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From the collection of the 


V PreTnger (;p 
V Uibrary 

t P 

San Francisco, California 

Copyright, 1880, by ScRiBNER & Co. 

Press of Francis Hart & Co. 
New- York, 




Six Months — November, 1880, to May, 1881. 



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 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 



.Frank R. Slockton. 



,, 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^^ ^^^_^^^^^^^ ^^^^ 


Foxy Confucius. (Illustrated by the .Author) 
Games and Toys of Corean Children. Th^ 


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 

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 



..18, 52, 70, 13S, 14S, 237, 265, 299, 446 

NoraPeriy 292 


.William Makepeace Thackeray. 

In the Tower. Poem. 
Jack-in-the-Box. Poor 


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 


.Mary Gay Humphreys 36 

. Charles Barnard 64 

.Agnes Thomson 104 

.Mrs: Onphant 337 

\e. S. Brooks 162 

M. C. 

. C. A . Zimmerman 393 

Frank R. Stockton 18 

.Julia D. Fay 8» 

z 128,174 

John Lewees 486 

Haivtah R. Hudson 434 



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 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. 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 


Vol. VIII. 

NOVEMBER, 1880. 

No. I. 

(Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 

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. 


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 

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 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 grotesque figures tattooed all over his 
hands, in India-ink. 

.•Ml four of the children knew what he 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 


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 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 

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. 


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 



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- 

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 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 the calmness of one accustomed to 

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. 


" 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 

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 

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 

"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. 


" 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 

"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 

" 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 

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 

So, not only Aunt Dorcas, but the whole " crew 
of the captain's gig " are " gittin' ready " now. 


golden-hair: a Russian folk-story, 


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 

.•\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 : 


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." 


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 

" 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 


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 

Viry looked after it. and the wine overflowed the 

"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 

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 

Here something rustled above his head, and, 
wherever they came from, the two ravens were 

" 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- 

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. 



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. 


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 

Were housekeepers too, and were neighbors of 

ours ; 
We lived in the hay-loft, and slid down the 

.•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 ! 



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 

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- 

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 

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 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- 

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 




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 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 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. 



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 

Sing, O sing ! 
Of the things that ding. 
And the claws that clutch, and the fangs that 

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, 
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. 


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 




"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 

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 

" 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. 



" 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 

" 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- 

" 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 ought to learn to glide," said the ghost, 
languidly. " It 's ever so much e;isier than walking." 


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 


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, 


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 

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 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 

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 

" 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 

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?" 


" 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 

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 

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- 




pointed when lie heard that the great magician was 
dead, for he came to consult him on an important 

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 

"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 

" Did they fill it?" asked the wizard. 

"Yes; 1 remember thinking that I might .is 





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 




" 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- 

" I think you will have to give up your idea," 


horseshoes out of gold. This will be e.isier than 
the other plan, and will not wori'y yoiu' mind so 

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 



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. 


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. 


Till-: A ( ; A S S 1 Z A S S O C I A T ION. 


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 
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 



This is the 



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 
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- 


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. 



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. 


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. 



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. 



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? " 


" 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 ? " 


" 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, 


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 

" 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, 





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, 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 
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 




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 ! " 


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 

" 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. 




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 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. 




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 

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 

\\ ere poultr> ind cattle — then down, without 

\\ ould come uninvited, old Bugaboo Bill, 
And carr> a load to his home on the hill 

The farmers had often declircd thty would 

And guard their possessionb with weapon in 

In bands they would muster with mattocks and 

With sickles and pitchforks, his march to op 


,-^i^^^Je^^:^'*"? yi^'%^.%^V^S^^;:.j5^-. 




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. 



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 unaware 

From limbs that were large all the strength that was there. 



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. 




(A Stofy of an S. S. 


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 




The Chief. 

Captain Kidd. 

Don Quixote. 

Lord Leicester. 

Robin Hood. 

Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Robinson Crusoe 

Rob Roy. 


A Quakeress. 

Duke of Wellington. 


Mary, Queen of Scots 

King Arthur. 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 

I large 

Chapter I. 


" 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- 

•'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 

"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 

"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«™ 




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 

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 

" I am glad you mentioned," 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 

" \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 


Mv School Davs. 


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. 


" 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." 




"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 


" 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 

"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." 




" 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 


"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 

" 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- 

"Tents $30.00" 

■' No, no," cried Belle, jumping up. " I have 
it ! I have it ! " 

Chapter II. 


■• 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 

"What is all this about?" she asked, standing 

Belle stood up, resting her hands on her father's 

"Patty," she said, "we are going to camp out. 
Don't you want to go along ? " 

" Where are you going? " she .isked. 




