression),
"can't I buy off from my promise ? "
The boy scowled angrily. " I should think not !
Here I 've been playing nurse for two hours and
more, besides keeping Jenny quiet ! No ; you
promised, and I must get a look, unless — " said
George, always ready to seize an advantage, and
feeling sure he was suggesting something impos-
sible— " you 'd give me your skates instead."
To his surprise, Kate did not laugh at the idea —
she neither accepted nor refused his ofter. Baby,
tired from his busy play, was dropping asleep, and
in five minutes George had gone out to the street,
Jenny had wandered into the kitchen, and only
Nell and Kate were left in the room.
" You don't care to look, do you ? " said Kate,
feeling fairly ashamed to ask the sturdy little woman
such a question.
" 1 was n't going to," was the short reply.
" What does she think of me? " thought Kate;
and anxious to raise herself in Nell's eyes, she tried
to explain matters.
" 1 really did n't think, Nell, how mean it was,
THE WRONG P R O M I S K .
179
and now I don't want to show George — it 's bad for
him — but I can't help it! Unless "
Kate paused — the alternative was too dreadful.
Kate's one ambition for the last year had been a
pair of club-skates ; though, as she often said, how
she ever came to hope for them was strange, as she
knew very well that her parents, with their limited
means, could never spare the money for such ex-
travagance. But, most unexpectedly, it happened
that Kate's godmother, whom she never saw and
who had never given her even a christening pres-
ent, had suddenly awakened to a sense of what (in
most cases) is expected of godmothers, and on
Kate's birthday, which came in October, had sent
five dollars to be spent on " something that would
give the child pleasure." Kate overlooked the term
"child " in her delight at owning the wherewithal for
the coveted skates. They had been bought at
once, and only twice since had the ice been strong
enough for Kate to use them ; but again and again
had she put them on. George, too, had been
allowed to prove that they fitted him quite as well
as they fitted Kate. And now, either she must
cheat and lead George astray, or give up those
precious skates ! She could not do it I
All this has taken time to tell, but Nell, as her
sister paused, said quietly, and as if it were a very
easy matter:
" He said he 'd take the skates instead."
Kate fairly writhed. So Nell had heard ?
" I know ; but, Nell, — my skates ! "
It was a tone that a mother might have used in
speaking of parting from her child, and the distress
was so deep that even Nell, who was not so warm-
hearted or impulsive as Kate, felt sorry for her sister.
" I wish I could get
you another pair. Oh,
I '11 tell you ! I '11 ask
Santa Claus ! "
Now it happened that
so far Nell's little wants
had all been within the
compass of her parents'
means, so, having re-
ceived what she had asked
for, she had most implicit
faith in Santa Claus.
Kate envied the little
girl's faith — it would have
made her sacrifice so
much easier.
" Daughter, " called her
mother at this moment,
" put on your things and
take this note to the store,
and wait for an answer."
Here was a respite.
Delighted at the prospect
of a walk down Broad-
way, the girl hurried off.
She grew so interested in
the Christmas show-win-
dows, besides meeting two
or three of her school
friends whose chat di\'ert-
cd her mind, that by the
time she reached the store
she had quite forgotten George and her promise,
and felt quite cheerful and bright again. She
stepped up to her father, who, instead of looking
bright and cheerful, was standing talking hurriedly
to some gentlemen, and appeared to have just heard
bad news.
" Ah, Katy ! Dear, dear ! " he said, in an
excited tone. " I shall have to tell your mother,
child ! Sam Barker has just been discovered cheat-
ing— he has robbed his employers, little by little. I
hardly could feel worse if it were one of you. Oh,
Katy, my girl," and her father's voice was strangely
solemn and impressive, "never cheat nor deceive,
at any cost — at any cost."
The news, his words and looks, brought her
i8o
THE WRONG PROMISE.
troul)lo all l)ack to Kale, but slic saw it in a clearer
light.^
"George will see what I think of cheating, and
perhaps he will learn a lesson as well as myself. 1
was a fool to make such a promise, but 1 'II give up
my skates."
Back slie went, and at the corner of the street
George met her.
" Hurry up," he said. " There 's a good chance
now, — Mother 's putting Jenny to bed, and we can
slip up easily. Nell is n't going to look."
" Did she tell you why ? "
The boy hung his head.
" She says it 's mean. But you proposed it, so it
can't be so very bad."
" It !S mean, George, and bad ; and oh, George,
I '11 give you my skates, only never, never deceive
and rob your employers ! "
Poor Kate's overtaxed nerves gave way, and she
almost sobbed in the street, while George, blank
with astonishment, stood staring at her. When he
heard what Sam Barker, whom he had known so
well, had done, it may be he appreciated his sister's
feelings, in part, but he could not resist keeping
Kate to her bargain, and so hurried her home to
give him the skates.
On entering the house, Kate ran upstairs, full of
indignation at George's intense selfishness, and yet
happier than she had been all day.
" Here they are," she said, throwing upon the
sitting-room table the pretty blue flannel bag which
she had taken so much trouble to make.
George was ashamed to take them, but as she
ran out of the room instantly, he lifted the bag from
the table, and then hurried to his room to gloat
over his treasures, and prepare the heels of his
shoes. But as he polished his "beauties" he sud-
denly stopped and listened. Nell had been sent up
to bed, and through the open door of the next room
to his, George heard this strange little prayer:
" Please, Santa Glaus, bring Sister Kate a pair
of club-skates. She feels awfully, Santa Glaus, but
she wants George to be a truly true boy. So give
her the skates. For Jesus' sake. Amen."
The boy held the skates, and thought. He was
not inclined to smile at the idea of praying to Santa
Glaus, for he suddenly realized that it is from God
that every good gift — small as well as great — comes.
" And He is sending me presents — nice things, I 'II
be bound ! How mean 1 must look to Him ! "
The skates were shoved into the bag, wrapped
in brown paper, and then, with a feeling somewhat
like reverence, George wrote, in his best hand,
" Katy, from Santa Glaus."
The morning dawned clear and cold ; no chance
for sleds, but skates would be at a premium. The
Reade family were all up betimes, you may be sure,
and though the parents felt the shock of their young
friend Barker's sin and disgrace, they let no sign
of it mar the jollity of the Christmas proceedings.
The children chattered at the breakfast table in
joyful anticipation of coming delights.
" There 's a present on the tree that nobody
knows of but me," said Nell.
Mother smiled at the notion, while George
thought of a hidden bundle, with its string all
ready to be tied to the tree, and felt wonderfully
happy and important.
Kate was too sympathetic and fond of the little
ones to allow her own trouble to shadow her face,
but it must be owned that one corner of her heart
felt sore and empty. At last, all were gathered in
the upper hall, and arranged before the two doors
of the nursery so that, when they were flung open,
all should " sec first."
" Oh, how beautiful ! How beautiful ! "
Then in they rushed, and for at least five minutes
the children danced and capered about the dazzling
tree. Mrs. Reade saw George fasten something
on, but thinking it was a present for his father or
herself, said nothing.
Then came the stripping of the tree. What
shouts of delight, as the little ones received just
what they had asked of Santa Glaus ! But Nell,
though delighted with her muff, and the new outfit
which Kate had made for her doll, kept looking
among the branches for some particular thing. At
last, George managed to bring her around to where
his parcel hung, and something in its shape made
her say : " Oh, Katy ! Here it is ! "
Father and Mother drew near as Kate opened
the parcel bearing her name.
" A good joke ! " laughed Papa. " Her own be-
loved skates re-presented ! "
The look on Kate's face George never forgot, nor
her hearty thanks when they had a e|uiet minute
together.
" They 're yours and mine, now, George," she
said ; and so they proved, the two skating in turn
all winter, and loving each other more than ever
from having seen a better side of each other's char-
acter. They each had learned a life-long lesson
from that wrong promise.
ONE O F 11 1 S N A M E S .
i8i
OX1-: OV HIS NAMKS.
BV JOSKI'IIIM'. rol.l.ARU
Never a boy had so many names ;
They called him Jimmy, and Jim, and James,
Jeems and Jamie ; and well he knew
Who it was that wanted him, too.
The boys in the street ran after him,
Shouting out loudly, "Jim! Hey, J-i-m-m ! "
Until the echoes, little and big.
Seemed to be dancing a Jim Crow jig.
And little Mabel out in the hall
' Jim-//y.' Jim-/«i'.'" would sweetly call,
L'ntil he answered, and let her know
Where she might find him ; she loved him so.
Grandpapa, who was dignified.
And held his he.ad with an air of pride.
Did n't believe in abridging names,
And made the most that he could of " J-a-m-e-s."
But if I'apa ever wanted him.
Crisp and curt was the summons " Jim ! "
That would make the boy on his errands run
Much ftistcr than if he had said " My son."
Biddy O'Flynn could never, it seems.
Call him anything else but '' Jccms,"
And when the nurse, old Mrs. McVyse,
Called him "Jamie," it sounded nice.
But sweeter and dearer than all the rest,
Wiis the one pet name that he liked the best ;
" Darling ! " — he heard it whate'er he was at.
For none but his mother called him that.
i8:
THE CHILDREN S FAN BRIGADE.
[January,
THE Cll 1 Ll)Ri:X'S FAX HKICADE.
l!v V.iA.A S. Cummins.
What shall wc have for our entertainment ? was
the question that jiuzzlcd the committee ; the oper-
etta of 7?t'd Ri<H>ig-/unn/ ah-cady was decided upon
for a part of the programme ; but that was not
enough. Something was needed to finish ujj the
evening nicely with a good round turn ; something
novel and interesting. And uhcn it was suggested
that a ''cliildrcn's fan brigade" might answer the
description, the idea was seized upon and appro\'ed.
Now, you must know that in San Francisco the
ladies' fan drill (founded on a paper written by
Addison in the year 171 1 ) is considered quite a
feature in an entertainment ; but a children's
brigade is decidedly a novelty.
" V'ery well," said the chairman. " We shall have
the children's fan drill, and leave it all to you, Miss
Lacy."
This all sounded very pleasant and easy, but Miss
Lacy had her hands full for the next four weeks.
After selecting eight little girls, and arranging
matters so that somebody always would be ready to
play on the piano for the rehearsals, we decided
upon our music. The Ga'iotle Circus Reus and
Tripping through the Meadows (accentuated on
first and third beats) were found to be appropriate ;
the latter, which is very simple, was chosen for the
drill, while the first part of the former, on account
of its quaint rhythm, was used for the bows.
Now I tell the story, so that others who wish to
have a children's fan brigade can take hints there-
from.
First came the bows. The children stood, with
their sides to the audience, in two rows, thus :
* -^ * t f . « *
The tallest pair occupied the two middle places f f,
and the other three pairs of children arranged be-
hind them (as shown by the asterisks) were read\-
to step forward, a pair at a time, and take the place
of each preceding couple that should leave the line.
When all were in position, as described, one bar of
music was played as a preliminar)-, each child
counting four with the music ; then the leaders at
t t advanced from their companions and toward
each other four steps (counting four) ; then bowed
slowly to each other (counting four) — see picture
on page 184 — then turning to their right and left
respectively (toward the audience), stepped four
steps ; then facing and bowing again (counting
four), each turned off, one to the right, the other to
the left, circling back to place at the rear of their
respective rows. Meantime, the second couple had
followed, on the fourth bar of music, making their
first bow in unison with the second bow of the first
couple ; the third and fourth couple following the
same course, in turn, with perfect precision.
This figure can be fiirly understood only by
practical experiment and with careful counting.
When it is accomplished correctly, two couples will
bow together till all are in line ; they repeat the
entire figure, the middle pair bowing whenever they
come together, the last time facing tlie audience.
The beginning is very stately and elegant if per-
formed slowly and in perfect time ; and if the bows
:ire of the old-fashioned minuet-curtsey kind. Miss
Lacy frequently took her children by the shoulders
and pressed them down, telling them to bow
at the same time, the object being to have them
droop toward the floor very low, rather than to
curve their bodies.
The fans should be of paper (five-cent Chinese
fans will do to practice with, ;is many are broken in
the drill), the object being to make a considerable
crackling noise.
All now stand in line witli fans on shoulders ;
then count four ; then down with fans to the side,
(hanging downward) : all this with the right hand, of
course. Now for the drill ; this is difficult to explain,
even when written carefully and illustrated ; but to
simplify, it may be said to have a rest after each
movement in the following list (excepting those
joined by a brace). In the "rest," the fan is held
downward at the side and closed with a sharp snap ;
for the fan must be constantly fluttered, excepting
when otherwise employed, as herein detailed. The
movements may be performed in succession, with
the drill-prompter concealed from the audience, and
giving the word of command in a whisper. Or
the drill-prompter may call out each command after
the manner of a military captain : " Hold, fans!"
" Unfurl, fans !" etc., etc.
1. Hold Fans. Coummg four. Fan sprcid in front,
held with both hands.
2. Unfurl. Counting four. Each fan held against left
shoulder by left hand, while right hand pulls it open
outward at one, shut at ttvo, open at three, s\m\ at
four.
3. Gentle Flutter, counting four. Waving fan in
the ordinary way, but with two flutters to a count —
making eight little flutters.
4. Majestic Wave. Counting eight in two waves,
fan thrown out to right, head held up looking toward
it, fan in large curve, counting l, 2, as it is thrown
out, 3, 4, as It tips over just in front of eyes.
5. Scornful. Couming eight. Head turned to the
THE CHILDREN S FAN BRIGADE.
183
16.
left, fan in large curve past the face, counting as in
preceding movement, two waves.
Playful. Counong eight. One step forward,
body slightly bent, fan held open, spread on a line
with the eyes and fluttered.
B.\SHFUL. Counting eight. Head turned away to
the left, eyes looking downward, fan hiding face
'^ with light flutter.
Angry, counting eight. One Step forward with a
light stamp of the foot, fan struck angrily on breast,
f Inviting. Counting eight. Body leaned forward to
I right, fan with scoop-like movement in four large
] waves toward face.
Repellent. Counting eight Headquickly turned
away, same position of body, waves away from the
face.
Gossip. Counting eight Fan held over head,
spread, slightly inclined, line to break up in groups
of two each, as if whispering.
Present Arms. Counting four. Return in line,
shut fans in front instead of "rest " at the side, then
present. ' Fans aimed straight outward at audience,
each outside stick of fan held by one hand separately.
Cr.\CK. F.\NS. Counting four. Left hand let go,
right gives a brisk crack, opening fan ai four.
I Shoulder Fans, Counting four. Leaned on
J shoulder, shut.
I Carry Fans. Counting eight, struck on palm
~ of left hand eight times.
Ground F.\NS. Counting two. Cp at one. struck
on ground at too, held on shoulder at t/iree, by the
side 3.1/oiir.
17. f Retreat F.\ns. counting four. Step back four
steps.
iS. Triumph Fans. Counting four. One step for -
w ar<l, fan held straight up over the head, closed.
19. Spread F.\NS. Counting four. AtytfKr, fan thrown
open.
.Surrender Fans, counting four. Fan let fall
.>n the llnor.
Recover Fans. Counting four, ricked up and
shut.
22. Military Salute. Counting four, .-vt ohc, straight
out to the right, fan held up parallel with body, two
at cheek, l/iree out, fo:ir down, the rest counting
four before the next movement, as in the others.
23. DiSCH.\RGE Fans. Counting four. At t/iree, held
in front of shoulder by one stick, at four, thrown
open outward with brisk crack.
24. Fan SALU TE. Counting four. At/oiir, held to the
li|)s and outward with inclination of the head.
"Oh dear," said Miss Lacy, "where is your time,
Maud ? " and she beat with her own fan on her
palm to accentuate the time. It was surprising to
see the interest the children all took in their drill,
and how pleased Mabel and Maggie were when
they were told that they were "more accurate"
than the others, and how the others went to work
to prove that they could be accurate, too. And
what sudden improvement there was between two
MAJESTIC ^AVE.
rehearsals, how the laggards gained on the steady
ones, and improved in their idea of time ; and how
the fans were torn, and, finally, how the little
girls begged to be allowed to "to do it just once
THE CHILDREN S KAN BRIGADE.
[January,
more," when it seemed ihcy must be completely
tired out !
And then their dresses ! O dear, such pretty
costumes, all in the style of Oueen Anne ! You
would not have recognized those little school-girls
of nine to twelve years — all small children — in those
gayly dressed, stately little dames with pointed
waists, court trains fifty inches long, silk petticoats,
white wigs, and tower caps. They were what
some little giriscall "too sweet for anything."
Now, of course, to get up a fan drill, the
mammas must not be discouraged at the outset bj-
the thought of silk dresses and such things, so I
will reveal some secrets on the subject.
Maggie and Florence had pointed waists and
court trains of silesia covered with cretonne flowers;
the first was of buff, with wine-colored flowers, the
second of blue, with tea and pink roses. You
have no idea how pretty they looked with all the
lace fixings at the neck and sleeves, and laced in
front, with some old-fashioned silk skirt of their
mamma's tucked up underneath for petticoats, —
one of apple-green, the other striped. Lillie and
Maud each had a pink waist and train, with cre-
tonne flowers and a blue petticoat. Mabel and
Lizzie had cretonne upper parls made very prettily,
the former a petticoat of pink-pressed satin, such
as is used for fancy work, and the latter a puffed
blue front of silesia. Teenie and Alice had also
silk flowers, a relic of ancient splendor, improvised
into a petticoat front.
Alice's suit was of blue and white sprigged cre-
tonne, a very pretty blue front of silesia braided
with gold braid, criss-cross, up and down, with old-
fashioned porcelain picture on her bodice-waist.
Then Miss Lacy and her friends spent a couple
of days making the caps and wigs. About four
yards of white tarletan and eight yards of ribbon-
wire made the caps, and a pound of pure white
curled hair, bought in the rope (a wise plan of
wliich few people avail themselves in amateur
theatricals), made the wigs.
The caps are about twice the height of the face,
as seen in the pictures, with box-plaited ruching
around the edge concealing the wire, the tarletan
for the caps taken double, and streamers of the
same hanging down the back.
The caps can be made much prettier with silk
lining, to match the costume, lace trimming and
rosettes ; but it is much more casj- to make them
in the simpler style, and the result is more appro-
priate to the childish faces.
The curled hair, untwisted carefully and kept in
a long strand, is shaped to the head, sewed with a
needle and thread to hold it together, and after the
inside hair is rolled up in a little knot, is fastened
by hair-pins, and tied around with a rilibon of black
velvet to conceal the line where the real hair joins
POSITION FOR DOWS. (SEE PAGE iSs.)
cretonne, the former in red ground, full of flowers the forehead, having a little frizz of white hair
and humming-birds ; trimmed with silver fringe, below. 1 must not forget to mention the wee black
with a fancy blue satin apron embroidered in white court-plaster patches, which must be cut before-
i8Si.]
THE CHILORKN S FAN BRIGADE.
185
hand, ready to be put on at the last moment, three Anne, and gain an idea of how she dressed ; and if
or four on each httle face. they follow it up, they can know she lived about two
When the eventful evening came, there wiis con- centuries ago, that Addison, the author, lived in her
1
siderable excitement among the little girls, for they
each dressed at home, wearing ulsters over their
dresses, and their school hats, till half through the
entertainment, when they met in the dressing-room,
ha\ing their caps and wigs and trains arranged
(which last they had practiced in several times).
And then, as the piano struck up the stately march,
the eight grand little ladies walked up the aisle,
the four half-couples stopping as they reached the
stage till the other four passed them and turned
around facing; tjien they took position, stepped
toward each other, bowed low, slowly using a
whole bar of music for this, the little tower-caps
nearly touching, then four steps to the front of the
stage, another stately bow, and around, each fol-
lowing in place, bowing and marching. Then the
drill passed off in perfect time, with only one little
bit of a mistake, unnoticed save by Miss Lacy's
obser\-ant eyes, clear through to the end, and the
salute was gracefully given, when the curtain fell
amidst a full round of applause, which increased so
that they were compelled to raise it again, when the
little white-haired dames, covering their confusion,
stepped back to place, and repeated the drill in
perfect time without an error.
Some sober-minded persons may ask of this Fan
Brigade " What does it signify ? " I think it could
be put in the categor>' with all beautiful things that
arouse our sense of the picturesque and artistic.
In the first place, it is a drill requiring brightness,
quickness, and very good time-keeping ; in the sec-
ond, the little girls learn there was a good Queen
time, and in 171 1 wrote about the fan in his
periodical, the Spichitor. In the third place, it
is a charming home amusement or it forms a
pretty addition to an entertainment, capping the
climax, one may say. And, finally, the childhood
days of the little girls who perform will be bright-
*' INVITING."
ened by the sparkling memories they will carry to
mature old age, of the time when they wore white
hair and yet were young.
i86
OUT OF STYLE.
OUT OF STYLE.
Bv Margaret X'andegrift.
An old and respectable Ostrich
Was seized with a wish to work cross-stitch —
" I could cover my eggs
And ridiculous legs
With rugs and with mats,'' said the Ostrich.
So she went to a friendly red Heifer,
And purchased some needles and zephyr,
Some canvas and crash.
And some burlap, for cash,
■ For I don't sell on trust," said Miss Heifer.
But when, casually, the old Ostrich
Remarked that she meant to work cross-stitch.
Miss Red-Heifer's smile
Made her feel that her style
Was obsolete, — e'en for an Ostrich.
Said Miss Heifer, " My dear Mrs. Ostrich,
Art-embroiderv now is the "boss" stitch. —
If you '11 pardon the slang, —
.And it gives me a pang
To hear that )ou mean to work cross-stitch.
lA customers all follow Fashion,
W hv " — here she flew into a passion —
■' My position is gone,
Yes, for good, with the ton.
If they hear )()U 've worked cross-stitch my
crash on 1 "
Do you fancy this settled the Ostrich.'
No ! She 'd made up her mind to work cross-
stitch ;
So she picked up her zephyr.
And said, " Madame Heifer,
1 may be an old-fashioned Ostrich.
' And 1 may not know how to work banners,
But 1 //«T't' been instructed in manners ;
1 will wish you good-day,
But first let me say —
(You might work it on some of your banners) —
'There is something still older than cross-stitch'' —
And you just should have seen the tine frost which
She put in her manner —
" 'T is worthy a banner:
It is courtesy, ma'am," said the Ostrich.
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
187
sTORii-:s or art and akiisis. 11 101 i'Aim-.r.
l;V Cl.AKA ICKSKlNt CLIMKNI.
\
PAlxriNT. was practiced in Egypt 3000 years
before the birth of Christ. But Egypt lost her
place among the great powers of the world, and
her art declined and died.
When, therefore, in these days, we speak of the
origin of painting or of sculpture, we mean that of
cliissic art, — or European art, which is traced back
to the Greeks, — and there are many interesting
stories told of the ancient artists.
ZKI'XIS.
This celebrated painter was a native of Heracleia,
and flourished in the last part of the fifth centurj-
before Christ. He traveled much in Greece, and
probably visited Sicily.
He belonged to the Ephesian school of painting,
which was characterized by its perfect imitation of
the objects represented, and its reproduction of per-
sonal beauty in its subjects.
The most celebrated work by Zeuxis was a
picture of Helen, painted for the temple of Juno at
Croton. In order to make this a representation of
the highest excellence of personal beauty in woman,
five of the most lovely virgins were chosen as models
for the picture, so that the painter might select the
most beautiful features of face and form among the
five, and thus in his one figure give a high average
of feminine personal beauty. This picture was
much praised by Cicero and other ancient writers,
and Zeuxis himself declared not only that it was
his masterpiece, but that it could not be surpassed
by any other artist.
The painter received a large sum for this work,
and, before it was dedicated in the temple, he placed
it on c>diibition, and from the admission fees made
a great gain. Zeuxis was vain, not only of his
talent, but of his wealth, of which he made much
display ; at times he wore a rich robe, on which
his own name was embroidered in letters of gold.
This artist was a rival of another great painter,
Parrhasius, and on one occasion these two men
engaged in a trial of skill, in order to determine
which one could most perfectly imitate inanimate
objects. Zeuxis painted a bunch of grapes so per-
fectly that when it was publicly exposed the birds
tried to peck them ; the painter was more than
satisfied with this testimony to his power, and con-
fidently demanded of Parrhasius that he should
draw aside the curtain which concealed his picture.
It proved that the vain artist had been himself
deceived, since the curtain was a painted one, and
not a piece of stuft', as it had appeared to be.
Zeuxis admitted his defeat, and generously pointed
out that he had only deceived birds, while Parr-
hasius had deceived an artist.
.Another tiine, Zeuxis painted a boy carrying
grapes, and when the birds flew at them, the
painter was very angry, saying, " I have painted
the grapes better than the boy ; for had I made
him perfectly like life, the birds would have been
frightened away."
Zeuxis also excelled in dramatic subjects, and
executed many remarkable works. When Aga-
tharcus, a scene-painter, boasted of his celerity in
his work, Zeuxis replied : "I confess that I take a
long time to paint ; for 1 paint works to last a long
time."
Pausias.
This painter was born about 360 B. c, and
lived at Sicyon. He is famous as being the first
artist who used encaustic painting for the decora-
tion of the ceilings and walls of houses. (Encaustic
painting is any kind of painting in which heat is
used to fix the colors; — thus, china-ware, tiles,
/ttit-iuY, and many sorts of pottery are illustrations
of encaustic painting.) Before his time this paint-
ing had only been employed for representing the
stars on the ceilings of temples ; but the special kind
used by Pausias was done in heated or burnt wax,
and was employed for just such interior decoration
as that which we now distinguish by the general
name of fresco painting.
The most celebrated works of Pausias represented
the " Sacrifice of an Ox," a " Cupid with a Lyre,"
.and " Methe, or Drunkenness," drinking out of a
glass goblet through which her face was seen ;
this was a remarkable effect.
Pausias loved Glycera, a lovely young garland-
twiner, and he so studied her and her flowers that
he became very skillful in representing them on
canvas, and won great fame as a flower-painter. A
portrait which he made of Glycera was mentioned
and praised by several ancient writers.
Lucius Lucullus bought at Athens a copy of this
picture, for which he paid the large sum of two
talents, or twenty-three hundred and sixty dollars.
Af'ELLES w;is the most distinguished of all the
Greek painters. He lived from about 352 to 308
i88
STORIES OK ART AND ARTISTS.
before Christ. This artist spent the main portion
of his hfe at the court of Alexander the Great, and
executed his greatest works for that monarch.
His picture of the Venus Anadyomene (which
means, Venus rising out of the sea) was his most
famous work. In it the goddess was wringing her
hair, and the silvery drops fell around her in such a
way as to throw a transparent veil before her form.
This picture was painted originally for the temple
of yEsculapius, at Cos, which city has been called
the birthplace of ApcUes; Augustus carried this
great work to Koine, and placed it in the temple
which he dedicated to Julius C;esar. After a time
it fell into complete decay, and during the reign of
Nero a copy was made of it by Dorotheus.
Apelles painted many allegorical pictures, such
as representations of "Slander," "Thunder,"
"Lightning," and " Victory " ; but it is probable
that after the celebrated " Venus," some of his por-
traits of Alexander were his best works. Of one of
these pictures the King said: "There are two
.Mexanders ; one is the son of Philip, who is uncon-
querable ; the second, the picture by Apelles, which
is inimitable."
In spite of the gieat perfection to which Apelles
carried his art, he never relinquished his studies,
and was careful to use his pencil every day. From
him came the maxim, " A'it//a t/ifs sine /iiutj" ;
" No day without a line," — or, " No day without
something accomplished."
Apelles also made improvements in the mechani-
cal part of his art. From what is now positively
known, his principal disco\'ery was the use of var-
nish, or what is now called glazing or toning; but
other discoveries arc attributed to him.
That the character of .'\pelles was noble and
attractive is shown by the fact that, although
Ptolemy had formed an opinion of the artist which
was not in his favor, yet when- Apelles was driven
by a storm to Alexandria, and the sovereign was
brought into contact with the artist, their relations
became those of true friendship ; and though the
enemies of Apelles endeavored to ruin him with
Ptolemy, their schemes were fruitless.
.Apelles treated other artists with great gener-
osity, and was the means of bringing the works of
Protogenes, of Rhodes, into the favor they merited.
He did this by going to Rhodes, and buying pict-
ures of Protogenes, for which he paid high prices,
declaring that they were worthy to be sold as his own
work. Apelles said that he himself was excelled
by .\mphion in grouping, and by Asclepiodorus in
perspective, but that he claimed grace as his own
peculiar gift, in which he excelled all others. He
also blamed Protogenes for finishing his works too
much, and asserted that he himself knew "where
to take his hand from his work."
One of the peculiarities of .'\pelles was, that when
he had finished a picture he exhibited it in a public
place, and concealed himself where he could hear
what was said of it. On one occasion a cobbler
criticised the shoes of a figure ; the next day the
correction he had suggested was iriade. Then the
cobbler proceeded to find fault with the legs, when
Apelles rushed out in a tury, and commanded the
cobbler to speak only of such things as he knew
about. From this circumstance came the proverb:
'^ .W- supra crepidam siilor," which means, "Let
not the shoe-maker go beyond his last " ; but is
more generally given, " Let every man stick to his
trade."
Pkotogknks.
This Rhodian artist became very famous, for,
after the praise of Apelles, others were roused to
the appreciation of the great artist who had been
content to do his best, and w-as too modest to assert
himself. His most celebrated work was the pict-
ure of lalysus, a mythical hero, grandson of the god
Apollo, and a special patron and guardian of the
island of Rhodes. The artist represented him
either as hunting or as returning from the chase.
Some of the ancient writers relate that Protogenes
spent seven, or even eleven, years on this picture.
Pliny says that the artist became discouraged in
his attempt to paint, to his liking, the foam at the
mouth of a tired hound; finally, in his impatience,
he threw a sponge, with whicli he had repeatedly
STORIES OK ART AND ARTISTS.
1S9
washed oflf his colors, at the ofienclins; spot, and tlio
\'er)' effect he wished was thus produced.
This great work was doubtless dedicated in the
temple of lalysus, at Rhodes ; and when Demetrius
Poliorcctes besieged that city, he was careful to
spare this temple for the sake of the picture of
Protogenes. Demetrius also showed marked per-
sonal attentions to the painter, who lived in a
cottage outside the walls of the city, and quietly
continued his work in the midst of the siege.
When Demetrius demanded of him how he dared
to remain in so exposed a position, Protogenes
answered: " I know that you are at war with the
Rhodians, but not with the arts." Upon this reply,
Demetrius stationed a guard about the cottage, and
the painter worked quietly on, amidst the din of
war which raged all about him.
The lalysus was carried to Rome in later times,
and placed in the temple of Peace.
.Vnother remarkable picture by Protogenes was
the representation of a satyr leaning against a
column. The painter bestowed great pains upon
the figure of the sp.tyr, and considered it the best
part of the work; but on the column he painted a
partridge, which was so true to nature that much
attention was given to it, — even the bird-sellers
brought tame partridges to the picture, and when
the living birds saw the painted one they chirped to
it as if it were alive. TJiis amused and delighted
the populace, but it was so disagreeable to Pro-
togenes that he painted over the bird, in order that
men might see the satyr.
Aetiox.
This artist is sometimes said to have lived in the
time of Alexander ; but Lucian, who gave an
account of him, distinctly declares that he lived in
the time of Hadrian and the Antonines.
He painted a wonderful picture of the " Nuptials
of .'Mexander and Roxana," with Krotcs or Cupids
busy about them, and with the armor of the king.
When this work was exhibited at the Olympic
games, one of the judges — Proxenidas — exclaimed:
" I reser^'e crowns for the heads of the athletic, but
I give my daughter in marriage to the painter
Aiition, as a recompense for his inimitable paint-
ing." Later, this picture was carried to Rome,
and it has been said that Raphael sketched one of
his finest compositions from it. The chief excel-
lence of this painter was in his mode of mixing and
laying on of colors.
Thk First Hass-rf.lief.
About twenty-five hundred years ago, there lived
at Sicyon, in Greece, a modeler in clay, whose
190
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[JA
name was Dibutades. He had a daughter who is dear to her. It was an inspiration on the part of
called by two names, Kora and Callirhoe. This the girl, and so correct was the likeness that when
young girl could not assist her father much, but Dibutades saw it he instantly knew whom it repre-
she went each day to the flower-market, and sented. Then he wished to do his part, for he
mB
r^fim'i'
brought home flowers which she put in vases in
the little shop, to make it pleasant for the modeler,
and attractive to his customers. Kora was very
beautiful, and as she went out, with her veil about
her, the young Greeks of Sicyon caught glimpses
of her face which made them wish to see her again,
and thus many of them visited the artist Dibutades.
One of these young men at length asked the
modeler to receive him as an apprentice ; his
request was granted, and by this means the young
Greek made one of the family of the artist. The
three lived a life of simple happiness ; the young
man could play upon the reed, and had much
knowledge which fitted him to be the teacher of the
lovely Kora. After a time, for some reason that
we know not, it was best for him to go away, and
he then asked Kora to promise that she would be
his wife. Vows of betrothal were exchanged, and
they were very sad at the thought of parting.
The last evening, as they sat together, Kora sud-
denly seized a coal from the brazier, and traced
upon the wall the outline of the face which was so
ASS-RELIEF.
loved the young man also ; so he brought his clay,
and from the outline which Kora had made he
tilled in a portrait in bass-relief the first that was
ever made. Thus the love of Kora had originated
a great art.
After this time, Dibutades perfected himself in
the making of medallions and busts, and decorated
many beautiful Grecian buildings with his work.
He also founded a school for modeling at Sicyon,
and became so famous that several Greek cities
claimed the honor of having been his birthplace.
The first b;iss-relief, made from Kora's outline,
\\'as preserved in the Nymph;eum at Corinth about
two centuries, after which it was destroyed by fire.
Kora's lover became her husband, and a famous
artist at Corinth.
PHIDI.-^S.
.-\LTH(1UGH the Egyptians were great sculptors,
as some of their remaining works show, and though
the Lions of Nineveh attest the skill of the Assyr-
ians, yet the sculpture of the Greeks is that which
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
191
is most admired Ijy all the world. Of all Circek
sculptors Phidias is the most famous. He was the
son of Charmidcs, and was born at .-Vthens about
500 IJ. c, and became very prominent in the time
when Pericles was sole ruler at -Athens. Phidias
was made overseer of all the public works, which
then was a very important office, because all the
temples and buildings which had been destroyed
by the Persians were restored. Many of these
great works were done by other celebrated archi-
tects and sculptors under the direction of Phidias,
but he made himself the \ery remarkable statue of
Athena or Miner\'a, which w'as placed in the larger
chamber of the temple of that goddess, called the
Parthenon.
It was of the kind of work which is called chrys-
elcphanlinc, said to have been invented by Phidias.
The foundation of the statue was of wood, whjch
was covered with ivory and gold ; the ivory was
used for the flesh parts of the statue, and the gold
for the draperies and ornaments.
Athena, or Minerva, was the goddess of wisdom
serpents, and had a golden head of Medusa in the
center; the lower end of the spear rested on a
dragon ; the shield was embossed on both sides
with representations of Athenian legends, and even
the base upon which the statue stood was wrought
in relief with many gods and goddesses and f)ther
figures upon it.
Phidias wished to put his name on his work, but
not being allowed to do so, he accomplished his
purpose by making his own portrait in one of the
figures upon the shield.
Many other works by Phidias were in and upon
the Parthenon, and some of these are now in the
British Museum in London, and are known as the
Elgin marbles, from the fact that they were carried
to England by the Earl of Elgin.
After the completion of the Minerva, Phidias
went to Elis, where he made the wonderful statue
of the Olympian Jupiter, for the great temple of
that god in the Altis, or sacred grove, at Olympia.
This represented the god as seated on a throne,
holding in his right hand a statue of victory, and
GREEK CHARIOT. (FROM AN ANTIQUE SCULPTVK
and of war, and this statue represented her as vie- supporting a scepter, surmounted with an eagle,
torious. It was nearly forty feet high, including with his left hand. A curtain concealed this statue,
the base ; the different parts w ere very much orna- e.vcept on great festival days, when it was exposed
mented ; the crest of the helmet was formed like a to full view. The decorations and ornaments upon
sphinx, and had griffins on each side ; the coat every jiart of the figure, and upon the throne, were
of mail, or upper garment, was fringed with golden wonderful in their design and execution; there were
192
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[January,
hundreds of figures of gods, youths, dancing-girls,
and animals, and flowers in great numbers.
When the statue was completed, the sculptor
prayed to Jupiter for a sign in approbation of his
work, and it is said that the paveinent close by was
struck by lightning. As an honor to Phidias, his
descendants were given the office of caring for this
statue and cleaning it. A building outside of the
Altis, where he had worked, was also preserved,
and called the work-shop of Phidias. His name
was inscribed at the feet of this statue.
Jupiter was the highest of all the gods of myth-
ology, and Phidias represented him according to
a description which Homer had written, and which,
as translated by Alexander Pope, reads :
"He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows.
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod.
The stamp of fate, and sanction of the god :
High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to the center shook."
The head given on page 188 is from a feeble copy
of the original, executed in the Roman period, but
it gives an idea of the original.
Among the pupils of Phidias was Alcamenes, a
distinguished sculptor. It is said that he contended
with Phidias in making a statue of Minerva, to be
placed on a very high column at Athens. When
the two works were completed and exhibited, that
of the pupil received the first praise, because it was
highly finished, while that of the master seemed
coarse and rough. But Phidias demanded that
they should be raised to the intended height, when
it was found that the statue of Alcamenes lost its
effect, and that of Phidias proved all that could be
desired.
Alcamenes, like Phidias, was a sculptor of the
gods, and it is thought that a statue of Juno,
which was found in a temple between Athens and
Phaleros, was his work; the head of Juno given
on page 189 is probably a part of the statue found
in this temple.
When Phidias returned from Elis to Athens, he
found that his friend and master, Pericles, had
fallen into bad repute through the jealousy of his
enemies. This jealousy was extended to Phidias,
and he was accused of having stolen a part of the
gold which had been furnished him for making the
statue of Minerva. As the plates of gold were so
arranged that they could be removed from the
statue, they were weighed, and Phidias was cleared
from all suspicion of dishonesty. His accusers ne.xt
brought a charge of impiety, because he had intro-
duced his own portrait on the shield ; upon this
charge he was thrown into prison, where he died.
some writers say from disease, while others declare
that he was poisoned. His death occurred about
432 B. c.
It is not possible to say positively that any work executed by the
hand of Phidias exists; but the marbles known as the " Elgin mar-
bles," in the British Museum, are certainly works executed under
his eye, if not by his hand, and some authorities do not hesitate to
consider them his work. These marbles consist of single figures and
groups which formed portions of the outside decorations of the Par-
thenon, of which temple Phidias was the chief .architect, and all its
ornaments were subject to his approval. They derive their present
name from the fact that the Earl of Elgin brought them from .'Vthens
to England. These sculptures may be considered as equal, or indeed
superior, to any now existing, and they belong to the time when
sculpture had reached its very highest point.
MVRIIN.
This sculptor was born at Kleutherse, about 430
B. C, but is spoken of as an Athenian because his
native city belonged to the Athenian franchise or
district, and because his most celebrated work —
the statue of a cow — stood in the midst of the
largest open space in Athens, and his fame was
thus connected with that city. This cow was rep-
resented as lowing, and was elevated upon a marble
base; it is praised by many writers, and no less
than thirty-six epigrams were written upon it, and
these have all been collected by Sontag and are in
the " Unterhaltungen fiir Freunde der alten Liter-
atur," or "Entertainments for the Friends of
Ancient Literature." In later times the cow was
removed to Rome, and placed in the Temple of
Peace.
The second most famous work of Myron was
the "Discobolus," or the disk or quoit thrower.
The original statue exists no longer, but there are
several copies of it. That from which the picture
on page 189 was made was found on the Esquiline
Hill at Rome in A. D. 17S2, and was placed in the
Villa Massini.
This statue shows forth the sculptor's most strik-
ing characteristic, which was to represent figures
in excited action, at the very moment of some
great effort of strength or skill. This is a very
difficult thing to do, since no model could con-
stantly repeat such acts ; and, if that were possible,
there is but a flash of time in which the artist can
see what he is trying to reproduce, and yet this
figure is so life-like that it seems, when one looks
at it, as if it would be safer to stand so that the
quoit shall not hit him as it flies.
Besides the Discobolus, there are several other works attributed
to Myron : they are : a copy in marble of his statue of Marsyas, in
the Lateran at Rome : a torso, restored as a son of Niobe, in the
gallery at Florence ; the torso of an Endymion, in same gallery ; a
figure restored and called Diomed : and a bronze in the gallery at
Munich.
i88i.l
193
HANDI-:i..
Hv Makcakki' Johnson.
And, in melting, minor measures,
Into silence died.
Say, what skillful, rapt musician.
In the lonely room apart,
Thus made glad the somber midnight
With his wondrous art?
From the moon, now bright, now hidden
In the clouds that crossed her way,
Through the misty garret-window
Shot a slender ray, —
(".lanced upon an ancient spinet.
O'er whose keys, with dust defiled,
m
Hare and cold the garret chamber,
loomy with its shadows dim;
with dust\-, drooping cobwebs.
Drapery weird and grim.
Rattled loud the loosened casement.
Bleak the night-wind rose and fell ;
In the pauses of its wailing
Tolled the midnight bell.
Suddenly, from out the shadows
Of the old, deserted room.
Came a strain of faintest music
Through the ghostly gloom.
Fiercer howled the wind, and stronger
Swelled the strain, cxultingly.
Till there rolled among the rafters
Waves of melody.
While the night grew still to listen.
Soft and slow the music sighed.
Vol. vim. — 13.
Kan the eager, dainty fingers
Of a little child !
Boy, in after years the master
Of all mighty harmonies,
With a more than childish rapture
In thy lifted eyes, —
Surely, in the garret chamber.
Dim with shadowy mystery,
While the world slept in the midnight.
Angels talked with thee !
194
HOW THK AKISTOCKATS SAILED AWAY
(Januabv,
HOW THK ARISTOCRATS SAILED AWAY.
(A Sequrl to •The Floating Priiia" in Si. NicilnLAs>i- Drcemktr, iSSo.)
B^ Frank K. Siockto.v.
For many and many a day, the ship of the
admiral of the kingdom of Nassimia, containing
the admiral himself, the company of school-boys
who had been made aristocrats, the old school-
master, the four philosophers, and the old woman,
who was cook and navy, all in one. sailed and
sailed away.
The admiral sat on the stern, his long stilts dan-
gling in the water behind, as the ship sailed on.
He was happy, for this was just what he liked; and
the four philosophers and the old master and the
navy were happy ; but the aristocrats gradually
became very discontented. They did not want
to sail so much ; they wanted to go somewhere,
and see something. The ship had stopped sev-
eral times at towns on the coast, and the boys
had gone on shore, but, in every case, the leading
people of the town had come to the admiral, bear-
ing rich presents, and begging him to sail away in
the night. So it happened that the lively young
aristocrats had been on land very little, since they
started on their travels.
Finding, at last, that the admiral h.ad no inten-
tion of landing again, the aristocrats determined to
rebel, and, under the leadership of the Tail-boy,
who was the poorest scholar among them, but first
in all mischief, tlu-y formed a plan to take posses-
sion of the ship.
Accordingly, one fine afternoon, as the admiral,
the master, and the four philosophers were sitting
on the deck of the vessel, enjoying the breeze, six
aristocrats, each carrying a bag, slipped quietly
up behind them, and, in an instant, a bag was
clapped over the head of each man. It was in vain
to kick and struggle. The other aristocrats rushed
up, the bags were tied securely around the necks
of the victims, their hands and feet were bound, and
they were seated in a row at the stern of the ship,
the admiral's stilts lying along the deck. The
Tail-boy then took a pair of scissors and cut a hole
in each bag, opposite the mouth of its wearer, so
that he could breathe. The six unfortunate men
were now informed that if they beha\ed well they
should be treated well, and that, on the next day,
a hole should be cut in each of their bags, so that
they could see with one eye ; on the next day, a
hole for one ear ; on the next, a hole for the nose ;
and if they still beh.aved well, holes should be cut
on the two succeeding days for the other ears and
e\es. The smartest boy of the school had said, when
this arrangement was proposed, that by the time
they got this far, they might as well take off the
bags, but the rest of the aristocrats did not think
so ; a prisoner wliose head was even parti)' bagged
was more secure than one not bagged at all.
The admiral and his companions could think of
nothing to do but to agree to these terms, and so
they agreed, hoping that, by some happy chance,
they would soon be rele;ised. It was suggested by a
few aristocrats that it would be well to bring up the
navy and bag her head also, but the majority de-
cided that she w-as needed to do the cooking, and
so she was shut down below, and ordered to cook
away as hard as she could.
The prisoners were plentifully fed, at meal-times,
by their captors, who put the food through the
mouth-holes of their bags. At first, the aristocrats
found this to be such fun that the poor men could
scarcely prevent themselves from being overfed.
At night, cushions were brought for them to lie
upon, and a rope was fastened to the ends of the
admiral's stilts, which were hoisted up into the rig-
ging, so as to be out of the way.
The aristocrats now did just as they pleased.
They steered in the direction in which they sup-
l)Osed the coast should lie, and. as they were sailing
on, they gave themselves up to all manner of
amusements. Among other things, they found a
number of pots of paints stowed away in the vessel's
hold, and with these they set to work to decorate
the vessel. f**^
They painted the masts crimson, the(,saiy in
stripes of pink and blue, the deck light green,
spotted with yellow stars, and nearly everything
on board shone in some lively color. The ad-
miral's sheep were adorned with bands of green,
yellow, and crimson, and his stilts were ))ainted
bright blue, with a corkscrew red line running
around them. Indeed, the smell of paint soon be-
came so strong, that three of the philosophers
requested that the nose-holes in their bags should
be sewed up.
There is no knowing what other strange things
these aristocrats would have done, had they not, on
the fourth day of their rule on the vessel, perceived
they were in sight of land, and of what seemed to
be a large city on the coast. Instantly, the vessel
was steered straight for the city, which they soon
HOW THE ARISTOCRATS SAILED AWAY
195
reached. The ship was made fast, and e\-ery aris-
tocrat went on shore. The cook was locked below,
and the admiral and his companions were told to
sit still and be good until the boys should return.
Each of the prisoners now had holes in his bag
for his mouth, his nose, one eye, and an car, but as
the eye-holes were all on the side toward the
water, the poor men could not see much that was
going on. They twisted themselves around, how-
ever, as well as they could, and so got an occasional
glimpse of tlic shore.
y; T^^hi^^tK^i'^^
AT J^IGHT.
The aristocrats swarmed up into the city, but
although it was nearly midday, not a living soul
did they meet. The buildings were large and
handsome, and the streets were wide and well laid
out ; there were temples and palaces and splendid
edifices of various kinds, but every door and shutter
and gate of e\ery house was closely shut, and not
a person could be seen, nor a sound heard.
The silence and loneliness of the place quieted
the spirits of the aristocrats, and they now walked
slowly and kept together.
" What does it all mean?" said one. " Is the
place bewitched, or has everybody gone out o(
town and taken along the dogs, and the birds, and
the flies, and every living thing ? "
"We might go back after one of the philoso-
phers," said another. '• He could tell us all about
it."
■' I don't believe he 'd know any more than we
do," said the Tail-boy, who had now forced his
way to the front. " Let us go alu-ad, and find out
for ourselves."
So they walked on until they came to a splendid
edifice, which looked like a palace, and, much to
their surprise, the great doors stood wide open.
After a little hesitation, they went up the steps and
peeped in. Seeing no one, they cautiously entered.
Everything was grand and gorgeous within, and
they gradually penetrated to a large hall, at one
end of which they saw a wide stair-way, carpeted
with the richest tapestry.
Reaching this, they concluded to go up and see
what they could find upstairs. But as no one
wished to be the first in such a bold proceeding,
they went in a solid body. The stair-way was
very wide, so that twelve boys could go up,
abreast, and they thus filled three of the stairs,
with several little boys on the next stair below.
On they went, up, up, and up, keeping step
together. There was a landing above them, but it
seemed to be farther up than they had supposed.
Some of the little aristocrats complained of being
tired ; but as they did not wish to be left behind,
they kept on.
" Look here," said one of the front row; "do
)0U see that window up there ? Well, we 're not
any nearer to it now than we were when we
started."
" That 's true," said another, and then the
Smart-boy spoke up :
"1 '11 tell you what it is. We 're not going up
at all. These stairs are turning around and around,
as we step on them. It 's a kind of a tread-mill ! "
" Let 's stop ! " cried some of the boys ; but
others exclaimed, " Oh, no ! Don't do that, or we
shall be ground up ! "
" Oh, please don't stop ! " cried the little fellows
below, forgetting their tired legs, " or we shall be
ground up first."
So on they kept, stepping up and up, but never
advancing, while some of them tried to devise
some plan by which they all could turn around
and jump off at the same instant. But this would
lie difficult and dangerous, and those little fellows
would certainly be crushed by the others if they
were not ground up by the stairs.
Around and around went the stairs, each step
disappearing under the floor beneath, and ajjpear-
ing again above them ; while the boys stepped up
.ind up, wondering if the thing would ever stop.
196
now TIIK ARISTOCRATS SAILliD A W A V
(January,
They were silent no«', and tliey eoulci hear a
steady chck, chck, chck, as the great stair-way went
slowly around.
"Oh, I '11 tell you!" suddenly cxclainnd the
Smart-boy. " We 're winding it up ! "
■'Winding up what?" cried sever.il of the
others.
"Everything!" said the Smart-boy; "we 're
winding up the city ! "
This was true. Directly, sounds were heard
outside ; a dog barked ; some cocks crew, and
windows and doors were heard to open. The boys
trembled, and forgot their weariness, as they
stepped up and up. Some voices were heard below ,
and then, with a sudden jar, the stairs stopped.
" She 's wound ! " said the Smart-boy, under his
breath, and every aristocrat turned around and
hurried off the stairs.
What a change had taken ])lace in everything !
P'rom without, came the noise and bustle of a great
city, and, within, doors were opening, curtains
were being pulled aside, and people were running
here, there, and everywhere. The boys huddled
together in a corner of the hall. Nobody seemed
to notice them.
.Suddenly, a great gilded door, directly opposite
to them, was thrown wide open, and a king and
queen came forth. The king glanced around,
eagerly.
"Hello!" he cried, ;is his eyes fell upon tlie
cluster of frightened aristocrats. " I believe it is
those boys ! Look here," said he, advancing,
" did you boys wind us up ?"
" Yes, sir," said the Head-boy, " 1 think we did.
But we did n't mean to. If you "d let us off this
time, we 'd never "
"Let you off!" cried the king. "Not until
we 've made you the happiest boys on earth ! Do
you suppose we 're angry.? Never such a mistake !
What do you think of that?" he said, turning to
the queen.
This royal lady, "ho was very fat, made no
answer, but smiled, good-humoredl)-.
" You 're our greatest benefactors," continued
the king. " I don't know what we can do for you.
You did n't imagine, perhaps, that you were wind-
ing us up. Few people, besides ourselves, know
how things arc with us. This city goes all right
for ten years, and then it runs down, and has to
be wound up. When we feel we have nearly run
down, we go into our houses and apartments, and
shut up everything tight and strong. Only this
hall is left open, so that somebody can come in,
and wind us up. It takes a good many people to
do it, and 1 'm glad there were so many of you.
Once we were wound up by a lot of bears, who
wandered in and tried to go upstairs. liul they
did n't half do it, and we only ran four years. The
city h;is been still — like a clock with its works
stopped — for as long ;is a hundred years at once.
I don't know how long it w;is this time. I 'm
going to have it calcuLated. How did you happen
to get here ? "
The boys then told how they had come in a
ship, with the admiral, their master, and four
philosophers.
"And the ship is here!" cried the king.
" Run ! " he shouted to his attendants, " and bring
hither those worthy men, that they may share in
the honor and rewards of their pupils."
While the attendants were gone, the aristocrats
waited in the hall, and the king went away to
attend to other matters. The queen sat tlown on a
sofa near by.
" It tires me dreadfully to smile," she said, <is
she wiped her brow; "but I have to take some
exercise. "
" I hope they wont bring 'em here, bags and
all," whispered the Tail-boy. " It would look funny,
but I should n't like it."
In a short time the king came back in a hurry.
" How 's this ? " he cried. " My messengers tell
me that there 's no ship at our piers excepting our
own vessels. Have you deceived me?"
The aristocrats gazed at each other in dismay.
Had their ship sailed away and left them? If so,
they had only been served aright. They looked so
downcast and guilty that the king knew something
was wrong.
" What have you done? " said hi.
The Head-boy saw that there was no help for it,
and he told all.
The king looked sad, but the queen smiled two
or three times.
" And you put their he.ads in bags ? " said the
"Yes, sir," replied the Head-boy. \
"Well, well!" said the king; "1 am gffrry.
.-\fter all you h.ave dtme for us, too. I will send out
a swift cruiser after that ship, which will be easy to
hnd if it is painted as you say, and, imtil it is
brought back to the city, I must keep \ou in cus-
tody. Look you,"said he to his attend.ints ; "take
these young people to a luxurious apartment, and
see that they are well fed and cared for, and also
be very careful that none of them escape."
Thereupon, the aristocrats were taken away to
an inner chamber of the palace.
When the admiral and his companions had been
left on board the \essel, the) felt very uneasy, for
they did not know what might happen to them
next. In a short time, however, when the voices
of the aristocrats had died awaj' as they proceeded
into the city, the admiral perceived the point of a
now I 11 K AK IS roc KA 1 S SA 1 M, H
'97
gimlet coining; u[) ll\i-ougli tho ilcck, close to him.
Then the gimlet was witlulrawn, ami these words
came up through the hole :
■• Have no fear. Your navy will slaiui 1)\ \ ou ! "
■• It will be all right," said the admiral to the
others. ■' I can depend upon her."
And now was heard a noise of banging and
chopping, ami soon the cook cut her way from her
imprisonment below, and made her appearance on
deck. She went to work vigorously, and, taking
the bags froni the prisoners' heads, unbound them,
and set them at liberty. Then she gave them a
piece of advice. ^
■' The thing lor iis to do," said she, " is to get
It «as not easy to set sail, for the cook and the
pliilosophers were not very good at that sort of
work; but they got the sail up at last, and cast
loose from shore, tirst landing the old master, who
positively refused to desert his scholars. The
admiral took the helm, and, the wind being fair,
the ship sailed away.
The sw ift cruiser, which was sent in the direction
taken by the admiral's vessel, passed her in the
night, and as she was a very fast cruiser, and it was
therefore impossible for the admiral's ship to catch
up with her, the two \essels never met.
" Now, then," said the admiral the next day, as
he sat with the helm in his hand, " we are free
away from here its f;ist ;is we can. If those young
rascals come back, there 's no knowin' what the\' '11
do."
" Do you mean," said the master, "that we should
sail away and desert m\ scholars ? Who can tell
what might happen to them, left here by them-
selves ? "
"We should not consider what might happcTi tn
them if they were left," said one of the philosophers,
■'but what might happen to us if they were not
left. We must away."
"Certainly!" cried the admiral. "While I
have the soul of the commander of the navy of
Nassimia left within me, I will not stay here to
have my head put in a bag ! Never ! Set sail ! "
again to sail where we please. But I do not like to
sail without an object. What shall be our object?"
The philosophers immediately declared that
nothing could be more proper than that they should
take a voyage to make some great scientific dis--
cover)'.
" All right," said the admiral. '' That suits me.
What discovery shall we make ? "
The philosophers were not prepared to answer
this t|uestion at that moment, but they said they
would tr\ to think of some good discovery to make.
So the philosophers sat in a row behind the
admiral, and thought and thought; and the
admiral sat at the helm, with his blue-and-red stilts
dangling in the water behind ; and the cook pre-
igS
now rilK ARISTOCRATS SAILED AWAY
[January,
parcel the meals, swept the deck, dusted the sail,
and put things in order.
After several hours, tlie admiral turned around
to ask the philosophers if they had thought of
any discover)' yet, when, to his am;>zemcnt, he
saw that each one of them had put his bag upon
his head.
" What did you do that for ? " cried the admiral,
and each of the philosophers gave a little jump; and
then they explained that it was much easier to think
with one's head in a bag. The outer world was
thus shut out, and trains of thought were not so
likely to be broken up.
So, for day after day, the philosophers, with their
heads in their bags, sat, and thought, and thought;
and the admiral sat and steered, and the navy
cooked and dusted and kept things clean. Some-
times, when she thought the sail did not catch the
wind properly, she would move the admiral toward
one side or the other, and thus change the course
of the vessel.
"If I knew," said the admiral one day, "the
exact age of the youngest of those aristocrats, I
should know just how long we should have to sail,
before they would all be grown up ; when it would
be time for us to go back after them, and take them
to Nassimia. "
The cook remembered that tlie smallest boy had
told her he was ten years old.
"Then," said the admiral, "we must sail for
eleven years."
And they sailed for eleven years ; the philoso-
phers, with their heads in their bags, trying their
best to think of some good thing to discover.
The day after the .iristocrats had been shut up in
their luxurious apartment, the queen sent a mes-
senger to them, to tell them that she thought the
idea of putting people's heads in bags was one of
the most amusing things she ever heard of, and that
she would be much obliged if they would send her
the pattern of the proper kind of bag, so that she
could have some made for her slaves.
The messenger brought scissors, and papers, and
pins, and the boys cut a pattern of a very comfortable
bag, with holes for the eyes, nose, mouth, and ears,
which they sent with their respects to the queen.
This ro)al lad)" had two bags made, which she put
upon two of her ser\'ants, and their appearance
amused her so much that she smiled a great deal,
and yet scarcely felt tired at all.
But, in the course of a day or two, the king
happened to see these bag-headed slaves sitting in
an ante-chamber. He was struck with consterna-
tion, and instantly called a council of his chief
ministers.
■' We are threatened with a terrible danger," he
said to them, when all the doors were shut. "We
have among us a body of Bagists ! Little did we
think, in our gratitude, that we were wound up
merely that we might go through life with our
heads bagged ! Better far that wc should sta)
stopped forever I How can we know but that the ship
which brought them here may soon return, with
a cargo of bag-stuffs, needles, thread, and thimbles,
and that every head in our city may be bagged in
a few days? Already, signs of this approaching
evil have shown themselves. Notwithstanding the
fact that these dangerous characters have been closelv
confined, no less than two of the inmates of my
palace have already had their heads bagged ! "
At these words, a thrill of horror pervaded the
ministers, and they discussed the matter for a long
time. It w;is finally decided that a lookout should
be constantly kept on the top of a high tower, to
give notice of the approach of the ship, should she
lldW lllK ARISTOCRATS SAII.KI) AWAY.
199
return ; additional guards were posted at tlic door
of the aristocrats' apartment, and it was ordered
that the city be searched every day, to see if any
new cases of bagism could be discovered.
The ;u'istocrats now began to be very discon-
tented. Although they had everything they could
possibly want to eat and drink, and were even
furnished with toys and other sources of amuse-
ment, they tlid not like to be shut up.
" I '11 tell you what it is," said the Tail-bo\. " 1
can't stand this any longer. Let 's get away."
" Hut where shall wc get away to? " asked several
of the others.
" We '11 see about that when we 're outside," was
the answer. " Anything 's better than being shut
up here."
After some talk, everybody agreed that they
ought to try to escape, and they set about to devise
some plan for doing so. The windows were not
ver%' high from the ground, but they were too high
for a jump, and not a thing could be found in the
room which was strong enough to make a rope.
Every piece of silk or muslin in the curtains or
bed-clothes was fine, and delicate, and flimsy. At
last, the Smart-boy hit upon a plan. The apart-
ment was a very long one, and was floored with
narrow boards, of costly wood, which ran from one
end to the other of it. He proposed that they
should take up one of these boards, and, putting it
out of the window, should rest one end on the
ground, and the other on the window-sill. Then
they could slide down.
Instantly, every aristocrat set to work, with knife,
or piece of tin, or small coin, to take out the silver
screws which held down one of the boards.
" It is very narrow," said the Head-boy. " I
am afraid we shall slip off."
" Oh, there is no danger of that," replied the
Smart-boy. " If we only go fast enough, we can-
not slip off. We will grease the board, and then
we shall go fast enough."
So the board was taken up. and, after having
been well greased with oil from the lamps, was put
out of the window.
Then the boys, one at a time, got on the board
and slid, with the speed of lightning, to the ground.
Most of them came down with such rapidity and
force that they shot over the smooth grass to a
considerable distance. As soon as they were all
down, the -Smart-boy took the end of the board
and moved it to one side, so that it rested on the
edge of a deep tank.
"Now, then," said he, "if any of the guards
slide down after us, they will go into the tank."
It was now nearly dark, and the bojs set about
finding some place where they could spend the
night. They soon came to a large building, the
doors of which were shut, but, as they were not
locked, they had no trouble in entering. This
building was a public library, which was closed
very early e\ery afternoon, and opened very late
every morning. Here the aristocrats found very
comfortable quarters, and having lighted a candle
which one of them had in his pockets, they held
a meeting, to determine what they should do
next.
" Of course the ship will come back, some day,"
said the Smart-boy, " for that admiral would be
afraid to go home without us. The giant would
smash him and his old ship if he did that. So
wc shall have to wait here until the ship comes."
" But how are we going to live?" asked several
of his companions.
" We can sleep here," he answered. " It 's a
nice, big place, and nobody will ever disturb us,
for a notice on the door says it 's closed two hours
before sunset. And as to victuals, we shall have
to work at something."
This was thought good reasoning, and they now
began to consider what they should work at. It
was agreed that it would be wise for them all to
select the same trade, because then they could
stand by each other in case of any business dis-
putes, and their trade was to be chosen in this way:
Every boy was to write on a piece of paper the
business he liked best, and whatever trade or pro-
fession was written on the most papers, was to be
adopted by the whole company.
When the papers were read by the Head-boy, it
was found that nearly every one had selected a dif-
ferent calling; but three of the smaller boys hap-
pened to want to be letter-carriers, and so, as there
was no business which had so many votes as this,
it was determined that they should all be letter-
carriers.
The three little boys shouted for joy at this.
" But where shall we get letters to carry ?" asked
some of the older fellows.
" Oh, we'll see about that in the morning," said
the Smart-boy. " There '11 be plenty of time
before the library opens."
They slept that night on piles of parchments,
and in the morning the building was searched to
see if any letters could be found for them to carry.
In the cellar they discovered a great many huge
boxes, filled with manuscripts which had been col-
lecting ever since the city was first wound up and
started. These, they concluded, would do just as
well as letters, and each boy filled his satchel with
them, and started off to deliver them.
Each carrier was assigned by the Head-boy to
a different street, and all went to work with a will.
The people were glad to get the manuscripts, for
many of them were very instructive and interesting,
now III1-: AKISICM KAI
and they gave ihe boys a small piece of money tor
each one. This went on, da)- after clay, and cVery
morning each person in the whole city got a letter.
When the king was informed of the escape of his
prisoners, he hurried, in great trouble, to see how
they had got away. Hut when he saw the board
which they had left resting on the edge of the tank,
he was delighted.
"Those wretched Hagists," he exclaimed, "in
trying to escape, liave all slid into the tank. Let
it be walled over, and that will be the end of it.
We are fortunate to get rid of them so easilv."
readmg the old manuscripu, and sorting them out
for the carriers. Nobody ever came into the cellar
to disturb him.
The people of the city were very much benefited
by the instructive papers which were brought to
them every day, and many of them became quite
learned. The aristocrats also learned a great deal
by reading the papers to those persons who could
not read themselves, and, every evening, the mas-
ter gave them lessons in the library. So the\-
gradually became more and more educated.
They often looked up to the high tower, be-
But the watch on the high tower w;is still kept
up, for no one knew when the ship might come
back with more Bagists.
One day, as the Head-boy was delivering his
letters, he met an old man, whom he instantly
recognized as his m;ister. At first, he felt like run-
mngaway; but when the master told him that he
was alone, and forgave everything, they embraced
in tears. The old man had not been able to find
his boys in the town, and had wandered into the
surrounding country. In this way, he had never
had a letter.
The Head-boy took him to the library that
night, and he afterward spent most of his time
rACK 195.)
cause they had heard that a flag was to be hoisted
there whenever a ship with a pink-and-blue sail
was seen approaching the city.
Ten years passed, and they saw no flag, but
one day they saw, posted up all over the city, a
notice from the king, stating that, on the next day,
the city would run down, and ordering all the
people to retire into their houses, and to shut up
their doors and windows. This struck the aristo-
crats with dismay, for how were the\' to get a living
if they could not deliver their letters ?
So they all boldly marched to the palace, and,
asking for the king, proposed to him that they
should be allowed to wind up his city.
A R I s rur R AT;-
The king gazed upon
them in amiizcnicnt.
•What!" he
cried, "no
you ' let-
ter-
carriers
venture to
come to me with
such a bold request ?
Do you think for a nio
ment that you know anything
about what you propose doing ? "
■ ' We can do it a great deal easier
than we did it before," said one of the
younger aristocrats, " for some of us were very
small then, and did n't weigh much."
"Did it before?" exclaimed the bewildered
king, staring at the sturdy group before him.
The Head-boy, who was by this time en-
tirely grown up, now came forward, and,
acknowledging that he and his companions
were the boys «ho had been shut up in the
luxurious apartment, told their whole story since
their escape.
"And you have lived among us all this tirne,
and have not tried to bag our heads?" said the
king.
•'Not a bit of it," replied the other.
■'I am very glad, indeed, to hear this," said the
king, "and now, if you please, I would like you
to try if you really can wind us up, for I feel that
I am running down very fast."
.■\t this, the whole body of aristocrats ran to the
stair-way, twice as fast as it had ever gone before.
Click! click! click! went the machinery, and be-
fore anybody could really imagine that the thing
w.is true, the stair-way stopped with a bump, and
the city was wound up for another ten years !
It would be useless to try to describe the joy and
gratitude of the king and the people. The aris-
tocrats were loaded with honors and presents;
they and their old master were sumptuously
lodged in the palace, and, in their honor,
the public library was ordered to be
*'^^!^^5*|^^'^
THE SCHOOLMASTER AND HEAD-BOY
great stair-way, and began quickly to mount the
steps. Around and around went the revolving
kept open every evening, in order that the people
who were busy in the day-time might go there and
read the papers, which were no longer carried to
them.
At the end of a year, a flag was raised on the
top of the high tower, and the admiral's ship
came in. The philosophers took off their bags,
which were now very old and thin, and the aris-
tocrats, with their master, were warmly welcomed
on board. Being all grown up, they were no
longer feared. In a few days, the ship sailed for
Nassimia, and, as the aristocrats were taking leave
of the sorrowing citizens, the .Smart-boy stepped
up to the king, and said :
" I '11 tell you what I should do, if 1 were you.
About a week before the time you expect to run
down again, I 'd make a lot of men go to work
and wind up the city. You can do it yourselves,
just as well as to wait for other people to do it
for you."
"That 's exactly what 1 '11 do!" cried tlie king.
" I never thought of it before ! "
He did it, and, so far as is known, tlie city is
running yet.
When the aristocrats reached the city of Nas-
simia, everybody was glad to see them, for they
had become a fine, well-behaved, and well-educated
body of nobility, and the admiral, standing high
upon his stilts, looked down upon them with
honest pride, as he presented them to the king and
queen.
Lorilla shook each one of them by the hand.
They did not recognize the little fairy in this
Til !■: 1- I RSI I'liorii.
handsome woman, but when she explained liow
the change had taken place, they were delighted.
" To think of it ! " cried one of the younger aris-
tocrats. "We never missed that bottle-washer!"
"No," said Lorilla; "nobody ever missed her.
That is one reason why she was such a good one
to be made a fairy. .And now you must tell us
your whole story."
And so the king and tlu- queen, the giant and
his army, the chancellor of the e.\chequer, and as
many of the populace as could get near enough,
crowded around to hear the story of the adventures
of the aristocrats, which the Head-boy told very
well.
"I should like very much to go to that curious
city," said Lorilla, "especially at a time when it
had run down, and everything had stopped."
"Oh, I don't believe it will ever stop any more,"
cried the Tail-boy. "We told them how to keep
themselves a-going all the time."
■^ *4^
;^>^^^^;^^: -'^^'4i^
THE FIRST TOOTH.
I \ N A !• r i< I-;
w ( ) N 1 1 1: k I . A \ I )
203
!• IRI. I.Uilir I'llA.N ro.MS.
Bv W. T. Fktkrs.
' Master Clinton, Master Clinton and my goldcn-haircd Adele,
Say what sec you in the dancing flames to make >nu half so wise ?
Sure the New Year bells a-ringing
Have such happiness been bringing
That the Christmas stars, still shining, seem retlected in your eyes,
In your glad and joyful eyes ! "
Master Clinton answered quickly, glancing sideways toward Adele :
•' We 've been telling dreadful stories about ghosts who dress in white ;
Till at last a creepy feeling
Over both of us came stealing.
For we thought we almost saw them looking at us through tlic light.
Disappearing in the light."
Then 1 said: "'O Master Clinton and my golden-haired Adele,
Kver\- heart may have its phantoms, have its ghosts and lovely elves ;
Hut the ones who bring a blessing.
And the ones most worth possessing,
Only come and live with people who are lovely like themselves.
Good and loveU- like themselves."
\
IN XATURK'S \V()\1)I:RL.VX1); OR. ADVKNTURKS IN THE
.\mi-;rican tropics.
Hv Kklix L. Oswald.
Chapter II.
" Menito is in there," said Mrs. Yegua, as we
entered her grounds, next morning, and she
pointed to a little log-house at the further end of
the com-tield ; "• he 's hid behind the door, and is
going to shut it as soon as they come. Yes, here
they are," said she, after a while : "' do you hear
them chatter ? Now 1 have to go out and let them
see me ; they wont go near the corn-crib till they
are sure that I am at the other end of the garden. "
She hobbled out toward a thicket of mango-
trees, where the troop of monkeys seemed to be
holding a council of war. They would mount a
stump at the edge of the grove, take a peep at the
corn-crib and jump down again, and chatter to one
another in an excited way ; or congregate around
a short-tailed youngster that was sitting at the foot
of the stump, uttering a plaintive squeal every now
and then, as if he were impatient at the delay.
■' They have seen me now," said Mrs. Yegua,
when she returned across the open field ; " that 's
what they have been waiting for all morning, may
be ; 1 did n't notice them till 1 heard them chatter,
my eyes are so weak, you know."
The monkeys seemed to know it, too ; a crowd
of mischievous boys could not have treated a
short-sighted policeman with more disrespect.
They followed her half-way up to the cottage,
flourishing their tails and making faces at her until
their leader, a big fat ceboo with a bushy tail,
wheeled and made straight for the corn-crib, as
much as to say : "Come on, boys ; she 's gone. "
There were seven of them ; and six, including
the bobtail baby, entered the crib at once, but the
fat leader squatted down on the threshold, just in
front of the door, where he could survey the field
as well as the interior of the crib. Five minutes
passed, and the gratified grunts of the marauders
showed that they were enjoying their breakfast.
204
I.\ XA TURKS WONDERLAND.
" Why in the name of sense does n't Menito
shut that door?" asked 'I'ommy ; "he's missing
his best chance if lie is uaitinj; for tliat fat fellow
to go in ! "
The leader seemed in no hurry to leave his post,
and looked almost as if he were going to fall asleep.
He was leaning against the door in a half-reclining
attitude, and began to stroke himself complacently,
perhaps feeling proud of having led so successful
a raid, when he suddenly received a kick that
sent him spinning to the middle of the road, and, a
second after, the door was shut with a loud bang.
The leader bolted into the next thicket with a
whoop of horror ; the grunts of the lunch-party had
suddenly turned into a hubbub of confused screams,
and, even before we reached the crib, we could dis-
tinguish the piercing squeals of the little bobtail.
" Don't open the door !" cried Menito, when he
heard us coming ; " they are trying to break out.
Ouick ! Get me a forked stick, somebody ; I have
to catch them before I can put them into the bag."
While Tommy ran to the stable to get a pitch-
fork or something, 1 peeped through a knot-hole,
and saw four middle-sized monos huddled together
in a comer, screaming, and crouching behind a big
female that tried to force her head through a crack
in the floor. The little bobtail was racing around
the crib with squeals of despair, but in the midst of
his agony he suddenly grabbed an ear of corn and
began to eat with furious dispatch, as if he were
resolved to have one more square meal before his
death \s soon as we handed the forked stick
through the door, the general gallopade recom-
menced ; but Menito was too much for
them One after the other he pinned them
to the ground, and five minutes later
the five senior monos performed their
intics in a tied-up bag, while the
bobtail youngster was crouching in a
corner with a long string around
his neck. Still, the little sinner
had not renounced all hopes,
for, when we entered the crib,
he jumped upon the widow's
arm and pressed his face to her
shoulder with a deprecatory
chatter, as if he were pleading
the most reasonable excuses.
"Where are you going to
take them ? " asked Mrs. Yegua.
when we had caged the monos
in our wire baskets.
"To France." said Menito.
" This gentleman is going to
turn them over to the French
authorities."
"To France," mused the
old lady — "yes, I remember;
that 's where Maximilian used
to send our prisoners. Well,
good-bye, then," said she,
shaking hands with the little
bobtail, that had taken a back-
seat on Betsy's croup ; " good-
bye, my poor lads ; 1 am sorry
' it has come to this, but it is
not my fault. I have warned you often enough."
The monkeys themselves did not seem to mind it
very much. They examined every cranny of their
wire prison, but soon found out that they were in
for it, and began to make themselves at home. The
foremost cage had not been strapped on very tight,
and, whenever it swung forward, one of the prison-
ers reached out and pulled the mule's ears ; and it
took us a long while to identify the rogue, for, when
«e turned around, they all sat quietly together in a
IN NATURK S WON D K K I. A N D.
205
corner, looking as innocent as possible. Our dog
had stolen away for a still-luint in the pine-woods,
and when he returned, it set the monkeys all agog,
and the little bobtail began to squeal. The others
answered him with a low chatter, and, finding that
talking was permitted, they soon jabbered away at
a lively rate, especially if they perceived anything
unusual at the road-side.
But, in the afternoon, when we reached the brink
of a wooded plateau, they all turned their heads
in the same direction, and the cackling suddenly
stopped. What could that be ? From a valley on
our left came the echo of a curious sound, as if, far
away, a hundred dogs were barking together, or
joining now and then in a long-drawn howl.
Menito stopped the mule and faced about.
'• Listen ! " said he; " do you hear those dogs ?"
" Dogs could not yell like that," replied Tommy;
■■ it must be a panther."
■'No, sir; the boy is right," said the guide.
" That 's a pack of pfrro/u-s [wild dogs] hunting .1
deer or a buffalo. They are heading this way. it
seems."
The din came nearer and nearer, and, at the next
turn of the road, our dog dAshed ahead as if he
had caught a glimpse of the game. .\l the same
time, we saw two horsemen galloping across the
road in the same direction. They had been herding
mules on the grassy plateau ahead of us, and had
put spurs to their horses when the noise reached
the lower end of the valley.
" Let 's hurry up ! " cried Menito. " Let us find
out what 's the matter and have some fun, may be."
"All right," said the guide; "but we have to
stop at that mulberry-wood down there. It 's time
for dinner, and there 's a spring in that bottom —
the only good one I know in this neighborhood."
Before we left the road, we stopped and listened
intently, but the barking sounded more like a bay
now ; the perrones must have surrounded their
game, or the horsemen had turned them back;
anyhow, the chase did not seem to come any
nearer, so we wended our way to the spring.
" Oh, dear ! That 's a cornexo-roost," said Men-
ito, when we approached the grove. "We sha'n't
get much rest there, I '11 warrant you."
" Why? What 's the matter ?"
" You 'II soon find out. Look at those birds."
Come.xo is the Spanish word for a rook or jack-
daw, but in southern Mexico that name is applied
to a kind of bush-shrike, about the size and color
of a jay-bird, only that the blue of the wings is
much darker. A host of these birds had taken
possession of one of the mulberry trees, and began
to congregate in the tree-tops when they saw us
approaching.
" Now look out for a fuss," whispered Menito.
" You just leave them alone, and they wont
bother you," said the Indian. " Here we are;
look sharp now, boy, and help me get those baskets
down."
There was a fine spring at the lower end of the
grove, and Black Betsy drank and drank till we
had to loosen her girth ; but it puzzled us how
to water the monkeys without giving them a chance
to break out. .'\t last, Menito solved the problem
by simply placing the lower end of the wire baskets
in the creek, so that the captives could help them-
selves without leaving their prison. While the
Indian got our dinner ready, I set the boys to
forage for grapes and ripe mulberries.
" Now I know what 's the trouble with those
birds," said Tommy ; " they 've a nest in that
second tree there ; look up here — you can see it
quite plainly."
■' For goodness' sake, leave it alone," said Men-
ito. " You '11 start the whole flock after you in a
minute."
■'Well, what of that?" asked Tommy. "You
are not afraid of birds, are you ? Just look at him ;
that 's the boy who told us he was born in the
Sierra de Jalisco, where people don't know what
fear is ! "
" Nor do I," said Menito: "but I know wliat a
cornexo is, and you don't, it seems."
"Then I 'm going to find it out right now," said
Tommy, and began to climb the tree.
When he got near the tree-top, the old nest-bird
flew up with a loud scream, and her cries soon
brought up a flock of cousins and aunts from every
tree, and before he reached the nest, the noise
became actually deafening.
"There are five young ones in here, nearly full-
grown," Tommy shouted down. "Shall I get
them, Uncle?"
".•\11 right," I called out. " If they have their
eyes open, we 'II take thein along for specimens.
Bring them down. "
But that was easier said than done. Tommy
took out his handkerchief: but the moment he put
his hand upon the nest, the cornexos fell upon
him like a swarm of angrj' hornets, fluttered around
his face, dashed at his head from behind, clung to
his clothes, and pecked away at his legs, in spite
of his vigorous kicks.
Menito laughed till I thought he would choke.
" You 'd better ask their pardon, and come down,"
he called out.
Tommy made no reply, but wrapped up the
birds well, put the bundle in his bosom, and began
to climb down slowly with his knees and his right
hand, using his left to shield his face. When he
got back to the lower branches, the cornexos saw
us and left him one by one — -all but the old hen-
206
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
[Januarv,
bird, whose boldness seemed lo increase, for she
pecked away at his ears, and at last dashed into
his face, left and right, as if she wished to get at his
eyes. Tommy then stopped a moment, and, when
she came the next tiine, received her with a slap
that sent her spinning through the air; but that
only made matters worse, for her chattering now
turned into piercing screams, and the whole swarm
joined in the chorus, till we could not help thinking
that we had paid too dear for our specimens.
Still, the\- were pretty fellows, with large yellow-
beaks, and we made them a good comfortable home
in one of the smaller cages.
By and by, the Indian resaddled the mule, and
we were helping him to pack the dishes, when we
heard the little bobtail monkey squeal away with
all its might. Running toward the spring, we
caught sight of a long-legged, wolf-like animal
that slunk off through the high grass, and, seeing
us approach, gathered itself up and darted into
the prairie at the top of its speed.
" A perron, 1 declare !" said the guide. "lie was
going to drink at this spring, right under our noses.
I guess he belonged to that hunting party. Yes,
look over yonder," he added. "'Here they come
— the horsemen, 1 mean. They were chasing a
buffalo, and they have got him, sure enough."
From the lower part of the valley, where we had
left the road, the two herders approached at a
lively trot, with a big, sluggish animal — a buffalo
bull, that stumbled along as if he were tired or
wounded, but every now and then broke into a
plunging gallop. They had caught him with a
lariat, a long strap of tough rawhide; and, while
the first horseman dragged him along, his com-
rade brought up the rear and plied his w hip when-
ever the bull became restive. If he plunged
ahead, they let him have his way, for he never
could outrun the little horse, that just kept ahead
enough to keep its rider out of harm's way. Be-
tween the two men and their nimble horses the big
brute was jjerfectly helpless. Tommy snatched up
his hat, and was on the point of starting, but, see-
ing that the hunters headed for the spring, we all
waited in the shade of the grove. At sight of our
party, the bull stopped instantly and stared wildly
at us, but a crack of the heavy whip set him going
again, and the whole cavalcade came thundering
down into the grove.
" Casa harata!" [Cheap venison], laughed the
man with the lariat, when he stopped his captive in
the creek. "We caught him without firing a shot.
The perroncs had tired him out before we took a
hand in the game."
" 1 should say so," 1 replied. " Look at the
poor fellow's legs ; the wild dogs must have caught
up with him, it seems."
From the knees down to the fetlocks, the buffalo's
legs looked as if he had been dancing in a thicket
of prickly-pears, and even on his dewlap the per-
rones had left the marks of their sharp teeth. It
w.is clear that the poor beast had had a close race
for his life.
"Yes, it 's a shame," said the hunter. "But
we '11 take care of him when we get him home ;
the hacienda [farm-house] is not more than two
miles from here."
"Look here, (7;;;;]iffl," said I ; "I should like to
buy a young buffalo-calf ; do you think you could
catch me one, and bring it to Benyamo before the
end of this week?"
"I don't know," said the herder. " It 's a little
late in the season for young calves; but if you are
going to Benyamo, you might as well stop at the
haciiiula to-night, and the ranchero can tell you, if
anybody in the country can. He 's a great hand
at hunting. All this land here belongs to his
ccrcada. You had better come along."
" He 's right," said the guide. " I know the
place — the H.icicnda del Rio ; it 's not much out
of our road, anyhow."
"What docs he mean by a 'ccrcada' ?" asked
Tommy, when we proceeded on our journey.
" A hunting-preser\'e," I answered. " The ran-
chero has taken out a license which makes it a
trespass for other people lo hunt on his land."
The proprietor of the raitcho recei\ed us with
cordial hospitality, and seemed cjuite sorry to dis-
appoint us when he learned the purpose of our
visit.
" It 's too bad," he said. " My herders caught
dozens of wild calves last spring, but I did not keep
them ; there is not much demand for such things
here. 1 sent two of them to my next neighbor in
the Casa Morena, and he gave them to his old
grizzly."
"A grizzly bear! Do you know-how much he
would charge for such a bear ? "
" Not much, I reckon ; he hail two of them, and
killed the bigger one because he ate so much. The
one he has now is only half-grown. But, may be, a
full-grown panther would suit you as well?"
" Yes, if it is n't crippled, nor sick."
" Then I think we can accommodate you, after
all," said the ranchero. " My neighbor caught a
splendid panther a few days ago, and meant to
have a dog- test next week." .
" What 's that •"'
" Oh, a dog-tost is the best way of finding out if
a shepherd-dog is a good fighter. If he will tackle
a panther, he isn't afraid of anything."
"How far is the Casa Morena from here?" 1
asked.
" .'\bout seven miles," said the raiichcro. " You
IN N A T U R K S W () j\ D K R LAND.
207
can get there to-morrow before noon, without dif-
ficulty, and reach Bcnyamo by a trail across the
mountains."
After supper, we spread our blankets on the ver-
anda, and the farm-hands crowded around us to
examine our nets and wire baskets.
" What in the world are you going to do with all
those wild animals ? " asked one of the ht'rilers,
staring at our load.
" Oh, they are going to have a grand inataiiza
[a beast-fight] in France," said Menito, " and we
came here to buy the most desperate brutes we
can get."
" Why ! Have n't they any bulls in that coun-
try ? " asked the herder.
"Yes; but bull-fights are against the law in
France," said Tommy.
" Oh, that explains it," said the Mexican. " Of
course, then, you ha\-e to make shift with some-
thing else. It 's a pity we have n't got any traps
ready ; we could catch lots of perrones for you to-
night— just hear them ! "
A moaning, melancholy howl sounded across
the hills ; the wild dogs seemed to have taken their
disappointment much to heart.
" No wonder," laughed Tommy, " if they have
to go to bed suppcrless after their hard chase — the
poor wTetches ! "
" Why, it serves them just right," said Daddy
Simon. " If the proprietor of this place has taken
out a license, they had no business to hunt on his
preser\'e. "
Chapter III.
Before we reached the Inicioida, the report
seemed to have spread that we were going to col-
lect all the wild brutes we could lay our hands on,
for on the outskirts of the village we met a man,
who inquired very politely if we did not wish to buy
his old boar, — " an outrageous hog and a powerful
fighter," as he assured us. We declined the pro-
posal, with thanks, but we had hardly got rid of
him when another fellow offered us " a regular
fighting-mule."
" A truly desperate animal," he said ; " you
never saw such a kicker. "
" We cannot buy a fighting-mule on trust, you
know. We 'd have to write to France about it,"
said Menito ; but Tommy laughed so much at
the idea of the fighting-mule that the fellow sus-
pected a joke and left us alone.
There is a kind of tree in Mexico called
charca-wood, and which looks very much like
black-walnut ; but if you try to break a charca-
stick, it splinters like bamboo, and if an animal
should attempt to gnaw it, it would tear its gums
all to pieces. The panther had been confined in a
large box of such charca-sticks, and the box was
now standing on the threshing-floor of the barn.
It was too big to be carried over the mountains,
but they had a smaller cage of the same kind of
wood, and, in order to get the cunning panther
into this cage, the overseer had devised quite an
ingenious plan.
In one corner of the barn they had removed a
board, and placed the cage outside, with its open
door just fitting the hole in the board-wall. It was
a sort of sliding-door that could be raised and low-
ered with a string. Now, if the panther should try
to escape through the hole in the wall, she would
run right into the cage; and if we pulled the string,
down would come the sliding-door, and we should
have her just where we wanted her.
The panther was a female, as lithe and active as
a weasel, and beautifully marked. She was not
quite full-grown, but evidently a dangerous brute,
and before they opened the box, the Sehor (the
owner of the hacieitda) asked us to step behind a
board partition, where they stored their grain. The
box had been turned over sideways, so that the
door was now on top, and one of the grooms went
boldly up to it and removed the staple. He opened
the door just a little bit, waited a second and then
closed it again ; opened it once more and waited
about two seconds before he shut it ; the next time
three seconds, and so on.
The panther watched e\ery action he made,
with glittering eyes, and brouched down for a
spring, but the continual motion of the door some-
how confused her, and when the groom finally
threw the door wide open and walked away, she
remained quietly at the bottom of the cage, still
watching the opening. By and by, she raised her
head, eyed the aperture closely and carefully, and
suddenly bounced out with a spring that landed
her nearly in the middle of the threshing-floor.
There she stood for a moment with glaring eyes,
and then bounded away and galloped along the
walls, hunting for a loophole or a hiding-place.
She came close to the hole in the corner, but un-
fortunately stumbled o\er the loose board, took
fright and bounded away to the opposite end of the
barn, where she espied a little cranny between the
floor and the boards of a side-door. In the next
moment she was tearing a«ay at the boards with
claws and teeth.
■'Bad luck — there she goes!" cried the over-
seer. "Quick! Somebody run down to the village
and fetch the herder Tomas, the man who caught
the bear with a lariat last year ! "
" There is n't time. She will get through there
in ten minutes!" shouted the Sehor. "Get the
dogs — cverv one of them I "
208
I N \ AT U R E S \V O \ 1) i; R 1 . A N D .
The jjroom ran out, and (|uickly returned with a
pack of big shepherd-dogs, while one of the stable-
boys came in with a powerful brindled deer-hound.
" Fetch them this way ! " cried the Scnor.
•• Now they see her. .l/sa.' Forward, boys ! (Irab
her ! " '
■' They will tear her tcj pieces," 1 remarked.
" No danger," laughed the Senor. " She '11
take care of herself."
He was right. It was wonderful how easily the
little brute held her own against five big hounds,
two of them considerably heavier than herself.
They d;ished at her with a rush ; but, in the nick
of time, she flung herself on her back, and up
w^ent her four claws, the points bristling like sixteen
daggers. The dogs started back as a man would
from the muzzle of a loaded shot-gun, and the
panther at once recommenced her work at the
boards.
" Here. Joe, slij) the deer-hound ! " cried the
Senor.
The hound leaped upon her with a fierce growl,
but was hurled back by a blow that made his hair
riy and tore a heavy leather collar off his neck.
" Have you ever seen such a lucky dog ? " laughed
the overseer. " If it had not been for that collar,
she would have torn his throat from ear to ear."
The shepherd-dogs charged her again and again,
but not one of them dared come within reach of
those terrible paws, and in the intervals of the
fight she tore away at the planks and boards.
" That w'ont do," said the Seiior. " Get a pail-
ful of hot water."
" I am sorry to say that wont do, either," 1
remarked. " I have no use for her if \-ou spoil
her fur. Can't we scare her out of that corner
somehow or other ? "
" I guess we can," said one pf the herders, " and
in less than two minutes. Have you any black
pepper in the house, Sefior ? "
'• Plenty of it. Why?"
"Well, then, let Joe get a red-hot pan and a
handful of pepper. That will fetch her : it will
start a balky horse that would not c,\re for the
heaviest cart-whip in Mexico."
" Now hand me that pan," said the herder, when
Joe returned. '' Let the panther alone for a min-
ute; 1 'm going to work this business from the
outside, or you would all sneeze yourselves to
death."
I thought so, too, for the mere scent of the pep-
per-smoke made my eyes smart as if 1 had washed
them with lye, and the boys began to cough and
rub their noses. The herder went out and placed
the pan close to the cranny of the side door, fanned
it with his shawl, and soon the smoke came through
the boards in little curling white clouds.
I once heard five tomcats waul on the same
roof, but the concert could not compare with the
music of the she-panther when that smoke reached
her nostrils. She pressed her nose against the
floor, rubbed her eyes with her paws, and squealed
in a way that made the boys laugh till they
screamed ; but still she held her ground, like a
stubborn child that will rather stand any misery
than yield its point.
"Have you any gunpowder handy, Senor?"
ixsked the overseer.
" Here, take my powder-llask." I said, guessing
what he would be about.
He went out, and, a second after, a big gray
cloud puffed up through the cracks, and the panther
bolted like a shot. The idea of facing that amount
of smoke had suddenly overcome her powers of
endurance. She darted to the opposite end of the
barn, saw the loophole, and at once squeezed her-
self through and into the cage. A pull at the
string, and we heard the sliding-door drop. We
had her safe.
" Such a vixen 1 '' laughed the .Senor. " I war-
rant she had seen that hole long ago, but was
bound to give us all the trouble she possibly could.
Now, don't you think she is worth eight dollars?"
" 1 suppose so."
"Well, then, make it ten, and 1 '11 let you have
the little grizzly, too. 1 've not much use for him,
anyhow."
" All right," said 1 ; " 1 '11 take him."
"Well, but hold on," said the overseer. " This
gentleman has n't anything to put him in. and
we have only this one cage."
" Can you wait till to-monow? " said the Senor.
"Not very well," 1 replied. "We have to get
to Benyamo by Saturday night."
"Well, then, I 'm afraid we shall have to muzzle
him and cut his claws. Our village teamster will
start for Benyamo this evening, and we can put the
grizzly in the back part of the wagon. He 's too
contrary to go afoot."
" But how can you muzzle him? " 1 asked.
"Oh, we '11 manage that," said the overseer.
" Come on."
The grizzly looked, indeed, as if he could not be
trusted in his present condition. He was chained
up near a little garden-fountain ; and, when he saw
us coming, he retreated toward a sort of dog-house,
growling and showing a row of formidable teeth.
The overseer went up to the dog-house from
behind, dragged it back till the bear could not
reach it with his short chain, and then called the
groom.
" Now come on, Joe : turn the squirt on him."
The groom quietly unscrewed the pipe and
turned the nozzle on the grizzly. In spite of his
IN NATURK S WONDK ULAN I).
209
chain, the boar leaped to and fro with surprising;
agihty ; but the jet followed him wherever he went,
and drenched him till he weltered and jjroveled in
a puddle of wet sand.
■' Stop," said the overseer; ''let us see if that
will do." lie fetched a long pole and held it close
to the bear's head. " Look here. Jack, will you
behave now .' " he asked.
The bear eyed him, grabbed the end of the pole,
'■- ! ,•■■... i..--! •• '-■>.. hi^ j:i«s like :i tiirni;'.
lie took up the pule and poked him repeatedly;
but the bear lay still, gurgling and snoring .is in a
dream. He was thoroughly stupefied, and before
he could recover liis senses, the men muzzled him
and cut every one of his long claws. When he
awoke, he founcl himself, gagged and tied in a
nice straw-padded cart, on the road to Bcnyamo.
The bear, the panther-cage and the monkeys were
in the cart, and Ulack Betsy carried only our
l„-,>vi-.nn-- .i>.| 1 (■•w i>f t)v.-in|it\, wire hnsk.-ts.
BRKAKING
" He wont give in yet. Go on, Joe," said the
overseer.
The deluge recommenced, and the bear struck
out left and right with a violence that spattered the
water all over the gravel-plot. Twice he rose on
his hind legs, and shook his dripping paws as if he
longed to grapple with a less evasive foe; but by
and by his legs gave way, he put his paws farther
and farther apart, and finally rolled over and
clutched at the empty air, as though he were going
to choke.
" Hold on," 1 said, " or perhaps you '11 kill him
outright."
'• Stop, Joe," said the overseer. " But 1 don't
trust him yet ; he 's up to all kinds of tricks."
Vol. VHI. -14.
" Look here, senor, have n't you
.T shawl or an old blanket to
spare .' " asked the teamster.
"Yes, I can give you a blanket,"
I said. "Why?"
" Just look at these monkeys," said he. " They
are half dead with fear at being so near that old
grizzly. We 'd better cover up their cage, so that
they wont see him."
I put all the wire baskets together and covered
them completely with a large piece of tent-cloth.
The monkeys then stopped their jabbering ; but
before long their curiosity got the better of their
fear. They soon found out that they could lift one
comer of the curtain, and, one after the other,
they stole up to take a sly look at the bear. After
ever)' peep, they would put their heads together
and confer in a kind of solemn whisper.
We made only seven miles that afternoon, for,
toward evening, the road became so steep that it
Til E 'I'll I \(; - A- M A - I I i;
seemed dangerous to go any farther after night-fall,
liul when the sun rose the next morning, the view
of the sierra was so glorious that we were glad we
had not passed such scenery in the dark. The
crests of the sunlit Cordilleras looked like gilded
cloud-castles, and in a rocky mountain-range on
our left, every creek and every water-fall glittered
like a streak of silver. Our panther had been
caught in this neighborhood, and I knew that
these mountains were infested with other beasts of
prey ; but we had a swarm of dogs along. Old
Rough had rejoined us at the miic/to, the owner of
(To be a
the hacietida had lent us the deer-hound and two
of the large shepherd-dogs, in case the bear should
get loose, and our teamster had three big' curs of
his own. Before long, they started a peccary, one
of those quick-footed wild hogs of the Mexican hill-
forests, and the whole pack was off in hot pursuit.
" I think there 's a troop of horsemen coming,"
said Tommy. " 1 hear trotting behind us."
The teamster stopped his cart and looked back.
" Where are the dogs?" he whispered, glancing
about anxiously. " They are always gone if you
want them. Get your guns ready, gentlemen ! "
THE THING-A-AIA-JIG.
Bv Margaret Vandegrift.
'* But especially Thing-a-
" No, I DON'T think we exactly spoil him," said
his mother, thoughtfully, and with a gi-eat air-of
impartiality.
"No, I don't think we exactly ^^ityX him," said
his father, like a judge giving sentence.
"Spoil him! You couldn't spoil him! B'ess
its 'ittle heart, it 's whole heaps too tweet to be
spoiled ! " said his three young aunts, and in their
struggle for possession of the inestimable treasure,
they came near disproving their own words. Aunt
Martha snorted. It certainly was not polite in her
to snort, and perhaps it is not even polite in me to
mention it, but truth is mighty and will prevail.
"Now, Aunt Martha, that isn't fair," said his
mother, in an injured tone, and exactly as if the
old lady had spoken. "We could «'/ be more
judicious with him than we are. 1 try his bath
every morning with the thermometer, myself, and
he never eats a thing that I have n't tasted first,
and he has never eaten a bit of candy but Ridley's
broken, and that only at his dessert, and "
" And you did n't walk the floor with him half
the night, last week, because he had a few mos-
quito bites and a little prickly heat ; and you
shook him well for pouring cologne on the fire
and nearly blowing himself up ; and you sent him
to bed without his supper the night he set fire to
the curtains ; and you did n't let him have your
diamond ring to play with, and lose, because he
cried for it, and "
"Oh, come now, Aunty," said his father, inter-
rupting the old lady as she had interrupted her
niece, " you seem to forget how little he is. I
don't wonder, for certainly his intellect is remark-
able for a child of his age ; but he is only three
years old, you know, and we can't begin to reason
with him yet, poor little chap. "
"If his intellect 's so far in advance of his age, I
don't see why not," said .Aunt Martha, dryly, but
nobody seemed to hear her, and she continued:
" When mine were that size. 1 did n't reason with
'em, — I spanked 'em ! "
" Yes, and see " began one of the young
aunts, excitedly, and then stopped short, blushing.
Aunt Martha rose abruptly, and left the room.
It was only too well known in the family that her
boys had grown up "wild," and her girls treacher-
ous and deceitful.
" You ought n't to have said that, Katie,'' said
the married sister, reproachfully.
" I don't care !" and Katie shrugged her shoul-
ders willfully. " She 's all the time picking at you
and Hal, and I 'm tired of it ; and as for this little
angel's being spoiled — did it want its aunty's ear-
rings, b'essed 'ittle pet ? There — oh, do look, girls,
— he 's trying to put them in his dear little ears !
Did you ever see anything so 'cute ! "
Now the young aunts were, as they would have
endearingly expressed it, "his own-ydon-y aunts,"
while Aunt Martha was only his great-aunt.
It was very warm that night at bed-time, and
doors and windows were left wide oiien.
The heat prevented .'\unt Martha from sleeping
until quite late, and she had just dropped off com-
fortably when she was roused by a wail of such
deep despair that she sprang out of bed almost
before she knew it, and then stopped to listen for
some clue to the direction whence the sound had
TH K Til IXC. - A-M A - [ IC) .
come. She had not long to wait ; another wail,
more prolonged than the first, came unmistakably
from the room on the opposite side of the passage,
where the son and heir, watched over by his tender
parents, slept secure. Aunt Martha stepped into
bed again. But first she made a motion to close
the door, and then drew back, with a quick bob of
lier head, leaving the door wide open.
Heart-rending sobs followed the wail, and then a
little \oicc said, brokenly :
" I want my thing-a-ma-jig ! I want my thing-
a-ma-jig ! And it is n't here — it 's all gone ! "
The mother made some tender suggestion which
Aunt Martha could not catch, and once more that
wail broke the silence of the night.
" No ! No ! " shrieked their darling. " I wont
have it ; take it away ! I wont have anything but
my thing-a-ma-jig ! "
" I 'm afraid you '11 have to get it, dear,"
said the treasure's mother, a little reluctant]
"He '11 make himself ill if he cries so
(" It 's of no consequence whether he
rouses the house or not," said Aunt Mar-
tha to herself, with such fine scorn, that
it was a dreadful pity it was wasted on an
imaginary audience.)
" Do you know where it is ? " — Aunt Martha
heard the scraping of a match. " He left it
in the library; it 's my fault, dearie," — pcni
tently, — " for I meant to bring it up, and forgot
it. There, there, — don't cry any more, darling;
Papa 's gone for his thing-a-ma-jig, and he '11
have it in a minute."
The sobs ceased as the fond father was heard
returning ; but, presently, they broke forth afresh,
and among them. Aunt Martha distinguished
the words: "Papa did n't bring my button,
and it wont play without my button, and 1 'spect
my button 's lo-o-o-st ! "
" Here are the scissors, Harry. Cut him ofl"
a button from your coat ; I 'II sew on another
in the morning. I can't bear to hear him sob
so, and he 's only half awake, you know. Poor
little chap ! He can't be well. There, old
fellow, there 's a famous button for you. Now '^
put your thing-a-ma-jig to sleep."
Silence reigned after this, broken just once by a
low, sleepy little laugh, which somehow sounded
like the bird-notes one hears in the stillness of the
short summer nights.
Sheepishness, and a determination to brave it
out, contended for the mastery on the faces of the
parents, as they met Aunt Martha at breakf;ist.
" I 'm afraid he disturbed you a little last night,"
said his mother, deprccatingly.
" Me did — a good deal," answered .Aunt Martha,
grimly. " What ailed him ? "
The parents looked at each other foolishly.
" I don't think he was quite " began his
mother, meekly.
" Stuff and nonsense ! " said Aunt Martha, with
withering scorn. " He 's as well as I am, and
better. What is it lie calls his 'thing-a-ma-jig,'
anyhow ? "
" It 's an egg-beater," said his mother, after an
interval of emljarrassed silence, in which she vainly
looked her husband to come to the rescue.
"An egg-beater!" and Aunt Martha stopped,
apparently struck dumb with astonishment.
"Yes; it's a patent thing I bought when we
first went to housekeeping ; but it would n't work,
somehow, and one da)' I was holding Baby in the
kitchen, while I talked to the cook about
breakfast, and she put a button in it, — she
loves children dearly, — and rattled it
I around to amuse him, and he laughed
; and crowed so sweetly, that I took it
' upstairs to let his father see him with it;
and, ever since, he takes it to bed with
him every night, and the last thing he does,
when he is n't too sleepy, is to ' put it to
sleep,' as he calls it, by spinning the button
about in it. I don't see how we came to let
him go to bed without it last night. He was
so tired, that he went to sleep before he missed
it ; but 1 'II try not to let it happen again. Was
n't it clever of him? He heard his father call
something a thing-a-ma-jig one day, and he 's
called it that ever since."
And the parents beamed fondly on their darling,
II who appeared at this juncture, fresh and smil-
ing, with a "sweet, clean kiss" for every one
who would take it. Aunt Martha's stern face
relaxed for a moment, as the baby-lips were
pressed to hers, and the clear little voice said
gravely, " I hope you slept tight and waked
bright. Aunt Martha ! " But it froze over again,
with startling suddenness, as she turned to the
misguided parents.
" How many times do you suppose you 've got
up to give him that thi — that egg-beater, since he
took this notion ? " she inquired, sternly.
"Oh, not more than a dozen nor less than twelve,"
said her nephew, lightly.
" But he 's not a bit spoiled ! " said Aunt Mar-
tha, sharply. " Oh, no ! Not at all ! Humph ! "
EVERY BOY HIS OWN ICE-BOAT.
AGAIN." — Old Rhyme.
EVERY BOY HIS OWN ICE-BOAT.
By Charles L. Norton.
Very few skaters have not, now and then, to a
moderate extent, made ice-boats of themselves by-
standing up straight, with their bacl^s to the wind,
and allowing themselves to be blown along before
it. Coats, held wide open, umbrellas, shawls, and
the like, have been used to gain greater speed ;
but, after all was done, there remained the long
pull back against the wind — no laughing matter,
with the thermometer in the twenties, or lower, and
a howling north-wester sending the loose snow in
stinging sheets along the ice. There was so much
fun, however, in running down before the gale,
that boys have always made light of working to
windward. Why in the world it did not sooner
occur to some ingenious lad that he could turn
himself into an efficient ice-boat, is one of those
things that cannot be explained ; but certain it is
that, until last winter, the world at large did not
know that Canadians were in the habit of rigging
themselves with spars and canvas, sailing " close-
hauled," "running free," liaving themselves "taken
aback," "missing stays," being struck by squalls,
and, in short, going through no end of fascinating
maneuvers, with the aid of the wind, and without
danger of a ducking in case of an upset.
The name of the inventor of skate-sailing has
not been announced, but his plan was the simple
one of stretching an oblong sail on a light frame,
and holding it by means of a spar reaching from
end to end. With this, it is possible to do every-
thing that an ice-boat can be expected to do. But
the crew works at a disadvantage : the steersman
can sec only one-half as much as he ought to see,
and of course stands in constant danger of collision.
To lift or lower the sail, so as to see if the way is
clear, is a somewhat awkward operation.
Another difficulty with this form of sail is, that
its spars must l)e somewhat heavy, in order to bear
the strain of sufficient bracing, as there is a tend-
ency on the part of the sail to twist and make a
complete wreck of itself and crew. The latest im-
provement docs away effectually with both these
imperfections, and seems to provide a nearly per-
fect device for skate-sailing.
EVERY UOV HIS OWN UK-IIOAT.
213
In the first place, the sail is divided into fore- smoothly on the floor, and mark out the sails,
sail and main-sail, so that the crow has his whole makin<; ample allowance for heavy licms. Stitch
course in [ilain si;^ht between the two. Secondly, stout tape .ill around wliere the edi^cs are to be,
the main spar is made
double, so that it affords
two points of support for
each of the "yards" or
cross-pieces, and renders
the whole affair so strong
that comparatively light spars may be used. In
the diagram given on the next page, A G is the
main spar, from eight to twelve feet long, accord-
ing to the size and strength of the crew. It is
made of bamboo, or some light native wood like
spruce or pine. The pieces should not be less than
an inch and a half in diameter in the middle. They
may be tapered toward the ends, but one side of
each should be left flat.
Each piece, in short, is
shaped like an archer's
bow, much lengthened.
The flat sides are laid
together, and the ends
at A and G are lashed
firmly with strong twine.
In or near each end, at
A and G, is set a button
to hold the clew — cor-
ner, that is — of the sail.
The most perfect spar
yet devised is made of
four pieces of bamboo,
with brass fishing-rod
ferrules at the butts, fit-
ting into one another at
M. Brass tips hold the
smaller ends of the bamboos together at A and G.
The butts join at the middle of the spar, which
can thus be taken to pieces and easily carried.
The sails are made from the heaviest cotton
sheeting — unbleached is best. Tack the material
and have the hem as strong as possible, especially
at the corners, sewing through the tape and several
thicknesses of the sheeting. If the sails are to keep
their shape, the tape is indispensable. Stout laid
cord (cotton, or hemp), sewn around the edges and
forming small loops at the clews, makes a desirable
finish, but is not absolutely necessary. Instead,
small brass or galvanized rings may be sewn to the
clews. These rings must be large enough to catch
easily on the pins or knobs in the spar-ends.
The sails may range in size from three to five
feet square, according to the size, strength, and
weight of the skater. It is not difficult to arrange
them for reefing, but they are so easily adjustable
to the wind without reefing, that this is hardly
necessary.
The cross-yards are quite light. Bamboo, five-
eighths of an inch thick at the smaller end, is
probably heavy enough for the largest practicable
214
1! (J V HIS O W N I C i; - B U A T .
sail. They must be made three or four inches
longer than the diagonal of the sail. Near the
ends of the yards are buttons similar to those on
the spar. To the middle of each yard is firmly
lashed a cleat, some three to five inches long (K,
in the above diagram) — whose ends are shaped so
as to receive and hold the two pieces of the main
spar, when they are sprung apart.
Two opposite clews of the sail are now hooked
over the buttons at the ends of the yard, the main
spar is sprung apart until the cleat can be inserted
and held at right angles betw-een its pieces, as at J.
The yard is pushed along until the clew of the sail
can be hooked over the button at the spar-end.
The other sail is then put in position similarly at
the other end of the spar, and the two remaining
clews, at C and E, are strained together with a
strap or cord as tightly as the material will permit.
The whole affair is exceedingly light, strong, and
elastic, and will stand any reasonable amount of
strain.
Such is the rig. Now, the question is, how to
manage it. This is a far less complicated matter
than in the case of a sail-boat, although the princi-
ple is the same. If you are caught by a squall, all
you have to do is to let go of everything, and your
sails will fall flat on the ice and await your pleasure.
In running before the wind, all you have to do
is to hold the spar across the course of the wind,
steer with your feet, and go as fiist as the wind
does. You can vary your course at will consider-
ably to the right or left without altering the position
of the sail.
When your course is nearly at right angles to
that of the wind, or against it, you will naturally
take the spar under one or the other arm, and
point the fore-sail more or less in the direction from
which the wind comes.
Let us call this second diagram a pond, with the
wind blowing from top to bottom. In this diagram,
the black spots represent the skater, the arrows the
direction in which he sails under different conditions,
and the long line, etc., the spar and sails. In his
first course down the middle of the pond, he grasps
the spar by the middle, or holds it under his arms
behind him. Squaring away with his back to the
wind, as at A, he sails before it to the lower end of
the pond, moving his feet only for the purpose of
steering. In order to make the wind take him
back to his starting-point, he turns his sails at an
acute angle to the course of the wind, as at B, C,
D, and E, instead of across it, as at A. If pointed
nearly as at B or C, it will carry him directly across
the pond. If as at D and E, it will carry him more
or less up the pond, as indicated by the arrows.
When he reaches the shore on one tack, — say that
represented by E, — he "goes about," that is,
changes the direction of his sails so that they point
as at D. The wind will now carry him on a slant
to the opposite shore, which he will reach at a
point still nearer the head of the pond. Thus, by
zig-zagging from one side to the other, now on one
tack and now on the other, he may work his way to
windward.
E.xperiment alone can show each individual how
best to trim his sails, whether to carry liis spar
under his windward or leeward arm, or before or
behind him. Tastes differ in all these particulars.
So, in going about, — changing, that is, from one
tack to the other, — each must adopt the method
which he personally finds most convenient. One,
A 1
DIAGRAM FOR TACKING.
perhaps, will pass the spar over his head ; another
will let the fore-sail fall off to leeward, and bring
up the main-sail on the other side, so that it will in
turn become the fore-sail. In all these particulars.
EVERY UOY HIS OWN K l-I'dVl-
SIS
each must be a law unto himself; but in regard to
avoiding collisions, it is plainly necessary to have a
general understanding, and the rules of the Hud-
son River Ice-Boat Club, adapted to skate-sailing,
are perhaps the best.
RULES FOR SKATF.-SAILINC.
I. Skate-sailers on the port tack must give way
to those on the starboard tack.
II. When skate-sailers are moving side by side,
or nearly so, on the same tack, those to windward
must give way to those to leeward when requested
to do so, if there is an obstacle in the course of the
leevvardmost. But the leeward skate-sailer must
rules in thi.- course ot a raie shall forfeit all claim to
the victory.
VII. A touch, whether of person or of rig, con-
stitutes a collision, cither with another skate-sailer,
or with a mark or buoy, and he who is responsible
for it, under the rules, forfeits all claim to the
victory.
VIII. No means of locomotion, other than that
aflbrdcd by the wind, is permissible during a race.
For the benefit of those who are not familiar
with sea-terms, it should be stated that "running
free " means sailing before, or nearly before, the
wind. "Close-hauled," or "on the uintl," means
go about or change his course at the same time as
the windward skate-sailer, or as soon as he can
w ithout coming into collision. The new direction
must be kept, at least until the obstacle has been
cleared.
III. When skate-sailers are moving side by side,
as in Rule II., and approaching a windward ob-
stacle, the leewardmost must give way when
requested to do so. But the windwardmost must
change his course at the same time as the leeward-
most, or as soon as he can do so without coming
into collision, and the new direction must be kept,
at least until the obstacle has been cleared.
IV. When skate-sailers are running free, it rests
with the rearmost ones to avoid collision.
V. Skate-sailers running free must always give
way to those on either tack.
VI. Skate-sailers who violate any of the foregoing
sailing sharply across its course. When the skater's
right side is presented to the wind, he is on the
starboard tack ; when his left side is presented to
the wind, he is on the port tack.
The possibility of using the sail on an ordinary
coasting-sled will naturally occur to every skater.
This can be accomjilished with the aid of a few
additional fixtures. A regular ice-boat has three
runners, two in front and one in the rear. The
latter is pivoted, so that it can be turned from side
to side like the rudder of a boat, and used in like
manner for steering. The first thing to be done
with a sled is to provide it with sharp shoes, which
will not slip over the ice sidewise. A pair of skates,
or skate-blades, fastened one to each runner near
the bend, are as good as anything. The fitting of
the after-runner is a more complicated affair, if
fastened to the sled, and it is not worth while to
2l6
EVKRV BOY HIS OWN ICE-BOAT.
give directions for it here. Tlie simplest way is to
let the after part of tlie sled rest on its own proper
runners, and depend on the feet for steering, or use
a stout stick shod with iron. A Ijlade-shapcd iron
is best, as it presents an edge to the ice.
It is jjossible to kneel on the sled and hold the
sail under the arm, but a mast about three feet
high, stepped at the side of the sled, is better. If
but one mast is carried, it must be arranged so that
it can be readily shifted from one side to the other.
The head of the mast is crotched to receive the
upper spar ; or a hook, large enough to hold it, is
inserted an inch or two below the mast-head. The
lower spar rests against the mast, and is held there
by the crew with one of his hands. A crew of two,
on a long sled of the so-called " pig-sticker " variety,
can do very pretty work, one tending the sail and
the other steering ; but a crew of one will think
that he needs at least two extra pairs of hands,
until he gets the knack of the thing.
It is suggested that more sail can be carried by a
single skater, if his yard-arms are shod with light
metal disks, so that they can be allowed to rest on
the ice and act as runners. So far as known, this
has not been actually tried. It looks promising,
but will necessitate rather heavier yards.
This new winter sport opens for all skaters a
fresh field of enjoyment. Races or, if you please,
"regattas" can be indulged in to any extent, and
individual skill in the management of one's self
under canvas will afford exhilarating exercise for
brain and body, without in the least increasing the
danger. Girls as well as boys, ladies as well as
gentlemen, can take part in this pastime, and, in-
deed, one of the best ways of managing a sail is to
have a double crew, one holding the spar " for'ard "
and the other "aft."
Of course, if the girls ha\e anything to do with
sails, they will very soon begin to decorate them,
and use colored material. A set of sails made of
silk would be amazingly pretty in combination with
a tasteful skating costume, skimming across the
gleaming surface of a frozen lake, and the effect
would be heightened by little, colored streamers
flying from the yard-arm. We shall expect, by
another season, to hear of the organization of skate-
sailing clubs, and the adoption of various constitu-
tions and by-laws for their regulation.
1' 1 1 A I-: 1' ON R O V, E K S .
21 7
Ni:\V YEARS DAY.
Hy Bessie Hill.
" A HAPPV New Year to you, my lady!
To give you this greeting 1 came."
"Oh, thank you, indeed," said the sweet Uttle ;,_
lady,
'' .And, truly, 1 wish you the same."
" 1 wish Nou many returns, my lady,
.•\ long chain of years, I may say.
Linked into garlands of joy, my lady,
And now I must bid you good-day."
'• Yes, many returns," said the bright little lady,
'• In sooth. I would wish for them, too ;
.\ long, long chain," said the dear little lady,
•• Of beautiful visits from you !"
PHAETON ROGERS.*
BV ROSSITER JOHNSON'.
Chapter III.
AUNT MERCY.
The fact was, Phaeton had spent more study on
the question of landing his passengers safely than
on any other part of his invention. It was not the
first instance— since the days of the hand-mill that
made the sea salt — in which it had been found easy
to set a thing going, but difficult to stop it.
" There are several ways," said he, continuing
his explanation to Ned and me, " to let the passen-
gers off safely. I have n't decided yet what I '11
adopt. One way is, to have a sort of brake to
squeeze down on the cable and make it stop gradu-
ally. I don't exactly like that, because it would
wear out the cable, and these cables are going to
cost a great deal of money. Another way is, to
throw the passengers against a big, soft mattress,
like pins in a bowling-alley. But even that would
hurt a little, I guess, no matter how soft you made
the mattress. The best way is, to drop them in
a tank of water."
" What ! and get all wet?" said Ned.
" Don't be in a hurry," said Phaeton. " Each one
would wear an India rubber water-proof garment (a
sort of over-dress), covering him all over and fas-
tened up tight. Of course, these dresses would be
provided by the company."'
" But would n't it use up a cable every time you
cut it?" said Ned.
" Not at all ; it could be stretched again by
hitching a team of horses to the end and drawing
it back, and then we should solder it together with
melted India rubber. Probably a dozen teams
would be at work at night stretching cables for use
next day. You see, we should have as many cables
as the business of the road would require."
1 have never known whether Phaeton was sincere
in all this, or whether he was simply fooling Ned
and me. I have since suspected that he had a pur-
pose which did not appear at the time. At any
rate, we took it all in and believed it all, and looked
upon him as one of the world's great inventors.
"And what do you want the ten dollars for?"
said Ned.
"Well, you know, nothing can be done without
more or less money," said Phaeton. "The first
thing is, to get up a model to send to the Patent-
Office, and get a patent on it."
" What 's a model ? " said Ned.
" A model," said Phaeton, " is a little one, with
tunnel and all complete, to show how it works."
"A tunnel," said Ned, " is a hole in the ground.
* Copyright, i88o, by Rossitcr Johnson. All rights reserved
:i8
PHAETON ROGERS.
You can't send a hole in the ground to the Patent-
Office, no matter how small you make it."
" Oh, pshaw ! Don't you understand ? There
would be a little wooden tube or shell, painted red,
to represent the brick-work that the real tunnel
would be arched in with."
'• Well, what then ? "
" I suppose it would cost about ten dollars to get
up a model. If it 's going to the Patent-Office it
does n't want to be botched up with a pocket-knife."
"Of course not," said Ned. "But the model
will be only a beginning. It will take a great deal
more money than that to build the real thing."
" Now you talk business," said Phaeton. " And
I 'm ready to talk with you. 1 've thought it all
out. I got an idea from the way in which Father
says Mr. Drake manages to build so many houses.
There are two ways to get this thing into opera-
tion. One is, to try it first in this town. You know
we boys could dig the tunnel ourselves, and it
would n't cost anything. Then we could give a
mortgage on the tunnel, and so raise money to buy
the cable, and there you are."
"That's all very fine," said Ned; "but they
foreclose ihortgages. And if there was a mortgage
on our tunnel, and they foreclosed it while we were
in there, what would become of us ? How should
we ever get out ? "
Phaeton laughed. " I '11 tell you how we '11 fix
it," said he. "We'll have a secret shaft leading
out of the tunnel, and not let the man we give the
mortgage to, know anything about it."
Ned did n't exactly know whether he was being
quizzed or not.
" What 's the other way of getting the thing into
operation ? " said he.
"The other way," said Phaeton, "is to go to
New York and see Uncle Silas, and have him get
up a company to start it there."
" I think I like that way best," said Ned.
" But, to tell you the truth, 1 had made arrange-
ments to do something else with that ten dollars."
Phaeton looked disappointed.
" Then why did n't you say so in the first place?"
said he, as he put his things into his pocket and
turned to walk away.
" Don't get mad. Fay," said Ned. " Perhaps
we can get another ten."
" Where can we get it ? "
"Of Aunt Mercy."
" You might, but I can't."
" Well, I '11 try to get it for you, if you 'II let
me take your machine."
" Well," said Phaeton. " When will you go? "
" I might as well go this evening as any time,"
said Ned.
So it was agreed that he should visit his Aunt
Mercy that evening, and see if she would advance
the money for a model. 1 was to go with him, but
Phaeton w;is to be kept entirely in the background.
" rjo you suppose Fay can really make anything
out of this machine ? " said Ned to me, as we were
on the way to his Aunt Mercy's.
" 1 should think he might," said I. "For he is
certainly a genius, and he seems to have great faith
in it."
" At any rate, we might as well get fifteen dollars
while we are about it," said Ned.
" 1 suppose we might," said 1.
"Good-evening, Aunty."
" Good-evening, Edmund Burton."
Aunt Mercy was sipping a cup of tea, and read-
ing the evening paper.
" What 's the news. Aunty ? "
"Another railroad accident, of course."
" Nobody hurt, I hope ? "
" Yes ; a great many. I wonder that anybody 's
foolhardy enough to ride on railroads."
" How did it happen ? " said Ned, beginning to
think it was a poor time to get money for a railroad
invention.
" Train ran off the track," said Aunt Mercy,
"and ran right down an embankment. Seems to
me they always do. 1 don't see why they have so
many embankments."
" They ought not to," said Ned. " If they only
knew it, there 's a way to make a railroad without
any track, or any wheels to run off the track, or
any embankment to run down if they did run off."
" You don't say so, Edmund Burton ! What
sort of a railroad would that be ? "
" 1 happen to have the plan of one with me,"
said Ned.
"Edmund Burton! What do )'ou mean ? "
" I mean this," said Ned, pulling from his
pocket the little frame with a rubber string
stretched on it. "It's a new invention; hasn't
been patented yet."
"Edmund P> u r t o n ! " was all his aunt
could say.
" 1 '11 explain it to you, Aunty," said Ned, as he
picked up the newspaper which she had dropped,
and rolled it into a tube.
"This," said he, "represents a tunnel, a big
round hole, you know, as big as this room, bored
along in the ground. It goes right through rocks
and everything, and is perfectly straight. No dan-
gerous curves. And this " — showing the frame
and then passing it into the paper tube — "repre-
sents an India rubber cable as large as a stove-
pipe, and is stretched out as far as possible, and
fastened tight to posts at the ends."
"Edmund Burton!"
rilAKTON UtXlKKS.
219
" Now, Aumy, wc '11 c.ill lluM I'lul Albany, and
this cm! llutT.ilo."
■■ H il in u n il Burton! "
■• All the men anil boys in Albany that want to
go to IliitTalo coiiUI come down to the depot, and
get on the cable right there, sitting just as if they
were on horseback, and there will be nice little
straps for them to hold on by."
•■ I', d in u n d H u r t o n ! "
•• When everybody 's ready, the train-dispatcher
just picks up a sharp .i.\, and with one blow cuts
the cable in two, right here, and zip ! the pas-
sengers find themselves in lUilTalo. Xo boiler to
•' \i d 111 u n d Hurt o n ! "
" And the great advantage of it is, that the car
is perfectly round, and so whichever way it might
happen to turn, it would always be right side up,
for every side is the right side ! "
"Edmund Burton, you <//■<• a genius!"
" But you must n't tell anybody about it. Aunty,
for it h;is n't been patented yet."
" Why don't you patent it, Kdinund Burton ?"
" We think of doing so. Aunty, but it will cost
more money than we have just now. The first
thing is. to get up a model. "
" Wh.it 's lh.it. I'.diiiund Burtcin ' "
burst, no track to get off from, no embankment to
plunge down, no wheels to get out of order."
"Edmund Burton, you an- a genius !
But ladies can't ride that way."
" Of course not. Aunty. We have a car for the
ladies. This " — and he picked up from the table
a spool of thread and a lead pencil, and p.isscd the
pencil through the hole in the spool — " represents
it The pencil represents the cable, and the spool
represents the car, which is fastened tight on the
cable. When the ladies arc all in, it is locked up,
and then the cable is cut behind it."
" A little one, with tunnel and everything com-
plete, to show how it works. That has to go to the
Patent-Office and bo put in a glass case."
" And how much will it cost to make a muddle,
Edmund Burton ? "
" Fay says he thinks one couM be made for ten
dollars ; but I suppose more money would build a
better one."
" Your brother knows nothing about it, Edmund
Burton. //<■ would get up a miserable cheap
muddle, and disgrace the family. Don't let him
have anything to do with it. Jane ! " — c.-illing to
PHAETON ROGERS.
[January,
the servant — "bring nic my pocket-book from the
right-hand corner of my top Ijurcau drawer. "
Jane brought it.
" How much will it take for a good muddle,
Edmund Burton ? " said his Aunt jMercy, as she
opened her pocket-book.
'• I should think fifteen dollars ought to be a
great plenty," said Ned, and she handed him a
crisp new ten-dollar bill and a five.
" Thank you, Aunty."
" You 're welcome, child. Always come to mc
when you want money to make a muddle. But
mind what I tell you, Edmund Burton. Don't let
that numskull brother of yours have anything to
do with it, and be sure you get up a handsome
muddle that will do credit to the family."
'• Yes, .■\unty. Good-night ! "
"Good-night! But come and kiss me before
you go, Edmund Burton."
" Don't you think," said Ned, as we were walk-
ing home, "before Fay goes any further with this
invention, and spends money on it, he 'd better
talk with somebody who knows more about such
things than we do."
I did n't quite know whether Ned said this be-
cause he was really anxious about the fate of the
invention, or because he did not like to part with
the money, now that he actually had it. Some
people are always ready to say that they would lend
money to a friend, if they had it ; but, when they
feel it in their hands, they are not in such a hurry
to let it go out. However, I thought this w;is a
good idea, whatever might be Ned's reason for
suggesting it; so I said, "Certainly, he ought!
Who do you think would be the best person for
him to talk with ? "
" I don't know anybody better than Jack-in-the-
Box," said Ned. " Of course he knows all about
railroads."
"Of course he does," said 1, " and he '11 be glad
to help us. Jack-in-the-Box is the very one ! "
Chapter IV.
JACK-IN-THE-BOX.
The box was a red box, about five feet square
and eight feet high, with a pointed top. Jack was
about. five feet nine inches high, with a brown beard
and mustache and dark hazel eyes, and might have
been twenty-eight years old, perhaps older. When
he was in the box, he wore a dark-blue blouse and
dark trousers and a small cloth cap. The only
time 1 ever saw him away from the box was on
Sundays, when he always came to the Presbyterian
Church, and sat in pew No. 79. One of the great
pillars that supported the gallery was planted in
this pew, and spoiled nearly the whole of it; but
there was a comfortable scat for one at the outer
end, and Jack had that seat. The box had two
small square windows on op|josite sides. On another
side was a door, with " 248 " over it. The fourth side
was covered in summer with morning-glory vines,
planted by Jack, and trained to run up on strings.
A stove-pipe, about as large as your arm, stuck out
at the top. When Jack looked through one of his
windows, he looked up the railroad ; w-hen he
looked through the other, he looked down the rail-
road ; when he stepped out of his door, he stood
beside the track, and on those occasions he gener-
ally had in his hand cither a red flag or a red
lantern.
Close beside the box rose a tall, heavy pole, with
a cross-piece on the top, and short iron rods stuck
through it at intervals all the way up. A rope
passed over pulleys in the ends of the cross-piece,
and Jack used to hoist sometimes three white balls,
sometimes two red balls, at night tying on white
or red lanterns below the balls.
To us boys. Jack was a delightful character, in
an enviable situation, but to older people, he
was a mystery. I remember, one day I was walk-
ing with father, when Mr. Briggs joined us, and
as we came in sight of the box. Jack was rolling up
his flag, a train having Just gone by.
"What do you make of that young man ?" said
Mr. Briggs.
" 1 don't know what to make of him," said
Father. " He is evidently not the sort of man they
generally have in these positions. You can tell by
his speech and manner, and his whole appearance,
that he is an educated man and a gentleman."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Briggs. " If you peep in
at the window, you will see a shelf full of books.
He seems to have taken this way to make a hermit
of himself — not a bad way, either, in these modern
times, when there are no uninhabited wilds to retire
to, and when a little money income is absolutely
necessary to existence."
" I should like to know his history," said Father.
" Either he has committed some crime — forgery,
perhaps — and escaped," said Mr. Briggs, " or he
has quarreled with his family, or in some way been
disappointed."
" I don't think it 's for any crime," said Father ;
" his appearance forbids that."
" Still, you can't always tell," said Mr. Briggs.
" I tried to make his acquaintance once, but did n't
succeed. I am told he repels all advances. Even
the Presbyterian minister, whose church he attends,
can't get at him."
" I understand he likes the boys, and makes
their acquaintance." said Father.
PHAETON ROGERS.
We had now arrived at our gate, and Mr. Hriggs
said good-evening and passed on.
It was true that Jack-in-the-Box was partial to
bovs ; in fact, nobody else could make his acquaint-
ance. He liked to have us come and talk with
him, but never wanted more than two or three to
come at a time. Perhaps this was on account of
the size of the box. \Vc used to consult him on
all sorts of occasions, and got a great many shrewd
hints and useful bits of information from him.
The inside of the box was a romance to me. I
never saw so many things in so small a space. In
one corner was a stove about as large as a coffee-
pot, and beside it a sheet-iron coal-box,, not much
larger. In another corner stood the red flag, when
it was furled, and a hatchet. Behind the door,
hung flat on the wall, was a large coil of rope.
Overhead, on one side, was a shelf, nearly filled
with tools and trinkets. On the opposite side —
lower, but still over the window — was another shelf,
filled with books. 1 took a special interest in this
shelf, and studied the backs of the books so often,
that I think I can give you the title of every one,
in their order. They were, beginning at the left
hand, a Bible, "Essays of Elia," "Henry Es-
mond,'" ■' Life of Columbus," " Twice-told Tales,"
'•. Anatomy of Melancholy," "Modern Painters,"
"The Shadows of the Clouds," "The Middle
Ages," " Undine and Sintram," " Tales of the
Great St. Bernard," " Sordello," " Divina Com-
mcdia," " Sophoclis Tragoedias," " Demosthenis
Orationes." " Platonis Dialogi," " Q. Horatii Flacci
Opera," "Robinson Crusoe," "Byron's Poems,"
and " Shakspcarc." I was so curious about them,
that I copied ofl' all the hard ones on a card, and.
when I went home, tried to find out what they were.
Under the book-shelf, at one side of the window,
fastened to the wall, was a little alarm-clock. Jack
knew exactl)- what time every train would come
along. As soon as one had passed, and he had
rolled up his flag, he used to set the alarm so that
it would go off two minutes before the next train
was due. Then he could sit down with his book,
and be sure of not forgetting his duty. On the
other side of the window was a photograph of a
very beautiful young lady.
Jack generally sat in a sort of easy-chair with one
arm to it, on which a board was fastened in sucli a
way as to make a little writing-desk. The space
under the seat of the chair was boxed, with a little
door at one side, and in there he kept his
stationery.
Hardly a day passed that Jack did not have boy
visitors. There were only two things about him
that seemed singular to me. We could never find
out his real name. He told us to call him simply
Jack ; whereupon Isaac Holman said the full name
must be Jack-in-the-Box, and after that we always
called him by the full name. The other queer
thing was, that he was never known to read a news-
paper. The boys sometimes brought one to him,
but he always said he did n't care about it, and
would not open it. Father and Mr. Briggs ap-
peared to think it very strange that he should live
in that box and attend to the flag and signals. To
me it seemed the most delightful life imaginable,
and Jack-in-the-Box was one of my heroes. I often
thought that, if I could choose my own station in
life, my choice would be a flag-station on the
railroad.
Phaeton adopted Ned's suggestion as to consult-
ing Jack-in-the-Box about his invention, and we
three went together to see him.
When we got there, the door of the box stood
wide open ; everything seemed to be in its place,
but Jack had disappeared.
" Probably gone up the road, to flag an extra
train," said Phaeton. " No, he has n't, for there 's
his flag in its place in the corner."
" He can't have been murdered," said Ned, "or
they would have robbed the box. Must be suicide.
Perhaps we 'd better take charge of his things."
" 1 should n't be in a hurry about that," said
Phaeton.
" Or he may have been run over by a train that
he did n't see," said Ned, getting excited, and ex-
amining the rails in search of evidence. " If he
were trying to remember all that funny-looking
Greek stuff in some of those books, I should n't
think he would notice a train, or anything else.
And we '11 all have to sit on the coroner's Jury.
Poor Jack ! I don't believe we can say the train
was to blame, or make it pay damages. 1 think I
should like to sit near the feet : for he had hand-
some feet, and only wore number six boots. He
was a real good fellow, too. But that '11 take us
out of school one day, anyway."
" So you think there is no great loss without
sonic small gain," said Phaeton.
" I did n't say so ! " said Ned, a little offended at
this plain interpretation of his last sentence. " I
feel as badly as anybody about Jack's death. But,
at any rate, they '11 have to do something with his
property. I suppose, if he had no relations, — and
I never heard of any, — they '11 give it to his best
friends. I think I should like the alarm-clock, and
the chair, and perhaps a few of the tools. What
will you take ?" turning to me.
'' I think I should like to take his place, if any-
thing," said I.
Ned took a look at the box.
" I tell you what it is," said he, "the prettiest
design for a monument over Jack's grave would be
a box just like that, — all cut in marble, of course, —
PHAETON ROGERS.
(jAXf/
with Jack's name and age on the door, and beside
it a signal-pole struck by lightning and broken off
in the middle, or something of that sort."
A slight noise, or else the allusion to the signal-
pole, caused us to look up. There was Jack com-
ing down, with an oil-can in his hand ! He had
been at the top oiling the pulleys, and probably had
heard every word we had said, for there was a quiet
smile all over his face.
" (iood-morning. Jack ! " said Phaeton, who sel-
dom lost his presence of mind.
"Good-morning, boys! I 'm glad to see \nu,"
said Jack.
As soon as Ned and 1 could recover from our
abashment, we also said good-morning.
" Is there anything 1 can do for you, to-day?"
said Jack, as he set away the oil-can, observing
that Phaeton had the little frame and a small draw-
ing in his hand.
"Yes, sir, "said Phaeton. "I want to get your ad-
vice about a little invention that 1 've been making."
" It 's a new kind of railroad," said Ned ; " and
we thought you 'd be the one to know all about
railroads. Beats these common railroads all to
nothing. Why, three months after ours is intro-
duced, and the public understand it, they '11 have
to take up this track and sell it for old iron."
Ned had thoroughly identified himself witli the
invention, and thought it was as much his as
Phaeton's.
"But, then." he added, thoughtfully, '• that would
spoil your business. Jack. And we should be sorry
to do that."
Jack smiled, and said it did n't matter; he
would n't let his private interests obstruct the march
of improvement.
Phaeton explained the invention to Jack, illus-
trating it with a rubber string stretched on the
frame, just as he had explained it to us.
" I see," said Jack. " Quite a novel idea."
"We haven't yet made up our minds," said
Ned, " what sort of depot we 'U have. But it '11 be
either a big tank full of water, or an aufal soft
mattress."
■' How is that?" said Jack.
"Why, you see," said Ned. "this railroad of
ours is going to go like lightning. There 's no
trouble about its going."
"None whatever," said Jack.
" But it 's going to stop rather sudden."
" How so ? " said Jack.
" I mean the trains," said Ned. "That is, the
cables. They 're going to fetch up with a bang at
the other end. At least, they would, if we had n't
thought of a way to prevent it. Because it
would n't do to break the heads of all the passen-
gers every time."
" No," said Jack. "That would be too much."
" Too much,'' said Ned. " .Vnd so. you see,
the depot must be some sort of contrivance to let
'em off easy."
" Of course," said Jack.
" And the first thing anybody thinks of is a
bowling-alley, and the pins flying every which way."
"Quite naturally," said Jack.
"And that makes you think of a soft m.ittress to
stop them. But Fay thinks it would be better, on
some accounts, to drop them into a big tank of
water."
"I suppose in winter you \Miuld have the water
warmed?" said Jack.
"Of course we should: though we had n't
thought of it before," said Ned.
" And that would give the passengers a ride and
a bath, all for the price of one ticket," said Jack.
"Certainly ; and you see that would be favorable
to the poor," said Ned, willing to indulge in a
joke.
" Exactly ; a great boon to mankind," said Jack.
" And I think it would not only make them cleaner,
but more religious."
" How so ? " said Ned.
"Well, I think every passenger would feel like
saying his prayers, as the train, or cable, drew near
the getting-off station."
Phaeton and 1 burst out laughing.
"I'm afraid you're making fun of our inven-
tion." said Ned.
"Not 1," said Jack. " I like to encourage the
inventive faculty in boys."
"Well, then, tell us honestly," said Ned, —
"where would you introduce it first? Would you
go to New York, and build it under Broadway at
once? Or would you go slow, and try it first in this
town, on a rather small scale?"
" I think 1 'd go slow," said Jack.
"And where would be the best place to build
it ? "
" You '11 have to survey the town," said J.ack,
" and find where there is the most travel."
"We thought we'd dig the tunnel ourselves,"
said Ned, in an oft-hand way, "and then give a
mortgage on the tunnel, and raise the money to
buy the cable."
" I see you have the true business idea," said
Jack. " In that case, 1 think you 'd better dig it
wherever you find the softest dirt."
"That 's worth thinking about," said Ned.
"And now, Jack, I'll tell you what 't is. We
don't want to throw you out of einployment ; and
when our road 's running, and this one stops, you
shall have a good situation on ours. There wont
be any signal stations, but you may be the train-
dispatcher — the one that chops off the cable."
1' II A i; ION ROGERS.
!23
" Thank you," said Jack. " I '11 consider it."
" It will probably be good pay," said Ned, "and
it 's certain to be lots of lun."
"Oh, there can be no doubt about that," said
Jack, dryly.
" Good-morning ! "
" Good-morning ! "
■■ Jack-in-the-Box takes a deep interest in our in-
vention," said Ned, in a low, confidential tone, ,is
we walked awa)-. " 1 can see that he thinks it's
going to be a great success."
Phaeton burst out laughing.
" What are you laughing about ? " said Ned.
" I am laughing to think how Jack-in-the-Box
fooled you to the top of your bent."
" What do you mean ? "
" I mean that the thing wont do at all ; and he
saw it would n't, as soon as he looked at it ; but he
thought he would n't say so. He just liked to hear
you talk."
" Do you think so ? " said Ned to nie.
" 1 'm afraid it 's true," said I.
"Well," said Ned, growing a little red in the
face, " I don't care. It 's no invention of mine, any
way. It was all your idea. Fay."
" Oh, was it ?" said Phaeton. "When 1 heard
you talk to Jack-in-the-Box about it, 1 began to
think it was all yours."
" If I was going to make an invention," said
Ned, " I 'd make one that would work — something
practical."
"All right," said Phaeton ; " you 're at liberty to
do so if you wish. I should be glad if you would."
" Well, I will," said Ned. " I '11 make one to
beat yours all hollow."
Three or four days afterward, Ned came to me
with a look on his face that showed he had some-
thing important in his mind.
" Can you go ?" said he, almost in a whisper.
" That depends on where you 're going," said I.
" To see Jack-in-the-Box," said he.
" Yes, I always like to go to the Box," said I.
" But I 've got to split these kindlings first."
" Oh, never mind your kindlings ! You can
split those any time. I 've got a sure thing now ;
and if Jack says it 's all right, I '11 let you go
partnership."
Of course, this was more important than any
paltrj- consideration of lighting the fires next morn-
ing; so I threw down the hatchet, and we started.
" I think we 'd better go by the postern," said I.
Postern was a word we had found frequently used
in "The Haunted Castle: or, The Spook and the
Spider," and we had looked out its meaning in the
dictionar)-. Whenever we thought it desirable to
get away from the house without being seen, — as,
for instance, when we were leaving kindlings un-
split, — we climbed over the back fence, and called
it "going by the postern."
" All right," said Ned, for in these things he was
a wise boy, and a word to him was sufficient.
" What is it?" said 1, as soon as we were fairly
out of sight of the house. " Tell me all about it."
" Wait till we get to Jack's," said he.
" Has your Aunt Mercy given you money to
make a muddle of it ?" said I.
" That troubles me a little — that fifteen dollars,"
said Ned. " You see, we got it honestly ; we
thought Fay's invention was going to be a great
thing, and we must have money to start. But now,
if .-Xunt Mercy knew it was a failure, it would look
lo her as if we had swindled her."
" Not if you gave her back the money," said I.
" But I don't exactly hke to do that," said Ned.
" It 's always a good thing to have a little money.
.•\nd, besides, she 'd lose faith in me, and think I
could n't invent anything. And next time, when
we had really made a good thing, she 'd think it
was only another failure, and would n't furnish the
money. That 's one reason why I made this inven-
tion that I have in my pocket now. We can use
the money on this, and tell Aunt Mercy we
changed oft' from the Underground Railroad to a
better thing."
" How do you do to-day. Jack?"
" Pretty well, thank you ! How are you . Come
in, boys; I 'm glad to see you."
" Would you look at another invention for us ?'"
"Certainly; with the greatest pleasure."
" I hope it will turn out to be better than the
other — that is, more practical," said Ned. " But
you see, Jack, that was our first invention, and I
suppose we can only improve by practice."
" That is about the only way," said Jack.
" What is vour second invention ? "
224
I'll Ah in N KU(. t KS.
Uanuarv,
Ned drew a bit of paper from his pocket. " Exactly so," said Ned. " And there you have
" The other day," said he, " 1 heard Father read- it — action and re-action. That 's the principle."
ing a piece in the newspaper about a church that I don't think Ned borrowed his style of cxplana-
was struck by lightning, although it had a light- tion so much from the school- master as from a young
ning-rod. The reason was that the rod was broken man who appeared in the streets one day, selling a
apart at one place, and nobody h.id notn.-ed il, or if sort of stuff lo clean tlu teclh. calling a crowd
they had, they did n't take the trouble to fix it.
People are awful careless about those things. And
so they lost their church. Father says there are a
good many things that spoil lightning-rods. He
says, if there 's rust in the joints they wont work."
" That 's true," said Jack.
" Well, then, all this set me to thinking whether
I could n't invent a lightning-rod that would be a
sure thing. And here you have it," said Ned, as
he unfolded his paper, with a confident air.
Jack looked at it. " I don't understand it," said
he; " you '11 have to explain."
" Of course you don't," said Ned. " 1 shall
explain."
Jack said he was all attention.
■' What docs fire do to ice?" said Ned, taking
on the tone of a school-master.
" Melts it," said Jack.
" Right," said Ned. " And when ice is melted,
it becomes what ? "
" Water," said Jack.
" Right again ! " said Ned. " .Vnd water does
what to fire ? "
" PuLs it out." said Jack.
around him, and trying it on the teeth of one or
two boys.
" That 's all true," said Jack ; " but how do you
apply it to lightning-rods ? "
" Here is a picture," said Ned, "of a house with
a rod on it. The family think it 's all right, and
don't feel afraid when it thunders. But that rod
may be broken somewhere, or may be rusted in the
joints, and they not know it. What then ? We
simply fasten a large ball of ice — m.irkcd I in the
illustration — to the rod at R — freeze it on tight.
You see it is n't likely there will be any break, or
any rusty joint, between the point of the rod and
the ball."
" Not likely," said Jack.
" But there may be one lower down."
"There may be," said Jack; "though there
could n't be one higher down."
Ned H.as too intent on his invention to notice this
criticism on his expression.
" We '11 say a thunder-storm comes up," said
he. " The lightning strikes this rod. What then .'
In an instant, in the flash of an eye, the lightning
melts that ball of ice — it becomes water — in another
NEDAWI.
225
instant that water puts out the lightning — and the
family ivc safe ! "
•• It would be if there were enough ice," said
Jack.
" Oh, well," said Ned, " if tl»ere should happen
to be a little lightning left o\er that was n't put
out, why, you see, as lightning-rods are generally
in good order, it would probably be carried oft' in
the usual manner, without doing any harm."
Jack sat with the paper in his hand, and looked
at it in silence, as if he were spell-bound.
" What do you think of it ? " said Ned.
'• I think it 's a work of genius," said Jack.
" I 'm gl.id you think so," said Ned.
" And yet," said Jack, "some things that exhibit
great genius don't work well in practice."
"Certainly!" said Ned. "That was the way
with Fay's Underground Railroad."
Jack smiled, and nodded.
"And now," continued Ned, " Iiow would you
go to work to introduce it ? You would n't like to
take it and introduce it to the public yourself, would
you ? — on shares, you know, — you take half of the
profits, and we half."
Jack said his business engagements would n't
permit him to go into it at present.
"Then we must manage it ourselves. Where
would you advise us to put it first ? "
"On a tall hickory-tree in Burke's woods," said
Jack.
" Why so ? " said Ned.
" Because the great trouble 's going to be witli
the lightning that 's left over. You don't know
what that may do."
" I 'm afraid the invention does n't look practical
to you," said Ned, afier a slight pause.
Before Jack could answer, Isaac Holman appeared
at the door of the Bo.\, with a Latin grammar under
his arm. At that time of day, there was an inter-
val of an hour and a half when no train passed, and
Isaac had arranged to come and take of Jack a daily
lesson in Latin.
" 1 see it 's time for your school to begin ; we '11
finish talking about this some other day," said
Ned, as he hastily thrust the paper into his pocket.
For he did n't want Isaac (nor anybody else, I
guess) to know about it.
" Don't hurry yourself; 1 can wait a while," said
Isaac.
" To-morrow will do as well for us," said Ned.
" Toiiis dexkr! — all right!" said Isaac, as we
left the bo.\, and made room for him to enter.
Isaac had been studying the language only a fort-
night, but was fond of using Latin expressions in
t.ilking to the boys. Yet he was very considerate
about it, and always gave an immediate translation,
as in the remarkable instance Just quoted.
As Ned and I v.alked away, I was the first to
speak. "Ned, I have an idea! That ball of ice
would only stay on in winter."
" I suppose so," said Ned, a little gloomily.
" And nearly all tlio thunder-storms arc in
summer," said I.
"I'm afraid they are," said Ned. "And this
invention is n't worth a cent. It 's not any better
than Fay's." And he tore up the paper, and threw
the pieces into the gutter.
"Then what will you do with the fifteen dollars?"
said I, after another pause.
" I '11 have to see Aunt Mercy about it," said he.
"But here comes Jimmy the Rhymer. I wonder
if he has anything new to-day."
(To be continued.)
NEDAWI.
(An Indian Story from Real Life.)
By "Bright Eyes."
"Ned.awi!" called her mother, "take your
little brother while I go with your sister for some
wood." Nedawi ran into the tent, bringing back
her little red blanket, but the brown-faced, roly-poly
baby, who had been having a comfortable nap in
spite of being all the while tied straight to his board,
woke with a merry crow Just as the mother «as
about to attach him, board and all, to Nedawi's neck.
So he was t.aken from the board instead, and, after
he had kicked in happy freedom for a moment,
Nedawi stood in front of her mother, who placed
Vol. VIII.— 15.
Habazhu on the little girl's back, and drew the
blanket over him, leaving his arms free. She next
put into his hand a little hollow gourd, filled with
seeds, which ser\ed as a rattle ; Nedawi held both
ends of the blanket tightly in front of her, and was
then ready to walk around with the little man.
Where should she go? Yonder was a group of
young girls playing a game of koiici, or dice. The
dice were five plum-seeds, scorched black, and had
little stars and quarter-moons instead of numbers.
She went over and stood by the group, gently rock-
226
(January,
ing herself from side to side, pretty much as white
children do when reciting the multiplication table.
The {jirls would toss up the wooden bowl, letting it
drop with a gentle thud on the pillow beneath, the
falling dice making a pleasant clatter which the
baby liked to hear. The stakes were a little heap
of beads, rings, and bracelets. The laughter and
exclamations of the girls, as some successful toss
brought down the dice three stars and two quarter-
wanted to stay and see who would win. She went
to her mothers tent, but found it deserted. Her
father and brothers had gone to the chase. A
herd of buffalo had been seen that morning, and
all the men in the tribe had gone, and would not
be back till night. Her mother, her sister, and the
women of tlie household had gone to the river for
wood and water. The tent looked enticingly cool,
with the sides turned up to let the breeze sweep
moons (the highest throw), made Nedawi wish that
she, too, were a young girl, and could win and wear
all those pretty things. Mow gay she would look !
Just then, the little glittering heap caught baby's
eye. He tried to wriggle out of the blanket to get
to it, but Nedawi held tight. Then he set up a yell.
Nedawi walked away very reluctantly, because she
through, and the straw mats and soft robes seemed
to invite her to lie down on them and dream the
afternoon away, as she was too apt to do. She did
not \ield to the temptation, however, for she knew
Mother would not like it, but walked over to her
cousin Metai's tent. She found her cousin " keep-
ing house" with a number of little girls, and stood
N lin.vwi.
227
to watch them while they put up little tents, just
large enough to hold one or two girls.
" N'cdawi, come and play," said Mctai. " You
can make the fire and cook. 1 '11 ask Mother for
something to cook."
"But what shall I do with Habazhu ? " said
Nedawi.
''I '11 tell you. Put him in my tent, and make
believe he 's our little old grandfather."
Forthwith he was transferred from Nedawi's back
to the little tent. But Hab;uhu had a decided ob-
jection to staying in the dark little place, where he
could not see anything, and crept out of the door
on his hands and knees. Nedawi collected a little
heap of sticks, all ready for the fire, and went off
to get a fire-brand to light it with. While she was
gone, Habazhu crawled up to a howl of water
which stood by the intended fire-place, and began
dabbling in it with his chubby little hands, splash-
ing the water all over the sticks prepared for the
fire. Then he thought he would like a drink. He
tried to lift the bowl in both hands, but only suc-
ceeded in spilling the water over himself and the
fire-place.
When Nedawi returned, she stood aghast ; then,
throwing down the brand, she took her little brother
by the shoulders and, 1 am sorry to say, shook him
violently, jerked him up, and dumped him down
by the door of the little tent from which he had
crawled. " You bad little boy ! " she said. "It 's
too bad that 1 have to take care of you when I
want to play."
You see, she was no more perfect than any little
white girl who gets into a temper now and then.
The baby's lip quivered, and he began to cry.
Metai said to Nedawi : " 1 think it 's real mean for
you to shake him, when he docs n't know any
better."
Metai picked up Baby and tried to comfort him.
She kissed him over and over, and talked to
him in baby language. Nedawi's conscience, if
the little savage could be said to have any, was
troubling her. She loved her baby brother
dearly, even though she did get out of patience
with him now and then.
" 1 '11 put a clean little shirt on him and pack him
again," said she, suddenly. Then she took off his
little wet shirt, wrung it out, and spread it on the
tall grass to dry in the sun. Then she went home,
and, going to a pretty painted skin in which her
mother kept his clothes, she selected the red shirt,
which she thought was the prettiest. She was in
such a hurry, however, that she forgot to close and
tie up the skin again, and she carelessly left his
clean shirts lying around as she had laid them out.
When Baby was on her back again, she walked
around with him, giving directions and overseeing
the other girls at their play, determined to do that
rather than nothing.
The other children were good-natured, and took
her ordering as gracefully as they could. Metai
m.ule the fire in a new place, and then went to
ask her mother to give her something to cook.
Her mother gave her a piece of dried buffalo meat,
as hard as a chip and as brittle as glass. Metai
broke it up into small pieces, and put the pieces
into a little tin pail of water, which she hung over
the fire. "Now," she said, "when the meat is
cooked and the soup is made, I will call you all to
a feast, and Habazhu shall be the chief."
They all laughed. But alas for human calcula-
tions ! During the last few minutes, a shy little
girl, with soft, wistful black eyes, had been watch-
ing them from a little distance. She had on a
faded, shabby blanket and a ragged dress.
" Metai," said Nedawi, " let 's ask that girl to
play with us; she looks so lonesome."
" Well," said Metai, doubtfully, "1 don't care;
but my mother said she did n't want me to play
with ragged little girls."
"My father says we must be kind to poor little
girls, and help them all we can ; so / 'm going to
play with her li you don't," said Nedawi, loftily.
Although Metai was the hostess, Nedawi was
the leading spirit, and had her own way, as usual.
She walked up to the little creature and said,
"Come and play with us, if you want to." The
little girl's eyes brightened, and she laughed. Then
she suddenly drew from under her blanket a pretty
bark basket, filled with the most delicious red and
yellow plums. " My brother picked them in the
woods, and 1 give them to you," was all she said.
Nedawi managed to free one hand, and took the
offering with an exclamation of delight, which drew
the other girls quickly around. Instead of saying
" Oh ! Oh ! " as you would have said, they cried
" Hin ! Hin ! " which expressed their feeling quite
as well, perhaps.
" Let us have them for our feast," said Mctai,
taking them.
Little Indian children are taught to share every-
thing with one another, so it did not seem strange
to Nedawi to have her gift looked on as common
property. But, while the attention of the little
group had been concentrated on the matter in hand,
a party of mischievous boys, passing by, caught
sight of the little tents and the tin pail hanging
over the fire. Simultaneously, they set up a war-
whoop and, dashing into the deserted camp, they
sent the tent-poles scattering right and left, and
snatching up whatever they could lay hands on, in-
cluding the tin pail and its contents, they retreated.
The little girls, startled by the sudden raid on their
property, looked up. Rage possessed their little
228
NEDAWI.
souls, (living shrieks of anger, they started in
pursuit. What dill Nedawi do.' She forgot plums,
baby, and everything. The ends of the blanket
slipped from her gr.xsp, anil she darted forward like
an arrow after her companions.
Finding the cluise hopeless, the little girls came
to a stand-still, and some of them began to cry.
The boys had stopped, too; and seeing the tears
tlow, being good-hearted boys in spite of their
mischief, they surrendered at discretion. They
threw back the articles they had taken, not daring
to come near. They did not consider it manly
for big boys like themselves to strike or hurt little
girls, even though they delighted in te:ising them,
and they knew from experience that they would be
at the mercy of the otTended party if they went near
enough to be touched. The boy who had the
dinner brought the little pail which had contained
it as near as he dared, and setting it down ran
away.
" You have spilt all our soup. There 's hardly
any of it left. You bad boys ! " said one of the girls.
They crowded around with lamentations over
their lost dinner. The boys began to feel re-
morseful.
" Let 's go into the woods and get them some
plums to make up for it."
"Say, girls, hand us your pail, and we '11 till it
up with plums for you."
-So the affair was settled.
But, meanwhile, what became of the baby left so
unceremoniously in the tall gr.ass ? First he opened
his black eyes wide at this style of treatment. He was
not used to it. Before he had time, however, to make
up his mind whether to laugh or cry, his mother
came to tlie rescue. She had just come home and
thrown the wood off her back, when she caught
sight of Nedawi dropping him. She ran to pick
him up, and finding him unhurt, kissed him over
and over. Some of the neighbors had run up to
sec what was the matter. She said to them :
" I never did see such a thoughtless, heedless
child .IS my Nedawi. She really has 'no ears.' 1
don't know what in the world will ever become of
her. When something new interests her, she for-
gets everything else. It was just like her to act
in this way."
Then they all laughed, and one of them said :
" Never mind — she will grow wiser as she grows
older," after which consoling remark they went
away to their own tents.
It was of no use to call Nedawi back. She was
too far off.
Habazhu was given over to the care of the nurse,
who had just returned from her visit. .Vn "liour or
two after, Nedawi came home.
" Mother ! " she exclaimed, as she saw her
mother fr)ing bread for supper, " 1 am so hungr)-.
Can I h.ave some of that bread ? "
"Where is your little brother.'" w.is the unex-
pected reply.
Nedawi started. Where //<;// she left him? She
tried to think.
" Why, Mother, the List I remember 1 was pack-
ing him, and — and oh, Mother ! you kiwio where
he is. Ple.ase tell me."
" When you find him and bring him back to me,
perhaps 1 shall forgive you," was the cold reply.
This was dreadful. Her mother had never
treated her in that way before. She burst into tears,
and started out to find Habazhu, crying all the way.
She knew that her mother knew where baby was,
or she would not have taken it so coolly ; and she
knew also that her mother expected her to bring
him home. As she went stumbling along through
the grass, she felt herself seized and held in some-
body's strong arms, and a great, round, hearty
voice said :
" What 's the matter with my little niece ? Have
all her friends deserted her that she is wailing like
this? Or has her little dog died? I thought
Nedawi was a brave little woman."
It w:is her uncle Two Crows. She managed to
tell him, through her sobs, the whole story. She
knew, if she told him herself, he would not laugh
at her about it, for he would sympathize in her
troubles, though he was a great tease. When she
ceased, he said to her: " Well, your mother wants
you to be more careful next time, 1 suppose ; and,
by the way, I think 1 saw a little boy who looked
very much like Habazhu, in my tent."
Sure enough, she found him there with his nurse.
When she got home with them, she found her
mother, — her own dear self, — and, after giving her
a big hug, she sat quietly down by the fire, resolved
to be ver)' good in the future. She did not sit long,
however, for soon a neighing of horses, .and the
running of girls and children through the camp to
meet the hunters, proclaimed their return. All
w;is bustle and gl.adness throughout the camp.
There had been a successful chase, and the led
horses were l.aden with buffalo meat These horses
were led by the young girls to the tents to be un-
packed, while the Ixjys took the hunting-horses to
water and tether in the grass. Fathers, .as they
dismounted, took their little children in their arms,
tired as they were. Nedawi was .as happy as any
in the camp, for her seventeen-year-old brother.
White Hawk, h.ad killed his first buffalo, and had
declared that the skin should become Nedawi's
robe, as soon .is it was tanned and painted.
What a pleas,ant evening that was to Nedawi,
when the whole family sat arounil a great fire,
roasting the huge buffalo ribs, anil she ])laycd with
J 29
hiT little brother Mabazhu, stopping now and then
to listen to the adventures of the day, which her
father and brothers were relating! The scene was
tnily a delightful one, the aimp-fires li^;htin}; up
the plea5;int family groups here and there, as the
tlanies rose and fell. The bit of pr.iirie where
the tribe had camped had a clear little stream run-
ning through it, with shadowy hills around, while
over all hung the clear, star-lit sky. It seemed .is
if n.nture were trying to protect the poor waifs of
humanity clustered in that spot. Nedawi felt the
beauty of the scene, and was just thinking of nest-
ling down by her father to enjoy it dreamily, when
her brothers called for a dance. The little drum
was brought forth, and Nedawi danced to its
.accompaniment and her brothers' singing. She
danced gravely, ;js became a little maiden whose
duty it was to entertain the family circle. While
she was dancing, a little boy, about her own age,
was seen hovering near. He would appear, and,
when spoken to, would disappear in the t.all, thick
grass.
It was Mischief, .a playmate of Nedawi's. livery-
botly called him " Mischief," because mischief ap-
peared in every action of his. It shone from his
eyes and played all over his face.
" Vou little plague," said White Hawk; " what
do you want?"
For answer, the "litde plague" turned a somer-
sault just out of White Hawk's reach. When the
singing was resumed, Mischief crept quietly up
behind White Hawk, and, keeping just within the
shadow, mimicked Nedawi's grave dancing, and
he looked so funny that Nedawi suddenly laughed,
which was precisely Mischief's object. But before
he could get out of reach, as he intended. Thunder,
Nedawi's other brother, who had been having an eye
on him, clutched tight hold of him, and Mischief
was landed in front of the fire-pl.ice, in full view of
the whole family. '" Now," said Thunder, " you
are my prisoner. You stay there and dance with
Nedawi." Mischief knew there was no escape, so
he submitted with a good grace. He went through
all sorts of antics, shaking his fists in the air, twirl-
ing suddenly around and putting his head close to
the ground, keeping time with the accompaniment
through it all.
Nedawi danced staidly on, now and then frown-
ing at him ; but she knew of old that he was
irrepressible. When Nedawi sat down, he threw
into her lap a little dark something and w.ts off like
a shot, yelling at the top of his voice, either in
triumph at his recent achievements or as a practice
for future war-whoops.
" Nedawi, what is it?" said her mother.
Nedawi took it to the fire, when the something
proved to be a poor little bird.
" 1 thought he had something in his hand when
he W.TS shaking his fist in the air," said Nedawi's
sister, N.izainz;), laughing.
" Poor little thing ! " said Nedawi ; " it is almost
dead."
She put its bill into the water, and tenderly tried
to make it drink. The water seemed to revive it
somewhat.
" I '11 wrap it up in something warm," siiid Ned-
awi, "and may be it will sing in the morning."
" Let me see it," said Nedawi's father.
Ned.iwi carried it to him.
" Uon't you feel sorry for it, daughter?"
" Yes, Father," she answered.
" Then take it to the tall grass, yonder, and put
it down where no one will step on it, and, as you
put it down, say : ' Cod, 1 give you back your little
bird. As 1 pity it, pity me.'"
"And will God take care of it?" iaid Nedaw-i,
reverently, and opening her black eyes wide at the
thought.
" Yes," said her father.
" Well, 1 will do as you say," said Nedawi, and
she walked slowly out of the tent.
Then she took it over to the t.ill, thick grass,
and m.iking a nice, cozy little nest for it, left it
there, saying just what her father had told her to
say. When she came back, she said :
" Father, 1 said it."
"That was right, little daughter," and Nedawi
was happy at her father's commendation.
Nedawi always slept with her grandmother and
sister, exactly in the middle of the circle formed
by the wig\vam, with her feet to the fire-place.
That place in the tent was always her grandmother's
place, just as the right-hand side of the tent was
her father's and mother's, and the left-hand her
brothers'. There never was any confusion. The
tribe was divided into bands, and every band was
composed of several families. F.ach band had its
chief, and the whole tribe was ruletl by the he.id-
chief, who was Nedawi's father. He had his own
particular band besides. Every tent had its own
place in the band, and every band had its own
particuKir place in the great circle forming the
camp. Each chief w.ts a representative, in council,
of the men composing his band, while over all was
the head-chief. The executive power was vested in
the "soldiers' lodge," and when decisions were
.arrived at in council, it was the duty of its soldiers
to execute all its orders, and punish all violations
of the tribal Laws. The office of " town-cricr " was
held by several old men, whose duty it was "to cry-
out " through the camp the announcements of
councils, invitations to feasts, and to give notice of
anything in which the whole tribe were called on
to lake part.
230
(January,
Well, before Nedavvi went to sleep this evening;,
she hugged her grandmother, and said to her :
" Please tell nie a story."
Her grandmother said :
" I cannot, because it is summer. In the winter
I will tell you stories."
" Why not in summer ? " said Xcdaui.
" Because, when people tell stories and legends
in summer, the snakes come around to listen. You
don't want any snakes to come near us to-night, do
you?"
" But," said Nedawi, " 1 have not seen any snakes
for the longest times, and if you tell it right softly
they wont hear you."
"Nedawi," said her mother, "'don't bother your
grandmother. She is tired and wants to sleep."
Thereupon Grandmother's heart felt sorry for her
pet, and she said to Nedawi :
" Well, if you will keep still and go right to sleep
when 1 am through, I will tell you how the turkeys
came to have red eyelids.
" Once upon a time, there was an old woman
living all alone with her grandson, Rabbit. He
was noted for his cunning and for his tricks, which
he played on every one. One day, the old woman
said to him, ' Grandson, I am hungry for some
meat.' Then the boy took his bow and arrows,
and in the evening he came home with a deer on
his shoulders, which he threw at her feet, and said,
' Will that satisfy you ? ' She said, ' Yes, grand-
son.' They lived on that meat several days, and,
when it was gone, she said to him again, 'Grand-
son, I am hungry for some meat.' This time he
went without his bow and arrows, but he took a
bag with him. When he got into the woods, he
called all the turkeys together. They gathered
around him, and he said to them : ' I am going to
sing to you, while you shut your eyes and dance.
If one of you opens his eyes while I am singing,
his eyelids shall turn red.' Then they all stood
in a row, shut their eyes, as he had told them, and
began to dance, and this is the song he sang to
them while they danced :
'* ' Ha I wadatnb.i ihike
Inshta zhida, inshta zhida,
Imba theonda,
Iiiiba thcond,!.'
[The literal translation is :
" Ho ! he wlio peeps
Red eyes, red eyes.
Flap your wings,
Flap your wings."]
" Now, while they were dancing away, with their
eyes shut, the boy took them, one by one, and put
them into his bag. But the last one in the row
liegan to think it very strange that his companions
made no noise, so he gave one peep, screamed in
his fright, ' They are making 'way with us ! ' and
flew away. The boy took his bag of turkeys home
to his grandmother, but ever after that the turkeys
had red eyelids."
Nedawi gave a sigh of satisfaction when the story
was finished, and would ha\e asked for more, but
just then her brothers came in from a dance which
they had been attending in some neighbor's tent.
She knewj her lullaby time had come. Her brothers
always sang before they slept either love or dancing
songs, beating time on their breasts, the regular
beats making a sort of accompaniment for the sing-
ing. Nedawi loved best of all to hear her father's
war-songs, for he had a musical voice, and few
were the evenings when she had gone to sleep with-
out hearing a lullaby from her father or brothers.
Among the Indians, it is the fathers who sing,
instead of the mothers. Women sing only on state
occasions, when the tribe have a great dance, or at
something of the sort. Mothers "croon" their
babies to sleep, instead of singing.
Gradually the singing ceased, and the brothers
slept as well as Nedawi, and quiet reigned over the
whole camp.
BRIER-ROSI'.
231
n\i I I':r-rosk.
By lljAl.MAR HjORTH liOVESEN.
I.
Said Brier-Rose's mother to tlie naughty Brier-Rose :
What ■U'iU become of you, my child, the Lord Ahnighty knows.
You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom ;
You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom."
Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve,
The good-wife as she bustled with pot and tray and sieve ;
But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head:
^Vhv, I shall marrv. Mother dear," full merrily she said.
] 'ou marry, sauc}' Brier-Rose ! The man, he is not found
To marry such a worthless wench, these seven leagues around."
But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she trilled a merry lay :
' Perhaps he '11 come, my Mother dear, from eight leagues away.
The good-wife with a "humph " and a sigh forsook the battle.
And flung her pots and pails about with much vindictive rattle :
232 UK I ER- ROSE. U*»"*«.
" O I.onl, what sin did I commit in ynuthrul days, and wild.
That thnii hast punished mc in n^c with such a wayward child .' "
Up stole the ^irl un tiptuc, M> that nunc hor step could hear,
And lau^hinj; pressed an airy kiss behind the good-wife's ear.
And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh, Heaven only knows
Whatever will beconu- nf you, my naughty Urier-Rosc ! "
The sun was high and summer sounds were teeming in the air ;
The clank of scythes, the cricket's whir, and swelling wtxid-notcs rare,
From held and copse and me.idow ; and through the open door /
Sweet, fragrant whiffs of new-mown hay the idle brccics bore.
Then Urier-Rosc grew pensive, like a bird of thoughtful mien, j
Whose little life has problems among the branches green.
She heard the river brawling where the tide was swift and strong,
She he.ird the summer singing its strange, alluring song.
And out she skipped the me.idows o'er and gaied into the sky ;
Her heart o'erbrimmed with gladness, she scarce herself knew why.
And to a merry tunc she hummed, "Oh, Heaven only knows
Whatever will Ixrcome of the naughty Brier-Rose!"
Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied.
She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide ;
For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and loom,
And not to drink the sunshine and wild-flower's sweet perfume.
And oft the maidens cried, when the Hrier-Rose went by,
" You cannot knit a stocking, and you cannot make a pie."
But Brier-Rose, .ts was her wont, she cocked her curly head :
" But I can sing a pretty song," full merrily she said.
And oft the young lads shouted, when they saw the maid at play :
" Ho, good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, how do you do to-day .' "
Then she shook her tiny fist ; to her cheeks the color flew :
" However much you coax me, 1 'II nrt'fr dance with you."
II.
Thus flew the years light-wingM over Brier-Rose's head,
Till she w.is twenty summers old and yet remained unwed.
And all the parish wondered: "The Lord .Almighty knows
Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose ! "
And while ihcy wondered came the Spring a-dancing o'er the hills ;
Her bre.ith w.is warmer than of yore, and all the mountain rillsi
Willi their tinkling and their rippling and their rushing, filled the air.
And the misty sounds of water forth-welling everywhere.
And in the x-allcy's depth, like a lusty l>cast of prey.
The river leaped and roarc<l aloud and tosscti its mane of spray ;
Then hushed again its voice to a softly plashing croon,
As (L-irk it rolled beneath the sun and while beneath the moon.
It W.-IS n merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled
Adown the Uwny eddies that hissed and seethed and swirled,
B R I E R - R O S E .
m
Now shootin;^ througli tlic rapids and. with a reeling swing,
Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing.
But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline
The waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine,
The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam
A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream.
111.
And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild voices in the night,
A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light,
And wandering gusts of dampness, and 'round us for and nigh,
A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky.
The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red,
As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows sped.
And terror smote us : for we heard the mighty tree-tops sway.
And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray.
Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, "you are strong, like Norway's rock;
A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber-lock !
For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil
Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil."
We looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would
Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen should.
But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake.
And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake.
234 BRIER-ROSE. (January,
" Two hundred crowns ! " the sheriff cried, and breathless stood the crowd.
" Two hundred crowns, my bonny lads ! " in anxious tones and loud.
But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred,
' And nothing save the thunder of the cataract was heard.
But as witli trembling hands and with fainting hearts we stood,
\Vc spied a little curly head emerging from the wood.
We heard a little snatch of a merry little song.
And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing through the throng.
An angry murmur rose from the people 'round about.
" Fling her into the river!" we heard the matrons shout;
" Chase her away, the silly thing; for God himself scarce knows
Why ever he created that worthless Brier- Rose."
Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries ; a little pensive smile
Across her fair face flitted that might a stone beguile ;
And then she g.ive her pretty head a roguish little cock :
" Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said ; " I think I '11 break the lock."
Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and old :
" Ho ! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue was ever bold."
And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hands was flung,
When, lo ! into the river's midst with daring leaps she sprung!
We saw her dimly through a mist of dense and blinding spray ;
From beam to beam she skipped, like a water-sprite at play.
And now and then faint gleams we caught of color through the mist :
A crimson waist, a golden head, a little dainty wrist.
In terror pressed the people to the margin of the hill,
A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still.
For, hark ! from out the rapids came a strange and creaking sound,
And then a crash of thunder which shook the very ground.
The waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky steep.
We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep ;
We saw^a tiny form which the torrent swiftly bore
And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more.
Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst nor weave nor spin ;
Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin ;
For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save .
A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave.
And yet the adage lives, in the valley of thy birth,
When wayward children spend their days in heedless play and mirth,
Oft mothers say, half smiling, half sighing, " Heaven knows )
Whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose ! " /
/
A SNOW-BATTI.K.
235
A SNOW 15ATTL1:.
By DaNIKI, C. L.KAKI).
In the January number of St. Nicholas last
winter, I told you how to buikl snow-forts, and how
to make shields and ammunition-sleds. I also sug-
gested rules to govern snow-ball warfare. To give
some faint idea of the excitement and interest of
the sport, I will atteni|)t to describe from memory
a snow-battle in which 1 took part when a bo>'.
It was a year when the Indian-summer had been
prolonged into the winter. Christni;is h.nl rmne
and gone and a new year begun, but no snow had
fallen on the river bank or neighboring hills.
Such was the condition of things one January
morning, in a Kentucky town, upon the banks of
tlie Ohio River, where I and some si.xty other boys
were gathered in a little, frame school-house.
We had about made up our minds that old Jack
Frost was a humbug, and winter a myth ; but
when the bell tapped for recess, the first boy out
gave a shout which passed from mouth to mouth,
until it became a universal cheer as we reached
the play-ground, for, floating airily down from a
dull, gray sky came myriads of white snow-flakes !
Winter had come ! Jack Frost was no longer a
humbug ! Before the bell again recalled us to our
stud)-, the gioimd was whitened with snow, and the
school divided into two opposing armies. That
night was a busy one. All hands set to work man-
ufacturing ammunition-sleds and shields for the
coming battle. It was my fortune to be chosen
as one of the garrison of the fort. There was not
a boy late next morning, — in fact, when the
teachers arrived to open the school, they found all
the scholars upon the play-grounds, rolling huge
snow-balls. All night the snow had continued
to fall, and it was now quite deep. When we
went out at noon, a beautifully modeled fort of
snowy whiteness stood ready for us, and from a
mound in the center floated the battle-flag.
Our company took their places inside the fortifi-
cations. We could see the enemy gathered around
their captain at their camp, some two hundred
yards distant, their ammunition-sleds loaded with
snow-balls. The lieutenant bore their battle-flag.
Our teachers showed their interest by standing
shivering with wet feet in the deep snow to watch
the battle. At a blast from a tin horn, on rushed
the foe ! They separated, and came in two divi-
sions, approaching us from the left and right.
" Now, boys ! " cried our captain. " Don't throw
a ball until they are within range."
Then, calling the pluckiest amongst us, a flaxen-
haired country-boy, to his side, he whispered a
word or two and pointed to the flag in the enemy's
camp. The boy, who had been nicknamed
" Daddy," on account of his old-looking face,
slipped quietly over the rear wall of the fort,
dodged behind a snow-drift, and then behind a
fence, and was lost to sight. Forward marched
the enemy, their battle-flag borne in advance of
the party to the right. Their captain was at the
head of the division to the left.
Having engaged our attention on the two flanks,
where we stood ready to receive them, as they
neared us, by a quick and well executed maneu-
ver, rushing obliquely toward each other, the two
divisions unexpectedly joined, and advanced, shield
to shield, with the ammunition-sleds in the rear.
It was in vain we pelted them with snow-balls;
236
A SNOW-BATTLE.
on they came, encouraged by a cheer from the
teachers and some spectators who by this time
had gathered near the school-house.
Three times had our noble captain been tumbled
from his perch upon the mound in the center of
the fort, when another burst of applause from the
spectators announced some new development, and,
as we looked, we could see " Daddy" with the
colors of the enemy's camp in his arms, his tow
hair flying in the wind, as he ran for dear life.
In an instant, the line of the enemy was all in
confusion; some ran to head off "Daddy," while
others in their excitement stood and shouted. It
was our turn now, and we pelted their broken ranks
with snow until they looked like animated snow-
men. Another shout, and wo looked around to
find our captain down and the hands of one of the
besieging party almost upon our flag. It was the
work of a second to pitch the intruder upon his
back outside the fort. Then came the tug of war.
A rush was made to capture our standard, several
of our boys were pulled out of the fort and taken
prisoners, and the capture of the fort seemed in-
evitable. Again and again a number of the enemy,
among whom was their color-bearer, gained the
top of our breastworks, and again and again were
they tumbled off, amid a shower of snow-balls
that forced them to retire to gain breath and clear
their eyes from the snow. Once, their lieutenant,
with the red-bordered battle-flag, had actually suc-
ceeded in reaching the mound upon which stood
our colors, when a combined attack that nearly re-
sulted in his being made prisoner, drove him
from the fort to gather strength for another rush.
" Daddy" was now a prisoner, and the recaptured
flag again floated over the enemy's camp, when
the school-bell called us, fresh and glowing with
exercise and healthful excitement, to our lessons.
The battle was left undecided, and our fort was soon
captured by a force stronger than any our com-
panions were able to bring against it, for a warm
south wind sprang up from the lowlands down the
river, our fortification quickly yielded to its insidi-
ous attack, and the snow-campaign was over.
NEW YEAR S CALLS.
237
A DKAR LITTLK CilRL OF NANTUCKET.
A DEAR little girl of Nantucket,
Was sure she could sail in a bucket ;
The wind was quite strong,
And she sailed right along,
Did this dear little girl of Nantucket.
NEW YEAR'S CALLS.
By William O. Stoddard
•• Wish you a happy New Year, boys ! "
"Happy New Year!" responded three clear
trebles, and the loudest of them added :
" Going to make calls to-day, Uncle Fred? "
"Of course I am, Johnny," responded the rosy,
frosty-whiskered, middle-aged gentleman they were
talking to, as he opened the door of his carriage.
" What are you and your friends going to do? "
" We 're going to make calls, too," sang out one
of Johnny's comrades, —"he and I and Tracy
Plumb."
" What, is Tom Fitch going with you ? Where
are you going to call ? "
"Everywhere," sturdily replied Tom Fitch, with
a hitch at his neck-tie. " All around the block."
"You are, are you! Have you any cards, for
places w-here they 're not at home ? "
"Yes, sir, we 've cards for everybody."
" Indeed ! Let me see them."
L'ncle Fred's good-humored face was all a broad
grin as he held out his hand, for the two smaller
boys could not ha\e been much more than eight
years old, and Johnny Cook himself, their head
man, was barely ten.
" I wrote my own cards," said Johnny, with proud
self-satisfaction, as he dragged a handful of bits of
white pasteboard from his coat-pocket.
" Tip-top ! " exclaimed Uncle Fred ; " only you
should always spell your name in one way.
J-o-n-n-i is n't nearly as good as J-h-o-n-y, and
that one 's J-o-n-e. But they '11 all do."
"Mine are better than his," said Tom. "Mother
gave me some of her old ones ; and so did sister
Belle ; and Tracy Plumb has some of his own
father's. Show 'em to him, Tracy."
" That is grand ! " said Uncle Fred. " Now you
must always send your cards in ahead of you, so
they '11 know who 's coming."
He was getting very red in the face just then,
and the boys did not hear him mutter, as he hurriedly
stepped into his carriage and drove off:
" Must n't let them see me laugh. Might scare
'em out of it and spoil the fun. But should n't I
like to be somewhere when those three come in ? "
There were no signs of laughter on the faces of
Johnny Cook, Tracy Plumb, and Tom Fitch. It
was decidedly a serious business for them, and they
marched steadily away up the street.
238
NEW YKAK S CALLS.
[Januakv,
"Where '11 we call first? " said Tom.
" Let Johnny tell. He knows," said Tracy.
"There 's a basket on Mr. Jones's door-bell, boys.
We '11 go there first. That 's to put our cards in."
Up the steps they went, and the bell was duly
rung, but it had to be pulled again before any one
came to the door.
"Well, thin, what is it? What do yiz want ?"
"Why, Biddy," exclaimed Tom, "we're call-
ing ! Did n't you know it was New Year's day ? "
"It's callin' ye arc? An' didn't ye see the
baskit? Mrs. Jones is n't at home the day."
"Oh!" said Johnny; "she 's out making her
own calls. Give Biddy your cards, boys."
" Howld on, thin, ivery wan of yiz, till I show
her thim cards."
" I thought you said she was n't at home ? "
"'Dade an' she isn't; but I 'd rather lose me
place than not have her luk at thim. Shtand
where yiz are till I come."
The Jones family were too near neighbors for
Biddy not to know those three very young gentle-
men ; and in a moment more, a nice-looking lady
upstairs was saying to herself:
" J-o-n-n-y, Johnny, C-o-o-o-k-e, Cook, and Miss
Arabella Fitch, and Mr. Marmaduke Plumb "
"It 's the three b'yes, mum ! " exclaimed Biddy,
with her plump sides shaking with fun. " Sure, an'
it 's calls they 're makin'."
" Bring them in, Biddy. Call up the children,
and bring a plate of cake. Quick as ever you can.
I '11 come right down to the parlor."
She was there, sure enough, just in time to hear
Tracy say : " There, Tom, I told you Johnny Cook
knew. And Mrs. Jones would n't let Biddy tell
stories about her."
"Wish you a happy New Year, young gentle-
men. Have a chair, Mr. Cook. Please be seated,
Mr. Plumb and Mr. Fitch. Our young people will
be here in a moment."
" We 're not calling on the children to-day," said
Johnny, "but you might let them come in."
And in they came, a round half dozen of little
Joneses, and Biddy after with a big plate of cake.
"Tom," whispered Tracy, "Johnny said we
must n't eat too much in any one place."
" I '11 put the rest of mine in my pocket."
And so he did ; but it was a good while before
Mrs. Jones got through asking them about their
plans for the day, and after that it was hard work
to keep Ben Jones from going with them. In fact,
the moment they were out of doors again, Ben sat
down in a corner and began to howl over it, so
that he had to stay in the corner till dinner-time.
" Where '11 we go now, Johnny ? "
"Judge Curtin's is the biggest house on the
block, bovs, and he has n't anv children."
"That 's the place. They '11 have ice-cream
there, see if they don't."
But the moment the bell of Judge Curtin's door
was pulled, the door swung open wide, and there
stood his big waiter, in a swallow-tailed coat and
white cravat, looking down in wonder on his
diminutive guests. It was in vain for Johnny Cook
to look big and hold his head up as he handed out
the cards, and Tom and Tracy edged a little
behind him.
" Vot is dis ? You poys vant sometings?"
" New Year's calls," explained Johnny. " Are
the ladies at home ? "
"So? Very goot. Valk right in. I dake in
dose card, too. De madame vill be proud to see
you. Valk in."
" Johnny knows," muttered Tom to Tr.acy.
" They '11 have cream here."
" May be some candy, too."
But the big waiter was bowing them into the
parlor now, where Mrs. Curtin and her grown-up
daughters were entertaining quite an array of their
gentlemen friends, and Johnny whispered back :
" Hush, boys ! There 's a table, and it 's full."
A very large and stately lady was Mrs. Curtin,
and it seemed to the three new-comers that every-
body in that room was at least a size or two larger
than common ; but Johnny Cook led them on
bravely, and all the ladies bowed very low when
they said : " Wish you a happy New Year."
" 1 am acquainted with Mr. Cook," said Mrs.
Curtin, as she held out her hand to him; "but
which of you is Mr. Marmaduke Plumb? "
" That 's my papa, ma'am, and I 'm Tracy."
" Oh, you are making his calls for him ? "
" No, ma'am ; he 's out, too, but I use some of
his cards."
" Exactly. I see. And this is Miss Arabella
Fitch ? "
"Please, ma'am, if you '11 give me back Belle's
card, I '11 give you one of Mother's," said Tom, a
little doubtfully.
" Oh, this is just as good. But I must introduce
you to the company, while Pierre is getting you
some refreshments. Plenty of cream, Pierre, and
some confectionery."
" That 's it," whispered Tom to Tracy, and the
latter answered : " Hush, Tom ! Johnny knows."
It was remarkable how very polite were all those
tall ladies and gentlemen. One great, thin, yel-
low-whiskered man, in particular, kept them so
long with his questions, that Tom at last felt com-
pelled to remark: "Don't talk to him any more,
Johnny ; the ice-cream '11 be all melted."
"So it will," said Mrs. Curtin. "Do let them
off, Mr. Grant. Were you never a boy ? — I mean,
a very young gentleman ? "
NEW YEAR S CALLS.
239
"Never," said Mr. (irant. "I was always old
enough to want to cat my cream before it melted.
Come, boys, I '11 see you through. 1 like to associ-
ate with fellows of my own age. Come on."
He was very grave and dignified about it, but
between him and Pierre and Mrs. Curtin, Johnny
Cook was compelled to say to his friends :
"We must stop eating, boys, or we can't be
polite in the next house."
But he made no objection to Mr. Grant putting
confectionery in then- pockets, and then the whole
company bowed, as Pierre showed them the way to
the front door. They wondered what he meant, as
he smiled in their faces and said :
The door was opened by a gentleman with a
coffee-colored face and curly hair, and who could
not have been more than twice as old as Tom.
" Is dey anybody took sick at your house?"
" Sick? No," said Johnny. " It 's New Year's
calls. Take our cards to Mrs. Micklin."
" Slie knows my mother," Tom had said to
Johnny, '• and I '11 send in her card instead of
Belle's."
Mrs. Micklin was a little, black-cycd woman, with
a nose that was almost too sharply pointed, and
when the coffee-colored youth handed her those
tlirec cards, her first remark was :
"Julius! Julius C;i;sar ! How often have 1 for-
THE CALL AT MRS. CURTIN'S.
" Hon jour, mcs cn/aii/s."
" What 's a bunjer? " asked Tom.
" Johnny knows," began Tracy ; but their leader
was thinking of something else just then.
"Can you eat anymore, boys? 1 can, if we
walk a little."
They said they thought they could.
" Then we '11 go to Dr. Micklin's. He tended
our baby when it had the measles."
" Do doctors have any New Year's day ? "
"Don't you s'pose Johnny knows, Tom?" said
Tracy Plumb. " Of course they do."
The doctor lived in a big brick house on a cor-
ner, nearly two blocks beyond Judge Curtin's ; but
the boys were only half sure they were hungry
when they rang the bell.
bidden you to laugh in that way when you come
into m)' presence ? Mrs. Fitch ? On New Year's
day ? Why, what can have happened ! And
Mr. Marmaduke Plumb with her? It must be
something serious. And Johnny Cook? How I
wish the doctor were here. Show them right in,
Julius, and stop that giggling."
She had bounced from her chair and was
smoothing the folds of her silk dress, nervously,
as Julius C;Esar chuckled his way back to the
front door, and just at that moment a whole
sleigh-load of other callers came hurrying up the
steps.
" Wish you happy New Year ! "
" Happy New Year ! " " Happy New Year ! "
" Happy New Year, Johnny," said Mrs. Micklin.
240
NEW YEAR S CALLS.
But, Tracy, where 's your father? Tom, why does
not your mother come in ? 1 told Juhus "
"Why, Mrs. Mickhn," said Tom, "it 's only
the cards. We piisscd 'em at Mrs. Jones's and at
Judge Curtin's. Only I sent in Belle's there instead
of Mother's."
" Why. you mischievous boys ! And here you 've
frightened me so ! 1 thought something dreadful
had happened "
But at that moment the other visitors came pour-
ing in, and Mrs. Mickhn had to say "happy New
Year " to them, and shake hands and smile and talk,
and the three boys were almost pushed out of the
way, while Julius Ca;sar stood at the parlor door,
and seemed to be trying to laugh without making
any noise.
"Julius," whispered Tom, as he edged near
him, " where 's the ice-cream?"
But Tom's whisper was loud enough to be heard
by everybody in the room, for it seemed to slip into
a quiet little place in the conversation, and so did
Julius Cassar's reply : " Dah aint none."
Mrs. Micklin blushed, and one of her gentle-
men guests suddenly remarked :
"My dear Mrs. Micklin, I 'm delighted to see
that you have Joined the reform movement. You
wont ask your friends to stuff themselves."
.'\nd she said something in reply, and the others
said something; but Tom Fitch put his lips to
Johnny's ear, and said, pretty loudly : " Let 's go.
There 's nothing in this house but med'cine."
" Bow to Mrs. Micklin before you go," said
Johnny ; but everybody in the parlor, excepting the
doctor's wife, was laughing about something or
other when Julius Cajsaropened the front door for
those three boys to go out.
"Where '11 we go now, boys?" said Johnny,
when they reached the sidewalk.
" There is n't any other place so good as Mrs.
Curtin's," remarked Tom.
" Can't go twice to the same house," said Tracy.
" Can we, Johnny?"
" No, 1 s'pose not. But we 've plenty of cards.
Let 's try that white house over yonder."
" Who lives there ? "
"I don't know. But we can find out when wc
get in."
It was a very nice house, and there w-ere three
young ladies in it, and one of them was at that very
moment standing by one of the front windows, all
hidden among the heavy curtains, and another was
saying: " It 's just too bad, girls. Here it is two
o'clock, and we 've only had five callers, and one
of them was the minister."
" And nobody has eaten anything."
" Hush, girls ; what can those three boys be
coming here for ? I 've seen one of them before.
They 're making calls ! "
" Tell John to show them right in."
And John did, although Tom Fitch insisted that
the cards must go in aliead of them.
" Happy New Year ! " " Happy New Year ! "
Three on eacli side, and then the girls talked
right on, so fast their callers had no chance to cor-
rect the names.
"Johnny, you '11 have some cake?"
" Marmaduke, 1 must give you some ice-cream."
"Now, Arabella, some chicken-salad."
" My name 's Tom."
" 'S'our card says your name 's Arabella."
" Here 's my other card."
" No, my dear, you 're not a married lady. .-Xud
you must have a cup of coffee."
Very hospitable indeed were the three young
ladies, and by the time they had helped their young
callers to several times as much as any three boys
could eat, Jenny was able to remark: " Now, girls,
the table begins to look as if somebody 'd been here. "
" But I think we 'd better go now," said Johnny
Cook. " I can't eat any more."
"Oh, very well, my dear; and Arabella too, and
Marmaduke."
" That 's my father's name, and mine 's Tracy
Plumb."
" Just as good, Tracy. Wont you eat some more
cream ? "
" No, ma'am. Johnny says we 'd better go."
The girls were in high glee over their young
gentlemen callers ; but when the latter reached the
sidewalk, Johnny Cook remarked: "I guess we
wont make any more calls. I 'm going home."
" .So am I," said Tom. " But 1 've four more
cards."
" 1 've more 'n that," said Tracy; "but 1 don't
want to go anywhere else. I could n't be polite."
Not one of them could have been polite enough to
eat another mouthful, and that or something else
made them a very sober-looking lot of New Year's
day callers, as they walked on down the street.
Tom and Tracy were not heard from again that
day ; but Johnny Cook wondered, when Uncle
Fred came home that night, why he was com-
pelled to give so careful an account of everything.
"You were very polite, everywhere?"
"Yes, Uncle Fred; and at the last place Tom
Fitch forgot to bow when he came out, and 1 made
him go 'way back into the parlor and do it."
"That was right. If there was any other place
where he forgot it, he ought to go back there next
New Year's day and bow."
But Johnny only said: " 1 don't think I want to
cat any supper, to-niglit, I'ucle Fred."
MYSTERV IN A MANSION.
241
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
(A Story o/an S. S.)
By • » •
Chapter V.
"MARIA MONTAGUE."
It rained gently nearly all night, but the morn-
ing cainc fresh and bright. The grass glistened in
the sunshine, showers of soft, sunny rain were
shaken from the trees, and the river breeze, Belle
declared, beckoned them all out.
"I should have liked, however," she said, "to
stay in the house this morning, and make things
wooden settee ; I Ml scrub it up, and it will make
you a parlor-sofa."
"Oh, yes," said Belle; "but do look at Papa!
Is n't he in splendid array? "
Mr. Baird, who had just entered, turned slowly
around on his heels.
"I flatter myself," he said, "that I look the
character I represent. Is that a lucid sentence,
Fred ? " and he gazed complacently upon his blue
pantaloons, his blue flannel shirt, his rubber boots,
and sailor neck-tie.
comfortable. I am sure that everything could not
have been moved out of a house as big as this
one, and we might find a chair or two."
" I am afraid, Belle," said her mother, " that you
are forgetting this is a wigwam, and not a house."
"Out in the shed," said Patty, "there is an old
Vol. VIII.— 16.
"If 1 had guessed this," said Belle, sadly, "/
should have had a flannel dress ! I did not like to
speak of it. I hoped Mamma would understand it,
but she did n't. You are " — and then she arose
and walked around him — " Papa, you arc — nobby !"
When Sandy and Donald came in to breakfast,
242
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[January,
they brought news. A boat, quite large enough,
new and well built, byname " The Jolly Fisher-
man," could be hired for the two weeks, and the
fishing, it was said, was capital.
So then Mrs. Baird decided she would stay in-
doors and help to settle the wigwam, and the
others started out to see the boat, and they ended
by rowing out in it, and coming home quite late
to dinner.
"Mrs. Lambert was here," said Patty, bringmg
in the potatoes smoking hot, "and she made you
an oft'pr."
"An offer of her house!" said Mrs. Baird.
" She is going to Kentucky next week, and she
wants us to go over to her place and stay. We
can use her ice and coal, her beds and parlor."
"She is very good," said Sandy, with great
decision ; " but we wont go. We do not intend to
spoil our fun in that way ! "
" She pities us. She is sure, although she did
not say so, that only misfortune could have made
us take our bags on our backs, and forlornly come
to this place."
" She did not recognize us yesterday?" said Mr.
Baird.
"No, indeed. She saw we were not tramps;
but what we were she could not guess. She sent
over early this morning to Farmer Saunders's to
ask about us."
Belle had started to go upstairs, but stopped to
hear what her mother said. Now, as she opened
the parlor door, she gave an exclamation, and
stood still.
The others rushed to see, and behold ! there
were a rocking-chair, a half-dozen camp-stools, a
table, a cover, and a lamp. On the floor was a
rug, and on the window-sill a pile of books !
"1 love her very shadow ! " cried Fred. "Did
she send all these ? "
" She did. And Patty has her share in the way
of some pots and pans, a gi-eat china meat-dish, and
a nutmeg-grater. She would have sent everything
in her house, if I had consented."
The boys sat on the camp-stools, and Belle in
the rocking-chair ; they looked at one another.
"There is just one seat too many," said Donald.
" Pretty good count, that."
" That 's Kitty's," said Sandy. " We can call
it hers."
At that moment Patty looked in. " Don't you
know that dinner is on the table ? " she said. Then
they all took their places meekly, and dined.
The picnic was formally opened the next day by a
fishing party, and every one, excepting Patty, went.
They brought home a goodly string of perch and
sunfish ; but the dav's delight cannot be described.
The sunshine, soft and mellow, the green, pellucid
water crowned with white-caps, the rock of the
waves, the wash against the shore, the sky, the
wind, the dreams, the sense of iVeedom and of
power, all these cannot be told ; but they were felt.
What they talked of around the table, still seated in
Turkish fashion, were Donald's good luck, Sandy's
laziness, and the eels that Belle caught.
Fred had given his mind to his work, and he
noted the places where the best sport was had.
lie knew just where a family of perch, with silvery
scales, had come to see why so many lovely worms
should descend into the water, and ho knew to how-
many of them this curiosity had been fatal. He
knew where the lines were tangled up by eels, and
where the sunfish bit; and where the cat-fish were
not. He also had known how heavy the luncheon
basket was when he carried it to the boat, and
how preposterously light it seemed when, at three
o'clock, he found that all that was left in it was
some butter, and a cup half full of apple-sauce !
Upon one point all were agreed, and all were
eloquent — it had been a splendid day; there never
was a better one.
After supper was o\er, the young people sat on
the porch. In the little parlor Mr. Baird read to
his wife, and Patty dozed on her settee. It was
warm, but a pleasant breeze blew up from the river;
a few stars shone in the sky; on the river, lying
misty and dim, passed now and then a boat bearing
a light.
"I wonder," said Donald, "that the boat ever
stops here, there are so few passengers. The day
we came there was no one else for the landing."
" There were a little girl and her father to-day,"
said Belle. " I watched them from our boat."
"How do you know it was her father ?" asked
Fred.
" I only suppose it was. I don't know anything
about it."
" Then you ought not to speak so positively.
Half the misunderstandings in the world come
from "
" Dear me, Fred," said Belle, wearily, "could n't
we postpone that until we reach home ! "
" Hark ! " interrupted Sandy, " some one is
singing on the river ! I wish it were moonlight — I
should like to go down."
"And sail?" said Belle. "That would be
lovely."
" Oh, 1 should n't sail," Sandy said. " 1 should
bob for eels. Still, if 1 wanted to sail, I should as
lief go on a night like this. I like these dim nights.
They seem to shut us in, away from the rest of the
world."
"Well, /wish it were moonlight," said Donald,
" for then 1 could see what that is bv the fence. I
iSSi.I
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
243
have been watching it for some time, and I cannot
tell whether it is a ciog or a boy."
" It is Mrs. Lambert's cow," said Fred ; " it
came up last night."
" There was a cow or a horse on the lawn last
night," Belle added. " Patty woke me up and
frightened me half out of my life. She insisted it
was a man, but 1 knew better."
" It w.as a horse," said Sandy. "I saw its tracks
this morning. 1 am going to sec what that is."
He walked over the grass, then he stopped a
moment, and then, going quickly to the spot where
the something stood, spoke in a low, excited tone.
■■ What is it?" called Donald.
"Nothing much," replied Sandy; '"but 1 '11
show you ! "
There was an instant more of talk, some resist-
ance, and then Sandy re-appeared, bringing up a
girl in a short-waisted dress and a large sun-bonnet.
Sandy stood her at the foot of the porch steps, just
where the light from the lamp fell on her.
"It is the girl who came on the boat, to-day,"
said Belle. " I remember her bonnet. It is like
one of Patty's."
" It is Patty's," said the girl, taking it off. "1
took it out of your hall-closet."
"Kitty Baird!" cried Belle, jumping up.
" Where on earth did you come from ? "
" From home," said Kitty, composedly, sitting
down on the lowest step. " Don't speak so loud.
I don't want Cousin Robert to see me."
" You have run away ! " exclaimed Belle.
"What if I have?" said Kitty. "That is no
reason why you should spoil everything. Now,
Isabella Baird, if you speak above your breath, I '11
just go away this minute."
"Is n't she the greatest goose alive?" asked
Sandy. " I do believe there is nothing too silly for
her to do."
" How did you get here ? " asked Fred.
" In the boat," replied Kitty. " Oh, I 've been
all around ! I saw you all eating supper. My
goodness, but you did look funny ! All of you on
the floor, and baskets, and what is that concern you
have for a table ? You must be having lots of fun.
I was awfully hungry."
" Why did n't you come in ?" said Donald. " I
could n't see my own relations eating and not ask
them to go shares. — that is, if 1 were hungry."
"I didn't want to," said Kittj'. "Mrs. Lam-
bert asked me to stay there, but I would n't. I
say. Belle, have n't you some cake or something ? "
" Mrs. Lambert ! " exclaimed Belle. " What ivill
your father say? Why, you look like a "
" Guy," said Sandy.
" I did n't tell her who I was," said Kitty. " You
must think I am silly ! But I am very hungry."
"Come along," Sandy said. "Belle is over-
come. I will get you something to eat."
" Wont Patty see me ? The secret will be out
if she docs. She never could keep a secret. "
"She's all right," said Sandy. "Look in the
window, Fred, and see if she is asleep."
" Sound ! " replied Fred, getting up a little.
" Papa is reading poetry aloud ; and that always
settles Patty."
Sandy started off, Kitty meekly following, and so
went on to the dining-room porch.
"You stay there," said Sandy. "There is n't
much to stumble over, but you would be sure to
find it. You will have to put up with poor com-
mons, Kittv, for the meat and butter are in the
well."
" I don't care," whispered Kitty. ".A. piece of
bread will do. Anything — I don't care."
"There is some ham. I saw it to-night; but
you don't like it?"
" Not at home ; but just now I adore it."
"Well, but can't you come hold up this lid.
Gracious! There goes my hand right into some-
thing ! Cold tomatoes ! Now, look out. There,
that 's all right ! Here 's the ham, but there is n't
much cut. Here are some rolls. They are good — I
can testify to that."
" I have a knife," said Kitty, "but don't haggle
the ham."
"Hark!" w-hispered Sandy. "There is Papa
moving."
Out flew Sandy's fingers I Bang went the lid,
and aw-ay went Kitty.
" It 's a lucky thing my fingers did n't get
mashed," ejaculated Sandy. " 1 should never have
forgiven her ! And Papa was n't coming here ! "
Kitty was nowhere to be seen when he rejoined
the others, but after a time she came cautiously
back.
"That was outrageously mean in you, Sandy,"
she said, "to drop the lid in that way. I lost
nearly all my ham, and it was n't Cousin Robert,
after all. 1 have been around to the back window,
and he is reading again."
" Now look here, Kitty," said Belle, before Sandy
had a chance to answer, "if you think we are going
to keep your secret, you are much mistaken. You
can nm away from your own father, if you choose,
but w-e don't treat our father so. I don't see, either,
how you can keep it from him ; he is bound to see
you."
Sandy had that fine sense of fair play which
always animates a boy when his sister scolds
another girl, and he said, hotly enough, that he
thought it was Kitty's own affair, and she ought
to manage it her own way.
"You have to tell on her, or hide her," said
244
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
Donald, who was not Belle's brother. '" I don't sec
how we can keep out of it."
"I can tell on myself," said Kitty. "I don't
expect to keep it from Cousin Robert. I am going
to stay and have a good time. Rut first I want to
get my valise. It is over by the fence ; and, Belle,
where is your room ? "
" Boys," called Mr. Baird, coming to the win-
dow, "we are going to bed. I will lock the front
door, and you can come in some other way."
" How will you get in ? " whispered Kitty. " Can
I do it ? Do you climb in ? "
"We could," replied Sandy, "but we don't.
This is one of our ceremonies. There is a splendid
brass lock on the front door, so we always lock it.
The other doors are open. There are about nine-
teen of them. Of course, the windows are open."
" Kitty, if you want to see Papa, you 'd better
hurry," said Belle.
"Oh, I '11 wait until the morning," Kitty care-
lessly replied. " That will be plenty of time."
" No, you wont wait," exclaimed Sandy, who
believed in his own authority, if not in Belle's.
" Papa, here is some one who wants to see you."
When Mrs. Baird, a few minutes after, came
out on the porch to see what kept her husband
there, she was, reasonably enough, surprised.
On a chair by the door sat Mr. Baird, holding
his lighted candle in his hand. The others stood
around, and in the center of the group was a girl,
in a queer, old-fashioned frock, and with a sun-
bonnet in her hands.
" It is — Kitty," said Fred, with a laugh, seeing
his mother's perplexity.
"Kitty!" exclaimed she — " Kitty, at this time
of night — in that dress ! What will your mother
say ? "
" She wont be worried. Cousin jule. I left a
note for her."
"How did she come here, Robert?" said Mrs.
Baird.
" It is all right. Cousin Jule," said Kitty. " Mam-
ma wont be worried. I did n't just say I was
coming here, but she will understand. I said "
" Well?" said her cousin Robert.
" I said," and Kitty looked at the floor, while
her lips trembled with a smile, " ' Dear Mamma: I
flee as a bird to the mountain. Don't be anxious
about me. 1 shall be all right. Your daughter,
Kitty Kite.' You see, that will make it all right."
" I don't see it," replied Mr. Baird.
" And I came in the boat this afternoon," pur-
sued Kitty, anxious to tell her story herself, "and
I saw you all out fishing, but I did n't know you.
I staid a good while at Mrs. Lambert's. May be
you know her? She knows you, anyhow, and she
called me in, and she said she was afraid )OU would
all get the chills, and she did n't see what you
meant."
" She must have wondered what your mother
meant by dressing you in that style."
" And she has cut off her hair," said Sandy.
Kitty put up her hand, took out a hair-pin, and
let down a long plait of hair.
" I should n't do anything so silly," she said,
" and Mamma would n't forgive that ! Is n't this
dress funny. Cousin Jule? It is one of Mamma's
Dorcas frocks. Old .Mrs. Witherspoon made it.
It would n't have been any fun to come dressed just
like common folks."
" Well, you did n't," said Sandy. " You are a
perfect guy."
" That is the second time you have told me so,"
said Kitty, "and it is n't very polite. Of course it
would n't do for the Rev. Mr. Baird's daughter to
dress in this way, but I played " — turning to Fred
— " that my name was Maria Montague, and that
my father had gone to sea, and I had to help my
mother support eight younger children. It is a
very nice dress for Maria Montague ! "
" Did you tell Mrs. Lambert that yarn ? " asked
Sandy.
" I don't understand how you got away unseen,
in that dress," said Mrs. Baird. " Did no one in
the village see you ? "
" Oh, I had on my own clothes when 1 left
home ! 1 put these in the bag without Mamma's
knowing it. I changed them on the boat in one of
the little cabins. You ought to have seen the
chambermaid stare ! She thought 1 had come up
out of the river, 1 think. She would n't believe
she had sold mc a ticket, until I showed it to her.
She said she did n't remember me. As for Mr.
Slade "
Here Kitty stopped.
" Mr. Slade ! " said her cousin Robert. '" Was he
on board ? "
"Oh, yes," said Kitty, cheerfully. "Papa put
me in his care."
" Put you in his care ! " repeated Mr. Baird.
" Why, did your father know you were coming? "
"Of course he did! He took me to the boat.
You see, it almost broke my heart not to come with
you, and that almost broke Mamma's, and so Papa
could n't stand it, and he said I could come, and if
I should behave myself, and you should want me, I
could stay."
Sandy turned to go into the house. " I should n't
have believed it, Kitty," he said, in wrath. "To
think that you should tell us you ran away ! "
" I did n't tell you," stoutly replied Kitty, — " not
once ! You all took it for granted. You all said
so, and I did n't contradict it. If you had n't been
in such a hurry, Sandy Baird, to make me see
i88i.]
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
245
Cousin Robert, I should have put on my own dress
and explained it all to him. I did n't mean him to
see me in this horrid old thing ! But you all tease
me all the time, and you tell everybody about the
time I intended to run away when 1 was a very little
j;irl, and now 1 only meant to surprise you. 1 should
have staid just as long .is 1 could if you had n't
known me ; but you all began to say I had run away,
the very moment you foimd out who I was, and you
have n't been fair, — and, Cousin Jule, can't I go to
bed ? Oh, there 's my bag ! " and off she ran down
the steps and to the fence.
The little group on the porch looked at one
another and laughed. Kitty came back tugging
her bag. which Donald took from her, and then
they locked the front door and went up to bed.
In the hall, Mrs. Baird stopped a moment.
"Kitty," she said, "did you really write that
note to your mother .' "
"Of course 1 did, Cousin Jule; but it had n't
anything to do with running away. It was just for
a sort of comfort for her."
Sandy then proposed that they should go after
reed-birds, but Donald objected, because the law
did not allow them to be shot so early in the season.
" But Sandy did not propose to shoot them," said
Kitty. " He said we could go after them — as we
did after the crane."
This argument was so convincing that Donald at
once turned the boat, and rowed to the creek
where, the day before, they had seen many flocks
of the birds. Here they landed, and walked over
the meadows to some marshes.
It was a clear, charming day, and they were all
in the best of spirits. They had had a good
luncheon, and they discussed how they should
have their birds cooked, Donald and Fred being
in favor of a pie, while the others declared for
broiling and serving on toast.
"But, look here, Sandy Baird," said Belle, sud-
denly stopping, "do carry your gun differently, or
let me walk ahead of you."
" I think I should rather be ahead," cried Kitty.
" Goodness knows what he will do ! " and off she
Chapter VI.
CRANES AND CARDINAL-BIRDS.
The next day, Mrs. Lambert invited Mr. and Mrs.
Baird to dinner. Dining out was not included in
the plans the family had made for life in a wigwam,
but it was not possible to decline, and so the
younger ones were left to amuse themselves.
Sandy proposed shooting a crane. He had
watched these birds on the river banks with interest.
They were slow and stupid, he said, and it would
be easy enough to shoot one as it lazily rose and
flopped itself into the air ; so he invited the girls
and boys to join the chase, and early in the morn-
ing they set off in the boat, leaving Mr. and Mrs.
Baird and Patty at Greystone.
It was ten o'clock before they saw their bird, and
they spent until nearly three o'clock chasing him.
.•\nd they never got even a fair shot at him !
He took a little nap on one shore, and then flew
across the river, and took another. I Ic watched for
his dinner, but caught nothing ; he made a trip up
the creek, and once flew into the marsh. Every-
where he went, the persevering hunters followed.
But it w.Ts all in vain, for he never came near, nor
would he allow them to make any approaches.
None of them knew very much about the proper
way to shoot a crane, but they all agreed that they
had learned most of his ways of avoiding being shot.
At last he flew up the river, and, with his legs
stretched out bravely behind, disappeared.
It was then decided that the crane-hunt was over.
" My senses ! " said Donald, standing still. " I
do belie\ e she is going directly into the swamp !
She will frighten every bird away."
"She will stick in the mud," said Belle, rushing
after her. " Kitty, come back this minute ! "
" By George ! " ejaculated Fred, catching Belle
by the shoulder. "What arc girls made for?
Between you we shall not get a bird ! "
"Don't you shoot, Sandy! Don't you shoot!"
cried Belle, jumping up and down. "You '11 hit
her in the back ! Don't you dare to shoot ! "
" Here they arc ! " cried Kitty, cheerily, waving
her hat and dashing on, as, with a whir, up rose a
flock of birds on speedy wing. " Here they are !
Come on ! Quick, Sandy, quick ! "
The boys stood still. They looked at each other
and then they laughed ; but Kitty turned upon
them with indignation.
"Why did n't you come on ?" she cried. "If you
had been quick enough, you could have shot a
thousand ! "
" I don't believe our spoil will be very great," said
Donald, when Kitty, still scolding, came back. " 1
move that we do now sit down and sing a hymn."
"Well, lam not going home empty-handed,"
said Sandy. " I shall take something, if it is only a
robin."
" So I should," said Kitty, in a pleased tone. "I
should n't give up. You might have had those birds
if you had shot at once ; but I should get something.
1 wish there were bears here."
" I could easily have shot you," said Sandy, " if
1 had tried for the birds."
"Oh, I should have lain down," said Kittv, "and
34''
M > » T f. K V IN A MANSION.
' UeM Hut "Uon't *|.
jt !;.v .. i.tr «. jjfj ahrail 4imi uutu i..t
tC-"
r*lhrt ha»c_»*»ii wl undrr ihc (Irr. .f I ma*
Afid Ka«T (he oOtcn nanc al
J.itt a> >t>u ptrokc," kaxl Kilt>. and Utr jt <>'>. c lU:
bcMud.
tn Ihc buktock.
It ilic ^un, and <io nnhrd
)uUi(xiJ Is^ii^U l>.utii) a;.<l t..iugl<t Itci.
" ll BO* a i^uutl Uu^ an)Uu«,~ aoid iwUMl), tr)-
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
247
ing to look as if he did n't care. " But I say, boys,
what arc we going to do witli it ? "
"Take it home to Patty," said Fred.
"Advertise for the owner," Donald suggested.
" Bury it," said Belle.
'• Tie it around the hunter's neck," said Kitty.
" I should n't like the owner to know of this, and
yet 1 sliould like to pay him," said Sandy.
".Advertise," repeated Donald.
Sandy rctlcctively shook his head. "Let us go
home," he said.
" But how about the game ? " said Kitty, holding
the turkey toward him.
" It can go homo, too," said Sandy, taking it
from her and throwing it into a bush. "Now, if
we hear anything about it, I '11 pay for it ; if we
don't, the waters of oblivion may cover it. At any
rate, let us go home right off. 1 feel norv'ous."
.As they hastened down to the boat, they met a
boy, small, sandy-haired, and freckled, going for
cows. "Been gunning?" he asked.
" Not much," said Sandy.
" I thought I heard a gun. Did you shoot any-
thing?"
"Don't you think you are a little inquisitive?"
said Sandy, who felt it was a tender subject.
" I had not thought about it," said the boy,
walking on. Then he stopped, and, looking back,
said : " Perhaps you would like to go fishing?"
" That would n't be a bad idea," said Fred.
" What do you want to fish for? " asked the boy.
" For fish," replied Sandy.
" Oh," said the boy. " 1 thought it might be for
kangaroos ! " and he started off again.
" 1 don't think that was very polite," said Fred;
and he called after the boy, " Do you know a good
place ? "
" If you go up to those three oaks, draw a bee-
line from there to that frame house, you '11 catch
perch, or my name is not Jack Robinson," said he.
" All right," said Fred. " Much obHged."
" Not at all," said the boy, laughing. " When
folks are polite to me, I am polite to them."
The boy's directions were easily followed, and
they soon rowed up the creek to the three oaks,
discussed where the bee-line would run, settled the
question, anchored, and began to fish. It was a
charming afternoon. The sky was slightly clouded,
the trees bent over the creek, the birds were chat-
tering, and afar off some one was playing a flute.
For a long time, the little party fished in silence.
Every little while, one of the lines would be gently
jerked, and the owner's heart would give a little
jump ; but when the hooks were drawn up, there
were no fish on them, and no appearance even of
the bait having been nibbled.
Then Sandy began to sing softly.
" Don't do that," said Fred.
" 1 shall not frighten the fishes," said Sandy.
" They are all from home, or else are asleep. 1
mo\e that we go where there is no bee-line." _
" I move that we go home," said Belle. " I am
very hungry, and it must be five o'clock."
" It is," said Fred. " Supper must be nearly
ready, for Patty promised to hurry up to-night.
That boy is a fraud," he added, pulling up his line.
"I 'd just like to see that boy!" exclaimed
Sandy ; and it was not long before he had his wish,
for they had not rowed far before they overtook
him, walking on the bank driving his cows.
Sandy rested on his oars.
" What 's your name ?" he shouted.
"Sam Perry," said the boy. " Hope you had
luck ! Next time you might better answer a civil
question civilly." Then he added: "You can pay
me back whenever you choose."
"Oh, I shall," said Sandy. " You need n't be
afraid of that."
" The tide is running up very fast," said Donald,
as they rowed down the stream.
"Yes." said Fred; but " and at that
moment the oar snapped close to the blade !
They looked at each other in consternation.
Now what was to be done ?
"Can't you mend it?" said Sandy.
" Not very easily," replied Fred. " But lend me
your fan. Belle."
Belle handed him the gigantic Spanish fan she
wore at her side, but asked what he was going to do
with it.
" Ruin it," was his brief reply. " And I wish it
were longer and stronger." He then borrowed all
the handkerchiefs, put the tVo pieces of oar
together, laid the fan across the break, tied it top
and bottom with two handkerchiefs, then taking
some stout string which Kitty had in her pocket, he
wrapped it around and around until the oar was
comparatively firm and fit for use.
" I could n't have done that," said Sandy, admir-
ingly ; "but I knew you could invent something."
" I don't know how long it w-ill stand this tide,"
answered Fred. " When we get back to the land
of shops I '11 buy you another fan, Belle."
" Very well," said she ; " but let it be different.
I was tired of that. "
The oar did very well for a time, but it was evi-
dent from the way the bandages loosened that it
would not stand much work. Fred took it in for
the third time to tighten, and then said, looking at
the darkening sky :
"We can never get home with this thing! It
wont stand the river."
C To bt continufii. )
248
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[January,
THE FAST GOAT LINE.
Buck, Bounce, Bill, and Bob were four goats. Tom, Sam, and fack
were three boys. Sue and Ann Jane were two girls. Zip was a small
dog, with a big head. Tom had a cart with four wheels ; and he
thought that if lie made the four goats draw the cart, he could have a
stage line from his house to the big tree at the end of the street. He
said he would charge the boys and girls one cent for a ride. That
would make him rich, if all the boys and girls in town took a ride.
When Tom had put the four goats to his stage, he took the reins in
his hand, and got up on the front seat, which was a chair. Sam took
his seat on one side of Tom, and blew his horn to let the boys and
girls know the\' soon would start. When Sue came, she had to sit on a
box, for there was no chair for her. Jack stood up in the back part of
the cart and took hold of the hands of Ann Jane to help her in, for she
was quite a small girl. Zip sat on the ground, near the goats. He did
not know what all this meant, but he thought he would wait and see.
When there were no more boys and girls to come, Sam likw his
horn again, and Tom sang out: "All on board the fast goat line for
the big tree ! " Then he cracked his whip, and said : " Get up ! "
The goats knew how to pull a cart, and they set off on a trot. This
was fine, for all the boys and girls. But Zip, the dog, thought the goats
went too slow. '• I can make them go fa.st," he thought, " if I bark at
them, and give them each a right good bite."
So he ran close up to Buck and gave a great bark. Buck did not
like Zip. So when Zip ran up and barked close by his ear. Buck set
off on a run, and Bob, Bounce, and Bill ran, too.
iiiK \i;rv little folk.
249
They ran so fasi thai Tom foulcl not hold thiMii in, and they gave
such great jerks that tlie chair, with Sam in it, fell back on Sue, and
made her break through the lid of her box, so that she went right down
in it. As for Jack, he fell out of the cart at the first jump of the goats,
and came down, head first, in the road. Ann |ane sat flat down at the
back end of the stage, and held on with all her might. Tom's hat, and
Sam's hat, blew off, and the wind made Ann Jane's hair fly. Tom drew
in the reins as tight as he could, and said : " Whoa ! Whoa ! " But the
goats would not stop, nor go slow. They ran on till the wheels went
round so fast you could not see the spokes. Tom lost his whip, but he
did not care for that. He did not want to whip tlie goats now.
At last, Buck and Bounce broke loose, and then Bill and Bob ran on ;
but they could not pull the stage fast, so they made a short turn, and
broke off the pole of the stage close up to the wheels. But Tom let
go of the reins, and so they did not pull him out.
Tom and Sam then got out of the stage, and Sam took hold of Sue's
hand to lift her out of the box, while Tom went to see if Jack was hurt.
But Jack got up and said he was all right. Then Sue sat down by
Ann lane on the floor of the stage, while the three boys took hold of it
to pull it back home. They could not pull it as fast as the four goats
could, and so, as they went on to Tom's house, the boys and girls of
the town, who had not had a ride in it, said it was not a fast goat line,
but a slow boy line.
As for Zip, when Tom came to the place where his whip lay in the
road, he took it up, and he gave that bad dog two or three good cracks,
to let him know he must not bark at the goats of the fast staee line.
250
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
(Januar
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
It 's coming, boys,
It 's almost here;
It 's coming, girls,
The grand New Year I
A year to be glad in,
Not to be bad in ;
A year to live in.
To gain and give in;
A year for trying.
And not for sighing ;
A year for striving.
And hearty thriving;
A bright New Year,
Oh ! hold it dear ;
For God, who sendeth,
He only lendcth."
THE GINGERBREAD TREE.
Some of your English cousins, my dears all, are
used to hearing, at this season of feasts and fun, a
very old song that says :
" There 's naught so good in trees
."^s plum-puddin' trees, —
Cut and come again ! "
Upon these trees, the song goes on to say, the plum-
puddings hang like fruit, ready-cooked and wait-
ing to be eaten ; and every time you cut a slice, the
hole you made fills up again, as good as new. And
moreover, the trees grow in a land as curious as
themselves, where roast turkeys and all sorts of
savory and pleasant viands fly about, crying out :
" Come eat me ! Come eat me ! " to any boys and
girls who may be shipwrecked on the coast.
The (jingerbread-tree, however, is not a song
tree, but a real, ordinary vegetable, known as the
Doom Palm. It grows in Egypt, Arabia, and
Abyssinia, and is remarkable because, although a
palm, it branches near its top. The fruit is .is
large as an orange, and hangs in clusters of about
a hundred, the rind being of a shiny yellowish-
brown outside, mealy and brown inside, nearly an
inch thick, and tasting very like gingerbread; it is
dry in the mouth, but the Arabs seem to enjoy it.
A LONG BREATH.
A MAN once took in a deep breath and held it
while he ran the width of four city blocks. But,
dear me, that 's a mere trifle ! There is an engine
that runs twenty miles with but one breath. It
takes in a supply of compressed air, and, by its
aid, drags a train ten miles and back along a
track, l^efore its Ijreath gives out.
THE TREE OF THE TEN THOUSAND IMAGES,
Dear Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I was surprised by what you
told us in November about " Needles and Thread that Grow." But
now it is your turn to be astonished, when I tell you of a tree, the
bark and leaves of which are marked by nature with alphabetic
symbols, or "images," in the language of Thibet !
It is called "The I'ree of the Ten Thousand Images," I send
you a rough drawing of one of the leaves, and also this account of all
that I have learned about the history of tlie tree itself _
Far away, in the dreary land of .\mbo, a part of Thibet, is a green
valley, where, in a Tartar tent, — say the Lamas, or priests, — was
born a wonderful boy named Tsong-Kaba, From his nirth, he had
a long white beard and flowing hair, and coidd speak perfectly his
native tongue. His manners were majestic, and his
words were few but full of wisdom.
When Tsong-Kaba was three years old, he re-
solved to cut off his hair and live a solitary life
in the service of his god, Buddha, So, his mot!
shaved his head, and threw his long, flowin,
locks upon the ground outside the tent-door
From this hair sprang the wonderful tree.
Tsong-Kaba lived many years, did countless
good and holy deeds, and at last died. But
the tree which had grown from his hair lived
on, and was called "The Tree of The Ten
Thousand Images"; and, at last accounts,
it sdll was alive and held sacred. The La-
mas built high walls of brick around it,
and Khang-Hi, one of the emperors c
China, sheltered it beneath a silver dome.
Two French missionaries saw this tree
some years ago, and they say that it
seemed then to be very old. It was not
more than eight feet high; but three men
with outstretched arms scarcely could
reach around its trunk. The branches
were very bushy, and spread out like a
plume of feathers. The leaves were
always green, and the wood, which was
of a reddish tint, had an odor like that
of cinnamon. The bark of the tree was
marked with many well-formed symbols
in the Thibetan language, and alpha-
betic characters appeared also, in a green
color, on every leaf, some darker, some
Hghter, than the leaf itself.
Now, Mr, Jack, all this seems mar-
velous, and some of it is more than we
believe ; but the missionaries actually :
ere of natural growth.
Truly yours,
Agnes Ti
convinced that the marks upon it \
A STORY TO BE WRITTEN.
I PRESENT to you this month, with the pretty
School-ma'am's compliments, twenty little pictures,
drawn by brother Hopkins, which almost tell their
own story. But remembering what a good time
you had over "The Young Hunter," the dear little
lady wants you to write down the story of this small
girl and her pussy. She says : " Tell the boys and
girls, dear Jack, to state their ages ; to write only
on one side of the paper ; and no/ /d sc-iui more than
cig/i/ hnndrcd words, at the very most. Then the
iS8>.]
;ACK-1N-T HE-PULPIT.
251
story received before Januar)- 20th, that best explains the pictures, and also is told best, shall be
printed in tlio March St. Nicholas." There 's fun for you ! Get out your slates now, and try !
252
THE LETTER-BOX.
[January,
THE LETTER-BOX.
Ot-R readers, we think, will be specially interested in the simple
story of " Nedawi," in the present number, not only because it is a
sketch from real Indian life, written by an Indian, but because the
writer, "Bright Eyes," is a proof in herself of the capacity of the
Indian for education and the best enligbtenmenL
" Bright Eyes," named by her white friends Suseite La Flesche, is
a noble-hearted young lady, devoted to the cause of her people, and
eager in the hope that our government will yet deal as fairly with the
Indian as with the white man. The following extracts from her
friendly letter to the editor will help you to know her, and to under-
stand why " Nedawi " is truly an Indian story, although it tells only
of peace and home-life :
" I have never attempted writing a story, and fear it is an impossi-
ble thing for me, but 1 can, at least, try. * * * It seems so hard
to make white people believe that we Indians are human beings of
like passions and affections with themselves; that it is as hard for us
to be good as it is for them, — harder, for we are ignorant, — and we
feel as badly when we fail as they do. That is the reason I have
written my story in the way I have * * * If I were only at home
I could write many things that would be interesting to white people,
as grandmother remembers when they saw the first white men. and
when there were no houses at all. None of our family speak English,
excepting my sisters and myself, and it is delightful to hear father,
mother, and grandmother tell their thrilling adventures, and speak of
the many changes that have come since grandmother was a young
girl. *****
It would be so much better for my people if the white people had a
more thorough knowledge of them, because we have felt deeply the
results of their ignorance of us. — Yours truly.
Su&ETTE La Flesche.
(Bright Eyes.)
We are always glad to hear of the successful performance of any
home or school exercises printed in St. Nicholas, and we should
like especially to hear from those of our readers who may have per-
formed the little operetta of "The Land of Nod," printed in our
December number.
X. Y. Z.— When the present Republic in France was first estab-
lished, the titles of nobility then existing were not interfered with,
and they still remain as they were in the days of Napoleon III.
Tableaux Vivants after Walter Crane and Kate Green-
away. — Ellen and Charley G. ask for "something new in the way
of tableaux." St. Nicholas has given and will continue to give,
occasionally, subjects of this kind; but at present we shall suggest
to Ellen, Charley, and others, that very pretty tableaux can be
made from Walter Crane's books and from Kate Greenaway's " Un-
der the window."
A correspondent sends the following directions for making tableaux
vivants after WalterCrane's " Baby's Opera " and " Baby's Bouquet ":
The costumes can be easily made from cheap cambric, and the
scenery is not difficult. While the music for each picture is bemg
sung behind the scenes, the children should be acting it out.
The following has been found to be a good and effective selection :
" Hey, diddle, diddle " ; " Baa, baa. Black Sheep"; " King Arthur " ;
" Where are you going, my Pretty Maid" ; " My Lady's Garden" ;
"Three Blind Mice"; "A Little Cock-Sparrow"; "The Four
Presents"; "Little Bo-Peep"; and "Old King Cole."
When given in a hall where there is scenery, the landscape, which
generally forms part of the stock scenery, makes a background for
3ie outdoor pictures. For others, like " King Arthur," " KingCole,"
and " The Four Presents," a background can be made with screens.
" Hey, diddle, diddle" and " My Lady's Garden" require special
scenery, which can be prepared at slight expense. For " Hey, did-
dle, diddle," make a curtain of brown cambric as near the color of
the cover to the " Baby's Opera" as possible. Cut the cow, moon,
birds, trees, etc., on a large scale, out of white paper, paste them on
the cambric, and fill in the proper shading with charcoal. The dish
is made of a large piece of pasteboard tied to the waist and neck of a
small boy, who should be dressed in full red trousers and a flowered
jacket The spoon is shaped from a half-inch board, covered with
paper, and proportioned to the size of the boy who carries it. Being
m one piece, it is easily carried when the dish nms away with it
(keeping his face to the audience).
'Old
If this and " My Lady's Garden" are to be given on the same
occasion, the brown curtain can be hung on a wire, close to the front
of the stage, and the garden scene placed directly behind. The per-
sonators of the dog and cat wear masks ; the tails are made of stuffed
cambric, and stockings outside of the trousers represent paws.
For " My Lady's Garden" a light frame must be made, of the
width of the stage and proportioned to the height of the tallest flower.
Cover it with green cambnc, bordered un the top with a strip of blue,
which, with the aid of a few streaks of charcoal, represents the boards
of the fence. A narrow piece of cambric, reaching to just below the top
of the fence, should be suspended about two feet back of the screen,
to represent the sky. Cut the leaves and stems of the flowers from
green tissue paper ; the lilies and shells from stiffer paper (white lilies
are more effective in the evening than the blue ones of the picture in
the book). Paste these on the screen, and shade them with
colored crayons. At the lop of each stalk, cut a hole just large
enough to admit the head of the child who personates the flower.
The children stand behind the screen and put their heads through
these holes ; their hats and ruffs are put on, in front of the scene, after
their heads are through. A prett>' effect is produced by making each
child represent a distinct flower. Thus, beginning on the left, — a
sunflower (red hat); daisy (lilac hat) ; pink rose; forget-me-not; red
rose. Any of these can be made by fastening paper on the tumed-up
brim of an old hat, which has been partly ripped from the crown ;
each is tied under the chin. This forms one of the prettiest tableaux
imaginable.
If no real black sheep nor goat is to be had, for " Baa, baa. Black
Sheep," the animal can be manufactured from a box covered with
two Astrachan cloaks, and " headed " with a sheep's mask.
The " Three Blind Mice " can be made from ^ray cotton flannel,
and should be very large, while the " Butcher's Wife " should be very
A spinning-wheel adds to the effect in " King Arthur."
In the "Little Cock-Sparrow," the bird should be only sUghdy
fastened to the tree, and pulled off by a string, behind the scenes,
when the boy shoots.
In the " Four Presents," the geese, crescents, and cherry-blo
must be sewn upon the plain cloth foundation. The figures o
clothes in " King Arthur" and " King Cule" must be sewn i
Other pretty pictures for tableaux are "Little Ho-Peep,"
Man in Leather," " Litde Man and Maid," " Sur le Pout d' Avig-
non." and "The Three Ships"; but the last three would be more
difficult, on account of the scenery absolutely necessary to make them
complete. B. F. H.
Martin D. — You will find plain diagrams and full instructions
"How to make an Ice-boat" in St. Nichol.^s for Januar>*, 1878.
But perhaps you will prefer to follow the directions given by Mr.
Norton in his article entitled "Every Boy his own Ice-boat," which
is printed in the present number.
Few- Year verses were sent by L. E. L., a
Chime on ! chime on ! ye meny bells.
With mellow tone, so gladly rung;
For when afar your music swells,
'T is loved alike by old and young.
Chime on ! chime on ! To strife and care.
Send sudden messages of cheer;
Let all your music rend the air,
And welcome in the glad New Year.
Dear St. Nichoi^s: I thought I 'd write to you and tell you
some snow fun we have here. It is making snow-dishes. Here are
the directions : Take a block nf snow of any size you please, and
make it the shape you want with a knife. Then smooth it on the top
and bottom. Then hollow it out smoothly, set it out over night and
let it freeze. Then you have a dish fit to be set on the table in the
best of snow-houses.— Yours truly, Willie Clive.
Snow sports even more interesting than that mentioned in your
letter, Willie,— snow battles, the proper weapons, implements, and
management of snow warfare, how to build snow-houses, and how
to make snow-statues, — were described and fully illustrated in St.
NiCHoi_A.s for January and February, t88o: and in the present num-
ber is a short account of a spirited snow-fight in which Mr. Beard, the
historian of it. shared.
THE LETTER-BOX.
253
H. W. T. SENDS this description, with pictures, telling how to make
a paper Jacob's ladder in one roll and three ciiLs: any boy or girl
old enough to handle scissors can easily learn how it is done :
I Take a piece of writing-paper, about three inches wide, and nine
inches long : fold one end three or four limes, as small, tight, and flat
as possible (Fig. i). Then roll up the piece loosely (Fig a). Make
two cuts straight across and ;Umo.st through the roll, allowing the
scissors to l>e stopped by the folded part (Tig 3). Bend down the
end pieces (Fig. 4). Cut through the middle piece lengthwise (Fig.
5). Take hold of the folded part, and pull it up, when you will have
a telescopic Jacob's ladder (Fig. 6). An imposing effect may be
made by using a large piece of wrapping-paper or newspaper.
and a reading-room ; the second story into a printmg-room, and
school-rooms, while the third story has a large lcciure-n)om, a music-
galtery. and sewing-rooms. In the ba.scment are two large wash
and bath rooms, one for boys, and one for girls. All the apartments
are large, clean, airy, bright, and cheerful. The corridors and stair-
ways are very wide.
It is a rule that the pupils must be as clean and neat as possible,
and many go to the basement to wash and comb their hair, before
entering the school-roonis ; and, once during the week, each pupil
can take a bath. Clothing is given, through the Aid Society, when
it is really needed.
Three himdrcd boys and girls, of all ages, are gathered in the
building in the afternoon or evenmg schools. In the infant school,
Two Smau, New York Itauans.— Your little letter about the
comfortless lives of poor Italian boys and girls in New York,
very interesting. But, instead of printing it, we give a longer one,
from Mrs. Ellen E. Dickinson, on the same subject: and we hope
that many young readers will have their sympathies enlisted in behalf
of these poor waifs of the street.
Dbar St. Nichol-as : The School for Poor Ibdtan Childrc
the Five Points, in New York. The beautiful building is like a
gem in an ugly setting, for it Is surrounded by ding>' houses, filthy
streets, swarms of poor people, neglected children, and low drinking-
shops. In this part of the city, Mr. C. L. Brace, of the Children
Aid Society', found many little Italian boys and girls in the most
terrible poverty. They were sent into the streets by their parents,
or by Piuinyni (masters), to make money for them by organ-grind-
ing, playing on the harp or violin, gathering or picking rags, or
bLickmg boots. They were told that tncy must bring back a certain
sum of money every night, or they would be severely punished.
They had no chance to Icanj our language, exceptmg as they
picked it up in the strceL Their condition wa'^ indeed pitiable,
specially that of those under padroni, who beat and star\'ed them.
These fiuironi made a business of hiring boys and girls from their
parents in Italy, to [>e sent to New York, and to work for them a
certain time. — the padroni paying all expenses, and promising to
return the children to their native land, with a fixed amount of profit.
When Mr. Brace had learned the necessities of these unfortunate
children, he determined, with the assistance of Mr. Cheryua, an
Italian gentleman, to open a school for them, where they might not
only properly learn our Lingiiage, but be taught some employment
by wnich they could decently earn a living. Through the efforts
begtm by these two gentlemen, the slavery of the little Italians has
been aboli.shed, and the trade of \\ic padroni is no longer allowed by
the Italian government.
The fint floor of the school-building is divided into school-rooms.
on the first floor, there are about one hundred children daily, mere
babies. The reading-room is well furnished with newspapers, in both
English and Italian, and has a fair collection of books. In the print-
ing-room there arc eight or ten boys learning the art of printing,
serving an apprenticeship of two years. They have presses and
type, and all the apparatus of Icarnmg this trade, under a competent
m.X' tcr. Their work is so well done, that several business companies
employ them to do printing. The young printers are paid for their
work, and in the evening they go to the school. In the two school-
rooms on the second floor are the most advanced classes; the boys
arc on one side of the room, and the girls on the other. Each pupil
has a separate desk, and the room is well furnished in other respects.
I once heard these Italian children sing a beautiful hymn in their
native language, a chorus from the opera of " Lombardt," and some
songs, one in English. They scemetl to enjoy the singing, and I am
sure I did.
The large lecture-room, in the third story, is used for exhibitions.
Mr. Remenyi, the great violinist, once played here for the children.
Their delight was almost frantic when he gave them the "Carnival
of Venice," in which he imitated the cackling of geese and braying of
254
THE LETTER-BOX.
donkeys, and all sons of queer sounds. The gallery is used by the
band, which is made up of pupils who show musical ability.
In the sewing-room, there are a dozen sewing-machines. Here the
girls, who are not at work in shops during *e day, come to be taught
to sew, both by hand and by machine. They are allowed to make
garments for themselves— the materials bemg given— or to make
shirts and undergarments for manufacturers, who pay them. On
S.aturdays. the girls are taught to do fancy work rK„,„„
When one remembers that were it not for Mr. Brace, Mr. Cheryua,
and some other noble men, besides many women, these httle Italians
would be •■ street Arabs," wretched, and even wicked, one cannot
but rejoice in all these efforts to teach them to be better,
their own living in honest ways.
way. This will give you the shape Fig. 3. Cut right along the
dotted line A IS, and you will have two pieces of paper,
which is a Grecian cross. If you cu
have a M.iltese cross.
; along the line A C, you will
Ellen E. Dickins
BOOKS RECEIVED.
We are sure all our young readers will be glad
t hear th.at
,..=„.=. Roberts Brothers have just issued a new holiday edition of
" Little Women." The book is beautifully bound and printed, and
contains more than two hundred excellent illustrations.
Another welcome announcement is that the series of " Peterkin
Papers," which have appeared in St. Nicholas, have been collected
into book form and published by Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co.
Nobody who has read St. NtCHOL.is regularly need be told that this
volume by Miss Hale will bring much fun and amusement to any
household into which it enters.
From Messrs. Roberts Brothers: "Verses." By Susan CooUdge.
" A Guernsey LUy." By Susan Coolidge. 130 illustrations.
"New Bed-rime Stories." By Louise Chandler Moulton. Three
full-page iUustrarions. " We and the World." By Juliana Hora-
tia Ewing. Eight full-page iUustrarions.
From Messrs. E. P. Dutton and Company : " Queer Pets at
Marcy's." By Olive Thome Miller. Many illustrations.
From the Authors Publishing Company : " Harry Ascott
Abroad." By Matthew White, Jun. " A Visit to El-Fay-Gno.
Land." By Mrs. M. M, Sanford, Seven full-page illustrations.
" Kin-folk." Bv Tanet Miller. Illustrated.
From the .American Tract Society : " Into the Light." Two full-
page iUustrarions. " Out of the Way." By Annette Lucille Noble.
Four full-page illustrations. "The Foot on the Sill." By Mrs.
H. B. McKeever. Three full-page illustrations. "The Blue-
badge Boys." Three full-page iUustrarions. "A Young Man's
Safeguard." By Wm. Guest, F. G. S. "Leo Bertram." From
the German of Fianz Hoffinan. By H. T. Disosway. Four full
page illustrations. "Frolic at the Sea-side." By Mrs. M. F..
Butts. Three full-page illustrations. " From Hong Kong to the
Himalayas." By E. Warren Clark. 32 full-page illustrations.
Several sets of very beautiful te.\t-cards printed in colors.
From James Miller: "AU Around tile Rocking-chair." By Mrs.
Kate Tannatt Woods. lUustrated.
Bertha L. Watmough writes about some queer home-pets—
homed toads— which are the special favorites of her uncle and grand-
m.amma: and she asks how to feed diese pets. Bertha nvUI find an
answer to this question in the " Story of Lizbelh and the ' Baby,' "
printed in St. Nicholas for May, i83o.
Dear St. Nicholas : We all read with great interest your article
in February, 1880, about "Hearing without ears " by means of an
audiphone. But the audiphone you then descnbed is costly, and not
easily to be had. Here is a very simple way to make a good one :
You take a piece of smooth, stiff, brown paper, about fifteen inches
long and eleven inches wide, and hold both ends together between
the teeth in such a way that the middle part bulges out round.
Robert.
The iUustrarion of the little story of the " Three Friends," in the
Very Litde Folk's department of the December number, was drawn
by Miss Jessie McDermott, not by Mr. Taber.
A ColiRESPONDENT seuds the following descriptions of how to cut
paper crosses at one snip. These may not be quite new, but they
will perhaps interest a good many readers of the " Letter- Bo.\ " ;
First Way.— Fold a half-sheet of paper in foui— once lengthwise
and once across. You wiU then h.ave a shape like Fig, 1. 1 he top
line represents the double fold, and the left-hand line the two single
folds. Now. double over the upper right-hand corner, and 5'ou will
have the shape Fig. 2. Then fold the paper in the middle, the long
Second Way.— Take half a sheet of paper. Fold the right corner
over as in Figure i (second diagram). 1 hen fold over the left
comer till the paper looks as in Figure 2. Fold it down the middle
lengthwise, Figure 3. Fold it again dowii the middle lengthwise.
Figure 4. Then with your scissors cut nght through the middle,
the long way, following the dotted line in Figure 4. and you will
find several bits of paper, among them a cross. You can, if you
please, use all these bits of paper, and form a cross, steps to the
cross, a platfonn, candles, and candle-flames.
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
255
THE KlDULi:-BOX.
NEW YEAR MAZE.
the letters stand in a greeting appropriate to the :
the order of their
CHARADE.
Mv fin
n pleasant to
My second in April co
My third helps
Though of
My whole is
And is found
first:
furnish our table with sweets,
of the worst :
;t ; *t was worshiped of old,
tombs of Egyptians, I 'm told.
CENTRAL S^'NCOPATIONS AND REMAINDERS.
Each of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the order here given, spell a kindly phrase.
I. Syncopate continued pains and leave units on cards or dice. 2.
Syncopate a step for ascending and leave a commotion. 3. Syncopate
very swift and leave a sudden invasion. 4. Syncopate desires and
leave instruments used by farmers. 5. Syncopate the surname of
the author of " Home. Sweet Home " and leave a sheet of glass. 6.
Syncopate a weapon of warfare and leave to fasten with a string. 7.
Syncopate the "staff of life" and leave a kind of nail. 8. Syncopate
pledges and leave shallow dishes. 9. Syncopate the '.
able American general, sometimes called " Mad Anthony," and leave
to decrease. 10. Syncopate a pointed weapon and leave part of a
ship. II. Syncopate the sea-shore and leave the price paid. 12.
Syncopate restrains and leave young animals of a certani kind.
EAST CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
Mv first is in jug. but not in bottle ;
My second in valve, but not in throttle.
My third is in pine, but not in oak ;
My fourth is in fun, but not in joke:
My fifth in naught^', and not in good :
My sixth in breakfast, but not in food:
trays, but not in dishes.
My whole
to exchange good wishe
DIAMOND.
I. In capacity. 2. A covering for the head. j. The weight of
four grains. 4. A model of perfection. 5. A worshiper of false gods.
6. 2240 pounds, avoirdupois. 7. In January. dycie.
NOW YOU CAN UNLOCK THE GATE!'
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII.
FEBRUARY, i88i
No. 4.
(Copyright, 1881, by Scribncr & Co.]
IN TUl'. TOWKR.— A. 1). 1554.
By Susan Cooi.idce.
Bv the river deep and black,
Where tlie countless masts arise,
London's Tower lifts its strength
To the English skies.
Musing in her dreary cell.
Pacing, all alone, for hours
In a little garden, set
'Twixt the frouninjj towers,-
Centuries ago it stood
Grim as now, and seemed to frown
On the river's rolling flood.
And on London town.
Slowly crept the lagging weeks.
Sadly dragged the lingering day;
Not a prisoner might dare
Even to glance her way.
There, one day, knowing not
If for life or if for death,
Led a prisoner through its gate,
Came Eliz.ibeth.
Not a foot might cross her path,
Nor a signal meet her eye ;
Thus the edict of the Lords,
Met in council high.
Not as yet the haughty queen,
But a princess, young and fair,
With no crown upon her head,
Save of golden hair.
In the Tower lived children four,
Baby-children, full of glee.
And they nothing knew nor cared
What the law might be.
Trembling, passed she through the door.
Door of dread and door of doubt.
Where so many had gone in.
Never to come out.
A new playfellow they spied.
That was all they cared or knew,
And, like flies to honey-pot,
Straight to her they flew.
Foes behind, and spies beside.
Questioned, menaced, and betrayed ;
None to counsel, none to help,
Went the royal maid.
Through the heavy-hearted land.
Good men prayed with bated breath :
' Save her, Lord, for Thou canst save —
Save Elizabeth ! "
Vol. VIII.— 17.
It was vain to tell them nay ;
It was vain to shut the door;
Under, over, any way,
Went the children four.
In like leaping lines of light,
Went they, danced they, full of fun,
Flowers in their tiny hands.
Flowers themselves, each one.
258
IN THE TOWER. A. D. I 5 54-
[February,
Soft and sweet the princess smiled,
But, by some instinctive art,
Well they knew, the little ones,
She was sad at heart.
Much they longed to ease her pain,
And they found a little key.
Picked it up, and brought, and said,
" Mistress, you are free.
For the soldiers, tall and strong.
Stood to left and stood to right.
And the mothers kept strict watch
On them day and night.
Only once, a tiny boy,
Slipping past the guardians all.
Sought and found a little hole
In the outer wall.
n
' Now you can unlock the gate.
And can go abroad at will,
Only please come back sometimes
To us children still."
When the mighty Council-Lords
Heard the artless tale one day.
Of the children and their words.
Angry men were they.
These are little spies," they swore,
" Letter-carriers, — dangerous!
We must look into this thing.
Bring them unto us."
Put his rosy lips thereto,
Whispering, "Mistress, are you there.'
1 can bring you no more flowers,
I'^or 1 do not dare.
It was naughty that we came.
So the great, grand Lordships said" —
Then he heard the sentr\-'s step.
And he turned and fled.
Did the Princess hear the bny ?
Or, astonished, long to know
What could ail her little friends
That thev shunned her so ?
So before the Council-Lords
Were the little children led,
And of all their acts and words
They were questioned.
Did she ever seek them out
In the happier after-day,
When she reigned great England's Queen ;
— Historv does not say.
But the babies nothing told;
There was nothing they could tell,
Save " The Lady is so kind,
.•\nd we love her well."
But the tender, childish tale,
Like a fragiance from dead flower,
Lingers yet and niaketh sweet
London's great old Tower.
Then the great Lords chid the babes
(While the parents held their breath),
And forbade them to go near
•' Dame Elizabeth."
Still it stands as then it stood,
Sullen, strong, and seems to frown
On the river's rolling flood.
And on London town.
Threatening heavy punishments
Should they dare to disobey,
Or to pass the sentries set
In the garden way.
,-\nd a traveler from far lands.
Little known or thought of then
By the haughty Virgin Queen
And her merrv men.
Sorely grieved the little ones
Kor their playmate fair and good ;
Oft they strove to reach the gate,
But they never could.
Standing 'neath its time-worn door,
Where the busy river runs.
Smiles to-day, remembering
Those dear little ones.
TIIOKWALD AND THE STA R - C H I LP R E N.
259
TIIORWAT.D AND THE S T A R- f 1 1 I 1. 1) R EN.
A .Sl()K\ (II. NOKWAV. — HV H.IAl.MAK 11. He IVKSKN.
THORWAI.Il'Smo-
thorwas
very ill.
The fe-
ver burned
and throbbed in her
veins ; she lay, all day long
and all night long, with
her eyes wide open, and
could not sleep. The doctor
sat at her bedside and looked
at her through his spectacles ;
but she grew worse instead of
better.
" Unless she can sleep a
sound, natural sleep," he said,
'■ there is no hope
t^^^0^ for her, I fear."
^ff^ 1 1 was to
that he said
this,butThor-
wald heard
what he said.
with his dog Hector, was sitting
mournfully upon the great wolf-
skin outside his mother's door.
"Is my inamma very ill?"
he asked the doctor, but the
tears choked his voice, and he
^ hid his face in the hair of
Hector's shaggy neck.
"Yes, child," answered the doctor; ''very ill."
"And will God take my mamina away from
me ? " he faltered, extricating himself from Hector's
embrace, and trying hard to steady his voice and
look brave.
" 1 am afraid He will, my child.'' said the doctor,
gravely.
" Hut could I not do something for her, doctor?"
The long-suppressed tears now broke forth, and
trickled down over the boy's cheeks.
" y'ou, a child, w-hat can you do?" said the
doctor, kindly, and shook his head.
Just then, there was a great noise in the air.
The chimes in the steeple of the village church
pealed forth a joyous Christmas carol, and the
sound soared, rushing as with invisible wing-beats
thniugli ihc clear, frosty air. For it was Christmas
eve, and the bells were, according to Norse custom,
" ringing-in the festival." Thorwald stood long
listening, with folded hands, until the bells seemed to
take up the doctor's last words, and chime : " What
can you do, what can you do, what can you do ? "
Surely, there could be no doubt that that was what
the bells were saying. The clear little silvery bells
that rang out the high notes were every moment
growing more impatient, and now the great heavy
bell joined them, too, and tolled out slowly, in a
deep bass voice, " Thor — wald ! " and then all the
little ones chimed in with the chorus, as rapidly as
their stiff iron tongues could wag : " What can you
do, what can you do, what can you do ? Thor —
wald, what can )-ou do, what can you do, w-hat can
you do? "
"A child — ah, what can a child do?" thought
Thonvald. " Christ was himself a child once, and
He saved the whole world. And on a night like
this, when all the world is glad because it is His
birthday, He perhaps will remember how a little
bo\- feels who loves his mamma, and cannot bear
to lose her. If 1 only knew where he is now, I
would go to Him, even if it were ever so far, and
tell him how much we all love mamma, and I would
promise Him to be the best boy in all the world, if
He would allow her to stay with us."
Now the church-bells suddenly stopped, though
the air still kept quivering for some minutes with
faint reverberations of sound. It was very quiet in
the large, old-fashioned house. The servants stole
about on tiptoe, and spoke to each other in hurried
whispers when they met in the halls. A dim lamp,
with a bluish globe, hung under the ceiling and
sent a faint, moon-like light over the broad oaken
staircase, upon the first landing of which a large
Dutch clock stood, in a sort of niche, and ticked and
ticked patiently in the twilight. It was only five
o'clock in the afternoon, and yet the moon had been
uj) for inore than an hour, and the stars were twink-
ling in the sky, and the aurora borealis swept with
broad sheets of light through the air, like a huge fan,
the handle of which was hidden beneath the North
Pole ; you almost imagined )ou heard it whizzing
past your ears as it flashed upward to the zenith
and flared along the horizon. For at that season
of the year the sun sets at about two o'clock in the
northern part of Norway, and the day is then but
four hours long, while the night is twenty. To
Thorwald that was a perfectly proper and natural
26o
TMORWAI.U AND THE ST A R- C U I L U R EN .
arrangement ; for he had always known it so in
winter, and he would ha\ e found it very singular if
the sun had neglected to hide behind the mount-
ains at about two o'clock on Christmas eve.
But poor Thorwald heeded little the wonders of
the sky that day. He heard the clock going,
"Tick — tack, tick — tack," and he knew that the
precious moments were flying, and he had not yet
decided what he could do which might please (iod
so well that He would consent to let the dear Mamma
remain upon earth. He thought of making a vow
to be very good all his life long ; but it occurred to
him that before he would have had time to prove
the sincerity of his promise, (iod might already
struck him before he seized his cap and overcoat
(for it was a bitter cold night), and ran to the stable
to fetch his skees. * Then down he slid over the
steep hill-side. The wind whistled in his cars, and
the loose snow whirled about him and settled in his
hair, and all over his trousers and his coat. When
he reached Wise Marthie's cottage, down on the
knoll, he looked like a wandering snow image.
He paused for a moment at the door; then took
heart and gave three bold raps with his skee-staff.
He heard some one groping about w'ithin, and at
length a square hole in the door was opened, and
the head of the revengeful fairy godmother was
thrust out through the opening.
have taken his mamma away. He must find some
shorter and surer method. Down on the knoll, near
the river, he knew there lived a woman whom all
the peasants held in great repute, and who was
known in the parish as " Wise Marthie." He had
always been half afraid of her, because she was very
old and wrinkled, and looked so inuch like the
fairy godmother, in his story-book, who was not
invited to the christening feast, and who revenged
herself by stinging the princess with a spindle, so
that she had to go to sleep for a hundred years.
But if she were so wise, as all the people said, per-
haps she might tell him what he should do to save
the life of his mamma. Hardly had this thought
"Who is there?" asked Wise Marthie, harshly
(for, of course, it was none other than she). Tlien,
as she saw the small boy, covered all o\er \\itli
snow, she added, in a friendlier voice: " .\h !
(lentlefolk out walking in this rough weather?"
"Oh, Marthie!" cried Thorwald, anxiously,
'■ my mamma is very ill "
He wished to say more, but Marthie here opened
the lower panel of the door, while the upper one
remained closed, and invited him to enter.
" Bend your head," she said, " or you will
knock against the door. I am a poor woman, and
can't afford to waste precious heat by opening both
panels."
' Skecs (Norwegian skkr) arc a peculiar kind of snow-shoes, generally from five to nine feet long, but only a few inches broad.
They are made of tough pine wood, and .are smoothly polished on the under side, so as to make them glide the more easily over the
surface of the snow. In the middle there are bands to put the feel into, and the front end of each skec is pointed and strongly bent
upward. This enables the runner to slide easily over logs, hillocks, and other obstacles, instead of thrusting against them. The skee
only goes in straight lines ; still the runner can, even when moving with great speed, change his course at pleasure by means of a
long pole which he carries for this purpose, and uses as a sort of nidder. Skees are especially convenient for sliding downhill, but
arc also, for walking in deep snow, much superior to the common American snow-shoes.
1' II c) KWA I. n AMI TIIK S T A R - ( 1 i I 1. 1 1 K K N ,
261
Thorwald shook the snow from his coat, set his
skocs against the wall outsiclc, and entered the cot-
tage.
" Take a seat here at the t'lre," said the old
woman, pointinj; to a «ooden block which stood
close to the hearth. " You must be very cold, and
you can warm your hands while >ou tell me your
errand."
"Thank you, Marthie," answered the boy, "but
I ha\e no time to sit down. I onl)' wanted to ask
you something, and if you can tell me that, 1 shall
— I shall — love you as long as I live."
Old ^larthie smiled, and Thorwald thought for
a itioment that she looked almost handsome. And
then she took his hand in hers and drew him gently
to her side.
"You arc not a witch, arc you, Marthie?" he
said, a Uttle tremblingly. For Marthie's associa-
tion with the wicked fairy godmother was >et very
suggestive. Then, again, her cottage seemed to be
a very queer place; and it did not look like any
other cottage that he had ever seen before. Up
under the ceiling, which was black and sooty, hung
bunches of dried herbs, and on shelves along the
wall stood flower-pots, some of which had blooming
flowers in them. The floor was freshly scrubbed,
and strewn with juniper-needles, and the whole room
smelt very clean. In a corner, between the stone
hearth and the wall, a bed, made of plain deal
boards, was to be seen ; a shaggy Maltese cat, with
sleepy, yellow eyes, was for the present occupying it,
and he raised his head and gazed knowingly at the
visitor, as if to say : "1 know w-hat you have come
for."
Old Marthie chuckled when Thorwald asked if
she was a witch : and soiTiehow her chuckle had a
pleasant and good-natured sound, the boy thought,
as he eyed her wistfully.
" Now I am sure you are not a witch," cried he,
"for witches never laugh like that. 1 know, now,
that you are a good woman, and that you will want
to help me, if you can. I told you my mamma was
ver)- ill" (the tears here again broke through his
voice) — "so very ill that the doctor says, God will
take her away from us. I sat at her (loor all \ester-
day and cried, and when Papa took ine in to her,
she did not know me. Then I cried more. I asked
Papa why God makes people so ill, and he said it
was something I did n't understand, but I should
understand some day. But, Marthie, 1 have n't time
to wait, for by that time Mamma may be gone, and 1
shall never know where to find her ; I must know
now. And you, who are so very wise, you will tell
me what 1 can do to save my mainma. Could n't 1
do something for God, Marthie, — something that
He would like ? And then, perhaps. He would
allow Mamma to stay with us always."
The tears now came hot and fast, but the boy
still stood erect, and gazed with anxious ciucstion-
ing into the old woman's face.
"You are a brave little lad," she said, stroking
his soft, curly hair with her stiff, crooked fingers,
"and happy is the mother of such a boy. And
old Marthie knows a thing or two, she also,
and you shall not have come to her in vain.
Once, child, more than eighteen hundred years
ago, just on this very night, a strange thing hap-
pened in this world, and I dare say you have heard
of it. Christ, the White, was born of Mary in
the land of the jews. The angels came down from
heaven, as wc read in the Good Book, and they sang
strange and wonderful songs of praise. And they
scattered flowers, too — flowers which only blossomed
until then in heaven, in the sight of God. And one
of these flowers, — sweet and pure, like the tone of
an angel's voice expressed in color, — one of these
wondrous flowers, I say, struck root in the soil, and
has multiplied, and remains in the world until this
day. It blossoms only on Christmas eve — on the
eve when Christ was born. I-lven in the midst of the
snow, and when it is so cold that the wolf shivers
in his den, this frail, pure flower peeps up for a few
brief moments above the shining w-hite surface, and
then is not seen again. It is of a white or faintly
bluish color ; and he who touches it and inhales
its heavenly odor is immediately healed of every
earthly disease. But there is one singular thing
about it — no one can see it unless he be pure and
innocent and good ; to all others the heavenly flower
is inxisible."
"Oh, then I shall never rind it, Marthie!" cried
Thorwald, in great suspense. " I'"or I have often
been very naughty."
" I am very sorry to hear that,'' said Marthie,
and shook her head.
" .'\nd do you think it is of no use for mc, then,
to try to find the flower?" exclaimed the boy,
wildly. "Oh, Marthie, help mc I Help me ! "
" Well, I think I should try," said Marthie,
calmly. " 1 don't believe you can have been such
a dreadfully naughty boy ; and you probably were
very sorry whenever you happened to do soinething
wrong."
" Yes, yes, always, and 1 always begged Papa's
and Mamma's pardon."
" Then, listen to me! 1 will show you the star
of Bethlehem in the sky — the same one that led
the shepherds and the kings of the East to the
manger where Christ lay. Follow that straight on,
through the forest, across the frozen river, wherever
it may lead you, until you find the heavenly flower.
And when you have found it, h;isten home to jour
mother, and put it up to her li|)s so that she may
inhale its breath ; then she will be healed, and will
262
TIIORWAMJ AND THE ST AR - CH IL D R EN.
[Februarv,
bless her little boy, who shunned no sacritice for her
sake. "
" But I did n't tell you, Marthic, that I made
There Hering-Luek tattoo a ship on my right arm,
although Papa had told me that I must n't do it.
Do you still think I shall find the heavenly flower?"
" I should n't wonder if you did, child," responded
Marthie, with a re-assuring nod of her head. " It is
high time for you to start, now, and you must n't
loiter b> the way."
"No, no; you need not tell me that!" cried the
boy, seizing his cap eagerly, and slipping out
through the lower panel of the door. He jumped
into the bands of his skces, and cast his glance up
to the vast nocturnal sky, which glittered with
myriads of twinkling stars. Which of all these was
the star of Bethlehem ? He was just about to rush
back into the cottage, when he felt a hand upon
his shoulder, and saw Wise Marthie's kindly but
withered face close to his.
" Look toward the east, child," she said, almost
solemnly.
" I don't know where the east is, Marthie," said
Thorwald, dolefully. " I always get mixed up about
the points of the compass. If they would only fi.\
four big poles, one in each corner of the earth,
that everybody could see, then I should always
know where to turn."
" There is the east," said Marthie, pointing with
a long, crooked finger toward the distant mountain-
tops, which, with their hoods of ice, flashed and
glistened in the moonlight. " Do you see that
bright, silvery star which is just rising between those
two snowy peaks ?"
" Yes, yes, Marthie. I see it ! I sec it ! "
" That is the star of Bethlehem. You will know
it by its w-hite, radiant light. Follow that, and its
rays will lead you to the flower which can cont|uer
Death, as it led the shepherds and the kings of
old to Him, over whom Death had no power."
"Thank you, Marthie. Thank you !"
The second "thank you" hardly reached the
cars of the old woman, for the boy had shot like an
arrow down over the steep bank, and was now half-
way out upon the ice. The snow surged and
danced in eddies behind him, and the cold stung
his face like sharp, tiny needles. But he hardly
minded it, for he saw the star of Bethlehem beam-
ing large and radiant upon the blue horizon, and he
thought of his dear mother, whom he was to rescue
from the hands of Death. But the flower, — the
flower, — -where was that? He searched carefully
all about him in the snow, but he saw no trace of
it. "I wonder," he thought, "if it can blossom
in the snow? I should rather think that Christ
allows the angels to fling down a few of them every
year on his birthday, to help those that are sick
and suffering; they say He is very kind and good,
and 1 should n't wonder if He sees me now, and
will tell the angels to throw down the precious
flower right in my path."
II.
Thk world was cold and white round about
him. The tall pines stood wrapped in cloaks of
snow, W'hich looked like great white ulsters, and
they were buttoned straight up to the chin — only
a green finger-tip and a few tufts of dark-green
hair showed faintly, at the end of the sleeves and
above the collar. The alders and the birches, who
had no such comfortable coats to keep out the cold,
stood naked in the keen light of the stars and the
aurora, and they shivered to the very marrow. To
Thorwald it seemed as if they were stretching their
bare, lean hands against the heavens, praying for
warmer weather. A family of cedar-birds, who
had lovely red caps on their heads and gray uni-
forms of the most fashionable tint, had snugged
close together on a sheltered pine-branch, and they
were carrying on a subdued twittering conversation
just as Thorwald passed the river-bank, pushing
himself rapidly over the snow by means of his
skee-staff. But it w^as strictly a family matter they
were discussing, which it would be indiscreet in me
to divulge. They did, however, shake dow'n a
handful of loose snow on Thorwald's head, just to
let him know that he was very impolite to take so
little notice of them. They did not know, of
course, that his mother was ill ; othenvisc, I am
sure, they would have forgiven him.
Hush ! What was that? Thorwald thought he
heard distant voices behind him in the snow. He
looked all about him, but saw nothing. Then,
following the guidance of the star, he still pressed
onward. He quitted the ri\'er-bed and traversed a
wide, sloping meadow ; he had to take a zigzag
course, like a ship that is tacking, because the slope
was too steep to ascend in a straight line. He was
beginning to feel tired. The muscles in his legs
ached, and he often shifted the staff from hand to
hand, in order to rest the one or the other of his
arms. He gazed now fixedly upon tli,e snow, taking
only an occasional glance at the sky, to see that he
was going in the right direction ; the strange hum
of voices in the air yet haunted his ears, and he
sometimes imagined he heard words moving to a
wonderful melody. Was it the angels that were
singing, inspiring him with courage for his quest ?
He dared hardly believe it, and yet his heart beat
joyously at the thought. .Vh ! what is that which
glitters so strangely in the snow ? A starry gleam,
a twinkling, like a spark gathering its light into a
little glittering point, just as it is about to be
THORWALD AND THE ST AR- C H I LD REN.
^63
quenched. Thorwald leaps from his skces and
plunges his hand into the snow. The frozen crust
cuts his wrist cruelly : and he feels that he is bleed-
ing. With a wrench he pulls his hand up ; his
heart throbs in his throat ; he gazes with wild ex-
pectation, but sees — nothing. His wrist is bleed-
ing, and his hand is full of blood. Poor Thorwald
could hardly trust his eyes. He certainly had seen
something glittering on the snow. He felt a great
lump in his throat, and it would have been a great
relief to him, at that moment, to sit down and give
vent to the tears that were crowding to his e\elids.
But just then a clear, sweet strain of music broke
through the air, and Thorwald heard distinctly
these words, sung by voices of children :
*' Lc.id, O star of Bethlehem,
.Mc through death and danger.
Unto Christ, who on. this night
Lay cradled in a manger."
Thorivald gathered all his strength and again
leaped into his skees ; 'he was now on the border of
a dense pine forest, and as he looked into it, he
could not help shuddering. It was so dark under
the thick, snow-burdened branches, and the moon
only broke through here and there, and scattered
patches of light over the tree-tops and on the white
carpet of the snow. Yet, perhaps it was within
this very wood that the heavenly blossom had fallen.
He must not lose heart now, when he was perhaps
so near his goal. Thrusting his staff vigorously
into the snow-crust, he pushed himself forward and
glided in between the tall, silent trunks; at the
same moment the air again quivered lightly, as with
the breath of invisible beings, and he heard words,
which, as far as he could aftenvard recollect them,
sounded as follows :
" Make my soul as white and pure
.•\s the heavenly blossom, —
As the flower of grace and truth
That blooms upon Thy bosom."
Thorwald hardly felt the touch of the snow-
beneath his feet; he seemed rather to be soaring
through the air, and the trunks of the huge dark
trees marched in close columns, like an army in
rapid retreat, before his enraptured vision. Christ
did see him ! Christ would send him the heavenly
flower ! .AH over the snow sparkling stars were
scattered, and they gleamed and twinkled and
beckoned to him, but whenever he stretched out
his hand for them they suddenly vanished. The
trees began to assume strange, wild shapes, and to
resemble old men and women, with long beards and
large hooked noses. They nodded knowingly to
one another, and raised up their gnarled toes from
the ground in which they were rooted, and tried to
trip up the little boy who had dared to interrupt
their solemn conversation. One old fir shook the
snow from her shoulders, and stretched out a long,
strangely twisted arm, and was on the point of
seizing Thorwald b>- the hair, when fortunately he
saw the coming danger, and darted away down the
hill-side at quickened speed. A long, bright streak
of light suddenly illuminated the eastern sky. Some-
thing fell through the air, and left a golden trail of
fire behind it ; surely it was the heavenly flower
that was thrown down by an angel in response to
his prayer ! Forward, and ever forward, — over roots
and stumps and stones, — -stumbling, rising again,
sinking from weariness and exhaustion, kneeling to
pray on the frozen snow, crawling painfully back
and tottering into the skee-bands ; but only for-
ward, ever forward ! The earth rolls with a surg-
ing motion under his feet, the old trees join their
rugged hands and dance, in wild, senile glee, around
him, lifting their twisted limbs, and sometimes, with
their talons, trying to sweep the stars from the
sky. Thorwald struggled with all his force to
break through the ring they had made around him.
He saw plainly the flower, beaming with a pale
radiance upon the snow, and he strove with all his
might to reach it, but something held him back,
and though he was once or twice within an inch of
it, he could never quite grasp it with his fingers.
Then, all of a sudden, the strange song again
vibrated through the air, and he saw a huge star
glittering among the underbrush ; a flock of chil-
dren clad in white robes were dancing about it, and
they were singing Christmas carols in praise of the
new-bom Savior. As they approached nearer and
nearer, the hope revived in Thorwald's heart. Ah,
there the flower of healing was, hing close at his
feet. He made a desperate leap and clutched it in
his grasp — then saw and felt no more.
III.
Thk white children were children of earth,
not, as Thorwald had imagined, angels from
heaven. It is a custom in Norway for the children
of the poor to go about on Christmas eve, from
house to house, carrying a large canvas star, with
one or more lanterns within it, and sing Christmas
carols. They are always dressed in white robes,
and people call them star-children. Whenever
they station themselves in the snow before the front
door, and lift up their tiny, shrill voices, old and
young crowd to the windows, and the little boys and
girls who are born to comfort and plenty, and never
have known want, throw pennies to them, and w ish
them a merry Christmas. When they have finished
singing, they arc invited in to share in the mirth of
the children of the house, and are made to sit down
with them to the Christmas table, and perhaps to
dance with them around the Christmas tree.
264
riioKWAi.n AND riiK star-chii.dren.
It was a company of these star-chilcircn who now
found Thorwald lyinj; senseless in the forest, and
whose sweet voices he liad heard in the distance.
The oldest of them, a
boy of twelve, huny up
his star on the branch of
a fir-tree, and stooped
down over the |)ale little
face, which, from the
force of the fall, was half
buried in the snow. He
lifted Thorwald's head
and gazed anxiously into
his features, while the
others stood in a ring
about him. staring with
wide-open eyes and
frightened faces.
" This is Thonvald,
the judge's son," he said.
"Come, boys, wo must
carry him home. He
must have been taken ill
while he was running on
skees. But let us first
make a litter of branches
to carry him on."
The boys all fell to
work with a will, cutting
flexible twigs with their
pocket-knives, and the
little girls sat down on
the snow and twined
them firmly together, for
they were used to work,
and, indeed, someof them
made their living by
weaving baskets. In a
few minutes the litter was
ready, and Thonvald,
who was still uncon-
scious, was laid upon it.
Then six boys took hold,
one at each corner and
two in the middle, and as
the crust of the snow was
very thick, and strong
enough to bear them, it
was only once or twice
that any of ihcm broke
through. When they reached the river, however,
they were \'ery tired, and were obliged for a while to
halt. Some one proposed th.it they should sing as
they walked, :is that would make the time pass more
quickly, and make their burden seem lighter, and
immediately sotne one began a beautiful Christmas
carol, and .ill the others joined in with one acc(ir<l.
It w;»s a pretty sight to see them as they went march-
ing across the river, one small boy of six w.alking at
the head of the procession, carrying the great strir.
■r-»."S^iii»i»~
,^4>f
then the six.Iargcr boyscarr\'ing the litter, and at List
twelve little white-robed girls, tripping t«o abreast
over the shining surface of the ice. Rut. in spite of
their singing, they were very tired b)' the time they
had gained the highway on the other side of the
river. They did not like to confess it ; but when
they saw the light from Wise Marthie's windows.
POOR JACK-IN -TMK -BOX.
265
the oldest boy proposed that they should stop there
for a few minutes to rest, and the other five said,
in a careless sort of way, that they had no objec-
tion. Only the girls were a wee bit frightened,
because they had heard that Wise Marthie was a
witch. The boys, however, laughed at that, and
the little fellow with the star ran forward and
knocked at the door with Thorwald's skee-statf.
" Lord ha' mercy on us ! " cried Marthie, as she
opened the peeping-hole in her door, and saw the
insensible form which the boys bore between them;
then flinging open both portions of the door, she
rushed out, snatched Thorwald up in her arms, and
carried him into the cottage.
■'Come in, children," she said, "come in and
warm yourselves for .a moment. Then hurry up to
the judge's, and tell the folk there that the little
lad is here at my cottage. You will not go away
empty-handed ; for the judge is a man who pays for
more than he gets. And this boy, \-ou know, is
the apple of his eye. Lord ! Lord ! 1 sent his dog.
Hector, after him, and 1 knew the beast would let
me know if the boy came to harm ; but, likely as
not, the wind was the wrong way, and the poor
beast could not trace the skee-track on the frozen
snow. Mercy! mercy! and he is in a dead swoon."
IV.
When Thorwald waked up, he lay in his bed,
in his own room, and in his hand he held a pale-
blue flower. He saw the doctor standing at his
bedside.
" Mamma — my mamma," he whispered.
" Yes, it is time that we should go to your
mamma," said the doctor, and his voice shook.
And he took the boy by the hand and led him to
his mother's bed-chamber. Thorwald began to
tremble — a terrible dread had come over him; but
he clutched the flower convulsively, and prayed
that he might not come too late. A dim, shaded
lamp burned in a corner of the room, his father
was sitting on a chair, resting his head in his
palms, and weeping. To his astonishment, he saw
an old woman stooping over the pillow where his
mother's head lay ; it was Wise Marthie. L'nable to
contain himself any longer, he rushed, breathless
with excitement, up to the bedside.
"Mamma! Mamma!" he cried, flourishing his
prize in the air. " I am going to make you well,
Look here I "
He thrust the flower eagerly into her face, gazing
all the while exultantly into her beloved features.
"My sweet, my darling child," whispered she,
while her eyes kindled with a heavenly joy. " How
can a mother die who has such a noble son ? "
And she clasped her little boy in her arms, and
drew him close to her bosom. Thus they lay long,
weeping for joy, — mother and son. An hour later
the doctor stole on tiptoe toward the bed, and
found them both there sleeping.
When the morrow's sun peeped in through the
white curtains, the mother awoke from her long,
health-giving slumber ; but Thorwald lay yet
peacefully sleeping at her side. And as the
mother's glance fell upon the flower, now limp and
withered, yet clutched tightly in the little grimy,
scratched, and frost-bitten fist, the tears — happy
tears — again blinded her eyes. She stretched out
her hand, took the withered flower, pressed it to
her lips, and then hid it next to her heart. .'\nd
there she wears it until this day.
POOR J.ACK-IN-THE-BOX.
Frighten" the children, do 1? Pop with too sudden a jump?
Well, how do you think / felt, all shut in there in a lump ?
And did n't / get a shock when the lid came down on my head ?
And if you were squeezed up and locked in, would n't you get u<.
and red ?
If you think I 'm so dreadful, my friend, suppose you just try
yourself ;
Let some one shut you in
.•\nd then, when the lid
whack.
And look like a fright when you spring, 1 'II give in, or my name i
box, and .set you away on a shelf, —
unhooked, if you don't lea]) out with a
r
%^,
^^a^;/
-2^ ^
^Kji^ //
1
^ 1 ■'"
L
H--
^^-^—
-,--^-~--
1
n't Jack.
266
THE GIANT SQUID.
WINTER AND SUMMER.
Bv H. O. Knowlton.
Oh, I wish tlic winter would go.
And 1 wisli the summer would come.
Then the big brown farmer will hoe,
The little brown bee will hum.
Ho, hum!
Then the robin his fife will trill.
And the woodpecker beat his drum.
And out of their tents in the hill
The little green troops will come.
Ho, hum !
When in Ijonny blue fields of sky
And in bonny green fields below.
The cloud-flocks fly and the lamb-flocks lie.
Then summer will come, 1 know.
Ho, ho !
Then around and over the trees.
With a flutter and flirt will go
A rollicking, frolicking breeze.
And away with a whisk, ho, ho.
Ho, ho!
Now the blossoms are sick in bed.
And the dear little birds are dumb,
The brook has a cold in her head,
Oh, summer takes long to come.
Ho, hum !
Oh, the blossoms take long to come,
And the icicles long to go ;
But the summer will come, and the bees will hum,
And the bright little brook will flow, .
1 know. Ho, ho !
THE GIANT SOUID.
Bv Richard Rathbux.
On a far-away part of our Atlantic coast lies a
large and nearly desolate island, called Newfound-
land. It was one of the first of the western lands
discovered by the daring Norsemen, long years
before Columbus visited America, and it is the first
land approached by many of the ocean steamers
coming from Europe.
Of its interior we know very little ; but its shores
arc formed principally of rocks, heaped into high
and rugged cliffs in places, and sending out into
the sea many irregular prolongations, inclosing
great bays or fiords, filled with clear, cold water.
In the winter it is very bleak, and covered with
snow, and in the summer it is inuch less warm
than it is with us. In the spring-time, huge ice-
bergs come down from the north and are stranded
upon its shores, and, during a large part of the
year, thick fogs settle over all the ocean about, and
shut out sun and land from view.
A dreary picture this seems to us ; and the sailor
dreads to go that way at times, for he knows
that his good old ship, however strongly built,
may dash to pieces on some hidden rock when
he least expects it. With a region like this,
distant, thinly inhabited, and wild in the extreme.
we associate marvelous things in 'the animal crea-
tion. Nor should we in this particular instance find
ourselves in the wrong, could we only sit and
plainly watch the busy world of wonders contained
in the limpid waters which surround that coast.
There are surely many strange creatures living
there, the like of which we never dreamed of; but
as they generally swim beneath the surface, they
seldom are encountered. Once in a while, how-
ever, they do appear, and generally it is the poor
fishermen who suffer most from their attacks.
Here is a true story about one of them ;
It was on a bright October morning, not very
many years ago, that tw-o weather-beaten fishermen
left their rude huts, built on the grassy slope back of
the beach, entered their little fishing-boat, and sped
away to tend their nets and lines. The sun had
just appeared above the distant horizon, and the
fierce wind that had been blowing for over a week
past was stilled into a perfect calm. The surface
of the water lay nearly as smooth as glass, relieved
only by the long, incessant swell that rolled in from
the open sea beyond. Without a breeze the single
sail could only hang idly about the short mast, and
the men were obliged to put out their oars and
THE GIANT SQUID.
267
TOW. Tlicy pulled along in silence for some time,
unite unmindful of the beautiful things surround-
ing them on all sides, for they had but a single
object in view, and were only thinking of the num-
ber of fish they might catch, and the money it
would bring them. Thus many minutes passed,
and the boat had gone perhaps a mile, when sud-
denly one of the fishermen espied a queer-looking
nuinded body floating on the water ris;ht ahcail.
us go and see, for we may have fotmd a prize that
will pay us more than all our fishing for many a
month to come."
So away they went, one working at the oars, the
other standing in the bow, with gaff in hand. In
a moment more they were close beside it, when,
to their intense surprise, they saw that it was
neither a wreck nor a bale of goods, nor aught
they had e\er seen or heard of before. It was a
" What can that be ?" he cried out, jumping to
his feet and pointing toward the spot.
" Perhaps a wreck," replied his companion, who
also had turned around, and was gazing intently
toward the unlooked-for object — "a ship cap-
sized in the last heavy storm, and now riding with
her keel uppermost ; or may be it is a bale of goods,
washed in from the big steamer that went ashore
on the outer rocks three days ago. At any rate, let
huge, soft, pinkish body, two or three times as long
as their bo.at, and it evidently belonged to some sort
of animal ; but it lay so quiet and motionless on
the surface that they were sure it must be dead,
and were, therefore, not afraid to touch it. Much
better would it have been for them had they
refrained from the rash act which followed.
But no. Down came the light gaff with a rapid
sweep, its sharp hook piercing deeply into the
268
THE GIANT SQUID.
[February,
pulpy mass. The deed was done ; it was too late
now for repentance or retreat. They had rudely
challenged to battle one of the largest and most
ferocious of all living beasts ; and he was far from
dead. He had only been snoozing for a few mo-
ments, under the soothing influence, perhaps, of
the morning sunlight, and now, smarting from the
cruel wound he had received, he prepared to fight.
He backed off from the boat a few feet, opened
two black, piercing eyes, large as saucers, and
glared fiercely at his tormentors, as though to say :
"Now you are in my power; you cannot escape
me. I have had no breakfast yet."
A quick dart, a sudden splash, and he was upon
them. His huge, sharp beak struck the boat vio-
fortunately, this was not to be. The sight of the
slender, creeping arms had broken the spell, and
aroused one of the men to a full sense of their dan-
ger. A little hatchet lay at his feet. In a moment
it was raised high in the air and came down with
two well-directed blows upon the serpent arms,
where they crossed the gunwale. They were
severed, and the giant fish, feeling the intense pain,
which he so little expected, became fiercely en-
raged, lashed the water about him into foam,
squirted out a black, inky fluid, and darted off.
Very soon he was out of sight, and he never
returned.
The half-dead men, overjoyed at their release,
did no fishing that day, but went back to shore as
lently, and ground savagely against its side, but it
safely resisted the attack.
And what were the men doing all this time ''
Nothing. They were paralyzed with terror ; they
seemed more dead than alive, and could neither
move nor talk. The end seemed \ery plain and
very near to them.
The monster giant, finding he could do no harm
with his beak alone, suddenly threw out a long,
slimy, snake-like arm, which the men had not seen
before, and cast it with a squirming movement
completely across the boat. .A.nother followed, and
perhaps others sped out on the under side. Thus
the boat was being rapidly insnared in a living net,
far more deadly and more secure than any the
fishermen had ever used. Soon it would be drawn
beneath the surface, and the two helpless mortals it
contained would come within easy reach of the
monster's jaws, and then good-bye to them. But,
quickly as they could. They had a very big stor)'
to tell, and no one could disbelieve them, for there
in the bottom of the boat lay the two arms. When
these were stretched out on the beach, one was
found to measure thirty-five feet, or six times the
length of a man, and the other less than ten feet.
They were both covered, in places, with large
round sucking-disks, which stuck to everything
they touched, and horrible must be the sensation
of any living object clutched by them.
Since the above adventure, other specimens of
this curious sort of animal have been seen in the
same region, and captured whole ; and naturalists
have studied them and determined what they are.
Have any of our readers ever seen a squid — the
common little squid that lives along our coast and
feeds on young fish, and, in turn, is captured by the
fishermen, and used as bait for catching larger fish ?
.\\\ voung folk who have seen these little creatures
i8Sl.]
THE GIANT SQUID.
269
will at once recognize the monster of Newfoundland
as only a giant squid, in the same way that a big
cod-fish is a giant by the side of the little minnows
that play about the shores. The common squid
seldom grows
to be half as
long as a man's
arm ; but the
giant fellows
are sometimes
fifty times long-
er than their lit-
tle cousins.
The squid's
body is long
and slender
and round, and
biggest near
the front. It is partly hollow, like a thick skin.
and comes to a point behind, where it has two
broad fins. In front it is ojicn, and lets the water
enter into an inner cavity, where the gills are, and
where the blood is purified. The head is smaller
around than the body, and sticks out of the front
end of it very looseU' indeed. It has an immense
eye on each side, and a mouth in front, with a
pair of jaws shaped like a parrot's beak, which
it uses to tear its prey to pieces.
But the head has other and more formidable
weapons. Ten enormous fleshy arms, of which two
are very much longer than the rest, reach out from
around the mouth, and ser\-c to capture any fish
that may come near them. The eight smaller
arms are covered all along the inner sides with
small sucking-disks, which, at the will of the ani-
mal, can stick to anything on which they are
placed, and stick so tightly, too, that they often
break off or tear out the skin before they will
release their hold. The long arms spread out near
of his mouth, but just so that his two great arms
can touch him. In an instant they are thrown
about him, and the suckers made fast to the skin.
The fish jerks and twists about, and does every-
thing he can to get away ; but in a moment he is
drawn up close to the eight small arms, which also
seize upon him and wind about him, and all the
m.any suckers holding on make escape impossible.
Now the squid is certain of his victim, but he
always chooses to end his misery at once. So he
thrusts out his sharp beak and nips him in the
back, in such a manner as to cut his spinal cord
in two. This finishes him, and the hungry squid
begins to eat.
The squid swims very swiftly — in fact, we can
almost say he darts like an arrow ; and this is the
way he docs it : We already have explained that
his body is partly hollow, and opens toward the
front. When he breathes, he swells tremendously,
and a great deal of water rushes in to fill the space.
Now, when he contracts his body again, the water
is forced out ; but it cannot go out the same way it
entered, for a large valve closes the opening. It all
has to pass through a little pipe, called the siphon,
lying underneath the head, and through such a
small outlet it will, of course, come with great
force, pushing the body backward like a flash. By
constantly pumping water in this manner, he can
travel long distances, and go at almost lightning
speed. He generally travels backward, but can go
forward, too, and his fins act as a rudder. He
loves to chase and catch fish, and this is his princi-
pal occup.ation.
Inside the body there is always a little bag, filled
with an inky mixture, which he can squirt out into
the water, so as to discolor it for many feet around,
and thus obscure his whereabouts, when he is
pursued by an enemy. The squid, also, has a
backbone, extending along the back, underneath
the ends like an oar, and have suckers only at these the skin ; but it is very different from our backbone,
broad places. as it is thin and nearly transparent, and is made in
Now, try to imagine how the squid hunts. He a single piece. The cutde-fish bone on which the
sees a little fish darting by him, far beyond the reach canary-birds sharpen their bills is the b.ickbone of a
270
TH K C, 1 ANT S()r I II.
[Febri'arv,
kind of squid that does not live on our coast ; and
there are still other kinds, with only eight arms,
and with no bone nor fins at all.
You would scarcely believe that the squid is
a near relative of the soft and harmless oysters
and clams ; but so he is, and he ranks as the very
highest of his tribe, as he is the most active and
the most intelligent.
Squids like the night much better than the day.
At least, they come to the surface most frequently
in the night time, and then it is that the fishermen
go out to capture them in different ways. Some-
times they use a net, at others a bunch of hooks,
stuck into a cork and smeared over with tallow,
which the squid eagerly seizes, only to become
firmly caught, and then hauled on board. A
bright moon attracts them, and they arc said to
gaze upon it w-ith astonishment. As the moon
moves, they also move slowly backward, and fre-
quently find themselves stranded high upon a
beach, which they have failed to notice. The
fishermen often go out in a boat with a big torch,
and imitate the moon so successfully as to drive
whole schools of them ashore.
This is the common little squid we have been
describing so minutely, but our description answers
just as well for the giant ones, which only differ in
the matter of size. Their habits are probably
also the same, and the reason we know so little
about them is that they seldom appear in the da\-
time, unless they have been hurt or disabled in
some way. The largest specimens ever measured
were nearly sixty feet long, and must have weighed
two or three thousand pounds. They are the
largest animals living, excepting the whales and
some kinds of sharks, and fearful stories are told of
strong men being dragged down by them to cer-
tain death.
That their power must be tremendous, the fol-
lowing incident will show : A little vessel once
lay at anchor in a northern harbor, and the
sailors w-ere busy about her, cleaning the deck
and fixing the rigging. Suddenly she began to
sink, although she had not sprung a leak. Down,
down she went, until the poor affrighted sailors,
thinking their last day had come, took to their
row-boats and started for the shore. Still the little
craft kept going down, until the water was just
about to close over her, when instantly she rose up
again to her former position. A moment aftenvard
a ihonster squid sprang from underneath her, and
darted off out of sight. He had evidently been trying
his strength, by fastening his suckers on the bottom
of the vessel, and trying to drag her down beneath
the waves; but whether in earnest or in play, we
shall never know.
The giant squids almost always appear suddenly,
without any warning, and go as quickly; but they
have been caught entire at times, and one fine
fellow was captured not very long ago, and taken
to the New York Aquarium, where he probably
may be seen to-day. Whales often eat the big
squids, and occasionally we find parts of them in
the whales' stomachs.
In the olden times, squids gave rise to a fabled
monster called the " kraken," but at present wc can-
not believe that the kraken is real. When floating
on the sea, this creature was said to appear like an
island, several miles around, and his arms stuck up
like the masts of a big ship. The people were very
much afraid of him, and declared that he could
easily master the \'ery biggest man-of-war, and pull
it down to the bottom.
But our little readers who may sail the sea need
have no fear of meeting giant squids, for these
creatures, after all, are generally very shy of every-
thing that is above the waves, and they very, very
seldom appear to man.
l8Sl.)
COUSIN CHARLEY S STORY.
271
COUSIN CIIARLKVS STORY
I5v Makv II mi.ocic Footf..
v..
Half-past five, or even a quarter to six o'clock,
seems \erj- early on a dark, winter morning ; and
so Robbie's mother found it when he woke at that
hour and sat up in bed, calling: " Make it light ! "
Robbie went to bed at six o'clock, and no wonder
he felt so bright and rested before dawn ; but
Mamma, who went to bed at ten, was quite willing
to wait until the sun rose to make it light.
" Why don't you keep him up an hour later,
Helen?" .Aunt Jeanie said. "Perhaps he would
sleep later in the morning."
But Grandmamma said :
" Let him go to sleep at six as long as he will:
he will sit up late enough and lie abed late enough
by and by. I always let my children sleep when
they wanted to, and slept myself when 1 could."
Aunt Jcanic's little boy went to bed at eight
o'clock, but he was five years f)ldor than Robbie.
Walter was eight years old, and Robbie looked up
to him in all things quite as if he were a man.
One evening Cousin Charley was telling Walter a
long story. It was a story Walter had heard many
times, but he was not at all tired of it. He never
thought to ask Cousin Charley if he were tired of
telling it. They sat together on the sofa in the
dimmest corner of the room ; Cousin Charley told
the stor^• in a low voice, for Grandniamnia was
reading, and Aunt Helen and Walter's mamma
were talking over the pictures of boys' suits in a
book of patterns.
" Don't you think this is pretty, Jeanie, — this
one with a sailor collar and plaits in the back?"
Aunt Helen was saying. " But do you think
Robbie looks well in those large collars — his shoul-
ders are so high ? "
While the two mammas bent their heads over
the book, Cousin Charley's voice could be heard,
although he spoke so low : " The rain came down,
COUSIN CHARLEY S STORY.
[Febri;-'
trickling down the trunk of the hollow tree, and
wet his bed. So Mister Wolf thought he would
look around for better quarters."
" Charley, don't make yourself too fascinating,"
said Aunt Jcanie; " it is nearly eight o'clock."
" Oh, Mamma ! he 's just in
the best part ' " said W alter
I II gi\e jou ten min
utes Can \ou hnish it
in that time
1 he stoi \ \\ as fin
ished in ten minutes
"THE RABBIT J
more, but Charley talked fast toward the end of
the time.
The next morning, at five o'clock, all was quiet
in Aunt Helen's room. The lamp was unlit, the
fire unkindled, and a pale glimmer of moonlight
shone through the curtain, for the moon had risen
late and was making the most of her time. Tick !
tick ! sounded from the hall below, where the old
clock talked to itself all night long and never slept.
Quarter past five, half past, and Robbie still
asleep. Tick ! tick ! tick ! — ten minutes' more rest
for Mamma. Now there is a stirring and heav-
ing of the counterpane ; an arm, short and fat,
clothed in white flannel, is thrown out. Robbie
turns over on his back and breathes more quickly.
Robbie is waking. Presently, up rises the tumbled
white head : " .Mamma ! Mamma ! Make it light ! "
Mamma rouses herself, thinking she cannot have
been asleep more than an hour.
" Robbie, do go to sleep again. It is n't morn-
ing yet. Can't Robbie sleep a little longer?"
Robbie throws off the coverlet and sits up in bed.
" Robbie don't want to sleep. Robbie did sleep !
Make it light ! "
" Come, lie in Mamma's arms a little while.
See how dark it is ! That is the moon shining."
Mamma takes Robbie close in her arms, feels
his hands to know if they are warm, and slipping
one hand under his night-gown, softly rubs his
back and smooth, fat legs, hoping to soothe him
into quiet. " Listen to the clock ticking — tick! tick!
tick! Everybody in the house is asleep! Grand-
mamma is asleep, and Aunt Jeanie 's asleep, and
Walter 's asleep, and Katy 's asleep, and pussy 's
asleep, down in the dining-room, by the fire.
Now Robbie shut his eyes and sleep, too.
M IV be a little dream will come ! "
Mamma is almost asleep herself by this
time, and stops rubbing. "Want to
see pussy ! " Robbie says, lifting his
head. '* Mamma, get pussy ! "
" Mamma could n't get pussy now.
Poor pussy ! She wants to sleep.
Robbie shall see pussy after break-
fast."
•■ \\'hcre is breakfast ? Robbie
want breakfast ! "
'■ There is no breakfast yet. Katy
is fast asleep, — the kitchen is all
dark, and the dining-room is all dark,
and the dishes are shut up in the
closet, and the bread and butter are
in the pantr\', and — Robbie shut his
eyes and try to sleep. When he
wakes up again, may be it will be
hght."
'' Robbie is 'wake ! Make it light
now ! " Robbie places both hands on Mamma's
chest and raises himself in bed ; he crawls up a
little higher and buries one hand in the pillow ;
a braid of Mamma's hair is under the hand.
"Oh, Rob ! Don't pull Mamma's hair ! Do lie
down ! "
" Make it light ! " Robbie says, and mamma hears
him drumming on the head-board with his fat feet.
Mamma looks at the watch and finds that he has
only wakened at his usual hour, so she puts on
her slippers and wrapper, lights the lamp, places
the screen before it, and touches a match to the
kindlings, already laid in the fire-place. Robbie is
so interested watching all these preparations for his
comfort that he lies quite still. The fire roars and
crackles, and a bright, dancing light chases the
shadows across the ceiling. Mamma is just lying
down again, when Robbie calls :
" .-Xmmals ! animals ! Want my animals ! "
Mamma puts on her slippers again, and gets the
Noah's ark, with the animals rattling around inside,
most of them without legs, and several of the
species entirely extinct. " And the boat !" Robbie
commands, from his high seat on the pillows.
The boat is really the snuffer-tray, an old-fashioned
silver-plated one, which had stood on the high
mantel, holding the snuffers, ever since Mamma
could remember. The snuffers had not been used
for almost as long a time, and were very stiff in
COUSIN CHARLEY S STORY.
273
the hinges ; but the tray was still in active service,
playing various parts in the children's drama. At
present it was used as a boat, in which the animals
from the ark were ferried over the rolling sea of
bed-covers. Robbie had no faith in the sea-worthy
qualities of the ark. It stood on the bolsters,
and the piggy with one leg, left! IIc'p Robbie
fin' his ammals. Mamma ! "
Mamma was just falling into a doze, unconscious
of the heavy sea and the shipwreck so near, but
now she roused herself and began a search for the
lost animals. The spotted deer had been recovered.
VIISTER FOXl
against the head-board, and represented the city
of New York. It was a stormy passage to New-
York. The snuffer-tray reeled and rocked, and
Japhet, the captain, was lost overboard while
tning to rescue the camel and the spotted deer.
Robbie met with so many losses that at last he
cried out, in his trouble; " Mamma, only one e'fant,
Vol. VIII.— 18.
and two cats, when there came a rush of footsteps
along the hall, and a knock at the door.
"Aunt Helen! May I come in?"
"Walter! Walter!" cried Robbie, bouncing
about in the bed. "Oh, Walter!"
Walter was admitted, and joyfully embraced by
Robbie, who was now quite willing that Mamma
2 74
COUSIN CHARLEY S STORY.
should do whatever she Hkcd. The room was
cozily warm, and Mamma took ofT the flannel sack
she had put on over Robbie's nigiit-gown. She
put a saucepan of water over the coals to heat,
and sat in her low chair, before the fire, watch-
ing it.
"Can't you play some t|uiet play, Walter?" she
asked. "The bed gets into such a state when you
prance about like that. Can't you tell Robbie a
story ? "
"Oh! I know a story — a good one — Cousin
Charley's story. Want to hear a story about a
wolf and a fox, Robbie ? "
Robbie was ready for anything Walter might
propose.
"See! W'e can play it was right here," said
Walter. " Play this is the wood where the wolf
lived. He lived in a hollow tree ; it was n't a very
good place to live, because, when it rained, the
rain ran down the trunk of the tree and fell on the
bed. Play this was the wolf, Robbie." Walter
had selected a yellow-and-white cat from the
animals of the ark ; and it resembled a wolf from
having once had four legs and a tail. The resem-
blance was now very slight indeed; but Walter
encouraged Robbie's faith by explaining to him
that it was a "funny kind of wolf. We don't
have that kind now."
"Nice wolf," said Robbie. "Where's the tree
wolf lives in ? "
"Aunt Helen, can't you find something we can
play is the tree ? "
"Will this do, Walter .'' " Aunt Helen handed
him one of the tall, plated candle-sticks that stood
on the mantel. "It is light-colored and smooth ;
you can play it 's a beech-tree."
' ' Oh, yes ! But where 's the hollow in the tree ?
Never mind ! — we '11 play it 's on the other side ;
and the wolf did n't live there long, anyhow. He 's
just going away now, Robbie, because he had such
a bad night with the rain. Here he goes walking
through the wood, and through the wood, and
through the wood, and over the hill, and by and
by he comes to a cave. A great big rock — two
rocks, that lean up against each other, — and inside
there was a big, dark hole, 'way in ever so far ! Oh,
Aunt Helen I Please, will you give me the 'froggy'
book."
Aunt Helen handed the "froggy" book, and
Walter opened it in the middle, and stf>()d it up
against the head-board.
"Well, he came to this cave, and he thought
he 'd look inside. So he went in, and it was a splendid
place in there to live. It was pretty dark, but wolves
don't mind the dark. It was dry and warm, and he
scraped together a lot of leaves and made a bed, and
so he slept there that night. Sec, Robbie, there 's
the old wolf fast asleep in the cave ! Hear him
breathe ! "
Robbie almost stops his own breathing as he
peers into the cave, and listens to Walter's heavy
snorts and sighs. The story is becoming exciting.
"And now it 's morning, and he gets up and
he feels lonesome. It 's such a big place to live
in alone. So he says to himself: ' I think 1 '11
try to find some one to come and live with me.'
He had nothing to eat but part of a chicken, so it
did n't take him long to eat breakfast. Then he
went out of the cave and he walked around, and
walked around, and walked around, till he came to
the hollow tree where he used to live, and there he
found a fox, sitting in front of the tree. This is the
fox, Robbie ; it 's a real fox, not a play fox ; see
what a sharp nose it has, and a bushy tail."
The fox was one of the few animals which had
escaped mutilation or total destruction in the ark,
and the perils of shipwreck afterward.
" ' Well, old fellow,' said the wolf, ' where are you
living, nowadays.' ' ' Oh, I 'm not living anywhere
in particular. I slept here last night, but I sha'n't
try it again.' 'Pretty mean place to sleep,' said
the wolf — ' I 've tried it myself I 've found a
first-rate place now; plenty of room for two. Come
and see it, and if you like it you can li\'e there with
me.' The wolf had heard 'a great deal about the
fox's cleverness. He knew he was n't very clever
himself, so he thought it would be a good thing to
have the fox for a partner."
" What 's ' partner' ?" Robbie interrupted.
" Oh, never mind, Robbie ! Cousin Charley said
partner. It 's Cousin Charley's story. Robbie
will know what partner is when he gets to be a big
boy. See, here they go, the wolf and the fox,
through the wood, and over the hill, and now they
go into the cave together. The fox says it is just
splendid, just the very thing he had been looking
for. 'All right,' said the wolf; ' make yourself at
home.' So the fox scraped together some leaves
and made a bed for himself 'Look here,' said
the wolf; ' my cupboard 's empty ! ' Cousin Charley
said there was a kind of shelf in the rocks, like a
closet, where the wolf kept his food when he had
any. Well, he had n't an\- that day, so he told
the fox he would have to go hunting, and the fox
said he 'd go along, and they would divide between
them what they caught. The wolf thought to him-
self, ' Now 1 shall live like a lord, for the fox must be
a great hunter.' ' Now,' said the fox, ' you go along
this side of the hill, and I '11 go along the other side,
so we wont miss anything, and we '11 meet at the
cave. I '11 wait dinner for you if I get home first,
and you wait for me.' So the wolf said he was
satisfied with that plan, and he went along the
hill, — here he goes, — and the fox goes on the other
COUSIN CHARLEY S STORY.
275
i
side. Now, the wolf had good luck. He had n't
gone far when he heard a rustling in the bushes,
and he kept very quiet, and what does Robbie think
ho saw ? "
'• What he saw?" asked Robbie, too impatient to
guess.
" He saw a 'itty, bitty rabbit, with long cars and
a pink nose."
•• Oh, a wabbit I A w.abbit ! " cried Robbie.
" .-Xnd the wolf waited quiet in the bushes till the
rabbit jumped past him ; then ho pounced on him
and bit him behind the ears."
" Oh, no ! No, he did n't ! " cried Robbie, much
excited. '■ He did n't bite wabbit ! "
"Why, yes, Robbie — that 's what Cousin Charley
I
I
said. He had to, because he had n't anything to
eat. I don't believe it hurt the rabbit — only just
a minute."
■' Play it was n't a wabbit," said Robbie. " Play
it was a big — big "
"Wild-cat," said Walter.
" Yes, yes ! A big wild-cat ! "
"Well, never mind what it was; but the wolf
got something for his dinner. He had enough for
himself, and then he went back to the cave, and
waited and waited. Here he is," said Walter, prop-
ping the wolf against the side of the cave. " He 's
so hungry he can't stand up. ."Xnd now back comes
the fox, over the hill here, and ho has n't a single
thing. ' You 've been long enough,' said the wolf;
' you must have had bad luck. ' ' Luck ! ' said the fox ;
' 1 had no luck at all. But 1 suppose you have enough
for us both.' ' 1 have n't any more than 1 want for
myself,' said the wolf. ' But 1 said 1 'd divide, and
so I will.' And the wolf divided, but they had to get
up very early next morning and go hunting again.
The wolf was home first that day. It was a good
day for hunting, and it seemed to him very strange
the fox should come homo again with nothing at
all. But he did. He had had bad luck again,
and so the wolf divided. But he began to wish he
had n't ;isked the fox to live with him. The next
day and the next day it was just the same. The
wolf had tn hunt for both, and he got very tired
of it. He thought about
it a good deal, and the
more he thought, the
more it seemed to him
very queer the fox had
such bad luck. One day,
when he w;is home early,
he thought he would go
in search of the fox, and
see what he was about.
There was snow on the
ground, and he could
follow the fox's tracks.
He followed along till he
came in sight of the hol-
low tree; and there he
saw the fox. He had
had good luck that day,
sure enough ! For, on
the ground beside him,
there were a fat goose and
two squirrels. The wolf
watched him ; he was
scratching and digging
in the snow ; by and by
he had dug a big hole,
and he put the goose and
the squirrels in and cov-
ered them up, and wherever there were spots of
blood on the snow, he licked them up. ' Aha ! '
said the wolf to himself. ' I know you now,
Mister Fox ! Fine good feeding you 've had be-
tween my house and your cupboard ! The sooner
we part the better.' But the wolf did n't say a
word to the fox, because he did n't want to quar-
rel with him. He was afraid of such a clever
partner; but he made up his mind he would n't.
feed him any longer. He went home to the cave
and ate all he wanted for his own dinner, and what
was left he hid away. When the fox came, he
found the cave empty. No wolf, no dinner. Nothing
but the beds of leaves. The fox waited a long
276
COUSIN ClIARLKV S STUKY
[Februa
while, and wlicn tlic wulf did n't come, he went
back to the hollow tree and dug up one of the
squirrels for his supper. Hut he went back to the
wolf's house to sleep. The next morning, the wolf
lay asleep in the bed, beside him. The fox spoke
to him and shook him ; then the wolf turned over,
and said he was sick and could n't hunt that day.
So the fox went away by himself It was a bad
day for hunting — very windy ; and the snow blew
so, he could n't sec far before his face. He lay in
the bushes and watched, but he could n't find a
thing to eat ; so he had to go back to his own hole
under the hollow tree. He was scraping the snow
away from the hole, when a wind blew through the
bare trees — a great wind that came from a long
way off. The fox heard it coming, and heard the
trees creak and rattle their dry boughs: It came
on, vvhoo-00-00 ! till it struck the hollow tree ; over
it went, and the fox was underneath. He lay
there all night ; he was n't dead, but he could n't
stir; the tree held him down, and one of his legs
was broken. He lay there all the next day ; and his
leg hurt him so, he could not help crying, and he
was awfully hungry. When it was evening again,
and the moon shone on the snow, he saw a shadow
coming, slow — slow — across the white moonlight.
It wiis old Master Wolf, who had come to look for
his partner. He was walking softly, for he thought
the fox might be at some of his tricks ; but the
fox was quiet enough now. ' Well,' said the wolf,
'here you are!' 'Yes, here I am,' the fox said.
'I hope you have n't \vaited dinner for me.' The
wolf saw the blood on the snow. He knew it was
the fox's blood, and that he was hurt. ' It serves
him right,' he said to himself. The fox turned his
eyes up at him, for he was fastened down, and
could n't move his head. ' You need n't come
back to the cave,' said the wolf; 'there is n't room
for two. Good-night;' and then he went back over
the hill. But he walked very slowly. He kept
walking slower and slower, and, by and by, he
stopped and listened. The fox had tried not
to make a single moan while the wolf was there,
but now his pain made him cry out, and the
wolf heard him, for the woods were still. 'After
all,' he said, ' he 's my partner. 1 chose him
myself He thought about it a little while longer,
and then he went back to the tree. ' See here,
now,' he said to the fox, ' I don't owe you any-
thing, but 1 don't mind doing you a good turn if
you wont expect anything more from me.' ' I don't
expect anything,' the fox said. ' I never have. I
have n't asked you to help me, have I ?' ' No, you
have n't, but I will.' He worked away at the tree,
digging and gnawing, until he got the fox loose,
and he crawled out and limped away over the snow.
' Better take along what you 've got in your hole ! '
the wolf called after him. ' Thank you ! I '11 leave
that for you,' said the fox. ' I owe you more than
that.' The wolf did n't take it, though he was
hungry. Somehow it seemed to him it would n't
taste good. But the fox came back that night, and
dug up the old goose and carried it away. The
wolf never saw him again."
Now there w;is silence in the room, and Mamma,
listening for Robbie's voice and not hearing it, rose
and went softly to the bed. Robbie was fast
asleep, and Walter lay on his back, making funny
shadows on the wall with the wolf and the fox.
'■ Was n't that a nice story, Aunt Helen?"
"Yes; but do you think Robbie understood it.
Walter ? "
" But he liked it," Walter said. " He likes
things he can't quite understand."
When Robbie av.oke, Walter was standing by
hmi, all dressed, and the sun was shining into the
room.
" Where is the wolf and the fox?" he said, sitting
up in bed.
There lay the old Noah's ark and the " froggy"
book, but the wood and the ca\e and the hollow
tree were gone.
MYSTERY I N A MANSION.
TWO VISIONS OF FAIRY-LAND.
Bv .Mrs. .S. M. 15. Piatt.
NE, with her bUie, faint eyes, could dream too much ;
One, rosily sun-stained, wanted things to touch.
She met him on the stair with half a blush :
" How late you sleep!" he said. She whispered, "Hush !
" I read that painted book last night, and so
I dreamed about Prince Charming " "Did you, though?
Why, I was wide awake in time to sec
All Fairy-land! 1 wish you'd been with me."
" What was it like?" "Oh, it was green and still.
With rocks and wild red roses and a hill,
" And some shy birds that sung far up the air, —
And such a river, all in mist, was there ! "
" Where was it?" "Why, the moon went down on one
Side, and upon the other rose the sun ! "
" How does one get there?" "Oh, the path lies through
The dawn, you little sleeper, and the dew."
:YSTERY IN A MANSION.
(A Slory of at, S. S.)
Ch.^pter VII.
KITTY MAKES A SURPRISING DISCOVERY.
The rowers on board " The Jolly Fisherman "
toiled manfully in face of the approaching storm ;
but the patched oar was becoming more and more
shaky, the tide was strong against them, and the
shore appeared no nearer.
"If we could get over to that stone house," said
Donald, "we inight borrow a pair of oars."
"That wouldn't do," answered Fred. "It
would detain us, and we are too late now."
"We might go across the creek," said Belle,
"and then land and walk to Greystone."
" So we might," said Kitty, ruefully, " if we were
once across; but that is not possible."
" It is not impossible," said Sandy, tossing up his
hat. " Nothing is impossible to an American. If
that is not true, there is no use in being one."
"You are right, Alexander; but Jw^v is it to be
done ? " asked Donald.
"This way," answered Fred. "We'll turn, go
up the creek with the tide, and then, even with our
broken oar, we can reach the bank."
It was not easy, still the young Ainericans did it;
but when they came near the banks, they found
they were in shallow water, where t];ie spatter-docks
grew thick and strong, and in front of them rose a
high stone wall. They could not row over the
docks ; but with the unbroken oar Donald poled the
boat along, and when at last it ran aground on the
mud, some feet from the wall, Sandy took off his
shoes and stockings, rolled up his pantaloons,
jumped into the water, and with many a cry of
"gee" and "haw," brought the boat up close to
the wall. Then Donald gave him a hoist, he found
projections on the wall on which his feet could rest,
and up he went. The next was Donald, the tallest
of the party, and then, between him and Fred, the
278
MYSTERY IN A MANSION,
[February,
two girls were pushed and pulled, until they also
were up. The basket and shawl, the gun, Sandy's
shoes and stockings, were then handed up, the boat
was tied securely, and they were happily landed.
In the hrst moment of this triumph, TScUe distin-
guished herself. It was fast growing dark, it was
beginning to rain, and they were a mile from Cirey-
stone. Their path for half of this distance lay on
top of the wall, and this, the boys said, was so full
of musk-rat holes that they would have to walk
with great care, or an ankle might be sprained. At
one side of the wall was the creek, at the other a
dry ditch, well floored with stones. Belle sat down.
She then said she was going to stay there.
" All right," said Fred. " We '11 blow a horn
when breakfast is ready, and you can come over."
"What do you mean to do?" asked Donald, in
perplexity.
"I don't know," she replied; "but 1 can't go
over that walk. I shall be sure to fall one side or
the other, or I shall go into a hole. I should a
great deal rather stay here."
" But you can't stay ! " cried Kitty. "You know
you can't ! And if you do, I shall have to stay with
you, and you know I don't want to do that."
"You need not," said Belle. "The tide will
soon be high, and then a boat can come up and
take me off."
" I suppose you will light a beacon," Sandy said;
then added, more gently, grasping her hand; " 1
can take you safely along; take hold of my coat
and follow me. We must go at once, or Papa will
be dragging the river for us."
Belle stood up, but she looked at him still in
some terror.
" You must ! " said Sandy, firmly. " Think how
troubled Mamma must be."
Belle paused ; then, with a little gasp, she took a
firm clutch of his arm, and so he headed the small
procession, carefully feeling the way with the gun,
calling out all the holes, concealed even in the da\-
light by grass, but now in the darkness entirely
invisible, and all his followers "larboarded" and
"starboarded" as he directed.
It was not Ijjng before they were off the wall,
and then they hastened, almost running, over the
fields, Sandy singing, in a clear, high voice, as
soon as they were near the house ;
" Oh, say can you see, by the absence of stars.
How bravely we climbed, and how carefully crept.
Where the musk-rats made holes,
And the "
" Is that you, Sandy ISaird ? " cried a voice in
the darkness.
"It is, your honor!" cried he, — "me and me
family. An' is it you, Patty?"
" 1 am so glad that you have come ! " said Patty,
who now saw them. " Is there anything the mat-
ter? Any one hurt ? Your mother is almost wild,
and your father and she have been down to the
wharf a dozen and inore times. As for your supper,
that is just spoiled. It has been ready two hours."
" Don't say that, Patty," said Fred; "no sup-
per could be spoiled for us ! Here we are.
Mamma ! " he cried, as a figure ran down the steps
of the porch ; " safe and sound, hungry as bears,
and with ever so much to tell you."
When Sandy came down-stairs, ten minutes
later, — for all tales of adventure were forbidden, by
Patty's request, until the party come to the table,
— he went through the kitchen to the pump, and
stopped in surprise.
" Why, Patty !" he exclaimed; " what a lovely,
charming, delicious smell ! What a>r you cook-
ing?"
" Birds," said Patty, briefly.
" Birds ! " he repeated. " Boys ! " he called out
to the others, who were trooping down, " Patty has
birds — a stew of birds ! Just come and smell
them."
"Smell them!" said Fred. "Easily content
should I be if 1 should stop at smelling them !
Oh, Patty, do hurry ! "
" Did Papa shoot them?" asked Sandy.
" No, he did n't ; " and Patty pushed everybody
aside and took the coffee-pot off the stove.
" They were leTt by some boys, with a whole
pack of nonsense written on a piece of paper.
There it is," and she pointed to part of an old
show-bill, pinned against the wall.
Fred took it down, and on the back was written :
: is proclaimed. After that, rash invaders.
■ What in the world does that mean :
claimed
Sandy.
"Birds!" cried Kitty, running in. "Oh, they
are the very birds we meant to shoot and did n't !
Did Sandy tell you of our luck, Patty? It was just
as bad as it could be. First, there was the crane —
and then — oh, Sandy, do you mean to tell? About
the cardinal-bird, you know."
" You are not going to tell anything just now,"
snapped Patty. "Be off to the table, everj- one
of you, and I '11 bring in the dinner."
Poor Kitty's bad luck was not yet over, for the
next morning, when she awoke, her face was
sore and swollen by sunburn. Her eyes were red
and weak, and she was a most forlorn object.
The boys laughed at her, Belle pitied her, and
Patty at once saic^she must stay at home, and have
her face bathed with sour milk.
"Oh, 1 can't do that!" she cried. "We are
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
279
I
I
going to Brighton to-day, and you know you want
sugar and tlour. I can't stay at home ! "
" I think we really must change our plans," said
Mr. Baird ; " for you certainly can not go on the
water with that swollen face. We shall go to
Brighton to-morrow."
"We have no flour," said Patty, "and all the
bread in the house, excepting a piece of a loaf, is
on the table."
Kitty looked up. She was never selfish, and she
at once said they must go, and she would stay at
home. She tried to smile as she said this, but
between her swollen face antl a desire to cry, she
made a poor success.
The bread, it was clear, must be had. The boys
proposed to go alone. Belle offered to stay with
Kitty, and Mrs. Baird said Belle must go, and she
would stay ; but Kitty was firm. She was n't go-
ing to spoil fun, she declared, and she would stay
at home alone. Patty approved of this, and be-
tween them they carried the day. The party went
to Brighton, while Kitty staid to devote herself to a
book, and to a great bowl of sour milk and a soft
handkerchief, and Patty went off to hunt up enough
flour to make a little cake for her.
It was a long morning. Kitty read, and then she
dozed ; she walked out into the old garden, where
the grape-vines trailed on the grass, where the
roses and the syringas were knit together by masses
of woodbine, and where the paths could be traced
only by their short grass. She gathered roses and
filled glasses for the parlor-table; she talked to
Patty, pared potatoes, and then lay down on her
cousin Juliet's bed and went to sleep.
When she awoke, it was growing late in the after-
noon. The boat from the city was just going up
toward Brighton, and the shadows on the lawn
were lengthening.
She ran down to the pump and washed her face.
The soreness was almost gone from it, and w-hen
she ran back to arrange her hair by Belle's little
glass, she thought she looked a little like herself
again. She had just finished plaiting her hair
when she heard, she thought, voices down-stairs,
and she ran gleefully down ; but the rooms were
empty, and Patty had seen no one, so Kitty re-
turned to her toilet. Again she heard a voice.
She looked through the window. No one was there.
She went into the hall, and then she heard a slight
noise. It was faint, but she was sure it was the
regular beat of a footstep. It was very easy to
understand this, and with a little chuckle of delight,
she slipped off her shoes and stole softly upstaii-s.
If the boys had come home, and thought to get in
without her knowing it, how mistaken they would
be ! They knew she would watch below, and they
therefore meant to steal upon her from above ! But
she knew them too well for that ; and all in a
quiver of delight, she crept on silently. There was
no one on the third floor, but she heard the step
more plainly, and so she went on to the fourth.
She prepared for a sudden spring, and she
sprang — upon a boy !
But it was not Sandy, nor Fred, nor Donald. It
was a strange boy, and he had a gun in his hand 1
This gun he leveled at her, and he cried ;
"Halt! My goodness, but you frightened me !
I thought you people were all gone."
Kitty jumped when she saw the gun, but in a
moment she cried out :
"Now, Harry Briscom, put that down! Put it
down this moment, or I '11 tell Cousin Robert."
"Will you stand where you are?" replied the
boy.
"I wont do anything," said Kitty, "until you
put that gun down."
"You will have to do something; you must
stand still or run away," and the boy returned
the gun to his shoulder, and then. " grounding
arms," leaned upon it.
" It will go off in your ear," said Kitty.
"No, it wont," the boy replied: "I am not
afraid."
" 1 don't believe it is loaded," said Kitty.
"Never you mind," he replied. "Where are
the other folks ? "
"They have n't come back."
"Did n't you go along?"
"No," said Kitty.
"Why?" asked he.
"I chose to stay. But what arc you doing
here ? Where did you come from ? Don't you
remember me ? "
" Of course I do," replied the boy, " but I did n't
expect to see you just now. I knew you were
here."
" Tell me what you are doing here."
" I saw you out in the boat the other day," pur-
sued the boy, " and I knew you right away. You
' caught a crab ' just as you used to up in the Cats-
kills, and you jumped up and looked all around to
see if any one saw jou. I never saw a girl, who
could row as well as you do, lose her balance so
completely."
" Don't you tell Sandy Baird ! " exclaimed Kitty;
"he will never stop teasing. Were you one of the
boys in that boat with a striped sail ? But what
arc you doing here? Does Patty know you are
in the house? I had a lovely time that morning.
I went out alone before breakfast. Did any one tell
you about it?"
"I never saw a girl who could ask as many
questions as you can," he replied, "and if Patty is
that old woman, she does n't know I am here, and
28o
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
I should be much obliged if you would n't tell
her. When do you expect the others?"
" 1 don't know. I thought when 1 he.ird sou
that they had all conve. Don't you want to come
down-stairs ? "
"Talking on guard!" cried a voice from a moni
in front of which they were standing.
Kitty gave a great jump, while Harry shouldered
his gun and resuined his march, beginning to
whistle.
" 1 do think, Harry Briscom," said Kitty, in an
indignant voice, "that you are too silly for any-
thing. 1 don't believe )our father knows you are
here."
To this, Harry replied by a shrug that was expres-
sive, even if not graceful.
"And I am going into that room to see what
you have in there."
He pointed his gun at her.
"Now, see here," said Kitty, "you will have to
stop that. I am not going to have guns pointed at
me, and, perhaps, come to be a dreadful accident
in the newspapers. I do believe you have shot
somebody, and you have shut them up in that
room."
At this moment the voice was again heard, and
it said: " Is that a girl ? Ask her what time it is. "
"I don't know," said Kitty, at once, "but the
stage has gone down to the boat-landing. It must
be after three. Who is that in there?"
"Look here, Harry," said the voice, and the
door opened a very little. " I want to speak to you.
It is something important. "
Harry went into the room, then put his head out
and bade Kitty stay there, and then disappeared
again, a violent whispering following. In a moment
he came out, and saying, " It 's a real good idea,"
he turned to Kitty and asked :
"Would you like to turn State's evidence?"
"Turn State's evidence?" repeated Kitty. "I
don't know what you mean."
"You ought to know," said the boy, "for you
are likely to be arrested, and anyhow I don't mean
to let you go before the Chief comes."
"You don't mean to let me go!" cried she.
" I '11 go this very minute."
"No, you wont," said Harry, stepping in front
of her. " You will have to obey the laws, or be
punished. You and your family are invaders, and
now you come to play the spy ; I am not sure but
you '11 have to be shot. I suppose you are a perfect
Major Andre."
"Oh, if it is fun you mean," exclaimed Kitty,
her eyes dancing with delight, " I '11 be State's
evidence or anything. But you ought to remember
that this house belongs to my father."
"The Baron Baird?" said the bov.
" The Baron Baird," repeated Kitty, who could
have screamed with pleasure, but who looked pre-
ternaturally grave.
"It is his no longer," said the boy, making his
gim ring on the floor.
"It has n't any lock!" cried Kitty; "that gun
has n't. No one need be afraid of it I "
"Never you mind about that," said he; "the
castle has been besieged, and you, the Baron's
daughter, are my prisoner. Go into that room ! "
" I certainly will not," she replied, with unusual
caution, " unless I know what is in there."
' ' Come forward, prisoner ; " and the guard
opened the door, a boy smaller than Kitty, and
with a sunburnt, pleasant face, making his appear-
ance.
" You are not afraid of him?" said the guard.
" That 's all. Now go in."
"I 've seen him before. His name is either Jack
Robinson or Sam Perry," said Kitty, obeying orders.
"Oh, you recognize him, do you?" said the
guard. " I '11 make a note of that. I don't know
that it will amount to much, but it may prove his
guilt, or that you are a spy," and then he closed
the door; and as he did not at once resume his
march. Kitty fancied he was making his note.
If Kitty had not been perfectly familiar with the
room in which she was placed, she might have
been frightened, for, with the exception of what
light came in around the cracks in the door, it was
perfectly dark. There was no window in it. but it
was large and high. The Baird children had often
wondered for what it was built. Belle said that
the old china-merchant used it as a dungeon for his
wives ; Sandy, however, insisted that he did not,
but, instead, that he cured the hams there.
It was now. however, a dungeon, as Kitty in-
stantly thought, and the two prisoners stood side
by side.
" I want you to stay there until 1 come back,"
called the guard through the door. " I should lock
you in, but there is no key."
"We '11 stay," said Kitty, cheerfully. " Make a
rattle as if you had a great bunch of keys."
The guard felt in his pockets, but he had noth-
ing to rattle ; so he rolled out :
" R-r-r-r-r," and walked off
" Have n't you a chair to sit on ?" said Kitty.
" Not even a heap of straw," replied her com-
panion.
" I am tired of standing." said Kitty. " Dear
knows how long he will be gone."
" I should n't sit down on the floor, — not if I were
afraid of spiders ; there are hundreds, millions of
them here."
"My goodness!" cried Kitty. "You horrid
thing ! Why did n't you tell me so before ?" and
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
I
she d.isheci out of the room, caUing loudly for Hnrr\-
Ikiscom.
Harry had not gone out of sight along the long
entry, and he came back in a great hurry.
■■ 1 wont stay in there ! " exclaimed Kitty. "That
boy says the room is full of spiders."
" They wont hurt you," replied Harry, impa-
tiently; "'you ought to have staid there. There
.dways are spiders in prisons."
"1 can't," said Kitty; "no, not if they were
lions."
" You '11 h.ave to be on your parole, then," said
H.arry ; "and come when you are summoned."
" Oh, I '11 do that," said Kitty, quickly. "When
will the summons come ? "
" Pretty soon," said Harry. " Before your folks
come home."
The door opened, and out came the other boy.
" See here," he said, "if the girl 's on parole, 1
think 1 ought to be."
" I don't know," replied his guard, doubtfully.
tied the hands of the prisoner with a piece of twine
he took from his pocket, and marched off with him,
leaving Kitty in high delight looking after them.
" I do wish he had told me how he got here,"
she said to herself, as she ran down-stairs. "I
thought they were Catskill people. And oh, I do
hope Sandy and all 9f them are having a lovely
time, and will stay ever and ever so late ! "
Chapter Mil.
THK BAROX'S DAUGHTER IS PROPOSED AS AN
HONORARY MEMBER.
" Don't be worried about me, Patty," cried Kitty,
running into the kitchen. " After a while I am
going out, I don't exactly know where, but I shall
not be long."
"Do you want a piece of your cake.'" was
Patty's reply.
I
I
" The Chief sentenced you : th.nt makes a differ- To this, Kitty at once said yes, and taking her
ence."' piece of cake, she went out to the front porch and
" Where is the Chief ? " asked Kitty. sat upon the top step. Slie did this for two reasons.
" Ha, ha ! " replied the guard, in a deep voice. In the first place, she had not made any appoint-
" I don't care," said Kitty. " But you have to ment with her gu,ird about meeting him : but, she
tell about me, and you can't leave your prisoner, so thought, here she would certainly be in sight ; and
take him along." besides, she \vanted to watch for the boating party.
" That 's a good idea," said the guard; and he .At last, her piece of cake being all eaten up, she
282
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[February,
became so nervous, between the long delay of the
guard, and the fear that her cousin might come and
she be prevented from unraveling this delightful
myster)' of chiefs, and State's evidence, and prison-
ers, that she had to get up and dance a little on
the porch. She would have rushed off to liunt up
the guard, but she feared to miss him.
But when the shadows were much too low and
long upon the grass, she heard a low whistle, and
she sa«' Harry Hriscom standing near the end of the
empty wing of the house.
She ran to him at once.
" Have they come?" he said.
"No," she answered, hurriedly. "Not yet.
Where am I to go ? "
"You must go around to the back of the house.
By the garden-gate. There you «ill meet a mes-
senger. Where is the old woman ? In the
kitchen? "
Kitty nodded.
" I hope she will stay there. .-Xud you must say,
' Is it well ? ' and he will say. ■ It is well.' "
"Who?" said Kitty.
"The messenger, of course. But you will have
to be blindfolded."
" Indeed I wont." promptly replied Kitty. " 1
won't go anywhere if I can't see."
"Nobody will hurt you. Just you have confi-
dence. Now, don't you turn on me. I said you
were the pluckiest girl I knew."
This went to Kitty's heart. Rather than forfeit
such a reputation as this, she would have been
carried. So she said she would go.
"Just wait one minute," said Harry. "Count
five hundred, and then you come."
When the proper number was counted out, and
Kitty reached the garden-gate, she saw no one. but
in a moment a figure in an old water-proof cloak,
wearing a large hat, and with a white muslin mask
on its face, appeared from behind some lilac-bushes.
Kitty glanced at the figure. She could see the
brown curly hair, and a shoe not properly tied, and
she recognized both ; but she made no sign. She
simply thought that Harr>- had been quick, for she
had hurried as fast as was fair in her count.
" Is it well?" asked Kitty.
" It is well," replied the figure, in a deep, husky
voice, and then it produced a handkerchief, with
which the prisoner's eyes were to be blindfolded.
"Would you mind using mine?" asked Kitty.
"No," said the deep voice; and when Kitty
took it out <if her pocket, it added, "It is too
little."
Then Kitty took the ribbon off her hair, tied it
to one end of the handkerchief, and gave it to the
figure. It was now quite long enough, and so
Kitty's eyes were tied up.
The guard then turned her around three times,
and taking her hand, led her, as Kitty could easily
tell, over the grass and but a short distance.
He then knocked at a door, and a voice said:
" Are ye true?"
" .'Vnd loyal I " replied the guide. "Give the
countersign."
"All is well, and the Duke is dead."
At this mysterious announcement, the door was
at once opened. Kitty's other hand w.is taken,
and she was led into a close, hot room. The
handkerchief was then taken off her eyes, and she
looked in amazement around her. She knew at
once that she was in one of the class-rooms in the
extreme end of the southern wing of Greystone.
The shutters were closed; a fire burned on the
hearth, making the room uncomfortably warm; in
front of it sat a boy of fifteen, wearing a red cap
and cloak, and behind him, at either side of the
mantel-piece, stood a small boy, one holding a
pitch-pine torch, and the other a Roman candle,
which he promptly let off as soon as the handker-
chief was removed from Kitty's eyes. There were
but three balls in it, but they made Kitty dodge,
and she did n't like it, and said so. 3"he boy with
the candle had bare legs and arms, and wore a
bunch of feathers in his cap, which was turned
hind-part before. He also had a piece of plaid
around his shoulders, and was sufficiently suggest-
ive of fancy balls to make Kitty sure he was a
Highlander. The others puzzled her. One wore
a dress of shining lead-colored muslin, made like a
butcher's shirt, and had a tin basin tied down on
his head. Another was dressed in green, and had
a bow and arrows ; another had a fur cap, and
some sort of a blanket over his shoulders; and
another, in a sailor's suit, had such a projection in
one cheek that Kitty was sure he had an egg, or
a "tom-troller," in his mouth. All these figures
wore masks similar to that worn by the guide,
which were made out of white muslin, with two
holes cut for the eyes. Over at one side stood the
httle boy who had been Kitty's fellow-prisoner,
and his hands were still tied.
"This is the prisoner," said the guide, pointing
to Kitty, and addressing the boy who was sitting,
and who wore the red cap. This figure, being the
only one provided with a seat, was at once recognized
by the prisoner as the Chief
" Advance, O Champion, and read the charge ! "
said this personage.
At this, the guide disappeared into the out-shed,
and in a moment came back attired in a blue
cloak, gracefully draped over one shoulder, and a
hat with a white feather. In his hand he carried
a sheet of foolscap paper, .and advancing to the
middle of the floor, he began to read:
MYSTERY IN A MANSION'.
2H3
" Catherine Baird, the prisoner, was born tliir-
teen years ago "
•' Twelve," calmly interrupted Kitty. " I shall
not be thirteen until next December. And I hope
you spell my name with a K, for I hate Katharine
with a C."
The Champion at once borrowed a pencil and
made the corrections.
•• Twelve years ago," he resumed, reading with
"Oh, you all have names I What is that one
with a tin basin on his head ? " '
" Your Majesty," said the person of whom she
spoke, " is this proper language?"
"Truly, my worthy Don Ouixote," said the Chief,
skillfully answering the two questions at once, "it
is not ! Shall she be sworn .-'"
" Oh, he 's Don Qui.\ote," said Kitty. " I never
read much of that book. It was n't interesting."
BROTHERHOOD UN.MASKS.
great emphasis. " Her father is a minister, and she
hves in a village called "
"Goodness!" said Kitty; "do you consider all
that interesting? I suppose Sandy Baird wrote it."
" Sandy Baird did not write it," said the Chief;
" he is not here. You know very little of Brother-
hoods if you don't know that they always read the
histories of prisoners. "
"Is this a Brotherhood?" said Kitty, eagerly.
" Is that why you arc all dressed up? I wish Harry
Briscom had told me. and I 'd have dressed, too ;
but I am not a prisoner. I am State's evidence, —
whatever that is ! "
" Harry Briscom is not known here," said the
Chief. "Perhaps you mean Lord Leicester."
The Champion, or Lord Leicester, then cleared
his throat.
" Please wait until I am gone before you read
that," said Kitty. " I have ever so many questions
to ask. and I am afraid Cousin Robert will come
home."
There was a little discussion upon this point, the
Champion — who probably was the author of the
biography — being very much in favor of having it
read ; but it was decided, as the hour was late, to
omit it.
.\l that moment, there was a knock at the out-
door, and the countersign being again given, an
Indian girl entered, followed by the boy in green,
who had slipped out unseen by Kitty.
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[February,
" Approach and give your report," said the Chief,
in a tone of solemn dignity. " Is it safe upon the
rampart and the river?"
'■ It is safe upon the rampart, and on the river
all is silent."
" And our good Robin Hood," said His Majesty,
" let us hear from you. Have you played the scout
upon the invader?"
''He has not returned," replied Robin, "and
the old woman is alone."
" I war not upon women nor children," said the
Chief.
Kitty at once concluded that all this meant that
her cousin Robert had not come back, and Patty
was in the kitchen ; but, for a wonder, she did n't
speak. She was thinking.
" Has she been sworn?" said the Chief, abruptly
turning to Kitty.
" I don't want to be sworn," she replied. " I '11
tell all I know without it."
" But you must swear," said the Chief; and he
arose and unsheathed a small sword he w-ore at his
side, and gracefully presented the blade to Kitty.
" Kiss this, O maiden, and say thy words are truth."
Kitty was quite equal to this emergency, and she
sank upon one knee, and kissing the sword, said
her words were words of truth. Then she looked
around for approbation ; but, if this e.\isted, she
could not know, because of the masks. Then she
arose.
" Now," said His Majesty, sitting down again.
" we shaU proceed."
'• Would you mind taking off your masks? " said
Kitty. " It is n't pleasant to talk to people when
you can't see their faces."
"Is that the price of your revelation ? " asked the
Chief.
" It is," replied Kitty, promptly, and with great
firmness.
"Unmask!" commanded the Chief, taking off
his own bit of muslin with a relieved air. "It is
awfully hot."
" I think," said Kitty, who was nothing if not
suggestive; "that that back door might better be
open."
"Then we might be surprised," replied the
Chief, looking anxiously toward the door.
"Place a sentry," suggested the Sailor, after
taking a hickory-nut out of his mouth.
"I shall. I appoint Captain Kidd as sentry,"
and the Sailor at once took up his station by the
back door, after having opened it, much to every
one's relief.
"In the first place, now," said the Chief, im-
pressively, "how long do you — the invaders — desire
to remain within these walls ?"
"For six moons," said Kitty, who was looking
around at the group and wondering who the Indian
girl was, and who was also relieved not to see -Sandy
in the party — "that is to say, until next week."
" And then you go home ? "
"We do."
"What does the Baron Baird mean to do with
the property?"
" Is this State's evidence ? " asked Kitty.
" It is," answered the Chief.
"Well, it is stupid," frankly replied Kitty.
" Don't you ever play anything? Don't those
other boys ever say anything ? "
The Chief made no reply, but sat in silence for a
moment, then he said :
"Soldiers, take the prisoner to the guard-house,"
and the Champion and Don Quixote at once
advanced and conducted Kitty away, though, much
to her relief, not up to the dark room, but to the
out-kitchen. In a moment, the Highlander, with-
out his torch, which had become much too smoky
for comfort, came out to relieve guard, and the
Champion and Don Quixote went back to what
Kitty supposed was a council.
She sat down on the step, between the rooms,
but was careful not to listen, and in about ten
minutes, or, as she measured time, a half-hour,
the Champion came back, and escorted her into
the room again.
The Brotherhood was now arranged in a circle,
sitting on the floor, and they gave Kitty a place
in the middle. She could not help thinking of
their own dining-room arrangements as she sat
down, but she made no remark.
"We have sent for you," said the Chief, with a
very impressive air, " to say that we have been con-
sidering whether or not we should make you an
honorary member."
(To be coiithntcd.)
THE GOOSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
285
MY LITTLIC VALKNTINE.
Bv M. F. Butts.
A LITTLE curly-headed rogue,
With eyes that dance and shine.
And voice as soft as any bird's, —
Such is my Valentine.
He coos, and vvoos, and murmurs sweet :
■■ 1 love '00, Mamma mine."
What maiden fair in all the world,
Has such a \'alcntinc ?
No matter who may come or go,
His heart is always mine ;
No cause have I for jealousy —
My little Valentine !
He tells his love a thousand times
Each day by sweetest sign ;
."Vnd oh, I love him back again —
Mv little \'alcntine !
THE GOOSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
(A Fal.U'.)
By J. H. T.
" .riT.
1 HE goose wishctl to give a conceit, anil in\ ited audience is not highly cultivated, and it has been
the nightingale to assist her. hinted to me that the\ would enjoy the entertain-
■' But." timidly said the nightingale, '" 1 under- ment more if you should sing the solos, while I tend
stand you do not approve my style." the door, .and keep up the tires."
" Not altogether," replied the goose. " But the So the nightingale sang.
286
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
[Febri"/
IX NATURE'S WONDERLAND; OR, ADVENTURES IN THE
AMERICAN TROPICS. '
By Felix L. Oswald.
Chapter IV. ram snorted and stamped his fore feet, but the rear
sheep pressed the frightened leader forward.
The tumultuous sound of galloping increased " Oh, don't shoot, Uncle, — please," whispered
behind us ; so the teamster brought our cavalcade Tommy. " Let us see how near they will come."
to a lialt, and the fire-arms were made ready The foremost ram came within forty yards,
" Is it robbers ? " cried Tommy. when he got the scent of our wild beasts, — of
the she panther, probably,
— turned short about, and
■-tarted off in full gallop.