" 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 

"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 

" 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 

" 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 

" But yoiu" papa said there was no use in jour 
knowing," impolitely remarked Sandy, 



"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 

" 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 

"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.) 


THE C R O \V - C 1 1 1 I. D . 


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 

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 

But some- 
, ( thing brighter 
than sunshine 
' used often to 
look from the 
cottage into 
the forest, and 
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. 



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 


" 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 

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 



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 

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 




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 


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 ! 





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 

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 

" 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 




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, 

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 

"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 

" 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 

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 

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 

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 ! " 



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 

" 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 ? 


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- 
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- 


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 



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 

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 




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 

" 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 



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." 


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. 


THE ( ; R !■; A T S IC C R E T , 


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. 


T HE G R E A T S E C R E T . 


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 



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 ! " 

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. 




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. 

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 


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- 



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 

\\'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-; . 


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 


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 



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. 



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 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. 


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 





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 



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. 




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. 


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 


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 

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 

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 



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, anil Hil-tla. and 
their fa-ther and moth-er, thought a great deal of that lit-tle dog Max. 




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 


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. 


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. 


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 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. 


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. 


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. 


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. 


" 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 


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. 


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- 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.:.. 


\V you were natives of .'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, 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 a bore or hole along its entire length, 

through which a aiarsc 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. 




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." 





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 

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 

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. 


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- 


of Professor Louis Agassiz, and i 

I profci 

I Harvard University. 

T H E I. K T T K R - B () \ . 


lo saw Diibois every evening, anived 
detained him, and begged him to help 

" 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 


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 

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^ 



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 


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 . 


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." 


Once, a little boy, Jack, 
Till he took a strange n 


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 


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 

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 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. 





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 


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. 


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. 


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. 


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. 




Vol. VIII. Dl'.CEMBER, 1880. No. 2. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 

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. 


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 



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 ! 


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 ? " 

"," 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 : 



-^Mf^'^'y] i^Ai 




■' 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 




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 

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- 

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 !" 



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 

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 



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 

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 



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. 


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 

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 

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 


M E I S T E R F I C K - E E C K . 


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." 


K r \ c; A R T 1 1 U R 


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 


AND HIS K\n;iiTS of thk round TAin.i:. 


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 


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 



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. 


TUF. Fi.OAi'iN c. rkixci;. 

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 ! 



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 




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 
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 

" 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- 

'• 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 



"Admiral?" cried the poor frightened man. 

I don't understand." 

" Oh, it 's all right," exclaimed the mcrr\' little 



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 

" 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 



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." 




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 

'■ .And / must have a navy," said the ad- 

" 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 

'■ 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 a well near you ? " said the little 
councilor Lorilla, who was perched on a vine, for 


safe-keeping. " Step into that, and you will, most 
likely, be just tall enough." 

The admiral stepped into the well, which 
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 



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 




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, 



" 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 

"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 


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 


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 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 

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 



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. 


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 : 

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. 




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 

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 

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 . 


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. 




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 

"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, 


.\n's'i' K k V IN 

M A N S I O N . 


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. 


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- 

" 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. 


\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 

"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." 



M A N S K) N , 


"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. 


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- 



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 

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. ) 


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. 


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 


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. 




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 

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 



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 ; 

" 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." 


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. 




"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. 

" 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. 


WILL ()■ 111 !•; WISI' 

HV LaIUA l'.. Kit ilARUS. 


' \\ 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, 

.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 ? 






■• 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 

" 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 




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 



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 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- 




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 

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 



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 

■■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 



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 

" 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." 




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,, 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 ! " 

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 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 
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 



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. 




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1 29 


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Vol. VIII. -9. 





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'^^rvclcAj^inTRe diynvoun^tccl ^sy^ixvinecL ,Qf^Rx>Vci . 







'■jyjjpxkr' cli>^U TUCGUV-l \ 







(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." 



" 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- 



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. 


Whenever a little child is born. 
All night a soft wind rocks the corn ; 
One more buttercup wakes to the morn. 

One more rosebud shy will unfold. 
One more grass-blade push thro' the mold. 
One more bird-song the air will hold, 




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, 
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 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 



' 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 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 

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 

" 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. 


N U' II Ol.AS IRE ASU K E - li O X . 


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 

"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, 

■' The coach is ready, 
sir," said the servant, be- 

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 


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 



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 

■' 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. 



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. 


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. 



" 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. 