The sheep stared, but
when the second ram
leaped back with a snort
I 'f horror, they took it for
.'ranted that something
' ir other must be fright-
I uUy wrong, and the whole
tioop plunged down hill
« ith a rush that sent the
atones flying in every di-
rection. One good-sized
bowlder rolled over a
prtcipiCL, Tnd went boundmg into the valley below and
into a patch of corn field The sheep kept on at a mad
^allop till the\ reached a creek-bed, far below, where
UL lo'it sight of them amidst the cliffs.
" Did \ou i.\(.r SLi. such running!" laughed Tommy.
W h\, thL\ were scared completely out of their wits !"
" The\ ha\e nt an\ sense at all," said Daddy
Simon And then he added ; " We are here in the State
of Ta\aca, and there is a very strict law against
lolling rocks into a man's corn-field."
\\ c tliought our dogs had followed the peccary
ck ir o\ er the su rra but, an hour afterward, we
he ird them howl and bark in a wooded ravine
a few hundred \ ards ahead of us.
" rhe\ lie after something else now," I said;
" a peccu\ docs not turn upon its own tracks."
"The sound li coming this way," said the
teamster " rhcrc they are, now !"
The dogs dashed across the road, but stopped
before a coppice of mesquite-trees at the edge of
the declivity. There they stood close together,
howling and yelping in chorus, when suddenl)' the
Ijrindled deer-hound whisked up the road with his
Cimaroiifs — mountain sheep; look back — see nose close to the ground, making straight for the
their horns ! " mesquite coppice. We saw him dive into the
A troop of bighorn sheep (Ovis moiitaiux) came thicket, but in the next moment he rushed back,
trotting up the road, wheeled around the corner, howling and bleeding, and ran up to us, with his
stoi)ped, and eyed us with surprise. The leading tail between his legs, a pitiful sight !
"No, no," laughed the teamster.
i88i.J
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
287
" Hcigho ! that 's a lean" [a puma], said the
teamster. " Look at this hound ! Why ! he ought
to think himself the luckiest dog in Mexico ! If
he 'd had that scratch a little lower, it would have
cost him his eyes."
■' Do you call that lucky ?" said Tommy. " Look
here ; the poor fellow is nearly scalped ; there must
be a powerful brute in that bush ! "
" A /<vw, 1 think," said the teamster. "Yes, 1
was right ; here he comes ! "
A magnificent puma stepped slowly from the
coppice and advanced to the edge of the cliffs.
There he crouched down and switched his tail left
and right.
"Oho! That fellow means mischief," said the
teamster, and took an old shot-gun from the cart.
" He 's going to turn upon the dogs again ! "
The puma raised his head and advanced toward
the dogs with cautious steps, switching his tail, just
like a cat stealing upon a mouse. It would have
been curious to see the end of his maneuver ; but
before I could interfere, the teamster leveled his
gun and blazed awa\-.
The puma reared up with an angry growl, then
turned and whisked along the brink of the declivity,
with the pack in full pursuit. He led them right
toward the steepest part of the abyss, but just before
he reached the edge he turned short, and with a
magnificent side-leap, reached a crevice in the wall
of the precipice, where he disappeared below an
overhanging ledge.
The dogs rushed ahead, and their leader, one of
the big curs, dashed over the brink and fell head-
long into the dark chasm below. The next dog
saw the trap in time to save himself by a sudden
back-leap.
" Was n't I right ? " said the teamster. " Is n't
this deer-hound the luckiest dog, after all ? If he
had not had that scratch, he assuredly would have
led the pack and broken his neck, instead of my
poor cur."
We looked down into the gorge, but the abyss
was too deep ; the poor dog had disappeared for-
ever.
" My ! Just look away over yonder in that grass
valley," cried Tommy. " There goes that same
troop of bighorn sheep ; and, I declare, they have
not done galloping yet ! "
" This road of ours is rather a roundabout way,"
I observed. "We have not made much headway
in the last half-hour."
"Yes: but it's the only w^agon-road through
these mountains," said the teamster. "1 '11 tell you
what we can do, though : if your guide will drive
my car for an hour or two, I will show you a short
cut across the sierras. It 's a steep bridle-path ;
but we shall pass by a place they call the '.Mtar,'
where you can see the horiiitos [little volcanoes] of
Tarifa. We shall strike this road again on the
other side of the ridge."
"That's a good plan," 1 said. "Come on,
Tommy."
" 1 shall take my old saddle-horse along," said
the teamster. " She would break away or get rest-
ive if I should tr>' to leave her behind."
Menito had fallen ;isleep in the cart. He had
been hard at work carrying water the night before,
so we did not wake him.
A few hundred yards .above the wagon-road, we
reached the cliffs of the upper sierra, and here the
bridle-path became desperately rugged, but the
teamster's old mare followed us closely over the
rocks, like a dog. Where the ascent was too steep
for her hoofs, she had a curious knack of laying
hold of any bush or shrub with her teeth, and
helping herself up in that way. She was a true
mountain horse.
"This is the Plateau of Tarifa," said our new
guide, when we had reached a rocky table-land
near the summit of the sierra. That white knob on
the right there is the highest point on this ridge, and
no one has ever been on top of it, as far as I know."
The "white knob," as the Mexican called it, was
a snow-clad peak of the central Cordilleras. Tier
above tier of precipices rose straight up from the
canon, culminating in a tremendous tower of min-
gled rock and ice, and of such steepness that any
plan of climbing it without poles and ice-shoes
seemed too hopeless to be so much as attempted.
"Come this way, now," said the guide. "Do
you see that steam rising from the valley ahead
there ? That 's the smoke of the Iwniitos. "
After a hard scramble over bowlders and fallen
trees, we came to a pulpit-like promontory on the
southern slope, overhanging the valley of the Rio
Negro, with the famous Itornitos, or volcanic hillocks,
of Tarifa.
"This is what we call the 'Altar,'" said the
Mexican. "Now look down there, if you can.
When I was a boy, we used to come here and try
to keep our eyes on the honiitos without blinking ;
it 's a courage-test, they say. Hunters generally
blink at them with the left eye as they do in firing
off a gun."
It was, indeed, a test which few human eyes could
stand without wincing. There were about ten
small volcanoes at the bottom of the precipice, and
every now and then one or the other shot up a
charge of fire and pumice-stones, that looked as if
they would fly directly into your face. Experience
had shown that the stones themselves never reached
up to the cliffs of the "Altar," but the clouds of
smoke and cinders rose much higher, and one larger
burst gave us an idea of what it means to look into
I N N A T U R E S W O S Ij K R L A X D .
[February,
the mouth of an exploding cannon. Immediately average, and the bottom was covered with heavy,
after, another horiiilo ucnt oft' with a loud report, gritty sand, as if the water had run through
and we felt the rocks shake under our feet when the basalt-caves,
charge of flying stones scattered among the crags. " They call this the 'Orphan-creek,'" said the
"Why! that 's a regular mountain battLrs
laughed Tommy.
" How near did the stones come that timt ' I
asked.
" I don't know," said Tom. " I might better ti.ll
the truth : I shut both my eyes."
We had to clamber down on our hands nnd
knees before we could reach the road, where we
had to wait about twenty minutes before we heard
the rumbling of our cart. They had made the steep
ascent without accident, but Daddy Simon informed
me that the dogs had started another puma and
chased it into the cliffs of the river valley.
" Do you know what makes Icons and panthers
so plentiful here?" said the teamster. "It 's the
caverns; this valley is full of caves and crevices,
where they find shelter for themselves and their
young ones. There are caves here that reach far
in toward the center of the mountain."
We entered one of these caverns, not far from
the road-side, and found it as dark and chilly as a
rock-cellar in winter-time. We sent Menito back
for our field-lantern, and, until his return, sounded
the depth of a creek that issued from a vault in the
recesses of the cave. It was four feet deep on the
teamster. " Many years ago, a Mexican miner
went in here to hunt for gold-quartz, and must have
met with some accident, for he was never seen
again. They say his boy came here every day for
weeks and called his father's name, but only the
cave-echo answered him."
When Menito returned with the lantern, we
advanced about a quarter of a mile into the interior
of the cavern, till we came to an abysmal gorge, —
the Caverna del Diablo, or Dcvil's-pit, as our guide
called it. It seemed to be very deep, for a bowlder
iSSi.l
IN NATURE S WON lUC RL AND.
289
I
I
dropped over the brink reverberated in its descent
for several seconds, till the last rumblings died
away in the abyss below. Clouds of bats rose from
the chasm, and flopped about the cave with pierc-
ing shrieks, when they saw the glare of our lantern.
There was a side-vault which led along the brink
of the gorge, but we found the ground co\ered with
wriggling cave-lizards and serpents, and our bare-
footed Indians beat a hasty retreat.
" There is a puma that has haunted this cave for
years," said the teamster, "'but no hunter has ever
discovered its hiding-place. It must have its den
away back in one of the side-caverns."
We camped in the valley of the Rio Negro that
night, and had a better supper than we expected,
for the river abounds with trout, and the ravines
were full of wild pine-apples. In one of the ravines
the boys found a fine spring, and we sent Menito
down with our drinking-cup ; but we had to wait a
quarter of an hour, and it was nearly dark when he
returned with the pail in one hand and a large
bundle in the other. He had taken off his jacket.
and we thought he had wrapped up a few more
pine-apples.
" Look here, captain, what 's a puma worth in
this sierra ? " he asked the teamster.
"About three dollars," said the Mexican.
"Well, senor, you owe me twelve dollars, then,"
said Menito, and laid the bundle at my feet.
"Here are four of them. "
" Four of what?"
" Pumas, senor," said Menito, and took four
small, grayish cubs from the bundle. They were
about as large as pug-dogs, but all blind yet, and
wriggling about like caterpillars.
" I heard them mewling under a ledge in that
same ravine," said Menito, "but it took me ten
minutes before I could find them. Are n't they worth
ten dollars?"
"Ten dollars!" cried Daddy Simon. "What
manner of a boy are you, anyhow ? Trying to
cheat this gentleman, are you ? In the first place,
they are very young pumas ; and in the second
place, they are no pumas at all. They 're young
ocelots, worth about twenty-five cents apiece. "
"Ocelots!" faltered Menito. "Why, they arc
just the color of a puma ; an ocelot is speckled like
a panther, is n't it?"
"Well, don't you know that young panthers arc
as gray as rats? Just ask the teamster, if you
don't."
"Yes, you are right," said the teamster;
" those kittens are young ocelots. They 'II get
speckled after a year or so."
" Of course they do," said Daddy Simon. " It 's
their wickedness, if you want to know the reason.
Ever>' time they kill or steal something, they get
Vol. VIII.— 19.
marked with a black spot on their heads or legs,
according as they bite or scratch something. "
" If that is so, they must commit the most des-
perate cruelties with their tails," laughed Menito.
"Just look at that panther ! How 's that. Daddy? "
"Never mind," said the Indian, evasively.
•■ Hurry up now, and help mc unstrap those
blankets. The nights are too short to answer all
your questions," he added, in an under-tonc.
We broke camp before sunrise the next morning,
and when we came to the next turn of the road.
we saw a broad valley at our feet, and in the dis-
tance the town of Benyamo, with its gardens and
vineyards. But before we left the mountains, we
made a detour to the right, to take a look at a
strange rock-temple that used to be a place of wor-
ship before the .Spaniards introduced the Christian
religion into Mexico. This temple is a large cave,
290
IN nature's \v o n d k r l a n n .
[Februarv,
which the ancient Indians fashioned into a sort of
under-ground church. The entrance was arched
and chiseled, hke a portal, and the lower walls
were covered with mysterious designs, soine of them
as fanciful as the emblems on a Chinese tea-chest.
The interior of the temple w-as a mass of ruins ;
the Spaniards had smashed every idol they could
lay their hands on, but a Mexican gardener, who
lived near the entrance of the cave, showed us
some queer statues he had picked from the lirbris.
One of them had a nose like an ant-bear ; and a
fat little image, with its arms akimbo, had a hole
through its head that went from ear to ear like a
tunnel. The gardener told us about a strange idol
that was worshiped with divine honors by the pagan
aborigines. It was made of a kind of grayish-
white stone, that looked like quartz in day-time,
but became luininous after dark, and was supposed
to be a supernatural image of the moon. When
the Spaniards began to demolish the temple, this
statue was removed by the superstitious Indians,
and it is perhaps still worshiped in some secret cave
of the sierra.
Between the rock-temple and the town of Ben-
yamo, the
river makes a wide
bend to the left ; but our road
went straight ahead, and led
us through a wild hill-country, full
of ravines and thorny thickets. Far-
ther back, the hills expanded into grassy slopes,
and on one of these pastures we saw a queer little
windmill whirling in the breeze. It was not more
than three feet high, and some of its sails were
colored with a bright purjjle red. If the wind
turned the sails, it looked as if somebody was wav-
ing first a white and then a red handkerchief.
" What in the name of sense can that be ? " I
asked, pointing to the whirling vanes.
" It 's an antelope-trap," laughed the teamster.
•'There 's a pitfall near there."
The whirl-mill seemed to be a sort of bait, for
antelopes are very inquisitive, and want to examine
everything that excites their curiosity. Besides, it
was very useful in warning strangers and children,
who otherivise would be in danger of falling into
the pit.
Our dogs kept up an incessant chase after the
big rabbits that frequent these hill-slopes, but gen-
erally lost them in the hedges of cactus or prickly-
pears that skirted every ravine with a belt of
impenetrable thickets. Some prickly-pears grow to
a surprising height, and we saw one that was high
enough for a good-sized pine-tree, though it had
only a few dozens of those big, fleshy leaves that
distinguish a cactus from all other plants. In the
desert, the thirsty horses and cattle often cat these
leaves; but, in a well-watered country, a cactus is
rather a nuisance, for its prickles are worse than
buck-thorns, and its beautiful red fruit tastes like an
ovcr-ripc gooseberry. Before we entered the vine-
yards in the vicinity of Benyamo, we stopped to
whistle our dogs together. But only two of the
shepherd-dogs made their appearance ; the rest still
barked and yelped in the hill-thickets.
'' They are still after the rabbits," said the
teamster; "but they will soon get tired of that,
and come back of their own accord. "
"Listen! I think I hear our dog,"
said Daddy Simon. " There
must be something at bay,
for he would not make such
•i a fuss about a rabbit."
'* ^ .^ " Is there any large
- ■*■ 1^ game in this neighbor-
'' S'55^ hood ? " I asked an old
' \-^^^' man, who came up
r'v' the road with a
load of dry sticks
on his back.
" Not much,"
said he. "Your
- ' dogs have treed
' -/{. a brown bear in
'■^^ the bottom over
vonder,butbear-
VOl'NT. OCELOTS. - '
meat is n't of
much account around here at this time of year,
excepting to dogs, may be."
" A bear, you say? How for from here did you
see him ? "
" He 's on a wa.\-tree in that bro.ul gully back
there," said the man.
" I thought so; why, that would l>e worth while
looking after," said Daddy Simon.
" Yes, come on, boys," said 1 ; "but the te.am-
I \ N A T II R E S W ( ) N I ) i; R 1 . A \ 1) .
291
I
ster can drive slowly ahead ; \vc '11 overtake him
this side of the village."
We found the tree b\- following the sound of the
dogs, and, sure enough, there was a bear in the top
branches, and four of the dogs
were baying him with long howls.
It was a moreno, as the Mexicans
call a kind of light-brown bear,
about half as large as a griz-
zly. But how could we get hii
down without killing him
" Just leave that to me
said Daddy Simon. ' You
stay where you are, Memto
and watch the dogs. 1 m
going to get something that
will fetch him. It 's cnh
half a mile to town. "
" All right," said I
" Stay here, Menito, till
we get back. I owe you
five dollars for the oce
lots, and will give you
something extra if we
catch this bear. Don t
let him get away."
" Indeed he wont ! '^=;^^
laughed Menito. "Yo ueer st t es fro t
'U find him here if you
come back before night.'" While we walked toward
the village, Dadd)- Simon collected about a peck
of cactus-pears and put them carefully in his big
leather hat.
'■ I guess we can trust that bo)," 1 observed.
" We might as well find a place for our menagerie
before we go back."
Upon inquirj', we were directed to a man who
had charge of one of those empty convents that are
found in almost ever)' Mexican town, — a building
with a fine garden and hundreds of empty rooms.
We soon agreed on the rent-price, and one by one
our boarders were transferred to more commodious
quarters in a side-wing of the building, where most
of the windows were secured with iron bars. The
housekeeper was an honest-looking but rough sort
of fellow, and jerked out some of the monkeys by
their long tails, because they did not leave their
wire house quickly enough to suit him. When he
grabbed the bob-tail youngster by the leg, the little
rogue bit his hand, and clung to the cage with all
its might. The man ran off then, to get a poker
or something, but, before he returned, Bobby
bolted out, of his own accord, leaped upon Tommy's
shoulder, and chattered away in great excitement.
"Uncle, will you do me a favor?" asked
Tommy, taking the little fellow into his arms.
" All right. But what is it?" said I.
" Let me keep this little fellow for a pet," said
Tommy. " He is so small that he wont bother us
at all, and 1 will take good care of him."
"Very well," I answered; "put him back into
his basket and bring him along."
■;;■ Bobby seemed to understand every
word we said, for he stuck out his tongue
and jabbered defiantly when we passed
the housekeeper on the staircase.
On the market-square of
the village, Daddy .Simon met
us with a big bottle.
I 'm ready for the bear
now," said he, " and if it suits
jou, we might as well fetch
him home here."
The distance was not
much more than half a
mile, so we all went back
to the ravine and found
everything in its right
place, — the dogs where we
had left them, and the bear
perched, disconsolate, on
one of the upper branches.
"He has walked around
and around that tree-top,"
; o D E\ ciN TEMPLE said Menito, " but has n't
once tried to come down."
" He will try it now,'' said Daddy. " Just hold
this bottle a minute."
He had put the prickly-pears into a little tin pail,
and now proceeded to soak them with the contents
of the bottle — a sort of strong-smelling spirit, made
of distilled peaches. He then put the pail at the
foot of the tree.
"Oh, I see," said Menito, "you are going to
make him drunk ! But will he like that mess ? "
" Of course he wiU," said the Indian. "Now
catch the dogs ; they wont leave this tree if they
can help it."
With his long leash-rope, he tied the four dogs
together and dragged them off. " Come on now,"
said he, " we must give the bear a chance for his
dinner."
He marched us oft" to a distance of about two
hundred )ards into a coppice of mulberry trees,
where we could watch the bear unobserved.
The moreno noticed our departure, with manifest
surprise, and peeped through the leaves, as if he
suspected a concealed enemy at the foot of the
tree. Seeing nobody, he descended from branch
to branch, and finally grabbed the tnmk of the
tree and slid boldly down.
" Now he 's going to have his dinner," whispered
Daddy Simon.
The bear stopped, noticed the tin pail, and fixed
292
JOHNNY S ANSWER.
his eye on the pasty contents with a strange ex-
pression of mingled surprise and curiosity, as if he
could not take it all in. He turned the pail around,
and then, quietly seating himself, proceeded to
scrape the pears out one b)- one, and gravely smellcd
them as they dropped on the ground. But their
flavor did not seem to suit him at all. He cast a
puzzled glance at the tree, but the wax berries
looked \ery different from the strange mess at his
feet. What could it be ? After sniffing the breeze
attentively, the bear fixed his eye on our coppice
and cocked his head, as much as to say, "Aha!
that accounts for it ! " He then cleaned his paws
by rubbing them against the tree, cast a satirical
look at the scattered pears, and trotted off rapidly,
giving a guttural grunt, as if he were chuckling to
himself
"Confound the unreasonable beast! He h;is
not even touched his dinner," said Uaddy Simon,
when we returned to fetch our pail.
" He was a great deal too smart to eat such
stuff," obsei-ved Menito.
"Stuff! What are you talking about?" cried
the Indian, feeling cross and disappointed. " Do
you know what I paid for that bottle ? It 's the
very best brandy in town. Stuff, indeed ! " he
muttered to himself " That just shows what boys
and bears know about such things ! "
(To be ccnthtucti.')
JOHNNY'S ANSWER.
By Nora Perry.
Johnny, standing four feet two.
In his suit of navy blue.
Aged ten years to a day.
Full (if business and play.
Patronizingly looks down
On the little downy crown.
And the little upturned face,
Of the cooing baby, Grace.
What's a baby good for, now?"
Johnny questions, with a brow
Puckered up into a frown.
As he stands thus looking down.
/ can do a heap, you know, —
Fly a kite and shovel snow ;
Spaded up the garden bed
Just this spring, as well as Ned ;
Mother said so ; but that 's not
Half, nor quarter — there 's a lot,
Oh, a lot more I can do ;
Base-ball, hockey, cricket, too,
' But this little baby now,
What 's she good for, anyhow,
'Cept to spoil a fellow's play.
And to get in folkses' way ?
' Makes a lot of trouble, too ;
Such a heap of things to do !
I don't see why folks can't be
Born grown up as big as me ! "
Just here, baby gurgled out
Such a jolly little shout !
Then began to babble fast.
Ma, ma, ma, ma," and at last.
Yes, as sure now as the world.
Soft the baby lips uncurled.
And commenced to stammer out,
' Don-ny, Don-ny ! " Such a shout
As our Johnny gave at this — I
Then a great big smacking kiss
Fell on baby's cheeks of pink. —
' Mother, mother, only think ! "
Mother heard him loud exclaim.
Somehow, baby 's learned my name ! '
Mother, laughingly, looked on
For awhile, as Master John
Kissed the baby in delight
While he held her close and tight.
Then she mischievously said.
Glancing at the downy he.ad, —
' ' But this little baby now.
What 's she good for, anyhow ? ' "
Johnny turned as red as fire.
Then tossed baby up the higher.
While the baby laughed and crowed,
Johnny, though his blushes glowed.
Answered, bold as brass, just this:
' Why, she 's good to love and kiss ! "
iSSi]
HOW ill.i: WAKED THE ELEPHANT.
293
iu)\v juHi-. WAKiJ) riii'. i:i.]:rii Axr,
(A Slory 0/ a iirtad/ully naughty little filnck Boy.)
Rv Mrs. M. Shkfff.v Pf.tf.rs.
Jl'nF.'S life, ever since he could remember, had
been spent in "Ole Isnil's" cabin, underneath a
spur of the Alleghanics, — and a very happy-go-lucky
life it was.
After "freedom come," Israel and Hannah,
Jube's nearest of kin, had drifted from the cotton-
tields of the Mississippi back to "Ole \'irginny,"
and to their old life of tobacco-raising on the Alle-
ghany slopes. They had brought Jube with them,
the motherless boy having from babyhood, as
Hannah expressed it, " been fotch up by her
hand in the way he or" ter go." If ever " fotch
? ;l.1:>
I
I
up " in the way he should go, the boy, at twelve
years of age, had widely departed therefrom, for no
more mischievous spirit than naughty Httle Jube
infested the turnpike leading from the cabin to
the village beyond.
The day came, however, when Jube was made to
pay off at least a part of the score being continually
added up against him. Yet the boy himself did
not imagine that such a day of reckoning had ar-
rived on that sunshiny morning, when he arose early
to deck himself for a holiday, which was to be given
entirely to the enjoyment of Forepaugh's Great
Circus and Menagerie. Twice before, during that
week, he had made a pilgrimage to the village, and
had spent hours, each time, inspecting the wonderful
display of show-papers gl.iring everywhere. Such
riders, such vaulters, such gymnasts, surely had
never been known before, even to Jube's vivid im-
agination. Such aniinals, too ! the sacred bull, the
ibex, the llama, the rhinoceros, fiercer than the
lion, and the royal Bengal tiger, fiercer than the
fiercest of all besides.
"Ki, yi, Juba!" saluted Aunt Hannah, as the
boy rushed into her cabin that morning, his white
eyeballs rolling, and his red lips parted in grins
of delight. " Isrul, what you s'posc is up wid
this nigger, now?"
' "Humph!" grunted the cabin's patriarch, puflT-
ing, in the breaks of his sentences, volumes of
smoke from his short corn-cob pipe. "1 'specs dat
boy, Hannah " — puflT — " have jes' done " — puff,
puff, puff — "gone crazy ober" — puff — "Foreper's
surcuss."
" What dat you say ? Foreper's surcuss ?
juba, whar dat money you fetch me fur de garden-
^ass an' dem eggs? Ef you jes' done bruk one ob
dcm dozen eggs wid yer capers, I '11 Foreper's
^urcuss you, sec ef I don't."
jube dodged a blow from the hand that had
•fotch him up," and proceeded without delay to
give up every farthing of his evening's sales.
Aunt Hannah deigned to give a grunt of satis-
faction as the last penny was counted into her
hand. Then Jube sidled into the corner of the
hearth where "Ole Isrul" sat enjoying his pipe.
He stood for a moment digging his toes into the
cracks of the hearth.
" Daddy ! " he drawled, by and by. "Daddy ! "
No answer. "Ole Isrul" never so much as
winked an eyelash, but sat smoking his pipe as un-
responsive as a Camanche Indian.
" Daddy, say ! May n't I go to Foreper's 'nag-
erie? My ! it 's a show what is a show. There 's
beasts an' beasts — but it 's the elerphunt what beats
.all holler ! Whew ! Daddy, dat elerphunt 's a
whale, I tell yer ! "
"Juba," said Aunt Hannah, severely, "what
you sayin' — eh ? De elerphunt am not a whale.
How kin it be? It 's agin natur'."
Jube subsided.
"Daddy," he whispered, after a few more
desperate digs into the seams of the hearth, and
under cover of the clatter of Hannah's supper
dishes, — " Daddy, may n't I go?"
"Whar to — wh.ir to, jube?"
294
H U \V J U 15 K W A K E U T 1 1 E ELEPHANT.
[February,
" To Forpcr's 'nagerie. You is j,'winc.' fur tel-
le' me go ? Aint yer, Daddy ? "
" Sartain, boy; sartain — ef ycr kiii find a silver
mine 'twixt now an' show-day."
Jube looked disheartened for a moment. Then
his face brightened. He was not lacking in expe-
dients, and it was a gi'eat matter to have ' " Dadd)''s "
consent. He began to do a double shuffle, but
brought up in short order as he caught Aunt
Hannah's eyes turned upon him.
"You, Jube! You jis' shuffie out 'er dis, an'
hang dat last load ob tobaccy-cuttin's on de scaffold,
down by de tree."
Jube obeyed with alacrity, as he felt it would not
do to provoke " Mammy's" ire at that critical stage
of his plottings. Having tossed up the pile of
tobacco waiting for him, he quickly mounted upon
the shed, in order to hang up the cuttings for dry-
ing. The scaffold was a swinging one, supported
on its lower side by forked stakes driven into the
ground, while on the back, or higher side, the
horizontal poles supporting the stems were, after
the shiftless manner of Jube's race, suspended by
grape-vine twists to the low, spreading boughs of an
oak tree. The tree itself should have been in the
prime of strength and beauty, but, like a parasite,
the clinging scaffold had, through years of gnawing,
eaten into it, until now many of its lower branches
were quite dead. Jube, however, briskly hanging
the tobacco, while man'elously preserving his
balance on the swaying poles, was not concerning
himself with the fate of this tree. His brain, active
as it was, had enough to do to work out the
problem " Daddy" had set for it to solve. How
was he to find that silver mine? Just two days
more and Forepaugh's menagerie would make its
gi-and entry into the village. Now, Jube was an
expert at treeing coons, and had ceased to boast of
the ground-hog and rabbit burrows which he had
found — but a silver mine ! That was different. He
didn't believe " Daddy " himself had ever found
one of them, though with a witch-hazel he had found
more than one under-ground spring. But a silver
mine! "Jeemes's River!" said Jube to himself;
" how I wish a witch-hazel would point to one of
them ! "
But suddenly Jube narrowed his range of fancy
to a more promising field.
If he could find a silver dollar, would n't
"Daddy "think that the next thing to a silver mine.''
He had heard tell it took acres to make a silver
mine — but a silver dollar a smart boy like him might
find in a sheep's track, or thereabouts. A cunning
look twinkled in the corners of the boy's eyes. He
gave the tobacco a final shove with his toes, then
leaped down and went whistling back to report to
Aunt Hannah, and have his share of the mush and
milk, for which his afternoon's work had given
him a hearty relish.
Next morning, two of .\unt Hannah's biggest
melons were missing from the patch, and a brace
of her fattest capons from the roost; but suspicion
was diverted from the real culprit by the tracks of
huge shoes freely displayed throughout the patch.
"'Pears to me, Isrul," said the woe-begone Han-
nah, "dat thief mus' have wore shoes made upon
his o«n las' — I nebber saw sich a foot on any ob
my acquaintance."
" Dat 's so, Hanner; dat 's gospel truf Der aint
no sich Ijuild of foot sca'cely sence de days ob
(">oli-er. "
Yet, as Hannah turned off in perplexed thought,
the old sinner slyly thrust forward his own huge
shoes, gi\'ing a significant poke with the bowl of his
pipe at the sand and clay filling the coarse seams.
" Ki," he inwardly chuckled, "dat boy Jube
better not let de ole 'ooman know how close under
her nose he done 'skiver his silver mine. She '11
have her shere of intrus' off o' him, shore as yer
born."
But Jube was as sly as he was naughty. Aunt
Hannah was unsuspecting.
" Juba," said she, tenderly, " ef I had the
money, you should go ter Foreper's 'nagerie to-
morrow."
Jube was prompt to seize his golden opportunity.
" Ef 1 arned the money, Mammy, mought 1 go?"
" Ye-es," drawled "Mammy," cooling a little;
" ef Isrul s'poses he kin spar' yer from the 'baccy
gathering, yer mought."
" Ef yer fines the silver mine, Jube, ef yer fines
the silver mine, yer kin go," said Israel, pressing
in the feathery ashes of his pipe with the horny tip
of his finger.
This time, Jube executed a double shuffle in good
earnest, and returned to the tobacco-field much
relieved. That afternoon, when he went to the
pasture for the cow, he turned old Brindle's nose
homeward, and hurried off to the village to-do a
little trading on his own account. For this, Hannah
had a well-seasoned hickory laid up for him when
he came back, but Jube knew her weak point, and
when he had hauled forth a whole quarter of a
pound of good tea, " which," he said, " a feller at
a store had gin him for runnin' of a arrant," she
was so touched by his thought of her, that the rod
was quietly slipped out of sight, and Jube felt quite
enough in favor to exhibit the tiny square of card-
board which he had brought back as the result of
his stolen expedition. Hannah's curiosity was at
once aroused by the mysterious signs thereon.
" What 's dis, Juba ?"
" Why, lor', Mammy ! Dat 's a ticket of 'mis-
sion to Foreper's surcuss."
i88i.l
HOW JUBE WAKED THE ELEPHANT.
295
" Dat is? Sho, now! An' what 's dis writin',
Jube? You is a scholard. What do do writin'
say?"
" It says to Ic' nu' into Forepcr's 'nagcrie an'
big show," said Jiilx", who, having enjoyed throe
sun had lifted his head
•-"i*r>
;iy
monlhs of educa-
tional ad\antagcs
at a free school, felt
tent 10 render a free
'•*^
.-. O^-'m
h9"
I
compe
transhtionof till
hiero^Kphics which so puzzled his illitorito rcHti\c
"Well, Imd o' Cinaan ' " (.J i< ul ited A.unt Han
nah. " But whar did yer git it, Juba?"
Jube was ready for the question, and he assured from his bath in the mill-pond, which was the only
her that " one of Foreper's surcuss-men had gin it bath-tub large enough for his high mightiness.
to him fur carryin' of his nags to water." As this procession returned through the village,
Hannah did not look convinced, but she had Jube, anxious to secure a more elevated point of
to the village before the
above the eastern hills.
Such a day of rare fun and jollity as that w.is for
Jube! His dusky skin fairly glowed and glistened
with the fullness of his delight. In all the twelve
years of his life he had
never been to a circus,
so, even before he had
reached the climax of
wonders under the can-
~ ~ vas of this one, he had
>^ decided,like the Queen
of Sheba, that he had
not been told the half
of the glories he was
tosee.
The grandc entree
was of itself a stupen-
dous revelation to him.
Was there on the earth
such another glittering
line of men, women,
horses, and band-wag-
ons ? There, too, were
cages of wild beasts,
poking out here a
great foot and there a
ferocious head, or the
whole terrible animal p.ic-
ing restlessly. But the ele-
phant was, as Jube had told
' Ole Isrul," the wonder of all.
" My ! Aint he a whale ! "
he said, under his breath, as
if fearful his words might
reich Aunt Hannah.
."Xnd just here we may
( hronicle that Jube had an
tclventure with this gigantic
brute before the day was
doiu Not content «ith following in the wake
of his Indi 111 mijcsts through the whole morn-
ing, the bo) in the xfternoon, formed part of
an admiring retinue accompanying him to and
1
L}^
learned discretion in " argufyin'" with Jube, so
contented herself with a word of " warnin'," by say-
ing: " Remcmbah, you Jube, ef you 's a foolin'
me, de truf will out some day ! "
Jube, however, was content to risk any calamity,
if it should only come after he had enjoyed one day
obsen'ation, rushed ahead of the throng to perch
himself upon a projecting ledge of a comer store-
house, from which he might view the breadth and
length of the elephant's mighty back ; but, in his
haste, Jube had not fiken note of the fact that he
was just at the point where two streets converged —
with Forepaugh's circus. .And he had his day, for that, but a moment later, the elephant must round
next morning, as we have said, he was up and the sharp angle, with barely room to crowd himself
dressed betimes, and, indeed, was well on his way between the ledge and the iron lamp-post beyond.
296
HOW JUBE WAKED THE ELEPHANT.
He was only made conscious of his predicament
when the beast was close upon him. On came the
mountain of flesh to crush him to powder ! Jubc
sickened with horror, and turned ashy with fright.
He could feel the heated steam arising from the
creature's moist sides — those monstrous flanks which
would sweep him from where he clung, like a fl)-
from a wall. The great ears flapped at and fanned
him — the small, twinkling eyes were turned upon
him. A shout or cry of warning and horror went
up from the crowd. It was answered by a careless
grunt from the elephant, and in an instant his pro-
boscis was thrown into the air. Jube gave himself
up for lost. He found himself enfolded as by the
coils of a serpent, and immediately there followed a
sensation as of flying. Another shout ascended
from the crowd, but this time it was a shout of
derisive laughter at poor Jube's expense, for the
beast had lifted him quickly down from his perch,
and dropped him, not too gently, into the middle
of the dusty street. His majesty and retinue swept
on, leaving poor Jube to whimper, and rub his
shins, as he crept into an alley-way close by. He
was not much hurt, he found, after an examination
of his joints and bones, but he did have a regular
ague-chill from the fright, and so felt revengeful
enough as he crouched in the shelter of a garden
wall to recover his strength and spirits.
"The ole tough-hided, ole stump-footed ole
critter ! 1 '11 be even wi' 'im yit ; ef I don't, I wish
er may die," he muttered, nursing his wrath.
Nevertheless, he was quite ready to enjoy the
night-exhibition under the canvas, and when the
performance was over, he took his last look at the
actors, horses, wild beasts, and elephant, regretting
heartily that such days could not last forever.
"Only," he thought, sidling past the modern
mammoth reposing in state upon his bed of straw,
" I should like to git a twist at one o' them tails of
his'n — like I twists ole Brindle's, sometimes, when
he wont git oulen the paster quick. I wonder, now,
ef I 'd jist stick a pin into dat foremos' one, an' nm
fer it, ef he 'd think 't would pay 'im to chase me."
Fortunately, however, discretion, or cowardice,
decided Jube not to encounter the risk, so he started
home in safety from the village with a party of men
and boys going in his direction. Reaching the
cabin about midnight, he crept up the outside lad-
der to his bed in the loft, and was soon rivaling
Hannah and Israel in their duet of snores below.
From the overeating or over-excitement of the
day, his sleep was not of long duration. He was
aroused, an hour or two before dawn, by the sound
of wheels passing along the turnpike. In an instant
he was wide awake and on the alert.
" Goodness ! " he exclaimed, in a quiver of ex-
citement. " Ef 't aint Foreper's surcuss and
'nagerie on its travels ! Wish-er-may-die, if I don't
get one more blink at the elerphunt. "
In a trice he had slipped from his bed, and was
at the hole in the gable-end which did service for
him as door and window. The moonlight was flood-
ing the pike, and, as far as he could see along it,
there was passing a ghostly procession of men,
horses, vehicles, etc. It was Forepaugh's circus on
its move to the neighboring town. Without more
ado, Jube, in his airy costume, slipped down the
rickety ladder to the ground. He found, near the
tumble-down gate, an excellent covert and outlook.
Crouching in the clump of Aunt Hannah's privet
and lilac bushes, he watched with the utmost zest
until every wagon of the lumbering train had rolled
past, and disappeared, in shadowy outline, far up
the road.
Then his heart sank, heavy as lead. He had
not seen the elephant. It must have gone by, ahead
of the train. He waited five minutes longer, to see
if there were anything more to come. Excepting
that a whip-poor-will, dreaming in the big oak-tree
upholding Israel's drying tobacco-crop, now and
then sounded its plaintive cry, not a sound dis-
turbed the moon-flooded stillness of his watch.
Heaving a profound sigh of disappointment, he
took one more look up and down the turnpike, and
was in the act of turning about to go back into
the cabin, when an object some distance down the
road caught his attention. He crouched again and
waited. Whatever the object was, it drew slowly
nearer, momently increasing in proportions, until it
loomed up, a ponderous mass, clearly defined within
the range of his enchanted vision.
It was Forepaugh's elephant, moving drowsily
along. His keeper, riding alongside, seemed half
asleep, too, as also did the pony he rode. It was
evidently a somnambulistic trio, jogging leisurely
along in the wake of Forepaugh's show. But Jube
was wide awake, and there was a spirit of mischief
awake within him, besides.
'■ 1 sed I 'd be even wi' the tough-hided, stump-
footed ole thing," he chuckled, squaring himself
for action. " He skeered me to-day, but I '11 gin
him sich a skeer, now, as never was."
On came the somnolent three. Directly, they
were abreast of the gate behind which crouched
the waiting Jube. Suddenly this gate was flung
wide on its hinges, and the boy leaped into the
road with a screech and a yell, flinging his arms
about, and flapping his' very scanty drapery al-
most in the face of the beast. You may believe
his Indian majesty napped no longer ! In an
instant his proboscis was waved frantically in the
air. sounding his trump of alarm, the prolonged,
screaming whistle fairly deafening its hearers.
Poor Jube had by no means calculated upon this
HOW JUBE WAKED THE ELEPHANT
297
dire result of his attempt at revenge. His eye-balls jiicl{,'nient could mean those yells and shouts and
rolled, wild and big with terror, as he watched bcllowings, turning the calm, moon-lit night into
for .1 1 111 !-;;.] ..r dust \ciliiii; the unsllins panclcmonium ? Clinging together, and quaking,
they minigtd to rnch the
I Kir, -ind to open 1 crack
idc enough to peep through
Laws, Isrul ' cried Han
ih, falhng upon her kntes
a^^im ill m i tremble
' Krul It im the judg-
of the fettered beast
and his angry guardian.
Rut the struggle was a brici
one, as might have been
expected from the odds in
favor of the elephant. Freed
from his keeper, he rushed in
pursuit of Jube, pressing him
so hotly that he had no time
to mount his ladder to the -"f^ '
cabin loft. At almost every
step, too, the infuriated beast " the resilt of ji
sounded his trump. A roar-
ing blast he gave, as, in his mad haste, he
struck against a corner of the cabin, jostling
Hannah and Israel from their deep sleep. Ter-
rified out of their wits, the old couple tumbled
out upon the floor, and fell upon their knees, think-
ing it was the horn of Gabriel summoning them
from death to judgment. What but destruction and
ment da\ as I is a smner!
An' there goes de debbil
now arter Jube ! Did n't
1 alluz say he 'd git dat
boy, shore ? He would n't
say his pra'rs, ner so much
cz min' me. what fotch him
up by han'. Come in,
Isrul, an' latch the do',
^"^ * fer he '11 be arter you nex'.
Oh, laws, ef he '11 only be
I's ATTEMPT AT REVENGE " satiusficd wi' j'ou aud Ju-
ba, Isrul ! You is wick-
eder 'an me — wickeder sinners, you know ycr is,
ole man, — you know yer is."
Her "ole man" attempted no self-defense.
With a dexterity quite unusual with him, he had
managed to latch and chain the door, but now he
w,as leaning up against the lintel, speechless and
knock-kneed with terror.
HOW Jt'BE WAKED THE ELEPHANT.
All at once there was a quick, heavy rap upon
the door.
Hannah howled, and sunk lower on her knees.
" It 's de debbil !" she whispered, in a sepulchral
tone. "He's done come fer yer, Isrul! Speak
up, olc man — speak perlite, sorter, an' may be he '11
be easy on yer. Answer him, Isrul."
" Who-o — who dar?" chattered Israel, with a
dismal whine.
"Open the door!" shouted an angry voice with-
out-. " I thought everybody w;is dead inside there.
It 's nobody but me — the keeper of Forepaugh's
elephant, that 's broke loose and will tramp down
all your things here, to say nothing of your ras-
cally boy, who ought to be well whipped. The
beast will kill him if I can't get a pitchfork, or
something. Have n't you a pitchfork somewhere ?
Hurry — your boy 's in a lot of danger ! Stir about —
will you ? Let 's have a pitchfork ! "
" Ki, yi, Hannah ! " exulted Israel, beginning to
straighten his bent knees. " Yer debbil 's nothin'
but Foreper's elerphunt, arter all. Hi — jcs' yer run
an' fetch the pitchfork fer de gemman."
"Yer go an' git it yerself, Isrul; I is engaged,"
was his wife's prompt response.
" Hurry up there ! " shouted the voice outside.
" Fetch me the fork, or the be;ist will kill your boy,
for certain."
"I say," answered " Ole Isrul," with his mouth
at the latch-hole — "I say, massa, I 'se clean,
crippled, an' bed-rid with the rheumatiz, an' the
ole 'ooman here, she 's skeered clar inter spasims.
You '11 find the fork in the shed, so jes' help yer-
self, as we 's onable ter, massa."
With loud mutterings of anger, the keeper
departed in search of the pitchfork. While he was
gone, the elephant had regularly treed Jube. Too
closely pressed to secure the shelter of his room
in the cabin loft, Jube instinctively had made for
the only other accessible place of refuge. Into the
big oak-tree he had scrambled, by the aid of the
drying-scaffold suspended from its boughs. Nor,
thoroughly scared as he was, did he stop in the
lower branches. Not knowing what might be the
stretching capacity of that awful proboscis which had
once enfolded him, he clambered, hand over hand,
until at a considerable elevation he reached the
second forking of the tree. Perched therein, he
took time to draw his breath, and look down at his
enemy. Evidently this enemy was determined not
to consider himself baffled. He was charging
Jube's stronghold with the intrepidity of Napo-
leon's "Old Guard" and the concentrated strength
of a battering-ram. But the oak, although its
day of kingly glory was past, was stronger than
Forepaugh's elephant. Its bare limbs trembled
under the shock, yet the mighty roots held firm.
The blow, however, dislodged the drying-scaffold,
so that, broken from its fatal clinging, it fell with
a great crash to the ground. In default of other
prey, the elephant at once charged upon this frame-
work of poles, with its burden of half-dried tobacco-
cuttings. He stamped and tore at and pulled to pieces
the structure, tossing the cuttings until his eyes and
mouth and proboscis were well filled with the dust
of the dried tobacco. Frenzied by the fumes and
the taste of the weed he hated with a deadly
hatred, as well as maddened by the agony of its
smarting and burning, the animal's rage seemed to
know no bounds. Overjoyed at his reprieve from
destruction, Jube began a faint, hysterical laugh as
the infuriated beast plunged and charged, snorting
and sneezing, about the tree. At last the elephant
sounded his trump again frantically, setting off at
the top of his speed for the river flowing at the
base of the hill.
So, for a time, the coast was left clear, but Jube
was too thoroughly scared to think of deserting his
present place of security ; and, in a little while, his
majesty, relieved of the tobacco, again advanced to
the attack. This time he was better armed, having
filled his trunk at the river with a copious supply
of water. Taking fair aim at poor Jube, he let him
have the benefit of the whole stream, blowing it
into his face with a directness and force for which
the boy was utterly unprepared. Of course his bal-
ance was destroyed, and, tumbled from his perch,
he doubtless would have fallen headlong to the
ground, but that he had the good fortune to land
in the fork below, where he was just bejond the
reach of the dreaded proboscis. Encouraged by
this success, the beast charged again, but the ground
was now well strewn with the tobacco, and, as he
rushed forward, he was again blinded and strangled
by the pungent powder. Once more he made a
frenzied rush for the river. This time, however, his
hind legs became entangled among the grape-vines,
linking the poles together, so that, after some vigor-
ous but vain kicking and shaking, he was com-
pelled to proceed on his way, dragging the scaffold,
and much of the tobacco, with him.
At this juncture, the keeper, armed with Israel's
long fork, appeared on the stage of action. Taking
advantage of the elephant's blinded condition, he
attacked him vehemently, goading him right and
left. Yet the beast, infuriated, would not cry for
mercy. But finally, in one of his blinded plunges,
he rushed upon Hannah's empty root-pit, and, the
slight covering giving «ay under the enormous
weight, his inajesty was pitched headlong in shame
and terror to the bottom of the pit. Then his
proud spirit was conquered by a vigorous assault,
and he trumpeted for mercy.
It was not until he was thus subdued that Jube,
JINGLE.
299
notified by Aunt Hannah, deemed it safe to descend
once more to the ground ; even then he did not
think it necessary to show himself to the twinkhng
eye of his late adversary. Nor, perhaps, did he
feel safe at all until, with the assistance of returned
showmen and some of the neighbors, the elephant
had been helped from the pit, and had quietly con-
tinued its journey toward the neighboring town.
" Now you, Juba, jes' you mark my words," was
Israel's closing piece of advice when the tumult had
finally subsided and Jube, clothed, and in his right
mind, was sitting on the stool of repentance in the
cabin, " ef I ever does hear of you a findin' ob a silver
mine anywheres w-hen Foreper's surcuss am around,
shore 's I is a livin' man, I '11 war out on yer back
some ob dat extry shoe-leather what made tracks
through the ole 'ooman's watermillium patch. You
hear dat, Juba? Now, you jes' clar outer dis, an'
gcther up ebery spear ob dat tobaccy what you an'
Foreper's elerphunt hab done scattered from Dan
to Becrshebch. An' min' what I say, dat dis aint
Manner what 's foolin' long with yer, now."
And since that time Jube has never pined for
the circus on his holidays.
There was a small maid of St. P.iul.
Who could not be happy at all :
While the cat stole her dinner,
Her dog, little sinner !
Was quietly tearing her ball.
300
THE PETERKINS TALK OF GOING TO EGYPT.
(February,
Till'; i'i:tkrkins talk of going to egypt.
By LucRETiA p. Half-
Long ago, Mrs. Peterkin had been afraid of the
Mohammedans, and would have dreaded to travel
among them. But since the little boys had taken
lessons of the Turk, and she had become familiar
with his costume, and method of sitting, she had
felt less fear of them as a nation.
To be sure, the Turk had given but few lessons,
as, soon after making his engagement, he had been
obliged to go to New York, to join a tobacconist's
firm. Mr. Peterkin had not regretted his payment
for instruction in advance, for the Turk had been
very urbane in his manners, and had always
assented to whatever the little boys or any of the
family had said to him.
Mrs. Peterkin had expressed a desire to see the
famous Cleopatra's Needle which had been brought
from Egypt. She had heard it was something
gigantic for a needle, and it would be worth a
journey to New York. She wondered at their
bringing it such a distance, and would have sup-
posed that some of Cleopatra's family would have
objected to it, if they were living now.
Agamemnon said that was the truth ; there was
no one left to object ; they were all mummies
under-ground, with such heavy pyramids over them
that they would not easily rise to object.
Mr. Peterkin feared that all the pyramids would
be brought away in time. Agamemnon said there
were a great many remaining in Egypt. Still he
thought it would be well to visit Egypt soon, before
they were all brought away, and nothing but the
sand left. Mrs. Peterkin said she would be almost
as willing to travel to Egypt as to New York, and it
would seem more worth while to go so far to see a
great many, than to go to New York only for one
needle.
"That would certainly be a needless expense,"
suggested Solomon John.
Elizabeth Eliza was anxious to see the Sphinx.
Perhaps it would answer some of the family ques-
tions that troubled them day after day.
Agamemnon felt it would be a great thing for the
education of the little boys. If they could have
begun with the Egyptian hieroglyphics before
they had learned their alphabet, they would have
begun at the right end. Perhaps it was not too
late now to take them to Egypt, and let them be-
gin upon its old learning. The little boys declared
it w;is none too late. They could not say the
alphabet backward now, and could never remember
whether "u" came before "v," and the voyage
would be a long one, and, before they reached
Egypt, \ery likely they would have forgotten all.
It was about this voyage that Mrs. Peterkin had
much doubt. What she was afraid of was getting
in and out of the ships and boats. She was afraid of
tumbling into the water between, when she left the
wharf. Elizabeth Eliza agreed with her mother in
this, and began to calculate how many times they
would have to change between lioston and Egypt.
There was the ferry-boat across to East Boston
would make two changes ; one more to get on
board the steamer; then Liverpool — no, to land at
Queenstown would make two more ; four, five
changes, Liverpool six. Solomon John brought
the map, and they counted up. Dover, seven,
Calais eight, Marseilles nine, Malta, if they landed,
ten, eleven, and Alexandria, twelve changes.
Mrs. Peterkin shuddered at the possibilities, not
merely for herself, but for the family. She could
fall in but once, but by the time they should reach
Egypt, how many would be left out of a family
of eight? Agamemnon began to count up the
contingencies. Eight times twelve would make
ninety-six chances. 8 x 12 =96. Mrs. Peterkin
felt as if all might be swept off before the end
could be reached.
Solomon John said it was not usual to allow more
than one chance in a hundred. People always said
" one in a hundred," as though that were the usual
thing expected; it was not at all likely that the
whole family would be swept off.
Mrs. Peterkin was sure they would not want to
lose one ; they could hardly pick out which they
could spare, she felt certain. Agamenmon declared
there was no necessity for such risks. They might
go directly by some vessel from Boston to Egypt.
Solomon John thought they might give up
Egypt and content themselves with Rome. " All
roads lead to Rome," so it would not be difficult to
find their way.
But Mrs. Peterkin was afraid to go. She had
heard you must do as the Romans did if you went
to Rome, and there were some things she certainly
should "not like to do that they did. There was
that Brute who killed C;esar ! And she should
not object to the long voyage. It would give them
time to think it all over.
Mr. Peterkin thought they ought to have more
practice in traveling, to accustom themselves to
emergencies. It would be fatal to start on so long
a voyage and to find they were not prepared.
THE I'ETERKINS TALK OF GOING TO EGYPT.
301
Why not make their proposed excursion to the
cousins at Gooseberry Beach, which they had been
planning all summer? There they could practice
getting in and out of a boat, and accustom them-
selves to the air of the sea. To be sure, the cousins
were just moving up from the sea-shore, but they
could take down a basket of luncheon, in order to give
no trouble, and they need not go into the house.
Elizabeth Eliza had learned by heart early in
the summer the list of trains, as she was sure
they would lose the slip their cousins had sent
them, and you never could find the paper that had
the trains in, when you wanted it. They must take
the 7 A. M. train into Boston, in time to go across to
the station for the Gooseberry train at 7.45, and they
would have to return from Gooseberry Beach by a
3.30 train. The cousins would order the "barge"
to meet them on their arrival, and to come for them
at 3 P. M. , in time for the return train, if they were in-
formed the day before. Elizabeth Eliza wrote them
a postal card, giving them the information that
they would take the early train. The "barge"
was the name of the omnibus that took passengers
to and from the Gooseberry station. Mrs. Peterkin
felt that its very name was propitious to this
Egj'ptian undertaking.
The day proved a fine one. On reaching Bos-
ton, Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza were put
into a carriage with the luncheon-basket, to drive
directly to the station. Elizabeth Eliza was able to
check the basket at the baggage-station, and to
buy their " go-and-return " tickets before the arrival
of the rest of the party, which appeared, however,
some minutes before a quarter of eight. Mrs. Peter-
kin counted the little boys. All were there. This
promised well for Egv'pt. But their joy was of
short duration. On presenting their tickets at the
gate of entrance, they were stopped. The Goose-
berry train had gone at 7.35 ! The Mattapan train
was now awaiting its passengers. Impossible !
Elizabeth Eliza had repeated 7.45 every fnorning
through the summer. It must be the Gooseberry
train. But the conductor would not yield. If they
wished to go to Mattapan they could go ; if to
Gooseberry, they must wait till the 5 P. M. train.
Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. Their return train
was 3.30, — how could 5 P. M. help them ?
Mr. Peterkin, with instant decision, proposed
they should tr)' something else. Why should not
they take their luncheon-basket across some ferry ?
This would give them practice. The family hastily
agreed to this. What could be better? They
went to the baggage-office, but found their basket
had gone in the 7.35 train ! They had arrived in
time, and could have gone, too. "If we had only
been checked'." exclaimed Mrs Peterkin. The
baggage-master, showing a tender interest, sug-
gested that there was a train for Plymouth at 8,
which would take them within twelve miles of
Gooseberry Beach, and they might find "a team"
there to take them across. Solomon John and
the little boys were delighted with the suggestion.
" We could see Plymouth Rock," said Aga-
memnon.
But hasty action would be necessary. Mr. Peter-
kin quickly procured tickets for Plymouth, and no
official objected to their taking the 8 A. M. train.
They were all safely in the train. This had been a
test expedition ; and each of the party had taken
something, to see what would be the proportion
of things lost to those remembered. Mr. Peter-
kin had two umbrellas, Agamemnon an atlas and
spy-glass, and the little boys were taking down two
cats in a basket. All were safe.
" I am glad we have decided upon Plymouth,"
said Mr. Peterkin. " Before seeing the pyramids of
Egypt we certainly ought to know something of
Plymouth Rock. I should certainly be quite
ashamed, when looking at their great obelisks, to
confess that I had never seen our own Rock."
The conductor was attracted by this interesting
party. When Mr. Peterkin told him of their
mistake of the morning, and that they were bound
for Gooseberry Beach, he advised them to stop at
Kingston, a station nearer the beach. They would
have but four miles to drive, and a reduction could
be effected on their tickets. The family demurred.
Were they ready now to give up Plymouth ? They
would lose time in going there. Solomon John,
too, suggested it would be better, chronologically,
to visit Plymouth on their return from Egypt, after
they had seen the earliest things.
This decided them to stop at Kingston.
But they found here no omnibus nor carriage
to take them to Gooseberry. The station-master
was eager to assist them, and went far and near
in search of some sort of wagon. Hour after
hour passed away, the little boys had shared
their last peanut, and gloom was gathering over
the family, when Solomon John came into the
station to say there was a photographer's cart on
the other side of the road. Would not this be a
good chance to have their photographs taken for
their friends before leaving for Egypt ? The idea
re-animated the whole party, and they made their
way to the cart, and into it, as the door was open.
There was, however, no photographer there.
Agamemnon tried to remember what he had
read of photography. As all the materials were
there, he might take the family's picture. There
would indeed be a difficulty in introducing his
own. Solomon John suggested they might arrange
the family group, leaving a place for him. Then,
when all w.is ready, he could put the curtain over
302
THE PETERKINS TALK OF GOING TO EGYPT.
the box, take his place hastily, then pull away the
curtain by means of a string. And .Solomon John
began to look around for a string, while the little
boys felt in their pockets.
Agamemnon did not exactly see how they could
get the curtain back. Mr. Peterkin thought this of
little importance. They would all be glad to sit
some time after traveling so long. And the longer
they sat the better for the picture, and, perhaps,
somebody would come along in time to put back
the curtain. They began to arrange the group.
Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were placed in the middle,
sitting down. Elizabeth Eliza stood behind them,
and the little boys knelt in front with the basket
of cats. Solomon John and Agamemnon were
also to stand behind, .'\gamemnon leaning over
his father's shoulder. .Solomon John was still
looking around for a string when the photographer
himself appeared. He was much surprised to find
a group all ready for him. He had gone off that
morning for a short holiday, but was not unwilling
to take the family, especially when he heard they
were soon going to Egypt. He approved of the
grouping made by the family, but suggested that
their eyes should not all be fixed upon the same
spot. Before the pictures were finished, the station-
master came to announce that two carriages were
found to take the party to Gooseberry Beach.
"There is no hurry," said Mr. Peterkin. "Let
the pictures be finished ; they have made us wait,
we can keep them waiting as long as we please."
The results, indeed, were very satisfactory. The
photographer pronounced it a remarkably fine
group. Elizabeth Eliza's eyes were lifted to the
heavens, perhaps, a little too high. It gave her a
rapt expression not customary with her ; but Mr.
Peterkin thought she might look in that way in the
presence of the Sphinx. It was necessary to have a
number of copies, to satisfy all the friends left
behind when they should go to Egypt. And it
certainly would not be worth while to come again
so great a distance for more.
It was, therefore, a late hour when they left Kings-
ton. It took some time to arrange the party in
two carriages. Mr. Peterkin ought to be in one,
Mrs. Peterkin in the other ; but it was difficult to
divide the little boys, as all wished to take charge
of the cats. The drive, too, proved longer than
was expected — six miles instead of four.
When they reached their cousin's door, the
" barge " was already standing there.
" It has brought our luncheon-basket ! " ex-
claimed Solomon John.
" I am glad of it," said Agamemnon, " for 1 feel
hungry enough for it."
He pulled out his watch. It was 3 o'clock !
This was indeed the "barge,"' but it had come
for their return. The Gooseberrj- cousins, much
bewildered that the family did not arrive at the time
expected, had forgotten to send to countermand it.
And the "barge" driver, supposing the family had
arrived by the other station, had taken occasion to
bring up the lunch-basket, as it was addressed to
the Gooseberry cousins. The cousins flocked out
to meet them. "What had happened.' What
had delayed them ? They were glad to see them
at last."
Mrs. Peterkin, when she understood the state of the
case, insisted upon getting directly into the "barge,"
to return, although the driver said there would be
a few moments to spare. Some of the cousins
busied themselves in opening the luncheon-basket,
and a part led the little boys and Agamemnon and
Solomon John down upon the beach in front of the
house ; there would be a few moments for a glance
at the sea. Indeed, the little boys ventured in their
India rubber boots to wade in a little way, as the
tide was low. And Agamemnon and Solomon John
walked to look at a boat that was drawn up on the
beach, and got into it and out of it for practice,
when they were all summoned back to the house.
It was indeed time to go. The Gooseberr>- cousins
had got out the luncheon, and had tried to per-
suade the family to spend the night. Mrs. Peterkin
declared this would be impossible. They never
had done such a thing. So they went off, eating
their luncheon as they went, the little boys each
with a sandwich in one hand and a piece of cake
in the other.
Mrs. Peterkin was sure they should miss the train,
or lose some of the party. No, it was a great
success, for all, and more than all, were found in the
train : slung over the arm of one of the little boys
was found the basket containing the cats. They
were to have left the cats, but in their haste had
brought them away again.
This discovery was made in a search for the
tickets which Elizabeth Eliza had bought, early in
the morning, to go and return ; they were needed
now for return. She was sure she had given them
to her father. Mrs. Peterkin supposed that Mr.
Peterkin must have changed them for the Kingston
tickets. The little boys felt in their pockets,
Agamemnon and Solomon John in theirs. In the
excitement, Mrs. Peterkin insisted upon giving up
her copy of their new photograph, and could not
be satisfied till the conductor had punched it. At
last, the tickets were found in the outer lappet of
Elizabeth Eliza's hand-bag. She had looked for
them in the inner part.
It was after this that Mr. Peterkin ventured to
pronounce the whole expedition a success. To be
sure, they had not passed the day at the beach, and
had scarcely seen their cousins ; but their object
THK ri; TKKK iNS TALK OK GOING TO EGYPT.
303
had been to practice traveling, and surely they had
been traveling all day. Mlizabeth Eliza had seen the
sea, or thought she had. She was not sure — she
had been so busy explaining to the cousins and
showing the photographs, .\gamemnon was sorr\-
she had not walked with them to the beach, and
tried getting in and out of the boat. Elizabeth
Eliza regretted this. Of course it was not the
same as getting into a boat on the sea, where it
would be wobbling more, but the step must have
been higher from the sand. Solomon John said
there was some difficulty. He had jumped in, but
was obliged to take hold of the side in getting out.
The little boys were much encouraged by their
wade into the tide. They had been a little fright-
ened at first when the splash came, but the tide
had been low. On the whole, Mr. Pcterkin con-
tinued, things had gone well. Even the bringing
back of the cats might be considered a good omen.
Cats were worshiped in Egypt, and they ought
not to have tried to part with them. He was glad
they had brought the cats. They gave the little
boys an interest in feeding them while they were
waiting at the Kingston station.
Their adventures were not quite over, as the
station was crowded when they reached Boston. A
militar)' company had arrived from the South,
and was received by a procession. A number of
distinguished guests also were expected, and the
Peterkins found it difficult to procure a carriage.
They had determined to take a carriage, so that
they might be sure to reach their own evening
train in season.
At last Mr. Peterkin discovered one that was
empty, standing at the end of a long line. There
would be room for Mrs. Peterkin, Elizabeth Eliza,
himself, and the little boys, and Agamemnon and
Solomon John agreed to walk behind in order to
keep the carriage in sight. Hut the)- were much
disturbed when they found they were going at so
slew a pace. Mr. Peterkin called to the coachman in
vain. He soon found that they had fallen into the
hne of the procession, and the coachman was driving
slowly on behind the other carriages. In vain Mr.
Peterkin tried to attract the driver's attention. He
put his head out of one window after another, but
only to receive the cheers of the populace ranged
along the sidewalk. He opened the window behind
the coachman and pulled his coat. But the cheering
was so loud that he could not make himself heard.
He tried to motion to the coachman to turn down
one of the side streets, but in answer the driver
pointed out with his whip the crowds of people.
Mr. Peterkin, indeed, saw it would be impossible
to make their way through the throng that filled
every side street which they crossed. Mrs. Peter-
kin looked out of the back window for Agamemnon
and Solomon John. They were walking side by
side, behind the carriage, taking off their hats, and
bowing to the people cheering on either side.
" They are at the head of a long row of men,
walking two by two," said Mrs. Peterkin.
" They are part of the procession," said Elizabeth
Eliza.
" We are part of the procession," Mr. Peterkin
answered.
'• 1 rather like it," said Mrs. Peterkin, with a
calm smile, as she looked out of the window and
bowed in answer to a cheer.
"Where do you suppose we shall go?" asked
Elizabeth Eliza.
" 1 have often wondered what became of a pro-
cession," said Mr. Peterkin. "They are always
going somewhere, but I never could tell where they
went to."
" We shall find out ! " exclaimed the little boys,
who were filled with delight, looking now out of
one window, now out of the other.
" Perhaps we shall go to the armory," said one.
This alarmed Mrs. Peterkin. Sounds of martial
music were now heard, and the noise of the crowd
grew louder. " 1 think you ought to ask where we
are going," she said to Mr. Peterkin.
" It is not for us to decide," he answered, calmly.
" They have taken us into the procession. I su[>-
pose they will show us the principal streets, and
will then leave us at our station."
This, indeed, seemed to be the plan. For two
hours more the Peterkins, in their carriage, and
.'\gamemnon and Solomon John, afoot, followed on.
Mrs. Peterkin looked out upon rows and rows of
cheering people. The little boys waved their caps.
" It begins to be a little monotonous," said Mrs.
Peterkin, at last.
" I am afraid we have missed all the trains," said
Elizabeth Eliza, gloomily. But Mr. Pcterkin's faith
held to the last, and was rewarded. The carriage
reached the square in which stood the railroad
station. Mr. Peterkin again seized the lapels of
the coachman's coat and pointed to the station,
and he was able to turn his horses in that direction.
As they left the crowd, they received a parting
cheer. It was with difficulty that Agamemnon and
Solomon John broke from the ranks.
"That was a magnificent reception ! " exclaimed
Mr. Peterkin, wiping his brow, after paying the
coachman twice his fee. But Elizabeth Eliza said :
" But we have lost all the trains, I am sure."
They had lost all but one. It was the last.
"And we have lost the cats!" the little boys
suddenly exclaimed. But Mrs. Peterkin would not
allow them to turn back in search of them.
504
THE ST. NICHOLAS T RE Ab'U RE - BOX.
(February,
THE ST. NICHOLA.S TREASURE-BOX OF LITER ATUR !•:.
In the December number of tliii^ magazine, good read-
ers, "The St. Nicholas Treasure- Box " was opened, and
there you found a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and
a poem by William Makepeace Thackeray. The first
enabled you to hear " the airy footsteps of strange things
that almost happened," — and the second told you of a
king who made a great discovery — for a king — and
helped you to hate more than ever the vice of flattery.
This time, what do we find ? A ballad, famous for the
past forty years, yet as fresh to-day as is the heart of the
world-renowned .American poet who wrote it. The
portrait of Mr. Longfellow on this page was made more
than a quarter of a century ago, but only yesterday he
copied with his own hand, for the "Treasure-Bo.\," the
few lines from the poem which our artist has illustrated.
The poet's preface to this ballad stated that it first came
into his mind while he was riding on the sea-shore at
Newport, Rhode Island. " A year or two before," it
goes on to say, " a skeleton had been dug up at Fall
River, clad in broken and corroded armor, and the idea
occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower
at Newport, known hitherto as the Old Windmill, though
now claimed by the Danes as a work of tlieir early
ancestors."
This old tower still is standing at Newport, a pictur-
esque ruin, as you see it in the engraving on page 307.
It is now understood to have been built eight hundred
years ago by Norsemen, or Vikings, the most adventur-
ous sailors of their time, who had even then landed on
these shores, as has been already told to you in the third
volume of St. Nicholas.
What more likely, then, to a poet's fancy than that this
skeleton in rusty armor had been one of the very Norse-
men who, in the first days of the Old Tower, had
"joined the corsair's crew" and flown there, over the
dark sea, " with the marauders " ? And what more
likely, too, than that one of those rugged Vikings should
have had just such a wild history as the ballad recounts ?
The Skeleton in Armor. — By Henry W..\ds\vorth Longfellow.
Speak! speak! thou fcaiful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me !
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seem to rise.
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
fame a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.
• I was a Viking old !
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee !
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse !
For this I sought thee.
■ Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic strand,
I, with my childish hand.
Tamed the ger-falcon ;
And, with my skates fast-bound.
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.
' Oft to his frozen lair
Track I the grizzlj- bear.
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow ;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.
i88i.]
THE ST. NICHOLAS T RE ASU R K - BOX.
305
Hut wluii I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crow,
O'er the dark sea 1 flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led ;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
And as the white stars shine
On the ilark Norway pine.
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
J
A^
pB^
\
" Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out ;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale.
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.
" Once, as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft ejes did gaze on me.
Burning, yet tender.
Vol. VIII.— 20.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.
Briglit in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the v>-all_.
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory ;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand.
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my ston.-.
3o6
THE ST. NICHOLAS T K E A S L R K - BOX.
[Februarv,
While the brown ale he quafifed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn.
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
I'.lcv, tlu fn.llll lijiillx.
^^'hen on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Mildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
' Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were g.iiniiij; fa-,t,
Wli-n th" I I Ml. ,1 ,. •
fOA/J-J^
She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild.
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded !
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight.
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me, —
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen ! —
And with a sudden flaw
CaTiic round the gusty Skaw,
So that oiw foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed lis.
And as, to catch the gale.
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death ! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter !
Midships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel ;
Down her black hulk did reel
Throuuh the black water!
T. NIC HO I. AS TKKASl' RK- BOX.
307
' As with his wings aslant
Sails the fierce cormorant.
Seeking sonic rock\- haiiiu.
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again.
Through the wild hurricane,
Horc 1 the maiden.
' Three weeks we westward bore
And when the storm was o'er.
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward ;
There for ni)- lady's bower
Built 1 the lofty tower,
Which, to this ver)' hoiu",
Stands looking seaward.
• There we lived many years ;
Time dried the maiden's tears ;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother ;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies ;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another !
Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen !
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful !
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear.
Fell 1 upon my spear,
O, death was grateful !
Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars.
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended ;
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoa/.' to the Northland! Shut/.'
— Thus the tale ended.
In Scandlnavi.1, " Skoal" ts the customary* -^luMtion when drinking .a health.
3o8
TIN", Sr. NH IIOI.AS r K i;.\SL' K K - nox.
A I.ITI'LK more llian twenty years before our American
poet thus put life into the old ruin at Newport, our first
great American prose-writer went over the sea to enjoy
the living siglils and sounds of old Kngland. In his
"Sketch-Book," published there in l8i8, Irving not only
made forever romantic the shores of his native Hudson —
for when can "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of
Sleepy Hollow " be forgotten ? — liut he also made Eng-
land itself more interesting to Englishmen and to the
world. He told of familiar things, but always his keen
insight, tender, playful fancy, and exquisite literary skill
gave a new value to the scene described. His historio
and more jirofound works of biography and travel
will interest you in time ; we shall content ourselves
for the present with putting into "The Treasure-Box"
an extract from "The Sketch- Hook."
To boys and girls, last month and next month both
are a long way ofT; but to men and women, who begin
to feel that the close of their life must now be nearer
tlian its beginning, by-gone years are yesterdays, and the
only future that seems far off is eternity. And so, in read-
ing this vivid account of an English holiday-drive, you
young folks may say, " .-Vh I Christmas went long ago.
Why did not the editor put this in an earlier number
of St. Nicholas ?" and the old folks may think, " Dear,
dear I How timely this is! How pleasant to read it
almost while the Christmas bells are ringing!" But one
and all soon will forget, in the enjoyment of glowing
words, that time has fled, or that time is coming. The
Present is not always in to-day's almanac. In a moment,
you will be with Washington Irving in Yorkshire, on a
glorious December morning, in or about the year 1818.
The SiACE-CdACH. — Hv Washint, ihn Ikvin(;
In the course of a De-
cember tour in York-
shire, 1 rode for a
> 'ong distance in one
of the public
,>\'ivi coaches, on
J.M^ the day pre-
^^^^ ceding Christ-
mas. The coach
WIS crowded, both inside
ind out, with passengers,
who, by their talk, seemed
principally bound to the
mansions of relations or
friends, to eat the Christ-
mas dinner. Ii \':is loaded also with hampers of
game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies ; and
hares hung dangling their long ears about the
coachman's box, presents from distant friends for
the impending feast. 1 had three fine, rosy-
cheeked boys for my fellow-passengers inside,
full of the buxom health and manly spirit which I
have observed in the children of this country.
They were returning home for the holidays in high
glee, and promising themselves a world of enjoy-
ment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans
of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they
were to perform during their six weeks' emancipa-
tion from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and
pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the
meeting with the familj- and household, down to
the very cat and dog ; and of the joy they were to
give their little sisters by the presents with which
their pockets were crammed ; but the meeting to
which they seemed to look forward with the greatest
impatience was with Bantam, which 1 found to be
a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of
* Horn in New Vork
ninre vutiies than any steed since the days of
lUicephalus. 1 low he could trot ! how he could
run ! and then such leaps as he would take — there
was not a hedge in the whole country that he could
not clear.
They were imder the ])artirular guardianship of
the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity
presented, they addressed a host of questions, and
pronounced him one of the best fellows in the
world. Indeed, I could not but notice the more
than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the
coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side,
and had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck
in the button-hole of his coat. He is always a per-
sonage full of mighty care and business, but he is
particularly so during this season, having so manv
commissions to execute in consequence of the great
interchange of presents.
Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing seren-
ity that reigned in my own mind, that 1 fancied
I saw cheerfulness in every coimtenance throughout
the journey. A stage-coach, however, carries ani-
mation alwa\s with it, and puts the world in motion
as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the
entrance of a village, produces a general bustle.
Some hasten forth to meet friends : some with bun-
dles and bandboxes to secure places, and in the
hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of the
group that accompanies them. In the meantime,
the coachman has a world of small commissions to
execute. Sometimes he delivers a hare or pheasant ;
sometimes Jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the
door of a public house; and sometimes, with know-
ing leer and words of sly import, hands to some
half-blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-
shaped billet-doux from some rustic admirer. As
783 : died 1859,
TII1-; ST. NICHOLAS IK K ASll RK-IJOX.
309
llu' L-oat'li rattles ihnup^li the village, every one
runs to the uinduw , :ind you have glances on every
side of fresh country faces and blooming, giggling
girls. At the corners are assembled jimtos of vil-
lage idlers and wise men, who take their stations
there for the important purpose of seeing comjiany
pass ; but the sagest knot is generally at the black-
smith's, to whom the passing of the coach is au
event fruitful of much speculation. The snndi.
with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the
vehicle whirls by ; the cyclops around the anvil sus-
pend their ringing hammers, and sulfer the iron to
grow cool; and the sooty specter, in bmwn p.iper
cap, laboring at the bellows, leans on the handle
for a moment, and pcnnits the asthmatic engine to
heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares through
the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the
smithy.
Perhaps the impending holiday might have
given a more than usual animation to the country,
for it seemed to me as if everybody was in good
looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other
lu.xuries of the table were in brisk circulation in
the villages ; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers'
shops were thronged with customers. The house-
wives were stirring briskly about, putting their
dwellings in order ; and the glossy branches of
holly, with their bright-red berries, began to
appear at the windows. The scene brought to
mind an old writer's account of Christmas prepara-
tions: "'Now, capons and hens, besides turkeys,
geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton, — must all
die, — for, in twelve da\s, a multitude of people will
not be fed with a little. Now, plums and spice,
sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth.
Now or never must music be in tune, for the youth
must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the
aged sit by the fire." ....
1 was roused from this tit of luxurious meditation
li\ a shout from my link- traveling companions.
I'hey h.ul been looking out of the coach-windows
for the last few miles, recognizing every tree and
cottage as they approached home, and now there
uasa general burst of joy — "There's John ! and
there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam! " cried tlu-
hajjpy little rogues, clapping their hands.
At the end of a lane there was an old, soljer-
liioking ser\ant in livery, waiting for them ; he was
accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by
the redoubt. ible Bantam, a little, old rat of a pony,
with a shaggy mane and long, rusty tail, who stood
dozing quietly by the road-side, little dreaming of
the bustling times that awaited him.
I was pleased to sec the fondness with which the
little fellows leaped about the steady old footman,
and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole
body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of
interest ; all wanted to mount at once, and it was
with some difficulty that John arranged that they
should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.
Off they set at last: one on the pony with the
dog bounding and barking before him, and the
others holding John's hands; both talking at once,
and overpowering him with questions about home,
and with school anecdotes. I looked after them
with a feeling in which I do not know whether
pleasure or melancholy predominated; for 1 was
reminded of those days when, like them, 1 had
known neither care nor sorrow, and a holiday was
the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few
moments afterward to water the horses, and, on
resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us
in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just dis-
tinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls
in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with
Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the
carriage-road. I leaned out of the coach-window
in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a
grove of trees shut it from my sight.
3IO
Tin-: TRUE STORY OK THK OBKl.ISK.
(Fkbruarv,
Till'; TRU
STORY Ol" Til
ohi;li.sk.
BV ClIAKI.KS liAkXARH
LoNt;, loiij; ages a;^o. some iin-n were at work in a stone-
quarry on the banks of a great river. They found there
a stone that looked much Hkc tiie red granite now quarried
on the coast of Massachusetts Bay, anil known from its pale
red color as " rosy granite." There was a city called Sycne
near this C|uarry, and so it happened that the blush-colored
stone became known as Syenite. There is nothing particu-
larly interesting about a stone-quarry ; merely a big hole
in the side of a hill, some steam-drills, a derrick or two, and
a few workmen cutting out blocks of building-stone. The
old quarries at Syenc, where these men worked forty
centuries ago, did not differ much from those we see to-
day, yet travelers from all parts of the world \isit them and
look m wonder at the work of those wonderful old
quarry-men. The high, rocky mountains still
stand bare and hot in the tropical sun ; the \ery
marks of their tools are there ; but of the men and
their way of working all trace and record are lost,
and we can only guess at the manner of workmen
they may have been.
If we want a large stone for a column of some
public building, or for a monument, we go to the
quarry with steam-drills and powder, derricks and
steam-engines, and, if we cut out a solid block
twenty or thirty feet long, we think we are doing
something quite wonderful, and make a parade in
the newspapers of our skill as stone-masons. When
we stand beside the rosy mountains at Syene, we
feel prett\- small. Here were stone-workers w'ho
cut and mowxl away blocks of stone of enormous
size and immense weight, — vast columns, pillars,
door-caps, and monuments, — some fifty, some sixty,
and some more than a hundred feet long and ten
feet square. Such a block we now call a monolith,
which means "one stone," or a single stone. If
we tra\el down the great river toward the sea, we
find these great monoliths set up as parts of tem-
ples, palaces, tombs, and monuments. Not a few
here and there, but b\- hundreds, scattered all over
the land in profusion. All are now in ruins, some
still standing, many more fallen down and broken
in pieces, countless more lost in the sand, and yet,
though only a small number remains, so vast and
TIIK TKIK SIORV O I- I' 1 1 K OHKLISK.
311
I
I
\
wonderful are they, that even^thc ruins of the build-
ings of which they are parts are loftier, and co\cr
more ground, than any other buildings. When we
see these old quarries and these ruins, we feel sure
that the old stone-masons at Sycnc must have been
the master workmen of the world.
.Vmong these ruins we find here and there a
strange monument, a monolith, square at the bor-
tom and gently tapering to the top, where it ends in
a sharp point. Some such monoliths still stand,
some are fallen ; and many more are lost and
buried out of sight in the sand. The sides of these
moniniients were beautifully polished and covered
with writing of a strange kind — half letters, half
pictures — which we now call hieroglyphic writing or
hieroglyphs. Now you guess where these ruins
stand. Syene was in Egypt ; these wonderful old
stone-masons were the ancient Egyptians.
The strange part of this is that, though we have
learned to read the hieroglyphs, and found many
pictures on the walls of the ruined temples, we know
little or nothing of the methods the old workers used
in quarrying and moving these monoliths, although
we can sec the quarries at Syene. Even unfinished
stones have been found, and in one place is a big
monolith lying broken in two in the bottoni of a
quarry. The entrance to the pit is narrow, and
there is no room to turn the stone around, so it is
clear that it must have been lifted straight up the side
of the pit. Perhaps it broke in moving, and so was
loft there to puzzle us. It is certain that they did
move and lift such great stones, and transport
them hundreds of miles, and even raise them to
the tops of lofty columns, and place them true
and square in the buildings where they now rest.
How did these old fellows work ? What tools did
they use ? How did they manage to carry these
stones down the rivers ? There is a picture on one of
their ruined temples, representing hundreds of slaves
harnessed to ropes and dragging a great monolithic
statue, twenty-four feet high, on a sled. There is a
man standing on the statue clapping his hands, as
if to keep time while the men pull on the ropes.
Another is pouring something from a vase on the
ground in front of the sled. From this we may infer
that the road was pa\ed with planks covered with
grease, and thus the sled slipped along over the
greasy boards. We learn from other pictures
that the old Egyptians were highly civilized, but we
can only guess, for we have no way of telling, how
they cut and moved these stones and built temples
and pyramids.
To-da\- the stone-mason splits stones by blasting
them with powder, or he makes a row of holes in a
line, and fills them with steel wedges, on which he
pounds till the stone breaks. Another way is to
fill the holes with dry wooden pegs tightly wedged
in, and then to pour water over them, when they
swell and split the rock.
Still another way is to make a row of holes in
the stone, build a little fire in each, and then to
put out all the fires by pouring cold water on them
at the same instant, when the sudden cooling of
the rock causes it to split. To lift the stone, the
modern quarr>-man uses levers, and ropes, and pul-
leys, and derricks. To move great weights, he uses
a curious tool, called a hydraulic-jack, and in place
of men and horses he uses a steam-engine.
Had the old ICgyptian such tools, and did he work
in this way ? We cannot tell. He probably had
simple le\ers and pulleys, and knew how to use a
roller, and, perhaps, he had other and more won-
derful tools, of which wc know nothing. It is not
likely he hatl steam-engines, and all his work must
have been done with men and horses. All is lost
and forgotten centuries ago, and now we can only
wonder at his skill and power.
His gieatest works are these upright monoliths,
now called obelisks. He cut them out of the hills at
Syene, dragged them to the river, and put them on
rafts to float down on the floods. He hauled them
to the pedestals where they were to stand, and then,
resting the base of each in a groove in the pedestal,
pulled them up with ropes by main force till thej'
stood erect. He used timliers and ropes in pro-
fusion, and thousands of slaves, and set up his
splendid obelisks for our admiration and aston-
ishment.
Centuries after these old workmen h.id erected
their obelisks, their country was invaded by the Ro-
mans, who saw these beautiful monoliths, and took
many of them down, and carried them away to
other places, where some of them still stand. Here
is a race of men trying to handle a big stone.
We cannot now learn much of them, for there is no
record of their work. They had curious ideas about
history then. The doings of rulers whose only
object in life seems to have been to make selfish
wars, were recorded, while the splendid deeds of
great workmen were forgotten. We only know that
several obelisks now standing at Rome were by
some means taken down and put (m the deck of
a huge ship, manned b>' three hundred oars-
men, and painfully rowed across the sea to the
Tiber. They were pushed ashore, on to a low
truck, and then dragged and pulled through the
streets on rollers. They were supposed to have
been set upright by pulling on ropes passed over
the tops of tall wooden masts. These workmen had
no better tools than the Egyptians, but they
could build a larger boat to carry the stone> and
actually conveyed it across the sea.
Long after\vard, this obelisk, together with some
others that had been brought to Rome, was thrown
312
TllK TRUE STORY OK THE OBELISK.
down and buried in the ruins of the city, and in 1 588
the Pope Sixtus V. had it dug up, and once more set
upon its pedestal. These workmen still used horses
and men to pull the great stone up into place, by
passing ropes over the tops of tall wooden towers.
They were more scientific workmen, and did their
work so well, that the obelisk can be used as a sim-
dial to this day. They knew more about the use
one of the big stories. It so happened that the
Romans, under Augustus Cassar, had taken down
two of the stones in Upper Egypt, and had removed
them to Alexandria, and set them u]> before one of
their temples. The weather and the blowing sands
of the desert had eaten away the bases of the obe-
lisks, so that they would not stand up on their new
pedestals, and the Romans put four bronze castings
of ropes and pulleys, and it is recorded that they did
the work with only forty horses, six hundred men,
and forty-six cranes. The Romans found hard work
to fasten their ropes to the obelisk, and had to drill
holes in the top of the stone, through which the
ropes were passed. The old Egyptians did much
better. They left knobs or blocks on the side of the
monument, and tied the ropes to these, and when
the work was finished, cut off the blocks smoothly.
Then for a long time no one thought of moving
under the corners. These castings were in the
shape of sea-crabs, and on one of the claws they
put the date of the moving and the name of the
engineer. .•\fterward, the unequal expansion of
these bronze crabs in the hot sunshine caused
them to give wa\-, and one stone fell down.
Alexandria was laid in ruins !)>• war, and still the
old stones remained, too big to be moved l:>y any-
body. It is just possible, however, that the soldiers
found the crabs and stole parts of the metal, and
r 1 1 !•: T R V v. s T ( 1 K \- o V r 1 1 1-; ( > in: i . i s k .
313
that this caused the stone to fall. At any rate, two solid masonry piers, one on each side of it.
there they remained, one fallen in the sand and One of these was straight and square, and covered
the other standing, for hundreds of years. with limlx-rs. tin- other had a slope or inclined face
reaching lo the base of the great stone. They then
In the early part of this century came other erected eight enormous spars, pivoted .it the
workmen, from France. They first thought of bottom, and all fastened to the top of the monolith
taking one of the two obelisks at Alexandria, but by heavy ropes. Then, from the top of the spars to
finding a taller and better pair at Luxor, they de- the ground, were hung other ropes and chains,
cided to take one of these to Paris, that the people passed through blocks, secured to the ground, and
,."-f&^—,%^-.
THE onELlSK CROSSING
DSON RIVER RAILROAD.
in that great city might see and admire the skill of then to powerful capstans. These spars leaned
the old Kgjptian stone-masons. away from the stone slightly, or about at an angle
Let us see how they did the work. After clear- of seventy-five degrees. Then, at some distance
ing away the deep sand about the obelisk, they built away on the other side, were placed a number of
314
THE TRUE STORY OK THE OBELISK.
capstans, firmly anchored in the sands, and from
these, ropes were taken to the top of the obchsk.
It was now firm!)' licld between the two sets of
ropes, and, to lower it, hundreds of men took hold
of the bars of the capstans — a part of them to pull
the stone over, and the others to hold it back. As
it slowly tipijed and bowed itself toward the
ground, the great spars lifted till they stood up-
right, then leaned over above the stone. The base
of the monolith easily rolled up the sloping pier,
and the center struck the edge of the upright pier,
and there tilted as on a pivot. Rollers were laid on
top of the piers, and in twenty-five ininutcs from the
time it started it lay flat on the ground, and began
to roll along toward the river. It was a magnifi-
cent piece of work, and showed great ingenuity on
the part of the French engineers. With infinite
labor the stone was carried on rollers down to
the banks of the Nile. Here a ship, made for the
purpose in France, was hauled close up to the
shore. The entire stem of the ship was then taken
out and lifted by ropes upon tall spars, so that the
stone could roll under it into the ship. Five
enormous pulleys were put in the stern, and fastened
to chains passed through the stern-ports to anchors
in the river ; ropes were passed through the pulleys
to others at the bows and then led to capstans
beyond, and, with fifty men on each, the big stone
was pulled slowly into the boat. The stem was
lowered into place and made fast, and by the aid
of jX5ntoons the boat was launched. It was then
towed down the Nile, through the Straits of
Gibraltar, over the stormy Bay of Biscay, and up
the Seine to Paris. It was a work of enormous
laljor; sickness and the terrible heat delayed the
men sadly, but at last the boat was hauled up high
and dry at the foot of one of the inclined roads that
lead up from the river to the streets at Paris.
The bow of the boat was knocked out, and a
railway of heavy timbers laid up the incline to the
Place dc la Concorde. Again the huge pulleys
and miLssive ropes were brought into use. The
great capstans were set up, and hundreds of men set
to work to turn the bars and drag the stone on
rollers slowly .ilong the street. Once they had to
turn it around, and they built an enormous turn-
table, such ;is would be used for a giant locomotive,
and with infinite labor pulled it about, and placed it
with the base toward the center of the square.
Then an inclined plane of stone-work was built
from the edge of the road to the top of the pedes-
tal, and along this slanting path the great block
was pulled up by hundreds of men, toiling at the
capstans, while a trumpeter marked the time with
a bugle. Again the great spars were erected on
pivots. The top of the obelisk was fastened to
these, as they hung at an angle of about twenty
degrees above it. Great ropes, passed through the
big pulleys, were fastened to the capstans, and, in the
presence of a vast multitude of people, the obelisk
was pulled slowly upward till it stood upright. The
people cheered and cheered, again and again, and
the king rewarded all the people who had so man-
fully toiled to bring the great monument to Paris.
These workmen set out for the Nile with their ship
in 1831, but it was not until the 25th of October,
1836, that the stone stood upright in the Place de
la Concorde. It was a great work well done, but
it took five years to do it; it required the services
of one thousand men, and cost four hundred and
fifteen thousand dollars.
The next men were Englishmen. One of the
twin stones at Alexandria was given to England.
It had fallen dow^n, and all they had to do was to
clear away the sand, box it up in a round iron shell,
roll it into the water, and tow it to London. These
men used modern tools and steam-power, and han-
dled the big stone in an entirely new way. Their
work shows how different from the old are modem
ways of doing great engineering feats. All the parts
of the shell had been made in England, and sent out
to Egypt. The stone was lifted upon timbers by
hydraulic-jacks, and the shell was built under it
and about it, so that, when it was finished, it was
fastened securely inside the shell. [A hydraulic-
jack is a powerful tool for lifting great weights;
you should look in some mechanical dictionary to
see how it is made and used.] This singular shell
was round and smooth outside, and with a sharp
bow and stern like a boat. Rings of heavy timbers
were put on the outside, and by laying two tracks of
timber to the shore, it w-as easy to roll the shell,
cargo and all, over and over into the sea. Tug-
boats pulled with wire-ropes in front, and jacks were
placed behind, and, by dint of hard work, the thing
slowly rolled into the water.
The iron boat was finalh' launched on the 28th
of August, 1877, but not without an accident, for,
in rolling over, it struck a hidden stone under
water and sprang a leak. The water rushed in,
and the poor old stone must have been chilled.
Perhaps it felt sad at leaving its old home after so
many rough journeyings and mishaps. However,
the hole was mended, the water pumped out, and
on the 8th of September the boat went into the
dry-dock. A deck and cabin were put on, a rudder
was shipped, and then it was floated again and
named the ''Cleopatra." It is rather odd that
they gave it this name, for Cleopatra died several
years before the Romans finished setting up the
two stones at Alexandria, and it is not likely she
had anything to do wth either of the obelisks,
called Cleopatra's " needles." The steam-ship
" Olga " took the queer boat in tow and started for
TIIK TRUE STORY OF THE OHKIISK.
315
London, but on the 15th of November it met a
storm, and, to save the steam-ship, the " Cleopatra"
was cast adrift. It seemed ready to sink, and in
the storm the poor old stone was left to toss, help-
less and deserted, on the sea. Three days after,
another steam-ship found it and took it into port,
and at last it came to anchor in the Thames on the
20th of January, 1878.
It was there 1 saw it, floating at anchor in the
muddy river, just above Westminster Bridge. On
one side were the dark and richly carved walls of
Westminster Palace, with the V^ictoria tower rising
high in the smoky air, and the gilded spire of the
great clock-tower looking down on its rusty deck.
On the other side stood the walls of the splendid
hospital of St. Thomas, and not far away are the
green old towers of Lambeth Palace.
Several weeks later I saw it aground lower down
the river, with its rusty box-sides torn open. There
it lay, the old red stone in its iron shell.
Hydraulic-jacks were used to lift the stone on to
the bank, and then two great derricks of timber
were erected on each side. A heavy iron bo.\ was
placed about the center and securely fastened to
the stone. Then, by means of timbers resting on
the denicks, the stone was "jacked" up, a step at
a time, till it lay at the top of the derricks. Strong
steel points had been fastened to the iron box, and,
when these rested on the tops of the derricks, the
timbers were taken away. The stone was now
supported by the center on pivots, and it took only
a few moments to tip it over till it stood upright on
its pedestal.
The Englishman's work was remarkably well
done. He did what none before had tried — he
stood the obelisk upright by supporting it in the
center and tilting it over. The Egyptian and
Roman and Frenchman had set the stone up by
resting the base on the pedestal, and then pulling it
up by main force, plainly the hardest and longest
way. They took months and years to do the work,
and employed hundreds and thousands of men and
horses. The Englishman used only twenty-five
men, and had he not lost the boat in a storm,
would have moved the stone in a few months. On
the other hand, he did not move the stone on land
at all. He found it on the edge of the sea, where
the Romans left it, and he set it up close to the
water on the Thames. He certainly had the most
simple and easy piece of work of all, and he did it
quickly and cheaply.
Lasth- came the American. He had received
the obelisk that still stood at Alexandria, and it was
his duty to take it down, put it on board a ship,
take it across the Atlantic, and set it up in Central
Park, in New York. His job was more difficult than
the others, for he had a longer voyage to make, and
he was obliged to cross a greater distance on land
than either the Egyptian, Roman, Frenchman, or
Englishman. The way he did it was more original,
more scientific, and far more interesting than any
of their great works. He had greater difficulties
to contend with than they, and he got over them
in the most singular manner, and by methods never
before used in moving such monoliths. He called
the moon to help him lift the stone, he constructed
.1 locomotive to drag it up hill and down through
lanes and streets, and he hung it in mid air upon
a single pair of trunnions, and even took it over a
lofty bridge, right over the heads of horses and
carriages in the street below. Lastly, he moved
it a greater distance, and with less labor, and in
less time than any workman who had gone before.
On page 310 is a picture of the great stone, as it
stood when the American arrived with his tools, on
the 30th of October, 1879. On the left is the sea-
wall, at the back is the old fort, and to the right is
the raihva\- station. The stone stood with its base
buried deep in the sand, in a common yard used
to store building-stone.
The first step w;is to dig down nine feet, and
clear away the sand that covered the pedestal.
There were found the remains of the four bronze
crabs on which the obelisk stood. The crabs rested
on a huge block of syenite, that stood on three
stone steps, resting in turn on solid masonry. The
sand cleared away, stone piers were built at each
side of the monument, and on these were erected
great shears or derricks of steel, made in New
Jersey, and brought out here for this purpose.
At the top of each was a bearing, just like the
bearings for the trunnions of a cannon. The stone
w-as carefully cased in wood, and then on each side
of the center was placed a steel plate, having on the
edge lugs or projections that clasped the stone.
These plates were joined together by heavy steel
rods, six on each side, and strained up tight by
means of screws and nuts. Then heavy steel bars
were run under the stone between the crabs, and
from these to the steel plates were led steel rods,
carefully tightened up by screws. On the two plates
were trunnions or round knobs, such as you may
see on great guns. These were near the center of
gravity of the stone, and rested on the bearings at
the tops of the derricks. Now, you will obscn-e that.
if the crabs are knocked from under the stone, it will
hang suspended on the trunnions, the center sup-
ported by the plates that tightly clasp it, and the
lower half held up by the steel rods at the sides.
You will see that this is a little like the plan by
which the Englishman mounted his obelisk. Really,
it is very different. The English engineers who
were in Alexandria at the time, said that the
3i6
THE TRUE STORV OF THE OHELISK.
[February,
American's method would fail — that on turning on
its trunnions the stone would break in two. But the
stone was turned, and yet it did not break. For this
reason : The plate in the center bore the larger
part of the weight, leaving only the extreme ends
unsupported. The stone would now tip over and
hang suspended in the air, supported only in the
middle. The steel rods reaching to the base
would not help in the least after the stone began
to turn over, and, no doubt, it would have broken
in two in the middle had not the American done
one thing more. To understand this matter, let
us look at these diagrams. If an obelisk is sup-
ported only at the ends, and is not able to carry
its own weight, it may break in two in the middle.
You can test this with a common lath set on edge
on two bricks, and by suspending one or more
bricks at the middle till it snaps in two.
The first diagram shows such a broken obelisk.
You see it is pulled apart at the bottom and pinched
together on top. It broke under two strains : one
was a pull at the bottom, and the other was a
squeeze at the top. These we call the strain of ten-
sion and the strain of compression. You can
understand that, if the bottom of the obelisk that was
pulled apart in falling had been tied together, say
with a piece of strong string, the obelisk would not
have broken. This tying together of the lower edge
of a beam is very common wherever long beams are
to be supported. To understand this more clearly,
look at the iron-work between the columns on the
Sixth Avenue Elevated Railroad. At the top is a
heavy iron beam to withstand the squeezing or
strain of compression ; at the bottom are round rods
to take the pulling or strain of tension.
This system of tying the lower edge of a beam
together to prevent it from pulling apart is called
trussing. Hut, in the case of the obelisk, the
support was to be in the iniddle, and the ends were
to be free. The squeezing and pulling are still
there, but they have changed places.
The second diagivim shows how such an obelisk
would break, pulling apart at the top, and pinching
at the bottom. The American knew this might
hajipcn the moment he turned the stone over on
its trunnions, and he put on a strong truss to tie
the upper edge together, the lower edge in such a
stone easily taking care of itself.
In the picture on page 317, we see the big stone
just as it appeared on the 5th of December, 1S79, the
day it turned over and lay in a horizontal position, the
top resting on a tower of wooden beams, the center
supported by the trunnions resting on the derricks,
and the lower half held up in the air. On top of
the stone you see upright rods, with ropes passed
over the top and fastened to the two ends of the
stone. This is the truss that took the pulling strain,
and held the stone together, thus preventing it
from breaking in t«^o. This was made of a pair of
iron rods, fastened together, and resting on the
stone. Steel ropes of great strength were fastened
to rings at the ends of the obelisk and carried over
the upright. Now, the tendency to pull apart is
taken up by the ropes and given to the rods, but
they rest securely on the stone itself, and would
carry the whole weight of the ends easily. This
curious and interesting work certainly reflects great
credit on our engineer. The Frenchman and the
Englishman knew how to use such means, but it
was the American who turned them to account.
Having swung the obelisk over, it was compara-
tively easy to build up a second tower of wood,
and then to gently lower the stone to the gi'ound
by taking out a beam at a time, aided by the
hydraulic-jacks. First put the jack under the stone
and lift it a trifle, then take oft' a beam from each
tower and let the jack shut up like a telescope, till
the stone rest on the next beam, and so on. This
is called "jacking it down."
In the pit were the ribs and sides of a large,
barge-like boat. This boat, or pontoon, was built
there, and when tlie stone came down, it rested
in the bottom of the boat. The derricks were taken
away, the masonry was removed, and the sea-wall
knocked down. The boat was finished, and, in
.April, 1880, with the big stone on board, it was
launched into the sea. The big hole in the ground
was filled up and the sea-wall repaired, and the
stone was towed around to the other side of the
city to the dry-dock.
The pontoon was floated into the dock ;is it lay
sunk in the water, and a large iron steam-ship was
brought in, close up to the pontoon. The steam-
pumps were set to work to pump the water out of
the dock, and like a great raft it rose under both
ship and pontoon, and lifted them high and dry in
the air. The plates of the steamer were taken off
and the ribs cut away, making a great hole at the
side of the bow.
On page 312 is a view of the old stone as it lay in
TIIK I'RUE STORY OK TIIK OIU'.I.ISK.
Z'^l
the dock. The pontoon had been pulled to pieces,
and now it « as only necessary to push the stone into
t(ie steamer, precisely as timbers are put into the
bows of our schooners, as you may see at any lum-
ber-yard along the I"ast or North River. This job
was really the hardest of all, for the stone touched
the opposite side of the ship before it was half-way
in, and twice it had to be moved sidewise before
the tip end was fairh- inside. .At last it was on
board, and snugly stowed away in the hold. The
plates and ribs were repaired, and on the 12th of
^
June the great dock sank in the water, and the
ship with its precious cargo floated off. All the
tools and the stones of the pedestal had been put
on board. The steam was up, the flag flying,
and all was finished. The bell rang to "go
ahead," the screw churned up the sea, the great
steam-ship forged ahead, and the old, old stone,
asleep in the hold, left its home forever. Three
hundred slaves, whipped up to their work by cruel
masters, toiled at their oars for weeks to take the
Roman stone away. The Frenchman carried his
off in a big boat, towed by a sailing ship. The
Englishman carried his away in a melancholy box,
that looked sadly like its coffin. Our big stone
sailed 5382 miles over the seas in a steam-ship
that dropped anchor, on the' 20th of July, in the
placid waters of the Hudson, under tlie shadow of
the Palisades.
The pedestal and foundation-stones were landed
and sent to Central Park, and the steam-ship was
taken to Staten Island and hauled out of the water
on the marine railway. Again the bows w^ere
opened and the stone rolled upon the land. Now
came one of the most curious features of the work.
The stone must be put on a boat and taken to the
city, and the engineer called on the moon to help
him. Three rows of piles were driven in the water,
thus making a wharf. On these were laid heavy
timbers, resting on the tops of each row. Upon this
staging over the water the stone was placed^ directly
over the middle row of piles, and supported by the
timbers. Two long and narrow pontoons, such as
are used to raise sunken ships, were then towed up
to the wharf at low tide. Such pontoons are hol-
low-, and when filled w-ith water just float on the
surface. When the water is pumped out, and they
contain only air, they float quite high out of the
water. In this case, they were empty and floated
high. Now, see how the moon picked up the stone
and started it on another voyage. It was low- tide
when the pontoons were placed under the wharf.
The moon, that controls the tide, lifted the waters
of the sea, and the two pontoons rose and gently
lifted the stone, timbers and all. and it hung sus-
pended between them.
This was about an hour before high tide at
Staten Island, and two tug-boats came up and
towed the obelisk from there to the city. Now-
the tide at Ninety-sixth street, on the North River,
is about an hour late, so that, by the time the tugs
arrived at the wharf, it was still flood-tide. Here
the pontoons were pushed between three rows of
piles till the stone rested over the center line of
piles. Again the moon might have been used,
and, by waiting for the tide to fall, the stone could
be gently laid on the wharf; but this would involve
delay, and as it was in the night, it was thought
best to sink the pontoons. The gates were opened,
the water rushed in, and they slowly sank. The
timbers rested on the piles, and in a few moments
the enormous block of syenite was quietly lying
on the pier. The idea of using the tide to load
heavv weights on board a boat is not new, vet this
3i8
THE TRUE STORY OF THE OBELISK.
[Fbbruarv,
is the first time it was ever used exactly in this edge) in the middle. Those were fastened in the
manner, and to lift such an immense weight in a boxes in such a way they could not fall out, and
single stone. were yet free to turn around. The stone was then
In the lower half of page 313 is a picture which placed on a heavy timber carriage somewhat longer
^^^^^^^TfL^^^
shows the obelisk started upon its long journey
to Central Park. Here is the broad Hudson, with
the wooded Palisades in the distance. A railroad than the obelisk, and iron bars, of the same pattern
train is waiting for the stone to pass, and has come as those on the rails, were placed on the under side
close up to the huge thing snugly sleeping in its of the carriage. A number of the boxes were put on
wooden box. The pedestal was carried to its place the track, and the carriage rested in these bo.xcs on
on a huge wagon drawn b)- thirty-two horses. The the rollers. A thirty-horse-power engine and boiler
obelisk itself was pulled along on iron shot, rolling was mounted in front of the obelisk, strong tackle
in channel-bars. These are long iron beams, having was run out in front and fastened to a stout stake
two edges turned up on one side, making a channel stuck up in the street. Now, when the engine
in the middle, and giving them the name of channel- pulls on the rOpe, it drags itself, the car, boxes,
bars. One is laid on heavy timbers, and forms the obelisk, and all, along the railroad. .-\s the boxes
rail. The other is laid upside down over it, and be- conic out at the end, the men carry them forward
tween them is placed a great number of small can-
non-balls. The stone, resting on timbers, is placed
over the upper bar, and may then be pulled along
without much difficulty, a thirty-horse-power engine
easily dragging it along by means of ropes and
pullers. This method of moving the stone on balls
rolling in channel-bars is simple, but not suitable
for long distances ; and as soon as the obelisk had
crossed the railroad, quite another plan was tried.
A double line of heavy timbers was laid in the
street, and on each of these was spiked two flat bars
of iron, leaving a narrow space between them.
This made the railroad on which the stone was to
travel. Strong wooden boxes, open at the top and
bottom, were then made, and in each was placed a
number of iron rollers, having a flange (or raised
and put them on the rails in front. In like manner,
the rails are taken up behind and laid down in
front of this strange locomotive as it travels through
the streets. This kind of railway is known as a
marine railway, and is used in dragging ships out of
the water; but this was the first time it was ever used
to move a great weight through the streets of a city.
The picture on this page shows this railway,
the engine in front, protected from the weather by
a house. The obelisk went up the hill at Ninety-
sixth street to the Houlevard, then down to Eighty-
third street, then through this street to the Park at
Eighth avenue, passing under the Elevated Rail-
road on its way. To cross the Park it followed the
winding sunken road to Fifth Avenue, and then
went down to the narrow gate behind the Museum.
I
Ih.
• Al yni vul
L^^sUaii 1
:uu>.lt .u itivjjticd.
I
i
'^
320
WHICH ?
[February,
W HIGH?
By Rachel Pomk.rov.
Tiptoe before the mirror
Ruth, Nell, and May-
Mamma, by the window, sewing.
Hears what they say.
Three in a row make a ladder,
Two; five; eight; —
Beautiful May is the youngest,
Wee curly-pate !
Three pairs of eyes scan the mirror,
Wide with amaze ;
Three round, wondering faces
Back at them gaze.
• Which do you think is the prettiest ?
Asks Nell of Ruth,—
Serious elder sister,
Candid as truth.
Oh, Baby May," answers Ruthie ;
Nell nods assent ;
May nods, too, though she barely
Knows what is meant.
Which is the next?" (luestions Nelly,
" N'ou, Ruth, or I ? "
Ruth takes a critical sur\Ty,
Then artlessly
Answers : " I think th.it / am,
Nelly, don't you ? "
Yes," says Nelly (Ciod bless her!),
'• Yes, 1 do, too! "
PHAKTON ROC KKS.
PHAETON ROGERS*
15V ROSSITER JOIIXSOX.
Chapi'kr v.
JIMMY rHK RHVMKR.
James RedMONU, the boys used to say, was
small for his size and old for his age. He was not
exactly hump-backed, but his shoulders came so
nearly up to the level of his ears that he seemed
so ; and he \v;is not exactly an invalid, thougli wc
never counted on him in any of the games or enter-
prises that required strength or fleetness. 1 have
no idea what his age was. He must have been
some years older than 1, and yet all the boys in my
set treated him tenderly and patronizingly, as if he
were a little fellow who needed their encourage-
ment and protection.
Jimmy used to make little ballads, generally tak-
ing for his subject some incident that had occurred
among the boys of the neighborhood, and often
sticking to the facts of the case — at the expense of
rhyme and rhythm — with a literalness that made
him valuable as a historian, whatever he was as a
poet. He was called '"Jimmy the Rhymer," and
the poUte thing to do, on meeting him, was to ask
him if he had anything new to-day — meaning any
new poem. If he had, he was always willing to
read it, sometimes accompanying it with remarks
in prose that were quite as entertaining as the
ballad itself.
" Hello, Jimmy ! "
" Hello, boys ! "
" Got anything new to-day?"
" Not much."
" That means that you have something."
" Well, yes ; a little one. I don't think much
of it."
This did n't satisfy us. Jimmy, Uke many greater
artists, was a poor Judge of his own productions.
Some of his ballads of which he had been proudest
were so long and dull that we had almost told him
they were failures ; but it would have required a
very hard-hearted boy to say anything unpleasant
to Jimmy. Others, which he tliought little of, the
boys would call for again and again.
" Let us hear it, please," said Ned.
" 1 'm afraid I 've left it at home," said Jimmy,
feeling in his pockets. "Oh, no; here it is."
So we sat down on the horse-block in front of the
Quaker meeting-house, and while Ned whittled the
edge of the block, — which had not been rounded
off quite enough, by previous jack-knives, to suit his
fancy, — Jimmy read his newest ballad.
Vol. VIII.— 21. •Copyright. 1880, by Rosjiitcr
" It is called • The Unlucky Fishermen,'" said
he; "and you probably will recognize some of the
characters.
"Joe Chase md Is.nac Holinan,
They would a-fishing go ;
They rose at sunrise Frid.iy moni,
And called their dog Kido.
"What!" said Ned, interrupting, "the little
yellow cur that Joe bouglit of Clam Jimmy for a
sixpence ?"
" Yes, that 's the one."
•• But his name is n't Fido — it 's Prince. Have
n't >ou ever noticed that the smaller and snarlier
and more worthless a dog is, the surer it is to be
called Prince ? "
" Perhaps that 's the way with princes," said
Jimmy, who had more than once uttered the most
extreme democratic sentiments, expressing con-
tempt for all royalty, merely because it was royalty.
" But I don't know, — I never saw one. At any
rate, I did n't know the dog's name, and I had to
call him something. I think you '11 find that every-
thing else is correctly stated."
I ventured to suggest that it did n't make much
difference whether the dog's name were right or not,
in a poem.
" Oh, yes, it does," said Jimmy. " 1 always try
to have my poems true to life ; and I shall change
that, and make it Prince — -that is, after I have in-
quired of Joe, and found out that the dog's name
really is Prince. I am glad you spoke about it."
Then he continued the reading.
** In two small willow baskets —
One white, the other brown —
Their mothers put the dinners up
Which they were to put down.
" They 'd dug their bait the night before, —
The worms were live and thick ;
Their bamboo poles were long and strong,
Their hooks were Limerick."
■' My brother Fay says there is n't a Limerick
hook in this whole town," said Ned.
" You can buy plenty of them at Karl's — two for
a cent," said Jimmy.
" Oh, no, you can't," said Ned. " Fay says you
can't get a Limerick hook this side of New York."
"What is a Limerick hook?" said I, for I was
not much of a fisherman.
"Why, don't you know?" said Jimmy. "A
hook that 's made like a little file on the end where
you tie the line, instead of a flat knob."
Johnson. .\Il rights reserved.
322
PHAETON ROGERS.
[February^
"A real Limerick hook is one that 's made in
Limerick," said Ned. " Those you get in this town
are made in Connecticut, and arc only imitations."
I began to suspect that Ned liad been nettled at
the failure of his lightning-rod invention, and w;is
venting his spite on poor Jimmy's literary invention.
" I can't see," said I, " that it makes any differ-
ence with the poem, whether they were real Limer-
ick hooks, or only imitation. The poetry is just as
good."
" Oh, no, it is n't," said Jimmy ; " and 1 'm glad
to have my attention called to it. 1 '11 inquire about
that, and if I find they were not true Limericks, I '11
change that line." Then the reading proceeded.
" ' Now let us make it doubly sure
Th.it nothinK "s left,* s,iid Joe.
And ' Totus dt'xtrr/' Ike replied —
Which means ■ All right ! ' you know.
" These jolly boys set off at once
When everything was fotmd ;
Their fathers said, ' We wish good luck ! '
Their mothers, 'Don't get drowned!'"
"Holman's father has n't been at home for four
months," said Ned. "He's gone to Missouri to
see about an iron mine."
" I admit," said Jimmy, " that there I drew a-little
on my imagination. I did n't know what they said,
and so I put in what I thought they would be likely
to say. Hut if Holman's father was n't at home,
of course he could n't have said anything at all.
However, I think you '11 find that the rest of tlio
poem is entirely true to nature.
" When they imto the river came.
Where they should cast the lead.
The dew still glistened under foot.
The robin sang o'erhead."
" I doubt if any robin sings so late in the season
as this," said Ned.
"Still," said Jimmy, "if one did sing, it would
certainly be overhead, and not on the ground. No
robin ever sings when he 's on the ground. You
admit that ? "
"Oh, certainly," said Ned.
" Then I think that line may stand as it is." said
Jimmy.
" Ail down the road and through the woods
They h.id a lovely walk;
The dog did frisk, and chase the birds,
.\nd they did laugh and talk."
" He 's been anything but a frisky dog when
I 've seen him," said Ned.
"Perhaps so," said Jimmy; " but there are ex-
ceptions to all rules.
" But here their luck all left them —
The case seemed very sad :
For cvcrj'thing was good before —
Now everything was bad.
" Their sinkers were not large enough,
The current was so strong,
And so they tied on pebble-stones.
To help the thing along.
" And bitterly they did regret
They bought their lines at Karl's :
For every time they hauled them out.
They found them full of snarls."
" Of course they did," said Ned. " There 'smot
a thing in Karl's store that 's not a cheat — all imi-
tation."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Jimmy.
" I thought you would see that the rest of the poem
was true to nature. .
" When little fish got on the hooks,
They soon flopped off" again;
When big ones bit, they gave a jerk,
And snapped the line in twain.
" Isaac told mc," said Jimmy, interrupting him-
self, " that that thing happened every time with
him, and every time but once with Joe."
" He probably said that as an excuse for coming
home with no fish," said Ned.
"Oh, no, — Ike would n't lie about it," said
Jimmy. " He 's one of the most truthful boys I
ever knew."
" Everybody lies about fishing," s;iid Ned. " It 's
considered the proper thing to do. That 's what
they mean by a fish-story."
"But I saw the lines myself," said Jimmy. And
then he hurried on with the reading.
" The dog lay by the dinners.
And was told to guard them well —
To let no stranger, man or beast,
Come near, touch, taste, or smell.
" But Fido — of course I mean Prince — fell asleep, and kicked
The baskets in a dream ;
The contents tumbled o'er the bank.
And floated down the stre.am.
" .\nd once a bass robbed Isaac's hook.
Just as he tried to haul;
Which made him nervous, and in haste
He let the bait-box fall."
" How could he know what kind of fish it was
that robbed his hook?" said I.
" I did n't think to ask," said Jimmy. " But at
any rate, he said it was a bass, and Isaac is gener-
ally pretty correct.
" It fell between two rugged rocks,
' Where out of reach it lay ;
And when with sticks they fished it up,
The worms had crawled away.
" Now, when the golden setting sun
Was shining down the glen.
They sadly turned their steps toward home.
These luckless fishermen.
• And when they ci
All tired in foot and sid
They s.aid, * Let 's hide Ol
And try to catch a ride.
upon the road,
side,
poles away,
PHAETON KOGERS.
323
" They caught upon an omnibus —
They did not stir nor talk ;
But some one cried out, ' Whip behind I '
And so they had to walk."
"That must have been a Dublin boy," said Nc-d.
" Nobody on our side of the river is mean enough
to holler ' whip behind ! ' "
•■ I think it was a Duljlin boy," said Jininiy. " If
" That 's a good poem," said I, as we rose from
the horse-block. " I like that."
■ Yes," said Ned ; " it ought to be printed."
"1 'm glad to hear you say so," said Jimmy.
" liut I think I can improve it in a few spots, if 1
can get at the facts. At any rate, I shall try."
Jimmy continued his walk up the street, while
wc sauntered toward home.
I
1 can find out for certain. 1 shall state it so in the " I think you were too severe in your criticisms
poem. on the poem," said 1. " I 'm afraid Jimmy felt
" They came up slowly from the gate.
And Fido — that is to say. Prince — walked behind :
Their parents sat about the door.
Or on the grass reclined.
" Their fathers said — at least, Joe's father did — ' It grievi
That you no luck have found.'
Their mothers said, 'Our precious boys.
Wc 're glad you are not drowned.'"
hurt."
" Do you think so ?" said Ned. "Well, now, I
did n't mean to be. I would n't hurt that boy's
feelings for the world. I suppose I must have been
; much a little cross on account of my lightning-rod. But
I ought n't to have played it off on Jimmy, that 's
a fact." And Ned looked really sorry.
324
PHAETON ROGERS.
[Fbbrua
" 1 think he has great genius." said I, "and it
ought to be encouraged."
" Yes, it ought," said Ned. " 1 've often thought
so, myself, and wished 1 could do something for
him. Perhaps I can, now that 1 have capital.
Father says notliing can be done without capital."
" Jimmy's folks are very poor," said 1.
" That 's so," said Ned. '■ I don't suppose his
father ever hatl fifteen dollars at one time in his
life. Do you think of any good way in which 1
could help him with a little capital ? "
" 1 don't know of any way, unless it is to i)rint
his poems. I should think if his poems could once
be published, he might make a great deal of money
out of them, and be able to support himself, and
perhaps help his mother a little."
" That 's so," said Ned. " 1 '11 publish his
poems for him. Come over after supper, and we 'II
talk it up."
ChaPTKR VI.
rni'. PRICK OK poi:trv.
Whkn 1 went over in the evening, 1 found that
Ned had been to Jimmy's house and obtained thir-
teen of his poems in manuscript, and was now
carefully looking them over, correcting what he
considered errors.
" I tell you what 't is," said he, "Jimmy 's an
awful good poet, but he needs somebody to look
out for his facts."
" Do you find many mistakes?" said I.
" Yes; quite a few. Here, for instance, he calls
it a mile from the Four Corners to Lyell street. I
went with the surveyors when they measured it Last
summer, and it was just seven eighths of a mile
and three rods over."
" But you could n't very well say ' seven eighths
of a mile and three rods over' in poetry," said 1.
" Perhaps not," said Ned: "'and yet it wont do
to have that line stand as it is. It '11 be severely
criticised by everybody who knows the exact
distance."
I felt that Ned was wrong, but 1 could not tell
how or wh)-. In later years I have learned that
older people than he confidently criticise what they
don't understand, and put their own mechanical
patches upon the artistic work of others.
" Perhaps we 'd better see what Fay thinks
about it," said I. " He probably knows more
about poetry than we do."
" He 's in the library, getting Father to help him
on a hard sum," said Ned. " He 'II be here in a
minute."
When Phaeton returned, we pointed out the
difficulty to him.
" That 's all right," said he. "' That 's poetic
license."
" What is poetic license?" said I.
" Poetic license," said Phaeton, " is a way that
poets have of making things fit when they don't
quite fit."
•' Like what?" said Ned.
" Like this," said Phaeton ; " this is as good an
example as any. You see, he could n't say 'seven
eighths of a mile and three rods over,' because that
would be too long."
'• That would be the exact distance," said Ned.
•' I mean it would make this line too long," said
Phaeton : " and, besides, it has to rhyme with that
other line, which ends with the word style"
■' .And if that other line ended with c/uri', would
he ha\ e called it a league from the Four Corners to
Lyell street?" said Ned.
"I suppose so," said Phaeton, "though it
would n't be a ver>' good rhyme."
" .And is that considered all right ?"
•' 1 believe it is."
" Then you can't depend upon a single state-
ment in any poem," said Ned.
■'Oh, ves, you can," said Phaeton — "a great
many."
" Mention one," said Ned.
*• ' Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November,' "
said Phaeton.
"That 's true," said Ned; "but it 's only be-
cause the words happened to come so. At any
rate, you 've greatly lessened my respect for poetry,
and I don't know whether or not I 'd better pub-
lish them, after all."
"These poems? — were you going to publish
them?" said Phaeton.
" Yes."
"Why?"
" To make a little money for Jimmy. You know
his folks arc very poor," said Ned.
" The papers wont pay you anything for them,"
said Phaeton. "Alec Barnes's sister had a poem
two columns long in the \ 'iiulkator last week, and
Alec told me she did n't get a cent for it."
"But we 're going to make a book of them,"
said Ned. " You can make money on a book,
can't you ? "
" 1 believe you can," said Phaeton. " Wait a
minute."
He went to the library, and came back with
three volumes of a cyclopedia, out of which, after
looking through several articles, he read, at inter-
vals, these bits of information :
" Moore received three thousand guineas for
' Lalla Rookh."'
PHAETON ROGERS.
325
" How much is that ? " said Ned.
"Over fifteen thousand dollars," said Phaeton.
"Whew!" said Ned.
"Scott made a protit of ten thousand dollars on
• The Lady of the Lake.' "
" Good gracious ! " said Ned.
" Byron received more than seventy-five thousand
dollars for his poems."
"Great C;esar ! " said Ned.
" Tupper has made thirty thousand dollars on
his 'Proverbial Philosophy.""
"That's enough ! " said Ned. "That's plenty!
1 begin to have great respect for poetry, in spite of
the license. And I suppose, if the poets make all
that money, the publishers make a little something,
too."
" They probably know how to look out for them-
selves," said Phaeton. "" But who is going to
publish this book for you ? "
" I 'm going to publish it myself. You know we
have n't used up the capital 1 got from .Aunt
Mercy," said Ned.
" But you 're not a publisher."
" Nobody is a publisher until after he has pub-
lished something," said Ned.
" But that wont be capital enough to print a
book," said Phaeton. " Printing costs like fury."
" Then I shall have to get more from Aunt
Mercy."
"Yes, 1 suppose you can — she 'd give you any-
thing: but the truth is, Ned, 1 — I had a little plan
of my own about that."
"About what?"
" About the fifteen dollars — or a part of it. I
don't think 1 should need all of it. "
"What is it? Another foolish invention?"
" \'es, it is a sort of invention ; but it is sure to
go — sure to go."
" Let 's hear all about it," said Ned.
" Will you lend me the money to try it ?"
" How much will it take? "
" .Si.\ or eight dollars, I should think."
" Yes: 1 '11 lend you six dollars on it. Or, if it is
really a good thing, I '11 put in the si.x dollars as my
share, and go partnership."
" Well, then, it 's a substitute for a balloon," said
Phaeton. " Much cheaper, and safer, and better
in every way."
" How does it work ? " said Ned.
"It makes a horizontal ascension. I could tell
you all about it ; but I should rather wait a week,
and show you."
" .Ml right ! " said Ned. "You can have the
money, and we 'II wait."
" Thank you ! " said Phaeton. " But now tell
me how you are going to publish Jimmy's poems."
"Why, just publish them, of course," said Ned.
" And what do you understand by that ? " asked
Phaeton, amused by Ned's earnestness.
" Take this copy to the printer, and tell him to
print the books. When it 's done, load them into
big wagons, and drive around to the four book-
stores and leave them. After a few days, call
around and get the money, and divide with Jimmy.
We should n't ask them to pay for them till they
h;id had a ch.mce to look them over, and see how
they liked them."
" I don't believe that would work.'' said Phaeton.
" Why not ? " said Ned.
" The book-sellers might not take them."
" Not take them ! " said Ned. " They 'd be only
too glad to. Of course they woidd make a profit on
them. I suppose the price would be — well, about
half a dollar ; and we should let them have them
for — well, say for forty-seven cents apiece. May be
if they took a large number, and paid cash down,
they might have them for fort\-five. "
Phaeton laughed.
" They don't do business for any such small
profits as that," said he.
" 1 've heard Father tell of a man," said Ned,
" who made his fortune when wheat rose three cents
on a bushel. And who would n't rather have a
volume of Jimmy's poems than a bushel of wheat?
If nobod>- happened to bu\- the wheat for a year or
two, it would spoil: but that volume of poems could
stand on the shelf in the book-store for twenty
years, and be Just as good at the end of that time
as the day it was put there."
" All that sounds very well," said Phaeton ; "but
you 'd better talk with some one who knows about
it, before you rush into the enterprise."
" I '11 go and see Jack-in-the-15ox, of course,"
said Ned. "He must know all about books. I
never yet asked him anything that he did n't know
all about."
Ned hardly could wait for the night to pass away,
and when the next day came, off we posted once
more to see Jack-in-the-Box. When we got' there,
Ned plunged at once into the business, before we
had fairly said good-morning.
" Jack," said he, " did you ever publish a book?"
Jack blushed, and asked why he wanted to know.
" Because 1 am thinking of publishing one," said
Ned.
" Indeed ?" said Jack. " 1 did n't know you had
written one."
"I haven't," said Ned. " Jimmy the Rhymer
wrote it. But 1 am planning to publish it."
" I see," said Jack. " I did n't understand you
before. "
" I thought you would understand all about it,"
said Ned.
"Your expression might have meant either of
326
PHAETON ROGERS.
two things," said Jack. " When a pul^lisher prints
a book and sells it, he of course is said to pub-
lish it ; and when a person writes a book, and
gets a publisher to publish it for him, he also is
said to have published a book."
"I see," said Ned. "And did you ever publish
one ? "
" I never was a puljlisher," said Jack.
"Still, you may know a good deal about it.
You know so much."
" 1 know a little about it," said Jack, " and shall
be glad to give you all the advice I can. Is this
the manuscript ? "
Ned said it was, and handed him a roll which he
had brought in his hand.
"Ah, poetry, I sec," said Jack, turning over the
leaves.
"Yes, first-rate jKietry," said Ned. "A few
licenses here and there ; but that can't be helped,
you know."
" Of course not," said Jack.
" We want to make as much money as we can,"
said Ned, "for Jimmy's folks are very poor, you
know, and he needs it, and poetry 's the stuff to
make money."
" Is it.' " said Jack. " I 'm glad to hear it."
" There was Sir Walter Scott," said Ned,
"made thirty thousand dollars, clean cash, on a
poem called ' The Lady and the Lake ' — prob-
ably not half as good as these of Jimmy's. And
Mr. Hyron was paid seventy-five thousand dollars
for his poem called 'The Lally Rook,' whatever
that is. And there w-as Lord Moore got three
thousand guineas — that 's fifteen thousand dollars,
you know — for some sort of philosophy all turned
into rhyme. 1 don't see how a philosophy could
be in rhyme, though, for you know everything in
philosophy has to be exact, and in poetry you have
to take licenses. .Suppose you came to the five
mechanical powers, and the line before ended with
sticks, what could you do ? You 'd have to say
there were six of them."
Jack laughed heartily.
" Yes, it would be ridiculous," continued Ned.
" But that 's Lord Moore's lookout. In these
poems of Jimmy's, there is n't any trouble of that
sort. They don't need to be exact. Suppose, for
instance, one of them says it 's a mile from the
Four Corners to Lyell street. What odds ? Very
few people know that it 's Just seven eighths of a
mile and three rods over. I might not have known
it myself, if I had n't happened to be with the
surveyors when they measured it."
Jack laughed again, and kept on turning over
the leaves.
" Where is the title-page ? " said he.
" What is that ? " said Ned.
" The one with the name on it — the first page in
the book," said Jack.
" Oh ! " said Ned, " we never thought about
that. Wont the printer make it himself? "
" Not unless you write it first."
■' Then we 've got to name the book before we
go any further," said Ned.
" That 's it, exactly," said Jack.
" Could n't you name it for us ? "
" I might suggest some names," said Jack, " and
let you choose ; but, it seems to me, the person
who wrote it ought to name it."
"Oh, never mind Jimmy," said Ned. "He'll
be satisfied with anything 1 do."
" It might be called simply ' Poems. By Jimmy
the Rhymer,' " said Jack.
" His name is James Redmond," said Ned.
" I 'I! write down a few titles," said Jack, as he
reached into the box under his chair and took out
a sheet of paper and a pencil ; and in five minutes
he showed us the list :
" Rhymes and Roundelays. Hy James Red-
mond."
"A Picnic on Parnassus. By James Redmond."
" The Unlucky Fishermen, and other Poems.
By James Redmond."
"Jimmy's Jingles."
" Songs of a School-boy."
" Minutes with the Muses. By James Redmond."
It did not take Ned very long to choose the
third of these titles, which he thought " sounded
the most sensible."
" Very well," said Jack, as he wrote a neat title-
page and added it to the manuscript. " And how
are you going to publish it ? "
" I thought I 'd get you to tell me how," said
Ned, who by this time had begun to suspect that
he knew very little about it.
"The regular way," said Jack, "would be to
send it to a firm in New York, or Boston, or Phil-
adelphia."
" And then what ? "
" They would have a critic read it, and tell them
whether or not it was suitable."
" He 'd be sure to say it was ; but then what ?"
"Then they would have it printed and bound,
and advertise it in the papers, and sell it, and send
it to other stores to be sold."
" But where would our profits come from ? "
" Oh, they would pay you ten per cent, on all
they sold."
" And how many do you think they would sell ? "
" Nobody can tell," said Jack. " DitTerent books
sell differently — all the way from none at all up to
a great many."
Ned borrowed Jack's pencil, and figured for two
or three minutes.
rUAETON ROGERS.
327
" Then," said he, " if they should sell a hun-
dred of our book, we should only get five dollars —
and that would be two and a half for Jimmy, and
two and a half for me."
" That 's about it," said Jack.
'•Then that wont do," said Ned. "Jimmy's
folks are verj' poor, and he needs more than that.
Is n't there some way to make more money out
of it?"
" Not unless you pay for the printing and bind-
ing yourself," said Jack.
" And how much would that cost ? "
Jack looked it over and said he guessed about
two hundred dollars, for an edition of five hundred.
'• We can't do it," said Ned, with a sigh. " Aunt
Mercy would n't give me so much money at a
time."
" There is one other way," said Jack.
"What is it?"
" To get up a little printing-office of your own,
and print it yourselves."
"That sounds like business; I guess you 've hit
it," said Ned, brightening up. " How much money
would it take for that ? "
"I should think twenty-five or thirty dollars
would get up a good one."
" Then we can do it," said Ned. "' Aunt Mercy
will let me have that, right away."
"Do you know anything about printing?" said
Jack.
" Not much ; but my brother Fay knows all about
it. He worked in a printing-office one vacation,
to earn money to buy him a velocipede."
" Indeed ! What did your brother do in the
printing-office?" said Jack.
"They called him second devil," said Ned;
" but he was really a roller-boy."
" They 're the same thing," said Jack. "There 's
no harm in a printer's devil ; he 's only called so
because he sometimes gets pretty well blacked up
(To ke a
with the ink. Some of the brightest boys I ever
knew have been printers' devils."
" I 'm glad to hear you say so," said Ned, who
had seemed a little ashamed to tell what Fay did
in the office, but now began to think it might be
rather honorable. " In fact, he was first devil one
week, when the regular first devil was gone to his
grandfather's funeral in Troy."
" Then he knows something about the business,"
said Jack; "and perhaps 1 can help you a little.
1 understand the trade pretty well."
"Of course you do," said Ned. "You under-
stand everything. And after we 'vc finished
Jimmy's book, we can print all sortsof other things
— do a general business, in fact. I '11 see what
Vay says, and if he '11 go in, we '11 start it at once."
While Ned was uttering the last sentence. Jack's
alarm-clock went off, and Jack took his flag and
went out to flag the Pacific express, while we walked
away. We must have been very much absorbed in
the new project, for we never even turned to look
at the train ; and a train of cars in swift motion is a
sight that few people can help stop])ing to look at,
however bus)' they may be.
Readers who have followed this story thus far
will perhaps inquire where the scene of it is laid. 1
tliink it is a pertinent question, yet there is a sort
of unwritten law among story-writers against an-
swering it, excepting in some vague, indefinite way ;
and I have transgressed so many written laws that
I should like at least to keep the unwritten ones.
But if you are good at playing "buried cities," I
will give you a chance to find out the name of that
inland city where Phaeton and his companions
dwelt. I discovered it buried, quite unintentionally,
in a couplet of one of Jimmy the Rhymer's poems.
Here is the couplet :
*' Though his head to the north wind so often is bared,
At the sound of the siroc he 's terribly scared."
■J 28 FOR VERY MTTLE FOLK. (Fedruary,
THE TAME CROW.
O.NCK up-on a lime there lived a crow. 1 le had been lak-en from a
nest when )ounij;, and had been brought up on a farm, so that he was
quite tame. Now this crow was ver-y fond of eggs, and he would some-
times vis-it the hens' nests and steal their eggs, and fly a-way with them
to the mead-ow be-hind the barn, where he would break the eggs and
eat them. lie found that a nice way to break an ci^g was to take one
in his claws and fly up in thv air and let it fall on the ground. He
would then fly down and dine; on the nice w'hite and yel-low tigg, as it
ran out of the bro-ken shell. Some-times the egg would fall on the
grass, or on the soft earth, and would not break. Then he would pick
it up a-gain and fly high-er in the air, and let it fall from a great-er
height. If it did not break then, he would take it up a-gain and fly
e-ven high-er, and the third linn; it would break, and down he would
drop to feast upon the bro-ken egg.
One day, Mis-ter Crow found a nice, .shin-y white egg in a nest, and
picked it up and flew a-way to feast up-on it.
" My !" said Mis-ter Crow, as he flew a-long. "This is a ver-y heav-y
egg. Per-haps it has a doub-le yolk. Here is a nice hard place. I '11
let it fall on the gar-ilen walk, where it will be sure to break the first
time."
He let it fall, but it did not break.
"That is strange!" said Mis-ter Crow. "I must try a-gain."
-So he did. He flew up high-er in the air, and let the egg fall right
on .some stones. It did not break this time.
"The third time ne\-er fails," said Mis-ter Crow. "I '11 try once
more."
A-gain he flew up with the egg and let it fall. It did not break e-ven
this time, but just bounced like a rub-b(;r ball on the stones.
" Now. this is strange," said Mis-ter Crow. " It is the hard-est egg I
ev-er .saw. Per-haps it has been boiled for four min-utes."
He flew down and looked at the egg. It did not look like a hard-
boiled egg, and he took it up a-gain, and flew as high as the wood-en
roost-er on top ol the l)arn.
"This time; it must break," said Mis-ter Crow. .\nd it onl\- Innmced
high-er than be-fore, and was as whole as ev-er.
" I nev-er saw such an egg," said .Mis-ter Crow. " I am a-traitl it is not
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
329
good. I am ver-y hun-gry, and this is tire-some work. I '11 sit on the
top of the barn and rest."
Just then the dai-ry-maid came a-long, and see-ing the egg on the
path, she picked it up and said : " (ira-cious me ! Here is one of those
Chi-na nest-eggs out in the gar-den."
330
J ACK- IN -TIIE-PUI.IMT
JACK-IN-THI':-PULPIT.
My snow-birds have found out a secret. They
tell me that something came last year, and it 's
coming again — soon — this very month, about the
14th — not to me, your Jack, but to the Lady
Earth. It 's somethintr like this :
When a Honey-guide sees a man coming along
in the woods, he perches on a branch and calls
and twitters until he has attracted attention ; then
he starts toward some bee-nest of which he knows,
flying in a wavy line, stopping now and then, often
looking back to sec if the traveler is following, and
chattering all the while. Arrived at the store of
honey, the man smokes out the bees and helps
himself to their treasure, while the bird, perched
near, waits for his reward in a share of the spoil.
When one nest has been robbed, the guide will
perhaps lead to others. But now and then the faith-
less bird will " sell " the unwary traveler badly ; and,
instead of leading him to a store of dainty sweets,
will suddenly leave him at the brink of a lion's
den or in front of a crocodile's wide-open jaws.
At least, this is what some little birds told me.
AN AFTER CHRISTMAS LETTER.
Dear jACK-lN-THE-PuLnr : Wt had delightful times in our
house at Christmas. A large triangle was hung from the gas-fixture
in the middle of the parlor, and dressed and festooned with ever-
greens, chains, little flags, candles, cornucopias, and so on. Some
pretty plants were stood in pots underneath. It looked very pretty
when lighted up.
After this, a clothes-horse was stood across the opening of the
folding-doors, and covered with a shawl. On the floor in one room
we scattered various toys, and on a step-ladder in the other room
the very little folk sat and fished, dropping their lines beyond the
clothes-horse. We older ones were hidden by the shawl, and now
and then we hooked a toy to one of the lines. The lucky fishers
were so happy !
On another day, we had a Christmas-tree for the dolls, and that
was fine fun ; but I have told you enough already, so good-bye.
now. — Yours truly, K. B.
February's Valentine.
On this sheet of blue sky,
Floating fair overhead.
With the sun at the edge
In a border of red.
Canst read the true message
I 've written thee here?
In dawn-light and cloud-light
The writing is clear :
" Sweet Earth ! Thou art happy
And patient and wise.
Well knowing there cometh
,'\ balmy surprise,
When brooks shall be singing
And days shall be long.
And fields shall be waving
In verdure and song.
And so by old Winter
I send thee this line,
And I 'm thine —
'• February, thy true Valentine."
A BIRD THAT ■SELLS" UNWARY TRAVELERS.
It is that chatter-bo.\ the Honey-guide, whom
my young hearers in Africa know pretty well.
He is very fond of honey, and is glad to have
help in getting it : and he is also very much afraid
of the honey-makers. Those brave fellows have
stung many a Honey-guide to death in the very
nest he came to rob, and then have shut up his
body, where it lay, in an air-tight tomb of wax.
WHISTLES ON PIGEONS.
One of your Jack's friends, in Pekin, China,
says: Walking near this city, one day, I heard a
harsh, long-drawn whistling in the air. Looking
up, I saw only a flock of pigeons overhead. "What,"
said I to myself; " do Chinese pigeons whistle ! "
There was a Chinaman passing, so I asked him
about it. He took from his dress a set of small
bamboos, joined with fine wires, — as in the sketch
which I send, — and handed it to me. It weighed
onl)' a few pennyweights.
"That is what makes the whistling," said he.
■'We tie these on the backs of carrier-pigeons,
near their tails, looping the strings around the roots
of the wings. When the pigeon is flying, the wind
rushes into the bamboos, and makes them whistle.
This scares away the hawks, so that the pigeon
ACK- 1 \ - III i;- VV l.PII'.
331
can brin^ ils message safely. Sometimes, there is
only one bamboo ; but if there are more, they are
assorted so as to make a harsh sound when blown
all at one time."
Now, my yoimg American pigeon-keepers, who
of yoii will see if pigeon-whistles can scare hawks
away from your own beautiful messenger pets ?
HOW MANYP
Deah Jack-in.tiik-Pi'1,pit: Will you ask the children a
question for me? Perhaps you will say it is "too easy." But I
would caution them to invesugnte before they all answer together
1 know a family of sixteen persons, old and young, not one of whom
could answer it
How many toes has a cat ? K. !..
JOHNNY-CAKE PLANT.
E. C. G. SENDS a letter with more information
about the lovely I'icioria Kegia, of which your
Jack told you, in November,
that its leaves sometimes arc
used for cradles. She says :
•' The fruit of the / 'ictoria Rcgia
grows as big as a girl's head,
and has a prickly outside ; but
inside it is full of small seeds
that look like maize, for which
reason the fruit is called water-
maize. These seeds are ground
to meal, and cooked 'much a.s
New England folk cook Indian-
corn meal. My little brother,
when we were in the Am.Tzon
countT)-, years ago, on first
tasting water-maize bread, at
once called it 'Johnny-cake.'
which it much resembles ; and
now, in our family, the I'ic/orui
Re-jfia is best known as the
' Johnny-cake Plant.' "
DlLAR Jack-in-the-Pi'LI'It: What you
told us in a late number about the power
of steam, makes me want to tell you what
1 have learned about the power of the
water that plunges unused over the preci-
pice at Niagara. Nut i|uite unu.scd,
though, I believe ; for the rushing water
above the Falls is now made to drive ma-
chincr>* and produce the electric lights
which illurr.inatc the wonderful cascade at
night. Here arc the facts as they were
told to me :
The amount of water pa.ssing over
Niagara Falls has been estimated at one
hundred millions of tons each hour. The
force represented by the principal fall alone,
amounts to sixteen million eight hundred
thousand horse-power. If that amount of force were to be pro-
duced by sleam. it would require two himdred and sixty-six million
tons of coal evcr>* year. Or, in other words, all the coal mined in
the whole world scarcely would be sufficient to produce the amount
of power lh.-it " nms to waste" every year in the principal fall at
Niagara. — \'ours truly, I.. H F.
A FABLE FROM DEACON GREEN.
On with your thinking caps, all of you ! And
study out the meaning of this picture and fable
which Deacon (jrecn sends to you. It may be
that some of you pretty nearly grown-up listeners
can find in them" a cheering message for your-
selves. He says, — while a kindly light twinkles
far back under the roof of his eye :
■' Here is a little something that may help those
of your friends who try to do too much all at once,
or who are ne\er satisfied, even when they have
done their very best."
.V certain philosopher olTered sacrifice every day
in Jupiter's temple, and made always the same
prayer. At last, the god became weary of hearing
over and over again the one request, and said:
" What would you have ? "
■' 1 crave to become a contented man," was the
philosopher's reply. " Never yet have 1 enjoyed
one really peaceful day, for 1 never have been en-
lirely contented. Even now, .aged as 1 am, there
^always is somethini,' thai 1 long for."
"Consider well uhat vou ask," said ihc ''od.
sternly; " there is but one way in which you can
secure the boon you seek."
"And what is that.'" asked the philosopher,
eagerly.
" 1 must strike you dead; for in death only can
man be free from discontent."
" Upon mature consideration," replied the phil-
osopher, without hesitating a moment, " 1 think
that 1 should be belter contented to remain dis-
contented." .\nd, putting on his hat, he hastily
withdrew from the temple.
332
THE Ll-;i 1 K K- HO\.
(Feokuakv,
THE LKTT1:R-H()X.
presented with ii. telling where found, when, by wlioin, describing
It, and giving any facts of interest you have been able to Icam about
it. These written accounLs wc call " reports." That 's how lo start
a "chapter."
II. If you cannot form a chapter where you are, you can join our
homc-chapicr at Lenox, on the same conditions as our boys and girls
lie re can. These conditions arc indicated in our by-laus, and this
brings tne to question
III. 'I'hc more important of the by-I.-iws in force in our chapter
1. "The name of this society shall be," etc. See St. Nicholas
for November, i8So, page 29.
2. Tlie initiation fee shall be the sum of twenty-five cenLs.
3. Each member shall work in such branches of natural history as
lie and the president of this chapter may agree on.
4. The order of exercises at each meeting shall be : a. Roll-call ; l^.
Minutes nf last meeting; (. Treasurer's report; t/. Reports of mem-
bers on specimens found and presented; c. Report of corresponding
secrctarv ; ./ Miscellaneous business; j^. Adjournment.
IV. with regard to the fourth question, it is not necessary that
every member of a chapter be a subscriber to St. NiCHOiw\s.
(let as many persons interested in the society as you can.
V. One of the things which those who live in cities can do, is to
rnakc drawings of snow-crystals to exchange for specimens more
easily found in the country. Catch the crystals, as they fall, on n
dark cloth. Look at them through a magnifying glass, if you have
one, and draw as well as you can from memorj'.
The drawings should be made of a uniform diameter of half an inch.
Six drawings may be made nicely on a card as large as a postal card.
For convenience in exchanging, we all may make them of the same
size and arrange them in the same way, as follows :
THE AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.
Haklan H. Ballard's first report concerning the Si.
; branch of the Agassiz Association (started by him in our
November number) shows that a great many boys and girls are
heartily interested in the project. We print the report in full, with
much pleasure, and commend it to all our readers, only reminding
them that letters relating to the Association must be addressed, not
to us, but always to Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox Academy,
I^nox, Massachusetts.
The plan proposed in the November St. Nicholas of organizing
a Natural History Society is meeting with imcxpected favor. More
than two hundred boys and girls have sent their names to be enrolled
as members of the "St. Nicholas Branch"; and "chapters," con-
taining each from four to twenty members, have been started in many
cities and towns. Still every mail brings letters full of eager ques-
tioning. Our l^nox Chapter has been obliged to resolve itself into
a committee of the whole for the purpose of answering these interest-
ing letters, and specimens of insects and minerals have begun to take
long journeys in Uncle Sam's mail-bags. The questions which have
puzzled most of our correspondents arc these :
I. How can I start a chapter?
I I. How can I join the Association if I can not get enough others
to form a chapter with me?
I II. What are the "by-laws " of the Lenox Chapter ?
IV. Can any one be admitted to a chapter if he is not a subscriber
to St. Nicholas?
V. What can I do in a great city ?
yi. What can I do in the winter?
VII. How can I make a cabinet?
VIII. — M. ! Questions relative to the collection and preparation
of specimens.
To these questions, answers h&ve been sent equivalent to the fol-
lowing;
I. Wc have decided to let Jour, or more, members constitute a
chapter. Therefore, to start one, get at least three besidcs>'oursclf.
Choose a president, secretary and treasurer, and curator. The cura-
tor will care for the cabinet, arrange specimens, etc.
'I"hen appoint a committee to draft your by-laws. These arc minor
rules by which your meetings are to be guided ; and embrace such
points as what officers you will have, how long they shall hold office,
what initiation fee you will require, what fines you will impose for
absence, what duties shall devolve upon your officers and members,
and what order of exercises you will follow in your meetings. Next,
each member, in consultation with the president, should choose what
subject he will work on. One may prefer to make a collection of
flowers, another of insects; and a third to collect, ^^ftfra/Zy, what-
ever he can find. You are now ready for work. Get your cabinet
ready, collect your specimens; write a brief account of each to be
To have these crystal pictures valuable, we must notice the condi-
tions which prevailed as the snow fell. Look at the thermometer and
barometer, and note the strength of the wind, as well as the date.
A'lll enable us to decide whether or not
:at and cold and density of
> these details
now-crystals vary in shape
Another thing you of the city 1
do i
suspend seeds
i the tiny
erals, and
Nearly all
d barks,
I bottles, and study the growth of different pla
leaves unroll. Make neat cases also for insects, or n
exchange these for specimens. Collect specimens of ^
cabinet and piano shops, and prepare them for exchange
the grains, and nuts, and spices, and fabrics, and seed'
and woods and metals can be found in city shops, and for these you
can readily get anything you may wish from the country. Again,
many of you have books or pictures on subjects of natural historj*
which arc old to you, but which some member of the Association
would be very thankful to gel. These, also, can be e:cchanged.
VI. As these things can be done in winter, I have partially an-
swered the sixth question ; and need but mention, birds'-ncsts aban-
doned in leafless trees, cocoons suspended from bushes and tucked
away under fence-rails, beetles burrowing in old stumps, sections of
wood and bark, cones and buds, — to show that there is plenty of out-
door work even in winter; while, inside, cabinets are to be built,
specimens labeled and arranged, minerals identified, philosophical
experiments to be performed, books to be read, and letters to be writ-
ten. P.iit T am exceeding the limits kindly allowed for our depart-
ment. HTi'l nirv t pn rpnne till another number answere to the remaining
<pic ii ■ M I I liile, organize your chapters; or send us your
naiM' I I , :i if you prefer. If you have any sjjecimcns which
you uiii I I ( ■,. limine, send them along, and wc will .send you in
retuni ilic hcst wc can, and agree to " trade back " if you .arc not
satisfied. If we have not what you wish, wc will give you the address
of one who has. Initiation fees m.iy be sent in postage-stamps; and,
speaking of stamps (would you believe it?), more than three-quarters
of all who have written have forgotten to inclose a stamped envelope,
addressed to themselves, for a reply ! So, now, away and to work !
and wc will send a copy of 7Vu- Scotch A'afur<i//si to the boy or girl
who shall send us the best collection of snow-flake drawings before
March i, 1881.
Drawings sent in competition for this prize must be made on cards
of postal size, as before explained, and they will be preserved in our
Home Cabinet Each card must have the name and age of the artist
plainly written on the back.
Wc give, from Mr. Rillard's letter, a list of those St. Nichoi^s
Hmnches of the Agassiz Association which had been formed up lo
i88i.]
THE LETTKR- \\n\.
the date of his communicatioit. Undoubtedly a number more hav«
been siancd since. Mr. Ballard has received, alw), the names o
-icveniy members who arc not yet connected with any chapter.
Unox. M.i« ..35..H. H. IJallard.
Potsdam. N. V . . . . 6. . Miss Annie Usher.
Pcekskill. N. V n C S. Uwis.
Nichols, N. ^ 7 '■ M Cady.
Sparta, l.a 4 *■- B. Baxter, Granite Farm.
East Orange, N . I S . Karnham Yardlcy.
Baltimore. Md ' . 'J ^ HuKhcs.
Phibdelphia, Pa , . 7 1. B. White. 44 'o Osage avc.
Washington. \X C 6 Rose Purman, 1318 V si
Aurora, 111 . o. . Lilian L. Trask.
Bcrw*>*n. Chester Co., Pa ^"h ^' GIbsscr.
Forrcston, t>glc Co., III. 4. .Pare Winston.
Trenton. N.J 5 . . Anne H. Green, 234 W. Siaie si
Detroit. Mich 1 1 . . E. G. Root, 665 Ca.ss avc.
Ottumwa, Iowa 6 W. LiRhton.
Lebanon. Pa. 4 C. R Han:.
Northampton, .Mass (> F. Maynard.
Kenosha, WLs o Norman L Baker.
Brooklyn, N. V 7. Lu^;y Tuppcr, 171 Clinton si.
Fairfield. Iowa 6 Walter S. Slagle.
Nashua, N. H 4. . F. W. Greeley, Box 757.
Grahamxille, Marion Co.. Fla. . 4 t^ P Li-^k.
Stroud, Gloucestershire, lilng.. 6.,G. C. Ruccg.
Boston. Mass 6. . Frank A. North. 5:! Woodbine 5t
Frceport, III 5 . . Anne Jenkins.
Detroit City, Minnesota . . 5. .C. C. l>ix.
Pittsburgh. Pa 6.. Mrs. R. H. Mellon, iqih Ward
Portland, Oregon. 8.. Alice M. Chance»4is Second st
In connection with this month's installment of the St. Nicholas
Treasure-Box of EnglLsh Literature, the editor's thanks are due to
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin it Co, for kindly pcrmittirig the use of
Mr. Longfellow's poem of *' The Skeleton in Armor," and to .Messrs.
G. P. Putnam's Sons for their consent to the reprinting of the
act from Washington Ir\ing's " Sketch- Book."
Ihe two pictures of '* Tnicking the Pedestal " and " The Obelisk
crossing the Hudson River Railroad." — on page 313 of the present
number, — are copied, by permission, from artolype views pub-
lished by Messrs. Harroim & Bierstadt, No. 58 Reade street. New
York City. These gentlemen have issued a series of beautiful views
illustrating the history of the obelisk, from the time of its arrival in
New York Bay until its setting up in Central Park. The x-iews,
although the}' resemble photographs, are not really photographs,
being printed by a peculiar process.
Dear St. Nichol\s: It was suggested a few months ago, by
some good-natured body, that those ofyour readers who knew any
simple games for home amusement in the long winter evenings
should impart them through the " Letter-Box," for the benefit of their
" mutual friends." There is one which my little people enjoy very
We take the alphabet in regubr order and construct sentences in
which the name of a place, a verb expressing action, and a final noun
or adjective must all begin with the same letter. For instance, the
first one says: '* 1 went to Atlanta and Ate .-Vpplcs." The second :
*' I went to Boston and Baked Beans." The third: " I went to Cleve-
land and Caught Crabs," The fourth: " I went to Dayion and
Danced Dclightfijlly." And so on.
To construct a grammatical sentence quickly requires rapid think-
ing, and will be found both instructive and amusing—Sincerely
yours, Alice M. Middleton.
Dear St. NiCHOt^s: Can you tell me how to make my tapcstr\'-
work come straight when it is done? 'l*hc canvas seems right
before I begin, but all a.skew when the work is completed. The
Germans have some w-ay to remedy this. Do you know what it is?
An Oli "
Canvas-work can be kept straight only by doing it in a frame.
The ovcr-stitch being uniform, fnim left to right, or from right to
left, the opeti-mcshed foundation is necessarily dragged awr>-, unless
so held that the needle g'>cs through perpendicularly, instead of hnri-
zontally and obliquely. Usually, tapesir>'-wnrk done uithout a
frame cannot be made perfectly straight. But if it be well dampened
on the wrong side, carefully stretched, and very closely pinned to a
nailed carpet, where it should remain for some days, it will be much
impfoved. Or a bordrr of stout mmlin or linen may l)e sewed around
the dampened canvas, which should be tighdy stretched in a quilt-
ing frame, or tacked to an old table-top, »r door, if you have any
which would not resent such treatment.
Hi:kh i-. sonic information about the green rose.
Dear Si. Nicholas: In the August (i88c) '* I^ttcr-Box," several
CTccn (lowers arc mentioned, but nothing is said about a green rose.
Nlamma has a rose-bush that bears nothing but green flowers, and I
have put one in a little box to send to you. — Yours truly,
Howard Goodwin.
Dear St. Nich()Las: My wife has seen a veritable green rose.
It was bought, one in a lot, as n dark red, but on flowering proved
to be green. When she saw it, it had four pale-green bloonLs,
perfectly double, and of good size. — Yours truly, F, W. W.
There is such a thing as a green rose, and it may be explained in
this manner. Theoretically, botanists regard a Rower as a branch
developed in a peculiar way for a certain purpose. Among other
departures fn>m the usual form of the branch, its joinLs — spaces
between the leaves — arc so shortened, as to bring the leaves close
together, and the leaves themselves are different in shape and text-
ure from the ordinary leaves of the plant — are often finely colored and
known xs petals. In the green rose, instead of the delicate and
beautiful tinted petals, or " rose-leaves," Nature puts in their place a
crowded cluster of green leaves The green rose is not at all hand-
some, and is not like a rose as we usually know it — only with green
petals. There are no proper petals, but in their place a confused
mass i>f verj' irregular and badly sha;>en green leaves.
Dear St. Nicholas: In the ordinar\- books upon Geography,
the highest mountain in the world is said 10 be .Mount Everest, one
of the Himalayas. But 1 have seen it stated lately that, on a voyage
to New Guinea, a certain Capuiin Lawson made the discovery tmit
Mount Hereules, in that island, has a height of 33,686 feet; thus
being more than 3,rx>o feet higher than Mount Everest. — Truly yours,
«■ A. J.
Of the books lately received at the St. Nicholas office, the
editors take pleasure tn calling especial attention to the following :
All Around a Palette. By Lizzie W. Champney. Illustrated
by J. Wells Champney ("Champ"). Lock-ivood^ Brooks &" 0>. :
Boston.
A Jolly Fellowship. By Frank R. Stockton. Illustrated by
J. E. Kelly. Charles Scribfter's Sons: Nnv Vork.
More Bed-time Stories. By Louise Chandler Moulton. With
illustrations. Roberts Brvs. : Bostmt.
A Guernsev Lily : or. How the Feud was Healed. A story
for girls and boys. By Susan Coolidge. Illustrated. Roberts
Bros. : Boston.
The Boy's King Arthiir. A Companion Volume to '* The
Hoy's Froissart." By Sidney Lanier. With illustrations by Alfird
Kappes. CharUs Scribner's Sons : AW«' Vork.
Mr. Bodlev Abroad. By Horace. E. Scudder. With illustra-
tions. Houghton, Mifflin &* Co. : Boston.
The FAiRroKT Nine. By Noah Brooks. With illustrations by
.A. C. Redwood. Clmrks Scribner's Sons : Neiv Y'ork.
FiYE Mice in a Molse-trap. By Laura E. Richards. With
iilustrauons. Estes &^ Lauriat: Bostoft.
Jack and Jill. By Louisa M. Alcott. With illustrations by
Frederick Dielman. Roberts Bros. : Boston.
All Aroi^nd a Rocking-chair. By Mrs. Kate Tannatt Woods.
Illustrated. James Miller : New York.
Zigzag Journeys in Classic Lands. An Account of the Vaca-
tion Tour of the Zigzag Club in Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and
Greece; with its Adventures on Sea and Land. By Hezckiah
Buttcrworth. Illustrated. Estes £t> Lauriat: Boston.
Queer Pets at Marcy's. By Olive Thome Miller. Wiih
illiLstrations. E. P. Dutton &* Co. : New Vork.
Here is an interesting letter from the other side of the world:
Sharp-Peak Sanitxuium, Foochow, China,
My Drar St. Nichoi^s: My papa is a missionary of the
.American Board, at the large city of froochow, but during the hot
months of July and -Augiist we come down !■> this place fiir the sea
air and bathing. Sharp- Peak is an Island at the mouth of the river
Min, where there are three sanitariums belonging to three different
missions. We children enjoy very much being here. Wc have a
fine beach, and almost every evening we go down to the sea and
534
THE LETTER- KOX.
[Febru
bathe. We can all swim, excepting my little s.ster Gracic who is only
seven years old. She floats on a triangular bamboo frame. We
have fine times in the water. When not s„,m.mmg, we someumes
lie on our backs and float. I have two brollicrs in Amcnca, and two
sisters here. 1 have not seen my oldest brother for more than eight
'"AT'our home, in Foochow, we have pretty pet doves and a little
white mouse. The mouse is very tame. We can hold it in our
hands, and let it run up our sleeves. .
We have no carriages, no horsccars, nor rail-cars, here in lunula.
The streets are very narrow, and roughly paved with large, flat
stones When we go out, we ride in sedan-chairs, earned by two or
three men called coolies. We have taken St. Nicholas ever since
it was published, and have the volumes bound. We like to read
'■ MV"uer°sister Mary is twelve years old and I am nine; but we
have never been to school. There are no schools here for foreign
children, and Mamma has always taught us at home. When we
are older, we shall have to go to America to be educated. a,s our
brothers have done.-Y.mr Utile friend, t,. h. W.
Ffkhaps those "Letter-Box" readers who also are students ot
the French language will find a useful him in this letter from an
industrious Chicago girl :
Dear St. Nicholas: I think I will tell you how I came by my
small knowledge of French. I have never taken one lesson, and I
know very little about the verbs or pronouncing correctly, i can
only translate a little. .. , , t- hi. vk
\ year ago, Mamma (who knows a little about French) began witn
me to read the New Testament in French, translating it into tnglish
and having the English Bible near by for a dictionary We read
from ten tS fifteen ?erses a day, and it is astonishing how much I
have learned by it. -Your consiant reader, Marv M. Madison.
Boston, Mass.
Dear St. Nicholas : I have a new canar>-, and I want to know
what to give him to eat, and how to tame him to eat from my hand.
Give my love to •• Jack-in-the-Pulpit" and the "Little bchool-
ma'am." From your constant reader. t,. o. r.
In St. Nicholas for February, 1877, is an illustrated article which
tells you how to feed and take care of a canary. To teach him to eat
from your hand, you must be very kind and patient with him. Every
day, before giving him fresh food, put a few seeds in your hand and
offer them to him gently and quietly. At first he may not peck at
them, but, after trying him once a day for some time, he will become
used to you and feel that he can trust yon : and, at last, he will eat
from your hand without fear.
"Oi-ERETTA."— Music h.TS bceu written by Mr. W. F. Sherwin
for the songs, "Now, nid, nid, nod, my bonny boys," " With my
Lady Fortune's wheel," and " Cling, cling," of the operetta, the
" Land of Nod," given in the Christmas number. Printed copies of
the musical score may be had without tharge from Messrs. Scribner
& Co., 743 Broadway, New 'V'ork city.
Dear St. Nicholas: We are two litllc girls .ind live in Boslon,
and we thought that perhaps some of the readers of the • ' Letter- Box
would like to know how to make this kind of candy : Take a large
sheet of paper and turn up the edges, pinning the comers together ; then
spread over the bottom of it some powdered sugar, and pour enough
water over it to wet it all thoroughly ; then put it on the stove, and
keep turning it around so as not to let it get cooked more in one
place than in another ; but do not stir it at all, for that would burn it
Keen trvine some of it in water, and when it becomes hard on hr^t
puttfng it in, put about a tea-spoonful of vanilla or lemon flavoirng m
ft. Then take'^it off the stove and put it in a pan of cold water. When
it becomes cool, take it out, and the faper will peel right ofli-Your
interested readers, '-'• '^"'^ ■
The following funny little letter is from a five-year-okl little girl
-iind she hurried to finish up the others, so she could give me the rose.
She lives at the White House. Her parlor is very pretty, indeed.
All lights up high, and shineleers down below the lights.
1 went and looked out of the window, but I could n t see anything
but carriages, they were so high up. Allis M. Sherman.
I Washington, .and who, it :
called at the Whit
who li
House:
Dear St. Nicholas: La.st week, on Saturday, I went to see Mrs.
Haves Mrs. Hayes was very well indeed. She seemed very glad
to sec all of her callers. There were a gj^=at many -about twenty-
one or twenty-three,— a great crowd ! She shook hands with M her
callers. She shook hands with me, and gave nie a pretty rose out ol
her bouquet for my doUie. I took one of my children with me.
Mrs Hayes's face w.is becoming to her, because she had her hair
down over Lr ears. I can't remember her dress. Nurs.e wanted
to know about it, because she wanted to make one like it. I don t
see how she can do it, though.
She looked very happy all over her face When she saw "" <:°^,;
ing she said: "Oh, I see a dear little bright-eyed girl coming!
The outline pictures representing the form and
the squid, printed with Mr. Rathbun's story in the present num-
ber, were prepared originally for a scientific memoir, and are the
property of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences. Our
readers owe to the courtesy of Professor A. E. Verrill, of that
.\cademy, the ..pportunily to study these pictures in St. Nicholas.
Dear St Nicholas: 1 should like to know the authors of
"Hail Columbia," " Red, White, and Blue," and " My Country, 't is
of Thee." Will you please answer these questions, and obhge a boy
of fourteen years, who enjoys St. Nicholas.
Wm. T. Frohwein.
" Hail Columbia-"— This song was written in 1798, by Judge
Hopkinson, LL D., at 132 Spruce street, Philadelphia, to the well-
known tune of the " President's March," which was either com-
posed by Roth or Roat (? Philip), at 25 Crown street, Philadelphia,
between 1791-1799, or by Phyla, of Philadelphia, whose eldest son
assisted in its performance at Trenton, when Washington was
inaugurated. The descendants of Hopkinson hold Washington's
letter of acknowledgment.
A young man, whose benefit was to take place at the Philadelphia
Theater, being greatly discouraged by his prospects, called on
Hopkinson for a patriotic song one Saturday afternoon, to increase
his chances of success. By Sunday afternoon it was ready; on
Monday morning it was advertised to be sung that evening. Its
success was then .so great that it was repeated more than once every
night, and the audience joined in the chorus. War with France was
then considered inevitable. The song was sung by crowds in the
streets at night, both parties and members of Congress uking part,
as the words suited either.
"The Red. White, .and Blue."— This song was written and
composed by Thos. A'Becket, Sr., and published by T. Osborn.
Third street, above Walnut, in Philadelphia (but, on his failure, the
plates went to Bentecn, of Baltimore), under the title of " Colum-
bia, the Gem of the Ocean." It wxs written for David T. Shaw,
of Philadelphia, to sing at a Philadelphia concert. He published it
;cs his own work, and it was so copyrighted in 1843 by George
Willy, of Philadelphia,
As "Britannia, the Pride of the Ocean," it was sung nightly in
London, and published, without any author's name, by T. Williams,
Cheapside. The name Nelson, in last verse, was substituted for
Washington, .and in 1847 it was claimed as an English composition.
The author, T. A'Becket, was, however, English by birth, and this
accounts for the order "red, white, and blue" being adopted. To
he distinctively American, the order should be blue, red, and white.
1 his song was extremely popular in England dunng the Cnmean
war, and in America during the late civil war.
"My Country 't is of Thee," as "God Save the King" was
first sung by Henry Carey, at a public dinner, to celebrate the taking
of Portobello by Admiral Vernon (Nov. 20, 1739)- '■''"-' ""■'''^ ""^
music first appeared in " Harmonia Anglia," 1742 or 1743- ^ became
popular as a loyal song during the Scottish rebellion in 1745. • he
Pretender was proclaimed at Edinburgh Sept. 16, and the song was
sung at Drury Lane Sept. 28, harmonized by Dr. Ame. Dr.
Burney wrote the harmonies for Covent Garden Theater.
This song soon crossed the channel, and was used as a Danish
national air, at BerUn as a Volkslied, and is now the Prussian and
German national .anthem The words are said to be culled from many
sources, and the music also. The melody, which was once claimed
for Carey and Lully, is similar, in technical points, to the Scotch
carol, "Remember, O Thou Man!" and the song "Franklin is
Fled Away." Dr. John Bull also wrote a similar theme in bis MS
sketches, page 98, in 1619.
Dear St Nicholas: In your November number I read an
article in " jack-in-the-Pulpit." stating th.at the Victona Rcgi.a was
only to be f.mnd in the warmest parts of South Amenc.a. I have
mvself seen it growing in great abundance in the island of J ava, where
I spent three months and a half, not long ago. I saw there, also a
great many curious trees Among them were the Bany,in and the
F:in-palm, which is about thirty or forty feet high. It is perfectly
flat, the leaves spreading out on either side, givmg it the appearance
of a giant fan.— Yours sincerely. L. L. S.
I8B..J
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
335
riM-: KiDin
:-iu)x.
INCOMTLKTE UilO.MHOlO.
Rrplack ihcd:ishcs%vith consonant*, ummk only eight of ihclwcniy-
one. and niakc a rhomboid consisting of iwcniy-scvcn words (none
repeated), — thirteen reading across, and fotmecn downward.
taut Ola ccnain ancient city and fiirm the name of n noted An
artist; again, and fonn land tictonging to a nobleman ; again, and
fiirni the name of a celebrated opera. Answer: Roman; Moran;
Manor: Norma.
1. Transpose a hard mineral and form a pacer ; again, and form one
who censures ; ag^^int i»"d form to rove.
2. 'transpose enmity and form scarcity; again, and forma small
twist of flax.
3. Transpose poetrj' and fonn to cut through ; again, and form to
do duty ; again, and form turns.
4. 'Iranspose old and fonn a kind of stone; af^ain, and form to
pilfer; again, and form stories; ag;un, and form certain web-footed
fowls; again, and form smallest. m. c. d. and g. P. c.
II. 1. 1 -sTK \TKI> IIOI K.|;i.A«
This diflcn from the ordinary hour-glass puzzle, in that the
word* forming it are pictured instead of described. The words are to
be placed in the order in which the pictures arc numbered, and the cen-
tral letters reading downu-anl, arc represented by the central picture.
M'MERICAL KMCniA.
I AU C'lmpoxed of thirty-three letters, and am a line from
Thomson's *'Sca>onv"
My 7-^-31-20- 2<> w a large river in Scodand. My 25-ia-2-^8-<^ is
a name eivcn to Afghan rulerv Mv 3»-33-i»-a9 » that part which
l.eci>-. f 'ill I iii.iii iii.l .1 pin from going too far. My 14-15-S-6-21-
■ I (Grecian herald whose vttice was a.** loud as
^ined My 1(0-18-19-3 Iv the name given to
i was placed on the hearth with much cerc-
My 17-16-1-10-5-18-14 is the name of a fa-
m.iu-. k..n).iii .n.t T My 1-37-19-34-1 3-36is aprcciousmeiaJ. H. n.
TRANMPOSITIONM,
These puztles arr 10 be w>lvc<l by taking the letters of the fir*t
word dcviTibrd and re-arranging them vt as to form the other words
described. For example : Transpo^ the name given to an inhnhi-
niAKADB.
My /ifst wakened early this morning,
Kxpccting some rare good fun,
For my sccofui from far in the north land,
To make him a visit had come.
Then dress yourself warmly," said Mother,
** If down to the pond you would go,
Or my ivliok will snap at your fingers."
TWO \VOUI)-S<tl'AKES.
The bend of the arm. 2. A cone-bearing tree. 3. A support
. 4. To happen. 5. At what place.
Pertaining to a kind of poplar. 2. A drudge. 3. Pbtcs of
4. Incident 5. Homes of certain animals. n. t. m.
* • 9 *
Reading Across : i. Empty, a. Made due return. 3. Recounted.
^. A story. 5. A girdle. 6. To obstnict. 7. A species of goaL 8.
bo^m. 9. A son of Noah. 10. A raised platform.
Zigzags, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, fanciful letters. g. f.
EASY NUAIEIUCAL BMG^L^.
Mv name is composed of sixteen Icners, and .America docs not
'^^^t^'-i^
bound.
E.J.
DIAMOND IN A IIAI..F-SQI;ARE.
Fortified houses.
5. Conducted. 6. A boy's nickname.
Hai-P-sqitare.
Firm. 4. Tota,
prisons.
Included Diamond, i. In Artaxerxcs.
4. Sense. 5. A Roman numeral.
Declared openly. 3.
7. In
A pledge. 3, Firm.
DOI'DLE ACROSTIC.
The initials and finals spell the name of a former President of the
United States.
CRoss-wnRns: 1. The name given to the Angel of Death by the
Mohammedans. 3. 'llic surname of a musical composer who was
bom at Catania, in Sicily, in the year 180a. 3. A dried grape. 4. Per-
taining to Asia. ^ A great river of China. 6. That wnich comes
yearly. 7. The Syrian god of riches. hanrv witdeck.
LADY JANE GREY.
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII.
MARCH, i8Si
[Copyright^ 1881, by Scribner & Co.]
No. 5.
LADY JANl' (iRKV
Hv Mrs. Oi.iphani-.
I HAVF, been asked to tell you American children
the story of one of the yomigest and most beautiful
of all the notable personaj^es in English history —
a girl who was at once a martyr, or saint, and
a most noble gentlewoman, and who wore for a few
unhappy days, unwillingly, the crown of a queen.
History has to deal witli a great many terrible
events, and a great many hateful people, and has
to record bloodshed and misery and crime so often,
that when there comes one lovely and gentle figure
mto it, our hearts are all the more touched, and
tears gather in our eyes at the \cry name which
suggests one chapter pure of all evil. This is the
etifect that is produced upon all elder readers by the
name of Lady Jane Clrey ; and most of )ou, no
doubt, have heard of the sweet young English girl
who, without any ambition of her own, was taken
out of her simple country life, and from her books
which she loved, to be put upon a throne she had
only a distant right to ; and then she had to die,
not quite eighteen, for a fault not hers.
There scarcely could be, 1 think, a more piti-
ful story ; and yet it is more than pitiful, for
Lady Jane had the soul of a true princess among
women, and died royally, without a murmur, resist-
ing all temptations to falsehood. Such trials and
troubles do not come our way ; indeed, they do not
come in the way of our kings and queens nowa-
days ; but that does not make them less interesting
when we meet them in the words of that far-distant
past, which it is so difficult to believe was once
to-day and to-morrow, Just as our days are.
Lord Dorset's daughter, Jane Grey, though her
mother was of royal blood, had no more thought of
what was going to happen to her than any of \ou
boys and girls have of the troubles which you will
Vol.. VIII.— 22.
meet in your future life. She was born in a high
station, indeed, Ijut not in one that seemed to
expose her to special danger. Not like the king's
daughters, Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, who both
had a melancholy and agitated youth. Hut little
Jane Grey's troubles were no more than those
which any little maiden might have in the humblest
life. Her father and mother were not so kind and
indulgent as most of your fathers and mothers are.
Perhaps they loved her just as much ; but they
were hard upon her, and exacted obedience sternly.
Whether she liked it or not, whether she could do
it or not, she was always forced to obey. On the
other hand, there was something to be said for
these severe parents ; they had no sons. And this
girl was their eldest child, and, no doubt, they
thought it their duty to harden her, and accustom
her to endure trouble and overcome difficulty, as
one who had royal blood in her \eins, and of whom
nobody could be sure what she might be called
upon to do.
I must tell you, however, what was the strange
state of affairs in England at this period, respect-
ing the royal family. Nobody then had begun to
think that a country could do without a king^that
is, nobody in England. You know that we have
never learned that lesson yet, and still want our
Queen as much as we want our fathers and mothers,
which is quite diflerent from the ideas you are
brought up in. .\nd at this particular moment
there was the greatest difficulty in knowing who
was the right heir to the crown. The king then
reigning was a delicate boy, Edward V'l., who fell
into a consumption and died in his seventeenth
year, and his natural successors were his two sis-
ters, both older than himself: .Mary, who was the
L A I ) \' JAN K GREY
[March,
daughter of Henry VIII. by his first wife, Kathar-
ine of Arragon, and Elizabeth, whose mother was
Anne Boleyn, Henry's second wife. Both those
princesses had been put out of the succession by
act of Parliament, and declared illegitimate, al-
though they were afterward restored, by their
father's will, and a second act of Parliament. After
Mary and Elizabeth, came the children of Henry
VI II. 's sisters — Margaret, who had married the King
of Scotland, and Mary, who, after having been
nominally the wife of the old King of France, had
married Charles Brandon, the Duke of .Suffolk.
The elder of these ladies had one grandchild.
Mary Stuart, afterward so well known as Mary,
Queen of Scots ; and the younger, also a daughter,
who was the Marchioness of Dorset, and mother of
Lady Jane Grey. You must try to master this
account, although it is a little complicated. After
poor young King Edward's death, there were only
women who had any right to the throne. First,
Mary ; then Elizabeth ; then little Mary of Scotland :
then Frances Brandon, Lady Dorset, represented by
herdaughter, JaneGrey. Thus, there were two direct
princesses, the sisters, and two farther off, the little
cousins, the child-queen Mary of Scotland, and Lady
Dorset's little daughter, of whom Mary had been
sent to France, and was married to the young King
Francis II. ; and Jane grew up sweetly in her father's
house, like a little English lady, and nothing more.
You must understand, however (but I cannot
go into the whole story), that of these four,
two — the two Marys — represented the Church of
Rome ; and two — Elizabeth and Jane — represented
the party of the Reformation. Mary of England and
Mary of Scotland were both brought up Catholics,
and both taught to consider that the restoration of
England to the old church would be the greatest
and noblest work in the world, while young King
Edward and his little cousin, Jane Grey, were fervent
Protestants, thinking nothing in the world so impor-
tant as the diffusion of the Bible, and the deliverance
of England from Rome. Elizabeth was neither a
devout Catholic nor a fervent Protestant. She was
for England and her own right, and considered
anything else secondary to these two things.
I need not tell you about King Edward's reign.
He was said to have been a very wonderful boy, —
so bright, so good, so clever, so wise, that the his-
torians of his own time cannot say enough in his
praise. But these great applauses do not always
last, and some people tell you now that Edward
was a little bigot, and if he had lived might have
been as bloody on the Protestant side as his sister
Mary was on the Catholic. Yet, you will easily
understand that a poor boy who died at sixteen,
and who had learned Latin and Greek, French,
Italian, and .Spanish, logic and philosophy, besides
the more ornamental acquirement of music ; who
" knew all the harbors and ports in his kingdom, as
also in Scotland and France, with the depth of
water and way of coming into them," and who
played on the lute, and kept a journal in Greek
characters, could not have had much time to go\-
ern England. The statesmen who were about him
in the end of his life were, however, very strong
Protestants, and the chief among them, the Duke
of Northumberland, carried matters with so high a
hand in this way, that the idea of the Princess
Mary succeeding was very alarming to him when
the young king grew ill. He was a man of great
ambition, who desired nothing less than the chief
influence in the kingdom, and in order to gain that
high place, he had done many things for which
vengeance was sure to overtake him.
He, therefore, cast his eyes about him to see what
it was best to do. We may believe that, perhaps,
in his heart Northumberland sincerely desired the
safety of the Protestant Church, as well as his own
safety and supremacy, which were, however, so very
much in jeopardy as to make anything else second-
ary. Perhaps, also, it was the fact that his young
son. Guildford Dudley, had fixed his affections
upon Lord Dorset's daughter, which turned his
thoughts that way. At all events, this bold and
desperate man suddenly perceived, or thought he
perceived, a way of raising and advancing himself,
if it could be accomplished, — a way which would,
at the same time, save the nation, secure the prog-
ress of the Reformation, promote religion, and
bring about everything that was good, at the cost
of but one thing that was evil (even good men
have sometimes fallen under such a temptation).
Henry VIII. had named the Greys next after his
own daughters in his will ; why should not poor
young, dying Edward, for the good of England and
the Protestant faith, put them first, and thus shut
out Rome and preserve Northumberland ? The
dying boy and the innocent girl, and even his own
son — who must rise or fall with his scheme — were
nothing to the Duke in comparison. .\nd thus this
tragedy began.
It has taken mc a long time to tell you this,
which I am sure a great many of you already have
read in your histories. While the plot was being
formed, Jane Grey was growing up the sweetest of
Puritan maidens, in all the freshness of English
country life. The word Puritan was not in use so
early, but in all we hear of her there is a gentle
seriousness which suits the name. Though she had
not any of the passionate force which belonged to
the Tudors, she had their love of letters, and was
as accomplished as her cousin. King Edward. Her
parents were somewhat harsh to her, but hci' tutor
wiis kind, and this gave her favorite studies a charm
LADY JANE GREY.
339
the more. Roger Ascham, who was a scholar of
the time, and has written an accoimt of this visit
in one of his boolvs, went one clay to her father's
house in Leicestershire when all the gay party were
hunting, and the great house empty. But he found
Lady Jane seated in one of those windowed recesses
which distinguish the architecture of the time,
reading that dialogue of Plato which tells about the
wonderful death of the philosopher .Socrates. Do
you think some angel had put it into the girl's
young head that by and by she, too, was to die
unjustly, under false accusations, like Socrates?
Mr. Ascham wondered at her sitting there, witli
the pale spring sky shining in upon her, and the
distant sounds of the horns and the hounds and
horses' hoofs coming from the great park, where all
the rest were enjoying themselves. " I have more
pleasure in my book than they have in their hunt-
ing," she said. It is the only distinct glimpse of
her that we get until she emerges out of this tran-
quillity of her youth into the blaze of light which
surrounds a throne.
King Edward was very ill and suffering when his
young cousin became old enough to marry. Lord
("lUildford Dudley was but a few years older than
his bride, and does not appear to have been in-
volved in his father's plot. They married, he as
innocent as she was, so far as appears, and were
very happy ; and thus took the first step toward
their death. When the king died, what was the
wonder of Lady Jane to see her father and mother
come with the great Northumberland into the
room where she was sitting with her husband !
They told her that Edward was dead. Poor cousin !
No doubt the happy young creature was filled with
awe as well as grief, to hear that out of all his
grandeur and state, another young creature whom
she knew so well had been taken away. But while
the tears were dropping from her eyes, and her
gentle soul was full of sorrow for Edward, suddenly,
like a thunder peal out of a clear sky, came the
strange intimation that she was to succeed him.
Imagine the consternation, the trouble of the girl,
when her father and mother knelt and offered her
their homage as Queen of England, and her stern
father-in-law, the great statesman who controlled
everything, kissed her trembling hand ! She would
not hear of it. She protested, like a generous
creature as she was, that Mary or Elizabeth was
the just heir, and not she. She turned to her
husband, calling upon him to support her. But it
is very few people who have the courage to refuse
a great elevation, scarcely any who will put aside
a crown when it is offered to them. Citsar did it,
you will read, both in history and Shakspeare, but
no one believed that he meant it. And your own
Washington refused what, if not a crown, was at
least the supreme rank ; for which you are all proud
of him, and we, too ; as you also m.iy be proud of
this English girl, standing far away in old London,
weeping and protesting, amid all the older people,
who were diizzled by the splendid prize that was
offered to her. She was not dazzled ; the wrong of
it and the grief of it went to her heart. She turned
to her husband, hoping that he would stand by her.
But he did not ; he wiis diizzled like the rest ;
perhaps, loving her as he did, he thought there
was no one else in the world as worthy. But at
least he added his own entreaties to those of the
tlirec others, all persons whom Jane was bound to
obey. What could the girl do among them ? .She
yielded ; her own judgment, her own better instinct,
were sacrificed sadly to their ambition, — her fatlicr
and mother, against whom she never had rebelled ;
her husband, whom she loved ; and his father, whom
all England recognized as the most powerful noble
in the kingdom, — how could Jane, seventeen years
old, stand against them ? They took her away to
the Tower, which was then a royal palace as well as
a prison, and proclaimed her queen.
Queen Jane ! You will not even find her name
in the roll of English monarchs. She was an inno-
cent usurper, an unwilling offender against right
and justice. And this poor, mock reign of hers,
in which she never herself believed, lasted only
nine da)'s. Perhaps if England had known what
Mary Tudor was, the country would not have been
so determined to give her its allegiance ; but few
know which is the good and which is the evil till
time has made it clear ; and Jane had never a
chance, never a hope. You hear people talk of a
nine days' wonder ; but hers was a nine days' reign.
At the end .of that time, even Northumberland,
trying to save his head, himself proclaimed Queen
Mary, and the melancholy little farce was over.
When they took the kingdom out of her hands
again, the girl, as you may imagine, was not
sorry. She had nothing to do with their scheines
and conspiracies. She got her breath again when
"the burden of that honor unto which she was
not born" had been taken from her. But they
did not let her go home. They kept her and her
husband in that melancholy Tower of London,
which has held so many prisoners. Most likely
Mary and her advisers would have been glad, if
they had dared, to let the young pair go free.
They were not unkindly treated in the Tower, and
though Northumberland lost his life, Jane's father,
who had been made Duke of Suffolk, w;is spared.
But when six months had passed, there came
a wild and desperate rising against Mary, which
changed the aspect of affairs. It was put down,
indeed, without much difficulty ; but it was thought
necessary to the Queen's safety that her innocent
340
I- 1 1 H K A I > K I-. .
rival, her little cousin, the girl who, blameless as
she was. might be made ihe occasion of other
risings, should be made an end of. too.
When Roger Ascham saw Lady Jane reading
Plato, it w.-is the Pha.>do, as I have told you, the storj-
of the death of Socrates, which held her fast while
all the household w.is abroad in the morning sun-
shine. It is a beautiful story. Some of you boys
will know it, and I wish the girls could read it, too.
It tells how the wise old philosopher, guilty of
nothing but of teasing his countrymen in the truth
which they could not understand, and questions
they could not answer, was on false pretenses con-
demned to death as an enemy of the state. Now
it was the young reader's turn to die on the same
ground. And Lady Jane, though she was so inno-
cent, was no doubt an enemy to the state. She
did not complain any more than Socrates did. He
was old and the wisest of men, and she was little
more than a child. But she went out to the scaf-
fold on Tower Hill with as great a courage. She
wept and struggled when they made her a queen ;
but neither struggled nor wept when they led her out
to die. The night before, she wrote a letter to her
sister, full of sweet and pious counsels ; not a word
in it of complaint ; not an allusion to her undeser\'ed
fate. -She saw her husband led to his execution,
and waved her hand to him from her window, in
token of their near reunion ; then went out with a
noble exultation in his courage and steadfast
patience, and laid her own young head on the
block.
I h.ive not told you half what this young martyr
had to go through. .Mary tortured all her latter
d.-iys, by sending priests to persuade her to the faith
of Rome. But I think her story is too Jjathetic.
too tender and touching, to bring religious contro-
versy into it.
The most prejudiced critic has never tried to
sully this pure and perfect picture. She died for the
faults of others ; but she lives forever in the pure light
of innocence and simple heroism. The histon- of
England, or of the whole world as far as I know,
holds no parallel to this girlish figure, so true in
the sense of justice, so brave to endure, obedient and
humble even against her judgment, and bearing
the penalty of that obedience with a valor so stead-
fast and a submission so sweet.
CIIICK.ADKE.
liv IIf.nrv Riplkv Dorr.
All the earth is wrapped in snow.
O'er the hills the cold winds blow,
Through the \alley down below
Whirls the blast.
All the mountain brooks are still.
Not a ripple from the hill.
For each tiny, murmuring rill
Is frozen fast.
Coine with me
To the tree
Where the apples used to hang !
Follow me
To the tree
Where the birds of summer sang !
There 's a happy fellow there.
For the cold he docs not care,
And he always calls to me,
" Chickadee, chickadee ! "
He 's a merry little fellow.
Neither red nor blue nor yellow.
For he wears a winter o\ercoat of gray ;
And his cheery little voice
Makes my happy heart rejoice.
While he calls the live-long day —
Calls to me —
" Chickadee! "
From the leafless apple-tree,
" Chickadee, chickadee !"
Then he hops from bough to twig
Tapping on e.ich tiny sprig.
Calling happily to me,
" Chickadee ! "
He 's a merry little fellow,
Neither red nor blue nor yellow.
He 's the cheery bird of winter,
" Chickadee !"
AN ENCOUNTER WITH A POLAR BEAR.
341
t.rh.."-
AN ENC0UNT1:R with a r(^LAR BEAR
Bv Mrs. Christini-: Stephens.
The sun was just dipping behind tlic northern
waves, tinging the waters from horizon to shore
with a shimmering brigiitness. . The sky, softl)-
brilliant, was dotted with clouds of crimson and
gold and purple, fading out to gray and snowy
white, as they were borne far to the south. Ice-
floes drifted in the distance, seeming like vast
sheets of polished silver. A solitary berg came
floating from the north-east, its topmost crystal
peak glittering and flashing like a huge amethyst,
and shading toward its base to pearly whiteness,
dashed with tongues of flame. High up in air a
wild swan's note sounded loud and shrill, the kitti-
wakes joined in with their mournful " Whrec-e-ah !
Whree-e-ah ! " as they dipped and plunged in the
bright waves, while innumerable flocks of dovekies
hovered near, giving utterance to their plaintive
cries.
Jon and Eirik Iljalmund watched the falling sun,
the glowing berg, and crimson clouds, with all the
admiration of young Icelanders, who are proverbial
for considering their land of glaciers, deeply seamed
lava-beds, geysers, and vapor-spouts, the most beau-
tiful the sun smiles upon : then, as the gorgeous
beauty gradually faded out, they left their perch on
the high fragments of lava overlooking the sea, and
gathering their sheep together, drove them to their
cot or yard.
Making them safe for the night — if so we may
call the short twilight between sun and sun of the
northern midsummer — the bo)s went to their own
little stone and turf hut which served them for
lodgings, and creeping among bags of eider-down,
fell asleep.
This little islet, to which bonder (farmer) Hjal-
mund boated over his sheep every summer for the
good herbage which grew upon its top, was at the
entrance to the Kyja Fjord, on the northern coast
of Iceland. Its shores u-ere bounded by precipitous
lava-cliffs, making the islet nearly or quite inaccess-
ible, excepting by a steep and rocky path leading
up from a narrow strand on the side next the
342
AN ENCOUNTER WITH A POLAR BEAR.
main-land. Up this path the boys first climbed with
their pike-staff, then pulled up the sheep after
them. When once on the top, there was no fear
of their straying, and during the short summer, Jon
and Eirik lived on this islet, and guarded the flock
from the attacks of the white-tailed sea-eagles,
whose bold raids among the lambs alarmingly
lessened their number. And, too, if a sheep or
its young, venturing too far over the cliffs, fell
from the rocks into the sea, e.xpert at climbing and
rowing, the lads went immediately to the rescue.
But, to avoid such falls, the sheep were not allowed
to roam about the islet at night.
The by}\' (farm-house) of the bonder was on the
main-land, and attached to it was a small hill-side
"run," on which he pastured his flock of cows and
some sturdy, rugged little horses. Immediately
adjoining the b)Te was the lun, or paddock, about
eight acres in extent, inclosed by a turf wall, from
which the winter forage for the sheep and cows
was cut. The tough little ponies — luckless brutes
— were obliged to shirk for themselves through
that rigorous season, coming home in the spring
almost skeletons, and seeming as if a good strong
gale from the jokiil (mountain), getting into their
voluminous, matted manes, and big, woolly tails,
might lift them bodily into the air and spirit them
away. To their voracious appetites, even the refuse
fish-skins and offal thrown from the byre made a
welcome meal.
In addition to whatever hay could be gathered
from the tiin, Jon and Eirik gleaned all that could
be spared of the herbage from the islet, and tying
it in bundles with thongs, rowed it across to the
byre.
Bonder Hjalmund himself had at this time gone
to bring home his "stock-fish" from the Guld-
bringe Syssel (gold-bringing country) on the west-
ern shores of Iceland, a district where, instead of
the yellow metal which its name would seem to
indicate, the precious golden cod harvest is gathered
in by hundreds of islanders, who come flocking
from far and near for a share in this rich product of
the seas.
This season of cod-fishing begins the first of
February, when the fish come to spawn in the
shoal waters, from which they retreat into the deep
sea by the middle of April.
Thus, in midwinter, when the pale sun scarcely
shows himself alcove the horizon, and the fierce
storms howl over the dreary waste of rock and
jokul, these hard)- fishermen make their way from
the most remote districts of the island — more than
two hundred miles — to the fishing-stations. Here
they are hired by the proprietors of Dutch or Bel-
gian sloops, or fishing-boats, and in payment for
his services, each receives a share of the fish he
takes, with a daily allowance of "skier" (Iceland
cheese), and also forty pounds of flour thrown in.
They launch to sea at early dawn, and only
return to their damp and comfortless turf huts at
night, after battling with inclement weather and
rough seas for many hours.
Their fish are then split and hung upon lines,
and exposed to the cold winds, — and the warm sun
as the spring advances, — which process of curing
renders them so hard that they are said to keep
good for years. Thus preserved, the cod is called
stock-fish.
By the middle of May the season is over, and
nothing remains to be done but the final drying
and hardening of the fish, which, as the inhabitants
of Iceland entertain the greatest confidence in one
another's honesty, is left to the care of the fisher-
men residing at the stations, and the stranger Ice-
landers, one and all, return to their homes.
At the end of June, the little, starved ponies have
recovered somewhat from their emaciation of the
previous winter, and are able to travel. Then,
again, the true fisherman, or the bonder, who
engages in this occupation only during its season,
hastens with his horses to fetch home his "stock-
fish" from the stations, for the consumption of his
family, or else he carries them to the nearest port
to exchange for coffee, sugar, or other luxuries.
Bonder Hjalmund's absence rendered it neces-
sary that Jon and Eirik should care not only for
the islet, but also for the byre at the main-land, dis-
tant about two miles, and every morning they alter-
nately rowed across, to milk the cows and cultivate
the little patch of turnips and parsley in the tiin.
Though scarcely four o'clock, the sun had long
since risen over the jokuls to the north-east before
the boys emerged from the hut. The morning was
cool and damp, and fog-banks hung low about the
islet and headland in the Eyja Fjord.
After turning the sheep forth to graze, except-
ing three or four grandmothers of the flock, whose
ragged fleeces betokened overripeness, Jon and
Eirik returned to the hut and ate their breakfast of
cakes and "skier," washed down by a stout draught
of whey ; then prepared to strip off the fleecy coats
of the old ewes.
Taking them to a grassy knoll in front of the
hut, the sheep were cast upon their backs by the
combined efforts of the two boys, where they were
held while the seemingly cruel operation of denud-
ing the poor animals was being performed.
And a very primitive process it is ; for, instead
of clipping off the woolly covering, the Icelander,
disdaining all improvements, or rather, perhaps,
ignorant of more modern methods, clutches his
helpless victim, and, in a series of pulls, te.ars the
woolly coat, piecemeal, from its struggling body.
iSSi.]
AN ENCOUNTER WITH A POl.AR BEAR.
343
But it is said to be not necessarily a painful oper-
ation, for at certain periods of the year the young
lleece pushes off the old covering, and eventually
the creature would slough its outer woolly coat, as a
snake or a toad casts its skin, only it would come
off a little at a time.
Indeed, it must be confessed that our own
method of shearing is far from being a humane
one, for the poor sheep frequently is made to bleed
by the sharp shears in the hands of some covetous
owner, who is unwilling that an ounce of wool
should be wasted.
The ewes were at last "picked" and set at
liberty, arid the fleeces carefully rolled together and
tied. Then, with the bundles of hay which already
had been cut and dried, together with the wool,
Jon and Eirik proceeded leisurely toward the east
side of the island, where the boat lay on the narrow
strand.
As they went across the island, Jon, hay-laden
and completely enveloped, and Eirik hidden under
a mass of dirty-white wool, with nothing visible but
a pair of sheep-skin moccasins, Jon looked rather
like a huge, animated hay-cock crawling off behind
its future devourer.
Hidden beneath their burdens, they were, as
yet, unconscious of the approach of a guest whom
all bonders of northern Iceland dread — the polar
bear, which, floating from Spitzbergen or Jan
Mayen upon berg or floe, makes a terrible on-
slaught upon their flocks and herds before his vora-
cious appetite is sated, or he can be discovered and
killed.
As the lads threw off their loads at the crest of
the path leading down to the boat, a deep roar
caused them to turn quickly. Not two furlongs off
from the northern shore of the island, and bearing
down toward it, a small berg, with its hungry occu-
pant, was just emerging from a fog-bank.
For a moment the brothers stood speechless with
terror. Then, "The bjorn [white bear], brother !"
cried Jon, almost breathless. " Fleu ! Fleu ! "
(Fly! fly!)
The berg drifted on, and it was evident to the
boys, even before they reached the hut, that it
would strand against the islet. They might save
themselves by flitting across to the byre, but these
flaxen-haired Norse lads had the blood of brave
heroes in their veins, and they prepared to do
battle with the bear, and protect their father's
flock as best they might, for well they knew that
the bjorn would spare neither themselves nor the
helpless sheep.
Hiistily collecting stones, turf, and lava shims,
they piled them near the edge of the cliff where, by
its setting in, the berg seemed likely to touch, and
then, gettin>^ the pike-staff and scythe (very short-
liladed and not unlike the bush-hook used in
New Knglanti), the cour^igeous lads, with their
few and rude weapons, stood waiting to receive the
ice-giant.
His acute nostrils already had scented the flock;
so, with muzzle distended and sniffing the air, he
paced impatiently back and forth on the edge of the
berg, and, as if impatient of its slow progress, he
would now and then make feints of taking to the
water and putting off to the islet, anxious to break
his long fist.
The sheep were seemingly aware of coming
danger, and, calling their lambs, hied them all to
the cot, and huddled together in its farthest corner.
The bear had now come within a few yards of
the islet, the long, yellow-white hair of his shaggy
coat undulating in the breeze. His hoarse growl
sounded louder and more savage each moment.
" Busk thyself quickly, brother! Bjorn is upon
us ! " shouted Eirik, grasping his scythe, as the
berg ran upon a shelf-like projection and hung
swaying to and fro in the tide.
Fortunately, upon that side of the islet the clifts
were not only very steep, but were higher by at
least three fathoms than the berg itself, which
sloped sharply away seaward ; but, enraged by long-
endured hunger, the bear reared himself upon the
berg and began clambering ponderously up the
jagged rocks.
Jon and Eirik watched his slow progress with
anxious hearts. As the huge creature came within
a yard of the top, they leaped to the brink, and,
tumljling a pile of great stones and turf down upon
his head, followed it by a frantic assault with the
pike-staff and scythe.
Under the suddenness and violence of the stone-
shower the bear slipped back to the berg, and stood
there for a moment, chafing and roaring ; then,
more savage than before, he made up the cliff
again.
The bear succeeded in getting one great paw up
over the clift", and striking its nails deep into the
crevices and turf, clung there tenaciously, with glar-
ing eyes and ears laid close — a pitiless monster,
before which the brave boys for a moment recoiled
in terror. Then, rallying, Jon shouted courage-
ously to Eirik, and they again assailed him, Eirik
engaging the attention of the bear by plunging at
his head, while Jon got a great stone and threw it
down with all his strength directly upon the big,
shaggy paw lying over the edge of the cliff.
With great, gruff howls of pain, bjorn drew it
hastily off, and began backing carefully down the
clift'; but his courage returning as the pain abated,
he once more began to scale the jagged rocks.
"Gae, Eirik! Gae ! [Go! go!] Fetch the
hay from the skiff! " cried Jon.
344
AN ENCOUNTER WITH A I'Ul.AK 15 EAR.
[March,
'"Nai, nai [no, no], brother! (iae ihysolf. 1
am the stronger. I will stand in thy shoon here ! "
And with his blue eyes flashing, and his yellow hair
flying in the breeze, Kirik stood on the cliffs and
hurled great stones and turfs down into the very
face of bjorn, who, though somewhat exhausted,
climbed steadily up, unmindful now of these slight
moment, and then the cruel white face was above
the cliff, and with a quick stroke the pike-staff was
whirled rods away, and the long claws were struck
into Eirik's coarse vadmal trousers.
" Oh, speed thee ! Speed thee, Jon ! " shrieked
Eirik, in great terror, wrenching himself free, as
the sharp nails tore through the stout woolen cloth.
missiles, his teeth showing angrily, and his eyes
fixed grimly on the little Norse boy, who was so
bravely defying his great, fierce strength.
Again a huge paw, bleeding slowly from previous
wounds, was thrust up over the cliff, and again a
series of quick, energetic stabs from Eirik's pike-
staff forced him to let go his hold. But only for a
•' Here I am, lirothcr ! Hold out ! Hold out ! ''
cried Jon, staggering up uniler the load of hay-
bundles; and casting them on the ground, he drew
a match from a little leathern pouch worn about
his neck, struck it on a lava shim, and applied it to
one of the bundles. In a second it was ablaze, and,
smoking, hissing, and flaming, it was tumbled into
.SS..I
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
345
ihc big btisiiin of the bear, now well over the ed^-e
of the clitr.
This was too much. His long hair caught the
tlaiTies. and the\- sped over his yellow-white coat
like a fl.Tsh; and, retreating too hurriedly, the great
brute went tumbling and roaring down the clirt",
bumping and bounding from ledge to ledge, the
biMming bundles falling after and upon him.
There was now no berg to intercept his speedy
exit for it had ag-ain drifted out to sea, and was
some distance away. It was fortunate, too, for the
bear, as a sudden plunge into the sea put him out.
Emerging .ibovc the waves, he struck out for the
berg, while Jon and Eirik watched his departure
with deeply thankful hearts.
liut, wedged into a crevice of the cliff, a long,
sharp claw was left to them, cither wrenched from
the brute's paw by his hasty departure, or crushed
off by the big stones hurled upon it — an ugly
souvenir of the siege of bjorn.
MVSTKRV l.X .V .M.VN'SION.
{A Slory ,;/ ail S. S.)
Chapter l.X.
IX COUNCIL.
f
■• .An honorary member I " repeated Kitty, elated
by the title. " But you will have to tell me some-
thing about it all."
" In the first place," said the Chief, "you see,
we have never had girls; we never meant to have;
and if Lord Leicester had not said you would be
here only a little while, I don't know that \vc should
have agreed. But sometimes we need girls, and
we must have a friend in the camp of the invader."
•• Meaning our family?" said Kitty.
" Yes. .And so the Brotherhood has decided to
knight you."
■' Do you mean, to strike me with a sword, and
say, ' Rise, Sir Knight ! ' and all that, and do 1
have to watch over my arms ?"
•'What do you mean?" asked Don Quixote.
•• We strike you with a sword, but I don't know
what you mean by "watching your arms.'"
"Why, don't you remember," said Kitty, de-
lighted to show her superior knowledge, and to
prove to the Brotherhood how great an advantage
to them it would be to have her as a member,—
" don't you remember that young knights always
sat up .ill night and w.itched their armor, the first
night they h.id it? I think you ought to do that."
" 1 think it would be a capital plan," said Rob
Roy, the Highlander, who was an old member,
and in favor of new rules for new comers; "espe-
cially .IS she is to be only an honorary member."
•■ Is n't that a real member?" asked Kitty. "If
you mean to begin that ceremony with me, 1 ought
to be a member like the rest of you."
" Why, don't you see," said the boy with the
skin cap, who was Robinson Crusoe, "that it is a
compliment? Any girl ought to be proud of being
an honorary member."
" I 'd like it very much," said Kitty, feeling she
never would like Robinson Crusoe, " if all the rest
of you were honorary members, but 1 don't want
to be anything different."
" You wont be," replied the Chief, " except that
you can't vote, and that is of no consequence, for I
don't often allow any of the Brotherhood to vote."
"But 1 want to vote," said Kitty. "Suppose
you all want to do something, and I don't, why, 1
shall have to go along, and I can't even say any-
thing about it. "
"Oh, you can j<7)' whatever you choose," said
Robinson Crusoe.
" I should not go," asserted Kitty.
" If the Chief said so, you would," replied Lord
Leicester. "There is n't anything we insist upon
like obedience. That was the trouble with the
prisoner — he did n't obey orders."
"Oh, yes," said Kitty, looking around for hiin,
and finding him close at her side, wearing a cocked
hat and a pair of epaulets. " What did you do with
him ? "
" Pardoned him," said the Chief. " But will you
be an honorary member ? "
" I don't know," replied Kitty. " 1 don't know
what it all means."
"We are a Band of Loyal Brothers," answered
the Chief, in a very official manner, "and we help
the poor, and defend the innocent."
"That 's nice," said Kitty; "and do you all have
names?"
" We all have characters," corrected the Chief.
346
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
[March,
"I am sure 1 don't know what character I ought
to have," Kitty said.
" You can make ii]) your mind about that after
you are accepted," said the Chief. " \Vc had Maid
Marian, and that," pointing to the Indian girl, "is
Pocahontas."
"She can have my part, if slie wants it," said
this personage. " I don't like being a woman."
" I don't want it," said Kitty. " I never thought
much of Pocaliontas. I don't know who I 'd like
to be. There 's Queen Elizabeth, and Cleopatra ;
but I should n't like them. I think I '11 be Sir
Walter Raleigh."
" No, you can't," said Robinson Crusoe ; "you 've
got to be a girl."
" Not unless /say so," replied the Chief, "and
I don't see why she would n't make a good Sir
Walter Raleigh. Of course he wore a cloak, and
that would cover her dress, and her hair would do
first-rate if she would unplait it."
"Oh, I am willing to do that! "said Kitty, at
once beginning to act upon the suggestion ; and
then, shaking her hair loose, said, " Will that do ?"
The little boy with a cocked hat, who was, she
found. Napoleon Bonaparte, softly touched her
hair, and said, in a whisper :
" It is longer tlian my sister's, and it is very
pretty."
Kitty turned to him and smiled. "Perhaps,"
she said, addressing the Chief again, " Cousin
Robert could tell me of a better character."
"You must n't ask him !" exclaimed the Chief.
"Oh, I shall have to," replied Kitty. "1 have
made up iny mind not to do anything while I am
here without his knowledge."
The Brotherhood wore an air of individual and
general consternation.
" You must not tell," said the Chief, in a peremp-
tory manner. " It would be the meanest thing in
the world ! "
"Then I can't belong," said Kitty, getting up.
" Of course I should n't say anything to Sandy or
Fred, but Cousin Robert is different."
" Did n't 1 say so ! " said Robinson Crusoe, look-
ing ready to hug himself. "I told you that giris
would spoil the fun."
"Is it really a secret society?" said Kitty, ad-
dressing the Chief, after giving one withering look
at Robinson Crusoe.
" Of course it is," the Chief answered. "No
one knows of it. Not one of our relatives."
" 1 don't think that is right," said Kitty. " Your
fathers might not come to the meetings, but they
ought to know. I am sure Cousin Robert would
say so."
"Now, see here. Miss Kitty Baird," said Lord
Leicester, a little hotly, "it isn't nice in you to
talk in that way. We arc not rascals, and our
fathers would n't care anything about knowing."
" If I were to belong, 1 should have to tell Cousin
Robert," stoutly maintained Kitty.
"Then you'd better not belong," replied the
Chief. " For it is a rule not to tell any one who is
not a member."
" Perhaps she will tell, anyhow," said Robinson
Crusoe. "Girls can't keep secrets. 1 said from
the first, she ought not to be let in."
The blood rushed to Kitty's face. Now she
knew for certain that she did n't like Robinson
Crusoe, and she was about to make an angry reply,
when the sentry rushed in, hastily shutting the
door, and crying, in a suppressed voice :
"To arms! They come! The Greek! The
Greek ! "
In a moment the candles were put out and thrust
into pockets, Rob Roy picked up the sheep-skin ;
there was a swift and silent rush up the back stairs,
and the honorary member was left in a darkened
room, with a forgotten muslin-mask at her feet, to
consider the situation.
Chapter X.
KITTY'S KNIGHTS.
" .Spe.\K it out, Kitty," said S.andy, at breakfast
the next morning. "Ever since wc came home
yesterday, you have been brimful of something.
Speak it out."
" Nonsense," said Kitty, getting very red for a
moment; "I should like to know what I could
have to tell."
" She wants to ask Papa something. Every' two
minutes she looks at him as if she were just going
to do it."
•• You are all crazy," Kitty replied, hastily drink-
ing her cup of milk. "" If 1 want to ask Cousin
Robert anything, I shall do it."
•• 1 am not afraid of that," said Sandy. "But /
want to hear it."
" 1 have the greatest mind in the world not to do
something for you," said Kitty. "Something that
ought to be done, Sandy Baird."
" Ought I to do it? " asked Sandy.
"Yes."
" Is it hard ? "
" No, not very."
" Is it pleasant?"
Kitty laughed.
"I am afraid you would n't think it very
pleasant," said she.
"Then you do it. Certainly, you 'd best do it."
" Vou say yes, do you ? " asked Kitty.
•■ With all mv heart."
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
347
" Very well," saiil Kitly. and sho ran diit (if tlic
room.
•'She has a secret," said Belle. "She jumped
about last night as if she were crazy, and said all
sorts of foolish things about my joining some
society which she meant to get up.''
Kitty went into the little parlor, took a sheet of
note-paper out of her cousin Robert's portfolio,
and wrote this epistle :
" .'\ hunter searching for game, made a mistake. He shot, not a
cardinal ostritch but a Turkey Roc, the hunter is honest although
he is not a knight and he ought to pay the owner, and I want to know
who is the owner. Sir Walter ."
" I don't know how to spell ' Raleigh,' but that
will do," she said to herself. '' Now, Sandy will
have to pay for that turkey, or, rather, I shall pay
for him, if 1 have money enough, and I shall tell
him when we are far away. The next thing is to
send the letter. It sountls like one of ^-Esop's
fables."
She soon had a chance to send it, for she saw
two of the Band of Loyal Brothers walking arm in
arm close to thfc river, and ran down.
" We just wanted you," said Robin Hood.
" Here 's a note," said Kitty. " 1 can't wait one
minute. When you have the answer ready, whistle
three times, and put it under the first blackberry
bush over there. Here is a piece of paper, and
here 's a pencil," and off she went back to the
house.
It was not long before she heard the signal, but
when she reached the bush the boys were gone.
The note was there, however, and Kitty sat down
behind a tree while she read it. It ran thus:
''iS^-e/
I
-^^.^ -5?^<i- ^*z«5^ -? Tz .^^^:^^^'
TRA1T67^
1\W
NBf
" 1 'd like to know who is a traitor ! " cried Kitty,
jumping up and looking around. " If I just had
that Napoleon Bonaparte here, — for I know he
wrote the letter ! "
Then she whistled, and the boys at once ap-
peared from a bush close by.
" Here, take your note," said Kitty. " 1 don't
like such things. If you mean that 1 am a traitor,
)0u are very much mistaken, and you don't know
how to spell ' which,' and I am going to tell Cousin
Robert this very day."
'• Who has told, then.'" exclaimed Robin Hood.
"Somebody has; and 1 believe you arc guilty, or
you would n't have run away just now. All the
girls over at Riverbank know it."
"I did n't tell any one!" cried Kitty; "of
course I did n't. I know who did."
" Who.'" asked Napoleon Bonaparte.
" Robinson Crusoe," said Kitty, wildly deciding
on the Loyal Brother most objectionable to her.
" No, he did n't," said Napoleon. " He hates
girls, and they are teasing him like everything.
They call him General Washington. You see
they don't fully understand it. But the Chief will
give it to somebody ! And all the girls over there
call themselves all sorts of names, — Lady this, and
Countess that. I never saw anything so simple !
But 1 tell you, there is a row about it ! If you
should be taken prisoner now, 1 should be sorry
for you."
" You ought to be ashamed to say such things,"
cried Kitty. " I wish I never, never had gone with
Harry Briscom ! 1 wish I had told Cousin Robert
right away."
" Well, if you did n't do it," said Napoleon
Bonaparte, who evidently did not mean to get
excited on the subject, " you 'd better tell the
Chief so. He says the only thing he is sorry for is
that you are not a member, for he would like to
make an example of you."
"Make an example of me ! " exclaimed Kitty.
" Oh, I wish he would ! Where is he ? I just want
to tell him this minute what 1 think of his charging
nic with such a thing ! ''
" It is fair enough for him to think so," said
Robin Hood. " ^'oll know perfectly well you
548
M \' S T K K V 1 N
M A .\ S I U N .
said you would tell your cousin, and somcbod\' told
those j^irls."
"But 1 don't know them." said Kitty.
.-Xt this, the two Loyal Brothers looked at each
other.
■■ That 's so," said Robin Hood.
■'Now, look here," said Napoleon Bonaparte.
■"You see, we two are friends of yours. If we
had n't been, we should n't have conic over to give
vou warning, and we should n't ha\e told you about
In a moment or two, the two boys returned,
and Napoleon Bonaparte said :
"Now, see here, we believe you, and we are
going, as knights, to see you set right. Now, you
are sure you did not tell ? " he added.
'• I did Jiot tell a soul.'" said Kitty, solemnly.
"Then some one did," said he, "and we shall
tind out who it was."
"Oh, I wish you would!" cried Kitty; "and
please do it before we go away. But I must go now,
/'i / //■"■
the turkey one of your boys shot. Now 1 want to
know, did you tell rt/ybody?"
"Not a soul," said Kitty. "I have not had a
chance to tell Cousin Robert, and I should n't tell
any one else first, but I did want to tell .Sandy .ind
Belle, and, of course, Fred and Donald, and they
would like to join, but I did n't."
Napoleon Bonaparte hardly waited to hear this
through, but beckoned Robin Hood away and they
retired ainong the bushes to confer, and Kitty, being
at liberty to pay attention to other matters, heard a
shouting and clapping of hands up at the house
that convinced her that Sandy was looking for her.
for Sandy is calling as if he were cnizy ; and mind,
I don't promise not to tell Cousin Robert, and 1
wish you would have a council right away, so that
I might come to it and say I did n't tell."
'' Oh, you need not come," said Robin Hood,
•'for we shall clear you. It is party of our duty."
speaking very slowly, " to aid the poor and defend
the innocent, and you arc innocent, you know."
" Of course I am," said Kitty : " anybody ought
to know that. But I must go.''
She ran but a little way when she had a sudden
thought. -She pulled the blue ribbon off her hair,
and, turning, flew back.
■y.l
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
349
»
" Oh. Robin, Robin HoihI !" she cried. " I lave
you a knife ? "
Robin liail one, .mil Kitty cut the ribbon in half.
" If you are to be my knijjhis," she saiil, "you
ought to wear my colors. .Ml knights we.ir their
l.idies' colors."
■• .And I s;»y," saitl Robin. " we ought ti> have a
tournament ! "
Kitlv cl.asped her hands, and looked at him in
delight.
•• .And have horses, and lances, and 1 should
have my hair all ilown, and look distressed, and
after the battle was o\er I should crown you ! "
•• I don't know about the horses," said Robin,
'■ and may be we 'd better not tight."
" Hut you would have to," said Kitty. '' The
knights who wear colors always do, and you could
choose some of the little fellows to fight with. It
would be easy to beat them. But oh dear, there 's
Sandy calling again ! "
'• If the boys are h.ilf as jolly as she is," said
Robin HckhI, "1 'd like to have them all in. Did
) ou over hear a girl talk as fast ? "
" She 's pretty enough," said Naf>oleon Bona-
parte, '• but I 'm not sure about girls. You see.
she will tell somebody yet. "
'•Where on earth have you been?" exclaimed
Sandy. " It would have served you just right if
we had gone off without you. They have all gone;
so hurry up. We are going to have a regatta."
"That's lovely!" cried Kitty. "May 1 row?
But look here, Sandy ; you can't have a regatta
with only one boat ! "
" Of course you can't," said Sandy, scornfully.
" We have two. We are not going to use the
• Jolly Fishennan ' at all. Farmer Saunders has
just offered Fred his two little boats. They are
beauties. Just alike. His girls used to row in
them. The 'Helen' and 'Marian.' We have
been to look at them. It was then we thought of
the regatta. Where were you ? You might have
gone .along."
"Oh, Sandy," said Kitty, "if I could only tell
you! It is perfectly splendid! It is all about
Castles, and Knights, and the Chief, and Tourna-
ments ! "
" Is it a book ? " said Sandy.
" .Mercy, no ! " said Kitty, walking p,-ist Sandy,
who did not seem .is much in a hurry as his words
implied, and who, in fact, knowing that Donald
and Fred were baling the Ixxits out, did not feel
anxious to join them too soon. " It is better than
any txMik. Oh, I lio wish I could tell you, Sandy.
Now, sec here — lion'l you think you could find
autt"
"Of courv.' I could, if you would tell me how."
"I can't do that," s.iiil Kitl), much perplexed.
" But could n't you watch, and, if you see anything
surprising, lind out?"
" You might as well tell," s;iid Sandy. " You
know 1 told you that you had a secret. You are
bound to tell, so out with it."
" Indeed. 1 wont tell ! " cried Kilty. " And I
can keep a secret. And 1 know whose turkey that
was."
" Is that your secret ? " said Sandy. " I knew it
w.-is n't much. Well, you can keep that one. 1
don't want to know that."
"Is that about Knights and Castles?" replied
Kitty, laughing. " Oh, you can guess and guess,
but I sha'n't loll you ! "
" 1 don't want to know," replied Sandy, trying to
look very indifferent. " It is n't much — I know
th.at."
Kitty nodded her head, like one of the Chinese
mandarins wound up by clock-work, and Sand)-
would have promptly shaken her, but she eluded
him, and ran away so fleetly that he could not catch
her.
Santly was not l.-uy, and w.ts alwa\s ready to do
his own share of work, but he was ver>' well pleased
to tind that the boats were baled out, and the p.irty
W.TS almost ready to start. Belle w.is at the house
helping Patty with the luncheon, and Fred, who was
to bring it down, proposed that the others should
take the "Jolly Fisherman," and the "Marian,"
and go up the creek, where the regatta was to be
held, and he would bring Belle and the luncheon
in the " Helen."
So this was agreed to, and the others left.
When Belle and Fred came down to the river-
bank with their baskets, the boats were out of sight,
and they got into the " Helen " and rowed down
the river. They had just turned into the creek and
had gone, perhaps, a quarter of a mile, when a
man sitting on a log near the water's edge called
to them :
" Are you looking for your folks ? "
" Yes," answered Fred.
"They 've gone up there," the man said, point-
ing inland toward the wootls. "They told me to
look out for you."
"In there!" repeated Fred, rowing up closer.
" What in the world did they do that for ? "
" Don't know," said the man. " They told me
to look out for you, and tell you. I 've done it,
and I don't know any more."
Fred stepped .ashore, hel|)ed Belle, took out the
b.iskeLs, tied the l)oal, and then they walked up the
little path over the liclds toward the woods.
" Do you think they have given up the regatta?"
said Belie.
" Dear knows ! " Fred replied. "They were just
350
MYSTERY IN A MANSION.
in the humor to change their minds. Hark !
Don't you hear them ? " He hallooed, and was
cheerily answered.
In a moment they were in the woods, and saw,
first, a bright bonfire, and, secondly, a group of
b())s gathered around it. The boys looked up in
surprise, and Fred and Belle looked back in equal
wonder.
" Have you seen another party Why, Will
Lewis !" exclaimed Fred, as a tall, dark-eyed boy
came forw.ird.
"Is it you, Fred?" said the boy. "I did n't
smiling mischievously. " But I wonder if Mr. Lewis
does not mean that he left birds as his card ? "
" It was some of the other boys," said Will,
" and I believe they left some ridiculous message.
It was your other sister I meant."
'"You mean," said Belle, quickly, "our cousin,
Kitty Baird. I am Fred's only sister."
" Is it your cousin?" said Will. " Well, she is
.1 handful ! I suppose she told you all about the
Brotherhood, and all that. Of course, it does n't
make any difference now, as it is all broken up."
" Oh, that is Kitty's secret ! " cried Belle. " Do
know until yesterday that it was your family at
Greystone. I meant to have called on you this
evening, although," and here his cheeks grew
brighter, "I suppose you have heard of some of our
calls already ?"
" No," said Fred. " H.ive you been there?"
" Did n't your sister tell you ?"
Fred looked at Belle. " No, not a word ! This
is my sister, and. Belle, you have often heard of
Will Lewis, my school-male at Bagsby's."
"Often," said Belle, holding out her hand and
tell us ! You don't know how provoking she has
been. Of course, we knew she had found out
something the day we left her at home, but she
would never tell what it was. Do tell us! It will
lie such fun to pay her back ! "
" Did she really never tell any one ?" said Will.
" She said she meant to tell her cousin Robert."
" That is Papa," said Belle. " She never told us.
Did she, Fred ?"
" Not a word," said Fred.
"It was n't much," Will said. "We had a
PEACE, OR WAR.''
351
society, and Harry Briscom brouj^ht her to the
meeting that day. It was n't much."
"You have n't seen our family to-day?" asked
Kred. " A man down by the creek told us they
had come up here, but as we intended to have a
reg-atta, I don't know what they meant."
" It was a mistake," said a rosy-checked little
fellow who had joined them. " I guess the man
meant Captain Kidd and Robin Hood. You know,
we left word for them."
The tall boy colored furiously. " Why do you
call them by such ridiculous names?" he said.
•■ Don't you know that 's all done with ?"
" It must have been a mistake," said Fred,
kindly; "and we ought to have followed the
boats. We 'd better go, Belle — they must be
waiting for us."
"Are you going to have a regatta? You said
so," asserted the little fellow. " I wish we could
have one. Would n't you let us join yours, if the
Chief would consent ?"
" Who is the Chief?" asked Fred.
"There he is," answered the boy, pointing to
Will, "and 1 am Napoleon Bonaparte. I s'pose
1 can tell now, as it is all broken up. Kitty was
going to be Sir W.ilter, and have her hair down.
Robin Hood and 1 told her about the turkey."
Having imparted all this information in a breath,
Napoleon paused.
" I am sure your society must have had lots of
fun in it," said Belle, laughing. " I wish you
would have it again and let us be members. But,
oh, sha'n't I tease Kitty!"
"We can't have it again," said the Chief.
"But if you would consent, we should like to see'
your regatta."
(To be continued.)
■^■,#t!ppi
35-
DISrATCU TU FAIRV - l.AM).
[March,
.<e^'
A DISPATCH TO
FAIRV- LAND.
By Hki.en K. Si'Okfori).
Connect me with Fairy-land please, pretty Vine,
With the Fairy Queen's palace of pearl.
And ask if her Highness will hear through your line
A discouraged and sad little girl.
() Ouccn. I Mn so grieved 'cause my dolly wont play.
And so tired of pretending it all !
1 nuisl walk for her, talk for her, it- her all day.
While she sits still and stares at the wall.
Her house is so pretty, with six little rooms,
And it has /rufy windows and doors,
stairs to go up, and nice carpets, and
I)rooms —
111 I do the sweeping, of course.
licrc 's a tea-set. and furniture fit for a
queen.
And a trunk full of dresses besides ;
\nd a dear little carriage as ever was seen,
.\nd 1 am her horse when she rides.
ut never a smile nor a thank have I had.
Nor a nod of her hard, shiny head;
\nd is it a wonder I 'm weary and sad .'
For 1 can't lo\e a dolly so dead.
I thought 1 would ask you if, in your
bright train,
\mi had n't one fairy to spare, "
""TYti '^ naughty one, even, — I should n't
complain.
But would love it with tenderest care —
a poor little one who had lost its
bright wings, —
1 should cherish it not a bit less, —
And, besides, they 'd get crushed with
the sofas and things,
.\nd be so inconvenient to dress.
O Queen of the Fairies, so happy
1 '11 be
If vou 'II only just send one to
' try:
1 '11 be back again soon after
dinner to see
If you 've left one here
f )r me. Good-bvc !
'^ 4L^C
-/,^^
i88i.]
MARY JANE DESCRIBES H E K S E L I'
MARY JANK DKSCRIHICS IIKRSICLF
HV A. G. Pl,VMPT(^N.
I
1 AM going to write my autobiograpliy.
An autobiography is a story tliat the hcronic
writes herself. From those 1 have read, I should
say that the heroines of autobiographies are even
superior to other heroines. This is my autobi-
ography. I '\e written two before, and I dare saj-
you have read them. One I called " Kitty's
Mother," and the other was about " Tildy Joy,"
who kept the school at Tuckertown (and me) ; but
I hope you have n't read them, for 1 have not done
myself Justice in either. It did n't sound near so
nice as 1 expected, so I am just going to write
another, and describe myself as a Sunday-school
scholar ; and you will see that 1 am a girl of some
character, after all.
Folks say that Dot is the beauty of our familj .
To be sure, Lucy is her twin, and looks like her,
but the scarlet fever, and the measles, and the
mumps, and the whooping-cough have stolen her
red cheeks, and left her as thin as a wafer. Any-
how, she has the best disposition of any of us, and
I suppose that counts for something, .-^s for Baby,
he hiis the worst disposition, and the strongest
lungs, and is the greatest nuisance every way. "But
Mary Jane," my mother says, '"is the smartest
child I ever had."
I am Mai-y Jane.
Perhaps you think it is vain of me to tell this at
all. But I am writing my autobiography, and must
tell the truth, or it wont be authentic. My father
says: " If it is not authentic, a work of this sort has
little value." So, you see, 1 'm obliged to say that 1
am smart.
As 1 must be authentic, I shall begin by saying
that, although I am so smart, 1 am not at all hand-
some. When they had the tableaux at our church,
they never asked me to be in them, though Dot
was stuck up in 'most every one. The idea of go-
ing to a show and having to look at Dot, whom 1
see every blessed day at home for nothing ! Besides,
when we have our pictures taken in a group, they
always turn me sort of side-face. I s'pose they
don't think I can see through that. Well, "beauty
is only skin-deep," as Mamie Whyte said in her
composition; so 1 don't care.
At our Sunday-school, there were to be two prizes
given at the end of the year. The first prize was
to be a Bible, and the second a prayer-book ; and
the two scholars who should learn the greatest
number of verses in the Bible would get them. I
Vol. VIII.— 2^.
never thought of such a thing as getting a prize.
1 had a Bible and a prayer-book, and 1 did n't want
another, anyhow. Ours was the most stylish class
in school. We were the most stylish girls and had
the most stylish teacher. We had the minister's
daughter for our teacher. Well, she said one day :
" It 's too bad that none of you girls will try for
the prize. 1 really should like to have one of you
get it."
Milly Briggs said that some one in the minister's
daughter's class ought to get it, but none of us
wanted to try. There was Mabel Pratt, but she
w;is going to New York for a visit, so she would n't
have time ; and Jenny (^urney was so slow to learn,
and Mamie Whyte and 1 did n't want the trouble.
Miss Parks had about the meanest class in the
Sunday-school. All the poorest and dowdiest girls
were in it ; and Miss Parks herself wore a water-
proof, and was so queer-looking. Jo Holland was
in it, for one ; and I always hated her. No, I
don't hate her, of course, for that would be wicked.
1 mean I hate the evil that 's in her, and that 's a
great deal.
One day, coming out of school, Jn whispered to
me : " How many verses have you learned ?"
" Not more than twenty," said 1.
" Pooh ! " said Julia Brown, one of Miss Parks's
girls; " no one in that class will ever get it."
" I do believe," declared Mamie Whyte tome,
"that Jo Holland thinks she is going to get the
prize.''
•' Well, she just sha'n't, then," said I. " 1 can
learn as many verses as she can, if 1 have a mind
to; and I declare I will, just to spite her."
I tnadc up my mind not to let Jo know that I
was trying for the prize, thinking she would learn
more verses for fear of being beaten ; and then,
too, it would be such fun to surprise her at the very
last moment. 1 did n't even tell them at home,
for fear they would let out the secret. I selected
all the short verses, and left out the big ones be-
tween ; and that next Sunday, when Miss Newell,
our teacher, asked tne how many verses 1 had
learned, 1 said, " Fifty."
" Dear me! 1 can't hear you say so many to-
day," said she, looking'pleased.
Well, 1 did n't have time to say more than five
or six, but she gave me credit for fifty, and so, with
my other twenty, I had seventy in all.
It was nearly Christmas time, and 1 was so busy
354
MARY JANE DESCRIBKS HERSELF.
[March,
getting my presents ready, that I diil not have something to suit us; but everything was so dear,
inurh time to study. Tlie shop-keeper, although he looked hke Deacon
' ' iking a lovely pin-cushion. Tucker down in Tuckertown, was very polite, and
began it for Aunt we looked and looked and looked; by and by I
Jane, but that was two found the loveliest little stand for cigars, and I
cars ago, and I knew Father would like it. It did n't look very
knew she had for- expensive either, but the gentleman said it was five
gotten all about dollars and fifty cents.
Dot asked him to send us a postal card if he had
anything before Christmas in his store for fifty
cents And then we went home. On the way we
spent tliL fiftx cntb f I pickled limes, and treated
all the girls, so I
could n't give Fa-
ther any present,
after all.
I was going to
make Dot's doll a
dress. Mothersaid
that she would cut
it out and I could
make it. After a
while, 1 told her
that I would rather
she should make
it, and let me cut
it out ; but it was
already cut out
by that time, and
linally I got Mother to make it for me, too.
When it came to Lucy's present, I was tired of
sewing, and Mother suggested that I should give
Lucy m>- calla ; but it had two buds on it, and I
concluded to wait until summer, and give it to her
on her birthday.
So, you see, I had lots to do ; but I squeezed
out time to learn a great many verses. One day,
when Father came hoine, 1 heard him say :
" Mother, where is Mary Jane?"
.'\nd Dot answered:
" She is up in her room, reading the Bible."
It sounded beautifully.
Tliat next Sunday 1 had fifty verses more ; and
the next, forty ; and then fifty again, and so on.
Well, by and by, Jo Holland found out how
it to her, and she said it was lovely, and thanked many verses I had learned, and gave up trying for
me for it; but that was before I dropped it in the first prize, and bent all her energies on the
the coal-hod, and I did n't believe she would
want it after that. With Mother it 's different,
because she says she values anything her children
have taken pains to make for her.
I meant to get something real handsome for
Father, but I had only fifty cents to buy it with.
Dot and I used to go shopping every day after
school, and that was fun. We always went into
the handsomest stores. I went into an elegant one
once, and 1 told Dot that I knew we could find
second prize. I was real mad with whoever told.
I went right to Mamie Whyte and told her, and
said : " Now, you must get that second prize."
" I can't ; it 's so late now," replied she.
But I told her how easy it was, if she only
picked out the short verses, and so many that Miss
Newell could n't hear them.
Mamie did n't like Jo any better than I.
"1 will try," said she; "but it's lucky we are
not in Miss Parks's class."
MARY JANE DESCRIIIKS IIKKSELF.
355
"Why?" 1 asked.
" Oh, 'cause she makes 'em recite every single
verse. 1 know, 'cause I used to be in it. You
could n't have beaten Jo Holland if you had been
in her class, could you, Mary Jane ? "
Sometimes Mamie \Vh\'te can say as disagree-
able things as anybody I know ; but 1 ne\er take
any notice of her mean speeches, and that 's the
way we get on.
.■\t last, Christmas came.
1 did n't like my presents very well. One was a
book — a history. I have n't read it yet. Mother
gave me a new dress ; but 1 should have had to
have it any way, and 1 don't like clothes for
presents. The worst was a horrid work-basket,
with lots of needles and thread in it. Aunt Jane
sent me that, and 1 was real glad I had n't given
her anything. She said in her letter that perhaps
I should like to sew better if I had a nice little
work-basket of my own. I wanted a locket.
Dot and Lucy had lovely things ; but Mother
says 1 am getting too old for toys. In the toe of
my stocking I found a five-dollar gold piece ; but
I was n't allowed to spend it, so I did n't care for
it. 1 consoled myself by thinking what fun it
would be to see Jo Holland's rage when Mamie
and I got the prizes.
We were going to have our festival in the
church, right after the evening service, and, of
»
course, all the people would be there. Each class
had a motto and an emblem. Our motto was
" By their fruits ye shall know them," and the
emblem was lovely — a silver salver, with a stick
all wound around with ribbons standing in the
center of it, and heaped around with oranges. It
was the most beautiful thing ! The motto for
Miss Parks's class was "No cross, no crown," and
the emblem wasn't half so pretty as ours — nothing
but an old evergreen cross.
The church was as full as it could be. Mother
could n't come, for she had to stay at home with
Lucy, who had been more delicate than ever since
she had had the scarlet fever. But all the other
mothers were there, and lots of people besides.
When each class was mentioned, the scholars in it
all stood up, and the one that held the emblem
carried it to the altar. The minister held it up so
that the people could, see it, and explained the
motto ; and then it was taken back again. Mabel
Pratt carried our emblem. ! suppose she was
chosen because she has blonde hair and wears such
handsome clothes ; but she is a clumsy thing, and
tipped it up so that some of the oranges rolled out
on the floor, just opposite Miss Parks's class, too.
After all the emblems had been ^carried up, the
prizes were given out.
" The first prize," said Mr. .\ewell (that 's our
minister), "is awarded to Miss Mary Jane Hunt,
who has learned thirteen hundred and fiftj'-two
verses in the Bible during the past year."
At the words "thirteen hundred and fifty-two
verses," everybody turned and looked at me ; and,
as I stood up, a chorus of " O-o-o-o-oh's " went
'way around the church. I should have liked to
stand there all day, but Miss Newell pulled me
down.
After I had received my prize and taken my seat,
the second one was given to Miss Mamie Whyte,
for nine hundred and thirty verses. Everybody
stared again, and the "Oh's" went around; but
not near so many as for mine. I tried to look at
Jo, but she was sitting in front of us, and I
could n't get a glimpse of her face. I think it was
real hard to miss seeing her, after I had worked so.
Well, after Mamie came back from getting her
prize, I supposed it was all over, but what was my
surprise when Mr. Newell popped up again to say
that they had originally intended giving but two
prizes, but a third was now to be awarded, as a
mark of approbation, "to Miss Josephine Holland,
who had learned five verses regularly every week,
without a single exception, during the entire year."
And up pranced Jo, as proud as a peacock !
Just then, Mamie grabbed my arm and whis-
pered that somebody said that we were all to be
called up to repeat our verses.
Mercy ! How frightened I was ! My heart came
right up into my mouth. It did ! And my knees
shook so that I could n't have walked up to that
L
356
MARY JANE DESCRIBES HERSELF.
[March,
altar again, to save my life. Of course, it would in my mouth, and I just hated to think of it.
frighten anybody to have to recite thirteen hundred F.ver>- now and then, my father would say that he
and fifty-two verses before a whole church full of was going to hear me repeat those verses ; and,
people : but it turned out to l)e only a silly joke of whenever he looked at me, 1 thought my time had
Mamie's. In which she meant to scare me. Cdinr. i;\ir\l)ci(lv that 1 saw liad somcthini; to
After the congregation had been dismissed, I saw
the third prize ; and what do you think it was ? .A
real lovely locket !
Any way, I heard lots of people say that it was a
queer prize to give at a Sunday-school, and I 'm
sure I should n't want to wear jewelry for having
learned verses in the Bible. Beside, Mother said
that if I would break myself of my habit of pro-
crastinating, she would give me a locket; so it
came out right, after all.
It came out right, but, in spite of the glory of
getting the prize, somehow it had left a bad taste
say about the festival, and how smart 1 had been ;
and the children called me " Miss Thirtccn-hun-
dred-and-fifty-two."
But, whenever the subject was mentioned at
hoiTie, Mother looked at me in — well, such a sus-
picious sort of way, that I wished a hundred times
it had never come into my head to try for that prize
at all. I gave my Bible to Dot.
On the fly-leaf was written, " Miss Mary Jane
Hunt, from her affectionate pastor. Sunday-school
festival," and the date; and Dot has written under-
neath : " She gave it to me."
GUARDING THE TREASURES; OR, THE SHAH S CHOICE.
357
GUARDING Till': TR I-: A S U RES ; OR, THIC SHAITS CHOICE.
lU I';MIL\' HlNKl.KV.
The tirand Vizier was dying; and, as lie had
been such a faithful servant, the Shah promised
that his last request, whatever it might be, should
be granted.
" Let it be given me to know, O Commander of
Slaves and Ruler of Thrones," said the dying man,
"that one of- my sons shall guard the treasures |
of the empire. Faithfully have I studied the
interests of my country, never letting personal feel-
ing prevail over judgment. Let me feel that my
name shall descend in the position thou intrustest
to one of my sons. "
" It shall be as thou dcsirest, Rejerah, the
Adviser," replied the potentate. "We will try thy
sons ; to the best fitted shalUbe given charge over
our treasures. Justice shall be done thy memory ! "
Loud were the lamentations of the nation, and
great was the distress of the old Vizier's family,
when at last he died. But the people soon became
reconciled to the new \'izier ; while the three sons
of Rejerah were soon looking forward to the chance
of " Holder of the Golden Key," as the title went.
And shortly the eldest, Ramedab, known through-
out Persia as the " Ready-Handed," was called to
the palace.
He prostrated himself to the ground when
brought before the Shah, who thus addressed him ;
" This charge is given thee, Ramedab, son of
Rejerah, in honor of thy father, a servant of serv-
ants— wise for his commander, discreet for him-
self, and wily toward his enemies. In token of our
appreciation of these traits, we now lend thee, for
a time, the Golden Key to the treasures. Remem-
ber, they are Persia's. It is a great commission, —
thy duty is to ^uard them. Let not bribery, per-
sonal feeling, nor love of renown cause thee to for-
get thy charge. May the spirit of thy father be
with thee, to lead thee to act as becomes his son."
Ramedab was then conducted to a large stone
building used as a treasury by the Shah ; here the
gold and jewels of the kingdom were kept. It was
guarded day and night by trusted sentinels, w-hose
head officer ranked among the nobles of the land.
The great house was rather isolated, on the top
of a hill, but the guardian was given a silver
whistle, which he blew if he saw danger ; but was
forbidden to use unless in extremity, when a band of
soldiers, with shields and spears, would come at once
to his relief. The Ready-Handed entered upon
his watch in high spirits ; of course his sovereign
would decide on him : he was the strongest.
bravest, and oldest of his name. He would soon
be among the grandees of Persia. He was too
good a soldier to sleep on his post, so one o'clock
found him awake and alert. A noise, a step, — his
hand was on his javelin.
"Peace be with thee, and reward!" exclaimed
a voice out of the darkness, and the son of the Shah,
Hafiz, appeared before the astonished sentinel.
"Often ha\-e I seen thee in games of skill and
strength, Ramedab," he continued, seeing the
Ready-Handed was too surprised to speak. "But
little did I think such honor was in store for thee.
Changes are sudden and great. "
"Why scekest thou me, 'most noble of the
nobles ' ? " inquired the soldier.
" My father is stricken with illness."
"What, the Shah?"
" Even so. He may cease to live at any moment.
What then will become of thy promised honors ? "
Here a pause ensued, as if Hafiz wished to let
his words produce an effect.
" Better look forward and plant thy foot on the
next step, Ramedab. The ready are the lucky.
.\ chance is now thine. I am in debt, as, perhaps,
thou hast heard. Let me but obtain some gold,
and thy future greatness is secured."
"Betray my trust?" demanded the other.
"I ask thee not to betray. Drop the key, go
to the end of the walk: I will only secure a bag
of gold, which will never be missed; or if it should
be, who will know it disappeared during thy watch?
Does not thy brother succeed thee here to-morrow?
It would be easy for me to promote thee by degrees,
and this I swear: Thou shall be made Grand Vizier
when I succeed my father. Thy father would re-
joice if, instead of Holder of the Key, thou shouldst
rank as himself — second only to the Shah."
" My father ! " shouted the young man.
" Enough ! My father would curse me for bar-
tering my honor. A thousand times no ! Let
the Commander of Slaves live or die, I betray not
my trust."
In vain the heir to the throne of Persia tried to
recall the hesitating mood of a few minutes before :
the name of his father had brought Ramedab to
himself. The tempter left, and Ramedab passed the
rest of the night in quiet. Contrary to his expecta-
tion, he received orders from the monarch to resume
his watch the following night, which set in clear
and serene ; the heavens were illumined with
myriads of stars, which shone down brightly on
358
GUARDING THE TREASURES; OR, THE SHAh's CHOICE.
[Ma
Ramcdab, who saw ere long a warrior approach,
bearing a shield thai gleamed in the starlight.
Could it be Hafiz, come to tight for the treasures ?
A well-known voice — for what is so soon recognized
as an enemy? — called out:
"Ah ! Ramedab, 1 have come to seek thee. Thou
thoughtest to escape me ; but 1 have followed to
fight thee here."
" Escape thee ! " answered the indignant one.
"When was the Ready-Handed ever known to
avoid a fray ? Thou little knowest to whom thou
speakest, Mufta, the Brag. It shall never be told
that Ramedab denied his spear to any man. But
swear, that if I fall, thou wilt not touch the treas-
ures, but blow on the whistle, and then flee."
" What care I for the treasures? It is thou I seek,
destroyer of my fame ! The jewels are safe from
me. Should the Ready-Handed fail, the guard
shall be called. Thou hast now no further excuse.
Come on ; I defy thee ! "
They were well matched. Mufta called himself
"the Invincible." Ramedab had disputed his title,
which caused the enmity between them. Our hero
fought bravely, but whether less skillful than his
adversary, or pricked by conscience for allowing
himself to be drawn into the fray, he lost the com-
bat, and was left bleeding on the ground. Mufta
blew the whistle, then departed. The Shah and
an attendant appeared.
" It is a plot, then," Ramedab thought, as he
beheld no less personages than his sovereign and
the Vizier. But immediately all was a blank — he
became unconscious.
"Let him be cared for and healed, if possible ; it
is a bad thrust. He could withstand bribery, but
not a personal slight, for the sake of his trust. See
that his brother be brought to me to-morrow\"
So saying, the Commander of Slaves and Ruler
of Thrones retired to the palace.
Amulfeda, while preparing to obey this sum-
mons, thoughtfully remarked to Freraddin, the
youngest : "It is likely that Ramedab is accepted,
as he is a noted soldier; but should his impetuosity
displease the Shah, I shall, of course, be next choice,
for my father's gracious manner has descended
upon me. Thou hast his discretion, but it is all
thou hast. Such a puny, slight person as thou art
would ill become an exalted position. Besides, I
love my country. Though not the warrior Rame-
dab, I hope to do some great work, to be celebrated
through the length and breadth of the land."
The Shah repeated in the same words the
charge he h;Kl given to the Ready-Handed, the key
was presented, and the second son found himself
by midnight alone under the stars. Hafiz found
Amulfeda deaf to all appeals. Mufta also appeared ;
but Amulfeda replied to his taunts: "I care not
who calls me coward, so 1 hold the privilege of
guarding the treasures."
He had passed two nights without wavering in
his trust. On the third came the Grand Vizier.
" Knowest thou, Amulfeda," Said he, " that thou
hast been played a trick? The Shah hath given
thee empty coffers. Thinkest thou he would trust
an untried boy with the jewels of Persia, or that
he would bestow upon a beardless youth the office
of the Golden Key ? "
" How darest thou malign the Ruler of Thrones,
who was never known to break his word ? "
" Sayest thou so? I could tell thee otherwise ;
but, with all thy devotion to him, thou fearest to
draw thy saber in his defense, though I do say the
Shah hath no intention of keeping his word."
" Draw and defend thyself for thy lie! I trust
implicitly in the monarch of Persia." So saying,
Amulfeda drew his weapon and prepared to attack
the Vizier. After a short conflict, the Vizier made
himself master of the key, — w'hich Amulfeda had
dropped in the struggle, — and withdrew.
On the following morning, Freraddin was in-
formed he was to take his turn. "Why should I
mount guard when the Shah has ere this decided
on one of my brothers?" thought he. "I only
plod along, doing what lies before me. But did not
my dying father say, ' Do w-hat conies to hand ; do
it well ; let nothing take thy thoughts from it, and
success will follow ' ? I trust it may prove true. "
The Shah looked surprised when Freraddin
prostrated himself before him.
" Thy brothers have inherited the most of thy
father, we perceive. What has been left for thee ? "
■■ His discretion and power of endurance, O
Ruler of Thrones ! "
" It may be so. The most useful blade owns not
the finest scabbard. Receive this key ! I say to
thee, as to thy brothers ; Let not love of gold, of
self, nor of others, cause thee to forget thy duty."
Freraddin was in turn subjected to the tempta-
tions his brothers had undergone, only added was
the promise from the Shah's favorite daughter,
" that if he would let her enter to obtain her amulet,
which was kept among the royal jewels, she would
use her influence for his promotion, and, in time,
persuade her father to agree to their marriage : for
the amulet was especially precious to her, and she
desired to wear it at the evening feast."
But Freraddin refused ; her entreaties were hard
to withstand, \et the memor\- of his father's words
decided him, and the princess departed in tears.
Next morning, the three brothers were brought
before the throne — Ramedab on a litter, Amulfeda
with bandaged arm, and Freraddin holding the key.
" It is known to all," began the Shah, " the
promise given to your father, and how it has been
iMi.J
ODD MODES U l- 1-' 1 S 11 I N G .
359
kept. Each was tried. I commanded you not to
let anytliing come between you and your duty. I
showed not the treasures, for belief in them was
part of your faith in me. You all refused the
worldl)' bribes offered." Here Ramedab changed
color. " It is needless to say," continued the Shah,
"that the trials were permitted by me. 1 allowed
Hafiz, who needed money, to endeavor to influence
you. I did not make Mufta Ramedab's cnem)-,
but agreed to his challenging him while on guard.
The (irand Vizier requested the opportunity to
test your zeal : should the family of Rejerah fail, his
nephew might win. For I could not do Persia the
injustice to bestow the tlolden Key on one untried
by temptations. Rametlab, this was not the time for
thee to think of thine own name ; but as thou hast
proved thyself brave, though a faulty sentinel, thou
shalt receive a place in the cohorts of Persia.
Amulfeda, thinkcst thou not wc had plenty to
defend our name .' That was not thy mission ; let
not visions of greatness make thee forget life's
duties. Thou shalt be among the chroniclers of
Persia. But thou, P'reraddin, whom neither gold,
nor taunts, nor woman's tears could move from the
task appointed, thou keepest the key, for thou
alone of the three hast learned self-control."
Loud praises greeted these words. And Frerad-
din always enjoyed the confidence of his monarch.
ODD MODl'.-S Ol"
;.SI[ING.
Hv Damki, C. Hkaki)
"Jugging for cats" is a most peculiar
and original manner of fishing, common
among the colored people of the Southern
States. It combines exercise, excitement,
and fun, in a much greater degiee than the
usual method of angling with the rod and
reel.
The tackle necessary in this sport is very
simple: it consists of five or six empty jugs
tightly corked with corn-cobs, and a stout
line five feet in length, with a sinker and
large hook at the end. One of these lines
dangles from the handle of each jug. Baits
of many kinds are used, but a bit of cheese,
tied in a piece of mosquito-netting to prevent
its washing away, appears to be considered
the most tempting morsel.
When all the hooks are baited, and the
fisherman has inspected his lines and found
everything ready, he puts the jugs into a boat
and rows out upon the river, dropping the
earthenware floats about ten feet apart in a
line across the middle of the stream.
The jugs will, of course, be carried down
with the current, and will have to be fol-
lowed and watched. When one of them be-
gins to behave in a strange manner, turning
upside down, bobbing about, darting up
stream and down, the fisherman knows that
a large fish is hooked, and an exciting chase
ensues. It sometimes requires hard rowing
to catch the jug, for often when the fisherman
feels sure of his prize and stretches forth his
hand to grasp the runaway, it darts off anew,
frequently disappearing from view beneath
36o
ODD MODKS OK FISHING.
[Ma
the water, and coming to the surface again yards
and yards away from wlicrc it liad left tlic disap-
pointed sportsman.
One would think that the pursuit of just one
jug, which a fish is piloting around, might prove
exciting enough. But imagine the sport of seeing
four or five of them start off on their antics at about
the same moment. It is at such a time that the
skill of the fisherman is tested, for a novice, in his
hurry, is apt to lose his head, thereby losing his
lish also. Instead of hauling in his line carefully
and steadily, he generally pulls it up in such a
hasty manner that the fish is able, by a vigorous
flop, to tear itself away from the hook. To be a
successful "jugger," one must be as careful and
deliberate in taking out hi^ fish as though he had
similar to jugging, is by means of a jumping-Jack,
or small, jointed man, whose limbs are moved by
jerking a string attached to them. This little
figure is ftstened to a stick, which is secured in an
upright position on a float, made of a piece of
board. Through a hole in the float is passed the
string attached to the figure, and tied securely to
this are the hook and line. After the hook is
baited, the float is placed on the surface of the water,
and the little man, standing upright, is left to wait
in patience.
Presently a fish, attracted by the bait, comes
nearer the surface, seizes the hook quickly, and
darts downward, pulling the string, and making
the little figure throw up its arms and legs, as
though dancing for joy at having performed its task
\;' f^iiW^
only that one jug to attend to, no matter how many
others may be claiming his attention by their frantic
signals. The illustration shows a jug turned
bottom upward, the line having just been pulled
by a fish taking a nibble at the bait, without having
quite made up its mind to swallow it.
Another method of catching fish, in principle
so well. The capering of Jack is the signal to his master
that a fish has been caught, and is struggling to free itself
from the hook. This manner of fishing is necessarily con-
fined to quiet bodies of water, such as small lakes or
ponds, for in rough water poor little Jack would be upset.
The pleasures of fishing are naturally and almost inva-
riably connected in our minds with warm weather, par-
ticularly with the first coming of summer, the bright
freshness of bursting bud and new-opening wild blossom,
and with those later days in the autumn over which the
Summer King sheds his brightest glories. But in our
northern and easterly States, when old Winter has spread
his mantle of frost and snow over the face of Nature,
and hermetically sealed all the lakes and ponds
under covers of ice, as an agreeable addition to
the fun of skating, hardy, red-cheeked boys cut
round holes in the thick ice, and through them
rig their lines for pickerel-fishing. A very simple
but ingenious contrivance enables a single fisherman
to attend to quite a number of lines, if the holes be
made within sight from one another, the fish itself
l88i.|
KAliUrrs AND BANK rAl'ER.
361
giving the signal for the particular line that requires then in readiness for the capiurc <ii a pickerel,
attention. When the tish is hooked, his strufjglcs keep the
The construction of this automatic fishing-tackle flag flying. The illustration shows a fish in the act
is so simple that tho accompanying illustration of biting, and also a boy just about to pull up a
shows how it is arranged. At the end of a light line from a hole where the signal is waving.
rod, a foot or twn
in length, is fisi-
ened a small sig- I
nal-flag ; a piece
of any bright-colored cloth answers the
purpose. This rod is bound with strong
string to a second stick, which is placed
across the hole, lying some inches upon
the ice at either side ; the flag, also,
rests on the ice, leaving a short piece
of the flag-rod projecting over the
cross-stick : to this short end the line
and hook are fastened. The hook is
baited with a live minnow, and low-
ered through the hole. The tackle is
RABBITS AND BANK PAPER.
Bv Ernest Ingersoll.
*
MOLLIF. French walked slowly into her father's
library from the post-office one afternoon, with a
puzzled face. She handed him some letters and
then stood still, studying a big envelope, on which
the card of a wholesale leather warehouse was
printed, up in the left-hand corner, and across which
her own name was strung in the most business-like
writing ever seen, — not MoUie, but " Miss Mary
French."
" This is the funniest thing yet for a holiday
present I " she exclaimed. "Whom can it be from.
Papa.-"
" Perhaps if you should open it, you would find
out."
MoUie hastened to do so, as though she had
never thought of that experiment, and found a big
sheet with more printing about leather at the top,
and read :
" Boston, June i, i860.
" Mv Dear Nifce : Remembering that this is your birthday, and
remembering also your fondness for peLs, I inclose my check for
$10, begging you to provide yourself with a 13bbit-hou.se, and a
family of rabbits to live in it.
'* Hoping that your birthda>'s may be many, and as sweet and
sunny as they ought to be for a young lady bom in the month of
roses, I remain your affectionate uncle, Wm. Harburv.
" P. S. — If this am't is not suffic't, draw on me at sight through
the Farmers' National Bank for $10 more.— Yours, W. H."
" Well, that 's very nice of Uncle William, I 'm
sure, and I 'd like to thank him ever so much ; but
1 — 1 guess he forgot to put the money in ! And
362
RAH HITS AM) HANK I' A PER.
what docs he mean by that postscript ? What are
you laughing at, Papa?"
" Ha, ha, ha ! Did n't I hear a girl saying, a
day or two ago, that she would like to be a ' busi-
ness woman,' and 'deal in railway stocks,' like her
father?"
"Very likely; you hear lots of things, Papa,"
said Mollic, very demurely ; then added, with more
energ)' : " And I should, too. It must be grand ! "
" But it requires much training if you arc to suc-
ceed, and here 's a good beginning. I suspect
your uncle had an object in writing in so commer-
cial a manner. What is that folded paper in vour
hand?"
'"This? Oh, I forgot to look at it. 1 suppose
it 's the ' check ' he speaks of, whatever that is."
" Read it to mc." said her father.
It was a slip of stiff paper, about eight inches
long by two inches wide. It was partly printed in
ornamental type, and partly written where spaces
had been left blank for the words. What Mollie
read was this :
ry
»
<a
$10.00. Boston, June 7, iSbo.
6 FARMERS' .VATJO.VAL BANK OF BOSTON.
Pay to ttte order n/ Mary French
Ten . . . fiolUtrs —
No. 712. n'M. HARBURY.
" But I can't go to Boston to get the money from
that bank!" cried Mollic, when she had finished
reading.
"No," said her father. "But perhaps you
might find somebody who would be willing to give
you the money here, and so save you the trouble."
" 'Fraid nobody 'd bother to save me trouble ! "
sighed Mollic, with an attempt to be melancholy
that brought out a laugh.
" But it might be for somebody's interest to do
so. Supposing you were going to Boston to pur-
chase a lot of goods, would n't you rather have
your money already there safely, than to run the
risk of losing it by carrying it around with you all
the time ? Now, if a person gives you ten dollars
for that check, it 's just the same as though he him-
self had placed ten dollars in the bank in Boston,
and he runs no risk of losing it."
" What if he should lose this ? "
"That might cause some inconvenience; but
they would give him another check, called a ' dupli-
cate,' and the money would lie safe in the vaults of
the bank all the while. Do you know any one who
is going to Boston to-day ? "
"No, sir, and I don't want to wait a long time
until 1 find somebody."
" If I should tell you, there is a gentleman in
the village here who makes a business of giving
money for such slips of ' commercial paper,' whom
should you guess him to be ? "
"Mr. Forbes, the banker, I suppose."
" Right. Now, I am busy and can't talk .my
more ; but, if you wish, you may go down to the
bank now, and ask Mr. Forbes if he will cash that
check for you. Clood-bye."
Mollie would have liked to have her way pointed
out a little more explicitly, and she hesitated a
moment, but her father did not look up again, and
so, she started down the street.
The little Canonset Bank of the village was on
the most public street, and Mollie passed it once
or twice before she finally mustered up courage
enough to go in. There was a long desk or counter
in the room, and the top of it was protected every-
where by a handsome wire-fence, excepting a little
space like a window, above which hung the sign,
"Cashier," in gilt letters. Behind the fence were
some clerks, writing in immense account-books,
piles of packages of bank-bills, and gleaming trays
of gold and silver coins.
"Is Mr. Forbes in?" Mollie asked of a tall,
kindly gentleman at the little window.
" No, he is out of town to-day. Can 1 do any-
thing for you ? "
" Well," Mollie ventured to say, rather timidly,
" 1 wanted to ask him if he would give me the
money for this," and she held out her check.
The gentleman glanced at it and then turned it
over.
".Are you M.iry French?" he asked, a trifle
sternly, the girl thought.
" Yes, sir."
" But we don't know you. You must get some-
body to identify you. Do you know any one
here ? "
"Why, of course ; I know 'most everybody."
"Well," said he, and handed back the check,
"we can't pay it until we know that you are the
.Mary French whose name is written there."
At first, Mollie was a little angry. It was the
first time that anybody had doubted that she
was herself
" I just think he knows me himself, and only
wants to plague me."
Perhaps he did, but he did not show it. Just
then she saw the superintendent of her Sunday-
school, and ran across the street, with an exclama-
tion that stopped and astonished him.
iSSl.]
RABBITS AND HANK I'Al'KR.
3^3
"Oh, Mr. Thomas, _t'(W know 1 'm Mary French,
don't you?"
"Know that — what? Why, of course."
"Well, wont you ple;ise go with me to that
horrid bank, and tell them so ? I want to get some
money with a check."
" Certainly I will. But, MoUie, if you want to
talk like a business man about this, you must say.
' 1 \(ant to cas/i a check.'"
"Thank you," MoUie answered, rather meekly.
"Mr. Cashier," said Mr. Thomas, "this is my
friend. Miss Mary French. You will find her a very
pleasant person to do business with. Good-morning. "
Then .Mollie handed in her check again, sure
she was all right now ; but the cashier glanced at
the back of it, and then returned it to her, saying
quietly : " Indorse it, please."
"What do you mean? "asked Mollio, a little
scared at this new complication.
" Write your full name across the b.ack of it.
Unless )ou do that, we could n't get the money from
the bank in Boston where Mr. Harbury has de-
posited it. By writing your name, you at once show-
that we have paid you the money, and that you
have transferred to this bank the right to collect
the same amount from the fund Mr. Harbury has
placed in Boston."
"But you haven't given nie the money yet,"
objected Mollie.
"No," said the cashier, smiling, "and you
must n't give me the indorsed check until I do.
Here it is. Would )ou like five dollars or so in
small change ?"
"If you please," said Mollie, as she wrote her
name at a little desk near by, carefully blotting the
ink, and passing the paper across the counter.
Then she picked up her precious crisp bills and
shining silver, and had started almost to run out
of the door, when the cashier again stopped her.
" It is always best to count your money before
leaving. There might be some mistake."
Mollie counted, and it did not come out right !
She tried it again, with no better success.
"I think, sir," she said then, "there arc only
nine dollars and ninety-eight cents here, when I
thought 1 should get ten dollars."
" S'es, but 1 had to stamp the check. The stamp
is required by the government as a tax, and costs
two cents. Sec ? "
I am afraid his customer did not " see" at all, but
she thought she would rather lose two cents, if it
were not all right, than show any further ignorance
of banking customs, and"so she tripped homeward.
Her father's first question was whether she had
got her money or not.
" I cashed the check, if that is what you mean,"
Mollie replied, with dignity.
" Oh — ah — yes — I beg your pardon — that is
what 1 intended to say. Now, tell me all your
adventures."
She began, and they had a good laugh over
them. When she told .ibout the stamp. Papa
looked gra\c.
" 1 think Uncle William did //in/ for a purpose,
too. He would tell you, as I do, that when you
grow up and send awa\- checks of your own, you
should stamp them. It is a petty fraud to let
your creditor pay the two cents that it is your
duty to provide for. Now, about the rabbit-house ? "
They put their heads together, but before full
decision was reached, Mr. French was called away.
When leaving, he remarked :
" If I were you, Mollie, I should write Uncle
William as short and business-like but pleasant a
letter in acknowledgment as he sent to you. Tell
him," and Mr. French used a lot of phrases that
Mollie strove to remember, with this result :
" Canonset, June 2, i860
•' Mv Deak Uncle : II is with pleasure 1 acknowledge the receipt
this morning of your letter of yesterday, inclosing check on the
Farmers' Bank of Boston f<'r $10. Please accept my thanks for
remembering not only that it Vas my birthday, but that I love pets.
In case the expenses you propose should exceed $10, I shall gladly
avail myself of your further generosity, and make the sight-draft you
suggest. Believe me, your affectionate niece, Makv Fkkn-ch."
" Whew ! " whistled Uncle Billy, in his counting-
room in Pearl street the next day. " I rather guess
I wont try to puzzle //in/ girl any more with business
forms. Could n't have written a better letter my-
self. I must have her as a partner ! "
The rabbit-houses were at once begim, but
before they were finished, about a week after this,
Mr. French and his daughter were again together
in the library. She had explained to him that her
ten dollars would be all gone before her pets were
housed, or, rather, before she could buy any rabbits
at all, for the house was to be got ready first.
Consequently, she would have to call for the other
ten dollars, and she wanted to know what a draft
was, and how to do it. This was not so easily
learned by herself as the management of the check
had been, and so he very willingly told her all
about the matter at first.
"A check," he said, "is simply an order from
a person who has deposited money with a banker
to pay out that money, or a part of it, to a partic-
ular person. A draft is a different thing, for that
is a demand from one person upon another person —
sometimes, but not always, from one bank to
another — to pay a certain amount of money at a
certain time. The person who writes and signs the
draft is called the ' maker,' and the person to
whom he .addresses the draft is the 'payer.' Now
take a pen and 1 will dictate the proper form, since
364
"GRIEF CAN NOT U R I V K II 1 M A \V A Y
(Ma
I happen to have none of the printed blanks which
are generally used for this purpose."
In a few moments she had done, and read :
"At sight, pay
Dollars, value rcc<
" Canonset, Ju
0 the order of llie Farmers' National Bank, Ten
ved, and charge the same
■' V'cry well," said Mr. French. " Now, if you
send that to the bank in Boston which the draft
names, they will get the money at once, and retiirn
it to you, if your uncle cares to pay it. Or per-
haps our village bank niiijhl ' discount ' it, as the)
say ; that is, buy it from you for a little less tlian
the face "
"What 's that?" asked Mollic.
"The 'face,' or 'face value,' is the sum the
draft calls for, — in this case, ten dollars. But you
do not need to pay for this accommodation ; so
simply send it to the Boston bank, inclosed with a
little note to the cashier, asking him to be kind
enough to collect it, and remit you the amount."
MoUie did so, and in a couple of days got an
answer in a big engraved envelope, containing a
brief letter that she could hardly read for the
flourishes, and inclosing her own draft.
■'What 's the matter now. Papa?" she cried, in
dismay. " My draft has come back. '
"Is it protested?" asked Mr. French, making
liis face very long, but not quite hiding a twinkle
of fun in his eyes. "If that 's the case, Uncle
William has changed his mind about your rabbits,
and wont give the money. Moreover, you will have
that
The
Uncle
to pay the banker two dollars or so for ' protest
fees,' and other trouble. What does your letter
say ? Perha]js that will explain matters. "
"Oh, it says something about ' New York funds,'
and an ' accommodation ' to me, and so on. 1 can't
make the horrid writing out."
"Well, look again at your draft. What
written across the face of it in red ink ? "
"It looks like ' Accepted.' "
" That 's the word. You are all right,
bank sent the draft by a messenger
William's office, to see if it was proper for them to
pay it to you out of his money in their hands.
When he « rote ' Accepted ' and his name across
the face, that gave his consent. A draft is of no
more worth than a dunning letter, until it has been
accepted or honored, as it is sometimes called.
Now, what is that 1 see on the back of the
paper ? "
'■ Why," answered Mollie, reading slowly, " it
says, ' Payable at the First National Bank of New
York, Marcus Miserly, Cashier.'"
" Ah, that 's all right again. Take that down to
our bank, indorse it as you would a check, and
Mr. Forbes will pay you the money, charging you
nothing, as he would if it were a draft upon Wor-
cester or Portland, or some city where he had only
a little business ; but drafts on New York are as
good as gold, and cost nothing for collection."
"Well, I never!" said Mollie, filled with sur-
prise at all these intricacies of business. However,
she not only got her rabbits, but, a few years later,
when her father died, she took up the reins of his
business, and brought it to the end she desired.
^t^^M^
l;\l> BEGINNING, BUT A GOOD i:ni>IN(;
365
A HAD Hl-,(;iN \ 1N(;. HUT A COOD i: X 1 ) I N C.
1!\ Maruarkt KYriN(;F..
March came in like n lion.
With a terrible i;ro«l and a roar.
And the naked trees trembled and
shivered,
And the sea-waves fled fast to the shore ;
And old Winter came back for a mo-
ment
To start the north wind on a blow ;
And the breath of the lion froze while
on the air,
And his mane was all covered with
snow.
Weeks passed, and the snow-flakes had
melted,
And the wind grown too weary to shout.
But March was still grumbling, when
lo ! a wee flow'r
From a tiny green mantle peeped out.
' Oh, what is the use ? " said she, gently,
•• Of being so dreadfully cross?
I have three little sisters so frightened at you
They are hiding away in the moss.
" .\nd the buds of the trees are still ling'ring
In the boughs, for they fear to burst forth.
And only two birds, of the host that went South
Last autumn, have dared to come North.
Do smile once or twice ere you leave us,
And the hearts of the timid ones cheer,
For believe me, dear March, it is better
by far
To be thought of with love than with
fear."
As she paused, March was shaking with
laughter.
Why, you elf-bloom, you pale little
thing.
Where got you the courage a lecture
to give
To the rollicking son of the Spring .'
But you 're right, pretty one, and to
show you
There arc other months worse than I
am.
Mere 's a smile of the very best sun-
shine, my dear,"
And he turned and went out like a
lamb.
366
IN NATURES WON!) K K 1, A N I )
[March,
IN NATURIC'S \V0MJ1:RLAM); OR, A 1) V ICNTU R i:S IN Till':
AMI'". RICA N TROPICS.
By Fki.ix L. Oswald.
CH.\PTER V.
" There is a land where Summer never dies,
A land forever green, "ncath cloudless skies,
A Paradise of birds and butterflies "
The longest inountain-rango on earth is the
•chain of the Cordillenis, or Andes, as thej' arc
called in South America, which stretches all the
way from Cape Horn to Alaska — for the Rocky
Mountains of the United States are only a continu-
ation of the sierras of western Mexico. Three
days after our departure from the hacienda, we
crossed the main chain of this mountain-range, near
a point the Mexicans call the "Wild Rose Pass," a
defile where the head-waters of the Rio Verde have
washed out a deep gap. It was in the month of
Decemljcr ; the flowers of the wild rose-bushes were
faded, and all around us rose tower-like masses of
rock and ice, the glaciers of the central sierra.
The roads were extremely rough, but Daddy Simon
would never let us camp in the evening till we had
made at least twenty-five miles.
" It 's only a short time to Christmas," said he,
" and I want \ou to p;iss the holidays in a more
pleasant counti)- than this."
We saw what he meant when we reached the
eastern slope, on the morning of the fifth day. The
precipices of the sierra descended in a series of
sunny terraces, where the rocks were covered with
ivy instead of snow, and the valleys below were
clothed with endless woods, stretching away in the
distance like an ocean of blue-green waves.
" That 's the Valley of Tabasco," said our guide;
" and near the little lake, at the end of that wooded
ridge down there, is the farm of Colonel Garcia,
the gentleman we met in Benyamo last week. We
must keep our word and get there before Christ-
mas eve."
We camped that evening in a cedar grove that
supplied us with fuel, for the night was still too
cold to sleep without a fire ; but the next morning
we got back to the tropical virgin-woods, where the
shrubs swarmed with beetles and butterflies, and
the paroquets screamed in the tree-tops. We found
some wild pine-apples, and toward noon we passed
an Indian garden, full of ripe bananas, oranges,
and a plum-like fruit they call chirimoyas, and finer
grapes than we see in our best northern vineyards
in summer-time.
In the hills of southern Mexico there are herds of
half-wild cows, and some of them arc quite wild ;
that is, they take to the upper sierra, and flee like
deer at the sight of a human being. But in
winter-time, when the hill-tops are covered with
snow, hunger often drives them back to the foot-
hills, and the herders then get a chance to recapt-
ure them. They can be known by their savage
appearance, and, as they are never stabled nor
cleaned, their hide is generally full of burs. On
the brink of a little mountain-creek, where we
watered our mule, one of these wild cows passed us
in headlong flight, and soon after a boy on a black
colt came down the road at a tearing gallop. The
colt w.as neither saddled nor bridled, but the boy
clung to him like a monkey, and yelled so inces-
santly that he frightened the cow almost out of its
wits. When the wild chase approached a fenced
pasture the cow turned off to the left, but the boy
made his horse leap the fence, knocking down a
couple of rails, and then galloped away on the level
lawn, while the cow had to break through the
brushwood. A minute after, an old man came
running up from the lower end of the pasture,
swinging his hat and shouting at the top of his
voice ; but he was too late ; the boy had leaped the
fence a second time and disappeared in a thicket of
willow-trees.
The man then replaced the rails, and could not
help smiling when he saw us, though he had looked
rather angry at first.
"That 's Don Garcia's steward," whispered the
guide. " He knows me ; 1 'm going to ask him if
the colonel is at home."
"How arc you, senor?" he hailed the man.
" How are all tht* folk at the rancho?"
The man clambered o\er the fence and shook
hands with our guide.
"The colonel told me you were coming," said
he. " He will be very glad to see you. He 's out
hunting in the sierra, but he will be back before
night. We are going to have a great festival in the
village to-morrow."
"Was that the colonel's son ? " I asked — "that
boy on the black colt, I mean."
"That boy.' That's Little Mischief," said the
steward.
" Little what? "
"Little Mischief," repeated the steward. "He
ADVENTURES IN THE AMERICAN TROPICS.
367
lias no other naniL'. The colonel is a Cuban
refugee, you know, and this boy followed him over
to Mexico. His father was a horse-breaker in the
Spanish army, and I think that 's the reason he
wants to be on horseback all the time. Our colonel
likes him on account of his funniness ; but 1 wish
he would buy him a pony of his own, so he wont
ride our colts to death. We call him Dannilo
[Little Damage], because he is so full of mischief
and monkey-tricks."
The colonel's farm was situated at the lower end
of the Indian village of Palo Pinto, and his house
w-as the only decent building in the place ; but the
surroundings were beautiful ; high blue mountains all
about, the hill-sides covered with chestnut-groves,
and clown in the valley a lake with fine pasture-
grounds. On one of these pastures the people of
the village were mowing the grass for a race-course ;
they were going to have a foot-race and all kinds
of games the next day, for Christmas is a great
festival in Mexico, and the merriest holiday in all
their year.
Just before sunset, the colonel came riding slowly
up the road^his horse was so overloaded with game
and fish. He had six wild turkeys, an antelope,
and a big string of salmon-trout, and right
behind his saddle a bundle of something I mistook
for a pile of squirrels or rabbits. But when he
halted at the garden-gate, the bundle jumped
down and proved to be our cow-hunter, Little Mis-
chief, who had been curled up behind the saddle-
croup like a cat.
•' 1 told you I would overtake that cow," he called
out when he saw the steward. " 1 headed her off
twice, but it 's all of no use ; we shall have to lariat
her. There 's something about catching cows
in my father's book — what did you do with it ? "
" 1 believe it 's on my mantel-shelf," said the
steward. " Never mind, now ; 1 will " but the
boy was already gone.
The steward's house was at the other end of the
garden ; but while we were shaking hands with the
colonel. Little Mischief came running back with a
tattered memorandum-book.
" Here it is! " he shouted. " You must read me
that piece now, and get me a good lariat. I know-
where that cow went to. I wish they would settle
that match on horseback," he burst out when he
saw the mowers. " 1 would show them what a race
is! Hold on! There 's a piece of rawhide rope
behind the manger; that will do for a lariat," cried
he, and ran away in the direction of the stalls.
" How old is that little fellow ? " 1 asked.
" He 's not quite eight years," said the colonel.
" But he makes more fuss than all the young
Indians in this village. If he keeps on that way,
we '11 have to call him Big Mischief before long."
We staid at the raiiclw the next morning, on
account of Christmas, and because Black Betsy
needed a day's rest ; but the Mexicans keep their
church-festivals in a peculiar way of their own, and
we never saw a noisier holiday. They had kettle-
drum processions, music and round-dances, arrow-
shooting and whirl-swings, and a game for children,
called "box-luck." A box with a round hole
in the top was placed on the green, and every one
who wanted to try his luck had first to put some-
thing into the box, — a pinc-applc, a banana, a piece
of cake, or a handful of nuts, — and finally the box-
keeper put a dozen of oranges in, one of them marked
with a star. The youngsters were then blindfolded,
and one by one had to stick their fists through the
hole and make a c|uick grab; he who grabbed the
marked orange won the whole lot. The races came
oft' in the afternoon ; first a foot-race for men, and
then a wrestle-run for boys, or a rough-and-tumble
race, as we should call it. The runners started off
pair-wise, and tried to stop or trip each other, and
if one got a little start, the other was almost sure to
overtake him and pull him back before he got too
far away. They had some first-rate runners in Palo
Pinto, but the race was finally won by a boy from
the neighboring village of Carmen, who had a trick
of making two or three standing-jumps in quick
succession. He pulled and rolled around in the
usual way, till they were about twenty yards from
the goal, when he suddenly broke away with one
of his flying jumps, and, before his adversary could
grab him, a second, third, and fourth leap landed
him safe beyond the goal.
Three English miles from Palo Pinto there was
a large estancia or stock-farm, and in the evening
two herders drove up, with a car full of meat, as
a Christmas present for the villagers. " Cariie
rosarifl.' Came rosario ' " [rosary-meat] they cried,
and flung out their presents left and right. Their
rosaries were pieces of dried beef, about as large as
a man's hand, strung together in a wreath, like the
little bologna-sausages in our butcher-shops. The
colonel's house was the last one in the village, and
when they passed the garden-gate they had just three
rosaries left, and flung them over the fence, while
they wished us a merry Christmas.
"Here's a present for the pretty lady!" they
shouted. " And here 's one for your prettiest girl,
and one for your prettiest cat. Now, pitch in, but
don't scratch each other," they called out when
they drove away.
The colonel's girls ran out laughing, and chased
each other all over the garden, each one claiming
the prize of beauty, till they got tired and agreed
to divide it.
" But, here, what shall we do with this string?"
asked the colonel. " We have n't a cat ! "
368
I N NAT U R E S VV O \ D K R LAN D.
[March,
"Give it to Robby," cried the girls; "he never
had a Christmas present yet."
The colonel whistled through his fingers, and
before long a big vulture, a sort of turkey-buzzard,
flew up from a chestnut-tree in the garden and
alighted on the gravel-plot before our feet. He
snatched the meat and tried to take wing, but the
bundle was too heavy, and he had to drop it.
Coming down again, he seized the rosary by
the string and dragged it slowly toward the next
tree, but he had not i)ulled it very far when a big
the same the third and fourth time, till one-third
of the ineat had been eaten by the pig. But by
making the string shorter, he also made it lighter,
and now Robby's chance had come. The next
time they took hold, he seized the string a little
nearer the middle, and the moment the hog got
his piece off, Robby spread his wings, and, with
three vigorous flops, raised himself about thirty feet,
and flew away with the string of meat dangling
from between his claws.
The pig was still chewing the last piece, but
pig trotted around the corner and grabbed the
rosary by the other end.
"Oh! look at that greedy thing! Drive him
awaj', somebody ! " cried the girls.
"No, no — leave them alone," said the colonel ;
"let us see how they will settle their dispute."
The pig hauled one way and the vulture the
other, till the rosary broke, and instead of pulling
a wreath, they now had to tug at either end of a
long string. But that gave the hog an unfair
advantage, for while Robby could do nothing but
pull, I'iggy soon chewed a piece off, swallowed it,
and gra1)bcd the next chunk. They pulled again,
and again the string gave way on the pig's side ;
when he got it down he looked up, and a more
astonished hog was never seen in America. \\'here
was the vulture and what had become of the rosary?
He looked left and right and all around with an
expression of indescribable bewilderment, and then
suddenly rushed down the road and around the
corner. It seemed to strike him that there was no
time to lose, if the vulture had run off in that
direction.
The \illagers had all left to carry their rosaries
home, but before sunset they returned with drums
and cow-horns, and the merriment now became so
obstreperous that we prepared to eat our supper
in a little chestnut-grove at the upper end of the
i88i.]
ADVENTURES IN THE AMERICAN TROPICS.
369
lake. The colonel's children had made that place
their favorite play-ground, and while our bo\s were
climbing the trees to catch the humming-bird
moths that buzzed around the chestnut-tlowers, the
girls amused themselves with a pole-swing, big
enough to seat two or three at once.
The people at the rancho had no menagerie
animals for sale, but one of the villagers told us
about a Mexican bird-fancier in the Sierra Honda,
about ten English miles from Palo Pinto, where we
could buy tame monkeys and parrots of all kinds.
The next morning we saddled our mule at sunrise,
and started right after breakfast, with the \illager for
a guide and Little Mischief for an outrider. He was
going to protect us against the sierra bears, said the
little monkey, and to catch all the wild cows that
might cross his path. The groom had read him that
piece in his father's book, and provided him with two
stout lariats, so he was now prepared to deal with the
wildest cow in the country, he ;issured us. Our
road led along a well-wooded mountain-side, and
when the sun began to dr\ the dew on the shrubs,
the air fairly swarmed with winged insects. Glitter-
ing dragon-flics shot to and fro, large black wasps
buzzed around the trees ; and among the butterflies
that hovered about the way-side flowers, we saw
some specimens that set Tommy almost wild with
excitement. He caught some large black ones with
white and yellow dots, and a little moth-like sphinx,
as red as fire, and one splendid purple swallow-tail,
with a sheen like sky-blue satin. He had to climb
a tree to catch that beauty, and when he came
down again, an old man hobbled across the road
and examined his butterfly-net.
" When 1 lived in Medellion I used to catch those
things myself, and sell them in Vera Cruz ; but I
never saw a contrivance like that in my life.
Why, that 's wonderful handy ! ''
" t^low did you manage to catch them?" asked
Tommy.
" I used to take them with my hat," said the old
man: "and sometimes 1 trapped them."
'■ Trapped them ? How ? "
"There is a thorny tree growing in this country,"
said he, — ■" a sort of buckthorn, with strong-smell-
ing white flowers. They don't smell very nice, but
butterflies seem to like them so much that they
almost fly into your hands if you carry a bunch of
that stuff. But this net beats all that ! Don't you
people come from across the sea ? "
" Yes, from Europe," said Tommy.
" How wonderfully clever they must be in that
country ! Just let me look at that net once more.
Why, I never saw the like in my life ! "
The butterfly-catcher was made of a common
wire hoop, with a bag-net of white gauze, similar to
the material used for mosquito-bars — a stuff" that
Vol. VIII.— 24.
can be bought at a New York dry-goods store for
ten cents a yard.
" Is n't that marvelous ! " cried the old Mexican.
"Threads as fine as gossamer, and as evenly
worked as cells in a honey-comb. It seems almost
impossible for a natural human being to do it.
Excuse me, gentlemen — can you tell me who made
this ? "
"It was made by an old lady," said Menito.
" She 's the only one in the world that can do it."
"1 thought so. Is n't she kind of red-eyed?"
"Yes, a little," said Menito. "That sort of
work will spoil one's eyesight."
" Pshaw ! That 's only a pretext of hers ! " cried
the old man. " You ought to catch her at once. I
felt sure there was witchcraft about it. That ex-
plains it, of course. 1 knew there was something
supernatural about it," he muttered to himself when
he hobbled away ; " it would take a fellow about
twenty years to make a thing like that."
Little Mischief, during this talk, had ranged
the pa.stures along the hill-side in search of cows;
but when we continued our road, he came down
a mountain-valley at full gallop, and drew rein when
he caught sight of us.
" What sort of country is this, anyhow ! " he
exclaimed. " 1 saw a crocodile on that mountain-
meadow back there ; and when 1 tried to catch it,
it went up a tree Hke a shot."
"Up a tree!" we all cried. "That's not
possible. You must be mistaken ! "
" Not a bit. It 's only a little way up the past-
ure. Come along; I will show it to you."
He took us to a tall mimosa-tree on the hill-side,
and pointed to the upper branches.
"Yes, there it is," said he. "Do you see it
now ? "
"Why, that's an iguana!" laughed Tommy.
"It 's all right, though. Let 's catch her, all the
same."
The thing in the tree-top looked like a young
alligator, or a very large lizard, with a whip-like
tail, about three or four feet long. It had long
claws like a parrot, and clutched the branches with
all its might when we tried to shake it down ; but
when Menito began to pelt it with pebbles, it leaped
from bough to bough, and finally jumped off and
scampered away across the pasture, with Rough in
full pursuit. He overtook it before he reached the
next tree, and chased it into a bush, where Tommy
caught it with our .squirrel-net. In catching it he
broke off a piece of its long tail, but it w^as other-
wise uninjured, and a very pretty-looking moss-
green creature, so we put it in one of the wire
baskets.
On the ridge of the mountain-range we stopped
at the edge of a steep cliff, and when we looked
370
IN N A T U R K S WONDERLAND.
[March,
about for a place to sit down and rest awhile, a
thing like a black fox jumped up among the rocks,
and clambered up a big fir-tree as nimbly as a cat.
" Hello ! That 's a cedar-squirrel," said the guide,
— " the biggest I have seen for a good while. There
into a trap ; she could not possibly retreat without
running right into Menito's clutches, nor jump off
without falling into an abyss about six hundred feet
straight down. But, instead of growing uneasy, she
trinimed her fur with great complacency till Men-
she goes ! Will one of you gentlemen lend me
your gun for a minute.' "
" No : but hold on ! " cried Tommy. " It would
be a pity. 1 wonder if we could not catch her
alive? "
" I will do it for fifty cents," said Menito. "She
can't get away from that tree."
The fir-tree stood close to the brink of a preci-
pice, and was almost bare, with the exception of a
few brushy twigs among the top branches.
" Do you think you could get up there ? " 1
asked.
"Of course he can," said Little Mischief. "I
will do it myself for fifty cents, if he wont."
"Why, you have as much sense as a human
being; but you are too late, Master Slyboots," said
Menito, and began to ascend the tree.
The squirrel clambered up higher and higher
when she saw him come, and we thought she would
go up to the very top. liut when she got about
half-way up, she jumped on to a stout side-branch
that overhung the precipice, ran out to the farthest
end, and then faced boldly about, as if she defied
anybody to follow her to that strongliold.
"Look out what you arc doing!" 1 sang out,
when I saw that Menifo was going to climb the
same branch.
" It 's all right, sir," he called down. " 1 have
her just where I want her."
It looked really as if the squirrel had blundered
ito approached within about five feet, when she
gathered herself up and jumped down without the
least hesitation. With a very long-handled net we
might have caught her as she came through the
air; but, as it was, she fell into the abyss, and. with
every second her paws and tail spread out farther,
till she looked as broad as a big bat, and, running
to the edge of the cliff, \i'e saw her alight on a rock
at the foot of the precipice, and scamper away as if
nothing had happened.
" Well, 1 declare, if she did n't land on her hind
legs," said Tommy. " I should never have believed
that if 1 had not seen it with my own eyes ! "
" It is practice,— that 's all," observed Daddy
Simon. " She has tried that before ; there 's
nothing wonderful about it."
"Oh, sefior, will you do me a favor?" asked
Little Mischief.
"Why, certainly, my boy; what is it?"
" Well, then, please make that big Indian jump
down," said he, " and let us see if he will land on
his hind legs, too."
"Hello! where did you leave your squirrel?"
asked Tommy, when our bold climber came down
empty-handed.
"I don't care," said Menito, — "the climb was
worth fifty cents. I have seen something else:
there 's a nest with young harpy-eagles in the
cliffs down there ; we can reach them quite easily.
Come this way^vou can see the nest from here."
i88i.]
ADVENTURES IX TIIK AMERICAN TROPICS.
i7^
"Harpy-eagles?" I asked. "Arc you surf?
riiat looks more like a pile of crows'-nests."
"No, ho 's right !" cried Tommy. "Look at
that big bird there. — look out ! "
A large eagle sliot up from the clilTs, rose high
ill the air, and then swooped down and cir-
cled over our heads with tierce screams.
Before we recovered from our surprise he
rose up again, as if he wanted to sur\e\
us once more before venturing the attack:
but when he came down again we had got
our guns re.idy, two shots went olT together,
and the eagle tumbled down and flapped
among the rocks. When Rough made
a dash at him he struggled to his feet,
but toppled over .again, tlapped his wings
in a sort of convulsion, and then lay still,
-dead, as we thought.
" Drive that dog away," I called out.
" 1 want to stutT that bird, and send it
to \'era Cruz."
Mcnito ran down, and reached the
place just in time, for the dog had
already begun to tear the eagle. Tinn-
ing around to look at the nest, I noticed
Dannito's mare grazing alone at the
brink of the precipice.
"Why, where 's Little Mischief?" I
asked.
" Here he comes," said the guide.
" He has been down and taken the
young eagles."
"Yes, two of them," said Dannito,
clambering up through the steep rocks,
"nearly full grown. Don't you think
they are w-orth fifty cents ? "
" Yes, about a dollar," said I : " but
you must give half of it to the other
boy for seeing the nest first. Come up
here, Menito, and bring tlie eagle along. "
Menito grabbed the eagle by the neck, ■■
but had hardly raised it from the ground '
when the bird revived, struggled to its feet,
and, before any of us could come to the rescue,
it opened its wings and made a flapping spring
at Menito's head. The poor fellow had not even
a stick to defend himself, but used his palmetto hat
as a shield, and retreated step for step, when the
bird suddenly flew up and pounced upon him,
with a swoop that would have knocked him down
if he had not thrown himself on his knee. In
clutching at the boy's face, the eagle struck its
claws through the palmetto hat ; but seeing us
come, it rose high up in the air, and flew awa)-,
with the hat still sticking to its claws. But it
did not fly very far; its wounds began to tell,
and, after flapping heavily along the cliffs, it
alighted on a rock about a iiundred yards farther
down, and, lifting its right foot close to its face,
gravel)' examined it, looking at the hat from the
corner of its eyes, .as if it could not make out what
the strange appendage could be. 1 was going to
LITTLI-:
mischief's
dangerous
FEAT.
shoot it where it was,
but, before I could cock
my gun. Little Mischief threw a stone at it, and
the bird fluttered down to the next lower ledge and
hopped behind a cliff, where we lost sight of it.
The precipice at that point was as steep as a wall,
and we had to give up our eagle for lost.
" Menito is out of luck to-day," said Tommy.
372
IN nature's wonderland.
[March,
" Yes," laughed Menito, " that fellow had to
rob nie when he saw lie could not fight mo — the
coward ! "
'■ No, it 's foolishness more than i:i>wardice,"
obsen'ed old Daddy. " 1 don't tlunk the foolish
bird could tell a palmetto from a common straw
hat."
Our road now turned into a mountain-valley,
where fine meadows alternated w-ith live-oak groves,
and we were riding slowly along, when Little Mis-
chief clutched my arm and pointed to an
open lawn between the hill-side groves.
"A wild cow!" he whispered. "I
knew we should find one sooner or
later. Now watch me head her off. "
Hefore I could say a word he
threw himself fonvard,
and galloped
toward the
hill at a
strength failed him : the cow made a spring forward,
and not only tore the lariat from his hands, but
would have jerked him out of his saddle if he had
not clutched the mare's neck in the nick of time.
He recovered his scat, and, urging his horse with
slaps and shouts, uncoiled the second lariat. By
this time, however, the cow had found out what
sort of a manikin she had to deal with.
So, after a mo-
:-^/-
ment's hesitation,
she wheel-
break-neck speed. The cow grazed in peace till he
was almost upon her, when she suddenly heard his
whoops, and, not having seen us yet, came rushing
down the hill-side toward our valley, with Dannito
close at her heels. He was really a splendid rider,
and knew something about handling a lariat, too,
for at the second throw he got the noose over the
cow's horns, and, wheeling his horse suddenly out-
ward, tried to draw the rope tight. But here his
,~- ^ ed around,
~ ^j^' and suddenly
" rushed at the
horse with a fury
that sent it flying
through the bushes like a
■^ deer, while the little rider,
taken completely by surprise,
threw himself once more upon the mare's
neck, dropped his switch, lariat, and all, and
seemed very glad when the cow finally turned
and resumed her original course.
"Hallo, where 's your lariat?" laughed the
guide, when the would-be cow-catcher rejoined us,
rather crest-fallen.
" Why, it 's all the cow's fault," said Little Mis-
chief. " She took an unfair advantage: it 's quite
against the rules for a cow to chase a hunter.
There 's not ;i word about that in my father's
book."
" Here 's one of your lariats, Baby," said Daddy
Simon ; " the cow dropped it near the creek, down
there. You ought to have tied it to vour saddle-
i88i.]
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
2>7i
knob, and then she could not have jerked it out
of your hands. You would make a fine vaqiiero .' "
"Why, I never thought of that," said Little
Mischief. ■" dive it here — you are just right there,"
and before «e knew what he would be about, he
had snatched the rope and tied it to his pommel.
•■ I shall have her sure, this time," he shouted, and
galloped away like the wind.
The bird-fancier's house was full of parrots and
four-legged pets, but most of them of a kind that
could be got very cheap in any Mexican sea-port
town, so we contented ourselves with buying three
pretty young capuchin monkeys, and a purple
macaw that could talk like a Spanish barber. The
fowler had a trained falcon that would catch rab-
bits and wild ducks, but he asked a very high price
for it.
'■ He has a tame wolf down in the garden,"
whispered Tommy. '" Please ask him how he wants
to sell it."
" I have two of them," said the fowler, "and 1
wont charge you anything for the little one, if it 's
of any use to you. But my wife wont like to part
with the big one : he is our churn wolf."
" Your w/ia/ /"
" He 's churning our butter," said the Mexican.
"Step this way, please; you can see him at work
right now."
In the shade of the porch stood a large buttcr-
vat, with a churn-wheel that could be turned by
stepping upon the spokes, and a big black wolf was
performing that operation with an energy that made
him puff and grunt, though that might be on ac-
count of his liberal diet, for he was as sleek as a
pig. His companion was hardly half-grown, and
looked very much like a Scotch shepherd-dog, when
he rubbed his head against his m;ister's knee.
We were all seated at supper, upon the Icxado,
— a sort of balcony or platform on the roof of the
cottage, — when Little Mischief trotted through the
gate and haltered his mare to the next tree.
" This jade of mine is n't worth a bundle of
corn-straw," said he, when he met the guide in the
court-yard. " She ran away like a rabbit, at sight
of the cow. I '11 just saddle the black colt to-
morrow ; I can make him go wherever I want to."
Soon after, we heard him rush upstairs. "Get
your guns — quick! quick!" he shouted, when he
burst through the balcony door. " Down in the
garden there 's a big, fat wolf trying to get into the
house. He has his feet upon the staircase, but it
turns and turns and turns."
The fowler's daughters burst out laughing.
"What 's the matter with you ?" asked the boy.
"That 's no staircase, you big baby," laughed
.Menito; "it 's a — a trap for catching wolves. They
try to get up, and it turns and turns till they arc
tired to death, and you can c.itch them with your
hands."
" Do tell I " cried the big baby. " I'oo bad !
That spoils all our fun."
" I low 's that?"
" Why," said Little Mischief, " I thought he
would come upstairs and eat some of these girls."
When we left the next morning, we tied the
young wolf to a halter strap, and he soon followed
us like a dog. The young monkeys we put in the
same cage with Master Bobtail, and when they saw
him they hugged him at once with the liveliest
demonstrations of joy and confidence ; but the little
rogue' pushed them away, and clambered, grinning,
into the top of the cage. They seemed to have
mistaken him for a parent or some responsible
relative, for, when he shook them off, they fairly
screamed with indignation, and then retreated into
the farthest corner, pouting as if they were the
worst-used babies in Mexico.
" How do they catch those little things.-"' asked
Tommy.
" By trapping the old ones," said the guide.
" That 's the only way. They can climb almost as
soon as they are born ; but if you catch an old she-
monkey with very young kittens, the young ones
will cling to your arms or legs if you carry their
mother away."
"And how docs he catch all those parrots?
Hunts up the nests, I suppose?"
" Yes, and in different other ways," said the
guide. " Most bird-fanciers have a decoy-bird or a
decoy-snake."
" A snake ? You don't mean that they train a
snake to charm birds ! " I asked.
" No, no," laughed the guide. " The birds come
of their own accord if they see a decoy, and you
can take them with a net, or with bird-lime. My
brother used to be a fo«Icr, and once told me a
trade-secret, but he is dead now, so I might as w-ell
tell you. You sec, the matter is this: birds Vno\fi
that owls and snakes are their enemies, and if they
see them exposed in day-time, they gather around
from curiosity, and perhaps in hopes to be revenged
upon them. So all you have to do is to put a tame
snake in a wire cage, or hang her up in a bush
where the birds can see her, and it would n't be
long before they would flock to the spot. If crows
and blackbirds flutter around a snake, people arc
apt to think that they must 1)e bewitched, or
' charmed,' as they call it ; but the truth is that the
snake is often more in danger than the birds, and
would like to charm them away, if she could."
When we returned to Palo Pinto, the colonel
urged us to stay for another day or two, but our
time w.is so limited that we had to dechne his offer.
While we took leave of the kind people, Little
374
SARDINES AND S A R D I M E R E S .
Miscliief ran into the house, but just when we were
going to start, he bounced out again, and cried :
" Oh, don't go away! Don't leave us, please."
" It can't be helped," said Menito. "Why, you
are a good-natured little fellow, after all ! "
"Yes, my good boy, I wish we could take you
along," said Tommy; "but never mind — perhaps
we may come back some of these days."
(T<: be I
" Oh, I don't want you to come back," said the
good boy, " but you might as well stay till two
o'clock."
"What for, Dannito.' What do you want us
to do ? "
"1 want you to wait till noon, anyhow," said
Little Miscliief. "Cook says if you all go away
there wont be any pudding for dinner!"
SARDINES AND SARDINIERES.
By C.vrolinf. I-'.ustis.
1 OFTEN sit on the veranda of my pleasant tropi-
cal house, which overlooks the sea at Key West,
watching the fishermen come down on the beach,
and throw in their nets to catch the sardines that
abound all along these shores. The water is very
clear, and the little fish can be distinctly seen as
they glide above the shining sand.
The nets are of circular form, made of fine cord,
and have oblong leaden weights along the outer
edge, like a string of heavy beads. .The fishermen
here are chiefly Spaniards, and seem to understand
the art of throwing the net. They slip off their
shoes and stockings, roll up their trousers just as
far as they can, then, gathering the net firmly in
one hand, they place the cord between their teeth,
and walk out slowly into the water. When they
see a favorable opportunity, with a very peculiar
and graceful swing they cast the net into the water
with a splash, and quickly draw it in crowded with
small, quivering, silvery creatures, which are care-
fully picked out from among the entangling twine,
and thrown into a basket to gasp their little lives
away. The net is now ready for another toss.
Often a boy is sent out with an oar, to make a
splashing in the water and to startle the fish, so
that in attempting to swim away they may be the
more easily entangled.
Sometimes I go dow n on the beach to watch the
operations, and the men point at their gleaming
treasures with great delight, exclaiming : " Sardina !
.Sardina ! "
They often go out some distance in boats, when
the water is still, and usually they are very suc-
cessful in securing large hauls.
The sardines caught around Key West are very
small and delicate, but around Sand Key and many
others of the Florida keys they are of large size and
very fine flavor. They do not pack the sardines in
oil here, but fry them just as soon as possible after
taking them from the water, which makes them
very delicious eating.
Becoming intimately acquainted with these pretty
denizens of our own waters, I felt a natural desire
to inquire, generally, into sardines, since they have
become, nowadays, so common an article of food
in all parts of the world.
Sardines occur in great abundance in the waters
of the Mediterranean Sea, and around the shores
of Sardinia, whence they derive their name. When
the warm weather comes on, they leave these
pleasant waters, and are found in immense num-
bers along the coast of Brittany, between Brest and
Belle Isle, where very extensive sardine-fisheries
are carried on.
When the sea is calm and the day fair, often a
thousand small fishing-boats start forth together,
so that the bay is covered far and wide with them.
Frequently, bad weather drives the fish into the
bay, and the boats then do not have to go out a
great distance. They are caught by the gills in
nets, which are made of fine cord, in small meshes,
and which are floated by having many pieces of
cork attached to the upper edge. After the fisher-
men get out to where the water is deep, they lower
tlieir sails and mast, and cast overboard their nets,
while the boat is worked along gently by two
large oars, keeping her head to the wind. They
then begin to throw out bait, usually the hardened
roe of some fish, to attract the sardines, which
approach the net in shoals and linger about it.
Once in a while one of the fishermen in the boat
will throw a heavy stone into the midst of a shoal,
frightening them so that, as they attempt to dart
away, they immediately become entangled in the
meshes of the net, and die almost as soon as they
touch it. When the corks disappear beneath the
l88i.J
SARDINES AND SARDI NITRES.
375
b
water, it shows that the nets are full, whereupon
they are dragged into the boat, and their contents
are emptied into the hold of the vessel, while
another net is thrown in. The holds of these boats
often contain forty or fifty thousand sardines, since
a single haul of the net will sometimes yield from
fifteen to twcnt\' thousand, although more often
not more than four or five thousand.
The sardine is a very delicate fish, and, to be
eaten fresh, must be cooked as soon as it is taken
out of the water. It cannot be kept for that pur-
pose, therefore, but there are merchants and specu-
lators in this business as in all others, and the
fishermen can hardly touch the shore before the
dealers are on hand to purchase, often buying up
the entire cargo. The sardines are then immedi-
ately taken from the holds of the vessels and
counted, then placed in a strong iron basket and
dipped in the salt water until the fish are thor-
oughly cleaned. They are next removed to a large
establishment called a "friture," where women
and girls are principally employed to do the work,
under the name of "sardinieres." These sarditi-
ieres have various officers, the most important of
all being the "commise," who superintends the
work, sees that everybody is busy, and keeps ac-
count of what is done, but is not required to touch
the fish herself
The sardines, washed and counted, having been
given into the hands of the sardiiiiircs, one set of
these people first removes the head and the entrails.
The fish then are passed on to otliers, who put them
carefully in salt, and allow them to remain there a
short time. Next, they are taken from the salt and
placed on gridirons, which are arranged on shelves
exposed to the air, where they undergo a drying
process. When they are considered sufficiently
dried, each gridiron-full is taken from the shelf and
plunged into boiling oil. The best Italian olive-oil
must be used, and the fishes arc allowed to remain
in it about five minutes, after which they are given
a chance to cool. It only remains now to arrange
them in the tin boxes ready to hold them, fill the
boxes with oil, and solder on the air-tight covers.
Thus inclosed, sardines will keep in a ])erfect state
for many years. The women then polish the
boxes, which then are all labeled with brass tickets,
and are ready to be sent all o\er the world. The
smallest boxes hold about twenty sardines, and the
largest ones about a hundred. Sometimes, when
the boxes are first soldered up, they are jjlungcd in
boiling water, since the fish are thought to keep
longer by this process, but it is thought that this
treatment takes something away from the savory
flavor so highly esteemed
The manufacture of the oblong, square-cornered
tin boxes for sardines is quite a business by itself.
They are all made in the " friture," where the fish
are prepared for the market. Workers in tin are
engaged by the year, and it is stated that from
ten to fifteen millions of these boxes of different
sizes are m%de in France every twelve months.
Thus we have watched the "life and progress"
of the sardine in its pleasant home beneath the blue
sea wave ; in its entanglement in the net of the
fisherman ; in its unpleasant quarters in the hold
of the vessel ; next counted and washed, beheaded
and cleaned, salted, dried, and dipped in boiling oil;
then packed away carefully one by one in neat
boxes ; and by and by we shall see them upon our
luncheon-tables, requiring a regular sardine-knife
to open the firmly soldered lid of the box before we
can help ourselves to his silvery little form, without
a sigh of regret that, for our sakes, he was snatched
from the sunny waters of the Mediterranean, or his
summer home on the bold shores of Brittanv.
\
iT^
THE DONKEY AND lIIS COMPANY,
A Donkey, going to Bremen, once,
O'ertook, upon his way,
A friendly little yellow Dog, .
Who barked him a " Good-day ! "
" Good-day ! " replied the Donkey, then,
" Good friend, where are you bound ? "
" To Bremen," barked the little Dog,
"To see my friend, the Hound."
So, on they journeyed, side by side.
Or loitered by the way.
Until they met a Pussy Cat,
Who mewed a sweet " Good-day ! "
" Good-day, Dame Puss," they both replied :
"Pray, where may you be bound?"
" To Bremen," mewed the little Cat,
"To sing and look around."
t;
rO^-***^'
Thereat, they begged her company
To cheer the lonesome way ;
And, soon, all met Sir Chanticleer,
Who crowed a shrill "Good-day!"
Good-day ! good-day 1 " the three replied ;
"Pray where, Sir, are you bound?"
To Bremen," crowed the little Cock,
"To see some fishes drowned!
'11 gladly bear you company ;
For, though I 've not much goods,
I 've heard a band of rqbbers live
Somewhere within these woods ! "
\\^ >
'I ' 'j Lt^A V \ ' \ ''I
The\- closer drew together, then,
And all began to hark.
But nothing heard : till, presently.
The night fell, still and dark !
Then, what to do they did not know.
So dim the wood had grown ;
Till, all at once, a space ahead,
A ghmmering light outshone !
THE DONKEY AND HIS COMI'ANV.
ill
^fQ^-a-ti^^ -
So, one and all fresh counsel took,
And went, at once, to see
What, shining through the gloom and dusk
That brilliant beam might be !
They found a house, all hushed and dark,
Save for one window high,
Whence strayed the beam of golden light
That they were guided by !
The Donkey, as the tallest, tried
To stand and peep within ;
IJut nay ! The window proved too high,
And great was his chagrin !
Then, mounting on the Donkey's back,
The Dog essayed to see !
Hut still the window was too high,
And quite dismayed was he !
The Pussy Cat next volunteered
Upon the Dog to stand 1
^■et, even she, upon his back,
The distance had not spanned !
Sir Chanticleer then flapped his wings
And lit on Pussy's head !
And. standing thus, he saw within
•• T/u- Rohber-baiid .' " he said.
Reported, too, a table, spread
And garnished with a fe.nst !
.•\nd, sitting there, around their wine,
lull forty thieves, at least !
Then quickly hunger tempted them
To plot to get within ;
And so they planned to scare the thieves
Uy an unearthly din !
riie Donkey brayed ! the Dog did bark !
The Kitty cried and mewed !
Sir Chanticleer crowed loud and long,
As there they peeped and stood ;
378
THE DONKEY AND li IS COMPANY.
Oh, what alarm the thieves were in !
They scattered to a man,
As soon as, at a signal given,
The concert first began !
They hither ran, they thither ran.
As never men before !
Whilst Donkey and his company
Walked in and shut the door !
And so they feasted well and slept
Until the following day ;
When, being all thereby refreshed.
They went upon their way.
To Bremen, strolling slowly on,
At last the travelers came ;
And there, by giving concerts, all
Attained to lasting fame !
rilAKTON ROGKRS.
379
PIlAl'/roX ROCM'.RS.
Uv l<o>sirKR J(
CiiAi'ir.R VI 1.
PHAKION'S CHARIOT.
Ned and I pushed on the project for a printing-
office with great energy. We made the acquaint-
ance of a man named AUord, who kept a job-office,
— where they never seemed to be in a hurry, as they
always were in the ncwspapej; offices, — and was
never unwilling to answer tiuestions or sell us old
type. It was great fiin to explore the mysteries of
his establishment. 1 think he liked boys as much
as Jack-in-the-Box did, and 1 'm sure it was a
pleasure to us, in laying out Ned's capital, to pa\
so much of it to so pleasant a man.
But energy without skill is like zeal without
knowledge ; in fact, it is about the same thing, and
we could n't really make much progress till Phaeton
should take hold ; and he would have nothing to
do with it till he had finished his apparatus for "a
horizontal balloon-ascension," which he was at
work upon every minute that he could spare from
sleep and meals.
With the help of the carriage-maker and the
blacksmith, and Ned's capital — which he drew upon
much more freely than had been bargained for — he
constructed a low, broad, skeleton-like carriage, the
body of which was hung below the axles of the
wheels, instead of above them, and almost touched
the ground. This was to prevent it from tipping
o\er easily. The front axle turned on a swivel, and
was controlled with t«o stout handles, by means of
which the carriage could be steered. On the front
of the box were three iron hooks. At the back
there was a single hook. The wheels were pretty
large, but the whole was made as light as possible.
When it was finished. Phaeton brought it home
and put it away careful!) in the wood-shed.
"I am afraid," said he, "that somebody will
steal this car, or come in and damage it, unless we
put a lock on this wood-shed door."
"Who would want to steal it, or damage it?"
said Ned.
" The Dublin boys," said Phaeton, half under
his breath. "Two of them were seen prowling
around here the other day."
One section of the town, which was divided from
ours by the deep gorge of the river, was popularly
known as Dublin, and the boys who lived there,
though probably very much like other l)oys, were
always considered by us as our natural enemies —
• Copyright, i88o, by Rossitcr
plottei-s against the peace of boy society, capalile of
the most treacherous designs and the darkest deeds
ever perpetrated in the juvenile world. Every
piece of mischief not obviously to be accounted for
in an\- other way, was laid to the Dublin boys as a
matter of course.
"But we have n't n padlock," said Ned, "ex-
cept that old brass one, and the key of that is lost,
and we could n't turn it when we had it."
" 1 suppose we sli.iU have to buy a new one,"
said Phaeton.
" All right — buy one," said Ned.
" I have n't any money," said Phaeton.
"Nor 1," said Ned, — "spent the last cent for
a beautiful little font of Tuscan type; weighed just
five pounds, fifteen cents a pound — nothing the
matter with it, only the Es are gone."
"The Es are gone?" said Phaeton. "Do you
mean to say you have been buying a font of type
with no Es in it ? "
"Yes; why? What's the harm in that?" said
Ned. " You don't expect everything to be perfect
when you buy things second-hand."
" Of course not," said Phaeton; " but what can
you do without Es ? If the Qs or the Xs were gone,
it would n't so much matter ; but there 's hardly a
word that has n't at least one E in it. Just count
the Es on a p^ge of any book. And you 've been
fooling away your money on a font of type with no
Es ! Mr. Alvord ought to be ashamed of himself
to cheat a boy like that."
" You need n't be scolding me for fooling away
the money," said Ned. "What have you been
doing, I should hke to know? Fooling away the
money on that old torrid-zontal balloon thing,
which will probably make a shipwreck of you the
first time you try it. And, besides, I did n't buy
the type of Mr. Alvord."
"Where did you get them?"
" Bought them of a boy that I met on the stairs
when I was coming down from Alvord's."
" Who was he ? "
" I don't know. He lives on one of those cross-
streetsdown by the aqueduct. I went to his house with
him to get the type. He said he used to have a little
office, but his father would n't let him keep it any
more, just because his baby sister ate some of the ink. "
" It 's too bad," said Phaeton ; "what do you
suppose could have liecome of the Es ? "
" I don't know," said Ned. a little morosely.
" unless the baby sister ate them, too."
Johnson. All rights reserved.
38o
PHAETON ROGERS.
" But," said Phaeton, suddenly, " how are we
going to get a lock for this door ? "
"I don't sec that wc can get one at all," said
Ned.
I suggested tliat tlie door of tlu' wood-shed
might he nailed up, to keep out the Dublin boys,
till we had a chance to get a padlock.
" That 's a first-rate idea," said Phaeton, and he
at once brought out the hammer and nail-box, and
began to nail up the door. It was a heavy, paneled
door, which had evidently come from some old
mansion that was torn down.
" It 's as well to make it strong while we 're
about it," said he: "for if those fellows should
come, they 'd pry it open if they could," and he
put in a few more nails.
" Father showed me how to drive nails so as to
make them hold," said 1. " Let me show you ; "
and taking the hammer from his hand, 1 drove
eight or ten more nails into the door, driving
them in pairs, each pair slanting in opposite di-
rections.
" That 's a thing worth knowing," said Ned.
" Let me practice on it a little."
He took the hammer, and drove one or two pairs
in the manner I had shown him, and was so pleased
with his success, that he kept on till he had used
up all the nails in the box.
" No Dublin boy is going to get that car tliis
night," said he, as he gave a final blow to the last
nail.
" No," said Pay; " 1 think it 's pretty safe."
As it^began to rain, I was obliged to hurry home.
That night, as 1 aftenvard learned, there was sor-
row in the breast of the joungest member of the
Rogers family. Little May Rogers, who rK^ver
went to sleep without her favorite cat, Jemima,
curled up on the foot of her little bed, could n't go
to sleep because Jemima was nowhere to be found
in the house, and had not come when every outside
door in turn was opened, and she was called from
the vasty darkness. Even when Mrs. Rogers stood
in the kitchen door and rasped the carving-knife
on the steel, Jemima failed to come bounding in.
That was considered decisive as to her fate. The
cat would be sure to come at that sound, if she
were able to come at all.
But a much more serious commotion shook the
family next morning. When Mr. Rogers went
down to his breakfast, it was not ready ; in fact,
the kitchen fire was not made.
" How is this, Biddy ?" said he to the cook.
"Sure, I could n't help it, sir; I could get no
kindlings."
"Why so, Biddy.'"
"Because, sir, the wood-shed door's bewitched.
I could n't get it open. And everything outside is
soakin' wet wid the rain, and so of course I
could n't kindle the fire."
Mr. Rogers walked out to the wood-shed door,
and attempted to open it with an impatient and
vigorous jerk, but the handle came off in his hand.
Then he tried to get hold of it by the edge, but
there was n't a crack where he could insert hi;,
fingers. Then he took hold of it at the bottom,
where there was considerable space, but it would
not budge a hair. He was getting a httle excited,
for he had an engagement to leave town by the
early train. He went into the house for some sort
of tool, and brought out the poker. Cutting a little
hole with his pocket-knife at the edge of the door,
he inserted the poker, and pried; but the poker
bent double, and the door did not stir. Then he
went in again, and brought out the stove-wrench.
Cutting the hole a little larger, he pried at the door
with the wrench ; but the wrench was of cast-iron,
and snapped in two. '' Biddy," said he, " I see a
light at Robbins's," — it was very early in the morn-
ing,— " go over and borrow an ax."
Biddy soon returned with an ax, and Mr.
Rogers tried to pry the door open with that, but
only succeeded in breaking splinters froin the edge.
" Biddy," said he, " bring a light, and let 's sec
what ails it."
Biddy brought out a candle, but trembled so at
the idea of letting out the witches, that she dropped
it at Mr. Rogers's feet, and it struck on its lighted
end and wetit out. Biddy made rapid apologies,
and ran in for another candle. But Mr. Rogers
would wait no longer. He raised the ax in fury,
and began to slaughter the door, like a mediaeval
soldier before the gate of a besieged castle.
Slice after slice was torn off and flew inward,
striking the opposite side of the shed ; but the door
as a whole would not fall. When a considerable
hole had been made, a frightened cat, its eyes
gleaming wildly, and its tail as large as a feather-
duster, leaped out from the inner darkness, passing
over Mr. Rogers's head, and knocking his hat off.
It landed somewhere in the yard, and immediately
made for the woods. Biddy, who arrived on the
ground with the second candle just in time to wit-
ness this performance, dropped the light again, and
fled screaming into the house.
This aroused two neighbors, who threw up their
windows, thrust their heads out, and, hearing the
powerful blows of the ax, thought a maniac was
abroad, and hallooed for the police.
The watchman on that beat, ever on the alert,
waited only eight or nine minutes, till he could
call four others to his aid, when all five of them
started for the scene of the trouble. Separating
after they had entered Mr. Rogers's gate, they
made a little circuit through the yard, and
I'll AKTON R()c;t:KS.
;8i
cutitiou>ly approachcil him, two on each siilc, arul
one iK-hinil. As the one behind laid his hanil on
hi-. shouKliT, Mr. Rogers dropped the ax, whirled
around, ami "hauled otT," as the boys s,iy, but
caught the (;leani of the silver star on the |«ilice-
man's breast, and lowered his list.
'• What do you want ? " s.iid he.
" If it "s you, we don't want anything;." >.iid the
policeman, who, of course, knew Mr. Rogers very
%i.-M "I'.ui «i' tli.iiu'lu we wanted a 1 r.i/\ man. "
with many nails, still clunn tijjhtly to the jaml>s, all
the central portion having been cut away iii ranged
slices.
"This door has been nailed up with .i urc.a
many nails," said he.
" I can't imagine who would do that," said Mr.
Rogers; " this is n't the tirst day of April."
Neither could the policemen. In fact, I have
obsened that policemen have very little imagina-
ijon. In this iii^i.uii I.-, live of them, all imagining
"Then you might as well take me," said Mr.
Rogers, "for I am pretty nearly crazy. The mis-
chief has got into this door, so that it could n't be
• ;«:!• I. ,i:id the cook had no kindlings and I
- ' i^t ; and I shall lose the early train, and
if 1 ■■ :; ; reach Albany to-day, I can't tell how
many dollars it will cost me, but a good many."
Mr. Rogers drew out his handkerchief, and
wiped the perspiration from his brow.
One of the jmlicemen protluced a bull's-eye lan-
tern, .md examined the ruined door, p.-issing it up
and down the edge, where the outer frame, studded
at once, could not imagine who nailed up that door.
The nearest they could come to it w.ts, that it was
probably done with a heavy, blunt instrument, in
the hands of some person or perstms unknown.
When, later in the day, we boys stood contem-
plating what Ned called " the shipwreck of the
door," — older people than he call all sorts of wrecks
shipwrecks, —he remarked that he did n't know what
his father would say, if he should find out who did it.
Mr. Rogers had taken the next train for .Mbany.
"He will find out," said I'h.icton ; "for I shall
tell him .is soon as he gets home."
?82
I • 1 1 A 1-; r ON K t ) (; e r s .
The day that his father returned, I'haeton told,
at the tea-table, the whole story of how the door
was bewitched. A week had then passed, and —
such are the soothing influences of time — Mr.
Rogers laughed hcartih' at the whole affair, and at
his own excitement most of all.
" I had no idea," said Ned, solemnly, " that so
much trouble could be caused by a few nails."
His mother thought " few" was good.
The next day I heard little May Rogers telling
another child about it. This w;is her story:
■' You see, brother Fay and brother .Neddie, they
drived a nail in the wood-shed door ; and Biddy,
she lended Mr. Robbins's ax; and then Papa, he
got besited ; and so we have n't any wood-shed door
any more."
.Meanwhile, the preparations for the horizontal
balloon-ascension had gone on. But, as Ned had
remarked, nothing could be done without capital,
and he was obliged to make another business call
upon his Aunt Mercy.
" What 's new down at your house ? " said she.
" Nothing particular," said Ned.
" I hear that that idiotic brother of yours h;i.s
been cutting up a pretty caper," said Aunt Mercy,
after a pause.
" What was it ? " said Ned.
■■ Why, don't you know ? "
'■ I don't know what you have been told, and I
can't think of anything very bad that Fay has
done."
" Gracious me ! " said Aunt Mercy, looking up
surprised. " Don't you call it bad to go around
slyly in the night and nail up every door and
window in the house ? "
"Yes, that would be pretty bad, .Aunty. But
P'ay has n't done so."
'• You admit that it was bad, then ? "
" Why, certainly, — but it is n't true. Only one
door was nailed up — the wood-shed door."
■■ I do believe you 're standing up for him. But
I tell you, a boy that uoukl n.iil up one door would
nail up a hundred."
" lie might if he had nails enough," said Ned,
m a low voice.
"That's just it," said Aunt Mercy. "That
fellow would nail up just as m.iny doors as he could
get nails for. I 've no doubt it was only the givin'
out of the nails that prevented him from going
through every house in the neighborhood. Mark
my words, he '11 come to some bad end. Don't you
have anything to do with him. Fdmimd Burton."
Ned said he thought it would be rather hard not
to have anything to do with his own brother.
"Yes, 1 suppose so," said Aunt Mercy. "But
do the best you can. "
"Yes, Aunty, I '11 do my best."
"Now tell me," said she, "about your muddle.
Have you made a muddle yet ? "
I thought Ned might have answered cohscien-
liously that he had made a muddle. But he
said :
" No, Aunty, we 've put that off for a while.
We think it will be best to do some other things
first."
'■ What are the other things ? "
" One of them is a printing-office. We think of
setting up a little printing-office to print little books
and papers and cards and things, if we can get
together enough money for it. It takes rather
more capital than we have at present."
I suppose Aunt Mercy thought I was the other
one besides himself included in Ned's "we."
"I should have supposed," said she, "that it
was best to finish one muddle before going into
another. But you know best, Edmund Burton. I
have great confidence in your judgment." .And
she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes,
and seemed to be dreaming for some minutes. 1
doubt if she more than half knew which Edmund
Burton she was talking to — the one who had long
since gone down beneath the waters of a distant sea,
or the young scapegrace who, without intending to
represent anything falsely, had got so much money
from her on false representations.
" 1 don't know how it is," said he to me one day.
"I never intend to cheat Aunt Mercy; and yet,
whenever I go to see her, things seem to fix them-
selves somehow so that she misunderstands. 1
guess it 's her imagination."
" How much money do \ou need for your new
muddle?" said she. when she came out of her
reverie.
" Jack-in-the-Box says he thinks twenty-five or
thirty dollars would fit up a good one," said Ned.
"Who is Jack-in-thc-Box .'"
"A gentleman connected with the railroad."
" Queer name for a railroad director," said Aunt
Mercy. " But I suppose you 've blundered on it.
French, very likely. Might be Jacquin Thibaux.
(I studied French two terms at Madam Farron's.)
Some of those old Huguenot names have got into
strange shapes. But it does n't matter. I dare
say Monsieur Thibaux is right about it. I have n't
any money with me to-night, but I '11 send it over
to you to-morrow. Don't let that ignorant brother
of yours meddle with your printing-office ; he '11
misspell every word, and disgiMce the family."
" I '11 try to keep him straight," s.aid Ned.
" Good-night, Aunty."
" (iood-night, Edmund Burton, my dear boy."
" 1 thought part of this capital," said 1 to Ned,
I'll A i: ION roc; KRS.
383
as we walked away, "was for the liorizontal bal-
loon."
"So it is," said he; "bin I couldn't explain
that to Aunt Mercy, because Fay has never ex-
plained it to me. I have no idea how ho 's going
to make that thing go."
When Phaeton was furnished witli a little more
money, we soon saw how the thing was to go.
He built three enormous kites, six feet high. They
were not bow-kites — tlie traditional kite always
represented in pictures, but seldom used in our
country. They were the far more powerful six-
cornered kite, familiar to the boys of the Middle
States. He certainly built them with great skill,
and Ned and 1 had the pleasure of helping him —
if holding the paste-cup and hunting for material to
make the tails was helping.
As each was finished, Phaeton carefully stood it
up in the wood-shed to dr\', where there was no
more danger of Dublin boys ; for Mr. Rogers had
sent a carpenter to put on a new door and furnish
it with a lock. Nevertheless, Phaeton took the first
kite to his room for the night, and put it against
the wall behind the bed. But Ned, who tossed a
great deal, managed to kick a hole through it in
his sleep. After that, they were left in the wood-
shed over night, w-here a similar misfortune befell
the second. Biddy, breaking kindlings in an
unscientific way with the hatchet, sent a piece
of wood flying through the kite, tearing a large
hole on what a sailor would call the starboard
quarter.
When Phaeton complained of her carelessness,
she seemed to think she had improved the kite,
saying: "The two kites were not comrades before
— they are now."
When an enterprising boy attempts to carry out
some little project of his own, it is astonishing to
see how even the best-natured household will seem
to conspire against him. If he happens to leave a
few of his things on the dining-room floor, they are
carelessly stepped upon by his own mother, or
swept out-of-doors by an ignorant servant. I have
seen a boy tr\'ing to make a galvanic battery, and
his sister looking on and fervently hoping it would
fail, so that she could have the glass cups to put
into her play-house.
However, Phaeton had about as little of this sort
of thing to endure as any boy ever had. When
the kites were finished and dry, and the holes
patched up, and the tails hung. Phaeton said he
was ready to harness up his team as soon as the
wind was right.
" Which way do you want it ?" said I.
" It must be a steady breeze, straight down the
turnpike," said he.
One reason whv Phaeton chose this road was,
that here he would encounter no telegraph wires.
.At the railway crossing, two men, riding on loads
of hay, had come in contact with the wires and
been seriously hurt. Another repetition of the
accident might have been prevented by raising
the wires on higher poles, but the company
had chosen rather to run them down the pole
on one side, under the street, and up the next
pole.
" Hut 1 don't see how these kites are going to
work," said Ned, " if you fly them side by side, and
hitch the strings to those three hooks."
"Why not?"
" Because they 'U interfere with one another, and
get all tangled up."
"You might think so,"' said Phaeton, "if you
had n't made a study of kite-flying, as I have. If
you look at a dozen boys flying their kites at once
on the common, you will see that, no matter how
near together two or three boys stand, their kites
will not go in exactly the same direction. Either
the strings will slant away from each other a little,
or else they will cross."
" How do you account for that ^ " said Ned.
" 1 suppose it 's because you never can make two
kites exactly alike ; or, if they are exactly alike,
they are not hung precisely the same ; and so the
wind bears a little more on the left side of one, and
a little more on the right side of the other."
"I guess that's so," said Ned. "And yet it
seems to me it would be better to fly them
tandem."
" How would you get them up ? " said I.
"First get up one," said Ned. "And when it
was well up, fasten the end of the string to the back
of the next kite, and let that up, and do the same
with the third. Then you 'd have a straight pull
by the whole team in line."
"And the pull of all three kites would come
on the last string, and break it," said Phaeton.
" I did n't think of that," said Ned. " 1 see
your way is the best, after all. But hurry up
and have it over with, for we want you to help
with the printing-office ; we can't get along with-
out you."
"It never will be 'over with,'" said Phaeton.
" 1 shall ride out every fine day, when the wind is
in the right direction."
" Why, is that all it 's for," said Ned, — " merely
your own amusement ? "
"Not at all," said Phaeton. "It is a great
invention, to be introduced all over the country.
Better than a locomotive, because it will run on a
common road. Better than horses, because it
does n't cat anything. But then, 1 'm going to enjoy
it myself ;is much as I can. However, we '11 find
time for the printing."
.384
PHAETON ROGERS.
[March.
Chapter VIU.
A HORIZONTAL liAI.I.OON-ASCENSION.
Phakton had to wait three days for a fair wind,
and in that time the secret — for we had tried to
keep it quiet — leaked out among the boys.
It was Saturday, and everything seemed favor-
able. As Ned and I wanted to go up-town in the
forenoon, and Phaeton could not start the thing
alone, he appointed two o'clock in the afternoon as
the hour for the experiment.
On our way up-town we met Isaac Holman.
" 1 'm going down to see your brother's new fly-
ing machine, or whatever it is," said he.
"It wont start till two o'clock," said Ned.
" Tottis dexter! — all right! I '11 be around at
that hour," said Holman.
Phaeton gave his apparatus a final inspection,
newly greased the wheels, tested every string about
the kites, and made sure that all was in perfect order.
Exactly at two o'clock, he took a strong stake
and a heavy mallet, walked out into the street, and,
amid a babel of questions from about tiventy boys,
who had gradually gathered there, drove the stake
exactly in the middle of the road, leaving it a foot
and a half out of ground. He answered none of
the questions, and, in fact, did not open his lips,
excepting to return the greeting of Holman, who sat
on the bowlder by the horse-gate, and was the only
one that asked nothing.
I saw Monkey Roe hanging on the outskirts of
the crowd. His name was James Montalembert
Roe ; but he was never called anything but
Monkey Roe, and he seemed to like it just as well.
The moment I saw him, 1 began to fear mischief.
He was a thoroughly good-natured fellow, but was
always plotting some new sort of fun, and was as
full of invention, though in a very different way, as
Phaeton himself.
When Phaeton had returned and put away his
mallet, we all took hold of the car and ran it out
to the street, where Phaeton fastened a short rope
to the hook at the back, and tied the other end
firmly to the stake.
Then 1 stood by the car, as a sort of guard,
while he and Ned brought out the kites, one at a
time, and got them up. When each had risen to the
full height of the string, which was pretty long, —
and they were the best-behaved kites I ever saw, —
Phaeton tied the string to one of the hooks on the
front of the car. When all three were harnessed up,
they lifted the fore-wheels from the ground.
This work used up considerable time, and while
it was going on, the crowd about us was increasing
by the addition of Dublin boys, who kept coming,
singly or in twos and threes, and were distinguish-
.able by the fact that they were all barefooted, without
jackets, and had their trousers supjjorted by one
suspender buckled around the waist like a belt.
It seemed evident that somebody had told them
about the horizontal balloon-ascension, for they did
not come as if by accident, but as if by appoint-
ment, and m.ade straight for the car, which they
inspected with a great deal of curiosity.
Phaeton brought out four shot-bags filled with
sand, and placed them in the front of the car.
Then he brought out a rope five or six )ards
long, with a small balloon-anchor fastened to it. .\
balloon-anchor is made of three iron hooks placed
back to back, so that the points project in three
different directions, and the three backs or shanks
are welded together into one stem, which ends in
a ring, through which the rope is tied.
Phaeton tied the end of the anchor-rope to the
hook on the back end of his car, coiled it up in one
corner of the box, and laid the anchor on the coil.
His calculation was, that when he threw it out on
the road it would catch a little here and there in
the ground, as the hooks dragged over the surface,
making the car go more slowly, till after a while it
would take a firm hold of something and bring him
to a full stop.
Phaeton also brought out a small American flag,
on a lighi staff, and stuck it up in a place made for
it, on one of the back corners of the car.
The kites were now tugging away at the car, with
a steady and strong pull. The arrangement \vas,
that when Phaeton was seated (on a light board
laid across the top of the car) with the steering
handles m his grasp, and all was ready, he would
give the word, and 1 was to draw a sharp knife
across the rope that held the car to the stake.
All now was ready. Ned, who had gone down
the road a short distance, to see if any teams were
coming, signaled that the coast was clear, and
Phaeton stepped into the car.
"I say," said one of the Dublin boys; "why
don't you put up the stake before we start?"
" The stake is all right," said Phaeton, just
glancing over his shoulder at it.
" Who 's holding it ?" said the Dublin boy.
" Don't you see, the ground is holding it ?" said
Phaeton, arranging the sand-bags.
" Oh, don't Jry to get out of it in that way," said
the Dublin boy.
" 1 don't understand you," said Phaeton. "What
do you mean ? "
"Did n't you say," said the Dublin boy, "that
you 'd give a dollar to any boy that could beat your
machine in a mile run ? "
" No,"said Phaeton. " 1 have never said anything
of the sort — nor thought of it. Who told you so r "
" Lukey Finnerty."
"And who told Lukey Finnerty?"
PHAETON ROGERS.
385
" Bcrny Rourke."
■'And wl\o told Bcrny Riiurkc ? "
'■ Teddy Duycr."
"And who told Teddy Dvvyer?"
" Owney Geoghegan" (pronounced Gewgan).
"And who told Owney Geoghegan?"
" Patsy Raficrty."
"And who told Patsy Rafferty?"
" Oh, never mind who told me," broke in
another Dublin boy, who, it seems, was Patsy Raf-
Phaeton somewhat reluctantly said he would, —
"although." he added, in an undcr-tonc, "if you
can beat it, I don't see why you should want to ride
in it."
Casting one more glance about, to see that all
was ready. Phaeton told me to cut the rope and let
him start. Partly because he spoke in a low tone,
wishing to make as little excitement as possible,
and partly because I was watching what I con-
sidered certain suspicious movements on the part
f J ^ ^1 II
'^.
-V
V- ^
went roaring down
' [see next page.]
ferty. •■ The question is, are you going to put up
the money ? "
" I never offered to put up any," said Phaeton.
"And I have n't any with me, just now, to put up."
"Then somebody has played us a trick," said
Patsy.
" I 'm sorry for that," said Phaeton.
" Ah, well, we don't mind — we '11 run all the
same," said Patsy.
" But I don't care to have you run," said Phaeton.
" In fact, I 'd rather you would n't."
" Well, we 're all ready for it," said Patsy, giving
his trousers a hitch, and tightening the suspender
a little by giving another twist to the nail that
fastened it in lieu of a buckle. " And I suppose
the road 's as free to us as 't is to you ? "
" Oh, certainly ! " said Phaeton.
" If you have n't any money," spoke up another
Dublin boy, " you might say you '11 give a ride in
your car to the fellow that beats it — just to lend a
little interest to the race, you know."
Vol. VUl. ^25.
of Monkey Roe, I did not hear nor heed what
Phaeton said. There was a pause.
" Z///tV-rt lapsa .' — let her slide!" roared out
Holman, who saw that I had not understood.
With a quick, nervous stroke, I drew the knife
across the rope.
The machine started — at first with a little jerk,
then with a slow, rolling motion, gradually increas-
ing in speed, until at the end of six or eight rods it
was under rapid headway.
The Dublin boys at first stood still, looking on in
gaping admiration at the wonder, till they suddenly
remembered that they were there to race it, when
they started off after it.
Our boys naturally followed them, as, of course,
«e could n't see any more of the fun unless we
should keep up with it.
It was a pretty even race, and all was going on
smoothly, when down the first cross-street came a
crowd of women, apparently very much excited,
many of them with sticks in their hands. The
sight of our moving crowd seemed to frenzy them,
386
I'll A ETON ROCIKKS.
and they increased their speed, but only arrived at
the corner in time to fall in behind us.
At the same time, down the cross-road from the
other direction came a drove of cattle, pelted,
pounded, and hooted at by Uvo men and three
Ijoys; and close behind them was Dan Rice's
Circus, which had been exhibiting for two days on
the Falls Field, and was now hurrying on to the
next tow n. Whether it was because of the red skirts
worn by many of the women in front of them, or
the rumbling of the circus so close behind them, !
did not know, but those cattle did behave in llu-
most frantic manner.
And so the whole caravan went roaring down the
turnpike — Phaeton in his flying car at the head,
then the Dublin boys, then our boys, then the
mothers of the Dublin boys, then the drove of
cattle, and then the circus, with all its wagons and
paraphernalia, — the striped zebra bringing up the
rear.
It soon became evident that the mothers of the
Dublin boys were proceeding on erroneous infor-
mation— howe\er they got it — and supposed that
the contest between us and their sons was not a
friendly one. For, whenever one of our boys
lagged behind in the race, and came within reach
of their sticks, he was pretty sure to get a sounding
whack across the shoulders. I dare say the Dublin
boys would have received the same treatment if
they had not been ahead of us in the race, which
they always were, either because they were better
runners, or belter prepared.
Foremost of all was Patsy Rafferty, who, by do-
ing his prettiest, had closed up the distance that
had been between himself and the car at the start,
and was now abreast of it.
Phaeton became excited, and, determined not to
be beaten, lightened his car by hurriedly throwing
out one of the bags of sand. Unfortunately, it
struck the ground right in front of Patsy, and the
next instant he stubbed his toes on it and went
sprawling into the gutter.
When the Dublin women saw this, they probably
took it as full confirmation of the evil designs which
somebody had told them we had on their sons, and
some of our boys immediately paid the penalty by
receiving a few extra whacks.
As for Patsy, he soon picked himself up and re-
newed the race, all the more determined to win it
because he thought Phaeton had tripped him
purposely — which 1 am happy to say was not true.
As we neared the railway crossing, Jack-in-the-
Box was half-way up the signal-pole. Hearing the
outcry, he looked down upon us, took in the situa-
tion at a glance, then descended the pole two steps
at a time, seized his red flag, and ran up the track
at lightning speed. He had calculated that the
Pacific Express would arrive at the crossing just in
time to dash through some part of our procession,
and as he saw it would be useless to try to stop us,
with everything crowding on behind us, he went to
flag the train and stop that. This he just suc-
ceeded in doing, and when my section of the pro-
cession passed that given point, — you know it is
the inveterate habit of processions to pass given
points, — there stood the great locoinotive stock still
liy Jack's box, w-ith its train behind it, and seemed
to look down upon us like an astonished and inter-
ested spectator.
We swept on across the track, and as there was
a straight, smooth piece of road before us, all went
well till we neared the canal. There a stupid fel-
low, as we afterward learned, leading home a cow-
he had just bought, had tied her to the corner-post
of the bridge by which the turnpike crossed the
canal, and gone into a neighboring grocery. The
cow had placed herself directly across the narrow
road-way of the bridge, and there she stood con-
tentedly chewing her cud, entirely ignorant of the
fact that an important race was in progress, and
that she was obstructing the track.
Phaeton saw her with horror; for if he kept on,
the car would run into her — the foot-path over the
bridge was too narrow for it. He threw out his
anchor, which ricochettcd, as an artillerist would
say. That is, it would catch the ground for an
instant, and then fly into the air, descend in a
curve, catch once more, and fly up again. At last
it caught on a horse-block, stuck fast, and brought
the car to a stop.
But before Phaeton could climb out, Patsy Raf-
ferty had come up, and, whipping out his jack-
knife, cut the anchor- rope in two. In an instant
the machine was off again.
Phaeton's situation was desperate. There stood
the stupid cow like an animated toll-gate closing
the bridge, and he rushing on to destruction at the
rate of a good many miles an hour, with no way to
stop the machine, and a certainty of broken bones
if he should jump out.
In his agon)-, he half rose in the car and gave a
terrific yell. The cow started, saw him, and then
clumsily but quickly swung herself around against
the truss of the bridge that divided the carriage-
u a\ from the foot-path. But the carriage-w-ay had
been newly planked, and the planks were not yet
nailed down. As the cow stepped on the ends,
four or five of these planks were instantly tilted
up like a trap-door, while the cow sank down till
she was wedged between the truss and the first
sleeper, or lengthwise beam (the space not being
quite large enough to let her drop through) ; the
planks of course being held in an almost perpen-
dicular position between her body and the sleeper.
.Ml.)
PllAKTON ROGKKS.
3«7
Into the abyss that thus suddenly yawned before
him. Phaeton and his chariot phinged.
After hin> went Patsy Rafterty, who, on seeing;
the danj;er. liad laid hold of the car and tried to
stop it, but failed. Whether he jumped through,
or let himself down more cautiously by hanging
from the Aoot of the bridge and dropping, I did
not sec; but at all events, when the rest of us
reached the tow-path by running down the em-
bankment, the waters liad closed over l>oth boys
and the car.
.\t thi'^ moment nnnfher accident complicatcil the
jerked the horses over the panipet into the water,
where they floundered within a yard of the wrecked
machine.
The Dublin women gathered on the tow-path,
and immediately set up an unearthly wail, such as
1 have never heard before nor since. I think some
of them must have "cried the keen," as it is called
in Ireland.
Patsy soon emerged from beneath the wreck,
hauling Phaeton out by the hair, and as half a
dozen of the boys, from both parties, were now in
the water, they had plenty of help. The bow-hand
trouble and incre.ised the excitement. This was
a tow-path bridge — one which the boat-horses
have to pass over, because at that point the tow-
path changes from one side of the canal to the
other. The " Red Bird " packet horses, coming
up at a round trot, when they reached the crown
of the bridge and saw the rushing, roaring caravan
coming at them, and heard I'haeton's yell, stopped,
and stood shivering with fear. But the packet was
all the while going ahead by its own momentum,
and when it had gone the length of the tow-line, it
of the " Red Bird " cut the tou-line witli a li.urlic!,
— if he had been attending to his business, he
would have done it soon enough to prevent the
accident, — and the horses then swam ashore.
Meantime, the circus had stopped, and many of
the men came to the scene of the disaster, while
most of the packet passengers stepped ashore and
also joined the crowd.
The steersman brought a pike-pole, with which
they fished out Phaeton's car.
Kvery one of the kite-strings w.as broken, and
388
YOUNG MARCH WIND.
the kites had gone down the sky, with that wob-
bhng motion pccuhar to what tlie boys call a " kite-
brokc-away," to find lodgment in some distant
forest or meadow.
Great was the wonderment expressed, and many
were the questions asked, as the packet passengers
and the circus people crowded around the ruined
car and the dripping boys. Two of the Dublin
women were wringing out Phaeton's jacket, and
talking rather fast with the other mothers.
A benevolent-looking old gentleman, who wore a
white vest and a large fob-chain, said, "Something
ought to be done for that boy," — pointing to Patsy.
The Clown of the circus said "Certainly !" and
taking off his hat, passed it first to the benevolent-
looking old gentleman, who seemed a little sur-
prised, but soon recovered, and hastily dropped in
ten cents.
Then the Clown passed it all around, and nearly
everybody, excepting the boys, of course, put in a
little something. The Patagonian Woman of the
circus, who had very red cheeks and very round
eyes, and wore a large diamond ring on nearly
every finger, gave the most of anybody, — half a dol-
lar,— which she boiTowed of the Strong Man, who
used to lift the big iron balls on the back of his
neck.
The Clown counted the money, and said there
were three dollars and eighty-four cents, and a
crossed shilling, and a bogus c|uarter, and two
brass buttons, and a pewter temperance medal.
"Well," said he, in a solemn tone, looking down
at the collection, and then around at the people,
" I should say this crowd was about an average
specimen of humanity. "
I did n't see the Clown himself put in anything
at all.
" Here, sonny," said he to Patsy, " we '11 tie it
up in your handkerchief for you."
(Tol.i Lc
Patsy said he had n't any handkerchief with him,
just t'nen; whereupon the Patagonian Woman gave
him hers — excellent people, those Patagonians ! —
and the Clown tied it up with two hard knots, and
Patsy tucked it into his trousers-pocket, which it
caused to l)ulge out as if he had just passed through
'Squire Higgins's orchard.
The boss of the circus offered to give Patsy a
place, and take him right along, at fifteen dollars a
month and his board. Patsy was crazy to go; but
his mother said she could n't spare him.
Some of the circus men got a pole and tackle
from one of their wagons, and lifted the cow out of
her uncomfortable position, after which they re-
placed the planks.
" All aboard ! " shouted the captain of the " Red
Bird," for the tow-line had been mended and the
horses rubbed down, and all the passengers started
on a run for the boat, excepting the benevolent-
looking old gentleman, who walked very leisurely,
seeming to know it would wait for him.
"All aboard!" shouted the boss of the circus,
and his people climbed upon the wagons, whipped
up the horses, and rumbled over the bridge at a
rapid gait.
The Dublin women each laid hold of one or
more of their boys, and marched them home ;
Lukey Finnerty's mother arguing, as they went
along, that her boy had done as much as Patsy
Rafferty, and got as wet, and therefore ought to
have a share of the money.
" Oh, there's no doubt," said Mrs. Rafferty, in a
gently sarcastic tone, " but your boy has taken in a
great deal of cold water. He shall have the tem-
perance medal."
The other women promptly took up the question,
some on Mrs. Finnerty's side and some on Mrs.
Rafferty's, and so, all talking at once, they passed
out of sight.
Y(3UNG MARCH WIND.
By M. F. Butts.
A JOLLY fellow is young March Wind,
With all his bluster and noise;
Though he has no thought for the old and poor.
He 's a thorough friend of the boys.
He joins their play with right good will —
Aha, do you see him go.
With a hi, hi, hi ! far up in the sky.
While the hovs stand tui'irintr below?
Oh, a noisy fellow is young March Wind,
And almost any day
You may see him up in the highest trees,
Blowing his trumpet for play.
Oho ! oho ! now high, now low.
He blows with all his might :
Oh, dear Mr. Wind, would you l)c so kind
As to go to sleep at night ?
THE STORY OK A PEG.
389
co\sisti-:ncy.
liv Maucakki \'.\.\1)K(;kii-i'.
TllKRE once was a stalely Giraffe,
W'liose motto was "Nothing by half!"
His old friend, the Tapir,
Said, "Cut nie a caper, —
It 's a year since I 've had a good laugh !"
So, to please him, tlie gracious Giraffe
Jumped over a cow and her calf;
But when the old Tapir
Told folks of this caper.
They said : " That 's just some of your chaff.
He 's a dignified chap, that Giraffe,
And we know he does nothing by half;
We can understand how
He might jump o'er a cow.
But he 'd never jump over a calf ! "
THE STORY OF A PEG.
By Paul Fort.
In a small town, not far from the river Rhine,
there was a large dam, built, in great part, of
heavy timbers, which shut in the waters of a stream
that ran into the river a few miles below. Quite a
large body of water was thus held back by the dam,
while below it the stream was narrow and shallow.
In the dam was a sluice-gate, which could be raised
by a lever, and by which the water could be let off,
whenever it was nccessar)-. It was not a very tight
gate, and a good deal of water ran through its
cracks; but that did not matter, for there was
plenty of water left for the uses of the towns-people.
On the top of this dam, which was wide enough
to ser\e as a bridge, four children were amusing
themselves, one summer day. Oscar, the largest
boy, had put on a bathing-dress, which w.is nothing
more than a pair of short trousers, and had climbed
down to the stream, to see if he could take a swim.
But he had found that the swimming did not
amount to much, for there was only one place — a
moderately deep pool just under the sluice-gate —
where he could have any chance of striking out with
his arms and legs. So he soon climbed up again
to the top of the dam. He would have been glad
to bathe in the great pond above the dam, but that
was not allowed.
Little Lotta, the only girl in the parbj-, had been
watching Oscar, and had lost her cap, which had
tumbled off into some bushes below, at the side of
the stream. She had called to Oscar to get it for
her, but he was already half-way up the face of the
dam, and he did not want to go back. He was not
related to Lotta, and she had two brothers there.
If she wanted her cap, one of them could go down
and get it. He did not consider that it was not a
pleasant thing for a boy, with his ordinary clothes
on, to scramble down the wet face of the dam.
Lotta began to cry, and her younger brother,
I'cter, said he would roll up his trousers and go
down for her cap. This, however, made Carl, her
other brother, laugh. He said he would tr\' to get
the cap with a stick, and if he could not reach it.
390
THE STORY OF A PEG.
he would go down himself. He was nearly as big
as Oscar, and could climb just as well.
So he got a long stick, and taking this in one
hand, he got over the edge of the dam, holding
with his other hand to a peg which was driven into
a beam that ran along the top. Then he braced
his feet against the dam, and grasping the peg
very tightly, he reached down toward the cap with
his stick. It was a white muslin cap, and hung
lightly on the edge of the bush. If he could but
hook his stick into any part of it, it would be easy
to bring it up.
He had just worked his stick under the front of
it, when crack ! went the peg, and down went
Carl !
Oscar, just before this, had reached the top of
the dam, and had run into the house near by to
dress. Little Lotta and Peter were so astounded
when they saw Carl go down, and heard the great
splash beneath, that they just stood, for a moment,
with their mouths open. Then they began to cry,
and ran off to find somebody to help.
Oscar soon came running out of the house, and
some men, who happened to be working near by,
were attracted by the children's cries, and went
to them.
When they heard the story, they all hurried to
the dam and looked over, but there was nothing to
be seen of Carl. Then the men, with Oscar, ran
to the end of the dam and hurried down to the
edge of the stream. One of them waded in, and
felt, with his bare feet, all over the bottom of the
pool. He thought Carl might have been stunned
by the fall, and was lying there. But he did not
find him. Perhaps he had been carried down the
stream, one of them suggested ; but this was not
likely, as the water was so shallow below the pool.
Still, the men, with Oscar and the two children,
went down the stream for some distance, examin-
ing it closely. But there was no sign of Carl.
Then the men came to the conclusion that the
boy had not fallen ofif the dam at all, or else that
he had jumped out of the water, and gone home in
a hurry. He certainly was not drowned, for, if
that had been the case, they could have found him.
So they grumbled a little, and went back to their
work, while Lotta and Peter ran home to see if
their brother was there.
When the peg broke, Carl instinctively gave a
great push with his feet, and this caused him to
turn completely over, so that he went into the pool
feet foremost.
The distance which he fell was not great, and
the water broke his fall ; but it was a very much
astonished and startled boy who, for a moment,
floundered and splashed in that pool. When he
could really see where he was, he half-swam, half-
waded to the shore, and ran up the bank as fast as
he could go.
As soon as he had recovered a little from the
confusion into which this sudden accident had
thrown his mind, he began to wonder if his body
was all right. So he kicked out his legs, and he
threw out his arms, and soon found that nothing
was the matter with any part of him. But he
noticed that he held in his hand the peg to
which he had clung when he was reaching for his
sister's cap. It seemed strange that he should still
tightly grasp this little stick ; but people often do
such things when excited.
Carl looked at the peg with a good deal of
interest.
" It 's an inch and a half thick ! " he exclaimed,
"and made of hard wood. It ought not to have
broken so easily. Oho, 1 see ! Here is a knot,
right where it broke, and there must have been an
old crack there, for only half of the break looks
fresh."
At this discovery, Carl grew very angry.
"A pretty man," he cried, " to put in such a
peg, for people to hold to ! 1 am going to speak
to him about it this minute. It was Franz Holman
who built the dam, and, of course, he put the peg
in. 1 might have killed myself, and I shall just
tell him what 1 think about it."
So, without considering his wet clothes, nor his
little sister and brother, whom he had so suddenly
left on the bridge, he ran off to the shop of Franz
Holman. on the outskirts of the town.
He found the carpenter outside of his shop, hew-
ing some logs.
"Hello!" cried Carl, running up. "Didn't
you build the dam, down yonder ? ''
The man stopped his work, and looked with
amazement at this earnest and flushed young fellow,
without a hat, and with the water still dripping
from his hair and his clothes.
" Yes," he said. " I built it — the timber part, I
mean. What is the matter with it ? You don't
mean to say that it has broken ? "
"No, it hasn't," replied Carl. " But this peg
has broken, and it came near killing me. If you
built the dam, of course you put the peg in, and I
think it 's a shame to use pegs with knots and
cracks in them, for people to hold on to."
" People need n't hold on to them, if they don't
want to," replied the carpenter. " Let me see
that peg."
" You can look at it in my hands," said Carl.
" I don't intend to give it to you. Look at that old
crack under the knot ! And people do have to
hold on to it, or else tie something to it. What
else was it put there for ?"
"Pshaw!" said Franz. "You are making a
THE STORV t)F A PK C.
391
great bother about a little thing. Any peg might to sec what was the matter, and these all followed
break with a great, heavy boy, like you, hanging the poor mother; so that when they reached the
to it." bank of the pool, there was quite a little crowd col-
" Not if it was as thick as this and had no knots lected. A new search was immediately begun, but
in it." said Carl, walking away, i|uitc as angry as it was soon very evident that Carl was not in the
he came, for lie saw that the caipcnter cared noth- stream. There was .1 great deal of confusion, and
CARL REACH
ing at all for his mishap, nor for his own reputation
in the matter of pegs.
When Lotta and Peter reached home they found
no Carl, and when they told their mother what had
happened, she was greatly frightened. Without
waiting to put anything on her head, and followed
by several neighbors who had been attracted by
her cries, she ran to the dam. On the way, quite a
number of people ran out of their houses and shops
advice, of ever)' imaginable kind, was given by the
by-standers to the men who were making the
search. Some even thought that the pond, above
the dam, ought to be dragged, as if the boy could
possibly have been in that.
While all this was going on, and Lotta and Peter
were crying, and some of the older men and women
were trying to comfort the poor, distressed mother,
who was certain that she had Inst her boy, Carl
392
THE STOKV Ul' A PEG.
came walking down among them, with the broken
peg still in his hand. He had been home, and find-
ing no one there, had come to look for the family,
supposing that Peter and Lotta, at least, might be
playing by the dam. When he saw the crowd, he
was almost as much astonished as the crowd was to
see him. He was still hatlcss, and wore his wet
clothes, although the air and the sun had dried
them a good deal.
The moment his mother saw him, she rushed to
him and caught him in her arms, while little Lotta
and Peter clung to his legs. The people gathered
around him and, as soon as he could get a chance
to speak, they eagerly asked him where he had
been, and how everything had happeneds, Carl
told them about the broken peg, and how it had
had a knot in it, and how he had been up to see
Franz Holman about it, who did n't care a snap of
his finger whether people tumbled off dams and
broke their necks or not. Then he passed around
the peg, so that everybody could see that he was
right in what he said about it, and that it was not
his own fault that he fell from the top of the dam.
Some of the good people laughed as they looked
at the peg, while others said that Franz Holman
ought to know better than to use a piece of wood
like that for such a purpose ; but the most of them
seemed to think the broken peg was a matter of
very little consequence. They were glad the boy
was safe, and there was an end of the matter.
But it happened that two or three of the prin-
cipal men of the town had been attracted to the
stream by the crowd, and an idea struck the mind
of one of these.
" If Franz Holman was so careless as to use wood
like this, in a peg which should have been a very
strong one, he may have been equally careless in
building the dam itself. And, now that I come
to look, it seems to me that the water is running
through a great many cracks and crevices."
Several persons now examined the face of the
dam, and they thought that it did, indeed, look very
leaky. It was not strange that this had not been
noticed before, for it was very seldom that any one,
excepting boys, came down to the bed of the stream,
under the dam. After a little consultation among
the older townsmen, it was thought that the dam
might be weak, and that it ought to be carefully
examined. Accordingly, the very next day, several
carpenters — and Franz Holman was not among
them — were set to work to make a careful exam-
ination of the condition of the timbers, and they
soon found that many of them were very rotten,
and that Holman, in trying to make as much profit
as he could out of his work, had put in timbers
which had been taken from an old bridge that had
been torn down, and which were, probably, unfit for
use when they were put into the wood-work of the
dam. Now, they were certainly unfit to stand the
strain put upon them by the great body of water in
the dam.
This discovery excited a great deal of indigna-
tion against Holman, for if the dam had given way,
the whole body of water in the pond instantly would
have poured down into the valley of the stream,
where, a short distance below, there were a number
of small cottages, inhabited by poor families. Had
the accident occurred in the night, these houses
might have been swept away, with all their occu-
pants. '
The sluice-gate was opened and the water allowed
to flow gradually out of the pond. When the
water was low enough, the old dam was to be taken
down and a new and strong one built. Some of
the official.s of the town went to see Franz Holman,
to call him to an account for his dishonest workman-
ship, but they did not see him. He did not want
to talk to any one about the dam, and had gone
away in the night, taking all his tools with him in
his wagon, and leaving, unfinished, the work on
which he was engaged.
As they walked home from their unsuccessful
\isit, the good townsmen began to talk of young
Carl, whose strange accident had probabh- pre-
\'ented a sad disaster to the town. One of them
proposed making him a present, and when it was
objected that the boy ought not to be rew^arded
simply for getting a tumble from the top of a dam,
this man asserted that if it had not been for Carl's
sturdy earnestness in charging Holman with his
bad work, and in afterward bringing the attention
of the towns-people to it, no one would ha\e
thought of examining the dam.
This view of the case was thought a fair one. and
when the matter had been considered for a day or
two, it was determined that the town should send
Carl to school. He was known to be a good, smart
boy, but his mother, who had lost her husband,
could not afford to give her eldest son the education
he ought to have.
When Carl was told that he was to have a new
suit of clothes, and was to be sent to school to
Baroles, — a town about tive miles away, from which
he could walk home on Sundays and holidays, — he
was delighted. To go to school to Baroles was a
thing he had longed for, during more than a year.
.•\nd his mother was just as glad as he was, and
very proud of him besides.
" What I want," said Oscar,— the big boy who
had been on the dam with Carl and the others, —
•' is to find a rotten peg."
But he never found one.
RECOI.LEt
OF A LITTLE PRIMA DONNA.
393
THE MACilC DANCE.
By C. a. Zimmerman.
It is probable, dear
rcadersof St. N'ichol.^s,
that soino of you havr
had an opportunity of
seeing experiments in
what is known as friction-
al electricity, performed
by means i]i costly appa-
ratus and powerful bat-
teries. But by obscr\-in^
the following directions,
you can now enjoy a sim-
ilar exhibition, produced
in a very few minutes by
the simplest materials.
We shall require two
bound volumes of Si.
Nicholas, or any otlui
books of similar bulk, so
placed as to support a
pane of glass, say twelve
by ten inches in size, held
between their pages, as
shown in this picture —
the glass being about
one inch and one-quarter
from the top of the table on which the experiment out of the
is to be tried. This done, you may exercise your pictures in
skill with a pair of scissors, and cut out of /issue illustrated newspapers, the more comical the better,
paper the figures that are to dance. They must Now place the dancers upon the table underneath
not exceed one inch and one-eighth in length, and the glass (see illustration), and with a silk, cotton, or
they may represent absurd little ladies and gentle- linen handkerchief, apply friction to the toj) of the
men, or any animal you happen to think of. pane, by rubbing briskly in a circular manner; the
You will find admirable little figures of children figures soon will start into activity, execute jigs
in Miss Greenaway's charming book, " Under the between table and glass, join hands, stand on their
Window," — if you are so fortunate as to possess it. heads, — in short, it would be difficult to describe
These can be traced on the tissue paper, and all their antics. Touch the glass witli your finger,
colored if desired, or you can cut small figures and they will fall, as if dead, upon the table.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A LITTLE PRIMA DONNA.
By Augusta de Bubna.
A NUMBER of years ago, certain placards and red, yellow, and blue bills there were two old and
programmes, posted and distributed upon the walls renowned names — Ole Bull, the celebrated violinist,
and streets of a small Southern city, heralded the and Maurice Strakosch, the brilliant pianist : but
coming of a wonderful entertainment. the largest and leading letters spelled out the name
Among the artists announced upon the glaring of the youngest and tiniest member of the concert
394
R E C ( ) L 1 . i: < ■ T I O N S OK A L I T T L K PRIMA D O N N A .
troupe : " Mademoiselle Adelina Patti ; ackh
eleven years. the wonderful child i'rima
Donna !"
Tickets for the grand concert sold very rapidly,
and there was every promise that a crowded house
sister-in-law, whom he had left already fretting
and petulant.
He consequently at once made gentle advances
toward acquaintanceship, by telling the two maid-
ens about the lonely little girl over at the hotct,
^i \
would welcome to the town the young singer and
her veteran companions.
The day was dreary and dismal ; a sullen spring
rain set in during the morning, and gave evidences
of lasting many hours.
Upon the arrival of the troupe at the hotel,
the business manager, together with Mr. Strakosch,
came over to the music-store in the place to see
about the sale of scats and tickets, and, while
there, the pleasant musician discovered, playing
behind the counter with their dollies, two little
blonde-haired lassies.
He felt at once that here would he find a relief
from the dreariness of a whole dav in-doors, for his
ELCOME THEIR YOUNG VISITORS.
who was counting rain-drops on the wintlow-panes,
and begging them to come and see the "Little
.'\delina." The children's interest was at once
awakened. They obtained permission from their
parents to visit the little singer, put on clean aprons,
and soon, with their dollies in their arms, they
skipped along in the rain beside "'the greatest
living pianist" of that day.
When they reached the hotel and the room
where the strange little girl was to be presented, a
curious tableau met the eyes of the lassies, and the
first sound which they recollect ever hearing from
that voice which has since sung " pearls and dia-
monds," was a merry, tinkling, mocking laugh.
i88l.|
RECOLLECTIONS OF A I.nri.l-: I'KIMA DONNA.
395
The room was a great, dull, dark place, scantily
furnished, and bare of comfort ; in the middle of
the floor there stood a tall gentleman with long,
thick, gray hair, his eyes tightly bandaged, his
arms outstretched in vaiu endeavors to catch the
tantalizing sprite whose mocking voice had, for
several minutes, led him an illusive dance all about
the room.
There was a sudden pause as the door opened ;
the gentleman pushed up his bandage, and the
little girl opened very wide a pair of brilliant dark
eyes. Mr. Strakosch came quickly forward, lead-
ing the now timid little strangers, and said kindly
to the famous little singer :
"I have brought you a couple of playmates,
Adelina ; you will release Ole Bull, now, from his
chase of you, and after you have entertained the
little girls, you are to go home with them to dine,
and play until tea-time."
The little girl came toward the shrinking lassies,
smiled in their faces brightly, and then kissed each
on both cheeks, in a funny foreign manner.
By this time, too, the tall old gentleman had
untied his bandage,
and was ilsobeimmg 71 -
down upon the littk , I Uv >
strangers with a gen '^ '^
tie, kmdh smile,
kissing them as
well, and saving,
in a soft, lo«
voice " It lb will
leave you now to make friends and play together."
And he at once walked to the door.
But her imperial highness was not of the same
mind. On the contrary, she insisted stoutly that
the "more made the merrier," and again the mild
blue eyes of the Norwegian were blinded, and
down upon his knees knelt the famous artist, to
■' pick up pins and needles."
At the first symptoms of weariness on the pari
of the children, however, the kind old gentleman
quickly went his way, and the little girls, left
alone now, looked gravely at one another, from
top to toe, with the curious, animal-like gaze with
which newly acquainted children regard each other.
Then the lassies offered the new friend their
dollies, which had lain upon the table during the
game ; but such playthings were not in her line.
.She looked scornfully upon their waxen loveli-
ness, and snubbed the idea of "making believe
mammas."
"No." she cried, tossing back her lonj;, blue-
black braids. " No, I .im going to take your
pictures. Come, sit down and allow me to arrange
you properly."
Pool child ' She h id herself bun posed ind
taken so often that she wis iJcrftctK fimilur
with the whole perform mce.
- — ir _ Hold up \our thins \h,
th It lb parfait ' Now, if )ou
|)li iSL, look this way, — i trifle
to the left So that is thami-
mN dears !
' — a bright,
IS int cxprcb-
, PLEASANT EXPRESSION, PLEASE ! "
for the little Adelina to have some little ones with she went on, as she arranged to her satisfaction her
whom to play — she tires quickly of us older chil- wonder-eyed and very willing little companions,
dren. 1 am too big and tall for her, and 1 will Then, taking a chair, she threw a towel over her
396
RKCOI-LECTIONS O I'' A LITTLE 1' R 1 M A JJOMNA.
little shiny black head, looked at the children
through the bars of its low back, and tlien for the
space of a few seconds was invisible. Presently she
re-appeared, looking \-cry grave and mysterious,
turned her back, and then, with an imaginary
negative in her little hand, came toward her sitters,
asking their opinion of the pictures. Over and over
pepper in it — Papa would be terribly angry," she
said, when helped at table, and then she told
how beautifully they cooked macaroni at home,
and wished ever so devoutly that she could have
some " that
very minute,"
and the las-
again was this play performed, to an admiring and sies felt very
delighted audience of two, though the actors were
sometimes reversed, and the strange little girl her-
self assumed the part of sitter, and threw into
convulsions of laughter her amused little jjho-
tographers, by her sudden changes of face and
position.
At noon, Ole Bull and "Maurice," as the little
Adelina familiarly called Mr. Strakosch, returned
to the room, and with them came a dark-browed,
foreign-speaking gentleman, of whom the child
appeared to stand in awe, calling him " Papa," with
a more respectful tone than that in which she ad-
dressed the other two gentlemen. This dark gentle-
man assisted her in putting on the little hat and sack
in which she was to cross the street and accompany
her visitors home to dine, tying a handkerchief
around her throat, and, in a sharp, severe tone, giv-
ing her a command which the lassies supposed
meant that she must "be a good girl."
They afterward discovered that his words were
really a strict injunction as to what she was tiot to
eat at the strange table.
"No, thanks; 1 datr not taste it if there is any
badly indeed because a large dish of her favorite
food could not be procured at once for their charm-
ing little guest.
After dinner, a few delightful hours were passed
in the play-room ; and such plays were surely never
enacted before nor since. Dishes and dolls were
swept aside with scarcely a look: but spying a little
tin sword and belt in one corner of the room, the
little " born actress " exclaimed :
" Come, we will play opera. I will be Lucia,
you shall be Edgardo. See, with this sword and
belt you will look like a man ; and you must love
me passionately and be killed ; and 1 shall go mad
and rave over your dead body."
Then the two curious little lassies were instructed
in the art of killing and dying, with stage direc-
tions for entrees and exits, while the little .Adelina
unbound the glossy, long braids of her blue-black
hair, and went "mad and raved" over her lover
with the tin sword and belt, who lav dying before
her.
Many years after, when the famous young prima
donna, then but a mere girl, m.ade her ciebul at the
RECOLLECTIONS OF A LITTLE PRIMA DONNA.
397
Philadelphia Academy of Music, the opera was
■• Lucia do Lammermoor," but the Edgardo of the
play-room sat among the audience, — not in a tin
sword and belt, — and wondered if there came a
recollection to the diva of her childhood's perform-
ance in the old play-room.
But to go back to my story. That afternoon w;is
all too short, notwithstanding ;i full rt'pfftoitr of
operas was gone through, with brilliant effect, and
when the summons came for the little Adelina to
return to the hotel to prepare for the concert,
she was unwilling to obey, protesting forcibly in
her pretty, half-broken English, and emphasizing
her dislike with shrugs and stamps, and naughty-
sounding French and Italian words, which made
the lassies open their blue eyes, quite shocked at
their diva's temper. " Maurice," who w-as very
good-natured, listened laughingly to the tirade, and
then compromised by allowing his mistress to take
back with her to the hotel her beloved little friends,
to see her dressed for the concert.
Oh, the wonder of it ! To see the little pink silk
robe, with its graduated bands of black velvet and
lace, spread out upon the bed, not by a mother's
careful touch, but by a father's hand ; the tiny boots
laced up neatly, and the tumbled locks braided,
looped around the little ears, adorned with velvet
rosettes, and diamonds hung therein ; then a pair
of kid gloves coaxed on the dark, lithe hands, and
by degrees, before their eyes, the lassies beheld
their little, frowzy, careless romp of the play-room
transformed into a wonderful young lady in silk
and jewels — a prima donna.
"Now, be sure to sit in the \-^x\ frontest seats,
so I can see you the whole time, and wait for me
after the concert is over, so I can kiss you good-
night ; wont you ? " she coaxed, as the lassies were
hurried away to be dressed for the e\ening.
Was it " Addie," they wondered, when there was
handed out upon the stage, to a round of rapturous
applause, a little, self-possessed, low-courtesying
damsel, who scanned the house with indolent,
haughty eyes, until they fell upon the " frontest "
seats, and then — ought it to be told of her ? — actually
winked her recognition, as the bright eyes dis-
covered her playmates of the day, looking up in
adoration at the marvelous creature before them.
Then, a pause, a prelude, and — was it a lark
or a nightingale? '"O Luce de Quest Anima,"
"Carnival de Venice," "Casta Diva," gushed out of
the little brown throat, and the house rocked with
merited applause. It was exquisite, wonderful —
that voice — as all the world knows no«.
The concert over, a low, sweeping bow, a bright
smile, and a quick little nod toward the front row
of seats, and presently a whirl of rose-colored silk
came rushing down the aisle, and half of the crowd,
remaining behind, beheld a pathetic little tableau.
" We are going away to-night, now, and I never
knew it ! " cried the child, throwing her arms
around her two little friends. " And Maurice says
^~s.^ "» '^
I must say good-bye, and I shall never see you
again. Promise me you will never forget me ! " and
with a passion of embraces and tears, she repeated
over and over : " Promise me you will never, never
forget me ! "
"Never! Never!" came back the sobbing
replies. Then a long clinging of dark arms to two
white little necks, a hurried snatching away of the
tear-stained, tragic little creature, and the carriage
whirled away — far away upon the "flood of years"
— the much-beloved and never-forgotten little child
prima donna.
398
THE I-OX AND THE SgUlRKEL
THE FOX AND TIIIC SQUIRREL.
Uv BiiNjAMiN Lander.
•■"S^"'-
Two squirrels on an oak-tree sat,
Engaging in a social chat,
When one, — the younger of the twain,
Of his accompHshnicnts quite vain.
Began to boast of what he 'd (lone,
How all his mates he could outrun;
And, if but half he said was true.
He could outjump a kangaroo.
Now, as it chanced, the jagged rocks
Beneath the tree concealed a fox.
Who, overhearing what was said
Among the oak-leaves overhead.
Bethought him of a sly design.
Whereby he might on squirrel dine ;
So up he sat and clapped his paws,
Loud shouting, with a mock applause ;
Bravo ! Bravo ! my agile friend :
^'our wondrous skill I must commend.
But, really, 1 should like to see
You jump from out this tall oak-tree
To yonder ash, ten feet away."
('T was twenty, 1 am bound to say.)
The feat will please my children well.
When 1 their bed-time storv tell."
Nay," said the elder to young Frisky,
Don't undertake a jump so risky."
To which the younger one replied.
Puffed up with flattery and pride:
Though j'D/i may lack ability
1 '11 show you mj/ agility."
Then wildly leaped with aim so blind
That — Mr. Fox on squirrel dined.
And when the stars winked overhead
That children should be put to bed.
Old Reynard to his young ones said ;
These precepts I would have you heed :
Let others praise your own good deed ;
Let not the flatterer mislead ;
Despise not what your elders say ;
Nor let blind pride your judgment sway.
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
399
SrORli:S OF ART AND ARTISTS. SKCOND I'Al'l'.R.
HV Cl.ARA EKSKINE CLIiMENT.
CaI.LIM.M IlLS.
Thkre are many of the ancient artists of whom
ver)' Uttle is known, but that Httle is so interesting
that it is well worth the tellinjj. Such a one is
Calliniachus, who is saiii to have invented the
Corinthian capital, which is so beautiful in archi-
tecture. The time when Calliniachus lived cannot
be given more nearly than by saying that it must
have been between 550 and 396 B. c. The story
runs that a young girl died at Corinth, and her
nurse, following the usual custom, placed on her
grave a basket which contained the food that the
girl had liked best. It happened that the basket
was placed upon an acanthus, and the leaves of the
plant grew up around the basket, and were so grace-
ful, thus holding it in their midst, that Callimachus,
who saw it, used it as a design for the capitals of
pillars, and the name of Corinthian was given to it.
It is also said, by some ancient writers, that
Callimachus invented a lamp which would burn a
year without going out, and that such a one, made
of gold by him, was used in the temple of Mincr\a
at Athens.
Alcamenes.
This favorite pupil of the great Phidias has been
mentioned already in the account of that master.
The most celebrated work by Alcamenes was a
statue of Venus. Most of his figures represented
the gods, among them being one of Hephaestus or
Vulcan, in which the lameness of that god was
managed so skillfully that no deformity appeared.
Concerning the " V'enus Aphrodite," as the
famous statue is called, it is related that Ago-
racritus, also a pupil of Phidias, and a celebrated
artist, contended with Alcamenes in making a
figure of that goddess, and when the Athenians
gave the preference to that of Alcamenes, Ago-
r.icritus, through indignation and disappointment,
changed his figure, which represented the goddess
of Love, into a Nemesis, or the goddess who sent
suffering to those that were blessed with too many
gifts. He then sold the statue to the people
of Rhamnus, who had a temple dedicated to
Nemesis, and made a condition that it never should
be set up in Athens.
There is a difference of opinion as to the merits
(if Alcamenes and of Agoracritus ; some writers
say, Phidias so loved the last that he even put the
name of Agoracritus -upon some of his own works;
but the ancient writers generally consider Alca-
menes ;is second only to Phidias, and the most
famous of all that master's pupils.
Praxitiles.
This sculptor stood at the head of a school of
tlrecian art, which differed from that of Phidias by
representing youth and' beauty, and more generally
pleasing subjects, while the older artists represented
grandeur and solemn dignity. Praxiteles was born
at .Athens about 392 B. c. He is supposed to be
the son of Cephisdotus, who is also thought to be
the son of Alcamenes — thus making Praxiteles the
grandson of the latter. He chose for his subjects
the soft and delicate forms of Venus, Cupid, the
young Bacchus, youthful satyrs, and so on. His
most famous work was the "Cnidian Venus."
The story is that Praxiteles made two statues of the
beautiful goddess, one being nude and the other
draped ; the people of Cos chose the latter, and the
Cnidians bought the nude figure. They erected
for it an open temple, so that the goddess could be
seen from all sides. Many people went to Cnidos
for the sole purpose of seeing this statue, and felt
that they were repaid for their trouble ; while the
Cnidians themselves so valued it that, when their
oppressor. King Nicomedus of Bithynia, offered to
release them from a debt of one hundred talents
(about $100,000), if they would give the Venus to
him, they refused, and declared that it was the
chief glory of their state.
It is also related that Praxiteles had promised to
give his friend Phrjne whatever statue she should
choose from his work-shop. She wished to select
the one which the artist himself considered the best,
and in order to ascertain which was his favorite,
she sent a servant to tell him that his work-shop
was on fire. He exclaimed, " -AH is lost if my
Satyr and Cupid are not saved ! " Then Phryne
told him of her deceit, and chose the Cupid as her
gift.
There is a Cupid in the Vatican -Museum at
Rome which is said to be a copy of that chosen by
Phryne, but no one knows exactly whether this is
true or not ; it is. however, very graceful and beau-
tiful, and the face has a sweet, dreamy expression.
400
STORIKS OF ART AND ARTISTS.
Venus dei Medic:!.
There are many works of art of so much impor-
tance that, although hllle is Icnown of them, yet
all the world is interested to sec them, and to know
all that it is jjossible to learn about them. The
Venus dei Medici is one of these, and I place it
here immediately after the account of Pra.xitclcs
because many art critics believe that it is a copy
of the famous Cnidian Venus. The statue was
made by Cleomenes, who lived, as nearly as can be
told, between 363 and 146 K. c. He was an
Athenian. There have been many copies of this
statue found in different places, which proves that
it was held in great esteem in ancient times. The
one by Cleomenes is now the glory of the tribune
of the Uffizi Gallery at Florence ; it was dug up in
the seventeenth century at Rome. There is a
question as to the exact spot where it w'as found,
but the Portico of Octavia is generally believed to
have been the place ; Cosmo III. removed it to
Florence in 16S0, and it is called the Venus dei
Medici on account of its having rested in the Medici
Palace, at Rome, from the time when it was found
until it was taken to Florence.
As Venus was the goddess of Love and of Beauty,
it was natural that many sculptors should make
representations of her, and there are several very
famous ones still existing in different museums.
One in the gallery of the Louvre is called the
"Venus of Milo," or Melos, from the place where
it was found. It is very beautiful, and many people
prefer it before all others, and some critics believe
it to be a copy of a work by Alcamenes. Yo\i
will see a picture of it on page 402. Another
Venus, in the Capitoline Museum at Rome, is called
the "Venus of the Capitol," and is much praised.
It was found among some ruins on the Ouirinal
Hill. The " Venus Callipiga," which was found in
the " golden house of Nero," and is now in the
museum at Naples, is the last one 1 shall name,
although there are others worthy of admiration.
The Niobk CiRoitp.
This is tlic grandest and largest group of Greek
statuary of which we have any knowledge or pos-
sess any copy. We do not know by whom it was
made, but its fame rests between Praxiteles and
Scopas ; no one can decide between these two
sculptors. Scopas was bom on the island of
Paros, which was under the rule of Athens, about
420 B. c. He was a very great artist, and many
accounts of his works have come down to us, but
of the Niobe group, we know nothing positively
until the time of Sosius, who was appointed gov-
ernor of Syria and Cilicia, by Mark Antony, in the
year 38 l). C. This Sosius built a temple in his
own honor at Rome, and called it the temple of
Apollo Sosianus; he brought many beautiful works
of art from the East to adorn this temple, and
i.
^IQ^B DEFlAr^T .^7.
among them the Niobe group. It remained in its
place at Rome about a century, and what became
of it is unknown. In the year a. d. 1583, there
was found, near the church of St. John Lateran, in
Rome, a copy of this group : it was purchased by
the Grand Duke of Tuscany and placed in the Villa
Medici; in 1775 it was taken to Florence and
placed in the Lfffizi, in an apartment prepared
especially for it; all the figures were restored, and
each one w-as set up on a separate pedestal ; this
work was not completed until 1794.
There are but thirteen figures. Some must be
missing, as sixteen are rec|uircd to illustrate its sad
story, which is as follows: Niobe was the daughter
of Tantalus, and was born on Mount Sipylos. As
a child, Niobe was a playmate of the great goddess
Leto, or Latona, and later she married Amphion,
while Leto was the wife of the great god Jupiter.
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
401
Niobe had a very happy
life, and was the mother of
seven sons and seven daugh-
ters. This prosperity made
her forget that she was only
a mortal, and she became
proud and insolent, even to
the gods themsches.
Leto had but two children
— .Apollo, the god of the silver
bow, and Artemis, or Diana,
who was the archer-queen of
Heaven, .■\niphion was the
king and Niobe the queen of
Thebes; so when the worship
of Leto was established in
that city, Niobe, who remem-
bered the goddess as her play-
mate, was very angry that
such honor should be paid
her, and she drove to the
temple in her chariot and
commanded the Theban wo-
men to refuse this worship.
She also held herself up be-
fore them as superior to Leto.
and said that the goddess had
only two children, while she,
their queen, had fourteen
lovely sons and daughters.
any one of whom was worth)
of honor. The goddess Leto
was so enraged by this, that
she begged of Apollo and
Artemis to take revenge on
Niobe. Then they descend-
ed, and in one day all the
children of Niobe were slain,
— the sons by Apollo and the
daughters by .Artemis.
Niobe, thus left alone, could
only weep, until at last Jupi-
ter took pity on her, and
turned her into stone, and
whirled her away from Thebes
to Mt. Sipylos, the scene of
her childhood. This myth
seems meant to show that
pride and insolence will meet
with punishment. The pict-
ure on page 400, drawn spe-
cially for you by the St.
NlCHOL.AS artist, 'shows Ni-
obe still defiant, although her
sons are lying slain about
her feet. The statue copied
on this page represents the
Vol. VIIL— 26.
Mh
#. The F^^^TIQ^. stat^b
40 2
STOKl K S
A K I' A.NlJ ARTIS'IS.
dreadful moment when Niobe sees the hist of her
children falling around her, and is trying to pro-
tect her youngest from the urrotts of the sure-
aiming gods.
Several different statues which exist in other
cities and galleries have been thought to be the
figures missing from the group in Florence ; how-
ever, nothing has been fixed upon concerning them,
and there is enough there to make it the most im-
portant group of ancient statues now remaining.
THK TOMI! IIF M.WSDl.US.
The ancient historians tell us of the " Seven
Wonders of the World," and name them as the
Pyramids of Kgypt, the Hanging-Gardens of Semir-
amis at Babylon, the Temple of Diana at Kphcsus,
the Statue of Jupiter by Phidias, the Tomb of
Mausolus at Halicarnassus, the Colossus at Rhodes,
and the Pharos, or Light-house of Alexandria. Of
these seven wonders of ancient times, one, the
statue of Jupiter, was the product of sculpture alone,
while all the others were the result of a combina-
tion of architecture as a fine art, and architecture
as a useful art, with the arts of ornament, and what
may be termed scientific art ; thus they all come
within the scope of stories of art and artists. The
works of Phidias have already been spoken of; we
will now speak of the tomb of Mausolus. He was
the King of Caria, of which country Halicarnassus
was the chief city, and the place where the tomb
was built. He died about 353 B. c, and his wife,
Artemisia, who had no children, was overcome with
grief at his death. The body was burned, accord-
ing to custom. Artemisia gradually faded away
from the effects of her sorrow ; and she lived only
two years longer than Mausolus.
Meantime, she had commenced the erection of
the Mausoleum, and although she died before its
completion, the artists continued faithfully to ex-
ecute her commands, and to vie with each other in
the excellence of their work, for the sake of their
own fame.
There were five artists engaged in tlio ornamen-
tation of the Mausoleum. Bryaxis, who executed
the reliefs upon the north face ; Timotheus those
of the south ; Leochares the west, and Scopiis the
east, while Pythis was allotted the quadriga, or
four-horse chariot, which crowned the whole.
The tomb was erected upon a spot that rose
above the city, and overlooked the entrance to the
harbor. Writers of tlie twelfth centmy praised its
beauty, but in A. 1). 1402, when the Knights of St.
John took possession of the place, the monument
no longer remained, and a castle was built upon its
site. The tomb had been buried, probably by an
earthquake. The name of Budrum was then given
to the place. In A. D. 1522, some pieces of sculpture
were found there, but it was not until much later
that Mr. Newton, an Englishman, discovered to
what great monument these remains had belonged.
A large collection of statues, reliefs, parts of ani-
mals, and other objects was brought to London and
placed in the British .Museum, and called the H.ali-
carnassus sculptures.
The whole height of the Mausoleum was one
hundred and forty feet, — the north and south sides
were sixty-three feet long, and the others a little
less, — the burial vault was at the base, and the
whole structure was a mass of magnificent design
STORIES (IF ART A N' D ARTISTS.
403
and execution. It is said that the figmo of Mau-
sohis was in the cjuadriga, above nil, and so placed
that it could be seen from a great distance by land
or sea. It was a work wortli)- to be called a \von-
der in its day, and from it we still take oiu- word
•'mausoleum," which we apply to M burinl-plares
worthy of so distinguished a name.
TnK Colossus at Rhodes.
The art of the island of Rhodes was second only
to that of Athens. This island is but forty-five
miles long and twenty miles wide at its broadest
part, and \'et its works of art were so numerous as
to make their number seem like a fable. At the
city of Rhodes alone there were three thousand
statues, and many paintings and other beautiful
things. It was here that Chares, of Lindos, another
city of the island, erected his famous Colossus, or
statue of the sun. One hundred statues of the
sun ornamented the city of Rhodes, and Pliny sa)-s
that any one of them was beautiful enough to have
been famous ; but this one by Chares was so
remarkable as to eclipse all the others.
It occupied twelve years, from 292 to 2S0 B. c,
to erect it, and it cost three hundred talents, or
about $300,000 of our money. It stood quite near
the entrance to the harbor of the city, but we have
no reason to believe the oft-repeated story that it
was placed with its legs extended over the mouth
of the port, so that ships sailed between them. Yet
its magnitude is almost beyond imagining, for a
man of ordinary size could not reach around one
of its thumbs with his arms, and its fingers were
larger than most statues, while its whole height
was one hundred and five feet.
The men of Rhodes obtained the money for the
Colossus by selling the engines of war which had
been abandoned to them by Demetrius Poliorcetes,
when he laid siege to their city, in vain, in 303 B. c.
In the year 224 B. c, fifty-six years after its
completion, an earthquake overthrew the Colossus,
and the Rhodians were forbidden, by an oracle,
to restore it. Its fragments remained scattered
upon the ground 923 years, until A. D. 672, when
they were sold to a Jew of Emesa, by the command
of the caliph. Othman I\'. It is said that 900
camels were required to carry them off, and they
were estimated to weigh 700,000 pounds.
There are coins of Rhodes bearing a face which
is supposed with good reason to be that of this
Colossus.
When we consider what carefulness was neces-
sary to cast this enormous figure in bronze, — in
separate pieces, — to adjust them to each other,
and in any sense satisfy the standard of art that
existed in Rliodes when it was made, we are cjuite
ready to allow that Chares of Lindos was a worthy
pupil of his great master, Lysippus, and that his
Colossus merited a place among the seven wonders.
There were colossal statues in Egypt, the remains
i)f which may still be seen, which were much older
than the Colossus of Rhodes, and more remark-
able, on account of their having been made of
single stones and mo\-ed from the places where
they were quan'icd to those upon which they were
erected.
The largest one is that near the Memnonium, at
Western Thebes. It was sixty feel high, twenty-
two feet across the shoulders, and one toe is three
feet long. This statue is estimated to have weighed
887 tons, and was moved 138 miles.
The two famous colossi — of which one was called
"The Singing Memnon," and was believed to hail
the rising sun with musical sounds — are on the
plain of Quorneh. These were each made from
one block, and were forty-seven feet high, each foot
being ten and two-thirds feet long. They are in a
sitting posture. These last statues were erected
about 1330 B. c, and the one at Western Thebes
about 270 years earlier.
Thk Temi'le 01-- Diana at Ephesus.
With a short account of this wonderful temple I
shall leave the " Seven Wonders " ; for the Great
Pyramid, the gardens of Semiramis, and the
Pharos of Alexandria do not come so strictly within
our subject as do those of which we have spoken.
.-\ temple existed at Ephesus before the building of
that which we describe. It had also been dedi-
cated to Diana or Artemis, who was the same god-
dess who had aided her brother to slay the children
of Niobe. The first temple was burned, and some
writers say that the fire occurred on the night in
which Alexander the Great was born, which was in
the autumn of the year 356 B. c.
The second temple was 425 feet long by 220 feet
wide, and was ornamented with 127 columns, each
of which was the gift of a king, according to the
account of Pliny. These columns were very large,
and made of beautiful marbles, jasper, and other
fine stones. Some of them were carved in elegant
designs, one being the work of Scopas, who is
believed to have made the Niobe group. It re-
quired 220 years to complete this temple, and the
necessar)' money was so difficult for the people to
obtain, that even the ornaments of the women
were given to be melted down in order to add to
the fund ; and yet, when Alexander offered to pay
for the temple if his name should be inscribed
upon it, they refused his aid.
When it was completed, many works l)y the best
404
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[Ma
artists were placed therein. The Ephcsian artists
were proud to do all they could for its adornment,
without other reward than the honor of seeing their
works in so grand and sacred a place, while the
works of other artists were bought in great numbers.
The great altar was filled with the sculptures of
Praxiteles; a [laintingby Apelles, called the "Alex-
ander Ceraunophorus," was there, and was a
celebrated picture ; and it is probable that many
other artists of whom wc have heard were em-
ployed in its decoration.
This great temple was plundered by the Emperor
Nero ; the Goths carried the work of its destruction
still farther in 260 A. n. ; and, finally, under the
Emperor Theodosius, a. n. 381, when all pagan
dest place, and has the least to repay one who goes
there, of all the ruined cities which I have seen.
Thk Laoi'oon Group.
This famous piece of statuary, now in the \'ati-
can iVluseum, at Rome, is not very old in compari-
son with many of the works we have described, its
[irobable date being the time of the Emperor Titus,
who lived from A. D. 40 to 81. He was a liberal
]->alron of art, and it is believed that Agesander, Poly-
dorus, and Athenodorus, sculptors of Rhodes, ex-
ecuted this work at the command of Titus, in whose
palace it was placed.
In 1506 it was found in the excavation of the
^?1
[|jfii|i||jijjlii,iiin,||iiiiiiiMiii|'ii^,|||iiiPw,--;^rtiw^^
worship was suppressed, this temple was destroyed,
and now alinost nothing remains at Ephesus to
remind one of its past grandeur. It is probable
that the materials which composed the temple, and
other noble buildings there, have been carried to
Constantinople and other cities, and much may
still be hidden beneath the soil ; but it is the sad-
liaths of Titus, and was placed in the Vatican by
Pope Julius II. An arm, which was wanting, was
restored by an Italian sculptor named Baccio
Bandinelli. Napoleon Bonaparte carried it to
Paris, but in 1815 the group was returned to Rome,
together with other art treasures which he had
borne awav.
STOKIKS Ol" AKT AND A U 11 SIS.
405
This work illustrates tin." story ol" Laocoiin, who work of two brothers, Apollonius and Tauriscus of
was a priest of Troy. When the Creeks left the Rhodes, and was carried from Rhodes to Rome by
wotKten horse outside that city, and pretended to Asiniiis I'ollio, and placed in the baths of Caracalla.
siiil away, Laocoon warned the Trojans of the dan- After beiny covered up in the ruins of these baths
ger of drawing it within the walls, and as he spoke
he thrust a lance into the side of the horse. But
Sinon, who had been left behind by the Greeks,
contrived to persuade the Trojans that the horse
would be a blessing to them, and it was drawn into
the city, and feasts and sacrifices were ordered to
do honor to the occasion. Laocoon was preparing
a sacrifice to Neptune, when two huge serpents
were seen coming from Tenedos. All the people
fled ; only the priest and his two sons remained by
the altar, and to them the fearful creatures went,
and srnin killed all three by their horrible entwin-
ings. When Laocoon and his sons were really
dead, the serpents went to the Acropolis and dis-
apf>earcd behind the shield of Tritonis. This story
has been told by several poets, and in Virgil's
/Eneid is read b)- many boys and girls.
The famous group of the Vatican shows the
moment when the serpents arc cnt\vined about all
three figures, and represents the most intense
suflTering of mind and body.
Thk Farnesf. Ui;li..
This is another celebrated group, believed to
belong to the first century of our era. It w;is the
for many years, it was found in the sixteenth
century, and is now in the Museum of Naples.
This group tells a part of the story of Dircc, who
had incurred the displeasure of Antiope, the mother
of Amphion, the king of Thebes and the husband
of N'iobc.
Then Amphion and his twin brother, Zethus, in
order to satisfy the wrath of their mother, bound
Dircc to the horns of a wild bull, who dragged her
to death. It is said that Dionysos changed her
body into a well on Mt. Cith;eron. A small river
near Thebes was also called by her name.
The moment represented in the sculpture is that
when Dirce is struggling to free herself from Am-
phion and Zethus, who are fastening the cords to
the horns of the savage animal.
Thk Br<)\;;k Horsk.s ok Venick.
High up above the central portal of the cathedral
of St. Mark, in Venice, there are two bronze horses
at each side of the arch. They are large, and
weigh 1932 pounds each. It is wonderful to think
of how they have been carried over the w<irld, now-
raised to great heights, and again lowered and car-
ried great distances. When we consider the difli-
4o6
S 1" U K 1 !•: S U !■■ A R l' A N 1 ) A K l' ISIS.
culties of thus moving them by land and sea, we said to be the united work of the two great sculp-
understand how \alual3le they must have been tors, Phidias and Praxiteles. They are colossal in
considered. The positive truth concerning their size and spirited in execution. The Monte Cavallo
origin is not known. Some critics believe them to is so named on account of these statues, which were
be of the Greek school of Lysippus ; but the gen- excavated in the baths of Constantine. It is a por-
cral belief is that the Emperor Augustus carried tion of the Ouirinal Hill, and is beside the Quirinal
them from Alexandria to Rome after his victory
over Mark Antony, about 30 B. C.
Augustus placed them on a triumphal arch, and
the emperors Nero, Domitian, Trajan, and Con-
stantine, each in turn, removed them to arches of
their own. At length, Constantine carried them to
Constantinople, his new capital, and placed them
in the Hippodrome ; from there they were brought
to Venice by the Crusaders in 1205. In 1797
Napoleon Bonaparte carried them to Paris, and in
1815 they were returned to Venice, where they now
stand, —
"Their gilded collars glittering in the sun."
The picture on this page is reprinted from Sr.
Nicholas for December, 1877, in which number a
fuller account of these famous horses may be found.
The Dioscuri on Monte Cav,.\i,i,(), at Rome.
These two figures on horses arc believed to repre-
sent the twin brothers, Castor and Pollux, and are
Palace, which is now the Roman residence of the
King of Italy.
Castor and Pollux were famous for their brotherly
!o\ e, and their legend relates that, as a reward for
their affection, Jupiter placed them together among
the stars, after their death, where they are called
Gl-z/u'/ii, the Twins. They were worshiped in
Greece, and at Rome there was a temple erected to
them, opposite the temple of \'esta, in the Forum,
and on the 15th of July the cquites (or soldiers on
horses) went there in solemn procession to perform
their rites in honor of the Dioscuri.
Ancient Sci'litukes Now Exis
of the head ol Asclepius after -\Ii
Co
Museum.
Copies after those of Praxiteles.
Venus, as seen on the Cnidian coins.
Venus; the finest copy in marble is in the (Jlyptothek, Munich.
Cupid, National Museum at Naples.
Cupid, Vatican Museum, Rome.
Satyr, Capitol, Rome.
Apollo with the Lizard, Louvre, Paris.
The Dioscuri on Monte Cavallo, Rome, said to be the joint work
of Phidias and Praxiteles.
The Niobc Group, Ufizzi, Flo.
copy after Scopas.
A CHINESE STORY FOR TRANSLATION.
407
Here is a little story which is told on this page in two languages,— in pictorial language on the fans,
and in Anglo-Chinese on the tablet. Our young friends who can decipher bad penmanship may read it
in English by holding the page in a certain way before a looking-glass.
4o8
FOR VERY LlTTLli FOLK.
(Makch,
1\
ii\i:s.
Fivi; little pussy-cats, sitting' in ;i row ;
Blue ribbon round each neck, fastened in a bow.
Hey, kittens ! ho, kittens ! are your faces clean ?
Don't you know you 're sitting; here, so as to be seen?"
FivK pretty little birds, sino;ini;- all toijcther ;
Flitting round so joyfully in the pleasant weather.
" Little birds, little birds, why not fret and cry ? "
" Oh, because we 're good and glad : that 's the reason why."
FOR VERY 1 I r r I I' 1 <'l K ,
409
I'lvr little tlulily clocks, stanclino- on tluir tDcs ;
luich with a suijar-pluni halanccti on his nose,
j-'ivc caijer listenin*,' doj^oics, still as any mice.
•• Pop ! " voii cry ; aiul all the candy "s \anisiu'il in a iricc.
l-'ivi. little hoys w ith pipes. What are they doing here ?
Smoking ? \ot a bit of it ! What a strange idea !
Pray, put on your spectacles, then you wont see double ;
Every boy is blowing out a famous big soap-bubble.
FiVK rosy little girls with dollies sweet and small.
Oh! don't you think the little girls are prettiest >.'>{ all?
Little loving, laughing things! Just take another look.
Then smile, and kiss your hand at them, before vou close the book.
4IO
I ACK- IN -THK-l'ULPlT
JACK-IN-THK-PULPIT
March !
"No, no! my youngsters; don't go away! I in
giving an idea, not an order.
And yet, why sliould you stand still? Notliing
young docs or can do that, in the stirring month at
hand.
Besides, there is no harm in giving .in order that
is sure to be obeyed ; so
.'\ttenlion, company !
Forward ! — Marcli ! !
THE PURPLE FINCH.
Keep a bright lookout just now lor the purple
finch, my gentle bird-lovers. That shy but merry
fellow generally shows — in our north-eastern States
— toward the beginning of March. His royally
hearty spirit is regally clad, too, as all must say
who see him flaunt his rich coat — which is more
crimson than purple, by the way — and hear him
carol gayly on the wing.
You may sec him, in company with his humble
mate, looking for a home-place in some tall tree.
And when the eggs are lying in the nest, I know
that you will be most likely to tind the faithful
fellow watching over his little wife as she cuddles
down cozily over them, while he sings to her a
sweet and cheering song, — like the loyal friend
and tender helpmate that he is.
ABOUT ROOT-TIPS.
Somebody signing himself or herself " Member
of the Agassiz Association, St. Nicholas branch,"
sends you this scrap about the wonderful sensitive-
ness of the tips of those little roots which first strike
out from buried seeds. " It is in a new book just
out," says this person; so some of you may have
come across the paragraph already. Hut, after
reading it now, my tender-hearts, you will come
nearer to knowing some of an ordinary Jack-in-the
Pulpit's feelings, and at all events you will think
more highly of that humble life which is forever
moving, feeling, growing in the ground.
*' If the tip of a seedling's rnol be lightly pressed or burnt or cut,
it transmits an influence to the part next above, causing it to bentl
aw.ly fr<mi the affected side : and, what is still more surprising, the
lip can tell the difterence between a slightly harder and a softer ob-
ject by which it may be pressed at the same time on opposite sides.
If. however, the tip is pressed by a similar object a little abo%-e its
point, the pressed part does not transmit any influence to the more
distant parts, but it bends itself at once toward the object. Ifthc tip
perceives the air to be moistcr on one side than on the other, it then
also transmits an influence to the part ne.\t above, which bends
toward the source of moisture. When the tip is excited by light
" * * the adjoining part bends away from the light : but, when
excited by gravitation, the same part bends toward the center of the
earth"
THE MARINERS COMPASS.
Of course )ou all know, my dears, what a useful
invention is the mariner's compass, by which ships
can be steered on a certain course, even in the
darkest night, and through the thickest fog. It is
a very simple-looking affair, 1 understand, — a brass
Ijox, a needle pivoted on its center, and rubbed
with a loadsttne or natural magnet, and a card
marked with the directions in which the wind blows.
Before this invention the only safe way in which
shipmen could navigate their vessels was by keep-
ing within sight of land, or by watching the stars.
So, on very dark nights, they were obliged to make
guesses — too often fatal ones — as to their where-
abouts. A captain might think that he had plenty
of sea-room, when, in a few minutes, his poor ship
might be wrecked upon some rocky coast.
"The compass, with needle pointing northward,
was invented by an Italian about six hundred years
ago," say some of the books. But I am told the
people of China insist that they invented and used
a compass there three thousand years ago. This
Chinese compass was in the form of a man, with one
movable, magnetic arm, made to point southward,
no matter to what quarter the face might be turned.
By its aid, the caravans or traveling bands of traders
and pilgrims, with their loaded camels, their horses,
and their guards or fighting-men, were enabled to
journey across the vast, trackless, grassy plains of
Tartary, without losing their way ; and, with the
help of the same trusty, little one-armed pilot,
sailors could find a sure course over the wide waters
of the Indian Ocean.
HOW SIR ROOSTER STOLE THE CHICKS.
Perhaps he meant only to borrow them for a
time, and so to punish Mother Brownie for being
"off duty." But this is what a little girl, named
Lizzie, tells me in her letter :
'* Poor worried Brownie had gone off to look for one little ' peeper '
that she missed, when up marched Sir Rooster, and led the other
chicks away. He very soon found his hands full, so to speak, and
learned that it was not easy to m.anage eleven small children, .all cry-
ing at once : for their timid little hearts were throbbing fearfully at
his fierce looks. He strutted and crowed and scratched, and lolti the
children pompously to do as he was doing. But the poor litde things
only bccamcmorc frightened, and at Last they scattered wildly over the
railroad tracks, just as a train was coming. At that moment, up
scuttled Mother Brownie from around the comer of the long shed,
every feather standing anxiously on end. And oh, but did n't she scold
Sir Rooster, and give him a piece of her mind ! (It seemed to me
that she said he w.as a ' meddlesome old stupid.') This done, she
JACK- IN - III K - l-f I I'l 1 .
1' '
TACTS FROM THE FAIRY LAND OF SCIENCE.
Now. |lu«c of you «ho know the Multiplicition
Tabic, and Kractions. and such matlcrs, just step
to the front. Can you think a hundred ? Can you
iniaj;ine a thous.uid ? Can you conceive how
in.un a million baked [lolntoes would be ?
Then listen to wh.it a wise man s;\\s about
you: '•The surface of your Ixxlies, as seen
through the microscope, is covered with little
scilcs. .\ sinj;le grain of s.ind would cover
one hundred and fifty of these scales ; and yet,
every scale covers h\e hiiiulred jrores, or tiny
holi-s. ihrough which the moisture of the body
forces its wa\."
Now. multiply 500 by 150 and you have
75,000. the number of pores in cvei^- space of
your skin .as larjje as a grain of sand. Look at
your plump fists antl think of these facts, my
dears I Hut, listen further yet !
Another learned man tells of an insect which
is so small that it would take twenty-seven mill-
ions like it to make a s|>eck as large as a mite !
.\nd each leaf, that you see swinging in the
breeze, has whole colonies of insects grazing
upon it, like cows on a meadow. And every
drop of stagnant water contains myriads of
beings, floating in it with as much liberty as
»hak-s enjoy in the ocean. The single drop of
water is a vast sea to them.
MORE YET.
L)EACt)X Green, with all his lively waj-s, is
packed so full of facts that. 1 notice, he always
has to hand out two or three to make room for
.iny new one the dear Little Schoolma'am may
give him. Here, for instance, are a few that he
lately let fall near my pulpit :
.A ritle-ball, shot into the w ater at right angles,
will bounce up and become as flat as a wafer.
.\ bullet may be shot through a pane of
gla-ss, from close to it. without breaking or even
shaking the glass; but there will be a clean round
hole made by the bullet in p.assing through.
Cork sunk two hundred feet in the sea will
not rise, for the water above it will keep it down.
And, if ever any of )ou should feel weary
of listening to a weak-voiced speaker in a stufl"y
hall, just reflect that, in the Arctic regions, on
a \ery cold day, every word of .1 speech can l)c
hcird at the safe distance of two miles.
A JELLY "MAN OF WAR."
This month's picture, my dears, shows you a
jelly " man-of-war." It is the Portuguese man-of-
war, a creature often seen floating ne.ir the southern
shores of the t nited Stati-s. Its upper part is a trans-
p.irent bluish bubble, and when the wind catches its
delicate pink crest, the dainty iMiat glides smoothly
along, rocking and swaying on the gently heaving
sea. So, you see, its outward appearance is lovely
and peaceful ; but, under the water, it is at war.
D.inglin^ from the bubble's lower suif.ite .lie
m.iny blue feelers, or tentacles; some of these are
■-hort .ind thick, but the others — «ilh which the
creature wriggles itself along — are of great length,
and twist and twirl about rapidly and gracefully,
bearing myriads of very fine hairs that prick like
those of the nettle. Perhaps a hungry or careless
little sardine, seeing the scpiirming blue things.
grabs one of them, hoping for a pleasant meal;
but the tempting, worm-like feelers wind their
folds around him, and he dies, poor fellow, —
but he dies at once.
While he is being lifted toward the short thick
arms, five or six very small blue fish dart out from
among them, and presently join in the feast. These
seem to belong to the man-of-war, — .is the small
boats Ijelong to some huge fighting-ship, — and
they flit ;il)<)ut unharmed, and quite at home
among the deadly tentacles.
4i:
OUR musk; 1'A(;k.
ROMANCK WITHOUT WORDS.
I'OR I.ITTI.K HANDS.
]W Wm. K. Hassfori).
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THE LETTER- BOX.
413
m^~^^^^m:
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* *^/'^rf. *
THK LICTTICR-BOX.
Thk Little Schoolma'am s;iys, so many stories about the " Ki
pictures, on page 251 of our January number, have been sc
that the committee has been unable to finish the report in tii
this number. In order that full justice maybe done to all the c
buttons, in selecting the best one for publication, the report is
held until next month.
Those of our young readers who are interested in " The Recollec-
tions of a Little Prima Donna," on page 393 of the present number,
will be glad to read this note from the author :
Dear St. Nichoi^s: "The Recollections of a Little Prima
Donna," which I send to you, are strictly tnie. The town men-
cioned is Wilmington, Delaware: the year is 1854: and the little
blonde-haired lassies were my '
In answer to our request in the January " Letter- Bo,\ " concerning
** The Land of Nod," many welcome letters have come to us, telling
of the successful performance of the little operetta. The following
letter in regard to it will, we think, interest our young readers :
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been informed by a friend that, in
the January number of St. Nicholas, the question was asked by
some one if any person had ever tried the little operetta entitled
" The Land of Nod," given in your Christmas number. I am proud
and happy to inform you that I went successfully through It on
Christmas-eve, having drilled some thirty-two little performers,
between the ages of seven and fifteen, for the occasion.
The opcretLa was given before a crowded house (for this little town
agrcat tum-out) — I should judge six hundred. But everything went
ofT splendidly, and it was pronounced a grand thing, and a perfect
success. I did cvcr>'thing myself— the arrangement of stage, cos-
tumes, etc., etc. — a good clcal of hard work. I found, for one person ;
but as everything went off so well, I felt paid for my hard work.
Should any one wLsh for help or information on this subject, I
should gladly and willingly try to aid them.
Any one wishing information, please address
Mrs. a. B. FLACrf;,
Bemardston, Franklin Co., Mass.
" Two Sisters." — In the back volumes of St. NlCllOl.J^s you will
find pretty and simple songs which "Two Little Sisters" can sing.
Also songs and simple piano-forte music arc to be given in future
volumes of St. Nicholas. A remarkably good collection of just
such music as you ask for is "A Book of Rhymes and Tunes,"
recently published by Ditson & Co., of Boston. The compilers
(Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Louisa T. Cragin) have spent years in the
preparation of this delightful treasury of home-songs, and the result
is admirable.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am so tired of seeing Xcr.\es always
mentioned when a name beginning with X is wanted that I .should
like to remind the people of this century of several other fellows
whose names begin or began with X. These are Xenophon, Xavier,
Xenocrates, Xantippus, Xantippe (but she was a lady) , Xcnophanes,
Ximenes. They can be read about in any biographical dictionary.
Z, too, is supposed to be a very rare beginning for famous names ; but
while we are reading up the as, we can also turn to the end of the
same biographical dictionary, and learn of Zamacois, Zeno (two of
name), Zeuxis, Ziem, Zinjcndorf, Ziska, Zolius, Zoroaster, and
Zwingll, who winds up the list with ;
fully.
nap.-
Trailing Aroutus. — By reference to the story, " Fine or Super-
fine," Trailing Arbutus will sec it is not claimed that Clara "got"
the baby-carriage through her bracelet, but that the "pushing"
was done through the bracelet. She probably held the bracelet with
the left hand close to the end of the carriage's handle ; then passed
some fingers of the right hand through the bracelet and pushed the
carriage along.
.■\, Strange Clock.
Bovs and giris in this country have read of the great clock in
Strasbiirg Cathedral, and many have even seen it in the dim comer
of that old building The priest or sexton in the church draws a big
curtain aside, and shows a large upright clock. At noon, small
figures appear in the upper part of the clock, and, representing the
twelve Apostles, pass in procession from one adc to the other, and
then disappear. For a long time, the Strasburg clock has been
famous as the most wonderful piece of machinery* for showing the
time of the day. hour, month, and year : but now, it seems, there is in
this country a still more wonderful clock, that marks the seconds and
minutes, quarter-hours, hours, and days of the month and year.
It resembles one of the old-fashioned wooden clocks once common
in New England, excepting that it is very much larger than any
414
T II K I.K'rTK K- HOX.
hall clock you ever saw. heing eighteen feel high. It Ls eight feel
wide, and as handsomely carved and polished as a grand piano.
There arc thirteen dials to show the time of day in thirteen different
cities in the world, the largest dial showing, for instance. New York
time, and the other dials representing the iinic of day at San Francisco,
or Paris, or St. Petersburg, or other places. And the curious p.irt of
it is thai these clocks all move exactly together, and are not thirteen
separate clocks, but one clock showing thirteen different times at once.
So when wc call at noon to see the clock, we can tell what time in the
evening it is in London, and what time in the morning it is in San Fran-
cisco. In the center, between the dials, is a birger dial, with one hand
pointing to ihe days of the month, while above arc t\vo dials giving
the month and the day of the week. In the center is a golden ball
representing the sim, and around it are the planets, the earth and the
moon each turning around the sun, and in its own path and time ; for
, Mercury moves around the sun every eighty-eight days,
1 two hundred and twenty-four days, the F-irth in a year, and
in thirty thousand six hundred and eighty-eight d.iys. These
: at the same time and with the clocks, and show at any
just how the planets stand in the iieavens, There arc four
hcs around the clock, — a boy, a young man, a man
i an old man, — and at the end of each quarter-hour
e on little bells, and at the end of the hour old
:es the hour on a larger bell, 'i'he most wonderful
:s now. At the top of the clock sits Washington
e.ich side is a servant standing at a door. As
bell strikes, a music-box begins to play, and tlic
figures in little n
of middle age, ai
they in turn stri
Father Time str
performance con
in a chair, and :
Father Tii
door at the right opens, and out walk all the Pn
cession ; they turn and bow to Washington, who rises, and then
they pass on, and the servant closes the door behind them. Wash-
ington then quietly sits down, and remains sitting in dignified silence
till his visitors again appear at the end of the hour, when he again
rises to receive them. Wonderful as the Strasburg clock may be, the
American clock does many more things, and is far more curious, and
much more interesting, as a piece of complicated time-keeping
machinery. In the "Letter- Box" for February and April, 1880,
I of two other curious clocks.
As I was looking over my spelling-book, I
t the top of a column "Words Relating to L^
f St. Ni.
and down
the column I saw the word "Llanos." What does "Llanos
mean? J. M. Hatcher.
The Llanos are vast plains in South America, between the Carib-
bean Sea and the plains of the Amazon ; they have no trees, and
are not tilled, but grasses and bushes grow in some parts.
Dear St. Nicholas: Tell the boys they can make paper barom-
eters, by dipping sheets of clean white paper into a solution of cobalt.
The color will change just a HtUe while before the weather changes.
The French barometer- flower^ are made on this principle. — Truly
Here, now, is an agreeable idea, from M. V. W., and perhaps
some of the girls would like to work it out.
" Take some black or brown broadcloth, double it, and cut out two
pieces in the shape of a palette. The greatest length should not
exceed four inches, and the greatest width should not be more than
three inches. Button-hole stitch them around the edge with embroid-
ery silk of ihe same color as the broadcloth, but not too closely, lest the
cloth become stretched at the edge, and so spoil the shape of the
palette. To make a very nice one, trace a faint outline of the palette
on the cloth with a colored pencil, and button-hole stitch it very
closely be/ore cutting out. Having finished the edges of the two
palettes, get some coarse embroidery silk of various colors. .*\ piece
three inches long should be untwisted until it looks like a small ball
of fluffy ravelings. Make six or seven bunches of this kind in dif-
ferent colors, in the selection of which there is a good chanccio study
harmonious combinations. Sew them to that part of the palette
where the colors are usually placed by artists.
" Nothing is better to wipe a pen on than kid. Cut from the jialnis
of some old kid gloves several pieces shaped like the broadcloth
palettes, but a trifle smaller. Place these kid palettes in the middle
of the plain broadcloth'onc, lay the ornamented one on top, and baste
all together. Next cut the hole which, in a painter's paleiic, is in-
tended for the thumb. Button-hole stitch it closely with cmbruider>-
silk of the color of the broadcloth, taking the stitches through all the
pieces of broadcloth and kid. Remove the Kosting and pa.ss a piece
of narrow ribbon through the hole, tying it around the nam>wcsi
part of ihe palette and making a neat bow on the upper side.
" To make one of these pen- wipers Igok more like a real palette, go
to a store where arlists'materials are sold and buy two delicate bnishes
with slender wooden {not quill) handles, and cut these to the length
of the pen-wiper. Stitch these on under the bow, and you have a
pen-wiper which cannot fail to brighten any writing-table; and per-
haps you will think as I do thai the more you love the person to
whom the pen-wiper is to be given, the more neatly and ta.NtcfulIy it
should be made."
MORAL SUASION.
boys
, . , Marm Dinah, " I can't hab you he
You 're too peart and ton noisy by half,
Now, hurr>' up. quick, don' be lazy no more,
But clar out de snow from de paf
My washin 's 'most done, and how do you s'pose
I can wade fru dat snow lo hang out de clo's?"
■ < >h. Mammy, I can't ; I aint well," cries Bob I.£e, —
" I 've the dreffulest pain in my bones,"
While Tom doubles up with a stitch in his side.
And the kitchen resounds with their groans.
■ Stop dat nonsense!" says Dinah, "hush up, I say!
You no account chillun grow worse ebbry day."
Uncle Ca:sar looks down at the cimning young scamps
He chuckles and laughs at the sport.
' No need o" hard work, honies— -jes" go an' play;
Now, s'posin' you build up a fort."
With a shout and a boiuid the boys nish around,
As they roll up the balls on the sn«jw-covered ground.
They pile up the blocks and they lay them in place ;
White and square soon the snow-fort is seen.
Says Dinah to Caesar, "That trick works fus' nite ;
Now dem pafs is jus" hibly an' clean."
Says Ciesar to Dinah, "Ob course, chile,
, ofte
ch belle:
Dear St. Nicholas: I hope you will introduce a brave Htile dog
to the " Letter-Box " circle. For want of knowing his real name, I
call him "Shush Biezzeh " (little bear), a common Indian name for
a dog. This little fellow saved the lives of a detachment of United
States soldiers
Several years ago, when the large and powerful Indian tribe of
Navajoes were at war with our government, a military- post was
established at Fort Defiance, Arizona Territoiy. One day a detach-
ment was sent out scouting, and when only a few miles from the post,
was suddenly hemmed in by Indians. The soldiers fought all day
long, but when night came the situation was critical. The men were
exhausted, and it was almost certain death for any one to try to
reach Fort Defiance. "Shush Biezzeh" had followed his master,
one of the soldiers, with whom he was a gi-eat pet. He suggested
a happy thought, A note was written lo the officer in command at
Fort Defiance, and placed in a canteen, which was lied around the
dog's neck. In the darkness he started off for the post imper-
ceived by the enemy. He reached his destination safely, delivered
the message, and re-enforcements brought the reply.
History is silent as to whether or not he received a medal, but he is
still remembered in the vicinity of Fort Defiance. — Yours truly,
R. Eleanor Griffin.
by a lady eighty-thn
RIDING DOWNHILL.
When I was a youngster, and Christmas had come,
And I for the holidays staying at home,
Of skating and sliding I then had my fill.
But niosi splendid of ail was "riding downhill."
Three boards and two runners were all I desired,
An old rope to haul it aside if required,
Then off like an arrow ! a shout and a yell,
The measureless height of my glory to tell.
I decided it then, I think it so still,
There 's nothing so splendid as "riding downhill."
But now my g.iy cutter comes 'round to the door,
And I hand in my wife and one or two more :
They all look so happy, and prattle and smile,
My labors and cares are all banished a white.
'T is easy to see in each dear little face
The wondrous c.Ycitcmcnt the sleigh-bells can place.
So, merrily jingling, we dash on our way;
Our horse shakes his head as if glad of the day.
We all arc as joyous and blithe as can be.
And yet there seems something a-waniing 10 mc
nd I Imlf think it still,—
0 spletuiid as riding do-ivnhill.
I said it at first,
Tlifre 's nothing
Tin: KI DIII.K- HdX.
1 l)ni.i:-H()X.
415
P f
>ir.l».n ' '■ ~
-^.^.^■irf*;-':
Describe the first picture of the accompanying illustration in three words,
moderate With the letters in the second picture, make an old-fashioned word, ;
words, and with all the letters ul" these spell one word, meaning freed from 1
id with all the letters of these spell one word, meaning
aning a heavy load. Describe the third picture in three
nplications. Aint Suk.
II VM-.-^t^ AKK.
general on the side of Charles I. in the Parliamentary war. 4 T^e
name of a favorite pupil of Plato's, who was also the tutor of Alexander
the Great. 5. The cape near which Nelson won his last and great-
est naval victory 6. The name of a great Carthaginian general. 7.
The name of a Roman Emperor who died by his own hand after
reigning three months. 8. The name of a Roman Kmperor who
died by his own hand after reigning fourteen years. n. g.
Reading Across: i. Recalled. 3. Stricken out. •^. An ill-tem-
pered woman. 4. Short poem-.. =;. To know. 6. A boy's nickname.
7. A Roman numeral. »- h
DOUBLE CHOSS-WOKI) EM(;MA.
This differs from the ordinarj* cros.s-word enigma, by requiring two
istead of one. The first letter of each answer is " in Paris,
Rome.*' the second "in tavern, not in home." and soon, till the
ords, of twelve letters each, have been spelled.
In Pans, not in Rome;
In tavern, not in home:
In heated, not in cold ;
In saucy, not in bold:
in frighten.
In ruddy, no
ot in scare-
t in fair:
In lumber, not in block;
In fasten, no
t in lock:
In titter, not
in -ineer;
In ibis, not i
n deer:
In aloe, not
n birch :
In looking, n
ot in search.
Relatmg to
the President :
An installation here is mea
Connected,
T looked-for ev
nt. r. R. r.
M MEUICAT. EMUMA.
I AM composed of twenty letters, and am a quotation from Shakes-
peare's play of "Julius Cxsar."
My 13-30-9-11 is a shelter. My 5-17-18-12 is scarce. My 1-6-4-
16 is 10 shine. My 3-10-7-8 is a preposition. My 15-14-2 is an
enemy. .My 19 is one hundred. Andrew.
TIIKEE M'MERICAIi IHAMO.NDS.
I I. In March, 2. A covered carriage. 3. A piorticl-'s dtt'ell-
inK. 4- A large wooden box. 5. In cachinnation.
II. I. In March. 3. What Marcus Brutus was. 3. Land belong-
ing to a nobleman. 4. A negative connective. 5. In March.
III. I. In M.irch. 2. A vehicle. 3. A measure of weight. 4.
A rodent. 5. In frost. n. w.
A MARTIAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
Primai.*.. a famous battle which to<»k place 490 n. t. Fin.ils, a
&mous battle which occurred 1815 a. i>.
Cri>v\.wnrds: i. The destination of an army, whose march ischroni*
cled in verse by the poet Shelley, a. A famous king of the H uns, who
bkl wajttc the Roman Empire about 434 a. i-. 3. A dashing cavalry
CHARADE.
Mv first I see before me now,
My second, too, is here;
Yd search through earth and s
Nowhere you 'II find. 1 fear.
l.ETTKK V\/./.\
My 1-6-5-8-3 are used in music, commcrec, and societ>'. My
2-7-5-9-4 's ^ slender twig. My 1-2-3-4 is on all maps. My 1-4-
a-3 is m the daily papers. My 1-4-3-5 is what a little boy hkcs to
find. My 1-4-5-3 ^re used by fishermen. My 1-4-2-5 is a small
lizard. My 2-4-3-5 i* usually represented by its first letter. My
2-4-5-3 is what the rain does. My 2-4-1-5 is a word meaning
"has gone." My 3-5-4-2 is what a cook may do, but not be in.
^>y 3-4-1-5 is dispatched. My 3-4-5 is to fix firmly. My 3-4-2 is
to jom with stitches. My 5-4-1-3 r" *• — ' " « .. ..
PUZZLE BIRDS.
F.ACH of the following stanzas is tn l>e completed by adding, at tlie
end of the fourth line, the name of the bird described m the preceding
three lines. The stars show the luimber of letters in the name, which
must rhyme with the second line.
1. What bird is fabled to bring ple.a.sani weather,
And every sailor-boy is his well-wisher t
HLs coat is ^ay with many a brighi-hued feather.
This bird is called ■»***"^****.
2. What bird is ever prophesying rain,
Though often his prognostics seem to fall ?
" More wet!" he cries; "More wet, more wet!*' .igain.
Do you not know the ••*•*?
3. What bird is he whose humming charms the ear.
And yet whose voice perhaps ts seldom heard?
His plumage gleams like gems with brilliance clear.
This is the •—--—*.
: numbers.
What bird •
Ruilds nc
In city squares beguiles the ladies shopping
about our door-yards hopping,
trees, or grass and ya
must tie the
5. In Noah's day this bird w.is very tame ;
And it is one that all the children love
Ils gentle innocence bespeaks its name.
LILIAN PAYSOS.
fr
It. I
M»r .
V.I f r
THE LESSON ON THE SAMPLER.
[Set- page 493.]
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII.
APRIL, 1881
No. 6.
(Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.]
LOST IX THE FOG.
By M. C. S.
Three miles to the eastward of the pretty sea-
shore town of Newport, on a high bank sloping
toward the beach, stood a large old farm-house,
which could be seen for miles around.
When the south-east wind lilew, and great
waves dashed on the rocks, the old house trembled,
for it stood bare and unprotected ; but its good
timbers had stoutly withstood many a storm
which had driven great ships to seek shelter under
the high cliffs rising to the north-east of it. If you
had visited Newport at the time of which 1 am
writing, and, by chance, had driven along the
beaches to the quiet country, you might have seen
the house of which I have told you, and perhaps,
in passing the gate, you would have noticed three
brovvn faces peeping out at you — the faces of three
little girls, — Louisa, Helena, and Mary, — who lived
in the solitary house all through the bright summer
and through the stormy winter. They had no
playmates besides one another, but they were
always happy, always busy, and 1 shall tell you
something about what the\ did.
First, they slept in a pretty nursery, papered with
bright pictures, and with windows which looked
to the eastward, far away over the broad ocean, and
in the early morning, when the sun came up out
of the sea, it shone directly across their beds.
Then the six brown eyes unclosed, and the little
girls made their plans for the day. They must
water their flowers, and the seeds they had lately
planted ; they must feed their cat and dog ; and,
when Mamma should be ready, they must take her
up through the fields, to look at the last bird's-nest
they had discovered. In the afternoon they must
go to the beach, and look for shells, and sec if the
waves had tossed up anything new, for they had
Vol. VIII.— 27.
learned a great deal about the creatures that live
in the water as well as about those that live upon
the land.
They turned up the stones under which the black
ants had made their nests, and were half-sorry
when they saw the frightened mothers hurrymg to
catch up the baby-ants, to hide them in safer places.
They watched the skillful spiders weave their webs,
and knew where the crickets hid in winter, and the
first spring-flower that peeped above the ground
the)' found and carried home as a treasure.
They once had a funny adventure, of which I am
going to tell you ; but first I must describe some-
thing which is quite peculiar to the island on which
Newport stands.
Often, on bright days, when not a cloud is to be
seen overhead, you suddenly hear, in the distance,
a lo«-, moaning sound.
" What is that? " you exclaim.
"It is the fog-horn on a distant light-house," an
islander will explain to you. "Look! off there is
a fog-bank, and it is rolling toward us;" and south-
eastward, on the horizon, you see a low, dark cloud.
Presently a slight chill creeps over you, and the air
feels moist. A moment more, and the ships near
shore can not be seen, and finally the walls and
buildings are lost to view ; you are enveloped in a
thick cloud, and, bewildered, look about for the
path by which you came.
Well, it was on a bright afternoon that Louisa
(the eldest of tiie children) proposed to her sisters
to go in search of wild strawberries. Mamma con-
sented, and off they started, each with a basket
on her arm.
They climbed one wall after another, feeling
quite safe and happy.
4i8
LOST IN THE FOG.
The berries were abundant, and when they had
filled their baskets they made a nest in the long
grass, and had a grand feast. The little sparrows
hopped about them, and the swallows played above
their heads, and they laughed, and talked, and
rolled in the sweet clover, and thought of nothing
beyond the happy moment.
But while they frolicked in their nest, a great
change had come over everything outside. The
distant islands had disappeared, the white sails
which, a moment before, had glanced in the sun-
shine, were gone, and just as Mary, the youngest
little girl, declared she was tired and wanted to go
homo, their house itself was lost in the great cloud
which had closed around them.
"Never mind," said Louisa, confidently, as she
gathered up the baskets and took Mary's hand,
" I know the way;" but as she looked about for
the stile over which they had climbed, and could
not find it, her face became very sober.
In a few moments, however, they found a wall,
but beyond there was nothing to be seen besides
the green grass.
" Keep straight on," said Louisa, as the children
hurried after her, quite sure that all was right ; but,
a few moments after, they all stood still, for before
them, across what they supposed to be their path
homeward, ran a brook, dashing menily over the
stones.
"Where are we?" said Helena, and little Mary
began to cry. "I 'm tired, Louisa; 1 want to sit
down."
Louisa's heart beat very fast, and the tears would
find their way to her eyes, but she forced them
back as she remembered what her mamma had
often said to her about taking care of her younger
sisters, and said, quite cheerfully :
" We have lost our way, but don't be afraid,
Helena, for you know in a little while the fog will
blow over. 1 think the best thing we can do is to
sit down quietly and wait, for if we keep on, we
may go farther from home. See, here is a big hay-
stack; we will make a hole in the side of it, and all
go in and wait till the sun shines again."
" Yes," said Helena, "and we will make abed
with the hay for Mamie, and if she wants to, she
can go to sleep."
So Helena and Mamie grew quite merry again,
as they fashioned their house, but Louisa sat at
some distance from them, watching and listening
intently for the least sight or sound which might
serve as a guide to her, for she knew that it must
be near the setting of the sun, and that in a little
while they would be surrounded, not only with
clouds but with darkness.
She heard in the distance the lowing of cattle
as they were driven homeward for the evening milk-
ing, and she just caught the faint sound of a bell
in Newport. She thought of her comfortable bed
at home, and of her supper waiting, and of her
poor, anxious mamma ; and, at last, the tears
began to roll down her cheeks.
"This will not do," she said to herself, and she
went and sat closer to Helena.
Mamie had fallen asleep and Helena, tired of
play, was lying down beside her. "Why, Louisa,"
she exclaimed, "you 've been crying! Oh, dear !
oh, dear ! It is growing dark, and we shall have to
stay here all night."
"Hark," said Louisa — "1 hear footsteps ; " and
they clung closely together as the sound came
nearer and nearer.
"Perhaps it is the man who owns the hay,"
whispered Helena, remembering how she had scat-
tered it about.
" Or Mamma come to find us," said Louisa, and
she called loudly, " Mamma I Mamma ! " But there
was no voice in reply ; only, the footsteps were
coming nearer.
Presently they heard something pulling the hay,
then a breathing close by them, and in another
moment a pair of big, round eyes stared wonder-
ingly into their hiding-place.
" It Isold Kate, our cow!" said Louisa, jumping
up with such a shout that Kate started off at a
gallop, and then stood still, and took another look
at the children.
"Come, come; we will follow her, Helena, for
she is sure to go home to be milked."
"But what shall we do with Mamie?" said
Helena. " We must try to wake her."
Mamie, however, had settled herself for her
night's sleep, and though, when the children
called her, she half opened her eyes, they instantly
closed again, and her chubby face settled back,
quite contentedly, on its rough pillow.
There was nothing to do but to carry her, so
Louisa, summoning all her strength, lifted the heavy
child, and, with Helena's help, managed to follow
the footsteps of the cow, who went leisurely on her
way, stopping every few moments to nibble the
bunches of white clover. She followed the brook
for a little way, and then .suddenly turned ofli' from
it, and led the children along a narrow foot-path
through the long grass. They came to an opening
in the w-all and passed through it.
Now they could hear the boom of the waves upon
the beach, and their faces brightened, for they
knew by this that the cow must be leading them in
the right wa)-. Whenever she stopped to eat,
they laid their heavy burden on the grass and
rested ; they became at last very hungry and tired,
for the sun had long ago gone down behind the
hill, and it was near their bed-time.
iSSi.l
LOST IN TIIK I-OC. .
419
" If we only had a pail, we could milk the cow,"
said Helena, thinking of her supper.
It was almost dark, and they had begun to think
that Kate, after all, did nut mean to go home,
when she suddenly brought them into the broad
road which led directly past their fiither's house,
and there before them stood the house itself, look-
ing, Louisa said, like a fairy palace, with a light in
every window. They shouted for joy, and Mamie
awakened, and let them stand her on her feet.
Hut when they had eaten their supper, and no
one had returned, they found they were too sleepy
and tired for any play, so they decided to undress
and hide under the bed-clothes ; and an hour after,
when their mamma came home, anxious and dis-
tressed, behold ! on their pillow she found three
little brown heads, all safe and fast asleep.
In the morning everybody gathered about the
children to hear their story, and old Kate was
^^..
"Run, Mamie dear!" they cried. "Mamma
does not know where we are," and seizing her by
the hands, they hurried on, driving the cow before
them.
When they reached the house, it appeared quite
forsaken. The front door stood wide open, the
supper was lying untouched on the table — the
p.arlor, the bedrooms, even the kitchen, were all
empty. E\erybody, even to the cook, had gone
out to search in the fog for the lost children.
They laughed with delight at the surprise they
would give Mamma when she should come home.
•■ We will hide in the closet," said Helena, "and
suddenly pop out. when thev nil ( nmi- li irk."
petted and caressed as she had never been before.
" But tell me," said their papa, " which way you
went, and what you saw on your way home."
And when the children told him about the brook,
he explained to them that, instead of coming south-
ward as they should have done, they had gone
westward. And he gave Louisa a pretty little instru-
ment called a compass, and explained to her how
the needle inside pointed always to the north, so
that another time, when going for a walk, she could
tie this around her neck, and it would tell her which
way to go. .\r\A Louisa thought that would be a
much better guide than a cow who wanted to stop
and eat clover everv few moments.
420
THE SMALLEST BIRD IN THE WORLD.
[Ai-RILy
THE SMAL1J;S1 HIRD 1\ THK WORLD.
Bv Alice May.
In a favorite niche in my room, adorned with my
choicest specimens of ferns and plumy grasses,
hangs, suspended from two shght twigs of bamboo,
a tiny, daintily fashioned bird's-ncst.
Around this small nest cluster many and grateful
memories of the fairy-like owner, a vervain hum-
ming-bird, sinallest of all known birds, and the
most charming and best loved pet 1 ever possessed.
Many a weary hour, during the almost intolerable
heat of midday in Jamaica, has been charmed away
by the joyous, exuberant life and wild, merry ways
of my little feathered pet.
The day 1 obtained possession of this bit of bird-
kind, I well remember as being warmer and more
unbearable than usual. I had been all the morn-
ing lying in my hammock, with jalousies tightly
drawn to exclude the blinding rays of the sun out-
side, vainly trying to find relief in a vigorous
fanning by my colored maid, justina, and in
cooling drinks of iced lime-juice, when my atten-
tion was drawn to the sound of a dispute on the
piazza outside, and some languid curiosity was
excited by the oft-repeated words :
"Me liab litty bird for white missy," in an un-
mistakable negro voice, but one unknown to me.
Although, during
the midday in Ja-
maica, neither busi-
ness nor pleasure was
often allowed to inter-
fere with the impor-
tant task of keepini;
cool, I had enougli
energy- left to demand ;,"-
that the owner of the :,^
voice be admitted.
In shuffled a genu
ine " blackie boy," ^' -ii 'J^fc
ducking his head i' -^ T^ '''
every step, showin ^ ,y
the whitest of tectl . ' ''- i
and carrying sonn .'^^■' V:'^'
thing carefully co\ , Sjv .
ered in a tattered rag
that I supposed was
intended for a hat.
" Litty bird fly berry fast; missy hab to peek at
he," began the owner of this head-covering, as he
drew near to my hammock.
Now, that hat w.as certainly an objectionable
article to " peek" into, but " peek" I did. and was
rewarded by seeing what seemed to be the remains
of a dirty gauze net.
1 drew back and eyed the boy with stern indig-
nation, but the confident, upraised face, with its
grin of expectancy, induced me to venture one
more "peek." .\nd this time I was more success-
ful, for, wrapped in the folds of gauze, I espied
so tiny a ball of ruffled feathers that I could not
believe it was an entire bird. Hut upon carefully
extricating this small mass of green and black
plumage, I discovered it to be the tiniest bird I
ever saw in my life, but now limp and lifeless.
" Why, my boy ! " exclaimed 1, " this poor bird
is dead. What can 1 do with it ? "
The boy's face fell, and the grin faded.
"Hi, missy; me tink you buy that litty bird.
Him alibe w-hen dis nigga put him in dat hat."
During this conversation 1 h.id been holding the
small bird in my warm palm, and now, much to
my surprise, I felt a slight quiver in the little
frame.
I held the tiny creature to my lips and gently
breathed upon it, and soon a feeble fluttering of
the wings, and a faint " cree, cree," assured me
that the wee thing still had a httle life in it.
" Warra I " cried
my black boy, " him
alibe now, for sho.
White missy put the
bref in him."
I hurriedly dis-
patched Justina for
sweetened water, for
my birdie was rapidly
regaining strength,
and I w.as anxious to
re-assure the timid,
fluttering heart.
The sweetened wa-
ter forthcoming, I put
a few drops between
my lips and carefully
pressed the little beak
' against them, and
after a slight struggle
I felt it sip, feebly at
first, then eagerly, at the sweet drops. Soon after,
my prisoner was struggling to escape.
Froin that moment my heart w;is won, and it
was with real joy that I saw my bird dart suddenly
from iTiy hand, and, alighting on the edge of a
issi.l
riii: sM Aii.Ksr iukd in the world.
421
picture-frame, coinmencc .1 vigorous preening of his
fiisorilered plumage.
"Will missy hab mler litly birilie on de nesl ? "
mquireil the boy.
I then le.irnetl that this hiril h.is the male, which
"THE TINIEST OK FRIENDS." •
the boy had succeeded in catching by means of an
old ring-net, left by some naturalist in this land
teeming with insect life, and the female was still in
the nest, on an old plantation bearing the queer
name of " Bozzetty Hall," situated near the remark-
able river of " One-stick-over-the-one-eye." The
boy's own settlement of shanties was called
"Harmony Pens," while he himself rejoiced in
the appropriate name of "' Snow-ball."
I gladly consented to take the other bird and
nest, if he could obtain them, and giving the
desired "mac," * with an added "Joe," t sent him
on his way rejoicing.
My whole mind was now given to the taming of
my pet, which 1 knew was a ver\ain humming-
bird, a native of Jamaica, and the smallest of even
his tiny race. The name "vervain" probably
originated from these birds being so often found
hovering over the blue blossoms of the West Indian
veriain, a plant common in all the fields and
pastures of Jamaica.
The rather commonplace English name of hum-
ming-bird is quite misapplied in the case of the
vervain, as the name comes from the humming
sound m.ide by the wings in the rapid flight. But
with the ver\-ain, this sound, from its diminutive
size, and wonderful velocity, is more like the sharp
whir-r-r of insect wings. Indeed, from a distance,
darting from flower to flower, the tiny creature
looks very like a humble-bee. Some of the natives
of Jamaica apply extremely fanciful names to these
ai-rial gems, our humming-birds, such as "Tresses
of the day-star," " Kays of the sun," " Murmur-
ing birds." The French name, " Oisi'aii-iiioiic/ie "
(bird-fly), is quite appli-
cable to my fairy bird,
as he was literally fly-si/cd,
hardly larger than a locust,
being only an inch and a
quarter from his quarter-
inch, needle-like beak to
his small ten-feathered tail,
which, like the beak, was
held high in the air in the
most aggressive way you
can imagine.
His head was
the size of a pea,
and the bright,
bead-like eyes
were capable of
seeing objects
.ilmost invisible
to us, for I could
see him snap his
little bill and
swallow as with
real zest some
flying insect not
visible to my
unaided eyes.
His legs, hardly longer than a good-sized mos-
quito's, were wonderfully strong, the funny Uttle
claws clinging so closely to a string or twig that
one feared to use the force necessary to disengage
them. This humming-bird is not as brilliantly
colored as some others, but his plumage shines
with a metallic luster that, in the sunlight, is daz-
zling, particularly after preening every feather, as
he is very fond of doing, being an extremely vain
little fellow.
But 1 must tell you how I succeeded in making
this strange wild creature contented and happy
with his new mistress and prison-house.
My first thought was of a cage, for soon the
jalousies must be raised to admit the cool evening
breeze, and my windows, with most others in this
tropical climate, were without glass, depending
upon drawn jalousies, a kind of lattice blind, with
the piazza extending entirely around the house, and
also protected by jalousies, for keeping out the wind
and rain when these were too boisterous.
I well knew that, at the first opportunity, those
rapidly moving wings would bear their little owner
out into the free air he loved so well. .\ cage must
be made at once, and my ingenuity w.is taxed to
* Macaroni," a Creole shilling.
t Sixpence.
422
THE SMALLEST BIRD IN THE WORLD.
provide one dainty enough for so exquisite an
occupant.
One of tlie colored boys about tlie place, an in-
genious fellow, succeeded in wiring together a
small frame of bamboo twigs. Bureau drawers were
ransacked for a covering, and finally a strong but
transparent piece of white gauze was discovered ;
this was stretched tightly across the frame, leaving
one side to be raised or lowered at pleasure.
Furniture was then supplied, in the shape of a silver
wire and twig of lantana, for sleeping and perching
purposes. 1 then begged a toy cup from my hostess'
little daughter, which I filled with the juice of the
sugar-cane, setting a small quill in it, for the conven-
ience of my guest's taper beak. I was gazing with
extreme complacency upon this contrivance, when
Justina innocently remarked that " litty bird tink
dat berry quar flower." 1 looked at Justina with
consternation. Certainly that china cup with the
quill inserted did not look like any flower I had
ever seen.
However, 1 placed it in the cage upon my table,
in hopes that the 'cute little fellow would in some
way get an inkling of its intended use.
All this time, during the confusion attending the
erection of his dwelling, Minim, as I had decided
to call this smallest of small birds, was darting
about, making himself quite at home, and often
visiting a bouquet on my table, composed of sprays
of lovely orange-blossoms, and fragrant bunches of
the moringa. As he became bolder, he flashed
hither and thither with such startling rapidity that
I fairly held my breath. Flying directly from one
object to another was quite too tame for this small
sprite. Various maneuvers were necessary to en-
able him to reach the honey-cups of moringa.
After rapidly circling for some minutes around the
table, he would suddenly become stationary over the
flowers, suspended on wings vibrating with such
extraordinary rapidity that he seemed to be envel-
oped in mist ; then, perhaps, he would make another
swift journey about the room before sipping the
nectar contained in the fragrant blossoms.
But I began to hear gay voices outside ; it was
time for the usual afternoon drive, and oh dear !
my linen dress hung in limp folds, and the room
was so unbearably close that I could hardly breathe,
but I dared not raise the jalousies, for by this time
my heart was fixed upon keeping my bird. In
vain 1 used every means to entice the cunning little
fellow into the bird-house, sent all the flowers from
the room, but a few blossoms which 1 scattered in
the cage. I even cut off the base of one of the
flowers, and fitted the remainder over the cup of
sweets, which it entirely concealed. Minim refused
to be enticed by that fraud, and 1 resigned myself
with a sigh to a state of di-shahitli- for the resi
of the evening, for, with neither air nor light, I had
not the requisite energy for making a toilet.
Minim soon decided to retire for the night, and
perched upon his favorite picture-frame. Through
the gathering darkness 1 could just see the queer
little mite, his bead-like eyes closed, and his head
not under his wing, but held a little toward one
side, over his shoulder.
I sent Justina to request that my evening meal
be- sened in my room, and also ventured to ask
for a dim light, by which I might safely convey
my food to my mouth." .As the light entered the
room, Minim started in terror, fluttered blindly
from his perch, and in his endeavors to escape,
beat his little body so violently against the wall
that he fell to the floor. I ran and picked him up,
fearing he was dead, but found that he clung
tightly to my hand. I quickly put out the un-
fortunate light, groped my way to the cage, and
succeeded in getting the little claws on to the silver
wire, where they clung in desperation. I carefully
drew my hand from the cage, lowered the gauze
curtain, and listened intently, but there was no
sound. -So I resigned myself to darkness, and
quietly retired to my couch, hoping for better luck
on the morrow.
With the first break of dawn I was aroused from
my slumber by a sound near me, and, listening, I
distinguished a faint song, a plaintive bird-song,
feeble but wonderfully sweet. 1 held my breath
with astonishment and delight.
The singer could not be my new pet. Who ever
heard a humming-bird make more than a sharp
chirp !
The song continuing, 1 crept softly to the cage,
and saw Minim perched upon the twig of lantana,
his head raised in bird ecstasy, while pouring forth
from the small throat came a continuous sound of
faint but exquisite melody.
1 had never before obtained so good a view of this
wonderful little creature, and 1 now gazed long with
admiration. The swelling breast w;is covered with
fine white feathers, each feather tipped with bright
green; the quivering wings were a deep, velvety
black, and as a ray of the rising sun struck across
the lustrous metallic green of his back and sides, 1
thought him the loveliest thing I had ever beheld.
The elfin sound continued for ten minutes or
more, then ceased, and the bird resumed his brisk,
alert air, and incessant watch for small stray flies.
1 began to think the song had been all a dream,
but every morning after that. Minim woke me with
the sweet song that, of all humming-birds, is only
allowed to the ver\'ain.
Minim soon began to hover about the faded
flowers in his cage, evidently with dissatisfaction.
I eagerly watched the drooping blossom covering
rilE SMALLEST BIRD IN THE Wdklh
my cup of sweets. Minim, after trying one and
another of the llowers, thrust his sharp beak into the
flowery cheat, and there the httle fellow remained,
and I saw with gladness the tiny pumping appa-
ratus within the beak moving at a great nite. What
a greedy elf he was! Kven after 1 removed the
flower from the cup, he hovered over it every
moment, drinking deeply of the sweet juice. 1
think he considered the whole atTair a good in-
vention.
I could till a volume with the pranks with which
this charming little bird amused me, during my
stay in Jamaic.i. He grew more joyous and full
of life every day, showing no signs of fear, and
when allowed his freedom in the room, in search
of the necessary insect-food, voluntarily returned to
his cage and much loved sirup-cup.
I easily taught him to sip from my lips, and
often have 1 been roused from my midday siesta b)-
sharp, angry cries, and an eager little beak pecking
at my lips, in search of the sweet drops often found
there.
His curiosity was funny to see. All my garments
had to undergo a thorough investigation, and my
hair was made to stand on end, with his frantic en-
deavors to obtain my hair-ribbons. The many-
colored bows adorning Justina's woolly head seemed
to excite his indignation, and 1 have laughed till
the tears came, to see the poor girl trying in vain
to escape the attacks of her little persecutor ; and
when the sharp claws became entangled in her
woolly mass of hair, her indignation would vent it-
self in a shower of abuse only possible to a genuine
Jamaica negro tongue.
Not only did my wee birdie possess an amus-
ing amount of vanity and bird-like self-conceit,
but within the diminutive frame was a spirit capa-
ble of the most valorous deeds. Indeed, the little
fellow was really pugnacious, and often reminded
me of a small bantam-cock.
The Mexicans believed that the souls of departed
warriors inhabited the bodies of humming-birds.
Surely, if this myth were true, the spirit of some
great chieftain lived again in the frail body of
my pet.
One morning a mango humming-bird came
flashing through the open window. 1 quickly low-
ered the jalousies, and opened Minim's cage,
hoping to obtain possession of my lovely guest.
.Minim, of course, darted from the cage; he eyed
the magnificent stranger for some time with appar-
ent serenity, but suddenly, without warning, darted
toward him with a perfect shriek of rage, and for
a moment all 1 could see was a confused, rapidly
revolving mass of feathers. First the mango, then
Minim, would he uppermost in this terrific combat.
I was bitterly repenting my rush act, for the mango
was much the larger bird, and I feared would kill
my pet, when 1 saw the stranger bird fall to the
ground. 1 hurried to him and found that he was
nearly dead, while Minim began quietly pluming
himself, with an air of calm superiority. 1 never
tried that experiment again, although I am sure
my little pugilist w.ts capable of whipping " a fel-
low twice his size."
Little black Snow-ball one day brought me the
female bird and nest. Minim made charming
husbandly adv.-inces to his little wife, but m.ndame,
refusing to be comforted, drooped her small head
and died. Her volatile husband refused to per-
form a parent's duties, and to this day 1 have two
pearly white eggs, lying in a nest no larger than
an English walnut divided transversely. It is
a wonderful, compact little cup, made of the
white soft down in the ripened pods of the cotton-
tree, the silky fibers tightly held together with some
sticky substance, probably the saliva of the bird.
Minute spiders'-webs arc closely inter\vovcn around
the outside of the nest, and here and there are
stuck bright bits of green and gray lichens, making
altogether a wonderfully pretty little bird-house.
As the time drew near when 1 must leave the
island, 1 was troubled about the fate of my pet.
I feared for the frail life during the long, rough voy-
age, and 1 had no friend in Jamaica with whom
I could trust the little creature; so I finally decided
that the greatest kindness 1 could render my tiny
friend would be to give him his liberty. The
last morning dawned; Minim, as usual, gave me
vigorous help in arranging my hair, became entan-
gled in my hat ribbons, and pecked at my crimps.
For the last time I held the dear fellow to my
face, and felt the eager bill searching for sweet
sirup between my lips, then, with a heavy heart, I
went to the window, raised the jalousies, gave my
pet one little farewell squeeze, and opened wide
my hands.
With one wild, joyous dash of fluttering wings
and a sharp '"screep" of delight, my ungrateful
little humming-bird sprang forth to meet the fresh
morning air, and the last I saw of Minim was a
small flashing bit of green and black fcithcrs
rapidly dashing away from my sorrowful gaze,
growing smaller and smaller in the dist.nnce, until
it was lost in a wilderness of waving palms and
brilli.-int, luxuriant, tropical foliage.
My beautiful Minim had returned to the wild,
sunnv freedom from which he had been taken.
424
M A S T K R M ( ) O N O .
MAS'll'-R MOO NO.
Ilv S. CONANT Foster.
(li'ith iUustrations hy "d bprti artist.")
-^
j^lJ-m^-^
Gkt on my knee, my little dear,
And listen to a story queer;
'T is all about the strange career
Of Master Moono, chevalier,
Who built a funny car, ha ! ha !
To ride from Dan to Beersheba.
It made the people laugh and stare.
The car was such an odd affair ;
'T was half a coach and half a chair,
Would go on water, earth, or air.
Was lined with costly camcl's-hair.
And had a cannon filled with care —
' I might," he said, "as well prepare
For peace, or war, he ! he ! ha ! ha !
In leaving Dan for Beersheba."
He took his mother's jewel-box :
It had no strappings, hiisps, or locks,
But still he thought 't would stand the knocks;
He put inside a pair of socks.
His father's worsted farming smocks.
His little baby brother's blocks,
And all his sister's Sunday frocks;
For ballast thirty granite rocks.
Besides a dozen ticking clocks
To tell the time it took, ha ! ha !
To run from Dan to Beersheba.
The neighbors said: "The boy is daft!"
But Master Moono only laughed,
And packed witli food his funny craft;
Provisions took, ho ! ho ! ha ! ha !
To last from Dan to Beersheba.
His mother wept and turned pale ;
His sister said, "The thing will fail."
But all their tears did not avail ;
He jumped in and hoisted sail.
Up sprang a sprightly southern gale;
He cried: "Good-bye, my Pa and Ma,
1 'm off from Dan to Beersheba ! "
He traveled near, he traveled far;
In Tyrol he did tra-la-la.
He heard a German saying "yah,"
He twanged a Spanish maid's guitar,
.\nd bowed before the Russian czar.
' Now, then," he cried, "To see a star,
And then, through Borrioboolaga,
1 'U hie me on to Beersheba."
The rocks of granite out he threw,
And up aloft he quickly flew ;
Then, fast receding from his view.
The houses small and smaller grew.
He shivered, coughed, and sneezed "A-chew!"
,i»,.\
MASTER MOONO.
435
His ears were red, his nose was blue.
Oh, dcirl" he cried. "What shall 1 do."'
Fur he was Irij^htened through and through,
.And never thought to laugh "Hal ha!"
But wished himself in Beersheba.
Because of clouds of rain and snow
He could not see the way to go;
He struck a star a sudden blow,
.•\nd. in a thousand bits or so.
The car went tumbling down below.
Some pieces fell in .Africa,
.And some in Dan and Beersheba.
But Master Moono in the sky
Was doomed for aye to live and die;
Sometimes he hides his face to cry.
Sometimes he only shows an eye.
Sometimes, with many a star, ha 1 ha !
He shines on Dan and Beersheba.
426
M Y S I K K \' I N A MANSION,
[April,
MVSTKRV IN A MANSION.
(A Sl0ry of an S. S. >
By . • •
Chaptf.r XI.
THK REOAriA.
HE Chief when ho first
spoke of his desire to
witness the boat-race,
said, "Your regatta";
then lie turned and
walked with Fred and Belle
over the fields to the creek,
carrying Bvlle's light basket,
and before they had reached
- the boat he said, " Our regat-
ta," for by t!as time they had
arranged for one in which four
single-oared and two double-oared crews were to
be entered as contestants.
" Now," said Fred, " if you will only come at once
and speak to Papa, we can begin by twelve
o'clock."
"You think he will consent?"
" After 1 have spoken to him, I am sure he will,"
said Fred, with a dignity Belle much admired.
"Of course," said the Chief "The whole
Brotherhood — that is, I mean, — all the boys wont
enter. There arc four of you ? "
" Five, counting Kitty," said F'red.
" Does she row?" asked the Chief.
" Capitally," said Fred. " And she is specially
good on a spurt. She holds out very well, too,
and she will be sure to insist on entering, so we
might as well count her in."
" Do you row?" said the Chief, turning to Belle.
" A little," said Belle. " But not enough to
enter in a race. Mamma and 1 were going to give
the prizes."
"That 's a good idea," said he. "Now 1 '11 go
back and tell the boys, and we shall row up."
" It will be all right. Will ! " cried Fred, as he
turned his boat up the creek again.
The Chief nodded, and hurried back to give his
orders to the Loyal Brothers.
When Fred and Belle at length drew near the
party up the creek, they found them all on shore
and busy making a fire. .Sandy and his mother
had caught some fish, and a fry and a coffee-boil
were decided upon. That this w;is, in some
degree, premeditated, was proved by the fact that
Sandy had brought a coffee-pot and a frying-pan
in his boat.
" Papa," said Fred, hurrying up to where his
father lay on the grass, watching Sandy and Kitty
gather up dried sticks, " you look as if you would
be glad to have some of the trouble of the regatta
taken off your hands. I met," here he raised his
voice a little, and spoke very distinctly, — " I met
the Chief "
"The who?" said his father.
"The Chief and Napoleon Bonaparte, and some
of the others."
" That was nice," said Kitty, trying not to look
surprised. " But you need not be so mysterious.
Cousin Robert knows all about it."
" He does ! " exclaimed Fred ; " and I told the
Chief that tortures could n't draw it from you."
"I kept my word!" said Kitty, a little hotly.
" I said I should tell Cousin Robert. That made
all the trouble."
"They said girls could n't keep a secret," said
Fred, still teasing.
"Keep what?" asked Sandy. " If it is Kitty's
secret, she would n't tell me."
" 1 told no one but Cousin Robert," said Kitty,
putting her sticks into the fire. " But Fred is tell-
ing every one ! "
" She has the best of you, Fred," said his father.
"It isn't a secret," said Fred. "The whole
thing is broken up."
" Who said it was n't a secret ? " cried Kitty.
" The Chief," replied Fred.
"That is lovely!" and Kitty, between the fire
and delight, grew very red. " Now, Sandy, I '11
tell you all about it. You see, I met Harry Brisconi
in the hall upstairs, and he had Napoleon Bona-
parte shut up in the dark room, and he asked me
if I would be State's evidence, and I "
"Goodness!" exclaimed Sandy, "don't tell me
all, tell me part."
" But don't you see? " said Kitty.
" Begin at the beginning," said Fred. " But
first I want to tell you that I asked Will Lewis — he
is the Chief (you know he was at Bagsby's last
term, Sandy) — to take a share in our regatta. He
wanted to, and they have some boats. They seem
to be nice boys. Papa."
"They are very amusing," said his father.
" Will thev come in costume?"
M \ S 1' !■: K V I N
MANSION.
427
"What on earth is it all about?" i-xtlaimcil
S.indy. " What is it. Hillc ? "
■• I don't know," siiid Hi'llo. "It is some sort of
society, anil they all have names."
" Don't you really know ? " cried Kilty. " Did n't
the Chief tell you .' "
" Not much," confess<.'d Kreil, his curiosity con-
i|ucring him.
" Did he really say it was n't a secret ? "
"lie s;iid it made no difference, for it was all
broken up."
" \'ery well," said Kitty, greatly rejoiced. "Just
call Cousin Jule, and Donald, and sit down on the
grass, and I 'II tell you all about it."
" Regin at the beginning," said Sandy.
".And hurry up, for they '11 be here soon," said
Fred.
So they all sat down on the grass, and with much
animation, and m.any interruptions, Kitty told the
story of the Brotherhood, and Sandy declared it
must be fun, and he would be the Chief if Will
Lewis resigned. Don.ald said it was ridiculous, and
Belle privately resolved to ask Will Lewis to have it
all again, when she would be Mary, (luccn of
Scots.
"I rather like to be the Inv.ader," said Mr.
Baird. "Fori "
" Oh, 1 tell you I " cried Kitty, jumping up in
great excitement. " Let us tie Cousin Robert's
hands behind him, and muss up his hair, and that
old coat could be torn a little, and let us present
him to the Chief as a captured Invader."
" I'pon my word," said Mr. IJaird. "that is a
charming proposition ! Then, suppose they carry
on the joke, and duck me in the creek ? "
" Oh, we shouldn't let them do that!" cried
Kitty. " We should rescue you. We shouldn't
let them touch you. It would be perfectly lovely ! "
"Thank you, Kitty," said her cousin. " But if
I play the frog and the boys, 1 wont be the frog."
" Here they come ! " shouted Sandy, jumping
up.
The Chief had been mistaken in one respect.
All the tribe did come. .As soon as the regatta was
mentioned, each one of the boys said he would go,
and not one of them volunteered to stay behind.
So now they had six lx)ats in all.
The " Helen," the " Marian," the '" Fly-catcher,"
and the "Neptune" were all small boats, to be
rowed by one pair of oars, while the " Jolly Fisher-
man " and " King Charles" were for four oars.
The Brotherhood fastened their boats and came
up to the fire. They were a pleasant, good-
humored looking little company, and Mr. Baird
wa.s quite sincere when he said he was glad to see
them.
The first announcement w.is made by Napoleon
Honaparte, who said they had brought flags. As
the Bairds had none, they had to confiscate ribbons
and handkerchiefs, and make three. After this
was done, they arranged the terms of the race.
The four small boats were to be entered together,
.ind were to be manned by Fred, Will Lewis, Don
.lid, and Don Quixote, as oarsmen nearest in size,
and, possibly, in skill. Then the "Jolly Fisherman "
and " King Charles," with Sandy, Harry Briscom,
Robinson Crusoe, and Rob Roy; Robin Hood,
Kitty, Captain Kidd, and Napoleon Bonaparte
made up two other crews for a second race, and
then Mr. Baird and Kitty were to row in the
" Marian " against two in each of the other small
boats.
They were to start at a great willow tree, and to
come b.ick to it. Belle was to be the starter, and
with Mrs. Baird, judge and umpire.
I'he prizes were, first : a new deep-sea line, owned
by Donald; then a gold watch-key, broken, but still a
key, and still gold ; and, finally, sixteen lead-pencils
of different sizes, contributed by the whole party.
The small boat winning the most races was to be
the flag-ship of the squadron, and the best single-
oarsman was to have a rosette, made out of Mrs.
Baird's blue neck-ribbon.
.After the race was over, a few more fish were
to be caught, and then they were to have luncheon.
These arrangements were all concluded, Kitty
announced that she rowed as Sir Walter Raleigh,
and they hurried down to the bank of the river, and
the boats were manned.
The day was fine, the water smooth, and, amid
much applause, the four boats started off. Fred
took the lead at once. He pulled with quick,
nervous strokes, and was, in a moment, a boat's
length ahead of the others. The Chief saw this,
he gave a few strong pulls, and was alongside.
Don Quixote made such uneven strokes that it was
evident he w.ts wasting strength, but Donald, hardly
turning his head, rowed on steadily and evenly.
He lost nothing. The Chief and Fred put out all
their strength against each other. It w.as evident
that they felt the race lay between them, and that
the others counted for little.
They were now going with the tide, and pulled
well. Donald was not excited, but when they turned
and came back against the tide, it was plainly to
l)c seen that he had reserved his strength to some
purpose. Fred and the Chief were still ahead,
and still kept close. As they drew near the willow
tree, cries of applause, of encouragement, sounded
from the shore ; each one had his friends, and each
Ixiat W.TS cheered lustily. Fred pulled like a little
giant, he looked red and hot ; the Chief now led,
and the Brotherhowl cheered him. They were
almost at the tree !
428
M V S T K k \' I X A M A X S I ( ) X .
Don Quixi- li pelessly behind, Donald
close to Fred. Again the Brotherhood hurrahed.
The Chief rowed with zeal, and Fred came up along-
side of him. Then Donald bent to his work ; he
was not hot nor tired ; he had measured his
strength and had not spent it. and with a f<-w strong
most girls she worked up under excitement, and
" King Charles" at once took the lead, and kept it,
and came in all excitement, glory, and applause,
for ahead of the " Jolly Fisherman," and so Kitty,
as the representative of the crew, became the de-
lighted receiver of the golden watch-key.
pulls he shot past the other boats,
and came in ahead !
Tltcn the)- cheered !
They all cheered, and Donald was
led up in triumph, and presented
with his own deep-sea line, and was
again cheered, and then modestly
retired on his laurels, and rested him-
self on the bank, while Fred and
the Chief, in great excitement, ex-
plained why they did not win.
Donald explained nothing. TIic 1
victor rarely has to explain how the I
victory was won. I
Then Belle again took her place
under the willow. The "Jolly Fish-
erman" and "King Charles" were manned by
eager and excited crews, and they started off.
Mr. Baird did not like the arrangement of these
crews. Kitty and the smaller boys were in the
same boat, and he thought the division unwise.
But, as it happened, the very best oarsman of the
whole Brotherhood was stout little Captain Kidd,
and he and Kitty rowed together, stroke for stroke,
like machines. Kitty always rowed well, and like
J
' DON QUIXOTB
Then they changed the programme, and had
luncheon.
Thc\' did not wait to catch more fish, but put all
their stores together, and ate everything, and felt
fresher.
It was also judged best for Mr. Baird and Kitty
not to row togctlier, as Kitty had proved herself
such a champion, so Mr. Baird took Robin Hood,
and Kitty rowed with Robinson Crusoe. The
iNi.)
M N' s r !•: K \' 1 N
\I \ N S I 1 1 \ ,
429
tK-ginnint; of this race was not satisfactory. The
•■Neptune" sprang a leak, and the other boats
were slopped to tind a piece of tallow that was
always carried by st)nie one of the ISrotherhooti in
case of such a dis;ister. No one had it, and then
it w.is foiiiul in the (xissession of Don (Juixote, who
stiHHl under the willow with Helle. Tlie "Helen"
went after it, and the leak was stopped, and the
race began ag;iin.
It w.is won by Don.dd .mil Robin Hood, in the
"Marian," so e.ich recei\ed eij;ht lead-pencils;
Donidd bore olT the rosette, and the " .Marian,"
winner in two races, mounted all the tlags, and
.Mrs. Baird was rowed home in it by Uonald, the
champion.
CHAl'IKR .\ll.
Pomp anh Ckrkmony.
As MinHT have been expected, it w,as not long
before the Rand of Loyal Brothers was reorgan-
ized, and increased with new members.
.After the regatta, the Brotherhood w.ns always
happening in at tireystone. Sometimes Captain
Kidd appeared at Patty's kitchen door, with a string
of fish, or Hon (Juixote and some of the others
brought birds. One afternoon, the Chief came with
a lawn scythe and a set of croquet, and soon made
a fine level for the game on the lawn.
The Bairds all liked the boys, and there was
no doubt of their liking the Bairds. They took
the girls out rowing one lovely starlight night, and
Belle and the Chief sang song after song together,
to every one's delight, and then Napoleon Bona-
parte, who had been a chorister one winter, sang
hymns in a sweet, girlish voice, and Kitty was so
ple.ised she wanted to kiss the little chap. They
played checkers and guessed puzzles in the even-
ing, by the light of Mrs. Lambert's lamp, and one
rainy day they h.ad charades in the great parlor.
It was, therefore, very prof)er, and very inevi-
table, that the tribe should again come to life.
" I don't see how you ever came to think of such
a thing," said Don.ald, one evening, as the Chief
and Lord Leicester sat on the porch steps.
" We did n't think of it all at once," said
the Chief, "it came little by little. It began
with my sister. My older brothers had a secret
society, so Emily and I thought we 'd have one.
The ' B. O. B.' (Bower of Beauty), we called it! —
.and one day my uncle s;iid that somebody, I don't
know who, said that if we wanted to know how
people felt when they said cross, or pleasant, or
stupid things, we should try to |<v)k like them, and
wc, too, should feel cross or pleasant."
"I don't believe that," said Fred, "and yet,
p^-rhaps, if I should go about with my eyebrows
raised, and my forehead puckered, I might get to
feel as anxious as I'ncle Peyton looks."
" Don't be personal," said Mrs. Baird, glancing
at Kitty, but Kitty was not thinking of her father,
nor of his eyebrows, but exclaimed ;
" And so you tried looking like Napoleon Bona-
parte, and all that ? I don't believe one of you could
feel like him, nor Captain Kidd, neither."
"That was n't all my uncle said," continued the
Chief; "he went on talking about great people,
and he said no one ever became great without hav-
ing in himself sonif.- reason for it — some sort of
power, you know."
'■ I don't know .ibout that," said Sandy; "some-
times people are lucky. There was your Bcnidicto,
you know. Belle ! "
" But there must be something in the people,
you see," said Donald. " No luck in the world
could make a man stand up if he had no bones,
and 'power,' as Will calls il, must take the place
of bones in character."
"Very well stated," said Mr. Baird; "but —
go on. Will."
" So my uncle said that when he was a boy, he
was an awful coward. He would n't even go any-
where in the dark through the house, and his
mother, to make him braver, used to call him her
little Washington, and he was ashamed to be a
coward then. And so he said it was n't a bad plan
for children to cure themselves of their faults by
playing they were some one else, and choosing
some char.icter that w.as just what they ought to
be. Our Emily was all the time finding fault, and
telling tales, so he said she had better be Don
Quixote, who thought everybody good and beauti-
ful, and who tried to help people out of trouble
instead of blaming them. 1 w.as lazy and I w.as all
the time thinking 1 could n't do this or that, and
wanting people to help me, so he told me to play
that 1 was Robinson Crusoe, for he h.id to depend
on himself, and believe he could do things, and
think about the best way of doing them. That
was a long'time ago."
"Did you do it?" asked Kitty.
"Certainly. It w.is lots of fun. The ' B. O. B.'
was an old tool-house, and we played it was Rob-
inson Crusoe's cave, and Don Quixote came there
in a ship."
" What good did it do you .' " asked Fred.
" A good deal," said Will. " 1 could n't have
been Chief of the Brotherhood if I had n't been
used to planning, .as Robinson Crusoe. These boys
need a great deal of thinking done for them ! "
" Then, how came the Brotherhood .■■ " said Mrs.
Baird.
"Oh, that was easy enough ! We all came up
here to spend the summer, and a good many of us
430
M \ S T !•; R \ I N A M A N S I O N ,
used to go to the same school, — before I went to
Bagsby's, Fred, — and we thought we 'd have a tribe,
and so it came to be the Band of Loyal Brothers,
and 1 thought of this old play of ours. \Vc have
had a real good time."
" I don't doubt that," said Mr. Baird. '" 1
should n't mind being a Loyal Brother myself. I
don't know what character I had better choose. 1
might be so many things 1 am not."
" You have your character," cried Kitty; "you
never could be anything but the Baron Baird, the
Invader."
"That is hard on me," her cousin said, " for if
I have ever tried to do one thing, it has been not
to interfere with other people, and to mind m)' own
affairs."
"We were not particular about that part of it.''
said the Lord Leicester. " The Chief did propose
it, but we could n't agree about our faults. Nobody
would own up, you see. Now, there is Robinson
Crusoe. Of course he has very rough manners,
anybody could see that, and when 1 proposed that
he should be Lord Chesterfield, and so get better
ones, he got up and wanted to knock me over.
None of us could see our faults just as the others
did, so we just chose the character we liked best.
1 always thought Lord Leicester was a fine fellow,
and not well used, so I took him."
"Then," said Donald, " I tell you who I 'd like
to be — Marco Bozzaris, rushing in with my (Greeks
on the Turks."
" You would n't like to be killed.'" said Belle.
" No ; I 'd have that altered. I should win the
victory and free my country, and be crowned king."
And so, one afternoon that week, three boats
mysteriously glided up to the bank just beyond
Greystone Wharf, and in silence and with cautious
steps, the Chief, Don Quixote, Robin Hood, Cap-
tain Kidd, Robinson Crusoe, Napoleon Bonaparte,
Rob Roy, and Pocahontas (who had been away for
several days) took their way to Greystone Castle.
The Council Chamber was lighted only by the
fire burning in the open fire-place, and by a candle
in a bottle. The pitch-pine torches, as yet un-
lighted, were leaning against the wall; other
candles, also in bottles, were on the mantel-piece,
and the rug, upon which the (iypsy Chief sat,
was in its place in front of the fire. Green branches
were strewn upon the floor, and m one corner was
a seat covered with an old red table-cover, and
long enough for three to sit upon without much
crowding, and Lord Leicester was in waiting.
In silence the Brotherhood passed into the out-
kitchen, and when they came back, each brother
w.TS in costume, and each wore his mask. Then all
the candles and the pitch-pine torches were lighted,
and Rob Roy and Robin Hood, holding the torches,
took their places beside the Chief, who sat upon
his rug, wearing his red cloak and cap.
Lord Leicester and Don Quixote then left the
room, and in a moment voices and steps were
heard in the hall. Next, all was silent, and then
the door opened, and there entered :
The Captured Invader, with his hands tied m
front.
A Quakeress (Mrs. Baird).
Sir Walter Raleigh (Kitty).
Bluebeard (Sandy).
Mary, Queen of Scots (Belle).
The Duke of Wellington (Donald).
King Arthur (Fred).
These were separately announced by Lord
Leicester, and received by the Chief, standing.
They, also, were masked.
"The Invader," said the Chief, promptly pro-
ceeding to business, " is put under guard." And
at a signal, made by the Chief, who touched his
forehead, Don Quixote and Robinson Crusoe at
once stepped to the Invader's side, and laid their
hands on his shoulders. He trembled. He trem-
bled so violently that his knees shook, and Sir
Walter Raleigh laughed, but immediately checked
herself.
"The ladies," said the Chief, "I welcome," and
then he gave another sign, by laying two fingers of
one hand in the palm of the other, and Captain
Kidd and Napoleon Bonaparte conducted the
Quakeress and the Queen of Scots to the co\ered
seat.
" Sir Walter Raleigh," began the Chief
" Oh, I 'II stay with the other boys — the other
knights, I mean," said Kitty.
"Sir Walter Raleigh," resumed the Chief, "1
welcome you ! "
He had not intended to say this, but it was well
thought of, and well received.
Then King Arthur advanced, and dropping upon
one knee, he asked for admission to the Band of
Loyal Brothers ; he asked it for himself, and for
his company of pilgrims.
" Are ye true and tried?" said the Chief.
"True," replied King .Arthur, "but not yet
tried."
Tlie Chief hesitated a moment, then he said :
" My sword ! "
And Lord Leicester handed him his sword. It
was long and bright, and the Chief held it up in
the air.
" Swear! " he cried.
" 1 swear!" repeated King Arthur, adding, in a
low, quick voice, "don't you let that come down on
my head."
"Swear you will be secret concerning all that
concerns the Band of Loyal Brothers."
>ni.)
MVSl'KRY IN A MANSION.
431
■• 1 swear!" said Kiiif; Arthur.
" Swear that you will obey the Chief, ami not
ask reasons of him."
" I swear !" repealed Kinj; .Arthur.
"Swear that you will aid the pour. .«nd defend
the innocent."
'•I swear!" said he, and Sir Walter Raleigh
turned and looked at Robin Hood and .Napoleon
Bonaparte, as if she had just been reminded of
something;.
'■Rise. Sir Knij^ht ! " cried the Chief, giving
the candidate a uhack on the shoulder with his
sword, and quickly addmg, '■ 1 hope 1 did n't hurt
you, Fred?"
King .Arthur rubbed his shoulder, but said
nothing.
Then the Duke of Wellington, arrayed in a three-
cornered hat, and a water-proof cloak, advanced,
knelt, and was sworn in. liluebeard followed, and
then Sir Walter Raleigh came fonvard.
By this time the ceremony of admitting the new
members had become a little monotonous, but when
the Chief said : " Swear never again to reveal the
secrets of this prison-house," Sir Walter Raleigh
created some sensation by promptly asking :
■• Do you mean 1 ever did tell ? "
"I do," replied the Chief.
" Well, 1 did n't," said Sir Walter, getting up
off her knees, '• and it is very mean in you to say
so. Did I ? " she said, turning to Robin Hood.
"No, you did n't," he answered. "At least, I
don't believe you did."
"And you and Napoleon Bonaparte promised to
be my champions .' "
The champions nodded their heads.
" I don't know about that," said Bluebeard,
mischievously. "Of course, when she was a girl,
she could have champions, but now she 's Sir
Walter, she ought, of course, to fight for herself."
" Very well," said Sir Walter. " I don't want
any champions. I dare anybody who says I told
anything, excepting to Cousin Robert, to fight."
"To single combat," corrected Kmg Arthur.
"To single combat," added Sir Walter.
The Brotherhood looked upon this with interest.
The band had never had a combat, and now to
have the glove thrown down, as a knight would
have said, by a girl, was novel and exciting.
" But nobody can fight her," said Robinson
Crusoe.
"Why not?" said Sir Walter, with spirit, and
taking off her mask. " I don't mean to fight like
you boys, with fists, but with lances, as the knights
used to do."
" And on horseback," suggested the Captured
I n vader.
" 1 forbid fighting." said the Quakeress, getting
up. " l-ricnds, ye niust not engage in deeds of
strife."
"Hut her — his — I mean, Sir W.iltcr's honor .-' "
said the Captured Invader.
" Let her be tried by her brethren," said the
(Quakeress, sitting down.
The Brotherhood immediately unmasked, and
each put his mask in his pocket, with an air of not
having meant to ilo it.
" She can't be tried," said the Duke of Welling-
ton, who knew something of law and order, " until
she is a member, and she has n't been made one
yet."
"Kneel!" cried the Chief, and Sir Walter
knelt, and was gently touched by the sword, and
told to arise.
"Now," said she, "to-night I shall watch my
armor."
"Come, Belle," said Bluebeard, and Mary,
Queen of Scots, came forward.
" 1 don't know what to do," said the Chief,
"girls were never knighted."
" c;ivc her the right hand of fellowship," sug-
gested Lord Leicester.
" No, I thank you," the Queen promptly replied.
" If 1 am going to be a member, I 'II be made one
just as you are."
" Crown her," said Donald, and the Chief looked
his gratitude, and taking off the high fabric of roses
and green leaves with which the royal head was
adorned, he put it back again, and said :
"Thou art crowned Queen," and Belle arose,
saying regretfully :
" I ought to have been knighted," but as the
Chief then asked her to sit upon the royal rug at
his side, she was reconciled. Still, as honors always
bring their own penalties. Belle found that her
position was a hot one, but she, like a certain king
of Spain, said nothing, but sat still, and bore the fire.
Then the Quakeress, fair and gentle in her gray
dress, and white cap, and kerchief, was allowed to
say "yea "and "nay" to her vows, but she was
not knighted, of course.
After this was all done, and all the candidates
were admitted to membership, it was proposed that
it was now time to try the Captured Inv.ider. The
tribe then sat down in a circle, and the prisoner
was placed in the middle, but as he was too tall for
comfort in looking at him, he was requested to sit
down, and did so.
He was then asked his name, and how he came
there. He said he was the Baron Baird, and had
but returned to the home of his ancestors.
This, no one denied, but the Chief told him that
the castle was captured, and in the h.inds of the foe,
and he was immediately sent out of the room,
under the charge of his guards, and the Brother-
432
M \ S 1 !•; R \- IN A M A N S I O X .
hcK)d went through the formality of a vote upon
his sentence.
Some voted for banishment, some for imprison-
ment for life, some declared he ought to be released,
and one. Pocahontas, proposed that he should be
pardoned, and liis castle be returned to him. Then
the Chief said he would take no vote, and he sent
for the prisoner.
" We have agreed," and he looked around the
tribe, and tried to keep from smiling, "to banish
you for twelve months, and then to exact your
return to Greystone with your family, to report,
.ind — in — the — interval — 1 — lay — you — under
tribute !"
At this unexpected sentence, the tribe looked
surprised, but the Chief ordered the Invader's
hands to be unbound, and a detail of Bluebeard
and Captain Kidd was made to go for the tribute,
and they were asked to leave the door open.
"While they are gone," said Don Quixote, " we
might arrange for the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh."
" No, you need n't," said Pocahontas: "1 told
it ! You sec, 1 thought that if other girls belonged
my sister might, and I was tired of being a squaw;
I wanted to be Nero, or Shakspeare, and as Kitty
Baird would n't be Pocahontas, 1 asked our Nelly
to be, and 1 did n't think to tell her not to tell the
other girls. If I had been here and known all the
fuss, I *d have told you long ago ! "
The Brotherhood arose. They each spoke, and
at the same moment, and there is no knowing how
fearful might have been the consequences of this
confession, had not Sandy, or rather Bluebeard,
and Captain Kidd entered, with the tribute, in a
large clothes-basket.
The Oueen of Scots, who liegan to feel afraid she
would share the fate of the Spanish king, and be
roasted alive, proposed that they should go to some
quiet, retired spot in the garden, and there unpack
the tribute, and there was at once a joyful cry of
assent, and a quick rush into the fresh air.
The tribute was worthy of the Baron, for the bas-
ket contamed a pie made of birds, shot by Lord
Leicester, and cooked by Patty ; bread and butter,
peaches, a dish of hot (ish, caught by Captain
Kidd. and also cooked by Patty : gingerbread,
milk, and finally, a peck of California pea-nuts,
over which the Brotherhood sat until dark, and dis-
cussed the past, the present, and the future.
Chaptkk XIII.
OUT IN THE MELON- F1EI.D, AND THE LAST
ADVENTURE.
KriTV was decided in her determination to
watch her armor, and as she had no sword of her
own, she borrowed the one belonging to the Chief,
and this, with the shawl she had draped as a cloak,
and her hat and plume, made up the armor, which
she placed in the room opening into her own.
Here she said she should watch one hour.
" In the night ?" asked Sandy.
" In the night," responded Kitty; and she went
to bed at once, so as to have a little nap first, and as
she had hurt her foot, Patty followed with a soft,
warm bread-and-milk poultice to bind on it. Kitty
did not want the poultice, but Patty iissured her that
it would remove all the soreness, and so she yielded,
and the foot was neatly bound up, and Kitty, half
dressed, la\' down to take her nap.
When Belle came up to bed, she laughed. Kitty
was sound asleep, and there was no sign of her
waking !
But she did awaken. It was not her anxiety to
watch her armor that aroused her, but the poultice.
It had grown cold and hard, and was uncomfort-
able. So Kitty sat up, took it off, rolled it up
into a ball, and threw it across the room. Then
she thought of her armor. The idea of getting up
was not pleasant. "Donald was right," she
thought; " it is all nonsense, and it is dark, and my
foot is sore, and 1 am so sleepy, and yet, when
they ask me to-morrow " and she paused.
Then she determined to get up, but first to rest a
moment. So she lay down again, but at that
moment she heard a little noise, and she sprang up.
-Some one laughed !
It was suppressed, but it was a laugh. Then
she heard a noise as though some one had knocked
over a boot, and she at once jumped U|) ami ran to
the door and listened.
Some one in the boys' room was up I
She ran into the hall. The moon was shining ;
there was no light in the house, but she could hear
the bo)s softly moving about. In a moment she
heard them coming out, so she hid in the corner,
and all three passed without seeing her. Then she
was about to run back into her own room, when
her cousin Robert's door opened, and he came
out, paused, and then followed the boys.
It did not take many seconds for Kitty to dress
after this, and without disturbing Belle, she soon
stole out of the room, with a pair of overshoes on
her feet. She had no pain, she forgot all about
her wounded foot and I'atty's injunctions to be
careful, as she flew down stairs and out at the back
door, which was open.
No one was to be seen.
She ran lightly toward the " Council Chamber,"
but here all was silent. Then she turned and ran
north, and when she reached the end of the gar-
den fence, she saw Mr. Baird cross the lane. The
boys were not in sight. Mr. Baird was now in the
\i\sii kv i\
M \ N S I I ) \ .
4.1 3
shadow of the bushi-s, und, in as ilccp shelter, Kitt)
went after him. Her overshoes came off, she
picked them up, .md pursued her way in great
happiness and in her stockinj;-feet. Her cousin
followed Fanner Saumlers's fence, and when he
came to the i;reat (pite, he disappeared. Kitty
stood still, agh:ist.
It was not jKjssible that her cousin and the boys
were goinj; to rob Farmer Saunders's water-melon
rield • I-" -I'- ..-,.!.. .1 ... -.... .11 .i.,t w.is to be
greatest distress, for, although Kitty loved mischief,
she also loved honor, and she saw no fun in this
robbing at night.
There was a slight movement in the bushes near
her, and by peeping through the branches she saw
her cousin, Mr. Haird. Me was not live feet from
her. She drew back. I'hen she thought she
would whisper to him to be merciful. Then she
felt as though she must scream and alarm tlic boys,
and then, suddenly, mil of the sileiire. came a voice.
seen, 3u siic crept under the fence, and was soon in
the field, in a thicket of elderbcrry-bushcs.
Here she saw an exciting spectacle.
The water-melon held was being robbed 1
There was quite a pile of the fruit in one corner,
and near it lay what she could see in the bright
moonlight was evidently a number of bags.
Could it be ! Were the Loyal Brothers thieves,
and had her cousins come out to help them !
Oh, if she only had heard them before her
cousin Robert ! If they only had told her ! What
coiild she do ? She crouched down under a black-
bcrrj'-bush, she wrung her hands, she was in the
V.ii.. VIII. ;8.
singing in a clear, sweel lime, but with piercing
accents :
I the Judgment surely con
le who sins the one who r
Rewarc!
Beware
The thieves stopped as if they had been shot.
The voice went on :
" l"hc one who McaN hi* nctRhhor** Koods, Beware ! Beware I"
It arose high and shrill, and in a second the
thieves turned — they flew. They stopped for
neither fruit nor bag, but, fear lending them wings,
they went like deer before the hunter.
434
M \ H A K (J M K T K R
Then out of the bushes came Fred, Donald, and
Sandy, and they stood still and laughed, but when
from his concealment, with his liat over his eyes,
came Mr. Baird, they, too, turned and were about
to run, when he spoke: " 1 should n't do that,"
he said; "a stranger might think you guilty."
"Did you see them?" said Sandy. "It just
popped into my head to give them a good fright.
My goodness, did n't they run ! "
"How came you to know they were here?"
asked his father.
"I heard them," said Sandy. "I awakened,
and I thought 1 would see if Kitty were watching
her armor, and as 1 went back to bed, I heard
a whistle, so I looked through the window and there
were two strange men ! One said, 'They 've for-
gotten the bags,' and then three more men came
along, and so 1 called the boys, and we followed
them. But how did you come here ? "
" I heard you, and 1 thought you were all bound
to watch armor, so I thought I 'd sec how you did
it. When you came out-of-doors, 1 followed. I
was really curious then. Was Kitty up?"
" No, indeed ! She wont waken. But was n't it
funny? As soon as 1 called Fred, he said they
were coming here. I don't see how he guessed it."
" That was easy enough," said Fred, with an air
of superiority. " Do you think they '11 come back ? "
"No," said their father, "but we had better stay
about a little while."
But Kitty did not stay. She crept stealthily by
bush and fence, and, unseen, gained the house, anil
when Mr. Baird and Fred came back, they were
cheerfully saluted by Sir Walter Raleigh, who
came out of the moonlit room arrayed in cloak
and hat, and carrying her sword.
Then she went to bed, and she did not know
until she went down to breakfast that Sandy had
found her overshoes in the lield, where, in her ex-
citement, she had left them. As they had a red
" K. B." on the inside, there was no difficulty in de-
ciding who was the owner.
Then the whole story was told, and everybody
w;is amused excepting Belle, who found it difficult
to forgive Kitty for not calling her.
This was the last of the Greystone adventures,
for the next day the Bairds left for home.
The Loyal Brothers were disconsolate. It was
true that they also were going in a week or two, but
they wanted to keep the whole party together. Of
course, all the Invader's family, excepting, perhaps,
Patty, would have gladly staid, but business called
Mr. Baird back, and he would not leave the children.
That evening the Brotherhood had a farewell
meeting, and it was determined to return the next
year, to keep the tribe in existence, to retain the
present Chief in office, and to accept the Invader's
invitation to dine with him in a body, at his home,
the Saturday after Thanksgiving. And so, when
the steam-boat stopped the next day, and took the
browned and merry party, with their bags and
bundles, on board, the Brotherhood stood on the
wharf, and cheered and waved handkerchiefs, and
on the boat hats were taken off. handkerchiefs were
waved, and everybody cheered and bowed, and
Rob Roy, to the surprise of every one, fired off a
■Roman candle. The passengers did not know the
meaning of this, but they waved and hurrahed all
the same, and away went the boat !
A week after, Mr. Baird received a note from the
Chief. It was short and to the point :
"Did you know," it said, " that, through some
strange oversight, you were never made a member
of the Loyal Brothers ? Should you like to be ?
If so, when? What title do you prefer?"
To this, Mr. Baird answered : " I had not
thought of it, but I am amazed that I did not. 1
should. Next summer. The Captured Invader."
MV li.ARoM i:tI':r.
By Hannah K. Hrns^N.
I HAVIC a birthday present that stands upon my desk ;
'T is a tiny, painted house.
Big enough to hold a mouse.
And in it live two people of manners most grotesque.
The house has bits of windows, a door to left and right.
And a little yard before.
On a level with the floor ;
And when one door is open, the other is shut tight.
M \' li A K « I M I-: r i: k .
435
Two funny little people f;o in and out the doors;
Before a body knows,
(Ine comes out, the other goes;
And one is dressed in rubber .ind one is dressed in
V'auze.
When the little door spring;-. i.|k h. ii|.i.ii the farther
side,
Then a little man appears
With a cap drawn to his ears.
And a small and stiff umbrella, forever openctl wide,
With shiny boots of rubber, and a rubber coat of jjray.
And he stands outside his door
Kor a week, sometimes, or more ;
I 'r, perhaps, within an hour, he comes and goes away.
\nd no sooner has he vanisluil from his accustomed
place
Than the other door springs wide.
And, upon the other side,
omes out a little woman, all furbelows and lace —
riie queerest little wom.an that you could chance to
see ;
With a fan and parasol.
And a wonderful lace shawl,
And plumes and flowers and flounces, and other
liner)'.
Sometimes she makes a longer, sometimes a shorter stay.
But the little man must know
.And watch for her to go.
For he comes, with his umbrella, as soon as she 's away.
Now. this pair of Lilliputians have better wit than mine ;
For they both know very well
('T is a wonder how they tell !)
Just when the storms are coming, and when the sun will shine.
When the little man's door opens, the skies are overcast.
Stormy all the days remain
Till the man goes In again.
And I see the little woman, and storms are overpast.
So I, who watch them, know full well if skies will shine, or lower.
For the little man will go
Ere a ray of sun can show;
.■\nd the little woman nc\'er was caught in any shower.
Both the weather-wise small people, howe%'cr odd they be.
Have grown good friends of mine ;
And, if days be dull or fine.
Still the man, or else the woman, will keep me company.
436
F O X \' CO X K U C I U S .
I"()XV COi\l-"UClUS.
I5V W. II. Davknpoui.
This is the story of a little yellow clog. His
look was intelligence itself. I give his portrait.
But he was not all yellow, — or he might have been
a mean dog. And he was not mean.
His nose, meant to sniff aroinid in the dirt, was
black, as was fitting, and Nature had completed the
harmonious coloring of his exterior by dipping the
extreme end of his bushy tail in her ink-pot.
Foxv selected mc to be his master. He liked me
first, and made me like him after. There was
never such another dog as Foxy in existence.
But why such a long name to such a short little
dog ? you will ask. Confucius, you know, was a
great Chinese philosopher. Confucius, you notice,
is Foxy's family name. He belongs to the some-
what small family of ijhilosophers. Foxy is his
Christian name, and denotes his general sharp,
knowing aspect. He really, for a dog, looks very
much like a fox, as you can see by again referring
to his portrait.
It was late, about 1 1 o'clock in the evening of a
warm day in September, that, passing down a street
I rarely visited, 1 was suddenly interrupted in my
onward progress b)- something that would get
between my feet. 1 could scarcely see it, for the
night was dark. Something c|uite soft. It did not
itself seem to be afraid of being hurt. I was afraid
of hurting it. In and out between my feet the
creature went, until 1 reached a gas-light, where
the cause of the trouble was fully revealed.
It was Foxy Confucius !
.\s I stopped, he got from under me, looked me
full in the eye, as he stood directly in front of me,
cocked up one ear, and wagged his tail.
I looked at him again. He cocked up his other
ear. " It 's all right, is n't it?" he seemed to say.
1 struck at him with my cane. He did not budge,
but merely put down his tail a little way, and looked
at me from the corner of his eye.
"Oh, it's all right, of course." said 1. then.
"Come along, if you wish."
We went along the street once more. 1
stretched out my hand to him. Oh, how he did
jump, almost t%vice his own length from the
ground! We reached home. I had a night-key.
"Foxy," or "Tramp," as 1 then called him, was
soon installed in the bachelor apartment of the
humble writer of this account of him.
1 undressed and went to bed. Foxy did the s;ime.
No, not exactly that; he merely went to bed,
curled himself up in a corner, giving me a parting
wink as he turned over.
.'\s I was obliged to introduce him next morning
to my landlady, I thought up for him the name
which heads this story, because he had shown signs
of being a philosopher, ;ind because he looked
like a fox. " Tramp" did not sound well.
1 regret to say that Foxy's reception was not
calculated to warm his he.irt toward the landlady,
and other ladies present in the breakfast-room.
" What a mean little mongrel cur," was the sole
expression of admiration I could hear.
Foxy looked sad. His ears, his head, and his
tail drooped. I felt that he could not enjoy the
society into which 1 had introduced him. 1 got
him upstairs, and gave him breakfast in my room, —
two fine mutton chops on a clean newspaper.
Foxy soon finished his breakfast, and then re-
garded me with a questioning air. as much as to
say, " What next?"
"Well, Foxy, 1 think we '11 take a stroll in
Washington Square. You may there see some
other dogs', friends of yours, perhaps."
We went out. Foxy at first seemed very fearful
I should run away from him, and kept his nose
close to ni)- heels all the time.
He gained courage, however, after some fifteen
minutes, and commenced jumping up at my hat.
i<i\v CON ire 1 IS.
437
which he almost reached with his httle black niuz-
ilc, and I stand six feet hitjli. There was hfe in
the httle fellow, as well as intelligence. I did not
siipiKise a doj; of his siie and build could jump as
he did. .My walk lasted half an hour. He was
scarcely two feet from me the whole time.
1 went home again, and sat down to my work.
Koxy went to sleep. Lunch-time came, and a slice
of bread for Foxy. Then more work for me, more
sleep for him. In the evening, after having given
my dog his dinner (a very subst.intial one, too, for
he had a whole plateful of chicken bones, and a
large piece of meat), I bethought me of some
lady friends 1 h.id promised to visit, and locking
Koxy up, proceeded down-stairs. 1 had hardly
reached the front door, when the most piteous
canine shrieks rent the air. 1 turned back. A most
vigorous scratching was going on at my room door,
.»nd just outside it, moreover, were gathered
three elderly ladies, my ncighlxjrs, and all the
children of the house.
" 1 beg your pardon," said 1, "forthisdisturbance.
I thought he 'd be quiet: he 's h.ad his dinner."
■■ 1 must either take Koxy with me or kill him.
1 see," 1 muttered to myself.
"Come along, you rascal ! " 1 said, opening the
door.
With a sheepish air, after a short bark of joy,
Koxy slunk down the stairs after me.
Well, he followed me from Washington Square
down to South Kerry, jumped on the boat .after me,
and footed it, as I did. nearly to Clinton avenue,
Mrooklvn, where I made tnv call.
I apologized to my friends lor the homely ap-
pearance my dog presented, and told them th.it it
had been my intention to have his coat dyed, but
I h,ul not yet had the time.
The ladies expressed themselves glad to welcome
any friend I might introduce.
Koxy, hearing them say this, gave me a look of
silent gratitude, and then he curled himself up
under my chair.
Another lady soon after appeared upon the scene,
and desired an introduction to Koxy. I forthwith
dragged him from his resting-place and introduced
him to her. Whereupon, he made the most re-
spectful salutation to her that I ever saw a dog
perform. The third picture shows him in the act
of paying his respects to beauty.
Koxy at length felt so much at home that he
did not want to leave the house when I did. I
was forced, indeed, to carry him out.
Again we footed it, all the way back home. I
had thoughts of taking a car, but feared Koxy
might get lost. I had now become very much
attached to him.
We went to bed as usual tli.it night, and next
morning, not wishing my pet to be too great a
burden to my landlady, and having risen earlier
than usual, 1 took Koxy to a restaurant on Sixth
Avenue, where we both had breakfast.
Coming home again, he manifested every token
of the most extravagant affection, running between
my feet, constantly snuffing my heels, jumping up
at my hat again and again. This continued until
we had passed about four blocks. Then, suddenly,
with a short, sharp bark and a parting jump, he
43^
rilK CDf II 1 N li.\ I..
left me, running away rapidly around a corner of
the street.
I have never seen Fox\- since.
This is a perfectly true story, and 1 often sit won-
dering al)out that little do^'. Why did he pick me
out alone from all New York's inhabitants? Why
did he love me so much? Why, when he found 1
would take care of him and treat him with respect,
did he leave me ?
1 think I can answer the last question; he loved
entire freedom better than he loved me. He liked
to go sniffing around everywhere, examining every-
thing that came in his way. 1 had given him some
hints that he must conduct hiinself in a gentle-
manly manner when with me. I scolded him once
or twice for stopping to investigate the contents of
a garbage-box — ^just after the tremendous dinner
he had obtained from me.
Foxy was used tn taking care of himself, and was
willing to do it always. He paid me a great com-
pliment. I feel profound emotion when I think of it.
1 wish, however, that I had him back. I have
shown you his portrait. If you ever see him on
his travels, will you please catch him for me ?
THK C()CIIl.\i:.\L.
Hv L. M. l'i-.rKi<si;i.iA.
The little round spots which look like seeds, in
the picture on this page, really represent small
insects; and it is by means of this little insect,
called the cochineal, that the scarlet color of Fan-
nie's dress, Willie's stockings, and Mamma's neck-
tie has been obtained.
You may know that the deep blue of \our dress
and cloak w^as made with indigo, which comes from
a plant ; but next to indigo, the most important of
all dyeing materials is the cochineal insect.
On the map you will find Oaxaca, pronounced
O-ii-cha-ca, in the southern part of Mexico, on tin-
Pacific coast. This is where most of the cochineal
is cultivated. It comes to us in a reddish,
shriveled, seed-like grain, covered with what looks
like a white powder, but when we put it under the
microscope we find this to be wool.
The Spaniards found the cochineal employed as
a dye by the natives when they invaded Mexico, in
15 19, about three hundred and sixty years ago, and
for two hundred years the Europeans believ-ed it to
be a seed. Then they dissected it, and proved it
to be an insect. If you soak it in water for some
time, and put it under the microscope, you will
sec the feet, although its legs are very short.
It is the female insect only that is used as a dye.
The male and female are so unlike that you would
never suppose them to be of the same kind. The
male has two large silvery wings, long antennie, or
feelers, that grow from the front of the head, <.|uite
long legs, and two long bristles from the lower end
of the body. The female has a thick, plump
body, short antenn;e, short bristles, no wings, and
legs so short that it cannot move far from where
it is placed, and its hooked claws are only used
for holding on to the plant when it cats. The
mother lives but a short time, and as the body
dries up and becomes a horny case, the larv;e,
which are born after the parent dies, are cradled
in this empty dead shell of the mother.
The cochineal feeds upon a kind of Indian fig, or
cactus, called " nopal " ; the plants are set in rows
and kept cut down to about four feet high. The
plantations arc called " nopaleries," or cactus
gardens, and sometimes one garden has fifty or
I ) ( 1 1 1 N i: A I
439
sixty ihousiiid nopals. I'hc most prickly plants arc
sclcctcil as best, since these protect the cochineal
from other insects that would do it harm The
natives plant on hill-slopi's, or in ravines, six or ton
miles from their villa^jes. In the third year, the
plants are in a condition to receive the insects.
Nopaleries are stocked yearly, by purch.isinjj, in
April or May, branches of a plant, laden with
sm.ill cochineal insects, recently hatched. These
branches (which may be boiijiht in the market
of Oa.xaca for atxuit sixty cents a hundred) are
kept twenty da>s in their huts and then exposed
to the air under a shed, where they continue to
live for several months, as the live-forever, house-
leek, and other juicy plants will live after they
are broken from the parent stem.
In .August or September, the mother insects are
placed in nests made of a species of tillandsia, or
black moss, called paxtle, and are distributed upon
the nopals. In four months the tirst jjathering is
made, and the insects having; increased twelve
times, the yield is twelve times more than the num-
ber first set in the nests. In the colder parts of
Mexico the " planting " (.is the placing of the insects
upon the no[>al is called) takes place in October
or December, and then it is necessarv' to cover the
nopals with mats. .About Oaxaca the cochineal
insects are fed in the plains from October to April,
at which time the rainy season or winter begins.
Then they are carried away to nopaleries in the
mountains, where the weather is more favorable.
Great care is necessar)' in the gathering of the
cochineal from the nopals. This is performed by
the Indian women, who brush off the insects one
by one, with a squirrel's or stag's tail, upon cloths
spread beneath the bushes. .A gatherer often sits
for hours together beside one plant.
Notwithstanding that it takes more than seventy
thousand of these minute insects to weigh a pound,
it is said that eight hundred thousand pounds h.ive
been sent from Mexico to Kurope in a single year,
besides what went to the United States.
The insects are killed by throwing them into
boiling water, by exposing them in heaps to the
sun, by pl.acing them in ovens, and by laying them
upon heated plates of iron ; this last is called torri-
fying, and burns off the whitish powder which the
other methods of killing preserve. These different
methods make two kinds of cochineal in market,
that having the white powder or wool, called silver
cochineal, and that having the wool scorched off,
called black cochineal.
It is from the black cochineal that the beautiful
paint called "carmine" is m.nde. The dried in-
sect is steeped in water, and to the liquor thus
obtained arc added various chemicals. This mixt-
ure is allowed to settle, when the water is poured
off. The remainder, when dried, is carmine, and
the liquor is called " liquid rouge." Uy changing
the chemical mixture in a certain way, the deposit
becomes darker, and is known to the color-makers
as "lake."
The best carmine can be made only in fine
weather ; if it be too hot, the liquid spoils. Both
sun and fire change the color and spoil it ; flies
also injure it, and if it has not been thoroughly
dried it becomes moldy.
Rouge for the face is made by mixing a little
carmine with French chalk. The pink saucers of
the shops are made up with carmine, gum, and
ammonia. Carmine is used in water-colors for
painting the pale roses and pinks, while lake is
used for the darker red flowers. Cochineal is some-
times used for coloring pickled cabbage ; while a
coloring for jellies, creams, etc., is prepared by
adding cream of tartar to the liquor of cochineal.
CACTUS PI.ANT
440
(.KOSS rATCIl.
CROSS I'ATCll.
H\ M. K. Wii.kiNs.
( n'ss /\i/i/i, (hiiii> till.-
lakh.
Sit hy till- Jin- and spin
Talci- a cup, ami liriiik il
liii-n ca// till- itiiiritliors in."
I'asl (lew arouiiil iIk- liiiin-
ming wheel ;
TIic steaminj; kettle hung
Ahove the old wife's snap-
ping fire.
And merrily it sung.
The sour old wife, she spun
her flax,
.\11 puckered in a frown ;
There came a rattling at
the latch,
Two goodies from the town :
'■ 1 care not for your idlr
threats,
(k), get ye to the toun !
1 'd brew more tea ami
spin more flax,
Hefore the sun goes dow
I he frost, the diamond
window-panes
1 lad trimmed with frozen
leaves :
The shining icicles hung low
Beneath the cottage eaves.
The north wind howled
around the house.
The kettle sang so gay ;
The old wife, at her hum-
ming wheel.
Spun out the close of dav.
Pray let us in, O neighbor There came a rattling at
dear ! " the latch,
.AH swiftly scuttled she. The old wife 'gan to frown
.\nd snatched the kettle " Beshrew them ! have tli^
from the hob come again,
.\nd poured a cup of tea. The goodies from the town : '
-She gulped it down : "And .She breathed upon tlie
now^ come in, window-pane.
If so ye do desire," .\nd out she peered, to sec:
The cross old wife sat down ".And, surely, if they 're come
again, again,
.And spim beside her fire. I '11 go and drink the tea. "
"■^'■•V:;-
" Now, fie upon you, cross
old wife.
To treat your neighbors so !
Our poor old bones are stiff
with cold.
The tea had made them glow .
The northern blast yel
'round the house ;
Two boys, with bleeding fci :
Stood, trembling, in tin
stinging snow,
.\nd plead with voices sweet :
'■ But keep your lea, you " I'ray, let us in, O mother
cross old wife, dear !
.\nd soon the day shall come. We 're dying wi' the cold.
You can not make your ket- Please let us in, O inother
tie sing, dear ! "
Nor get your wheel to hum." Thiold uif.'.'ui i.i-.-.ild-
CROSS I'ATCII.
44'
m
M\ lire «.is nt.i for bvg-
^>rs built.
Cio, leave my door, I say ! "
rhcy meekly dropped their
pretty heads.
And s;idlv turned awa\.
\.i\v, what is this?" the old
wife said,
■ Kor, everywhere they go.
Sprint; up, around their
bleeding feet,
Ko.l roses through the sno«.
• And all the snow before my
d(Mir
Is crimson, where they stood ;
And there h.is sprung a
little rose
Kr.im every drop of blood !
•• And what is this?" the old
wife cried ;
■ l"(«r, everywhere they pass,
wold crocus-buds pierce
thro' the snow,
\iul spears of summer grass.
Ah. woe is me ! -Now they
.^ are gone,
^ 1 fear I 'vc worked me ill ;
1 fear tliese were two an-
gel-folk.
From otT the Holy Hill."
She turned herself, the lire
burned bright.
The kettle o'er it hung,
,\h, woe is me ! " the old
wife cried,
For it no longer sung.
She heaped dry branches
on the tire,
The flames began to roar,
■• Now 1 'm undone ! " the old
wife cried,
• The kettle sings no nu>re."
She turned her to her spin-
ning-wheel,
.And tried lier flax to spin.
But every time she touched
the threads,
She snarled them out and in.
In vain she tried to iwirl
the wheel ;
Ouoth she, " My day h;is
come ;
My kettle will no longer sing,
Mv wheel no longer hum."
H.-ird. in the frosty morn-
ing, stared
The neighbors passing by.
For, from the old wife's
chimney, curled
No smoke against the sk\
/ta-.» , ■, r~'i r.
44^
KARI. S A I'K I I. 1-1 US r
KAKI.S APRIL 1-IRST.
I5v JKNXV Marsh I'akki u.
HE two aunties called
him "Little Karl."
That was one of his
troubles, for his name
was Charles Christo-
pher Dimmock, Jr.,
and did n't every-
body ill the country
know th.it Charles
Christopher Dim-
mock, Sr. , was the
famous ( J reck pro-
fessor of the Univer-
sity of X .'
The college lads called him '" Pericles." That
was another trouble. He had hoped they would
not, when his long, fair curls were clipped short,
and his kilts exchanged for trousers ; but it had
made no difference. " Halloo, Pericles," they
shouted, just the same, and then they would add,
" Don't you want to buy a dog? "
His father, very wise in everything else, would
never consent to his having a dog. This was another
of Karl's troubles ; but how the college boys got
hold of it he could not tell. It was a comfort to
hope that some day his troubles would all be over,
and he be another Doctor Dimmock in a famous
college, wearing gold spectacles, and hearing (Ircck
recitations ; lecturing on Grecian art and philos-
ophy, and settling everything b\ a wise shake of
the head and saying :
"Yes, yes; certainly, yes," or,
"No, no; certainly not."
Until that epoch, he would h.ive trouble. One
of the very first things he would have when he
should reach that happy future would be a dog,
and that dog should be treated "like folks," like
one of the family. He would ask for no better
companion than his good dog.
.March 31st, only the other day, found Karl
slightly cast down under another anxiety.
The morrow was All Fools' Day. The boys
would be full of pranks. Think hard as ever he
could — and the wise little face grew very serious —
he could not devise a new trick, — something sur-
prismg in the way of fun. He scorned the old
worn-out fooleries — cotton-batting pancakes, stuffed
eggs, bricks under hats, false messages, and cheap
surprises. If he could only get up something origi-
nal, it would not matter who inight be the subject
of his Jest. Why, a boy had called him "Dominie
Dump " the other day ! That was worse than
Pericles.
Karl had come home from school and gone to
his usual retreat for study, the deep bay-window of
his father's library. It was his favorite nook ; the
heavy curtains shutting him out from the rest of
the world. His books were there, and his writing-
desk. He had often seen his father turn to the big
encyclopedias when wanting to know something
very much, so he had carried one of those weighty
volumes to the bay-window, and a concordance
and dictionary besides. But they failed to help him
concerning April Fools' Day, and he was reading
"Oliver Twist," forgetful of times and seasons,
when the doctor came in, his arms full of books
and papers.
"Glad to find ourselves all alone," he possibly
said to the owl over the door, when, having put on
his dressing-gown and slippers, he drew his big
chair before the blazing grate, and began cutting';
the leaves of the new book he was longing to en-
joy— " Logical Variations in New Analytics," or
something of the kind. He had, perhaps, read
two pages, when a sharp ring at the door-bell made
him wish that he lived on Pitcairn Island, — at least
he grumbled such a wish, and then smiled when
Professor Grccnaway, cheery and hurried as usual,
bustled into the room, and began talking rapidly
about microscopes and specimens, and some late
discoveries ; nothing which Karl might not hear.
Professor Greenaway was a hero of Karl's — his
favorite of all the professors. He had a beautiful
brown spaniel, and a Newfoundland, and a brace
of setters, and so he understood one of Karl's
troubles as no one else did or could. As long as
the t.ilk was about "Zygnema," or "Ephialtes,"
and such trifles, Karl thought he might remain
concealed behind his curtains.
He was soon lost in his story again.
" Planning something for to-morrow, are they?"
he heard his father say, at last. " Well, we must
see nothing that we can avoid seeing."
The professor assented, and they fell into a low,
cozy chat, — story-telling of their boyhood. "Oli-
ver Twist " and " Chris. Dimmock " were getting
strangely confused with Karl. The doctor w.as
telling in his slow, dreamy way — the professor's
laugh often interrupting him — of a First of April
when he w.as a boy.
" You see," — and Karl was listening, — "my father
w.as an old-school gentleman, one of an order now
itSl.)
KAIvl S APR I I IIRST.
44.>
almost extinct ; astern, (li^nihed parson, who never
jcstctl, seldom smiled, and l()oke<l upon all nierry-
makni^ as sinful. How I ever dared to play .»
prank n^Min liini ani^ues me ^till. I am sure my
boy would not venture sueh a lliin^; with me, and
I, you know, am not very severe with Karl."
•• Save in the doj; matter. Doctor; you don't yield
there, as 1 perceive."
"No, no; certainly not."
" I'erhaps you don't know your boy yel. 1 doubt
if your f.uher knew you before you amazed him."
" I had a bad shilling, you see," resumed the
doctor, "and I meant it should bring me great
sport on All Fools' Day. My big brother dared
me to give it to my father for s;ife keeping, and
then to ;isk him for it at night, get a good one, of
course, and quietly enjoy the trick. He not only
dared me, but bet two shillings 1 should not succeed.
As my father was going out that April Fools' Day
morning to visit his poor, — there w.is great suft'er-
ing among the fishermen's families, — I sidled up to
him with a sheepish air, and asked him to please
keep my shilling for me until night. He slipped it
into his purse with due gravity, and walked away,
leaving me to ;isk some hard questions of Chris.
Dimmock. Before noon 1 tried to keep up my
courage on peppermint drops, bought on credit, for
all my brother declared I should Ix* the fool of the
day in the end, and he should laugh at my cost.
I went home at night to draw the good shilling, but
found my father in an excited state of mind, his
study quite a court-room, in fact. You see, counter-
feit money had been circulating in the village, and
the authorities were trying to trace it. Suspicion
had rested uf)on a well-known personage called
Billy the Smuggler. He had p.Tssed a b.id shilling
at last, and had been arrested. His story was that
the parson gave the same to his sick wife that
morning. This the parson denied stoutly, and
thmgs looked very bad for Billy when 1 came in.
" ' It was my shilling. Father,' I at last found
courage to say. • Don't you remember I gave you
one to keep for me this morning? '
" I might h.ive got off, even then, had not Smug-
gling Billy, overjoyed at his own release, forgotten
himself so far as to say, ' April Fool on the parson,
I vow ! ' The end of that was a flogging for me,
and my going to bod without my supf)er. My
brother consoled me by whispering that 1 had won
the bet, and Smugglmg Billy sent me a little ship
not long after. But I always thought that story
had a bad ending. It did not come out right for
the hero, you see. I never saw any fun in it until
years after ; but it was worth something to hear
Smuggling Billy tell it, showing how my teeth
chattered, and my knees shook, when he called out ;
' April Fool on the parson, I vow ! " "
"Did you ever tell Karl thai slury.'" iisked llic
professor.
■■ No, no; certainly not," and the doctor laughed
and rubbed his hands. " Karl is a different kind
of boy, you see."
Little Karl went up lo his room presently, and
brought out his collection of .idvertising cards. He
knew what he w;is after. There it was, the
neuralgia medal. Did n't it look just like a silver
quarter.' Ah! Could he but get that into his
father's pocket, that would be a celebration of .April
First worth having. " • Karl is a diflferent kind of
boy, you sec.' "
He talked little that evening, as he sat by his
father before the library fire, and read less, but he
thought a great deal. How simple it seemed to
p.iss a medal froin his pocket to his father's ! But,
under the circumstances, it was, in fact, more diffi-
cult than sending a car-load of specie from Wash-
ington to San Francisco. .A (;iiry could have done
it beautifully ; he dreamed out that plan, and saw
her throw her ladders against pantaloon and waist-
coat, and, with the aid of a host of elfins, finally
drop the coin into the black cavern. But that
would be the fairy's jest — not his. He thought of
magicians and pickpockets, and how handy the
.\rtful Dodger would be in such a dilemma.
The doctor was not unmindful of his little boy'~
meditation. " Karl is a very intellectual child,'
thought he, glancing at him over his spectacles, —
reminded of Watts and the tea-kettle, of course.
"Who know s what is growing in that boy's brain ? "
Kitty, the housemaid, planned the success at
last.
There was always what she called "a flurry-
blurry '' in the doctor's h.nll every week-day morn-
ing, caused by his getting off to college in se.ison,
and Karl's starting for school. That morning,
.'\pril 1st, the confusion was increased by the doc-
tor's inability to find his umbrella at the last
moment, when the car was coming. Other things
were suffered to make the probability of his getting
to college prayers rather uncertain. He was hurry-
ing down the steps, Karl behind him, when Kitty
called after them :
" Master Karl ! Master Karl I See what you
have dropped," and she tossed the medal after
him.
" In luck, for once!" returned Karl. " Ple.ise,
Papa," — impatiently, for the car was stopping for
them, — "keep it for me," and he fairly thrust it
into the doctor's hand.
Professor (Ireenaway was in the car, and so were
several students. In many cities, you know, the
horse-cars have no conductors. The p.issengcrs
drop their fares into a money-box, or make change
with the driver. The doctor, kicking a dime,
444
KAUI. S Al'k 1 I. l-l KST
passed up his medal for cliangc, then opened his
book, and was lost to all around him.
" Heard the news this morning; ?" asks Professor
(ireenaway, close to the doctor's ear.
" \o ; anything important?"
"April First. Don't forget the students and
Hilly the Smuggler."
•'No, no; certainly not;'' without lifting his
e\es from his book.
Hut why had the driver stopped the car ? Jerk-
ing open the door, he stood looking at the passen-
gers with an angry scowl.
"Who give this yerc?" holding up the medal.
Karl's face was a picture, but nobody saw it.
•' It's the last fare in," and he looked hard at the
doctor — the only one in the car who did not hear.
The college bo)s were in high glee.
" He means you, Doctor," said Professor Green-
away. " It 's the bad shilling. Can you explain?"
A bewildered smile crept over the doctor's face.
" I did n't think that of you, (Ireenaway," .ind
really the doctor looked severe.
" Here, pass up this for me," handing him a
quarter.
"You misunderstand, if you think " began
the professor ; but the driver had the floor.
" Yer can't pass yer quack medals onter me, if
't is April Fools' Day. Who 's got it this time, 1 'd
like to know?" with a wink at the students.
The doctor muttered something to Professor
(Ireenaway, who had turned his attention to Karl.
The boy was wonderfully absorbed in looking out
of the window.
"There, Karl, my boy," said the doctor, drop-
ping the medal into his satchel, " I '11 give that to
you. How it got into my pocket, 1 don't see,"
with a suspicious glance at Professor (ireenaway.
" Please don't forget. Papa, what 1 gave you
when I got into the car," said Karl, getting up and
pulling the check-strap.
His eyes twinkled, and a musical laugh rippled
in. "I want to buy a dog, you know, and 1 've
heard of one for a quarter."
Hefore the doctor realized the situation, the boy
was gone. Hut Professor Greenaway made him
understand how things stood.
" This ' Karl is a different kind of boy, you
see,' " said he.
" Now, my dear Doctor," said the professor, ;is
they crossed the campus together. " you must let
me see that this story has a happy ending — that
the hero gets his deserts."
"Yes, yes; certainly, yes."
" 1 shall send him a dog, to-night — a puppy.
Let us name him Billy, in comincmoration of to-
day— and of that other First of April."
" Just fifty-five years ago to-day. Yes, send up
the dog. 1 shall make his reception all it ought
to be."
That night, when the doctor and Karl — as alike
as two peas — one fully ripe for seed, the other green
in the pod — sat reading before the study fire, Katie
Ijrought in a covered basket.
" Here is something for Master Karl."
He looked contemptuously at the basket.
" They can't fool me. Take it back."
" Professor Greenaway sent it, with his card."
Two or three sharp, yelping barks from the
basket, and Karl was beside himself with joy. A
puppy — the prettiest, softest, sleekest, whitest, little
puppy you ever saw — only one spot of black, and
that over its left eye ! It bore a card on which was
printed: " Cain's /aiiil/iaris. Found from Maine
to Florida, where there is anything to eat. This
specimen is quite harmless. April ist, i88l."
" And we '11 call him Billy," said the good doc-
tor, gazing upon the new pet with unfeigned
admiration. " What a droll little fellow he is ! "
" And you wont let my aunties send him away ?"
pleadingly. " No matter what they may say about
him ? "
"No, no; certainly not. Billy shall stay, come
what niav."
" Why, do you know, Christopher," asked Aunt
Helen, throwing up her hands like a tragedy-
c|uccn, " that Professor Greenaway has sent you a
little bull-dog, or what Jerry calls a ' regular game
bull-pup ' ? "
"No, 1 don't know that," returned' the doctor,
placidly, cutting the leaves of his Xinetecitth
Century rather nervously, nevertheless.
" Well, he has ; and Karl talks of having its ears
and tail cut, sporting style. You surely will not
allow that, with all your concessions ? "
The doctor said no, decidedly not, and when Karl
came back from the stable, where he had settled
with Jerr\' the coachman to have Billy improved at
once, he was grieved and disappointed, for his father
stood firm. Billy's ears and tail should be all that
the Bergli society woidd have them to be.
"Hill Sykes is a pretty name for Doctor Dim-
mock's dog, 1 'm sure!" exclaimed Aunt Helen.
"And that is what the college boys will name him,
of course. I think Professor Greenaway "
"We wont forget Professor Cireenaway," broke
in the doctor, with a low, triumphant laugh. " He
shall hear from us next year."
Hut Karl was looking dolefully at Billy's silky
ears. It was the old story, you see. He had lost
an old trouble to make room for a new one ; and
that is the way the world goes, if we are foolish
enough to let it, from one April to another.
IIIK LITTLE wool, I. V K I. i: I' II A N
(45
WHO roi.i) M()iiii:k
Hv Marv C. ItAKii.K. n.
Wkk NoUic, silent, stood ujMm a chair,
lloforc the [jl.iss, and clipped her shining hair,
Making of each bright curl a shower of gold.
(Do you suppose some little birdie told?)
And then, with eyes of deepest, darkest blue.
That j;listened soft, like violets wet with ilcw.
The naughty little girl quick tribute paid
To the sad havoc which her hands had made.
Saying, while fast the pearly tear-drops fell.
1 know my mother 'II cry, — 1 must n't tell."
And, swiftly jjath'ring up each severed tress.
She threw it, with a sorrowful caress.
Behind the door. '■ Now. door, please stay
just so,
AnA hide them all. — so Mother "11 ne\er know. "
But soon she heard a footstep on the stair,
Then a sweet voice, — " My Nellie, are you
there ?
Why is my little chatterbox so still .'
Some mischief, 1 'm afraid. What ! Is she ill?
What is it ? Is my baby tired of play ?
Come ! Let us chase those vexing tears away.
Where is the pain, my darling ? Tell me
where.
I','///- //,■<!,/.' Il7iy, .\W/i,: r/ii/.i.' Iiyt.n- is
your hair ' "
The sobbing child her poor head buried low
In Mother's pitying lap, — and so, — .md so, —
It must have been the creaking door that told
Where Nellie hid her sliining curls of gold.
THi: LirTLi-: \voc)Li.v i:li:pi{.\nt.s.
iiih^t i|iic<T iiiiir cirim.iiu-, «iii I- u'lc ■(■iind
among the mount.ains of the Malay peninsula, are
the lirst ever exhibited, either in this country or in
Europe. They were captured by a raj.ih on one of
his hunts, and were brought to this country in the
vessel "Oxfordshire" by Captain C. P. Jones.
They are aged respectively six and a half and
four and a half years. Prince, the elder, is thirty-
six inches in height, and Sydney, the younger.
iiiirty inches, whu li i^ >i\ m- no smaller than the
baby elephant born in Philadelphia List spring.
They arn called woolly elephants, because they
are covered with very coarse hair, which has a
tendency to curl. This heavy growth of hair is
accounted for by the fact th.it they live far up
in the mountains, in a cold climate. They arc
affectionate little creatures, and are quite willing to
m.ike friends with the people who visit them.
446
Till-: COOPKK AM) Till-: WOl.VKS.
DISGRACKD.
liv S. B. RlcoRD.
A lllOHIA respectable cat
In the midst of her family sat,
And she said to them all:
" Even while you are small,
Don't ever be scared by a rat ! '
Bur THKY WERE !
TFII-: coopi-:r and riii". \volvi-:s.
BV HjALMAR 11. He IV I SIN.
TOLI.EF KOLSTAD was a cooper, and a very skill-
ful cooper he was said to be. He had a little son
named Thor, who was as fond of his father as his
father was of him. Whatever ToUcf did or said,
Thor was sure to imitate ; if Tollcf was angry and
flung a piece of wood at the dog who used to come
into the shop and bother him, Thor, thinking it
was a manly thing to do, flung another piece at
poor Hector, who ran out whimpering through the
door.
Thor, of course, was not very old before he had
a corner in his father's shop, where, with a small
set of tools which had been especially made for him,
he used to make little pails and buckets and barrels,
which he sold for fi\e or ten cents apiece, to the
boys of the neighborhood. All the money earned
in this way he put into a bank of tin, made like a
drum, of which his mother kept the key. When
he grew up, he thought, he would be a rich man.
The last weeks before Christmas are, in Norway,
always the briskest season in all trades ; then the
farmer wants his horses shod, so that he may take
his wife and children to church in his fine, swan-
shaped sleigh : he wants bread and cakes made to
last through the holidays, so that his ser\'ants may
be able to amuse themselves and his guests may be
well entertained when they call ; and, above all, he
wants large tubs and barrels, stoutly made of beech
staves, for his beer and mead, with which he
pledges every stranger who, during the festival,
happens to pass his door. Vou may imagine,
then, that at Christmas time coopers are much in
demand, and that it is not to be wondered at if
sometimes they are behindhand with their orders.
This was unfortunately the case with Tollef Kolstad
at the time when the strange thing happened which
I am about to tell you. He had been at work since
the early d.iwn, upon a huge tub or barrel, which
h.id been ordered by (7rim Rerglund, the richest
peasant in the parish, ('.rim was to give a l.irge
I)arty on the following day (which was Christmas
eve), and he had made Tollef promise to bring the
barrel that same night, so that he might pour the
beer into it, and h.ive all in readiness for the holi-
da\s, when it would be wrong to do any work. It
was about ton o'clock at night when Tollef made
THE COOPER AND THE WOLVES.
44;
the last stmko with his hntchct on the lar>;c hollow
thin^, upon which ever)' blow res*)unded .is on a
drum. Me went to a nei^;hhiir and hired from him
his horse and ll.it sleij;h, and w.as about to start on
his errand, when he heard a tiny \."..- . illinv;
behmd hini :
•• Father, do take me along, too ! "
" I cin't, my l)oy. There may be wohes on llie
Lake, to-ni);ht, and they might like to eat up little
boys who stay out of bed so late."
" Hut I am not afraid of them, l-'ather. I have
my whip and my hatchet, and I '11 whip them and
cut them."
Thor here made some threatening flourishes with
his weapons in the air, indicating how he would
give it to the wolves in case they should venture to
appmich him.
*' Well, come along, you little r.ascal," said his
lather, laughing, and feeling rather proud of his
boy's dauntless spirit. "You and I are not to be
trifled with when we are angered, arc we, Thor?"
•• No. indeed. Father," Siiid Thor. and clenched
his little niittened tist.
Tollef then lifted him up. wrapped him warmly
in his sheep-skin jacket, and put him between his
knees, while he himself seized the reins and urged
the horse on.
It was a glorious winter night. The snow spark-
led and shone as if sprinkled with starry diamonds,
the aurora bore.alis flashed in pale, shifting colors
along the horizon, and the moon sailed calmly
through a vast, dark-blue sea of air. Little Thor
shouted with delight as he saw the broad expanse
of glittering ice. which they were about to cross,
stretching out before them like a polished shield of
steel.
" Oh, Father, I wish wc had taken our skates
along, and pulled your barrel across on a sled,"
cried the boy, ecstatically.
"That 1 might have done, if 1 h.-id h.id a sled
large enough for the barrel," replied the father.
" But then we should have been obliged to pull it
up the hills on the other side."
The sleigh now struck the ice and shot forward,
swinging from side to side, as the horse pulled a
little unevenly. Whew ! how the cold air cut in
their faces. How it whizzed and howled in the
tree-tops! Hark I What w;\s that? Tollef in-
stinctively pressed his boy more closely to him.
Hush ! — his heart stood still, while that of the boy,
who merely felt the reflex shock of his father's
agitation, hammered away the more rapidly. A
temble, long-drawn howl, as from a chorus of wild,
far-away voices, came floating away over the crowns
of the pine-trees.
"What was that. Father?" asked Thor, a little
tremulouslv.
" It w.TS wolves, my child," said Tollef, calmly.
" Are you afniid. Father ? " asked the boy again.
" No, child, 1 am not afraid of one wolf, nor if
ten wolves; but if they are in a flock of twenty or
thirty, they are dangerous. And if ihey scent our
track, as probably they will, they will be on us in
five minutes."
" How will they scent our tr.ick. Father?"
" They smell us in the wind ; and the wind is
from us anti to them, and then they howl to notify
their comrades, so that they may attack us in suffi-
cient force."
"Why don't we return home, then?" inquired
the boy, still with a tolerably steady voice, but with
sinking courage.
" They are behind us. Our only chance is to
re.ich the shore before they overtake us."
The horse, sniffing the presence of wild beasts,
snorted wildly .is it ran, but, electrified, as it were,
with the sense of danger, strained every ner\e in
its efforts to reach the farther shore. The howls
now came nearer and nearer, and they rose w ith a
frightful distinctness in the clear, wintry air, and
resounded again from the border of the forest.
" Whydon't you throw awaythe barrel, Father?"
said Thor, who, for his father's sake, strove hard to
keep brave. "Then the sleigh will run so much
the faster."
" If we .ire overt.iken, our safety is in the barrel.
Fortunately, it is large enough for two, and it has
no ears and will fit close to the ice."
Tollef was still calm ; but, with his one disen-
gaged arm. hugged his little son convulsively.
"Now, keep brave, my boy," he whispered in
his ear. "They will soon be upon us. (^ive mc
your whip."
It just occurred to Tollef that he h.nd heard that
wolves were very suspicious, and that men had
often escaped them by dragging some small object
on the ground behind them. He, therefore,
broke a chip from one of the hoops of the barrel,
and tied it to the lash of the whip ; just then he
heard a short, hungry bark behind him. and, turn-
ing his head, saw a pack of wolves, numbering
more than a dozen, the foremost of which was
within a few yards of the sleigh. He saw the red,
frothy tongue hanging out of its mouth, and he
smelt that penetrating, wild smell with which every-
one is familiar who h.is met a wild beast in its
native haunts. While encouraging the reeking,
foam-fleckc-d horse, Tollef. who had only half faith
in the experiment w ith the whip, watched anxiously
the leader of the wol\es, and observed to his aston-
ishment that it seemed to be getting no nearer.
One moment it seemed to be gaining upon them,
but invari.ibly, .is soon .as it reached the little chip
which was dragging along the ice, this sudderly
44^
Till-; i.im)|'i;r and iiik \v(j i.v i;s.
arrcsled its attention and ininiodiatcly its speed
slackened. The cooper's liope began to revive, and
he thought that perhaps there was yet a possibihty
that they might sec the morrow's sun. Hut his
courage again began to ebb when he discovered
in the distance a second pack of wolves, larger
than the first, and which, with terrific speed, came
running, leaping, and whirling toward them from
another direction. And while this terrible discov-
ery was breaking through his almost callous sense.
his speed in a race for life. Some of the wolves
were apparently pursuing him, while the greater
number remained to investigate the contents of the
barrel. The howling and barking of these furious
creatures without was now incessant. Within the
barrel was pitch darkness.
•'Now, keep steady!" said Tollef, feeling a sud-
den shock, as if a wolf had leaped against their
improvised house with a view to upsetting it. He
felt himself and the boy gliding a foot or two over
he forgot, for an instant, the whip, the lash of which
swung under the runners of the sleigh and snapped.
The horse, too, was showing signs of exhaustion,
and Tollef, seeing that only one chance was left.
rose up with his boy in his arms, and upsetting the
barrel on a great ledge of ice, concealed himself
and the child under it. Hardly had he had time
to brace himself against its sides, ])ressing his feel
against one side and his back against the other,
when he heard the horse giving a wild scream,
while the short, whining bark of the wolves told
hiin that the poor beast was selling its life dearly.
Then there was a desperate scratching and scrap-
ing of horseshoes, and all of a sudden the sound of
galloping hoof-beats on the ice, growing fainter and
fainter. The horse had evidently succeeded in
breaking away from the sleigh, and was testing
the smooth ice, but there was no further result from
the attack. A minute passed: again there came a
shock, and .i stronger one than the first. A long,
terrible howl followed this second failure. The
little boy, clutching his small cooper's hatchet in
one hand, sat pale but determined in the dark,
while with the other he clung to his father's ami.
•' Oh, Father ! " he cried, in terror, " I feel some-
thing on my back."
The ftther quickly struck a light, for he fortu-
nately had a supply of matches in his pocket, and
saw a wolf's paw wedged in between the ice and
the rim of the barrel ; and in the same instant he
tore the hatchet from his son's hand and buried its
edge in the ice. Then he handed the amputated
paw to Thor, and said :
" Put that into your wallet, and the sheriff will
THK COOPKR AND I II I.
449
(M)- you a ri'waril tor it.* Kora wulf withnut p.uvs Ix'l'orc ihcy were ton far away. .And, (|uickly rc-
lould n't <lo much harm. " solvc<l, he hftcd the boy on his left arm, and
While he w.fti yet speaking, a tliird ass;iult upon grasped llie hatchet in his disenj;aj;ed hand. Then,
ihc barrel lifted one side of it from the ice. with a violent thrust, he flung th.e barrel from over
.ind almost upset it. Instead of pushing against him. and ran in the direction of the sound. The
the p.irt ne.iresl the ice. a wolf more cunning than wolves, as he had inferred, were lacerating their
(he ri-st had leaped .tgainst the upturned bottom. bleetling comrades ; but the moment they s;iw him.
You can imagme what a terrible night father and a pack of about a di«cn immediately started in
son spent together in this constant struggle with pursuit. They leaped up against him on all sides,
the vor.icious beasts, that never grew weary of while he struck furiously about him with his small
.itt.icking their hiding-pl.ice. The father was less weapon, fortunately, he had sharp steel pegs on
warmly clad than the son, and. moreover, was his boots, and kept his fooling well ; otherwise the
obliged to sit on the ice. while Thor could stand combat would have bi'cn a short one. His voice,
erect without kncnrking against the Iwttom of the too, was powerful, and his shouts rose high above
b,irrel ; and if it had not been for the excitement of the howling of the beasts. He soon perceived that
the situ.ition. which m.ade Tollef's blood course with he had been observed, and ho saw in the bright
unwonted r.ipidity. it is more than prob.ible that moonlight six or eight men running toward him.
the intense cold would have made him drowsy, and Just then, .ts perhaps in his joy his vigilance was
thus lessene<l his power of resistance. The warmth for a fraction of a second relaxed, he felt a pull in
of his body had made a slight cavity where he was the fleshy part of his right arm. He was lot con-
sitting, and whenever he remained a moment still, scious of any sharp pain, and w.is astonished to see
"his trousers froze fiwt to the ice. It was only the the blood flowing from an ugly wound. But he
presence of his boy that inspired him with fresh only held his boy the more tightly, while he fought
courage whenever hope seemed about to desert him. and ran with the strength of despair.
About an hour after the flight of the horse, when Now, the men were near. He could hear their
five or six w olves' paws had been cut off in the same
manner iis the first, there wa-s a lull in the attack,
but a sudden increase of the howling, whining,
yelping, and barking noise without. ToUef con-
cluded that the wolves, m.addcned by the smell of
bhxKl, were attacking their wounded fellows ; and
.IS their howls seemed to come from a short dis-
tance, he cautiousb lifted one side of the barrel
voices. But his brain w.ts dizzy, and he saw
but dimly.
" Hello, friend ; don't crack my skull for my
pains ! " some one was shouting close to his ear, and
he let his hatchet fall, and fell himself, too, pros-
trate on the ice.
The wolves, at the sight nf the men. had retired
to a safe distance, from which thoy watched the
and peered forth : but in the same instant a snarl- proceedings, as if uncertain whether to return.
ing bark rang right in his ear, and two paws were
thrust into the opening. . Then came a howl of
pain, iind another paw was put into Thor's wallet.
But hark I What is that ? It sounds like a song,
or more like a hymn. The strain comes nearer and
nearer, resounding from mountain to mountain,
floating peacefully through the pure and still air:
** >Vho luioir« how near I am mine ending ;
So quickly time dnih |ia«« away."
Tollcf, in whose breast hope again w;is rcviv-
.As soon as Tollef had recovered somewhat from
his exhaustion and his loss of blood, he and his boy
were placed upon a sleigh, and his wound w.is care-
fully bandaged. He now learned that his rescuers
were on their way to a funeral, which was to take
place on the next day, but, on account of the
distance to the church, they had been obliged to
start during the night. Hence their solemn mood,
.and their singing of funeral hymns.
.After an hour's ride they reached the cooper's
cottage, and were invited to rest and to share
ing, put his ear to the ice, and heard distinctly the such hospitality as the house could offer. But
tread of a horse and of many hum.an feet. He when they were gone. Tollef cl.aspcd his sleeping
listened for a minute or more, but could not dis- boy in his arms and said to his wife: " If it had
cover whether the sound was coming any nearer, not been for him, you would have had no husband
It occurred to him that in .ill probability the peo- to-day. It w.ts his little whip and toy hatchet that
pie, Ix-ing un.inncd, would have no desire to cope saved our hves."
with a large pack of wolves, especially .as to them Eleven wolvcs'-paws were found in Thor's wallet,
there could Ik- no object in it. If they s;iw the .and, on Christmas eve, he went to the sheriff
Uirrel, how could they know that there was any- with them and received a reward which nearly
body under it? He comprehended instantly that burst his old savings-bank, and compelled his
his only chance of life w.is in joining those people, mother to buy a new one.
• The ■hcri& in Norway an by bw nquired to poy. in Ixhalf of the Sutc. certain preinium<» for ihc killinx of ticars wolv«. foxes and eaglm.
Voi„ VIII.— 29.
450
CROOKED SPECTACLES.
^^.'aMl^fe
CKOOKEi) sim:ctacles.
By Susan }I.\uii,i;v Swkit.
An elf lived in a buttercup.
And, waking after dawn,
He donned his golden spectacles,
And stepped out on the lawn.
" Dear me," said be,
" I scarce can see.
The sunbeams shine so crookedly ! "
He met a gallant grasshopper,
And thus accosted Jiim:
Why don't you wear your green coat straight.
And look in better trim?
It frets me quite.
In such a plight.
To have you field-folk in my sight."
He met a merry bumble-bee
Within the clover gay.
Who buzzed " (lood-morning !" in his car. —
" It is a pleasant day."
" Don't speak to me.
Sir Bumble-bee,
Until you trim your wings!" cried he.
He saw an airy dragon-fly
Float o'er the meadow-rail :
Pray stop. Sir Dragon-fly ! " he cried ;
"So upside down you sail.
The sight will make
M y poor head ache ;
Fly straight, or rest within the brake."
Then a wise owl, upon the tree.
Blinked his great, staring eye:
" To folk in crooked spectacles
The whole world looks awry.
To-whit ! to-whee !
To-whoo ! " said he.
" Mn.iv siirl, lolk I -v. hved t.
MAKY, QUEEN OK SCOTS.
45'
MAK\. Ol'l-.l-". N OK SCOTS
lU MK>. Ol.lI'MAM.
M \K\ Sri'Akl, tlic j;randclaut;litor of Margaret
I'udor, Henry \'III.'s sister, has played a lar great-
er part in histor)' than her innocent cousin, Jane
("■rey, whose story I have alre;idy told you.*
llottever small your knowledge of Knglisli
history may Ix", there is not, perhaps, one of you
l>oys and girls of America who has not heard at
least the name of Mary, t^ueen of Scots, though it
IS now ncarl) three hundred years since she died.
She w.is the only child of James V'.. of Scotland,
and his wife. Mary of (iiiise.
Knglish history after this period deals much with
the Stuarts. They had reigned in .Scotland for
many generations ; a race full of chivalrous qu.nli-
tics. noble, and gentle, and graceful, but always
more or less unfortunate. .Some of the Jameses
had struggled with all their might among their
rude and fierce and powerful nobility, for the good
of the people, of whom the king was the natural
defender. Perhaps this will be to you a new view
of a king's duties, but in those days it was a true
one. Then, the king and the people were the two
who stood by e.ich other, while the great lords and
barons were the opponents of both : fighting hard
to get more and more power into their own hands,
to cut off the privileges of the people and the
power of the king.
The Stuarts were kind and gracious, and people
loved them always, even when they did badly,
both for thcmselvc-s and the kingdom: for you
know there are people whom we cannot help
loving, even when we disapprove of them. The
Stuarts were of this class : down to the very last of
them — Prince Charlie, as we call him in Scotland,
the Pretender, as you see him named in your
history-books — they have all drawn with them,
often to destruction, numbers of people who did not
like many of their acts nor approve of their p<ilicy.
but who loved them. Mary's grandfather. James
l\'., was called, Sir Walter Scott tells us in the
■' Lady of the Lake," — of which this romantic, gal-
lant knight and monarch is the hero, — "the Com-
mons' king " : that is, the king of the common
people, their champion, and their friend and favor-
ite. It was he who married Marg;irct Tudor, who
brought the hot, rough, imperious strain of the
Tudor blood into the gentler, sweeter nature of the
Stuarts; and his .son, James V'., married Mary of
(•uise. and brought the dispositions of another race,
the wily, and ambitious, and quick-witted house of
Lorraine, to be an inheritance of trouble to her
daughter. Little Mary Stuart, you see, had .1
most dangerous union of r.ices against her before
ever she was born.
And nothing could be -.adder than the circum-
stances in which she was born. Her father died a few
days after her birth, disappointed and discouraged
and heart-broken. It is said that when he heard
of his little daughter's birth, he cried, .as he lay
dying, that the crown of Scotland h.ad "come
with a la-ss, and would gang with a lass."
.No wonder that he trembleil for his child.
There w.is not in Kurope a fiercer race of nobles
than those who were now left without .iny one to
hold them in check, tearing our poor country of
Scotland in pieces among them. And though there
was then rising up a force which was strong enough
eventually to make head against the nobles, — the
force of religion and of the people, whom the new
movement of the Reformation roused evcrywhere,-
yet that force was never to l)e friendly to the young
princess, who was brought up a Roman Catholic.
.Mary was born in Linlithgow, on the 7th
of December, 1542, and in September of the next
year she was crowned, the poor baby, about nine
months old. Imagine what a curious scene it must
have been. The father had made no arrangements
for her. and appointed no guardians, for he w.is a
young man when he died, and, no doubt, expected
to live long and bring up his child in his own way.
and her mother was a young foreign princess, a
stranger in that rough, rude country, and not
popular among the people. The child was crowned,
not for her own sake, as you may suppose, but in
order that contending statesmen might exercise
power in her name. She was born in a stately old
palace, which even to-day stands up with all its
strong walls and towers still perfect, though the
roof h.as been suffered to fall into decay, and
nobody now lives in the empty rooms, which were
beautiful rooms in their d.iy, and still might be fine,
and fit for a queen to live in. were they put in order.
But though the old pal.ice is now the center of
a rich and peaceful country, green and bloom-
ing like any garden, there were wild doings then,
even in the Lothians, and by and by the child-
queen was carried to Stirling Castle, to be kept in
greater security. Then, as the fighting and strug-
gles continued, she was taken to a convent of
Augustinian nuns on the secluded and beautiful
little island of Inchmahome. I wish that I could
show you that lovely little place, or at least .1
r..r March. 1881
45'
M A K \ . 1^ V !•; K \ OK SCOTS.
picture of it. The island lies in the midst of the lake
of Monteith, not far from Stirlin;; and the High-
lands, but amid the softest scenery — a little green
island still covered with fruit-trees, which have run
wild, and bits of ruined buildings; a corner of the
convent there, a bit of chapel here, with gray
arciies open to the blue sky ; and all the place
clothed with old green turf, like velvet, as if nature
had made it smooth for the feet of the little princess
.-md the little maids-of-honor, five or six years old the
biggest of them ; with stately ladies of the court to
take care of them, and the sweet-faced nuns in
their white gowns looking on. There is a little
corner still fenced round with box-wood, which is
called Qu'^'^n Mary's garden. .Many of you may
have the same box-edging in your little gardens — at
least, it is very common in Kngland ; and, in her
little corner, Mary may have digged around the
roots and smiled to see the northern flowers come
up and blossom.
Poor little queen, but five years old, with all licr
little Maries about her ! I'erhaps she never was
as happy or as peaceful after. Inchmahome is a
daclic word, which means the "home of peace."
After this she was sent to France, to be out of
harin's way, and also because she was betrothed
to the Dauphin, which, you know, was the title
borne by the heir to the French throne, just as
the heir of England is called the Prince of Wales.
The French court was then about the most
splendid place in the world, — more gay, more
grand, more stately and beautiful than any other.
Mary received what we should call the very best
education there. When her young cousin, Jane
Grey, was being tortured in the Tower, and dying
serenely, as 1 have tried to describe to \ou, Mary
was growing up in France, learning everything
that girls were permitted to learn : and that was
saying a great deal, for Lady Jane, you remember,
read Oreek for her own amusement, and took great
pleasure in it. We think we are much cleverer
now than people were in those old times, but, after
all, they were not so far behind us as we suppose.
Wc do not hear that Mary learned Greek, but
she knew Latin, and the chief European languages,
and was fond of books and music and the arts.
You have all heard how very beautiful she was
— one of the famous beauties of the world. l?ut
I think, from her pictures, that it was not mere
beauty that Mary had. .According to all the por-
traits, there was a great family resemblance between
her and her cousin, Queen Elizabeth, whom nobody
ever supposed to be beautiful. What Mary had,
besides her beautiful eyes, and her luxuriant hair,
and the features which have been so often praised,
was such a charm of sweet manners and looks, and
grave and lovely ways, as made her beautiful and
charming to everybody who came near her. This
is something which gives beauty often to those who
have none, and it is a thing which lasts forever,
lieauty does not last. It is only skin-deep, all your
nurses and grandmothers will tell you ; but where
this charm is it does continue, and those who pos-
sess it may be said never to grow old. I think it
was this that made Mary Stuart so beautiful that
nobody coidd resist her. When she was older, and
had many troubles, she became satirical and bitter,
and often said sharp things which offended many :
but she had the most cheerful, buoyant spirit, and
grace of manner, and she believed in those who
loved her, and trusted them in such a way as bound
every generous person doubly to her. Her cousin,
Elizabeth, trusted nobody. I think that made
more difference in their looks than either features
or complexion, and is one good reason why we arc
inclined to believe that Elizabeth was ugly and
cruel, and Mary one of the most beautiful persons
that ever was seen.
She was married to the Dauphin in 1558, when
she was sixteen, and in little more than a year after,
her husband, Francis 11., succeeded his father on
the throne, and the young Scots queen became
also Queen of France. In the same year in which
Mary was married, Mary Tudor, her cousin, the
Queen of England, so often called " Hloody Mary,"
died, and in the opinion of all good Catholics Mary
Stuart was her lawful heir, for Elizabeth, who actu-
ally succeeded to the throne of England, was the
daughter of Anne Holeyn, whom Henry \'lll. had
married when his first wife was still alive.
There can be no doubt that Mar)' Stuart really
believed herself to be the rightful heir. Her
favorite device, when she was at the head of the
gay and splendid court of France, was the two
crowns of France and Scotland, with the motto
of "A/iaitsi/ut- mflra/iir," which may be translated.
"Waiting for another." It must have been a
wonderful thought for a girl to have two kingdoms
in possession, and a third so great and powerful as
England coming to her. Let us hope she had some
thoughts, in those days, of serving and helping her
people, as her Stuart forefathers had tried to do :
but that was not much the fashion in France.
But, what she certainly did was to live a most
brilliant and splendid life, full of gayety and inerr\-
making, and surrounded by everything that was
beautiful and delightful. In her time, people
knew nothing about a great many convenient and
pleasant things which we enjoy now ; but, on the
other hand, the things about them, their furniture
and hangings and ornaments, were more beautiful
than any we have; and their houses, if not nearly
so comfortable, were more statel)- and grand and
picturesque. And with a king and queen who were
MARY, Q U E I \
453
so young, ynu may suppose wh.it constant amuse-
ments went on in the old Louvre, what huntin)^-
piirties among the great wihkIs at Kontainebleau.
Hut this merry, splendiil ht'e ihd mit last long.
In less than three years after their marri.ige, young
King Francis died, and Mary's sorrows licg.in. We
hear but little of this young king in history. Me
died so young that he had not lime to show what
WIS in him : and it diK's not seem there ever was
the promise of much in him, or in any of his family.
rhe\ were not .i gixnl family, nor were they even
clever. It was one of the great misfortunes of Mary
Stuart that she w.is never in her life connected with
any man who was her own equal. .And the rest of
her life wiis so full of excitement and terrible events
that little i> ever s.iid of this splendid beginning.
But when her young luisband dietl. and another
king ascended the throne, and all the courtiers who
had worshiped and served her began to serve and
worship their new monarch. Mary turned her eyes
over the sea to her own northern kingdom, the
only place she had now a right to, .ind which was
her natural home. It was not with any longing or
love for that wild anil distant country, which she
had left in her sixth year, and of which she had, no
doubt, he.ird many a discouraging story ; for Scot-
land, in the meantime, h.id become Protestant,
the worst of all sins in the eyes of Catholics.
It had always been laughed at for its poverty
and sternness, in rich and witty Fnmce, .is it was
for long after in England, too. Poor and proud
and tierce, with none of the luxuries that abounded
in Paris, with a disorderly crowd of nobles, and a
m.iss of psalm-singing Reformers, and no pleasure
nor amusement, no brightness nor gayety, but cold
and storm, bare feudal castles instead of stately
palaces, and poverty instead of wealth. .Such was
the picture that was, no doubt, drawn to her of her
native kingdom. When she set sail, it is said that
she remained on deck as long as the shore of France
was to be seen, weeping .ind saying nothing but
farewell. " .liiit-ii, i/tannant pays lU France!"
["Farewell, delightful land of France!"] the
young queen cried. She was not then nineteen, a
widow, her mother just dead, her relations all left
behind, and nobody to welcome her to the cold and
frowning shores to which she w.ts bound.
Poor M.iry ! who could help being sorry for her.'
though she was one of the greatest ladies in the
world, and one of the most licautiful women. Poor
M.iry ! so lovely and so delicate, and used to
■lattery and praise and worship ; but coming among
a rough, cold people, who did not know her, who
did not know how to flatter — a people who dis-
.ipproved of her .as a Catholic, and were suspicious
of her .IS French, and h.ad no familiar knowledge
i>f her to soften their hearts.
Notwithstanding so many things against her,
Mary conquered her people. -She went among
them with her sweet looks and her natural grace,
and the smile «hiih melted even hearts of stone;
and though they continued to disiipprovc of some
of her ways, the .Scots learned to love her, as she
h.id the gift of making people do.
The world knew nothing then of what we call
toleration nowadays. That is one of the good
things of which, three hundred years ago, people
h.id no idea. .A Roman Catholic thought then
that it w.as his duty, if he had it in his power, t<i
make everybody go to mass, and to burn those who
would not ; and the Protestant believed that it was
his duty to prevent people from going to m.ass, to
compel them to go and hear a sermon instead, or,
if they would not, to banish them and put them in
prison. Some people think the Roman Catholics
were the worse in this respect, "but I am afraid they
were all very much the same, and every man was
resolved to force his neighbors to believe as he did.
.Now you know nobody can be forced to believe.
They can be made to tell lies, sometimes, and pre-
tend they do; but you cannot convince people that
your way is the right one by behaving cruelly to
them. When Mary had mass said in her chapel,
which was the only divine worship she understood,
there was an uproar and almost a riot, and the peo-
ple would have refused to their queen the right to
worship C'lod in the way she had been taught.
Amid all the bitter conflict that followed, Mary,
hearing much of John Knox, who was the chief
of the Reformers, sent for him. Perhaps you
have heard of John Knox, too. He was the man
of whom it was said, when he died, that he had
never feared the face of man. In the early vehe-
mence of his youth, he had been one of those whom
the corruptions of the Church of Rome h.ad dis-
gusted. W'hen he was asked to kiss the image of
a saint, he h.id flung it from him indignantly,
exclaiming that it was no more than "a painted
board," and could help no one. Me h.nd suffered
everything for the new faith — had been a galley-
slave one while; an exile, a wanderer on the face
of the earth ; but always so brave, so true, and so
earnest, that he was the counselor of statesmen,
notwithstanding his humble rank, and at that
moment w;vs .as a prince in Scotland, so great were
his influence and power. He wais a man who h.id
faults, .IS every one has, and w,ts sometimes too
lx)ld, and too stern, and, like others of his time,
wanted e\crybody to think as he did, whether they
would or not. Hut he loved his country with all
his heart, and he it was, at th.at time, who did
what the old kings had done, and stood up for the
people against the nobles, wh<i were as greedy and
tierce then as Ix-fore, and would have swallowed up
454
MARV, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
[Al'KIL,
all the goods and the lands ihcy had taken from
the old church, had not John Knox stood fiist, and
secured for the people a share of the inheritance
which was their own, establishing schools with it in
every parish in Scotland. So that it is to him thai
Scotland owes the education wliicli h;is made lier a
rich little country, prosperous and peaceful, instead
of the poverty-stricken, himgry land she once was.
Voung (^ueen .Mary w.is so bold that she sent
for this old, and wise, and stern man. thinking
that her smiles could subdue him. or her argu-
ments, though she was so young and inexperienced,
convince him. She was very clever and keen in
argument, and pushed him very close sometimes.
Hut she did not convince him, as you may suppose:
.md he spoke to her so seriously, so sternly some
people think, that he made the beautiful young
queen weep. Hut Mary was as tirm in her way of
thinking as Knox in his, and neither of them did
much good, nor much harm, to the other.
For, as 1 have told you, in spite of everything,
though she was a Papist, which they hated,
and had foreign ways which the\- did not love, this
beautiful, brave, smiling young queen won the
heart of her people. For four or live years, Scot-
land, fighting fiercely all the time within herself,
and torn in pieces by perpetual conflicts, was yet
unanimous in a tender .admiration for her queen.
In Holyrood and other roy.al castles and palaces,
scattered o\-er the country. Mary lived a life
more free, more simple, but not less gay, than
that which she lived in France. She did not dis-
turb the government already established in the
country, and which had ruled it in her name before
her return to Scotland ; and she made no attempt
to pl.ice Roman Catholics in the offices of state.
Perhaps she w.ns too young to enter yet into the
policy of her uncles in France, or to be so anxious,
as she afterward w;is, to restore the power of Rome.
So Mary enjoyed herself in these sweet jears of
her young reign, when most things went well with
her, and when nothing but the small offense of a
stern sermon, or the objections of the people to her
service in her chapel, disturbed her happy career.
If she was not as splendidly lodged, nor as
carefully served as in F" ranee, she was inore free
and really supreme. She was mistress of her own
life, and of the heart and favor of her people — not
able ;is yet to turn them from their way, yet free to
take her own way; and so gaining their liking and
their favor, that there almost began to dawn a hope
that by and by, out of love for her, they might
think better of their heresy, and go back to the old
faith with their queen. Perhaps her wise and crafty
uncles in France had advised her that the best
thing she could do was, first of all, to^make .Scot-
land love her. Hut Marv was not one to follow a
jjolicy of this kind if it did not plea.se her. It did
ple;use her, however, to make everything bright
around her, — to gather about her a troop of pretty
ladies — the queen's Maries, —
■ Ihcre «-a> .Mar>' Scion, an.l .M:ir>- Bcnioim,
And M.ir)' i'nrmichael. and mc."
as one of them sings in a ballad — and all the gay
young spirits of the country : and making the gray
northern streets ga)' with her cavalcade, as she
went a-hunting out into the woods: or scoured the
country from one palace to another; or lighted up
the graceful gallery at Holyrood, and its small but
princely rooms, with music and ple;isurc. It was
not so grand as. the Louvre, but far more free, and
there were no tiresome etiquettes to be observed,
;is in France: no queen mother to be kept in good
humor, nor sulky princes to be conciliated, but
everything her own way, and she herself supreme
lady and mistress of all. If this could but have
lasted ! Hut it was not possible that it could last.
.^mid all these gayeties, however. Mary did not
forget that she was a queen, and she took her own
way in politics as well as in her life. .She would
not give over her dancing and music and merry
evenings, as John Knox required : nor would she
quarrel with Queen Elizabeth. ;is her uncles in
France urged her to do.
And in the matter of her marriage, Mary again
acted for herself. A queen can not wait to be
asked in marriage, like a lady of lower rank. Her
subjects think it so important to them, that it has
to be arranged for her, and the best man care-
fully chosen, .ind all kinds of things taken into con-
sideration ; not so much whether they love each
other, but whether he is powerful enough, and
great enough, or so clever and gracious, so wise
and princely, that he is fit to be the husband of a
t|iicen. A great many princes were proposed to
her on all sides. Those of you who ha\c read the
history of England will remember that Queen
Klizabe.th. from the beginning of her reign, had
ahvays declared that she would not maiTy. Hut for
Mary, it was indispensable that she should marry.
The prince whom she thought most suitable for her
was that unfortunate, gloomy Df)n Carlos, who was
the son of Philip II. of .Spain, and who died
mysteriously, in madness and miserx', some time
later. Hut there were obstacles which could not be
sunnounted in the way of this marriage. And a
great inany other princes were ofiered to her, and
embassadors hurried here and there, and there
were scores of important state consultations and
court gossips on the subject : all the great people
in Kngland. and in the Court of France, and of
Spain, and :i great many less important ones, lay-
ing their crowned and coronctcd he.ads together.
i)l'Kr, N OK SCO IS.
455
and plottmt; nr wondering wluiiu tlic (^uoon o(
Scots was to marry.
.At last, liowcvcr, tliorc was suj;ni'Stcd to her,
in sivri't, the very worst niatcli of all. rin.'rc was
a certain yoiiny Loril Darnic), the son of the Harl
of Lennox, a Scottish nobleman who had been
banished to l''.nj;lantl, who «as nearly relateil to
both the roy.d families. Ilew.is .i Stuart by his
father's side, and his };randini>ther was Margaret
Tudor, who was also the grandmother of Mary.
and the aunt of Klicibeth. so that he was cousin to
both these queens. Besides this, he was ver>
handsome, with engiiging manners, to all appear-
.ince a g-allant young prince, pleasing everybody.
He was neither great enough, nor wise enough,
nor even old enough to be the husband of the Quc-en
of Scots, and all the best .luthorities were opp<ise<l
to him.
Hut Muecn Mary saw him, and took a sudden
fancy to the handsome and pleasmt youth. There
were difficulties in the way with all the others who
would have been more suitable, and this young
man w-as close at hand, and the \cry opposition
of Queen Klizabeth, and of her own serious
advisers, made Mary more determined to have
her own way.
They were married, therefore, on the igtli
of July. 1565, in the chapel of llolyrood, now-
roofless and ruined. Whether Mary had some
foreboding in her mind .is to the evil days that were
dawning upon her, or if it wiis in accordance with
some fancy or fashion, we cannot now tell; but she
was married in her widow's weeds, in a heav\
dress of black velvet and long white veil. But her
black dress w;is the only melancholy thing about
the wedding. They were very gay and very hap]>\
for a little while, though so many people disa|)-
proved of them, and Klizabeth quarreled with
them.
Little cared the pair, for the moment, who
quarreled and who disitpproved. The wise ICarl of
Murray, Mary's half-brother, and the wily queen.
her cousin, and all the nobles of the Reformation
party, and all the best people, both in Scotland and
England, were among those who opposed the mar-
riage. But the queen pleased herself, as people
say. Once more she had her way, and paid bitterly
for it afterward, .is self-willed pi-ople so often do.
Kor this young Darnley, whom she so loved and
honored, to whom she had given the name of king,
as he was a Stuart and of royal blood like herself,
and for whom she had displeased so many of her
fnends. was a-, self-willed, and not nearly as wise,
as Mary herself. Me was younger by three years
than she ; he was merely a handsome boy, w hile
she was a woman, full of intellect, intelligence, and
high spirit. She had very much more character
lh,in he had ; and she had been brought up to
understand slate affairs .md do state business,
but he had not. Me did not even respect the
high position of the lady who h,id done so much for
him ; but was ill-tempered and rude to her, as men
in all ranks often are to their wives; neglected her
at one time, and at another teased her with de-
mands for more power and authority, .ind showed
himself to be quite unworthy of the position in
which her love had placed him. No doubt he
thought, because she had done so much for him,
that he deserved it all, and more. Now, Mary w.ts
not herself of .1 patient temper, and she w.is sensi-
tive to her husband's neglect, and disgusted by his
selfishness and ungenerous behavior. She herself
had many faults, but she w;is not capable of mean-
ness, and his conduct humbled both her and him-
self in the eyes of the nation.
In six months they were ;is far apart as if
they h;id been strangers. The queen had much
on her hands at this time. Some of her great
nobles, and especially her half-brother, the Karl
of Murray, had rebelled against her after her mar-
riage, and she herself had ridden at the he.id of
her army and had subdued the rebels. The ex-
citement of this had delighted Mary. She had
declared she would like to be a man, to spend her
days in the saddle, and to lie all night in the fields,
and throughout the struggle she showed herself full
of courage and energy, and quick to do whatever
she had in hand.
But success turned her head. She began to
feel that she had the world at her feet, and that no
one could stand against her ; and began to dream
of restoring the Catholic faith, and even of march-
ing to London and overthrowing Klizabetii. and
taking possession of the English crown, her rightful
inheritance, as she believed.
In these schemes she was helped and pushed on
by her ltali:m secretary, who had been recom-
mended to her by her relations in France, and who
knew all the plans of the Catholic party. This
Italian, David Rizzio, was, at the same time, a man
of great accomplishments, a tine musician, and had
a very cultivated mind: and he w;»s a great
resource to Mary among her rude and untaught
nobles, and very naturally became one of her fa-
vorite companions.
But the people about the court, and the nobles,
who could not understand how she should prefer a
poor secretary to themselves, hated David; some
of them out of mere jealt)usy, some because they
knew or suspected that Dax id had great schemes
in his mind, and was ;i dangerous plotter ag.iinst
the reformed faith. Darnley was the chief of those
who were jealous of Rizzio. Though it w.as by his
own folly that he li.id mailc himself disagreeable
456
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
to his wife, yet. in his vanity and weakness, he spire with some of the discontented lords, and those
could not bear that she should find pleasure in who thought that Pavid was a public enemy.
the society of any one else, and he began to con- 1 am afraid, indeed, that this accomplisheil
Mvk\. ()ii:kn ok scots.
45 7
ItiUian tivij an enemy to the state, and w;is plan-
ning great harm in Scotland ; but this ilid not
justify the wicked and cruel act by which he met
his death. One evening Queen Mary w;is in her
cabinet, or closet, as it was called, -a room so small
that \\>u »iiuld not think so many people could
(Htssibly gel into it. — at supper, fearing no evil.
She had her half-sister with her, the Countess of
.-Vrgyle; .i half-brother, .and several others of her
household, .uul among them Kizzio. When the
sup|K-r was half over, Darnley. the king, ;»s he was
called, came in by a private pass;ige, which led
from his nxim to Mary's. Then, a few minutes
after, came Lord Ruthvcn, the chief of the con-
spirators, and a number of others, armed and
angry.
Imagine these tierce men rushing in by the
pnvate diH)r, which was for Darnley alone, and till-
ing the little room behind the terrified people at
ihe table, who had been talking g"ayly over their
supper, with thoughts .is far as possible from mur-
der and cruelty.
Mary, who feared no man, at once ;isked Ruth-
vcn what was his business there and who had
let him in, and ordered him to leave her presence.
Hut you may be sure they had not gone so far to
be stopped by anything that could be said to them,
.ind .Mary, betrayed by her own husband, had no
guards to defend her. Kuthven made her a
haught\ answer, and s;iid he had cc»me to dnig
Kizzio fnmi her presence.
•• M.idame. save my life '. "' cncd David, clinging
i<> her dress.
She tried to save him against the weapons thrust
.U him, some over her own shoulder, and in the
scuffle the table was upset, and the (|ueen her-
self thrown down, with the wretched, panic-
stricken stranger clinging to her in the middle of
.ill th.il havoc, while the daggers were almost at
her own throat.
Then the murderers forced the clinging hands
of their victim Uxjse from the clothing of the
ijueen, and dragged him roughly out of her pres-
ence, Darnley himself holding her that she might
do nothing further in behalf of the poor Italian,
who w;is killed at the door of the adjoining room,
in her hearing, if not in her sight. Then his body,
mangled with many wounds, was thrown out of the
window into the court-yard below.
Ruthven came back when this deed was done,
into the little riKim where the remains of the sup-
per, which had been so dre.idfully interrupted, were
still scattered : and there he found poor Mary, in
a passion of rage, and sorrow, and despair, telling
her treacherous husband that she would be his
wife no longer; that he was a traitor and the .son
of a traitor.
•' This will be dear bloo<l lo some of you." she
protested, in her p;ission.
Hut the conspirators had possession of the palace,
and Mary was a prisoner in their hands.
This was the turning point in her life. I'p to
this time she had been a brave and high-spirited
and generous princess, meeting her enemies boldly,
speaking her mind fully ; with plenty of faults,
indeed, but none that need have taken from her the
love of her people. And that love had followed
her wherever she had gone. She h.id been dis-
■ appointed in her husband, but in everything else
the beautiful and brave creature had been successful
and triumphant.
Now, however, almost in a moment, all this was
changed.
Imagine, after such a horrible scene of treachery
and murder, this >oung queen, to whom everything
h.ad been subject, shut into her room ;donc, spend-
ing the night without even one of her women
near her, without a friend to bear her com-
pany, in the room through which poor Kizzio
had been dragged, at the door of which he had
been stabbed and stabbed again, antl where his
blood stained the floor.
If ever in your travels you go to Scotland and
visit that old palace of Holyrood. which has seen
so many strange scenes, the people will show you
a dark spot, which is said to be Rizzio's blood.
1 will not vouch for it that this is true, but the
stains were there, undoubtedly, when Mary, wild
with terror, and misery, and anger, spent that
dreadful night alone. She w.as in delicate health
at the time, and the wonder was that the shock and
horror did not kill her, too.
This outrage was the beginning of all the
darker side of her life. Next morning. Mary-
began another existence. She was in the hands
of her deadly enemies. The only way in which
she could get free w;is by flattering and deceiving
them. It would h.ave l)een better for her had she
died that morning. History, then, would have had
nothing but honor and pity for her. But Mary
did not die. .She lived to cheat and deceive, to
become a conspirator, too; to swear one thing and
do another ; to revenge herself, and in her turn to
be the subject of a terrible revenge.
f /■» ic iomclmM.)
458
IN NATUKKS \V () N D i; 1< l,A N D .
A L lis SOX FOR MAMMA.
Bv Sydney Dayrk.
Dkar Mamma, if you jusl could be
A tiny little girl like me.
And 1 your mamma, you would sec
How nice 1 'd be to you.
1 'd always let you have your way;
1 'd never frown at you. and say.
You are behaving; ill to-day ;
Such conduit will not do.'
I 'd aJways give )ou jelly-cake
For breakfast, and 1 'd never shake
My head, and say : • You must not take
So very large a slice.'
I 'd never say : ' My dear, 1 trust
You will not make me say you »iiis/
Kat up your oat-meal'; or • Thi- cru^t
You '11 tind is very nice.'
1 'd buy )i)U cand)' every day ;
I 'd go down-tow'n -with you, and say :
What would my darting like ? You may
Have anything you .see.'
I 'd never say : ' My pet, you know
'T is bad for health and teeth, and so
I cannot let you have it. No;
It would be wrong in nie.'
And every day I 'd let you wear
Your nicest dress, and never care
If it should get a great big tear;
I 'd only say to you :
My precious treasure, never mind.
For little clothes 7»'/// tear, I find.'
Now, Mamma, would n't that be kind ?
That 's just wh.it / should do.
1 'd never say: ' Well, just a few ."
1 'd let you stop your lessons, too;
1 'd say : " They are too hard for you,
Poor child, to understand.'
1 'd put the books and slates away ;
You should n't do a thing but play,
.And have a party every day.
.\h-h-h. would n't that be grand !
But, .Mamma dear, you cannot grow
Into a little girl, you know,
.And I can't be your mamina ; so
The only thing to do,
Is just for you to try and see
How very, very nice 't would be
For you to do all this for me.
Now, Mamma, could n't you ? "
IN N.\ TURIN'S \V0\1)I;R1..\ .\ D: ()R. A 1) V i: X II' R KS IX TIIF.
a.mi:r icax r r opics.
liV I'KI.IX 1.. OSWAI.U.
Chaitkr VI.
Tin: little cow-hunter would have been in his
glory, if he had accompanie<l us to \'ucatan ; for
there he would have found numberless cows to
chase, and plenty of galloping room besides. On
the Rio Hexar, that fonns the frontier of the State
of Tabasco, wc saw large herds of black cattle,
roaming at large over the open prairies, and on the
opposite shore, in western Yucatan, the\' seemed to
be mostly ownerless, for we saw neither herders
nor farmers — nothing but Indian deer-hunters — till
we reached San F^lizario, a village containing only
a few white settlers, and a government stage-
coach office.
Here we left our menagerie-pets in charge of the
postmaster, who had more stable-room than he
wanted, and, hearing that southern Yucatan
abounded with monkeys and all kinds of gaine, we
set off in the direction of a place where they had
told us that the Rio Helize could be crossed on .i
rope bridge.
judging from the name, we expected to find
something like a suspension-bridge, but it proved
A I> V K N T U R K S IN 1 1 1 I ; A M I: KUAN
459
til l)c a sort of n ferry, ;« drajj-ovor cotitrivatuc nf
the nidcst and stranj;cst kind. At the narmwi-st
(loint of tlic ri\or-l>rd tlicy hati slrt-tchcd two cables
of liana-ropes from shore to sliore, about sixty feet
above the »-atcr-siirf ue, and some of theeountrj-
mcn manat;ed to get across by stepping; on the
lower cable and holding on to the upper one ; but
for travelers that were not used to this sort of rope-
wallcin);. they had larjje wicker b;iskcts with hoops,
shdinj; alonj; the cable in such a way that they could
1k' pulled over by means of a dray-rope. The river
was very briKul. with a current like a mill-race, and
it punled us how wc should j^et Hlack Hetsy across,
but the brid>;c-kecpcr assured us that there was n'r
any d.mjjer, if we would just ease her load a little,
and fasten a lon>; tow to her s;iddle-band. The tow
wiis lont; enough to reach from the water up to the
wicker basket, and while the mule swam the river,
ihc people in the basket pulled at the rope just
enough to steady her. so that the current should
not carr\ her away.
While they j;uidcd her over wc waited on the
<liffs of the opposite shore, and Tommy concluded
to try his long drop-line. Me h.ad to use beetles
instead of minnows, and, considering the poor bait,
his luck was belter than we expected : in less than
111* Cl.'«IOU9 Hora-UIDCK ACIIOS> TMK Hlo HHUZIl.
ten minutes he caught four pickerel, and a black,
frog-hcadc<l tish of a kind wc hafi never seen Iwfore.
The next time he threw in his line, he had a bile
.ilmost .as soon .as he touched the water, and, as he
jerked it in, we could see by the squirming and
spl.ashing that it must t)c a large g-iisami, .as they
call .1 sort of eel-snake in Mexico. I'p became;
but just when the line got taut, a smooth black
hea<l popped up from the water, gobbled the
i^iisiiii,' with a sudden snap, and disappeared —tish,
hook and all.
" An otter ! .\ lish-olter ! " exclaimed one of the
natives who had watched our proceedings. " .\
wonder he did n't rob you before ; we can hardlv
get a tish on account of those black thieves. Just
look at them ; there comes a whole shoal ! "
We looked down, and, sure enough, the water
at the other side of the cliffs was almost black with
swimming heads. The otters sported around like
porpoises, anti now and then slipued into a rock-
crevice at the water's edge.
"They must have their nests in that cliff," said
Tommy. " 1 wonder if we could n't catch some of
the young ones? "
'■ Hardly : their b\irr<ms .ire very deep." said the
Indian.
■' Yes, and we could n't raise them, anyhow," I
added. " It 's hard to get fresh Hsh every day, and
they would n't eat anything else, (iet up. bovs-
hcrc comes the ferryman."
Two other traxelers h.ail crossed the ferry with
the last b.Tsket : a voung .Spaniard on his way to
the gold-mines of San
Cristoval, and a heavily
.armed half-breed with a
big wolf-dog. The dog
carried two good-sized
leather bags, and w.as
saddled and bridled like
a horse, following in the
tracks of his master, who
held the end of the bridle
in his fist. Whenever we
passed a liush or a tree-
stump, the tlog pressed
close to his master's heels,
to keep the bridle from
getting entangled in the twigs.
■' Why don't you let that dog go
free?" 1 asked. "He coidd get
along a great deal better if th.at
bridle were off altogether. "
" Yes, I know," said the half-breed.
•but 1 can't go against my orders: th.at
dog is carrying the government mail, and
if I should lose him they would stop my
year's wages."
"Are you going to Vera Paz.'" .asked Daddy
Simon, who w.as not very well ac(|u,iinted with the
Yucatan coimtrv -roads.
•'No; but I will show you the way as far as
C.abellas," said the mail-carrier ; " from there Don
Jose" (the Spaniard) "and 1 shall take the
460
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
[April,
inouiitain-road to the mines, but you have to follow
the river to the mouth of the Rio Gordo."
" I wish 1 could go along with you," said Don
Jose ; " I Hke to travel in a wilderness like tliis.
Just look at tluise splendid mango-trees in the
valley down there ! Uy the by — would n't that be
a good place to cook our dinner ?"
We assented, and, while Menito dressed our
pickerel, the young Spaniard and Tommy col-
lected a lot of wild fruits, mangos, chirimoyas, and
line yellow grapes. The mail-carrier had bought
some eggs at the ferry-house, and a first-rate din-
ner was almost ready when the boys returned from
their foraging. ,
" Hello, there an- pebbles in this ravine," said
the young -Spaniard. "'Wait a moment; 1 saw a
queer sort of fruit in that bush over yonder, but I
could not reach it with my stick : let me see if 1
can't hit it. 1 think it must be a calabash-tree."
Wc were so busy with our preparations for din-
ner that we paid no particular attention to him ;
but I noticed a bottle-shaped gray thing in the top
of the calabash-tree, ;us he called it. I had just
stepped aside to get our vinegar-flask from the
saddle-pouch, when 1 heard a general uproar at
the camp : Paddy Simon snatching up the mess-
bag and galloping away like a race-horse, with
Tommy and Rough at his heels; Menito upsetting
our dinner and running off with the empty kettle,
and the young .Spaniard throwing about his arms
and bellowing like a madman.
" What in the name of common sense is the
matter.'" asked the half-breed, who was just coin-
ing up from the creek with a pail of water — but
in the next moment he dashed the pail down,
snatched it up again, and ran like the rest. " Hor-
nets ! hornets ! Away with that mule of yours ! "
he yelled, when 1 called on him to stop. 1 had
hardly time to untie the halter and rush the mule
otif into the bush, when the air seemed to hum all
around me, and two fierce stings on my neck con-
vinced me that my companions had good reason to
run. Now I remembered that wretched calabash-
tree. Yes, that explained it : the young Spaniard
had mistaken a homets'-nest for some kind of wild
fruit, and, hittmg it with a stone, had brought down
on our heads the wnith of ;i swarm of winged de-
mons. At first I was so angry that I could not
trust myself to speak a word when I overtook the
fugitives, but the uproarious mirth of the boys put
me in good humor again.
" So that 's what they call calabashes in .Spain 1"
shouted .Menito. scarcely able to contain his merri-
ment. "You would n't w;int any Spanish pepper
if you could get a dose of that stuff every da\- 1 "
" Well. I declare.'' laughed Tommy, " I did n't
know old Daddy could
run like all that ! "
■' Those rascals are
smart, though ! " cried
the half-breed, pant-
ing. " Did n't they
find us quickly ! "
•• Smart ? Why,
they have no common
sense at all," growled
old Daddy. "About
six of them went up
my trousers, and one
stung me right on the
nose — as if it had
been my fault, con-
found the foolish
creatures I "
The poor young
Spaniard said nothing
at all ; but I dare say
he recollects the (Im\
of the montl).
" Poor Menito has
lost his red hand'Ker-
"*"- chief, I see," observed
Tommy, after attending to his wounds.
"Oh, I can stand it," laughed .Menito. '• .\11 1
am son-)- for is that mess of pickerel ; we had n't
much of a breakfast, either."
"Never mind," said the half-breed; "do you
see that smoke going up, ahead there? That 's a
ADVKNTl' Ki;S IN fill; A M l. K l( A N TROPICS.
4t)I
vitlagi.' of Pasco Indians ; they can sell us sonicthin);
to cat. I t;ucss. I sliuuUI n't wonder if they are
cooking their own ilinner ri>;ht now. Besides, I
have a lot of dry cakes in
my pouch."
The smoke rose from
the center of a little clear-
ing in the midst of the
forest, but we did not see
any trace of a village, till
the half-breetl called at-
tention to a grove of
caucho-trees behind the
clearing. Wherever two
or three trees sIihkI ilose
together, the Indians hail
joined them by a net-work
of bush roj>es, forming the rimn
of their huts about six feel
above the ground, while the
boughs of the trees, interNvoven
with Ixist and bulrushes, served
as a sort of roof. tf'
•• Have n't they any axes .' " said Tom-
my. "What 's the reason they can-
not build their huts on the ground?"
■■ It 's on account of the inundations." said the
half-breed. " In the rainy sc.Tson the Rio Belize
rises ten or fifteen feet, and overflows this country
in every direction."
.\ dozen copper-brown Indians were cooking their
dinner in the irtiddle of the clearing, and when we
appro;iched their camp-fire the half-breed explained
our mishap and inquired the price of a modest
nie.il. There was n't much in sight ; but one of
the half-naked hunters rose, with the dignity of a
Grand Duke, and invited us to a seat on the wood-
pile. Their squaw-s were out nutting, he said, and
they could not offer us any bread to-day ; but we
were quite welcome to all there was, and they
scorned the idea of accepting money from a stran-
ger-guest.
"We have fried squirrels," said he, "nearly
done ; and, furthermore, we have eels, — fine eels,
exquisite and fat."
We told him that wc should never be able to
forgive ourselves if we should deprive him of his
eels, but that uc should ask him to favor us with
a squirrel apiece.
The squirrels were skewered on long sticks and
roasting over a low wood-fire, and every now and
then one of the Indians greased them with a spoon-
ful of lard-oil, to keep them from frizzing away
altogether. When we had finished our rep.ist, the
young Spaniard .asked thcin for a few drops of that
oil, to rub his swollen face.
" L>:'ispai f" (w.-isps or hornets) asked the l'.isco.
" Ves, sir — ten or twelve of them."
'• Why, what sort of snake-doctors are there in
your part of the country ?" asked the Inillan.
" None at all, as
f.ir .i> I know," re-
plied Don
•• Oh,
that ex-
plains it." said the
A HOME IN \ iKiiE Indian. " Poor man,
no wonder ! We
Pascos have good snake-doctors, however."
•' What are they good for.'" I inquired.
•' They rub you with guaraca oil," s,iid the
Indian, " that will keep flics and wasps away ; and
if you pay them a big price, they rub you till you
get snake- proof, too."
"Can't you buy a bottle of that stuff and put it
on yourself?" I asked.
"Yes, on your hands," said the Pasco, "but
only the doctor knows how to oil your face : other-
wise the ointment would kill you. It is a strong
poison, and w-ould make you sneeze till you die.
Our medicine-man has a remedy for ghosts, too,"
he added, and told us a long story .ibout the strange
apparitions that used to haunt the wig\vam till they
were laid by the potent spells of the snake-doctor ;
but we did not regret the delay, for the Indians
sold us a tame spider-monkey — a lank and funny
fellow, with arms as long .as a full-grown man's.
"What kind of oil does he mean?" I asked
the half-breed, when we continued on our way.
" I do not know what it is made of," said he,
"but it is certainly a strong poison."
" But will it injure you by merely rubbing it on
your skin ?"
" I knew a fellow who nearly died from the mere
smell," said the half-breed. " One of my neighlx)rs
in T.ab.asco was chopping wood near his garden, and
in his absence a large I'h'oron [a sort of moccasin
snake] crawled into the cottage and came near
biting his youngest sim, a lad of ten ye.irs, hut
46:
I N N A I- V R K S W O N I ) K K L A N 1 > .
[April,
wonderfully jjlucky for .1 boy of that age. The
little fellow saw the snake when it was just ^oing
to strike, and, with a sudden j;ral), caught it around
the neck with both hands .and called loudly for help:
but before his brother came to the rescue the snake
had wound itself around his arm, and squirmed in
otr to the left where the road forks again ; the left-
hand trail leads to an abandoned wood-chopper's
cabin. You had better not leave the road at all,"
he added; -'the esphial [thorn-jungle] in the
bottom there is a terrible wilderness."
.So it was ; e\en in Tabasco we had never seen
, , 1 >.-.... ./.. .L ..,.3, ^11.11 111 1 .loasco we naa never seen
a way that he had to fling himself on the floor to such an intricate m;tze of jungle and bush ropes
hold ,t down. ' tiet the hatchet ! ' he called to his The great lui„as, or creeping vines, joined tree to
brother. • .Strike away ! Nevermind my fingers- tree, trailing along the ground like snakes, and
chop them otr, as long as you cut the vivoroiCs head hanging in festoons from the boughs, like the cord-
off, too ! Hut his brother ran into a back-room age of .1 full-rigged ship, while smaller vines, some
where their father kept a bottle of guaraca-oil, and, ,f them as prickly as buckthorn twigs, spread theii-
hnding the stopper too tight, he smashed the whole twisted coils through the underbrusli and made the
bottle, and poured the contents on his brother's forest almost impenetrable. In such thickets wild
hands I he snake wriggled like an eel and then beasts were safe from the hunter's pursuit. Squir-
lay stdl, as limp as a rag, but in the same moment rels and rabbits crossed our path, but our dog tried
the two boys were seized with a violent fit of snee.- m vai# to follow them through the thorns, and we
mg. Ihe elder ran outside, and had hardly thought he had become thoroughlv tired of such a
reached the open air, when he lieard his brother hunting-ground, when he suddenlv rushed ahead
call out again : W ater ! air ! help ! 1 'm choking ! ' like a shot, and almost tumbled upon a brute about
There was no water near the house, and the boy the size of a large hog. engaged in scraping up
hurried off to fetch his father, but when the\-
returned the younger boy had disappeared, and,
after a long search, they found him half a mile from
the cottage, near a h.alf-dry well, where he had
fainted. That had saved his life.
though, for in the inter\al the oint
ment had dried, and after that thi
smell is not half
s. I
the leaves in a little ravine, some twenty paces from
the road-side. The cre.tture turned, and we rccog-
- '' nized the bushv
tail of a /lormig-
tit-ro, or black ant-
bear, but Rough
was then so close
" I must leave you here, "said the half-breed, when affright.
we reached the next cross-road, "but you cannot
miss your way now : you will reach Cabellas all
right if you just keep straight south. Don't turn
up nhimtliiH
"t could ni)t
shoot for ft ir
of killing the
dog, too. The
ant-bear reireated as fast .as
lie could, till he got out of
the ravine, when he faced
about with uplifted paw's.
nil ITLIHKli . . I , . '
and with such a fierce growl.
that Rough drew back in
In the next moment the lioniiigiuro had
vanished in the thicket, though Tommy ran up and
down, trying to discover his whereabouts. He
could hardly see ten p.aces ahead into the jungle.
A 1 > V K N I V K I- S IN r 1 1 K A M 1 K I i \ \
4'\>
..Jt
-^-:.^r:m
%
■"Come on. come on," Daddy Simon urged lis.
■• I>o you see those clouds? I am afraid »c shall
^•t wet before night."
It was hardly three o'clock, but the sky h.ai
turned str.infjely dark, and now and then a flash
of lightning; darted across the murky air. We
pressed forward in silent haste, till Tommy
clutched my arm and looked intently in the
direction of the fspinal. " I thought 1 heard
a bell down there." said he. "' Yes, there it
goes ag:iin ! Listen ! What can that l>e ? "
Wc .tII heard it plamly this time : a singular
bell-like sound, coming clear and ringing from
the heart of the wilderness.
"Yes, we are in for it now," s;iid D.addy
Simon. "There will be a storm or a heavy
rain. That 's the lampitiu-nt, the Ix-ll-bird ;
when he tolls his campaitit [bell] you may look
out for trouble. It is a sure sign."
Three or four wtKxl-b:its passed over our
heads with .i whistling screech, al.vi a capri-
mulga or goat-sucker — a kind of bird that is m
rarely seen before sundown; and when we ap-
proached a coppice of cork-oaks, a big wild-cat
leaped into the middle of the ni.id and glared
.It us in wide-eyed surprise. She, t<Mi, seemed to
have Miistakeii the darkness for the e\eiiing twi-
light, .iiul looked at us as if she wondered what
we were doing so late in the woods; but ;it the lirst
movement of our dog she turned and flung herself
into the thicket vuth ii s.'iv;ige leap.
" Come ahead," s.iid Old IJaddy ; " we can't run
after every liiril ;iml beast in a wilderness like this."
"Hold on there -just wait a moment," cried
Menito. si|ueczing himself through the underbrush
.It the font of the tree. " I thought so," said he.
"There's ;i hole in this tree with a cat's nest ; I
can hear the young ones whining like puppies.
I'le;ise give me ;i lift, somebody."
Toiuniy managed to help him up, and. after
pulling out a lot of moss ;ind rubbish, Menito pro-
duced four fat little kittens, that looked as surprised
.is their mother to lind themselves in the presence
of strangers.
" Now, let it rain," laughed Menito. " We h;ive
in.ade a good job of it for one day."
Not a drop had fallen yet, but the darkness
became really alarming, and the wmd swayed the
tree-tops with an ominous moan.
"Bad luck," s;iid D.addy Simon. "We have
missed our way. Here 's that wood-chopper's
shanty the mail-carrier was telling us .atiout. Come
this way."
>|T the rijrht road :
" How did we get
" 1 don't know,
senor," said he.
"Friday is an un-
lucky day, some-
how, and ma\' be
«e made it worse
hv eating M|iiir-
1 ;isked.
V^h
rels instead
■•"' ' ', offish."
We then
turned back,
.md, .liter retr.icing our steps
;i few hundred paces, wc
found two doubtful trails
leading in the direction of
"'■•• <'5-J the Rio Belize, but looking
very much like the paths which deer iind cows fol-
low on the way to their drinking-pl.aces.
"Which one goes nearest south, now.'" .isked
l--
464
IN nature's WONUKKLAM).
(AraiL,
Daddy Simon. " Vera I';iz is south by south-east,
so far as I know."
Before we could decide that point, a sudden gust
of wind cooled the air some fifteen or twenty de-
grees, and our monkeys began to squeal as if they
wanted to c.iU our attention to the lowering storm.
" It 's coming I " cried Menito. " What shall
we do ? Please, let 's hurry back to that old cabin :
better an empty house than no house at all."
It seemed really the best plan ; so, by setting
our mule a-trotting, we managed to reach the log-
cabin in less than ten minutes, and, while 1 helped
Old Daddy to unstrap the baskets and things, the
boys ran out to hunt up a little fuel. Hut they had
hardly brought in two armfuls or so when the
storm broke loose, with a roar that frightened our
monkeys almost out of their wits. They hugged
one another and screamed until they made us
laugh, in spite of our own consternation, for the
matter was almost past a jest : the great forest-trees
bent and swayed like reeds, and only the clumsy
massivcness of the timbers saved the roof of our
hut from being blown away with the branches that
flew through the air like a flock of birds. As soon
as the .fury of the storm abated, the rain came
down in torrents, and, almost with the first fall,
the whole forest broke forth in a babel of confused
voices: screeching parrots, screaming cats, and
loud-grunting peccaries, and through all the din we
heard the shrill piping of a troop of inoiws t'spec/ros,
or " ghost-monkeys," as the Mexicans call a kind
of nocturn.il mammals allied to the African lemurs.
Little n»t-like things jumped and chirped among
the rafters of the roof, but it was so dark that we
could not make out what ihey were, till Menito
knocked one of them down with the butt of his
mule-whip. It fluttered out into the rain like a
bat, and we saw that it must be a family of flying-
squirrels, who had made themselves at home in the
abandoned c.diin, and perhaps felt highly indignant
at our unceremonious intrusion.
Our dog Rough had posted himself at the thresh-
old, and seemed to have noticed something outside
that did not suit him, for he retreated with a low-
growl, and with every hair on his back standing on
end. On looking around, we saw two big yellow
eyes glaring at us through the rain that had turned
the twilight into pitch-dark night. Menito ad-
vanced low.ird the door with his whip, but Daddy
pulled him back with a jerk that sent him stumb-
ling into the comer.
"You must be entirely crazy." said he. "Do
you want to get yourself killed .' That must be a
panther or a jaguar, and a pretty big one, too.
Don't you know that such brutes can't keep the
run of the calendar.' They would cat you on
Friday as quickly as on any other day ! "
The next morning the ground was as wet as a
swamp, but Black Betsy had a very easy load, and
we found that our tame spider-monkey could walk
as well as ride. He preferred to squat on the
mule's croup like a Turk on his divan, but when-
ever he saw the boys running after a squirrel or a
butterfly, he would slip down and follow them as
if his curiosity had got the better of his laziness.
"There are some Indians under those trees," said
Daddy Simon, when we passed a copse of tanka-
oaks. "1 'm going to ask them about the best road
to Vera Paz."
Tankas, or .Spanish nuLs, look almost exactly
like acorns, but Ihey taste sweet and pleasant like
filberts, and still more like those egg-shaped little
wainuts they call "pecans" in Texas. The trees
were rather high and had their larger branches all
near the top, but the Indians h.ad devised quite an
ingenious mode of climbing them. They had long
ropes of bombax cotton, about as thick as a finger,
but strong enough to bear the weight of a heavy
man. To one end of these ropes they had fastened
Mas, or round pebbles about the size of a pigeon-
egg, and on the other a cudgel of very tough wood.
Xo«, if they wanted to climb a tree, they whirled
the bolas around their heads and flung them over
the lowest branch in a way that made them twirl all
around it, and by giving a quick jerk, they could
draw the rope as tight .is a knot. By grabbing the
rope with his hands, and bracing his toes against
the tree, a barefoot boy could climb the biggest
oak almost as quick as with a ladder, and, if the
tree was \ery high, his comrades could help him
by standing on the cudgel, thus drawing the rope
t.aut .md straight.
But though the Indians understood the art of
climbing Spanish-nut trees, they did n't know
much about the Spanish language, and we tried
in vain to interpret our questions by gestures, till
one old fellow tapped me on the shoulder, and
pointing in the direction of a narrow trail, lifted
his finger, as if he wanted me to listen to some-
thing. I asked my companions to keep quiet for
a moment, and soon heard the echo of distant
ax-strokes.
'^Blanco, bianco — a white man, that," said the
Indian, and, again pointing toward the trail, he
waved his hand, as much as to say : " Clo on ; you
will find a white man there.''
After following the trail for a mile or so, we
heard the ax-strokes close at hand, and at last
saw a stout, bareheaded man, in a hunting-shirt,
engaged in splitting fence-rails in the genuine
North-.American fashion. He did not look much
like a Sp.ani.ird, and when we hailed him, his
answer ccmfirmed my conjecture.
"Hello, strangers!" he called out, 'in F.nglish.
465
and, throwing ilown his ax, came up ami grcctoil
us in the ort'-hand way of a [tritish sailor or soldier.
•• If you are Koinj; to \'era l';u, you are nearly
on the rij;ht ro,ul," said he, when we had intro-
duced ourselves, •' but I will take you ;is far as
Lagun.-is, where you strike the State highway."
" You are an Knglishman ?" 1 asked.
•• 1 am a Scotchman, and Uelonjjed to an Knglish
vessel that got wrecked on the \ucatan coast. 1
tried to make my way to \'cra Cruz, but this coun-
try here suited me, and I concluded to stay." He
told us that he had lived here more than seven
years, nearly alone, supporting himself on wild
fruits and g;ime..
•• You must have had some wild adventures,"
siiid 1, seeing his face wius badly scarred on one side.
" Yes, I got that in a rough-and-tumble fight
with a panther," said he. '"The P.asco Indians
had offered a large reward for the head of a panther
that h.id killed six men and children of one wig-
wam. So I laid traps of all kinds, and .it hist
caught the man-eater in a heavy steel trap. He
had caught himself in such a manner that he could
not jK)ssibly Escape, but 1 ne\er saw a wild brute
make such a desperate resistance. 1 had to throw
a lariat over his head and wind it all around him
before I could drag hin\ off, and I h.id hardly
hauled him half a mile when he got one of his
paws free and made a spring at my head. At List
I managed to chain him and deliver him to the
P.isco Indians. They would never tell me what
they did with him. It 's pretty hard to make a
few dollars here now," he added, "but when the
gold mines were first discovered the whole coun-
try was full of money ; one day I won twenty
dollars on a single bet."
" How was that ? " we asked.
"I have a tame tapir," said the hunter, "and
one evening I look him to a farm-house where the
miners used to congregate, and made them a bet
that my tapir could cat more corn than three full-
grown hogs. They put three hungry swine in a
pen, and the tapir in another, and then threw a
sackful of corn into each pen, but the hogs had
c.iten only two-thirds of their share when my tapir
had swallowed his whole ration, cobs and all."
" Tfi AMSWIIH
Vol. VIII. -30
WHY.
Unce I was a little maid
With eager heart and mind :
And through the wondrous hours, I sought
Something I could not find.
No single thing ; 't was that, to-day.
To-morrow, it was this ;
.And wistfully I heard folks s;i)- :
•' A funny little miss !
She queries so ! She wonders so ! "
They said — "The pretty thing!"
But what 1 sought, or wished to know,
They quite forgot to bring.
And now that 1 am older grown,
And do .as I 've a mind.
When little lips ask, " Why ? "—1 'II own
To answer I 'm inclined.
Their " How ? " and •■ What ': " and " Why ? '
you see.
Mean that they, too, would reach
And find a something that they need
In some one's friendly s[H"ech.
466
llli: I'KTK RKINS KXCURSION lUK MAPLE SUGAR.
THK' 1M-:T]:K KINS' i:\CURSI()X 1-()R MAl'Ll-: SL(.Ak
MV I.rCKKllA ]'. IIai.k.
was, to bo sure, a change
of plan to determine to go
to Cirandfathcr's for a ma-
ple-sugaring instead of go-
ing to Eg)'pt ! But it seem-
ed best. Egypt was not
given up — only postponed.
"It has lasted so many
centuries," sighed .Mr. Pe-
tcrkin, " that I suppose it
will not crumble mucli in
one summer more."
The Petcrkins had deter-
mined to start for Egypt in
June, and Elizabeth Eliza
had engaged her dress-
maker for January ; but
after all tlieir plans were
made, they were told that
June was the worst month
of all to go to Egypt in ;
that they would arrive in
midsummer, and find the
climate altogether too hot ;
that people who were not
used to it died o( it. No-
body thought of going to
Egypt in summer; on the
:. . .-.n I contraiy, everybody came
' ' away. Andwhat was worse,
Agamemnon learned that not only the summers
were unbearably hot, Init there really was no I'-gypt
in summer — nothing to speak of — nothing but
water, for there w.as a great inundation of the river
Nile every summer, which completely covered the
country, and it would be difficult to get about, ex-
cept in boats.
Mr. Peterkin remembered he had heard some-
thing of the sort, but he did not suppose it had
been kept up with the modern improvements.
Mrs. Peterkin felt that the thing must be very
much exaggerated. She could not believe the
whole country would be covered, or that everybody
would leave; as summer was surely the usual time
for travel, there must be strangers there, even if the
natives left. She would not be sorry if there were
fewer of the savages. As for, the boats, she sup-
posed after their long voyage they would all be
used to going about in boats, and she had thought
seriously of practicing, by getting in and out of the
rocking-chair from the sofa.
The f.imil\-, however, wrote to the lady from
Philadelphia who had traveled in Egypt, and whose
husband knew everything about Egypt that could
be known — that is, everything that h,id already
been dug up, though he could only guess at what
might be brought to light next.
The result was a very earnest recommendation
not to leave for Egypt till the autumn. Travelers
did not usually reach there before December,
though October might be pleasant on account of
the fresh dates.
-So the Egypt plan was reluctantly postponed,
and, to make amends for the disappointment to the
little boys, an excursion for maple sirup was pro-
posed instead.
Mr. Peterkin considered it almost a necessity.
They ought to acquaint themselves with the manu-
factures of their own new country, before studying
those of the oldest in the world. He had been in-
quiring into the products of Egypt at the present
time, and had found sugar to be one of their staples.
They ought, then, to understand the American
methods, and compare them with those of Egypt.
It would be a pretty attention, indeed, to carry
some of the maple sugar to the principal dignitaries
of Egypt.
But the difficulties in arranging an excursion
l^rox'ed almost as great as for going to Eg)'pt.
Sugar-making could not come off until it was warm
enough for the sun to set the sap stirring. On the
other hand, it must be cold enough for snow, as
\ou could only reach the woods on snow-sleds.
-Now, if there were sun enough for the sap to rise,
it would melt the snow, and if it were cold enough
for sledding, it must be too cold for the sirup.
There seemed an impossibility about the whole
thing. The little boys, however, said there always
had been maple sugar every spring; they had eaten
it; why should n't there be this spring?
Elizabeth Eliza insisted gloomily that this was
probably old sugar they had eaten — you ne\'er could
tell in the shops.
Mrs. Peterkin thought there must be fresh sugar
occasionally, as the old would have been eaten up.
She felt the same about chickens. She never could
understand why there were only the old, tough ones
in the market, when there were certainly fresh
young broods to be seen around the farm-houses
every year. She supposed the market-men had
begun with the old, tough fowls, and so they had to
go on so. She wished they had begun the other
II I 1 K K 1 N S I \i I- K.s 1 (».N
4'^;
way, and slic had doiif hor best to have tho fanul\
cat up the old fowls, hoping ihcy mijjht, some day,
get down to the young ones.
As to the uncertainty about the weather, she
sui;t;ested they should ^o to (inindfather's the day
before. Hut how can you go the day before, when
you don't yet know the day ?
All were much delighted, therefore, when Hiram
appeared with the wood-sled, one evening, to take
them, as early .is possible the next <lay, to their
grandfather's. He reported that the s;»p had
started, the kettles had been on some time, there
h.id Ix^n a light snow for sleighing, and tivmorrow
promised to be a tine day. It was decided that
he should take the little boys and lilizabeth ICliza
early, in the woo<l-sled ; the others would follow
later, in the carry-all.
Mrs. Hcterkin thought it would be safer to have
some of the party go on wheels, in cnse of a general
thaw the next day.
.\ brilliant sun awoke them in the morning.
The wood-sled was tilled with hay, to make it warm
and comfortable, and an arm-chair w.is tied in for
Elizabeth Kliia. But she was obliged to go first to
visit the secretary of the Circumambient Society,
to explain that she should not be present at their
e\'cning meeting. One of the rules of this society
was to take always a winding ro.nd when going
upon society business, as the word "circumam-
bient " means "compassing about." It was one of
its laws to copy nature as far .is possible, and a
straight line is never seen in nature. Therefore,
she could not send a direct note to say she should
.not be present ; she could only hint it in general
conversation with the secretary, antl she was obliged
to take a roundabout way to reach the secretary's
house, where the little Ixiys called for her in her
wood-slcd.
What was her surprise to lind eight little boys
instead of three ! In p;issing the school-house they
had picked up live of their friends, who h.id reached
the school door a full hour before the time. Kliza-
bcth Eliza thought they ought to inquire if their
parents would be willing they should go, .is they
.ill expected to s[x;nd the night at Gnindfather's.
Hiram thought it would require too much time to
stop for the consent of ten parents : if the sun kept
on at this rate, the snow would be gone before they
should re.ich the wejods. Rut the little boys said
most of the little bo\Ti lived in a row, and Elizabeth
Eliza felt she ought not to take the boys away for all
night without their parents' knowledge. The con-
sent of two mothers and two fathers was gained,
and .Mr. Dobson was met in the street, who said he.
would tell the other mother. Hut at each place
they were obliged to stop for additional tippets,
and great-coats, and India-nihber boots for the littU-
boys. .\t the llarrim.ms', too, the Ilarriman girls
insisted on tlressing up the wood-sleil with ever-
greens, ;ind made one of the boys bring their List
Christmas-tret.', that w.is leaning up against the
barn, to set it up in the back of the sled, over
Elizabeth Eliza. All this made considerable delay,
and when they rc.iched the high ro.id again the
snow was indeed fast melting. Elizabeth I-"liza w.ts
mclined to turn back, but Hiram said they woftld
find the sleighing belter farther up among the hills.
The .irm-chair joggled about a good deal, and the
Christm.TS-trce creaked behind her, and Hiram w.ts
obliged to stop occasionally and tie in the chair
and the tree more firmly.
But the warm sun was very pleasant, the eight
little boys were very lively, and the sleigh-bells
jingled gayly .is they went on.
It w.is so late when they re.i lied the wood-road
that Hiram deciiled they hati belter not go up the
hill to their grandfather's, but turn off into the
woods.
'■ Your grandfather will be there by this lime,"
he declared.
Elizabeth Eliza was afraid ihe carry-all would
miss them, and thought they h.id better wait.
Hiram did not like to wait longer, and proposed
that one or two of the little boys should stop to
show the way. But it was so difficult to decide
which little boys should stay that he gave it up.
Even to draw lots would take time. So he explained
that there was a lunch hidden somewhere in the
straw, and the little boys thought it an admirable
time to look it up, and it was decided to stop in the
sun at the corner of the road. Elizabeth Eliza felt
a little jounced in the ann-(;hair, and was glad of a
rest ; and the little boys soon discovered an ample
lunch, just what might have been expected from
(Grandfather's — apple-pie and doughnuts, and
plenty of them ! " Lucky we brought so many
little boys ! " they exclaimed.
Hiram, however, began to grow impatient
"There '11 be no snow left," he exclaimed, "and
no afternoon for the sirup! "
But far in the distance the Petcrkin carry-all was
seen slowly approaching through the snow, Solo-
mon John waving a red handkerchief. The little
Ixjys waved back, and Hiram ventured to enter
upon the wood-road, but at a slow pace, as Eliza-
beth Eliza still feared that, by some accident, the
family might miss them.
It w.is with difficulty that the carry-all followed
in the deep but soft snow, in among the trunks of
the trees and over piles of le.ives hidden in the
snow. They reached, at last, the edge of a
meadow, and on the high bank above it stood a
row of maples, a little shanty by the side, a slow
smoke proceeding from its chimney. The little
46S
llli: I'KTi: UK INS KXCURSION KOR MAl'I.K SUGAR.
(Apkil,
Ixiys screamed with delight : but there w;is no
reply. Nobody there I
" The folks .nil gone I " exclaimed Hiram ; ■••then
we must be late." .\nd he proceeded to pull out a
large silver watch from a side pocket. It was so
large that he seldom was at the pains to pull it out.
as it took time ; but when he had succeeded at last,
and looked at it, he started.
" Late, indeed ! It is four o'clock, and «c were
to have been here by eleven : they have given \ou
up."
The little boys wanted to force in the door, but
Hiram said it was no use — they wouldn't under-
stand what to do, .ind he should have to see to the
horses; and it was too late, and it was likely they
had carried off .all the sirup. But he thought a
minute, as they all stood in silence and gloom, and
then he guessed they might find some sugar at
Deacon Spear's, close by, on the back road, and
that would be better than nothing. Mrs. Pctcrkin
was pretty cold, and glad not to wait in the darken-
ing wood ; so the eight little boys walked through
the wood-path, Hiram leading the way ; and slowly
the carry-all followed.
They reached Deacon Spear's at length ; but
onl\- Mrs. .Spear was at home. She was very deaf,
but could explain that the family had taken all
their sirup to the annual festival.
"We might go to the festival," exclaimed tlie
little boys.
" It would be very well," said Mrs. Pctcrkin. "■ to
eat our fresh sirup there."
But Mrs. Spear could not tell where the festival
was to be, as she had not heard : perhaps they
might know at Squire RSmisay's. Squire Ramsay's
was on their way to grandfather's, so they slopped
there; but they learned that the "Squire's folks
had all gone with their sirup to the festival " ; but
the man who was chopping wood did not know
where the festival was to be.
" They '11 know at your grandfather's." said Mrs.
Peterkin, from the carry-all.
" Yes, go on to your grandfather's," advised Mr.
Peterkin, " for 1 think I felt a drop of rain ; " so
they made the best of their way to Grandfather's.
At the moment they reached the door of the
house, a party of young ])eople whom Elizabeth
Eliza knew came b>- in sleighs. She had met them
all when visiting at her grandfather's.
" Come along with us," they shouted ; " we are
all going down to the sugar festival."
" That is what we have come for," said Mr.
Peterkin.
"Where is it?" asked Solomon John.
" It is down your way," was the reply.
" It is in your own New Hall," said another.
"We h.ave sent down ;dl our sirup. The Spe;irs,
and Ramsays, and Doolittles have gone on with
theirs. No time to stop; there 's good sleighing
on the old ro.id."
There was a little consultation with the grand-
father. Hiram said that he could take them back
with the wood-sled, when he heard there w;is
sleighing on the old road, and it was decided that
the whole party should go in the wood-sled, with
the exception of Mr. Peterkin. who would follow on
with the carry-all. Mrs. Peterkin would take the
arm-chair, and cushions were put in for Elizabeth
Eliza, and more apple-pie for all. No more drops
of rain appeared, though the clouds were thicken-
ing over the setting sun.
" .'Ml the way back again," sighed Mrs. Peter-
kin, "when we might have staid at home all day,
and gone quietly out to the New Hall ! " But the
little boys thought the sledding all day was great
fun, — and the apple-pie! "And we did see the
kettle, through the cracks of the shanty ! "
" It is odd the festival should be held at the New-
Hall," said Elizabeth Eliza; "for the secretary
did say something about the society meeting there
to-night, being so far from the center of the town."
This hall was so called because it was once a new
hall, built to be used for lectures, assemblies, and
entertainments of this sort, for the convenience of
the inhabitants who had collected about some flour-
ishing factories.
" You can go to your own Circumainbient Society,
then ! " exclaimed Solomon John.
" .'\nd in a truly circumambient manner," said
Agamemnon ; and he explained to the little boys
that they could now understand the full meaning of
the word. For surely Elizabeth Eliza had taken the
most circumambient way of reaching the place, by
coming away from it.
" We little thought, when we passed it early tliis
morning," said Elizabeth Eliza, " that we should
come back to it for our maple sugar."
"It is odd the secretary did not tell you the\
were going to join the sugar festival," said Mrs.
Peterkin.
" It is one of the rules of the society," said Eliza-
beth Eliza, "that the secretary never tells anything
dircctlv. She only hinted at the plan of the New
Hall."'
" 1 don't see how you can find enough to talk
about," said Solomon John.
"We can tell of things that never have hap-
pened," said Elizabeth Eliza, "or that are not
like!)' to happen, ;ind wonder what would have
happened if they had happened."
They arrived at the festival at last, but very late,
and glad to find a place that was warm. There
was a stove at each end of the h.all, and an en-
couraging sound and smell from the simmering
A K A «.■ 1-; IN M 1 I ) - A I K .
469
sirup. riicrc wen- lonj; tables clown tlie hall, on
which were placeil, in a row, tirst a bowl of snow,
then a pile of s.iucers and spoons, then a plate of
pickles, intended to whet the appetite for more
sirup ; another of breail, then another Ixiwl of
snow, and so on. Hot sirup was to be poured on
the snow, and eaten as candy.
The Pcterkin family were received at this late
hour with a wiUl enthusiasm, lllu.ibeth Kliza was
an espcci.il heroine, and was made directly the
pa-sident of the evening;. Everybody said that she
had iK'st e.irned the distinction. For had she not
come to the inectint; by the longest way possible,
by going away from it ? The secretary declared
that the principles of the s<iciety had been com-
pletely carried out. She had always believed that,
if left to itself, infonnation would spread itself in a
natural instead of a forced way.
•• Now, in this case, if I had written twenty-nine
notifications to this meeting, I should have wasted
just so much of my time. But the information has
disseminated naturally. .-\nn Maria s;iid what a
good plan it would be to have the Circumambients
go to the sugaring at the New Hall. Everj-body
said it would be a good plan. Klizaljcth ICliz.i came
antl spoke of the sugaring, and I spoke of the .New
Hall."
" Hut if you had told Eliz.abeth Kliza that all the
maple sirup was to be brought hero " began
Mrs. I'eterkin.
"We should have lost our excursion for mnple
sirup," Siiid Mr. Peterkin.
Later, as they reacheil home in the carry-all
(Hiram having gone back with the wood-sled), Mr.
and Mrs. Peterkin, after leaving little boys at their
homes all along tlie route, found none of their own
to get out at their own door. They must have
joined Eliz.abeth Eliza, Agamemnon, and Solomon
John, in taking a circuitous route home with the
rest of the Circumambients.
" The little boys will not be at home till mid-
night," said Mrs. Peterkin, anxiously. " I do
think this is carrying the thing too far — after such
a day ! "
" Elizabeth Eliza will feel that she has acted up
to the principles of the society," said Mr. Peterkin,
" and we have done our best ; for, as the little boys
said, ' we did see the kettle.' "
470
roKMS HY A I, ITT IK dlKI.
iH)i:.MS Hv A i.rrrij; c,ir\..
lu 1-iHnii. Hawks (Ackd Tkn ^kaks).
SON(; OK IHK kOUIN.
Don't you think so? Don't you think so?'"
Sanj; the robin in the tree—
Pretty maiden — don't you think so?
Say — why don't you answer mc ?
1 am waiting, — yes, I 'in wailing,
Very patiently.
Tell me, darling, please do tell nu-.
Don't you want to ? Well, 1 see,
You are sleeping, and don't hear me,
And I '11 say good-bye to thee."
And he flew off from the tree,
Singing gayly, "Don't you think so? Don't you
think so?
Darling, please to answer me. '
Suddenly the baby wakened,
Cooing softly with delight.
And the robin thought he heard her
Say, as from her sight
Through the air he flew,
"Oh, yes! Robin — yes — 1 do!"
rilK DKAl'H OK A DAISY.
'T SVAS a solitary daisy
In a field of wheat and corn;
.S.id and sadder grew this daisy,
Till, one lovely summer mom.
She sent two fairy messengers
To old Professor Thorn,
Who lived in the end of the garden.
In a withered stalk of corn.
But they were truant messengers,
.Vnd played the livelong day —
Playing with two young butterflies,
In a little pile of hay.
For a long time daisy waited.
Watched and waited all in vain.
Till a passing leaflet told her
They would never come again.
Then she folded up her petals, —
Her petals all so white, —
And she died that very t;vening,
In the lovely sunset light.
rHK DIFFERENCE.
T/it- hoy :
He goes a-fishing in the brook.
And deems it great to catch a minnow
Hides carefully his small barbed hook.
And then runs home to get his dinner.
/■//<• man :
Bui' man goes on a larger scale ;
He takes no little paltry pail,
But glories in a jolly gale.
And, when the day is o'er.
He rows home to the shore.
And spreads his overflowing nets.
And is very thankful for all he gets.
Oi;k ro.MMV S NOISE.
Ol'k Tommy straddles his rocking-horse,
.And each day goes off to the fight ;
He shoulders his sword, which is made of a board.
.\nd "goes it" with all his might.
Most bullets, you know, are made of lead.
But his are made of gingerbread ;
You should hear him shout as he rides .along.
While his stirrup-bell goes "ding-ding-dong."
Most musketry makes a mighty noise.
Which could not be made by a l ,ooo boys :
But somehow Tom makes a bigger noise
Than ever w.as made b\ i.ooo.ooo bovs.
i
rilAETON ROGERS.
47'
I'll A i: in N R()(ii;RS
UV ROSSITER JOIINSDN.
1 t ;r -1
lor tlic wagon ! '
Roc seemed
tiiAriKR 1\
THE ARl" UESKRVAllVK..
niN Phaeton's kites went wobbling
ilown the sky. Owny (Icoghegnn,
.iiul three or four others of the Uub-
I'n boys who had escaped their
.■thers. started olT on a chase for
i.m. Phaeton, Ned, Ilolman, and
took the car up the bank, and
A hen we arrivetl at the top we saw-
Monkey Roe walking away pretty
rapidly.
•• urai'iltis pro vehiciitum .' — wait
shouted Holinan to him.
, little uncertain whether to stop,
but linally leaned against the fence and waited
for us.
I obser\'ed that the drove of cattle had gone
down to a shallow place in the canal on the other
side of the bridge, and were most of them standing
in the water, either drinking or contemplating.
Their drivers were throwing stones at them, and
saying uncomplimentary things, but they took it
philosophically — which means they did n't mind it
much. When you are stolidly indifferent to any-
thing that ought to move you, your friends will say
you take it philosophically.
" W.Ts n't it an odd thing. Roe," said Holman,
"that all those Dublin boys should h.ive got the
idea that a prize w.is offered for anybody who could
beat this machine .' "
'• Yes, it was very odd," said Kne. ■• Fay, what
sort of wiMxi is this ? "
" Chestnut."
"But I say. Roe," continued Ilolman. '"who in
the world could have told them so.' "
" Probably somebody who w.ts fond of a practical
joke," said Rw. " Who did the blacksmith work.
Kay ? "
" Fanning."
" And I suppose." persisted Holman, still talking
to Roc, " that it must h.ive been the s;iine practical
joker who sent their mothers after them."
" Very likely." said Roc, in a tone of indifference.
" Are you going to get the kites and harness her
up again. Fay ? "
" Have n't m.idc up my mind."
It was evident that Monkey Roe did n't want to
talk about the mystery of the Dublin boys, and
Holman — probably satisfied by this lime that his
suspicions were correct — him.self changed the
subject.
"When 1 s;iw this thing tearing down the turn-
pike," said he, "with all that rabble at its heels,
and go to smash in the canal, I w.is reminded of
the story of Phaeton, which 1 had for my Latin
lesson last week."
Of course, we asked him to tell the story.
" Phaeton," said Holman, " was a young scape-
grace who w.is fond of fast horses, and thought
there was nothing on four legs or any number of
wheels that he could n't drive. His father was the
Sun-god, Helios — which is probably a corruption
of 'Held a boss' (1 must ask Jack-in-the-Box
about it) — and his mother's maiden name was
Clymcne — which you can easily see is only
changed a little from 'climb-iny.' This shows
how Phaeton came by his passion for climbing in
the chariot and holding the bosses.
"One day, one of the boys, named Epaphus,
tried to pick a quarrel with him by saying that he
was not really a son of Helios, but was only .idopted
out of the poor-house. Phaeton felt pretty b.idly
about it, for he did n't know but it might be true.
So he went home ;is fast as he could, and asked
Helios, right out plump, whether he was his own
son, or only adopted out of the poor-house. ' Cer-
tainly.'said the old gentleman, ' you are my own
son, and always have been, ever since \ou were
bom.'
" This satisfied Phaeton, but he w.is afraid it
might not satisfy the boys who had heard Epa-
phus's remark. So he begged to be allowed to
drive the chariot of the Sun one day, just to show
people that he was his father's own boy. Helios
shook his he.nd. That w.is a very particular job;
the chariot had to go out on time and come in on
time, every day, and there could n't be any fooling
.ibout it. But the youngster hung on and teased
so. that at last his father told him he might drive
just one day, if he would never ask again."
"Did he have a gag-bit.'" said Ned, remem-
bering his brother's remarks on the occasion of our
brisk morning canter.
"Probably not." said Ilolman, "for gag-bits
were not then invented. The next morning old
Helios gave the boy .ill the instructions he could
about the character of the horses and the bad
places in the road, and started him oflf.
" He h.id n't gone very far when the tCQin ran
away with him, and went l>anging along at a terri-
■ Copyri(hl, t88<>. by Rnaaiter Johns.
AM righl* re^crvcl
472
I'llAKToN ROUEkS.
ble rate, knocking tixed stars out of their places,
overturning and scattering an immense pile of new
ones that had been corded up at the side of the
road to dry (that 's what makes the Milky \Va\),
and at hist setting the world on fire.
"Jupiter saw that something must be done,
pretty quick, too, so he threw a sand-bag, or a
thunikr-boh, or something of that sort, at him,
and knocked over the chariot, and the next minute
it went plump into the river Kridanus — which 1 'vc
no doubt is the Latin for Erie Canal. You can
easily see how it would come: Erie canal — Erie
ditch — Erie drain — Erie drainus — Eridanus. That 's
the way Professor Woodruff explains words to the
advanced class. He can tell you where any word
came from in two minutes.
" Phaeton was n't so lucky as you. Fay, for there
was no Patsy Raftcrty to pull him out, and he was
drowned, while his poor sisters stood on the tow-
path and cried till they turned into poplar-trees."
We were deeply interested in this remarkable
story from (irecian mythology, told in good plain
American, and from our report Holman was often
called upon to repeat it. It was this that gave
Fayette Rogers the name of Phaeton.
The fate of the horizontal balloon for a time
dampened Phaeton's ardor for invention, and he
was willing at last to unite with Ned and me in an
enterprise which ]jromised to be more business-like
than brilliant — the printing-office scheme.
Meanwhile, we hail been doing what we could
ourselves. The first necessity was a press. Ned,
whom we considered a pretty good draughtsman,
drew a plan for one, and he and 1 made it. There
was nothing wrong about the plan ; it was strong
and simple — two great virtues in any machine.
But we constructed the whole thing of soft pine,
the only wood that we could command, or that our
tools would have cut. Consequently, when we
put on the pressure to print our first sheet — feeling
;is proud as if we were Faust, (lutenberg, Schoeffer,
the Elzevirs, Ben Franklin, and the whole Manu-
tius family, rolled into one — not only did the face
of the types go into the paper, but the bottoms of
them went right into the bed of the press.
" It acts more like a pile-driver than a printing-
press," said Ned, ruefully.
" It '11 never do," said I. " We can't get along
without Fay. When he makes a press, it will
print."
"When Fay makes a press," s.Vid Ned, "he'll
probably hire somebody else to make it. But 1
guess that 's the sensible way. I suppose the boys
would laugh at this thing, even if it worked well ;
it look^so dreadfully cheese-prcssy."
"It does look a little that way," said I. "But
Fay will gel up something handsome, and I 've no
doubt we can find some good use for this — perhaps
keep it in the corner for the boys to fool with when
they call. They '11 be certain to meddle with some-
thing, and this may keep their hands away from
the good one."
" 1 don't intend to run the office on any such
principles," said Ned. "The boy that meddles
with anything will be invited to leave."
"Then you 'II make them all angry, and there
wont be any good-will to it," said I. " I 've heard
Father say the good-will of the X'indUator office
was worth more than all the types and presses.
He says the I'iiidica/orWves on its good-will."
" That may be all very nice for the Viiidicalor"
said Net! : " but this office will have to live on hard
work."
" But we must be polite to the boys that patron-
ize the establishment," said 1.
"Oh yes; be polite to them, of course," said
Ned. " But tell them they 've got to keep out of
our way when the press is running."
Whether the press ever would have run, or even
crawled, without Phaeton to manage it, is doubtful.
But he now joined in the enterprise, and very soon
organized the concern. As Ned had predicted, he
hired a man, wlio was a carriage-maker by trade,
but had a genius for odd jobs, to make us a press.
In those days, the small iron presses which are now
inanufactured in great numbers, and sold to boys
throughout the country, had not been heard of.
(lurs was a pretty good one, made partly of wood
and partly of iron, with a powerful knee-joint, which
gave a good impression. The money to pay for it
came from Aunt Mercy via Ned.
There was a small, unused building in our yard,
about fifteen feet square, sometimes called " the
wash-house," and sometimes " the summer-
kitchen," now abandoned and almost empty.
Phaeton, looking about for a place for the proposed
printing-office, fixed upon this .as the very thing
that was wanted. He said it could not have been
better if it had been built on purpose.
After some negotiation with my parents, their
consent was obtained, and Phaeton and Ned took
me into partnership, 1 furnishing the building, and
they furnishing the press and types. We agreed
that the name of the firm should be Rogers & Co.
On the gable of the office we erected a short flag-
staff, cut to the form of a printer's "shooting-stick,"
and whenever the boys saw the Stars and Stripes
floating from it, they knew the office was open for
business.
"This font of Tuscan," said Ned to Ph.aeton, as
we were putting the office in order, " is not going
to be so useless as you suppose, even if the Es are
•all gone."
lltAKTON ROOKkS,
473
•• How so: " Siuil I'hacton.
" Because I ;iskccl ;\ printer about it, and he says
when yoii find a box empty you simply use some
other letter in place of the one that is missing —
j^-nenilly X. And here are plenty of Xs."
Phaeton only smiled, and went on distributing
type into his case of pica.
" 1 say. Fay." said Ned, again, after a while,
"don't you think it would be pro|}er to do a little
something for I'atsy KatVerty, just to show your
gratitude for his ser\-ices in pulling you out of the
mnal ' "
■ ml Phaeton.
Phaeton. " Hut 1 've invited him to come over
here this afternoon, and perhaps we can lind out
what he would like."
Patsy came in the afternoon, and was made
acquainted with some of the mysteries of printing.
.After a while, Ned showed him what he intended
to print on a dozen cards for him.
"It 's very nice," said Patsy; "but that 's not
my name."
" Not your name ? " said Ned.
" No," said Patsy. " My father's name is Mr.
Pat<;y RalTerty, Esquire : but I 'm only Patsy
.'. ilhiiut any li.r
" We might print him a dozen cards with his
name on," said Ned, "and not charge him .t cent.
• iet them up real stylish — red ink, perhaps ; or
Patsy in black and Rafferty in red ; something
that 'II please him." And Ned immediately set up
the name in Tuscan, to see how it would look. It
looked like this :
MR. PATSY RAFFXRTY, XSQ,
" How do you think he' d like that, done in twn
colors ? " said Ned.
" I don't belic^■e he 'd care much about it," said
" If that 's all that ails it." said Ned, " it s easy
enough to take otT the handle and tail," and he
took them off.
Patsy took another look at it.
"That 's not exactly the way I spell my name,"
said he. "There ought to be an K there, instead
of an \.''
"Of course there ought," said Ned, "but you
sec we have n't any Es in that style of type, .ind
it 's an old-established rule in all printing-offices
that when there 's a letter you have n't got, you
simply put an X in pl.ace of it. Everybody under-
stands it."
474
I' II. \E ION kOGKRS.
lAPKIL,
"I didn't understand it," said Patsy, "'and I
think my name looks better when it 's spelled the
way I was christened."
" All right ! " said Ned. •' \Vc '11 make it a.s you
want it ; but it Ml have to be set in some other kind
of type, and that Tuscan is the prettiest thing in
the office."
Patsy still preferred correctness to beauty, an<l
had his way.
" And now what color will you have ? " said Ned.
"We can print it in black, or red, or blue, or
partly one color and partly another^almost any
color, in fact."
Patsy, true to the tradition of his ancestors, chose
green.
" I 'm awful sorry," said Ned, "but we have n't
any green ink. It 's about the only color we
have n't got."
" You can make it by mixing blue and yellow
together," said Patsy.
" True," said Ned; " but the fact is, we have n't
any yellow. Green and yellow arc about the only
colors we have n't got."
After studying the problem a few minutes, Patsy
chose to have his visiting-cards printed in alternate
red and blue letters, and we set about it at once.
Ned arranging the types, while I took the part of
devil and managed the ink. .As they were to be
in two colors, of course each card had to go through
the press twice; and they were not very accurately
"registered," as a printer would say — that is, the
red letters, instead of coming exactly on even
spaces between the blue, would sometimes be too
far one way, sometimes too far the other, sometimes
even lapping over the blue letters. But out of fifty
or sixty that we printed. Patsy selected thirteen
that he thought would do — " a dozen, and one for
luck" — and without waiting for them to dr)',
packed them together and put them into his
pocket, expressing his own admiration and antici-
pating his mother's. He even intimated that when
she saw those she would probably order some for
herself, for she very often went out calling.
Patsy asked about Phaeton's chariot, and whether
it was hurt inuch when it went into the canal.
" Hardly damaged at all," said Phaeton.
Patsy hinted that he would like to see it, and he
and Phaeton went over to Rogers's. When Phaeton
returned, an hour later, he w.as alone.
" Where 's Patsy.'" said Ned.
" (Jone home with the chariot," said Phaeton.
"(;one home with the chariot?" said Ned, in
iistonishment.
" Yes," said Phaeton, " I have given it to him.
I saw by the way he looked at it and talked about
it that it would be a great prize to him, and I did n't
intend to use it any more myself, so 1 made him a
present of it."
" But you had no right to," said Ned. " That
chariot was built with my money."
" Not exactly," said Phaeton. " It was built
with money that I borrowed of you. I still owe you
the money, but the car w;is mine."
"Well, at any rate," said Ned, who saw this
point clearly enough, "you might have sold the
iron on it for enough to buy another font of type. "
" Yes, I might," said Phaeton. " But I pre-
ferred giving it to Patsy. He 's a good deal of a
boy, and I hope Father wont forget that he said he
should do something for him."
"But what use will the car be to him?" said
Ned.
" He says it '11 be a glorious thing to slide down-
hill in summer," said Phaeton.
A few days afterward. Patsy came again to see
Phaeton, and wanted to know if he could not invent
some means by which the car could be prevented
from going downhill too fast. He said that when
Berny Kourke and Lukey Finnerty and he took
their first ride in it, down one of the long, grassy
slopes that bordered the Deep Hollow, it went
swifter and swifter, until it reached the edge of
the brook, where it struck a lumj) of sod and
threw them all into the water.
" Water is an excellent thing," s;iid Ned, " for a
sudden stoppage of a swift ride. They always use
it in horizontal balloon-ascensions, and on the
Underground Railroad they 're going to build all
the depots of it."
Phaeton, who appeared to be thinking deeply,
only smiled, and said nothing. .At last he ex-
claimed :
" 1 have it. Patsy ! Come with me."
They went off together, and Phaeton hunted up
an old boot, the leg of which he drove full of
shingle-nails, driving them from the inside out-
ward. Then he filled it with stones and sand, and
sewed the top together. Then he found a piece of
rope, and tied one end to the straps.
" There, Palsy." said he, "tic the other end of
475
tlic rii(>o to one of ihc luxiks on the c;ir, ami lake
the b*iot in with yon. When you are goin^; f;ist
enou>;h, throw it out for a clra^. I don't beheve a
>treak of hylitninj; could make very i^ikkI headsvay,
if It had to |>ull that ihin^ alonn on the ground
after It."
Patsy, Herny, and Lukey tried it, but were
thrown into the bnxik as before. I'haeton said the
true remedy wa>, more old boots; and they added
one after another, till they had a cluster of seven,
which acted as an effectual drag, and completely
taineil the spirit of the machine, after which it soon
l)ecnme the most popular institution in Dublin.
I'atsy said seven was one of the lucky numbers.
To return to the printing business. When I was
.ilM>ut to sit down at the tea-table that evening,
Mother exclaimed :
•' What in the world ails your hands.'"
I looked at them. Some of my fingers were
more red than blue, some more blue than red, and
stmie ab<Hit equally red and blue. 1 said I guessed
Patsy Rafferty's visiting-cards were what ailed my
hands.
"Well, I wish you 'd wash your hands of Palsy
Raffert\''s visiting-cards," siiid she.
•• Can't do it with any such slimpsy water as we
have here," said I.
'• And where do they have any that is less
slimpsy ?" said Mother.
" .At printing-offices," s;iid I. " They put a little
lye in it. We have n't any at our office, but that 's
the next thing we 're going to buy. Don't worry ;
it wont rub off on the bread and butter, and we
shall have a can of lye next week."
" The next thing to be done," s.aid Ned. when
we had the office fairly in running order,* " is. to
get up a first-rate business card of our own, have it
Large enough, print it in colors, and make a stun-
ning thing of it."
"That reminds me." said Phaeton, "that I w.ts
talking with Jack-in-the-Box .about our office the
other day, and I told him we ought to have a
pretty (xjctical motto tf) put up over the door. He
suggested two nr three, and wTote them down.
Perhaps one of them would look well on the card."
" What arc they .'" said Ned.
.After some searching. Phaeton found a crumpled
paper in one of hLs pockets, and, smoothing it out,
showed the following, hastily scratched in pencil :
Kailh. he 'II preni n.—Sunu.
I K^ve mtsmed the king'f prcM. — SkaJts^ttrr.
Si canfil .if the type >hc leemi. — Ttnmri^m
" I don't like one of them," said Ned.
■• Why not ? " said Phaeton.
" Well, that first one is spelled wrong. We
/>rin/ here, we don't prt-nl."
" lUit It means the same thing," said Phaeton;
" that 's the Scotch of it. Hums w;ts Scotch."
" Was he ? " said Ned. "Well, 1 never heard
of him before, and we don't want any of his Scotch
spelling. That second motto is all wrong ; the
press belongs to us, not to any king, and we 're
not going to misuse it. The third one would do
pretty well, but it says ' she,' and we 're not girls."
" Perhaps you can think of a better one," said
Ph.aeton.
"Yes, 1 can," said Ned; "1 heard Uncle
Hiram say that printing was called the art dcscrva-
tivc of all arts. That would be just the motto."
" What does it mean .' " said 1.
"It me.ans," said Ned, "that printers deserve
more than any other artists."
" Did n't he say ^rcser\ativc ? " said Phaeton.
"Oh, no," said Ned; "that would n't mean
anything. Printing has nothing to do with pre-
serving— unless we should print the labels for
Mother's fruit-cans next fall. He said ' descrva-
tive.' 1 heard him distinctly, and we '11 put it on
the card."
" \'ery well," said Phaeton: "you write the
card and set it up, according to your own t.aste,
and we '11 see how wc like it."
The next day. Phaeton and 1 went fishing.
While we were gone Ned set up the card, and on
our return we found, to our consternation, that he
had not only set it up. but printed scores of them,
and given away a good many to the boys. It was
in three colors — black, blue, and red — and ran as
follows :
" The AM Deservitive of al Arts."
At the Sine of the Shootin6 Stick.
cards P^^ books
posters
leter heads
doggers
hapdbils
programes, &c. |
The undesigned arc prcpaired to exicutc all |
kinps of Cob Printing on short notice, and in the'
most artistic mantr.
Call and sxx onr xtablishmxnt ! I
\'isitors are wellcomc, and will be showed througlJ
the works bv a poalite attendant.
N. B. The Pen is miShtver than the Swoard.
4 70
IIIAETOX ROGERS.
lArRiL,
"(.iood gracious, Ned!" siiid Phaeton, "why
did you print this thing before \vc had seen it? "
" Because I felt sure you 'd like it," said Ned,
"and 1 wanted to surprise you."
'■ Vou 've succeeded amazingly in that," said
I'haeton.
" 1 hope there 's nothing wrong about it," said
Ned. " 1 took a great deal of pains with it. Oh,
yes ; now I see, there 's one letter upside down.
But H hat of that ? Very few people will notice it.
and they will know it 's an accident."
"One.'" said Phaeton. " 'Ihere are half a
dozen standing on their heads. And that 's not
the worst. Just look at the spelling ! "
■' I don't see anything wrong about that," said
Ned. " You must remember that what 's wrong
by Webster may be right by Worcester."
"What do you call that? " said Phaeton, point-
ing at the lirst word in the third line.
"Job, of course," said Ned. "Some people
spell it with a J, but that can't be right. J-o-b
spells Job, the name of that king of Israel who had
so many boils on him at once. "
" He w.ns n't king of Isr.iel," said Phaeton.
"Well, kinj of Judah, then," said Ned. "I
always get those two mixed. What 's the use of
being too particular? Those old kings are all as
dead now as Julia C;csar. And everybody knows
how dead she is."
"Well, then, what 's this?" said 'Phaeton,
pointing to the second word on the right-hand side
of tlie press.
" Don't you know what dodgers arc?" said Ned.
"Little bills with 'Bankrupt S.ile ! ' or 'Great
Kxcitement ! ' or something of that sort across the
top, to throw around in the yards, or hand to the
people coming out of church."
" Oh, yes ; dodgers," said Phaeton. " But I
never saw it spelled so before. Have you given
out many of these cards ? "
"I gave one to Holman," s.iid Ned, "and one
to Monkey Roe, and one to Jack-in-the-Bo.\."
"What did Jack-in-thc-Box s.ay to it?" said
I'haeton.
" Oh, he admired it amazingly," said Ned.
" He said it was the most entertaining business-
card he had ever seen. But he thought, perhaps,
it would be well for us to have a proof-reader. I
asked him what that was, and he said it was a
round-shouldered man, with a green shade over his
eyes, who knew everything. He sits in the corner
of your office, and when you print anything he
reads the first one and marks the mistakes on it, so
you can correct them before you print any more.
We might get Jimmy the Rhymer ; he 's awful
round-shouldered, but he does n't know everything.
The only man in this town who knows everything
is Jack-in-lhe-Box himself, and 1 suppose we
could n't get him."
" 1 suppose not," said I'haeton, ''though I know
he 'd look over a jjroof for us, any time we took
one to him. But now tell me whether you '\e
given out any more of these cards."
" Well, yes, a few," said Ned. " Patsy Raflferty
was over here ; he rolled for me, or 1 could n't
have got them done so soon ; and w^hen he went
home, he took fifty to leave at the doors of the
houses on his way. 1 thought if we were going to
do business, it was time to be letting people know
about It."
" Just so," said Ph.icton. "And is that all?"
'■ Not quite. Uncle Jacob was going to ride out
to Parma, and I gave him about forty, and asked
him to hand them to people he met on the way."
" Y-c-s," said Phaeton, w ith a deep sigh : " and
is that all ? "
" I put a dozen or two on that little shelf by the
post-otifice window," said Ned, "so that anybody
who came for his letters could take one. And now
that 's all ; and I hojie you wont worry over one or
two little mistakes. fCverybody makes some mis-
takes. There is no use in pretending to be perfect.
But if you two fellows had been here in the office,
instead of going oft' to enjoy yourselves fishing and
leaving me to do all the work, you might have had
the old card Just as you wanted it. Of course you 'd
have spelled it right, but there might have been
bad taste about it that would look worse than my
spelling. And now 1 'm going home to supper."
'• The worst thing about Ned," said Phaeton,
after he had gone, " is, that there 's too much go-
ahead in him. \'ery few people are troubled in
that way."
" But what are we going to do about that dread-
ful card?" said I. "When the people see thai,
ihey may be afraid to gi\'e us any jobs, for fear
we '11 misspell everything."
" 1 don't know what we can do about it," said
Phaeton, "unless we get out a good one, and say
on it that no others are genuine. I must think
about it over night."
Ch.mtkk X.
WKMENIS
IVPOf.KArHV.
l.\ spite of Ned's declaration that he would
tolerate no loungere, the office soon became a
favorite gathering-place for the boys of the neigh-
borhood ; which fact contributed nothing to the
speed or accuracy of the work. They made us a
great deal of trouble at first, for few of them knew
better than to lake a type out of one box, examine
it ouriouslv, and throw it into another : or lift a
tMi.l
477
page of ly|)C that hail just been set up, '" to set' liow
heavy it was." ami let it drop into a mass of pi.
They got over this after a while, but they never
did quite get over the habit of discussing all
sorts of questions in a loud \ oicc ; and sometimes,
when wc happened to be setting type, and were
interested in what they were talking about, frag-
ments of the conversation would mingle in our
minds with the copy before us, and the curious
effect would horrif\- us in the proof.
For instance, .Monkey Roe's mother had em-
ploved us to print her a few copies of Mrs. Opic's
poem, ■■ The Orphan Boy,'" which she h.id known
since she was a child, and very greatly admiretl.
but of which she had never had any but a man-
uscript copy. While I was setting it up, thrcr
boys were cairying on .in animated discussion ol
the city tire department, and when I took a proof
of my work, I found it read like this :
Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
.•\nd hear the Brick Church bell strike the 4tli
District. .-Vh ! sure my looks must pity no by
crackle Orph Bo Cat.iract Eight can't begin to
throw the stream that Red Rover Three can— Tis
want that makes Reliance Five wash my check so
pale at annual inspection.
Yet I was once a mother's pride, Three's men
cut her hose at the Orchard street fire before Big
Six's air chamber busted my brave father's hope
and joy.
But in the Nile's proud fight he sucked Archer's
well dry in three minutes and a half, and I am now
.Assistant Foreman of Torrent Two with a p.atent
brake on the Orphan Boy.
I am afraid if Monkey's mother had seen that.
she would hardly have recognized it as the first
stanza of her favorite poem. Instead of feeling
sorry for spoiling my work, the boys seemed to
think it was a good joke, and nearly laughed their
he.ads off over it. They insisted on my printing a
few copies of it, just as it was, for them to keep.
Next time I saw Jack-in-the-Box, he showed me
one of them pasted into a little old scrap-book that
he kept under his chair. On the opposite page
was one of our business cards, as printed by Ned.
Jack very kindly explained to me some of the mys-
teries of proof-rciding.
"The next thing to be done," said Ned, when
the office w.is fairly in running order, " is, to get
out Jimmy the Rhymer's poems. That 's what
we got up the establishment for, and it '11 be more
profitable than all these little puttering jobs put
together. And, besides, Jimmy 's awful [xjor, and
needs the money. I 've been around to the book-
stores and told them about it. Hamilton promises
lo take ten copies, and lloyt twenty-five. When
they see how good the poems are, they 'II be sure
to double their orders : and when the other stores
see the book going off like hot cakes, they '11 rush
in and want to buy some, but they '11 have to wait
their turn. First come, first scr\'cd."
There were enough of Jimmy's poems to make a
little book of about sixty pages, and wc all went to
work with a will to set the type. It would have
been a pretty long job for us, as it was, but Jimmy
made it a great deal longer, and nearly drove us
cnuy, by insisting on making changi^s in them .ifter
they were set up. He could not understand how
much extra work this m,-ide for us, and was as par-
ticular and persistent .as if his whole reputation
47«
I'llAKTON kOGKRS.
(April,
ns nn author had hun^ un each disputed comma.
Sometimes, when we had four pages all ready to
print, he would bring in a new stanza, to be inserted
in the first page of the form, which, of course,
made it nccessar)' to change the arrangement of
the stanzas on all the other pages. .At hist .Ned
got out of patience.
" Vou try it yourself once," said he to Jimmy,
" and you '11 find out whether it 's easy to make all
these little changes, as you call them."
Jimmy secretly made up his mind that he would
try it himself. He went to the office one day when
we were not there, foimd four pages "locked up"
ready for printing, and went to work to make a few
corrections. As he did not know how to unlock
the form, he stood it up on edge, got a ten-penny
nail and a mallet, and tried to knock out an obnox-
ious semicolon.
The result was a sudden bursting of the form,
which rattled down into ruin at his feet, and
frightened the meddlesome poet out of his wits.
In his bewilderment, Jimmy scooped up a double
handful of the pi, and was in the act of pouring
it pell-mell into one of the cases, when Phaeton,
Ned, and I arrived at the door of the office.
Ned, who saw him first, and instantly compre-
hended the situation, gave a terrific yell, which
caused Jimmy to drop the handful of type, some
of which went into the case, and the rest spattered
o\er the floor.
'"Are you trying to ruin the office?" said Ned.
'■ Don't you know better than to pi a forin, and
then throw the pi into the cases? After all the
trouble we '\c had with your old poems, you ought
to have inore gratitude than that."
Jiminy was pale with terror, and utterly dumb.
" Hold on. Ned," said Phaeton, laying his hand
on his brother's shoulder. " You ought to have
sense enough to know that it must have been an
accident of some sort. Of course Jimmy would n't
do it purposely."
" I'icing the form may have been an accident,"
said Ned ; " but when he scoops up a double hand-
ful of the pi and goes to pouring it into the case,
that can't be an accident. And it was my case,
too, and 1 was the one that did everj'thing for him,
and was going to bring him out as a poet in the
world's history. If he had behaved himself, 1 'd
have set him up in business in a little while, so he
could have made as much money as Sir Walter
Tupper, or any of those other fellows that you read
to us about. And now, Just look at that case of
mine, with probably every letter of the alphabet in
every box of it.
" Hut 1 tell you it must have been a mere acci-
dent," said Phaeton. " Was n't it, Jimmy ? "
" Suppose it was an accident," said Ned; "the
i.|uestion is, "w/wst- accident was it? If it had been
my accident, I should expect to pay for it."
I'haeton took hold of his brother's ann with a
quiet but powerful grasp, and led him to the door.
"You 're needlessly excited, Ned," said he.
" (io outside till you get cooled off." And he put
him out and shut the door.
Then he asked Jimmy how it happened, and
Jimmy told us about it.
" I 'm sorry you poured any of it into the cases,"
said Phaeton. " For, you see, the cases have a
different letter in every box, and if you take a
handful of type like that and pour it in at random,
it makes considerable trouble."
"Uh, yes; I knew all that before," said Jimmy :
"but when the form burst, and 1 saw the type all
in a mess on the floor, 1 w;is so frightened I lost
my head, and did n't know what 1 was about. 1
wish I could, pay for it," he added, ;is he left the
office.
"Don't let it trouble you loo much," said
Phaeton.
For a long time Jimmy did not come near us
again, and as he had carried off the copy of his
remaining poems, that enterprise came to an end,
for the time being, at least.
There was no lack of other jobs, but we some-
limes had a little trouble in collecting the bills.
Small boys would keep coming to order visiting-
cards by the hundred, with their name on them in
ornamental letters, — boys who never used an\
visiting-card but a long, low whistle, and never had
a cent of money except on Fourth of July. When
Phaeton or 1 was there, they were given to under-
stand that a pressure of other work compelled us
to decline theirs with regret ; but, if they found
Ned alone, they generally persuaded him that they
had good prospects of getting money from some
source or other, and so went away " ith the cards
in their pockets.
There w.is no lack of advice, either. The boys
who lounged in the office were always proposing
new schemes. The fa\ orite one seemed to be the
publication of a small paper, which some of them
promised to write for, others to get advertisements
for. and others to distribute. After the book of
poems had come to an untimely end, Ned was
fierce for going into the paper scheme ; but Phae-
ton figured it up, declared we should have to do an
immense amount of work for about a cent an hour,
and put an effectual veto on the plan.
Charlie (larrison, who, while the other boys only
lounged and gossiped, had " learned the case,"
and quietly picked up a good deal of knowledge of
the trade, intimated one day that he would like to
be taken into the partnership.
" Yes," said Ned ; " there 's work enough here
THE OM) SCHOOL-HOUSK.
lor anDtlicr in.m ; but you 'tl havo to put in some
L'.ipital, you know." Sayinj; this, Ned looked
r.itlicr closely at Charlie, who never was known to
h.ne iKR-kel-money exceptinjj at Christmas and
Fourth of July, and, perhaps, on circus days.
" Put in capit.ils wherever they bclontj, of
course," sitid Charlie; "begin proper names and
every line of |)oetry."
'• 1 mean money," said Ned. " Money 's called
capital, you know, when it 's put into business.
We put capital into this office, and \ ou 'd have to.
il we took you into partnership."
"OU, that 's it," said Charlie, musingly.
" Well. I sup|K)se 1 could ; we live on the Howl
System at our house ; but 1 should hardly like to
take it."
"The Howl System.' What in the world is
that?" s;iid Ned, inclined to laugh. "Soup, or
bre.id-and-milk, for every meal ? "
"No: not that at .ill," said Charlie. " Vou
see, on the highest shelf in our pantry there 's a
two-quart bowl, with a blue-and-gold rim around
it. Whenever any of the family gets any money,
he puts it into that bowl ; and whenever any of us
want any money, we take it out of tliat bowl. I 've
seen the bowl full of money, and I 've seen it when
it had only live cents in it. The fullest 1 ever saw
it was just before sister Kdith was married. 1 m .i
long time they all kept putting in as much as they
could, and hardly t(K>k out anything at all, till the
bowl got so full th.it the money slid off from the
top. Then they took it all out, and went and
bought her wedding things. And oh, you ought
to have seen them ! Stacks and stacks of clothes
that I don't even know the names of."
" Then I suppose you could help yourself to all
the capit.il you want, out of the bowl," said Ned,
mentally comparing the Howl System with his own
source of capital in Aunt .Mercy.
" Yes, I could," said Charlie ; "but I should n't
like to; and I never yet took out any, for 1 am the
only one of the family that never puts anything
into it. Perhaps other people don't know it by
th.-it name, but brother Cicorge calls it living on
the Bowl System."
"Why don't you put the money into the bank?"
said Phaeton.
" Father had a lot of money in a bank once,"
said Charlie; "but it broke, and he said he'd
never put in any more."
" I wish we lived on the Howl System at our
house," said Monkey Roe. "It would n't be
many days before I 'd have a velocipede and a
double-barreled pistol."
riiE out ^tlt"•'l.
48o
THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASU RE - BOX.
[Apkil,
TH1-: ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE- ROX OK LITKRATURE.
WllKS this Trca-ure Uox was first opened, dear
readers, it was slated llial we should say little about the
various authors, but leave you to find out the facts con-
cerning them for yourselves. And, this month, we give
you a scene from a great writer, of whom very many of
you, wc are sure, will not need to \ye told, — for what
reading t)oy or girl does not know something about the
author of " Ivanhoe," and " Kenilworlh," and " Rob
Roy," and "The Tales of a Grandfather," and all the
rest of that delightful list ? For more than fifty years,
countless readers, old and young, have l)ent long and
lovingly over those enchanted pages, that glow with
vivid pomp and pageantry, and resound with the clash
of sword and shield. The time which they descril)e is
an era full of fascination for us all — the age of chivalry,
the lime of romance, with its tills and tournaments, its
])lume<i and mail-clad knights on |)rancing steeds, with
s|K.-ar and l>attle-a.v gleaming in the sun, and its fair ladies
looking on from rich pavilions crowned with floating
|>ennanls. It was a time of prowess and adventure, that
stirs the blood a.s we read about it.
.•\nd nowhere else is this time pictured so truly and
vividly as in the works of this great author. When
these books were first printed, the writer's name was
withheld. But such a secret, you may be sure, could
not be kept for long. No wonder the readers of that
day were bent on knowing who this mighty magician
was. .And no wonder, either, that if the question should
be asked to-day, any English-speaking boy or girl could
answer promptly enough. For all the world knows now
that this best ]>ortrayer of tlie men and manners of the
age of chivalry was Sir Walter Scott.
But it is not alone the prince and the knight-errant,
the countess and the court-lady, who figure in his pages.
These were, inlleed, the foremost people of that time,
and the greatest good or the worst misfortune usually
liefell tliem because their station was loftiest. Hut there
were also men of all tlcgrees, who served these titled
folk as counselors, attendants, lackeys, and soldiers ; —
there were hermits who had wearied of the often false
and shameful life of the court an<l had fled to the solitude
of rocks and caves ; there were [leasants who lived their
own quiet, patient life in the fields ; and there were
yeomen of stout heart and keen eyes, and wild, merry,
woo<lland ways, whom no flattery could persuade and
no threats sulxluc. We think Sir Walter has made these
jovial foresters, who met and sang iKMieath the green-
wood tree, quite as interesting as the knights who broke
their lances against each other in the noise and dust of
the tournament — and so it is al>out one of these sturdy
yeomen that we ask you to read here. Vou will like the
bold archer " Locksley,'' as he calls himself (though many
of you know that he bears in secret a more famous name,
which neither we nor you must " tell "). .Xnd so clearly
has Sir Walter pictured him that we can almost hear the
twang of his bowstring and the whir of his unerring
arrow.
The account is taken from " Ivanhoe," and the scene
is near the lists at .\shby, where the great tournament
has just l>ecn fought. I'rince John, being suddenly
summoned home, decrees a contest in archery, to take
])lace immediately, and offers a prize to the victor.
" I.iickslcy's " independent air has already incurred the
ilisplcasurc of the prince, so that he has other odds to
figlit against than the skill of the opposing archers.
Hut now to the story :
The Archery Contest — From "Ivanhoe" — Bv .Sir Walter Scott.'
The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those
spectators who had already begun to leave the
field; and proclamation was made that Prince
John, suddenly called by high and peremptory
public duties, held himself obliged to discontinue
the entertainments of to-morrow's festival ; never-
theless, that, unwilling so many good yeomen should
depart without a trial of skill, he was pleased to
appoint them, before leaving the ground, presently
to execute the competition of archer)' intended for
the morrow. To the best archer, a prize ^vas to be
awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver,
and a silken baldric, richly ornamented with a
medallion of Saint Hubert, the patron of sylvan
sport.
More than thirty yeomen at first presented them-
selves as competitors, several of whom were rangers
and under-keepers in the royal forests of Needwood
and Charnwood. W'hen, however, the archers
understood with whom they were to be matched,
upward of twenty withdrew themselves from the
contest, unwilling to encounter \he dishonor of
almost certain defeat. For in those days the skill
of each celebrated marksman was as well known for
many miles around him, as the qualities of a horse
trained at Newmarket are familiar to those who
frequent that well-known meeting.
The diminished lists of competitors for sylvan
fame still amounted to eight. Prince John stepped
from his royal seat to view more nearly the persons
of these chosen yeomen, several of whom wore the
royal livery. Having satisfied his curiosity by this
investigation, he looked for the object of his resent-
ment, whom he obser\xd standing on the same
spot, and with the same composed countenance
which he had exhibited upon the preceding
day.
" F'cllow,'' said Prince John, " 1 guessed by thy
insolent babble thou wert no true lover of the long-
bow, and I see thou darest not adventure thy skill
among such merry men as stand yonder."
" Under favor, sir." replied the yeoman. " I
have another reason for refraining to shoot besides
the fearing discomfiture and disgrace."
"And what is thy other re.ison ? " said Prince
John, who, for some cause which perh.ips he could
Itnm al FjlinliurKh. 1771, Pinl .11 Aliboliford, 1833.
II
ST. .NUIIUI.AS r K KASl KK - Hnx.
.iSi
not himself li.ive cxpl.iincd, felt a painful curiosity
respecting; this individual.
"Hccausc," replied the woodsman, " I know not
if these yeomen and 1 are used to shoot at the
s.imo marks ; and because, moreover. I know not
»| ''^■.
out of the lists with bow-strings, for a wordy ami
insolent braggart."
" And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager? "
said the yeoman. " Your Grace's power, sup-
ported, as it is, by so many men-at-arms, may
indeed easily strip and
scourge me, but can not
compel me to bend or
to draw my bow."
"If thou rcfusest my
fair proffer," said the
prince, " the provost of
the lists shall cut thy
bow-string, break thy
bow and arrows, and
expel thee from my pres-
ence as a faint-hearted
craven."
"This is nofairchancc
you put on me, proud
prince," said the yeo-
man, " to compel me to
peril myself against the
best archers of Leicester
and Staffordshire, under
the penalty of infamy if
they should overshoot
me. Nevertheless, I will
obey your pleasure."
" Look to him close,
men-at-arms," — said
Prince John. — " His
heart is sinking. I am
jealous lest he attempt
to escape the trial. And
do you, good fellows,
shoot boldly round ; a
buck and a butt of wine
are ready for your re-
freshment, in yonder
tent, when the prize is
won."
A target was placed
at the upper end of the
>^
HIS SHAFT FOR HIM, HOWEVER.
southern avenue which
led to the lists. The con-
how your Grace might relish the winning of a third tending archers took their station in turn, at the
prue by one who has unwittingly fallen under your bottom of the southern access, the distance between
dUple.-isure." that station and the mark allowing full distance for
Prince John colored as he put the question : what w,ts called a shot at rovers. The archers,
" What is thy name, yeoman.'" having previously determined by lot their order of
" Locksley," answered the yeoman. precedence, were to shoot each three shafts in
"Then, Locksley," i.iid Prince John, "thou shalt succession. The sports were regulated by an
shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen h.ive dis- officer of inferior* rank, termed the provost of the
played their skill. If thou carriest the prize, I will games ; for the high rank of the marsh.ils of the
add to it twenty nobles ; but if thou loscst it, thou lists would have been held degraded, had they con-
shalt be stript of thy Lincoln green, and scourged descended to oversee the sports of the yeomanry.
Voi_ VHI.— 31.
482
THE ST. NICHOLAS T RE ASU RE - BOX.
(April,
One by one the archers, stepping for%vard, deliv-
ered their shafts yeoman-like and bravely. Of
twenty-four arrows, shot in succession, ten were
fixed in the tarf^et, and the others ranged so near
it that, considering the distance of the mark, it
was accounted good archery. Of the ten shafts
which hit the target, two within the inner ring were
shot by Hubert, a forester in the service of Mal-
voisin,* who w.is accordingly pronounced victorious.
" Now, Locksley," said Prince John to the bold
yeoman, with a bitter smile, " wilt thou try conclu-
sions with Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow,
baldric, and quiver to the provost of the sports ? "
" Sith it be no better," s'aid Locksley, "I am
content to try my fortune ; on condition that, when
I have shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert's,
he shall be bound to shoot one at that which 1 shall
propose."
" That is but fair," answered Prince John, "and
it sh.all not be refused thee. Hubert, if thou dost
beat this braggart, I will fill the bugle with silver
pennies for thee."
" A man can but do his best," answered Hubert;
" but my grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hast-
ings, and I trust not to dishonor his memory."
The former target was now removed, and a fresh
one of the same size placed in its room. Hubert,
who, as victor in the first trial of skill, had the right
to shoot first, took his aim with great deliberation,
long measuring the distance with his eye, while he
held in his hand his bended bow-, with the arrow
placed on the string. At length he made a step
fonvard, and raising the bow at the full stretch of his
left arm, till the center or grasping-place was nigh
level with his face, he drew his bow-string to his
ear. The arrow whistled through the air, and
lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not
exactly in the center.
"You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,"
said his antagonist, bending his bow, " or that had
been a better shot."
So saying, and without showing the least anxiety
to pause upon his aim, Locksley stepped to the
appointed station, and shot his arrow as carelessly
in appearance as if he had not even looked at the
mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that
the shaft left the bow-string, yet it alighted in the
target two inches nearer to the white spot which
marked the center than that of Hubert.
" Hy the light of heaven ! " said Prince John to
Hubert, "an' thou suffer that runagate knave to
overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows ! "
Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions.
"An' your Highness were to hAng me," he said,
" a man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my
grandsire drew a good bow "
" The foul fiend on thy gr.andsire and all his
generation ! " interrupted John. " Shoot, knave,
and shoot thy best, or it shall be worse for thee."
Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and,
not neglecting the caution which he had received
from his adversary, he made the necessary allow-
ance for a very light air of wind, which had just
arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow
alighted in the very center of the target.
"A Hubert! a Hubert!" shouted the popu-
lace, more interested «n a known person than in a
stranger. "In the clout! in the clout !t .\ Hubert
forever ! "
" Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,"
said the prince, with an insulting smile.
" I will notch his shaft for him, however."
replied Locksley.
And letting fly his arrow with a little more pre-
caution than before, it lighted right upon that of
his competitor, which it split to shivers. The
people who stood around were so astonished at his
wonderful dexterity, that they could not even give
vent to their surprise in their usual clamor.
"This must be the devil, and no man of flesh
and blood," whispered the yeomen to each other.
" Such archery was never seen since a bow was
first bent in Britain."
" .'\nd now," said Locksley, "I will crave your
Grace's permission to plant such a mark as is used
in the north countr)- ; and welcome every brave
yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile
from the bonny lass he loves best."
He then turned to leave the lists. " Let your
guards attend me," he said. " If you please, I go
but to cut a rod from the next willow-bush."
Prince John made a signal that some attendants
should follow him in case of his escape ; but the
cry of "Shame! shame!" which burst from the
multitude, induced him to .alter his ungenerous
purpose.
Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow-
wand about six feet in length, perfecdy straight,
and rather thicker than a ni.an's thumb. He began
to peel this with great composure, obser\ing, at the
same time, that to ask a good woodsman to shoot
at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was
to put shame upon his skill. " For his own part,"
he said, " and in the land where he was bred, men
would as soon take for their mark King Arthur's
Round-table, which held sixty knights around it.
.-V child of seven years old," he s.aid, "might hit
yonder t.trgct with a headless shaft; but," added
he, walking deliberately to the other end of the
lists, and slicking the willow wand upright in the
ground, "he that hits that rod at five-score yards,
1 call him an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver
before a king, an' it were the ■stout King Richard
himself."
Clmit, — the center nf the target.
I'HE ST. NICHOLAS T R E ASU R K - HO X .
483
"Mv gnindsirc," saitl Hubert, "drew a gmxl
bow at the battle of Hastings, and never shot at
such a mark in his hfe — and neither will I. If tliis
yct)man can cleave that rmt, I give him the buck-
lers— or, rather, I yield to the devil that is in his
jerkin, .ind not to any human skill. A man can
but do his best, and 1 will not shoot where I am
sure to miss. 1 might .ns well shoot at the edge of
our parson's whittle, or at a wheat-straw, or at a
sunbeam, .is at a twinkling white streak which I
can hardly sec. "
•'Cowardly dog!" said Prince John. "Sirrah,
Lockslcy, do thou shoot : but if thou hittest such a
m.irk, I will say thou art the tirst man ever did so.
Howe'cr it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a
mere show of superior skill."
" I will do my best, as Hubert says," answered
Lockslcy. " No man can do more."
So saying, he again bent his liow, but on the
present occ.tsion looked with attention to his
weapon, and changed the string, which he thought
was no longer truly round, having been a little
frayed by the two former shots. He then took his
aim with some deliberation, and the multitude
awaited the event in breathless silence. The
archer vindicated their opinion of his skill : his
arrow split the willow rod against which it was
aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed ; and
even Prince John, in .admiration of Locksley's skill,
lost for aij instant his dislike to his person.
•'These twenty nobles," he said, "which, with
the bugle, thou h.ist fairly won, arc thine own; we
will make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and
service with us as a yeoman of our body-guard,
and be near to our person. For never did so
strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct
a shaft."
" Pardon me, noble prince," said Lockslcy; "but
I have vowed that if ever 1 take service, it should
be with your royal brother. King Richard. These
twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day
drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at Hast-
ings. Had his modesty not refused the trial, he
would have hit the wand as well as L"
Hubert shook his head as he received with re-
luctance the bounty of the stranger; and Locksley,
anxious to escape further observation, mixed with
the crowd and was seen no more.
i.lFF is not all cnntlict and excitement, ynung friends;
— indeed, to many of us it seems often commonplace and
dull. .\nd jK-rhaps many a l)oy and girl, after reading a
great romance, feels like sighing, disconsolately, " If /
only had a chance 10 do siicA things ! " Hut to the eyes
that are able to see it, the simplest action of every day
has its meaning and influence, and so it is good for us,
in our reading, to turn from a marvelous exploit like
Locksley's to such a poem as " The Planting of the
.\pple-trcc,"and learn how equally marvelous, in reality,
is the mere placing of a hltle sprig in the ground.
Many a deed mat seems trivial may be followed by great
results ; and no one can teach us this lesson bcllcr, or in
sweeter words, tlian the great .\nierican poet, Hry.int,
whose songs, written out of a calm, thoughtful life, liavc
wrought vtist and far-rciching good in the world. \'ou
«nll admire more and more, .is you grow older, the noble
poems of this great .ind good man. In St. Nicholas
for December, 1S7S, we told you something of Ins life,
and mentioned the poems that you would most like to
read now. " The Planting of the .Apple-tree " is one
of them, with its beautiful revelation of liow the planting
is to affect many lives and seasons, and remain unfor-
gottcn for years and years.
Thk Planting of ihk. .-Vpple-trkk — Bv \VII.I.I.^^t Ctllen TIrvant.
. ■ 'ME,
let us plant the apple-tree,
Cleave the tough grccnswarcf with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made :
There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mold with kindly care,
And press it o'er them tenderly ;
.•\s 'round the sleeping infant's feet
We softly fold the cradlc-shcct,
So plant we the apple-tree.
Wh.tt plant we in this applc-trec?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs, where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing, and hide her nest;
' Bora, at Cummbigton, Maau-Kuwii
484
THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE- BOX.
We plant upon the sunny lea
A shadow for the noontide liour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple-tree.
What plant we in this applc-trec?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee.
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom.
We plant with the apple-tree.
What plant we in this apple-tree ?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon.
And drop, when gentle airs conic by.
That fan the blue September sky ;
While children come, with cries of glee.
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass.
At the foot of the apple-tree.
And when, above this apple-tree,
The winter stai-s are glittering bright,
.•\nd winds go howling through the night,
(".iris whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth.
And guests in prouder homes shall see.
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine.
And golden orange of the line.
The fruit of the applc-lree.
The fruitage of this apple-tree,
Winds and our flag of stripe and star
Shall bear to co.asts that lie afar.
Where men shall wonder at the view,
.\nd ask in what fair groves they grew ;
Ittl.l
THE ST. NICHOLAS TRE ASU RE - BOX.
^^^o^"-^^.
485
J'-^
And sojourners beyond the sea
Sh.ill think of childhood's careless day,
Anil long, lonjj hours of summer play.
In the shade of the apple-tree.
Elach year shall give this apple-tree
A broader flush of roseate bloom,
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom.
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower.
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
The \ears shall come and pass, but we
Shall hear no longer, where we lie.
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
In the boughs of the apple-tree.
.\nd time shall waste this apple-tree.
Oh, when its aged branches throw
Thin shadows on the ground below.
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
What shall the tasks of mercy be,
Amid the toili, the strifes, the tears
Of those who live when length of years
Is wasting this little apple-tree.'
■■ Who planted this old apple-tree.'"
The children of that distant day
Thus to some aged man shall say ;
And, gazing on its mossy stem.
The gray-haired man shall answer them :
'• A poet of the land was he,
Horn in the rude but good old times :
'T is said he made some quaint old rhymes
On planting the apple-tree."
•f
'i:,^^/ r^
y/^
486
MUM BO JUMBO.
MUMRO JUMliO.
Hv John Lewfxs.
In no part of our globe arc there so many curious pic themselves believe them right and proper, be-
customs. unknown or not understood by civilized cause they arc so taught by their priests and rulers,
and enlightened people, as in Africa. There, for But some African tribes have fantastic and
instance, is a great river which comes down to absurd customs in which it would seem that they
regions inhabited for
thousands of years by
the ancient Egyptians,
who built the most
wonderful temples and
pyramids, and carv-cd
in stone great statues,
which have been the
admiration of ages,
and yet it is only within
a few years that the
source of this celebrated
river, Nile, has been
known to .•\mericans
and Europeans. Great
lakes, which were not
known to exist, have
lately been discovered
by .African explorers,
and tribes of people,
not only unlike other
human beings in their
minds, but even in their
bodies, have been met
with. One of our coun-
trymen, Henrj' Stanley,
made a journey across
the center of the Afri-
can continent, and, in
so doing, traversed
vast regions never seen
before by white men,
and, although he saw
and described so much,
there are no doubt a
great many strange
things yet to be discov-
ered in Africa, which
country the ST. NicH
Mt'MUO JLfMDO SETTISG OIT UPON *...- ...... ..^ii.
OL.\s boys and girls might well call " The Riddle- could not have any faith whatever
still, they really
box of the World." attach a great deal of importance to them.
Among the most difficult puzzles in this great Among these are the tri.ils by Mumbo Jumbo, a
riddle-box are the customs of some of the African character met with in many villages on the west
tribes. Of course, all savage and heathen people coast of Africa. Mumbo Jumbo is nothing at all
do very strange things in connection with their but a man on short stilts, with a sort of cloak
religion and their laws, yet, however odd and wrapped about him, and a great false head fastened
ridiculous some of these may seem to us, the peo- above his own head. .•\11 this, of course, makes
ittl.]
FOR VKKV 1 M M I
487
him look very tall, ami a pair of wooden anus,
which slick out below his bij; head, help to pve
him the apiwarance of a man about twice as big as
anybody else.
Dressed up in this strange way, he stumps about
through the village, and the people believe that he
has the power to point out any person who h.Ts
committed a crime; or, in case of family quarrels
or disputes, he can show which party is in fault.
Accorilingly, when there is an occ.Tsion for the
exercise of his wonderful power, Mumbo Jumbo,
followed by a crowd of his fellow-savages, beating
drums, blowing horns, shouting and dancing, sets
out on his business of discovering the person who
hiis broken the l.iws of the tribe.
It may be that a theft h.is been committed, and
that the thief has managed his affairs so secretly
and cunningly that the people of the village cannot
find out who he is. So Mumbo Jumbo, with a
great deal of twisting and stumping about, goes
from house to house, .ind pretends to examine the
foces of the people he finds within. When he has
finished this examination, he looks at every man,
woman, or child whom he may meet, and even
goes among the crowd accompanying him, making
believe to gl.ire down, with his painted eyes, into
the faces of the howling and dancing negroes, to
sec if he can discover the guilty person.
Of course it would never do for Mumbo Jumbo
to give up the search without pointing out some
one .IS the thief, and so, after he h.is led the crowd
about, .IS long as he pleases, he settles upon some
unforluii.itc perboii, who is as likely ns any one
else to have stolen the missing property, and de-
clares him to be the thief. This man is then seized,
tied to a post, and whii)ped. and everybody lielieve*
him to be justly punished, wh-jn, in reality, Mumbo
Jumbo himself may have been the thief.
In disputes between families or individuals,
Mumbo Jumbo lays down the law in the same way.
He goes with his stilts, .ind his m.ask, and his noisy
crowd of followers, to the place where the disputing
parties arc .issembled, and declares which side is
right.
Now the most curious thing about all this is the
fact that these negroes know, all the time, that
Mumbo Jumbo is nothing but a man on stilts, with
a big false head and a long cloak. There does not
seem to be any attempt to conceal this fact, for,
when Mumbo Jumbo is not needed, his cloak,
head, arms, and stilts are hung up on a convenient
tree in the village. It is likely, also, that these
foolish negroes know just what man among them is
performing the part of Mumbo Jumbo, when that
important person is stalking .-ibout. And yet they
believe in the decisions of the false head, which
could make decisions just as well when it is hanging
on the tree as when borne about by one of their
fellow-negroes.
Now does not all this seem very much like a
riddle, and a pretty hard one, too? Why should
these people believe in a thing which they know is
all nonsense ? But it is not easy to give answers to
all the puzzles in the great .African riddle-box.
IIoW THE ROCKIXG-HOR.SH AT?: THE C.\KE
It was a bii^ room, and it had a bright, pret-ty car-pet on its floor.
The sun came in through two win-dows, and staid all day.
Be-hind two dark red cur-tains, at one end of the room, was the chil-
dren's play-hou.se. The chil-dren were Char-ley and Gra-cey ; Gra-cey
was five years old, and Char-ley was al-most three ; and such good times
as they did have be-hind those red cur-tains !
They had a ta-ble there, and some chairs, and a cup-board full of
dish-es, and a whole fam-i-ly of dolls; but nic-est of all was the rock-ing-
horse, — .Santa Claus had brought this at Christ-ma.s. He was black and
white, and had a long white mane and tail ; his mouth was o-pen, and
was paint-ed red in-side; al-to-geth-er, he was the ver-y nic-est horse
that ev-er had been seen, the chil-dren thousrht.
488
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
(ArKiL,
One aft-er-noon they were hav-ing- a lunch-eon in their play-house;
they hail some lit-tle slic-es of liis-cuit and but-ter, a piece of cake, and a
ti-ny pitch-er of milk. Mam-ma told them to drink the milk first, so they
would not spill it; she said she did not care for the crumbs. .So they poure'd
the milk into two lit-tle cups, and drank it all, and then (ira-cey put the
dolls U|) to the ta-hle, and they sal down to tal llu- rcsl, when C'h.u ]< \
looked up and said : " Hor-sey wants some tlin-ner, too."
"So he does." said (ira-cey. "His mouth is open for some nt>w.
-So they dra^j^ed him to tht- ta-ble, and stuffed some cake in-to his
mf)ulh. It would not hold ver \ much, aft-er all. but tlu-v made sonu?
,t»,.\ FOR VERY LlTTl. I 489
of it sla\- in: .mil tiic\ toKl him ;i j^rtMl man \ linu-s tn cat it, and liicn
he could have st)nK- mi>rc : Inii he diil not swni to know h<i\v, and so
they ate tlieir hmch-con with-out wait-inj,^ for him.
The next morning, Gra-cey ran into the play-house to see il the horse
had eat-en his cake. Sure e-nouy;h, it was all j^one. Char-ley lookeil in-to
hor-sey's mouth, and then trot-tcil aft-er Gra-cey, to tell Mam -ma the
won-der-ful sto-ry. " It must have fall-en out," said Mam-ma.
•• No, it dill n't. Mam-ma; we put it in ti^dit, and 'sides, we spilled lots
of crumbs, and they are all *jonc, too. "
And Mam-ma went to see. The crumbs were all L^^one.
•' He must have got right down off the rock-ers, and eat-en the crumbs
all up," said Gra-cey. But Mam-ma on-ly smiled.
Ev-er-y-bod-y who came in-to the house that day heard the strange
sto-ry : and the last thing Gra-cey did that night was to put a nice
piece of sponge-cake in-to the red, o-pen mouth.
Mam-ma was ver-y bus-y, that night, and they went up-stairs one by
one until she \Vas all a-lone. She wait-ed un-til the house grew ver-y still,
and then she turned out the gas, drew a chair close to the red cur-tains,
pulled one of them a-side a lit-tle, and wait-ed. The room was not quite
dark, for the fire burned bright-ly, and by its light Mam-ma saw the
horse stand-ing ver-y still, with the cake in his mouth. Mam-ma kept
ver-y still, too ; and by and by she saw some-thing that looked like a
ver-y lit-tle bit of gray fur, move swift-ly a-cross the car-pet. It ran up
the horse's leg, out on the lines, held on with four cun-ning lit-tle paws,
and be-gan to eat cake ver-y fast. Soon an-oth-er came, and then
an-oth-er, till there were four: four ba-by mice, the ver-y ti-ni-est Mam-ma
had ev-er seen. And how they did nib-ble ! Hy and by a larg-er one
came, and they played, and ran all o-ver that horse, swung on his tail,
and hid in his mane, and he nev-er stirred. .Mam-ma watched them
a- while, and then she went up-stair.s.
The ne.xt morn-ing at break-fast she told the chil-dren all a-bout it.
Gra-cey was de-light-ed, and begged to stay up that night anil see.
Hut Char-ley lis-tened ver-y so-ber-ly, and when they all hail done
talk-ing a-bout it, he said, in a ver-y sor-row-ful lit-tle voice :
" Poor hor-sey did n't det no tate : not a bit; 'at 's /oo bad."
•^i^^^^-:^^\
490
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[Apkil,
H^^:^!^W^^
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
' The year 's at the spring,
And clay 's at the morn ;
Morninf; 's at seven ;
The hill-side 's dew- pearled;
The lark 's on the wing ;
The snail 's on the thorn ;
God 's in his heaven^
All 's right with the world ! "
So says Brother Browning, and Jack's sentiments
are the same.
Brother Browning, as many of you may know,
is an English poet, and so, when he jpeaks of " the
thorn," my birds tell me he must allude to the
hawthorn or May-tree, which in spring-time almost
covers itself with blossoms of white, pink, and
pink-and-whitc.
Now, for our budget. First, a letter about
A WISE CANARY.
Dear Mr. Jack-in-thr-Piciit : As yoii .irc so much intcreslcd
in the birds. I thought you would like to know about our can.ir>'.
whom »c think unusually smart. His name is " Ruby " and he is very'
tame, and will feed from the hand and fmm the mouth, and will play.
Hut the strangest thing is, that he knows the days of the week, .ind
is very particular thai we shall gjet to school in time : for, on school
d.ays, he begins to call when it is lime lo go lo school, and keeps
calling until wc start, and when we go he slops his calling and begins
to sing and cat his seed from his cup, and appears to thmk his duty
is performed. Hul on Saturday .and Sunday he does not call in this
way; and it is very plain that he knows so much of the days of the
week, and keeps account of them. He docs not m.akc any misuUces.
Vours truly,
Hakkv ElCIIUAtM.
NOT A VERY HARD CASE.
Thk Little School-ma'am learned something
while she was away on her summer vacation ; she
says she learned how to give medicine to a cat.
The lady with whom she boarded in the mountains
had a favorite tabliy, which would follow her aliout
the farm or over the hills for miles, like a dog, and,
when tired, would ask to be allowed to climb up
and ride on her shoulder. Once, this puss ate
poisoned meat and w.ts in danger of dying ; but the
maid put her into a long woolen stocking, poured
a dose of oil down her throat, and by this means
saved her life.
The Little School-ma'am's cat is a very healthy
one, but she thinks it is just as well to know how to
give her medicine in case illness should occur; and
Jack agrees with her.
THOSE CAT STORIES AND DEACON GREEN.
.Ami talking of the Little School-ma'am's cat
reminds me that I 've a letter for you from Deacon
Green. Here it is:
r>i!AK Jack : I dropped in upon ihc Little School-ma'am, yes,
tcrday, and, bless your heart, if sne was n't almost hidden by a mass
of note and foolscap paper, spread out around her in every con-
ceivable shape.
s ! " she exclaimed, in her cheeriest
5 by them, she was as lutppy a little
I. And then she went on to tell me
so fast that she could hardly count
had been obliged to postpone their
anted to
-, and not what 1 started out to say,
:aling state -secrets. But here '
Sool ma'im
how they had been
them, and how the
report a month, and how they
But slop ! That 's her anb
and I may be in danRer of re
point I wanted to tell you. The Htdc woman and her aids, I could
sec, were mightily perplexed lo decide upon the l>est one of all that
huge pile of stories, and I was n't at all surprised, when, looking up
suddenly, she said: "Ah, Deacon, if wc could only cake the Dcst
fifty of these and combine them — bringing tlie best points of all into
one — wc should have a storj' such as no single autnor in the world
could write ! "
Well, dear Jack, I told her 1 did n't doubt it And it is just the
same the world over — with men and women as well as boys and giris.
The greatest achievements of human labor have always been the
work of thousands, who toiled logethcr for the one purpose. Hut
it was never meant that we should all sec alike, and the work of
even* one of us, if done faithfully and with the whole heart, will
reach truth and usefulness in some special way of its own, and so
have its peculiar value. Perhaps there is jiome one thing for each
person in the world, that he or she can do better than anybody else.
Only let him or her find it, and "stick to" it, as the sa\-ing is.
Last fall, little Neddy Popkin came to me, saying he wanted to
make some money to help his mother and her big family of girls, and
he wished me to tell him what to do.
"What do you do best?" said I. He hesitated a momcni. and
said, "Well, they say at hi^omc that I can beat anybody they
r at c
-poppmg.
if it 's well popped yo
money. It 's likely y
sounds like it."
1 could see that he \
Neddy Popki
'Then."
11 it Tl
're cut out for popping
* P"P. pt^P. pop.
best way to make
puzzled by thLs advice for a minute. But
non-scnsc lad, steady, and sturdy. " I '11
Id he, and left On the way home he laid in a supply of
poppen;and com, and went at it in earnest And last week nc told
me that he was getting on splendidly, and laying up a nice little
store of cash. All the confection cfs' sulls in town, but one, now
refuse to buy any pop-corn excepting Neddy Popkin's.
Now, dear Jack, there 's an honest success ahead of that boy: and
that it 's better for a lad to l>e the one best corn-popper in Work-
ville than a fourth-rate lawyer's or banker's clerk in Showburgh. is
ihc humble opinion of yours tnily,
Silas Green.
I commend the letter to you. dears. Only be
sure that the one thing that you can do best is
somethinj; useful, — ^as Neddy's uas. A boy climbed
a libert>'-polc in my meadow one day, and ever\'-
body applauded. But the feat was soon forgotten,
and it turned out that the boy had learntd n bv
long practice in neighbors' orchards.
A SUB-AIMERICAN CANAL
Sakah \V. sends word that a while ago there
was some talk, in her hearing, about canals and
railways across the strip of land which joins North
rill I IT II. E SCHOOL-MA AM S RKI'ORT.
49'
and South America. Anil one of ihe wise folk
said : " It is not impossible that some cavc-oxplorer
may fiiul a jireat under-ground river runnin)j across
the continent of North America; a kind of ready-
made canal, lliat would render traveling cheap
between New York and California."
Think of goinj; from lioston to San Francisco,
under-j^ound ! Never a sii;ht of sun, moon, nor
stars from first to last ! Your Jack does n't like
the notion, my dears. But the canal would be
dim-lit, cool, and moist, even through the glare,
and heat, and dust of summer, I suppose ; and it
might suit any of you that should happen to have
a dismal mind. So let him save up his pennies, in
order to be ready for the first trip of the first canal-
boat of the future (irand .-Xmcrican Sub-Continen-
tal Transportation Company I
HOW DID IT HAPPEN?
M. E. B. FORWARDS this bit of news :
" A short time agii, Wilty found in the yard a little bird which
Kerned to have been hurt. It wxs some litde lime iKiforc it could
be caught, for. though it could not fly. it lluttcnrd and hopped about
V} xt to keep iust out of Willy's reach. But at Lxst he had it, and
putting it tenderly in one hand, and covering it with the other,
DTOUtfht it to me.
" llooked at it and said : ' Willv, I don't believe the bird is really
hurt. Still, there is some serious difficulty. 1 mu.st see what it is. '
" .\ ver>' lung feather belonging to the left wing had in some way
been passed across the back, and drawn tightly in under the right
wing. .After a little I succectlcd in setting the wing free, but the
feather >Lill held fast to the right leg, an)und the thigli of which the
slender end i>f it was wrapped twice, clo.sc to the body.
" Birdie's bright litde eyes watched the whole operation closely :
but he kept perfectly quiet, and did not stniggle nnr resist in any way.
He seemed to know that we were tr>-ing to help him. As soon xs he
was unbound, we expected th.it he would dart away, but he lay still
upon my hand, and 1 was t>eginning to think he muse be injured.
"Then vou should have heard his song of thanksgiv
the Iw.k of delight on Willy's facet
"'.Mamma,' said he, 'how do you suppose tin
wrapped around the wiiij and le^, like that?
" I could not answer his question then, nor can I no^
body else answer it? "
CURIOUS OPTICAL EXPERIMENTS.
Now, my wide-eyed youngsters, — not my feath-
ered friends, the owls, but you, boys and girls, of
course, — carry out the following instructions sent by
Mrs. Kellogg, and you will sec holes through your
hands and fail to see bits of paper placed not two
feet in front of your noses.
KoU a sheet of foolscap paper into a tube an
inch in diameter. Then, with both eyes open, put
the tube to the right eye, and look steadily through
it at any object. Now, place your open left hand,
the palm being toward you, by the side of the tube,
near its lower end. You will sec a hole through
the palm of your hand.
Pin two small pieces of paper against the wall,
about eight inches apart. Fix both eyes steadily
on one paper, say the right-hand one, then, holding
your face about two feet from it, you close the left
eye. Advance your face, and the left-hand paper
suddenly will disappear from sight.
And now, my youngsters, "make way for"—
not "liberty," as 1 usually hear you put it, — but
something of quite as much importance for the
moment to many of you. You '11 find it just below.