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-^ -:■ 

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'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 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, 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,," 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- 

" 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 ; in vain Caspar'i comrades 
shouted and yelled. The l> 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 go. 

When the unfortunate lecturer on the h.ilnis of 


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|>ar 
walked off to his ship without a word. 

And he nc\'cr again delivered a lecture u|Min 


m •» ?K 

.- Ai-%'r^j:' -> ^i-f^i^i^ 

I'L 'i la^^' / 



.y^^i'^^i -^Ji^*-^* 


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. 

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. 


THE governor's BAM. 


Tin; r.ovKRNOR's ball. 

iiniHiimotiut- May's Story. 

By Ada Cummings. 


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 

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 tall and handsome, and 
a great favorite with us children ; and he always 




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 

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. 




— 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 

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. 




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. 





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 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. 


Bv RossiTER Johnson. 

Chapter I. 


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. 



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 

" 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. 



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 

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 




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 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- 



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 

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. 




" 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. 


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 




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 

" 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 

"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 

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. * 



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. 



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 — . 


"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. 



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 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. 

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. 


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 


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 


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.) 

[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. 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 


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, 



* [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 



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.'\ 


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 

.■\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 


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. 


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? 


.\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. 


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- 

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. ] 


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 



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. '^" 



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 — * i i» ^iii »e~n- 

• Copyright, i88o, by Anthony Reiff. 

Till-: i,.\ N I) OK Non. 


Sprightly, O ! lightly, O ! Come- ut .uir .all ; lluli 

Dr,'s sr„l, yuirkly, oh, <iuirkly wc bill yi)U com 

hith-er come. Hither come, one and all ! Hith-er < 


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 



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 


(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 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.] 


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. 

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 


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/.' 


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 

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. 


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' [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 - 


Music hy W, F. SHERWIN. 


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. 



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 

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 


I ACK- 1 N - 111 K - I'U I r I I 


\ T/ /' 

\ ;'j 


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 


.\ 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. " 



\\ 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." 


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, 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. 





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 

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. 


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. 


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 

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- 

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- 
And came home side by side. 


1. Ill' K K - IIOX. 


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 


) 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 



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. 



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<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. 


" 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. 


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. 





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 


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 


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. 


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. 


I. I. 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 


Tin; klI)I)LE-BOX. 


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" 


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'>--"' 


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. ^ 


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 

Centf!als Across : A protection t,> a harbor Lei- i han 
MOND, (across). ,. In dou'bt. 2. .Metal. 3 A" inte^pt"™ 


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 


The PuiMAlji and finals spell 
'"""'"'■words: I. Pertaining 

• Tt, 3. One of the United States 

1 name which is 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 


Elephant. 2. Camel. 

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. 2. 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, 


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. • 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"'^?^^^ "''''"'; ,. • 


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 


Vol. VHI. 

JANUARY, 1881 

No. 3. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 


Bv Hope Lf.dvard. 

" Well ! At last Cliristmas 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 

"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 

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, 



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, 



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 



troul)lo all l)ack to Kale, but slic saw it in a clearer 

"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 

" 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 . 




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 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. 




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 

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- 

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 


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 




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 
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 

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 


.Surrender Fans, counting four. Fan let fall 

.>n the llnor. 

Recover Fans. Counting four, ricked up and 

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 


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 



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 


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- 




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 


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- 


ened by the sparkling memories they will carry to 
mature old age, of the time when they wore white 
hair and yet were young. 




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. 



sTORii-:s or art and akiisis. 11 101 i'Aim-.r. 



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. 


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 


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 



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 


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 



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. 


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 




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 



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 


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. 


.-\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 



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 

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 


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 




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 

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. 


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 

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 




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, 


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 ! 





(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 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 



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'^^ 


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 

■' 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 

" 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. 




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 of the 

"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, 

"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 

"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 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 


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 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-- 

" 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- 




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 

■' 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 



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 

" 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- 

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, 


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- 


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 

•'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 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 



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 

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 

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 

"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^ 


I \ N A !• r i< I-; 

w ( ) N 1 1 1: k I . A \ I ) 


!• 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." 



.\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. 



" 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 

"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 



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 

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 

" 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 

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 

■'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- 




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 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 

" 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 

"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 

" .'\bout seven miles," said the raiichcro. " You 

IN N A T U R K S W () j\ D K R LAND. 


can get there to-morrow before noon, without dif- 
ficulty, and reach Bcnyamo by a trail across the 

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 

" 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 " 


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 

" Here. Joe, slij) the deer-hound ! " cried the 

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 

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, 

" 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 

" 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 



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. 