THK LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM'S REPORT ON
TO BE WRITTEN."
■A STORY
Voir stories, young friends, for the pictures by Mr. Hopkins on
pa^ 3St of the January number, came pouring in by doxcns and
scores each day, and from every direction. Maine and California,
and most of the intermediate States ; Canada and Cuba, and even
England, France, and Germany — all were represented. Some of the
tetters from young corrc^pondcnui far away acrovx the great ocean
necc»*arily arrived after the day appointed a-s the limit, but in every
\uch case the writer bcKgcd not to be left out of the competition.
And when tKi.tUy the p>i»tman'!> isicc wore a smite of relief as the last
nnc wj^ .!c(i.'-rr<r it «e*med to the committee, x<kscmblcd in front of
the .1' "■ f stories, as if they were scarcely less in num-
ber \\ . '_-\cr lived in America— even counting nine
Hut '. ^ t* these stories was smooth sailing. When
it came to Uc^iuui^ u^in the very best one of these hundreds upon
hundreds of interesting biographie!^— then came the gale ! So many
of ihem were almost on a level as to excellence, and each of these
had «u many peculiar p<iinu in its favor, that for a while your com-
mittcc was in sad pliifht. However, after much patient reading and
rc-readin)[, v)ning an'] comparing, all agreed upon the story given
below, and written by Frances H. Callin, as best fulfilling the con-
ilickMU in the way of a prtHc story. But it was also voted unoni-
mously to make room at the san
by Florence E. Pratt, which yo
the other.
i time for the clever rhymed version
will therefore find accompanying
PUSSY'S ADVENTURES,
Nelus Lester loved her little kitten dearly. It wxh gray, and
had a blue ribbon around it.<i neck, and its name was NlufTie.
One morning Nellie brought a pitcher of milk and poured MufTic
a sauccrful, and while Nellie went to put the pitcher away. Muffie
finished her milk and looked around for something to do. She saw
an open door, and said to henclf: " What a pleasant day ! I think
I will uke a walk."
She hopped down the hack steps and ran along the alley until she
saw a large dog, and alas ! the dog saw her. She lay low on the
gmund beMde an ash-barrel, hoping (hat the dog would pass by.
ut he kept hU eyes upon her hiding-place, and was running straight
toward her when she scrimblcd up the side of ilic barrel and down
among some tlirty straw and p.ipcr. The d(»n tore niund and round
the barrel, Icanint; u;>on one side and then on the other, trs-ing to
get at kitty. Hut he coultl not even i^ce her, and after a while he
went home to dinner. The frightened kitty lay still a long time, and
fearc<l to leave her safe pbce.
When Nellie came hack and saw the empty saucer and nu kitty,
•he was turpriacd, and went to look for her.
She was not on her mat under the stove, and Nellie could nut find
49-^
TIIK I.ITTI.E SCHOOL-MA AM S REPORT.
her anywhere. She wandered from room lo room, cnlltne " MufTie !
Miiffic! where are you? Come, Muffie. come lo Nellie." Hut no
MulFic came, and then Nellie sat down and cried.
Hv and bv Fedru, the old rag-picker, came lo the barrel where
MulVic was hiding. When he saw her he cried out. " Haltoo ! what
have wc here? .A cat. to »>c Mire! Oho, you "11 wcijih more than
raj;v Step in here. Mr. Cat." So sa>*inE, he husilctl Muffie into
[he haji ;ind put the ha^ on his back, and went winn aftcru-ard t«
Mr Kelly'*, ihc r..Kmcrt:hanl. Mr. Kelly weighed the bae of rags
and p-iid I'cdn. hi- money, and Tedro went away. When Mr. Kelly
cmplioi the bag. what should jump out but a Utile ^r.iy kitten! He
w:ls \cr>' angrj" at first, tn find that he had been imposed upon, but
while he was thinking alMjut it. and grvtwing more and more vexed
ever>' minute, up walked Muffie with such a cunning air that he
forgot his anger and began to watch her play. After two or ilircc
days he became vcr^* fond of her.
All this time NcUic could not be comforted, though her papa said
that she should have two or three kittens if she wanted them. Hut
she did not want any but Muffie. At last her papa proposed a plan
that dcliglncd Nellie. It was to advertise Muffie. So it was done.
.A bov was liircdio post the bills and scatierthcm through the streets.
An old woman, on ncr way to Mr. Kelly s with rags, picked up one
of the liand-bills, and slowing it omonp her pickings, went on to the
rag- merchant's. Mr. Kelly, remcmbcnng how he had been cheated,
made her empty her own bag. The great advertising bill was the first
thing to dropout. As it came fluttering down, Muffie popped from
behind a chair, ready to play with anything that came in tier way.
She stopped suddenly on seeing her own name in print, and was
busily reading an account of hcr-clf, when Mr. Kelly picked up the
paper and sat down to took it over. Pussy, not thinking how
impolite it was. climbed up his back, and looking over Mr. Kelly's
shoulder, read it with him. At once Mr. Kelly thought his linlc cat
niU-st be the lost one. So, taking his hat, and with the advertisement
in one hand and Muffie in the other, he started for Mr. Lester's. When
he rang the bell, Nellie opened ilie door, and. on seeing Muffie,
uttered an exclamation of dcHghu Mr. Kelly made a profound bow,
and let Muffie jump into Nellie's arms. She did not (orget lo thank
him. and her papa oflered him a reward, but he would not take it.
NcUic ran to tell her mamma, kissing kitty all the way, and calling
her "a naught>', naughty kitty."
Frances H. Catlin (12 years).
THE TALE OF A KITTEN.
Minnie and kitty had frolicked all day,
Until they were both of them wearied of play,
When dear little kiit^', whose fur was like silk,
Mewed loudly to Minnie to get her some milk.
And soon she was purring, with greatest delight.
Over a saucer of milk, warm and white.
But Mamma called Minnie, a dress to tr>' on ;
'* Now, stay right here, kitt>-, I 'II not long be gone."
Hut kitty meant mischief, so over the floor
She anlully sidled, right straight to the door.
Down from the front stoop she daintily stepped ;
Over the sidewalk she carefully crept ;
Round the ash-barrcl triumphantly walked.
When along, looking virtuous, old Carlo stalked.
'Oh, where is a refuge for p«'>r kitty cat?
Ah, there i^ the barrel. I think I 11 try that"
So pussy jumped up in a icrrihlc fright,
While Carlo came prancing along with dclighL
' Ha, ha ! Mr. Carlo, you cannot catch mc,
l-'ur 1 am too spr>- for you doggie*, you
Hut alas for potir I — '-
And into the barrc
Soon Minnie came back, but no kitty she spied.
'Oh, where is my kitty?" she tearfully cried.
' Is she under the stove?" asked the child in despair;
She looked; but, poor Minnie! no kitty was there.
Poor baby ! she sadly sat down in despair.
And her sobs and her waitings of grief rent the air.
A ragman, whose conscience was soundly .vlcep.
Came wandering along to that fatal ash-licap;
While searching for rags, our small kitten he spied ;
' Now my bag 'll weigh heavy I " he joyfully cried.
He dropped in poor kitty, and humed away,
Where a si^jn waved — " For paper and ra^-* r^^h we pay."
A round pncc he g"i for his wicked deceit.
' Cash" opened the bundle. — what vision did greet
The eyes of this worthy old gentleman, pray !
Why, kit, mewing loudly, jumped down and away !
Witn brow knit with perplexity, — yes! and despair,
Tlic old gentleman watched kitty frolicking there ;
.'Vnd little he knew that, just out of his door,
A notice had hung for ten minutes or more,
Around whicli a crowd had collected, to see
What was lost; who had lost; what reward there would be;
While a b<»y was distributing papers that s-iid
' Ix)st kitten ! " which many a p,xsscr-by read.
And then threw away, as most passcrs-by do.
Butj as cvcr>* one knows, that old maxim is tr\ic
Which calmly observes. "Naught is e'er thrown away:"
It was proven afresh, that remarkable day ;
An old woman tlie notice picked up. and then put
It within her big bag, which was covered with sooL
To old ''Cash's" she went, with all possible speed.
When she emptied her bag, kitty swiftly did read,
With many a grimace and smile of delight :
For she thought. "Now, my mistress has found out my flight
While old "Cash" read the notice, she undisturbed sat
On his shoulder, .ind looked a demure, full-grown cat.
He swift took his hat from the nail by the door.
While kitty tried hard to cbw down to the floor;
But 't was all of no use. and they set off once more.
And at last they arrived before Minnie's house-door.
So now we will leave them in happy communion,
And inist naught will happen to sever their union.
Flx)rence E. Pratt (la years).
It was to be expected that, when all were writing upon the same
subject, there would be a great many stories of nearly equal merit ;
and, although this made the committee's work much more difficult
than usual, it .iLso gives us the pleasure of printing a remarkably
long roll of honor, .^nd there is this to be said to any boy or girl
on the roll who may feel th-it his or her story was as good as those
printed here: there were a vcrj- great many stories which contained
sifi^'/t: ftotnts and /^assa^s of great merit .ind cleverness : but no
one of these stories was quite so satisfactor>' as those we have
given, when considered in regard to clearness of statement, good
penmanship, careful and accurate introduction of the pictures, and
simple merit .is a stor>' throughout
ROLL OF HONOR.
Walter B. Smith — Alice M. N — Lottie S. Averill — Charlie P. Pcirce — Aliia R. Austin — Libbie S. Hawes— Alice B. ForT>*
— Liizie S. Frazcr— C. P.— Curt Rumrill— Kitty Williamson— Ben. L. Darrtm — J osie F. Allen— Hannah— Clara L. Sh.iffcr—
Annie H. Mills— Nellie A. Peah'>dy— Ellic H. Clover— Helen B. Pendleton— OIlie Partridge— I. B. Field— Willi.im W. Shaw—
<;eorfic Cooper— Maude M. Nickcrson- Louise M.ither Knight- Helen K. (.Ircenc— Alfic C. Hill— Frank Heath— Lulu Burton— Louie
Brine— Alice Hyde— Elizabeth \V. W'indsnr- Sadie Hawlcy— Constance Cerrv— Ccrtrudc Knisi— Jcs.sic S. Rand— Dosic Robertson-
Willie F. IHx— Clara !>. Hcnkic— (iertrodc R. Wheeler— Florence 0. I-ine— .Malwllc Whitney Trowbridge— Ktlith Whiting Oakland-
Katie M. Hacked— L. R. Fisher— Katharine Bartlclt— Eliza P. Cochran— Philip Schuyler Ue Luze— Foster H. Roper- Rosalie I,
Bradf-.rd— 1-. M khc-nm— Fh.ren.e Pccle— Ted HiUman— Evangeline T. Walker- Julie Uickham— Mar>' Kaoul— Maude K.
'• Arthur F.Ja ' •"- '- ' " ' ^ "" *" *
on— H. J — Josie Alden— Fred A. Hcnrj— I^.llic F. Wheeler- Sus-in Hastings Ward— Birdie Bent
.shine "— Fxiw.ird B. Ixiwclt— Wallace R. Piatt— Willie F P— C. \\ Bisph.im— F. A. Walker— Gc^.rgic A. Capcn— Angelica
Church- Alice (;. Umsing— F. Maynard Uinsing- Howard .M.inning- Tcny H Putnam— Frank S. Wilh.ck— Rosalie Flagg— Grace
Boutclle— kitieCobb— Josie B. Ue— .Mar>' M. Mallcson— Eleanor B F.irley— D-iisy Bishop— VZdith Helen Smith— Fred A. Bigclou—
Annie A Willi.imson— Geo. H. Brown— Maggie Evans— F. B. Matthews— Li/zie llooton- Ada V.in Bcil— Charlie Tracio— Eddie O.
Bani.i— (aiswe Cliambcrlain- .Sadie I^u Stevenson- Hattie C. McUar— George E. Gillespie— George Davidson- Anna B. Blakiston—
H. Bosworth Van Gicson— Flmic W. Clarke— (Jitbert P. Coleman— Helen Mildred Sl.idc— Ixo Ha.is— Wa»h Uwr>— Mar>- A Snclhakcr
— Ncnie Brolaski— Charlie r>. Rice— Eddie Miller— Maggie Wincland— Emily A. Howland— Jennie Iv Work- Fannie Carr- Katie
Park.ir.l— Uura W Jackson— FMith R. Jones— Minnie L. Benton- Rosidie N Mcllhcnny— Emma F Jone*— Willie E Evans—
Broo;.c Payne- I>ouly Shand- W. Chauncey Hawley— Susie A. Mattcwm— Noble S;ivre— Bessie t nillagher- H a
Hallic Bamc' — Shcli-.n SanfnnI Chcny— Mamm.Vs Pete— Oracle I »clnan— SalHe E Coatev
-SaUie ShcllcnlHrrger— Josie B.irncs— l^ouisc B.irncs— Charlie L Barthol,
AlUrt ^ Pas-iuay- (;co L BnKihcad— Mabel H. Knight— Oriob M. Chevc*— Mary U R
Hattie (ialt Turner— Nellie G. (;row— Lottie Woglom— I. has. S. Hayden— Sarah F. I>e I
Oaklc>' Bimie— Carrie C Jenk»— Helen G. Slingluff— FJhel Dane Roberts— Liziie B Han
Pink— Fred E Luni— Eugenic M. Fo«— N. T. Mt.t.v— A. I>oui»c Wcightman— Esldlc F
-Nellie G. Poncr— Ch.x^ H. Vandert
!;!n
V— KUic <;. JackMMi— I-i
nlct— Han^ld Slcbbin* — Hcnr>' S Cox —
lie— Rachic FJy— Sadie Medar>— Alice
Kin— Nellie RU\«I«— W alkem— Oovo
— Nettie SchiKh— A F. Hoyi— Maltio
THK. 1.
1 1-. K- liO\.
493
,c l..uy Clvin- Jennie May C
..i, l-K. 11.1— Willie V W.HiUrJ—
II,,,; I oi»ti.,.i,ct-M..v i-
\ rsiinSiiiiih— Al. "
\luc Milley— I-
>l.ilet
-111.
All.
.I.iIktI K.
, ,rl.lllcl —
,- l.irlc
,... .NL U-,.vdl
W. Snively-J-
I Uie H, Crane- >
., „,-_i.c.ln..lc Mo^llic.u-N^il"^^ >hn^,-,- Sarah D.
\ .„„.c ilunler-L >tlv S. I'ralt— M. Jennie llatJinK—
!. e C. L im an-Mac Dordun- l.Me Tul.by-
c;r!l,TcarrVro-Wn>. I.. Hu,,k,nv-H raibo,.-
Hniinfiel.l-l'hil. C. TucVer. Jf """^ '■^'"'V,':"?-^;
111. ter— Maude Ainsworlh— Ijlla K <- nilt— .Mary ! --
• Prumn
■|'h,M,ia., II. Ma,„i-r...l— N"r;..l ^il,..,, ...
1 .»ler-Le. ilia Tucker- Helen !■; S|.Ker-\S
M. Hiiichi..— A L. B.-AI.C- .
..l■.^. »^...- -•- - ,, i.i„„ I ),,nlnn Ir UaisvOl^ncn — "Clara
NIanha P. and Mary R. Jcwctt-Mv
ic— Adeic W. Crane— Fa
Sciliert- Ma
Emily Ho..d- Neddie Clarl.- J
tcik 1!. MeUain-Quecnie Itell I
cc A. Mianam— ^. ri..i<;iiv.-. .■."—•- , -
-Marian Clark —
I rMeUain-guecnie Ikll I'eo^^S.ella ^'- «""='^f^^7;;r Ba^e -\V«Te • ^ Moselcy- Alice H. P.;>yne-M-
^I'l l^".auhed>-Canje P'"^^Tr^t:;^:Z:-^^ ^"''Srood-S^lfc H.^.,- M. . B.-Bcs =- ■ — — »
-^ '" '•-"---^^"."^;l^^ri^'os";-EC^dDu^i^.Flo^^^^^^^^^
Latomore — Mabel Good-
B.akcr— Alice Hall— Ludla
:,_M..ry C. Bumap-Lucy S- Conanl-Ooc.c U Iha^r- L.aura^. j^ ,^_,,„in., , Bush-Ali« I Boanl-
C.frrui^-'AlSiru^^X^e wJlti;^Josic A. Gn.ham-C. SilUman-Nann,c Drury.
lin
\\ -.1
In many respects the stories differed widely from one another, and
U thele -enr space for it. I should be glad <o show you some of
th« differences, which peatly intetested u. And I wtsh too
with aU my hean. that we could pnnt some of the bnght and cle%er
«^lences that were found b the various manuscnpLs. and that made
the committee's task a delightful one. But I must content myself
with complimenting you, cich and all, upon .he "'^"^"J^ "^ >™;
stories, and thanking you for the en.hus..asn. with which you
responded to the invitation of your grateful and happy
"Little bcHooL-MA AM.
THE LETTER-BOX.
Tm ■• I«»n on the Sampler" w« a %-eTy impoitant and common
one when your peat-grandmothers wen: girls, and would b. wit-
ZS^fTin^J^hTZy of our giri-teaders who ate try.ng to
ih.
decorative embr>iderifrs
;■ ••cal-lail," or rlr.i
ler-work of our .,
.,. J. u^ful, for •
- - ' -i-h a slit, -.- .
h little ^iiiS c*ii
this was what
day. with their beautiful
f yellow or red satin.
,i.ire simple, but. pei-
househiild linen was
. letter or design, and
Icam how to mark her
sampler —
the siie of
. . work letters
n,C them bal-
f the fcibric
1 1...S large
the
s uught her on the
r^e^ 'the' Ihmid the'b^tei. and «. ih. H" gr.,w.. ..n the (ann
t *„» «.kM>l wnvcn into a neat mat, and hemmed
was sDun on the spinnmg- wheel, wo\en miu ^ m-i* • • , , . .
^r:!^-l'f^anTpr^.^r^^^^^^^^^
kc^hieli, etc.. were m..rked with letters or designs "c-'J "J^'^
but of course, after mastering the method, then: were .-dl ''^^^
this accomplishmen.. and whatever feat of needle-work »^' '" ^
attempted the sampler often remained the pracnce-gtnde. b.;>ou
w uTd'fili. upon so'me sampler,. -^V ;""-■' O-S"- '2":;^
high degree of skill in embroidery. < )f.en the figure of «^me an.maj
wL woaS in the center of a sampler ; and someumes the whole of
the Ix.rd-s prayer «-as copied in quaint let.enng. And then: werr
llab<lra«Vni^ and comer-designs. and rosette, of flowers wtthout
"Tn'T.hen too. if you wen: to a.sk Cra-jdma, she might whisper tn
you confid^d^ly that there were other A«>ns why th.s accompUsh-
ment wa. expected of all giriv It was the custom then for every
grri to mark her own '"=J<""«''°.">- •.»"''• ""Trd^rToZ'r
l^y Uttle love.token.s and «uven.r, flytng about '-^-J'^'^^'
in those times, which showed pUmly enough by their pretty em
494
THE LETTER-BOX.
[ArxiL,
bmiiJcml markings ihai the (air &cndcrt liail been well trained in
ftomptcr-work. And wj, for the inaidcn nriti.it day, the queer letter-
ing iliat fcecm« to ut »<■ rude and old-fnvt)inncd may Iiave had a
great deal «.'f rnmancc And, rcmcmbcrini; this, ilie hiUc jiicturc
out of ihc past that glnu\ in the center of our fr)ntifci»icce this month
becomes really |>oetic. Nobody knows what tender thoughts and
fancies may be pav&ing in the mind of the swcet-fnced elder sister,
who sets the sample for the litilc giri at her knee, demurely helping
herself to the Miich by lacing her lingers; and nobody can tell what
great events in the little Icnnicr's future may yet be a&sociated in
Mime nicnsurc witli this cory lesson on the sampler.
The b. .filer t.f the picture hhows you the style and shape of one
of the .simplest ^f the>e little hoiLsehold mementos. It is copied
(in smaller sirei fitmi an actual sampler made by a certain little
Julia May, in 1740.
On account of the brgc amount of space required for the Little
School-ma'am's Report ci'nceming the stories written fur Mr. Hfip-
kins's pictures, we arc obliged to put off until next month a second
letter fn:mi Mr. RiUard concerning the Agassiz AssociatioiL
ing letter, and
and from any i
ich interested in the trick described m the foUow-
shall be gbd to hear from others who have seen it
who may know how it is performed ;
Dear St. Nichoi^s: I want to tell you about a pretty sleight-
of-hand trick which I saw a Japanese juggler perform not long ago.
All he had was a goblet of clear water, a common gilt-edged plate,
.and a long-handled camel's-hair paint-brush. He asked us by signs
what (lower wc should like to see, and some one s.iid, " A pansy."
Then he dipped the paint-brush into the goblet of water, made a few
motions over the plate, not touching it, and then held up the plate.
On the bottom of it was a pcrt'ect pansy! He poured some water
over it, and so erased the pamting. Then he went through the same
motion with the paint-bnish agam, and there was a bunch of blue
violets. He performed the trick again and again, each time some
new flower appearing on the pLitc. It was lovely, and I watched
him until I was almost tired out with looking. — Yours truly,
" Faith."
Dear St. Nichoi.ar: I thought I would write to the "Letter-
Box" and tell some of the readers about some private theatricals we
boys got up not long since. The first we had was '* The Jolly Old
Abbot of Canterbury-." We got this from St. Nichoi^s, Vol. III.,
p. 133. I h.'ippenca to l« the nobleman. The next we had was
"The Magician's Lesson." Wc got this fron St. Nicholas, Vol.
VL, p. 60, in which the magician teaches a little boy a lesson by
dipping him into an ink-stand. Of course, not a real ink-suind, but
something to look like an ink-stand, large enough for a boy to get
in. The last was" Lord Ullin's Daughter" ; this also was taken from
St. Nichoijvs. This was the first time wc had ever seen it dram-
atized, and we took hold of the opportunity readily. We had a
sheet stretched across the stage fur water. I was the boatman. —
Vours, He.nrv Rochester (ii years).
The many boys who have written to us for a piece for recita-
tion will find the following l>altad admirable for that purpose. .'\nd
it will interest all who read it, young or old. It is reprinted here,
A-ith the author's consent, from his recently published collection of
;>oems, entitled " HalLids and Other Verses." The same bright little
volume contains also the capital humorous poem of " The Turtle and
Flamingo," which was published several years ago in St. Nichol.as«
BALLAD OF THE WICKED NF.PHEW.
Bv James T. Fields.
It was a wicked Nephew bold
Who uprose in the night.
And ground upon a huge grindstone
His penknife, sliarp and oright.
And, while the sparks were flying wild
The cellar-floor upon.
Quoth he imto himself, " I will
Dispatch my Uncle John !
" Hi* property i-i large, and if
He dies, and leaves a Will,
Hi* loving Neplwrw (that 's myselO
Wont get a dollar-bill.
*' 1 'II hie unto my uncle'k bed,
HU chamber well 1 know,
And there I *ll find ht« pocket-book,
.Safe under his pil-Zmc.
** With this bright steel I 11 slay him first.
Because that is the way
They do such things, I undenund.
In Boudcault'ft new Play."
By tlii» the anxious moon retired
(For all the stars were in), —
*• *T is ver>' dark," the Nephew cried.
•* But 1 can find my km I
"Come forth, my trusty weapon now!"
(Or word« to tliat cflcct)
He shouted to his little blade.
Whose power he did suspecL
Then out he starts. His Uncle's door
Is thirteen doors from his:
He gains the latch, which upward flies.
And straight inside he is !
One pause upon the entry stair,
And one upon the mat, —
How still the house at such an hour !
How mcwiess lies the cat !
" O Nephew ! Nephew ! be not rash ;
Turn back, and then ' turn in ' :
Your Uncle still is sound asleep.
And you devoid of sin !
" The gallows-tree was never built
For handsome lads hke you, —
Get thee to bed (as kind Macbeth
Wished /tis young man to do)."
He will not be advised. — he stands
Beside the sleeping form, —
The hail begins to beat outside
A tattoo for the storm.
" 'T is not too late, — repent, repent !
And all may yet l>e well!"
" Repent yourself!" the Nephew sneers,-^
And at it goes pell-mell I
To right and left he carves his way, —
At least thus it did seem ;
And, after he had done the deed, —
Woke up from his bad dream.
And swift to Uncle John he ran.
When daylight climbed the hill.
And told him all, — and Uncle John
Put Nephew in his WUL
Dear St. Nichoi-as : 1 want to tell you how my brother Will .and
I went fishing down by the mill List All Fools' Day, and what we
caught. Wc had n't much bait, so wc set our lines out in the swift
water below the mill, and went after more baiL Lute and Joe
Hn.iwn were pla>'ing on the bank, and as wc went away wc saw them
make for our lines. They pulled one up, but there was nothing on
it. So Will and I called out, " .April fool ! " and went and got the
bait. As we were coming back. Lute and Joe put their heads out
of a window in the mill. Will went to pull up his line, and there
was something friskj' on 11. So he c.-dled out " Hi ! " and 1 went to
help him pull m. The catch was ver>' spr\': he darted first to one
side and then to the otiier. So 1 said to Will, " You play him well;
give him more line. 1 'II go fetch the gaff" I brought the gaflf,
and we pulled in. // ims a /-/V round piecf cf slate, •atith a hMt in
it! Just then Joe called from the window, "Halloo] what have
you caught?" We did not say anything, because it wxs the First
of April. But wc stopped fishing for that day.
Will .says not to write to you about it But he is always a little
shy. I only want to warn your other boys not to be token in as we
we're. — I am, ever yours truly, Thomas A. D.
Dear St. Nicholas; Please tell your Iwj-s and girls that mechan-
ical toys invented and made in America arc now to be found in the
immense stores (Ix)uvre. Bon- Martha, etc.) of Paris, having taken
the places once filled by playthings of Oennan make. I supp<ise
that your patriotic young American readers will be gUd tn hear this,
but to counterbalance their enthusiasm plcise tell them this, to><:
Paris sends thous:inds and thousands of dressed dolls yearly to the
ITniled States, A vcr>' great m.iny workpeople do nothing but
dress these dolls, according to die latest styles But the bodies of
the dolls, which are large and have ball joints, are made only in
(Icnnany: they are sent to Paris co have tneir hands feet, and cos-
tumes added. The dulls have special hairdressers, too. as well as
special milliners; and besides all this there arc hundreds of busy men
and women who spend all their working time tn making the furniture
fur doll-houses. Just think what a host f\K pe^^ple must >iir and
\ girls may be able to play with dolls of
iu»t the proper kind !— Yours truly,
N. T.
IIIE RIDDLE-UOX.
495
Till'. Rl I) 1)1.1- lit 'X.
NrMKRICAl, KSUJMA.
I .1 MMVMX Icnen. anJ am a quolnlion from
..icklc. III. Multiply » c^\^ o( I v,ni, by Iwo. anJ make a ...R-ir-
[.liiin. IV. Mulliply llicrcf..rc by IW", an<l make payable.
hauehlinot. My T-i'V^l"! "J^
- . - ^.eatint;
Division.
snd obtain a clawed fool.
B olltn cauicil by iiuciisc cM. My 4y »■- -^
RI.MLEJiS WIIKKI
R.rLACB the star with a consonam. which must be the last letter
„f^'h""he «.'^. de^ribed. The letter. ,«o™">S *= J' ^.^^j
i^ Tk- .,pl,r ^hoon by the numeraU, will spell ihc name ol a oay oi
' \; ' " : -"It'^c spokes : .. The end of a prayer. =. To lend.
1 ;;- 4 Theyoungof ahorricdanimial^ 5_^Anaugury
Faamplf. : Divide a tropical tree by
Answkk, Pawpaw — Vaw. , . ■ . .,«_f,.„«
, .hefo.>t. I Divide an exlinct b.rtl by two. and oblain lo l>"-f'""^
.-y^.o- Divide a .own in New York Stale by Iwo. ""f, "Y"'" ''^..'''^^^t
, w» Ihe ally. III. Dividcanoclunial.nionkey.likeanlinalliytw.,and.,t.
13-51-45 always IV. Divide a Unuilian bird which is similar lu Ihc sw.n
ally. My by two, and oblain a Trench Icrin li.r a wilty sayinK. w. c.
CHOSS-WORD ENM3MA.
iCUllil
not
Mv first is in spy, but not
My second in
My third is ii
My fourth is
My fifth is in
My si.xlh is i
My seventh^ i
My eighth is
ok;
lok;
in brook;
but not
1 stream, but .^
snatched, but not in took
rod. but noi in hook;
bullfinch, not in rook;
chink, but not
My whole once wrote a famous book.
OITI.INK IM/./.I'K.
f beasts. S In a short amc.
tjl 1\<I \\.
I. lo cnireai. a. A gna»-ing animal. 3. P
4. A short poem. 5. A person who forcsi
^. ftom left I
:-hand letter:
Self .esteem.
\ part of
1 right, downward, beginning .1
I. A consonant. ~ ■* """* ^
4. More scarce.
ri.
RviED hel Inia gri.ith, yb-".
Thi li no hct deha;
Keirts tihw bl uj-ro gmith, by
Ree hie item sha Ifde.
Seslnos oyu" ev ot aelnr. sbyo.
Dusty liwh a Ulw ;
Ehtv owh aecrh bet opt, soyb.
H.sfi vimLs milcb htc Ihil.
the above design, and,
1 Dcncil. trace eve.y ....^. then cut through the
iddle lines, and fit together the four pieces thus
Pl-ACK a piece of thin paper circfvilly
with a hard sharp pencil, trace every
ihree straight •"•'I'l'* lin,^ and fit t'
obtained.
.VIllTII>IK.TIt VI. ft Z/.I.F.
.\DDITI0N.
^,IH n number
1 small nieht-fl>nng anim.il, .-ind
l.mm. Answer. Bat-ten. ,, . .,
t . a color, and make a bird. II Add
.in article, and a bird, and make an
iether an animal, an article, and a
„..riaL IV. Add together a covering and
CENTRAL HTNCOPATIONS AND REMAINDERS.
Each of the words described contains
paled letters, placed in the order here Riv
spell a jocula
rscnov.
n, and leave :
.. e a swift animal. II.
.^e a moderate gallop.
. , .-.r >riv> 'filing fr^^m uncleanness, and
' IV. Subtract a small indosure from a
.. - teamster.
.MLLTlfUCATION.
FJUMru: Mulliplr the Christian naflje of a Scotchman by two.
And make s Hindoo dram. Answer. Tam-tam.
I Multiply a iTsinou. substance by two. and ^'"''r^^
pcn.:>a. iV Multiply a Chinese name by two. and make a kind 01
r grceung.
."Svncopale small^'pirforaTri lxiris"of gl.-i.vs. and leave resling-
„l,..^ , Svncooale a resinous substance from which vamLsh is
S^? and li\e a'^ombusrille mineral 3. Svncop.,.e fore-"". ■•>"!>
^;^e a hand closed lightly . , Syncopate a Scottish "-= ^^^^^^^''ff
and leave a place for sl.tbling cattle 5 Syncopate Ihin r'«"^ "■
baked clay-'and leave fa^^lenings *. S>-cop...e ,0 ^poslpone. and
'^" TdTeLvf additfon'r's'Vyncow'c .0 Uuiguisii. ancl leave .0
rkir 9;"yncopate a shrub used for Chnstmas 'i«<'"''°^^;^^
leave sacred-
DROP-I.ETTER Pl'ZZI-E.
Put lellers'in the places of ihe diuslics. .-uiJ fonn I
1 great engineering cnlerpri-c
DOini^E A1KOSTU-.
:ek. Co
rcled.
PnlMAUi: A festis-al. FiNAi-s: A day of ibi -
a Chri";ian fes.ival. The word, described are of eqiia length.
I The lower edge, of a sloping root 3. A farewell, j.lotrrai
wilh'^on.empt. 5. Wanting in courage. J J.^;!";-^ J"
rc-OAKmblc.
496
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
v-^mt » viti>
Mv whole
l*KOf:KESSIVK KMGMA.
ining »jf nine Icttcn.. i\ a small country of Asa.
Mv 1-3-3 ■
My 1-2-3
r Icttcn..
My 1-2 is a name fiT a nc;ir rcbtivc. Mv 1-3-3 '-'' i» ''lang tcnr
Inr an acc^'mplicc. My 1-2-3-4 is dim. My 1-3-3-4-c i^ pickcUL
My 3-3 is a nKknamc. My 3-3-4 w a fciii\al in Knu'ish counir>'
[ilaccs. My a-3-4-5 is liquors. My 5-4 i* a French word My 3-
4-5 i* a Latin won!. My 3-4-5-6 is a conjunction. My 4-5-6
15 a French verb. My ^-6 i% a common abbreviation. My 6-7-8 i&
a metal. My 6-7-8-9 is a prong. My 7-S ii a preposition. My
B-9 lA a French word. h. l~ d.
riIA»AI>E.
My first were m
Of my second's depth
My whole wa.s the home of t
Of many a knightly deed.
DIAMOND.
3. A meadow. 3. Inclines. 4. The name
drowned while swimming across the
"" the Revolutionary
I. A Roman numeral.
of a young Greek wh(
Hellespont. 5. 'Vhe surname of a British oflfio
war, who was hung a^ a spy, 6. The provli
:of2
DOt'BUS DIAGONAX.S.
What mystical message is the bird bringing ':
Across : i. A sleeping vision. 3. The wife of Mcnelau.s king ot
Sparta. 3. To pronounce. 4. The Christian name of a renowned czar
of Russia. 5. A wanderer.
D1AG0NAL.S: Left 10 right, downward, to hinder. Right to left,
downward^ an instrument lor measuring. c. K.
FOUR EASY \VORD-SQl*ARES.
I. I. A MEASL'RE of time. 2. An imaginan' monster. ■:. To
i:oax. 4. To stagger. H. 1. A substance used for cleansing. 2.
Onetime. 3. The highest point. 4. The cry of a yoting chicken.
III. I. Above. 3. A climbing plant. 3. Terminations. 4. Repose
IV. 1. A small insccL 3. A number. 3. A girl's name, meaning
"grace." 4. A i-pan of horses.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLF„S IN THE MARCH NUMBER.
I. 8. E. 9. H.
Pictorial PtzZLE. i. Bears on ale: reasonable. 2. B. Hunter; Letter Puzzlb.
burthen. 3. Nut and leg: untangled.
Half-square, i. Revoked. 2. Elided. 3. Vixen. 4. Odes. 5
Ken. 6. Ed. 7. D.
DouiiLK Cross-word Enigma. Presidential inauguration.
Numerical Enigma. Beware the Ides of March !
Three Numerical Dia.monds. I. i. C. 2. CAb. j. CaBin
4. Bin. 5. N. II. I. M. 2. MAn. 3. MaNor. 4. NOr. 5- R
III. I. C. 2. CAr. 3. CaRaL 4. RAl 5. T.
Martial Double Acrostic. Primals: Marathon. Finals:
Waterloo. Cross-words: 1. MoscoW. 2. AttilA. 3. RupcrT. 4
AristotlE. 5. TrafalgaR. 6. HannibaL. 7. OthO. 8. NcrO.
N.
"W,
6. O. 7.
Charade. Nowhere.
Pt'zzLE Birds, x. Kingfisher. 3. Quail. 3. Humming-bird. 4.
Sparrow. 5. Dove. •
Pictorial Prefix-Puzzle, i. Oitalogue. 2. Cat-bird. 3.
Cathechiscr. 4. Catacomb. 5. Catechumenatc. 6. CatamounL
7. Cattle. 8. Cat-hook. 9. Cat-fish. 10. Cataline. 11. Catarrh.
13. Caterwaul. 13. Caterpillar.
HoifR-GLASS. Centrals : Chasing. — Across : i. Porches. C 3.
AsHes. 3. BAr. 4. S. 5. Bit. 6. BoNcs. 7. TonGue*.
Numerical Enigma for Wek Puzzlers. Mayflower.
The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
Solutions to January puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the March number, from Beatrice and Danforth, Montpel-
Uer, France, 7.
e2LEs IN THE FEBRUARY NuMBER wcrc received before Fcbmary so, from Eddie A. Shipman, 2 — Frank Heath, 8 —
1— Waller K. Smith, i— Clara Mackinney, 5— Mamie H. Wilson. 1— *• Icssie." 6^1-Uiward Hrowazki. 1— Herbcn B.
I Gittcmian, 2— Bessie and her cousin, 9— Lizzie H. dc St. Vrain. all— He
1— Lizzie Fowler. 8— Mar>' Stevenson ;uidRose Hillcr. i— "
.„ nd Sallie D. Rogers, 6— Archie and Hunh Bi
-The Stowe Family, all — Lizzie D. Fyfcr. 1 "
.Jr "
TO Pl =
Helen M. Drcnn.in.
nnish, I— J. Mill.
Daisy HunlinKlon
City," all— F."m'. Rhccnc
" McDonald, all— Dye
ry and Hacdiis. all— Polly and Mollv. »-
•ic yucrnc,'' 3— Chariic K. Poltti, 0— "J-ick Knife."
f— Frank P Nucent. 2— Elhcl fiillis, i— Rcila. 1—
r. o-R O. Chester, j— Chas. H. VounR. 4— "Glen
,an<Li!e. 5— Kanniefc. K.achline. 7— DarniKh dc 1-ancey. 2— M.irv (_nriton. 3— C. M. l\. 8— Fred.
Archie Warden. 0—" Subscriber." 1— lte»>ic lavlnr. 6— H and K. Kerr. 4— " .M Ph.ahel." 6— Jama
Ftankie Daniell. 4— AuRiiMa M. Davies. 3— H. S Ayer. .^— Alice M. Mine. 1— Crahame
Shrivcr, 4 — Constance ti.. 5 — J. H. Spencer, i — Ftankie Daniell, 4 — Auciista
H. Powell, I— llessic C. Bamev, 6—" Ulysses," 3— A. C. P.. i— liessie S. Ho:
■ ". <)— M. W. P. J— 'Ksiclle Wcilcr, 3— MacKie Clayucll
.l^ics. i »t. .s, /.y.;i, 4 /.ii,.c .,1. .line, _
7 — " lielte and IJcnie,* 7 — \V, T. Floyd, 7 — "GcorRia
M.ary 1. RIkcr, a— Mav W. F.rans, all— Ceo H. Rmwn, 4—
"Doni»elli,''all— Kllen I^misa nry.in, 5— W. E. Pennini-ton. 4— 1 hire y.uinK WoiKlwards, 6— "Powell Evans 1— Fannie Knobl«h. 4-
Pan»y and Myrtle, .tII— Sanh L. Payson, all— Tom, Hick, and Harry, 8— Chas. F. and Uwis A. Upman, ■;— F. Hill, 4— "Witch and
Wizard," &— Allic. Clem, Florence, and John, 3— llemard i:. Weld, q— Itcrtie M.inier, 7— J, S. H. 9—" .Alice and liertie," 4—" Queen
|lc».," 7— Sallie Chase. 3— Anna 1; Haker. ?— Charlie W. Power. 9— Alice H. Abbot. 7— Rulh Camp, j— Pern-, s- "The McKeevcn,"
6-M. Vl. R , all-A friend of M. II R., i— R..bert A r.My. .ill- Allie and Ijnnie. .>— t Lira WiUenbucher. 6^C. S. and M. F. S.. <i—
Susie r,„ff. 7— Willie F. WoolarJ. j— X. Y. Z.. (^'(hn.k. " all— l.iile W and Will ("i. M, Kinnev. R— Isabella C, Tomen. 4— S. Phelps,
»— Kitlie Han.af..nl, 2— C. H. .M. H., 6— " D.indclion and Clover." 4— Riibanl H Weld. Ir, 0— "Helen's Rlhies," e~ \. N. G . 6— J.
A. Sell, 4— Kenneth 11 Kmerwin, 4— " Frenchy." 5- EIIwo.k) l.inds;iv. ^— Alice Maud Kvle. 7— ll.-illie F- R.xrVwell, .ill- Fjh and
lulu >;. Ciabbe. 3— John IWch lilreul. 1— Aukusius and Angelina. 4— " Carol .and ber Sister*." o— l.ulu M. Brown, 7—
D (Mi:_ xt^f^ n .- ....
ul Sue Ho
, 8— Olhc .McGrccor,
The
■ UsUe Kytc, all— F.dwaid Vultc
als denote the numlicr of puiile* Milvetl
.ill— 1 .1 1- C.
ST. NICHOLAS:
AN
1 1 . 1 . 1' s T R A T E D Magazine
For Vol; NG Folks
COSDl'CTED
M A R ^ M A P E S DODGE
VOLUME VIII.
Part II., Mav, 1881, to October, 1881.
T»E CENTURY CO. NEW YORK,
, by Thr Cknti-rv Co.
I^HHbs oi* FkANtis Hart & Co
SI. NICHOLAS
\C)LLMli \111.
PART II.
Six Months — May, 1881, to October, 1881.
CONTENTS OF PART li., VOLUME VIII.
TACK.
A UiiY ON niF. ri-\CK. (lUustraleil by H. McVickar) HtUne J. Hicks ySo
Abraham Lincoln's Spf-Eoh at LIkitysuuri.".. Copy in fac-simile 886
A Uri'WN-Stipy. Poem. (lUustralcd by Jessie McUermott) MargartI Johnson 843
APVE.NTI'RES OF CoCQl'F.UCor. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Susan Fenimore Cooper 942
AuASSiz Association. The (Illustrated) 572, 654, 734, 814, 892, 972
AUCF. IN WoNDERHND. Verses. (Illustrated) Mary Mafxs Do<lge 875
" .\ Little Old Woman of Dorking." Jingle. (Illustrated) Annie //unlinglon 675
.\MBlTlois Colt. The Picture, dra«-n by Frani Be/le-,v 870
.•\NGORA Cat. The True .\dvenlures of an (Illustrated). . . .Anna T. KanJall-Diehl .... 749
.\N Introduction. Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 660
.\giARlUM. How to Stock .ind Keep a Fresh-water (Illustrated liy the .Author). Z?a»;V/ C. Beard 696
Aramantha Mehitabk.l Hrown. Vcr.^<•s. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 822
.\RT AND .\rtists. Stories of (Illustrated) . . . Clara Erskine Clement 554
676, 947
.V Steelf.s. The (Illustrateti by V. Nchligl Sarah J. Prichard 577
Babel. Verses. (Illnstr.ilnl by Jessie McDermott) Rosa Graham 512
Bad Bird. The Story of a (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Da-^'id D. Lloyd 665
Bob's Question. Picture. Drawn by WinsUrw Homer 664
Boxnv Blue Bowl. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 843
BooMEi-) Bov. The (Illustrateil by L. Hopkins) \Vm. IV. A'euiton 846
Bottomless Bi.\ck Pond. The (Illustrated by \V. L. Sheppard) John Lnvees 502
Bov on the Pl.\ce. .\ (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Helene J. Hicks 780
Boy who Played Truant. The (Illustrated by .\lfred Brennan) Alice Williams Brotherton. . 956
Brown-Study. .\ Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Mary Mapes Dodge 737
Builders by the Sea. Verses. (Illustrated by C. .V. Northam) W. T. Peters 779
Butterfues. Poem Susan Hartley Swett 606
Camps, dame. .-Adapted by G. B. Bartlelt 747
" Candy is not good for Children." Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 596
Captain Sarah B.\tes. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson and H. P. Share). CAjr/« Barnard 670
Castle of Uim. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 899
Catapult Snake. The (lUostrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Cro/ton 723
Cathie's Story Anna Boynton Averill . 770
Cham. Poem. (Illustrate<l by Alfred Brennan) Eva L. Ogden 766, 813
Chapter on .Soap-Bubbles. .\ ( Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 524
Children's Artist. The (Illustrated) J. L 607
Crow's Xest. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 936
Curious Trap. A (Illustrated by James C. Beard) C. F. Holder 857
" Cut Behind ! " Picture. Drawn by C. Wea-.er 718
Dame To \d. Verses. (Illustrated by H. L. Stephens) Fleta Forrester 807
Dandelion. The Verses Mary X. Preseott 567
Day L'.nder-crousd. A ( Illustrate<l) . David Ker 663
Decorativf- Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) 687
Dengrem^int. Eugenio Mauricio (With portrait) Mrs. John P. Morgan 720
Do<;Ij)St! Verses. (Illustrated by I- Hopkins) S. K. Bourne 719
Dora and her Kitten. Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 523
Dorothy's Ridf_ (Illustrated by V. Nchlig) Mrs. C. E. Cheney 848
Dragon-fly's Benefit. The Verses. (Illustrated by I- Hopkins) Helm K. SpoffonI 844
CONTENTS.
DucKV IlAnDLFS. ( llluslralcd by 1 1. L. Sicplicns) .lJ<Uii F. Mon . 858
Elk AND TIIK Sl'iriKR. The I'oc-in. (Illustralc-d by ^lr^. M. Kicliardson) . . .j1/<jn' J/o/Vj /)«<fr .753
Enchantmknt. Vcrsi-s. lHlustralcd) Margaret I'aniiegriji . 589
EiCENlo Mairicio Dkncrkmont. (Illustrated) Mrs. John P. Murgaii 720
FaIRIKS. I'oeiii Hannah H. Hudson 725
Fl^T-HOATlNc; FOR UoYS. ( Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Bean! . .. 773
Fly-wiieki- Under a (Illuslraled by V. Nehlig). . Henry Clrmens Pearson 744
FoirNni.isr.. A Strange (Illustrated by the Author) . Frank Kellr-.o 784
FoiNTAiN IN TllK I'ark. The Picture. Drawn by /'./■'. Hunner 606
KoiiRTH OF July at Tom ELLiorr's Housk. Verses Sarah J. Burke 660
Fourth of July Night. Picture. Drawn by ■iJJie LtJyard 710
Frf.NCII PlF.CK FOR TRANSLATION. (Illustrated by " Sphinx ") F. M. F. 704
Frog's Tka-party. The Verses. (Illustrated by II. McVickar) 616
From Sandy Hook to the Light-ship. (Illustrated by i;r.-inville Perkins ).yo//» V. Sears 738
UlANT PiCTLRE-BoOK. The Tableaux-vivanls G. B. Bartlell 645
(jooD Little Girl AND the Cold Little Boy. The Jingles. (Illustrated).-/. A". C" 850
Great-grand.mother. My (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Emily HunlingUm Miller 507
Grindstone. On a (Illustrated by V. N'ehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson 519
Gl'LF-stream. Waifs from the (Illustrated) Fred. .i. Ober. 549
Head-dresses ok Animai.s. (Illustrated by the .\uthor) Spliinx 566
How Bobby's Velocipede Ran Away //. IV. Blake 657
How Miss Jenkins " Got Out of It " .Mary C. Barileii . 751
How Peggy AND Johnny Illustrated A Tablkal-vivant. (Illustrated) S61
How Polly went to the .May-Par iy Mary Bradley 546
How Shocking! Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Mary Mapes Dodge 585
How to be Taken Care of Susan Anna Brmun 941
How to Make a Net without a Needle. (Illustrated by the .-Vuthor). Henry IV. Trvy 726
How TO Make Dolij> of Corn-husks and Flowers. (Illustrated) 828
How Tom W.\i.len Went .\boaki). (Illustrated by Rufus K. Zogbaum). . . Frank K. Sloeklon S23
How to Stock and Keep a Fresh-water .\quakiu.m. (Illustrated) Daniel C. Beard 696
How we Belled the R.\t, and wh.at Came of It. (Illustrated bv > , ■ „/ ^i
' ^ - \Ltzzte W. Lhampnev 793
J. Wells Champney ) )
Hyrax. Master (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Henrietta H. Jlotdieh 873
In Nature's Wonderl.\nd. (Illustrated by Hermann P'alwr) Felix L. Osivald 53S
621, 712, 7S6, 853, 920
Introduction. .\.n Picture drawn by Addie Ledyard 660
Italian Fisher-boy Mending his Nets. .\n Picture. Drawn by E. M. S. Seannell 645
" I W(jNDERED WHAT .MADE RoBiN SAD." Poem George iVeiuell Lovejoy . . . 523
Jingles 501, 545, 675, 746, 850, 909, 924
John. Verses S. .\/. Cluiiji,/,/ . 526
June Day. .\ Poem James Russell Jjni<ell 634
King AND THE ClX)WN. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox . 552
Kite, and What hung therefrom. The Tail of a Sop/iie Swell. ... 932
Knitting Song. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Joksison 960
Lazy F'aRM-bov. The (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Mrs. .Annie Fields 920
Leaves at Play. The Poem. (Illustrated) D. C. Hasbrouek 031
Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg. (In fac-simile) Abraham Lineoln. . . SS6
Little Assunta. Poem. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Celia Thaxter 897
Little Dora's Soliixjquv. Verses Bonnie Doon 860
Little Lass who Wore a Shaker Bonnet. Jingle. (Illustrated) Margaret Johnson . . 909
Little .Maid Margery. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson . 785
Little Miss .Mufket and her Spider .Sophie S-.vetl 817
Little Rob and his Letter-bu>cks. Picture, drawn by .S. G. MeCuteheon 725
Living Lanterns. (Illuslmted by James C. Beard) .C. F. Holder 910
Lost Stopper. The ( Illustrated) Paul Fort 582
Major's Itii;-rAi.K .Stories. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Cro/toH .. . 722
M ARCH and DK Coco. I.c (Illustratetl by Sphinx) F. M. E 704
CONTENTS.
M VKK, TIIK DwARK. ( Illvislrntcd by K. H. Ucnscll) . ./>/. D. Birney 764
M 4RV Jank. Ver>cs. ( lllu-tmtett by Mary Wyman Wallace) Margaret Vandtgrifl 852
M \RV, (Ji'KKN OK Scots. Part II Mrs. Olifhanl 514
M vsTKR llYRAX. ( lllustratftl by I.. Hopkins) Uttiriella H. Holdich 873
Mastiff AND HIS Mastkr. The ( Illustration by Gustave Dor<) Susan Coolittge 586
M vv-l-AKTV. Hi)w I'olly Went to the Mary liradley 546
May. The .Shining; Days of I'ocm Liuy M. Blinn 534
.Mll.KWF.Kr> Pl^AYTHlNi-.s. ( Illu>trat»l) Emma M. Davis 743
.Mlsif.st>F.RSTANDIN(;. A (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Crofhrn 722
.M01.1.V Mocc, A.NP l-iCY Lkk. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Mrs. li. T. Corbett 711
MoN ril OF RosKS. The Picture 633
.My .VIST's Sqiirrki-s Elizabeth Stoddard 686
Mv Grf.at-Gra.>«DMOTHKR. (Illustrated by K. H. Lungren) Emily //iinlinglon Mi/ler. 507
.Narcissus. The Story of (Illustrated by K. 11. Lungren) Anna M. I'ratt 924
.Net wiTHoi-T A .Needu:. To .Make a (Illustrated by the .\uthor) Jlenry IV. Tray 726
Not I n V 1 1'EI>. I'ieture, drawn by Ereilenck Dielman 959
" Oh, .Mamma ! Ki ity 's awfilly fond of Buttkr ! " Picture, drawn by , , .Iddie Ledyard 523
Ou> Woman of Dorkino. .•V Little Jingle. (Illustrated) Annie Hiinltnglon 675
On a Grindstone. ( Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Uenry Clemens Pearson 519
Ostrich-farmixc. (Illustrated) Ernest higersoll . 591
0\vt. AND THE Si'iDER. The Verses. (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill). . . .Frank //. Stauffer 792
Peacock. The Prince of the Birds. (Illustrated) Ernest Ingtrsoll 535
Pr.ASE-PoRRiDCE CoLD. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Sophie Swell 608
Perpetial- .Motion James. (Illustrated by Frank Beard) John Tnnvbridge 861
Ph.veton Roc.ers. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Rossiter Johnson 526
596, 688, 754, 834, 913
Pippo's R.\NSOM. (Illustrated by E. M. S. Scannell) Florence Seannelt 498
Ple.\sant Child. .\ Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Isabel Francis Bellows 946
Pri.nce of the Birds. The (Illustrated) Ernest Ingersoll 535
Procd Prince Cha.m. Poem. (Illustrated by .Alfred Brcnnan) Eva L. Ogden 766, 813
Quiet Time for .-\ll Concerned. .\ Picture, dr.iwn by J. Wells Champney 615
Race and the Rescue. The (Illustrated by \V. T. Snuedley) Charles Barnard 872
Rat's Happv Drea.m. The Picture. Drawn by Palmer Cox 534
Richter. Ludwig (With portrait) J. L 607
•' Rock-a-bye, Baby! " Poem. (Illustrated by .Mfred Brennan) M. E. Wilkins 668
Royal Stag. The ( Illustrated) Olive Thome Miller 510
Russian Harvest -Scene. .\ Picture 748
Sad Littu! Lass. Tlie Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 833
St. Francis of .\ssisi Ella F. Afosby 851
St. Nicholas Treasure-bo.x of Literature. IIk- 334, 796, 864
.■\ June Day fames Russell Lowell 634
President Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg . . .Ibraham Lincoln 635, 8X6
The Blue and the Gray /•. AL Finch 635
The Three Fishers Charles Kingsley 796
The Sex ( Illustrated). Barry Cornwall 796
Golden Tressed .Vdclaide Barry CortmHtll ... 797
.\ Farewell . Charles Kingsley 797
Herv>.- Riel. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch* Robert Braitming 864
The Cry of the Children . Elizabeth Barrett Brmvning 867
Saltii.U) Bf)YS. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) William O. Stoddanl 559
^36. 705. 798, 876, 961
Sandy Hook to the Li>;HT-ship. From (Illustrated by (Iranville Perkins) John /'. Sears 738
Shining Days OK May. The Poem Lucy M. Blinn 534
SlSTF-R .Months. The Poem Lucy Larcom . . 497
Slumber Song. Poem Celia Thaxter 749
SoAP-uuBBLFS. A Chapter on (Illustrated by the .Author) Daniel C. Beani 524
SOMFDAV. Verso . Xora Perry 506
CONTENTS.
Sosr. OK TIIK t'oRN. The I'ocm. (Illustrated by Roger Kiorclan) Grace /*. Thomas S71
Som: (IF THE 1-AIKlKS. The Poem. (Illustrated) Rohtrl Huluirdson 827
SqI'IKKEL^. My Aunt's EUiabclh Stoddard 6S0
Stak-sI'anclku Uannkr. 'Pic (llluslrated by J. IC. Kelly) 727
SniRiEs iiK Art and Ariists. (Illustr.iicd) C. E. Clement . . . . 554, 676, 947
Story ol-- A HaL) ItlRi). The (llluslrated by L. Hopkins) David D. LloyJ 665
Storv UK Narltssi;s. The (llluslrated by V. II. l.ungren) Anna M. J'ratt 924
Stury (ii- the Three Sons. The Elizohelh Cumings S31
Stra.vc.e Fou.ndu.ng. a (Illustrated by the .Author) Frank Bellew 784
" StRAWUERRIES ! Ripe Strawderries ! '' Verses Bessie Jlill 632
Tail of a Khe, a.sd what hixo therefrom. The Sophie Swett 932
Tessa, the Little Ora.n'ge-oiru (Illustrated by E. M. S. Scannell) Mrs. Fanny Banmu 869
" There was an old Woman who lived by the Sea." Jingle. (Illustrated) 746
"There was a S.mall Servant called Kate." Jingle. (Illustrated) R. 11. Mailer 545
T1.MID DUGONG. The Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Robert S. TaUotI 932
Too Hot to be a Temptation. Picture . . 519
Tr.\P. a Curious ( Illustrated by James C Beard) C. F. Holder 857
Trapper Joe Mary Mapes Dodge 921
Tl'NEFUL Old Woman. The Jingle. (Illustrated) E. L. Sylvester 746
Under a Fly-wheel, (Illustrated by V. Xehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson .... 744
Under-ground. A Day (Illustrated) David Ker 663
Up George H. Hebard 661
" Up the Road and Dow.n the Road." Jingle. (Illustratetl) Margaret Johnson 924
Velocipede Ran Away. How Bobby's //. ;/'. Blake 657
Was Kitty Cured ? (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Mary Graham 629
What " St. Nicholas "Did Mrs. E. J. Partridge 957
What the Birds Say. Poem. (Illustrated) Caroline A. Mason 582
" Who are Yoi; ? " Picture. I )ra\vii by H. P. Share 703
Ve Joyful Owu Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 501
DKPAKTMKNTS.
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated).
" April Showers bring .May Flowers " — Poor Fritz — Butlonmolil Mound — The Cat-birds are Coming — Bird
Mimicry — .\ Little Soldier-girl — Deep-sea Wonders (Illustrated), 570 ; The Boys' and (iirls' (Iwn Month — \
Cataract that Rushes Up the River — Christmas at Midsummer — Where "Cat " and " Puss" Came from — Jack
Asks Some Questions — Jack's Prize Bird, 650; Jack's Say — Two Brave Little Girls — The Toes of Cats — A
Hen-gossip and Other Hens — .St. Cuthbert's Beads — Wonderful (Jlass-mending — How S<ime Swallows Treate<l
a Lie-abed — \ Suspension-bridge of .\nts — .A Queer Foster-mother (Illustrated), 730; "Tread Lightly" — The
Crippling Brook — Do Vou Believe it? — A Singing .Mouse — Dolly's Omelet — Wcither Wisdom — Chinese
Skill in Metal-work — Spiders as Servants — Living Pitchers (Illustrated) — A Motherly Rooster, 810: Coming
Back to School — .Movement-songs — .A Different View Concerning .\nts — Our Children's Lyes — .\ Fish that
is its Own -Market-basket (Illustrated) — Horses Weiring Spcct.icles, 890; Sumac-and- Maple Month — Shadow-
tails — On the Tree-path — .\ (Jueer Tongue — Ilickory-nuls and Hickory-nuts — The Lizard's Gloves — The
Nut-hatch — A Submarine " Fire-fly "(Illustrated), 970.
For Very LirrLE Folk (Illusiraied).
Little Totote ; Eddy's Balloon. 50S— Kale and Joe, 648— The Five Cats, 728 — Stephen and the Wil.l Bird.
808 — Carlo, Jane, and Me, 888 — Roy's Visit; Ponto's Visit, 968.
The Letter-box (Illustrated) 572, 652, 732, S12, S92, 972
The RiDiiiE-iiox (llluslrated) 575. <^55. 735. J>i5. 895, 975
Frontispieces. — On the Way to JOtl'NHEim, facing title-page of volume — Just Before the .Summer, fucing
|)age 497 — "Mustering .Ml his Strength, .\ndy Plunged into the Flood," 577 — The Star-spangled Banner,
657 — .\ Brown-study, 737 — Heart's liase, 817.
JUST BEFORE THE SUMMER,
sr. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII.
MAY, i88i
No. 7.
(Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.)
Tin-: .sisti-:r months.
Hv Lri:Y Larcom.
^\■HF.^■ April steps .Tsiclc for May,
Like di.imonds .ill the rain-drops glisten ;
Fresh violets open every day ;
To sonic new bird each hour we listen.
Nor docs May claim the whole of spring ;
She leaves to April blossoms tender.
That closely to the warm turf cling,
Or swing from tree-boughs, high and slender.
The children with the streamlets sing.
When April stops at last her weeping :
And every happy growing thing
Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.
And May-flowers bloom before May comes
To cheer, a little, April's sadness ;
The peach-biifl glows, the wild bee hums.
And wind-flowers wave in graceful gladness.
Yet .•\pril waters, year b\ year,
For laggard May her thirsty flowers:
And May, in gold of sunbeams clear.
Pays April for her silvery showers.
They are two sisters, side by side
Sharing the changes of the weather,
Playing at pretty seek-and-hide —
So far apart, so close together !
All flowers of spring are not .May's ow n ;
The crocus can not often kiss her ;
The snow-drop, ere she comes, has flown :
The earliest violets always miss her.
.\pril and May one moment meet, —
But farewell sighs their greetings smother ;
.And breezes tell, and birds repeat
How May and April love each other.
Vol. vim. —32.
498
PIPPO S RANSOM.
[Mav,
IMIM'OS RANSOM.
!iV I'l.ORKN'CE SCAXNKI.I
"Now, SIT Still, Nina mia, and turn your head
a little more this way, so — that will do."
■• Hul, Pippo, I want to sec you draw."
" Impossible, little one; you shall sec it directly.
Ah I if only 1 had one of Padre Stefano's nice, clean,
white sheets of paper, it would be as good as the
wall of the stable, ch, Nina! "
"But wont Father be angry when he sees the
great black cow you have drawn on the stable-wall,
Pippo ? I expected to sec her turn her head and
look ;it me when I went in. And then Mother's
face on the plate on which you had your sweet-
meats! 1 have not w.Tshcd it off yet."
The speaker was a dark-haired little girl, with a
brown face, and large dark eyes, which she fixed
in tender admiration on the young artist, a boy
of about ten years, with thick, fair hair, and a
bright, intelligent countenance, who lay stretched
on the grass, and drew, on a carefully chosen white
stone, with a piece of burnt stick, the portrait of his
pet sister as she sat before him.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains, the
great dome of the Cathedral of Florence was begin-
ning to look dark against the clear blue sky, and
the children were thinking of driving the sheep they
had been sent out to watch toward the little farm
where they lived, when dash ! — rush ! — into their
peaceful little retreat burst a crowd of wild, dark-
looking men, with fierce black eyes, and rough
beards and hair. The leader called out:
" Ha, excellent ! Some fine fat sheep, and only
two small children to guard them. Don't let them
run off and give the alarm, now, Giacomo."
Little Nina's bright color faded from her checks,
.and her eyes dil.atcd with terror, as she flung her
spindle to the ground and flew to her brother, hid-
ing her face in his sheep-skin jacket, while he, tears
springing to his eyes, implored the brigands (for
such they were) to take pity on them, and leave
their sheep.
" Father will beat us both, and Mother will cry,
oh, so much ! Please, good brigands "
"Hold your tongue, you little fool, or 1 will give
you a worse beating than ever you had before." said
Giacomo, who, in obedience to the order of his
captain, held the two poor children firmly with his
strong hands.
" Now, then, let us be off, quick ! " said the
captain to his men, who had been tying the shecps'
legs together, and h.id slung them on their backs.
"Ah. well, I know your faces now, and 1 shall
describe them to my father, .and then wc shall sec
if wc can't find you, you rascals!" cried Pippo,
stamping his feet in impotent rage.
'• \'cry well, young Spit-fire; you shall come
.along with us, and so )ou wont be parted from
your precious sheep," said the captain, with a
laugh. "The boy has a spirit of his own ; he is
worthy of becoming one of us, so pack him up,
Giacomo, and make him hold his tongue, or he
will have some one upon us."
At this, Nina burst into a passion of sobs:
"C)h, good sirs, leave him ; oh, don't take Pippo!
1 will give you my little goUl cross, m\' car-rings,
anything, only leave me my brother; it will break
Mamma's heart, and Father will have no one to
help him in the fields; oh, do listen to me ! "
"Thank you for the cross, little one, and the
car-rings too, since they arc gold. .And now,
good-bye; don't cry your pretty eyes quite out ; .as
for Pippo, he goes with us ; and you may thank
your stars we don't take you too, but you would
be in the way, pretty one ! "
So saying, the robbers started off with their
booty, regardless of the prayers and struggles of
little Pippo. But he was blindfolded, and was soon
quieted by the co.arse threats of the rufiians, who
journeyed swiftly through the country. They hid
themselves behind trees and rocks whenever a
sound w.as heard ; this, howe\'cr, happened but
seldom, as they kept awa\' from the roads and an\
houses or cottages near which their way led them.
.At last, they reached a large cave, the approach
to which w.Ts hidden 'oy trees .and shrubs. On
entering, a huge, burly form raised itself from the
ground, and greeted them with :
"Well, what news? 1 hope you have brought
something for supper; the fire is lighted, but I have
nothing better than chestnuts to cook. Hallo ! a
boy ! and a ver\' pretty one, too ; but by his clothes,
I should say not a priiicipino [j-oung prince] nor a
miirclusino [young marquis], therefore not much
of :i ransom to be had for him, eh, Capitano .' "
" Well, who knows, Bonifaccio? Some of these
coiitaiUni [peasants] have plenty of money, and,
besides, he seems a bold little lad, and may prove
useful to us. However, just now we arc all star\-
ing, so let us have some supper. You see, wc
have something else besides the boy."
The brigands all busied themselves in preparing
the meal, and ere long a joint of one of p(x>r Pip-
|X)'s sheep w.as smoking on the table, flanked with a
PIPPO S RANSOM.
499
huge bowl of chestnuts, scviral flasks o( wine, and
two or three loaves of brown-lookinj; bread. Honi-
faccio, who looked somewhat less rough and fierce
than the rest of the tr»)0|>, made room for Pippo
beside him on the rude wooden Ix-ncli, and pressed
him to eat. Um the poor little fellow's heart was
loo full, and thi>ugh he struggled bravely to keep
back his tears, yet there was an uncomfortable
feeling in his throat that took .iway all his .ippetite,
p;irticularly when he thought of his home, with the
kind, ;4entle mother, the dear little sister, and his
f.uhiT, wlio, .illhoiiv'li sipiiietimes nither ri>ui,'li and
fatigue, the tears hanging on his long lashes, and
his pretty curls lying in a yellow tangle on his un-
comfortable pillow.
Little Nina, left alone after the departure of the
brigands who carried off her brother, threw herself
in despair on the ground, sobbing bitterly, but the
darkness, at last, made her think .of home, and
accordingly, she set off, running. Meeting her
mother, who had conic to the door of their little
farm-house, wondering and anxious because the
children h.id not returned. Nina burst forth with
an account of wh.u had befallen them, hul in such
"1^
PIPPO DRAWING HIS SISTKR S PORTRAIT.
Stem, yet loved him dearly. How distressed they
would be at his having been carried off!
Meanwhile, the supper continued ; the robbers,
after each draught of wine, began to talk loud
and tell wild stories of their venturesome exploits.
Then, .ifter some noisy games with a pack of cards,
they l.iid themselves down on heaps of straw, and
coveretl themselves with blankets and skins. A
huge dog was then set at the opening of the cave
to guard them while they slept, and soon they all
were snoring.
llonifaccio showed Pippo a little comer of straw
beside him, saying: "Come with me, little boy,
you shall have a bit of my blanket. It 's of no
use to look at the door ; Moro would tear you to
pieces if you should try to get past him. So, good-
night; sleep well."
Pippo, when the darkness quite hid him, quietly
sobbed himself to sleep, worn out with grief and
a state of despair and agitation, that it was some
time before the mother could succeed in under-
standing what had really happened.
Then she, also, was overcome with grief, and
rushed to the door, hoping to see her husband
returning from the town, where he had gone to sell
his whe.it. .Vt last, wheels were heard, and the
father, tired, but pleased at getting home, jumped
down with a merry shout. He was about to enter
the house, when his wife and Nina came out, weep-
ing, their faces pale ; and, as they stood wringing
their hands, they told him the dls.istrous news.
"Ah, you see, Maria," sjtld the farmer, "the
r.Tscals knew that all the men would be in town,
.IS it Is in.-»rket-day, but still, it was very daring.
My poor boy ! I 'II go back immediately to Flor-
ence, to consult the authorities, but It will l)e very
difficult to get a hearing at so kite an hour."
Not long after, the father returned, saying he
500
K A N S t ) M .
could obtain no ;issistancf till mornint;, anil cviii
then, the ofRcci to wlioni he had spoken said he
feared there \v;is not much chance of finding those
brigands, as they wire in strong force and very bold,
and were hiding sonieuhere in the mountains, where
it would be very dangerous and difficult to approach
them. They all went to bed with heavy hearts, and
it was long ere the anxious parents slept, Honderinj;
on what sort of couch their poor child was lying.
The next morning, the brigands made a hastj
meal of the remainder of their supper, and started
off, saying they expected a rich booty that day, for
the carriage of a nobleman was to come along a
road near by. and the\' intended to waylay it.
Honifaccio was left on guard, .md seemed pleased
to have a little companion.
•' Don't be down-hearted, little m.in : it 's a
very jolly life we lead, and a lad of your spirit will
inuch prefer it to tending sheep, or working in the
fields all his time."
So saying, he filled his pipe, and sat down to
smoke.
"What is this, Signor Honifaccio.'" timidly
inquired Pippo, taking up .i wooden p.ilette from
a bench by the wall. It had lain some time, for
the colors were drietl upon it.
" That is something to do with painting, my
boy, though I don't know what, ex.actly, and there
is a box with the colors and brushes, if )ou look a
little farther. Last time I went out with the band,
we caine across a tall artist, sitting in the fields,
preparing to sketch, and, as he luul no money, we
took away his box, brushes, and even his canvas,
thinking they would, at least, do for fire-wood, if
they should prove of no other use to us. He was
very angry, but he ought to have been .only too
glad that we left his skin whole and sound."
" Tell me some more of your .adventures, Signor
Bonifaccio. "
" Very well ; " and IJonifaccio proceeded to relate
how they had once found a richly dressed little boy,
of about Pippo's age, and had carried him off to
the cave, and then sent one of his little embroidered
shoes to his father, threatening to kill the child
unless a large ransom were paid, or if any attempt
were made to rescue him by force. How the ransom
was paid, and the little boy taken b.ack by Boni-
faccio, disguised as a peasant, and how happy the
mother was to have her child back again.
When he had finished the story, Pippo took hint
the canvas, on which he had, roughly, but prettj
accurately, painted the head of Bonifaccio.
" Bravo! Why, I never saw a boy so handy as
you. ^^'hy, there arc my eyes, my nose, m\'
beard, — everything complete ! Well, you ought
to be an artist, Pippo, not a farmer ! " cried Boni-
faccio, dropping his pipe in his astonishinenl, and
stroking his Ix-ard, evidently much gratified, and
looking with great adminilion at his portrait, while
Pippo's cheeks flushed with pleasure.
" Oh, what joy it wouUl be if only I could have
a box like that, and paint every day ! " exclaimed
Pippo. "Do, dear Signor Bonifaccio, let me run
home now. 1 can never be a brigand, and should
only be a useless trouble to you all."
'• Run home, indeed!" sjiid Bonifaccio, not ill-
naturedly. "Well, wait till the captain comes
home, and we shall see what can be done for you."
Piljpo described his home, and his little sister,
who had been so distressed at losing him, and had
only just finished his account, when the brigands
came trooping in, very hungry, but in excellent
spirits, throwing money on the table, to astonish
their (omrade, Bonifaccio. He, in return, showed
Pippo's work, and the captain, who, being a little
more educated than the rest, appreciated the paint-
ing still more than Bonifaccio, w.as surprised to find
so much talent in the little pc;tsant.
" You shall paint me, now, and then we shall sec
what reward you shall have,'' said he. Pippo took
pains, and succeeded in rendering the fierce black
eyes, and long, pointed mustache, to the satisfac-
tion of the noble captain, and then he begged, :is
his reward, to be allowed to return home. Boni-
faccio seconded the boy, representing to the cap-
tain the uselessness of keeping the child, and.
at liLst, the Ic.ider consented to let him go, first
making him promise solemnly not to betray their
retreat. He ordered him to be led some distance
blindfolded, so that he never could find the way
back, even if the soldiei-s should try to compel
him.
When the evening twilight had arrived, he sent
Pippo, accompanied by one of the band, and, to
his great delight, with the paint-box and palette in
his hands, down the rough mountain path. At
last they arrived .it a forest, and the brigand, tell-
ing Pippo he had but to go straight on toward the
dome of the cathedral, uncovered his eyes, said
" Addio," and left him.
Pippo trudged joyously on. thinking of the
account he would give to his ))arcnts of his time in
the cave, and of the arguments he would employ
to induce his father to let him go to I'lorencc and
study painting, .'\fter the art li.id been his ran-
som from the cave, surely his father would not
think it of no use, and a mere w,aste of time !
But night was fallen, and he no longer saw the
friendly dome. So, fearful of going still farther
from home in the darkness, and being \ery weary,
he at last crept into a large hollow tree, and, pil-
lowing his head on the treasured paint-box, fell fast
.islecp.
The sun w.is shining when he awoke, feeling
Y K J ( ) \ I- U I. < ) W I
501
vcrj- hungry. Kortiinatoly, Honifaccio had ^ivon
him some bread, so ho refreshed himself with this,
.iiid a hitle spring; water, aiul set olT in the direction
of his home. .'\t last the de.ir hon\e roof came in
si^ht, and I'ippo, shouting; in l\is joy, w.is answered
hy the bark of a do^, that came rushing toward
him. Nina followed soon, with sparkling eyes, and
iflcr her came the father and mother, scarcely able
to contain their joy. I'ippo was embraced by all
dirce at once, and even the little dog appeared lo
share in the delight, for ho kept jumping up and
frantically trying to lick his hands.
" Let him have some breakfast, poor child," said
the mother, "and after that, he ran tell us all his
adventures."
■' More, Nina, is your little cross — the captain
sent it back to you ; and Father, look here ! " cried
I'ipiJo, eagerly, showing his bo.\.
.After his breakfast, he related all his doings m
the robbers' cave, and the moans of his deliverance.
He ended, coa.xingly : "And now. Padre ////«, 1
may go to study in Florence, may 1 not ? — and
become a painter like Giotto. \'ou will see what
pictures 1 shall make; do, please, let me go."
" Well, I'ippo, my boy, 1 shall see. 1 am afraid
you are not worth much to guard the sheep, so I
shall talk to I'adro Stofano, and see if 1 can afford
it. Me.mwhilo, paint a portrait of Nina, that I
may take with me to some painter and ask his
opinion of it."
Pippo set to work, and, inspired by the hope of
gaining the long-wished consent, produced a like-
ness, which the I'lorentine artist looked at with
great interest, tinally declaring that it showed much
talent, and expressing astonishment on hearing the
youth of the painter.
"Send him to me, my friend," said he to Pip-
po's father; "you have there a genius. I shall be
delighted to guide his efforts, for I am sure he will
hereafter do me honor."
And these words came true, for this little boy
was no other than Filippo Lippi, one of the great
painters of Italy. And his ])icturcs, now more than
four hundred years old, are of priceless worth. Trav-
elers from all parts of the world go to see them.
Most of them are collected and exhibited in Flor-
ence, his native town, where he was employed for
many years by a great Duke of that time.
T^ JOYFVLOWL.
CVrCe ^K^^fsed. a K^te QreetxaWa^ Box-
"'^Will Brea-K. In rry N^W Skoes,
vni Tnx C^^'l-'^''*''"- /\m.\/J^; —
'Vnd it D'icl:-bvt Alas! for;5 Bov.
jif>yy^-^ _^V'^ ^\\V''/^
^A*^''4 /('v'^^'H >i^M|
fj^Via
502
THE BOTTOMLESS BLACK POND.
[Mav,
THI': BOTTOM Li:SS BLACK I'OXI).
liv Jdiin Lkwkks.
About half a mile from the town of Danford,
there was an extensive and beautiful piece of forest
land. Many of the trees were large and picturesque,
the ground beneath them was generally free from
unpleasant undergrowtli and bushes, and, in some
places, it was covered with moss and delicately
toloreil wild-flowers ; there were green open glades,
where the bright sunshine played fantastic tricks
with the shadows of the surrounding trees, and,
altogether, the Danford forest was a delightful
place, and any visitor, of ordinary reasoning powers,
would have supposed it to be a favorite resort of the
towns-people.
But it wiis not ; very few persons, excepting now
and then some boys of a disobedient turn of mind,
ever visited it. The reason for this was the fact,
that near the center of the woods there lay a large
pond, which had a bad reputation. This pond was
so large, that in some parts of the country, where
such bodies of water are not common, it would have
been called a lake.
In ordinary cases, the presence of such a sheet
of water would have greatly added to the attrac-
tions of the place, but this pond exercised an
influence which overbalanced all the attractive
beauties of the woods, and made it a lonely and
deserted spot.
The reason of this was the peculiar reputation of
the Black Pond. A great many strange things
were said about it. Its color was enough to mystify
some people, and terrify others, for it was as black
as ink. Persons who had stood upon its edge and
had looked down upon it, and over its wide ex-
panse, were unable to see an inch below the surface
of the water, which, instead of being in the least
transparent, appeared, when there was no wind,
like one of those dark-colored mirrors called
•' Claude Lorraine gl.isses," in which a whole land-
scape is reflected like a little living picture, with all
its proportions, its perspective, and its colors, per-
fectly [jrescrvcd.
It might have been supposed that this lake would
have presented an attractive picture, on bright days,
when the sky, the clouds, and the overhanging
foliage were reflected in its smooth and polished
surface ; but water which is .is black as ink is not
the kind of water that people generally like to
look at. There are ordinar) ponds and lakes and
rivers, in which the sky, clouds, and trees are re-
flected, in a way that is good enough for anybody.
But although it was, in color, such a blot upon
the beauty of the Uanford woods, the blackness of
this pond w.is not the greatest objection to it. The
most dreadful thing about it w.as that it had no
bottom ! There is something truly terrifying in the
idea of a body of water that is bottomless. There
are persons who would feel much safer in sailing
over those portions of the ocean which have been
proved to be five or six miles deep, than over the
vast expanses of rolling billows, where bottom has
never been found.
And it was well known that bottom had never
been found in the Bl.ack I'ond. Sons had heard
this from their fathers, and fathers from their
fathers, for Danford was an old town, and the
Black Pond had always been the same, as far back
.IS the local history and traditions went.
For a long time no attempts at sounding, or
examining, in any way, the waters of the pond had
been made. Any undertaking of the kind would
have been too dangerous. There was no boat on
the pond, and it was not easy to carry one there,
and if persons wished to go out in the middle of the
IJond to make soundings, a raft would have to be
l5uilt, and the consequences to any one falling off
this would be too terrible to contemplate. Even
the best swimmer would fear to lind himself in
Hater where he would probably become cramped
and sink, and be sucked down, and down, and
down, nobody knows where.
In winter, when the pond w,-is frozen over, and
so might have offered a temptation to the skating
boys of the town, — for there are boys who think
that any kind of water is safe, if it is covered with
ice, — the parents and guardians of Danford so
sternly forbade any venturing on the surface of
that dangerous pond, that no owner of skates ever
dared to try them on the dark ice which covered a
still darker mystery beneath.
In fact, those boys who had ever ventured to the
edge of the pond, in winter or summer, had gener-
ally been fellows, as has been intimatetl before,
who had been told never to go near it.
.•\nd so it happened that the presence of this
dismal piece of water m.ide people unwilling that
their children should go into the woods, for lear
that they might wander to the pond. And, as they
did not wish to do themselves what they had for-
bidden to their children, they took their own rural
walks in other directions, and the woods, thus get-
ting a bad naine throughout that country, grad-
ually Ijccame quite lonely and deserted.
issi.)
THE BOTTOMLESS BLACK POND.
503
At the time of our storj-, there lived in the town
of Uanford, a ntnn named Curtis Ulake, who was
well known on account ot a peculiar personal char-
acteristic. He had no arms. He had been a sol-
dier, and had lost then* both in battle.
Curtis w.is a stronjj, wcll-n).ule man, and ;is he
had a very i;iK)d pair of lej^s left to him after the
misfortunes of war, he used them in going errands
and in doing anything by which walking could be
made usi-ful and protitable. But, as there was not
much employment of this kind to be had, he fre-
quently found himself with a great deal of time —
not on his hands exactly — but which he could not
•idvantageously employ. Consequently he used to
ramble about a good deal in a purposeless sort of
way, and, one summer afternoon, he rambled into
the Uanford woods.
He found it very cool and ple.asant here, and he
could not help thinking what a pity it w.as that the
towns-people could not make a resort of these
woods, which were so convenient to the town and
s«i delightful, in every way. But, of course, he
knew that it would never do for families, or for any
one, in f.ict, to frequent the vicinity of such a dan-
gerous piece of water as the Black Pond.
And. thinking of the Black Pond, he walked on
until he came to it and stood upon its edge, gazing
thoughtfully out upon its smooth and somber
surface.
'• If I h.-id arms," said Curtis to himself, '" 1 'd
go' to work and find out just how deep this pond is.
I 'd have a boat carted over from Stevens' Inlet —
it 's only four or five miles — and I 'd row out into
the middle of the pond with all the clothes-line I
could buy or borrow in the town, and 1 'd let down
a good heavy lead, that would n't be pulled about
by currents. I 'd fasten on line after line, and I think
there would certainly be enough rope in the whole
town to reach to the bottom. But, having no
arms. I could n't lower a line even if I had a boat.
So I can't do it, and 1 'm not going to .idvisc any
other folks to try it, for ten to one they 'd get
excited and tumble overboard, and there would be
an end of them, and I 'd get the blame of it. But
1 'd like to know, anyway, how soon the bottom
begins to shelve down steep. If we knew that, wc
could tell if there 'd be any danger to a little co<l-
ger, who might tumble in from the shore. And if
it does shelve sudden, the town ought to put up a
high fence all around it. I 've a mind to try how
deep it is, near shore."
If Curtis had Le.'T like other men, he would have
cut a long p<ile. and tried the depth of the pond, a
short distance from land. But he could not do
that, and there was only one way in which he could
carry out his plan, and that he determined to tr)-.
He would carefully wade in, and feel with his feet
for the place where the bottom began to shelve
down. This w.is a rash and bold proceeding, but
Curtis was a bold fellow and not very prudent, and
he had become very much interested in finding out
something about the bottom of this pond. It was
not often, now, that he had anything tt> interest
him.
He wore high boots, in which he had often
waded, and his clothes were thin linen, of not very
good quality, so that if they became blackened by
the water, it would not much matter. As for tak-
ing cold, when he came out, Curtis never thought
of that. He was a tough fellow, and could soon
dry himself in the sun.
Having made up his mind, he did not further
delay, but stepped cautiously into the water. Even
near the shore, he could not see the bottom, and
he moved very slowly out, feeling his way carefully
with one foot before he made a step. He did not
expect that the bottom would begin to descend
rapidly, very near the shore, but as he got out, ten
or fifteen feet from land, and found the water was
considerably above his knees, he began to take
still greater precautions. He advanced sidcwise,
standing on one foot and stretching the other
one out, as far as he could, to make sure that he
was not on the edge of an unseen precipice. In
this way he went slowly on and on, the water get-
ting deeper and deeper, until it was up to his waist.
He now felt a slight rise in the bottom before him.
This made him very cautious, for he knew that
where there was a great opening down into the
bowels of the earth, there was, almost always, a
low mound thrown up around it, and this mound
he had probably reached. It sloped up very gently
on the side where he was, but on the other side it
might go down, almost perpendicularly.
So no man ever moved more slowly through the
water than did Curtis now. A few inches at a time,
still feeling before him with one foot, he went cau-
tiously on. He was very much excited, and even a
little afraid that he might unaware reach the edge
of the precipice, or that the ground might suddenly
crumble beneath him. He had not intended to
venture in so far. But he did not turn back. He
must go a little farther. He had almost reached
the edge of the great mystery of the Bl.ick Pond !
But he had not reached it yet. The ground on
which he stood still rose, although by slow degrees,
so that he was really higher out of water than he
had tjcen, ten minutes before.
Suddenly, he looked up from the water, down on
which he had been gazing as if he had expected to
see some deeper blackness beneath its black sur-
face, and glanced in front of him. Then he turned
and looked behind him. Then he stood still, and
gave a great shout.
504
THE BOTTOMLESS ULACK POND.
The shout echoed from the surrounding woods;
the birds and the insects, and the rabbits, which
flew, and hummed, and jumped about so freely in
those sohtudes, must have been amazed ! Such a
shout had not been heard near tlie Black Pond in
the memory of any living thing.
It was repeated again and again, and it w.as a
shout of laughter !
No wonder Curtis laughed. He was a good deal
more than half way across the pond! Me had
walked right over the place wliere that mysterious
depth was supposed to be, and the water had not
reached his shoulders. The gradual rise in the
bottom, which he supposed to be a mound, w.as
the rise toward the opposite shore !
When Ciirtis Blake had finished laughing, he
pushed through the water as fast as he could go,- —
he almost ran, — and in a very few minutes he stood
on the bank, at the other side of the pond. He
turned and looked b.ick over the water. He had
crossed over the very middle of the pond !
Then he laughed and laughed again, forgetting
his wet clothes, forgetting everything but the fact
that he, without ropes or leads or boat or raft, or
even arms, had found the bottom of this dreaded
piece of water, that he had actually put his foot
upon the great mystery of the Black Pond !
When his merriment and delight began to quiet
down a little, he waded into the water again, at a
different point from that where he came out, and
crossed the pond in another direction, this time
walking freely, and as rapidly as he could go.
Then he ran in again, and walked about, near the
middle. In no place w.as it much above his waist.
When Curtis was fully convinced that this was
the case, and that he had walked pretty nearly all
over the bottom of Black Pond, — at least, that part
of the bottom where the water was the deepest, —
he came out and went back to the town.
Curtis met no one as he hurried along the road
from the woods, but as soon as he reached the
town he went into a large store, where he was well
acquainted. There were a good many people
there, wailing for the afternoon mail, for, at one
end of the store was the post-office.
" Why, Curtis Blake !" exclaimed a man, as he
entered. " You look :ls if you had been half
drowned."
"I ought to look that way," said Curtis, "for
I 'vc been to the bottom of the Black Pond."
No one made any response to this astounding
assertion. The people just stood, and looked at
one another. Then Mr. Faulkner, the owner of
the store, exclaimed :
"Curtis, I am ashamed of you! You must be
lipsy."
" No man ever saw me tipsy," said Curtis, with-
out getting in the least angry. He had expected
to astonish people, and make them say strange
things.
"Then you are cr;izy," replied Mr. Faulkner,
"for no man could go to the bottom of Bl.ack
Pond, and come back alive."
"There is n't any bottom !" cried one of the
little crowd. "How could he go to the bottom
when Llierc is no bottom there ? ''
This made the people laugh, but Curtis still
persisted that what he had told them w.is entirely
correct. Not a soul, however, believed him. and
exerybody began to tr\ to prove to him, or to the
rest, that what he h.ad said could not possibly Ijc
true, and that it was all stuff and nonsense. There
was so much interest in the discussion, that no one
thought of going to see if any letters had come
for him. There could be no more exciting news
in any letter or newspaper than that a man avowed
he had gone to the bottom of Black Pond.
"Well," s.aid Curtis, at last, " these clothes .ire
getting to feel unpleasant, now that I 'm out of the
sun, and 1 don't want to stay here any longer to
talk about this thing. But I 'II tell you all, and
you can tell anybody you choose, that to-morrow
morning, at nine o'clock, I 'm going again to the
bottom of Black Pond, and any one who h.as a mind
to, can come and see me do it."
And, with these words, he walked olT.
There was a great deal of talk that evening in
Danford about Curtis Blake's strange statement,
and about what he had said he would do the next
day. Most pei-sons thought that he intended sonic
hoax or practical joke ; for a man without arms,
and who, therefore, could not swim, could not go
to the bottom of an ordinary river and expect to
come back again alive. Of course, anybody could
go to the bottom and stay there. There w.as ccr-
tauily some trick about it. Curtis w.-is known to be
fond of a joke. But whatever people thought on
the subject, and there were a good many different
opinions, every man and boy, who could manage
to do it, made up his mind to go, the next day, at
nine o'clock, and see what Curtis lilake intended
to do at Bl.ack Pond. Kven if it should turn out
to be all a hoax, this would be a good opportunity
to \isit the famous pond, for, with so many people
about, there could not be much danger. Quite a
crowd of interested towns-folk .issemblcd on the
shore of the Black Pond, the next day, and Curtis
did not disappoint them.
About nine o'clock he walked in among them,
wearing the same boots and clothes which he had
worn the day before, and then, after looking around,
as if to sec that everybody was paying attention,
he deliberately waded into the pond.
.•\t this, everybody held his breath, but, in a
THE BOTTOM I.KSS UI.ACK PONIi
505
mumcnl, there arose calls to him to come back, ami
not make a fool of himself He had no board, no
life-presener, nor anything; with which he could
save himself, when he sliould be^in to sink. Hut
fearful ;is the people were for his safely, not one
dared to run in and pull him back.
On he went, as he h.ad none before, only walking
a good deal f.ister this time, and the people now
sto<Kl still, without speaking; a word or makinj; a
sound. Kvery minute they expected to see Curtis
disappear from their sight forever. The birds, the
insects, and the rabbits might have supposed that
there was no one about, had it not been for the
that Curtis had built a bridge under water, and
that he h.id walked on it ! As if a man, without
arms, could build a bridge, and walk on it, without
seeing it !
Curtis, however, soon put an end ti> all con-
jectures and doubts by walking over the bottom of
the p<ind, from one side to the other, in various
directions, and by wandering .ibout in the middle
in such a way as to prove to every one that there
was no mystery at all about the Black I'ond, and
that it was nothing but a wide and nearly circular
piece of water, with a good hard bottom, and w.ns
not four feet deep in any part.
swashing of the inan who was pushing through the
water.
As Curtis approached the middle of the pond,
the excitement became intense, and some men
turned pale ; but when he hurried on, and w.as seen
to get into shallower water, people began to breathe
more freely, and when he ran out on the opposite
bank there went up a great cheer.
Now all wiis hubbub and confusion. Most peo-
ple saw how the matter really was, but some
persons could not comprehend, at once, that their
long-cherished idea that the Black Pond had no
bottom, was all a myth, .and there were- incred-
ulous fellows, who were bound to have a reason
for their own way of thinking, and who asserted
The news of this discovery by Curtis Blake made
a great sensation in Danford. Some people felt
a little ashamed, for they had taken a good deal of
pride in telling their friends, when they went visit-
ing, .about the wonderful pond, near tlieir town,
which had no bottom ; but, on the whole, the
towns-people were very glad of the discovery, for
now they could freely enjoy the woods, and many
persons were astonished to find what a delightful
place it w.ns for picnics and afternoon rambles.
As if no portion of mystery should remain about
the Black Pond, even the color of its water was in-
vestijpited and explained. Some scientific gentle-
men from a city not far away, who came to Danford
about this time, and who heard the story of the
5o6
SOMEDAY.
(Mav,
pond, went out lliorc anti examined into the cause
of its inky hue. They said that it was due, like the
darkness of the water of many creeks and pools,
to the overhanf;ini; j^rowth of pine, hemlock, and
similar trees which surrounded it. They did not
explain exactly how this darkening process had
been carried on, but they said it probably took
hundreds of years to make the pond as black as it
now was, and nobody doubted that.
liut although the woods and the pond now
became a favorite summer resort with the Danford
people, it was in winter that they really enjoyed the
place the most. Then the Black Pond was frozen
over, and it made the finest skating ground in that
part of the country. And its greatest merit was its
absolute safety. Even if a small boy should break
through, — which was not likely to happen, — any
man could step in, or reach down and take him
out. The ice was generally so thick that there was
scarcely three feet of water beneath it, in the deep-
est parts.
On fine days, during the cold months, people
came out to the pond, in carriages and on fool, and
they had gay times, with their skating, and their
games on the ice. But they were hardly so gay as
the folks who could not come in the day-time, but
had to do their skating in the evening. On moon-
light nights, the pond was beautiful, but the skaters
came on dark nights, all the same, for lamp-posts
were set up in different parts of the pond (holes
were cut in the ice, and they were planted firmly
on the bottom), and thus the pond w.as made as
bright and cheerful as the merriest skater could
desire.
Among the merriest skaters was Curtis Blake,
for skating was one of the few things he could do,
and Mr. Faulkner gave him a capital pair of
skates.
But this was not all the reward he received for
solving the mjstery of the Black Pond. Sexeral
of the leading citizens, who thought that the town
owed him something for giving it such a pleasant
place of resort, consulted together on the subject,
and it was decided to make him keeper of the woods
and pond. He had a couple of old men under him,
and it was his duty to sec that the woods were kept
in order in summer, and that the pond was free
from snow and obstructions in winter.
And thus the great mystery of the Black Pond
came to an end. But there were elderly people
in the town, who never went out to the pond, and
who believed that something dreadful would hap-
pen there yet. There used to be no bottom to the
pond, they said, and they should not wonder if,
some day, it should fall out again.
" Yes," said Curtis Blake to one of these, " I
expect that will happen, — just about the time my
arins begin to grow."
SOMKD.W.
By Nora Perry.
Oh, tell me when does Someday come.
That wonderful bright day,
Where all tlie best times are put off,
.And pleasures hid away !
I know the rest of all the days
Just as they read and run;
Can say and spell them week by week,
.And count them one by one.
They bring mc, now and then, fine things.
Gay toys, and jolly play ;
But never, never such fine things
As are kept hid away
In that great wc.nder-land that lies
Forever out of sight.
Which I can never, never find
By any day or night.
But sometime, ah, I 'm very sure.
When I grow big and tall,
I '11 find the way to that Someday,
And, hidden there, find nil
The treasures I have wanted so.
And missed from day to day —
The treasures they ha\e always said
That 1 should have Someday.
MY GREAT-li RAN DMii I II KR.
M V (">R i: A r C. R A \ DM oil! I-.R.
507
r.\ I'.Mll.N HrNll\i;l(lN Mil. IKK.
11 K iK'vcr expected
me to tell you aboui
it ; in fact, she never
expected me at all.
People do not bejjin
l)y being great-grand-
nothers, though you
, '\t?l) might have thought
w ■
4^
ii-
looked very like
one, if you had
caught sight
of her in her
quaint dress,
tripping along
the wide gravel-
/■ i. J^ walk that wound
' about the spacious
^ ;.;rounds; orif youhad
^ ^een her leaving the
■^ icps of the old family
in.insion for the visit that
^ I shall tell you about. It
was Sunday morning, and,
although she was not going to church, she had
a leather-covered prayer-book folded in her hand-
kerchief in one hand. In the other was a small
basket covered with a napkin. Her name, " Meli-
cent Moore," was written in the book. She
went out anil climbed upon the tall horse-block,
and stootl there tilting about, first on one foot,
•ind then on the other, for she had not begun to
feel grandmothery, and it was hard to keep still
with the sun twinkling at her through the sweet
gum-tree, and all the birds singing their mer-
riest. Her father came out presently, and when
he w;is settled in his saddle, and her mother
on a red velvet pillion behind him, he reached out
a strong arm and lifted Melicent up in front of him.
The great horse stepped off as easily as if he con-
sidered the load not worth mentioning, and so they
rode on through the piny woods ; for this was in
\'irginia, in the go<Kl Old Colony times, when
p<;ople lived in peace, and prayed for Parliament
and King George. The sandy road was carpeted
with brown pine-needles, and everything w.as so
sweet, and warm, and spicy, that Melicent began
to chatter, but her father said gravely ;
"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the
earth keep silence before Him."
Melicent did not quite understand, but she kept
silence, and wondered — wondered why the birds
sang on Sunday, and where the Lord si. ml on
week-days, and why lie did n't like to hear little
girls talk.
By and by, they came to a shallow brook. It
was .is full of sunshine as it could hold, and carried
it right down through the woods. The ro.id
crossed it, and went on beyond it ; but at the ford
a narrow foot-path came in, leading along the bank
as if it was lonesome, and kept close to the brook
for company.
Melicent knew the path very well. She traveled
it every day to the next plantation, when she went
to lessons with her three cousins and their gov-
erness. She was going now to see Phillis, a very
old negro woman, who had been her mother's
nurse, and who insisted upon living by herself in a
little cabin out in the woods. Phillis was Ijorn in
.-Vfrica, and had been a princess in her own land,
she said, which might very likely have been true.
She loved her mistress, but she scorned the other
servants, and to the day of her death was an
obstinate old heathen at heart, recognizing the
Bible and the prayer-book, and the heaven they
taught about, as very good for white folks, but
expecting beyond a doubt to go straight to Africa
the moment her spirit should be free.
Melicent's father stopped at the ford, and put
her carefully down from her perch.
" Remember the Sabbath day, my daughter,"
said her mother, "and read to Phillis the lessons I
marked in your prayer-book."
" Yes, Mamma," said Melicent, and stood a
moment to watch the black horse step slowly into
the bright water, and put down his head to drink
right in a swirl of dancing ripples. It looked as if
the little flecks of gold were running into his
mouth, antl she laughed to herself very softly, and
then went on up the brook. Phillis's cabin stood
in a little hollow, so that you could not see it until
you suddenly found the brown roof right at your
feet, as you sometimes find a ground-bird's nest.
The cabin was so weather-beaten, and so covered
with creepers, that it looked a good deal like a nest
in the tangle.
Melicent went on watching the brook, and the
birds, and the squirrels, and thinking that, when
she should become an old woman, she, too, wmiKl
have a lovely little cabin in the woods, when, all
of a sudden, she stopped on the top of the knoll,
and looked down into the little empty hollow.
The brown nest was gr)ne as completely .as if
5o8
M \ I ; K K A T - ( ; K A M > M < > I 1 1 1 K
some ^rcat tricksy fellow liail |)icki(l it up a\h\ doubt of thai ; she could see the ashes and a
carried it off in his pocket ! few charred lo^;s, l>ut where was poor old I'hillis?
Melicenl's heart thrilled with fear and jiston- May be they had taken her away to I'nclc Hil-
ishnient. The sunshiny woods seemed awfully
lonesome, and she tried to call out. but her voice
only made a faint little
sound. She thoufjht of '
earlhc|uakes and every- ^ , _
thinj; horrible. She re- I J^^^g_--_.ii-y_ ^.i*^?*^!?
membered that some- ;^^ (["^^""n^^^ ^^:_iE'~"
body had said Phillis ^uZr\ I ^n"i7!'""j Ni; j
w;is a witch .ind Wi^ lli^^J,.Ji^^
would never die, '^.:;, .^J^ *''J_jJ
but wouui just '■~4Ji^'^. •f-',''''. IfJ^rw^;
^"^.
disappear. What
^ "(fi^ i-icroT:^*'
11
if she had gone. ViVvi^ '' -iVvV^V' 'Ji ^'^^ •
and taken her r ^' ^- J Vv-.*^^^^^"^"- '^ ' -^
house with her.' T " - ."j's* '"'tip^ * i^-■,-y.i'^.
'f
Just then she remembered the verse she had
learned that morning: "Therefore will we not
fear, though the earth be removed." She felt
as if some one had spoken the words to her.
and she walked bravely down into the hollow.
The cabin had been burned : there was no
y^Ct'A^ Cr*f.dra,
■.(her
T^^"! Pi.. II,,,
dreth's, and iMelicent looked down the path with
an idea of going to .see, when she caught sight
of a handkerchief waved fcx-bly from a little play-
house of rails and pine-branches which she and
her cousins had made just back among the trees.
She was there in a moment, down on her knees by
i!8. )
K K A T - ( ; K A N 1 1 M 1 1 I 1 1 1 . K
509
I'liillis, kissing hor urinklcil, old I'.icc, and callint;
her as lovin^j names as she M>ii;hl liave lavished
uiHjn l\er own beautil'iil j;randmother.
"Oh, IMullis I 1 lhmij;lu you were burncil up. I
wiis Ji' frijjhlened. What made the house burn ?"
" Don' know ; tire mos' likely ; could ye make
Mie a cup o' tea, honey ? The thin^ is all in thai
heap, whar I dropped them. The tea is in a blue
inu);, and I kivered up some coals in the bake-
kittle ; but I '^c powerful weak this mornin'. "
Mclicent remembered her basket, and brought
out a bottle of blackberry cordial which seemed
to refresh I'hdlis wonilerfuUv. .uid then the child
that lur father was coming to the ford, liut it
seemed to her that ay;es and a^;es went by, and an
awful stillness crept up from the woods. The
1)rook was all in the sh.idow, now. What if they
should forget to stop for her, and she and I'hillis
should have to stay there .ill night .' She looked
at Phillis again, and crept a little farther away.
She was so still, and there was something cold in
her face, it in.ide her feel lonesome to be near her.
.She got up softly anti sat under the big pine, and
watched and listened, and fell asleep.
Away down at the ford the hunting-whistle
sounded sweet an<l clear. Not vcrv loud, for it was
n^- ^
W^^.^
inad^- her a tup uf tea. She was sorry for Phillis,
but it w.TS prime fun to have the old woman in her
play-house, and actually to make tea herself, out
there m the woods. There was enough for both
of them in the little b.Tskct, and Melicent con-
scientiously road the lessons in the prayer-book,
(hough PhiUis went to sleep. It was a long day,
.iftcr all, for Phillis was too tired to tell her stories,
yet insisted that she should not go away.
Once, when Phillis h.id been asleep, she began
to talk in a strange language and throw her .-xrms
.ibout, and Melicent was afraid.
" Phillis," she said, " I think I 'd better call
L'ncle Hildreth. 1 '11 run all the way."
" Set still, honey. I 'sc mighty comf'tabic ; my
j'ints is wrenched draggin' the Iwd and things out
o" the tire," and Phillis went off in a doic again.
Mclicent read her prayer-ljook, and listened for
the sound of the huntmg-whistle that would tell her
.Sunday, and the stillness was too sacred to be pro-
faned. The bl.ick horse waited, but no Melicent
came dancing down the path, so her father came,
and found her asleep under the pine-tree.
"Oh, father," she said, when she waked in his
arms, " the cabin is burned up, and Phillis is s<i
tired, she sleeps and sleeps."
Her father w.ts a quiet man, and he only kissed
her, and carried her to where the black horse was
waiting impatiently, bearing her mother.
" Take her home," he said to her mother, "and
send Homer b.ick to me. Old Phillis is dead."
Melicent's mother put one arm about her as they
rode home, but she did not ask m.iny <|uestions.
" Is Phillis in heaven ?" asked Melicent, timidly.
" I hope so," said her mother.
" Itecausc," s.ii^ the little girl, " if they let her
choose, I know she 'd go to Africa, and then I never
shall see her again."
5IO
Till-: kOVAl. SIAU.
TIIK ROVAI. STA('.
BV Ol.IVK iHORNK.
Thk Royal Stag is born a pretty little black-
eyed baby, called a ftucn. His coat is a soft
j;(ilden-bri)»n, spotted with white, and he is very
weak and helpless — like most other babies. He is
more knowing than some lit
tie folk, though, for —
helpless .as he ib — Iv
knows ho«
take care of
structure falls off, and a new pair surts out. For
about two months he hides himself in the deepest
solitude he can find, while the antlers grow to their
full size, for during the time they arc so soft they
may be bent into any shape.
They are protected by a
1.1 i^k skin, covered
^ijt^ with soft, vel-
vety fur.
himself when men and horses come out to hunt,
and his mamma has to run for her life, leaving him
far behind. This is the baby's only trick, and it
is simply to lie down and keep perfectly still. In
that way he generally escapes being seen, and when
hunters and horses have gone home, and the
mother comes back, she is pretty sure to find her
little one all safe and well.
When the fawn is a year old, he arrives at the
dignity of his first horns, and is called no more a
fawn, but a brocket. Each succeeding year he gets
one more branch to his antlers, and increases in
beauty till he is full-grown and worthy of his proud
name — the Royal Stag.
His antlers are his glory, and are as wonderful as
they are beautiful, livery year the whole great
and arc said to be "in the velvet." When his
antlers are fully grown and hard, the proud stag
rubs them against trees and bushes till he tears olT
the velvet in strings and tatters, and then he is
ready to take his place in society once more.
Hunting the stag has been the favorite sport in
I-urope from the days of flint-head arrows till now,
when the few that survive the long war upon their
race li\e in |)arks provided for them, cared for by
armed keepers, and protected by strong laws.
The deer-parks are large, and inclose ample
forests, for though the beautiful shy creatures will
come hesitatingly around the sheds that men have
built, and timidly eat of the hay, and lick the salt
that men have prov ided. they are not tame. Ages
of hunting have made them quick to take fright.
i
THi; KOYAL STAG.
5' •
In suinincr. when Ircfs an- grcon, and buds tender
.mil plentiful, they wander into the dee|K-st parts
of the hihkIs, anil enjoy peace anil solituile.
The picture shows a winter scene in a deer-park.
The (;iwns and their mothers, |>crhaps more con-
tiilinj;, or more ignorant of the world than the
fathers of the herd, are eating; the sweet hay under
the shed, while the sta^js draw near cautiously,
«atchinjj carefully for dangers on the way.
At his post in the tree, is the gamekeeper or
forester, looking with interest at the herd, counting
the animals, and noting their age by the number
of branches on the antlers. He is also a hunter,
and so has a rifle, for when venison is wanted, it is
he who must select and bring it in : and he never
goes into the forest unarmed, since it is a part of
his duty to keep poachers away from the deer.
This park is in dermany, and under the shed-
roof is a loft for hay, which is put in through the
ilnor you see in front. .-\t the back, where the
deer are feeding, the fodder is thrown down into
the ricks, where the anim.als can get it.
The stag h;is an American cousin — the wapiti
-which is more interesting because it can be
tametl. Judge J. D. Caton, of Illinois, has kept
.1 herd of wapiti in a park for more than fifteen
years, and has written many interesting things
about them.
The baby wapiti is a pretty, spotted little fellow,
with one very cunning trick. It '"plays 'possum";
tliat is, it pretends to be dead. One may take it
up and handle it, lay it down and walk off, atid it
will be limp as a wet rag, not showing a sign of
life, yet — .ind this is what is funny — it does not
^hut its eyes, but watches every motion with lively
interest. The first time Judge Caton saw one play
•lie trick, he thought it was paralyzed.
In this family, the does — or mothers — are often
t.ime and familiar, will cat out of the hand and sub-
mit to Ik- stroked : but when they have young
fawns they are usu.iUy very shy. though the judge
h.id one that not only would let him pat her little
• >ne and lift it to its feet, but really seemed to be
proud of his attentions. There is one thing, how-
ever, that always ex.Tsperates them to the wildest
fury, anil that is the sight of a dog. No matter
how innocent and well-meaning, still less how big
.ind tierce, no sooner docs a dog show his head in
the decr-p.irk than every doc throws forward her
f.irs, shows her teeth, and flies at him.
No dog is brave enough to face the enraged
rreature. To drop his tail and tear madly away,
>elping, and glancing fe.irfully back at his enemy,
IS his irresistible instinct. When the doc over-
t.ikcs him, she strikes with her fore feet, and. if the
first blow knocks him down, the secimd finishes
him. Then the does lav back their ears, and
glance .about in a (Irti.nu 111. inner, as though they
siiiil : " Now show us another ilog ! "
The bucks care less about dogs, but they usually
join in the cha.se, following their excited partners,
probably to see the fun, and find out who wins.
Forty or fifty full-grown deer, furiously chasing one
small cur, is a funny sight. Hut often a whole pack
of dogs chase one poor deer, in Kurope, so a lover of
fair play can not be very sorry that in this part of
the world the dogs have the worst of it. sometimes.
In winter the wapiti, in Jutlge Caton's park,
come on a run when the keeper calls, and readily
take food from his hand, crunching a large ear of
corn at one mouthful. He can go among them and
put his hand on them, and they are very tame. Hut
in summer, when (a6d is plenty in the woods, and
they are comfortably settled in the cool shade, or
lying in a delightful pool, the keeper may shout
himself hoarse, and they pay no attention.
The wapiti is generally silent, but when angry
he utters a fearful squeal, so loud and high that it
sounds like a steam-whistle. When one hears that
iS>;;i' •*^
sound, he may \k thankful to have a gouil wall
between him and the fierce creature.
It has been often said, and perhaps .is often
denied, that deer shed tears. Judge Calon settles
the question by a story of genuine tears shed by
one of his own animals, when caged and very much
frightened. He says, also, that the wapiti can
smile, or rather, can show "a horrid grin." It is-
5':
whi-n an^ry and ihrcatcning that lit- throws up his
head, dniws back liis hps, and uncovers his tcclh,
which grate together horribly, as though longing
to bite one. When he is in this smiling mood,
visitors retire. A dig with his antlers, or a blow
with his sharp lore foot, is not to be desired.
However tame tlie wapiti becomes, and however
many things lie submits to, there is a place where
he draws the line. He will not be driven through
a gate. One may open a gate, and leave it, and he
may walk through ; but try to drive him, and he 's
off to the other end of the park.
.Ml of this family change their dress twice a year.
The winter suit is of soft, thick fur, with an over-
coat of long, wavy hairs. When llus is shed, it
falls off in great patches, hanging down a foot or
more; but the summer coat, which then comes to
hght, is silky, fine, and of a bright russet brown.
Young wapiti may be broken to harness, taught
to live in a barn, and to draw loads.
The stag and wapiti have antlers sometimes five
feet long, and every branch has its name. The
body of the antler is called the '• beam," the large
branches are cdled " tines," and the small ones
"snags." The first pair of branches, standing out
from the forehead, are called the "brow-tines";
the next pair the "bez-tines" ; the third, "royal-
tines": and the fourth. " sur-roval-tincs."
BABEL.
Bv Rosa Grah.\m.
Thrkk little maidens chanced, one day.
To meet together while at play ;
1 'm very glad you came this way,"
The first, a social little maid,
IJelighted, to the second said ;
Tell me your name, and 1 '11 tell mine, —
It 's Cora Dora Watcrpine."
The second giggled as she said
These words; she shook her curly head.
Ach, .nch ! ich kann dich nicht versteh'n,"
Hack laughingly the answer sped,
Whilst to the third she spoke again :
Was sagt d.Ts Miidchen ? Wenn du 's wciszt,
y.ii hciren wiirde ich gereizt."
.«■!
BABEL
5«3
Iho thini— she was a mciT>' wight—
Stixni giKgling, tCKi, with all her might :
IJut, siuUkuly, hor checks grew bright,
I'.n verite! Kn verite !"'
Softly, the others heard her say,
|e siHS nue ee n'est pas poli—
I'eiit-on me blamer si je ris?"
three little maidens standing there,
i:ai-h with a pualcd, solemn air,
A moment silent, paused to stare
Itiit, •• If I ever!" Speedily
Ihe tirst one cried : " It can not be
That my words are as yours to me ;
Come, tell your names, and I "11 tell mine, —
It 's Cora Oora Waterpine."
But still the second shook her head.
Backward the merry answer sped,
I'.'en merrier than before she saiil :
■ Ach, .ich, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n ! "
So to the other spoke again.
■ \V.is sagt das M.idchen ? Wcnn du 's weiszt,
Zu horcn wiirde ich gereizt."
And still the third— this jolly wight-
Stood giggling, too, with all her might ;
Till oiiie again her cheeks grew bright.
And once again they heard her say.
With accent >oft and motion gay :
En verite I Kn verite !
Je siiis que cc n'est pas poli--
Peut-on me blamer si je ris?"
Three little maidens, side by side.
Sat down and laughed until they cried.
And cried until they laughed again ;
' Ach, .ich, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n ! '
Uproarious burst the old refrain,
Tell me your name, and I 'II tell mine."
Cried Cora Dora Waterpine,
• En verite ! En verite ! "
It might have lasted all the day,
Hut such confusion breeding there,
There came a sudden deep despair —
With fingers in their ears, they say.
Three little maidens ran away.
Voi VIM.— 33.
5'4
MARV, QUKEN OF SCOTS.
(Mav^
MAR\, c)UI-:i:n of scots. — i-a RT II.
By Mk>. Oi.iHii.wi'.
tion,
'hkn the morning dawned,
;md the king, miserable
wretch that he was, the poor
traitor and murderer Darn-
Icy, went into Mar)'s room,
she began at once the new
part which she felt it neces-
>ar\' to play. She humbled her-
self before him, flattered him
and roused his pity, and grad-
ually recovered her influence
over him by a show of false
friendliness and assumed affec-
which she did not feel, and
which it was scarcely possible that she
could feel. At hist she worked upon
him so far that he undertook, with the
conspirators, to answer for her that she would not
punish them for what they had done, but would sign
an indemnity and pardon, and forget all that had
occurred, if they would withdraw and leave her un-
disturbed. They consented to do so reluctantly,
with very little faith in the promises made them,
feeling themselves betrayed as Mary had been, and
by the same hand. It was on the Saturday evening
that Rizzio had been murdered. On Monday Ruth-
A'en and all the rest withdrew from Holyrood sullenly
with their men, leaving Mary under the guardianship
of her false and foolish husband. At midnight, on
the same night, her bold heart revived by the first
chance of liberty, Mary left the defenseless walls
of Holyrood, and, accompanied by Darnley and
the captain of her gu.ard, rode off secretly, flying
through the dark and cold March night to the
castle of Dunbar. She w.ts in delicate health, and
she must have been terribly shaken by these events,
but she was one of those people whose spirits rise
to every danger, and whom no bodily depression
can daunt or hinder. Fancy her riding through
the night, along the rough roads, with the traitor
husband by her side, whom she could not forgive,
yet pretended to regard with unchanged affection.
Mary, however, was soon at the he.ul of public
affairs once more. She called her faithful nobles
about her at Dunbar, and quickly collected an army.
before which the conspirators fled, and she once
more entered F.dinburgh in triumph. Then Darnley
covered himself with greater shame than before.
He published a proclamation declaring he had had
nothing to do with " the late cruel murder com-
mitted in presence of the ycen's majesty," swear-
ing on his honor as a prince that he never knew
of it, or assisted, or approved. It would seem that
he deceived -Mary by this protesuition. and that she
was disposed to believe him ; but his fellow-con-
spirators were so indignant that ^hey sent to her
bonds which he had signed, containing the bargain
between them : which was, that they should bestow
the royal power upon him, if he helped them in
the murder of Rizzio. .After this discover)-, Mary-
had no pity for Darnley. She turned away from
him, and would hold no intercourse with him. He
W.TS scorned and shunned by everybody. Though
he was called king, he was left alone wherever he
went, and was despised by all.
A few months later, their only child, James, who
w.as aftenvard James \'I. of Scotland, .ind 1. of
1-^ngland, was bom in a little room in Stirling
Castle. It was a strongly fortified place, and only
in such a castle could the Queen of Scotland hope
to be safe, she and her baby, from the fierce bands
that were roaming the country. Armed men,
angry faces, and drawn swords might soon have
surrounded her if she had been in the more com-
modious rooms of Holyrood.
Stirling Castle is built on a rock, in the midst
of a beautiful valley ; the mountains round about
are blue and beautiful, and the Links of Forth, the
windings of the silvery river, flow awa\ through
rich levels to the sea. There could not be a place
more beautiful in a June morning like that on
which the little prince was born. He was to be
the successor of both the queens who then were
reigning within the British seas, and the greatest
monarch of his name ; but he w.as born in a
little bare room of the great, stern c.Tstle, with a
gray precipice of rock below ; and with soldiers
at their posts, and warders looking out from
the walls to sec that no fierce ariny was coming
against them to disturb the rest, or, perhaps,
take away the liberty or the life of the mother
and child. It was not a safe lot in those days
to be a queen. But I think, on the whole, Mary,
with her high spirit and her love of adventure,
look more pleasure in all those risks, defying her
nobles, heading her army, sometimes flying, some-
times conquering, ahv.ays in danger and excitement..
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
than if she had liwd s;ifcly nncl splendidly all her
life, and never known what trouble was.
Now, however, all was dark antl terrible Ix-fore
this unhappy queen. Not lon^; before, she h.id
reCiUled from exile a young nobleman. James Hep-
burn, Karl of Hothwell. He was a man as brave
.ind darinj; as herself, fond of pleasure as she was,
full of resolution and boldness, — not a we.tk youth,
like Oarnley, but a bold and strong man.
.And here begms the question which has dis-
turbed historians ever since, and still makes people
.ingry m argument, almost as ready to fight for
M.ir)', or .igainst her, as when she was a living
woman. Some say that Mary and Hothwell loved
e.ich other, and Ihat from this time it became the
great object of Iwth to get rid of Daniley. in order
that they might marry ; while others tell us that
Mary was innocent both of loving Hothwell and of
desiring to procure her husband's removal, and
that it was BcJlhwell alone who was guilty. 1 can
not clear up this question for you. 1 do not think
Mary was innocent ; and yet 1 can not believe that
she was so guilty as some think her.
One thing we may be sure of is, that she was
very unhappy. It was impossible for a woman such
as she w-,is to do anything but despise the weak-
minded, cowardly young man who had betrayed
and deceived both her and his own friends. She
had made a terrible mistake in her marriage, and
she knew not how to mend it. " 1 could wish
to be dead," she said, again and again, at this ter-
rible time. Once, the trouble in her mind really
brought on a violent illness, in which she thought
she was dying. All her friends gathered round her
sick chamber in deep anxiety, and her husband
was sent for : but Damley did not come until she
was out of danger, and then only for a single night.
She was left alone, .as far as he was concerned, to
bear the struggle in her own breast and everywhere
around her. Even when she received the embas-
sadors, they would find her weeping, and nothing
seems to have roused her from her melancholy.
Then her nobles, among whom were some of
the conspirators she h.id pardoned. — the very men
who had killed Rizzio. but who had made their,
submission, and h.id been allowed to return to their
places, — bcgxin to pity the unhappy queen : and
there was a proposal made to her to get a divorce,
and so be free of the husband who was her worst
enemy. She did not accept this pnipos;il. but
neither did she reject it. " Hetter permit the mat-
ter to rem.iin .is it is, abiding till God, in his good-
ness, put remedy thereto," she said. Perhaps she
meant only what she said : but perhaps Mary knew
that there were plots going on which were more
of the devil than of (iod. .And the fierce nobles
about hor. who thought no more of the life of a
man than sportsmen do of a deer's, were not likely
to hesitate .about a murder. Hothwell w.as her
chief counselor, the boldest and fiercest of all ; and
whether it be true or not that she loved him, it is
certain that he loved her, .ind was reaily to risk
everything for the hope of marrying her.
There are a number of letters, which were
found afterward in a c;tsket, and are always cilled
the casket letters, from which the chief evidence
against Mary is t.aken. They are supposed to have
been written by her to Hothwell. If they are true,
then she knew all that was going on, and meant
her husband to be killed ; but many people do not
believe them to be true. 1 am afraid I am one of
those who do believe in them. They arc full of
misery and sorrow, yet of a wild love that pushes
the writer on when her better self draws her back.
" I am horrified to play the part of a traitress!" —
•' I would rather die than commit these things!" —
"My heart bleeds to do them!" — "God forgive
me ! " she writes. Though these letters are full of
the most wicked purpose, you could scarcely help
being sorry for the wretched lady who wrote them,
and whose heart and life, you could see, were torn
in two. But 1 must not say more about this, for it
is too difficult a question for you or for me. There
are some very good authorities, and very able
judges, who think these letters are forgeries, and
were not written by Mary at all.
But this is the history that followed : Darnley fell
ill at Glasgow, where he then was. He had small-
pox, which, you know, is a dangerous and dreadful
disease. Mary had been altogether estranged from
him, and had not seen him for a long time ; but
when he was getting better she went to him sud-
denly, without any warning, sat by his bedside,
talked to him of all the complaints they had, one
against the other, explained her own conduct to
him, accepted, or pretended to accept, his explana-
tions on his side, and, in short, became reconciled
to her husband. It was a thing no one had hoped
for, or thought possible ; but so it was. They
mutually promised to each other that all w,as to be
with them as at first, as soon as Darnley should be
well enough to resume his usual life. In the
interval, he was to be brought back to Kdin-
burgh, but not to Holyrood, lest the little prince
should take small-pox from his father. This m.ade
it appear quite natural that Darnley should have
a house prepared for him in an airy and open
place, just outside the gates of Edinburgh. The
place w.Ts called the Kirk of Field, and several
people of r.ank had houses there, with gardens, in
the fresh air outside the smoke of the town.
The •ilninge thing about it w.is that the house
selected w.as a small and unimportant one ; but
excuses were m.ade for this, and the queen herself
MARY, QUEEN O !• SCOTS.
(Ma
went ihcri: U> receive her husband, and remained
with him for a day or two, occupyinj; rooms no better
tlian his. The house belont;ed to a dependent of
Hothwell's. Mary slept in a room immediately below
that of her husband, with a staircase between them,
which was left open and unprotected. For was not
the queen the j;uardian of the invalid ?
One night, the Sunday .ifter his arrival, Mary,
who was with Darnley, suddenly recollected that
she must go back to Holyrood, to the marriage
supper of one of her servants. She had either for-
gotten it or pretended to have forgotten it till the
last moment, and she and her train of attendants
then swept away, leaving the sick man lonely and
alarmed in his room with his page. Down-stairs,
in the room which Mary ought to have occupied,
her bed had been pushed out of the way, and
heaps of gunpowder laid in its place.
What happened in the darkness of that night is
imperfectly known. Darnley was a wretched
creature, not much worthy of pity, but when you
think of him there in that desolate room all alone,
with only one poor page to take care of him, sick
and weak, and full of fears, you will be sorry for the
unhappy young man. It is said that the two
doomed creatures read the 55 th Psalm together,
before they went to bed. Do you remember that
psalm ? " Fcarfulness and trembling are come upon
me. The fear of death has fallen upon me. It is
not an open enemy that h.as done me this dishonor:
but it was even thou, my companion." Perhaps,
as they read it, they heard the heavy steps below ,
the rustic of the powder emptied out of the bags.
A number of Bothwell's men were in full possession
of the house, occupying the room which Mary had
left vacant. Darnley went to bed and fell ;isleep,
with these enemies under the same roof; but woke
by and by, and stumbled to the door in the dark-
ness, where he was seized and strangled, he and
his page, and their bodies were thrown into the
garden. Then there was a blaze of light, an ex-
plosion, and the house w.is blown up to conceal the
secret crime. But the bodies were found unharmed
next morning, notwithstanding this precaution ;
the secret w:is not one that could be hid.
You may imagine what a tumult and confusion
was in Edinburgh next morning, when the dreadful
news was known. Everybody had heard the ex-
plosion, and the people were wild with excitement.
Mary shut herself up in Holyrood, as if over-
whelmed with grief, and saw nobody but Bothwell,
to whom every suspicion pointed .as the murderer.
If she were really innocent, it is impossible to
understand her conduct at this time. While the
town was ringing with this one subject, and the
names of the conspirators were bandied about from
mouth tip mouth, she took no steps against any of
them, and kept Bothwell, the chief of them, con-
stantly with her. In a little while she went out of
Edinburgh to Seton Castle, the house of Lord
Seton, one of her most faithful servants, and there
recovered her gayety all at once, and resumed her
favorite amusements, — Bothwell always remaining
with her, her companion and closest counselor.
I-Zdinburgh. meanwhile, was wild with horror and
rage, putting up placards in the streets, with the
names of the murderers, and beginning to suspect
and to loathe the queen also, who had been so
much loved in her capital. This horror and
suspicion ran like fire through all the ?ourts of
Europe. Wherever the story w.is told, Mary was
suspected. Everywhere, from 'England, from
France, from her own kingdom, entreaties ctme to
her to investigate the murder, and bring the
murderers to justice. But time went on, and she
did nothing; she who had been so energetic, so
prompt and rapid in action. It was not until a
month after that she would do anything. Then
there was a mock trial of Bothwell, before a jury of
his partisans, where no one dared to bring evidence
against him, and he was acquitted shamefully.
After this trial, the course of events was very
rapid. Three months after Darnley's death, Mary
married his murderer. In the inter\al, she had
been like a creature in a dream, and all that
happened to her was feverish and unreal. To veil
the haste and horror of the marriage, Bothwell pre-
tended to carry her off by force, and the nobles of
his party advised and urged her to marry him; but
these were things which decei\ed nobod\- at the
time. The two had scarcely been separate since
the moment of Darnley's death, and no one doubted
what their intention was. One of Mary's most
devoted friends, Lord Hcrries, took a long journey
to entreat her on his knees not to take this step,
which would convince .all Europe of her guilt. But
no argument had any effect upon her. She had
taken her own way and done her own will all her
life hitherto, without much harm ; but the s.-imv
rule w.as her destruction now.
Poor Mary ! She w.is .is much disappointed in
Uolhwell as she had been in Darnley. The one
w.is too feeble and too fickle to be worth her con-
sideration, the other w.is harsh and cruel, and
treated her like a master from their wedding-day.
•' She desires only death," the French embass.ador
says ; ' ' ever since the day after her marriage she
has p.issed her time in nothing but tears and
lamentations." And now everybody w.as against
her, — Eliz.abeth of England, the king of France, all
her relations and allies ; and, within a month, all
Scotland was rousetl in horror of her and her new
husband. She summoned her forces round her,
an appeal which always, heretofore, had placet!
iMl.)
MARY, QUEEN OK SCOTS.
5' 7
her nt the head of a pliant army ; but this time
no one heeded the summons; and she had to flee
in disj;uise from one castle to another, in order to
escape the hands of her revolted nobles. To jjive
a ct)lor to their relK-Uion, they represented Mary as
being "detaine*! in captivity" by IJothwell, so that
she was " neither able to jjovcrn her realm, n<)r try
the murderer of her husband." How uiaTiy then,
and how many even now, would be ^\m\ lo believe
th.-it this was the case I In June, Bothwell .ind she
together managed to collect a little army, ([uite
unable to cope with that of the indignant nobles.
They met at Carberry Hill, but the queen's little
force melted away before the other army, and she
w.is left at last with a forlorn guard of sixt\ gentle-
men, who would not forsiike her. Then Bothwell
and she had a Uist interview apart. They took
leave of each other "with great anguish and
grief" : they had been a month married, and it
w.TS for this that they had shown themselves
monsters of falsehood and cruelt) before all the
world. They parted there and then for the last
time. Bothwell rode away with half a dozen fol-
lowers, and .Mary gave herself up into the hands of
those nobles who had opposed her so often, who
had been overcome so often by her, but who now
were the victors in their turn.
You must remember, however, (hat though these
nobles h.id justice on their side, this had not been
alw-ays the c.^se, nor w.is it the first time that a
Stuart had been a prisoner in their hands. Almost
all her forefathers had known what it w.is, like
Mary, to struggle with this fierce nobility, often for
selfish, but sometimes, too, for noble ends. But now
the people, ;»s well .as the nobles, were against her.
They waved before her eyes a banner on which
was painted a picture of the slain Darnlcy, with
the baby prince kneeling beside him and praying :
"Avenge my cause, oh Lord!"; they hooted her
\n the streets ; they h.ad .adored her, and now they
turned upon her. She was taken to Holyrood. not
a^ a queen, but ;is a criminal, surrounded by
frowning faces and cries of insult. Thence she was
sent a prisoner to the castle of Lochleven; Loch-
levcn is a lake in Fife, full of little islands. On one
of these there was a mon;istery, on another a little
castle. The island w.as just big enough to make a
green inclosure, a little garden round the old walls,
now in ruin. Low hills stretch round, and, except-
mg in summer, the landscape is dreary and stormy.
The house was small, with* narrow, bare rooms,
and shut round by the waters of the lake, which is,
at times, almost .as rough .xs the sea. Here Mary
w.TS pUccd m the most rigorous confinement. She
had two of her ladies with her to take the place of
the gay court and all its amusements, and she was
not allowed to step forth once from this prison, nor
to send letters, nor to receive them. No imprison-
ment could have been more rigid or more haril.
She was but twenty-five, most beautiful, most f;is-
einating :iiul ;ic<<)mplished ; the fairest queen in
Kurope, the admired of the whole world.
What a bitter change from all her mirth and
amusements, her gay and free life, her royal inde-
pendence and suprem;iey ! Ho you not s;iy " poor
Mary ! " notwithstanding all the wrong she had
doner .Xnd can you wonder that those who thought
she hail done no wrong (antl there are inany still
who do), those who think she was only imprudent,
and that she had been forced to marry Bothwell,
.md knew nothing about Oarnley's de;ith .' — can
you wonder that they are still almost refidy to
weep over Mary's sufferings, though they h.ave
been over these three hundred years ? She lived
for twenty years after this, but, excepting for a very
brief interval, was never out of prison again. Nor
did she ever again see Bothwell, for whom she had
suffered so much.
You will find the story of the queen's captivity in
Lochleven in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels called
"The Abbot." No one else could give you such
an idea of what that was, and what Mary was. Sir
Walter loved the Stuarts, and persuaded himself
that Mary had not done much wrong. In his
description, you will see her at the best, most win-
ning, most charming, with her sympathetic mind
and her beautiful smile, and the kindness which
made people love her. and the w it which made them
fear her. If you read it, you will be angry with all of
us who do not believe in Mary ; and, when I read
it, 1 should like to forget that miserable Uarnley,
and try to think what a woman she might have
been had she married a man who was her equal, or
had she been like her cousin Klizabeth, wise and
crafty and clever, and never married at all.
She remained about a year in Lochleven, suffer-
ing all kinds of indignities ; w.as forced to sign het
abdication, and was allowed no communication
with her friends save when she could, by cl.aboratc
artifices, elude the vigilance of her jailers ; but at
Last, in May, 1568, she escaped with one small
page, a boy of sixteen, who rowed her across the
lake to where her friends awaited her.
In a moment she was again the Mary of old.
with courage undaunted, and hope that w.as anove
all her troubles. She rode all through the summer
night to Niddry Castle, knowing neither fatigue nor
fear; and there issued a proclamation, and called,
as so often before, her nobles round her. This
time many ;mswercd the rail, and she w.as soon
riding in high hope at the he;id of a little army.
But the Regent Murray, on the other side, — who
was a wise and great statesm.in,— collecting a large
force, hurried after her, and at once gave battle.
;is
1)1 K KN OK S<
Soon, it lui-ainc appaRnl thai Mary's day was over.
Her anil)' was defeated, lier followers dispersed.
She herself, lliinking it betlei to lake refuge with
her cousin Klizabelh, in ICngland, tlian to fall once
more into the hands of her enemies .it home,
crossed the liorder, and there ended all her hopes.
She was promised hospitality and help. She
found a prison, or nither a succession of prisons,
and death. She thought she was to be received by
Klizabeth herself, but, on the contrary, she w.xs
removed from one c;istlc to another, from one set
of keepers to another, and never was admitted to
the presence of the Queen of England. I have not
space to tell you all the story of her long Ijondage.
All the events of her life which 1 have told you
occupied scarcely ten years.
For twenty years longer she lived a prisoner.
and if I were to tell you about all the schemes on
her behalf, and all the plots that were thought
of, and how many times she w.-is to ha\e
made a new marriage and begun a new life, 1
should want a whole book to do it in.
But all Mary's schemes and hopes were now in
vain. For she had Elizabeth to deal with, who was
stronger than she was, and she had no loyal and
loving nation behind her, but only enemies and
stern judges wherever she turned. She w.is never
free of guards and spies and jailers, who watched
everything she did. and reported it M to the
English queen.
You must remember, at the same time, that it was
very difficult for the English government to know
what to do with this imprisoned queen. Had
Elizabeth died, Mary was the next heir, and she
w.is a woman accused by her own subjects of terri-
ble crimes. And she was a Catholic, who would
have thrown the whole country into commotion.
and risked evcrj'thing to restore the Catholic faith.
If they had let her go free, she would have raised
the Continent and all the Catholic powers against
the peace of England. In every way she w.as a
danger. What was to be done with this woman,
who was braver and stronger and more full of
resources than almost any other of her time? They
could not break her spirit nor quench her courage,
whatever they did. They moved her from one
castle to another, and gave to one unfortunate
gentleman after another the charge of keeping her
in safet)'. Some men who lo\ed her and took up
her cause, had to die for it. And every year she
lived was a new danger, a continued difficulty.
At last, after twenty years, Elizabeth pronounced
against this dangerous guest, this heiress whom she
feared, this cousin whom she had never seen.
Mary was removc<l to Fothcringay C.istle, in
Northamptonshire, and there tried for conspiring
against Elizabeth, and trying In embroil the
kingdom. She w;is found guilty, and. indeed, it
w;us true enough that she had conspired, and en-
deavored, with every instrument she could lay her
hand on, to get her freedom. She was left alone ti)
defend herself .igainst all the great lawyers and
judges brought against her — one. woman among all
these ruthless men. Even her papers were taken
from her, and nothing was heard in her favor
excepting what her own dauntless voice could say.
She was .is brave then, and as full of dignity and
m.ajesty, as when all the world was at her feet. Hut
her condemnation was decided on, whatever there
might have Ix-en to say for her. She appealed to
the queen ; but of all unlikely things there was
none so unlikely ;is that Elizabeth should consent to
see or hear her kinswoman. After her condemna-
tion, however, a considerable time elapsed before
Eliz.abeth would give the final order for her execu-
tion. It was sent at last, arriving suddenly one
morning in the gloomy month of February .
Nothing is more noble and touching than the
story of her end. The sweet and gracious and
tender Mary of Scotland, who had taken all hearts
captive, seemed to have come back again for thai
conclusion : her gaycty all gone, but none of her
sweetness, nor the grace and kindness and courtesx
of her nature. She thought of every one as she
stood there smiling and looking death in the face ;
made her will, provided for her poor servants who
loved her, sent lender messages to her friends,
and then laid down her beautiful head, still
beautiful, through all those years .and troubles,
upon the block, and died. It was on the 8th of
February, 1 587, almost on the twentieth anniversary
of that cruel murder of her husband, which had
been the beginning of all her woes.
Thus died one of the most beautiful and re-
nowned, one of the ablest and bravest, and perhaps
the most unfortunate, beyond comparison, of
queens. A queen in her cradle, an orphan from her
youth, every gift of fortune bestowed upon her, but
no happiness, no true guidance, no comp.anion in
her life. The times in which she was l)om, and the
training she had, and the qualities she inherited,
may account for many of her faults ; but nothing
c.in ever take away the interest with which people
hear of her, and see her pictures, and read her
storj-. Had she been a spotless and true woman,
she might have been one of the greatest in history;
but in this, as in everything else, what is evil crushi-s
and ruins what is great. As it is, no one can think
of Mary Stuart, (Juecn of Scots, but with interest
and sympathy, and there are many in the world,
and especially in Scotland, who even now, three
hundred years after her death, are almost ;is ready
to fight for her as were the men among whom she
lived and on whom she smiled.
II \ \ i; K I N US ION I-:
5'Q
4 %
V- ' +
ox A GRIN'DSTOXK.
Bv Henry Clemens Pearson.
"There 'S a new stone just been put into the
Krindin'-room, an' Thompson says that some one
will have to be taught to run it."
The supenntendcnt of the File Works looked up
from his paper at the speaker, and a smile broke
ovxT his face as he scanned the grotesque figure be-
fore him. It was a boy of thirteen, who seemed to
have been suddenly plunged up to the neck in a
pair of men's overalls. His sleeves were rolled up,
and the small arms had tide marks around the
wrists, showmg how high the water rose when he
w-.ishcd his hands. .A similar mark encircled his
neck. A squ.ire paper-cap .idorned his head.
There w.is an air of anxiety .ibout him th.it nt
once fixed the attention of his listener, who s.iid :
•• Well, did your foreman send you to me to ask
who should do it ? "
" No, sir," was the reply. " I thought that as
long as some one must get it, perhaps 't would be
me. 'T would be a savin' to the company, 'cause
I know how to run it a'ready, and any other fellow
would have to be taught."
"Can you grind a file now ?" asked the super-
intendent, in a lone of surprise, and eyeing the lad
as if doubtful of his skill.
" Yes, sir. Old Sunset said I could grind small
files better than the Englishman that 's doin' it <m
Number Three."
Haifa dozen files lay upon a paper on the office
table. The gentleman (Xiinted to them. s;iying :
520
ON A (iRINDSTONE.
(Mav,
"Sec II yu I. Ml mun ll.l^^^ in any of thcsc."
The boy took ihcm one by one, and, holding
them deftly between thumb and ringer, struck the
"t;mg " a ringing blow upon tlie iron radiator.
Five of them rung as clear as silver bells; the
sixth had a slight jar in its music. The boy rang
it again.
"That one 's cracked," he said.
He next took them one by one, and, holding them
up to the light, looked into the lines of parallel
grooves, lie laid two more beside the cracked
one, and, pointing to the others, said :
" Those are perfect."
" What is the matter with those two beside the
cracked one ? " was the question.
" They wcr' n't ground true."
■' How do you know.'"
" Well, ye see," said the little fellow, assuming,
unconsciously, the important air of an experienced
workman, — "ye see, when ye look through the
grooves they a// ought to look dark and nice, but
there arc light streaks in some of these. Now, //iis
is an awful pretty file," he continued, taking up
a perfect one; "just as good a piece of work ;is
ever was done in this place !"
" I suppose if you got this job you could afford
to use more tobacco, and drive a better team on
Sundays?"
" 1 s'pose 1 could," said the boy, "only I don't
happen to use tobacco, sir, an' a fellow like me,
that has a sick mother an' seven young ones to
help along, is n't apt to hanker after top-buggies
on Sundays."
" Send Old Sunset here," said the gentleman,
turning to his desk with a smile.
The boy departed, and soon a tall, raw-boned
Scotchman, wearing a pair of immense green
glasses, entered the room.
" McFadden," said the superintendent, "do you
know a boy named Will Storrs, who runs a truck
from the annealing-room.'"
" Wull Storrs?" was the deliberate reply. " Wull
Storrs? 1 ken a lad named Wull, but 1 dinna ken
what his surname may be."
"This is a little fellow about thirteen, who looks
as if he wore his grandfather's overalls."
"Oh, aye — 1 ken him wccl ; but ye 're \vrong
aboot the overalls bein' his grandfeyther's. They
belonged to mysel', but were too sma', so 1 sold
them to him for fufteen cents, simply to make him
feel that they were not a gift, ye ken."
"What kind of a workman is he?"
"The verra best. There 's not a job that he lays
hand on but he can do as weel as any aboot the
eestablishmunt. "
"Could he learn to grind small files, do you
think?" was ilu- ni-xt f|ncr\'.
" Lerm ? He kens the whole notion already.
One mornin', when most o' the grinders were cot
on a spree, he took one o' the worst slancs in the
room, and dressed it sae weel that ye could na' tal
whether it was going or stoppit, when it was run-
ning at full speed ! "
"Well, I think he can be trusted to run Number
Eight, then. He might just as well commence
now. Suppose you tell him that he can spend the
rest of the day in dressing the stone, and getting
ready to grind small files and cutters to-morrow."
Will was standing in the door-way of the grind-
ing-room when the Scotchman delivered his mes-
sage. The news seemed too good to be true. To
run Number Eight ! That meant a dollar and a
half a day, — perhaps more, for the grinders all
worked by the piece. His mother would be able
to have her washing done for her, after this, and
his brothers and sisters could go to school looking
as if they belonged to somebody.
The grinding-room was long and narrow, iron-
roofed and well lighted. Twelve grindstones stood
side by side, with only passage-ways between them.
These m;issive stones, some weighing several tons,
«ere monsters compared with the grindstones that
are frequently seen on the farms, or in the machine-
shops. When they were all in motion, each with
a man sitting on a small wooden saddle above his
stone, it seemed to an outsider as if twelve men al-
ways abreast were racing on twelve stone bicycles.
Will's Number Eight was one of the largest
stones in the room, and thought to be the best.
After he had told the foreman of his good luck, he
took some pieces of charco.il, a blunt chisel, and a
kind of steel adz, and, climbing into the saddle,
set the great stone in motion. Resting his hands
on the pommel of the saddle, he held a piece of
charcoal toward the stone, moving it nearer till
the first rough bumps on its wide face were black-
ened ; then he threw oflf the belt, and cut down
these blackened places with the adz. Starting
the great wheel again, he let it turn for a while
against the blunt chisel, after which he again
tried the charcoal. It was hard work — the adz
was heavy, the chisel would "gouge" a little
when his hands grew tired ; but he kept at it, and,
some time before the whistle sounded for noon, the
charcoal made an even black line around the whole
circumference.
Old Sunset, who ran a " donkey grinder " on the
stone next to Will's, told him th.it it was "weel
dune," which meant that it w;is perfect.
The boy, indeed, felt proud of his work, as,
standing a little way off, he looked at the beautiful
proportions of the revolving stone. As there was
still a pan of the day remaining. Will began to get
the tools and fixtures necessary in file-grinding.
ON A C; K I N I > S r () N K .
52»
A lialf barn-1 o\ lime iind ml was obtained, in
which to thrust the tiles when ground, to keep them
lW>m rusting;. This' he mounted upon a stand
within easy reach. He next went to the office and
.,,. ,.,01 ..(•• 111. ■j^Tindir's" tools, the most impor-
tant of which were a level and a square, both ver>
small, and made purposely for this work. These
he put in the little case th.at hunjj on his saddle.
He tried the water and found that it w.is all right.
Kverylhing w.ts ready. Old Sunset had given him
a pair of " thumb-cots," in case his hand came in
contact with the stone, and one of the other grinders
made him a present of a pair of leather stirrups, to
keep the slate-colored mud from his shoes. The Ixiy
was fully equipped, and fairly aching to begin
work, when the " speed " slackened and the whistle
blew, which signaled that the day's work was over,
riie next morning Will was
jironiptly on hand, eager to begin
the day's toil, but an unexpected
obstacle presented itself An ac-
cident had happened in the
"annealing shop," and there
were no tiles ready to be ground.
Old Sunset and most of the other
workmen took it easily, and saun-
tered off; hut Will was too much
excited to do any such thing. He
staid by his stone, started it
half a dozen times to see if it was
still true, looked over his tools,
tried the saddle, put on the
thumb-cots, and fin.ally wandered
awa>- to watch the annealers.
Had he known who was standing
behind the next stone, jealously
watching his every motion, he
would never have left Number
Eight with no friend to protect it.
As soon as Will was fairly out
of sight, the watcher stealthily
advanced to Number Eight.
I le w.as a red-headed, thick-set
lu,\, about Will's age, and his
inveterate enemy. The news of
W ill's good luck had been more
liin his jealous nature could
If, and he was going to have
ine sort of revenge. .Xfter look-
- cautiously around, he clam-
icd awkwardly into the saddle,
;ul set the big stone in motion.
I almost frightened him to have
;li. great smooth wheel turning
swifdy close between his knees.
II. felt as if he were going to
ti.pple over upon the monster.
rhe first dizzy feeling, however,
I i^sed away in a moment, and
I looked about him for means to
I, I are the smooth surface that
W ill Storrshad labored so hard and
so skillfullv throughout the previous day to obtain.
At his right, on a frail stand, lay the blunt chi.sel.
He took it and stnick the whirling stone repeated
blows with the instrument. Growing bolder, he
laid the chisel across the " rest," and, pressing iLs
edge against the stone, cut out great uneven
patches, till its circumference began to have a wavy
522
\ (. K I N 1)> ION E.
api>carancc, t-ven at the hij^li speed at which it was
running.
Hut the boy was not satisfied yet, so he held the
sharp corner of the chisel tirmly aj^insl the stone,
making parallel grooves a quarter of an inch deep
throughout the whole surface.
Just as the young niscal had given the finishing
touch to this piece of malice. Will, coming slowly in
from the annealing-room, saw the rod head bond-
ing over his stone, and heard the sharp "scratch"
of the chisel.
Uttering a shout, he darted forward. Hut another
avenger was before him.
The giant stone, as if unable to bear longer the
mutilations and torture of the young vandal, gave
a strange, rending roar, and, tearing itself free from
the whirling shaft, sent one-half of its mighty
body cr.ishing through the iron roof. An instant
later, .i dull thud in the yard told where it had
fallen. The other half crushed its way through
the water-soaked planking, and lay buried in the
ground.
The whole thing happened in an instant. The
stone and its fixtures were blotted out so suddenly
that Will was dazed. He hardl)' knew what was
the matter ; but others did. The same rending
noise had been heard before, and the word went
around that a stone had burst.
Within a few seconds the door-way was thronged
with men. W'ill was pushed forward by the eager,
questioning crowd till he stood close to the wreck.
The wofjden s.addle lay shivered in pieces some feet
from the place. Around the jagged hole in the
roof were great spatters of oily lime, and the tools
had been flung in all directions. Hut where was
the boy who had been on the stone ?
In the sudden mist of flying objects, Will had
lost sight of him. A moaning cry, and a rush of
feet to the other side of Old Sunset's stone, told
where he was.
W'ill caught a glimpse of a pale face; then, as the
crowd opened a little, he could distinctly see his
enemy lying .across a pile of unground "saw-files."
One of the workmen lifted him up, and, as he did
so, a shudder ran through the crowd : three great
saw-files had cruelly torn and woundetl the limp
figure. He w.as laid upon a table, the sharp
"tangs" were pulled out, and the blood was
stancheil. Kin.illy a faint color came back to the
|)ale face, and consciousness returned, but only to
bring with it exquisite sufTering. A physician
being called, the wounded boy was sent off to
the hospital.
Oradually the hands settled b.ick to their work,
the grinders feeling especially sober." The machin-
ery resumed its clatter and whirl, the great black
cogs buffeted each other as usual, and the accident
began to fade from the memorie-s of the nun.
A new stone w;is rolled in and named Number
Might. A new set of tools came from the oflice,
another saddle w.as built, and Will began his busi-
ness afresh. Me soon w.as considered one of the
best grinders in the room.
One day, some months later, as he was grinding
busily, a boy entered the room on crutches.
The men did not recognize him. He halted by
Will's stone, and looked up. As soon as he had
finished the file upon which he was at work. Will
threw off the belt, leaped down, and grasped the
other's hand.
■' Why, Tom," he said, " 1 'm very glad you 're
back. When did you leave the city ? "
" Last night," said the boy. Then, conquering
a little choke, he said : " 1 treated you very badly,
Will, .an' 1 've thought of it a heap since 1 've
been laid up. So I thought I 'd like to give you
something, — this is the only thing that 1 had. A
good old sailor uncle o' mine gave it to me when J
was a little chap. He said it had been picked up
from a wreck, and was a queer, risk)- thing, and he
promised to show me how to fire it. But he was
drowned off the coast afore he had a chance to
keep his promise, and mother 's made me save it
;is kind o' sacred ever since. But this mornin' she
told me 1 could give it to you for a keepsake, if 1
w.Ts so set on givin' you something."
He thrust a small package into Will's hand, and
hobbled off.
Will untied it in amazement, and found a piece
of iron pipe, an inch and a half in diameter,
mounted on a curiously carved wooden block. It
was a queer sort of a toy cannon. He examined
the breech. It was made of a piece of lead,
which was pounded into one end of the pipe and
smoothed over; a small touch-hole had been
drilled below the leaden plug.
Old Sunset came up just then, and Will showed
him the gift. The Scotchman looked it all over
carefully, saying:
"Wull ye stand in front or behind it when yc
fire it off, lad ? "
" Behind, of course ! "
" Aye ! so I thocht. Ye '11 stand behind it and
catch the leeden plug, na doot. "
■' Do you think it will blow out?" .asked Will.
" Of course it wull. The lad that gave it ye
did na' ken it, probably, and na doot he would
hae fired it himsel' without thinkin'. So you can
hae the satisfaction o' feelin' that while he once
saved you from injury by accident, now you save
him from being blown up by a cannon that shoots
baith ways at once."
"! WONDERED WHAT MADE ROBIN SAI>
523
\ I
//
jY
UTTLE DORA: "OH, MAMMA ! KITTV 's aw/ully FOND OP DUTTKR ! "
I \V()\l)KRi;i) WHAT MADI. KOHIX SAD."
Hv CiKOROE Newell L<>ve|(i\.
1 WONDERED what made Robin sad,
Out on the garden wall :
Though Spring in loveliness was dad.
Me could not sing at all.
Above him, 111 the tlowcr-blown tree.
With drooping head and wing,
S.it his dc.ir mate, .is sad as he,
With never a note to sing.
1 did not know, until too late.
Why joy had gone away
From Robin and his little mate,
On that sweet morn in May;
I'ntil 1 found upon the grass.
Ah, mournful sight ^o sec ! —
A fair young red-breast dead, al.is !
Beneath the flower-blown tree.
524
A CIIAPTKR OX SOAl'-HUBBI.ES.
A C- IIA l'Tl".R ()\ SOA i'-iu'Min.i:s.
Hv Damki. C. Ukakii
"A Sf>Al'-nrnni.K " i> an uncoulli, inclct;ani
name fi)r such an ethereal fairy spliere. It is such
a common, every-day sight to us, we seldom jjivc
it much attention, or realize how wonderful and
beautiful is this fragile, transparent, liquid globe.
Its spherical form is typical of perfection, and the
ever-changing, prismatic colors of its iridescent
surface charm the eye.
It is like a beautiful dream ; we are entranced
while it lasts, but in an instant it vanishes, and
leaves nothing to mark its former e.\istence except-
ing the memory of its loveliness.
Few persons can stand by and watch another
blowing bubbles without being seized with an uncon-
trollable desire to blow one for themselves. There
is a peculiar charm or pleasure in the very act.
which few persons \vho have known it ever outgrow.
In the accompanying illustration arc shown sev-
eral kinds of soap-bubbles and a variety of ways
of deriving amusement from them.
It is generally known that a bubble will burst if
it touch any hard or smooth surface, but upon the
carpet or a woolen cloth it will roll or boimce
merrily.
If you take advantage of this fact, you can with
a woolen cloth make bubbles dance and fly around
as lively as a juggler's gilt balls, and you will be
astonished to find what apparent rough handling
these fragile bubbles w ill stand when you arc care-
ful not to allow them to touch anything but the
woolen cloth.
It may be worth remarking that the coarser the
soap the brighter the bubbles will be. The com-
pound known as "soft soap" is the best for the
purpose.
One of the pictures shows how to transform your
soap-bubble into an aerial vapor-balloon.
If you wish to try this pretty experiment, procure
a rubber tube, say a yard l<mg, and with an aper-
ture small enough to require considerable stretch-
ing to force it over the gas-burner. After you
have stretched one end so as to fit tightly over the
burner, wrap the stem of a clay pipe with wet
paper, and push it into the other end of the tube,
where it must fit so Hs to allow no g.is to escape.
Dip the bowl of your pipe in the suds and turn the
gas on. the fori I- (if thr l;:!". will In- sufficient to
blow your bubble for you. and as the g.is is lighter
than the air, your bubble, when freed from the
pipe, will rapidly ascend, and never stop in its
upward course until it perishes.
Another group in our picture illustrates how old
I'ncle Knos, an aged negio down in Kentucky,
us^;d to amuse the children by making smoke-
bubbles.
Did you ever sec smoke-bubbles? In one the
white-blue smoke, in beautiful cur\'es, will curl and
circle under its crystal shell. Another will possess
a lovely opalescent pearly appearance, and if one be
thrown from the pipe while quite small and densely
filled with smoke, it will appear like an opaque
polished ball of milky whiteness. It is always a
great frolic for the children when they catch Uncle
Enos smoking his corn-cob pipe. They gather
around his knee with their bowl of soap-suds and
bubble-pipe, .ind while the good-natured old man
lakes a few lust\ whiffs from his corn-cob, and fills
his capacious mouth with tobacco-smoke, the chil-
dren dip their pipe in the suds, start their bubble,
and pass it to I'ncle Knos. .All then stoop down
and watch the gradual growth of that wonderful
smoke-bubble ! and when "' Dandy," the dog,
chases and catches one of these bubbles, how the
children laugh to see the .istonished and injured
look upon his face, and what fun it is to see him
sneeze and rub his nose with his paw !
The figure at the bottom, m the corner of the
illustration, shows you how to make a giant-bubble.
It is done by first covering your hands well with
soap-suds, then placing them together so as to form
a cup, le.nving a small opening at the bottom. All
that is then necessaiy is to hold your mouth .ibout
a foot from your hands and blow into them. I have
made bubbles in this way twice the size of mv
head. These bubbles arc so large fhat they invari-
ably burst upon striking the floor, being unable to
withstand the concussion.
-Although generally considered a trivial .imuse-
ment, only fit for young children, blowing soap-
bubbles h.as been an occupation appreciated and
indulged in by great philosophers and men of
science, and wonderful discoveries in optics and
natural philosophy have been in.ide with only a
clay pipe and a bowl of soap-suds.
A CHAFTEK oN St» A 1- - BU It ll I I
325
5-'
I'HAETON UOGERS.
I May.
lOHX.
HV S. M. CHAII-lKLIl
WmSTI.r sounding loud and clear.
Laughter thai I love to hear,
Marbles rattling far and near ;
Must be John !
Out at elbow, out at knee.
Hat-brim tattered wofully ;
Turn him mund and let me see
If it 's John.
Dimples in .1 ruddy cheek.
Kyes that sparkle so they speak,
Tumed-up nose, reverse of meek ;
Yes, 'I is John !
Yet this morning, clean and sweet,
Speckless collar, hat complete.
Trousers mended, down the street
Wiiistlcd John.
■ What "s the matter with you. lad -
Where 's the hat-brim that you had.'
Whence came all these rents so sad.'
Answer, John ! "
■ Marbles." .And he kicks his toe.
' Hrccches will wear out, you know ;
' Knuckle-down ' is all the go,"
Falters John.
In his pockets go his hands,
Looking foolish, there he stands.
.S'pose you '11 scold ': '] For stem commands
Lingers John.
Catches mother's laughing eye ;
In a flash the kisses fly,
.\nd I hear, as I pass by,
■'Bless you, John!"
PIIAi: TON ROCKRS.
1-lV KoSSITKK JOHNSIIN.
Chapter XI.
A COMICAI, COMEr.
The business of the printing-office went on pretty
steadily, so far as Ned and I were concerned.
Phaeton's passion for invention would occasionally
lead him off for a while into some other enterprise;
\ct he, too, seemed to take a steady interest in
" the art dcser\ative. " The most notable of those
enterprises was originated by Monkey Roe, «ho
h.ad considerable invention, but lacked Phaeton's
powers of execution.
One day, Monkey came to the door of the office
with Mitchell's "'Astronomy" in his hand, and
called out Phaeton.
"There 's some mischief on foot now," said Ned;
"and if Fay goes off fooling with any of Monkey
Roe's schemes, we shall hardly be able to print
the two thousand milk-tickets that John .Spencer
ordered yesterday. It 's too bad."
When they h.id gone so far from the olifice that
we could not hear their conversation, 1 saw Monkcv
open the book and point out something to Phaeton.
They appeared to carry on an earnest discussion for
several minutes, after which they laid the book on
the railing of the fence and disappeared, going by
the postern.
Ned ran out and brought in the book. On look-
ing it over, we found a leaf turned down at the
chapter .on comets. Neither of us li.id studied
astronomy.
'■ I know what they 're up to," said Ned, after
taking a long look at a picture of Halley's comet.
•■ 1 heard the other day that Mr. Roe was learning
the art of stuffing birds. I suppose Monkey wants
Fay to help him shoot one of those things, or catch
it alive, may be, and sell it to his father."
Then 1 took a look :it the picture, and read .i few-
lines of the text.
" 1 don't think it 's quite fair in Fay," continued
Ned, "to go off on .speculations of that sort for
himself alone, and leave us here to do all the work
in the office, when he has an equal share of our
|>rofits."
"Ned," said I, " I don't iK'lievc this is a bird."
<'np^.TiKht, iBHo, liy Rii««iicr JohnMin. All righl^ nrK«n-ol
IIIAKTON R()(;i K>.
527
•• Well, then, 11 's ii lish," >.iul Noil, who hail
i;<>nc back to his case and was sotting; type. " They
>tiilT fishes, iis well .is birds."
■■ Hut it seems to nie it can hardly be .1 lish," s;iid
1 . after another look.
•• Why not .' "
•• Because 1 don't see any fins."
•'That's nothinj;." said Ned. "My book jil'
n.itumi history s;>ys a fish's tail is a bij; fin. And
1 'm sure that fellow h.is tail enom;h to get alonj;
very well without any other fins."
This did not satisfy me, and at length wc agreed
to go and consult Jack-in-the-Box .ibout it.
"Jack," said Ned, as soon .is we arrived at the
Hox. " did you ever stuff a fish ? "
■• Do you t.ike me for a cook ? " s;iid J.ick, look-
ing consider.ibly puzzled.
•' 1 don't mean a fish to bake," said Ned. " 1
mean one to be put in a gl.iss-case, and kept in a
museum."
••Oh," said Jack, "■ 1 beg pardon. 1 didn't
underst.ind. No, 1 never stuffed a fish."
■' But 1 suppose you know how it 's done? " said
Ned.
"Oh. yes: 1 understand it in .i general way."
"What I want to get at," said .\ed, '•is this:
how much is a fish worth that 's suitable for
>tuffing? "
" 1 don't know exactly," said Jack, "but I should
>.iy different ones would probably bring different
pnces. according to their rarity."
'•That sounds re;ison.-iblc, " said Ned. "Now,
how much should you say a fellow would probably
get for one of this sort? " and he opened the Astron-
omy at the picture of Halley's comet.
Something was the matter with Jack's face. It
twitched around in all sorts of ways, and his eyes
sparkled with a kind of electric light. But he
(>,isscd his hand over his features, tfxik a second
look at the picture, and answered :
" If you can catch one of those, I should say it
would comm.ind a very high price."
" So I thought." said Ned. •• Should you say as
much as a hundred dollars, Jack?"
" 1 should not hesitate to say fully two hundred,"
■-.lid Jack, as he took his flag and went out to sig-
nal a freight-train.
'•I see it all. as plain as day," said Ned to me.
IS we walked away. '• Fay has gone off to make a
l'>t of money by what father would call an outside
'(K-culation, and left us to dig away at the work in
the office."
" Perhaps he 'II go shares with us," s.-iid I.
"No, he wont," s.iid Ned. "But I h.ivc .in
idea. I think I can lake a hand in that specula-
tion."
•' How will you do it ?"
" I '11 olTer Kay and Monkey a hundred dollars
for their fish, if they catch it. That 'II seem such
a big price, they 'II be sure to take it. And then
I 'II sell it for two hundred, .is Jack says. So 1 'II
make .is much money .is both of them together.
.\nd I must give Jack a handsome present for tell-
ing me about it."
"That seems to be a good plan." said I. "And
I hope they '11 catch two, so I can buy ime and
speculate on it. But, then," I .idded, sorrow-
fully, " I have n't the hundred dollars to p.iy for it,
and there 's no Aunt Mercy in our family, and we
don't live on the Bowl System."
"Never mind," said Ned, in a comforting tone.
•• Perhaps you '11 inherit a big fortune from some
old grandmother you never heard of, till she died
and they ripped of)en her bed-tick and let the gold
tutnble out. Lots of people do get money that way. "
As we arrived home, we saw Phaeton and Mon-
key coming by the postern with h.ilf a dozen hoops^
— that is to s.iy, half a dozen long, thin strips of
;ish, which would have been hoops after the cooper
h.id bent them into circles and fastened the ends
together.
"That 's poor stuff to make fish-poles," said
Ned, in a whisper; "but don't let them know that
wc know what they 're up to."
They brought them into Uie office, got some
other pieces of wood, and went to work constructing
a light frame about ten feet long, three feet high at
the highest part, and a foot wide — like that shown
in the engraving.
•'What are you making. Fay ? " said Ned.
•• W^ait a while, and you '11 see." said Phaeton.
Ned winked at me in a knowing way, and we
went on printing milk-tickets.
When the frame was completed. Monkey and
Phaeton went away.
•'1 see," whispered Ned. "They're going to
catch it with a net. The netting will be fastened
on all around here, and this big end \c(l open for
him to go in. Then, when he gets down to this
round p;irt, he '11 find he can't go any farther, and
they '11 haul him up. It 's as plain .is day."
But when Monkey and I'haeton returned, in
.itjout h.ilf an hour, inste.id of netting they brought
■.••Mow tissue-paper and several candles.
52«
I'llAETON ROGERS.
VVc pretended to take very little interest in the
procecdinj;. but watched them over our shoulders.
When we saw them' fasten the tissue-paper all
around the frame, except f)n the top, and lit the
candles into auger-holes bored in the cross-picce>
at the bottom, Ned whispered again :
" l)()n"t you see? That isn't a net. They're
going to have a hght in it. and carry it along the
shore to attract the tish. It 's all plain enough
now."
"If you 'II be on hand to-night," s;ud Monke\.
"and follow us, you may see some fun."
"All right! We '11 be on hand," said .Ned
and I.
In the evening we all met in the office — .ill
except Phaeton, who was a little late.
" Monkey," said Ned, in a confidential tone, " I
want to make you an offer."
" Offer away," answered Monkey.
" If you catch one," said Ned, " 1 'II give you a
hundred dollars for it."
" If 1 catch one?" said Monkey. " If — 1 — catch
—one? Oh, yes — all right! I '11 give you whatever
I catch, for that price. Though I may not catch
anything but Hail Columbia."
" I wont take it unless it 's the kind they stuff.''
said .Ned.
" The kind — they — stuff?" said Monkey. " Did
you say the kind tluy stuff, or the kind of stuff?
Oh, yes — the kind of Ilail Columbia they stuff.
That would be a bald eagle. I should think."
At this moment Phaeton joined us.
" It 's no use. Fay," said Monkey. "Jack wont
let us hoist it on the signal-pole. He says it might
mislead some of the engineers, and work mischief."
" Hoist it on the signal-pole," whispered Ned to
me. "Then it 's a bird they 're going to catch,
after all, and not a fish. 1 see it now. Prob.ibly
some wonderful kind of night-hawk."
" Well, then, what do you think is the next best
place ? " said Phaeton.
" I think Haven's barn, by all odds," answered
Monkey.
" Haven's barn it is, then," said Phaeton, and
they shouldered the thing and walked off, we
following.
Before we arrived at the barn, Holman, Charlie
Garrison, and at le.ist a dozen other boys had joined
us, one by one.
The numerous ells and sheds attached to this
bam enabled Monkey and Phaeton to mount cisily
to the ridge-pole of the highest part, where they
fastened the monster, and lighted all her battle-
lanterns, when she bl.azed out against the blackness
of the night like some terrific portent.
" Now you stay here, and keep her in order,"
said Monkey, "while I go for Adams."
.Mr. .Xdams was an amateur astronomer of con-
siderable local c'elebril)', whose little observatory,
built by himself, w;is about fifty rods distant from
Haven's barn. Unfortunately, his intemperate
habits were as famous .as his scientific attainments,
and Rue knew about where to lind him. I went
witli him iin the search.
We went first to the office of the "Cataract
House, by James Tone," but we did not find our
•astronomer there.
"Then," said Roe, "1 know where he is, for
sure," and he went to a dingy wooden building on
State street, which had small windows with red
curtains. This building was ornamented with a
poetical sign, which every boy in town knew by
heart, and could sing to the tune of "Oats, pe.is,
beans."
\V. WHEELER KEEPS IX HERE.
SKI.LS GROCERIES, CIDER, .Al.E. .\ND BEER ;
HIS PRODUCE IS GOOD, HIS WEIGHT IS JUST,
HIS PROFITS SMALL, AND CAN" NOT TRUST ;
.VNI) THOSE WHO BUY SHALL BE WELL USED,
SHALL NOT BE CHEATED NOR ABUSED.
"Is Professor .Adams present?" said Monkey,
as he opened the door and peered through a cloud
of tobacco-smoke.
An individual be'nind the stove returned a drowsy
affirmative.
Roe stepped around to him, and with a great
show of secrecy whispered something in his ear.
He sprang from his chair, exclaimed, " Good-
night, gentlemen ! ^'ou will wake up to-morrow
morning to find me famous," and dashed out at the
door.
" What is it ? " said one of the loungers, detain-
ing Monkey as he was about to leave.
" .\ comet," whispered Monkey.
" .-\ comet, gentlemen — a blazing comet!" re-
peated the man, aloud; and the whole company
rose and followed the astronomer to his obser\a-
tory. When they arrived there, they found him
sitting with his eye at the none-too-reliable instru-
ment, uttering exclamations of thankfulness that
he had lived to make this great dise»vcry.
" Not Biela's, not Newton's, not Encke's — not a
bit like any of them," s.aid he : '•all my own. gen-
tlemen— entirely my own ! "
Then he took up his slate, and went to figuring
upon it. Several of the crowd, who were now
j.ammed close together around him in the little
octagonal room, made generous offers of .issistance.
" I was always good at the multiplication-table,"
siiid one.
" I h.ivc a line, clear eye," said another; "can't
I help you aim the pipe ? "
Ill A i; ION KOUEKS.
529
This cxcitcti a laiigli of derision from another,
who innuirctl whether the man with the fine, clear
ove ■• did n't know a pipe from a chube ?"
Another rolled up his sleeves, and said he was
ready to take his turn at the crank for the cause of
science: while still another expressed his willing-
ness to blow the bellows all night, if Professor
Vdanis would show him where the handle was.
They all insisted on having a peep at the
comet through the telescope, and with some
jostling to<ik turns about.
One man, svith round face and ruddy cheeks,
after taking a look, murmured solemnly :
his head, and hurled it ; and, in the twinkling uf
an eye, that comet had p;issed its perihelion, and
shot from the solar system in so long an ellipse that
I fear it will never return.
I'nfortun.itely, the (lying cart-stake not only put
out the comet, but struck I'haeton, who had been
left there by Monkey Koe to manage the thing, and
put his arm out of joint. Me bore it heroically, and
" That old thing bodes no good to this city."
'• -Ah, Professor," said another, " your fortune 's
made for all time. This 'II be known to fame as
the (^ircat American Comet. I dare say it 's as big
IS all the comets of the Old World put together."
Mr. Wheeler took an unusually long look.
'• (lentlemen," said he, "I don't believe that
comet will stay with us long. We 'd belter leave
the Professor to his calculations, while we go back
and have a toast to hLs great discovery."
But nobody stirred. Then Mr. Wheeler lefl the
obscr\-atory, and walked straight up to Haven's
bam. He picked up a cart-stake, swung it around
Vol. VIII. ^34
bed down to the ground alone
before he told us what had hap-
pened. Then, as he nearly fainted
away, we helped him home, while
Holman ran for the family physician,
who arrived in a few minutes and
set the arm.
" It serves me right," said Phae-
ton, "for lending myself to any of
Monkey Roe's schemes to build a
mere fool-thing."
" 1 'm sorry you 're hurt, Fay,"
said Ned ; •' but it docs seem as if
I that comet was a silly machine, only
intended to deceive me and Profes-
' sor .Adams, instead of being for the
good of mankind, like your other
inventions. And now you wont be
.ible to do anything in the printing-office for a
long while, just when we 're crowded with work.
If you were not such a very good fellow, we
should n't let you have any share of the profits
for the next month."
CHAi'iF.R XII.
A I.ITKRARV MYSIKRV.
Thk printing-office enjoyed a steady run of cus-
tom, and, as Ned had said, we were just now-
crowded with work. Almost e\'ery hour that we
530
PHAETON ROGERS.
were not in bed, or at school, was spent in setting
type or pulling the press. It was not uncommon
for Ned to work with a sandwich on the corner of
his case ; and, as often as he came to a period, he
would stop and take a bite.
" This is the way Harnum used to do," said he,
"when he started his museum — take his lunch
with him, and stay right there. It 's the only way
to make a great American success" — and he took
another bite, his dental semicircle this time inclos-
ing a portion of the bread that bore a fine proof-
impression of his thumb and finger in printer's ink.
Though Phaeton was not able, for some time, to
take a hand at the work, he rendered good service
by directing things, as the head of the firm. He
was often suspicious, where Ned and I would have
been taken in at once, as to the circuses and min-
strel shows for which boys used to come and order
tickets and programmes by the hundred, always .
proposing to pay for them out of the receipts of the
show. The number of these had increased enor-
mously, and it looked as if the boys got them up
mainly for the sake of seeing themselves in print.
Sometimes the\' would make out the most elabo-
rate programmes, and then want them printed at
once, before their enterprises had any existence
excepting on paper, (^ne boy, whose father was an
actor, had made out a complete cast of the play
of " Romeo and Juliet," with himself put down
for the part of Romeo, and Monkey Roe as Juliet.
One day, a little curly-headed fellow, named
Moses Green, came to the office, and wanted us to
print a hundred tickets like this:
MOSE GREEN'S
MINSTRKL SHOW.
.\dmit the Bearer.
" Where 's your show going to be ? " said
Phaeton.
" 1 don't know," said Moses. " If Uncle James
should sell his horses, perhaps 1 could have it in
his bam."
" Yes, that would be a good place," said Phae-
ton. " And who are your actors?"
" I don't know," said Moses. " But 1 'in going
to ask Charlie C.arrison, because he has a good
fife ; and Lem Whitney, because he knows how to
black up with burnt cork; and Andy Wilson, be-
cause he knows ' O Susanna' all by heart."
"And what is the price of .admission?" said
Phaeton.
"1 don't know," said Moses. -'But I thoujiht
that, may be, if the boys would n'l pay five cents,
I 'd take four."
'• 1 '11 tell you what 't is, .Moses," said Phaeton;
"we 're badly crowded with work just now, and it
would accommodate us if you could wait a little
while. .Suppose you engage your actors first, and
rehearse the pieces that you 're going to play, and
get the barn rigged up, and bum the cork, and
make up your mind about the price ; and then
give us a call, and we '11 print your tickets."
"All right," said Moses. "I '11 go home and
burn a cork, right away."
And he went off, whistling " 0 Susanna."
" Fay, I think that 's bad policy," said Ned,
when Moses was out of sight.
" 1 don't see how you can say that," said
Phaeton.
" It 's as plain as day," said Ned. "We ought
to have gone right on and printed his tickets. Sup-
pose he has n't any show, and never will have one
— what of it? We should n't suffer. His father
would see that our bill was paid. I '\e heard Father
say that Mr. Green was the very soul of honor."
" .Ah, Ned, 1 'm afraid you 're getting more
sharp than honest." said Phaeton.
From the fact that our school has hardly been
mentioned in this story, it must not be inferred that
we were not all this time acquiring education by
the usual methods. The performances here record-
ed took place out of school-hours, or on Saturdays,
when there was no school. The events inside the
temple of learning were generally so dull that they
would hardl)- interest the story-reader.
Yet there was now and then an accident or exploit
which relieved the tediousness of study-time. One
day, Robert Fox brought to school, .is part of his
lunch, a bottle of home-ni.ide pop-beer. .Xn hour
before intermission we were startled by a tremen-
dous hissing and foaming sound, and the heads of
the whole school were instantly turned toward the
t|uarter whence it came. There was Fox with the
palm of his hand upon the cork, which was half-way
in the bottle that stood upon the floor beside his
desk. Though he threw his whole weight upon it,
he could not force it in any farther, and the beer
rose like a fountain almost to the ceiling, and fell
in a beautiful circle, of which Fox and his bottle
were the interesting center. .Any boy who has
attended a school taught by an ir;isciblc m.ister will
readily imagine the sequel. Holman recorded the
.iffair in the form of a Latin fable, which was so
popular that we printed it. Here it is:
Xfl.l'KS KT Bker.
Qiioiiiiam -.•lilpcs iHUtiihiin poppi beeris in schoht
tiili/, quoii ill iitrti repciielhit. Seii cvn/ti Ai.iti, cA
rilAKTON KOCEKS.
-■^j'
j'im AffTM, lorf^x col/um rr/i</uil, <■/ btvr, spuiiums, (Hight to be, \'ulp(s" (he pronoiinceil tl>c word in
St fkivimfHlt^ fffudit. Ilfiiiiit mai^isltr capit unuin one syllable) "drank hfvr."
txlrftnum tori, ct vulpts alltrum sfnliflhit. Hire This shows the perils of ignorance. If Charlie
fiibulit JiH ft /Milt. tcAi-n yi>i4 hriiiti' pi'p-bi-t-r to si-hi\<l, had had a ihoroujjh classical training, he wouldn't
you shoutd //> the striiix; so tii^/it l/uil it lon't fayp have made such a mistake. It was a curious fact
offlH-fore lunch-tiim. that. the lx)ys who had never studied Latin, and to
whom the blunder had to be explained, laughed at
When Jack-in-lhe-Box saw this fable, he said it him more unmercifully than anybody else.
was a good fable, and he was proud of his pupil, Hut Holman's literary masterpiece (if it was his)
was in rhyme, and in some re-
spects it remains a mystery to this
day.
One evening he called to sec
me, and intimated that he had
some confidential business on
hand, for which we should better
adjourn to the printing-office, and
accordingly we went there.
" I want a job of printing done,"
said he, "' provided it can be done
in the right way."
■• W'e shall be glad to do it as
well as we possibly can," said I.
•• What is it .- "
■"! can't tell you what it is,"
said he.
'■ Well, let me see the manu-
script," said 1.
"There is n't any manuscript,"
said he.
"Oh, it is n't prepared yet?"
said I. " When will it be ready?"
" There never will be any man-
uscript for it." said he.
1 began to be puzzled. Still, I
remembered that small signs and
labels were often printed, consist-
ing of only a word or two, which
did not require any copy.
" Is it a sign ?" said 1.
•No."
"Labels?"
. "No."
•IT EosE uKE A KoiNTAiN." " Thcn what in the world is it?
• .\nd how do you suppose 1 am
though he felt obliged to admit that some of the going to print a thing for you, unless I know what
tenses were a little out of joint.
Holman said he put the moral in ICnglish because
that was the important part of it. and ought to be
in a language that cvcryliody could understand.
Mf>nkey Rck- said he w.is glad to hear this expla-
nation, as he had been .ifniid it was because Hol-
man h.ul got to the end of his Latin.
Charlie Garrison, in attempting to criticise the
title of the fable, only exposed himse-lf to ridicule.
" It must be a mistake," said he ; " for you know
you can't eat beer. It "s plain enough that it
it is that I am to print i
"That 's the point of the whole business," said
Isiiae. " 1 want you to let me come into your office,
and use your type and press to print a little thing
that concerns nobody but myself, and 1 don't care
to have even you know about it. I want you to let
me do all the work myself, when you are not here,
and 1 shall w.ish up the rollers, distribute the type,
destroy .all my proofs, and leave everything in the
office as I found it. Of course 1 sh.ill pay you the
same .ts if vou did the work."
53-
IIIAKTON ROGERS.
IMav.
" Hut how can you set the typo ?" said 1. " Voii
don't oven know the case, do you ?"
"No," said he; "but 1 suppose the letters are
all in it somewhere, and I can find them with a
little searching."
"And do you know how to lock up a form.'"
said I.
"I 'vc often seen you do it," said he: "and I
think I 'm mechanic enough to manage it."
" When do you want to go to work ?"
" /)iii> i-^iirs, nxtiis ab — to-night, right away."
"\'ery well — good-night I" said 1.
When 1 went to the office ne.xl <la\ . I found Ned
morning, 1 found the oil all burned out of the big
lamp, —I filled it yesterday, — and these torn scraps
in the wood-box. I got so many together pretty
easily, but 1 can't find another one that will fit."
'•It looks as if it had been a poem," said I.
" Ves," said Ned; " of course it was. And oh,
look here ! It w.-is an .tcrostic, too I "
Ned took out his pencil, and filled in what he
supposed to be the missing initial letters, making
the name \'lOLA Gliddkn.
" It iiitiy have been an .icrostic," said 1; "but
you can't tell with certainty, so much is missing."
" There is n't anv doubt in mv mind," said Ned;
'^'^^^&
TO OX
KD.
\''ainly tri\
■e
sweetness —
^^
Instantly comet
back ;
0\ci- rt
r(
1
c
ream
its fleetness.
with its tor
and rack.
m
liow I sigh
m\ od.
%'
Going in fan
long agont;, —
1
Looking cros<
he jo
W'^
I knew er
me dawn
earest and hes
aiigi{ters.
aspire t
o\-e
regard ?
Kvcn in
otus
dext
aters.
Never again to
ai
ward.
ii.f
busily at work trying to ht together some small
torn scraps of jiaper. They were printed on one
side, and, as fast as he found where one belonged,
he fastened it in place by pasting it to a blank
sheet which he had laid down as a foundation.
When I arrived, the work had progressed ;is far
as shown in the card on this page.
" Here 's a mystery," said Ned.
" What is it?" said I.
" Did you print this.'" said he. suddenly, looking
into my face suspiciously.
" No," said I, calmly ; " 1 never saw it before."
"Well, then, somebody must have broken into
our office last night. For when I came in this
"and it 's perfectly evident to me who the burglar
must have been. F.verybody knows who dotes on
\'iola ("ilidden."
" 1 should think a good many would dote on
her," s;>id 1 : " she 's the handsomest girl in town."
"Well, then," said Ned, "look at that 'otus
de.\t.' Of course it was tolus de.vUr, — and who's
the boy that uses that cl.assic expression ? I
should n't have thought that so nice a fellow as
lloluian would break in here at midnight, and put
his mushy love-poetry into print at our expense.
He must have been here about all night, for thai
lamp-full of oil lasts nine hours. "
" There 's an easy way to punish hnn, whoever
,»s.l
V 1 1 A K T ( ) N K ( ) ( ; 1-; K s .
■^53
ho was," said Phaeton, who had come in, in time
,.1 hear most of our convers;itii>n.
•• How is that?" siiid Ned.
•' tict out ;i handbill," s;iid rh.u-ton, " and spread
II all over tosvn, olTeriu}; a reward of one cent fur
ilie conviction of the burglar wlio broke into our
■ ilioi- List ni^ht and printed an acrostic, of which
'.111- following is a fac-simile of a mutilated proof
Then set up this, just as you have it here."
•• That 's it ; that '11 make him hop," said Ned.
• 1 '11 go to work on it at once."
•' Hut," siiid I, "It 'U make Miss Cilidden hop,
tlHI."
•• Let her hop."
" But then, perhaps her brother John « ill call
iinund and m.ike you hop."
■• He can't do it," said Ned. '" The man that
'wns a printing-press can make everybody else
hop, and nobody can make him hop — unless it is a
man that owns another press. ' Whoever tries to
fight a printing-press always gets the worst of it.
Father s.jys so, and he knows, for he tried it on the
I'imiiiiili'r when he was runnmg for sheriff and
ihey slandered him."
.At this point, 1 explained that Holman had not
come there without permission, and that he ex-
pected to pay for everything.
"Why did n't you tell us that before?" said
ri'.aeton.
" I w;is going to tell you he had been here,"
said 1, "and that he did not want any of us to
know what he printed. But when 1 saw you had
found that out, 1 thought perhaps, in fairness to
him, 1 ought not to tell you w/io it was."
" .Ml right," said Ned. ''Of course, it 's none
of our business how much love-poetry Holman
makes, or how spoony it is, or what girl he sends it
to, if he pays for it all. But don't forget to charge
him for the oil. By the way, so many of the boys
owe us for printing, I 've bought a blank-book to
put the accounts in, or we sh.iU forget some of
them. Monkey Roe's mother paid for the ' Orphan
Boy' \csterday. I 'II put that down now. Half
a dollar was n't enough to charge her ; we must
make it up on the next job we do for her or
.Monkey."
While he was saj-ing this, he wrote in his book :
.l/rv. Roe per Monkey \i orphan btiys 50 Paid.
Hardly h.id he finished the entry, when the door
of the office was suddenly opened, and Patsy
RaAicrty thrust in his head and shouted :
" jiinnu tin- KliMiur 's UilUdI '
" Wl..n.-••
" Wh.a. •
" I say Jimin) ll\i- RlivMur s killed I And you
done it, too ! "
I am sorry that I'atsy s;iid "done," when he
meant ilid. But he was a good-hearted boy, never-
theless ; and probably his excitement Wiis what
made him forget his grammar.
"What do you mean?" said Ned, wlio had
turned as pale as ashes.
" You ought to know wh.it I mean," said Patsy.
"Just because he had the bad luck to spill a few
of your old types, you abused him like a pickpocket,
and said he 'd got to pay for 'cm, and drove him
out of the office. .And he 's been down around the
depot every day since, selling papers, Iryin' to
make money enough to pay you. And now he 's
got runned over be a hack, when he w.-is goin' across
the street to a gentleman that wanted a paper.
And they 'vc took him home, and my mother says
it 's all your fault, too. you miserable skintlint ! I
wont have any of your gifts ! "
And with that. Patsy thrust his hand into his
pocket, drew out the visiting-cards that Ned had
printed for him, and threw them high into the room,
so that in falling they scattered over everything.
"I '11 bring back your car." he continued, "as
soon as I can get it. 1 lent it to Teddy Dwyer last
week."
Then he shut the door with a bang, and went
away.
We looked at one another in consternation.
■' What shall wc do ? " said Ned.
'• 1 think we ought to go to Jimmy's house at
once," said I.
"Yes, of course," said Ned.
And he and 1 started. Phaeton went the other
way — as we after>vard learned, to inform his mother,
who was noted for her efficient charity in cases of
distress.
Ned and 1 not only went by the postern, but we
made a bee-line for Jimmy's house, going over any
number of fences, and straight through door-yards
and giirden-patches, without the slightest reference
to streets or paths.
We left in such a hurry that wc forgot to lock up
the office. While we were gone. Monkey Roe
sauntered in, found Holman's acrostic, which Ned
had pieced together, and, when he went away,
carried it with him.
^Tc tx coHttHueti.y
534
TlIK SHINING DAYS f t F MAY
llli; MIIM\(; DAYS OF MAY
Uv Lucy M. Blinn.
Oh, the shining clays of May !
Don't you hear them coming, coming, —
In the robin's roundelay, —
In the wild bee's humming, humming r
In the quick, impatient sound
Of the red-bird's restless whirring,
In the whispers in the ground
Where the blossom-life is stirring f
In the music in the air.
In the laughing of the waters ;
Nature's stories, glad and rare,
Told Earth's listening sons and daugliters?
Surely, hearts must needs be gay
In the shining days of May !
/«iv//f cox
I
rilK l'RIN( !■: OK Till-: II IK lis.
535
Til I, I'R IXC1-: OK Til I. in RDS.
liV I'.RNEST INOERSOI.L.
I all the beautiful birils
\ou ever saw, is not the
-</,• i^KMCOck the most be;ui-
~^ tiful ant! showy ? Have
-, you over thought how beau-
tiful it is ? I suppose the
trader of the South Sea
islands has no appreciation of
ilie loveliness that we see in
the bird-of-paradise, nor does
the Hottentot fully know the
j^race and richness of the os-
trich plumes which he sticks in his
hair. What is familiar to us loses beauty
In our eyes, simply because we see it com-
monly ; and I fancy that if we came suddenK-
upon a peacock, his glorious tail spread before our
delighted giize for the first time in our lives, we
should not hesitate to consider him the prince of
the feathered race.
Peacocks have been domesticated fowls for a
great many years, but have not degenerated and
lost their original tints or shape as have the barn-
yard fowls and ducks, and, to some extent, the
turkeys. Nevertheless, travelers tell us that the
wild peacocks are far handsomer than the tame
ones. It seems impossible. The peafowl is a
native of India, and some of the islands of the
Indian or Malayan archipelago. Various parts of
Java abound with them, yet there are none in
IJomeo nor in Sumatra, though these islands are
close by. But then, some other birds of the fam-
ily to which the peacocks and pheasants belong
occur plentifully in Sumatra and Borneo, and
are unknown to Java. On the main-land of Asia,
peacocks of some sort — for there are half a dozen
species — abound, from southern India to the north-
ern table-lands, and even through the high passes
into the forests and steppes of Thibet. Our domes-
ticated variety is the common one in India, where
it is known as the crested peacock. The peacock of
J.iva is different, "the neck being covered with scar-
let-like green feathers, and the crest of a diflTerent
form," but the eyed train is equally large and beau-
tiful. The remote Thibetan species has a lesser
train, and its general color is white, upon which
ornamental feathers arc distributed in a most strik-
ing manner.
These birds prefer wootled districts, especially
low, tangled, thickety forests, partly cane and partly
hard-wood growths, called "Jungles," and there
they congregate in large flocks. One writer says
that from an eminence he once saw the sun rise
upon more than a thousand of these dazzling birds.
What a sight that must have been ! How the level
golden beams of light must have been reflected in
a hundred crossed and gleaming rays from the trem-
bling and iridescent plumes ! I can not understantl
how any foreground to a sunrise coulil be devised
better than the waving green summit of a forest,
covered with a thousand swaying peacocks.
The food of these birds, like that of the argus
phc.isant and other such fowls, consists of seeds,
small fruits, buds, or the juicy tops of tender plants,
and insects — particularly beetles. To get this food,
the peacock, of course, spends much of his time
on the ground, and he is sometimes caught there
by being run down with dogs, or by men on horse-
back. He can make good speed on foot, however.
The nest is a rough little heap of grass and straw,
placed on the ground, and hollowed out enough to
keep its dozen eggs from rolling away. The young
are at first as dull-colored as the hen, and it is
only after the third year that the male gets his
full regalia.
It would seem as if a bird carrying .so long
and cumbersome a train would find it very difficult
to mount into the air, but he manages to do so by
running a little way upon the ground and then
leaping upward. Once st.-xrted, he can rise to a
considerable height, and gracefully swing his broad
tail over trees that it would try your muscle to
cover with an arrow from the stoutest bow. One
way of peacock-hunting, which used to be much
pursued, was by falcons. Here was game well
suited to falconry. It gave a glittering prize to the
eager kestrel or gyrfalcon or goshawk, and fitted
the gayly dressed lords and ladies who followed
the falconer, and watched with lively excitement
the flights of their brave hunter of the air.
The pc.icock's train is his glory. It eclipses all
the burnished tints and reflections of his proud
little head and jaunty crest. 1 have read a very-
good and minute description of this most superb
specimen of Nature's feather-work, which 1 would
rather quote than try to equal :
"The train derives much of its beauty from the
loose barbs of its feathers, whilst their great number
and their unequal length contribute to its gorgeous-
ness, the upper feathers being successively shorter,
so that when it is erected into a disk, the eye-like
or moon-like spot at the tip of each feather is dis-
5J56
r UK I'K I NT K "T I 111: 11 1 K n
nithough some <if ymi cil\ iliiMi
fans, or displayed as dccoratitms in parlor and libnin'.
t.. •Ii'-r.ner ihis decorative value of peac"!.: f.
played. The lowest and longest feathers of the train
do not terminate in such spots, but in spreading barbs,
which encircle the erected disk. The blue of the neck :
the green and black of the back and wings ; the brown,
green, violet, and gold of the tail ; the arrangement of
the colors, their metallic splendor, and the play of color
m changing lights, render the male peacock an object
• •( univei-sal admiration."'
Hut this description, good as it is, c.innot give as true
111 idea of the bird's appearance .is any child m.iy have
ifter taking one glance at his magnificent lordship.
Nearly all my readers probably have had this ple.isure,
perhaps, have seen only the beautiful plumes, made up into
Hut
11.^
i)f lo-day are far from being the first
• ■■1- )>liiniage ornamented the thrones
Tin: I'UINCK () I- Till-: IIIRHS.
^37
.iinl p.il.iivs 111' IC.isliTii iDMn.ircli-.. and the houses
of the rich, in far-otT lenturies; and the lieniitiful
fan, shown yoii in the pietiire on tl\is p.ige, was
copied from one made more than two thousand
years a>;o, in Ktruria, a country of ancient Italy.
The peacock appears very early in history as a
domestic fowl, since the Hebrews had it lon^; before
the days of Solomon. From Asia it went westward
into Europe, ;»s soon as civilization bc(jan to pene-
trate what then were savage wilds. In those old
days of Rome, which the |)oets call its jjoldcr.
ajte, when the luxurious life of that splendid city
was at its height, no great feast was without its
peacocks, oxiked as the most ostentatious dish.
The body of the bird was roasted, and when
pl.iced upon the table w.ns wrapped in a life-
like way in its own skin, with the tail-feathers
spread. Could anything be more ornamental to
a dinner-table ? The custom of having peacocks
served at banquets continued into the Middle Ages,
but it is rarely that one is cooked nowadays, for
most persons c-onsidcr the flesh dry and tasteless.
The peacock seems tilled wiili .m intense admini-
tion of his own beauty. He pose> in a stalely .itti-
lude, <ir struts about, inviting your attention to his
magnificence ; then he slowly bends his proud head
from one .side to the other and rattles the quills of
his tail, as he marches otT with the parade of a
drum-m.-ijor, and turns to let the sunshine glint
upon bis plumes in some new way. "As vain as
a peacock "is a well-founded proverb, no doubt;
but, perhaps, in justice to the beautiful bird, it
would be wise to remember a short sermon on this
text from \<>ur ^ood friend, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, who
said to you, in .March, 1874:
" I gave a peacock a good talking to, the other
day, for being so vain. Hut he made me under-
stand that vanity was his principal merit. ' For,'
said he, " how in the world should wc peacocks
look, if wc did n't strut? What kind of an .lir
would our tail feathers have, if we did n't spread
them ? ' I gave in. A meek peacock would be
an absurdity. \'anity evidently was meant specially
for peacocks."
538
IN N.VTfkKS WU.N IJIOKI.ANI).
IN NATURKS WoM ) I". R I..\ X I) ; OR. A 1) \' I". XTU R KS I\ THK
A Mi: RICA \ l' RoI'ICS.
Bv Fki.ix L. Oswald.
Chapter \'n.
' Kocks and L>ncly ll
I'laygTWunds of ihc
Thk Republic of (luatemala is as far south as
Eg)pt, but its mountains arc so high that the
weather is by no means very hot, and when we
approached the heights of the Sierra (".orda we
had to unstrap our blankets to keep our poor
monkeys warm. The upper sierra was so lonely
that we became a little uneasy about our road, but
the confidence of our jjuide re-assured us.
"There is no doubt about the right direction,"
said he; "we have to keep straight south, and
if we get up to the ridge before sundown, you
will see the Valley of Antigua."
" I don't think we shall reach a house before
night," said Menito; "this looks like " He
stopped and clutched my arm. " Look up there,"
he whispered; "there 's soificbody ahead of us —
something moving in the cliffs over yonder."
The moving something looked like a big red
bag with two little feet, — a traveling bundle of red
shawls, .IS it seemed when we came a little nearer.
"Oh, 1 know," laughed Daddy Simon, "that 's
the old sergeant's daughter, with her pack of
dr)'-goods; 1 have met her twice' before."
" What sergeant ?" I asked.
" He used to belong to the mounted police,"
said the guide, "and he 's living somewhere in
this sierra now. His wife makes woolen shawls
and things, and they peddle them all over the
country. Yes, that 's the same girl," he whispered,
when \vc overtook the red bundle.
The bundle turned, and under a heap of woolen
shawls, caps, and mittens, we saw the owner of the
little feet, a black-eyed infant with a sharp nose
and a big w.ilking-stick — a mere baby, of eight or
nine years, 1 should say, certainly not more than
ten, but quite self-possessed.
" Fine evening," she obser\'ed, .ifter answering
our greeting. . "Traveling?"
"Yes, we are going to Antigua," 1 replied;
"do you know which is the shortest road.'"
" 1 'II show you by and by, when we get up in
the ridge," said she; " you are all right thus far.
Strangers, I suppose?"
"Not altiigether," said our guide; "didn't I
sec you in San Mateo two years ago ? "
"Of course you did," said she; "1 go there
ever)- Christmas."
"Quite alone?" 1 asked. "Don't the sierra
Indians bother you ? "
"Not if I know it," said the little milliner;
" they would find out that my father owns a musket.
My name is Miss Cortina, you know."
"Hut what about ghosts?" said Menito; "they
don't care for muskets. Suppose you should meet
the Wild Spaniard, or the Three Howling Monks?"
"Howling Monks? They had l>etter leave me
alone," said Miss Cortina, with a glance at her
walking-stick. " 1 'd give them something to howl
about."
The sun went down before we reached the
summit rocks, and it was almost dark when we
halted, in a grove of larch-trees on the southern
slope.
" 1 must leave you now," said Miss Cortina,
when we had pitched our tent. "That black
smoke-cloud over yonder is the Volcano of Mesaya,
so you see that you are going in the right direc-
tion. 1 '11 show you the trail to-morrow morning."
She shouldered her bundle and took camp under
the branches of a fallen tree, some fifty yards from
our bivouac.
" No wonder she is n't afraid of ghosts," laughed
Tommy; "would n't she make a good witch her-
self? She uses that bundle of hers for a bed, it
seems, but I wonder if she has anything to eat?"
"Here, Menito," said 1, "take her these cakes
and figs, and ask her if she needs anything else."
Menito started for the tree, but soon came back
laughing.
"She would n't let me come near her wig4\-am
at all," said he ; " she tells me that she can't
receive any callers after eight o'clock ! "
.About midnight, we were awakened b)- a strange
light that penetrated our tent and threw a reddish
glare on the opposite trees.
"That can't be the moon," said Tomm\ :
" may be the woods are afire — wait, I 'm going to
see what it is. Oh, come out here, all of you," he
cried, — " the whole sky is abl.tze ! "
We stepped out, and, sure enough, the whole
southern firmament w.is suffused with a lurid glow,
and. when «e had made our way through the
bushes, we saw the fire itself, a whirl of bright red
flames that scenud to rl^ii- from tln' heart of the
A I>VI:N IL' KKS IN lilt; AMKKUA.N TK()I'U:S.
539
contrnl sierra, and illuininatoil the wild mountains
near and far. Kver)' now and then a ttery mass
shot up into the clouds and fell back in a shower
of burnmjj (lakes.
•■ That 's the Volcano of Mcsaya," said Daddy
Simon. '• May the saints help all the poor people in
that sierra ! "
He and Menito Uwked on in silence, but Tomniy
had never seen a volcanic eruption before, and was
almost beside himself with excitement.
"Come this way!" he cried. "Step on this
led>;e, uncle, you can see it more plainly. Why,
talk about battles and tire-works ! All the ^un-
jKiwdcr in the world could not make a ti.imc of th.it
.\t sunrise the smoke of the volcano stood like a
black cloud-pillar in the southern sky, an<l when we
continued on our road, we noticed a strange dust in
the air, a haze of fme :ishcs, that had drifte<l over
with the night-wind. The lowlands at our feet,
however, were sunlit for hundreds of miles, .and
throu);h a gap in the south-western coast-range we
could see the glittering waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The southern slope of our sierra w.is very steep, till
we reached a sort of terrace formed by the upper
valley of the Rio Clam. Here our little guide
stopped, and pointed to a stone house that stood
like a watch-tower at the brink of the river-valley.
" That 's where my folks live," said she. " You
height I But how strange, — it is all so still ! That
%'olcano must be a long way from here."
" .About eighty miles," I replied. " It is beyond
the border, in the State of Nicaragua."
"What 's the matter?" said a squeaking little
voice behind us.
"Who's that?" tasked. " Miss Cortina ? "
" Yes, it 's I," said she. " What 's up?"
" Can't you see it ? " said Tommy. " Look over
yonder."
"That? Then 1 had better go to bed again,"
said the little lady. " Well, well ; I thought there
was something the matter. Never mind that old
volcano: you can see that any day in the year."
We were not quite sure about that. The night
was a little chdly, but we stood and looked till the
wonder w.xs veiled by tlu- rising morning mist.
can't miss your way now. Where you see that
cross-road, there, I have to turn off to the right. I
have been gone longer than I expected."
" I suppose you did not sell much on this trip ? "
inquired Menito, " though it 's none of my busi-
ness."
Miss Cortina cocked her sharp little nose.
" You had better mind your own business, then,"
said she. " 1 shall find a hundred customers before
you sell one of your old monkeys."
" That 's right, sissy," laughed Tom. " Hut we
do not sell our monkeys ; do you know anybody
hereabouts who docs? We want to buy all the pets
we can get — kittens, cats, and catamounts."
" You do ? " said she ; " why did n't you say so
before? How would a couple of young bears suit
you ? Mv f.ithi-r could lind you :\ p.iir of nice ones."
540
I.N NATURICS WON UK KUAN II
'• Whal will he take?" asked Mcnito.
'•That 's no business of mine," said the little
shrew. '• You just follow this road ; if iny father is
home, he will overtake you before you cross that
river. The bears are somewhere in the sierra."
A mile farther down we came to a bridge, where
we had to wait half an hour, till at last
a man with a large musket came run-
ning down the river-road.
" Yes, that 's the old sergeant," said
Daddy Simon. " 1 know him by that
big gun of his."
" Hallo! So my girl was right, after
all," said the sergeant. " Her mother
would n't believe that you wanted to
buy those bears."
" Where are they?" I asked.
" Up in the sierra; if you are bound
for Antigua, it 's a little out of your
direction," s.aid he. " Rut you might
.as well go by way of San Miguel, and
get the '.'ia/ico."
•• Wh.at 's that?"
" San Miguel is a convent," explained
the sergeant. "And the viatico is the
luncheon they give to all strangers."
" All right I " I laughed. " We must
n't miss that for anything. Come on,
then."
The sergeant was a fast walker, but
we managed to keep up with him some
eight miles, up and down hill through
the mountains, till he brought us to the
brink of a deep ravine, where our mule
refused to advance another step.
" You had better leave her up here
and let that boy take her along the hill-
side," said our new guide, "They can
meet us at the mouth of the ne.xt creek."
When we had reached the bottom of
the ravine the hunter stopped and point-
ed to a pile of bowlders on the opposite
slope. " That 's the bear's den," said
he ; " she has two cubs, nearly a month
old, 1 should say ; let 's fetch them right
now."
" Then we had better get our guns ready
Tommy.
"Never mind the guns," said the sergeant;
"1 'II get the bears for you ; they are only cubs,
and the old one is n't at home."
" How do you know ?"
" She 's out marmot-hunting," said he ; " there 's
a colony of marmollos" (a sort of prairie-dogs) "on
the ridge of this sierra, and they never come out
till the sun gets pretty high, a little after noon, gen-
erally. Now hold my musket a moment," said
he, when we reached un iH.«iuirs. He untied a
little bundle, took out a sack and a pair of large
buckskin gloves, and after looking carefully up and
down the ravine, he crawled into a cleft in the bot-
tom rocks of the pile.
" There 's something wrong — may be the old
said
bear was at home, after all," said Toinmy. when we
had waited about twenty minutes, without seeing
any sign of the sergeant.
'■ No, 1 think he knows what he 's .about," said
Daddy Simon ; " he 's the best hunter in this sierra,
and ijuite ,as sharp-nosed as his daughter. Yes,
here he coines. Listen ! "
\ whimpering howl came from the depths of the
cave, and, a inomcnt after, the hunter cr.awled out
and handed us a creature like a fat. black poodle-
dog. "*Herc, take charge of this old howler," said
1 V i: N If Ri-;s IN rill \Mi;i<ir.\N ruoi'us.
54'
he: " thi-y :iro bigger tli.iii 1 cxpciru-il ; I aiii K>"'it;
to get his brother now."
•• There is n't n\uch tinu- In lose," said lie, when
he re-apiK-ared uilh the soconil black piH)dle ; '■ the
old bear will con\e home Ix'fore long. We shall
have to play her a trick, or she may come after lis."
" What are you going to »lo?" 1 asked.
" I 'II show you," Siiid he ; and taking hold of
the two cubs, he s<iuscd them in the creek at the
Ixiltom of the ravine : and then, holding them close
together, he walked slowly toward another pile of
Uiwlders a little farther down. The drencheil
iiihs trickled like two watering-[X)ts, and after hold-
ing them over the top of the pile, he rubbed their
«el fur against some of the projecting rocks.
■•Let me see tli.it bag now," s;iid he: "chuck
them in, ple.ise : that 's it. And now let 's get out
• >:' this as fast iis we can. Come this way ; straight
uphill : the shortest way is the best."
We clambered up the slope on our hands and
feet, till we came in sight of the place where Menito
was wailing with the mule. Hut before we reached
them, the hunter suddenly threw himself flat be-
hind a rock and motioned us with his hand to keep
down and hide ourselves. " I knew there was no
time to lose," he whispered : " here comes the old
one ! "
Down below, at the bottom of the \;illcy, a big
£it bear came trotting along the creek with her
nose close to the ground, making straight for the
wet b<iwlders. There she stopped, and after nos-
ing about here and there, she raised herself on her
hind legs and began to tear down the rocks, one
after another, though some of them could not
weigh less than .i ton. Now and then she raised
her he.id and looked silently all around, and then,
with a fierce growl, she fell upon the rocks again.
1 wcindcred how she would manage the enormous
bowlders at the Uittoin of the pile, but before she
had linished her work, the hunter slipped away
and beckoned us to follow him.
■• Wc are all right now," s;iid he. when we got
back to the hill-road; "she has n't seen us yet,
and before she has finished there, we shall have n
^lart of a mile at least. How do you like the cubs
•don't you think they are worth four dollars.' "
" Certainly," s;iid I : " but I 'II give you five,
for showing us how to outwit a bear."
"Yes, but liv)k here," said Daddy Simon, " Mr.
Cortina must n't leave us yet : we should be sure
to lose our way : 1 have never been in this part of
the sierra before."
" Don't trouble yourselves about that," laughed
the hunter : " I want to get my sh,ire of that viatico.
Hut. m the tirst pl.ice, we must have some dinner
now : I "11 take you to a place where we can get
.inv amount of bread and honev. "
" What ! K there a house up here? " 1 asked.
"No, but a honey-camp," s;iid the sergeant;
"old Jack (ioinCit is living there all by himself,
hunting up wild bees' nests in the rocks, lie's
the funniest old chap you ever saw."
We could not deny that, when Mr. Cortina in-
troduced us to the hermit. The old fellow wore
leather knee-breeches, and a short leather waist-
coat, but nothing else, ;md from the top of his
bare head to the tips of his toes his skin looked .is
if he had been painted with yellow ocher and
coach-varnish ; his beard and his long hair were
just one inass of clotted honey.
" Mow are you. J.ick ? " said the sergeant, and
slapped him on the shoulder, but drew back his
hand ,is if he had touched a pitched kettle.
"Just look at this ! " cried he. "Why don't you
wash yourself, you old monster r "
" Wash myself I " chuckled the hermit; "what
would be the use, my de:ir friends ? I should be
covered with honey again the very next day. That 's
just the fun of it," he continued, pointing to a big
pile of honey-combs. " I find a nest every day !
The young chaps in .San Tomas would like to
find out how 1 do it. but they can't," he tittered,
" they can't I 1 get a keg full before they can fill a
i|uart-cup. 1 could get rich at this business." said
he, " but my nephew charges me a dollar for every
barrel he hauls to Antigua."
" Why don't you take it there yourself? " .isked
the sergeant.
" To .Antigua ? The saints bless you ! " laughed
the hermit, — " the flics would eat me ;ilive I No ;
1 have to stick to the highlands."
" Where do you sleep at nighl. Don domez?"
1 inquired.
" Right here," said he, '" under this tree, or in
that dug-out "—with a glance at an excavation in
the side of the hill. " If it 's going to rain, I can
tell it by my weather-prophets, up there."
Behind the cliffs of the honey-camp rose a lime-
stone ridge, so absolutely perpendicular that some
of the rocks looked like tower-walls. On top of this
natural fortress roosted a swarm of king-vultures —
big, black fellows with red heads, taking their ease
.TS if they knew that their citadel wiis inaccessible
to human feet. The ridge was honey-combed with
caves similar to the holes in the lower clifTs. and,
■as the vultures flew to and fro, their young ones
thrust their heads out of the holes and seemed to
clamor for their dinner.
" If it 's going to rain, the old ones go to roost
in those holes," said the hermit. "I never knew
them to make a mistake."
The vulture-rock w.is too sleep to climb, and it
would have been useless to shoot the poor fellows,
but the hcniiit sold us a [lair of mamwllos, or
54-^
I N X A T V K 1 : s w o x n k r k a n u .
[M*
mountain weasels, lively little chaps, looking alninst
like yellow squirrels with stump-tails. He had
tamed several dozen of them, and fed them nn the
refuse of his wax-caldron. These m.irmols and a
little dog, he said, had been his only companions
for the last five years.
" Let 's go," said the sergeant, as soon as we
had finished our dinner ; " we can not get to San
mountain meadows stretched away before us for
miles and miles ; but there was not a trace of a
human settlement. Toward sunset, however, we
passed an abandoned cottage that reminded me
of the shepherds' cabins in the Austrian Alps.
" 1 onie tried to camp in that shanty," said the
sergeant, " but I did not sleep a wink: there 's a
nest of mountain i)arrots somewhere on the roof or
%'
^|/.|^.| ^ f
III
THE I'ETS OF THE CONVENT.
Miguel before to-morrow noon, but it wont rain in tlie chimney, and the old ones screamed all
to-night, if we can trust those vultures, and I am night like wild-cats."
going to take you to a very comfortable camp." " I wish we could find some kind of a shelter-
The southern chain of the siemi seemed to be place," I observed : "it will be chilly to-night."
almost entirely uninhabited, -wild rocks and lonely " Yes, but not where we are going to camp,"
tMl.J
ADVENTURES IN III I \MI KIC.W IKOl-KS.
54.;
s-iid the hunter; "just wait till you sec the place."
lie tiHik us to a dry nivine with an overhanjjinj;
leilj;e, where the winds had heajK-d up a mass of
dr>- leaves lron\ a neighboring live-oak grove. We
r.li.r.1 lln-m t,HH-lluT l.lli. .1 lir...- ,>il.- -nul lln ■
nCTeRE COMMEMORATING A H'CKY
spread our tent-doth on top ; but there were still
leaves enough left to till a hundred bed-sacks.
•• \Vc '11 pile them on top of our blankets," said
the sergeant ; " that will keep us more comfortable
than any camp-fire. .A fire is apt to go out. and if
it docs you are sure to wake up with cold feet, but
these leaves will keep us as warm as a feather-bed."
They did, indeed, and we had never p.-issed a
more comfortable night in the wilderness. Hut
toward morning Tommy waked me before it was
quite daylight.
'• How 's that?" said he. " I have been sitting
up in my shirt-slccvcs for half an hour, and it 's
as wam> .ts ever. It 's going to rain, 1 am afraid."
After a look at the clouds, I made them all get
up and pack their things. The whole sky was
overcast with a grayish h.ize that looked ver)' much
like the .ish-cloud of the volcano.
"There 's a storm brewing," said the hunter;
" I heard something like thunder a while ago. It
must be in the central valley, between this sierra
and the one we left yesterday morning."
That seemed, indeed, the true explanation. We
did not see any lightning, but as we descended the
valley the thunder in the mountains boomed like a
distant cannonade, with an end-
. echo ; sometimes like the
cp iiiulterings of a human
lice, and then again like the
I iimbling of a ten-pin ball over
.1 hollow floor. Hy good luck,
our road went steadily down-
hill, and we pressed for-
ward at the rate of five
miles an hour till we sight-
ed our destination, the
' Onvent of San Miguel,
■1 a grove of poplar
ind plane trees. Down
in the valley we set
our mule trotting
now and then, for
the thunder-peals
became louder
and louder, as if
the storm
^.j^y^ were fol-
■ '■ ' lowing at
our heels.
'•There 's no
danger till we see the
lightning," said the
" it 's still all on the
other side of the sierra. "
Half a mile from the convent we
came to a creek, where we hastily
watered our mule and washed our wire
baskets and saddle-bags.
"Would n't this be a nice bathing-place ? " said
Menito; "why, it 's ;is warm to-day as in mid-
summer ! "
" Yes, but we had better hurry up," said
Tommy; "I believe 1 s.aw a flash of lightning
just now."
"Hallo, your boy is right!" said the hunter;
" look at the mountains — it 's coming ! "
The summits of the sierra had suddenly turned
gray, and even while we ran we could hear the
roar of the storm in the pine-forests of the upper
ridge.
" Forward ! " cried the sergeant; " we can reach
the convent in ten minutes ! "
Black Betsy seemed to underst.and him. and
went ahe.id, till we had to nm at the top of our
speed to keep up with her. Dust and leaves
flew over our he.ids, but through the rush of the
whirlwind we could hear the loud shouting of the
people at the convent: and just before the storm
overtook us, we reached the g;ite, amidst the cheers
hunter;
544
1 N N \ T I K I-:
WDM) !•; K I . A N I > .
of the jolly friars, who met us in the courl-yard, " Would
.ind puUtd our mule throujjh the portico into the 1 asked.
like to sell nie one of those pets?"
lower h.ill of the convent.
In the ne.\t minute the rain came down like
delujje, but we were safe. The convent was
massive stone building;, with a flag-roof that
had weathered worse storms than this. While
we brushed the dust from our coats, the
hunter and one of the monks helped
Uaddy Simon to unpack the mule, - '
but by some mistake they un-
buckled the stra[) that held the
wire baskets. These tum-
bled down, and out jumped
our little friend. Bobtail
Billy, and was }^rab-
>if
'^:^V^\Vk^
bed almost in thi
same moment by .
savage-looking bull
dog, who wfnild cer
tainly have killed .<~'^-^ v ■
him if a monk had
not caught him by the throat in ', ' -'
the nick of time. As it w.as, vj^-."
Billy got ofif with a bad scare,
but he did not leave off chat-
tering and whimpering for the
next ten minutes.
The rain lasted all night, but the
next morning was as clear and sunny
.as a May day in Italy, and before we left,
the abbot took us over to a side-building,
to show us the curiosities of the convent.
They had a collection of Indian
Idols and weapons, and a strange
feather-cloak which had belonged
to a prince of the na-
tion that inhabited
("luatcmala before the
Spaniards came. It
was m.ade of coarse linen, but
from the collar to the lower
scam, continuous rows of gau-
dy bird-feathers had been
stitched into the weft of the
cloth, blue and gray ones ""-'v hohtah
forming the b.ickground, with
the brilliant plumes of the yellow macaw set around
the collar, and red and purple wing-feathers dis
^'
-t s^-
■' I do not know,'' said the ablxjt. '" It 's against
the rule ; but 1 think I '11 let you have a pair, and Mr.
Cortina can get me some new ones."
••Why? Is there
a 1.1W against it ? " I
.asked.
"No; I'll tell you
how it is," said the
abbot. '•Come this
way. please."
He took us to the
refector\- of the con-
vent, and showed u>
a large picture rep-
resenting a man in
hot pursuit of a bear
with a child in its
mouth.
•'This picture was
painted to commem-
orate an .actual oc-
currence," said he.
•• Some fifty years
ago, a gentleman by the
name of Yegros owned
a large farm near this
convent, and while his
children were at play In
the garden one day, a
bear broke through the
hedge .ind ran off with
his little son. Don Ye-
gros snatched up his
musket and started in
pursuit, but, seeing that
he could not overtake
the bear, he knelt down
and fired — a well-aimed
shot, as he thought, and
from a distance that
m.ade it easy enough to
hit such a large brute.
But the bear kept on,
riRvs iBKSEciToR. .ind dlsappcarcd in the
chaparral [thorn-jungle]
of the neighboring hills. .'Xfter a long search,
the child w.as given up for lost, till, some eight
tributed here and there, like flower-patterns (*i a days after, two of our monks, coming home from
gray carpet. They had also an assortment of a \isit to an Indian village, saw a number of
stuffed snakes, and on the porch of the main vultures on a certain tree in the depths of the
building stood a big cage, shaped like a castle, chaparral, and, m.iking their way to the sjxn, found
with turrets and weather-cocks, and containing a the carcass of the bear, and not far olT a little Ixiy
dozen tame k'ng-vultures. They hopped out as of four or five years, who told then) his father's
soon .-IS the cage WiLs opened, and followed us all name, and said that he had lived a whole week on
al^out the porch like dogs. wild raspberries. When Don Yegros got his son
1 1 N I ; 1 i; .
545
b.»ck, he gave this convent a present of til'ty .icrt-s the littli: boinljardicr. and seeing that we were wait-
of land, besides a sum of money, on condition ing for him at the gate, he jumped down on the
that we s^ould fee<l twelve king-vultures, because other side, and tried to reach us l^y running along
those birds had guided the rescuing party."
Ikiblail Billy, after his last adventure, had taken
up his quarters in the convent kitchen, but when
«c were ready to start, the little chatterbox had
disappeared.
" May be, he is in the yard." s;iid the sergeant.
at the side of the garden-wall. But. at the end of
the wall, he had to cross the court-yard, and here
his enemy caught sight of him.
lie stepped b.ick. and then throwing himself
forward with a sudden leap, he managed to snap
the chain close to the post, and came charging
' That old bull-dog is keeping up a terrible noise down the road like a hunting panther. Hilly was
about something or other." trotting leisurely along, bul hearin;.; the rattle of
The dog h.ul been chained to a post near an old the chain, he looked back, and no human voice
garden-wall, and we could not imagine what should could ha\'c iniitate<l his squeals of horror as he
h,ive put Billy in his way. But the hunter was came tearing through the gate-way. The affair
right : on top of the wall sttxid our little bobtail, might have got us into a scrape, for Tommy had
chattering and trying to aggravate the bull-dog in alre.idy leveled his shot-gun. resolved to defend his
every possible way. The dog barked furiously, and pet against all comers : but the heavy chain saved
now and then m.adc a savage leap against the wall ; the bull-clog's life: its weight delayed him, and
but his chain was too short, and whenever he so he was a moment too late : when he overtook
jumped, Billy hit him with a stone or a piece of us, Billy h.id already reached his perch, and was
mortar. Our calls at Irjt attracted the .ittention of making faces at him from behind the saddle-bag.
C 7V* ^ C0»li»ufii. )
There \vay a <JmalI
<^erve\at railed Kate,
WKo ^at en iTve ^tair5
very late;
VVnen. a^kctl 1\qw ^Ke
fared.,
She 5aici ^ke waS
'^c a reel,
Dul was elKcrwi^e do-
ing fir^t rcttc.
546
iiiiw loi IV \\r. Nr 1(1 I in: may - pa ui v.
iidW roi.i.N \\i;.\r lo riii'. m.w-I'Akin
U\ MaK\ nUAIH I a.
•' Dkak mc ! " cried littii- Polly MilUr. ;is ^lu
looked out of the window one sunshiny May niorn-
mg. "Dear me; sakes alive! Here comes a
|>ercession ! "
Polly flew out to the porch, her eyes shining, and
her cheeks pink with excitement ; for processions
did not often go past the little brown cottage where
she lived. Down tlie lane there was a tooling of
tin horns, a merry murmur of children's voices, a
flutter of gay Httle flags, bright ribbons, white
muslin dresses, — and in a minute more the Ma>-
party came marching along. There was a nueen,
with a H reath of flowers on her head, and a long
white veil floating behind her; there were four
maids of honor, carrying long wands that were
decorated with pink and blue streamers; there were
ten girls marching two by two behind the maids of
honor ; and two big girU to take care of the party :
besides any number of boys, who all carried
baskets, and had little flags stuck in their hats, and
■'blew up their horns," as if every one of them was
a Little 15oy Blue in his own right.
Polly watched them in breathless delight.
" Oh ! " she gasped, '"it 's the loveliest percession
1 never did see ! .\n' it 's going — why, just as sure
as I 'm alive, it 's going up in my woods ! So it
aint a percession, after all ; it 's a picnic ! "
Polly always said ''my woods," although they only
belonged to her as they belonged to the birds, and
the tree-to.ids, and the black ants, and the bright-
eyed, bushy-tailed squirrels that she loved to watch.
She spent a great deal of her time there — almost as
much as the birdies and the bunnies themselves; for
she had nothing else to do with it, — nothing to
signify, at le;ist ; and the woods were so close by
her home that her mother could call her from the
front door, if she wanted her. It 's true Polly
did n't always hear her when she called, for she
strayed off sometimes to hunt for wild strawberries,
or to get the flag-root that grew in the marshy bed
of the brook. But her mother knew the woods
were safe, and she never worried. There were no
snakes, and it was too far away from the high-road
for tramfis.
Indeed, it was a rare thing for Polly to meet an\-
body at all in her woods. Once upon a time there
had been a picnic in them — a Sunday-school pic-
nic, which came up from New York ; and Polly's
grown-up sister, who was n't grown-up and married
then, had gone to it. .She had told Polly all about
it a great many times, — about the swings that were
put up in the trees; ;ibout the long table (made
of pine boards resting on stumps) that w.ts covered
with good things; about the little girls in white
frocks and blue s.ishes ; ;iboul the banners and the
badges: and the ladies and gentlemen who played
games with the children; and the songs they sang;
and the ice-cream they ate ; and everything I It
was a story that Polly was never tired of, and the
dream of her life had been to go to a picnic just
like that one. No wonder her eyes sparkled when
she saw the May-party !
For she never thought of there being any trouble
about her going lo it. Susan Ann went to the pic-
nic—that was the grown-up sister: why should n't
Polly go ;is well as Susan Ann ? The only thing
w:is, they were all dressed up in white frocks.
•■ But never mind !'' said Polly. "1 have a white
frock, too."
.And she ran upstairs, pulled it out of the bot-
tom drawer of her mother's bureau, and had it on
in a jiflfy — ,is funny a little white frock ;is you have
seen in ni:iny a day. Polly's mother made it after
the same pattern that she had m.ide Susan Ann's
frocks by when s/w was little : and it was long in the
skirt, and short in the waist, and low in the neck ;
it h:id n't any ruftles, or embroideries, or gores, or
pull-backs, such ;is little girls wear nowadays, but
the short slee\es were looped up with pink shoulder-
knots, made out of Susan Ann's old bonnet-strings,
and Polly's fat little neck and rountl arms were left
all bare. They looked cunning, though ; so plump,
and white, and babyish that \i)u wanted to kiss
ihem. The bright little face was sweet enough for
kisses, too ; and the naked little feel — for Polly
could n't Ix'ar shoes and stockings in warm weather
— were bewitching. When she put her Sunday
hat on — a big. flapping Leghorn with a wreath of
"artificials" round it — she looked as if she had
stepped ou; of ;i picture-book : and she had n't the
Iciist idea th;it there was anything funny or old-
fashioned about her.
There was nobody around when she went down-
stairs, for it was churning-day, and her mother was
busy. Besides, she never paid much .ilteniion to
Polly's movements, so there w.is no one to hinder
the little one front following the May-party. They
had only had time to look alx)ut them a little, set
the provision-baskets in a safe pl.ice, and begin to
lonsider how they were going to amuse themselves
all day, when Polly overtook them.
" Is \ou havin' a picnic?" she s;iid. walking up.
II n\\ I'u I I S \V i; N I
1 II 1 M A S • lA K l\
,v(;
with a smiling face, in imc of the h'm jjirls. " 1
hkes picnics, iii\-solf "
"Do you?" iiid the bin J!''''' starinj; at her in a
rather disagreeable way. " Thank you for the
information."
■■ Vou 're welcome," answerctl Polly, innocent!).
It was what she had been tau};lu to say whenever
any one thanked her for a favor. " 1 did n"t go to
any picnics yet, though," she added, in a confiding
lone. "Susan .-\nn went once, but she did n't take
me. 1 guess I was n't anywheres 'round then."
'• What child is that .' " asked the other big girl,
who h.ad just discovered Polly. "Where in the
world did you pick up such a funny little object,
llertha.' Is Noah's .-Vrk in the neighborhood.' "
"Can't s.iy, 1 'ni sure," said Bertha, moving
away. " And I have n't picked her up at all. She
began a conversation with me, which 1 '11 leave you
to finish."
"Where did you come from, little girl.'" .isked
the other one. rather h.Tstily ; for she had various
things to attend to. " You don't know anybod\
here, do you? This is a private party.'
".-Vint it a picnic?" said Polly, a little shadow
of an.xicty creeping into her smile. " 1 thinked it
was a picnic, an' I came to stay."
"Oh, you did?" exclaimed the other girl, laugh-
ing. " But tliat wont do, I 'ni afraid. Who in-
vited you. Sissic ? "
Polly shook her head. "My name aint Sissie :
It 's Polly Miller: and 1 came to slay," she re-
peated.
.■\ group of girls and boys had gathered around
her by this time, and curious eyes were staring at
the bare little feet, at the funny white frock, M the
old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat with the .nrtificial
roses on it. " What a guy ! " the eyes telegraphed
to one another ; and little ripples of not very amia-
ble laughter ran around the group. Polly's eyes
wandered from t)ne face to another with a look that
had suddenly grown wistful. Her happy smile
faded, and a blush stole up into her check.
" Must n't anybod) come to picnics?" she asked,
tremulously.
" Not unless they arc invited.'' w;is the quick
answer. " And you 're not invited, you see.
Besides, you don't know anyb<Kly here, and all the
other little girls are acquainted with one another.
You would n't have a nice time at all."
"Oh. yes I / think I should I " crietl Polly,
hopefully. " I ami hard to get .icquamted with."
the winsome smile spreading over her face again.
" Susan Ann says I 'm a sociable little body."
" You 're a droll one. anyhow." said the big girl,
with a merry laugh. " What shall we do with her,
"hildren? Let her stay?"
"Oh dear, no!" — a little miss with long yellow
curls, and a proud little nose very high in the air,
spoke up promptly ; and then, with a cold glance at
Polly, she added : " We don't want that sort of
people at our picnic. Tell her to go away, Lulu."
.\nd two or three others chimed in with —
"Yes, Lulu I Sentl her away. We can't be
bolhercil with that little barefooted thing all day.
She 's no right to expect it. Tell her to go home."
"There, dear," s;\id Lulu h.istily, and inore than
half ashamed of herself, "it wont do, you see; and
we 're going to be busy, now, so I guess you 'd
better run home right away, little Polly What 's-
your-name ! Here 's a caramel for you," taking
one out of her pocket, with an attempt at cons-o-
lation.
But Polly did not .iccept it. After one wonder-
ing and wistful glance all arr>und the circle of pretty
faces, not one of which had a welcome for her, she
turned her b.ick upon .them, and walked away
slowly and sorrowfully. The children looked after
her with an uncomfortable feeling; and Lulu said.
"Poor thing!" in a pitying tone. But the little
miss in the princesse dress and the long yellow-
curls tossed her he.id.
" What else could she expect ? " she cried. " .As
if we wanted a lot of ragamuffins ! Why, next
thing, ' Sus^in .Ann,' and all the family would have
' come to stay.' 1 never saw anything so cool in all
my life."
"Oh, well; she's gone now; so never mind,"
said Lulu. " Let 's go and sec if the swings are
up yet."
The children scattered about through the woods,
some to gather violets and wind-flowers, some to
sail boats in the brook, some to go flying sky-high
in the long rope-swings that the boys were putting
up. They forgot little Polly as soon as she was out
of sight ; but she did not forget them. There was
no anger against them in her innocent heart ; only
a great disappointment, a puzzled wonder, and an
unconquered desire. She could not understand
why they did not want her, and she still longed
after the unknown delights of the picnic.
The longing grew stronger as she went farther
away; so strong at l.i-st that it w;is not to be re-
sisted; and Polly turned about suddenly with a new
idea. What w.is the use of going home, where
there was n't anything to do? She could stay
around in the wmxis, and hide in her house when
nolx)dy w.-\s looking, and "peck" at the picnic,
anyhow. That would be better than nothing. -
Polly's "house" was a hollow tree, and she lived in
it a great deal, and brought .is many treasures to it
as a squirrel does to its hole. .She played all sorts
of g;imes in her house : that it w.is rainy weather,
and she could n't go out; that it was night-time,
.ind she must make up her Iwd and go to sleep;
548
HOW I'OI.I.Y WKNT TO THE MAY-PARTY.
(May,
that company was com in j;, anil she had to bake
cake and put on the tea-kettle ; that her children
were all down with the measles, and she could n't
Kel a chance to clean house.
'I'here w.is no end to the things Polly "played''
in her hollow tree ; but one of the best games of
al! was when she played that bears and Indians
were around. Then she filled up the door of her
house with bushy green boughs that she broke off
the young trees, and hid herself behind them.
She used to pretend that she was terribly frightened,
and sometimes she pretended so well that she really
did get frightened, and ran home .is fast as if the
bears and Indians had truly been behind her. It
was only yesterday that that ver)- thing had hap-
pened, and the green boughs were still in front of
Polly's house, just as she had left them when she
ran away. She remeinbcred it now, and it did not
take her long to make her way back to the tree.
She was nimble as a hop-toad, and knew just where
to go ; so she was safe in her snug hiding-place
before any one got so much as a glimpse of her.
Once there, she could see a good deal of what
was going on, and hear more. The green boughs
sheltered her, but there were plenty of little open-
ings through which bright eyes could peep. She
saw the children running to and fro to gather
mosses and ferns, and heard their shouts, their
bursts of inerry laughter, their chattering tongues,
now close by, and now far off. .After a while, she
heard somebody say :
" S'pose we have the coronation now : what 's the
use of waiting till after luncheon ? "
Then somebody else said, " Well, call the chil-
dren."
And Polly heard a very loud trumpet-blowing, and
all the boys and girls began to flock together in a
green open space which was just below her "house."
She had no idea what a coronation meant : but
she thought it the most beautiful thing in the world
when she heard them all singing, and speaking
pieces, and saw them dance in a ring around the
little girl who was chosen Queen of the May. There
was nothing like that at Susan Ann's picnic, Polly
was sure ; and she was so happy, looking at the
coronation, that she quite forgot she was only
" pecking " at the picnic, and not really in it herself
By and by, before she had begun to be tired,
something else happened. The two tall girls, Lulu
and liertha, began to "set the t.able. " They
spread a long white cloth on the ground, and in
the middle of it they made a little mound of inoss,
which they stuck full of ferns and wild-flowers.
Around this they m.idc a circle of oranges, and
then a ring of little iced cakes, pink, and white, and
chocolate-colored. At the four corners they had
heaping plates of sandwiches; and the rest of the
cloth w.-is filled up with loaf-cakes, and dishes of
jelly, and cold chicken, and biscuits, and custard-
pie. It was a beautiful table when it was .all done,
but oh, how hungry it made Polly feel !
" .Seems .is if I had n't had breakfast to-day," she
said to herself. " Seems .as if I did n't «("'<•/• have
anything to eat ! Oh dear me ; sakes alive ! "
" Is it .all ready ? Shall we blow the horn ? " she
heard Lulu say, presently.
And Bertha answered :
"Yes — .til but the Russian tea. Fetch the
round b.isket, Lulu^the brown one, you know.
The tea is in that, in a covered pail. "
Lulu ran away, somewhere out of sight, and ran
back again with a big tin can in her hands — upside
down.
"See there, now! Did n't 1 tell you it would
be safer to bring lemons .and sugar, and make the
lemonade here ? "
" \Vhy, what 's the inattcr ? Is it spilled ? " cried
Bertha, in dismay.
" Every drop of it. The basket was tipped over
on its side, and your Russian tea has been watering
the moss all the morning. So much for not taking
my .-idvice, Miss Bertha."
"Oh dear!" groaned Bertha. "/.> «7 that too
aggravating? Now there is n't a thing to drink,
and I 'm .as thirsty as a fish already."
"Just so. And that brook-water is horrid. I
t.asted it."
"It would have spoiled the lemonade, then, if I
luid taken your .advice. That 's one comfort," said
liertha, laughing.
Lulu laughed, too.
" But that wont quench your thirst," she said.
■' I begin to wish we h.ad let little Polly \Vhat 's-
her-name stay. We might have sent her for some
water, or milk, or something."
" Some of the boys will have to go," said Bertha,
shortly.
" Only they wont know where t<i go. Little Polly
had the advantage of being a native.''
" What 's a native ? " said Polly to herself, as she
slipped through the green boughs, and crept around
behind the hollow tree. " What 's a native, I
wonder? Is it anything to drink ?
She did n't stop to .ask anybody; and she doesn't
know to this day what it meant. She knew some-
thing better, though — how to return good for evil
— and the bare little feet went flying through the
woods .as if they had wings. It was churning-day
at home, and there would be fresh buttermilk ;
there was always plenty of sweet milk, too ; and
Polly was n't afniid of what her mother would say.
Before the picnic h.ad fairly sat down to its lunch-
eon,— for they w.astcd a great deal of breath in
lamenting the Russian tea, and in .irguing the
WAIKS KKOM llli: r, r 1.1--STK i; A M.
549
(Kiint whether or nut it would have been better tu
brini; lemons and sug:tr, instead, — Polly was back
again. And biich a breathless little Polly I Her
tliecks were reilder than roses, her hair « as all in a
tousle of damp curls, her Leghorn hat hanging at
the Ixick of her neck ; for she could not spare a
hand to put it on her head again when it fell back.
Iloth hands were full — a pitcher of fresh, sweet,
morning's milk in one, in the other a pail of butter-
milk— and her smile wxs brighter than sunshine as
lie set them down in front of the .istonished party.
■■ I did n't come to stay," she said, innocently.
" I just came to bring you some milk, 'cos your tea
got spilt."
.And then she turned to go away, for she did n't
imagine — the dear little Polly ! — that they would
want her now, any more than they had before ;
and it was dinner-time at home, and Polly w;is
hungry. She turned to go away, but the picnic
pounced upon her with one jump, and said they 'd
like to see her try it.
•'Do you suppose," said Lulu, "do you dare to
suppose, you ridiculous little Polly What 's-your-
name, that we '11 let you go till we know the mean-
ing of this richness? Come, now! How did you
find out that we 'd spilled our tea ? "
" 1 was up in my house," said Polly, not a bit
afraid, for all the f.ices around her now were smiling
faces. " I was up in my house, and I heard you."
She pointed to the hollow tree, which showed the
hollow, now that the green boughs had tumbled
down.
'• 1 did n't want to go home till I saw the picnic;
so I staid in my house, and I heard you," she
repeated, triumphantly.
" And then you went home to get the milk for
us? Now, Hertha; now, children, all of you ! " cried
Lulu, tragically, '• 1 only want to ask you one
question : did you it>er t "
" No, 1 never ! " said Hertha, solemnly.
And all the other girls screamed, " No, we
never ! "
And all the boys threw up their hats, and sang
out, "Hurrah for Little Ha re foot ! Three cheers
for Polly Buttermilk ! "
They made such a noise that the hop-toads went
skipping to their holes, and the birds went flying to
the tree-tops, scared out of their seven senses.
Hut Polly was n't scared. No, indeed ! She
laughed, for Lulu took her in her arms, and kissed
her, and said she was the sweetest little humbug
that ever lived. .And Bertha made her sit down at
the t.able between her and the May-queen, and a
plate was put in her lap, and piled up with the best
of everything. She had more cake, and custard-
pic, and jelly than she could have eaten if she had
been //inY Polly Alillers ; and oh ! what fun, what
'• splenderiferous " jolly fun, playing with all the
girls and boys afterward !
Never as long as she lives will Polly forget that
picnic. Susan Ann has no story to tell her now —
Polly can tell a better one herself; and she docs
tell it to everybody that will listen to her, though
all her friends and relations know it by heart
already. As for the folks of that May-party, — well,
I don't think //uy 'II forget, either.
WAIFS FROM THK (i L' Li- -STR i: A M.
By Frkd. a. Ober.
Thk eastern coast of Florida, from the .St. John's
River to the Florida Keys, forms one vast stretch
of sand, broken only by an occasional inlet. There
are no rocky blulTs nor pebbly beaches ; all is sand,
washcti by the heavy waves of the (lulf-stream — a
vast body of warm water flowing northwardly from
the Gulf of Mexico, like a broad river, across, and
yet in, the ocean.
This stream brings to Florida's beaches many a
foreign shell and pl.ant. and makes them doubly
interesting to stroll upon. Large cocoa-nuts come,
wrapped in their shaggy outer bark, and full of
sweet pulp and delicious milk ; and the remarkable
disk-shaped "sca-bcans" are always abundant
after a gale. This bean forms a fruitful source of
speculation and revenue to the natives, who hold it
to be a product of the ocean depths, and sell it to
wondering visitors, after carefully polishing it. Hut
it is only a waif from the Antilles — the fruit of a
vine whose pods, full of these beans, fall into the
sea and are drifted hither by the Gulf-stream.
A walk .ilong any beach, with the roar of the
mighty surf filling our cars and inspiring reverence,
and only the sights and sounds of nature to enter-
tain us, is always profitable. Our eyes notice little
things that elsewhere would pass unobserved. We
examine the tiny circles traced by the leaf-points of
the beach-gr;iss, as they are borne down by the
550
\V\11-S IKOM rilK (; I' I.K-S IKKA.M.
wind : tlii.' tiiniil bcicli-bircK, ;is llicy pause upon
one foot, cyinj; us suspiciously, or scurry by with
a pipi- of alarm ; the Inilky pelicans, that stand in
long rows on the sand-bars, or, flyin;; clumsily alop
of the waves, drop with a splash upon unwary lishcs,
gulping them up with their pouched bills. Beau-
tiful shells of cveiy hue — blue, purple, scarlet,
crimson, orange, yellow, and pearly white — lie in
windrows tossed up by the stead)' surf, or where
the latest gale has heaped them high upon the
sand. A curious, earth-colored crab runs rapidly
to his hole in the dry sand from the water just in
front of us, where he has been fishing, brandishing
his claws most threateningly as he waltzes along in
his funny, sidelong style.
Do you sec these depressions in the sand, looking
as though sonic one had thrown out a trowel-full of
sand every foot or two, and this broad line marked
between the regular rows ? That is the trail of
the huge sea-turtle, as she comes out of the ocean
in the spring to lay her eggs. And narrow escapes
from death she has, between her two enemies, bears
and men, while she is at this duty. Run a small
stick into the s.and, where you notice this exca-
vation, and see if you strike anything. If success-
ful, you get a large half-liushcl of round, white
eggs, covered with a leathery skin, instead of a
brittle shell. They make a good omelet, and .are
much sought after. Those other depressions, such
as one might m.ake with his closed hand, but larger,
arc the tracks of a bear. Hruin w.alks the beach
during the turthng months, and robs every nest on
hU route. The dweller on the Florida coast may
lose his share of turtles' eggs, but he lies in wail
for the shaggy thief on moonlight nights, and
enjoys exciting sport in shooting him.
Far down the beach, something reflects rainbow
hues, and, only slopping to glance at a stranded
" ship of pearl." the fabled Argonaut, we go toward
it. It proves to be ihe Portuguese man-of-war '
— a sac or bubble of thin,
transparent skin ;is large as
one's list, (illed with air.
When alive, this bubble has
long tentacles or hanging
arms, which, with the body,
arc gorgeousK- colored —
pink, blue, and violet; even
in death, the sun playing
over it causes a charming
iridescence. Well are they
named "sea-nettles," for
those tentacles are extremely
poisonous, causing the hand
that touches them to swell
and smart for several hours
aflerwartl.
A hundred other charm-
ing objects claim notice. 1
want to turn your eyes par-
ticularly to tsvo of the le;ist
noticeable, and which are excellently represented
in the engraving. The figure on the left-hand
is that of a beautiful mollusk called the "violet
snail." — lan-TIihhi lOiitiiiiiiiis. in Latin. It is a
small shell, and would hardly attnict a glance
were it not for it.s rich violet hue and its attachment
of what appears to be a group or string of bubbles
of sea-foam. Closer examination shows us that
these supposed "bubbles" are a collection of filmy
little air-cells, proceeding from the mouth of the
snail within the shell. They scr\e several impor-
tant purposes.
The violet snail lives all over the .Atlantic Ocean,
and in the Mediterranean, floating .about in the
open sea. It does not sustain itself by constantly
moving hither and thither, but is upheld by means
of this buoyant structure of air-cells to which it is
attached. E.\cepting in the most violent storms,
the snail thus floats about unconcerned; and when
the water is too rough for his comfort, he can suck
the air out of the cells and sink to quiet depths.
It is a very great convenience to him.
Ucsides performing the duty of a nift. this biuulle
of air-cells becomes a sort of family nursery, for to
its under surface are glued the egg-cases out of
which the young are hatched. These cases cont.iin
eggs and young moUusks in all stages of advance-
ment— those farthest from the parent-shell being
nearly ready to own a r.aft of their own, and em-
bark upon it, while those nearest are lot.dly
undevclope<l.
This little mollusk is said to have no eves; and
• Set "Jarli In.llie Piilpil" for Murch. i8ai.
w .\ 1 1 > 1 u I ) M 1 1 1 1; I . I 1 . |- - s r i< K A \i
III 11^ .iiMiu^^. n.iiuiii Ml.; hl'i.-, );uidcd at the whims
of wave ami wirnl, it »oiild often h" hungry luit
for the fact that its fiMnl, minute jelly-tishes. exists
II) countless profusion over the whole wide surface
if the ocean. Its IxkIv contains a few drops of
\ lolcl fluid, which will hold its color for nianv
wars, and is sometimes uscil as mk.
The little picture-mate of this interesting; rafts-
man, somewhat resembling a butterfly in form, is
one of a small group of mollusks called ptt'n>/xut.<
(wing-ftxited), on account of the tin-like lobes or
wings that project from their fragile shells, a-,
shown in the engr.iving. The pteropod uses these
wings to fly through the water, just as an insect
flies in the air. I'teropods are found swimming
in enormous bands, sometimes tilling the surface
of the sea for leagues in extent ; generally these
great congregations occur m the deep, «arm waters
of the torrid zone ; but one species, at le.ist, lives
northward, for it forms the chief food of the great
Greenland whale. .Another species, having a-
ghissy, transparent shell, carries a little luminous
globe, which emits a gleam of soft light. It is the
only known species of luininou^i shell-lish. Our
little friend, represented in this cut. has no lantern
to light him on his way ; he is remarkable only for
his wings, and his two tails, which grow through
two holes in his shell, and trail !■ ' lli^
Latin name is //vu/cw /ri-
.Ititlala. If, ,is his family
i.iine implies, he realh
Here wing^/iv'/j-i/, we might
call him the Mercury ol
the sea.
.Another curiosity found
in these waters is the por-
cupinc-tish. It is often said
by old lishermen and sail
ors that every living objci
found on land has its couii
terpart in the ocean. The\
tell of se.i-cucumlxTs ani'
sea-corn, sea-grapes and se. I
beans, which, the simpU
hearted old sailor declare^
ex.ictly resemble the pridi
of the little garden jKitchc^
tended by his wife ;ishore
while he is away.
.\nd it is true that many of the inhabitants nl
the ocean tlo l»ear inore than an imaginary resem-
blance to many things found on land. The corals,
sponge*, and anemones often look much like
flowers or ferns, while various fishes owe their
names to their likeness to certain terrestrial ani-
mals. .Among these is the porcupine-fish.
This prickly-lookiiiK • h.iumi i- nm- oi .m mder
of strange fishes containing the sun-fish (not the
•• sun-jelly " or medusa, s<i common upon our
co.nsl), the globe-fish, the file-fish, and trunk-fish —
e,ich named from some peculiarity of sha|K-, or
fancied resemblance to a familiar object. Most of
these fishes are cohered with spines, or bony pro-
tuberances, which make them very ugly customers
to handle. Some of them i>ossess a peculiar power
of inflating themselves with air, swelling up to twice
their natural size.
The globe-fish is the best illustration of this
strange faculty. It swims near the bottom, next to
shore, all its life, and is cither so fearless or so stupid
that it may be lifted up in one's hand. When so
taken out of the water and gently rubbed, it will
swell up to its full cap.acity, until you really fear it
may burst. Lea\e the creature undisturbed, and
in a short time it will allow the air to escape, and
shrink into almost nothing but a bony skeleton
covered with skin.
The porcupine-fish, which belongs to the s;imc
family, as I have already said, inhabits the warm
waters about the Bahama Islands and the co.ist of
riorida, where it is called among the inhabitants
by a variety of titles.
The name 1 havv' chosen, however, seems to lie
the most appropriate, sine .
ill) remnul one »lio looks ^it it, .mil iniiili more one
who touches it, of the bristling quills of the porcu-
pine. It is not a l.irgc fish, being less than a foot
in length, and generally .as broad (or round) as it
is long. Its scientific name is Diodoii liyslrix, the
second word being, as you young students may
know, the Latin name of the hedgehog.
55 =
THE KIMJ AND THE CLuWN.
(May,
Tin. KING A\D THE CLOWN
Uv Pai.mf.r Cox.
..,-^ jr>v
"^NjjR^- ■-.J-.W .
%
/Wv/vcOa
iiiMwiit««i<i
MLUBUW
TllLKL li\x-d a queer old kin^,
Who used to skip and swing,
And "dance before the fiddle," and all that sort of thing.
In princely robes arrayed.
The games of youth he played.
And mingled with the low buffoons at fair or masquerade.
His royal back lie 'd sloop
To chase a rolling hoop.
Or romp in merry leap-frog with the wildest of the group.
lUi: Kl.NU A.NU 1111. CLOWN.
553
At hist, a cunning clown
t'lOl liolil of ni.ico anti crown.
And instantly the people hailcil hnu monarch of the town.
Because the crown he wore,
And royal scepter bore,
All took hun for ihe romping king they 'il honored heretofore.
Mis Majesty would rave,
.And bellow "Fool!" and "Slave!"
But still the people bowed and scraped around the panued kn.iviv
Well might the sovereign yell,
.-Vnd threaten prison cell,
And rope, and ax, and gibbet; — but he could not bre.ik the spell.
So piissed his power away,
His subjects and his sway,
For king w;is clown, and clown was king, until their dying da>.
554
STOUIKS (il \KI AND ARTISTS.
Sri)RIi:S ol A R I AXlJ A RTISTS. — lOL'R 111 l'Ari-:R.
HV Cl.Ak.V KRSKINK Cl.UMKNl.
BkFORE leaving ihu .subject of ancient sculpture.
1 wish to speak of some other beautiful works
which arc still preserved, and which the illustra-
tions here given will help you to understand. The
first is from the frieze of the temple of Minerva, or
Pallas, at ligina. This word was formerly spelled
>4igina, and is the name of an island in the (iulf
of Egina, near the south-west coast of (Ireece. lis
chief city was also called Egina, and here a beauti-
ful Doric temple was built about 475 B. c. which
was the period of the greatest prosperity and
importance of the island.
-Many of the columns of this temple are still
standing, but large parts of it have fallen down :
in 181 1 these ruins were examined, and some line
pieces of sculptured marble were obtained, which
are the most remarkable works still existing from so
early a period. Thonvaldsen, the Danish sculptor,
restored these marbles, and the King of IVivaria
purchased them; they are now in the ("ilyptothek,
or Museum of Sculpture, .11 Munich.
The two figures given above formed a part of what
is called the western pediment of the temple : thi-.
pediment contained a group of eleven figures,
almost life-size, and represented in spirited action.
I ought to tell you that a pediment is the trian-
gular space which is formed b\- the slanting of the
two sides of the roof up to the ridge-piece, .it the
ends of buildings, and in the Creek temples the
pediment was usually much ornamented, and gave
a fine opportunity for large groups.
The figures in the center were the nmsl impor-
tant actors in the scene or story represented by the
sculptures, and were of full size, and usually stand-
ing: then, as the space on each side became
narrower, the figures were arranged in positions to
suit it, and the whole composition was so fitted
into the slant as to produce a regular and symmet-
rical outline: thus the whole effect when com-
pleted was grand ;md imposing, as well as very
ornamental to the building.
The figures in this western pediment of the tem-
ple :it Egina illustrated an episode in the story of
the Trojan War: it w.as the struggle of Ajax,
riysses, and other Creeks, with the I'rojan war-
riors, over the dead body of Achilles. The Oeeks
ardently desired to possess themselves of the body
of their brave leader, in order to give it a fitting
burial, and they succeeded in bearing it off to theii
own camp.
The myth relates that the god .'\pollo guided
the arrow of Paris which killed Achilles, who could
only be wounded in his ankles, because when his
motlier. the goddess Thetis, dipped him in the
river Styx to make him invulnerable, or safe from
being hurt b> weapons, she held him by the ankles.
;ind :is they were the only parts of his body nol
wetted, il was only in them that he >ould Ix-
wounded.
Il is believed lh:il the warrior in this picture who
is about to send his arrow, is Paris : he we;irs the
cur\-ed Phrygian helmet and a close-fitting suit of
mail ; in the whole group there is but one other
clothed warrior, all the rest arc nude. The highest
part of this pediment h.as the figure of the goddess
Minerva, or Pallas. st:inding beside the fallen l)ody
of Achilles, which she attempts to cover with her
shield, whil.- 1 I r,,i ,„ u urior tries to dr.iw the
SroUlES Ul- AKl A.NU AKIISIS.
555
body away from the dreck who opposes him. The
two tij;iircs in our pl.iti- are placed at one side,
where the sp.ice in llie triangle is growing narrow.
Vou can imagine what spirit there must be in the
«holc };"'"?• when there is so much in tliese two
. iimparatively small tigures ; how sure we are th.it
the arnvw will shoot out with deadly power, and
how the second warrior is bracing himself on his
leet and knee, and leaning forward, in order lo
tlirust his lance with all possible force !
These Eginctan statues h.ive traces of color and
• >( metal ornaments about them. The hair. eyes,
.uul lips were colored, and all the weapons, helmets,
shields, and quivers were red or blue, and some
portions of the ganncnts of the goddess show that
the statue must have had bronze ornaments. We
know nothing of the artists who made these sculpt-
ures, but critics and scholars think that the works
resemble the written descriptions of the statues
made by C.illon, who was a famous sculptor of
Egina, and lived probabK alxiut the lime in which
the temple w.is built.
The next four illustrations are from the sculpt-
ures of the Parthenon, the beautiful temple at
.-Vthens, which w.as mentioned in the first paper of
these stories. This temple was completed in 437
It. c, a little later than that at Kgina. The Par-
thenon pa,ssed through man> changes before it was
reduced to its present condition of ruin. Probably
about the sixth century of our era, it was dedicated
to the Virgin Mary and used .as a Christian church
until, in 1456 a. I>., the Turks transformed it into
a Mohammedan mosque. In 1687 the \'enetians
besieged .Vthens: the Turks had stored gunpow-
der in the eastern chamber of the Parthenon, and
a bomb thrown by the X'enetians fell through thi
roof, and set fire to the powder, which exploded,
and completely destroyed the center of the temple.
Then Morosini. the commander of the Venetians,
attempted to carry otT some of the finest sculptures
of the western [ledimcnl. but in lowering them to
the ground they were allowed to fall by the unskill-
ful Venetians, and thus were broken in pieces.
Elarly in the present century. Lord Klgin cirrietl
many of the P.irthenon marbles to England, and
in 1816 the> all were Ixiught by the British
Museum. Finally, 111 1S27, during the rebellion
of the (Greeks against the Turks, Athens was
again bombarded and the Parthenon still further
destroyed, so that those who now \isit it can onl\
' ( in (tilth and wander ihiou^h the culd rcnia
or (alien \lalue« and of lotterinK fanc«.
Se«k the loved haunts of poel and of «a|{c.
The gay palic^ra and the gaudy slajjc!
What *iicn* are there ' .A wtlitary stone,
A thatlercd capiul, with Kra^« o'crjCTOwn.
A motildcnns fricie. half hid in anoent dii«
A thtMic tpringing o'er a namclcts butt :
Vet thi«
the dell,
IK appcdr,
Aihcni! Still .1 liniy ^|K
lln;alhc% in the dome, and wander* in
And vauinhcd times and wondrous Ton
And Midden echoes chann the wukintf
Decay il»clf i\ drctt in glury'n uluom.
For every hillock i* a hero'-i tomb,
And every breeze to Fancy'* slumber brin^n
rile nii|{hly ruihinK of a spirit's wings- "
The ISritish Museum now contains very nearly
.ill that are left of the sculptures of the two pedi-
ments of this inagnificent temple. The torso which
is pictured below is believed to be that of a statue
of Theseus.
Torso is .1 term used in sculpture to denote a
mutilated figure. This figure made a part of the
group of the front or eastern pediment of the
temple, in which the story of the birth of Minerva
was represented. This goddess is said to have
spning forth, all armed, from the head of Zeus, or
Jupiter, and it is fitting that Theseus should be rep-
resented as present tin the occasion, since he was
the greatest hero, and the king, of Athens, of which
cit\ Minerva was the protecting goddess. .All the
sculptures of the Parthenon, as you will remember,
are attributed to the great sculptor Phidias, and
his school, and are very beautiful.
.Next come three illustrations from the frieze of
the Parthenon. Perhaps you know that a frieze is
a band extending belo« a cornice, which runs
around the outside of a building, or the inside of
an apartment. 'i"he cornice is placed high up
where the roof joins the sides of a building, or
where the ceiling joins the walls of a room ; the
frieze is just below, and may be ver\' narrow or
broad, as the proportions of the object it ornaments
require. The sculptured friez ■ of the Parthenon
was outside of the walls of the teinple or the cclla,
.'IS it is called in architecture, and was about five
hundred and twenty-two feet long, and three feet
556
STURIliS Ul" ART A N Ll AKTISIS.
and four inches broad. About four hundred feet conquests of the gianis ; in later days, when the
of this are still preser\ed, so that a good idea of it Atlieiii.ms « islied to flatter a man, they sometimes
can be formed. The portions of this frieze whicli had liis hkeness embroidered on the peplos, in the
were carried to England were taken down in slabs.
The subject represented is the chief procession of
the Panathenita,' which was the most important
of all the festivals celebrated al Athens.
The festival continued several days, which were
passed in horse-racing, cock-fighting, gymnastic
and musical contests, and a great variety of games ;
poets, also, recited their rhapsodies, and philos-
ophers disputed over their doctrines in public
places ; but its chief purpose was to carry in pro-
cession, up to the Parthenon, the garment woven
company of the gods ; but this never occurred while
the peo|)le were yet uncorrupted by wealthy rulers.
The procession w-hich attended the presentation
of the peplos at the temple was as splendid as all
the wealth, nobility, youth, and beauty of Athens
could make it ; a vast multitude attended it, some
in chariots, others on horses, and large numbers
on foot. The noblest maidens bore baskets and
vases containing offerings for the goddess ; aged
men carried olive-branches ; while the young men.
in full armor, appeared as if ready to do battle I ■-
and embroidered for the great goddess by the Miner\a. The peplos was not borne by hands, but
maidens of the city. was suspended from the mast of a ship which was
This garment was called a jK'plos, and was made moved along on the land, some writers say by
of a crocus-colored stulT, on which were embroi- mcans-of machinery placed under-ground. When
dercd the figures of the gods engaged in their the procession reached the temple, the splendid
" Sec the fciof^', *• Myno'k Fcatival," St. Xiciiolah for Doccmbcr, 1880,
sr.)KIi:S (»!• ART AND ARTISTS.
557
);armcnt w.is pl.iccd upon the statue of the ^'otl- these plates; — and, finally, the procession ended
dcss. with numbers of youths on horseback, riding gayly
During the festival of the I'anatheniva, prisoners along, and, in one portion, there were others still
were allowed to enjoy freedom, and such men as occupied in bridling their steeds, mounting, and
merited the gratitude of the republic were then
rewarded by the gift of gold crowns, their names
being announced by the heralds during the gym-
nastic games. We do not know exactly the order
in which all the ceremonies were obser\'ed, but it
1 . believed that the procession of the peplos was
clebrated on the last day of the festival.
It is probable that this frieze was executed from
.1 design by Phidi.is. Near the entrance on the
e.ist there was an assemblage of the gods, in whose
presence the peplos was being presented to the
guardians of the temple: near them were the
making other preparations to join the cavalcade.
The wonderful excellence of the design of this great
work is a subject of which art-lovers never weary ;
and certainly it is most remarkable that in this great
number of figures, no two can be said to resemble
each other, and that there are such an endless variety
of positions, and so much spirited action in it all.
The whole work bears marks of having been pro-
duced in the lime when sculpture reached its
perfection.
There is at Athens a work of a later period than
the Parthenon, and much smaller and less impor-
iicralds and officers of the procession ; then there tant than a temple, which also is* very interesting:
were groups of animals for s.-icrifice. and, again, it is the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. It is
groups of people : — sometimes they were lovely decorated with some very amusing scenes from the
maidens bearing their gifts on their shoulders, or life of Racchus, and w.as erected in the year 334
musicians playing on the flute, ,is seen in one nf B. t". , when Lysicrates w.is choragiis ; that is to
I
558
srOklKS (H- ART AM) AKTIST
say, when i( was his ol'tkc lo provide the chorus for ihey arc separated. Among these famous sculpt-
the plays which were represented at Athens. The
dutii-s of this office were arduous and expensive : he
had first to tind and hrinj; tof^elher the members
of the chorus, then to have them instructed in the
music, .ind to provi<le proper food for them while
they studied.
The choragu-. who presented the finest musical
entertainment received a tripod as his reward,
and it was customary to build a monutnent upon
which to place the tripod, .is a lasting honor to
the choragus to whom it had been given. There
w.Ts in .Alliens a street formed by a line of these
monuments, called the "Street of the Tripods."
It was the custom to dedicate these tripods to some
divinity, and that of Lysicrates was devoted to
Bacchus. The sculptures represent him seated,
playing with a lion.
While the handsome young god thus amuses
himself, his companions, the Satyrs, are engaged
ures IS the statue of the Apollo Belvedere. It is
such a favorite w itli all the world, and copies of it
are so common, that 1 fancy you must know it
alread).
This stitue was found about the end of the fif-
teenth century, in the ruins of ancient Antium.
The Cirdinal della Rovere, who was after%vard
Hope Julius 11.. bought it and placed it in the
palace of the Belvedere, in Rome ; from this fact
the statue took its present name ; the Belvedere
was aftenvard joined to the X'alican, in the museum
of which palace the .Apollo now stands. W'c do
not know who made this statue, but its beauty and
excellence, and, above all, the intellectual quality
of the expression on the god's countenance, prove
that it belonged to a very high age in art — probably
to the early imperial period.
There has been much speculation ;is to what the
god held in his left hand, and it was formerly said
in punishing the Tyrrhenian pirates, who, accord- to have been a bow; but more recent discoveries
ing to the myth, attempted to sell Bacchus for a lead to the belief that it was the ;egis or shield,
slave. In order to revenge himself, he changed with the he.id of .Medusa upon it. With this he is
their masts and oars into serpents, and himself into discomfiting .i host of enemies, for, according to
a lion ; then music was heard, and ivy grew all Homer, this a.'gis was sometimes lent to .Apollo by
over the vessel, while the pirates went mad and Jupiter, and all who gazed on it were paralyzed by
were changed into dolphins. The frieze on the fear, or turned to stone ; thus he who held it could
monument shows the S.ityrs venting their anger on vantjuish an army.
the pirates; some have branches of trees with In the story of .Apollo, it is related that, when the
which to beat the unlucky victims, — one pirate is (lauls invaded (Greece, and threatened to destroy
being dragged into the sea by one leg, — some of the shrine of Apollo at Delphi, the people appealed
them are already half changed into dolphins, and to the gods, and when they asked Apollo what they
leap into the water with great readiness; those with should do to save the treasures which had been
heads of dolphins and with human bodies are very dedicated to him, he replied: " 1 myself will take
queer, and the whole design is full of humor and care of them, and of the temple virgins! " So it hap-
lively action. Bacchus was regarded .is the patron pened that while the battle w;is in progress, a great
of plays and theaters, and, indeed, the Greek drama storm arose, and the thunder and lightning were
grew out of the choruses which were sung at his frightful, and hail and snow were added to all the
festivals. rest, and in the midst of this war of Nature and of
In comparison with all the works of art which men, .Apollo was seen to descend to his temple,
exist in the world, the remaining pieces of Greek accompanied by the goddesses Diana and Minen-a;
sculpture arc so few that those people who love then the (iauls were seized with such fear that they
and study them know about every one, and almost took to flight, and the shrine of the god escaped
consider them as they do tlicir friends from whom injury at the hands of its barbarian assailants.
iTo A cfftttmuet/.)
s A 1 r 1 1 , 1 , < t in I V s .
559
SAl.lll.l.u H(»\S.
lu Wii 1 1 AM ( ). Sri>i)ii\ki).
CllM'IKR I.
•■ I WONT ! "
Mr. Ilaync, the mw IimiIki. was .i tall, liiu-
liH)kin>; younj; man, with short, ciirlinj; black
hair, and brilliant, penetrating eyes.
He seemed, in spite of the quiet smile on his lips,
to be looking right through the young culprit before
him.
■• You wont?"
Charley Ferris was not smiling at all, but lookeil
a goixl deal like a sort of boyish embodiment of the
two big words for which he had been called u|)
before the school.
The \ery top of his head, and every inch of his
short, sturdy frame seemed to utter them, and his
bright, saucy, handsome face hail taken on .i
desperately obstinate expression.
" You wont apologi/c to Joseph Martin ." "
Not a word came from Charley's tight-shut lips,
but his black eyes were making all the answer
required.
"That will do," s;iid .Mr. Hayne, in a calm,
steady voice. " \Ve are all gentlemen. If any one
of us has not self-control enough to beh.ive him-
self, or if he is ti«> much of a coward to apologize
when he is wrong, he does not belong here."
The defiant look w.is fading a little in the eyes
of the youny rebel by the time Mr. Hayne ceased
speaking.
The new '• select school," with its sixteen
scholars, had been open barely a week, and this
was its lirst case of serious misconduct.
Mr. Hayne may have expected something of the
kind, sooner or later, and, now it hail come, he met
It with a tirm intention of making it, as nearly as
|H)ssible, the last c.isc also, and therefore of im-
mense value.
" You may take your books and go home. Mr.
1- erris."
Charley was already turning in his tracks, and
he now marched steadily away toward his desk, but
the boy in the next one to it sprang t" his feet.
"Mr. H.iyne? "
" .Mr. Martin."
" I hope not, sir. Not on my account "
"Sit down, Mr. Martin. It is not on your
.iccount at all. It is simply because he is not
manly enough to do right."
Charley Ferris had liccn vaguely aware, up to
that moment, of .t fct-ling that he h.->.(l shown won-
derful manliness in defying his teacher, but he
knew now, and without looking around him. that
the public opinion of the boys was against him.
That, too, althougli he was by all odds a more
popular boy than the quiet and studious youth of
fourteen, a year older than himself, whom he had
otVensively describetl as " Miss Nancy," loudlv
enough for half the school to hear.
It was a terrible thing — a punishment about
equal to a sentence of Siberian banishment — to be
compelled to gather his books, dictionary and all,
and strap them together before the eyes of such a
jury as that, and then to have to walk out of the
school-room with them.
Charley was a plucky fellow, however, and he
worked right on, conscious that e\erybody was
looking at him, until his pile was complete.
"Caesar's Commentaries" came at the top, and
the strap was barely long enough to draw across
it and through the buckle. He got it through, and
was straining to put the tongue of the buckle into
the first hole, when his fingers slipped, and his
whole pack of text-books scattered itself upon the
floor.
Joe Martin and two or three other boys forgot
the proprieties of the school-room in their haste to
pick up the fallen volumes, but their owner had
lost all there was left of his unlucky heroism when
the end of that strap slipped away from him.
He sat down instantly, his curly head was bowed
upon his hands on the desk, and he w.is sobbing
vigorously.
A quick step came down from the little platform
at the other end of the room, and a strong, kindly
hand w,is laid upon the rebel's curly head.
" I think, Mr. Ferris, you did not finish what
you meant to say."
Sob, — sob, — sob.
" Had you not better do it now .- You began
with, • I wont,' and I think the rest must have
been, ' do a mean thing.' Am 1 not right.'"
" Yes, sir. Joe 's a real good fellow," sobbed
Charley Ferris.
" Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, .ns he
looked smilingly around him, " I do not think we
need any further apology from Mr. Ferris, but I
hope you understand the m.itter fully. I am here
to te.ich, not to scold nor to flog. Your behavior
is under your own care. Politeness to one another
is all that we ask for. Absolute self-govcrnnjent,
-that 's all."
56o
i.M.Tii.i.o iioys.
Il wns a short lesson, but cvciy l)(jy in tin.- mom
unclorstood il.
In fact, a perception of Mr. Hayne's peculiar
vieu'S had been growing upon tlieni from the be-
ginning, and they had discussed the matter among
ihemsclves pretty freely that very morning.
"Got to govern ourselves!" remarked John
There was weight in that, for .Andy w;is the
•• blar boy." as well .is the oldest, and he was
looked upon with a good deal of veneration, as
being very ne.irly ready for college. It had been
even hinted, doubtfully, that he would "enter
Sophomore," a whole year in .advance, after Mr.
Hayne should have finished with him. Such a bov
Derry, the one boy in school who seemed least
likely to do it. "1 'd like to know how wc can
manage that, and no rules to go by, cither."
"Rules!" exclaimed .Andy Wright. "What
do we want with rules? The youngest boy in the
lot is over thirteen. I 'm sixteen now, and I think
1 knew enough to be decent, three years ago."
.as that w.as entitled to express his opinions, and
Will Torrance backecj him up with :
" Yoii sec, boys, if he 'd make a lot of rules,
and write 'em out, we 'd all feel in duty bound to
1)reak them, s<ioner or later. Wc have n't a thing
lo break now."
Such an experinu'nt might have been dangerous
56 1
with .uuillur M-UTtiiii\ 111 IxiVN, Imt llic sixteen now
j;.illiorcil luulcr Mr. Hayno were in some respects
exceptional.
The little inlanil city of .Saltillu liail been
promoted but recently from the lower rank of
" viUajie," anil, althoujih it contained several
ilK>us;inds of |K'ople, whose houses were sprinkled
.iver a pretty wide area, it could boast of neither
•high school" nor "academy." The district
schot)ls were f.iirly gotKl, but tlid not answer every
purpose. One conseiiuence had been the special
prosiH-rity of the Wedgcwood School, half a mile
away, on the other side of town, and another,
lately, the establishment of Mr. Hayne's select
schotil for the " I'ark boys."
.Ml the other boys in town knew them by that
n.ime, by reason of the fact that they lived in the
vicinity of a neatly kept and "fenced-in" open
square, with a fountain in the middle of it, and
were a gt>od deal inclined to be clannish.
L'ntil the arrival of Mr. llayne, the Park boys
had managed, somehow, to recognize other fellows,
living in other parts of the city, as human beings,
but there was danger that they would hardly be
able to do so much longer.
Moreover, if any one of them, more than an-
other, had resolved himself into an exponent of the
Park feeling, with possible doubts as to whether
he ought to be fenced-in and fountained, that boy
had been Charley Ferris. All the deeper, there-
fore, hail been the gulf which seemed to gape be-
fore him while he was trying to put the strap
around his Ixxiks.
Those of the volumes which had fallen on the
floor h.id now been picked up for him, and while
Mr. llayne returned to his seat and called for the
class in geometry, the whole pile was fast hiding
itself away again under the lid of his desk.
Charley had fully received and accepted his
lesson, and so had most of the others, but John
Derry was satirically wiping his eyes with his
handkerchief, and whispering to his " next boy " :
" Wiilk chalk, after this ! '
The school-room was a quiet place for the re-
mainder of that forenoon, and the several recita-
tions were performed with a degree of exactness
that w;i3 all that could be asked for, if it could in
.my way be made habitual.
The room itself was a pleasant one, large
enough, but not tcH^ large, in the basement of the
new Congregational meeting-house, and the sunny
alley-way from the door of it led to an iron gate,
directly opposite the " Park" entrance.
.■\round that precious inclosure were a number
of plc.isant residences, all detached, and some
with grounds and shrubbery.
Take it all in all, the little school and its neigh-
VoL. VI II.— 36.
boilicioil wen- .1 thoroughly good example of the
best results of what deserves to be called ".\meri-
can civilization."
Mr. llayne had undertaken to teach that lot of
bright young fellows how to work, and his lirst
lesson had been that, to be a good worker, a man
needs first to get his faculties under his own
control.
" I wont do any driving," he told them.
" Kvery man of you must step for\vard of his own
free will. That 's what you will have to do whcYi
I get through with you, and you had better begin
now."
lie knew, what they did not, that there is no
earthly "driving" equal to that which the right
kind of boy or man will give himself if he is once
properly set about it.
CHAI'I'K.K II.
Court Rivai.kiks.
The young ladies of Miss Offerman's Female
Seminary, a square or so above the Park, had
matter for serious thought and conversation at that
day's noon recess.
Even the necessity of eating luncheon and getting
back by one o'clock did not prevent a knot of them
from lingering on one of the upper corners of the
Park, in what looked very much like a "council."
" You sec, Dora, Belle Roberts was May Queen
last year. Mr. Ayring thinks it wont do to have
another of us this time."
'■ I don't see why, Sarah. Has he said so to
anybody ? "
" Madame Skinner says he h.as. He wants one
of his music class or one of her scholars. I sup-
pose he does n't want to offend all that Wedgewood
crowd."
" No girls go there."
" But their brothers do."
" I have n't a brother, Sarah Dykeman, nor you
neither."
The other girls were listening, thus far. Dora
w.Ts the tallest of them all, by half a head, and her
blooming cheeks gave token not only of a high
degree of health, but of a more than half resentful
excitement over the matter in hand.
Sarah Dykeman was of slighter frame, with
what is called an intellectual cast of features, and
with an e.isy grace of manner that w.is alre.idy
doing more to make her the awe of her school-girl
friends than was even the acknowledged beauty of
Hellc Roberts, who was now standing a little behind
her, .as she said :
" Mr. Ayring will probably have his own way."
562
SAI.TILLO UOVS.
"Ik-Ik-. I \c i.uimri i)iir:i. --has Jack lold you
what lie and ihi- boys mean to do ': "
" No, but I '11 ask him. Th<.-y "11 Ix- sure to pick
out one of us."
" They wont care a t\^ for Mr. .-Vyring." re-
marked a smaller girl.
•• They '11 be outvoted," said IJelle. " lie has
more than two hundred names on his singing-list
now."
" Two hundred ! 1 should s;iy s<>. .-Vnd some
oT them are hardly more than babies," snapped
Dora.
"They all vote," said Belle. "They did last
year, and they '11 do just what he tells them."
" The boys can't run you again, Belle," said
Dora, thoughtfully. " There 's only half a dozen
for them to pick from. Most likely it 'II be Sarah
^-or me."
"Jenny Sew-cll is pretty," suggested Helle.
" She 'd make a nice little May Queen."
" She ! She 's a doll. She 's almost as old as
I am, and she 's a head shorter than Sarah."
The other tongues were rapidly getting loosened,
and suggestions of a\ailable names were by no
means lacking. It was even noticeable how many
seemed to occur to the mind of IJelle Roberts, and
how they all seemed to lack something or other in
the large blue eyes of Dora Keys.
It w-as a little more than ])robable that Dora
had formed a clear notion in her own mind as to
the required qualities of a May Queen for that
year. That is, she should be tall for her age, very
good-looking, with a full, musical voice for her rec-
itation,— and, in fact, to be absolutely perfect, her
first name had better be Dora than anything else.
It was enough to provoke a saint — of the name
of Dora — to have Sarah Dykeman remark, so
calmly :
" It is Mr. Ayring's own exhibition. He gets it
up to help his business, 1 suppose, or he 'd never
Uikc the trouble."
"He makes the money," added Belle, "and
the children get the fun."
That was about the w-hole truth of the May Fes-
tival business. The enterprising teacher of vocal
music and dealer in all other music and the instru-
ments thereof had managed, for several successive
years, to revive the dead-and-gone custom of
choosing and crowning a May Queen. The ac-
companying exercises of song and recitation were
performed amid as liberal a show of flowers and
green leaves as the season and the local hot-houses
would permit. As to popular interest, he was sure
of tilling the largest hall in Saltillo, at a moderate
price for tickets, w ith the friends and relations of
his numerous juvenile performers.
The social interest attending the several "elec-
tions," in a limited communily like that of Saltillo,
had been productive, as a matter of course, of
rivalries and heart-burnings not a few. The present
occiision bade fair to rival any predecessor in that
respect, and its time was at hand, since even a May
Queen, her maids of honor, ladies in waiting,
marshals, heralds, and all that sort of magnif-
icence, required to be taught and trained for their
parts, just as court persons do in real life.
Mr. .\yring w-as a shrewd man, and anxious to
avoid giving offense, and if there was one thing
clearer to him than another, it was that the Park —
girls and boys — had had glory enough the year
before.
The crown could not safely be sent in among
any of Miss Offcrman's pupils, and even he him-
self was not half so positive on that point as were
the young lady attendants at Madame Skinner's
rival "seminary." only two squares away from
the Wcdgewood School.
Kvery one of these, indeed, w-hosc years entitled
her to aspire to royal honors, felt more kindly
toward all the world, that very morning, when the
Madame mentioned the matter from the rostrum,
after the usual religious exercises.
" Only one of you can be chosen, my dear young
ladies, and you cannot yet guess which of you will
win the prize."
Her further remarks were well-timed and judi-
cious, but Mr. Ayring had been trying to make a
close guess at the name of the winner.
" Fanny Swayne would look splendidly on a
platform. She 's been aw-ay at boarding-school,
but that wont hurt. Jim Swayne goes to the
W'edgewood, and there can't be much fuss made.
She '11 do. She knows how to dress, too."
What if Mr. Ayring had known that Jim and
Fanny already had the matter under discussion ?
Jim was the head boy of the Wedgwood in all
matters which did not too closely relate to books,
and was, therefore, sure of rallying an active
" boy interest " to the support of his candidate,
whoever she might be. Smaller boys who might
have jircferenccs were not likely to air them in the
presence of a tongue and hand so ready and so
efficient as his.
" I '11 fix it for you, Fanny," he had said to her,
and so it was hardly by accident that he and Mr.
.Ayring had a talk that day, near the latter's music-
store, during the noon recess.
The subject opened a little rapidly under such
circumstances.
" We must keep still about it till the election.
Jim, but 1 '11 tell you what I 'm doing."
He held out a small, white, shining bit of
enameled card-board.
" We '11 have your sister's name printed on
SAl/n l.l.ii HU\>.
563
tluso, f'T li.illiils. All tlir ri-t '11 waste time
wntinj; out llieir tickets, and the little folks would
rather vote these anyhow. Hy the time the bij;
ones are ready witli their written tickets, the voting
will be pretty much all done."
It looked .IS though such a splendid piece of
clectioncerinj; stratejjy as that made sure of the
defeat of the I'ark boys, no matter whom they
mii;ht aj^ree upiin. and Jim was jubilant.
••AH 1 want of you, Jim, is to see that 1 have
three or four smart lx)\-s on hand to distribute
tickets, 1 '11 try and manage to have half a dozen
other girls run, and all Fanny will need will be to
come out highest on the list."
Cunning Mr. .-\yring !
That \ery day he took his tickets to the printing
office of the Daily Trumpet, and never paused to
consider that Mr. C.irroll, the editor and proprietor
of that journ.-il, w.ns also the father of .Mr. Jefferson
Carroll, and that the latter w.is member of Mr.
Hayne's "Sixteen."
\'er)' important results will sometimes come from
a \ery small o\ersight.
CHAriER 111.
Ok.ai.inc wriH llic.Hw.w Robhkry.
)rTH — especially mascu-
line youth — is apt to
be pugnacious. A little
before the close of the
_^ , , - ^._ noon recess that day,
^^*<i^ft/ Y^dE^ there were two good-sized
boys on the north-west
comer of the Park, engaged
in a tussle, while a third,
about as small a specimen
of boyish mischief as could be
expected to wear trousers, was
dancing around them, in what
looked like an impish endeavor
to throw a small clod into some
part of the skirmish. Then followed a "clinch,"
a tug, a roll on the ground, while the small clod
H-as not in the small boy's right hand any longer,
but, instead thereof, both hands were hugging to
his bosom a monkey-faced cocoa-nut, in its shaggy
coat.
" Have you got it, I'ug?"
•' 1 'vc got it !"
' I.et go my hair ! "
• You let sniill boys alone, then — «ill \ou ?"
'■ He 's no brother o' youm."
" Let him alone, that's all."
■ Hit him again, Jack Rol)crts I Hithimagam'"
There was a great deal of resentment in the
excited fai e and tone of I'ug .Merriweather, hut
Jack did not act on his little friend's advice. On
the contrary, he sprang to his feet, followed more
slowly by the shabby-looking fellow whose cowardly
attempt at a sort of highway robbery had brought
on that collision.
The young rowdy, indeed, looked as if he were
ready to try the matter over again, for he w.ns not a
bad match for Jack in mere size and strength, but a
glance up the street showed him three f>r four more
boys coming, each on a clean run, and he knew it
was about time for him to make h.aste in some other
direction.
He ran, but he was not followed, for at that
moment the clock in the church-tower rang out a
sonorous " one," and it was time for Mr. Hayne's
scholars to be behind their desks.
" Pug, you run for home. Don't you stop any-
where. "
•'I will. Hut did n't I give it to him? Eh,
j.ick :- '
There w.is glee in that, but he acted on the coun-
sel of his chivalric protector, and his short legs
carried him off faster than one would have thought
possible.
"Hurry up, Jack — you 'II be late!" shout-
ed Charley Ferris, as he came along, puffing:
and a tall, slender, red-haired boy behind him
added :
" Don't stop to brush. Jack ; walk right along ! "
It was a few steps only, and they three were the
last boys in, just in time to comply with the rigid
rules of punctuality which Mr. Hayne was dis-
posed to insist upon.
I'p to that hour there had been no neater, more
orderly-appearing young gentleman in the school
than the handsome, blue-eyed, light-haired, fun-
loving brother of the last year's May (jucen.
There was nothing dandified .about him, how-
ever, at the moment when Mr. Hayne's ruler came
down upon the little table on the platform, and the
silence of "hours" followed the rap.
"Mr. Roberts."
"Sir?" responded J.ick, promptly, rising to his
feet.
■•There are bruises and dirt on your face."
•• Yes, sir; 1 should say there was, most likely,"
returned Jack Roberts, quietly, with a polite bow
and the ghost of a smile.
" And there is dust on your clothes."
" I h.ad no time to brush them, sir."
'■ .May I .ask if you have been tighting, Mr.
Roberts? .\ scholar of this school fi^ihling in the
street ! "
" Yes, sir ; I h.ivc."
Itefore Mr. Hayne could reply, he lic.ircl his own
5^4
>..\ I r I i.i.o mn s.
name called from another pan of the room, ami, which plainly showed how deep an interest the\
turning' about, he s,iid ; were taking in the matter.
•'What is it, Mr. Kerris ? "' "That will do, .Mr. Kerris. Vou may take your
"I saw it. sir. 1 ran to ■jet there and help. seat. So may you, Mr. koberts."
but 1 wasn't in time. There was a yoimtj rowdy ".May 1 );o and brush myself r "
took away a cocoa-nut from httle I'uy Mcrri- " No, sir. .No scholar of this school need h^
weather " afraid to follow your example. The dust you tak.
'•Ah! That 'sit." on in defending; the weak when thi\ r\r' ^vmn-i il
•• I he rascal 's always gcttmg into some scrape,"
atlded Ch.arley, in a lower tone.
'• Do you mean Mr. Roberts ? "
"No, sir: 1 mean I'ug. Jack's a trump, but
he 's always taking the part of those little fellows."
"Did he j;:et back the cocoa-nut?"
" Yes, sir : he did ! .And he worsted that rowdy
It was clear that Charley was excited.
" W.Ts little Merriweathcr hurt ?"
".No, sir; but he pelted that chap with every-
thinu he could lay his hands on. lie 's (jone
home."
Charley was more " worked up" than Jack him-
self, and the rest of the bovs listened with faces
does not need to be brushed off. The second
cl.ass in Latin, come forward."
Jack blushed to his very ears, and a sort of
tinjjle went around tlie school, from boy to bo\.
Kven John Dcrry whispered to the red-haired younj;
>rentlcman who sal in front of him :
" He is n't such a flat .is 1 thought he was. ( ioihI
for Jack, too, I say. IJut what a weasel Pug Mer-
riweathcr is, anyway."
.•\t least one small boy of that neighborlxxid had
evidently earned a reputation of his own.
.As for the yoimg outlaw who h.nd robbed him.
he w.as not likely to forget I'ug, until a troublesome
lameness should leave his left arm. That had been
the landing-pl,ace of the sm.dl <l<wl.
Al lll.l.O BOVS.
.65
It was well unclcnitooil that Jack's "dust" was
to Ik- l<M)ki-tl ii|H>n sonicuhal in the lij;lit of a prize
iiK-dal.
•"Stars and j;artors," as it was explained to him
by Andy Wiight. alter sihiiol.
"That's it," s;iid the red-haired boy; "but
» hat '11 he remember it by after his face is washetl ?
It wont all turn to freckles like mine ? "
"Freckles, (^te?" exclaimed J.ick. " Th.ii
would do. (iive me one: you 've enouj;h for two."
There was no denying it. for he h.id the full
allowance that belonjpi to boys -.iiul jjirls, too — of
his complexion, but the idea of partinjj with any of
them seemed new to him, and he made no reply.
If there w,is any im|)oliteness in his silence, his
fncnds vsere too well accustomed to it to care.
They knew Otis lUirr, and never wasted precious
lime in waiting for him to speak.
" If I 'm not mistaken," said .Vndy, " we 'II have
more trouble with those fellows from along the
cinal. They 've quite taken the notion of coming
over here lately."
" Have n't much else to do," snapped Jack.
" There 's a perfect swarm of them. .And they "re
of no more use than so many wasps."
"There ought to be a law to compel them to
attend the district school. Then they 'd be shut
up p;irt of the time."
" Pit) the teachers, then," said Otis.
"They'd manage it. .Might make something
out of some of 'em."
" 5>oniething or other. It just spoils 'em to let
'em run around loose, with nothing to do. It
would spoil me, I know."
" You and Pug Merriweather 'd have a fight
on your hands every day.''
" He 'd have three, if there w.ns any chance to
find 'em. I never saw such a little imp. He gives
his mother and sister no end of trouble. "
"(il.id I 'm not his sister," gravely remarked
Charley Ferris.
" You .^ Well, no," said .Andy, " I don't think
you 'd shine as a sister."
Charley had a notion that he was born to shine
in almost anything he might undertake, but for ihe
second time that day he Siiw that the public opin-
ion was against him, especially after Andy said
something about beauty being required for a com-
plete success, and Otis liurr added
"That settles it. lie would n't ilo."
" I say, boys." interrupted Jack, "the girls are
becoming excited about this May Queen business."
" They all want to be queens, 1 suppose," said
.Andy, " and old .\yring only wants one for his
show."
" Have the\ pitched on any one girl to vote
for?" asked Joe .Martin, as he came up with a lot
of books under his arm.
" If they have, they forgot to tell me. I '11 ask
Helle about it to-night. There '11 be some work
for us before we get through."
" Why, Jack, do you mean to sing at the Festi-
val ? " asked .Andy.
"Me? Sing? Well, yes, it 's likely Ayring
will be 'round after me. 1 did sing a song once,
l>ut nobody 's asked mc to sing since that."
" We '11 let the girls and the small fry do the
show business," suggested Charley Ferris, with an
effort at elderly dignity, "but we must keep our eye
on the politics of it. We must n't let the Wedge-
wood boys walk over us."
"They '11 pick out some girl from Ma'am
Skinner's."
"That 's what they'll do. They did, last year,
and they came within ten votes of winning."
•'And they did n't all vote for the same girl,
either. They wont make that blunder again."
••We must n't, either."
Fresh arrivals of youthful politicians had made
quite a caucus of it, but the whole question had to
be "laid on the table," as Andy Wright called it,
until information could be had as to the purposes
of the young Ladies. So the group speedily broke
up, and the boys went their ways.
It w.ns likely, however, that Jack Roberts would
have questions to answer .is well as to ask, on his
arrival home with so much dust of battle still on
him.
( 7'o Ar KVfilimuti/. )
560
II I A D- IiRESSES OF AM MAI
/l)irj/-Ju*^L/
IMI.)
HEAD-DRESSES OF ANIMALS.
567
nuAi)-i)Ri;ssi:s oi- animals.
Bv Sphinx.
Perhaps you think that men and women are
the only ones that have distinctive head-dresses
and are proud of them ; but if you should see some
of the animals in other countries, and see how their
masters dress them up, you would find that their
rij;ging is s*)metimcs very elaborate.
Look at the picture of a .\eapolitan donkey, at
the top of the opposite page. This head is perfectly
gorgeous, and his owner thinks it is beautiful. In
the tirst place, the hair between the animal's long
ears is lied or wound up with bright red worsted,
.-ind makes a bright little upright tuft ; then his
bridle is covered with bits of brass which shine in
the sun, and it is all decorated, besides, with red
tassels, while on either side, just over his eyes, are
two very large bunches of red. Coming down a
mountain path against a deep blue sky, or stand-
ing against a white wall, he looks very picturesque.
The horse at his side, though so near him in
the picture, comes from Arabia, and his head is
Ijandaged up with a most intricate headstall. .A
great deal of his master's wealth is lavished on this
bridle; for the Arabs think the world of their fleet
steeds, and even gold and silver, richly embossed,
can be seen on some of the favorite horses.
While we arc considering oriental animals, we
might .IS well notice next the camel's head in the
center of the page ; he has on a very odd head-piece,
made up of coarse bits of bright colors, with tassels
ranging down the sides, interspersed with bells.
It looks very ugly in the hand, but on the animal
it is very pretty; and they say that the camels
become so fond of their bells that sometimes they
will not travel without the sound of them.
The great, strong horse near this camel belongs to
Normandy, France, and the great hump on his neck
is his collar, which is matle very large and high,
and is covered with a sheep-skin dyed a bright blue ;
and, although it appears very ungainly here, still it
looks well on a tine gray Normandy horse.
Below him \ou can see the head of an ele-
phant, with an ornament hanging down between
his eyes ; his trappings are very plain, but some of
them in India are rich and dazzling, especially
those of elephants that carry the native princes.
They cover their animals with the brightest cloths,
embroidered with gold and silver, and when they
arc decorated, they look like great m.isses of mov-
ing color, not at all like the Austrian horse in the
corner, who has to work hard all the day dragging
heavy loads of beer-barrels, besides the weight of
his leathern collar, covered with brass knobs.
The Italian post-horse, seen in almost every
town of southern Italy, has a much smaller coll.ir,
but much more brass, besides a bunch of feathers
sticking straight up on top of his head, a row of
bells around his neck, and a long tuft of dyed
horse-hair hanging under the j.iw. His blinders
are of brass, and a coronet of brass stands up on
his forehead, while his owner thinks he will com-
plete its beauty by cropping the animal's mane, and
making it stand up on its neck like a mule's.
The savage, wild-looking little head, pictured in
the lower corner, belongs to a mustang, or wild
pony, owned by a Sioux Indian, as wild as his
steed ; he has no bridle, but the warrior simply
fiistens a leather thong around his under jaw, and
controls him with this and his voice. He also puts
eagles' feathers in his mane and tail, and the horse
and his rider present a very wild appearance as
they sweep over the prairies after the buffaloes, or
dash up to and away from enemies in battle.
THK 1)AXDI':LI()N,
Bv Mary N. Prescott.
Little gypsy Dandelion,
Dancing in the sun.
Have you any curls to sell?
" Not a single one I"
Have you any eggs and cheese
To go a-marketing.'
1 have neither one of these,
F"or beggar or for king."
Little idle Dandelion,
Then, I 'II mow you down.
What is it you 're good for.
With your golden crown ?
•■' Oh, I gild the fields, afar.
In the pleas.ant spring.
Shining like the morning star,
With the light 1 bring."
568
KOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
LIT-ri.E T()-'IT)T1-:.
B \ L I A k A 1 )( I 1 V H Ai i;s.
X'l <iM. would think that lit-tle To-tote was a j^nrl who
could en-jo)- stand-ini,r on her head.
She was as shy as her kit-ten that hid un-der
chairs when-ev-er a strange step came
j^ near ; and she scarce-1)' ev-er looked any-
one in the face, with-out first let-ting her
long, soft eye-lash-es fall up-on her cheek.
-And yet To-tote's fa-vor-ite de-light was
to stand on her head.
Her nurse laughed and cried out, "Oh,
To-tote, a-gain on your head ! " at which
To-tote would laugh too, and go on with her pla)'.
Now To-tote had for a gift from her good grand-moth-er, a gold
spoon with a fan-cy T en-graved on the han-dle. With this she ate her
sup-per of bread and milk, and with this she sipjx^d her soup at din-ner.
In-deed, it was al-ways laid at To-totes plate, for wheth-er she re-quired
it or not, she al-ways want-ed to see it there. And
when-ev-er she saw it she stood on her head !
" Why, To-tote ! " you will sav. " How could
you do such a thing? "
Yet \ou would not l)e so sur-|)risrd if
you should see' her. fake \our
own bright spoon at break-
fast, or at din-ner, or
at tea ^-^^^^ a,,Mm
in-side its shin-ing bowl, and
\()u will see a ver-y good like-ness
(if a lit-tle boy or girl that you know, and
I will be wrong side up. That was what 1 o-
lotc so much en-joyed do-ing at sup-per. It was
\(r-\ fun-n\ to \\vx pret-ty French eves to see the smil-ing
lil-tU- la-dy iook-ing as if she were walk-ing with her feet in the air.
• Oh. oh." she would laugh, " you will get diz-zy in there, Miss To-tote! "
.And nurse would add : " Yes, yes, she is ver-y diz-zy. Now bid her good-
night, To-tote, and we will light the can-die and go up to bed."
l(iK VI KV I rill.K FOLK.
169
i:i)-l)\'S liAl.-LOON.
Mh-i'\ w.i-^ a lit-tlc lK)y, wlu) lived on a tariiv ( )in
tla\ lu' Willi with his ta-thrr, inotli-iT, ami sis-tcr. in
the coun-ty fair, four miles away.
Ed-dy saw a ijreat man-y wuii-der tui things tli.u
day, hut there was noth-inj^ there that he want-etl so
much as a red bal-loon, so he boutfht one with some
mon-ey giv-en him to spend " as he pleased."
All the way home Ed-d\ held the string, and the
bal-loon tloat-ed a-bove the car-riage. When he went
in-to the house he tied it to the chair-back, and left
it there, while he sat down and ate his sup
.\t-ter sup-per he a-mused
him -self by try-ing to make
the bal-loon stay down on
the floor. As soon as it
rose, he struck it with the
palm of his hand, antl made
it go down a-gain : but, as
it jumped up ev-ery time, he
hail to strike it again and
a-gain.
Now, Ed-dy lived in an
old house, with a large, open
fire-place ; as he was chas-
ing his play-thing, all at once
he came to the fire-place:
the bal-loon slipjjed a-wa)
from his hand and went
right up the big chim-ne\.
Ed-dy and his sis-ter An-nie ran into
the yard, but they could not catch the fly-a-
way : it rose high-er than tlic house-top.
They watched ,it go up, up, up, un-til it
was on-ly a speck a-gainst the blue sky.
Then it went so ver-y high that, al-though
they kept look-ing and looking, at length,
they could not see it at all; and that was liic last «>l I .d d^ >
570
JACK- 1.\-T1IE-I'UL1MT
A^ ?T% ^v ^^£S^^^X
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
"Al»RII> showers brint; May flowers," and May
flowers bring happy hours, — that is, in the country,
— and what can an honest Jack-in-the-Pulpit
know about the city, excepting by hearsay? The
Little School-ma'am says that in New York, and a
few other brick-and-stone conglomerations, the in-
habitants have a way of swapping houses with one
another on the first day of May, and, in consequence,
the streets are filled with carts carrying household
goods and chattels to and fro, hither and thither,
till the city is nearly distracted. Then in the
houses, she tells me, the broom-spirit has full sway':
wives rule the home-universe, and husbands and
fathers stand aside and weep. Busy times, I should
say !
Well, and are not ;/// people busy, too ? Birds
with their cradles and housekeeping; early spiders
with their shiny little hammocks and awnings; ants
with their apartment-houses, and, .above all, dear,
rosy, noisy bipeds (known by learned naturalists as
hoysaiidt^irlscs scmiwildsts). running about in the
fields and woods, and having the best kind of a
busy time. Bless them ! They make me think
of bees, humming with health and cheerfulness,
and storing up sweets and flower-wealth for all to
share who will.
Talking of busy times and hours packed full of
simple enjoyment, my hearers, consider this bit of
true history about
POOR FRITZ.
IIdw would you like to have such a bringing-
up as befell Fritz, son of Frederick William the
Second, King of Prussia ? Let me tell you about it.
When the child was in his tenth year, the father
wrote out directions to the three tutors as to Fritz's
mode of life. The boy w.as to be called at six
o'clock, and the tutors were to stand by to see that
he did not loiter nor turn in bed ; he must get up
at once. As soon .is he had put on his slippers, he
was to kneel at his bedside and jjray aloud a prayer,
so that all in the room might hear. Then, as
rapidly .is possible, he w.-is to put on his shoes and
spatterdashes, vigorously and briskly wash himself,
get into his clothes, and have his hair powdered
and combed. During the hair-dressing, he was at
the same time to take a breakfast of tea, so that
both jobs should go on at once, in order to save
lime ; and all this, from the calling to the end of
the breakfast, was to be done in fifteen minutes !
.\l half-past nine in the evening he w.ts to bid
his father good-night, go directly to his room, very
rapidly take off his clothes, w.ash, and hear a
prayer on his knees. Then .a hymn was to be sung,
and Fritz w.as to hop instantly into bed.
Poor Fritz ! No room for bed-time stories nor
pillow-fights !
But, not so fast. " Poor Fritz " aftcr\vard
became Frederick the tireat.
BUTTON-MOLD MOUND.
Drar Jack-in-thk-Pilimt : If you were a nalivc of central
Kemucky you would not think of scndinc your St. N1CIKH.AS
chi1di^-n :is far as Africa or Buenos Ayrcs for natural beads, such
your budget of November, a year ago. for i
Ha'rdin County, nctr a place called Rough Creek, where we have
sometimes spent the summer, there is a high hill formed of mund,
flat stones, from the size of a pin-liead to an inch across, with a
round hole right thmugh the middle. The hill is called, from
the shape of these sttjiics, " Button-mold Mound." They look
.IS if they might have Iwcn fishing. worms once, had petrified,
and been broken up into short pieces. May be, they played
around in the mud with the trilobitcs, when both felt more like pfay-
ing th.tn they do now. W'c find trilobitcs on the hills around
Cincinnati, when wc go visiting there. — Vour affectionate friend,
SlIIKLEV Mahtin.
THE CATBIRDS ARE COMING!
Early in May, my dears, — especially those of
you who live in the Middle States, — be ready for
the new-coming of the cat-birds.
You will find them a social set, for they seldom
nest at a distance from a farm-house or other dwell-
ing of man ; and. if you listen carefully, in the
morning or evening, you may hear their wild,
warbling melody. They belong to the great Thrush
family, you know, most of whom have sweet voices.
They are lively, quick-tempered fellows, and if they
see a snake, will scold fiercely at it; occasionally,
too, they will flock together, and either kill their
enemy or drive him away. It is funny that their
cry should sound so like the "mew" of a cat, for
they dislike puss almost .as much as they hate
snakes; and they often perch impudently just out
of reach, and lecture her severely, calling out
"mew" every now and then, as if to taunt her.
BIRO MIMICRY.
O.V the whole, taking the parrot, mocking-bird,
canary, cuckoo, and cat-bird into consideration, it
seems to me sometimes that the birds have rather
an unfiir advantage over other creatures in the
way of mimicry.
But I don't know. The Little School-ma'am tells
me that on .March 32(1 of this year, she heard just
outside her window, a burst of trills and roul.ades,
and roundelays, and ecstatic airs, — -varied with soft
warbles, and sudden chirps and twitters, and sweet,
I \i K I \ I II i: - I'V i.riT.
5"<
liiw liill.il>i(.'>, — .illu^L'tlior making .iliiiosl (he linibt
iiut)U'y t>f bird son>;s ami ulccs that I'vrr j;ri'ctccl her
cars. Olcimrsc, she hstcncil in rapt ploasiirc until
there came a pause, wnndcrinj; all the time, however,
what rival of the ni^;htinj;ale couUI thus have come
back before the buds and flowers. And when, at
last, the serenade was ended, she hastened to the
window, looked at each bou;;h of every tree, and
finally descried little dirty-faced, ill-cl.id Tim Milli-
g-an, the newslH)y, with cheeks putTed out like
IxilUnins. and pursetl-up lips, whence suddenly
issued ajjain th.it torrent of bird-like melody. Kre
h>ny, he raisetl his hand and took from between his
tcfth a queer little metallic sheet, and instantly the
music ended.
Whence, I say — ho, rollicking, deceitful cat-bird,
revel in thy taunting mimicry ; but beware thy-
self, of Tim Milligans, and street-whistles!
A LITTLE SOLDIER-GIRL.
'* Yes," said a tall man with
sword, .is he strolled with Dcimn
lirccn along the foot-path in r
me.idow; '"yes, my five-yeai
old Nelly helped to hold the
fort ! Bless her !
" One day, we soldiers
rode o;T in chase of :i
band of five hundred li-
dians. .■\ftersomehour-'.
wc found that more than
half of them had turneil
.ibout and were on their
way b.ick to attack the
fort. They hojK-d to
capture it : for they knew
that it was built chietU
of adobe [sun-dried
bricks], and they felt
sure that we had left
only a few men to defenil
it. We rode back as fast
as our jaded horses could
go, and we arrived not a
moment too soon I
"The women andchil
dren had gone into tin
block-house and were
unhurt; but several of
the soldiers h.ad been
wounded in running to
the same shelter. Koi
three hours my wife fired
repeating rifles, one after
another. .\ soldier, hurt
in both legs, lo.aded tlv
rifles, and passed thei
to little .Nelly, who c.ii
ried them to her mother,
and brought back the empty ones to be reloaded.
The child grew tired before long, but the att.ick of
the Indians was so fierce and unresting that even
she, p<i<)r mite, could not be spared. The tears came
again and again, .ind she begged to be let off. Hut
her mother would say: 'Stand to it, my Nelly!
Stand to it, my little .soldier-girl ! ' .And then the
child would straighten herself up, and bravely go
on with her wearying task.
" When the little one came to kiss me, after the
fighting was done, her face w.is so streaked with
tears and gunpowtler that, at first, I failed to
recognize my own brave little daughter."
DEEP SEA WONDERS.
O.Ni; of those prying fellows, the naturalists, li.is
been bringing ipieer live things from more than
half a mile deep in the ocean, where there are no
voices, and the day is almost as dark as the night.
Of course, he himself did not go down for them,
but he sank a dredge, or open-mouthed bag, fast-
ined to a rope, and
dragged it along
thi' bottom.
■ things
h u w n
in the
icture came up in this
ledge, not very long ago.
The lower of the two beau-
tiful filagree mar\'cls is a
sponge, and its stalk is a
bundle of about three hun-
dred threads of glassy stuflf
' ailed silica. Indeed, this
m.iterial glistens .is if it were
m reality the finest spun-
;lass; and, although the sil-
. t ry web is so delicate, it is
to withstand the tre-
lendous pressure of the
Iter all about it. The
■ ilier sponge, with its spre.nd-
;:i:4 roots, has been dragged
lit of the mud, and is float-
ifj in the water. Those two
i.iny-legged shrimps once
irolicked about in their cold,
sunless, soundless home,
among myriads of just such
lovely forms .is these.
That may be all very well for shrimps, but .as for
your Jack, — give me the lighlsome air. the glow-
ing sun, the merry brook, the rustling green things,
and my bonny birds, th.it make happy life about my
pulpit, not to mention those rackety, red-cheeked,
dear boys and girls of the Red School-house.
k
5/2
rilK I.KTTKR- HdX.
I'm-: i.i;tti: R-i?()x.
AOASSIZ ASSOCIATIO.N—SKCO.M) KKPORT.
Six or seven hundred ca^c^ i|uc.stioncrs to answer at n
but twice as many words to do it with !
First, to the boys »ho have asked " How tan 1 make
cabinet ! " we offer this simple design.
The right-hand picture shows the cabinet complete, and the pliii
beside it is drawn so that every measuncment in it is one-sixteenth of
the corresponding measurement in the finished cabincL No nails
are used. Wood of light color l(«,ks well : chestnut is ea.sily worked.
1 he ends of the top and bottom are monised into the sides. Close
to the side bo.irds holes arc Iwrcd through the projecting pans of the
tenons; and wedges .ire inserted and hammered tight.
The frames of the doors arc doweled at the comers, each joint
|>emg made by Ixiring a hole through one piece into the next, and
msemng a dowel coated with glue. The short dotted lines in the
pbn help to expl.-un this. The gkuss should not be set with putty,
but with namjw strips, beading, or niitan. fastened with brads or
the backs of the forward dowels. The .helves may be put .n flat
and may rest on screw-eyes screwed into the sides of the cabinet
Meul ear; are set on the back, projecting above the top, for hant
...g the cabinet; in addition, it is well to drive a «:rew from th.
inside through the back into a stud in the wall.
Ihe scalloping at the lop of the back may be done with a frel-sau
ihe hole in the center of each scallop is bored right tlm.ugh. The
ornamental lines across the sides are made with a gouge, and should
Ik: p,-unted brown ; then the whole cabinet should !»: covered with
two coats of white shelkic varnish. rho«: .killed in fret
like to set in the top the letters A. A., in Old JvnglLsh u
are puzzled over any p.-m of the ciibinet, no doubt yo
fellow down at tlic shop" who will give you a hint.
And
ing may
If you
■hile the lH,ys have gone for some board, and the
hammer, a w<.rd to the presidents of all the St. Nlciiotjis chapters
which arc now found m more than twenty .States and Territories
lo say nothing of Engl.-ind and Cermany.
The more specific you cin make your work, the Utter For
insunce, if yoiiaremuch interested in entomology, instead of attempt,
ing to cover the whole field, suppose you direct your attention to th-
scales on butterflies' wings. .Are the scales on :UI p.ins ..f the siune
butterfly of the lame shape t Are the scales on butterflies of differ-
cut sorts different in shape? Are the scales of moths es.sentUilly
iifferenl from those of butterfl._.
moths) be cLissilied by their scali
I-et each member of your cbaj
study SOI
c-trcfiil d
IrfiJopIrm (butterflies and
ashes can?
'ho has access to a microscope
kind of butterfly thon.ughly, and make a report, with
'f the scales of l)oth male and female. Then let
your si-creury make a report, i arefully condensed, fr<.m these and
send It to Unox with the drawings. We will comp:ire the re'p<.rts
sent in, and publusb the general result ..f all your ..bscrvations
".'Vnd what shall /do? I don't like bugs! I love flowers"
• How shall I begin ? Minerals are my "
Patience : Get ymir cabinets ready .and collect :is many specimens
as y.ui can, until next month, when the flowers will be wondering if
It IS not time for iheni to begin teaching again, and when wc liojK-
to find you still eager lo "consider" them.
I HK prize for drawings of snow-crysts
■Mary 1.. Clarfield, of Fiichburx, M-tss.
Scvenil other incmhcrs sent drawing:
in our decisin
lis has lK:en awarded to .Mi.
h orn:uiientiil hinge
the shelf, .iiid it wil
" needle. points." Iliilt-hinges may be used,
plates set outside, as shown Hook one doo
ti .Id the other dtKir shut.
ITie shelves may U maje with raised edges, like tray,,-the front
runs are not shown in the picture. riiese edges will «ive the con-
•Ills from mlling oH' when the trays are taken out. The shelves
1 pe forward, to show the specimens t.. belter advanuge; and they
t'M on dowels let into auger-holes in the side boards. To prevent
them from shpping, pegs arc M:t in them underneath, resting against
hich caused us to hcsiute
The drawings of Corwin
l.in.son, especially, deserve commendation.
rhey came to.i bte to compete with the
ilhers, as aLso did fifty cards of crystal-
Irawings from Miss Klyda Rich.-utlson.
: ''i^ 1 III i Unfortunately, the request for these
b^ ili I. HI'I ■*""»-fl-ilic* w.-is not published until late in
ihe winter, and we prefer, now, to post-
[>one a further report uinin them, .and lo
lefer printing the drawings, until next
> inter, when each ,ine of the member, in
■lowy districts ciin have a g.KKl chance
■ ■ make similar pictures.
Hut now the snow h.is g<.t on its sum-
mer legs of silver, and has run away from
us. Chrysalids .are beginning to crack.
It is the day of resurrection for the catcr-
litlhr. The woods are again sweet with
re is .May, .and we of New F.ngUuid air just begin-
ning to search for the first violets. Hut. ..h dear me I what a country
Ihis IS ! It spreads so widely that there are all kinds of climates in
It .It the siune tune And we fi.rgel that you of Califomm picked
ynur violets in Febniary. and wrote t.. us in midwinter, inclosing
the fragrant blossoms, and .asking how to press and pteserse them
.So, next month, we shall take up this subject, give yon a (iw hmts
concerning the pressing and keeping of flowers, and perhaps pass
on lo suggest a few things about \
ivild flo
I i; 1 1 1-. K- iii>\.
573
WhJl J" yoii all ihiiik i>f a l>.iJi:c* \Vc !>..» iiuii
I..Mi.ltnl, bill »i li"|i» I" tx: >"" <li>>"wn'l ^'""^ "<=*' '""■
AiMreii all comniuiiitaliiHn a» licfon:
lUlil.AN H lUlL-Mtli.
Ixriuix Atadciny, l*iu»
If AouirioSA
\rrKKS,
rl.iU.lelphia. Pa.. />
6 Kawiil A. Kcllcy. itH>6 Vine m.
■6 Mr*. H C. i;ii.kin>, care Co.. Alli
<i Co
Winnie Schiuller, 7J I'.ninl I'Ince
I ■ I' (i Stcvciisim.
M:ivul M love, 1910 Wa.«h. m
U.n. McI»Ker
I low M.IVOU
IJcaiu.r I l.'re»-, iq=6 N iilhM
, M \V fl,..mx^, FuhonCo
Liii-i I' H"'""
T Sewall I'olUver. 3J01 l-iilmore M.
1 Oeo. T SiinfonJ. 108 W 1 jid 51
- Henr>- C Converse, 1105 Knuilwa
4 Florence Tyni; t-;ri.swold.
; Dora Br.wn. Champaign Co
'. \nnic T. Cmmwell, 160 S. W alcr
\. rs John r. Nixon.
M I.,,,., \i,.. ,. 5 ..H. II. Crucknell, IJJJ N. Jis. si
Newion Centre, Mav. 4 . . Robert S lj>nng.
KuiABlTll M. MoKK.s.-The firs, volume of Si. NkHOLASlso,,.
of prim, and the pnblushers know of no place vvherc a copy of it can
he obtained. It i-s not prvibable that the volume will ever be
reprinled. The publishers will pay the full retail pnce tor a limited
number of the Issue* of Sv. Nicholas for November and Decem-
ber 1S73 ■ January. November, and V>ecember, 1874 ; March and
No'vemui. 1875; August and December. .876; and J.-inuaiy, 1877;
/■Hi Ou cvfKt must V (■« fivd ivWiWm, <iW milablt /tr bmdms
the covers and the advertising pages may Ik: lorn, but the maga-
lines themselves must be neither lorn nor s<.ilc<l
Drak St. Nicholas : I w.xs much inleresled in your .\pnl .irtide
about the cochmeal insect, and the col,.rs made from 11. ( )ne of the
sentences said that: " ITie best <^r^'">=,':-^" '"= I";"*'.""? J" j'^,';"
weather" ■ and this reminded me of a Utile anccdolc that 1 read 111
a b.».k. about Sir Humphry P.ivy. the great chemist
An English manufhclurer agreed 10 pay ;£i.^>-about hve thou-
so.,! I Har.-t . a Frenchman, if he woufd reveal 10 him the secret
■ trench makers were enabled 10 produce carmine ot a
,0 much belter than ihe Engli-h. 1 he Frenchman
•■ money, .ind said: -You musj work only on
^ s •■ And this was the whole of the secret ; for, in
, ,(,,. ,t-,..c.;- Ihe processes followed by both parties were exactly
alike Hut II was a dear bargain for the Englishman, beca"*^
^v, Ihe s,ory-in his co.inm- there is verj- Utile of ihe beautiful
sunny wealher that Is frequently enjoyed m France.-^ ours truly.
Mav JF..NMNCS ask* us 10 reprini thi> lillle paragraph from ihc
■ Utter- B.,x" of May. 1874:
MaybaskeL. are very welcome as birthday pfts to May children,
,r a.^ffcn...:- 1 • u.v.,has .....! I' linle ■ hil'l"" "' h-pilals. or 10 put
I roing. A pretty
""• , . coll.-.r-box will
nnkled, so as to
^ides of ihc l>ix
Chaklkv ( ;.— You will find a thort and lively May-day octingplay
in St. Nicholas for May. 1876. It is called " Mayday ln-door«,"
and was wtillcn by Mrs. Abby Morion Dial.
Dkak Sr. Nicmiijvs: Have you noticed ihal in Febnuiry and
March of this year ihc days of the week fall upon exaclly the .;ime
diysofthcnionlhr For insuilicc. ilic Saturdays in both monlhs were
Ihc slh. iJlh. i9lh. and jOlh ; and ihe Sundays viere ihe 6lh, 11th,
■ ,lh; and J7lh. I suppose ihis happens always when February hli«
iwenlveighl dav», or fl.ur coiiiplelc wecks.-l ruly yours,
I)K»K St. Nicholas: I have lived here in Dakota about four
months, and have seen nuiiiy wonderful things. Ihc praine lire lor
instance, which nl one lime cnlirely surrounded our home II was
Iwuuliful 10 look al. bill :it ihe siinie lime il was fnghtful on accomil
of the danger 10 our homes. ,, ,
Our hoiiicslead is Iwo and a half miles from ihe town (Huron), on
the (. hicago and Norlhweslem k. R. The road is through to Ft.
I'icrre, .ni llie Missouri Kiver. ^ . ^
Dur lo«n is now :ibout eight ili.mlhs old and 11 has over seven
hundred pet»ple ... j - ■ i.
We shall soon have iwo churches and a school.house, and 11 is alto
expecled 10 be the county seat. . .
There is not a tree in sight, but ihc scenerj- is bcaunrul. At times
we have imaginary lakes that look perfectly naliiral lo a stranger «
eye There are many antelope here in dr..ves from fifty 10 three
hundred, and during the severe slorm in Ocu.ber many were driven
10 the Jim River, near town, where ihe siwrtsmen shot them.— from
your admiring friend, •- '"' ^
M. Nicou. ANl> Others.— Voii will find good advice as lo how 10
care for canary birds in Mr. lamest IngerioU's article. "A Talk
.-iboul lanarics." printed in Sr. Nn.HOl-\s for F'cbniary. 1877.
Mav
.1.. f
ered'
■'-'"•, hit of v'inc I"
"^ ■. .r.w while ribb.m
h,'^ »,'■'. •■•-luicr. .here ll.e li-mllc |...n- the l«vsket. give a
pretti cIT;' . "and. for' very littW chlWren it will do no ham, 10 put
tiny r..und cgglike sugarplums in the middle of the flowers.
I.SM.N J K»,»N —The "Petite Anse Amateur." mentioned in Ihc
•• l.etier Bo. " .rf December. 1879. is edited by Asxry & Mcllhenny.
New Iberia Pi«-<>(licc. Ijl
Dear St. Nicholas: Seeing in your Kcbniary number a small
rhyme of the " Small maid of Sl Paul," I thought that I would give
you something similar, which runs as follows :
There was a small girl in Montana,
I ihink her name was Su-sanna ;
She walked down ihe street.
With her basket so ncal.
To gel her mamma a bananx
k Constant Kkadkr, i>cr I . S.
Is good sea-son to appe.ir with .Mr. IJeards ■ Chapter on So.ip-
liubbles." in the present number, comes the following letler ;
Dear St. Nicholas : Did you ever hear of a " soap-bubble party" -.
Well, an English lady gave one not long ago and, from the "ccoiinl
1 rc^d.it must have been very merry. F-irly in the 'evening, he
guesLs scaled themselves at a long table, on w iich were a niunl>er
,.f pretty bowls, half-filled with warm soap-suds liy the side of
each bowl was a common, straight slcmmcd clay pipe, ornamented
with little b..ws of narrow ribbon, and painted in pretty cokirs. 1 he
blowing of the bubbles began at once, and it must h.ivc •■«" funn
10 sec the guests— all grown up though they were, and some ol them
with name^ well known in social .amf polilic-il aflair^vie with each
other .ind try who could blow the biggest and most beaulifiil bubble.
:,cting. indeed, as if they had become boys and girls .igam.
If .?ny of your readers-liule folks, grown folks, or folks .-Jlogelher
-should give such a party, they might Icl each ^uesl carry away a
pipe as a memenio ; and. of course, these souvenirs would be a^l he
more highly piized if prettily decorated, and by ihc hands of skiUful
hostesses.
s^KLl v H -It is believed that the Europeans imported braiil-wood
under that name fnm, IndL-., before ihey di.scovered South America,
and that the country of llrazil received its name from this red dye-
wood, with which Ihe early navigalors were acquainled alreaily, and
which Ihey (ound there in great abunAincc.
Dear St Nicholas: Your girl, and boys may Uke 10 h^r how
the children of Kcnl-"lhe garden of KngUnd -<;elcbralcd May
day fifty year, ago. In ihe ■n"™."". """•,'«^» "' ^>» »"f ^^^'^J
'wT^h warf:;:ed!,;iwo7„.^.n .'mow h,.... ssed. >lccora.ed -..h
S:.:id^.Tn'.he';!jr".f iht ^"rSaml. . d..,, May I.oeen g.,yly
574
rilK LETTER- »OX.
Bill Kcncr«nv ihcre w-crc ^%cral vcn»c4, or i>crhaps thi* a
laic* Jiack !'• llic days ofRiwid tjuccn Itc*^, I Iwlicvc:
*• A branch of May I 'vc hn)itK)u )-«ni here.
And at yi>ur diwr 1 Mtand;
It 'h but a >pTOUt, but it '■• well budded utii.
'Hic work of our l^.rd\ hand."
--maliii)>; on (he vitlagc green, around and about tKc May-pole,
places, tntys and Kirls ioincd i
n« oi ■ ■'
i dcwnbcJ by
I am sorry tu <;a}- that these pn:tty cusiomii seem to be dying out,
but, at any rate, it is p1cas:int to call them to mind. — Vours truly.
W. H. 1-.
New Si'Hsckidkk. — i. The first number of St. Nicholas is dated
November. 1873. 3. From time 10 time, the following magaxines
linve l>cen merged in St. Nichoi^s: "Our Young Folks/' "Little
Corpond," "The School-day Magazine," " The Children's Hour,"
and "The Riverside Magazine" 3. In Paris, a French magazine
entitled "St. Nicolas** is published weekly, but it docs not at .ill
represent the American St. Nicholas.
"^l^.
m a piece of paper bv
> a piece of wood ? — \ oi
nders lell me why il i
rubbinR it between you
Zkli^ (7 years).
St. Nicilol^s : 1 live in Chicago, near Lincoln Park, and
ncr often go to the park and down to the lake. One day.
when gathcrinK shells, I fcnind a small snail, which I kept in a Iwlllc
of water. And one time, when giving it some clean sand and water,
I found in the sand a small bcctrc. 1 took a look at him through the
magnifying-glass. His shell looked like tortoLse.-shcll, only the
beetle-shell had great, deep ridges in it. He was a queer-looking
insect, for on his stomach there were a great number of smaller
shells, in which live other little insects. Once, when I w.-is looki.ig
at him, one half of his shell came off. Inside of his ^hell he li.->s four
wings, two on each side, and they glisten like pearl. Still they are
so thin that they look like lace : and you could see the veins and
veinlets in them. In the middle his wings p:irtcd, and if you could
lall (wnion of hit li»ck. The
uoth, while the under paru arc
covered with small, line hairs. 1 just wish you could have seen thiit
licctic, with hi« wings so lK:;tutif)il and lace. like, his legs so smooth
and shiny. I am very virry 1_ can not write anything about his
head, but the p4x,r beetle was minus a head when 1 found him, so I
guess I 'II have to leave the .tccount of that pan till I find anothci
beetle, when you may have another note from your little fnend.
I. M
Hknt. are two ciipital letters from members of the -Agassiz As»o-
r>KAit Mn BALt-AKij : Vour minerals arrived here Hafcly, they arc
very nice \Vc have a live porcupine ; 1 will send v.ii -..-iit- ..f hi^
iiuills if you would like Ihcm. There is an oposson.'
inc porcupine. Fapa was one day showing tnc oj.
when he noticed two or three quills in his nose
b-ad f.ir it must have hurt him. 1 wonder if they h:,
Thank you for the little b.Kik you sent inc: when iIr ^iiir,;; . ..mc^
1 hu|ic to collect plants. I)id you know that the cats have a third
eye-lid r If you have a gentle kitty, when she is asleep lift up her
upper eye-lid, and von will see a thick veil over her eye. Do you
know if cats like music of , any kind r We have a little black-and-white
kitty that seems t.i like it when papa whLslles. Can you tell nie what
the {Kickct in the c:u' of the ait is lor ? and if you have ever known
of a cat burrowing in ihrf earth to keep warm? — Vours truly,
M. N. W.
Ot'R cat is 11 inches high and 19 inches lonjg from the root of his
tail to the end of his nose and his tail Is io<^ inches long. He has
four legs and walks on the tips of his toes. He has four toes on each
hind f'Kjl and on his fore feet five toes on each, one of which he docs
not use in walking liccaitsc it iN too high on his leg but he uses it in
climbing. He walks on little cushions on the end of his toes. He
uses his claws, only at will, as when he is climbing, stretching, fight-
ing, etc. His cars arc movable at will, but not so much so as a rab-
bit's. His eyes tip in like ,a Chinaman's. When he is watching for
his prey he moves his tail from side to side. His tail is smooth and
tapering. There is soft fur all over his body except on the end of
his nose and the cushions on his toes and the inside of his cars. He
is gray with lighter and darker stripes of gray all over hLs body, tail
and legs.
He fives mostly on bread and milk and what he catches which arc
rats mice squirrels rabbits snakes and birtis- He will cat dough,
sweet com, cooked potatoes, and turnips, but docs n't like the Utter
when I nib him I can sec sparks, and the longer and faster he is
lubljcd the in'ire sparks you can sec, and at the s:imc time you can
hear a snapping noi^e. 1 can, too, feel my fingers tingle, it is
electricity in the hair. Ll.SA Aldkicii.
Sott'TloNs to Febru-Try puzzles we
Kngland, 9. The names of solvers .-
IE Ma
Alice
: received, too late for acknowledgment in the -^pril number, from " A Hive of Ilees," Wimbledo:
c printed in the second niiinber after that in whicn the puzzles appear.
:ived, bcfoi
!fore M.irch 20, from " Iess.->minc," 3— N. Eyes, .ill— Willie llond.
Kunning and Julia Palmer. 3— Walter K. Smith, 1— Dora N. Taylor, 1— Willie Ross, 3— Kdward Brow-azki, 3— Warner W.
Gilbert, s— " Artfiil Dodger," 2— I.con and Naomi, 1— Cornelia Mitchell, 3— Aiine V. lilcason, 4— I- rank K. Heath, 11— hordyce Am
Warden. 8— W.alter .Monteith. i— J. Harry Anderson, 3— Eleanor H. Farley, j— Carrie F. Doane, <— Juliette S. Rvall, 3— Violet. 3—
E. I,. Myers, 3— John B Hlood. 1— C. H. McBridc, 8— Virginie Callmcycr, 9— "The Blanke F.amily," n— J. O., 3— Kmmaand Howard
Collins, 3— Willie k Witherle, 1— J Milton C.ittcrman, 3—" .Antony and t leopatra," 7— Harriet A. Clark, all— Henrv Rochester, i-
Will Rochester, 5— Ashlicl Green, Jr., 3— "Phvlhs," 5— E. I.. Gould. 1— Helen M. Drennan. >- Henr>- K. Whili. Jr. i — Grice
Hewlett, all— Alice W. Clark, all— A. H. C. s— Niary T. De.in, 3— H. Ware, all— Man- Applelon, 1— C.ennide I. Ellis, s— Johnnie H.
Fisher, 3— .S.illic Wiles, 8— Livingston Ham. 3— H. .and F. Ken-. <— Bessie S. Hosmcr, 1 1— Ruth Camp. 3— Thomas Dennv, Jr., 1—
Willie A. Mcl-iven, (>— Marg.iret Neilson Armstrong, all— Ella Marie Faulkner, 3— Richanl Anderson, 3— G.iil Shcrm^in, i— Ijziie C. C.
3— Madge K. I.., 2— Herbert N. Twing. all— " Modah," 4— 1-Mdic L. Dufourcq. 4— H. H. D.. 2— Cnrv.line Wcitling. t^Ficd C McDon-
ald, .all— H. W R, II— Bessie T.tylor. 6— Edith B.ivd, i—" Delta Tau Delta." 1— Katy FIcmming. 7— F. W. C. 3— "Witch .ind
Wizard," 7— .M,arie 1., 4— Robert A. G.ally. o— "Ad.am and Eve." 10— Willie T Mandeville, 3— Alice M. H., 3— Dolly, o— Florence
l-eslic Kyte, 10— "Ihrcc Puzzlers," 8— Liicv H. Shaw, 9— Susie t loff. 8— Allie D. Morehouse, 6— Alice M. Kyte,"6— Frank, Noble, .and
Ann.!, II— Henry C. Brown, 11— Edward Vultee. 11— W. t i and L. W. McKinnev. 9— Estcllc Wcilcr. 4— J. S Tennant, 8- " Unknown, "
3— Edward F. Biddlc, ri— Jennie M. Rogers, 1— Florence Wilc.v, 11— ■• Chuck," .-jl— Jane Bright, 1— P. C. Hartinigh, 3— Lizzie I). Fyfcr.
3— Uzzic H. D. St Vrain, 9— F.fTie H. T.iIIh.vs. 1— Mabel Thompson. 2— Mattic R. Watson. 3—" Belle and Benic." 7— A K W , 11—
Florence G. I,ane, 3— .Ncwcomb B. Cole, <^ Walter B. Smith, ,- Alice P. Pendleton, il— Mop,0. Sl,«:um. 6— Bessie .Mcndc. 3— "Geor-
gia and I.ec," 7— Lulu tj. Cnilibc, 1 3— Fannie Knobl.Kh, 6— Kitty H. Hunt, 1— Neddie and Tillic, 1— Bessie Finch .and Benha Stevens
I— W. A. T., 3— Norm.an J. McMillan. 1—" X. V. Z." 10— Etta C. Wagm-r. 2— M.-.mie L. Fenimore. 5— Uittie C... : " ' "'
" ■ ■ " " n,9-^!i, • -
BarcUy A. .Scovil. 1— Tom, Dick, and Hany, .all— Effie E. Had
le>'. 7— Jessie R. C . 1— Grace E. Hopkins, .all- Frank L. Thon
Preston, 3— Sallie Ch.ase, 3— Lizzie C. McMarlin, 1— HolTman K. ReynoKU, ,— lizric .M. Ikianlinan, i— Is.l
5— Annie Mills and l-ouie Everett, .all- Uiiira M, lordan. i — Ella and Lulu, f— Mamie W. Aldrich. ,— "Ros.
3— Walter B Hull, 1— Jessie White, ,,— Helen I.. \V..ods, 3— " James Shrivcr and Co., " 11— Kate F." Smith, 1
V. Woolard, 7— Nellie Caldwell, s- Charley and Minnie Powers. 1— tieorge H Bn.wn. 3— Am
.hardt, 5-1 D. W. T , 4— John A Archer, 2— Ella M. Parker, 3— H Conover. 3— Allie' E Hun.m,8— Cle
R. MoJe, all— 1. B. I.<mg.acre, 1— "ynccn Bess." 10— Abie R Tyler, 11— F. R Gillicn. 1— " liiiesser," 1
S Hunt, 9— Kenneth B F.mers<.n, 3— Charlotte F. Potter, 11— Wllbur l-iimphier, 9— Glen A. .Miscnlly. 1
EmWcr, i—<;ertnide Jenkins. (>-Charlie W. Power. 7— F. W. Hoadley. 3— Florrnre P lonrs. ^— Hniir
die." J—" C. A R.''6— II and W. Suckow, 3- Maiich Chunk. 9— Halli.- 1< W i>- — ' I 11... I M .-
Sidney Carlton. 10 'Hie niimeniU denote the number of puulc* imlved
tieorge and Einma Hnhti. 4 — Anna B ^io.se-
.-Ul- "Two Boys." 5— Willie D Ward, all— Utitia
- \ C P,
I E H ,
- Willie
ii.hi:il>.
ic" .— t.eorgc
I— i;i..cc.M I i.lict. 4— lohn
-Rosemary fUiuni. 7 — I(ess4c
PhetKT. and Annie. 4— " Uir-
- B B. Poircni. 4— Pliilip
;^8t.l
Til K K 1 I» 1»I,K- IU>X.
575
Till; K 1 hhL
BOX.
Mt:oml. Ejcmm^: Hunuut bcin£» in auifmick. Ansxifr: Mcn-
\ ' isin in UimlAgc. a. OiirscKc* in n |mchcr. y An «.>ccur-
. -niinber. 4. A sUi^c-playcr in a butldinv: where gtHnl* arc
\ ia^t in ubundance. t. A dUtiirbancc in a muUitude.
1 ; . L-.c^A in bunchcv 8 An idol in a Chinese icmplc to.
I'U'TIKK n //.LE.
I >rt nf n fence; a «hinin|{ mnicrial : feeU a pricklv
voiinicbird: nticndinK clukcly : ^hinin|i with 11 Ittful iiiKtcr.
Ill A cunHinani : a fint pcrMUi, present tcntc, of a verb: a hii-
nuulbcin^: the "hii^h ftcaft' ; on cxaggcrntcd whim ; a living creat-
ure; cunftuting of thin plain or laycn : pertaining to a border.
IV. A vowel : a pronoun; an amount; to meditate: one of the
supposed foundera of ancient Rome ; an aucmbly of irooph Cur
parade: a baggage-hur»c; wind instruments of niuitic. u.
rilAUA»E.
I a lingular crciiurc.
half of my tiuecmc*'*
be confessed,
■cr l>ecn gucv^cd ;
Kor th(uigh I am fntitid near the head of a riut,
1 'm alway* at home in the center of quiet.
For mc, men will s;»crifice comfort and health :
For mv special behoof they accumuLile wealth ;
Whaic cr the pursuit, if there *» fame to be won,
1 — 1 aoi the spirit that urgo ihem on !
Disposed to be friendly, with case I 'm at strife,
And appear at my best in political life :
And though universal dominion I claim.
'Vhc French and Italians ne'er whisper 1
I lead the Icnnoclasis when they wo
The idols and images. 1 help to make
And such is my inlUicncc over mankind.
Without my assistance they 'd soon become blind.
With kings and with princes I freely consort,
And with the nobility double my sport,
Yet so independent my rank and my mien
With queens, dukes, and emperors I am not seen.
I 'm quite contradictory, too, in my speech,
And by incivilities help to impeach
My credit: and such a strange creature am I
Before lea I unite— after tea 1 untie.
jnSErHtNE lf>Ll-ARD.
ir my 1
uld bn
Thk &ces of what three ' ■ kens*s st<»r>'
r' " Oliver Twist" arc portrayt;_l i,; -L^ .!_ s . ii.i ,!_;
M'MERIC'AL EM»MA.
[ AM composed of thirty-twn letters, and am a quotation from
Akspeare's play of Richiurd 1 1.
^Iy *-i"-i'-, -tv> is to accord. My 0--S-11-13 is to venture. My
'r-fowl. My 35-^-0 Ls an edible root. My i^-
'\ My 26-5-23-29-28 is without color, ^fy
^c search for. My 1-22-11 is a title of respect
■.i:lc <ivcn t " the wife «'f .i lord My 12-19-31-20
Sqvark: t. The scat of the aflixtions. 3. Impetuous. 3. Acute
pain. 4. Tcan in pieces. 5- A place of meeting.
IvcLL'DKD Diamond: 1. In May. 7. An era. 3. Acute pain.
: ('oochssoii. 5. In May. f. s, v.
PrZZLE.
To THE name of a famous Amcricao. now dead, add a consonant,
and you will form a word tigni/ying what, chiefly, he was. ivik.
WORD-BriLDING.
with a single letter, and add one letle
I time, perhaps.
ned of shei
]>OI*Bl^£ ACROSTK'.
Thf. primals form a motto that is heard upon a celebration day
named by the finals.
Ckoss-words: i. A forerunner. 2. A bird
"golden-robin." 3. Pertaining to coins, 4. V
folded so as to make eight leaves. 5. A cicrgy'man
pastoral poctr>', ^. Defensive armor for the head. 8. .A high -priest
of Israel. 9. A slnnged musical instrument. 10. A fixed allowance
of provisions. 11. Old-fashioned. 13. A view through an avenue.
13. Springiness. m. c. d.
TWO EASV CKO$S-WORI> EMUMAS.
I. Mv firet Is i,
1 come, and not in go :
My second i
n bread, but not in dough:
My third is i
in yes, and not in no ;
My whole is
a time when dabies blow.
II. My first is ir
1 might, but not in power;
My second i
n branch, but not in power;
My third Ls j
in darkness, and nnt in light;
My fourth is
in battle, but not in fight ;
My fifth is ii
w looked, but not in sought;
My sixth is i
in barter, but not in bought;
My seventh
in sound, and also in noise :
My whole is
a game much loved by boyi.
DVCIK
pr<h:ressivk emcsma.
Mv whole, consisting of eight letters, signifies idolatn
My x-i is a perwmal pronoun. My 1-2-3-4 is to warm. My
1-2-3-4-S is a cheerless tract of country. My 3-3-4 »* to corrode.
My3-4-s-6-7-8hasl>ecn called the "<
is afterward My 5-6-7-8 arc dimicsti
■ r 4 IT.ir rrl-.Ti :i A-l | t!,cr tntrr,, .,-■ l.> ..mc. and
ceiuon, new wnnl», meaning : an animal : a fcuit ; to
>^ed : wrrtchedncTM : a place of delight: to become
II. A vuwd : a pronoun: a bond: a flat piece of earthcn%rarr :
Nl'MERICAI^
For wr r
ENKJMA.
I AM composed of fifteen letters, and am a pretty, spring flower
My ij-i3-ft-9-3 isaswcet substance. My 13-14-11 is what cinthex
are wulicd in. My 10-3-4-5 is sometime* used in making fences
My 1-6-7 U tiBcd in making pan«. katik.
r HI- K I inn K - liux.
l.\>\ HAA >TKATi:i) ri //.L.K
With Icitcr* of a ci>m(xiund word dcM:ribi[t>; i)k
centnd illii»trutiun. ii.\tc\\ five wnrd<« that will pmp-
criy describe ilic »miillcr piclurci.
Junction. 6. Syncopate a garment and leave an aninul.
7. Ciirtiiil a fruit and leave a vej^ctable. 8. Syncopate
a !vovcrci);n and leave ca<tt. 9. Syncupate contemptible
:tnd leave ;i htinian bein^
\M»UK\\ '^
M 1)1 \ >I<>M»
the diagnim, the outer letters of the tri .^
used a\\o in fomiinB the adjacent di^m, 1
plcic without tticni. Kach • : ■ f
iral diamond is u^cd three tinic-^; "ii. c .is .1 j,..int
wn blixik of siarv, and once a-t a point of each of
1. Up|>cr I^ft-hand Uiamund.
ime of a Ciir>' -queen. 3. A niai
kit.
4. An insect.
II. L'ppcr Right-hand !)iamond. 1. In nibbcr. a A
mcadnw. 3. To commence. 4- Purpose, 5. In continue.
III. Central Diamond- i. In caliber. 3. A period fif
time. 3. A color. 4. Dread. 5. In diamond.
I V. Ix>wcr l^^ft-hnnd Diamond, i . In defensible.
.'. A fur tippcL 3. A goal. '4. Dexterity. 5. Indwindle.
V. l^wer Right-hand Diamond i. Id union. 3. '["he
(ircck name of Aurora. 3. Eminent 4. Fixed. 5. In
ended. DVCiE.
BAfSY Horu-ca^ss.
A beautiful fowl. Across: i. A beast of
"n make happy. 3. Mournful. 4. One hun-
5. Watery- vapor. 6. Adom&. 7. The Christian
ana<;kam^
FOR OL.DER IM'ZZI«EU>
. a dcfin
I. Behead a covering of
a head, and lcav<
phere. 2. Behead
tial fear and leave a pronoun.
Behe:id at what time and
ave a fowl. 4. Behead a
brier and leave the pride of
applied lo the
if the following problems, a definition of the original word
dtately the anagram made with its letters.
I. Sad show ; darkness. 2. A true sign ; a written name. 3. Cari
needs ii ; aids to identification. 4. No vile lout; violent change.
5. I storm a pit: an estimable t|uality, 6. A tr)* for more : calcu-
lated to improve.
TUUEK KASY \VOKI>-StH AUES
rhinoceros. 5. Behead a
height and leave :
A kind of grain.
To plunge. 2. A u.serul
A small lake. a. Abo'
4840 squair yards.
li metal 3. Lmpty.
3. A river in
ANSWKRS lO PUZZLES IN 'IHK APRIL NUMliER.
Ni
MERicAi. F.m<;m,\
" Proud-picd April, drc«>cd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in cvciything."
Shaksbtitrf' s Sonneli, N
Ki
luiss WiiEEU All FooU. 1. Amen. 3. Loan.
4 K;.
wn. 5. Omen. 6. Oven. 7. Lion. 8. Soon.
yi
INCUNX. Across: I. Pray. 2. Rat. 3. Tirt. \
.Sccr.
Pi. Drive the nail aright, boys.
Hit it on the head:
Strike with all your might, boys,
Kre the time lias fled.
I.«sson<( you 've to learn, ttoys.
Study with a will:
Thc^' who reach ilie top, boys,
First must climb the nill.
Frtt'R Kasv WoHD-SQt'AKKs. I. I. Houf. 2. OgTC. 3, Urge.
4. Red. II. I. Soap. 2. Once. 3. Acme. 4. Peep. III. i.
Over. 2. Vine. 3. Ends. 4. Rest. IV. i. <;nat. a. Nine. 3.
Akitmmetical PfZ2LES. AuDiTiMN : I. Redstart. 3 Toma-
hawk. 3. Catacomb. 4. Capsize. Subtraction: 1. Defaulter.
2. Canister. 3. Defilement. 4. Carpenter. Multipucation : 1.
Tartar. 2. Chowchow. 3. Bonoon. 4. So-so. Division: i. Dodo.
2. Sing Sing. x. Aye-aye. 4. MotmoL
Ckoss-wokd Lnicma. Plutarch.
Ot'TUNK Pl'ZZLR. April fool.
Ckntkal SvNCorATioNS AND Kkmaindbas. April fool. I.
BeAds. 2. CoPal. 3. FiRsL 4. Balm «;. TSl^. 6. DcFer. 7.
MoOrc. 8. DrOop. 9. HoIJy.
Dkoi'-lettkr Plzzi-K. Panama Canal.
DoruiJi AcKosTic. Primals: Easter. Finals: Sunday. Crou-
words: i. KavcS. 3. AdieU. 3. SpurN. 4. TimiD. 5. EJctrA.
6. RallV.
Kastrr Cakd. All liail the tester mom !
PKOCKKSSIVK E.NIC.MA. Palestine. Chakadk. Abbotsfotd.
DiAMOMJ. I. I.. 3. l.Ea. 3. 1-cAns. 4 LcaNdcr. 5 .VnDre.
tt. SKe. 7. R.
DofUi-K Diagonals. 1. Dream. 2. Helen. 3. Ulier 4. Peter.
Ruv.
Tmk names of those who sent solutions uf March piuxlcs will be found at the end uf the " l^ettcr-Box " in the present number.
SoLrriost of the Analn. Chinese Storj- were received before March 30, from Katie I*aync — Herman A. Veddcr — A. C.. tJracie— For-
dyce AimceWjrdcn— luliciic S Ryall— J. O.— Hcnr>- K White. Ir— Bessie S. Hosmcr— Mary R Macnider— Minnie Cliick— Margaret
Howard— BcsMc Kineh— Bcrtlia Steven*— Nonnan /. .McMillan— iLirtlay A. Sc.»vil— Jessie R. C — T.ix/ie M lUwrdman— (.corgc A.
Cor»on— An Old Sub-H-ribcr— Helen I.. Wihk1»— Albert F. Pawju.iy- M. Mcl.urc— F. R. Oilbert— Be»sie Embler— Robert A. Gally-
Lucy B. Shaw — Susie Goff.
t
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII.
JUNE. 1881.
\-. s.
(Copyrishi, i33i, by Scribncr <t Co.]
TMK A. sti:i:les.
Hv Sarah [. Pkiciiard
The peculiarity of the Steele family lay in the
fact that all their individual names began with the
letter A.
.•\nthony Steele lived on the hill that stretched
away from Mad River, in a long, bare, lonely lift
of land, that looked, when you were below, as
though it might be the very topmost height in the
universe. His home was a red, roomy farm-house,
and he was the venerable ,V. Steele, who had stood
face to face with Indians, on the same spot, years
before. Under the hill, near the river, wasastory-
and-a-half cottage, white and snu^, where Albert
Steele, the miller, lived.
Lastly, there was, close to the river, the brown
grist-mill, with its biggest-in-the-region water-
wheel, to which all the folk came, from far and
from near, fetching their rye, wheat, corn, oats,
.ind buckwheat to be ground.
March came, and the mill was full of grain.
The e.irth began to stir and move unc.isily beneath
her snowy wraps, as though weary of her attire, and
anxious for a change. First, she trimmed her gar-
ments with icicle-fringe. But that was stiff, and
creaked and rattled to pieces when the wind blew,
and m.ide one feel as though things in general
>vere about to break up.
Nature has spasms, and one w.is coming on.-
The water-wheel had been out of order, and the
winter h.id been so cold that very little had been
ground in the mill : but now the wheel was as go<xl
as new, and so much grain was at hand that the
heart of .Albert Steele, miller, be.it high with hope.
The miller had four children. Andrew Steele
VmI_ Vin.-37.
(sixteen) looked at the length of wrist and arm be-
low his coat-sleeve, and hoped that now .t longer
sleeve in a new coat would soon cover up his year's
growth. Ann Steele, pretty as the May-flower,
made the spinning-wheel fly, and had visions of a
white dress for the next Fourth of July. Augustus
Steele just hoped that now father would feel rich
enough to let him h.ive on his sled the iron run-
ners that he had been waiting for pretty much ever
since he could remember. Abby Steele, in the
cradle, wanted her dinner, and cried for it, which
cry drew .Ann from her vision and the wheel, to lift
up her motherless little sister; for there was no
Mrs. Albert Steele to hope or wish for anything
from the old mill on Mad River.
Nature's spasm was very near now. Sun, clouds,
rain caused it.
" It '11 be the biggest freshet that ever was," said
the sage of the red house, when the rain began.
" I don't feel quite easy about the mill," said the
owner of it, when ten hours' rain had fallen. The
snow could accommodate ten hours' rain very well,
in its many-crysudled chambers on a thousiind hill-
sides, and it did hold it without moving.
The next morning, everyliody thereabout thought
of bridges and of wash-outs^although there was
not, at that time, a railroad within ninety miles
of Mad River — and of taxes; for taxes began when
the "Mayflower" paid wharfage to the Indians
at Plymouth Rock, and have gone ste.idily on,
beginning without ending, from that day to this.
Below the mill, a few hundred feet, there w;is a
fix)t-bridge, the delight of boys and of daring girls,
5/8
Tllli A. STKELES.
Uf
but the terror i>( persons with ner%es, whether
young or old. It w;is hke the half of an immense
harrcl-hoop, rising over the river, with its ends
set into the banks. The rise and the round of
this bridge were sueh that deals were nailed up
and down its sides, and a very shaky hand-rail had
been provided to climb by. These cleats were
constantly getting loose, helped oftentimes by
small lads.
And to think that on this rainy March morning,
of all mornings in that year, Albert Steele should
be taken down with rheumatism ! — the effect of his
eflbrts of yesterday in getting home the sheep from
across the river, in case of a freshet, which now-
seemed inevitable. He had driven them through
the snow-water, and around by the wagon-bridge,
above the fall a half-mile, and had been out
until after the night came, making things snug at
the mill, and so, as h.Ts been written, he was on
this morning helpless. Before any one was up in
the house, there came a thundering knock at the
side-door, and a voice sang out :
"Ho! miller!— Ho! "
"Ho yourself! Who 's there.'" responded
.\ndrew.
Andrew spoke from the little four-pancd window,
just beneath the point where the roofs joined.
"Call your father, quick! I want to get corn
ground in a hurry, before the river breaks up.
A/us/ be- done ' " answered a breezy voice.
But, .as we know, Mr. Albert Steele could grind
no corn that day ; he had been sufifering terribly
all night from the pain of his rheumatism, and
Andrew so told the man.
" Come along yourself, then, and I 'II help you,
for my critters '11 star\e to death, unless, indeed, 1
should give 'em whole corn," said the young man.
Andrew had never run the mill in his life, but
he had helped often enough to know what should
be done. The upper gate and the lower gate were
raised, and the big wheel felt the stir of the water
in its every bucket. In tumbled the corn from
bag after bag into the hopper, and the upper mill-
stone ground on the nether millstone, and the
yellow corn became yellow meal, and was poured
into the bags, and away went their owner, happy
o\er his success. When he was gone, Andrew
ate breakfast, and down came the water faster and
in greater volume every instant; and the old mill
thundered at every swift revolution of the great
wheel, that actually gro.aned on its axis, as the
water plunged and splashed, filling the wheel-race
with foam.
Meanwhile, honey and buckwheat cakes kept
Andrew busy at the table, until Augustus, who
had breakfasted while his brother played miller,
opened a door and called out :
" Father wants to know if Mr. Cook helped you
shut the gates."
"Oh my!" whispered Andrew. "Don't tell
Father, but the gates are both wide open. Come
on, (lus, and we '11 get 'em down."
Away went the boys. They darted under the
door-way and ran through the mill to the race and
the upper gate. The current was very strong ;
the race itself could not hold all the water that
came to it. The force of it resisted the lads' united
strength, for the water was full now of slush.
.Ann stood in the door-way, baby .Abby in her
arms, and watched the boys at work.
" There 's something wrong .at the mill. Father,"
she said. " I 'm going to run down .and sec, if
you '11 hold Abby."
The poor miller sat there, helpless, and groan-
ing away his troubles to the baby, while Ann
appeared at the race, sledge-hammer in hand.
"You must stop it at once," she cried, "or the
wheel will break, and then what would become
of us ? "
With mighty blows from .as many hands as
could lay hold on the hammer, the gate went
slowly down as far as it could be driven, and, by
the time the lower gate was reached, it was easy
to close that, but still the water came from some-
where. The old mill fairlj- shook amid the creak-
ing cries of its straining wheels and timbers.
" The river is breaking up ! The ice is coming
over the fall ! The water is up to the mill-floor ! "
cry one and another in horror.
"Out, out with the meal! Let us save all we
can," shouts Andrew. " 1 can manage one bag,
and you two can carry another. Take these
first."
One, two, ten, twenty, forty bags of corn and
rye the \oung Steeles saved before the water drove
ihem out of the mill. And the wheel worked faster
than ever all the time, and the air was full of the
rush and the roar of Mad River at its breaking up.
Meanwhile, the miller himself set the baby a-cr)'-
ing out of pure sympathy with her papa's lamenta-
tions (but children did not say "papa" in those
days), for he verily believed that he should be
compelled to sit there until the flood came and
carried him away — so lt)ng were the children gone,
and so alarmed was he at the thundering noises.
He was about to do something desperate with
Abby, when the arbutus face — a little poppy-like
now, it must be owned — appeared in the door-way
with :
"Oh, Father! i 'm afraid the mill will go down,
but we 've saved every bit of John Lathrop's rye,
and Mr. Holmes's wheat. We thought we 'd get
theirs, 'cause they 'li need it most, and the river is
rising so fast that you can see it come up. and—
\. S li: Kl.KS.
579
.iiitl — but here comes Cir.indfatlu'rl He 's iiiiin-
.ij;ttl U) come down the hill this morning."
" Where 's your father? Where 's your father?
Where 's your father?" resoumletl through the
kitchen before Ann had time to get into that room
and til reply.
■• Dreadful times, Ann. my dear," he said, " but
I think there is n't much danger of the house's
going, though there is an awfid power of snow up
the valley, to get away soniehow. Don't be fright-
ened, ihilil." he ailded, ;is the warm color paled in
the girl's face. " I 've seen many a freshet in my
time, .ind paid taxes for more new bridges than — I
declare, Albert, Vi'ii down again with the rheuma-
tism ! Too bad ! Too bad ! We 'd l»ettcr manage
to get )ou up the hill afore night." he ran on.
•■ Meanwhile, I 'II see to things at the mill. Don't
you worry now, my boy. Your old father is worth
something yet," and away went the good old
man. peering here and looking there, to see to this
and that, and feeling very glad that all the sheep
.md the cows were on the hill side of the river. It
would l>e so e;isy to escape up the long lift of land.
.\nthony Steele had built his house up there with
due regard to possible times like the present one.
Nowhere could he find Andrew and .Augustus.
The\ had dis;xppeare<l from sight.
'•Where are the boys, .Ann ?" called their father.
•■Wh\ don't the Ixiys come and see me? I want
to speak to them."
Ann heard, but something made her hesitate.
" .Ann. call the boys!" came, at last, in a tone
that she felt, and that made her paler than she had
been before.
"Father!" she s;iid, "they wont hear me.
They 've gone ! "
'• Gone where ?" he thundered. " Wheie could
the rascals go to, when we are all on the verge of
destruction ? "
•• They went over the foot-bridge, F'ather, and I
thought it would go while they were on it, it shook
so; and they were hardly off it before one end gave
way, and it snapped in two in the middle, and
now it hangs by the other end."
•• What on earth arc they gone for?" t|uestione<l
Mr. Steele.
"Why, F.ither, can't you guess? It's Hester
and her mother that they thought of You know,
somebody must Siivc them."
"Oh, this rheumatism, this rheumatism! Ann
Steele, do .is your father tells you, and never marry
a man whose father or mother, or uncle or aunt,
ever h.id the rheumatism. Get out my crutches!
Be quick about it, and get my great-coat. My
boys! My boys!" he groaned. "Father," he
added, as the good white head appeared at the
door, " the boys have gone to try and save Hester
I'ratt and her crazy mother. I am afraid wi- sh.dl
never see them again."
" Why, I never thought of the I'ratts. They are
right in the heart of the flood ! Their house must
have been surrounded early this morning. May
the Lord forgive me for thinking only of my own,
and St) little of I lis other children ! "
Meanwhile, no remonstrance kept Albert .Steele
from tlonning his great-coat and hobbling about on
his crutches, in the vain effort to sec down the
stream to the mite nf a house on the river-bank
where sweet Hester I'ratt spent her young life in
caring for her insane mother, who was loo weak
and too helpless to harm a living soul.
When the boys started, they seized, instinctively,
.1 coil of rope from the mill. As they crossed the
bridge, they made the two ends fast, and clung
e.ach to the other, or rather clung to the rope, one
end of which Augustus carried, while Andrew held
the other.
On the farther side of the bridge they plunged
into the river's overflow, and were again and again
nearly forced to go down with the current.
" Hold on, Ctus! Hold on, l.addy ! Remember
everybody, and the baby," shouted Andrew (the
baby was Augustus's pet), as the younger boy
gasped. " .Andy. I c-a-n-t get o-n — I 'm go-ing
d-own ! " he shrieked. He lost his footing and
went under, carried down by the current, but still
clinging fast to the rope.
In that moment, .Andrew Steele became a dozen
boys in one. He fou;iht with ice-cakes, and water,
and current ; fought for the little figure that was
bobbing up and down. So near, and yet so far I
Hut he felt the strain on the rope, and it gave him
courage.
There was no human eye to witness the strife, as
he got to his brother and struggled with him to
the firm land, on which the boys sank for .i
moment.
"That was a pretty bad time, was n't it. Hub?"
said Augustus, as soon as his eyes and ears were
clear of water. " I don't want any more of that."
"Oh. we pulled out first-rate, and now we must
hurry, or there wont be a stone left in poor Hester's
chimney, for I don't see how the house is going to
stand up before this flood. May be it is gone now."
But the house with the stone chimney was not
gone, and presently, it came into view.
"Good gr.ncious!" cried .Andrew, as he took in
the sight. The cottage looked lower and sinaller
than ever. Itw.as standing, window-deep, in a sea
of snow-water, with ice-cakes thumping at the door
every moment.
" Oh, they are out. Somebody must have thought
of 'em. I know somebody must," argued Augustus,
as they tramped through the water-soaked snow.
5So
rilK A. STEEl.ES.
■• Anyhow, wo 'II make sure of it. Wc arc the
nearest to 'em, and if we did n't think, wlio would?
I declare, (ius, do see liow the river rises! It 's
mad enough now, ^;(>odness knows, and I do beliex'e
the covereil bridjje will boom down and take the
mill with it." They struggled on.
" See ! see I the water is running in .it the win-
dows this minute. Run, (ais, run, or wc can't get
near the house."
They lost no time, poor wet lads, in getting to
the highway and to the verge of the running water
that came up to the road. The little house lay
below the road, between it and the river, but well
above the touch of an ordinary freshet.
•' Let us call out," said .Vndrew.
•• Hester! Hester!" they screamed.
.Ml w;is silent within.
'• Nobody there," thought C.us.
" Hut, suppose they are drowned in there. 1 'm
going in." announced .Andrew.
"Oh! .Andy, Andy, don't. I can't spare you.
Wait till somebody coines along."
"No time to wait. 1 nuisl lind out," urged
Andrew.
Even as he spoke, he ran to the stoutest tree by
the road-side and swung a rope-end about it, made
it fast, and said to (ius:
" You stand by, whatever happens, and you |)ull
with a will when 1 give the signal."
"Good-bye, Andy," whimpered Gus, shaking in
his wet clothes, as his brother v,ith the rope stepped
into the cold flood.
.\t that moment a sash was raised in an upper
window, and a pale, agonized face glanced up the
river, and from that to the clouds.
("lUs saw that it was Hester, and that she was
praying, although no word escaped her lips.
She did not see the small figure standing by the
great tulip-tree across the road, but suddenly Gus
called out :
"Open the door for Andy! Andy is at the
door. Let hiin in, quick ! "
The s.-ish w.-is left up; the face disappeared.
Never did feet descend steps with more willing
speed to admit succor. As soon as Hester could
get away the packing at the sill, the door was
opened, Andy climbed in, and the door closed.
The water went in with him.
"Hester! where 's your mother?" was the first
question.
"In bed; and oh, Andy! I 've had such hard
work to keep her from knowing. .She thinks we 've
moved down by the sea, and she likes the waves so
much. Oh, Andy, you must n't stay. You must
go right now, or you '11 go down too. Go ! Go ! "
she begged.
" I am going, and you, too."
" 1 '11 never leave mv mother — never, .Andv
Steele."
"Of course not. Uo as I tell you. Ciet a lot
of dry blankets — all you can carry — bundle 'em
up, quick." The blankets were tumbled out of a
big chest that stood handy, and were wrapped up.
" Now, tell your inother that you 've taken
another house, 'cause the tide comes loo high
here, and you just wrap a blanket around her, and
give her to ine. 1 'in going to carry her."
Hester obeyed, and her mother :issented, with-
out trouble. She even permitted the rope to be
tied about her waist.
" Got a clothes-line, Hester?" asked .Andy.
" Right here," answered Hester.
" Put it around your waist, and give me the
other end, in case anything happens to you while 1
am gone."
"Now, we are all ready, (ioing to move into
another house, Mrs. Pratt." said Andy, gently.
" 1 '11 carry you."
"Hester, Hester, Hester, Hester." moaned .Mrs.
Pratt. She never forgot Hester, even when she
w;is at the wildest. She clung to that name, and
it seemed sometimes as if that name were the
one little ray of reason left in her darkened life.
" Yes, Mother: 1 'm going, too, but you know I
can't carry you. You must let him," coaxed
Hester.
She let him help, and, together, .Vndy and
Hester lifted the light figure from the bed, and
splashed through the water with it to the door,
which Hester threw open.
It was not more than sixty feet to the highway
and safety. The little rope-man stood at his post
by the tulip-tree.
" Steady, now, Gus," signaled Andy. " Let go,
Hester, and mind the line. You stay till I come
for you."
.Andy put a stout young arm about Mrs. Pratt's
waist, and, mustering all his strength, plunged
with her into the flood, knowing that every step
wouKl be a step into less of water.
The cold flood arose about the poor woman — so
wan, so weak, so insane ! She ga\e one shriek
that might have pierced any heart ; and then she
shivered and clung and clung, and, but for the
steadying rope that Clus drew, she would have
taken Andrew from his feet.
" It 's all right, now, Mrs. Pratt," said the boy, as
he got where he could lift her more easily and
make his way out of the water.
"Yes, it 'sail right," siiid Mrs. Pratt : "but where
is Hester? 1 want Hester."
"What the mischief!" cried a man on horse-
b.ack, suddenly splashing into the scene, his horse-
breathing twenty breaths a minute, as he thR-w
TIIK A. S ri: KI.KS.
5SI
himself off, and priMrocdiil tn rctcivc the lii-IpU-ss
tiniirc that Andrew bore.
•• I thought I should be in time," he i;aspe<l.
'• Never roile a horse so in n>y life."
•• I 'm >;oinj; now for Hester," s;iiil .\ndrew, pay-
mj; no attention to the horseman's remarks, " anil
for some dry blankets. I 'II hurry."
"Better let me go I " said the new-comer, who
held .Mrs. Tratt.
"Save Hester, do!" moaned Mrs. Pratt.
Kor the third time that day, .Anilrew Steele
plunjjed into the cold flood.
" Hold the bundle .is high as ever you can,
Hester!" s.iid .-Xndy, as Hester awaited him.
The water had become deeper. He swam with
her a few strokes. He whispered, as he put her
on her feet and receivctl the bundle to p.addle
out with, and she heard the whisper above the
flood, .Ts Andy softly said: "1 — 1 /v/;Wv, Hester,
that Your mother is all ri^hl iu>-c."
■■ All right ? " demanded Hester. " .Viuiy Steele,
what do you me.an ? Tell me I "
" C"io and speak to her," was Andy's answer,
"and you 'U find out, may be."
" Here I am. Mother," said Hester, appro-aching
her gently ; " and we 'II soon be in the new house,
now," she added.
"Hester! Hester! My child! My darling!
Why, Hester, I have n't seen such a flood since I
was a little bit of a girl ; and Father carried me out
then ; and the water made me feel, I remember,
just as it did to-d.ay."
Certainly, these were not words of insanity, such
as Hester was sadly accustomed to hear from her.
Hester Pratt's fingers shook, and her heart was
all a-tremble with gladness, as she and Augustus
got the blanket-bundle open, and wrapped many
a fold .about the shivering figure.
" Did n't I tell you so ? " whispered .Andrew, as the
tears began to well over from Hester's happy eyes.
" We must get out of this as soon .as possible, or
the highway will be covered before we can strike
aw.iy from it I " exclaimed the horseman, for the
water was rising faster than ever.
" There goes the bridge ! There 'II be no getting
home to-night ! " cried Gus, .as sections of the cov-
ered bridge from above the mill went rushing down.
•• My father helped build lh.it bridge. I re-
member it," said Mrs. I'ratt, feebly.
Thr new-comer, .-Viigustus, and Andrew lifted
the blanket on which they had laid the invalid,
and prepared to m.ircli to the nearest house —
Hester led the still panting pony. And it was her
/«(«////•/■ who had told her she "ought not to ride
when so chilled and wet." W.is not this what any
mother would say to her ilaughter .•" Hester fell
no chill, although her flesh was shaking — she would
have walked forever in wet garments, with such joy
in her heart, to keep it warm.
" .-Vfter so many years!" she murmured.
".After so many years, she will get well, at la^t — at
I.TSt ! " she repeated, her eyes fondly resting on the
covered figure, borne on the blanket in front of her,
and then on the seething waters, that rushed and
crept, and crept and rushed even into the ro.ad-bcd,
as they went onward.
"Oh, you blessed, blessed Mad River!" cried
Hester, in her joy, forgetting herself.
"What 's the matter?" called back the bearers
in front.
" Nothing," answered the happy follower ; at
which answer, the pony whinnied a remonstrance,
and deliberately poked his nose over Hester's shoul-
der into her face.
That same afternoon, the Pratt cottage was
swept away. News went over the flood that the
b<iys were all right : but no code of signals then
known could tell the glad tidings that Hester
Pratt's mother was no longer "that poor crazy
woman." Steele's Mill stood through the freshet,
and, for a generation aftenvard, ground wheat and
corn. Mr. Steele's rheumatism left him after a few-
weeks. The covered bridge, in due time, was re-
built ; but the quaint hoop-bridge with its shaky
hand-rail was not "built up," and that river will
never know its like again.
Hester Pratt rejoiced for many years in a sweetly
sane mother, her sanity the work of a Mad River
freshet. And of all the friends who rejoiced with
them, there w.is none more truly happy than the lad
who had carried the poor woman through the flood.
So nobody was surprised when, later on, Hester
and her mother went to live with him, and joined
the respected family of the A. Steeles.
5S^
rili: LOST STOPPER.
WIIAl rili; BIRDS SAV.
By Cakolim; a. Mason.
they chatter together, — the robins and sparrows,
Uluebirds and bobohnks, — all the day long,
What do they talk of: — The sky and the sunshine
of the weather, tlie last pretty song;
"' love and of friendship, and all the sweet trifles
I'hat go to make bird-life so careless and free ;
I lie number of grubs in the apple-tree yonder,
The promise of fruit in the big cherry-tree ;
Of matches in prospect ; — how Robin and Jenny
Are planning together to build them a nest ;
low Bobolink left Mrs. Bobolink moping
.At home, an<l went off on a lark with the rest.
Such mild little slanders! such innocent gossip!
Such gay little coquetries, pretty and bright !
Such happy love-makings ! such talks in the orchard I
Such chatterings at daybreak I such whisperings at night I
O birds in the tree-tops ! O robins and sparrows !
O bluebirds and bobolinks ! what would be May
Without your glad presence, — the songs that you sing us,
And all the sweet nothings wc fancy you say .'
Till': LOST STOPPER.
BV PAI 1. l-llKl.
A r.AROE black beetle, with a pair of pincers in
front, like the claws of a little lobster, was hurrying
through the forest on a summer day, when he was
accosted by a lizard.
"Oh, Beetle," said the lizard, "where are you
going so fast ? 1 never saw )ou in such haste
before."
" I am trying to find something," said the beetle,
"and 1 must not stop."
"What are you trying to find?" asked the
lizard, who was very inquisitive. "Tell me what
it is. 1 can run fifty times quicker than you, and
can e:isily slip into nooks and crannies. 1 am sure
I can find it, whatever it is. Is it anything that
has been lost, or is it something that has to be
discovered .'"
" It is something that has been lost," saitl the
beetle, a little vexed at being delayed.
"What is it, then? and whom does it belong
to ? " asked the lizard.
" 1 do not wish to tell you," said the beetle.
•• There is a reward."
"Oh!" said the lizard. " Will you tell me if 1
guess ? "
"Yes," replied the beetle, still hurrying on:
" but you can't do it. Nou would never think of
the right thing."
"Will you let me try twenty questions?" .isked
the lizard.
" Yes," said the beetle.
" Is it animal, vcget.ible, or inineral?"
" Vegetable."
" Useful or ornamental?"
"Both."
"Is it manufactured ? "
"Yes."
THE LOST STOI'l'liR.
583
•• What .in- lU iliim-nsions?"
" It is alxuit as Ion}; ;ts I all) with my lc(;s
itrctclicd out ; but it is much larger around."
"Ah!" siiid the hzanl, "is it in the sliapo of a
cylinder ? "
" Not exactly," replied the beetle.
•• Is it lar(»cr at one end than the other?"
•• Yes. •
•• Is it he.ivv or lij;ht ?"
••Li>;ht."
•• Is it solid or hollow ?"
"Solid."
" What is its color .' "
" lis general color is yellowish brown, but one
end of it has several colors."
" .A light vegetable substance," s;iid the lizard
to himself: " made useful by being manufactured;
.IS long ;is a beetle, and something like a cylinder,
only larger at one end than the other :
.md ornamented with colors at one
end. I believe it is a cork stopper."
" Is it a cork stopper for a bottle or
.1 jar .' " he then ;isked, aloud.
"Yes," answered the beetle, "but
you don't know whom it belongs to."
" I have ten questions left," said
the lizard. " Does it belong to a man
or a woman .' "
" A woman."
" It must be for a bottle," said the
luard. "for such a cork would be too
small for a jar. Is it for a bottle ? "
" Yes," said the beetle.
" Is the stuff in the bottle useful, or
for pleasure only ? " asked the lizard.
■' For ple.Tsure only."
'"Then it must be a perfume," said
the lizard. " Does it belong to a high-
bom l.idy ?"
"It does."
The lizard thought for a moment.
" Does it belong to the mistress of
yon castle ? " he asked.
" Yes," said the beetle.
" Then it is the stopper of the per-
fume-bottle of the mistress of yon
c.Tstle," said the lizard.
"That is it," replied the beetle.
" And five questions to spare," said
the lizard. Then he went on : '
" I '11 help you to find it, and I shall
only ask you to give me a quarter of
the reward, — if we should succeed in winning it."
" .\ll right I" replied the beetle, who was afraid
the lizard would go an«l look for the lost stopper
on his own account, and get all the reward, if he
should not take him into p.irtnerbhip.
" You can find out anything in the world by
;isking twenty questions," said the liz.ird. who now
seemed to be very much pleased with himself.
" I believe you can," replied the beetle.
They now journeyed on for some distance, when,
passing a little thicket of ferns, they saw a small
dwarf, not much bigger than either of them, asleep
under a toad-stool. He was an old dwarf, for he
had a long white beard, and he held in his lap a
pickax, made of a strong twig, with two sharp
thorns growing from one end of it.
"Hi!" whispered the lizard. " Here is one of
those digging dwarfs. Let 's capture him, and
make him look for the stopper. If it h;is fallen into
any crack, and been covered up by earth, he can
dig for it."
"That is true," said the beetle. " But sh.ill we
have to give him any of the rewan'
"Oh, we can give him a little," said the lizard.
" He will not expect much."
" But how are we to catch him ? " asked the
beetle. " If he hits one of us with that pickax, it
will hurt."
5^4
TIIi; LUST STOl'l'ER.
" ll will not hurt you." said the lizard. "Your
sIkU is so hard. I am quite soft, so I will keep out
of liis way. 1 will climb on tup of the toad-stool,
and you can creep up, and seize him by the ankle
with your pincers. Then, when he wakes up, he
will see me sticking out my tongue over his head,
and lie will be frightened, and will surrender."
It all happened as the lizard said it would. The
beetle slipped up quietly to the dwarf, and, turning
over on one side, so as to get a better hold, he
seized him by the ankle. The dwarf woke up
suddenly, was greatly frightened at seeing the
lizard making terrible faces above him, and surren-
dered. His captors then told him what they were
trv'ing to find, and ordered him to come and help
them.
They all went on together, and the dwarf said to
the beetle :
" If you had pinched a little harder, you would
have taken off my foot."
" If you had not surrendered," replied the beetle,
" 1 might have been obliged to do so; but if you
will help us cheerfully, no harm shall come to
you."
For a long time the three searched the woods
diligently. They looked under every leaf, and in
every crack; and the dwarf dug with his pick in
many spots where the lizard thought the ground
looked as if a cork stopper were concealed beneath
it. But no stopper could they find.
"It is very necessar>' that it should be found,"
said the beetle. "One of the pages told me all
about it. It was lost in these very woods, three
days ago, by the lady of yon Ciistle. And, since
that time, her maids of honor have been obliged to
take turns in holding their thumbs over the top
of her perfume-bottle, to keep the valuable odor
from escaping; and they are getting very tired
of it."
After more fruitless search, the beetle and the
lizard said that they must go and take a nap, for
they were much fatigued ; but they told the dw arf
he must keep on looking for the stopper, for he had
had his nap under the toad-stool.
When he was left to himself, the dwarf did not
look very long for the stopper. " It will be a great
de.al easier," he said to himself, "to make a new
cork stopper than to find that old one. I will make
a new cork stopper for the lady in yon castle."
.So he looked about until he found a cork-tree.
Then, with his little pickax, he chipped off a
small portion of the rough outer bark from the
lower part of the trunk, and carefully cut out a
piece of the soft cork which grew beneath. This
piece was nearly as big as himself, but he lifted it
easily, for it was so light ; and carried it to his ow n
hous-, v-^i'l' "1^ ■^■■' <■:«■ .'v.Mv. in 111.- foreM.
There he took a sluip liiilc knift. and car\'ed and
cut the cork into the shape of a bottle-stopper ;
making it very small at one end and large at the
other, so that it would fit almost any bottle. With
a small file he made it smoother than any cork
stopper e\er seen before. The lower end w,is cut
off flat, while the top w.as beautifully rounded.
Then he took some paint and little brushes, and
painted the top in curious designs of green, and
gold, and red. When he had finished it, it was
the most beautiful cork stopper ever seen.
Then he put it on his shoulder and ran with it
to the place where he had left the beetle and the
liz.ard. taking their naps.
" Hi ! hi ! " cried the two companions, when
they awoke. " Have you really found it ? "
" .No," said the truthful dwarf. " there was no
use in looking any longer for that old stopper, and
I have made a new one, which, 1 am sure, will fit
the perfume-bottle of the lady of yon castle. Let
us hurry, and take it to her. I am sure she would
much rather have the new stopper than to find the
old one."
" We should think so, indeed ! " cried the
others. And they .all set off for the castle together.
When the lizard, the beetle, and the dwarf — the
latter carrying the stopper on his shoulder — ap-
peared at the castle, they were welcomed with
great joy. The stopper was put into the lady's
perfume-bottle, and it was found to fit exactly.
Then everybody cheered merrily, especially the
maids of honor, with their tired thumbs.
" But." said the lady of the castle, " my lost
stopper is not found after all."
"No," said the dwarf, "it is not. but this one
fits just as well, does it not ?"
" Yes," said the lady, "but 1 wanted the same
one that I lost."
"But is not this just as prettv ? " .isked the
d«arf.
"It is a great deal prettier," said the l.idy,
" but it is not the one. It is not the stopper 1
lost, and which 1 hoped to get back again."
"But it keeps the smell in just as well, docs it
not ? " said the dwarf, a little crossly.
" Yes," answered the lady, " but that docs not
make it the same stopper, does it .' "
"Oh, pshaw!" said the dwarf. "I think that
will do just as well as the old one. It fits just .is
well, and it is a great deal prettier ; and the old
one can't be found. I think everybody ought to
be satisfied with this new stopper, and forget .all
.about the old one."
" .So do we ! " said the lizard ,ind the beetle.
" And so do we," cried the maids of honor, and
all the courtiers, and the people who stood alxnit.
" Well." said the lady." I suppose it will have to
IU>\V SHOCKING
5«5
do. It IS very pretty, aiut it lits, ami tlic reward
can be paid to tliese little creatures. Hut it is not
the s.iine stop|KT, after all."
riie reu.ird was a large golden pitcher, with en-
graveti sides. It was too heavy for the dwarf, the
beetle, and the lizard to carry away with them, anil
the) had to leave it on the shelf where it stood.
Hut they had the s;ttisfaction of knowing that it w;u>
their own.
•• Let me go," said the dwarf, as he hurried
.iway, "to finish my nap under a toad-stool. It
may not be the siime toad-stool I was sleeping
under before ; but, if it is just ;is good, it w ill do
ipiite as well. 1 have never heard as much silly
talk as I have heard this day. If a thing is just
as gooil as another thing, what difference does it
make whether it is the same thing or not?"
'• It makes no ditTerencc at all," Siiid the lizard ;
" but some people are so particular. We ought to
be satisfied with what we can get."
•' Yes." said the beetle. '•That is true ; and I
want you to understand that the handle of the
pitcher is yours. The dwarf can have the spout,
and all the rest is mine. Let us be satisfied."
MOW .SHOCKING !
My grandma met a fair gallant one day,
And, blushing, gave the gentleman a daisy.
Now, '\( your grandma acted in that way.
Would you not think the dear old soul was crazy ;
(' — //, Graiitimamma .'
And then the gentleman bent smiling down.
And told my grandma that he loved her dearly ;
And grandma, smiling back, forgot to frown,
— Ah, Grandpa nods! So he recalls it clearly?
O — //, Grandpapa .'
;86
line MA.S11J1' AND ins MASII K
rill-; MASII l"l- AM) HIS MASrilR.
Hv Si:sAN Cooi.moF..
A CKKTAIN young mastiff being near dog's
estate, his master judged best to trim and shorten
his ears. This the mastiff thought hard, and
complained accordingly. Hut as he grew older and
met dogs of various tempers, he was often obliged
to tight for himself and his rights: then his short
ears gave great advantage, for they furnished no
hold to the enemies' teeth, while the long-eared
dogs, whom he had formerly envied, came from
the fray torn and suffering. "Aha!" said the
mastiff, " my master knew better than I what
was good ff)r ine." — l)M l-'ablc.
" Hut why must n't I .' '' said I'owser.
Towser tt;is not a dog, as you might su|)pose.
but the nickname of a boy. Kxacily why lii>
school-fellows should have chosen this nickname
for Tom Kane I don't know ; perhaps because his
brown, short-nosed face was a little like a dog's —
perhaps because he w;is bold and resolute, a good
fighter, and tough in defense of his rights and
opinions. I hardly think it was this last reason,
however. Hoys arc not much given to analyzing
character, and are apt to judge things and peo-
ple by a happy-go-lucky instinct, which some-
times leads them right and sometimes wrong. But
whatever the reason may have been, Towser was
Tom's school-name, and stuck to him through life.
Even his wife called him so. — when he grew up and
had a wife,- — and the last time I saw him, his little
girl was stroking his hair and saying, " Papa Tow-
ser," in imitation of her mother. Towser is n't a
pretty name, but it soimded pretty from Haby
May's lips, and I never heard that Tom objected
to the title, either as man or boy.
But to return to the time when he was a l)oy.
" Why must n't I?" he said again. ".Ml the
fellows arc going except me, .and I 'd like to. ever
so much."
" It is n't a question of like." answered his
father, rather grimly. "It 's a question of can
and can't. .All the other bo\s have rich fathers:
or. if not rich, they arc not poor like me. It 's well
enough that their sons should go off on camping
parties. Twenty-five dollars here and twenty
there is n't much to any of 'em. but it 's a great
deal for you. And what 's more. Tom. there 's this :
that if they 'd take you for nothing, it is n't a
good thing for you, any way you fix it. 1 pay for
your schooling, and 1 paid for those boxing lessons,
and may be. another year. 1 'II manage the subscrip-
tion to the boat, for I want you to grow up strong
and ready with your fists, and your mind, and all
parts of you. You 'II have to fight your way, my
TIIK MASTIKI- ANU II
5»7
boy. .iiul I warn you to turn out true j;rit when the
tussle comes. Hut when it "s a case of cainpint;
out a week, or extra hoUclays, or spenilinj; money
for circuses and minstrels and such trash, I shut
down. You Ml be all the iK-tter olT in the end
without this fun and idling and getting your head
full o{ the idea of always having a • good time.'
Work "s what you 're meant for. and if you don't
thank me now for bringmg yi>u up tough, you will
when \ou 're a m.m, with ma) be a boy of your
own."
Mr. Kane w.us a silent. grulT, long-headed man.
who never wasted words, anil this, the longest
speech he had ever been known to make, ini-
pressixl Towser not a little. He did s.iy to himself,
in a grumbling tone, " I'retty hard. 1 think, to be
cut off so at every turn," but he s;jid it softly, and
only once, and before long his face cleared, and.
taking his hat. he went to tell the boys that he
could n't join the camping party.
•• Well. I s;iy it 's a confounded sh.une ! " de-
clared Tom White.
" I call your pa real mean." joined in .Archie
llerklcy.
•• You 'd belter not call him anything of the
kind while I 'm around." said Towser, with an
angry look in his eyes, and Archie shrank and
said no more. Tom was vexed and sore enough
at heart, but he was n't going to let any boy speak*
disrespectfully of his father.
•• I s;iy. though." whispered Harry ISIake. get-
tmg his ann around Tom's neck, and leading him
away from the others, " I 'm real disappointed, old
fellow. Could n't it be managed ? I 'd lend you
half the money."
Harry's mother was a widow, well off, and very
indulgent, and he had more pocket-money at com-
mand than any one else in the school.
Towser shook his head.
" .No use." he said. " Tathcr don't want me to
go. for more reasons than the money. He says I 've
got to work hard all my life, and I 'd better not get
into the way of having good times : it 'd soften me,
and 1 'd not do so well by and by."
" How horrid I " cried Harry, with a shudder.
" I 'in glad Mother docs n't t.ilk that way."
Harry iilake w;is fair and slender, with auburn
hair, which waved naturally, and a delicate throat
as white .is a girl's.
Tom looked at him with a sort of rough, pitying
tenderness.
"I *m glad, tiKi," he said. "You 'd die if you
had to rough it much. Harry. 1 'm tougher, you
sec. It wont hurt me."
\ sturdy satisfaction came with these words that
almost made up for the disappointment about the
camping out.
Still, it was pretty hard to sec the boys start with-
out him. Ten clays later they returned. The
mo.si|uitoes were very thick, they s;iid, and they
had n't caught so many tish as they expected. Joe
Hrvce had hurt his hand with a gun-lock, and Harry
Iilake was half sick with a cold. Still, they had
h.nd a pretty good time on the whole. Mr. K.ine
listene<l to this report with a dry twinkle in his eyes.
"Two hundred dollars gone in giving twenty
young fellows a 'pretty good' time," he said.
" Well, all the fools are n't dead yet. You stick to
what you 're about, Towser, my boy."
,\nd Towser did stick, not only then, but again
and a;;ain .xs time went on, and first this scheme
and then that was started for the amusement of the
boys. Now it was an excursion to lioston ; next, the
formation of an amateur rifle company : after that
a voyage to the fishing-banks. Kvery few months
something was proposed, which lired Towser's im-
agination, and made him want to join, but always
his father held firm, and he h.nd no share in the
frolics. It seemed hard enough, but Mr. Kane was
kind as well as strict ; he treated his son as if he
were already a man, and argued with him from a
man's point of view ; so, in spite of an occ;isional
outburst or grumble, Towser did not rebel, and his
life and ideas gradually molded themselves to his
father's wish.
.At sixteen, while most of the other boys were fit-
ting for college, Towser left school and went into
the great I'errin Iron Works, to learn the business
of machine-making. He began at the foot of the
ladder; but. being quick-witted and steady, with a
natural aptitude for mechanics, he climbed rapidly,
and by the time he was twenty was promoted to a
foremanship. I larry Blake came home from college
soon after, having graduated with the dignity of a
"second dispute," as a i|uizzical friend remarked,
and settled at home, to "read law," he said, but
in reality to practice the flute, make water-color
sketches, and waste a good deal of time in desultory
pursuits of various kinds. He was a sweet-
tempered, gentlemanly fellow, not strong in health,
and not at all fond of study ; and Tom. who over-
topped him by a head, and with one muscular arm
could manage him like a child, felt for him the
tender deference which strength often pays to
weakness. It was almost as if Harry had been a
girl ; but Tom never thought of it in that light.
So matters went on till Towser was twenty-one
and beginning to hope for another rise in position,
when suddenly a great black cloud swooped down
on the I'errin Iron Works. 1 dtm't mean a re.il
cloud, but a cloud of trouble. All the country felt
its d.irk influence. Hanks stopped payment, mer-
chants failed, stocks lost their value, no one knew
what or whom to trust, and the wheels of intlustry
588
rilK MASTIKK AND HIS MASTKK.
UUN.
ovcrj-whcrc were M a btand-still. Among the rest
tlie Perrin Company was forced to suspend work
and discharge its liands. Tom was a tnislcd
fellow, and so much in the confidence of his em-
ployers as to know for some time beforehand of the
change that was coming. He staid to the end, to
help wind up books and put matters in order, and
lie and Mr. Perrin were the last persons to walk out
of the big door.
"Ciood-bye, Tom," said Mr. Perrin, as he turned
the key in the heavy lock, and stopped a moment
to shake hands. " You 've done well by us, and if
things arc ever so that we can take another start,
we '11 do well by you in our turn."
They shook hands, and Tom walked away, with
a month's wages in his pocket and no particular
idea what to do next. Was he down-hearted ?
Not at all. There was something somewhere that
he could do; that, he was sure of; and, .although
he looked grave, he whistled clieerily enough ;is he
marched along.
Suddenly turning a corner, he ran upon Harry
Ulake, walking in a listless, dejected way, which at
once caught his attention.
" Halloo — what 's up? " inquired Tom.
" Have n't you heard?" replied Harry, in a mel-
ancholy voice. ■' The Tiverton Bank has gone to
smash, with most of our money in it !"
" Your money ! "
" My mother's. It 's the same thing ex.actly."
" Was it much ? Is the bank gone for good ? "
"Sure smash, they say, and seven-eighths of all
we have."
Tom gave a whistle of dismay.
"Well, Harry, what next?" he demanded.
" Have you thought of anything to do?"
" No. What ciiii 1 do ? " Harry's voice sounded
hopeless enough.
What could Harry do? Tom, who had never
wasted a night's sleep over his own future, lay
awake more than once debating this question.
Hard times were hard times to him, as well as to
everybody else, but he had a little money laid by,
his habits were simple, and to pinch for a while
cost him small suflFering ; besides, he could turn his
hand to almost anything — but poor Harry? One
plan after another suggested itself and was pro-
posed, but each in turn proved a failure. Harry
lacked bodily strength for one position, for another
he had not the requisite training, still another was
unsuitcd to his taste, and a fourth sounded so
" ungenteel " that his mother would not listen to
it. It would break her heart, she said. Tom him-
self got a tem()orary place in a locomotive-shop,
which tided him over the crisis, and enabled him
to lend a helping hand, not to Harry only, but to
one or two other old comrades whose families had
lost everything and were in extremity. Uut these
small aids were not enough. Permanent situations
were what were needed. At last Harry obtained a
clerkship in a drug-store. He disliked it, and his
mother hated it. but nothing better offered, and it
is to his credit that he did the work well and dili-
;,'ently, and only relieved his mind by private
grumblings to Towser in the evenings.
"I '11 tell you what," said Tom one night, after
patiently listening to one of these lamentations,
'• you boys used to think my father strict with me
when we were at school together, but 1 've come
to the conclusion that he was a wise man. Where
should I be now if I 'd grown up soft and easily
hurt, like you ? Giving knocks and taking knocks
— that 's what a business man's life is, and it 's a
good thing to be toughened for it. I used to feel
hard to my father about it too, sometimes, but I
thank him heartily now," and he held out his
brown, strong hand, and looked at it curiously
and affectionately. Well he might. Those hands
were keys to pick Fortune's locks with, — only I 'm
afraid Towser's mind w.ts hardly up to such a
notion.
' " You 're right," said Harry, after thinking a
little, " and your father w.ts right. You 're true
grit, Towser, — up to any work that comes along,
and sure to succeed, while 1 'm .as e;isily knocked
down as a girl. I only wish I 'd had a wise father,
and been raised tough, like you."
Harry has repeated this wish a good man)' times
in the years that h.ave passed since then. Life has
gone hardly with him, and business h.as always been
distasteful, but he has kept on steadily, and his
position has improved, thanks to Tom's advice and
help. Tom himself is a rich man now. He was
long since taken in as a p.irtner by the Perrin
Company, which re-opened its works the year after
the panic, and is doing an immense business. He
makes a sharp and energetic manager, but his
open-handedness and open-heartedness grow with
his growth, and prosperity only furnishes wider
opportunity for a wise kindness to those who .ire
less fortunate. His own good fortune he always
ascribes to his father's energetic training, and
Mr. Kane, who is an elderly inan now, likes to
nod his head and reply: " I told you so, my boy;
I told you so. A habit of honest work is the best
luck and the best fortune a man can have."
<i,.]
I N t ■ 1 1 A N V M !■: \ T
5«9
i: Ni II A \ I \i 1 \ 1.
By M a k I ; a r i: i- \' a n i > v. i ; m r r ,
h kii.M my iiammock [ look toward the old willow-tree,
And I feel like a bird, while I lie there swinging,
And when nobody 's near to listen to ine,
I mock the cat-bird, whistling and singing.
I had my fairy-book yesterday,
Reading Tom Thumb and all the others,
And I cried when he took the crowns away.
And made that poor old Blunderbore slay
The princesses, thinking he had the brothers.
I lay there thinking, and singing a hymn.
Because I felt sad, and the church-bell w.is ringing.
Till the twilight ni.ade everything round me grow dim,
A little wind blew, and the hammock was swinging.
It was not the fence — they may say what they will.
There 7i'<is .-i fence there, with the top cut all pointed.
But fences don't bow — they stand perfectly still.
They do not have voices, all mournful and shrill,
.And they don't look like dolls, half alive and stiff-jointed.
And fences don't sing — oh ! 1 heard them quite plainly.
Their sad little music came over the street.
They had all pointed crowns, though they looked so ungainly,
.And though they were n't pretty, their singing was sweet !
At first it all jumbled, but after a while
I found out the words that each princess was wailing,
.And. though I was sorr)-, I could not but smile,
Kor they sang, "Oh, who /nis nailed us up in this style?
What, what is life worth, if one 's fast to ;i railing?"
The cat-bird flew over to comfort them — he
Sang better than they did — much louder and clearer.
Me sang to one poor little princess, "just see!
Don't look at the dusty ro.ad, see what is nearer,
.A «ild rose is woven all over your crown,
Antl a <laisy is growing right here at your feet ;
590
K N C H A N T M I-: N T
A velvety mullein has made you a gown. "
Hut the poor little princess sobbed out. with a frown :
" Life, fast to a railing, can never be sweet !"
(June,
y\ He tried the next princess: '"Your highness perceives
f^ How this beautiful tree makes a bower above you ;
You can listen all day to the whispering leaves,
And they touch you so gently, they surely must love you.
Then this blackberry-bush, with its wreath of white flowers — "
But the princess broke in, with her sad little wailing:
'■ Oh, don't talk to me of your flowers and bowers.
They are nothing to me" — here her tears fell in showers —
" Less than nothing at .ill, while I'm fast to this railing!"
I'lie cat-bird, discouraged, came back to his nest,
.And the princesses still kept on sigliing and weeping;
They must have said more, but 1 don't know the rest —
A gre;it big black ant on ni)' olliow was creeping.
And he was the wizard, 1 really believe.
Who had kept the poor princesses fast to the railing ;
For when I had shaken him out of ni\' sleeve,
I looked over the way, and 1 could n't but grieve ;
There was nothing at all but that old pointed paling.
lUit to-day, when the school-room was dust\- and hot.
And 1 thought of my hammock, and wished 1 was in it,
Till I missed in my spelling, because I forgot ;
I felt like those princesses, just for a minute.
Then 1 happened to think of that dear cat-bird's song,
.Vnd 1 thought everybody is fast to si'nu- railing ;
But the flowers and cat-birds and trees can't be wrong.
The time will seem only more tire-some and long
If we spend it complaining, and weeping, and wailing.
1 > S 1 K H 1 1 I \ K M 1 \ t ;
591
OSTRKII-I-A R.M I N(.
H\ I'.KNK-ST iNf.ERSOl.l..
Thosk readers of Sr. Nicholas who were so
fortunate as to wander through the loiij; aisles of
the Centennial Mxhibition in 1876, will perhaps
remember the South African section. It sticks in
my menuip,- on account of two thinjjs: Dne, a
small,' heavy stone rin;; used by the savajje Hush-
men ; and the other, the ostrich-hatchinj; oven.
Everyl>ody knows what an ostriclj looks like, — a
bird standinj; .is high upon its lejjs .ts a pony, and
hoKlin^ a very small and stupid-lookinj; head upon
.1 neck as long as its legs. .As though all the
feather-material in the bird's make-up h.ad been
needed for the plumes, the whole head and neck
are almost bare, being sprinkled with only a few
jxHir bits of down and hair in place of feathers,
while the legs are positively naked. Even the
gaunt btxly is but imperfectly clothed, and the tail
is ridiculously bobbed. But in two rows on the
wings, and falling over the root of the tail, is a
wealth of plumage that makes up for all these
deficiencies, — masses of bl.ick, white, and gray
feathers of large size and graceful curve, crowding
one another in exquisitely soft drapery, all the
on the desert; and ihey were perhaps the first orna-
ments in the hair of those old wild ancestors of
ours who lived long before written history began.
There arc two sorts of ostriches, — some natural-
ists say more, — both living in open country. One,
the African "camel" ostrich, dwells in the Sahar.i
deserts of the northern half of that continent, and
in the wide dry plains at the south. The other,
the "cassowary," belongs to the sterile pamp.as of
Patagonia. Besides this, the sandy barrens of Aus-
tralia have been, or are now, the homes of some-
what similar birds, of gig.-intic stature.
Ostriches are runners. They have no wings
worth mention, and can no more lly than the
jackals that chase them. Hardly raising their
wings, tlien, but only taking enormous strides with
their long .and muscular legs, they will outstrip any
but a fast horse, and, unlike the swift antelopes,
they have endurance enough to continue the race
a long time. Very wary in some respects, while
excessive!)' stupid in others, ostriches can not be
killed easily without stratagem, and the natives
nf the cnuntrii-s which thi'y inh.ibii, therefore, prac-
morc bc-autiful because sur|)rising in a creature licc various devices 10 entrap them, or to gel near
5<i uncouth in every other feature. These graceful enough to shoot them. In one of these plans, the
"m.imenls arc the "ostrich plumes." hunter stiflfcns out the skin of an ostrich so that
From the very earliest timi-s these great, soft, its head stands up pretty naturally, and then, put-
drooping feathers attracted the eyes of the men <ir ting the skin over his head .and shoulders, he ap-
possibly the women first !— who found them dropped pro.achcs a flock slowly, making them believe that
592
OSTRICH - FARMING .
lJi>
it is simply unolhcr bird coming up, until he is
within arrow-range. When but slightly wounded,
however, the ostrich is .t d.ingerous .inimal to get
ne.ir to. since a blow with its foot has fr>rce enough
to knock a man down or to break his leg.
The Indians who inhabit the dreary, wind-swept,
treeless and cliilling plains of Patagonia, depend
upon their ostricli for a large part of their food and
clothing, and hunt it in a most exciting way. They
imn herds of tough and hardy ponies, that are
swift of foot for a short distance, and very clever at
hunting. They have also any number of flect-
ft>oted mongrel dogs. When they discover one or
two, or, rarely, a group of cassowaries, they en-
deavor. liy crci'pin;,' alnnj; lirhind ridges, to get a':
near as possible to the game without alarming it.
Meanwhile, they throw aside their fur capes, and
deuich from the saddle their bolas, ready for use.
The l)ol;is are their weapons, and consist of two or
sometimes three balls of lead — frequently, simply
stones — covered with leather, and united by thongs
alwut four feet long.
When the Indian finds he can steal up no nearer
to the ostrich, he spurs his horse and gives open
chase. (Inasping the thong of his bolas, he swings
them rapidly around his head, and, as he comes
close to his game, lets them fly. They strike the
bird, twine around its body and legs, and throw
it down. Before it can get free, the Indian has
ridden up, and dispatched it with a knife or club.
It requires great skill to hurl the bolas well ; but
when, mounted upon a wild I'ampas-pony, you are
racing over the breezy plains after the swift-fleeing
bird and the close-pursuing hounds, you feel that
nothing can stir the blood into keener action or can
better be called sport.
The nests of ostriches vary greatly, though
.ilways built on the ground, (lenerallv,
a high, dry spot is selected, -where there
is plenty of herbage, which mav be
heaped into a rim around a depression
scratched out by the feet. But some
liirds will choose a most ill-judged site,
where the eggs may be drowned in a
pool during the first rain-storm. Again,
for some nests you must search long and
closely, while others arc placed in the
most open positions. .As a rule, it is
the male that builds the nest, and he
also sits the longest, and always at
night, the female taking her turn dur-
ing the day-time. In the care of the
eggs the birds differ greatly, some being
extremely anxious lest their treasures
shall suffer exposure, or be interfered
with, while others seem entirely careless
about what may happen. So, too, one
ostrich will defend his nest or young
family to the last extremity of his
strength, while another will desert his
liome or brood before an enemy in the
most cowardly manner. Remembering
these individual differences, one of the
farmers at the Cape gave as his reason
for enjoying the cultivation of the birds,
that he never could make out their
characters, and so was constantly amused
by some novelty in their behavior.
The dozen or two eggs that are laid
by the ostrich are precisely like turkeys'
eggs in color, but of greater size. One
woidd hold three pints of water or mil-
let, and when frc"sh, they are good to eat. But
to the Indian or the Bushman, these eggs are
chiefly v.alu.able for their thick shells, out of
which he makes his cups and pitchers and water-
jars. In South .Africa, p.irticularly, water is ex-
tremely scarce and ))rccious. The wild natives,
therefore, empty the eggs through small holes, :\m\
OST Rl C il - F A K M 1 M. .
593
(ill the shells Willi water, mrkiiij,- up the orifices, day's journey in the sun, they bury the corked
When they are j;oinn on a journey, they make net- shells in the ),'round for an hour or two.
b.ii:-, .'ui oltiMiK-. r,>riiu-.l Irum li.nk ..i ni-l>.-. in. I I-... Hi. i..~t ii,, |..Mr days after coming out
incli>>c eath shell in .i \>.i'^. Thus inclosed and of the s!iell, u^ .w. umi. uw (rinks eat nolluny
protected in the nettinj;, the stout e^jg-shells can whatever, "but sit on their haunches and imbiljc
l>c tied tdi^cther .md s.ifc1y c.irried over a man's tlieir rir^t impressions of nature." It would be a
shoulder, .>r on the b.\. k^ of oxen ; and, in these curious Ihin- to kn..\v ji:-.! Ii.m i!,,- is,,rl,l l..,.k- |o a
wnvs, o^trich-cj;jj shells supply drinking-water for b.nby ostrich : the first thinps eaten arc not food,
long trips .icTONS the desert. To cool it, afler .1 bm i.oKlil. - ., oi.l m.l liii. of the shells from which
Vol. VIM.— 38.
594
OSTRICH -FAR MING.
Ui'
the birds have recently Ijeen hatclicd. Later, they
take inouthfuls of grass, then begin to snatch up
insects and Uzards, and meanwhile are becoming
expert in the art of suddenly disappearing at a
warning cry from the watchful parent. "This
they do by diving under a bush where possible,
and lying on the ground with their bodies as flat
as possible, and their necks stretched out upon
the earth. Mere they lie motionless as a lump
of clay — and not unlike it in appearance, even to
the practiced eye — until the danger is over." Such
native wisdom is early supplemented in their infant
brains, however, by the farmer's lessons.
Sometimes a stout young ostrich serves as sad-
dle-horse for a rider as adventurous as a Bushboy.
It is strong and fleet enough for the purpose,
but too stupid to be guided satisfactorily, or to be
trusted not to run away and perhaps spill the
rider. In the Zoologic.il Gardens of London,* chil-
dren are sometimes allowed to ride upon ostriches,
in the care of an attendant. They are said by
the people of the Cape of Good Hope to be very
gentle and funny as pets, though full of mischief.
But I am forgetting the promise of my title — to
describe ostrich-fiirming.
The ostrich-farm is a South .A.frican idea, and
has become a great industry at the Cape colony.
It is said to have been founded by accident.
Formerly the supplying of plumes was almost wholly
in the hands of the Arab traders, who traveled
throughout the interior of Africa, and English
merchants at the Cape had little hold upon it,
though prices were high and great profits ijossi-
ble. The Arab dealers would bring to the coast
from the interior, also, many ostriches' eggs to sell
in the villages as food, or to send to Europe as
ornaments, often with odd, elaborate canings upon
the shells. The story goes that one day, about
twenty-fix'c years ago, an .Algerian trader, having
a heavier cargo than he could carry, left a few-
eggs in a cupboard adjoining a bakery in the vil-
lage. Two months afterward, he was astonished
to find there a chick for every egg he had left. Of
course, the young ostriches were dead, but it was
evident that they had been artificially hatched
by the warmth from the neighboring fire. A
French army officer, hearing this fact, set himself
to learn whether he could regularly hatch out
the eggs in an artificial oven or " incubator," and
afterward raise the young birds until they should
grow of a size to bear salable feathers ; aftd at last
he succeeded.
It was hardly to be expected that the slow-
going people of Algiers should turn the discovery
to profit at once, but a wide-awake Englishman
heard of it and immediately tried the experiment
in South .Africa, for there were plenty of ostrich-
eggs to be had there, and he knew that success
would bring him plenty of money. The experiment
led to many improvements upon the first one,
until now ostrich-farming is a well-settled business;
and of the several millions of dollars' worth of
plumes exported from Africa every year, the Cape
colony sends over three-quarters, wholly of artificial
production, and procured from about half a million
of tame birds.
The ostrich-farmer begins by having an immense
grassy range inclosed by fences, which need be
neither high nor stout. Then he buys a few birds
from another farmer, for which he pays from one
hundred to five hundred dollars apiece, builds his
hatching-machine, or incubator, and is ready.
Incub.ators are of v.arious patterns, but all are
intended to ser\-e the same purpose, namely, to
imitate just as closely as possible the natural
warmth of the bird when sitting. To accomplish
this, a large chest or bureau is built, in which vats
of hot water are arranged across the whole breadth.
Between these vats are sets of sliding boxes, or
drawers. In these are laid the eggs, wrapped in
flannel, and then, by a system of screws, the
drawers are placed close up under the hot-water
vats. It sounds e.isy, but six weeks are required
to hatch out the chicks, and we are told that
"during all this period, three times each day, the
farmer must turn the eggs, so as to present first
one side and then another to the life-bringing
warmth. He must follow nature .as closely as pos-
sible, for the degrees of heat and moisture, and the
like, must be just right, or othenvise mischief is
done. He must, moreover, with delicate care,
when the proper moment comes, assist the young
chick to free itself from the shell, and then he
must tenderly nurse the bird during its early help-
less days."
The young ostriches, after three or four days,
eat all sorts of green food, and are regularly fed
and cared for by a ser\ant — thirty or forty young-
sters keeping one man busy. They are tame and
gentle enough, and when they get fairly grown are
so hardy that no more anxiety is felt about their
health, and they are turned out upon the great
ranch to shift for themselves, excepting in times of
unusual drought, when they must be fed. They
eat nearly everything edible, and comical stories
are told of their appetite and powers of digestion,
I read the other day that an ostrich at the G.ir-
den of Plants, Paris, h.tving accident.ally strangled
itself, the stomach wa^ opened and was found to
contain fifteen pebbles, seven nails, a scarf-pin, an
envelope, a franc piece and thirteen sous in copper
money, two keys, a piece of a pocket-handkerchief
with the letter " R " embroidered on it, a medal
of Leo XIII,, and a cross of the Legion of Honor.
' Atul in tlic Mttii, de lfouli>enc, Parift; mc St. NlcHnuAs fur July, 1674.
OSTRICIl-KARMING.
595
The poor birds at the Cape do not get such luxu-
rious fare, but must confine themselves to pebbles,
of which, saj-s a recent writer, as many as nine
hunJr,-d have been found in a single bird's gizzard !
These hard substances arc swallowed to assist the
crushing of the food and so make the process of
digestion easier. Our domestic fowls follow the
same plan on a small scale.
On the wide range of a Cape farm, the birds can
build nests and lay eggs .is though in a wild state,
and in the spring it is a part of the farm-work to
find these eggs and take them to be artificially
hatched. This is not only difficult, but sometimes
perilous ; for the ostrich, although usually timid
and inoffensive, will now and then defend his nest
with great courage, and so becomes a dangerous
enemy for an unarmed and perhaps unmounted
man. M.iny a negro has been killed by a blow
in the chest or face from the sharj>-clawed foot.
The whole object of ostrich-culture being the
plumes, the pluckings of the birds are the most
important events of the year; these occur twice.
Sometimes a bird will be ready when only a year
old. but gcner.ijly another six months are added
to its age before the first plucking. The operation
is performed in two ways. One is a rough-and-
tumble mcthoti, requiring the help of six men, but
this plan is less often followed than in former years,
because, in the violent struggles with the birds,
some injury frequently happens to the pluckcrs,
and sometimes a leg of .an ostrich is broken, in
which case the bird has to be killed, however
valuable it may be.
On large farms, where there arc plenty of birds,
a more humane plan is pursued. Mounted men
collect a herd of the birds to be plucked, and partly
drive, partly entice, them into a small yard or
"corral," by a liberal supply of Indian corn, called
'"mealies" in South .Africa. The corral, or pen,
has a movable side, and when it is full " this side is
run in, and the birds are crowded so close together
that they can not spread their wings nor kick.
The men then go among them and pluck or cut the
feathers. The operation seems to have little pain
for the birds, and the feathers begin to grow again
at once." There seems to be no limit to the time
when feathers will be reproduced, birds eighteen or
twenty years old still yielding plentifully. .A. good
pair of breeding ostriches is now worth a thousand
dollars, and feathers sell for three hundred and
fifty dollars a pound, numbering from seventy-five
to one hundred plumes, sorted .according to color,
those from the female being usually lightest. The
feathers of the Patagonian ostrich are far inferior,
and do not bring anything like so high a price.
And all the skill and fatigue of the hunter, .all
the risk, trouble, painstaking, patient care, and
close obsvn'ation of the ostrich-farmer, are given
in order that the ladies of America and Europe
may add the handsome flowing plumes of this
ungainly birti to the already v.ist and N-aried store
of ornaments for bonnets and dresses.
596
PHAETON ROGERS.
?hai:ton rogkrs.
J3v KossiTKK Johnson.
Chapter XIII.
A LYRIC STRAIN.
The impulse which had sent Ned and me head-
long toward Jimmy's home as soon as we heard
of the accident, found itself exhausted when we
reached the gate. As if by concert, we both came
to a dead halt.
"What shall we do?" said Ned. " If Jimmy
were alive we could whistle and call him out ; or we
might even go and knock at the door. But I don't
know how to go into a house where somebody 's
dead. I wish we had gone first and asked Jack-in-
thc-Box what was the right way to do."
" Perhaps Jimmy is n't dead," said I. " There 's
no black crape on the door."
■* Copyri^lu, 1880, by R»*»ilcr
'•That docs n't prove it," said Ned; "for
Jimmy's folks might not have any crape in the
house."
While we were still debating what was proper
to be done, the front door opened, and Jack-in-the-
Box came out.
" You're the very boy — I mean man — I wanted
to see," said Ned, running up to him, and speaking
in a whisper.
" That 's fortunate," said Jack. " What can I
do for )'ou ? "
"Why, you see," said Ned, "we came right
over here as soon as we heard about Jimmy. But
we don't know the right way to go into a house
where anybody 's dead. We never did it before."
"Jimmy is n't dead," said Jack.
Ned gave a great bound. I supiwse that jicrhaps
Johnv>n. All rights reserved
I' MAI- ION K(>(;i:ks.
507
he felt as if hf had been suddenly ac(|iiit(c(l of a
charj;c of imirder.
•' 0\\. Jack, how lovely ! " said he, and threw his
arms around Jack's neck. " But I suppose he
must be hurt, thouj;h ? "
" Yes." said J.ick, " he 's pretty badly hurt."
" Still, if he 's alive, we can do something for
him," said Ned.
•■ Oh ! certainly," said J.ick. " .A great deal can
be done for hin\ — a great deal h;is been done
already. Hut I think you 'd better not go in to see
him just yet. Wait a few days, until he has
become stronger," and Jack hurried away.
We still lingered before the house, and presently
a little girl came out, eyed us curiously, and then
went to swinging on the chain which supported the
weight that kept the gate shut. " You don't seem
to go along," said she, after a while.
We m.ide no answer.
■• Did you want to know about my brother
Jimmy?" said she, after another pause.
'• Yes," s;iid 1, " we 'd be glad to hear all .ibout
him."
•• Well, 1 '11 tell you .ill about it," said she.
"Jimmy "s hurt very bad — because he was runncd
over by a wagon — betrause he got in the way —
because he did n't sec it — because a gentleman
wanted a paper on the other side of the street —
because Jimmy was selling them — because he
wanted to get money — because he had to pay a
great lot of it to a naughty, ugly boy that lives
over that way somewhere — because he just touched
one of that boy's old things, and it fell right to
pieces. .And he said Jimmy 'd got to pay money
for it, and should n't come in his house any more.
And Jimmy was saving all his money to pay ; and
he 's got two dollars and a h.ilf already from the
papers, besides a dollar that Isaac Holnian gave
him to write a poem for him. And that m.ikes
almost five dollars, 1 guess."
" Let 's go home," said Ned.
But I lingered to ask one question of the talk-
ative little maiden.
"What poem did Jimmy write for Isaac
Holman.' "
" I don't know," she answered. " It's the only
poem Jimmy ever would n't read to me. He said
it was vcrj- particular, and he must n't let any-
body see it."
A literary light d.iwned in upon me, as we
walked away.
Ned was silent for a long time. At last he spoke.
•' I feel sick," said he.
"What 's the matter?" said I.
" The matter is," said he, "that cvcr^■body seems
to be trying to make out that it 's all my fault that
Jimmy got hurt."
" I'alsy KalTerty and Jimmy's sister are not
everybody," s.iid 1.
"Of course not; Init they only talk what they
hear other people say."
" I suppose you were a little to blame," said I.
" Perhaps I was," saiil Ned, "and I wish I could
do something for him. I 'd get any amount of
money from .Aunt Mercy — if money would do him
any good."
As our way home Ictl us p.ist Jack's box, 1 sug-
gested that we stop and consult him about it.
"Jack," said Ned, " ple.ase tell us exactly how it
is about Jimmy."
"The poor boy is fearfully hurt," said Jack.
"One leg is broken, aiKl the other badly bruised."
"Do you know of anything we can do for him?"
" What do you think of doing? " said Jack.
" If money was wanted," said Ned, and the tcirs
started in his eyes, " 1 could get him any amount."
Jack drummed with his lingers on the arm of
his chair, and said nothing for some moments.
Then he spoke slowly : " 1 doubt if tlic fiimily
would accept a gift of money from any source."
"Couldn't 1, at Iciist, pay the doctor's bill?"
" You might," said Jack.
" Yes, of course," said Ned ; " I can go to the
doctor privately, and tell him not to charge them
a cent, and we 'II pay him. That 's the way to do
it. What doctor do they have ? "
" Dr. Grill."
"Dr. ("irill!" Ned repeated in astonishment.
" Why, Dr. Grill docs n't know anything at all.
Father says somebody said if a sick man was made
of glass, and had a Drummond liglit in his
stomach. Dr. Grill could n't sec what ailed him."
" We don't need a Drummond light to see what
ails Jimmy," said Jack, quietly.
"Still," said Ned, " he ought to h.avc a good
doctor. Can't you tell them to get Dr. Campbell ?
Father says he has tied the croaking artery nine-
teen times. Dr. Campbell is the man for my
money ! But how queer it must feci to have nine-
teen hard knots tied in your croaking artery. Do
you think Jimmy's croaking artery will have to be
tied up. Jack ? If it has, 1 tell you what, Dr.
Campbell 's the man to do it."
Jack laughed immoderately. But Ned w.is not
the only person who ever made himself ridiculous
by recommending a physician too enthusiastically.
" I don't see what you 're laughing at," said he.
"It seems to me it 's a pretty serious business."
" I was only laughing at a harmless little mis-
take of yours," said Jack. " When you said 'the
croaking artery,' I presume you meant the carotid
artery — this one here in the side of the neck."
"If that 's the right name of it, that 's what I
meant," said Ned.
598
IMIAETON ROGERS.
Ul'KE,
■• And when your father said Ur. C.iiiipbcU had
lied it nineteen times," continued Jack, "he
did n't mean that he had tied nineteen hard knots
in one person's, but that he had h.id occ.Tsion to tie
the artery in nineteen different persons."
" And will Jimmy's have to be tied ?'' said Ned.
" As the carotid artery is in the neck, and Jim-
my's injuries are all in his lej;s, I should say not,"
said Jack,
" Of course not; 1 might have thought of thai,"
said Ned. " lUit you see, Jack, I don't know
much about doctor-things anyway, and to-day 1
don't know what I do know, for everybody 's been
saying I 'm to blame for Jimmy's hurt, and mak-
ing me feel like a murderer. I '11 do whatever you
say, Jack, If you say run for Dr. Campbell, I '11
go right away,"
" I think Dr. Grill will do everything that
ought to be done," said Jack. " There 's nothing
you can do now, but perhaps we can think of
something when Jimmy begins to get well."
•'Then you think he will get well ?" said Ned.
•• 1 hope he will," said Jack.
" I tell you what it is," said Ned, as we con-
tinued our walk toward home, "that Jack-in-the-
Box is the nicest fellow that ever waved a flag.
Sometimes I think he knows more than Father
does."
A day or two later, Ned went to see his aunt,
and I went with him.
"Aunt Mercy," said he, "one of the best boys
in this town has got badly hurt — run over down by
the depot — and his folks are so poor I don't see
what they 're going to do."
" Ves, I heard about it," said Aunt Mercy. "It
was that brother of yours who was to blame."
" Oh no, Aunty, Kay had nothing to do with it,"
said Ned.
"Don't tell me, child; I know all about it. Miss
Pinkham came to call on me, and told mc the whole
story. She said the poor little fellow tipped over
a type or something, and one of those Rogers boys
drove him away, and made him go and sell papers
under the wheels of the cars and omnibuses, to get
money to pay for it. Of course I knew which one
it was, but I did not say anything, I felt so mortified
for the family."
It is difficult to say what answer Ned ought to
have made to this. To try to convince his aunt that
Miss Pinkham's version of the story w.ts incorrect,
would have been hopeless ; to plead guilty to the
indictment as it stood, would have been unjust to
himself; to leave matters as they were, seemed
unjust to his brother. And above all w.ns the
consideration that if he should vex his aunt he
would probably lose the whole object of his visit —
getting help for Jimmy, He remained silent.
"What were you going to say, Edmund Burton,
about poor Jimmy Redmond ?" said his aunt,
" I was going to say," Ned answered, " that I
wished I could help him a little by paying his
doctor's bill, and not let him know anything
about it."
"You lovely, kind boy!" exclaimed Aunt
Mercy. "As soon as you find out what the
doctor's bill is, come to me, and 1 'II furnish you
the money."
Jimmy had the best of care ; Mrs. Rogers did
a great deal, in a quiet, almost unnoliceable way,
to add to his comforts ; and, after a while, it was
announced that he might receive short visits from
the boys.
Phaeton, Ned, and I were his first visitors. We
found him still lying in bed, in a little room
where the sunbeams poured in at a south window,
but not till they had been broken into all sorts of
shapes by the foliage of a wistaria, the shadows
of which mo\ed with every breeze to and fro across
a breadth of rag carpet.
The walls were ornamented with a dozen or
twenty pictures — some of them out of old books and
papers, and some drawn and painted in water-colors
by Jimmy himself — none of them framed. The
water-colors were mainly illustrations of his own
poems. I am not able to say whether they pos-
sessed artistic merit, for I was a boy at the time,
and of course a boy, who only knows what pleases
him, cannot be expected to know what is artistic and
ought to please him. But some of them appeared
to me very wonderful, especially one that illus-
trated " The Unlucky Fishermen." It w.ts at the
point where Joe and Isaac were trying to catch
a ride behind an omnibus. Not only did the heroes
themselves appear completely tired out by their
long day of fruitless fishing, but the dog looked
tired, the 'bus horses were evidently tired, the driver
was tired, the boy who called out " Whip behind ! "
was tired — even the 'bus itself had a tired look ;
and this general air of weariness produced a won-
derful unity of effect,
Jimmy looked so pale and ill, as he lay there,
that we were all startled, and Ned seemed actually
frightened. He lost control of himself, and broke
out passionately :
" Oh, Jimmy, dear Jimmy, you must n't die !
We can't have you die ! We 'II get all the doc-
tors in the cit\', and buy you everything you need,
only don't die I "
Here he thrust his hand into his pocket, and
brought out two silver dollars,
"Take them, Jimmy, take them!" said he,
"just to please me. And we don't care anything;
about the type you pied. 1 'd rather pi half
the type in the office than sec your leg broken.
I'llAh I ii.N Kiii.l-. k>.
599
Wo can't any of us spare you. Live, Jimmy, live!
ami vou may l>o proof-rcador in our oftice, — \vc
iKx-d one dreadfully, Jack-in-thc-Uox says so, —
and you know pretty nearly everything, and can
soon learn the rest, and we 'II get you the green
shade for your eyes, and you 're awful round-sho —
that is— I mean — in fact, I think you 're the very
man for it. .-\nd you can grow up with the busi-
ness, an<l always have a good place. .And then,
Jimmy, if you want to use your spare time in
setting up your poems, you may, and change them
just as much iis you want to, and we wont charge
you a cent for the use of the type."
Ned certainly meant this for a generous offer,
and J inimy seemed to consider it so ; but if he
could have taken counsel of some of the sad-faced
men who have sfient their lives in reading proof, I
think, perhaps, he would have preferred to die,
rather than " to always have the good place" that
his repent.int friend had proposed for him.
Ned had scarcely linished his apostrophe, when
Jimmy's little sister brought in a beautiful bouquet,
sent by Miss Glidden to brighten up the sick boy's
chamber.
Looking around, we saw that other friends had
been equally thoughtful. Isaac Holman had sent
a basket of fruit ; Monkey Roe, a comic almanac,
three or four years old, but just as funny ; Jack-in-
the-Box, a bottle of cordial; and Patsy Kafferty, a
small bag of marbles.
"How do you amuse yourself, Jimmy?" said
Phaeton.
'■ I don't have much amusement," answered
Jimmy; "but still I can write a little."
'• Poetry?" said Phaeton.
"Oh, yes," said Jimmy; "I wxite verj- little
except poetry. There 's prose enough in the
world already."
" Perhaps," said Phaeton, after a short pause,
" if you feel strong enough, you '11 read us your
latest poem."
"Yes, if you 'd like to hear it," said Jimmy.
"Please pull out a box that you '11 see under the
head of my bed here."
Phaeton thrust his arm under, and pulled out a
pine box, which was fastened with a small brass
padlock.
'■ The key is under the Dying Hound," said
Jimmy.
Looking around the walls, we saw that one of
Jimmy's pictures represented a large dog dying,
and a little boy and girl weeping over it. Whether
the picture was intended tn illustrate the death of
Gclert, or of some other heroic brute, I do not
know. The comer of this picture being lifted,
disclosed a small key, hung over the head of a
carpct-tack, driven into the wall.
When the box wa> openc<l. we >aw ih.U it was
ne.irly full of manuscripts.
" The last one," s;iid Jimmy, who could not turn
from his one position on the bed, ■' is written on
blue paper, with ;i piece torn off from the upper
right-hand corner."
I'h.aeton soon found it, and handed it to Jimmy.
"It is called an "Ode to a Horseshoe' — that
one over the door," said Jimmy. " 1 found it in
the road the day before I was hurl, and brought
it right home, and put it up there."
"Then it has n't brought you much good luck,
so far, has it?" said Phaeton.
" I don't know about that," said Jimmy. " It 's
true I was hurt the very next day ; but something
seems to have brought me a great many good
friends."
"Oh! you always had those, horseshoe or no
horseshoe," said Ned.
"I'm glad if 1 did," said Jimmy; '"though I
never suspected it. But now I should like to read
you the poem, and get your opinions on it; because
it's in a diflferent vein from most of my others."
And then Jimmy read us his verses :
Ode
Hn
Tuor relic of departed hursi
Thou harbinger of luck to
When things seem growing
How good to find ihec in
the
A hundred thousand miles, I ween.
You 'vc traveled on the flying heel —
By country roads, where fields were green.
O'er pavements, with the rattling wheel.
Your toc'Calk, in that elder day.
Was shar]>er than a serpent's tooth ;
But now it 's almost worn away :
The blacksmith should renew its youth.
Bright is the side was next the ground,
.And dark the side was next the hoof;
*T is thus true metal 's only found
Where hard knocks put it to the proof.
For aught I know, you may have done
Your mile in two nineteen or twenty:
Or, on a diay-hor^e, never run.
But walked and walked, and pulled a plenty.
At last your journeys all arc o'er.
Whether of labor or of pleasure.
And there you hang above my door.
To bring me health and strength and treasure.
When the reading was tinished we all remained
silent, until Jimmy spoke.
" I should like to have you give me your opinions
about it," said he. " Don't be afraid to criticise it.
Of course, there must be faults in it."
" That 's an awful good moral about the hard
knocks," said I.
" Yes," said Ph.icton, " it might be dr.iwn from
Jimmy's own experience. And, as he says, the
poem does seem to be in a new vein. I noticed a
6oo
IMIAKTDN K()(iKkS.
good iii.iny words that were difkrciU from any in
his olhcr pieces."
"That," said Jiinmy, "is because I 've been
studying; sonic of the older ixiets lately. Jack-in-
thc-Iiox lent me Shakespeare, and I got three or
four others from the school library. Probably they
have had an efiect on my style."
Ned walked to the door, and, standing tiptoe,
looked intently at the horseshoe.
"One thinj! is certain," said lie, "that passage
about the toe-calk is perfectly true to nature. The
because it 's such a good poem, and I enjoyed it
so much ; but it seems to mc you 've strained the
truth a little where you say 'a hundred thousand
miles.' "
" How so ? " said Jimmy.
"Calculate it for yourself," said Ned. "No
horse is likely to travel more than about fifty miles
a day. .And if he did that every d:iy, he 'd go
three hundred miles in a week. At that rate, it
would take him more than six years to travel a
hundred thousiind miles. Hut no shoe lasts a horse
tcjL-Lalk IS nearly worn away, .nd the heel-calks
arc almost as bad."
" It 's a good poem," said I. " 1 don't sec how
you could make it any better."
"Nor I," said Phaeton. "It tells the whole
story."
" I 'm gl.id you like it," said Jimmy. " I felt a
little uncertain about dipping into the lyric strain."
" Yes," said Ned ; " there 's Just one spot where
it shows the strain, and 1 don't see another thing
wrong about it."
" What 's that ?" said Jimmy,
" Perhaps we 'd better not t.ilk .about it till you
get well," said Ned.
"Oh, never mind that," .said Jimmy. "I don't
need my legs to write poetry with, or to criticise it,
either."
"Well," said Ned, " 1 hate to find fault with it.
six \ears — nor one ye.ir, even. So, you see, this
could n't have traveled a hundred thousand miles.
That 's why I say the lyric strain is strained a little
too much."
"I see," said Jimmy. "You are undoubtedly
right. I shall have to soften it down to a dozen
thousand, or something like that."
"Yes," said Ned; "soften it down. When
that 's done the poem will be perfect."
.At this point, Phaeton said he thought we had
staid as long as we ought to, and should be going.
" I wish, Jimmy," said Ned, " you 'd let me take
this poem and read it to Jack-in-the-Box. I know
lie would enjoy it."
"I've no objection," said Jimmy. ".And if
you can find time some day to print it for me.
here 's two dollars to pay for the job," and he
thrust Ned's money back into his hand.
'HAETON ROGERS.
601
"All right!" said Ned, as he saw that Jimmy
would not accept the money, and yet did not want
to refuse it rudely. " We '11 try to make a hand-
some job of it. I'erhaps some day it will Ix-
pnnted on white Siitin. and hung up in the Km-
(XTor of China's palace, like — whose poem w.ts it
Father told about, the other day, Kay ?"
" I)er/havin's," &;iid Phaeton.
•■ Yes. Derzhavin's. whoever he w.is ! " said Ned.
■• .And this one of Jnnmy's ought to have a horse-
shoe embroidered in gold thread on the corner of
the satin. But those funny ladies with slant eyes
and little club feet will have to do that. I suppose
they have n't much else to keep them busy, as
they 're not .ible to do any housework. It might
have a small gold horseshoe on each of the four
comers, or it might have one big horseshoe sur-
rounding the poem. Which wouki you like best,
Jimmy.'"
"I've no choice: either would suit me," said
the poet.
"Ciood-bye, Jimmy !"
" Good-bye, boys ! "
(.'H.\PTKK XIV.
AN .\I,.-\RM OK KIKE.
EvF.RV day some one of us called to see Jimmy.
He was well taken care of, and got .-dong nicely.
Jack-in-the-Box lent him books, and each day a
fresh bouquet was sent in by Miss (llidden.
One day Monkey Roc called on him.
" Jimmy," said he, "' you know all about poetry,
I suppose."
•■ I know something ab<iut it." said Jimmy. " I
have written a good deal."
" And are you well enough yet to do an odd job
in it?"
"Oh, yes," said Jimmy. ■•.\ fellow does n't
have to be very well to write poetrj."
" It is n't exactly writing poetry that I want
done," said Monkey. " It 's a very odd job, in-
deed. You might call it repairing poetry. Do
poets ever repair poetry, as well as make it new.'"
" I don't know," said Jimmy. " I should think
it might be done in some cases."
" Well, now," said Monkey, "I have » broken
poem. Some part of every hne is gone. But the
rhymes arc all there, and many of the other words,
and most of the beginnings of the lines. I thought
a poet would know how to till up all the blank
spaces, and make it just as it was when it was
whole. "
" I don't know," said Jimmy, doubtfully. " It
might be possible to do it, and it might not. I '11
do what I can tor you. Let me see it, if you have
it with vou."
Monkey pulled out of his pocket the mutilated
poem of llolman's, which Ned had pieced together,
and, after smoothing it out, handed it to Jimmy.
As Jimmy looked it over, he turned every color
which it is possible for an unhappy human coun-
tenance to .-issume, and then gave a deep groan.
'• Where did you get this, Monkey?" said he.
'• Found it," said Monkey.
" Found it — impossible !" said Jimmy.
" Upon my word 1 did lind it, and just in the
shape you see it now. But what of it ?"
" Where did you find it?" said Jimmy.
" In Rogers's printing-office, kicking around on
the floor. It seemed to be thrown away as waste
paper; so 1 thought there was no harm in taking
it. And when I read it, it looked to me like a
curious sort of puzzle, which I thought would
interest you. But you seem to take it very
seriously. "
" It 's a serious matter," said Jimmy.
■• No harm done, 1 hope," said Monkey.
" There may be," said Jimmy. " I can't tell.
Some things about it I can't understand. I must
.Tsk you to let me keep this."
"If it's .so very important," said Monkey, "it
ought to be taken back to Ph.ieton Rogers, as it
w-,is in his office that I found it."
" No," said Jimmy; "it does n't belong to him."
"Then you know something about it?" said
Monkey.
" Yes, Monkey," said Jimmy, " I do know con-
siderable about it. But it is a confidential matter
entirely, and I shall have to insist on keeping this."
" .-Ml right!" said Monkey. "I'll take your
word for it."
A few days after this, we were visiting Jack in
his box, when, .is he was turning over the leaves of
his scrap-book to find something he wanted to
show us. Phaeton exclaimed :
" What 's that I saw ? " and, turning back a leaf
or two, pointed to an exact fac-simile of the
mutilated poem. It had evidently been made by
laying a sheet of oiled paper over the original, and
tracing the letters with a pencil.
" Oh, that," said Jack, " is something that Mon-
key Roe brought here. He said it was a literary
puzzle, and wanted me to see if I could restore the
lines. I 've been so busy I have n't tried it yet."
Phaeton .it once wrote a note to Monkey, .isking
him to bring b.ick the original ; whereupon Monkey
called at the office and explained why he could
not return it.
"All right! I'll see Jimmy about it myself,"
said Phaeton. " But have you made any other
tracings of it besides the one Jack-in-the-Box
has ? "
" Only two others," said Monkey.
6o2
PHAETON kOGEKS.
(JtK«,
" Where arc they?"
"One I have at home."
"And the other?"
" I sent it to Miss Ciliddcn. with a note saying
that, as I had heard she wrote poetry sometimes,
I thought she might be interested in this poetical
puzzle."
"(iood gracious !" said Phaeton. '• There 's no
use in trying to dip up that spilled milk."
In those days there was an excitement and
ple:isure enjoyed bj' many boys, which was denied
to Phaeton, Ned, and me. This was the privilege
of running to fires. Nearly all large fires occurred
in the night, and Mr. Rogers would not permit
his boys to turn out from their warm beds and run
at breathless speed to the other side of the town
to sec a building burned. So they had to lie still
and possess their souls in impatience while they
heard the clanging of the bells and the rattling
of the engine, and perhaps saw through their
window the bright reflection on the midnight sky.
There was no need for my parents to forbid me,
since none of these things ever woke me.
Running to fires, at lc;ist in cities, is now a thing
of the past. The alarm is communicated quietly
by telegraph to the various engine-houses, a team
is instantly harnessed to the engine, and with two
or three men it is driven to the fire, which is often
extinguished without the inhabitants of the next
street knowing that there has been a fire at all.
At the time of this story, the steam fire-engine
had not been invented, and there were no paid
fire departments. The hand-engine had a long
pole on each side, called a brake, fastened to a
frame that worked up and down like a pump-han-
dle. When the brake on one side was down, that
on the other was up. The brakes were long enough
for nearly twenty men to stand in a row on each
side and work them. No horses were used, but
there was a long double rope, called a drag-rope,
by which the men themselves drew the engine
from its house to the fire. They always ran at
full speed, and the two men who held the tongue,
like the tongue of a wagon, had to be almost as
strong as horses, to control and guide it as it went
bumping over the pavement.
Each engine had a number and a name, and
there was an organized company, of from forty
to seventy men, who had it in charge, managed it
at fires, drew it out on parade-days, took pride in
it, and bragged about it.
The partiality of the firemen for their own engine
and company w.is as nothing in comparison with
that of the boys. Kvery boy in town had a violent
affection for some one company, to the exclusion of
all others. It might be because his father or his
cousin belonged to that company, or because he
thought it luid the handsomest uniform (for no
two companies were uniformed alike), or because
it was first on the ground when his uncle's store
w.Ts on fire, or because he thought it was the com-
pany destined to " wash " all others. Sometimes
there would be no discoverable reason for his
choice ; yet the boy would be just as strong in his
partisanship, and often his highest ambition would
lie to be able to run with the hose-cart of his favor-
ite company. The hose w.is carried wound on a
reel, that ran on two light wheels, and was man-
aged by six boys, fifteen or sixteen years of age.
When a fire broke out, the bells of all the
churches were rung; first slowly, striking one, two,
three, four, etc., according to which district of the
town the fire wiis in, and then clanging away with
rapid strokes. Thus the whole town was alarmed,
and a great many people besides the firemen ran to
every fire. Firemen jumped from their beds at the
first tap of a bell ; or, if it was in the day-time,
threw down their tools, left their work, and ran.
There was intense rivalry as to which engine
should get first to the fire, and which should pour
the most effective stream of water upon it. But
the highest pitch of excitement was reached when
there was an opportunity to " wash." If the fire
was too far from the watei -supply to be reached
through the hose of a single engine, one engine
would be stationed at the side of the river or canal,
or wherever the water was taken from, to pump it
up and send it as far as it could through its hose,
there discharging into the box of another engine,
which, in turn, forced it another distance, through
its own hose. If the first engine could send the
water along faster than the second could dis|>ose of
it, the result would be that in a few minutes the box
of the second would be overflowed, and she was
then said to be "washed," which was a great tri-
umph for the company that had washed her.
This sort of rivalry caused the firemen to do their
utmost, and they did not always confine themselves
to fair means. Sometimes, when an engine was in
danger of being washed, some member of the com-
pany would follow the line of the other company's
hose till became to where it passed through a dark
place, aiid then, whipping out his pocket-knife,
would cut it open and run away. When there were
not enough members of a company present to man
the brakes, or when they were tired out, the fore-
man had the right to select men from among the
bystanders, and compel them to take hold.
Monkey Roe was a bom fireman. He never
failed to hear the first tap of the bell, about ninety
seconds after which he dropped from the c.isement
of his window to the roof of the kitchen, thence to
the roof of the back piazza, slid down a pilKar, and
I
PHAKTOX kOGKRS.
603
was otV for the lire, generally following in tlic wake
of Reil Kover Three, which was tlie company he
sided with. It \v;is entertaining; to hear him tell his
exciting; adventures ; but it was also exasperating;.
•• I don't see," said Ned, after .Monkey had fin-
ished one of these thrilling narratives, "what
Father means by never letting us run to a fire.
How does he suppose he 's going to make men of
us, if we never begin to do anything manly ? "
•' Perhaps he does n't think it is especially
manly," said Ph.ieton.
" Not manly ! " said Ned, in astonishment. " 1
should like to know what 's more manly than to
take the tongue of Big Six, when there 's a tremen-
dous fire and they jump her ;ill the way dow n State
street. Or to stand on the engine and yell at the
men, when Torrent Two is trying to wash her.
Why, sometimes the foreman ^cts so excited that
he batters his trumpet all to pieces, pounding on
the brakes, to cheer the men."
" Knocking trumpets to pieces is very manly, of
course," siiid Phaeton, smiling. "' I did n't mean
to say Father would n't consider it manly to be
a fireman. What I should have said was, that
perhaps he thought there were other ways of be-
coming manly. I should like to run to a fire once
in a while ; not for the sake of manliness, but to
see the fun."
The more Ned thought about it, the more it
seemed to him it was a continuous wrong. .At last
he spoke to his father about it, and set forth so
powerfully the danger of growing up without
becoming manly, that Mr. Rogers laughingly
told the boys they might run to the very next fire.
The next thing was to count me in. The only
difficulty to be overcome in my c.ise was sleepiness.
We canvassed many plans. Ned suggested a pistol
fastened to the side of my window, with a string
tied to the trigger and reaching to the ground, so
that he or Phaeton could pull it, on their way to the
fire. The serious objection to this was that a
shower would prevent the pistol from going off. It
was also suggested that I have a bell, or tie the
cord to a chair or something that could be pulled
over and make a racket.
" The objection to all those things is," said Pha-
eton, " that they will disturb the whole family.
Now, if you would make a ropc-l.idder, and hang
it out of your window ever)- night, one of us could
climb up quietly and speak to you. Then you
could get through the window and come down the
Kidder, instead of going through the house and
waking up the family."
This suggestion struck us with great force ; it
doubled the anticipated romance. L'nder instruc-
tions from Phaeton, Ned and I made the ladder.
In the store-room we found a bed-cord, which
answered well for the sides. The rungs must be
made of wood, and we had considerable difficulty
in finding anything suitable. Any wo<xl that we
could have cut would have been so soft that the
rungs, to be strong enough, must have been very
bulky. This w.as an objection, as I was to roll up the
l.-idder in the day-time, and hide it under my bed.
.\t Last, Ned came over to tell me he had found just
the thing, and took me to the attic of their house
to see.
" There," said he, pointing to half a dozen
ancient-looking chairs in a cobwcbbed corner.
'• There is exactly what we want. The rounds of
those old chairs are as tough .as iron."
" Whose chairs are they ?" said 1.
" Oh, anybody's, nobody's," said Ned. " I sup-
pose they are a hundred years old. And who 's
ever going to sit in such looking old things as
those ? "
It did seem preposterous to suppose that any-
body would ; so we went to work to take out the
rounds at once. The old chairs were very strong,
and after we had pulled at them in vain to spring
them apart enough for the rounds to drop out,
wc got a saw and sawed off all the rounds close
to the legs.
With these, the ladder was soon made, and I
drove two great spikes into the sill of my window,
to hang it by.
I used to hang out the ladder every night, and
take it in every morning. The first two nights
1 lay awake till almost daylight, momentarily
expecting the stroke of the fire-bell. But it was
not heard on those nights, nor the next, nor the
next.
" It would be just like our luck," said Ned, "if
there should never be another fire in this town."
" It would be lucky for the town," said Phaeton,
who overheard him.
" Perhaps so," said Ned ; " and yet I could point
out some houses that would look a great deal bet-
ter burned up. I wonder if it would do any good
to hang a horseshoe over the door."
" What for?" said Ph.aeton. " To prevent them
from burning?"
"Oh, no," said Ned. "I mean over the door
of our office, to — to — well, not exactly to make
those houses burn, but to bring us good luck
generally."
It did seem a long time for the town to be with-
out a conflagration, and one day Ned came into
the office looking quite dejected.
" What do you think has happened now?" said
he. "just like our luck, only worse and worse."
" What is it?" said I.
"The whole fire department's going to smash,"
said he.
6o4
1 II AKTO.N ROGKRS.
IJUKE.
" 1 should n't tliink you \l c;ill that bad luck,"
s;iid Phaeton. " Fur now wht-n then- is a fire, it
will be a big one, if there 's no fire department to
prevent it from sprcadinj;. "
"But the best fun," said Ned. ''is to see the
firemen handle the fire, and to see Red Rover
Three wash Cataract Kight. I s;iw her do it
beautifully at annual inspection. What I want is
a tremendous big fire, and plenty of engines to
play on it."
The explanation of Ned's alarming intelligence
was that the fire department had got into a quarrel
with the common council, and threatened to dis-
band. One compan)-, who had a rather shabby
engine-house, and were refused an appropriation
for a new one, tied black crape on the brakes of
their engine, drew it through the principal streets,
and finally, stopping right before the court-house
yard, lifted the machine bodily and threw it over
the fence into the yard. Then they threw their
fireman-hats after it, and disbanded. This com-
pany had been known as Reliance Five. The
incident frightened the common council into giving
the other companies what they asked for; but there
was never more a No. 5 Fire company in that city.
I had become pretty tired of hanging out my
ladder every night, and rolling it up every inorning,
when at last " the hour of destiny struck," as
Jimmy the Rhymer might say — that is, the court-
house bell struck the third district, and steeple after
steeple caught up the tune, till, in a few minutes,
the whole air was full of the wild clangor of bells.
At the same time, the throats of innumerable men
and boys were open, and the cry of " Fire!" was
pouring out from them in a continuous stream, as
the crowds rushed along.
" Wake up, Ned !" said Phaeton. " Here it is
at last, and it 's a big one."
Ned bounded to his feet, looked through the win-
dow, exclaimed " Oh, glory ! " .as he saw the ruddy
sky, and then began to get into his clothes with the
utmost rapidity. Suddenly he stopped.
"Look here. Fay," said he. "This is Sunday
night. I 'm afraid Father wont let us go, after all."
" Perhaps not," said Phaeton.
" Then, what must we do ?" said Ned.
" Oo the best we can."
"The question is, what is best?" said Ned.
" It is evident we ought to go by the window, but
It 's too high from tlie ground."
"Then we must make a rope," said Phaeton.
" What can we make it of?"
"The bedclothes, of course."
"That 's a splendid idea! — that saves us," said
Ned, and he set about tying the sheets together.
Before Phaeton was dressed, Ned had made the
rope .md cast it out of the window, first lying one
end to the bed-post, and, sliding down to the ground,
made off, without waiting for his brother.
1 le came straight to my ladder, and had his foot
on the lirst rung, when a heavy hand was laid upon
his shoulder.
"So you 're the one he sends in, are you ? " said a
deep voice, and Ned looked around into the face
of a policeman. " I 'd rather have caught the old
one," he continued. " but you 'II do. I 've been
watching this burglar arrangement for two hours.
.-\nd by the way, 1 must have some of it for evi-
dence ; the old one may take it away while 1 'm
disposing of you." And he turned and with his
pocket-knife cut off about a yard of m\- ladder.
f>s.
-? ' ,..^^;
i ^.-3,
1 .' P
•; ty-'-~'fi
>^^m
ilulding this "evidence" in one hand and Ned
with the other, he hurried away to the police
station.
It w.-is useless for Ned to protest that he was not
a burglar, nor a burglar's partner, or to tell the
iMl.]
PHAETON ROlIEKS.
605
true story of the ladder, or to ask to be taken to his
father. The (whceinan considered himself too wise
for any such delusive tricks.
" Mr. Rogers's Ixiy, eh ? " said he. " Why don't
you call yourself (."leorjje Washin^jton's boy, while
you 're about it ? "
"Washington never had any boys," said Ned.
" Did n't, eh .' Well, now, I congratulate Cicorge
on that. A respectable man never knows what his
sons may come to, in these times."
" Washington did n't live in these times," said
Ned ; "he died hundreds of ye.-urs ago."
"Did. eh?" s;iid the policeman. "I see that
you 're a great scholard ; you can go above me in
the history- class, young man. I nc\er was no
scholard myself, but I know one when 1 sec him;
and I always feel bad to put a scholard in quod."
" If I had my printing-office and a gun here,"
said Ned, " I 'd put plenty of quads into you."
" Would, eh ? " siiid the policeni.in. " Well,
now, it 's lucky for me that that there printing-office
and them 'ere quads are quietly reposing to-night
in the dusky realms of imagination, is n't it, young
man ? But here "s the quod / spoke about — it 's
reality, you see." And they ascended the steps
of the station-house.
In the midst of sound sleep, 1 woke on hearing
my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a
human head and shoulders at my window, projected
against a background of illuminated sky. I had
he.nrd Father reading an article in the evening
paper about a gang of burglars being in the town,
and I suppose that in my half-wakened condition
that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with
the idea of fire. At any rate, I seized a pitcher of
water and threw its contents toward the light, and
then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a
desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he
spoke again.
"What are you doing? Don't you know me?"
"Oh, is that you. Fay?"
" Yes, and you 'vc drenched me through and
through." said he, as he climbed in.
" That 's too bad," said I. " I did n't know what
I was about."
" It 's a tremendous fire," said he, " and 1 hate
" t)h, never mind, put on .1 suit of mine," said I,
.uid got out my Sunday suit, the only clothes 1 h.id
that seemetl likely to be large
enough for Phae-
short ? ' .iskcd I'liacton, when
but he ^«i inlo
them at last.
" Why did you
make your ladder ■
dressed.
" It reaches to the ground." said I, peering out
of the window in surprise, but unable to see.
"No, it doesn't," said Phaeton; "1 had hard
work to get started on it. I expected to find Ned
standing at the foot of it, but he was so impatient
to see the fire, 1 suppose he could n't wait for us."
We dropped from the shortened ladder to the
ground, passed through the gate and shut it noise-
lessly behind us, and then broke into a run toward
that quarter of the town where both a pillar of flame
to lose the time to go back home and change .ind a pillar of cloud rose through the night and
my clothes. Bc-sides, I don't know that I could, lured us on.
for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid At the same time our mouths opened themselves
down from our window, and I could n't climb by instinct, and that thrilling word " Fire!" was paid
up again." out ceaselessly, like a sparkling ribbon, as we ran.
f 7* A^ iPHtinHfJ. y
6o6
BUTTERFLIES.
BUTTILRFLIKS.
By Susan Hartley Swett.
The bees were loo busy making honey,
The birds were too busy building nests,
To carry one morning' a message grave
To Elfland, for one of the fairy-guests
(For this was before the butterflies
Had ever been thought of under the skies).
Then the vexed fairy who wished to send
The message, leaned from a hly-bell,
And in her tiny, silvery voice
She scolded poor old Dame Nature well :
'' Find us," said she, " a messenger light,
Or else we fairies troop home this night."
Dame Nature, who sat on a high green knoll.
Spinning away in the golden light.
Pushed her spectacles back on her brow.
And thought for a moment witli all her might ;
" I viiist do something, for well 1 know
The flowers will pine if the fairies go ! "
Then some p.ansics she plucked and gave them wings,
A velvet poppy peUil or two.
Streaked them with gold and set them afloat,
.And they sailed away in the breezy blue.
And this is the way that Dame Nature wise
Fashioned the first of the butterflies.
THE CHILDREN S ARTIST
607
1111-; ciiii,1)Ri:ns artist.
It is not often that :i p.iinter. or artist of any
kind, gives up nearly all his time to making pict-
ures for children, and yet «e are going to tell you
something about one of the best artists of this cent-
ury, who h;is devoted a large portion of his life to
drawing pictures for children's books.
His name is I.udwig Richtcr, and you may sec
his picture on this page. He w.ts born in Dresden,
(iermany, in 1803, and, like most other good
artists, he showeil his talent when he was very
young. But he did not begin at once to make
pictures for children. It often takes a long while
for people to find out what they can do best, and so
it was in Richter's case.
For some time he occupied himself in painting
beautiful little pictures on porcelain cups and
saucers and vases. Very line ware of this kind
is made in Dresden, and it required excellent
artists to paint the exquisite pictures with
which it is decorated. So Richter, who had
studied a great deal, and had worked very
hard at his profession, was able to ornament
this Dresden ware very carefully and beauti-
fully, and the work that he put on it made it
more v.iluable than before he painted it.
He h.id taken a journey to Italy, and, in
order to have plenty of time to study and
to sketch the beautiful scenery through which
he passed, he walked all the way back.
Whenever he saw some fine trees, or a
pretty brook, or a nice little cottage, with
children playing about it, or anything that he
thought would m.ike a good picture, he
stopped and made a sketch of it. And so,
when he reached home, he had a great
many sketches of real things, which he after-
ward used in the pictures he drew and painted.
Some artists draw jxjople and houses and trees
and .inimals in their pictures from their recol-
lections of such things, or they get their ideas
of them from other pictures.
But Richter makes his drawings directly
from nature, and that is one reason why they
are so good. Another reason is that he puts
some of his own kind and tender feeling into
his pictures. He tries to make the little children
in them look as good and happy .is he would
.ilways like little children to be.
Well, he did not always paint vases and cups
and such things. .After a lime, he turned his
attention to making pictures for books and maga-
zines. I le drew these pictures on wood, and tliey
were then engraved and printed, and these are the
pictures which have caused him to become so
widely known, especially in C.ermany. his native
land, as the "children's artist."
He was so successful in making drawings for
books inteniled for children th.it this soon became
his principal business. He has drawn all sorts of
pictures for all sorts of children — some for littli.-
toddlers, and some for the big boys and girls ; ami
more than this, these pictures are so good and trui-
that grown people take great delight in them.
Richter's drawings are sometimes religious, such as
the illustrations to the " Lord's Prayer," and some-
times lively and amusing, and they arc almost
alw.iys filled with quaint and pretty, fancies.
Some of Richter's pii.Luic3 liavc been printed in
St. Nicholas, and thousands of them have been
enjoyed by (Icrman little boys and girls, who like
them all the more, perhaps, because they can
c.isily see that it was among the children of his
father-land that their artist went for his models.
6o8
I'EASK-I'ORRIOGE COI.U.
PHASK-l'URRlUGli COLD.
Bv Sophie Sweit.
I UuN'l lliink that Mother Goose herself toukl
make better pease-porridge than Barbara. Indeed,
as Mother Goose was a literary lady, I doubt whether
she could make as good. While she was gaining
fame as a poetess she must, sometimes, have
intrusted the porridge-making to somebotly else ;
and we can not read the story of the four-and-
twcnl)' blackbirds, baked in a pic, who began to
sing as soon as the pie was opened, without a pain-
ful suspicion that Mother (ioosc was accustomed
to very " slack" ovens indeed, or that her knowl-
edge of the art of cooking was very STnall.
Barbara read her Bible, "The Pilgrim's Prog-
ress," and "The Children of the Abbey," and she
had a cloudy idea that the two latter were both
religious books, and devoutly to be believed, by
which it will be seen that literature was not Bar-
bara's strong point, llut cooking was. Kven such
cvcry-day and unintercslmg things as meal and
bread were delicious, as Barbara cooked them, and
her soups were never the water)-, flavorless things
that are often unworthily dignified by that name.
But when it came to her cream-cakes and pe.ich-
fritters, and pop-overs, there are no words that can
do justice to them. And, besides all that, Bar-
bara was an artist in dough. Her doughnut boys
were so life-like that it seemed a wonder that they
did not speak, and she could make a whole farm of
gingerbread, — a house and barn, cows and horses,
and sheep, hens, and turkeys, and ducks and
geese, little pigs and big pigs, dogs that would
almost wag their tails, and roosters that were going
to crow the very next minute. And some of them
were likenesses of individu.ils. You would have
recognized ICbenezer. the hired man. in ginger-
bread, the moment you saw him, and old Buttercup,
PEASE-I'DUKIDGE COLD.
609
jhc yellow cow ; atul .\s for tlu" cross ^;oljt)k-i , he
was simply perfect.
There was one rather sad thing about it. The
gingerbread which they were made of was so good
that Ike and Oolly could not help eating them.
They usually began with the cross gobbler — it was
a double satisfaction to cat him — and they left
Kbeneier, the hired man, until the very List, for it
seemed unkind and disrespectful to eat him, he
was so gix>d and tolil such lovely stories, and,
besides, Barbiira alwa\s shook her head solemnly,
.ind called them ■• c.mnyballs," when they ate him.
Ike dill n't mind that very much, for he was deter-
mined to be a cannib.il, or a pirate, or something
equally desperate, when he should grow up ; but
Holly did. She had made up her mind to be a
minister's wife, because there were so many pound-
cakes and tarts carried to the donation parties, and
Barbara had explained that cannibalism was incom-
patible with being a minister's wife.
Hut good as Barbara's gingerbread was, it was
not to be compared with her pease-porridge. " Pea-
pt)rridge," they all called it. Mother (7oose has
been dead so long now that people have forgotten
how to speak properly. It was not simply stewed
peas, by any means. There were a richness, and a
sweetness, and a flavor of savory herbs about it,
that made it a dish to set before a king.
It w.-is a gala day for the children when Barbara
made pe.Tse-porridge ; but they never coaxed her
to make it, because it always made her eyes red,
and they knew what that meant. It made her cry,
because it reminded her of her little brother
EInathan, who ran away to sea, and never was
heard from after the vessel sailed. She used to
make pease-porridge for him. Only a little while
before he ran away she took care of him through a
long illness, and when he was recovering he would
eat nothing but her pease-porridge. The children
had heard about it a great many times, and she
never spoke of it and never made pease-porridge
without tears. And yet she often made the por-
ridge on wild, tempestuous nights that make
people think, with anxious hearts, of those at sea.
" I can't help thinkin' what if he should come
a-knockin' at the door some o' these stormy nights
— my little Nate, just as he used to be," she would
say. " .And then, if I had some good hot pea-
porridge for him, just such as he used to love so.
he 'd know I w.is always .vthinkin' of him. I
s'pose he 's layin' drowndcd at the bottom of the
sea, but folks can't help hevin' idecs that aint jest
accordin' to common sense."
.And then B.irbara would stir the porridge
vigorously, and pretend that she was n't crying.
Barbara was housekeeper and " help," l)oth in
one, at Deacon Trueworthy's, and Ike and Dolly
Vol.. VMI.— 39.
were Deacon Trueworthy's grandchildren. Their
father and mother and grandmother were all dead,
and their grandfather w.ts the kind of a grand-
father that h.TS almost gone out of fashion. He
believed that children should be "seen and not
heard." He never laughed, no matter how many
funny things happened, and he ordered Kbenezer
to drown Beelzebub, the black kitten, because it
would chase its tail in prayer-time. (Ebcnczer
did n't do it, however. He gave Beelzebub away,
and it is alive and flourishing at this very day.
Ebenezer promised to lind Dolly a kitten that
would n't chase its tail, but up to this time all his
efforts have been unsuccessful.) In his heart, the
Deacon was fond of his grandchildren, but he
never let them know it. He would have thought
fondling or petting them very "unseemly." He
never took them on his knee and told them stories,
and he always thought that they made a noise.
He was entirely lacking in the qualities which
make most grandfiithers so delightful, and Ike and
Dolly would have had but a dull and dreary time
if it had not been for Barbara and Ebenezer.
Barbara had a motherly heart, big enough to
take in all the orphans in the country. She never
thought any pains too great to take to make them
happy, and she petted and cuddled and comforted
them as if she were their own mother.
And Ebenezer ! He was a real walking edition
of fairy stories and true stories, funny stories and
exciting adventures. He had been to sea, for
years, as mate of the "Bouncing Betty." and more
wonderful things had happened to that vessel than
to any other that ever sailed. Ebenezer had been
cast away on a desert island, and the wonderful
feats that he had accomplished there would m.ike
Robinson Crusoe "hide his diminished head." He
knew as much about gorillas, and leopards, and
ourang-outangs as he did about sheep and oxen,
and he talked as familiarly about giants, and wild
men, and dwarfs with seven heads, as if he were in
the habit of meeting them every day. And he
knew stories that would make you laugh, even if
you had the toothache. Nobody could be dull or
lonesome where Ebenezer was.
But we must return to Barbara's pease-porridge,
which on this April day, at ten minutes before
twelve, M., was smoking hot, just ready to be taken
from the pot. They usually had pease-porridge
for breakfast or supper, but to-day Deacon True-
worthy had gone to County Conference, and
Ebenezer had gone to the next town to buy a new
plow, and Barbara did n't think it w.ts worth
the while to get a dinner when there were no
"men folks" at home to eat it. The children
were always delighted to have [)case-porridge, and
a slice of "company" plum-cake, instead of an
6io
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLO.
IJltHB,
ordinar)' dinner, and Barbara wanted to pursue her
house-clcaninj; all day, with iis httlc interruption
as possible — for this was Barbara's one failing :
she liked to clean house, and she turned things
upside down relentlessly. Even the attic, which
was the children's play-room, did not escape.
On this day, Ike and Dolly had staid out-of-doors
for that reason. They were in the barn-yard,
getting acquainted with the new calf, — who was
very fascinating, although somewhat weak on his
legs, — when Zach Harriman, one of the village
boys, came along.
"The performers is goin'! " he called out to them.
"A special train is agoin' to come after 'em. If you
aint seen 'em, now is your chance ! Everybody 's
agoin' down to the depot to see 'em off. Never was no
such a show in Cherr\field before ! That educated
pig he knows as much as the minister, and that
feller that swallers snakes and swords, as slick as
you 'd eat your dinner, is worth goin' to see ! Then
there 's the Giant, more 'n half as tall as the
meetin'-house steeple, and them little mites o'
creturs that stands up in his hands, that you can't
hardly believe is real live folks, and the Fat Woman
— my eyes, aint she a stunner ! There wa' n't never
nothin' that you could call a show in Cherryfield
before, alongside o' this one. And you can sec
'em all for nothin', down to the depot. Of course,
they aint a-swallcrin', nor pcrfonnin', nor nothin',
but they 're worth goin' to see, you 'd better
believe."
Ike and Dolly did believe it. They had longed,
with an unutterable longing, to see the wonders of
the "Great Moral and Intellectual National and
Transatlantic Show," which had been advertised
by flaming posters all over the village. The pict-
ures on the posters, of the performing canaries, the
educated pig, the marionettes, and the dancing
dogs, to say nothing of all the other marvels, had
aroused Ike's curiosity to the highest pitch. But,
aliis! his grandfather did not approve of shows,
though they were never so "moral and intellectual."
No pleadings nor tears could move him. Ike knew
well enough, when he saw those enticing posters
put up, that the delij^hls which they depicted were
not for him and Dolly. Me never had expected
such happiness as Zach Harrimau's announcement
seemed to promise — to see them all.
" Go, quick, and ask Barbara if wc may go,
Dolly ! " he exclaimed, half wild with excitement
and eagerness.
" But it 's twelve o'clock," said Dolly, "and the
porridge all hot ! She called us while Zach was
talking, and she might say no. Don't let 's iisk.
Ike— let 's go !"
It was one of Barbara's rules that they should
never go out of sight of the house without leave.
but Ike fell in with Dolly's wicked little plan as
readily as Adam did with our grandmother Eve's.
Because it would be such a dreadful catastrophe
if Barbara should say no !
So it happened that^ while the pease-porridge
was standing, smoking hot, upon the table, and
the frosted plum-cake was being cut, Ike and Dolly
were running as fast .is their legs would carry them
toward the railroad station.
There was a great crowd upon the platform. It
looked as if all Cherryfield had turned out to see
the last of the " performers." But Ike was eager
and adventurous, and pushed his way through the
throng, and Dolly was always ready to follow where
Ike led the way. But, when they stood close beside
the cars, they were so surrounded by taller people
that they could see nothing. It was too dreadful to
lose the sight, after all. With the cheers of the
people at sight of each wonder ringing in his ears,
Ike grew desperate. The steps of the freight-car
were within reach ; mounted upon them it would
be easy to see everything; and they always rang a
bell and gave ample notice before a train started.
"Come along, Dolly!" he shouted, springing
up the steps. And Dolly followed, nothing loth.
But when they had mounted the steps, nothing
was to be seen but the crowd. The " performers "
were getting into the forward cars.
Ike rushed through the freight-car, Dolly fol-
lowing.
They scarcely stopped to glance at a pig, in a
box with slats that looked very much like a hen-
coop. Indeed, he was not at all attractive to look
upon. His education had not affected his appear-
ance in the least, and he was expressing his discon-
tent at the situation very much after the manner
of an ordinary pig. The dogs were handsome, but
Ike did n't stop even for them. He wanted to see
the Giant, and the man who swallowed knives and
sn.ikes. Dolly had set her heart upon seeing the
little people and the Fat Woman. She had had an
extensive acquaintance with dogs and pigs, but
giants and pigmies possessed the charm of novelty.
There they were — all the wonderful people — in
the passenger car, just in front. The children's
eyes grew big and round with wonder, .as they saw
the (iiant, whose head almost reached the top of
the car when he w;is sitting, holding on his out-
stretched hand one of the mites, a wee bit of a lady
who looked like the queen of the fiiiries, as Ebcn-
ezer described her, and who was bowing and
kissing her hand in the most fascinating manner to
the crowd outside the car window. W.ts It to be
wondered at that Ike and Dolly did not hear the
hell when it rang ? Not until the train was going
i)uite fast did they realize that they were being
carried away — awav from home, where Barbara was
1' 1-: A S i: - IM ) K R I I) U E COLD.
6ii
waiting for ihem, and the pcasc-porriclKC growing
colli; away, nobody knew where, with tlie "lireat
Moral and Intellectual National and Trans-
atlantic Show" !
When Dolly understood what had happened, she
iK-gan to cry. Ike screamed to the conductor to
put them otT. The conductor was not at all a
polite man.
■• What business had you to get on, you little
r;isc.d ? " he said. " I can't stop the train. 1 'm
running on fast time, with not a moment to spare."
"Where are you going?" asked Ike, feeling
very guilty and frightened.
" To Barnacle. There 's no train back from
there to-day, but I will see that you get back
to-morrow morning."
He seemed somewhat mollilied at sight of Dolly's
tears and Ike's frightened face.
ISam.icle was a large sea-port town, fort) miles
from Cherry tield. Ike and Dolly had never been
so far away from home in their lives. It would not
have seemed much more wonderful to them to be
going to Paris. And Ike began to think that it
was not, after all, a very unfortunate thing. It was
a real adventure. They were going to see the
world 1 Excitement and delight began to get the
better of his fears.
The conductor had led them into the passenger
car where the members of the troupe were, and —
oh, joy ! — the Knife-Swallower m.ide room for Ike
to sit down beside him. He looked astonishinglylike
an ordinary man — a big, burl)- fellow, with a good-
natured face, weather-beaten, like a sailor's. Ike
was amazed to see that knife and snake swallowing
had not aflfected his appearance, any more than
education had affected the pig's. Zach Harriman
had confided to Ike that the man was made of
gutta-percha inside ; that was why the knives and
snakes did n't hurt him ; and Ike was devoured by
curiosity to know whether this were really so, but
he was afraid it would not be polite to ask.
The Fat Woman, who could not sit on an ordinary-
seat, but had one which was constructed expressly
for her, motioned to Dolly to come and sit on her
foot-stool. Dolly felt a little shy of this mountain
of flesh, with features that were scarcely distin-
guishable, and a gruff voice that reminded her of
the big bear's in the story- of " Clolden-hair." But,
as the car was full, and there was no other scat for
her, she obeyed.
" Have you lost your ma, dear?" said the grufT
voice, in a very kindly tone.
•• We 've lost Barbara, and she 'II be so worried,
and the pea-porridge is getting cold, and — oh,
dear!" and -poor Dully broke down, utterly over-
come by her misfortunes.
'■ La I is the lopsy-popsy going to cry ? Don't —
there 's a deary. You '11 get back to B.irbara all
safe, and just think what a privilege it is to travel
with such a show as this — .Moral and Intellectual,
.National and Transatlantic ! — though they aim
genooyne, child ; don't you believe a word of it !
Not one of 'em 's genooyne but me an' the Mites.
Me an' the Mites is genooyne !"
'" Cicnooyne " was too large a word for Dolly's
comprehension ; but, by the Fat Woman's mys-
terwus air and tone, she knew that she was telling
her something very important.
" No bigger than common folks, the (liant aint,
before he 's built up and stuffed out," the Fat
Woman went on, in a very low tone, and with a
careful glance around, to see that she could not
be overheard.
"Do you mean that he is n't a truly giant?"
asked Dolly, with a crushing sense of bewilder-
ment and disappointment.
"No more than you are. And as for the
Bearded Woman, she takes it off and puts it in her
pocket when nobody 's 'round. The Two-headed
Girl, the greatest scientific wonder of the age, they
call her on the bills — why, she 's two girls. They
're dreadful slim, and they manage to stick 'em
into one dress. The Talking Giraffe — why, it 's a
man behind the scenes that talks ; ventriloquism,
you know ! The man that swallows kni\-es and
snakes — that trick is very well done, and folks
is easy to take in, and he is so quick that you can't
see where the knives go to, if you 're watching ever
so close. Swallow 'em, child ? Of course he
don't. He could n't swallow 'em, no more 'n you
could."
"Oh, dear ! I hope you wont tell Ike. He would
be so disappointed," said Dolly, feeling keenly the
hoUowness of the world.
■' But me and the Mites is genooyne ! There
aint a grain of humbug about me, and the little
teenty-tonty dears is just as the Lord made 'em ! "
Dolly had her own private opinion that the
Mites were fairies. She wished Ebcnczer could see
them, for he would know. While she was deliber-
ating whether she 'd belter tell the Fat Wom,in
what she thought about them, a man came saunter-
ing through the car, and stopped in front of Dolly,
sur\-eying her intently. I le was very finely dressed,
and wore a great deal of jewelry, which Dolly ad-
mired very much.
" My heyes ! W'at a helegant hangel she would
make!" he said, lifting Dolly's flaxen curls, ad-
miringly. "Would n't you like to be a hangel,
missy ? "
Dolly wished very much that he had not .-isked
her that question. She sang, "I want to be an
angel," at Sunday-school, and Barbara had im-
pressed it upon her mind that she ou^^hl to want to
6l:
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
(JUKB,
be an angel; but she and Ike had exchanged views
on the subject in private, and decided that the
resemblance of angels' wings — in pictures and on
tombstones — to turkey feathers was an objection
that could not be overcome. She was afraid he
would think her very wicked, but she said, honestly :
" I don't think I should like very well to grow
feathers."
The man threw back his head and laughed at
that, and the Fat Woman shook with laughter,
and Dolly fch rather hurt, as if she were being
made fun of.
" I think we could manage to 'itch them on, so
you would n't 'ave to grow 'em," said the man.
"The hangcl that we 'ad belongin' to the com-
pany 'as gone 'ome, sick with the measles — not to
mention 'er 'aving outgrown the business, and never
'aving no such hangclic face as yours. Were 's
your father and mother ? "
" In heaven," said Dolly, as Barbara had taught
her.
"Then they could n't wish for nothing better
than to see their lovely child- a hangcl in the
greatest Moral and Hintellectual National and
Transatlantic Show in the world," said the man.
*' They were carried off in the train by accident —
she and her brother." explained the Fat Woman.
" The 'and of Providence I " exclaimed the man.
rubbing his hands with delight. " W'at a hattrac-
tion she '11 be ! "
The Fat Woman said something, too low for
Dolly to hear, and the man — who was evidently the
manager of the troupe — replied :
'• Ho, 1 shan't do hanything hillegal. But she
haint got hany parents "
"But we 've got Barbara, and Ebenezer, and
Grandpa: I should have to ask them," said Dolly.
When he had tirst asked her if she wanted to be an
angel, she had understood the question to be such
a one as her Sunday-school teacher might have
asked her. She knew now that he wanted her to
become a member of the company, and there was
something very dazzling and fascinating about the
prospect.
" Ho, we '11 hask them," said the manager,
re-assuringly. " But you '11 'ave to stay at Barnacle
to-night, and they could n't hobject to your hap-
pearing, just for once. 'Ere was I thinking I
should 'ave to give up the 'Ighly Hcxciting, Moral,
and Hintellectual Hellev.ating and Hcmotional
I'lay with w'ich we closes hour hexhibition, for
want of a hangel, w'en, hastonishing to say, a lovely
little himage, hex<actly adapted and hevidcntly
hintended by nature for a hangel, happears before
me I "
Dolly thought he was a very funny man, he made
so many gestures, and rolled up his eyes so, and
put h's in where they did n't belong, and left them
out where they did. The Fat Woman explained
to her, after he had gone, that that was because he
was an Englishman. Dolly did n't believe that
even Ebenezer had ever seen any Englishmen, and
she felt as if she could hardly wait until she should
reach home to tell him how ciueer they were.
She did not understand what the man wanted of
her, not having the slightest idea what a play
w.TS, but she felt very much flattered, and thought
it was delightful to be with such wonderful people.
It was almost like one of Ebenezer's stories. She
could scarcely believe that she was little Dolly
Trueworthy, who lived on the old farm in Cherry-
ticld, and whose greatest excitements had been
coasting and going berrying. It seemed as if some
fairy must have waved her wand over her, and
changed her into somebody else. She had to look
at Ike. once in a while, to re-assure herself He
was surely Ike. and he seemed perfectly at his ease,
talking and laughing with the Knifc-Swallower.
One would have thought he had been accustomed
all his life to riding on a train with a Great Moral
and Intellectual Show!
The train went so fast that it almost took Dolly's
breath away. The trees, and houses, and fields,
and fences whirled by in the wildest kind of a
dance, exactly as if they were bewitched, and, in
what seemed to Dolly an impossibly short space of
time, the forty miles were gone over, and they were
whirled into the long, dark, crowded station at
Barnacle.
Dolly and Ike were hurried, with the others, into
a great, gaudily painted, open wagon, gayly decked
with bunting. Behind th.at came two other wagons,
containing all the animals belonging to the show —
the Talking Giraffe standing, very tall and impos-
ing, in the middle of the first. The procession was
headed by a band of music, and accompanied by a
shouting and cheering crowd of people.
"Oh, Ike, don't you wish B.irbara and Ebenezer
could see us now ? " cried Dolly, feeling that it was
a proud moment.
"Who is Barbara ?" said the Knife-Swallower,
who had taken Dolly on his knee, the wagon being
somewhat crowded. " I used to know a gal by
that name, away up in Branibleton."
" Branibleton ? Why, that is where Barbara used
to live ! " cried Dolly.
" Her name does n't happen to be B.arbara
Pringle, does it?" .asked the Knife-Swallower.
"Yes, it is!" cried Ike and Dolly, both to-
gether. " Do you know her?"
"1 c.ilkilate 1 used to. when 1 was a boy," said
the man. and he held his head down, and there
was an odd sort of tremor in his voice.
".And did vou know her sister Sally that died,
I'KASK- I'ORRI ix; i: < t>I.I>.
f^r.
and her liltlc brollu-r l-.liiatli.ui, wlio ran .nv.iy l.i
sc.i ? " asked Dolly.
•• I knew Sally, and 1 h'licvc I 've heard tell of
Klnathan."
•■ Do you siippiwc he is drowned : Don't you su|i-
[Hise he ever will come hack? " askeil Dolly, anx-
iously. ■■ 1 wish he would — Uarbara cries so on
stormy nights and when she makes pea-porridge,
because she used tn make it for him. Don't you
think ho will come back? I'eople always do, in
I'.beneier's stories. "
" Well, folks docs turn up. sometimes, and then
ag'in they don't, and sometimes it 's a marcy that
thev don't," said the Knife-Swallowcr. " Because,
one of her old friends had become such a distin-
guished man !
They went to .i hotel, -a rather dingy and dis-
reputable-looking one, on a narrow side street,
and after having dinner, Dolly was taken at once
to the hall where the evening performance w.is to
be given. Ike was allowed to go, too, at his earnest
entreaty.
The '• ' Ighly llexciting Moral and Hintellectual.
llelevating and lleniotional Play" did not need to
be rehearsed, it had been given so many times, but
Dolly was to be taught how to be "a hangel." The
Knife-Swallower went with them ; he seemed to
have assumed a sort of guardianship over Ike and
you see, they may have turned out bad, and not be
any cretlit to their folks."
" H.-irbar.i would want to see her brother, if he
h.id turned out b.id." said Dolly, after a little
reflection. "She says she loved him better than
anylxxiy in the world, and if he were ever so bad
he wouid be her brother all the same— just like Ike
and me."
The Knife-Swallower turned his head away,
then, and did n't say any more. Dolly determined
that she would find out what his name w.xs before
she went home. Barbara would Ik- v) proud that
Dolly — a very fortun.ite thing for them, as the
cross conductor had entirely forgotten them.
The angel who had gone home with the me.isles
had left her costume behind her, and it fitted Dolly
very well, after it had been nipped in and tucked up
a little. It was not a night-gown, .is Ike h.id pre-
dicted,— ^judging from pictures of angels which he
had seen, — -but a Ijeautiful dress of white gauze, with
silver spangles, and the wings which were fastened
upon it were not made of feathers, to Dolly's
relief, but of silver paper. The angel was to
descend through an aperture in the stage-ceiling.
6i4
I'KASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
(JUHB,
on a frame-work of iron, with a forejjround of
pasteboard clouds; clouds seemed to be all around
her, over her head and under her feet. Ike thought
it was wonderful and delightful, and only wished
that they wanted a boy angel, but Dolly was dizzy
and frightened, and clutched the iron frame-work
with all her might. The manager tried to coax
her ; promised her all the candy she could cat, and
a whole shopful of toys. But all that did not have
half so much effect upon Dolly as Ike's scorn. She
could not bear to have Ike think her a coward. So
slie resolved and promised that, when evening
should come, and the hall should be full of peo-
ple, and the angel would have to step off her
cloud platform and throw herself between the
young man whose guardian she was and the
Fiend who was pursuing him, she would not be
afraid, but would do just as she had been told.
The hall was glittering with lights and thronged
with ijeoplc. Ike had a seat very near the stage —
thanks to his friend the Knife-Swallower. Dolly
peeped out from behind the scenes, while the ani-
mals went through their performances, the Fat
Woman was introduced and her history related, the
Knife-Swallower swallowed a whole dozen of table-
knives and a large family of snakes, the Giant and '
the Mites exhibited themselves, and sang songs
and danced. At last came the play.
In the most exciting part, while the Fiend was
pursuing the poor, good young man with a red-
hot poker, down came the clouds in an apparently
miraculous manner, with no machinery in sight — •
with Dolly standing a tiptoe on them, in her
pretty, if not strictly angelic, attire of gauze and
spangles and silver paper, with her long golden
hair hanging about her. The applause was, as the
manager would have said, "himmense." There
was a shouting and cheering and clapping of hands
that was almost deafening. Ike was in such a state
of excitement that he could not sit still — to think
that that beautiful being was Dolly !
The angel had been looking at the people — such
a crowd as she had never seen before — as she sailed
down on her clouds. As she tripped down from
them to the floor, she suddenly caught sight of
the Fiend. He was a most awful liend. He was
as black as a coal, all over. He had horrid horns
and hoofs; his eyes were like live coals, and a
flame came out of his mouth, and he brandished
his red-hot poker in a way that was enough to
strike terror to the stoutest heart.
The poor little guardian angel's was not a very
stout heart : and he looked exactly like a picture
of the Devil in an old, old book of her grand-
father's.
She uttered a piercing scream, and turned to
run. Her dress caught on a nail that projected
from the cloud-frame, and held her fast. She
screamed and sobbed in an agony of terror.
"Oh, Knife-Swallower! Dear Knife-Swallower!
Save me ! Save me ! " she cried.
The audience had arisen in great excitement,
half of them laughing, the other half trying to find
out what was the matter, .and one mischievous boy
crying, " Fire ! fire ! "
The Knife-Swallower rushed upon the stage, took
poor Dolly in his arms, — heedless that the nail tore
a long rent in her gauze dress, — and carried her off,
trying to soothe her and calm her fears, as tenderly
as Barbara could have done.
But Dolly would not be soothed. She cried and
sobbed hysterically, and begged, piteously, to be
taken home. Ike made his way into the dressing-
room where they were.
" Well, if that was n't just like a girl ! " he ex-
claimed. "I knew in a minute that he was only
make-believe. But he must have felt pretty mean
with his insides all on fire. Oh, but the manager
is mad, I can tell you ! He is making a speech to
keep the people quiet, and his face is so red."
The Knife-.Swallower was wrapping Dolly in a
shawl and putting her hat on. He told Ike he was
going to take them both to a quiet house, where
lived some people whom he knew. Ike felt some-
what disappointed at losing all the wonderful sights
in the hall, but he did n't want to stay behind when
Dolly was going.
It was a pleasant, home-like house to which the
Knife-Swallower took them, and the people were
very kind, and Dolly soon recovered from her
ncnous excitement ; but she was very glad to hear
the Knife-Swallower say that he was going to lake
them home on the first train in the morning.
Ike, too, now that he was away from the novelty
and excitement of the show, began to feel very
home-sick, and he felt all the worse that pride
prevented him from crying, "as girls did."
At eight o'clock the next morning they were
homeward bound. When they stepped off the
cars at Cherryficld, the station-master ran to tell
the sexton to ring the church-bell, to tell the people
that they were found. The manager had promised
to telegraph to Cherryficld that they were safe, but
he had not done it, and there had been a great
fright about them.
Barbara was standing at the garden gate, with
her apron over her he.id, and looking anxiously in
every direction, when they came walking up — two
little way-worn pilgrims, who had seen the world
and were wiser than yesterday. The Knife-
Swallower straggled along behind, .is if he shrank
from being seen.
Barbara wept for joy, and hugged and kissed
them until thev were idmost suffocated.
illKl IIMI. I ok A 1.1. i tiN L I. K.\ K 1)
615
lUit«ln.'n iUl" KiulL-Swallowor took otT his hat
and stootl ln-foro hi-r, looking lixcilly at her, she
uttered a iry and fell upon his neck, lookin^j so
white that the thildren were frijjhtenod. And she
kissed him — the Kiiife-Swallower — and she called
that great man, six feet tall, her " dear little brother
Nate."
They had btouvjht her brother Klnathan home
to liarbara !
When the children knew that, they were almost
as wild with joy as Barbara herself.
" I might never have got courage to come if it
had n't been for them children," he said. "For
you see, Barbara, I got pretty low down. And I
aint what I 'd oughter be, now. It 's dreadful
lowerin' for a chap to pcrtend to be what he aint,
and do what he can't, even if it 's only pcrtcnding
to swallow knives and such tricks, and I 'm goin' to
Ljuit the business. What them children told me
about your thinkin' of me and feelin' bad about
me, after all these years, drove me to makin' up
my mind."
Barbara only hugged him again for answer, and
then hugged the children.
Hy and by, Barbara 'remembered that they
must be hungry, and bustled about and got them
all the good things in the house to eat. Ike
remembered the pe.isc-porridgc he had missed by
running off, and now called for it.
'• Sakes alive ! There it is, jest as I put it into the
blue nappy, yesterday," said Barbara. " Kbenczcr
'n' I had n't the heart to touch it. You blessed
young ones ! I had n't no idea, when I made that
porridge, that you 'd find Klnathan, and bring him
home to cat it — no more 'n 1 had that it would n't
be touched till it was stone cold."
A QUIET TIM! ro( ALL tONCIDNKD.
6i6
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rj) 'There- W£KE' swallov ^ • 6* xpant^ovs- & •TB^cocKS
•Ai-VELL,
'HO- HAD -TLENf TY- TO-LAUGK- AT-
•6r-?LENrTr-T0-TELL.
^ / \R5- I^OG'WAS-EO'RKE-m-OK-
^j^^,^^^,, ' -THE • Al^- OF' A- GUE^T
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iliPERBL\ - YO u' RE • D-RE5;edI "
^^ y \pj' rROG-i-rEA-RD-HIS-V/OKDS,
WITH • PRFDEHID- iHE- FLUXK ,
I-THIN"K-M)0'T)T^E5i--
\JELL, SHE
OWNED .wrR^A'-BLUiH-.
lltl.l
THE FROG S TKA-PARTY.
619
-^
J The- \J\)RSTS-Mi, DlD-CO/^-IK-TH-HOUGH-
^ THE- j||'\s'IITE'ORF,}r-I300'R,
a! A^^D•T]^EY• i^'1ir^vATF:',6'TK£r-ATE-,TJLL'
"^1^ THBY' m^£^ COULI)NY-EAT-AOT(E;
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THE -PKOGS -THEYAyEKE -V/ROKG ,
To-R'THE-riAF-TKEY'KAD' STAYED- -J fi i;
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HAD'BBEN'aKTAlNLY-LONG.
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620
THE FROG S TEA-PARTY.
'vV^-^^JN' A-nrNUTE -Tl^ • HOST • IH-
W^ >IIS-J^ICHT.GOVVX-\VAS-'nKESSZD-
/%^&-/^^ TAKING- A • CmJ)LE • HE -LAY-
-DO\^K- TO. "KEST;
'\ Qn • KiS • ^OPT-LBAFY-TJLLOV-
HE-iMD -HIS- GT<EEN-KEA"l)i
^
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■X^- \p H£-rO-HfAi:^LP-,ySAlDr
I HEY-VE ♦ HAT).A^IC:E TIAE-d- JA- AWTULLY .GLATJ;
I Jr-THEY'D- HAD-A-BAD-TJA\E, fD-:B£^-
AWFUI.LY- SAD ]
So IIl-GIVE-IIA^.A'PAKTY'TEJ^- TLa\ES -fN'-
•A- YEAK,
'JO'WHKK'THEYLL'ALL-C0A\E-6-HAVE.i.OTX.
OP- GOOD- cheer! ^
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
621
Ix\ NA TL'RI-.S \V0XI)1;RI..\\I); OR, A I) V HNTU RKS IN TIIK
AMKRKAN TROl'lCS.
Hv Fki.ix I.. OswAi.i
ClIAITKR \'lll.
Or »lul the pathic
virgin-woods s<
Thk people of Guatemala had treated us so
kindly that we were almost sorry to leave their
mountains : but our ajjent wanted a number of
animals which are found only in the Southern
tropics, so we took our pels to the sea-port of San
Tomas, and embarked for South America on
board of a Wnozuela schooner. When the first
Spanish explorers set sail for the New World, their
enterprise was aided by the western trade-wind,
the .Atlantic sea-breeze that blows continually from
east to west, and the same wind now enabled our
schooner to enter the mouth of the Orinoco, and
ascend the river by keeping close to the southern
shore, where the current is not very strong.
We had paid our passage to Port Ciabriel, some
t\venty miles farther up; but, if the lower shores
had not been ijuite so swampy, we could not have
wished a better hunting-ground. Swarms of water-
fowl hovered about the mud-banks ; peccaries and
river-hogs rooted at the edge of the cane-brakes, or
scrambled for their hiding-places; clumsy manatees
sported in the water ; and on a log of drift-wood we
saw an animal that our pilot recognized as a fish-
ing-jaguar. The creature had ensconced himself
in the fork of a floating tree, and seemed to have
made a good catch, for we saw him crunch away at
something — probably a river-turtle or a young
manatee ; but, when the passengers began to fire
upon him, he managed to crouch behind a pro-
jecting bulwark of his log-boat, whose swaying,
together with the movement of our own ship, would
have made it a task for the best marksman to hit
the few visible parts of his body.
•■Ne\cr mind," said the pilot; •' it 's one of the
common spotted jaguars. I thought it w.as one of
the dark brown kind."
" Have you ever seen a brown jaguar?" I .asked.
■ Yes, and a co.il-black one, too," said the pilot;
■■ though it may have been a different kind of ani-
mal— like my snake here : one of the ' what-is-its '
that have no-cr been seen in North Anierici. You
will come across some curious creatures, if you are
going to hunt in these shore-thickets."
The pilot himself was a curiosity in his way. His
hair was braided into a sort of diadem, and he was
hung around with trinkets like ;m Indi.m medicine-
man. He had with him ;i tame snake that made
its heatl-t|uartcrs in the upper sleeves of his shirt,
and, judging from its color, the cre;iture seemed
really a nondescript — reddish-brown, with beautiful
orange-yellow spots and rings, antl with a black
zigzag line along its back. He would not sell it ;
but, when we reached Port Ciabriel, he took us to
a house where we coulil buy four toucans, or
rhinoceros-birds, besides some rare parrots, thus
getting us a basketful of pets on the first day of
our landing.
Near Port Gabriel, the banks of the Orinoco rise
into high bluffs, and the ground is dry enough for
foot-travelers ; but the vegetation is still wonder-
fully luxuriant. Some of the larger trees were sur-
rounded with such a wilderness of tangle-vines that
it was quite impossible to distinguish their foliage
and flowers ; onh' the palins towered above the
undergrowth, like steeples above a jumbled mass of
houses; and a few of the lower plants could be
distinguished by the peculiar shapes of their leaves.
The children of the Indian settlers wore a grayish-
green head-dress, which 1 mistook for a painted
straw hat, with a short brim, until I found that it
was made all of one piece — the pitcher-shaped
flower-sheath of a species of tulip-tree. The store-
keeper was the only white man in the settlement,
and, hearing that we were bound for the western
frontier, he procured us an extra guide, a swift-
footed Indian lad, who could show us the way ;is far
,as the Lasrar Mission, where we should find a good
road to the mouth of the Rio Meta. The little
fellow's speech was a queer muddle of Spanish and
of L.ascarese ; but he evidently knew what he was
hired for, and, pointing to the woods and then to
our hunting implements, he gave us to understand
that we should soon till our li.iskets with birds and
beasts. We certainly had dogs enough to do it.
The village swarmed with Indian curs, and, when
we started the next morning, ten or twelve of them
followed us with gambols and merry yelps. The
poor fellows probably thought we were out on a
forage, and hoped to come in for a share of venison ;
but Daddy Simon ch.ased them Iwck — all but one,
a long-legged wolf-hound, of a breed which the
Indians often use in their panther-hunts.
About six miles from the landing, we came to a
creek, with a hanging bridge of Ii,-ina-ropes, and
622
IN NATURE S WON DE K 1. A X I).
Ui«.,
an artilicial ford of submerged logs, where our
mule could wade across without getting beyond her
depth. Our new hound cleared the creek with a
single leap ; but old Rough, having entered the
water rather cautiously, suddenly drew back, and
ran up and down the bank as if he were afraid to
repeat the experiment.
"What's the matter with that dog?" asked
Tominy. " Ho is n't afraid of cold water, is he.'"
" Come on," said I. " He will soon follow us if
he sees us going away."
Hut Rough still ran to and fro, with an appear-
ance of great uneasiness, until our vanguard had
turned the comer, when he at last plunged in and
paddled across, splashing and howling as if he were
bathing in a tub of scalding hot water. Our little
pioneer watched him with great attention, and
repeatedly called out a word in liis native language.
"What is it, Nino.'" 1 asked, pointing to the
creek — " alligators ? "
"No, no!" cried he, and shook his head.
" Mere," holdmg out his finger with a repetition of
the Lascarese word. We could not make out what
he meant. But, seeing that Rough had got safely
across, we continued on our way and had almost
forgotten the incident when Tommy suddenly
stopped short, and, throwing himself on the
ground, caught Rough's head with both hands.
" tiood heavens!" cried he, "look here. No
wonder the poor fellow would not cross that creek.
Look at his throat ! "
That explained it, indeed. From his throat to
his llanks, the old dog was entirely covered with
swamp-lecchcs, most of them not larger than a
pencil-stump, but some as big as a man's finger.
We removed them as well as we could ; but,
between the bites of the little pests and our clumsy
operation, the poor dog lost half the blood in his
body. He was hardly able to follow us ; but the
young Lascar and his hound were resdessness
itself Not content with keeping ahead of us, the
little barefoot lad made detours to the left and
right, and often through thickets of thorny mes-
quites, paying no heed to the sharp spines.
"Why, that's nothing," laughed Menito. "I
could do that myself two years ago. That 's what
they call Indian sandals."
As a matter of fact, the sole of the human foot
can become as tough as any shoe-leather ; and,
while shoes wear out from day to day, our natural
sole-leather improves in course of time, till a bare-
foot man is actually able to crush a thorn by step-
ping upon it. Nay, the Indians of the Peruvian
highlands walk unhurt with naked feet over old
lava-beds, in places where the ground resembles a
field strewn with heaps of broken glass.
The Indians of the lower Orinoco live on the
spontaneous products of nature, and their forest
is, indeed, an inexhaustible store-house of animal
and vegetable food. The thickets swarmed with
gazapos, a kind of short-eared rabbits, and, at
the foot of a little hillock, a black cock-pheasant
came fluttering across our road and «as captured
before it had reached the underbrush. " There
must be hunters around here," said Tommy ; " this
poor rooster is crippled, 1 see."
The pheasant seemed to have broken one of its
wings, and w.ns too tattered-looking for a men-
agerie-bird, so Menito killed it at once and put it
in our mess-bag. We supposed that there must be
an Indian huntmg-parly in the neighborhood, but,
when we reached the top of the hillock, a young
puma jumped out of the liana-brambles and whisked
up a tree when he saw our wolf-hound. There he
stopped, and, peeping through the lower branches.
A DVKN ri kiis IN rill-: amkkk an tropics.
623
kept up a continuous growl, exactly like a tomcat
on top of a fence with a swann of dogs around,
rominy had alre.idy leveled his gun, but the young
L.iscar sIo|)ped him widi .1 friglitened exclamation,
.ind pointed to the woods, shaking his head vio-
lently, by way of emphasizing his protest.
" He me.ins the puma's relatives will come after
us," siiid I, "but he is right: let the creature
alone ; we have no use for him, and he has not
done us any harm."
■'.And that 's more than the puma can say,"
laughed Mcnito. " I believe we have stolen his
supper: this phe.isant came running down-hill
when I saw hini first."
Before we were out of sight, we turned around
to see if the puma was still on guard, and, sure
enough, his yellow heail was still peeping from
between the lower branches. He had stopped his
growling, but from the depths of the woods on our
right we heard a singular noise, as i.*" a herd of
cattle were breaking through the underbrush.
■■ Listen! What can that be.'" asked Tommy.
I was un.ible to tell ; as far as 1 knew, the settlers
o( these river-bottoms kept no cows, and deer are
rather scarce in e.Tstcrn W'nezucla. Before anything
came in sight, the big wolf-hound d.ished into the
thicket, going straight in the direction of the myste-
rious noise. Rough merely pricked up his ears ; the
swamp-leeches had cured his racing propensities
for a day or two. I knelt down
to examine his swollen throat,
while my companions pursued
their way, and 1 had not yet
come up with them,
when the crash of
a mighty gallop
came through the
» oods, and, looking
up, 1 saw Menito
pull his frightened
mare behind a tree,
while Daddy Simon
snatched away Tommy':
gun » ith a violence that
almost knocked him
down. The young Lasc.Tr
had thrown himsi'lf flat on
the ground, and in the i.
first terror of an unknown
danger I followed hia example,
holding Rough by the throat,
.is D.iddy Simon did Tommy,
who seemed wild with indigna-
tion at such unceremonious
treatment. But in the next moment he, too,
crouched down, panic-stricken : a herd of peccaries
came thundenng through the bushes, in head-
long pursuit of the luckless wolf-hound, who, hap-
pily for the salivation of our little party, made
straight for the place where he h;id seen us last,
and before he irould turn to the right, the boars in
the \anguard had cut olT his way and ch;ised him
straight ahead toward the river-bottom, where finally
the uproar of the wild chase dietl away in the dis-
tant shore-thickets.
"That dog started tlie wrong game," laughed
Menito.
"It 's the luckiest thing he ever did that he
managed not to start them running this w.iy,"
remarked old Daddy.
"Why, would they have t.ickled us?" asked
Tommy.
" Tackled us ? They would have torn us limb
from limb," said the Indian.
"Yes, indeed, Tommy," I added, "if you had
fired that gun, it would have been your last shot."
"Then I have to ask Daddy's pardon," said
Tom. "To say the truth, 1 thought he was going
to rob me or kill nic, by the way he acted. Why,
according to that, peccaries must be i|uiie unman-
ageable brutes."
" In large numbers they are," I replied. "A
herd of them is more dangerous than a pack of
hungry wolves. The old boars do not know any
such thing as fear if they arc in a rage."
"Then I wonder how the Indians catch them,"
said Tommy. " Don't you remember the large pile
of peccary-skins they had for sale in .San Gabriel ?"
"They take them in pitfalls," said old Daddy,
" and I have heard about their using charms, but
I don't believe it : peccaries have no religion what-
ever, and are very hard to bewitch."
.As long as the echo of the crashing gallop w.ts
6.M
l.\ NATUKK S WONUKRI.ANI).
IJlKB.
slill aiidibli.', ciur ilo},' K(ui|,'li hail stoDtt bpcll-lxmnd,
liMikin}; lixcdly in llio sjimo direction, but, hearing
a ruslle in the thickets on tlie other side, he turned
his l\cad that way, and, suddenly setting up a
tierce l>ark, trotted forward as fast as his weak legs
would carry him.
'• Dear me ! More peccaries ?" whispered Tomm)-.
•' Look out, or we shall get ourselves into a scrape,
after all."
'• .No, look here — it 's an ant-bear," cried Menito.
'■ (^uick -run ! We can head him off — it 's quite
a young one."
Tin- three hoys started at the top of their speed,
and soon their triumphant
shouts told us that they
had brought their
game to bay.
Tommy's
his weak condition, w.-is no match for it, but the
presence of the boys kept it at bay until Tommy
approached it with his forked stick.
'• Let me handle that thing," cried Menito.
'• Yes, there he goes; give it here, quick !"
The ant-bear had suddenly started to its feet ;
but, before it had run twenty jjaces, Menito's fork
caught it behind the shoulders and pressed it
to the ground. Menito had to bear down with
all his might to hold the little anim.il, but help
was at hand. In spite of all his claws. Master
Longnose was overpowered, and clapped into one
of the wire prisons. While there was yet any
chance of escape, the ant-bear had struggled in
silence ; but, when it gave itself up for lost, it
broke forth in a noise unlike anything we had
ever heard before — a droning snort, I might call
it, accompanied with fierce coughs and grunts, as
if a band of hogs were mingling their music with
the melodies of a buzz-saw.
The shadows of the twilight began to
spread through the forest when our
ittlc guide at last brought
us to another creek,
and seemed
THE PASSRNCkh
message conlirmed my guess. " We 've got him,"
lie shouted, running up in hot haste. " He 's down,
going to fight us. C.et your hatchet. Daddy : Men-
ito says he can catch him with a forked stick. Oh,
come on, l"ncle, and see the fun ! " cried he, and as
soon .IS we had got the stick ready, the impetuous
Lid dragged me along until we came in sight of a
stnmge scene. An animal .ibout the size of a large
badger lay flat on its back, flourishing its long nose,
and poising its claws, ready for action. Rough, in
inclined to push on into the darkening woods
beyond.
" That wont do," said Daddy Simon. " I can
not hunt up water and fuel in the dark. We must
camp here and cook our supper."
The young Lascar stared ; but. seeing us unstrap
our blankets, he seemed to guess our intent, and
helped us to gather a large pile of fire-wood. If
there were any dry hills .ihead, our little Indian
had been right, though. We found that the
ADVENTURES IN THE AMERICAN TROlMi
625
:3'T 'it^^ -'^'' -'
" w& UUSr KILL IT AT THE KIKSI'
grounii w.i> a spongy swaiu|). tlr.iwing water wher-
ever wc stamped it. So. instead of pitching our
tent, we spread it hke a big hammock, and fastened
it between two poles and a large caucho-tree, whose
hollow trunk formed a sort of rtxif. People going
to camp in a tropical forest must not expect to be
"lulled to sleep by the stillness of the night," as
the northern poets say. In the X'enezuela virgin-
woods the time from sundown to midnight is
almost the noisiest part of the twenty-four hours.
Soon after dark, the oriyas, a species of whip-poor-
wills. K-gan to call to each other with a flute-like
whistle ; night-hawks whirred through the tree-tops;
and from the depths of the jungle came now and
then the scream of a larger bird ; it was the time
when the ocelot leaves its hiding-place and visits
the thickets and the roosts of the crested bush-
cock. .V strange buzz was in the air. Swarms of
beetles and night-butterflies seemed to be on the
wing, and from time to time we heard the click of
a large bat, as its jaws closed upon one of the poor
biuzcrs. But there are bats that do not content
themselves with insects, and, before we fell asleep,
I noticed a black object crawling over the white
Vol.. VIII.— 40.
canvas of our hammock, and, slapping it with my
hat, I recognized the squeaking chirp of a vampire,
the I'ampinis spa /ruin of the American tropics.
Menito grabbed it just when it was about to take
wing, and soon killed it. Whenever the night-
wind stirred the woods, the trees above and around
us flamed up with the glitter of a thousand lumin-
ous insects, — fire-midges, fire-flies, and fire-locusts,
— most of them apparently dozing in the foliage till
the wind waked them, although there were mo-
ments when they all seemed to join in a general
torch-light dance, making the trees sparkle as if a
shower of stars were drifting through the forest. I
had been sleeping for an hour or two when Tommy
shook me by the arm.
"What can l>e the matter with our dog? "said
he, with a yawn, and rubbing his eyes. " Did you
ever hear such howling.' There must be some-
thing wrong I "
Rough had taken charge of our baggage at the
foot of the tree, and, if there had been robbers or
wild beasts about, he would have barked in a ver>-
different way. His voice sounded like the whining
of a wolf — a most singular wailing howl, that might
626
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
U^"".
have made a person dream of witches and were-
wolves. W'c hardly knew what to do. As soon as
we tried to go to sleep and stopped talkm;^ to the
dog, his howling grew worse than before. At hist,
we Could not stand it any longer.
" We have now only that one dog," said Tommy,
" or I should .isk you to shoot him. He must be
crazy. What shall we do about it?"
"I don't know," said 1; "but I would give
something if we could go to sleep."
"What will you give me.'" asked Mcnito.
" For half a dollar I will get him as still as a mouse.
That dog is my countryman, and I do not want
you to shoot him. Will you let me try?"
"All right," 1 laughed. " Cio ahead."
Menito picked up his jacket and slipped down
the tent-pole, and that was the last we heard of
the werc-wolf music. The next morning we found
the two countrymen sleeping, cheek by jowl, at the
foot of the tree.
The birds in the tree-tops had almost finished
their morning concert when the creatures of the
lower woods were still half benumbed with the
heavy dew, and as we made our way through the
long, wet grass we could have captured bagfuls
of iguanas and lizards, if there had been room for
game of that sort. By and by, however, the
warmth of the rising sun penetrated the under-
brush, and all flying and creeping things were now
wide awake.
The young Lascar had led the way, a little
faster than we could follow, until something or
other seemed to draw his attention to a copse of
tree-ferns at the road-side. He stopped, and,
turning abruptly, grabbed me by the arm, looking
as wild as a hawk.
" J//ra, ;«;'nz .'" cried he, in Spanish. "Look
there, what a " but then followed a Lascarese
word of about sixteen syllables ; still, looking in the
direction of the coppice, I thought that the length
of the word really corresponded to that of a strange
creature crawling swiftly across our path. For a
stretch of about fifteen yards the herbs swayed up
and down, but running up, with all guns cocked, we
could find only a slimy streak in the grass ; the
reptile must have moved with the swiftness of a
panther-cat.
"A boa!" cried Tommy. "Quick — there it
goes, up the tree there ! You can see the boughs
moving."
About twenty yards from the road stood a cluster
of sago-palms, and at a considerable height from
the ground their stems were joined and intertwisted
with a maze of cordero-vines, but in the short lime
it had taken us to run up, the creature had actually
forced its way through that mass of tangle-wood,
and W.TS now out of sight in the tree-top. Museum
managers pay a high price for the skins of such
large boas, and we tried to dislodge the monster
by throwing stones and clubs against the lower
branches, when Menito bethought himself of
climbing a taxus-lrce on the other side of the
road.
"Yes, I can see it now," he shouted. "Come
up here — it is 'way up in that big palm-tree; you
can shoot it down like a turkey."
The lianas or bush-ropes of the Southern forests
are a great help to climbers, and even old Daddy
managed to follow us to the upper branches of the
taxus-trec. Menito w.as right ; the boa had taken
refuge in the top of the sago-palm, and seemed
to have noticed. us, to judge from its motions and
the uneiisy glittering of its little eyes.
" Now let us try," said Tommy. " Do you think
buck-shot will hit at that distance ? "
"Yes, they will," said I, "but we must kill
it at the first shot ; if it is only wounded, it will
fling itself down and give us the slip, after all.
Let us both aim at its head, and fire at the same
moment."
But the boa now clung to the stem of the palm,
with its head on the safe side, and we came near
committing the imprudence of firing at the rear of
its body, when old Daddy put his finger in his
mouth and gave the shrill whistle of a Mexican
muleteer. The boa started, and was still listen-
ing, with its head held out erect, when our two
guns went off together. Somehow or other we
had both aimed a trifle too low ; but the buck-shot
had done their work, and broken the monster's
neck-bones in several places. It started back, and,
suddenly reversing its coils, threw itself into the
lower branches, and caine plumping to the ground.
There its struggles continued, and we could thank
our good fortune that we were out of the way ;
the reptile was at least thirty feet long, and the
tail-end of its body struck out left and right with
a violence that made the branches fly in every
direction. It took it nearly half an hour to die,
and when it lay still, and our Indians came down
and tied it to a tree to pull its skin off, the tail
gave a twitch that made Menito take to his heels
with a scream of horror.
"Come back here, boy!" cried old Daddy.
"There is no danger. I tell you — that boa is only
shamming, trying to scare us; in reality, it is as
dead as a door-nail."
Thus far our road had led us through swampy
bottom-lands and densely wooded hillocks, but
towaril noon we found that the ground w.as getting
rather rocky, and when the sun inclined to the
west our guide halted on top of a steep emi-
nence, and |>ointcd to the open country at our
feet. It was a glorious sight : the broad valley
ADVENTURES IN THE A.MEKUAN IROIMCS.
627
of llu- Orinoco, with its bays and rocky headlands,
and at the mouth of a tributary strc.im thi- mission-
settlement of Soledad, in a thicket of orchards and
b;tnana-g;trdcns.
"That is the missionary's house, 1 suppose?"
said 1, pointing to a large stone building at the
junction of the two rivers.
"Yes, it used to be," said IXuldy Simon. "The
old government had put a Franciscan abbot in
charge of the place, but the monks went away
with the Spaniards, and the Indians have been
left to themselves ever since."
" How are they getting on.'" I asked. "Their
orchards seem to be in lirst-rate condition."
'• Oh, the trees take care of themselves," said
the guide, " and the Rio Claro is full of fish the
year round ; there is not much danger of star\'ing
in this country."
The Rio Claro was a fine mountain-stream, with
gravel banks, and we passed a place where the
gravel had been piled up in mounds, some of them
as much ;is twelve or fourteen feet high. "What
is all this?" said 1. "There have been gold-
hunters at work here, it seems?"
"Yes, treasure-hunters," said Daddy Simon.
" Some years ago, a fisher-boy found here a silver
MMD-KATING !inDRK.
cup and a piece of a golden chain, and it was sup-
posed that this must be the place where the
Spaniards had buried their tre.isure : so a lot of
people came up here from La Guayra in hopes of
making fortunes. They found nothing but gravel,
howc%'er, and it seems that the current of the river
must have brought those things down here, and
that the rest is buried somewhere farther up."
We stopped at the first cottage to inijuire after a
spring which old 1 ).ul<ly remembered to have seen
near the banks of the Rio Cl.iro. There was
nobody at home but an old woman, who had nearly
forgotten the language of the Spanish missionaries,
but she understood what we meant when we pointed
at the river and showed her our empty w.iter-
bucket. While she w;is j.ibbering away in her
strange dialect, 1 noticed at the farther end of her
porch a big cage full of little white things that
seemed to move about like birds, till 1 came nearer
and saw that the\- were rats — white and brown
speckled tree-rats, looking somewhat like guinea-
pigs, with long tails. .Seeing nie stare at the cage,
the woman took it down and handed me a rat, with
a sort of courtesy, as you would offer a stranger a
flower or an orange. Tommy gave her a silver
coin, .about the equivalent of an American twenty-
five-cent piece, whereupon we received five more
rats — willy-nilly. The generous old lad)- would not
be put oflf, and stuffed every one of them into one
of our empty cages.
"What makes them keep such strange pets?"
asked Tommy.
"They eat them," laughed old Daddy. "The
old chief that lives in the big stone house fattens
them by scores and hundreds. No proper person
would touch such things ; but what can you expect
from people that do not know a Sunday from a
Monday ? "
The Lascar Indians seemed, indeed, to be in
need of a missionary. Many of the children we
met in the street were entirely naked, and when we
had pitched our tent at the river-bank, some of
their grown-up relations visited us in the strangest
costume we had ever seen on human beings. One
big chief strutted around in a stove-pipe hat. with
a pair of embroidered slippers for epaulets ; and a
toothless squaw, looking old enough to be his
. grandmother, wore a boy's straw hat, with a bunch
of parrot-feathers. Another woman, who could
talk a little Spanish, was carrying a young child
that looked as red as a boiled lobster, although
her mother was almost too black to be called dark
brown.
" What 's the matter. Sissy?" asked Tom. " Are
you sick ? "
"Yes, sir; she has been steamed," said the
mother.
'' S/t;jmi-i/ ? How do you mean?"
"Why," was the parent's answer, "we put her
in a willow basket, and hung the basket over a
kettleful of boiling water."
■■ What did you do that for?" I asked. "Were
you trying to kill her?"
" No, to save her life," said the woman. " She
was bitten by an arafioii [a venomous spider], and
628
IN NATURE S WONDERLAND.
(June,
that 's iho best remedy. The poison seems to pass
out through the skin with the perspiration."
The aranon, or bird-eating spider of South Amer-
ica, is ahnost as big as a toad, red-brown, with long,
hairy legs and claw-feet, and a pair of venomous,
pincer-like fangs. The strangest thing about its
poison is that most persons hardly feel the bite at
first ; but after an hour or so, their hands or feet
begin to swell as if they had caught the erysipel;is.
The aranon often covers a whole bush with its gray-
ish-wlute net, and catclies birds as well as insects.
The threads of its net are, indeed, as sticky as
bird-lime, and strong enough to hold a good-sized
canary-bird.
We made a very good bargain that afternoon.
The Indians gave us a splendid king-parrot and
several purple pigeons, in exchange for a few pounds
of sugar and gunpowder, and the parents of our
young Lascar guide sold us a nursing Midas-mon-
key, with a baby — a funny, nervous little young
one that clasped his mother's neck as if he were
trying to choke her.
While we ate our supper, a swarm of Indian
children of all ages and sizes had gathered around
our camp, and, after playing with our rats and
monkeys, they began to throw stones at a mango-
tree near the river-bank.
" What in the world can those children be
after?" said I, seeing that they pursued their sport
with a growing interest.
" Hallo ! there is a big snake in that tree," said
Tommy. " Not a boa, though," he added, when
1 jumped up. " It 's a long red one, like those we
saw in southern Yucatan."
A big coral snake lay coiled up in a fork of the
tree, watching us with a pair of those glittering
eyes that are supposed to paralyze birds and small
animals.
'• Make those boys stop, Tommy," said I. " Let
us try an experiment. We can spare one of those
white rats. I am going to see if the eyes of the
snake will charm him."
The rats were quite tame, and the one we se-
lected clung to the knob of my walking-stick, and
stuck to his perch until I brought the knob in close
proximity to the head of the serpent. They looked
at each other for five or six minutes ; but when
the snake reared up, getting ready for action, the
rat jumped back and slipped into my sleeve with
the nimbleness of a weasel. A few days after, we
tried the same thing with a different result. The
snake paralyzed our rat with a snap-bite, and
gobbled liini up when he began to stagger around
like a blind puppy. So we almost suspected that
little animals have generally been bitten before
the>- act in the strange way which makes people
suppose that the eyes of a snake must have be-
witched them.
While we were watching the result of our experi-
ment, one of the little boys fooled with the monkey-
cage until the door came open, and, before we knew
it, the .Mid.TS-monkeys jumped out, and would
both have escaped if another boy had not caught
them in the nick of time. Hut, in the scuffle, the
old one dropped her baby, and, to our astonish-
ment, the youngster whisked up an acacia-tree,
with big, long thorns that prevented us from fol-
lowing him. AH calling and co.ixing was in vain,
and, when we found that we could not shake him
off, we fastened his mother to a long string to see
if we could not make her go up and bring him
down. But, for some reason or other, she refused
to go. and threw herself on her b.ack like a wild-cat
«hen we tried to drive her up.
"Let us try Bobtail Billy," said Menito. "He
likes to climb. I never saw him refuse a chance of
that sort."
We at once put Menito's suggestion into execu-
tion, but it quickly proved almost too much of a
success, for Billy bolted up the tree with a sudden-
ness that ne.arly snapped the string. But, when he
passed the b.aby, the little imp grabbed him. and
in a twinkling had both arms around his neck. At
the same moment, we pulled the string, -and,
though Billy struggled violently and snatched at
the thorny branches left and right, the b.aby still
stuck to him. resolved, as it seemed, to be skinned
alive r.ither than lose this new protector fate had
sent him. Down they came, locked together,
and we dragged them to where the youngster's
mother had been tied up in the interxal. When
she saw her bantling, she jumped up and made a
grab at him ; but, in a strange fit of jealousy, Billy
now declined to surrender his charge, and he was
making for the tree again, when Menito stopped
him, and put all three of them in the same wire
b.asket, to let them settle their family quarrels at
their leisure.
i To /V Loutinufj. )
WAS KITTY CURKD.'*
629
WAS Kirrv cuKi 1)
HV M AKV (iKAIIAM.
Kirrv Brown was a nice little girl, but she
had one fault : she never would remember to put
down the piano-lid, when she had finished prac-
ticing. Now, there were two reasons why it was
important for her to remember this
duty : one was, that the piano was
ver)- much afflicted with asthma, and
it always grew worse if it took cold
in any way. Another reason was,
in case of visitors coming in. When
nCES *' THE FAI
the piano-lid was down, and the nice, pretty cover
which Mrs. Brown had embroidered was spread
over it, no one would have suspected that this piano
was not just as good as any other in the city of
rh'I 1' '■ i.ia. But if the lid was up, the visitor,
m:; '. might be, w.is sure to try to play on it,
«hi! ingforMrs. Brown to come down. Now,
no one could really play on that piano but Mrs.
Brown and Kitty, and the music-teacher, so that
you may imagine any visitor's disappointment at
finding, instead of the sweet musical soimds they
were accustomed to at home, only a wheezy, asth-
matic noise, and what the Brown family had long
ago named the " rattle-btme accompaniment."
" Kitty," s;»id Mrs. Brown to her daughter one
day, after she h.td been very much mortified by
some of the comments of her visitors, about her
piano ; " Kilty, I am going to make some mince-
pies next week, for Christmas, and I intend to
give you some dough and mince-meat, to make a
little turn-over for you and your friends ; but 1 shall
only give it upon one condition."
"Oh! Mother, .Mother," answered Kitty, joy-
fully. '• You know 1 Ml do anything for you, if
you really will let nie make a turn-over out of some
of your good dough and mince-meat."
"But listen to the condition, Kitty: it is. that
you will not forget, once, between this and then,
to put down the pianti-lid after you have finished
practicing, — not once, remember ! "
'• That 's a very easy con-
dition, 1 'm sure. Mother,
and 1 'm certain to earn my
little pie. if that is all I have
^o do to get it."
'• \:ery well ; now be sure
and remember, after this,
for if you forget once, you
know what you forfeit."
"Oh ! I 'II not forget,"
and away skipped Kitty,
full of joy at the thought
of her mother's kindness.
That afternoon, she sat
down to practice, and had
it in her mind about clos-
ing the piano, after her
hour was up. But pretty soon she heard the
sound of a street organ on the pavement outside,
and she ran out to see if a funny little monkey,
which had been there a few days before, had come
again. Of course she did not stop to close the
piano, for she fully intended to return in a few
minutes, but sure enough, there was the monkey,
performing all sorts of antics, and so long did it
take her to watch him, and listen to the organ, and
run up for some pennies, that she forgot all about
the piano, until that evening at the tca-Lible her
mother said to her. in a sorrowful tone of voice :
"Now, Kitty, you've forfeited your little pie
already ; you forgot to put the piano-lid down this
afternoon."
" Oh-h-h-h ! so I did, but indeed. Mother, the
monkey made me ; I should n't h.ave thought
of forgetting, if it had not been for him ; wont
you plc.Tse try me again? I don't think I could
possibly forget, to-morrow."
"Well, I '11 try you ag:iin ; but this time you
must not forget it."
The next day, Kitty sat down to the piano with the
best intentions; she was practicing very diligently.
6;o
WAS KITTY CURED I
(Jt-NE,
for slic liopcd to know " The Fairy Wedding Walu: "
well enough to play it at the entertainment which
was to be given in their school the day before
VT TO SHOP FOR THE TEACHER S PRESENT.
Christmas. Neither her school-mates nor teachers
would have been able to recognize what Kitty was
playing, had they listened to her as she played it
at home. But Kitty knew it was the very same
that she had been playing on the school piano
every day at recess for the last week or so. To be
sure, it sounded very dift'ercntly on her own
asthmatic instrument, and with the rattle-bone
accompaniment, but Kitty had it so well in her
mind, and at her fingers' ends, that she could
almost hear the tune of it as she played, although
the part in which she ran up the piano with her
forefinger could not be performed in such
grandiose manner as usual. Toward the end of something better than that for his wife
just wait. Come up to the nursery and get warm.
We have a splendid fire there in the grate."
Kilty had asked her mother's permission at
dinner-time to go with her school-mates
if they should come for her ; and, as Mrs.
Brown was now out, there was no one to
remind her about the piano, so that she
never once thought of it again until tea-time.
" Kitty," began Mrs. Brown, mournfully,
"you have forfeited your little pie again.
You know you were only to have it upon
one condition, and that you have
forgotten to fulfill."
"So 1 have, .Mother. But indeed
I would not have forgotten, only for
Annie Peters and the other girk
coming for me. We really did
have to go to choose Miss Col-
ton's present. Wont you let
me try once more? Indeed,
no matter who may come to
morrow, I shall be sure to re-
member it."
" Well, you may try just
once more. But remember,
you must not expect such a
favor again."
"Oh, thank you. Mother!"
The next day, a great
many important things took
place, and when Kilty sat
down to practice, her mind
was full of the events of the
morning, so that she played her scales and pieces
without thinking much about them. When her
hour was up, she arose from her seat in a kind
of day-dream, and walked deliberately out of the
room, without thinking of closing the piano.
That afternoon, some visitors came in, and Mrs.
Brown, who was busy making mince-meat in the
kitchen, could not come into the parlor imme-
diately. The visitors, who happened to be very
fond of music, took turns in trying to draw some
out of the instrument; but, one after another, they
gave up in despair.
" 1 should think Mr. Brown could afford to get
and
her practicing hour, she heard the door-bell ring,
and then when Hannah went to the door she could
hear the voices of some of her little school-mates
asking for her. She knew what an important errand
they had come upon, and she rushed out to greet
them.
" You must go with us to choose Miss Colton's
children ; you can buy a good piano for a mere
song, now, at auction," said one of the visitors — I
will not say ladies, for a perfectly well-bred person
would not have made such a remark.
At that moment, Mrs. Brown came into the par-
lor, just in time to catch the last part of what her
visitor had said. Of course, neither she nor the
Christmas present," began Annie Peters, breath- others enjoyed the inter\-iew very much, and she
Icssly. felt exceedingly vexed with her little daughter for
" Oh, yes. 1 '11 be ready in a minute, if you '11 again having been the cause of such annoyance to
WAS KITTY CURED?
63'
her. If Killv h.iil (uiK lelt the piano closed, no
one woulil liave thoujjht of iloinj; anything,' to it
but look at it, anil in a|)|X'arance it was very much
like any other. Indeed, it had a pair and a half of
ver)' line lej^, and the pedal was ipiite respectable ;
while .IS for the embroidered cover, there were few-
prettier ones on this side of the Atlantic.
"And now, Kitty," said Mrs. Urown to her
little girl, "you do not descr\'c that 1 should j;ive
you another chance. It is to<i bad that I should
have sutTered such niortilication on account of your
forgetfulness."
"Oh, Mother! I know I do not deser\-e another
chance, but you "ve often given me things I did not
desen-e, because you say we all, grown people and
cveryb<xly, get more than we deserve ; so, if you '11
only let me try once more, I Ml not ask you again
if I forget this time."
" Well now, remember, this must be the very
last time. No little pie for you to bake if you for-
get to put the piano down between this and Mon-
day, for that is the day I begin my baking. So
you will only have to-day and to-morrow, for then
comes Sunday."
"Oh! thank vou. dear, kind Mother, iml <lo
" I 'II remember," said Kitty, quite .is sure as if
she had the best memory, for a little girl, in the
world.
That afternoon, when Kitty was practicing, the
door-bell rang, and some of her mother's friends
were announced.
Poor, anxious-hearted Mrs. Brown, with face
very white, rushed in by one parlor door, hurried
Kitty from her position, and closed the piano, just
as the visitors entered by the other door.
What a relief to Mrs. Brown, to know that she
had succeeded in preventing any mortification to
herself, for that afternoon ! And what a relief to
Kitty, to know that she would not have to remem-
ber any more for that day ! Only one more day,
and then she would be sure of her turn-over for
Christmas. She would ask her mother to let her
invite her little friends to help her eat it on Christ-
ni.is afternoon.
The next day came, and Kitty felt sure she
should not forget, this time. She practiced very
diligently now, for in a few days they would have
their school exhibition, and her music-teacher had
told her she would ha\e to know her piece a great
deal better to play it before n room full of visitors,
k
r)u think I could forget now, when you have been than when she was only playing it to herself or
I • leaning' with me?" She meant "lenient." some admiring friend. And so she played " The
"I don't know; but, if you do, you must not Fairy Wedding" over and over again, until she
>i[)CCt to bake any little pie ; remember that." almost knew it with her eyes shut ; then she played
k
63-
TK.WVlilikKl lis ! KITE ST R A W HE I< R 1 ES ! "
(Juke,
her scales to make her fingers limber, iheii she
played the waltz, imtil she t;re«' fairly tired, and
every fintjer ached.
Just as she was wondering; whether it «a.s time
to stop, her father put his head into the parlor,
and called her to liiin. It was such an unusual
thinj; for him lo be home so early in the afternoon,
that she jumped up in joyful surprise and ran out
to greet him.
'' Here, Kitty," he said, holding a large parcel
in his hand, " if you know how to keep a secret,
just hide this, until the night before Christmas: it
is my present to your mother, and 1 don't want her
to know anything about it until then."
"Oh ! 1 '11 hide it in my closet: I know what
it is, too : a set of furs, is n't it ? "
" Never mind — you 'd better not know, and then
you can keep the secret better."
Kitty ran up to her room, and hid the parcel,
and, sad to say, never or\cc thought of the piano
until the nexf morning, when her mother said to
her, solemnly :
'■ Kitty, the piano was up all night, owing to
your carelessness: I was too busy to go in there
last evening, but discovered it this morning. I fear
the piano will take a ver\' bad cold. "
■' Yes — it is always cold in there at night,"
chimed in Mr. Brown. " and of course that is very
bad for the asthma and rheumatism."
" I fear \ou will not be able to recognize your
piece for a few days," said Mrs. Brown, sadly :
then, after a preparator)' pause, " and of course,
Kitty, you will not now expect your little pie."
"Of course not " answered Kitty, meekly:
then, in a few minutes, brightening up, she said :
" Hut indeed, Mother, if you only knew what made
me forget, this time, you would not be hard on me.
Do you think she would. Father?"
" S-s-h ! " said Mr. Brown, very much fearing
that Kitty would not be able to keep his little secret
for him. Then he said, hurriedly: '• No, don't be
hard on her, wife."
" I don't really think 1 have been," replied Mrs.
Brown; "but it seems to me Kitty ought to have
something to make her remember — no, 1 don't
think she need expect to bake her little pic."
The next day, when Kitty came home from
school, she found her mother in the midst of mak-
ing her pies. She sat down in a corner of the
kitchen, :md watched her: it w.is so interesting to
see the pieces of p.astry which were cut off from
each pic, as Mrs. Brown's deft fingers shaped them ;
these were the pieces which Kitty had once hoped
to profit by, but now she had no such expectations.
Mrs. Brown looked over at her with eyes full of
compassion.
"Of course, Kitty," she began, "you do not
expect to get any of this dough, nor any of this
mince-meat."
"No, Mother, of course I do not expect any;
but you know you told me once that ' blessed are
they that expect nothing' because they shall not be
disappointed ; and I should not be a bit disap-
pointed if you should give me just enough to make
a dear little pie for myself and .Annie Peters, and
MaiTiie Goodwin, and Alice Adams; and if I could
only have them here Christmas afternoon to help
me eat it, 1 'm sure I should never forget to put
down the piano-lid again. You said I needed
something to make me remember it, and I am sure
this would, more than anything else I could think of.
Of course 1 don't expect you to. and I will not even
ask you. because 1 promised not to ask you again
— but — oh ! you dear, kind, good leaning mother —
is all that for me ? all that dough and that mince-
meat ? 1 can make two turn-overs, and that w ill
be a half a one apiece, and I am very, very sure I
shall never forget to put down the piano-lid again :
and now 1 must rim up and get my little pic-board
and pastry roller."
And Kitty ran off with a light he.art and with
beaming eyes, feeling sure her mother would never
have reason to be sorry that, after all her little
girl's carelessness, she was going to let her bake
her turn-over and have a good time at Christmas
with her young friends.
But do you think Kitty ever again forgot to put
down the piano-lid ?
SlRAWUKRKlKS ! Ripc straw-berrics ! '
Shouted big Johnny Strong ;
And he sold his b.askets readily
To folks who came along.
But soon a tiny \oice piped forth,
"Mci.x."' Nell could not shout
.\s John did. Yet she too inust sell
The fruit she Ixire about.
" Hi>, siRAW-nKRR-K-K-s ! " roared lusty John.
•Mr. i,«,i" piped Nell, so sad.
And Johnny made good sales thai d.iv.
But Nell sold all she had.
1 11 i: \P iN 111 ur ROSES.
633
c^'-^^ ^^J-'
;^t?ifj^-^
634
THE ST. NICHOLAS TRE ASU RE - BOX.
IJUNB,
THK ST, NICHOLAS TRK ASU R IMiOX OF L IT 1:R AT U R K.
All. who live in this favi)rc<l land know the wealth
of il> lavish >un)mcr and rejoice that its " June may be
lnil of the |)<H)re>l comer — June, with its son^s, its
to>e>, anil its warm, Nwift breezes — and they wdl Ix;
ready to echo in their hearts every word of Lowell's
l)eautiful \erses which the Treasure-box offers you this
month.
You will find, as you sec more and more of literature,
that almost every good writer ha.s his special line or
style of wrilini', ami ha.s won fame by excelling in that
s|>ccial line. For instance, of modern authors, we speak
of Thackeray, deorge Kliot, and Dickens as great
novelists; of Ruskin and farlylc as great essayists or
critics ; of Scott and Hawthorne as romancers ; and
of Tennyson and Longfellow as poets. But now and
then we find a man who, writing in all these ways,
proves himself a master in each. .Vmong the foremost
of such writers is James Russell l^owell. He is poet,
essayist, critic, humorist, all in one. For a long lime,
he was a professor in Harvard University; but, as many
of you know, he is now — to the honor of his country
— serving as .\nicrican minister to England.
.Mlhough Lowell ha.s written almost entirely for grown-
up readers, there is many a page of his works that
would help you to appreciate good literature, and many
a description or poem that would charm and delight you.
For Lowell, with all his learning and deep thought,
keeps himself forever voung at heart, — as, indeed, do all
true poets, — and his writings are full of the spirit and
joy of youth and of youthful delight in life. This is
shown clearly enough in the following short extract
describing the sights .md sounds of the happy month of
June. It is taken from his noble |>oem, " Tne \'ision of
A June D.\y. — By James Russell Lowell.
Ani> what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, conic perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays :
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
.■Vn instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light.
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling b.ick over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace ;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and
sings ;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her
nest, —
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now is the high tide of the year,
.And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer.
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it.
We are happy now because God wills it ;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are
green ;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ;
We may shut our eyes, but we can not help
knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our car.
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are
flowing.
That the river is bluer than the sky.
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack ;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing. —
.\nd hark ! how clear bold chanticleer,
W'armed with the new wine of the year.
Tells' all in his lusty crowing !
Jt'ST Iwfore June comes in with her iieerless days, and
while May still is awaiting her arriv.il. our )>eople unite
in doing grateful service to the many soldiers who fell in
the late terrible national struggle known .is our Civil
War. They deck the crowde<l graves with flowers, and,
while they recognize and mourn over the War as a great
calamity, they love to rememlier the brave and true hearts
who yielded up life for their country's honor and Iwst
prosperity. We cannot go into the story of the War,
here. It is written in the great l>ook of Human Ijfc,
with which you all shall, day by day, grow more familiar,
and which even now you .ire reading m the light of your
own homes. Fnougli for the Tre.isure-lK)x, to say that
every great country, at some pcrio<l of its history, has had
to fight for its existence ; and that, at such times, when the
whole land is aglow with ze.il and excilen)enl, songs and
utterances spring from the vcrv heart of the hour and
Ixxromc forever a |>art of the nation's literature. Such an
THE ST. NICHOLAS T REASU RIC - BOX.
635
utterance is the selection we give you this month, — the in Novcmlicr, iSO^.of the solJicrs' Imrial-ijrounM, on the
renowned speech of Abmhain Lincoln at the detlicntion, haltlc-lieUI of lletiysburg:
I'RtsiUEM Lincoln's Speklh ai GEiTYSBURr,.
FoVRSCORE .ind seven yc.irs ayo, our fathers
brought forth upon this continent a new nation,
conceived in hberty, and dedicated to the proposi-
tion tliat all men arc created equal. Now, we arc
engaj;ed in a great civil war, testing whether that
nation, or any nation s«) conceived and so dedicated,
can long endure. NVe are met on a great battle-
tield of that war. We are met to tiedicate a
portion of it as the linal resting-place of those who
here gave their lives that that nation might live.
It is altogether titling and proper that we should do
this, but, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate,
we can not consecrate, we can not hallow, this
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who
struggled here, consecrated it far above our power
to .tdd or to detract. The world will little note
nor long rcnieniber what we say here, but it can
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the
living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfin-
ished work that the\' have thus far so nobly car>
ried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated
to the great tiisk remaining before us ; that from
these honored dead we take increased devotion to
the cause for which they here gave the last full
measure of devotion ; that we here highly resolve
that the dead shall not have died in vain ; that
the nation shall, under (iod, h.ave a new birth of
freedom ; and that government of the people, by
the people, and for the people, shall not perish
from the earth.
In connection with this granil .ind simple sjieech, close of the \V,ir, the women of Columbus, Mississippi,
you m.iy filly read, on " Decoration l>ay," the beautiful had shown themselves inip.->rtial in their ofTerincs made to
poem written by Judge Kinch. It w.-is inspired by a the memory of the dead, strewing flowers ahke on the
news[x»i>cr paragraph slating that, two years after the graves of the Confederate and of the National soldiers.
The liiAE .\.\n the Gray.* — By F. M. Klnch.
i
By the tlow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled.
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
.Asleep are the ranks of the dead; —
L'nder the sod and the dew.
Waiting the judgment day; —
Under the one. the Blue ;
Under the other, the Gray.
These in the robings of glory.
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory.
In the dusk of eternity meet; —
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day; —
Under the laurel, the Blue ;
Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go.
Lovingly laden with flowers,
.'Mike for the friend and the foe ; —
L'nder the sod and the dew.
Waiting the judgment day; —
Under the roses, the Blue ;
l'nder the lilies, the Gray.
So, with an equ.il splendor.
The morning sun-rays fall.
With a touch impartially tender.
On the blossoms blooming for all ; —
* The Unjoa ur Nonhcm toldtcn wore hlu
Lender the sod and the dew.
Waiting the judgment day ; —
Broidered with gold, the Blue ;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So, when the summer c.illeth.
On forest and tield of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain ; —
L'nder the sod and the dew.
Waiting the judgment day ; —
Wet with the rain, the Blue ;
Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding.
The generous deed w.ts done ;
In the stonns of the years that are fading.
No braver battle was won ; —
L'nder the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day; —
L'nder the blossoms, the Blue ;
L'nder the g.arlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever.
Or the winding rivers be red ;
They banish our anger forever
When they l.iurel the graves of our dead I
l'nder the sod and the dew.
Waiting the judgment day;-
Love and tears for the Blue ;
Tears and love for the Gray.
ift ; the ConfciJcrale soldien wore gray.
636
SALTILLO BOYS.
Ul'K^
SALTILLO BOYS.
liV Wll.l.lAM (). Srol>l)ARD.
Chaptkk IV.
ABOLT THE CANDIDATES.
Jim Swav.nk did not fail to make a full report
to Fanny of his talk with iMr. Ayring.
" I can bring along boys enough, too," he added,
confidently ; " but it wont do to be in too great a
hurry. There are all sorts of talk about it among
Madame Skinner's girls."
Fanny would hardly have told even her brother
how keen an interest she was beginning to take in
the matter.
She was a tall, showy-looking young lady, of full
sixteen, and the slightly haughty expression of her
mouth might have made some people think she
would be above mingling with such an affair of
mere boys and girls as a " May-Day Festival."
She had been present the previous year, how-
ever, and had now before her mind's eye a vivid
picture of the crowded hall, with its brilliant lights,
its hanging flags, its festooned evergreens, and its
prodigal display of flowers.
She remembered, too, the music, the applause,
and how very beautiful Belle Roberts looked, march-
ing in upon the stage with her maids of honor and
her bowing retinue of young gentleman attendants,
and she was sure in her heart that she could her-
self exceed the triumphant success of that or any
other "crowning."
It was to be a "public appearance," as the
central figure, the obser\ed of all obser\'ers, the
mark for, perhaps, two thousand pairs of admiring
eyes, and the prospect of it thrilled her from head
to foot.
She had great confidence in James and his zeal
and energy. Nothing could be better devised than
the little plot of Mr. Ayring. The result seemed
as sure as anything could be, but the flush of hope
and gratified pride faded away from her cheeks as
she muttered: "There 's nearly a week for some-
thing to happen in. I may not be elected, after all."
The Park girls were not planning her election,
when so many of them gathered, after school, in
the parlor of the Roberts's dwelling.
They talked of many candidates, but tliere w.as
one street, not far below the Park, beyond which no
suggestion of theirs had big enough wings to fly.
"Beyond that," as one of them s;iid, "all the
girls go to >Iadame Skinner's."
No amount of grace or beauty could make up
for such a misfortune, as long as there were an;
Park girls to choose from.
There did once rise a faint voice with: "What
if they should set up Fanny Swayne?"
"She?" exclaimed Dora Keys. " Why, she 's
too old. She was graduated from boarding-school
last year. She '11 be out in society in a season or
two."
Belle Roberts had been barely fourteen when
the May diadem had fallen upon her glossy brown
hair, but she was a year older now, and her friends
seemed still to regard her as a sort of c|ueen-model
to go b\'.
It was not long, therefore, with Dora's help,
before a second line of exclusion was formed, as
fatal to candidates as was the cross street this side
of .Madame Skinner's school.
The number " fifteen " began to have a kind of
magic, and the girls who could not show a birthday
with those figures upon it were pitilessly set aside
as too young.
Half of the present company and a larger frac-
tion of their absent school-mates were under the
mark, and the problem was made more simple by
having just so many girls less to pick from.
Old age was as fatal as extreme youth, and
" sixteen, going on seventeen " was also ruled out
by common consent.
Dora had a kind heart, and she could but put
her plump, white hand on the shoulder of pretty
Jenny SewcU, and whisper: "You may have a
chance next year, darling."
Belle Roberts overheard it, and added, in her
frank, smiling way : " Yes, Dora dear, and you '11
be a year too old, then." *
" 1 'm Just barely fifteen now."
" Hut you could pass for more and not half try."
" I don't mean to try."
The young lady "caucus" was even more ani-
mated than that of the boys had been, but there is
an old proverb in the army that " a council of war
never fights." They could not and did not agree
upon any one candidate, and so Belle had to tell
J.ick after they h.ad gone.
" No candidate ! " he exclaimed. " Now that 's
fimny. It must be that they all want it."
"Thcv all said thev did n't, — .Ul but Dora
Keys."
" She did n't, ch ? She would n't m.ike a bad
queen, if once she were upon the platform. The
trouble is. she 'II never get there."
S \ I MM
'• You could n't make her believe that. '
" She W better, then. She 's a year too ohi ;iiul
a head ttxi tall."
•• How woulil Joniiy Sewell do?"
" Capitally, if Hob Sewell were not so high and
tnighty. The boys 'd vote for her, may be, but
they «ont w.int to sot him up any hijjher."
•' .Makint; her i|ueen would n't make him king."
■•Ile'd look at it th.it way. He feels bigger
than the mayor now, and he is n't twenty."
•• I don't see whom you can take, then, unless
it 's Sarah Dykeman."
" She 'd do splendidly, if you could get her to
take it."
" Don't vou think she would ?"
" Did n't she say she would n't ?"
■' Well, yes; she s.iid so "
'• Then she wont. That 's just the difference
between her and the rest. She and Dora Keys
are honest."
••She' ' r Dora."
"Oi ■ '>ut Dora can't keep in any-
thing .slu • • herself."
" She thmks a good deal, then."
It was .ill said good-humoredly enough.
Dora had gone home with a growing con-
viction that her pros[K-cts were bright, and getting
hn.'ht.T. •• \i>i iin,- of them said anything again>-'
.4i ..^;.iu;.>,. They 'II havi ; ,, i.i ,,,v ..i else
it 'II be one of Mad.ime Skinner's girls."
That night, Dora had .is vivid a dream as h.td
Fanny Swayne, herself, of standing on a brilliantly
lighted platform. Ix-fore a vast, enthusi.istic crowd,
and with .i crown of roses on her head.
I''anny. indeed, had gone one step farther, for
she h.ad dreamed so vividly, while she was yet
wide awake, that she h.id pulled out from its hiding-
place the pretty white dress she had worn at her
" graduation," and had decided upon what it would
need to turn it into a royal "'coronation robe."
"The train will be the main thing," she said.
••It must be long enough for six maids of honor to
hold it up, — three on a side. The end of it must
fall to the floor behind them, with lilies on it. Yes,
the skirt can be lengthened, easily, and it is n't
very expensive stuff. I 'II have a prettier scepter,
too, than Belle had. Hers w.ns far too big and
clumsy. It looked .ts if it weighed a poundV
lim had been hard at work, and he had made
1- report.
■•Candidates? Oh, they're .ill t.ilking about
I rybody. They don't seem to have fixed on any
!L- name yet."
'• But the P.-irk set ?" asked Kanny.
•• Not a word. Some of our boys think they
■ist have heard of what Mr. .Ayring said, and
in to give it up. They know they can't do
i\ thing against him, with all the town to help
THK IXKlTION.
JKFK Carroll was a quiet, near-sighted, care-
less sort of fellow, with a strong tendency to chuckle
over the things close up to which his short vision
compelled him to bring his face.
It was not often, however, that his chuckle
seemed to have a deeper meaning in it than when
he and Will Torrance came together, half an hour
before school-time, in the morning.
Will was a character, in some respects, com-
bining a queer disposition to write poetry with a
liking for fancy poultry, and an ambition to be the
champion athlete of his set. He was, as yet, a
good deal more of a wrestler than of a poet.
He and Jeff were great cronies, and his entire
boy rose within him to inquire the meaning of that
chuckle.
"Can you keep a secret, Will ?''
" 1 can try. What 's up?"
" Old .Ayring 's going to have the May Queen
election come off next Tuesday evening."
•• I- vi'rybody knows that."
638
SALTILI.CJ BOYS.
Ui"**.
" And I know whom he 's t;oinj; to have
elected."
" How did you lind out ? "
" He 's havinjj some voting tickets printed in our
office, on the sly. 1 saw the proof this morning,
on Father's desk."
" You don't say ! "
'■('luess who it is."
" Can't do it. Some one of .Madame Skinner's
girls, 1 suppose."
" Not a one. Guess again. "
" Give it up. Unless he 's chosen me?"
"It 's Fanny Swayne ! "
" She 's pretty enough, and would make a good
queen. Is n't she too old, though ? "
" He does n't care, as long as his show goes off
to suit him."
" But Jim would be proud as a peacock."
" We wont let him. Will. Let you and I elect
a May Queen of our own."
"You and 1? Why. we count but two votes.
Some of the boys might go with us, if the girls
would let 'em ; but I don't believe you and I have
much influence with the girls."
" We don't need any. But 1 've picked out our
queen, if you 're agreed to try it."
"One 's as good as another, for me, if it is n't
Dora Keys, or Bob Sewell's sister, and if she 's
pretty enough and is n't too old."
" Did you ever see Milly Merriweather, Pug's
sister ? "
"Lots of times, but 1 never spoke to her.
It seems to me the girls rather snub her."
' ' She 's a quiet little thing, and the older girls
just lord it over one of that kind. I tell you what,
Will, that 's the very reason we ought to elect her.
But we must n't breathe it."
" We must ask her if she '11 consent."
" Not a word of it. She 'd say no, of course,
and spoil it all. The first thing she knows of it
must be her election. It must be a regular sur-
prise, all around."
" It '11 be a tre-mendous surprise to me, for one."
"No it wont. You come down town with me,
after school. 1 '11 show you. It 's time to go in,
now. Not a word to any of the boys."
The young politician blinked his gray eyes
merrily and walked away in a fit of chuckles that
seemed almost to choke him.
Will Torrance not only scribbled no poetry that
morning, but he .ictually c.irned a b.id mark in
geometry, which w.is his especial stronghold, next
after chickens. It was dreadfully severe on a boy
of fourteen to have a big secret to keep and only
know one-half of it, himself.
Even when the hour of noon recess caine. Will
was unable to obtain any consolation from Jeff.
That worthy did but blink at him in a most bar-
barous way and keep himself surrounded by a per-
petual body-guard of the other boys, in whose
quick-eared presence no secret could be safely
hinted at.
They were all "talking May Queen" but not
one of them spoke of Milly .Merriweather.
" We shall be like a pair of mittens," growled
Will. '• Only just two of us. It '11 take more
than that to elect her."
Nothing unusual occurred in school, that after-
noon, but the moment he reached the sidewalk
at the close of it, .ill of Jeff Carroll's indiflTerence
vanished.
" Come on, Will. I 'vc got it all worked out.
Let 's get awa)- before any of the rest hang on."
Will was ready, and away they went, down
town, at a pace that was almost a trot.
All the answer Jeff would give to any questions,
was :
" It 's all right. You '11 see."
He paused, at last, before the shop of a thriving
dealer in cheap literature and stationery.
That is, he did not so much pause .as plunge in,
and in half a minute more he w.ts .asking Will's
opinion of a large assortment of embossed "cards"
of staring colors, such as were greatly used for ad-
vertising purposes.
" Don't they blaze?"
" They 're .as big as my hand."
" Well, pretty nearly." said Jeff, chuckling.
" But they 're four times .as big as the tickets old
Ayring is having printed for Fanny Swayne's elec-
tion. Don't you see the dodge, now?"
" I begin to. Ever)- single small boy in the
chorus will take one of these for a ticket, sooner
than one of the little white ones."
"That 's it."
" And that is n't all of it. Jeff."
" What more, then ? "
" Every one of them '11 keep your pretty card,"
objected Will, "and put .Vyring's ugly one in the
ballot-bo.\."
"We must make them trade with us, where we
can. They '11 do it. And every chick and child
of 'em must have two. One to vote and one to
keep."
Jeff's electioneering powers were fit to make
an alderman of him, some day, and he and Will
divided between them the not very heavy cost
of three hundred of the most extraordinar\- p.iste-
boards in the stationer's stock.
" Now where. JelV ? "
"Where? Why. to our job-printing office. Old
McGce, the foreman, is a pet of mine. Me 'II
print Milly's name on the cards in bronze-gilt let-
ters, bright enough to dazzle the little fellows."
S.XLTll. LO HO VS.
639
JeflT h.id not at all overestimated his influence
with the rotund and jolly-looking (■. reman, and it
only needed a hint of what was up, to insure the
most absolute secrecy. Anything in the way of
election tickets wiis a direct appeal to the heart and
conscience of Corny Mcliee.
" Now, Will, we must keep perfectly silent about
this. We 're the only party in this election that
knows just what it 's about."
Jeff knew that his friend could do far better than
he could, in rallying active supporters. However,
Jim Swayne and Mr. .Ayring couKI have named
another "party" that knew what it meant to do
and how it meant to do it.
The next day was Saturd.iy, and the boys of Mr.
Hayne's school, .ns well as those of the Wedgwood,
were scattered far and wide by the customary holi-
day duties of young gentlemen of their age.
There were several games of base-ball that needed
to be played, and other affairs of equal importance
to be attended to, and Will Torrance had a trip of
two miles to make into the country, after a remark-
able pair of Bantam fowls.
Jeff "stood by his guns."
That is, he stood .as a sort of sentinel at Corny
McGee's elbow until the List of that lot of gorgeous
cards fell from the printing-press, with the name of
" Amelia Merriweather " printed thereon in full,
readable type, and the apprentice in attendance
had powdered the same to brightness with a sift of
glittering bronze.
If any small boy or girl could be proof against
the power of such an attraction ;is that, Jeff felt
that he should lose his confidence in juvenile
human nature.
That Saturday was a day of tri.il among the
young l.ndies.
There were endless "caucuses" but no "con-
ventions," and no one of the several gatherings
knew what the others might be doing.
Late in the day a direful rumor began to spread
among the girls w ho h.id brothers, or whose friends
had brothers at the Wedgwood school, to the
effect that Jim Swayne h.id pledged six of the best
boys there to help him elect his sister.
" Fanny is to be a candidate, then ! " came from
many li()s.
Fanny could have obtained a larger idea of her
age, if not of her other qu.ilities, if she could have
listened to all the comments called out by that
little piece of news, as it traveletl so fast among the
girls of Saltillo.
The next day was Sunday, .ind of course the May
Queen business was dropped, but Monday could
fairly have been described .is "busy." So busy,
in fact, that by sunset the confusion was worse than
ever in all the camji-, and councils but those cif Mr.
Ayring and Jim Swayne, and of Jeff Carroll and
Will Torrance.
It is possible that IJora Keys imagined herself a
camp and council or something of the sort, for at
least a dozen of the smaller girls had said, or h.ad
allowed her to say without any contradiction, that
her chances were as good .is those of any other girl
.iround the Park.
Belle Roberts asked her brother, at supper, what
he thought of Dora's chances.
" That 's just what 1 have n't been doing, Belle."
" Don't you think she h:is any ? "
"There 's no telling where the lightning may
strike. But I think she 's safe. The fact is, Belle,
the Wedgwood boys and old Ayring are going to
be too much for us, this time."
It looked a gooti deal like it, and the Park boys
came together, on the morning of the decisive
Tuesday, with despairing hearts.
That suited the shrewd mind of Jeff C.irroll
e.xacdy, for they would be ready to bite at any kind
of chance for a victory.
He worked with care, nevertheless, and only ex-
plained his plan of battle to a select few, under
tremendous pledges of secrecy.
One after another, Charley Ferris, Otis Burr,
Jack Roberts, and Joe Martin were engaged as
lieutenants under the generalship of Will Torrance,
with Jeff himself for what the army men call a
"chief of staff," which means the man who knows
more than the general, but does not wish to say so.
" You sec, boys," said Jeff, " our best hold will
be among the little chaps, just where Ayring
means to get his. He means to have them all
supplied with tickets and their voles put in, before
the older girls and boys are ready. If he knew
what we are up to, he might do something to head
us off."
The idea that they were working out a myste-
rious plot supplied all the added energy required,
and by tea-time on Tuesday evening every boy of
them was a good deal more than ready.
The drilling for the vocal music of Mr. Ayring's
annual " festival " had been going on quite success-
fully for several weeks, and it was a capital " sing-
ing-school" for the rank and file of the " chorus."
It would now be necessary to have the older per-
formers in training, and so the time for choosing
them had fully come.
When Will Torrance looked in, that evening, at
the door of the " lecture-room " of the Presbyteri.m
church, where the drills were held and the election
w;is to take place, he exclaimed :
"Jeff, there are more 'n two hundred voters, but
wc 've tickets enough to go 'round. There 'II be
a good many who wont want 'cm, so wc shall have
t«n .ijiiii !• fi>r the rest."
640
The "pretty tickets'" had ;ilri;.idy Ix-cii divided
among the active workers, to whose ranks live or
six more of the Park boys could now be safely
added.
The best rcenfnrcenicnt of all came at the very
l.xsi.
" I'ug ! — I'liR Merriwe.ilher. come here ! " loudly
whispered Jack Roberts to the head-center of all
the noise there was in his part of the room.
•■ What have you got for me? "
"Come here. We 're going to elect your sister
May Cjucen. Make every boy and girl you can get
at, vote one of these tickets. If they have little
white tickets, get them to exchange them for one
of these, tiive 'em two apiece, and they can vote
one and keep the other."
" If they don't, I '11 make it hot for 'em! "
His little hands were fdled with the gaudy paste-
boards and his keen black eyes were all a-sparkle
with delight and energy.
" Look at him, Will," exclaimed Jack. " A
wasp in a sugar-barrel is nothing to him."
Even after Mr. .Ayring called the meeting to
order, and all were listening to his business-like
statement of what they were to do, Pug was slip-
ping slyly along from seat to seat, till his tickets
were out and he had to come back for more.
Mr. Ayring's own plan called for prompt action,
with no useless time given to be wasted on writing
out tickets or in "electioneering,'' a thing he had
said something against in his opening remarks.
In less than five minutes after the appointment
of four young gentlemen to act as " tellers," and
ply their hats as "ballot-boxes," a good share of
the voting had been "completely done."
Not a few had written ballots ready, and pencils
and paper were busy, but there were signs of excite-
ment speedily visible among the Wedgwood boys.
Dora Keys herself handed Jim Swayne one of the
colored tickets, although she did not drop one like
it into his hat.
" Sarah," exclaimed Belle, " this is the work of
our boys. We must help them. Pass the word
among as many girls as you can. Will Torrance.'"
— he was passing her just then — " Can't you let us
have some tickets ? "
" Here they are. If you girls 'II help, we 're sure
to win."
The "surprise" part of JelT Carroll's plan
worked to a charm.
Half the small-fry in the rooin had voted, before
an effort could be made to check the sudden and
unexpected flood of those very brilliant ballots.
If Mr. Avring was vexed he did his best not to
show it; but the color of Jim Swayne's face be-
trayed the disturbed condition of his mind.
Pug Merriweather was everywhere.
••Jeii'," ».iid Will, "that little piece of quick-
silver is worth both of us put together."
They and their friends were by no means idle,
however, during that exciting quarter-hour.
Poor Milly Merriweather sat among some of her
friends, with a staring green ticket in her lap,
hardly knowing whether to blush or to run away.
Otis Hurr and Jim Swayne met in front of Mr.
.Ayring's desk, in their capacity of tellers, at the
moment when it was announced that "the polls
are closed."
" It's a regular trick!" exclaimed Jim.
"And of a shrewd kind," calmly responded the
rod-haired boy; "but you did n't make it work
well. How does your hat feel .-"'
The other hats came swiftly in, and the tickets
were piled in a great heap in front of Mr. Avring.
It looked as if the counting them would be a mere
matter of form, but for form's sake it had to be
done.
"Two hundred and fifty-three votes cast. I
should hardly ha\e thought there were so many in
the room," said Mr. Ayring.
It was too late to count the voters present, how-
ever, and the separate count began.
For a few minutes, Jim Swayne's face grew a little
more cheerful, for the white tickets were pretty
numerous, though not making so much of a show,
and there were a good many scattering \otes writ-
ten with pen and pencil.
Tally was made after tally, and now the Merri-
weather strength began to show itself, as the big
tickets heaped up in a larger and larger pile.
Then, at last, came a moment when you could
have heard a pin drop, although nobody took the
trouble to drop one.
Mr. Ayring slowly arose to announce the result
of the voting.
He drew a good long breath, for it was not
what he had expected to read, when he had come
there, early that evening.
" Miss ^" ranees Swayne has received eighty-three
votes; Miss Alice Bridge, seventeen; Miss Dora
Keys, five ; there are twenty-one votes scattered
among other candidates ; Miss Amelia Merri-
weather has received one hundred and twenty-
seven votes, and is elected, by a majority of one
over all competitors."
The Park boys cheered and stamped ; .til the
children under twelve did their best to make the
noise louder, and -if there were any tokens gi\en
of discontent, vocal or otherwise, they were com-
pletely drowned.
" We shall now proceed with the other exercises
of the evening," continued Mr. .Ayring, "but I
shall be happy to confer with Miss Merriweather
at the close. 1 will add that, in my opinion, you
SAI.Tll.LO UOVS.
641
have shown cNCcllcnl t.isto .iiul jjikhI jiid^im-nt in " Wl-II, I tltm'l know which side was nuisl sur-
your selection." prised. On the whole, I tliink it was Milly
Milly .Merriweather hid her f.vce in lier hands, herself."
Ixit the girls crowded around to congratulate her, "She 'II get over it."
the l'.Lrk lx>)s r.iised a tempest of applause, and
JelT Carroll whispered to Will Torrance :
"\Vc 've done it, old fellow. See! Pug Merri-
weather is trying to stand on his head I "
ClIAITKK \T.
StHniil. JOURN.M.ISM.
Thekk was not a single boy of Mr. llayne's
school in danger of being late on the morning after
the May Queen election.
r.ven .Andy Wright w.ts one of the earliest on
the ground, and his first remark was to Otis Hurt:
" I 've heard that you had a kind of surprise
jwrly last night?"
Vul.. VIM. -41.
"That 's more lliaii Jim S»aync will. I say,
Will Torrance ! you 've cut out a job for yourself."
"What kind of job?"
"Oh, Jim Swayne and the rest of 'em lay it all
to you."
"JcfT Carroll deserves more credit than I do."
".•Ml right. We 'II give hiin the honors: and
you may take the rest for your share."
That had not been Will's tirst intimation that the
wrath of the defeated party was gathering upon
him. Even JcfT Carroll had s.iid to him, with .1
chuckle: "Jim says he'll make you eat one of
those tickets, Will."
And Charley Ferris h.id put on a terribly pug-
n.icious look in declaring: " Uon't let 'en> scare
you. Will. I '11 standby you."
642
SALTU.Ll) UOVS.
(JUNI,
There was not a shadow of doubt that he would,
cither, nor of t)K- sincerity of all the rest, one after
.another, in ichoinj,' his heroic declaration. The
school would be as one man, or boy, in an affair of
that sort. .\t the same time it was not likely that
more ih.ui half a dozen of their rivals felt badly
enouj;!! about it to do more than bluster.
They were t.ilking very big, indeed, over at the
Wedgwood, that morning, although Jim Swayne
himself did not appear until just .ts the bell rang,
and then he did not look as if he were anxious
to talk to anybody.
He had, in fact, done quite enough of mere talk-
ing the previous night, both before he went home
and after he got there.
He even felt hurt at .Mr. .Ayring himself for his
very calm and smiling way of treating the matter.
"To think," said Jim to his sister, "of his
laughing about it as if it were a good joke of some
kind."
There were many persons besides the music-
teacher who were able to see a funny side to such a
performance, and it was quite as well they were, for
the sake of good feeling and the success of the
' ' festival. "
The girls of Madame Skinner's were hardly dis-
posed to make merry, and their dignified "princi-
pal " did not refer to the election at all in her
" morning remarks." Her pupils did, very freely,
and so did the young ladies at Miss Offcrman's.
Of course thes^ were all pleased, and said so, and
many of them were able to add: "I voted for
Milly. She '11 make a capital May Queen."
Dora Keys was a good deal mystified, at first.
She said to herself, and afterward to others :
" I never so much ;is heard Milly's name men-
tioned ; and they certainly talked of me. Kvery
ticket 1 wrote out w,is voted, too. It must be, —
that 's it. It was those hideous printed tickets.
There were more of them to be put in and so they
put them in. The children were crazy to get them.
I never thought as far .is that."
The remaining interest in connection with the
May Festival would be in the selection of the
'court," and in that, at le.ast, .Mr. Ayring w.is
pretty sure to have almost everything to say.
The Park boys knew that some of them would be
chosen, but that a good many more would not, and
it may be they were all the better pleased over a
new excitement that spr.ing up among thcin at the
noon recess.
" I say, Joe Martin," began John Derry, " what
is this about Friday afternoon ? "
" Declamation and composition. Kvery boy will
have to try. One thing or the other. Kach
week."
" I '11 speak. llun. What '11 you try for. Jack? "
" Have n't you heard .' It 's Jeff Carroll's
notion."
" He 's always up to something. What is it,
this time ? Going to elect a queen every Friday?"
" No, — sir ! — It 's newspapers."
" 1 '11 bring one "
" llring one ! Every boy that wants to can get
up one of his own and read it."
" But my father does n't own a printing-office.
Does yours .' "
" We 're to write them, — editorials and all."
" Look here. Jack," interrupted Otis IJurr.
"Don't you think I look a little like Horace
Greeley?"
"Can't say you do."
" I feel like an editor of some kind, anyhow.
I 'm going to start the ' Weekly Plunger.' "
" Mine '11 be the ' Journal,' " said Charley Ferris.
" Andy has his ' Review' half written. Joe Martin's
will be the ' Register.' It 'II be big fun."
The plan seemed to grow in popular interest
every minute, but one o'clock came upon them
before half of the proposed " periodicals " were
even named.
The boys were hardly in their seats before they
began to find out that Mr. Hayne himself had
been thinking of the matter, for he made them a
little speech about it.
The papers met with his approval, but once in
two weeks would be often enough for them. Half
the pupils each week. The editors were to be
orators one Friday and writers the next. He would
give them no sort of advice now, but wait and see
!iow they would succeed. All who could be ready
by the next Friday would be welcome to read.
It was a serious piece of business, but the boys
could sec that there was fun to come.
"Wont I report 'em?" .remarked Jeff to his
crony, after school.
" I 've poetry enough on hand to run my paper
.ill summer."
" That wont do, Will. Just a little of it, may
be. Can't you give us a leader on chickens?"
" Perhaps 1 could. And 1 have another idea in
my head. It 's a Ramblers' Club."
"What 's that?"
"Oh, you and I, and .is many as want to, go
somewhere in the country, every Saturday. We
could get up some yarns about it."
" .And have fun, too. I 'm in for it. Let 's go,
next Saturday."
" Hut, Jeff, shall you h.ive a newspaper ready by
Friday ?"
" Oh. wont I ? You '11 see ! "
Jeff could not be induced to dix-ulge anything
more about his plans, but Will felt sure there w.-is
something of interest coming.
SAl.TII.l.O BOVS.
643
As for the rest of the buys, neither that clay,
after scIkhiI. nor the next, was tliere .my attention
paid to leap-froj;, base-hall, pull-away, or any
other of their customary alTairs.
On the contrary, there \v.-\s a jjeneral scattering
towani home, the moment they yot out i>f the
j.'atc.
"They're all editing. Mr. Ilayne." remarked
John Oerry to the teacher, when he found himself
alone on the siilew.dk. anil was asked where the
rest were. " I 'm the only orator left, this week.
I "11 be ready, sir."
Me said it soberly enough, but Mr. Hayne knew
s<Mnething of boys, and he felt sure his young
friend woulil bring as much as an\bod)- to the
Friday's entertainment.
John Derrv' was always ready to do his share of
anything he liked, and although he could not say
he liked "declamation." when it took the shape
of work, it was quite another thing when it could
be made to look like mischief.
So he, too, went home and did his best, even
carrying a big book of " rhetorical selections"
up into the garret of his father's house, and vcr)-
nearly missing his supper.
"They '11 do it," remarked Mr. Hayne, to him-
self. .IS he walked along. "They'll get more
practice out of it than they would from any amount
of mere grammatical exercises. If I can keep
them at it, there "s no telling how much they may
learn."
All the while, too, they would be d<iing their
own driving, and that was a grand thing, of itself.
Thursday and the forenoon of Friday were
crammed full of rescr\'e and mystery.
The disposition to talk seemed to have vanished,
and every editor in the school was as solemn .is a
young owl, over the intended contents of his " firs«
number." The excitement was not less on that
.tccount, and for once the hour between twelve
o'clock and one seemed altogether too long for
endurance.
" Jeff," said Will. " do you know who 's to read
first ? "
" No. Perhaps Mr. Hayne 'II call the roll and
have us read in turn."
" Then 1 'm away down the list and you 'II come
next after Ote Burr."
" Ote has something queer. He came within
half an inch of laughing when I .nskcd him about it."
" Did he ? — There goes the clock. Come on."
Mr. Hayne was .is calm and smiling as usual,
and the b<i>-s half envied him his power of keeping
co«il under such exciting circumstances.
He had very little to say, however, seeming dis-
posed to treat the Friday performance just like any
other day's proceedings.
" .'\s we have but one exercise in declamation,
young gentlemen, we shall begin with that. Mr.
John Derry."
John was ready and marched gravely forward to
the platform. There was a faint flush on his face,
but nobody could tell whether it arose from bash-
fulness or sontelhing else. He g:ive a low bow
to Mr. Ilayne, another to the school, and then
launched boldly out into Daniel Webster's great
speech in reply to Colonel 1 layne, of South Caro-
lina. The boys all knew bits and slices of it. and
thought John had made a good selection. That
is, if he meant nothing personal to the Mr. Ilayne
he had J ust bo wetl to.
I'p to that time, not one of his boy friends h.id
dreamed how good a memory John Derry really
had, but they began to know something about it,
now.
.\ny other boy would have thought six inches of
that speech quite enough for once, and been glad
to get through and sit down.
Not so Johft Derry. on the present important
occasion. He was to be the only speaker, and he
had made up his mind that there should be speak-
ing enough — as much as if a dozen boys had t.aken
the business in hand, instead of one.
On he went, speaking more and more slowly,
but never missing a word, until even Mr. Hayne
himself looked at him with a queer sort of sur-
prised smile on his face.
There could be no doubt of the hard work it had
cost to get John Derry ready for such a feat as that,
but all the editors he was addressing wished more
and more strongly every minute, that his memory
would fail him.
Would he — could he — go on in that way all the
afternoon ? They were afraid he would. And then
what would become of the newspapers ?
The thought of not reading them grew dreadful,
and John was talking inore slowly yet, and going
straight on, when Mr. Hayne suddenly spoke:
"That will do, Mr. Deny."
" Not half through, sir."
"I know it. Any editor in the room is at
liberty to publish the rest of it. You may sit
down."
John's effort to look dignified, as he bowed him-
self off the platform, came near setting the school
into a laugh, but Mr. Hayne promptly announced:
" The Park ' Review' will now be read by .Mr.
.Andrew Wright."
" Beginning at the wrong end of the roll-call,"
grumbled Otis Burr, but Andy rose in his pLice
and lifted from his desk several sheets of paper,
neatly fastened together at the top with red tape.
" Remain where you are. Mr. Wright," said Mr.
Hayne. and the rc.iding began.
644
SAl.TlLLO UOYS.
IJlNB,
First came what the editor called a " iirospectus."
or, as John Derry said afterward :
"That means a • what 1 'm going to do.'"
It was by no means long, and it was followed
by a very well written '"leader" on the general
subject of " boys." There were two " book-
notices," and a conundrum, but it had evidently
not occurred to Andy to bring in any " fun." On
the whole, every one of the other editors w.is glad
when it was linished, if only for the sad ccmviction
he had that the "Review" would get the habit of
being the best edited paper in the whole school.
■'Mr. Jefferson Carroll will now read " The
Spy,'" said Mr. llayne.
"Skipping all around,'' was Otis Burr's mental
comment, as a faint chuckle came to his ears from
Jeff's desk. Jeff w.is promptly on his feet. Not
a breath of anything like a ''prospectus" opened
" The Spy."
Instead thereof, began a high-sounding essay on
the great question of " How did the cow get into
the Park .' " and this was followed by a vivid
"report" of the May Queen election. Jeff was
wise enough not to speak of any of the young
ladies by their real names, but the boy politicians
were described as acting under the leadership and
direction of the great I'ug Merriwcather. Not one
of them escaped a good taking off, the several
criticisms upon them being set down as coming
from the wise lips of Pug.
As Jeff himself declared, editorially, his list of
" local items" would have been longer if he had
been given more time to gather them.
Otis liurr was almost taken by surprise in being
called upon next, for the "Plunger."
His face was as red as his hair when he arose,
but it almost instantly grew solemn as he began
to re.-id a stirring account of the " Fight for a
cocoa-nut," in which Jack Roberts was made to
figure as at least a regiment and his antagonist
as a whole tribe of Indians. Pug .Merriwcather
appeared as a defenseless settler, and the cocoa-nut
was described as nearly losing its scalp.
Otis had not given all his space to "war," for he
followed that with an article severely pitching into
a make-believe quotation from some imaginary for-
mer number of Andy Wright's " Review." Before
he h.ad read a dozen lines of the "extract" itself,
.Andy w.as squirming on his seat with vexation, for it
was an odd mixture of bad grammar, Irish brogue,
and all sorts of broken Elnglish, not to speak of
slang.
It was easy enough to abuse a thing like that.
and even Mr. llayne caught himself laughing when
Otis gravely wound up with :
" The author of this wretched piece of nonsense
iloes not know how to spell, much less how to con-
duct a 'Review.' He should at once place him-
self under the care of our gifted friend. Professor
John Derry."
It was John's turn to squirm a little, for it was
plain that he had been mentioned by his friend
the editor of the "Plunger" as the hist boy in
school who was likely to be able to teach, even
spelling, to .Xndy Wright.
Charley Ferris followed, with his "Journal," and
Joe Martin with his " Register," but they com-
plained of the short notice they had had of publica-
tion day.
Will Torrance had been waiting as patiently as
he could, and when at Last his name was called, it
seemed to him as if something chilly had come
over that school-room.
The fact was, he was conscious that everybody
had heard enough.
He only read, therefore one of the three pieces
of poetry he had selected from his own writings for
the occasion.
It was i)retty long, but it rhymed fairly well and
paved the way for what Jeff Carroll had suggested
to him — a leading editorial article on chickens.
There was a suppressed giggle all around the
school when he announced his subject, but it died
away when he added that he intended to write, this
time, about " Our Coop," and went right on with
a decidedly personal description of the young gen-
tlemen around him.
It was pretty good fun, but some of the boys
failed to see why Will need have been so careful to
explain the difference between chickens and geese,
and then to add that many people would be unable
to see it plainly, after all.
He wounil up with a notice of an excursion to
" the lake," on Saturday, — to-morrow, — by "' that
ancient and honor.ible society, the Ramblers'
Club," which hardly any of them had ever heard
of before.
•' Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, after
Will sat down. '' the hour has arrived for closing
school. 1 will examine these papers carefully, and
give you my criticisms next week. I must say.
however, that 1 am very well pleased with so go<id
a beginning. It is much belter than I exjx-cted."
•Ml the editors were proud of that, and the boys
whose turn was to come determined in their hearts
III beat anything which had been read that day.
( Ti) hf cvniinMed, )
Tin: i.IANI 111 I'l'KK-BOOK.
645
te^.
Tin; GIANT PICTURE-BOOK.
(.-t Hfw ttyh- 0/ TabUaux I'hants.)
\\\ C. B. MARTi.Krr.
xlty can be pTncluccd wiih vct>* little trouble in
anjr parlor, by children, for the amtuctncnt of their friends, ox in a
public halL
A Httle pirl dre^^cd in white is discovered on a couch Mrewn with
picttUT-biHiIcA and l'»>!s a5 if she had fallen asleep at play. She is
dreaming uf the pictures as they arc shown in the great book which
■ ag^un^t the wall
mother ri*cs from behind the
and behind the chiUl She U
ght. The Kair>- God-
couch, and stands <in a cricket above
dressed in red (paper muslin or some
tnted waUt f>vcr a black skirt. Her
' -' : ; '-''-'. ! - ' and stockm^s arc red, and she wears
- ■ "■ f ■■ ■ '- .I'l another inMde her hat, which has a
u :,::.:. . ..■ i.u, < .. ,, • }. .. Wlc.
>he huUis in her nght hand a cane with a bar across the tup, and
after saluting ihc spectators, she sing^:
^i ^-cp,
1 I call to view
^ ■ .:nds so tried and true—
.'^Icep, darling, sleep '
The Fairy i rfidmoiher then tprings down from her perch, and opens
the picture-book (which will be explained hcreafterj, ukinit care to
open the over and flyleaf together, and a life-sired picture \% seen:
after wailini; a moment she shuts the plain or fly leaf, which she
"pens a^-ntn n^ ^-^n n> th.* pirture has been changed: and *o on,
^''' ' ' ^Ics an actual exhibition of a great
. I ■ " l--avc».
^■^ : ■•! 'ry or •eric* ha*c been shown, the
'-^'■'7 ■— • ' •' ' ■-. »i'ii.tt wiU be the signal for the curtain to
be dripped or fcir the f<4du)g doors in front of the ilceping chikl to
be closed. After all the pictures selected for the evening have been
shown, the chamclers, still in costume, are displayed in one group
around the W)om, or stage, in a semicircle which is opened in the
center, to allow the opened book, still containing a lovely picture, to
be shown also.
After they have remained still in tableau for one moment, the
Fairy, who has resumed her place up<in the high cricket, waves her
cane and sings to some pretty lullaby tunc this verse, in which all
join; during which the little girl wakes, rubs her eyes, jumps oflfthe
couch into the center of the room, makes a Ihjw to each one in order:
they return her civility, and all bow to the audience as the curtain
falls:
Wake, darling, wake t
■ leav
take
And go right back to our picture-book.
In which the little ones love to look.
Wake, darling, wake!
Now, wc must explain how the picture-book is made, as it can be
used hundreds of times for all sorts of pictures. Ky a little change
of decoration on the cover, it can serve as a history in which historical
pictures can be shown^^r it can be made !o illustrate miscellaneous
sclection.s. nr some well-known story. Place a lung, solid ubie
against the back wall in the exact center, and procure two boards
one inch thick, six inches wide, and just long enou({h to touch the
ceiling when they stand upright, leaning against the table. I'hey
must fit well, for they must be firmly fastened to the flo«ir as well as to
each of the front cnmcn of this uble. Having found the exact height
of the boards, lay them on the floor and »ee that they arr straight
and parallel and just fmir and a half feet apart. Fasten uiM>n them
four strips of b<tard six inches wide and five and a half feet long.
one at each end of the boards, one at thirty inches fi^im the bottom.
646
THE GIANT PICTt'RK-HOOK.
and nnc «ix feci above the last-nafflctJ. The vtnp« muu \k Culened
finnly wiih two-inch screw* to each l>iat^, goinK through one into the
other. Tack while bleached mushn on the upper strip and draw it
light by tacking it to the strip next below, then fasten another piece
fr«nt the Kiwcst strip lo the strip which is thirty inches abt>ve it.
Tack bi'tlt pieces of cloth alMJ to the outer edges of the long boarxls,
and cover all the doth and the boards which show, \t-ith white or
limed printin^-pafier : after ihi* i^ done you will have an opening
MX feet hi|;li and four and a half feet wide Then raise the whole
until it i^ upright, and fasten it to the table by means of the second
strip, which u ill lean ag.iin>t it. as most tables .arc about thirty inches
high. If there should not be a ch.andelier near in front, to light it
sufficiently, a j:as rod with ten bumcTN in it can be pLlced on the
inner side of the upper b;ir, and fed with an cla.slic tube, which can
l)c arranged by ;» plumber at a trilling expense : but unless a vers-
cLiborate cxhibilion Ls pn»i>.iscd, the ordinary light will probably
answer. ShawN or cuitaiits .trc hung on each side of this frame to
the comers of the room, which will allow a p.xssagc for the pcr-
fi>rmcrs ; and a chair is placed at each end of the table so that they
can step up and down out of the frame, behind which a curtain of
dull green cambric is ucked on ihe back wall. The performerT, are
to stand in a line behind the side curtains, at the right side of the
hidden table, ready to step into the frame the moment the lly-lcaf is
shut and the fonner occupants have stepped down.
The fly-leaf must be made by covering a light wooden frame with
muslin, on which printing-paper is pasted. It must be as high as the
ceiling and five and a half feet wide, and it is hung on common hinges
at the right outer edge of the upright board which forms one side of
the frame. IJehind these hinges a long strip of board, two inches
thick and the height fmni the floor to the ceiling, is securely nailed, to
hold the hinges of the co\ cr so that it can swing freely apart from the
fly-leaf without interfering with its motion, for although the fly-leaf is
often opened with ihc cover, it is closed by itself when the pictures
are changing, as the cover is only shut when one set of pictures is
ended. The cover is like the fly-leaf only that it is decorated with
pictures or ornaments at the comers and margin, and if in a large
room it might have the title of the story to Ixr shown. These litlc>
can be in-ade on strips of paper eight inches wide and three feet long,
with black or colored chalk crayons, and can be changed whenever
the curuin is shut. If for the entertainment of little children, the
Fairy can tell the stories (which are too well known to require any
description here), or she can read any of the stories atoud if she has
no gift at story-telling. In the sketches of pictures introduced here,
the very eflcctive costumes and properties can be furnished in almost
any house with very litt)f troutile or expense, and the skill and lastc
used in preparing them w'ill add much to the enjoyment
Series No. 1. Ci.\l>ekeit..a.
Is the first picture, Cinderella is croucliing in
the left corner ; lier head is bowed, and her face is
hid in her hands, as if crj-ing at her disappoint-
ment in having to stay at home from the ball. The
fairy godmother is bending over the prostrate girl,
as if about to arouse her from her sad rcvcry,
and is pointing up with her stick, which she holds
in her right hand. Cinderella wears a loose brown
robe, under which is concealed a white muslin
dress, richly trimmed with stars and fringe of gold-
paper. The godmother's dress and stick arc
described on the preceding page ; the colors of it
may be altered if preferred.
Second Picture : The same characters as in the
first ; same positions, excepting that the godmother
and Cinderella ha\e changed sides. The loose
robe has been pulled off, and Cinderella stands
proudly in the center, in a dancing attitude, con-
templating with delight her beautiful b.iU-dress.
The godmother is lifting up a large yellow pump-
kin, as if showing Cinderella that her carriage will
soon be ready ; and a bo.\ lies at her feet, to repre-
sent the trap in which the horses arc stabled, ready
for the trip. Cinderella should be a blonde young
lady, with small hands and feet, and a graceful,
slight figure.
Third Picture : The Prince and Cinderella
stand .ns if about to lead the dance, in the attitude
of the old-fiishioned minuet; his right hand holds
hers high, as she holds her dress with the left.
Their left feet are extended, and their heads turned
toward each other. The dress of the Prince can
be made of light-blue sateen, trimmed with putTs of
pink on the shoulders and at the sides; he has loose
trunks of pink with light-blue puffs, and pink
stockings. Two ladies in court-dresses, similar to
those described on the next page, may be intro-
duced, one at each side, to represent other dancers.
Fourth Picture : Cinderella in terror is flying
from the ball, her old ragged dress on, and a dingy
handkerchief tied loosely over her head.
Fifth Picture : Cinderella is meekly asking the
Prince to let her try on the glass slipper, which he
holds, standing in the center. At the left, her
angry sisters turn away in disgust, because they
could not succeed in wearing the slipper. The
sisters are dressed very showily, but Cinderella still
wears her old brown costume, as she stands at the
right of the Prince, with downcast eyes and
extended hand.
Sixth Picture : Cinderella sits in the center.
The enraptured Prince kneels before her, with the
foot wearing the glass slipper resting on a foot-stool ;
the companion glass slipper she has just drawn from
her pocket. The godmother stands over them,
having changed the old brown robe into a ball-
dress by her mystic power, and she seems to be
waving her stick in triumph; and after this picture
has been shown for one minute, the book is closed.
Series No. 2. J-\ck .-vnd the Be.^n-stalk.
First Picture : A small boy stands looking up
into his mother's face in terror: her right hand is
raised above him in anger, as if she intended
punishing him for selling the cow to so poor ad-
vantage. She wears a black dress with ver\- high
panier over a gray underskirt ; a white kerchief
over her shoulders, and a high pointed white cap.
Jack wears red stockings, yellow trunks, a loose
red jacket trimmed with yellow points. He holds in
his left hand a round red cap, which is partly filled
w ith beans, some of which, being strung separately
on fine black silk, seem to be falling out of the cap.
Second Picture : Jack is climbing up the bean-
stalk, which is made of a rake-handle or long pole,
one end being fixed in the table and the other out
Tin: f.IANI" I'U IL' KE- IIDDK.
647
of sight in the picture ; a cross-stick on which he
stands is made of an ultl lirtMim-handlc, two feel
from the bottom of the picture ; another cross-stick
rive feet higher he clings to with his liands ; and
all the sticks are coven-d with dark green cambric.
Third Picture; The liiant is seated at a table;
before him is the celebratetl hen, anil behind her,
several golden eggs lie on the table (these arc
cosily made b\- covering china eggs, or real ones,
with gilt paper), while the hen is easily cut out in
profile (as only one side is seen), on which feathers
are drawn with crayon or stuck with !;lue. The
giant is partly concealed by the table u|M)n which
he really kneels, and a large cloak covered with
red calico and stuffetl with pillows makes him very
Large ; and his head is made by co\ering a bushel
basket with unbleachei' muslin, on which a face is
drawn, red carpet yarn being sewed on the back
to represent hair.
Fourth Picture : Jack and his mother sit one
at e.ich side of a table, contemplating with wonder
the hen and the two bags of gold. The table used
in all these scenes is only a boanl ten inches wide,
covered with a white cloth and furnished with
rough legs which do not show.
Kifth Picture : Jack is raising his hatchet to cut
down the bean-stalk, and by his side is an enor-
mous golden harp, which is made of pasteboard in
profile, covered with gilt paper.
Series No. 3. Beai iv and ihf. HE.vsr.
First PictI'RE: The merchant is taking leave
of his daughters ; Beauty is in the center winding a
scarf around the neck of her father, while her
proud sisters stand one at each side with extended
hands, as if urging their father to bring them rich
•ind costly attire. Beauty looks down, as if too
modest to ask for any gift but a rose.
The sisters wear silk dresses of as brilliant color
as they can find, with long trains and square necks,
which are c.isily contrived by sewing a square of
white muslin upon the dress waists of their mother's
dresses, the skirts of which will do for court trains.
Their hair is rolled over a cushion, powdered, and
dressed with feathers or flowers, which can be bor-
rowed from bonnets. Beauty wears a plain loose
waist of white muslin over a plain black skirt. Her
hair falls loosely.
The father has a square-cut suit (to arrange
which, fold the skirts of a sack coat away in fn^nt to
form squ.irc comers, which, with the lapels, must be
faced with white paper-muslin. The vest is covered,
and also lengthened a quarter of a yard in front,
with the same, and large flap pockets are added.
Pantaloons rolled to the knee do very well for
breeches, with long stockings and low shoes, and
a felt hat can be pinned into a chapeau by turning
up one side and f.islening the other corner into a
point.
Second Picture: The father is plucking the rose
front a bush which stands in the center, covered
with paper roses. The Beast, with uplifted club,
seems about to destroy the old man, who stands
with knees together and hands down in a comic
attitude of despair.
The Beast wears a fur cloak or mat over liis
shoulders, pinned around his waist and reaching to
his knees below the tops of long pink stockings.
His anus may be bare, and he wears over his face
a m.isk, which may be bought at a toy-shop, or
made of brown paper.
Third Picture : The father introduces his
daughter to the Beast, who stands as if bowing low
at the right. Beauty is at the left, drawing b.ick,
and making a courtesy. She is dressed as before,
with the .addition of a shawl |)inned over her
shoulders, and a red handkerchief over her head.
Fourth Picture : Beauty's return home, in which
scene she is embracing her old father, who seems
in raptures ; they are in the center while the proud
sisters stand one at each side, one looking off in
anger, and the other gazing with envy at the happy
pair. Beauty has a rich silk dress of a style sim-
ilar to that shown in the tirst picture.
Fifth Picture : Beauty is asleep in her chair in
the center, while her sisters bend over her in
triumph, one holding a vial containing the sleep-
ing draught, of which they have administered a
dose in order to make her overstay her time, and
break her promise to the Beast.
Sixth Picture : Beauty stands weeping over the
body of the poor Be.ast, which is represented by a
roll of dark shawls, around which the robe of the
Beast is wrapped, as his head and feet would be con-
cealed by the sides of the frame : her face is covered
with her hands and she seems o\erwhelmed with
grief.
Seventh Picture : .V handsome prince is kneel-
ing at the feet of Beauty, who is overjoyed to find
in him her faithful Be.ist, restored to his form and
rank through her fidelity and truth. His dress can
be arranged with a lady's veh'ct basque with an
opera cape across the shoulders, a pair of white
satin breeches m.ide of paper muslin, white long
hose, and low shoes with large bows ; a sash may
cross from the left shoulder to the waist, in case the
basque is too small to meet neatly in front.
Wif;^ can be made of black and white curled hair, sewed upon a
«l(ull<ap, made of four cimical pieces Ileardt can be cnnlri\-ed by
faAieninjc the Mime articles, or while llama fringe, nn a wire frame,
which goes under the chin lu each car. around which it i\ laslcned.
04J>
K(lR VICRV I IITI 1. rOI.K.
IJlKK.
K.\ 1 }•: AM) I OH
Do M'L know a nice i^nrl
named Kate, who lives up-town
in New York ? 1 do. And 1
know lier hroth-er [oe. Hv-er-y
sum-nier, Kate and Joe leave
the cit-y and go to vis-it their
aunt, who lixes in a big house
in the coun-try. And on pleas-
ant days, their aunt lets them
go in -to the vil-lage near b)-
to get the let-ters at the post-
of-fice. They start ear-ly, and
walk through the tields, and the
pret-ty green lanes, in-stead of
a-long the hot, dust-y road. Joe
is not so big as Kate, but that
is not his fault. He grows
just as fast as he can, but as
Kate is ihj-ee \ears old-er
than joe, lie can not catch up
to her yet. nev-er mind how
hard he may try. Hut he tells
^ Kate that he is a IU)\', an\
• -^-^ ^"^ way, and he can take good
care of her. So some-times, when thc\ start down the lane, she takes
his arm just as if he were a big man, and then Joe feels ver-y ])roud.
One day when Kate and Joe were go-ing to the vil-lage, the\' saw
a dog who was bark-ing at a ver-y lit-tle
girl. The lit-tle girl cried with fear. Hut
Joe came on just in time to .say. in a
ver-y loud x'oice, " Stop, sir ! " ami the tlog
stopped at once and crawled a- way. lot-
thought it was be-cause he was a H( )^ .
but the real rea-son was that the dog .saw .
a man com-ing with a whi]) in his hand.
Next they saw an-oth-er dog, and wh.il ilo \(ui tliink this ilog was
do-ing ? He was jump-ing af-ter a liui-tcr-th- ! Hut ilu- but-ter-lly did
lOK VKKV i.irri.K loi.K.
64 c,
y-
lii"(>lli-(T sdinc-
will uirii to a
I tiid 111 know
c.
d:
if*^
V"'
,V*«iK*^-
not care one bit. He tlew a-roiiml and a-rouml the doj^^, just ketp-in);
out of reacli of his mouth, until the doy^ was tired out.
'• |oe, " said Kate, wlio tliouj^ht she woukl teach lur
ihinj^. ■• that l)eau-li-ful hut-ter-tly
worm some tia\'. '
• I'ooh!" said Joe. "Just as il
iliai. Now see me catch him in m\ liat ! "
But Joe did n't catch liim al ail. l-"or iht- l)Ul-
ter-flv llew a-way, and lelt Joe sprawi-int; on liic
ijround. 1 lu- hri^lu wings shook as it iIk: i)ut-ter-
fly was laugh-ing' at Kate and Joe. Ihey made a
ver-v fun-ny mis-take when they tiiought the but-
ter-tly would turn to a worm. The worms change ; but not the but-ter-
flies. First, the worm slow-ly hides him-self a-wa)- in a soft cov-er-ing
which he makes for him-
self un-til it looks like a
lit-tle bun-die. Then in
time the bun-die bursts
open and out comes a
but-ter-tly.
When Joe picked him-
self up that da\-. he rubbed
his knees, and what did
he see but an-oth-crdog I
It was white- and small
and its tail curled nat-
u-ral-ly, Joe said. This
(.log was a great pet and
he be-longed to a pret-
ty lil-tle girl whom joe
and Kate iliil not know.
lie would not leave the
lit-tle girl at all. ami
barked if Joe or Kati
came near her. But the
little girl smihd at them
sweetly, and Kate said, ■ What a pretty pair of pets they are ! "
"These must be the dog-ilays," said Joe, as they walked on: and
Kate said she thought .so too.
650
I A C K - I N - T H E - P U L P I T.
U>"<«.
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
June is the boys' and girls' own month — fresh,
rosy, busy, .ind full of plans for the season to conic.
This is the time when young feet twitch restlessly
under school-desks and benches, and young eyes
wander from school-books in hand to happy birds
in the bush just outside the school-house door, and
when the weary teacher has the same longings that
make the children restless, though she may not
think it best to confess it.
Some of you have outdoor work in the summer,
and some of you have outdoor play; but wliether
it 's one or the other, or both, June is eager for you
to be at it ; and the wa)' she whispers and pulls
and beckons is something wonderful.
Now, you shall hear about
A CATARACT THAT RUSHES UP THE RIVER.
In most rivers, as 1 've heard, the cataracts and
rapids flow down-stream, but one of my Canadian
friends sends word that the St. John River, New
Brunswick, has a cataract which has a queer habit
of sometimes rushing up-stream.
A little above where the river flows into the
ocean, there is a wide and deep basin that empties
itself into the harbor through a narrow passage
between two walls of rock. When the tide is
going down, the water runs out of the harbor into
the ocean far more quickly than the river can flow
through the narrow channel above, and so the
.stream pours itself seaward through the harbor end
of the passage in a roaring water-fall. Hut when
the tide is rising, the ocean tills the harbor and
passage so rapidly that the sea-water plunges down
mto the basin from the river end of the narrow
channel, in a foaming cataract that falls up-stream I
Twice in every tide, however, there is a space of
alxiut twenty minutes when the waters are at one
height in the harbor, passage, and basin, and then
the ships that are to go up or down must be hur-
ried through before the river " gets its b.ick up,"
as the boys s;iy.
CHRISTMAS AT MIDSUMMER.
Mv DKAR Mk Jack: In your (.hriMmjiMtrmjirU you mcnlinncd
.1 "curious winlcrlrcc thai la>Ls only a few hour. " Well, now,
plexsc let nic remind you ihat out lien:, in Auktralia. the winter
weather doc., not come until June, and that it is full midsummer
when Christmas comes So, you sec, our Christmas-trees can not Ixr
really *' wintcr-lrccs," btit they arc '* midsummer-trees." We enjoy
them quite as well, though, and those of us who know you feel that
we arc just as much your younsstcn* as are the English and Ameri-
can bfiys and girls who arc lucky enough to have their Christmas-
trees in trtic Christmas wcatlicr. — Vuur little friend, W. T. V.
WHERE CAT ■ AND "PUSS" CAME FROM.
A l.ADV who likes cats — and who also must be
as fond of hunting up the origin of words as a cat
is of hunting mice — sends the Little .School-ma'am
a nice long letter all about "puss" and "cat." As
many of you may like to know where these famil-
iar titles come from, you shall ha\e an extract from
the letter :
"Cat" is from the L.atin "catus," which came into use in place
of the older L-ttin "felis." The Romans brought the cats from Syria,
where the name is "kalo" — Arabic "kiti," frtjm which we have
"kitten." as I think. In Persian, the word is "chat," and the Per.
sian language is allied to that most ancient tongue, the Sanscrit; so,
perhaps, "chat" is the earliest form of our worxl "cau"
In Persian, also, a cat wild or tame is " puschak," from a word in
Sanscrit meaning " tail " ; and, to this day, Persian cats are noted for
their handsome t.iils. This word "puschak" is pronounced "pis-
chik" by the Afghans, and "puije" by the Lithuanians and all
these words are vcr>* like our word "pussy." Some deris-c " puss"
from a Latin word " pusus," "pusa," meaning "little boy," "little
girl." But where did this Latin word come from ? Sanscrit is older
than l.alin. Since the Sanscrit word means "tail." and Herodotus,
the ancient historian, in describing the Egyptian cat, calls it by a
word that means "the creature with was-ing uil," I, for one. shall
believe in the Sanscrit origin of our word " puss," and not in the
suppijsed I-atin origin. J. H. K.
JACK ASKS SOME QUESTIONS.
Deacon (".reen tells me thai the ICditors of St.
Nlcn<>L.\s will give you, this month, a nice long
talk about the ostrich, its ways and habits, and
also some human ways of dealing with that nimble-
footed bird. In this case, the sooner 1 show you
my prize-bird, tlie better ; for it 's the most ostrich-y-
looking bird for one that is not an ostrich, that you
have ever seen.
Now, tlie question is, what is he? And where
does he live? What is his Latin n.-ime? And
what is his every-day name ? Can he run like an
ostrich, or is he one of your slow-goers?
And what of the little fellows down foot ? They
are striped, and the big bird is speckled. Why is
this thus? .And w^hat means that queer house in
the background ? V'/iiif may give my shrewd ones a
clue as to the home of this no-oslrich bird.
Tlicre arc encyclopedias and dictionaries and
picture-books and works of travel, the dear Little
School-ma'am tells me, that are even cleverer than
my youngsters, 1 can hardly believe it : but if the
clear little lady is right, .is she always is, why not
consult these cleverer things ?
Let mc hear from vou soon, mv hearties !
\CK-IN-Tlli:-1'UI.IMT
6.SI
.■^V;.=r-;
■ : _ .*i'^-
' . ■ :\ 1' \. % ■ ■ "y-> *
THE LETTEK-BOX.
iiii: i.i:tti-:r-hox.
>NTKiHrTOR«; arc respectfully informed that iKrtwcen the i&i of
: and ihcisih of Seplcmber, manuscripts can not be conveniently
n the office of St. Nicmn,A.s. Consequently, those who
wish to favor the maRazinc wilt please postpone sending their articles
imtil after the last-named dale.
OiR thanks arc due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for
iheir councsy in allowing us to reprint in our '* Treasure-box of
KnKl'>h Literature " an extract from one of Mr. I-owcU's poems ; and
to Hon. K. M. Finch, for kind permission to use his poem, "The
Blue and the Ciray."
Dear St. Xiciinij^s: What is the proi>cr way to spell the
of the poet Shalcspear? In this town, which i^ onlya few -
nths
not find out from any body. Uncle Robert knows,
think : but he is a tease, and all that I can get from hini about it is
such ridiculous thinji^s as. " Shakspcar himself did n't seem to know
how his own name ought to l>e written," and "once he even went
so far as to say what *s in a name," and "he never could have
learned properly how to spell, for he wrote his words all crooked."
and so on. Uut if you can help me, please do, and oblige your inic
admirer, Fannv CJ., la years.
For an answer to Fanny G.*s letter, we can not do better than
reprint a part of a communication relating to the subject, and which
came to us lately from Mrs. Mary Cowden-Clarkc, who, with her
husband, has written many works concerning SliaVcspearc and his
writings. She says:
The mode of spelling "Shakspere" wai used when printing my
concordance to the great poet's plays, in deference to the wish of
Mr. Charles Knight, its original publisher: otherwise I should have
used the form " Shakespeare," which I have always adopted, because
it was the one given in the l-'irst Folio Kdition of his dramatic works
by its superintendents and his brother-actors Heminge and Condcll.
The name is also given thus in the First Edition of his Sonnets:
and it seems to have been the orthography used in print, where his
name was given during his life-time. That as many as sixteen diflfcrcnt
modes of spelling the name have been found to have been used at
the epoch when he wrote, and that he himself did not adhere to any
particular one when signing his- name, appears to be merely in
accordance with a fashion of the time, which allowed of the utmost
irregularity in the orthography of men's names.
Chestkr Whitmohi!.— Your questions about a fresh-water
aquarium will be answered by Mr. Daniel C. Beard in an article to
be published probably in our next number.
All our readers who enjoy Mr. Rossiter Johnson's admirable
story of " I*hacton Rogers " will appreciate the accompanying letter
concerning the scene of Phaeton's exploits, and giving some inter-
esting facts about the author of the sior>'.
Dear St. Nichoi^s: Wearc very much interested in the storj* of
" Ph.ieion Rogers," because the scene of it is laid in our native town.
All the adventures recounted took place in that i>art of the city where
I was b<im, and have lived fifteen years, and where my parents have
lived ncariy forty years ; so it is all very familiar to nic,
We have many times l)cen t^'ver the railway crossing where that
most interesting chanictcr, Jack-in-ihe-Ilox. lived in his delightful
little (lag-house. That ttag-hou.se is no longer standing, but mamma
remembers having seen it, years ago, with its pointed rouf, and one
side covered with moming-glon- vines. I wivh she had looked in«.idc.
and seen the shelf full of Wjks. and .til the other things desi:ril)ed
I am curious to know whether the Kior>- u( lackin-lhcHox will l>e
ftpoiled by ending in a romance, or whether he was a veritable cliar-
actcr, for I think he is matte \er>' interesting.
We know the very sim.i where the author of the st«)ry used
to live when all hi» adventures with Phaeton and Ned took
place. 'Hie other day we walked out on the street where
the boy* 'n>de when thc>' took I'ncle Jacob's horse to pasture,
on purpote to Mre if we could rccogni/e any of the i>laccs
that famous ride. Hut the city has changed very
countr)' road,
with bams .ind hay-fields on either side, but now it i>. one line •<!
stores and houses, with a street-car track in the center. The onK
things we recognlicd were, the stone brewery, now transformed ini'
a fiour-milt, and the building that used to be the Quaker meeting:
house, in front of which the boys sat when they were listening t<>
Jimmy the Rhymer's l>allad.
Deep Hollow, mentioned several times in the story, is a beautifn!
ravine. Wc have often explored parts of it in summer. .My broth- ■
well rcmemljcrs the strife l>ctwecn the Dublin boys and the boys . i
our side of the river, and it is said to continue, even now.
My older sisters once went u> a school in this district, where they
remember Mr. Rossiter Johnson as one of the scholars, and that he
was considered the smartest Iwy in the school. So, children in
reading " Phaeton Rogers," may know that the most iim'mporiarit
character in the siorj*, who rarely says anything, and then only
"ventures to suggest, ' is really an uncommon boy.
The name "Rochester" is certainly buried very plainly in the
little couplet, where readers are given a chance to find out the
name "f the town in which the b<iys lived, but if I had not already
recognized Rochester in the familiar scenes of the stfirj-. 1 don t
think 1 should have discovered iL No author could find a more
delightful i)Iacc for the scene of a stor>' than Rochester, especially
that part of the city which includes Deep Ho|l<iw and the river.
Mr. Johnson is now well known to fame His wife al^. is literary,
and my sisters went to school with her at one lime, when ihcy
attended Miss Dolittlc's scminarj- on Fitzhugh strecL She is the
Ireek professor in the University of Rochester, who
that its author i
s laid in Rochcstc
I charming stoiy* s
those days. Then, that street
daughte
has a vide reputatii
I never read a story bcfoie where the <
and it greatly adds
" Phaeton Rogers," and t<»
city-
i"he coming of the St. Nicholas is always anticipated in our
family, but now I hail its appearance with peculiar pleasure — Vcr\-
sincerely, M. F.
The responses to our request to hear from performers of " 1 he
l^nd of Nod," the operetta published in the numl>er (or December,
iSS'j, have been very gratifying, and we are gLid to know that the
little piece has been successful in so many places. Among the
most profitable performances that have been reported to us were
those in Boston Highlands, at the Church of the Unity: Chatham.
Mass.; Brooklyn, N. V., at All Souls' Church: Jefferson, Ohio;
and Santa Fc, New Mexico. And the following letter from IJttle
Falls we are suic will interest everybody cvcrj-where who has had
anything to do with bringing out the operetta :
Dear St. Nicholas: I don't usu.-dly read the letters in the
" Letter-box," but going to the piano to trj- the piece of music
entitled " Romance Without Words." I discovered the letter from
Mrs. Flagg, which led me to think you would be pleased to know
wc have had the " Land of N(xl " here in Little Falls. 'Ilic Udics
of c»ur parish held a three-days' festival, and for «'«<• c\ening's enter-
tainment, my mamma and Mrs. Ransom prepared the children of
our Sunday-school, in *" I'he l.and of Nod." It was " ti»o cnnmng
for nnythiNg" to see the little "sleepy-heads" of three and fi%e
years of age act their parts sn nicely. I'hc red light thrown on the
last scene bniu^^ht great cheering fn>m the audience To finish the
evening entertainment. mamm.t had drilled twelve little giris in the
*' Fan iJrigade," after the description given in your J.iniL-ir>' niim-
Iwr. Mamma wishes me to say it will repay any one for the in>ublc
and time spent in drilling them, when prt^perly costumed, and sin
ccvsfully presented,
1 me.int to mention that I tfwk part .is one of the dream-spnics in
" The Land of Nod" (as 1 am twelve years oldl, and I was alv. in
the Fan Brigade. We repeated the operetta another evening, and
after our expenses of $iaooowcre paid, wc h.id oxer $jtin.oij left
I hope you will pubhsh some more pieces as nice. — \'our subscril^i,
Ji'-ssiK H. H
Dkar St. Nicholas: I tried the magic dance described in v<>iir
Manh number, and I wish to tell you it is a fraud. I followed the
rules exactly, and it would not work. I like )-our Utok ver>- much
— Your constant reader, C. M. H.
We are sorr^' that C M. H.'s experiment did not succeeil .
but, as we ourselves have KCcn the magic dance performed success-
fully by merely following the direction* given in the Mnreh number,
wc feel sure that there must have been some mistake in C. M. H s
l«8i.)
THK I.KTTER-UOX.
653
«niingcment«. Moreover, «c««ral nihcr reader* tuvc ftcnt accotinu
»ery Jiflereni firom C M. H.V Here i* one :
P V <■ \n.in't.\s: On Saiuniay, March laili, I hail a few
11^ iti vUit mc. I Mt-ai)ic\l vtiiicihint; nice ii> aintivc
I mcvi ihc niaftc ilaiicc «p<ikcn <»|' in ihe Manrh Si.
\ I V Minima buu^Ehl me a |)anc of i;la»% aiiil 1 traced loiitc
.>( Ihc ii^iiics u) MiM Kate l'>rccnaway'« little book, "Under the
Window.' and put the glxv^ bciwccn two bound vulumct of St.
Nk-ii>>u\< Ihc Ai;um danced beautifully. With much love to
y»ni, dcarSr. NiCHot_\s, A. S. K.
Thk qi»c«iion wan .ukcd in June. 187.1, by Jack-tn-thc-Pulpit, how
the rtrawberry got its name. Aniwer« came, of cviurse, but none
oi ihem appeared ti» be satisfuciory*. Here, however, are two letlert
ihjit seem lo Mrttlc the iiucstUm :
1>> vK Si NiCHoi^s: Yean ago, when strawberric* Ktew wild
, ! 1 ! n. tliiKland. the children ti«ed t>> gather them, Htring
1 vng, straw-like griuses, and sell them fvir a [>enny a
v-iy.
*-hichs
t was idiortcned i
Hv.
l>B.\it St. Nichoi-as: I have been told that strawberries arc »o
called because in fiirmcr times people used to string the berries on
straws ready for catintC- I think this is a ()ueer idea, but perhaps :t
i\ true, for wlk* Jm/ have ftmny notions. — Your friend,
Jkssik l_ BuLtxiws.
rith Mr. Kmcst I ngertoH** article upon "Ostrich-
Fannin(;,"in thcpre>cnt number, we print the following cutting from
the I . n.ioti " Times" of May t^. 18S0:
^ . I 'ng on exhibition at Rome, having been suflbcatcd
^ us neck between the bars there were found in it.s
r targe stones, eleven smaller ones, seven nails, a neck*
uc y\u. .Ill cnvdope. thirteen copper coins, fourteen beads, one
trench franc, two small keys, a piece of a handkerchief, a silver
medal uf the Pope, and the cross of an I talian order.
\., 1 «, „, ; . .i.,.,v.,n ,h^ New York "Tribune "of January, 1881:
' irming possesses the settlers in South Africa,
pasture are being converted into ranges for
! i'cds. As a rtsuir, the price nf :
...ha- ol lA . i;cni> per pound.
KtTTiK HASAront». — Any reader— whether B tub«:riber
who send* solutions of Sr, Nii mmi..\s puiile«, will be nami
li*t printed al the end nf the " Riddlc-lHix."
1>BAK St. NiCMoi^s : Roller-skates are very nice— on other peo-
pic. Certie or Kdie •^wcepn by on a "set of wheels," and you viy :
" Dear me I How nice it is! I 11 ask Mamma lo get rne a |K»ir : "
and, on being av<«ured that "it i" the easiest thing in the world to
learn," you jjo to your mother or father and ?wiy : " l'lc;ise. please
gel me a pair of mllcr skates! I '11 be so good I I saw Ccrticon a
pair toiby, and she went like ever>'thing. She says it is awful easy
to Icani. Ah. do now, please, 1 want 'cm so!*'^ And in the cud
yi)ur father goe-. and buys a pair.
Ah. how pnuid yon are of the bright nict:il heeU, the mttlini*
buckles and Mraps. and the clicking whecU ! And how impalientlv
you await the hrsi line day. ih.-it ytm may "go >kaling,* It h;i
come. Cerlie or lulie in willing to give you a le-v^ou. and you en
xiously watch the gniceful ea-vc with which >hc tlics up an<l down
the sidewalk. She takes ytuir hand— you " strike out " What is
itf Is the world waltzing r— Arc v-mi (lying thn.ugh airT Only
a tenth of a second do you think this. /Arn,—lth, the anguish
of that moment! CJcrtic laughs. You think. " t)h, how hcartle^N
that girl is! "
Then she helps you up. You tr>* to smile, and when she asks:
*' Arc you hurtT" you say " \ l-i-t-i-l-e. "
Then you try again, only to repeat the same experience. Finally
you leani tu go the width of a flagstone without falling, and slowly
you leant to go, perhaps, a block alone. Uut this is only after
about, "to dra' it mild," fifty falls.
If you think it worth while, "go ahead." If you think it easy,
take warning, and stop while there is yet lime.
Hki.i£.s N. Stearns, u years.
Helen evidently has nm had patience to master the art of roller-
skating. Hut there are hundreds and hundreds of boys and girls
who will not agree with her concerning it. For the city parks of
New York of late have been almost transformed into rinks for the
boys and girls on roller-skates. During the months of March and
April, the whirl of the skates wxs heard on .-dl the pavements there,
and even the crowds upon Bmadway were startled by the swift
young skaters shooting by on their way to school. We give l>elow
a scene on a bright April day in Madison Square, New York, which
shnws the enjoyment the young people of this city have taken in
this style of skating.
n^
ATINO I.N UAUtS
654
THE LETTER-BOX.
Dhak St. Nichouas: I uw in Itcccmbcr number J
Pulpit'* rcmarku about the giniicrbreatl-trcc. and it reminded
an t lid- fashioned p«uUr>'-trcc ihal I saw bsl Sc|>tcml»cr
hilc
nncchcui Mllaee, and near a
ted tio.i<«; Ibcrr ua> a small -rchard of old fa»hinned
ce^, line i^( which aitracted my aticntitin. for it U.rc iKtth
id fruit. Ihcne were a K"^-^' many apples upon the tree, vjj
tculd not count them : the bmnchcs came near the Bmiind,
ariely of |K>ulir)- had ti»kcn I.Klsing-. there for the niuht,
iurke>*s t^incahcns and * hitkcns riic^e. inceihcr with
he apples, were to me tpiitc an amusing sight I think if the readc
fowU
Thp. fullowir
mtiming^. and
of age :
l-cticr-box" cnuld hav
heartily a* I did. — Vnur* tnily.
I It they would have laughed :
ROLL S. SiiEf-AKU (ii ycarv).
\Vr have received fmm the publisher, Jame« H. Earle, a copy >
a neatly Ixnind little Untk cniiilcd *' From Ix>g-cabin to ihc Wbi
Hou>e," by William M. Thayer. It details the life of Prc^iuei
("•arficld. and nives many incidents of his boyhood: and it can I
ended to boys and girU as both interesting and helpful.
• cntcs arc appropriate tn ihcw bright
%cry cleverly written for a girl only cicvi
'K the helds the sun ithonc brightly,
ring the trees the brcc/e blew Tightly,
And seemed i
At peep of day.
MKl-ntommg, liitle girl ! '
Ihe little streamlet ran on Jn glee,
\nd "n ilN bank waved many a in
They seemed to say,
At i»ecj> of day
litt
legirl!
he buticrflie* and the biimble-bcc*.
Ihc blight blue skies and the bright blue
All seemed to say,
Ai peep of day,
' Good-moming, little girl ! "
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION'.— THIRD RKI'ORr.
As r'KOMisKU last i
nd pressing wild-tlo
nth, here are a few directions for collecting
I. Bring your flowers home, mots and all, in a botany-box made
like the picture in the other column, and not painted.
The most convenient length Ls eighteen inches. The ends arc
elliptical, with a lung diameter of seven inches.
3. Specimens should be put to press as soon as possible after thc>'
have been collected. Each leaf should be smoothed and held in
pcMition by the finger or a bit of glass, until the paper has been
pre**cd down upon it. When properly treated, pressed flower.
retain a large degree tif their grace of fomi and richness of color.
3. R^r,t^ nntl bmnchcs loo thick to be pressed entire may be
thinii' ■ ;- l.nife tn a section not much thicker than the
lea-. ■ ; hca\->* flrjwcrs, like the water-lily, may be
pre-. put tngcther again when dr>-.
4. I.. ; uf blotting-paper made expressly for dr^'ing
planLi. but an excellent ftubsiitiitc is newspapers. Ijy n smooth
board over all .ind use a heavy sii>nc for pressure.
5. After the specimens arc thoroughly dried, they may be trans-
ferred to a I'lant-lKxik or Herbarium.
Wc have devised a book for ihc use of our members, in which
flowers can be fastened without paste, by the use of little slips of
gummed paper. These directions are contained in iL We will
send one of these books to the boy or girl who will send us the
best set of specimens of prcsAcd wild flowers, prepared unaided,
and accurately named and dated. Each set is to consist of six speci-
mens. Mount each specimen, alter it is thoroughly pressed, on a
card of bristol-board.
For your own collection, sheets of paper at least 10 X 16 inches
should be used, but for convenience in mailing, use cards cut to the
size of a page of commercial note-paper. Tlie scientific and common
names of each specimen are to be written in the lower right-liand
comer of its card, together with the dale and place of gathering the
flower, and the name of the collector.
Write your name and address on the back of each card. Put two
or three thicknesses of paper between the specimens, to prevent
injury in the mail-bags, and send, as before, to H. H. Ballard,
Lenox Academy, Ixnox, Mass . by the 15th of September, 1881.
See " J.ick-in-ihe-Pulpit,'* St. Nicholas for August, 1877; and
" The Sea-weed Album," St. Nicholas for August. 1875.
Next month about insects.
The list of our correspondents is now enlarged to about Boo. The
following new chapters have been formed :
Ai/./ress.
riini, Mich
I'topia, N. V , .
Hartford, Conn
Auburn, Ala. . .
Hartford. N. V
N.xshvillc, Tenn
(in
AV». 0/ Afrm^rs.
•Pine Croft ".
Glencoe, 111 — .
Philadelphia (D) Pa 4.
Santa Cruz, Cal 4 .
Pigeon Cove. Mass — .
Pittsficid, Ma,ss 4,
Vpsilanii, Mich 33.
Northampton. Mas< 6.
Cedar Rapids. Iowa 13
Wright's Gmvc. Ill 6
Wallb.'im, Mas^
Sfcrr/ary.
H. Lovell.
. D. E. Wilbrd.
C. A. Kellogg, a; Niles st.
. K. B. Trichenor.
. S. E. Arnold.
.R. I. Tucker. ii7M..nn'cs
U Price.
.0. M. Howard.
.J. McFariand, 1314 Frankllt
C. W. Baldwin.
C. C Fears.
E. R. Shier, Car
.Cha-s. Maynard.
L. Leach.
. Win Grcenlcaf.
H H..n.,<k. P.
-rrj
THE RIIUII.K-BUX.
655
Til !■: Kl DDLi:- HoX.
ANSWF.kS TO IMK VVl/.l.ls IN I IIK MAV NUMBER.
; \VoHD<(. 1. S-bvcr-y.
[. I'-kni-y. 6. C-n»
wc-r. \ S-cvciu-y. K^\sv Ii.i.rs
7. C-luater-^. 8. I^mp I'lay ■
\L Enigma. "She came adorned hither like »wect
SJkitJkrs/MtY'i RkM*tni //., Act V.. Sc. i.
IN A St^iAKB. I HcAn i EAUEr. 3. AliONV.
« TrY»t. Pi'ULK. I'oc-t.
1 1 < I N . . I . A : pa : ape ; pear : drape : ^{xircd : despair :
II 1: it; tie; tile; stilc ; tinsel; tingles;
^listenin£. HI. M; am; man; nuin: mania;
■.irt;inal. IV. L* : us; •^iitn ; muse: Reniu!»:
.,-... :rumpct<L Chakauk. The letter I.
AvK^i-snc. rrimaU: Honor (he Itruve. Finals: Dec-
.V CnwN-word-v: 1 HenlD. 3. OriolE. 3. Numi*-
1 *Viavt>. ^. KectijR. 6. ThaliA. 7. HelmeT. 8.
I'tnjO. to. katioN. ti. Anti(|tiateD. \3. VUtA. 13.
- PtcTiRB Puzzle, Kagin, Sykc*. and hU dog.
.V Choss-wokd Enigmas, i. May. 3. Marbles.
V vL. Enigua fur Wkb Pi'ULEKS. Trailing Arbuitui.
r-h«m 5. H-ai
M-E-an.
KKSSIVR EnIG:
3. W-hen.
Pri-N^c.
Pk.
St. As
I C 3. Mab.
Diamond : 1 It. 3 \
Diamond : 1. H. ^ I
Lea-hand Diamond:
Lower Right Diamond
Pi zxtK. May-pole. Ape. Map Mole.
niK Spring.
iwihome. I. H-air a. A-we. 3. W-hen.
i. 6. C-<>-at. 7. Pca-R.
lA. HcaihcRL
ss t»K Diamonds. Upper I^ft-hand Diamond :
Caleb. 4 Bee
Ivca. 3. Begin.
Upper Right-hand
4. Aim. 5. N, Central
Hrttwn. 4. Awe. 5. N. I.x»wcr
B. J, Boa. 3. Bourn. 4. An. 5. N.
Eo*. 3. Noted. 4. Set.
N.
CcntniU : Peacock. Acruu: i. l^oP.ird.
a. BlE»s. 3. SAd. 4. C. 5 FOg. 6. DcCk*. 7. WilKins
Anagrams, for Ou>ek Puzzlers. 1. Shadows, a. Signature.
3. Credentials. 4. Revolution. 5. PatriutLsm. 6. Refoniiaiury.
TiiRKK Easv WuRD-sgUAREs. I. I Crab. 3. Rice. 3. Acre,
j. Beet. II. I. Dive. 3. Iron. 3. Void. 4. Ends. III. i,
Pond. 3. i )vcr. 3. Neva. 4. Drab.
Is eachofthcfollovi
Wank i* 1.. W su- 1. tf
witnl that ^«
EASY TRANSPOSITION
- ..■
•t>l:i .1.
hcli
'^
1.1.
nut
.\lkc
Jho
Jcscr\
cJ 1,. ll
cd the
.....
he w.-rvl which is to fill the firsr
may be re-arranged 10 form n
id make sense.
n a ■ 2. .\fler saying .1
» ,. In >puc uf Tii.
— . 4. W'e found the doors of
5. Ihc owner of the
- antii^uiiics- 6. The man who
' • M it .m his shoulder.
Kepas lulf lewl. nt ganlugca antiuq dan donlc.
Eon how wedUelh yb het tasdiec neRih.
Hwne eh eladcl eih lerfsow.os uleb nad ogeind,
So^tr. tohi ni rathe'', nirametfm o<i hi<<n.
\VOKn..<<i{| A|{E.*<
THr<.r Htffrr fr->T
3 Ail..*e;
city II.
thr ordinary word-square in that the words
" ' — I'l the same, horizontally and pcrpcn-
• letter* which are represented by stars
r •«.% or up and down, spell the name
— ' ■ >- --' T" withdraw.
i^istrate of a
■>v a hunter.
..: III. I.
(ii.j .(% m;jc ; .V tlower. 4.
rc^ 5 K..nKl>. IV. I. A
4. obscure. 5. Designate.
A flower. 4. A large wild
.K \IMIil \l.
in Brazil, who, when they i|ucsiioned him, looked an island near
EMgUtnd VkwA said they must a ca^f of Ncrih Carolina for an island
near Massac husftU. lilv olcott.
EASV (*KOSS-\VOI{|> KM4;MA.
Mv first is in jewel, but not in cold;
My second is in bu^lc. but not in hum :
My third is in young, but not in old ;
My fourth is in even, but not in morn :
My whole is a pleasant time of year,—
A time of flowers and sunny cheer. . .^..,.
a quotation fron
MMIEKICAL ENIGMA
I A,\i composed of forty-five letters, and
of Coleridge s poems.
My 38-28-34-35-6 is an aromatic garden plant. My 39-10-15-36-33-
43-5 is odious. My 43.13-8-30 is a prison. My 30-36.3.37-14 is a
temporary building. My 44-32-4o-<^ is a comer. My 41-7-33-34.45
abyeror stratum. My i6-3i-ii-37-3i Ls a kind of bee. My 33-1-
35-19 is desirous. .My i7-29-t3-4-3-iS is to explain. a*{CHIB.
DOrBLE ACROSTIC.
TiiK initials and finals name two counirics of Europe nftcn on the
verge of war. Cross-words: i. A leather strap. 3. Clamor. 3.
A deserter. 4. K kind of hawk which, in India, acts as street
scavenger. 5. A hemic poem. 6. * Md timc>. F. a. w.
CONNECTEO UIAMONDS.
ntral letters of this puzzle, reading .
*oid of
ten letters made of two words of five letters each. Upon the first
half nf the long word the Left-hand Diamond is based: and upon
the other half i-. based the Right-hand Diamond.
CnNTHAi_s ACROSS : .\ fniit. Lekt-Ha.mj L>iamond (across) : i.
In botu)tiets. 2. An inctosurc. 3. The dn,* stem of wheat 4. A
ruminant animal. 5. In flowers. Right-Hano Di.\mo.su (across) :
I. In blossoms. 3. A kind of atmospheric moisture. 3. A smalt
fruit. 4. Distorted. 5. In nosegay. w. 11.
CHARADE.
Roman or (;recian. all the same,
yiy _first Is pleased my wA^iSr to meet.
\Vhcthcr in delicate array,
( >r, like my srtOHd, always gay,
lis hl.Miming face we gladly grceL n.
k.-4aurftr, tc Chey pa.««cJ her and afierwortl met c
(JElOfAN COrSINS.
In- the following puzzle, each pair of definitions refcm to a word
sftelled alike in ('crman and in English. The (tennan definition is
printed firM. then the English.
t. A headgear; a hovel, j. vV relative; to talk indistinctly 3.
An infant ; beneficent. 4 A rc\ting-pUcc ; in sci/e 5 .\ definite
article; a cave, t Acrid; an annual plant. 7. .\ M.n; ivkill 8.
.\n aliJutiitn; wicked. 9. Remote; a plant tnat grow* in moist
place*. 10. A division of time; a label 11. Part of a verb: a
terrible comcsL 13. A pois'w : n present. a. t. momiirrt.
656
THE RIDDI.E-HOX.
EAf<V PKTORIAI. ANAGRAM. thnl dc«:rib« mc pici
An anagram » a won] spelled with all the Ictlert of Another word. picture* In the illu^l
the lettcra bctng, of course, arranged^ differentj^. In the prCMrnt tumd"* in and thu» ind'i
ptixzle, then
ftpond.
aKTatn!^, and five ncli of pictures to c
ric i» to be solxed by taking the letteni of a
: of each set, and re-arranginc them so as
that will (airly describe the mate picture or
tion, each numeral is so pbccd that it
es, all the pictures belonging to tu set.
DIAMOND.
invocation, 3. That which caused the death of a royal
r'f KT^cat beauty. ^. A means for holding a door clos/^
I locking it. 4. A bird. 5. A king whose city was taken by
Thf names of solvers are printed in the second number after that
in which the puzzles appear.
As-wi:k> t.. March I'l zzles were r«:eived. i
cdgmcnt ill the May number, from Carl and N-^
..— •■lirnwnie Ike,'' 8— Ullie Keppclman. 1—
l.cs Kuchcs, France, 6— L. liradner. i'aris, 6— AM
Soi.iTIONs TO Przzi.ES IS THE ApRlL NlsiiiKK were received
before April K>, from Kdwin Walker, Jr., 8— Alice M. Kyle, 13—
C. and J. Treat, all— J. S. Hunt, all- Kiltie Hanafbrd, 9—
"Partners," 12— Pearl and Birdie Bright, 4 — Marion Booth, j —
.S-imuel 1). Strykcr, Jr., 7 — "So So," all — "Adam : " '
•Can.landhei SLsters," all— " K. H. R.," 11— (J
rs,"all— "K. H. R.," II— (Jcorgia Jones, s-
Klorence C. Uinc, a— C. Willcnbucher, ic— K. S. Hosmcr, i.^
Harriet I.. Pmyn, i— J. Alvah Scon, 14— Cbnrnce Havibnd, n-
inian Crosby, 5- Robert K. Harris, 2— "Queen Hess," if— W.
McUod, ic^ Richard Anderson. 3— Hallie H. WiUon, 4—
ssie .nnd Anna l-irtabee, 14— M. M. I ihby, 13— Philip Sidney
lion, i;— "K. K. M.," ij— "Hallie and her Cousin," 7—
nie and Uward Smith, i<:~ Kdilh LouLsa Miner, 3— Nanie
rdon, 1;— "We, L'sandCo. " 13— Julia T. I'embcr, 3— Clarence
I'hwaits, all — "Buttercup and I>ais\'." 8— Eugene A.
Llatk. 14— "Tom. Dick, and Harry," 11— Sopliic M. Ducloux. 11
-Nellie Richards, i-J. Milton (iitlciman, 3— ITie Stowe Family,
.-dl — "Carlylc,"2 — Florence K Pratt, all— C. I-. Brownell, all —
S.illic \"iles. 13 — Mary K. Sprague, 4— "t)live,"4 — "Johnnie and
Jessie." 16— Annie Mills and l^uic F.verctt. 16— Wiich and
Wizard, 12— Carrie Davistm, 3— Fstelle Merrill, 1-" M'liss," 4—
Florence Leslie Kytc, 13 — "Sid and I," 14— Ceorgc A. ^tabl, 3 —
"A 1;. It. and M. (J. B.," 11— Filmund C. Car^haw, 0— John B
Miller, 7— "Willie F. P.," 4— W. B. Potrere, 8— John B. Blt«>d. 6
— Kllen I. Way, 12— "O. We R. Y.Y.," 1:— (). B. jud.son, 13-
Bcnie Manier, 14 — Ixiuise and NiciiU Ludlow, 14— " rrenchy," 10
Lulu M. Brown, ic^" Z.iydee, ' 11— LuzU and FZIsbeih Hiu.
"•■ —Horace F., o—
agener. i — Xlay
Shcpardson, 1 — Josic McClcary, 7 — 1-tonic and Zella, 12 — MarK
L. Mclionald, Jr, 3 — Cora tlregorv', 11 — J. C and L. Tomes, all
-W. K. Harris, 12— Archie .ind Hugh Bums, i:— Lulu 11.
McCregor, 3— Willie F. Woobrd, 5—" Indian," i— A. B. C, all
"home
7— Caroline I.irrabec, 5- Waller' W. Silsiin, i— H
liemanl C. Weld, 15— Xellie Caldwell, 4— Kffie Waj
. all— Frank R. Heath, 15— .Mabel Thompson, 3— H. and F. Kei
Crabbe, all— Arabella Ward, 4— Robert K. Coales, 14— Ollic and I
— Lulu Meisel, 1— " Fret Sawyer," 2— De F. W. Chase, i— W. Ey
8— M. Nicure, 1— "Chic," 2— Bessie and her cousin, 16— "Puck." 3— K.iymond Cilley, 1— Frank W. Crane, 7— " C'rysule," 3— Henry
L. Mitchell, 14— (.;race Crosley, i— "Mystic Trio," 11— Austin M I'oolc. all— Ethel tlillis. 3— F. W. H. and C. U. C, 9— Fjta Iva
■ ■ ny, 14— Sadie .Medary, ii- Willie 1). Ward, .all— Mamie .iiid Annie li.ikcr, 2— Willie F;vans, 7— E. .Matthews, 4— " Puiilc
Chariollc .Mcllv.iine, 12— F;. S. .Meyers, 4— Wheelie. 1-,— Lilian
rgie Smith, 2— Isabelle, 13— C. H and t harlie Allyn.
R. M.. I— Jack R. Wrenshall, 2— Minnie Woodbury, s— Virgie and Eltic. .— 1 ie.Tgie Smith, 2— Isabelle, 13— <:. H and t harlie Allvn.
5— Lizzie C. C, 4— Mary L niome, all— Thos. Hil\son, Jr, .all- Mamie Williams, i— M.amie Pifer, 1— "".Mauch Chunk." 15— C. H
Tihbits and W. E. Billings, 12— Dycie, 11— Archie and t:h.arlotte, 4— Henry Rochester, 2— Violet. 3— Starr K. Jackson .ind Maud L.
1-acey, n— Willie L Ross. 5— Willie R. Folsom, i— Ruth Camp, 4— Alice .and W.ilter. 7— Flvangcline W.ade. 5— firacc .M. Fisher, 12—
15 — J. Harry Andervtn, 6 — Edward Browazki, j,
• Fraud," 4— Jennie F^lliott, 8—
e Inmates," 15— Jeannie t Isg.xnl, ic— t;crard H. tlullon, 6— " .Mignon." i— C.race B Taylor, 5—
:r, 1— (;racc E. Ffopkins, .all- Jessie .ind Charles F Lipman, all— " Jes.sic," is- Lizzie l> Fyfer.
Seeker,'' 4— Frank C. Clldwell, 2— H. O. Adicy, i— J.
R. M.. I— Jack R. Wrenshall, 2— Minnie Woodbuij-, 5— Virgie.i
M "
cey, 1 1— Willie L Ross. 5-
Herbert Barry, all— Fstelle M. Beck, 3— Charlie F. Potter, i5-l"Two f.rown Folks."
— Harry Hcydrick, 5— Bessie S. Hicok. .all- Bertha Hills, i— J. Harry Roberts.
Fannie E. Case. ic^B. B, 4- - "
Joseph Whelevs, 4— Fanny B
— F:.Wirth, 3— "Bab." all- Frank F;. .Ncwm.an, 2— Bertha, Herman, and 1 h.arlcs, 6— (iuMav F. Bnickmann, 1— M«iic C, 14— •'• Belle
and Ben ic," 14- .S'ettie and Willie Van Antwerp, 14- W.arren C.".k. 1— H.arry Co.,k. i— F- R. Conklin, i— Herbert C, Thiriwall, it—
Daisy May, all— Helen, Florence, and Louise, ^— Wallace K. tbylord, 13— IC H Neville, 2— Fred. C. McDonald, all— Lizzie H.I>
St. Vrain, M— Frederick W. F.ixon, all— R. (3. Chester, 7—" Ulysses," 13— Agnes Fulton, i— R. T. I.osee. 15— John H. H C.leman,
5— Haltic Evans and M.try de N.. 6— "B..sun." 15- T K. .and N. B. Cole. 11— " 80 and 81," all— FJsic B. Wade. 8— Ned Thompson, t
— Fanma and l.oltie Voun^, 13— FxJith and Alfred, 0 — Nellie C. Grahiim. 15— M.ay Farinholt, I — B. Hopkins. ^ Mamie Hardy and
Alice Lucas. 11— Henr>' C-. Browif. all — Margaret S. HolTman, 6— F'mest F" 'Taylor, 0 — Lilla and Daisy, all — S. C. Thom|>son, 14 —
WillieO. Br..wnficld, 1— I leorge S. .and Carrie, 8— Dick Bab, ij— Myrick Rheein, 7— " l.ode Sur," 11 — Mamie I- Mensch, 5- 1 jun,
.M.m, 5— "X V Z,"i2— May Copekind, 2— Sophie M. Oicske. 7— Chariie Wright. 2— Ixiulie H. Monroe, 2— C. H Hemmon.s. 1—
Fannie Knobloch. 7— Kslelle Wciler. 3— Carrie .and Mary Speiden, n— Three Little Subscribers, i— Lulu M. Hulchins, ir— PeUic
Meade, 8— P. S and 11. K Hcffleman, 4— AlbenJ. Brackett, 7— Bessie Taylor. R— Anna and Alice, 14— Cenic Smith, ^Maggie
Ijtwrencc, 2— Sanford B. Manin, 1— l.eui» P. Robinson. 2— Deter and Meter. 14— Katie Willbms. 6— H. R. Reynolds, 15— Hope, 11
lennie Morri- M.iore, 11— "C. Vl B." 3— Mary Wichl
6—1 A Sc.lt. ij— Ikssie C Harney. 0— Crace Fl Smith, 8— Lifjic
Nammack, 8— Katie Nammack. 4— tkorgcand Frank, n— C. T. Xfaxwell, n— .Sammic Dmlds. all— Cabby, 6— Florence Wilton, ij-
Bellc W. Brown, 9— I.eletia I'reston. 5— Cracie Hewlett, all— " Phyllis," 1 1— Ned and Uh:, all— Williston, ,— P. S Clark v.n, all— C. I .
I— F:>]ith Granger, 7- iTiaHie W. Power, all— W. and C. K, all— t.:ig A. Rene. 11— FMilh B Fowler, 15— FJIa W. Faulkner, ij—
"Chiuck," 1) — Lydc and Will McKinney, 14 — l-ajward Vultcc, all — Chow Chow, t — (rtrorge D. Sabin, 8— Emma Mcnifield, 0 —
Carl Howden. 6— Belle F. Upton, >— Phcbc. Hetlie, and Annie, 7— Clara D. Adams. 4— Mabel Adams, 3— Isabel Chambers .>
.—C. A. Chandler. 11 — Al. .Mond, 13 — licoripa and l.ce, 13 — L. H. P., 8 — Pierre Jay, 5 — " Bniwnie Bee," 11 — " Carl and Norm," 5 —
"Two Ijllle I1«c«," ty Four Milvxn forgot to ftign their names tu their letters. Ine numerals denote the number of puzzle* solv^.
— Paul and Jessie, all— Dollie Fr>', 3— EPa M. Parker, ,- (.liarle
and W. H. Moyer, 14— Faith W.alcoit, i— Rose Irene ka
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
(Sec page 717.1
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VII r. JULY. I 88 I.
> 'pyright, iSSi, by Scribncr & Co.]
now BOBHVS VKIJKMI'i:!)!: RAX AWAY.
Hv H. W. Bi.AKi:.
No. Q.
Boiinv wiis .1 little tdt in dresses, with lonj; '•tlau-
burn " curls, .is he called them, hanging down on
his shoulders. He would n't be four years old till
October ; and yet he had been off on the cars that
spring day all alone by himself, and without say-
ing a word to anybody. It all happened because
Papa had just bought him a velocipede, painted
bl.ick, with red trimmings, and having a cushioned
seat and a silver-tipped steering-handle. Mamma
had always said that there were two things which
Bobby must not do till he was large enough to
wc.ir trousers, and one w.ts to eat mince-pie and
the other to ride a velocipede. But every boy
on the street had a velocipede that spring, and
there was no peace till Bobby had one, too. Yet
Mamma never let him take it out of the yard till
he had promised not to go out of sight of the
house, and not to race with the other boys.
Bobby's father was an engineer on the railroad,
and he was gone from home all day. On the
morning when this story began to happen, he
went away early, leaving Mamma with " oceans of
work " on her hands, — that is, the week's ironing
was to be finished up and some frosted cake made
for a little party she was to have that evening ; so
.IS soon as Bobby had finished his breakfast, she
put on his little gray cloak, with the cap to match,
— which had a bl.ick tassel in the center, — and his
red silk neckerchief, and mittens of the s-ime
color, and sent him out to play with the veloci-
pede ; then she made the cake while the irons
were getting hot, going to the door every little
while to see that Bobby was all right.
For a time, Bobby remembered all that he had
promised Mamma, and kept near the house and
Vol. VIII.— 42.
did not race ; but after all the other children had
come out on the walk with their velocipedes, and a
grand open-to-all race around the square was
started, he forgot himself, and followed the rest
just as fast as his little legs could make the wheels
go. And, what w.is stranger, Mamma forgot him,
because, at that very moment, she made the un-
happy discovery that while her irons were hot, her
party-cake was burning up. By the time that
Bobby had turned the first corner of the square,
the other children were out of sight. He was
tired, and would have gone home, and this story
would never have been written. But it so hap-
pened that he looked down the street a long
way to where the railroad track crossed the
ro.-id, in front of the big depot, and saw a steam-
engine ; and then he thought to himself: " 1 'II go
and see Papa," for he had an idea that .ill engines
went to the same place, and that any one of them
would take him straight to Papa ; it would be
fine fun to ride in the cab, on the engineer's seat,
just as he rode one day when Papa's engine was
going from the engine-house to the depot. So
the velocipede flew down the street for the next
few minutes in a way that made everybody stare.
But after awhile it made a sudden stop, for Bobby
spied a string of tob.icco-pipes hanging in the win-
dow of a cigar store and he wanted one, because
he remembered thai Papa always had a pipe in his
mouth when he started for the depot. So he left
the velocipede leaning against the window, and
went in and bought a long clay pipe with a yellow
mouth-piece. The man .iskcd him for a penny,
and he paid him promptly from the bit of a purse
which he always carried in the side pocket of his
658
HOW BOBBYS VELOCIPEDE RAN AWAV.
cloak. And when lie had pul thai pipe in his
mouth, ho felt so grand that he marched off for the
depot, never once thinking of the velocipede.
When he reached the depot, the engine was
hitched to a long train of cars, and the engineer
stood on the ground oiling the machinery with
a funny, long-spouted oil-can. The steam was
shooting out of the slcam-pipc, and the fireman
sat in the cab all ready to ring the bell for starting
the train. Bobby pulled the sleeve of the engi-
neer's jacket and said, pointing to the cab, " Please
put me up there ; I want to go and sec my papa ! "
But the engineer shook his head and said, " 1
could n't do that, my little man," and then he
climbed up to his seat. This was a great disap-
pointment to Bobby, and I dare say he would have
cried right out if he had n't seen a man with a pipe
in his mouth, just like his own, going into the
third car from the engine. So he thought that that
must be the place for him. Just how he contrived
to pull himself up the steps nobody knows, for
nobody saw him, but when the train moved out of
the depot he was curled up on the front seat of the
smoking-car, with the pipe still between his teeth.
That very same minute, his mamma was hurry-
ing down Main street, looking very hot and ex-
ceedingly frightened, asking every one she met,
" Have you seen ni)' boy on his velocipede ? "
The burning of that party-cake had so distracted
the poor woman that she had not thought of Bobby
for as much as ten minutes after it was out of the
oven, and then none of the children, who had
finished their race around the square by this
time, had the slightest idea what had become of
him. Neither did anybody else know, although a
policeman told her that there was an idle veloci-
pede down by Mr. Carter's cigar store. But all
that Mr. Carter could tell her was that he had sold
Bobby a pipe, to be used for blowing soap-bubbles,
he supposed. ,
Mamma was Very pale by this time, and her
mind was full of 'all the terrible things that might
possibly happen to Bobby, but she went straight on
through the crowded streets of the city, till she
came to the police office at the City Hall. The
chief of police was very kind to her, and he wrote
down all that she could tell him about how Bobby
looked, and what he wore. He said that the City
Hall bell should be rung to show that a child was
lost, that all the policemen should look for Bobby
all over the city, and that if he was n't found within
two hours, the description he had written out
should be printed in a hand-bill and posted every-
where. The big bell in the tower began to ring
while Mamma went down the steps of the build-
ing, and it did n't stop until she reached home.
By this time it was noon and her fire was all out.
A policeman brought home the velocipede a few
minutes later, and, when he w.is gone. Mamma sat
down and cried.
"Oh," said she, " where can my Bobby be, and
what will Papa say when he comes home to-
night ? "
Conductor John Blackmcr was a good deal sur-
prised that day when he opened the door of the
smoking-car on the fast New York express, just
after leaving Brocton depot, to see Bobby and the
pipe on the front seat. The little fellow was so
nicely dressed that if it had n't been for the pipe,
one would ha\-e supposed that he had just escaped
from the infant class of some Sunday-school. The
conductor stopped to ask him some questions, but
the youngster was feeling his importance consider-
ably just then, and about all that could be got out
of him was that he intended to "see Papa"; so
the conductor went on through the train, and he
asked the passengers, while he was punching holes
in their tickets, whose little boy that was in the
smoking-car; but, of course, nobody knew. Then
he went back to Bobby, and said :
" Who are you, anyhow ? "
•'Well," answered he, "my name is Bobby
Bradish, and 1 live at 27 Garden street : my
papa's name is Buxton Bradish ; he is an engineer,
and they call him ' Buck ' Bradish, for short ! "
All this was a speech that he had been taught to
say at home, and one that always made Papa
laugh.
The conductor knew "Buck" Bradish well, al-
though he worked on another railroad ; and he
also knew what to do with Bobby. He first per-
suaded the young man to let him put the pipe into
the side pocket of his own coat, to keep it from
breaking, and then he carried him in his arms to
the parlor-car, which was the next one in front of
the smoking-car, and put him down in one of the
big, red, stuffed chairs. He was facing a kind-
looking lady, who got him to tell her .ibout Mamma
and Papa, and the velocipede. And when the boy
with books and papers to sell came along, she
bought for Bobby a children's magaxine, and showed
him the pictures; and also a little candy. — all, she
was sure. Mamma would be willing he should eat.
She made Bobby feel that the parlor-car was ,1
much nicer place to ride in than the smoking-car.
It w;is twenty-five miles from Brocton to Sher-
man, where the express trains stopped next.
When the conductor came into the car to take
Bobby out. the little boy asked if his papa w.-is
there. The conductor told him that Papa was not
there, but that he himself wcuild lake him to a
lady who would tell him how to find Papa. Then
he carried him ;icross a track and into the dejiot,
saying to .i young lady who stood behind a d<x)r
Ittl.)
HOW BOBBY S VELOCIPEDE RAN AWAY.
659
that had a hole cut in it just large enough for
Robby to sec her face, "Here he is." And she
stniled, and, opening the door, said, " Bring him
right in." So the conductor put Bobby on the
lounge that stood behind the door, and the next
minute he \v;is gone olT on the train.
It was the funniest little room Bobby had ever
seen, — hardly wide enough to turn around in.
There was one sunn\' window in it that looked out
on the railroad. While Bobby was looking around
him. the lady sat down at a table, h.wing some
very curious-looking machinery on it, and played
with her fingers on a black button that moved up
and down on a spring, and made a clicking noise ;
and when the bird heard the clicking noise, he
sang .IS though his throat would split. You see
that it was a telegraph-office in which Conductor
Blackmer had left Bobby, and that this lady was
sending Mamma word where Bobby was ; and
when she had finished playing on the button, she
came and sat on the lounge, and took Bobby in
her lap : then she explained to him that his papa
had gone a long way oflf on another railroad, and
th.it he could not see him till night ; also, that
Conductor Blackmer would come back with his
train by and by, and take him home ; and that he
must be a good boy while he staid with her, and
he would find both Papa and Mamma waiting for
him in the deix)t at home. And when she was
sure that the little boy understood it all, it was
dinner-time. You see. Conductor Blackmer had
written a letter while he was on the cars, telling all
about Bobby, and had given it to her as soon as
the train stopped, so that she would know what
to do with the little boy ; and he had also written
a message for her to telegraph to Mamma.
.•Ml this time, Mamma was sitting in the kitchen
at home, crying as though her heart were broken.
She did not even notice that the fire was out and
her irons were cold ; she was so troubled because
Bobby was lost. But she started up very quickly
when the front-door bell rang, and was a good
deal surprised to find that a telegraph-boy had
brought her a message ; there could be no mistake
about it. for on the envelope were the words,
" Mrs. Buxton Bradish, 27 Garden street, Brocton,
Connecticut." So she opened it, and this was what
the message said:
"SlIKRMAS, CnsxicTlcrT, April 5th, 1875.
" Bobby U all right Will bring him home at 6. 30 this evening.
"John Bt.ACKMEit,
" Conductor New York ExprcsM."
Mamma wiped away her tears in a hurry when
she had read the message, and asked the boy to
come in while she wrote a note, informing the
chief of police that Bobby was at hist found.
And then she began to make up a new fire in the
kitchen stove ; and when the fire was lit she put
away the ironing and m.ide a new party-cake.
The lady who staid in the Sherman telegraph-
office boarded at a large hotel across the road from
the depot, and it was there that she took Hobby to
dinner. Her friends stared a good deal when they
s;iw her leading him through the long dining-room,
but the waiter ran for a higli chair and a bib, and
the little boy enjoyed himself very much. After
dinner, the lady went to a toy store and bought
him some "sliced anim.ils." and after they had
gone back to the office, she showed him how to
put the p.asteboard strips together so as to make
pictures of the lion, tiger, sheep, etc. Then she
read him .a story from the magazine which the
other lady h.id given him on the train, and then
Bobby fell asleep on the lounge. But he was wide
awake when Conductor Blackmer came to take
him, and the lady gave Bobby a good hug and
a kiss before she let him go. The conductor put
the magazine and the sliced anim.nls in his over-
coat pocket, and placed Bobby on a se.at in the
passenger-car. And when he had finished collect-
ing tickets, he took him on his knee and told him
stories about his own little children at home.
Papa's train came into the Brooton depot at si.x
o'clock, half an hour earlier than the one Bobby
was on. Mamma was there to meet him, and he
was very much astonished to hear what had been
going on.
When the New York express train came in,
the first man who got off was Conductor Black-
mer, with Bobby in his arms. And when Papa
and Mamma had heard the whole story of Bobby's
trip to Sherman, the conductor handed him over to
them "safe and sound," along with the magazine,
the sliced animals, and the pipe.
There w.as a very happy party at 27 Garden
street that evening. Bobby was allowed to sit at the
table and have a (liece of the party-cake.
He is a large boy now, but he still remem-
bers how he ran away to find Papa. And if you
should go into the parlor of his house, you would
see three photographs in the same frame. One of
them is the picture of a little boy on a velocipede,
another, that of John IJlackmer, conductor of the
New York express, and the third, that of the lady
who stays in the Sherman telegraph-office. And
over these pictures there is pl.accd a cl.iy pipe, with
a yellow mouth-piece ; a pipe that has never been
smoked.
66o
IDL'KTII OK KLV AT TOM K I, L I O T S HtJUSE.
INTKODfCTION. — DRAWN liv ADDIE LEDVARD.
FOURTH OF JULY AT TOM ELLIOT'S HOUSE.
Bv Sarah J. Birke.
Thanksgiving is all well enough in its way,
Against Christmas and New- Year I 've nothing
to say,
But my dog and the fellows and 1, —
That is, all the fellows wlio have any spunk,
Who save up for months to buy powder and punk.
And keep fire-crackers hid in my old leather
trunk, —
We just live for the Fourth of July !
Tom stays at his aunt's, near the end of the lane;
Her house is quite fine but she 's hateful as Cain ;
And I 'm going to tell what she said.
One day when my dog and the fellows and I
Had gone to Tom's house to spend Fourth of July,
And thought, being under her window, we 'd try
To be quiet as mice, or the dead.
We said " Hurrah ! " softly, for fear she 'd be m.id ;
We sol off the littlest cannon we had.
As under the bushes we hid ;
Tom screamed " Do be quiet ! " at each little
sound,
And when my dog yelped as he tore up the ground.
To bring me a piece of a cracker he 'd found,
I cried "Lie down, sir!" And he did.
Yes, he did every time — but 't was all of no use ;
When folks want to find fault they can make an
excuse ;
So she popped her head out through the vines
.And cried: "Tom, your father shall hear .ibout
you ;
To put up with this longer is more than I '11 do —
Come into the house, sir, and send off the crew
That are spoiling my flowers and lines !
" Independence, indeed ! 1 'd rather, I say,
Be under the rule of Great Britain to-day,
Than subjected to noises 1 hate ! "
Oh ! sharper than crackers the cruel words rang,
.'\nd cpiickly tlie window went down with a bang,
As up from the bushes my brave old dog sprang,
And followed me out of the gate.
She 's .Ts cross an old party as ever could be !
She insulted my dog and the fellows and me.
.'\nd though they may forgive her, I can't !
No, 1 can't— and. besides that. 1 don't mean to
try—
.And next year my dog and the fellows and I
Will go off on the rocks to spend Fourth of July.
With no thanks to Tom or his aunt !
t)6i
UP.
1!V I'.l-.llRtlK II. IlriiARP.
Poor old Mr. Ptvfacf was tired, — not that he
h.ul Ix'cn particularly busy, — no, that wiis the pity
of it. '1 inio had boon when every caller at Dic-
tionary Mansion had, first of all, paid their
respects to hiin ; in return, he imparted to e.ach
new visitor such little hints and tjeneral information
.IS its founder, Mr. Webster, h.id thouijht they
mij;ht need t<i aid them in their researches.
Hut, alas! those days were of the p.ist! In the
rush and hurry of modern .American life, people
could not wait to confer with him. There were
constant callers at the mansion with whom he had
never interchanged a word, — people who rushed
through the halls, found the room of the Word
they desired to consult, made their inquiries, and
then bolted unceremoniously. All this worried
.Mr. Pn-face very much, for w.ts he not an old and
faithful servant? Mr. Webster himself h.id given
him the position of janitor when Dictionary Man-
sion was tirst completed. It was comparatively a
small house then ; and through all its changes to
the present enormous structure, with its number-
less lodgers, he had remained faithfully at his post.
These were a few of the sad thoughts occupying
his attention one night as he sat restlessly in his
arm-chair, wearied with enforced idleness. It was
rather late for him, too. He usually closed the
doors early in the evening; but, that night. Orator
Puff w.is to speak at the Town Hall, and had en-
gaged many of the biggest Words to assist him,
and Mr. JW/acir was awaiting their return.
Meanwhile, the poor old fellow was slowly go-
ing over his sorrowful thoughts, when he was
suddenly startled by a scream. It evidently came
from a distant part of the building, (joing into
the hall, he found it rapidly tilling with excited
Words, anxious to know the cause of the alarm.
.■\s the commotion appeared greatest in the corridor
of the " U's," he hurried there, and soon found
himself at the room of little Mr. L'p. Crowding
past Curiosity, who stootl vacantly staring through
the door) he saw the body of the little lodger lying
prostrate on the floor. Bending over him were
Pi/y and Sympathy, vainly trying to bring him to
consciousness.
Miss I'pas, the lady who lived in the adjoining
chaml)er, gave this explanation : Her neighbor
h.td come home unusually late that evening.
After hearing him close his door, she felt the jar
of some one falling. Hurrying to his room, she
discovered him lying on the floor, apparently de.id,
and, in her terror, she gave the piercing scream
which alarmed the house. Mr. Aid was the first
to appear on the scene, and w.is doing all he could
to revive the sufferer.
When L 'p had sufficiently recovered, he told his
story, as follows :
" Mine is simply a case of nervous and bodily
exhaustion, caused by constant overwork. There
has not been a night for the last two years that I
have not come home so utterly fagged out that it
seemed as if I never could begin my endless
labor again. Kver since the Jones family came to
this town, my scr\ices have been in constant
demand from early dawn till late at night. It
appears there is hardly an idea in their heads but
they think my presence necessary for its expres-
sion. For instance, there is Father Jones. At first
cock-crow, he 'wakes up'; then 'gets up' and
'makes up' the fire; 'docs up' his chores;
'blacks up' his boots; 'eats up' whatever his
wife ' cooks up ' for breakfast ; ' goes up ' to the
store ; ' figures up ' the cash account ; ' buys up '
more goods ; ' marks up ' the prices ; ' fills up ' the
orders; 'foots up' the profits; 'shuts up' the
store; 'dresses up' for dinner; 'sits up' awhile
aftenvard, calling for my .issistancc continually,
until he 'locks up' the house for the night and
' shuts up ' his eyes in slumber.
".At the same time Miss Fanny 'dresses up';
■ does up ' her hair; ' takes up ' her book ; ' gets
herself up ' in her lesson ; ' hunts up ' her bonnet ;
' hurries up ' to school ; ' catches up ' with a
school-mate ; ' stands up ' to recite ; ' passes up ' to
the head of the class ; ' flushes up ' at the praise
of her teacher; 'divides up' her luncheon at
recess ; and, as she ' rides up ' home in the horse-
car, ' makes up ' her mind to 'be up ' at the
head of the school ere the term is ' up.'
'"Tommy Jones 'runs up' to the store on an
errand ; ' trips up ' over a stick ; cries out that he is
all "bruised up,' until his mother "bandages up'
his knee, and " hugs him up ' a dozen times, and
tells him to "keep up' good courage, and iry to
'cheer up.'
''And so it is the long, long, weary day. 1 go
from one to the other until I can scarcely totter.
Nor would I complain even now if I thought my
help were really needed. Hut there is the Brown
family living next door; they are certainly quite .is
.active as the Joneses, and, as they seldom require
my services, I can only think that my presence on
662
(July,
every occasion (for it can not fairly be called assist-
ance) is not indispensable, as the Joneses seem to
imagine."
" Shameful, shameful ! " was the indignant com-
ment of the group of listeners, as I'fi finished his
story.
Said Incomprehensibility : " I scarcely can believe
the Joneses to be so cruel as to abuse such a little
man as ^ / like that. Just think of it — only two
letters high ! And here am 1, a very giant among
Words, and yet have only been called out once
for a month ! Then it was for a spelling at a
public school, and I was immediately dismissed.
Why could not the work be more evenly distrib-
uted among us.' "
" You have spoken my sentiments exactly," said
Procrastination. " We ought to labor according to
our size. My only work this week was in serving
for an hour as writing-copy for Tommy Jones. 1
was very glad to be put to use, although the teacher
did say I was a ' thief of time.' "
"Let us hold an indignation meeting," sug-
gested another. " We can at least protest against
such barbaric cruelty and injustice."
The idea met with favor, and the fast-increasing
assemblage adjourned without delay to the main
hall of the building, whither all the other inmates
were soon summoned. Arbiter was chosen mod-
erator, in acknowledgment of his wisdom, and be-
cause of his reputation as a settler of disputes.
Vice-presidents were selected from Scripture proper
names, abbreviations, and noted names of fiction,
and Record elected secretar)'. The meeting being
duly organized, the chairman announced the busi-
ness to come before it, giving a brief but spirited
account of L'p's history and sufferings.
He was followed by Argument, an old and ex-
perienced debater who had spent much time in
court, and was noted chiefly for always being on
the contrary side. For this once, however, he hap-
pily agreed with the prevailing opinion. Said he :
" No doubt the Americans are a well-meaning
race. But they are extremely careless and seldom
think. And no doubt the Joneses are, at this very
moment, serenely sleeping in utter unconsciousness
of the pain and misery which their dullness has
inflicted upon poor little Up. Of course they mean
' to do right, and would not knowingly injure any
one. Hut that is a poor excuse. Now these
same Americans have a society for the prevention
of cruelty to animals. They seem to be in greater
need of a society for the prevention of cruelty to
the Knglish language, a society whose rigid laws
should be strictly enforced. I'erhaps my words
seem strong, but, my friends, Up's c.tsc is not an
unusual one. I see before me even now two
Words, Yoii and KmKv, who have had an equally
bitter experience. Whenever some people summon
us to the aid of their ideas, You and Kninu are
hitched in with the other Words. Sometimes they
trot before and sometimes behind. In either case,
while they do not help the expressions, but are
rather a hindrance, they become quite as fatigued
as if doing regular and proper work. Now, if Mr.
Jones, for instance, should see a pair of horses used
in the same way, he would at once set down their
driver as an idiot, if not something worse. But
the two cases are not unlike, although our unthink-
ing friends seem not to perceive this."
Another speaker thought that, " As the Joneses
and others have probably never looked at the
subject in that light, it might be that if it were so
presented to them they would see the justice of the
complaint and ofi'end no more. I should, therefore,
move, Mr. Chairman, that our friend Preface
should be appointed a committee of one to call
their attention to the matter, and urge a reform."
At this point, Mr. Preface arose and addressed
the meeting in a sorrowful manner. He thought
the appeal should be spread far and wide by some
able and influential advocate. Reminding his
hearers of his own neglected position and waning
powers, he moved to amend b\- having an account
of the whole affair sent to the St. Nicholas for
publication.
The amendment being accepted, the resolution
;ls .imended was passed by a unanimous vote, after
which the meeting adjourned.
A UAY UN ULU-OKUUMJ.
A l).\\ rxDi.R-r. ROUXU.
By David Ker.
663
A yi'IF.T little village is Adelsberg, so hidden
away among the mountains of Southern Austria
that it might never have been heard of but for its
famous '"Grotto," which is what every one comes
to visit. Just beyond the village, you see a great
black tunnel in the hill-side, from which rushes a
foaming river; and into this tunnel you go.
At first you seem to be entering some great
cathedral, with a v.ist black dome overhead, and
high, wide arches all around ; and the lights that
mark the way seem to be mere sparks. But
the path turns suddenly upward, through a dark
rock-gallery, the roar of an unseen river below
growing fainter as you ascend. The guides light
their torches, and the glare shows you many
strange things in p.issing — palms, cypresses, wil-
lows, outstretched hands and turbancd heads,
dogs, parrots, monkej-s — all so life-like in the
flickering light that, you think, the best sculptor
might be proud of them. But no sculptor has ever
I hisclcd these ; they are formed by the solid parti-
cles in the water that drops from the roof, and
keeps up a constant " tick-tick " all around.
Here extends a crimson-edged curtain, forty feet
long, ever)' fold distinct, but all stone. We come
upon a crowd of strange-looking people, seemingly
waiting for some one ; but they have been waiting
there for ages — they, too, are of stone. One guide
taps a stalactite with his stick, and it chimes like
a bell ; another shouts, and his shout echoes like
organ music far away.
Suddenly, we come out upon a level floor, set with
tables and benches ; and the guides tell us that
every year the village-folk have a dance and supper
down here, and that the Emperor himself attended
one of these under-ground balls not long ago !
From this point, rails h.ive been laid for a mile
and a half, and p.issengcrs may be pushed along
them in trucks — a sort of street-car line under-
ground !
But the side-gallcr>- fur foot-passengers is a
startling pl.ice for a walk. It runs along the very
664
A DAY UNDEk-CROUNlJ.
brink i)f a precipice, with no protection but a low
hand-rail, from the black depths below. Far, far
down, the river can be heard jjrowling and mut-
terinj; amonjj its broken rocks. Half-way alont;
this ledge, a sudden glitter breaks through the
darkness, and, hanging right over the precipice,
appears a monster stalactite, more than fifty feet
long by twelve thick. It has been forming for
centuries.
A little beyond the " Diamond Grotto" (as this
passage is called) the cave formerly ended ; but the
guides having noticed that the rock sounded hollow
in one place, a boring was made, and a second
cave was discovered, almost as large as the first.
The whole mountain is honey-combed with these
under-ground streets, which may be seen winding
away on every side ; there are several of them into
which no one has dared to venture, but many
mar\'cls are seen in others. There arc the " Lean-
ing Tower"; the "Gallery of Statues," along
which you see a row of veiled figures standing on
the very edge of a deep black pit, and bending for-
ward as if just about to fling themselves in, head-
foremost; and the " Dropping Fountain," beneath
which has been formed in the course of ages the
exact likeness of an enormous sea-shell, with all
its ribs and hollows perfectly marked. •
.•\ little farther on, you come to the "Frozen
Water-fall " — a strange sight indeed. At the first
glance, the whole side of the grotto seems to be
one great sheet of dashing water and Ixiiling foam,
but without the slightest sound. You look again,
and you see that it is half stone and half ice,
glittering like silver in the bkize of the torches, but
noiseless and motionless as moonlight. And now,
at the very end of the cave, you come upon the
last and inost curious sight of all.
This farthest recess is called the "Polar Grotto,"
and ver)' polar it looks. Winter everywhere : in
the bare white floor, which might well pass for a
waste of eternal snow ; in the monster " icicles " that
hang overhead ; in the pillars of ribbed " ice " that
stand all around, with gloomy hollows between ; in
the aching chill that strikes to one's very Ixines
before one has stood there half a minute. And
here, as if to complete the picture, rises a huge
snow-drift, upon which stands an enormous white
bear, turning his back upon everybody in a very
unsocial way, as if he did not approve of being
disturbed in his den by a parcel of sight-seers.
&i)ill(ftFlir(lpij|llr
riiK sroKv ()!■
HAD IllKli
665
Till-: STORY OV A HAD HI Rl).
liY DAVin n. Lutvii
It is painful tu think that any bird could be
really wicked : for birds — especially chubby birds
— ahnost always seem ^<»)d anil innocent, and look
as if their fal little breasts grew so because there
were warm little hearts inside. And a bird has a
way of looking you straight in the face with his
bright little eye, that makes you believe he is
honest and is not ashamed of it. Hirds have made
a splendid record in the world. I never knew a
bird to tell a lie. excepting this bad bird, and cer-
tainly no bird was ever known to rob a bank, or
forge a check.
But, sad as it is to think so, there have been bad
birds, and this one, whose story 1 am about to tell,
was so very bad that, in fairness toward the rest of
the birds, it should be understood that he was very
unlike them. The fact is, he was a downright
cheat. He w.is nothing but a common blackbird,
who h.id never been to school a day in his life, and
yet he set himself up for a bird-doctor, called him-
self Dr. Black, and put on all sorts of medical airs.
He even went so far as to pretend that he was a
crow, and had studied medicine, and been made
a doctor at the famous Crow College out West,
although he had never so much as seen it.
Perhaps you have never heard of Crow College
before ? Well, that is not strange, for if I had not
had some very highly educated birds among my
friends, I believe I should never have heard of it
myself. A great deal depends upon the kind of
birds you associate with. It is a college where
crows study to be doctors. (The bird-doctors are
always crows — did you know that?) There are
forty teachers in the college, all of them crows,
very learned and very black, and the head of the
faculty is a solemn old raven, who came over from
the Raven University in Arabia just to be the head
of this college. He is so old that he can't remem-
ber how many hundred years it is since he was
born, and, as he has never been known to open
his mouth, excepting to eat, he is believed by every-
body to be wonderfully wise.
The college classes meet in the upper branches
of the trees in a great Western forest. If you
passed by there, you would think, of course, that
it W.1S merely a flock of noisy crows chattering
together. But if you could sec up to the tops of
the trees, you would see the old raven dozing, with
his spectacles on his nose, and the teachers ex-
plaining, all at once, about the bones and veins of
birds and their tiny diseases, and all the classes
studying hard, like good little crows. But tlierc is
one sad thing about the Crow College. Crow-
doctors have trouble sometimes in getting paid,
and, as crows must live, there is one crow-professor
who gives his whole time to teaching the best way
to steal corn. And I am sorry to add that the
corn-class is always the largest class of all.
The way Dr. Black set himself up in practice
will show you what a clever little rogue he was.
Have you ever seen Stuyvcsant Square, in New
\'ork? A good many of you must have seen it.
It is one of the oldest parks in the city; St.
George's Church stands beside it, and away up in
the great towers of the church, the clock strikes
every few minutes with a gentle, friendly sound, as
if it were telling the children playing below that
another quarter of an hour has gone, and they
must enjoy all the hours and minutes that are left.
In this ple.Tsant old park, there is a fount-
ain, and in the fountain there is a little raft of
wood about a foot square. This raft is anchored
with a stone, and one end runs imdcr the water
just enough to let the birds skip down upon it into
the water and have a splendid bath, and skip back
upon the dry part of the board. Now it so hap-
pened that the park policeman was putting a new
raft in its place when Dr. Black came flying over
the park. That caught his wicked little eye, and
he stopped ; he alighted on a tree right at the edge
of the fountain and seemed to be thinking very-
hard. It was a sign that he was doing this when
he scratched himself as near to his head as he
could get with his foot, and he scratched himself
several times.
Finally, when his mind seemed to be made up,
and the policeman had gone .away, Dr. Black flew
down to the board and stood on it. Meanwhile,
he carefully stroked his feathers until he looked so
smooth, so black, and so respectable that you
would have said he was a bird-doctor, the minute
you looked at him, and you would have thought
him one of the most respectable birds alive. Now,
down came the sparrows for their bath ; they had
been waiting, and they were impatient. Who was
this dark stranger standing in their way ? They
flew around and around him, chirping to one
another, and wondering, in their little brains, what
it could all mean ; and all the while. Dr. Black
stood on the lx>ard, silent and black, and pretend-
ing to take no notice of them whatever ; but he
was watching them all the time, you may be sure.
666
THK STORV OF A BAD lilUI.
IJlLV,
Finally, the bravest of the sparrows — it w:is a little
lady-sparrow — alighted on the board. She was so
anxious to know who this strange-looking bird was,
that she could n't stand it any longer. L)r. Black
bowed to her very politely, and, putting his best
and blackest claw foremost, he said he w.is very
glad to see her ; that he had built this bath at
great expense, and hoped that the birds of the
neighborhood would patronize him liberally. He
was a doctor, he said, and had studied at Crow
College — the little scamp I
together, the .Mayor and the other city officers
meet and make up their minds how it must be
spent. Some of it goes to pay the firemen, — the
brave men who put out fires and sa\e people's
lives ; some of it to pay the policemen ; some of it
to pay men for keeping the streets clean ; some of
it for the meat the lions and tigers eat in Central
Park, and some of it for the little baths for the
sparrows. So, you see that when Dr. lilack said
he had paid for that bath, he had told what the
boys call a " whopper."
Little Mrs. Sparrow was greatly amazed. The
bath had always been free before ; why was n't it
free now ? But Dr. Black soon made her believe
that the bath had always belonged to him, though
he had never charged anything for the use of it,
because he loved to do good to his fellow-birds.
But now — and here he ga\-e his breast a little
heave and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye —
he had been unlucky ; he had lost his money, and
he was forced, in his old age, to work to get
enough to eat. Here the little humbug turned
away from Mrs. Sparrow, and worked his shoulders
up and down in such a way that she, kind-hearted
little thing, thought he was sobbing hard. The
truth was he was winking to himself at the
thought of his own smartness, and thinking what a
soft-hearted little lady-bird she was.
Perhaps you don't know where these little baths
for the sp.irrows come from. Well, every year
every man in New York who owns a house pays
some nviney to the city. This is what is called
paying taxes. When all the money has been put
But little Mrs. Sparrow believed it all. Dear me !
Sparrows never will be able to understand p>olitics.
She flew to her friends and told them all about
Dr. Black. She said that he charged very little
for the use of the bath. He would take worms, or
pieces of cake or bread, or almost anything good
to eat. You see, the Doctor was hungry, although
he did n't tell Mrs. Sparrow so. She said, too,
that he was a splendid doctor, and when her hus-
band, Mr. D. Thomas Sparrow, asked her how she
knew, she said that she was n't going to be talked
to as if she were a mere child and did n't know
anything. She knf-,u he was a splendid doctor.
.•Vnyhow, he had bt\iii/i/ii/\i\acV. eyes !
What do you suppose happened ? There was a
most alarming outbreak of sickness among the
birds. They had been the healthiest, sturdiest
sparrows in the world before — fat and chubby, and
with tremendous appetites. But now there were
invalids on all sides, among the lady-sparrows.
And so, sly Dr. Bl.ick six)n had all the patients he
wanted, and all the fees he could eat. He became
Tin: STORY OF A BAD BIRD.
667
the fashion, and no lady-sp.irrovv felt that she was
dolnn her duty to society unless it was known that
he was her physician.
The yentleman-sparrows of the Snuarc made
a great deal of fun about all this. They did n't
believe in Dr. Black, and said so, and very few of
them went to his bath. It was a strange scene in
the mornings when Dr. Black received his patients.
He Ux>keil so wise and grave, and pushed the little
birds into the water with such a polite way, and
made such handsome bows when they paid him his
crumbs. Meanwhile, the nurses and children who
were in the park would be \ery much .istonished
to see fifteen or twenty little gentleman-sparrows
sitting around the edge of the fountain and trying
to sneer. Yes, to sneer. It is not an easy thing
to do, for the gentleman-sparrow is usually a good-
natured, nice little fellow. When he does try to
sneer, the etTcct is very dreadful, and if you had
been there, you also might have been astonished.
But one morning there was a new sensation
.imong the sparrow colony in Stuyvesant Square.
A young gentleman-sparrow, who had been a great
traveler, had arrived, and there was as much of a
stir in the best sparrow circles as an English duke
or a French nobleman could make in higher soci-
ety. You see. these city sparrows usually stay in
the park where they are born. Very few of the
birds in Stuyvesant Square knew that there was
any world beyond Third Avenue, and so when this
young gentleman came who had crossed the city
five times to the Battery, and had once actually
spent a whole summer in New Jersey, he was
looked upon as a sort of explorer, and treated with
great respect. They called him Mr. Jersey Spar-
row, as a nice way of reminding people how far he
had traveled. But he took care that nobody should
ever forget it. He was alwajs talking of the
strange places he had seen, and spoke Sparrow
language with a foreign accent ; and the way he
turned out his toes was almost French. He w.-is a
very vain little bird, and it vexed him to hear all
the lady-sparrows, who seemed to admire him,
talking so much about this Dr. Black. Secretly,
his little breast filled with envy of Dr. Black, who
was said to be such a handsome crow and such a
wise doctor.
So, one morning, Mr. Jersey Sparrow appeared
at the fountain.
" Why," said he, " he 's not a crow ! A crow is
three times as big as that ! "
Dr. Black was a little frightened, for he knew
this was -not a stay-at-home sparrow that he must
deal with now. But, like a wise bird, he said
nothing, and tried to look as if he thought it was
not worth while to notice this loud young person.
" Why," said Mr. Jersey Sparrow, scanning him
closely, "he 's nothing but a blackbird ! "
What a buzz and chatter went up from the spar-
row colony ! The little gentleman-sparrows all
began to shake their heads and say they h.id always
decl.ired there was something wrong about this
Dr. Black, while the little lady-sparrows divided
into two parties. The lady-sparrows who h.id
admired Mr. Jersey Sparrow most agreed that it
w.as a shame a mere blackbird should have ni.ade
them all believe he was a crow. But other lady-
sparrows, headed by the little Mrs. Sparrow whom
the Doctor had first welcomed to his bath-float,
and who hail ever since been his special friend,
stood by him and declared that they knew he was
a crow, though not one of the kind-hearted little
things had ever seen a crow in her life !
By this time, Mr. Jersey Sparrow w.is very much
worked up. He strutted up and down the edge of
the fountain, and his little body shook with excite-
ment. Finally, he screamed out : " If he is a crow,
let him say, ' Caw ! ' Let him say ' Caw ! ' "
"Can he say 'Caw'?" the Doctor's party mur-
mured among themselves anxiously, and little Mrs.
Sparrow said softh- in the Doctor's ear, '" Do say
'Caw!' 1 'm sure you can!" But Mr. Jersey
Sparrow and his friends chattered in a mocking
way, " Yes, let him say ' Caw ! ' We should like
to hear him say ' Caw ! ' "
If Dr. Black had been very wise indeed, he
would still have kept silence, and scorned the
charge that ho was not a crow. A good many of
the birds would have believed him, in spite of
everything and everybody. That has often been
the way, with birds as well as men. But a wild
idea seized him. Perhaps he could say "Caw," if
he tried hard ! He swelled up his little lungs till
his eyes stood out, and — tried.
How some of the sparrows laughed, and others'
faces fell, and Mr. Jersey Sparrow strutted around !
The " Caw " was something between a squeal and
a squawk, a harsh cry unlike any crow's caw
that was ever heard. Dr. Black saw that the
game w.-is lost. He stretched his wings, gave
his raft a spiteful little push with his foot, and
sailed up into the air, up, up — even over the great
church towers and out of sight, le.iving the as-
tonished birds looking up into the sky, .ind
wondering whether he had flown quite aw.iy from
the world.
It is a curious fact in bird-nature that a great
many of those innocent sparrows believed to the
day of their deaths that Dr. Black was a great
scientist and a most learned crow, and always
declared that he had been driven away frotn them
by ingratitude and persecution.
668
" ROCK-A-BYE, BAHV
•• KOCK-.\-HVi:, ]4.\15V !"
BV M. K. W ILK INS.
" JJock-a-/>yc, Bahy, upon /he /ree-lop ;
Whi-n the wind blows, the cradle will rock :
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
And down will come Baby, cradle, and all."
Sing a song to the baby, Lark ;
Sing a song to the baby, Sparrow;
Merrily, oh, on the green hill-side.
The buttercups dance with the branching
yarrow.
The red cows stand by the glassy pool ;
The little white lambs round their dams
arc skipping;
And daintily over the grassy knolls,
1 sec the fair little shepherdess tripping.
Rock-a-bye, Baby, upon the tree-top ;
..-•*; And sing a song to the
darling. Swallow:
The rooks fly over the abbey-towers,
.\nd, 'mong themselves, I hear them talking.
The monks are tinkling their silver bells;
.-\nd what do you think the rooks are say-
ing?
There 's a baby, up in a tree, like a bird.
His silken nest on a green bough swaying."
The green leaves whisper unto thcc, Sweet :
Beautiful secrets over and over;
1 am so happy — and yonder field
Is huinming with bees, and sweet with
clover.
The monks are tinkling their silver bells ;
Their strong young gardener trundles the bar-
row—
Sing to the baby. Swallow, sing ;
Sing to the baby. Lark and Sparrow.
A l)ee was trapped when the sun went down,
For he staid too long in the lily-hollow.
I have slung thee. Love
The west wind blows.
n a silken scarf,
set thee rocking;
In the abbey-garden, the gardener spades
Around the roses, and helps their growing ;
He is thinking of thcc, and he 's thinking of
me,
.'\nd tlie sweet rose-leaves in his face .ire blowing.
" ROCK-A-BYE, BABY !"
669
r^^-
• ait K^tj
^ ' — iv -"-■ "51.^ J
Rock-.i-bye. B.iby, upon the tree-top,
Thou and the leaflets are just beginning;
Spring hngcreth yet with her dear rose-buds,
And I will sing to thee over my spinning.
1 have set the spinning-wheel 'neath the tree,
May be the baby will like the whirring;
Merrily, oh, in thy cradle, swing.
The young green leaves at thy side are
stirring.
1 shall spin a hacV. for thee, Haby dear ;
The buttercups, oh, they arc growing longer,
The baby shall run o'er the grassy fields,
One day, when his plump little legs arc
stronger
We will strew the rough roads with violets
soft,
With rags of roses and shreds of clover ;
.Ml for the sake of the soft little feet,
The rruol stones shall be covered over.
Sway softly. Love, in thy silken nest ;
Tenderly life around thee closes.
And never a sting shall it bring to thee.
For thy mother will always thorn thy roses.
Rock-a-bye in thy cradle. Sweet,
The mother-bird from her nest is calling —
What 's this? — ah me ! the green bough
breaks.
And my darling baby, alas ! is falling —
.\ cowled monk peered from the abbey-wall ;
The startled birds, overhead, were flying,
.And the gardener trampled a rose-bush down,
In his haste to get to his baby crying.
The cowled monk turned to his glowing page.
And painted a cherub with rays of glon- ;
The wife and the gardener fondled and
coaxed,
And a smile from the baby cndeth the
storv.
-4^ V ' / "^
— '■" •• *• —^ — 1
670
( AI'TAIN SAUAII II AT I.
(JULV,
C A 1' 1" A I \ SARAH n A T !•: S .
r.V ClIAKLF.S liAKNARI).
Sarah Matps lived in New York Harbor. She
slept in Oldport, New Jersey, went to school in New-
York City, and studied her lessons or helped her
mother at housekeeping in the great bay behind
Sandy Hook. Altogether, she lived over a great
deal of space for one so young ; more singular
still, her father's house traveled more than fifty
miles every day, stopping at night in Oldport, New
Jersey, and spending the day at New York, or
somewhere between these places. Sarah's chamber
window sometimes looked out on the sea, and
sometimes the trees cast pretty shadows on the
carpet in the moonlight. At other times she had
to keep the blinds closed, for there was a wide and
noisy city street directly in front of the house.
Her mother's kitchen and dining-room, her father's
oflfice, and all the other rooms, traveled, also,
and it did seem as if the entire household estab-
lishment was alwa\s moving. For all that, it was
a quiet and orderly household. Everything went
on precisely as in any ordinary house, but the house
itself and all the people in it had this singular
habit of traveling from place to place every day
in the week, excepting Sunday. On Sundays, the
house stood still at Oldport, New Jersey, and Sarah
went to the village church and sang in the choir,
very much as any good country girl might do.
Sarah had been born on the move, and had
been brought up on the go. For all that, she was
a very steady girh Her father's house might travel
about, as much as it pleased, but you always knew
just where to find Sarah. She was a quiet girl, —
not talkative, — and trustworthy. Being the only
child, and living nearly all the time in a moving
house, and away from other children, she had
grown up in the society of people much older than
herself. She was her father's own girl, and, from
the time she had been able to talk and walk, had
been with him about his business. The family
consisted of her father and mother and Sarah.
There were also four men, who were in her father's
employ, and they all lived together in the same
house. Her father and mother had the best room
upstairs ; Sarah's room was next to theirs ; the
kitchen and dining-room were down-stairs, near
her father's office ; two of the men who lived with
them had a room apiece, and the other two liad a
room between them. To get from Sarah's room
to the kitchen, or dining-room and office, you had
to go out-of-doors on a narrow piazza that extended
all round the house ; but none of the family seemed
to mind this, .1-^ i\. .i.i^ .cry airy and healthful.
There were several other rooms in the house,
together with a small cellar, and a cupola on top
of the house. This was a square room, with win-
dows on every side, and comfortably carpeted, and
provided with a large sofa. All parts of the house
were warmed by steam in winter, and in summer
the piazzas were shaded by canvas awnings.
To understand this rather queer household, you
must know that Sarah's father was called the cap-
tain ; one of the men — Mr. Cramp — was called the
mate ; one of the other men was known as the
engineer ; the other was called the fireman, and
the last man — Jake Flanders by name — was known
as the deck-hand. The house itself was named
the " Mary and Sarah," and the name was painted
in big white letters on the side of the house.
It was almost five when Sarah awoke that morn-
ing, and the sun was already up. She had been
awaked by the noise the fireman made in stirring
up his fire below, in the boiler-room, and she sat
up and looked through the window. Just in front
of the house was the river, and beyond it the grassy
banks, with some cattle grazing in the fields, while
the sun shone like a ball of silver through the
rising mists. She heard teams driving down on
the little pier, and knew that the cargo was arriving.
.She rose and dressed, and put her room in order;
opened the door and stepped on the upper deck.
Her home was a steam-boat, you see. She went
aft a little way, and then down-stairs to the main
deck. Here she met crowds of men unload-
ing crates of strawberries from the teams on the
pier, for the " Marj' and Sarah" was to take a
cargo of strawberries to New York. She would
start in less than an hour, and already the decks
were piled high with crates, and the air was sweet
with the fragrance of ten thousand quarts of
berries.
Sarah went forward, and. finding the door of the
engine-room open, she stepped in and sat down on
the sofa before the bright and glistening engine.
The engineer was polishing up the brass-work, and
she spoke to him pleasantly, and said she thought
they must have the largest cargo of the season.
.After talking for a few moments with the engineer,
she went on deck, and passed along till she came
to another door. She opened this and entered her
mother's kitchen, or the " galley," as it w.as called
on the boat. She found her mother busy over the
queer little stove, and getting breakfast ; but she
lAPTAlN SAKAII BATKS.
671
sccmcti pale anil weary. Sarah askctl if slu- couUl
help K<-'t the breakfast.
•• Yes, Sally, I wish yoii would finish it fur me.
Father is in a j;reat hurry to >;et otT this niornin^; to
get the fruit into market early, and I do not feel
very well. I think I 'II in< to my room and lie
down for a while."'
Without a worI, Sarah took the breakfast in
hand, and finished it, while her mother went up-
stairs to her state-room. In half an hour it w.ts
smokmg hot on the breakfast table, and her father
and all the men came in for it. From this we see
that Sarah, while she did not say much, was .1
competent housekeeper, though hardly thirteen
years of age. She clearetl away the tabic, and put
the rixim in order, went upstairs to sec if her
mother wanted anything, then went to her own
state-room and made up the bed, and then took
out her books to look over her lessons before going
to school, twenty miles away.
The day seemed to begin badly. Her mother
was ill in bed. and, just as they were taking the last
crates on l)oard, a box fell on Jake Flanders's foot
and hurt him so much that he had to go ashore
and sec the doctor. So it was that the ship's
company was partly disabled — the captain's wife
sick, and the deck-hand gone ashore. The time
came to start, and the lines were cast off, and
the "Mary and Sarah" steamed away for New-
York short-handed.
Sarah gathered up her books, closed the blinds
at her window, and went out on deck, and forward
to the pilot-house. Her father was at the wheel,
and Sarah slipped behind him to the sofa and
curled herself upon it, and prepared to study her
lessons. The boat steamed steadily on and on, and
soon entered the great bay that opens in from the
sea between Sandy Hook and the Narrows. It was
a glorious day, and the cool sea-breeze, so s;ilt and
fresh, came in at the open windows of the pilot-
house. To the right were the wooded hills of the
Jersey shore, scored here and there w ith red streaks
where the land-slides h.id uncovered the ruddy
soil. Beyond, to the south-e.ist. lay the low white
beaches of Sandy Hook, with its light-houses and
fringe of black cedars. To the east was the open
sea, sparkling in the early sun. Directly ahead
were the summer hotels on Coney Island, and to
the left the wixnled slopes and white villas of Staten
Island, and the .Narrows with the grass-clad forts.
Here and there were ships moving about and
giving life to the scene ! What a glorious place
to study vulgar fractions and the declensions of the
verb /«' />/• .'
The " Mary and S.irah" plowed ahead directly
for the Narrows, and leaving a wake of fragrance
from a million strawberries to mingle with the
sweet breath of the sea. They would reach the
Narrows in about an hour, and enter the upper
harbor, and in another hour would be at the dock,
in gootl time for S.irah to go .ashore to school.
Just ahead of the boat was a long line of ships
coming and going in the main channel that ex-
tends across the mouth of the bay from the
Narrows to Sandy Hook. The wind was south-
east, and quite a number of vessels were running in
before it, while others were beating out against the
wind, or were being towed down to the Hook, with
their sails loose in the wind, ready to be spread .as
soon as they should clear the land.
The sun shone directly upon the girl's shapely
head, and the cool salt air lifted her brown hair
playfully. She was not exactly pretty, but ple.ising
— one of those sober girls who grow to be splendid
women, strong, quick, and capable. Perhaps she
was almost a woman now. She could cook, and
sew, and make up a state-room, as well .is any girl
ashore. If need be, she could stand up and take
that great wheel and steer the steamer fromOldport
to New York and back again, and ask no favors
of ship or ferry-boat. She knew all the bells for
the engine, and the rules of the road, and h.ad
handled the boat many a time in the crowded
Hudson, and twice she had put the boat in dock,
without even scratching the paint on her sides.
" There 's bound to be a collision ! "
Her father's voice startled her, and she laid down
her book and lo^kcd through the window. They
had crossed the bay and had joined the procession
of vessels in the main channel. Directly ahead w.as
a large bark bound in, under full sail, and in front
of her w.as a three-masted schooner, beating out.
They were dangerously near each other, and the
schooner seemed to be badly handled. She
ch.angcd her direction, and the bark shifted her
course to avoid her, and then the schooner came
up in the wind on the other t.ack.
"What a dreadful pity! They are going to
strike."
Almost before she could say this, the two vessels
cime together with a loud crash, and the bark's
bowsprit broke off and fell into the water, and the
schooner's forctop-mast snapped, and the foretop-
sail came fluttering down to the deck. At the
same instant, the engine-I)cll rang, and the engine
stopped, but the boat had sufficient headway to
bring her up alongside the bark.
Captain Bates leaned from his window and cried
out to the men on the bark :
" Want any help ? "
A man looked over the ship's side and said .
"Tow us to the city."
''Take the wheel. Sally, while 1 go on board the
6;2
( Al'TAIN SAKAU HATKS
(July,
bark. This is too good a job to lose. KL-t|) her
steady until I send Mr. Cnimp up to you."
Sarah stood up and took the wheel as if it was
the most natural thinj; in the world, and her father
went out on deck and down to the deck below.
The schooner had b\' tliis time drifted away from
the bark, and falling olT before the wind, bore away
on her course without waiting to see what damage
she had done. The tide was running in strong,
and the bark, being much larger than the steamer
and having her sails set, began to move away from
the boat.
"Bring her 'longside, Sally," cried her father,
Irom below. She pulled the bell and leaned for-
ward and put her mouth to the speaking-tube to
the engine-room. "Give her three strokes and
stop." At once came back the engineer's voice
from below, through the tube, " All right. Captain
Sarah."
They all called her that, so Captain Sarah turned
the wheel over and in a moment laid the boat along-
side the bark, just as the engine finished its three
" .And the berries will be a little late to market,
but we shall get a good price for the job. 'T is n't
every day freight-boats get a good |jaying tow like
this."
Captain Bates climbed on board the bark, and
the bargain w.is made. A long, heavy line was let
down from the bark's bows, the broken spar was
cut away, and the steamer was made fast, and then
they set out, the steamer some distance ahead,
and the disabled bark towing behind. Captain
Bates meanwhile had remained on the bark, which
left the " Mary and Sarah " still more short-handed.
Sarah took up her books again and was presently
lost in the contemplation of the beautiful rule that
the nominative case governs the gender of the verb.
At least, that is the way she read it, but what can
you expect in the pilot-house of a steamer towing a
wreck into New York Harbor?
The accident had taken place just outside the
Narrows, and they now passed between Statcn
Island and Long Island, and entered the upper
bay. As the people on the bark had said they
OhKAT OCBAN STEA
strokc-s. Sarah lias a keen eye, you observe. Just wished to go to Pier No. 42, North River, they
then, Mr. Cramp, the mate, entered the pilot-house, at once stt^;rcd for the city. This pier was only
and she gave up the wheel to him and sat down on twelve docks from the " Mary and Sarah's " land-
the sofa. ing-place, so that, after all, the berries would not be
" I am afraid I shall be late to school if we take very late to market, .ind S.irah would reach school
the bark in tow." in time for the first lessons. She must study as
A 1' 1 A 1 N >ARAIC BATES.