" He wont give in yet. Go on, Joe," said the 

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 

'• 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 ! " 

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 

"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 ! " 


AGAIN." — Old Rhyme. 


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. 



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 

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 


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 

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 

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 


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. 



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. 


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 

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 

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 



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 


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 ;,_ 

'' .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 !" 



Chapter III. 


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 



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 

" 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!" 



" 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. " 

" 's 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 



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 

"Of course he does," said 1, " and he '11 be glad 
to help us. Jack-in-the-Box is the very one ! " 

Chapter IV. 


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 

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 

" 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. 


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 

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 

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 

" 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, — 



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 

"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 

■' 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 

"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 

" 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." 



" 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 

"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 

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 ? " 


I'll Ah in N KU(. t KS. 


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 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 

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 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 



instant that water puts out the lightning — and the 
family ivc safe ! " 

•• It would be if there were enough ice," said 

" 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 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 

" 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 

" 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.) 


(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- 



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. 


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 

''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 

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 

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 



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 

" 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- 

" 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.'" 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, 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 

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, 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 

She put its bill into the water, and tenderly tried 
to make it drink. The water seemed to revive it 

" 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 

" 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 
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. 



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 

" 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. 



n\i I I':r-rosk. 


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, 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." 


Thus flew the years light-wingM over Brier-Rose's head, 
Till she 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 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 . 


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. 


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 ! " / 






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 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; 



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. 




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. 


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 

" 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. 




"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 ? " 



"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 

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- 


" 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 

" Wish you happy New Year ! " 

" Happy New Year ! " " Happy New Year ! " 

" Happy New Year, Johnny," said Mrs. Micklin. 



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 

" That 's my father's name, and mine 's Tracy 

" 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 

" 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." 




(A Story o/an S. S.) 

By • » • 

Chapter V. 


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, 




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. 

"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 

" 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 

" 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 

"Well, /wish it were moonlight," said Donald, 
" for then 1 could see what that is bv the fence. I 




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 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 

" 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 

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 

"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 

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 



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. 

" 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 

" 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 

" 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 




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. 


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 

" 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 


M > » T f. K V IN A MANSION. 

' UeM Hut "Uon't *|. 

jt !;.v .. «. jjfj ahrail 4imi uutu i..t 


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: 


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)- 



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- 

"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. ) 





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," 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. 


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. 





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." 


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 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. 


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 \ 


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 




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 ! 





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). 


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 

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. 



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 ; 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 



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 

We are sure all our young readers will be glad 

t hear 
,..=„.=. 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. 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. 


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 letters stand in a greeting appropriate to the : 

the order of their 


Mv fin 

n pleasant to 
My second in April co 

My third helps 
Though of 

My whole is 

And is found 

furnish our table with sweets, 
of the worst : 
;t ; *t was worshiped of old, 
tombs of Egyptians, I 'm told. 


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. 


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 

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. 



Vol. VIII. 


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. 


IN THE TOWER. A. D. I 5 54- 


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. 


' 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. 



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. 


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 

" 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 
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, 

" 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 



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 

' 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 , 


Thorwald shook the snow from his coat, set his 
skocs against the wall outsiclc, and entered the cot- 

" 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 

"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 

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 

" 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 




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 

" 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." 


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 



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 : 

*', 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. 


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. 


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 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. 



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. 



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." 


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 

" 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. 


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 

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 




-2^ ^ 

^Kji^ // 


^ 1 ■'" 






n't Jack. 




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 ! 


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 



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, 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 




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 

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 




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 


TH K C, 1 ANT S()r I II. 


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. 




I5v Makv II mi.ocic Footf.. 


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, 



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 


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- 

•■ \\'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 

'' 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 



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. 


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 


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 

"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' 

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 




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 

" 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 



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 




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 

" 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. 



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." 


(A Slory of at, S. S.) 

Ch.^pter VII. 


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 




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 

"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- 

" 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 

"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 : 



"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 





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 

"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 

" 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 

" 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 

" 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 



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 

" 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 

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 

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- 

" 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- 

" 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 



she d.isheci out of the room, caUing loudly for Hnrr\- 

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 

" 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. 


" 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. 



" 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 




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 

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 

"All is well, and the Duke is dead." 

At this mysterious announcement, the door was 
at once opened. Kitty's other hand 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: 



" 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." 


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 

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. 



" 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 

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 

" 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 

" It is," replied Kitty, promptly, and with great 

"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 

"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.) 




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 ! 


(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. 






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. 




" 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 

" 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- 

" 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, 

" 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 . 


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 basa