673
then she steered her boat tn tlie rl^;llt .iiul entered
open water ofl' the Hattery, where the Kast and
Nnitli ruiis uiiitf. She must now turn In a jp'eat
circle to the west
and north, and
then make her
course up the
river, between
Jersey City and
New York.
" Please, Mr.
Cramp ! wake
up ! We can't
slop, and we
are in the
river ! "
The old
man lay mo-
tionless, and
fiust .IS [H>ssible to m.ike up for lost tmie. For a
little while nothinj; in particular happened, and
then Mr. Cramp said to Sarah, i" \ -'"l .1 v..ic-.-r
"Take the wheel. Miss, for
a bit. 1 feel rather nueerish,
and perhaps I 'd better sit
down awhile."
Sarah stCKKl up behind the
wheel to steer the Ixiat while
the mate sat down on the
sofa.
" Don't yovi feel well, Mr.
Cramp? "
"Something 's come over
me. I sh.all feel better in a
moment. I 'II rest, and take
the wheel again before we
come to the Hattery."
They had now made the
turn in the channel oflT the
Kill Von Kull, and Sarah
drew the wheel over and
steered directly for the city.
There were a big steam-ship
coming out and several
schooners going up before
the wind. She knew the
channel and the rules for
p.-issing steamers and sailing-
craft, and went confidently
on. It was so far plain sail-
ing and she let the mate
rest. Now she was drawing
nearer to the city and the
navigation was becoming dif-
licult. .Mready she could see I - • ^ made no reply. She did not dare to leave
the trees in Battery Park. I the wheel. She could just touch him with
She looked behind her and her foot, and that \vas all, and in spite of
found that the mate had lain down on the sofa every appeal, he slept on, and paid no attention
and h.id fallen asleep, seeming pale and tired, whatever. She looked all around to sec if the
He was an old man with iron-gray hair, and he way was clear into the Hudson. Oh, there 's the
seemed to be sleeping soundly. '• Bristol " heading down the Kast River, and just
'"You had better take the wheel, Mr. Cramp; beginning to turn to pass the Battery, and behind
we are almost up to the fort," said Sarah. the " Bristol" are the double smoke-st.acks of the
He did not stir, and in a moment or two she "Massachusetts"! Two of the largest boats plying
spoke again ; but he m.ide no reply. The North
River was crowded with vessels, — a great number
being at anchor in the river off f iovcmor's Island, —
.ind she kept inshore to give them a wide berth.
"Oh, Mr. Cramp! take the wheel! Do wake
up, sir : we arc almost there I "
Just then a Staten IsLind ferry-boat came in
sight, rounding the island and close inshore. It
at once blew one whistle, as a signal that it wished
in New York waters, and both heading for the same
point ! She would meet them both, unless her
course was changed. No time to call Mr. Cramp
now. She must take the boat on, at any h.izard,
as best she could. She blew her whistle once, as a
signal to the " Bristol," and inst.nntly there came
two deep roaring blasts from her whistle. Sarah
looked all around to see what this meant. They
had refused her signal ! There w.xs danger some-
to pass to the right. Sarah reached up overhead where ! Oh, the b.irk towing behind ! .She had
and pulled the cord for her whistle, and replied forgotten it. There w.is no room for the "Bristol"
with one blast to signify that she understood, and to pass ! Sarah pulled the cord twice for the
Vol. VIII.-43.
6/4
AI'TAIN SAKAII BATES.
whistle, and rang the cnginc-bcU, and the engine-
stopped. Then she looked out behind to watch
the bark. It would move on h\ its own nionicntum
and overtake her, and she must keep out of the
way. The enormous bulk of the " Bristol " came
onward, like a great white mountain, to crush her,
and Sarah rang to go .Tstern. The steamer swept
directly past her bows, and hundreds of people
looked down from the lofty decks and admired the
skill with which the pilot of the " .Mary and Sarah "
had managed her. Perhaps some of them saw .i
young girl leaning from the window, and watching
the "Massachusetts" plowing through the water
just behind the other huge vessel.
Before the "Bristol" h.id fairly piisscd, S.irah
rang for full speed ahead, and plunged, rocking
and swa\ing, into the foaming wake of the great
boat. She pulled the wheel sharp over, to bring
her boat around to the west and drag the bark away
from the track of the "Massachusetts." The tow-
line had fallen in tiic water, and the bark was
quite near. She must work fast. There was a
South Brooklyn ferry-boat just behind, waiting
for her to move on. .She saw the great wheels of
the "Massachusetts" stop, and knew she would
try to clear the bark. The tow-rope stretched and
shook out a cloud of spray, and the " Mary and
Sarah" churned up the water furiously. All right !
The bark moved, and the " Massachusetts" swept
on, clear of her stern, at full speed again.
" Oh, Mr. Cramp I wake up ! Wake up I
There 's no one to help me," cried Sarah.
There was a rush of tears to her eyes, but he
paid no heed, and slept peacefully through it all.
No time for tears. There were two tow-boats,
each with a canal-boat, coming down from the
North River. They whistled for the " Mary and
Sarah" to pass between them. She replied to
each, and looked back at the bark. It was towing
straight behind, and she went on and passed tlie
tow-s in safety. Now, she must enter the river bj-
keeping close to Pier No. i, .as the great white
boats were on her left just ahead. Oh ! worse than
anything yet ! The " Plymouth Rock," one of the
largest excursion boats, was backing out from the
pier into the stream. Sarah stood on tiptoe to look
if there were m.'ists or smoke-stacks to be seen be-
yond the " Plymouth Rock." There w>is nothing
to be done but to squeeze in between the pier and
the steamer's bows as she cleared the dock. She
pulled the wheel over, and made directly for the
third arch of the stone pier. If she had her boat
aline she could slop and wait till the way was clear;
but with a heavy ship towing behind, the case was
very different. The bark could not stop, and would
crowd down upon the steamer if that stopped
On came Sarah, and, at the right moment, she
whirled the wheel over, and blew her whistle furi-
ously so :is to urge the "Plymouth Rock" to move
on. Ah ! she could see clear water l>etwecn the
boat and pier. She swept on close by the pier — so
near, in fact, that the people on the dock stared in
at her window and wondered to sec a young girl at
the wheel, and with an old man asleep on the sofa
behind her.
It would n't do to keep near the docks, and she
struck out into the center of the river, when a
warning whistle oa the left startled her. It was a
big ferry-boat coming up from behind the "Ply-
mouth Rock" from Communipaw, and making for
her slip. She rang to reverse the engine, and
looked through the back window at the bark. She
must keep clear of it. The ferry-boat swept across
her bows just as the bark cartie up with her, and
she called for full speed and went ahead again.
With sharp eyes on the river, she watched every
moving \cssel to be seen, every ferry-boat crossing
the river, lazy barges drifting on the tide, and swift
excursion steamers loaded with p.assengers. She
crossed the Jersey City and Mrie ferry tracks, and
began to feel safer. The worst of it w.as over.
.\ little higher up, she would turn in toward the
city, and creep slowly up to I'ier No. 42. where the
bark was to be left. .\ deep roaring whistle startled
her, and she looked along the docks to see where
it came from. .\h ! The crowd of people on the
next pier but one explained it. It was a steam-ship
i:oming out of her dock. Sarah blew her whistle
.IS a warning, but it was to no purpose. The
huge bkick bows of an ocean steamer moved out
directly in front of her. Kither they had not seen
her, or her signal h.ad not been heard. It was too
late for them to stop. She leaned forward and
spoke down the tube : " C.o astern, quick — quick ! "
She felt the engine slop and reverse, and still
the boat moved for\vard toward the v.tsI black bulk
before her. .She saw an officer wave his hand on the
bridge, and heard the boatswain's whistle. They
were going to jnit out fenders to break the force
of the collision. Sarah watched them calmly till
she felt the boat stop, then she threw over the
wheel and rang the bell for full speed ahead. The
danger came from the bark towing behind. She
looked behind and saw thai it w.as coming up with
her. In a moment she began to get speed again,
and struck out into the stream at a right angle
with the bark, and parallel with the steam-ship. If
the tow-line held she would save the bark. If it
broke — Well ! it was all she could do.
A shadow fell on the pilot-house floor. She had
come directly alongside the Cunarder. and had run
into it sidcwise, with a gentle jar. A rope fell down
from the ship, and soon a young man in uniform
stood on the deck in front of Sarah's pilot-house.
iSSi.]
CAI'TAIN SAKAII HATKS.
675
" What 's this. Miss? Whnt 's your tipsy pilot
duin^ there asleep on the sofa ? "
Siirah ilitl not turn, but looked steadily through
the window behind. The " M.iry aiul Sarah "
fairly reeled under the sudden strain, — the tow-line
held, — the Iwrk w.ns s.ifc. She hatl stopped its
headway, and it swung around under the Cunardcr's
stem, and all three vessels drifted out into the
stream together. A hand was laid on Iiers, and
Siirah found the \oung officer by her side.
■• Oh, sir ! tlie mate was sick, and I had to
take the wheel."
■'Yes, Miss, and it was a skillful turn, loo.
.•\s clever a bit of seamanship as ever 1 saw ! "
Then he bent over the sleeping mate and tried
to rouse him. .\nother officer slid down the rope
and came to the window of the pilot-house.
" What 's the matter, Ilodson .' "
'• Matter enough, sir," answered Ilodson, as he
l.d>oriously, but gently, tried to turn the pilot over;
■■ and the girl 's had the wheel ! "
•' She 's a master hand at steam-boat work," said
ilie other officer, as he came into the pilot-house.
•■ Hello ! IJring water ! The man has fainted ! "
Hut it was not a fainting fit, nor heavy sleep.
What wonder the poor man had not heard Sarah !
l-lven the men could not rouse him, and when, at
last, he opened his eyes, it was evident that it
would be many a long day before his hand could
guide the wheel again.
" It 's his heart, poor chap," said one of the
sailors looking on, "or else it 's a 'plectic stroke.
I 've seen folks took that way afore ; but they came
out of it all right."
A LITTLE old woman of Dorking
Said : " Well, there is no use a-talking.
When I get to a stile,
I must rest for a while.
Before I go on with my walking."
676
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
(JULV,
STORIES Ol-- ART AND A RTISTS.— FO U RTII PAPER.
\i\ Cl.AKA KkSKlNK CLEMliM
Aftkk the decline of what is termed Ancient
Art, — that is to say (in the strictest sense), Greek
art, — there was a long period, of the individual art-
ists of which we can tell almost nothing. Ancient
Rome was full of wonderful works of art ; but
many of them were brought from Greece or other
Eastern countries ; many more were made b\
Grecian artists in Rome, and, after the time of the
Emperor Augustus, there was a long period of
which wc shall not speak.
Giovanni Cimabue, the artist who is honored a;,
the first Italian that revived any portion of the old
beauty of painting, was born in Florence, in 1240.
Me was of a noble family, and his parents allowed
him to follow his inclination for art until, at last, he
painted the Madonna of the Church of Santa Maria
Novella, which has always been, .and must continue
to be, a work of great interest. This was done
when the artist was thirty years old.
I fancy that an)' boy or girl who sees this picture
now, wonders at its ugliness, instead of being
filled with admiration, as were the Florentims six
hundred and ten years ago. Hut then Cimabue
was w.atched with intense interest, and all the more
because he would allow no one to sec what he was
painting. At length it happened that Charles of
Anjou passed through Florence on his way to his
kingdom of Naples. Of course the noble Floren
tines did all in their power to entertain this royal
guest, and, among other places, they took him to
the studio of Cimabue, who uncovered his work for
the first time. Many people flocked to sec it, and
expressed tlieir delight so loudly that the portion of
the city in which the studio was has ever since been
called the Borgo Allegri, or " the joyous quarter."
When the picture was completed, it was borne to
the church in a grand and solemn procession. The
day was a festival, — music was played, the magis-
trates of Florence graced the occasion with their
presence, and the painter must have felt that he
was more than repaid for all that he had done.
After this, Cimabue became famous all over
Italy. He died about 1302, and was buried in the
church of Santa Maria del Fiore, and above his
tomb were inscribed these words: "Cimabue
thought himself m.-ister of the field of painting.
While living, he was so. Now he holds his place
among the stars of heaven."
GlOlTO.
One of the titles that is given to Cimabue is that
of the "Father of Painting"; and this can well
be said of him when wc remember that it was
Cimabue who found Giotto, and acted the part of
a father to the boy who was to be such a wonderful
painter. The story is that, when Cimabue was
quite old, and very famous, he was riding in the
valley of Vespignano, a few miles from Florence,
and saw a shepherd-boy, who, while his flocks
were feeding, was making a portrait of one of his
sheep on a bit of slate with a pointed stone.
Cimabue looked at the sketch and found it so good
that he offered to take the little Giotto — who was
only twelve years old — and teach him to paint.
The boy was very happy, and his father — whose
name was Bondonc — was glad of this good fortune
for his son; so Giotto di IJondone lived thenceforth
with the noble Cimabue, and was instructed in
letters by Brunetto Latini, who was also the teacher
of the great poet, Dante ; while his art studies
were made under his adopted father, Cimabue.
In the first picture by Giotto of which we have
any account, he introduced the portraits of Dante
and his teacher, l.atini, with several others. In
later times, when Dante was persecuted by his
enemies in Florence, this picture was covered with
whitewash, and it was only restored to the light
in 1841, after centuries of conce.ilment. It is a
>riiKIi:S OK ART \Nti \KIIST'
(^n
priium^ luoimnlM ii[ ilic \inith cif two inon nf jjreat
j;oniiis — Dante ami i;ioUn.
I'ofK.' lionil'acc \'II1., hoarinj;, in Rome, uf
(iiotlo's paintings, sent to invito him to his court.
The im-sscnger i>f the I'ope asked Ciiotto to show
him something; of the art wl>
famous; and (iiotto, taking .
pencil, drew quickly, with
a circle so perfect that it w
a minicle, and gave rise «o
which the Italians still love t
/'/« Av/i/.i .//<• /' O <// (/V<i
(rounder than the O of
Giotto). When in Rome,
the artist executed Ixith
mosaics and paintings
for the Pope ; and by the
time that he was thirty
years old, the dukes,
princes, and kings, far
and near, contended for
his time .and labors.
When at Naples, in
the employ of King Rob-
ert, one very hot day the
King said: "Giotto, if
I were you, 1 would leave
work, and rest."
"So would I, sire, if
1 -.uere yt>u," said Giotto.
When the same king
asked him to paint a
picture of his kingdom,
Giotto drew an ass bear-
ing a saddle, on which
were a crowi> and scep-
ter ; on the ground be-
side the ass was another
saddle, with a very nc«'
and bright crown and
scepter, which the ass
was eagerly smelling.
This was to signify that
the Neapolitans were so
fickle that they were
always se.irching for a
ticw king.
Giotto was a great
architect besides being
a painter, for he it was
who made all the de-
signs, and even some of the working models, for
the beautiful bell-tower or campanile of Florence.
near the cathedral and baptistry ; the picture of it,
on the next page, is taken from a former number
of St. Nicholas. When the Emperor Charles V.
saw ihb tower he exclaimed, "It should be kept
under ^jLiss. A . iti/eii nl \ imn.i, ulm w;is in
I'lorence while this tower of ( iiotto'.-. was being
built, exclaimed that "the riches of two kingdoms
would not suffice for such a work. " This speech
being ^ overhearti, he was thrown into
)rison and "
been taken to the tre.isury, and convinced that
the Florentines could afford to build a whole city
of marble. Giotto died in 1336, and w.is buried
in the church of Santa Maria del Fiore, with
great honors, and Lorenzo de' Medici aftenvard
erected a monument to him.
678
r I > K I K S OK A K T A N 1 1 A R T 1 S T S .
Ill KKAI.MACO).
TlIK real name of tliis painter was Christofani
Uuonamico. He was born in 1262 and died in
1340, and while no one work can be pointed out
as positively his, he is always remembered on
account of his love of fun and for his practical
jokes. (Jhiberti called him a good painter, and
one able to excel all others when he set about it.
When he was a student under Andrea Tati, that
master compelled all his scholars to rise very early ;
this disturbed Duonamico so much that he deter-
mined to tind some means of escaping the hard-
sliip. .As Tati was very superstitious, Huonamico
• Sec St. Nicmola
caught about thirty large black beetles, and
fastened little tapers to their backs ; these he
lighted, and then he sent the beetles one by one
into his master's room, about the time when Tafi
was in the habit of rising and calling the pupils
from their sweetest sleep.
When Tafi saw these creatures
moving about in the dark, bearing
their little lights, he did not dare
to get up, and when daylight came,
he hastened to his priest to ask
what could be the meaning of this
strange thing. The priest believed
that he had seen demons, and
when the master talked with Ruffal-
macco about if, that rogue con-
firmed this idea by saying that, as
painters always made their pict-
ures of demons so ugly, they were
probably angr\-, and he thought it
wise to work onl>- by day, when
these fearful creatures would not
dare to come near. In the end,
this trick of the young painter was
so successful that not only Tafi,
but all other m.istcrs in Florence
abandoned the custom of working
before sunrise.
L'pon one occasion, when Buffal-
macco had executed a commission
to paint a picture of the \'irgin
with the infant Jesus in her arms,
his employer failed to pay him
his price. The artist needed the
money sorely, and hit upon a
means of getting it. He changed
the child in the picture to a young
bear. When his patron saw it,
he was so shocked that he offered
to pay him immediately if he would
restore the child to the Virgin's
arms; the painter agreed to this,
and as soon as he had the money
in his lianil, he washed the bear
away and left the picture as it had
been before, for, in painting the
g . bear upon the child's picture, he
had merely used water-colors to
serve his joke, and had not injured the picture at all.
The stories of this sort which X'asari tells of
Uuffalmacco in his " Lives of the Painters," are
almost unending, and we feel that this incrry
fellow must have been light-hearted and happy ;
but alas ! his end was sad enough, for, when
seventy-eight years old, he died in a public hos-
pital, not having saved enough out of all his earn-
ings to buy a crust of bread, nor a decent burial,
for January, 18S0.
A K 1 A \ I P
A k I I > 1 >.
679
Kra ANtiKl.lio I'A KlKsnir.
Thk real name of this wonderful arti.sl was
(luido I'ctri de Mujicllo. Ho w;is born at Kiesole,
near Florence, in 1387. When but twenty years
old he became a monk, and entered the convent
of San Marco at Florence, from which place he
scarcely went out during seventy years. He con-
sidered his painting as a scr\icc to the Lord, and
would never make a bargain to paint a picture ; he
received his orders from the prior of his convent,
and began his work with fasting and prayer; he
nc\-er changed anything when once painted,
because he believed that he was guided by God in
his work. Pope Nicholas \'. summoned him to
Rome to paint in the Vatican ; it is \ ery curious
that the key to the chapel which Fra Angelico
painted, was lost during two centuries. All this time,
very few people saw his beautiful works there, and
those who entered were obliged to go m by a
window. The chief merits in the works of Fra
Angelico are the sweet and tender expression in
the faces of his angels and saints, and the spirit of
purity that seems to breathe through every paint-
ing which he made.
While he was at Rome, the Pope wished to
make him the .Archbishop of Florence ; this honor
he would not accept, but after his death he was
called, and is still known, by the title of' // /lea/o,
or "the Blessed." Many of his works remain in
his ow^n convent at Florence, and I love them most
there, whore lie lived and worked, .iml whore he
liked best that they should be.
LKONAKIhi 1>A \1M 1.
This artist was born in 1452, at the castle of
Vinci, in the lower \'al d' Arno. He grew to be
a handsome young follow, full of spirit and fun,
and early showed that ho had unusual gifts ; he
was a good scholar in niathomalics and mechanics,
and wrote poetry and loved music, besides wishing
to be a painter.
I lis master was Andrea del Vorocchio, an eminent
man of his time. Leonardo soon surpassed him ;
for while the master was painting a picture of the
Baptism of Christ, the pupil was permitted to aid
him, and an angel which ho painted was so beauti-
ful, we are told, that Signor Andrea cast aside his
pencil forever,
•'enraged that .--»*JWui.
a child should
know more than
himself."
Leonardo had
a peculiar power
of rccoUectin;.;
any face whicli
he had seen, and
could paint it
after his return
to his studio.
Once, a pe;is-
ant brought him
a piece of fig-
tree wood, and
desired to have
a picture painted
on it. Leonardo
determined to
represent a hor-
ror. Ho collect-
otl lizards, ser-
pents, and other
frightful things,
and from them
made a picture
so startling, that
when his father
s;iw it he ran
away in a fright.
This was sold
to a merchant
for one hundred "'"* *'"•"'""■
ducats, and later, to the Duke of Milan, for three
times that sum. It w.is called the Rotcllo licl /-'ko,
which means "a shield of fig-tree wood."
After a time, Leonardo engaged his scr\iccs to
corv or an angkl painted nr
6So
STORIES OK ART AND ARTISTS.
U"".
the Duke of Milan. He was the court-painter and
superintendent of all the fetfs and entertainments
given at Milan. Leonardo afterward founded an
-'^Z
academy of painting there, and was engaged in
bringing the waters of the river Adda into the city
from Mortcsana, a distance of more than two hun-
dred miles. Thus he made liimself much fame,
while he led a very gay life, for the court of Milan
was a merry court.
The greatest work which Leonardo did there was
the painting of the " Last Supper," on the walls
of the Dominican Convent of the Madonna dcUc
Grazic. This picture has remained famous to this
day, and although it is now almost destroyed by
the effect of time, yet such engravings have been
made from it that we can imagine how it looked
when perfect. Some good copies, made while it
was in fair preser\'ation, exist in other cities. It
is said that the prior of the convent was very
impatient at the time which Leonardo took for this
work, and complained to the
Duke. When the artist was
(|Ufslioned, he said that the
trouble of finding a face which
pleased him for that of the
traitor, Judas Iscariot, caused
the delay ; and added that he
was willing to allow the prior
to sit for this figure, and so
shorten the time. This reply
amused the Duke and silenced
the prior.
-At length, the misfortunes of
the Duke of Milan made it im-
possible for liim to aid Leonardo
farther, and the artist came to
poverty. He went next to Flor-
ence, where he was kindly re-
ceived, but some trouble ensued
between himself and Michael
7^^^ ^ . ■? Angelo, who was then winning
^ ' fame. They both made de-
ns for painting the Palazzo
. -cchio, and as jealousy arose,
Leonardo left the city and went
tn Rome, where Pope Leo X.
iployed him in some impor-
it works. He could not be
luijipy, however; he was not
luvcd and honored as he had
liecn at Milan, and when he
heard that the Pope had criti-
cised his work, he joined the
French King Francis 1. at Pavia,
where he then w.is, and re-
mained with this monarch until
his death. When they went to
Paris, Leonardo was recei\ed
with much honor, and e\ery-
ihing was done for his comfort ;
but his health had failed, and he died at Fon-
taineblcau, where he had gone with the couit.
in 1519. Leonardo da Vinci may be called the
"Poet of Painters." One of his most famous
pictures was the portrait of Mona Lisa del tlio-
condo, sometiines called l^i JiKondc. Leonardo
worked on this picture at times, during four years,
and was never satisfied with it. The painting is
now in the gallery of the Louvre at Paris.
Michael Angelo Buonarotti.
This great artist was bom in the c.istle of
Caprese, in 1475. His father, who w.Ts of a noble
GIOTTO. (see PACB 676.]
iKi.]
IdKlKS OK ART ANU ARTISTS.
6S I
Florentine family, was then gov-
ernor of Capresc and Chiusi.
When ihe Uuonarotti family re-
turned to Florence, the little
Michael Angelo was left with his
nurse .it Settignano, whore his
father had an estate. The home
of the nurse was there, and for
many years pictures were shown
upon the walls of her house,
which her little charge had
drawn as soon as he could use
his hands.
When .Mich.iel Angelo was
taken to Florence and placed in
sch<H>l, he became the friend of
Francesco (iranacci. who was of
noble family, like himself, and a
pupil of the artist, Ghirlandajo,
one of the best m.isters in Flor-
ence. .Already, Michael .Angelo
was unhappy because his father
did not wish him to be an artist.
At length, however, he became
a pupil of (ihirl.indajo, and that
at a time when the master was
engaged on the great work of
decorating the choir of the
church of Santa Maria Novella,
at Florence. Thus Michael .An-
gelo came immediately into the
midst of wonderful things, and
he was sof>n remarked for his complete devotion to
the work atjout him. One dav, when the work-
at work on it. When Ghirlandajo saw
claiimd: "Flo untlerstands more than
this, he cx-
I myself."
men were at dinner, the boy made a drawing of the It was not long before he corrected the drawing
sca/iblding and all belonging to it, with the painters of the plates which the master gave his pupils to
oS:
AK lis IS.
copy. Then the plates wen.' refused to liiiii, and.
.Ts Lorenzo dc' Medici soon j;ave permission to both
Michael .\nj;elo and Knincesco (Jranacci to study
in the jjardens of San Marco, llhirlandajo was jjlad
to be free from a pupil who already knew so much.
In the gardens of San Marco, Duke Lorenzo had
placed many splendid works of art, and pictures
and cartoons were hunj; in buildings there, so that
young men could study them. .Many young sculp-
tors worked there, and one Hertoldo, an old man.
was their teacher. Now Michael Angelo began to
model, and his first work was the mask of a faun,
which he copied so well as to attract the attention
of Lorenzo. He praised Michael Angelo, but said :
" You have made your faun so old, and yet you
have left him all his teeth ; you should have known
that, at such an advanced age, there are generally
some wanting." When he came again to the gar-
dens, he found a gap in the teeth of the faun, so
well done that he w.is delighted with it.
.Soon the Uuke sent for the father of Michael
.Angelo. and obtained his full consent that the boy
should be an artist. The young sculptor was then
taken into the palace ; he w.is treated with great
kindness by Lorenzo, and sat at his table, where
he met all the remarkable men of the
day, and listened to such conversation
as is most profitable to a boy. It was
the rule that whoever came first to the
table should sit next the Duke, and
.Michael Angelo often had that place.
But all this happy life was sadly
ended by the death of Lorenzo de'
Medici, and Michael Angelo left the
palace and had a room in his father's
house for his work-shop. After a time.
Fiero dc' Medici invited him again to
the palace, but the young man was
ill at ease, and soon went to Venice.
There he met a sculptor of 15ologna.
who induced him to visit that city ; but
the commissions he received so excited
the jealousy of other artists that he
returned again to Florence. He w.as
now twenty years old, and the next
work of his which attracted attention
was a " Sleeping Cupid," which so
resembled an antique statue that it was
sold in Rome for a very old work ; two
hundred ducats were paid for it, though
Michael Angelo received but thirty
ducats. Hy some means the knowl-
edge of this fraud came to Michael
.•\ngelo, and he explained that he had
known nothing of it. but h.id also been
deceived himself; the result of all this
was. that he went to Rome, and was
received into the house of the noble-
man who had bought the "Cupid."
He remained in Rome about three
years, and executed the " Drunken
Bacchus," now in the L'ffizi (iailery .it
and "La Pieta " (or the \'irgin Mary
Iding the dead body of Jesus .across her
lap), a fine piece of sculpture, now in the Basilica
of St. Peter's at Rome.
When he returned to Florence, he executed some
paintings and sculptures, but w.is soon employed
on his " David," one of his greatest works. It was
completed and put in its place in 1504, and there
it remained more than two centuries — next the
gate of the Pal.izzo X'ecchio. .-\ few years ago. il
was feared that the beautiful statue would cnniible
in pieces if longer exposed to the weather, and it
was removed to a place where it now stands, safe
from sun and rain.
When the "David" was completed, Michael
Florence,
seated, hii
SIORI1-; s OK Aur \Ni> AKiisrs.
'3S3
Angclo was not quite thirty years old, but hi;;
fame as a great artist was establishcil, and through
all his long life (for he lived eighty-nine years) he
was constantly and industriously engaged in the
production <( important works.
He w.is not a great painter, a great sculptor, or a
great architect, but he was all of these. His most
famous painting was that of the " Last Judgment"
in thi- Si'^tinc ('h:ipfl rf the V:iiir:iii, His most
these are, in truth, a small part of all he diil.
lie ser\ed under nine popes, and, during his life,
thirteen men occupied the papal chair. There
were great political changes, also, during this time,
and the whole impression of his life is a serious,
s;id one. He seems to have had very little joy or
brightness, and yet he was tender and thoughtful
for all whom he loved. He was an old man before
he met X'ittoria Colnnn:i, who wns a ver\' wonder-
famoii;; sculptures were the •• David," " I-a Pieta," ful woman, and much Iwloved by Mich.iel .\ngelo.
the "Tomb of I'opc Julius It.," "Moses," "The He wrote poems to her, which arc full of alTection
Dying Youth," and the famous statues of " Day" and delicate friendship ; and the Italians .idd the
and "Night"; and his greatest architectural gifi of poetry to all the others which this great
work is the Cupola of St. Peter's Church. But man possessed, and used so nobly and purely.
684
s r o K 1 1; s (I K A K r a n i • a k t i s i
(July,
Theyassociatc the name of Michael Angelo Buonar- was borne to the church of S. Picro Maggiore.
otti with those of Dante Alighieri and the painter The funeral was at evening; the coffin, placed
K.iphncl. and speak of these three as the greatest upon a bier, was borne by the younger artists,
men of their country. in what arecalled modern days, while the older ones carried torches; and thus it
I
Michael Angelo died at Rome in 1 564. Me reached Santa Crocc, its final resting-place — tlie
desired to be buried in Florence, but it was feared same church in which the poet Dante was buried,
that his removal would be opposed. Mis body A few months later, magnificent ser\-ices were
w;is, therefore, taken through the gate of the city held in his memory in tlie church of San Lorenzo,
as merchandise, and, when it reached Florence, it where are his fine statues of '• Day " and " Night,"
AKT AMI ARTISTS.
685
m.uW lor till- Mfiiui iIi.iik-1 nf lhi> cditicc. A
monunu-nt wius orccU'il In tiini in Santa Croco,
and his statue is in the court of the L'ffizi; and
the house in which he lived, and which is still
visited by those who honor his memor)', contains
many ver>- interestinjj |)crsonal mementos of this
great man, and of the noble spirit in which all his
works were done.
In 1875. a grand festival w.is m.ide to celebrate
the four hundredth anniversar)- of his birth. The
ceremonies were very impressive, and, at that time,
some documents, relating to his life, which h.id
ne\"er before been opened, were given over, by
command of the king, into the hands of suil.ible
persons, to l)e examined. Mr. Heath Wilson, an
English artist, residing at Florence, wrote a new
hfc of .Michael .\ngelo, and the last time that the
King, \'ictor Kmmanuel, wrote his own name be-
fore his death, it was on the paper which conferred
upon Mr. Wilson the order of the Corona li' Italia.
in recognition of his services in writing this book.
Most Imfoiita.st Existing Works ok thk V"---'^^ \. ,.,,..
IN THIS Articul
Emhn>ncvl Madonna, Church nf S. Maria XovelLi, Kl"rencc.
Mad>>niu, .-Vcadclny, Florence.
i^arge Mii^iaic. in CalhednU at Piia.
Ki^*ci«^ in Vppcr Church of S, Franci's at A.v*i.M.
Virgin, with .'Vngcl*. 1-,>uvtt, Paris.
MatJonna enthmned, with .\ngeU, National I iailcr)-, London.
liloTT..
St. Franci* Wedded 10 Poverty, Lower Church ol Sl Francis, at
AMia.
St. Francis in Glory, Lower Church of St. Francis, at Assisi.
The Navicclla, Mosaic in the Vestibule of Si. Peter's, at Rome
(much miored).
\*irgin and Child, with Saints and Angels, .\cademy. Florence.
Portrait of I>ante, Bargelto. Florence.
Very Important Frcscoo. in the Church uf the In
Naples.
Virgin and Child, Brera. Milan.
Thro Pictures in the Pinakolhek, Munich.
St Francis, of Assisi, L.ouvre, Paris.
Two Apostles part of a &esco^National < taller)*. I.ondo
Fra AmCBUCO da FlRsnuK.
,\ C'HIertkm f<f Te^i Pictures in the Academy, at Florence
V ..... . !,. Piiii Gallery. Horeoce.
liallery. Florence.
I Palace, Rome
' . .l.-rv. Rome
I he Coronalion of the Virgin. I ouvrr. I'm
Christ in Glory, National t*allery, t^indon.
I.A Vl:
Leonardo's Nun, Pitii ( lallcry, Florence.
Adoration of the Kings, Ufhzi Gallery, Flo
Ktce Homo. Ftr«c.>. Ilrrra Gallery, Milan.
The l.asl Supper, I. oiivciil. Milan.
St. Jcn>nic. the V.ilicaii, Rome.
A'irgin. Child, and St. John, llrcadeii Gallery.
U Jocondc, Louvre, Pari,
U lielle Fcruniire, l.ouvre, Paris.
(St. John the Uapllit, and others attributed to lla Vii
I Ihe I
MiCHA
, Bargello, FInrrnce
m. Hargcllo, Florence
Mask of .^ Faun, National Musei
Statue of Kacchas, National Mu
Statue of David, at Florence.
Suiucs of Day and Night, Church of San Lorenio, FlorcDCC
Suiue of Moses, Church of San Pictm in Vincoli, Rome.
Statue of a Captive. l.ouvrc. Paris.
Painting of Sisline Chapel, Vatican, Rome.
Painting of a Madonna, Ufhri Gallery, Florence
Portrait of Himself, Capitol Gallery. Rome.
Frankfort
■ Pinakothck. Munich.
iin. Madrid.
686
\l V AT NT S S()l' I RK Kl.S.
MN AL'XTS S(>L'I RKlll.S.
\U I'.I.IZAIiKTH SroniiAKI)
KRHArs it was because
she haled cats.
My aunt's house is a
large one, — very Hke
those you often see when
travehng in the country,
— square, with windows
all shut, silent doors and
empty porches. The
beauty of my aunt's house
was its back >ard, and
back door, with a great, flat
stone step. A gate at the
ack of the yard opened on
a lane, where trees grew on each
side, and thickets, which, in summer, are full of
birds, butterflies, and blossoms. The deep ruts
are overgrown with grass ; only the breezes pass
to and fro, which flutter the leaves into little
rustling songs. The back door led into a great
kitchen, built ever so many years ago ; the rafters
were coffee-colored, for my aunt would never have
them whitewashed. Lots of things were stowed
away among those rafters. — pumpkin-seeds, oars of
corn, bunches of herbs, an old saddle ; and, in the
winter, hams and links of sausage swung from the
beams. Piles of paper bulged over their edges,
and the rubbish of \cars was there, precious to
my aunt, but useless to everybody else.
One day in autumn. Josh, my aunt's man-of-all-
work, while hoisting a bag of dried beans into the
rafters, discovered a pair of gray striped squirrels.
He rattled the beans and " shooed," but they only
skipped beyond his reach, chattering, and stood
on their hind paws, making motions with their fore
paws as if "shooing" Josh in return.
" I do believe, mem," he called to m\ aunt,
"that these little thieves have come to eat up all
my garden-seeds ; but I can't make out why
ground-squirrels should roost up here."
"Let them be. Josh," said my aunt; "I'd
rather have squirrels overhead than cats under
feet ; the creatures wont trouble me."
Nor did they ; but, when people talked in the
kitchen, the squirrels chattered louder and faster
than ever. Although they dropped seeds and
straws on my aunt's muslin cap, and although Josh
muttered about holes in bags, and muss, and noise,
she would not listen. She declared they were
company for her, and she was certain they would
not forget her friendliness toward them ; they
kept their disuince, and were always the same
bright, cheerful, happy little beings I
Kor all this. Josh f>ondered a plan, and carried
it out. " C/ro// //(/-squirrels," he argued, "had no
business up in the air." So he prepared a bag,
tackled the old horse to the wagon, caught the
squirrels when my aunt went out, put them in the
bag, and rode away up the lane and into the
woods. When he got to a thick spot, dark with
trees, he shook out the squirrels, turned about,
and jogged home, with the satisfaction of having
fmished a good job, just a little dashed with
dread of my aunt's scolding, which, any way, was
not so bad as tliMr chatter. Josh opened the
kitchen door and went in. The silence pleased
him, and he began to rub his hands, as his way
was when pleased. He cast his eyes upward and
was instantly greeted with a merry chatter. The
squirrels had got home before him, and were all
the more lively for their voyage in the bag, the
ride in the wagon, and the picnic in the woods !
"Marcy on me!" he cried, his hands falling
apart. Just then the squirrels let drop a hickory-
nut on the bald spot of Josh's head.
"I missed their noise," said my aunt; "they
have been cunning enough to go out nutting."
"Yes," said poor Josh. "They are verj- cun-
ning, mem ; I know s/> much about them."
Ilither the indignity of the raid upon them, or
the find of the hickory-nuts, was too much for
the squirrels ; shortly after, they disappeared. My
aunt w.Ts reminded more than once of their ingrati-
tude, but all she said was — "Wait."
A cat was proposed for a pet once more. " No
cats ! " my aunt said, looking severely at Josh, who
went out to the barn immediately.
When the spring came, and the lilac-bushes
bloomed, I went to my aunt's — the old kitchen wa;;
mj' delight. We sat on the door-step in the after-
noon when the sun-rays left the lane, and we could
rest our eyes on the deep cool green of tree and
shrub. My aunt watched the way of the wind,
where the birds flew, and the coming blossoms,
and I watched her. Once, when I happened to be
inside, I heard .1 suppressed wondering cry from
her, which made me hurry back; I saw her atten-
tion was fixed on the path below the step, ;md
looked .ilso, to sec the most cunning procession that
ever was. My aunt's gray squirrel was trotting
toward us. with tail curled up, and .accompanied
bv four little ones exactly like her, with their
DKCOUATIVt:.
687
mites of tails curled up also, — t\vo were on her
Kick, >inil two trotted beside her. She Ciiine up
to my aunt fearlessly, and the little ones ran about
us. Her motherly joy and pride were pl.iin to be
seen. Then we hciu-d a shrill squeak from the
lil.tc-bush. — it came from her companion, the father
of the family, who watched the reception. My
aunt sent me for pumpkin-seed, and to see them
snipping the shells and feeding on the meat was
a fine treat. The babies wore about a finger's
length, but their tails had as stiff a curl ns their
mamma's, and never got out of place. Many a
day afterward, the mother paraded the young
ones on the iloor-stcp, and carried home her pouch
full of pumpkin-seed, but the father nc\'er put his
dignity off to come any nearer than the lilac-bush.
"Now, you unbelieving Josh," called my aunt
once, " what do you say ? "
•' Say, mem," looking up at the rafters. " I say
a 111/ might have druv them away."
DHCORATIVK.
She sits and smiles through all the summer day;
The sea-gulls and the breezes p.-iss her by ;
Her eyes are blue, and look so far away,
She seems to sec into another sky.
What does she think of, sitting there so long ?
Ah, silly maiden ! shall I guess your wish ?
Will some kind artist " [tell me, if 1 'm wrong]
"Just please to paint me on a plaque or dish ? "
6SS
I'll AKTOX ROGERS.
1'iiai;tun R()(;i:r.s.
IIV koSSITKK JllHNSIlN.
ClIAPTKR W.
kinnim; wiDi nil. mm hink.
Prksknti.Y wc hcartl ;i tremendous noise behind
us, — .1 combination of rumble, rattle, and shout.
It was Red Rover Three going to the tiro. She
was for some reason a little belated, and was trying
to make up lost time. .-Xt least forty men had
their hands on the drag-rope, and were taking her
along at a lively rate, while the two who held the
tongue and steered the engine, being obliged to
run at the same time, had all they could do. The
foreman was standing on the top, with a large tin
trumpet in his hand, through which he occasion-
ally shouted an order.
" Let 's take hold of the drag-rope and run with
her," said Phaeton.
If I had been disposed to make any objection, I
had no opportunity, for Phaeton immediately made
a dive for a place where there w as a longer interval
than usual between the men, and seized the rope.
Not to follow him would have seemed like deser-
tion, and I thought if 1 was ever to be a boy of
spirit, this w.is the time to begin.
When a boy for the first time laid his hand upon
the drag-rope of an engine under swift motion, ho
experienced a thrill of mingled joy and fear to
which nothing else in boy-life is comparable. If
he missed his hold, or tired too soon, he would
almost certainly be thrown to the ground and run
over. If he could hang on, and make his legs fly
fast enough, he might consider himself as sharing
in the glory when the machine rolled proudly up
in the light of the burning building and was wel-
comed with a shout.
There comes to most men, in early manhood, a
single moment which, perhaps, equals this in its
delicious blending of fear and rapture — but let us
leave that to the poets.
Phaeton and I hung on with a good grip, while
the inspiration of the lire in sight, and the enthu-
siasm of our. company, seemed to lend us more
than our usual strength and speed. But before we
reached the fire, a noise was heard on a street that
ran into ours at an angle some distance ahead.
The foreman's ear caught it instantly, and he knew
it was Cataract Kight doing her best in order to
strike into the main road ahead of us.
"Jump her, men ! jump her! " he shouted, and
pounded on the brakes with his tin trumpet.
* Oipynifhl, iSSo, by Rmsitci
The eighty legs and four wheels on which Red
Rover Three was making her way to the fire each
doubled its speed, while forty mouths yelled, " Ki
yi ! " and the excited foreman repeated his admoni-
tion to "Jump her, boys! jump her!"
Phaeton and I hung on for dear life, although I
expected every moment to find myself unable to
hang on any longer. Sometimes wc me.isured the
ground in a sort of seven-league-boot style, and
again we seemed to be only as rags tied to the
rope and fluttering in the wind. The two men at
the tongue were jerked about in all sorts of ways.
Sometimes one would be lying on his breast on the
end of it where it curved up like a horse's neck,
and the next minute one or both of them would be
thrown almost under it. Whenever a wheel struck
an uneven paving-stone, these men would be jerked
violently to one side, and we could feel the shock
all along the rope. It seemed sometimes as if the
engine w.is simply being hurled through the air.
occasionally swooping down enough in its flight to
touch the ground and rebound again. All the
while the church-bells of the city, at the mercy of
sextons doubly excited by fire and fees, kept up a
direful clang. 1 doubt whether the celebrated
clang of Apollo's silver bow could at all compare
with it.
.As we noarcd the forks of the ro.id, the foreman
yelled and pounded yet more vociferously, and
through the din we could hear that Cataract Eight
was doing the same thing. .At last we shot by the
corner just in time to compel our rival to fall in
behind us, and a minute or two later, we burst
through the great ring of people that surrounded
the fire, and made our entrance, as it were, upon
the stage, with the roaring, crackling flames of
three tall buildings for our mighty foot-lights.
We had "jumped her."
The fire was in the Novelty Works — .in estab-
lishment where were manufactured alLsorls of small
wares in wood and iron. The works occupietl three
buildings, pretty close together, surrounded by a
sm.all strip of yard. Either because the firemen,
from the recent demoralization of the department,
were long in coming upon the ground, or for some
other reason, the fire was under gootl headway, and
all three buildings were in fl.-uncs, before a drop of
water was thrown.
Phaeton whispered to me that we had better get
away from the engine now, or they might expect
us to work at the brakes ; so we dodged back and
John
All righK
PHAETON ROGERS.
689
forth tliroujjh the crowd, and came mit in front of
the lire at another point. Here we met Monkey
Roe, who had run with Red Rover's hose-cart, w;ls
flushed with excitement, and was evidently enjoy-
ing the lire most heartily.
"Oh, the fire 's a big one ! " said he, " about
the biggest we ever had in this town — or will be,
before it gets through. I have great hopes of that
old shanty across the roail ; it ought to have been
burned down long ago. If this keeps on much
longer, that 'II have to go. Don't you see the
paint peeling off alreaily ? "
The " okl shanty " referretl to w;is a large wooden
building used as a furniture factory, and it ccr-
sis, "we have washed Cataract Kight, we can wash
Cataract Kighl, and we will w.ish Cataract Kight."
There were older people than Monkey Roe to
whom the washing of Cataract I:Iight, rather than
the extinguishment of lires, was the chief end of
a company's existence.
" Yes," said I, catching some of Monkey's
enthusiasm, in addition to what I had already
acquired by running with Red Rover, " I think we
can wash her."
The next moment I was pierced through and
through by pangs of conscience. Here was I, a
boy whose uncle was a member of Cataract Kight,
and who ought, therefore, to have been a warm
t.iinl) .lid 1m, .k .is if Monkey's warmest hopes
would Ik- realized. I obser\ed that he wore a
broad belt of red leather, on which was inscribed
the legend :
•• Monkey," said I, "what docs that queer motto
mean, on your belt ? "
" Why, don't you know that ? " said he ; " that 's
Red Rover's motto."
" Yes, of course it is," said I ; " but what does
it mean .' "
■■ It means," said Monkey, with solemn cmpha-
Voi.. VHI.— 44.
admirer and partisan of tliat (omp.iny, not only
running to a fire with her deadly rival, but openly
expressing the opinion that she could be washed.
But such is the force of circumstances in their rela-
tive distance — smaller ones that are near us often
counterbalancing much larger ones that happen, for
the moment, to be a little farther off. It did not
occur to me to be ashamed of myself for expressing
an opinion which w.as not founded on a single fact
of any kind whatever. The consciences of very
few people seem ever to be troubled on that point.
" The Hook-and-Ladder is short of hands to-
night," s:iid Monkey. " I think I '11 t.ike an ax."
"What does he mean by taking an ax? "said
1 to Phaeton.
*' 1 don't know," said Phaeton, as Monkev Roe
690
JMIAETON ROGERS.
(JUIY,
turned to push his way ihrou(;h the excited crowd ;
"but let 's follow him, and find out."
Monkey passed around the corner into tlie next
street, where stood a very long, light carriage,
with two or three ladders upon it and a few axes in
sockets on tlie sides. These axes diflered from
ordinary ones in having the corner of the head
prolonged into a savage-looking spike.
Monkey spoke to the man in charge, who
handed him an ax and a tircman's liat. This hat
was made of heavy sole-leather, painted black, the
crown being rounded into a hemisphere, and the
rim extended behind so that it covered his shoulder-
blades. On the front was a shield ornamented
with two crossed ladders and a figure 2.
Me took the ax, and put on the hat, leaving
his own, and at the man's direction went to where
a dozen ax-men were chopping at one side of a
two-story wooden building that made a sort of
connecting-link between the Novelty Worki and
the next large block.
Monkey seemed to hew away with the best of
them; and, though they were continually changing
about, we could alwa\ s tell him from the rest b\
his shorter stature and the fact that his hat seemed
too large for him.
Before long, a dozen firemen, with a tall ladder
on their shoulders, appeared from somewhere, and
quickly raised it against the building. Three of
them then mounted it, dragging up a pole with an
enormous iron hook at the end. But there was no
))rojection at the edge of the roof into which thc\
could fix the hook.
■• Stay where you are ! " shouted the foreman to
them through his trumpet. Then to the assistant
foreman he shouted :
" Send up your lightest man to cut a place."
The assistant foreman looked about him, seized
on Monkey as the lightest man, and hastily ordered
him up.
The next instant. Monkey was going up the
ladder, ax in hand ; he passed the men who were
holding the hook, and stepped upon the roof.
While he stood there, we could see him plainly, a
dark form against a fiery background, .as, with a
lew swift strokes, he cut a hole in the roof, perhaps
a foot from the edge.
The hook was lifted once more, and its point
settled into the place thus prepared for it. The
pole that formed the handle of the hook reached
in a long slope nearly to the ground, and a heavy
rojx: formed a continuation of it. At the order of
the foreman, something like a hundred men seized
this rope and stretched themselves out in line for a
big pull. At the same lime, some of the firemen
near the building, seeing the first tongues of flame
leap out of the window nearest to the ladder, — for
the fire had somehow got into this wooden building
also, — hastily pulled down the ladder, leaving
.Monkey standing on the roof, with no apparent
means of escape.
A visible shudder ran through the crowd, fol-
lowed by shouts of " Raise the ladder again ! "
The ladder was seized by many hands, but in a
minute more it was evident that it would be useless
to raise it, for the flames were pouring out of every
window, and nobody could have passed up or down
it alive.
"Stand from under!" shouted Monkey, and
threw his ax to the ground.
Then, getting cautiously over the edge, he seized
the hook with both hands, threw his feet over it,
thus swinging his body beneath it, and came down
the pole and the rope hand over hand, like his
agile namesake, amid the thundering plaudits of
the multitude.
As soon as he was safely landed, the men at the
rope braced themselves for a pull, and with a " Yo.
heave, ho ! " the whole side of the building was
torn off and came over into the street with a deafen-
ing crash, while a vast fountain of fire rose from its
ruins, and the crowd swayed back as the heat
struck upon their faces.
By this time, all the engines were in position, had
stretched their hose, and were playing away vigor-
ously. The foremen were sometimes bawling
through their trumpets, and sometimes battering
them to pieces in excitement. The men that held
the nozzles and directed the streams were gradually
working their way nearer and nearer to the build
ings, as the water deadened portions of the fire
and diminished the heat. .\nd, through all the din
and uproar, you could hear the steady, alternating
thud of the brakes as they struck the engine-bo.xes
on either side. Occisionally this motion, on some
particular engine, would be quickened for a few
minutes, just after a vigorous oration by the fore-
man ; but it generally settled back into the regular
p,ice.
And now a crack appeared in the front wall of
one of the tall brick buildings, near the corner,
running all the way from ground to roof ,'\ sup-
pressed shout from the crowd signified that all had
noticed it, and served ;is a •warning to the hose-men
10 look out for themselves.
The crack grew wider at the top. The immense
side wall began to totter, then hung poised for a
few breathless seconds, and at last broke from the
rest of the building and rushed down to ruin.
It fell upon the burning wreck of the wooden
structure, and sent sparks and fire-brands flying for
scores of yards in every direction.
The hose-men crept up once more under the now
dangerous front wall, and sent their streams in at
rilAKTON ROGERS.
691
ilif wmilnws, where a mass of \\\\n^ lUimc socmecl
10 drink up the water as fast as it coulil bo deliv-
ered, ami only lo incre.ise tliercby.
It might have been ten minutes, or it mi};ht
have been an hour, after the falling of the side
wall, — time passes so strangely during excitement,
— when another great murmur from the crowd an-
nounced the trembling of the front wall. The
hose-men were obliged to drop the nozzles and run
for their lives.
After the preliminary tremor which always oc-
curs, cither in reality or in the spectator's imagina-
tion, the front wall doubled itself down by a diago-
nal fold, breaking off on a line running from the
lop of the side wall still standing to the bottom
of the one that h.id fallen, and piling itself in a
crumbled m.iss, out of which rose a great cloud of
dust from broken pl.ister.
The two other brick buildings, in spile of the
thousands of gallons of water that were thrown into
them, burned on liercely till they burned them-
selves out. But no more walls fell. and. for weeks
altenvard, the four stories of empty and blackened
ruin towered in a continual men.ice above their
surroundings.
That oltl shanty which Monkey Roe had hoped
would burn, had been saved by the imwearicd ex-
ertions of the firemen, who from the moment the
engines were in .-iction h.id kept it continually wet.
"The l>est of the fire w.as over," as an habitual
fire-goer expressed it. the crowd was thinning out,
and Phaeton and I started to look for Ned, who,
poor fellow ! was pining in a dungeon, where he
could only look through iron bars upon a square of
reddened sky.
We h.id hardly started upon this ijucst when
several church-bells struck up a fresh alarm, and
the news ran from mouth to mouth that there w.as
another fire ; but nobody seemed to know exactly
where it was.
" Let 's follow one of the engines," said Phaeton ;
and this time we cast our lot with Rough-and-Ready
Seven, — not with hand on the drag-ropes to assist
in "jumping" her. but rather .ts ornamental tail-
pieces.
" I think I shall take an ax this time," said
Ph.aeton. .is we ran along.
" I 'vc no doubt you could handle one as well as
Monkey Roe," said I, — "that is," — and here I
hesitated somewhat, — " if you had on an easy suit
of clothes. Mine seem a little too tight to give
free play to your arms."
"Oh, as to that," s;iid Ph.aeton, who had fairly
caught the fireman fever, " if I find the coat too
tight, I can throw it off."
The second fire was in Mr. (Uiddcn's house.
It had probably arisen from cinders wafted from
the great fire and f.dling upon ihe front steps. All
about the front door was in a bl.ize.
At the siglit of this, Ph.ieton seemed lo become
doubly excited. lie rushed to the llfiok-and-
L.idder carriage, and came back in a minute with
an ax in his hand, and on his head a fireman's hat,
which seemed somewhat too large for him, and
gave him the appearance of the victorious gladi-
ator in (leronie's famous picture.
Me seemed now to consider himself a veteran
fireman, and, without orders from anybody, rushed
up to the side door and assaulted it vigorously,
shivering it, with a few blows, into a thousand
fragments.
He p;isscd in through the wreck, and, for a few-
minutes, was lost to sight. 1 barely caught a
glimpse of a man p.-issing in behind him. What
took place inside of the house, 1 learned afterward.
Miss ("iliddcn h.id been sitting up reading
•• Ivanhoe," and had paid no attention to the great
fire, excepting to look through the window a few-
minutes on the first .ilarm. Hearing this thunder-
ing noise at the door, she stepped to the head of
the slairs, in a half-d.izcd condition, and saw
ascending them, as she expressed it, "a grotesque
creature, in tight clothes, we.iring .in enormous
media-val helmet, and bearing in his hand a
gleaming battle-ax." She could only think him
the ghost of a Templar, and scream in affright.
The man, who had gone in after Phaeton, passed
him on the slairs. and soon emerged from the
house, bearing the young lady in his arms. It
was Jack-in-thc-Box.
Phaeton came out a few minutes later, bringing
her canary in its cage.
"This must be put in a s.ife place," said he to
me; " Miss (".lidden thinks the world of it. I 'II
run home with it, and come back agpin." And he
ran off, just escaping arrest at the hands of a
policeman who thought he w;is stealing the bird,
but who was not able to run fast enough to catch
him.
Meanw-hile, the firemen were preparing to extin-
guish the new fire. There was no water-supply
near enough for a single engine to span the dis-
tance. Some of them had been left at the great
fire, to continue pouring water upon it, while the
chief-engineer ordered four of them to take care of
this one.
They formed two lines. Red Rover Three and
Big Six t.iking water from the canal and sending it
along to Catar.act Kight and Rough-and-Ready
Seven, who threw it upon the burning house.
As Phaeton. J,-\ck-in-the-Box, Miss ( Hidden, and
the canary emerged from the house, half a dozen
men rushed in — some of ihem firemen, and some
citizens who had volunteered their help. In .1
692
I'll A ETON R()(;KRS.
litllc while, one of thcni appeared at an upper
window, having in his hands a large looking-glass,
with an elaborately carved frame. Without stop-
[-^Pt^'^^'W^^'-,"'
ping to open the window, he dashed the mirror
through sash, glass, and all, and as it struck the
ground it was shivered into a thousand fragments.
Then another man appeared at the window with
an armful of small framed pictures, and, taking
them one at a time by the corner, " scaled " them
out into the air.
Then the first man appeared again, dragging a
mattress. Resting lliis on the window-sill, he tied
a rope around it, and let it down slowly and care-
fully to the ground.
The second man appeared again, in turn ; this
time with a handsome china wash-bowl and |)itchcr,
which he sent out as if they had tx-en shot from a
cannon. In falling, they just esca])ed smashing
the head of a spectator. Bearing in mind, I sup-
pose, the great mercantile principle that a "set"
of articles should always be kept together, he hur-
riedly threw after them such others as he found on
the wash-stand, — the cake of soap striking the
rliief-engineer in the neck, while the tall, heavy
^lop-jar — hurled last of all to complete the set —
iiirned some beautiful somersaults, emptying its
idntcnts on Lukey Finnerty, and landed in the
midst of a table full of crockery, which had been
brought out from the dining-room.
Next appeared, at another upper window, two
men carrying a bureau that proved to be too large
tn go through. With that promptness which is so
iHcess.iry in great emergencies, one of the men
Instantly picked up his ax, and, with two or three
l)lows, cut the bureau in tvvo in the middle, after
which both halves were quickly bundled through
the window and fell to the ground.
The next thing they saved was a small, open
book-case filled with handsomely bound books.
They brought it to the window, with all the books
upon it, rested one end on the sill, and then, trip-
ping up its heels, started it on the hyperbolic cur\c
made and provided for projectiles of its class. If
the Commissioner of Patents could have seen it
careering through the air, he would have rejected
all future applications for a monopoly in revolving
Ijook-cases. When it reached the ground, there
was a general diffusion of good literature.
They finally discovered, in some forgotten closet,
a large number of dusty hats and bonnets of a
l)y-gone day, and came down the stairs carefully
bringing a dozen or two of them. Close behind
them followed the other men, one having his arms
full of ))illows and bolsters, while the other carried
three lengths of old stove-pipe.
'■ We saved what we could," said one, with an
evident consciousness of having done his duty.
"Yes," said another, "and it 's too hot to go
back there, though there 's lots of furniture that
has n"t been touched yet."
Meanwhile, the Hook-and-Ladder company h.id
fastened one of their great hooks in the edge of the
roof, and were hauling away, with a " Yo, heave,
ho ! " to pull olT the side of the house. They had
only got it fairly started, separated from the rest of
the frame by a crack of not more than five or six
inches, when the chief-engineer came up and
693
iirilcrctl tlioiii to iWsisl, as he i-xpccli-il u> bf able
to extinguish the fire.
And now the engines were in full pl.u . A little
trap-door in the top of Cataract ICij;ht's box was
open, and the assistant forentan of Retl Rover
Three was holdinj; in it the nozzle of Three's hose,
which discharged A terrific stream.
The s.inie was true of Big Six and Rougli-and-
Ready Seven.
I never heard a more eloquent orator than the
foreman of Cataract Eight, as he stood on the box
of his engine, poimded with his trumpet on the
air-chamber, and exhortetl the men to "down with
the br.ikes " ; " shake her up lively " ; "' rattle tlic
irons"; '"don't be w.ished," etc., all of which ex-
pressions seemed to have one meaning, and the
brakes came down upon the edges of the box like
the blows of a trip-hammer, making the engine
dance about as if it were made of pasteboard.
The foreman of Red Rover Three was also ex-
cited, and things in that quarter were equally
lively.
For a considerable time it was an even contest.
Eight's box w.is kept almost full of water, and no
more ; while it seemed as if both companies had
attained the utmost rapidity of stroke that flesh
and bones were capable of, or wood and iron could
endure.
But at last four fresh men, belonging to Red
Rover Three, who had been on some detached
ser\'ice, came up, leaped upon the box, and each
putting a foot upon the brakes, added a few pounds
to their momentum.
The water rose rapidly in Eight's box, and in
about a minute completely overflowed it, drenching
the legs of her men, and making everything dis-
agreeable in the vicinity.
.A shout went up from the by-standers, and
Three's men instantly stopped work, took off their
hats, and g;ive three tremendous cheers.
We had washed her.
Big Six was trying to do the same thing by
Rough-and-Ready Seven, and had almost suc-
ceeded, when the hose burst. Phaeton and I were
standing within a step of the spot where it gave
way, and we oursehcs were washed.
" Let 's go home," said he, as he surrendered
his ax and fire-hat to a Hook-and-Ladder man.
"Yes," s.-iid I, "it 's time. They 've poured
water enough into that house to float the .\rk, and
all the best of the fire is over."
As we left the scene of our labors, 1 obscr>cd
that my Sunday coat, besides being drenched, was
split open across the back.
" Phaeton," said 1, c.illing his .nttention to the
rent, "you forgot to throw ofT my coat when you
went to work with the ax, did n't you .' "
" That 's so," said he. "The fact is, I suppose
1 must have been a little excited."
" 1 've no doubt you were," said I. " Putting
out fires and s;iving properly is very exciting
work."
ClIAITlK .\\1.
A .NIAV HKK-i:X riNllflSHI.R.
It w.is not yet morning, and my rope-ladder
was still hanging out when Phaeton and 1 reached
the house. We climbed up, and as soon as he
could tie up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went
down again and ran home.
When our family were assembled at the break-
fast-table, 1 had to go through those disagreeable
explanations which every boy encounters before he
arrives at the ngc when he can do what he pleases
without giving a reason for it. At such a time, it
seems to a boy as if those who ought to sympathize
with him had set themselves up as determined
antagonists, bringing out by questions and com-
ments the most unfavorable phase of everything
that has happened, and making him feel that,
instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime
to be punished. Looking at it from the boy's
side, it is, perhaps, wisest to consider this as a
necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from
the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a
cowardly proceeding.
It was in vain that I strove to interest our family
with vivid descriptions of how we jumped Red
Rover Three, how we washed Cataract Eight, and
how \vc sa\ed Mr. Gliddcn's property. 1 suppose
they were deficient in imagination ; they could
realize nothing but what was before them, visible
to the physical eye ; their minds continually
reverted to the comparatively unimportant ques-
tion as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful
a condition. As if 't was any fault of mine that
Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known
that it would burst at that particular spot where
Phaeton and I were standing.
The only variation from this one-stringed harp
was when they labored ingeniously to make it
appear that the jumping, the washing, and the
s.iving would all ha\e been done quite as effectually
if I had been snug in bed at home.
Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was
missing.
" I don't wonder that we did n't happen to run
across him in that big crowd," s;iid he; " but 1
should n't think he 'd stay so long as this. Do you
think anything can have happened to hiin ?"
" What could happen ?" said I.
"He mav have taken an ax, and ventured too
694
PIIAKTON ROGERS.
(JULV,
far into soini.- of ihc burning buil(lint;s," said
I'hacton.
" No," said I, aficr a moment's consideration ;
"that wouldn't be like Ned. He might be very
enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he
would n't forget to take care of himself. However,
I '11 go with you to look for him."
As we went up tlie street, we came upon Patsy
K.ifTcrty and Teddy Dwyer, pushing Phaeton's car
before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They
were taking him out to see what remained of the
fire. Jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and
expected soon to be about again on his own legs.
A few rods farther on, we met Ned walking
toward home.
•' llelli) ! Where have you been all this time?"
said Phaeton.
"Can't you tell by the feathers?" said Ned.
"What feathers?"
"Jail-bird feathers. 1 've been in Jail all night.''
Of course we asked him how that came about,
and Ned told us the story of his captivity, which
the reader already knows.
" But how did you get out?" said Phaeton, with
natural solicitude.
" Why, when 'Squire Moore came to the office
and opened the court, I was brought out the first
one. And when I told him my story, and whose
boy I was, he said of course I w.is ; he 'd known
Father too many years not to be able to tell one
of his chickens as soon as it peeped. He advised
me not to meddle any more with burglar things,
and then told me to go home. 'Squire Moore 's
the 'squire for my money ! But as for that stupid
policeman, 1 '11 sue him for false imprisonment,
if Aunt Mercy will let me have the funds to pay a
lawyer."
" Aunt Mercy 's pretty liberal with you," said
Phaeton, " but she '11 never give you any such
amount as that."
When Ned heard of our adventures at the lire,
he fairly groaned.
"It would be just like my luck," said he, " if
there should n't be another good fire in this town
for a year."
The lost brother being found. Phaeton said the
next thing to be done was to take home the
bird he had rescued. I went with him on this
errand.
As we approached the house, Phaeton carry-
ing the bird-cage, a scene of desolation met our
eyes. Nearly everything it contained had been
brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or
less injury. The house itself, with all the windows
and doors smashed out, the front burned to char-
coal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rot
of the frame that it could not be replaced, and tlie
whole browned with smoke and drenched with
water, was a melancholy wreck.
Mr. (iliddcn and his son John stood in the yard
looking at it, and their countenances, on the whole,
were rather sorrowful.
"Good-morning, Mr. Glidden," said Phaeton.
" ("lOod-morning, sir."
" 1 should like to see Miss (Hidden," said Phae-
ton.
" She is at her aunt's, on West street," said Mr.
(llidden.
Phaeton seemed a little disappointed.
" 1 've brought home her bird," said he. " 1
carried it out when the house was on fire, and took
it up to our house for safety."
" My sister will be very much obliged to you,"
said John (Midden. '• 1 'II take charge of it."
Phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run
over to West street with the bird at once, saying
that he knew the house where she was staying, per-
fectly well ; but John said he would n't trouble him
to do that, and took the cage, which Phaeton gave
up with some appearance of reluctance.
" 1 don't believe the smell of smoke will be good
for that bird," said Phaeton, as we walked .away.
"Canaries are very tender things. He'd better
have let me carry it right over to his sister."
" Yes," said I, " and relieve her anxiety of mind
about it. But 1 suppose he and his father are
thinking of nothing but the house."
" 1 don't wonder at that," said Phaeton. " It
must be a pretty serious thing to have your house
and furniture knocked to pieces in that way. And
the water seems to do as much harm as the fire."
" Yes, and the axes more than either," said 1.
'• But it can't be helped. Houses will get on fire
once in a while, and then, of course, they must
either be put out or torn down."
" I am inclined to think it can be helped," said
Phaeton. " 1 've been struck with an idea this
morning, and if it works out as well as I hope, I
shall be able to abolish all the engines and ax-men.
.ind ])ut out fires without throwing any water on
iliem."
" That would be a tremendous invention," s.nid
1. "What is it?"
" Wait till I get it fully worked out," said he,
"and then we'll talk it over. It needs a picture
to explain it."
A day or two aftcr\vard. Phaeton asked me to go
with him to see Jack-in-thc-Box, .as he had com-
pleted his invention, and wanletl to consult Jack
about it.
" By the way," said he, .is we were walking up
the street, " I received something this morning
which will interest you."
lie took from his pocket, and handed me, a note
IMIAI ION RDCKKS.
695
" Then," continued Phaeton, "whenever a fire
occurs, the firemen (it needs only a few) take these
ropes in their hands and start for the fire, the tent
and balloon sailing alonj; over their heads. When
they t;et there, they let it go up till the bottom of
the tent is higher than the top of the burning
house, and then bring it down right over the
house, so as to inclose it, and hold the bottom
edge close against the surface of the ground till the
lire is smothered."
■' 1 see," s;iid Jack; "' the theory is perfect."
•• I have not forgotten," said Phaeton, "that the
written on delicate scented paper and folded up
in a triangle. It w.as addressed to " Dear Mr.
Rogers," and signed " V. tUidden." It acknowl-
edged the receipt of the bird, and thanked him
handsomely for his " gallantrj' in rescuing dear
little L'hrissy from the flames."
" That 's beautiful," said I, as I folded it up and
handed it back to Phaeton, who read it again
before putting it into his pocket.
■' Yes," s;>id he, " that 's lovely."
•'You never were called 'Mr. Rogers' before,
were you?" said I. "No," said Phaeton.
" I tell you what 't is. Fay," said I, •' we 're
getting along in life."
" Yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. It
was only a little while ago that we had never run
with a machine, never taken an ax at a fire, and
— never received a note like this."
"And now," said I, "we — that is, you — have
made an invention to abolish all fire departments.'
" If it works," said Phaeton.
" I have n't the least doubt that it will," said I,
although I had not the remotest idea what it was.
Jack, who had just flagged a train, and w.as roll-
ing up his flag as we arrived, cordially invited us
into his box.
" I want to consult you about one more inven-
tion," said Phaeton, "'if you 're not tired of them."
•'Never tired of them," said Jack. "1 have
found something to admire in every one you 've
presented, though they were not all exactly practi-
cable. The only way to succeed is to persevere. "
"It 's very encouraging to hear you say so,"
said Phaeton. " The thing that I want to consult
you about to-day is a method of putting out fires
without throwing water upon the houses or chop-
ping them all to pieces."
"That would be a great thing," said J.ick.
■■ How do you accomplish it ? "
" By smothering them," said Phaeton.
" I know you can smother a small fire with a
thick blanket," said Jack, " but how are you going
to smother a whole house when it is in a blaze.'"
" If you will look at this drawing," said Phaeton,
"you will easily understand my plan." And he tent itself might take fire before they could fairly
produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it. get it down over the house. To prevent that, I
'•I first build a sort of light canvas tent," he have a barrel of water below the balloon and above
continued, " somewhat larger than an ordinary the tent, with a few gimlet-holes in the bottom ;
house. It has no opening, except that the bottom so there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the
is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened tent too wet to take fire e.Tsily."
to each of the lower corners. Then I have a bal- " That 's clear," said J.ack. " It 's the wet-
loon, to which thb tent is fastened in place of a car. blanket principle reduced to scientific form."
k
The balloon lifts the tent just as far as the ropes-
which are fastened to something — will let it go.'
•'That 's plain enough," said Jack.
' And how shall I manage it ? " said Ph.icton.
"As to that," said Jack, "the most appropriate
man to consult is the chief-engineer."
(Ta 6t contimutj. )
bcjb
iCK AMI Ki:i !■
11 oW in Sri)CK AM) Kl". i:!' A 1-"K 1".S 1 1 - \V ATllR AyL'ARIb'Al.
I'.V DANIl.t. C HlAKI'.
Tin; lirst imroduclion of tlic ai|Uiiriiiiu reveal
another world and its inhabitanls, — a world of er
chantinent, far surpassing any described in llu
Arabian Xigbts or fairy tales, — ix world teeming;
with life so strange that some of it we can
scarcely belie\e to be real.
The modern aiiuarium has laid bare
secrets that have been locked in the breast
of the ocean for ages. Through the
cr\'stal sides of the marine tanks are
now shown living animals, of forms
so lovely and delicate as to remind
us of the tracer)- of frost-work.
We can behold in the trans-
parent waters fishes circling
about, with distended
fins that resemble the
gorgeous wings of but-
terflies; and we can
see, glancing here
and there, other
fish, the glit-
ter of whose
glossy sides
dazzles u^,
and is
IIAKDV SWIMMKKS. [SBB 1'^
701.]
various in hue .as the rainbow ; and the rocks at
the bottom arc carpeted with animals in the forms
of lovely flowers !
Although marine animals may surp.iss the in-
habitants of fresh water in strangeness of form
and tint, there are some fresh-water fish UDon
whom
Mother
Nature
appears to
have lavish-
ed her colors ;
and there are
enough aquatic
objects to be found
in any stream or
pond, to keep all the
K. readers of St. Xicho-
Sr* r.^ .-^ L.AS busy and happy for
Wj^*Jif^i-^ years in studying their
^^■^ liabits and natural history.
One must have a certain
amount of knowledge of the
habits of an animal before he
can expect to keep it in a thriving
condition in captivity. This knowl-
edge is gained by observation, and
success depends upon the common sense
displayed in discreetly using the informa-
tion thus obtained.
Do not make the common mistake of sup-
|>osing that an aquarium is only a globe or
iiianiental tank, made to hold a few lazy gold-
lisli, with a forlorn little turtle. Hut if you deter-
mine to have an aquarium, have one whose contents
will afford a constant source of amusement and in-
struction— one that will attract the attention and
interest of a visitor as soon as he or she enters the
room where it is. Vo not h.ave china swans floating
about upon the top of the water, nor ruined castles
submerged beneath the surface. .Such things are in
l)ad l.-iste. (icnerally speaking, ruined c.istles are
not found at the bottoms of lakes and rivers, and
china swans ilo not swim on streams and ponds.
\ IRIS II -WATER AijUARIU M.
697
>i.i sluiK, coraU. etc., >lu)ulil nut Ik- umiI 111 a fresh-
water ai|iiariiim ; they tuit only look out i>f place,
but the lime and salts they contain will injure both
tish and plant. Try to make your aquarium a min-
iature lake in all its details, and you will find the
effect more pleasin;^ to the eye. Hy making the
artificial home of the aquatic cre.itures conform as
nearly as possible to their natural ones, you can
keep them all in a healthy and lively condition.
At the bird-stores and other places where objects
the advantageous distribulioii ol ii-. bulk over large
spaces." In other words, tiat, shallow vessels are
the best. When ipiite a sni.ill boy, the writer
discovered this fact by pouring half the minnows
from a pail into a large flat dish, that he might
better see them swim about ; here they were for-
gotten for the time ; on the morrow all the fish in
the pail were found to be dead, but those in the
flat dish were perfectly lively and well.
In the light of this fact, he set to work to build
in natur.d history are sold, you may buy an
aquarium of almost any size you wish, from
the square tank with heavy iron castings to
the small glass globe ; the globes come in ten sizes.
If the manufacturers of aquaria in this country-
had made it their object to build vessels in which
no respectable fish could live, they could hardly
have succeeded Ix-tter, for they all violate this first
rule: The greater the surface of water ex|K)sed to
the air, the greater the quantity fif oxygen absorbed
from the atmosphere.
Amateurs never seem to learn that " the value
of water depends not so much on its bulk, as on
THE VISION.
himself an aquarium. The materials for its con-
struction were Ixiught of the town-glazier and
sign-painter's son. The amount paid was several
marbles, a broken-bladed Harlow knife, and a
picture of the school-teacher, sketched in lead-
|)cncil upon the fly-leaf of a spelling-book. In
exchange for this heap of wealth, the author
received four pieces of window-glass, some red
paint, an old brush, and a lump of putty. Two
or three days' work resulted in the production of
69S
now TO STOCK AM' Kl. KT
[JVLV,
an aquarium. It was only twelve inches long. If you wish to keep a turtle, a frog, a craw-fish,
eight inches wide, and four inches high ; but, or any such animal, you should have your rocker)'
although this tank was small, it was a real aqua- so arranged that part of it will protrude above the
rium, and would hold water and living pets. water ; or, better still, have a land-and-watcr aqua-
rit^l'KK NO. I. I'KOPER FORM OF AQl'ARIl'H.
With a dip-net, made of an old piece of mos-
quito-netting, what fun it was to explore the spaces
between the logs of the rafts in front of the old
saw-mill ! and what
. f curious little animals
were found lurking
, there ! Little gars,
\ ' whose tiny forms
.VATBR AQUARlt'»1
CROSS SECTION.
looked like bits of sticks; young spoon-bill fish
(paddle-fish), with exaggerated upper lips one-
third the length of their scalelcss bodies : fiinny
little black cat-fish, that looked for all
the world like tadpoles, and scores of
other creatures. Under the green vege-
tation in those spaces they found a safe
retreat from the attacks of the larger fish
If possible, have your
aquarium made under
your own eye. Suppose
you wish one two feet
long; then it should be
sixteen inches wide and
seven inches high,
24" X 7" X i6''. Fi^;ul
No. I shows an aquarium
of the proper form and pro- '"^■''
portions, in agreement with nature. Figure No. 2
shews the popular but unnatural and improper form.
rium, such as is sliown in Figures Nos. 3 and 4. With
a tank made upon this plan, you can have aquatic
plants, as well as land plants and flowers, a sandy
beach for the turtle to sleep upon, as he loves to
do, and a rockery for the craw-fish to hide in and
keep out of mischief. Some species of snails, too.
like to crawl occasionally above the water-line.
Such an aquarium m.akcs an interesting object for
the consenatory.
Figure No. 5 shows how a fountain can be made.
The opening of the fountain should be so small as
to allow only a fine jet of water to issue from it ;
the reserv-oir or supply-tank should be away out of
sight and quite large, so that, by filling it at night,
the fountain will keep playing all day. The waste-
pipe should open at the level you intend to keep
the water, .ind the opening should be covered with
a piece of mosquito-netting, to prevent any creature
from being drawn in.
There used to be, in the window of a jewelr\' store
11 NO. 4. LAND-AND-WATCR At^l'ARlL'M.
in Newark, Ohio, an ordinary glass fish-globe, in
which lived and thrived a saucy liltic brook-trout.
K Iv Ml U A I I K
I I \ I. I t \1 ,
699
liiiiuk-trout, as most of my rcailcrs
know, arc found only in cool running
water, anil will not live for any great
length of tinu- in an onlinary ai|ua-
rium. In this case, an .irtihcial circu-
lation of water was produced by means
of a little pump run by clock-work.
F.xery morning the jeweler wound up
the machine, and all day long the lit-
tle pump worked, pumping up the
water from the globe, only to senil
It back again in a constant but small
stream, which poured frotn the little
spout, each drop carrying with it into
the water of the globe a small quan-
tity of fresh air, including, of course,
oxygen gas. (Sec Figure No. 6.) .And
the little speckled trout lived ami
thrived, and, for aught 1 know to the
contrary, is still swimming around in
his crystal prison, waiting, with ever
re.tdy mouth, to swallow up the blue-
bottle tlies thrown to him by his friend
\M
''] \V^
>,v
the jeweler. It is a great
mistake to suppose that
it is necessarj- to change
the water in an .iquarium
every few days. The tank
should be so arranged as build your rockery ;
to require a change of it is better to cement
water but veiy seldom, it together and into
This is not difficult to
accomplish, even without
the help of a fountain
or of clock-work. Both
plants and animals
breathe, and what is life
to the plant is poison to
the animal. Thev are like
[SKK I'AGK 703.1
to breathe. So you see that, by having plants as
well as animals in your tank, both classes arc sup-
plied with breathing material. When you start
your aquarium, first cover the bottom with sand
and gravel. Then
^4^-
Jack Sprat
.ind his wife.
.\nimals ab-
sorb oxygen
and throw
off carbon-
ic acid gas ;
this gas the
plants in-
hale, sepa-
rating it in-
to carbon
and oxygen,
absorbing ,,. .!■<■. ^" ^ •■■ -.».. »iim , ssk
the carbon.
which is converted into their vegetable tissue,
.ind throwing off the free oxygen, for the anim.ilb
n
place.
After this is .all ar-
ranged, go to the
nearest pond, m
creek, and dredge u|
some water-plants
Any that are not toi'
large will do, — star-
wort, millfoil, bladder
wcirt. pond-weed, et'
Fasten the roots ol ''■- ,-,,'■-'
your plants to small fiuuri! so. 6. clock-wokk mur.
stones with <i bit of
'ring, and arrange them .about the tank to suit your
■■tc. Fill the tank with water, and let it stand in
■ window for a week or t»vo, where it will receive
nty of light, but no sun. Hy that time all your
uits will be growing, and numerous other little
lil.mts will have started into life of their own
!■ 1 ord. Then you may add your animals, and, if
yiiu do not overstock the tank, you need never
change the water. He sure not to handle the fish ; .
but when )-ou wish to remove them, lift them
gently with a dip-net.
In .in aquarium with .t slanting lx>tt<im. only the
front need be of glass; the other three siilcs can
r O C K AND K E K I'
(JULV,
^#^
^
/^
r>l
A
A TIT. (If WAK IS TIIK AVi'AKtI'U.
be made of slate, which is also a good material
for the false bottom. In ponds, rivers, and lakes,
' 'i the only lij;lit received comes from above; so hc
can understand that a vessel admitting light
upon all sides, as well as from the top, forms
an unnaturally luminous abode for
fish. The glass front is sufficient for
the spectator to see through.
The author has a tank twenty-five
inches long, eleven inches wide, and
twelve inches high — far too narrow
and deep ; but these defects have
been, in a measure, overcome by
filling it only two-thirds full of water,
and allowing the green vegetation to
grow undisturbed upon three sides
of the aquarium ; the remaining
side is kept clean by rubbing off
all vegetable matter, once a week,
with a long-handled bottle-washer.
A rag, or a piece of sponge, tied upon the end of a
stick, will answer the same purpose. This tank has
been in a flourishing condition for three years, and the
water has Ijccn changed only once, and then all the
water was removed, so that some alteration could be
made in the rockery.
But one of the inmates has died since last summer,
and that was a bachelor stickleback, who probabl\
received a nip from the pincers of one of the craw-fish.
Two of these creatures have their den in the rockery
that occupies the center of the tank. A German carp,
from the Washington breeding-ponds, browses all day
long upon the mossy surface of the rocks, or roots
around the bottom, taking gre.at mouthfuls of sand and
then |)urfing it out again like smoke. A striped dace
spends most of his time lying flat upon his stomach on
the bottom, or roosting like some subaqueous bird upon
branches of the a(|uatic plants or on a submerged rock.
A big and a little "killie" dart around after the boat-
bugs, which they seldom catch, and if they do, they
drop thein ag.ain in great trepidation. A diminutive
pond-b:i>s asserts his authority over the larger fish in
a most tyrannous manner. .An eel lives under the
sand in the bottom, and deigns to make his appearance
A FRKSIl-WATKR AQUARUM.
701
.ml) oiicc la several months, miicrh tn the .-ini.-uc-
mcnt of the other inhabitants, all of whom seem to
forget his presence until the smell of a bit of meat
brinj^s his lon^; biHly from his retreat. Numerous
little mussels creep alonjj the bottom ; periwinkles
antl snails cniwl up and clown the sides; caddice-
worms clinjj to the plants, and ever\thin^' appears
perfi
at horn
ami con-
tented.
.\nd why .'
Because their
home is arranged ! , ^'
as nearly as pos- i\ ,y
sible like their ^
natural haunts, . wj
where they were capt-
ured. Learn the hab-
its of any creature,
and give it a chance
to follow them, and you will
find it comparatively easy to
keep it healthy in captivity.
Feed your fish on insects once
or tivicc a week. Do not try to
force them to eat ; if they are
hungry, they need little persua-
sion. Boat-bugs, whirligig-beetle
in fact, almost all the aquatic bugs and
beetles, will eat lean, raw meat, if given
to them in small bits. KenienilxT that
aquatic animals, like all other creatures,
arc very variable in their appetites ; some
arc gluttons, some eat sparingly, some prefer
animal fiKxl, while others live entirely upon
vegetable matter. Carp, dace, and such tish
will eat bread ; bass, pickerel, and gars will not.
Never Mow any food to remain in the bot-
tom of the aquarium to spoil, for it will contam-
inate the water. The vegetarians in your tank
will feed upon the plants growing therein, and
they will all eat bread. Most fish will like the
prepared food which you can obtain at any
acjuarium-storc.
The group of fish swimming across page 696
comprises some of the hirtlicst and most readily
ilonicsticated to be found in small laki-s or ponds.
In selecting lish for your aquarium, be careful to
have the perch, sun-fish, and bass much smaller
than the dace, carp, or gold-fish ; othenvise the
l.-ist-named fish will soon find a resting-place inside
the former.
Never put a large frog in an aquarium, for he
will devour everything there. A bull-frog that 1
kept in my studio for more than a year swallowed
fish, live mice, and brown bats; he also swallowed
a frog of nearly his own size ; but when he in-
gulfed a young alligator, we were almost as am.-ued
as if he hatl swallowed himself.
Craw-lish are very mischievous ; they pull up the
plants, upset the rockery, nip the ends olT the fishes'
tails, crack the mussel-shells, pull out the inmates
and devour them, scjueeze the caddice-worm from
his little log-house, and, in fact, are incorrigible
mischief-m.^kers. But, from that very fact, I
always keep one or two small ones. The other
inhabitants of the aquarium soon learn to dread
the pincer of these fresh-water lobsters, and keep
out of the way. Tadpoli^ are always an interesting
addition to an aquarium.
Pickerel and gars should be kept in an aqua-
rium by themselves.
ind-bass make very intelligent pets. I once
had three hundred of these little fellows,
perfectly tame. Down in one comer of
the corn-field 1 found two patent washing-
machines, the beds of which were
shaped like scow-boats. These old
machines were fast going to
ruin, and 1 readily gained per-
mission to use them for
whatever purpose I wish-
ed ; so, with a hatchet, 1
knocked off the
legs and top-
gear ; then re-
moved a side
' from each box,
and listened the
two together,
making a tank
about four feet
AIJLARR'M IN
IKlW TO STOf K AND K l:\: V
_JL «^- -4^
s(]uari-. The scam, or crack, where the two
parts joined, was filled with oakum, and the
whole outside was thickly daubed with coal-far.
The tank was then set in a hole dug for that pur-
pose, and the dirt was filled in and packed around
the sides. !5ack of it 1 piled rocks, and planted
ferns in all the cracks and crannies. I also put
rocks in the center of the tank, first covering the
Ixittom with sand and gravel. After filling this
with water and plants, I put in three hundred little
A 1- k K S 1 1 - \V A T E U A IJ l' A K 1 U M .
bass, and they soon became si) tame that lhc\
would follow my linger all around, or would jump
out of the water for a bit of ine.it held between
the lingers. Almost any wild creatures will yield
to persistent kind treatment, and become tame,
liencrally, too, they learn to have a sort of trustful
affection for their keepers, who, however, to cam
the coniidence of such friends, should be almost
.Ts wise, punctu.ll, and unfltiling as good Dame
Nature herself.
Dne of the s;ime kiss, which I gave to a friend of
mine, lived in an ordin.ary gl.Tss glolx.- for three
years. It w.TS a \ery intelligent fish, but fear-
fully spiteful and jealous. My fricml's mother
thought it was lonesome, and m>, one day, she
brought home a licautiful gold-lish — a little larger
than the bass — to keep it company. She put the
gold-fish in the globe, and watched the little bass,
expc-cting to see it wonderfully pleased : but the
little wretcli worked himself into a terrible p.TS-
sion — erected every spine upon his back, gl.ired a
moment at the intruder, and then made a dart
for\vard, seized the gold-fish by the abdomen, and
shook it as a terrier dog shakes a rat, until the
transparent water was glittering all over with .1
shower of golden sc:iles. As soon as possible, the
carp w.is rescued; but it was ton late. He only
gaspetl, antl died. The vicious little bass swam
around and around his globe, biting in his rage at
all the floating scales. Kver after, he was allowed
to live a hermit's life, and he behaved himself well.
.\t last the family went away for a couple of weeks,
and, when they returned, the poor little b.ass lay
de.ad at the bottom of his globe.
One more incident, and 1 must close: A certain
young enthusiast in aquarium m.atters, waking
suddenly one night, beheld the app.irition shown
on p.age 697. At one side of the room, in a
wavering circle of light, a gaping monster w.is
about to make one mouthful of a wriggling creat-
ure as large .as a cat. The cause of this strange
vision soon appeared. The curtain of the window
had not been drawn down all the way, and .1 street-
lamp, shining in, made a sort of combined magic-
lantern lens and slide of a glass globe, in which
some .aquarium pets were quarreling. IJut the
"wriggler" escaped somehow, and no harm was
done.
704
MJRV lOk TRANSLATION.
UlLV,
I.l-: .MA Re II A X 1) I) I. ( « K 1).
I'AU K. M. K.
\Vk shall lie ^;lail Id receive translations of this from llie j;irls anil boys. The translators should give their full
names, addresses, and ages, at the he.id of their i)apers, and should write on but one side of the sheet. That trans,
lation which seems to us to be the best will Ik; printed in the October number. Translations received at 743
liro.iilwny. New York, after .\ugust 1st will lie loo laic to lake part in the con)|jetition.
piomcncnt aux Champs Elysees, au Jardln
dcs Tuileries, clans les rues, partout oil se
peuvent trouver des cnfanls, ou meme dcs
pcrsonncs plus agees, car la soif vicnt a tout
le inondc ; ct quand il fait bicn chaud, ils
font de famcuscs recettcs. On Ics cntcnd
crier dc Icur voix penetrante : " A la fraiche,
qui veut boire ! \'oila Ic bon coco ! Regalcz-
\ous, Mcsdaincs — regalcz-vous ! " Et apres ces
assourdissants appels aux chalands, ils tintcnt
la clochcltc argcntee qu'ils portent dans la
main gauche. Cctte sonnerie fait la fort-
une du debitant de coco ; cllc fait tant de
bruit qu'il faut bicn lui faire attention, ce qui
est loujours bonne chose dans Ic commerce.
I".t puis la fontainc est si belle, qui pourrait
y rcsister? L'effct du velours cramoisi qui
cntourc les cylindrcs, est rehausse par les
bords cuivrcs et par le bouquet luisant dans
le soleil. Ce qui fait un ensemble visible de
loin par les alteres. Et puis, cela ne coiite
(|u'iin sou le vcrrc !
Siir la poitrine, unc des bretelles qui at-
tachcnt la fontainc au dos du marchand, est
pcrcec a jour pour recevoir les gobelcts dans
Icsquels il sert sa marchandisc. Tout brille
dans I'equipage, les gobelcts sont argentes
aussi bien que la clochctte et le bouquet et
les deux robinets qui passcnt dessous le bras
gauche, I'un desquels donne du coco, et
I'aulrc de I'eau pour rincer les gobelcts.
II se sert d'un coin de son tablier de toile,
eblouissant de blancheur et de proprete, pour
essuyer scs verrcs. Et pourtant ce tablier
n'cst jamais sale, on y voit toujours les plis
flits par le fer dc la blanchisscuse. Notre
marchand de coco dans la gravure est
c hausse de gros sabots de paysan, mais
cctte partic du costume n'est pas de rigeur
cominc tout le restc.
Autrefois un beau casque empanachc coiffait le
porte-fontaine, mais aujourd'hui la simple casquette
d'ouvrier le remplace.
Qui no vnudrait pas ctre marchand de coco ?
f^uel beau metier I Se promener toujours au soleil,
ct crier aux oreilles des petits enfants alteres: " A
la fraiche, qui veut boire ! "
ME.S chers petits amis, savez-vous ce que cVst
que ce jeune hommc si drolement pare ? 11 est
marchand dc coco, cctte boisson delicieusc faitc du
bois de reglisse broyi5 d.ins de I'eau glacd. A
Paris on les voit partout, ces m.irchands, avec le
beau bouquet argentc de leur fontaines, scintillanl
commc unc oriflammc au-dcssus dc la lete. Ils se
SAI.riLLU BOYS.
705
SAl.l'lLI.O 1U)VS.
By William o. Siodkakd.
■,r; ■r^
2fc^^ -^
PACE ; ASKEU
klERKlWEATHER.
[see
709 1
Chapier VII.
THE RAMBLERS' CLUB.
The Ramblers' Club w-ns not a difficult body to
form. .All that was needed, as far .is that Saturday
was concerned, was for Otis Burr, Jeff Carroll, and
Charley Ferris to come around to Will Torrance's
as soon as possible after breakfast. Jack Roberts
would also have been there but for a message Belle
brought him from .\Iilly Merri\%eather and Mr.
Ayring. They wanted to consult with him about
such .May-festival appointments as were to be
divided among the Park boys.
As for inviting anybody else on that first trip,
Vol. VIII. -45.
Otis Burr had vetoed it with : " No, Will, four of
us 'II be enough if we 're going to have a good
time, and it wont do to have more if we 're not."
There w.ts sense in that, especially as they had
only one dog and one gun among them, both
belonging to Will.
Will Torrance's " Tiger" was a cross between a
setter and a Newfoundland, and combined the
brains of one with the size and shaggy coat of the
other. lie was bounding ahead of the boys now,
in search of fun, and not only chickens but much
larger animals, ill-disposed men included, were
quite likely to treat him with civility.
The "ramble" of that day was to be made
along the western shore of Oneoga Lake.
7o6
SALTILLO BOYS.
(Jui-v,
This was a iirctty piece of frcsli water, one end of
which came down to the northern side of Saltillo.
It w;is about six miles long and not more than two
miles wide at the widest place, and the eastern
shore was all villaj^es and farms.
The western side was wilder, beinj; about equally
divided l)etween swamps and woodland, and the
lake itself had been long ago "fished out."
"Four boys and only one gun," remarked a
farmer, from his seat in his wagon, as they passed
him in the road, just before they climbed the last
fence and struck off into the sandy flats along the
lake shore.
"Will," exclaimed Charley, "we must kill
something."
" There 's a chipping-bird," said Otis I5urr.
"You can make up a string of them."
"Hold on, boys "
Will suddenly darted ahead, for Tiger was stand-
ing still near the bank of a very small brook and
seemed to be looking at something.
"He 's pointing," said Jeff: "he 's doing his
best for his size."
The boys did not exactly hold their breaths, but
nothing louder than a whisper came from them as
they saw their sportsman slip along the bank of
the brook and raise his gun to his shoulder.
It was a single-barreled gun, but it went off w ilh
a very encouraging report.
" Loud enough to scare any small bird to de.ath,"
said Otis.
" Did you get him ? Did you get him ? " shouted
Charlc)-, as Will sprang forward.
" What was it ?" asked Jeff. " I did n't see any
geese."
They were smaller birds than geese, and it was
no wonder Tiger had been the only meinber of the
Club to detect their jiresence in the neighborhood.
All the rest saw some kind of winged creatures fly
away ; but Will was picking up something.
" Six of cm," he shouted, " at one shot ! "
"What arc they? "
"What arc they, Charley? Don't you know-
sandpipers when you see them ? They 're the
smallest kind of snipe."
"fJivc mc one to carry," said Jeff, — "one in
each hand, to balance me. Are n't they a heavy
game ! "
They were bigger than chipping-birds, but there
was little more to be said about,them, excepting that
they were long-billed, long-legged, and "snipey"
in their aspect, and could really be cooked and
eaten.
"Two or three hundred of 'em would make a
prime dinner for the Club," remarked Otis.
"We '11 get some more as we go along the flats.
We can take turns shooting. 1 '11 load up."
That was cpiickly done, and Charley Ferris came
in for the next turn, almost as a matter of course.
It was better fun now, with a beginning made,
and a possibility of something more : and the Club
marched on, with Charley about a rod in advance.
"Tip-up! tip-up ! " exclaimed Will, before three
minutes were over. " Tigc is away. He never
lets 'em 'light. There, Charley, one has lit. See
it tip-up?"
Another kind of snipe — but, as Jeff observed,
"not large enough to hurt him "• — had alighted on
an v\d log in the brook, and w.as " practicing his
motions" in his own way, — that is, his head and
tail rose and fell in quick .alternation, as if he
were trying to keep his balance on the log, and
had a good deal of " tetering" to do to avoid fall-
ing off.
It was a short shot, but Charley was excited.
He was sure he was aiming at that bird up to the
moment when he pulled the trigger. The gun
went off Just as it should have done, and the report
spoke well for the size of the charge; but the
saucy "tip-up" only gave another " teter," and
then flew swiftly away toward the lake.
" Missed him ! "
"No, I did n't. 1 must have hit him; he flies
as if he had been wounded. Tige is after him."
Tiger was running in that direction, certainly ;
but the bird was already out of sight ahead of him,
and the wise dog gave it up and began to smell at
some tracks on the sand.
"Your turn next, Jeff," said Will. "I 've
brought plenty of ammunition."
"My turn, is it? Well, then, you wait till 1
stick up a mark, — something that wont fly away
after 1 've hit it."
liy the time the gun was loaded. Jeff had pinned
an old letter envelope to the bark of a tree not far
away, and his "game," as he called it, was all
ready for him. There w.-is no danger of his
getting excited about it, and he tried in vain to
coax Tiger into making a " point " at the tree.
Hang ! And then four boys ran forward to see
if any of the shot had hit the paper.
" Six, —seven, — eight ! " said Charley. " Jeff, if
that had been a ' tip-up," it would have been spoiled.
1 fued Just a little .above mine. It te.ars a bird all
to pieces to put too many shot into it."
It was Otis Burr's turn to shoot, but Will
reminded them that standing still and shooting at
a mark was not exactly " rambling."
" Let 's ramble, then." said Otis. " I'ut in your
biggest shot for me ; I 'in after something larger
than 'lip-ups' and sandpipers."
That end of the lake w.as .as level .is a floor, not
only on land, but underwater. The "sand-fl.it"
reached ne.irlv to the edge of the city itself, but
iMi.]
SALTll.l.O HOYS.
'7
there were no houses on it, — nothinj; but long
ranges of low, flat-looking, wooden-roofed sheds.
The water at the margin was as shallow as it well
could be, and any one of the boys could ha\e
waded out a quarter of a mile without getting
beyond his depth. They knew this well enough,
but it was too cold for wading yet, and no one pro-
p<ised a trial. As for the sheds, they knew all
.ibout them, and there was no "ramble" to be
h.id there. They were " solar salt-works," — great
wootlen pans set up just above the ground, — and
the shed-roofs were their sliding covers, which
would not be removed till steady, warm weather
should come. Acres on acres of sand-flats were
covered in that way.
The boys walked along as they talked, and soon
beg-an to pass the cur\c toward the western shore.
They could look back now and see the city, and
the tall chimneys of the "boiling-works," where
salt was made in a quicker way than by drying it
out by sunshine in vats.
Each one of those tall chimneys stood up at the
end of a big wooden building, and that, they
knew, covered a long, double row of huge iron
kettles, set in a range of brick-work, with a fire
constantly burning under them ; and there were
men busy there now scooping out the salt from the
boiling-kettles with long-handled iron ladles.
It was agreeable enough to look at and think of,
but the kind of rambling they were doing was
more like "Saturday work," as Jefl" called it.
•• Right out there, boys," said Will,—" half a
mile out, — there 's a salt-spring comes up, from
the bottom of the lake. There 's a bigger one on
the east side, and they 've rigged a pump to it."
"I don't believe there 's any s.nlt-spring," said
Jeflf. "The lake would be salt, if it were fed in
that way."
" Look at the salt on the sand, then. There 's
salt coming out of everything around here. It
m.ikcs the sand-fere grow."
"William!" exclaimed Charley, with great dig-
nity. " you astonish me. As Mr. Hayne would
say, ' What, a scholar of this school saying sand-
fere ' ? No, young gentlemen, the proper word to
employ is • samphire.' "
" You may call it ;is many names as you please,
but it 's a good weed for pickles. 1 lello, Ote, it 's
your turn. Do you see, out there ? "
"On the water? I see "
" Ducks, my boy — ducks I "
Two black spots bobbed up and down, at quite a
disLince from shore, and four pairs of eyes agreed
in an instant as to what they were.
The shore ahe.id of them was dreadfully muddy,
and the water at the c<lge somewhat deeper than
.It the southern end of the lake. .\ little way back.
too, were scattered a dozen or so of the rude c.ibins
of the salt-boilers, and around these were to be
seen a mixed population of ragged and happy
children, pigs, poultr>', cats, dogs, .ind even a cow
or two.
Tiger w.\s keeping an eye out for those dogs,
several of whom had already sent a warning bark
to notify him that he w;is a stranger, and they were
ready for him.
" Keep right along, boys. They 're swimming
toward the shore. They 'II come in farther up.
Never mind the mud."
Will w.Ts speaking of the ducks, and the rest
of the Club imitated his example in tucking their
trousers into their boots. Low shoes would have
had a hard time of it in the rambling they did for
the next five minutes.
llither those ducks were blind or they were so
used to seeing the salt-boilers' boys along the shore
that they had lost all fear of human beings.
If they could but li.nc known that those four
now present were a Club, with a gun, and that it
was Otis Hurr's turn to shoot !
There was no one to warn them, however, and
in they came, over the bright little waves, taking
their own time to it, and giving Otis, therefore,
time to get himself into such a fever of expectation
that he thought he had never in his life seen so
large a pair of water-fowl or such slow swimmers.
Hang ! — at last.
Tiger gave his master a look that seemed to
ask some kind of question, but he at once bounded
forward and into the water.
He brought them in, one at a lime — the first
one dead and the second so b.idly hurt that it
could not get away from him.
" (iot 'em both," said Otis, trying hard to look
unconcerned, as if he killed ducks every day.
"Splendid pair!" said Charley, but Will Tor-
rance was looking closely and silently at the one
he held in his hand.
"We 've done it, boys. We 've done it.
They 're tame ducks ! "
" Will ! You don't say so I "
" Don't I ? And here comes the fine old l.ady
they belong to."
She was commg, sure enough.
"Don't run, boys," said Charley. "We must
stand by Ote."
Running was out of the question, in that mud,
but Charley's heroism w.ts the correct thing, for all
that.
"Murtherin' me ducks? Is it that, ye spal-
peens ? "
Besides this they gathered little of the torrent
of angry brogue that the elderly Irish settler
poured upon them as she came up ; but by the
7o8
SALTII.LO IIOVS.
time she was out of breath, Otis Uurr was ascul::i
;u> a fence-post.
" I 've killed them for you, nicely, ma'am.
Teach 'em not to run away ajjain."
"Is it run away? Av yc don't pay me for
thim, then now ! "
" Pay ? Well, I don't care if I do. May be
they arc worth something;. Ten cents "
"Tin cinls? Is it tin cints ye 're talkin' of?
Av ye don't pay me a quarlher dollar for aich on
'cm, I 'II have the law on yc."
" Half a dollar for a pair of ducks like these?
And carry 'cm home myself?"
Chaiter VIII.
TH1-: Ki;ilKN' IKOM THK CHASK.
Jack Roberts had been deprived of his in-
tended day out with the Ramblers' Club, but he
found compensation. He and Belle met Mr.
Ayring and Milly Merriweather at the music store,
and it soon became plain that the newly elected
"(^uccn" was not disposed to be despotic.
She insisted on making Jim Swayne " First
Herald," so he would be the first boy to come upon
the stage, and that suited Mr. Ayring.
"It takes Otis Burr!" Charley was whispering
to Will. " She 'd ha%'e scared me out of a dollar."
It was about a fair price, as ducks were going,
and Otis soon consented, as the old lady s.aid, " to
hear reason." He paid for his game like a man,
and picked them up.
" Carry one of 'em, Charley. I move we ramble.
There 's a crowd cominij."
A glance confirmed him.
Every shanty in sight seemed to be sending out
somebody, and it was ])lainly time to move on.
"You ought to put on Jeff Carroll next," sug-
gested Jack, with a grin.
For some reason or other, Mr. Ayring preferred
Will Torrance, and Belle herself said :
" .Neither of them would cire much for it.
JeflT would n't, I know, and Will may think he 's
too big."
"They'll h.ave to do it," said J.ick, "whether
they like it or not."
It was all settled nicely, in a h.ilf-hour's council,
and when Milly went home. Jack walked off with
SAI. 11 1.1. (» HO VS.
709
her; for. as he said, " 1 'm to be one of your
ni.irshnls and I must begin to practice."
Helle h.nd an errand at the book-store, but she
mif;hl not have gone in, perhaps, if she had known
«honi she was to meet staniling liy one of the
counters. There was no help for it, and, after all,
she and Kanny Swayne were good friends, and had
known and played with each other from the time
they were both very little girls. They were " young
ladies" now, and the gray-haired book-seller, who
saw them shaking hands, thought he had never
seen two prettier or more intelligent faces together.
"Ilard to s.iy which is the prettier," he said to
himself: "splendid girls, both of them."
.And Kanny took care to be the first to mention the
May festival, very much to Belle's relief, and to say :
•• 1 am glad they made so good a selection.
Milly is a sweet little girl, — ^just the right age."
Belle assented, and everything would have gone
along nicely if it had not been for the arrival of
more company.
Jim Swayne came in after his sister, antl nobody
knew what Pug Merriwcathcr came for. His
errand took him to the back end of the store, and
he was on his way out when his keen little eyes
began to study that group by the counter.
"Jack and Milly went home. Miss Roberts."
"Did they? .-\nd are you not going too.'"
"Guess I am ; pretty soon."
"Are you Milly Merriweather's brother? Do
you know me ? " asked Fanny.
■' You 're Jim Swayne's sister, are n't you ? You
're not the queen, though."
" No," said Fanny, with a laugh ; " your sister is
queen. Will you tell her I 'm glad of it ? "
" Yes, 1 'II tell her. So is everybody else but
her. She says you 'd have m.ade a better queen ;
but you would n't. She voted for you; so 1 had
to vote twice. Milly is n't real sharp."
" Well, but she 's only a girl ! "
" That is n't it. Some girls arc .is sharp as boys ;
some boys are n't sharp, either. Jeff Carroll says
Jim '11 be sharp enough to paint his tickets next
time. Jeff's sharp."
" You 'd better run home, Pug," snapped Jim,
" or there 'II be somebody after you, first thing you
know."
Pug knew enough of Jim to take warning; but
he had a question to ask before he went.
"Miss Roberts, what 's a page ? "
" Something to read, do you mean ? "
"Is that it? Then I wont, that's all. Milly
said I might be one of her pages, but if 1 'vc got
to stand up and read anything "
" Oh, they wont make you do that," laughed
Fanny; "run right along now, and don't forget to
tell your sister just what I told you."
He was out of the door, .as Jim said :
" Like one of these little black-and-tan terrier
dogs that can't stand still half a minute."
I'ug had not done any harm by what he had
s:\id, however, and that was something, considering
what a reckless tongue he had. There came still
another chance to use it, later in the day, when he
met the Ramblers' Club on their way home.
They had made good speed away from the neigh-
borhood of the shanties, even Tiger setting them
an example of rapid motion ; and they had w.ided,
and walked, and floundered for two or three hours
along the lake-shore ; at last, however, they had,
as Jeff said, "given up tlnding a north-west pas-
sage around the lake," and had even caught a ride
on a wagon, after they came out into a road and
started for home.
The gun had been fired again and again, before
that, and the Club had unanimously voted to keep
all they killed.
"The mud '11 stick to us," said Otis Burr, "and
we might as well stick to our game."
It was that which called for remarks from Pug,
as he trotted around them, staring at one "string"
after another.
" Ote has a duck, so has Charley, and they
must h.ave stolen 'em. Jeff Carroll has three
blackbirds. I know what Will Torrance is lugging.
It 's sandpipers and two tip-ups.. Jeff's got, —
well, I say, if it is n't a rat ! "
The latter animal had been shot on their way
home, and Jeff declared it a rabbit, and that
he would carry it in. There were more black-
birds, and the only reason why there were no
crows was, because they had fired at five in suc-
cession without killing one.
On the whole, it had been a grand day's fun, up
to the moment when the Club reached the lower
end of the Park, and a mob of Pug's small-boy
friends came along from one direction, just as Mr.
Haync appeared on the other side.
"Boys! boys!" screamed Pug. "Look here!
They 've been a-huntin' ! Stealin' ducks and rat-
killin'. Look at what they 've got. Birds, too!"
Mr. Hayne smiled, and the hearts of the Club
sank as the smile on his face grew wide.
It was evident that he was trying to keep it
down, or at least not to hurt their feelings, but
smile he did, for he could not help it.
They were a muddy Club, and their faces were
well marked with gunpowder. Their very dog was
wet, and had .a tired, slouchy look.
"I hope you h.ave had a pleasant time, young
gentlemen. Have you been hunting?"
"Oh, no, by no means," said Jeff. "We 've
been rambling."
" Rambling ?"
Vl.lIl.LO HO VS.
IJlLV.
•• N I >. -11. 1 In- IS a part of llic K.unhkrs' Club.
Wc 'w been sliDotinjj .^t a lu.nrk. a little."
"And brouj;lu )our tarjjels home with you,
I sec. Wliat is that you have, .Mr. Hurr.'"
"Ignorant people call it a cluck, Mr. Ilayne.
They were common, once, but they 're rare, now.
I killed this one on ()neoj;a Lake."
" Ah ! Yes. \'ery rare bird, cxccptin}; in barn-
yards. 1 luipe the owner wa?, paid for it."
"It's an Irish duck," interrupted Jeft". "Ote
wanted a siKximcn to study."
" I see. And you mean to give your spare
time to the study of nits and blackbirds?"
"Is that really a lal. Mr. Hayne? 1 suspected
the blackbirds."
That half of the Club was, by all odds, better off
than the other half in the kind of ability called
for just then, and Charley and Will would have
given something to let their friends do the talking,
but Pug appeared between them with a hand on
each of their strings of "game."
"Oh, Mr. Hayne, look at these, too. .Sand-
pipers ! Another duck and lots of things."
The second duck and the diminutive snipe were
too much for Mr. Ilayne. He laughed long and
merril). " Clo ahead, young gentlemen. It's
good fun, I dare say. Don't fail to let me know
what you bring home, next time."
" The next time, Mr. Hayne.'" said Jeff Carroll,
gravely. " Kvery man is to lake a gun."
".May I suggest an idea?" said the master.
" Do, please, Mr. Hayne," stammered Will, who
now began to have fears for the future of his Club.
" Well, then, take hammers instead of guns,
some day, and bring home a small piece of every
rock you find, but no one of you to bring two
pieces of the same kind. " He bowed and smiled,
and walked on, as he concluded ; but the Club
stood looking at one another for a moment!
" Let 's try it," exclaimed Otis liurr.
" Next Saturday, Will. 1 'm ready," said
Charley. " There 's no end of rocks off south."
"Hoys," remarked Jeff, "I can't t.ilk till I 've
washed my face and had something to cat."
'J'hesc being the urgent needs, the Club broke
up and went home in peace.
711
MOLLY MOlU; AM) LUCY Li;i:.
liv Mrs. li. T. CoKiii ii.
Miss Moi.i.v Moc..; ami Miss Lu. y l.co
Were playing under the apple-tree,
Just as happy as happy could Ix- ;
When — all at once —
That little dunce,
Miss Lucy, began to scream nnd cry :
Oh, Molly Mogg, make haste and fly !
Here 's a horrible thing.
With a frightful sting,
Coming to catch us! Oh, dear! Oh, my!"
She dropped her book.
And her dolly, too.
Screaming: "Look! Molly, look!
1 le 's close to you !
These dreadful things,
With wings — and stings —
I never could bear! Oh, kill him! Do!"
Said Molly Mogg, sternly: "Lucy Lee,
What a silly, absurd, little goose you must be !
It 's plain to me
You don't know your Natural History ;
If you did, you could see
That this is a beautiful, beautiful creature.
Of grace unrivaled in form and feature.
Just p.nuse, Lucy, p.iusc :
Sec his wings of fine gauze,
And his wonderful, — yes, my dear, — wonderful.
claws !
Would you like me to tell
His name, Lucy? Well,
It is ' Mega-thum-oIIopod-tentcr-hook-daws ' I "
Hut poor Lucy Lee
Would n't listen — not she —
To a bit of this Natural History.
Away she ran crying.
Her road never eying.
While over her head the gre.it insect was
flying;
So she ran till she came to the well,
When straightway into the bucket she fell !
In a half-hour after, with call and shout.
The farmer's family pulled her out ;
While the " Mega-thum-ollopod " flew about,
And thought it was all very queer, no doubt.
Miss Molly Mogg, so wise and clever,
Said: "Such a goose I never saw, — never.'
To think that she ran, without any cause,
l'"rom ;i ' .Megathumollopodtenterhookdaws '! "
7I:
IN NATURES WONUKRLANI).
(July,
IN N'ATURJC'S WOXDICRLAND; OR. A 1) VliNT U RK.S 1 .\ THE
AMl'LRICAX TROl'ICS.
15 Y Felix L. (Jswai.d.
CllAi'ir.R IX. pnfir animals, \vc were glad to take rcfuRC in a
idhana, or military guard-house, on the ridge of
Two weeks after our departure from the Indian the Sierra dc San Bias. The Indians of the upper
Mission, \vc reached the foot-hills of the Andes in a Orinoco are almost as savage as our Camanches
drenching rain-storm. It was the first bad weather and Apaches, and the white people have to guard
we had expcritnccd since our landing at At apulo): their sellknienls by a ch.iin ai iiuUtary posts,
the last ten days it had rained incessantly from generally located on the ridge of some mountain-
every noon till night ; at first it was merely a sort range that affords a good lookout over the surround-
of drizzling fog, but when wc reached the hills the ing hills and valleys. Hut the republic of New
water fell in torrents, and after a stormy night, Granada is a very poor country, and can not afford
without a camp-fire and without slielter for our to maintain regular forts, with officers, garrisons,
AUVKNTUKES IN T II li AMliRICAN TKOI'ICS
7^i
and cannons, and most of their cabaftas arc in
charge each of a single soldier — a mere picket-
sentry, who h.is to be well acquainted with the
habits and haunts of the Indians, and at the tirst
sign of danj;or gallops to the next settlement to
give the alarm. The solitary guardsman then on
the mountain of San Bias was so glad to have a
little comp.iny that he did his utmost to make us
comfortable, but his cabafia was a poor sample of
a fortress, log-built, without glass windows and with
a rather defective roof, and if the weather had not
been so stormy we sliould have preferred to camp
under a good tree.
Still, we did not regret the delay, for on the
second evening there arrived at San Bias ti^iiania-
mavor from Bogota, a military officer whose busi-
ness it was to inspect the cabafias and see to it that
the sentries were at their posts. San Bias being a
frontier fort. Captain M.itias, as the sentry called
him, intended to return the ne.\t morning, and as
the storm had at last abated, we were very glad to
accompany him. Like many of his countrymen, the
Captain treated Indians as things devoid of soul
and sense, but in his intercourse with white people
he was as courteous as a Spanish cavalier, and we
found him a very agreeable traveling-companion —
jolly, adventurous, well acquainted with the history
and the Indian antiquities of the country, and full
of entertaining stories.
The grassy table-lands of New Granada swarm
with coyotes, or prairie-wolves, and whenever we
met one of these creatures the Captain put spurs to
his horse and chased the wolf till he ran it down,
but generally let it off if it lay down and sur-
rendered at discretion. On one of these chases he
came across the nest of a crested turkey with fifteen
or twenty young ones, and, reining up his horse,
he called to us and helped us to hunt the little
long-legs that darted through the grass in every
direction. The boys never had such fun, although
we caught only six of the chicks, the rest managing
to escape into the thick juniper-bushes of the
ravines.
That afternoon and all the next day, our trail led
through the highlands of the Sierra Cauca, steeper
and steeper uphill, until we came to a ridge that
seemed to form the summit of all the surrounding
mountains ; but when wc got up, we saw that the
worst was to come yet. On the other side of the
t.ible-land, and high above us, rose the main chain
of the Western Andes, with their glittering peaks
and awful precipices — lofty, threatening battlements
that seemed to defend the approach to the cloud-
land of the central plateau.
" No, it is n't as bad as it looks," laughed the
Captain, when he noticed our consternation. " Our
road keeps along the northern slope, and you will
now find a good bridge over every ravine ; this is
the iiiiiihio ri-iit, the old liighw.iy of the Inc.is. "•
"Why, you are right," said I, when we passed a
rock that rose in a series of regul.ir terraces and
[larapets. " This looks like an artificial esplanade ;
there must have been a castle up there."
" No, it 's an Indian cemetery," said the Captain
— " the catacombs of Las I'efias, as they call it.
Come this way — wc can take a look at it before wc
go into camp ; it is a curious old wizard's den."
We followed him over heaps of rubbish and
broken columns to the upper platform, where a nar-
row portal opened into the interior of a dark rock-
vault.
"We should have taken our lantern along," said
I ; "1 am afraid we shall not see much of all those
curiosities."
The Captain chuckled. " You will hear so
much the more," said he ; "just come along." At
the entrance of the cave the ground was covered
with all kinds of df'bris and potsherds, but farther
back stood a vast number of massive earthen urns,
as thick and wide as the kettles our asphalt-pavers
use to boil their pitch in. The urns stood close
together by scores and hundreds, although here
and there narrow interspaces formed winding paths,
that seemed to lead far back into a continuous
labyrinth of pottery and "rocks. If these vessels
had really been filled with human bones, the cave
must have been the cemetery of a populous city,
for all the urns farther back were filled with some-
thing that felt like a mixture of ashes and bits of a
harder stutT — perhaps fragments of the trinkets the
Indians used to bury with their dead.
Following one of the winding paths, we came to
a side-vault of the cave, where the Captain sud-
denly stopped, and, putting his hands to his
mouth, gave a whoop that made the whole vault
ring. Tommy clutched me with both arms, for, in
the same instant, almost, the cave became a pande-
monium of unearthly sounds, — shrieks, hoots, and
croaking yells, — and from the recesses of the den
came cries so nearly resembling the groans of a
human being that our two Indians made a simul-
taneous rush for the door. The uproar drowned
my exclamations, and 1 could not understand the
Captain's reply, although 1 heard enough to suspect
that he was almost choked with laughing.
"What, in the name of sense, was all that?" I
asked, when we finally emerged from the den.
"Don't you see them?" laughed the Captain,
pointing to the entrance, where a number of long-
winged birds were now fluttering to and fro, —
" caprimulgas, — goat-suckers, — about forty or
fifty thousand of them. They have their roosts
in that cave, and if you wake one, you wake them
all. They can out-scream a wild-cat."
' IfKas, — niien of the country beibre iu conquest by the Spanurdft.
7^4
IN NATURES WONDKKLAM).
"Hallo, where is ihc Uoy ?" ;iskcil TDinmy,
when \vc unhitched our mule.
" I saw him chari^iii^ around in the rocks when
wc came out of that w itch-hole," said Menito ;
"he was running down-hill the last I saw of him."
" 1 think he is after the ' sexton,' " said the Cap-
tain. " There is a panther who has long made his
head-(iuartcrs somewhere near here. 1 have seen
him three or four times. My soldiers used to call
him the 'Indian Sexton.'"
\Ve had pitched our teijt on the shore of a litt'
mountain-lake when Rough at last returned, .
full of burs and stickers .is if he had ranged tli
jungles of twenty sierr.-is. We thought he hail
had his fill of hunting for that day; but, half a:
hour after, we heard him again barking a;.
scratching in a copse of mcsquite-trees behind or
tent, and we found that he was routing out am
of armadillos, — those strange creatures that leu
like a cross between a fox and a lizard, bei/:
mammals in their habits and the construction < '
their internal organs, but with the scales and ih
tail of a reptile. \\'e caught three of them — tu
for our collection and one for Rough's supper.
It was a beautiful night — not a cloud in the sk\
and the lake so clear that it reflected every brigl
star in the firmament. When the moon rose o\ i
the heights of the Sierra dc Cauca, it painted tli
water with silver streaks and spangles, and reveaU '
the fantastic outlines of the lime-stone cliffs alon
the shore.
" Do you sec those tall rocks over yonder ?
said the Captain. "They cill this tarn tli
Lagutia dc Trcs Hcmxanas [the '" Lake of th.
Three Sisters"], and those rocks are supposed to
be three enchanted virgins."
"They are? Oh, please tell us all about it!"
cried Tommy.
"All right; only there isn't much to tell," said
the Captain. " It is nothing but a strange old
Indian tradition. About three hundred years ago,
when the Spaniards first conquered this country,
there lived up here a si.idtholdcr of the Incas —
an old chieftain, as poor as the barren heights of
his sierra, but his three daughters were the hand-
somest girls in the land, and one of them was a
Priestess of the Moon. But, after the downfall of
the empire, Pizarro's troopers invaded this valley ;
the old chieftain was slain in the pass of Las
Balsas, and, when the news of the disaster reached
his house, the three sisters fled toward the lake,
with a troop of soldiers in hot pursuit. At the
head of this bay the girls hoped to find a canoe,
and escape in the twilight to the opposite shore ;
but when they reached the landing the boat w.is
gone, and, in their great distress, they prayed to
the Moon to receive their souls and transform their
bodies. The moon was concealed by a veil of
clouds, and the three girls gave themselves up for
lost ; but just before the troopers reached the lake,
the clouds parted, and where a minute ago the
three sisters had stood with uplifted arms, the
soldiers found three rocks of white hmestone, —
L(ts Trcs J/cniiaiias, as they arc called to this day.
The Moon had answered their prayer."
The day before we left the cabaiia. Tommy had
sprained his ankle, and, his foot being still a little
stiff, I had permitted him to ride ; but the next
morning he dismounted of his own accord, and
preferred to limp along as well as he could.
" I wont trust my life to a mule," said he : "if
I am going to break my neck, I want to know the
reason why."
To slip from the " highway of the Incas" would,
indeed, have been a matter of life and death. The
precipices at our feet descended like tower-walls,
and we passed places where a stone, dropped from
my outstretched hand, would have f.dlen a couple
of thousand feet without ever touching .is much as
a projecting clilT. Farther up. though, the valley
became narrower, and at l.nst shrank to a mere
gulch, hardly thirty feet across, but still of frightful
A 1) V K N T U R !•: S I .N 1' 1 1 i: A M 11 U 1 1 A N T U I) I' US.
/■5
iliptli. < Ml our other hand rose a steep mountain-
wall, anil often we b.ul to imlIc our way iHJtween
the broken bowKlers that h.ail fallen from the clitTs
above. But these wild rocks were not (.[uite unin-
habited. Small mountain-weasels j;amboled in the
clefts, and a little way aheail a bush-wolf was sil-
tini; at the ed^je of the canon, and allowed us to
appro;ich within a hundred yards before he lo|H-d
lazily away.
" Hallo, Captain ! there is one of your frienils,"
laughed Tommy ; " he does not seem to be in any
hurry. I suppose he knows that you cannot course
him on a road like this."
" Listen I 1 hear a friar's bell," said Menito ;
"there is a priest coming down this way. Now
that wolf is in a bad fix, after all : we shall j^et him
somehow or other."
•• Yes, he had better confess his sins to that
friar," laughed the Captain. " His time is up,
unless he can clamber up that rock-wall."
When the friar came in sight, the wolf seemed
to realize its dilemma. It stopped, and, after an
une.isy glance at the steep mountain above it,
turned its head toward the caiion, and, crouching
down till its breast almost touched the ground, it
made a sudden leap at the opposite bank. It
cume nearer succeeding than we hatl thought pos-
sible, and, if the slope of the ch.ism had been a
little less steep, the poor creature might have saved
itself, after all. .\s it w.-is, the loose sand gave
way under its feet, and down it went, head over
heels, into an appKirently bottomless abyss. A
second after, our dog reached the place from
which the poor wolf had taken its fatal leap.
Instead of barking. Rough looked silently at the
canon, and then averted his head with a sort of
shudder.
"That cafion must be nearly a mile deep." said
Tommy. '" I am almost sorry for the coyote."
" Not I," said Daddy Simon ; " he had no busi-
ness to be so foolish .is all that — to be afraid of a
friar! The idea! — and a Franciscan friar at that!
They don't carry as much as a knife ! "
Our two monkeys, Billy .-ind the Tamarin, were
also getting une.asy, and began to chatter whenever
the mule stumbled.
" Let me see that little bobtail," said the Cap-
tain ; and before I knew what he would l)c at, he
had grabbed Billy, and held him out over the
precipice — merely to scare him, of course. But
Billy yelled frightfully, r.nd when he was lifted
back, he rushed into his cage chattering, and wild
with excitement ; and, looking back at the Cap-
tain, he hugged the Tamarin, as if he meant to
warn her against that wicked stranger.
The traveling friar greeted us very kindly, and
advised us to keep a sharp lookout for rock-
avalanches. "That heavy rain h.ns started them
again," s,iid he; "and the volcanoes cannot be
trusted, either : Mount Cotopaxi is smoking like a
factory-chimney."
"That man must have tr.ivcled a long way."
said Tommy, when the friar was gone ; " the vol-
cano of Cotopaxi is dow n in ICcuador, is n't it ? "
" I'p in Kcuador, you mean," laughed the Cap-
lain. "The peak is quite immeasurably high;
you can see it from any of these ridges near here.
Wait until we are on the other side of the cafion,
where the rocks are not so \er\ steep ; I am going
to lend you my hook-stick, and if you can reach
the top of those clitTs ahead there, you will proba-
bly sec the peak due south, or south by south-
west."
Tommy took him at his word, and borrowed the
hook-stick .as soon as we had passed the cafion.
" It is too cloudy," said he, when he came back ;
"but about a mile oflf I saw a troop of wild deer —
about fifteen or sixteen head, iis nearly as I could
make out."
" They must be wild llamas," said the Captain ;
" deer are very scarce in this sierra. Hold on ! If
they are llamas, we can steal upon them unawares.
They are not very sharp-scented."
We kept on for a mile or so, and then turned
our mule into a ravine, Ic.iding gradually up to the
top of a little plateau. Tommy had made a good
guess at the distance. About four hundred yards
ahead grazed a flock of llamas, evidently, as yet,
unconscious of any danger. We approached step
for step, taking advantage of every bush, until, in
climbing over a broken lava-cliff. Tommy stumbled,
and the motion sufficed to alarm the outposts of
the herd. Away these went, followed by the flock,
and at so swift a pace that all attempts to get a
shot at them would have been in vain. Some fifty
yards farther up they stopped, however, and looked
back at us.
" Gone ! " said Menito, " unless the Captain has
a very good horse. Don't I wish we could catch
one of them alive ! "
"Catch a llama? You must be crazy," said
Daddy Simon. " They can go uphill like the
wind; and, moreover, "they are white underneath ;
such llamas IxMr a charmed life, you know."
"Well, but may be the boy is right," said the
Captain; "there is a young kid in that flock, i
am going to see if I can not disenchant them some-
how or r)ther," he laughed, and galloped away
over the level plateau. Finding he w.as on their
tracks, the llam.as again took to their heels: but
two of them failed to keep up with their flying
companions — the little kid ami its mother were
left behind when the main herd disappeared
around the edge of the hill. When, however, the
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
LJULV,
rider got wilhin rifle-shot range, the dam changed
her mind, and, gathering herself up, bowled away
at full speed, and left her child to its fate. It was
wonderful to see the sag.icity of the poor little
thing. Finding that escape was impossible, it
made for the next bush, and crouched down, evi-
dently in the hope that the hunter would pass it
unobscr\x'd. Its hope was disappointed, though,
for, ten minutes after, Don Mati.is returned, with
a pretty fawn-colored llama kid straddling the
pommel of his saddle. We transferred it to a
similar perch on Black Betsy's back, and the boys
agreed that we must keep it for a private pet, if we
could manage to tame it.
The friar's warning had not been in vain. .As we
continued on our road, avalanches of rocks and
stones rumbled down all along the mountain-side,
and some of them in places where they could do a
great deal of mischief, for right under the steepest
part of the overhanging cliffs the Indian village of
Tacunga extended along the bank of a little
mountain-stream. Some of the outlying ranches
seemed, indeed, to have been damaged already, for
we saw the people running to and fro as if they
were getting their cows and horses out of the way.
We had nearly reached the cliffs above the vil-
lage, when Captain Matias suddenly reined up his
horse and snatched the halter-strap of our mule.
" Hold on there ! " he called out. "There 's agar-
ntc/ia ahead — a blockade ! Confound it, that will
cost us a roundabout ride of five miles at least ! "
"What 's the matter?" I asked. "Are the In-
dians going to stop us?"
" No, but the avalanche. Look up there," cried
he — "that whole promontory is ready to come
down ! "
A torrent of rolling stones drew our attention to
the overhanging cliffs half a mile ahead, and, look-
ing up, we saw that an enormous mass of rock was
going to detach itself from the mountain-side. The
split grew larger and larger ; — from the valley below
we heard the fearful cries of the ranchcros, who had
already seen the oncoming avalanche ; but we
could not help them, and in the next moment the
promontory came down, with a crash that shook
the mountains like an earthquake. A huge cloud
of dust rose from the valley ; ten or twelve houses
had been completely buried, but by rare good luck
the first shower of rocks had warned tlie poor
people in time, and we learned afterward that they
had saved all their children and the larger part of
their cattle.
We had to m.ike a five-mile detour to the left,
and when we got back to the road on the other
side of the promontory, we found a large crowd of
natives congregated near the scene of the disaster.
Ten or twelve of them had begun to clear the road.
but the larger numlx-r had gathered around a man
who was performing a strange ceremony — an in-
cantation, intended to propitiate the wrath of the
fire-god to whom the Indians attribute the effects
of the volcanic forces. In the far south-west a dim
smoke-cloud curled up from the crest of the Andes :
toward these mountains the sorcerer had turned
his face, and high over his head he held a vessel
with burning herbs, that diffused a peculiar aro-
matic odor. The Indians were so absorbed in their
ceremony that they hardly noticed us, and, after
watching them for ten minutes or so, we passed
them in silence and continued on our road.
"That 's a volcano-doctor," chuckled the Cap-
tain. " He makes them believe that he can bewitch
the earthquake, and the poor wretches are silly
enough to pay him for his hocus-pocus. There
are volcano-doctors in every sierra, and they are
sent for as soon as there is the least sign of
danger."
"Can they tell an eruption beforehand?" asked
Tommy.
" Not always," said the Captain, "but there arc
signs that can be generally relied upon — the opening
of fissures in a mountain-side, for instance, or cold
springs turning hot. Before the last outbreak of
Mount Cotopaxi the snow on the peak began sud-
denly to melt, and the people of this neighborhood
were once warned by a shower of sand from the
clouds."
" Don't they sometimes hear a rumbling under-
ground ? "
"Yes, before earthquakes," said Don Matias,
"but that is no infallible sign: about forty miles
south from here there is a place they call the V'al
dc Bramidos, or 'rumbling valley,' on .iccount of
the under-groimd noises that have often been heard
there — sometimes hke continued discharges of
heavy artillery. Twelve years ago the uproar lasted
full three weeks, and at first all the ranchcros took
to their heels ; but by and by they ventured back,
and they have now found out that, in spite of all
that racket, the \'al dc Bramidos is much safer than
many of the northern villages."
"Is n't that the highway to Bogota?" asked
Daddy .Simon, when we crossed a broad wagon-
road, pa\cd with stones and stamped lava.
"Yes, that's the old military overland ro.id."
said the Captain, " though I can show you a much
shorter way across the mountains. I have to inspect
a sentry-post up there, and you wont repent it, if
you come along: there is a glorious view from the
ridge of the Sierra de Santa Maura, which alone
would repay you ; besides that, we shall have to
pass a miner's camp, where they are washing gold
from the mountain-creeks."
" Oh, yes — please let us go there," said Mcnito.
ADVENTlKhS I.N i II h A M K K H A N 1
"I wanl to m.ikc my furtune before wc get to on a little plate.iu where the CiiivcriiiiK-nl hail l)uilt
Bogota — I need anew hat." a mihtary lahafi.i. looking,' very much hke tlie one
We camped that ni^ht near tlie hermitage of an where Captain Malias. had lirst met us, three days
old mountaineer, — Ciil Hernandez, as tl>e Captain before. The guardsman was (iil Hernandez's next
called him, — who had made himself a snug home neighbor, and he, too, had made himself a little
by fitting up a natural cave in the basalt-clitTs of farm around his place. We found him in a shed
the Sierra de Santa M.iura ; a homely-looking behind the c.ibafia. engaged in skinning a couple
burrow from without, although the interior was as of condors. IJclow their rough outer plumage these
comfortable as any Spanish farm-house in the high- birds have a sort of soft down that brings a good
lands. A larger cave farther
up served hin\ as a stable,
and in the rock-clefts he
kept a swarm of tame pigeons
and martins. He was a most
kind-hearted old fellow, and,
seeing me bandage Tommy's
sore foot, he olTered to lend
us his s.iddle-mule as f.ir as
Bogota, and to fetch it back
himself the same day.
Next morning, the Cap-
tain waked us before day-
break, and took us up to the
top of the clirTs to see the
panorama of the Andes, that
stretched away for thousands
of miles to the west and
south-west. The glow of the
twilight spread from peak
to peak like a conflagration,
and, when the sun rose high-
er, the summits became gold-
en-red, while the light-blue
heights of the central sierra
revealed the shadows of every
cliff and every ravine.
" Yes," said the hermit,
" I would not give my home
on this ridge for any king's
palace in the lowlands ; no
fever, mosquitoes, or dust-
clouds will bother you up
here — no thieves nor bad
neighbors. I have lived in
these rocks nigh on sixteen
years, and they 've been the
happiest years of my life."
He had built his cot on the very summit of the price in the South American cities, and their enor-
ridgc, where his goats could find the short, sweet mous wing-feathers are used for different kinds of
grass they call yerba delgada, in the Andes ; the ornaments. Condors arc much shyer than other
southern slopes of the sierra were full of berries of vultures, but the Indians h.ive devised an ingenious
various kinds, and some three miles farther down way of trapping thein. They are great gorniands,
was a valley the natives called "Santa Maria's and when they have c.iten all they can they are un-
Farm," on account of the abundance of wild pota- able to fly up w ithout first running along the ground,
toes and ground-nuts. with flopping wings, so as to rise in a slanting direc-
Thc hermit agreed to accompany us to the tion ; and knowing this, the Indians build a picket-
mining-camp ; but before wc reached it we stopped stockade, .about twenty yards in circumference, and
VOLCANO- DOCTOR.
7'«
IN XAllRKS WONDKRLANO.
U>"-
bait it willi tlio carcass of some animal. On a
clear day the condurs rarely fail to make their ap-
pearance, and the hunter keeps out of sight until
they have gorged themselves with meat, when he
rushes up and attacks the old gluttons with a cud-
gel. They try to take wing then, but the narrow
inclosurc prevents them, and thus dozens of them
are often killed in the sainc trap.
Four miles farther down we reached the mining-
camp of Klmonte, in the valley of a creek that once
might have been a pretty mountain-dell, but was
now a \alc of chaos, covered with mountainous
heaps of wet gravel, fallen trees, and broken sluices.
Some twenty Indians and Creoles were at work in
different pits along the creek, and one of them
seemed to be acquainted with our hermit and also
with Captain Matias, for he shook hands with both
and asked them to "jump in and try their luck."
'•No, thank you," said the Captain, "but here
are t\vo boys who want to make their fortune ; we
have brought an extra mule along, in case they
should find more than they themselves can carry."
"Come on," said the miner. "Here are picks
and two trowel-spades; just help yourselves."
" Begin where you please," said the digger.
"There 's no saying where you may strike it."
Menito was an old hand at this business and
went to work in regular Rocky Mountain miner
style, but Tommy shoveled around at random, and
examined every bit of gravel before he threw it
away.
" Yes, it 's all luck," said the miner. " I have
known men to work a month in the same pit till
they gave it up in despair, and another fellow
jumped in and got out a handful of nuggets in
twenty minutes."
" riease, is this gold?" said Tommy, not long
aflenvard — " these little yellow grains, I mean,"
showing us a sample of his last shovelful.
"Now, did n't I tell you?" said the miner.
" Yes, that 's gold — gold-dust, as we call it. .-MmuI
seventy-five cents you made in ten minutes. Where
did you find that ? "
"Somewhere along the creek," said Tommy.
"I do not remember the exact place."
"You don't? You will never find it again,
then," said the miner. " You ought to have called
me as soon as you found the first bit ; may be we
might have struck a vein."
" He is a new hand at this trade," explained the
Captain.
"Oho, that accounts for his luck," said the
miner. "Is n't it strange now ? 1 never knew a
person to try this business the first time in his life
without striking a 'bonanza,' by sheer blind fort-
une ; after you have been at it for a week or so,
it 's all work and no luck."
.About a mile below the diggings, we came to
the western slope of the sierra, and our road now
went steadily down-hill through a most intricate
maze of gullies and basalt-clifls, till we reached the
Spanish settlements in the plain of Bogota.
~---iI5j*»^*^^^
"CIT DBIIIM^
IMIC LOST
719
l)()(i I.OSI!
Mv S. K. HoiKNi:.
Oh, who has soon my dojjgy dear — he of the
stubby tail —
He of the soft and Uquid eyes, and melancholy
wail ?
No more I hear his gentle step, nor see his
happy face,
When licking of his dinner-plate, or runninj; on
a race !
He was as ugly as they yrow upon the Isle of
Skyc —
And that 's what makes his loss so }j''<-"«'t, and
m.ide his price so high !
So tell me now, "ye winged winds that round
my pathway roar,"
Will my dear doggy ne'er come oack - Shall I
ne'er sec him more?
He was a brown and curly thinj;, who ran
about the house.
And up and down the stairs he 'd xo, .is still
as any mouse ;
I have never seen a dog so small, so horrible to
sec !
And will that darling, precious thing come never
back to mc?
Oh, no ! he 's gone ! My heart will break !
That terrier from Skyc
Has left mc for some other home ! The tears
fall from my eye.
Alas! If I should search the world, 1 know ic
could not be
That I should lind another dog as ugly as was he.
And so I mourn my doggy lost. Clood people
join my wail :
He was the dearest little dog that ever wagged
.1 tail.
He 7i'iis so ugly ! Precious dear ! So blest I
can not be
.As ever to possess a dog as ugly as was he I
("( '-r-r-i -r-r->--i; i hi', Chu, Chu ! ")
lUit stay I What's that mellifluous sound that
breaks upon my ear?
It is ! Oh, can it then be tnie ! It .'.f his voice
1 hear!
And now, dull Time, bring all thy woes — I
care nr)t what they be —
Since my delightful ugly pet has been restored
to me.
EUGENIO MAUKICIO DENGREMUNT.
EUGENID MAL'kKlo 1H-. .\ ( ■ k 1. .\1 ()NT.
Bv Mrs. John 1'. Murc.an.
I WISH that all the children in the world might
get together some beautiful June day, and then
there certainly could be nothing more charm-
ing for them than that they should all be still
for a while, and listen to the wonderful violin-
plaving of Eugenio Mauricio Dengremont, the
child-artist.
Let me tell )ou what I know of him : He was
born March the 19th. 1866, at Rio Janeiro, Brazil.
His father, having other boys, as well as girls, and
being a musician in moderate circumstances, had
no idea of making musicians of his children, and
did not dream that the son born to him this day
was so gifted. But, at the age of four, Mauricio
asked his papa to teach him to play the violin.
This his father did not fed inclined to do. He
was himself a violin-player in the theater orchestra,
and felt the life of an ordinary musician an uncer-
tain one and not desirable for his son ; but the
child never gave up the idea of being a violinist,
and would leave his play at any time to stand near
his father and eagerly watch his practice.
At last, in 1872, when the boy was six years
old, his father removed to Montevideo, where he
played again in the theater orchestra, whither the
boy usually accompanied him. Here Mauricio
begged so earnestly to study the violin that his
father, taking him at his word, decided to gratify
him, and said:
" Well, my boy, if you begin to study the violin,
you will have to carry the business through."
"1 shall do so, Papa," said the boy; and his
lessons began.
He was so small ! and so much in earnest ! and
his father spent hours bending over the tiny figure,
and guiding the boy's little arm in the bowing.
And now take notice, all boys and girls who
" would so much love to play well, but can't bear
to practice." Great as this child's natural gifts
arc, he, at first, practiced three and four hours
faithfully every day. To be gifted, no doubt,
makes the work easier, but a certain amount of
real drudgery must be done by one who succeeds
in any art, no matter how gifted he may be.
After four months' study, Mauricio could play
the scales — and in thirds, also, (quite difficult on
the violin) — as well and as rapidly as his father; and,
besides, he played so remarkably that his father
discovered him to be re.nlly a genius, as his name
indicated, and so he faithfully and strictly attended
to the boy's teaching.
After fourteen months' study, the father decided
to allow the boy to give his first concert, but fear-
ing lest his son might not have the self-control
necessary for a successful public performance, he
look him to a little town — Paysander — up the river,
to make trial.
The concert at Paysander entirely satisfied the
father of the boy's ncr\'e and self-command, and,
returning to Montevideo, he gave his first concert
there to benefit the unfortunate victims of a railroad
accident. Here his playing created a great excite-
ment, and after that, every appearance of his in
public concerts was an ovation.
Since this modest beginning in the South Ameri-
can town, the boy has been petted and flattered by
all Europe, although he is singularly unspoiled,
both son and father being of a generous nature.
But I like to think of him, in his childish grace
and beauty, beginning his musical career with this
kindly deed. He seems to me capable of doing
such a thing nobly.
After the concert in Montevideo, and a grand
concert in Rio Janeiro, he left his brothers and
sisters, and his mother, — whose personal beauty he
inherits, — and went with his father to try his fort-
une in the Old World.
He went first to Lisbon ; thence to Madrid,
where he played before the King, and received no
end of honors and decorations ; and from there
to Paris, where he gave ten concerts.
Think of it : scarcely ten years old !
From this time — 1876 — he had private lessons
from Leonard, in Paris. These lessons hardly
would have occupied more than a year, if given
without a break, but they extended over a longer
period, during which he traveled over all Europe,
excepting Russia and Italy. Everywhere he met
with great success.
Such is a meager history of this wonderful boy's
child-life — enough, however, to give us hope of a
glorious manhood for him, for Mauricio is not an
unnaturally precocious child, — a forced hot-house
blossom, — but a healthy, fun-loving, boyish boy,
with buoyant animal spirit, and as ready for
wholesome fun as for earnest study ; and withal,
certainly much more of a child than the average
American boy of his age.
But, then, when his face is quiet, the violin
under his chin, and his bow in motion, he is again
something strangely above us. — a true musical
genius.
.^- /
BUOKNIO MAt'KICIO DFNr.RHMONT.
[Prom a photograph by Antlrnon.)
Vol. VIII.— 46.
722
THE MAJOR S BIG-TALK STORIES.
UULV,
Tin: MAJORS HIG-TALK STORIES.
llY K. 15LAK1C CRlinON.
NO. IX. — A MISUNDERSTANIlINc;.
'■ Why do I keep up that horrid habit of taking
snuff?"
Perhaps, my dear boy, you would n't think it
quite such a "horrid habit" if it had saved your
hfc, as it did mine.
" Saved your life, Major? "
That 's just what it did. What 's the good of
repeating what 1 said, in such a tone as that — just
as if anybody had doubted it ?
"Only wanted to hear the story," did you?
Well, that 's natural enough, boys, and I suppose
I 'm caught now, and in for telling it:
A party of three — -myself and two negroes — had
been collecting young animals. We had just capt-
ured a fine young rhinoceros and a very promising
little crocodile, and had tied the captives in our
wagon. We were taking a hasty meal before
starting for home, when we perceived the parent
animals advancing from different quarters to the
rescue of their offspring.
In an instant our guns were cocked. Two aimed
at the galloping rhinoceros, one at the waddling
crocodile. We pulled together. One negro's
bullet hit the reptile on the back ; but he was a
hard-shelled crocodile, and was n't a bit hurt. My
gun and the other negro's missed fire. When we
were struggling with the baby crocodile, the locks
of our guns had got under water, and we had care-
lessly forgotten to unload and clean the weapons.
The oxen had not been yoked, and the wagon
stood near a tamarind-tree, which we hastened to
climb. The negroes got up it like monkeys, but I
was indebted to the rhinoceros for the favor of a
hoist. It arrived before I could pull myself up on
the second branch, and it just managed to toucli
my foot with its horn, giving me a very useful and
unexpected lift. The tamarind shook with the
shock of the beast's charge.
Soon the crocodile arrived, too, and the blockade
of the tree was complete. At first we had hoped
the animals might contrive to release their young
ones and retreat ; but the cords had been too well
tied, and the awkward parents could do nothing
for their young without injuring the little creatures ;
so they waited on and on for their revenge. They
were quite friendly to each other, and seemed to
have formed a sort of alliance.
Half a hot day went by, and it became plain
that the animals would outlast us, unless some-
thing turned up. They had two advantages over
us, — in not being obliged to cling to branches, and
in h.iving water at hand, to which they went, one
at a time, to refresh themselves. Before climbing,
we had been forced to drop our fire-arms, wet and
dry.
At last I got out my snuff-box, and took a pinch
to aid my deliberations. 1 wondered whether the
crocodile would think it " a horrid habit " ; at all
events, 1 thought it could do no harm to try. One
of my negroes always carried whip-cord, to mend
the wliips and harness of the wagon. I borrowed
this cord, and let down some snuff, in a piece of
paper, within a few inches of the crocodile's snout ,
then I shook the string and scattered the snuff.
Shortly after\vard, the crocodile made a sound
so very human that I was almost going to call it a
remark.
" Ackachu ! " observed the reptile.
''Ackachu! Ackachu! Ackachu!" it repeated
at intervals, opening its jaws wide e\ery time.
The rhinoceros was surprised and grieved at this
behavior on the part of its ally. It seemed unde-
cided whether to take it as a personal insult or as
a sign of insanity. This furnished me with an
idea. I would sow the seeds of discord between
the friendly monsters, and turn their brute strength
against each other.
1 could not get at the rhinoceros myself, but one
of the negroes was just above it ; so I passed him
the box and the string, and directed him to give
the beast a few pinches of snuff, as I had done to
the crocodile.
The latter had just ceased sneezing, when, to
its vexation and disgust, it heard the rhinoceros
apparently beginning to mimic it.
"Ackachu I " remarked the rhinoceros; "Acka-
chu ! Ackachu ! " opening his mouth in the very-
way the crocodile had done.
It W.1S too much for a crocodile to stand. To be
mocked thus, and in the presence of its child !
The blood of the Leviathans was up !
At this moment, we scattered the last of the
snuff in the faces of both animals, impartially.
" Ackacliu ! " they roared, grimacing at each
other hideously and threateningly for a few mo-
ments. Then they rushed to battle, uttering the
same war-cry . " Ackachu ! "
The rhinoceros had the best in the first round.
He got his horn under the crocodile's lower jaw,
and tossed it over on its back. The reptile now
THE MAJOR S JJIG-TALK STORIES.
723
seemed helpless, yet, with a sweep of its resistless must be numbered .imonj; the lost arts of snakes.
t.iil, it knocked its enemy's fore lejjs from beneath There is a kind, though, that can as good as fly,
him, antl prevented his following up his advantage and this may have deceived some respectable old
prumpti). Soon, however, the rhinoceros got pagans.
aruund the prostrate s.uirian, and was about to It was owing to my unlucky balloon that I got
stamp upon the un.irmored side of its body, when the chance of seeing this shy and retiring reptile.
.in'u\iHM\L Mul/i.- i.inie to the reptile's aid, and
gave an electric energy to its muscles. With a
triumphant " Ackachu I " it regained its feet, and
clutched a leg of the rhinoceros in its huge jaws.
This was turning the scales with a vengeance on
the enemy, who now tried to crush the saurian's
shell by means of his superior weight.
Such w.is the blindness of their fury that I now
felt it was quite safe to descend and yoke the oxen.
We drove off with their young ones before the
very eyes of the monsters, who were too busy to
note our departure. For the moment, their pa-
rental affection had been fairly snuffed out.
NO. X. — THE CATAPULT SNAKE.
" So you belio'e there were no such things as
flying serpents in ancient times. Major ? "
If the ancients were right, my boy, then flying
I w.is sailing over a grove, watchinj,' the antics of a
parrot perched on the very top of a tall palm,
when suddenly something like a bent arrow, or
rocket, shot out of a lower tree, struck the bird,
and sank down with it through the leaves of the
palm.
Unlike an arrow in one respect, the strange
missile coiled and curved in its passage through
the air. Perhaps I should have likened it to a
sling, dragged from the hand of an unskillful
slinger by the force of the slung stone, and follow-
ing the latter in its flight.
Anxious to read the riddle, I descended and
anchored my balloon. Here, perhaps, 1 thought,
was some new weapon, mar\elous as the Australian
boomerang, to gr.ice my collection of savage arms.
However, 1 saw no lurking savage, and no strange
new missile, from the top of the tree on which 1
alighted ; but I saw a family party of snakes on
7=4
TIIK MAJORS BIG-TALK STORIES.
1
the ground bencalh. Two young ones were evi-
dently being drilled by their parents in the mode
of warfare peculiar to their race.
Placing the dead parrot aside, as the prize of
valor or skill, the parent snakes formed a ring with
their bodies. On entering this arena, each young
one — by a strange contortion — formed a knot upon
its gristly tail, and attacked the other with this
artificial weapon. They would advance to the
attack spinning like wheels, and, once within
striking distance, down would come their knots
with a surprisingly quick jerk. They could con-
" THE CATAri'LT SNAKE STRUCK ME SHARPLY ON THE SHOILUEK."
vert a circle into a straight line and a straight line
into a circle, more rapidly than any professor of
geometry 1 ever met ; yet, though they hit each
other several times, they seemed to do little
damage, for these youngsters, of course, could not
be expected to tie such hard and tight knots as
their elders. A combat between two hardened
old catapults — .as I named these reptiles-would Ik-
a very serious matter, 1 should judge.
• (Strange to say, the remarkahic Major has a fm
true, the viper certainly may claim Ji
This spirited tournament came to a sudden
close. As 1 was straining forward to get a better
view, a branch cracked beneath my foot, and the
sound caught the heedful ear of the mother snake.
In a second the wary reptile called "time," and
issued a warning hiss ; at which her well-trained
offspring h.astily retreated, jumping down her
tliroat for protection.
The catapult is a great inventor — an Edison
among snakes; yet it cannot justly claim a patent
for this mode of sheltering its young in time of
danger. Vipers and rattlesnakes are said to have
pr.icticed the same trick for a great many years.*
The color of the catapult is green ; but it is not
half as green as it looks. This 1 found out to my
cost ; for, although the mother had vanished beneath
the long grass, the male began to make mysterious
preparations for war.
He began operations by knotting his tail wth
an audible crack. He twisted its knotted end firmly
around a projecting root of the tree on which I was
perched. Then he reared his head toward a
branch which la)- directly between his tail and me.
This branch, though seemingly too high, he
reached with case by simply shooting out an extra
joint — for the catapult is the only serpent that is built
upon the telescopic plan. Having grasped the
branch in his jaws, he began shortening himself
with wonderful contractile power, until his body,
stretched between the root and the branch, looked
like the string of a bent bow, or of a catapult at
full cock.
I now thought it high time to set about unmoor-
ing my balloon, as I did not exactly know what to
expect next. But, before I had untied the first
rope, the snake unwound his tail from the root of
the tree, let go his hold of the branch, shot him-
self into the air, and struck me sharply, with his
knot, on the left shoulder.
The shock of the contact with my shoulder
changed the snake's course in the air. He fell to
the ground some little distance away. He was
quite unhurt, and hastened to prepare for a second
assault. Howe\er, 1 happened to be in as great a
hurry as he was, and just when he had taken posi-
tion for another flight, I let go my anchor-rope,
and up went the balloon.
1 had discovered what missile it was that killed
the parrot, but I paid dearly for the knowledge.
Mv shoulder ached for weeks aftcr\vard.
ndalion for his slalcment here. The records of some naturalists support hir
intcreslctl parental devotion as an ol&ct against iu wicked ways. — Editor-)
KAIK I i;s.
725
^t.
iitOlUc
FAIRIKS.
Rv Hannah K. Hudson.
•• LiTTi.K fairy people!
Little fairy people !
'T is your own midsummer day,
Hear the clock strike far away.
In the high church-steeple.
Come, you fair>' people ! "
So a little maiden sang
In the morning early ;
Tying on her home-spun gown.
Tying up her tresses brown, —
Tresses long and curly.
In the bright morn early.
Nut-brown robin overhead
Listened to her singing ;
Circled high above his nest,
Caught the sunlight on his breast,
Trills of laughter ringing
As he heard her singing.
Bees that swung in garden flowers.
Dressed in brown?, and yellows.
Heard her, though she did not know.
Buzzed their laughter to and fro.
Ah, what merry fellows.
Dressed in bmwns and yellows !
All around, without, within,
Sunbeams laughed and glistened ;
And the brook beside the road
Rippled laughter as it flowed,
Dimpled as it listened
Where the sunbeams glistened.
" Fairies?" sang the brook and bees.
Sang the robin higher,
"If she wants them she must look
'Twixt the covers of a book ;
They were never nigher ! "
Sunbeams laughed close by her.
Still the little maiden sang.
Sweet the notes outringing.
To her childish faith supreme
Real was every tale and dream.
As the lark's upspringing,
Fresh and clear her singing:
" Little fairy people !
Little fairy people ! "
Rang the .iccents sweet and gay,
" Now the clock begins the day
In the high church-steeple !
Come, O fairy people ! "
TO MAKE A NET WITHOUT A NEEDLE.
IJULV,
TO .MAKl. A X1:T without A NEKDLE.
l;v III Nin W". luny.
Here, boys, is a. simple way to make a "scap-
net " or crab-net, without using a mesh-needle.
If there arc no stores which keep such things,
any blacksmith can make the ring; and a pole is
easily provided. The ring must have a spike to
drive into the end of the pole, around which should
be a ferrule to prevent splitting.
Having all ready, fasten the pole at some con-
vemcnt height, so that the ring will be nut toward
you, and on a level with your eyes. Take a ball
of twine and cut it in pieces three or four times as
long as you wish your net to be deep. Double
these and loop ihem, about one inch and a half
apart, around the ring, as in Kig. i. Of course
they will be much longer than here represented.
Then, beginning anywhere, take two strings, one
from each adjoining pair, and make one knot of
them, as in Kig. 2. And so go once around the
whole ring, before beginning the next row. \'ery
little care and judgment will keep them even and
regular. After five or six rows, you can begin
/'/V/. :i
Tiff. I
making the meshes smaller by knotting closer.
Continue making them smaller until the knots
become too crowded, when the opening at the
bottom will be small enough to be tied across by
the exercise of some home-made ingenuity. This
will give a handsome-looking net, such .as Fig. 3,
which has the advantage of being strongest where
the most wcar-and-tear comes, and where other
nets are weak.
But if you prefer to make the net lighter, and
to narrow it like the regularly made nets, a method
is suggested in Figs. 4 and 5.
When you have made the requisite number of
even rows, as before, begin narrowing by clipping
off one string of a pair (see B. Fig. 5) at four places
equidistant on the s;ime row. Then proceed to
knot as before, excepting at these places, where you
THE STAK-Sl'ANGLIiU liAN.Nlik.
727
must take a string from the pair on each side of the
single Olio, and knot them, allowing the single
string to pass throuijh the knot (c) before closing
it. Be careful to make the tie long enough for
the knot to come even with the others in the same
row. Then pull down the single siring, and tie a
simple knot (l>) in it, close up to the double knot.
Then cut the string otT close. Proceed in the same
manner with the next row, avoiding as much as pos-
sible having the dropped meshes come under one
another. .As you get down, you will have to increase
the number of them in each succeeding row, in
order to bring the net together at the bottom.
In this mode of fmisliing, the meshes toward the
bottom need be m.adc only a little smaller than
those above.
THE STAR-SPAXGLED RAWER.
In order that all our readers may understand the
frontispiece this month, we copy below, from Tlu
Amtriian Histtyrical Rt-ioni, some paragraphs
relating the history of that famous song, '" The
Star-Spangled Banner."
It was written during the war with f.rcat Britain,
which is generally spoken of in history as the
war of 1812. The British forces had captured the
city of Washington and destroyed its public build-
ings, and were preparing to attack Baltimore.
Francis Scott Key, a patriotic American, and, at
the time, a citizen of Washington, wrote to his
mother, on the 2d of September, 1814 :
"* * * I am soing in the moming to Baltimore, to proceed
in 1 lUg-ve^tel to General R-v OI,I Dr Hones of Marlboro, is
taVen pri^-^ncr by t^-r - -r>- him off Some
■ f Ki. incT^l' V.a^c -..r. i go lo txy to pn>
ten days tho* it
t.Hxi bicvs you. my dear t
:fle
V. S. Key.'
"The President, James Madison, granted' Mr.
Key permission to go, and he went with a friend
in a cartel-ship,* under a flag of truce. They
found the British fleet at the mouth of the Potomac,
preparing to attack Baltimore.
" The British admiral agreed to release Dr.
Beancs, but refused to let him or his friends return
that night. They were placed on board of
another vessel, where they were carefully guarded,
to prevent them from communicating with their
countrymen concerning the proposed attack. The
%-csscl was anchored within sight of Fort McHenry,
which the British fleet proceeded to bombard.
" The three Americans were compelled to endure
all night long the anxiety of mind produced by
the cannonade ; and they had no means of knowing
the result of the attack, until • the dawn's early
light.' They awaited that dawn with the most
intense feeling. When it came, they saw with joy
that ' the old flag w.as siill there.'
" It was during this bombardment that Key,
* Caitd, oc cancl-«hip : A thip used in making the cxchaxiKe of prisonen of war,
•hip of trace, and must no< be fired upon nor captured.
pacing the deck of the vessel, composed that
immortal song, ' The Slar-Spangled Banner.' The
rude, first draught of it was written on the back of
a letter, and he wrote it out at full length on his
arrival in Baltimore." Soon after, it was printed,
and at once became exceedingly popular. "It
was sung everywhere, in public and private, and
created intense enthusiasm."
Although the famous song is no doubt well
known to most of our readers, we here reprint it in
full, as it was originally WTitten by Mr. Key :
The Star-Spa.vcled Banner.
O SAV can you see, by the tbu'n's early light.
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming;
UTiose broad stripes and bright stars thro* the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming
And the rockets' red gl-irc, the bombs bursting in air.
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
O say docs that sLir-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ?
From the shore dimly seen thro' the mists nf the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses f
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam.
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream ;
'Tis the star-spangled banner! — O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the bra\-e.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the bailie's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more ?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave :
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and ihc war's desolation ;
Blest with \-ict'ry and peace may this Heaven-rescued land
Praise the Poweh that haih made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just.
And this be our motto: "Is 0<id is oir Tri'St";
And the star-spangled banner. O long may it wave
O'er the land of ihe free and ihe home of the brave.
carrj-ing propositions to an enemy; it
728 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. Uu'-v.
r 1 1 !•: 1- 1 \' !•; c a r s .
By n. E.
LiT-TLi: Yic-TOR was vcr-y fond of dogs and cats, and all sorts of pets.
But there was one thiny; he liked bet-ter than any pet, and that was to have
his own wa)-. There was a large cat in the house, which \'ic-tor called
his cat Her name was Silk-y, and she was ver-y good for catch-ing mice.
One day, Vic-tor found four lit-tle kit-tens in her box ; and his moth-er
told him these were Silk-y's kit-tens. "Then they are mine," said \'ic-
tor, " for Silk-y is my cat, and her kit-tens are my cats."
" But I can not have so man-y cats a-bout the house," said his moth-er,
" and I must give these young ones a-way as soon as they are large
e-nough."
Then Vic-tor be-gan to cry, and he begged his moth-er so hard to let
him keep the kit-tens that, at last, she said he might do so if he would feed
them and take care of them. Vic-tor said he would al-ways do this, so his
moth-er let him keep the kit-tens.
At first they ate noth-ing but milk, but when they grew big-ger
they ate meat and bread, and man-y oth-er things, V^ic-tor oft-en for-got to
feed them, and then they would get ver-y hun-gry, and go a-bout the house
mew-ing and whin-ing for some-thing to eat. The rest of the fam-i-ly did
not like this, and his moth-er told Vic-tor that if he did not feed his cats she
would give them a-way. Then Vic-tor prom-ised to do bet-ter, and for a few
days he fed his cats. But he soon for-got a-gain to do this, and the cats
be-came as hun-gry as be-fore.
One warm day, he took his bas-ket with him to the gar-den to
gath-er some flow-ers for his moth-er. The cook had giv-en him a big
slice of bread and but-ter, and he thought it would be a nice thing to eat this
as he walked a-bout the sha-dy gar-den. But his five cats fol-lowed him,
and mewed and whined, and begged so hard for some of the bread and
but-ter, that he was o-bliged ev-er-y now and then to give them some.
Vic-tor did not like his cats to be-have in this way, and he said to his
moth-er: "Sup-pose this whole Avorld were full of cats, and on-ly one
lit-tle boy to feed them. Would not that be bad?"
" Yes," said his moth-er. " it would be ver-y bad."
" It is not just like that," said V^ic-tor, "but that is the way 1 feel."
"I think," said his moth-er, "that it would be well for )ou to let
me give a-way some of the young cats."
*' No," said X'iclor. "I want them all. They are my cats, and 1 will
loU VKRY LITTLE KOLK.
729
try to trach them not to fol-low mr a-lxml
a |)icce o( bread ami hut-trr. '
•' It would be bet-ter," said his moth-rr
your-self to feed them at the prop-cr time. "
ukI mew when I am tal-iiig
■ for \i)u to lr\ til leach
• 1 w ill try to do that," said Vrc-tor.
cats at the prop-er time, and they di ' ;
And lor a lew ilays he letl his
' ' him at all. Hut he soon
lor-got a-gain to do this,
antl the cats whined and
mewed worse than they
I v-cr dill be-fore. Then
\ ic-tor went to his moth-
' r and said : ' Don't you
think that one cat is e-
nough for a lit-tle boy ? "
" Yes, in-deed, 1 do,"
aid his moth-er.
•' And I think," said
\'ic-tor, "that a lit-tle boy
'Ught to have a large cat,
named Silk-y, who knows
where to go to get her
own food, and who nev-er
went mew-ing af-ter him
un-til he had five cats, who
are so much trou-ble to
feed that he could not al-
ways re -mem -bar to give
tiiem some-thing to eat."
"Yes," said his moth-
er, "I think the lit-tle boy
had bet-ter keep Silk-y,
and let his moth-er give
I -way the young cats.
And I think, too, that af-
ter this the lit-tle boy would do bel-ler if he .should allow his moth-er
to de-cide for him what is right for him to do."
" I like to find out for my-self what is right," said Vic-tor, " but some-
times it is a great deal of trouble."
"You will al-ways find that to be true," said his moth-er.
And then she gave away the four young cats.
J A C K - I N - T M E - 1' V I. V 1 1
LJULV,
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
I 'M a plain Jack-in-thc-Pulpit, young school-
folk and play-fellows, as you all know, and given
to speaking iny mind, and what I wish to say now
is this :
I do not want to be turned, this July, into a
Jumping-Jack, as I generally am whenever the
Glorious Fourth, as you call it, comes around. 1
want peace and quiet, and a chance to reflect upon
this great country. But with cannon, pop-guns,
and fire-crackers blazing, snapping, and banging
about mc, how can 1 do it ?
It is n't rational, this noisy way of celebrating
things ; it 's positively dangerous, and besides
• *••••*•
Hey? Oh, that 's it, is it? It would n't be the
Fourth of July without it, eh ? Oh, well — if that 's
the case. Jack begs pardon, and — by the way, if
you have n't any punk you '11 find any number
of cat-tails growing down in my meadow, and you 'd
better get some and dr)' them so as to be ready.
TWO BRAVE LITTLE GIRLS.
A LONi; time ago, in the Indian country, two
little girls slipped away from the Fort, and went
down into a hollow, to pick berries. It was Kminy,
a girl of seven )ears, with Bessie, her sister, not
yet six.
All at once, the sun flashed on something bright,
and Emmy knew that the pretty painted things she
had seen crawling among the bushes must be
hostile Indians, with gleaming weapons in their
hands. She did not cr>- out, nor in any way let
them know that she had seen them. But she
looked all about, saw that some of the creeping
Indians already were between her and the Fort,
and — went on picking berries, as before.
Soon, she called aloud to Bessie, with a steady
voice: " Don't you think it 's going to rain?" So
they both turned and walked toward the Fort.
They reached the tall grass, ar.d, suddenly, Emmy
dropped to the ground, pulling down Bessie, too.
"What are you looking for?" asked the little
sister, in surprise.
riu-n Emmy whispered to Bessie, and both of
tliem stole silently and quickly on hands and knees
through the long gr.iss, until they came to the road,
w hen they started up, ran swiftly to the Fort, dashed
through the entrance, .and had the gate safely
closed behind them !
Those girls are quite old now, but they remem-
ber very well the day they saved themselves, the
Fort which their father commanded, and the sol-
diers and other people in it, 'oesides.
THE TOES OF CATS.
K. L. HAS answered her own question, "How
many toes h.as a cat ? " w hich your Jack passed over
to you in February. She says: " Cats generally
have four toes on each hind foot and five on each
fore foot, eighteen in all." The Little School-
ma'am thinks that this answer is right, for, of
course, deformed cats are not to be included.
Belle Baldwin quotes an old punning rhyme :
why '* A m.in of dcccil
: Can best count-er-fcit [couDt-
hcr-fcell,
And so, 1 suppose,
He c-tn t>est count her toes."
* Can you tell me
A hypocrite's ey
( "nn h«,<t H*r<rrv
A nypocnte s eye
Cln best descry
On how many toes
.-\ pussy-cat goes t
.\ns\vers came also from Edward F. Biddlc —
"Sarpcdon"— B. C— .M. E. G.— S. E. Coyle—
\". -Meredith — Ella .M. Parker — and Nelly Loomis.
A HEN GOSSIP AND OTHER HENS.
Dear Jack-in-tiik-Pilpit: Please let me h.ive room to say a
word about some bird acquaintances of mine and their queer ways.
Wc h.ave a hen who is a creat gossip. She made a ne^t in the
yard close to our kitchen, laid eggs in it, and sat on them. But. at
every noise in the room, she would leave the nest and nm to the
kilchcn-door, to find out what was the matter. 1 am sorT>- lo say
that all her chicks were Iwim deformed in some way, and we have an
idea that this was the lesson sent to her by Dame Nature to teach
her to be less careless and inquLsitivc in future.
We have a hen of better character, though, — one who is noted for
L-iking the most tender and tireless care of her own children, and also
for helping chicks in distress. One day, she saw a chick drowning
in a water-bucket, so she jumped upon the edge of the bucket,
reached over, laid hold of the chick with her beak, pulled him out.
shook him to get the water olT, and then set the scared little crcatuir
on the ground.
And we had, too, some Shanghai hens, who cheri.shed high
nations of hen-dignity. They sat on the nest four deep, one on lop
of another : and, when the maid pulled them oflf, they ran to the
moster, and all three told him at onceof her harsh treatment of them.
The n>ostcr immediately lieu- at the maid, and stormed at her so
fiercely that she ran away. It was very fiuuly to look at, but the
maid did not like it at all.— Yours truly, F. M. Leb,
ST. CUTHBERT'S BEADS.
YoiR Jack is informed by his friend E. C. G.,
that queer, round, flat, little " stones," with holes
in the middle — similar to the "button-molds"
mentioned by .Shirley Martin in his May letter to
me — are found in northern England. There, the
children who play with them c.dl them " St. Cuth-
bcrt's Beads"; E. C. G. could not discover why.
She learned, however, that these beads really are
fossilized joints of ancient "animals," now known .as
encrinites, which once h.id the appearance of
flowers growing on long, jointed stems from the
J AC K. - 1 N - T 11 li - l- U L 1" IT .
751
siirfaci-s (if rocks. Sometimes, the body parts also
are picked >ip. and llicsc the children call "lily
stones," from their rescnjblance to hly lilossoms.
At one tnne, these curious "animals" ci>vered tlie
bottom of the sea as thickly ;is a wheat-field is
coveretl with growing stalks ; and vast beds of
marble have been found which learned men say
are made of the skeletons of cncrinites.
If the Little School-ma'am were here just now, I M
,isk her whether these cncrinites were not plants .is
well .IS animals — a sort of connecting link. I 've
been told that they were. Who knows about this?
nrAB Uc
iiu<l icll it
A n.i^.il .'111
Whc:, I .
g,lkn ....r
found li' Iv
lo be ihc -
within ihr
lhnn,.l.
WONDERFUL GLASSMENOINO.
ack-is-th«-Pi'LPIT: 1 know of somclhing so strange that
T« some Chinese mandarins on
^rear pride a handsome drink-
1 wllh golden slan. The
t said that their countrymen
than th.u. And they oftcred
r It Im-o. a L'hit
nd al^o its 1
nrkn
should
el.
,;la%N was crushed beneath a luiol-heel
I! shapes and sizes, and the fragmenls
[ • l>c put toKether.
.! l:!.!**. it not only showed ever>- one of its
cil (<> be delicately seined all over, and
lr>>px t^n looking cl«-»scly. the seins were
■ c pieces, and the drops of light proved
nclal nvets. t'^ach riset was fastened
^I.iss. — not one of them passetl entirely
« arcr when only part-tilled : but in the
f about the siic of a pin's point, where
> wanting.
■1 the wager, and proved the astonish-
;r patient countr>-mcn. — Yours truly.
HOW SOME SWALLOWS TREATED A LIE ABED.
Not far from your Jack's pulpit is an old barn
where there was a deal of twittering and chatter-
ing among the swallows, very early a few mornings
ago. .-Vnd above the din rose shrill cries as if some
unlucky swallow were in trouble. I learned after-
ward that he h.ad been guilty of the unbirdly act
of sleeping too long, that morning. The others
darted to and fro, each with something in his bill,
and, pretty soon, hanging by the tips of his long
wings, ne.or one of the nests, I saw the l.azy swallow
pl.istcrcd to the barn-wall with some sticky stuff
brought by his comp.inions. F.ist and faster they
worked, while the hanging bird kept crying.
Deacon Green came out of his cottage, to sec what
»-as wrong ; and he soon set the little fellow free.
But — would you believe it ? — after flying about
for a short time, the little "lic-.ibed" actually went
b.ick to his nest to enjoy another nap ! This was
too much, and his neighbors pounced upon him in
3 twinkling and began to renew their punishment.
I was wondering how the affair would end, when
out came the Deacon again, this time with a pitcher
in his hand. He set a ladder against the barn,
climbed up, released the sleepy-head, and then
poured water over him and his nest.
This settled the matter. The way in which that
swallow immediately flew crooked "\V"s and
" and-so-forths " in the air w.ts something wonder-
ful. He certainly w.is not ill: he was too lively
for that ; but he seemed to have lost the thread
of the day, somehow, and to be trying to find it.
A SUSPENSION BRIOOE OF ANTS.
Mkn anil monkeys make suspension-bridges;
men build them with strong wire ropes, and mon-
keys make theirs by clinging to one another's tails.
IJut there are other creatures that make suspension-
bridges — the Driver Ants of Africa — fellows half an
inch long, with big heads that must have clever
brains in them.
They work on a plan similar to that of the mon-
keys. A large ant takes hold of the branch of a
tree with his fore legs, and lets his body hang ;
then another ant climbs down the first one, to
whose hind legs he clings, letting his own body
hang ; and so the little fellows keep on until a long
chain of them hangs from the tree. Then they
swing until the ant at the loose end catches hold
of the tree they wish to reach ; and the bridge is
complete.
As soon as the main body of the army h.as crossed
the bridge, the ant on the first tree lets go of the
branch, and climbs up his comrades to the second
tree ; the otiier makers of the living suspension-
bridge follow his example, and they take their
place at the rear of the marching column.
A QUEER FOSTER-MOTHER.
Dear Mk. Jackin-thk-Pilpit : I send you a picture of a little
chicken who was deserted by his mother, and left to face the rough,
selfish world, all by himself But he was not down-hearted: not
he! All day long he would cheerfully scratch for a living, and.
when night came, it was his custom to march contentedly into a
A Qt-BER rosTRR-UOTHRl
certain nvim in the house, and cuddle under
stood in the comer. There he w.tuld sleep,
among the feathers of his queer footer-mother
so funny and pathetic, that I thought you wool
it — Youri truly, I
This seemed to
732
THE LETTEK-bOX.
TiiK li:tti:r-hox.
A WoKD OK Explanation.
As MANY of our rcndcn. doubtless, will obkcrve certain changes
on the cover of ihc present number of this matfazinc, it is right to
give them a few word* of explanation. They will notice thai
St. Nicholas now i*. publisihed by The Century Co., of New York,
instead of by Scribncr it Co. as of old; and in this they may
feel a sense of Io<a, a> though the familiar pages had in some way
grown strange. But it i> not so. There is a change and yet nu
change In every resj>ect, St. Nicholas is to remain as it has
been— a gay. stanch little ship, manned by the same crew, and with
the same strong hand at the helm that has steered it heretofore as
a business enterprise. The only difference is that the captain and
crew have resolved to own ihc vessel they run, and so, with the
consent of all concerned, have purchased the shares of former part-
In other words, this magazine, as a property, now mainly
to Mr. Roswcll Smith, who first conceived the idea of Sr
, and to whose wise and liberal business management its
largely due. As President of the Century Co., and iLs
active manager, he intends that this periodical shall continue to be,
in every respect, the same St. Nicholas that has won (avor here-
tofore, holding on, of course, to its first principle, which is to ijrow
and improve in every way it can.
llie editor, in telling you this, dear readers, can not but recall the
day when, all aglow with generous enthusiasm, — an enthusiasm
which has never abated, — Mr. Roswell Smith and his colleagues put
all their wishes and restrictions into one general request: "Conduct
the new magazine entirely in the interest of girls and boys, and let
it be as ncariy perfect as money and painstaking can make it"
There were no "ifs" and "buts," no troublesome economics.
The times were dull. Business of all kinds seemed at a standstill
just then, and the starters of an enterprise like this had every
reason to be cautious. But they believed in stepping boldly into the
matter. If the young folks wanted a good magazine, they should
have it, and it would be sure to " pay" both publishers and children
in the long run.
From that day to this, the generous injunction of the founders of
the magazine has been in force, and to fulfill it is the ardent purpose
of its writers, artists, and the editor, — making one and all eager and
happy in their work.
But, after all, the best inspiration for us all must come from
the boys and girls themselves. In your hearty interest and appre-
ciation, young friends, St. NicHOi^s finds life and strength,
and builds sure hope of a long and prosperous existence. Now
is the time for drawing close in mutual help and understanding.
Tell us freely your wishes, your preferences, and your needs, and
we will meet you according to our best judgment and ability. Soon
you shall be told our plan for taking you all into a sort of editorial
partnership, so that every one of you who reads St. Nicholas may, in
circct, have a voice in its management, and a responsibility to make
it better and better. By this we do not mean drier and drier, but
really better and better. Liveliness, freshness, heartiness are in the
blood of youth, and without these qualities a magazine for boys and
gids would be a sorry thing, indeed.
Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the Sandwich Islands, and I am
always very glad when the St. Nicholas comes. I have four
brotheni who are very fond of riding horseback . 1 have a little gar-
den, in which I work cver>' day.
The other day we all went down to the sea to bathe, and we took
our lunch with us. I'he waves were so high that we could not stand
when they came rolling in. Sly brothers Tilled a pail with crabs and
ivave carried the pad
way home, and rode
flower, it looks very
round and taste sirup
iHiAH St. Nicholas: 1 thought you would be glad to know
about our entertainment, which we had here. We liad some nice
singint:; of temperance glees, the juvenile play of "Blue Beard,"
and the Fan- Drill for eight little girls. We were dressed ver>' like
ihc iiicturcs in the January St. Nichoi^s, only in diflcrent colored
cambrics,— itink and white, blue and white, cic. Mamma drilled all
the Ititlc girls a month bcfjit.h.ind. and. when the drill came off,
there was a large audience. The Fan-Drill went off charmingly,
and cveryl)ody was pleased with it, and some day we hoi>c to have
Pemuek.
little fisli. and set it on the shore, but a high
: pissed Papa's new Kugar-n
through ihe cane-ftcIdL When thi
pretty. I like to go down to the mill, and go :
and
CHOLAS. I am eight yc
d ...gar
> truly,
Julia
Drar St. Nicholas: Your June article on "Ostrich-farming "
was very interesting to me, as 1 had been reading about the queer
people and things in South Africa.
But the ostriches seem to me to be the queerest things of all.
Just think, — when an ostrich-ncst has been found during the absence
of the p.irent-s and the epgs have nd been taken away at once, the
fmdcr is sure to see. on his return, that the old birds have smashed
cvcr>' one of the eggs ! 'l"hey will do this even when the ej^gs have
not been handled, and when the discoverer has not been withm fifteen
feet of the nesL
1 can not sec why in the world the birds should wish to destroy ihc
eggs merely because somebody has looked at them ; but what puzzle^
me even more is how the absent birds can know that some one haN
been pr\ing into their home. And, if they don't like the eggs to be
seen, why don't they hide their nesLs?
Perhaps, the reavm is the same that makes them believe they are
safely concealed from the hunter's view when only their heads are
buried in the sand. S<»me [xrrsons say that ostriches do this simply
ixTcausc they arc siupi J ; but I should be glad to think better of them,
if possible, and I hope somebody will let us know of a more agreeable
reason. May be, wc do not fully understand the birds. Ostriches
ou^ht to have clever brains as well as fine feathers, to make up for their
ungainliness and awkward ways. — Vours truly, (I. S. K.
Dear St. Nicholas: My mother knows a gentleman in England
who has two tame toads, and this is how he first found them: One
Sunday, when he was sitting reading in his fernery, he saw two toads
coming down the path very slowly. One, which was lame, limped
behind ; and they went on until they came to the rockery, which was
high and covered with moss and ferns. Then the first toad jumped
on the bottom stone, and taking the lame foot of Lis companion in
his mouth, helped him up from one stone to another, in this way,
until they reached the top. From that rime the gentleman took great
notice of them, and they soon grew tame.
Beatrice Br
: Herford.
Dear St. Nicholas : You are known and loved more than
I could tell you, in our far-.iway nook of the " Land of Flowers."
" * * Perhaps you would like to hear about some of our
Let me tell you about the wonderful "lime-sinks," that help to
make our Flonda famous. These are large basins, or lakes, the
waters of which arc cither dark blue or brown, and filled with fish.
One of these sinks is almost a river, and its water flows continually
in a narrow bed, between banks shaded with magnolbs and other
rich and scented growths. The trees lock their branches over the
current, which slides along in perpetual sweei-odoird shade, with
graceful ferns in tall ranks at either side. Then, too, we liave a
Like, out of which the bottom lalls once in every fourteen years,
with a rush and loud roar; and, in the course of a month, it fills
again to its former level.
Of course I could tell you ever so much more, but this must do
for the prcscnL Your friend and reader, J. C McC
Thk picture of Kugcnio Mauricio Dengrcmont, on page 731, was
drawn by Mr. Birch frum a beautiful photograph of this famous
young violinist, ukcn by Anderson, 785 Broadway, N. V.
•'UBNT sends an interesting letter concerning wliat he
terms "Repeated Inventions"; but wc have room for only a part
of what he writes :
Gunpowder was discovered, forgotten, .ind re-in\xnled more than
once, as Mr. Judson told us in his article on "Ouniwwder," printed
in St. Nicholas for July, 1877. And there are many other things
which have been invented more tlian once, — the stcam-boai, for
instance. Only fifty years after the discovery of America, a barce
was propelled by steam in the harbor of Barcelona, in Spam. Tne
subject was droppetl,— forgotten,— until John Fitch, nf Connecticut,
in 17B7, made and nin, in his native ci>unlry, the tirst sicam>boat
that descr\-ed the name.
The ait of priming with movable types, re-in\-enied in Germany
nearly five hundred and fifty years ago, already had been known, in
pan, five centuries earlier, in China : while Roman potten>, before
the Christian cta, sumpcd their wares with such types.
I'hc Chinese were enlightened with coal-gas hundretU and hun*
TH I: l.KT IKK- IliiX.
7ii
Uf..tr lliJt l'n«ht i.lci da
-of 1
nple kin.l >
jJc i
the KTCul pat
j'lcnu.i. aiul natural plukiiophcr. I'he an »o-i furR..
re-inventcd in I7(xt- It ai^ain p<ri*hc\l. but «a< rc\n
Watt, the (athcr of the »tcami:in;ine A ihini liiuc il
only t.. he found once niorr. and hniily riilal>h>hc>l liy .
tumnl Pa^ucnT. after »h.'ni the new V-inJ of pictur
lor »omc lime, the Paiiuerre-'lvpe.
Sam.iel K">l-v llree^ Mot^e it
,h, r!^-.v ..■ r.lii,,: irlesraph, il
the fifteenth cetiluo'
engineer, architect,
that he hail no eye» for puw, harOly for me. Perhap* it i» ncarcely
ncce-iiarv to add that pus^ did not calch lAal bird ; or bow indig-
nant he Uiked at me fi.r inlerferinn »ilh hi« «p<>rt. After ihn. the
di«h wa» pbce<l in the center o( the lawn, where kitty could find no
>helter near enough for hit plana, and I am glad m repuit thai he
ha» brought in but one bird uncc O. U.
called.
gating; khip* — was
country and by an<
inied, and compclletl the uie of,
844: but in 1746 a Frenchman
. a mile of wire: and in 1774 —
hr>t Kourth of July— ,1 man in Swiucrland
liy telegraph
., ;rc brought out at the same lime by persons so
uciiher of ihcni could possibly know what the
I'hus the i^uadrant — an instr\imcnl used in navi-
in^ented at the same lime by one nin:i in llus
ither in Europe. • • " H. K. '».
i little cirl twelv
.h.ndl
's but Pa eavc i
\Vc bought the S
years old. I have
We take the St.
cw sheep. In the
nd would own only
care of the rejected
ill, and take the money lh.it it brought
1 we named the lainb Si. NlCKOl-*s,
n the fall, " Nic " was n't quite as brge
three dollars, and said that
Nicholas with the three
Alta Han.selu
vs: We want to
.igo we had one ;
but a boy kilL-d it.
II your readers about our
ing one gi\cn to us, which
nd then we got another.
Since that, we have had forty-
.ire alive now. Seven of them are about three
n an>und faster th.-ui the old ones.
:., we set a saucer of milk on the floor of the
old ones begin 10 drink first; then the little
it of the nest, one at a time, and get around
■ ■ drink. All but one are silk-haired rabbits.
1 4ht red eyes.
[ .vclvc years old.
ruly. .\LiCE AND Frank La.nsinc.
De^ak St. ?
been vers- nrncl
Scots, which y
minster .AbNrs' and saw hi
alaba.stcr tigu're of the t^u
HiiLAs: We Old-London friends of yours have
Iterated in reading the story of Mary Qu
lately gave us, for not long ago
West-
ind the beautiful
polished ivor>', and the lace
.y, perfect likeness of her. We als-, saw the altar
ted by Charles II. to the memory of the little pnnces who were
■ ....I in the Tower. The inscription s.ij-s : •■ Here he the relics
.1 V K.„^ of England; and Richard, I'ukc of Vork,
in ihe Tower, and thert: stifled with pillows,
canly buried by order of their perfidious uncle,
1 heir bones, long inquired after and wished
••''■-I nnd ninety-one years in ihe riibbLsh of
f July, 1O74, by undoubted proofs, dis-
ihat pbce. Charles II . pitying Iheir
unfortunate princes to be laid among
I iv„ ,1^..^ v. .1-, in the year 1678."
^r* lo-iny ioio»;» 1" tile Abbey to interest ILS and which many
r '. y and girl readers would like to see. also.— We are your
rl readers, Carl and Norris.
St. Nkiiolas
Thk best reply we ca:
ng her little girl
> Josephine Polbml :
Frank Greenwood's letter which you
vi^ceslH to me that I might tell your
,,,.,, wtorh we set on last summer for the
ic the only way we knew the
in the water, and, as we filled
.-rs showed plainly that there
.;. however, when my brother
. . he saw a robin in the dish,
• ing his feathers, and havinga
.iig within a few inches of the
, ,11 ..11 . ., -pjrrow, watching every motion,
id history connected wilh the little saucer.
r.1 Vitiv. w^ ' pr-viM l-i Sr a r»-markably
- ■ " - .. .1 1 ...I »f.-her.
Ti
Ha
1 give to "An Anjtioiii Mother's
• Ihe following poem lately sent <
Miss Ra
letter
us by
Viciorin Rannom
Was really quite handwme
And »()/li»h, so every one said.
And it would n't have mattered
Had she been 1cm flattered.
Or had a mure Mn!>iblc head.
Hut ihcic declarations.
From friends and relations,
So plca.'icd Miss Victoria, alas!
Thai most of the morning
Was spent in adorning
Herself by the aid of the glass.
So %-ain a
d sn silly
Her actioT
s were, really
Her claims
IS a beauty grew
And after
a sca.son.
With very
good reason,
admired at all.
She wasn't
But Victoria Ransom
Still thought herself hand.some.
And daily her vanity fed ;
And in my estimation,
Kjch friend and relation
Was to blame for thus turning her head.
H. M. K.— 1. Pitcaim's Island is but seven miles around.
2. It was peopled in 1789 by mutineers from the English ship
1856 there V
the island for the dcsccnd-
id all the inhabitants were removed to
Three years later, twenty-one of them relumed to
: : in 1864 a company of twenty-seven went back ;
count shows that there now arc ninety-five persons
■all of them descended from the mutineers who first
"Bounty." In
ants of the firs
Norfolk Island,
their former hoi
and the latest
on the island,-
settlcd upon it.
3. Of these ninety-five, there are ten boys and seventeen girls be-
tween the ages of twelve and ses-enteen years, and forty-two children
not yet twelve years old.
Those of our readers who were interested in the arliclc on school-
luncheons, printed in St. Nichol-vs for September, 1877, will be
glad to read the following frank letter from a school-girl of Cold-
water, Michigan :
Dear St. Nicholas: In looking over the back numbers of St.
Nicholas, I came across the piece entitled " School-luncheons-"
I thought that some of your readers would like to hear about a
"spread " five fun-loving school-girls had. Each of us brought
diffcreni things. I dont remember exactly what we each took, but
we had a grand dinner. The bill of fare was bread and butler, cold
meal, pickles, six kinds of cake, oranges, pop-corn, candy, and
lemonade. Ihe janitor's wife kindly gave us the use of her dining-
rt>om, and loaned us plai
I suppose the
' Little School
s and forks
ill be shocked at trading
nd still more to learn that we raci ale rtfry kinJ
teacher a plate of pop-corn, oranfies, and
be much pleased. After
:il we were trady to drop.
dinner
of cake. We gave ou
candy. She seemed
danced in the halls 11
sick that afternoon. ..11 i. 11
We have had several spreads since that day, but I never shall
forget that one.— Vour constant reader, Maml K-
Dfar St. Nicholas: 1 had a bUck kitten that I used to call
" Jet, ■• because he was jet black. Once I had a bad cold, and my
cousin May was visiting —
of my cold, so we had
•ho was so deeply engaged in a thorough wash jel
Id not gooul.ofdo
find amusement in the house Mamma
and salt water for my sore throat, so we played that
■• let •■ was sick, to... We put him in my doll's bed, which 1. quite
Urge and gave him some of the alum and salt water, wilh a spoon.
Hut the strangest thing was that he leemeil to like it, for every lime
he came into the house, he would go right to the beil and get m him-
If.— Your little friend. N»tti« L Frost.
734
THE LETTER-BOX.
(JfLV.
Hr
ciical facts anil piuxlcs. Some of
our rcadcn may already have come across them separately cUcwhcrc,
but wc now print them in one budget, a^ sent by A. G.
If the number 3 be multiplied by any number, the stun of the
figures in the pnxluct will be 1, or a multiple of 3.
If any number be multiplio] by 9, the !
product will be 9, or a multiple of 9.
If any number be divldctl by g, and the
by 9. the remaindcrN will be the same.
If from any niiriit>cr you Miblract the s:
ward (/- f., the ftgurev rcvericdj, llic rcii
of the figures in the
. of its digits divided
vill be a multiple
The product of any two consecutive numbcn can be divided by
3, and the product of three consecutive numbers can always be
di\idcd by 6.
The product of two odd numbers is odd, while the product of any
number of cun^cculive numbcn> i& even.
Twc) I'l'ZZLF.s.; A man was carryinK a cake of maple-sugar. It
fell and brt»kc into four piece*., ana with those four pieces he could
weiKh anything from one pound to fony. What was the weight
of each piece T
Anv I, 3. 9, 37.
rind three square numbers, which shall be
progrcwtion.
Ans. I, 35, 49.
rithmctical
-^-^
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.— FOURTH REPORT.
Of the thousand members of the Agassiz Association, more have
expressed a preference for the study of entomology than for almost
any other branch. Curiously enough, the girls seem to be quite as
fond of insects as the boys arc. It is not difficult to account for this
preference. The many-hued wings of butterflies flashing in the sun,
the metallic gleam of beetles, the feathery grace and rich coloring
of moths, the dreamy pinions of dragon-flies, the excitement of the
chase, and, above all. the mystcnous and symbolic changes which
attend insect-life, shed a bright fascination about insect-study.
Attracted by this light, our boys and girls arc fluttering about the
homes of bugs and beetles very much in tlic same manner that
bugs and beetles flutter about the lights in our human habitations.
Let me, then, hasten to answer the three questions which arc
puzzling so many of our correspondents: How catch? how kill?
how keep? By far the best way to catch a butterfly is to find a
caterpillar : keep him in a glass box ; feed him with leaves of the
plant on which you found him; and watch him day by day, as he
changes his %-arious garments^ " spins himself up" till he bursts or
perforates his cerements and tmrolts his wings, with ever)* painted
shingle in its place, his " feathers " quite unruffled on his head, and
his six legs under him in unmutilated cntireness. Full directions
for raising insccu. making glass cases, etc» are contained in a little
book called '* Insect Lives," published at a dollar, by Roben
Clarke, Cincinnati, Ohio.
In addition lu this method of capture, you will need n ligh
gaiuc net. Any boy can make one of these in half an hour, (^t
ihrcc-fourths of a yard of silk veiling; ask Mother to make a l>ag
€if it, with a hem around the top wide enuugh to run a pipc»tcm
through ; pass a thick wire through this and bend it into the shape
shown in the little picture ; fasten the ends of this wire to a Ught
stick, five or six feet long, and your net is
made. A third method of capturing moths
is that of painting trees with a mixture of
rum, beer, and sugar. This is done in the
early evening, and later, lantern in hand,
you go ab4)Ut from tree to tree and tap into
your net the insects stupefied by the sweet but latal sirup.
To kill insects, provide yourself with a wide-mouthed jar. A
candy-jar is good. Lay three or four pieces of cyanide of potassium,
the size of a walnut, on the bottom of the in.sidc; pour over these
plaster of Paris, made liquid by water, until the lumps of poison arc
covered. The plaster will quickly harden, leaving a smooth and
dc-idly floor, on which any insect, when dropped, will quickly and
quietly pass away. The jar must be kept stopped with an air-tight
cover. It will keep its strength all summer.
.\'n>erpass a pin through a living insect.
Chloroform, etc., have no permanent eflfect on large moths. We
have had some heart-rending experiences, which would satisfy you
of this; but we spare you the pain of their recital.
But the greatest problem is how to prc*er\e our specimens.
Well do I remember my dismay at finding, on my return from a
summer vacation, that the wretched little Dermestrs had turned a
fine collection of Lefiidoptrra into sad little heaps of sawdust, and
broken legs, and antennz.
To prevent this destruction, beetles and other small insects should
be soaked in a solution of arsenic in alcohol (fourteen grains of
arsenic to a pint and a half of alcohol). O/courst^ ycu should ask
your parents, or sonu older Jriend, to attend to these preparatL>Hs
^hick I have mentioned^ as great care is necessary in handling the
poisons.
Butterflies and moths should be pmned into cedar cases, made air-
tight and strongly guarded by lumps of ^m-camphor or cyanide of
potassium. In addition to these precautions, all specimens should
be subjected to a rigid quarantine of a month before being trans-
ferred to the collection. Even then, eternal x-igilance is the price of
success. The cxscs must be carefully examined ever)* month, and
any indications of danger mu.st be regarded. In such event, pour a
few dropit of chloroform into the case, and close the cc»ver. This
will drive the destructive creatures into sight from crack and cranny.
Kill them, prescr\ing one or two for specimens, and renew your
previous precautions. In the Southern States, tin cases will prove
effectual against ants.
Another paper must be devoted, at a later time, to this subject,
and wc must tell you how to prepare your specimens for the cabinet ;
but for the present we must be content with cautioning you to pin
beetles through the ri^rht wing case, and not between the uHngs.
Next time, we must tell about some of our most interesting chap-
ters.— where they are and what they are doing.
By the way, our summer vacation will begin in a few rial's, and
we shall be off,— the trout know where; so we shall be obliged to
ask our numerous unseen friends to re*«r\c their letters until the
fall term calls u% back to the Academy Please ^cnd no letters
between July 1st and September isth. After that, addreui. as usual.
Hakims H. Bali^ki.. Unox Academy. Ixnox, Mass,
i88i.)
THK KilM»Kh- iiuX.
735
'rill- RIDDLIC-HOX.
rvTitioTu ixn »i,k a* ico^th'.
To rc(vn«ioh. 4.
muchic\(ui'k boy.
New Kii^land.
>, Aincniiu t^aincil the himU.
th*. 3. A cun^tcllation.
A deserter. 5. A veitetable 6. Knormou.s.
A tiuarrrl between cbn*. 9. A jc»i. 10.
11. Vhc art of rcx^oniin;. 12. An inhabicant
MOM'.MKNT Pl'ZZLB,
IliiiJ. My V 37*^ 3-46- a 5. 58 is an acid fluid. My 39-38 1% alod.
My }-}4-it-4o-i-si-i$ \\ a fady who enicriuinii KUCftU. My 36-S7-
iB-44 » to attend. My b6-j\-i(>-()j-4*) i* ihc product of a tropical
3' tree. My 61-6-41 i\ utinof^phcric moiHtiirc. My <'4*39-65-59-i7 u a
7; trcatuc. My 53iS-4-2o i» part of the b«dy. M. WKLLS.
of
EASY CONCEAl«EI> < ITIES.
I. TiiR captain had the rebel fastened Jtccurcly witli many chains.
3. Car) is lending his books and toys continually. 3. Jcuic hxt
had a beautiful new portfoho ^xwen to her 4. She gave me the
box for drawing the design w> carefully. 5. Come and see my
kiitcn. Tab. at her brcakfau 6. l he clasp is almost broken. 7. The
boy has already walked over ten miles.
M.MEKICAl. ENKOIA FOR X^XE PUZZLERj<.
I AM composed of twelve letters, and am the first name and the
surname of a general of the Revolutionary War.
My a-ti-t3 IS a boy's nickname. My 3-8-10 is to flee. My 1-9 is
a pcrsi nat pronoun. My 7-4-6-5 Ls to appear white. Lizzm c. C-
CnAUAUE.
The central letten (indicated by stars), when rend downvrard»
fpetl the first name and surname of a person famous in history.
Acih>ss: I. In cannonading. 3. Nourished, i. A slender stick.
4. To equip. 5. PasL 6. A small barrel. 7. To possess. 8. A
bbcL 9. To inquire. 10- An exclamation. 11. Crime. 12. A
conjunction. 13. A sweet substance. 14. To praise. 15. A
Icamcr. 16. Part of a church. edwakd k. diddle.
EASY CENTRAL ACROSTIC.
of equal length, and the 1
Au. the «-ords described :
letters name a national holiday
Crosj^words: 1. A pbce for storing com
3. To sum up. 4. To fondle. 5. Qiiick.
conjtmction. 8. Bustle, o- A black mineral
ntral
di
exclude-
of a pby.
For
Recompense.
r. A small insect
To annoy. 7. A
o. Finish, ix. A
A lyric poem. 14. To
DVCIB.
T\V(» ( Ko-*^-\v<)Ui> enh;^i\>
M,
firM U i
n surf, but not in »
avc;
My
stcond 1
n valiant, not in brave.
Mv
third U
in powder, but not
in cnp:
Mv
fourth is
in crackle, but no
in snap.
My
fifth is 1
n rocket, but not in
light:
Mv
sixth IS
in power, but not i
n mi^ht.
My
seventh
in racket, but not
n noise ;
Mv
eighth 1
1 balance, but not i
n poise.
Mv
ninth in
knapsack, but not
jubilee, not in fun
in gun;
My
tenth in
My
eleventh
in banner, but nol
in Bag:
My
twelfth
IS in steed, but not
in nag.
My
whole make " music " once
a year.
Von
ng patriotic hearts to cheer.
Mv
first is i
n kniffht, but not ir
n fokT, but not in f
earl:
My
uri.
Mv
thiiil U
in sleep, but nol in
wake;
My
f.urth b
in give, but not ir
lake.
Mv
fifth i-
n sand, but not in
shore ;
Mv
M.th i.
in heart, but not in
core:
Mv
scsenth
in coy, but not in
xjld:
My
»h.ile 1
welcome to young
and old.
M .MERICAL. ENIGMA.
I AM composed of sixty-nine kttcr«, and am a victorioa^ dispatch,
dated September 10, 1B13, which a fiunous naval officer sent to his
londcr-inchief
of I
is my first.
A CREATl'
And time itself i
By which the days of'one's life
May always be safety reckoned.
My second may nourish my first ;
\\y first may issue my whole;
Animate and inanimate life
I am, and I seek to control.
MYTIlOLOCaCAL DIAMOND.
Andrttmedx a. The god of herdsmen. 3. The mother of
,. 4. What Pegasus might be called. 5. In Jupiter.
ALIDA a
FOI'RTH OF Jri.Y MAZE.
RIIHU.K.
Mthe
Little f-7-8
very gi>>d l>oy. One day hU grandmother
a bunch of 1-2-1-4-5-6-7-6-9-10: but instead of dointi
bade, he spent tne i-j-3-4-5 she gave him, and bough
i-a-3 fur his {tet rabbit. M
736
THE RIUDLE-BOX.
Pit'TOiiiAi, ruoss.woico I':m(;.>ia.
Tp^^0^^^0
The answer to the ahovc pujjic is a word of six Iciicrs. 'lo solve
the puzzle, first read the pictures as a rebus, forminK a stanza of six
lines, each of which begins with a letter T. This stanza itself Ls an
■ ]tion of which reveals, in proper order, the six letters
enigma
of the 3
TUA\SI'OSITU>N>
I. Transik)SR a place where Rrain is stored, and make a swoi
officer of an English forest. 3. Transpose a mournful piece of musi
and make a range of mountains. 3. Transpose an omnibus, ar
make the barriers to openings in an inclosing fence. 4. Transpo
a low, dwarf tree, and make the trophy of a fox-chase. 5. Tran
pose a relishing condiment, and make that which produces a result
b. Transpose wood sawed for use, and make a low, litravy sound.
7. Transpose the
conveyance of Ictt
sand, and make thoughtful attention. 9. I'ransposc to climb by 3
ladder, and make delicate tissues of thread. 10. Transpose 2
sunce used to give luster to metal or gbss, and make a knave.
.\NS\V'ERS TO rUZZLlCS IN THE JUNE NUMBER.
l-'jKSV TRASsrosiTloNs. 1. Occao — canoe, a. Wortls — sword.
1. Cork— rock. 4. Huti— shut. 5. Manor— Roman. 6. Organ—
^:roan. 7. Printer — reprint. 8. Nlabcl — blame.
I't Spake full well, in language quaint and olden.
One who dwelleth by the casUed Rhine,
When he called the Howers, so blue and goldr
.Stars that
WoRt>-SQl'AIIKS. I
Ko.Ses. 5. MaYor.
llsSay. 5 RhYme.
4. EaSel. 5. RoY.-d.
4. MiSty. s. StYlc.
liiSon. 5 1-aYer.
GttoCRAPiiiCAL PfzzLK. May — Man — George — Rome (roam) —
The Woods— Society— Charles— Henry— Skye (sky)- Clear— Hartz
(hearts) — Chili (chilly) — Morocco^SandMrich— Oyster — Bordeaux —
Martha's Vineyard — Pearl — Ann — Negro — SciUy (silly) — Look-
out— N.intuckct (Nan took it).
Numerical Enigma.
*' A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June."
Samuel T. Coleriix^e, in Tht Ancient Mariiirr, Part V.
DofULE Acrostic- Initials: Turkey. Finals: Greece. Cross-
words: I. ThonO. a. UproaR. 3. RencgadE. 4. KitE. 5.
Epic. 6. YorE-
COSNECTED DlAMONt>S. S D
S T V 1) E W
S T R A u n E R R V
firmament do shine.
Henrv W. Longfellow, in Flerwfrt.
I. PoPpy. J. LeAve. 3. PANSY. 4.
II. 1. ViPer. a. TrAil. 3. PANSY. 4.
III. I. GyPsy. 3. ClAim. 3. PANSY.
IV. 1. MaPle. a. SnArc. 3. PANSY.
V. I- ApPle. a. SLAnd. 3. PANSY. 4.
German Cousins. 1. Hut. 3. Mutter. 3. Kind. 4. Grab.
5. Den- 6. Herb. 7. ArL 8. Bad. 9. Fern. 10. Tag. 11.
War. 13. GifL Charade. Nosegay.
Easv Pictorial Anagram. 1. Sloop — loops- 3. Palm — lamp.
3. Anchor— Charon. 4. Sprites — stripes. 5, Spot — post — tops —
Slot). Easv Cross-word Enigma. June.
Diamond. i. O. 3. ASp. 3. LaTch. 4. OslRich- 5.
I'rlam. 6. ACl 7. H.
veil, befni
o, fron
3— J. Milton Gittcrman. 3—" Blanke
The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
Solutions of April puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from Lillie Keppelman, Oinstatl, 3 —
A- M. Gardner. 13.
Answers to Puzzl
Family." 17— H. A. Vedder, .0— H. Ickelhc
Lottie Pcarsall, 3— Mamie 1. Slockwcll, 3— A. Mabel Raber, 6— W W. S. Hoffman, 3— Jane B. Hainc, i— May 1- Shep.-ml, .;— WiUie'R
Witherle, 3— Violet, 3— Alice B. Wilbur, s— W. P. Measle, 5— E. L. Ciould, 3— Howard Coale, 1— Floience Wilcox, 17— Kate 'l'. Wendell,
8_Joseph G. Ueanc, 4— Haltic Varnev, 6— J. H. Ingersoll, i— T. G. While, 3— Reader, i— Ruth Camp, 7— Frank S. Willock, 4— E. L,
Gould, 1— George W. Barnes, 8- Effie K. Talboys, i— Li'zrie H. U. St. Vrain, 13— " Peasblossom," i— Camille Giraud, 8— Uzzie
McCbnnin, 1 — A. H. Craft, 3 — (ieorgc Brown, 8 — Clara L. Northway, ic — "Jessie," 15 — Daisy Smith, 8 — Henry "
Ihcimer, 1— Walter K. Smith, 3— It. and G. Hallam, 3— Alice S. Rhoads, 4— Nellie Sliilell
-A. Mabel Raber, 6— W W. S. Hoffman, 3— Jane B. Hainc, i— May 1- Shep.-ml, .;— Will
— W. P. Measle, 5— E. L. Ciould, 3-Howard Coale, 1— Floience Wilcox, 17— Kate 'l'. Wei
W. Ingle, 4— Willie 1;. H
Ficro, 6— Edward
and Albert Tuska,
Nellie Caldwell,
Lizzie D. Fyfer, 9— Alice Taylor, 4— W. Ey^
— Mrs J. B. and Leon Stev
, 6— Puss and Bob. s— Gracie L. Street, 6— \'.
-Maude G.
rd Vuhee, 18— Nannie M. Duff, i— .Mabel Thompson, 7— lohn W. Stebbins, ,— C. A. C, 13— John W. Wroih, 7— Gustav
ka, 5— K.ite Reynolds, 6— Bella A, 4— Frank G. Ncwiand, 9— Rose I. Rant.in, 8— Blinkenhoff, t^P.iul HnpLand, 3—
, 5 — Barclay Scovil, a — Caroline l-arrabee, 6^" Professor & Co.," 13 — I.alla E. Croft, 3 — Bessie and F-dith Nesbiti, 4 —
, 9— Alice Taylor, 4— W. Eyes, 18— Edith Boyd, 3—" Mignonelte," 6— Marion .and Daisy, 4— Henry Kerr, n— Frank R.
Heath, n— J. Harry Robertson, 4— Buttercup and Daisy, 4— M. H. Huntington and E. K. Francis. 10— I. W. G , 3— Sadie B Beers, 6—
Marion Booth, 6— X. Y. Z., 8— Minnie Van Buren, 3— Annie C. Holton, 5— Percy Ryan, 1—" Wall and Thisbe," 1 1— Clara and Joe. 15—
Maud v.. Benson, i— " Maiich Chunk." rs— Puzzler, 3— C. H. ^■oung, 18— Fllen L. Bryan, 11— Lewis P. Robinson, 3— Jeanie and
amiin, 0^1. n. n , 13 — 1». iircemc, 5 — .>i. i'.. iiaii, 9— u. s-. s... i — i.cuc ano iMrnic. is — 1
Buttercup, 6— Florence, John, Allie. .and Clem, 5- "Oakland," 11— A. P Slone, 3— Leu
McDonald, 18— Daisy May, 18— Thomas Denny, Jr., 3— Howard C. Warren, 14— " Qu
Thwaits, iS— Fanny Pelletle, 13— "Chuck." 17— '' Manuscript." 8— lletlieand Harrv Stnmi
Edward Smith, 9— J. S. Jcnks, i-Rosic A. P.alist, 4—" Phyllis." 13— Mabel Wagnalls, 5—" George and Frank," 17— Mar>- M. Malle-
•on, I— Isabel Bingay, 10— Alice Allsworth and Eleanor B. Fariey, 4— Wisconsin, 8— Lilla and Daisv, 7— Sallie Viles, 16— Irsington, 15—
Rubie and Grace, 13— Clara Mackinney, 7— Frank P. Turner, 17—" North SLir" and " Little Liiric,'" 9— Lulu M. Hutchins, 13— Maud L
Smith, 6—1 H B , 13— G. Drceme, 5— M. IC. H.all, 9— D. C. C. 1— Belle and Btnic, n— I. B. Bourne, 3— II B. Potrero. 11— Daisy and
~ " ' " 1— A. P Slone, 3— Lelilia Preston, 4— P. S. Clarkvm, IS— Fred. C.
" :n Bess," 17— liriie Nammack, 13— Fl«d.
... , . ., , . nger. 5— Annie Mills .and I-ouie Everett, 18 —
; C Camahan. 1 1—" M'liss," 5— J. Ollie Gayley, (^Siuie GofT, 7— M. M. I ibW, 15— Chas. S. Ijnerson, s- Katy Flcmining, 11—
Maie Stevens-m, 1— George Totlen Smith, 1— Grade Hewlett and lulu (rablK:. if— RoWrt A. Gaily, ic— C. G. 'Brt.wnell, 16— O. W. and
R. Y. Y..9— F. M. and R. H. Pomeroy, 9— Alex, 8— From Va., 1— Madvie K. 1. , and Frank Smith, 7— Giissie .ind JulU Ijirrabee, 15—
P and I., 8—" Amn. Quito," 9— Fxl. C. Canhaw, 11— Willie and M Conani, .1— Belle W. Br,.wn, I3— Florence 6. Line, 8— Herbert
Barry, 18— "Can)land her Sislen," 15— "Trailing Arbutus," 3— Viruinie Callmever, 1.— K. Benedict, 1 — Willie F. Wiwlaid. 3— Willie
T. Mandeville, o— Archie and Hugh Hums, 9— Alice Maud Kyle, 18— Florence Ixslie Kyle, 18— "So-So," 13— I. and W. McKinney. 13—
Sophie M. (icUke, 7 — J. S. Tennant, ij — Harriet U Pniyn, 3 — Carrie and Mary Speidcn, 11 — i'JIa M. Parker, 5 — C. J. and P. Durbrow.
iS^Klla Uoudy, 3 — Harry H. Knowks, 13 — Uycic Warden, 13. Numcrali denote the number of puulc* solved.
A BROWN. STUDY.
ST. NICHOLAS.
Voi^ VIII. AUGUST, 1881. No. 10.
[Copyright, 1881, by TMK CENTURY C"]
A BROWN -STUDY.
MnlHF.R Siiid : "That 's all, dear. Now run outdoors and |>la\ . '
Father said the same ;
And so I came.
But, somehow, they forget that 1 'm growing every day.
A girl can't ii/ways frolic. NVhy, lambs are sometimes still.
Though whenever they feel like it, they caper with a will.
And birds may stop their singing while their hearts are full of song.
I 've seen them look so solemn ! .\nd when the day is long
They often hide among the boughs and think, — 1 'm sure they do ;
I 've peered between the twitching leaves, and seen them at It, too !
But if a girl stands still and thinks, the people always say :
" As you 've nothing else to do, dear, why don't you go and play?"
Well, all I know is this : It 's nice
To jump the rope, and skip and swing, or skate on winter ice;
It 's nice to romp with other girls ;rid laugh as loud as thcy,^
But not to-day.
Dear me ! How sweet and bright it is, this lovely, lovely Karth !
.And not a thing upon it dreams how much it 's really worth.
Kxccpt the folks. They calculate and set themselves quite high ;
Oh, my!
You dear, good sky, to bend so soft and kind above us all !
(It 's queer to think this great wide world is nothing but a ball
Rolling, they say, through space: —
How /foes it keep its place?
None of my business, I suppose.) — I wonder if the brook
Is full to-day. It 's early yet; — I think I 'II go and look.
Vol. VIII. -47.
73S
FROM SANDY HOOK TO THE I.IOHT-SHIP.
(Al'Cl'ST,
l-Ko.M SA N DV HOOR K » 111
l(,HT-SIIir
Uv John \'. Skaks.
" Skk here. Mother; here's a dandelion, as "He eats too much, and in.ikcs himself sick ;
bright as gold! Spring is here at List, and I '11 that 'sail the 'delicate' he is.''
have to be making garden in a day or two." " Hush, my son; the doctor says he needs a
"Yes, David; spring has come, and I suppose change."
we must get about our work pretty soon." "Yes, he does need a change; any change
Mrs. Throckmorton had opened the sitting-room would be for the better; but I wish he would n't
window to talk with David, and, as the warm sun
streamed in, and a soft air stirred the sweet-brier
which he was fastening against the side of the cot-
tage, it seemed as though spring was not coming,
but going, and tliat summer must be near at
hand. But there was little summer in her eyes.
r
come here for it."
" David ! David ! you must n't talk so I 1 dare
say he 's a good boy enough, only he 's been too
much petted at home."
"Rem Wilson is not a good boy; he 's mean,
selfish, conceited, and overbearing ; that 's what he
is ; and 1 know he does n't tell the
truth, either."
" My dear son, don't say such
things, even if you think them."
" Well, Mother, I never do, only to
you; but it 's a fact, and 1 don't like
him."
" 1 know it, and I 'm very sorry ;
but it can't be helped now. 1 've
promised to take him, and besides,
they pay well, and we need the
money,"
The Throckmortons lived near the
mouth of the Shrewsbury River, and
at that time— many years ago— the
old Shrewsbury inlet was open, mak-
ing a. navigable water-way between
the river and the sea, A steam-boat
plied every day between the river and
New York, running through the inlet
at high tide, as at low water the sand
was nearly bare. In about a week
after the finding of the dandelion, the
steam-boat brought down Rem Wilson
and his trunk, and .Smalley w.is sent
"You don't seem to feel very glad. Mother; 1 to the Ocean House landing with a little boat to
thought you 'd be real pleased to see the first dan- bring the guest home. Smalley was a young col-
delion." ored retainer of the Throckmortons, about the s;ime
"Oh, I am, of course. It is .lUvays nice to sec age as D.ivid, — thirteen or fourteen years. His
things growing, and the flowers coming out again ; real name was Charles Peck, but he was so little
but it just reminds me that 1 must be writing to that the boys called him " Sm.ill Measure," and
Mr. Wilson." this title degenerated in time to "Smalley," or
" What about ? They 'II not want to come down "Smalls."
these two months yet," David did not go to meet Remscn, as he was
"They want Remsen to come down as soon as busy in the garden, and this work pressed so hard
the weather 's mild enough." that for some time the boys saw very little of each
" Remsen alone ? " other. Remsen tried his hand at digging and
" Yes, I suppose so. You know he 's delicate, planting for a day or two, but he soon tirctl of it
and they want him to live 'longshore awhile." and wandered i>fT 'longshore. He wearied of the
■^:^^'i:#'**'^--^-
■V-^-
SMAIXEV, WITH A LITTLE BOAT,
THE CrEST FROM TOWS
FROM SANUV UUOK. lu THE LIGHT -SHIT
739
shiirc, tiKi. pri'scntly, anil bcjpin ti> tease Havid to
go luit $.ulin}; or libliin^. D.iviil refused, im ac-
count of his work; but his inolher iiuerveneil and
asked hint to go.
" It is dull here for Kenisen," she s;iiil, '"and we
must try to entertain him ; besides, his mother has
written es|>ecially to reiiue^t that we shall not cross
him in anything more than we can hel|). The
doctor says it is bad for his nei^cs."
D.ivid owned a seine-skitT, eighteen feet long and
pulling four sweeps. She had a center-board, was
rigged with mainsail and jib, and was a good sailer
with any wind. This boat, called the " Alice,"
w;>s overhauled, and put in good trim, and, on a
pleasant afterntHm, Kemsen was taken for a sail.
Me was satisfied for a while, tacking about the
river, but presently he wanted to run out through
the mlet anil take a good long stretch on the ocean,
where they would n't have to jibe every the minutes.
David said no ; it was too late in the day, and, fur-
ther, he never went outside without letting his
mother know. Remsen jeered at him for being a
b.iby, tied to his mother's apron-string, and sharp
wortls followetl, of course, so the excursion was not
a pleasant one, after all.
Remsen appe.iled to Mrs. Throckmorton for per-
mission to go out on the sea, but she, too, decidedly
said no. He persisted in te.ising for two or three
days, and she finally resolved to refer the matter to
his father. On the following Monday, Reinsen
walked over to Port W.ishington, and returned
with an open letter in his hand, declaring his
father consented to an occasional trip out through
the inlet when the
provided the boat
David should sail it.
written in post-
torn of the
page, was
shown to _
marked, however, there could be no gainsaying
black and while, so the boy carried his point.
There w.is no peace in the house thereafter until
the arrangements for the expedition were all made,
and the tide served riijht for an early start, and the
^«^
weather was fair,
was safe and that
This message,
script at the bot-
Mrs. Throckmorton. She read the paragraph w ith
a go<Kl deal of surprise, as, from the explanations
she had made in her letter to Mr. Wilson, she
expected Rcmscn's request would not be granted
at all, or, at least, not so re.idily. As she re-
"!?«•?=
MAKING KEA
FOR THE CKfl
weather promised to be fair all day. The settle-
ment of these various conditions occupied several
days, and, during the time, Remsen continued to
fret and worry until the family were glad enough
when a morning came that David thought would
suit their purpose. A very early breakfast was
hurried through ; a pair of plump roasted chickens,
some beef sandwiches, and a basket of goodies were
packed away in the stern locker of the boat ; the
fishing-lines and a " blickie " of soft cl.ims
fnr bait stowed in the forward locker, a com-
■ ihle armful of oil-skins and wraps was
bundled under the thwarts,
and before sunrise, the three
boys, Remsen, David, and
^ _ - _- Smalley, started to spend
the day on the sea.
' . _ They had some crooked
work to get out of the river, with light airs
baffling about the Navcsink Highlands, but, after
clearing Sandy Hook, they found a steady breeze
from the south-west, balmy and pleasant as a
breath of midsummer. Remsen thought he would
like to see how Long Branch looked from the
sea, so they made their jib, hauled the sh<--cts
close, and stood down the shore .ibout six miles.
740
until
abuut,
for a
1 KOM SANDV HOOK To THE LIOHT-SHIP
they ran past the town. Tlii-n tlicy put
lifted the center-board, and &i|uared away
race before tlie wind. There were a ijooil
WOOPINC ALONG, OVKK
Sinalley got a bite, and, in the course of an hour
or so, they caught several fine cod. When Rcmscn
had piilleil up his second fish, IJavid decided it was
time to start for lionie. The sun was yet high, and
Kemsen wanted very niucli to "catch just one
more," so they waited another half-hour and then
sail was made again. As they got under way,
Smalley disco\ered a school of porpoises, the
first of liie season, just off their starboard
how. David started the sheet a little, and
ibe ".Alice" glided quietly in among them,
without disturbing them in the least. They
rolled lazily over in the sea, and grunted
^y^ ! and snorted like a drove of pigs, playing
^ around the bows of the boat, so close that
tlie boys could almost reach out and touch
llicm. JCven David had never before en-
joyed an opfKjrtunity to become so inti-
mately acquainted with porpoises, and the
boat was allowed to drift along with the
scliool, while the boys leaned over the side
and watched the motions of the clumsy
creatures with intense interest. Finally,
Smalls straightened himself up, and, taking
a look about, exclaimed in surprise :
"Hi, Marsc Dave, if dere aint de bi^j
light!"
Dave sprang to his feet and there, sure
enough, was the great light-house on Sandy
Hook, square on their weather beam. The
"Alice" had drifted into the ship-channel, and
the wind and tide together had carried her along
much inore rapidly than her crew realized, busy
as they w^ere in studying natural history.
_^^-m^
many coasters and small craft going up to New
York with all the canvas spread they could carry, but
the "Alice " passed them all, swooping along over
the low, broad billows like an osprcy in its flight.
The boys enjoyed this fun heartily, and shouted
in high glee whenever they shot ahead of a
sloop or schooner on their course. The
whole morning was spent in giving chase
to one vessel after another, and at noon .-^■- _>t>
they found themselves well up toward ' ' " ^ ''Fr-
Romer's Shoals. Then they dropped the
jib, slacked the peak, and laid the ".Mice " to itr''^
for dinner. The center-board was l.iid athwart-
ships for a table, the provisions were unpackul
.md sprc.id out in tempting array, jack-knives and .■ s ^
jaws were plied with industry, and the chickens
and crullers disappeared with amazing speed. " Boom out
After dinner, they put off shore about eight miles that jib ! "
to the fishing grounds, and tried their luck for cod- cried Dave,
li>,h. They ditl not c.itch anything for a long time, as he jumped aft, cast off the sheet
and Remsen got tired of waiting for fish that did " -Mice" before the wind,
not come. Just ,is they were aljout to give it up. " Why, what are you going to do ?
THE PORPOIS5S rLAVBD AROI'NO TUB MAT,
, and put the
.asked Rem-
M N A N 1 1 \ I H M ) K. 1
71'
Bfn. siirpri-sott ti\ the suililoii activity of his com-
panions. " Arc n't wc jjoinj; lionic?"
"If wc can (;ct there!" answered Uavc.
•• We 've missed the inlet, fooling around with those
plaguy porpoises; can't make it witli wind dead
against us, and now we must push for inside the
Hook, and then work our way home as best
dirty-white foam came dancing; by, cm ihc surface
of the sea. At the same instant, the wind died out
with a lonj; sij;h, and a flat c.ihn fell upon the
water. The boat lost way, and her head swung
slowly roun<l and pointed toward the open ocean,
Tlie tide had turned.
"Out sweeps!" cried David, dropping the jib
and letting the mains^iil run down at the same
time. "Take an oar. Rem. 1 Ml pull against you
ami Smalley. (iive way for your lives, fellows I
liend to it now, smartly ! "
The boys pulleil with a will, and once more the
boat began to crawl up toward the black buoy.
The tide w.as beginning to run strong, however,
and it rci|uired their utmost exertions to force the
heavy boat against it. She moved slower and
slower as she nearcd the goal, and David had to
urge the others by voice and example at every
stroke. Just as he was thinking, " We sh.dl inakc
it, after all," Rcmsen threw up his oar, exclaiming:
" 1 can't pull this thing; it hurts my hands,"
David's eighteen-foot sweep gave the boat a
sheer, the rushing current caught her under the
counter, and in an instant she w;is whirling out to
sea ten miles an hour.
Smalley broke out
They ran on at a lively gait for a mile
or two, but then the wind began to fall as
the sun sank behind the Highlands, and an
anxious sh.ndc came into David's frank face.
"Here, Rem," he said, "you take the
tiller, while I go for\\-ard and look for the
black buoy."
.As he stepped upon the forward locker,
he could see the buoy which marks the
point of Sandy Hook, about half a mile
ahcid, and, noting that it stood straight in
the water, he knew that the flood was full,
and in a few minutes the ebb tide would set
in. The boat still rippled along fairly well,
but the boom swung ominously to and fro
as the wind came in light pufls, each fainter
than the last. If the breeze would only hold
a few minutc-s to carry them inside the buoy,
they would bo all right. It might take them
some hours after that to reach hoine, but they
get there safe and sound before midnight. David
watched the sail and the buoy with the closest
attention. The black cylinder drew near and
nearer, and his hopes rose every moment. He
was actuallv counting the rivets on the side of the
buoy next the sun, when a long, crooked line of
LIGHT-SHIP, OFF SANDV HOOK.
in loud repro.ich and lamentation, hut " Marsc
Dave" had nothing to s;iy. He could not trust
himself to speak, and so, wisely, kept silent, vig-
742
ANDY HOOK TO THE LIGHT-SHIP.
orously setting about stowing tlio s;iils and making
everything snug aboard.
"What are we going to do now?" :usked
Remsen.
" Nothing."
'■ Where are we going?"
■' Nowhere."
" Come, you 're not going to stay here all night !
Let 's be going home."
" All night it is ! No home for us till to-morrow
morning ! "
When Remsen fairly understood that they must
stay out all night on the ocean in an open boat, he
was frightened out of his wits. He wanted to get
out the sweeps again, and try once more to pass
the black buoy, promising to pull twice as hard as
before ; but David said :
" Too late! the tide rips through there now like
a mill-race ! Twenty men could n't stem it ! "
As the "Alice " drifted out with the ebb, the twi-
light deepened into darkness, the land disappeared,
the stars shone in the sky wonderfully near and
bright, and the awful solemnity of solitude on the
sea encompassed the benighted \oung voyagers.
David was very anxious about his mother, and he
also had some fears of the storm signs noticed at
sunset ; but othc^^vise he and Smalls were com-
fortable enough, m.iking a hearty supper of sand-
wiches and crullers, and stowing themselves on the
thwarts, aftenvard, wrapped up for a nap. But
Remsen was too miserable to either eat or sleep.
He fretted and moaned incessantly, — was so un-
reasonable, pettish, and absurd that the others lost
all patience, and finally paid no more attention to
his complaints.
During the evening, the wind rose again, and,
backing round to the south-east, began to blow
quite heavily. This wind against tide made an ugly,
chopping sea, which pitched the "Alice" about
with a sharp, jerking motion, exceedingly trying to
any one unaccustomed to the water. The two
'longshore boys did not mind it, but the city-bred
youth was made deathly sick. He h.id made so
much ado before, that no notice was taken of him
for a long time, and he lay neglected on the stern-
sheets, tumbled about from side to side, as the
boat tossed and twisted in the sea; sick, bruised,
frightened, thinking he surely should die — the most
forlorn and wretched object imaginable. After a
time, David discovered that the limp heap on the
locker, wet, draggled, and half unconscious, was
really Rem Wilson in distress, and he accordingly
lx;stirred himself to extend help. But it was very
difficult to do anything for the patient. He slid
off the locker and rolled around in the bottom of
the boat, too dolefully sick to know or to care what
was going on about him. David was troubled.
and knew not what to do, until, .after a while,
Smalley had a bright idea, as, indeed, he often had.
" Dere 's de light-ship off to wind'ard," said
that diminutive person; "let 's get 'cm to take
him aboard and put him to bed."
.Accordingly, they made sail on the "Alice,"
trimmed her tiat, and ran down to the two great
globes of fire that showed «here the beacon-boat
lay.
" Light-ship, ahoy ! " hailed David, as they drew
alongside.
" Ay, ay ! " answered a gruff voice.
" If Ned Osborne is there, tell him Dave Throck-
morton wants to come on board."
Ned Osborne, the light-keeper, answered in
person, and, on David's explaining matters, he
rigged a whip used for taking in stores, and pres-
ently h.ad the sick boy safely slung from the boat
to the deck of the ship. Rem was then carried
below and put in a berth, where he was taken care
of as best he could be under the circumstances.
The boat was made fast, and the two other boys
were also gixen berths aboard the ship.
Next morning, Dave was astir before daylight,
and, finding the inv.alid unfit to be moved, he
decided to put off without him, as the wind was
rising and the stonn threatened to grow more vio-
lent. The cod-fisli were brought aboard from the
"Alice," a breakfast of fish, potatoes, and hard-tack
was shared with the watch on deck, and then the
seine-skiff was headed for home, under double-
reefed mainsail. The breeze w.is very stiff, and
the boat fairly flew through the water, making the
seven miles between the hght-ship and Sandy
Hook in half an hour. "
It was still early when the two boys reached the
house, and they found that Mrs. Throckmorton
had been waiting for them all night, walking the
floor most of the time in restless anxiety.
" 1 should n't have felt so bad about it," she said,
"but you were hardly out of sight when neighbor
Simmons came in with this letter he had brought
over from Port Washington the night before. It
is from Mr. Wilson, and he very decidedly forbids
Remsen's going outside the Hook before settled
summer weather. 1 can't understand why his
letter to Remsen and this one to me should be so
different. "
"1 can," said Dave; "Rem wrote that post-
script himself."
" Dear ! dear ! do you really think so ? "
" 1 thought so from the first, and now I feel sure
of it."
" Well, I look for his father this afternoon or
to-morrow, and then we '11 know. I wrote him
again by the firet mail yesterday."
Mr. Wilson arrived toward evening, as expected.
.i,.\
M I I.K\Vi;i:i) IM.A VTll I NCS.
743
and was very much alarmed and distrcsscil to find
his boy was otT on the light-ship. Hy that time
the stonn hati set in furiously, and there was noth-
ing to be done but wait lor better weather. When
asked as to tlie postseript, he merely shook his
head anil walketl i|uickly awa\- ; so there was very
little s;iid about it. .V terrific tempest raged on
land and sea for three days and nights, flinging
many a wreck ufxin the coast, and causing sad
destruction of property on shore, beside. Mr.
Wilson chartereil a sloop at Port Washington to
go otT to the light-ship ; but it was late on the
fourth day before they could venture to go out.
Just as they were getting under way, Snialley dis-
covered a sail coming up the river, which he de-
clared was Ned Osborne's cutler.
As the craft drew near, it proved to be Ned
Osborne, indeed, bringing the sick boy home.
The agonies he suffered on the liglit-sliip, his
terrible experience during the storm, and the
shame ami contrition he felt on coming back,
worked a wonderful change in Rem Wilson. He
looked like the ghost of his former self as they
carried him into the house.
"This will be a lesson for him tliat he 'II never
forget," said David.
And he never did, being a different and a better
bov from that dav fortli.
Mii.K\vi;i;i) ri..vv rmxii.s.
liv Kmma M. D.vvi-
V.
%
'I OST cv-
I ybody,
at some
time or
nther, has
■ , . ^ made the
V liL '• acquaint-
r^^jiy iKC of the milkweed,
>^HR^ t silkwccd, as I have
^ TTj _ ird it called.
A reason for each of
'ksc names is very af)-
iient. If you break
'ic stem, a sticky sub-
stance like milk nms
from it, which will stain
M>ur clothes. Why the
nt is also called silk-
ed, 1 shall explain to
1 presently.
I knew this weed very
II in New England
en 1 was a little girl.
July, it hangs out a
:~ter of small purple
lis, and later, after
uie blossoms have pone,
very large seed-pods are
fornud, uhicli ■^nnv to be several inches long, and
are pointed at the end opposite the stem. If these
pods were left on the plant until the seeds were
fully ripened, they would split open themselves,
and gradually the seeds would fly out, carrying
ttith ili.m iTiiiiigh of these silken threads, n^ tin.-
'*^l_,
as a spider's web, to float them on the wind for
miles away, perhaps. You must have seen them
many a time. The silk radiates in every direction
from the central seed, making a gauzy, filmy
sphere, with a small, dark center. The seeds
cluster .about the opening of the pod, until the
wind ])icks them out and carries them abroad,
but if you pick some of the pods when green,
and put them in a \ase where they are not
disturbed, the pod will open part way, like an
oyster-shell, and the fine silken threads, folded and
packed so closely in the center, will fly apart and
get out, in some way, so that after a while the pod
will be covered with a cloud of white. This is very
beautiful, and, if it stands in a corner out of the
way of sudden breezes, it will be likely to remain
so all winter. You now see why it is called silk-
weed.
My sister and I yearly collected several of these
silkwceds for our play-house by the stone-wall,
where we kept our bits of broken china, and trans-
formed the pods into domestic animals. Often, a
pod would be well shaped fcr a chicken, requiring
only feathers to be stuck into the pointed tail, and
the stem to be broken off short at the other end and
sharpened to represent the bill. Two sticks put in
served for legs, so that it would rest on these and
on the point of the tail. When we played that
Thanksgiving Day h.ad come, and wanted chick-
ens for dinner, we had only to pull out the tail-
feathers of a pair of " fowls," and, of course, take
off their legs ; and, when they were ready for the
table, instead of carving, we split open the pods,
:!•; you do those of the pea or bean, and behold!
744
UNDER A FLV -WHEEL.
(August,
there was the most toinptinjj-lookinj; " white " and
" dark " meat within. The white meat w;is fibrous,
hke silk, and lay in the center ; over it were flat
brown seeds, overlapping one another like the
shingles on a house-roof, and making our " dark
meat."
We not <inly transformed these pods into poultry,
but also into quadrupeds uf all sorts. I'ut in four
legs, a pair of horns, and a tail, and you have
\ our cow, and one, too, which really gives milk !
Leave off the horns, take a bit of your own hair to
use for a tail, and you have a horse.
Hut these are only a few hints, and 1 will let you
experiment for yourself this season, and find out
what you can do beyond lliis, in making animals
and other figures.
UNDER A 1- lv-\viii:]:l.
Bv Henry Ci.k.mkns Pearson.
It was ten o'clock in the morning. Every one
in the factory was at work. The clicking and
rattling of the lighter machinery, the groaning of
heavily laden shafts, the oily thud of hundreds of
cogs, mingled in busy din. The huge engine
sighed as, with its brawnx- arm of polished steel, it
impelled the main shaft to turn the wheels of the
factor).
Tom worked by the door, near the engine-room.
He could, therefore, easily see the engine and all
its surroundings. The interest of its rapid, cease-
less motion partly reconciled him to the fact that,
while most boys of thirteen were enjoying full lib-
erty outside, he was shut up within doors.
This morning, more than usually, he had been
watching the forbidden splendors of the engine-
room, for the engineer allowed no one in his sanc-
tum. The great machine fascinated Tom with its
easy grace of movement. His eyes dwelt long on
the neat finish of the hexagonal bolt-heads thai
gleamed about the cylinder. He tried to tell, from
his position, how full the glass oil-cups were, as
they flashed to and fro on the polished arm ; and
then his eyes rested on the fly-wheel that revolved
so gracefully in its narrow prison. Only one-half
of the wheel could he see at once, the other half
being below the floor, almost filling a narrow, rock-
lined cavity called the " pit."
As Tom watched the whirling spokes, it seeined
as if the mass of iron stood still, so swift wiis its
motion. He remembered that once the engineer,
seeing his interest in the machinery, had invited
him in, and that he had stood leaning over the
frail wooden guard, his face so close to the fly-
wheel that the wind from its surface blew back his
hair, while he looked down into the pit with wonder
and dread. He remembered asking the engineer
if he supposed any one could climb down there
while the engine was in motion. The answer had
come : "' There is n't a man in the factory that has
nerve enough, exen if there were room," — the
space between the wheel and the wall being hardly
a foot and a half in width.
The boy's eyes next wandered from the object
(jf his thoughts, and rested on the bright brass
ilomes of the force-pumps that occupied a brick
" settle " on one side of the room ; and then up to
the maze of pipes that crossed and recrossed above
the toiling machinery.
Suddenly, glancing down, he saw a little child
standing beneath the guard, close to tlie great fly-
wheel.
The engineer was nowhere in sight, and little
May w-as his only child. Tom's heart ga\e a great
leap. In an instant, he had scrambled down from
his perch, and was in the engine-room.
As he p;issed the door-way he w.is just in time to
see tlie child toddle forward and fall into the pit !
With an awful shudder, he waited to see the mon-
ster wheel spurn the baby-girl from its cruel sides ;
but no such sight came.
He dashed forward and looked into the pit.
She sat on the hard, rocky bottom, sobbing softly
to herself. The fall had not harmed her, yet
she was still in great danger. Any attempt to
move from her position would give the relentless
wheel another chance.
Tom slipped out of his brown "jumper." tore
off his light shoes, and stood inside the guard.
One eager look in the direction of the iron door
through which the engineer would come, and then
he began the descent. The great mass of iron
whirled dizzily close to his eyes ; the inclined plane
tlown which he was slowly sliding was covered tleep
with dust mingled with oil ; the thick, oily, damp
air, fanned by the heavy breeze from the wheel,
almost took his breath away. Where the curve of
the wheel was nearest, it almost brushed his clothes.
I N UKk A I- l.\ unit
745
\\ nil lu^ luck prcsM-il ti^;lu :i^.iinst the rocks, ho
slul liiiu II until his foci struck the liottoiu. And now
canu- the worst part of the ordeal — the iMiiuleriius
wlieel, sweeping in gidilv cur\es above him, so
affected his ner\es that his strength began to fail.
There was one space where the wheel curx-etl away
from a corner, mi he dropped on his knees there
and for an instant shut his .iching eyes.
The child was in the other corner of the pit,
sitting in an open space similar to that in which
Tom knelt. .-\s he looked past the terrible b.irrier,
she made a movement as if to stand up. That
brought back Tom's lleoing senses. If she should
her I. Ill .ij;.iin Miiii lui liitle hands and sobbed
harder than ever. Tiun crept on until he came so
near to the child that he could lay hold of her
ilress ; then he stopped. A strange, dizzy blur
kept throwing a veil over his eyes, and he tried in
vain to overcome a longing for sleep. He could
feel the ceaseless whirl of the great wheel, and it
made him .dnmst wild. Curious vagaries and half-
delirious fancies danced through his head. With
an effort he threw them off, and, raising his face
from the rocky couch, called for help.
Instantly, a dozen mocking voices from the sides
of till- pit lluii.j li.iik the rrv into his very lars.
'THE CEASELESS WHIRL
TMK UREAT WHEEL ABOVE
MADE HIM ALMOST WILD.
stand up, the wheel would strike her. Lying care-
fully flat upon the bottom of the pit, he began
slowly and cautiously to work his way beneath the
mass of living iron. He could feel t!'.e awful wind
raising his hair iis he crept along. Nearer and
nearer he came to the child and nearer to the curve
of the wheel. As he passed beneath it. an incau-
tious movement and a sudden "bum" on his shoul-
der showed that he had touched it.
The little one had not seen him at all yet. its she
had In-en silting and rubbing her eyes, but she
lrK>ked up now, and seeing the pale face streaked
■' trh oil and dust coming toward her, she covered
But the wheel caught the cry, and wliirled it away,
up into the engine-room, in distorted echoes, lie
called again, and the sounds seemed less terrible.
The little girl tried to get up, but he held to her
white dress and soothed her the best he could.
A moment later, he distinctly heard footsteps in
the engine-room, then he felt that some one was
looking into the pit, and then the clattering of the
piston in the einpty cylinder showed that the en-
j^nc was soon to stop.
Less swiftly, and at l.ist slowly and more slowly,
whirled Tom's massive jailer ; fainter and fainter
came the clatter of the piston, until both ceased.
746
UNDER A FLY-WHEEL.
(AUCl'ST,
and the engineer, with great beads of perspiration
on his white forehead, swung himself between the
harmless spokes of tlie fly-wheel and got down
close to the two prisoners.
" Is she hurt, Tom ?" he gasped.
" No. sir," said Tom, faintly. " If you 'd only
slop the fly-wheel, I 'd lift her out."
" It is stopped, my lad — it 's your dizzy head
that deceives you. Let me take my little May. ''
The engineer reached down and lifted his darling
up from the dust, and, holding her fast on one arm,
climbed out.
Tom lay still. He did not seem to care, since the
little one was safe and the fly-wheel had stopped.
He felt a fearful weariness stealing over him. He
would like to sleep a year.
The engineer was by his side a moment later,
asking if he was hurt.
'■ No, sir, I think not; — only a little tired," said
Tom, and slowly and wearily his eyes closed.
Without another word, the strong man lifted him
up from the rocky floor and its foul air, and, climb-
ing again by the spokes of the fly-wheel, bore the
boy out of his dungeon. The air from the open
window soon cleared the " sleepiness " .iway, and
he was able lo tell the whole story. The engineer
gr.Tsped his hand, but he could not speak, and
there were tears in his eyes.
Many were the words of praise from the sturdy
workmen that crowded in from the "steel works"
to see wh\' the engine had stopped. Tom was the
liero of the day.
When the superintendent heard of it, he sent for
a hack and had Tom taken home in style, with a
comfortable little present in his pocket, and the
permission to be out until he should feel all right
again. It took about a week to clear the dizzy
feeling entirely away, and at the end of that time
he was working at his machine just as if he had
never been under a fly-wheel.
Thkrk w.is an old woman who lived by the se.a.
And she was as merry as merry could be.
She did nothing but carol from morning till night,
And sometimes she caroled by candle-light.
She caroled in time and she caroled in tune,
liut none cared lo hear siive the man in the moon.
CAMPS.
747
Al'AI'IKK IIV r.. It. llAklll I 1.
Ills fascinating g.unc, which
cm be played by httlc
children with great pleas-
ure and |)r<iru, h.is capa-
bilities well worthy of close
attention from the wisest
and keenest wits. It is a
descendant of the old-
fishioned Twenty-Ques-
tion amusement, and was
designed to do away with
the objeetion.ible points
of it, and to introduce,
at the same time, the in-
terest of movement, which
it Kicked. .Ml players of
'■ Twenty Questions" will
admit that it often be-
comes dull through long
delay in asking and an-
sweringquestions, thesub-
tlcties of which seldom fail to provoke tedious argu-
ment, sometimes ending in disagreeable disputes.
The rules of this game wholly prevent delay or
argument, and every player is kept busy all the time,
inste.id of impatiently waiting for his turn to play.
Si\ players are required for the game, but the
more the better, as the number of camps is only
limited by the size of the play-ground, and the
number of contestants in each camp can vary from
two to twenty.
The best arrangement of rooms for this game,
when played in-doors, is to find two rooms con-
nected by a small hall, as it is better to have the
camps out of ear-shot of each other.
In mild weather, "Camps" m.ikes an excellent
outdoor game for country or sea-side, and
picnic parties may be specially arranged for the
purpose. These may be made picturesque by
providinjj the different camps with bright flags,
bearing some appropriate number or device, to
dt-signate each camp, and these the victors proudly
wave in token of triumph. The embass.adors
also must be provided with white flags of truce,
and the generals, or commanders, may wear bright
scarfs, or rosettes, as badges of office. Lawn-
tents m.iy also be utilized as he.ad-quarters, and
these, with gay streamers and banners, will add
liveliness to the effect.
To begin the game, all meet and choose one
general for each side. These two are to serve as
umpires, for the immediate settlement of all dis-
puted questions; and they, also, are to send out
such embassadors as they think best, and to
assume the whole management of their respective
sides. They draw lots for the first choice of camps
and followers, and each chooses, in turn, one person,
until all the players are divided. The companies
then march, with uplifted flags, to take possession •
of their respective camps, when all sit in compact
groups around the generals.
Each side, or rival camp, then sends out an
embassador with a flag of truce ; these two persons
meet midway between the two camps, which should
be as far apart .ns possible, as it is important that
the conversation should not be heard by the groups.
These embassadors choose some object which can
be definitely described, no matter how remote or
obscure, from fact, history, or legend. As soon .as
the object is agA.'ed upon, each embassador repairs
to the camp opposed to the one from which he was
sent, and announces, in a loud voice, the kingdom
to which the object belongs, either animal, mineral,
or vegetable ; or, if composed of parts of these, he
mentions that fact. He must then answer, with
perfect clearness, .all questions, .as nearly as he can
in their order, and as rapidly as possible, making
no puns, equivocations, or unnecessary delays,
which is pretty hard to do siitisfactorily, as a deluge
of questions is poured upon him from the excited
players in wild confusion. The camp which first
guesses the correct word claims as a prisoner the
embassador from whom it was guessed, and also
recalls the one sent out from it.
The word chosen must have a definite dcsign.a-
tion; as, for instance> \.\\c JirsI bean planted by
J.ack for his bean-stalk, the /<// ear of the Troj.in
horse, or the last or middle word i:i the Magna
Charta, etc.
New cmbass.adors are sent forth with varying
success, and as soon .as one camp captures a pris-
oner, its triumph is announced by loud clapping of
hand"- and by waving of flags. Sometimes these
sounds of victory arise almost simultaneously from
l>oth camps, in which case the c|uestion of prece-
dence becomes a difficult one for the leaders to
settle ; and, to avoid dispute, when the matter is in
doubt, the decision may be made by drawing lots.
748
In n very large company, it is better to have an
even number of camps, to arrange them in hne
opposite each other, .ind to have major-generals in
command of the lines of camps, one on each side.
4\c lines playinj; a^jainst each other. The he.nds
of each line of camps work under the major-gen-
or.U of their own side, who may send reenforce-
mcnts from one c.imp to another that is weakened
by loss of embassadors. In these great games, it
is best to play against lime, and to consider as vic-
torious (he side that has the most men at the expi-
ration of an hour, or whatever time may be fixed by
the major-generals for the duration of the contest.
In a small game of only two camps, the victory
rests with the camp which has taken all the players,
excepting the le.ider, from the opposing camp. It
often happens tl-.at a camp is reduced to but two
players, and, since one must go as an embassador,
only one remains to guess the word ; but, if he is
skillful, his camp slowly grows, until, one by one.
he succeeds in winning at the last by capturing all
his adversaries.
Now and then, among older and more practiced
players, it may be found an interesting variation
to prohibit the .isking of any question that can not
be answered by saying only " yes" or " no."
The most out-of-the-way and curious objects are
often guessed by experienced players in a few mo-
ments, and, as both sides arc always kept actively
at work, the fun never flags, for the prisoners are
welcomed with the wildest enthusiasm by the con-
<|uerors. Cipturcd embassadors must give their
best efforts to their conquerors, so that party strife
may be prevented and h;irmony may jirevail.
ADVENTUKKS OK AN ANGdRA CAT.
749
si.L'.Min:R S()\(,.
By Cklia TiiAxri k.
In the winjjM cridlc of sleep 1 l.iy
My darling gentl> ilown :
Kissed and closed are his eyes of gray,
I'nder his curls' brij;hl crown.
Where, oh where, will he fly an<l float,
In the winged cradle of sleep.'
Whom will he meet in the worlds remote,
While he slumbers soft and deep?
Warm and sweet as a white blush rose.
His small hand lies in mme,
Hut 1 ran not follow him where he go'-'Si
And he gives no word nor sign.
Keep him safe, ye heavenly powers.
In dream-land vast and dim !
Let no ill, through the night's long hours.
Come nigh to trouble him.
Give him back, when the dawn shall break.
With his matchless b.nby charms.
With his love and his beauty all awake,
Into my happy arms I
THK TRL'l'; .\i)\'i:XTrRI'..S 0\- AX .\N(,<)R.\ CAT.
U\ ,\xxv T. RAM).\l.l.-I)li:ni..
I AM over on the next page.
Do you know what I am ? Cover up my head
and I know you will say 1 am a dog, with long,
shagg)' hair, just because I hate dogs ! Cover up
all but my head, and you will s;iy I am a cat.
Would you like to hear my story ?
When I was a wee white kitten, away otT in the
interior of Asia, a gentleman came and told my
mother that he wanted two of her little ones to
carr>' to America, a country quite on the other
side of the world. My mother was at first very
unwilling to part with us, but the gentleman soon
won her over by telling how pretty we were, how
long w.Ts our soft, white fur, and how we should be
admired by evcrylxxly in that far-otT land.
I wanted my mother to say yes, for ! longed to
sec the world, and to go to a place where I should
have so much attention paid me. I w.is only a
kitten then, and I trust all my vanity has disap-
peared with my youth.
.At last my mother consented, and after giving us
much good aH\ice about ket'ping our eyes and ears
open, and making us promise to Ix: kind and
loving to each other, and never, never to forget
her, she mewed an affection.ilc farewell.
In honor of our dear native home, Angora, the
kind gentleman gave me the name of Angle, and
called my companion (lora.
How do vou think we traveled ? We were
placed in a basket, which was slung upon the side
of a camel. The camel is a queer creature. Ik-
goes jolting forward and backward, and whoever
rides upon his back goes up and down, up and
down, until he is shaken almost into jelly. Some-
body has called the camel "the ship of the desert,"
because he carries the treasures over the sandy
waste; but dora and I thought he was rightly
named from another cause, for we were ,-is sea-sick
as afterivard wc became upon the ocean. Having
crossed the desert and arrived at the co.ast. we were
placed in a box on shipboard, where we had a little
more room, but still we were not \ery comfortable.
Our companions on the voyage were scxeral
hundred cashmere goats, only interesting to us
because they, too, were brought from our old
home. Angora. They were always hooking and
kicking each other, and when they organized a
concert, their music w.as hideous.
Week after week passed, and many and many a
time I wished myself safely back within reach of
my mother's paw. Cora would often look at me
pitifully, and then burst into a prolonged mew.
That went to my he.irt like a dagger ; for when 1
had begged our mother to let us go, p)oor (iora h.nl
set up her voice against it. At last we landed in
California, and our life in the new world Ix-gan.
For several months we lived in the city of San
Francisco. It all seemed new and strange, yet
75°
ADVENTURES OF AX ANGORA CAT.
»c won- glad i:( :it least one thini; : while the
people talked so cjueerly that we could not under-
stand a word, the cats, dojjs, horses, and mules of
America used the very same language that those
of Asia use. It i> strange that cats should have
an advantage over men. but they seem to, in
speech. My m:ister studied a great many lan-
guages,— lie had to h.ive a different one for nearly
every land he visited, — but we cats have a universal
tongue the wiile world over.
.\ftcr a while, we were again put in a box and
carried upon shipboard ; but this time the journey
was short, and in a few weeks we landed in the
great city of New York. \Vhat a noise ! what a
confusion of noises! Here wc were soon taken to
a very pretty house, and dora was decked with a
pink ribbon, tied around her neck, while 1 wore a
blue one. Wc frolicked and played to our hearts'
content, only M.aster never would let us go out-of-
doors — not even into the back yard — without hav-
ing somebody to lead us, for he said wc were each
worth more than .a hundred dollars in gold, and
somebody might be prowling about to steal us
away.
Then came the sad day when Cora went to
Washington, and I was left alone.
I had not long to be lonely, though, for in ;i
little while Mr. liarnum came, and invited me to
spend a little time at his great museum. I becann
a member of hb "Happy Family"; but 1 shall
not tell the professional secret of how 1 — who
always had a keen tooth for a bit of fresh meat —
learned to let a canary perch upon my head, whu.
mice run o\cr my paws, and a rabbit sit by iiv.
side, without an attempt to eat any of them.
We were a queer cage-full, and for many months
crowds of people came to sec us. But, one day,
some good angel must have whispered to my
master to take me away. That very night, when
I was safely sleeping upon a cushion at the foot of
his bed, the museum caught fire. Oh, how the
lions and tigers roared ! and how the poor mon-
keys chattered ! Hut there was no escape for any
of them. Nearly all the animals, including every
one of my companions of the " Happy Family,"
were burned to cinders.
I heard M.aster read it all in the newspapers the
next morning, and 1 purred about him, and rubbed
my head against his hand, by way of thanking him
for saving my life.
Soon after this escape, I started for Washington
to m.ake (iora a visit, and upon this journey a sad
thing befell me. As the distance was not very great,
my master did not put me in a box, but carried me
in his arms. While our cars were stopping at a
station, another train, with its fiery engine at its
head, went thundering by ; 1 was frightened quite
out of my wits at its sudden appearance, and as
the window was o]x;n. 1 sprang out and started for
the nearest w<x)ds. My poor m.aster, who had
brought me so many miles by land and sea, felt so
bad that he stopped at the next town and offered
twenty dollars reward for my recovery.
Twenty dollars !
Whew ! W;is n't every boy in town upon the
search ? while many people said :
'• What a silly man ! No cat in .all the world is
worth so much ! "
You should have seen the lucky fellow who
caught me. Did n't his eyes sparkle when the
crisp bank-note w,as put into his hand !
So I reached W.ashington safely, after all, but
not in time to sec my darling Cora. .A few days
before, she h.ad been suddenly taken ill, and
although she was dosed with cat-mint and care-
fully nursed, the disease proved fatal.
I can not tell you how I mourned over my lost
sister. For a long time 1 mewed all day and
howled at night with uncontrollable grief.
Hut my story is already too long for your
patience. 1 am now an old cat, and h.ave jour-
neyed over a great part of the world. Such an
.aversion have I to any more traveling that, when-
ever a wooden box is brought into the room. 1
fancy that I am again to be sent u|)on a journey,
and 1 retreat under the sofa, thrust my claws into
the carpet, and cling there for dear life.
now MISS JKNKINS "(.(ir (II I <>1
751
now MISS ji:xKi\s -cot out ov it."
liv Mary C. Haktuki 1.
I r was " ttriliriijaftcmtwn," — saitl Miss Jenkins, —
anil my scholars were now. If yon liacl ever been a
teacher, my dear, you woiiltl realize what the com-
bmalion of those two simple facts implies — the
weariness of botiy and the utter vexation of spirit.
First, there 's the holding,' of the pen. If there 's
one thint; more than another in which scholars
exhibit their own originality, it is in manajjing a
pen-holder. I 've counted one-and-forty different
ways, among as many boys, more than once —
each sepiirate way quite different from what 1 had
taught them live minutes before.
Then, the ink: To some it was simply ink,
nothing more. To others it seemed an irresistible
tempter, whispering of unique designs, grotesque
or otherwise, to be worked out upon desk or
jacket, or perhaps upon the back of one small
hand.
Well, upon the afternoon of which I am going
to tell you, 1 had h.id more correcting to do than
usual, for some of the scholars were stupid, and
could n't do .is 1 wished ; and others were careless,
and did n't try. What with the looking, and stoop-
ing, and continual showing, I felt my patience
giving way, and when 1 saw that three of the
largest boys had left the page upon which they
should have been practicing, and were making
"unknown characters" in different parts of their
books, I lost it utterly.
"That 1 Ti'/V/ not have," said I, sharply. "I
will punish any boy who makes a mark upon any
but the lesson-page."
They were very still for a while. Nothing w.ns
heard but the scratch, scratching of the pens, and
the sound of my footsteps .ns I walked up and
down the aisles. Involuntarily, 1 found myself
studying the hands before me .ts if they had been
faces. There was Harry Sanford's. large and
plump, but fl.-ibby withal, and not over clean.
His " n's" stood weakly upon their legs, seeming
to feel the need of other letters to prop them up.
Walter Lane's, red and chapped, with short,
stubbed fingers, nails bitten off to the quick, had
yet a certain air of sturdy dignity ; and his " n's,"
if not handsome, were certainly plain, and looked
as if they knew their place, and meant to keep it,
too.
Tommy Silver's, long and limp, besmeared
with ink from palm to nail, \-ainly strove to keep
time with a tongue which wagged, uncertainly.
this way and that, and which should h.ive hein
red, but w.is black, like the fingers. His "n's"
had neither form nor comeliness, and might have
stood for " v's," or even " x's," quite :is well.
Then there was Hugh Hright's hand, hard and
rough with work, holding the pen ;is if it never
meant to let it go ; but his " n's " «vrt' " n's," and
could by no possible chance be mistaken for any-
thing else.
At length I came to Krank Dunbar's desk^-dear
little Krank, who had been a real help and comfort
to me since the day when he bashfully knocked at
my door, with books and slate in hand. His hand
w.is white and shapely ; fingers spotless, nails im-
maculate, and his "'n's" — but what w.ns it that
sent a cold chill over me as I looked at them ?
Ah, my dear, if 1 should live a thousand years, 1
could never tell you how 1 felt when I found that
Frank Dunbar had written half a dozen letters
upon the opposite page of his copy-book !
'• Why, Frank," said I, " how did that happen ? "
"I did it."
" You did it before I spoke?" s.iid I, clinging to
a forlorn hope.
" No, 'm ; 1 did it afterward. I forgot."
" Oh, Frank ! my good, good boy ! How could
you ? Don't you see that I shall h.ave to punish
you ? "
" Yes, 'm," — the brave blue eyes looking calmly
up into my face.
"Very well; you may go to the desk."
He went, and I walked the aisles again, — up and
down, up and down, giving a caution here or a
word of advice there, but not knowing, in the least,
what I was about. My thoughts were all with the
flaxen-haired culprit, who stood bravely .twaiting
his penalty.
Vainly 1 strove to listen to my inward monitor.
It seemed suddenly to have become two-voiced, —
the one tantalizing, the other soothing, — and. of
course, the tones were conflicting.
" You must punish him," said one,
" You must n't," said another.
" He descr\-es it."
" He docs n't."
" He disobeyed you flatly."
"But he forgot — and he has always been so
good."
" Hut you promised. You have given your
word. Here are thirtv bovs to whom vou should
752
ll'iW MISS JENKINS "GOT OUT OF IT.
1)C an example. Do you think they an- ni>t watih-
ing you ? I.imk at them I "
I did look at them. Waller Lane's sharp black
eyes and Harry .Sanford's sleepy orbs were fixed
curiously upon me. Nor were these all. Crray
eyes, blue eyes, h.izel and brown eyes, — all were
regarding me intently : 1 almost fancied that they
looked at me pityingly. 1 could not bear it.
"Attend to your writing, boys." Then I walked
slowl) up to the desk.
" You see how it is," said the troublesome voice.
" You will certainly have to punish him."
But 1 had thought of a possible plan of escape.
" Frank," said I, " you have been disobedient,
and — you know what 1 said, but — you are such a
good boy that 1 can not bear to punish you — not in
that way, 1 mean. You inay go to the foot of \ our
class instead."
"I'd rather take the whipping. " The honest,
upturned face was very sober, but betrayed not the
least sign of fear, nor was there the slightest sus-
picion of a tremble in the clear, childish voice.
" Bless your brave little heart," thought I. " Of
course you would ! I might have known it." and
again I walked the aisles, up and down, thinking,
thinking.
'■ You will have to do it," repeated the voice.
" There is no other way."
" 1 can not, — oh, I laii'i," I groaned, half .iloud.
" The good of the school requires it. You must
sacrifice your own feeling and his."
" Sacrifice his feelings ! Loyal little soul ! — good
as gold, and true .as steel."
" No matter, you »tus/ do it."
" I wont !"
I walked quickly to the desk, and struck the bell.
The children looked wonderingly. " Listen to me,
boys," said I. " You all know that Frank Dunbar
is one of our best scholars."
" Yes 'm, yes 'm I " came from all parts of the
room, but two or three of the larger boys sat silent
and unsympathetic.
" You know how ambitious he is in school, and
what a little gentleman, always."
"Yes'm. That's so. We know." Only two
unsympathetic faces now ; but one of them, that of
a sulky boy in the corner, looked as if its owner
were mentally saying : " Can't think what you 're
driving at, but 1 '11 never give in — never."
" N'ou all know how brave he w.as when Joe
Willis dropped his new knife between the boards
of that unfinished building on Corliss street. How
he did what no oilier boy in school would do — let
himself down into the cellar, and groped about in
ihe dark until he found it for him."
" We know that — yes 'm. Hurrah for "
" Stop a minute. One thing more."
Sulky-boy's companion w;is shouting with the
rest, and Sulky-boy's own face had relaxed.
•' You all know," said I, " how he took care of
Willie Randall when Willie hurt himself upon the
ice. How he drew him home upon his own sled,
going very slowly and carefully that poor Willie
might not be jolted, and making himself late to
school in consequence."
"Yes'm. Yes, ma'am. Hoo-ray for lillle Dun-
bar I " Sulky-boy was smiling now, and I knew
that my cause was won.
" N'ery well," said I. "Now let us talk about
to-day. He has disobeyed me, and — of course I
ought to punish him."
" No 'm, you ought n't. Don't i)unish him ! We
don't want him whipped ! "
" But I have given my word. It will be treating
you all unfairly if I break it. He has been such
a good, true, faithful boy that 1 should like very
much to forgive him, but 1 can not do it unless
you are all willing."
" We 're willing. We '11 give you leave. We '11
forgive him. We '11 "
" Stop ! 1 want you to think of it carefully for
a minute. 1 am going to leave the matter alto-
gether with you. 1 shall do just as you say. If.
at the end of one minute by the clock, you are sure
you forgive him, raise your hands."
My dear, you should have seen them ! If ever
there was expression in human hands, I saw it
in theirs th.at day. Such a shaking and snapping
of fingers, and an eager waving of small palms, —
breaking out at last into a hearty, simultaneous
clapping, and Sulky-boy's the most denionstrati\e
of .all !
"Disorderly," do you say? Well, perhaps it
was. We were too much in earnest to think of
that. 1 looked at Frank. His blue eyes were
swimming in tears, which he would not let fall.
As for me, 1 turned to the bl.ickboard, and put
down some examples in long division. If I had
made all the divisors larger than the dividends, or
written the numerals upside down, it would not
have been at all strange, in the circumstances.
And the moral of this — concluded Miss Jenkins
(she had just been reading " Alice in Wonder-
land ") — is that a teacher is human, and a human
being docs n't always know just what to do.
riiK i:i.K AND riii: si'ini k.
753
Till': i;l1' AM) riii: srii)i:R
Hv M. M. 1).
Perched on a stool of the fairy style.
An elf-boy worked with a mischievous smile.
"That careless spider!" said he, "to leave
His web untinished! But I can sew:
I '11 spin, or sew, or darn, or weave —
Whatever they call it — so none will know-
That his spidership did n't complete it himself.
Or I 'm a very mistaken young elf ! "
Well, the wee sprite sewed, or wove, or spun,
Plying his brier and gossamer thread;
And, quick as a ripple, the web, all done,
Vou VIII.— 48.
Was softly swaying against his head
As he laughed and nodded in joyful pride.
Ho! ho! it 's done!
Ha ! ha ! what fun !
And then he felt himself slowly slide —
Slide and tumble — stool and all —
In the prettiest sort of a fairy fall!
Up he jumped, .is light as air;
But oh, what a sight.
What a sorry plight —
The web w.is caught in his sunny hair I
When, prato .' on sudden invisible track.
754
PHAETON ROGERS.
Thai horrible spider came lumbering back
" Who's hken at mv wEii? Whai
CoMK. ON !"
And hf knotted for tinlit,
The horrid friRht !
But the elf w;is gone —
Poor, friphtcned fay !
Nothing; was seen but a tattered sheen.
Trailing and shining upon the green.
Kut all that night, with dainty care,
.•\n elf s.it tugging .iway at his hair.
And 'i is whispered in Klf-land to this day
That any spider under the sun
May go and leave his web undone,
With its filmy thread-end swinging free
Or tied to the tip of a distant tree,
With never a fear that elfin-men
Will meddle with spider-work again.
I'lIAKTOX R()GI':R.S.
Bv Rossi ri.K Iohnson.
Chai'ikr .WII.
how a church kli:\v a kiik.
As SOON" as possible, Phaeton went down town
with his drawing in his pocket, and hunted up the
office of the chief-engineer. This, he found, w.is
in the engine-house of Deluge One, — a car|)eled
room, nearly filled with arm-chairs, having at one
end a platform, on which were a sofa and an
octagonal desk. The walls were draped with
flags, and bore several mottoes, among which were
'■ Ever Ready," "Fearless and Free," and ''The
Path of Duty is the Path of C.lory." Under the
last w.TS a huge silver trumpet, hung by a red cord,
with large tassels.
This was the room where the business meetings
of Deluge One were held, and where the chief-
engineer had his office. But the young men who
were now playing cards and smoking here told
Phaeton the chief-engineer was not in, but might
be found M .Shumway's.
This was a large establishment for the manu-
facture of clothing, and when Phaeton had finally
hunted down his man, he found him to be a
cutter. — one of several who stood at high tables
and cut out garments for the other tailors to make.
" I 've come to consult you about a machine,"
said Phaeton.
"How did you happen to do that?" said the
chief-engineer.
" A friend of mine — a railro.id man — advised me
to," said Ph.ieton.
"Clever fellers, them railroad men," said the
chief-engineer; "but what 's your machine for?"
'• For putting out fires," said Phaeton.
"One of them gas arrangements, 1 supp>ose,"
said the chief-engineer, — " dangerous to the lives
of the men, and no good unless it 's applied in a
close room before the fire begins."
•• I don't know what you mean by that," said
Phaeton ; " but there 's no gas about mine."
The chief-engineer, who all this time h.id gone
on cutting, laid down his shears on the pattern.
" Let 's see it," said he.
Phaeton produced his drawing, spread it out
before him, and explained it.
" Why, boy," said the chief-engineer, " you
could n't — and yet, perhaps, you could — it never
would — and still it might — there would be no — but
I 'm not so sure about that. Let me study this
thing."
He planted his elbows on the table, each side of
the drawing, brought his head down between his
hands, buried his fingers in the mass of his h.iir,
and looked intently at the picture for some min-
utes.
"Where did you get this?" said he, at Last,
" 1 drew it," said Phaeton ; " it 's my invention."
" And what do you want me to do .ibout it ? "
" I thought, perhaps, you could help me in get-
ting it into use."
"Just so! Well, leave it with me, and 1 '11
think it over, and you can call again in a few d.iys."
Phaeton did call again, and w.is told that the
chief-engineer was holding a meeting in the engine-
house, doing over to the engine-house, he found
it full of men, and w.is un.iblc to get in. The
next lime he called, the chief-engineer told him he
" h.ad n't had time to look it over yet." Next
time, he w.is "not in." And so it seemed likely
to go on forc\er.
But meanwhile something else took place, which
called out Ph.acton's inventive powers in another
direction.
It happened that the pastor of the Baptist church,
in talking to the Sunday-school, dwelt especially
on Sabbath-breaking, .ind mentioned kite-flying as
one form of it.
"This very day," said he, "as I w.is coming to
Copyritjhl, i68u, by R.t^uler Juhn
All ridhtft mcrvctl.
llMl.l
IMIAKTON ROGERS.
755
church, I saw tlircc wicked l>o\s tlyirnj kites in the
public street, and one of them sits in this room
now."
A boy who knew whom the pastor referred to,
pointed out Monkey Roe.
As many of the school as could, turned and
stared at Monkey. The truth was, he had not
been tlying a kite ; but on his way to church he
passed two boys who were. It was the imiversal
practice— at that time and in that country, at le;ist
— when a boy was flying a kite, for every other
boy who passed to ask "how she pulled?" and
then he generally would take the string in his
hand a moment to see.
If she pulled hard, the flyer was rather proud to
have his friends ask the question and make the test.
In fact, 1 suppose it would hardly have been polite
not to .isk.
Monkey had just .iskcd this interesting (|uestion,
and had the string in his hand, when the pastor
hapi)cned to pass by and see the group. Of course
it would have been well if he could have stood up
in the Sunday-sch(X)l, and simph- told the fact.
Hut he was not the sort of boy who could do such
a thing, at any time, and he was especially unable
to now, when he was taken by surprise and felt that
an outrage had been committed against his charac-
ter and reputation.
Hut perhaps the p.istor was not much at fault.
He had probably been bom and brought up in a
breeieless coimtry where kite-flying was unknown,
and therefore was ignorant of its amenities.
Just before the school closed. Monkey was struck
with a mischievous idea.
■• I prophesy," said he to the pastor's son, who
sat next to him, •' that this church will fly a kite all
day next Sunday."
" I should be delighted to see it." said the pas-
tor's son.
rCarly Monday morning. Monkey went over to
Dublin, and found Owney (icoghegan, who had
ch.iscd and found one of the kites that drew Ph.ac-
ton's m.-ichine. Monkey obtained the kite, by
trading a j.ick-knife for it, and carried it home.
Every day that week, .as soon as school was out, he
took it to a large common on the outskirts of the
town, and flew it. He thoroughly studied the dis-
position of that kite. He experimented continually,
and found just what arrangement of the bands
would make it pull most evenly, just what length
of tail would make it stand most steadily, and just
what weight of string it would carry best.
It occurred to him that an appropriate motto
from Scripture would look well, and he applied to
J.ick-in-thc-Hox for one, taking care not to let him
know what he wanted it for. Jack suggested one,
and Monkey borrowed a marking-pot and bnish.
and inscribed it in Ixijil letters across the face of the
kite.
Finally he procured a good ball of string, a long
and strong lish-line, and a small, flat, light wooden
hoop, which he covered with tin-foil, obtained at
the tobacco-shop.
Saturday night, Monkey's mother knew he was
out, but not what he was about, and wondered why
he staid so late. If she had gone in search of
him, she might have found him in Independence
Square, moving about in a very mysterious man-
ner. The Haptist church, which had a tall, slender
spire, ending in a lightning-rod with a single point,
faced this sc|uarc.
It was a bright, moonlight night, and it must
have been after eleven o'clock when Monkc\-
walked into the square with his kite, .accompanied
by Owney Cleoghegan.
Monkey laid the kite flat on the ground ne.ar one
corner of the square, stationed Owney by it, and
then walked slowly to the opposite corner, unwind-
ing the string as he went.
After looking around cautiously and making sure
that nobocK was crossing the square, he raised his
hand and gave a silent signal. Owney hoisted the
kite. Monkey ran a few rods, and up she went. He
rapidly let out the entire ball of string, and she
sailed away into space till she hovered like a niglrt-
hawk o\er the farthest corner of the sleeping city.
The Sunday-school room was hung round with
mottoes, printed on shield-shaped t.iblets, and
.Monkey had made copies of some of them on
similarly shaped pieces of paper, which he fastened
upon the string at inter\als as he let the kite up.
.Among them I remember " Look aloft ! " " Time
flies ! " and '" .Aspire ! "
Then Monkey took up the hoop, and tied the
string through a hole that was bored near one edge.
Through a similar hole on the opposite side of the
hoop, and near the same edge, he tied .about a yard
of comparatively weak string. To the end of this
he tied his long tish-line, which he carefully paid
out. The kite sailed still higher and farther away,
of course carrying the hoop up into mid-air, where
it was plainly visible as the tin-foil glittered in the
moonlight.
So far. Monkey's task h,ad all been plain mechan-
ical work, sure of success if only performed with
care. But now he had arrived at the difficult part
of it, where a great amount of patience and no lit-
tle sleight-of-hand were necessary. The thing to
be done was, to let out just enough string for the
kite to carry the hoop exactly .as high as the top of
the steeple.
It took a vast dc.il of letting out. and w inding in,
walking forward, and walking backward, to accom-
plish this, but at List it seemed to be done. Then
!• HA ETON kftc; KKS.
he nuisl «.ilk back and fdrtli (ill hf had brought
the lioiip noi only on a li-vcl with the top of the
spire, but directly over it, which took more time.
As the strings were fasteiieil at one edge of the
hoop, of 1 i.iirse it remained const. intly horizontal.
When. .11 l.\bt, .Monkey had broiijjhl it exactly
over the point of the Ughtning-
rod, he slowly, carefully,
and very steadily
lowered the
hand in which
he held the
string down to the ground. The
hoop encircled and slid down
the rod, and, after two hours'
hard work, his task was virtu-
ally done. He had now only
to walk up to the church, and
gi\e a steady, hard, downward
pull at the fish-line, when the
weak piece of string that
fastened it to the hoop
snapped in two. Winding
up the fish-line, he slipped
it into his pocket, said
grtod-night to Owncy,
walked silently home,
and went to bed.
Sunday morning had
dawned beautifully, and
everybody in town, wlio
ever went to church at
all, prepared forchurch.
1-v"ry ,.— ?x \ 1 "" ^- ^* ''^'^ '™'^ ''"' services
f "^ 1 ' approached, the bells
I rang out melodiously :
I down every street, door
after door opened, as
individuals and families stepped forth, attired in
their best, and soon the sidewalks were full of peo-
ple passing in every direction.
Somebody discovered the kite, and pointed it
out to soincbody else, who stopped to look at it,
and attracted the attention of others; and thus the
news spread.
A few groups paused to gaze and wonder, but
most of the people p;issed on to their respective
churches.
Somebody told the liaptist pastor of it as he was
ascending the pulpit stairs.
" I 'II have it attended to," said he ; and, calling
the sexton, he ordered him to go at once and take
it down.
Easy to say, but impossible to do. The highest
point the sexton could reach was a good distame
below the top of the spire, and once there, he could
only poke his head out at .i little trap-door. The
appearance of his head at this
door was the signal for a derisive
shout from a group of
boys on the
sidewalk.
Hy the time the services
in the various churches were over,
and the ])eople on their way home,
nearly everybody in town had heard of
the phenomenon. They gathered in
small groups, and gazed at it, and talked
about it. These groups continually grew
larger, and frequently two or three of them coa-
lesced. They soon found that the best point to
view it from — considering the position of the sun,
.md other circumstances — was the south-west cor-
ner of the square ; and here they gradually gath-
ered, till there w.is a vast throng, with upturned
faces, gazing at the kite and its appendages, and
wondering how it got there.
It was amusing to hear the wild conjectures and
grave theories that were put forth.
One man thought it must have been an .tccident.
" Probably some boy in a neighboring town," he
said, "was flying the kite, when it broke away,
and, .as the string dragged along, it happened to
catch on that steeple."
.Another said he had read that in China grown-up
people flew kites, and were \ery expert at it.
" Depend upon it," said he, "you 'II find there 's
a Chinaman in town."
.Another presumed it was some new and ingen-
ious method of advertising. " Probably at a cer-
tain hour," said he, "that thing will burst, and
scatter over the town a shower of advertisements
of a new baking-powder, warranted to raise your
bread .as high .as a kite, or some other humbug."
Still another sagacious obser\-er maintained that
it might be merely an optical illusion, — a thing
having no real existence. " It may be a mirage,"
said he; "or perhaps some practical joker has
made a sort of magic-lantern that projects such an
image in mid-air."
Patsy Rafferty happened to see a lady sitting at
her window, and looking at the kite through an
opera-glass. Immediately he w.is struck with an
idea, and ran otT home at his best speed. His
mother was out visiting a neighbor ; but he did n't
need to call her home ; he knew where she kept
his money.
Cioing straight to the pantry, he climbed on a
ch.air and took down what in its day had been an
elegant china tea-pot, but was now useless, because
75 7
tlu' spout «.is briiki'u i)ii. IhrustiniJ in his haiui.
he drew mil the inonoy which the clown h:ul col-
Icctcil for him from the crt>wcl on the tow-path, —
every cent of it, excepting the crossed shilhng, the
Iwgus quarter, the brass buttons, and the lempiT-
ancc mitlal. Then he ran to a pawnbroker's shop,
t>efore which he hail often stooti and studied the
•'unredeemed pledjjes" there displayed.
The pawnbroker, whose Sabbath was the sev-
enth day, s.it in the open tloor, smoking a pipe.
"How much for a spy-glass.'" said I'atsy, ;\.s
soon iis he could get his breath.
"Come inside," said the pawnbroker. "This
one I shall sell you for five dollars — very cheap."
.And he h.mded Patsy an old binocular, which
really had ver)' powerful glasses, though the lubes
were much battered. Palsy pointed the instru-
ment outdoors, and looked through il.
" Oh, Moses ! " said he, .as a dog larger than an
elephant ran across the field of vision.
'' Sir.' " said the pawnbroker.
" I can't buy it," said Patsy, with a sigh, laying
It upon the counter.
"Why not?" said the pawnbroker.
" I have n't enough money," said Patsy.
"How much you have got?" said the |mwn-
broker.
" Three dollars and eighty-four cents."
" .\nd you don't get some more next Saturday
night ? " said the pawnbroker.
" No," said Patsy.
" Well, you .are a good boy," s.-iicl the pawn-
broker; "I can see that already; so I shall sell
you this fine gl.iss for three dollars and eighty-four
cents, — the very lowest price. 1 could not do it,
but I hope that I trade with you again some day."
Patsy put down the money in a hurry, took the
glass, and left the shop.
He went to where the crowd was giuing at the
kite, took a long look at it himself, and then
began renting out the glass at ten cents a look, at
which price he found plenty of eager customers.
When they looked through the glass, they read
this legend on the face of the kite :
X w s\\vv\.\. \\ivv-v: \,\v \^v\>v»\\v\.\vu-
\\.o\\. Wvv; Vv\.\.v. v.v'^Xcv \\'vs W\.\\v\..
1.1 \ 1 1 , \i.. 1 -,. 14.
When l\i|ily Duyir ^.iw the success of Patsy's
speculation, he thought he also had an idea, and
running home, he soon rc-appcarcd on the square
with a brge piece of newly smoked glass. Hut
nobody seemed to care to N-icw the wonder through
smoked glass, though he offered it at the low price
of "wan cent a look," and Teddy's investment w.as
hardlv remunerative.
thirteen dollars. He carried it all home, and, with-
out saying anything to his mother, slipped it into
the dis;ibled te.i-pol, where the money collected for
him by the clown had been kept.
The next day he quielly .isked his motlier if he
might have ten cents of his money to spend.
"No, Patsy," she answered, ''1 'm keeping that
.ig'in the day you go into business."
But Mrs. Rourke was present, and she pleaded
so eloquently Patsy's right to have " a little enjoy-
ment of what he had earned," that his mother
relented, and went to get it.
"Either my hands are getting weak," said she.
as she lifted it down, "or this tea-pot has grown
heavy."
She thrust her hand into it, uttered an exclama-
tion of surprise, and then turned it upside down
upon the table, whereupon there was a tableau in
the RalTerty family.
"I often heard," said Mrs. Rafferty, "that
money breeds money, but I never knew it bred so
fast as that."
She more than half believed in fairies, and was
proceeding to account for it as their work, when
Patsy burst out laughing, and then, of course, had
to tell the story of how the money came there.
"And so you got it be goin' after pawnbrokers,
and be workin' on Sunday ? " said his mother.
Patsy confessed that he did.
" Then I '11 have none of it," said she, and open-
ing the stove, was about to cast in a handful of the
coins, when she hesitated.
"After all," said she, " 't is n't the money that 's
done wrong; why should 1 punish it?"
.So she put it back into the tea-pot, and .adopted
a less expensive though more painful method of
teaching her son to respect the Sabbath.
In the bitterness of the moment. Patsy finnly
resolved that when he was a millionaire — .as he
expected to be some day — he would n't give his
mother a single dime. He afterward so far re-
lented, however, as to admit to himself that he
might let her have twenty thousand dollars, rather
than see her suffer, but not a cent more.
CiiAnF.R .Win.
AN EXTRA FOURTH OF JULY.
Dracon CraHAM h.ad predicted that "the wind
would go down with the sun," and then the kite
would fall. But the prediction was not fulfilled :
at least there seemed to be a steady breeze up
where the kite was, and in the moonlighted even-
ing it swayed gently to and fro. tugging at its
/:>'
I'llAKToN ROC.EkS.
string, and gracefully waving its pendulous Uiil.
All the young people in liiwn appeared to be walk-
ing out to see it, and tlie evening ser\'ices were very
slimly attended.
Monday morning, the trustees of the ehurch
began to take vigorous measures for the suppression
of the mysterious kite.
The cart of 1 look and Ladder No. I was wheeled
up in front of the church, and the longest two
ladders taken olT, spliced together, and raised with
great labor. But they fell far short of re.nching any
point from wliich the hoop that lield the kite couUl
be t<iuched.
" 1 hope you are satisfied," said the foreman
of the Hook-and-Ladder company to the trustees.
'■ 1 toUl you them ladders would n't reach it, nor
no others that you can get."
" V'es, I see," said Deacon Graham. ''1 sup-
posed the ladders were longer. ISut we 're very
much obliged to you and your men."
"You 're welcome," said the foreman, as the
men replaced the ladders on the cart. " And by
the way, Deacon, if you was thinking of sending a
dish of oysters and a cup of cotTee around to the
engine-house, I may say tliat my men prefer Sad-
dle-rocks and Java."
" Just so ! " said the Deacon. " I '11 send
Saddle-rocks and Java, if I send any."
One of the trustees suggested that the most
muscular of the firemen might go up in the steeple,
open the little trap-door, and from there throw
clubs at the string.
One of the firemen procured some sticks, about
such as boys like for throwing into chestnut-trees,
and went up and tried it. But the door was so far
below the top of the steeple, and the position so
awkward to throw from, that he did not even hit
the string, and after one of the clubs in descending
had crashed through the stained-glass sky-light of
a neighboring mansion, this experiment was aban-
doned.
The next plan brought forward consisted in
firing with rifles at the kite, the hoop, and the
string. The trustees looked up two amateur
huntsmen for this purpose.
.'\s there was a city ordinance against discharg-
ing fire-arms "in any street, lane, or alley, park,
or square of the said city," the trustees were obliged
to go first to the mayor and get a suspension of
the ordinance for this special purpose, which was
readily granted.
As soon :is the two huntsmen saw this in black
and white, they fired half a dozen shots. But they
did not succeed in severing the string or smashing
the hoop. Like .ill failures, however, they gave
excellent reasons for their want of success, explain-
ing to the trustees that there was a difference
between .t covey of partridges and a small hoop
on the top of a steeple. Their explanation was
so lucid that 1 feel confident the trustees under-
stood it.
■• In rifle-shooting," added one of the huntsmen,
•■you always have to make allowance for the wind,
and we can't tell how it may be blowing at the top
of that spire till we learn by experimental shots.
Hut we shall get the range after a while ; it 's only
a question of time."
What little ammunition they had with them w.is
soon exhausted, and JJe.acon Cirahani, who was
\ery excitable and oversensitive as to anything
connected with the church, rushed down town to
buy some more.
"How much pow<ler will you have?" said the
clerk.
"Ilnough to shoot a kite off from a steeple," said
the Deacon.
The clerk could n't tell how much that would
take — had not been in the habit of selling powder
for that purpose.
" Give me enough, then, .at any rate," said the
Deacon.
The clerk suggested that the best way would be
to send up a small keg and let them use as much
■as was necessary, the remainder to be returned.
To this the Deacon assented, and accordingly a
small keg of powder, with a liberal quantity ol
bullets and caps, was sent up at once, — all to be
charged to the account of the church.
At the first shot, the boys had begun to gather.
When they found what was going on, that the
ordinance was suspended, and that ammunition
was as free as the gospel, they disappeared one
after another, and soon re-appeared, carrying all
sorts of shot-guns, muskets, and e\en horse-pistols
and revolvers. No boy who could get a fire-aiTn
failed to bring it out. Most of us had to hunt for
them ; for, as far as I know, not one of our boys
was guilty of the folly of habitually caiTying a pis-
tol in his pocket.
The powder and bullets were on the church
steps, where all who wished to aid in the good
work could help themselves ; and within half an
hour from the time the ball opened, at least thirty
happy and animated boys were loading and firing.
The noise had attracted the townspeople, and
several hundred of them stood looking on at the
strange spectacle.
Patsy Rafiferty ran home to draw some monej-
from his tea-pot bank, but found the cashier pres-
ent, and hesitated. However, he soon plucked up
courage, and said, with a roguish twinkle :
" Mother, will you ple.ise lend me two dollars of
my money ? "
Ordinarily, Mrs. R.ilTcrty would have said no.
i«8i )
rilAKToN UoilKKS.
759
But she was a ven- bright womnn, ami was so
pleased with this evidence that I'atsy had inherited
some of her own wit, tliat she coidil not lind it in
her heart to refuse him.
" There 's two dollars, and I suppose when you
bring it back it 'II be four," s.iid she, remembering
how money breeds money.
" Yes — four o'clock," said Patsv, as he ran out of
" roiNTiNc nil Aimow l'pward at a.w a.ngle, i'haktun ukkw
IT m TUK HBAD." [sKt rACK 760.)
the door and made for his friend the pawnbroker's,
who sold him an old musket, with which, in a few-
minutes, Patsy joined the volunteers.
Ned Rogers had not been able to lind any fire-
arm ; but when he learned where Patsy got his
musket, and that the pawnbroker had a mate to
it, he ran off lo his aunt's house at his best speed,
and, entenng unceremoniously, exclaimed :
"Aunty, I want t«o dollars quicker than light-
ning ! "
■• I'Minund Ilurton I how you frighten me," said
his aunt Mercy. "Jane, get my pocket-book from
the righl-hand corner of my lop bureau-drawer,
and throw ii down-stairs."
The instant the pocket-book struck the floor,
Ned snatched two dollar^ out of it and was off like
a shot.
" Sweet, benevolent boy ! " said Aunt Mercy.
"I 've no doubt he 's h:istening to relieve some
peculiar and urgent case of distress among the poor
and sorrowful."
As it was rather late when Ned arrived at the
church with his weapon, he thought he 'd make up
for lost time. So he slipped in three bullets, instead
of one, with his first load, and in his excitement
rammed them so hard as almost to weld them
together.
The consequence was that, when he discharged
it, a large sliver was torn from the spire, and at the
same time he found himself rolling over into the
gutter, — a very "peculiar and urgent case of dis-
tress," indeed.
When Deacon (Ir.aham s.aw how fast the ammu-
nition w.is disappearing, while the desultor)- firing
produced no effect upon the kite, he thought some
better plan should be devised, and conceived of a
way in which, as he believed, concerted action
might accomplish the desired result. But when he
tried to explain it to the crowd, everybody was ex-
cited, and nobody paid the slightest attention to
him.
The spectators partook of the general excitement,
and applauded the boys.
" Epii^rus z'ia, gt-tifn'sissiini lortnentarii ! Peg
away, most noble gunners ! " shoutetl Holman.
The Deacon, who had been growing more and
more excited, was now beside himself. In his
desperation, he sat down upon the keg of powder,
and declared that no more should be used till he
was listened to.
" I 'II tell you. Deacon," said one of the hunts-
men, "a chain-shot would be the thing to break
that string with."
" You shall have it," said the Deacon, and off
he posted down town again, to order chain-shot.
But the article was not to be had, and when he
relumed, the kite still rode triumphant.
The trustees held a meeting on the steps of the
church. " Now don't get excited," said Mr. Sim-
mons, the calmest of them ; "the first shower will
bring down the kite. We 've only to go off about
our business, and leave it to nature."
" I don't know about that," said Monkey Roc,
in a low tone, to one of the boys who had crowded
around to learn what the trustees would do. "The
760
back of tliat kite i^ prcUy ihoroughly li^L■;l^>t■cl.
It '11 shed water like a diick, ami nothing less than
a hail-storm can bring it down."
" How do you know that, young man ? " said
Mr. Simmons, who overhe.ird him.
"Why," saiil Monkey, seeing that he h;ul
betrayed himself. " you see — the fact is — 1 — 1 —
saw a little bird try to 'light on the kite, but he
slipped off so <|uick I knew it must be grc.ised."
"Humph!" said Mr. Simmons. "That 's a
likely story."
" Brother Simmons," said Deacon (Irahani, " we
can't wait for a storm, —there is no prosf>ect of any.
If we don't dispose of this thing pretty soon. I 'm
afraid it '11 make us ridiculous."
Nobody was able to suggest any means of relief.
Perhaps a sailor could have climbed the lightning-
rod ; but there was no sailor in town, and half-way
up the spire the rod was broken and a section w;ls
missing. There seemed to be no way short of
building a scaffolding to the top of the steeple,
which would cost a good deal of inoney.
The pastor's son took Monkey Roe aside. " Vour
prophecy has been nobly fulfilled," said he, " and
you 've given us a tremendous piece of fun. (iet
us up another as good as this."
The result of the deliberations of the trustees
was, that they resolved to oft'er a reward of twenty
dollars to any one who would get the kite off from
the steeple ; and this w;is formally jiroclaimed to
the crowd by Deacon ("iraham.
Hardly had the proclamation been made, when
Phaeton Rogers, who had conceived a plan for get-
ting down the kite, and had been preparing the
necessary implements, appeared on the scene with
his equipment.
This consisted of a powerful hickor>- bow, about
.TS tall as himself, two heavy arrows, and a ball of
the best kite-string. .
After measuring with his eye the height of the
steeple and the direction of the kite, Phaeton said
he must inount to the roof of the church.
"Certainly, young man," said Deacon Graham;
"anything you want, and twenty dollars reward,
if you '11 get that thing down. Here, sexton, show
this young gentleman the way to the roof."
Phaeton passed in at the door with the sexton,
and soon re-appeared on the roof. The crowd
seemed to watch him with considerable interest.
Standing on the ridge-pole, he strung his bow.
Then he unwound a large part of the ball of
string, and laid it out loosely on the roof; after
which he tied the end of it to one of the arrows.
.•\ murmur of approbation ran through the crowd,
as they thought they saw his plan.
Pointing the arrow upward at a slight angle
from the perpendicular, and drawing it to the head.
he discharged it. The shaft ascended gracefully
on one side of the string of the kite, and descended
on the other side.
At sight of this, the crowd burst into applause,
supposing that the t.tsk was virtually accomplished.
It would have been easy enough now to take hold
of the two ends of the string that had been carried
by the arrow, and, by siinply pulling, bring down
the kite. lint this would not have taken off the
hoop from the top of the spire, and it would have
been necessary to break off the kite-string, leaving
more or less of it attached to the hcKjp, to float on
the breeze like a streamer till it rotted away. Pha-
eton intended to make a cleaner job than that.
When the arrow fell upon the ground, Ned, by
his brother's direction, picked it up and held it just
as it was. Phaeton threw down the ball of string
still unwound, and then descended to the ground.
He very quickly made a slip-knot on the end of the
.-.iring, passed the ball through it, and then, by
|)ulling carefully and steadily on the ball-end, made
the slip-knot slide up till it reached the string of
the kite. Before it was pulled up tight, he walked
out on the squ.are in a direction to pull the slip-
knot .TS close as possible to the hoop.
This done, he placed himself, with the string in
his hand, on the spot where he supposed the one
who got up the kite must have stood while putting
the hoop over the point of the lightning-rod. That
is to say, he walked from the church in such a
direction, and to such a distance, that the string he
held in his hand formed a continuous and (but for
the sag) straight line with the string that held the
kite to the hoop.
He expected, on aniving at this point, to raise
his hand, give a jerk or two at the string, and see
the hoop slide up and off the rod, from the
tendency — caused by the kite's pulling at one end
of the string, and himself at the other — -to t.ike up
the sag.
His thcoiy was perfect, but the plan did not
work ; probably because the wind had died down a
little, and the kite w.-is flying lower than when it
w.as first put up.
When he saw that the hoop was not to be lifted
by this mc.ins, he cast abo\it for a ftirthcr expedi-
ent, the crowd meanwhile expressing disappoint-
ment and impatience.
Carrying the string entirely across the square, he
stopped in front of the house that was in line with it.
and asked perinission to ascend to the roof, which
was granted. Breaking off the string, and telling
Ned to stand there and hold the end, he put the ball
into his pocket, took a pebble in his hand, and
went up through the house and c.imc out at the
scuttle.
Tying the pebble to the end of the string, he
riiAi loN k<i(;i:ks.
761
threw it down to his brother, whu licil the end of
the string to the end he had been holding. I'hacton
then drew it up, and once more pulled at the hoop.
It stuck a little at lirst ; but as he alternately
pulled and slackened, it was started at last, and
began to slide up the lightning-rod ; whereupon
the crowd set up a shout, and a great many people
remarked that they knew all the while the boy
would succeed.
But the hoop only rose to a point about half-way
between its fonner resting-place and the tip of the
held close against it either ti) ihc tugging of the
kite one way, or your pulling the other."
" I understand," said Ned. "I 'II <lo my best."
Phaeton then went back to the church, and
ascende«l to the roof again with his bow and arrow
and the ball of string. Laying out the string as
before, and tying the end to the arrow, he shot it
over the kite-string so that the arrow fell upon the
roof.
Making a slip-knot as before, he pulled upon the
end of his string till the knot slid up to the kite-
: S>^: S
THK HEKnl
rod, and there it remained. No sleight-of-hand
that Phaeton could exercise would make it rise
another inch. If the wind had freshened, so .is to
make the kite sail higher, the hoop would have slid
to the top of the rod at once. Hut the wind did
not freshen, and there was no taller building any-
where in line with the string than the one Phaeton
was standing on.
The crowd groaned, and remarked that they had
been confident all the while the boy could n't do it.
" Ned," said Phaeton, "come up here."
Ned went up.
•• Now," said Phaeton, "st.ind right in this spot;
hnid the string just as you see me holding it now;
and try to pull on it just hard enough to m.ikc the
hoop hang loosely around the rod instead of being
string at a point pretty near the hoop. He now
broke off the string, leaving it just long enough to
reach from the point where it was attached to the
kite-string straight to where he stood on the roof.
He tied the end to his arrow, and, drawing the
shaft to the head, shot it straight upward. As the
arrow left the bow, the crowd cheered again, for it
was evident that when the arrow, in its course,
should re.ich a point as far above the kite-string as
Phaeton was belou It, it would begin to pull the
kite-string upward, and If it had force enough to
go a yard or two higher, it must, of course, pull
the hoop off from the rod.
But it lacked force enough. It rose till it had
almost straightened the string it was carrying, then
turned its head and dropped to the roof again.
762
I'llAETON ROCJEkS.
(August,
Tlic crowd groaned, and some of them left for
iheir homes or their business, saying they knew all
the while that such foolery would n't work.
Phaeton sat down on the ridge-pole of the
church, put his head between his hands, and
thought. While he s;il there, the crowd shouted
all sorts of advice to him, most of which was
intended to be siircastic, though some spoke
seriously enough, as those who suggested that he
use a larger bow and a lighter string.
After some moments he got up, went to the
arrow, and detached it from the string; then,
taking the end of the string between his palms, he
rolled it and rolled it, until he had very greatK
hardened the twist.
If you have ever twisted a piece of common
string up tight, and then, taking the two ends
between your thumb and finger, let go of the
middle, you know what it docs. It doubles and
twists itself together, in the effort to untwist.
When Phaeton had tightened the twist of his
string as much as he could, he tied the arrow on
again, laid it across his bow, pointed it at the
zenith, drew it to the head, and once more dis-
charged it.
While the arrow was climbing, the string —
wherever the slack folds of it hung near enough to
one another — -was doubling and twisting together,
thus greatly shortening itself. The anow had not
gone much more than half its former distance
above the kite-string when it arrived at the end of
its own now shortened string, and gave such a jerk
as pulled the hoop clear up from the end of the
lightning-rod.
When the crowd saw this, they burst into a tre-
mendous cheer, threw their caps into the air, and
bestowed all sorts of compliments upon Phaeton.
Phaeton took off his hat and made a low bow to
the people, and then disappeared through the little
door in the lower, by which he had gained access
to the roof. He soon re-appcared, emerging from
the front door, and ran across the square, to the
house where Ned still stood on the roof, like a
statue, or Casabianca waiting for his next orders.
" Haul her in," said Phaeton, and Ned immedi-
ately began winding in the kite, using his left fore-
arm as a reel, and p.assing the string around his
elbow and through the notch between his thumb
and forefinger. He wound on everjthing as he
came to it — hoop, mottoes, even Phaeton's arrow.
Phaeton stood in the street before the house,
caught the kite by the tail .as it approached the
ground, and soon had it secure. He broke off the
string, and Ned came down through the house.
.An immense crowd surrounded them, and
impeded their progress as they started for home.
"Jump into my carriage; I'll take you home,"
said the driver of an open barouche, who had
stopped to sec the performance, and like everybody
else wiis intensely interested in it.
Phaeton was instantly seized in the arms of three
or four men ami lifted into the carriage. Then
.Ned was lifted in the same way and seated beside
him. Then the kite was stood up on the front seat,
leaning against the driver's back, with its astonish-
ing motto staring the boys in the face. Lukey
Finnerty, who had been proudly holding Ned's
musket for him, handed it up, and it was placed
;islant of the seat between the two boys. The
bow, brought by the sexton, was placed beside it,
and the carriage then moved off, «hile a large
number of boys followed in its wake, three of them
being suspended from the hind axle by their hands,
while their feet were drawn up to swing clear of
the ground.
" Why is he carrying away that kite ? " said Dea-
con Graham, asking the question in a general way,
as if he expected the crowd to answer it in con-
cert. " That belongs to the church."
" Sic not/us — not so," said Isaac Holman. "'It
belongs to him ; he made it."
"Ah, ha I " said the Deacon, looking as if he
had found a clew.
As the driver had recently procured his new and
handsome barouche, and was anxious to exhibit it,
he drove rather slowly and took a somewhat cir-
cuitous route. All the way along, people were
attracted to their windows. As the carriage was
p;issing through West street. Phaeton colored a
little when he saw three ladies standing on an upper
balcony, and lifted his hat with some trepidation
when the youngest of them bowed. The next
moment she threw a bouquet, which landed in the
carriage and was picked up and appropriated by
Ned.
"I am inclined to think," said Phaeton, "that
the bouquet w.as intended for me."
" Was it ? " said Ned. "Then take it, of course.
I could buy me one just like it for a quarter, if I
cared for flowers. But, by the way. Fay, what are
you going to do with the twenty dollars you 've
won ? That 's considerable money."
" 1 am going to put it to the best possible use
for money," said Phaeton.
" I did n't know there was any one use better
than all others," said Ned. " What is it ? "
" To pay a debt," said Phaeton.
" I never should have guessed that," said Ned ;
" and I don't believe many people think so."
.As they rode by Jack's Box, Jack, who stood in
the door, learned for the first time what Monkey
Koe had wanted the .Scripture motto for.
They also p.isscd .Xunt Menry's house, and their
aunt and .Miss Pinkhani were on the pi.azza. Ned
,ttSi.|
I'lIAKTDN KOGEKS.
7<>3
stood up in the carriage and swung his hat. Phae-
ton saluted his aunt UKire i|uietly.
•■ What in the world are tliose boys doing in that
barouche ? " siiid Aunt Mercy.
'• 1 don't know, but I '11 go and find out," said
.Miss I'inkham, and she ran to the gate and got the
story from one of the Dublin boys.
.Nliss I'inkham returned and told the story.
" Kdmund Hurton always was a smart boy," said
.-Vunt Mercy. "' I could have predicted he would
be the one to get that kite otT. He'd tind a way
to scrape the spots otT the sun, if they wanted him
to. But I don't see why that stupid brother of his
should be stuck up there to share his glory."
When it canie to the question of p;iying the
rcw;u'd. Deacon liraham stouth opposed the pay-
ment on the ground that Phaeton himself had been
concerned in putting the kite on the steeple — or, at
least, h.id furnished the kite. He said '" no boy
could fool him, — it was too long since he was a boy
himself," — which seemed to me a strange re.ison.
It looked for a while as if Phaeton would not get
the money ; but the other trustees investigated the
matter, rejected the Deacon's theory, and paid the
reward.
On their complaint. Monkey Roe was brought
before 'Squire Moore, the Police Justice, to answer
for his roguery. The court-room was full, about
half the spectators being boys.
" What is your name ?" said the Justice.
'* I 'm not sure that I know," said Monkey.
" Not know your own name ? How 's that ? "
*• Because, my mother calls me Monty, my father
calls me James, and the boys call me Monkey
Roc."
" I suppose the boys are more numerous than
your parents?" said the Justice.
•' .Much more," said Monkey.
•• .'Xnd you probably answer more readily when
they call .' "
" I 'm afraid I do."
"Then," said the Justice, "we 'II consider the
weight of c\-idence to be in favor of the name
Monkey Roe, and I 'II enter it thus on the record."
As he wrtjtc it down, he murmured : " We 'vc
often had Richard Roc arraigned in this court, but
never Monkey."
" Now, Monkey, 1 'm going to ask a question,
which you need not answer unless you choose to.
Did you, on Saturday night l;ist, between the
hours of sunset and sunrise, raise, tly, and elevate
one six-cornered paper kite, bearing a motto or
sentiment from the sacred book called Leviticus,
and tic, fix, anchor, attach, or listen the same to
the lightning-rod that surmounts the spire, or
steeple, of the Kirst Church, of the sect or denomi-
nation known as Baptist, fronting and abutting on
Independence Square, in this city? "
"To the best of my knowledge and belief, 1
did," Siiid .Monkey.
" I'le.ise state to the court, Monkey, your mo-
tives, if you had any, for this wicked act."
In answer to this. Monkey told briefly and
dearly the whole story, beginning where he "just
stoppetl half a second Sunday morning to see how
that bo\'s kite pulled." When he tame to the
scene in the Sunday-school room, he gave it with
a dramatic effect that was calculated to excite sym-
pathy for himself.
'Squire .Moore haa been as much interested as
anybody in the kite on the steeple, and had
laughed his enormous sides sore when he scanned
it and its appendages through Patsy's glass.
When Monkey had finished his story, the 'Squire
delivered the decision of the court.
" I have searched the Revised .Statutes," said he,
"and have consulted the best authorities; but I
look in vain to find any statute which makes it a
penal offense to attach a kite to a steeple. The
common law is silent on the subject, and none of
the authorities mention any precedent. You have
succeeded, young man, in committing a misde-
meanor for which there is no penalty, and the
court is, therefore, obliged to discharge you, with
the admonition never to do so any more."
As Monkey left the bar, there was a rush for the
door, the boys getting out first. They collected in
a body in front of the building, and, when he
appeared, ga\e him three tremendous cheers, with
three others for 'Squire Moore.
But when Monkey came to face the domestic
tribunal over which his father presided, he found
that a lack of precedent was no bar to the adminis-
tration of justice in that court.
About a week later, a package, addressed to me,
and bearing the business-card of a well-known
tailor, was left at our door. When 1 opened it, I
found a new Sunday suit, to replace the one which
had been ruined when Phaeton wore it to the fire.
It must have taken about all of his reward-money
to pay for it.
For years afterward, the boys used to allude to
that season as "the summer we had two Kourth-
of-Julys." The scars on the steeple were never
healed, and you can see them now, if you chance
to pass that way.
(To bf cxmtimurJ. )
764
M A UK, III I . I > W A K 1
MARK, TlIK DWARI'
HV M. I). HiKNKY.
-'^^If^It]^)
M)
'• AWAV down south, in Dixie," many years a^jo,
there lived a pretty golden-haired child, named
Hatlic Sinclair. Her parents owned a large plan-
tation in Alabama, on which they lived, excepting
durinjj the summer miinths, when, like many
SouthLTners, they sought northern climes, for health
and pleasure. Hattic w;us a merry, active little
girl, too fond of straying to be kept trace of by
her very stout and aged "maumer" — as Soutliern
children c.illcd their old black nurses, whom they
loved .'tlniost ;is well as their own mammas. So
Mark, the son of " Maum Vetta." w.is detailed
for special ser\'ice to his young mistress, an<l
accompanied her in all her rambles.
Vou would have smiled roiild vou have seen
them together, especially if you had been fold that
Mark was taking care of Hattie, for his woolly
head reached only a few inches abo\-c her golden
curls, and at the table, when he w.iited on his
little mistress, her food seemed brought by magic.
Uut Mark, though so small, was nineteen years
old, and, aside from the defect in his height, w.as
not in any way deformed. He always accom-
))anied the family in their summer trips, and, on
one occ.ision, when they were in a strange city,
.md Ilallie, under the protection of the dw.arf, was
taking a i)romenade, they passed a large store, with
tempting arrays of choice fruits displayed outside.
Hattic was a dear lover of apples, and. loo young
10 comprehend that things in stores must be paid
\l \ l: K. I II I DVVAkl'
7 ''5
lor, she- w.ilkcil >li-lilxT.ucl\ iip in clu st.iiul, .mil,
holpinj; IktscII' Id one of tKc tinosi, h.ij ,ilrLMil\
bitten il, before the ;istoniihed M.irk coiilil >;i\ her
nay. 'llie sliopnian smiled guod-n.iliiredly ; btit
M.irk, with his best liow, explained : "tlh, sir, it's
my little missus; she don't know no better, an' if
you plc.isi', sir. I 'II take her home, and eome back
and p;iy you; wc is a-siayin' to the Hotel."
"Never mind, my little fellow," siiid the man.
"Here, take a few of them as a present for your
pretty little lady. Hut it seems to me," he added,
looking curiously at Mark, "that you are rather
small to have the care of that child."
"Yes, sir," replied Mark, with dijjnity; "1 is a
small person, but 1 's nineteen years old," and.
thanking the shopman for his apples, he took
Hattie's h.ind and led her home.
Mark had another adventure, not quite so
pleasant, during his stay in that cit\ . Tom Thumb
and his miniature coach ;ind pair were daily on
e.vliibition, :ind one day, when Hattie and Mark
were w;dking through one of the gayest streets, the
little ei(uip;igc, followed by a crowd, came by.
Mark drew the chiUI up a flight of steps, to avoid
the crush, and they were thus made very con-
spicuous. As the little carriage passed, a man
who was walking at its side looked up, saw Hattie
and her companion, paused, hesitated, and finally
passed up the steps.
" How old are you, my little fellow ?" said he,
addressing Mark.
"Nineteen, sir," replied Mark shortly, for he did
not like the stranger's appearance.
" Oh ! Ah ! .Ahem I Where do you live ? "
" i 's stayin' at the Hotel, with my master,
sir."
" And what is his name ? " continued the man,
at the same time offering the dwarf a silver quarter.
" Mr. Sinclair. Thank you, sir, 1 don't want no
money ; my master gives me 'nough," and, taking
Hatlie by the hand, he waited for no more questions,
but walked quickly away.
That night, after Hattie was in bed, there came
a knock at Mr. Sinclair's parlor. Mark opened the
door, and beheld his acquaintance of the morning.
" .Vh, my litde man," said he, patronizingly, " is
your master in ? "
" Yes, sir," said Mark, as Mr. Sinclair laid down
his newspaper and gazed wonderingly at the
stranger.
" Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. This is a smart
boy of yours, and my business this evening is about
him," s;iid the stranger, with a grand flourish and
many obsequious bows.
" Yes? " said Mr. Sinclair, inquinngly.
"I should like to -that is — liow iiuicli wniilil you
lake for him? " said the man, with .mother bow.
" You mean to ask me to sell him to you ? " said
Mr. Sinclair.
"Yes — ah ! We .ire looking for a coachni.m for
(iener.il Tom Thuml), and this little fellow is such
a shapel) dwarf tli.il the agent has sent nte to offer
you live hundred dollars "
" Oh, master, is you gwine to sell me ? " cried
Mark, and he gazed beseechingly at Mr. Sinclair.
" Do not fear, Mark," said that gentleman, and
he palled his shoulder kindly ; then, turning to the
showman's embassiidor, he s;iid : "Tell your agent
that not for fne times live hundred dollars would 1
part with this little fellow." Soon after, the visitor
s;iid " Ciood-evening," and Mr. Sinclair resumed
his reailing, while Mark, with a greatly rejoiced
heart, opened the door for the agent.
Poor little Mark ! This was his last trip, for,
on returning to the plantation, a contagious fever
broke out among the negroes. Hattie was sent to
her uncle's, and ever)' means was tried to prevent
its sprejiding ; but Mrs. Sinclair, a lovely and noble
woman, could not resist the appe.d for " Miss' to
come and see cf she can't cure me" — the faith of
those simple blacks being much stronger in their
mistress's attentions than in those of any doctor.
So she staid, and every day carried some delicacy,
with her own hands, to the sick. Mark insisted
on follow ing her, although she bade him not ; and
one day the dread disease seized him, too, in its
fatal grasp. And what an unselfish spirit he
showed I For. although longing unspeakably for
the tender ministrations of his beloved mistress, his
only cry was : " Tell Miss' not to come nigh me,
'less she get sick, too."
The struggle was a short one, and when Mark
knew he w.is dying, the longing to have one more
look at his beloved mistress overcame him, and he
said, feebly :
" Mammy, ask Miss' to come and stan' in de
door, and say good-bye ; but don't let her come in."
I need hardly lell you that his call was quickly
responded to, and Mrs. Sinclair, placing herself by
the open door, the rays of the setting sun lighting
up her face, bade the brave and faithful little
dwarf a last farewell, he blessing her for all her
care and kindness.
He was the List victim, and with his death the
fever dis;ippeared ; but, although these events hap-
pened more ih.in a score of ye.irs ago, the memory
of Mark is still green in the hearts of his master
and mistress, and children who never knew the little
dwarf have wept sympathetic tears over his brief
but unselfish life.
I
766
rkOLl) I'RINCIC CHAM.
[Al'GUST,
-_, Of tv oyioX QU\^ini\ct f^^ O
l/\)i TdU f^;afll^n•s_ of^tlM' roxjdf 'sfoflt 'I'f^i' "iivocp'uxcr
V yoovjavmc? HJpuli^ n't f At liiS UrbS-lxcst-icUu
'"/ITidWi it uiac sotucc
?
/ IToiuj^) it uiac so tucc
jttb W foulb'nt \u\\v To toud^ bis Vtvoasl fUe^icw-
w
or ft)6 V)fltf of all \)\s ^u^\^^lOttv.wbo Ivab- fovvic ^aX xnovnlnor'.
^^%*^t it 5\ioul\ \)aoo \)«m A^ittire was \w'd)ing Wt a;^nucii;5'
•3
'; ViJ'
i^^:^
''^^'^^^l^^''^'*^!'^^ u'cpt'riU a pile oJsoiUcJ V|0«iiUfi'(^lcfs"
Ji^ay at In?; 1sl^l^
^tti> V)af>- cucii lost InS ^^[-^(Jtrol 'iiU.t^ M&i
@C> much Ut; pvi^C^
■ |.' . . 1 I. r I; 1 \ r r 1 II AM.
767
.'-..•►\v'« \4 u^\^ko^ l>v* CAvvlob a Ten fooT [aiv
uJ< vKifr hv5 \u\ib Flfur a [ruiao,-p."vu
<^?^;'T^■l!f?\•ou^^^ liwi ac*?^^c-\ hl;n floatc^ a pan-
Pa a of nuc!]t>t li'Vto can ^o tlnng* j
Jin xcoj jjalacf x5 a wiur c Si , liroiiMit %n-c but 7$My
^1 ^«<\Ut)u , l)an^s<?mc
•"W
j9a^ in tbf uUic c of It bosloui^ w n\^^. '-
IpoV lik^ mf !
o
4r^
-68
•Kuril I'KINCK CHAM.
[AUCI'ST,
'Of butrcv[Kcf. bno^
E^c took V)i? fart ia one ljau^Cmi> pix My-
i^etv ht- liX A Tire- m ih^c frmncr-paw, ^■;
Mvcrlit lib iXxvO- sixxl axiv^livoxio^i
J*KoL;1> I'KINCli CHAM.
769
V.)i_ Vlll.— 49.
770
CATHIE S STORY.
(At'GUST,
CATHIKS SIORV
By Anna Hoynton AvtKiLL.
'v..
) ATI I IF. liKOWN's Aunt Cathic, for
w hoin she was named, used often
to tell her that once, at least, in
everybody's life, something hap-
pened "just like a story."
Cathie liked to believe this,
^ but one day she said, quite
CI- ^^"^N. cheerily: " Why, Auntie, 1 don't
— -^ know; everything has been com-
monplace so long that it seems
good to me, like the old faces
and places."
"Ah, my dear," said Aunt Cathic, " that con-
tented heart of yours is a blessing ; but something
will happen to you one of these days."
Cathie lived on a lonely country road. Her
father was a farmer, whom hard fortune had
followed for many a year. Three sons, older than
Cathie, were buried in the country burying-ground
beyond the hill. F'armer Brown and his wife were
getting on in years ; and, although they had begun
at last to make head slowly against the current
of adversity that had set so long against them, the
habits of hard labor and the strictest economy
clung to them still. They owned their farm, and
Cathic w.as their only child ; but beyond sending
her to school in summer and winter, and allowing
her the open space from the. front door to the road
for a flower garden, they felt that they could afford
her no "privileges."
Her dresses were of the cheapest material, her
hair was always braided down her back in the
same simple fashion, her shoes were coarse and
thick, and she had no ribbons, no jewelry, no
trinkets of any kind. But Cathie did not care
much for such things. The desire of her heart
was to give. Oh, the dreams she used to dream
of the blessedness of giving ! A mine of money
would not have satisfied her longings to give and
give. She might not have been in every instance a
wise giver, if her dreams had come true ; but she
used to lie awake o' nights, and plan by the hour,
how, and where, and to whom she would give, if a
fortune should fall to her. And nobody should
ever know where the good gifts would come fiom.
That would be half the joy of it : to have her
bounty descend, shower-like, upon the poor and
needy, .xs if it came direct from heavenly places.
Her father and mother gave to the minister, they
visited the sick in the neighborhood, and fed the
tramps ; but Cathie had never had a cent of
money to give away, — never in her whole life, —
nothing but flowers and berries, and willing httle
services, and these seemed pitifully small in her
eyes. Oh, to give freely, royally, unreser\edly !
how happy she would be, if she could do that !
Aunt Catharine was a great comfort to her little
namesake. She was poor, like all of Cathie's
people, but she loved flowers and birds, and all
beautiful things, as warmly .is did little Cathie her-
self; and she brought rare bulbs, and roots, and
seeds, and slips, and much homely cheer, to the
child.
Cathie's flower garden was sweet the summer
through. Indeed, from March to December, from
crocuses to frost-flowers, something bright and
beautiful beamed up at Cathie from the ground.
There was nothing like her flowers for miles around.
They were the pride and wonder of the neighbor-
hood. And among them Cathie toiled, when she
was not at school or helping her mother ; for, all
this beauty was the result of much patient work
.ind faithful care.
" Now, if I were only a boy," she said to Aunt
Cathie in one of their talks, " I should coax Father
to let me raise a piece of wheat, or potatoes, and
sell them ; and then I should have some money of
my own."
"What 'do you want with money, Cathie?"
asked her mother, who happened to hear her.
Cathie blushed, but did not answer immediately.
■' Uon't you h.ive all you want to eat and t"
wear, my daughter?"
" Yes, Mother, I don't want a thing for myself."
" Xor 1, neither, dear. Let us not be getting
ambitious and discontented, because we are poor."
.Aunt Cathie thought of some ambitious, discon-
tented daughter^ that she knew, and contrasted
ihem with little Cathie.
About this time, Cathie was cherishing one of
her dreams— too sweet ever to be realized, she
felt, but which did her good to keep it in het
heart.
Oscar Gray, a lame boy who lived near, her
faithful friend, and a scholar of real promise, w.is
hungering for books and struggling manfully to
earn them. He was so proud that nobody dared
offer him aid, and so poor, that, at limes, his
utmost efforts seemed hopeless to those who did not
realize the uncon(|uerable energy that was in him.
He h,id fallen into a way of confiding his pet hopes
iStil I
CAT II 1 K S STOKV
77'
and dreams to his little neighbor, partly because
he knew that she was as poor as liiniscif, and by no
|X)ssibility could help him, and partly because he
knew that a secret with her was safe. Then, too,
she w.is such an intclli>;ent, uarin-heartcd little
soul, that it comforted him much to talk with her.
He was now pursuing a certain line of study in
natural history, and h.id come to " a de.id-lock,"
.IS he expressed it to Cathie, for want of ten dol-
lars' worth of books. Now, if she could only bestow
those books upon Oscar, in such a way that he
would never guess who ga\e them, how happy she
would be ! She could not help planning, and
brooding over it, although in her sober •' common-
sense moments," as she called them, she had no
hope of ever bringing it about.
•' If I were only a boy ! " she would think to her-
self, as she weeded and spaded and fluttered about
among her lovely llowcrs. "Now, 1 have worked
.TS hard for you, dear flowers, as a boy works in
his wheat-patch, but you are only sweet and beau-
tiful; you do not 'pay.'" And then she would
smile at her mercenary thoughts. As the summer
deepened, the garden grew in beauty hour by
hour, until it seemed as if every twig and stalk
bore all the bloom and sweetness it could hold, and
the bees and humming-birds held high carnival
there ever)' day.
One day, just after the noon meal, Cathie was
washing dishes in the back kitchen, farthest from
the road, when, all at once, a great commotion
seemed to till the air about her. She felt a heavy
rumbling jar that shook the house : hoarse bellow-
ings. w ild shouts, and the barking of dogs mingled
in the thundering din that was rolling nearer as she
listened. She ran through to the front door with her
towel in her hand, and saw, in a great dust-cloud,
a drove of at le.ist a hundred cattle tearing along
down the ro.id. She ran for her father, but he had
gone to the tield. Her flower-plot sloped from the
door to the road, unfenccd. Nearly every week,
large droves of cattle went past from up-country
down to the distant m-irkct, and the drovers always
stationed boys and dogs ahead at the unprotected
places, while the herds marched by. Hut a panic
had seized upon this drove, and, before help could
arrive, the frantic animals had surrounded the
house, trampled even- green thing into the dust,
and rushed on and away like an avalanche.
Cathie stood among the ruins with a face of de-
spair ; and her mother was standing Ix-hind her
speechless with dismay, when the owner of the
drove came rattling up in his wagon. The cattle
were at that moment careering over a distant hill,
the drovers still far behind them ; but he leaped
from his cart and came up to Cathie.
"Why, little girl, if this is n't a pity!" he ex-
claimed, in a voice of such compassion and sympa-
thy that Cathie hid her face in the di>h-towel and
sobbed aloud.
'• Now, don't cry, dear !" he begged. '' 1 saw,
when 1 went up the other day, what a pretty sight
your posies were ; and here 1 've been the means of
spoilin' em. Money can't replace 'cm this year,
but there 's ten doU.-irs, and I 'm mighty sorr>',
besides." And he placed a bill in her hand.
" Oh, no, no ! " sobbed Cathie. " You could n't
help it ; nobody was to blame." And she held out
the money. But he was mounting his wagon and
wiping the moisture from his tired face, with his
eyes on the distant cloud of dust.
" Vou keep that money, little girl. It's small
recompense," he said, shaking his head emphat-
ically ; and he was off and away before she could
spc.ik again.
Cathie dried her eyes, and looked at the bill in
.Tstonishment.
" Oh, Mother ! " she cried suddenly. " May I do
just what I want to with this ? "
"Why, yes, dear," said her mother: "why
should n't you ? And don't feel badly about the
flowers; they '11 grow again."
" But, Mother, are you sure that you arc willing
for me to — to — give this away ? "
"Give it away? Well, it's your own money,
Cathie. I am sure your father will be willing for
you to do what you choose with the first money
you ever had. And you have worked hard for your
flowers, Cathie; we all know that."
" And, Mother," — Cathie kept on eagerly, — " I
shall want you and Father to promise that you will
never tell anybody that I got this money." Her
checks were bright, her eyes glowing. She had
forgotten her flowers.
" We will do whatever you wish, my daughter,
about this money. It is right that wc should.
But, sometime, you '11 tell Mother about it ? "
"I will tell you this verj- minute, Mother!"
And she did.
So much toward the realization of her dream !
And now new difficulties arose. She dared not
buy the books, for Oscar knew that she alone was
aware of his need. She could think of no way of
sending the money to him that would not cause him
to think she had begged for him, or made his
wants known. Me might burn it in pride and
shame if he could not find the giver. She thought
of catching one of his tame doves and tying the
money under its wing ; but he would know then
that it was sent .is a gift to him. Cathie was
puzzled, but she kept on planning, and at last she
decided that there was but one way. She must
manage so that he would seem to find the money.
There were difficulties connected with this
72
CATHIE S STORY.
[Aucur
method, also, which she did not foresee ; but she
l.iid hcT pl.ins carefully and carried them out.
One day, when she saw him coming up the road,
and knew that he w.is >;oing to the library in the
village beyond, she ran swiftly out at the opposite
side of the house, through the orchard, and doxvn
into the hollow, a quarter of a mile beyond. Here
was a little evergreen thicket, with a brush fence
on the edge of the road. She placed the bill in
the hard, beaten track in full view, scrambled back
over the fence, look up a good position in the thick
cedars where she could sec through the fence, and
awaited his coming with an an.xious heart. What
if somebody else should come along and discover
the money before him ?
When, at last, he came limping into the hollow
on his crutch, her heart was beating so hard that
she felt as if it could be heard.
He saw the money, — few things escaped his
sight, — stopped and picked it up, and stood looking
at it for some time, with his back to Cathie. Then
he put it in his pocket and started back toward
home. This w.is a surprise to her, and she knew
that he would call at the house to tell her what he
had found. W'hat could she do ? She could not
follow immediately without being seen. The only
way was to wait until he had gone into the house,
and then run back the w.iy she had come as fast as
she could.
She entered as demurely as was possible under
the circumstances.
Her hair was roughened, her dress torn, and her
eyes were shining with suppressed excitement, tolx-
sure ; but she bore herself with remarkable calm-
ness, as her mother afterward assured her.
Oscar came forward eagerly from talking with
her mother.
" See, Cathie," he said, " 1 have found ten dol-
lars ! "
"Oh, I am so glad!" she cried, clasping her
hands.
" But I must find the owner, Cathie," he
answered gravely, looking at her almost reproach-
fully, she thought.
" Oh, you never will, I know, Oscar. It is
yours — yours to keep and — and buy books with, or
whatever you wish."
Mrs. Hrown was trembling at Cathie's eagerness,
but she dared not say an encouraging word to
Oscar, for conscience' sake. She saw more clearly
than charity-blind Cathie how Oscar was looking
at the matter.
The boy grew graver and graver as he looked
at his little friend. He could not understand the
change in her.
" I shall find the owner, Cathie," w.isall he said,
as he went awav.
"Oh, Mother, he will keep it perhaps until he
dies, if he does n't find the owner. What shall we
do ? " cried Cathie. And the mother could not
think of anything to do that seemed likely to set
matters straight.
A whole long month had passed away — it had
seemed a year to Cathie — and still Oscar was push-
ing his clTorls to find the owner of the lost money.
He had become convinced that no one in the vil-
lage, nor in the neighborhood where he lived, had
lost it.
.At last, he said one day to Cathie :
"It might have been that cattle-buyer, Cathie;
who knows? He handles a pile of money in .i
year. 1 shall ask him, when he goes up again."
Cathie's cheek blanched, and she caught her
breath to keep from speaking wrong ; for she saw
by this time how it would have seemed to her to
find ten dollars, and use it without searching for
the loser. The tears came into her eyes, and her
courage sank.
" If he did not lose it, shall you keep it until
you die, and never use it?" she asked, her voice
trembling.
"Oh, Cathie!" said Osc.ir, almost breaking
down. " Don't care so much about it. You are
so anxious for me to have the books, you — you
can't see it quite right, Cathie."
Cathie went home with a breaking heart.
On his next trip, the drover was accosted by the
boy :
" Did you lose any money, sir. the last time you
went down ? "
" -No, my boy," said the kindly, talkative drover;
"none excepting what 1 paid for damages. 1 paid
the little g^rl up yonder ten dollars for spoilin' her
pretty flower garden. That was a hard one for
the poor child. 1 wonder how she feels about it ? "
" She has tried to mend it up some," said Oscir
in a daze. " I — 1 found a bill. 1 thought perhaps
you dropf)ed it."
" No, I 'vc lost none," said the man, driving
awa\-.
Oscar's mind was swift and keen. The first
thought that had flashed through it was. " How
strange that Cathie did not tell me about the
money ! " For he knew the sum would have
seemed a little fortune to her. The next instant, he
s;uv it all. Her eagerness to have him use this
money, her flushed appearance the day he found
it, the look on her face when he mentioned the
drover .as the one who might have lost it, and her
grief when he had reproved her for her generous
earnestness. He bowed his he.id, and the hot
te.ars fell from his eyes as it all came over him.
lie put himself in her place, .md s.iw that he must
t LAl-BDATING KOR UOVS.
772,
not spoil the delicate sacrifice she had striven so
hard to otVcr iinbleinishod.
" It w.is not tlie drover who lost it, Cathie," he
said, quite calmly, the next day. " I have given up
tryinj; any further. I shall get my books, and
when 1 am a man " — his voice shook a little —
•■ who knows but I may find the loser and let him
know how much giwd the money did me ? "
Cathie's eyes shone like stars. She clasped her
hands as she had done when he found the money.
" Oh, Oscar ! how glad I am ! " w.is ail she said.
lie bouf^ht the precious books and reverenced
tlienj tenloUl, for Cathie's sake.
The lame scholar had become an eminent natu-
ralist, and Cathie had been his wife a year, be-
ft)re he told her the secret he had kept s.icred
so long.
And Cathie tells her own little daughter to-day
that once, at least, in everybody's life something
happens "just like a story."
!• L.\ r-IU^.\TlNG FOR BOYS.
lU Dv.NiEL C. Dkarp.
r I. AT- no ATS arc essentially inland craft, having
their origin with the birth of trade in the West
before the pufifing and panting steam-boals plowed
their way through the turbid waters of Western
rivers. They are craft that can be used on any
stream large enough to float a yawl, but the St.
John's River, Florida, is, perhaps, the most tempt-
ing stream for the amateur flat-lxiatman. The
numerous inlets and lakes connected with the
river, the luxuriant semi-tropical foliage on the
banks, the strange-looking fish and great, stupid
alligators, the beautiful while herons, and hundreds
of water-fowl of many descriptions, — all form feat-
ures that add interest to its navigation, and in-
ducements to hunters, fishermen, naturalists, and
pleasure-seekers scarcely equaled by any other
accessible river of the I'nited States.
To build the hull of the flat-boat, use good pine
lumber. For the sides, select two good, straight
two-inch planks, fourteen feet long and about six-
teen inches wide. Take one of the planks (Figure
No. i), measure six inches from the top upon each
774
KI.AT-UOATINi; KOR BOYS.
end, and mark the points (A a, Figure No. i ) ; then
upon the bottom me;isure from each end toward
tlie center two feet, and mark the points (I! b,
T.?t
Figure No. i). With your carpenters' lead-pencil,
connect the points A B and a b by a slight but
regular curve ; saw off the corners along the line
there will be a sp.ice inside the boat of five feet
eight inches. Take three pieces of scantling,
about three inches square and five feet eight inches
long ; place one near each end. (lush with the bot-
tom of the boat, just where the sheer of bow and
stern begins. (See Figure No. 2. A and B. ) After
titting them carefully, nail them firmly. T.ake the
other piece of scantling and nail it in place at the
point C (Figure No. 2), so that it will measure six
I'eet from the outside of the brace at A to the out-
side of the br.ice at C.
For the bottom-boards, pick out good, straight
half-inch lumber, a little over fourteen feet long, to
allow for the curve. Take one of the bottom-
Ijoards and nail an end to the stern-board (sec
I'igiirc No. 3 ) : its side edge must be flush with
the outer face of the side-piece. Bend the boanl
FIGIIRK NO. 4. — SIDE
carefully along the cunx-
to the first cross-piece .-X.
and nail it firmly ; nail it
again at C, and at the bow.
Follow the same plan with
the next board, being care-
ful to keep it close up
against the first bo.ard, so
as to leave no crack when
the bottom is finished.
Caulk up any accidental
crack with oakum ; gi\e
thus made. Make the other side of your hull an the whole a coating of coal-tar, and let it dry.
exact duplicate of this. The remainder of the work is comparatively
Then take two two-inch planks, six inches wide c.isy. After the coal-tar h.is dried, turn the boat
and six feet long, for the stem and stern ; set the over, and erect four posts, one at each end of the
side-pieces on edge, upside down, and nail on the cross-piece A, and one at each end of the cross-
two end-pieces. (See Figure No. 3.) Then, allow- piece C (Figures Nos. 2 and 3). The tops of the
ing four inches, the thickness of the two sides, posts should be about five feet .above the bottom of
1"^
FLAT- IIOATIXU !• 1 1 K ItoVS.
//O
— a book-shelf, a few
clotliL's-houks, clc.
I'lit in Diir-locks, each
made iif a board with a
deep notch rut in it ;
there shoidd be three
oar-locks — one for the
steering oar and two in
front for rowing (see Fig-
ure No. 4). Set a seat
in front of the oar-locks,
with a hole for a jack-
staflf to pass through.
The jack-staff must be
made so that it can be
taken out or put in at
pleasure, by having a
simple socket underneath
the seat, for the foot of
the staff to fit in. When
this is done, your boat
is ready for use. Figure
No. 4 shows a side view
of a fourteen-fcet flat-
boat, with a cabin five
the hull. Put a cross-
piece on top of the post
.A. and another at C.
and the frame-work of
your cabin is done.
Make the roof of thin
plank, bending it in
an arch, so that the
middle will rise about
one foot higher than
the sides. The caves
should overhang about
six inches beyond the
cabin, upon each side.
Board up the sides
with material like that
used for the roof, leav-
ing openings for win-
dows and doors. Pieces
of leather make very
good hinges for the
door, if there is no
hardware store handy,
where iron hinges can
be procure<l. The cab-
in can then \k l1(K)rtd,
a bunk or two may
be built, and as many other conveniences as your feet high at the sides
taste or necessities may indicate may be provided. Figure No. 5 shows
and six feet at the middle,
a front view of the same.
776
K L A T - U O A T 1 N G H'R li 1 1 S s .
Figure No. 6 shows a top view of tho t1at-lx>at
as it would appear looking down upon tlio roof
of the cabin.
The large diagram, Figure No. y, drawn in
perspective, shows the interior of a plain cabin,
with a l>(ior six feet square, walls five feet high,
and six feet between the floor and the ridge-pole,
at the middle of the roof. The walls need not be
more than four feet high, giving five feet between
floor and ridge-pole.
.•\ cabin six feet high may be filled up with four
folding berths, which are boards two feet wide,
.■,.,..„,.,! t.. .),.. ,,,,11 i,v s-n.n- inni or l.':"'v-
occupy the cabin, and whether it is to be used
by a party of young naturalists upon a collecting
tour, or for fishing and shooting excursions, or simply
as a sort of picnic boat for a few days' enjoyment,
such as most boys in the country are quite well
able to plan and carry out unaided.
The picture entitled ■' Who Knocks ? " shows the
interior of the cabin of a boat in which the only
occupant is the dog left to guard the premises
while the flal-boatmen are ashore.
Although this rude home-made flat-boat does not
possess speed, yet, with a square sail rigged on the
iick stp.ff. and wilh a good wind over the stern, it
'^?%.'.
_:.; «^lfj.
hinges, so that they can be let down. The toj)
flap is supported by straps, and the bottom one
by folding legs. The diagram shows two berths
down upon the left-hand side, and two folded uj)
at the right-hand side. The lockers set under the
bottom berths can be used for stowing away bed-
clothing.
I shall not describe the construction of the inte-
rior of the cabin, my aim being only to suggest how
it may be done, as every boy who is smart enough
to build a flat-boat will have his own peculiar ideas
about the manner in which it should be fitted up
in.side. The interior construction depends, in a
measure, upon the number of persons who arc to
can get through the water pretty well ; and as this
sort of craft draws only a few inches of water, it can
float in creeks and inlets where a well-loaded row-
boat would drag bottom.
The cost of time and expense in building the
flat-boat, under favorable conditions, amounts to
little ; but should you, upon calculation, find the
expense too great, or your time limited, you can,
with little work and no expense, build a substitute,
which we shall christen the "Crusoe raft."
All that is necess.iry for the construction of this
craft is an ax, an auger, and a hatchet, with some
good stout boys to wield them.
I'nr a l.irge r.ili .ulL.t ^iv .,r seven logs, not
.8S..)
1" 1. A r - « 1-) A r I N c; k o k h u y s .
777
more than icn inches in diameter ; they must be firc-plncc, and if the cabin is floored with cross-
tolerably straijjht and of nearly the same size, sticks, and all the cracks arc stopped up to prevent
Pick out the longest and biggest for the center; the water splashing through, and if a lot of hay is
sharpen one end ; roll the log into the water, and
there secure it.' Pick out two logs as nearly alike
as possible, to lie one at each side of the center-
log. Measure the center-log, and make the point
of each side-log, not at its own center, but at that
side of it which will lie against the middle-log, so
that this side-point shall reach to where the point-
ing of the middle-log begins. (See Figure No. 8.)
.After all the logs needed have been trimmed and
m.nde ready to be fitted, roll them into the water
and arrange them in order. Fasten them together
by cross-strips, boring holes through the strips to
correspond with holes bored into the logs lying
beneath, and through these holes driving wooden
pegs. The water will cause the pegs to swell, and
they will hold much more firmly than iron nails.
The skeleton of the cabin is niade of saplings;
such as are used for hoop-poles arc the best.
These arc bent in an arch, and the ends are thrust
into holes bored for the purpose. (See Figure No.
9.) Over this ho<ipmg a piece of canvas is
stretched, after the manner of the tops of old-fash-
ioned country wagons.
Erect a jack-staff, to be used for a square sail or
a flag, and with the addition of some sticks, whit-
tled off at the ends, for oar-locks, your " Crusoe
raft" IS complete. (See Figure No. 10.)
For oars, use sweeps — long poles, each with a
piece of bo.ird for a blade fastened to one end.
A hole must be bored through the pole, about
three feet from the handle, to slip over the peg
used .IS oar-lock ; this peg should be high enough
to allow you to st.md while using the sweeps.
.\ flat stone placed at the bow will serve for a
piled in, you will have a most comfortable bed at
night.
The '■ Crusoe raft " has one great advantage
over all boats. You can take a long trip down a
river on it, allowing the current to bear you along :
then, after your trip is finished, you can abandon
the raft and return by steam-boat or cars.
I remember visiting a lake at the head-water of
the Miami. High and precipitous cliffs surrounded
the little body of water. So steep were the great,
weather-beaten rocks that it was only where the
stream came tumbling down, past an old mill, that
an accessible path could be found. Down that
path 1 climbed, accompanied by my cousin; for we
knew that bass lurked in the deep, black holes
among the rocks. We had no jointed rods nor
Klril-RB NO. 8. — FLOAT OP "CRl'SOE RArr."
fancy tackle ; but the fish there arc not particular,
and seldom hesitate to bite at a bait suspended by
a coarse line from a freshly rut hickory sapling.
ICven now, 1 feel the llirill of excitement and
expectancy as, in imagination, my pole is bent
778
FLAT-BOATING FOR BOYS.
nearly double by the frantic struggles of those To hold them securely, wc bored holes down through
" gamy " black bass. After spending the morning the sapling cross-pieces into the logs ; then, with the
fishing, we built a fire upon a short stretch ol hatchet, we hammered wooden pegs into these holes,
sandv beach, and, cleaning our fish, washing them For the seat, we used the half of a section of log.
FIGl-RE NO. 9. — "CRl'SOE RAFT,*' WITH SKELETON CABIN.
in the spring close at hand, we put them among
the embers to cook.
While the fire was getting our dinner ready for
us. wc threw off our clothes and plunged into the
cool waters of the lake. Ine.xpert swimmers as
we were at that time, the opposite shore, though
apparently only a stonc's-throw distant, was too far
ofi" for us to reach by swimming. Many a longing
and curious glance we cast toward it, however, and
strong was the temptation that beset us to try the
unknown depths intervening. A pair of brown ears
appeared above the ferns near the water's edge, and
a fox peeped at us ; squirrels ran about the fallen
trunks of trees or scampered up the rocks, as
saucily .as though they understood that we could
not swim well enough to reach their side of the
lake ; and high up the face of the cliflf w.as a
dark sp{)t, which we almost knew was the entrance
to some mysterious cavern.
How we longed for a boat! But not even a raft
nor a dug-out could be seen anywhere upon the
gl.Tssy surface of the water, or along its reedy bor-
der. We nevertheless determined to explore the
lake next day, even if we should have to paddle
astride of a log.
Tlie first rays of the morning sun had not
reached the dark waters before my companion and
I were hard at work, with ax and hatchet, chopping
in two a long log wc had discovered near the mill.
We had at first intended to build a raft ; but grad-
ually we evolved a sort of catamaran. The two
pieces of log we sharpened at the ends for the bow ;
then we rolled the logs down upon the beach, and,
while I went into, the thicket to chop down some
saplings, my companion borrowed an auger. We
next placed the logs about three feet apart, and,
marking the ])oints where we intended to put the
cross-pieces, we cut notches there; then we placed
the siiplings across, fitting them into these notches.
FICl'RE NO.
COMPLETE.
the flat side fitting into places cut for that purjxse.
All that remained to be done now was to make a
seat in the stern, and a pair of oar-locks. .At a
proper distance from the oarsman's seat we bored
two holes, for a couple of forked sticks, which
answered admirably for oar-locks ; across the stern
we fastened another piece of log, similar to that
used for the oarsman's seat. With the help of a
man from the mill, our craft was launched ; and
then, with a pair of oars made of old pine board,
wc rowed off, leaving tlie miller waving his hat.
Our catamaran was not so light as a row-boat,
but it floated, and we could propel it with the
oars, and, best of all, it was our own invention and
made with our own hands. We called it a "Man-
friday," and by means of it we explored every
nook in the length and bre.idth of the lake ; and,
ever after%vard, when we wanted a boat, we knew a
simple and inexpensive way to make one, — and a
safe one, too.
The picture on page 776 shows how, some years
ago, a certain flat-boating p.irty enjoyed a "tie-up"
one day, on the St. John's River, Florida. The boat
was named " The Ark," and among its comforts
were a tiny cook-stove and four glass windows.
In those days, no band of " flatters " w.is much
thought of that failed to slay an alligator in the
first day or two, and it was in deference to this pub-
lic opinion that " The Ark " bore at each side of
its cabin one of these reptiles .as a trophy.
During the cruise, the members of the party had
frequent occasion to put into practice all manner of
devices for saving labor, and making the hunter as
far .IS practicable independent of a mate when, as
often happened, two men could not be spared to
go foraging together. One of these "wrinkles,"
as they were termed, w.isa floating fish-car, which,
being attached to the fisher's waist, floated behind
him as he waded, netting. This arrangement not
.88..]
BLILUEKS UV TIIK SKA.
only Mved much weariness in c.nn7ing finny spoils fatigues inseparable from (...i,,|.,M^-..u, .,,,,1 ij.u-
to camp after, [KThapi, a long and trying clay, but boating. Knciunmce of hardship is noble in itself,
it helped ti> keep the (ish fn-sh ; and, when not m and there is call enough for it in this rough-and-
.ictive use, it \v;\s towed behind '• The .Ark." tumble world; but the fellow who most enjoys
Many hints of this s.>me kind might be given, "roughing it" in a trip outdoors is he who is
but this one will suffice to show that a boy with his ipiick to save himself unnecess;iry exertion by using
wits about him can lighten very materially the the simple means at hand.
nUlLDI-.RS HV Till" <l" \
Who, 1 now understand,
Are very much given
To shoveling sand ;
And along by the beach
Their great c.istles are planned,
With the w.tlls and the battlements
liuildcd of sand.
IJut I wonder if ever they dream while they play,
That the billows will wash all their castles away.
Never mind, my qu.irtette.
Work away in the sand !
There arc hundreds just like you
All over the land, —
Whose wonderful castles,
So tall and so grand.
Are budded of nothing
IJut glittering sand, —
Who forget that ere close of the short summer day.
The billows will wash their fine castles awav.
78o
"a boy on the plack.
A HOV ON THE I'LACH.
llv IltLKNK J. Hicks
kHAl' docs ail Uebby and
Towzer ? "
''Did you speak, Jane?'"
"Yes; 1 said, ' What ails
Debby and Towzer?' Deb-
*" by 's been goin' on for some
<V V.'JUC^- "" '""'^ down there in the garden.
A ,'^ "vv^fS^ "*"'^ Towzer is barkin' in the
'*'^*' distractedcst way around the
hay-stack down yonder in ihc
meadow. I can't make out either
Debby or Towzer ; can you, Susan ? "
Susan, the youngest of the three Bently sisters, —
who owned to her fifty years, — thus appealed to.
came out from the roomy pantry, with her cap-
borders flying, and her floury hands dripping tiny
white flakes over Jane's clean kitchen, and upon
the shining floor of the porch which overlooked
both hill-side garden and meadow.
A merry, contagious laugh from Susan's' lips,
quickly echoed by Jane, caused Debby to halt a
moment in her frantic chase after some intruder,
not visible to the two upon the porch.
"It does — beat — all!" gasped Debby, as she
paused ; and then came an indistinct sentence,
which the others failed to catch, and the dumpy
figure hastened on again, at the same time throw-
ing stones, sticks, clam-shells, and tufts of grass, at
the object of her pursuit.
" I do think, Susan, we ought to go down and
help Debby ; there 's no tellin' what it may be."
" If only Debby would consent to having a boy
on the place ! He 'd be so handy with her in the
garden."
Susan, the little woman, witli tender voice, must
certainly have had great loveliness in early youth,
for traces of a sunny beauty lay still upon the
good, fair face — in fact, gleams of a fair and beau-
tiful youth were seen also upon the other two
faces, but more clearly upon Susan's.
" 'Deed yes, .Suse ; that is what I tell Debby every
summer. But you know what she says, it would
make too much extra sewing for my old fingers,
and more work for you in the baking and cooking,
and, like 's not, only hinder her in the garden after
all ; and then she says, too, ' Where on earth is
the boy to come from ? ' Debby always winds up
with that, you know. There 's some sense in that
l;ist, Susan, and that 's all the sense 1 sec."
" There is n't a mile in it, Jane, not a grain.
Why, there 's plenty of boys, and good ones, too.
only Debby 's so sure of bein' taken in by them.
Now, I don't know much about boys in general,
but 1 believe they 're human, and like most other
creatures; if you 're good and tender with them,
Jane, the bad will come out. I calc'late it is n't
in the Hentlys to abuse anything; and so 1 think
'most any boy would do."
Tender-hearted little Susan had reached the
g.arden gate at the conclusion of this speech, and
she was about to open it, when a cry from Debby
caused her to start back, and falling against Jane,
knock that worthy woman quite off her feet.
" Don't come in yet, Susan, for goodness' saki. !
These three hens have tuckered the life almost out
of me. — There goes one over the fence! Stand
back, Jane. Thank goodness I There goes another.
Shoo ! Bend down, Susan ; your head 's in the
way, and this is the meanest hen of the three.
Shoo! She sees your head bobbin' up, Susan.
Mind! There now, — shoo! There she goes;
that 's the last. Thank goodness! 1 'm 'most
tuckered out." Debby sat right down upon one
of the beds without ceremony, fanning with her
bonnet the round, red face, and moist brow.
Susan and Jane, both convulsed with laughter,
entered the garden, closing the gate carefully.
" It does beat all, now," said Jane with pity for
Debby, who was sitting there forlorn and exhaust-
ed. " The hens bother you uncommon, Debby ; if
you would only consent to let me and Susan help
here a bit."
•■ Help? .Xs though you and Susan did n't have
your hands full."
" I say, Debby, do let us have a boy on the
place."
■'Susan, Susan, you child! You don't know
what you 're talkin' about ; I don't want a boy in
my garden ; and a better reason, where 's the boy
to come from, I 'd like to know ? Yes, I 'd like to
know, Susan ! If Providence should send one right
down here under my nose, — so to spe.ik, — why,
I 'd take him : but Providence don't trouble about
such small matters, 1 reckon. It would seem silly."
"Oh, Debby! don't say that; but you don't
mean it, that 's one consolation," said gentle,
motheily Susan, seeing the broad smile upon
Debby 's face.
" Now then," said brisk, energetic Debby, ris-
ing, "since the hens arc out of the garden, and 1
can breathe again, 1 want to know what ails Tow-
zer? 1 did n't have lime to think before."
isai]
• N I III-: n.Ai K.
781
Sure enough ! What did ail Towier ? The l.uy
old do>; was barkinj;, howling;, and chasing; around
the liay->tack down in the meadow in a frantic
and iinbecominj; nianner, very unlike liis usually
ijuiet and dijjnilicd conduct.
"It 's a rat, as likely as not," siiid Jane, turning
honiewaril.
•■ Wail, Jane ; listen ! " It was Susan who spoke,
hurriedh and low.
•■ That is n't a nit, nor a hen cacklin' neither ; it
sounds like a cry,'' sivid Debby, looking' sternly at
the hay-sl.ick.
'• It is a cry, girls ! Come, Towzer is tormentin'
something there, .ts sure as you live."
Sus;in ran as nimbly .is a \oimg girl down the
side-hill and across the road, and had reached the
bars .uid enteretl the meadow before the two elder
ones had come to the road.
•' Towzer, stop ! Here, Towzer ! " called Susan,
and Towier yelped and barked louder than ever,
while the cry of a human voice came more distinctly
at every step.
" What can it be?" cried Susan, breaking into a
run as she nearcd the stack. Towzer. barking
excitetlly, met her, leading her quite around to
the other side, where the object of
I s .J.--.'. . his annoyance was
found, crouched
us all ! " cried Susan, — who nevcY said that, except-
ing under extraordinary circumstances, — and then
the tears quite ran over from her loving brow n eyes,
.'inci (IruntH'il down, 'ine tt\ one. iiiH»n Tnwzer's head.
■■ .\ cliild, under the h.i> sl.n k 1 How on earth
did it come here, and when .'"
Susan, in her pity and bewilderment, never
thought of questioning the child, therefore she only
stared, while Towzer, seemingly C|uite content with
h.iving accomplished his object, — that of bringing
the family down to the me.idow, — sat down and
panted, overcome with his exertions, as Debby had
been after chasing the hens.
"A child!" cried Jane, looking over Susan's
shoulder, in a helpless, befogged way.
" A boy ! " ejaculated Debby, agh.ist.
Susan, mopping away the tears from her face,
recovered tone and spirits in a fl.ish. For a bright
idea, such a brilliant idea, had come to Susan.
"There's something queer about this, Debby;
there 's a Providence in this, mind it. Come, boy,
come right out now, we 're friends."
Debby stared, and Jane laughed ner\'ously,
while Susan assisted the big-eyed, famished-looking
boy to his feet.
" Your dog ! " he g.asped, crouching close to
Susan's side.
" Bless you ! Towzer would n't hurt a fly," said
Susan, to assure the frightened child.
' He took my breakfast." The great, hungry
eyes looked up to Susan, who said beneath her
breath, "Lord pity us all!"
• Towzer, you thief ! " said Jane, harshly, and
with a desire to conciliate the boy. " What did
your breakfast consist of, poor boy ? "
The famished lad made no reply to this
question of Jane's, but the brown, hungry eyes
were raised appealingly to Susan, and
rested a moment upon Towzer, before
-•" they closed, and the long black lashes
lay thick and dark upon the white,
sunken cheeks.
" Lord pity us all ! He 's
fainted dead away ! " cried Su-
■ san, as she gathered the frail
boy in her strong, motherly
anns ; and, w ithout a word to
astonished Debby and Jane, she
strode like a determined gen-
eral across the meadow, with Towzer quietly at
her heels, up the hill, over the cool porch, through
Jane's clean kitchen, dropping bits of hay at in-
ter\'als, on through the darkened sitting-room, to
the quiet little bedroom beyond, and deposited
her burden upon the white bed. Then she ran —
yes, really ran — to the kitchen closet, and returned
— as Debby laughingly told the story years after —
with not only the camphor and brandy bottles, but
also the salt and pepper, together with the salera-
tus and mustard cups, just as Debby and Jane
entered in am.ized silence.
782
"A BOY ON TUI£ PLACE."
(Al'CUST,
•• She hns taken him to the sitting-room bed-
room I " said Jane, surprised beyond measure, at
the same time conceiving a great admiration for
this httle Su-
^ ' san, who could
ilways think
and perform
twice, before
Jane or Debby
could arrive at
even the shad-
ow of a conclu-
sion.
"It was the
nearest
bed,
'.-■'ii::
TOWZEK INVESTIGATES
Jane, and such a comfortable spot ; when 1 had
fever 'n' ager, why, 1 quite enjoyed lyin' here,"
apologized Susan, as she was about to deluge the
wan- faced boy with camphor and brandy, which
Debby, with a strong hand, prevented Just in time.
Uebby, you see, had reached a conclusion or two,
and she was now ready to act with the foremost,
as she always was after once deciding.
" He 's comin' to, Susan ; never mind all that
stuff you 've brought in here from the closet. This
boy is star\ed out, that 's all ; he does n't want
your camphire, and mustard, nor salt, neither, but
you just weaken a bit of the brandy, and Jane, you
be quick and see if that broth 1 smell is n't most
done, or boiled itself to death, and bring a bowlful
in here ; take one of the blue bowls, Jane, they 'vc
got a comfort.ible, healthy sort of look, owin' to
their amazin' size. There now, Sonny, swallow
this weak brandy."
Susan was bending down over the white face,
smoothing the brown hair, and smiling a succession
of sunbeamy smiles, right into the face and heart
of this outcast. A wan smile answered her ; and the
weary eyes looked up a moment nt Debby, grate-
fully, as he swallow ed the weakened brandy, but they
returned to Susan's face again, and rested there.
" I don't suppose, Debby, we know how to deal
with children exactly, never havin' h.ad any around,"
said Susan, mournfully and apologetically ; at the
same time, one plump hand w.is tenderly smoothing
the boy's hair, while the other clasped one of his
thin hands, which was not very clean, either.
" Never mind, Susan, we know how to feed 'em.
any wa\' ; and I reckon that '11 reach
their hearts as soon as anything.
Right, Jane; you 've brought one of
ihc blue bowls, have n't you? That
broth smells amazin' good 1
Now, then. Sonny ! "
Debby took the spoon
from Jane's hand — Jane
still holding the bowl — and
prepared to feed the fam-
ished boy.
■' I '11 raise him up, Dcb-
so that he can cat better.''
And accordingly, Susan raised
the boy's he.id to her shoulder,
when he looked up with the fee-
ble smile again, while his lips
moved painfully ; and Susan,
bending her ear, alone caught the low-
spoken words.
"Lord, pity us all!" cried she to
her sisters. " He says he is only a
beggar-boy, — not to trouble about
him, — as though we cared for that ! "
Tears sprang to three pairs of eyes, and Debby
quickly carried a big spoonful of the broth to the
white lips. He ate slowly and seemingly in pain a
moment or two, and then turned from it with a
shiver and sigh, muttering :
"1 was so hungry yesterday! 1 could h.ive
swallowed it all, sure, yesterday ! This morning, 1
had a piece of bread. The dog took it ; but 1
don't care ; I did n't want it. 1 'm so tired and so
sleepy ! "
.Susan put him gently down, and, as he tossed
his arms restlessly, and a wild, frightened look
came to his eyes,' the three tender-hearted little
women looked eagerly at one another for an
answer to the question each face was mutely ask-
ing : " What shall we do ,' "
TIIK I'l.A. I
As usual, Susnn was first to rccovoi.
•'I '11 have old DiKtor Jones here in a wink."
■• No, Susan, let me ^o," said Jane, i|uickly.
" He seems to know you better, — this child does;
sort of smiles now and then, as if ho knew vou.
1 -11 go."
Ten minutes later, old Doll stoiKl at the gate
below, and Jane was clambering into the covered
wagon, while Debby, on the porch, shouted num-
berless messages.
Sus;tn, at the bt'dside, si\t quite still, cl;isping
one of the burning; h.mds, and smoothing the hair
from the hot forehead. She sat there patiently
through the long hour of Jane's absence, listening
to the low muttering of the sick boy, from which
they could glean nothing of his past: while Debby
stole in and out on tiptoe, halting at the bedside a
moment or two, then away agxiin to the kitchen to
look after matters there; and so, patient, faithful,
Susan sat on, not only that one hour, but many,
many hours, through long days and weary nights,
while the feeble life ebbed lower and lower, as the
fever brought on by hunger and exhaustion seemed
to bum and shrivel up the little Ixxly to a skeleton.
Through the long we.iry nights and days, the
three watchers, themselves growing white and anx-
ious, listened wonderingly to one sentence, repeated
ag;un and ag-ain, — sometimes gayly, then so sadly
and wearil>- that the tears would rush to the eyes
of the patient women :
•'• The tide 's out, Father ; I 'm coming to shore."
'•What shore was he nearing?" Susan won-
dered, one day, after so many had passetl away
anxiously and slowly, — wondered with a pain at her
heart, the motherly soul ; for this lonely child who
had come to them in such a Providential way —
Susan held to that — was growing strangely dear to
her, and not only to her, but to Debby and Jane,
who, perhaps, could not have told what was stir-
ring their hearts, and bringing out caresses
and tender words that the unconscious boy
neither felt nor heard.
"Which shore was he appro.iching?" again
and again Susan asked herself and the doc-
tor; and then prayed it might be this, if only
that they might be tender and kind to him a bit,
before his feet should touch upon that other shore.
All this and more good Susan thought and
prayed on ; and then there really came a day — a
most wonderful day, for they never left off going
back to it with joy and triumph — when the brown
eyes ojxrned and smiled right up into good Susan's
face, causing her to bc.am down upon him so
cheerily he really thought at first he had gone to
heaven, and that was the face of an angel who
was to lead him straight to father and mother.
Til till iif the slow return to health wmil'l l>.-
wcansonu . : , :.
came a tlay, after weeks of nourishmg anil care,
when Willie— that was his name Willie llreni —
told these good friends, including Doctor Jones, of
his dead mother — so long dead — .ind his father, a
tisherman, at KUerton, on the co;ist, ten miles
away, who hati been drowned within sight of his
home, — a poor old tumble-down shanty; and,
after that, Willie, having started out to seek his
fortune, and to get out of sight of the cruel sea,
strayed across the country here, there, and all
over, begging his way, but without seeming to
find a fortune, and sank at last, under the hay-
stack, where Towzer found him out at once.
" And now, when must he be moving off? "
This w.as asked one day after health and strength
had come back to the sick boy, filling out the
cheeks and tinging them with a rich color. The
bright eyes shone, also, so honest and clear that
Siuan, clasping him in her strong, motherly arms,
cried out : " Do you suppose we shall ever, ever let
you go away ? No, not while I live and breathe !
Lord pity us all ! No, never ! "
And then two young arms wound themselves
closely around Susan's neck, and the brown head,
rosy cheeks, and all, lay upon Susan's shoulder.
WilHng hands and nimble feet Willie Brent
brought to the quiet old homestead, and the ten-
derness that succored him in that hour of need was
the brightest spot in all Willie's life to turn to m
after years, and was always remembered by him,
but most tenderly after Susan — Mother Susan, as
he had very early learned to call her — w.is carrietl
• nil fr.itn the old home to rest on the hill-side.
784
A STRANGE FOUNULINti.
(August,
A STRA.Ncii: FOUNDLING.
I!v Tkank l!n.i,i:\v.
Many years ago, 1 was living in that curious
topsy-tur\'y island-continent called Australia, where
the pears have the stalk at the big end, where the
pits grow outside the cherries, where the swans are
black, where strawberries ripen at Christmas, and
where they have four-footed beasts with the bills of
birds, — well, when 1 was living in this country, 1
one day came into possession of a young kangaroo-
rat, which is a little animal almost e\actly resem-
bling a kangaroo, only much smaller.
I was at first somewhat puzzled how I should
feed my foundling, as it was too young to take
care of itself, when I suddenly remembered that
my old cat, " Vic," had just become possessed of a
large family of little kittens, and I resolved to see
whether she would not adopt my kangarooling as
one of her own family. I had some doubt whether
she might not decline the iharge, and make a meal
nf my pet ; so 1 watched her secretly when she
returned to her wooden box full of children, after 1
had slyly slipped the rat in among them during her
temporarj- absence in search of food. When she
came back, she sniffed the little fellow curiously
once or twice, but soon came to the conclusion that
he could, at least, do no harm, and lel't him in
t|uiet slumber with the rest. So I turned away
satisfied, and pleased with her hospitality.
After a few days, 1 noticed that puss was particu-
larly affectionate to the little stranger, showing it
more attention than any other member of the
family circle. The rat grew apace, and soon was
strong enough to use those wonderful jumping in-
struments, its hind legs, with great cflect.
Well, one day, 1 went into the shed tt> see how
the orphan was getting along. The old cat w.as
licking it fondly, when, all of a sudden, it made a
LITTLE MAID MAKCIKV
-«5
big jump I'rum uiulcr pussy's nuse, clear out of
the Ixix. The look of surprise ami anxicly which
at once came over the cat's face was comical
to see. She watched this strange foundling of
hers for a few seconds with an expression of
troubled wonder, and then, slowly and deliberately
moving one paw after another, crawled out of the
box, and, coming stealthily behind the rat, took it
gently by the neck and carried it back to her nest.
When she had got it s,ifely home, she settled
down, and beg;in licking it and purring over it,
apparently px-rfectly contented. lUit in a few
minutes, in the midst of her happiness, 1'" lick !
out jumped the rat again. I'uss looked terribly
distressed, but. as before, she crawled out of her
box and brought the truant home.
This little game was repeated n\ore or less dur-
ing the whole day, puss sometimes allowing the rat
to make two or three bounds around the building
before she brought it back, she following close
behind with eager and anxious looks. The poor
foster-mother evidently thought she had brought
into the world a prodigy — something mysteriously
wonderful. She seriously neglected her own kit-
tens, who, poor little things, might have suffered
h.id they not been just old enough to lap milk.
The old cat never deserted her wonderful child,
and it -was a funny sight, when the rat grew up, to
sec pussy following it on its jumping excursions.
1 do not know what w.ts the end of this attach-
ment, for, soon after, 1 sailed away from that
country, and left the cat and the rat behind me.
Lirri.i: maid marci^ry.
liV MaRCAKET JOH.NSliN.
DAFKorilljs, daflbdils, daisies, and buttercups.
Dance now your prettiest, blossom and blow.
Little Maid Margery lies in your waving bloom ;
Whisper her all the sweet secrets you know.
'""^i
Vi)i_ VIII
50.
IIu5h ! Leaning lovingly, scifily bend over her.
Let not the sun in her rosy face peep.
Down 'mid the daffodils, daisies, and buttercups
Little Maid .M.irgery 's fallen .asleep !
786
IN NATIKI-; S \V(i\ I)K Kl. AN li.
(AuoutT,
l.\ NA TfRIl'S WoXDi-.RL.WD: OK. A I ) \' i: X TL' R IIS IX Till-:
A.M 1:RUA X TROI'ICS.
llv Kl i.ix L. (IswAi.ii.
Chapter X.
Thk city of Bogota was the largest town with
the fewest inhabitants wc had ever seen in America.
Three hundred years ago, when the Spaniards
contiucrcd the empire of the Incas, they found in
the Andes a lovely valley, of such beauty and fer-
tility that it seemed strange it should be uninhab-
ited. It was traversed by the Rio Francisco, — a
rapid stream that furnished plenty of water-power
for the mining works of the Spanish gold-hunters, —
and before long, the banks of the river were lined
widi workshops, warehouses, and country-seats.
But sixty years after, when Hogota was almost the
largest city in South America, one of the neighbor-
ing mountains proved to be an active volcano, and
the Spaniards now found out what had kept the
Indians from settling the \'al de Francisco. When-
ever the volcano was in a state of eruption, the
city was shaken by an earthquake, and, in the
course of the next century, some twenty or thirty
such catastrophes destroyed the churches and prin-
cipal dwelling-houses, until all the wealthier resi-
dents removed to the plain along the coast.
We entered the town by a gale that was almost
blockaded with the debris of broken walls, and the
buildings of the next four or five streets looked as
forlorn as school-houses in the summer v.ication ;
but there was no lack of stable-room, and we soon
found a family who agreed to board our animals
for the mere cost of feeding them, besides a
couple of dollars for their trouble. We also pro-
cured an extra guide,— a Pantaitcro, or " Moor-
man," as the Spaniards call the Indians of the
Peruvian lowlands. He pretended to be well ac-
quainted with the ro.ad to the next boat-station on
the Amazon River ; so we engaged him, although
our landlord warned us that he was a Iwmbre Itcrcl-
ico, — an unbeliever, — besides having a terrific
appetite. This second indictment was corrobo-
rated the next day, ten miles below Bogota, where
I shot a large gruya, or black heron. Our moor-
man was delighted to find that I wanted only the
skin of the bird, and he ate every bit of the rest.
leaving nothing but the head and some of the
larger bones.
But waterfowl are very abundant in the Am.izon
valley, :md if our new guide w.is going to content
himself with such fare, we thought there would be
no danger of his ruining us by the exercise of his
peculiar gift.
When we approached the southern frontier of
New Granada, the hill-country expanded into broad
pampas, grassy jilateaus, with strips of woodland
here and there, and a great variety of game. We
shot some pheasants and sand-rabbits, and, in a
copse of mesquite-bushes, our dog scared up a
troop of strange-looking birds, with the short
wings and long legs of young turkeys, but about
ten times as big. We caught one of them, and,
by cross-examining the Indian, 1 at last identified
our prisoner. It was a young casuar, or Atnerican
ostrich ; and, half an hour after, we came across a
flock of old ones, rushing through the bush with
flopping wings, and making straight for the open
pampa. Rough started in pursuit, with Menito
and me following at the top of our speed ; but the
casuars ran like deer, and soon vanished in the
distance, — much to the regret of our moor-man,
who had promised himself a magnificent barbecue.
" Where is Tommy ? " I asked, when I returned
to the pl.ace where we had left our mule.
" He 's in that bush over yonder," said Daddy
Simon. " He has found a nest of — what-d'-ye-call-
'ems? I never saw such creatures in .Mexico."
" Yes, look here ; 1 have captured two of them,"
said Tommy, emerging from the bush with a bun-
dle of something in his hand. " It took me about
twenty minutes to find the little dodgers; but it
will be still harder to find a name for them. Just
look at this ! Have you ever seen such prickly
hobgoblins ? "
" They are what we call ' huatzaric.ichiconitos.' "
obser\'cd the moor-man, when Tommy opened his
bundle.
'■ Yes, 1 suppose so," said Daddy Simon; "but
you are a heretic, you know. This boy wants to
know the Christian name."
''Does anybody know what they are?" asked
Tommy.
1 h.id to own myself puzzled. The "hobgob-
lins " looked almost like hedgehogs, but had long
ring-tails, and hands like little monkeys. " Prickly
opossums" is the best term 1 can think of in de-
scribing them to .North .American readers. Their
sh.arp spines would have made them a nuisance to
our smooth-skinned pels; so we put them in a
b.asket by themselves, and, some six days after, the
iSSi.)
ADVKNTUkES IN THE AMERKAX IROIMCS.
787
liil of that basket was accidentally left open, and
our two nondescripts made their escape; but one
of theni was recaptured, and when I showed it to a
friend in La Ouayni, we found out that it was the
South American tree- porcupine (/fystrix t<tii-
liala), — a creature found only in Southern New
Ciranada and in Peru.
On the third evening after our de|)ariure from
Hogota, we encamped on the banks of the Rio
I'atamayo (a tributary of the Amazon), in a groxe
of majestic .idansoni;ts, or monkey tig-trees.
High over our heads we heard an incessant grunt-
ing and chattering, but the evening was too far
advanced for us to distinguish the little creatures
that moved in the top branches of the tall trees.
The next morning, however, the noise recom-
menced, and we s;iw that the gnmters were a sort
of small raccoons, and the chatterers a troop of
mt'Ni's, or capuchin nionke\s. that seemed to ha\e
their head-quarters in the top of the highest tree.
" They have not seen us yet," said Tommy, who
was watching their gambols through the foliage of
the underbrush. " Oh, L'ncle," he whispered, " do
you remember what you told me about catching
monkeys with a decoy ? Ple.ise, let us try it here ;
they arc nearly of the same kind as our Hilly."
After a consultation with the Indians, we fastened
Master Bobtail to a long string, and made him go
up the tree .is high as we could drive him without
betraying our presence to his relatives. We had
no traps for catching them, but our plan was to let
them come near enough for us to shoot one of the
mothers without hurting her babies. Hilly's rope,
as we had expected, got entangled before long, and,
finding himself at the end of his tether, he began
to squeal, and his cries soon .ittracted the attention
of his friends in the tree-top. We heartl a rustling
in the branches, and presently an old ring-tail m.-ide
his appearance, and, seeing a stranger, his chatter-
ing at once brought down a troop of his companions,
mostly old males, though. Mother-monkeys with
babies are very sh>', and those in the tree-top
seemed to have some idea that all was not right :
they clambered to the very end of the branches to
ascertain the cause of the hubbub, but not one
came ne.ir enough, and to shoot them from such .1
distance and perhaps only cripple them or their
poor youngsters, would have been useless cnielty.
Their husbands, though, came nearer and
nearer, and had almost reached Hilly's perch, when
all at once their leader slipped behind the tree like
a dodging squirrel, and at the same moment wc
heard from above a fierce, long-drawn scream : a
harpy-eagle w.is circling around the tree-top, and
coming down with a sudden swoop, he seized one
luckless mother-monkey, that had not found time
to reach a hiding-place. The poor thing held on
to her branch with all her might, knowing that her
life and her baby's were at stake, but the eagle
caught her by the throat and his throttling clutch
at last made her relax her grip, and with a single
tlop of his mighty wings, the harpy raised himself
some twenty feel, mother, baby, and all. Then we
witnessed a most curious instance of maternal devo-
tion and animal instinct — unless 1 should call it
presence of mind : when branch after branch
slipped from her grip and all hope was over, the
mother with her own hantls tore her baby from her
neck and Hung it down into the tree, rather than
liave it share the fate she knew to be in store
for herself. I stood up and fired both barrel^ of
my gun after the robber, but without effect ; the
mscal already h.nd ascende<l to a height of at le.ist
two hundred feet, and he flew off, with the switch-
ing tail of his victim dangling from between his
claws.
When the smoke cle.ired away, the monkey-
.issembly had broken up with screams of horror,
while from the distance the report of my shots was
answered by a multitude of croaking voices, and
beyond the hills the sky w.is literally blackened
with swarming crows, that seemed to have risen
from the depths of the virgin woods, some five or
six miles ahead. Menito, our champion climber,
recovered Hilly and the rope, and also brought us
a splendid night-butterfly, which he had caught at
the expense of several scratches to his naked arms,
for the lower branches of the monkey-tree were
almost completely overgrown with the coils of the
prickly conhro, or thorn-vine — a climbing plant of
amazing toughness, and bristling with long, sharp
spines.
Our chances for dinner were excellent that morn-
ing ; besides the birds and rabbits 1 had shot the
day before, we had a lot of Hogota ginger-cakes,
and the Indi.ins gathered about a peck of wild
potatoes that grew in abundance along the slope of
the river-bank. We agreed to camp at the next
spring, and the moor-man took us to a place called
the Fuente del Tigre, or Tiger's Fountain, a clear
little rivulet in a deep ravine. At the foot of the
glen there was a natural meadow, so green and
shady that our old mule broke forth in an exultant
bray ; and again the echo was answered by the
voices of countless crows, quite near us this time,
for ten or twelve of them — a scouting party, prob-
ably— flew over our camping ground, and presently
flew back again, to report what they had seen.
'• They are Iris-crows," said the moor-man ;
" they have their roost in that copse of tanka-oaks
liehind the ravine. I saw them in that same place
about five years ago. My brother fired a shot at
them, and I never in my life heard such a noise as
thev then made."
788
IN NATlkKS Wii.N DKKl.AN U.
"Please, let us try that," said Tonini) ; "I
believe 1 can find the place ; it seems to be a rcj;u-
lar rookery."
"All right," said 1; " but hurry back; dinner
will soon be ready."
Mcnito, meanwhile, had watered our mule, and
reported that, farther up, the rill w.as as cold as
ice, so I picked up the drinking-cup and accom-
panied him to the spring. We had followed the
windings of the glen for some five or si.\ hundred
yards, when suddenly the boy seized iny arm, and
by a sort of instinct at the same moment my eyes
met those of an animal crouching behind a fallen
tree, not more than fifteen paces from where \vc
stood. " Don't stir," 1 whispered ; " that 's a p.in-
ther ! The least movement, and he will make a
spring."
Mcnito stood as still as a statue, but I felt his
finger-nails piercing my skin ; he began to realize
our situation, for even through the gloom of the
ravine and the intervening branches of the fallen
tree we could see that the animal was getting ready
for action ; inch by inch it advanced its fore paws
and lowered its head, .^t that moment, as 1
gripped my hunting-knife, the report of a gun
l.indcd him on the i ■.: the creek, and
with the second jump Iil- u.is .tway and out of
sight among the bowlders of a branch ravine.
"That was Tommy's shot-gun," said I; "he
fired at the rookery, I suppose," for once more the
hills were ringing with the croaks and caws of the
Iris-crows.
.Mcnito made no reply, but still clutched my
arm, and looking into his face, 1 saw the tears roll-
ing down his cheeks — the first and last time I ever
caught him crying. 1 never saw a braver l.ad of
his age, but the excitement for once had over-
strained his nerves.
"Oh, please, Scnor, let me get your rifle," said
he, as soon as he had shaken o(f his shudder.
" We must get even with that fellow, and may be
he h.is his young ones in this very ravine."
The second suggestion made me agree to the
proposition ; but our search was in vain ; the pan-
ther cither had no young ones or its den was very
well hidden.
" Never mind," said Tommy, who had joined
us on our return from the ravine ; " that chase h.TS
given us an appetite for dinner, if nothing else."
Hut this was to be a day of surprises : when we
got b.ick to our camping ground. Dad-
dy Simon met us with news that our
dinner had disappeared, vanished ut-
terly; rabbits, phe.isants, .and potatoes,
besides the contents of an eight-pound
jar of fresh lard — all in the short time
it had taken him to go to the creek and
wash our tin plates. "The rascal who
did it must ha\c the appetite of a wild
beast," said he, with a suspicious
glance at the moor-man.
But the moor-man protested his in-
nocence. " It 's quite a mystery to
me, caballeros," said he. "' But, on
second thoughts, it may have been
that very panther you met in the
ravine. A panther is awfully fond of
fried rabbits ; and as for lard, he could
eat a tubful .and look out for more."
"Yes, he had better look out, if I
c.ntch him," growled Daddy. "1 don't
see how we are going to get out of this
scrape."
" Well, it 's no use ciying for lost
milk, spilt or stolen," said I; "let's
hunt up some more potatoes, .and eat
what ginger-cakes are left."
It grew late before we had cooked
our second dinner, and when we had
finished it, the sun w.as far down
boomed through the glen. Not two inst.-ints after- to the west of the tall trees on the rookery-hill ;
ward, the panther had vanished — a single leap had but the air was still very warm, and, .as we pur-
J^ '
' rRtcicLr orossL'w
lUl.)
A i>\ i;nti' Ki;s IN iiii: wii uican tkoimcs.
789
sued our way along the river-
b;ink, I was astonished to sec n
larj;e number of spider-monkeys
crossing the water with flying leaps,
wherever the stream was bridged
by an overhanging tree, for in the
lower tropics monkejs are rarely
to be seen, excepting in the fore-
niH>n and during the cool half-hour
between sunset and twihght.
"1 believe they are traveling,
Senor,'" s;iid Daddy Simon, — "mi-
grating to some part of the coun-
try where there is more to eat. I
have seen the s;\me thing in tlu.ite-
mala ; and spider-monkeys are said
to senil out scouts to spy out the
land for hundreds of miles." th
In the Hnizilian virgin woods
there is plenty to eat, the year rounil, Init on the
border of the western pampas the summer heat
often becomes so intense that all vegetation with-
ers, and even animals pass the dryest weeks in a
sort of summer-sleep ; lizards hide in rock-clefts,
and alligators crawl into the fissures of the sun-
dried mud, until they are awakened by the first
showers of the rainy season.
Toward evening we reached a " Castillo," as the
moor-man called it, — a clearing at the mouth of a
tributary stream, where the Spaniards had built a
military post and a few log shanties. The fort was
now in ruins, and had long been abandoned ; but
the main building was still weather-tight enough to
afford us a comfortable night's lodging. I sent out
the boys to get a few armfuls of fire-wood, and soon
Menito returned w ith a lot of sticks and dry palm-
leaves.
"Would you like to get another boa. Senor?"
said he. " 1 have chased one into a thorn-tree,
and she can not get away. It 's not more than
three or four hundred yards from here."
I got my shot-gun and followed him to a clump
of tamarind-trees, so entirely covered with cordero
thorns that the whole looked like a huge vegetable
porcupine. A volley of stones disclosed the where-
abouts of the snake, and, after my first shot, it
crawled up into the higher branches, evidently
with the intention of escaping into another tree
that overtopped the porcupine copse. Hut the
creature's head now came plainly in view, anti the
second shot did its work so visibly and com|)letely
that I did not thmk it necessary to rclo.id my gun
just then. How to get the snake, however, was a
different and more difficult question ; the thorny
tangle seemed almost impenetrable.
•' That tall tree iK-hmd there is not near as b.id."
s-iid .Menito. '" 1 believe I can get that bo-i with
a noose and a long stick, if you will give me
.1 lift."
\Vith a long sapling and a piece of string, wc
made what the Mexicans call a lariat-pole, and
Menito ascended the tree as fast as possible, to
finish his job before night-fall.
'• I 've got it ! " he called out, after fishing and
hooking around for a few minutes; but he had
hardly pronounced the List word when he slipped,
and, dropping his pole, just caught the tree in the
nick of time to save hiinself from falling headlong
into the thorny maze below.
".She's alive yet!" cried he; "I caught her
round the neck, but she braced herself and
wrenched the stick out of my hand. What shall I
do now ? "
" Give it up," said I ; "it 's getting dark. You
might lose your hold, and that would be the last
of you."
"Yes, make him come down," said Tommy;
" wc 'd better lose a boa than a boy, and this one
is not much of a loss, anyhow. It 's only half-
grown, and one of the common steel-blue kind, or
1 am much mistaken."
The old fort seemed to have been abandoned
a good many years. A hollow walnut-tree had
grown all aroimd and even into one corner of the
building, and the tree itself was inhabited by a
colony of bats that became very noisy after dark,
and fluttered around our camp-fire like moths
about an unshielded light. Some of my compan-
ions were already asleep, when 1 saw a troop of
wild dogs prowling around the building and
exploring our camp with cautious steps. After
midnight, we were all awakened by a curious
grunting noise, as if a drove of bam-yard hogs
were c|uarreling over their shucks. Toward morn-
ing', till' r|ii:ii'nl s.eniid to have resulted in a fight.
k
790
IN NATURES WONDlCklwVND.
[AfGUST,
The prunls now sounded loud and fierce, and were
mingled at intenals with the unmistakable yells of
a wounded hoy.
■• Let us steal out and see what it is." whispered
Tommy ; and, walking softly through the rear
yard, we followed the shore of the river, in the pale
morning light, until we reached the mouth of the
tributary stream at a sort of peninsula, where we
became witnesses of a curious scene : two peccary-
boars lighting tiercely on the open sand-bank,
fusely from a wound in his shoulder; but his
adversary seemed to have received a more serious,
though invisible, injury. He staggered now and
then, and often had to yield to the onset of his
heavy antagonist. Me appeared to see that he
could not maintain himself much longer, and,
during the next pause, he evidently made up his
mind to change his tactics, for he suddenly rushed
upon his rival with an impetus that sent the old
fellow rolling over the level sand. But before the
^X''^;:^^^
l.D nnr.s mowi.isG ARoi-sn
THB nrlNKn niMLDINC
while their female relatives peeped from l>ehind the
willow-bushes, and seemed to encourage the com-
batants by their emphatic grunts. Now and then,
in the inter-acts of the conflict, the personal
acquaintances of the warriors appeared on the
battle-ground to inquire after the condition of their
champions ; but as soon .is the duel recommenced,
all non-combatants beat a hasty retreat. We were
screened by a low mescjuite-bush. and could see the
prize-fighters quite plainly. One of them — a pow-
erful, gray-headed old boar — w.is bleeding pro-
fallen athlete had recovered his legs, his .issailant
took to his heels and raced away with a speed that
soon put him beyond the re.ich of pursuit. The
old boar rose and made a blind rush in the direc-
tion of his rival's former standing-ground, but,
finding it untenanted, he seemed to comprehend
the turn matters had taken, and, with his head
proudly erect, he marched to the willow-thicket,
where the herd received him as their sole mon.trch
by rubbing their snouts against his neck, and hail-
ing him with loud grunts of homage.
A i>\ i:n ri- Ki:s in tim: am i: u ii an ikdI'Iis.
791
When \vc returned to the Castillo, our contp-inions
were still fast asleep, — Oaildy Simon on his inantlo-
s;ick and Mcnito in his littio haniniock. Hut vvhcrc
was the moor-man? I lis blankets were lyinj; in a
heap in the corner, — where could he be ?
"Oh, Uncle, just step this way!" whispered
ToMuny. " There is a lire in the yard ! I believe
that man is cooking a luncheon for himself! "
*■ \'cry well," s;iid 1; "call Daddy Simon, and
tell him to lind out what the fellow is doing. I '11
take another nap, if 1 can."
Hut before I could fall asleep, old Daddy shook
me by the arm. " I'le;ise get up, Seiior, and get
your shot-gun," s.-iid he. " We must stampede
that heretic .is fast .is his legs will carry him."
" What is he doing?" I .isked.
"Doing? Why, he has swallowed aliout six
pounds of uhcat-tlour, besides all our sugar. I
believe he h.as been baking cakes all night. Now
I know who gobbled our lard ! If 1 had n't caught
him in time, he would have swallowed our lantern-
oil, too. He had actually opened the bottle. No,
no, Scfior, I can't stand this any longer!"
".-Ml right," 1 replied; "fetch him in here."
" I understand you have been eating your week's
rations in advance, iimiyo/" said I, when the cul-
prit m.ide his appearance.
"Oh, no, Scfior, nothing but a hll\c ccmii/a — a
small refreshment," s.iid he, "just for my stomach's
sake ; I felt sort of queer this morning."
"I suppose so," said I; "it's pretty h.ird to
digest eight pounds of lard without any seasoning.
Here, my friend," said I, handing him a couple
of copper coins ; " you had better go back to Bogota
and get a bottle of allspice, or you might have a
very sudden fit of something or other."
"Oh, Mcnito. get me that horse-whip," said
Daddy Simon. But Don Moor-man already h.ad
decamped, with his jacket and blanket.
" T.-ilk about ghouls and ogres I " said old D.addy ;
" why, that fellow must be possessed by a were-
wolf, or he could never have eaten as much as all
ih It It .1 xittiiir \nii ought to give Tommy five
dollars reward for catching him in time ; why, he
would have ruine<l us in another meal or two I "
"Well, 1 am gl.ul he is gone." I laughed; "but
what .ibout our roail to San I'edro?"
"Oh, I will pilot you through all right," said
Daddy ; " from this fort there is a good trail to the
Mission of Dolores, and, below that, we shall find
plenty of white settlers and boat-stations."
The tributary river was a little too deep to wade,
we found ; but we managed to get iicross, with
the help of our mule and big bundles of dry bul-
rushes, which proved of great assistance in swim-
ming. Palmetto-cane, too, is as buoyant .is cork,
and the Indians of the Lower Am.izon often cross
that vast river on a sheaf of long reeds, straddling
the bundle as if riding horseback.
Old Daddy w.is right: on the other side of the
stream there was a plain trail, and knowing that
our destination was due e.ist, we had no difficulty
in finding our way. For one re.ison only did we
miss our moor-man : the glutton was so well
acquainted with the whereabouts of all eat.ible
plants that he had been as useful to us as those
accomplished pigs the French employ to hunt up
wild mushrooms and trut^es. But by experiment-
ing with the roots and berries we found on the
road-side, we ascertained that our little Bobtail,
too, possessed a talent for distinguishing edible
vegetables from noxious ones; he never made
a mistake, and whenever we were in doubt about
the wholesomcness of any unknown fruit, we had
only to otter Hilly a sample, and his approval or
disapprobation would safely decide the question.
But it is a curious fact that monkeys are wholly
unable to distinguish mineral poisons, and the
domesticated apes, in the houses of the E.ist
Indian planters, often come to grief by eating rats-
banc and lucifcr matches. The explanation seems
to be that animals in a state of nature are not
likely to come across such stuff .is arsenic and phos-
phorus, so their instinct warns them only against
such poisons .is in their wild haunts they might
mistake for harmless food.
(To h< C0iili»ufj.)
\
'V
MSAD OF rmccAK
79^
Tin; <i\VI. AM) THK SPIUKR.
^^ Owl
By Frank II. Stavffkr.
In an old belfry tower,
A dry, cozy bower,
Dozed an owl bv the Im
Hut the bell's sly old clapper
Was a mischievous rapper,
And soon waked the n;ippir.
Mr. Owl, don't you mind him;
With cobwebs I 'II bind him.
And round and round wind him.
Thus spoke up a spider,
.Strip'd like an outrider ;
The owl sharply eyed her,
And said: " If he cheat you,
I 'II not scold nor beat you,
I 'II just merely eat you."
The owl saw her spin
Her web, frail and thin.
Round the bell, out and in.
15ut, next Sunday morning.
Without word of warning.
The bell went a-storming !
With a cling and a clang.
With a boom and a bang.
The old clapper rang !
The owl did n't chide her.
Rebuke nor deride her,
But he ate up that spider !
Here is a moral, dear children, for you.
Never promise a thing you 're not able to do.
w r iti; I.I i:i' iiii: kat
"t)3
HOW wi-: hi;li.i.1) iiii; rat. amj what cami, oi- it
11\ 1.1/ZlK VV. CHAMI'NKV.
MtilHKK had j;i)nc tn Cr.inljcrry Center U>
atteiul tlie iiu.irterly meetinj; of W. li. V. M.
(Wcslcyan Uo.ircl of Foreign Missions).
She h.id left c.ich of us a •'stent," which, if wc
had been faithful, would have kept us busy until
sundown, for it was a p.irl of her cret'd that
• Satan finds luim
For idle hands i
. do."
Hyron Shcllc> Moore was the eldest. He had
been named so by three college boys, wlio boarded
at our house when he w;is a baby : each gave the
name of his favorite i>oet, and they promised that,
if Mother would call him so. the\- would each give
him a year at college when he grew up, and if he
was any sort of a fellow, he could pay for his last
year himself, by school-teaching or some other
work. One of the three students died young, the
other went out West and lost all his money, and
the third was our minister, with six boys of his
own, and not enough salary to send one of them
to the select school, let alone college. So. .all that
Hyron Shelley Moore ever received from the three
students was his name. The rest of us Mother had
called after missionaries and philanthropists.
Ityron Shelley .Moore was sitting on the saw-horse
in the wood-house, trying to calculate how long it
would take him to finish the pile, when he saw the
rat cautiously peering from under the corn-house.
He dropped the saw as if it had been red-hot,
rushed up the attic stairs, four steps at a time,
after the trap, and burst with it into the dairy, —
where Hetty, the hired help, w.is molding butter,
— to ask for a piece of cheese for bait.
•' .Mechct-able," he called, " there 's a rat in the
wood-house as big .is all outdoors! Give me a
piece of cheese, .is ijuick .as a wink I "
He shouted to me, as he tore through the but-
tery, ■• Come up here, if you want to sec fun ! "
I had gone down cellar after a pumpkin, which
Mother h.id told me to slice and p;ire for Hetty,
who was to stew it down and make a b.itch of pies
before night, for there was no telling but she might
bring home a missionary with her to stay over
Sunday. When 1 heard my brother, I dropped
the pumpkin and came up directly. We set the
trap and kept .as stilt as we could until the rat
came out again, walked straight into it, and was
caught ; and then we raised a noise loud enough
to have been heard at Cranberry Center.
Sar^ih lioardinan, who had been sweeping the
spare bedroom for the missionary, came down-
stairs with a pillow-ca.se on her he.id, and little
Klizabeth Fry scr.inibled down from her high chair,
into which she hatl climbed to see what w;is on the
top shelf of the china-closet.
•'What are you going to do with him?" asked
Sarah Hoardman.
"I 've a mag-nif-i-cent idea," exclaimed Byron
Shelley Moore. " Let's tic a bell around his neck,
and then let him go, — it Ml frighten all the other
rats, so that they Ml leave the country in a proces-
sion, the rut with the bell bringing up the rear.
Wont it be fun to see it, though ? "
"Me w-.mts you to dead him," insisted little
Elizabeth Fry; "me wants you to dead him, so
me can see him all buried in the seminary."
She meant cemetery, of course ; but we did not
p.iy any attention to her, for Byron Shelley Moore's
proposal had taken our fancy, although there was
some trouble when it came to be carried out. My
brother thought the best mode would be for Adon-
iram Judson to hold the rat while he affixed the
bell,-:— a small sleigh-bell, which had been fastened
to Elizabeth Fry's sled, and which she was very
unwilling to give up. 1 thought that Byron Shelley
Moore had better hold the rat, and we did not
seem likely to come to any conclusion ; but we
finally constructed a slip-noose, by means of which
the bell was fastened about the rat's neck with-
out taking him from the wire trap. On being
released, he disappeared down the hole from which
he had come, and wc saw him no more. Wc
wanted the fun of keeping a secret, and so we
made Hetty promise not to tell. Little Elizabeth
Fry tried her best to report the whole affair; but
her account of "a funny bird, wizzout any fezzers,
that runned away wiz her jingle-bell." did not give
any one a clue to the facts.
As day after day went by, wc heard from our rat
in nearly all the houses on our street.
There w.is a young lady bo.arding for the sum-
mer at our next door neighbor's. She w.is a
believer in signs and dreams, and a few days after
our adventure with the rat, she told at the sewing-
society, which was held at our house, of a most
rcmark.ible spiritual manifestation that h.ad oc-
curred in her house the night before, and which,
she felt, foretold her own death. " I h.ad l>een told
by a medium," she said, " that a short time before
794
HOW WE BELLED THE RAT,
(August,
Ai'l.'W
my death I should be warned l)y a passing bell.
Last nit;ht 1 could not sleep, the mounlight
streamed into my room, and 1 lay looking at the
tall, old-fashioned clock that stood in the corner,
when suddenly it struck ! Now you w ill say at first
that there is nothing .Tstonishing in that, but when
1 tell you that the works of the clock had been
removed, that it was only a clock-case, which I had
had lined up with shelves for a little closet, in which
to keep medicines and sweetmeats. I think you
will say that it was at least very queer. I counted
the strokes, though it was rather hard to do so, for
it was not like the chiming of an ordinary time-
piece, but more like the tinkling of a little bell."
At this, we chil-
dren pricked up our
cars. We had come
in with the "re-
freshments."
The young lady
went on to say that
the clock had struck
twenty-five, and she
was just twenty-four
years old, and she
believed that she
had but one more
year to live. She
said that she had
considerable prop-
erty, which she did
not know what to
do with, and she
wished to ask the
1,-idies' advice about
leaving it to some
charity. Mother
thought she had
better send it to a
foreign mission, and
the young lady
asked Mother to
write to one of them ,
saying that if they
would name the
mission after her,
she would leave
them a thousand
dollars in her will.
The next place
where we heard from
our rat was Squire
Tweezer's. He was
a very rich man, and he lived all alone witli
his housekeeper and ser\'ant, in a great brick
house on lonely Pine Hill. He had a son who
should have lived there with him, but the young
man h.id displeased his father in some way, and
the old gentleman had turned him out-of-doors.
When Father .asked him if he was not afraid
to live in that desolate house, so far away from any
^^^
" Al'NT POLLV SPRA.S'G I'PON A CHAIR."
neighbors, when it was generally supposed that he
had money in the house, he replied th.it no bur-
glar could enter the house without awakening the
family, for he had burgl.ar-alarms fastened to evcr\'
window and the lock of ever\- door, which would
ring so loudly that thieves would be scared away.
".•\nd what," said my father, " if the burglars
should come in sufficient force not to be fright-
ened, but should break right in, bells or no bells;
what then ? "
Squire Tweezer turned quite pale. " I had not
thought of that," he replied.
The verv next dav after this conversation, he
A Nil W 1 1 A 1 i: A M i: I ) |- I I
795
called on Father to say that he had written to his
son, forgiving him for all the past and begging him
to rome home to live with him.
"What has inHuenced you to this decision?"
asked my father. '■ Are you afraid that the burglars
will come ? "
Si|uire Tweezer lowered his voice to a mysterious
whis(X-r :
" They have come ! "
" What ? " exclaimed our father.
'• My house was entered last night," replied
Squire Tweeier. " It was quite late, but I had
not retired. I was quietly reading my newspaper,
when — jingle, jingle, jingle, I heard a bell in some
remote part of the house. It could not be the
housekeeper ringing for the maid, for every one in
the house had gone to b«l long before, and there
was even less probability that there were callers.
Instantly the idea flashed through my mind that it
was the burgl.ir-alarm, and I felt my hair rise on
my he.id. I rose to my feet, letting my paper fall,
and listened. Presently I heard the bell in another
p.irt of the house ; evidently the burglars h.id left
that window and were trying another, and so it
went on. I really believe, my dear sir, they tam-
pered with every window on the premises; at any
rate, that little bell sent its warning jingle from
every part of the house. Finally, they seemed to
have got in, for I heard the ringing in the parlors
beneath me. I had just enough presence of mind
left to lock and barricade my door, and then I
believe that for a few hours I actually lost my
senses, for I seemed to hear that bell all about me
— overhead, underfoot, in the walls, accompanied
by scuflfling feet running up and down the staircase.
Silence came at length, shortly after morning
dawned, and the strangest part of my story is that
we could not find that a single article had been
taken, or that the doors or windows had been
opened. However, my nerves have received such
a shock that 1 have decided that it will be a ver^-
desirable thing to have a stout fellow like my son
in the house to grapple with a robber, in case one
should come."
Squire Twcezer's story was discussed by our
parents in our presence, and certainly no culprits
c\'er looked guiltier than we when the bell was
mentioned again. We should have confessed then
and there, h.id not Father remarked :
'• Whatever may have caused the ringing which
the Squire heard, or thought he heard, it has done
good, and I an) glad that he has sent for his son."
After that, we heard of our rat in a number of
other houses ; but the mystery w.ns expLiincd,
at l.-ist, by Miss Mary Parrot, a little old maid,
who lived, in very great poverty, in a small red
house at the extreme end of the lane. " Aunt
Polly," .is we all called her, heard the ringing in
the wall of her dining-room, and was not at all
frightened, although it was .iccompanied by a great
rapping and thumping just behind the side-board.
As it happened in the day-time, she went for the
village carpenter, who moved llie slender-legged
side-board and widened a rat-hole which he found
in the wall, until out rolled a black ball, with a
metallic something attached. Kven the self-
possessed Aunt Polly gathered her petticoats
.ibout her, and sprang upon a chair. It was our
rat ; but in the wall he had found an object which
h.->d probably been dragged there from the side-
board by other rats, on account of some dainty
which it had formerly held. The object w.is a tiny
solid-silver sugar-bowl, and our rat, having intro-
duced his head, had been held fast by the bell
catching within the rim of the bowl.
This bowl was a quaint little affair, and it bore the
name of the engraver who had decorated it — Paul
Revere. There were plenty of antiquarians who
would give Aunt Polly a handsome sum for the
little Revolutionary relic.
Little Elizabeth Fry recognized the bell, and
claimed it. Sarah Boardman, who had been suf-
fering during all this time with the consciousness
of a guilty secret, confessed all ; and Squire
Tweezer, the young lady next door, and .Vunt
Polly, were constituted a committee to decide
what punishment should be inflicted upon us.
They never came to any decision, and all seemed
perfectly satisfied with the result. Kven the young
lady next door, who no longer believed that she
was to die within the year (since the bell w.is not a
warning from the spirit-land), m.ide an immediate
donation of her contribution to
the missionaries,
instc.id
of making
them wait for
her will, and she
was heard to say that, since she could be deceived
in one "sign," she might be in others; hereafter
she would not believe in "signs" at all.
796
THE ST. NICHOLAS T RE ASU KE - BOX.
(At'CUBT,
Tin: ST. NICHOLAS tri:asuri:-H()x
OF litkraturi:.
For lack of space, the Treasure-box lay. Iwfore you
this moulh, ticar rcailcrs, only four short |iocms, — songs
wc might Iwltcr call llicni, and two of them very famous
songs. These, " The Three I'ishers," and " The Sea," are
cs|x.-cially appropriate to the midsummer, when from our
large cities thousands of hoys and girls, with their fathers
and mothers, flock to the sea-side on a joyous holiday. All
such fortunate young folk know that the ocean is both
a grand giver of delight and a terrible destroyer; and so
they will appreciate the beauty and truth of these two
songs of the sea. They were written by two noted
Till-: Three Fishers.
I5y CllAkI.ES KiNGSLEV.*
Three fishers went sailing out into the west, —
Out into the west, as the sun went down ;
Each thought on the woman who loved him
the best,
And the children stood watching them out
of the town ;
For men must work and women must weep.
And there 's little to earn and many to keep.
Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the light-house tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun
went down ;
They looked at the squall and they looked at
the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged
and brown ;
But men must work and women must weep
Though storms be sudden and waters deep.
And the harbor b.ir be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went
down.
And the women are weeping and wringing
their hands
For those who will never come home to the
town ;
For men must work and women must weep, —
And the sooner it 's over, the sooner to sleep, —
And good-bye to the b.ir and its moaning.
• Bom, June ii, 1819; Jicd. 1875.
The two lK>cmi> by ChaHe» Kini^ley arc inserted liy pcrmi'.sic
I'.nglishmcn, fharles Kingsleyand Bry-in \V.iller Procter
(heller known by his «.»/«./<■ //kotc of "Harry Corn-
wall"). Hoth of these authors, as some of you know
already, gave to the world many more important writ-
ings tlian their short .ind simple songs. Yet even these
have gained them a high reputation, for Charles Kingslcy
and Harry Cornwall are ranked by lovers of true |K)ctry
as among the foremost of I-^nglish song-writers.
The dainty poem, " Golden-tressed .\delaidc," was
written by I'roctcr for his daughter, .Adelaide Procter,
who herself afterward Ijccaine well-known as a poet.
Hy l!.\KkV COkWVALL.t
The sea ! the sea ! the open sea.
The blue, the fresh, the ever free !
Without a m.-irk, without a bound.
It runneth the earth's wide regions round.
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I
1 'm on the sea ! I 'm on the sea !
I am where I would ever be ;
With the blue above, and the blue below.
And silence whcresoe'^r I go ;
If a storm should come and .awake the dee)
Wli.it matter? / shall ride and sleep.
I ll.ini. aboiil 1790: died, Oclol>cr 5, 1874.
of Mc<»r.. M.icmillan & Co., the owner, of ihe copyrighL
THE ST. NICHOLAS T REASU K K - Ho \ .
797
I love {oh, li,':r I Invo ! ) to ride
On the fierce, foaminj;, hiirslinj; tide,
When every ni.id wave drowns the moon.
Or whistles .iloft his tempcst-tunc.
And tells how };octh the world below.
And why the south-west blasts do blow.
The w.ives were white, and retl the morn.
In the noisy hour when I was born ;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise roll'd,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold ;
And never w.is heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the ocean child !
I never was on the dull, tame shore
But 1 loved the j;reat sea more and more,
And backward tlew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that secketh its mother's nest ;
.\nd a mother she was, and is to me ;
For I was born on the open sea!
1 've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range.
Hut never have sought nor sigh'd for change ;
And De.ilh, whenever he come to me.
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea !
GOLUKN-TRESSKD Ar)F.LAIDE.
A Svng/or a CUU.
By Barrv Cornwall.
Sing, I pray, a little song,
Mother dear!
Neither sad nor verj- long:
It is for a little maid.
Golden-tressed .Adelaide !
Therefore let it suit a merry, merry car.
Mother dear !
Let it be a mcrr>' strain.
Mother dear !
Shunning e'en the thought of pain :
For our gentle child will weep
If the theme be d.-irk and deep;
And urc will not draw a single, single tear.
Mother dear !
Childhood should be all divine.
Mother dear !
And like an endless summer shine;
Gay as Edward's shouts and cries.
Bright as Agnes's azure eyes :
Therefore bid thy song be merr): — dost thou
hear,
Mother dear?
A Farfavf.ti..
Bv Charlks Kinoslev.
My fairest child, I h.ivc no song to give you ;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will l>e clever ;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that v.ist forever
One grand, sweet song.
-98
SAI.IILLO BOYS.
(Ai'Ci'st
SAl.TIl.l.U 1U)YS.
BV Wll, I.IAM tl. S roDDA RP.
CHAnKk IX.
CVMNASI'ICS.
HE week following the first
excursion of the Ram-
blers' Club was cold and
stormy, — such as often
comes in April after a
spell of fine weather.
Will Torrance declared
that the roads would be
too muddy and the fields
too soft on Saturday for any fun in rambling; and
all the Park boys agreed with him.
"It 's sandy along the lake," he said, "but wc
don't want to try that over again, right aivay."
" It 's a bad sort of a place, too," remarked
Otis Burr. "The people alongshore own their
ducks."
"And you have to pay for them if you shoot
them," laughed Jack Roberts. " They caught
you at it, did they ?"
"Jack, ducks are a sore subject with me. I
had mine cooked, and wc tried to eat him. If he
wasn't tough, there was something the matter with
our car\'ing-knife. It wouldn't make a scratch on
him, after he came to the table."
Charley Ferris had almost as bad an account to
give; but Will could say a very good word for his
sandpipers.
"We ser\'ed them broiled, on toast," he said,
"and there was only one real difficulty."
" What was that? "
" We had to eat them two at a time to make
sure we were eating anything, — they were so
small ! "
The wind and rain made it a quiet week for the
boys, and there was all the more time for those
who had newspapers to get up or declamations to
prepare. John Uerry had made up his tnind on
the whole subject.
" I '11 stick to oratory. I and Daniel Webster
arc the greatest orators alive. He is a kind man,
too ; saves me the trouble of making up any-
thmg."
There was no danger that John would again
take so much trouble as on the first Friday ; but
Mr. Mayne shook his head a little when the young
" orator " came upon the platform, and began pre-
cisely where he left off before, on being interrupted
by -Mr. Mayne.
" You see, boys," said John, " Mr. Webster put
:i good deal into that speech. I think it 'II last me
till vacation."
John's labor-saving plan did not work ; Mr.
Hayne called upon him for a written exercise for
the next week, and gave him as a theme, "The
Discovery of America by Columbus."
The other declamations were pretty good, and
the newspapers brought in by what Jeff Carroll
called " the second set" of editors were nearly as
well prepared as the first had been, so that the
interest was kept up.
That was all very well, but it did not suggest to
the boys what they could do with Saturday, in the
kind of weather they were likely to have.
" 1 'II tell you one thing we can do," said Andy
Wright, as he listened to the murmurs around
him in the entry-way, after school.
" What 's that?"
" I 'm going to try it. myself. Professor Sling,
the gymn.Tsium man, has been refitting his concern.
New fixings, of all sorts. He wants some new
classes, and he has put his prices down."
" He 's a good man," said Otis Burr, solemnly.
" Classes in what ?" asked Joe Martin.
" Just what you need : boxing, fencing, all that
sort of thing. He gives the first lesson free."
"I '11 go and take that one, anyhow," exclaimed
John Derry.
•• 1 move we all show ourselves at Professor
Sling's, to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock," said
Charley Ferris.
" Don't scare him to death ! " said Jeff Carroll.
" He 's a small man."
The motion did not require to be put, but the
word went around among the boys, and, in conse-
quence, there was about as faithful an attendance
at Professor Sling's, at the appointed hour, as if
he had been Mr. Hayne himself.
The " gymnasium " was a fairly good one, and
had been creeping slowly into |X)pul.irity for about
a year, but nearly all its patrons had been full-
grown men.
I'rofessor Sling was now showing wisdom in try-
ing to c.ill in the boys, but he h.id publicly declared
that his "boy classes" would be carefully com-
pelled to obey his instructions. Medical men had
warned him that boys in their teens must not be
allowed to strain themselves.
sAi.rii.Lu iui\
799
Some i>f tho I'.irk Imys li.iil Ikcii then", " for a
look," alrciuly. hut most of them li.vil not, .ind it
w.is intorcstinj; ciiouj;h to them .ill, even before
the " professor," as he called himself, invited them
to make a trial of what they saw.
There were parallel bars, both upright and
horiiont.al ; spring bars ; jumping bars ; leaping
bars ; swings and rings ; climbing posts ; Ladders ;
dynamometers; dumb-bells; ilubs; boxing-gloves;
masks, gloves, and foils for fencing. The professor
kindly explained the use of them all, one after the
other. He even gave a brief example of the
management of them .is he went along, keeping
the gloves and foils till the List. " Now, Mr. Tor-
rance," he said, " I 'n) a small man. You 're
almost ;is tall as I am. Put on those boxing-gloves
with me."
Will did so, wiih a somewhat serious look, for he
heard Charley Ferris whisper to Jack Roberts:
"Sling will knock him into the middle of next
week."
" Now, sir, take your first lesson. Uon't hold
your hands that way. Strike at me. Bah ! — strike
straight out from your shoulder, as if you meant to
hit me in the face. All your might, now ! "
" But wont it hurt you, if 1 hit you ? "
'■ Of course it will. It 'II knock me down.
Bang me terribly. Hit away. Hit hard !"
The boys understood, very well, that the pro-
fessor was poking fun at Will, but neither they nor
their friend had as much faith in Sling as he had
in himself.
Will felt even a little nettled, and he suddenly
began to strike quick and hard, right and left.
■'Good ! that 's it! You '11 do. 1 can make a
bo.icer out of you. I know I can."
But the rapid blows seemed to glance from
Sling's windmill .irms like hailstones from a duck's
back. His face was as safe and untouched when
Will h.id pounded himself out of breath as when
he began.
■■ That 'II do, my young friend ; you 'II h.ave
lame arms to-morrow. Does anybody else want
to try .' "
Of course they did; but it was. as usu.il, "next
turn " for Charley Ferris, who felt absolutely sure
he could put one of his gloves against the professor,
somewhere.
He did his best, but it was of no manner of use,
and there would have been no glory for the Park
at .ill. if it had not been for Otis Burr.
The red-haired Imy went at it very quietly, and
seemed, for a wonder, disposed to ask questions.
The professor was politely ready to answer him,
wen while boxing ; and it was right in the middle
of one of his answers that Otis got a clean hit at
his right check.
How the boys did cheer !
" I can m.ike a boxer of you, too ! " exclaimed
the professor, gleefully. " You 're .is cool a hand
as I ever kiw. We wont use any more time this
way. Let us try the foils. Some of the others
put on the masks and gloves with me."
John Derry was as ready ;is a boy could be, and
it was not half a minute before the professor said:
" Vou 've had a foil in your hand before, my
boy."
" Only while my cousin was home from West
Point. We used to practice."
" .*\ little more pr.ictice, and a good deal more
strength in your wrist, and you will almost know-
how to fence. Pick up your foil."
It had suddenly tl;ished away out of his hand, —
he could hardly guess how, — and Jeff Carroll
exclaimed :
"Now, John, can't you hold on to a little thing
like that ? "
" Butter-fingers!" said Andy Wright.
" It 's easy enough to disarm a man, if he 's at
all otT his guard," remarked Sling. •' 1 'II teach
you better things than that."
He w;is awakening a good deal of interest in the
subject of exercise and self-defense, at all events,
and was sure of new scholars from among his audi-
ence.
" Some of you go to Mr. Hayne's school, don't
you ? "
" All of us."
" He comes here to pr.actice three times a week."
" Can he box and fence ? "
"Pretty well; but it 's exercise he comes for,
mainly."
The respect of Mr. Hayne's pupils for their
teacher went up several inches after that informa-
tion, and one of the first questions asked him on
the next Monday morning, before school, was from
Charley Ferris:
"Do you think it 's wrong to box, Mr. Hayne ? "
■'Wrong? No. Why.'"
'■Or to fence? "
"Of course not. If a man should try to hurt
you. would it be wrong for you to run away ?"
■• 1 should guess not."
"Then, would it be wrong to know how to run?
or, if he were so near he tried to strike you, would
it be wrong to ward off the blow ? "
"Why, no; it would n't."
"Then it would not be wrong to know how to
ward it off, any more than it would to know how to
run away."
"But if I knew how to box. I never would run
away."
'■ I would, then, rather than luive a fisticuff,
unless it were necessary ; but I 'd like to have
Soo
SALTII.LO BOYS.
fAvcurr,
every scholar of mine alile to protect himself, or
anybody else."
That was enough, for half the school had gath-
ered around by that lime ; and even Joe Martin,
whose father was a clert;yman, said: "There,
boys, I told you so. Father 's a member of the
Peace Society, and he thinks exactly as Mr. Hayne
docs. "
Professor Slinjj had ten out of the sixteen on
his muster-roll before the week was out, and Will
Torrance and several others began their boxing
lessons at once.
It w.is not at all a bad thing for any of them,
moreover, that Jim Swayne began the very next
day, and that he and Will were frequently
"matched "by the professor. Before the middle
of the next week, it was necessary for Sling to say :
"No, Mr. Torrance; not you and Mr. Swayne.
You 're too much for him. It spoils his practice,
and yours, too. You may wrestle with him, now
and then, if you care to."
That was a sorry word for Jim to hear; but there
was less likelihood of anything more being said on
the subject of the May festival election. The
boxing-class came in as a peace-maker.
Chaitkr X.
TWO 1)1SAi;KEEAI!LKS.
The sun had his turn at the weather, now, and
there broke out under it what Andy Wright called
" the marble plague." He was too old for it, but
all the rest caught it. Even the gymnasium, for
a time, seemed to have less charms than a cup-hole
in the ground, with a ring around it.
" It 's a disease that comes every spring," said
Andy. "You can save your best agates, though,
for specimens. 1 got some of the best in my
collection that way."
That was a lost suggestion on most of them.
Nearly every agate was lost, too, before the season
was over, but when, on Wednesday morning of
that week, Mr. Hayne opened school with the re-
mark that he had something special to say, John
Dcrry whispered " Marbles ! " to Otis Burr.
Not exactly. It w.ts only a plain statement of
the fact that a gentleman of wealth h.nd applied for
admission to the school for his two boys, and had
been ttjld there was no room for them.
" Now, young gentlemen, have we no room here
for two more desks ? "
The boys looked soberly around the partly tilled
room and then at one another.
" I will tell you. I am well satisfied with you
all, thus far, and I do not wish to run any risks. I
would not let in anybody else unless 1 could be
made sure it would be ple.isant for all of us."
They knew exactly what he meant, and the les-
son was a good one. Only two or three of them
were the sons of really "rich men." Mcmey had
had nothing to do with his decision, and they were
sure of .Mr. Hayne's sincerity when he s;iid that he
had room for boys of "character" only.
" Can you guess who it is?" said Charley Ferris
to Andy, after school. " I can't."
"If I could, 1 would n't."
"(luess the meanest pair of chaps you know,'
said Jeff Carroll. " You wont need to have any-
body tell you."
"Oh, it 's Brad and Tom Lang, is it? I might
have known ! "
"Of course it 's they!" said Jack Roberts.
" 1 "m just glad he did n't let 'em in ! They 'd
have made all sorts of trouble."
There were remarks all around upon the un-
doubted wisdom and justice of shutting out the
Lang boys, if they indeed were the rejected appli-
cants. The voting was all one way, and it was all
against " Brad and Tom Lang."
They were not by any means unknown boys,
tliereforc. On his way home after school, that
night, Joe Martin w.os met by a couple of well-
dressed young fellows, to whom he did not speak,
but who did not seem disposed to let him ha\c
his half of the sidewalk.
One of them was about his size, but heavier, and
the other one half a head taller. They were not
b.id-looking boys, excepting for a sort of swagger,
and something " flashy " in their getting up.
Joe «as cjuite willing to give them all the room
they needed, but, as he turned out for them, the
shorter boy gave him a sharp and sudden shove,
and the taller one gruffly exclaimed :
" Hit him, Tom ! He goes to Hayne's. Hit
him ! "
The hit was given, though in a half-hearted way,
that seemed to call for reproof.
"Call that a hit?"
" Why. lirad, his father 's a minister."
" / '//hit him, then."
Joe had not struck back yet, but he had not
"run," and his pale cheeks, his clenched lists, and
tightening lips did not express any fear whatever,
badly overmatched though he was.
Brad Lang was stepping forward, with an evi-
dent intention of keeping his word, when the gate
of the nearest house-yard swung suddenly open,
and light footsteps came tripping down to the side-
walk.
" Br.id ! Brad!" exclaimed Tom. " Here are a
lot of the girls ! "
Hr.id glanced quickly liehind him, but he saw
,Mi.l
SA l.TII.I.ii llnvs.
80 1
quite enough in th.it s»-i(t look, and lie did not
strike Joe Martin. " Come on, Tom ! " s;iid he.
They walkctl rapidly away, while Joe stood his
ground unflinchingly, until his rescuers had come
near.
They were an angry party of youni; l.idies, —
Helle Roberts. Milly. Dora Keys, and S.irah Dyke-
man, — •« ho hail seen the whole alTair. Their flash-
ing eyes and flushetl cheeks toUt exactly how they
felt .ibout it.
"The cowards!" exclaimctl Helle.
" Did they hurt you, J<k-? '" .tsked Sarah.
•' Hurt me.' No, indeed ! " replied Jix'.
"Thev meant li>, then," s.iid l)or.i. "Milly,
the young ladies by their unprovoked .nssault. Joe
Martin hardly knew what to say. It was a trying
place for a boy to be put in, to have four young
ladies see him receive a blow from another boy.
lie had acted rightly and bravely, but it was liard,
after all, and all four of the girls understood it, for
they at once began to try to find something else
to talk .about. He talked, too, and did not say a
word about the Lang boys, but he was glad to get
awa)-, in a minute or so, anil go toward home. As
he went, he thought deeply, and at Last he said to
himself, resolutely: " I wont say a word to the other
boys about it. If those fellows try it on again,
though '. W-^. I 11 join the boxing class to-morrow."
THE MAV^JUCEN. (sEE PACE 804.)
did Mr. .Vyring put one of them on your list for
something on the platform ? "
" 1 think he did, but it wont be there long."
" Not even if Mr. Ayring insists upon it ! " said
Belle, emphatically.
" If he insists," said Milly, "he will h.ive to find
another queen. I wont have anything to do with
it, if the Langs have."
" Nor I." It sounded as if the other three girls
must h.nvc practiced that "nor I," they all said it
so nearly together.
Brad and Tom had not gained popularity with
Vol.. VIIL— ;i.
He was already a member of the gymn.isium,
but he had been " waiting for his muscles to come
up" before going further.
" It would look as if 1 wanted some kind of
revenge, if 1 stirred up the rest against ihcm. No,
I 'II keep it a secret." That w.-is a good intention,
but Joe W.1S an unthinking young gentleman.
Four young ladies h.id seen it happen, and talked
about it all their way home, and yet it was to be
a " secret " from the other boys !
Jack Rolx'rts heard of it at supper, and so did
Pug Merriweather; and Dora Keys told Andy
802
SALTILLO BOYS.
Wright, when she incl him near her own gate, and
Sarah Dykcnian ahiiost forgot her dignity in call-
ing Oiis Hurr across the street to tell him. Mr.
Hayne's whole school knew all about it before nine
o'clock next morning.
" It wont do. boys," said Charley Ferris,
solemnly, at the noon recess. "' We must see
that the peace is prcsen'ed."
'• Had n't you better elect me constable?" said
John Derry. '"Andy will do for police-justice, but
I 'm the man for consl.ible."
'• 1 'ni another," exclaimed Charley. " Klccl
me, too. You can help me if I need it, John."
There w.is a good deal of indignant talk about
it, all that day, among the Park boys, but nothing
in particular could be done.
The next day was Friday, and nobody took any
note of the Hict that John Derry had somehow lost
his interest in marbles. It was not until he mounted
the platform, and began to read his essay on "The
shape of Hendrik Hudson's Boat," that his friends
noted the strips of black court-plaster over the
knuckles of his right hand. The essay began with
an assertion that it was the first thing of the kind
he ever did, and it ended with an expression of
regret that the world had forgotten how to build
ships which would sail sidewise, or any other way,
just as well as " bows on."
That W.-IS " paper day " for the four members of
the Ramblers' Club, but none of them had said a
word to the others as to the subject of his " leader."
That was where the fun came in, for each of them
had written an account of their doings along the
shore of Lake Oneoga. Each in turn read his view
of it to the end, and it was curious enough that
the same set of facts could be made to sound so
differently when told by four different persons.
The number of the " wild-fowl " killed, however,
and their weight, and the size and value of the
" new kind of short-cared, long-tailed rabbit,"
came out most strikingly in the Spy, for Jeff Car-
roll had done his best. I Ic had actually gone to the
dictionary for the Latin names of every animal,
and even the sandpipers sounded large.
Will Torrance had a good deal to say about his
dog, and the terror of Otis Burr when the Irish-
woman called him to account for her ducks, but he
cut the narrative short to make room for a double
allowance of poetry.
Otis and Charley each recalled sundry items
which the others had left out, particularly their
meeting with the small boys and Mr. Haync.
On the whole, the other editors of that day's
"papers" had to give it up in favor of the
Ramblers' Club, who described real adventures.
On the close of school, as they reached the side-
w.ilk, Otis Burr soberly remarked to John Derry :
" My young friend, will you tell me what nils
your hand .' "
" Court-plaster."
"Why so much of it?"
" 1 've been keeping the peace. It w.as last even-
ing I kept the pe.ace with Brad, and I told him to
tell Tom I should be looking for him. I said the
svliole school would Ijc looking for both of them,
for a week or so. They wont be around this end
(■f the Park ALL the while. Brad wont, and 1 don't
think Tom will."
John Derry was not the "model boy" of the
school, but he was by no means the unpopular one
that night. All the smaller fellows felt safer,
somehow. Not a boy of them would have walked
around a square to avoid meeting Brad or Tom.
The peace had been well kept, in a peculiar way,
and was not likely to be broken again.
If any information concerning what had hap-
pened reached the ears of Mr. Hayne, he made no
remarks whatever about it to the school.
Ch.aptkr .\I.
THE M.W FF.STIV.\L.
The great event of the May Festival was now-
drawing so near that the young people of Saltillo,
even those of them who did not expect to take
))art in it, were able to talk of little else.
" It will come off next Monday evening. Will,"
said Charley Ferris, after school, on that last Fri-
day of April. " It 's of no use for us to think of
doing any rambling, to-morrow."
" Come around and look at my chickens, then.
Bring Jack with you, if he'd like to come."
" 1 will. Have you any new ones?"
" Yes, and a dozen broods of young chickens.
I don't feel like much rambling, myself I was
stiff and sore for two weeks after I went into the
gymn.Tsium, and it 's just beginning to work off so
that 1 'm limber ag;iin."
" Professor Sling says you 're getting along first-
rale; but I can beat you climbing."
The Queen and her court met, that evening, for
a grand rehearsal, and Fanny Swayne won a good
deal of commendation by coming to help, with
Belle Roberts and some older young Ladies.
As for Jim, his ill-nature over his defeat seemed
to have disappeared ; but the other Wedgwood
boys did not mix much with Mr. Hayne's scholars.
Charley I'erris was as good as his word, on Sat-
urday, and Jack Roberts came with him.
" Will," said J.ack, smiling at the home-made
hennery, " if 1 'd known what a hen-coop you had,
I 'd have been around to sec it before."
itSi.)
SAI.TM.l.U HO VS.
803
" You can LiQgh, Jack ; but is n't that Ramc
rooster a beauty ? "
" Splendid ! Where 'd you get hini ? "
" I raised him. He 's a pet. Come here,
Dandy ! "
He stooped and whistled a low, co.ixinj; whistle,
and the proud, handsome game-cock they were
admiring stepped daintily fonvard to pick some
bits of cracker from his master's hand.
" Look at his comb and wattles, and his long
tail-feathers. Did you ever see a prettier bl.ick
and red .' Sec those spurs — slender and sharp as
thorns from a tliorny locust."
'• Do you ever let him tight ? "
" What, him ? Do you suppose I want a pet of
mine all cut up and pulled to pieces ? No, sir !
1 keep him apart from the rest."
Dandy must ha\e known they were talking about
bim, for he stepped back and flapped his elegant
wings, and gave them a shrill, ringing crow.
Just then a man's head and shoulders appeared
over the fence of the next yard. The man said :
" I say. Will, have you seen my Dominica
rooster.' He got out of his coop this morning."
" No. We 've just got here. I 'II take a look
for him. Hello! What's that? I declare, Mr.
Engleficld, it 's your rooster."
" Dead .ts a herring ! " cried Jack Roberts.
That was the sad fact.
The poor, misguided bird had heard the game-
cock crow, and had flown over the fence to see
about it, and it had taken but a minute to settle
the matter.
•* I 'm sorry, Mr. Englerteld," said Will. " We
must make the fence higher."
He was a next-door neighbor, .ind he was, like
Will, an earnest fowl-fancier, but his flushed face
showed that his patience was tried, just then.
" That 's a dangerous fellow of yours, Will. 1
can't have my best fowls killed in this way."
'■ It was your Dominica's own fault."
*• But he had no chance."
"Yes, he had," said Charic) : "he h.id a tip-
top chance to stay on his own side of the fence."
'' That 's so," said Jack, with a merry laugh.
"He was fairly killed, Mr Engletield. 1 'd eat him,
if I were you."
Mr. Englcfield's temper had not risen high,
and he saw that the argument was a little in favor
of the boys.
Will handed him his dead favorite, and again
said : " I 'm real sorry."
" Why don't you cut the spurs off that fellow ? "
" So that when your roosters fly over they can
kill him ? No, sir I They shall stay on him."
Mr. Engleficld made no reply, and turned away.
Will Torrance had several other breeds of chick-
ens, and he was very proud to show them, too :
The Poland top-knols, with their feathery crowns ;
the tall Cochin-Chin.ns and Shanghacs; the perl
little liantams, with more strut and saucincss than
the game-fowls themselves ; the domestic-lociking
Dominicas, and some fine-looking " mixed breeds,"
that Will declared were " such good layers." All
were exhibited in turn, including the broods of
young chicks, and it w.is noteworthy with what
pains the young fancier had provided that each
family^ should have its own " house and grounds."
it was a capital amusement for any boy, but Jack
regretfully remarked : "I can't afford it. What
a pile of money it must cost you ! "
'"Money? .Why, Jack, these coops give me
about all the pocket-money 1 need. Cost ? They
pay their own way. Do you suppose I don't make
any use of the eggs and chickens? "
" I never thought of that."
"I 've kept a strict account ever since I began,
three years ago. All that Father gives me is this
part of the yard."
Before that discussion of the chicken question
was finished, it looked as if Jack and Charley were
going straight home to build coops of their own,
especially for game-fowls of the hard-fighting kind.
It was a help to them all day, but by Monday
morning every minor question was swallowed up in
the interest of the great and only one.
" It 's all the fault of two men, Andy," remarked
John Dcrry.
" What two men, John ? "
'• I can't say which is most to blame for this.
Alfred Tennyson wrote the ' May Queen,' and put
old .Ayring up to it. He 's the worse of the two.
The rest of the blame is Ayring's."
However that might be, Mr. Ayring felt that he
had a heavy load on his shoulders that evening, —
a whole "festival." He had managed such affairs
before, but it was his wish that this should surpass
them all. Everybody who entered the hall felt
compelled to say that it did.
The hall itself w.is no bigger than formerly, and
there was not room for the thinnest man in Saltillo
to crowd in, by the time the band began to play
the opening music of the celebration.
No, the hall was no bigger, but there was more
in it — more flags, more flowers, more evergreens,
more brass band, and, what was most important of
all, more enthusiasm.
The Park boys and girls had won the queen, to
be sure, but there had been "court officers"
enough invented and appointed to secure the good-
will of all the Wedg\vood influence, besides the
good-will of the young ladies of Madame Skin-
ner's Seminary, and of other social circles.
"It is huge," remarked Jeff Carroll, "but
8o4
SAl.TILLO HOYS.
lAUCl'ST,
Milly's father would bi. :i bankrupt in a week if all
her attendants were on day's wajjcs. Somebody
ought to count them, when they come out. Jim
Swayne can't blow a trumpet, though, and one of
the band-men will have to blow it for him."
The trumpet was tremendously blown, .is Jim
marched upon the platform, with a flag in his
hand, to announce, ;is " first herald," the approach
of Her Majesty, the Queen of May. He was fol-
lowed by other heralds and m.arshals, spreading
themselves to the right and left, and these by a
lot of paper-winged " fairies," of tender years,
whose business it w.is to strew flowers in the path
of the (^ueen.
Then the band struck up a great rush of music,
and the curtain behind the platform was pulled
aside, and there stood Milly Merriweather, not yet
crowned, but ready for it, and scared almost out
of her wits by the brilliant scene before her, and
the feeling that everybody was looking at her.
" Courage, Milly," whispered kind-hearted Sarah
Dykem.in. " Walk right on. We '11 carry the
train."
She stepped fonvard, and .as she did so, the Park
boys set the applause agoing in a fashion that
drowned the music entirely. \'cry modest and
pretty looked Milly, and her pretty maids of honor
carried her train very gracefully.
Then came young "ladies in waiting," and
" pages," and more " fairies," and Milly began her
opening speech. It was very short, and the
moment she finished it, Mr. Ayring waved his
hand, and everybody on the platform began to sing.
This, also, was done in a way that did credit to
the music te.acher.
When it ended, everybody tried to hold still
and listen, for it was understood that the i^ueen
of the Fairies w.as coming to do the crowning.
She did not fly in, but walked very gracefully
from behind a curtain at one side of the platform.
Jim Swayne w.as the only boy who had known
the secret of that performance, and it was now the
turn of the Wedgwoods to start the applause.
Fanny Swayne did look admirably wx-ll as a
fairy queen, and she spoke her address to her
" mortal sister " so distinctly that it could be heard
all over the hall.
Then Milly Merriweather bowed her head, ami
her dark tresses were crowned with a tastefully
woven chaplet of roses, to find which had given
Mr. Ayring some trouble.
There were more music, and another song by
the older boys and girls, with a rousing chorus
for the little people to join in, and then the
Queen of the Fairies presented the Queen of May
with a beautiful scepter, and gracefully vanishcil.
after a 1h)w to the audience, in another grand
burst of music by the band and of applause from
the Wedgwoods.
She vanished .across the platform in a way that
compelled Belle Roberts to s;iy, when she met her
behind the scenes: " Fanny, 1 'm proud of you !
It was splendidly done."
"Thank you for it, then."
"Thank me?" said lielle, inquiringly.
" Wh\ . Belle, 1 was determined to do my part
.as well .as you did yours Last year, if 1 could."
That w.as frank and honest, but they both turned
.It once to listen, through the curtain, to Milly's
"coronation speech."
She had so far recovered her courage and her
voice that she made herself distinctly heard, and
when she waved her flowery scepter and sat down
upon her very flowery throne, Mr. Ayring was in
ecst.isies. For once he was sure he had managed
to please everybody, by taking great pains to have
e\erybody please themselves.
There were more music and more speeches, and
mure singing, and any quantity of .applause, and
then the Queen arose and made her " farewell
.address," .and waved her scepter, and the grand
May Festival came to a triumphant conclusion.
Chapter .Xll.
DISPUTliI> OROIND.
Thf week after such an event as the May Festi-
val w.as likely lo be a soinewhat quiet one. Even
the Park boys failed to see the need of any more
excitement right away. Marbles, too, were losing
a little of their interest, and Andy Wright re-
marked: " You '11 all get well, boys. I tliink it 'II
have to be something else, next."
•■ 1 know what," replied Charley Ferris. " It '>
about lime for kites and b<ase-ball. Phil Bruce
says nobody will object to our having the ground
in front of the City Hall, now and then."
Phil Bruce was one of the best ball-players in
the school, .and his father w.as a lawyer, so that it
was supposed he knew what he w.as talking about.
.Still, it seemed something like a venture, and the
actual trial of it was postponed until Saturday.
" That spoils the Ramblers' Club again,"
growletl Will Torrance. " 1 '11 have a ramble a
week from Saturday, if 1 have to go alone." He
could not bring himself to miss that game of ball,
however, seeing where it was to be played : antl
he and the rest practiced every day, after school.
" There may be some of the WedgAvoods look-
ing on," said Charley Ferris, "and it wont do to
give them a chance to say we 're a lot of muffs."
"We "11 give them a match game, some day,"
> A i . i i > . 1 .
805
said Jack Roberts. " hut wo 're not up to the mark,
just imw."
There was, to tell the truth, nothing scientific
about the manner of playing base-ball in Sallillo
in those days ; nor anywhere else, for that matter.
The game was still a useful .ind healthy amuse-
ment, with no "professional nines" to spoil it and
bring it into disgrace.
.Andy Wright, also, advised practice, before he
left for home on Friday afternoon, and he was
hardly gone before Charley Ferris remarked :
" I 've found out about Ucrry and Urad Lang."
" Have you ? How was it ? "
" .Ml Brad's fault, of course. He 's bigger than
John, and mistook him for a member of the Peace
Society. 1 saw Brad yesterday."
"How did he look ? "
" Peaceful as a sheep, but there 's a little blue
around his eyes yet. He and Tom staid away
from the Festival."
There was a strong and manly sentiment among
the Park boys against fighting, and every one of
them was gl.id to know that John Derry had not
"picked a fuss"' with even Brad Lang, much as
they were pleased with the result of John's " peace-
making."
By ten o'clock on Saturday morning, nearly the
whole school was h.ird at play in front of the old-
fashioned brick building which still served Saltillo
for a city hall.
The boys had no interest in the building itself,
only in the wide, gravelly open square in front of
it, which they had taken possession of for their
game of ball. It was a little cramped, to be sure,
if any " heavy batting " should be done, but it was
the best place they could get without going out of
town. They had not been permitted to get at
work without a foreboding of trouble to come.
Nobody could tell how Pug Merriweathcr had
picked up his news, but he had told J.-ick Roberts,
in a sharp whisper: "The canal-boys say they 're
coming around. One of them is the chap that
stole my cocoa-nut. Buffalo Jack 's coming."
That was bad tidings, if true ; but Pug's news
did not always come out correctly, and the game
went right along.
Hardly any of the Park boys had ever seen
" Buffalo J.ick." but they had all heard of him.
He »^is all the more to be dreaded because there
was a mystery about him. 1 1 was well understood
that he was a bad, rough fellow, who would prob-
ably grow worse instead of better every day, and
who was already a member of a fire-company and
went to a political club. Nobody could say if he
ever went to school.
He was a fighting character, too, and there was
a vague impression that he and his comrades were
out ;ill light LViry iii^hl in tlu- ye.ir, and must,
therefore, be fellnws of terrible muscle.
Some of the Wedgwooil boys had been on the
ground watching the play, and Jim Swayne had
been asked to join, but he refused quite positively.
"He 's their best catcher," said I'hil Bruce;
"but he can't pitch a ball like Andy Wright."
It w.as a great comfort to h.ive got on to within
half an hour of noon without any sort of interrup-
tion, and Pug's news would have been a good
thing to laugh at if he had not suddenly scurried
around a corner with a fresh lot of it.
"Jack, they 're coming! They 're just back
yonder ! "
" Who arc coming ? "
" Buffalo Jack and all of them ! You 'II get
|)ounded now I "
"Play away, boys!" shouted Jack, manfully.
"We '11 mind our own business."
He was catching, and it was Will Torrance's
turn at the bat, when the roughs came, Buffalo
Jack heading them.
To be sure, there were only eight ragged, ill-
looking, vagabondish youngsters, of from fourteen
to sixteen or seventeen years of age; but they
swaggered enough for the crew of a privateer.
There was almost a superstitious feeling among
the Park boys that all of those who looked rough
must be rough, and that fellows with dirty hands
and faces, who used bad language, must be un-
usually strong, for some unknown reason.
Will Torrance saw HufTalo Jack making straight
for him, and he felt that he was no match for such
a desperado.
Any "trainer" of men or horses, however,
would have sh.iken his head over it. He would
have considered Will's good habits, constant exer-
cise, gymnastics, boxing, fencing, and the various
little matters about wrestling, and the like, which
he had been learning from Professor Sling. He
would also have considered the bad habits of such
a fellow as Buffalo Jack. That worthy called out:
"We're goin' to want this 'ere ground. Give
me that club; Jake, you get the ball."
Charley Ferris knew, at that moment, in which
of his own pockets he had put the ball.
It was a trying moment for Will Torrance, as he
stood face to face with the vicious-looking leader
of the canal-bank roughs. He felt sure of a beat-
ing, unless he should give up his club. Even then
he would probably have to " run for it" afterward.
There w.ts no time for thought or parley, for
BufTalo J.ack w.ns raising his fist, ominously.
" J.ick Roberts, take care of that club ! "
It went quickly to the ground behind Will .is he
spoke, and in an instant he and BufTalo Jack were
" clinched," before a blow had been struck.
8o6
S.VLTILLO BOYS.
(AVCUIT,
Will had done a wise thing in his sudtJJ.-7> deter-
mination ; for the other boys on the ground —
rouglis and all — at once resolved to look on and
await the results of that wrestle.
Huffalo Jack was strong, but Will was almost
astonished not to find hiinself thrown at once; so
was his antagonist at not being able to throw him.
Tug, — tug, — strain, — pull, — change hands, —
twist about. It was a pretty equal match for about
two minutes, but training began to tell, then.
Will was getting stronger all the while, and the
blood in his veins was beginning to boil angrily,
for liuflfolo Jack hardly ceased the utterance of
threatening, coarse, profane abuse of hiin. He
would have been glad, too, of a chance to strike a
blow, but it was hard to find one.
the ground in that way, but Huflfalo Jack came
right up, off his feet and over, losing his hold as
he came, and down he went on the hard, gravelly
soil like a log nf wood. It must have been a
very hea\ y fall, for the thrown rough lay almost
still for a moment, and when he got up it was slowly
and with a perceptible limp.
"Try it again? "asked Will, with an effort at
politeness. " Does any other boy of )our crowd
want to try it ? "
That was enough for fellows of their sort.
Their best man had been overthrown in three
minutes, by the watch, and that by a lighter,
shorter fellow than himself.
IJulTalo Jack slowly got up and swaggered off,
rubbing himself here and there.
^>\
•^^^^l) /
■••^■- -i'^'') ^> ' i' '" •^--- .'
h\'.y
?- \ -*N VI
>7
There was a peculiar lift over the hip which " That 's where tlic ground hit him," remarked
Will had labored hard to pick up from Professor Otis Ilurr, and I'hil Bruce shouted, triumphantly:
Sling, and he now thought he saw a chance to "Hurrah for Will Torrance ! I did n't know it
try it. " I "11 give him all there is in mc," he said was in hiin."
to himself, "if he |>ounds me for it afterward." Will had not known it either, .ind had hardly yet
A twist, a sudden turn of his body, and " Sling's recovered from his surprise over his unexpected
lift " worked to a charm. victory.
Will had no idea how much he could raise fmin .No fight, no violence, no sul>mission to tyranny ;
..1
liA.Mi; TOAl>
807
all because the fellow-s who were minding their own lesson for the Park boys, and cm 1 ;.
business had not llinchid from defending thdr one for the " canal-bank roughs."
rights. They had not said a word in reply to It was now very near noon, but it seemed a point
threats or abuse, but llieir " man at the bat" had of honor that that game should be played out.
instantly closed with his enemy. It was a good And it was.
DAMIC
nv Fl.KTA
Deep, deep down, in a di/zy old well,
Once on a time did some little toads dwell,
Though just how they came there. I 'm sure 1
can't tell.
Perhaps, in a hurry, the old mother toad
jumped carelessly, somehow mistaking the road.
And fell, with a plump/ to this dismal abode.
And, finding herself with a whole set of bones.
Had made, of the crannies and chinks of the
stones.
The best home she could for her four little ones.
As well as their space and discomforts allowed.
They grew up to be quite a chirk little crowd :
I >f which old Dame Toad was exceedingly proud.
Kor Poppet, and Skip, and Kcrcreak, and Delight,
Had their skins just as brown and their eyes just
as bright
.'\s though they had always lived up in the light.
.At last, in a fmlic, Skip daringly tried
To hang on the bucket and get a free ride
Ip in, t,, th,. ■.n,M,l,,r,<l r.,r„,n ,,nl„(l.-
T().\D.
Forres ri'.R.
The others looked on, and they saw how 't was
done.
.\nd all were determined to mount, one by one.
To that glimpse of blue sky, with its beautiful sun.
The farmer, he scolded as toad after toad
Cunc up in the bucket, instead of the load
Of splashing, cool drink that the dci p dd well
owed.
Though dizzy and I'aint, as it cann ii, ui>- ii>p,
K.ich toad hurried off with a skip and a hop,
Liitil, under a wall, they all came to a stop.
.\nd there they took breath, and then, all in a
row,
Thcv sat joining hands, and they croaked a great
"Oh!
How different this is from our quarters below ! "
Next day. Mother Toad, feeling lonely and sad.
Traveled up in the bucket, and made them all
glad
By hopping in. too. What a welcome she had !
Now, under the steps does this family dwell.
And just how it happened, I 'm sure 1 can't tell ;
But thev ncMi «i.nt Ij.u k iluuii that diz/.y old well.
8o8 lOK VERV I. ITT I. K l-Ol.K. (Auoust,
STi:i'iii-:x A XI) Tin-: wii.n imrd.
Stk-piien was a small boy, who hail al-ways livoil in a cit -y where there
were no spar-rows, as there are in ma-ny towns and cii-ies; and Ste-phen
had on-ly seen birds that were shut up in cages. Some of the ca-na-r\
birds in his moth-er's house, when their cage door was open, would hop out
and sit u])-on his fin-ger. Ste-phen was kind to them, and nev-er fright-
ened them ; so they were not a-fraid of iiini.
When he was five jears old, his moth-er took him into the coun-try to
stay dur-ing the hot weath-er. One morn-ing he was walk-ing by a grove
of trees, and, on a low branch, he saw a beau-ti-ful lit-tle bird. Ste-phen
whis-tled to it, and held out his fin-ger for the bird to come and hop up-on
it ; but the bird flew high-er up the tree, and, al-though Ste-phen whis-tled
a-gain and a-gain, it would not come. Then Ste-phen thought that per-
haps the bird would rath-er sit on a branch than on a boy's fin-ger; so he
broke off a long twig, and held out the leaf-y end to the bird.
"Come, come, lit-tle bird," he said; and he of-fered it a crumb of
cake. But the bird would not come, and, when Ste-phen held the branch
high, it flew to a tree be-yond a brook. Ste-phen went to the edge of the
wa-ter and looked at the bird. '"What a strange bird!" he said; "it does
not like cake, and it will not come to me. "
Then he went to the house, and told his moih-er all a-bout it : and slie said :
"The bird was a-fraid you might hurt him if he should come near you."
" I nev-er hurt birds. Why should this one think I would hurt him ? "
" He thought you were like those men and boys who catch birds or kill
them when-ev-er they can," said his moth-er. • If peo-ple did not in-jure
these lit-tle creat-ures, or try to catch them, they would not be a-fraid of us.
In some coun-tries, which men have sel-dom vis-it-ed, the birds are tame,
and will not fly a-way when a man comes near. Even in towns where
there are ma-ny birds, and where peo-ple are not al-lowcd to dis-turb
them, the lit-tle creat-ures be-come ver-y tame. At first, birds were not
a-fraid of boys and men ; but, af-ter peo-ple be-gan to kill and catch them,
they be-came ver-y wild, and they have been .so ev-er since."
"Then the birds think that all men and boys are a-like?" .said Ste-phen.
"Yes," said his moth-er, "ex-cept-ing those birds that have been tamed,
and taught that there are some lit-tle boys who arc al-ways kind to them,
and will not do them in-ju-ry." .
"Would it not be a good thing," saitl Stephen, " il we couKl l)c-gin all
KOK vi:kv 111 111-; lui.K.
809
over a-gain, and it ev-c-ry man and hoy would he kiml to iIk; birds, so
tliat they all woiiltl he tame ? "
• \'es," said lii^ moth-cr, "it would l)e well in ma-ny ways, if we could
It .Mil all o \vr a ;.4aiii : Ixii, as we can not do that, \oii and I must try to
- %i
\r-,
find out
cru-el.
. . .- , ..i ble to the dumb creat-ures a-boiit us, so that they may
if they can, that all the peo-ple in the world have not thrown
This is all we can do toward be-iL^nn-nini^r o-ver a-i,Min."
Sio
J A C K - I N - T II E - P U L P 1 T.
I^k^
fcj'^.-"'-ji'if''
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Treap lightly this summer, my friends, or,
rather, look before you step. If I were the Deacon,
I 'd carry the idea into a deal of useful talk for
your benefit, and tell you of all sorts of moral and
mental ways where it 's best to tread lightly. But
I do not mean that ; 1 am thinking of my friends,
the Ants. They are a hard-working, industrious
class of society, never mtending the least harm ;
and yet 1 cannot tell you how often their wonderful
under-ground houses are trampled upon and broken
in by thoughtless feet.
There is no harm in kneeling on paths and by-
walks, and watching them at work; but if you '11
ple;isc be careful where you step, your Jack will be
much obliged.
1 've a host of other tiny friends which 1 'd like
to recommend to mercy, but to speak for one is to
speak for many. All my youngsters need is a hint,
and the same feeling that spares the Ants will guard
the others.
Now for a few words about
THE CRIPPLING BROOK.
Deacon Green told some bare-legged little
boys one day, in my hearing, that he had noticed
a singular circumstance while they were wading in
the big brook by the school-house. The Little
.Scheie >l-ma'am, he said, had called it a "rippling
brook," but for his part he was inclined to call it a
"crippling brook," since it seemed to break the
boys' legs as soon as they fairly stood in it.
Now, the Deacon is a truthful, straightforward
man. What »/;'</ he mean by this, boys?
DO YOU BELIEVE IT ?
Here is a startling question from a Canadian
friend. Hut it may be that, on looking into the
matter, you will discover some facts that have es-
caped little Snow Bunting. If so, don't forget to
send me word about them.
I'llMR Jack: 1 heard a girl read frum a book, some (Liy% a^ .
that ihc .Niatjani KalU were once seven miles fanher down ihr
river than ihcy arc al present. Now. dear Jacic, do you Ixlievc that 1
1 have my own opinion of that book, but as you know a Kreat
deal, I thought r would c..n^ult you about it. Why. I am just from
Canada myself, and 1 heard nottun^ about the matter.
S.NOW BlSTISG.
A SINGING MOUSE.
Dr.AR Jack-in-tiii;-P' t.liT: Wc live near Newark. New Jersey-
tine d;iy Mother vent for an old table, which was " up-carret." as
our c-.nk say<. When the table was dusted off and placeo in .Moth-
er's rooiii, we heard a faint little song like that ofu Umil .;.io.,rv As
the vmg seemed to come from the table, we < j-
found nothing. Then the son sounded forth
Mill faint. VVe listened and listcried, and 1
the drawer entirely out. when, there in its far cr l
little ball, wc found a live mouse, — a real singing ii.mh.c' Ii w.\s
quiet enough for a while, poor frightened little thing! but it grew
L-iinc in a few days, and l>cgan to sing again at odd moments. It
was not Just " pc-ep ! pe-cp ! " but a real, real song, like a bird's,
only not so long or so loud. He did not live many weeks, though wc
cared for hint as kindly as we could: and when he died wc buried
him in the garden, and my brother wrote " A Swket Stvci^k "on a
shingle and set it up for a head-stone. Voii can print this letter, if
vou choose, for it is Inic. Did ever you hear of such a thing, dc.ir
Mr. Jack! I am your friend, Edith C M
Waverlev, June n, i88i.
Yes, Edith, your Jack is well acquainted with a
charming little singing-mouse, and he has heard
of others. The dear Little School-ma'am says she
once read an acciwnt of a singing mouse, named
Nicodemus, that m.ade friends with a caged canary.
The bird and mouse even sang duets together.
She says the mouse's song w,as as sweet, clear, and
varied as the warbling of any bird, but that it had
a tinge of sadness. Bless her ! Likely enough
the tinge of sadness was in her own heart, for who
could help pitying a poor little wingless mouse with
the soul of a bird !
DOLLY'S OMELET.
Mere is something from our friend S. \V. K. :
l.ucy had heard her brother read that in some part of .Africa, the
natives make a fine omelet in an " untroublcsome " way, as she
expressed it. They break a hole in the shell of the oslrich-eggat the
small end. put in salt and other scisoning, stir all into the egg w ith a
stick, then set it in hot ashes — the embers heaped to the opening in
the shell — until the egg is cooked.
Sjtnc one h.ad given little I-ldy Lucy a wee whitcegg, smaller than
Mrs. IJob White lays. Lucy decided to make it into an omelet for
Holly Cornelia. She measured the s.-dt for it on I>olly's thumb; nut
in three si)ecks of pepper, and a piece of butter the si/e of the blue
in Cornelia's evx. She stirred with a broom-straw, bidding I>o11t
watch how it all was done. "Vou might be a housekeeper )ourvc!^
s*ime day," said the little mother.
With an inch-wide shovel, a mound of wami ashes was made on
the stove-hearth, and there the wee egg wai put to roast. It was
scrv ed on a plate the size of a ginger-snap, and set before the staring
Cornelia. After a while, Lucv ate the omelet, and reported that
Dolly liked it very much indeed.
WEATHER WISDOM.
1 AM told that a certain wise man, who is c.illed
" the clerk of the weather," can tell pretty surely
if it will be warmer or colder, wet or f.iir, for a few
days ahead ; perhaps he can. But I know many
a bird and insect that knows fitiU surely what the
weather will be, and that provides beforehand
against storm and heat and cold.
1 have heard, indeed, that a wonderful man
named Henry Thoreau said, if he should wake from
JACK-IN-THE- 11 1 III
8ii
a trnnco in the midst of a New Kn>;larnl swamp, he lii|uii.l rc5i.niMiiijj w.iier, and, inside, it is covered
could tell In the appearance of the plants what with short hairs tlial point downward. When an
time of the year it must be, and not be wronj; by insect falls into the pitcher, it soon is drowned, fi>r
more than ten days. Well. Thoreau perhaps could the liquid slupelics it, and the bristles prevent it
have made jjood the jjcntle bo.isl, for he knew from dimljing up and out. After a while, the
almost all that one man could know about Nature body of the insect disappears, for the leaf digests it.
in New Knjjland, and he kept a Ixiok in which he The Sundew, also, digests or eats animal food ;
wTote, for every day in the year, the names of the and so, too, do several other plants, including that
flowers that, according to what he had observed, tpieer one called " \'enus's Fly-trap," which has
ought then to be in bloom. leaves that close like a rat-trap on any flies that
Hut I wonder what Thoreau would have said brush against the hairs lining their inner surfaces,
if he h.id waked from a trance in the middle of this liy the way, there was a lady in New Jersey wIki
last sprin-;? I think he would have been pualetl ;
and so, too, he might have been h.\il he lived in
the year iSi6, in every month of
which there was a frost, and which w
called '• the year without a summer."
Yet Jack does n't believe that in
either of these periods the birds ami
insects were puzzled at all about the
times and seasons.
CHINESE SKILL IN METAL-WORK.
IiEAR Mr. Jack: The letter you showed t.'
u«in your July budget, atmut " wonderful glass-
mcnriin.;,' remirjs me of a fact recorded in :»
b il. ;i- ■.nie. If true, it cerlninly ppivcs thi:
have great
kept one of these fly-traps as a curiosity,
it fioui North C.uulina, its n.itive touiidy
She g.,t
ctal-workii
il.,1-..
Chir
. produce pici"'-
which K«.l,. feel, and wcii:li so nearly liLe tl
co.»d m.>nr\- th.it the i>c»ip!c find it almost ir
I-.,,,!: ■■'< !1 tV.e .!i!Tor.-:u-c. .And v. r
■ is, he pays the
SPIDERS AS SERVANTS
YulK Jack used to think that
c\-ery tidy housekeeper had a strong
objection to spiders, and made it a duty In bru
down their webs when found in-doors. But one of
my birds has been telling me that, on some of the
West India Islands, the tidiest housekeepers would
n't be without spiders on any account. In many
a human dwelling there, the faithful creatures are
hard at work trying to free the house from disa-
greeable insects. They know just what they have
to do. and they do it without being told, so they
are respected, and valued as good ser\'ants. In
fact, their usefulness is so well known that in almost
every market these many-legged " household-
helps " may be seen for sale.
LIVING PITCHERS.
Ddwx beside a shady pool that glimmers in the
marsh sits a curious family. You can see in the
illustration what they look like. They are living
pitchers, each formed of a purple-tinged leaf, with
strong ribs and purple veins : and from the center
of the group rises here and there a long stem, car-
rying on its top a ntxlding purple blossom.
The pitcher has a flaring mouth, or lid, which
nc\'cr closer, but on which is spread some sweet
gummy stuff that attracts flies and insects; and
down the middle at the outside is a sort of frill, or
wing. The leaf keeps always about half-full of a
l«j^^
used to feed it
now and then — a very
little at a meal — with
small bits of potato,
cheese, bread, and i
uncooked beef. One
day she put her finger on the bristles, just to find
out what would happen. Snap I went the trap, and
gripped her closely. Then came a prickly feeling,
then a sharp pain, and, at last, a racking ache that
made her take away her finger. But she said she
did n't believe the poor insects who get caught feel
much pain, for, no doubt, they die at once.
A MOTHERLY ROOSTER.
After r
DiSAR Jack-iv-the-Pi lpit: After rcadinc I.iiiieH.'s letter, which
you showed to us in the March numlier. I thought I would write
to tell you jntl her about a rooster belont:ing to a neighbor "f ours.
He is a »ery large, bbck. and handvime hird; the man who owns
him l.'Mtght si->tnc tittle chickens, that had been hatchcil by machinery,
and, jusi for a whim, he gave them to this rH.scer T.. his great sur-
pnsc. the stately !>ird at once adopted them, taking them under his
wings at night, and clucking and scratching for them with all the
loll„',l^
.1.1 ].,
that
used t
the bu
constant reader,
..r<l. he will nin with the .hicks to h»
n T injures them by stepping up-m them.
. !.imllics uf little chickens which ha*-«
ic of them as large as himielf Now,
It they can muster such a rooster. — Vour
J. E. W.
8l2
Tilt: l.liTTER-UOX.
Till". i.i-tti;r-i?ox.
CoNTRiiuToHS arc rMpcctfiiUy infonnc«l thai, l»ciw«n i!ic i*-! "f
Jiilyan<l the 1 5th of September, manuscripu can not cimvenicnily l>e
cxaniincJ at the ufllcc of St. Niciinuvs. Consequently, thr»vr who
JcMrc tu fnvur the magarine with contributions will pleaM: poMponc
sending their MSS. until alter the lakt-namcd date
I>EAK St. Nichoi_\s: I was very* much interested in your direc-
liiin'', in the May number, for making bubbles; but I want to lell
vou how I make them sometimes. 1 take an empty spool, .ind rnh
It on the soap : then dip it in the water — but only a very liiilc-^and
blow through the other end, and yuu will find you have as nice a
bubble as tnough yuu u^cd a pipe. — Vour constant reader,
Maie Stbven&on.
Oi'R thanks are due to Mcsitni. George Bell & Sons, for their
courtesy in allowing us to reprint, in our " Trcasurc-box of English
Literature," two poems by Bryan Waller Procter.
nd decorated
Dear St. Nichola'!: I thought y
fn»m a liitlc girl in South Australia,
pictures in St. Nicholas 1 sec you
the gniund is sometimes covered with snow and ic
of your readers will be surprised when 1 say that
in my life, and it is not many times that I have st
it ver>* hot here at Christn\as time, bi
tralia in spite of the heat, and brings
1 am tuld that when the people hen
lid like to have a letter
;nd you one. By the
uch snow in America:
Perhaps wune
very I
liitte children 1
re up, you arc
I bed; thi^
Wc ha%'e lots of stars in our sky ; more than you have, I think.
Vou can't sec the Southern Cross. Adelaide is a fbvely city, with
gardens everywhere, and ncariy every day wc can play in the open
air. I do like South Australia so, but I should like 10 sec snuw, and
to sec ihc boys snuw-balling — Yours truly.
£l.sii£ Uun^-thon, of Adelaide, South Australia.
No DornT, hundreds of our young friends have read with great
interest the accounu of Lord Nelson's \-ictorics on the Baltic and ihc
Nile, and many another thrilling description of fierce conflicLs on tlic
sea. And all who like such narratives would do well to read
the article printed in Scrilnt^r's Monthly for June, entitled "An
August Morning with Farragut."
Apart from the cKciting incidents which it narrates in fine st>'Ic,
the article h;is great value to all young students of their country'*
annaU, as a bit of historj', since it is written by Lieutenant Kinney,
who himself was upon the same vessel with Admirtkl Farragut, and
an e>'c-witiicss of the scenes which he describes.
We can heartily commend this paper, moreover, as a just tribute
to a noblc-heancd and patriotic American admiral whose wonderful
I have made him known to the worid as one of the greatest
that ever lived.
Dear Kiiitok : I thank you for the St. Nichoi^s. I should n't
think Kitty Brown's mother would tr\* her so many limes, when she
forgot 10 shut down the piano-lid. f^he told her she would tr>' her
only just once. Kitty's momma told her a wnrng story: I think
»hc did. She ga^c her v»mc dough and s<Hne mince-mcat, — eiujugh
to make two pie* : and Kitty never -.hut the pianolid at all, and left
it open five times, — to sec the monkey, to see her friends, lo sec her
a— No; that is three times. Hnw will Kitty know, aftc
iwpa-
what her r
A ill do*
Vou arc quite rii;ht, Helen,
wn^ng plan for curing her.
the ktory was meant to teach.
; years old-
in thinking that Kitty's mother tried a
And thi% is one of the lc»Mfu that
r th..uj,i ih.,t 1 o.Mui.MiVc
and »onK«, drcMtcd the dull», arranged the throne, and went to the
wood* to get two May*|K>les which they brought home, pUinicd
ered with gray 1
recited the speeches for
May songs. Ihcu fol-
clnrshments of cake,
finnly in ihc gmund, twinc<l with gray
stn{>s 'if gay-colomJ cambric.
.\b<uit sixteen girl^ 'i'*^ boys were invited, and I think 1 have
ne\'er l»ccn at a happier party, nor witnessed a prettier scene.
The ihmnc was placed under an arch fonncd by the meeting
branches uf two large pink oleanders in full bl>x>m, and on and
around it were i;roui>ed more than thirty dolls, dressed to represent
the Uuecii of .\l.iy, the Four Sca-vons, Ceres, Iris, Cupid, Morning,
Kvcning. several Maids of Honor. Flora with her llower-girls, ;
Titania with her fames 1 he throne wxs
and decorated with p.-Jms and (lowers.
The children stood around the thntne ar
their res[>cctive dolls, and sane two or thn
lowed the dance around the Nlay-pt^le, a
Icni'inade, and strawberries, served oui-of-doors-
Hopinc that this true account of the way some children in the
I--ind of Flowers cnj')yed themselves may interest other children. I
remain truly your friend, " Fu»kida. '
" Little Cooks." — Ella G.'s letter interested us very much. In
our opinion. Miss Parloa's '* New Cook-Book," published by EUics
& Lauriat of Boston, is the one you need. It is Mmpic, exact, and
tells just the things that girls and young housekeepers must Icam, if
they wish to avoid expensive mistakes.
Dear St. Nic>ioijv<;: My Aunt Lulu had a cat once that liked
music. Whenever Lulu played on the piano the cat would come and
^it on the steps and 1 -ten. Dnce Lulu left the piano open, and by
and by .she heard a funny .sound on it, and when she came down-
suiirs and found the cat, she was surprised. The cat would jump
upon the keys from one side and run across and then jump upon
the other and go back again. Hakkv MacCoko (10 years).
The following item, copied from the New York Tril'unr, may
interest those of our readers who remember the beautiful engraving
of Mr. Millais's painting of "The Princes in the Tower," which was
published in St. NichuI-as for February, 1880:
Mr. Millais's well-known picture of the "Princes in the Tower"
has just been sold in London for nineteen thousand dollars. The
artist has lately had an unpleasant accident. As he was leaving the
I^vee, -a footman, in hastily shutting the carriage-door, jammed
two of the fingers of Mr, Millais's right hand, crushing ihcni
Edna McDowelu — The little German girl's words to Cora, in
the poem " Babel," printed in the May number, mean, " Oh ! oh ! 1
can not understand youl " To the French girl, she says: ">\'hat
docs she (Cora) mean? When you know it, I should be glad tt»
hear." The French girl says: "Really! really!" and then: "I
know that it is not i>oliic: will they think ill of me for laughing? "
Those of our readers who are interested in the article upon
" Fkit-boating," in the present number, as well as those who have
read the many admirable stories which Mr. Frank R. Stockton has
contributed to thi* magajinc, will be glad, we feel sure, to read the
following extracts from a private letter recently fccei\-cd from him:
Dfar — ■ — : I want to tell you of the very pleasant trip wc had
down the Indian river. I will not insult you by telling you in what
part of Floritla the Indian river is, but I have been obliged to inform
ncariy every other pen-on of my acmiaininiicc, to whom I spoke f>n
the sulycct, thai it is a long arm of the sea running down the cast
coast 01 Florida, and separated fnm the ocean by a narrow strip of
land, sometimes not (tver a hundred yards wide The ri^cr varies in
width from six miles to thirty yards. Grc.it portions of its shores arc
entirely unsettled, and nuiLn of its sccncr>" is wild and novel.
When I determined to t.ike my holid;iy last March, Mrs, Stockton
and I. with three voung friends, — a l.idy .nnd two gentlemen. — went
up the St John's Uivcr nearly ii cniiii- 1. ti^ih, — a ver^- picturesque
■"' ■ siin^ trip, — and ilu-: l.nd to 'ritus\*ille. —
Indui
Kp
lie
Urgesi wc couhl get, b\
whole party at night;
occupied three wcckk.
slopping every night tu
The lKv»t wa» the
' i- accommotlatc the
■■■I. Willi 11. ;» tent Dur entire trip
ere MX days going down the river,
At Jupiter Inlet we made a pcniia-
Til i: I.KTTKk- IMiX.
«i3
palmcu.. ru.
half a mile
h.Mim cvct^
for our own
wh,. «... V,
thai phice U unc of the
\Vc ftihccl two or ihrcc
Oiir
1. 1 hi^ htilc
'i- . ^I'v .iiJiJ dUhc«.
II »t entirely in the
' >iiic emit, and yei
ok loKI. .-ina all t: 'v.
rhc wMrr i>l' ihc riser \^ .»s -,ilt, in.tUn^; its influfinCC perfectly
IkmIiIiImI. .uuI «c h.\<\ fine weather during the whole trip, being
For the whole of the three
open air (the cabin of ihc I
Cvl l.\
iKiiicnis than I want to bore you
'i >i n ileli^htful time we had.
i.JIy HI "the Narrt»ws" was
■ our rctum-irip. wc stopped
rl of our st.K.Ic of pr-nisions,
^ct here all that we wanted,
; re. ThU will give you an
When he reached the palace and «aw the princcu brown,
He took hi« fan in t>nc hand and nn the fluor tat duwn
He set MX top« a spinning and he dmnk a cup of tea.
And then he drew a polygon that waii ju%t as big ak he:
Then he lit a fire in the frying-pan, —
The pan all l>l.i. k and yellow.
And he ro\c and ti>ok the princcM,
And bomiwcd ChantS undirclla:
And while the uniokc grew dcniwr.
And the tops l>cgan to whir,
Right up and out and through the ro<if
Flew off the conjurer I
All up and down hi\ kingdom, the land of Much Chum Fee.
The great Prince Cham goes wandering a% tad an he can be :
Fur he 's lost ht?i mighty conjurer, and the heir he had is gone
And he can not find thcni anywhere, though he look« from st
And still he mourns his discontent, the source of all hii« woe
(For "half a cup i> better than no tea at all," you know);
Hut he 'II never gel his Princess back, for very far away
The conjurer has hidden her in the city of Itombay,
Where she spins the tups of magic anu she ride* inc buttcrfly.-
Thc wonder still and envy of all the pas&er»-by.
FoK the benelit of little readers who may be troubled by the text
of ** Proud Prince Cham," as given on pages 76^, 767. 768, and 769,
of the present number, we here reprint the verses in plain Roman
letters :
Proud Princk Cham.
dv eva u ocdkn.
There was sobbing loud and weeping in the palace
Of the great Pnnce Cham ;
Ihc I. Ill tc.iihcrs ■( the royal stork were drooping,
I ; ..Im.
I ' 1 n't eat his birds'-ncst jelly,
\ ir tt> touch hi« hot-roast chicken,
For the heir of all his kingdom, who had come that morning,
\Va.s a oh, dear me I
When It should have been a prince, was nothing but a princess,
Brown as she could be.
Prince Cham had wept till a pile of soaked handkerchiefs
Lay at his side.
And had e^en tivst his seir-contn>l, which was
So much liLS pride:
When he stopped, and called for his fan and umbrclln,
And rose up to go
To the cave of the conjurer down in the hollow
Uf Mount Lo Ko Fo.
•t fan,
.-llal—
Mks. R. C— In response to your wish to know of a good book
of Kindergarten movement songs for your little ones, we would name
Mrs. Clam Bceson Hubbard's compilation, lately published by
Italmer vS: Weber, of St. Louis. Vou will find replies to nearly all
of your queries in the preface to this work by Miss Susan K Blow.
The compiler claims that the book is the result of years of careful
trial and selection. The songs having been tested practically,
be^des being very simple and efTective, they are of just the sort that
mtist interest children.
Drar St. Nicholas : In the May number, I read the story of
" Little Totote," and I send this as a kind of sequel, hoping you
will like it.
Little Totote Again.
One day, when Totote was eating her brcad-and-milk, she said:
"Nurse, I don't like to stand on my head any more. I think it
makes me ,fcct ton dizzy. But 1 like to look in my gold spoon, —
only I do not want to l)c on my head."
"Oh, is that it?" said Nurse. "I am afraid little Totote will
have to give up looking into her spoon, if she does not like to stand
with her head downward."
I^it Totote shook her prett\' curls, and said she would talk to her
kilty about it. So she took Kitty in her arms and showed her the
spoon, and said :
** Kitt>'. Kitty, tell me how I can look in my gold spoon and not
have to stand on my head."
Kilty looked vcr\" wise, and was very still. She did n't even mew.
But pretty soon she put up her soft liiilc paw on the table, and
played with the gold spoon until she turned it over.
And — what do you think? There was Totote. with laughing
eyes and dancing curls, in the back of the spoon, and right side up,
too!
"Oh. Nurse!" she cried; "now, I can look in my spoon and
not have to be on my head, after all. unless I cho()sc ! I can do
Inith ways whenever 1 like. I thmi^ht Kilty would know ab<iut it."
And Nurse was very much surpnsed, indeed, to sec that this was
really true. W. P. R
One red and ooc blue.
■ Vc Prince Cham,
! • things
ri .^ht there but trvday.
lake the thing away,
ti.tiH]*'<nic iiitic prince, who shall always look like
TKe cnjufTT r****.
t'J he «pecd.
The many boys and girls who have read that interesting story,
" Klizabcth ; or, the Exiles of Siberia," and also the accounts of the
Elmprcss Catherine'A ice-palace, certainly must think of Russia as a
cold counir>'. And almost all of us associate it more with wintry
bndscapes of ice and snow, than with such scenes as the one
depicted on page 748 of the present number. But you who have
studied geography do not need to he told that Russia is one
of the largest countries on the globe ; and, excepting the vtr^nge-
looking harness on the hopM;. and the qtieer costumes of the workers.
this harvest-scene is almost exactly like tia>'tng-iime in our own
fields Probably this sketch was made in some part of Southern
Ru.ssia, which, as many of you know, contains, perhaps the richest
whctt-ficldft in Europe.
r>F.AR St. Nicholas: I have a kitten, .ind her name is " Fun "
She is very fond of my haby-doll. She will lie on her Img dre** all
day. and she will liek her face and put her paw around her. — Vour
friend, Bektha.
8i4
THE LETTER-HOX.
(August,
told thai, by careful manaccmcnt, you can ect a red, white, and blu
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION— FIFTH REPORT.
Wb inxitc your attention this month to something bnghtcr than
butterflies, sunnier than flowers, and busier than bees. Let us con-
sider the girls and boys who have thus far joined the army of the
"A. A." More than a thousand strong, they are scouring the
prairies of Kansas ; climbing the foot-hilU of the Sierras ; discovering
beautiful caves in the Rocky Mountains; analyzing magnolia-
blossoms in MLs.M&,sippi: killing rattlesnakes on their own door-steps
m Colorado, studying geology in Kngland; gathering ".edelweiss '*
from the slopes of the Alps; wandering, by permit, through New
York's Central Park; spying out specimens from the mica minct of
Vermont: picking up tarantulas and scorpions in Texas; searching
lor the flowers and insects of the Argentine Republic ; gathering
algae and sea-she)Is on the coast of Florida; growing wise in the
paleontology of Iowa; arranging the variously colored sands of the
Mistlsstppi river in curious bottles ; in Massachusetts, anxious to
know* whether ' * the limnanthemutn of our waters has roots " ; send-
ing from Chicago to learn about the "center of buoj-ancy"; hold-
ing field-meetings in Illinois; celebrating the birthday of Professor
Agassiz (May aSt in New Hami>shire with a picnic and appropri-
ate exercises ; gi^^ng entertainments, and realizing "enough to buy
a cabinet and have thirty dollars over to start a library " in Oregon :
making wonderful collections in Virginia ; enjoying the assistance
and listening to the lectures of eminent scientists in Philadelphia :
enrolling scholars and teachers in Connecticut and Rhode Island:
determining to become professors in the District nf Columbia ; writing
fraternal messages from Canada; selecting quartz crystals from lite
hot-springs of Arkansas; discovering grastrums on Long Island,
and everywhere learning to use their eyes in detecting the beautiful
in the common, and the wonderful in the before despised.
Does solitude check i
shore of Lake Worth, ii
isiasm? Listen to :
ithem Florida:
: from the wild
seventy miles of us.
M twelve miles the
il -ngthc sca-bcach.
I inr>-. but shall be
iKtih from sea and
W'c have no good b" ■
able to collect numb'-
land I have found .1 ^
Mr ICdward Moran, one of our most diligent members, has the
excellent habit <*( making daily nr>tcs of what he finds
Some of them read as freshly an a page frum Wliitc's " Sclbon
book which all boys and girU t.huuld read. He hayfc:
rn'ill..
mHcI I
Nothing has been more gratifying than the persc\crancc which the
members of our difTcrrnt cliapters manifest. Their interest gii'u s
conttinially. Here is tlic way the sccrcur>' of the Auburn, Al.i
chapter writes:
" Our chapter began in Febniarj' with five mcmbcrSj and now
contains fourteen More than half of our members arc girls — good,
honest, hard-working giris in the society. Thcj- do not wait fur help
from their parents, but do the wurk themselves llic Utvs arc un
the alert from one meeting to the next, and come laden with *:urio>i-
ties of all kind^■ The attendance is always good, and the rcjuirts
arc full of interest. We arc very anxious to have a badge We are
always going lo collect two specimens of each kind, vi as to send
you one. We shall strive to make this the tanner chapUr of the
Assocbtion."
Such letters as these stir up in us very warm feelings toward our
friends in the "sunny S<juth," and when we add lo them hundreds
of A similar tenor fiom the far West, East, and North, we feel that the
yi»ung people of our country are full of noble and affectionate fccUng,
and wc arc sure that a united study of the wonders of Nature,
created for us by our Heavenly Father, is drawing us all more
closely together in the bonds of a common brotherhood.
" Kansas is of much interest," we arc told by a member of the
wide-awake Atchison chapter, " as it is full of fossils and petrifactions.
Here ancient and extinct animals have roamed at large, and their
remains have been discovered."
We arc now starting on our second thousand. We hope to mature
a more systematic plan of work before many months. Meanwhile,
prevs on. Wc intend personally lo answer every letter; but out .>
sionally one writes and forgets to give his address, or fails to inclose
If you fail to receive a reply, write again. There arc hundreds of
interesting things aching to be told. Just think of that chapter in
Lockport, N. V., with a hundred members— and the badge discus-
Address, after September 15, 18S1,
H. H. Bali^rd, Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mxss.
List of Additional Chapters.
So.of ^ NO.0/
chapter. Kanie. .Members. -Secretary's Address.
67. New York (A) 6 R. W. Tailer, 13 E. loth st.
68. f;rand Junction, Iowa (A». 5 S. J. Smith.
69. Middlebur^-,' Vl. (A> 14. . Miss Carrie S. Steele.
70. Phila. (E) 50. A. A., 141 N. aoth st.
71. Grand Rapids. Mich. (A).. 4 Willie G. Allyn.
7?. Ncedham, Mass. (A) 7. Gillwrt M-inn.
73. B.-dlimore, Md. (B) 10.. Miss Susie H. Keiih. 76 Md
n, N. J. (A) ... . 7. .Mi-s Anna F. Thomas (I'v.
Fayettcville. Ark. (A).
ICast Orange, N. J. (B).
Wilkesbarre, Pa. (A) ..
Washington, D. C. (Bl..
Lockport. N. V. (A)
Bethany. Ohio (A) . . . .
Wcllsville. N. Y. (A)
Brooklyn, N. Y. (B)..
Mi...,.l...lni.l.i
St. Johnsbury. Vl (A).
Lowell, Mass. (A)
Urx»y, N. Y. (A)
New York (C)
Hull's Mills. N. Y. (A)....
Nashua, N. H. (B>
Buffalo. N. Y. (A)
N. Cambridge, Mass. (A).
Suiunion, Mass. (At ..
Atchison, Kan. (A)
Joliet. III. (A*
i..F. M Polhamius (Bov i^^^i
..Miss Florence Whitman,
K.Miss Helen Reynolds. c-.rc
Col. Murray Reynolds.
I. .Broc. Shears, 1236 6th m.
N. W.
. . Miss Agnes McKae, care Col.
McKae
..n. F- S;irber.
..MissE. Guernsey I'inghani.
. .Crtjwcll Hadden, 6y Ren.scn
street
' C. D Haaen.
>. .W. C, Chase. 1 1 Nesmith st.
k.Miss Mary N. Lathrop, Gen-
esee Co.
..Ralph S. Tarr.
. .Wm. T. Frohwxin, ai8 Stan-
ton street
.. .John R. Blake. »6 West 19th
street.
'. . Miss Alice Browcr, Dutchess
County
..FA. WTical. P. O Box 6i».
..Miss F. F. Habcnim, 11
High sL
. . Fred. E. Kcay.
..Miss Harried While.
. .James R. Co\-<rt. P. O. Itox
685.
. Mitt Addte W. Smith.
Til i: k I hin.i:- iu)\.
Si
Till-: Ki i»I)m:-H()X.
AN \*.K \ *ni \TU \l. -*IM:i.I.IN<;-l.t»ON.
ujjlcv, the i>rol>lciii U til arrani;c the troupcd
lipbniitl,.incl leave friftid: acain. nnd leave nncient. IV. Iteheail circu-
ktten tu that ihcy will foi
I A wunJ agreeing with the ^tccomponying
liful flowering *hnib.
tof a
t Alri
I countr>'.
with heavy artillery.
r.incc into a society.
Kcrj. limit -Kc' itL.i t ■ the matter in hand.
Rooppuhtus- —A Umiliar chemical substance.
CROSS-WORD JINCaX.
In mast, in
fast, in b
wl
In under
but nc\e
In flini;, in
bnng. in
^u
In rnttllci
1. but ncv
cr
In b^^si, i.
rriast. m
to
In tourixt
but neve
r
\\hi» can this jingle
tea
Will a ho
liilay-time
d
DOl'BLE ACROSTIC.
cuicd in Great
The primaU and finab oame a patnol who wa5 e
Britain, m ihc early part of the fourteenth century.
Cross-word!* I. An ornamental tree. a. Une of the United
State*. The id should adorn the brT>w of the poet named in the
4th. The 5th » a Staic adjoining my second. The 6th washes the
shores o( the 7ih. which also is a State. archie anu hu gh.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
My first is in lose, but not in find:
■My second in melon, but not in rind;
My third U in thyme, but not in sage:
My founh is in passion, but not in rage;
^ly fifth h in knife, but not in dtsh;
M. ^I\Th is in want, but not in wish;
: . -'ith in dog. but not in cat;
.:Kth is. in mouse, but not in rat.
\\ - , trc»h and cw>l. my whole aU-ay
day.
BESSIE VINCEN I
I. I. A PoivT of the cc
A country of that divis»i>n.
an emperor. ». Nothing
111. 1. Part of a foot.
L>omeslic ftiwlv
THREE WORD-SQl'ARES.
mpass.
A great division of land. 3.
To domesticate. II. 1. A title of
3. Artifices. 4. A fragrant flower.
An African
HALF SCd'ARE
In pumpkin, a. An excUmaiim. z. Is used fnr illu
. minvc ..n.I ml* 5 A Turkish ..fli.L.!.
i»K(H'-ij:TTKit iM y./.i.r..
VII. i'.cl.r..d ..aim. ..lid Ic-nc 1.... Luhnalc. aiiam. .,nj
VUl. ttchcad iluit which, rolling, "gathers no mots,
meli>dy; agitin, and lcn\e a whole, rKKL
nf those w
this 1
Special mention will be made nf the nai
their own original drawings eiiibudying the
Along my ,/!rst I wandered far,
I heard the sea-waves lap the shore.
And wished my s^ohJ were but near,
lo blend his notes with Neptune'-, roar.
liaccr lo see my jvhoU, I peered,
1 hn>ugh gathering dusk, on every side,—
When, suddenly, across my paih,
lt» flitting form I just descried!
IIVTIUn.OCHVI
a .\ I'. ■ 1 ^;.r. \.\U\9. !>. FVFKR.
FA*»Y not Bl.r l>Ki %IMT%TIONH.
in ihe order of the acconi-
ih 1 ^'ii.!! pcrw'na>;cs repre-
! -f the nomes has six
downward from the
r Hindu ''God of
1 tic grtddcvs of VblMlom.
.ind Manh. 4- 'Ihe S'>n of
Oncofthe Muses IiiACn-
8!6
THE KIDDLE-BOX.
[August.
WOHIIS WITHIN WOKUS.
lit] by WKcuHni: and curtailing the
Human Ifcin^s, \n auguriet. ^In-
I li) ^uc. Ill vocc^ 3 lo expire, in a (arewcil. 3. lo leave, in
I ht^h cotm ufjUAticc. 4 lo nuUay, m a wardmbc. 5. To wander,
uniin£ tnipical fruit\. b. Vn •suspend, in small pieces of numcy. 7.
\n inject, in a pt>cm. 8. A ifiH, in a (lag. 9. A garrcl, in open-work.
0. An i*I.-ind. in M»fi w.x.lcn ^i^Mis. to.
CHANGED HEAUS.
FiR^T take a certain animal,
That '% ver>- B.>4.d lo couW.
In fact, you '11 find the recipe
In many a cookery-book.
Now change my head, and if you 're brave,
Vou *ll sec whai you should do,
If well assured thai in ihe fight.
Your cause wxrc just and ime.
Chan I
agam, :
To lake me ere yoi
Where danger lurk»
From accident or fc
nd then be :
Agai
Upoi
Aye.
(when changed), I 'm oAen seen
Again, and vou are dining
On viands nicely done.
Or in the omnibus you may
Uc paying just f<»r one.
Again, and
Arihungh '
To aid y<i
ight call fur M/V, perhaps,
I in your plan.
And nnw a quite uncommon thing
Vou 'II have, if once again
You change my head, (»r you will lee
1 'ni difficult tu gain. ai'ST
UIIOMnOlD.
AcRns<;
tin daisy
I>ow
rRns<;: 1. A conspiracy. 3. Having a tone. 3. The mount-
iaisy. 4. Neater. 5. An under-ground canal.
_ ownwakd: I. In acom*. 2. A prcpojiition. 3. A m'tra*---,
4. In a short lime. 5. The surname of an American kevolu-
liunary general. 6. A small river fish. 7. Novel. 8. The begin-
ning of repentance, 9. In preparation. p. s. K.
TUANfiPOSlTIONS.
1. Transpose natives of a certain European r-- — ■— -■ ' •' -■ t
range o( mountains; again, and form eccle^l.i
.'ig:iin, and firm a fortified town of France. 3. I
ox-hidc, and form hoar-frost; again, and form il<-< ,
f.irm an Arabian prince. 3. Transpose certain .....1 ...i. ..i^
weapons; again, and form a planet. 4. Trans|><>M: lim iiC'^plc. :iitd
form a counti^* of F,uroi>c ; — 5. Transp*>se iiK.ts used by jcincrs. and
form a city in th.it country. 6. Transpose a mlliutr>* chief, and
form lo dilate; again, and form a laborer in the ha^^■esl-ficld. D.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IX THE JULY NUMBER.
<OM TION OF lOrUTH (»r JULY MAZE.
•^h^u'
Fin.nis
Ipbra
MIOTIC Porni.n Acrostic. Primals: Fourth of July.
Independence. Cross-words: i. Fungi. 2. OrioX- 3.
I). 4. RcnegndE- ■;. TumiP. 6. HugE. 7. OmeN. 8.
9. JokF., ID. UrcfiiN. 11. I-ogiC. 12. VankcE-
iMENT VviZLR. I. G. 7. FEd. 3. ROd. 4. ARm.
"""g. 7. OWn. 8. TAg. 9. ASk. lo AHa. m
'"j •- SuGar. 14. ExTol. 15. Scholar. .
AFW. .
A.N'd.
Kasv Cf.xtrai. Acrostic. 1. Bin j. ANl
Ft. 5. AI'l. 6. Vtjc. 7. ANd. 8 ADo. 9. lEl.
I. ACt. 12. FEc. 13. ODc. 14. HAr. 15. AYc.
Two Cross-wori* Enigmas, i. Firc-crnckcn. 2. Holiday.
NiMKRlCAi. Enigma. '* Wc have mcl ihc enemy and ihey ..■
in. — two ship<, two brigs, one schooner, .and one sloop." Comn
ire Pcrr^- t.
) Cities. 1 Belfa-^i. 2. Carlisle. 3. Nc
port. 4. C).\ford. 5. Bath. 6. Pisa. 7- Dover.
M\thouk;ical Diamoni>. i. I>. 2. PAn. 3. DaNac.
NAg. 5. E Riddle. Pcnnyroy
I'liAKADE. Mandate.
r
.AKADE. Ma
ndate.
.n.KiAL Cm
SS.WORD 1
Nir.MA. Answer, Powder.
Take a
n ordinary
pea, the first in the rod;
'1 hen the next in
the pud may be second;
The fir
xt of the \
•orst may now be used;
Then the hist in
the pon be reckoned.
The ej,
Ircmcs of
in HaK will finish a word
That i
1 inv inili:
s you often have heard.
\NsriiS1TU..'.
s. '.. r.
mcr— ranger. 3. Pirge— ridge. _;
ush. 5. Sauce— cause. 6. Lumber—
.Shrub— bi
Me. 7. Ma
m — mails.
8. Dusty — study. 9. Scale — lacesu
Rouge — logu
IMIiKICAL En
ICMA FOR
Wee Pi'zzLF.RS. Israel Putnam.
'
are printed in the ftccond number after that in which the publics appear.
i'7-Zl.lis were rrtcivcd, too late for acknowledgment in the Jtily number, from L. Gihson. Jr., 8 — Margaret It
■ere receivctl li
.ie, 1— E R C
Chester Whim
r.nkcn, 2— t;c.
.l.r. ,-E.hlh
\,.il. 2—1' II
. harlc. Kl.l<-
.M-. to— lilw
1 I're^i.m. 4
_ -I>iuise Butler and F.llj.nt-elh
onklin, 2— Rosa E \Vilie. 1— I.iUi.Tn V. l.cach, 1— ii/rie H K.
ore, I- Willie (). Brownficid, 4— I- and M. Williams, 1— Sarah.
. lin.wn, -,— 1:. 1. Could. 1— '-Otter River," 3— M S. Rcamer,i
M.:Kce\ef and C.irric SpeiJcn, 5— Mamie Mensch, 3— I irric IV
ul.:hins"n, 1— John lllanchard. 1— Sallie Wiles. 11— "Castor and
■>;. 4- l.i.k K Wrrnsb.-.ll 5— f F. and II. U B. Ir., 5— H. P.
U.I \'. ill,. ..Il_( ,,rn,. onl \1 ,. 4— " Mignon." 3— j. Iteugia
Fred, ,,— lie
IVwsU, 4— lly^lc WujJtli,
|. and llai>y.]
.."2 — J. .S. Tennam, 7— I
~ — Arclite and Charlotte, 5.
Uir
Idwcll, 1— Ahre
A Bryani. i-
...jiv, ... — . ema and Uncle
bcr of puules solved
; Nciii
1— K
t^>te
>ec\l 1 S
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vou VIII. SEPTEMBER, 1881.
[Copyright, 1881, by Thb CENTURY C0.|
LITTLE MISS M L' F 1-" L T AND 1 1 1: R SI'IUKR.
By Sophie SwKrr.
\m. 11.
" Z:/V//<- .I//JJ A/nJi-f sat on <i tiiffil,
Ealing of curds and xcluy :
Tht-rf I ante a great spider, who sat doion beside her.
And frightened Miss Muffft aivay."
She was not Mother Cioosc's Miss MulTet; she
was not even a relative.
I may as well tell you that, in the bcj;inning, and
then you wont be disappointed. For I know that
we all are very much interested in that Miss Muffet.
Mother Goose was such a shrewd old lady! She
knew how to tell just enough, and not too much.
Some story-tellers would have informod us whether
curds and whey were little Miss Mullet's customary
diet, or an unusual treat, and whether they agreed
with her ; just what kind of a bowl and spoon she
used, and who gave them to her ; whether she had
her hair banged, and whether her little brother
wore copper-toed shoes ; to say nothing of the
spider's whole family history, and whether he was
only prowling about in a general way, or had
special designs on Miss Muffet.
.\nd when we knew all that, we should have no
further interest in little Miss Muffet, nor in the
spider. I am afraid we might even forget that they
had ever existed.
Hut now we all have an opportunity to set our
imaginations at work, and, if we are Yankees, we
"guess" who Miss Muffet was, and where she
lived, and, especially, where she went when the
spider frightened her away, and whether she ever
came back to her curds and whey.
I do not profess to know any more than anybody
else about that Miss .Muffet. As I said before, the
little Miss MulTet whose story I am going to tell
was no relation to her, whatever ; and, as for the
spider, he certainly was not even a descendant of
Mother (<oose's spider.
voi_ vm.— 52
To tell you the truth, my little Miss Muffct's real
name was not .Miss Mullet at all. It was Daffy
Crawford. No, — now 1 think of it, that was not
her real name, neither ! She was called Uafl'y,
because she had the yellowest hair that ever was
seen ; and, as her mother had a fancy for dressing
her in green, she did look like a daffodil. The
first person who noticed this called her Daffodil,
and Daffy-down-dilly, and by and by it was short-
ened to Daffy, and everybody, even her own father
and mother, adopted it. They almost forgot that
she possessed such a dignified name as Frances
Imogen.
How she came to be called "little Miss Muffet"
will take me longer to tell ; but 1 assure you I
know all the facts of the case, for I was well
acquainted with her. and I was, as you might say,
on intimate terms with the spider.
It was one summer, down at Dashaway Beach,
that Daffy met the spider.
She had been making mud-pies all the morning
with Tuny Trimmer and jimmy Short-legs, — that
was not his real name, but they called him so
because he still wore knickerbockers, although he
was a very old boy, — and with her own brother,
Sandy. Sandy and jimmy Short-legs both felt
above mud-pies, as a general thing, but they were
down on the be.ich, and the tide was out so far that
they could not wade nor fish, and they had built
an oven of stones to bake the pies in, and made a
fire of drift-wood, so it was a more exciting amuse-
ment than the making of mud-pies usually is.
Daffy and Tuny were very proud of the com-
pany they were in. Sandy and Jimmy, besides
being boys, were almost eleven, and they did n't
very often condescend to play with girls. Tuny
Trimmer did everything they told her to, even to
taking off her stockings and shoes and wading into
8i8
LITTLIi MISS MUKFET
[SsrTBMBBKy
the mud up to her knees. She did not even rebel,
when, after the mud-pie making began to grow
monotonous, Jimmy Short-legs proposed to play
that her new I'aris doll was a clam, and buried it
deep down in the mud.
DalTy took oft" her shoes and stockings, and got
down on all fours, and pretended that she was a frog,
so thai Sandy could swallow her when he was being
a crocodile — though she did not at all enjoy having
him a crocodile, he m.ide up such horriti faces, and
squirincd so. But when they wanted to play
Indian, and tic Lady Flor.abella, her wax-doll, to a
slake, and burn her up, while they danced the
Ojibbcwa war-dance around her. that was too much
even for Daffy's accoinmodating disposition. She
held out against it stoutly, although they called her
a baby, and said girls never wanted to have any
fun. And Jimmy Short-legs, who read story-
papers, said Florabella would be like " the Golden-
haired Captive of the wild Apaches." And when
Sandy attempted to seize Lady Florabella, and
make a martyr of her against her mamma's will.
Daffy snatched her away and ran.
'■ She 's a homely old thing, anyhow ! " .Sandy
called after her. " She is n't pretty enough to be
the Golden-haired Captive ! And I '11 burn her
up in the kitchen stove when I catch her — old pink
silk dress, and yellow wig, and all ! "
This \cry disrespectful way of speaking of Lady
Florabella excited Daffy even more than the fearful
threat.
" You arc a very worse boy ! " she screamed, with
tears, "and I shall tell Susan of you, right off! "
But as Susan, their nurse, had accepted an invi-
tation to take a sail with an old sailor admirer, who
had appeared at Dashaway Beach in the character
of a fisherman, it was not easy to "tell her, right
off." The stones cut her bare feet, but Daffy ran
until she felt sure that Lady Florabella was out of
danger. Then she looked b.nck to see if Tuny were
not coming, too. Hut alas, no ! Tuny showed no
sympathy for her friend's griefs. And she evidently
preferred the society of those wicked boys. She
was even allowing them to dig up her doll, who
had been a clam, and tic her to a stake : Tuny's
doll was going to be the CJolden-haired Captive !
" I don't know how she can bear it ! " said
D.iffy, giving Lady Florabella :m extra hug at the
thought.
It was clear that Tuny Trimmer had not the
feelings of a mother. And such a beautiful doll,
tr)0, with " truly " hair, and turquoise ear-rings!
" I wonder what her Aunt Kate, who sent it to
her from I'aris, would say ! " thought Daffy. " 1
don't believe she'll get another very soon."
What life would be without a doll. Daffy could
not imagine. She did not believe that she could
possibly endure it, so she determined to go on a
little farther, lest Sandy's desire for burning Gold-
en-haired Captives should be increased by that
one experiment.
She walked along until she came to the lobster-
boiling establishment of old L'ncle Jollifcr. He
had been a fisherman all his life, and w.is rough,
and jolly, and kind. He called Daffy up to his door,
and ga\e her a very small boiled lobster, warm
from the pot. And with this under one arm, and
Lady Florabella under the other. Daffy wandered
on. It w.is not altogether to get out of Sandy's
re.ich that she went on now. It seemed like an
adventure to have gone so far by herself, and she
wanted to sec how it would seem to go still farther.
She thought that, having come so far, she might
as well see how the world looked around the Point,
where she had never been. So she traveled on, out
of sight of the Ojibbewa war-dance — out of sight,
even, of Uncle Jollifer's lobster-factory.
.'\t last she grew so tired and warm that she had
to sit down on a big stone to rest. She discovered
that she was hungry, too; so she cracked the shell
of her lobster with a stone, and began to cat it.
She was just remarking to Florabella that she
had never in her life eaten anything that tasted so
good, when, stretched out from somewhere behind
her, came a long, lean, black hand and arm, and
snatched a claw of her lobster.
Daffy screamed and ran, as was no wonder; but
she had gone only a few steps when she realized
that she had left L.ady Florabella behind.
Poor Lady Florabella ! had she escaped from
the Ojibbewa Indians only to fall into other dangers ?
Daffy ventured to look back, although expecting
that long, lean, black hand to clutch her as she
did so.
No ; there he sat, quietly devouring her lob-
ster,— the very longest, thinnest, raggedest, black-
est, and woolliest negro boy that ever was seen.
Now, Daffy was not at all familiar with colored
people, as her home was in a New England town,
where thc\' were very rarely seen. But she was
very familiar with goblins, and gnomes, and imps,
and demons, because Susan, her nurse, knew an
inexhaustible stock of stories in which they figured :
indeed, if you might trust Susan's account, she
herself had enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with
them. And these interesting people were, .^ccord-
ing to Susan, invariably black.
This apparition, who w.as calmly eating her
lobster, — with Lady Florabella lying across his
knees ! — might be a negro. Dafty knew, of course,
that there were such people. She had heard all
about Topsy and little Eva ; she had once seen an
old Dinah, who was a cook in a family where she
visited. He might be a negro, but it struck Daffy
II !•; u sri i)i; u.
S19
•IS much more probable that he was .in imp or a
>;obhn.
It was horrible to run away anil leave Laily
Florabella in his clutches: but, if she staid, he
woulil probably turn her into a white cat. Any-
Ixnly who hail anything to tlo with imps and gob-
lins \v.\s always turned into a white cat in Susan's
stories.
So OatTy turned ag-ain anil ran as fast as one
might be expected to run from the possibility of
Incoming a white cat.
The negn» boy ran after her, holding Lad\
Florabella above his he.id, and shouting:
•• Hyar, Missy, aint ycrgwinc to fotch dis yere ? "
DatTy could not understand a word that he said,
but she had no doubt that he w.is casting a spell
over her. The witches in Susan's stories always
repeated a mysterious jargon of words when they
transformed their victims into animals. She w.is
very much surprised, and drew a long breath of
relief, to find lh.-it, after he had repeated that gib-
berish three times, she was still Daffy Crawford.
Therv was not the least sign of white fur, nor
claws, nor whiskers, about her. Perhaps the
charm would not work. There might be a good
fairv- who prevented it.
But he was following her, .ts fast as his long legs
would carry him, still shouting, and waving Flora-
bella wiltlly over his head. Perhaps he wanted to
••grind her bones to make his bread," like the
giant who was always saying, " Fee-fi-fo-fum "!
Daffy had come to a long pier, re.iching down to
the water, and a little row-boat lay at the end of it.
Wild with fright, she ran down the pier and jumped
into the boat. It was only loosely fastened by a
rope, and Daffy untied it. Just one push she gave,
with all her little might, and away floated the boat
on the receding tide. By the time her pursuer
reached the end of the dock, a wide expanse of
water lay between it and Daffy's boat. He danced
a>x>ut and gesticulated frantically. Daffy thought
h-j h.nd gone crazy with rage and disappointment
that she had escaped from his clutches; and it
really did look like it. He had no boat, so he
could not follow her. and Daffy felt quite secure;
and, if she had only had Lady Florabella, she
would have been happy. She had not an oar, nor
a scrap of sail, and would not have been able to
use cither if she had had it ; so she was as com-
pletely at the mercy of the winds and waves as
were the Three Wise Men of (iotham, who went
to sea in a bowl. But she was accustomed to going
on the water, and w.as not at all afraid of it. It
was a new sensation to be all alone in a boat, drift-
ing she did not know where : but I am afraid the
truth of the matter was that Daffy did not know
.n.ni .() 10 be afraid. .Susan's stories had filled her
mind with fears of imaginary dangers, but they
li.ul had very little to s.iy ;ibiiut re;il oiks.
Sudilenly her pursuer turned b;ick, as if a new
idea had struck him. DaHy watched him out of
sight, feeling greatly relieved that he had gone,
but with her heart .iching at the loss of Floral>ella.
lie had gone off, with the doll thrown carelessly
over his shoulder, and, as long .as he was in sight.
Daffy watched Florabella's beautiful golden curls
dancing in the sunlight. It was truly a pitiful
sight — Florabella carried off by :i dre.adful goblin,
and her mamma powerless to help her!
But, very soon. Daffy began to think that she
w;is not much better off than Flor.aliella. The sea
was very rough, and the little boat pitched and
tossed so that it made her giddy; and now and
then a great wave that looked like a mountain
would come rolling along, threatening to swallow
her up. She w.as very frightened, although the
great wave would only take the tiny boat up on its
broad b.ack, in the most careful and friendly man-
ner, and, after giving it two or three little shakes,
set it ilown uninjured. When a wickeder wave
might come along, there was no telling ; and
home was farther and farther away every moment.
At length. Daffy saw a little sail-boat bearing
down upon her. It was such a very tiny sail-boat
that, at first, she thought it was only a white-
winged gull.
,A young man was lying at full length in the
lx)ttom of the boat. He had on a velvet j.acket,
and a red smoking-cap, with a gilt t-assel, and he
was playing on a violin and singing as uncon-
cernedly .is if boats could be trusted to sail them-
selves.
His song broke off when he caught sight of
Daffy, and he exclaimed, in a tone of great sur-
prise :
"Hello, little girl I How in the world did you
get here ? "
''How do you do. sir? I came in the boat,"
replied Daffy, calmly, and looking at him with an
expression of great dignity.
She w.Ts very particular alx)ut politeness, and
she thought •' Hello, little girl ! " was a too familiar
greeting for a strange gentleman.
" 1 don't suppose you swam, although I did take
you for a mermaid, at first ; but how do you hap-
pen to be all alone ? "
" Because there is n't anybody with me," replied
Daffy, coldly. She did n't mean to be rude, but
she did n't like to be asked so many questions.
■•Where is your mother? Where is your nurse?
Where do you live? How came you in the boat?"
Daffy heaved a great sigh. He was such a man
to ask questions that she began to think she might
■as well tell him all .about it.
820
I.ITTI.E MISS MUFFET
(SKpnumtH.
"I ran away from Ojibbcwa Indians and a jet-
black goblin," she said.
" Wh-c-w ! " he whistled. " That 's about enough
to make anybody run away, 1 should think ! "
He stared at her, in a perplexed way, for a
moment, and then he began to laugh.
DalTy thought it very rude of him to make light
of the dangers she had passed, in that way.
'•Where are the Indians and the goblin?" he
asked.
" The Indians — well, I think they 'vc gone to get
their bathing-dresses on, by this time; and the
goblin — he was a truly goblin, as black as anything,
and his lips stuck out, and he winked his eyes
dreadfully — he ran away when I got into the boat.
But, oh dear ! he took Florabella with him, and
I don't suppose I shall ever see her again."
"Is Florabella your sister?" asked the young
man, looking more serious.
" No; she is my dearest doll, and he will be sure
to shut her up in an enchanted castle, for a thousand
years, if he does n't cut off her head, like Hlue-
beard's wives. Don't you think you could find
his castle and rescue Florabella, and cut off his
head ? If you would, I would marry you, just
like the stories, and we should live happy ever
after."
"Thank you: that is very kind of you!" said
the young man, but he threw back his head, and
laughed, as if it were something very funny, in-
stead of a very serious matter, as Uaffy thought.
While they had been talking, he had fastened
Daffy's boat with a rope to the stern of his own.
It seeined to Daffy that he was taking a great
liberty ; she thought he had better have .asked her
permission.
"What did you do that for?" she .asked him,
sharply.
" I am going to take you home, if I can find out
where you li\e. \\'hat do \ou suppose would
become of you, if 1 should leave you drifting about
here ? "
" I have been thinking that I should come
across our nurse Susan. A fisherman took her out
sailing."
" Your nurse Susan gone sailing with a fisher-
man ? W'ell, they will never pick you up. He is
drowned. I know a song about it. I was sing-
ing it when I caught sight of you."
And this very funny young man began to play
on his violin, and sing this song :
There wa% a \yo\d fisherman ftct uil from off" Tlillinptgatc,
To catch the miM hinatcr and the say mackercet :
nut when he ^ot off Pimlico,
I'hc raitiiiK wind» IjeKan to blow,
WHiich caiiKcd tiit TK>at tu wobble m> that overboard he went.
" Twinky doodle diim, iwaiiky diKidle dum," wa> the highly
inlcre«tintE ving he ktinK,
" Twinky doodle dum, iwanky doodle dum," icint; the l>old fuhcr.
man.
He wibblcd and he wobbled in the water m> briny,
lie yellowed, and he bellowed, for help, but in vain
So prCNcntly he down did gUue.
To the l^.il'om of the silvery tide.
Hut iirc\i>rtisly to this he cried, "Farewell, Su-ian J
Iwinky doodle dum," etc.
" You see there is no chance of their picking
you up," he said, when he had finished. " He is
drowned."
" It does n't mean our Susan, nor her fisherman,
at all," said Daffy.
" Her name is Susan Jane, though ! " she added,
feeling a little perplexed.
Hut the \ oung man laughed so that she knew he
w.is teasing her, and her pride was deeply wounded.
" It is impolite to laugh at people. I think you
beha\e \ery worse indeed," she said, with great
dignity. " I should n't wonder if the goblin should
get you."
Even as Daffy spoke, an Indian canoe came into
sight, swiftly propelled by the long arms of the
goblin ! Daffy screamed with terror, and begged
the young man to take her into his boat.
But this very unsatisfactory' young man only
laughed.
"Is that your goblin? — that innocent-looking
little darkey? I should have thought you were too
brave a girl to be afraid of him ! "
Daffy thought she was very bra\c, and she dis-
liked strongly to have her courage questioned.
Nothing disturbed her so much as to have Sandy
and Jimmy Short-legs call her a " 'fraid-cat." (That
is a mysterious epithet, and not to be found in any
dictionary, but Daffy knew only too well what it
meant.) So, now, although she set her teeth
tightly together, and breathed very hard, she kept
perfectly quiet while the goblin drew his boat up
beside hers.
He was smiling so very broadly that he looked
all teeth : but it w.as certainly a very good-natured
smile. Daffy thought he looked like an amiable
goblin, but no such being was mentioned in Susan's
stories, so it was necessary to account for him in
some other way ; and, after long scrutiny. Daffy
decided that he w.as probably only a colored boy.
And Flor.abclla w.as sitting in state In his boat,
quite unharmed.
" Missy skcered ob me," he explained to the
young man. "She done cl'ar'd out, like a streak
ob lightnin'. Rut 1 's peaceable as a lamb. 1 is,
Missy. I would n't hurt a ha'r ob your he.ad. I
couUl n't luff yer lobster alone, 1 was so tlreftle
hungry. 'I'ears like my insides was all holler.
But I 's gwine to get yer anoder lobster, anil I 's
g\vine ter car' yer home. And I done foiched yer
babby. noii'l yer be skecred ob me. Missy."
Daffy could not understand .all that he said, his
language was so very peculiar, but she understood
iSSi.)
AND II KR SI'IDKU.
8:! I
thnt ho wanted to row her home, and although she
w;ui not so iiuich afraid of him ;is sho hail boon at
tirst, she shiK>k her head, decidedly, at that. Clob-
lins «cre sometimes very polite for the sake of
getting |x^ople into their power !
•' What is your name, and where do you live?"
s.iid the young man in the boat, to the colored Iwy.
" Name, I'leorge Washin'lon "Poleon Bonaparte
F'ompey's Pillar, but dey calls me Spider, for short,
bek-ize my apix-arancc is kind ob stragglin', I 'spccts.
Whar does I lib ? .As you mought say, I resides
most eberywhar, and I dtu^ n't reside much ob
anywhar I Dat is to say, 1 irabbels. I worked in
a sto' in New York, but 1 was tuk wif misery in my
side, and de gemnien at dc hospital dey said I 'd
die sure 'nutT, if somebody did n't fotch me inter
de countr>\ So I done cl'ar'd out, in de night,
and fotched myself. .As you mought say, I 's
rcsidin' at dc sca-sho' for my hc.ilf. I 's been
libin' out ob do's, sleepin' under boats and sich,
but jest at present I 's visitin' de Ingincs, ober to
de P'int. Dey h.is 'spresscd de opinion dat dere
never w.ts a tent big 'nufT for a Ingine .ind a nigger,
and I 'spcct dey 'II be a-hintin' for me to cl'ar out
soon. Dey said niggers ought to stay in deir own
country, whar dey belonged, but I never belonged
nowhar, and nobody never wanted me, since I left
my ole mammy. Dey don't want to hire no skele-
tons ober ter dc hotel, dey says, but no nigger
can't fat hissclf up on raw clams, pcrtickerly when
he 's got misery in his side. .And dcm low-down
Ingincs will be hintin' befo' long, sure "nulT. But
now. Missy, you come 'long ob mc. and I '11 take
de bery best ob car' ob yer ! "
" I think you h.nd better go with him," said the
young man. " You see he is not a goblin, but a
ver>' agreeable colored boy, and I am sure he will
carT>- you safely home."
" I like you better," said DaflTy to the young
man — a statement which made Spider look sad.
" That is very flattering." said the young man ;
" but my boat would have to go against the wind
to reach the beach that you came from, and it
might take until night, and your mother would be
dreadfully worried about you."
Even th.it argument failed to convince DalTy.
She w.as satisfied that Spider was not a goblin, but
she h.id a great objection to his complexion.
"To tell you the truth," said the young man,
impressively, ".although I may seem very pleas-
ant, I really am an ogre. I have n't felt moved to
eat you, lx^causc I had several little girls for my
breakf.xst. but if I should once get you into my
bait, I should carry you home to my wife, who is a
very lean and hungry ogress, with a terrible appe-
tite for red-checked little girls ! "
Daffy scrutinized him gravely. She did not be-
lieve that he w.xs an ogre. She tlinught il probable
that he was teasing her. He was si> unlike the
ogres that Susan knew about ! But there was the
awful possibility that he might be. There might
be a variety of ogre which Sus^tn had never met.
D.ilTy got into the canoe. She clutched Klora-
bella tightly in her arms. It was a great comfort
to have her again, when she thought she had lost
her forever.
The young man in the boat took off his smoking-
cap to her very politely .is the Spider paddled
away. Daffy responded only by a very distant and
dignified nod. Whether he w.as an ogre or not, she
did not at all approve of him. As he sailed away,
she could hoar him playing on his violin, and sing-
ing about the fisherman and Susan Jane, and she
resolved to ask Susan, if she should ever sec her
again, whether ogres were musical.
Spider paddled with a will ; but Dash.away Beach
was a long way off. He entertained Daffy by stories
of " de Souf," where he h.id lived when he was "a
pickaninny," before he strayed away from his "ole
mammy"; and Daffy — after she became accus-
tomed to his dialect — found his stories almost .as
delightful as Susan's. It was almost sunset when
Spider drew the canoe up the beach, at the very
spot where the Ojibbewa war-dance had been
performed.
And there w.is Susan, running frantically up and
down the beach, wringing her hands and shedding
floods of tears, because Daffy was lost ! And San-
dy came running, and crying, breathlessly :
"You need n't tell on me, because I did n't mean
to burn up your old doll, anyhow! If you wont,
1 '11 give you my Chinese lantern : and if you do,
I '11 drown your kitten as soon as we get home I "
Daffy agreed to silence, on the proposed terms.
Sandy was not quite so bad a boy as he pretended
to be, and probably would not have drowned the
kitten ; but Daffy felt that the risk was too awful a
one to run.
Then came Jimmy Short-legs, also panting and
breathless; and he said, with great emotion:
" I thought you h.id gone and got drowned, with
my bcan-slinger in your pocket ! "
His face brightened very much when Daffy took
the "bean-slinger" out of her pocket and returned
it to him uninjured. Daft'y heard that there had
been a panic about her, and that her father had sent
men in every direction to search for her. He, too,
came hurrying down to the beach when he heard
that she had come ; and he hugged and kissed her,
as if he realized the danger she had been in ; and
when she told him all about it. — excepting the
Ojibbewa Indian episode,— he seemed to think that
Spider w.as a good boy, and he took him up to the
hotel to supper; and on the hotel steps whom
82;
A K A M A N r 1 1 A M i; 1 1 1 I A I! I: I. H l< i > \S N .
should he meet but a colored woman, who had
come from Now York. to scr\T as cook; and she
threw her arms around Spider's neck and hiijjged
him, and called him " her own honey," her "dear
pickaninny," and her '• sweet (icorge Washin'ton
'Poleon Bonaparte Pompey's Pillar"!
It really was Spider's " ole mammy," whom he
had not seen for seven years !
Spider and his "mammy" were both happy
then, you may be sure, and Daffy danced for joy.
Uaffy told her adventures to the people in the
hotel, and one of the ladies drew a picture of
Daffy sitting on the rock eating lobster, with
Spider coming along beside her ; and underneatli
she wrote: "Little Miss MulTet and the Spider."
.■\nd people began to call her "little .Miss Muffet."
The day after her adventure, a queer thing hap-
pened. A beautiful toy canoe, made of birch-
bark, like the real ones, and a big box of candy,
were sent to the hotel for Daffy. With them came
a card inscribed. " With the ogre's compliments."
How he had found her out, Daffy never knew.
Mr. Crawford hired Spider to take the children
to row every day, because he was so caieful and
trustworthy; and Daffy grew so fond of him that,
when the time came for her to go home, she
begged that he might go, too; so her father hired
hint to work about his grounds, — for, with sea air
and plenty of wholesome food (which latter item
his "ole mammy" attended to). Spider had
entirely recovered from the " misery in his side."
His "ole mammy" could not be separated from
him, and Daffy's mother discovered that her
kitchen was in need of a cook; so Spider's "ole
mammy" was engaged, also.
.And Spider has almost forgotten what it was to
" belong nowhar " and have " nobody want him."
lie does all his work faithfully, but he is especially
devoted to Daffy. He hoards the ripest straw-
berries and the biggest peaches for her, and brings
her the very first nuts that are to be found.
Now, if you should ever meet Daffy Crawford,
and hear her called "little .Miss .Muffet," you
would know how she happened to gel the name.
AR.AM.WTii.v Mi-:inT.\in:i. in^owx
Hv JoF.L Stacy.
Oh, Miss .\ramantha Mehitabel Brown
Was known as the prettiest girl in the town.
In the days of King Cieorge. nuinbir Three.
Her hat was a wonder
Of feathers and bows ;
The pretty face under
Was sweet as a rose :
.And her sleeves were so full they could tickle her nose I
Her dimit\- gown was a mar\el to see :
So short in the waist !
And not a bit laced —
" Oh. mercy ! I never would do it ! " said she.
No cumbering train hid her dear little feet,
Yet the skirt that revealed them was ample and neat, —
Indeed. ;ill the modistes declared it was "sweet":
And the bag that she swung froin her plump little arm
Would have held half a dozen young kittens from harm.
-Ah, the maiden was fair.
And dainty and rare !
And the neighbors would sigh.
As she tripped lightly by :
" Sure, the pride of our town
And its fittest renown
Is sweet .Aramantha Mehitabel IJrown ! "
iSSi.l
\l W \ I I I \ U I N 1
S23
now loM \v.\i.i.i".\ wi.N r ahoard.
Us KkaNK R. SroCKTON.
The " Amelia" was a coastinj; schooner, which,
in the early part of this century, plied between
several of our Atlantic ports. It was in the summer
of 1813 that she lay in the harbor of a little sea-
port town, to which her captain ami most of her
crew l)olonued. I^tte in the afternoon of an
August (lay, she dropped down with the tide from
the pier, at which she had been taking in ballast in
preparation for a voyage northward, and anchoreil
some tlistance below the town, where she would be
obliged to wait until the tide rose sulTiciently high
for her to cross the bar at the mouth of the harbor,
which was not passable for a vessel of the size ol
the •• Amelia," excepting at high tide.
While she was lying here, a boat with a man
and his wife and a load of fruit put otT from the
shore ; and, rowing up to the ship, the boatman
tried to open a trade with the sailors, who were
idly waiting for the time to set sail.
Among the crew was a young fellow named Tom
Wallen, who was about to set otT on his second
voyage in the " Amelia." While the man with the
melons was otTering his fruit for sale, an idea struck
Tom.
" 1 don't want any of that stuff," he said to him-
self; "but 1 should like very much to go on shore
with Jacob Hopkins and his wife. We sha' n't weigh
anchor for si.\ hours at least, I'or the tide has n't
run out yet, and 1 should like to bid my old father
and mother a better good-bye than the one I gave
them a little while ago."
Tom had been in the town that afternoon, when
he heard that his captain did not intend to wait for
rtood-tiile lx;forc leaving the wharf, but would drop
down with the ebb to the end of the isl.ind opposite
the town, and, therefore, the crew must be on board
sooner than they expected. Tom had only time
to run down to the little cottage, some distance
below the town, in which his father and mother
lived, to bid them a hasty farewell, and to hurry
back to the schooner, to which his chest had been
carried that morning.
Those were war times, and Tom did not know
when he might sec his old father and mother again,
and he h.ad left them very much shocked and dis-
turl>ed at his sudden departure, for they had ex-
pected to have him with them all the evening.
.Accordingly, he went to the captain, and stated his
case. He said that, as the vessel lay not far from
the cottage, J.icob Hopkins could take him .ashore
in a short time, and that he would bring him back
long before midnight. This w.is the time they
expected to set sail, .is the tide would then be at its
height, and the moon would have risen. The
captain was a kind-hearted man, and w.is well
acquainted with Tom's parents. After a little con-
sideration, he gave the young fellow the permission
he desired, an<l Tuni, having speedily struck a
bargain with Jacob Hopkins, w.as rowed ashore.
Old Mr. and Mrs. Wallen were delighted when
their son popped in on them, and told them he was
going to t.ake supper, anil spend a couple of hours
with them. They had seen the ship at anchor
before the house, and knew that she would not go
over the bar before midnight: but they h.id not
expected that their son would get leave to come on
shore.
The evening passed pleasantly, and when Tom
took leave of his parents, about ten o'clock, he left
them in a much more contented state of mind than
when he had hurriedly torn himself .away in the
afternoon. Tom's father went down with him to
the skiff, which Jacob Hopkins had left tied to a
st.ake near the house, and to which he had prom-
ised to return about this time, to row Tom back to
the vessel. But when they reached the skiff, no
Jacob w.as there; and, although Tom and his
father walked some distance toward the town, and
called loudly, they could find no sign of the missing
melon-man.
" It 's too b.ad ! " said Tom. " It 's now half-
past ten, and I ought to have been on board by
this time. I don't see why Jacob should have dis-
appointed me in this way."
" I '11 tell you what we 'II do, Tom," said his
father. " We '11 both get into the boat, and you
can row her over to the ' .Amelia.' and I '11 bring
her back."
" No, indeed. Father ! " cried Tom. " I 'm not
going to let you row a mile over the harbor this
night. The wind is rising, and it is getting cloudy,
and 1 should n't want to be on board the ' Amelia,'
and think that you were pulling back home by
yourself through the dark. No, sir; I '11 take the
boat and row myself to the schooner, and then 1 'II
anchor the skiff there, and go on board. You see,
she h.is a long coil of rope and a grapnel, and old
J.icob can get another boat, and row over after her
in the morning. He ought to be put to that much
extra trouble for disappointing me in this way."
Old Mr. Wallen was obliged to confess that this
w.is the better plan, and he knew that his son could
824
MOW TOM WAI.LEX WENT ABOARD.
row more quickly to the vessel if he had no one in of the rising of the wind, and had gone to sea ?
the skiff but himself. It would be a rash act, Tom rightly imagined, to
So Tom bade his father good-bye once more, sail through that narrow passage, with the breakers
and pulled away into the darkness. It is always sc.nrccly a hundred yards on each side of the vessel.
lighter on water than it is on land, and Tom knew
the harbor so well that he had no difficulty in row-
ing straight to the pwint where the "Amelia" had
anchored.
But, when he had rosved some distance, he was
surprised on turning around to find that he could not
perceive the " .Amelia's " lights.
"Why, where is the schooner?" said Tom to
himself. And then he rowed with redoubled vigor.
liut, before long, he was quite certain that the
"Amelia" was not on her anchorage ground.
" She must have dropped down farther, around
the end of the island, before the tide turned," he
said to himself. "That may have helped a little,
but it was a mean trick for the captain to do, after
letting me go on shore."
Hut Tom did not hesitate. He laid to his oars
again, and pulled around the island. He could
see no signs of the ship, but supposed she was
lying directly inside the bar, which spot was con-
cealed from him by a projecting point of woodland.
Tom rowed on and on, until, at List, he actually
reached the entrance to the harbor, but still he
saw no signs of the "Amelia." Could it be possible,
he thought, that the captain had taken advanlai^e
on a night as dark as this — cloudy, and without .i
moon. And yet, what else could the "Amelia " have
done ? He could not have passed her in the har-
bor as he rowed along. She could not ha\e quietly
sunk out of sight. She must have gone to sea.
As Tom, without thinking what he was doing,
kept rowing on, he looked out o\er the long wa\es
that came swelling in between the two lines of
breakers, which guarded the entrance to the har-
bor. And there, not a quarter of a mile from the
shore, he saw the lights of a ship, evidently lying
to, with her head to the wind.
Tom was very angry at this sight. " If it werr
not for my chest," he thought, " which holds everv -
thing 1 own, I 'd row back, and have nothing mon-
to do with her."
Tom w.Ts not the man to go back when he had
started out to do anything. .And so he rowed on
;ind on toward the inlet, where the long waves,
which became breakers on either side of the narrow
passage, were rolling in from the sea. It was not
an easy matter to row a boat over these waves, but
Tom had been used to such work from a boy, hav-
ing often rowed out to sea on fishing expeditions,
and he knew exactly how to pull his boat against
■iS..l
in»\v TOM \v.\ I i.KN \vi;ni aiiuakd.
82.
tho incoming surf. It u-ns not long before ho was
out on tho gently swelling wntons of tlio occnn, and
pulling vigorously for tho vessel. Me forgot,
entirely, that it wouKl bo necess.\ry for him to
return Jacob Hopkins's bo.it, but he iletermineil lo
give a piece of his mind to his shipmates, who,
whatever might have been the cause of their sudden
departure, could certainly have found some means
of giving him notice of it.
1 lo pulled up to tho Ikjw of the vessel, and loudly
c.dled for a line. .V rope was soon thrown to him,
and, fastening this to his skilT, he sprang into tho
rigging, under the bowsprit, and nimbly clambered
"\ board.
"This is a pretty piece of business! " ho cried,
a-> siHin as his feet touched tho deck. " Why did
you fellows sail olT and lea\e me in this wa\- ? "
"What ilo you mean.''" saiil a man, stepping
up toward him and holding up a lantern. " Who
sailed off and loft you ? "
Tom l(H)ked at the man, antl then hastily glanced
about him. It d-if-f a pretty piece of business ! By
tho uniform of the officer before him, and by the
appointments and armament of tho ship, he saw
never would have mistaken this vessel for the
•' Amelia."
"I ni.ido a mistake," he said, his voice trem-
bling a little. " I thought this was my ship, the
' .Amelia.' "
.VntI then ho made a movement backw.ird, as if
ho would scramble overboard and get again into
his little boat. Hut the otVicor laid his hand on his
shoulder.
" Slop, my good fellow," he said. " Yi>u must
go anil report to the captain. 1 have been watch-
ing you for some time, and wontlered what was
bringing you here. Your ship must be a good
cine if you mistook His Majesty's sloop-of-war
' Saracen' for it."
" 1 should not h.ive m.ado such a blunder," said
Tom, "if 1 had looked out better." And he
dejectedly followed the officer to the ciuarter-deck.
Tho captain heard his story, and asked him a
good many questions.
" What is the cargo of your ship, tho ' Amelia ' ? "
he asked.
" Nothing but stones and old iron," answered
Tom. " She 's going north for a cargo, and sails
in an instant that he w.is on board a British vessel
of war. What a fool ho had been to get so angry
that he would not look iK-hind him as he rowed !
If it h.id not been for his unfortunate temper, he
in b.allast. There is nothing in our little village
with which she could load. She came here to
refit."
The captain looked at the first officer, and said :
Sjb
now luM WAl-LEN WKNT ABOAKU.
(SBmuinKK,
"If this boy's suiry is true, llic 'AiiiL-lia' would
be no j;rc;il prizo."
■■ I!ut hoiv can you icll ihat it is truer" saiti the
otlior.
" You 'd lind it out very soon if you could look
into her hold," said Tom. lie was about to say
more, but the captain interrupted him.
" How much water is there on your bar at hijjh
tide ? " he said.
" Fourteen feet," answered Tom.
"That would be a tight scrape for the 'Sara-
cen,'" remarked the captain to his officer. " l!ut
she could do it."
"Oh yes, sir," said the other, "and a couple of
feet to spare. "
The captain then addressed Tom again : " The
channel of the harbor runs around the end of the
island opposite the town, does it not? " said he.
" Yes, sir," answered Tom.
"Are you familiar with the inlet and the chan-
nel?" asked the captain.
"Oh yes, sir," said Tom. "I have piloted
vessels in. three or four times."
" Well, sir," said the captain, " if I make you a
handsome present, will you pilot the ' Saracen '
into the harbor ? "
"Bring a British vessel into our harbor?" cried
Tom. "I will never do that! Our bar, and our
crooked channel, as Father has often said, are
better for us than a fort ; and I am not the man to
show an enemy's vessel the way through."
" Suppose I were to order you to be tied up and
flogged until you should agree to do what 1 ask,"
said the captain.
" You may tie up and flog," said Tom, " but I
will never pilot you."
The captain looked at Tom attentively. "1
don't think 1 will trust you," he said. " Even with
a pistol at your head, I believe \ou would run me
aground. I may not be able to take any prizes in
your harbor ; and 1 doubt if there is anything there
worth taking. But an able-bodied young fellow
like you is no slight prize, and so I will take you.
You may go forward, and Mr. Hums will assign
you to a watch."
Tom went forward with the oflicer, thinking
sadly enough of the dreadful scrape he had got
into ; but determining in his heart that he would
never assist the crew in fighting one of his country's
ships. They might kill him first. He would do
his duty as a seaman in working the ship, but he
would never fight. On that point he was deter-
mined.
As soon as he had an opporlimily, Tom went to
one of the sailors and said : " That little boat that
I came in belongs to Jacob Hopkins, and I 'd like
to get it back to him if I could."
" You need n't trouble yourself about the little
boat," said the sailor, laughing. " Mr. Burns
ordered that cut adrift. It was n't worth hoisting
alx)ard."
Tom was very sorry that he had caused Jacob
Hopkins the loss of his boat, but he was still more
sorry for the fate that had befallen himself. He
went about his work quietly and sadly, but he did
what he was told to do, and the officers found no
fault with him. It suited him much better to work,
even on the ship of his enemies, than to \k shut up
as a prisoner of war ; and, before long, he became
moderately contented with his lot.
He was never called upon to help fight his
countrymen. In a few months the "Saracen"
sailed into a neutral port, where there was an
.American war vessel, having on boarcf a couple of
British sailors, who had been taken prisoners. For
one of these Tom was exchanged, and he regularly
enlisted on board the United States ship, on which
he remained until the close of the war. The vessel
had no engagements with British men-of-war, but
she captured several of the enemy's merchant
ships, and, when Tom was discharged, there was
quite a large sum of prize-money due to him.
Tom lost no time in making his way down to his
native town. He found his parents alive and well,
although they had been in great grief ever since
their son rowed away in the night to go on board
the " Amelia." They had never known for certain
what had become of him, although many persons
supposed that he might have been captured by an
English war vessel which had been seen in the
offing, and which sailed away before daylight on
the night of Tom's disappearance. His parents
earnestly hoped that this w.as the c.ise, for it would
be much better to have had their son taken pris-
oner than to have had him drowned.
Tom soon heard the reason why he could not
find the "Amelia." A man living on the island
opposite the town had discovered the British vessel,
and, while Tom w,ts spending the evening with his
parents, had rowed over to the "'.Amelia" to tell
the captain of the danger which awaited him out-
side the harbor. The ".Amelia" immediately
weighed anchor, and, there being a favorable
breeze, she sailed past the town to a point where
she would be tolerably safe from an attack by the
enemy's boats. The town was greatly excited by
the news, and Jacob Hopkins, supposing that Tom
knew all .about the matter, had never thought of
rowing him over to the "Amelia," which would
certainly now be in no hurry to sail.
Tom's prize-money amounted to much more
than he could possibly have made by a dozen voy-
ages in the " .Amelia," and he was not only able to
make his parents \ery comfortable, but seriously
Tllli SUNU UK TllK lAlklliS.
827
iluiu^lii III' iKi.iiiimt; i>.iii ox\-ner of a small coast-
inn ^tsscl. 'I'liis |)hin he, in linio, accninplisheil,
and he commanded his own schooner for many
years.
But, before starting on his new career, Tom
took a hohday, and spent many an hour amon^
the lH>ats along shore, telling his father and the
old men of the town the stories of his adventures.
One of the first [jcrstins he went to see was Jacob
Hopkins. Of course they h.ad met before, since
Tom's return, but now he came on business.
"Jacob." said he, '• I want to pay you for your
skitf, which I lost when I went away from here."
•• You did n't lose it. Three days after you
left, 1 found it on the bc.ach as good as new."
"1 'm glad of that," said Tom; "but did n't
the empty boat's return scare the old people ? "
" They never heard of it. I knew they 'd be
dre.tdfully scared to know that the boat in which
their son went away had been ca>t up empty on
the beach, so I rowed her here at night, and put
her in a shed in my yard, where she has been evei
since, and 1 've never said a word about it."
"You are a good, kind fellow," s;iid Tom,
pressing Jacob's hand; "but your skiff must be
in a sorry condition by this lime."
So saying, Tom walked over to the shed where
the boat had been stowed away. 1 le found it dry,
cracked, and practically useless. Ag;iin thanking
Jacob for sacrificing his boat to spare the feelings
of two old people, Tom walked away.
But, in a few days, Jacob Hopkins was the
owner of the best row-boat that could be bought
in that old sea-port town.
TH1-: .S(^X(; ()!•• Tin: FAIRII':S.
Hy Robert Richardson.
When all the light hath left the West,
And the wearied world hath gone to rest;
When the moon rides high in the purple sky.
From our forest home we fairies hie —
Out of the warm, green heart of the earth,
To waken the woods with song and mirth.
Flow, waters, flow ! Blow, soft winds, blow !
The fairies are kings of the woods to-night !
We are the children of light and air ;
We know not sorrow, we feel no care ;
Through the long, sweet hours of the summer night.
To revel and dance is our delight ;
.And wherever our flying footsteps p;iss,
There are brighter rings on the dewy grass.
Flow, waters, flow! Blow, soft winds, blow!
The fairies arc kings of the woods to-night !
In every blossom and bud we hide.
On wings of the wind we mount and ride ;
We haunt the brooks and the rushing streams.
.•\nd we climb to the stars up the white moonlieams;
.•\nd the woodman sees by the d.awn's pale light
The circling track of our footsteps bright.
Flow, waters, flow ! Blow, soft winds, blow !
The fairies arc kings of the woods to-night t
828
II "\V TO MAKE IKtl.I.S
[SeI'TCMOER.
now TO MAKi: DOLLS OF CORX-HUSKS
AND I lo\vi-:k.s.
Now that the season for corn-husking is at hand,
we are reminded of a very int;enioiis as well as
novel use to which corn-husks can be put. There
are many httle girls living in the country, where
com grows plentifully, who would perhaps like to
hear of this new way of using the husks for their
special enjoyment.
You doubtless know how ingenious little Indian
girls are, and what pretty bead-work they accom-
plish, and what wonderful baskets they make. Well,
these black-eyed, dark-skinned little girls are, after
all, much like their pale-faced sisters in tastes, and,
like them, must have their dolls. Unlike them,
however, they elo not often buy them ready-made,
but, instead, they invent all sorts of devices for
making them with their own deft fingers. Their
favorite method is to use corn-husks, from which
they will fashion dolls that are almost as pretty as
those made of costlier material, and sometimes
more shapely, besides.
Would you like to know how to make corn-husk
dolls ?
Select the soft, white husks growing next to the
ear — the softer and more moist the belter. Then
dampen them a little in water, to make them more
pliable. Next, pick out from your entire stock the
most perfect piece you can find, — the softest, as
well as widest, — double it across the center, and
place a piece of strong, coarse thread through it, as
in Figure No. i. Lay this aside; next place the
stiff ends of two or three husks together, and, fold-
ing other husks in lengthwise strips, wind them
FIOIKE NO. 1. THE FIRST HISK.
around the ends thus placed, until they make what
you consider the proper size for a head, according
to Figure No. 3. Then, taking the husk you laid
.aside, as in Figure No. i, draw it, as in Figure
No. 2, until it is bunched tightly, then tie it
OK CUKN - 11 ISKS AM) K l.l ) \V I. KS.
829
securely, placing it entirely over the husks you layers extend down both front and back, and cross
have iK-en winding. Tic thread around the head each other on the chest and back. If you wish
underneath, for the neck, and then you have the to make the chest fuller than the back, add a
lic.id as in Figure .\o. 4. few husks, placing the inds just over the tips of tin.-
FIGt'KK Na 4.
FIGt'RK NO. 5.
Next, divide the husks below the neck in two shoulders, and letting them extend only down the
equal parts, and, folding together two or three front. Then, when you think the form is properly
husks, pl.ice them lengthwise through the division shaped, cover the whole neatly with carcfulU
K NO 8. MATVRIAU^ rOR COIiN<aB GIRL-IVILl-
for the arms, .is in Figure No. 5. Holding them selected husks, and lie securely about the waist
in place with the thumb and fingers, proceed to with strong thread, as in Figure No. 6.
fold alternately layer upon layer of husks over the Fmally. divide the husks in two Ix'low the waist,
shoulders, first one and then the other, letting ihe wind each part neatly with thread, triiiiming them
S.;o
MAKi: fORN- II ISK UOI.I.S.
off at tho feet : this forms the logs. Then, giving To make the girl-doll, you must first find a
OiP arms a twist or two, tie and trim them at the young ear of corn, one on which the silk has
wrist, and bind them to the body for an hour or not turned brown i tlien, with a crab-apple for a
two, to give them a downward tendency. Vou
will then li.ivc your doll complete, as in Figure
No. 7.
These dolls can be of all sizes, from a foot long
to a finger's length, the small dolls serving as
babies for the larger ones. They can be dressed
in any style, to suit the taste of the doll-niakcrs.
But, to our thinking, they look best unadorned,
provided their anatomy is all right.
You must be careful not to have them ill-shaped.
Perhaps your first attempt will be a s.ad failure.
The head may be askew, the arms and legs may be
all awry ; there may be odds and ends that you can
neither tic up nor hide away, and, altogether, her
lad}'ship may present a decidedly disreputable
appearance. Hut never mind. It will only give
you something to laugh at. Try again, and keep
on trying until you are rewarded with success.
You may, in time, come to wonder at your own
skill. .'Nt all events, it will serve as a pleasant pas-
time for some rainy day, when you are longing for
new diversion.
Almost every child who h.as been in the coun-
try has made, or has tried to make, a corn-cob
b.iby. Those who have not succeeded in their
efforts will, perhaps, be glad to try again, in this
way, which is ver)' easy and simple :
head and a leaf of the corn, you have your ma-
terials.
Roll part of the leaf, as indicated in Figure No.
8. for the arms ; then, with a small tw ig, fasten the
head to the arms ; stick the other end of the tw ig
into the corn-cob, and the doll is ready for dressing.
THJ-: srokv or the tiiki;i; sons.
8.^>i
The Ixmnct is made of a leaf, just where it
grows from the stalk, ami is fastened with a thorn.
Before puttinj; tlie bonnet on. however, the silk
must be pulled up over the head, to form hair.
Make the skirt and scarf of part of the leaf, and the
doll's toilet is complete.
Thorns are used to form the features, as well as
to fasten on the clothes.
The Ixn-doll will require very little explanation.
A corn-cob forms the body and head, while the
lej^ are a portion of the leaf rolled up and fast-
ened to the body with a strong piece of grass.
Wild beans are used for the arms and feet. The
cap is made from the same part of the leaf which
forms the girl's bonnet, only it is placed on the
head dilTerently. Rose-bush thorns, as in the
other doll, arc used for the features, and the coat
is cut from the corn-leaf.
The llower-latly is m.ade of the common garden
llowers. The under-skirt is a petunia ; a Canter-
bury-bell forms the over-skirt and waist ; small
twigs, or broom straws, stuck through buds of the
phlox, are the arms; the head is made of a green
pea. with a phlox blossom for a bonnet. A
reversed daisy makes a very nice parasol.
If these flowers cannot be procured, those of a
similar shape will answer just as well.
Flower-dolls are very easily made, and, from the
hints here given, tlie readers of St. Nrhoi.as can
make any number of these summer dollies. The
pictures are not from imagination, but sketches of
actual dolls.
T 1 1 !•: .sT ( ) K \' I ) !•■ r 1 1 1". T 1 1 R !•: 1-: SONS.
HV Ij.lZ.VliErH CtMINGS.
A CERTAIN celebrated story-teller relates that
'• There w-aj an old woman who had three sons.
Benjamin. William, and John.
One was hanged, and one was drowned,
One was losl, and never was found.
.\nd that was the end of the ihrcc sons,
Itcnjamin, William, and John."
Not long ago, I found a more full and ex-
plicit .iccount of the same persons in the Hlue
Book of Wire Brier Tobit, which explains the
lines 1 have quoted .ibovc, and gives the history of
this wonderful family up to the time when the
p:irents died.
Many years ago, John Doc, with his wife Mary
Jane, lived in the town of Doeville, which is situ-
ated. .IS every one knows, exactly in the center of
the empire of Brasstossig.
John was a farmer, and had wide fields of
barley, and wheat, and rye, and two score of fat
cattle ; and Mar>- Jane w.as what every woman was
born to be, a housewife.
They might have been happy together, but they
were not. John had a furious temper, and gave
way to terrible fit; of rage ; and Mar>- Jane was so
stingy, she gnidged even the air of heaven to any
one but herself The woo<l and fieUi fairies were
scared from the place by John's angry screams;
and .IS Mary Jane never left any milk and bre.id by
the hearth for the house-fairies, they left also ; and
no family can be happy after it has been forsaken
by the little people.
One summer, a little son w.is bom to John and
Mary Jane. The blessing of a child ought to have
brought generosity into the heart of the mother,
and self-control to the father, but it did not. Mary
Jane grew more stingy than ever; " for," said she,
" my son must have a start in life." And John,
when his anxieties increased, spent a portion of
every day jumping up and down with all his might,
and screaming :
" Needles, bills, and pinsi.
When a man marrie*
His trouble begin?.-"
After the b.iby was born, the ficld-fairies flut-
tered about the house a little while, for they love
children ; but they were soon frightened away.
They pitied Benjamin, — for so the baby w.as called,
— and thought it too bad that he must grow up
under such wicked influences; so, one moonlight
night, while his p.irents were sound .asleep, they
stole him, and left a little straw-baby, that looked
the vcr\ image of him, in his place.
The straw-baby thrived and grew, and, when it
w.is two years old, and could scream and kick quite
like its foster-father, another child was born, whom
they named Willi.am. When the house-fairies saw
his blue eyes and yellow hair, they loved him,
and, unwilling to leave him in such an unhappy
home, they stole him, and left a dough-b.aby in his
place.
In time, a third son w.ts born, and they called
him John, after his father. It had seemed as
though the wicked Mr. and Mrs. Doe were .as b.nd
.as they could be. but after John was l>orn they
832
THE STORY. OF THE THREE SONS.
(Skptbhbkr,
grew worse. The gentle wood-fairies determined
to save him ; so lhe>' took a nice white basswood
block, and carved a baby out of it that looked
exactly like John, and, when they had a chance, they
stole John, and left the wooden baby in his cradle.
The parents never guessed that their children
had been stolen, and that changelings were grow-
ing up in their household. Their evil tempers
made their eye-sight poor, and the fairies h.ad
done their work well.
The years went by, and the babies grew into
manhood. Benjamin, the straw changeling, re-
sembled his father in character and features, and
w.is his favorite. William, the dough changeling,
was his mother's pet, and was very like her in
mind and body. John, who was made of the bass-
wood stick, resembled no one but himself, and was
so stupid the neighbors called him "Blockhead
Doe."
When Benjamin was twenty-one years old, his
father gave him a bag of beans and a new clasp-
knife, and sent him out into the world to seek his
fortune.
He traveled across deserts and plains until he
reached the city of Amsterdam, where the first
person he met was a custom-house official, who
commanded him to open his bean-bag, that he
might inspect it.
" 1 will not ! " screamed Benjamin.
"In the name of the Kmperor, I command yo'i ! "
said the officer.
" I sha' n't for him, nor anybody ! " roared Ben-
jamin, in a furious passion.
" You shall ! " cried the officer.
At that, Benjamin snatched out his new clasp-
knife, and slew the officer.
Benjamin was put in prison, and after a trial
which lasted two years, two months, and two days,
was executed.
After his death, it was found that, instead of
the proper interior parts of the human body, there
was only shining rye-straw inside of him.
An official dispatch w.is duly sent to Mr. and
Mrs. Doc, announcing the execution of their son,
and his crime.
" Alas ! alas !" cried the unhappy father. "If
I had only trained him right. If I only had ! "
And, after that, his family and neighbors noticed
a curious change in him ; he grew better-tempered,
and sometimes a whole month p.issed without wit-
nessing one of his anger-fits.
When William was twenty-one, his mother gave
him a bag of golden ducats, and bade him seek
his fortune in the great world. lie traveled .iboul,
always cl.asping his bag of ducats to his bosom, and,
if possible, adding to his store, but finding neither
friends nor pleasure.
One day he heard that in a distant country there
W.IS a gold mine of untold richness, and off he
started to find it. Soon he came to a wide, deep
river. The ferryman would not carry him over it
without a fee, so he resolved to swim across. He
swam «ell for a little way, but he soon became
water-soaked, and the heavy bag of gold to which
he clung carried him to the bottom, and he rose no
more.
When the news of his death reached Doeville,
his mother wept bitterly. "It was 1 who taught
him such saving ways," she sobbed.
As the death of Benjamin h.id softened the dis-
position of the father, William's death m.ide gener-
osity spring up in the soul of the mother, and now
she asked herself, " To whom can I give? Whom
can 1 make happy?" not "How can 1 save?" as
in former times.
John was twenty-five before he left home. The
sorrow his parents felt at the death of their older
sons, and a suspicion that John was not well pre-
pared to deal with the cunning world, made them
hold him back : but at last he demanded that in
his turn he might try his luck, so, with his parents'
blessing, and a well-filled purse, he set out.
Round the world he went, like the Wandering
Jew. but somehow he could never remember where
he came from, nor where he w.is going, so he could
only go on, and on, like the wooden-head he was,
and after the day on which they bade him good-
bye, his parents never saw his face.
Mr. and Mrs. Doe grew bent and gray and
old, but so much were they changed in disposition
and conduct, that all the country loved them.
The house-fairies came back, and the wood and
field fairies flitted .about the cottage without fear.
When the little people saw that sorrow had
become a purifying fire to these two hearts, and
that their souls were growing beautiful as their
bodies withered, they resolved to give them the
unspeakable joy of seeing their real children.
They had bestowed the tenderest and wisest care
upon the babies they had stolen, and the three h.id
become great and noble men. Benjamin was a
statesman, high in the confidence of the emperor;
NVilliam was a general, whose gallant deeds and
brilliant victories were the jiride of all Brasstossig ;
and John was a learned clergyman, whose good
deeds were known all the country round.
The fairies bade them appear together before
the door of John Doe of Doeville on midsum-
mer day, and they came promptly. Benjamin
wore his finest court-dress, glittering with jeweled
orders; William wore his uniform, his sword at his
side, and the iron cross upon his breast ; and
John had on a plain gown of black silk, as became
a p.astor; and Mr. and Mrs. Doe were the most
TIIK SAD 1.1 ITI.l: I. ASS.
833
surprised people in the world when they opcne<l
the dot>r and iH'heUl these handsome j;enllemci\.
A very small fairy sIimhI upon the table ami
related the story of the changed children, and then
the Three Sons called the old people " Father"
and "Mother," and if you and I had been there,
we shoidd have rejoiced to see the happiness, and
cryinj;, and einbracinj; that followed.
And here ends the story of the Three Sons, as
told in tlie Blue Uouk of Wire Uricr Tobit.
TIM-: .S.\l) I.ITTLi". L.\.SS.
m--l
"Why sit you here, my lass?" said he.
" I came to see the king," said she, —
■' To sec the king come riding by,
While all the eager people cry,
■ (lod bless the kinj;, .ind long live he 1 '
And therefore sit I here," said she.
■ Why do you weep, my lass.'" said he.
■• Because that 1 am Siid," said she.
• Kor when the king came riding by,
.And all the people raised a cry,
I was so small, 1 could not sec.
.'\nd therefore do 1 weep," said she.
" Then weep no more, my lass !" said he.
■ And pray, good sir, why not?" said she.
■■ Lift up your eyes of bonny blue,
.'\nd look and look mc through and
through.
Nor say the king you could not see.
I am the king, my lass!" said he.
Vot,. VIII. — 5j.
^34
riiAKTiiN k(ii;i;ks.
I'll A i:t().\ R()(",i;rs
IIV KosNill.H JdHNSciN.
Chaitkk XIX.
A coNyUEsr.
Whkn, at lcn};th. I'liaitnti >;ot an answer from
the chicf-cnginccr concerning his invention, ii
seemed rather surly.
'• This thing wont do at all, boy," said he. " It
can't be made to work on a large scale." And he
handed the drawing to Phaeton, and then turned
his back to him and resumed his work.
Phaeton thrust it into his pocket, and walked out
of the shop quite crestfallen. When he told us
about it, Ned became indignant.
" I don't believe a word of it," said he; " I see
through the wliolc plot. The chief-engineer has
entered into a conspiracy with himself to crush out
your invention, because he knows it would do away
with all the lire-engines and hook-and-ladders, and
the city would n't need a chief-engineer any more,
and he could n't draw that nice little salary of a
thousand dollars just for running to fires and boss-
ing things."
" I did n't know that the firemen got any pay."
said I. " I thought it was a patriotic duty, — be-
sides the fun."
" That 's just it," said Ned. " The men h ho do
the hard work don't get a cent ; but the chief-
engineer, who h;is more fun than any of us, — for
he can choose the best |)lace to see the fire from,
and can order the engines to play any way he
likes, — gets a thousand dollars a year."
I thought almost everybody had had a better
place than Ned's to sec llie last fire, but 1 kept m>
thoughts to myself.
" I '11 spoil that job for him," continued Ned.
" How can you do it ? " said I.
" By gelling Kay's invention patented, and then
having It brought before the Common Council at
their very next meeting. We might let this city
use it free; that would give us a great reputation
for patriotism, and bring our fire extinguisher into
notice, and then we could make all the other cities
pay a big price for it."
" Would n't some people oppose it ? " said 1.
" Yes, the boys would, because it spoils all the
fun of fires; and the chief-engineers would, be-
cause it spoils their sidarics ; but all the other
people would go for it, because it saves millions of
dollars' worth of property. The women, especially,
would be friendly to it, because it saves the scare."
• Copyrichl, i88o, by Roxwlcr
■■ What 's that '" " said I. not quite understanding
hiiii.
"Why, you must know," said Ned. "that when
a woman wakes up in the middle of the night and
finds the four walls of her room on fire, and the
lloor hotter than an oven, and the ceiling cracking
open, and the betl-clothes blazing, she 's awfully
scared, as a general thing."
■■ I don't doubt it," said I.
■■ But Kay's invention puts out the fires so
(|uickly, besides keeping them from spreading, that
It saves all that anguish of mind, as well as the
property. "
" It seems to me it 's a good plan," said 1, refer-
ring to Ned's proposal for taking out a patent at
once.
"Then we 'II go to .Aunt Mercy and get the
moncv right away," s.iid he. " What do you say,
Kay ? '"
This conversation took place in the printing-
office. Phaeton, after telling us the result of his
interviews with the chief-engineer, had taken no
further part in it, but busied himself setting type,
" I 'vc no objection," said he, in answer to Ned's
question.
" Then let 's have your drawing," said Ned, and
with that in hand, he and I set off for Aunt
Mercy's.
"1 don't feel quite right," said Ned, as we went
along, " about the way Aunt Mercy has always
misunderstood these things. This time, I am
determined to make her understand it right."
"You mean, you '11 let her know that it 's
Phaeton's invention, and not yours?" said I.
"That 's the main thing," said he. "I 've got
a good deal of credit that belonged to him ; but I
never meant to take it. She has always managed
to misunderstand, somehow, and 1 could never sec
any way to correct it without spoiling the whole
business."
" But if yon tell her that, will she let you have
the money? " said I.
" Not so easily, of course," said Ned ; " but still
Aunt Mercy 's a good-hearted woman, .after all,
and 1 think 1 can talk her into doing the generous
thing by Kay."
We found ,\unt Mercy apparently in an un-
pleasant mood, from some mysterious cause. But
Ned talked away in a lively manner, and when she
began to brighten up. he gradually appro.iched the
subject which he really had in mind.
John..'n. All ht:hli> rcurncl
I' II A flux UOLitKS.
•■ Aiiiuy. h.iul in-. • ilim I \iiii i\ ir kcl nfrniil
of tire .' "
" Yes, indeed, Kdniiind Burton," said she.
•■ I 'ni afraid of it all the time, especially since I 've
had this new ^irl in the kitchen. It seems to me
she 's very careless."
" If your house should take tire in the night, and
burn up the stairs the first thin;;, how would you
get out? " s;ild Ned.
" I really don't know," s;iid she. " 1 ouj^ht, by
go<Kl rights, to be taken out of the wintlow and down
a l.idder by some <;''"'>nt tireman. lUit it seems
to me they don't have any such gentlena-n now
for tiremen .is they used to. They 're more of a
rowdy set."
" They 're certainly not very gentle," said Xcd.
•■ Did you hear how they knocked Mr. C^lidden's
house and furniture to pieces at the last tire ? "
'• Yes; but why were they allowed to do so?"
said she.
" That 's it," s.iid Ned. " Somebody, out of all
the people there, ought to have had sense enough to
slop them. .Xs for myself, I was n't there. 1 was
going, but was detained on the way."
"If you had been, you 'd have slopped them,
I 've no doubt." said his aunt.
" I should have tried to, I hope," said Ned.
" .And now, .Aunty, I 'd like to show you a little
invention lor doing away with all those horrors."
■• Something you want me to furnish money to
make a muddle of, I suppose? " said she.
" Well, yes, if it ple.iscs you," and here Ned
produced the drawing of the fire extinguisher.
" And now I want to tell you, .-\unty, that this is
not my own invention, but iny brother's; and I
think it 's .ibout the best he 's ever made."
" r-m-m-m." said .-\unt Mercy.
.Ned then proceeded to explain the drawing.
" I sec it all quite plainly," said Aunt Mercy,
when he had finished. '' .\Iy house takes fire "
'■ 1 hope not," said Ned.
••The alarm is given, and this thing is brought
out "
"Just so," said Ned.
" In about a minute it is clapped right down over
the housi- "
" Precisely," said Ned.
■ .-\nd smothers the lire instantly "
•• That 's it cxartly," said Ned.
" .And smothers me in it, as well."
Ned w.Ts dumfounded for a minute, but soon
came to his senses.
" .As to that," said he, " it 's to be supposed that
you 'd run out of the house just before we put on
the extinguisher. Hut the fact Is. Aunt, you 've
suggested an improvement already. Of course,
wc shall have to build the extinguisher with several
flaps, like tent-doors, so th.it il ihcin/n .my people
in the house, they can easily escape."
" .And you think 1 ouglit to furnish th.it brother
of yours the money to make a proper nuiddlc of
this thing? "
" I should be glad if you would." said Ned.
" Well," said Aunt .Mercy, " there 's a piece of
his work In the kitchen now. I wish you 'd step
out and look at it, and llun tell me what you
think."
Ned and 1 walked out to the kitchen. There
stood the skeletons of half a dozen ch.iirs — those
from which wc had taken the rounds to make our
rope-ladder.
"Those look well, tlon't they?" said Aunt
Mercy, who had followed us. "They belonged to
my great-grandfather, and were probably not new
in his time. I had them stored at your house, and
yesterday I sent a furniture man to get them and
polish them up for me. He brings them home in
this plight, and tells me the mischief has been
done recently, for the saw-cuts are all fresh. They
were priceless relics ; I would n't have taken ten
dollars apiece for them ; and your brother has
ruined every one of them."
Ned was staggered, and I wondered what he
would find to say. Rut he was equal to the
occasion.
" .Aunty," said he, " Fay did n't do that "
•• Don't tell me, child ; nobody but a boy would
ever have thought of such mischief."
"Very true," said Ned; "it ivas a boy — two
boys — and we two are the ones."
Aunt Mercy turned pale with astonishment.
Apparently. It had never occurred to her that
Ned could do any mischief.
" We sawed out the rounds." he continued, " to
m.ake a rope-l.idder. But we did n't know the
chairs were good for anything, or wc would n't
have touched them. If there 's any way we can
put them in again, we '11 do It. I suppose we can
get them all — excepting a few that the policeman
carried off."
Aunt Mercy was still more confounded. " Rope-
l.idder" — " policeman " — that sounded like robbery
and State-prison.
" Go home, Edmund Burton," said she. as soon
as she could get her breath. " Go home at once,
and take away out of my house this bad boy who
has led you Into evil ways."
Ned wanted to explain my Innocence ; but I took
myself out of the house with all possible h.iste, and
he soon followed.
" It 's of no use," said he. "Aunt Mercy 's
heavily prejudiced against me."
When .ill this was told al the Rogers's breakfast-
table next morning, Mr. Rogers could not help
S?6
I'll \i; 1(1 N KOGEKS.
(SurreMU
laughing; heartily. Ho said his sisti-r valued the
chairs far above iheir real worth, though of course
that dill not excuse us for sawing out the rounds.
" But as for patenting your invention, hoys,"
said he, "you need not trouble yourselves. It has
been tried."
" How can it have been tried?" said Phaeton.
'■ As a great many others are," said his father.
" Uy being stolen first. The re;ison why our
worthy chief-engineer kept putting you off was,
because he thought it was a good invention, and
wanted to appropriate it. He had a model built,
and applied for a patent through lawyer Stevens,
from whom I have the information. The applica-
tion was rejected by the Patent Office, and he had
just received notice of it when you called on him
yesterday, and found him so surly. His model
cost him forty dollars, the Patent Office fee on r.
rejected application is fifteen dollars, and he had to
pay his lawyer something besides. \ou can guess
at the lawyer's fee, and the express company's
charge for taking the model and drawings to Wash-
ington, and reckon up liow much his dishonest)
cost him."
" Hut what puzzles me," said .\ed, " is the rejec-
tion. That 's such a splendid invention, 1 should
think they would have given it a patent right
away."
" It does seem so," said Mr. Rogers, who never
hked to discourage the boys by pointing out the
fatal defects in their contrivances : "but the Com-
missioner probably had some good reason for it.
A great many applications are rejected, for one
cause or another."
Phaeton had suddenly ceased to take any part or
interest in the conversation, and Ned observed that
he was cutting his bread and butter into very queer
shapes. One was the profile of a chair ; another
was a small cylinder, notched on the end.
As soon as breakfast was over. Phaeton look his
hat and disappeared. He went up to his aunt's
house, and asked to see the mutilated chairs.
" I think they can be mended," said he, half-
aloud, as if talking to himself.
"Of course they can," said his aunt. " Thv
cabinet-maker can put in new rounds, but those
would n't be the old rounds, and he 'd be
obliged to take the chairs apart, more or less, to
get them in. I don'l want anything new about
them, and I don't want them weakened by being
pulled apart. I 'd like to have them as they were
at first. Unless they are the same old chairs,
every splinter of them, that stood in Grandfather's
dining-room, they can have no value for me."
" I think I could put in the old rounds, without
taking the chairs ap.irl," said Phaeton; "and if
you 'II let me, I 'II take one home and try it."
" Try what you like," said Aunt Mercy. " You
can't make them look any worse than they do
now."
So Phaeton took up one of the ancient chairs,
inverted it, and placed it on his head as the e;isiest
w ay of carrying it, and marched home.
His next care was to secure the missing rounds.
?
//
//^
I le came over to our house and got the rope-ladder,
and then went to the police-station and had the
good fortune to recover the piece which the over-
shrewd policeman had carried oft' as evidence.
This gave him the whole twenty-four rounds, and
it did not take him long to select from them the
four that had been sawed from that particular
chair which he had in hand. Ned and I had
done our work hurriedly, and somewhat roughly,
and no two were sawed precisely alike. We had
saweil them so that stubs, perhaps an inch long,
were left sticking out from the legs.
Phaeton procured a fine saw, and sawed one of
the rounds in two, lengthwise, thus splitting it in
halves, each of which, of course, had one flat side
and one curved side.
Then he sawed in each of the two stubs, which
had originally been parts of that same round, a
notch, or "shoulder," which cut away about half
of the stub, — the upper side of one and the lower
side of the other, — carefully s.aving the pieces that
eame out of the notches.
Then he put the two halves of the round
together, as they were before being s.awed apart, —
excepting that he slid them upon each other,
lengthwise, a distance equal to the length of the
notches in the stubs.
Now, as he held the reconstructed round in its
place in the chair, it just fitted, and there was
sufficient overlap on the stubs to make a secure
fastening possible. Near each end there was a
small v.ncant space, into which the pieces cut out
to make the notches in the stubs ex.nctly fitted.
Ph.aelon procured a pot of glue, and fastened the
pieces together and in place. To give the work
greater strength, he carefully bored a hole through
the stub and the overlapping end of the round, put
in a piece of large copper wire, a trifle longer than
PHAtTON KOUKK^
•^37
iiii ii.M. . .ind, holding a large hammer against one
cml, ;.;ontly |kiunclcd i>n the other with a tack-hain-
mcr, until he had flattened it out into a rivet-lie.id ;
then reversed the hammers and made a heatl on
the other end.
Finally, as he had no visi' or hand-screws, he
placed a strip of wwkI on each side ol" the mended
round, tied a piece of strong cord in a loose hang-
ing-loop around each end, put a stick through, and
twisted them up tight,— the sticks resting against
the legs of the chair, which prevented the cords
from untwistmg. He thus made what a surgeon
mm
w ould call a couple of tourniquets, to hold his work
firmly together while the glue was hardening.
Ned and 1 had watched all these operations with
intense interest.
" I tell you what it is," said Ned, " Fay some-
times makes mistakes when he goes sailing off in
the realms of imagination with his inventive
genius, liki- lli.it nn- extinguisher; but when you
come down to a real thing that 's got (o hu tixcd,
.md nobody else c.in fix it, he 's right tluie every
tune."
riiaeton treated the other three rounds of the
chair in the same way, and then set it by for the
glue to harden. When that had taken place, he
took off the tourniquets, scraped and santl-papered
the rounds, so as to leave no uncvenness at the
edges of the pieces, and then varnished them.
Waiting for that varnish to dry was one of the
severest trials of patience we ever endured. But it
w.as dry at last, anil of course Ned and I were
proud to go with Phaeton when he carried home
his work.
He left the chair in the hall, where Ned and I
also remained, and went in first to speak to his
aunt.
•' Seems to mc things are mightily changed,"
said Ned, in a humiliated tone, '• when Fay walks
in to see Aunt Mercy, and I stay outside. Hut 1
suppose it 's all right."
We heard his aunt say to Phaeton :
" I 'd given up looking for you. 1 knew you 'd
find you could n't do it ; but I know you tried
hard, poor boy, and 1 'm just as much obliged to
you."
Presently Phaeton came out and got the chair,
and this time we went in with him.
He set it down before his astonished aunt, and
carefull)- explained to her the whole process, show-
ing her that not a splinter of any but the original
wood had been used.
That cobbled-up old chair went straight to Aunt
Mercy's heart, and seated Phaeton in her affections
forever.
She made us all stay and lake tea with her, and
after tea we took home the other five chairs to be
similarly treated ; Phaeton marching first with two
on his head, then Ned with two more, and I bring-
ing up the rear with the odd one on my head.
Cmafikk X\.
RINGS, SCISSORS, AND BonTS.
PHAETt>N's fame as an inventor and general
engineer was growing rapidly among the boys.
They had great faith in his powers, and in some of
them a similar inventive spirit was awakened,
though none of them accomplished much. They
very commonly came to consult him when they
thought they h.id an idea.
One day Holman came to the printing-office
when we were all there, — including Jimmy, who,
with the help of Wilson's treatise on punctuation.
838
K()(; EKS.
wiis Icarniiij; to iv.ul |iriii)f, — ami s.iiil lie lliouglit
In- kncH how to make" a forluno.
"That 's a good thing tn know," said I'haclon.
" Bui 1 can't be quite sure that I do know it,"
said Molnian, "till 1 talk with you about some
parts of the scheme."
" 1 shall be glad to help you all 1 can." said
I'haelon.
■■ I don't care to make any secret of it," con-
tinued Holman, " because, if it can be carried out,
we shall have to make a sort of joint-slock corn-
pan), and take in several of the boys."
" Will it make us a fortune apiece?" said Ned,
"or only one fortune, to be divided up among the
company ? "
"That depends on how much you consider a
fortune," answered Holman. " The main thing
I want to know, Kay, is this : whetlier it is possible
to invent some way of going under water, and
working there without a big, heavy diving-bell."
" 1 think," said Phaeton, " that other and
lighter apparatus has been invented already ; but
if not, 1 should think it could be."
"Then we are all right," said Holman. "I
know where the fortune is, — ^therc 's no uncertainty
about that, — but it 's under water a few feet, and it
wont do to go for it with any large and noticeable
machinery."
" Fay can easily invent a pocket diving-bell, "
said Ned.
" Do you know the history of \'enice ? " said
Holman.
Phaeton said he knew the outlines of her his-
tory, Jimmy said he knew about the " Uucenlaur"
and the bronze horses, but Ned and I confessed
total ignorance.
" 1 've just been reading it," said Holman, " and
that 's where I got my idea. Vou must know that
when N'enice was a rich republic, the Doge — who
was the same as a president or mayor — used to go
out once a year in a big row-boat called the " Bucen-
taur," with banners and streamers, and a brass
band, and a lot of jolly fellows, and marry the
Adriatic Sea, as they called it. That is, he threw
a splendid wedding-ring into the water, and then 1
suppose they all gave three cheers, and lired a
salute, and had some lemonade, and perhaps made
speeches that were a little tedious, like those we
have to listen to at school on examination day. At
any rate, he threw in the ring, and that 's the
miportant thing. "
" What w,is all that for ? " said Ned.
" jack-m Ihe-Box told me," said Holman, "it
was because the \'enetians were a sea-going peo-
ple, and all their wealth came from commerce, and
so this ceremony signified their devotion to the sea.
But, as I was saying, this w.is done regul.irly ever\
Near for six hundred anil twenty years; :uul uli.it
makes it lucky for us is, that it w:is always done at
the same spot — the Porto di Lido, a little channel
through that long narrow island that lies a little off
shore."
" I don't see where the luck for us comes in,"
said 1. " If the Doges had been our grandfathers,
.md becpieathed us the rings instead of throwing
them away, there might be some luck in that."
" Wait till you see what 1 'm coming to," said
Holman. "The Adriatic is a shallow sea, — I've
looked up all the facts, — and my idea is, that we
might :is well have those rings as for them to lie
there doing nobody any good."
" How much are they worth ': " said Ned.
" You can calculate it for yourself," said Hol-
man. " As I said before, the ceremony was
repeated every year, for six hundred and twenty
years. Of course, we might not get quite all of
them — throw off the twenty ; there are six hundred
rings. They inust have been splendid ones, worth
at least a hundred dollars apiece. There 's sixty
thousand dollars, all in a huddle in that one spot."
" But don't you suppose." said Ned. " that after
awhile those cunning old Doges would stop throw-
ing in solid gold rings with real diainondson them,
and use brass ones washed with gold, and paste
diamonds ? " ,
" 1 think not," said Holman. " For they did n't
have to pay for them — the bill was footed by the
Common Council. .•\nd they could n't try that
without getting caught. For of course the ring
would be on exhibition a week or so in the window
of some f:ishionable jewelry -store, and the news-
papers would tell that it was furnished 1)\ the
celebrated establishment of So-and-So."
" Hut don't you suppose." said Phaeton, "that,
.ns soon as it was dark, some fellow went out
quietly in .1 little skilf, and dived for the ring?
Some of those Italians are wonderful divers."
"1 think not," said Holman, "for the ring
would be of no use to a \'enetian : lie wiiiild n't
dare offer it for sale."
" How do you pro|)Ose to get them
" My plan is, first to invent some kinil of diving
apparatus that is small, and can be p.acked in a
valise ; then, for us all to save up all the money
we can get, till we have enough to pay the travel-
ing expenses of two of us from here to \'enice.
We could go cheap in a sailing-vessel. Suppose
you and I went. Fay ; we 'd .isk the Venetians
about the lishing. and buy or hire some tackle, and
put a lunch in our valise, with the diving apparatus,
and get a skiff and start otT. 1 've planned the
very course. When you leaxe the city, you steer a
little c.Tst of north-east ; row about four miles, and
there vou are."
I'liAK I UN HOC. i;us.
«39
"That 's easy enough," said I, — "only a little
over half ihc distance from here to Charlotte, which
\vc 've all rowed scores of times."
"When we get there," llolnian continued,
"we '11 tish awhile, to lull suspicion, and then 1 '11
quietly get into the diving app.ir.itus and drop into
the water, with the valise in my hand. It would n't
take me long to scoop up those rings, once I got
amongst them ; then, of course. Fay would haul
me up, and »e \i hurr\ home anil divide. We
could easily turn the rings into money."
" 1 should think we nnght get more for them as
curiosities than as old gold," said I.
"That 's a good idea." said Holman.
" But we must n't be in a hurry to sell them n//,"
said Jimmy the Rhymer. " When a fellow grows
up and gets engaged, one of those would be an
awful romantic thing to give to the l.idy. "
" I know a better way than tliat lo get them,
though," said Ned.
" Let 's hear."
"Just invent some kind of magnet that 'II stick
to gold, as a common magnet sticks to iron, and
put a good strong one in the butt end of your fish-
pole ; then, when the \'cnetians were looking, you
could be lishing ; and when they were not looking,
you could drop the big end of the pole into the
water, poke around a little on the bottom, and
haul up a ring. May be sometimes you 'd haul up
a dozen at once, all sticking together like a cluster
of grapes."
Whether Holman was in earnest, or was only
testing the credulity of us younger boys, I never
knew; but we took it all in goo<l faith, and went
home that night to dream of loading our fingers
with rings, and spending sixty thousand dollars
divided into five shares. However Holman may
have been jesting in this schen^e for acquiring a
fortune for himself, in a few days after he actually
entered upon a rather ludicrous performance to
get a little money for somebody else.
There were two Red Rovers in our town — in
fact, there were three. The reader has already
made the acquaintance of the fire-comp.iny and
engine known as Red Rover Three. A man who
had once belonged to that company, but w.is now
past the prime of life, and honorably retired from
the serx'ice, made his living by grinding knives and
scissors.
But he was tiH> much of a Yankee to go about
with a wheel in a little frame strapped upon his
back, and a bell in his hand, to be nmg monoto-
nously from street to street. He built a peculiar
carriage, — a square framework, about four feet
high and six feet long, — running on four large
wheels, wherem w.is a bewildering m<xss of ma-
chinery. Standing l>ehmd it, and laying his
hands upon two great brass knobs, he walked
slowly through the streets, pushing it before him
in a dignified manner, to the awe of the boys and
the wonderment of the whole town. It went with
.111 easy motion, the wheels making only a sub-
dued .ind genteel noise. Surmounting it in front
was a large bell, which was struck at solenm and
impressive inter\'als. This apparatus both in-
creased his patronage and elevated the dignity of
the profession. Me had no vulgar and noisy cry,
soliciting custom in a half-intelligible jargon.
People who wanted their scissors ground came to
the doors with them when they heard his bell.
Then the wheels of the chariot stopped, the
charioteer lifted his hat in salutation, and the nego-
tiation seemed like a matter of friendly favor,
rather than bargain and pay.
In order to grind, he opened a little gate in the
rear of the machine, stepped inside, closed the
gate behind him, and seated himself upon a small
shelf which was fastened to the gate. His feet
were then placed iqion two pedals, and the ma-
chinery began to move.
Five small grindstones, of different sizes and
fineness, revolved before him. At his right hand
was a little anvil ; at his left, a vise, and under it a
box of small tools.
About the middle of the machine, on the top,
was a small figure of a Scottish Highlander, with
bag-pipes under his arm. The bag- — which was
of painted tin — was filled with water ; and a plug,
withdrawn from the longest of the pipes, allowed
the water to trickle down upon the knife-wheel.
Scissors were gcnerall\ ground on a dry wheel.
When the m.ichinery was in motion, the pipes
played something, intended for music, between a
squeak and a whistle ; so that when he was travel-
ing, the bell rang, and when he was giinding, the
pipes played.
On one of the front corners was a little bronze
bust of Washington, and on the other was one of
Franklin ; between them w.as a clock, with a
marine movement.
The whole frame and running gear were painted
a bright red, and garnished with shining brass
ornaments. The man called his machine Red
Rover, after the beloved engine with w hich he used
to run, and the name appeared on the side in
brass letters. It seemed as if he must spend the
greater part of his earnings on its improvement
and embellishment. The man himself, whose hair
was broadly streaked with gray, was called " the
Old Red Rover," and we never knew him by any
other name.
He lived in a little bit of a house by the canal ;
and the machine, which w.is always kept in shin-
ing order, had to be taken in-doors every night.
840
IMIAliTO.N KOGKkS.
ISeitkuber,
How he managed to find room in the house for
himself, his wife, and his Amr children, besides the
machine, we could never imagine — and it was none
of our business. Thai little house by the canal
was as much the (lid Red Rover's castle .is the
pal.tces that you anil 1 live in, dear reader, are ours.
1 think it was a week after our conversation con-
cerning the Doge's rings, when, one Saturday, Ned
and 1 heard the bell ring, and saw the Red Rover
coming up the street, with Isaac llolman propelling
it, instead of its owner.
This was rather .astonishing, and of course an
immediate explanation was demanded.
" Why, you see," said Holman, " Mother had
been for a long time wishing the Old Red Rover
would come around, for every pair of scissors in
the house was as dull as a Dutch grammar. At
last she got tired waiting, and so I went to his
house with them. I found that he was laid up
with rheumatism, and h.ad n't been out for five
weeks. It looked to me .as if the family were on
short rations, and 1 began to think what I could do
for them. I thought the best thing would be, to
take the machine ,ind spend the day in going
around grinding scissors, and at night take home
the money to the Old Red Rover."
" Yes," said Ned, " that 's the very best thing:
it 's more fun than anything else you could have
thought of"
" He was rather afraid to let me try il," con-
tinued Holman, "but Mrs. Thc-Old-Red-Rovcr was
{Tcatly pleased with the idea, and soon persuaded
him. ' He vcr) tender with her — -she 's the pride
of my life,' said he. .is we rolled it out through
the door-way ; and he did n't mean his wife — he
meant the machine."
We h<ad often kept this m.achine company as it
passed through the streets in charge of its owner,
and it w.as doubly interesting now when one of our
own number was allowed to run it. So of course
we went along with llolman on his benevolent tour.
Other boys also joined us, the unusually large
crowd attracted attention, we were all ready to
explain the situation to people who stood in the
doors or looked out through the windows, and the
result was that llolman had plenty of work.
Soon after turning into West street, he began to
go much more slowly. At the house where Miss
Glidden h.id been living since the fire, nobody
appc.ircd at door or window. It happened that
right here something got out of order in the
machine — at le.ast, Holman said it did, and he had
to stop stock-still and tinker at it a long time ; but
I was not able to see what was out of order.
At last Miss Cliddcn appeared at the door, and
in()uired what was going on. Monkey Roe ran up
the steps and informed her.
" It 's entirely a work of mercy," said he, " and
you 'd be doing a benevolent thing to give him as
many scissors as possible to sharpen."
Miss ("ilid<len invited him in, and soon collected
three pairs of scissors and a pair of shears, which
she re(|uesled him to take out and have ground for
her.
" Is this all you have?" said Monkey Roe, in
a tone signifying that he considered it a very
small crop.
" There may be more," said she. " Biddy," —
to the serv.ant, — "bring any scissors you have that
need grinding."
liiddy brought from the kitchen a pair that were
used to trim lamps.
" Is this all, Biddy ': " said Monkey.
"I don't know — I '11 see, sir," said Biddy: and
.Monkey followed her to the kitchen.
Next to it he found a sort of combined work-
room and store-room, the door of which stood open,
:md looking over its contents, he soon discovered
a pair of tinsmiths' shears, a pair of sheep-shears,
a drawing-knife, a coopers' .adze, and a rusty bro.ad-
a.\, all of which, with the family carving-knife
brought by Biddy, he added to the collection of
scissors and shears brought to him by .Miss Glid-
den, and then he came carefully down the steps
with the cutlery in his arms.
■■ Here, Holman." said he, " Miss (Hidden wants
\ou to sharpen these few things for the good
cause."
'^ Bout cant cakci! — Good gracious ! " exclaimed
lIolm.an, " does she think I 'm Hercules? "
" No," said Monkey, in a low tone, " but 1 be-
lieve she thinks you 're Her — admirer."
"But I suppose it must be done," Is.aac :idded,
not hearing Monkey's remark. And he took off
his jacket and won't to work manfully.
The scissors were soon disposed of, as were also
the carving-knife and the drawing-knife ; but the
other articles were somewhat troublesome. About
all he could do with the broad-ax w.as to grind off
the rust that completely coated it. The tinsmiths'
shears were a heavy job, and the sheep-shears
utterly baffled him, till at Last he gave up trying to
sharpen them on the grindstone, and, finding a file
in the tool-box, applied that to their edges, against
the solemn protest of Monkey Roe, who decl.ared it
would take the temper out of the steel.
"And when Miss Glidden sees them, it may
bring her temper out, too," he added.
"Can't help il,'' said Holman: "and now the
lot 's finished, and you may take it in and collect
the pay."
He h.ad just begun to study book-keeping, and
opening a little drawer m the machine, he found
a scrap of p;iper and made out this hill :
iMi.)
Ill A II ON K
S|i
. c.LiiHifs. \i)U 'vi- IducIk-iI," said I'hacKm. "Uun'i yuu
kiniw that scissors must be };roiin(l on ihc c-c|yc of
the blailc, not on the side, like a knife ? If you
j^rind away the sides, the blades can't loucli each
other, and so can't cut at all."
" 1 declare, 1 believe that 's so," said llolman.
" I thought it was kind of queer that none of the
scissors would really cut anything: but I was sure
I had made them sharp, and so supposed they
were all old, worn-out tilings that would n't cut, any
way. 1 guess you 'd better take my place, Kay."
Phaeton declined to do this, but went along as
Monkey look this .ind the armful of cutlery, .ind confidential adviser.
carried them in to Miss t'lliddcn, who was some- We wound about through a great number ol
what surprised, as she had not known exactly what streets, the accompanying crowd of bo\s being
To Mr rn».Ou>-R«D.Rnv
To ihnrpcntnK i P"- «cuiop», * 6c
J •' thcan, » 8c
" t dnuiiillui' »hcan.
*' I thecp-^hcan . .
" t drawiiiK-ktiife
I adic
I carMHK knife
ROVKR,
i^i:
^ .y
he was about. However, she laughingly paid the
bill, and he carefully piled the articles on the par-
lor table, and came away.
I obscr\-ed that Holman put the dollar into the
drawer where he had put all the other money, but
the cent he put into his pocket. Then he took
another cent from another pocket, and threw it
into the drawer.
We had traveled perhaps half a mile farther,
and llolman had ground something like forty pairs
of scissors in all, when we were joined by Phaeton,
who watched him .as he ground the next pair.
" Is that the way you 've ground them all ?" said
he, when it was finished.
" Yes, of course — why.' " said Holman.
"Because if you have, you 've ruined e\'ery pair
sometimes larger and sometimes smaller, and
ground a great many knives and scissors.
On turning a corner into a by-street that bore
the (iroud name of Fairfax, we came suddenly upon
Jimmy the Rhymer. He w.as sitting on a bowlder,
with a quantity of printed bills over his left arm, a
paste-brush in his right hand, and a small bucket
of paste on the ground beside him. He looked
tired and melancholy.
The outward situation was soon explained. \
man who had kept a cobbler's shop for many
years, but had recently enlarged it into something
like a shoe-store, had employed us to print some
bills to be posted up on the fences and dead-walls,
announcing the event. They began with the
startling legend, printed in our largest type.
84 2
IMIAIilUN ROtlKKS.
GO IT rUlO TS ! which was followed by an ac-
count of the new sliirc ami new n<)o<ls, written in
very elaborate and impressive style, the favorite
rlieloric;il lij;ure bein^; hyperbole.
Looking; about lor some one to post them who
would do It more cheaplv than the regular bill-
poster of the town, the cobbler had thought of
Jimmy, who accepted the job because he wanted
to earn a httle money.
'■ Are you sick, Jimmy? " said Phaeton, obser\-
ing his dejection.
•■ Not in body," said Jimmy, " but 1 am sick in
mind — sick at heart."
" Why, what 's the matter ?"
" Look at that." said Jimmy, slowly raising his
hand and pointing at one of the bills which he had
just posted on a barn-door. " ' Go it Hoots ! ' " —
he quoted it very slowly. "What do I care about
going it boots ? I could n't go it boots if I wanted
to. There is no more going it boots for me in thi-,
world. "
" 1 don't quite understand you," s;iid Phaeton.
" 1 mean," said Jimmy, " that my soul yearns for
poetry — for the beautiful in nature and art. And
it disgusts me to think of spending my time in
spreading such literature through the world."
■' That is n't complimentary to us," said Ned.
" We spent considerable time in printing it."
•' 1 suppose you get paid for it," said Phaeton.
" Yes," said Jimmy, " or 1 should n't do it."
" Then it seems to me," said Phaeton, " you
might look upon it as only so much drudge-work
done to purchase leisure and opportunity for the
work you delight in. ,\Iany famous men have
been obliged to get along in that way."
" Yes, cheer up," said Monkey Roc. " Look at
us : we 're having lots of fun over drudgier work
than yours. Come along with us, and we '11 make
one circus of the whole thing — two entertainments
under one canvas, as the bills say. Hohnan ha-,
plenty of help, so I '11 be your assistant."
And he took the brush and paste-bucket, while
Jimmy still carried the bills, and we all moved on.
As Jimmy walked beside the m.ichine, he and
Hohnan resumed sf)me former conversation.
" Can't you make up your mind to do it, if I
double the price ? " said Holman.
" On the contrary," said Jimmy, " I 've made
up my mind that I wont do it, at any price."
" Why not.' " asked Holman.
" For two re;isons," answered Jimmy. " One
is, that I don't think it 's honest to write such
things for anybody else to pass off as his own."
'■ And the other?" said Holman.
" The other is," said Jimmy, speaking much
lower, but still so that I who was next to him could
hear, " and I may as well tell you pl.iinly, Isaac,—
the other is, that I have some hopes in that direc-
tion myself, and if 1 write anything more for her,
I 'II send it as my own."
" N'ou ? " said Holman, in astonishment.
"Certainly." said Jimmy, with great coolness,
as if he felt himself master of the situation, " and 1
think my claim is better than yours. Whatever
there is between you and her — if there is anything
— is entirely of your seeking. But in my case it 's
all of her seeking ; she sent mc flowers every day
when 1 was laid up."
" That 's nothing — that does n't mean anything,"
>aid Holman.
" If it does n't. then 1 've read the poets all
wrong," said Jimmy.
" I'lhlir a/>is siispcnsi .' — poets be hanged ! "
exclaimed Is.a.ac, and then gave a prolonged whis-
tle, which closed the conversation.
Phaeton, who also had overheard, opened his
mouth as if to say something to Jimmy, but checked
himself Yet he was obliged to utter it somehow,
and so whispered in my ear : " If it comes to that.
my claim is even better than his, for she gave
flowers to me when I was not an object of pity."
The way Monkey Roe did that job created an
epoch in bill-posting. We passed the office of a
veterinary surgeon, who had the skeleton of a
horse, mounted on a board, for a sign : and Monkey
whipped off one of the bills from Jimmy's arm.
and pasted it right across the skeleton's ribs.
We came to a loaded coal-cart, broken down in
the street by the crushing of a wheel, and he pasted
one on that. We passed a tobacco-shop, in front
of which stood a life-size wooden statue of a bare-
legged and plaided Highlander; and Monkej
pasted a Go it Boots ! on his naked shin.
We met a beggar who went about on two
crutches, but who was known to be an impostor ;
and after he had passed us, a bill was on his coat-
lail. like the cheapest kind of .April-fool.
We passed a windmill that had been put up as
an experiment, and had failed ; and he p.asted one
of the bills on each of the sails — revolving it enough
to bring each of them near the ground in turn —
and one on the door.
t )n whatever he saw that could n't go it at all, he
was sure to fasten this advice to go it boots. 1
think Monkey was a very ironical bo\ .
"There, Jimmy," said he, .as he dis|Kised of the
l;Lst bill, " you see it 's only necessary to appraach
your work in the right spirit to make it a pleasure,
its the school-m.TSter says."
.About five o'clock in the afternoon, when wc
were all pretty tired, we returned the Red Rover
s.afely to its home, and Holman gladdened Mrs.
The-Old-Red-Rover with more money than she
had seen in a long time, for which she w.as
I'll \ I ION ROUEkS.
-^43
vcn gr.ilcliil. As «c luriicd away, "c lUi-l their
eldest boy, Johnny The-Olil-Keil-Rover, hringin;;
a b;isketful of :)ark which he had cut from the
oaken lojjs in the s.iw-inill yard. Itelore we were
out of sifjht of the house, the smoke curled out of
the little chimney, and I \e no doubt they cele-
bnited the day with a joyful supper.
.As we passeil the Bon, we stopped lo i|ieak with
Jack, lie was tla^^injj an express train th.it w.is
creeping; slowly into the city, retarded by a hot
box. When it had reached the crossinj;, it stopped
entirely, and most of the passcnjjers thrust their
heads out at the windows. One of these heads
came out in such a way as to be ex.ictly face-to-face
with Jack, the interval between them being less
than a yard. Jack jpive a piercing shriek, and felt
to the ground.
Phaeton and I ran to him, and picked him up.
" He 's in a tit," said I.
<!■
" No," said I'haeton, " I ihink lie h.i:i only
f tinted. Bring water."
I foflnd a pitcher-full in the Box, .ind we poured
it u|)on his f.ice. This brought him to.
lie looked about in a da/.ed way for a moMK-nt.
then seemetl to recollect himself, and turned to-
ward the tr.ick. But the train had passed on.
'■ Phaeton," said he, "will you please stand here
and flag a freight train that will come along in
about ten minutes ? "
"Certainly, with pleasure," said IMiaeton, re-
ceiving the llag.
" And after that has passed, haul down the red
ball, and run up the white one : then turn that
second switch and lock it."
" All right ! " said I'haeton. " I understand."
Jack then picked up his cap, and started on
a run, crossing the public square diagonally, tak-
ing the shortest route to the passenger station.
Ay
What do lhe\ bring me at morn and noon,
.•\nd what do they bring me at night .'
A bonny blue bowl, and a silver spoon,
All polished so smooth and so bright, so bright.
This do they bring me at mom and n<K)n,
And this do they bring me at night.
What do I sec in my iKinny blue bowl.
To eat with my silver spoon .'
Crusty crumbs of a baker's roll,
And milk .is white as the moon, the moon.
This do I find in my bonny blue bowl.
To cat with my silver s|Kion.
844
1 1 1 K I > K A C. ( > N - 1" I . Y S BENE I" 1 T
iSFPTEMIiER,
rilK DRAGOX-FI.V'S H ll \ i: 1-MT.
Hv Hki.kn K. Si'(ii-i-ord.
Oh. the Dragon-flv opened a nice dancinj;- Phe school, though not large, was. as one
school '"'g'l' expect
On a broad lily-pad. in a deep, quiet pool. From the tone of the master, extremely select;
Professor Xcuropter," his business cards read ..\nd all the first families gave their consent,
When to teach fancy dancing he adver-tis-ed. So gayly the young to the dancmg-school went.
■ij\ :■ ^;^.4:^^- :/--;f';--^
TllK DRAGON II \ ^ I: KN I II 1
•^4:
The t.ulpoles and lizards and poUywoj^s canu.
And other lair rcptiks too many U) narno ;
The tholonians to send thoir small turtles
were j;l.nd.
And a few midgets glanced on the green lily-pail.
lUtrachians and snurians with insect-tribes met
Here, friendly and courteous, were joined in
a set.
And well the school flourished through bright
summer days.
And the progress it maile was well worthy of
praise.
So esteemed w.ns Professor Neuropter by all,
That they voted to give him a benctit ball
At the end of the' tenii, which was coming
quite stKJn :
.And the night they selected was that of full
moon.
Ere U>n%' came the evening : the great moon
shone bright
O'er the shimmering pool on this gay festal
night.
More lily-pads widened the floor to good size.
.\nd for lighting they hir-ed a hundred firc-
tlies.
.-ipcttators iissembled to view the fair scene
Of that gor-ge-ous ball on the lily-pads green :
I 111- onlu-str.i lun-eil llu iri^lMMiu nl-, .ill,
.\-> the g.iy little people marched in for llu- h.iU.
Mr. Krog played the liddle with inlinite grace.
And lleetle chimed in with his big double bass ;
Professor Mosipiito the orchestra led,
And a wasp on a wind-harp ac-com-pan-ied.
Then swift flew the dancers to music so sweet,
.\nd .as swift flew the hours, for the joy was
complete.
Hut ah ! comes too soon the sad part of my talc,
When the red rising sun makes the fire-flies
grow pale.
Kor alas ! while the morning hours dancing
they spend.
The revelers little suspect their s.id end ;
Still reeling they go in the midst of a dance,
While death o'er the water doth swiftly advance.
Kor, weary with searching and finding no food,
.•V duck glides along with her l.irge hungry
brood.
The hum of the orchestra falls on her ear —
ISehold what a banquet is waiting her here !
They quietly gather around that hall gay.
H.-yrh bill poised above its un-con-sci-ous prey;
One snap, and the ducklings have brcikfasted
.all!
.\nd here ends nn tale, -and the benelit ball.
\\y
846
IIIK lUlOMlio
Tin-; iu)uMi:() hoy
i;\ W.M. \V. Newton.
"Wild wns the Boomco lioyr" asked lithcl. as
she sat in her father's hip, before the fire, while
WiUie was balancing himself on the embroidered
foot-rest, after the manner of a circus-rider on the
back of a horse.
"Why, my child," said her father, "have n't I
often told you the verses beginning :
" Oh, yes, please do!" chimed in Willie,
so want to hear about it all."
Ido
I licrc ■> .T •
iiind on ihc highw.ty, a viun
it( musical joy ;
Man.i. and light up the fin
omcs the Boomco Hoy ! "
the by-way.
"Oh, yes," said Ethel, "but you never go on
any further. I don't know who Maria was, nor who
the Boomeo Boy was, nor what they wanted to
light a tire for."
"Yes," added Willie, "and 1 don't believe there
ever was anv Boomeo Bov."
Oh, siiy, do ytni think it
a toy?
h, nin gci ihc water, my
lOn and my daughte
For here comes the B-xtme
0 Boy!"
"Is that the second verse?" asked Kthel. "I
never heard it before."
"Nor I. neither," said Willie. "But what did
they want the water for ? Was it a toy, or was it a
real live boy ? and why did they call him Boomeo ?
Was that his first name or his father's name .' I
wish you would tell me all about him. Father."
" f^h, s-ty, would you rather 1 'il be a good father.
And never my children annoy ?
Or tell of the fairy, so very unwary,
Who was caught by the Boomeo Boy ? "
" I don't understand you one bit," said Kthel to
her father. " Are you making it all up, or is that
the third verse ? Now, begin at the beginning,
and go right straight on to the end. Begin in the
regular way, you know : ' Once upon a time there
was a boy named Boomeo, and he lived — -in a cave
or something — and ' "
" He caught her. He caught her — the witc
And tntight her a difTercnt employ :
He Unl tried to throttle her— then tried
Terrible Boomco Boy ! "
h's f;iir daughter—
" Please, Father, i/t> tell us all about it, in the
right way ! " cried little Ethel. " Don't tease us any
more. You have so often said you would tell us
all about the Boomco Boy, and yet you have never
gone any further than the first verse, about
'Run you, Maria, and light up the fire.'"
• St. Nifiioi.A'
" He lighted a taper, and searched through the vapor,
t>etcnnined to save or destroy :
Krom above, and from under, with a shout as of wonder.
They sat on the Boomeo Boy."
" Well. Father," said Willie, " 1 think you
//litf/i/ tell us ! 1 don't care to hear any more
of this story. It troubles me so. I can not make
it out. Who sat down on the Boomeo Boy ? And
what did they do it for ? "
" A terrible rattle, which seemed like a I)atl1e,
With shoutings of ' Vive le Roi.'
Was hcaTYl on the highway, was heard on the by-way
-And he vanished — the Boomco Boy."
• Is that the end of it?" asked little Ethel.
" Dear me, I do wish I knew what it all meant."
" Well, now, my dear children," replied their
father, " I will tell you all about it, honor bright,
from the very beginning, and with no poetry in it."
.So they nestled in their father's arms, and he
told them the story of the Boomco Boy.
" You remember reading, a few months ago, a
story in St. Nicholas* .about ; .M umbo Jumbo,'
who roams among the native tribes in Africa, and
what a curious fellow he is, and what queer things
he does. Well, when I was a little boy, I went
away alone by myself to Brazil. It was a very
long voyage, and we had a great many adventures
on the way. .\t l.isl, after forty days at sea, we
arrived at Pcrnambuco, a city in the empire of
Brazil. Here I spent the winter on a large planta-
tion, traveling about the country, and visiting
the different tow^ns and villages, and seeing the
many strange sights of that foreign land. One city
which I used to visit was named Olinda. It was
directly on the ocean, and was made up of a great
number of churches and convents. Another place,
where 1 very frequently staid with some friends,
w.as named Cashingar, after a city in Persia. It
w.is here that I saw the real li\e Boomco Boy.
"One day, as I was playing with the little children
and the poor little black slaves, in the court-yard of
the plantation, I heard the lady of the house call
out : ' Run, Maria ! Light the fire — the Boomeo
Boy is coming ! '
" As she said this, wc could hear the noise of a
great company of people, with drums and trump-
ets, coming down the road. They all were black
slaves, but they were dressed in while and pink
for April, l88l-
S47
and yellow rililxms, ami ihoy hail UMilKr.aiul I'ans,
and flajp and banners, and lliey were dancing; and
jumpinj; from side to side on llie <histy road. 'I'hey
had one old slave in a ehair : he was their king.
He h.ul .1 paper crown on his hea<l, and a gilt stick
or scepter in his hand. This king of theirs was the
descendant of their real king when they lived in
Africa, before they were captured and brought as
slaves to Bnuil. They carried him along on a sort
of sedan chair on their shoulilir--. .iinl p.iid him
the greatest honor, kneel-
ing down to him ever)- lit-
tle while, and prostrating
themselves before him.
This day was one of the
great festival days, and
all the slaves belonging
to this tribe were allowed
to go out on a picnic into
the country, and keep up
their tribe honors.
•' But back of all these
slaves there was a man
with .1 big false head,
which he carried on a
pole. He made it go up
and down, and turned it
sidewise and every way.
The face was a dreadful
thing, and looked like the
face of an ogre, or of a gi-
ant. This man w,is called
the ' Boomco Boy,' be-
cause he would cry out
' Boom ! boom ! ' which
was the same as saying,
"Look out — here 1 come ! '
The slaves would make
fun of him, and laugh at
him, and sing bits of song
at him — something like
the verses I have been
repeating to you, and
then the Boomco Boy
would run after them,
.ind try to catch them.
" .As he p.isscd by the
gardens and plantations,
he would leap over the
hedges and w.ills, steal
fruit, and frighten the chickens; but wherever the
people lighted a bonfire, there he could not enter.
"There was one woman in the procession who
was dressed ,is a witch, and she had her little
daughter dressed like a fairy. The witch and the
fairy would teaic the big ogre, and then he would
chase them ; but if any pers<in threw a bucket of
w.itir betWLCii the uit<h and the lioonuo Itoy. it
broke the spell, and the Boomeo Boy would have
to give up the chase.
"Some |K'ople have thought that, in these plays,
those poor slaves were keeping up the old customs
which they had in Africa, and that the Boomeo Boy
meant the Kvil One, or an evil spirit. Other
people say that the Boomeo Boy stands in these
games for the slave-hunters who captured the poor
blacks, and buriu-il tlK'ir villages, and took nun.
women, and children away in the slave-ships, an<l
that the fire .ind the water stand for the burning
villages and the ocean. But 1 only remember, .is
a little boy, standing by the window of the planta-
tion-house in Cashingar, and seeing the crowd of
slaves go by, their old king at their head, crying
out : ' Boomeo Bov ! Boomeo Bov ! ' "
848
r 1 1 V s lu I ) K .
[SUPTEMDUK,
DORoriivs Riui-:
Bv Mrs. C. E. Chknkv.
i
:^-5^^
I WANT to tell you about somclliin^; thai hap-
pened many years ago in the town of Nantucket.
•^uite on the brow of the hi(;hesl hill stood a
curious old-fashioned mill, the sails of which were
so long that they nearly touched the ground, and
of course they rose almost as high above the top of
the mill when they were whirled up by the wind.
Near this old windmill the miller lived, with
his wife and two children.
John was a sturdy, sun-browned boy, two years
older than Dorothy, but he was very good and
Ijentle to her, for he loved his sister dearly, and
spent much of his time playing with her. They
were always happy together, and in summer,
when the weather was fine, they used to sail a tiny
boat on one of the many ponds. Their little craft
was not a French toy with painted hull and gay
streamers, but a plain atfair which their father
had made for them in the long evenings, and it
had a coarse bit of cotton for a sail. Hut ihaf did
DDK or II V S KID!
not m.itur. Nm, imlii'il I Ihcv tud ;i slrm^' at
cither end, and as tlie ponds were very shallow, they
waded about, pulling it merrily from side to side,
using all kinds of real ship names and words,
which thev had learned from the sailors.
At last, she bej^an guinj; «iin Jiri i.iiiu i m ilio
mill; and all day she llitted about, as busy as a
bee, and humniinj.; as cheerily.
Sometimes she would lie on the grass and watch
the mill-sails as they swept slowly down, and rose
So the summers flew away until, alas! John was ag.iin on the other side, — thinking all sorts of odd
thought old enough to be sent to school, and poor thoughts about them. One day, while she w,is
little Dorothy wj- \->> i . •.' .\ .11 .l..i.,- m..- w.is lazily watching them, she h.id a bright idea. What
fun ! Springing up, she waited fiir a sail to come
within her reach, and caught it, holding on until it
■ ■. lifted her off her feet, and then she let go, and
■/' ~^"i
-rssS^"
a helpful little girl, and saved the mother many seized another, and another, until she was tired,
steps. Still, she found her play-time very dull. Day after day she amused herself thus ; and when
because she did n't care any longer for the boat. Saturd.iy came, she brought John to see the sport.
Voi„ Vlll.— 54.
850
DOROTHY S RIDE.
[September,
She had become too well acquainted with her
fjreat friend, the mill, to have any fear of it, and
each time she trusted herself to its arms, she let
them carr)- her a little higher, so that she began to
sec a long way off, over the land and the ocean.
What a heroine she must seem to her brother, —
she thought, — for he had never tried it, not once.
Elated by her success, she sprang upon the sail for
a hist ride, as it was dinner-time. Looking back
over her shoulder to sec the effect of her daring
upon John, she clung a little longer than she
meant to, and in a twinkling she found that she
could see farther away than she had ever dreamed.
There was the harbor, with its white sails set to
dry. She could look away down into the town,
and sec the people in the streets.
There, too, was the Sankety Hea^ light, so far
away ; now she must be as high as the tall light-
house. Thoroughly frightened, yet not daring to
let go at this dizzy height, she began to cry.
She saw her mother coming to call them to
dinner, and she thought, poor little girl, " I shall
never see my dear mother again ! "
Higher and still higher she flew, her dress float-
ing out on the wind, and her poor little heart nearly
bursting with terror and grief.
She did not see John, so pale with fear, nor did
she hear her father cry: "Oh, my child will be
killed ! My poor little girl ! "
She had now only eyes and ears and thought for
that terrible journey, and once she wondered if she
were going to heaven, for she was sure it could not
be much higher than she had risen. Still she
clung tightly, and at last she shut her eyes.
The top once reached, slowly the sail, with its
precious burden, l)cgan to descend. How they all
watched it ! Nobody sjwke, and they hardly
dared breathe. Lower and lower it came, until
within a few feet of the ground, when Dorothy
opened her eyes, and, overcome with a sense of
safety, her little fingers unclasped, and down she
came.
She fell pretty hard, but, luckily, there are no
stones in Nantucket, so no bones were broken ;
but her head had such a bump that she saw bright
lights flashing, and heard a hum of strange sounds ;
and soon her poor back began to ache, and her
head felt sore, and she opened her eyes once more
to find herself safe in her dear father's arms ; and
then they all wept together for thankfulness.
And this was the last ride that Dorothy ever
took on the sails of the old windmill.
There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right down in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good
She was ^■er)■, very good,
liul when she was bad she was horrid.
There was a little boy.
And he had a fur cap
Which came to the middle of his forehead.
And when he was cold
He w.Ts vei-y, very cold,
liut when he wiis warm he was torrid.
ST. KKANCIS ol \s>;i<i,
ST. 1-RANClS ol AsMM.
llv Kii.A 1'. Musiiv.
St. Fr.vxcis lived in It.ily in the thirteenth
icntun-, and founded the order of friars called
the Franciscans. He was noted for his piety, liis
hatred of all quarrels, and the jcreat kindness of
his heart. He loved animals, and was gentle to
them, even in an age when human life and sufler-
mg were of small account. He loved to wander
.ilone over the beautiful I'mbrian mountains, sing-
ing hymns that told of his joy in the light of the
sun and nwon. and of his love for the birds and
anim.ils, whom he called his " brothers and sisters."
It IS said that once he saw a number of birds
together, and, coming up, talked to them in such
gentle tones about God's care for them that they
did not fly away, but, waving their wings, looked
up at St. P'rancis with their bright eyes, as if they
could understand what he said ; and 1 have no
doubt that they did understand that he loved
them. When he walked in the fields, the sheep
and their young lambs would follow him ; and
even hares and rabbits would yield to his gentle
power, winning tones and looks, and, drawing
near, would nestle in his bosom.
One day, he was passing through a meadow,
when he saw one little lamb feeding in the midst
of a flock of goats ; and he was filled with pity,
fearing that they might hurt it in some way. He
longed to get the lamb out of danger, and wanted
to buy it and take care of it himself: but he had
no money. While he was grieving about it, a rich
man came by. and him he persuaded to buy the
lamb. The man then gave the timid little creature
to St. Francis, and it fed gladly from his hand, and
laid its head in his bosom.
Whenever St. Francis found helpless insects in
his path, he gently lifted them out of the way, so
that they might not be trodden on, nor injured.
The grasshoppers would alight on his friendly
hand and play their fiddles to him ; and at one
time a lark, whose nest was near his cell, and
who had Ixjcome used to his loving voice and
quiet movements, brought her little nestlings to
Ik." fed from his hand.
Perhaps we all might live on such kindly terms
with the wild creatures of the wood and field, if
only we should love them as he lovetl them. I
remember that the sparrows would alight upon my
father's head and hand while he was resting in the
porch, and the bees would walk about over his
hands without stinging him, although they wmil.i
quickly and fiercely drive away an intruder whom
they did not trust.
Nathaniel Hawthorne tells us, in his story " 'i'lie
Marble Faun," of a young man who hail taught
the dumb creatures in his native woods to love him
and come at his call. Hut afterward he h.ad llie
misfortune to slay a human being, and then the
shy animals fled from him, as if they had been
told of the crime of th<;ir formerly guiltless friend.
No doubt they felt the changed tone of his voice
and the restle'ssness of his movements.
St. Francis of .^ssisi loved especially the birds,
and of all birds he loved best the dove ; but many
beautiful stories are told about him and the swal-
lows that chirped and nested under the eaves of
his dwelling, of the multitudes of birds upon the
lagoons of \'enice, and of the nightingale that sang
near him at night. He once saw a young man
going to town, carrying some doves for sale ; and
he begged so tenderly for them that they were
given to him. He put them in his bosom, and
carried them home, wliere he made a nest for
them and tended them until they learned to eat
from his hands in perfect trust.
He had a friend, Antony of Padun, who was full
of the same spirit of peacefulness and loving good-
will. This man w.as an eloquent preacher, and in
his semions he told the people, who crowded to
hear him, about the gentleness and whiteness of
the swans, the mutual love of the storks, and the
purity and fragrance of the blossoms ; and he tried
to show how beautiful is a life of love and peace.
The country was full of wars, and quarrels, and
oppressions, but Antony bravely went among the
roughest men in the wildest places, to help the poor
and ill-treated, and to tell the truth to all. St.
Francis and he were wonderfully patient and lov-
ing toward dumb creatures, and believed strongly
in the good that the animals do and might be
brought to do. And so it w.is not so very strange
that people who knew them should believe the
pretty tale that these kind men preached to the
birds and fishes who crowded to listen to their lov-
ing words. Perhaps the story was not true ; but it
is true that all men should be gentle to the creat-
ures of earth, air, and water, as were the good St.
Francis of Assist and Antony, his friend.
It is ple.isant to hear of men Hke these, who, even
hundreds of years ago, were such stanch lovers
,n,i ,|,f,nf|.T- (.f Miir lowly fellow-creatures.
ss:
M A K V JANE.
[SBfriiMbbK
M A R \' J A \ 1-: .
li^ MAKliAKKI \ANDi:c.Kirr.
I llAVi: sakl it a j;ro.it many limes,
llul 1 think I will say it again ;
There is no one, except my mamma and papa,
Tliat 1 love as I love Mary Jane.
Antoinette has most lovely real hair.
And is dressed in the very last style,
But I somehow could shake her (and sometimes
I do!)
For her one everlasting old smile.
If 1 squeeze Baby Belle, she will cry —
Or she thinks so ; / call it a squeak —
And Dolores' mantilla is made of black lace.
And my pretty French Lulu can speak.
And she did n't so much as once squirm,
When .Mamma sewed them on, though 1 know
It must have hurt dreadfully — that 's how she
is !
She always considers me so!
.She knew 1 was ready to cry.
So she just held as still as a mouse.
If a needle 'd gone into me so, only once.
You 'd have heard me all over the house !
1 think I will put her to sleep ;
It is time little girls were in bed.
There, hushaby, darling, lie still in my arms —
You itn- sleepy, you 're nodding your head !
But who, of them all, do you think, Hush, hushaby baby, hush, hush I
Staid in bed with me when 1 was ill r Your mother is holding you tight ;
Oh, you need n't deny it ! She i/iil make a She will hear you, my darling, and hug you
face, right olT,
Whenever they gave me a pill ! If you wake uj) afraid in the night.
And 1 know that, whatever they say, I think — she is nearly — asleep !
It was hearing me gasp with that cough, Yes, precious, your— mother is — here.
And trying, the darling, to help hold my You can — go to sleep — safely — for she 'II— stay —
head, awake,
That made her poiir arms both come off. .'\nd — will — not — let — go — of— you — dear!
I \ \ \ 1 r K i; s w 1 1 \ : 1 1 I; I \ \ I . ,s 5
IN XATL'KKS \Vi ) \ 1 ) l! R LA \ I) ; ( ) R , A I > V I-". X Tl' R I'.S IN r 1 1 I-l
AM1;RICA\ IROIMCS.
liv Fki.ix L. 0>WA1.|i.
Chakier XI.
The Amazon is not quite the longest American
river, for the distance from the head-waters of the
Missouri to New Orleans is a little farther than
from Para to the sources of the Patamayo ; but in
breadth and depth the Amazon surpasses all other
streams in the world. The reason is this : while
the largest tributaries of the .Mississippi flow
through arid highlands, the valley of the Amazon
is covered with continuous and evergreen forests,
that yield more water for ever)' acre of ground
than our western sand-hills yield from a square
mile of surface.
When we first came in sight of the monster
stream, it would have been easy 10 persuade us that
wc were standing at the brink of a l.irge lake : the
opposite shores looked like a hazy, blue ridge, ris-
ing here and there above a Ix-lt of wooded islands,
many of them with hills and v.illeys of iheir own.
Sea-gulls flew up and down the shore, and in the
• See St. Kichola-
deep water, amid-stream, splashed fish that would
not have found much play-room in the so-called
"big rivers" of western Kurope.
The Amazon abound.s with sharks and sweet-
water dolphins, besides alligators, and those curious
creatures called manatees. — half fish, half sea-cow,
— fat, club-tailed monsters, with whale-heads and
hand-like flippers. These strange creatures already
have been described and pictured for you in an
early number of St. Nicholas.*
We stood upon a rocky bluff that would have
made a fine camping-ground, but our empty mess-
bag reminded us that we wanted to reach the Mis-
sion of San Tomas that day, and, if possible, in
time lo hire a sail-boac before night. Strange
birds fluttered about the tret>s, and seemed to
deliver the greeting of the Brazilian virgin-woods ;
among them were piping toucans and drumming
king-woodpeckers, with black «ings and yellow
heads; but »c restrained our hunting propensities
until we approached a reedy ihicket. where Knui'li
for February. 1874.
S54
1 N N A r U R li S \V O N U K li 1. A N U .
summoned iis with a bny that he never wasted on
small game. Wo had seen tapir-tracks near the
shore, and the boys entered the cane-brake at a
TIIK JACl'AR MEBT5 AN I'NEXPECTKD ENE.MV.
Joublc-tiuick : a young tapir was one of tlio tilings
we were most anxious to get.
"Come here, quick ! " cried Tommy, from the
thicket. " It 's worth while — two young pum;is or
panthers, 1 don't know which."
"What is it, .Menito?" I called out.
"1 can't tell," he replied. "They do not look
like pumas ; they must be jaguars ; but it 's worth
while. They are pretty big fellows, and this gives
us a chance to try our catch-net. Rough has treed
them where they can't get away ! "
The cubs or kittens had taken refuge on a little
pluai-trec, and they received us with hissing growls ;
but our catch-net was just the thing for customers
of that sort ; it w;is shaped like a butterfly-catcher,
but with a larger hoop, and instead of gauze, the
net-work was made of strong and elastic cords.
While we watched the tree, Menito fastened the
net to a pole, and, seeing him come, the kittens
seemed to take a sudden dislike to their perch ;
but they were too late. One we caught in the act
of jumping off, and the other was kept at bay until
we had time to attend to him. All their tricks
were in vain ; when they had satisfied themselves
that the net could not be broken, we pinned them
to the ground with forked sticks, and, putting on a
pair of buckskin mittens, Menito secured them
without endangering his skin, although they
^w,rl^■.■.l ili.ir , !.,«. u,fl, ,),-..„,.,■ ,1,- ,-n,.r..v.
" Hurry up ! " cried an Indian boy, who had fol-
lowed us from the road. " Here comes the old one
— look out ! " and almost at the same moment we
heard our dog rushing through the thicket,
with a howl of terror, straight toward the
river, as it seemed, for, in the next min-
ute, a double splash told us th;U pursued
and pursuer had taken to the water.
Before gunpowder w.is invented, hunters
were sometimes obliged to " run down "
their game, and I have often wondered
how they could manage it, for imminent
danger seems almost to double the swift-
ness of a fugitive animal.
Rough was by no means a good swim-
mer, but, when we reached the shore, we
saw him dash through the water like a
fish-otter, — not the lc;ist bit too quick,
though, for the jaguar was close at his
heels, and, to our consternation, the only
gun we had brought along missed fire, and
there was no time to run back to the road.
We gave up the dog for lost, as we saw
him make an ineffectual attempt to land
on a swampy reed-bank, while the pursuer
prepared to intercept his retreat. All at
once, however, the jaguar turned swiftly,
and, with a scream of rage, struck out to
get away from a place where a visible reddening of
the water suggested the explanation of his maneu-
ver. Some monster of the river-deep — a shark
or a gavial — had seized him from below, little
knowing that its sharp teeth would save the life of
another fellow-creature. The jaguar struck out for
the lower end of the island, and h.ad just strength
enough left to drag himself into the reeds, while
Rough paddled back to the shore, and, without
waiting to shake himself, raced around us in a
ver>' frenzy of joy that he had reached the land
unscathed.
" Will you let me carr)* that gun of yours,
please.'" asked the little Indian lad, when we got
back to the road.
" Never mind, sonny," said I. "What do you
want to carry it for?"
" I want to earn a quarter of a clollar," said he,
" to buy a picture of my patron-saint, so that I can
go to heaven, where they make butter-tortillas [a
sort of pancakes]. Butter makes them much mel-
lower, )ou know ; niy mother always fries them
with fish-oil."
" .All right," 1 laughed. " I will give you half a
dollar if you will show us the way to San Tomas,
and hunt up a good river-pilot. Do you think you
could find one.'"
" /W mi ft- saffra,1a [on mv s.acrcd word], sir,
I '11 .1.. il>.t ■• ..■.,! .1... I,,,!,, fellow. "Just come
.\u\ i;.\ ri- Kiis IN Tin: .VMtRicA.N iKorics.
855
along," — and he rushed ahead, ahnost' beside
himself with excitement, and, when we fmally
si(;htcd our destination on the ridge of a treeless
blulT, he pointed out the missionary's house, and
then ran down to the river to fulfill the second part
of his contract.
The kind friar took us to a store where we could
buy all the provisions we wanted, and then sent a
special messenger to the river, .is our little guide
had not yet returned, .■\fter an hour or so, they
both came b.ick, the boy crying .is if his heart
would break, and the messenger very sorry, .is he
said, to inform us that all the falucas, or sail-boats,
excepting one, had been hired by a merchant to
go up the river with a cargo of flour, and the one
going down had started the evening before with a
load of dye-wood.
"Whose is it? Who shipped the dye-wood?"
asked the friar.
" Moro, the .Mil Negocios [Jack-at-all-trades],
as they call him," said the messenger.
"Oh, you .ire .ill right, then, after all," s.iid the
friar. " I know him ; he always stops a day or
in your place, I should try to get something better
than fish-cikcs. Yes, run .ind tell the old man to
wait for us."
That seemed really the best plan, and .is
Cafiamo w.is only twelve Knglish miles from the
Mission, we decided to go down that same evening
and sleep on board of the faluca, in the open
river, where the mosquitoes would not bother us
so much.
.Master Moro, the Jack-at-all-tr.ides, proved to
be a quadroon from the West Indian Islands, and
the appearance of his faluca seemed to justify
his by-name. His c.ibin was a "variety store " of
dry-goods and hardware ; on the forecastle he had
a shoe-maker's shop of his own, and in the caboose
an assortment of all kinds of fishing-tackle and
harpoons.
Of his skill in the use of the harpoon, he gave
us a proof the next morning, when a school of
m.matees came puffing up the river. Before they
reached us, he slackened his tiller-ropes to muffle
the rushing of the keel w.iter, and when they
passed us, though still at a distance of thirty yards,
two at Canamo to take in a loatl of tortoise-eggs.
You can overtake him yet."
" Oh, yes I let me go ! " cried the boy. " I will
tell him to wait for you ; I can run down there and
back in less than four hours."
" Yes, you ought to," said Menito. " If I were
his harpoon went whizzing into the midst ol them
— and not at random, either, for the spear-point
struck the very biggest in the lot, through the cen-
ter of the tin into the bocly, thus getting a double
hold in the scaly skin. A dozen school-boys, kick-
ing and splashing in a pond, could not h.ive m.ide
856
IN NATLkES WONDERLAND.
more noise than that one manatee. It struck out
left and right with its clumsy tail, and spattered us
with such showers of water that it would soon have
turned the joke against us, if the skipper had not
hauled it alongside and finished it with a few blows
of a heavy oar.
It weighed at least three hundred pounds, and
we could have bought it for as many cents, but
we had no room for pets of that sort, so the Moro
lugged it to the next landing and sold it to the
natives for a car-load of bananas.
River-dolphins, loo, were following us in shoals,
though with all the discretion of their salt-water
relatives, to whom the ancient (Greeks ascribed a
more than human sagacity. They followed in our
wake, and played all around us in wanton mirlh,
but always just out of reach of the skipper's har-
poon, and their merry gambols were so entertain-
ing that we should have thought it a shame to
shoot them,
'•You were talking about tapirs, last night,"
said the skipper, when our boat skirted the swamp-
belt of the southern shore, " There is one, now, in
that bog ahead there ; not a large one, though ; it 's
a ' squealer,' as we call them, about half-grown."
"Why, that 's just what we want!" cried
Tommy. "Oh, don't!" he added, when the
Moro reached for his harpoon, "Could n't we
manage to get it alive ? "
" I believe we could," said the skipper. "Just
keep quiet a moment. It will take its time about
wading that bog, if we don't scare it. \Vc might
contrive to catch it in the water, or with my lariat
if it gets ashore,"
The bog was on a little island near the shore,
and was surrounded by a brake of matted bulrushes
that concealed us until wc almost intercepted the
retreat of our game ; for, just when the squealer
took to the water, the Moro ran his boat alongside,
and, swinging up his oar, dealt it a stunning whack
over the head — a death-blow it would have been to
any less thick-skulled animal. Even the tapir
staggered, as it attempted to land, and we hoped
the skipper would catch it in the water. Rowing
through tangled reeds is hard work, though, and
when wc finally gained the strand at the foot of a
ravine, the tapir had already landed and struggled
up the steep bank, " It 's stunned ; it can not get
away ! " cried the Moro, as he leaped ashore, lariat
in hand, " Quick, now — let 's head it off, before it
gets up to the top of that bluff! "
While we ran up the ravine, Menito scaled the
rock like a cat, and reached the top in time to
drive the tapir to the left, where the Moro soon
overtook it with his lariat. The second throw hit
it over the head, but a tapir has hardly any neck
at all, and, making a sudden rush, the squealer
h.id already slipped the rope over its breast and
shoulders, when the Moro pulled back, and the
rope tightened around the tapir's body. The ani-
mal was far too strong for one man to hold, and it
soon would have broken away, if we had not caught
the rope in time — Tommy and I first, and Menito
at the slippery end, where he had to twist in his
handkerchief to get a good grip, for the tapir was
now running down-hill toward a swampy creek on
the other side of the bluff.
" Hold him! Hold him, boys! " yelled the Moro
and we all tried our best, but so did the squealer,
and it soon proved to be the best boy in the
crowd. Ha\ing now recovered from the effects of
the blow, it fairly ran away with us all, although
1 dug my heels into the ground and braced myself
with all my might,
" Tfiigala — hitch it — hitch the rope ! " cried the
skipper ; but that was easier said than done. Not
a tree nor a bush was in sight, and the loose rocks
rolled down-hill as soon as we touched them, and.
to make matters worse, Menito suddenly let go,
being quite out of breath with laughing. The
Moro slipped, and, stumbling backward, knocked
the rope out of my hand, and poor Tommy alone
was unable to stem the tide of defeat. In spite of
Rough's barking, and the dreadful imprecations of
the skipper, the squealer now redoubled its speed
until it rushed headlong into the swamps below,
.A. spl.ish — and Tommy lay prostrate on his back,
while away went our tapir at top speed, Menito's
handkerchief fluttering in the rear like a pilot-flag,
Menito was almost choked with laughing, and the
affair w.as really too ludicrous to scold about it,
although the skipper insisted that we must pay
him for his lost lariat.
" It was all Menito's fault," said he ; " his laugh-
ing and hooting would have scared a saint, not to
mention a squealer."
On our return to the boat, wc found that the
little jaguars had broken jail and taken refuge on
the back of our old mule, whose efforts to break
the halter had almost dislocated her neck. Daddy
Simon was at his wit's end ; he had no right to let
our pets escape, but whenever he approached
them with the catch-net, their antics threw the
mule into a new fit of terror. The skipper, how-
ever, cut matters short by slipping his h.iwser, and
driving the cubs o\erboard when our boat was in
deep water, where we soon caught them with nets
and poles.
iTo h< tCHttHtUti,)
l8«l J
\ r 1 l; I 1 > r s r u \ I'
«57
A CL'UIOI'S TRAl'.
llV C. !•". Ilol.IlKR.
Amonc. th'- discoveries made recently in the
_;rci'.t dead sea of tlie West, were some gigantic
'vster-shclli, more than six feet long, each pair of
which once contained an animal that the average
lioy-reader of ST. NICHOLAS could not lift. In
iither localities, shclk of but one valve were found
riftecn feet long, and each of these was inhabited
!■>• a cuttlc-tish, that forced itself through the water
by a method like that used to shoot a rocket uj)
into the air ; and some authorities say that these
cuttle-fish attained a length of even thirty feet.
These long fellows h.id a long name, Orthocerotitc,
.ind they had a cousin, the Ammonite, which grew
.IS large as .1 cart-wheel.
Such were some of the shells of a thousan<l years
ago; to-day the only really large shell is of the
clam family. It is narrled Tritittciia i^iiiiis, and is
found in the P.ncific Ocean ; the length of its life
85S
K \ I' S " l>LES.
bciiiK ^.^'.- -i ^...i.., ,v..... ,> ^1 i..,...vvi
in the coral, and is fastened to the rocks by a cord
called the byssus, which is so tough that it can only
be cut with an ax. The shells themselves are six
feet long, each valve weighing more than two hun-
dred and fifty pounds : while the animal part often
weighs thirty or forty pounds. When alive, the
tridacna lies with its great valves ajar, capturing
any food that may pass within the scalloped edges.
A shark was once caught in this way, as shown in
Ui.- picture. Swimming along in search of food,
he unwarily passed into the door-way of the great
clam's house, his tail rudely striking the animal.
Like a flash the tremendous jaws snapped together,
squeezing the man-cater as if he were in a vise, and
rendering him utterly powerless. As the tide went
down, the shark's head appeared above water,
thnishing about and churning up the sea. The
hubbub attracted the attention of some natives,
ttho soon captured both shark and clam.
DUCKY 1).\D1)LHS.
By Helkn K. Mork.
Nelly stood in a pensive attitude, with her fore-
head pressed against the window.
" What is the matter, Nelly ? " asked Aunt
Fanny.
" Nothing," said Nelly, with a little sigh.
"Only, Aunt Fanny," she continued, after a
pause, " you 're all very good and kind to me
here, but, you see, I 'vc got nothing to pet. Now,
at home, there's the baby and (lip, — that's my
dog, — and two cats, and, 'most always, there are
four or five kittens. But here the old cat lives in
the barn, and the kittens wont let me come near
them. And Cinash, he just growls if I go past his
kennel ; and Noble 's no good — he 's so old and
lazy he does n't do anything but wag his tail, if I
pet him ever so much. 1 've tried to make friends
with the calf, but it just tosses up its head and
■frisks off. Even the pigs think themselves so
much above me they only turn up their noses and
grunt at me. So 1 don't know what I shall do for
something to pet and cuddle."
Aunt Fanny smiled at the story of Nelly's woes,
but she was sorry for the little girl, although she
could see no way to help her.
Nelly's home was in a town, and she was now
making a visit to (Irandpapa and Aunt Fanny, on
the old farm where her mamma was born. She
had had a fine time, on the whole. She h.ad
tossed hay in the meadow and ridden home upon
the load, behind the two great, meek, patient oxen.
She had hunted for eggs in the barn, and watched
the hens strutting about and clucking so proudly
with their bits of soft, downy chicks behind them.
She had explored every foot of the woods, and
found all sorts of treasures in the shape of flowers
and moss, acorn-cups and curious stones. She had
,-v.n l.:iiii.-,l L.tnilL :ilinl,- Iimi :,11 iliis wnm'.'ltiiu'
to be an old story, now, and she began to feel
homesick and forlorn, longing for the sight of her
mamma's face, and for the sound of the baby's
merry voice. If she could only have something to
pet, she would not feel quite so badly, she thought,
but, so far, she had wished for it in vain.
" Nelly, come out here," called Aunt Fanny from
the poultry-yard one morning, a day or two later.
Nelly ran out, and found .-Xunt Fanny looking at
something which lay at her feet. What a melan-
choly sight ! There lay the prettiest hen in the
poultry-yard, Downy Blucskin, on her back, stiff
and stark. How had it happened ? Nobody knew,
but one thing was certain, she was dead, and she
had left a miserable little brood of helpless chick-
ens behind her. Nelly looked at the little things
trotting about so busily, quite unconcerned at the
sad fate of their mother. Suddenly, she burst
into a shout of surprise and delight.
" Why, Aunt Fanny ! one of the chickens is a
duck!" she cried. "Just look at its funny httle
flat bill and the cunning little webs on its feet.
Oh, Aunt Fanny! If I could only have this dar-
ling little thing for my own ! "
Aunt Fanny laughed.
" It will need a great deal of care, Nelly," she
said, "but you can have it, if you want it. After
all, it will not be much loss if it does die under
your hands. I dare say it would n't have lived to
grow up, anyhow."
" Oh, .Aunt Fanny, it sha' n't die ! " cried Nelly,
eagerly. " 1 '11 take the very bestest care of it, and
it '11 grow up the pride of the yard — you '11 see."
Nelly caught up her "dear Ducky Daddies," as
she called it, and ran into the house. She made
for it a bed in a basket lined with soft flannel, and
fill it (111 Imli.iiiin. mI iml u.iiir. Rather to Aunt
DUCKV HAUULES.
859
Fanny's surprise, her care of it never relaxed, and
her interest never flagged.
'• I do believe Ducky Daddies is beginning to
know me," Nelly s;iid, one day. " He flopped out
of his basket, and waddled up to me on his funny
little feet ;is soon as 1 came into the room."
'■ .Most likely he was hungry," said .'\unt Fanny,
who could not alt at once bring herself to believe
in the affection of a duck.
Nelly was sure he knew her, though, and, after
a while, the rest began to believe it, too. When
he was old enough to wadtllc about at his own will,
no dog was ever more devoted to his master than
Ducky Daddies was to Nelly. Me had a soul
above his kind, and he scorned the companionshij)
of the common barn-yaril fowl. It was the funni-
est thmg in the world to see Nelly's queer pet
w.iddling after her wherever she went, and quack-
ing out his alTection, or lying patiently by her side,
with his soft eyes fixed upon her face.
Even the water could not tempt him away from
his little mistress ; but Nelly was considerate of a
duck's feelings. Twice a day, regularly, she
would take her books or her work down to the
duck-pond, and sit tlicre while Ducky Daddies
came when Nelly must leave tin- l.irin lo go back
to her town home. " What will be the best way
to carry Ducky, Aunt Fanny?" she asked, inno-
cently, the last evening.
Aunt Fanny's eyes twinkled, and she looked .it
Nelly's papa, who had come for her.
■' What is it you want to take home, Nelly?" he
asked, — "not that great drake? Oh, nonsense,
child ! You will have to leave it behind, of course.
You could n't take it, in the first place, and, if you
could, you would have nowhere to keep it after
reaching home."
Nelly turned quite pale with consternation.
Leave her dear Ducky Daddies behind ! The
idea had never entered her mind.
" Why, Papa, he would break his heart ! " she
exclaimed. " You don't know how he loves me!
It would be too cruel ! " Papa only laughed.
" I don't believe he will pine very much," he
said. "Turn him loose in the poultry-yard, and
I '11 engage you '11 find him fat enough for the
Thanksgiving dinner."
I suppose Papa did not mean to be cruel, but if
he had suggested eating the b.iby, it could hardly
have hliockeil or hurt Nelly more. Fat her
was taking his bath. How he enjoyed those
frolics in the cool water, so dear to a duck's
heart ! Nelly loved to watch him as he plunged
his head deep down and left his funny little tail
slicking straight up, or flirted the water over him-
self in a glittering shower. He always kept one
eye on Nelly, though, and, as soon as she stood
up and began to gather her things together, he
was on the bank without waiting for her to say.
"Come, Ducky ! "
So the summer went by ; but, at last, the lime
Ducky ! her darling Daddies ! Nelly burst into
a flood of tears, and rushed out of the room. Uut
Papa w.is inexorable, and the next morning Nelly
had to say good-bye to her pet, and then she walked
silently to the depot, and was whirled off in the
train toward home.
Nelly felt sore about Ducky for some time ; but
she was going home to sec all the dear home faces
and the dear old pets, and, after a while. Ducky
Daddies was almost forgotten.
Hut poor Ducky had no home faces to console
86o
i.ri ri.K j)t»KA s Nui.li.uijL\
him. Nelly had filled his whole heart, and, now
that she was j;onc, the world was a blank to him.
I'oor little duck! lie wandered about forlornly,
unable to understand the change that had come
over everythinj^, — no little mistress to be found,
with kind hand and tender words to pet and com-
fort him ! When he went up to the door-step in
search of her, he w.is driven away, and ordered to
keep in his own place. In his loneliness and de-
spair, he went back to the poxdtry-yard, where he
was hatched : but there it was still worse. In his
happv days he h.ul neglected his kindred, and
now, when his heart was sad and sore, they would
have nothing to do with him, but gave him only
unfriendlv quacks and sharp nips from their broad
bills.
" 1 declare," said .Aunt Kanny, as she watched
him waddling about, solitary and dejected, •' I am
dreadfully sorry for that poor drake. I have a
great mind to send him into town to Nelly, lie
will certainly die if he stays here, and he can't do
any worse than die there."
So, one day, Nelly, standing at the window, saw
a man with a covered basket in his hand coming
up the steps. She ran out into the hall to see
what it meant, for she recognized him as one of
Grandpapa's farm-hands. Such a queer noise as
there was in that basket, rustling and fluttering,
and — and — surely that was a quack !
•'Oh, it's Ducky Daddies! my own dear
Ducky ! " cried Nelly, kneeling down and tearin«4
at the string with fingers that trcmbkil ^(j ih.it
she scarcely could untie it.
They were a happy pair, that night, Nelly and
her dear old pet. Not so very old, neither, for
Daddies was not \et full grown. When Papa came
iKune and heard the story, he smiled a little.
Nelly had been trembling, every time she thought
of Papa, since Ducky came, and now she burst
out with what had been troubling her .
'• Oh, I'apa ! you wont eat him, will you?"
Papa laughed loud and long at the question, but
assured Nelly that her pet was safe from him. He
went further, when he saw how Nelly's heart was
set upon keeping Ducky : for he had the lower
part of the yard fenced off, and a large box sunk
.Mul tilled with water, to serve as a bath for Dad-
dies.
•■ As we are going into the business, we might
,Ts well do it thoroughly," he said ; so he bought
another duck to be a friend and companion for
Daddies.
Ducky had learned one lesson, at least, during
his separation from Nell\-, which was. that it would
be well to make friends with his own kind, in case
he should need them in future. So he received the
new duck amiably, and extended to her the hos-
pitalities of the yard.
And there lived Daddies, loving and affection-
ate to the last, but too deeply engrossed in fam-
ily and household cares to continue quite so
exclusively devoted to Nelly as at first.
I.ITTLK DORAS SOLILOQUY.
I TAN'T see what our baby boy is dood for, any-
way :
He don' know how to walk or talk, he don'
know how to play;
He tears up ev'ry single zing he posser-bil-ly tan,
.\n' even tried to break, one day, my mamma's
bestest fan.
He 's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor, an' gives us
awful scares,
.An' when he goes to bed at night, he never says
his prayers.
On Sunday, too, he musses up my go-to-meetin'
clothes,
.An' once 1 foun' him hard at work a-pinc'in'
Dolly's nose ;
An' ze uzzcr day zat naughty boy (now what you
s'pose you zink?)
Upset a drcat big bottle of my papa's writin' ink;
.An', 'sle.ad of kyin' dood an' hard, .as course he
ought to done,
He laughed, and kicked his head 'most off, as
zough he zought 't was fun.
He even tries to reach up high, an' pull zings
ofT ze shelf.
An' he 's al'ays wantin' you, of course, jus' when
you wants \ou'scIf.
1 rather dess. I re.nlly do, from how he pulls my turls,
Zey all w.is made a-purpose for to 'noy us little dirls;
.\n' 1 wish zerc was n't no such zing .as naughty
baby boys
Why — why, zat 's him a-kyin' now ; he makes a
drelTul noise.
1 dess 1 better run and see, for if he has —
boo-hoo ! —
Felled down ze stairs and killed his-self, -uluiln'cr
s-s-s'a// I do.'
I'ERl'liTUAL-Mo I 1 '^ ' \ M ES.
•^'M
Pki;(JY aiul Johnn
of a verse which is bciii
ikiiif,' part in ^^ tabkau-vivant. in ilUistration
[1111(1 nio cunain ;
Two merry children we. — Ihi! ha!
From the happy Fatherland :
Our hearts are light, tra la, tra la.
As blithely here we stand.
For who so gay as we ! " etc., etc.
l'i:Rl'l".TrAI.-.Mt< 1 lt).\ 1 AMES.
Hv John Trowbridgk.
THK l)oys at the boarding-school at Riverside
asked Robert Temple, when he first joined them,
whether ho had heard of Perpetual-Motion James.
Robert replied that he had not, for he knew no
one yet.
•• Nc\'cr mind," said little Philip Hrown : " 1 will
• ike you to his room sometime."
In a few days, Robert Temple reminded Philip
ISrown of his promise, and they went together to
visit Perpetual- Motion James.
"James is a singular boy," said Philip, as they
mounted the steep stairs of an old barn, which was
in an open lot not far from the boarding-school.
"Me has a workshop up here, and he does n't like
to do what the rest of the fellows do. He. is
always making something in his little shop. He is
an awfully smart chap," — Philip Brown's voice
subsided to a whisper, — " he almost made a flying-
machine once ; and he says it will go sometime.
He is now at work on a machine that will go
always, like a horse that never tires and never
needs hay. The fellows and the teachers laugh at
him ; but I don't like it in them. I don't see why
it is n't possible. James explains it to me clearer
than Mr. Hascom, our mathematical teacher, ex-
plains many things. But, somehow, when 1 leave
James, I can't tell it to any one else. There, hear
that l)cll ! James knows that we are coming, for
862
P E R P E T U A 1 . - M () T 1 0 N JAMES.
tlie fellows have plngucd him so thnt he has con-
cealed inventions all around us thai give the alann."
Robert, in the
jjliiom of the stair-
way, heard a distant
bell and the rattling;
of bolU.
" We must let
him know who we
arc," whispered his
companion, V or wc
shall have some-
thing on our heads.
He fixes a pail of water, which upsets by elec-
tricity when we tread on a certain stair. James,
it is Philip ! ' The cat is dead ! ' — That is our
watchword," whispered Philip to Robert.
In a moment they heard the bolts withdrawn,
and Perpetual-Motion James stood in a door-way,
through which the rays of sunlight illumined the
dark stairs where the young visitors stood.
Robert Temple saw a boy of about seventeen,
very thin and lank, with long arms. He was in
his shirt-sleeves, — his arms bare, and his face and
yellow hair covered with dust and cobwebs. There
was a look of annoyance and impatience on his
face as he peered into the darkness.
"What do you want?" he asked, gruffly.
"This is Robert Temple, the new boy," said
Philip. " He is interested in physics, and I want
to introduce you to him and show him some of
your wonderful inventions."
The manner of Perpetual-Motion James soft-
ened ; he even shook hands with Robert, and this
seemed to surprise Philip very much. The work-
with a work-bench, and supplied with \anous tools.
Parts of curious machines were lying in every
corner: in one, great wings of whalebone and
steel springs ; in another, complicated arrange-
ments of ttheels connected together. There was
a clock on the wall, which ran by electricity, and
there were various bells connected with wires and
magnets; indeed, the whole roof was a net-work
of wires. The only other inhabitant of the room,
besides James, was a little Skye terrier, which came
out from under a bench, sleepily stretching him-
self, and dragging a disjointed apparatus that by
some accident had become connected with his tail.
"Do you believe in perpetual motion?" asked
Robert, after he had been shown several pieces of
apparatus which seemed to him to be intended to
THE fEHPl'T
shop which they then entered was a low room
under the eaves. It had been filletl up by James
work always. His father had carefully taught him
the principles of physics, and had shown him why
perpetual motion is impossible.
"Why should n't 1?" replied James, with an
argumentative look. " I can prove it possible."
Thus saying, he pointed to a little apparatus
on the wall of the shop. This consisted of a large
wheel, delicately poised, and provided with a large
magnet near its edge outside the wheel ; and fixed
to the wall was another magnet, near the first. A
little screen w.ts fixed on the wheel, and was inter-
posed between the two magnets.
"Now," said Perpetual-Motion James, "when
the wheel revolves, the two magnets will attract
each other; but, just as they get opposite each
other, the screen will cut off the magnetic cfTect,
and the weight of the magnet will cause the wheel
to turn until its magnet is again attracted by the out-
side magnet. And so the motion will always go on."
The boys stared in wonder at the machine
" I wonder that such a simple machine w.is never
thought of before ! " exclaimed Phili|) lirown.
" Docs it really go?" asked Robert, timiilly.
"I have not found the pro|KT screen to cut off
r K R p t: T u A I. - M o r I ( ) N j a m i- s .
S63
the magnetism," replied James. " But 1 have no
doubt that I shall find one. The teacher of phys-
ics sa\-s there is no substance that will cut olT niat;-
netic attraction ; but 1 think there must be."
James then showed them his new perpetual-
motion veliKipede. lie had had a little model
made, but it was not quite completeil. Robert
wrote this description of it to his father :
" I think he U s^ng lo make a machine which will alwayi go on
the road* without horae*. or »tcam-engine^, or men's feet. It is
made in this way: There i* a long, hollow magnet, with a h.nlf-
cii\;le at each end : a large hall of something funny can t<ill from one
end to the other of the hollow magnet. When the magnet stands
upright, the magnetic pole of the earth pulls down the upper end.
The hall runs quickly to that end. and changes the magnetLsni of
the magnet, so thai what was before a north end now becomes a
south end. Then the magnet stands upright again: and thus it
turns over and over coniinually. A scat is arranged between two
of these hollow magnets, and Ls hung just as they hang steam-ship
Sghts, so that they never overturn, no matter how much the vessel
tosses. Wont it be jolly to ride on such a thing? You see. you
will go up and down, as if you were on a galloping horse — only 1
don't see how you are going to stop the thing. That is what
liuubles James, and he is now working over how to stop it. "
These were the thoughts that ran through Rob-
ert's mind as he heard James explain his perpetual-
motion velocipede. The boys could not see why
the thing would not work.
Perpetual-Motion James made a great Impression
u|X5n Robert Temple, who thought that James was
a much-abused fellow, both by the boys and by
the teachers ; for the masters smiled at his notions,
and often even punished him for w.nsting his time.
As they came away, both Robert and Philip voted
that teachers did not know everything, for James
had undoubtedly made a great invention.
In a few days, Robert received a letter from his
father, who w.ts a civil-engineer, and constructed
railroads, and also built manufaclorus. .\ part of
the letter was as follows :
"I am surprised that you have wi readily forgotten the principles
I taught you. Perpetual motion is not possible in this world. If
we should put a wnler.whcci under Niagara Falls, it would run
until it would wctr out ; but it is not i>crpclual motion to use the
force of water or the winds. We might put a steam-engine in a
deep mine, and use the heat of the earth to run it, and turn some-
thing at the surface of the earth continually : but that is not perpet-
ual motion, for we use the force stored up in the earth. A true
perpetual-motion machine must nm itself without the aid of any-
thing but what is contained in itself. Perl>etual- Motion James's
first idea with the magnet and the wheel would be periietual
motion, if it would run: but it will not nin, for there is no sulislance
that will cut off the attraction between magnets. I have written to
Perpetiul-Motion James's father, whom I know well, and told him
that his son is wasting his time trying to do impossibilities. He
should be learning the flr^t principles of physics."
•' There ! " exclaimed Robert Temple, as he read
his father's letter to Philip- " I'm afraid I 've got
Perpetual-Motion James into trouble. He says,
himself, that the world is down on inventors."
" Well, if the world really is down on inventors,"
said Philip Brown, '' the only way is not to invent.
But look at all the useful things that have been
invented, and that the world is gl.td to get, and pays
well for. 1 think, though, that on the whole, I
would rather have my lessons, and go on with the
rest of the felloNvs, instead of cooping myself up in
a barn, and trying to make something that every-
body says wont go, and that never can go ! "
Perpetual-Motion James is still at school at
Riverside, and Robert Temple and the more intel-
ligent boys have lost faith in his m.ichines ; but
Perpetual-Motion James continues to work secretly
over his velocipede. He can see how to make it go,
but how to stop it when it is once in motion still
puzzles him. When it goes and stops at the
rider's will, we will send word to ST. NICHOLAS.
864
THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E AS U RE - BOX .
[SErrEMBBR,
Tin-: ST. NICHOLAS TRRASURR-BOX
OF LITERATURli.
THKRK i>. a stirring poem in every school collection,
calleil " How they brought the goml news from Ghent
to Aix " ; anil not one of you who is fourteen years old
l)ut has read it many limes over. For it has the ring
and the fire of tlie true inspired ballad, and a gooil
ballad is like m.artial music to young ears. .\nd many
as arc the noted writers of England, no man or woman
of them all is better able to give us poems of this sort
than the strong-hearted poet of "How they brought
the good news from Ghent to .Vix." Robert Browning's
soul is quick to recognize the true and the brave in
human action, and whenever he describes them, his
words are seeds of fire. " Herv(S Riel," the poem we
give you this month, shows this quality of its author as
plainly as any of his other ballads, and, in reading it, vou
will .admire not only the simple Breton sailor who does
his self-im|K)sed duty so manfully, but also the manful
poet who honors the grandeur of the poor sailor's act,
and — that it may not go unrewarded — pays it the trib-
ute of his noble simg. Some of you may need to con-
sult your atlases to understand all the allusions — ami
so will read the poem twice to enjoy it fully. But the
story an<l the poets way of telling it will alike interest
you, we arc sure.
Nluch of Mr. Browning's other poetry, however, has
puzzled older heads than yours to catch its full meaning,
liut you hardly will find in all literature a more simple,
rollicking, .and entertaining story in verse than his " I'icd
Piper of I lamelin," a more touching and tender poem of
young life than " Evelyn IIoi>e," or a more ringing and
spirited ballad than " I lerve Kiel." So, write as he may of
deep subjects and in unfamiliar styles, he cannot be solely
the poet of grown-up students and thinkers ; but — whether
he knows it or not — is often a true poet of boys and girls.
Hkrvk Rii-.!.. — Bv Roiii-.Ki- Browninc;.'
On the sea and at the llogue, sixteen luiii-
dred ninety-two.
Did the English fight the Krench, — woe to
France !
,-\nd, the thirty-first of May. helter-skelter
through the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal
of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on
the Ranee,
With the ICnglish fleet in view.
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the
victor in full chase ;
First and foremost of the drove, in his great
ship, Damfreville ;
Close on him fled, great and small.
Twenty-two good ships in all ;
And they signaled to the place :
' Help the winners of a race !
('•et us guidance, give us harbor, take us
quick — or, quicker still.
Here 's the English can and will ! "
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and
leapt on board ;
" Why, what hope or chance h.nve ships like
these to pass ? " laughed they :
' Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the pas-
sage scarred and scored.
Shall the ' Formidable ' here, with her twelve
and eighty guns,
Think to make the river-mouth by the single,
narrow way,
• Rom, near Ia
Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft
of twenty tons,
And with flow at full, beside .'
Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs.
Not a ship will leave the bay ! "
Then was called a council straight.
Brief and bitter the debate :
Here 's the English at our heels ; would you
have them take in tow
All that 's left us of the fleet, linked together
stern and bow,
For a prize to Plymouth Sound ?
Better run the ships aground ! "
(Ended Damfreville his speech).
Not a minute more to wait !
Let the captains, all and each.
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels
on the beach I
France must undergo her fate.
('live the word ! " Hut no such word
Was ever spoke or heard ;
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck
amid all these —
A Captain ? A Lieutenant ? A Mate, — first,
second, third ?
No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete !
But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tour-
ville for the fleet,
A poor co.isting-pilot he, Her\'d Riel, the
Croisickese.
lUl.)
Till-: ST. NUIIol.AS IRKASl' ki:- HOX.
865
And " What mockcn- or malice have ».•
here?" cries Herve Kiel:
''Are you mail, you Malouins ? Are \.ii
cowarils, fools, or rogues ?
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me wlio took
the soundin^pj, tell
On my lingers every bank, every shallow,
every swell
'Twixt the otTing here and l^ireve, where the
river disembogues ?
.^rc you bought by Knglish gold ? Is it love
the lying 's for ?
(Ink let me Ic.'id the line.
Have the biggest ship to steer,
t '.ct this ' Formidable ' clear.
M.ike the others follow mine.
And 1 lead them, most and least, by a pass-
age 1 know well.
Right to Soli<lor, past ("iri-ve,
.And there lay them safe anil sound ;
.\nd if one ship misbehave, —
Keel so much .is grate the ground.
Why, I 've nothing but my life,— here's my
head ! " cries Her\'e Riel.
/■■>■ *k
J y Ml J
" ' %ntS TMEV KNOW I «.reAK THE TRITH I
Mom and eve, night and day.
Have I piloted your bay,
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of
Solidor.
Bum the fleet and ruin France? That were
worse than fifty Hogues I
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe
mc there "s a way !
Vol.. VIM.— 55.
SIKS, BELIEVE MS TIIKKK > A WAV !
Not a minute more to wait.
" Steer us in, then, small and great !
Take the helm, lead the line, save the stiuad-
ron ! " cried its chief.
" Captains, give the sailor place I
lie is Admiral, in brief.
Still the north-wind, by God's grace ! "
866
r . \ I c I K i I \ •
See the noble fellow :- LiLt,
As the big ship, with a bound,
Clears the entry like a hound.
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the
wide sea's profound !
Sec, safe through shoal and rock.
Mow they follow in a llock ;
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that
grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see ! is past,
All are harbored to the last ;
And just as Herve Kiel hollos "Anchor!" —
sure as fate,
I'p the Tnglish come, too late!
Out burst all, with one accord :
" This is Paradise for hell!
Let France, let France's King
Thank the man that did the thing!"
What a shout, and all one word,
"Herve Kiel!"
As he stepped in front once more,
Not a symptom of surprise
In the frank blue Breton eyes.
Just the same man .as before.
Then said Damfreville: "My friend,
I must speak out at the end,
Though I find the speaking hard.
Praise is deeper than the lips :
You have saved the King his ships.
You must name your own reward.
'Faith, our sun was near eclipse !
Demand whate'er you will,
France remains your debtor still.
I KICASL' RK-HU\.
Abk to heart's couu,.i ..,,*!
name 's not Damfreville ! "
lave, or my
Then a beam of fun outbroke
On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
Those frank eyes of Breton blue :
Since I needs must say my say.
Since on board the duty 's done.
And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what
is it but a run ? —
Since 't is ask and have, I may —
Since the others go ashore —
Come ! a good whole holiday !
Leave to go and see my wife, whom 1 call
the Belle Aurore ! "
That he asked and that he got — nothing more !
Name and deed alike are lost :
Not a pillar nor a post
In his Croisic keeps alive the feat .as it
befell ;
Not a head in white and black
On a single fishing-smack,
In memory of the man but for whom had
gone to wrack
All that France saved from the fight whence
England bore the bell.
Go to P,aris: rank on rank.
Search the heroes flung pell-mell
On the Louvre, face and flank !
You shall look long enough ere you come
to Herve Kiel.
So, for better and for worse,
Herve Kiel, accept my verse !
In my verse, Herve Kiel, rfio thou once more
Save the squadron, honor France, Invc thv
wife, the Belle Aurore !
It wa-s fitting that a poet of Mr. Browning's manly
fire and vigor should be niatcil wilh a wife who, besides
the advantage of a clear, thoroughly trained intellect,
possessed the delicate |)oetic traits and gifts of song pe-
culiar to womanly genius.
Elizabeth liarrelt lirowniiig was, perhaps, the greatest
woman-|MX-l in all linglisli literature. Dainty and
exquisitely wniughl as are many of her poems, we
have selected from them all the one which shows how
her strong; soul went out to the wretched and oppressed.
In "The Cry of the Children," she puts her indignant
eloquence into the mouths of lilllc ones whose suffer-
ings left them too wretched for words, and who yet,
through her, could reach the hearts of those who op-
pressed llicin. It sL-cms almost too terrible to he true
tluit men ever could \k willing to profii ).v il><- Inl.or of
cliililren, forced, for their very bread, to work from dawn
till dark, day after day, in mines and noisy factories.
Vet Mrs. Hrowning's "Cry of the Children " is no flight
of fancy, but the simple, ci-uci truth of not many years
ago.
.Mrs. Browning's poems and shorter songs treat of
many subjects; and throughout your life you will he able
to find soiiiewhere among them thoughts that will help
you lo l)c stronger and belter. But the selc-ctions will
he best made by yourselves, according to the need or
fancy of the hour. If you do not care for them to-ilay,
vou may to-morrow. Surely it is a ple.isant thing to
know that in the realms of literature pxxl friends
p.itienlly wail our coming — and among Incni ,ill, none
will give you better greeting than this most true, gentle.
I III-: ST. NICHOLAS TREASURK-B<>\
867
TlIK CkV OK IHK ClIM.DKKN. — ItY Kl.lZAIIllll I'.ARHiri I5R( )\VN1N(:.
Do \ K. hear the children weeping, O my
brothers,
Kre the sorrow comes with years ?
They are leaning their young heads against
their mothers.
And lluti can not stop their tears.
The voung lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest.
The young (iiwns are playing with the sh.idows.
The young flowers are blowing toward the
west —
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly !
Thcv are weeping in the |)lay-time of the
others.
In the country of the free.
Do vou question the young children in the
sorrow.
Why their tears are falling so ?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow.
Which is lost in Long Ago.
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost, —
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest.
The cjd hope is hardest to be lost.
But the young, young children, O my brothers.
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their
mothers,
In our happy Fatherland.'
They look up *-ith their pale and sunken
faces.
And their looks arc sad to see.
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the checks of infancy.
Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary;
Our young feet," they say, " are very weak !
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary —
Our grave-rest is very far to seek.
.Ask the aged why they weep, and not the
children ;
For the outside earth is cold ;
Ajid we young ones stand without, in our
'' wildering.
And the graves arc for the old.
True," say the children, "it may happen
That we die before our time.
Little .'Mice died l.xst year — her grave is shapen
Like A snowball, in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her.
Wiis no room for any work in the ch)se clay !
* Bom, in I.nnd<)n. tVa^ ; died,
From the sleep wherein she lieth none «ill
wake her,
Crying, ' <jet up, little Alice! it is day.'
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,
\Vilh your ear down, little Alice never cries.
Could we sec her face, be sure we would not
know her.
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes.
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in
The shroud by the kirk-chitne !
It is good when it happens." say the children,
" That we die before our lime."
.Abs. alas, the children ! they arc seeking
Death in life, as best to have.
They are binding up their hearts away from
breaking.
With a cerement from the grave,
lio out, children, from the mine and from
the city :
Sing out, children, as tlie little thrushes do.
I'luck your hnndfuls of the meadow-cowslips
pretty.
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them
through !
But they answer, " Arc your cowslips of the
meadows
Like our weeds ancar the mine?
Lea\e us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine !
' For oh," say the children, " we are weary
And we can not run or leap.
If we cared for any meadows, it weie merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,
We fall upon our faces, trying to go ;
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping.
The reddest flower would look as pale as
snow\
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal-dark, under-ground —
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the fiictories, round and round.
'Fur. all day, the wheels are droning, turning, -
Their wind comes in our faces, —
Till our hearts turn. — our he.ids, with pulses
burning.
And the walls turn in their pl.ices.
Turns the sky in the high window blank and
reeling,
Turns the long light that drops adown the
wall,
n Florence, July >9, iWi.
868
riii: sr. Nicholas trkasu re-box.
Turn ibc black flics that crawl alonj; the ccilin^',
All are turning, all ihc day, and \vc with all.
And all day, the iron wheels are droning;.
And sometimes we could pray,
' O, ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moan-
ing),
' Stcjp ! be silent for to-day!'"
Ay ! be silent ! Let them hear each other
breathinj;
For a moment, mouth to mouth !
Let ihcm touch each other's hands in a fri'sh
wreath in j;
Of their tender human youth !
Let them feel that this cold, metallic motion
Is not all the life (iod fashions or reveals.
Let them prove their living souls against the
notion
That they live in you, or under you, O
wheels ! —
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
(".rinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls, which (iod is call-
ing sun-ward.
Spin on blindly in the dark.
Now tell the poor young children, O my
brothers,
To look up to Him and pray ;
So the blessed One who blesscth all the others.
Will bless them another day.
They answer: "Who is God that He shouUl
hear us,
While the rushing of the iron wheel is stiired ?
When wc sob aloud, the human creatures neai
us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.
And 7i'e hear not (for the wheels in their
resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door.
Is it likely Ciod, with angels singing round
him,
Hears our weeping any more?
' Two words, indeed, of praying we remember.
And at midnight's hour of harm,
' Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber.
We say softly for a charm.
We know no other words, except "Our
Father.'
And we think thai, in some pause of angels'
song,
(led may |)luck them with the silence sweet
to gather.
And hold both within His right hand which
is strong.
'Our Father!' If He heard us He would surcK
(For they call Him good and mild)
.Vnswer, smiling down the steep world very
purely,
'Come and rest with me, my child.'
■■ liut no!" say the children, weeping faster,
'■ He is speechless as a stone;
.\n(l they tell us of His image is the master
Who coiTimands us to work on.
(lo to!" say the children, — "up in He.-»ven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we
find;
Do not mock us; grief h.as m.ade us unlx-
lieving, —
We look up for Cod, but tears have made
us blind."
Do you hear the childFen weeping, and dis-
proving,
O my brothers, what )c preach ?
For God's possible is taught by his world's
loving.
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you !
They arc weary ere they run ;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the
glory
Which is brighter than the sun.
They know the grief of man, without his
wisdom ;
They sink in man's despair, without its
calm;
Are slaves without the liberty in Christdom,
Are martyrs by the pang without the palm ;
.•\re worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly
The har\'cst of its memories cannot reap ;
.Ire orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.
Let them weep ! let them weep !
They look up with their pale and sunken
faces.
And their look is dread to see.
For they mind you of their angels in high
places.
With eyes turned on Deity I
" How long," they say, "how long, <) cruel
nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a
child's heart .'
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation.
And tread onward to your throne amid the
mart !
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heapcr,
.'\nd your purple shows your path !
liut the child's sob in the silence curses
deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath."
TKSSA. riiK 1.1 r 111-; ou anck-i; iki..
869
TKSSA. rni': i-irrij'. oranc i;-t.iKi..
Hv Mks. I-vnw Hakkovs.
All that sunny ;»ftcrni)on. little Toss;i sat un the " You poor little thing ! " s.iiil the lady, in Italian,
steps of the great church in the heaiiliful city of which she spoke perfectly; "here is money for
Naples, selling oranges. Her sweet Italian words your oranges — give them all to nie. Anil now
of entreaty dropped like a little song from her lips, tell nie. why are you in such haste to go home?
which sometimes tiembled with tearful earnestness. See, the sun is still shining on the great dome of
for her mother was very ill at home, and the money
received from the sale of the fruit, perhaps, would
be enough to bring the doctor and help.
Only a few oranges were left in Tessa's basket,
when a lovely looking American lady came out of
the church. In her hand was a great bunch of
the violets of Parma. Their delicious odor tilled
the atmosphere around her ; but not sweeter were
they than the lady's beautiful face, and violet eyes,
which rested, full of compassion, upon the child,
the moment her ear caught the pleading Italian
words, which, in English, would be : '• Sweet lady I
dear lady ! buy my oningcs of Sicily ! and let me
go home to my mother, and the good God will
bless you forever ! "
the church. It is yet early. But, come ; I will go
with you."
The child's large eyes were lifted up in astonish-
ment to the lady's face. A smile of gratitude,
that seemed almost breaking into a sob, parted her
lips. The joy of thus suddenly finding a friend,
and the grief for her mother, struggled for mastery
in her little bosom. She started up, crying, " O'ra-
cias signora carissima .' " and quickly followed the
lady down the steps of the church, her little, bare
feet making a soft pit-a-pat, like far-away echoes to
the other's steps, as they soon turned into a very
narrow and silent street. Then Tessa told her pitiful
story; how her father w.is lost in the cruel sea, when
out in his fishing-boat, during a wild storm ; how
S70
TESSA, Tin: l.lTTI.i; ()KANGi:-(il Kl.
her mother made and mended nels for their sup-
port, and the httle girl never wanted Ijrcad — and
sometimes, on festa days, had a bunch of grapes —
until a week ago, when her mother was stricken
down by a cruel fever, and could work no more.
Then her I'ncle Cola, who himself was very poor,
had bought some oranges, and given them to her
to sell. With the money they brought, Tessa got
more oranges; "and sometimes, Si^nora i/iin,"
she said, pitifully, "' 1 sell enough to give us bread.
But yesterda)- I was hungry ! oh, so hungry ! and
my poor mother grew so white, — so white "
Great tears started to Tessa's eyes. With tender
comp.Tssion the lady stooped down, and kissed her,
saying, " Don't cry, little one; you shall never be
hungry again, if I can help it."
It was now sunset — the glorious Italian sunset.
Tessa and her new friend hurried on, and were
soon in a very narrow, mean ?treet, which ran down
to the Hay of Naples. One of the miserable homes
stood a little back, and into this one Tessa and her
new friend entered. The next moment they stood
at the bed-side of the dying mother.
Yes, dying! Her fading eyes, which were fixed
with pathetic yearning upon the door, brightened
for a moment as Tessa flew into the feeble arms
stretched out to her. A prayer of thanksgiving
fell from the mother's lips, as the child, in a few-
rapid words, explained why the Signora was there.
Then some tearful, broken sentences passed be-
tween the mother and Tessa's friend, — piteous
words of farewell on one side, earnest, loving prom-
ises on the other. But what peace and comfort
those earnest, loving assurances brought to the
mother's heart ! for her little one was to be taken
by the Signora to that far-off, glorious, free Amer-
ica, where plenty ever reigned ! She was to be
loved and cared for as if she were the Signora's
own child. In the mother's dying moments was
this promise given and received. And not a moment
too soon, for a little while after, with a grateful
look, and a feeble pressure of the lady's hand, the
Italian mother went into everlasting rest.
Little broken-hearted Tessa ! She had to be
taken by force from her dead mother's side : and
for many days she refused to be comforted. " Oh !
madrc inia ! matin- mia .' " was her incessant wail.
But (iod is very merciful. lie softens grief as time
goes on ; and by and by little Tessa began to smile,
and put her soft arms around the neck of her new
mamma, — and soon she could say " mother," and
" 1 love you," and many other EngUsh words.
.And this is the story, so far, of little Tessa, whose
picture you have here. Who knows but some day
you may meet the pretty little Italian girl with her
adopted American mother?
-g»r7'
'V
^\)^0^!^0^^
liSi.l
A SONf. 'M' TIM"
871
WilKN morns arc freshest with enrly dew.
And birds pipe gayly from bush and trn.-.
WliLMi the crocus smiles 'ncath skies of blue,
And the violet lists for tlic hum of the bee;
Wlion thaw-winds blow from the sunny south,
And streams swell higher from day to day.
When maple and elm and birch arc budded,
And the butterfly hangs o'er the fragrant
May—
0\\, then is the time when we plant the corn.
And the golden kernels arc hidden from sight,
Hidden within the cool, damp earth.
Hidden awav from the searching light.
W'lien the Spring has gone, and the buttercups
And daisies are dotting the meadows green,
WlK-n the blue-bells are fringing the mountain-
side.
And the red rose blossoms, a royal queen;
When fields are greenest and skies are bluest.
And frolicsome breezes come and go.
When Berenice shines in the southern lieav'n
And Spica kisses the hill-top low, —
Tlien is the time when the corn springs um.
And stands with its tassels waving higli.
A splendid army in green and gold,
'Midst the bearded barley and emerald r_\c.
When the mountains are crowned with purple
mist.
And the apples glow 'mid the orchard's green.
When the grapes droop low on the clambering
vine,
And the morning air is frosty and keen ;
\\ hen the maples are blazing with scarlet flame.
The gorgeous flame of the quivering Icm' ■■-.
1 III. then do we gather the golden corn
And bind it close in its ample sheave-..
" gather it in, our priceless hoard,
l^ijiened and crisped by the Summer's glow.
! up to heaven we lift our thanks
i or this gift of grain ere the Wmter snow.
872
I II I I \i I \ N |i Til |- RliSC U E.
THH RACI-: A\n Tin: Ki.SCL'K.
1 II 1-
race was
between
the sloop-
uicht Flirt
' and I he sloop-
yacht " Sadie,"
both of New York,
and the two owners
made the ])ark-polieenian judge. Quite a nuinbcr
of young people had met to sec the race. There
was also a crowd of little fellows out with their
sloops and schooners.
The start was magnificent. Both yachts got
away under full sail, with every man on board
holding on hard, and the \vMcr pouring into the
lee scuppers.
Hello ! There 's quite a fleet of boats coming
down before the wind, right across the course !
And here comes a squall ! The owner of the
"Sadie" wished he had not set his flying-jib.
Ah ! ah I oh ! ! The squall has struck a fore-and-
aft schooner, and over she goes on her beam-c*ls !
I IR' rsc ilciiieiil IS tremendous. The crew miglit
fall into the water and be devoured by some fero-
cious cat-fish.
" Put out your boats ! " cry the boys.
" O-o-o-h ! " cry the girls, in the most sympa-
thizing manner.
.■\h ! The "Sadie" has changed her course,
and gone to the rescue.
It was the smartest nautical feat ever seen in Cen-
tral Park. The " Sadie " Iiad a low bowsprit, and
she rushed at the schooner and actually put her
bowsprit under the back-stay, and lifted the. masts
out of water. The schooner righted at once, amid
the cheers of all the crews, while the " Sadie " fell
off before the wind and started once more. The
" Flirt " meantime dashed ahead and won the racr
Here you see her coming in, all hands cheeriiii.;
Hut the judge looked very sober.
When the "Sadie" came in, he gave her the
prize for tlie noble manner in which slie had
gone to the rescue of the ship-wrecked schooner.
" Humanity," said he, with a wise nod of tlie
head, "is bettor than winning a boat-race."
M A S 1 !■: K 1 1 V I< A X .
«73
MAS ri-
IlN RAX.
\i\ IIINKIHIA II. 111. 1.1. nil.
I'NCI-K JoK was taking a nap in tl\c big casy-
chnir. Of course, he \v;is taking a nap ; for, first,
he hail shut his eyes, and then he had put a news-
paper bel'ori- his face, and then he had beyuii to
snore. He had stopped snoring now, but the
newspaper was there still, and he did not stir.
Harold and Violet were playing in the corner.
What were they playing.' What do children play?
It is so long since 1 was a child that I am quite
puzzled. All 1 know is that \'iolet had her doll, a
tine French lady, dressed in her best walking suit,
with gloves, and hat, and parasol, and veil all com-
plete, and a tiny basket on her arm, besides.
\'iolet had a b.asket on her arm, too ; and Harold
Ah, yes, I sec now. That must have been it.
Harold had laid a board across two chairs, and on
it he was arranging all kinds of things — a doll's
shoe, a heap of little pebbles, another of grains of
com, a few shells, a ball. Now you know, don't
you ? They were playing store, and very nice it is.
Presently, Harold had an idea.
"Violet," he said, "we have n't got half
enough money here. People in business need lots
of money, you know. Just you go upstairs and
bring down the bo.x of make-believe money, that 's
a good girl. And, while you are about it, just run
into the kitchen and bring in some coffee, and some
currants, and some rice, and a few tin bo.\es that
spices come in. Then you might bring a ball of
string, and a lot of paper — oh ! and Mamma's
letter-scales, and a few books, and — and — Well,
that 's all I think of, just now."
\'iolct was a good little sister, and she went off
obediently. The newspaper rustled a little, and,
if H.irold had looked, he might have seen an eye
peeping from over the edge of it ; but he did n't
IcKjk, not he. He w.is much too busy arranging
his store to the best advantage.
Just then, the door-bell rang, and Harold jumped
up.
" It 's .Mamma," he said, as he peejK'd out of
the window. " I wonder — .Mamma," .is the parlor
door opened, " did you bring the book I wanted to
borrow from Cousin Cl.ira ? "
" Oh, Harold ! I forgot all about it," said
Mamma. " I 'm sorry, but I had so many errands
to do that I could not remember it."
"Oil. dear! and I wanted it so much," grumbled
Harold, dolefully. " livery l)ody always forgets
what I ask them."
" Here .ire your things, Harold — all I could
bring, at least," said \iolet, coming l)ack with her
arms full, just as Mamma went out. " There 's the
cotTee in one paper, and the rice in another, and —
oh dear ! 1 must have dropped the currants.
.And there 's your string, and your box of money,
and a roll of paper, and three tin boxes, but I
could n't bring the books, nor the letter-scales.
Indeed, I could n't carry any more, Harold."
"Just the way," grumbled Harold again. "I
never saw anything like it. Nobody ever can do
what I want. They 'forget,' or 'can't bring 'em,'
or something. Just you trot upstairs again, now,
<ind bring down those books. Any old ones will
do. I want them for shelves. And, while you 're
about it, bring my little express wagon, and "
'■ Harold ! "
It w.is I'ncle Joe who spoke. The newspaper
was off his head, now, and he was sitting up and
looking at tlie children. "Harold, do you know
why the hyrax is witliout a tail .' "
Harold thought it was a very queer question, but
he did n't say so. I'ncle Joe usually meant some-
thing by his questions, and probably this one had
a meaning.
" What 's a hyrax? " asked Violet.
"A little animal something like a rabbit," said
I'ncle Joe. " Come here, and I '11 tell you
about it."
"But Harold wants his things," said \'iolet,
hesitating.
" Never mind about Harold's things, just yet,"
said Uncle Joe. "They can wait ; but 1 'm in a
story-telling humor, and that can't wait. Jump
up on my knee. So ! Harold, too. Now, then !
" Once upon a time, there was a commotion in
the Animal Kingdom. The world was not very
old then, not even old enough to be quite finished
off. Nobody knew that, though, until, on a certain
day, the King of the Heists issued a proclamation.
What 's a proclamation? Well, a notice, then.
He sent word to all his faithful subjects that if,
upon a certain day, they would repair to his court,
they would be handsomely finished off.
"'Finished olT'? said the beasts. 'Why, we
iirt- finished off. What more do we want? We
have teeth and eyes and cars and paws. A tail ?
What do we want with a tail ? Vou can't eat with
a t.iil, nor see, nor hear, with a tail, can you ?
Then, what 's the good of a tail ? '
■' Just then a tly slung C.oodman Ox on the side.
He leaped about a foot into the air, but the tly still
M A s r !•: K 1 1 \ l< A X .
stuck and stun^. lie tried tu Ijiush it off with his
foot, but his leg wns too stitT.
'•'Oho!' said Goodman Ox. 'Now I sec the
good of a tail — a nice, long, slender tail, with a
brush at the end. Ah, yes ! The king may make
his mind e.isy. I shall be sure to be there.'
" .And so said all the bc.Tsts; but nobody w.is as
anxious as Master Hyrax. Day and night he
thought about this wonderful tail. What kind
would it be? Would it be fitted to him without a
question, or would he be allowed to choose? And,
if so, what should he choose? Should it be long
or short, stumpy or tapering, straight or curly,
feathery or compact? At last he made up his
mind. He would have a long, feathery tail, with
a graceful cur\'c in it. Yes, that would suit him
"'Well, I don't mind,' said Lord Lion; 'your
tail wont be much of a load.'
" So M.ister Hyrax gnawed a bit of fur fmm his
breast, and Lord Lion took it and went his wa\-.
"Just as he was out of sight. Squire Wolf came
along.
" ' It 's as well to be on the safe side,' thought
Master Hyr.xx; 'perhaps Lord Lion may forget.'
" So he asked Squire Wolf, and Squire Wolf
promised, and took a bit of fur to match, and
went off. Then came Mistress Cat and Sir Fox.
and .Mr. Rat and Sir Dog, and Gaffer Bear and
(Jammer Beaver, and ever so many others. Every
one of them Master Hyrax stopped, and to each
he gave a bit of his fur, and each promised to
brin;' back a tail to match it.
best, he was sure. Then, having made up his
mind, he w.is quite contented.
"Now, if there was one thing Master Hyrax
hated more than another, it was bad weather. He
never went out in the cold, nor in the rain, but
behold ! when the great day came, it was cold and
rainy both. What was Master Hyrax to do ? He
thought and thought, and at last he h.id a bright
idea. He lay down at the door of his house, and
waited for the animals to pass by on their way to
court. Kirst came Lord Lion.
"'Oh, Lord Lion! good Lord Lion!' cried
Master Hyrax; 'when you go to get your tail,
will you ask for mine, too? — a fine, feather)' one,
not too curly, but just with a graceful cur\e in it,
if you please. I will give you a bit of my fur to
match, and it wont be much troiibl'' f"i v" '
" • I only hope I shall not have so many tails
that 1 shall not know what to do with them all.'
said M.ister Hyrax.
"On the whole, he felt quite comfortable, al-
though he h.ad given away so many bits of fur that
his breast was bare.
"'But that does n't matter,' he thought; 'it
will grow again ; and what a fine, useful thing a
tail will be. Better h.tve six than none.'
"So. then. Master Hyrax went into his house,
and curled himself up to sleep until his messengers
should come back.
" Lord Lion was the first to come, as he had
been the first to go; and Master Hyrax crawled
out to meet him.
"'Dear Lord Lion.' said Master Hyrax, 'did
v..„ l.rn..' !..v I.I!-'
.88..I
AI.KK IN WiiN 1)1. K I.A.N 1).
«75
" Lord Lion stopped, and looked down at him.
■■ • Your tail ? ' ho said ; " how could I remember
anything about your miserable little t.iil?' .And he
sauntered olT, l.ishini; his own line, new tail.
"Then came .Mistress Cat.
'•'tlood .Mistress Cat, did you bring my tail?"
"■ No, indeed,' said Mistress Cat. 'It is all I
can do to carry back the tails for my six kittens,
who were not big enough to go for their own.'
'• llyrax sighed, but he was not discouraged.
" ■ Did you bring my tail. Sir Fox?' he asked of
the next, but Sir Kox sniffed and said :
" ' I had work enough to get my own, without
thinking of yours. They wanted to palm otT a
miserable, skinny thing on me, instead of the tine'
brush that I had set my heart upon. I got it at
last, though, in spite of them ; and Mr. Rat has
the one they meant forme.'
" Mr. Rat, who came next, w.ns in such a bad
humor that he would not even answer M.aster
Ilyrax's question : but it was evident that he had
no tail about him, excepting his own. Master Hyrax
staid at his post until midnight, but not an animal
had remembered him. Sir Dog had lost the bit of
fur and had felt afraid that if he should bring a
tail it would not match, (iammer Heaver had had
all she could do to carry the broad article which
had fallen to her share, and ("laffer Hear was so
indignant when he found that Master llyrax had
asked all the rest of the animals, instead of trusting
to him .ilone, that he would not even look at him.
"•Selfish, l.;zy creatures!' said Master llyrax,
as he crept to his bed. ' That is the w ay they alw ays
ser\c me. I shall have to go myself, after all.'
" But, the next day, the court w.is closed. The
tails had all been given out. And that is why the
hyrax has no tail to this very day."
Violet laughed at the story, and pitied the woes
of the poor hyrax, but Harold sat still for a while.
Then he slipped down from Uncle Joe's lap.
"Come upstairs, \'iolet," he said, "and I 'II
help you bring down the rest of the things. Or.
if you don't want to go, I '11 bring them myself.
When we 're through playing, 1 '11 go over to
Cousin Clara's and get the book I want. I 'm not
going to be Master Hyrax any longer."
A LICK IX \V(>X1)1:R1..\.\1)
Hv M. M. I).
Sweet Alice, while in Wonderl.md.
Found a fine baby-brother :
She took him by his little hand,
.•\nd said: "We 'II look for Mother."
.Vnd siM)n they met a dolphinet.
Twice in a single day :
Said she: "How queer! you're waiting
yet !
Why don't you go awaj' .' "
Because," said he, "my ways .\ro mI,
And who are you, I pray ''
I think I'm Alice, sir," said she.
" But .Mice had no brother:
I can't quite make it out, you see
L'ntil I find my mother."
Then, low, the dolphinet replied,
" 'T is passing strange," said he,—
■ That mother, on my cousin's side.
Is next of kin to me ! "
And so they journeyed fir and wide
A family of three; —
And never on a single point
Did one of them agree I
S76
(Septemubr,
s.\ i/ri 1.1.0 iu)vs.
Bv W 1 1 I I A M (I. SronKAki).
C II AC 11. R .\II1.
RAiMHI.KKS AM> AN A^(;R^ liUI.I,.
The second week in May, as to wind and sun,
seemed especially prepared with reference to the
" kite fever." Andy Wright was the only member
of Mr. Ilayne's schoiil who, before the end of the
fever, had not been seen with a string in his hand,
looking up at something in the air, or running like
mad to " give her a good start."
On Friday afternoon, however, Charley Ferris
remarked to Will Torrance : " What do you say,
now, about to-morrow? — kites, or the Ramblers?
I shall ramble, anyhow ! "
" Well," said Charley, "1 've left my kite half-
way up the Presbyterian church steeple, so 1 '11 go
with you."
Joe Martin had not yet caught the kite fever, and
Otis Burr had been reading an article on geology,
so they two agreed to join, but Jeff Carroll refused,
point blank.
" 1 don't mind a gun," he said, " if I can have
another fellow along to carry it and do the loading,
but I 've a prejudice against breaking stone. It 's
State-prison work."
All others were equally beyond persuading, and
within an hour after their Saturday breakfast, tlie
self-selected four stone-breakers were pushing along
the old South road, up the beautiful valley at the
foot of which lay Saltillo.
There were four hammers among them, of
course, but no two were alike, and Charley Ferris
was especially proud of his own. It was a regular
long-handled " stone-hammer," just the thing for
breaking curious rocks, but it could not be carried
in his pocket.
Will Torrance had intended to take a bag, to
hold his prizes, but Otis Burr had persuaded him
to leave it at home.
" If you want to know how' it will be," said Otis,
"tumble a few hatfuls of gravel into it, now, and
caiTy it around the square. That 'II teach you.
Stones weigh something, nowadays."
Joe Martin was the first man to win a prize, right
in the middle of the road.
'■ Kock ! " said Otis ; " tliat is n't a rock — that 's
an oyster-shell."
" I can't help that," said Joe ; " we must take
Mr. Ilayne a specimen of everything we find."
"Look here, then," retorted Otis, " there 's a
big stone house, over yonder. We must all go and
lake a clip at it."
" Mow do you know it 's a stone house? "
"Can't I see?"
" No, you can't tell at this distance. Besides, it
is n't in our way "
" Here 's another, then," shouted Charley. " If
a brick is n't as good as an oyster-shell, 1 'd like to
■know why."
" ICvery one of us must have a piece. If .Mr.
Ilayne can tell us what kind of rock it is, let him
doit. That 'sail."
There were no rocks to speak of until, about
three miles south of the city. Will Torrance said
to his companions :
"Now, boys, for the hills I Over there 's the
(lien!"
•• What 's that ? " asked Otis.
" A big crack in the hill. I 've been there.
There is no end of rocks, and it is a great place
for a picnic."
Over the fence they went : but Joe Martin
stopped them, saying: "'It 's a stone-fence, boys;
we must hammer into it."
And, according to the rule, the stone-fence had
to suffer a little.
Otis Burr was the only one to secure any sort of
a prize from it; but he actually knocked out a
beautiful little " fossil" from a piece of gray lime-
stone.
" Hayne will call that by some big name or
other. I believe it 's a trilobitc."
" Bite what?" asked Charley.
At that moment something like an answer came
from the field behind them, — a deep, low-pitched
\oice, with a little something in it to remind a man
of very distant thunder.
" Hello ! " said Otis, " what 's that?"
" Nothing but a bull." replied Joe Martin. "I
don't care to try for a specimen of him."
They had walked on across the field while they
were examining that fossil, and were at quite a
distance from the fence they had pounded when
the bull undertook to speak to them.
" Boys," said Charley, turning about, " he 's
shaking his head."
" It sounds as if he were trying to scold us, too,"
said Otis. " That next fence is our best chance
for rocks just now."
" H.id n't wc better go back?''
" No, Charley," said Will ; " but we W better do
SAI.TM.I.O HOYS.
^77
the f.istest kind of rambling. Run ! — before he
comes for us ! "
It was lime to start, if they meant to do that,
for the bull w.is beginninj; to trot, and the Club
unanimously declared that he w.is growing larger.
Angrier he certainly was, for Otis Hurr had, un-
thinkingly, taken a red silk handkerchief from his
pocket to wipe the perspiration from his face, and
any bull alive would have taken offense at that.
On he came, and on ahead of him went the
Ramblers' Club !
.■\i first they stuck together pretty well, but the
t.dler Ixiys were the better runners, and poor
Charley Ferris shortly began to fall behind.
Bellow .ifter bellow, deep and thunderous,
reached his ears from the throat of his offended
pursuer, and the situation looked more than a
little serious. What could a Ixiy of thirteen, with
nothing but a long-handled stone-hammer, do
against a bull like that ? Not a great deal, cer-
tainly, and the other three would need all the legs
they had, w ith none to spare for him. They were
gootl fellows, however, and the thought seemed to
come to all of them at once that they must not
.nbandon Charley.
"Come on," shouted Will. " It 's only a little
way, now."
'• I say, boys." suddenly exclaimed Otis Hurr.
•• We "re done for."
•• What 's the matter?"
••Look! We can't jump that. It's deep, too,
and there 's no end of mud."
Ketwecn them and the friendly fence ahead,
there stretched the shining water of a deep brook,
which had been dug out for draining purposes and
was at least twelve feet wide. Charley saw it as
plainly .as the rest did, but the bull seemed to have
centered his wrath on the nearest invader, so the
other three turned and ran for a point farther
along the bank of the brook.
.•Ml at once, Will Torrance shouted, " Bridge !
There 's a bridge ! "
But it wiis impossible for Charley to reach it.
•• Dodge him, Charley ! — Boys, hold up. We
must light that bull."
•' I 'm in, Will," said Otis Burr, promptly, and
Joe Martin turned in his tracks at the word, and
the three faced the enemy.
But it would have gone b.idly with Charley if it
had not bcc-n for his short legs and the hurr)' the
bull w.is in. Right on the bank of the brook, with
the bellowing brute h.irdly ten feet I>ehind him,
and galloping: hard. Charley suddenly stopped, lie
was not a ginxl swimmer, the brook was deep, the
water was cold, he could not jump it, but he knew
he was a good " dodger."
So he stood still, faced right .ibout, and
"dodged." That w.is one thing the hull cmild
not do ; at Ic.ist, not just then, lie w;ustoo heavy,
too cluinsy, and he w.is going too fast. Me could
neither halt nor turn, anil on he went into the
water, horns, anger, body and all.
"Quick, Charley, give-me your stone-hammer! "
shouted Otis Burr. " I understand cattle. The
rest of you make for the bridge. "
But they refused to leave Otis until they should
have seen the result of his daring experiment.
The bull w.is cooled off by his sudden bath, an<l
when he turned around and tried to get out again,
he found himself sinking and floundering in a way
which could hardly h.ive been comfortable. And
that was not the worst of it, for his head no sooner
came within reach than a sharp rap with a hammer
came down upon his nose, a tender place with ani-
mals of his kind. It was of no use to bellow now.
He w.-is in the mud, and the red-haired boy on the
bank had the long-handled hammer. Another
rap, and another, in quick, severe succession, and
then Otis watched him for a moinent.
" Boys," he said, "don't you hear? There was
sorrow and repentance in that last bellow He
wont ch.Tse any more Ramblers' Clubs to-day.
He 's had all he wants. We need n't run an inch.
Walk right along toward the bridge."
Even a bull can understand some things. If there
had been any fun for him in chasing a parcel of
frightened Park boys, there was none at all in
standing there in cold mud and water to h.ave his
nose pounded. Otis was right. There was no
more " follow " in that bull. Still, it had taken
some pluck to use the hammer, and the Club was
ver)- proud of itself.
The little bridge was reached without delay,
although the boys did not run, and the next fence
was not worked for "specimens."
" It will be time enough when we get to the
Olen," remarked Otis. " I stuck to my fossil. If
we 'd had many more rocks in our pockets, the
bull would have caught us."
" You ran splendidly, Charley." said Joe; "but
it W.IS nothing to the way you dodged."
" I had to be quick; but it was the best kind of
a trap, and I 'm glad I brought that stone-ham-
mer."
A good share of the victory over the bull did.
indeed, belong to Charley, and nobody cared to
dispute his title to it.
A careful look was given to the contents of that
next field, and it was not unpleasant to discover
that the only dangerous wild be.asts in sight were a
fl(x:k of sheep, who were turning what tails they
had. with one accord, and running their best away
from the Ramblers' Club.
It w.Ts uphill then, and into a patch of dense
878
SAI.TII.LO BOYS.
[Sbptkudes,
HODtk; and Will proved a yood k"''''-'. for he
shortly exclaimed. " Here we arc, boys!"
•• I km.w ih.1t," replied Oiis. " Wc 're here,
Inii where 's your wonderful ^jlcn r "
■' I don't sec it," added Joe.
"That 's the beauty of it. Nobody would be-
lieve it could be here. Come right alonR. Slow,
now; just beyond those trees. Look over."
•■ Can't see much."
'■ Hold on by the bushes, and slip along down
with me. There 's an easier place farther up. hut
this will do."
They followed him, clambering, and clinging.
and picking their way, nearly forty feet down an
almost perpendicular, or, as Otis Burr said,
".awfully slantindicular." side of a chasm, the
nearness of which nobody would have suspected.
It w.is just the place for a man to tumble into, if
he tried to cross those woods in the dark ; but not
a great many people were likely to do that.
The boys were at the bottom now.
"This is the Glen," said Will. "It makes a
bend yonder, and it gets deeper and deeper."
" Where does it lead to?"
"Out into the valley below; but it's rougher
than this down there."
And so they found it. Here and there it
widened, as well as deepened, and its rocky sides
were shelving, or, "more than perpendicular,"
while great masses of rock arose in the center of
it, to be climbed over and wondered at by the
members of the Ramblers' Club. Not one of
them could think of any other possible use for all
those ragged piles of pudding-stone, or the out-
cropping ledges of limestone below. Now was
the time for hammers and specimens, and cver\
pocket in the Club was filled.
Chafik.k X1\'.
kitis am) (ikoi.or.icai. specimens.
The other boys were mistaken about Andy
Wright and his lack of interest in the kite busi-
ness. He had caught the fever more severely
than any of them, but he had said nothing about
it. He had owned a good many kites in his time,
of the sizes antl patterns the rest of the boys were
flying, and he had determined on something
better.
"The Chinese do wonderful things with kites,"
he said to himself. " I 'm as good as a Chinese, I
think; let 's see what I can do."
He was hardly likely to rival the best kite-
maker, in the world, but it was worth while to try.
His (".reck and his other work could not be
allowed to suffer: but Andy was an industrious
fellow, and he was wise enough to employ a little
professional help ; that is, he hired a carpenter to
plane out some of his sticks for him, so that they
would be exactly even.
By the middle of the following week, he was
ready to say to Otis Burr ;
" I am gomg to have Jack Roberts and Will
Torrance, and some of our boys, come and help
me send up a new kite, this evening. Will you
come ? There 's likely to be a good wind."
Of course he would come, but it seemed a queer
idea to be sending up a kite after dark, when
nobody could see it.
It was not quite dark when they all assembled,
and Andy seemed in a little of a hurry. " I must
get it up now, boys," said he. " I 'm afraid the
wind w ill go down. Help me into the Park with
it."
" Into the Park ? " thought the boys. " There 's
no chance there for a run with a kite." They
hardly guessed what he could mean to do.
Jack went into the back yard with him, and in a
minute more they came back with Andy's kite.
" Is n't that a whopper ! "
" Why, it 's six feet high ! "
" Six feet .and six inches," said Andy. "It will
take more than one of us to hold it."
" You '11 have to put on half a mile of tail."
" No; I 've calculated the balance. It will stand
straight. All that a kite-tail docs is to balance."
-Andy's kite was a big one, and every corner of
it spoke of the care and patience with which he
had put it together.
" It 's worth a pile of kites like mine," said
Charley Ferris.
"But, Charley." said Otis Burr, "wont it t.ake
your pet bull to hold it?"
"It will t.ake strong twine, anyhow."
Andy had several balls of that ready, and Jack
Roberts brought along a big covered b.asket, the
contents of which were not mentioned to anybody.
The park was free ground to those who li\ed in
the neighborhood, only that it w.as generally for-
bidden to the boys for play purposes. They would
soon have done away with its grass and shrubbery
if they had had the free range of it.
The wind w.as from the south, so the kite was
carried to the southern end of the open sjiace.
They had not long to wait, for .Andy h.ad
planned every part of his experiment. There
was no " running" to be done: only Jack Roberts
had to keep hold of the somewhat heavy tail, and
steady the kite as it rose from the ground.
Just before it started, Andy fastened something
at the head of it, and another something at the
middle, right on the cross-pieces, telling the rest
SALTll.l-U liUVS.
S79
ni ilu- ii.iysto si.nul back. Then he scratched .1
lucifcr match, .bi if he were hghtiiin somctliinj; ;
and then he did some more " hitching on" at the
corners of the kite. Up it went now. slowly at
tirst. and then faster and faster; and the whole
crowd broke into a round of cheers. The bij; kite
had one |xi|)cr lantern at its head, another at the
end of each arm, and another in the middle, each
with a lighted h;df-candle in it. That was some-
thing to cheer for, and other boys, and men, too,
came springing over the fence to see ; and the
people came to the doors and windows of the
neighboring houses, and the big kite went up
higher and higher, as steadily as if it had been a
sliip at sea. But it could not help rocking a little.
It began to pull hard, and Will Torrance and
Otis Burr both kept hold of the strong hempen
twine as they let it out hand over hand.
" Not so fiist, boys I " s;iid .Vndy. " Does n't
she sail ? We sh.ill be able to see her, no matter
how high she goes ! "
Andy had a right to be proud of his success;
but he was not at the end of it yet. When the
first ball of twine was nearly out, he spliced on the
end of the second, very carefully.
"What 's that for? Wont it hold if you just tic
it ? " .Tsked Charley.
" There must be no knots to stop my travelers."
"Travelers! You could n't see them twenty
feet off ! "
" You wait."
The b.isket lay near to Andy, and he now took
out several large, round pieces of stiff pasteboard,
with round, inch-wide holes in their centers. There
were slits cut in them, so that they could be slipped
over the twine, and the slits were tied up again
after that was done.
" Those arc your travelers? "
" Don't be in a hurry. I 'II send up one at a
time."
"Stand back, lx>ys," said Jack. ".Something
more 's coming."
When that "traveler" went off. along the string
of the kite, it carried a brilliant paper "Chinese
lantern " dangling below it. There was another
cheer then, for not one of the boys had ever seen
that thing done before.
Will and Otis were quite willing, now. to twist
that twine around the nearest post of the fence,
and rest their fingers.
" Does n't it tug, though ? "
" It can't break that twine."
" It would carry another ball of it."
" That 's high enough for to-night," said .Andy,
as he put on a second tr.ivclcr. "This is only an
experiment. We '11 do something better with it,
next time."
" If wc ever get it down again," quietly remarked
Oils Burr.
The kite was at a great height, now, and the
wind was getting pretty fresh.
" It 's about time to pull in," Andy said, at last,
but Jack almost instantly exclaimed : " 1 say,
.•\nily. w hat has happened ? "
The kite lanterns had been giving only a feeble
and star-like glimmer, up to that moment, but now
there suddenly fl;ished out a great flare of light,
all over it.
" She 's afire ! " shouted Charley.
The middle lantern candle had flared against its
wall of oiled paper, and the whole concern w.is in
a blaze.
"Pull in, boys, pull in! Wc shall be setting
somebody's house on fire. Pull as f:ist as you can ! "
It was no time for careful winding up of twine,
and the "pulling in" grew only too e.nsy .'is the
boys hauled on, arm over arm. Down she came,
fast and faster, and the traveler lanterns danced
.about wildly in all directions.
" The cord 's afire ! " cried Jack.
That was the end of it ! The frame of the big
kite fell, nobody knew where, and in a minute or
so more, the burned and blackened end of its use-
less string was pulled in among the disappointed
Park boys.
"1 '11 build a bigger one," said Andy. " I shall
know better how to rig my lanterns next time."
" That was the biggest kite ever sent up in Sal-
tillo," said Charley. " And we 've saved nearly
all the twine." That was something, .as the twine
was the most expensive part of the experiment.
There was little fear now that the " kite fever"
would not last out the season, but the day of small
kites had gone by.
For some reason or other, the Ramblers' Club
had postponed making their intended " report " to
Mr. Hayne, and it was not until the day after the
burning of the great kite that he even knew they
h.ad been on an expedition. It came out acci-
dentally, while he was telling them something of
the wonderful kites of the Chinese. It was just
.after school, and there w.ts enough excitement in
the occasion to stir up the boys to make remarks.
"I have heard," he said, "that some of their
kites are in the form of birds, animals, monsters of
every kind. How would you like to see a herd of
cattle floating in the air ? "
" Charley Ferris would," said Joe Martin. " He
set ;i bull afloat, last Saturday."
" Not in the air ? "
" No, sir." And Joe felt bound to explain him-
self. Will Torrance added :
" That bull's nose was the only thing Otis Bun-
hammered without getting a good specimen of it."
8So
SAl.TII.l.ii mi\ >.
■■ Vim brmiyht lioiiio scune specimens, then ?
Where are ihey ? "
" Mine are in my desk. 1 think the other boys
have theirs s;ife, too."
They were a little reluctant to hrin^ them out.
It .seemed as if those bits and chips of stone could
have very small interest in them, but the boys
found out their mistake before the end of Mr.
Haync's explanation.
Joe Martin had forgotten all about his oyster-
shell, and his face turned as red as tire when ho
saw it picked up and exainined.
" Interesting;, certainly. This is from your lot.
Mr. Martin ? "
" Yes, sir. "
" Well, this time, all it means is that there are
oyster dealers in Saltillo, but just such shells as
that have told a great deal to men of science, when
they were found a long distance from where the
sea now is. They said, very plainly, that the sea
had been there at some former time. Oysters can
talk, to some men."
That put Charley Ferris in mind of his piece of
brick. Mr. Hayne came to it just after he had
finished .admiring and explaining the fossil.
" Rock!" he said, with a smile. " Now, Mr.
Ferris, the oyster-shell could tell about the sea.
What is the story told by this specimen of yours?"
" Brick-kiln, sir."
" That 's it. Men at work on the earth. Old
bricks have had whole histories to tell. We must
have an hour for that some day. What 's better,
you may write an essay on old bricks, and Joseph
Martin another on oyster-shells."
"Caught, both of you," whispered Otis.
" And Mr. Burr," continued the smiling teacher,
" may give us an essay on cattle."
" You 're hit, too, Ote," said Will. " I want to
hear that essay."
" And Mr. Torrance may give us an essay on
his Cilen, explaining how it came to be where it is.
You may make them leading articles in the next
numbers of your newspapers. I think your long
ramble has been quite a success."
" We did n't get one little joke upon him," said
Charley, when they w^ere once inorc b)' themselves.
" It 's a little on us," said Joe, " but if he does
n't know how to deal with boys, I 'd like to know
who docs."
He knew a piece of brick and an oyster-shell.
when he saw them, at all events, and he knew
what was good for the boys who brought him
" geological specimens " of that kind. The whole
school had the story of the bull and the rocks on
their tongues' ends for a week, and it would be a
good while before the Ramblers' Club wtiuld hear
the last of it.
" Next time," said W ill, " we shall have to inake
a ramble of ten miles and back. That '11 be tall
walking, you know, and nobody will have anything
to laugh at."
•'Ten miles," groaned Charley Ferris, "and
nothing at either end of it ? Well, I '11 go, but
let 's wait a ueek or so. 1 want to get that bul;
out of my mind.''
The rest declared their readiness also, but, like
Charley Ferris, they were all willing to wait.
Chaitkk -W.
follow mv i.k.mif.k.
May was passing rapidly.
Andy Wright's second kite was a success, and so
were his tissue-paper balloons, only that while the
former came home again, the latter refused to be
whistled back.
There was a sore spot in the feelings of Will
Torrance. Those four ''essays" by the members
of the Ramblers' Clul) did not add exceedingly to
the glory of that institution, and his associates were
a little inclined to charge their ill-fortune to him.
They were good-natured about it, but bulls, bricks,
oysters, and even hammers, were made unpleasant
to him. it set him upon a course of thinking.
If there was one thing the Park boys always went
into with zeal, it w.as " follow my leader." It wx->
apt to be an after-supper affair, and this w.is ju^t
the season for it ; almost as good as October.
Jack Roberts made a good " leader," and that
position came to him oftener than to anybody else,
but each of the more active boys was sure of hi^
turn.
Once a fellow was leader, it was a point of honor
for every other boy who went into the game to fol-
low him, no matter where he might go. Jack had
led them over the roof of a house and down the
other side, by a single piece of timber, and Otis
Burr had led a dozen of them into a big horse-
chestnut-tree, like so many monkeys, before he
scrambled out on a lower limb and dropped to the
ground. The only wonder w.as that none of them
had ever broken their bones or their necks, for it
was the ambition of every leader to find out some-
thing nobody had led thein into before, and they
generally made out to do it.
Will waited and waited, and it might have l)ecn
remarked of him that he was getting more and
more fond of say ing how mean it was for a boy to
" back out." Of course the rest agreed with him,
and the " law " of the matter grew very rigid.
His turn came, one day, just after supper, when
more boys than usual were gathered at the F'ark
end, and there was a unanimous vote for him.
iMl.)
SAI/ril.l.O HOYS.
88 1
" It 's Will's tun>," said Jack. " He has always
followctl first rate. Now let 's see how he will lead
off."
•• Don't worry nbout me. .Ml 1 'm afraid of is
that some of yoii will b.ick oiil," remarked Will.
There was a perfeet chorus of declarations that
on no .account woulil one of them falter.
"Come on, then !" cried he.
Right across the Park he led the way, but that
was almost a matter of course. Up the ne.\t street,
o\-er a fence, across yard after yard, amid a con-
stant succession of barking dogs and shouting
be, and over this they followed. They had done
more perilous things than that before, for they all
could swim, and there was nothing dreadful in a
mere ducking on a warm evening. Still, they
could not help thinking it was time for Will to
turn, only no one boy cared to be the first lo say so.
"He's heading for the Tamarack Swamp,"
exclaimed Charley Ferris. "Joe, do you know
where he 's going ?"
" Follow my leader! " shouted Will, .as he went
over a fence into a piece of plowed ground.
They were fairly out of the city now, and it
> -cc^^
FERRIS DODGES THE BILL.
househuldera ; but they h.id been through that
before, and all they wondered at was when he
would make a turn and "circle around" toward
their own neighborhood. That was just what he
did not mean to do, but he said nothing about it.
Straight on he went, over the railway track, through
a thinly settled neighborho<Kl, and then came the
canal.
"Are you going to swim it?" .isked Jack
Roberts, .as he took a look ahead.
" Follow my leader !" was all the reply he got,
and, in another minute. Jack saw all there was of
a new bridge which had been begun a few days
before. A single "string-piece" lay upon the
brcczy-looking skeleton of the bridg-'-tlitt-u i^ i.i-
VOL. Vm.-;6.
was growing dusk. In fact, it would have been
lonely work for any boy of them to set out for
home alone.
" 1 say. Will," at last inquired Otis Burr, as he
pushed alongside. " Do you know where you 're
taking us ? "
"Follow my leader," sternly responded the
temporary captain ; " this crowd is the Ramblers'
Club, to-night. I 'm bound for Jinksville, and back
home by way of the old stone-quarry. It 's only
twenty miles. We 'II get through in time for
breakfast. Follow my leader."
" Well, no, not to-night," said Otis. " You 've
taken the laugh out of them. Will, Init 1 shall want
to go to bed, by and by. I say, boy-., ilms .tny of
88:
SALTILLO BOYS.
you want to say anytlung more about bulls, and
ducks, and stonc-hammcrs. and that sort of thing?"
There was no answer.
" Because, if you do, you can just trot on after
Will Torrance. I 've rambled enough, for one
evening."
" So have I," said Jack Roberts. " Head about,
Will. You can go through anything you want to
on your way home. Always excepting Jinksville
and the stone-quarry."
"All right, then. Follow my leader! How
about the brick and the oyster-shell, boys ? "
They were a panting and speechless company,
and their leader took pity on them ; but not a
great deal, for they had to follow him to the canal
locks, and make their way to the other shore by
way of a boat that was "stuck" against the banks,
just below, after a fashion that made them vow
it would be Will's last chance to drag them into
that kind of scrape.
It was a rough way home, and it was so late
when they again touched the Park fence that every
boy of them had to give an account of himself at
home for staying out until that time of night.
" I don't mind," said Will to Otis; " the whole
school, pretty nearly, belongs to the Club, now.
They 've all had a ramble, too."
" 1 don't complain," said Otis. " But 1 '11 tell
you what. Will, 1 'm warm. That puts me in
mind; Oneoga Creek is getting the chill off. Let 's
all go out to the Big Hole on Saturday evening, for
a swim. Some of the boys have been in. Brad
and Tom Lang have tried it twice."
" If they 're around the Big Hole to-morrow,
we must look out for tricks," said Will. " They 'd
like to play something on us."
The two Langs were nowhere to be seen, the
next Saturday afternoon, when about half of Mr.
Hayne's school set out together for the " Big
Hole."
Oneoga Creek was no great stream, as far as the
quantity of water in it was concerned, nor for its
fish, nor even for its beauty, but a little more than
half a mile out of town it had scooped for itself a
deep basin. It was a retired and shaded spot, with
bushes as well as trees on the banks ; just the place
for bathing ; and the owner of the land had given
the boys free passage to it through a path that was
now well beaten by use. It would have been quite
a calamity to the boys of Saltillo to have had the
Big Hole taken from them.
The party from the Park, that Saturday, were on
the watch, as they walked along.
" There are the Langs," said Jack Roberts.
" Away there behind us. Don't let them know
wc see them. Perhaps they 'II keep away ! "
" Not if they can get hold of our ilollKs,' s.iid
Charley.
" Can't Tige attend to that. Will ? " asked Phil
Bruce.
" That 's what I brought him for. There wont
be any knots tied in our shirts, to-day."
Most boys who have ever done much swimming
have learned how long it takes to undo a hard, wet
knot in a shirt-sleeve, and how very disagreeable
damp sand feels in a pair of socks. There are
other discomforts which can easily be arranged, by
an ill-disposed person, while one is in the water,
and can not see what is going on behind a high
bank. The Park bo)s were well aware of all this,
and when they reached the Big Hole, the first thing
they did was to pick out a nice place in the bushes
for their clothing.
" Make it up in bundles, boys," said Will ; " and
arrange them in a row, there, at the foot of the
butternut-tree."
It was neatly done, and then Will called Tiger :
'" Lie down, sir. Watch ! "
The moment Tiger had posted himself in front
of those bundles, their owners felt safe to take
•■ headers " from the bank into the cool, clear water
of the Big Hole. All that time, however, there
had been mischief brewing.
Up the road, at a safe distance behind the
bathers, had followed the boys who had interfered
with Joe Martin in so cowardly a way.
This is how their talk ran :
" We '11 fix them this time, Tom."
" The tar 's melting in the paper."
" \Ve can get sand and gravel enough when we
reach the bank. Wont I give them some knots ! "
The nearer they came to their destination, the
more carefully they advanced.
" We 'd best not let them see us at all. Then
they wont guess who did it."
" 1 hope John Derry is there. 1 should like to
t.ar everything belonging to him," said Brad.
John, with the rest, was in the creek, having a
good time, and the two mischief-makers felt sure
of their work. It was only a practical joke, of
course ; still there are not many meaner things than
most practical jokes succeed in being. But there
was something in the way of the jokers, this time.
" There are the clothes, Brad, at the foot of
that tree."
" Keep down, Tom. Don't try to look over.
Not one of them has seen us come."
That was true enough, for not one of the Park
boys cared whether they should come or not. They
were all more or less acquainted with Tiger, and
had unbounded confidence in his teeth and
integrity.
" I say, Brad, there 's Will Torrance's dog."
SAl.riLLU uovs.
883
" Don't say a word to him. All he '11 care for
will be his master's own clothes. Don't touch
them."
Hut Tiger had clearly understood that all tliose
bundles were in his care, and that he was to
" watch," which meant, to his doggish mind, that
there was peril of some kind. It was his duty,
therefore, as tlie two new-comers approached, to
rise uiK>n all four of his feet. He had seen both
IJrad and Tom before, but excr\' dog knows who
arc his m;ister's friends .md who are not.
'• Tiger, poor Tiger I liood dog ! Poor fel-
low ! " ciKixcd Brad L;ing. in a sort of whisper, as
he came near, and as Tom reached out a hand
toward the nearest bundle.
Tiger may have been a gooil dog and a poor
fellow, but the range of ti-eth he suddenly showed
was not at all '"poor," and the deep, cavernous,
warning growl was "good" only in the way of
saying, " Don't touch that bundle ! "
Tom drew back his hand, and his brother
stepped away a pace or two.
•■ Woof, — augh, — woof! "
That second growl meant that Tiger's temper
was rising. There were flashes of green light in
his eyes. Other ears than those of the Lang boys
had heard those remarks of Tiger's, and the wet,
red head of Otis Burr suddenly appeared above
the bank.
" All right, boys ; Tiger 's on hand. Go right
in. Brad ; don't mind the dog."
'• No, Brad," mockingly added the voice of
John Derry, as his head also came up; "walk
right in ! Was it mine you were after? Take
them; 1 don't care."
Brad and his brother hardly knew what to say,
for Tiger showed strong symptoms of getting
ready for a "charge."
"Will! Will!" shouted Otis; "this way,
quick ! Your dog 's going for them ! Come and
call him off!"
Brad and Tom turned and took to their heels.
"Woof, — woof!" barked the dog.
It was hard for Tiger to have to sit down and
" watch." while those two boys were running away.
Chapter XVI.
A QUEER "EXAMINATION-DAV."
June had come, with its long, warm days,
when books were a burden, and " Examination "
was but a few weeks ahead. Mr. Hayne had
warned the boys that he should make an affair of
it. He had told them : " Your friends and mine
will be here, and 1 shall trust you to give a good
account of the use we have made of our time."
There wjis much discussion of the matter from
that day forward, and every boy of them began to
have grave doubts as to the stability of his own
ner%'es and memory under sudden pressure.
"The harrowing will go on all day," remarked
John Derry. "Oh dear!"
There was one more cloud in the sky ; that was
in a rumor of a party the evening afterward at
Sarah Dykeman's, and nearly all of them would be
invited.
" I'lvery girl," remarked Charley Ferris, "will
know how we came out. 1 don't care, though.
Their examination comes off the week after; so
does Madame Skinner's."
"We '11 get even with them," said Jeff Carroll.
"Why, Ch.-irley, would you believe it? Some of
those girls don't know much more than we do."
There w;is consolation in that, perhaps; but
soon all worldly thmgs, excepting books, went by
the board, — unless, indeed, we except also a silent
preparation for the coming Fourth of July, which
was sure to be a great day in Saltillo. Even
examination could not put it altogether out of
sight.
"Arc you getting ready. Will?" asked Otis
Burr, one day.
"Ready? No. I can't work out some of the
things in algebra that I thought I knew best : but
I 've a long new piece of poctrj- to read, when it 's
my turn."
" Poetry ! What has that to do with Fourth of
July?"
"Oh, that 's what you 're talking about! I 'vc
sold a lot of chickens ; I 've had my gun cleaned
and a new hammer put on it ; I "m laying in a pile
of powder and things. What arc you doing?"
" Well, I can't say Just yet. Jack Roberts has
a big anvil, twice as big as the one we had last
year. Why, it 's as good as a young cannon.
The hole in it is two inches square."
"Is that so? I was wondering what I 'd do
with all my powder. It would use up my gun to
blaze it all away in one day."
" Keep it for the anvil, then. Don't tell any-
body. Jack h:is it all fixed. He and I are
making plugs and fuses."'
Saltillo w.is behind the age in one thing. It had
a military- company, but it did not own a cannon,
and the only resource for a loud noise on the
Fourth of July w.is to the anvils of its black-
smiths,— that is, to such of them .is were made
with deep holes in them to receive the iron foot of
some tool. That hole could be poured full of
powder, to within three inches of the top ; a
wooden plug could be driven in, with one corner
of it shaved otT to p.iss a fuse down ; then the
f,,.,. .,,,,1,1 I,.- I..'l,t,.,l. ,n,| .-,11 hands could stand
884
SAl.TlLLO UOV
aside until the "bang" should come, and the
wooden plug slioidd go up, nobod)- knew nor
cared how far. Tliere w;is no such thing as
bursting an anvil, and in that there was consola-
tion for the fathers and mothers of the boys who
ached lo make a racket.
It was good news, therefore, that Jack had
secured the right thing for the occasion, and if it
had not been for examination, some of the Park
boys would liave been almost happy.
Word went around among them, nevertheless,
that boxes and stray wouil for bonfires would be
scarce, and that the price of empty tar-barrels
had gone up to twenty cents apiece. However, a
good deal could be done in the way of fuel by
beginning early, and it was decided to make a
start at once.
Time never did travel quite so fast as during
those weeks in June, and one morning the whole
sixteen awoke with a doleful feeling that their tlay
of trial had come.
" It 's of no use to look at any books," remarked
Jeff Carroll. " I 'vc gone back a little lately every
time I 've opened one."
He was not the only boy who had that precise
feeling; and when the church clock struck nine,
there were sixteen blue-looking youngsters behind
the desks of Mr. Hayne's school.
He himself was as smiling as ever, and when
the fathers and mothers of his pupils began to
come in, it was worth while to see how nicely he
received them.
"The room will be Jammed full," whispered
John Uerry. " We shall have to give up our
chairs and sit on the desks."
But there was an astonishment to come right
away, worse a good deal than that would have
been. Mr. Hayne had planned it, in consultation
with Mrs. F"erris and Mrs. Roberts. He had
nearly completed some very nice "opening re-
marks " when there came a great rustling at the
outer door and in the passage-way, and Mr.
Hayne stopped talking.
Then the boys felt as if they had about stopped
breathing, for in walked Belle Roberts, .Sarah
Dykeman, Dora Keys, Milly Merriweather, Jenny
Scwell, and, in all, about a dozen of the Park
young ladies.
In some mysterious way, Mr. Hayne found seats
for all of them, and there they sat, smiling and
whispering to one another, and bowing to their
older friends, and " making themselves at home,"
as Otis Burr said.
"Speak bcfure them?" growled John Derry to
himself. "Why, I 'd break down on the Multipli-
cation Table. "
Alas for John ! — He was the first boy called
upon, and tin- mhiikhi lu- had made for that day's
declamation vanished from his mind entirely.
He walked bravely forward lo the platform, in a
desperate effort to think of the first word, but it
w.Ts of no use, whatever. It had gone, — gone, —
gone !
Suddenly, just as he raised his head from a very
long and respectful bow, there flashed into his
memory the beginning of his old "stand-by" from
Webster. There was no help for it. It was that
or nothing, and a broad grin went around the
school as John struck a patriotic attitude, and
"sailed in," as Charley Ferris said.
.Mr. Hayne imderstood the matter, but he made
no remark, and the visitors did not know but that
John was doing the very thing he had meant to do.
Then came another surprise.
Just as Charley Ferris was wondering which
class would be called up first, he was summoned, all
.done, to answer several rapidly put questions in the
Latin (Irammar. He had not even time to forget
anything, and he got through in good style, — only
a little scared.
" This is the queerest examination ever I heard
of," muttered Jeff Carroll, and the words were
hardly out of his mouth before he w:ls requested to
read that day's edition of the " Spy."
So the affair went on : a " regul.ar mix " of exer-
cises, and the visitors seemed to enjoy it greatly,
but at the end of an hour and a half Mr. Hayne
rose to his feet.
"Our examination." he said, "has now been
going on steadily, every day for two « eeks and more.
1 think 1 know just about how much each pupil
has really gained during the quarter. Some have
done better than others, but 1 am more than satis-
fied with them all. W'e shall make to-day as inter-
esting as possible, but it will have nothing to do
with the marks or standing of scholars. The
records of these will be shown to parents and
friends only. 1 think the boys themselves know
about what it ought to be. Where all have done
so well, it would be wrong to single out one from
the rest, but I propose a prize to the whole school,
if they will accept it."
What could it be?
They had no time given them to guess, fur Ik
went right on :
" As many as would like to go sailing and fish-
ing with me, on Winnegay Lake, the Tuesday
after the Fourth, will please hold up their hands."
They would have stood up on their desks, everx'
boy of them, and Mr. Hayne's " prize " was unani-
mously accepted.
Bashfulness w.is gone now, and sharp and quick
were the responses to the running fire of questions
which followed.
iWi.J
>ALTlLLO UUVS.
885
Mr. n.iync dill imt spare tliciii mi anythinR,
and I'lul Hriicc asked, after school :
" I say, boys, ilid n't sonic ol you renicnibcr a
good nianv things voii never knew before ? I
did."
It was actual fun. and. in dismissing them at
niMin. Mr. Ilayne remarked, among other things:
quarter," said Mr. Haync, "and I 'ni intending to
have an examination of that cl.iss now."
That w.is c|ueer. The idea of examining a cl.iss
on things they had never studied ! Kven Andy
looked puzzled for a moment.
" You do not see what 1 mean. 1 'II tell you:
liefore the afternoon is over. 1 sh.ill know just how
■■ You will be examined in this sort of way every much you know of chemistry, and where 1 had
day of your lives. You will all the while be better begin to teach you. 1 have my doubts if
telling the people who live around you, whether you yourselves could form much of ;in opinion
you are conscious of it or not, just what use you before being examined."
h.ivc made of your opportunities, and it wont It was good sense ;ind good fun. for Mr. Ilayne
make so much difference how well you recite on knew exactly what to do with his machinery, and
any one day that you cram and get ready for." the experiments followed one another "thick and
" He is n't exactly right," said John Derry, as ftist." There was noise enough in some of them
soon as he got out where he could speak his for the Fourth of July itself, and the boys were
opinion. " He missed a thing or two. He forgot again astonished to find out how many chemical
about Fourth of July. If we did n't cram things, questions they could answer, and yet how littlt
and get ready beforehand, there would n't be any they knew about it, after all.
racket til speak of." Mr. Haync was in high spirits, because, as he
"It is n't that I 'm thinking of," said Jeff Car- said, "My experiment in teaching has been a
roll. "Hoys, we must get even with the girls! success, thus far. Now I shall depend on you to
To think of their coming in the way they did ! make it a greater one. With your help, we shall
Don't I look a little pale yet ? " do great things in the fall. Can 1 trust you ? "
•• Even with them?" said .-Yndy, his eyes bright- There was a moment of perfect silence at the
ening suddenly; "that 's easy enough. We can end of that little speech, and then it was Cliarley
all attend Miss Offernian's examination next week. Ferris who "boiled over," as John Derry called it.
Don't let 's stand on ceremony, but go as friends with :
of the school." "Three cheers for Mr. Hayne and the school!"
The motion took like wild-fire, but it was voted " Three cheers ! " shouted Andy ; and the school-
a secret ; and it w.ts one of the few secrets that room was hardly large enough to hold the noise
have a chance for being kept. they made with those cheers.
When the noon recess was over, and the school "That will do, young gentlemen. I shall send
came together again, there were no more visitors around word as soon as 1 ha\e completed my
to make room for. but there was another surprise, arrangements for the sailing trip. Winncgay is a
Mr. Hayne's table, and another at the side of it, beautiful lake, and I have already secured a craft
were covered with odd-looking machinery, glass large enough to carry us all nicely. The school is
retorts, bulbs, and the other appliances of a chem dismissed."
ical laboratory. They did not leave the room, however, without
" We are to have a class in chemistry next three cheers more.
{To bt amtiMUtd.) \
, \^''f O >
886
AltKAllAM LINCOLN S SPEECH
In our Trcasurc-Hdx ui Knylish Literature for June we gave you the immortal C.cttysburg speech
of Abraham Lincoln as it fell from the orator's lips.* NVc now give you a fac-simile of the speech as
copied, a short time afterward, by President Lincoln himself, for the Soldiers' and Sailors' fair at Balti-
more in 1864. You will sec by comparing the two that he revised the spoken text. The changes are
very slight, but as this is the form in which Abraham Lincoln evidently desired that it should be handed
down to posterity, we are glad to be able to give you the speech, not only as he revised it, but in his
own handwriting:
(n'OT-lAT ^<2<^rx^ cu>y^oO ^-^ytt-^A^, f^Ji^exytJ <>^ tru^<
11
AT G KTTVSlir KC. 887
(h^^^t^ fr^*^ (^^^"^fi^ 't^^^^ ^^ <^XjM-^rraS
^<j«-t/T?Cci*»v' ,c^ jL:T^^t>^ C&/ <f-Sa ^-/g-r f^^/'l^yL'<.^ A^fCe^ ^^'^*^
Ar<^ 'T~A\J^ -/MltK*^ jU^Ur^v-u /^^^ /^?^y^ (fCaxKMy /)^^tje£j
,U/*y^«i-t^ '^/t-oO^ /'Aeu^e/ //Cua-tA<i> <;^ f>N«-w /3l>yZ^ /^'j^tAe/i
888 KOR VERY LITTI.E FOLK. (Seit^ejibhr,
CARLO, JANE. AND ME.
Bv M. M. I).
Whi:\-i;v-i:u Pa-pa takes a walk,
H(j al-\va\s calls us three :
He says he could n't go without
Old Car-lo, Jane, and me.
We laugh and talk, and bark and ])lay.
And Pa-pa swings his cane ; —
Once he for-got and killed some flow-ers,
That stood up in our lane.
And some-times Car-lo runs and jumps,
And Jane stands by a tree, —
Oh dear ! what fun my Pa-pa has,
With Car-lo, Jane, and me !
And. just for mis-chief, Car-lo barks
At ev-er-y one w'e pass ;
And makes the shad-ow of his tail
Keep wag-gin' on the grass.
When Jane can't walk, I car-ry her,
And Car-lo car-ries me ;
Then Pa-pa al-ways walks be-side.
And shouts out " Haw ! " and " Gee 1 "
I wish he 'd come ; poor Jane is tired,
With wait-ing here so long ;
Car-lo don't mind — no more do I,
But Jane was nev-er strong.
Car-lo is made of curl-y hair,
And I am made of me ;
But Jane is made of wood and things.
As doll-ies have to be.
II
I DU VIK V I I 111 r I'M K ,
SS9
Oil, licr<j he is! Now for our walk,
He 's sure to take us three ;
For Pa-pa could n't t,'o without
Old Car-lo, Jane, and inc !
8go
JACK-IN-TIIE-I'ULIM r
^'^^X
:' jACK-iNf- ririM'LJLi'ir.
of writing came lu my jjiilpit, ik-signcd to tallc
about tills pretty kind of human song-plays, and
.IS it gave me quite an idea of them, may be some
among you may like to read it. It 's meant mainly
for tlic big folks ; but 1 'm told that every now and
then a grown-up breaks loose from high-cultured
fields and runs over into the St. Nicholas pasture
for a browse ; so here it is, and welcome. You '11
find it fresh and crisp as a bunch of daisies, with a
bit of stubble here and there by way of precept :
" l^t any one visit a kindcr^ncn, and watch the heartiness with
which a RTOiipofhltlc singers will turn themselves into carpenters plan-
ing a table nr building a bridge; into shoe-makers drawing out waxed-
ends and driving in pegs ; into farmers, into bakers, wheelwrighls,
or scissors-grinders, and they will see that the system is hclpine
children to a true sense of htiman relations : of how farmers, arti-
sans, tradesmen, discoverers, and poets all need each other, — in ibct,
that through the laws of demand and supply this life is a ver^' inlcr-
det>cndcnl thing.
" Then the same children will enter into the joys of outdoor life, and
become birds, or fishes, or butterflies, with a real feehng of oneness
with the life they represent. Or thc>' w ill ' talk about the weather,'
make-believe count the stars, or row about in imaginary boats, keep-
ing perfect time with their invisible oani. And the music of these
movement-songs must be very simple and very descriptive. The
carpenter's plane .and the shoe-maker's hammer must be heard in
them, as well as the singing of the birds, the rh^'thmic flowing of
the brook, and the patter of the rain. Imagination will add what
the notes fail to supply, for the little singers wilt be thoroughly in
earnest, as children always arc when they pby."
I WISH you all could see the dear Little School-
ma'am as September comes on. Why, she just
shines with joy and expectation ! For why ? 'The
children are coming back — coming back to noon
recesses and school luncheons, anti as many reci-
tations and all that sort of thing as will go con-
veniently into a six-hours' day and a spirit of fra-
ternity. The children are coming back ! That 's
her song. " Only think, dear Jack," she says,
" the cars and steam-boats are full of the darlings at
this very moment, and those who staid at home
all through ' vacation ' — they 're coming back, too,"
she says, — "coming back into happy school life
and ardent study and improvement."
Up to this point I 'm with her. I do believe the
youngsters — every boy and girl of them — <ire glad
to get back, but when she talks about "ardent
studies," I fancy the very dogs-ears in the grammar
and arithmetic books hang down dolefully. Study
is hard work, say what they will. But if my
youngsters like it and go at it ardently, why so
much the better. 1 'm not the Jack to oppose
them.
Now for
MOVEMENT SONGS.
I HKAR a good deal of talk nowadays about
Movement-Songs being something very fine and
rather new, just as if my birds had n't been sing-
ing movement-songs from the days of the ark
down ! Ah, if you only were little Jacks-in-the-
Pulpit, you 'd understand these movement-songs
perfectly ; you 'd know the meaning of every bob
of the quick little heads, and every twitch and
twirk of the bright little bodies ; and you 'd see
how they keep time and tell the story, too. But I
suppose children — bless 'em ! — suit ordin.iry folk
better than the birds do, — at least, in the matter
of niov.Mif ni-^<iti..s Oiilv 1 liiilc while ago, a bit
A DIFFERENT VIEW CONCERNING ANTS.
Since Deacon Green read to the boys, in my
hearing, the story of the two knights who fought
each other to the death, in a dispute as to what
metal a certain shield w.as made of, your Jack has
kept an ear for every word that can be said on the
other side of any question. One of those knights,
all clad in armor, came toward the shield from one
direction, and declared that it was made of gold ;
the second knight, also cased in iron mail, came
toward the shield from the other side, and asserted
that it was made of silver. When the combat was
ended, and they lay dying, a passing traveler asked
the cause of their disagreement, and, on learning
it, examined the shield. Then he stooped over the
dying knights, and explained that on one side the
shield was gold, but on the other it was silver.
So, now for the other side of the Ant question :
Mv Dear Kind Jack : The gentle warning which you gave in
August to the children, that they should tread lightly, so as to avoid
destroying the homes of your busy friends, the Ants, no doubt is
good and proper for some places ; but, right here, where I live, in
Arizona, your words might be considered — well, I '11 say superflu-
ous. Why, the country is neither more nor less than one vast .int-
colony ! And the sw.arming hosts of the destrticlive little creatures
are the worst enemy of everyman whose farm contains plowed land;
the tiny pests find that their building work is easy in the broken
ground.
But I think I see a ray of hope. Your well-intended protest would
not have been made had there been no persons who could profit by
the warning if they would. Now, 1 propose, therefore, that every
such |>erson who has heard your advice and paid no heed to it, be
sent ben^ He may tread as heavily and carelessly as he pleases in
Arizon.i.
Hut, really, de.ar Jack, the ants here are no joke, and presently, if
war is not made uptm ihcm. there will be nothing left for the poor
things to eat. unless, indeed, the intelligent creatures at List invent
the desperate idea of eating one another
I like to look nl the pronlem as if it were merely a fiimily broil in
Darnc Nature's houschnUI ; farmers insisting that their rights ought
to be sustained, at whatever cost to the ants; and ants saying
nothing, hut keeping right along at their app<nnted work, as if they
felt sure that Nature herself would find at length the right road out
of any tlifltcully that there might he. I hope she will; but I am
mu«h afraiil that she will let man act for her; and then, woe to the
.„u.-V W J.J.
JACK.- I.N - lUL-l'ULl'l r.
891
OUR CHILDREN'S EYES.
•TMB-Pi'iPir : May I nay a won! to ihe girU aboiii
■*^ • N'c.« f Thnnlc vou, dear Jack ?
-... .L.. .11 ■)>.. OolU' cvet, girit ? They liMik
titp tu mink, we arc apt 10 fnr-
1 and put ill. The hex i^. the
I ■ quite an iniixiriant branch of
,, ,„.; , ^.^xl deal of Adl. Only a few
.1 fi iiiakiiii' the |te>t kind, and they con«e-
onlctx 1 tne dolr»eye uianiifacturer in llir-
^omclilnc^ ttlU >iiiclc ordei^ to the extent of
\ink how tnanv hri^rit little doll-face^ look out
01 order like thi^ in tilled, and how many clad-
: their rather staring glances, sure that notntllK
together, and the little fish is taken quickly and
irresistibly into the stomach at the top of the dome,
and never is seen more !
The small fishes in the picture, one of which is
about to enter the basket, are sea-robins, such as
your Jack gave you a glimpse of in March, 1880,
you may remember. But. as some one says,
'• almost everythm^j is lish that comes to this net " ;
and when Mr. liasket, during his lively wander-
ings through the water, finds that he has been so
fortunate as to place himself Just over a fine oyster,
• ire. though. Do they ? Some have really a
' - The shape of the lid has a great deal to do
^ lids give a sad look, and lids slightly turned
1 . Mil make any doll look lively. I know a litUe girl
»!.'., , .! 11 1.1th eye* v> like her own that any one can ^<e at a
g!.in.;c that the two arc mother an-I d.iughter.
Ih.l V u e>er hear of the l.tile Wind girl who, because she wore a
green hllcl over her po.ir sightless eyes, always t>.mnd a fillet over
hcT dolly's c>'cs alsn? Both were blind then, and so could undcT-
ftand each other better M E. D.
A FISH THAT IS ITS OWN MARKET-BASKET.
I 'M told that in the water along the Atlantic
coast of the I'nited States, in places where the
currents h.ive swept clean the rocky floor, is found
a curious-ltMiking animal called the " b.iskct-fish."
It looks like an overturned basket, but it .also may
be called an arbor or bower, forming, as it does, a
dome of trellis-work standing on its slender tips.
Hut when a hsh swims into this inviting arlxir, per-
haps hoping it will prove to be .1 defense from
some pursuing fne, the poor fellow is pretty sure
to find it a fatal Ixiwer. For the arms draw close
that unlucky stay-at-home is soon sucked out of
his comfortable house and eaten up.
HORSES WEARING SPECTACLES.
Dear Jack: Did you ever he.-u of horses wearing spectacles?
There w.is once a dealer in horses who made them wear spectacles
conuining powerful magnifying glxsscs Then the small stones in
the road seemed great ones, and the great ones vcr>' large, and so
the poor hones were deceived into lifting their feet much higher
than was really necessary. This plan gave the poor creatures
plenty of exercise, and by the same means they acquired, almrst
without knowing it, a fashionable high-stepping gait, which was
much admired, and the dealer was enabled to sell them to l>ettcr
adv.-utuige. Yours truly, M. W.
And did M. W. ever hear of the man who put
green spectacles on his cows, and then fed them on
hay ? They were so sure it w.as grass that they
would n't eat it. but waited patiently till some one
should give them the right kind. Finally, they
showed signs of star\ation, and then their master
l>ecame a quick-stepper, which, of course, was Just
what they wished.
rUE I.KTTEK-UOX.
[Septbmiibk,
TH
l.KTTKR-HOX.
An In
Kv.
In our July " Lencr-Bt»x." dear readers, wc &uid something of
a plan for ciking you all itiio a sort of editorial |>artncr7ihip, whereby
all of you whii desired (o do ko might, in eflcct. have a voice in the
general manngcment uf this magazine, with a view to making it
belter and belter.
And now, as the fir^t step toward securing ilicse good rcsulLs, wc
extend to each and all of you, who may care to write, a licariy
invitation to send us word concerning the following points:
tst. Which siury or stories in the present volume, so far (or in
back vulunnjf), have pleased yowniosi?
ad. Who arc your favorites among the many writcr> whose con-
tributions to St. Nicholas you have read Y
3d.' What scries uf papers or iiistructive articles in St. Nichol-\s
do you think have been most interesting or useful to you?
4th. Which arc your leading ^vurites among ius poems, ballads,
and the lively verses ?
5th. Which pictures do you spccLilly like or object to? Can you
name your six favorites ?
ould you like St. Nicholas to give you? Shall it
: in proportion to other reading matter, and of what
papers of instruction or information, and of what
fun, or what ?
In reporting \ipon any or alt of the above points, young friends,
you will of course bear in mind that we do not propose to be directed
by the preferences of any one reader, desirous as wc arc of giving
each one pleasure. What wc ask for is a frank, honest expression
ol your tastes and wishes (not of what you think they ought to be,
but just what they really are), and through all the various expres-
sions that come to us, we hope to gain a happy wisdom in meeting
your requirements. Wc arc all the more desirous of this, dear
young friends, because of the steady increase in the circulation of the
magazine. What is it really doing among these thousands upon
thousands of readers, we ask ourselves ? Does it reach the sorts oi
young folks we have in our mind's eye ? Does it meet their best
interests and needs? Does it thoroughly entertain them? And,
6th. Whan
kind^-or
iili-tvc all, wli.tt s|Kxial short-comings, if any, ;irc tirM t'l i>c noted
and attended to ?
These are the questions which we ask ourselves, you see, and
which yu can help us to answer satisfactorily. Therefore will you
please write to us heartily and freely — nut labored letters* and not
\vords for publication, but honest, confidential notes to the editoi,
replying to any or all of the six special points given, and perhaps
mentioning the most welcome things in current numbers of St.
NlCHC.IJ\S?
In writing, give your name, age. and residence: and put an R
(for Reader) on the lower left-hand comer of your envelope: write
only on one side of the sheet, so that your letters may be ea.sily read :
and never send contributions to St. Nicholas with these " R "
letters. Also bear in mind, please, that where there arc so many
coiTcspondcnis the cdiir>r can not possibly reply, excepting in the
way already indicated — that is, by trying to adapt the magazine to
the true needs and requirements of the largest number of its readers
— and even hen: private judgment must be the umpire. So success
tu us, one and all, in our efforts to make St. Nicholas not onl>^
as good as ever, but as much brighter, better, and handsomer as
If any of you would prefer writing to the Little School-ma'am, or
to Deacon Green, do so. "In multitude of counselors" there is
wisdom. The editor could never get on at all without the aid of her
fellow-editors, and the Deacon, and the Dear Little School-ma'am.
A few iKrrsons, who read this, may say. "What nonsense! Do
not the editors know that by this invitation they are encouraging
children to be over-forward and fault-5nding, and that they are
bringing down upon their devoted heads impudent letters and
impossible demands? Above all, do they m
ping from their high estate, and positively ci
uf Young America ? "
Our reply to all this would be : Wc do no
kind. Wc have a high faith in the counesy :
interest of St. Nicholas readers, and wc believe that boys and
girls who will read this page liavc the honor of St. Nicholas ai
heart, and that they will stand by it with/loyalty and pride.
t sec that they are step-
nging to the bold spirit
see anything of the
id in the affectionate
Dear St. Nicholas : T was vcr\' much interested in that storj*
SquirreK," ;md 1 thought the Imys and girls
called " My A
would like to heai
lame, and will let
about my little squirrel " Ucssic."' bhe is very
le pat her. When I let her nut of her cage, she
will run up nty arm to my shoulder and then will run down the other
arm. The other day tnc window was open, and she got out of
her cage and ran out through the window. I was vcr>' much
fnghiencd, and thought I had lost her, but on looking through the
window I saw her nmning in the next yard, and 1 went in after her.
I got her back in the cage, but she was so exhausted that she lay
panting fur quite a while after. — I am your constant reader,
Louise L. Campdblu
Wk arc indebted lo Messrs. Cushings & Bailey, of Baltimore, for
permission to reproduce, from a work published by them, the fac-
simile of Abraham Lincoln's autograph of his (>ettysburg speech,
printed in the present number.
Dear Editor : 1 have taken St. Nicholas for several
andfthall have all of the volumes hound. In my opinion, it
bcmi chitdreti's periodical ever published. Now and then my parents
nay : " Arennt yuu getting inuuld tu read that children's magazine?"
1 am cinhlecn tu-day. I suspect th;it they are joking, for I have
noticed th:ii they never fail in read every number. I don't think I
khall ever be too old to read the St. "NichuI-^s. — Vour constant
reader, John A. Loking.
Dkak St. NlCHOUMti Have any of your rcadcn ever tried draw-
ihcy would like it, mi 1 think I will tell
%"
to do it: You must write for an enlarged package of
indelible ink, with preparations, pens, etc., and inclose
one dollar. When you get the linen, wash it and iron it : then put
the preparation in with a paint-brush ; then iron again. Draw wnat
you want on the linen with the ink ; then iron tvfU, and wash it.
S*ou can make things that are prett>, ;is well as useful. — Your
constant reader, J. H. I.
OiK thanks are due to Messrs. Smith, Klder & Co., of London,
for their courtesy in pennttiing us to reprint the ballad by Robert
Browning, and the poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, given in
the " Treasure-box of Literature " in the pre\cnt niunbcr.
the Ma
i\Iav
isking why, when papei
r or wo< * • • ■
ber of
Dkak St. Nicholas: As I have read
St. Nicholas a question from "Zella," i
rubbed between the knees, it will stick to a piece </ wo<»d. I'think I
will tell her what 1 suppose is the cause. It is electricity, produced
by the friction of the paper on the knees, which also causes it to
CATS., adhere to the
r devoted reader.
M. O. L
1>KAK St. Nicholas: I am a grown-up (^irl now. but was quite
young when you began. What I want specially to tell you is this:
A friend and 1 have been making scrapbiMtks for sailor*. We have
made eleven, bin. as it is slow work, wc should like the assist-
ance of others. Now, I thought you could mcnti<»n it to your young
friends who live on the c^xist, as they, probably, are acquainted with
more sailon tlian tho^e living inland. Sailors are great readers, and
they appreciate pa|>crs and magazines : but I think they would
prefer scrapl«»oks. The way wc do is this; Take old picture-
lUi.J
Till-; LUTTUR- liUX.
«93
I 111 iLr cftvert of paitcboard ;
IV ochcr pntte, nr m,
' iitaKO/inc^. When
> ..r »ome ve^^cl. anil
^ ... -.,.\. My friend make*
, uliii.li ilic scndii lo hiMpiial*.—
A Sailor's Daightbk.
Okar St Nicholas: I received n letter yMtenby fmm a coitiin,
*ho tt trsvelini; in India, and I ihouahi I would tell ihc children
who ^:^Vr St Ni<-hm ^^ ,omr -f the fminv ihinK-i *hc wmle mc :
Hr- ' ' '■ . .. ^.. .. .md, when he i* not
(.: ■:•<•. anil would Hit that
,nn She ws it i*
M. : .. ' own doK^ with long
Kjit n . n MI. .1.-4.-. i- Kccp them i:ot»l.
Ill Hit ilic Duiitc luf baby is "budin," and
we chioK I 1 line forourlittlc fiit baby. |'Kootta"
mcan^ >.!"k. < ^'c get wc arc going lo give it that
She Mw one ot the Holy Men, w called because ihcy rnakc a vow
lo do ^imeihing uncomfunablc to them^^lves :dl their life, or until
they are freed Thw one had walked on the ends of hi-i iocs so
fong. uith ihc aid uf a stick, that his heels had grown back into the
muw.lc^ of his lc>;s. and v-ui cuM not see that he ever had had any
hcelv His hairwav lun>; and malted: lie was covered wiih some
kind uf yellow powder, and was horrible lo tiwk at.
She hJd seen a great man^ Cxshmcre goats and fat-tailed sheep,
and Ulsi night wc found pictures of botn of them in our Natural
History.— YourN truly. M. L. Bblin.
Now that the schools are beginning again all over the land, we
think there pmbably arc many mothers who will appreciate the
fbUowing littk poem :
BsciNNtNG School
To-day the house is stiller than it 's ever been before.
There '* nothing in dis-irdcr fn>m the ceiling to the floor ;
K'cn the I. hairs around the room
Seem lo share the general gloom.
As the>* stand in ^ad precision just so lar apart. — no more.
The ctishioas look forbidding as they 're placed against the wall.
The very chair-hacks seem alone, the>- stand so stiff and tall:
And I feel inclined to cry,
And to set them all awry.
What can it be about the house that seems to chill us all?
I *d like to scatter every toy now ranged before my sight.
From merry " Hunch and Judy." in their gauze and tinsel bright,
To the little do>; aslccp
In a mnumful. wolly heap.
On the half-lorn. hngcreU piciurc-b<^»oks, once visions of delight.
That worn old doll, dejected, brings a oiciure fair and sweet
Of bloom, and warmth, and songs of nrds the merry world to
greet.
And a little child at plav
I >n a happy Summer's clay.
With these toy* in gay confusion scattered round ab'jut her feet.
And the sunlight, sifting down, shone upon a little head.
And kissed the curU of golden bruwn and turned them bronze
and red;
And the doll was held at rest
On the little la.vMe*s breast,
For both were soundly sleeping as the sunshine lightly sped.
And as 1 look I do not think the wealth of many lands
Could make roe harm the poor old doll once clasped by baby
This armless limp concern
I 'vc often longed to bum.
Is sacred to thow baby days where love forever stands.
Ah. well.
.ill
..n.l ]r_.
ng oflT to school.
Fsrn W M >
(St. Nkm
a mad im; ■
abty well kept » .
-Mil the Bic>clc"
: many petiple
It will make
' any reason
.init there nearly
always is a narrow foot-track beside a country road. Even a
western ' dirt-road,' or a *trcich of gra^t. will not be too much for
a wheel with a deiemiinetl rider, for he will lake his trusty steed ui>on
almost any surface into which it is not likely to sink deep."
Jack's Prizr-Bird.
Jack-is-tiik-Piipit h.is rcccivetl a great many leliers in reply to
his questions ccmceming the picture of his Prize-Bird in the June
numl>cr. Nearly all of the letters gave correct answers, and said,
—that the bird is an Emu, found in Au<itralia. that ib I^tin name is
Dromaius Nova: Hotlandix, and that it can run very fxst, but can
not rty. The little ones "down foot" are the young of the Kmu.
and in regard to them Jack wishes us to quote what one of his cor*
resptrndenis says :
" The conspicuous stripes on the young birds arc retained for only
a short time, or until the feathers of the adult dress replace or con-
ceal the d<iwny covering."
Another correspondent writes : " The Emu is not uncommon in
menageries. I think there arc two at Central Park now."
A few of the young writers think that the house in the background
of the picture is a hut built in some Z»ilogical garden for the bird to
live in, but most of them suppose it to be the hut of a native of
Australia.
Maud M. I., writes that the bird must be an Emu. for her papa
has been to Australb, and has seen the bird, and tells her that
*• Kmu " is its name.
Alfred R. Wiley, eleven years, sa>'s: "I can not tell why the
young ones arc striped and the old ones speckled: but, if you would
tell me the reason why a young chicken is often striped, whose
m<ilher wears solid colors, and why the young fawn of the dun deer
is red with white spots, and why most of us tow-headed boys will
change in a few years to black-haired or brown-haired men, per-
haps this information would give me a clew."
Here is a list of the names of those who wrote to Jackln-thc-Pul-
pit about this " ostrichy no-ostrich," as he calls it :
Uretic A. Fisher— Howard T. Kingsbury— Theodore C While-
Clinton \V. Clowe— Albert Tuska— C. S. Fleming— Fanny Hart-
man— Florence F,. Pratt— Nathalie and Marshall Mclean — Lunette
F. Umpfrcy-Maic G. H— James D. Hailman— Newton Mowton
— C. W; Dawson— S.itic A. Town.^end— Nellie M. Brown— A. K.
Amackcr—" Reader." Orange— Charlie Lamprey— R. F. Rand—
<;corgc Cortclyou— T. M. Royal— Jenny H. Morris-Emil «;.
Sorg- Fred. C. McDonald— Mar>' H. Tatnall— H. V. Z. B— Harry
A. Pation— Maud M. I^vc— Mifflin Brady— Oeorcc B. Spalding,
Jr.— H. C. Weill— Robert M. Duiton— Alex. G. liarrct- (Jco. D.
Casgrain— Alfred K. Wiley— Florence G. I^ne — "Buttercup and
Daisy "—Umucl Carey— William Hepburn Buckler- Johnnie A.
Scott— Ehzabcth Ailing — LctitLi Preston— Grace E. Smith— Henri
C. R.— Nannie Dufl^-S. W. Peck— Elsie A. Patchen— Willie A.
Phclon — Amos G. Robinson.
M. F- C— In the "Letter-Eox" for March, i88i, you will find,
under the name '^ Trailing Arbutus," an answer to your question :
" How did the girl push the baby-carriage through her bracelet ? "
Oi'H readers will be interested in the following newspaper item
concerning Miss Nellie Rossiter, a girl of fourteen, who has received
the Pennsylvania Agricultural Society's Diploma for her success in
the culture of silk. She says, among other things:
" When I first started I had about ihree hundred worms, which I
procured through a friend of my father's. In a few days I shall
pn»bably poisess one hundred thousand. I have made tnree hun-
dred dolbrs thU year, and I hope lo treble that sum in the next
twelve months. It requires careful watching to keep the worms in
good health. They require constant feeding, and snmchow they
always need attention at four in the morning. They will only eat
niull>err>' or Os;igeorange leaves. I have a permit lo pick Inose
leaves in the park. When I cannot procure a sufficient amount of
f.li.i,;c T.. f t! ill the worms 1 expect to be hatched, I freeze as
11 ■' ' — c- as I cannot provide fnr at the lime. F^ggs
■' r.»r over two months, and, on being restored to a
v hatch, t^n the other hand, the worms die,
tntilK-MMrr . f -<.-\'-ntv I- ^'-\rntv fi\r ifcciees.
894
Till-: I.ETTER-BOX.
{Septkhukk,
AC.ASSIZ ASSOCIATION —SIXTH REPORT.
Not much llial is valuable in ilic sludy of nalurc can he leamcd
from book* alone. I should iliink ihat from a month's sludy of an
aqunriiun made by himself, aflcr ihc mosl admirable suKRe»lions of
Mr licarJ in Si. Nicholas for July, a boy would learn as much
about small marine animals and planu a-s he would get fn)m books
alone in a year. I am sure his knowledge would be of a more use-
ful sort.
/I
nest U a hummiii^t.ittis ntrst, ;.iul i^ exactly life-size,
built quiic near the liouw: of one of our members, but,
ix-dii be ii said, was iioi inulcsicd until the two tiny white
ickcd and let
out the little mim-
desfn.m within. Af-
ter the happy family
had hummed away,
the nc^t was >ccurcd.
It is made of the
delicate lichens which
Kn.\
old fen
That the nicmlKrrs of the A. A. are at work in the right !
is shown by tlie thousands of interesting specimens which they arc
collecting. A few of these have found their way to our Academy
cabinet, cither by exchange or gift. As I can not usher you all into
our museum, and point out the many curious things which have
been sent us, 1 have taken down a few and will let you look at pict-
ures of them. No. 306 is the saw of a .saw-fish. This was sent to
us by a little giri who lives in Florida. Part of her letter was printed
last month. This specimen is about a foot long. The saw-fish ha.s
the general form of a shark, but it would be well to ask those of the
A. A. who have not been assigned to other duties, to "study up"
Ihti curious fuh and write an account of his habits. A specimen saw
ftball go to the one who sends the best report to Lenox by October i.
No. 313 it al»o from the sea. I>o you know what it is? lti»
white and ncariy flat. Who hxs seen one alive? Will not some
dweller l>y the ocean write a description of the "sand-dollar" for'
us? Wc should like to print in ihi< pln-e the lic^t short report on
this curiou* creature received bcf r- • ' • ' ---
tree-trunks,
and is lined with the
soft pappus of dan-
delions. It scarcely
.uuld he distin-
guished from a small
knoL
By the way, speak- - "
ingofbirds'-ncsLs,lhc ;.^,. ^i_,. i,;;_ . lima
question has been sev-
eral limes sent to me — " How can I avoid the law that forbids all
persons taking the nests or eggs of birds ? " 1 advise you not to try
to avoid it- It is a very wise law, and necessary to protect our sing-
ing birds from extermination. Most of you are so much interested
in other subjects that you can be quite happy without disturbing the
homes of the birds. Still, in many places such laws are local, and
in that case a "permit" may often be obtained from the proper
authorities, granting the privilege of collecting eggs on certain
conditions. If you can not be happy, therefore, without eggs, and
if the law forbids, you must cither get a special permit or remain
inconsolable. However, many good collections of eggs have been
made by exchange. You can collect specimens of wood, for example,
and exchange these with some distant oologist : or if he prefers
insects or plants, there is no law against your getting them for him.
We have received some finely prepared specimens of wood from
Miss !-. L. I^wis, of Copenhagen, New York— and she was so gen-
erous in her supply that we have enough
to exchange for mhcr sorts of specimens.
No. 21 is given to show how a boy may
make a collection of drawings for himself,
which will be of great value. Perhaps you
can not draw a bird with sufTicient accuracy :
you can at least sketch the beak and claws,
as Harr>' Chamberlin has done, and a great
deal may be learned by a study of these two
extremities of a bird. Harry accompanies
his drawing with the following account of
the bird itself:
'• The Kingfisher— Belted— is a North
.\meric.in bird of the family Alcedinida:. It
lives upon fish and aquatic insects. K. hovers
over the water until its prey is sighted, then,
dropping from mid-air, it .seizes the unfortu-
nate fish or insect in its strong beak. It
builds its nest out of fish-btmes, lined with
down, in a hole in the bank of a stream. K.
generally lays two |)eariy white eggs about
the size of a n.bin's. The color of its bill and
legs, slate and black ; eyes black, wings blue
and black on the upper side, white under
The throat and breast are white, a dark blue
and chestnut-colored band dividing them .
Ihc back is blue. K. has a silky blue crest,
which it raises at will."
Notwithstanding our repeated cautions, let-
ters concerning the "Ag ssiz Association"
are sometimes sent to the St. Nichoi^s office
in New York. Ihis causes a delay in reply-
ing, for all such letters are forwarded whither saw
they should have l)ccn fir>.t sent. Once in a
while, also, letters come with no address given inside. It is difficult
to reply to them. After Sept. 15th, address *«*» stamped envelope
fur reply,
Haklan II, llAi.t-M<i>. I.cnox Academy, Lenox, Mus.
rill-: Ri DDi.i:- iu)X.
895
ANSWKKS ro I'UZZLICS IN THK AUGUST NUMIIF.R.
. Abvvui
7. (nilt
.1KS5.1N —1. TiMlhiiclie. 3. »
^. Alleviate. 5. Cannonaded,
niltation. S. Opinion. 9. PertinenL
Ham FiiiaU: Wallace Cr
j- LaurcL. 4. l^wclL.
-I.
ujUc,
Vm
3. Slam. 4.
Malaga.
!.— I. P. 3. H:
/cro. 3. Arts. 4. Roi«.
Alabama, a. Caracas. 3. Bahama.
3. Gas. 4. Hash. 5. Pasha.
Diil'liLK Dfch'ITATIons.— I. S p-car J II I ink 3 S-c cil.l.
4. W.hecl. 5. S-h-ark. b. S-n-ail. 7. S.l.ill. 8 S.t-one.
MvTllol.oc.CCAL DiACONAl. PuzzLK.— Diagonals : Variina. 1
Vulcan. J. PAIIas. 3. NeRcui. 4. SalUm. 5. SpliiNx. d
UnmiA. Chakaor. — Sand-pipcr.
Words wmii.s ivokds 1. Ilallol-s. 3. A-die-u. 3. E.i|iii.|y.
4. Closc-I. 5. O.rinKe-s. 6. C-hang-e. 7. C-anl-o. 8. li-Annc-r.
y. L-anicc 10. M.Krino
CiiAsiiKU Hkads.— 1. Hare. a. D-are. 3. Care. 4. W.arr.
5. l-"-iire. 6. Mare. 7. Rare.
Rilo.«»ou>. Across: i. Cabal. 3. Toned. 3. Uowan. 4.
Nicer. 5 Sewer.
Tkanshositions. I. Danes: Andes; deans: Sedan, -j.
Reim ; rime : mire : emir. 3. Rams : arms ; .Mars. 4. Ijiily ;
Italy, s. Planes: Naples. 6. General: enlarge; gleaner.
ItOI ilL.1: i'ICO.>>.s.\\OKl> U.MiJ.MA.
This diftcrs fa)m the ordinary cross.word enigma by rccjuiring
two ans«-ers instead of one. The fii^t letter of each answer is "in
ciandy, but not in fop," the second " in yard-stick, but not in shop,"
«nd so on, until the two woitls of live letters each have been spelled.
Our firsts are
in dandy, bin not
n fop:
Our seconds i
n yard-stick, but nt
Our thirds an:
in nianv but not
,n herds ■ *
Our fourths a
X in parrot'i. but n
n in birds
(^>ur fifths arc
in hand, but not ti
knee:
Two mythical beings perhaps yn
ABKID(;.>IE\TS.
and Icj.: i . ^ rr -ic ^ IIcIkm i
darkno5. 5. Syncopate honest.
humane^ and leave the young of a homed animal
iu>i it-i;i.Ass.
^cd in ihc order here given,
I author
. .ind IcAvc a demon. 2. Synco-
■ of earth. 3. Behead a bench,
champion, and leave a time of
id leave distant. 6. Syncopate
n\cd in ships i.ir hca\*in5 in cables. My 30-3-55-17-57-35-40-50 w
the princip;U sail in a ship. My 9-41-30-17-4-33-47 i^ the aficr-sail
of a ship. My 39-7-37-19 is the instrument by which a ship u
steered. My 33-41-30-48 is a lonjj beam. My 21-4^-49-46-50 Is a
small sail spread immediately above the top-gallant sail. My 53-31-
37-n>-i6-36-S is the sail set next above the royal. Sly 34-51-53 is
(o draw thrtiuyh the water by means of a rope. My 18-5-11-4-15
are the floor-hkc divisions of a ship. My 35-51-48-32-1-46-42-43
is the mast of a vessel which is nearest the liow. My 38-36-32-1 is
to make pro>;rcss against a current. My 39-44-33-18 is that part of
a vessel in which the cargo Ls stowed, ^^y ^7-20-55-13 is a nan
ptank nailed for oniuincnt or security on a ship's upper works.
ALLIE
Across: i. A tune. 2. Ahea\-yclub. 3. Bustle. 4. A venom-
ous serpent. 5. The Greek name for Mars.
Diagonals, from left to right, down%«"Ard, beginning at the lower
left-hand letter: 1. In Autumn. 3. Remote 3. To revile. 4.
Grates harshly upon. 5. A possc:»sive pronoun. 6. In Autumn.
DOIBLE CENTRAL ACROSTIC.
CR.vntALs: llie season for gathering crops. .Across: i. 7*he
prevailing style. 2. Fra^Ic. 3. A sphere. 4. In sportive. 5. A
large body of water. 6. Nice perception. 7. A division.
OKOGRAPIIICAI. M'.MERICAL EMG>IA.
ruposcd of twelve letters, and is an important
t is a mountain in Asia. My 5-8-6-3-2 is a
r ' . ,-4-12-1-11-3-7 is 3 fortified sea-port in Africa.
CONNECTED DIAMONDS.
3VS, form a word ol
:h. Upon the first
> bated; and upon
..<•.' iiiAMUND (across): t.
■ iy uf Ufe. 4. A cave. 5. In
-): f. In cumbrance. 3. A
[lut on. 5- In vulnerable.
CICBLV.
NAITICAI. KCMERICAI. ENKJMA.
second line, read down-
catcn in Kngbnd on the day
Ali. the words arc of ctjual length
ward, names a certain dish, which
named by the letters of the third line when read upward.
Across: i. A poetic word, meaning "formerly." 3. To cover
with a layer of any substance. 3. To domesticate. 4. An island.
5. A little branch connecting a flower with a main branch. 6. A
general name of, the kings of the Amalckiics. 7. A noted square
in London. 8. Stone. 9. .\ grand division uf the earth. 10. A
plant whose fibers arc used in making cordage. p. 5. P.
CROSS-MORD ENIGMA.
Mv first is in
My second ii
My third is i
My fourth is
My fifth is ir
My sixth is i
My seventh i
My whole ar
fiXHi. but not in
cold, hut not in
I model, hut not
in slow, but nut
powcr^ but not
1 dark, but not i
1 cost, but not in
called the stars
in cast:
in fast :
in might:
n light:
worth:
of earth charlottr.
EASY ANAGRAMS.
Tmbsb anagrams are formed of the names of citic», each being
preceded by a characteristic description of that city.
I. A phuanthropic city: — S<iD not. 2. An enterprising city:—
'^ ■ ' KKV. 3. A nver-spanning city :— Cr — '
I.I pr
magnificent city; — In shac. tow
ANCHOR. 6. A hot city: — Boil mk
5 A
i-port city:— Let 's
city: — Up last.
gathered i
s the year n
896
Tli !■: UI DDMC-liOX.
EAHV PICTORIAL KM<;>IA.
Thf. an-iwcr to the alx^vc numerical enigma contains fifty-one letters, and is a well-kn
not defined in the usual way, but arc represented by pictures, each of which refers by a Ro
eivcn in the following statement of the puzzle: I. i-2-io-€. II. 44-23-^1-4^. HI.
VI. 6-24-c^^8-49. VII. 7-31-46. VIII. iS-4i-37-4-»3- >^ 40-SO-45-27; A. 25-21
36-11-43. XIII. 19-16-45. XIV. 4-39-31-29-48. XV. 3»-34-42-48-2i. XVI. 36-41-45
saying from the lliblc. The kcy-wortis arc
numeral to its own set of Arabic numerals.
-18, IV. 4-10-48-12. V. 5-28-22-44-17.
22-14-30-35-51. XI. 30-31-23-33-47. XII.
JOii.N TAYLOR.
Tkk
s arc printed it
r June puzzle 1
ml,-,
vcd,
,ci number after ihal in wliich die pujzlen appc.ir.
lalc fnr acknowlcdKn^ent in ihc August number, from Lillie Lane, Bonham, Texas.
," 5 — (Icorgc W. Hamc-
.— Lulu Clark
.0— Minnie Thicbaud, i— I
nd Cillcy.
.V Nt'MBEK were received, before July jo, fnim Mary R. Tyng. 3— Bessie McJ. Tync ^—^■
e M. Uoardman. i— " Phil. L Penc," 3— H. L. luirly, s— The I!. .S. and K. f.iniilics, 10— llaltie E.
lie Giraud, 5-
d Nellie Caldwell. 9— M. L. Ward
■Vlgie las-sin, 3— Mabel Thompson, j— .\uKUsla, j— lad, 6—
rd and L. U. John.son, 11— Liiiie D. Fyfer, (~- H. A. Vedder.
Uuschman, i— Uilla E. Croft, i— Bella A , 5— Fannie B. Wyatl. 1— Mri J . L.
yman, I— <;. A. Lyon. 10— Bcs,sicC. Bamev, 7— O. " " "" ""
, I— '• Fairview \u '
Wompstcr," all — "Jc
Rockwell, 13— "Chick
Bessie and her C'uisin,
6—" Pn.fesv.i and Co ," lo-
Cille>- and Mabel. .— Rayii
Talboys, I— Lijzie H. U. St. Vrain. J— Warren (J. VValemian, 1—" Fairvicw Nurserv-," 10— Rosalie, Arthur, and Mar>-, i— Marion and
Harry, 1— Mary and John, 8— Josie IL Wickell and May H. Carman, 3— Lyde .McKinney. 11— 1). W. Robert, and Flavel and Nannie
Mines. 5—" Mama and Ba," all-Joseph (i. Dcane, 3— Otis and Elliott Brownfield, 6— Blanche R, Percey, 5— Frank B. Howard, 10—
John Wroth, ..>— " Ilon.thy Ilump" and " ILirbara Bright," 7— Rose I. Rarilan, s— Wallace K. C.ayhml, 4— Johnny Putnam. I— .Mollie
Weiss, 7— th.irlie W. Power. 11— Dollic Francis. 10— ■'lle.icon." 4- J I>. Havden. i — llraham F. Putnam, 3— M. M. Libby. 6— Ceo.
F. Weld .and (leo. J. and Esther I. Fiske, 6- Florence C. Lane, 8- Kate T. \Vendell, 7— H C. Wanen and'F. C. Tonrv, 10— Comic
and Mav, ,/— Nellie J. fiould, 8— Bessie Tayh.r, 3— Chilrlie and Josie Treat, all— Henry C. Brown, 11— Florence F- Prati. 8— "Quee
Bess," 11— Trask, all— P. S. Clarkson. 11 — Ceorge R. Shenk, 3— Fred Wilford, 7— " < ' " ' =— ■ ■ » "" — ' — ' "••'•■■^ -
Philip S Caril..n, 7— (enny and Tinie, B— Anne and .NLiria Mcllv.nine, 8— H. R ljb<.i
C. .McDonald, i^— Willie Sladdrcu. i— ••Dlivcite," 7— Annie H. Mills. 10— J. 11. Bourn
Uiiie C Camahan. 10— Fxlwanl Vultee. 9- Katie Smith. 6- It. B Potirro. 8— I. S. let
Ijke," 7— "C-irol and her Sitter.,' 0— U.uise anil NicoU Ludlow, 7— Florence Ixslie Kyt.
Vile, 9— " Gucuer," all— Archie and Clmriolle Warden, 6— 1 )ycie. 9. The numerals '
nnali, 8 — "Pearl i
, 4- H. I. P., 5— V.nlerie Fr^nkel, 7— Fieti
, 4— " Partners," 8—" K.ny and Night." 11—
lant, 13 — Edward M. Trabcr, 4 — "Greenwood
all— " Vema." 4-Fred Thwaits, 11— Sallic
ote the number of piiz/les solved.
ON THE WAY TO JOTUNHEIM.
(S« iwsc 95 J. J
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. VIII. OCTOBER, 1881. No. 12.
[Copyright, i83i, byT"K CENTURY CO.)
LITTLE ASSUNTA.
By Celia Thaxter.
Climbing the Pincian Hill's long slope,
When the West was bright with a crimson llame,
Her small face glowing with life and hope,
Little Assunta singing came.
From under ilex and olive tree,
I gazed afar to St. Peter's dome ;
Below, for a wondering world to see,
Lay the ruined glories of ancient Rome.
Sunset was sorrowing over the land.
O'er the splendid fountains that leaped in the air.
O'er cnimbling tower and temple grand,
Palace, and column, and statue fair.
Little Assunta climbed the steep ;
She was a lovely sight to see!
A tint in her olive cheek as deep
As the wild red Roman anemone.
Dark as midnight her braided hair.
Over her fathomless eyes of Ijrown ;
And over her tresses the graceful square
Of snow-white linen was folded down.
Her quaint black bodice was l.iced behind ;
Her apron w.ts barred with dull rich hues ;
Like the ripe pomegranate's tawny rind
Her little gown ; and she wore no shoes.
Vol.. vni.— 57.
898
I.ITTLK ASS V NT A.
(OcTonHR,
But round her dusk throat's slender grace,
Large, smooth, coral beads were wound ;
Like a flower herself in that solemn place
She seemed, just blooming out of the };r<iund.
lip she came, xs she walked on air I
1 wandered downward, with footstep slow,
Till we met in the midst of the pathway fair.
Bathed in the mournful sunset's glow.
' Buon giorno, Signora ! " * she said ;
Like a wild-bird's note w.as her greeting clear.
' Salve !" t I answered, "my little maid,
But 't is evening, and not good-morning, dear!
She stretched her hands with a smile like light,
As if she offered me, joyfully,
Some precious gift, with that aspect bright,
-And "'Buon giorno!" again sang she.
And so she ));issed me, and upward pressed
Under ilex and olive tree.
While the flush of sunset died in the West,
.\nd the shadows of twilight folded me.
She carried the morn in her shining eyes!
Evening was mine, and the night to be ;
But she stirred my heart with the dawn's surpri^
.And left mc a beautiful meniorv 1
"1 iniinnnt;, I^dy ! " I \ icrrn of s.-ilutatinn, pronouncc.l " Sal-v.*.'* and meaning " Hail! " or *' Welcome! "
THE CASTLE OK BIM.
899
1111. CAS 11.
ul- lUM.
Bv Frank R. Siockion.
I.ORIS was a little girl, about eleven years old,
who lived with her father in a very small house
among the mountains of a distant land. He was
sometimes a wood-cutter, and sometimes a miner,
or a pliHvman, or a stone-breaker. lieing an
industrious man, he would work at anything he
could do, w hen a chance otTered ; but, as there
was not much work to do in that part of the
country, poor Jorn often found it very hard to
make a living for himself and Loris.
One day, when he had gone out early to look
for work, Loris w.is in her little sleeping-room,
under the roof, braiding her hair. .Although she
W.1S so poor, Loris always tried to make herself
look as neat as she could, for that pleased her
father. She was just tying the ribbon on the end
of the long braid, when she heard a knock at the
door below.
■■ In one second," she said to herself, " 1 will go.
I must tie this ribbon tightly, for it would never do
to lose it."
.And so she tied it, and ran down-st.iirs to the
dooT. There was no one there.
'• Oh, it is too bad ! " cried Loris ; " perhaps it
was some one with work for Father. He told me
always to be very careful about answering a knock
at the door, for there was no knowing when some
one might come with a good job ; antl now some-
body has come and gone ! " cried Loris, looking
about in every direction for the person who. had
knocked. "Oh, there he is! How could he
have got away so far in such a short time ? I
must run after him."
So away she ran, as fast as she could, after a
man she saw walking away from the cottage in the
direction of a forest.
•• Oh dear ! " she said, as she ran, " how fast he
walks ! and he is such a short man, too ! He is
going right to the hut of Laub, that wicked Laub,
who is always trying to get away work from Father ;
and he came first to our house, but thought then-
was nobody at home ! "
Loris ran and ran, but the short man did walk
very fast. However, she gradually gained on him,
and just as he reached Laub's door, she seized him
by the coat.
" Slop, sir, please ! " she said, scarcely able to
speak, she was so out of breath.
The man turned and looked at her. He w.as a
very short man indeed, for he scarcely reached to
Loris's waist.
"What do you want?" he said, looking up at
her.
" Oh, sir," she gasped, " you came to our house
first, and I ran to the door almost .as quick as I
could, and, if it 's any work. Father wants work,
ever so bad."
" Yes," said the short man, "but Laub wants
work, too. He is very poor."
"Yes, sir," said Loris, "but — l)Ut you came for
Father first."
"True," said the short man, "but nobody
answered my knock, and now I am here. Laub
has four young children, and sometimes they
have nothing to eat. It is never so bad with you,
is it?"
" No, sir," said Loris.
"Your father has work sometimes. Is it not
so ? " asked the short man.
" Yes, sir," answered Loris.
" Laub is often without work for weeks, and he
has four children. .Shall I go back with you, or
knock here ? "
" Knock," said Loris, softly.
The short man knocked at the door, and in-
stantly there was heard a great scuffling and
hubbub within. Directly all was quiet, and then
a voice said, " Come in ! "
"He did not wait so long for //;»•," thought
Loris.
The short man opened the door and went in,
Loris following him. In a bed, in a corner of the
room, were four children, their heads just appear-
ing above a torn sheet, which was pulled up to
their chins.
"Hollo! what 's the matter?" said the sliort
man, advancing to the bed.
" Please, sir," said the oldest child, a girl of
about the age of Loris, with tangled hair and
sh.arp black eyes, " we 're all sick, and very poor,
and our f.ither h.as no work. If you can give us a
little money to buy bread "
"All sick, eh?" said the short man. ".Any
particular disease ? "
" \Vc don't know about diseases, sir," said the
girl ; " we 've never been to school."
" N'o doubt of that," said the man. " I have
no money to give you. but you can tell your father
that if he will come to the mouth of the Ragged
Mine to-morrow morning, he can have a job of
work which will pay him well."
So saying, the short man went out.
900
THE CASTLE OK UlM.
(OCTOUER,
Loris followed liiin, but he simply waved his " No, sir," said Loris, " but I did n't want to
hand to her, and, in a few minutes, he was lost keep you wailing."
in the forest. She looked sadly after him for a " 1 should think not," said the other. " Why,
minute, and then walked slowly toward her home. I had hardly begun to knock."
This visitor was a middle-sized
man, very slight, and, at first
sight, of a youthful appearance.
Hut his hair was either powdered
cir gray, and it was difficult to
know whether he was old or
-^ ' \nung. His face was long and
''••''- inooth, and he nearly always
looked .as if he was just going to
burst out laughing. He was
dressed in a silken suit of light
green, pink, pale yellow, and
sky-blue, but all the colors were
vcrj' much faded. On his head
was stuck a tall, orange-colored
hat, with a lemon-colored feather.
" Is your father in ? " said this
/ y _j^ ^^^'\^r strange personage.
n^ , - ^-^ "'■ ''""^ "No, sir," said Loris; " he will
be here this evening, and I can give him
any message you may leave for him."
" I have n't any message," said the
queer-looking man. " 1 want to see him."
" You can see him about sunset," said Loris, " if
The moment their visitors had gone, the Laub you will come then."
children sprang out of bed as lively as crickets. '' 1 don't want to come again. I think I '11 wait,"
" Ha ! ha ! " cried the oldest girl ; " Loris came said the man.
/■
after him to get it, and he would n't give it to her,
and Father 's got it. Served her right, the horrid
thing ! "
And all the other children shouted, "Horrid
Loris said, " Very well," but she wondered what
he would do all the afternoon. She brought out a
stool for him to sit upon, for it was not \cry pleas-
ant in the house, but he did not sit down. He
thing I " while one of the boys ran out and threw a walked all around the house, looking at the
stone after Loris. And then they shut the door, chicken-house, where there were no chickens ; the
and sat down to finish eating a meat-pie which cow-house, where there was no cow ; and the pig-
had been given them. sty, where there were no pigs. Then he skipped
" Well," said Jorn, that evening, when Loris up to the top of a little hillock, near by, and sur-
lold him what had happened, "I 'm sorry, for I veyed the landscape. Loris kept her eye upon
found but little work to-day ; but it can't be him, to sec that he did not go away without leav-
helped. You did all you could." ing a message, and went on with her cooking.
" No, Father," said Loris, " I might have gone When her dinner was ready, she thought it only
to the door quicker." right to ask him to have some. She did not want
"That may be," said Jorn, "and I hope you to do it, but she could not see how she could help
will never keep any one waiting again." it. She had been taught good manners. So she
Two or three days after this, as Loris was stoop- went to the door and called him, and he instantly
ing over the fire, in the back room of the cottage,
preparing her dinner, she heard a knock.
Springing to her feet, she dropped the pan she
held in her hand, and made a dash at the front
door, pulling it open with a tremendous fling. No
one should go away this time, she thought.
." Hello ! Ho ! ho! " cried a person outside, giv-
ing a skip backward. " Do you open doors by
lightning, here.'"
came skipping to her.
" I thought you might like to have some dinner,
sir," she said. " 1 have n't much, but "
" Two people don't want much," he said.
" Where shall we have it? In the house, or will
you spread the cloth out here on the grass? "
" There is not much use in spreading a cloth,
sir," she said, pointing to what she had prepared for
dinner. " I have only one potato, and some salt."
Tilt; CASTLE Ol' UIM.
901
"That's not a dinner," said the other, cheer-
fully. " A dinner is soup, meat, some vejjetables
(besides potatot-s, and there ought to be two of
them, at le.ist), some breati, dieese, pudding, and
fruit. "
" Uul 1 have n't all that, sir," said Loris, with
her eyes wide open at this astonishing description
of a dinner.
" No, sir; I do not," answered Loris.
"I am a Ninkum," said the other. "Did you
ever meet with one before .' "
"No, sir, never," said Loris.
" I am very gl.id to hear that," he said; "it 's
so pleasant to be fresh and nfivel."
And then he went walking around the house
again, looking at evcrjthing he had seen before.
Well, then, if you h.ive n't got them, the ne.\t Then he laid himself down on the grass, near the
best thing is to go and get them."
Loris smiled faintly. " I could n't do that, sir,"
she said. " 1 have no money."
■• Well then, if you can't go, the next best thing
is for me to go. The \illage is not far away.
Just wait dinner a little while for me." And so
saying, he skipped away at a great pace.
house, with one leg thrown over the other, and his
hands clasped under his he.ad. For a long time he
lay in this way, looking up at the sky and the
clouds. Then he turned lus head and said to
Loris, who was sewing by the door-step :
"Did you ever think how queer it would be if
everything in the world were reversed ? — if the
Loris did not wait for him, but ate her potato ground were soft and blue, like the sky ? and if
and salt. " I 'm glad he is able to buy his own the sky were covered with dirt, and chips, and
dinner," she said, " but 1 'm afraid he wont come
back. 1 wish he had left a message. "
But she need not have feared. In a half-hour
the queer man came back, bearing a great basket,
covered with a cloth. The Jattcr he spread on the
ground, and then he set out .\11 the things he had
said were neeess;iry to make up .i dinner. He pre-
pared a place at one end of the cloth for Loris,
and one at the other end for himself.
"Sit down," said he. seating himself on the
grass ; " don't let things get cold."
"I 've had my dinner," said Loris; "this is
yours."
grass .' and if fowls and animals walked about on
it, like flies sticking to a ceiling? "
" 1 never thought of such a thing in my life,"
saitl Loris.
"I often do," said the Ninkum. "It expands
the mind."
For the whole afternoon, the Ninkum lay on his
back and expanded his mind ; and then, about
sunset, Loris saw her father returning. She ran
to meet him, and told him of the Ninkum who
was waiting to see him. Jorn hurried to the
house, for he felt sure that his visitor must have
an important job of work for him, as he had
" Whenever you 're ready to begin," said the waited so long.
man, lying back on the grass and looking placidly " I am glad you have come," said the Ninkum.
up to the sky, "1 '11 begin,
but not until then."
Loris saw he was in ear-
nest, and, as she was a sensi-
ble girl, she sat down at her
end of the cloth.
"That 's right!" gayly
cried the queer man, sittin;.;
up again; "I was afraid
you 'd be obstinate, and then
I should have star\'ed."
When the meal was over.
Loris said :
" I never had such a good
dinner in my life ! "
The man looked at her and
laughed.
"This is a funny world, is
n't it ? " said he.
" .Awfully funny ! " replied
Loris, laughing. " I wanted to see you, for two things ; the first was
" You don't know what I am, do you?" said the that we might have supper. I 'm dre.idfully hun-
man, .is Loris put the dishes, with what was left of gry, and there 's enough in that basket for us all.
the meal, into the basket. The second thing can wait. It 's business."
.^
■sit down! said
902
TlIK CASTLI-; or BIM.
lOCTOBU,
So Loris and the Ninkuni spread oui the remains
of the dinner, and the three made a liearly supper.
Jorn was highly pleased. He had expected to
come home to a meal very different from this.
"Now, then," said the Ninkum, "we '11 talk
al)out the business."
" You have some work for me, 1 suppose," said
Jorn.
"No," said the Ninkum, "none that 1 know of.
What 1 want is for you to go into partnership with
me."
"Partnership!" cried Jorn. "I don't under-
stand you. What kind of work could we do
together ? "
"None at all," said the Ninkum, "for 1 never
work. Your part of the partnership will be to
chop wood, and dig, and plow, and do just what
you do now. I will live here with you, and will
provide the food, and the clothes, and the fuel,
and the pocket-money for the three of us."
" But you could n't live here ! " cried Loris.
" Our house is so poor, and there is no room for
you."
"There need ))e no trouble about that," said the
Ninkum. "I can build a room right here, on
this side of the house. I never work," he said to
Jorn, "but 1 hate idleness; so what I want is to
go into partnership with a person who will work, —
an industrious person like you, — then my con-
science will be at case. Please agree as quickly
as you can, for it 's beginning to grow dark, and 1
hate to walk in the dark."
Jorn did not hesitate. He agreed instantly to
go into partnership with the Ninkum, and the
latter, after bidding them good-night, skipped
gayly away.
The next day, he returned with carpenters, and
laborers, and lumber, and timber, and furniture,
and bedding, and a large and handsome room was
built for him on one side of the house ; and he
came to live with Jorn and Loris. For several
days he had workmen putting a fence around the
yard, and building a new cow-house, a new
chicken-house, and a new pig-sty. He bought a
cow, pigs, and chickens; had flowers planted in
front of the house, and made everything look very
neat and pretty.
" Now," said he one day to Loris and Jorn, as
they were eating supper together, " I '11 tell you
something. I was told to keep it a secret, but I
hate secrets. I think they all ought to be told as
soon as possible. Ever so much trouble has been
made by secrets. The one I have is this: That
dwarf who came here, and then went and hired
old Laub to work in his mine "
" Was that a dwarf? " asked Loris, much excited.
"Yes, indeed," said the Ninkum, "a regular
one. Did n't you notice how short he was?
Well, he told me all about his coming here. The
dwarfs in the Ragged Mine found a deep hole,
with lots of gold at the bottom of it, but it steamed
and smoked, and w.ts too hot for dwarfs. So the
king dwarf sent out the one you saw, and told him
to hire the first miner he could find, to work in the
deep hole, but not to tell him how hot it was until
he had made his contract. So the dwarf had to
come first for you, Jorn, for you lived nearest the
mine, but he hoped he would not find you, for he
knew you were a good man. That was the reason
he Just gave one knock, and hurried on to Laub's
house. And then he told me how Loris ran after
him, and how good she was to agree to let him
give the work to Laub, when she thought he
needed it more than her father. ' Now,' says he
to me, ' I want to do something for that family,
and I don't know anything better that could hap-
pen to a man like Jorn, than to go into partner-
ship with a Ninkum.' "
At these words, Jorn looked over the well-spread
supper-table, and he thought the dwarf was cer-
tainly right.
"So that 's the way 1 came to live here," said
tlic Ninkum, " and I like it first-rate."
" 1 wish 1 could go and see the dwarfs working
in their mine," said Loris.
"I '11 take you," exclaimed the Ninkum. " It 's
not a long walk from here. We can go to-mor-
row. "
Jorn gave his consent, and the next morning
Loris and the Ninkum set out for the Ragged
Mine. The entrance was a great jagged hole in
the side of a mountain, and the inside of the mine
had also a very rough and torn appearance. It
belonged to a colony of dwarfs, and ordinary mor-
tals seldom visited it, but the Ninkum had no diffi-
culty in obtaining admission. Making their way
slowly along the rough and somber tunnel, Loris
and he saw numbers of dwarfs, working with pick
and shovel, in search of precious minerals. Soon
they met the dwarf who had come to Jom's house,
and he seemed glad to see Loris again. He led
her about to various parts of the mine, and showed
her the heaps of gold and silver and precious stones,
which had been dug out of the rocks around them.
The Ninkum had seen these things before, and
so he thought he would go and look for the hot
hole, where Laub was working. That would be .1
novelty.
He soon found the hole, and just as he reached
it, Laub appeared at its opening, slowly climbing
up a ladder. He looked very warm and tired, and
throwing some gold ore upon the groimtl, from a
b.iskel which he carried on his back, he sat down
and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
II
THE CASTLE OF BIM.
903
•• That IS w.irm work, I,.iub," ^.lid the Ninkuin,
pleasantly.
•• Warm I " s;iid Laub, gruffly. "It 's hot.
Hot as tire. Why, the gold down at the bottom of
that hole burns your fingers when you pick it up.
If I had n't made a contract with these rascally
dwarfs to work here for forty-one days, I would n't
stay another minute; but you can't break a con-
tract you make with dwarfs."
•• It 'i a pretty hard thing to have to work here,
that is true," said the Ninkum, " but you owe your
ill-fortune to yourself. It 's all because you 're
ho turned, as I.oris came near, and rushed down
into the hot hole.
" Perhaps I ought nut to have told him all that,"
said the Ninkum, as he walked away, " but I hate
secrets. They always make mischief."
Presently Loris said : "Do let us go home, now.
I have seen nearly everything, and it is so dark
and gloomy." Taking leave of the kind dwarf,
the two made their way out of the mine.
" I do not like such gloomy places any better
than you do," said the Ninkum. " Disagreeable
things arc always happening in ihcm. 1 like to
known to be so ill-natured and wicked. When the
dwarf was sent to hire a man to come and work in
this hole, he had to go to Jorn's house first, because
that was the nearest place, but he just gave one
knock there, and hurried away, hoping Jorn would
n't hear, for it would be a pity to have a good man
like Jorn to work in such a place as this. Then he
went after you, for he knew you deserx-ed to be
punished by this kind of work."
As the Ninkum said this, Laub's face grew black
with rage.
" So that 's the truth ! " he cried. " When I get
out of this place, I 'II crush every bone in the
><ly of that sneaking Jorn '. " and having said this,
have things bright and Uvely. 1 'II tell you what
would be splendid ! To make a visit to the Castle
of Bim."
" What is that, and where is it? " asked Loris.
" It 's the most delightful place in the whole
world," said the Ninkum. " While you 're there,
you do nothing and see nothing but what is posi-
tively charming, and everybody is just as happy
and gay as can be. It 's all life, and laughter, and
perfect delight. I know you would be overjoyed
if you were there."
" I should like very much to go," said Loris, " if
Father would let me." " I 'II go and ask him this
minute," said the Ninkum. " I know where he
904
THK CASTLE OF lllM.
is working;. Vuu can run home, and I will go to you from your work any longer. Good-moming."
him, and (hen come and tell you what he says." And as soon as he was out of Jom's sight, the
So Loris ran home, and the Ninkum went to the Ninkum began to run home as fast as he could,
place where Jorn was cutting wood. " Get ready, Loris," he cried, when he reached
the house. " Your father
says, reversibly speaking,
that on every account you
must go. He can well
spare you."
"But must we go now ?"
said Loris; "cannot we
wait until he comes home,
and go to-morrow ? "
" No, indeed," said the
j(|^ Ninkum; '* there will be
-=' obstacles to our starting
to-morrow ; so let us hast-
en to the village and hire
a horse. Your father will
get along nicely here by
himself, and he will be
greatly pleased with your
improvement when you
return from the Castle of
Bim."
So Loris, who was de-
lighted with the idea of
the journey, hastened to
get read)', and, having
put the house-key under
the front door-stone, she
and the Ninkum went to
the village, where they got
a horse and started for the
Castle of Bim.
„ The Ninkum rode in
front, Loris sat on a pillion
'■ Jorn," said the Ninkum, " suppose that ever)'- behind, and the horse trotted along gayly. The
thing in this world were reversed, that you chopped Ninkum was in high good spirits, and passed the
wood standing on your head, and that you split time in telling -Loris of all the delightful things
* ' RIDE RIGHT I'
your ax instead of the log you struck. Would not
that be peculiar ? "
" Such things could not be," said Jorn. " What
is the good of talking about them ? "
" I think a great de!al about such matters," said
the Ninkum. " They expand my mind. And
now, Jorn, reversibly speaking, will you let Loris
go with me to the Castle of Bim ? "
" Wliere is that ? " asked Jorn.
she would see in the Castle of Him.
Late in the afternoon, they came in sight of a
vast castle, which rose up at the side of the road
like a little mountain.
"Hurrah!" cried the Ninkum, as he spurred
the horse, " 1 knew we were nearly there ! "
Loris was very glad tliat the)' had reached the
castle, for she was getting tired of riding, and
when ll»e Ninkum drew up in front of the great
It is not far from here. I think we could go portal, she imagined that she was going to see won-
in half a day. I would get a horse in the village." derful things; for the door, to begin with, was, she
" And how long would you stay? " felt sure, the biggest door in the whole world.
"Well, I don't know. A week or two, perhaps. "You need not get off," said the porter, whi>
Come, now, Jorn, reversibly speaking, may she go?" stood by the door, to the Ninkum. who was pre-
" No, indeed," said Jorn, " on no account shall paring to dismount; "you can ride right in."
she go. I could not spare her." Accordingly, the Ninkum and Loris rode right
" All right," said the Ninkum, " 1 will not keep into the c.istle through the front door. Inside,
THE CASTLE OF BIM.
905
they fouml themselves in a high and wide hall-way,
p.ivetl «ilh sliiiK', which leil back Ui wlial a|)|)c.ireil
to be an inner court. Hiding to the end ol this
hall, they stopped in the door-way there and looked
out. In the center of the court, which was very
lar^e. there stood, side by side, and about twenty
feet apart, some great upright posts, like the trunks
of tall pine-trees. Across two of these, near their
tops, rested a thick and hc.ivy horizontal pole, and
on this pole a giant was practicing gymnastics.
Hanging by his hands, he would draw himself up
until his chin touched the pole; and he kept on
doing this until the Ninkum s;tid in a whisper :
" Twelve times ! 1 did not think he could do it ! "
The giant now drew up his legs and threw them
over the bar, above his head; then, by a vigorous
effort, he turned himself entirely over the bar, and
hung beneath it by his hands. After stopping a
minute or two to breathe, he drew up his legs again,
and, putting them under the bar between his hands,
as boys do when they "skin the cat," he turned
partly over, and hung in this position. His face
w.as now toward the door-way, and for the first
time he noticed his visitors on their horse.
when I did not weigh so much, I could draw my-
self up twenty-seven limes. Come in with mc and
have some supper ; it is about ready now. Is that
your little daughter ? "
" No," said the Ninkum: "I am her guardian
for the present."
"Ride right upstairs," said the giant; "my
wife is up there, and she will take care of the little
girl."
" I am afraid," said the Ninkum, " thai my
horse can not jump up those great steps."
" Of course not," said the giant. "Let me help
you up, and then 1 will go down and bring your
horse."
" Oh, that wont be necessary," said the Ninkum,
and Loris laughed at the idea.
" You may want to look at the house," said the
giant, " and then you '11 need him."
So the giant took the Ninkum and Loris up-
stairs, and then came down and brought up the
horse. The upper story was as vast and spacious
as the lower part of the castle, and by a window
the giant's wife sat, darning a stocking. As they
approached her, the Ninkum whispered to Loris:
TUB GIA.ST THKIST HIS
" Hello I " said he to the Ninkum ; " could you
do that.' "
"Not on that pole," answered the Ninkum,
smiling.
" If there were such holes In my stockings, I
should fall through."
The giantess was very glad to sec Loris, and she
took her up in her hand and kissed her, very much
" I should think not," said the giant, dropping as a little girl would kiss a canary-bird. Then the
to his feet and puffing a little. " Ten years ago, giant children were sent for, — two big bovs and a
go6
Tllli CASTLli Ol- IllM.
l).iby-i;irl. who tliouj;ht Loris was so lovely that she
woulil have sqiR-c/cd licr to death if her mother
liad allowed her to lake the little visitor in her
hands.
During supper, Loris and llie Ninkum sat in
chairs with long legs, like stilts, which the giant
had had made for his men and women visitors.
They had to be very careful, lest they should tip
over and break their necks.
.•\fter supper, they sat in the great upper h.iU.
and the giant got out his guitar and sang them a
song.
" 1 hope there are not many more verses,'' whis-
pered the Ninkum to Loris; " my bones arc almost
shaken apart."
" How did you like that ? "' .Tsked the giant, when
he had finished.
'• It was very nice," said the Ninkum. " It
reminded me of something 1 once heard before.
I think it was a wagon-load of copper pots, rolling
down a mountain, but 1 am not sure."
The giant thanked him, and, soon after, they
all went to bed. Loris slept in the room with the
giantess, on a high shelf, where the children could
not reach her.
Just before they went to their rooms, the Nin-
kum said to Loris :
" Do you know that 1 don't believe this is the
Castle of Bim ? "
" It did n't seem to be like the place you told me
about," said Loris, " but what are w-e to do ? "
" Nothing, but go to bed," said the Ninkum.
"They are very glad to see us, and to-morrow we
will bid them good-bye, and push on to the Castle
of Bim."
With this, the Ninkum jumped on his horse and
rode to his room.
The next day, after they had gone over the cas-
tle and seen all its sights, the Ninkum told the
giant that he and Loris must pursue their journey
to the Castle of Bim.
" What is that?" said the giant, and when the
Ninkum proceeded to describe it to him, he became
very much interested.
"Ho! ho! good wife!" he cried. "Suppose
we go with these friends to the Castle of Bim I It
must be a very pleasant place, and the exercise
will do me good. 1 'm dreadfully tired of gymnas-
tics. What do you say ? We can take the chil-
dren."
The giantess thought it would be a capital idea,
and so they all put on their hats and caps, and
started off, leaving the castle in charge of the
giant's servants, who were people of common size.
They journeyed .all that day, Loris and the Nin-
kum riding ahe.ad, followed by the giant, then by
the giantess, carrying the baby, and, lastly, the
two giant boys, witli .i im^klI hI |jnniaiuii3 Ijiiwecn
them.
That night they slept on the ground, under
some trees, and the Ninkum admitted that the
Castle of Uim was a good deal farther off than
he had supposed it to be.
Toward afternoon of the next day, they found
themselves on some high land, and coming to the
edge of a bluff, they saw, in the plain below, a
beautiful city. The giant was struck with admira-
tion.
"1 have seen many a city," said he, "but I
never saw one so sensibly and handsomely laid out
as that. The people who built that place knew
just what they wanted."
" Do you see that great building in the center of
the city ? " cried the Ninkum. " Well, that is the
Castle of Bim ! Let us hurry down."
So away they all started, at their best speed, for
the city.
They had scarcely reached one of the outer gates,
when the>' were met by a citizen on horseback,
followed by two or three others on foot. The
horseman greeted them kindly, and said that he
had been sent to meet them.
"We shall be very glad," he said to the Nin-
kum, " to have you and the little girl come into
our city to-night, but if those giants were to enter,
the people, especially the children, would throng
the streets to see them, and many would unavoid-
ably be trampled to death. There is a great show-
tent out here, where the giants can comfortably
pass the night, and to-morrow we will have the
street, learcd, and the people kept within doors.
Then I lose great visitors will be made welcome to
walk in and view the city."
The giants agreed to this, and they were con-
ducted to the tent, where they were made very
comfortable, while the Ninkum and Loris were
taken into the city and lodged in the house of the
citizen who had come to meet them.
The next day, the giants entered the city, and
the windows and doors in the streets which they
|)assed through were crowded with spectators.
The giant liked the city better and better .as he
walked through it. Ilverything was so .admir.ably
planned, and in such perfect order. The others
enjoyed themselves very much, too, and Loris was
old enough to understand the beauty and conven-
ience of many of the things she saw around her.
Toward the end of the d.iy, the Ninkum came
to her.
"Do you know," said he, "that the Castle of
Rim is not here ? That large building is used by
the governors of the city ; and what a queer pl.icc
it is ! Everything that they do turns out just
Ti'iht. I saw a man set a rat-trap, and what do
TIIK CASTl
907
you think? Ik- (.auglil tlu- int! I oniM ii't hi-lp
l.iui;hini;. It is vcn- funny."
•• lUit what arc you going to ilo?" asked I.oris.
"\Vc will stay hero to-night," said the Ninkuni,
'•as the lilizens are very kind, and treat us well ;
ti>-nuirrow we will po on to the (.'astle oC Him."
come back anil report what I lia\e seen to my
fellow-citizens.''
His company was gladly accepted, and all set
out in high good humor, the citizen riding by the
side of Loris and the Ninkum. Hut when they
had jrone several miles, the giantess detlareil that
The next day, therefore, our party again set out
on their journey. The Ninkum had told the citi-
zen, who had entertained him, where they were
going, and his accounts of the wonderful c.istle
induced this worthy man to go with him.
" In our city," said he, " we trj- to be governed,
in everything, by the ordinary rules of common
sense. In this way we get along very comfortably
and pleasantly, and everything seems to go well
with us. lUit we arc always willing to examine
into the merits of things which arc new to us, and
S4) I should like to go to this curious c.istle, and
she believed she would go back home. The baby
was getting very heavy, and the boys were tired.
The giant could tell her .about the C.istle of Rim
on his return. So the weary giantess turned
back with her children, her husband kissing her
good-bye, and assuring her that he would not let
her go b.ick by herself if he did not feel certain
that no one would molest her on the %vay.
The rest of the party now went on at a good
p.ice, the giant striding along as fast .is the horses
could trot. The Ninkum did not seem to know
the way as well as he had said he did. Me con-
goS
THE CASTLE OF BIM.
tinually iksireil lo turn to the ri^jlit. anil when the
others inquired if lie wns sure that he oujjht to do
this, he said he had often been told that the best
thing a person could do when a little in doubt was
to turn to the right.
The citizen did not like this method of reasoning,
and he was going to say something about it, when
a man was perceived, sitting in doleful plight by
the side of the road. The Ninkum, who was very
kind-hearted, rode up to him to inquire what had
happened to him, but the moment the man raised
his head, and before he had time to say a word,
Loris slipped off the horse and threw her arms
around his neck.
" Oh, Father ! Father ! " she cried. " how came
you here ? "
It was, indeed, Jorn, — ragged, wounded, and
exhausted. In a moment, every one set to work
to relieve him. Loris ran for water, and bathed
his face and hands ; the citizen gave him some
wine from a flask ; the giant produced some great
pieces of bread and meat, and the Ninkum asked
him questions.
Jorn soon felt refreshed and strengthened, and
then he told his story.
He had been greatly troubled, he said, when
he found that Loris had gone away against his
express orders.
'•Why, Father!" cried Loris, at this point,
"you said I could go!"
" Never," said Jorn. " Of course not. 1 said you
could not go."
" Reversibly speaking," said the Ninkum, smil-
ing, " he consented. That was the way 1 put the
question to him. If I had n't put it that way, I
should have told a lie."
E\erybody looked severel)- at the Ninkuin, and
Loris was very angry; but her father patted her on
the head, and went on with his story. He would
have followed the Ninkum and his daughter, but
he did nut know what road they had taken, and,
as the)- were on a horse, he could not, in any case,
expect to catch up with them ; so he waited,
hoping they would soon return. But before long
he was very glad that Loris was away. The
wicked Laub, who, in some manner, had found out
that he had been made to work in the dwarfs' mine
instead of Jorn, — who liad been considered too
good for such disagreeable labor,— had become so
enraged that he broke his contract with the dwarfs,
and, instead of continuing his work in the mine,
had collected a few of his depraved companions,
and had made an attack upon Jorn's house. The
doors had been forced, poor Jorn had been dragged
forth, Ix-aten, and forced to fly, while Laub and his
companions look possession of the house and
everything in it.
"Hut how could you wander so far, dear I- .itht r .' '
asked Loris.
"It 's not far," said Jorn. "Our home is not
many miles away."
"Then you h.nve been going in a circle," said
the citizen to the Ninkum, "and you arc now very
near the point you started from."
" That seems to be the case," said the Ninkum,
smiling.
" But we wont talk about that now," said the
citizen. " We must see what we can do for this
poor man, who has been treated so unjustly. He
must have his house again."
" I would have .asked the dwarfs to help me,"
said Jorn, "but I believe they would have killed
Laub and the others if they had resisted, and I
did n't want any bloodshed."
"No," said the citizen, "1 think we can manage
it better than that. Our large friend here will be
.able to get these people out of your house without
killing them."
"Oh, yes," said the giant, quietly, "1 '11 soon
attend to that."
Jorn being now quite re.idy to travel, the party
proceeded, and soon reached his house. When
Laub perceived the approach of Jorn and his
friends, he barricaded all the doors and windows,
and, with his companions, prepared to resist every
attempt to enter.
Hut his efforts were useless.
The giant knelt down before the house, and.
having easily removed the door, he thrust in his
arm, and, sweeping it around the room, quickly
caught three of the invaders. He then put his
other arm through the window of the Ninkuni's
room, and soon pulled out Laub, taking no notice
of his kicks and blows.
The giant then tied the four rascals in a bunch,
by the feet, and laid them on the gr.iss.
"Now," said the citizen to the Ninkum, ".is
there seems to be nothing more to be done for
this good man and his daughter, suppose you tell
me the way to the Castle of Bim. I think I can
find it if I have good directions, and 1 do not wish
to waste any more time."
" 1 do not know the exact road," answered tin-
Ninkum.
"Wh.at!" cried the other, "have you never
been there ? "
" No," said the Ninkum.
"Well, then, did not the person who told you
.about it tell you the way ? "
" No one ever told me .about it," replied tlu
Ninkum, looking very serious. " But 1 havi-
thought a great deal on the subject, and I feel
sure that there must be such a place ; and 1 think
the way to find it is to go and look for it."
i88i.|
THE CASTLE i>K UiM.
909
"Well," said the citizen, smiling, "you are a
true N'inkiim. 1 suppose we have all thought of
some pl.\ce where everything shall be just as we
want it to be ; but 1 don't believe any of us will
tind that pl.ice. I am going home."
" And I, too," s.iid the giant, "and on my way
1 will stop at the Ragged Mme, and leave these
fellows to the care of the dwarfs. They are little
fellows, but, I 'm sure, will see that these rasc.ils
molest honest men no more."
" And I think 1 will go, too," said the Ninkum.
" I liked this place very much, but 1 am getting
tired of it now."
" That will be a gootl thing for you to do," said
the citizen, who had heard the story of how the
Ninkum h.id been sent to Jorn and Loris as a
reward. "You have lived for a time with these
good people, and have been of some service to
them ; but 1 think they must now feel that part-
nership with a Ninkum is a very dangerous thing,
and should not be kept up too long."
" No doubt that 's true," said the Ninkum.
"Good-bye, my friends; I will give you my room,
and everything that is in it."
" You have been very kind to us," said Loris, as
she shook hands with the Ninkum.
" Yes," said Jorn, "and you got me work that
will last a long time."
" Yes, I did what I could," cried the Ninkum,
mounting his horse, and gayly waving his hat
around his head, "and, reversibly speaking, 1
took you to the Castle of 15im."
Thf.rk. was a little lass who wore a Shaker bonnet :
She met a little laddie in the dell
Whose round and curly pate had a farmer's hat upon it.
Now which was most astonished ? Can you tell ?
9IO
LIVING LANTERNS.
LlXlNd I.A.N 11:RNS.
IJV C. I". Hol.DKR.
A PELICATK, minute speck of jelly, one of count-
less thousands like itself in the Southern seas, borne
by the current, is forced against the bottom. Most
delicate things thus roughly stranded would go
to pieces, but, strange to/ say, this fragile-looking
speck seems to gain new life from its contact
with the earth. It grows, throws out minute arms
that move to and fro in the tide ; it seizes and
absorbs the lime-salts of the water, and finally
builds up into and around its jelly-like body a
frame-work of stone, a perfect house, and becomes
a coral polyp. This, in turn, increases, buds, adds
to itself, ever growing upward, until the family-
house has become oval in shape, ten feet wide,
and the abode of over five million single polyps.
By this time, other such family-houses have been
growing close by in the same fashion, a sort of
living polyp village, if we may so express it, and as
sand and mud are washed against all of them, the
whole mass gradually rears itself until it nears the
surface of the sea, and is known as a coral reef.
Now comes floating along a seed, cigar-shaped,
standing upright in the water like the bob of a
fishing-line. .Several little roots form the sinker,
while from the top two small leaves appear. By
chance the long seed strands upon the coral reef,
and, like the coral egg, it, loo, gains new life from
seeming disaster. The rootlets bury themselves
in the soil, winding around the coral, spreading
like arms. The mud and sand wash against it,
bracing it up ; the leaves at the top grow into
limbs, and presto ! we have a mangrove tree grow-
ing upon a coral island ; it grows, and bears seeds
that in turn drop and float off to help build others.
In this way, much of Florida has grown, and
the same work is going on unceasingly, resulting
in the numberless keys that are creeping out into
the C,u\( — the advance-guards of our coral State.
While growing, these island trees arc the homes
of a host of animals ; the gnarled roots forming
arches and halls of quaint design. Beautiful shells
called Cyprias crawl upon them, and at high tide
those curious relatives of the crabs — the barnacles —
fasten themselves to the trees, and as the water
goes down, they arc left hanging high and dry, like
fruit. When they were first observed, years ago,
the finders believed they grew upon the trees, and
that from them young birds were hatched !
Thus we see how Nature builds up some of her
islands; but you may well be surprised that these
often are illuminated by wonderful living lanterns
of various kinds — things that, while lighting the
shoals and the sea about them, seem to have plans
of their own. We drift along these shoals in our
boat on the darkest nights, and the water seems a
mass of blazing fluid ; waving flames encompass
the bow, and every movement of the oar seems to
kindle innumerable fires into life. Globes of dim
light, Hkc submerged moons, pass and repass each
other in the greater depths, while smaller lights,
like stars, are scattered far and near. These lan-
terns of the sea arc really jelly-fishes and myriads
of microscopic animals with power to emit this
peculiar light. Besides these, we see above the
water bright, luminous spots, now moving up and
down, and casting a reflection upon the water.
Rowing carefiilly nearer, a dini, ghostly form is seen
behind the light, and finally the cause appears — a
beautiful heron, on whose breast the soft light glows.
LIVING l.ANTKKNS.
It IS .1 vcrv cxti'inloil Ik-IicI' ainonj; sportsinoii ami
other ol>sfr\iTi, tli.u this is a provision of n.uiirc to
facilitate the action of the biril in fishinj; at nijjht.
Its lonjj legs allow it to wade out from the coral key,
ami there, standinj; still and watchful, it is said to
show the luminous spot. The pale \\^\\l is reflected
upon the water, and excites the curiosity of the
tishes, which the patient bird is well prepared to
transfix with his Ion;; and slemler bill.
If we should examine one of these queer ni{;lit-
huntinj; birds, the fe.nthers about the spot that
substance, secreted by tluin, ^;liiws uith a wonder-
ful brilliancy, lij;htin^j up the water beneath for
twenty feet, and people sitting; in the cabin-window
if a vessel have been able to read from the j;Icams
that came from them. Humboldt, in speaking of
some he obser\'ed, says :
■'Only imaj^ine the superb spcct.icle which we
enjoyed when, in the evening, from six to eleven
o'clock, a continuous band of those living globes
of fire passed near our vessel. With the light
which they dilTuseil we could distinguish, at a
appears so luminous would be found covered with
a thick, yellow powder, that is readily brushed otT.
Another wonderful living lantern is the Pyroso-
ma, meaning " I-"ire-lx)dy." It is, in reality, a
colony of many thousands of animals that build,
jointly, a house sometimes five feet long, and
shaped like a hollow cylinder open at one end.
Each tenant has two doors, a back and front.
From the front door, on the outside of the cylin-
der, it draws in water, extracts the food from it,
and throws it out at the back door into the inside
of the cylinder. So many individu.als doing this,
n-iturally a current is created out of the open end,
which forces the whole assemblage along. A fatty
depth of fifteen feet, the individuals of Tliynnus,
Pelamys, and Sardon [fishes], which have fol-
lowed us these se\eral weeks, notwithstanding the
great celerity with which we have sailed. Envel-
oped in a flame of bright phosphorescent light,
and gleaming with a greenish luster, these creat-
ures, seen at night in v.ist shoals, upward of a mile
in breadth, and stretching out till lost in the dis-
tance, present a spectacle the glory of which may
be easily imagined. The vessel, as it cleaves the
gleaming m.tss, throws up strong flashes of light,
as if plowing through liquid fire, which illuminates
the hull, the sails, and the ropes with a strange,
unearthly radiance."
912
LIVING LANTERNS.
rushing to and fro, and advancing upon them ; but
lliey proved to be beetles, or fire-flies, of the genus
Klater. The picture on the preceding page shows
a lady in Cuba reading by the light of several of
these light-giving beetles, set in a cage hung from
the ceiling of a room.
If we watch the marigolds, sun-flowers, and
oriental poppies of our gardens in the dusk of
summer evenings, curious fitful flashes appear at
times playing upon the plants.
In some caves, a curious fungus grows, that
fleams with a ghostly, lambent light, startling in its
In the European seas, a fish is found that
may be said to serve as a light-ship to its fellows.
It is about seven inches long, with pearly dots
upon its sides, while on the head appears a lumi-
nous spot that shines with clear, silvery light, and
when the water is alive with phosphorescent, mi-
croscopic animals, they seem to follow him as he
darts away, moving in streams of living flame.
In the warm countries, innumerable insects and
plants light up the night with their splendor.
Some of the beetles create a light
PIIOSniOKKSCBNT FISH. — THK LAMP-FISII AND JBIXV-F
intensity. In Rr.izil a vine is found that, when
:)f wonderful crushed at night, gives out a stre.nm of phosphor-
brilliancy ; and we learn in history that when the escent light ; and many other plants and anim.'ils
Spaniards were marching on the Mexican capital, could be mentioned that possess this wonderful
they were panic-stricken by the appearance of power, fitly earning for them the title of living
what seemed to be the lights of an immense army lamps and lanterns.
niAi roN ROC. i:ks.
01
iMiAi: roN Rot". i: Rs.
Hv RossiTKR Johnson.
Chai'iik XXI.
.\ TK.\-PARTV.
I Hi: mending of the ch.iirshad entirely changeil
Aunt Mercy's cleme.inor towaril lis. Said she, the
next day : " 1 want you both to come and take
tea with me Saturday evening."
Phaeton and Ned not only accepted the invita-
tion with thanks, but asketl to have me included
in it. "Certainly," said Aunt Mercy; "and if
you have any other very particular friends anionj;
the boys, bring them along, too. Only let me
know how many arc coming."
l'h.icton said he should like to invite Jimmy the
Rhymer. " Invite Jimmy," said .Aunt Mercy.
" .And Monkey Roe is awful lively company,"
s,\id Xcd. " Invite Monkey," said .-\unt Mercy.
"If we're going to have so many," said Phae-
ton, "I should n't like to leave out Isaac llolman."
" It is n't exactly a spelling-match, but choose
aw.ny," said .Aunt Mercy. " It 's your turn now.
Edmund Burton."
Ned chose Charlie Garrison, and then Phaeton
chose Patsy Rafferty, and they determined to let
the list end there. But Aunt Mercy said : "You
have n't mentioned a single girl."
"Sister May is too little," said Ned: "and 1
don't much Ix'lieve in girls, any way."
" I don't think we know any girls well enough to
ask thein," said Phaeton, — " unless it may be one,"
.and he blushed a little.
" One will do," said Aunt Mercy ; and so it was
agreed that she should invite Miss Glidden, whom
she called " a very sweet girl."
The c\'ening that had been designated was the
evening of the day recorded in the last chapter, and
not one of the eight boys included in the invitation
forgot it. We gnivitatetl together, after a scries of
well understood whistlings, and all went to Aunt
.Mercy's in a crowd.
When we arrived at the house. Phaeton went up
the steps first, and rang the bell. There was no
immediate response, and while we were waiting for
It, Ned and Monkey Roe, who had lagged behind
a little, came up.
"Oh, psh.aw ! " said Ned, "don't fool around
out here. Aunty expects us — come in, boys," and
he opened the do<ir and led u-, all into the hall.
" I ought to know the way around this house pretty
well," he continued. " Here 's the place to hang
Vol.. \'III. — 58. • Copyright. 1 8»o, l)y RoiMler
your caps " — and as he pointed out the hat-r,ack,
the eight caps, with a soft, pattering noise, almost
instantly found lotlgment on the pegs, some being
thrown with great precision by the boys who were
hindmost, over the heads of the others.
" Now follow me, boys ; 1 '11 introduce you to
.Aunt Mercy; 1 'm perfectly at home here," said
Ned, and throwing open the parlor door, he ush-
ered us in there .is unceremoniously as he had
admitted us to the house.
The parlor w.as IjcautifullC though not brilliantly
lighted by an argand lamp. .Aunt Mercy w;is sit-
ting on the sofa, and beside her sat a tall gentle-
man, with a full beard and a sun-browned face,
whom none of us had ever before seen.
" Why ! What does this mean ? " said Aunt
Mercy, as soon as she could get her breath.
Ned was considerably abashed, and had fallen
back so that he was almost merged in the crowd of
boys now huddled near the door. But he mustered
courage enough to say : " We 've come to tea."
Phaeton stepped forward, and relieved the situ-
ation somewhat by saving : " You remember,
.Aunty, you asked us to come to tea this evening
and bring our friends. But perhaps now it is n't
convenient. We can come some other day."
" Really," said his aunt, " I made preparations
for you to-day, and it 's perfectly convenient ; but
in the last tw^o hours 1 had totally forgotten it.
You see, I have an unexpected visitor."
Phaeton introduced those of the boys whom
his aunt had never seen before, and she then intro-
duced us all to Mr. liurton.
" Is this the Mr. Burton who w.is dead long
ago ? " said Ned.
" The very same one," said his aunt, laughing.
" But he has suddenly come to life again, after
many strange adventures, which he h.as just been
telling me. 1 must .ask him to tell them all over
again for you this evening."
" But did none of you call for Miss Glidden ? "
said Aunt .Mercy. We all looked blank.
"Then, Fayette must go after her now."
Phaeton took his cap and started at once. Three
of the boys kindly oft'ered to go with him, fearing
he would be lonesome, but he said he did n't mind
going alone a bit.
While he was gone, we m.ade the acquaintance
of Mr. Burton very rapidly. He seemed a good
deal like J.ick-in-the-Box in one respect — he liked
boys. In Ned he appeared to bo ^OL-ci.illv inter-
JohnMin. All nt{hL« reserved.
914
PHAETON ROGERS.
[October,
cstcd. Scvcml times over he asked him how old
he was, and how tall he was. 1 suppose Ned
seemed to him to be a sort of visible measure of
the time that had been lost out of his life ; for he
must have disappeared from the knowledge of his
friends about the time that \ed was born.
Soon after Phaeton returned with Miss Glidden,
tea was announced.
Both during the meal and afterward, Mr. Burton
did the greater part of the talking, and his conver-
sation consisted mainly of a running account of his
adventures since he left his home, more than a
dozen years before. I give the story as nearly as
possible in his own words. It was of a nature to
seize upon a boy's fancy ; but I fear it has not lain
in my memory all these years without losing many
of its nicest points.
" 1 was a tall and slender boy," said Mr. Burton,
— "'so slender that my parents feared I sliould
become consumptive, and 1 reached the age of
twenty without improving much in that respect.
Our family physician said a long sea voyage might
build me up and make a strong man of me, and as
my uncle owned a large interest in a whaler then
fitting out, at Nantucket, for a cruise in the North
Pacific, it was arranged that I should make the
voyage.
" I need not tell you the story of the tedious
passage around Cape Horn, against head-winds and
through rainy seas. We had a prosperous cruise,
and I calculated that although the hundred and
twenty-fifth lay, which was to be my share, would
not make me rich, it would gi\e me considerable
pocket-money when we got home.
" When we turned her prow southward for the
long homeward voyage, our troubles began. Week
after week we labored against heavy gales and head
seas. It was many months since we had been in
port, and we were not well equipped for so long a
strain. At last, when we were barely out of the
tropics, a terrific and long-continued easterly gale
struck us, and drove us helplessly before it. Just
before daylight, one morning, we struck heavily,
with a shock that sent one of the masts overboard.
Dawn showed us that vve were wrecked on the
coast of a lonely island. As nearly as the captain
could calculate, this was in latitude ly- south and
longitude i lo'^ west.
" We judged that the island must be about a
dozen miles long. Three volcanic peaks rose in
plain sight, to a height of more than a thousand
feet, and between their branching ridges were green
valleys sloping down to the shore. If you ever see
an old cart-wheel, with half iu spokes broken or
missing, which has lain upon the ground till the
grass h.is sprun;; up throviijli ii, vnu may look upon
it as a rude representation of the appearance thai
island presented from the sea. The hub would be
the cone of an extinct volcano, the weather-beaten
wood being about the color of the volcanic rock,
and the remaining spokes the irregular, sharp
ridges that radiated from it, some of them reaching
to the water's edge and others stopping half-way.
" An hour or two after dayliglu, we found there
was no possibility of saving the ship, though the
storm was over, and that she would probably go to
pieces in the coufse of the day. We launched the
boats, and pulled southward, along the eastern
shore, and soon came to a pretty bay, where we
made a landing.
" Looking at the shore through the misty dawn,
wt had seen what looked like giants standing on
the flat roofs of their houses and watching us.
But they showed no signs of life, and the captain
at length made them out, through his glass, to be
images of some sort. We afterward had abundant
opportunity to examine them, and found them to
be stone statues of colossal size. \\'hat we had
taken for houses were three platforms of solid
masonry, built on ground that sloped toward and
overlooked the sea. Four of these great statues
had originally stood on each of the platforms, but
most of the twelve were now overthrown. We
measured one that lay on the ground, and found
it was fifteen feet high and six feet across the
shoulders.
" They were cut in gray stone, and each statue
that was still standing had on its head an immense
red stone, smoothly cut to the shape of a cylinder,
at least a yard high, — as if it wore what you call a
bandbox hat, but with no brim. We aftenvard
found there were great numbers of these statues
in various places on the island, though mostly on
the east side. Few of tliem seemed to be finished.
The largest one we found was over twenty-five feet
high.
" It was two hours after our landing before we
saw any living being. Then we saw three children
peeping at us from the top of a little hill. When
we discovered them, they scampered away, and
pretty soon a crowd of people appeared, led by an
old man whose face was painted white, and who
carried a long spear. They evidently knew what
muskets were, for they showed a wholesome fear
of ours.
"The captain made them understand that we
were cast away, and wished to be taken care of.
They led us along the shore, to the entrance of one
of those green and beautiful valleys, where we
found a village and were made welcome. The
next day they went through a ceremony which we
understood to mean that they formally adopted us
into their tribe, and considered us their brothers."
li»t.i
IMIAllTON KOdKKS.
9'5
Mr. Burton gave a considerable account of his
ailvcnturcs on the island, which we found very
entertaining ; but I can not remember it with sufli-
cicnt accuracy to attempt repeating it. As we
were walking home. Monkey Roe pointed out what
he thought were improbabilities in the narrative too
great to be believed, — especially the account of
the gigantic stone statues, which he said could not
piissibly have been made by people who had no iron
tools. 1 was inclined to share Monkey's incredu-
hty at the time ; but 1 now know that Mr. lUirton
told the truth, and that he must have been cast
away on Kaster Island, where Roggeween. the
Dutch navigator, had discovered the mysterious
statuary more than a century before.
"That little island," he continued, ''was our
home for nearly ten years. It is far out of the
usual track of ships, and as good water is very
scarce upon it, there is little temptation for them to
go out of their way to visit it. We had two small
boats, but the coast of South America was more
than two thousand miles distant, and there was no
islai\d that we knew of much nearer.
" At last a merchantman, driven out of her
course by stress of weather, came to anchor off the
western shore, and sent in a boat, the crew of
which were naturally astonished at being greeted
by white men.
" We were taken off, and carried to Melbourne,
where every man took his own way of getting
home. About half of them went to the newly dis-
covered gold-fields. I got a chance, after a while,
to ship before the m.ist in ^ vessel going to Cal-
cutta, and embr.iced it eagerly, .as I presumed
there would be plenty of opportunities to reach my
native land from a port that traded with all nations.
"There I made the acquaintance of a young
man who, I found, was from my native town ;
though I had not known him at home, as he was
nearly, or quite, ten years my junior. His name
was Roderick .\yr. He offered to lend me money,
but I would take it only on condition that he receive
my watch as security, to be redeemed when we
reached home. It was a splendid watch, but had
ce.Tscd to keep time, for want of cleaning.
'■ Mr. Ayr had been educated at one of the
older colleges, knew something of engineering, had
studied law, had spent a year in journalism, and
h.ad done a little something in literature — in fact,
I thmk he told me he had published a small vol-
ume of poems, or essays. His talents were so
v.iried that he found it difficult to settle down to
one occupation ; and so he had made a voyage to
India, merely to see something of the world, while
he was growing a little older and finding out what
he w.is bcMt fitted for. 1 liked hun greatly, and
an intim.ite friendship vion ■-pran ; up between us.
lie was .about to return home as a passenger, when
1 found an opportunity to ship before the mast in
the • limily Wentworth,' bound for Uoston. To
keep me company, he shipped in the same vessel.
"We p.assed down the Iloogly, and wound
through the horrible swamps and jungles of the
Sunderbunds, where tigers and crocodiles were an
every-day sight, till our pilot left us, on a sunny
July morning, with the deep blue waters of the
Bay of Bengal before us, and a gentle breeze from
the north-east.
"Two days later we were struck by a cyclone, and
the vessel w.as reduced to a helpless wreck. Every-
body on board seemed paralyzed with terror, ex-
cept Ayr and the captain, and the captain was
soon swept away by a heavy sea. Three of the
men, headed by the second mate, — a fellow named
Hobbes, — managed to launch the only boat that
had not been stove, threw into it a keg of water,
a few provisions, and the charts and instruments,
and were about to pull away and leave the rest of
us to our fate, when Ayr ordered them back. As
they paid no attention to him, he sprang into the
boat and took Hobbes by the throat. Hobbes
drew his knife, but as quick as lightning Ayr gave
him a blow that sent him overboard. One of the
sailors caught him and drew liim in, and then they
all consented to return to the deck. The next sea
swept away the boat.
" Ayr was now recognized as commander, by
virtue of his natural superiority, and with a few
strong volunteers to assist him, he rigged and
launched a raft, upon which nine of us embarked.
The remainder of the crew had already been lost,
or were afraid to leave the vessel, and some had
lashed themselves to her spars. Ayr was the last
to leave her. He jumped overboard, swam to the
raft, cut the hawser, and we drifted away from the
hulk, which heeled and went down before we were
out of sight.
"Ayr, who was a powerful swimmer, was swim-
ming about the raft the greater part of the time,
sometimes tightening the fastenings where she
threatened to break apart, and often saving and
hauling on board again some poor wretch who had
been swept off. But e\ery few liours a man would
be carried off whom A\r could not reach, and our
little company was continually growing smaller.
" As for myself, I was rather a poor swimmer,
and either the exposure or some disease that I
had previously contracted caused an uncomfortable
swelling and pufiiness in my fingers and toes. I
took off. with some difficulty, a ring which I had
worn for a dozen years, as it now began to hurt
me, and slipped it upon .Ayr's finger, .isking him
to keep it for me till some happier time.
" In the aftornixin n( thr seiimild.u. it her.ime
916
rilAKTON RdGKkS.
(OCTOBEK,
evident that the raft was too large for the strength
of the ropes that hold it toj^cthcr, and that a
smaller one must be made. A\r set to work to
build it almost alone. Indeed, but four of us were
now left — Simpson, an iMiglishman, Hobbes the
niiitc. Ayr. ,mi! I \> ■ I. -1 lost a^treat deal of his
-^
'THE DOYS ROSE AND
Strength, and his knife slipped from his hand and
sank in the sea. I lent him mine, for the other
t«o men were destitute of knives ; Hobbes had lost
his when Ayr knocked him out of the boat.
" Just as the new raft was ready to be cut loose,
a great sea struck us, and widely separated the
two, leaving A\t and Hobbes on what remained
of the old one, while Simpson and I were on the
new. I saw Ayr plunge into the water and strike
out toward us; but after a few strokes he turned
back, either because he felt he had not strength to
reach us, or because he would not leave Hobbes
helpless. The sudden night of the tropics shut
down upon us, and when morning dawned, the old
raft w;is nowhere to be seen.
" The sea was now much less violent, and Simp-
son and I managed to maintain our position in
spite of our wasted strength. I felt that another
night would be our last. But, an hour before sun-
set, we were i)ickcd up by a Dutch vessel, bound
on an exploring voyage to the coasts of Borneo
and Cclel>cs.
'• We had not the good luck to sight any vessel
going in the opposite direction, and so could only
return after the explorations had been m.ide. which
kept IK iM.iv fr. im linim- marlv two vi'.ir?, lon;.;er.
^.
■r-
ri
^-m-
" When at last I crossed my father's threshold
again, less than a week ago, I found that I had not
only been given up for de.nd, but was supposed to
have been murdered by my de.arest friend, Roderick
Ayr. He and Hobbes had been picked up by a
V(.vv, I K,,Mn,! for Liverpool, and so had no difficulty
in coming home by
the shortest route.
" Hobbes, who, it
seems, had never
given up his grudge
against Ayr, passing
through my native
town on his way from
Boston to his own
home, had stopped
over for the purpose
of setting afloat the
story of the wreck, in
which he so far min-
gled truth and false-
hood as to represent
i , ^ that Ayr, in view
''^■^/ of the scanty stock
^'.,. . of provisions on the
raft, had successively
murdered three of
the men in their
sleep, — I being one
of these, — robbed
them of their valua-
bles, and rolled their bodies off into the sea.
"When .Ayr came along on the next train, a
policeman's hand was laid upon his arm before he
stepped off from the platform. He was taken to
police head-quarters and searched, and as my
watch, my ring, and my knife were found in his pos-
session, the evidence against him seemed conclusive.
But the living, lying witness had disappe.ired, and
could not be found. Either he had felt that he
would be unable to confront Ayr and withstand
cross-questioning, or else he had no desire to
send Ayr to the gallows, but only to disgrace
him in the estimation of his townsmen. In
this he succeeded to a considerable extent. .Ayr
told the straight story, which his nearest friends
believed — excepting some who feared he might have
done, under the peculi.ir temptations of a wreck,
what he would not have done under any other cir-
cumstances: and as no murder could be actu.illy
proved, he, of course, could not be held. But most
of the people ominously shook their heads, and
refused to receive his account of the watch, the ring,
and the knife as anything but an ingenious triple
falsehood. It w.as more than he could stand, and
between two days he disappeared, his nearest rela-
tives not knowini; what h.id become of him.
PHAETON ROGERS.
917
" When 1 suddenly appeareil in the town, a few
ilays back, those overwise people of two years
ai;o were dumfounded, and 1 hope by this time
they are sutliciently ashamed of themselves. But
some one besides Roderick .Ayr had liisappeared
from the town during; my absence. Miss Rogers
had moved to Detroit six years before, anil 1 took
the ne.\t train for that city. There I learned that
after a brief residence she had come here. So 1
retraced my journey.
•• .\s we were entering the city this afternoon, 1
put my head out of the car window in an idle way,
and thought 1 saw a strange vision — a man stand-
ing beside the track with a flag in his hand, who
wore the features of Roderick .Ayr. In a moment
it was gone, and I could not tell whether it w;is
fancy or reality, whether I had been dreaming or
awake. But as I was passing through the door of
the railway station, he accosted me, and sure enough
it was my friend."
■■ Good gracious ! " said Monkey Roe.
'• JliIuiiuus in pt-rpetuo .' — Jack for ever! " said
Holman. " O-o-o-o-h ! " said Ned, three times —
once with his mouth, and once with each eye.
Phaeton leapt up, and waving his handkerchief
over his he.id. proposed ''Three cheers for Roderick
Jack-in-the-Box I " — whereupon all the boys rose
instantly and gave three terrific cheers and a hand-
some tiger, to which Phaeton immediately added :
" Please excuse me. Aunty; I 'm going to bring
Jack-in-the-Box," and he was off in an instant.
" I don't know what he means by that," said
.-\unt Mercy.
••The explanation is this," s;iid Miss Glidden,
"that Jack-in-the-Box and Roderick Ayr are one
.ind the same person."'
•• Then of course 1 shall be most happy to
welcome him," said .Aunt Mercy.
Before long, Mr. Ayr w.is announced. The
hostess rose to greet him, and " all the boys except
Miss Glidden," as Patsy Rafferty expressed it,
made a rush for him and wound themselves around
him like an anaconda.
•' Where 's Fay ? " said Ned, as he looked about
him when the anaconda had loosened its folds.
•* He 's at the Box, managing the signals for
me in my absence," said Jack.
The hero of the evening w.is now beset with
inquiries, and nearly the whole story was gone
o\cr again, by question and answer.
Chakier XXII.
kLD shoes and ORANdE-nLOSSOMS.
Not many weeks after the tea-party, there were
two weddings. Mr. Burton and Aunt Mercy were
married on Wedncstlay, quietly, at her house.
and none of the boys were there excepting Phaeton
and Ned. Roderick Ayr and Miss tilidden were
married next morning in church, and all the boys
«ere there.
In the arrangements for this wedding, it w.is
planned that there should be no brides-maids and
no best man, although it w.is then the fashion to
have them, — but four ushers. Jack had asked
Ph.teton and Ned Rogers, ls.nac Holman, and me
to officiate in this cap.iciiy; and we, with a few
of the other boys, met in the printing-office to
talk it over. •' 1 suppose we shall get along some-
how," said Ned, "but 1 never ushed in my lile,
and 1 would n't like to make a blunder."
" You can buy a beha\ior-book that tells all
about it," said Charlie (iarrison.
" I don't much believe in books for such
things," said Ned.
" Well," said Charlie, " you '11 find you must
have a lot of trappings for this affair — white gloves
and bouquets and rosettes antl cockades ami bridal
fa\ors, and a little club witli ribbons on 11, to hit
the boys with when they don't keep still."
"Oh, pshaw! " said Jimmy the Rhymer, "half
of those are the same thing. And .is for hitting
the boys, they 'tl better hit the whole congrega-
tion, who never know any better than to jump up
and gaze around every time there 's a rumor that
the bridal party have arrived."
•' I don't think we need be troubled .ibout it,"
said Phaeton. "Of course Jack will rehearse us a
little, and instruct us what to do."
'^ Bonus ego cennis ! Good idea!" said Hol-
man. " Let 's go up to the Box this afternoon and
ask him." And we agreed that we would.
" That 's all ver>' well for that part of the busi-
ness," said Jimmy the Rhymer; "but there 's
something else we ought to talk o\cr and agree
upon, which we can't ask Jack about. 1 mean our
own demonstration. Of course we 're not going
to stand by and sec Jack-in-the-Box married and
disposed of without doing something to show our
love for him."
"They wont take any presents," said Holman.
" And I think all the flowers there need be will
be provided for by somebody else," said Phaeton.
•' Then," said Jimmy, "there is but one thing left
for us. It 's a famous custom to throw old shoes
after people, as a sign that you wish them good
luck — especially when they 're just married and
starting off on their wedding journey. We need n't
throw anything, but we '11 have a chance to put in
an old horseshoe, which is luckier than any other."
•' Those c.irriagcs," said Phaeton, " generally
have a platform behind, to carry trunks on. While
the bridal party arc in the church, we might have
all our old shoes piled up on that platform."
9i8
I'HAETON ROGERS.
(OCTOUK,
" And that will give us a chance to decorate
them with a few flowers and ribbons," said Jimmy.
We appointed Jimmy a commiitee of one to
manage the old shoes. In the afternoon we four,
v/ho were to be usliers, went to sec Jack-in-the-Uox.
"Jack," said Ned, " if we 're going to ush for
you, you '11 have to instruct us a little. None of
us understand the science very well, and we 're
afraid to try learning it from books."
J.ick laughed heartily. " The science of ushing,
as you call it," said he, '• is a very simple matter."
Then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, drew
roughly a ground plan of the church, showed us
our places at the heads of the aisles, and instructed
us fully .about our simple duties.
" .^nd about the clubs ? " said Ned. " Will you
make those, or do we buy them ? "
" What clubs? " said Jack.
"The little clubs with ribbons wound around
them, to hit the boys with when they don'l keep
still."
Jack laughed more heartily than before.
" I guess we wont hit the boys," said he. "They
need n't keep any stiller than they want to, at my
wedding." And then he explained.
" A marshal," said he, " is a sort of commander,
and the little club, as you call it, is the symbol of
his authority. But an usher stands in the rela-
tion of ser\-ant to those whom he shows to their
places."
" 1 must tell Charlie Garrison about that," said
Ned ; " it was he who started the story about the
little clubs. Charlie 's an awful good boy, but he
generally gets things wrong. 1 'm afraid he 's too
ready to believe everything anybody tells him."
In trying to describe Charlie, Ned had so
exactly described himself that we all broke into a
smile.
As we were walking away, Holman suggested
that perhaps while we were about it we ought to
have got instructions as to the reception, also ; for
there was to be a brief one at the house imme-
diately after the ceremony in church.
" Oh, 1 know all about that," said Fay. " You
go up to the couple, and shake hands, and if you 're
a girl you kiss the bride— (what did you say ? You
wish you were?)— and wish them many happy
returns of the day ; then you say what kind of
weather you think we 've had lately, and the bride-
groom says what kind he thinks ; then you give a
real good smile and a bow, and go into another
room and cat some cake and ice-cream ; and then
you go home. That 's a reception."
Two days before the wedding, Jack resigned his
place in the employ of the railro.ad, and took all
his things away from the Hox. Patsy RafTerty's
father succeeded him as signal-man.
Thursday w.as a Ijcautiful, dreamy October day,
and as we had settled all the weighty questions of
etiquette, we put on the white gloves with a feeling
of the most dignified importance. The people
began coming early. The boys, who were among
the earliest, came in a compact crowd, and we gave
them first-rate scats in the bro.id aisle, above the
ribbon. Before ten o'clock every seat was filled.
Everybody in town seemed to be present. There
were matrons with a blush of the spring-time
returned to their faces. There were little misses
in short dresses, who had never looked on such a
spectacle before. There were young ladies, evi-
dently in the midst of their first campaign, just a
little excited over one of those events toward which
ill-natured people say all their campaigning is
directed. There were fathers of families, with
business-furrowed brows, brushing the cobwebs
from dim recollections, and marking the discovery
of each with the disappearance of a wrinkle.
There were bachelors who, if not like the irrever-
ent hearers of Goldsmith's preacher, were at least
likely to go away with deep remorse or desperate
resolve. There were some who would soon them-
selves be central figures in similar spectacles.
There were those, perhaps, whose visions of such
a triumph were destined to be finally as futile as
they were now vivid.
Frequent ripples of good-natured impatience ran
across the sea of heads, and we who felt that we
had thcafi'airin charge began to be a little anxious,
till the organ struck up a compromise between a
stirring waltz and a soothing melody, which
speeded the unoccupied moments on their journey.
The usual number of false alarms caused the
usual turning of heads and eyes. But at last the
bridal parly really came. The bride's eyes were
on the ground, and she heard nothing but the
rustle of her own train, and saw nothing, 1 trust,
but the visions that are dear to every human heart.
The organ checked its melodious enthusiasm as
the party reached the chancel. Then the well-
known half-audible words were uttered, with a glim-
mer of a ring sliding upon a dainty finger. The
benediction was said, a flourish of the organ sounded
the retreat, and the party ran the gauntlet of the
bro.ad aisle again, while the audience, .as w.as the
fashion of that day, immediately rose to its feet and
closed and crushed in behind them, like an ava-
lanche going through a tunnel.
While we were in the church, Jimmy the Rhymer,
with Lukey Finnerty to help him, h.ad brought the
old shoes in an immense basket, and .arranged them
on the platform at the back of the bridegroom's
carriage. The cluster of seven boots which Patsy
had used for a drag lo control Phaeton's car, was
laid down as a foundation. On this were piled all
919
sorts of tilil shix-s, j;;uuts, aiul slippers, bounlifully
contriluitotl by the btiys, and at the top of tho pyra-
iniil a horsfshof contributcil by Jimmy himself.
Stickins; out of each shoe was a small bouquet, nnil
the whole was bounil together and fastened to the
platform with narrow white ribbons, tied liere and
there into a bow.
My younj; lady readers will want to know what
the bride wore. .As nearly as 1 can recollect — and
I have refreshed my memory by a glance at tlie
best f.ishion-magarincs — it was a wine-colored serge
Sicilienne, looped up with pipings of gros-grain
galloon, I'ut ftt /milt across the sleeve-section ; the
over-skirt of Pompadour passementerie, shirred on
on the trunk-board, the carriage presented an orig-
inal and picturesque appearance as it rolletl away.
The boys went to the reception as they had gone
everywhere else, in a solid crowd. When we pre-
sented ourselves, Ned made us all laugh by literally
following his brother's humorous instructions. The
caterer thought he had provided bountifully for the
occasion ; but when the boys left the refreshment-
room, he stood aghast. The premium boy in this
part of the performance was Monkey Roe.
As Ned and I walked silently toward home, he
suddenly spoke : " It 's all right ! Miss Glidden
was too awful old for Fay and Jimmy and llolman.
She 's nineteen, if she 's a day."
OLD SHOES AT
with striped gore of garnet silk, the corners caught
down to form shells for the heading, and finished
off in knife plaitings of brocaded (iicing that she
had in the house. Coiffure, a Maintenon remnant
of pelerine blue, laced throughout, and crossing at
the belt. The corsage was a pea-green fichu of
any material in vogue, overshot with delicate twilled
moss-he.iding cut bias, hanging gracefully in fan
outline at the back, trimmed with itself and fitted
in the usual manner with darts ; Bertha panier of
suit goods, and Watteau bracelets to match.
With this costume inside, and our contribution
" No doubt of it," said I. " But how came you
to know about Fay and Jimmy and llolman ?"
I thought Ned had not discovered what I had.
Without a word, he placed his forefinger in the
corner of his eye, then pulled the lobe of his ear,
and then, spreading the fingers of both hands,
brought them carefully together, finger-end upon
finger-end, in the form of a cage. By which he
meant to say that he could see, and hear, and put
this and that together.
" Ah, well ! " said I, " let us not talk about it.
We may be nineteen ourselves some day."
920
THE LAZV 1-ARM-BoV.
(October,
TJIK LAZV FARM -HOY.
Hy Mrs. Anmk Kiii.iis.
Lazv in ihc sprinti-limc, before tiic leaves are After a while he thinks he hears an early apple
green, fall,
La^y in the sumnier-tinie. beneath their leafy Now surely from the little wood he hears a
screen, phicbe call !
Sure a lazier fanii-boy never yet was seen ! So he halts among the pumpkins beside the
pasture-wall.
Mis cheeks are round as apples ;ind browned by
sun and breeze, Tor half an hour he gazes to find the apple-tree,
He bears a pair of patches upon his sturdy And listens for the phcebe, but is not sure 't is
knees, she,
And wears the pleasant countenance of one who Then he takes his hoe and marvels so many
loves to ple;ise. weeds should be.
The weeds arc growing fast, and the master Antl now the perfect face of hea\en wears not a
takes his hoe, single cloud.
.\nd bids his farm-boy follow him, whether ,he The lazy boy above his hoc is for a brief space
will or no ; bowed,
He follows as a farm-ljoy should, but he follows Hut soon, despondent, he stops short before a
very slow. weedy crowd.
His master le.ids him to the field and shows •' 1 think,'' he says, ''(I am so tired !) — it must
him all his task, be nigh to noon ;
And leaves hiin when in sunbeams the earth 1 '11 listen for the mid-day bell ; it should be
begins to bask, ringing soon."
Just as the boy would like "How- long ere din- He lies down in the shade to hear, and whistles
ner-time " to ask; a slow tune.
1 K \ I'l'KK J (-)!■:. 'I-M
rlicrc is no souiul, the brcc/os ilio, he soon Roused by the chmyiiij; bell of noon, lie \v;ikfs
falls fast asleep ; with startled moan ;
The weeds do not stop growing — thus will our "I wonder how it is," he says, "so many
labors keep. weeds were sown ! "
lie wears a smile, for in Iiis dream he hears a "Because," 1 answer, "smart farni-hnys are not
stiuirrvl cheep. like clover yrown '
TRAl'l'i: R |()]:.
I!v M. M. I).
How strange it all seemed to little Winifred !
One year ago, or, as she reckoned it, one snow-
lime and one (lower-time ago, she was living in
Boston, and now she was in the wilds of Colorado. It
was a great change — this going from comfort and
luxury to a place where comfort was hard to find,
and luxury not to be thought of; where they had
a log-hut instead of a house, and a pig in place of
a poodle. But, on the whole, she enjoyed it. Her
father w as better, and that w;is what they came for.
The doctor had said Colorado air would cure him.
And thoujjh .Mother often looked tired and troubled,
she certainly never used to break forth into happy
bits of song when Father was ill in bed, as she
did now that he w;is able to help cut down trees
in the forest. Besides, who ever saw such bcau-
' ' ; ' ' (lowers and such flaming red blossoms
' • .And what was the frojj-pond com-
;■ : 1 'li these slre.ims that now, in the spring-
time, came rushing through the woods — silently
sometimes, and sometimes so noisily that, if it were
not for their sparkle when they passed the open,
sunny places, and the laughing way they had of
running into every chink along the banks, one
would think they were angry? Yes, on the whole,
Winifred liked Colorado; and so did her little
brother Nat; though, if you had told him Boston
was just around the corner, he would ha\e started
to run there without waiting to put on his cap.
Such a little mite of a fellow Nat was, and so
full of sunshine! Only one thing could trouble
him — and that was to be away from Mother even
for half an hour. There was something in Moth-
er's way of singing, .Mother's way of kissing hurt
little heads and fingers. Mother's way of putting
sugar on bread, and Mother's way of rocking tired
little boys, that Nat approved of most heartily.
He loved his father, too, and thought him the
most powerful wood-cutter that ever swung an ax,
though really the jxior man had to stop and rest
at nearly every stroke.
See these two children now trudging to the little
stream near by, quite resolved upon having a fine
rocking in Father's canoe ! This queer boat, made
02:
TRAPPER JOE.
of bark, and sharp at both ends, was tied to a
slake. Now that tlic strcani was swollen and
flowinj; so fast, it was fine fun to sit, one in each
end, and got " bounced about," as Winnie said.
" You get in first, because you 're the littlest,"
said Winnie, holding her dress tightly away from
the plashing water with one hand, and pulling the
boat close to the shore with the other.
" No, you get in first, 'cause you 'm a girl," said
Nat. " I don't want no hclpin'. 1 'm going to
take off my toos and 'tockics first, 'cause Mammy
said I might."
Nat could say shoes and stockings quite plainly
when he chose, but everybody said " toos and
'tockies"to him; so he looked upon these words,
and many other crooked ones, as a sort of lan-
guage of Nat, which all the world would speak if
th :y only knew how.
In at last — both of them — and a fine rocking
they had. The bushes and trees threw cool shad-
ows over the canoe, and the birds sang, and the
blue sky peeped down at them through little open-
ings overhead, and, altogether, with the plashing
water and the birds and pleasant murmur of
insets, it was almost like Mother's rocking and
singing.
At first they talked and laughed softly. Then
they listened. Then they talked a very little.
Then listened again, lying on the rushes in the
bottom of the canoe. Then they ceased talking,
and watched the branches waving overhead ; and,
at last, they both fell sound asleep.
This was early in the morning. Mother was
very busy in the cabin, clearing away the break-
fast-dishes, sweeping the room, making the beds,
mixing bread, heating the oven, and doing a dozen
other things. At last she took a plate of crumbs
and scraps, and went out to feed the chickens.
"Winnie! Nat!" she called, as she stepped
out upon the rough door-stone. " Come, feed the
chickens ! " Then she added, in a surprised way,
to herself: '• Why, where in the world can those
children be.' They must have stopped at the new
clearing to sec their father."
At dinner-time she blew the big tin horn that
hung by the door, and soon her husband came
home alone, hungry and tired.
"Oh. you little witches ! " laughed the mother,
without looking up from her task of bread-cutting.
" How could you stay away so long from Mamma .'
Tired, Frank?"
"Yes, very. But what do you mean? Where
art- the youngster? ? "
She looked up now, and instantly exclaimed, in
a frightened voice, as she ran out p.ist her husband:
"Oh, Frank I I 've not seen them for two or
three hours ! I thought, to be sure, they were
with you. They surely would n't have staid all
this time in the canoe ! "
He followed her, and they both ran to the
stream. In an instant, the mother, hastening on
ahead through the bushes, screamed back: " Oh,
Frank ! Frank ! T/i^ canoe is gone ! "
All that long, terrible day, and the next, they
searched. They followed the stream, .and at last
found the canoe — but it was empty! In vain the
father and mother and their only neighbor wan-
dered through the forest in every direction, calling:
"Winnie! Winnie! Nat! Nat!" In vain the
neighbor took his boat and explored the stream
for miles and miles — no trace could be found of the
poor little creatures, who, full of life and joy, had
so lately jumped into Father's canoe to " have a
rock."
Where were they ? Alas ! they did not them-
selves know. They only knew that they had been
wakened suddenly by a great thump, and that when
they jumped out of the canoe and started to go
home, everything was different. There was no foot-
path, no clearing where trees had been cut down,
no sound of Father's ax near by, nor of Mother's
song — and the stream was rushing on very angrily
over its rocky bed. The canoe, which h.ad broken
loose :uid, borne on by the current, had floated
away with them miles and miles from the stake,
was wedged between two great stones when they
jumped out of it ; but now it was gone — the waters
h.ad taken it away. After a while, in their dis-
tracted wanderings, they could not even find the
stream, though it seemed to be roaring in every
direction around them.
Now they were in the depths of the forest, wan-
dering about, tired, hungry, and frightened. For
two nights they had cried themselves to sleep in
each other's arms under the black trees ; and .is
the wind moaned through the branches, Winnie
had prayed God to save them from the wolves, and
little Nat h.ad screamed, " Papa ! Mamma ! " sob-
bing as if his heart would break. All they h.ad
found to eat was a few sweet red berries that grew
close to the ground. Fvery hour the poor children
grew fainter and fainter, and. .at last, Nat could n't
walk at all.
"I 'm too tired and sick," he said, "and my
fects all tut. My toos and 'tockies is in the boat.
0 Winnie ! Winnie ! " he would cry, with a great
sob, " why rt'iw'/ Mamma 'n' Papa come? Oh. if
Mamma 'd only come and bring me some bread ! "
" Don't cry, dear — don't cry," Winnie would say
over and over again. " I '11 find some more n:d
berries soon ; and Cod will show us the way home.
1 kno'L' He will. Only don't cry, Nat, because it
takes away all my courage."
" .All your wh.it ? " asked Nat, looking wildly at
r R A p r I-; r j < > i'.
923
her as if he thought courage was soinctliing they
could cat.
•• All my coui^ge, Nat." And then, after
searchhig in vain for more red berries, she would
throw herself upon her knees and moan : " Dear
Father in Heaven. 1 can't find anything more for
Nat to cat. Oh, pUase show us the way home ! "
What w.is that quick sound coming toward them ?
The underbrush was so thick Winnie could not see
what caused it, but she held her breath in terror,
thinking of wolves and Indians, for there were
plenty of both, she knew, lurking about in these
great forests.
The sound ce.ised for a moment. Seizing Nat
in her arms, she m.ide one more frantic effort to
lind her way to the stream, then, seeing a strange
look in the poor little face when she put him down
to take a better hold, she screamed :
"Nat! Nat! Don't look so! Kiss Winnie!"
'■ Hello, there ! " shouted a voice through the
underbrush, and in another instant a great, stout
man came stamping and breaking his way through
the bushes.
" Hello, there ! What on airth 's up now ? Ef
old Joe ha' n't come upon queer game this time.
Two sick youngsters — an' ef they aint a-starving !
Here, you younguns, eat some uv this 'ere, and
give an account uv yourselves."
With these words, he drew from somewhere
among the heavy folds of his hunting-dress a
couple of crackers.
The children grabbed at them frantically.
"Hold up! Not so sharp!" he said; "you
must have a little at a time for an hour yet. Here,
sis, give me the babby — I 'II feed him ; and as for
you, jest see that you don't more 'n nibble !"
" Oh, give me a drink!" cried Winnie, swallow-
ing the cracker in two bites, and for an instant even
forgetting Nat.
The man pulled a canteen or flat tin flask from
his belt and gave her a swallow of water ; then he
hastened to moisten Nat's lips and feed him crumb
after crumb of the broken cracker.
" Another hour," he muttered to himself, as he
gently fed the boy and smoothed back the tangled
yellow hair from the pale little face, — " another
hour and he "d 'a' been past mendin'."
Winnie looked up quickly.
" Is he going to die ? " she asked.
" Not he," said the man ; " he 'II come through
right end up yet. He 's got a fever on him, but
we '11 soon knock that under. How 'd you get
here, little gal ? "
Winnie told her story, all the while feeling a glad
certainty at her heart that their troubles were over.
The strange man carried a gun, and he h.id a big
pistol, and an ax, and a knife in his belt. He
looked very fierce, too, yet she knew he would not
harm her. She had seen many a trapper before,
since she came to the West, and, besides, she felt
.almost sure he was the very (rapper who had been
at her father's cabin a few weeks before, and taken
supper, and warmed himself before the fire, while
he told wonderful stories about Indians and furs,
and about h.iving many a time had " tifty mile o'
traps out on one stretch."
She remembered, too, that her father had told
her the next day that trappers lived by catching
with traps all sorts of wild animals, and selling
their furs to the traders, and that this particular
trapper had been very successful, and had great
influence among the Indians — in fact, that he was
one of the big men of that region, as he said.
These thoughts running through her mind now
.as she told how they had been lost for two whole
days and two nights, and the sight of Nat falling
peacefully asleep on the trapper's shoulder, made
her feel so happy that she suddenly broke forth
with, " O Mr. Trapper ! I can run now. Let 's go
right home ! "
The stars came out one by one that night, and
rtinked and blinked at a strange figure stalking
through the forest. He had a sleeping child on
each arm, and yet carried his gun ready to fire at
an instant's notice. Trudging on, he muttered to
himself:
" Well, old Joe, you 've bagged all sort o' game
in this 'ere forest, and trapped 'most everything
agoin', but you aint never had such a rare bit o'
luck as this. No wonder I stood there on the edge
of the timber-land, listening to I did n't know
what ! Reckon here 's a couple o' skins now '11 be
putty popular at one market 't any rate — fetch
'most any price you could name — but I '11 let 'em
go cheap; all the pay I want for these 'ere critters
is Jest to hear the kisses of them poor frightened —
Hello! there 's a light ! What, ahoy! Neighbor,
hello! hello!"
"Got 'em both!" he shouted, as three figures,
two men and a woman, came in sight through the
starlight. " All right — Got 'em both ! "
The children arc awake now. What sobs, what
laughter, what broken words of love and Joy, fall
upon the midnight air! And through all, Winnie,
wondering and thrilled with strange happiness, is
saying to herself: "I knew God would show us
the way home ! "
924
THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.
[October,
Up the road and down the road and up the road again,
All across the meadow-lot, and through the shady lane;
Over hill and valley, skipping merrily we come,
Down the road and up the road, — and here we arc at home!
THK STORY OV NARCISSUS.
Hv Anna M. pRAir.
In days long ago, when birds and flowers and
trees could talk, in a country far over the sea,
there was a beautiful fountain. It was in an open-
ing in the forest, and the little sunbeams that
crept between the leaves, falling upon it, made it
shine and sparkle like silver. You would have
thought the wind w;is playing :i polka among the
trees, so gayly did the fountain dance and bubble
over the rocks, while it w;is sending up little
showers of s])ray that made tiny rainbox^.
Hut between its banks, farther down, it was as
quiet as a sleeping child, and the ferns bent over .and
bathed themselves in it, and the cool green moss
crept down to the water's edge. The mountain-
goat that wandered through the forest had never
been there to drink. Even the wind was tenderly
careful not to ruffle it, and the leaves thai had
shaded it all summer long laid themselves noise-
lessly on cither side when their turn came to f;ill,
but they never sullied its fair surface.
9-\S
One il.iN. a yoiilli ii.iiiu-ii N.iriissii>i, wlio h.ul
boon hunting; in tlic forcsl, lost siyht of his coni-
panions, and while looking for ihcm, chnncvd to
see the fountain Mashing beneath a stray sunbeam,
lie at once turned his steps toward it, mucli de-
hghted, for he was so heated and tliirsty. As he
drew nearer, and heard the plash of the f.dling
water ami saw its crystal clearness, he thought he
had never seen so beautiful a place, and he hastened
to bathe his burning forehead and cool his parched
lips. But .is he knelt upon the mossy bank and
bent over the w.uer, he saw his own image, as in a
gl.Tss. He thought it must be some lovely water-
spirit that lived within the fountain, and in ga/ing
upon it he forgot to drink. The sparkling eyes,
the curling locks, the blushing, rounded cheeks,
and the parted lips filled him with admiration,
and he fell in love with that image of himself, but
he knew not that it was his own image.
The longer he looked, the more beautiful it
became to him, and he longed to embrace it.
But .as he dipped his arms into the water and
touched it with his lips, the lovely face disap-
peared, as though its owner had been frightened.
Niircissus felt himself thrill with alarm lest he
might never behold it again, and he looked
around, in vain, to find where it had fled.
What was his delight to see it appearing again
:^ the surface of the water became smooth! It
uave him back glance for glance, and smile for
smile, but although the lips moved as if they were
speaking, they gave him not a word. Pie begged
the beautiful creature to come out of the fountain
and live with him.
'■ Vou .are the most beautiful being my eyes
ever lookctl upon," he said, " and I love you with
.ill iny lie.irt. You shall have all that is mine,
and 1 will forever be your faithful friend, if you
will only come with me."
The image smiled and seemed to stretch out
its arms to him, but still was dumb. This only
made him desire all the more to hear it speak,
and he besought it for a reply until, saddened by
continued disappointment, his tears fell upon the
water and disturbed it. This made the face look
wrinkled, lie thought it w;is going to leave him,
and exclaimed :
" Only stay, beautiful being, and let me gaze
upon you, if I may not touch you 1 "
And so he luing over the brink of the fountain,
forgetting his food and rest, but not losing sight
for an instant of the lovely face.
As daylight faded away and the moonbeams
crept clown into the little glade to bear him com-
pany, he still kept his faithful watch, and the
morning sun found him where it h.id said good-
night to him the evening before. Day after day
and night after night he staid there, gazing and
grieving. He grew thin and pale and weak, until,
worn-out with love and longing and disappoint-
ment, he pined away and died.
When his friends found the poor dead Narcissus,
they were filled with sorrow, and they went about
sadly to prepare a funeral pile, for it was the
custom in those days to burn the dead. But,
most wonderful to tell ! when they returned to
bear away the body, it could nowhere be found.
However, before their astonished eyes a little
flower rose from the water's edge, just where
their friend had died. So they named the flower
in memory of him, and it has been called Narcis-
sus unto this very day.
926
IN NAirur. S WONDKKI.AN D.
[October
IN NATURi:S \V()M)i:Ri,.\ND; OR. A D V i:\TU R KS IX Till-:
AMKRICAX TROl'lCS.
IJv Kki.ix L. Oswald.
ClIAPTF.R Xll.
It was in the evening of one of our unlucky
days that we got into the worst camp of our whole
expedition, not excepting the rainy night in Guate-
mala. The place looked like a pleasant palm-
grove, and, being on dry ground, and high above
the marshy mosquito-jungles, we congratulated our-
selves on the prospect of a good night's rest; but,
about an hour after sunset, we heard from the depths
of the forest a noise which 1 soon recognized as the
assembly-call of a troop of red howlers, or roaring
baboons {Myccks ursiniis), creatures that can out-
yell a steam-whistle, and are certainly the most
obstreperous brutes of the wilderness. The din
came nearer and nearer, and from more than one
direction, till we perceived to our dismay that we
had pitched our tents in, or rather under, the
very head-quarters of the terrible howlers. They
squealed, chattered, and whooped, and one old
'wretch every now and then gave a yell that made
our ears ache, and caused our dog to break forth
into a jjlaintive howl. When I could not stand it
any longer. 1 snatched up my gun and fired both
barrels into the tree-top ; but I never did a more
useless thing in my life. Al^out twenty more mon-
keys now joined in the chorus, and the old rascal,
instead of moderating his voice, raised it to a per-
fect roar — a hoarse bellow that sounded deep and
steady through the intermittent howls of his com-
panions.
" Oh, mercy ! What shall we do about it.'" said
Tommy. " We can not shift our camp in a dark
night like this. I wonder if our camp-fire excites
them SI) much ; may be they will stop their racket
if we put it out."
But the More shook his head. " It is something
else," said he. " I am afraid we arc going to have
a storm. The worst gale 1 ever weathered on the
Amazon River was about forty miles farther down,
and I remember that, on the night before it broke
out, the monkeys were yelling like a thousand
demons."
The uproar continued, and it seemed as if the
night would never end. But 1 once read, in the
memoirs of a naval officer, that, during the
battle of the Nile, some Knglish sailor-boys fell
.isleep on the deck from sheer exhaustion. A
similar torpor had nverrome my young com-
panions, when I felt the skipper's hand on my
shoulder. " Listen ! " said he. " Was n't I right.*'
Do you hear the wind .•' There is a storm coming
up from the east."
'"So is the morning," said 1. "Thank good-
ness, the night is over ! Look yonder; it 's getting
daylight across the river."
The eastern sky was brightening, and, looking
against the pale white streaks, we could plainly see
the swaying of the distant tree-tops, and before
long the commotion came nearer, and our own
trees took up the strain.
" Get up, boys ! " cried the skipper. '' Help me
fasten my boat, or she will get swamped as sure as
a gun. There will be a gale in about ten
minutes ! "
We all sprang up, and, leaving Daddy .Simon to
secure our tent, the rest of us ran clown to the
beach, and we had hardly dragged the boat into
the mouth of a little creek, when a storm began
that dwarfed all the gales we had so far ex-
perienced. Not a drop of rain, but leaves and
twigs filled the air like a whirl of snow-flakes, and
the river rose like a sea, and dashed its foam high
up into the branches of the overhanging caucho-
trccs. In one of these trees we saw a flock of
spider-monkeys clinging to the branches with legs
and tails, and at the same time wildly gesticulating
with their long arms, waving their hands at each
other, and pointing at the river and the next trees,
as if they were debating the possibility of the storm
uprooting the caucho. Our own situation was not
much better: the river-spray drenched us from head
to foot, and torn-off branches came down like a hail-
storm ; we were on our return trip to La Guayra,
and it really seemed as if the .American tropics, .as
a parting favor, were going to treat us to all the
horrors of the wilderness. The More screamed
something in my ear; shouting, as nearly .as I
could understand him through the roar of the
gale, that it would not last much longer.
Forty minutes after the first blast the worst was
over, and the storm subsided .is suddenly as it had
come, but the river w.ts still so boisterous that
we had to wait two hours before wc could venture
to launch our boat. We were all as wet as fish-
oitirs till the noonday sun gave us a chance to dry
our clothes. Our next camp, though, indemnified
us for the misery of the last night. We pitched
I'VINMKKS UN Till; AMEUICAN lUOI'liS.
927
mir tent under .1 ^il.uK un-, .11 tlic mouth of a
pebbly creek that came singinj; anil ilancin); from
the foot-hills of the Sierra Marina, and from the
midst of the river, rij;hl opposite our creek, rose
a castle-like mass of red sandstone, known as
the /'icu/ni <jV /a Maiin, or " Mother's Rock,"
in allusion to an event whose record is slill pre-
sened in the camp-tire stories of the Brazilian
sailors. The beach swarmed with crabs and
young gavials, — a sort of alligator-like lizards,—
and in the woods just behind our camp, Tommy
KKIU.>> INTO
discovered a nest of blue king-parrots. The nest
was in a hollow tree, not more than twenty feet
from the ground, and it would have been easy
enough to get the young ones if the hollow itself
had not l)cen so very deep. Menito took off his
jacket and thru:>t in his ami to the elbow, but all
in vain, though he was sure that the youngsters
were at home, as he had seen them f>oke out
their heads whenever the okl ones came near the
tree. The hollow seenud to have deep side-
cavities, and we had already given the thmg up,
.IS the tree was too large to make it worth while
to cut it down, when old " Jack-at-all-Trades "
showeil that he could teach us a trick or two even
about our own business of bird-catching. He
mounted the tree with the aid of a boat-hook,
straddled a branch a little below and behind
the nest, and then clapped his hands in a very
peculi;u- manner, and a tnoment after, five young
parrots poked out their long necks, chirping and
clamoring for their evening meal. At the second
clapping they almost crawled out of the tree, when
the Moro made a sudden grab — and three young
parrots had to take supper in our wire cage.
" How in the world did you do it.' " asked
Tommy, when the Moro came down.
"1 showed you, did n't 1?" laughed the
skipper, " othenvise I would charge you a
dollar for a trade-secret. Well, the matter is
this : the old parrots clap their wings when
they hover about the nest— it 's a sort of din-
ner-signal ; and if you can imitate that, you
can rch- upon it that the young ones will be
on hand before long. They don't miss a
meal if they can help it."
When we reached our tent, wc found that
the young gavials on the beach had been
joined by several old ones, one of them as
long as a full-grown alligator.
" 1 should like to try my harpoon on those
fellows," said our friend of many trades; "their
hides make first-class boot-leather. There 's a
bag-full of cariw stxca [dried beef cut into long
strips] in my tent, and I '11 tell you what we can
do if you want to have some fun : throw them a
few pieces of it, just enough to tickle them, and
if we can coax them up here, I will crawl down
md sec if they need any pepper for supper."
.\ strip of low willow-bushes at the foot of the
■luff enabled him to approach the beach unper-
ived, and at a preconcerted signal we began to
■ tickle " the gavials. It was really a ticklish un-
dertaking; if they saw us they would lake at once
to the water, and when we dropped the first tidbit
from behind a projecting rock, one fellow, who
was inunchmg an old crab-shell, looked rather
surprised at this unexpected contribution to his
banquet. He was an uncomfortable, squint-eyed
old sharper, and before he accepted our present
he walked a few steps back, to get a better view of
the bluff, but the boys lay low; and when the
shower of beef continued to descend, our friend
Ciavial seemed at last to accept it as a new fact
in natural history that eatable things were float-
ing in the air as well as on the water. He came
92S
IN NAIIUKS WONDKRLANl).
ncarir and nearer, and \vc tliouj^lit lie was going
to clamber up the bluff, when he sudtlenly wheeled
;,.vl ti,,.t ,1..,,,, i.,|| ^vith surprising aj^ility — his
quick eye had discovered a suspicious movement
in the bush. He was too late, however; before
he reached the beach the Moro was ready for
him. and just when his feet touched the water,
the harpoon went cr.ashing throu(;h his scaly hide.
His violent plunges nearly jerked the line out of
the skipper's hands, but this time the rope could
be hitched — a Spanish willow-tree need not be \cr)'
large to resist the pull of the largest cart-horse;
and when we came to the rescue, the Moro had
already secured his captive, antl coolly |)rocectled
to drag him up, hand over hand, .as an angler
would haul in a refractor)' cat-fish.
" Wh.it a pity we can not stay here and m.ake
this our home ! " cried Tommy, when we had spread
our blankets at the foot of a majestic bignonia-
tree, with mighty arms stretched over the water.
It would, indeed, have been
an exquisite place for a sum-
mer-house ; the bluff over-
looked the entire breadth of
the vast river, and behind us
rose a terrace-land of rocks
and wocxled heights — the
eastern slope of the Sierra
Marina, that stretches away
to the head-waters of the
Orinoco. The current at our
feet murmured strange lulla-
bies,— talcs, perhaps, of the
thousand and thousand wild
woods and lovely \alleys its
waves had p.asscd on the wa)'
from the distant Andes, — but
through the whispering of
the water we heard now and
then another and still stran-
ger sound — a musical twang,
resembling the slow vibration
of a harp-string.
"What can that be?"' 1
asked. " It is like the sing-
ing of a telegraph-wire, but
it must be something else."
" You can hear that at sev-
eral places along this river,"
said the Moro ; " they call
it the castlc-bells of the Villa
India."
"The Villa India? Where
is that?"
"Qtiiirii sahi: [who knows] ? "
said the skipper. "It is sup-
|X)se<l to be a hidden city of
the nation that owned this
K h .-I iiKK \ sn country- before the Spaniards
came. There is a tradition
that the mother of the Inca princes took refuge
in a village where they let the «ot>ds grow all
around it, to conceal its «here.ibouts from the
Spaniards, and that the inhabitants leave it only
in night-time, by a subterranean cave leading to
the river. In moonlight nights, strange boats and
strange people are sometimes seen on the shore."
" Have you ever seen them ?" asked Tommy.
"Not I," said the skipper. "I only tell you
what I heard from the Brazilian sailors ; but so
much is sure, that the woods along this river are
thick enough to conceal more than one cit>' ; there
are here hundreds of sc|uare miles which no vvhite
man h.ns e\er been able to penetrate. And on the
ADVENTURES IN THE AMERICAN TROPICS.
929
930
IN NATURES WONDERLAND.
(CHrroDBli,
Kio Negro it is worse yet, <m account of the
"What is that ? " askcil 'rommy.
" He means the Indian tig-trees," said I. " They
have air-roots hanging down from a height of
fifteen or twenty feet till they grow into the
ground, so that the tree seems to rise from a
scaffold."
"What a pity we must leave this country!"
cried Tommy, again. " We have not
seen half of it yet ! "
"Never mind," said 1; "we sliall
perhaps go to .Africa next year, and sec
still greater wonders — ostriches, river-
horses, and crocodiles, apes as big and
strong as a man, and camclopards with
legs as long as our boat-mast."
" 1 should like to go along and sec
that country." said Daddy Simon ; " but
in the first place 1 have promised ni\
wife to be home by next Christmas, and
in the second place 1 am getting old.
and 1 might be put to hard shifts if one
of those long-legged lco|)ards should get
after me."
.Menito said nothing, but he looked
thoughtful, and after a while took Tom-
my aside for a private consultation ; and
then sat down at the other end of the
fire to give his spokesman a chance.
" Do you know what he wants r " whis-
pered Tommy. "He is dying to go
along and see all those things, and he
says he will take the best care of our
pets if you could find him a place in the
Zoological Garden; but he is afraid tci
ask you for it."
" 1 don't know why he should be,"
said 1. "Come here, Menito ; would you
like to go to France ?"
"Yes, .Seiior ; but — it is such a long
way," faltered Menito, " and I havr
no money hardly. 1 do not know hou
1 shall pay my passage."
"Oh, please let him go!" begged
Tommy. " He is going to sell Rough,
he says, and 1 will give him all my pocket-money."
" No, no, that is all right,"* 1 laughed ; " we will
keep Rough and Menito, too. liut what about
your folks at luime ? Will they not iniss you?"
"Oh, no," said Menilo, gayly. "1 promised
them to be back before the end of the year, but
my step-mother has laid a big wager that I would
break my word, so 1 don't want to disappoint her."
The next day the wind turned to the west, our
skipper hoisted every sail, and we had a quick and
pleasant voyage to the end of the river, if that
name can be applied to the lower Amazon. There
were places where the shore on cither side faded
entirely out of view, and we seemed to drift on a
flowing ocean, like the sailors that commit them-
selves to the current of the Gulf-stream. As the
river grew wider, its shores became lower and
lower, till they flattened into mud-banks, fringed
with unbroken thickets, excepting on points where
wild animals had made gaps on their way to drink-
ing-placcs. We saw tapirs and herds of pecca-
ries, and one day we surprised a troop of capy-
baras, or water-hogs, basking in the sun at the end
of a long sand-bank. Our skipper landed at a
point where the bank joined the shore, and we
had a grand ch.ise ; with the aid of another dog
or two we could have captured the whole trixip,
but we caught about as many as we had room for —
three old ones and two little pixies, looking very-
much like tailless rats. Giant-rats, indeed, would
be a more appropriate name than " waler-hogs,"
■8Sl.]
nil: LEAVES AT I'l.AV
93"
for capybaras are a species of iikIciUs, or unawinji
animals, though nearly three feet long anil two
high ; with pigs they have nothing in common but
the voice — a sort of grunting sipieak.
Angling, and spearing tish, were likewise enter-
taining pastimes, but after dark the mosipiitoes
were terrible, and we were all gl.ad when we trans-
ferred our baggage to a coasting-schooner that
carried us to the sea-port of I.a I'.uayra. There
we met the agent who had brought our monkeys
and panthers from the Orinoco, and four days after
our arrival all our |K.-ts were quartered in the
caboose of the ocean steamer that was to carry us
back to I'urope and Marseilles. The bay of La
Ciuayra is strangely land-locked, the view toward
the sea being almost completely barred by a circle
of mountains, and ships leaving the port seem to
sail on a narrow lake till they reach the I'unta
Pefias. or " Promontory Point," where the open
sea and the pe.aks of the West Indian Islands rise
suddenly to view ; but this same peculiarity makes
the harbor of La liuayra the safest port of the
Western Atlantic, and for this reason it is a great
resort for sailors and all kinds of people seeking
profit or employment.
Our captain had engaged fifty South .-Vmerican
sailor-bo\s as coal-heavers for the French navy,
and when our ship weighed her anchor, the rela-
tives and comrades of those poor fellows crowded
around the wharf to bid them good-bye an<l load
them with f.irewell presents — b;iskets full of fruit,
and handkerchiefs embroidered with parrot-feath-
ers, .as mementos of their home in the tropics.
Old D.addy, too, insisted on exchanging a Mexi-
can dagger for Menito's little pocket-knife, and
shook hands with us all again and again, not for-
getting the spider-monkeys and lioblail liilly.
When I otTered to take him along and find him
a home in the Zoillogic.al Garden, he seemed half-
inclined to take me at my word ; yet the thought
of his own home in the Mexican sierra finally pre-
vailed, and when our ship fired her farewell gun,
he leaped suddenly clown into one of the last mar-
ket-boats and helped the boatman to row as fast as
possible, as though he could not trust himself, and
wanted to get ashore before he could have tiine to
change his mind.
"A m'fnios / A n-ivnifls .' — Good-bye till we
meet again ! " we heard the people call from thi-
shore when we approached the Punta Penas ; and
when the sailors on the wharf tossed up their caps,
our officers leaped upon the bulwarks to wave their
hats in reply.
In a few minutes the steamer had passetl the
promontory, and only the scream of the sea-gulls
answered our farewell lo the .American Tropics.
TIM': i.i:.\\i:.s a r i'i..\v.
Bv U. C. Hasbrolxk.
COMK and watch the merry little leaves at play:
Jolly times they 're having this October day.
Down they gently flutter like the flakes of snow ;
Chasing one another, flying to and fro.
Don't tell me they 're only driven by the wind;
I am sure they 're doing just as they 'vc a mind.
See those two go racing swiftly down the street !
Red 's ahead, now yellow, which think you will
beat?
Over in that corner there 's a dancing-cl.ass.
See them wildly waltzing o'er the withered gr.ass.
They have lively music, led by .Mr. Hreezc,
Listen to his whistling up there in the trees.
.Some have gone in swimming clown in yonder
nook,
Sec that host of bathers diving in the brook.
There a crowd has gathered in an eager talk,
Now they 're widely scattered all along the walk.
So they gayly frolic through the sunny hours.
Careless of the winter with its icy showers;
Hut the cold is coming, and the snow-drifts deep.
When, their playtime over, quietly they Ml sleep.
932
THE TAIL OF A KITK,
Till-. TIMID Dl'C.OXG.
IJv Udiikrt S. Talcoit.
A yUlEl' and usually timid Dugong
Burst suddenly forth into amorous song,
And, sitting upright on the tip of his tail,
Extolled the groat charms of the royal Sperm Whale.
An envious Shark, who was passing that way,
And observed that the Dugong seemed blithesome
and gay.
Instead of, as usual, timid and quiet,
With malice aforethought created a riot.
Without the politeness to wait for a pause
In the music, he opened his ponderous jaws.
And, seizing the singer, he shortened his verse
And himself, in a manner that could n't be worse.
So he dashed to the fray, and without more ado,
With his sharp-pointed sword, cut the Shark
right in two.
The Wiiale, who had listened with closely shut eyes.
Awoke from her trance in a state of surprise.
And, not understanding the facts of the case.
With her tail struck the Sword-fish a blow in
the face.
'"• The moral which first would appear to the \iew
A Sword-fish, who witnessed this cruel attack. Is, " Don't interfere with what don't concern you."
Determined the Shark should at once be paid But the Whale also offers a lesson to youth —
back. Not to hastily act without knowing the truth.
TIIK TAIL Ol" .\ Km:. AND WHAT 1 1 U N C. TH I:R I! 1' R O M.
r.v Soph IK Swf.it.
It was a p.articularly fastin.iiiTij; kiic, to begin bubbles from a queer, long pipe, while three or
with. 1 1 was made of gay Japanese paper, orna- four children — apparently put together after the
mentcd with figures even more grotesque and f;ishion of jumping-jacks, and experiencing no diffi-
charming than usual. A woman, who seemed to culty in extending their legs at right angles with
be dressed in a pink-and-yellow meal-bag, with a their lx)dies — were capering, to show their delight,
red parasol over her he.id, w.is blowing soap- and five curious animals stood on their heads.
\\l> UIIAT HUNG THERKKROM.
933
In (he distance a piiik mountain stmul on Us head,
and a sky-blue villa, tipsily askew, seemed on the
I^Hunt uf tailing into a yellow lake.
Roy w.TS in a hurry to get the kite done, and
he p;isted the paper on the frame in a one-sided
Hishion, so that the lit;ures were somewhat mixeil
up: but it was all right if you only looked at it
rightly, which is the w.iy with a great many things
in this world. Roy thought ho should n't mind
that, and he hoped Teddy O'lJrien would n't. The
kite was for Teddy. It w.is "a swap." Teddy
was Irish, but there was not a Yankee in Millville
who could out-whittle him. He had whittled a ves-
sel to which Roy h.ul taken a great fancy, and
which he had agreeil to trade for a kite. Teddy
■night h.avc made a kite for himself which would
have rivaled any in Millville, — he w.-is hard to
Inrat at anything, — but he had broken his arm
in the mill where he worketl, and was not able
to use it at all as yet. He had been confined to
the house for more than a month, and, as he ex-
pressed it, "'the hairt was worn out iv him intirely
wid frctt'n'.'' He thought it might be a little
solace to sit in the door-way and fly a kite ; for
if Teddy had a weakness it was for kites.
Roy and Teddy were great friends, although
Roy was the only son of the richest man in the
town, the owner of the great mills, where hundreds
of men and women were employed, and thousands
of bales of cotton were turned into cloth, while
Teddy was the oldest of the seven children of the
•• Widdy" O'Brien, whose chief worldly possessions
were a poor little shanty, a "pratic" patch, and a
pig. Then, too, Roy had plenty of time for play,
having a tutor who was, very indulgent in the mat-
ter of lessons, and almost every amusement that
could be devised, while Teddy worked ten hours a
day in the mill, and had no toys excepting those
of his own make. Teddy was a little condescend-
ing to Roy, sometimes ; he knew how to make and
do so many things, while Roy had only things that
came out of stores, and could n't even turn a
somersault without making his head ache. But
Roy never thought of being condescending to
Teddy, because he w.-is rich and Teddy was poor;
by which you will see that Roy was an uncom-
monly good and sensible boy, and Teddy — well,
you will soon know what kind of a boy he was.
Roy was gl.id that there was one thing that he
could make almost as well as Teddy— doubly glad
that Teddy wanted a kite of his making. He
would willingly have given it to him, but when
Teddy olTered the vessel he could not resist it;
besides, Teddy would not have it otherwise ; he
•'was afther do'n' business on the s<|uare," he said.
Now it was important that this beautiful kite
should have a proportionately beautiful tail. Roy
w.is of the opinion that the glory of a kite is its
tail. No newspaper nor old rags might be used in
the making of this kite's tail! He knew how to
get to his sister Kmily's store of finery, and she
always had a great many pieces of bright-colored
silk and gauze which would be just the things for
this fine kite. Teddy might not appreciate this
elegance; he was practical and wanted "a good
flier," above everything, but Roy wanted it to be
handsome, for his own credit and satisfaction.
He found one of his sister's bonnets in a band-
box on the top shelf of a closet, and this struck him
as being exactly what he wanted. It was all cov-
ered with bows of fluffy lace, and red satin ribbon,
and it had long strings of lace, which he titought
would make beautiful streamers for the kite.
" It's a last summer's bonnet, and 1 know Emily
don't want the old thing ! " he said to himself, as
he took possession ; and in a very short space of
time the bonnet, which had been a triumph of the
milliner's art, was degraded to the position of tail
to a kite. I say degraded, but Roy and Teddy
would both say elevated ; it all depends upon
whether you consider a beautiful bonnet or a
beautiful kite the more important and useful thing.
It was a very fine kite, and Roy was proud and
happy when he carried it to Teddy's house.
Teddy was sitting on the door-step, with Dan,
his black-and-tan terrier, on one knee, and his
yellow cat. Spitfire, on the other. The two were
on the most amicable terms, although Dan tolerated
no other cat, and Spitfire no other dog. Eight fat
little pigs, every one with a quirk in his tail, bur-
rowed in the dirt near by. A flock of noisy geese
came waddling up from a muddy little pond; a
strutting gobbler paraded around, followed by a
great flock of turkeys, little and big. There were
lordly roosters and matronly hens, with broods of
chickens of all sizes ; there was a goat, and a tame
sc|uirrel, and last, but not le.ist, there was a p.arrot
— a demure-looking parrot, all in drab, save for a
bit of scarlet, like a knot of ribbon, at her throat ;
she had a very wise expression of countenance,
and was a very knowing bird.
The Widow O'Brien had a fondness for animals ;
but she was not satisfied with her collection. She
was a sensible woman, in the main, yet the more
she had the more she wanted. Now she wanted a
cow. And it was not an unreasonable wish. The
twins, Bartholomew and Rosy, her youngest and
her darlings, were weak and ailing, and goat's
milk did not agree with them ; they must have
cow's milk, the doctor said, and that was not e.isy
to get in Millville unless one owned a cow.
Widow O'Brien at last determined to have a cow,
and she and Teddy, together, had laid up just
twenty-three dollars and sixty- seven cents toward
934
THE TAIL
(October,
the purchase when Teddy was brought home from
the mill with his arm broken, and the doctor's bills
swallowed up the s^ivings. So Michael Dolan's
cow, "the bcautifulest baste" that the Widow
O'Brien had " ivcr put the two eyes iv her on,"
which he wished to sell for only fifty dollars, was
as far out of her reach as the cow that jumped
over the moon. And her continual bewailings
liad had more to do with wearing; the flesh off
Teddy's bones than the pain of his broken arm.
For he felt himself to be the man of the family,
who ought to buy a cow, instead of breaking his
arm, by carelessness, and perhaps thereby causing
the death of Bart and Rosy, who, his mother as-
sured him, were dying for want of cow's milk.
Roy felt sad to see Teddy so pale and thin, but
he thought that the kite could not fail to cheer him.
Roy was a favorite at the Widow O'Brien's.
Dan frisked around his heels. Spitfire arched
her back to be patted and smoothed, the squir-
rel ran up to his shoulder and perched there,
and though the parrot screamed hoarsely, " Be
off wid ye, )e raskill ! " it was probably because
no more complimentary conversation was at
her command, the "'Widdy" having educated
her with the view of making her a terror to the
neighbors' children, who often desened the uncom-
plimentary epithet. At all events, Roy always took
it as a friendly greeting on Poll's part, and Poll
was certainly a very friendly creature.
She sailed down from her jjcrch above tlie door-
way, now, and alighted on Roy's head, regardless
of the squirrel, who seemed to consider it an
infringement upon his rights, and scolded fiercely,
until the kite absorbed his attention. He and Poll
both regarded that with their heads on one side.
Teddy's pale face did brighten a little at sight of
that kite, and especially after he tried it. There
was a good wind, and Roy had provided a very
liberal allowance of string; the kite soared up, up,
till it looked like the tiniest speck against the blue
sky. But there was a cloud up there that was just
the shape of a cow; it reminded Teddy of Michael
Uolan's cow — such a bargain for fifty dollars ! —
which they had not the money to buy, and his
heart sank as fast as the kite rose. He racked his
brains for some way to obtain fifty dollars, until he
forgot all about the kite, and Roy, feeling hurt that
Teddy seemed to care so little for it, and was so
silent, soon went home. Then Teddy wound up
the string and let the kite float slowly down.
Fly as high as it might, it could not fly away
with his trouble, he thought. He caught him-
self wishing that Mich.icl Dolan's cow could
be tied to the kite's tail, and carried up and
dropped somewhere on the other side of the hills,
so that his mother would never hear of licr again.
And while he was thinking that, his mother came
in at the gate, wiping her eyes on her apron.
"Oh, musha, musha ! the likes o' that crathur
niver was seen ! Sure the milk she 's afther givin'
do be ivery dthrop crame, and the butthcr comes
iv itself! It 's prayin' prayers on us somebody
must be — we do be that misfortunit' ! If ye were
not afther breakin' your arm, be your own careless-
ness, we 'd have the money ag'in' this time, and
Bart and Rosy 'd not be star\in' wid the hunger,
nor meself heart-sick wid longin' for the cow !
Oh, Teddy, it 's all your fault, ye raskill ! "
Teddy felt like the guiltiest rascal alive. He
would have asked Michael Dolan to trust him for
the cow, if he had not known it would be in vain.
Michael never trusted anybody, and, besides, was
short of money just then. Teddy could think
of no way by which "the mother" could come
into possession of the "crathur" which she
coveted, and he felt almost despairing enough to
throw himself into the muddy little goose-pond,
when, as the kite came saihng down, and flut-
tered its streamers in his face, he suddenly caught
sight of something glittering in their folds. He
caught it hastily, but the glitter had disappeared.
Then, feeling the kite-tail carefully, he discovered
a hard substance inside one of the lace bows, which
Roy had fastened on just as it came from the
bonnet. He drew it out. An car-ring lay in his
hand, set with a stone which caught the light in
myriads of flashing rays, and almost diuzled Ted-
dy's eyes. A diamond ! he w.as sure, and he
knew that diamonds were valuable.
He clutched it tightly, and his eyes sparkled.
" It might be the price of the cow ! " said he to
himself. But he 'd find out, he thought, before
telling his mother what he had found ; he would
not raise her hopes only to have them disappointed.
There was a jeweler's store in the next \illage.
three miles away. Teddy was still weak, but with
such a hope to cheer him he was sure that he could
walk there. He had got as far as the gate when,
suddenly, his conscience raised a remonstrance.
You may think it queer, but Teddy's conscience
spoke with a brogue. It said : " It don't be yours
at all, at all. All the business yc have wid it is to
find out whose is it." Teddy had always been
honest, and he w.as in the habit of heeding what
his conscience said, but that cow seemed to be the
one temptation that was too strong for him. He
thought of his mother's tears, of Bnrty and Rosy's
thin and pale little faces, and he started otT in the
direction of the jeweler's, as fast .as he could go.
His fancy so far outran his footsteps that, before
he came in sight of the village, he had seen
Michael Dolan's fine cow snugly ensconced in
his mother's shed, Barty and Rosy grown as
issi.i
AND WllAl' llL.NLi 1 II liKEl' KU.M.
935
broad as they were lonp, and with cheeks as red
;is Il.ildwin apples, like the little Japanese children
on his kite, and his mother, radiant with happi-
ness, showinj; to all the neighbors great balls of
golden butter, and declaring it to be " the likes
iv the ould counthry butther itself."
It was no wonder that with such bright visions
before his eyes ho should have forgotten to listen
Co the " still, small voice " within him.
He forgot that he was wc.tk until, as the village
came in sight, and a few rods more would bring
hnn to the jeweler's shop, he was forced to sit
down and rest. As he sat there a voice came,
whether from the heavens above, or the earth
beneath, Teddy could not tell — a voice which
cried, solemnly; "Cio home wid ye ! Go home
wid ye I ye thafc iv the wurruld ! "
It was one of Poll's remarks, but Teddy thought
the voice much more solemn than Poll's, and what
emphasis there was on the word " thafe ! " It made
Teddy blush, guiltily, while he looked about to
discover whence the voice came. It could not pos-
sibly be his conscience th.tt spoke so loud !
It came again — this time mutllcd and subdued —
but hoarser, more dreadful ! " Cio home wid ye !
Go home wid ye ! ye thafc iv the wurruld ! "
" I 'm go'n' ! I 'm go'n', whoever ye arc ! " said
Teddy, getting on to his feet, with his face turned
homeward, though he trembled so that he could
hardly stand. " It 's a thafe I was m'anin' to be —
the splints forgive me ! — but I nivcr will be, nivcr !
An' will ye kape quiet now, ye scrache-owl ? " This
latter clause Teddy muttered rather angrily, for his
courage had risen with his resolve to be honest.
" Go home wid ye ! Go home wid ye ! " cried
the voice, in answer. This time it was a shrill
cackle, exactly like Poll's, but the offensive word
■*• thafe " was considerately left out.
Teddy looked up, and down, and all around, and
then he pinched himself to see if he really were
Teddy. " That bird bees too know'n', as the
mother bees always sayin' ! " And Teddy crossed
himself as a protection against witches.
Something pinched his fingers sharply, and,
looking down, he saw, sticking out of his coat-
pocket. Poll's sleek gray head !
Teddy felt a little .ishamcd that he had been s<>
frightened, and a little angry with Poll ; but, down
deep in his heart, he was more .ashamed of what
he h.ad been going to do, and thankful to Poll for
having saved him from it. He scolded her at first,
Init hi- ended by patting her, and Poll cocked her
head first on one side and then on the other, and
if ever a parrot laughed with real enjoyment. Poll
was that parrot !
Although he w.as so tired, Teddy quickly made
his way to Roy's house. lie did not even dare to
think of Michael Uolan's cow, lest he should yield
again to temptation.
Me gave the ear-ring to Roy, and told him that
he h.td found it fastened to the tail of the kite.
" Oh, that 's I-hnily's diamond ear-ring, that she
lost Inst summer, and made such a fuss about ! "
said Roy. " We hunted everywhere, and at last
Papa offered fifty dollars reward for it — they arc big
diamonds, and cost an awful lot, and Emily felt
so bad. It must have caught in her bonnet-
strings, and inside the bow, so she never saw it.
Kmily will be awful glad, and it 's lucky for you,
Teddy, for I Ml get Papa to give you the fifty dol-
lars right away ! "
But when Roy's fiither appeared, Teddy con-
fessed, with shame, how near he had come to steal-
ing the car-rings, and he would not take the fifty
dollars. Vet, when he was urged, how could he re-
sist .' It was just the price of Mich.iel Dolan's cow I
The Widow O'Brien sought far and near for
Teddy, who had never been outside the gate since
he broke his arm, and she wept and wrung her
hands, fearing that her reproaches had driven him
to some desperate deed. She called upon all the
neighbors to witness that there was not the " aquil "
of Teddy " for a dacent, honest bye, in North
Amcriky," and that she " had kilt him and broken
the hairt iv him intirely wid her impidence." And
she was m.aking preparations to have the muddy
little goose-pond dragged, when Teddy appeared,
driving home in triumph Michael Dolan's cow.
Teddy's bright visions were more than realized.
Bart and Rosy grew so fat that the little "Japs"
on the kite looked actually thin by comparison, and
the butter that his mother made was the wonder
and delight of the whole town. And the satisfac-
tion of the Widow O'Brien was beyond the power
of words to express.
But, after all, Teddy's great and Lasting satisfac-
tion seemed to be that he was not a " thafe."
■'I 'd be glad 1 did n't stale it if 1 did n't get the
cow at all, at all ! " he said to himself, very often.
And he and Poll were greater friends than ever.
The Widow O'Brien says: "This is a quarc
wurruld, and ye nivcr know what '11 happen since
Teddy is afther findin' the foinest cow in the coun-
thry hangin' to the tail iv a kite ! "
o;6
111 i; ( Ki i\v s N i;s 1
l< k .
\"^"The-^W' TLEW- EAST- THE-(^W- FLEW-WESf^"^
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935
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039
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940
THE CROW S NEST.
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HOW TO BE TAKEN CARE OK,
lli)\V TO HK TAKI'-N l AKl. t)K
Bv Susan Anna IIrown.
941
There is something harder to learn, and more-
difficult to put in practice, than taking care of the
sick, and tl\at is, Iwinj; taken care of when you are
sick yoursi'lf. Kind and devoted nurses sometimes
prove to be seltish and ex.icting invalids.
It will be some years before the younger readers
of St. Nicholas are intrusted with the care of
others ; but every numlx-r finds many of them
laid aside from "books, and work, and healthful
play," trying their best, let us hope, not to be
imp.atient patients. No directions can make sick
days short and ple.isant : but, .as they have to be
borne, every one wants tt) form those habits which
will make the burden as light .as possible to them-
selves and others.
You may .is well make up your mind at once
that there is no charm which can make it easy.
There is no royal way to get through measles or
mumps, and even children in p.olaces must find
sick days drag by slowly. The only way to make
life in a sick-room endurable, is to remember, first
.and last, and always, that no amount of grumbling
and complaining can take aw.ay pain. The thing
to be done is to lift the burden .as cheerfully as you
can, and Ix'ar it with patience. Do not imagine
that talking of your troubles will do any good.
Every one who has had experience knows how
hard it is to be ill, and those who are so fortunate
as to have had no such experience will not realize
your sutTerings any the more if you describe every
detail.
In the first place, always remember that it is not
pleasant nor easy work to t.ake care of sick people,
and if you do the best you can, you will still tax the
strength .and patience of your friends very much.
Do not be exacting about little things, and make
.as little trouble as you can, and try to be grateful
for everything which is meant as a kindness.
Children are often tempted to be fretful when
they are ill. .-X petulant " Don't," or " I don't
want that," tires a nurse more th.in an hour's
watching. Do not expect your friends to take it
for granted that you appreciate the many steps
which they take in your behalf, without any
expression of gratitude from you.
Just think how you would dislike to be called
away from .all your usual employments, to occupy
your time in running up and down stairs on errands.
How would you like to read aloud when you wanted
to go out.' or leave your own dinner to grow cold
while you carried the salver upstairs, lest the tea and
toast should not be at their best ? 1 presume you
would be willing to do it, but would n't it be easier
and pleasanter if met by a cordial .acknowledg-
ment of your kindness, instead of by a silent acqui-
escence ? Let the ready expression of apprecia-
tion of small favors become the habit of your life,
and then you will not have to make an effort to be
grateful for the ser\'ices which others render you
when you are ill.
When you feel as Glory Mci^uirk did, when she
used to say, " Lots of good times, and I aint in
'em," remember that you arc only taking your
turn out. Nobody goes through life without ill-
ness, and instead of feeling jealous of your friends
who are well and able to enjoy more than you can,
try to be happy in their happiness.
This is very hard, sometimes ; but if you can not
feel just as you ought, you can at least keep from
putting your envious thoughts into complaining
words. It is bad enough to be sick, without being
ill-natured, too. Some invalids have learned the
secret of being a help instead of a burden, their
happy, patient ways making the sick-room the
pleasantest place in the home. It w.is often said
of one of these bright examples, " Helen is always
so cheerful that it is impossible to realize that
there is an invalid in the house."
There is another dear little friend of mine, who
has lain for years in constant pain with spinal dis-
ease, who yet has courage to say, " Don't be very
sorry for me, because I have so many things to
make me happy, .and I don't mind not being .able
to walk, because 1 have always been ill." She short-
ens the wakeful nights by repeating poetry from
her memory, which she calls her "night library."
How much happier for her and for her friends than
if she spent those tedious hours in thinking of her
own sufferings.
The lesson of instant obedience to rightful
authority ought to be learned when one is well, for
when illness comes, life or death often hangs upon
the habits learned long before.
" Perhaps I have done wrong, Doctor," said the
mother of a self-willed daughter, " but Amy, w.as
so unwilling to take the medicine which you
ordered, that I did not give it to her."
The physician gravely replied : " Mad.am, you
hii^'e done very wrong." When the little girl's
death proved his words true, the mother realized
what a dreadful alternative it is to choose between
the two risks, of neglecting a needed remedy, or
94-
Tin; ADVENTURES (J 1' COCC^UELICOT
(October,
puitinj; a sick child into a passion, by enforcing an
obcciicncc t(i which it is unaccustomed.
Do not allow yourself to think that you arc the
only person in the world who docs not feel perfectly
comfortable and happy. It is a very bad idea to
tr)- to make yourself the center around which the
whole household must revolve. People fall into
this fault before they know it ; so be watchful lest,
when you get well, you find that a crop of selfish
habits has sprung up within you to crowd out the
flowers.
The tediousness of the time of convalescence
may be alleviated by some simple employment of
the hands, such .us cutting out pictures for a scrap-
book, or sorting letters, or re-arranging some of
your small belongings. It is a good time, too, for
a little quiet thinking, only be sure that your
thoughts are not too much about yourself or your
own pleasures. Remember what favors you have
received from different people, and see if you can
not think of something pleasant to do for ihem in
return. Plan your Christmas presents for your
friends, and make a list of them, to refer to
when you are better, and able to work. It is diffi-
cult to lay down rules for these things, because
tastes differ, and what would amuse one would tire
another. Some people would like to work out
puzzles, or would be entertained by games of soli-
taire. .Almost any light employment is better than
listless idleness, or being constantly dependent upon
others for amusement.
It is impossible to go into everj- detail, but if you
will be careful, the next time you are sick, to sec
how little trouble you can make for others, and
how appreciative you can be of their services, these
few hints will not have been i;ivin in vain.
THK
advi:nturks of c()COUi:i.iC(yr.
(A '/rur llislor).)
)!V SlSAN Kknmmokk Coopkr.
The adventures of Cocquclicot, which I am
about to relate, arc strictly true. Cocquelicot was
an Angora cat, belonging to the children of an
American family, living in Paris. His mother was
a splendid creature in her way. 1 have never seen
such a puss in America; her fur. dark lead-color.
and silvery white, was very fine and silky, and
muht h.u e been several inches long on her bre.ist,
b.ick, and feather-like tail. This distinguished cat,
called " < iro-, Minn," belonged to a French family,
who very kindly gave one of her kittens to their
young American friends.
The kitten was very handsomely marked in
stripes, like his illustrious mother, "Gros Minet."
but his fur was not so long and silky. He was a
very saucy, playful kitten in his baby days.
In France, school-girls wear long black aprons,
completely covering the whole dress ; for the first
two months of his life this amusing little rogue
passed much of his time in the large apron-pocket
of one of the American school-girls ; his saucy face
and bright eyes peeping curiously out at the little
world about him. \'cry early in life, while still in
the pocket, he received the nameof " Cocquelicot,"
•ui original idea of his young mistress, the name
translated meaning " Poppy," the wild red poppy
;.;rowing in the wheat-fields of P'rancc. The three
syll.ibles, and the grand sound, were the charm of
iliis name when applied to so small a creature, and
ihen was he not the flower of kittens ? Very soon,
however, his name was abridged to "Cocque," by
v\liich title, at a hater day, he became known in
two hemispheres.
Yes, Cocque became a traveler; dogs follow their
m.isters over the world, but it is seldom that cats
move about much. In his ple.isant home in the
Rue St. Dominique, Cocquelicot led a very happ\
life ; he grew rapidly, becoming morr .utive .md
\l'\l NILKKS OK lOl (Jf i; l.ICOT.
945
iiiou- -..iiicy I'vcry il.iy, to tin- j^n.u lii lijjht of his
younj; friends ; and riMlly. parli.ilily aside, his
capers were even nmre j;r.iceful and more clever
than those of other kittens.
He had a charminj; Krendi manner. He \va>
much admired by visitors, antl some personajjes
of world-wide reputation amused tliemselves with
his j:;;»mbols. lie has been known to turn C.encnil
Lafayette out of an arm-chair.
To a few friends he did not object, but anythint;
like a t;atherin>; for company he disliked extremely ;
on such occasions the guests were no sooner
dep.-irted than Maitrc Cocquelicot would march
into the center of the room, and stretching himself
out at full length, he would look about, with an
absurdly important expression per\'ading his whole
person, from the tip of his nose to the end of his
long tail, as much as to say, " 1 resume my rights;
I .-im once more lord of the manor ; l' Etat, —
rVjr/ mot .' "
Whenever his young friends appeared, dressed
for an evening f)arty, Maitre Cocque would scruti-
nize them in the most critical way, walking around
them, sitting down before them, studying intently
the details of their costume.
"Why h.ive you changed your fur.' It was
brown this morning ; what is the meaning of this
blue or pink fur, these sashes and ribbons ? I dis-
approve of these proceedings ! " he seemed to siiy.
.\nd his ears were .ts sharp as his eyes ; he could
distinguish sounds which puzzled the rest of the
family.
Three or four years of happy cat-life passed
away, now in gamboling about the house, now in
sleeping on the writing-table of the author of
"The Prairie," or, perchance, i)erched on his
shoulder ; now sunning himself in the garden ;
listening to the nightingales which peopled that
park-like region, or possibly looking up at the
windows of that illustrious Christian lady, Madame
.Swetchinc, close at hand.
Then came a change. It was decided that the
.American family should return to their own coun-
try. Of course Maitre Cocque w.is to go with
them. It w.TS a pleasant summer evening when
the party left Paris, in the //;//tf/-//iV, for Havre.
ISut oh, what a night it was ! Cocque was in a per-
fect frenzy. He had never been in a carriage before,
and the wheels were no sooner in motion than he
t>egan to dash wildly from one window to the other,
frantic to escape.
Then came the steam-boat trip across the Channel,
a trial even to human beings, in a miserable boat,
pitching among the short waves. Poor Cocque
was desperate ; he w.is utterly terrified by the
motion and the creaking of the engine. When
landed at Southampton, it was little better. Cocque
evidently disapproved of Kiikmhu tm ime coach,
the excellent roads, the handsome horses, were
not at all to his taste.
Ill London he had a breathing-time. It was
necessary to watch him very closely, however; we
were told that such a handsome animal would
\ery probably be stolen if seen outside of the house,
liut if Cocque did not walk in the parks, nor see the
Tower and Westminster Abbey, he made some
distinguished acquaintances, among others Mr.
Campbell, author of " The Pleasures of Hope,"
and .Mr. Rogers, author of "The Pleasures of
Memory." The children of the .American family
were all invited to breakfast with Mr. Rogers, but
there was no invitation for Cocque !
On the first of October he sailed, with his friends,
on the voyage across the ocean — a voyage Listing .a
month, as it was made in a sailing-vessel. .Many
were the trials and perils of poor Coc(|ue on that
voyage. Sailors hate a cat. The captain cautioned
us to keep close watch over puss, as the supersti-
tion among the old sailors was so strong that he
could not answer for the pet's safety.
If there was a head-wind, the old tars said it was
Cocque's fault. If there was a calm, that French
cat was to blame.
On one occasion the sailors were seated on deck,
during a dead calm, engaged in a sewing-circle,
mending old sails ; they sat Turkish-fashion, with
944
THE ADVENTURES OK COCQU E I.I COT.
[OCTOBKH^
crossed leys, the great heavy sail between them ;
for thimbles they had thick pieces of iron strapped
over the palms of
their riglit-hands, and
their needles were a
sort of jpant darning-
needles. Suddenly,
Cocque bounded into
the middle of the sail !
He had escaped from
the cabin. The old
sailors looked daggers
and marline-spikes at
him.
•' Throw him over-
board to the sharks ! "
muttered a grim old
Dane. Hut before
Cocque could be seiz-
ed he dashed away
again, and ran high
up into the rigging.
There was a regular
chase over the spars
and among the ropes
before he was caught
by a young American
sailor and restored to
his friends.
He had several similar escapes. His
repeatedly in danger during that long
came to the author of "The Pilot" one day, and
begged permission to ask a question :
"Will Monsieur be so good as to tell me what
we shall sec when we come to the end of the world
in America and look over ? "
At length the voyage came to an end. Cocque
reached his home in Carroll Place in safety. The
winter p.issed happily over ; but with the summer
came a terrible adventure. His friends were going
to their old village home, in the Otsego Hills. Of
course, Cocque must go with them. The trip to
Albany in the steam-boat was uneventful.
The two days' journey from Albany was to be
made by the turnpike road, in an old-fashioned
stage-coach, called an Exclusive Extra when en-
gaged for a private party. We set out gayly on
a pleasant summer morning, but, alas ! the wheels
were no sooner in motion, rattling over the Albany
pavement, than Cocque became perfectly wild.
The weather was extremely warm, — every window
had to be left open for air. Cocque made a dash
first at one, then at another; but at last, exhausted,
he fell asleep. The E.xclusive Extra soon reached
the Pine Barrens. It was a wooded region, with
scarcely a house in sight. Suddenly, at a turn in
the road, a wild-looking man, not unlike an Italian
beggar, was seen trudging along with a peculiar
gait, his toes much turned in.
"Sago !" cried the author of "The Pioneers,"
waving his hand to the stranger.
" Sago I " replied the dark-faced man on foot.
Perhaps when Cocque dashed up into the rigging
he was looking out for land, sharing the anxiety
of his friend the French servant ; that worthv man
"Oneida.'' inquired the gentleman.
" Oneida," replied the stranger, in a low, mourn-
ful voice.
tMi.)
THE AUVEiNTURES OK COCQUELICOT.
945
An Indian! Yes: and this was the first of his
race that the youiij; people ha<l ever seen, llreat
was the excitement. lUit this movement awakened
Cocque. He again became unmanageable, anil
suddenly, by a violent effort, he d.xhed through
an open wiml
There w.ii a general cry. The coach was
stopped. We saw him gather himself up, after the
leap, and rush into the adjoining wood of close
undergrowth. Hut we searched for him in vain,
cillmg him in the kindest tone of voice. Not a
trace of him could we discover. Half an hour was
spent in the search. Then, with really sad hearts,
wc pursued our Journey.
Vol. VIII.— 6o.
COCQrB LKAVKS THK .STAGK-COACH
There was no house in si^;lu. m im traveler nor
wnod-iulter could we mention Coct|ue's escape.
Hut ere long we came to a poor little tavern.
In former times, when the father of the family
was a lad, there
used to be a tav-
ern for every mile
of this road be-
tween Albany and
Lake Otsego.
■■ Sixty miles, and
sixty taverns," as
he told us. Ca-
nals and railroads
had made great
changes. Only a
few forlorn tav-
erns were still
seen. Stopping
at the first one,
the gentleman
wrote a short de-
scription of
Cocque, and of-
fered a reward if
the animal should be restored to its friends.
This was some consolation to the young people,
who could not bear the idea of giving up a pet
that had made part of their life for several years.
The travelers were soon settled in their old vil-
lage home. But there were
no tidings of Cocque. Day
after day, week after week,
passed away, and there
was no news of puss. All
hope of seeing him was
given up.
One day, however, six
weeks later in the sum-
mer, a rough-looking coun- •
iryman was seen coming
from the gate to the front
door. He had a bag on
his back.
He came into the hall,
lowered the great bag,
opened it, and — out leaped
Cocque ! But so thin, so
changed, so famished, so ~' '
wild, that it was piteous ^,,,
to see him. None but his
own family could have
known him. His first feeling, poor thing, was
terror ; but how touched we were when we found
that he knew us, remembered his name, allowed
himself to be caressed, and began to lap the milk
we offered him !
946
A I'LEASANT CHILD !
[OcTonKB
Yes, Cocque was restored to us, and became
once more a happy cat.
Never belipve, my young friends, lliat cats love
places, but not persons. Cocque was soon as affec-
tionnte as ever, on ground entirely new, but among
his own " relations."
Those six weeks in the Pine Barrens had been
full of peril to him. There had been a report that
a regular wild-cat from the Helderberg was to be
found in those woods, and young men went out
with their guns to hunt him. Cocque had had
many narrow escapes. At last he wandered into a
barn-yard, where the countryman who brought him
to us succeeded in surprising him, and, finding
that this was not really a wild beast, he shrewdly
guessed that it w.is the large French cat for which
a reward had been offered, and lie brought him
forty miles, on his back, in a bag !
A riJ'.ASANT CJIILD!
HV ISAliEL Fk.ANClS BF.I,U)WS.
The idea of making believe it is true
That if you are good, you '11 be happy, too !
They always are writing it down in books ;
I think they might know how silly it looks.
There 's nothing under the sun could be worse
Than to have to be washed and dressed by nurse ;
.\nd another thing 1 perfectly hate,
Is to go to bed exactly at eight.
1 'm crazy to cut my hair in a bang,
.-Vnd frizzle the ends, and let them hang.
.Ml the stylish girls in our school do that,
But they make me wear mine perfectly flat
.•\ girl in our class, named Matilda Chase,
Has a lovely pink overskirt trimmed with lace.
And, of course, 1 wanted to have one, too,
But thcN- said 1 must make my old one do.
I hate to do sums, and 1 hate to spell,
.And don't like geography very well;
In music they bother about my touch.
And they make mc practice the scales too much.
1 was reading a splendid book last night.
Called "A Nun's Revenge, or The Hidden Blight,
And I wanted to read the rest to-day,
But when they saw it, they took it away.
Wkli., I know you 'd think it was horrid, too, When I 'm grown up. I 'II do as 1 please,
If you did the things that they make me do; And then 1 sha' n't have to worry and tease.
And I guess j'ou 'li worry, and whine, and tease. Then I '11 be good and ple.isant all day.
If you never once rntil'' i' ■ ■ ••n please. For .ill I want is to have my own way.
ifWli.]
947
I' I l-l !•: !
Uv KiiiiKRr K. Tknkr.
Minnie and Louis;i — but who arc Minnie and
Luiiisit ? Well, Louisa is a little girl who, with her
parents, made the great journey of many thousand
miles from ICngland to California, some years ago.
As to Minnie, she is Louisa's cousin, with whom
she has lived ever since she completed that won-
derful journey, and they are more like sisters than
cousins now. Minnie is a little Californian; she
never saw snow excepting on the far-off mountain-
tops. Once or twice she h.is seen ice as thick as a
pane of glass, but she 'd scarcely know what a pair
of skates were, if she saw them, and she has never
even had a '| good slide " in her life. Their
home is high on a hill-top, with its grove of dark-
green orange-trees sheltered by the steel-blue
euc.ilyptus, and surrounded by a forest of red-
w<x)ds, oaks, and madronas, while, reaching away
to the boundless west, the I'acitic Ocean lies below.
Just now, I will only tell you of a certain advent-
ure the children had in that same great forest.
It was when the orange-leaves were darkest,
when the green corn, and thick-matted grape-
vines, greener stdl, were almost the only things
that still retained their spring-like color; when all
else was burnt brown and yellow, so that a stranger
would think that such desolation could never again
blossom into life; when even the evergreen forest
looked parched, and all the little plants at the
feet of tlje great trees were dry and crisp; — in fact,
It was at the very height of the dry season, when
Minnie and Louisa started on a long walk to
their aunt's home. This aunt lived in a little
village deep in the forest, and only to be reached,
from the ranch of Minnie's father, by a very round-
about route, if one followed the highway. But
the girls had often taken the journey before, and
had learned to pick their way by a "short cut"
through wcMxls and farms, and up canons and
over hills, all which their active little feet got over
much sooner than if they had gone by the usual
way, though to older people it would have been
a case of the shortest way 'round being the longest
way home.
They started off early in the day, well supplied
with a nice little luncheon to eat when they should
stop to rest, at a certain spring they knew of, about
half-way on their journey. There had been some
anxiety felt by Minnie's mother alwut letting them
go by the forest path, or trail, .as it w.is called, be-
cause of the tires that had been raging in the woods
lately. However, as, on the night before, none had
been seen, and on the morning of this d.ay only
a little sluggish smoke was curling up here and
there, and that not in the part of the country they
would traverse, she was re-assured; and since the
message they were to carry was urgent, she let
them go. The girls were in high spirits, as they
always enjoyed this wild walk, and the burst of
welcome from their little cousins was always doubly
cheerful, coming after the day's solitude among the
woods. They laughed at the fear of fires — not
that they had not seen them and learned to dread
them, but just through sheer high spirits which
made it impossible for them to believe that any
trouble was before them that day.
They went gayly along, sometimes pausing to
gather a wild blossom or a feathery fern. The (low-
ers were very rare at that time of year, and they
did not grudge a climb to obtain one if they saw-
it peeping out above their heads. So employed,
and chattering all the time as only little girls can
chatter, they did not note how quickly time flew ;
but when they reached the spring they were very-
hungry, and saw by the sun that it w;is quite three
o'clock, instead of noon, the hour at which they
should have arrived there. .Still, they could get to
their aunt's by sundown, and they were not much
troubled by being a little late, but sat down merrily
to eat their luncheon. They h.ad a little pat of
butter and a roll of bread, with some cold chicken,
and for dessert they had grapes and oranges. Their
dishes were two tin plates and a tin cup, and they
had but one knife, so that I am afraid their fingers
were \ery useful as forks. They were miles away
from any house, but although neither would have
been there alone for the world, yet. .-is they were
together, a gayer pair could not have been found.
The great walls of the canon, or gulch, at the
bottom of which they were, rose nearly straight
above them, covered with wild oats and matted,
tangled grasses, beneath the thick undergrowth and
towering trees. Where they sat at the spring there
w.as a tiny patch of green ; all else was dry as the
l)ed of a kiln. Very hot it was, too, for no breath of
air stirred in that deep trough — the breeze sprang
across above them. They packed up their little
b.-isket, and began to go forward. On each side,
not ten feet from them, the steep wall of the
canon began to rise, and it seemed to meet the sky.
In front their path made a gradual, rugged ascent,
ending in a steep climb, which would bring them
at last to the plateau above. What 1 call the p.ath
94^
(October,
was nothing but ihc bed of a winter torrent, dry
enough now, and rough with stones, and hmbs,
and great clods of earth.
They liad walked on only a short distance when
the bright sunlight was obscured for a moment,
causing Minnie to look up, surprised at a cloud at
that time of year and day. Minnie was a brave
girl, and had lived all her thirteen years among
these hills, but her knees
bent beneath her as she
looked in terror at this
cloud. It w^is not one
that you have e\cr seen
the like of, I hope. It
curled lazily upward,
and, where the sun shone
through, it was of a faint,
brownish red. Too well
Minnie knew smoke, not
water, formed that cloud,
and that a great forest-
fire must be raging to
the windward, carrying
certain death to any liv-
ing thing that should be
caught in the cafion
where she and Louisa
stood. She shivered for
a moment as though ai
icy blast had struck
through the hot air ;
then her resolute littlf
mouth compressed itself
in firm lines, and she
calmly examined the
danger. They were go-
ing north, with the west
on the left hand, and
the east on the right.
On the left she could see
smoke behind them, but
it was very thin and
had come a long way.
Directly to the left it
seemed a little heavier,
but still not from a near
fire ; but farther up .. jn^m,, s,
toward the north, she
saw a heavy column rising on the left, and gradu-
ally extending across the very path they were to
travel.
" Lou," said she, in a low tone, " we must climb
that bank on the right, and go to Mr. Highbate's
farm."
" Why, Minnie, we can never get up there, and
where is Mr. Highbate's?" said Louisa, looking
first at the great hill, and then at Minnie.
" Listen," said Minnie. " You must do just
what I s;iy, or we shall l)oth be burned. Do you
see that smoke there to the west ? It is tire, and
it will soon be rushing through this narrow canon,
where we can never escape it if we remain. We
must climb out, for the fire is in front of us, and
if we can only get to Mr. Highbate's farm, three
miles east of here, we shall be safe."
" 15ul there can't be much fire over there," said
Louisa, pointing to the left ; " look how little
smoke there is."
Minnie shook her he.id.
" That only shows that it is some distance away
yet, and gives us a chance to escape. Come, let
us hurry."
So saying, she led Louisa to the right and began
to climb the steep ascent. They soon had to throw
lUi I
FIRI
^MO
away their basket and stnijigle with all their m\^\u
to keep a fooling and scramble a little higher.
The poison-oak. that at other limes they would
not dare to touch, ihey now seijctl its eagerly as
they did the hazel-bushes, and they swung them-
selves up by its tenacious branches when the>
could. .-Vt l.tst, about half-way up, they came to a
ledge of rock cropping out perpendicularly in front
of them, and extending as far as they could sec
along the hill-side. To be sure, it was only .ibout
ten feet high, but how were two little girls to climb
that height ?
Louisa, weary and desp;uring, with hands torn
and bleeding, sat down and began to cry.
The smoke thickened behind them.
.Minnie glanced fearfully at it, then scrambled
.dong the bottom of the rock's face, Uwking closely
in search of some break or irregularity in its sur-
face by which they might scale it. Alas ! as far
.IS she could six-, it was the same smooth wall,
and she dared not go farther in her search with
that terrible pursuer gaining on her footsteps. She
returned to Louisa's side, almost ready to sit down
beside her and cry as she was doing. Just then
her eye caught a young live-oak, which stretched
its tough little body nearly horizontally over their
heads, firmly rooted above the rock.
".-\h," thought Minnie, "if I could only reach
that tree ! "
Then, all her languor changing to sudden energy
as an ide.i struck her, she cried :
•• (Juick, Louisa I Your apron, your apron !"
Louisa roused herself, and, startled by the tone
of Minnie's voice, at once undid her long apron
without asking any questions. It was a new one,
of which she was rather proud, and reached from
her chin almost to her feet, and had two little
pockets in the skirt. Her tears ceased, and gave
place to amazement and anger, when she saw
Minnie quickly tear it down the middle, and then
tear each half down again. Before she could
protest at this outrage. lo ! Minnie took her own
new apron and used it the same way. Louisa
Uxiked in her cousin's face, and what she saw there
made her keep silence. Minnie quickly knotted
together the ends of the pieces she had made, and
then again looked up at the live-oak. No, her rope
w.is not long enough, for it must be double. She
look off her dress, and arrayed only in chemise
and petticoat, tore it up also and .idded the pieces.
She now looked around for a stone, and soon found
one weighing alxiut a pound. Tying this to one
end of her rope, she went a little to one side of
the tree and flung it over its trunk. It fell to
the ground, carrying the rope with it, so now
she had a double rope up the face of the rock.
Minnie h.id not lived all her life in the woods
to fear climbing now, but still she looked a little
frightenetl at this rope swaying in the air. How-
ever, she tied the ends to a root, and telling
Louis;i not to be afraid, she stood on tiptoe, and
reaching her hands as high .as possible, began to
.ascend siiilor-f;ishion, hand over hand. She found
the many knots very useful, as they gave resting-
places for her feet .as well as kept her hands from
slipping. Still, wlicn she caught the trunk of the
oak, and scrambled astride of it, she had to shut
her eyes and stay quite still for a few seconds, too
exhausted to move a finger. Soon rousing, she
called to Louisa :
" Now. Lou, untie one end of the rope."
When Louisa had done so, Minnie drew the
other end as tight as she could, and taking two or
three turns about the oak, made the rope quite
secure. She thus had a single rope tightly drawn
from top to bottom of the rock, and another hang-
ing loose from the trunk of the oak to the ground
at Louisa's feet.
"Lou," she cried, "tie that loose end round
your body, under the arms. There, that is right;
be sure the knot is secure. Now, take hold of the
other rope and climb as 1 did, and I will pull you
up as much as I can."
Louisa did not hesitate, but at once did as she
was told ; and soon both the children again stood
side by side, joyful, though breathless and ex-
hausted.
They saw with relief that the hill sloped up more
gently from this point, and found they could make
better progress in their flight. One glance back-
ward showed them the smoke was very dense now
on the far side of the cafion, but still there was no
fire to be seen, nor noise of it to be heard. They
pressed on with what speed they could, and soon
found themselves on the edge of the nearly level
plateau, which the gulch they had just left cut like
an immense furrow. Compelled to pause a mo-
ment to gather breath, they looked back to the
west and s.aw a magnificent sight. The fire had
reached the cafion, which on that side was more
abrupt than on the one where they now stood.
The smoke rose lazily, upborne by a slight breeze
which began to blow through the valley, so that
the children could sec the shining line of clear fire
reach tlic edge of the opposite hill and begin to
burn down. \'ast trees were bhazing from root to
topmost twig, and soon they saw several totter over
and plunge their burning m.ass down the side of
the canon. They were stopped in their descent,
however, by the thick growths, and lay bhazing
and setting all around them in a blaze.
"Oh. Lou, look! Heaven help us!" cried Min-
nie. "The fire will be slow in getting down that
hill, but once at the bottom, it will rush up here.
950
[OCTOBKI,
Let us run ! run ! if wc can not get to a clearing
soon, wc shall be burned. Oh, Mother, Mother ! "
she sobbed.
Then suddenly checking herself, like tlie brave
girl she was, she added, almost calmly ;
" I know there is a trail somewhere here leading
to Mr. Highbate's farm, for they used to have pic-
nic parties hist summer to the spring where we
lunched. If we could only find that trail ! "
By this time the girls were a good distance from
the canon, though, with their utmost efforts, they
could not go quickly, having to force their way
through the thick bushes, and being tripped up
every minute by long, tough grasses. Just then.
Minnie stumbled and fell full length, and rolled
over in a sort of long, bare furrow between some
bushes. Almost before she could rise, she cried :
" Oh, thank heaven ! Lou, here it is ! — the trail !
the trail ! "
This narrow, rough path, overarched with trees
and bushes, and full of stumps and broken branches,
seemed to her more beautiful at that moment than
if it had been paved with gold inlaid with precious
stones. Now, indeed, could these little girls, both
practiced woodswomcn, feci that they had a chance
to escape the dreadful foe behind them. They did
not mind the roughnesses of the path, and even
when they found some great log fallen across it,
did not take long to climb it. Still, do their best.
they could not go very fast, for they were nearh
worn out, and their very fear weakened them and
retarded their flight.
Suddenly, Minnie stood still to listen, and her
heart beat faster as she heard a dull roar mingled
with a snapping sound. She knew the fire had
reached the near side of the canon, and was gal-
loping up, soon to hiss along the path they were
traveling. Was there no hope? Must she, and the
little orphan cousin in her care, indeed perish
miserably, only a few hours' walk from the home
they had left so happily this morning, — only a few
miles from safe shelter ? Yes, was her despairing
thought, they must die, — die a horrible death.
The fire would certainly overtake them before the\-
could reach Farmer Highbate's, and there was no
clearing nearer. Oh ! if she had but a match to
start a fire in front of them, and so make a safe
refuge ! In that case, this breeze, which was spur-
ring on their pitiless enemy, would become their
best friend. But no ; she knew that neither she
nor Louisa had a match, and already the smoke
from behind was thickening about them in stifling
folds. They tottered on, Louisa crying, and Minnie
with dry eyes and bl.izing cheeks.
Minnie had noticed, hardly knowing at the
moment that she did so, a tall, gaunt redwood-
tree, perfectly dead, which stood just where they
had found the trail. Ci lancing back now, she saw
a great red tongue of flame leap upon it and dart
to its very top. She shuddered, and then like a
fl.ish of lightning, "just like the flame darted on
the dead tree," as she afterward said, a thought
struck through her brain, which made her flushed
cheeks pale, and made her feel sick and faint, for
it promised safety, and her fevered nenes could
hardly bear the new hope.
•' Lou ! Lou ! " she cried, in a hoarse, low voice,
"the Family Tree, the Family Tree! The path
to it must be very near here."
She seized Louisa's hand and dragged her on.
A few paces farther, they came to a broad trail,
crossing, almost at right angles, the one they had
hitherto followed. Minnie turned to the left and
followed the new path. This brought her nearer
to the fire, but she flew on, never looking up.
In even a shorter time than she expected, they
reached a little circular opening among the trees,
in the middle of which towered a vast trunk. Its
thick branches did not begin until fifty feet from
the ground, and from that up more than a hun-
dred feet, they were a close mass of green, looking
as though no fire could harm them The little
opening in which this tree stood was quite clear of
undergrowth, but covered with long grasses, which
would bum like tinder. Still, near its base they
were thin and straggling, having been trampled
down year after year by curious visitors. On the
trunk many names were rudely car\'ed, and visiting-
cards were attached to it with tacks and pins.
What made Minnie draw a long sigh of relief as
she approached this tree ? Surely there was no
shelter here from the withering blast, whose heat
she already began to feel. But even Louisa no«
began to guess what Minnie hoped, and for a mo-
ment she ceased to sob. They ran around the tree
— the Family Tree — and lo ! in the eastern side,
farthest from the on-coming fire, there was a large
opening. The children ran through it and found
themselves in a great room with an uneven earthen
floor, inclosed by black walls rising high above,
and gradually narrowing to a point.
Minnie's first care w.-is to close the opening by
which they had entered, by means of some large
pieces of bark that h.ad scr\'cd the purpose of a
door. There was still some light when that was
done, for a square hole h.ad been made by some
former occupant for a window in the side, not far
from the door. Mmnie would have tried to close
this too, but she saw she could not reach it.
The girls sat down on the floor, too exhausted
even to speak. Minnie knew the story of their
present shelter, and that it obtained its name
from the fact that a poor family had passed a
whole winter within its walls, and had a baby
riiUK, AND Till; GIANT SKUVMIK
95'
bom to them there. But Louisn must wait for
anothiT time to hoar the story, for now ihcy hoard
a noise lu'ver to be forjjottcn, and which made
them put their tint;ers lo their ears and sit treni-
bhnj; with terror.
The tire was on them ! With a swecpinj; roar
and crackle, it rushed past, lickinj; up the long
grass like .i sea of oil, and leaping high up the tall
trees. An intolerable light streamed in through
their little window, and the air became almost too
thick anil hot to breathe. Minnie held her hand-
kerchief before her face, and breathed through it,
making Louisa do likewise. Soon she removed
it, and fell on her knees and sobbed out a thanks-
giving, for she knew they were safe. The roar of
the sea of ll.ime had passed, and even if the very
tree they were in w.as blazing, they could escape
now over the burnt ground behind them. But
they needed not to have doubts of their stanch
protector. Its massive sides were unscorchcd, and
its green branches waved uninjured.
What more is there to tell? It would make my
little tale too long to describe how the children
were kept warm all the chill Californian night by
a great log that slowly charred away, not far from
their tree-house ; or to tell what magnificent sights
they saw in the gloom when, all the heavy smoke
luiving p-issed, innumerable trees stood burning like
great torches, and logs blazed on the ground like
the camp-fires of a great army. They were too
weary to look at even these proud sights for long,
and wrapped in each other's arms, they slept until
the sun was high the next morning. Enough to
say that they managed to pick their way over the
black ground, and, before noon, reached their
aunt's home, begrimed and ragged. Minnie espe-
cially looked like a witch, in her torn chemise and
red petticoat.
How they were petted, you may guess. How
aunt and uncle and cousins kissed them and cried
over them, and how father and mother soon arrived,
having driven over by the long high-road full of
fear, to learn if their darlings were safe.
In one household, at least, the Family Tree is no
longer known by that name, for Minnie and Louisa
always call it "Our Tree," and think of it with
tender gratitude, remembering the shelter which
its great heart gave them from the fiery storm.
THOR, AND THE GIANT SKRVMIR.
(A ScariJimtvina .UyH.)
By Juli.\ Clinton Jones.
If any of you have read Hawthorne's wonderful
" Tanglewood Tales," or any of the stories of
ancient classical mythology, you will have learned
about the fabled (irecian gods, — Jove, Mars, Nep-
tune, and the rest, — who were said to have lived
on the lofty Mount Olympus. These gods sent
their chosen heroes to fulfill their commands.
Among these heroes you will remember Hercules,
to whom were given the twelve marvelous tasks, or
labors, .is they generally are named; Jason, who
sought over sea and land the Golden Fleece ; and
Perseus, who cut off the Medusa's head.
Now, I want to tell you, here, something .ibout
the gods of Northern, or Scandinavian mythology,
who were supposed to dwell among the clouds in
their city, .Asgard, where was a glorious golden
hall, Valhalla, in which Odin, the .■\ll-fathcr, held
high festival ; but whither no man might come
excepting the noblest and the bravest.
Besides Odin, the chief, there was Thor, the
Thunderer, and beautiful Baldur, the Sun-god,
with Friga, the Northern Venus, and many others.
These gods were chiefly employed in fighting
against the jotuns, or evil giants, who were always
attacking Asgard and trying to injure the Earth,
which the gods loved.
Take your maps, and you will find, in the north
of Europe, a land of lofty mountains and rugged
coasts, of deep fiords, and lakes fed by the melted
snows, and swiftly rolling rivers. It is winter there
during a great p.irt of the year, and is very cold
and gloomy, excepting while the short, bright sum-
mer I.Tsts. This land lies just north of Germany,
and is called Scandinavia, comprising Sweden
and Norway. About nine hundred years ago,
the people of this country believed in those gods
and jiituns whom I have mentioned. In Denmark,
to the south, and Iceland, at the west, the same
gods were worshiped. As all their myths, or sacred
fables, mean something, and are full of giants and
dwarfs and wonderful enchantments, ever so much
better than " Jack the Giant-Killer," or even
"Cinderella," I think you will find them interesting.
In the south-eastern part of Sweden, and a little
way from the co.ast of the Gulf of Bothnia, you
will see the ancient town of Upsala. There my
story begins. The hero of the myth is Thor, the
Thunderer, next in power to his father. Odin.
952
TIIOR, AM) THE GIANT SKKVMIK.
[OCTOBKS,
Perhaps you would first like to hear a little about
Thor, from whom we have named one of our week-
days, Thursday. He was so strong that all the
(jiants feared him ; and when angry, his eyes
flashed lightning under his black brows, while his
voice echoed like thunder. But, like all really
strong, brave people, he w.ts very good-natured
when not offended. Being too t.ill for horseback,
he always drove in a chariot drawn by goats, from
whose hoofs and eyes lightnings darted, while the
wheels of his chariot rumbled in thunder-peals.
When he went out to fight the giants and drive
them back from Asgard, or attack them in their
own dark abodes, he always took three wonderful
things. There was his hammer, Mjijlnir (the
Crusher), so small that it could be put in his
pocket, and no matter how far it was thrown, it
always returned to his hand. With this he is fabled
to have crushed many a giant, and knocked down
his castle-walls. To hold this marvelous hammer
and get fresh strength to hurl it, he had a pair of
gauntlets, while around his waist he wore a girdle,
which redoubled his god-like might.
Thor's home w.as a curious place — up in Thrud-
vang (the storm-cloud), and his feast-hall was
Bilskirnir (the lightning-flash). His chief enemy
was Hr)m (frost), a huge, hoary giant, who drove
over the earth doing great mischief, in a car drawn
by hail-cloud steeds with frozen manes.
And now 1 will tell you one of the myths about
Thor. There was at Upsala a magnificent temple,
sacred to Odin. Kings and renowned warriors from
all parts came here to worship, and the gods espe-
cially cared for this place. Utgardeloki, king of
the giants, hating Odin and wishing to insult him,
attacked and destroyed this temple, putting out
the sacred altar-fires. When Odin heard this, he
called together in council the twelve gods, his sons.
Full of wrath, they vowed vengeance on the dark
king. Thor, especially, was enraged. He struck
the table with his clenched hand, and even Asgard
rocked under the blow.
When the council was over, without asking leave
of Odin, he harnessed his goats, and called on
Loki to go with him.
Loki, you must know, was a bad spirit belonging
to the giant race ; but as yet the gods did not know-
how wicked he was. He was found out at last,
and cast out of heaven.
Although Thor had not s.iid where he was going,
Loki knew very well, and, taunting him, dared him
to go to Utgard, the giants' land. Thor, in ver>-
bad humor, answered shortly, and, swinging his
hammer around, said he did not care a snap for
the biggest giant of them all. Away they drove,
down the Hifrost, — the Rainbow Bridge which joins
heaven and earth. — ()\cr mountains ami through
rivers, until, as night fell, they reached a peasant's
hut, and there asked a night's lodging.
The family consisted of the peasant himself, his
wife, and two children, Thialfi and Koska, the
son and daughter. They were so poor that there
was nothing in the house for supper. Thor told
the woman to make a fire, and he would furnish
food. While the fire was kindling, he slew his
goats, and stripping off the skins, carefully spread
them before the hearth; and put the flesh in the
pot. bidding the peasant to be sure and gather
all the bones into the hides again. But Thialfi,
while eating his supper, broke a shin bone of one
of the goats to get at the marrow.
Next morning early, Thor rose, and swung
Mjiilnir several times over the skins. L'p sprang
the goats, fresh and li\tly for a start, but one
of them halted on the hind leg. -Seeing this,
Thor was terribly angry, and cried out that some
one had broken a bone, and lamed his goat. I
can not describe how terrified the family became
when they saw his eyes flashing with fury, and his
wrinkled brow.
They all fell on their knees and prayed for
mercy. At last, his wrath was appeased, and he
promised to forgive them on condition that he
might have Thialfi and Roska .as servants forever.
Leaving the goats and chariot at the cottage,
Thor and his party set off again for Utgard. They
traveled so swiftly that they soon reached the
sea, over which all passed safely, the two children
holding fast to Thor's belt.' Having crossed,
hey came to a deep forest, where they wandered
till evening; then, weary and hungry, at last they
spied a queer-looking hut of an extraordinar)'
shape, having but one room, neither round nor
square, while the entrance took up the whole of
one side. They were too tired to examine very
closely, .and having eaten their supper, lay down
to sleep, while Thor kept watch, seated at the door,
with his chin in his hand. He was tired and cross,
and did not once stir nor close his eyes all night.
Toward morning, he heard a rumbling, roar-
ing sound, so loud that nothing mortal could
have produced it. .At dawn, out he went to find
the cause, and there lay a huge giant, whose
length covered several acres, fast asleep, and snor-
ing loudly. Thor drew up his belt to the verj-
last hole, but even then he did not dare to fling
his hammer, although he longed to do so; but this
giant was a little too big even for Thor.
Suddenly the monster ga\e one deep snore,
then springing up, wide-awake, towered high up
over the trees. Thor, amazed, .Tsked his name, and
whence he came. He answered that he w.is Skry-
mir, and ser\'ed I'tgardeloki in Giant-land.
"But," said he, "1 know without asking that
Se« ihc Frontispiece.
riioK, wn riiK giant skkvmiu
953
you aro Thor; still, with all yiiur wonilcrful feats, and Siiyinj; lie was Ido lirctl to cat, threw them the
you arc only a little fellow compared with us.
Why ! 1 could easily staml you on one finder,
hammer and all. lUil where is my mitten.'"
Stretchinj; out his h.ind, he picked up what the
party hail t.iken for a hut, anil Thor now saw that
wallet, remarking; that the rest hail better jjct
supper, as there would be haril traveling and
much to be seen the next day, and they would
need all their strength. Then stretching himself
uniler the tree, he fell asleep, snoring roundly.
their night's quarters had been the thumb of the
giant's glove. Skrymir then proposed to join the
others, and that they should put their provisions
together. As they were willing, he at once flung
the wallet over his shoulder, and started off ahead
with great strides to lead the way.
When night came, Skrymir stopped under an
oak, where he proposed that they should slee|>.
Thor picked up the sack, and tried to untie it.
The knot looked simple enough, but the more he
pulled, the tighter grew the cords, nor could he
loosen a single loop. He drew up his belt, and
tried to break the strings, but had to give up.
Then, hungry and furious, he started up, and
seizing Mjiilnir in both hands, rushed at Skrymir,
and launched the hammer full in his face.
954
THOR, AND THE GIANT SKRYMIR
The giant half-opened his eyes, rubbed his fore-
head, and asked, in n sleepy voice, if a leaf had
fallen; then, seeinj; Thor, he questioned if they
had had supper, and were ready for bed.
This made Thor more angry still, but he
thought it better to wait a little before he struck
again. So he lay down at a distance, and watched
until midnight. Then, hearing the giant snoring
hard, he went to him, swung his hammer with all
his might, and struck him right in the skull !
The mallet entered the head clear to the handle,
but Skrymir, waking, only said, drowsily :
" Did an acorn drop ? Ah, Thor ! still up ! You
had better get some sleep for to-morrow."
Thor went hastily away, but determined to get
another blow at his enemy before morning. While
Skrymir was asleep again, just at dawn, up got
Thor again, and drawing in his belt to the last
hole, swung his hammer round and round, then
dashed it with such might that it was buried, head,
handle, and all, in the giant's tcinple !
Skrymir sprang up, and rubbing his brow, said :
" Arc there birds in this tree ? I felt cither a
feather or a twig drop. How early you have risen,
Thor ! It is time to dress, for Utgard is close by.
I have heard you whispering that 1 am not little,
but you will find others bigger than I am, there.
Don't boast, for lltgardeloki's courtiers wont bear
much of that, from such insignificant little fellows
as you are. If you don't take this advice, you
had better turn back, which is in fact the best
thing for you to do in any case. My way lies to
those mountains, but there is the road to Utgard,
if you still wish to go there."
Then Skrymir turned from them into the forest.
They had a dismal journey, until at last, at noon,
having found the right track, they reached a great
castle, standmg in the midst of a vast plain ; it was
of such height that they had to bend their necks
quite back to see over its top. This was Utgard, a
gloomy place enough, surrounded by black rocks,
with yawning ch.-xsms, while the land around was
covered with eternal ice and snow.
Before its iron-barred gates huge giants were
keeping watch, with spears, swords, and shields.
They looked scornfully at the travelers, who were
so much smaller than themselves.
The gates not being opened at once, Thor flung
his hammer against them, and, the bolts im-
mediately giving way, tlic portals flew open, and
they passed into an immense hall, lit by torches,
where a multitude of giants, even bigger than
Skrymir, in complete armor, sat in triple ring
around a lofty throne, whereon sat Utgardeloki.
Thor, not a bit afraid, walked right up and
saluted the king with so bold a look that the
jotun (evil giant) trembled ; but wishing in his
turn to terrify the god, he struck thrice on his
shield with his steel mace. At once the hall began
to quake, the roof split, flames burst from the
floor, and thick, suffocating vapor issued from the
rifted walls. Kven Thor could hardly keep his
feet, and Utgardeloki jeeringly advised him to go.
But the god, glaring fiercely and furiously,
warned him to cease from enchantments, because,
as Odin's son, he had power to destroy them all.
Ltgardeloki, terrified at Thor's wrath, said all this
was only sport, and begged him to make friends at
a feast, after which they should all prove their skill
in such sports as warriors love.
The banquet over, the king asked in what feats
they were best skilled. On this, Loki, always
boastful, challenged them all to eat against him.
Upon a signal from the monarch, up rose Logi,
a giant with long, jagged teeth, eyes like live coals,
and flaming nostrils. So horrible did he look, that
even Thor shuddered to see him.
Loki, however, accepted the trial, and a trough
of meat being placed between them, they ate
ravenously until they met right in the middle.
Then it was found that Loki had only eaten the
flesh, while Logi had devoured meat, bones, and
trough, all together. So Logi had won.
Utgardeloki then asked what the boy could do.
Thialfi replied that he could outrun them all.
The king said, sneeringly, " That is a useful art,
for even bra\e men have found speed serve them
better than fighting." He then called on a supple
little veiled dwarf, named Hugi, and both the con-
testants passed out to the plain. Although Thialfi
pressed him close, after three trials, Ilugl, being
declared victor, vanished like a flash.
Then the king said, mockingly, that his guests
did not seem very well skilled even in their own
games ; turning to Thor, he ;isked how he would
prove the powers for which he was celebrated.
'■ In a drinking-match," said Thor.
The giant ordered his cup-bearers to bring in a
norn so long that when set in the hall, one end
remained outside. It seemed very old, and all
around the edge were graven letters. Thor looked
at the length of the horn, but, being very thirsty,
he set it to his lips and took a deep drink. When
he set it down, the liquor was hardly lessened.
Again he tried, and yet again ; although the horn
could now be carried without spilling, the amount
within seemed much the same.
"Aha!" said the king, tauntingly, "1 see
plainly, Thor, thou art not quite so strong .as we
thought thee. But try another feat. We h.ave a
game here for children, consisting merely in lifting
my cat from the ground. 1 should not h.ivc liked
to mention it, h.ad I not found thee so weak. '
.•\s he spoke, a large gray cat, all covered with
iSti.)
THOR, AND THE GIANT SKKVMIK.
955
sc.ilcs like a serpent, sprang on the liall llixir, and
glared alxiut with ticry eyes.
Thor, advancing, put his hand under the creat-
ure's body, and tried his very best to raise it ; but
he only lifted one foot, while the animal, bending
its back, stretched itself higher and higher, till it
touched the very roof of the hall. Thor, enraged,
struck it with all his might, but the cat did not
even wince. Then, turning upon the king, Thor
dared him to wrestle with him.
The giant said he saw no need of anger, as all
was for sport ; still, if Thor wished to wrestle, he
would call his old nurse, Elle, to try a fall with him.
.-V toothless old woman here entered, and spring-
ing on Thor, seized him around the waist.
The more Thor strove, the tinner she stood ;
finally, after a violent struggle, the god fell on one
knee. Then the king stopped the game, saying
that as it was growing late, the sports must close,
and the guests had been sufficiently outdone.
.•\fter that, feasting \v;is begun again, and the
giants showed much hospitality to Thor and his
companions, whom next morning Utgardeloki
accompanied from the castle, to show them the
road to .Asgard. .\t parting, the king asked how
they had enjoyed themselves, and said :
" Now that you arc out of my kingdom, which
you shall never again enter if I can help it. I
will tell you the truth. All that you have seen
has been enchantment I am Skrymir, who met
you in the forest. By magic I tied the strings
of your wallet, and when you struck at me, I
placed a great mountain between us. Three deep
glens have been made there by the strokes of
your mallet. In all the contests at Utgard, 1
have used illusions also. Logi was Flame, devour-
ing all. Ilugi was Thought. What can be so
swift ? The horn I set before you w.as Ocean
itself, with Time's records graven on its shores,
and very greatly have its waters been lesseneti.
My cat w.is the great World-serpent (which holds
together the earth) ; your lifting it shook the uni-
verse. Kile was old age, before whom all must
bow. Ho not come again, for 1 h.ivc yet other
illusions, and you can not prevail against me."
Thor, infuriated, exclaimed:
'■ I left Asgard without permission of my father
Odin, and strength is useless without forethought
to guide it, hence have I been conquered. But
Odin's wisdom and Thor's hammer combined sh.all
yet overcome your jiitun might." So saying, he
hurled his hammer, but the giant had disappeared,
and where the city had stood was only a verdant
plain.
Scowling and muttering. Thor h.astened home
to Thrudvang, not stopping at Asgard on his way.
This myth means that when you wish to accom-
plish anything, you must set about it in a vise
manner, for, no matter how brave and strong you
may be, if you lack wisdom, you will be sure to
fail, especially if you choose a Loki for your
companion.
TiirToarrTO van dvkr jokes wrgk fadov mcnak Tti hold
WIXV COAT mCADT WHILS HR nm IN *' Jl'ST
TMI» UTTLM TOUOI."
956
>\ WHO PLAYEO TRUANT.
(OcTOBElt,
Tin: iu)V WHO ri.AVi;i) trlant
HV Al.U K Wll.l.IAMS liRdlUKklON.
Therf. once was .1 lad wlio, 1 '111 sorry to say,
Had contracted a habit of running away ;
His tasks he left undone, his school — he forsook
it:
On every occ;ision this youngster would " hook
it."
.-\ lad so bad
Nobody e'er had,
And his family all felt exceedingly sad.
But one day, on his travels, he chanced to meet
A very odd man at the end of the street —
A personage yellow and lank and weird.
With a glittering eye and a snow-white beard —
So queer, my dear !
With a look wan and sore,
.'\n(l clad in a 7>fyy remarkable gear.
Quoth he, "1 've been waiting for you ! How
d' ye do ? "
"Hullo!" cried Tommy, "I don't know _)'<)//.' "
The stranger stared at the lad with a grin,
And answered at once, in a voice rather thin.
'■ Is it true that you —
(Ireat Hullabaloo! -
Have never vrt luard of the Wandering Jew ? "
I'or now that your wand'ring is fairly begun,
Vou must come with me for a bit of a run
To .Soudan, Yucatan,
And the Sea of Japan,
.\nd the I'ar-away island of great Palawan."
So he gathered him up by the hair of his head,
.\nd over the sea and the land he sped ;
.AH puffing and panting he whizzed and whirled
In a very short time round the whole of the
world :
To Sooloo, .Saccatoo,
Tananavirou,
.Vnd the towering height of Mount Kini Balu !
Just stopping a moment (Tom thought it was
luck, too !)
To take one long breath in the town of Timbuctoo,
Then off like a flash went the Wandering Jew-
To Khiva and Java, Ceylon and Peru,
Madeira, Sahara,
The town of Bokhani.
The Vang-tse-kiang and the ("lUadalaxara.
He scorched his skin where the cactus grows,
In the Arctic Circle his toes he froze,
He th.^^ved him out in the Ceyser Sprin;/.
1 uni hlijvered anil quivered, anil shook in ins .And set hin) to dry on the pe.ikN of Nan-ling;
shoes. Then off to Kioff
" Uon't try to escape," said the man — " It 's no .And the Sea of Aiof,
use! He hurried, just pausing .it Otschakoff.
■88i.|
W II \ I •' ST. Nil" no LAS
957
And finally, all of his joumeyings p.ist.
He droppcil him at his own door at last,
And said, with a yrin, .is ho hurried away,
'• You '11 not play truant for many a day ! '
Tom's eyes ! — their size,
From grief and surprise,
M\ pen can not picture, however it tries.
--s^ —
f. H,yJ Ton 'J>~ • -''"; .; _
.\iiw, nothing on earth will tempt him to ro.'im;
He never is seen lialf a mile from his home.
Take warning .til boys, and never, oh, never,
ri.iy truant on any pretext whatsoever;
Lest you, sirs, too,
Whenever you do.
Should chance to meet with the Wandering Jew!
WHAT "ST. XICMOLAS" DID.
l!v Mrs. i:. j. P.^rtriixik.
I oMK, children, let us go down to
the river and wade until tea-
time." said Mrs. Pike to the
noisy, restless boy and girl, who
had been trying to play softly,
but h.id only succeeded in mak-
ing such a racket that the quietly
disposed boarders in the adjoining
rooms seemed likely to lose their
afternoon naps. Rut they soon
! congratulated themselves on having
a few undisturbed hours, .is Fred
and Cirace, so full of life and fun, and tired of stay-
ing in the house, rushed away, gl.id of the chance
to do what they were not allowed to do, excepting
when older persons were with them.
It did not take them long to get down the hill,
take off shoes and stockings, and step into the
water. .Vnd such fun .is they had I
They had not been there long, when Mamma
and Cousin I.illic came down, and the long hours
passed quickly enough, while they were skipping
pebbles so beautifully, some going quite to the other
bank; sailing paper-boats and tiny rafts, and wading
far into the deep water after them. Trying to cross
on the slippery stepping-stones w.is the best fun,
however, for just when balancing themselves most
carefully, down they would go with a splash and a
scream ! But little they cared for the wetting, and
soon they would be trying the feat again, amid
shouts of laughter, while Mamina's caution, "Do
be careful, Fred ! " was met with the prompt reply :
" Why, Mamma, don't be afraid of this little bit
of water ! I 'm sure a fellow could n't drown here
if he wanted to."
All summer these two children, whose home was
in a far-off Southern city, had been living such a
life out-of-doors as until then they never had
dreamed of On one side of the old-fashioned
double house, away in the distance, were the (".reen
Mountains, over whose somber tops the sun rose
so rapidly that the children used to say the
shadows were so frightened they could see them
run ; on the other side loomed up, in the far blue,
chain after chain of the great Adirondack range,
with lofty peaks stretching heavenward, .ind re-
95«
ST. NICHOLAS
splendent with glory when crowned with the last
rays of the setting sun.
At the foot of the hill on which the house was
built, there was a lovely little river that was joined,
just below, by a smooth stream from the back
country, and where they met, the water, after a
great deal of bubbling and splashing, fell over the
steep rocks, some twenty feet down, forming a
pretty cascade. The spray of this little water-fall
arose like a white cloud, and gently sprinkled the
surrounding rocks, where the children loved to
play, although it was not a very safe resort, as the
river was both deep and rapid below the fall.
There was a thickly wooded hill on the other side,
where, when the river was low, and easy to be
crossed, many hours were spent in long tramps
after delicate ferns and rare wild-flowers for Cousin
Lillie's collections. But ferns and flowers were
apt to be forgotten t|uickly if by chance Fred's
bright eyes espied a squirrel or a woodchuck's
hole at any spot along the way.
One would think these grand times out-of-doors
were enough to make the little ones happy. So
they were, but when the evenings, too, were filled
with pleasure, their cup was quite overflowing.
There were no end of games in the big parlor,
where all joined in tlie fun. It was such a good
parlor for games, — always room for more, especially
children. One night there was a clematis party for
them, and they were all dressed in white, with the
clematis-vine, in full bloom, draped and festooned
in every imaginable way on them. A very prcttj
scene it was. And another night, when the grown-
up folks had a sociable, the children were sent off
to bed, but the music was so enticing that they got
up and dressed themselves and crept down the
back stairs, where, in a crampcd-up part)-, they
watched the fun, expecting, of course, when dis-
coveretl, to be sent back to bed. But nobody had
the heart to give such a command that evening,
and so the little sinners were taken in among the
merry-makers, and enjoyed the "Virginia reel" as
much as anybody.
There was nothing to mar their pleasure from
week to week, until, one day, an accident hap-
pened which would have brought the greatest
sorrow that can happen to any of us, if it had not
been for dear old St. Nicholas.
Just above the place on the river-bank where
the children most liked to play, ran the main road,
which crossed the river over a pretty stone-bridge.
The rocks were high and steep under the bridge,
and the river, dashing over ihem, fell into a deep
basin on the lower side, which formed quile a
large pond.
Now this pond was a splendid place to sail a
raft, and on the day I have mentioned, Kred and
Grace had a busy time loading and unloading the
cargoes of stones and sticks. They were becoming
somewhat tired and hungry, and withal a little
impatient, when Grace, in giving the raft a good
start, fell into the water, and when she was pulled
out, Mamma had to take her up to the house, bid-
ding Kred to follow soon. He was getting his
last load of stones along to a good landing-place,
when the raft grounded on a great rock, and after
much exertion he pushed it off into the basin near
the bridge. But in giving the last shove with his
pole he slipped, and without a cry disappeared be-
neath the water !
With a scream of horror. Cousin Lillie, who
had lingered behind to wait for Fred, sprang to
the water's edge, but there was nothing to be
seen, save a few bubbles, circling round and round,
away out in the center of the pond. She called
loudly for help, meanwhile preparing to plunge in
after her little cousin, quite forgetting that she
could not swim.
It seemed ages to the horrified girl before she
saw Fred's head and face slowly rise to the surface.
But then, to her great joy, he turned and, awk-
wardly enough, but surely, came toward her. She
knew that he could not swim a stroke, but nev-
ertheless he managed to keep his head above
water, and soon came near enough for her to lay
hold of his coat-collar. After much trouble, she
finally pulled him out, and helped him over the
slippery, treacherous stones to the grass, where he
sank, exhausted.
Just then, Fred's mother came leisurely over the
hill, to sec what had detained the loiterers so
long. One glance brought her hurriedly to the
side of her dripping boy, to hear, with a terrified
heart, of his narrow escape.
" Mamma," said Fred that afternoon, after he
had been thoroughly rubbed and tucked up in
bed, " 1 thought of you as 1 was going down,
down so deep, and how sorr)' you would feel if
1 never came out of that awful hole, and then 1
thought of what it said in St. Nicholas about
' treading water,' and 1 tried to do exactly what
it said to do, and 1 came right up to the top, and
foinid that I could move along toward the shore
without letting my head go down, under water at
all. But it seemed as if something was pulling
at my feet all the time, and it was awfully hard to
get over to Lillie. If she had n't grabbed me, 1
think 1 'd have had to go down again, because
I was so tired. I say, Lill, don't cry now ! I 'm
all right — don't you see ? — and you were just
splendid ! "
Fred was quite a hero for the rcm.iindcr of the
summer, and he never tired of telling his advent-
iire. Cousin l.illie. too, had her share of praise, —
N I (11 111. A ;
959
for Frctl never toKI the story witlnmt explaining two or tlircc boys drowned in that very spot
how " she was just coming in alur nie, and could where Kred went down thirty feet, we felt very
n't swim a slioke, either !" thankful that he escaped their sad fate, and very
When we learned, later, that there had been grateful to dear ST. NICHOLAS.
[ riiis joyful ilclivorance is not tlic only one of its kind due to the admirable article referred to—" A Talk
About Swimming," first jirintcd in Sr. Nlcin>i.AS for July, 1877. Authentic .-iccounts of the rescue from
drowning of two oilier l>oys by a timely remembrance of directions there given by Dr. Hunt, have been
received; and we most gladly commend the article afresh to our young readers and their parents. — liD.]
Knit, Dorothy, knit, Sing, Dorothy, sing,
The sunbeams round thee flit, The birds are on the wing,
So merry the minutes go by, go by, T is betterto sing than to sigh, to sigh
While fast thy fingers fly, they fly. While fast thy fingers fly, titey fly.
Knit, Dorothy, knit. Sing, Dorothy, sing.
s A I r 1 1 1 1) i:i
()6i
SAl.rU.I.O HOVS.
llV Wll.l.lAM •). S rxKDAKD.
Chapter X\'1I.
A llONFIRK.
The young people's party at the house of S.irali
Dykcm.m called for the whole house, and for the
lijjhting up of the jjrouiids besides. Not only were
the Park boys there, and a lair selection of the
" Wed^voods," — there were outsiders; and as for
girls, Nliss OtTernian's Seminary and Mad.tine Skin-
ner's were well represented.
There w.is grand fun that evening, and cver>'-
body admitted that Sarah Dykeman's party was the
best entertainment of the kind that ever had been
known in Saltillo ; especially when, after ice-cream
and strawberries, came a stroll in the grounds
among the Chinese lanterns, while Mr. Dykeman
let otT a lot of rockets and Roman candles.
When Jack Roberts and litis Burr met the next
morning, they had hardly said ten words about the
party before Charley Ferris came up with : " 1 say,
how are you fellows otT for hooks and tines? Mr.
Hayne says there '11 be a good chance to catch fish
on Winnegay L.ake. I 'm going for tackle."
Before noon the question of buying tishing-tackle,
besides fire-works for Fourth of July, had been
settled by every boy of Mr. Ilayne's school. That
w.is one kind of preparation, but Jeff Carroll was
not the boy to let his friends neglect another and
more important one, for the great day.
'• We must get ahead of the canal-bank boys,"
he said, " or we sha' n't find a loose box, nor a
barrel, nor a board. Old Captain Singer has
offered me fi\e empty tar-barrels, but he says wc
must take them away this very night."
That was enough. There was an old shed,
opening on the alley-way, back of Mr. Wright's
house, that was just the place for storage, and
before ten o'clock, it was nearly h.alf full of all
sorts of combustibles. Nobody seemed to know
where all that stuff had come from, but there were
ten tar-barrels instead of five.
There was yet a question to be settled, however.
The Mayor had given permission for a big public
bonfire in the great square in the middle of the
city, and for another in front of the City Hall, the
evening before the Fourth, and the evening of the
Fourth itself. There would be police around these
to prevent mischief, but orders had been given to
put out any and all other bonfires.
" Did n't the order say something about the
streets ? " .Tsked Andy.
Vol.. vm.— 6i.
" Of course," said JetT. " It said there must be
no bonfires in the streets."
" Hut we don't want a street. Tliere 's the vacant
lot back of the blacksmith's shop."
"The very place!" said JelT. "Don't say a
word until the fire 's lit."
In consequence of tliat rem.irk, there w;is
mystery in the conduct and speech of the Park
boys throughout the following day. Kven after
supper, and while the VVedg\vood boys and the
canal-bank crowd and a good many others were
giving their best attention to the regular and duly
authorized blazes, not a member of Mr. Hayne's
school was to be seen among them. They even
took their barrels over, one at a time, and worked
so silently that the world beyond the blacksmith's
shop knew nothing about the matter until there had
arisen a huge pile of material in the middle of the
vacant lot. The barrels were set on end in the
center — five at the bottom, three on these, and two
perched on top. Then the empty dry-goods boxes,
boards, broken lumber of every sort and kind,
were carefully piled around the barrels, and the
thing was ready.
" We 'II show them," began Charley Ferris, tri-
umphantly ; but at that moment a shrill voice
came out of the darkness near them : " Come on,
boys ! Here 's lots of stuff, all ready ! "
It was a miscellaneous mob of youngsters from
other parts of the city, on a hunt for fuel for the
regular fires.
" Keep 'cm olT, boys," exclaimed Jeff. '' y\ll of
you pitch in and keep 'em off for half a minute."
" Steady, boys," said Jack Roberts, as if he were
in command of a company of soldiers. " Don't
let them bre.tk through." Jeff was squirming in
toward the tar-barrels, lighting a match and a wisp
of paper as he went. Presently he muttered :
" That one 's alight. Now another. Two !
That has caught tiptop I Three ! That will
spread. Now," said he, rising and turning about,
" 1 'd like to see them run away with those barrels."
The shout of the outside discoverer had been
promptly answered by his companions, and they
had come racing up with he pmpose and expec-
tation of making a big seizure. It w.as a great dis-
appointment, therefore, to find their way blocked
by a dozen resolute boys.
" We 're bound to have it, even if we have to
fight for it," exclaimed a nearly full-grown youth,
.as he flourished .a thick stick : and he w.is sup-
902
SAl.TlLl.O llOVS.
[OcroBEtt,
ported by sliouls and cheers in more tongues than
one. " NVe wan! them things," he cried.
" You can't have them," said Andy, coolly and
slowly. "This is not public properly. I warn you
not to lay a hand on anything here."
" Keep him talking. Andy. It 's almost ablaze."
Andy was just the boy for such an emergency,
and by the time he had finished what he had to
say about the law of the matter, the black smoke
rose in a great column above the pile.
" Viz have set it afire ! Byes, it '11 all be burned
oop ! " cried a voice.
At that instant, the gurgling smoke was followed
by a fierce red tongue of flame, and it seemed .ts
if all the tar-barrels burst into a blaze together.
It was too late to seize them now ! Even the
crowd in the public square, nearly half a mile
away, turned to wonder what could have caused
such a glare, and the Mayor sent off a policeman,
on a full run, to see if a house were burning.
" Sure an' yiz bate us this toime. But it 's a
foine blaze ! " The honest Irishman ,':d not con-
ceal his admiration, and the most excited of his
companions was willing to keep his hands off from
such a bonfire as that was becoming. It was a
good deal too hot to steal.
The days uf " bonfires " have gone by, now, and
it is well that they have, but not often could a finer
one be seen, even then. As long as it lasted, it
was the best and biggest bonfire in Saltillo.
Ch.aptkk Will.
A FIERV FOURTH OF JULY.
" RFMF.MtiER, boys, at daylight," had been the
last injunction of Jack Roberts the night before the
Fourth. "We must give them a sunrise gun."
Daylight comes pretty early at that time of the
year, but there were boys enough on hand at the
appointed hour to help Jack drag the big anvil
from the back door of the smithy to a spot near the
blackened ruins of the bonfire.
The blacksmith was a patriotic old man, and he
had no fear of anybody running away with an anvil
of that size. In' fact, it was all the work si.\ boys
wanted to move it a few rods, and set it up in
business as a cannon.
" All right, boys," said Charley Ferris; " we 're
ready now, whenever the sun is."
" No," replied Jeff. "We must load the anvil.
The sun may gel ahead of us if we don't."
" He will soon be here," siiid Jack, as he began
to pour powder into the square hole in the great
block of iron. " Let 's give him a good salute."
The wooden plug was ready, and litletl well.
The fuse-hole at one corner was just large enough
to let in the " paper and powder slow-match."
" There goes somebody else's gun ! " shouted Otis
Burr. " Stand back, boys. The sun is coming.
Let him know it is the F"ourth of July."
Jack touched a match to the fuse, and all hands
retreated a few paces, as if there might be some
danger. There w;is really next to none, as long as
any care should be used, and it was less than half a
minute before the fire got to the priming. Whether
the sun was just then up or not, he was " saluted "
with a report that was a credit to the Fourth of
July, and the boys were delighted.
" That is the best anvil I ever saw," said Char-
ley. "Give him another."
" No," said Will; " the next bang is for George
W.ashington."
" No ; it ought to be for the Stars and Stripes."
" But Andy promised to bring his flag, and he
has n't got here yet. We 'II have to fire for other
things till that comes," said Will.
So (jcorge Washington's memory was banged
respectfully.
"Now, boys," said Jeff, "the next is the old
Thirteen States. One for each. They always fire
a salute for them."
"Good," said Jack. " We live in one of them.
We '11 shoot for our State first. Call them off, Jeff."
State after State was loudly saluted.
In short, it was plain that as long as the powder
should hold out, the anvil would be kept at work
upon one kind of s.alute or other. The list of States
wiis not exhausted by breakfast-time, for loading
and firing on that plan was slow business. The
racket had fairly begun, however, long before that,
and S.altillo was, for the time being, a dreadfully
unpleasant place to live in. There were other
anvils in other vacant lots, more or less distant,
and there was gunpowder in a hundred other ways
in steady reverberation. The whole country has
learned better, nowadays, but the Park boys had
no other idea of the right way of beginning the
Fourth. V'ery little was done with fire-crackers
until after breakfast, but they came in season then,
and it took until noon to use up the stock on hand.
In the afternoon, there was to be a grand pro-
cession of soldiers and firemen, and all other men
who could find an excuse for turning out in some
kind of uniform, and with a drum and fife, or a
l>and of music.
There would be speeches, too, and other exer-
cises, at the City Hall, and the boys debated
among themselves whether they ought to go and
hear them. Jack Roberts settled that.
"Hear them.' There'll be such a crowd you
can't get within gunshot of the speakers' stand.
We can see the tire-works this evening, but we 'd
better have a good time by ourselves till then."
It was a hot day, and before long, one boy after
SA I. ri 1.1.(1 lit > vs.
9(^3
.iiiother began to make up his mind that he had
h.id enough noise fur a whilo, and could wail for the
rest until after sundow n. In fact, home was a good
place for any boy, lliat afternoon, and it was not
ci-sy to tind a cool corner, even there. It was
easier to be patient, however, for the boys had
been up since before daylit;ht. and expected to see
some granil tire-works after supper.
It grew dark a little earlier than usual, owing to
the black clouds that promised rain to come, and
the crowd g-athered densely in front of the expected
display. The great "Catharine-wheel," which
had cost so much money and was to be such a
gorgeous show, had just been set on fire by the
man who had the care of it, when one of the
neighboring church-bells suddenly broke the silence
with a deep, sonorous alarm of fire.
" Fire ! Fire ! Fire ! "
The word came up the street, from one voice
after another, and more bells began to sound.
"Boys!" cxchiimed Joe Martin, as he came
running up to a group of them. •' Do you know
what 's burning?"
" No. Do you ?"
" It 's Whiting's big block. It caught from a
rocket that fell on the roof, they say."
" Come on, boys ! "
" Keep together. Perhaps we can do some-
thing," said Andy Wright, and it was the first
the rest knew of his presence. There was very
little they or anybody else could do toward putting
out that fire, it had got such a good start before
anybody saw it.
There were stores on the lower floor of the Whit-
ing Block, and the fire might not reach these for
some time. Here was a chance for the boys to be
useful. They could help carry out goods, for they
were known, and the men who were driving away
"loafers "and possible thieves were glad of their
sen-ices. And how they did work !
"This beats our bonfire," said J.ick. "Here,
Charley, run with those shawls."
"Jack!" shouted Will, from the inside of a
store, "come for these silk goods. A pile of 'cm."
Andy Wright and Otis Burr were doing their
best for a hatter. Phil Bruce and three more were
tugging at cases of boots and shoes, and Charley
and Joe were standing guard over a pile of goods
which the rest had carried out of harm's way.
" 1 vas a rifle f.ictory."
"What.'" said Will, to a grimy little Cicrman
at his elbow, when he had put down a loatl.
" I V.-1S a rifle factory. Dc second story. Come
bring dcm down xts me."
" Boys ! " cried Will, " upstairs a few of you, for
some rifles ! "
There was help enough, quickly, and ne.irly all
the moderate stock ol the little gunsmith w.xs out
in a twinkling. There w;»s yet a smalh show-case,
with some pistols and knives in it, and Will and
the gunsmith and Otis Burr h.id just gone up for it
when a great cry arose from the dense multitude m
the street. The boys had been too much excited
over their work to take much notice of the progress
of the fire, but it had been making terrible head-
way. Catching on the roof, it had first swept
down through the great hall. The story below
that was mainly occupied by lawyers' offices, .and
there had been little time to secure books and
papers, hard as a good number of men h.ad tried.
That left the upper part of the great building a
mere shell, and the fire department officers were
beginning to drive tlie crowd away with the help of
the police, for they feared that some part of the
wall might fall outward. That is the usual way,
but for soine reason or other, those upper walls
beg-an to lean inward, and this it was that called
out the great cry from the crowd,
" Come out ! Comeback!"
" Every man out of the building ! "
Those at work in the stores had plenty of time,
and even the little gunsmith heard before he
reached the top of the stairs, and darted down into
the street. But Will and Otis had alreatly reached
the room.
" What was that, Will ? "
" Let 's look out of the windows and see."
The windows were open, and the moment the
boys appeared at them there was a frantic shout.
" Come out ! The walls are falling in ! Quick !
For your lives ! "
They both understood it.
" Shall we jump, Will ? "
" No. We can go by the awning frames."
These were of iron, set in the wall, .and reaching
out over the sidewalk. Not many boys could h.ave
clambered out of those windows and swung along,
hand over hand, upon those slender rods. That
was where their training in Professor Sling's gym-
nasium came into play. It was little more than
their regular exercise on his climbing-iadders and
" peg-and-hole " upright posts. Hardly were the
boys out of the windows before the upper walls fell
in with a crash, and the whole interior of the build-
ing looked like one furnace of fire.
"Steady, Ixjys ! Steady, now ! " It w.as the voice
of Mr. Hayne himself, and it sounded so cool and
so encouraging that Will and Otis felt as if they
could have swung along on those iron nwls for
twice the distance.
" Orop, now, and run ! "
It was only a few feet to the sidewalk, and they
lx)th alighted in safety, but stray bricks and frag-
ments of wall were beginnin" '■> ■I'-"" ■■mi-i.|.-
964
SAl.TII.LU BUYS.
" Urave boys! Brave boys!" remarked Dr.
Whilinj,', as lie seized iIkih by the hand.
Every Park boy was as proud of that as if he had
chmbcd out of one of those windows himself.
" It takes our fellows to do that sort of thing,"
s;iid Charley Ferris.
" These are my scholars, Mr. Hayne," s;iid Pro-
fi-ssi)r Slim', as tluv met in the crowd.
" Mine, too, Mr. Sling."
" Greek and Latin would n't have saved 'cm."
"That 's a fact. Now, boys, I think you 've
had cnoUK'h of Fourth of July for once."
There was not one
of them but felt as
if he had, and the
remainder of that tire
was left to burn itself
out for the benefit
of the firemen, and
the police, and Dr.
Whiting, and the big
crowd.
Chapter XIX.
LAKE WINNEGAV.
THEcityofSaltillo
had quite enough to
talk about for a few
days after that fiery
" Fourth of July,"
but the boys of Mr.
Hayne's school were
a weary community
— too weary to talk
about anything at all.
They seemed to feel
as if the world was
designed for sleeping
purposes, as far as
they were concerned :
and even the ride to
Winnegay Lake, the
following Tuesday,
before breakfast, was
a sleepy affair.
They began to
>wake up, one by one,
at the breakfast-table
of the " Winneg-ay
House " ; but some
of them felt like rub-
bing their eyes, even
when the course of
events called upon
I' _^ '^c*'- them to march out
on the old wooden
pier, from which their
nautic.-il experience
;isr. p, 11 niNo "'=>* *° begin. There
was a queer collec-
tion of row-boats and sailing craft within a stone's-
throw of that pier, but the center of attraction was
the largest of them .all, — the heavy-looking, one-
masted vessel which was to carry them.
S.Vl. 11 1,1,1) uuvs.
965
•• Slii: '> .1 yacht." " So am I, then ! — She 's a
sloop." " She 's a sail-boat." '• She 's a tub."
Whatever else she ini>;ht be, the " Arrow " was
hke a bow, and the very thing for safety on a lake
that sometimes showed the " roughness" for which
\Vinne{;-ay had won a reputation.
" Biy enough? tlues-so. My name's Huller.
t 'm captain of the ' .Arrow,' " said a boatman.
".•\re you going with us to-day.'" asked Char-
ley of this short-legged, sunburned, straw-hatted
■'queer customer." who had been standing at the
heail of the pier when they swanned around him.
" (lucs-so. Ready when you are."
.Mr. Hayne was there, and perhaps that was why
every boy of them succeeded in getting on board
the ".Arrow" without a preliminary bath in Win-
negay Lake, for all their sleepiness had suddenly
turned into monkey-like activity.
" Bill," said Captain Buller to the lank young
man who was helping him hoist the mainsail of
the "'.Arrow," — "Bill, they 're a queer cargo."
Bill was " the crew," and he swung his head all
the way around, with: "Them youngsters.'"
" Some on 'em 'II get overboard, as sure as you
live," said his superior officer.
" 1 've put in the boat-hook. We kin grapple
for 'em," replied the crew.
In there, under the shore, the breeze hardly
made itself felt, but out on the lake the waves were
dancing merrily.
" She is moving, boys !" shouted Jack Roberts.
" See that sail fill ! "
Kill it did, and the "Arrow" loaned gracefully
enough as she swung to the helm and plowed away
on her course. The middle and after part of the
stout little sloop was " open," of course, with seats
all around, and plenty of room, but the present
passengers could use all the free space there was.
" White-caps ! " shouted Charley Ferris.
At that moment they were passing beyond the
shelter of the land, and the breeze had its first fair
chance at the ".Arrow's" mainsail. Down she
leaned, with a sudden pitch, and in a moment she
was dashing through the water at a rate of which
no sensible man would have supposed her capable.
" Docs n't she walk!" remarked John Derry to
Captain Buller.
" Gucs-so. Jest wait," said the captain.
" Fine breeze," said Mr. Hayne to the "crew."
" NV.t much. We do git a breeze here, some-
times, though."
The boys had bcpun to worry around their fish-
ing-tackle, but it looked .is if hooks and lines were
of small use, now. Both the captain and the crew
of the •' .Arrow " said as much, but Jeff Carroll
went on getting out a preposterously long line.
In a minute, Captain Buller s;iid aloud, to him-
self: " Ef that there cracklin' haint fetched along
a squid ! But he wont ketch nothin'."
At the end of the line w;is a piece of white bone,
with a strong hook sticking straight out of it. That
was a " squid," and it needed no bait when it beg.an
to glance in the rough water astern.
" Did you ever use squids out here.'" asked Jeff
of Captain Buller.
"Squids? tlues-so. Spoon-hooks is worth ten
on 'em. You wont ketch npthin'. "
There were eyes enough on that squid, evei-y
time it flashed in the sunlight, and there was no
end of good-natured " chaff" thrown at JelT.
On dashed the " Arrow," sometimes leaning
over until the boys on the lee side could put their
hands into the water, and the spray sprang into
their faces.
" How does the weather look ? " asked Mr.
Hayne of Captain Buller. "If the wind goes
down, we may not reach the islands."
" Can't tell. Gues-so. No countin' on sech a
lake as this 'ere. No wind nor water to speak of."
Phil Bruce perceived that the speed of the ''Ar-
row" was slackening, and said to Jeff: " Haul in
your squid. It drags on the ship."
"Not till I get a bite."
" You wont get one "
" Hey, you there ! " suddenly shouted Bill, the
crew. " You 've struck him. Steady, now. Pull
yer level best or you '11 lose him."
That shout was like dropping a spark into a pow-
der keg, for the excitement it made among the
boys, who all began to cry out at once:
" Jeff 's got a bite ! " " It 's a lake trout ! "
" Must be a pike." " Or a big pickerel."
Jeff was pulling, and so was something at the
other end of the line, and now and then, as the
"Arrow" rose on a wave, they could see a bit of
white flash out of the water.
" Let me help," said Jack Roberts.
"No, sir-c-e! I '11 bring in my own fish."
" Look out, though, when you git him 'longside.
He '11 fight then," said Captain Buller.
The loss of that fish would have been a calamity
to Mr. Hayne's whole school, and their faces showed
it. "Keep back, boys," shouted Andy. "Give
JeflT a fair chance."
It was a hard thing to do, but they did it, and in
a moment more the prize came over the rail.
" Gues-so ! " exclaimed Captain Buller. " Ef
that there young sprout haint captered the biggest
pick'rel we 've h.id out of Winncgay this season ! "
The first fish w.is caught, but that sort of acci-
dent was not likely to happen twice in one day.
" It 's comin' on a calm, sir," said Captain .Bul-
ler to Mr. Hayne, " and we 're a mile 'n' a half
from the islands. We '11 kinder drift in onto 'em."
966
SAl.Tll.l.O BOYS.
[October,
It was deep watiT all around them, and as the
"Arrow's" motion slackened to almost a state of
rest, llie use of squids departed, and the uses of
other "bait" came not. For all that, the rods
and lines, and the lines without rods, kepi going
out, till more than two dozen of them were on
the search for "'accidents." If some of them had
been long enough to go to the bottom, something
might have happened ; but, as it w;is, even a boy
with a line in each hand stood no chance at all.
They were a patient lot under their difficulties.
At the same moment, Captain Bullcr was mut-
tering to Mr. Hayne; "Don't say a word to the
youngsters. liiU is a-scullin' of 'em in onto a good
tishin'-ground. They 'II bite, pretty soon."
The motion was slow, but it was carrying the
" Arrow " into shallower water, and even her young
p;issengers were aware that the islands were nearer.
"(jit the anchor ready. Hill. Stop scuUin'.
She '11 drift now. We '11 fetch up agin the p'int."
At that moment something like a yell sounded
amidships :
:k, boys! givb jckp
HANCK ! SAID ANDV.
and at last Captain Buller remarked: "Bill, do a
lectlc easy scuUin'. Help her drift in."
Bill shortly began to work an unusually long oar,
over the stern, and the fishermen almost gave up
watching their lines to look at the cluster of islets
toward which the "Arrow" w.as floating. Still, it
did not seem that they were drawing nearer, for
a while, and the conversation mainly turned upon
variations of the assertion that " there are no fish
in this lake, boys."
Otis Burr changed it a little, at last, by remark-
ing: " ll almost looks as if we were heading in
iK-tween two of those islands."
" A bite, boys ! 1 've got him ! "
" Why, Charley, it 's a shiner! "
" Hey, 'nother bite I Pumpkin-seed I "
Hoy after boy added his note of triumph.
Shiners, pumpkin-seeds, perch, suckers, bull-
heads, even a few bass and small pickerel, caine
rapidly in over the sides of the huy " .Arrow."
Mr. Hayne had bargained for that very thing,
and Capt.iin Buller had kept his contmct, except-
ing that the very large fish seemed to have "gone
visiting " for the d.iy. The c;dm and the long,
tiresome waiting were forgotten, and the deck of
the " Arrow " w.is lively with flopping fish.
\ 1 I I l,LU llt)VS.
067
"Haul in ycr lines, boys ! Ali mu .u ui^ »t.-ir-
bi).ird ! Drop iho anchor, Itill ! " said iho captain.
It sccnicil but half a minute, while tlie sail was
going down, before the "Arrow " was lying niolion-
lessagainst a wall of rock just level with her gunwale,
— a perfect natural wharf, on a perfect island shore.
" Lunch-time ! " s;iid .Mr. llayne, and the lines
c.ime in, .dthough the tish bit to the very last.
" They '11 all be there when you git b.ick,"
remarked Hill, the crew.
It w.is worth anybody's while to cat a luncheon,
with a tisherman's apjictite, in such a place as that,
and every inch of the ragged and rugged and tree-
grown islet was explored within the next two hour's.
Some of the explorers, however, did up that part
of their fun quickly, and returned to the business
of catching lish.
•■ When do you think wc should start for home,
Captain?" asked Mr. Hayne, at last.
" Gucs-so. I don't edzackly like the looks of the
weather. Ef the youngsters hcv had fun enough,
1 'd like to git 'em on board now."
.•\ loud shout could be heard all over that very-
stunted island, and the school was easily gathered.
Oddly enough, every one of them was ready to go
to sea at once.
The motion of the ". Arrow," when she swung
away from her pier of rock, was slow and drifting,
for the wind was light. The sky was somewhat
hazy, but the air seemed warmer than ever.
".More wind coming. Captain?" asked Mr.
Hayne.
" Gues-so. Look yonder."
Mr. Hayne looked, and some of the boys looked,
while the "crew" tugged at the halliards and Cap-
tain Duller added : " It 's a-comin'. Lake squall,
sir. We 'II be ready for it."
Away off upon the water, but rapidly drawing
nearer, was a sort of dark streak, with specks of
white beyond it. That was all, but in five minutes
more the rising waves of Winnegay were lashed to
foam around them, and the " .Arrow " was flying
homeward before that squall, with the water dash-
ing over her gunwale at every plunge.
"She 's a stanch boat, boys," said Mr. Hayne,
confidently. " There is no occasion for alarm."
Some of them were very glad indeed to hear him
say so ; for they had noticed that Bill did not let go
of his rope for a moment, and that Captain Duller
w.is getting red in the face at the tiller.
Everybody on board, excepting those two men,
knew that there was no danger.
" I wish they 'd caught a ton more of fish,"
grumbled Bill. " Wc aint nigh heavy enough for
scch a s()uall as this."
"Ease her, Bill, l-.i^-e Ikt wuh the s.nl. It s
the shiftin'est kind of a blow."
That is where danger comes, with sudden
changes of wind and too little ballast. Not a
drop of rain fell, and the wind blew harder. It was
easy to understand, now, why the ".Arrow" had
been made so broad and strong.
On she sped, and not a soul thought of time
until Charley exclaimed : "There it comes, boys ! "
" What 's a-coming? "
" Why, the Winnegay House, and the pier."
There they were, with the rough waves rolling
in upon the gravelly beach and dashing with angry
force upon the rickety wood-work.
" How shall we ever get ashore?" said nearly a
dozen boys at about the same time.
"Gues-so," said Captain Duller. "Wait and
see."
Right past the head of the pier went the
"Arrow," with a row of lengthening faces gazing
over her lee rail, and then, suddenly, the "crew"
let his rope slip rapidly around its pin, the captain
leaned heavily upon the tiller, the boat swung
sharply to the left, as the sail came down, and
glided swiftly into the smooth water on the other
side of the pier.
"Neatly done," said Mr. Hayne. " A'ou sec,
boys, there 's nothing like knowing how."
" Do you know," said Otis Burr, to Phil Bruce,
" it tires a fellow to be driven home by a squall."
They were not too weary, nevertheless, to give
three hearty cheers apiece to the "Arrow," to
Captain Buller, and to the crew, the moment they
found themselves once more on solid land.
They did not hear the bluff commander say to
his crew: "They 're a good lot. Bill. Gues-so."
The ride home was a grand one, but it was after
sunset when the omnibus and the two carriages
which had brought them were pulled up in front
of .Andy Wright's house to discharge their cargo.
When they all had sprung out, Mr. Hayne took
off his hat and said to them: "Now, my young
friends, shake hands all around. I am off for the
sea-shore to-morrow, and you will not sec me again
until we come together in the fall."
They were glad he spoke of that, for it made it
easier to say "good-bye" now. Mr. Hayne's
hand was well shaken, and he went away with the
light of sixteen smiles on his face, if such a thing
could be.
As for the boys, the long summer vacation was
all before them, and the very idea had something
so bewildering that they broke up and marched
away to their homes almost in silence.
The whole thing was too good to talk about.
96S
i-oK \ 1", K ^ I I : r i i: i'oi.k
R()\"S \IS-I'I\
TiiKsi; two lit-tle boys lived next tloor to each oth-er, but there was
a high board fence be-tween the two hoii-scs. One d;i\ Ron fell \tr-\-
lone-ly, and, when lie looked to- ward
How-ard's house, he saw a step-lad-
der lean-ini;- a-yainst the hiyh board
fence. Roy ran to it, antl climbiil up
to the top step, and looked o-ver. The /
first thing- he saw was How-ard, sit-ting L ^. ti}^
on a lit-tlc grass mound ; and just then '. ^j
llow-ard looked up and saw Roy. '^r^
" Heigho ! " said How-ard ; " can't you
come and play with me ? "
boys. Roy was just bid-ding 1 low-arc
a pleas-ant vis-it he had had
self
thcv VIS
" Yes, 1 am com-ing now,"
said Roy ; and he stepped down
from the lad-der, and went
through the front gates in-to
the other yard. Then the boys
sat down on the grass mound,
and talked and played for an
hour. Hut lliey were ver-y
kind and po-lite to each oth-er,
and so they had a hap-py time.
Roy's nurse did not know-
where he had gone, and looked
ev-er-y-where for him. and, at
last, she climbed up the step-
lad-iler. and saw the two lit-tle
rood-b\e, and tell-ing him what
.Sakes a-live ! " .said the nurse to her-
llow po-lite these lit-tle fel-lows are! A great ma-ny boys, when
-it earli oth-ir, act just like cats and dogs!"
lOR VKKV I.ITTI.E FOLK.
969
i'()\ ros \is ri"
I'()ii-lo, ;i sc)-cia-l)lr doj^, de-
cides to go and see Miss Puss.
970
JACK- 1 N - 1 II i; - IT I ri I
J A CK- 1 N -TH li- P U L PIT.
Here, my happy hearers, we enier upon Octo-
ber, as its name implies, though w/iy, I could n't
imagine until the dear Little School-ma'am suddenly
had one of her derivation attacks.
"Don't you know?" she said, " OcTo, <•/§■////
Octagon, Octahedron, Octopod, Octave, Octandra,
and October, eighth month "
" But it is n't the eighth month," 1 hinted, deli-
cately. " It 's the tenth."
" Well, it 's all the same. Jack, dear," said the
Little School-ma'am. "You see, the Romans
made "
" Dear me ! please don't tell me that the Romans
made October. It 's not so stale as that. If you
must derive it, why not make it up in this fashion:
Oct, sumac ; ohcr, maple. That would be more
like it. It 's a real sumac-and-maple month, Octo-
ber is, made fresh every year ! "
" 1 know. Jack, dear," she coaxed, gently.
"That is in our part of the globe, you see; but
countries and climates differ according to the
latitude."
" Yes, that may be so," I insisted, "but "
Well, so it went on, till I was in nearly as great a
muddle as some of you are now, my pets. Dear,
dear! How much there is to be learned! I feel
like apologizing to you for it ; and yet it really is
not my fault. It 's mostly due to derivations, so
far as I can make out. Therefore, turn to your big
unabridged dictionaries, my poor chicks, and peck
away at the O — C — T page.
Meantime, or immediately after, we '11 consider
SHADOW-TAILS.
TaLKI.N'O of derivations, almost the cleverest one
your Jack ever heard of is the origin of the word
squirrel, which, it appears, comes in a roundabout,
frisky way from the (}reck word skioiiros {skia,
shade, and oiira, a tail), hence sc|uirrcl, a shadow-
tail. Now, 1 call that good, and descriptive.
Somehow it gives one just the motion of a stiuirrel,
with his supple little body and his great, bushy,
sudden-vanishing tail. It rather reconciles me to
the (jreeks, too, to see how, with all their learning,
lhe\' took occasion to notice the ways of these
happy little animals.
ON THE TREE-PATH.
And by the way, the ancient (Greeks, with their
skiouros, remind me that there 's a sciuirrel-letter
in my pulpit pocket from a little girl. Here it is:
Dhah Jack: 1 thoticht I would write and Icll you somethinK-
M.-iy be you know it already, but some of your hearers may not.
\'cstcrday I spent tlie day with mother at a bcaulirul country. house.
It has a two-story piazza and a (;rcat big lawn in front of iL Well,
the lawn is very full of splendid trees, of differerit kinds, so close
together that some of their bmnches touch their neighbors' branches,
just as if the trees were shaking hands. Some of them don't touch
at alt, though they come pretty near it
Now this is what 1 want to tell you : 1 was up on the upper pLizza,
looking into the trees, and there I saw a s<)uirn:l ! It stood still on a
bough fur a minute, and then a birti came and alighted close by, and
ofT went the souirrel to the end of the branch, and, in a twinkle, he
jumped from tnere into the branches of another tree, and ran across
that, and so into another tree, and another, till he went nearly all
over that lawn without once going to the ground! Of course, the
trees were near each other ; but 1 noticed that he often had to make
quite a jump. Once or twice he stopped to look an>und him. 1
gue.ss he thought '* Where am 1 now ? What sort of a tree is this?"
but then he would frisk his tail and be off. 1 never saw anything so
funny or so nimble xs he w*as. He was n't a flying-s«]uirTcl, either. I
mean he had n't wings. But it did make me wish that 1 could be
like him, for a little while, and run around in the tops of the cool
green trees. — Your friend, CoKA G. H.
A QUEER TONGUE.
Dear Jack: I have heard of tongues "strung in the middle and
going at both ends," and even of one that seemed to be set "on a
pivot, and going roimd and round without ceasing." liut what
would you say of a tongue that actu,ally puints d"wnw.ird or Ijack-
ward, ttic root being in tiie front of the mouth, and the tip pointing
down the throat? ^'et of course you know who it is that has a
tongue of this queer kind. Do your chicks know, however? They
may sec him on a warm evening, hopping about the held or garden, or
catching flies. And concerning his mode of eating, people say, "he
dans out his long red tongue, and whips the poor flies into his
mouth," Hut 1 happen to know that his tongue is not so ver>' long,
after all : and from the way it is attached, it does not need to be s<>
long as if it were rooted far back in his mouth. — Truly yours,
W. R
HICKORY NUTS AND HICKORYNUTS.
When word came from Stephen B. , down in
Connecticut, that he knew of " nine varieties of
hickory-nuts, with twenty-five names shared among
them," your J.ack said to himself: "That sounds
surprising ; I should n't wonder if Stephen has been
gathering from the encyclopedia a nut for me to
crack."
Of course, though, I already was pretty well
acquainted with nuts and nut-trees, to say nothing
of nut-eaters. For instance, it has always glad-
dened my heart to look upon that ragged giant
hickory — " Old Shag-bark," the children of the
Red School-house call him — who lifts his leafy
crown eighty feet above the knoll at the end of my
meadow. And then there is the sw.imp-hickory,
its graceful column standing seventy feet or more
out of the hollow. His fruits, by the way, have
thin shells, easy for strong little teeth to crack ;
but the kernels must t.iste bitter to make the little
faces wrinkle up so queerly. .And 1 have seen pig-
nuts, and he.ird from my squirrels about the large
Western hickory-nut, with its two-pointed shell.
I Al k - I \ - I 111-11 I, I' IT
971
Yet hoic comes our knowing fricnil. Stephen,
telling; of five hickories besides! — -"the I'ecan,
f,Towinj; chielly in Texas; the Mocker-nut, with a
wonderfully hard shell: tlie sniall-fruitcd hickory;
the hickory with a nut as lart;c as a good-sized
apple; and the nutmeg-fruited hickory <f South
Carolina." And he goes on to say :
" Thr niit~ fn^m ilifTcirnl kinds of hick"r>'-lree« •omelinie* are so
,in«-K 'l>L.- th .1 .1 1^ .litricult 10 call them by their ri|;ht names. Hut
I- i.illy the ^ha);-b,lrk, iirc fine caung. 'I'he nutit-
r.. nut and walnut — near relatives of the hickory- —
1 •. -.' which mean;. ' the nui of Jove' ; as much as
t [ f ir a lanquet of the gixl*.*
.>:u c wnilc to me that at his school, in Kn^land.
1 o half■^hell^ of walnuts in this way: i'hey push
1!, [tier, point to iioint, on a table. The shell that
s,.;.., ..,^s ..ne for the victor\', and one in additum for e.-ich
of the sliclU that 11^ beaten adversary nad previously cracked. Hob
says he once had a shell with an honeM score of 397."
THE LIZARD'S "QLOVES."
Mv friend "Snow lUinting" asks if any of you
youngsters have ever seen a lizard's "gloves" fld.ii-
ing on the water of ponds or
ditches. She says they look very
pretty and have every linger per-
fect, and that even the wrinkles
in the palms are plainly marked.
They are so delicately thin, how-
ever, that if taken out of the
water they fall together in a
shapeless mass : but if dipped up
carefully in some of the water,
they sometimes keep their shape.
The "gloves" are really the
old outer skin from the paws of
the newt or water-lizard. He has
several new suits a )ear, and he
tears off his old co.its in shreds,
but the " gloves " come awa\
whole. There must be numbers
of these cast-off paw-coverings,
but it is not likely that you will
come across them, my dears, ex-
cepting in the deep woods, on the
surfaces of pools and sluggish
streamlets.
THE NUTHATCH.'
Ok all my bird-friends. Nut
hatch is one of the sprightlicsi
and cheeriest. It is a treat to see
the little fellow run gayly up a
tree, swiftly lap away with his bill
for a few seconds, and then turn
and run down head-foremost, his round little tail
standing up saucily behind. He also has the queer
habit of sleeping with his head downward, but
whether this gives him b;id dreams or not, he never
h.is told me. I should think it would, cs[>ecially
after .1 hearty supper of nuts.
He cats, also, caterpillars, beetles, and insects,
and hoards up his nuts in the holes of trees. Look
out for him. my wood-roaming youngsters, and try
to watch him when he is about to cat a nut from
his store. You will sec him carry it in his sharp
bill and set it firmly in some convenient chink :
then he will Ixire a hole in the shell with his bill
and pick out the sweet kernel, turning his head
from side to side and looking sharply about him.
If he should catch sound or sight of you, — Whip!
— Out woukl come the nut from the chink, and
away would lly Mr. .N'ut-hatch, to finish his lunch-
eon in greater privacy.
Hut I never have heard him sing, nor pipe, nor
even chirrup; whenever 1 have seen him he h.ns
been too busy to spare time for such frivolity !
And yet his quick ways and gay manner speak
volumes in themselves, and a flash from his bright
eye is as good as a cheering strain of melody.
A SUBMARINE "FIREFLY."
I 'M informed that you arc to be told this month,
my dears, about some curious living lanterns.
And, just in the nick of time, Mr. Heard throws
some more light on the subject, with this picture
i.f uh:it hv .-..lis ., ■■ subin.iriiR- ' firc-ily.' " It
really is a shell-fish, and at the tail-end are two
wing-like pieces which help the creature to m,ike
its way in the water. At the pointed front end of
the shell is a queer little round fleshy bubble,
which, at night, gives out a light so strong that,
even with a lamp shining near to it, — as in the
picture, — its brightness is but little dimmed.
What with butterflies and sea-robins, and fire-
flies and fire-fish, and similar wonders, it does
seem to your Jack that Nature h,is a queer way
of making inhabitants of the water copy the forms
and actions of land animals. Or perhaps the
Kind animals are the copyists? Who knows?
I' Kora picture of the Nul-hatch, lee St. Niciiula.s for April, 1877. Page 368.— Fj>.|
9/2
III i: I : 111-: k- \:<>\.
(OCTODER,
TI!
Li: r ri-.R-Hox.
NEW GAMI-:S ASKED FOR.
TIIH UTTLE SCHO()L-Ma'aM MARKS V SUGGESTION. —
Deak Itovs AND GiiiLs: St. Niciioi-as, as many of you know,
h.xs given descriptions of a great number of games and pastimes
during the eight years of 'tis cxistcncc^but, much as we girls and
boys have enjoyed these, wc do not find them sufTicicnL We need
more, " Wc have a great deal of play in us," as a bright little girl
once said to mc, "but wc want tu know what to do with it." So
it lately occurred to mc to by the matter before the editors, and this
is what they say :
'• If the boys and girls who read St. Nichoi-.\s, in all parts of the
world, will send plain descriptions of the games they play, —
especially of such at> they believe to be peculiar to their own locali-
ties.— wc will print a,s many of the descriptions as we can, month by
month. No space can l>c given to games that are universally known
and that already have been fully described in print ; unless some
change should be made in them well worthy of notice. Now and
then a simple diagram can be used, to save a long description in
words; but, of course, wc can not promise to publish everything that
may be sent in. The games may be for out-doors, for in-door*,
for boys, for girls, for boys and girls together, and for any number
of players, from two to a hundred.
"The games should beclcarly and concisely described, with explicit
directions; and each one printed sliall be promptly paid for, even
before the publication of the number that contains iL While wc
prefer that the young writers should write carefully, wc do not expect
great finish of style, nut labored productions. Our object is to
induce the young folks to write to us freely and to tell us of the
games the)' play, old as well as new,— simply telling us which ones
they bchcve to be new."
And now, boys and girls, the way is open for you all, to make a
complete and friendly exchange of games and various forms of frolic.
The children of the Red School-house will be able to help, I hope ;
and every grown-up boy and girl, who remembers some good
pastime of former days, must be sure to let us know all about iL I
shall \yc glad to hear what games you like best of those you describe,
and alsfj which you enjoy most of the fresh ones learned through
this new plan: And, if any amusing incident liappcns in the course
of your fun, jot that down, too.
So, To Work ! is the word. Write on but one side of the paper,
give your full post-office address, and send the letters to
Yours, in both work and play,
The Lr
Sen
Int
: of The Century Co., 743 Broadway, New York,
Dear St. Niciioi.as: Can any of your readers tell mc how to
polish shells? My sister has some large clam-shells, and she has tried
several ways of [wlishing them, but none have proved successful.
\Ve think of making a small aquarium, as described in your July
number. Your constant reader,
Marv F. Howes.
H. — In St. Nichoi.as for June, 1878, you will find directions for
making a telephone. Two or three boys have written to us that, in
following the instructions given in that article, they were greatly
helped by good-natured telegraph operators in their neighborhoods.
Perhaps, if you try, you will find yourself equally fortunate.
Friend of Maie G. H. — In the "Letter-box" for July, 1875,
you will find a good recipe for making skeleton leaves.
mc on a trip to Niagara
the question asked by
Dear St. Nichoi-As: As my father to(
Falls Ixtt May, I am much interested i
"Snow Hunting" in the August St. Nic
I have read an article on Niagara by Pnifessor Tyndall, and I
estimates that 35,000 years ago the falls were situated where tl
village of (^uccnston now stands, or about seven miles below th<
present position. At that time there was i>robably but one fall, ai
that was twice the height of the fidls at the present day.
The cliff over which this immense volume of water fell was cot
poMrd of strata of limestone: and as time pavscd on, layer after lay
broken off by the action of the water, uniil (roat Island
Here the
r separated, forming two (alls, the Horseshoe
end of
bcofl
£dlv 1
living
>r I'yndall also considers it pnibahle th;
to recede at the rate of a f(Kit a year, it will n
.It I -i.iiul ill s.-jiio ycar?t ; and in ti,ouo ycai
: !it they are now. lam
so low. and I Mippo
r (if there l>c any !) t
if Niagani
:h the upper
o years the falls will
gL'id I have seen the
c people who will be
in never undcrsLind
Ithin the
Malw
I the fall,
■irro l^.tutiful than
when I first saw it, on a perfectly clear afternoon in May. W
stayed a week at Niagara, and as the moon wxs full I hoped to se
the lunar bow, but wc could not, as it was only %-isiblc about twclv<
o'clock at night. However, I was so delighted with the moonlight
r interesting subjccL
" Not Invited."
The picture on page 959 of the present number shows you an
interesting scene, familiar enough in any of our large cities : The
great chureh Ls filled with spectators — friends of the happy pair who
are about to be wedded : the bridal carriages have jtLst driven up to
the curb-stone ; and the bride and bridesmaids are passing beneath
the can\-as canopy up the steps of the chureh. The bride hears the
first swelling notes of the great organ, and she feels that all the |>eo>
pie within the building are ItKiking impatiently for her appearance,
but is quite unconscious that at this very moment she is the admi-
ration of a small cnmd of unin\itcd lookers-on — barefooted boys
and girls, who arc eagerly peering through the canopy.
In New York, an awning such as this at a chureh-door Is quickly
espied by the sharp eyes of street boys and giris; and a fine wedding,
with its husUc, its swiftly riilling carri.iges, and its cheerful crowds in
gay attire, is as great an event to them as to many of the invited
guests. In thcii eagerness, they even put their heads down beneath
the folds of the canvas, much as they would if it were a circus-tent.
And, if to sec the bridal party l>c the great event of a wedding, wc
are not sure that these unin\ited little waifs do not often have the
l>est of iL Their stolen glimpse thruugh the canopy is no doubt a
nearer and better view than can be obtained by many of the honored
friends within, who have to stare across the crowded pews.
!»|f\it St. NiCMOi_\s; Papa tclU mc stories that hi* friend* tell
A-hilc in his olYnc. I like to hear them, and may be some of the
rcidcp. of the St Nicholas would, too. Here is one:
" I w:is rowing thr^Migh the Sounds one day, when, hntking lowarU
me of the clam-ttats, I s.iw a btrnnge object some distance ahead of
i8Sl.i
Tin; J.liTTliU- UOX.
973
he a hliic heron,— II
h ii<^ head tip ivt hitjh
There i* u very cu
people i
hill it M
it rnighi Ik
the I
Muck his bOI inio the cbm. But the clam did not like to be
o, closing 1(5 mouth quickly, it had Mr. Heron
ird tried all »ort* nf »-ays to gel clear, twisting hw long
:. .»!, ! ,. illiiu hard: but it wx«t of mi use. Heron soon
■' -■ tide was rising over the flats, I expect
'r-nibic by rowing up to him and brcak-
r-i free frum his unpleasant situation. As
; libcny he tried to fly, but he wxs too
;i xldcd his head tW'> or three times as
. KT^icer.: and then he walked slowly
: hyc, LosNiK Wakk (ti years/.
Oracia Dkckes. — Holland i
William III. is its present ruler.
ndepcndcnt kingdom, and
» write to those particularly
.iny
: ashamed
-iruly.y..
LuxtAN A. Peck (13 years).
I disease in some parts of the cmintry which
^dicnl iHxtks but with whi> h «<)nic ynung
: frctiiienitv alllicicd I do n..i kimw jiihl what I« call it.
• l>e clfscly rchticd lo " Stuulay headache." Pcrhn|Hi
itiwi "(IiMMK-tn .ich.M.I hcbiliiy ■■ it ha» »..mc very
iricri-itic*. n !■* never known tn ..ccur nn Saturday,
nor Ml vacatmn, uiilcv« some very nnplca\ai)i duty it 011 hand. 'I he
lir^i ^ymplolll ii a very grave cxprc^tion of loiintcnancc. and a
solcnui remark ahoui '* feeling nutcndjlL-," usuidlv ft.llowed up by
'■ I rcallv do not feel able m i;.. i<> scho..l this morninv:." Alxnii the
middle of the fv.rc«o..n a marked L-lianne for tlic UtlL-r usually lake*
place, unless sch.Hil has two sessions, in wliidi case no improve-
lucnl ap|>cars iinlil afternoon. The upiK'tilc is ^ood, enpoially for
any little dainlies which may be offered, riic paiicni is often able
to read, or to hear other* read, wuuc interesting ston-, or perhaps lo
work a little on some ple:iAant fancy-work, but the bare !«UKKCsiion
of any more arduou> employment is almost certiiin lu pnxlucc a
rcIapNC.
I should like to menti<m privately to the mother* of these afflicted
ones, that going to bed in a dark room, and a strict diet of watcr-
gnict, has been known to pro<Iuce a complete cure in a short time.
.Seriously, my young friends. ihl> maybe the beginning of some*
thing which can gmw into frightful proportions. Almost e\cry
physician can tell you that persons have carried on a long system
of deception, until at lost they have deceived themselves as well as
their friends. These unfortunates l>egin at first by making the most of
all their little aches and pains, and fn»m that go on to pretending
that they arc worse than they really are. because they like the s
tion and sympathy which an invalid receives, until they art
to take kick anything which they have said, and, at last, !
they really produce in themselves that which was at first only imagi-
nary-. If you find that you have formed even the small beginnings of
thus habit, try lo think as little as possible about your own feelings,
and turn your attention to the real trials of other people.
Transu^tion of "Lf Marchand dk Coco."
Translations of the illustrated French piece, " Lc Marchand de
Coco," printed in the July number, have been received from all parts
of the United States, from Canada, from Great Britain, and even
fmm France. \Vc here print that translation which, all things con-
sidered, seems to us lo be the best:
THE VENDER OF UQl'ORICE-WATHR.
Mv dear little friends, do you know what is this young man so
oddly equipped? He is a vender of litpionce-waicr, th.it delicious
drink made ofliquorice-riM)t ground up in iced water. In Paris, one sees
them everywhere, these venders, with the fine silvered boumjct ot their
fountains gleaming likean oriflamb above their heads. They walk
about in the Champs Etysees. in the garden of the Tuilerics. in the
streets, ever>-wherc where children arc to be found, or even older
persons, for'thirsi comes to everybody: and when it is very warm
[weather], they make famous receipts. One hears them cr^'in^ with
their penetrating voice: ^'Alajrakhe.'" ("Cold drink!" "boissen"
understood.] " Who "11 drink ! Here 's good liquorice-water! Treat
yourselves, ladies— treat yourselves!" And. after these deafening
appeals to customers, they ring the silvered bell which ihey carT>' in
the left-hand. This ringing makes the fortune of the dealer in
liquorice-water; it makes so much noUe that one must needs pay
attention to ii, and this ts always a good thing in business. Itcsides,
the ftumtain Ls so fine, w ho could resist it ? The cfTcct of the crimson
velvet which enwraps the flinders is heightened by the coppered
rims, and by the bouquet glistening in the sun. 1 his makes ihe
whole affair visible from afar to the thiisty. Then, too, it costs only
( »ne of the braces which hold the fountain on the vender's back is
pierced with holes, on ihe breast, to receive the goblets in which he
serves his siock-in- trade. Everything in the outfit glistens, the gob-
lets arc silvered as well as the bell, and the bouquet and the iwo
faucets that pass under the left arm, one of which gives liquorice-
water, and the other water for rinsinj: the goblets. He uses a corner
of his linen apron, dazzling with whiicness and cleannev*. for wiping
hisglasses. And still this apron is never soiled: one sees in it always
the folds made by the laundress's irm. Our vender of liquorice-
water in the engraving is shod with large pexsant"s-sal>itts, but this
part of the costume is not stricllv the nile, as all the rest is.
In former times a fine plumed helmet covered the head of the fount-
ain-cairier, but nowadays a pUin wnrliman's-rap lakes its place.
Who would not be a vender -f liquori. c waicr? What a fine
occupation ! To always walk about in the -mn^hinc, and cr>*, in the
hcanyg of thiraty lilllc children: " .? la frakhf ! ["Cold drink!"
"bottton" undcniood.] NVho wants lo drink?" L. C. Stonb.
T.mcnd to an our reader* the good advice which is given List of Those Who Sent Translations.
m the paper on " How to be taken care of." and we arc p„f,„ Canada: Katie C, Thomson. From Kngijknd: Helen
1 to it here a few word* by the same author which may Rheam— FJlcn Watson — Fdith I Jing— Agne« FJiza larrtmh Ho^d—
V rrjd in coonccti'm with ihe article: Susan FJirabeth Murray— Camlinc I>cight->n. F' ■ f ^■•--
974
rii K m: iTKU- itux.
Amti ny I'clci I'. ml Miirjiliy |- KOM Scx>TtASD: Ldch Hunter
Nil ilcton KuUer— Dycic Warden —
I ; Sionc— CKa.1. l>. Rhodcv—
1 I (iiniud— Helen M. Drcnnan—
\,,n. I l:^rn..Mt- t ..... IV..I.. c l'..it— Came U>u Carter— fc. H.
ItUmon— A. H W — Klkn A Slidcll— kubcrt B Omc- Kannie
K, Kachlinc— SiisicA Kachlinc— Ucnrudc I oIIcn— Ro>alic Carroll
— UcvMe L. Cirj — 'Arthur A. M..on— John Wnnht Wroth— Alice
r. Cole— Cornelia llcll— Nellie K- Haines— M.,cue W.
Packard— H. C. Tombler. ^r— Aral>cUa Warxi— Krcdcric
'I'udor, Jr. — l>aniel 'I. Killecn— l*anlinc Cooper— Ade-
laide Cole— Mary tlrey— Lucy KIcaiior Woll;L>.tnn — 1-u-
nellc E. Ijmnre>- Josephine l;.imard Mitchell— FMna
MofTetl- Harriet H .Slcrnfcld— A^ncs 4 l-irris,.,, (_ lani
Reed Anihmiy— SiiMC Andrew, Rice— Kftic Hart- Hat-
Uc H Parsons- Mary Chase- M N. l-nn.b- Marie
Tudnr— Jessie Claire McDonald-Annie I jph;im— Waller
B. Clark- I.iz/ie I Stewart— Annie AiniMronK Wiljimi-
M>n-Mar>' M Wilkins- Alice Austen- Addah t.crdes—
Harriet iJiianeOxhMlm— With King Utham— Alice llrad-
bur>— Frances Pepper- Kittie S. Davis- Mclta Victor
—Julia <;. PlexsanLs- (lertrudc H. Carlton- Nellie t
Chase— Laura A. Jones— Daiscy Siudlc> — Tillie lilu-
menthaM Henrietta Marie— Planche Hartoj;- Mar>' H.
Hayv- Edric Allen Hull— loscph H. Itf.ume— I-iura I >
Sprague — Virginia VA'un 'iTioinpson — NLiry June WchhI-
ward— Edith Mcrriam— Fannie Mignonne W^NHlwortli-
Lucy A. Putnam— Itessie Daniels— C.ertnide A. Miles—
r. Ncwbold Morris- Eugenic M. Jelicocur— Ella W.
Bray— Anna Bclficld Smith— Annie Roihcry — UzzicLoyd
— tannic Blandy Lewes— Hc&sic Danforth— Margaret
I-ewis Morgan-Mollie Weston— Annie H. Mills- Annie
C. Rathbuni— Mnry WonKon- M. Eva Clcavcland— Ida Coon
Evans- t;racc Minuj;h Whiiicmorc— Robert Thomas Palmer—
Jeannie Ursula Dufree— Jessie Roger-i- Anna Perkins Sladc—
Mathilde Weil— Jacob H. C.. Lazelle- Kate Colt— Cornelia Mc-
Kay—A. Thekiult Rivaillcs— Anna H. Thomas— Will P. Hum-
phrc>-S Jr.— Nathalie D. Clough- Adelaide C. Hcame— Lucy S.
Conant— Carrie R Prentii— Mary Young Shearer- Vio F. Kinney
— Ada E laplcy— Mar>- UlaiKhard Hobart— Mar>' It. (Jallaher
— Henr>- Champlin White— Aurelia Harwood— l-i/zie Newland
Hxsbr.Mick— Carrie A Maynard— Minnie A. J. Mclniyrc— Carita
T. Clark— Julia K. Collins- Mary M. Brownion- Julia Ijtimei—
ira Scbmid— Maude I
Mallor>— Annie (;ro/eh
trble
1* Chccsmaa— Maude W.
FIGtlRE NO.
u» cut an apple so that they can sec the shape of the apple -blossom.
This may not be new to some of them. Take a nice and sound apolc
and pecl'it all around ; then cut it throuzh the core, like Figure No.
I, in thin slices, and by holdini^ to the light one of the slices from near
the middle it will show xs in Figure No. 2. — Vour> truly. F. I- B.
AOASSIZ ASSOCIATION.-SEVENTH REPOKI'.
In response to rci>eatcd rcqucst-s wc shall publish, in connection
with our A. A. reports, a few addresses of those who may have
specimens for cxchanj|;e. lA-t it \k understood, however, that such
requests for exchanges can not appear in print earlier than two or
three months after they are sent in. If, for instance, any one wishes
to exchange drawings of snow-cr>-stals for specimens of wood, the
request should l>c sent us about three months In-'fore ihc time for
snow, that it may appear in the magazine at the proper season.
It is ncccssarj* to remind you that in every cxse yon must write
your full address vcr>- plainly. l>i>ih when y<ni write to us .^nd when
yt)u communicate with one another.
This is a g<Mid time to say that I have liccn extremely pleased by
the general excellence of the hundreds of letters which have l>ecn
sent mc by the boys and girls of the A. A. They arc, as a rule, well
written, carefully spelled and punctuated, and accurately addressed.
Of the whole number, <mly one. I believe, has c'>nic without an
inclosed addrevs. and few, cR;)cciaUy of late, without (he inclosed
envelope and stamp f->r reply. This s)>caks well for onr memt>ers,
and Icttcn thus carefully composed and written arc among the best
results of our society work. To write a good letter is no small
accomplLshmcnt.
Some time ago, several of yon suggested a badge, .-ind a mention
of it was made in St. NicHtiu\K, with the reipiesi that each member
would express his or her opinion t)f it, and olTcr suggestions for a
design
But responses have been received from so few.— only half a dozen
— that it seems that most of uh do not feel any need of such a mark
of distinction, and nothing more will be done about it at present,
unless a decided and general desire should be shown for it in the
course of the next month or two.
Among the l>cit of the designs hitherto recci^ctl luv a fern-leaf, a
butterfly, and a simf>lc monogram in gold.
'ITicre is a wish in s<tmc <piancrs for ,t general meeting of reprc-
scntativev of the AssfKiation, to t>e held in some central pbce. This
•uggestion came too late to 1>e considered this year, but it may be
well to bear it in mind against the coniin<; sumiiicr. It docs not
»ccm very practicable a% I look at it nr»w,— for our incmljcrs are so
yoimg and so widely scattered. — Inii i niiiilit Ik: ih.ii ciiouiih repre-
sentatives from various Chapit-n. couM meet during the !
give an additional impetus to the pntgress of the society.
I'he motion for such a general nicciing comes from a Baltimore
Chapter (I cannot give the name of the mover, ;ls I am writing on a
mountain-top many miles away from my letter-6Ic), and if there are
any to second the motion, it can do no harm to hear from them.
We arc spending some days in a tent on the side of Creylock
(sometimes called Saddle-back), the highest mountain in Massa-
chusetts, and it may interest our ornithological friends to know that
the somewhat rare nests of the snow-bird are ver>' plenty here The
nests are built on the ground among the grass. The eggs are light
and spotted with brow n. They are much like those of the ordinary
ground-sparrow. The snow-birds themselves are ver>- interesting.
Eirly in the morning they visit us, before we rise fn>m our hemlock
bed. Peering curiously at our tent, they whir and thittcr ab<nit for a
time, the two white feathers in their saucy tails gleaming among the
evergreens until, gradually growing bolder, they alight i>n the very
canvas, and scramble up its steep white sides. S4>me of them came
yesterday morning entirely into the tent, and one little fellow actually
hopped on my shoulders as I lay pretending sleep.
Some wcck« ngo, the Appalachian Club of IV)ston visited Greylock
and climbed to its summit, and during the ascent the botanists of the
party seemed specially attracted by the ferns, which grew on e\'er>'
hand. Since then, a young lady of Williamstown has found here
twenty-seven diflfercnt species of FiltWs, iaotuding the large .-Ij//-
tftHin spiHutoium, and the tiny Asf-lrnium TrichomttMrs, Has any
one found more kinds on a single hill ?
It is now a year since the St. NiciioI-as branch of the Agassii
Association was formed. During that time we have enrolled over
twelve hundred members, and made a fair beginning in studying the
more common n.itural objects. Wc hope l>efore long to ad^pt a
more systematic plan of work than was possible during the period
of our organ i/atim.
I'o this end we desire to receive a full re|M>rt from each Chapter, of
its present condition, and iLs future prospects and plans.
Wc hope that all our incml»crs will form the habit of taking
careful noiesof whatever of interest they sec. and wc »hall b.' glad to
print fmm time to time such of these notes asi may be sent us if '^^
are well done
Hahi.an H Bai.i.aki>. Utiux Acadciuv. Unox. Mass.
ril 1 K I hlM.K- 1U»X.
975
riii-: Ri i)i)Li*MU)X.
IM.
iiM what poem by OU\ct WcnOcU Hotmn is the ftilluwiiiK
a taken?
Oyu othc auh ybo fiini;hlau! Uoy hilkn ch** Ul unf;
Tub leh san%lc hatigl oio u hc< odgo eh uh noctl;
Hcf rinckhd gaulh oldu «a yhci rotop oi ftht leal,
Nad leh rup4> nnia htta ikown mih ughla» ^cMtnu fo Ul '
4;ko«;kapiiu*ai.
IMH'BI.E Af'KOSTIC.
■f 1 fine cily .'f Kunipc; the HnoU
' recce, Mippo<vcd ti> be sacred tu
f Northern Italy, the valley
il'Ic by the war* of Itonapartc.
M 4. Ihc n.inic uf a trupical uccan.
EASY DOl'BI^E CROSS-WUUD BMUMA.
IIS difK:r% fmm the ordinarv cruv>-word enigma, by rcquirini;
m-wcr. in^*n i r,{ one ThV tirM letter of each answer K " in
' ■ .1. -. 1 ■■ ,-- (i.illad, not in glee." and v) on,
The anNwcrs to thU cnicmn arc
iit'\ing the fcvst given w-ncn the
■■n\, a name gi\cn tu a heavenly
In heather, not in lea;
In ballad, not in glee:
in sorruA , not in pain :
In vi\-id, not in plain;
In Ellen, not tn Nan :
In Susan, not in Kan :
In tempest, not in cloud:
In humble, not in piTMid ;
In
In
I in praye
In Edos, not in Paul.
Both, you 'II And, come i
I. In »irecping. a. The color of an opprc&sed race. 3. fc>ects.
The common name for carth-nutv 5. The first part nf the name
.» 'lAT^T I ■■! '1 n theater, t. An inclo:>urc. 7. In dusting.
TWO \VOUU-S(|l AKKS.
I. Conceals 2. FjitMinK only in imagination. 3. The space
t»ctween two mouths of a river. 4. Consumed. 5. A slope.
IK I To bite repeatedly. 3. A fugitive, roentioned in the Bible,
who was lost in the desert of Hcer^heba. 3. A kind of qiuurtz. 4.
I-Ujuah. V To %queexc c. a. b. and " i-lito "
i'KUSS-WOUII EMCS3IA.
Mv Unt i^
n town.
bill not in cit>';
My «r-.w1
n bright
hut not in witty;
My &■■■• -
N'lt not in btindle:
My t
Un not in trundle
mJ .
■ not in bke;
My
I not in take;
My
*iiit not in ta*te;
My c
but not in »-asie;
mJ
> It not in dime:
My .
• nnt in rhvmc;
mJ.
' ■ ■ - ' ■ 1 .
My ..
M ^iKUir\i. i:\i<;^iA.
-'.To. ^n^l .«iii J (luotatton from
> -mg a pleasant odor. My 34-
)o-i $-1-39-10-37-4 i« a spiral
motion. My 36-46-14 it recompen«c My 13-38-43-19 is caution.
My 47-40-33-11-35 i» to glitter My 3i-46-5-:4-3J-4»-'9->7-3-'7-
45-33 I* hicmtivc. My 7t~S-7-4J i^ to pull with force. My 7-37-
1-18 is to lend. cicKi.v.
CiT off my head, and I
(.'urtail mc. and, unaeen,
( >nv:e more curtail ine, an
iVchcail t)ie, and its organ
I 'in neither man nor bea
Hut d\^ell HI in.
Ai.J there, whc
My whole will
VV'A'/A.K rOK
I a rolling ball;
'm felt by all:
a ivcnve you 'II find;
omc* to mind.
nor bird, nor gnome;
u cMtnforuble home;
iding day turn-* into night,
miinar in ruddy liwht
(;kokcr V.
VOINIJ SC'ISSOKEIIS.
Pl_\CK a piece of thin paper carefully over the above design, and,
with a Iurd, Oiarj> pencil, tnicc every line; then cut out the seven
piecc<, and fit them together so that they will form a perfect square
mca-suriiic two inches on evtrv- side. c. s. F
KASV IHM K-<;rA^
CPNTRAt.*
3. In pinafoi
I pinaiore. .-»i.kos>: i .-i
4. A large fUh. 5. Deft
.•\ vagrant.
To imitate,
c. A. n.
DOrDLE CENTRAL AC'ROi^TIC.
Au. the words described arc of equal Icn^h. The third line,
read downward, names a time for "peeping into the fiimre" ; the
fourth line, read downward, names a church festival which immedi-
ately follow* that time.
AcKoss: I. Struck with ama/ement. 3. In truth. 3. A narra-
tive song. 4. The name nf a great English nnv7i\ r-immandcr, who
was bom in 1758- 5. Outer garmenu. 6 f»...i. 1. t ^^^^
7 Mingles together 8. An inject which 1 'rong.
homy substance. 9 An official reckoning of a.
country. ■ i-B.
9/6
TIIK. K 1 IHHK - r.
PKOM:lCil KKIII :
Each c.f ihc following questions may
be answered by ihc name of one of the
United Stales. F.xamfU : An
mcnl for writinK. a wcalhcr-cock, and
part of an animal. Answer: Pencil-
I. The hairy crest of an animal. 2. \
acknowIcdRed succcs.sor of Mohammed,
animal, and a jacket of coarse woolen cli
6. " I once possessed a gardening instr
8. A large surface of ice ll;>atinB in the
a Roman numeral, a bell, and an article,
letter. 11. The person speaking,^ to be in
forever, and an uproar. 13. .An invijcaiioi
valuable metal, and a conveyance. 15. K;
name, to scatter seed, and a sailor. 17. t
valley, and to lie informed of ig. An un
mcd:;n...ro.li- .. To .Ivl-. ..nd bustle.
i:a^v ^vnk>ivatio\> .\.m> Aliiti<i:\ i.\tio.\>.
KxAMi'l.f.: Syncojiaie and curtail a trrc, and Itsivc a malt liquor. Answer: Alder — Ale.
1. Syncopate and curtail a bufTmjn, and leave an anim.iL 1. Syncopate and curtail a
>quette, and leave an c%erKrecn tree. 5. Syncopate and curtail a fierce animal, and leave
domestic fowl. 4. Syncopate and curtail a jewel, and leave eqiulily. IS01.A.
EASY SliAKESI'EAKEAN M.MERICAL. ENIGMA.
milMised of itevcnty-nine lencr*, and form a couplet from Shakespeare's pby
Richard III." My 33-3.4-yo is a wise-looking bird. Sly \\-\^-•]t>-\^-'V• is a to<rt
hurch dignitary. My 45-15-30-72 is a heavenly body.
My 78-37-19-26 IS a present .My 67-
i-5(>-47 IS a coating on ir.n. My 18-
^\-\i is to cut with a scythe. My
55-71-3S is a creditor. My 75-13-43-
53 IS a vivcrvign. My 70-21-60-8 11
•the siiiff that life is m.nde of .My
20- j7-4(-58-22 is 1.1 cvjiress plaintively.
.My 44-t5-73-si-5,. is jienainint; to
Creece. .My 7-62-39-64 is a scrving-
lK,y. .My 79-5-16-18 is a fish. My J2-
57-10-23 is a girl. My ii-i;.9-63-7"i«
a t.ask. My 36-25-52-61 is IcimetL
.My 34-69-42-31 is a cry of distress.
My 4c^^>6-37-74-35-6-2-28 are to be
found in a lady's wurk-bag. 11. c.
religious ceremony, a snec7c, and scries, ■\. Kn
over, and close at hand 4. A S.iuth African
th. 5. A horse, an island, and an ampersand.
." 7. An hotel, and the goddess of hunting,
, and one who is conveyetj. 9. .-Vtmosphere.
The governor of Algiers, a garment, and a
debled, a street or road for vehicles. 12. Sick,
I, elevated, and a letter 14. Part of a hors.e, a
iw mineral, a letter, and a musket. 16. \ girl's
>urse!vcs, a helmet, and not out. 18. A small
married woman, and a nympli of the Moham-
ANSWERS TO I'UZZI.ES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.
Dnirnt.H Cross-word Enic.ma. Dryad — nymph.
AuRIDOMFNTS. Ruskin. 1. F-R-iend. 2. Clo-U-d. 3. S-eat.
4. K-night. 5- Fa-l-r- «■ Ki-N-d.
Hoi R-Gtj\ss. Centrals: Harvest. Cross-words: i. F.-uHinn.
I. KrAil. 3. DRb. 4. V. 5. SEa. 6. TaSle. 7. SecTion.
GEonRAPHlCAL Ni'MERlcAL E.NIGMA. (Jreat Bntain.
CossECTEl" DiAMOSUS. Centrals : Water-melon. Left-hand
Diamond : i. W. a. LAd. 5. WaTer. 4. UKn. 5. R. Right-
hand Diamond: i. M. a. NEd. 3. McLon. 4. DOn. 5. N.
Easv Pictorial EsitiMA. " First the bl.-tde, then the car, after
that the full com in the car." Mark iv. 28.
The names of solv
QflNCl'NX. Across: 1. Aria. 2. HaL 3. Fuss. 4. Asp. 5. Arc-
NaI TICAL Nt MKUICAI. EmCMA.
" .Mackerel's scales and mares' tails.
Make lofty ships to carry low sails."
Dofni.ECFNTRAt. Acrostic. Roast gcHisc — Michaelmas. Across
1. Erst. 2. Coat. 3. Tame. 4. Isle. 5. Stem. 6. Agag. 7. Soh(
8. Rock. 9. Asia. 10. Hemp.
Ckoss-worii Enigma. Flowers.
Pl'ZZLR. Corn-ice.
Easy Anacka.ms. i. Boston. 2. New York. 3. Rochester, x
Washington. 5. Ch.-iricston. 6. Mobile 7. St. Paul.
I I.. Kyte— Alice M. Kyte —
ings were sent by .A. W. Post
: printed in the second number afker that in which the puzzles appear.
PiCTiRESi showing the answer to the "Sandpiper" puzzle were sent by Fred. C. McDonald — Florei
I. S. Tennant— M. I. Sargent— W. M. Hirshfelil— Nellie A. — Henry C. llrown — Earle. Colored dn
G. A. Post — W. S. Post— K. Post, and Regis Post.
SoLfTloNs TO PfZ2l,i!s IS" THE Arc.rsT Ni'MnRR wcre received before August 20, from Nellie Slidcll. 3 — CfCorgc W. Barnes, 5 —
George A. liillespie, 2— M. I.. Sargent, l— W. P. Bynum, 1— •'Otter River," (^ Cambridge livingslon. 3— C.raci* Smith, 7— Willie
V Draper, 2 — Florence E Pratt, all — Minnie Van Buren, 2 — "Heliotrope," 2 — lisingston Ham. 1— lizzie M. Boartlmaii. 1 — "The
Fairs iew Nurser>-," all— Marion T. Turner, 5— " Pcnsblossom," 2- Fannv Fechhcinicr. 1— J. S. Tennant, all— Maine Henry. 2—
Walter O. Forde, 9— Frank 1. Baldwin, 2— John Milton I iiltcrman and li.ivid AnsKicher, 7— l.ulii G. Ctablie, 4— Otis and l-Jliott
Biownfield, 7- F:dward Vultee, all— " An Fjiglish schoolb.iy," nil— Alice Ausieii 7— N.inna D. Sle
H. Foster, 1—U.uis B Frankel, 2—" " ' ' ' " "
K'»e karilan, 4— W. M, Hirshfcld,
— May C.irm.in, 4— Cha.. R. Fay, 3
McKeevcr. o— Helen E Hall.Kk, 6— Florence
■Partners." 1 1— " A Reader," 5— Henn't I'.n
Fyfrr ,_\I,,, M Meinell, 2-I--illa E. Crofl,
K. ■ .,, ,.>-Kle.an..r Telling, 4
Wil' ...nlzing. and K
nd Ma
2— George M:icniunihy, (.— I P. Miner, 1— Edith Heal, 4— Amelia Uroi, 5— "The Hop]
I, 1- Joseph B. Itoumc, 2— l.iilii M. Dnnvn. .7-- Sallie E Coales, 3— Nellie A , 2— Roy.nl e
ppers. I —
-Joseph
."Will (
liallmtilh I.;
linghuvscn and Ball.intine. ,— Ar.ilxlla Ward. 6— I dith and Townsend
:. ',- iVnrretl l.nstmnn. !— Tnd, 7— X.V. Z , <— Fiank T. Thomas, 4—
, all— Kale T Wendell. 10— Katharine R..bins<m, n- " Three (;mces." 5- Lir/ie D.
Bessie T.nylnr, 2- Phil. I Pene, i— Rene and Helen, 4— V.nlerie Fmnkel. 3— Clara
emon Hendrs, 8- Annie H. Mills. 1.— Fml. C. McDonald, 14— l.ina, George A.,
Post. 1 1— Charlie W. P.iwer. 7— Mary and llelhel Houdc, 14— Anna and Alice, 12— l!e«»ie C.
Flln M Parker, 2— Engineer, ir^ J. Ollic Gavley, 4— llnlle and Sister Minnie, i— H. I.. P , 3— J. F. C,
■ 1 .Mandoille, 6— Stowe I'help., 5— fred.lie IhUaits, 9— I luh H and Jiili:i S , 4— I.ulu Clarke and Nellie
iams, .1—1". I. Reynolds and S. Cosby, 4— H. and A. T , 4— Kile I.. Freeland. 1— Trask, 13— Daisy Vail, »—
7— Dolly Fnincis, 7— Florence I.. Kvte, 10— Alice M Kyte, .i— Car.l and her sisters, o— Butlerciin, I— Mollie
II . 9_ Itelle nn.l llenie, <>— May \\ Creighton and Winnie Ircighlon, 4— " Men.ngerie," 8— C. S. and W. F.
,,. 4_" |'..,.s ..,.1 M .,>l,ii " , ■ Tlir niriiii.tMls tlriKK- llirniiMilier of putllo solved.
r.5S
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